#also sorry the language is so classical here

[driedrosesandcherry]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 .ᐣ ⧽ ⠀ᛪ༙ stanford!sam ܸ﹙ s.w.﹚

ᶻz﹒₊ˎ SUM .ᐟ ⟣﹒ You and Sam are mentally suffering during exam week. What better way to blow off steam? Dinner comes first though.

cw ֪֪𓏼℘ 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 (𝟏𝟖+) ── MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. 𝜗 ˚ ∿ smut, a sprinkle of fluff, afab!reader, established relationship, explicit language, reverse cowgirl position, kisses almost anywhere he can reach, mentions of mirror sex, unprotected sex, third person omniscient, no use of y/n, use of gender neutral pronouns, sam says “good girl” endearingly. word count֢ ࣪ ݂ 1.8k

No distinct skin color, weight, etc for the reader, but they’re shorter than Sam. Requests, reblogs, and feedback are encouraged.

“You actually did that? God, you’re the worst, Sam.”

“The music sucked, babe. They also couldn’t sing.”

They chortled at his insistence and shook their head lightly after he blathered about how karaoke went yesterday with his friends. They began twirling their wooden yellow pencil skillfully over their knuckles and the length of their fingers. Their leg bounced while now looking over an open page of a textbook as their plump lower lip was lightly tucked between their teeth—a sign they were focused and wracking their brain more than usual like for an assignment here and there. Sam noticed when he looked up from his and rested his veiny hand upon their thigh, smoothing over the fabric of their pants with his thumb to soothe them. “You okay?” He inquired.

“Mhm,” they curtly responded, even whilst that familiar wrinkle takes place between their brows. Sam wasn’t buying their hum of yes for a moment. He politely cleared his throat and gently squeezed their thigh to get their attention. “Wanna get some dinner? We could always hit the books later.”

“Sam–”

“Baby,” He tersely responded.

And it worked like a charm everytime. That maintained eye contact and smooth timbre with the convincing slight cant of his head to the side. It didn’t take long for them to end up at the diner they’d always frequent. The great service and decent meal helped with the experience. Sam just couldn’t help himself as he held onto their hand to help them out of the passenger seat, kissed upon their temple and then their cheek as they headed inside. A random vintage car model, a jukebox, and the occasional elderly couple with a grandchild who was likely complaining.

A sigh filtered through their lips as they sat across from Sam who was already looking over the menu to order for them both. “I’ll get a, uh, tall sundae this time,” they murmured to which Sam softly nodded and set the plastic covered menu down wordlessly. As if on cue, the waitress with a mustered gentle smile on her red lipstick stained lips made her way over. “Hi, I’m Brandy. What could I get started for you two?” She had a classic New Jersey accent like from the films.

Sam rattled it off while they had time to pick at the plastic on the menu cover and stare off into what they could make out through the diner’s blinds before Sam took their hand. They hadn’t even realized the waitress had left to put their order ticket in the queue for the chef. “Sorry,” they murmured and Sam shook his head. “No, you’re fine. Just wanna make sure you’re okay.” And they simply nodded.

“…Studying kicking you in the ass too?”

“Of course.”

“Can I help you this time?”

Their eyes widened a fraction at him saying that, his words weren’t all sweet and innocent as they sounded. They knew that too well. Sam’s helped them study countless times, it’s how they started speaking to one another after all. He obviously meant stress relief sex instead. Sam blinked softly as he waited for anything as he gently rubbed his calloused thumb over their knuckles.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Good girl,” He says that so warmly every time as a gentle smile crests the curves of his lips. He doesn’t mean anything sensual by it, but it never fails to make their stomach flutter and feel a little too warm. They squeeze their thighs together discreetly as if it’d quell the warmth blooming between their thighs and they politely clear their throat when the drinks are set down by the same waitress. “A tall sundae, for you. A black coffee, for you.”

“Thank you,” they synchronously answered as their respective drinks were given.

“Should we try the mirror thing again?” Sam casually asked after taking a swig of his coffee. Their eyes widen a fraction with recognition and they stop chewing on the stemless maraschino cherry they’d scooped from the pinnacle of the tall sundae. “What?” He responded, noting their surprise and giving them a confused look.

Yeah, about that.

The first time Sam had gotten into an argument with them? That was his way of apologizing once they finally started speaking to him again. But, he also repeated how sorry he was while staring back at them in the polished full length mirror a few feet from the bed. His hand pressed gently but firm, lithe fingers spread against the lower dip of their back, the other keeping their head up underneath their chin so they could look at him and themself the entire time. He was consistently thrusting against that delicious spongy spot deeply while he was whining or moaning right near their ear with his toned front pressed against their back or gritting his pearly molars.

When they started dating the guy, they didn’t expect him to be such a pervert. That’s not exactly a complaint though and they appreciated the desperate thorough apologies and “I love you’s” in their voicemail box they’d listened to on the drive there that day.

“Maybe something new.” They replied, a noncommittal shrug following. Feigning nonchalance as if they never froze at the mere memory of what they’d done before. The pads of his lengthy fingers tapped against the surface of the table in thought just when their orders were placed down and they said thanks again.

They spoke to each other causally during dinner like sex wasn’t the sole thing on both of their minds the entire time. More telltale signs from them than Sam though and Sam found himself smiling softly about it because he noticed every little thing about them.

A chuckle rumbled in his chest at some joke they’d told as they made it back into their shared apartment and he kissed their cheek and watched as they hummed and practically melted into the momentary intimacy. They slipped their shoes off at the door, their pair to the left and Sam’s on the right and evidently bigger.

“So, something new?” He asked as he shimmied his jacket off and helped them easily slip off his jacket that they’d borrowed.

“Can’t I surprise you?” they asked, turning to look up at him, to which he huffed out a breath of laughter with amusement laced upon his face. He stepped closer before resting a hand on the side of their face and maintaining eye contact again. He definitely wanted a kiss, and they melted into the touch of his hand with ease and rested their hand atop his. The kiss began gentle and slow, and then it kicked up a notch as they gripped onto the cotton fabric of his shirt.

He placed one hand on the back of their head and the other on their lower back as he carefully guided them to the bedroom through the medium sized halls of their apartment as they continued to kiss with soft laughter in between. He carefully twisted the knob and pushed open the door, steadying them when they nearly stumbled from the change then slamming it shut behind him, letting a cool draft of air in.

You’re both impatient, but once your lips part you’re helping one another take your clothing off. While they’re tugging his shirt off of his broad shoulders and over his head, he’s working at the metal button and zipper securing those denim shorts that cuff and hug their thighs at the hem. Their hands rest against his familiar torso as they kiss his lips for a moment before they continue until they’re both in a state of undress. Then they’re pushing him toward the bed slowly until he catches the memo to lay back on the comfort of their sheets.

He allows them to with no questions or complaint. They don’t make him wait, in sheer time they’re settling between his spread thighs on their knees with their hands planted flat on the bed in front of them to balance. Sam sits up to take in the sight, his earthy eyes dimmed with something carnal when he levels his gaze with them all ready for him. He grasped his girthy cock and pressed past their labia before dipping right in with a content sigh.

Their hips lower promptly to have him fully seated inside with near ease just as he moves his hand and he hisses out their name softly due to the stretch and warmth as his head cants rearward and lands on the assortment of pillows. Their hips roll slowly at first—it’s damn torturous, but he finds himself lifting his head to watch with soft pants and he even spreads his thighs a little more. It doesn’t quite beat the soft moans that start to filter through their lips once they finally bounce their hips. “Shit,” he curses breathily at the sounds they’re making and at the squelching feedback every time they sink down around him.

It doesn’t take long to gain a rhythm where they’re simultaneously moaning and the sound of their skin meeting is echoing off their bedroom walls as the bed lightly creaks beneath them. One sharp gasp, their hips stuttering, and their walls clenching is all it takes for him to know and he can’t help but rock his hips to further the stimulation as he grips onto the flesh of their ass. “You’re doing so good. You gonna cum?” He so fucking sly already knowing the answer. When they managed a nod with a shaky exhale, he hums lowly and slides one hand from around their ass, over their tummy, and down to the space between their legs.

He bit his lower lip for a moment as he pressed one of his fingers against their clit softly then traced lazy circles over their clit as they worked in tandem to climax. His cock twitches inside them and now they know he’s getting close, but neither stop just yet.

And then their hips stop just when the pressure near their navel snaps and they cry out his name while their nails cinch into the sheets, their walls fluttering around his length. He follows suit with a breathy groan, hips jerking once more, spilling while buried deep inside them as he finally lets up on rubbing their clit.

His hands rested against their thighs finally as he sat up and rubbed their thighs and then kissed their neck. “Wanna see your face,” he exhaled. They turned their head slightly before he leaned his head around and kissed their lips gently, sucking their tongue for a moment before pulling back with a soft slick noise.

When they lifted their hips with a soft gasp and turned to lay on top of him, he smiled softly watching them snuggle against him even with the minorly uncomfortable sweat waiting to slough off of their bodies with a nice bath. He wrapped one muscular arm around them while his free hand trailed along the bow of their spine.

“Let’s get cleaned up and pick up on the last set you needed help with. I’ll make you some hot tea.”

© 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 I stress that you do not repost, translate, alter, or plagiarize my content on any platform, including—but not limited to—my theme. You are welcome to take inspiration as long as you ask me directly and have my explicit consent.

[fuckedupfate]

ꕀ  ִ   ࣪  ◜RUSSIAN ROULETTE.◝

leading roles ﹕ jason todd , f!reader

notices ﹕ mention of death guns insanely course language (probably a swearing addiction, in my humble opinion) author's entry ﹕ sorry. but thank you all for 100+ followers! i kissed the brick before throwing it at you by the way. and i'll also pay for anyone's therapy who asks. (please don't be mad at me.)

jason tried to move. he tried to get to you. he tried to get out of the confines he was kept in. but he couldn’t. he wasn’t able to. he was too late. too slow. too fucking weak. trying wasn't enough. he was just watching it happen, much to his hatred of it, he just had to watch. he had to watch as one of joker’s stupid fucking minions held a gun to your forehead. the tip of the muzzle kissing the middle of your forehead—kissing against the spot where he always did. it’s a mockery, he knows it. Joker is sadistic. so fucking sadistic and cruel in a way that fucks with people. he knows that's why he is being made to watch with no possible way of stopping anything from happening to you. he can’t move. he can't get out of the constraints. he can’t. and he hates that he can’t. 

he struggles against the tight chains which keep him against a sturdy pole. his eyes locked onto your position, watching as you sit, unable to move, in a chair. he sees the tears in your eyes. the wetness of them glistening against your skin, glistening in your eyes. he hears your sobs. your cries. 

