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try-set-me-on-fire · 3 days ago

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Tagged by @iinryer @butchdiaz and @eddiebabygirldiaz to do a 2024 year end fic round up! 125,710 words over 26 fics… damn… at least one fic a month and now I desperately want to try and finish something in the next few days so I dont break that streak for December… we’ll see… okay here we go! Thank you to everyone who’s read anything of mine, I had a lot of fun writing and I hope you had fun reading!

January

I got love to give, and give and give 1,638 words, rated T, melancholy and fluff, Hen and Buck bestieism

“What’s up with you, Buckaroo?” She laughs, poking his silly cheek.

“I love you,” he says, so sweet, looking even happier just to say it. “So much, Hen. Do- did you know it?”

“Yes,” she says, laugh still in her voice but chest a little tighter. “I know it, Buck.”

He drops his cheek to her shoulder, and then turns his head quick to kiss the spot. “Good. You’re the best. You should know it, a- a hundred- a thousand percent.”

—

Hen thinks about Buck at a party

the more we move ahead the more we’re stuck in rewind 4,278 words, rated T, the Buckley’s bad parenting

Bobby frowns at his phone, then leans over to show the screen to Buck. “May keeps sending me these memes,” he says the word wrong, and it makes Buck’s eyes sting for some reason. “And I just don’t understand what on earth this is supposed to mean.”

Buck coughs, mostly to cover up for the way his eyes are watery, and blinks at the screen. He doesn’t know how to say thank you, for any of it, but maybe he can at least figure this out.

—

After the factory fire, Buck’s parents show up at the station. It goes poorly. Written for the bad things happen bingo prompt: backhand slap.

only the best will do 801 words, rated G, silly wedding fluff

Buck gets a little intense about wedding planning. Chimney hides in the kitchen. Eddie is a man in love.

February

and I know I should go but I’ll probably stay 2,535 words, rated T, buddie hurt comfort

It’s unpleasant, enough that Buck screws his eyes shut and breathes and tries to pretend he’s someplace else. Chris is at the Wilson’s tonight, it’s their turn in the rotating childcare-for-date-night agreement that Hen seemed to have been eagerly waiting to sign them up for. It had been the third thing she said when they got together, right after congratulations and I’m so happy for you. Anyway, they’re going to go sit down at the Thai food place they usually only have the time and energy to order from home. It’ll be nice. Three months in and Buck still gets all giddy when Eddie holds his hand out in public. Or anywhere, really. He could slide their fingers together at the bottom of this stupid pit and Buck would feel all fluttery and starry eyed.

—

Buck and Eddie are both hurt on the job and a choice has to be made. Written for the Bad Things Happen Bingo square “Take Me Instead”

won’t you close your weary eyes 3,714 words, rated T, Buck and Bobby hurt comfort, parental feelings

Bobby doesn’t actually hear the warning shout. Or- it’s possible that he did, in the moment, but he has no memory of the sound. Just Buck, 20 or so feet away, turning towards him mid conversation with a look of horror on his face, mouth open around an unheard word, arm moving slow motion up in what he's sure is a frantic wave. He does hear the sound of impact, an almost comical series of hollow metallic bonks. They'll all laugh about this later, he thinks on the way down. Bunch of pipes dropping on the fire Captain's head. Pretty sure he saw that on looney toons.

—

Bobby gets a concussion and Buck stays with him. Written for the bad things happen bingo prompt: concussion.

March

the going water and the gone 31,547 words, rated T, cruise ship spec, Eddie missing presumed dead, angst with a happy ending

It doesn’t take long for Buck to be cleared to leave. He’s given antibiotics for the water he swallowed, a handful of bandages to cover shallow wounds, and instructions to take it easy. Horror clenches in his stomach. Eddie is gone and he gets off with Advil and a nap.

—

Eddie is missing presumed dead after the cruise ship sinks, Buck tries to keep his promises

I’d shine up the old brown shoes, I’d put on a brand-new shirt 3,565 words, rated T, friends with benefits buck/natalia, Eddie and Buck feelings realization through giving Chris dating advice

“No, I need, like-“ Eddie sighs so hard it almost sounds like static. “I need… guy help. Will you just come over?”

“Are you-” Buck turns away from Natalia and kind of hunches over the phone, making his voice quieter. “Are you having a penis problem?”

“What?” Buck’s never heard Eddie that high pitched. Loud, too, enough that Buck yanks the phone away from his ear and Natalia snorts with barely contained laughter behind him. When he brings the phone back in, Eddie is making a lot of blustery sounds, which Buck waits out until he finds words again. “Wh- No! No, I don’t have- I’m not having a ‘penis problem,’ Buck!”

Buck shrugs at the air in front of him. “Okay, Eddie, you’re the one who’s hiding in a bathroom and said you needed my ‘guy help,’ what was th-”

“Oh my god, Buck, I need relationship advice, okay!”

—

Chris is going on his first date. Eddie calls Buck for backup.

what useless tools ourselves 4,905 words, rated G, Buck in the hours after Eddie’s s5 breakdown

After Eddie chokes out what he can of a tragedy nearly a decade in the making, and after they go together to make sure Christopher is okay — the kid's eyes are wide where they meet Buck's over his father's shoulder, Eddie still trembling as he holds him — they sit back down at the kitchen table and Buck cleans Eddie's knuckles.

—

Buck, between the breakdown and dawn. Written for the BTHB prompt bloody knuckles.

April

when we’re barely awake in the heat of the day’s weight 1,037 words, rated M, buck/tommy early relationship tenderness

“You okay?” The man asks, voice rough with sleep though not too loud even with his mouth maybe three inches from Buck’s ear. He’s so soft. All his hard edges and he’s just so soft.

“Yeah,” Buck half-whispers, relaxing into him. “Sorry. It’s just, uh- been awhile since I woke up someplace new.” He hadn’t been paying much attention to ceiling texture when they’d stumbled to bed last night, either. It matches what little glimpses he had been paying attention to in Tommy’s charmingly vintage apartment. Brick exterior. Funny orange tiles in the kitchen. “Think it might have been since, uh…” Shit. He’d been to Natalia’s once for just a few minutes because she had an ornery roommate, and Taylor always came to his. Ali found him the loft specifically to have a nice place to wake up in after fucking. “Uh, Abby, maybe.”

—

Buck wakes up at Tommy’s place and they have a conversation about taking up space

you’ve got too much to wear on your sleeve 4,136 words, rated G, buck/tommy hurt comfort

“Uh, sorry.” He stares down at Eddie’s shoes. “I just think I’m- I’m kind of scared.” He eventually understood, intellectually, why Ali left him. It was a lot. She didn’t really get the scope of what she was signing up for. His leg had turned something fun and casual into something suddenly dead fucking serious. So, yeah, he understood, but he’s not sure until this moment that he really, actually understood. Tommy’s down that hall somewhere, and he got hurt at his job which is dangerous, and Buck is wondering how awful it would be to flee back through all the hallways and out of Pasadena to parts of the city he knows better, and go and find a nice safe girl with a nice safe job so his chest won’t ever feel like this. Or, only feel like this sometimes, with Eddie or Hen and Chimney and Bobby, or Maddie, people who he’s already seen bleed so he knows they can do it.

—

Tommy’s helicopter goes down. Buck fixes the station AC unit.

If you go down to Hammond you’ll never come back 1,339 words, rated G, early relationship buck/tommy fluff, madney wedding spec but more like madney wedding au really, prophetic daddy joke

“Oh, uh.” Eddie shrugs, stretches. “You know. Buck. It’s kind of… who he’s become, who he’s proud of being. I guess, I mean- we haven’t talked about it specifically. But yeah, I think… it’s like the turnouts, you put them on, feel good about who you are in them. And it’s the name he’s used ever since he came here, it’s- neat. Like, a clean break from when he… was young, and alone.” He shrugs again, smiles a little. “His friends call him Buck.”

Tommy’s thumb slips in the condensation on his glass. “Should I-”

“No.” Eddie’s voice is very soft. “I think… for most of his life only Maddie ever said ‘Evan’ and meant ‘I’m happy to see you.’ I think… it’s good, that he has that with you.”

Tommy just- tries to remember how to breathe normally for a second. “I am,” he says. “Happy to see him.” A funny, shaky little joy in his stomach every single time he looks up and sees Evan Buckley.

—

Eddie and Tommy talk at the wedding

May

that makes calamity of so long life 1901 words, rated T, buck/tommy fluff and angst, tragic backstories

The afternoon sun sneaking through the curtain lights him right up, glowing in his curls and against his cheek like the air itself can’t help but touch him. It makes Tommy feel kind of out of breath, kind of out of his depth. “Sometimes I think I must have made you up," he says, because the walls aren't melting but this still feels like a dream.

“I was.” Buck says it softly, and then blinks, like the words were out of his mouth before his brain could catch them. “Made up,” he says, a clarification that doesn’t make anything clearer.

—

Tommy learns about Daniel, and thinks about life and safety and caring about things

Autolysis 5,607 words, rated T, Bobby Nash goes in the blender, parental feelings, guilt grief and depression, food as a metaphor for love and what happens when you dont have enough of either

Buck dies, and he’s cold right away. They all are, this isn’t the kind of summer storm where the rain is almost warm. It’s freezing out here, even under all the layers of their gear. Bobby’s sure his own skin is corpse-cool, but he holds Buck and the harness pulls him stiff in his arms, and his body is cold, and he thinks Wait. It’s happening too fast. Wait. He’s dead, and Bobby lays him carefully on the gurney, and he rides up front with Eddie as they tear through the streets towards the hospital, frantic noise and movement reaching them from the back. He’s dead when they pull up to the doors. The human body begins to decay after four minutes, starts to consume itself, the final hunger. Bobby hears the crack of his sternum when Eddie’s palms press so far into his chest his heart starts to beat again. 43 seconds to spare.

Written for the bad things happen bingo prompt: make it look like an accident

June

big heart, I wanna let it bleed 2,106 words, rated G, buck joins the team a little younger au, buck and Bobby feels

Buck looks happy as a dog with a bone, glancing at Bobby with a mile wide grin. It's a familiar kind of look, though it takes until they're almost at the ambulance — Buck chatting away all the while — for him to place it, and it nearly makes him stumble when he does. Robert would give him that look when he made a new friend on the playground and got invited to hang out. Please, Dad, can I go? He's sure Buck didn't mean anything by it. Bobby doesn't have that authority in his life, nicknames and Springsteen concerts nothing that adds up to a tangible connection. And the kid- well, he's not a kid. 25 years old, can arrange his own playdates perfectly well.

July

I know the words, I know the sounds 2,147 words, rated G, buck/tommy breakup because one of them realizes their best friend they’ve been in love with forever is suddenly an option, oops wrong best friend

“I’ll step on your toes,” Buck warns, turning fully towards him and vaguely holding up his hands for Eddie to do whatever it is that needs to happen to make the dancing start.

Eddie snorts, moves one of Buck’s hands to his shoulder and holds the other, and taps his shiny dress shoe very gently into Buck’s big toe. “Do your worst.”

—

Buck and Eddie dance at Tommy’s wedding

and the air was full 397 words, rated G, storm chasers au

There’s a crack in the sky, lightning glowing white hot across his field of vision, and it’s behind Buck but somehow his eyes are lit up with it. The thunder comes less than a second later.

buff in, fan dry, wash out 1,758 words, rated G, art student au, Buck and Shannon are friends and that makes his crush on her recently divorced husband kind of awkward

The old drawing — something abstract, all bold sweeping lines — slowly disappears as it wears away and gets covered by sludge. He always feels a little guilty, getting rid of somebody’s work like this. A little inadequate, trying to come up with something good enough to replace it.

—

Eddie stops by the printmaking studio as Buck and Shannon work

August

get out of the waves get out of the water 1,856 words, rated T, Eddie pov of going water and the gone

Eddie’s foot slides out from under him and his first thought is Oh shit, sorry. He’ll find that funny, eventually.

—

Lost at sea, Eddie dreams

Autobiography 13,152 words, rated M, Buck’s turn in the blender, unreliable narrator but its hardly his fault no one tells him anything about his own life, depression and suicidal tendencies, past assault, pet death that may or may not have happened, 😬, also a twine game

A dog runs into the street after a ball and gets hit by a car.

September

every moment points towards the aftermath 1,755 words, rated G, friends at the table crossover/au but you dont need to know the podcast to read but also you should listen to the podcast, they’re wrestlers, they live in New Jersey but it’s Weird

For awhile, in the beginning, every time Eddie meets Buck the other man has blood in his teeth.

October

should we talk about the weather 20,059 words, rated M, au where some people are drift compatible but without the giant robots, madney fluff and buddie angst and hen + chim bestieism

And then, in Los Angeles, 2018, Eddie had met Buck. Then, huddled over a man with a bomb in his leg, Eddie had needed gauze and Buck’s hand had moved. Then, in the parking lot bathed in the light of an ambulance on fire, Buck had inhaled and Eddie's lungs expanded. And, well, that was that.

cut through the knot 9,924 words, rated M, oh boy Bobby is in the blender again, the whole thing is a therapy session with Frank, long list of content warnings on this one I’ll just leave them on ao3, did you know i love that guy. i love that old man. sorry Bobby that i keep doing this to you

“I’ve been doing fine lately.”

“I’m glad. That’s not what I asked.”

Bobby frowns at Frank, who’s sitting as relaxed and neutral as he always is. “You’re a therapist. Don’t you need to know my… current mental state, something like that?”

“Sure,” Frank smiles just the tiniest bit. Bobby doesn’t know if that means he’s succeeded or failed at something. “But I asked: why are you here?”

—

Bobby goes to therapy. Written for the bad things happen bingo prompt: self harm

right here with you 1,112 words, rated G, the 118 basically in a cuddle pile as penance for what I put Bobby through in the last one

Bobby’s not convinced it wasn’t a stumble — he’s pretty sure he saw a kind of panicked look on Chimney’s face between the whirling limbs — but Buck lands on the couch somehow. There’s a lot of cushion space unoccupied, but he ends up half on top of Bobby, sort of sideways, sort of leaning against Bobby’s chest. He twists his head this way and that until he finds an angle that’s not too sore to look up at him. His grin is big and goofy, eyes a little vacant in the way that comes with strong painkillers, and Bobby laughs down at him.

—

The 118 recuperate after a rough day. Written for the bad things happen bingo prompt: cry into chest

November

3 new short fics in the all my life, there you go series

Family 1,211 words, 118 family feels, new buddie, Eddie and Maddie friendship

Phone calls 1,938 words, Eddie calls Buck drunk from wine night and confesses his love

Hand kisses 1,022 words, angst, Eddie’s moved to Texas and is centimeters from a big gay realization but is already trying to marry Buck anyway

Phew!!! We got through it! Hello down here! @colonoscopys @wildehacked @shitouttabuck @bigfootsmom @devirnis @chronicowboy @gayeddieagenda @homerforsure @ anyone who’s tagged me or I’ve tagged and who’s urls I’m forgetting, anyone who sees this and wants to brag, you dear reader, please share your stuff if you wanna!

#long post #sorry i didnt know where to put a readmore so youre just gonna have to scroll #my writing #tag games #gosh…. I did a lot huh…#theres some good shit in here if i do say so myself

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amethystarachnid · 3 days ago

Note

I read your last Tony one-shot, and this “That said, I wouldn’t mind seeing Stark try to handle a teenage girl someday.” made me thing that this prompt Christmas Morning with the Kids is perfect for Tony 🤣 Tony + reader with a teenage girl and two little boys (or more, it’s up to you), Christmas morning, lots of love, I think it’s perfect ❤️

CHRISTMAS MORNING

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

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

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 4.1k

ᯓ★ Summary: Life with a teenage daughter, twins boys and a toddler is always chaotic but on Christmas morning? Oh it is pure chaos.

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ I merged the two requests because the second one didn't specify anything, hope you both like it! <3

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

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

Tony’s warm body is pressed against your side, his arm slung lazily over your waist as you drift in and out of sleep. The glow of the early morning filters through the heavy curtains, and you nestle deeper into the cocoon of your shared blanket, trying to fend off the faint chill in the room. You know it’s Christmas morning, but a part of you is holding on to the luxurious laziness of waking up slowly, in no rush to face the chaos awaiting you downstairs.

That delusion is shattered within seconds.

There’s the distinct sound of heavy, rapid footsteps in the hallway, followed by a breathless, high-pitched “They’re still asleep!” in a stage whisper that echoes through the door.

Before you can even brace yourself, the door flies open, slamming against the wall with an unceremonious bang. Your seven-year-old twins, Alex and Howard, charge into the room like two pint-sized tornadoes, all gangly limbs and boundless energy.

“MOM! DAD! IT’S CHRISTMAS!” Alex shouts, his voice nearly cracking with excitement.

“Wake up! Santa came!” Howard adds, punctuating his declaration by leaping onto the bed with a war cry. He lands on Tony, who lets out a theatrical groan, his arm slipping off your waist.

“Oh, for the love of—” Tony grumbles, voice muffled by the pillow he’s shoved his face into. “Santa didn’t come. He texted me last night saying he was stuck in traffic. Maybe next year.”

“Liar!” Alex accuses, climbing up onto your side of the bed and flopping down against you with all the grace of a hyperactive puppy.

Meanwhile, Howard is enthusiastically bouncing on Tony’s back, yelling, “Dad, Dad, wake up! Mom, he’s not waking up! Should we pour water on him?”

“Do not pour water on me,” Tony warns without lifting his head. “Or I’m canceling Christmas forever.”

“Like you could cancel Christmas,” Cora’s sarcastic drawl cuts through the chaos as she appears in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame with her arms crossed. Your teenage daughter looks impossibly cool for someone who’s been up this early, her messy curls tucked into a Santa hat and an expression that screams she’s simultaneously over it and secretly enjoying the spectacle.

“Thank you, Cora,” you sigh, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and trying to sit up. Alex clings to you like a koala, making it a near-impossible task.

“Don’t thank me. I’m just here for the fallout,” she says, smirking as Howard accidentally knees Tony in the ribs while attempting a dramatic reenactment of Santa’s sleigh taking off.

“Why do we have so many kids?” Tony mutters, finally rolling onto his back and catching Howard mid-bounce. He pulls the boy into a mock wrestling hold, trapping him with a grin that matches Howard’s exactly. “You! You’re under arrest for excessive energy on a federal holiday.”

Howard dissolves into a fit of giggles, his squirming waking Estelle, who’s tucked away in her crib at the corner of the room. A sleepy whine signals her arrival to the party, and you groan, trying to extricate yourself from Alex’s grasp.

“I’ve got her,” you tell Tony, nudging Alex off you gently and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. The chill of the hardwood floor makes you shiver, and you hurriedly scoop Estelle up before she can fully wake and start wailing.

“Mama,” she mumbles sleepily, her chubby fists clutching the neckline of your sleep shirt. You press a kiss to her unruly curls, swaying slightly to soothe her.

“She’s up!” Alex declares like it’s the most exciting development of the morning.

“No kidding,” Tony says, finally managing to sit up. He ruffles Howard’s hair, the boy now sprawled across his lap. “Cora, tell me you brought coffee.”

“Do I look like a barista?” she fires back, though there’s a twinkle of amusement in her dark eyes. “You’ve got two legs. Use them.”

“Three, technically,” Tony quips, pointing to Estelle perched on your hip. “But she’s not a coffee-fetching age yet. That’s a two-year-old skill, right?”

You roll your eyes, bouncing Estelle lightly as she starts to babble nonsense into your neck. “Do you want coffee or not?”

“Desperately,” he says, throwing off the covers and scooping Howard up in one smooth motion. The boy squeals, kicking his legs as Tony spins him around like a sack of potatoes. “Alright, troops! Let’s move this operation downstairs. Santa won’t wait forever.”

“Santa already came,” Cora corrects him with an exaggerated sigh, leading the charge out of the room with a nonchalant wave over her shoulder.

Tony gives you a sheepish grin as you follow her with Estelle, Alex trailing close behind. “At least she’s consistent,” he says, slinging an arm around your shoulders. “Merry Christmas, by the way.”

“Merry Christmas,” you reply, nudging him playfully. “And for the record, I’m blaming you for the chaos genes in all of them.”

“Fair,” he admits with a wink. “But you love me anyway.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. “Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately,” he echoes with a chuckle, as the sounds of your children’s laughter and excitement fill the house.

You follow the stampede of your children down the staircase, Estelle still snug in your arms. Her tiny hands tug at the collar of your shirt as she mumbles sleepily, “Downstairs. ‘Telle pancakes.”

Tony, close behind you, catches that and grins. “Hear that? She wants pancakes. Girl’s got excellent taste already.”

“Wonder where she gets it from,” you reply dryly, shifting Estelle to your other hip as you step into the open living room. The sight before you makes your breath catch for a moment: the massive tree glistening with twinkling lights, the piles of colorfully wrapped presents spilling out from underneath, and the faint scent of pine mingling with the lingering warmth of the fireplace.

“Whoa!” Alex exclaims, his eyes wide as he takes in the sheer number of gifts. He and Howard make a beeline for the tree, their hands already itching to tear into the wrapping paper.

“Wait, wait, wait!” you shout, setting Estelle down and hurrying to intercept the twins. You plant yourself in front of the tree, arms outstretched like a referee. “No presents until after breakfast.”

“That’s child cruelty,” Howard protests, folding his arms in exaggerated indignation.

“Yeah!” Alex echoes, pouting. “We’ll starve!”

“You just ate a mountain of cookies last night,” you remind them, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Pretty sure you’ll survive until pancakes.”

“They’re growing boys,” Tony chimes in from the kitchen, his voice teasing. “You’re stunting their emotional development.”

You shoot him a mock glare as he saunters over to the stovetop, already pulling out the griddle pan and the ingredients for his signature pancakes. “I’m about to stunt your emotional development if you don’t back me up on this.”

Tony smirks, cracking an egg into the bowl with one hand. “Relax, honey. Pancakes are coming up. No one’s opening anything until we all eat as a family,” he says, enunciating the last word like he’s laying down the law.

“Fine,” Howard grumbles, flopping onto the couch in defeat. Alex follows, though his gaze keeps darting longingly back toward the tree.

Cora rolls her eyes as she plops into an armchair, pulling her phone out of the pocket of her oversized pajama pants. “You guys are so dramatic. They’re just presents.”

“That’s because you’re too cool to get excited about gifts anymore,” Alex retorts, sticking his tongue out at her.

“I’m plenty excited,” she says, deadpan, without looking up from her screen.

Meanwhile, Estelle toddles over to you, her little hands reaching up to tug on the hem of your pajama pants. “Mama! I help pancakes?”

You crouch down, brushing her messy curls out of her face. “You want to help Daddy make pancakes?”

“Yesss!” she chirps, her eyes lighting up.

“Alright,” you say, scooping her up and carrying her into the kitchen. “You’re on pancake duty, little miss.”

Tony looks up as you set Estelle on a chair beside the counter. “Ah, my sous-chef has arrived!” He grabs a small plastic whisk from the drawer and hands it to her. “Alright, Estelle. Stir the batter like this, okay?” He demonstrates with exaggerated movements, which she copies with gleeful determination.

“Mix-mix-mix!” Estelle chants, splashing a bit of batter onto the counter. You grab a paper towel to clean it up, grinning at the sight of Tony encouraging her with a dramatic chef’s commentary.

“You’ve got a natural talent, kiddo,” he tells her. “I see a future in Michelin-starred pancake artistry.”

“She’s two,” you remind him, though you’re laughing.

“Never too early to start thinking about college,” he quips, flipping the first pancake onto a waiting plate with a flourish.

“Where’s mine?” Alex calls from the living room, earning a chorus of similar demands from Howard.

“Patience is a virtue, boys!” Tony shouts back, stacking another golden pancake onto the growing pile.

You glance at the table and start setting out plates, silverware, and glasses. Cora, noticing the motion, sets her phone aside and starts helping without being asked. It’s a small thing, but it warms your heart—she might act too cool for her siblings, but she’s always got a quiet way of pitching in when it counts.

“Alright!” Tony announces, carrying a platter of pancakes to the table. “Breakfast is served! Everyone take a seat.”

Chaos ensues as Alex and Howard sprint to the table, their earlier frustration forgotten. Estelle claps her hands excitedly, repeating, “Pancakes! Pancakes!” as you carry her over to her high chair.

As everyone settles in, Tony winks at you. “Nothing like a Christmas breakfast to get the day started.”

“You mean nothing like a Christmas breakfast to delay the madness of unwrapping gifts,” you reply with a smirk, passing Estelle a small plate with a cut-up pancake.

She picks up a piece with her tiny fingers and holds it up proudly. “Big pancake!”

“Yes, baby, it’s a big pancake,” you say, kissing the top of her head.

The table buzzes with chatter and laughter as the kids dig into their food. Tony keeps up a steady stream of banter, teasing Cora about her phone addiction and making the twins giggle with ridiculous stories about “Santa’s Pancake Factory.” Estelle insists on feeding you a sticky, syrup-drenched bite, which you accept with an exaggerated “Mmm!” that makes her giggle uncontrollably.

“Alright,” Tony says as he leans back in his chair, sipping his coffee. “Breakfast conquered. What’s next?”

You glance toward the living room, where the tree and its mountain of presents beckon. “I think we all know what’s next.”

The moment the last fork clatters onto a plate, the twins leap from their chairs and sprint toward the tree like they’ve been shot out of cannons. Alex dives headfirst into the mountain of gifts, with Howard hot on his heels, their excitement almost tangible.

“Wait!” you call out, rushing to catch up. “We need to take turns so we can all see what everyone gets. No free-for-all!”

“Yes, Mom,” Howard groans, dragging out the word as though it’s the most tedious rule in existence.

Tony strolls into the living room, scooping Estelle out of her high chair on the way and balancing her on his hip. “Listen to your mom, guys,” he says with a mock-serious tone. “Otherwise, Santa’s gonna find out and revoke your gift privileges for next year.”

The boys freeze mid-motion, wide-eyed, clearly weighing whether their dad is serious. You suppress a laugh, knowing full well they’ll believe anything remotely Santa-related for at least a few more years.

“Okay, fine,” Alex concedes, settling cross-legged on the floor.

Cora takes her time getting comfortable in the armchair, her ever-present air of teenage coolness intact. Still, there’s a flicker of anticipation in her expression as she surveys the pile of gifts.

“Alright, Estelle, you’re up first,” you announce, crouching by the tree to grab a small box with her name on it.

Tony sets her down on the rug, where she plops onto her diapered bottom and claps her hands. “Mine!”

“Yes, this one’s yours,” you say, handing it to her. “Go ahead.”

With a focus that’s almost comical, Estelle tugs at the wrapping paper, tearing off little strips until the box underneath is finally revealed. She gasps audibly as she lifts the lid, her tiny face lighting up when she sees the stuffed unicorn nestled inside.

“Corn! Mine corn!” she exclaims, hugging the plush toy tightly to her chest.

“Unicorn,” Tony corrects gently, crouching beside her. “And yes, it’s yours, sweet pea.”

She beams up at him, her joy so pure that it tugs at your heart. “Thank you, Dada!”

“You’re welcome, princess,” he says, ruffling her curls.

The boys go next, and the room erupts into cheers and shouts of delight as they tear through their gifts. Alex nearly loses his mind over the LEGO Star Wars Millennium Falcon set he’s been asking for, while Howard can’t contain his excitement when he unwraps the shiny new electric scooter he’s been dreaming about.

“Oh man, this is the best Christmas ever!” Alex declares, holding up a Nerf gun almost as big as he is.

“Don’t shoot your brother,” you warn as Howard eyes the same toy in his pile.

“No promises,” Tony murmurs under his breath, earning a swat on the arm from you.

Cora watches the chaos with an amused smirk, opening her gifts with a calmness that stands in stark contrast to her brothers’ whirlwind energy. Her eyes light up when she unwraps the vintage vinyl record player you and Tony picked out, and she can’t suppress a grin when she finds the stack of classic rock albums tucked beside it.

“You guys actually remembered,” she says, her tone betraying the faintest hint of gratitude.

“Of course we remembered,” Tony says, leaning casually against the back of the couch. “I’m not that old yet.”

“You’re ancient,” Cora fires back, though the smile on her face takes the sting out of her words.

Once the kids have opened all their gifts and are busy playing with their new treasures, Tony reaches for the neatly wrapped box you prepared for him. He shoots you a look that’s equal parts curiosity and mischief as he tears into the paper.

Inside, he finds a sleek, custom leather jacket embossed with the Stark Industries logo and subtle accents that reflect his personal style. His eyes widen in surprise, and a genuine smile spreads across his face.

“This is amazing,” he says, running a hand over the soft leather. “You’ve got good taste, Mrs. Stark.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you reply, grinning as he pulls you into a quick kiss.

“Your turn,” he says, handing you a small box with a perfectly tied bow.

You open it carefully, your heart skipping a beat as you reveal a delicate gold bracelet adorned with tiny charms representing each member of your family—a star for Tony, a heart for you, and four miniature initials for the kids.

“Oh, Tony,” you whisper, your voice catching slightly. “It’s beautiful.”

“Just like you,” he says softly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Merry Christmas, honey.”

Before the moment can grow too sentimental, Cora clears her throat loudly. “Okay, this is gross. Can we move on?”

You laugh, wiping at the corner of your eye. “Fine, fine. What’s next?”

Without answering, Cora reaches under the tree, pulling out two small, sloppily wrapped gifts that you hadn’t noticed before. She holds them out, one in each hand, looking uncharacteristically sheepish.

“These are…for you guys,” she says, glancing between you and Tony. “I got them with my own money, so they’re not, like, fancy or anything.”

For a moment, you’re stunned. Cora is notoriously tight-fisted with her allowance, and the thought of her spending it on something for you and Tony nearly undoes you.

“Sweetheart,” you say, your voice trembling slightly, “you didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” she interrupts, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. “Just…open them before I change my mind.”

Tony takes one of the gifts while you take the other. The wrapping is haphazard, with too much tape in some places and too little in others, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world.

You unwrap yours first, revealing a small, framed photo of the entire family taken during your summer vacation. The picture captures a rare, candid moment of pure joy, and your throat tightens as you trace your fingers over the glass.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion.

Tony opens his next, revealing a simple black mug with bold white letters that read: World’s Okayest Dad. He bursts out laughing, holding it up for everyone to see.

“This,” he says, his voice shaking with mirth, “is the greatest mug in the history of mugs.”

Cora rolls her eyes, but there’s a flicker of pride in her expression. “Glad you like it.”

“Like it? I love it,” Tony says, setting the mug down and pulling her into a quick hug. “You’re the best, kid.”

You join the embrace, wrapping your arms around both of them. “Thank you, Cora. These are the best gifts we could’ve asked for.”

The boys glance over from where they’re playing with their new toys, looking momentarily confused by the group hug. Estelle toddles over and squeezes herself into the mix, her chubby arms wrapping around your leg.

“Family hug!” she declares, her voice bright and clear.

You look at Tony over the top of Cora’s head, your eyes meeting his in a silent exchange of love and gratitude. This, you realize, is what Christmas is all about—not the gifts, not the chaos, but the moments of connection that make your family feel whole.

“Alright,” Tony says after a moment, his voice a little hoarse. “Let’s not get too sappy. Who’s ready for round two of pancakes?”

“Me!” the boys shout in unison, and just like that, the room is alive with laughter again.

The afternoon sunlight streams through the living room windows as the kids scatter around the house, their post-gift-opening energy reaching chaotic levels. Estelle is napping in her crib, clutching her beloved new unicorn, while the boys are deeply engrossed in building the LEGO Millennium Falcon on the coffee table. Cora has disappeared into her usual spot on the armchair, headphones in, pretending to ignore her brothers while sneakily keeping an eye on them.

You’re nestled on the couch beside Tony, sipping hot cocoa and enjoying the rare moment of relative calm. He’s idly flipping through his phone, likely working on some project even though it’s Christmas. You nudge him with your elbow.

“No work today, remember?” you say, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m just checking emails,” he protests, flashing you a quick grin. “Not technically work.”

Before you can reply, the doorbell rings, breaking the peace. Cora’s head pops up from behind her headphones, and she springs to her feet with an uncharacteristic level of enthusiasm.

“I’ll get it!” she calls, already halfway to the door.

Tony narrows his eyes, watching her dart down the hallway. “That was suspiciously quick. What’s she up to?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” you reply, though you can’t help but feel a twinge of curiosity yourself.

Tony sets his phone down and follows Cora at a leisurely pace, with you trailing after him. When you round the corner, you see Cora standing at the door, holding a neatly wrapped package handed to her by a delivery man. She thanks him quickly and tries to retreat toward the stairs, but Tony steps in front of her like a human barricade.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he says, crossing his arms. “What’s in the box?”

“Nothing,” Cora says a little too quickly, clutching the package to her chest. “It’s just…a thing.”

“A thing?” Tony echoes, raising an eyebrow. “A mysterious, suspicious thing?”

“Dad, come on,” she groans, trying to sidestep him. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Oh, but it is,” Tony insists, his playful tone belying the intense curiosity in his eyes. “You can’t just run off with a secret package on Christmas and expect me not to investigate.”

“Tony,” you say gently, though you’re equally intrigued. “Maybe we should let her—”

“No way,” he interrupts, looking more determined now. “Cora Stark, you unwrap that package right here, right now.”

Cora glances at you, her expression torn between exasperation and pleading. “Mom?”

You shrug, biting back a smile. “He’s not going to let it go.”

With a dramatic sigh, Cora slumps onto the nearest chair, placing the package on her lap. “Fine. But don’t freak out.”

Tony squats down in front of her, his eyes narrowing. “Why would I freak out? Should I be freaking out?”

Ignoring him, Cora carefully peels back the wrapping paper, revealing a simple white box. She hesitates for a moment before lifting the lid, revealing a small collection of thoughtful, handmade gifts—a beaded bracelet, a framed photo of the two of them at some school event, and a handwritten note.

“What is this?” Tony asks, frowning as he picks up the bracelet. “Did…did someone make this for you?”

Cora clears her throat, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks. “It’s from Ryan.”

“Ryan?” Tony repeats, the name dripping with suspicion. “Who’s Ryan?”

“A boy from school,” she says, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. “We’ve been…you know, kind of dating.”

“Dating?” Tony’s voice jumps an octave, and he stares at you like you’ve just betrayed him. “You knew about this?”

“I knew,” you admit calmly, trying not to laugh at his reaction. “She told me a couple of weeks ago.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” he exclaims, his hands flying up in mock outrage. “I’m her father! I should know these things!”

“Maybe because you’d act exactly like this,” Cora mutters under her breath.

Tony ignores her, turning back to you with a mock-wounded expression. “Unbelievable. My own wife, conspiring against me.”

“Tony,” you say, laying a hand on his shoulder, “she’s fifteen. This is normal.”

“Normal?” he repeats, as though the word offends him. “Do you know what teenage boys are like? I used to be one.”

“Exactly,” you counter, giving him a pointed look. “Which means you should trust that Cora knows what she’s doing.”

“She doesn’t,” he insists, gesturing wildly. “She’s a kid! She—wait, is this the guy who came to the science fair? The one with the glasses?”

“Yes,” Cora says, rolling her eyes. “And he’s really sweet. He made me that bracelet and wrote me that note, so can you stop acting like he’s a supervillain?”

Tony narrows his eyes, clearly still skeptical, and picks up the note. As he reads it, his expression softens ever so slightly. “Huh,” he mutters, grudgingly. “His handwriting’s pretty neat.”

“See?” Cora says, her exasperation giving way to a tentative smile. “He’s a good guy.”

Tony grumbles something under his breath before straightening up and looking at you. “What’s the protocol here? Do I have to meet him? Give him a lecture about respecting my daughter?”

“I already gave him the lecture,” Cora says quickly, standing up and gathering her gifts. “You can meet him later. Maybe. If you behave.”

Tony snorts. “If I behave? Kid, I invented behaving.”

“That’s a lie, and we all know it,” you interject, patting his arm. “Why don’t you just take this as a chance to prove you’re the cool dad?”

“I am the cool dad,” Tony grumbles, but he doesn’t stop Cora as she heads toward the stairs, her gifts clutched protectively in her arms.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, Tony collapses onto the couch dramatically, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not ready for this,” he declares, staring at the ceiling.

“She’s growing up,” you say, sitting beside him and leaning into his side. “It’s not a bad thing, Tony.”

“Yeah, but…a boyfriend?” He groans, rubbing his temples. “What happened to the days when her favorite person was me?”

“Those days haven’t gone away,” you assure him with a smile. “You’re just sharing the spotlight now.”

He lets out a heavy sigh, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. “Fine. But if this Ryan kid so much as looks at her wrong—”

“You’ll what? Challenge him to a duel?” you tease.

“Maybe,” he mutters, grinning despite himself. “Or I’ll make him sit through my entire TED Talk catalog.”

“That’s cruel and unusual punishment,” you say, laughing. “But it might work.”

Tony chuckles, pulling you closer as the chaos of the afternoon swirls around you. For all his bluster, you know he wouldn’t trade these moments—or this family—for anything in the world.

I'm such a sucker for family men if you haven't already noticed

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cliophilyra · 18 hours ago

Text

2024 Fic Round Up

Tagged by @loucifersbitch - thank you so much!! 🩷

This year I wrote 20 fics and a total of 36,619 words (I haven't included the 2x Destiel ones here as there's enough to list already!)

JULY

Like A Circus Wheel | saltommy | E | 1432 wds.

"He's insinuating that you're gay." Tommy looks over at Sal’s smart-ass smirk and for a second he’s frozen. Sal’s expression doesn’t change but something in his eyes feels like a challenge.

Show You Off | Bucktommy | E | 2083 wds

“Maybe we should move this to the bedroom?” he murmurs. “Otherwise we’re gonna be giving the neighbours a show.” Buck’s mouth is suddenly bone-dry. Memories of a mis-spent exhibitionist youth suddenly flood back and his breath shallows, mouth falling open a little, cock twitching as he swallows hard. Tommy pulls back and looks him in the eye, eyebrow raised. “Oh. You like that idea baby?”

Keys to Fit Our Locks | saltommy | T | 1133 wds.

Tommy comes home to something surprising. Just some soft, silly, sort-of-established Saltommy.

AUG

Every Little Sacrifice | saltommy | E | 3335 wds

Tommy jumps down from the engine the moment it stops, already heading to the gear racks as the rest of the team clamber out behind him, the stench of melted plastic and hot metal surrounding them. He needs to get away from the smell, it’s choking him, filling his throat. He coughs, trying to clear out the memory. Sal flashes him his most charming grin, blue eyes bright in his soot-streaked face, and claps him on the shoulder as he passes. Tommy doesn’t stop and doesn’t meet his confused gaze, his jaw muscles tick as he bites back the fury thrumming through his veins. He strips off his turnouts in record time and heads up the stairs without a backward glance.

Honey I'm Home | bucktommy | T | 762 wds

“Hey honey I’m home,” Buck murmurs to himself, half-falling through the door into the dark entrance hall of Tommy’s house. The whole day has been a seemingly endless stream of small, silly calls, each bell draining more and more of his energy, leaving him a shell of the man he was when he left that morning. It had been a great morning too. Two orgasms before he’d even had his coffee had seemed like a pretty promising start to the day and then he’d spent most of his shift on a constant simmer, half hard in his turnouts because his boyfriend, who was having the opposite sort of day at work, decided it would be a good idea to send him shirtless selfies taken in the Harbor locker room that would have been rejected from the firefighter calendar for being too pornographic.

Calendar Boy | bucktommy | E | 2505 wds

“What’s up baby?” Tommy asks, concerned, walking over to kiss the side of his head. “It’s the most insufferable time of the year,” Hen mutters, not looking up. Tommy looks down at the photos covering the table and stops short, blinking in surprise. Oh. “It’s the LAFD calendar,” Evan says, as if that explains everything, which, in a way Tommy supposes it does. Tommy’s eyes widen as he takes in the piles of pictures of semi-- and, in some cases, more than semi-- naked Evan that are spread across it. He swallows awkwardly, his tongue all of a sudden seeming too big for his mouth, and manages an only-slightly-strangled, “Oh?”

Solace | bucktommy | T | 615 wds

Buck comes home to Tommy after a very bad day.

SEPT

Nicknames | saltommy | M | 529 wds

A few nicknames, endearments and insults from Sal and Tommy’s relationship.

Desk Defying | saltommy | E | 2478 wds

Sal and Tommy decide to take out their frustrations on top of Gerrard's desk.

Riding Up Front | bucktommy | E | 5511 wds

Buck is outside in the yard, blasting the engine with the high pressure hose and entertaining murderous fantasies of turning the hose on Gerrard and blowing him through a fucking wall. The bastard is on the warpath today as usual, finding a seemingly endless list of pointless tasks for each of them. When Tommy arrives unexpectedly it dawns on Buck that the engine is conveniently just out of sight, pulled around the side of the firehouse and the rest of the crew are occupied and a terrible, brilliant and honestly somewhat familiar plan forms in his mind.

When you're tastin what he's drinkin (are you thinkin bout me?)

bucktommy w/ past saltommy | M | 1893 wds

Sal runs into Tommy with Buck at a bar and drags up old memories.

OCT

If It Comes Back | saltommy | E | 3773 wds

Tommy & Sal reconnect at a wedding.

NOV

A Quiet Night In | bucktommy | T | 1190 wds

Just some fluff & cuddles - post 8x6 comfort

DEC

Flashover | bucktommy | G | 2724 wds

When his phone rang this evening he was on the floor in front of his couch, in the middle of another fifty push-ups, TV on in the background playing a show that he couldn't have named or described if someone put a gun to his head. He didn't pick it up, didn't even glance at it, just let it vibrate its way across the table and fall on the floor. The third time it rang he finally picked it up, annoyed, and glanced at the caller ID. Sal Deluca. Jesus Christ, talk about a blast from the past. He'd answered it without even thinking. "Sal?" "Kinard. Open your door. It's pissing rain out here."

You Should Probably Leave | saltommy | E | 2347 wds

“Doesn’t look like it’s coming back on anytime soon.” Tommy says, looking out of the window at the dark street. “It’s the whole block at least.” He turns back to Sal who is spread out on his couch, beer bottle in one hand, one foot on the floor. “Ah shit, guess I’ll just have to stay here then huh?” Sal smirks, eyebrow raised as he stretches his arms above his head so his t-shirt rides up, exposing the trail of dark hair that disappears under his waistband. Behind him on the table a candle lantern flickers, deepening the shadows and planes of his features, casting crawling shapes over the walls. Tommy's throat is dry, he swallows hard. He already knows how the rest of this night goes. How it always goes.

Taken | saltommy | M | 884 wds

Jack shakes his hand, holding it just a fraction too long, smiling up at him almost shyly. "Hi Tommy. Sooo, I know this is kind of a cliche but…um…would you maybe like to get a drink sometime? With-with me?" "Kinard! Get your ass back on the truck!" Sal's voice snaps out. Tommy tries not to laugh for Jack's sake. "Jack, you seem great but I—" Jack sighs. "Figures. You're clearly way too hot to be available. Ah well I had to try, right?" "Kinard!"

10 Weddings and No Funerals | saltommy | T (will go up) | WIP

In order to survive a summer of wedding fever, longtime friends, Tommy and Sal, agree to be each other's plus one at every wedding they've been invited to. AU based on Plus One (2019).

Kisses | saltommy | G | series WIP

Some replies to the kisses prompt meme on Tumblr. Currently all saltommy - may add some bucktommy later. Rating may change.

Here's to a creative 2025!

Tagging - @rdng1230 @littlepaws9 @bucksbignaturals @fuselsstuff @peppermintquartz @bangpop91 @nine-one-wanton @girlwonder-writes @thecarrott @judymarch15 @racerchix21 @weewookinard @loulou-land and literally anyone else I know or who sees this and wants to do it. My brain is shutting down now lol.

HAPPY NEW YEAR ALL!!

#bucktommy #saltommy #911 abc #911 fic #tommy kinard #evan buckley #sal deluca #writing

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happyandticklish · 2 days ago

Text

Not a Big Deal

Notes: Merry Christmas and a happy new year to @signinandgetkinky! I know I'm cutting it a bit close, but hopefully you enjoy what I've come up with. I tried to combine your prompts together into one fic, so there's a little bit of all of them in there. Thanks so much to @squealing-santa for hosting!

Summary: Adam is insistent he's not ticklish. Ronan is insistent that it doesn't matter.

Fandom: The Raven Cycle

Pairing: Ronan/Adam (Pynch)

Word Count: 2.2k

“Parrish. Parrish. Parrish.”

Adam’s brows twitched slightly, cursing the universe for putting him into this situation.

They had a flat tire. Approximately ten minutes into their trip to Cabeswater, there was a loud pop before the Pig had begun to veer toward the side of the road, clunking unevenly as it went. For all of the Camaro’s problems, Adam supposed he should have been grateful it was only a flat tire. Gansey and Blue were currently in the process of repairing it, most likely while, as had been the trend with them for the past few weeks, awkwardly and intensely flirting with one another. They had been trying to keep it on the down low, likely for Adam’s sake. In turn, he pretended he didn’t notice, allowing them to live out their hopeless charade.

Ronan had taken these past fifteen minutes to annoy him with pokes and prods and irritating questions that Adam had been halfheartedly answering up until the most recent one.

He turned more deliberately toward the window now, pretending as though Ronan was not there. Ignore it, and maybe it would go away.

Poke, poke, poke. “Parrish. Adam. There. Is that what you want?”

Or maybe not.

“What I want is for you to leave it alone.”

“It’s a fair question.”

“It’s an invasive question.”

In fairness, it was an invasive question. Not one that Adam necessarily minded sharing, but one that he did not want revealed when Blue and Gansey could get back into the vehicle at any moment.

“I’m ticklish.”

Ronan’s tone was so somber compared to the words coming out of his mouth that Adam couldn’t help but snort. “I’m so happy for you,” he deadpanned, though he quietly stored the information away for later.

“Tit for tat,” Ronan explained, leaning back in the vehicle as his gaze dragged up and down Adam’s person. Lately, Ronan looking at him had become such an intense process that Adam was worried he was seeing something Adam couldn’t. “I don’t see what’s so embarrassing about the question. I poked you. You flinched.”

“Poking tends to do that to people.”

“Not like what happened to you.”

Pink tinged Adam’s cheeks. If it was possible to squish himself further into the corner, he did so. “I was startled,” he said, after a moment of careful consideration.

Ronan squinted. “Are you saying you’re not ticklish?”

“Not necessarily, I’m just—”

“So you are ticklish?”

Adam floundered for a moment before eventually pressing his lips together and glancing in a totally not desperate way out to where Blue and Gansey were engaged in some kind of heated discussion. Not that their presence would necessarily deter anything Ronan was about to do.

Ronan watched him carefully, noting his tense stance. “Does the question bother you?”

Adam scoffed a laugh. When Ronan didn’t take the hint, he clarified, “Normally, when people ask the question, ‘are you ticklish’, it is followed by them tickling you regardless of your answer.”

“And you don’t want to be tickled?”

“Most people don’t want to be tickled.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Adam opened his mouth to answer, but before he had a chance, the two of them jumped as the car doors flung open. Blue whirled to face Adam, a grin on her face.

“Adam, we require your assistance.”

“We do not—I had it handled—”

Blue raised a brow as Gansey continued to fumble his sentences. After a moment, he turned reluctantly to Adam. “Adam, we require your assistance.”

Adam resisted the urge to comment on Gansey’s lack of real-world skillsets in favor of silent gratitude. He jumped out of the car, following Gansey and pointedly ignoring Ronan’s eyes on his back.

He had thought that was the end of it. But the topic of Adam’s ticklishness (or potential lack thereof) resurfaced months later at Monmouth Manufacturing during what was meant to be a study session between the three boys. Gansey was sat on the floor, a stack of books on either side of him with a mountain of paper scattered in front of him that he was perusing through. It was unclear whether the aim of his research was academics or Glendower related, and Adam hadn’t bothered to ask for fear of inciting some long-lasting rant that would quickly wile away their afternoon. He was curled up on the side of the couch reading about the Byzantian Empire for an upcoming assignment when Ronan decided to join them in the form of falling down on the couch and slinging his legs across Adam’s legs and on top of Adam’s book.

Gansey didn’t bother to glance up at his presence, but offered a vague hand raise in greeting. Adam yanked his book to freedom, raising an eyebrow in Ronan’s direction.

“Move.”

“Make me.” Ronan crossed his arms behind his head, settling comfortably into the couch.

The smirk on his face implied that he was in an impish mood that Adam frankly didn’t have time for. “You’re such a child. Gansey, can you please leash your dog?”

Ronan gnashed his teeth with a grin as Gansey wearily replied, “Trust me, Adam, if I had figured out that trick, I would have done so years ago. He’s your problem now.”

It was clear he was going to be getting no help at all. Adam sighed, shoving at Ronan’s legs to no avail. The struggle seemed to be just what Ronan was waiting for, and he took advantage of it to knock Adam’s book onto the ground. When Adam turned to face him, he merely stuck his tongue out, before closing his eyes with a pleased hum.

Adam didn’t mean to do it. He wasn’t even really sure where the instinct came from, only that he wanted to wipe that smug look off Ronan’s face. His fingers had barely brushed Ronan’s foot before he was nearly upended by the force of the latter jerking his leg back. They made eye contact for only a moment before Adam was leaping off the couch and hightailing it for… where, he couldn’t say, so long as it was away from there. Gansey’s apartment was built to foster open space, not to create good hiding spots for this soon to be dead man.

Ronan was after him in an instant, and Gansey let out a disgruntled noise as he knocked over his papers in his haste. “Ronan! Adam! I would appreciate it if you took it outside if you’re going to kill one another.”

Neither listened to him. Adam had barely made it more than ten feet before he was backed into a dead end. He turned around only to yelp when Ronan grabbed hold of his wrists, jerking them over his head and pressing him against the wall. Laughter, nervous and giddy, was spilling out of Adam already as he tugged desperately to free himself.

“Ronan, Ronan, please, don’t tickle me, I swear to god—"

“I guess now we’ll finally answer the question of whether the wallflower is ticklish or not.”

“I’m not, but don’t—Ronan!"

Ronan’s hand only just made contact with his sides, though even that touch alone was enough to send shivers coursing down Adam’s spine. He paused at the frantic nature to Adam’s tone. His hand retracted slightly as he considered him, taking in his flushed voice, wide eyes, and goofy grin. Then, to Adam’s surprise, he let go. Adam brought his arms down, relief flooding him first, followed quickly by confusion as Ronan shoved his hands in his pockets and stalked back over to the couch to bother Gansey about what they were having for dinner that night.

Adam could have sworn there was a faint pink tinge to Ronan’s ears as he walked away, though that could have been his imagination playing tricks on him.

Once Ronan and Adam started dating, it became much harder to evade queries about his sensitivity. But Ronan was unusually respectful about the issue. He never pushed as Adam made excuse after excuse, not even when too gentle of intimacy brought about twitches and huffs of barely concealed laughter. Nearly another year went by before Adam was forced to confront the issue once more. It was late December, and snow had finally graced Cambridge with its presence. Adam thought it was nice. There was something to having an excuse to stay curled up inside without having to worry about braving the company of his fellow classmates; he liked them well enough, but Adam was a creature of solitude at heart. Ronan, on the other hand, had far less charitable views toward the weather that had made the drive up to visit a living hell.

Now, the two of them lay curled up together on Adam’s bed, Adam’s head resting against the firmness of Ronan’s chest. The first several hours of the visit had consisted of far more affectionate behavior, but now they had settled into a comfortable rhythm of relaxation that Adam was loathe to leave. His shirt was rucked up in the back, and Ronan traced lazy circles over his lower back. At times, he strayed too close to his sides and Adam flinched unthinkingly. “Sorry. Your hands are cold.”

The touching paused, and Adam held back what would have been an embarrassing whine at its absence. “You can tell me if you’re ticklish, you know.”

Adam stiffened. “Okay. Thank you. I’m not though.”

Adam could practically feel Ronan rolling his eyes at him. “We’ve been dating for years now, I don’t understand why you still feel the need to hide the obvious. It’s not like I’m going to abuse the information or anything.”

“First of all, there is no obvious. Second of all, I highly doubt that. You’ve never showed the same consideration to Gansey.”

“Gansey likes it,” Ronan pointed out, before frowning. “Most of the time, anyways. Besides, do you really think I would do anything to you if you didn’t want me to?”

Adam hesitated. “Well. No, but—”

“I just don’t see why it’s such a big deal to you,” Ronan continued, ignoring his protests. “Everyone’s fucking ticklish. I’m ticklish. It’s human. It doesn’t imply something about you. Christ. Anyways. You don’t have to tell me, if it’s really important to you. But I’m not going to think less of you because you’re plagued by the same weakness as most of our population.”

He lapsed into silence after that, leaving Adam to stew in his words. He wasn’t wrong. Logically speaking, Adam knew that Ronan would probably leave him alone if he asked. There was no reason to be so cagey about such a simple piece of information, especially considering Ronan had likely already gathered the truth despite his protestations. If Adam really thought about it, which he was now thanks to Ronan, he wasn’t worried that he was going to tickle him.

He was worried that he wasn’t.

The two continued to lay in the quiet aftermath of Ronan’s words for several minutes. The tracing had started back up again at some point, but Adam couldn’t find the same contentment in it anymore. There was a growing itch beneath his skin, and he shifted uncomfortably, his body warm and prickly with embarrassment.