“just let her fucking go.” jason snaps, trying to hide the desperation that is soaked into his voice and tone. but he can’t. not when you're at the hands of some sadistic fucker. not when he could lose you. he hears that sadistic, mocking, and ear-burningly annoying laughter from the sadistic fucker himself. joker. jason grits his teeth, his jaw clenching. shut the fuck up you fucking fucker. “you didn't need to bring her into this.” jason grits out, tone biting and dripping with poisonous harshness. 

but he’s fucking scared. of course he is. you—the love of his life. the only woman he’s found himself actually dreaming about a future with. the woman you was going to ask to marry in less than two weeks—is at gunpoint. because of him. because you are close to him. and you’re crying. he can hear the quiet pleads of your voice, the quiet sobs. he knows you’re just begging for jason to figure out a way to get you out of this. and god he wishes he could. he wishes he could get out of the stupid fucking constraints he is in.

“would you like to know your options?” joker asks, tone dripping with the classic sarcasm and mocking. he’s amused, of course he is. watching jason todd be so completely and utterly desperate for someone he loves to not be killed? why wouldn't he find this fun? 

“jason—” his name falls off of your lips. shaky. broken. pleading. “i know. i know. you're going to be okay. i promise you.” jason quickly says back, his eyes locking back onto yours as you peer at him through your peripherals. he doesn't know if that's a lie. but it most definitely could be. he could be lying straight to you right now. telling you you're going to be okay while a fucking gun is pointed straight at your forehead. 

“is she, jason? is she going to be okay?” joker’s words are mocking. biting. spitting a painful and bitter poison at his skin and brain. and he can just a fucking see that stupid, mocking, ugly smile on his lips. “are you telling lies to her, jason?” 

jason’s jaw clenches, and he’s surprised no teeth, or even his jaw, has been broken and shattered into pieces with the sheer force he’s doing so. 

“now, now. here’s your choice. and listen real close, okay?” joker steps a few feet closer, in the middle between you and jason. “it’s a very simple choice, really. all you have to do is choose between you—” joker pauses, the sadistic and mocking smile remains on his lips. “—or him.” joker finishes. 

jason's eyes widen. fucks sake. no. nonononono. he’s about to ask if he's being fucking serious, but it's the joker, of course he’s being serious. and he can see the way you tense up, bottom lip trembling as you glance over to jason in the side of your eyes. “you can’t—” jason is cut off. not by joker. by you. 

“me.” you say. your voice trembling, shaking, broken. and jason’s eyebrows are quick to furrow slightly. “what? no. no!” he protests quickly, voice full of depth, but it's clear he’s desperate. he doesn't want to lose you. he can't. he’s been trying to avoid that since fucking forever. he’s not letting you die. 

“uh-oh. drama.” joker inputs, laughing quietly. 

“jay—” your voice sounds, and it makes jason immediately shake his head. “no. no, no, no. you’re not doing that.” jason cuts you off. 

“is that your final choice?” joker asks, walking closer over to you. 

“yes.” you whisper, voice cracking. “no. no. don't you dare—don't fucking—” 

you’re not fucking serious, are you? he can’t lose you. he can’t let this fucking happen. no. he continues to struggle against the chains, his movements growing harsher and quicker as he desperately tries to get out. but his movements halt when a loud gunshot sounds and echoes in the room. 

no. 

nonononono. 

his eyes meet your figure. seeing the way your head is lulled forwards. hanging down. you’re completely lifeless. unmoving. not breathing. 

he feels time stop. the world stops spinning. everything coming to a halt. and the sound of joker’s maniacal laughter is muffled by his brain. shutting him out as he just looks at you. hoping to any god out there that you’re not actually dead. that the bullet that was shot didn't go through your head. that this is all just some sick hallucination that the joker is putting him through, or better yet, a fucking fucked nightmare. but as he desperately tries to wake himself up, or break the hallucination, it’s proven that it isn't. that it was real. that you’re gone.

tag, you're it ﹕ @littlesoulshine @h8aaz @multiversefanfics @blossomingorchids @titsout4jackles ⟆ transportation ! ∿ quickie back to the hub ∿ be in charge of a fic! ∿ join the game of tag! (newly updated.)

[madameraccoon]

Yes but also hear me out one sec. Because we have to separate two different cases. I have given this way too much thought to be considered sane, so here it goes.

It depends if we are talking about:

If SJM had taken the time to develop a language system or;

What languages we could associate with each court.

They're two completely different discourses that need to be addressed separately.

Let's start with Number 1.

1 - If SJM had bothered with thinking about a language system:

she could have started from the Natural languages already present in the British isles that are the source material for Prythian.

From an historical perspective we could have:

Spring court: Breton Summer court: Welsh Autumn court: Norfolk Dutch Winter court: Danish Northumbrian Dawn court: Irish Day court: Scots Night court: Norn (with Illyria speaking Orkney Norn)

It goes without saying that it is unlikely for all of Prythian to speak a common language without any variations, especially since borders have been a thing for a while.

Linguistically speaking, having some of the population be so ancient it means that they speak and older version of the language. Madja probably sounds like an old book. It could be that young faelings do not understand her at all.

And don't even get me started on: why not also having fae-type specific languages (like Nymphs, Peregrins, etc and not just the Illyrians). This post would become a little dissertation.

2 - What language we could associate with each court:

I like all the associations from the original answer so much and I would agree with most of it. Of course, since we are talking associations, each person's choices depend on what perception we have of each language.

For me, for example, I'd love the Night Court duality to have a mountain-y feel to it, so Ladin/Romansh would have the right feel to it (despite it being a latinate language, while Illyria gives Celto-germanic vibes).

Spring court - I can see why Celtic, honestly. They're the court that has the closest relationship with nature and the land. At the same time fashion and architecture remind me a lot of France, so I would have picked French for it. But it could also be because of fanart.

Summer court, Day court, Dawn court and Winter court - nailed it, 100%. Brilliant. Wouldn't change a thing. Classical Greek (and not Patristic Greek!!) is the perfect match. Day court serving Library of Alexandria vibes.

Lastly, Autumn with Russian it's 50/50. I know Russian gives harsh language vibes, but it has so many sweet sounds (there's literally the soft sign to make consonants softer). Still, I could see Eris speaking Russian. On the other hand German - YES. It's an organised and schematic language, and Autumn court foxes love scheming.

Sorry for the rant Thank you @hrizantemy for this fantastic take and, at the same time, sorry for jumping on it uninvited.

If each court had a language unique to it what do you think they would be like?

Oh, I love this question—language is such a powerful reflection of culture, history, and worldview, so imagining each Prythian court with its own unique language opens up so much depth that canon never explores.

SPRING COURT – Rooted in Nature and Ritual

Inspiration: Celtic languages (like Welsh or Irish Gaelic)

SUMMER COURT – Fluid, Diplomatic, and Trade-Oriented

Inspiration: Swahili or Arabic

AUTUMN COURT – Sharp, Formal, and Hierarchical

Inspiration: German or Russian

WINTER COURT – Sparse, Poetic, and Ancient

Inspiration: Inuit languages or Finnish

DAY COURT – Scholarly, Precise, and Rich in Knowledge

Inspiration: Latin or Classical Greek

DAWN COURT – Spiritual, Ceremonial, and Harmonious

Inspiration: Sanskrit or Tibetan

NIGHT COURT – Two Tongues, Two Faces

Inspiration: Duality—French for Velaris, Basque or Romani-inspired for Illyria/Hewn City

[yourlazykitkat]

I propose to the azris council tonight that up until the official announcement of Cassian and Nesta's mating ceremony- Eris and the IC decided to continue the charade of Eris' courtship of Nesta as a cover for the exchange of intelligence between the Autumn and Night courts. Intercepted by any other party, it seems that Eris sends heartfelt confessions of love, declarations and promises from a place of kindness he thought he had lost. But to the discerning eye- there is code in the poetry Eris writes to impart the time and place of his father's secret meetings, promises to take a lover to beautiful Spring Court fields where Beron happens to be testing borders and innuendo of an empty, lonely bed as to hide conspiracies vesting for autumn's seat of power.

And who receives these letters, stamped and sent to the House of the Wind? Surely not Nesta who wants nothing to do with Eris- she has allowed him to use her name but draws the line at anymore. Absolutely not Cassian who detests the situation in the first place. Well, there's one other resident of the House. One in need of reading material to distract himself, one trained in infiltration, intelligence-gathering and code.

Why not Azriel? At first he's frustrated- because it's fucking Eris. Azriel would very much prefer to never have to be in contact with Eris. He rolls his eyes at the superfluous poetry "You remind me of the star of the blue sky, the world will end when you leave." and scoffs at the unnecessary adjectives "My most adored lady". He takes on the habit of a weekly, a monthly letter- scratching out the fluff and jotting down the intelligence and then, before he writes his response to every correspondence, he thinks about how he should burn the letters in the fireplace and then is too reminded of Eris that he just begins a pile of buried letters in his drawer. One day, Azriel catches a line which he swears references a queer fey poet and the shadow-singer spends all day in the library to be sure. What could he mean? What could Eris have possibly meant by that?

And why does Azriel care? Why does he get excited for a new letter? Why is there a pang of his heart when he reads Nesta's name but can practically hear Eris say Azriel's name in the words? Why does Azriel start pouring over poetry books? Why does he keep forgetting that each word is meant to be code, a disguise for intelligence? When did the cruel Eris, ugly to the heart, learn how to write so elegantly? Why does Azriel see a lovely line of poetry and think of Eris? Why does Azriel, in his spare time, keep going over old letters just in case he's missed something?