There’s no harm in asking.

“Ronan.”

“Adam.”

“I’m—well. I am. Ticklish, that is. Just a bit.”

A soft smile graced Ronan’s face, though Adam didn’t dare look up to notice. Ronan’s jacket was slung across the desk chair on the far end of the room and Adam focused all of his attentions on it instead, memorizing every minor crease instead of noticing how Ronan wasn’t saying anything. Finally—

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, I’m glad you told me. It seemed like it was weighing on you.”

“Oh. Good.” Adam’s grip tightened where it was wrapped around Ronan’s torso. Several more beats went by. The itch was growing worse, and his foot tapped a nervous rhythm against the end of the bed. “Can you—fuck. Fuck, this is ridiculous, why can’t I just—”

“Adam. I said it’s okay. All you have to say is yes or no.”

Adam’s breath caught in his throat. “I—”

“Yes—” Rona’s fingers paused in their path right above Adam’s ribs— “Or no?”

It was quite possible that Adam had never been more grateful for Ronan’s bluntness than in that moment. He wasn’t sure he could get the words out, so he nodded instead. A moment later, he was biting his lip as fingers crawled treacherously under his arms, laughter bubbling up quickly in his throat. He buried his face in Ronan’s chest, ignoring the burning of his cheeks and focusing instead on how Ronan was being so gentle and light and yet, it tickled so much more than Adam could have possibly prepared for.

“Ronan!”

“Adam.”

How could a tone be so mocking and so affectionate all at once? “It tickles.”

Blunt nails spidered quickly near the edges of Adam’s arms, leaving him in a fit of giggles as he struggled to hold himself still.

“I know.”

As he laughed the rest of the night away, Adam found himself immensely grateful for the fact.

#tickle fic #the raven cycle #squealing santa #ronan lynch #adam parrish #pynch #trc #tickling #fanfiction #gansey #richard campbell gansey iii #blue sargent #ss24

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cal-daisies-and-briars · 2 days ago

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🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓🐓

105 for 🐓:

---

Funny enough, it goes just like it used to.

“You’re selfish and impulsive and have zero concern about anyone else.”

“You think it’s funny, just disappearing like that? Not answering your phone?”

“You’re not a child anymore, Evan, but you still act like one.”

As a kid, he had cried. As a young teenager, he’d taken pride in their anger. Scorn. Like good, feel something. As an older teen and young adult, he’d fought back. But now, he just stands there in front of him, letting the whole thing wash over him. Like he deserves it. Maybe he does. Deserve it. He didn’t as a kid, but maybe he does now.

“Sorry,” he eventually mumbles flatly. “I just thought all my moping and sulking wasn’t doing enough to ruin Christmas. Had to figure out a different way to steal Maddie’s attention, you know?”

Instead of seeming embarrassed that he obviously overheard them shit-talking him, they seem enraged that he would bring it up. The lecturing continues.

“Incredibly shallow and self-centered…”

“...Don’t know how we can ever be expected to have any sort of relationship with someone this vindictive!”

“We have tried!”

And he understands their meaning. They’re done with trying. The farce is over. They can all stop pretending this has ever intentionally included him. It’s always been about Maddie and access to their grandkids. Maybe that will be a relief, at the end of the day. No more pity invites. No more trying to curl himself into a tighter, more acceptable shape. He can simply be unbothered, alone.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “I’ll go in the morning, then.”

“We’re not kicking you out,” Margaret sighs. “Don’t make it sound like that’s what we’re doing.”

“Okay,” Buck agrees. “But isn’t that what you want?”

They deny it. But it takes a little too long for them to respond. They have to actually consider. And the thing is, Buck doesn’t. He doesn’t have to wonder at all what the hesitation is.

“I’ll be out of your hair in the morning,” Buck says, then he turns around and stomps upstairs.

⬅️

He showers quickly and quietly. He stares at the white bathroom tiles until his eyes hurt. He feels like garbage. Not just body wise. He just feels like garbage. Period.

He can’t fall asleep right away, so he deals with his flight. The layover will suck, and he won’t get home until the middle of the day on Christmas, but whatever. He changes it. He’d rather be alone than here. And, maybe… Maybe Bobby’s offer still stands.

Eventually, he puts the phone away, but he still can’t sleep. He finds himself crying. Even though he feels sort of dehydrated and like crying is probably unadvisable.

He thought he was being quiet, but apparently not so much. Because around three, there’s a soft knock on his door. At first, his instinct is to fake sleep. To avoid his parents at all costs. But he’s not a kid anymore. They’re not going to check on him or tell him to sleep. So that leaves only one realistic option.

The door cracks open.

“Buck?” Maddie says quietly.

Buck sits up in bed but doesn’t even bother turning on the light. He can picture her easily. Standing there in pink, snowflake print pajamas, the beginnings of a baby bump concealed by the loose fabric, worried expression on her face.

“I’m fine,” Buck rasps, lying.

“Well, we can hear you crying, so…”

Buck groans. “Sorry.”

“Not the person whose crying I expected to wake me,” Maddie admits. She walks over and sits on the edge of Buck’s bed. “But it’s okay. Hard to get back to sleep after Mom and Dad’s yelling, anyway.”

Buck doesn’t say anything. She heard it all then.

“I’m sorry,” Maddie says. “I wanted to keep an eye on you over the holidays, but this… This just made everything worse.”

“I’m an adult, Maddie. I could have said no.”

He did, after all, have a warning and another option.

“I should have…” Maddie struggles. “I don’t know. Prevented this.”

“I overheard what they said to you and Chim,” Buck says. “I can’t win, Maddie. I didn’t do anything. So it doesn’t really matter.”

“You’re not really leaving are you?” She asks.

“Already changed my flight,” Buck explains.

“I’m sorry,” Maddie says again.

Buck sighs. “Maddie, I knew what I was doing when I came here.”

“What does that mean?” She asks.

“It means… It means I knew they only invited me, through you, because they wanted you to come. It means I know they don’t like me, and don’t really love me,” Buck says. “Or, maybe they do… But, they really don’t like who I am. They try, but they don’t. And it’s… I guess it’s the confirmation I was looking for.”

“Of what?” Maddie asks.

“That I’m not really what anyone wants around. Not for long.”

#daisies and briars writes #you're far from home fic

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rouge-fauna · 4 months ago

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I think you’re talking about these posts [here & here], I don’t know if there have been others.

I'm not gonna say what I did was right, you are correct I should probably just not respond to asks getting me to talk about other people. I will say for these two posts those people had already blocked me I’m pretty sure, so it’s kinda hard to talk directly to them in that case. And I was not doing so anonymously and had not blocked them so I wasn’t hiding what I was saying. I did not follow them, I am not part of the innitor community, and not that that makes it right but I do think it is kinda different. Though you make a good point, perhaps we should stop this pattern of responding to asks about other blogs and such.

Still, the biggest thing to me I realized, back in elementary school when I first dealt with this, was that honestly all the time we talk about people behind their back. Talking about people when they aren’t always in the room is kinda just inevitable and part of socializing, however I think the important part is how you are talking about other people. It’s when you are insulting them, talking negatively about them to people they know, spreading false information and so on that it becomes not okay. Hopefully that makes sense.

In these cases I merely focused on the lore. I didn’t insult them or talk shit about them, as a person, as a blog or say their takes were stupid or they are stupid or speculate about their trauma or mental history. I just talked about reasons why I disagreed, or saw things differently and why we might see things differently. They were also not the only ones I saw to say similar things so I think in my mind I was making more of a general discussion, not trying to target them specifically. I didn’t post beyond that about them. But you are right, regardless it was probably not the right way to go about things.

But just to be clear, if I am a hypocrite it is not my intention. I haven’t vague blogged anyone or meant to vague reblog anyone. I think this week is pretty much the first time I’ve ever been not naming, passive aggressively talking about blogs, and even then I’m not trying to insult them, trying to cancel them. I’m just expressing that before you go off about how I’m stupid and unable to have a discussion about it, the very least you could’ve done was give me an opportunity to try.

#I’m not going to say I’ve handled everything like I should. I feel like usually I try to tag people and include context and pictures so I’m #not trying to be passive aggressive or talk about people behind their back.#I’m not hiding. I haven’t even used the Tommy neg tag and I feel like I always leave things open and - here is my opinion it is not the onl #one or maybe even the right one or - here are my thoughts at the moment of 1am or here is the lore…#I made my alt name and image very clearly still me. I’m not trying to be sneaky or backhanded or insult You for an opinion or call You dumb #and if I have insulted or hurt someone I’m genuinely sorry and didn’t mean to. Something I try to reiterate #as my tone can come across as aggressive #crumbs #hello there #but see how we can have a discussion of -hey flora maybe you shouldn’t be talking about other people without tagging them or going directly #to them and I can be like - yea you have a good point. your right that’s not being respectful to them.#clarifications #thats what I'm really asking for. the respect to see if I am going to be as bad as you assume. give me the benefit of the doubt #I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know all the internet etiquette or slang. this is my first time participating in a fandom #my first time on tumblr. on ao3. the first time I've gotten actual like interactions on things beside like graduation pics #not to plead ignorance as innocence #but I know I don't know everything & am not claiming to thats why I try to leave safe space for people to come respectfully to me #after feeling aggressive backlash and seeing it happen I have since tried to make sure I try to respect other people's opinions #now that doesnt mean that if you just leave an anon in my inbox Im going to respond to it if I have already talked about it.#- okay you disagree. I stated my opinion you've stated yours and if there is no further point to discuss then I might not respond #though I did make this blog to perhaps respond more to things like that since you did take the time to say it the least I can do it respond #(and I cant just send you a direct message if you go anon <3)#uh... anyways didn't mean to leave an essay here oops... hope im making sense to someone :)

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shorties-unite · 2 years ago

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If Taylor Swift can go through a long term breakup and come out of the other end not only thriving with a tour that is likely going to be one of the most successful and memorable in history but also a whirlwind relationship with cool British sexy man stereotype himself Matty Healy, then surely I can have a conversation with an average guy about how I fall in love easily and like him and want to “get to know him” but also protect myself because he doesn’t seem like he’s in it for a legitimate relationship.

Hey Siri play Sincerity is Scary by the 1975

#meganmakesapost #mk #matty healy #taylor swift #in an alternative world this post is about how I also deserve a man who will fly for 19 hours straight after finishing his own tour just to #see me perform #because I do #we all want that kind of love #but also I just want to put myself back in the proper world of dating #and also put my money where my mouth is in terms of the whole radical honesty thing #and also just maybe hook up with someone who I’ve thought was pretty cute for literally years #anyways I’m getting ahead of myself #also the swifties are going to hate this post #but like #all I’m trying to say is that maybe I should be open to taking more risks?#as long as I stick to protecting myself and my standards and boundaries and all that shit

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kyri45 · 4 months ago

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Aww! I'm picturing the next night after Wukong made the bed bigger. Wukong stays up late hoping Mac will join him but losing hope. Mac sneaking in at 1AM hoping Wukong is already asleep and won't notice him cuddling up to him. Wukong still awake and trying his very best to hide it so Mac doesn't get spooked and runs.

He’s the little spoon (and also his warm stove)

Shadowpeach Bio Parent AU (PREV / FIRST / NEXT

Honestly I just needed a context for the next update and this anon vision was like sent from heaven. This is the calm before the mini-storm. Many frequently asks will be answered in the next 3/4 updates.

I see a lot of people asking the gays to kiss. I more than agree and I’m the first who would want that. I also must say though that, at this point, forgiveness is still in the process. Trust, at least from my ace perspective, should be earned gradually and with both sides not enforcing the other, but letting the door open so the other can take their time to step forward.

Maybe I’m just talking aimeless, but all of this to say that we need more platonic /queerplatonic cuddling in general media.

#i made him wait longer cause angst™️#my art #kyri45 #comic #lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk fanart #lego monkie kid fanart #lmk season 5 #lmk shadowpeach #lmk monkey king #lmk sun wukong #lmk macaque #shadowpeach #shadowpeach bio parents au #lmk six eared macaque #liu er mihou

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wildwestdean · 6 months ago

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impetus

summary: dean gets targeted by a witch while working a case, and she curses him to yearn for what he secretly loves the most. it seems to have no effect, until it's pointed out that he can't seem to stay away from you - but what happens when he tries to fight it?

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

word count: 9.4k+

warnings: violence, hunting/working a case, mentions of murders, gore, evil witches, reader and dean get attacked, swearing, alcohol consumption, angst, fluff, yearning, mutual pining, idiots oblivious to their own feelings, magical curses, hallucinations, nightmares, depictions of death, depictions of drowning, fighting/arguments, heart-to-heart, confessions, use of [y/n], nicknames, mature themes

“Right, well, this isn’t creepy at all,” Dean declared, rolling Baby to a stop before switching into park.

You both sat quietly as you surveyed the desolate building, a feeling of unease washing over you.

“Maybe we should wait for Sam,” you suggested half heartedly. He was only down at the Sheriff’s station, and it wouldn’t even take ten minutes for him to meet you here, but you knew Dean wouldn’t wait.

“No,” he said, confirming what you already knew. “Someone else is missing and this is our best lead so far. If you don’t want to go in, that's fine, but I am.”

“I’m not letting you go in there alone,” you snapped, sitting up as tall as you could despite the pit forming in your stomach.

“Awe, you worried about me, sweetheart?” Dean teased, turning to look at you with a grin; one that was effectively wiped from his face when he saw the look in your eyes. “Hey, what is it?”

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, shrugging lightly. “I just have a bad feeling about this.”

“Bad feeling like what?” he questioned, his brows knitting together.

You thought about it, trying to pinpoint what it was you felt, but you couldn’t. “Just…. don’t go wandering off,” you ended up saying- begging, more like.

“Alright,” he agreed easily. “We stick together, and we’ll be in and out before you know it.”

“Right,” you confirmed with a nod. “Let’s gear up.”

You exited the car as quietly as you could, making your way around to the back as Dean unlocked the trunk and propped up the panel to the arsenal.

“You and Sam better be right about this,” he muttered, digging out the box of witch-killing bullets.

Your mind raced through the details of the case: An exsanguinated priest, a dead nun with her tongue ripped out, the president of the high schools abstinence club found without a heart, and various livestock missing various body parts - if this wasn’t a witch, you were a little scared to find out what else it could be.

“We have to be,” you breathed out, loading your ammo.

“Can you do me a favour and sound at least a little confident?” he asked playfully, lightly nudging your arm with his own before tucking his gun into his jeans.

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, holstering your own gun.

“It’s alright,” he said earnestly, handing you your favourite knife (one that used to be his before you claimed it as your own). “I’m just not used to seeing you so spooked.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle quietly as you took the knife from him. “I’m not used to feeling spooked.”

“We’ll make it through,” he consoled, closing up the trunk. “Just like we always do.”

“Just like we always do,” you echoed with a nod, following him towards the building.

The overgrowth brushed your calves as you made your way up the walk, and after a quick survey of the facade, Dean swung the door open after picking the lock.

“Wait!” you hissed, stopping him before he entered. “Sam does know we’re here, right?”

You watched as his shoulders shrugged before stepping inside. “Probably.”

“That’s… comforting,” you sighed, following him across the threshold.

The two of you did a quick preliminary sweep of the main level before making your way to the top floor, finding nothing of significance in any of the rooms. Making your way back down, you both stopped dead in your tracks as you heard a clatter come from beneath you.

“Of course there’s a basement,” Dean whispered. “Why wouldn’t the creepy ass witch be in the creepy ass basement of this creepy ass house?”

“How do you know she’s a creepy ass witch?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. “Maybe she’s hot. Or a guy. Or both.”

He faltered over his response, considering your words for a moment. “I’ll bet whatever tab you drink up at the bar once we end up ganking this bitch. She’s creepy.”

“Deal,” you grinned, wiggling your eyebrows at him.

You both chuckled, before another noise from the basement drew your attention back to the case at hand. Dean awkwardly cleared his throat before leading the way in search of the basement entrance, using the occasional noise as guidance.

“God, I hate witches,” he muttered to himself, slapping away cobwebs as he descended the stairs.

“I don’t think the witch put those webs there,” you said with a snicker.

“No, they’re just the one turning this rotting corpse of a house into a lair of evil and despair,” he hissed.

You rolled your eyes in response, unable to stop the fond smile from creeping onto your face as you made it to the bottom of the stairs.

A muffled cry caught your attention, and Dean spared you a quick look before running in the direction it came from, you hot on his heels. Coming up on a corner, he slowed to a halt and peered around the wall.

“It looks clear,” he decided after a moment. “Just be careful,” he added, continuing on his way.

Upon turning the corner, you were enveloped in the warm glow of candles, which would have been nice, had it not been for the rest of the scene. An altar lay at the far wall, burning candelabras stood in each corner of the room, and the very person you were searching for was bound and gagged in a chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by a circle of candles.

Dean cursed and muttered under his breath, surveying the room. “I’ll get him, you get the altar.“

“Okay,” you agreed, running across the room. Once you reached the altar, you couldn’t help but stare in shock and disgust for a moment as you took in the sight; all the missing body parts seemingly staring back at you from where they lay soaked in blood. It took Dean shouting your name from across the room to bring you back to your senses, and you quickly upturned the altar as Dean instructed the now freed man to get out as fast as possible and wait by the car. As soon as the contents of the altar were scattered, an ear piercing shriek came from behind you.

Quickly whirling on your heels, you were greeted by a cloaked figure, who seemingly came out of nowhere.

“What have you done?” she screamed, dropping her hood as she stared daggers into you.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you feigned innocence. “Did I ruin your big plan?”

“You ruined everything!” she shrieked, slowly approaching you. “You’ll pay for this!”

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Dean called out from behind her.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?! How many centuries passed by until the circumstances were right? I had it! I had it all! I was one spell away from seeing my love again!” she continued to scream, advancing further towards you as she ignored Dean.

“Back off, Grunhilda!” Dean roared from behind her, drawing his gun.

“No!” she shrieked, barely lifting her hand in order to easily swing his gun away - and stop you from drawing your own. “You stupid little gnat. You think you can just come in here and mess with things you don’t understand? You think you can take this from me?!”

Her shouting was drowned out by the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears, your entire body feeling like it was on fire as your throat constricted, the air leaving your lungs and not returning. You felt your bones cracking beneath your skin as your feet left the floor, and you shared a look of terror with Dean before black began to cloud the edges of your vision.

Without an effective weapon handy, Dean rushed the witch and tackled her to the floor, sending you crashing down. You met the concrete with a thud, and it knocked the rest of your senses out of you. You laid there for who knows how long, fighting off the waves of pain and nausea, willing yourself to move as you listened to the struggle happening a few feet away from you.

By the time you managed to prop yourself up, Dean was pinned down as she advanced on him, and you desperately looked around for either of your guns.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” you heard her ask, menace laced deep in her words. “To want something so desperately, to feel that desire within your very soul?!”

Dean struggled against her hold as you struggled to pick yourself up, to at least crawl to a weapon if you had to.

“Well you will,” she sneered, cackling to herself. “You’ll know how it feels. To have what you want the very most to be so close to you, to have it at the edge of your fingertips, only to never be able to grasp it! For it to be the only thing you can think about!”

“Shut the hell up,” Dean seethed through clenched teeth, glaring at her.

She only stepped closer towards him, cackling to herself. “Your strongest yearning, hidden deep in your heart, will nevermore be yours to part. Be it with sun or with rain, that which brings joy won’t be without pain.”

“You finished yet?” Dean interrupted, before he had the wind knocked out of him, rendering him silent.

Moving as quickly as you could without being noticed, you closed in on Dean’s pistol while the witch carried on.

“Whatever you crave you cannot say, yet you’ll seek it out be it night or day,” she continued, hovering over him. “Consider yourself lucky, you useless toad. I’ve had countless lifetimes yearning to see my love again, and I’ll spend lifetimes more. At least you only have this one measly little life to yearn for what you want.”

Grasping the gun in your hands, you carefully rose to your feet and steadied yourself to take aim. “Man, you really do talk too much,” you huffed out.

The shot rang out just as she turned towards you, though it was silenced by a roaring wind that accompanied a bright blue light. Within seconds, everything was calm and quiet again.

Fighting every urge you had to collapse back onto the floor, you trudged your way over to Dean in an attempt to help him up.

“God, I told you she’d be creepy,” he gasped out, groaning as he stood.

“You want a prize?” you asked incredulously, staring up at him.

“I wanna get the hell out of here,” he said, ushering you to take leave. “Then I want those drinks you owe me.”

After what felt like another entire day, you and Dean had dropped the victim off at the hospital, patched each other up, cleaned out the basement, showered, and filled Sam in on everything that went down.

“So… she cursed you?” Sam asked curiously, trying to understand.

“I dunno. She tried to, I guess,” Dean replied nonchalantly. “But [Y/N/N] put a bullet in her. No witch, no curse, right?”

Sam shared a brief look with you, before turning back to Dean. “Yeah, but… there was no body.”

“What?” Dean asked gruffly.

“The witch,” you said. “I shot, but she vanished. What if she isn’t dead?”

“Well, I feel normal, so I’m gonna say she’s dead,” Dean declared with a shrug. “Now, can we head to the bar? I’m in desperate need of a drink… or twelve.”

Without waiting for an answer, he quickly stood and donned his jacket before looking back at you and Sam. “You guys coming or what?”

“Oh, do I have a choice to not go?” you asked playfully.

“You can stay if you want, but your wallet comes with me,” he replied, smiling innocently.

“Alright, let’s go,” you said with a dramatic sigh, grabbing your own jacket.

Not long after, the three of you were sliding into a booth in the nearest dive, enjoying the lack of people; you guys seriously needed to decompress.

“Alright, I’ll be back,” you declared, hopping out of the booth to get the first round of drinks.

“Make sure you get a tab started!” Dean jokingly called after you.

You flipped him off in response, taking a seat at the bar after placing your order. While you waited, Sam watched as Dean grew more restless in his seat.

“Dude, what the hell is your problem?” he finally asked, eyeing Dean as he fidgeted anxiously.

“What?” Dean asked cluelessly, glancing around the bar. “I’m thirsty. She’s been gone for what, like, half an hour?”

“It’s… barely been two minutes, Dean,” Sam informed him with an amused grin.

“Yeah, well. I want my beer,” Dean mumbled, tapping his fingers on the table as he glanced around once more. “I’m gonna go see if she needs help.”

Before Sam could even reply, Dean was already halfway across the bar, meeting you just as you got your final drink.

“Need a hand?” Dean asked cheerfully, his sudden appearance making you jump. “Sorry,” he added with a snicker.

“Dick,” you muttered with a laugh, hopping down from the stool. “Here you go,” you added, handing him his beer.

“Awesome,” he beamed, taking the bottle from your outstretched hand.

He followed closely as you made your way back to the table, handing Sam his drink before sliding into the booth; Dean followed suit, leaving you nestled in between him and the wall.

The three of you had a few more rounds before Dean slipped away, determined to teach a lesson to the arrogant ass harassing players around the pool tables - just because you didn’t need to hustle people anymore didn’t mean it wasn’t still fun every now and then. You watched him fondly, laughing quietly to yourself as you watched him fumble around with his cue before making a terrible break. Harder than it looks, you could just hear him say.

Your attention was turned back to Sam when he cleared his throat, and you were met with his questioning gaze. “Does he seem weird to you?”

“Weird how?” you asked, face scrunched in confusion.

“I don’t know, strange,” he replied with a small shrug. “Like- like antsy or something.”

Your eyes flit back across the room to Dean, who was very much in his element as he upped his ante, before focusing on Sam again. “I haven’t noticed anything, Sammy.”

He sighed in resignation, seeming to already know that would be your response. “It’s probably nothing, just forget I said anything,” he replied, shaking his head dismissively before finishing his drink.

“If you say so,” you muttered quietly, sipping your drink as you cast a worried gaze across the bar, getting lost in thought.

By the time you each finished another round of drinks, Dean made his way back over to the table; much to the surprise of you and Sam.

“Done so soon?” Sam questioned, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, sliding back into the seat beside you.

“But you only played one round,” you said quizzically.

“So?” Dean wondered, gulping down the rest of his beer.

“So, you usually play a lot more than that,” Sam pitched in, shifting his gaze between you and Dean.

Dean sighed, his bottle clanging on the table as he set it back down. “Why am I getting the third degree here? I played a game, he learned his lesson, I got over it. End of story.”

“Okay, grouchy,” you snickered, ruffling his hair a little just because you knew he hated it. Except he really did love it when it was you doing it.

“Whatever, anyone want another round?” he asked with a huff, lightly swatting your hand away.

“No, I’m gonna call it a night,” you admitted, shifting to slip your jacket back on.

“Yeah, me too,” Sam declared, starting to stand from the table.

Dean stood as well, assumingly just to let you out. “Alright, let’s go.”

You and Sam both stilled in your movements at his response, sharing a shocked look with each other. “You’re… coming with us?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked with a scoff, shrugging his jacket on as he looked questioningly between you and Sam. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you guys?”

“We just didn’t expect you to call it a night so early,” Sam explained helplessly. “Gettin’ old, huh?” he added, trying to lighten the mood a little.

“Yeah, I mean, you barely even wracked up a tab!” you declared with a laugh, before grinning mischievously. “Drinks just don’t agree with you anymore, do they, old man?”

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes, fixing his collar just to busy his hands. “Okay, alright, one more wisecrack and I’m leaving you both here.”

Despite the finality in his tone, the amusement dancing in his eyes gave him away - as did the hand he extended to you to help you slide from the booth.

“Whatever you say, grandpa,” Sam teased, patting Dean on the shoulder before walking away with laughter in his wake. “I’ll be outside!”

You chuckled in response, and the stern look Dean gave you only made you laugh even more. “Yeah, yeah. Hurry it up, chuckles,” he chided, wiggling his fingers at you. He surveyed the bar as you finally took hold of his hand, sliding out from your seat with ease and standing before him. “Ready?” he asked, gaze turning back to look down at you.

“Yeah, I just gotta go pay,” you replied, nodding your head in the direction of the bar counter.

“Alright,” he said with a nod. He gave your hand a squeeze, though instead of letting go like he normally would, he held it firmly as he led the way across the bar.

You followed along quietly, trying your hardest to not read too much into it. Though when you stood before the bar and he had yet to release your hand, you gave him a puzzled look. “Did you wanna go get the car?” you asked hesitantly.

He looked confused for a moment, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on either, before he cleared his throat with a curt nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll meet you out there. Don’t take too long,” he rushed, giving your hand another fleeting squeeze before shuffling away.

Strange, you thought briefly, before shifting your attention to the bartender before you.

As you paid the tab, Dean settled into the driver's seat of Baby, and Sam watched him impatiently drum his fingers against the wheel as he hummed along to whatever song was in his head; and he couldn’t help but snort a laugh as Dean checked his watch one, two, three times since getting into the car.

“You’re ridiculous,” Sam chided with a laugh, shaking his head.

“What?” Dean inquired, annoyance clear in his voice.

“Dude, please tell me you see what’s going on,” Sam pleaded.

Dean widened his eyes in confusion, glancing around the near empty parking lot before looking back at his brother. “What’s going on?”

Before Sam could reply, their attention was caught by the opening of the bar’s door when you emerged from the building, a grin forming on your face as you caught sight of them waiting in the car.

Dean matched your grin, quickly reaching for the door handle and scrambling outside. “There she is!” he greeted happily, opening the back door for you.

“Fucking idiot,” Sam muttered to himself, staring out the window with an amused grin as you and Dean settled into your seats.

The three of you made it back in no time, and, having to settle for a single bed when first getting to town over driving for another who-knows-how-long just to find another motel, shuffled out of the car and into your shared room with heavy feet.

“Finally,” Dean muttered with relief, shutting the door behind him as Sam took a seat. “Whoa, whoa,” Dean barked, holding up a hand. “What’re you doing?”

Sam froze just as he sat on the bed, staring up at his brother. “What?”

“That’s my bed,” Dean declared with a huff.

“No, it’s not,” Sam answered with a scoff. “It’s your turn for the couch.”

“Dude, I’m not sleeping on the pull-out!” Dean declared with finality.

“What, are you kidding me?” Sam asked incredulously. “You got the bed last time!”

“Yeah, and I just got ragdolled by a crazy ass witch, I deserve a mattress!” Dean argued, stepping towards the bed. “Get up.”

“No,” Sam argued stubbornly, relaxing further atop the sheets.

“You guys are ridiculous,” you said with an exasperated sigh, walking across the room. “I’ll take the couch.”

“Not a chance,” Dean denied, not even sparing you a glance.

“What, why?” you asked in confusion.

“First of all, I’m not sharing with Sam,” Dean replied, turning to look at you. “Second, you got it worse than I did. I’m not shoving you on a pull-out.”

“Oh, please-” you started to argue, before he cut you off.

“I patched you up myself, [Y/N]. Don’t bother trying to lie to me,” he cautioned.

You opened your mouth to argue once more, but the look on his face stopped you short. “Whatever,” you mumbled, turning towards the bathroom. “I’m getting ready for bed. Figure this out before I get back so I can actually go to bed, please.”

The bickering resumed as you quickly retreated, shutting the bathroom door on Dean’s disgruntled declaration of ��best two out of three.”

By the time you re-entered the room, you were met with silence. Surveying the surroundings, you found Sam digging through his toiletries bag while sitting in his original spot on the bed. Your gaze snapped over to the couch, where Dean sat looking like a kicked puppy.

“You went with scissors again, didn’t you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

He met your gaze as Sam snickered behind you, causing his face to sour even more. “Shut up,” he mumbled before standing, bristling past you with slumped shoulders.

You chuckled quietly to yourself and grabbed the spare sheets, quickly making up the pull-out for Dean while he got ready; hopefully he’d be a little less cranky about it all if this was at least already done.

Once finished, you made your way over to the bed and curled up under the covers. After saying a quick goodnight to Sam, you were asleep before Dean even left the bathroom.

Fear gnawed at Dean, his body frozen in place as a cold spread through him, panic clinging to him like ice. He tried to call out to you, but all that left him was a strangled breath as his lungs seized up. He watched as the waves carried you away, further and further from where he stood. By the time his legs finally moved to carry him closer to shore, his feet were so heavy it was as though he was wading through quicksand.

“No, no, no,” he pleaded quietly, watching as the waters edge never grew near no matter how far he ran.

Your voice cried out to him, surging him forward even faster as you drifted ever outwards, terror seeping deeper into his bones with every futile step he took.

He couldn’t reach you.

He couldn’t save you.

The realisation that you were gone caused his world to come crashing down around him as he fell to his knees. A roaring filled his ears, and he didn’t know whether it was the irascible water that held you captive or the blood racing from his pounding heart.

As he stayed there - watching the crashing waves for any sign of you, listening for a call of his name, unwilling to move for fear he’d miss you - the water suddenly crept up around him, as if to mock him.

The sky darkened as he let out an anguished cry, his voice blending in with the storm beginning to brew around him. Yet despite the deafening howls, he heard it clear as day: your voice, calling out to him.

“Dean.”

The world stilled around him once more, your voice ringing out in a whisper as gentle as the wind.

“Dean.”

He stood, frantically searching the horizon for you. He tried to call out, yet his voice still never came.

“Dean!” you called out, voice booming like thunder from above.

A small hand gripped his own, pulling him so forcefully he was yanked off his feet. He let out a startled cry, a spark of lightning igniting so brightly before him that he screwed his eyes shut.

“God dammit, Dean!”

Another force shook him, and when we reopened his eyes, he was met with the suspiciously stained ceiling of the motel room. He bolted upright, heart hammering against his chest as he looked around. He caught your worried gaze as he wiped the sweat from his brow, trying to steady his breathing as you leaned in closer.

“[Y/N?]” he gasped out, pushing himself further upright.

His hand reached out automatically, fingers tentatively brushing against your cheek as if to evaluate your solidity. When he was satisfied that you wouldn’t evaporate, he surged forward to wrap you in a desperate embrace; the icy grip of terror finally starting to melt.

“It was just a nightmare, De,” you soothed quietly, tracing a hand along his back. “Everything’s alright.”

“Yeah,” he said tightly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat as he let you go. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m alright, get back to bed.”

“You’re okay?” you questioned, concern laced in both your face and tone of voice.

“I’m okay,” he affirmed with a nod, casting his gaze aside so you wouldn’t see the panic still swirling within him.

“Okay,” you said softly, placing a gentle kiss upon the crown of his head before standing from the edge of the pull-out.

Dean got up after you to grab a glass of water, his heart jumping in his chest as he remembered the sight of you being ripped away by the current.

“Just a nightmare,” he reminded himself under his breath. “Just a nightmare.”

Not having slept another wink after his nightmare, Dean was unsurprisingly the first one up the next morning. Taking it upon himself to get breakfast for the three of you, he found himself at the nearest diner waiting for his order.

Drumming his fingers impatiently on the sticky linoleum counter, a burning desire to call you began to build within him. Knowing you were likely still sleeping, he decided to busy himself with a stupid game you downloaded on his phone.

Yet the urge to reach out to you grew tenfold as he sat there, a sinking feeling that it might mean you were in danger starting to take hold of him. Just as his mind began to swirl with questions of what the hell was going on with him, he heard your voice calling his name.

His head snapped up, expecting to see you sliding onto the stool beside him, ready to give you hell for walking here in search of him all by yourself in a random town. He figured you must’ve known he was here, and it wouldn’t have been a far walk from the motel, but it was still stupid.

Though the words died on his tongue as he realized you weren’t there, and that familiar feeling of dread trickled through him after scanning the diner and not finding you anywhere.

Another voice called out, this time the waitress, announcing that his order was ready. He met her smiling face with nothing but confusion, her smile faltering for a moment.

“Everything alright?” she asked hesitantly.

“Huh?” he asked, before snapping out of his daze. “Oh, yeah. Just a little too early for me. Thanks-” he paused, squinting to read her name tag. “Thanks, Edna,” he charmed, flashing his signature grin as he gathered the order.

“Anytime, sugar,” she charmed, her smile perking back up as she sent him a wink.

With one last - albeit awkward - grin sent her way, Dean quickly left the diner; already feeling lighter for knowing he’d be back at the motel soon. His grin only grew when he glanced across the street and caught a glimpse of you staring back at him, proving that he wasn’t crazy and you really did come to meet him.

He took a step forward, intending to call out to you, when a truck drove by and blocked you from sight. The grin was wiped from his face and the coffee tray nearly slipped out of his hand when he noticed you had completely disappeared in its wake.

Fearing the worst once more, he scrambled into the car and quickly called you, firing Baby to life as the line rang.

“Hey,” you answered with a stifled yawn. “Please tell me you’re getting breakfast. And coffee.”

“Yeah, I-” he faltered in his response, having to let out a breath of relief as he realized you were safe and sound. “I’ll be back in a few, you and Sammy still there?”

“Where else would we be?” you asked with a giggle.

While the sound would normally bring a smile to his face, your words only caused a frown to appear. “You only waking up now?”

“Don’t judge me,” you teased. “It’s only… ten after seven, I barely slept in.”

“Just not used to being up before you,” he lied, knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel.

“Miracles really do happen,” you joked with a laugh. “You sound weird, is everything okay?” you added, worry tinting your voice.

“Hm?” he wondered, not processing your question right away. “Oh, no- yeah, I-... just didn’t get much sleep.”

“Right,” you said, teetering on the edge of believing him or not.

“Really, I’m good,” he assured, sensing your apprehension. “I just gotta catch some z’s and I’ll be good as new.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few then,” you relented. “Drive safe,” you added as an afterthought before hanging up.

The line went dead as he stopped at a red light, his stomach churning as he stared at his reflection in the rearview.

“Just need some sleep,” he assured himself.

“Dude, would you quit it with the pacing?” Sam snapped, setting his book down on the table for sheer lack of concentration.

Dean stopped just long enough to stare daggers at his brother before marching down the library once more. “She’s been gone too long.”

“She’s been gone an hour,” Sam informed, hands running over his face in exasperation.

“Exactly,” Dean replied, pointing a finger at Sam in acknowledgment. “Something must’ve happened.”

“Dude, she’s at the grocery store. With Jack. What the hell could possibly happen?”

“I don’t know!” Dean exclaimed, arms flailing as he whirled to face Sam. “Something must’ve! She hasn’t answered my last text and it’s been-” he paused, pulling out his phone to brandish the screen. “Seven minutes!”

“Oh, my god,” Sam groaned, tossing his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I can’t deal with this anymore.”

“What are you talking about? Aren’t you worried?” Dean asked gruffly.

“No, Dean, I’m not worried! There’s no reason to be worried!” Sam proclaimed.

“No reason? She could be dead!” Dean barked, his face taking on an expression of disbelief.

Sam sighed as he leaned over the table, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, let me ask you this: why, exactly, do you think she’s dead?”

“Oh, come on, Sam!” Dean grumbled. “We don’t exactly live cookie cutter lives here, you know. One minute she’s returning the shopping cart, and the next she’s got a damn knife in her back!”

“Dean,” Sam soothed. “You know as well as I do that’s a load of crap.”

“No,” Dean argued, shaking his head. “We don’t know that. We don’t know anything, you know why?”

Before Sam could even respond, Dean waved his phone around before dropping it on the table. “Because she won’t answer her damn phone!”

“Okay, this is actually ridiculous,” Sam declared. “How can you seriously not see what’s been happening to you?”

“Knock it off, Sam,” Dean muttered, waving a hand dismissively as he began pacing again. “I’m fucking fine.”

“You’re fine,” Sam repeated incredulously. “You’re friggin’ cursed, Dean!”

“I’m not cursed!” shouted Dean. “Would you quit it with that crap?”

“Right, because nothing’s been going on with you lately, right?”

“Right!” Dean agreed with a huff.

“You haven’t been, say, I don’t know…. not sleeping? Feeling stir crazy? Getting paranoid?”

“Sam-”

“No, I’m serious, Dean! How can you not see this?”

“Because I’m fine!” Dean argued, stalling his movements to gather his phone from the table.

After a few moments of silence, Dean rolled his eyes and found himself once more walking the length of the library. “Okay, maybe I’ve been feeling a little weird lately, but I’ve just been tired - and you know what? I survived worse. So yeah, I’m fine!”

“Right,” Sam said sceptically. “And have you… noticed when it is that you feel… weird?”

“I don’t know!” Dean announced frustratedly.

“Dean,” Sam chastised.

“What?”

“You’ve been feeling like this all week, and it’s only getting worse. You’ve been like this since that witch cursed you - and don’t say she didn’t. Use your fucking head, Dean! You’re cursed!”

Dean’s jaw clenched as he tried to remain calm, taking a moment to formulate his response. “You’re insane,” he finally declared.

“I think you’re the insane one,” Sam contested. “You were cursed to yearn for something, Dean. Only in this case… it’s someone.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“C’mon, Dean!” Sam pleaded with a laugh. “The only time you get like this is when you’re more than ten feet away from [Y/N].”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean muttered dismissively.

“You’ve checked your phone another five times since you picked it up.”

“So?” Dean questioned, failing to resist the urge to check it once more. “I’m worried, not cursed.”

“You’re worried because you’re cursed!” Sam argued.

“I’m worried because I lo-” Dean quickly fell silent as the words died on his tongue, his brain firing into total overdrive as he laughed nervously. “I care, that’s why I’m worried.”

Sam stared at his brother in total disbelief, trying to find a way to make him realize what was going on- or, most likely, acknowledge what was going on.

Yet before the conversation could go any further, the bunker door screeched open and the sound of your laughter fleeted down to greet Dean, effectively turning his scowl into an affectionate grin.

“Hope you remembered my pie!” he called out, marching to meet you at the foot of the stairs without so much as a glance back in Sam’s direction.

“When have I ever forgotten?” you asked, feigning offence as you held out the bag which contained his pie.

“Well,” he started, taking the bag from you. “There was that time in Redford-”

“Hey!” you interrupted with a laugh. “I didn’t forget, they were out!”

“See, I still don’t believe you,” he teased, heading for the kitchen.

“Believe whatever you want, Dean,” you replied playfully.

“I’m still waiting for it, you know. You should get me two next time,” he joked, though he was partly serious.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice tentatively called out.

“Yeah?” Dean replied hotly, keeping his back to Sam as he went to grab a beer from the fridge.

“Who, uh… who the hell are you talking to?” he asked carefully, surveying the empty kitchen.

“Hilarious, Sam,” he said dryly, shutting the fridge. “I’m talking to-”

His mouth ran dry as he turned around, being met with just his brother, who was staring with concern from the doorway.

“[Y/N],” Dean finished weakly.

“Her and Jack aren’t back yet, Dean,” Sam said carefully, as though talking to a lost child.

“Yes, they are. They got back, she gave me my pie, we came in here,” Dean said fiercely, his confidence shattering when he went to gesture at the pie he set down moments earlier and found it to be gone.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Sam suggested, not knowing what to do.

“I’m fine!” Dean shouted, hovering over the counter. “I’m fine,” he repeated, moreso to himself than anything.

“Okay, look, how about I try calling [Y/N], okay?” Sam offered, hesitantly walking further into the kitchen. “See when they’ll be back.”

“They are back!” Dean barked, glaring at Sam. “She was just in here!”

Sam didn’t know what to say, the fear and concern for his brother crashing down on him.

“She was just in here,” Dean repeated shakily, meeting Sam’s gaze with confusion.

“Dean,” Sam started to say, before the familiar tone of your ringtone came from Dean’s phone, cutting through the air like a knife.

Dean pulled the phone from his pocket, clearing his throat before answering. “Yeah?”

“Dean, thank god,” you cheered, sighing in relief. “Listen, we came out to a flat tire and I don’t have a spare because I forgot to fucking replace it and there are too many people around for Jack to, you know, try fixing it,” you rambled anxiously. “Can you please come help?”

“You’re still at the store?” Dean clarified, looking up at Sam with frightened eyes.

“Yeah, we’re stuck in the parking lot,” you told him breezily.

“Okay,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Alright, I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks, De!” you said happily, ending the call.

Dean stood there for a few moments staring down at his unopened bottle of beer on the counter, trying to gather his thoughts, before finally lifting his gaze to Sam.

“I’ll, uh…. I’ll be back,” he told him, not waiting for a response before trudging out of the kitchen.

You found yourself yet again rushing down the hall to Dean’s room, his muffled yells waking you in the dead of night once more.

He uttered your name as you shut the door behind you, and though it took you by surprise the very first time it happened - nearly two weeks ago, now - it was something you’ve almost come to expect. It was killing you, watching him go through this every night and not being able to fix it. You would sit with him, find ways to gently rouse him from his terror filled slumber and comfort him when he woke, but it never seemed like enough; he deserved more.

At first you didn’t think there was too much going on, figuring his shift in behaviour was just due to his lack of sleep. You didn’t believe Sam when he talked to you about it; Dean may have been acting a little more strange than usual, but it didn’t raise any red flags.

It wasn’t until the morning following your conversation that you noticed it, cluing in and realising how different Dean had been; how long he’d been different. The excess text messages, the increase in phone calls, the insistence on you not going anywhere without him and his exuberant reactions to you getting back safe when you did go somewhere without him, his constant questioning on where you were or where you’ve just been. Something else was going on, and you could only think it really did come down to the witch you two encountered. So you and Sam called up Rowena, getting her take on the situation and figuring out what to do.

Her words now echoed through your head as you perched yourself on the edge of his bed: “Magic isn’t simple. Some curses are anchored by the witch, ending whenever they were to die. But others are more complex, rooted not in the witch but the object of the curse itself, not breaking until their purpose is carried out one way or another. Perhaps if you can figure out what it is Dean needs, you can break the curse yourselves. If this carries on for any longer… I’m worried it will kill him.”

While you ran your fingers through his hair, you decided right then and there that once he woke up, you wouldn’t leave without confronting him about it. You knew it would likely start a fight, and you felt a little guilty knowing you would all but interrogate him right after having another nightmare, but all that guilt flew right out the window the second Dean startled himself awake, the sight of his panic stricken face as he gasped for air nearly bringing you to tears; you’ve seen him like this too often as of late.

“It’s alright, Dean,” you soothed, reaching out to him. “I’m right here, everything’s fine.”

His gaze snapped to you, unable to hide the confusion and terror still coursing through him despite the relief he felt. “[Y/N]?”

“Yeah, De,” you cooed, running a hand across his shoulder blades. “We’re in your room, everyone’s okay.”

He let out a shuddering breath, hanging his head in his hands. “You’re okay,” he whispered softly. “You’re okay.”

You sat quietly with him for a few more minutes, patiently comforting him as best as you could while you thought of how to approach this conversation.

Clearing his throat, Dean was the first to speak again as he rose from the bed. “Sorry I woke you again.”

The dejection and shame laced in his voice tore your heart to bits, and you had to put up a good fight to keep your emotions in check. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“Yeah, I do,” he disagreed, trudging to his sink in the corner.

“Dean, please talk to me,” you pleaded, watching as he turned on the water.

You fell silent, waiting for him to deny you and brush you off again. You waited for him to say something, to do something, but all he did was stare at the running water.

“Dean?” you asked cautiously, slowly getting up from the bed yourself.

“I can’t save you,” he muttered quietly, his gaze on the faucet unyielding.

“What?” you asked curiously, not knowing what he meant.

“I can never save you,” he carried on. “You always just… slip away from me. Every time. It’s always the same.”

“What’s always the same?” you questioned, moving closer towards him.

“I try,” he muttered, seemingly oblivious to your presence. “I run, and I fight, and I try, but I can never reach you. I can never get to you.”

He seemed to snap out of his daze a little, moving to splash water over his face before turning off the tap. “You keep dying. I keep watching you die. I can’t watch you die again, [Y/N]. I can’t.”

“This is what your nightmares have been?” you wondered.

He fell silent again for a minute before meeting your gaze in the mirror. “Yeah.”

“It’s not real, Dean,” you told him softly.

“It’s real enough for me,” he muttered, turning to face you.

“And is this why you’ve been… acting differently towards me?” you asked hesitantly.

He averted his gaze, hanging his head as he considered your question. “I guess,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe, yeah. I don’t know.”

“Dean,” you scolded with a sigh, plopping back down on the bed. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?”

“Because everything’s fine!” he argued once again.

“I’m not stupid, Dean!” you challenged. “I know you. I can see something's eating you alive and it’s fucking killing me to witness it. So please, tell me what the hell is going on.”

“It’s just nightmares,” he lied, crossing his arms against his chest.

“It’s more than nightmares!” you cried. “You’re withering away into nothing, Dean! I mean let’s face it! You’re practically a zombie nowadays with how little sleep you get, you’ve been acting like a puppy with separation anxiety, and let’s not forget how completely erratic you’ve been.”

He glared at you, jaw clenching as he decided whether or not to entertain this conversation. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t slept lately,” he admitted starkly. “But like I keep saying, I’m fine.”

“Don’t you ever get tired of lying?” you sneered, glaring up at him.

He rolled his eyes, averting his gaze to anywhere else as he shook his head. “No, but I’m getting tired of having this conversation all the time.”

“Well too bad!” you yelled, abruptly standing from the bed. “Cause I’m tired of never having this conversation go anywhere! I’m tired of you brushing off the idea of you being cursed. I didn’t believe it at first either, but what the hell else could it be, Dean?”

“Oh, come on!” he barked, running a hand over his face. “I see Sam got his hooks into you.”

“Yeah, he did. And you need to listen to us.”

“No, I really don’t,” he scoffed, starting to head to the door.

“Even if it kills you?” you blurted out.

“It’s not gonna kill me!”

“God, look at you, Dean! It already is!” you argued, marching closer to him. “How would you feel if the situation were reversed?”

He let out a sigh, pausing with his hand on the doorknob before turning back to you. “What?”

“What if it were me going through all this instead of you? Would you let me get away with not even listening to you and Sam?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, staring at you in silence for so long you expected him to turn away again. Instead, he let out a deep breath as he took a seat, gesturing for you to carry on. “Five minutes.”

You almost went to argue before you thought better of it, knowing full well that if Dean never came around to the theory he would actually cut you off at the five minute mark. So, you did your best to recount the entire situation for him, reiterating what you, Sam, and Rowena had to say about it all in the hopes of getting through to him. By the time you finished, you knew it was well over five minutes, so you took Dean not interrupting you to be a good sign.

“Okay,” he finally said with a small nod. “Well, I listened. Can I go now?”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, anger and fear bubbling inside of you as you exploded. “God, you are unbelievable!”

“Well what do you want me to say?” he grumbled. “I just don’t believe that’s what’s going on.”

“How can you not believe it?” you asked incredulously. “It’s obvious!”

“Look, I said I don’t believe it, alright?” Dean snapped. “Why are you so hellbent on making this into some big fight? Just accept it.”

“No!” you seethed. “I can’t just accept the fact that this could kill you. Especially not when there’s a way we could end this.”

“No,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “You can’t fix this, [Y/N/N]. You just can’t.”

“I can!” you cried. “Just tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“You know what,” you scolded.

“This is so fucking ridiculous.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Why the hell do you care so much?” he questioned exasperatedly.

“Because I’m fucking terrified, Dean!” you exclaimed. “I’ve watched you grow more restless and anxious every day since the night we finished that case. I’ve seen the life drain from you more and more as sleep became nearly impossible for you. And I know it’s nearly impossible for you, because I have spent the last eleven nights sitting on that bed as you got terrorised by your own mind. I don’t care if you believe in this curse or not, Dean, because I do.”

Dean stood quietly, absorbing what you said as the severity of the situation began to dawn on him.

“I mean don’t you get it?” you asked sadly, cutting through the silence. “If something happens to you, if I lose you… that’s not something I can come back from.”

Dean fell silent once more, running a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath, pacing around the room a little as he turned everything over in his head.

“I’m scared, Dean,” you reiterated softly. “Please, just let us try to fix this.”

“There’s some things I should tell you, then,” he admitted quietly after a moment of silence, taking a seat on the bed.

“About what’s been happening?” you asked hopefully.

He nodded, staring down at his hands folded in his lap. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” you said, moving his desk chair to take a seat. “I’m listening.”

He took a bracing breath, taking a few minutes to build the courage to speak. “Well, you know I’ve been having nightmares.”

“I do,” you agreed quietly.

“It’s always the same one,” he admitted, keeping his gaze cast downwards. “I could never figure out why. It didn't make sense to me why it was always the same thing. So I finally talked to Sam about it, and he had a pretty good theory. But, you know me. I didn’t want to believe it because it came back down to that witch and this stupid fucking curse.”

He let out a bitter laugh, pausing long enough for you to speak up. “What did he have to say about it?”

“I tried telling myself I was fine,” he continued, ignoring your question. “I was fine, at first. At first it was just not sleeping well… but then other things started happening.”

“Other things like what?” you wondered quietly.

“Like my blood feeling like it’s on fucking fire,” he muttered, wiping at his face. “And my skin feeling like it-… like it’s being peeled off my goddamn bones, and my face feeling like it’s melting… and how I get this- this bubble inside my chest that feels like it’s either gonna burst or suffocate me and how it all only happens-” he stopped in his rambling, taking a deep breath before chuckling in disbelief. “God, it only happens when you’re not around, [Y/N].”

“I-... what do you mean?” you asked breathlessly.

“Oh, come on, [Y/N],” he said bitterly. “I know you’ve noticed. I text you more, I’m almost always calling you. I just- I get this… this unwavering panic inside me when you’re not around. I keep-... I swear to god I see you everywhere when you’re gone. I catch sight of you across the street, I smell your stupid shampoo when I’m alone, I hear your voice when no one’s there. I had an entire conversation with you and you weren’t even there,” he carried on, shaking his head as he briskly wiped away an angry tear. “God, I’m going fucking crazy,” he added with a manic chuckle.

“You’re not crazy, Dean,” you said gently.

“That night,” he started, staring at the wall across from him. “She was trying to get back someone she lost… someone she loved.”

“Right,” you agreed.

“They used to drown them, people they accused of being witches,” he continued slowly.

“Yeah, it was pretty common. Sink, and you were innocent. Float, and you were guilty,” you pitched in. “But… what does that have to do with this?”

“I think they were innocent,” he said simply. “Whoever she lost… I think that’s how she lost them.”

“Why do you think that?” you asked curiously.

Dean cleared his throat, staring pensively at his hands once more. “The nightmares. It’s always… you always drown. I keep-... I can never save you.”

“I don’t get-” you started to say, before he cut you off.

“It’s how she lost who she loves, [Y/N],” he said curtly. “It makes sense for me to see the one I love go the same way.”

“I-... what?” you asked, too stunned to think of anything else to say.

“The dreams, the hallucinations, the- the way I’ve been feeling… I didn’t want to admit it, I still don’t, but I can’t… I mean I can only ignore it for so long, right?” he said, scoffing quietly. “Especially with you and Sam breathing down my neck about it.”

“Ignore what, Dean?” you asked breathlessly, your heart hammering in your chest.

“You,” he muttered. “They way I feel about you. The way I’ve always felt about you.”

You didn’t dare respond, his words ringing in your ears as he fell silent, each of you lost in your own thoughts for a while.

“I’ve always known that I love you, [Y/N/N],” he carried on, slowly meeting your gaze with glistening eyes. “But this… this curse, this whatever it is. God, it’s just made it all so much worse, and I knew. I knew it was you that my entire being was screaming out for but I couldn’t… I couldn’t admit it.”

“Why not?” you asked shakily, feeling your tears starting to build.