Why does, when Azriel's eyes meet Eris' across the ballroom of Nesta and Cassian's mating ceremony, does he feel like he's lost something? There's no longer a need to keep the charade but when Eris walks away with a drunk smirk (it's an ugly thing. it's a pretty thing)- Azriel needs to something, he needs to say something but where are the words-

[just-wublrful]

not to be obnoxious on main but classic literature is not global literature. it's western literature at best

[bmpmp3]

tbh the biggest thing that drives me towards synthv and cevio/voisona 2.0 isnt even the smoothness and clean "realism" of it all, its actually the fact that said realism allows for more variation in vocal provider pronunciation mouth and tongue positions etc to shine through. i know people in da vsynth scene often use "character" to refer to a voice's robotic or engine noise-y elements (i assume because of piapro and such) specifically but i think the character that comes directly from the vocal samples/training itself is a little underappreciated. cevio ia's か゚-y がs <3

[crossbackpoke-check]

when you get this ask could you perhaps maybe bless us with 5 of your fav songs (currently or of all time), and then send this ask to 5 of your mutuals who you think have good taste!

whipping out this old meme to say: sorry i’m basic and also have never once made a ‘favorites’ list without agonizing intensely 😭 so i narrowed it down to ‘favorite songs that have been used in hockey fancams’. HOWMSTEVER i also struggled with that. so. in no order are five songs shuffled from my fc songs playlist:

i cheated already i forgot we need to include anything hippo campus. yes i had to no i don’t even care which song (fc specific… bambi… semi-pro…) they’re my favorite band

sarah - alex g / astrid- glaive (*two songs but same vibes. it’s fine)

make out - julia nunes

junk of the heart (happy) - the kooks

pa’lante - hurray for the riffraff / thy mission - the garden (cheating again but these are both knox songs to me so they can be in one)

good old fashioned lover boy - queen

[bloominglegumes]

In your ‘how to draw tf’ what do you search (if you do) to find references for the blaster poses? I love how much character they seem to show

(i assume this is what you were referring to :) )

this response is so atrociously late i dont have any excuse ._.

but to answer the question,, the two poses on the right side were the same as the one on the left, just with a slight bump to show different attitudes :O

in my drawing up there, i felt copying my real figure of blaster exactly made him look a bit stiff, esp considering his personality, so i shifted the original pose slightly to convey some stronger emotions that felt more in line with my idea of blaster :) more sass + cocky attitude, if i had to describe it, giving him more weight on one leg, leaning one way or another to show confidence or hostility or whatever

as for deciding how to bump a pose, all i can rlly suggest for that is to study body language, and pay attention to how different people will act when conveying different emotions! personally i like looking at theatre performance for this, since the exaggeration is something that translates well into art, and u could definitely study from animation as well !! disney classics are classics for a reason fjdhf

since im a transformers blog here tho, i'd place tf one, tfp and earthspark s1 as some great refs for character acting >:))

tf one being feature animation has the fullest range of motion + performance, plus its main cast w pretty different personalities all experience a huge range of emotions + situations over the course of the film and its just beautiful and who wouldnt want to study it frame by frame :DD tfp and earthspark s1 are also fantastic for seeing how to handle posing/acting in a wide range of situations, and theres plenty of screentime to work from ;)

going to stop here before i get too rambly but i hope this was at least a bit helpful? i'm rlly sorry again about leaving this in my inbox for ages :,,))

[luna-thecreator]

Sweet Spot

A/N: Sorry this one took so long, college has been kicking my black ass, but im back with a juicy Roman fic!

Paring: Roman Reigns x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: A bold ultimatum turns into an irresistible claim when you demand your place in Roman Reigns' Bloodline. What starts as a power struggle quickly turns into something far more intense as Roman asserts his dominance.

Tags: Oral, (female receiving), language, p in v, smut village, claiming, 18+, USE YOUR IMAGINATION BABE!!!

“The Tribal Chief will be back soon after his interview, Y/N. You really shouldn’t be in here—”  

Paul Heyman’s voice carried that usual mix of authority and nervousness, like he was trying to keep the peace but also lowkey freaking out. Classic Wiseman behavior. But before he could finish, you hit him with a cold, uninterested stare and cut him off.  

“I don’t care… Paul.” You dragged his name out like it tasted bitter on your tongue. Your arms crossed over your chest, your body language screaming defiance as you dropped into one of Roman’s ridiculously expensive leather chairs, making yourself comfortable. “I’m staying right here until I talk to Roman about the Bloodline.”  

Paul’s mouth opened, then shut like a fish out of water. He clearly wasn’t used to people shutting him down, especially not when it came to anything involving Roman. He adjusted his tie, the slight fidget a dead giveaway that he was scrambling for a way to handle you without setting off a nuclear-level argument.  

"Y/N," he started again, voice softer now, like he was trying to reason with a child throwing a tantrum. "I understand your frustration, but decisions like these take time. The Tribal Chief has a lot to consider—”  

You scoffed, leaning back in the chair like you owned the damn place. “Paul, don’t give me that ‘decisions take time’ speech. Roman’s been stringing me along for months. Either I’m in, or I’m out. No more waiting around while he plays mind games.”  

Paul’s lips pressed into a thin line. You could tell he wanted to say something slick, something wise and calculated, but you were past the point of caring. Your patience had been worn down to nothing. You weren’t just some random outsider begging for a spot—you had proven yourself. You had bled for this. And yet, Roman still hadn’t made the call.  

Paul sighed dramatically, rubbing his temples like you were personally giving him a migraine. “This is not how things work. You don’t just demand to see Roman. You wait for him to summon you.”  

You rolled your eyes. “Summon me? Paul, be fucking for real right now. I’m not some peasant waiting on a royal decree. If Roman wants loyalty, he needs to show me I’m not wasting my damn time.”  

Paul exhaled sharply, clearly at a loss. He checked the time on his phone like that was gonna magically make Roman appear faster. “If you just wait—”  

“No,” you cut in. “I’m done waiting.”  

Your eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. Any minute now, Roman would be walking through that door. And when he did, you were gonna make damn sure he finally gave you an answer.

You adjusted the black dress draped over your body, subtly pulling at the slit running up your thigh. The fabric clung to your curves just right—not that you planned it for Roman, but if he noticed, well… that was his problem.  

Paul gave you one last lingering look, one that screamed you’re playing a dangerous game, before he sighed and exited Roman’s private room. The door shut with a soft click, leaving you alone in the space that practically reeked of dominance and control.  

Minutes passed as you scrolled mindlessly through your phone, pretending like your heart wasn’t racing. Like you weren’t anticipating the moment he walked through that door. And then—  

Click. Thud.  

Your head snapped up at the sound, and there he was.  

Roman Reigns.  

Dressed in a sleek black suit, crisp white shirt, and a tie that somehow made him look even more powerful. His presence alone sucked the air from the room, commanding attention without a single word. And damn, did he look good. So good that heat crawled up your neck before you could stop it. For a split second, you almost forgot why you were here in the first place. Almost.  

His sharp eyes locked onto yours, dark and unreadable, before one eyebrow quirked up.  

“Y/N, sweetheart,” his voice was smooth, teasing, laced with amusement. “Who let you in here?”  

The way he said sweetheart sent a shiver down your spine, but you kept your composure, tilting your chin up as he stepped closer. He shrugged off his suit jacket and placed it on the chair beside you, the fabric brushing against your arm like a silent reminder of his presence.  

You swallowed, clearing your throat before answering. “I—I let myself in.”  

He hummed at that, walking over to the small table in the corner, pouring himself a cup of coffee like he had all the time in the world. The casual dominance, the way he moved, the sheer confidence—infuriating.  

“And where’s Paul?” he asked, lifting the cup to his lips.  

“He left.”  

That made him pause. His head turned slightly, eyebrow raising again.  

“He left?” Roman repeated, almost like he didn’t believe you. Paul never left before he was back. Ever.  

You crossed your arms, refusing to shrink under his gaze.  

“So, let me get this straight.” He took a slow sip of his coffee, eyes still locked on you. “You invite yourself in… and then run off my Wiseman?”  

You bit the inside of your cheek, pulse flickering under his intense stare.  

“I wouldn’t say run off,” you muttered, shifting slightly.  

Roman smirked, setting his coffee down with a soft clink. He took a step closer, the air between you growing heavier with every movement.  

“Mm. That so?” His voice was low, edged with something dangerously amused.  

You weren’t sure if you wanted to punch him or let that voice do dangerous things to you. Maybe both.

You straightened your back, squaring your shoulders as you met his gaze head-on. No more games. No more waiting.  

“I’m here to tell you that I’m not waiting anymore, Roman,” you said, voice firm despite the way his presence made your pulse spike. “It’s either I’m part of your Bloodline, or I’m not. I mean, it’s been months, and I—”  

You didn’t even get to finish.  

Roman lifted a hand, cutting you off without a word. The simple gesture was enough to shut you down, not because you wanted to stop talking, but because there was something about the way he did it—calm, effortless, like he already had control of the entire situation. Like you were only here because he allowed it.  

Then, before you could react, he moved.  

Two long strides, and he was right in front of you, towering over you, his scent wrapping around your senses like a noose. Clean, masculine, laced with expensive cologne and something undeniably him.  

His eyes flickered down to yours, dark and unreadable.  

“Up. Now.”  

A command. Not a request.  

Your body reacted before your brain could catch up, pushing up from the chair without hesitation.  

You stood, arms crossing over your chest as you forced yourself to hold his gaze. Even in heels, he made you feel small, like he could swallow you whole if he wanted to. The heat rolling off him, the authority dripping from every inch of his stance—it was infuriating.  

And yet, you still obeyed.

Roman moved around you with a slow, calculated pace, like a predator circling its prey. Every step was deliberate, heavy with unspoken authority. You felt his presence even when you couldn't see him, the energy in the room shifting with every move he made.  

Then, he stopped behind you.  

The heat of his body ghosted over your back, close enough that you could feel him but not close enough to touch. His fingers landed on your shoulder, featherlight but firm, sending a shiver down your spine.  

“It’s risky,” he murmured, his voice low and rich, the kind that made the air in your lungs thin. “And you’re too sweet.”  

You clenched your jaw, shaking your head immediately. “I’m not sweet,” you shot back, voice sharper than you intended.  

Behind you, Roman chuckled, the sound deep and knowing, like he was in on a joke you weren’t privy to.  

“Sweet,” he mused, his fingers trailing lightly over your shoulder before pulling away. “But not fragile.”  

You swallowed hard, refusing to let him see how much he was getting to you.  

“I can handle it,” you said, turning your head slightly but not fully facing him.  

Roman didn’t respond right away. Instead, he let the silence stretch, let the weight of his presence press into you, let the moment settle in a way that made your pulse hammer against your ribs.  

Then, he leaned in just a fraction, voice nothing but a whisper against your ear.  

“Are you sure about that, sweetheart?”

You inhaled sharply, the warmth of his breath still lingering against your skin. Roman didn’t wait for a response. Instead, he stepped away, walking toward the locker in the corner of the room, leaving you standing there, your body still buzzing from his proximity.  

You turned slightly, watching as he opened the locker with ease, rummaging through it before pulling out a black T-shirt. Bold red letters stretched across the fabric.  

Bloodline.

Your breath hitched.  

Roman turned back to you, holding the shirt in one hand as he strode forward. The look in his eyes was unreadable—calm, unreadable, but undeniably intense.  

“This is yours,” he said simply, stopping just inches from you. His voice was smooth, but there was something deeper laced within it. Something that made your stomach twist.  

He held the shirt out, his fingers brushing against yours as you reached for it.  

“Was gonna give it to you next week,” he continued, eyes flickering over you like he was assessing you all over again. “But you’re so damn bold… so here.”  

Your fingers curled around the fabric, your heart pounding in your chest.  

You stared down at the shirt in your hands, the bold red Bloodline lettering staring right back at you like it was daring you to make a choice. The room felt heavier now, charged with something unspoken, something dangerous.  

Roman took a step back, arms folding across his broad chest as he watched you. He licked his lips, the slow drag of his tongue over them making your stomach tighten.  

“How about you put it on right now?” he said, voice smooth, low, but laced with authority. Like he wasn’t really asking.  

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and the intensity in them made your breath hitch. He was testing you. Waiting.  

You exhaled slowly, then—without breaking eye contact—you reached for the hem of your dress and pulled it over your head in one swift motion, leaving you in nothing but your black lace bra and matching panties. The air in the room shifted instantly.  

Roman’s jaw clenched. His eyes darkened, flickering over your body with a heat that sent shivers down your spine.  

You smirked slightly, then took your time slipping the Bloodline shirt over your head, letting it fall just below your thighs. The fabric was soft, the scent of him still lingering on it.  

Roman exhaled sharply through his nose, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.  

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath before stepping closer, his fingers grazing the hem of the shirt as he looked down at you. “Fits you good, sweetheart.”  

You tilted your chin up, your own smirk growing. “I told you I belong here.”  

Roman chuckled, low and deep. “Guess we’ll see about that.”

Your back hit the wall before you even realized he was moving. Roman was on you in an instant, his sheer presence crowding your space, making the air between you crackle with tension. 

His eyes locked onto yours, dark and unwavering, his expression unreadable—but his intent? Crystal clear. 

“Rules,” he murmured, unbuttoning the top of his shirt, his fingers slow, deliberate.  

Your breath hitched, chest rising and falling faster as you swallowed hard. “Rules?” you echoed, barely recognizing your own voice.  

Roman’s jaw clenched, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips before he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your face.  

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice low, rough, possessive. “Mine. Not Jey’s. Not Jimmy’s. Not Solo’s. Mine.”  

The way he said it, like it was law—like it was already written in stone—made your stomach tighten. Your pulse hammered against your ribs as his hand lifted, fingers grazing the hem of the Bloodline shirt now hanging loosely on your frame.  

“You understand that, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice thick with something dangerous, something that sent a shiver down your spine.  

You licked your lips, your throat suddenly dry. But you didn’t back down. You wouldn’t.  

“I understand,” you whispered, your voice softer than you intended.  

Roman smirked, but it wasn’t playful. It was dark. Satisfied. Like he’d just won.

He leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear, his fingers tracing the edge of your panties. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice thick with promise. “I’m gonna pull these down, taste you, then I’m gonna fuck you—hit that sweet spot over and over, just to remind you of exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into.” His words were low, dangerous, and laced with an undeniable intensity.

The heat surged through you as he slowly slid your panties down, his touch deliberate and teasing. You gasped, breath hitching, "Roman—" you whimpered, unable to hide the desire creeping into your voice. His gaze never left yours, intense and unwavering, as he slid his middle finger between your folds, making your pulse race even faster.

He set a slow, teasing rhythm, his fingers moving in a steady pace, the sound of your wetness filling the room, making the atmosphere thick with tension. "Oh god—" you moaned, your eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure coursed through you. Roman’s jaw tightened, his grip firm as he continued, his pace unrelenting, each movement deliberate, driving you closer to the edge.

"This what you wanted, sweetheart?" he groans in your ear, his pace quickening, pushing you further into a haze of pleasure. You struggle to catch your breath, "Mhm... yes..." you whimper, your body betraying your words. 

Without warning, he pulls his fingers out, his grip shifting as he hooks his arms around your thighs, effortlessly lifting you up against the wall. He raises you so high that your pussy aligns directly with his face, and the shift leaves you breathless, heart pounding.

Roman’s breath was warm as he hovered just inches from where you needed him most, his lips so close that every exhale sent a new wave of desperation coursing through you. Then, without warning, he blew a slow, teasing stream of air against your wetness, the sensation making you jolt in his grip.  

"You’re dripping, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction, with control, with possession. His eyes flicked up to yours, dark and heavy with intent, waiting—watching—as your body reacted to his every move.  

The heat between your thighs throbbed, and your fingers instinctively tangled in his hair, desperate for more. But Roman? He took his time, his hold firm, ensuring you had nowhere to run from the way he was about to ruin you.

That was the moment you lost all control—the second his tongue darted out, licking a slow, deliberate stripe against your slick heat without warning. A choked gasp escaped your lips, your head falling back against the wall as a surge of pleasure shot through you like wildfire.  

“F-fuck—” you stuttered, your voice barely above a breath, but he didn’t give you a chance to gather yourself. His grip tightened on your ass, his fingers digging in possessively as he held you in place, completely at his mercy.  

Then, he latched onto that sensitive bead, sucking with just the right amount of pressure, making your entire body jerk in response. A strangled moan tore from your throat, your thighs trembling around his head as you instinctively tried to press closer, needing more—needing everything.  

He groaned against you, the vibration sending another pulse of pleasure straight through your core. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured between strokes of his tongue. “Let me hear you.”  

Your fingers curled in his hair, tugging helplessly as your legs threatened to give out—not that he’d let you fall. He had you trapped, exactly where he wanted you, and he wasn’t stopping until you were completely undone.

His dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with hunger and unrelenting dominance. The intensity in his gaze made your breath hitch, anticipation coiling in your stomach like a tightly wound spring.  

Without breaking eye contact, he shifted his hold, dropping his left hand, leaving you suspended with only one strong arm wrapped around your waist. The sheer power he possessed sent a shiver down your spine, reminding you just how effortlessly he controlled you.  

With his free hand, he worked the button of his slacks, then the zipper, his movements slow—calculated. The sound of fabric rustling filled the room as his slacks slid down his legs, pooling at his ankles, followed by the drop of his boxers. Your mouth went dry at the sight of him, thick and hard, standing tall beneath you.  

Roman smirked at your reaction, his grip tightening. “See something you like, sweetheart?” he rasped, amusement laced in his deep voice.  

You swallowed hard, unable to form words, but the need pooling between your thighs said enough.  

He didn’t give you time to dwell on it. Instead, he adjusted his stance, his large hands gripping your thighs as he guided you down, letting gravity and desire take over. Your back slid down the wall, your body trembling from the overwhelming sensation of his warmth pressing against you.  

A sharp gasp tore from your lips the moment you felt him stretching you, inch by inch, your walls molding around his thick length. Roman groaned, his head falling forward as he buried himself deep inside you, his grip bruising as he held you still.  

“Fuck—” he growled through gritted teeth, his breath ragged. “You feel even better than I thought.”  

Your nails dug into his shoulders as pleasure and pain blended into something euphoric, leaving you breathless. “please—ooHH MY GOddd” you whimpered, voice breaking in agony.  

He lifted his head, his nose grazing yours, his lips ghosting over your parted ones. “What, baby?” he taunted, rolling his hips just enough to make you whine. “This what you wanted?”  

You barely managed a nod, your body trembling in his grasp.  

He smirked, dark and wicked, his hands tightening around your thighs as he pressed you harder against the wall. “Good,” he murmured, voice dripping with authority. “’Cause I ain’t lettin’ you go now.”  

His dark hair slipped free from the messy bun, cascading over his broad shoulders as sweat glistened on his golden skin, accentuating every defined muscle and intricate tattoo under the dim lighting. His pace was relentless now, each deep thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure through your trembling body, pressing you harder against the wall.  

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your breathless moans and his low, guttural grunts. His grip on your thighs was firm, possessive, holding you in place as he drove into you with a punishing rhythm.  

Roman’s head tilted back slightly, his jaw clenched, his breath heavy. “You wanted this, didn’t you?” His voice was deep, laced with raw dominance. His piercing eyes found yours again, dark and full of hunger. “Wanted to be part of my Bloodline so bad…” He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust, making you cry out.  

You could barely think, let alone respond, but that didn’t stop him.  

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he growled, “Then you’re mine now, sweetheart.” His teeth grazed your earlobe before he sucked it between his lips, sending a shiver down your spine.  