“How could I put that on you?” he asked, a few rogue tears slipping down his face. “You said it yourself, this thing is killing me. It’s gonna kill me, unless I get what I want, and given that that’s you, I’m calling it game over.”

“No, Dean, it’s not,” you denied with a sniffle, cutting through your own stray tears. “You should’ve told me.”

“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, shrugging lightly as he looked back at his hands. “I told you now.”

“Dean,” you sighed, wiping your face as you stood from your seat. “Do you trust me?” you asked, walking towards him.

“Of course I do,” he said quickly, almost offended by the question.

“Okay, well, I’ll need you to trust me on this,” you replied, stopping just in front of where he sat.

“Okay,” he said with a huff.

“You gotta look at me, though,” you said, laughing softly.

Sighing dejectedly, he slowly lifted his head to meet your gaze, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips as he looked at you.

You smiled softly at him, gently taking his face in your hands before wordlessly bringing your lips down to meet his. At first, neither of you really knew what was happening, and just when you thought to pull away you felt his lips moving against your own. His hands gripped your waist to hold you in place a moment longer before you each pulled away, staring silently at each other as you processed what just happened.

“What, uh… what was that for?” Dean finally asked.

“Well, it was either that or slapping some sense into you,” you said playfully. “Which I almost think you still deserve, because I can’t believe you honestly think I don’t love you back.”

“What?” he asked, his grip on your waist loosening in shock before tightening once more.

“You’ve had me since the day we met, Dean,” you told him softly, carding your fingers through his hair.

“You actually…” he trailed off quietly, trying to focus his thoughts. “You actually love me, of all people?”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I do.”

“So I- well, I guess I could’ve saved a lot of trouble if I really did just tell you, huh?” he asked jokingly, laughing tightly.

“I’ll give you hell for it tomorrow,” you teased, half serious. “For now, how about we try getting you back to sleep?”

“Actually,” he said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I have a better idea involving this bed.”

You couldn’t help but snort a laugh, grinning fondly at him. “Oh, really?”

He grinned back, laughing with you before taking on a more sombre tone. “Do you trust me?”

“Always,” you said honestly.

“Good,” he replied with a grin, laughing heartily at the shriek you let out when he tossed you on the bed.

He stared down at you, a look you’ve never seen before painted on his face. “What?” you asked, giggling nervously.

“I love you,” he said earnestly, brushing a lock of hair away from your face.

“I love you, too,” you replied shyly, grinning softly.

He matched your grin, drinking you in a moment longer before crashing his lips upon yours once more.

When Dean woke the next morning, it didn’t take long for a grin to spread across his face as he quickly realized two things.

The first thing being that you, the love of his life, still remained tangled up in both his arms and the sheets, sleeping peacefully atop his chest.

The second being that, for the first time in a total of thirteen days, he was able to sleep without being haunted by his nightmares.

He felt you stir, and his grin widened as you nestled in closer, tightening your grip on him as you slept. He planted a kiss against your temple, pulling you in close as he blissfully settled in for another peaceful rest.

Maybe witches aren’t so bad.

tagging: @roseblue373

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arts-and-drafts · 5 months ago

Text

I decided to start compiling speech patterns and such for the Hermits I watch the most, because being a fic writer is hard sometimes 😭 then I thought “why not share it here?”

so here’s my very rough analysis of my most viewed Hermits, this is just what I’ve managed to gather so please don’t call me out for what I’m missing

Scar

Rarely stutters in normal speech. Maybe pauses if he’s started a sentence and doesn’t know where it’s going, but he doesn’t tend to trail off unless something interrupts his train of thought

Stutters a LOT when he’s startled. Also makes ‘hoo!’ noises repeatedly before he finds his words

Lays on the charm THICK when he’s trying to convince someone over literally anything; compliments their looks, their handiwork, and then pitches his proposition in smooth segue. Not one to entertain haggling though (however he DOES do a ‘look if you’ll pay full price I’ll throw in xyz’ thing). King of upselling even the most mundane things.

His tone is cheerful most of the time, no matter what he’s saying. He’ll actually often say very disturbing things with a light voice (ex. when discussing how to retaliate ie “what should we do about him?” “we could kill him! :)”)

Builds and locations somehow are always capitalized in his voice?? Like he says them differently. I can’t really explain it (when he talks about Aqua Town or Scarland or The Big Dig)

Literally has an evil laugh when he thinks of a way to prank someone or mess with people

Hums in thought quite often, and uses “huh!” quite often when confused or finding out something new (Mostly with redstone)

His farewell is almost always “Byeeee, have a great time!” even if the conversation he left was not a pleasant one. I’m almost certain he does this in tense situations just to get under other people’s skin and really push how unbothered he is

Doesn’t tend to insult people, the farthest he’ll take it is backhanded compliments

That said he is not afraid to outright threaten (“I will murder them.”)

References media a lot, both for concepts for builds and in speech (ie his greeting “Well hello there!” is from Star Wars)

Number one exclamation is “Sweet Baby Jellie!”

(More under the cut!)

Grian

Cold opens, both in videos and conversations (rarely says “hello, how are you, etc” when encountering someone, but he does say farewells/‘thank you’s)

Likes to sneak up on people and scare them if he realizes they haven’t noticed him yet, usually does so by getting real close and then yelling (“HEY!”/“HI!”/“WHAT’S THAT?”)

Uses the name of whoever he’s talking to pretty often while speaking to them (“Well, Mumbo, you never know”/“So, Scar, as you can see here-“), same goes for often addressing his audience (“you all”/“you lot”/“you guys”)

Usually pretty focused (when he wants to be) but oftentimes takes a minute to laugh at things he notices in the natural environment (An accidental face in a build, a mob in a strange place, etc)

Takes the lead in a conversation if nobody is the clear leader, but generally only speaks when spoken to if someone else has risen to that spot

Clarifies instructions after something is explained, both to his viewers and to anyone he’s grouped up with (most often seen in the Life Series)

Uses “Pardon?!”/“Beg your pardon?!” most often when surprised or startled (he’s very British), also sometimes uses “Sorry??”

Things are way more funny to him when he’s tired

Deadpans a lot in conversation ie “why not do xyz?” “Well because we’ll horrifically die 😑“

This man is allergic to committing to the bit unless he’s the one that initiated it

Not one to sugarcoat (“how is it?” “well to be honest it’s miserable”)

Number one exclamation is “WHAT?!” (though he often uses “oh my GOODNESS” quite a bit)

Mumbo

The start of nearly every episode is almost a pitch, does the same when bringing up an idea to others (“I have this idea”/“I was thinking”/“I noticed” etc)

Often laughs a little at himself when he speaks

Also often brings up how inexperienced/unqualified he thinks he is with literally any task he’s doing

Gets very distracted with the smallest things

Uses similes a lot when trying to describe a concept (“I’m thinking a this-type thing”/“Something like a [xyz]”/“Imagine like a [thing]”)

His voice gets higher when he’s startled or panicking

A very vocal thinker, which makes sense because he’s a MC Youtuber, but he also just. Seems to think out loud regardless

Comments a lot on the feel of things (“Oh this feels menacing”/“This looks like it’d mess you up”/“This makes it feel very intimidating”), often with building

Extremely modest. However will celebrate when he does something right in redstone/building (“YES! Oh my days, that took forever”)

Once and a while will have a rare banter moment with people he’s comfortable with (ie teasing and making fun)

Related to above, he gets very giggly when he’s hanging out with people he’s familiar with (Grian and Scar most often, but also Iskall)

Number one exclamation is “What on earth?!”

Joel

Greets people most often with “How you doing [name]?”/“How are ya [name]?”

He’s very northern. He often leaves out words in his sentences bc that’s just the way his dialect is (“What you doin’?” vs “What are you doing?”)

Says his th’s like f’s (“somefing”/“nofing”/“finking”) ((Stress also does this))

His jokes/teasing are very deadpan (“I made you this extra thing, because you’re trash at this”)

Actually gives gifts of resources very often, and always leaves it with a little note and signs his name

His voice gets higher pitched when he’s defensive/being extremely cheeky but other than that his tone rarely changes

This man. Flirts so much. If any other person initiates even the slightest of flirty banter he takes that and dials it to eleven I cannot believe this is a straight married man sometimes

Joel commits to the bit 100% of the time (slightly related to above), unless of course it’s jokes about his height

Makes a point to compliment himself if he gets the chance (words most often used are “handsome” “strong” and “humble”, as well as comments about his muscles and physique)

Insults his enemies diminutively (“look at you down there, tiny idiot”/“You’re wrong and also weak”) ((seen most often in Empires SMP)

His most often used insult is “idiot”

When he’s flustered/frustrated he uses “bloody” a lot (ie ��bloody heck” or “this bloody thing” (loves to toe the PG line), also uses “blooming” (“bloomin’ heck”)

Most often used exclamation is also “WHAT?!”

Bdubs

Opens videos very jovially, talks almost like a radio host

Breaks down his builds down to the block, spends a lot of time discussing his block pallet choices and giving tips while he builds

Uses the affirmation “sure enough” a lot, and often addresses himself as “Ol’ Bdubs”

Talks affectionately about other hermits often (“[name], the absolute sweetheart, left me some materials”, “[name], you angel!”)

Adding to above, “angel” or “sweet angel” seems to be his most often used affectionate terms

Switches on a dime, though, if he gets offended (which of course causes others to poke fun at him even more)

Calls mobs “stupid” a lot when they don’t do what he wants (but takes it back if he says it to one of his horses ex. “Come here, stupid—wonderful, I mean, beautiful”)

THIS MAN IS THE #1 HORSE ENJOYER. He gets a horse first thing every season and rides it everywhere, and they’re always a focal point of his theme or builds in some regard

Pauses whatever he’s doing to sleep as soon as it’s possible, and gets very antsy if he can’t do it for some reason (“One moment, time to shreep!”)

Related to above, EVERYONE messes with him if he’s trying to sleep in their presence ie breaking his bed over and over, and he gets increasingly more frustrated when it happens

Rarely is soft spoken or quiet, he projects his voice and uses a lot of emphasis in his tone

Either straight up screams (and peaks the mic 😭) if he’s startled or scared, or yells “oh my GOODNESS!!”

Number one exclamation is “HEY!”

#feel free to add on with other hermits!#sorry if this is so scatterbrained this is how i write my notes 😭#meraki post #hermitcraft fic #??#ref #hermitcraft #scar #goodtimeswithscar #grian #joel smallishbeans #smallishbeans #mumbo #mumbojumbo #bdubs #bdoubleo100 #dialogue ref #writing dialogue

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luveline · 6 months ago

Note

Jade can I please get a chatty af yapper sunshine girlfriend with Sirius?? Like May be someone tells her she talks a lot so she's super quiet around him cuz she's worried he'll get annoyed and break up with her but poor Sirius he misses his chatty girl and just angst with fluff

thank you for requesting! fem, 1.4k

James Potter means well. Honestly, you don’t think he has a mean bone in his body, so you try not to take it to heart.

Unfortunately, your attempts to do so don’t work. They really, unquestionably don’t. By the time you’re outside of Sirius’ flat that afternoon, James’ small comment is all you can think of.

“You’re so chatty I’m surprised you don’t run out of breath,” he’d said. Not without love. You’d bumped into him in Sainsbury’s and ended up talking for ages about one thing or another, you know him well, you’d even say you were friends, though he’s of course Sirius’ friend rather than your own. “But I’m the same. God, Sirius used to hate how much I talked, he’d be sick of me. I think I numbed him to it over the years.”

You can’t imagine it. Sirius and James are best friends. With Remus, they’re the most in love threesome of friends you’ve ever met, and it’s nice; it makes you very proud to have a boyfriend who cares for others as deeply as Sirius cares for them. It’s like a constant demonstration of how he’s a good man.

But you’d never stopped to consider that they weren’t always so seamless, and you’ve regrettably never considered that your constant talking is something that could put him off.

You talk to Sirius about everything. There isn’t a word to describe the excitement of having someone waiting to listen to you every single night. You could tell him every detail of a day down to what colour socks you wore and you know he’ll sit there listening with his hand on the small of your back, or his fingers twined between yours. You’ve never felt so loved as to be able to just talk about everything and have him talk back.

But… what if, this whole time, he’s been wishing for a little bit of quiet?

What if eventually, the talking becomes too much?

He must be with you for a reason. You aren’t holding the poor guy hostage, he acts like he’s mad for you ninety percent of the time (while the other ten percent is spent sleeping on your shoulder).

Like now —you knock his door and you can hear him scrambling up from the sofa, the sound of a book dislodged or a remote hitting the rug, you’re not sure. The door yanks open and Sirius smiles at you, pulling you in through the gap with a familiar hand on your hip.

“Hey,” Sirius says, tucking you against his side, “hey, did you get lovelier over the weekend?” He shoves the door closed and gives you a hug with one arm, pausing in the hall. “Sorry I couldn’t see you. I don’t think we should miss another weekend.”

You have a lot to tell him. It’s been ages since you spent nearly three days apart, but James’ conversation stays at the front of your mind.

You decide to be less overwhelming, but not less loving, curling your arm behind his head to pull his cheek down for a kiss. “I don’t think so, either.”

Sirius tilts his head away from you in an invitation for more kissing.

You’re at home in his flat. You take off your shoes and hang up your jacket. You change into a pair of jogging bottoms with loose legs and let him hoist you onto his bed for a few stolen kisses, though he isn’t propositioning you, and you end up laying across his bedspread with one of your legs in his lap as he tells you about his days without you, his thumb sliding with pressure down your calf.

“Mostly I wished I’d asked you to come over anyways, even if it was just to sleep together at the end of the day. Maybe next time we can do that?” he asks.

“Of course we can.” You smile at him indulgently. “I’d come over for twenty minutes if it was all I could get.”

“Or I can come to you,” he says, “even if it’s just twenty minutes.”

He smiles, a beaming thing, and leans down slowly for a soft kiss.

“So,” he asks, his breath on your lips, “how was your weekend? Lonely?”

“So lonely,” you tease lightly, eyes fluttering closed as he continues his massaging of your leg. “But it was okay. I missed you, really, and didn’t do much else.”

“No?” he asks.

Your voice takes on a shine as he squeezes your knee, “Missed your hands.”

“I missed your everything.” He grabs for your forearms and pulls you into a sitting position. “But everything was okay?” he asks more seriously.

“Everything was fine.”

He raises his eyebrows, but eventually lets them relax. “Well, okay. Good, sweetheart, I’m glad it was okay.”

He persuades you into the kitchen to sit with him as he makes dinner, refusing to let you help, and yet insisting you be there in the same room, as though you’d like to be anywhere else. Sirius makes your favourite of his usual rotation, offering you spoonfuls for tasting, gaps of silence stretching as he struggles to find new conversation. You start answering his questions but remember time and time again that Sirius could become totally sick of you. He might already be.

Sirius puts the food on a low heat and washes his hands. He wipes them dry, but when he takes your face, dampness lines the inside of his fingers.

“I’d like for you to tell me what’s wrong,” he says gently, stroking at the line of your startled frown, “before it gets worse. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Please don’t, lovely. If I’ve done something wrong, please tell me. I want us to last forever, and we can’t do that if you won’t tell me when I upset you.”

“It wasn’t you,” you say instinctively, then regret it.

“So someone has?” he asks, still so gentle as his hands coast down your neck like he’s sculpting you, coming to rest on the slopes leading to your shoulders. “You can tell me anything. You don’t have to keep it to yourself… please.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sweetheart.” He frowns deeply. Couldn’t look more upset. “Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

You chew it over, not wanting or willing to cause ructions between Sirius and his oldest friend. “Well, I saw James today at the shop, and… we were talking about you…”

He waits. “And?”

“And he told me you– you don’t like talking. That you didn’t like talking, that James used to make you sick of it. So I know I talk too much and you’ve never made me feel like I shouldn’t, but I guess I got into my head thinking you’d get sick of me, too.”

“When we were younger I didn’t like much of anything.” He curls an arm behind your neck to hold you in place, but it’s not a dominant sort of movement, only protective as your noses inch together. “Did you ever read that poem by Bukwoski? Let It Enfold You?”

“What?”

“I’m not very good at explaining myself. I thought if you knew the poem, you’d–” He laughs near your cheek. “I hated everything. It wasn’t James’ fault. He did make me sick of it sometimes, but I just wanted to hide from everything.” He breathes out slowly. “I’ve never wanted to hide from you. I can’t get sick of you. Do you get that? I can’t get sick of you. Listening to you is the best part of my day, you’re my personal chatterbox.”

“Chatterbox,” you repeat teasingly.

“You could talk for Wales,” he says. “And I love it, I don’t want you to stop, because I’ll never be sick of it.”

“I don’t want it to be some secret resentment.”

“I don’t resent you for anything. I knew exactly who you were when we met and I love it.” He takes your face again. “I love it,” he repeats.

You steal a little kiss against the corner of his lips. “What was the poem?” you ask.

“I’ll find my book, and you can read it to me. What do you think?” He takes a slow kiss as you had in the same place, words like honey. “I miss your voice.”

He’s basically pleading. It’s not like Sirius to plead, but you pull it out of him.

“Can I have my dinner first?”

“The one I made while you deprived me?” he asks. “Yes, if you must.”

He takes another kiss, but you’re happy to give it.

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius x reader fluff #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fic #marauders era #marauders #sirius black drabble #sirius black scenario #sirius black oneshot #the marauders #sirius orion black

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simpjaes · 9 months ago

Text

EROTIC EMPATHY (s.jy)

Have you ever taken anyone’s virginity before? Nope. Are you about to? Yep. or the one where jake has a streak of bad luck in bed and his friends make fun of him for it, you find him advertising himself on a dating app and decide to help him out.

minors dni! | if you read it, reblog it

WORDCOUNT― 12.7k

PAIRING― jake sim x afab reader

CONTENT― virgin guy who lives with his parents!jake, he’s not shy but he is very clumsy, a lot of texting so be prepared for that, facetime-sex, real life sex

SIDE CHARACTERS― jay as reader’s best friend and roommate, heeseung briefly as jake’s friend.

NOTE― if you've read this before it's because im the person who wrote it [ncteez] and im revamping it for jake, pls don't send me messages on either account about stealing a work that's already mine!

smut tags under cut::

smut tags―big huge dick jake, phone sex (ish), face time sex, masturbation, pet name: baby, making out, he eats you out twice, fingering, whining and whimpering, deep throating, premature ejaculation, desperate man wants his dick wet lmao, grinding, tit fondling/licking, clit stimulation, he bites the fuck out of his tongue to try and distract himself from coming too soon again, no condom aka cream pie, jake gets feelings like immediately when u touch him

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Check this shit out,” you laugh, presenting your phone to Jay with a chuckle. “yes or no?”

Jay snorts, nearly spitting out the bite of food in his mouth as he reads the bio of the man you’re showing to him.

“Depends, you trying to take his innocence or are you trying to get railed so hard that the entire building can hear?” He narrows his eyes at you, making a point to call you out for keeping him awake last weekend.

You wave him off with an apologetic look. To be fair, the dude from before knew how to make a girl moan, it’s not your fault that you managed to find a decent lay in this city. Even if he ghosted you, you assume you may have been a bad lay for him, if anything.

“I wouldn’t mind trying something new, dude seems desperate.” You swipe through his photos, seeing that he appears to be just a normal dude with normal interests. “He’s cute too, so I’m gonna say yes.”

Jay groans this time, slapping a hand to his forehead and glaring at you.

“You’d better warn me if you end up bringing him home, I’m not about to listen to some guy start crying over a blowjob.”

You nod to him, sending a message to the eighty-two-year-old Jake and feeling delighted at his near-instant response to you.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll make sure you’re out of the apartment if I invite him over,” You wiggle your brows as you stand to your feet and turn toward your room, eyes now glued to the open dating app’s messages. “Maybe you should go out and find a nice girl to rail to get back at me.”

“You’re so fucking weird.” Jay laughs but feels kind of shitty because it’s not like he hasn’t been trying to get back at you for the loud sex. Guess he just doesn’t have the magic dick to make girls moan the same way you do.

Not that he wants to make you moan or anything, he definitely doesn’t. If anything, he wishes you were more like the girls he brings home.

Fucking quiet.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

You: i’ve never seen a virgin grandpa on this app before

Jake: ….i’m 21, it says that in my bio

You: I think you’re lying.

Jake: do u know how to change it, my bitch friends won't tell me lol

You: why would i help you lie to other women

Jake: i’m not lying!!1

You laugh to yourself as you text the new sex interest in your life, wondering if he’s lying about his presumed virginity.

You: ok, twenty-one-year-old “jaeyun” who is five miles away from me, you’re actually a virgin? Like for real?

Jake: yea….are u here to make fun of me for it too? all the girls here just turn me down even if i offer to cook for them after

Jake: maybe it's the playlists idk

You: send me the playlist

Jake: [spotify link to a playlist titled “NUT”]

You try not to snort, but you do. Given, he does have decent taste, but why anyone would have dynamite by bts and never say never by justin bieber on their sex playlist is beyond you.

You: surely it’s not your playlist…….

You: anyway

You: you’re really just looking to get laid for the first time, like, ever? and you’re offering to cook dinner too?

Jake: yea

You: you’ve never had a blowjob or anything like that? you can’t seriously think I can believe you’ve never been laid, it’s not like you’re ugly or anything

Jake: u don’t think im ugly? :)

Jake: and yea I’ve had a blowjob before

You: why didn’t you sleep with her then?

Jake: can we stop talking about why im a virgin

You: sure but you know im gonna bring it up again, right?

You’re smiling at your phone, finding him charming and awkward in how he communicates with you via messenger. Of course, you’re curious as to why he’s a virgin, even more, curious as to why he’s on a dating app looking to lose said virginity.

You: do you want my number? it’s embarrassing to have the app open in public if i wanna talk to you.

Jake, on the other hand, is quite literally kicking his feet and checking your profile every few minutes just to look at you. He didn’t even think too hard about you calling him attractive then not following up on it, because the fact that you just offered your number to him in case you want to talk to him? Butterflies. Given, it’s juvenile for someone of his age to still be experiencing the typical high-school crush feelings, would anyone blame him? It’s just how he is, with or without having had sex. He can’t imagine not feeling giddy inside when he’s talking to someone that he thinks is pretty.

Jake: yea :) u can text me whenever [redacted phone number]

You respond to him by texting his number rather than using the app messenger, screenshotting his contact info, and sending it to him with a sly smile.

You: [screen shot// contact name: grandpa jake]

Grandpa Jake: :|

Grandpa Jake: im 21

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Okay so, here’s the thing. Jake is undeniably funny, witty, and kind. Another thing, he’s wildly attractive. Especially upon fulfilling your request for a workout selfie from him. So, what gives? You read the texts he’s sent that made you laugh out loud, you look at his pictures, stare at the workout selfie, and you genuinely cannot understand how he doesn’t have women waiting in line to have at him.

You: it’s been like four days since we started talking

Grandpa Jake: yep, almost five

You: four days of being friends but no mention of your bio on the app, yknow, where you’re begging to have sex for the first time ever?

Grandpa Jake: right, yea. you wanna do it? i didn’t wanna assume lol

You: not answering that til you explain why. i mean, it’s totally ok that you are but like, you’re a green flag all around so im a little worried you might have like a micropenis or something

Disclaimer, if he had a micropenis, you’d still let him use it on you. After all, hooking up is something you enjoy doing regardless of size.

Grandpa Jake: i do NOT have a micropenis

You: prove it

Grandpa Jake: right now???

You laugh to yourself but also like, it’s the first time the two of you have done anything more than bully each other. Or rather, you bully him and he defends himself constantly.

You: answer my question first

It takes a few minutes for him to respond, but you’re doing coursework anyway so it’s not a huge deal. Totally not like your ears perk up and a smile creeps across your face every time your phone goes off or anything. Definitely not.

Grandpa Jake: um… i still live with my parents and before u make fun of me for that pls understand that its not like i wanna be here

Grandpa Jake: i have a job and everything!!! im not a mooch!

He’s getting off track again. You could honestly care less if he still lives with his parents. You wish you still lived with yours, to save money at least.

You: they won’t let you have anyone over?

Grandpa Jake: well, that too but

Grandpa Jake: listen this sounds real stupid but it just never happened? even when i tried or things almost happened, it never did

You: damn, you’re unlucky. so what happened with the girl who gave you a blowjob?

Grandpa Jake: her boyfriend walked in

You: WHAT

You’re trying to pity him, honestly, but damn. Did he go for a taken girl? Yikes. You hate to admit the ick that just flooded your mind.

Grandpa Jake: its not like i knew she had a boyfriend

You: phew

Grandpa Jake: so yea. do u wanna help me out or not?

The whole reason you started talking to him was specifically to help him out. Now that you know he’s not some weirdo, and is definitely super hot and funny, hell yes.

You: yeah, sure.

You: about the micropenis though,

Grandpa Jake: right…um

A few minutes of silence, your coursework is long forgotten in the anticipation of receiving your first dick pic from Jake. You wait, and you wait, and you wait.

You: i mean if you can’t prove it that's ok

Grandpa Jake: just give me a sec damn

He’s doing his best to get the most attractive angle. It’s not like he’s never sent nudes to anyone or anything, but like– this is you. The first person to actually agree to take his virginity. Should he hold it? Put a remote next to it for size? Should he have his face in the pic? Take a mirror pic?

Of course, as he’s taking several pictures of his length to try and impress you, he had to get hard first. He can’t imagine you’d want a flaccid cock pic in your inbox, and that would also mean that he’s working himself up with the amount of touching, holding, and groping throughout the past sixteen photos he’s taken and deleted. It’s at the point that now it’s actually hard to care about taking a photo, pre-cum already dripping out of him as he continues to try.

He’s entered the realm of his regular horny self, only this time he’s texting you. Someone who wants to see what he’s packing. Taking a dick pic is insanely easy once he stops thinking with his brain, and he’s quick to send you a photo of himself this time. His chin at the top of the picture, face entirely hidden, hand wrapped around his thick and leaking cock, sweatpants shoved down.

Grandpa Jake: [image attachment]

In all fairness, you’ve never actually cared much for dick pics. Men always look too confident even with the smallest of girth being offered through the pixels. Jake though. He looks a bit desperate even with his face hidden. His cock looks desperate, his fingers wrapped around it look desperate, the way his sweatpants hug against his thighs look desperate. And now, you feel desperate. You keep your cool though.

You: oh, you were jerking off, got it.

Grandpa Jake: sorry can’t help it

Then he doesn’t text you back. Which is kind of a drag because he looks to be quite big in the photo alone. Maybe you’d be okay just this once to look like the desperate one. Mostly because you’re about ten seconds from trying to figure out which direction five miles away he resides so you can go palm his cock for him. Plus, the idea of an absolute simp virgin like him seeing you act a little desperate would probably be one for the books.