Your nails raked down his back, desperate for something to hold onto. “R-Roman—” you gasped, your voice breaking from the intensity.  

He chuckled, dark and amused, before pulling back just enough to meet your dazed, pleasure-drunk gaze. “From now on, every Friday night,” he murmured, rolling his hips slow and deep, making you whimper, “I’m gonna fuck you into my Bloodline.”  

A sharp cry left your lips as he picked up his pace again, pounding into you harder, making good on his promise.

With one last deep, punishing thrust, Roman buried himself to the hilt, his grip on your thighs tightening as a guttural groan ripped from his throat. Your body tensed, the overwhelming pleasure crashing over you in powerful, shuddering waves.  

“Oh my—Roman!” you gasped, your head falling back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut as the pleasure consumed you. Your walls clenched around him, milking every last drop of his release as his breath came out in ragged pants against your ear.  

“Fuck—” he growled, his forehead pressing against yours as he rode out both of your highs, his body trembling slightly from the force of it. His hands slowly loosened their bruising grip on your thighs, fingers grazing over your heated skin as he took deep, steadying breaths.  

Your chest heaved against his, bodies still tangled together as the aftermath of your passion settled in the air. The only sounds in the room were the mingling of your unsteady breaths, the cooling sweat on your skin making you shiver against him.  

Roman smirked, his lips barely ghosting over yours. “You good, sweetheart?” His voice was thick with satisfaction, but there was something else there too—something possessive.  

You swallowed, still dazed, nodding weakly. “Yeah…” you breathed out, your body still tingling from the intensity of it all.  

He chuckled lowly, his nose brushing against yours as he finally—slowly—slid out of you, making you whimper at the sudden emptiness. He kept a firm hold on your waist, ensuring you didn’t collapse the second your feet touched the ground.  

Your legs felt weak, unsteady, and Roman smirked knowingly. “That was cute,” he murmured, amusement lacing his voice as he held you up.  

You rolled your eyes, even as a small smile pulled at your lips. “Shut up,” you muttered breathlessly, swaying slightly as you leaned into his solid chest for balance.  

Roman reached for his discarded suit jacket and draped it over your shoulders, his touch surprisingly gentle as he smoothed the fabric down your arms. His fingers lingered at your waist before he pulled back slightly, tilting your chin up with a single finger.  

“You’re mine now,” he said, voice firm, leaving no room for argument. His dark eyes bore into yours, possessive and intense. “No backing out.”  

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of his words settle deep in your chest. There was no denying it—you had just crossed a line that couldn’t be undone.  

A slow, knowing smirk spread across your lips. “Guess I’m in the Bloodline now, huh?”  

Roman chuckled, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip before leaning in, his lips hovering over yours.  

“Damn right, sweetheart.

[harrywavycurly]

Worth The Fight: Good Hands

Masterlist: Here

CW: language, pregnancy things, jealousy, angsty bits and some light arguing.

A/N: This one is heavy-ish but has some light hearted moments so be prepared for some angsty bits but I’d say this is a very big step in a direction for them, is it the right direction? Only time will tell👀✨

Tag List: @kookjipao @msolbesg @lomlolivia @namoreno @outofthisworl-d @mema10 @watarmelon212 @natykn @sassamanda77 @st-ev-ie @ghayda0 @hannah9921 @indierockgirrl @chaoticthoughts2022 @lizsogolden @gmikaelson @styleswithaseaview @sofaritsalrightt @babegoals @fangirl509east @one-sweet-gubler @stylesftcher @umadirectioner @last-saturday-night @montgomery-929496 @laughterismytherapy @hisparentsgallerryy @jerseygirlinca @behindmygreyeyes

Summary: You decide to do some shopping for the twins while Harry decides he needs to apologize to you even if you’re not ready to hear it✨

You smile at the woman working by the door as you enter the small boutique that’s just down the street from the library you work at, you look around and suddenly feel extremely overwhelmed by the amount of baby things surrounding you. Being nearly thirteen weeks you finally decide that it’s okay to just take a look at things, seeing as you still don’t know if you’re carrying two boys, two girls or one of each you find yourself not exactly sure where to start. You look over and smile when you see a small section of onesies with animals all over them, you adjust your bag on your shoulder as you head over towards the table they are folded and laid out on.

“Oh the peaches will love those.” Ethan’s voice comes from behind you making you laugh as you feel a hand on your shoulder. “How’s my favorite produce dealer doing today? Have you eaten all the cookies my mom sent yet because I need the tin back.” You roll your eyes at the playful nickname he came up with for you ever since you started sharing the size of the twins with him as they grow each week, getting a kick out of the way all your apps are always referring to their sizes as vegetables or fruits.

“They aren’t quite peaches yet they have about four days till then so they are still lemons.” You explain as you rest a hand on your bump while looking at the little outfits on the table in front of you. “But I’m good just feeling tired today and uh no not yet there’s like fifty cookies in that tin Ethan and I may be pregnant but sweets don’t sit well with me right now.” You answer as the hand on your shoulder grabs the strap to your bag and without hesitation you let him take your purse and sling it over his shoulder making you let out a small sigh of relief once the weight of your bag is gone.

“She said they were what she liked when she was pregnant with me but that was also during Christmas time so that’s why they are pretty much all holiday themed.”

“That explains all the gingerbread men.”

“Exactly. So the peaches-”

“Lemons.”

“I mean come on they are pretty much a crossover between lemons and peaches right now so like leaches? Or is that-”

“Do not call my babies leaches Ethan.”

“Right sorry that was rude let’s just go back to looking at the cute and soft onesies okay?” He says in a slight panic not wanting to make you upset in the middle of a baby boutique having already made you accidentally cry in line at the bakery down the street from your apartment when he mentioned how good the blueberry muffins looked, forgetting all about your current aversion to the fruit ever since you tried a blueberry jam that didn’t sit well with you.

“You think the animals are cute? Or they have these.” You lift up a set of onesies that are white with gray and yellow polka dots on them so he can take a look from his spot behind you. “Is the gray and yellow too overdone?” You question as Ethan places a hand on each of your shoulders and gives them a nice rub making you relax as you look at the onesies in your hand.

“Yellow and gray is a classic color combination you can’t go wrong with it.” You let out a hum of agreement as he releases his grip on one of your shoulders so he can reach around you ever so slightly and grab the set with the animals on it. “But these are cute as shit.” He says with a smile as he looks down and sees you still holding the polka doted set.

“I could get both? Right?” Ethan just nods as you look at him with a quirked brow almost as if you’re seeking his approval.

“Excellent idea.” Is all he says before he takes the polka dotted set from your hands and holds it in the same one of his that has the animal set it. You smile as you feel him lean down and place a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m going to go look at all the weird baby gadgets.” He gives your shoulder one last squeeze before he turns and heads off towards the back of the store with the two sets of onesies in his hand and your purse slung over his shoulder.

Harry is chewing on his bottom lip as he walks down the street towards the library you work at, wondering if he’s doing the right thing coming to see you at work again when you haven’t reached out to him since the lunch at his mother’s house. He doesn’t want to make it a habit to just show up at your work when you refuse to speak to him or he can’t get ahold of you but right now he feels like this is the only way he can guarantee he will be able to talk to you. It’s been over two weeks and he just wants to get some things off his chest and maybe see if the two of you can start over and try to get to know each other a bit so the arguing can come to a stop or at the very least can be toned down. It’s not like he’s expecting the two of you to be bestfriends or anything, he just wants to be able to have normal conversations with you that don’t end with you in tears or annoyed with him.

He runs a hand through his hair and he feels as if the wind gets knocked out of him when he turns to his left and looks in the window of a store, he has to push his sunglasses into his hair so he can make sure he’s seeing things clearly and that the dark lenses weren’t causing him to mistake the person for someone else but the moment his eyes see the smile on the woman’s face he knows exactly who it is. You’re standing in front of a table of baby clothes but before he can even register that you’re looking at clothes for the twins, he quickly notices you’re not alone and all Harry can do is stand there and watch the scene unfold in front of him. He watches your neighbor stand behind you and place both of his hands on your shoulders and Harry feels his brows furrow as his eyes narrow into a glare at the way you seem to relax at his touch.

It’s then that Harry takes in the bag that’s slung over the man’s shoulder, it’s the godawful thing you call a purse and he doesn’t understand why he’s the one with it over his shoulder instead of you. Of all the times he’s been around you that bag is always over your shoulder and you’re either fighting with it to find something or trying to keep it in place making him assume you have a thing about keeping your bag with you. He feels his mouth drop into a frown as it dawns on him that maybe it’s not so much you like to keep it on you at all times, it’s just that Harry hasn’t ever tried or offered to take it from you minus when he snatched it from you in your hallway when you told him you didn’t want him to come inside.

Harry feels the all too familiar simmering of jealousy begin to bubble deep inside him as he realizes that to anyone passing by the two of you would seem like a normal couple shopping for baby things in this cute little boutique that just so happens to be a few minutes away from your work. They would have no clue that the babies the two of you are looking at onesies for are actually his, that the man currently making you smile is nothing more than just your neighbor you’re friends with or at least that’s all Harry thinks he is to you, a friend. That changes the moment he watches the man place a kiss to the top of your head, a very soft display of affection that has Harry’s hands clenching into fists at his sides because why is another man that he doesn’t even know the name of not only baby clothes shopping with you but also touching and now kissing on you in public while he can’t even manage to get you to want talk to him.

Harry decides he’s seen enough as he turns and heads back in the direction of his car that’s parked in some over priced daily parking garage because he was in too much of a rush to call for his driver and also because a part of him wanted to prove to you that he can in fact drive himself places when he needs or wants to. He slides his sunglasses back down so they cover his eyes, allowing his emotions to be somewhat hidden from the strangers passing him on the sidewalk while he reaches into his back pocket for his phone. His first instinct is to call his mom and talk through this with her, why seeing you out with someone else buying things for the twins is making him feel this way but he shakes his head as he scrolls past her contact because he has a feeling he knows what she’s going to say and he doesn’t exactly want to have that conversation right now. So he scrolls down to the name that he knows won’t ask questions and hopefully in a few hours Harry will forget all about what he saw in the window of that little shop and he’ll be able to try again tomorrow on telling you sorry.