You: you know i can help you out with that, right? especially since you definitely don’t have a micropenis

You’re still being ignored. The silence from your phone makes your belly flip around inside of you at the image of him doing it too. He probably does it a lot. He’s probably desperate to feel good and watches porn like 24/7. You can imagine how he’d act if you were in front of him right now, the very idea of taking his virginity becoming entirely too attractive.

Shrugging, knowing full well what he’s doing right now that’s causing him to ignore you, you press the call button and wait. You’re a little bit nervous, mostly because you’ve never actually heard his voice before, or better yet how he sounds when he’s getting off. You’re shocked that he actually answers.

“Hello?” He says, muffled through the phone and trying to sound not-so-out-of-breath. It’s not like he looked at who was calling him anyway. With his luck, it’s probably Heeseung or some shit.

“Don’t hello me,” You gripe, narrowing your eyes at yourself in your mirror. “You’re just gonna jerk off without me after I agreed to help you fix your little problem?”

The silence on his end is a bit nerve-wracking until you hear the frantic sound of his palm clearly wreaking havoc on him. You smirk, leaning back on your chair and sighing. On his end, processing that it’s you on the other line sends his entire body into a state of burning with arousal. Your voice is sweet even when you speak with the same sarcasm as you do via text.

God, this alone is enough for him right now.

“Were you at least thinking of me?”

He hums into the phone, indicating that yes, that’s exactly what he’s doing. His voice is kind of soft despite only hearing one word and a hum, you want to actually hear him talk to you, or moan, whichever he decides.

“Were you looking at my pictures?”

He nods his head, forgetting that you’re not able to see him and instantly responds with a small and breathy yes instead. It’s a bit difficult for him to talk right now, especially now that he can put a voice to the photos he’s been jerking off to. It’s a bit overwhelming, actually.

“Do you want better ones?” You ask, encouraging him to speak a bit more.

“Oh god, really?” He asks through the speaker, his hand pausing on his length as if to hold off until you confirm. “Like, nudes?”

“Mhm, yeah. If you want.” You smile as you speak to him, already standing to shimmy your pajamas off of you and stand in front of the mirror. “Or, you know what would be better?”

“Letting me come over and actually do it?” That’s what he wants to say to you, but he doesn’t, he simply raises a brow and bites his lip, trying to contain his excitement.

“What?” He asks, still keeping his responses short because despite how into this he is, he’s a bit shy about it.

“I can facetime you.”

He panics. That means you’ll be watching him too, right? Sure he’s sent nudes, he’s received nudes. He’s sent videos too, and received them. But never has he like, you know, live masturbated on facetime so someone else can watch.

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay.” You backtrack at his silence, but you’re cut off almost immediately.

“No! no, we can facetime–”

Your stomach flips again as you fix yourself quickly in the mirror before setting your phone against your desk and rolling back a bit in your chair to determine if it’ll work this way or not. It’s not like he’s expecting you to do it too, he probably just thinks you’re gonna sit here naked for him to stare at. You’re kind of excited to see him in action, to hear him in action for you.

You hit the button to switch the call over to facetime and once again adjust your phone as you stare at yourself in the camera. Then you’re needing to catch your breath at the image of him.

Oh fuck.

There he is, his camera angled towards his face and not at all toward what's going on below his waist, but you don’t mind at first. Looking at him, the lighting clearly shows that he’s a fan of mood lighting. You watch his eyes briefly, staring through the screen at you before moving your eyes to his arm, the one that clearly isn’t holding his phone because you can see it moving as he continues to jerk himself off. It’s an interesting feeling to have only seen him in photos until this moment, and it’s insanely attractive for some reason. Seeing him in motion, knowing what he’s doing, knowing that he feels good right now because of you.

“Let me see,” you say quietly, adjusting your bra strap and preparing to slip it off of you if he so much as asks. “Prop your phone up somewhere like I did.”

He nods, his eyes still staring straight through his screen at you as he moves around and the image becomes a blur of movement rather than his face. He settles in quickly, somehow looking even more attractive with the way his eyes no longer stare at the screen. You can almost sense a hint of shyness from him at this moment and it kind of floors you, given how easy he is to talk to and how easily he sent a dick pic to you.

“Feeling shy?” You ask, spreading your legs wide and cupping the seat of your panties, hiding the small spot of wetness forming there. “You act like I’m not going to be touching you at some point soon.”

You see him perk up, his eyes looking to you on the screen with more fondness than arousal. At the same time, his hand grips the base of his cock as he holds it straight up, erect and glistening proudly for you to look at.

“You look pretty big, bet you could fill me up so nicely,” You try to compliment, boosting his confidence and ego as best you can simply because he looks pretty with a smile on his face. Especially when his cock twitches at the words. “Would you want to do that for me, Jake?”

“Oh god,” He groans, hearing his name come from your mouth for the first time. His hand jerks up his length once, almost aggressively as he winces at it. “This is going to be so embarrassing.” He admits now, sliding his palm up and down shamelessly as he watches between your spread legs.

In a way, he wonders if you can see how desperate he is. There’s no way you can’t, right? Like, you can see how badly he wants you, right?

“Embarrassing, why?” You chuckle, tapping now at the spot between your legs. “Can you not see that I’m just as turned on right now?”

He groans again with deep breaths, releasing his length and using that same hand to swipe his hair out of his face, then immediately grimacing at the fact that he now has pre-cum in his hair. Embarrassing, all of it.

“Well,” He tries to avoid you bringing up the fact that he just did that and only shoots his hand back to his cock in order to distract whatever off-hand shit you’re about to say. “You don’t even have your panties off yet, and I could probably get off right now.”

You laugh, not wanting to ruin the mood with the whole cum on his own face thing, so you save that for later. Instead, you instantly slip your panties off and present yourself to him much like he’s doing for you.

“Better?”

Jake watched with his breath stuck in his throat, now finding it harder to breathe at the image of your pussy and the way he hopes he can touch it one day.

“Can you–” He pauses, not being used to dirty talk towards anything other than the porn playing on his phone. He thinks hard, and you can see it based on the way he, once again, neglects his cock with an unmoving palm.

“Can I do what? Go on,” You urge him, running a hand up to your chest and fondling your nipples right there in front of him, but not yet moving the fabric. “What do you want me to do for you, baby?”

Baby. You called him baby. Not that he’s into that but the fact that you did it makes him wonder if he is now. Maybe it’s because he wants you to take him for all he’s worth at this point. One, to get rid of the virginity looming over his head, and two, because you sound so fucking smooth when you’re watching him get off.

“Can you spread your pussy for me?” He whispers at first, uncaring of how dirty it sounds falling out of his throat with a moan.

His eyes are boring a hole through his screen as he watches one of your hands tease at your hidden nipples, and the other hand sliding up and down the wet folds there. So badly does he want to see it. He wants to see your hole pulsing for him, leaking, needy. Just like him.

His cock twitches wildly the second you do it for him. Two fingers spreading your pussy open and tensing your hips just to move it closer to the screen for him.

“Is this what you want?” You start, making damn sure he can see every part of your glistening cunt. “You want to fuck this?” You chuckle now, slowly dipping a finger into yourself and pulling it back out to present the wetness for him.

“Oh,” he sighs, now fucking into his fist at a pace that proves he’s most definitely never fucked a woman before. “Fuck.”

You nod at him, urging him to keep admitting his attraction to you. You’re aware he doesn’t see it though, as his hips continue to move quicker and quicker each time you press your finger into yourself.

“You gonna act like this when I’m riding you?” You ask with a tilted head, studying how hard he’s fucking against his hand. You can imagine how good it would feel if it were you, and quite frankly, this one finger isn’t enough at this point.

“God. You’re gonna ride me?” He moans, eyes rolling only slightly as he imagines it, mouth falling open at the mere thought of it.

“Mhm,” you hum, now sliding in another finger and scissoring yourself open with them. “Would you want that?”

Before you can even work yourself up, and before he can even answer that question, you see him release. His cum shooting out in spurts across his stomach and nearly up to his chest. His labored breathing shifts the lighting against his abs and makes him look so entirely delicious. You’ve never wanted to lick a man clean so badly in your life.

You’re not even upset that he didn’t make it into the knitty gritty, considering he’s a virgin and all and you’re literally fucking yourself in front of him while implying riding him. You’re actually flattered.

His release caused him to see white for several moments, forgetting he’s even on camera for you. When he comes back to reality, watching you continue to finger yourself as your eyes scan your screen, all he can do is feel bashful.

“S-shit, sorry,” He comments with a half laugh, looking down at his cum covered chest before looking at you again. Honestly, he could probably go again if you let him watch for a bit longer, but he’s embarrassed now. “I uh, didn’t mean to come that fast. It just kind of happened.”

“It’s okay,” You comfort him, slightly out of breath as you wonder if this is all you’re gonna get tonight. “It was cute.”

After a few moments, you sense his embarrassment and slowly slip yourself back into a sobering headspace, closing your legs and trying to ignore how wet you still are.

“Are you, um, done?” Jake says, disappointed.

“Mm, no.” You smile. “But it’s okay, I’d rather make you come first anyway.”

His face lights up despite the disappointment in his gut of not being able to see you get off.

“You still wanna see me after this?”

You nod with a smile, endeared by his need to give, but inability to do it.

“When are you free?” You ask, wondering if he’s ever going to clean himself up.

“Whenever you are.” He laughs, scratching the back of his head with, once again, the same cum-stained hand.

“I’ll text you later then,” You smile through the screen and give a small wave before your genuine smile turns into a smirk. “After I take care of my little problem though.”

You notice him sitting up in protest, but you hang up with a satisfied laugh and head to the shower to both finish yourself off and clean up.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Grandpa Jake: what about 3pm on thurs?

You: you want to lose your virginity at 3pm….on a thursday???

Grandpa Jake: my parents have plans so ill have the house to myself for a few hours

You: or you could just come here?

Grandpa Jake: if ur comfortable with that? i thought u were supposed to come here lol

You: im comfortable, plus my roommate will kick your ass if you’re weird

Jake contemplates hard on that last part but shrugs over it. Probably a girl thing, and it’s not like he’s an actual creep or anything. You’d be the one with power over him when the two of you are alone anyway.

You: what about tomorrow, 8pm?

Tomorrow. Hell yeah, tomorrow. God, he’d show up right the fuck now if you let him. He may live with his parents but he’s got a car.

Grandpa Jake: send ur address, ill be there :)

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“Tomorrow, you’ll be a man.” Heeseung croaks through the speaker at Jake, totally assuming that this whole virginity loss dating app plan was actually just a joke.

“Why do you have to say it that way?” Jake groans back, slapping his hand over his forehead and rubbing his temples. “I didn’t think anyone was actually gonna come through, she’s the first one.”

“What makes you think she’s actually gonna send you her address?” Heeseung laughs, once again placing more pity onto his best friend than anything else. “She’s probably not even a real person, you’re gonna end up at some old guy’s house.”

Jake laughs, or snorts really.

“Oh, she’s real.”

Heeseung sits up in curiosity this time, switching his phone to the other ear with interest.

“Hm? Have you already met her?”

“Kind of. We like, um,” Jake pauses, wondering if he sounds way too excited to tell him or not. “We facetimed a few hours ago.”

Silence.

“She got naked.”

“Oh ho ho!” Heeseung encourages him. “So you guys did some stuff on facetime and she still wants to meet you?”

“That’s what I said–wait,” Jake smiles to himself, about two seconds from kicking his feet before realizing what Heeseung just said. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re kind of a loser, we’ve been over this.” Heeseung laughs yet again. “Call me when you get your cherry popped or whatever.”

Then he hangs up.

Grandpa Jake: do u think im a loser?

You: yeah kinda

You’re laughing at his text as you sit across the table from Jay.

“That him texting?” Jay quirks a brow, watching you smile at your phone and practically ignore him.

You laugh again at Jake’s string of defensive texts before responding with a short “it’s okay, i like losers”, and putting your phone down to finish telling Jay that he’s gonna get kicked out tomorrow for the night.

“So,” You clap your hands in front of yourself, glaring at Jay. “You’re gonna have to be gone tomorrow at eight because I'm about to literally obliterate this guy.”

“Jesus, I’m scared for him.”

“You should be scared for me. Because, well…” You trail off for a second, scrolling up your texts to see the dick pic Jake sent before the facetime call. “He’s huge and–”

“I did not need to know that.” Jay sighs, scooting back in his chair and standing to his feet.

“You act like you don’t ask every time I fuck someone.” You roll your eyes at him, smiling. “Weirdo.”

Jay stands there awkwardly before shrugging and lunging for your phone.

“How big?” He laughs, not actually trying to see the dude’s dick but always way too curious for his own good despite never wanting to be around to hear what the big dicks do to his best friend.

“Stop prying, you’ll get jealous.”

He scoffs, brushing off his pants of invisible dust and crossing his arms.

“I’ll have you know, my dick is perfectly sized.”

“I’m sure it is. Anyway, tomorrow, be gone.”

He nods, sauntering to the living room and flopping down on the couch.

“Keep it in your room, please. I don’t want to sit on any cum when I get home.”

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It’s Thursday. It’s approximately seven in the evening on Thursday and you’re well aware that Jake is probably bubbling with anxiety if his texts are anything to go by.

So many “are you sures,” so many “you can tell me to leave if you decide you don’t want tos,” and even more “i can’t wait to see yous.”

“Jay, aren’t you supposed to be leaving?” You ask, opening the fridge to pull out a bottle of water.

You’ve already showered again today, primped yourself up for him really. Everything smooth, soft, and ready to be touched. You wonder if Jake is doing the same, and smile.

“Hm, yeah. But I kinda wanna see him before I leave.”

You turn your head to him with a curious look, glaring only slightly.

“I swear to god if you scare him off, I’m kicking you out.”

Jay laughs, patting the couch as if to invite you to sit with him to ease your own anxiety. He can smell the familiar lotion you use before dates, and he notes that you’ve really tried to look good today.

“I think you might kill him, if I’m being honest.” Your best friend laughs softly, complimenting you.

“Thanks, that’s the plan.”

And so, the two of you sit together laughing at stupid comedy shows until your phone lights up at around seven thirty.

Grandpa Jake: i’m a little early, is that ok?

“Oh shit, he’s here.” You immediately feel nervous, which is pretty normal for you anyway so it’s easily overlooked by Jay.

He jumps up, brushing off his clothes and walking toward the kitchen to grab his keys and wallet.

“Let him in then, I’ll leave when he gets here.”

You give him a knowing look before nodding.

You: second floor, take a left when you get to the top of the stairs, third apartment on the left.

Within minutes, there’s a very gentle knock on the door and Jay is throwing himself at it to get a look at him. Unfortunately it’s a bit more awkward than he expected it to be.

Not only did Jake think your roommate was a woman, but he, at the very least, expected you to answer the door. He was preparing himself all day for this moment, to knock on your door and have you open it. At first he thought that maybe he even got the wrong apartment.

“Oh, I think I got the wrong place, sorry–”

“Nope, you’re in the right place.” Jay smiles, stepping to the side and opening the door wider for him. “You can come in.”

Jake does, awkwardly. Avoiding eye contact with Jay and barely even looking into the apartment before stepping inside.

“She got all cleaned up for you.” Jay whispers, throwing Jake a wink before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

Jake still hasn’t really looked up from the floor yet, and you make quick work to make him feel more comfortable.

“Don’t mind him, that’s my roommate.” You say, making your way toward him and trying your best not to stare because, okay, wow. He’s kind of ten times more attractive in person, which is fucking insane considering how good he looked through a screen.

“Have you and him ever like…” Jake immediately starts, realizing he might have made things weird.

“Jay?! Oh, god no.” You laugh, reaching for his arm and feeling him lean into it with relief. “You’re allowed to look up by the way. You’ve been staring at that crack in my floor since you got here.”

Immediately Jake moves his eyes up to you, the eye contact feeling more intense than it should, but you’re locked in too. The awkwardness dissolves almost instantly, he feels no need to question you further about anything really, especially with the way he feels his throat run dry at the very idea of this whole plan actually happening at some point.

When he made his profile on that app, it was kind of a half joke until like, people started talking to him. Given, no one ever followed through but you, he’s happy he stuck with it. Happy you came out of the works from said dating app, happy you picked him.

Really though, he picked you. Part of you wonders about why you want to take this from him. For power, for control, to be praised, to feel like you’re his entire world of desire for a brief time? All of those things, yes, but you can admit now that he’s in front of you that it’s a bit intimidating.

He’s not shy at all, just a bit awkward. He seems confident, he seems ready, and you find yourself lucky for being the one to get to do this for him, or with him. If at all, Jake is the type of man you could see yourself hanging out with often, with or without having sex.

Given, upon seeing him face to face for the first time, the only thing you thought about was how attractive he is. Now though, as you look back at him along with the silence of this apartment offering nothing more than awkwardness, it’s not. Because you’re seeing him for all he is and he appears to not be able to help it. Is this what people mean when they say there’s an instant spark between two people? Despite how attractive he is, you find yourself thinking of how many times he’s made you laugh in the short period of time you’ve known him along with how many times he’s willingly embarrassed himself

And now for the first time, he’s right there and all you want to do is…give him exactly what he wants.

“Okay, listen,” You start, swallowing around a lump in your throat as you feel your body heat up at record speed by just having his eyes looking into yours. You know by this point that you’re not going to be keeping your hands to yourself at all. And for his sake, he’d probably prefer it that way. “If I move too fast, just tell me to stop.”

Jake tilts his head with a dopey smile, eyes still fixed on you, scanning you, coming to terms with the fact that you’re absolutely everything he thought you would be and more.

“I don’t think that’s gonna be an issue,” He admits, feeling his length confined within his pants twitch wildly at the fact that this is happening. “I struggled not to get hard just driving over.” He laughs, looking away from you for the first time with flushed cheeks.

You find that painfully adorable. No man would ever admit that to you. Especially after just a few minutes of meeting in person for the first time, but this is Jake and in the short amount of time you’ve known him, you’re kind of expecting him to be really forward and say things that will have you frozen in thought.

“Oh yeah?” You ask, grabbing his hand and leading him to the kitchen. You’re pretending that his apparent inexperience isn’t getting to you, but you’re not really fooling anyone. “Let’s get you some water or something, I can see you drooling.”

Jake laughs, shrugging because yeah maybe he’s drooling a little bit. You smell fucking immaculate, your hand is small in his but still manages to overpower him, your skin feels soft and slightly cold. Honestly, it’s dangerous just having you stand in front of him right now because he could absolutely blow his load just by you looking at him. Embarrassing? Always.

He follows after you, very nearly crowding up to you as the comfort sets in and the last bit of awkwardness leaves his mind. All he can think about is how you sounded over that facetime call. He’s seen what’s between your legs, and during that night all he could think about was touching you, fucking you.

Now he’s here, and you’re right there.

It’s hard not to crowd up, it’s hard not to cling to you, it’s hard not to be excited. Seeing your hand wrapping around that bottle of water to give to him, seeing you lean just before grabbing it– of course he’s staring. Of course he’s crowding closer, almost to the point that he’s up against your ass when you lean back up from the fridge.

You turn after grabbing him the bottle and are shocked by his close proximity when you face him. He looks down at you with a soft face, one that shows he’s not embarrassed by how he immediately attaches to you. His smile is just as clumsy as he is, you can tell he knows exactly what he’s doing too. You’re glad, because it makes it entirely too easy to drop the water bottle, grab his face, and chase his lips all the way until he’s against the counter and kissing you back.

He sighs instantly into it, wincing at the way the kitchen counter hits his back, you pressing against him so harshly just to get that first taste of his lips. He’s excited that you seem as eager as him, maybe even as desperate as him.

For you, a man has never been this eager just to kiss you, nor has a man ever kissed you this good. You can imagine that he’s probably got a lot of experience in terms of kissing, not much elsewhere though. You can tell by the way he moves his hands to all of the right places, but his blatant virginity shows through all of it as he becomes a horny mess almost instantly.

His tongue is warm and wet, small whining sounds coming from his throat as you press yourself against him briefly. His hands never leave your body and he shows no shame in touching where he wants to touch. Rubbing, groping, and caressing every inch of your waist, ass, and even moving up to your face to deepen the kiss. His hips press forward almost constantly, and all you can do is brace yourself on the counter behind him to try and tame his relentless hips and obvious attempts at rushing what he wants right now.

If you’re going to sleep with him though, he’s gonna get the full experience, not a quickie. Plus, you agreed to keep it in your room for Jay’s sake.

“Hey,” you sigh, trying to pull back from the kiss but he isn’t having it. Still kissing against you and running his lips down to your neck when you continue to speak. “We should go to my room, your first time isn’t about to be in my kitchen.”

“Why not?” He groans against your neck, kissing harshly with faint wet sounds, his hands wrapping tightly around your waist now. “I don’t care where we do it, i just want you like, really bad.”

Still, his lips don’t leave you, nor do his hands. You find yourself giggling against him with a shake of your head at the way he protests when you pry yourself from his grip. Of course, though, he’s immediately clinging to you and chasing after you to your bedroom before practically throwing himself at you again.

You barely get the door closed before he’s pressing you against the wall, hand running down again to your waist and easily snaking up your shirt just to feel the warmth of your skin. You let him, enjoying the way he kisses you for just the second time, enjoying more the way you can feel him lose his composure every few minutes from this alone.

You’re kind of in love with the fact that he doesn’t seem to want to pull back even for a breath. He seems to love kissing, and you wonder what else he’ll come to love doing tonight too. From the way he moves his tongue and his lips on you, you can imagine he’d be fucking heavenly at eating pussy.

Successfully you push him away again, rushing to your bed before he can make you melt against his lips for a third time, and you’re instantly trying to present yourself to him much like you did over camera.

“You’re really going to let me?” He asks with a deep breath, brushing his hair out of his face and wiping his mouth. His brain malfunctions at your presumed answer to that question, watching you take your panties and shorts off in one go and leaning back to spread your legs for him.

At this moment, you’re all his and you make it a point to spread your pussy out for him like he asked you to do before. You can practically see his knees buckle that very instant.

“To think I wouldn’t want to do this is insane,” You say, wiggling your hips for him to see. “Look how wet I am.” You pause, studying the hungry look in his eyes. “Do you wanna try eating me out?”

He doesn’t even nod. He’s immediately on his knees against your bed and gripping your thighs to pull you toward his face. You yelp only slightly at the movement, a chuckle coming out shortly after as you sit yourself up properly to take in the image of his eyes sparkling up at you.

It looks like he’s been wanting to do this to someone all his life, with his needy body proving it time and time again. Your breath is caught in your throat, a small groan coming out at the image alone before you’re able to process words again.

“Can’t believe how good you look down there,” You say softly, brushing his hair out of his face for him like he did to himself earlier. “Have you ever done this before?”

He shakes his head, eyes shifting from your pussy to your face. You can feel his nervous yet eager breath against you, making your eyelashes flutter at even that slight sensation.

“Go on then.” You sigh out, trying to prepare for what he can manage with that pretty mouth of his.

You watch him and the way he doesn’t seem to think at all when he does it. Once again, he’s adorable. His tongue goes everywhere, only grazing your clit briefly every few licks, never staying on it presumably because he’s in the process of finding the clit based on how your body reacts.

He has a general idea of where it is, but the feeling of having your pussy spread out like this on his lips alone is enough to overwhelm him with arousal, to the point he genuinely doesn’t know what he’s doing. All he can do is taste and smell the mixture of your warmth along with the soap and lotion you must have used before he came here.

He’s quite literally tasting the entirety of you and loving every second of it. The way his hands grip your legs, both spreading them further open so that he can tilt his head and lick at different angles, and then hugging them to where they almost lock his head in place.

It feels like he does this for ages, learning your body and what makes your legs shake. He sucks in different places, kissing your entire pussy to the point that it’s almost impossible for your legs not to shake in a reaction at what he’s doing to you.

Dare you say, a man who is inexperienced at eating a woman out somehow feels better than one who knows exactly where to go.

“Fuck, knew you’d be good at this,” You compliment with a shaky voice, reaching down to his hair and holding his head in place. “Keep licking there, and use your fingers too.”

He hums without stopping, taking note of where you place his lips and reminding himself that this is the clit, just as suspected. He attaches his lips there, kissing it much like he kissed you in the kitchen.

You can feel his fingers make their way into you shortly after, each bump of his knuckle sending a delicious sensation throughout your body. You’re tingling from your head to your toes at this point and your face heats up beyond what you thought it would. Your hips move on their own in response, experimentally fucking against his fingers as he keeps his tongue flicking at you.

“Just like that,” You encourage him, running your hands through his hair and looking down at him. Seeing his head move with each little thrust of your hips is only more arousing in this moment. His eyes half open, watching you, tasting you, almost smiling around your clit when he makes eye contact with you.

It almost seems like he’s asking if he’s doing well, and goddamn is he. He’s doing amazing.

“So good,” You say shortly, trying to give him the praise he needs while scratching against his scalp as a thank you, still fucking your hips up just to feel his fingers plunge deeper.

He, on the other hand, is fucking feral right now. Tasting you, dipping his fingers into you, feeling that warmth for the first time, the small clenches— he’s swimming in a fantasy. Every time you move your hips up, he can smell the entirety of you, he can feel your pussy squeeze his fingers, and god. He doesn’t think he ever wants this to end.

All day. He could do this all fucking day. No wonder men make fun of other guys for not giving head. Why wouldn’t they? He can feel your legs tensing up around his head, your gentle fingers running through his hair, the sounds coming from your lips. He’s in love, he’s in love.

He doesn’t stop, tongue flicking your clit so beautifully, fingers slowly fucking in and out of you, not even in time with your jerking hips. Shockingly, you approach orgasm so fucking fast that you can barely warn him, you’re not even thinking when you put pressure on his head, pressing his lips so harshly against your clit— his moan sending a vibration straight through you.

“Faster, with your fingers—“ You choke out in a drawn out and pornographic moan, curling your toes and feeling him do exactly as you say.

There, you release with his fingers plunging in and out of you, the wet sound of your pussy only sounding more messy by the time you begin to release. In the midst of it all, you feel him pull his lips from your clit and lick around his fingers before coming back up and continuing his ministrations, working you through an orgasm you’re not even sure he knows you’re having right now.

Insane, really, that he needed to taste the messy relief before resuming.

Strings of curses, little tugs against his hair, legs shaking, all of it happens at once until the feeling of his fingers become sensitive inside of you, until his tongue is flicking a bundle of nerves begging to be left alone.

You swat him away with a smile, leaning up quickly and grabbing him by the shirt.

He doesn’t really know what the fuck is going on but he laughs with you, being pulled to his feet and falling onto the bed on top of you. You can feel his cock in his pants, so fucking hard, probably leaking and feeling quite neglected.

“Did you…?” He asks softly, dipping his head shyly with his wet chin shining in the light of your room.

You smile at him, leaning up to kiss him square on the mouth before you flip him over and get between his legs.

“I did,” You laugh in a daze, starting to work on his button and zipper. You’re reeling from the recent orgasm and want nothing more than to let him feel the same way you do right now. “And now, I'm gonna do the same for you.”

He chokes out a nervous laugh, holding your hand in place from pulling his pants down.

“Unless, you don’t want that?” You ask, tilting your head with a bit of a frown.

“N-No! It’s not that!” He reassures you, cheeks flushing more than they already were. “It’s just that– like, what if I don’t last very long? I’m kind of sensitive.”

His eyes avoid yours when he says it and once again, most adorable man award goes to fucking Jake.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing?” You lean forward, kissing him again. “You just gave me some of the best head in my life.”

The light in his eyes returns and instantly he’s flashing a nervous smile at you.

“Jake, I’ve never gotten off that fast from being eaten out.” You reassure him again, making a point to use his name loud and clear. “If you don’t get off from me sucking your cock, I might actually cry.”

Well, he can’t have that now, can he?

He releases your grip on his jeans, allowing you to pull them down. For some reason unable to look at you despite knowing you’ve seen him jerk off before. It’s the fact that like, what if it’s suddenly not big enough? What if his cock is ugly or curved in a way you don’t like?

Before he can even start to doubt himself more, he feels your lips on the tip and instantly his eyes are looking down at you. You’re the one smiling now, using one hand to hold his base and the other hand already scooping up his balls for added pleasure.

You make a point to look him in the eye as you let the saliva collect in your mouth when you pull back slightly. There, you let it fall from the tip of your tongue, all the way until you feel the wetness against your fingers wrapped around his base.

He thinks he’s going to go fucking insane watching you like this, and god, does he. You don’t even show him your struggle of taking in the sheer size of him. Lowering your mouth until you’re taking him in as much as you can. You try to keep eye contact up until you have to close your eyes.

It’s not shocking that by the point you get half of his length into your mouth, he’s fucking up without full intention and letting out a choked apology. Still, you try to force your stretched lips to smile for him, even through the gag, even through the harsh feeling of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

How the fuck has a cock this good not been worshiped before? By a mouth? A hand? A pussy? You’ll be damned not to choke on it. You’d rather eat glass than to let him leave this apartment without being completely emptied and praised for every drop.

He’s actually struggling already not to come, holding himself back but failing each time his hips chase the warmth of your throat. Each time you gag, it stimulates the fuck out of his cock and he nearly wants to cry each time it happens. Even with that other girl who went down on him, she didn’t even attempt to fit this much in her mouth. Most of the pleasure came from her hand jerking him off while she suckled against his head, but you. You’re down there, slipping your mouth up and down on him like that, gagging, tearing up, and still fucking smiling about it.

He’s in love.

He holds his hands back at least, keeping them against your sheets and gripping them so hard that he fears he’s ripping through them. Everything feels hot, you look hot, you sound hot, your tongue still manages to move against the base of his cock with what little room it does have, and god– your other hand, massaging his balls.

“Wait, wait wait–” Jake groans, fucking his hips into your mouth once again until you pull off with a concerned look.

“Were my teeth hurting you?” You ask, gasping a bit for air.

“No!” He heaves out with fluttering lashes, trying to regain sanity. “I was just getting really close.”

“Hm?” You sigh in disappointment, this time going all in at once and not letting yourself stop until he’s releasing into your mouth.

You feel his shaking fingers brush your cheek when you do it, hollowing it out just to fit more, more, more into your mouth before lapping your tongue against his base again.

His groaning turns into frantic moans, his hips jerking wildly, unable to escape the clenching muscles of your gagging throat, and he’s honestly in heaven once again.

“Ah–wait–fuck.” He tries to protest, not wanting to finish so quickly, but there it goes. There he goes.

Never in his life has he felt an orgasm so satisfying. His eyes roll back and his fingers go numb when he releases, pumping himself deep into your throat and not stopping until he’s dizzy. The fact that you kept your mouth on him through it, the fact that he could still feel you gagging, swallowing, and moaning all at once through it– how?

“How–” he takes a breath, pulling you off of him so you can breathe. “How did you do that?”

You shrug with a confident smile, wiping your tears and crawling up to meet his face.

“I don’t normally do that for guys.” You say with a rasp in your voice. “I certainly don’t just swallow for anyone.”

He feels special, and fucking spent but god does he want to keep going. His softening cock twitching in a relieving way, probably glad to have finally been touched by something other than his own hand. Part of him wonders if you’re done though, because by now you’ve both gotten off and usually that’s the end goal, right?

But he hasn’t lost his virginity yet, and when he looks at you hovering above him, he already knows you’re not done with him.

“We need to let you rest until you can get hard again,” You say, kissing him more easily than before and letting him taste himself, letting you taste yourself mixed with him. “What’s something you wanna do to get you back into the game?”

He sighs out a laugh, fucking amazed that you’re his first. How lucky is that? He thinks hard, watching the way you lift your shirt off of yourself. God, he forgot tits existed for a solid part of this day and that’s a shame because instantly his sensitive cock throbs at the image of them coming into view.

You watch him stare, trailing your hands down and lifting his shirt off of him as well.

“I– I don’t even know at this point.” He admits with a stammer, ignoring the fact that his hair is definitely sticking up all over from you taking his shirt off of him.

“I’ll just love on you while you think, then.”

He gives a short nod, feeling all warm and fuzzy inside at the way your gentle hands caress his chest and abs before you start kissing against the muscles and soft skin there.

He relaxes his body, feeling your hands and lips on him. You were right when you said you’d love on him as he thinks about it. The hard part of it is actually thinking about what’s going to get him harder the fastest. You doing this could be enough, but your tits. And fuck, your pussy.

He lets out a whine, one that feels entirely out of character and it causes you to pause your gentle kiss against his nipple and pull back.

“Already?”

He shakes his head, staring straight at your chest and then down to what's between your legs.

“I want to, um…” He shifts his eyes away from you. “Can I eat you out again?”

That’s new. Twice in one session?

“Oh yeah? Did that get you going?”

You receive a small nod from him before his hands are reaching out for your tits and warming them up.

You relax into the feeling of his fingers on your chest only for a moment before you pull back again, this time adjusting yourself onto the bed face down, ass up in front of him. Might as well try a bunch of different positions for him too, right?

“Whenever you’re ready.” You sigh, already grabbing a pillow to hug through this.

You can feel the bed shift behind you, the weight of his body dipping right behind you before you feel his warm breath against your core. Only now do you realize that you already missed the way he ate you out the first time, you can barely contain yourself knowing he’s going to do it again.

His hands snake between your legs before his lips get any closer, spreading them before pulling his hand back up and spreading your pussy open with his fingers on his own this time.

“It’s really the prettiest.” He says in a clear and shaking voice, watching the way your hole pulses at the air that hits it. “And I've watched a lot of porn.”

You’d tell him to shut up, but you’re not gonna because it’s cute how forward he is with his thoughts. If anything, he’s treating you right now by doing this, so he can say whatever he fucking wants right now.

“Yeah? You just gonna stare at it?” You try to urge him, and it works.

Because of course it works.

You do your best to contain any rising orgasm, solely because you don’t want to spend yourself before you actually let him inside of you in full. But goddamn, he’s just as eager now as he was the first time…if not more.

He thinks back to the things he did before, mimicking that and hitting all of the perfect spots without fail. Still, you hold back, pushing and pulling yourself away and toward him just to feel his tongue chase. He eventually holds you in place against him, big hands holding you firmly against his face with a bit of force. And now? He’s licking you deeper than you’ve ever been licked before. It’s a different kind of sensation, and the way he groans into it is entirely too much for you right now.

You need more, you want more. You want all of him by now, so aroused by every touch, breath, and moan that it’s becoming unbearable to just be eaten out. The thought that he’s doing this to get himself hard again is flooring, and the feeling of his fingers replacing his tongue much like before is intense.

After just that one time, he knows exactly how to make you cum this way and it’s dangerously attractive to realize that. He goes straight for it too, pulling back to watch his fingers slip into you up to the knuckle.

He hums out a rumbled moan at the sound of your cunt squelching around his fingers. So wet. More wet than any of the girls in the porn he’s watched for years. You’re dripping around his fingers, and the smacking sound is so fucking arousing to him.

And yeah, he can’t reach your clit with his mouth this time so he thinks hard about how to fix this little dilemma and you’re floored even more by the fact that he solves problems without questioning. You feel his fingers leave you and land on your clit, and right then you feel his tongue again, just as deep, licking into you and all over you.

The sound of your pussy amplifies when it’s against his tongue, and honestly, he could cum right now if he really wanted to. Already he’s hard again, but god feeling you, hearing you, seeing you like this for him? For some guy who has never once been able to give a girl his all like this?

He’s so focused on you.

Which for you, is a bit of an issue because he’s really not going to let you hold it in, he’s going to have you fucking unravelling again and it’s too good. Thankfully, when you try to lift to look behind yourself, you take note of his other hand working himself.

He’s hard again, and god knows how long he’s been doing that.

You pull your body away from him quickly to let your rising orgasm subside, his protesting moan doing nothing but heating your body up more when you flip over and watch him.

“You were really just going to get me off again and not try to fuck me yet?”

He looks down at himself and then back at you, smiling and running his hand through his hair.

“I like doing it, I wanted to see if I could make you–”

“You absolutely could have but I’m going to be honest,” You start, interrupting him and pulling yourself up to crawl over him. “If you’re ready, I’d like to live up to my promise.”

His eyes are much sharper than they were before when you say those words. This is actually it. He would have been perfectly happy just eating you out, getting head himself, or whatever. Over and over again. Any and all of it is better than being in his room alone, but you’re really–

“Really?” He asks, knowing full well the answer..

“Lay back, get comfortable,” You instruct with deep breaths, scooting up the bed with him, keeping yourself planted on his legs despite the discomfort. “You still want me to ride you, yeah?”

He nods almost frantically, landing his hands on your tits without hesitation and groping them in a blatant show of how ready he’s managed to get himself for this.

Not that you want to rush, but you’re so fucking turned on by this point, the only thing you want is to be filled by him. His is cock likely bigger than any you’ve taken before, and to be fair, you don’t even care if you’re the desperate one at this point. You’ve almost forgotten he’s a virgin.

“Wait,” He stops you when you slide over his cock, bare pussy coating his length in a languid grind. “Oh, fuck, wait- no,” He breathes in a sharp breath and grips your hips. ”Do that again.”

You smile at his frantic thoughts pouring from his lips, sliding against him again, and again, up until he’s leaning forward and attaching his lips to one of your nipples and suckling against it hard.

You groan as you grind, feeling the head of his now, fully hard, cock bumping against your previously stimulated clit. He groans with you, almost at the exact same time but continues to try and leave his mark on you. In love with finally getting your tits in his mouth, your pussy on his cock, and most of all, in love with the fact that you’re not laughing at him for any of it. You seem to melt into it much like he does and he can’t help but want to email the creator of that fucking app and personally thank them for this.

You rub yourself against him until it’s even more unbearable than before. By now, you’ve completely soaked his length and he’s completely soaked your chest in saliva and tiny swollen bite marks. Not that you mind the biting, his little rumbled grow-like moans only made this all the more arousing.

“Ready?” You finally sigh out, deliberately grinding against him slowly now, with almost your entire weight behind the grinds.

He groans out a “please” before immediately gripping your hips and stopping you. Pulling his head back so hard and so quickly– he kind of forgot to unlatch from your nipple and it sends a sharp pain throughout your body, one that only makes you want to ride him hard. Right now.

“Hold on, there’s a condom in the pocket of my jeans–”

“Okay, and?” You laugh, sliding forward again and grinding your clit against him. “I’m on birth control, and I’m clean.”

He looks at you, his sharp eyes falling back into the sparkling doe eyes as his mouth falls open at the very idea that he gets to hit is fucking raw for the first time?

“Unless you’re lying, and you’re not really a virgin?”

He’s quick to silence your doubt. He’s 100% never had his cock inside of anything other than his own palm and– malfunction. He’s blank again, staring up at you and wincing at the feeling of you pleasuring yourself on top of him.

“Please?” He manages to get out, gripping your hips so tightly by now that he’s sure it’s hurting you.

You smile, humming at him when you lift from him, standing on your knees to grab his cock and position him in the right place.

“You sure you want it too?” You ask, only now realizing that you’re genuinely about to take a man’s virginity, and it’s only fair that you give him one last time to decide if he wants you to take it from him. Despite how turned on you are, and regardless of how badly you want to fuck him, it’s not right to just do it without making him really think about it.

“Fuck, yes.” His fingers tighten against you, his eyes squeeze shut, and his voice comes out as frantic and quite frankly, a bit annoyed. “Just do it already.”

You can’t help but smile at him when you do. Lowering yourself slowly on him and feeling the stretch of it. His face is something that you don’t think you’ll ever forget. He appears to be lost in it, eyes rolling back, his chest heaving, his teeth showing through a half-smile as he moans out at the sensation.

He can’t get over how warm it is inside of you, the constant clenching of your pussy dragging along his entire length. He can’t help it when he moans, he doesn’t care that his voice cracks, or that it sounds like a pathetic sob.

By the time you bottom out and sit like that for a moment, you almost feel like he’s the one who needs to adjust. Of course, you’re needing this moment to adjust too but god– just watching him makes you that much more wet and it’s insane how into him you are right now. As if you haven’t been since you started talking to him.

“Feels good?” You ask, involuntary clenching around his size, letting out a small sigh yourself at the feeling of his leaking cock inside of you.

He hums at you and then takes in a deep breath before fully opening his eyes again and looking at you. Technically, he’s no longer a virgin now. It’s fucking happening, and you’re hot? So fucking hot? You feel so good? You smell so good. You sound so fucking good.

Everything is overwhelmingly good, all he can do now is press his hips up and instantly moan out at the new feeling.

You take that as an invitation to absolutely obliterate him, much like you knew you would. So, you do. Lifting yourself up and sliding him almost entirely out of you before sinking down again.

His hands shoot to your waist, then he lifts slightly to grab your ass from behind you, and then he flops himself back– seemingly unable to know what the fuck to do with himself at this feeling.

You opt to grab his hands, intertwining your fingers with his and holding them above his head, all so you can lay chest to chest with him, lips right at his neck. You start kissing, riding him so smoothly and doing nothing but listening to his little sounds that he tries to keep inside.

“You’re really cute, you know that?” You whisper against his ear, kissing there too before pulling back to look at his face.

That half-smile never leaves his face, and his fingers squeeze against yours so tightly that you actually start to worry that he may break them. Thankfully, he begins to relax after a few minutes. Adjusting to the overwhelming pleasure and now losing himself to the arousal rather than fighting it.

You nearly squeak when you feel him release your hands and grab your face, pulling you up to him as he kisses you mindlessly. Breathlessly, moaning into your mouth all while moving his own hips now. You can feel him jerk his hips, imagining how he fucked his hand through facetime. This is better than that.

You prop to stand up on your knees, offering him the space to fuck you as hard as he’d like, and god. It’s hard. It’s deep, and it’s so clumsy. No rhythm, no thought behind it at all, you can fucking tell he’s purely running on adrenaline as he plunges into you.

He’s actually going so hard, that your moans sound more pained than pleasurable, but that’s not the case at all. You actually can’t stop moaning, it’s just the fact that each time he slams into you, your throat lets out a broken sound.

For a moment, you think you can actually hear him unintentionally growl against your slack lips as he does it. Already he’s lasted longer than you thought he would, especially without a condom, and you’re so fucking impressed by it.

You slide your hand between your bodies, easily rubbing your own clit and drying out your throat even more with the consistent loud moans of how good he’s doing. After a few moments though, his hips stutter and you take that as a sign that you should take over again.

“I don’t know how the fuck you’re doing this to me,” You laugh out of pity for yourself, “I really thought I could last longer than this.”

He barely hears you through his ringing ears and rapid heartbeat, but he chuckles at the compliment. Feeling like he must be doing something right to have a woman say that to him. There’s one issue. He’s about two thrusts from cumming again and he will be damned to ruin this for you.

You take over, riding him harshly and rubbing your clit even harder. He takes a moment to try and distract himself from how good your pussy feels clenching him and takes it upon himself to bite down hard against his tongue. Something to hurt enough to keep his orgasm from bubbling over, but also not something so awful that he’d lose his arousal entirely.

You continue, pushing yourself back up from him and watching the way he tries to focus on anything but what’s happening. You ride deliberately to get him off though, knowing that the second he does, you’ll let yourself go too. He doesn’t seem to be picking up the hints.

“Are you close?” You ask, out of breath and riding him so consistently that it’s becoming more and more difficult to hold your own orgasm. “Let it go, do it with me–”

Instantly, you hear him whimper out a moan as he releases the bite on his tongue. Shooting himself forward and hugging you so tightly that the pressure of your fingers against your clit is entirely unbearable.

“Oh, god. I’m–” You start, moaning against his hair as he hugs against you.

He’s so fucking relieved, already releasing into you as you say those words. All he can do is breathe through it, feeling your pussy pulse around him as he continues to empty himself into you.

It’s entirely too intense, his ears popping and heart threatening to send him to a hospital. Never did he think having sex was this intense.

Little does he know… it’s not. But even you, for some reason, find yourself wondering why the fuck that was so good.

By the time you pull yourself off of him, both of you wincing and trying to ignore the mixture of cum running down your legs, all you can do is look at him with curiosity.

He can barely open his eyes to look back at you, but he tries, he really does.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He’s not going home tonight. Of course he’s not. Like, how fucking rude would it be to take his virginity and send him on his way? Absolutely the fuck not.

In fact, you made him some food, wobbling on spent legs throughout the kitchen as he lays on his death bed in your room. (He’s being dramatic.)

All he can do is listen to the sounds of you in the other room and think hard about how he just felt. Physically, it was a lot. Surely if sex is like that all the time, he’d rather not do it as often as Heeseung does. Honestly, his sanity would be at stake.

But like, you’re kind of amazing. Given, the two of you barely know each other past lame texts and bullying each other. Physically, you know him more than any other woman and that’s a block he didn’t think would be an issue until it became one.

You made him cum twice. And he thinks you did too, unless you’re lying just to make him feel better. There’s no way you didn’t feel the intensity of that though. There’s no way your wobbling legs were lying to him when you got up and told him you wanted to have a snack before bed.

There’s no way you would let him sleep over if you didn’t feel the same way he does right now.

And by the time you’re back, handing him a plate of food, he can’t help but believe that nothing will ever taste as good as you.

The thing is, that’s one of the main reasons you did this. To be praised, to have a man think you’d be the best he will ever have until he eventually meets someone else and they do better than you did. Now though, you feel weird.

This is a one night stand. A charity-fuck, as it still stands at least.

“So,” You start, taking a bite of your food still as naked as can be regardless of how stupid it must look to be eating in a cum-soaked bed like this. “I guess you should change your bio in the app now.”

He looks at you, and then at his food.

“Yeah, I guess I should…”

“I’ll help you fix your age on it. Now that you know what you’re doing with a woman and all.”

It’s silent for a minute.

“Is it too forward if I say that I’d rather just delete the app and keep calling you?”

Thank fuck Jake is forward and embarrassing with it. You’re not ready to give up the single life but on the other hand, after that, you’re not exactly ready to share him with other women just yet either. If he wants to attach himself for a while, you’re going to let him. Purely because, like, look at him. Everything is endearing, and when he’s not being adorable he’s just being fucking hot.

Maybe you will be ready to give up the single life if it’s with Jake.

You nod with a smile, wondering if he expects you to delete the app too. Because you’re not so sure about that, but also you think you probably would if he asks with those stupid doe eyes.

Strangely enough, he doesn’t even ask. He just starts eating the food with a content look on his face. Sweat having dried up but left his hair a mess, his skin is glowing– you think…oh no. Why are you looking at him like this?

“Hey, I should probably call Jay and tell him not to come home until late tomorrow or something.”

Jake nods, lifting his eyes to you and watching you take your phone out.

“I should call my friend too, he told me to let him know when I get my cherry popped.”

You snort at him with a laugh right as Jay answers the phone, and honestly, you’d rather listen to Jake’s friend than Jay whining about having to spend even more time with his overbearing parents.

“Hey Jay, don’t come home 'til I call you tomorrow, bye.” You say quickly before hanging up.

Instantly you’re setting your plate on your table and launching yourself at Jake and his phone.

“Put him on speaker.”

Jake does just that, laughing at Heeseung’s reaction when he hears you speak rather than his best friend over the line.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

#enhypen smut #jake smut #jake sim smut #jaeyun smut #sim jaeyun smut #enha smut

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amethystarachnid · 19 hours ago

Note

30. Holiday Movie Night with the Avengers (or X-Men) – The Avengers decide to have a Christmas movie marathon for the whole family. Your character is skeptical about the cheesy movies, but what happens when they get caught up in the holiday spirit?

My character is Tony Stark, please, and I'm a female reader ❤️ I was thinking that maybe they are best friends, and seeing how happy the reader is watching those movies, he'll realize he has feelings for her and in the next day he'll invite her to a date inspired in some movie scene and tell her he loves her and ask her to be his girlfriend and she'll say yes because she loves him too, and please, lots of kisses 🤭 ohh, and they can turn "watching movies" into their cute little tradition too 😊

Thank you 😊

MOVIE NIGHT & KISSES

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

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

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.7k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

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

The living room of the Avengers compound looks like a Christmas card threw up all over it. Tony’s doing, obviously. You step inside, arms loaded with snacks—because you don’t trust Tony not to have stocked up exclusively on the weird gourmet stuff no one likes—and immediately trip over a tiny reindeer statue.

“Why?” you ask the air. Tony’s voice floats down the hallway before his actual appearance.

“Why what? Be more specific, or I’ll assume you’re asking why I’m fabulous.”

You roll your eyes and dump your cargo of chips, popcorn, and candy on the coffee table. “Why is there a deer the size of a toddler lying in wait for my ankles? It’s assault.”

Tony finally enters, grinning like he’s just pulled off a massive heist instead of, you know, redecorating. “You mean Blitzen? He’s festive. And you should really watch where you’re walking. Consider it a training exercise.”

“Blitzen,” you deadpan, already fishing around for scissors to open the snack bags. “You named the little menace Blitzen.”

“Of course, I did. What do you take me for, a savage? Anyway, what’s that—Pringles? Ugh, so pedestrian. Don’t worry, I’ve got foie gras chips in the kitchen.”

“Tony, no,” you say, cutting him off. “No one’s eating foie gras anything during movie night.”

“Fine. Keep your proletariat palate,” he huffs, but there’s no bite to it as he snags a bag of M&Ms and flops onto the couch like it’s claimed him.

The others start trickling in soon after, voices overlapping in that chaotic yet strangely comfortable way you’ve come to expect from these gatherings. Natasha is the first to spot the reindeer and gives you a knowing look.

“You trip over that thing yet?” she asks.

“Blitzen almost ended me,” you confirm, earning a snort.

“Is Tony naming inanimate objects again?” Steve asks, clearly trying and failing to hide a smile as he surveys the chaos.

“Not just naming them,” you say, gesturing at the garlands, twinkling lights, and a giant Santa hat perched on one corner of the TV. “He’s created an entire ecosystem.”

Thor, arriving last but with the biggest entrance, spots the reindeer and scoops it up like it’s an actual living thing. “What a curious creature!” he declares, cradling it as though it might respond. “May I keep it?”

“Absolutely not,” Tony says, looking horrified. “Blitzen is part of the ambiance.”

You try not to laugh, but it bubbles out anyway, and Tony shoots you a mock glare. “This is the respect I get from my so-called best friend? Unbelievable.”

“Your ‘best friend’ just saved movie night from foie gras chips, so I think I’ve earned the right to laugh,” you retort, throwing yourself onto the couch next to him.

The movie selection process devolves into chaos, as usual. Clint tries to sneak in a Christmas horror movie, Natasha threatens to walk out if it’s not something at least tolerable, and Steve insists on something “classic,” which somehow leads to a passionate argument over whether Die Hard qualifies as a Christmas movie.

Through it all, Tony leans closer to you, voice low. “If this debate goes on for another five minutes, I say we hijack the remote and put on Iron Man 3. Christmas and a superhero. Win-win.”

You snort, nudging him with your shoulder. “Tempting, but I don’t think your ego could survive the fallout.”

“Oh, please,” he replies, tossing an arm over the back of the couch—dangerously close to your shoulders, but you don’t mind. “My ego’s indestructible.”

Eventually, the group settles on a compromise: Home Alone, mostly because Thor declares he’s never seen it and everyone agrees watching his reactions will be worth it.

As the opening credits roll, Tony leans closer. “This is cozy,” he says, a bit quieter than usual. His fingers graze yours on the couch, almost hesitant.

It’s a small moment, but it feels like the beginning of something. You glance at him, catching his slight smirk and the way his eyes flick toward the screen—but not before they linger on you just a second too long.

“Yeah,” you reply, smiling despite yourself. “It is.”

Kevin McCallister’s family is in full-on holiday chaos, and Thor is already narrating everything happening on screen like it’s the most thrilling battle sequence he’s ever witnessed.

“This small one is quite cunning,” Thor declares as Kevin rigs up a rudimentary alarm system using toy cars and string. “His enemies shall rue the day they underestimated him!”

“Thor, buddy,” Clint says between mouthfuls of popcorn, “we’re ten minutes in. The burglars haven’t even shown up yet.”

“Then they are fools!” Thor retorts, clutching the reindeer statue—Blitzen—to his chest like a comfort object. “He will outwit them with his warrior’s guile.”

Tony leans closer to you, and you can feel the warmth of him even before he murmurs, “You ever feel like we’re babysitting a very excitable golden retriever?”

You laugh, low and quiet. “A golden retriever with lightning powers. No pressure.”

He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest where his arm is still casually draped over the back of the couch. You don’t even notice when his fingers start to toy idly with the fabric of your sleeve.

The movie continues, and Thor’s commentary only grows more dramatic. When Kevin sets up his elaborate booby traps, Thor sits up straighter, his eyes gleaming with admiration.

“A master tactician!” he declares, and when Kevin’s paint can swings down the stairs to clobber one of the burglars, Thor actually roars with laughter. “A fine blow! Truly, this child deserves to sit at the table of warriors!”

Natasha leans toward you, whispering just loud enough for you and Tony to hear. “We should tell Thor that Kevin’s real superpower is abandonment issues.”

Tony snorts into his drink, and you elbow him lightly. “Be nice,” you say, even though you’re stifling your own laughter.

The movie progresses, and somewhere between Kevin faking a party with mannequins and setting Harry’s head on fire, you start to shift closer to Tony without even realizing it. It’s not a conscious thing—you just naturally lean toward the warmth of him, especially when his arm slides from the back of the couch to drape over your shoulders.