“Hey H you finally have time for a round?” Harry laughs at how excited Niall sounds on the other end of the phone as he enters the main level of the parking garage his car is in.

“I do but uh not the kinda round you’re thinking of.” Harry says with a sigh and in true Niall fashion he just laughs and tells Harry to pick the pub and he’ll see him soon before hanging up.

“Oh fuck this hallway is so long-wait what floor is this?” Harry squints as he exits the elevator and when he sees the number five on the plaque on the wall he lets out a sigh of relief.

“Thank god.” He mumbles as he turns and heads down the hallway, half tempted to put his sunglasses back on due to the obnoxiously bright lights coming from the ceiling that while doing a good job at helping him see where he’s going and which apartment he’s walking by, are also intensifying the throbbing in the back of his head.

When he reaches the doors he’s looking for he closes his eyes just for a brief moment because keeping them closed for too long makes him a little dizzy. As soon as he opens them he raises a hand to knock, not caring about the fact it’s near three in the morning because to Harry it’s a new day and he has things he needs to tell you. He stands there and rests a hand on your doorframe as he waits for you to answer, when he doesn’t even hear the sound of you moving around on the other side of the door he knocks two more times because unlike the last time he was here knocking on your door he knows you’re home having seen your sad little car in the parking lot when his driver pulled into the complex.

“I know you’re home you’ve-you’ve got to be home.” He mumbles with a sigh as he turns so his back is resting against your door, before he can even stop himself he feels his body sliding down it until his bottom is hitting the floor and his legs are stretched out in front of him.

“I’m-I’m sorry I’m so sorry.” His voice is strained as he tries to get comfortable resting against your door, finally deciding to put his sunglasses back on in an effort to help slow down the throbbing that’s making its way from the back of his head towards his temples. He rests his head against your door with a groan as he tries to gather his thoughts so he can try to explain to you why he’s been acting the way he has ever since you told him you were pregnant.

You have to close your eyes and take a few deep breaths to get your emotions under control as you stand on the other side of the door that you now know is being used at a backrest for a slightly drunk Harry. You didn’t need to look through the peephole to know it was him, you knew by the first set of knocks and the mumbled voice that you could hear from your bedroom that it was Harry because he’s the only person that would ever bother you at this hour unless it was an emergency but even then normally people just call or text you, not show up at your door. You place a hand on your bump that’s covered by your nightshirt and give it a soothing rub as you stand there, deciding that even though you’re not ready to see him you’ll let him sit there and get whatever it is he needs to say off his chest so he can go home.

“I shouldn’t have left you that day-uhm during the exam.” He says as he looks up towards the ceiling. You swallow the lump that’s already forming in your throat, as being woken up abruptly and now hearing him apologize start to make a mess of your emotions that have already been kind of all over the place recently.

“I’m sorry I keep saying the wrong things and-and hurting you s’not what I want ya know? To hurt you.” Harry sniffles and lets out a sarcastic sounding scoff at his own words as you look down at your ankles and smile at Paris who has taken an almost protective stance, standing between you and the door. “S’hard to believe I know but fuck-you’re just so relaxed all the time n’it freaked or-really it freaks me out a bit.” He admits making you roll your eyes while he runs both hands through his hair.

“But my uhm therapist says s’a control thing an that’s why I lash out at you.” You quirk an eyebrow at the mention of his therapist, feeling a bit shocked he’s spoken to anyone besides Anne about the two of you.

“Because you-you have all the control here and have since day one like you-even when you told me you were pregnant you just I don’t know? You had it all figured out already? You were having a baby with or without me while I was fumbling around and panicking and deep down I uh know that you-you don’t need me and that’s sort of uhm my thing? I need to be needed I’m a bit of a narcissist and-and you just don’t need me like- at all and I mean that’s-that’s fine or I’m learning to uhm be fine with it.” You feel your heart drop at how sincere he sounds as he speaks between little sniffles, you know his emotions are getting the best of him when it’s quiet for a moment minus a watery sigh and then you have to close your eyes and fight back the tears that want to spill over as you hear his voice sound so desperate as it comes through your door.

“But I need you Cranky I need-I need you because I need them so just-just tell me what to do and I’ll do it okay?” Harry lets a few tears roll down his face as he practically begs you to just tell him what to do to make this situation right.

“Please.” He whispers in a last ditch effort to get you to talk to him. You let out a deep breath before you reach out and unlock your door and turn the knob so you can open it. Harry feels his heart begin to beat quicker and before he can even register that you’re really opening the door and willing to see him and possibly talk to him he finds himself laying flat on his back looking up at you from the floor, the shots he took with Niall a few hours ago making his reflexes slower than normal not giving him time to move from his sitting position with his back resting on your door before you swung it open.

“Hi Harry.” You say with a small smile as you look down at him, Harry just smiles as he reaches for the sunglasses still covering his eyes quickly pulling them off so he can get a better look at you.

“Cranky you’ve-wow.” You raise an eyebrow at him suddenly feeling a little self concious as his eyes go a bit wide as he takes in how much bigger your bump looks, especially from the angle he’s currently getting from his spot on the floor. “Lemons still right? Peaches in four-no wait now three days?” He asks and you just nod as you place both hands on your bump while he takes his time getting up, feeling a bit dizzy due to looking up from his back for too long.

“Do you mind uhm staying in-”

“Yeah yeah that’s fine I uh-I’m sorry for waking you up.” He says when you motion towards the hallway once he’s up and standing, already knowing what you’re asking of him, and he will happily stand in the hallway while the two of you talk because he’s just happy you actually opened the door. You open your mouth to say something but then you hear the jingling of a bell and both you and Harry look down and find Paris rubbing his head on Harry’s shin and you have to hold back a laugh as Harry’s eyes widen in fear.

“Oh god Paris please don’t-oh fuck god damnit that hurts.” Paris just purrs and rubs the same ankle he just took a bite of before he turns and heads back into your apartment, strutting off towards the kitchen as if he’s proud of himself for what he’s just done. “I deserved that.” Harry mumbles making you just shrug as he runs a hand over his face.

“So Mr. Popular is a narcissist huh? I never would’ve guessed.” Harry feels his cheeks get hot at your teasing words. He sniffles a bit and rubs the tip of his nose with the knuckle of his index finger while giving you a small shrug because he’s not sure what to say. “I appreciate you coming here to apologize Harry but uhm I also know you’re a little-”

“I’m not that drunk-m’tipsy at best and I swear I’d say the same things sober.”

“I believe you but it’s just everything can sort of seem a bit more emotional and heavy when said at three in the morning outside an apartment door after too many whiskey sours.”

“Who talks like that? Honestly you-you spend too much time surrounded by books.”

“Harry-”

“I’m sorry that was rude.” He lets out a sigh as he looks down at his feet. “I don’t know why I do this? Why I can’t help myself sometimes I just-you’re so easy to argue with?” You rub your lips together to hold off the smile that wants to form because he looks so distraught standing there with a hand in his hair and another on his hip as he tries to make sense of his need to just bicker with you as if it’s all his fault and you don’t also enjoy how easy it is to rile him up.

“You’re fairly easy to set off and I seem to know exactly how to do it.” Harry lifts his head to look at you as you start to speak. “We both enjoy a bit of back and forth but sometimes Harry you just say things that are very hurtful and very hard to take back.” You explain as you look down at your hands that are on your bump, trying not to think about some of the things he’s said to you in the past that have made you upset.

“I know and I’m-I’m working on that.”

“With your therapist?” You ask as you look up at him and he just nods making you feel that there might actually be a some hope that the two of you will be able to figure this whole communication thing out. “So are you really ready to be apart of this then?” Harry takes a very small step towards you just so he can reach a hand out, you look at it questioningly for a moment before you give in and place one of your hands in his.

“I don’t want to be outside the window.” He says as he gives your hand a squeeze, you look at him with a slightly confused expression because you’re not entirely sure what he means by that but you don’t want to ruin the moment so you just let him continue. “I want to be the one inside with you looking at baby stuff and holding your god awful fucking bag and-”

“Well well well if it isn’t Mr. Asshole himself.” Ethan’s voice coming from down the hall makes Harry’s eyes go wide as he drops your hand while you turn and look at your neighbor who you know is just getting home from work. “I see you’re really living up to that nickname since you have her up out of bed at this ungodly hour.” You roll your eyes at him as Harry turns so he’s facing Ethan who is now only a few steps away from the two of you.

“It’s Mr. Popular not-”

“Aren’t assholes usually popular? So it’s basically the same thing.”

“It’s nowhere near the same and-who even are you? Besides the guy who feeds her cat on Fridays?”

“I’m Ethan her neighbor but also the friend who picked her up from your mom’s house crying a week and a half ago.” Harry’s face goes pale as he realizes your neighbor is the one who came and got you from lunch, you watch Ethan take a step so he’s standing in front of his door facing Harry as he swings his key ring around his index finger a few times.

“Oh and I’m the guy who she calls when she needs something because unlike you Mr. Gucci sunglasses even though it’s dark outside-” Ethan takes his time eyeballing Harry’s attire before he continues. “I’m a source of comfort for her and those little peaches. I’m also right across the hall so I’m always available.” You feel the tension in the air as Ethan glares at Harry who is glaring right back but with a clenched jaw and a hand balled into a fist at his side.

“Those little peaches? You mean lemons?”

“Really? That’s-that’s what you got out of that?”

“I mean I think it shows that you might be the comforting neighbor.” You begin to chew on your bottom lip as Ethan crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow at the slightly tipsy man in front of him. “But clearly I’m their dad because I actually know how big they are.” You can’t help but chuckle at how proud Harry looks when he says the word dad while Ethan just rolls his eyes making you move to the side a bit from your spot behind Harry so Ethan can see you allowing you to give him a warning type glare.