You think it’s just Tony being Tony—he’s always been a tactile kind of guy, quick with a casual touch or a teasing nudge—but you don’t notice the way he freezes for half a second before relaxing again, his fingers brushing lightly against your upper arm.

The truth is, Tony’s barely paying attention to the movie anymore. He’s too busy fighting the sudden, overwhelming realization that he’s completely, undeniably in love with you. It hits him somewhere between Thor’s boisterous laughter and the way your hair catches the soft glow of the Christmas lights strung across the room.

He’s Tony Stark. He’s built suits that fly, survived impossible odds, and traded snark with gods—but the idea of telling you how he feels? That terrifies him.

So, instead, he lets himself have this moment. He lets himself enjoy the way you’re snuggled against his side, your head resting lightly against his shoulder, your laughter bright and unguarded as you watch the movie.

You, of course, are blissfully unaware of the internal crisis unfolding next to you. You’re too busy giggling at Thor’s indignant outrage when one of the burglars steps on a nail.

“That would never pierce true Asgardian steel!” Thor exclaims, pounding the arm of the couch for emphasis. “These mortal feet are most fragile.”

“It’s a movie, big guy,” Clint says, tossing a popcorn kernel in Thor’s direction. “You’re supposed to suspend disbelief.”

Thor catches the kernel mid-air with surprising grace and pops it into his mouth. “A strange custom,” he mutters, but he settles back down, still cradling Blitzen.

As the movie nears its climax, you shift slightly, tucking your legs up onto the couch. Without thinking, you rest your head more firmly against Tony’s shoulder, and his arm tightens around you just a fraction.

“This is nice,” you murmur, half to yourself.

“Yeah,” Tony replies, his voice softer than you’re used to hearing. “It is.”

He doesn’t look at the screen. He doesn’t need to. The way you fit against him, the way your laughter feels like the warmest part of the room—that’s all he cares about. But he’s Tony Stark, so he masks it with a quip. “Although I’m starting to feel personally attacked by how much Kevin loves duct tape.”

You laugh, swatting at his chest lightly. “If the suit fits…”

“I’ll have you know duct tape is a versatile and invaluable tool,” he says, grinning down at you. “It’s like me—underappreciated but indispensable.”

Natasha, who’s apparently been paying more attention to you two than the movie, leans over again. “You two gonna make it through the night without bickering like an old married couple, or should we set up counseling now?”

Tony doesn’t miss a beat. “I’d make an excellent husband, for the record.”

You roll your eyes, feeling your cheeks warm inexplicably. “Good to know, Tony. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He smirks, but there’s a flicker of something softer in his expression, something almost vulnerable, before he masks it with his usual bravado.

By the time the movie ends and Kevin’s family finally comes home, Thor is on his feet, applauding like he’s just witnessed the greatest cinematic masterpiece of all time.

“A truly glorious tale!” he declares. “The boy is a hero of the highest caliber. I must share this story with the warriors of Asgard.”

Steve claps Thor on the back, clearly trying not to laugh. “I’m sure they’ll love it, big guy.”

The group starts to disperse after that, everyone gathering up their plates and drinks and muttering goodnights. Tony’s still sitting with you on the couch, his arm loose around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You staying?” he asks casually, but there’s a note of something more in his voice.

“Yeah,” you reply, smiling up at him. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

He grins, and for a moment, you think there’s something different in his eyes—something softer, warmer—but then he’s back to his usual self, teasing you about stealing the good spot on the couch.

Neither of you moves, though. The others leave, the credits roll, and the room quiets, but you and Tony stay there, comfortably tangled together under the glow of the Christmas lights.

You sit at the small kitchen table in your apartment, cradling a mug of coffee and scrolling through your phone. The morning sunlight streams through the window, catching on the tiny particles of dust floating lazily in the air. It’s quiet, peaceful, a welcome contrast to the loud, boisterous chaos of movie night at the compound. You’re mid-sip when your phone buzzes with a message, and you glance down to see the sender: “Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️.”

Tony. Of course.

You smirk to yourself—he hates that nickname, which makes it all the more satisfying that it’s what you’ve saved him as. Opening the message, you find it’s short and to the point.

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: Hey, you free tonight?

Your eyebrows raise. Not a “good morning” or even a “hope you survived Blitzen.” Classic Tony, straight to the point. You type back quickly.

You: What’s it to you, Stark?

The response comes almost immediately.

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: Just answer the question, smartass.

You laugh into your coffee, shaking your head. It’s too early for this.

You: Yeah, I’m free. Why?

This time, there’s a slight pause before his next message comes through.

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: Good. I’m picking you up at 7. Wear something nice.

You nearly choke on your coffee.

You: Excuse me? What is this?

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: It’s called dinner. People eat it.

You: Are you bribing me with food?

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: No, I’m taking you to a restaurant.

You: Is this a date, Stark?

You’re joking—mostly—but the reply that pops up a moment later makes you freeze.

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: Yeah.

You blink at the screen, half expecting the words to rearrange themselves into something less earth-shattering. They don’t.

You: Seriously?

Three dots appear, disappear, and then reappear. Somewhere across town, you know Tony is staring at his phone with the same level of panic you’re feeling.

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: Yeah. Seriously.

Your heart stumbles into a gallop, and you stare at the phone, the words it’s a date looping in your mind like a broken record. You’re equal parts thrilled and terrified, your stomach doing flips like it’s auditioning for the circus. You’ve always known Tony flirts with anything that moves, but this… this feels different.

You: Okay. I’ll be ready.

You don’t know how you manage to type it without your hands shaking. On the other side of the city, Tony is probably sweating bullets, wondering if he’s just ruined everything. But as you set your phone down and glance at the clock, the only thing you can think is, Oh, God. I have nothing to wear.

By the time you’ve finished your breakfast, you’re mentally cataloging your closet and deciding nothing in it will do. You know Tony well enough to know that when he says “wear something nice,” he doesn’t mean a cute sweater and jeans. No, he’ll have picked some ridiculously fancy place where the appetizers cost more than your electric bill.

The afternoon turns into a whirlwind of trying on every remotely elegant outfit you own. The black dress? Too basic. The navy one? No, that’s what you wore to Natasha’s birthday last year. The red one? It’s a showstopper, sure, but is it too much?

You eventually settle on a dress you haven’t worn in ages—a deep emerald green number that fits like it was tailored just for you. Pairing it with heels and some understated jewelry, you give yourself one last critical look in the mirror.

“Not bad,” you mutter to your reflection, though the butterflies in your stomach are anything but calm.

By the time 7 o’clock rolls around, you’re pacing your apartment, trying not to overthink every detail. You’ve spent the entire day replaying Tony’s text messages, dissecting every word, and now you’re a bundle of nerves.

The buzz of your phone breaks the silence, and you check it to see another message from Tin Can Man.

Tin Can Man 🚀🛠️: I’m downstairs.

Grabbing your coat and bag, you take a deep breath, steeling yourself. When you step outside, there he is, leaning casually against a sleek black car that looks like it costs more than your apartment building. He’s dressed impeccably, of course—dark suit, crisp shirt, no tie, but the top button undone just enough to scream effortless charm.

“You clean up well,” you say, trying to sound more composed than you feel.

Tony’s gaze sweeps over you, and for a moment, he doesn’t reply. His usual smirk softens into something you can’t quite place, something that makes your heart skip a beat.

“You look… wow,” he says finally, and it’s so un-Tony-like that you can’t help but laugh.

“Don’t hurt yourself, Stark.”

He grins, holding the car door open for you with a flourish. “Your chariot awaits, milady.”

As you slide into the car, you wonder if Tony’s as nervous as you are. If he is, he hides it well. But when he gets behind the wheel, you notice his grip on the steering wheel is just a little tighter than usual.

Neither of you says much during the drive, but the air is charged with something unspoken. When you arrive at the restaurant—a place so fancy it doesn’t even have a sign—you turn to Tony, arching an eyebrow.

“Subtle,” you tease, gesturing at the valet waiting to park the car.

Tony shrugs, smirking. “What can I say? I have a reputation to uphold.”

Inside, the restaurant is even more extravagant than you expected. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, and the soft hum of a piano drifts through the air. You’re suddenly very aware of how out of your element you feel, but Tony, ever the smooth talker, leads you to a table like he owns the place.

The evening unfolds in a blur of good food, light banter, and moments where you catch Tony looking at you with an expression that makes your cheeks warm. By the time dessert arrives, you’re no longer nervous—you’re just happy.

And maybe falling for your best friend wasn’t such a crazy idea after all.

The restaurant is a swirl of elegance and opulence. You sit at a cozy, candlelit table near a window that offers a breathtaking view of the city skyline. The warm glow of the chandeliers dances off the pristine silverware, and the soft murmur of conversations fills the air like a melody. Across from you, Tony looks uncharacteristically calm—at least on the surface.

“You’ve outdone yourself, Stark,” you say, gesturing to the impeccably arranged plate in front of you. It’s some kind of artistically deconstructed dish that looks almost too pretty to eat. Almost.

“Outdoing myself is my specialty,” he replies with a wink, swirling the wine in his glass. But there’s something in his eyes, a flicker of nervousness he’s trying hard to hide.

The conversation flows easily as the courses arrive one by one. You talk about everything and nothing—the latest Avengers antics, your recent binge of terrible reality TV, and Tony’s latest tech project, which involves an overly ambitious plan to automate coffee-making robots.

“And how’s that working out?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugs, grinning. “Let’s just say I’ve destroyed two espresso machines and one microwave. But progress is progress.”

You laugh, the sound filling the small bubble the two of you have created. There’s a moment of quiet, the kind that feels comfortable and loaded at the same time. Tony’s gaze lingers on you, and you suddenly feel warm, the candlelight only adding to the effect.

“What?” you ask, your voice softer now.

“Nothing,” he says quickly, looking away for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “Just… you look happy. I like it.”

You blink, your heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his tone. Tony Stark doesn’t do sentimental—not usually. But tonight, there’s something different about him, something almost vulnerable.

When dessert is served—a rich chocolate creation that looks like it belongs in a museum—Tony leans back in his chair, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“So,” he says, “you’re enjoying yourself?”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t,” you reply, taking a bite of the dessert. “This is probably the fanciest dinner I’ve ever had.”

His smirk widens. “Good. Because the date hasn’t even started yet.”

You freeze mid-bite, narrowing your eyes at him. “What do you mean, hasn’t started? Tony, we’re literally on a date right now.”

He stands, tossing a few bills onto the table to cover the check—because of course he doesn’t wait for the server. Extending a hand to you, he says, “Trust me, sweetheart. This was just the warm-up.”

Curiosity and excitement war in your chest as you let him lead you out of the restaurant and back to the car. Once you’re settled in, he glances at you, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face.

“Just… keep an open mind, okay?” he says, his voice quieter now.

“Tony Stark, what are you up to?”

“You’ll see,” he replies, his usual confidence tinged with something you can’t quite place.

The car ride is a blur, and when he finally pulls up to your next destination, your jaw drops.

The scene before you looks like something straight out of a movie—your favorite movie, to be exact. It’s an outdoor setting, lit by dozens of string lights and lanterns. A small, charming gazebo sits in the center, surrounded by fairy lights that twinkle like stars. There’s a vintage record player set up, softly playing the theme from the movie you’ve watched more times than you can count.

“Tony…” you whisper, stepping out of the car. “How did you—”

He shrugs, but there’s a hint of nervousness in his posture. “You mentioned it once. Something about how you thought this was the perfect date, so… I figured I’d give it a shot.”

You turn to him, your heart swelling so much it feels like it might burst. “You did this for me?”

“Yeah, well, don’t make a big deal out of it,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “I just wanted it to be… special.”

“Tony,” you breathe, unable to stop the smile spreading across your face. “It’s perfect.”

He visibly relaxes at your words, his shoulders dropping a fraction. Taking your hand, he leads you toward the gazebo, where a small table is set with two glasses of champagne.

The two of you sit, the city’s bustle far away, the moment feeling almost surreal. You’re about to tease him about being a closet romantic when he stands suddenly, pacing a few steps before turning to face you.

“Okay,” he says, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. “I had this whole speech planned, but it’s probably terrible, and I’m gonna screw it up, but—”

“Tony,” you interrupt, standing and moving closer to him. “What’s going on?”

He takes a deep breath, his hands fidgeting at his sides.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he says, his words rushing out in a way that makes your heart ache for him. “And I know I’m not exactly the easiest guy to deal with, and I probably don’t deserve you, but… I love you.”

Your breath catches.

“I love you,” he repeats, his voice steadier now. “And I want to know if you’ll—if you’ll be my girlfriend.”

For a moment, you just stare at him, the world spinning and standing still all at once. He looks so uncharacteristically vulnerable, his usual bravado stripped away, and it’s the most honest, beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“Yes,” you say finally, your voice soft but sure.

His eyes widen. “Yes?”

“Yes, Tony,” you repeat, stepping closer and cupping his face in your hands. “I love you too.”

Relief floods his features, and then he’s pulling you into his arms, holding you like he’s afraid you might vanish if he lets go.

“You have no idea how much I wanted to hear that,” he murmurs against your hair.

You laugh, the sound full of joy. “You should’ve said something sooner, you idiot.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his grin finally returning. “Yeah, well, you know me. Always gotta make a scene.”

And as he leans down to kiss you, the world fades away, leaving only the warmth of his lips against yours, the twinkling lights around you, and the overwhelming feeling that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

The night sky stretches above you in all its vast, glittering glory, each star twinkling like tiny diamonds. The air is crisp but not too cold, the kind of chill that makes snuggling up feel like the best idea ever. You and Tony are still in the gazebo, but now you’re lying on a soft blanket, tucked close together, the twinkling lights overhead mixing with the stars.

Tony’s arm is wrapped around you, pulling you into his side like he doesn’t want to let go. His fingers trace light patterns along your arm, the sensation sending little shivers up your spine, though it’s not cold. It’s just him—his touch, his presence, everything about him.

You’re trying to focus on the sky, trying to keep your thoughts from wandering into how impossibly perfect this feels. The night is still, save for the soft rustling of the leaves in the trees around you, and the soft strains of the music drifting from the record player. The atmosphere feels like something out of a dream. This is a dream, right? Or maybe the best kind of reality.

“You know,” Tony says, his voice warm and full of that familiar teasing tone, “I had a whole speech planned for tonight. Thought I’d sound all suave, you know? But the second I saw you… I kinda forgot it all.”

You glance up at him, raising an eyebrow, your lips twitching into a smile. “You were going to give a speech?”

“Of course. I was gonna be all, ‘From the moment I met you, I knew you were destined to be mine,’ or something equally charming,” he replies, pretending to sound dramatic and smooth. He exaggerates the ‘destined’ part, earning a small laugh from you.

“And why didn’t you?”

Tony shrugs, giving you an exaggerated, almost childlike look. “Well, I got distracted by how ridiculously beautiful you look tonight. Didn’t really need the speech after all.”

You snort, glancing over at him. “Oh, so now you’ve forgotten how to flirt.”

“I never forget,” he says, sounding more like a proud peacock than anything else. He shifts so he’s leaning over you just a little more, his eyes gleaming mischievously. “I just use actions to back up my words, princess.”

“Oh, really?” You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep the teasing tone in your voice, but your heart is already doing little somersaults in your chest.

Before you can finish your thought, Tony leans in, placing a kiss on the tip of your nose. It’s quick, playful, but there’s something in it—something that sends warmth spreading through you from your cheeks all the way down to your toes. You giggle, brushing your nose.

“That’s how you back up your words? With nose kisses?”

“Nope.” His lips hover just above your skin, and he presses a lingering kiss to your cheek. “I like to keep you on your toes.”

You grin, feeling giddy. “Well, you’re doing a good job of that, Stark.”

You tilt your head back, letting your hair spill out behind you like a waterfall, and your lips brush against his cheek in return. His breath hitches just slightly, like he wasn’t expecting it. He turns his face toward you, and suddenly his lips are on yours, soft and warm and impossibly sweet. It’s a kiss that lingers, slow and tender, and for a moment, it feels like time stands still.

He pulls back just a fraction, his forehead resting against yours. You stay like that for a moment, eyes closed, savoring the feeling of him being so close. There’s no rush, no need for words—just the soft rhythm of breathing, the beating of two hearts that finally seem in sync.

“You’re incredible, you know that?” Tony murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

You grin, tilting your head to look up at him. “What? Because I’m capable of giving you a kiss on the cheek?”

“Oh, that’s not what I’m talking about, sweetheart,” Tony says, his voice suddenly softer, more vulnerable. He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, and when he speaks again, there’s a tenderness in his voice that makes your chest tighten. “I’m talking about how you make me feel. How lucky I am to have you here. With me.”

You blink, heart flipping. “Tony…”

“Yeah,” he says, laughing under his breath. “I know I’m Tony Stark, but I’m pretty sure you’re the one who’s got me totally wrapped around your finger.” He gives you a playful wink, but there’s something more genuine behind it.

“Look at you being all sentimental,” you tease, trying to hide the growing warmth in your chest.

He narrows his eyes playfully. “I’m sentimental for you, sweetheart. Don’t get used to it.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you reply with a soft laugh. “I think I could get used to it.”

You lean up to kiss him again, a little slower this time, but just as sweet. His hands slip around your waist, pulling you closer, as if he can’t get close enough. You’re pressed so tightly together that there’s no space left, no room for any doubts or anything that isn’t him. His lips move against yours, warm and eager, but he pulls back after a moment, his nose brushing against your cheek as he lets out a deep sigh.

“You know,” Tony says, his voice low and just a little breathless, “I’ve kissed a lot of people in my time, but none of them made me feel like this.”

You smile softly, your heart fluttering in your chest. “I’m glad I’m the exception.”

“Oh, believe me,” he mutters, leaning in for another kiss, “you’re definitely the exception.”

This kiss is different—deeper, more hungry, like he can’t quite get enough. His hands move from your waist, sliding up your back to cradle your head, pulling you even closer. You respond eagerly, feeling the heat between you growing, but Tony pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes soft and full of something you can’t quite name.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice surprisingly serious.

You nod quickly. “Yeah, I’m just… overwhelmed.”

“Good overwhelmed?” He grins, his trademark cocky smirk returning.

“Very good overwhelmed,” you reply, laughing softly. “But you have a habit of kissing me senseless, Stark. You’re gonna give me a heart attack.”

He chuckles, his lips hovering near yours. “Sorry, can’t help it. You just make me so… damn happy. And I haven’t even told you how amazing you look tonight. Like, I’m seriously getting distracted just looking at you.”

You blush at the compliment, but Tony doesn’t give you much time to respond before he leans down and kisses you again, this time slower, gentler, with a lingering tenderness that makes your heart race in a different way. His lips are soft and warm, and when he pulls back, you’re both breathless, eyes fluttering open to meet each other.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?” you say, your voice teasing, but there’s a hint of something deeper in it now.

Tony grins, clearly pleased with himself. “I’m pretty sure you just made my night. I’m never letting you go, you know.”

You laugh, poking him lightly in the chest. “Not that I’m complaining, but I think I might be the one who’s going to keep you.”

Tony presses another kiss to your lips, this one playful, with a promise of more to come. He can’t stop himself now. He wants you—he wants you in a way that feels almost primal, like he’s not willing to let go of you, ever. You feel the same.

“Good,” he whispers against your lips. “Because you’re stuck with me now.”

As the night continues, you both stay there, tangled together on the blanket, lost in the sweetness of the moment, kissing, laughing, and just enjoying the quiet joy of being with each other. There’s no rush, no expectation—just the two of you, finally figuring out that this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

And for the first time in a long time, you don’t need anything else. Just Tony. And maybe a few more kisses.

The Avengers Tower’s common room is buzzing with excitement as movie night rolls around again, but this time, there’s a palpable change in the air. It's been a few weeks since you and Tony officially became a couple, and everyone can feel the shift. The usual dynamic is the same—loud chatter, snacks being passed around, and the occasional argument over what movie to watch—but there's something different now, something that makes every glance between you and Tony feel a little more charged. And you know exactly what it is.

As you walk into the room, hand in hand with Tony, the team falls silent for a brief moment before an uproar of teasing starts. Steve looks up from his phone and winks. Natasha smirks. Thor chuckles, and Clint just shakes his head with an exaggerated sigh. You and Tony sit down on the couch, the atmosphere now a mix of curiosity and playful mockery.

"So," Steve begins with that too-innocent expression on his face, "what are we watching tonight? Another Christmas classic?"

"Well, it is still December," Tony replies, his hand slipping to the back of your chair. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he adds in a low, teasing voice, "But we can make it even more special, you know. I was thinking of a Christmas movie marathon… just the two of us."

You glance over at him, surprised at the suggestion. It’s not like Tony to offer a quiet, cozy evening without any extra flair, but for some reason, the idea of spending the night with him like that, away from everyone else, feels… comforting. You smile, leaning toward him and resting your head on his shoulder. "I like that idea," you murmur, nudging him playfully with your elbow.

The team watches you both, exchanging amused looks, and it only takes a second for Clint to speak up.

"Guys, seriously? Are we watching a Christmas movie or just watching you two get all… lovey-dovey for two hours?" He throws his hands up in exasperation. "It's like all you do now."

"Hey," Tony says, lifting an eyebrow as he shoots Clint a look. "We are on a date."

"Yeah, a date with a group of people who are very interested in your every move." Natasha’s voice is dry, but there's a playful sparkle in her eyes.

"Ugh, gross," Clint mutters, pretending to gag, but the smirk on his face betrays the fact that he's more entertained than anything else.

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile that spreads across your face at their teasing. Tony, meanwhile, seems to thrive on the attention, leaning back a little too dramatically and pulling you closer to his side.

“I’m just a lucky guy,” Tony says with that smug smile of his, squeezing your shoulder. "Do you all see what I have to deal with? She’s perfect."

"Sure, Stark, you’re the lucky one," Clint mutters, dramatically pulling out a bag of chips from the table and shoving a handful into his mouth.

“You know,” Thor says from the armchair where he’s lounging, “when a mortal finds true love, it should be celebrated. It is a noble thing, indeed!” He raises his mug of beer as if toasting you both. "May you two share many winters together in joy."

"Aw, thanks, Thor." You smile at the god of thunder, and Tony gives you a mock bow.

"Let’s just try to survive the night without any more of that emotional stuff, okay?" Steve says, giving you a wink. "We’re here to watch a movie, not get too intense."

You lean into Tony with a smile, enjoying the teasing atmosphere. But, of course, Tony has to make it worse—or better, depending on how you look at it.

“Hey, don’t act like we’re not entertaining you guys. Who else is going to give you this much material to work with, huh?” He shrugs and adjusts his arm around you, pulling you closer, his hand resting casually on your thigh. “Besides, we love a little public display of affection.”

“Oh, we know,” Clint says with a mock groan, covering his eyes dramatically. "We’ve seen enough PDA to last a lifetime."

"Yeah, but have you seen this?" Tony asks, his eyes glinting mischievously as he pulls you closer. Without warning, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, and then another on the top of your head.

The room falls into an exaggerated silence as everyone stares.

“Really, Tony?” Steve raises an eyebrow, a look of disbelief on his face.

“Come on, Cap. It’s just a kiss,” you reply, though your voice is full of suppressed laughter.

“Yeah, a thousand kisses,” Clint quips from across the room, rolling his eyes. “At least they’re not making out in front of us—that would be too much.”

“Oh, don’t tempt us, Clint,” Tony smirks, his fingers gently brushing against your cheek, his lips hovering just above yours for a beat. It’s sweet and intimate, but just teasing enough to make everyone squirm.

“Okay, okay,” Natasha finally says, throwing her hands up. “We get it. You’re in love. Just pick a movie already, or we’re going to have to find some other way to get the room’s attention.”

You both laugh, and Tony gives her a playful wink before leaning back into the couch, pulling you with him. You settle against him, your head resting on his chest, the warmth of his body comforting. It’s nice like this—cozy, familiar, and surrounded by people who you know are teasing just because they’re happy for you.

"So," Tony says, looking around the room and clearing his throat. "We decided on a Christmas movie marathon, but only if everyone can behave. If we end up with more sarcastic commentary and eye-rolls, we might have to take it to the bedroom and really make it a private affair.”

“Ugh, no, no,” Clint says, holding his hands up in mock horror. "We’ll behave. Promise."

Tony grins, clearly enjoying every second of this, before pressing the play button on the remote. The opening credits of Love Actually start to roll, and everyone immediately starts making playful comments. You can’t help but chuckle as Tony holds you a little tighter, clearly amused by the bickering happening around you.

As the movie continues, you get wrapped up in the warmth of the scene, the silly moments, and the subtle sweetness of the holiday cheer. You settle deeper into Tony’s side, your head resting against his shoulder, his arm draped comfortably over your waist. His fingers gently stroke your arm as the two of you share quiet conversations during the more emotional parts of the movie. Every so often, he presses soft kisses to the top of your head, as if reminding you—and everyone else—that you belong to each other.

The teasing continues from the others, but there’s an undeniable affection in it all. They’re all happy for you both, even if it’s a little strange for them to see Tony—Tony Stark, the self-proclaimed playboy billionaire—acting like a lovesick puppy in front of the entire team.

“Man, you really went all out,” Clint says after a particularly emotional scene, turning to Tony with a raised eyebrow. “You even went for Love Actually. What’s next? A romantic comedy marathon?”

“Anything for my girl,” Tony responds easily, and the way he says it, so casually but so full of affection, makes your heart swell.

“I can’t wait to see you two try to top this next year,” Natasha says, her tone playful, though there’s a softness to it as well.

“I don’t even want to know,” Steve chimes in, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But I’m guessing this is only the beginning, huh?”

“Hey, if I’m going all in, I’m going all in,” Tony replies, glancing down at you with that loving look that makes your heart skip. “I’m in this for the long haul.”

You smile up at him, and his expression softens just enough for you to feel the weight of his words. There’s no doubting how much he means it. And for a moment, the world outside of this room seems to disappear as you’re surrounded by the people who feel like family—your family.

The movie goes on, the mood light and easy, and Tony’s kisses come more frequently, not because he has to, but because he simply can’t seem to stop himself. And you don’t mind one bit.

By the time the movie ends, the Avengers are sprawled around the room in varying degrees of comfort. Tony gives you one last lingering kiss before pulling away just enough to look at you with a grin.

“I think we’ve officially made movie night our tradition now,” he says with a satisfied nod.

“Definitely,” you agree, your fingers gently tracing the fabric of his shirt. “Just us… and the team watching us get all cheesy.”

“Hey, it’s our tradition,” Tony replies with a wink. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

With a contented sigh, you rest your head on his shoulder again, feeling the warmth of his body against yours, the softness of his kisses lingering on your lips, and the comforting certainty that, despite the teasing, you and Tony are exactly where you’re meant to be.

And as the Avengers disperse, still chuckling under their breaths, you know you’ve found a tradition that will be cherished for years to come—just you, Tony, and an endless amount of Christmas movies.

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