“Oh so now you’re ready to be a dad huh? Well good. I’m glad because honestly picking out baby shit isn’t really a good look for me.”

“Either is holding her purse-that thing looks hideous on you.”

“I mean it’s a hideous bag-wait what? When have you ever seen me with her purse?”

“Today or uh technically yesterday? In that shop near her uhm work.” Harry admits shyly and that’s when it all clicks, his mentioning of the window and looking at baby things, it’s because he saw you and Ethan at the boutique. You close your eyes and run a hand over your face as a long sigh escapes you making both men turn their heads to look at you.

“Is that why you got drunk and came knocking at my door?” Harry swallows hard as he all of a sudden feels a wave of nervousness wash over him because he doesn’t want his answer to ruin the slight progress that’s been made while standing outside your door this morning.

“Uh well-yes that’s sort of the reason why I met Niall-”

“Niall? Niall Horan? Is he here?” Harry turns to look at Ethan with a quirked brow as your neighbor looks up and down the hallway for any signs of the Irish popstar.

“Uh no he’s at home.” He answers making Ethan let out a huff while Harry turns his attention back to you. “But the whole reason I even saw you two was because uhm well because I was on my way to the library to see you. I just needed to talk to you and tell you how sorry-”

“You can’t just show up at my work whenever you want because you need to talk to me Harry especially when you know how it went the last time we even saw each other that’s just-that’s not okay.” Harry just nods because he already knew that, before he even got in his car to drive to your work to see you he knew it probably wasn’t a good idea but he had to do something and that was the only thing that he could think of.

“I know I won’t do it again.”

“Wait you saw us at that boutique and that’s why you went and got drunk on a Wednesday?” Ethan’s voice takes Harry’s attention away from you and you watch Ethan place his keys in his back pocket before putting his hands on his hips.

“I don’t like what you’re implying.”

“What I’m implying? Dude I’m not implying shit. Just admit it you got jealous-”

“Jealous? Jealous of what? Of you? Yeah right State Farm.” You take a step around Harry so you can be ready to stop the two of them from getting any closer to each other when you see Harry take a step towards Ethan.

“State Farm? That’s cute and honestly it’s true because I am a good neighbor but do you see these?” Harry’s brows furrow as Ethan wiggles his fingers a few inches away from Harry’s face. “I am clearly Allstate because she is very much in good hands.” You roll your eyes at the two of them as you cross your arms over your chest not believing the conversation they are having in front of you.

“What does he mean by that? You’re in good hands? Have you-you been in his hands?” Ethan has to bring a hand up to cover his mouth to hide his laugh as Harry quickly turns to look at you with frantic eyes while he runs a hand through his hair. You let out a sigh and glare at Ethan who is quick to turn around and face his door so he can unlock it.

“What? No we aren’t-”

“I’m sorry it’s not uhm it’s not uh-not my business I’m sorry.” Harry fumbles over his words as he begins to turn taking a few steps backwards towards the elevators as his mouth drops to a frown and you feel the corners of your own mouth fall a bit at how hurt he looks. “It’s fine really I uhm I gotta go.” You want to tell him to stop and just let you explain your friendship with Ethan but Harry doesn’t give you a chance because before you can even open your mouth he’s turning around so his back is facing you and he’s three steps away from you. But you know you can’t let him leave like this so you let out a huff and take a step towards him and call his name.

He pauses and looks over his shoulder as his name falls from your mouth. “Tell Nick I said hello?” He gives you a small smile and nods as you mention his driver who is waiting for him in the parking lot down stairs.

“Yeah I’ll uh I’ll do that.” You smile and before he turns to head towards the elevators you see a very familiar glint appear in his eyes as the corners of his mouth curl up in a smirk. “Goodnight Cranky.”

“You mean good morning Mr. Popular.” You correct making him laugh and shake his head as he turns and continues down the hallway because of course you just have to correct him because of course you just have to be right.

“Oh he totally thinks we are fucking.” Ethan says with a laugh as he stretches his neck a bit just in time to see Harry step into the elevator. As soon as he’s out of sight you turn and give Ethan a smack to the chest making him let out a pitiful sounding groan. “So violent in front of the children.”

“Don’t be so crude. He at least thinks something is happening here and we both know it’s not.”

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.”

“Uh yeah Ethan it actually might? He came here after getting drunk all because he saw us shopping together.”

“Yeah well I say let him suffer a bit and think we are doing something scandalous and then when he’s maybe stopped being an absolute douchebag for more than a day you can tell him the truth.”

“God you just love drama don’t you?”

“I’m a young bisexual man my whole life is drama.” He teases as you stand in your doorway with a hand on your bump and the other resting on your doorframe. “But honesty him showing up here is like-”

“A big deal. I know.” You finish for him, the two of you stare at each other for a moment before Ethan takes the few steps between his door and yours and places a quick kiss to the top of your head.

“Everything is gonna be fine.” He reassures you before he opens his apartment door. You give him a smile when he looks at you over his shoulder. “Sweet dreams Cranky.” He jokes making you roll your eyes as he closes his door.

You can’t help but make a sour face at the sound of your nickname coming from someone else’s mouth besides Harry’s. Not liking how it sounds without his accent and deep tone of voice and how slowly it slips out of his mouth making it sound all the more condescending which is oddly something you enjoy about the way he says it. You turn and walk through your open door and let out a long sigh after you close it, you head back towards your bedroom and smile when you see Paris curled into a ball at the foot of the bed.

“Oh Paris.” You mumble as you climb back into bed making the cat instantly lift his head up and stretch his front paws out at the disturbance. “What just happened?” You ask as you stare at the ceiling trying to make sense of the events that just took place in your hallway, but as the minutes tick by and you find yourself falling asleep you decide you can try to decipher and dig deeper into all of that later because right now all you want to do is go back to sleep and momentarily forget that the man you’re having kids with knocked on your door a three in the morning just to leave in a frantic hurry forty five minutes later.

Harry feels as if he’s a mixed bag of emotions as he steps into the elevator, the first one being confusion because he’s not even sure why he cares if you and your overly friendly neighbor are more than friends because it’s not as if Harry has any sort of claim on you minus the fact he’s the father of the two lemon sized babies you’re carrying. He’s even gone as far as telling you he doesn’t like you enough to care about anyone you find remotely attractive but that brings him to the next emotion, jealousy. Harry has always been the jealous type, that’s just part of his personality but this is something different because he feels as if he could punch a wall at just the memory of seeing Ethan kiss the top of your head and holding your shoulders in such a way that would have people assume he’s your partner of some sort. The most powerful emotion swirling around in Harry’s body though is regret, he regrets walking away and not letting you explain things but he just couldn’t risk having to listen to you tell him you’re in love with Ethan or that you two have only gotten so close because Harry has made you turn to him for comfort and reassurance due to how horrible he’s treated you. He doesn’t think he would be able to stand knowing that it’s his own fault that you ended up in the arms of someone else, not that he wants you in his own arms either because he doesn’t, or at least that’s what he’s telling himself.

“I could go back? Let her tell me-no no that would be dumb.” He argues with himself as he presses the button for the lobby. “Why do I even care? Do I even care? No. No I don’t.” He lets out a frustrated groan as he paces the length of the small elevator while debating with himself. “Exactly. I don’t care. She can be with whoever she wants. That’s fine.”

“I don’t care.” He mumbles as the door opens to the lobby of your apartment complex. He runs a hand over his face as he steps out and heads for the parking lot. He looks around and sees Nick is parked towards the back of the lot, he mentally pats himself on the back for picking a time of day that not a lot of people are out and about so Harry doesn’t have to worry too much about being seen as he walks towards the black suv.

“How’d it go?” Nick asks once Harry is in the backseat of the car. He raises an eyebrow as he looks over his shoulder when hears Harry lets out a long sad sigh.

“Next time I ask you to drive me here past midnight tell me no.” Harry instructs as he slides his sunglasses on and turns to look out the window. Nick just nods before he turns and faces the front so he can start the car and take Harry home.

[amethystarachnid]

I know it's very classic. Tony Stark x F!Reader. Office romance. Tony likes her and the reader is unaware of it. Tony gets very angry at a man who tries to flirt with the reader in the office and makes her uncomfortable, then informs him of his mistake. He drags his assistant to his room and while arguing, he lets it slip that he is in love with her.

OFFICE ROMANCE

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

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

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance, rom-com

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.1k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): little spicy scenes at the end, nothing too explicit

ᯓ★ Part 2

ᯓ★ yeah I know the title sucks I didnt know what to name it lol

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

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 elevator ride to Tony Stark’s office is uneventful—until the doors slide open, and you step right into chaos.

“Where is she? Where’s my assistant? Oh my God, I’m dying.”

Tony Stark is dramatically draped over his desk, one hand clutching his chest, the other extended toward the heavens like he’s in a Shakespearean tragedy. You barely have time to react before he twists his head toward the elevator, eyes locking onto yours with laser focus.

“There you are,” he groans. “Y/N, I think this is it. This is the end. You’re going to have to plan my funeral. Make it something classy, but also extravagant. Maybe fireworks? A Viking funeral? I don’t know, you decide.”

You sigh and step inside, the doors sliding shut behind you. “What is it this time, Mr. Stark?”

At the sound of his title, he frowns. “Really? We’re doing the ‘Mr. Stark’ thing today? Thought we were past that, sweetheart.”

You ignore him and set your bag down at your desk, flipping through the folders left for you overnight. Tony is still sprawled across his desk, his theatrics undeterred by your lack of concern.

“I’m serious,” he insists. “I might actually die this time.”

You finally look up at him, arms crossed. “Is it reactor-related, or are you just being dramatic?”

He gasps, placing a hand over his arc reactor. “I am never dramatic.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine, maybe I’m a little dramatic. But you were late this morning.”

You glance at the clock. “I was not late.”

“You were late to me,” he says, pointing accusingly. “Do you know what happens when you’re not here? Bad things. Boring things. Pepper makes me do paperwork, and Happy refuses to let me take the suit out for a spin at seven in the morning.”

Your lips twitch, but you suppress the smile. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark. I didn’t realize my presence was so vital to your survival.”

He lifts his head, expression serious. “Y/N, I don’t think you understand. You are the glue holding my fragile existence together.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Without you, I am but a billionaire genius playboy philanthropist adrift, lost at sea, doomed to perish in the harsh, unforgiving corporate world.”

“You are so full of it,” you mutter, grabbing your tablet to check his schedule.

Tony watches you, chin propped up in one hand. He does this a lot—just looks at you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the room, even when you’re doing something as mundane as scheduling meetings and reading emails. But you don’t notice.

You never notice.

And it’s driving him insane.

Tony Stark is in love with you.

Painfully, ridiculously, stupidly in love with you. And he’s not subtle about it, either. At least, he doesn’t think he is. He finds reasons to keep you around, finds excuses to talk to you, makes up the dumbest emergencies just to get your attention—and yet, somehow, you remain oblivious.

It’s almost impressive, really.

But also aggravating.

Tony sighs, rubbing his hands down his face before dramatically throwing himself back in his chair. “Okay, what’s on the agenda today, darling?”

You scroll through your tablet. “You have a meeting with Pepper at ten—”

“Cancel it.”

“You cannot cancel on Pepper.”

“Fine,” he grumbles. “What else?”

“You have a tech demonstration at two, a conference call with the board at four—”

“Cancel that too.”

You sigh. “Tony.”

“Oh, now it’s Tony?” He smirks. “See, I knew you liked me.”

“I tolerate you,” you correct, setting your tablet down. “And you are going to that board meeting, whether you like it or not.”

“Fine, but only if you’re there,” he says, pointing at you. “I refuse to suffer alone.”

You roll your eyes but nod. “I’ll be there.”

Tony grins, far too pleased with himself. He’s made you sit in on dozens of meetings that had nothing to do with your job, just because he likes having you there. He tells himself it’s because you keep him sane. That you make the long, boring hours more bearable.

But if he’s being honest, it’s just because he likes looking at you.

He likes the way your lips press together when you’re concentrating, the way your nose scrunches up when he says something stupid. He likes the way your eyes soften when you talk to him, even when you’re exasperated. He likes you. God, he likes you.

And yet, you remain completely, utterly unaware.

Tony watches as you type something into your tablet, your brows furrowed in concentration. He wonders what would happen if he just said it. If he just leaned across the desk, took your hands in his, and said—

“Mr. Stark?”

He snaps out of it. “Huh?”

“You okay? You spaced out.”

Tony clears his throat. “Uh, yeah. Fine. Totally fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?”

You squint at him, suspicious. “Are you sure? You look kind of—”

“Handsome? Dashing? Devastatingly attractive?”

“I was going to say pained, but sure.”

Tony groans and leans back in his chair. “This is agony,” he mutters.

You blink. “What is?”

You. You are agony. Being around you, loving you, wanting you, and you not even noticing—it’s torture.

But of course, he doesn’t say that.

“Nothing,” he sighs. “Just this board meeting. Ugh, corporate politics. You have to sit next to me, okay?”

“Okay,” you say, amused. “Anything else?”

“Yes. I need coffee. Desperately.”

You snort but stand up, grabbing your purse. “I’ll be back in ten.”

Tony watches you go, his head hitting the desk as soon as the doors shut behind you.

He is so screwed.

The days pass like they always do—fast, chaotic, and filled with Tony Stark’s unique brand of dramatics.

Between meetings, tech demos, Stark Industries board nonsense, and the occasional explosion in his lab (which he always swears is intentional), you’ve settled into an odd routine with him.

A routine that involves not just work, but him.

It starts small.

At first, it’s just casual conversation in between scheduling his appointments and making sure he actually attends them. A random question here and there.

“Morning, sweetheart. How do you feel about pineapple on pizza?”

“It’s fine, I guess.”

“Wrong answer. Completely unacceptable. I might have to fire you.”

Then, it becomes a daily thing.

He asks about your coffee order, remembers the way you take it without you telling him twice. He learns your favorite snacks, stocks the office kitchen with them. He finds out you love old Hollywood movies, and suddenly, his TV has a list of black-and-white classics queued up.

You don’t think much of it.

Tony Stark is friendly. He’s nosy. He likes to know things. It makes sense that he’d ask about your life outside of work.

But to him, it’s everything.

Because these little details—the things you like, the way you laugh, the way you light up when you talk about something you’re passionate about—are what keep him grounded.

Sometimes, he even talks about himself, which is rare.

You don’t realize what a big deal it is at first. You’ve worked for him long enough to know he talks a lot, but usually, it’s about his inventions or some wild new idea he has.

But with you?

He tells you about his mom’s love for classical music, how she used to play records while she cooked. How his dad was cold but brilliant, how he spent his childhood trying to impress a man who never really saw him. How he went to MIT at fifteen and spent half his time pranking professors and the other half building things he wasn’t supposed to.

He tells you about Afghanistan one night, when it’s just the two of you in his office, the city lights glowing behind him.

About the cave, about the first arc reactor, about Yinsen and what he’d meant to him.

You listen.

You don’t pity him, don’t give him some empty platitude about how it must’ve been hard. You just listen.

And Tony—who has spent most of his life drowning out his own thoughts with distractions—thinks maybe you are the best thing that has ever happened to him.

He also thinks you might never notice how much you mean to him.

Which is why he’s completely blindsided when it happens.

It’s a normal day.

You’re at your desk, typing away, while Tony lounges on the couch with a blueprint in one hand and a screwdriver in the other, pretending to work while actually watching you.

Then Happy walks in.

“There’s a guy here to see you,” he tells Tony, looking unimpressed.

Tony doesn’t even look up. “Tell him I’m busy.”

“He says it’s urgent.”

Tony sighs, pushing himself up. “Fine, fine. Send him in.”

Happy steps aside, and the guy walks in.

You glance up, offering a polite smile before going back to your work.

The man is tall, well-dressed, and carries himself like he’s important—which immediately annoys Tony. He hates people who walk into his space acting like they own the place.

“Mr. Stark,” the man says, offering his hand. “Nathan Ellis. Big fan.”

Tony shakes his hand but looks bored already. “Uh-huh. What do you want?”

Nathan chuckles, like Tony just made a joke. “I had a business proposition I wanted to discuss with you. Something that could be mutually beneficial.”

Tony gestures lazily to you. “Talk to her. She handles all the boring stuff.”

You roll your eyes but give Nathan a professional smile. “What’s the proposition?”

But Nathan isn’t looking at you like a businessman pitching an idea. He’s looking at you like a man sizing up a woman, and Tony immediately hates him.

Nathan smirks. “You’re much prettier than I expected.”

You stiffen just a little, but you keep your composure. “That’s not really relevant,” you say, your tone still polite but firm. “What’s relevant is what you’re proposing.”

Nathan leans against your desk like he belongs there. “Can’t I compliment a beautiful woman?”

Tony sits up straight, his eyes narrowing.

You force a tight smile. “I’d prefer if we kept this professional.”

Nathan laughs, but it’s the kind of laugh that says he doesn’t really take you seriously. “Oh, come on. No need to be so serious, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Tony sees red.

That’s his word.

His fingers tighten around the screwdriver in his hand, but he stays quiet—for now—watching you, waiting to see if you want him to step in.

You shift uncomfortably, clearly trying to remain professional, but it’s obvious you’re not enjoying this.

Tony doesn’t give a damn about professionalism.

He stands up, moving toward you in a few easy strides before leaning down and planting his hands on your desk, effectively caging you in while staring Nathan down.

“You know,” Tony says, voice deceptively light, “I really don’t like it when people make my assistant uncomfortable.”

Nathan blinks, clearly not expecting that.

You glance up at Tony, eyes wide.

Tony doesn’t look at you. His attention is solely on Nathan, his jaw tight, his expression calm but dangerous.

Nathan chuckles nervously. “I was just making conversation.”

“Yeah? Well, here’s the thing,” Tony says, tilting his head. “She doesn’t want to have a conversation with you.”

Nathan raises his hands. “Didn’t mean to step on any toes.”

Tony smiles, but it’s not friendly. “Oh, buddy, you stepped on mine, and I really don’t like that.”

Nathan shifts uncomfortably.

Tony straightens, taking a step back—but then he leans down again, close enough that only Nathan can hear when he says, “If you ever talk to her like that again, I will ruin your entire life before breakfast.”

Nathan swallows.

Tony claps him on the shoulder, grinning. “Now, I think we’re done here.”

Nathan nods quickly, then turns and practically flees the office.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Tony turns to you, concern flickering across his face. “You okay?”

You nod. “Yeah. Just… guys like that make my skin crawl.”

Tony watches you for a moment, then surprises you by gently brushing his fingers over yours.

You glance down at your hands, startled.

It’s not much. Just the lightest touch. But it makes your heart stutter.

“Next time, just say the word,” Tony says softly. “I’ll handle it.”

You swallow, suddenly very aware of how close he is.

“I—uh—thank you,” you murmur.

Tony smirks, his fingers curling around yours for just a second before he lets go.

Then, just like that, he’s back to normal, plopping onto the couch and stretching like nothing happened.

But something did.

And for the first time, you wonder if you’ve been missing something this whole time.

In the days after the Nathan incident, something shifts.

You don’t know what it is exactly, but you feel it.

Maybe it’s the way Tony watches you a little too closely when he thinks you aren’t looking. Or the way you replay that moment in your head—his fingers brushing yours, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it.

Or maybe it’s the way you feel when you look at him now.

You’ve worked for Tony long enough to know he’s magnetic. People gravitate toward him, caught in his orbit like planets around the sun. You’ve always thought he was charming in an annoying way, a flirt by nature, someone who could talk his way into—or out of—anything.

But now, for the first time, you find yourself looking at him differently.

You start noticing things you never did before.

The way his eyes soften when he looks at you. The way he always saves the last bite of his favorite snacks for you. The way he makes excuses to keep you in his office longer, even when the work is done.

And it’s terrifying.

Because if this was anyone else—anyone—maybe you’d let yourself admit it. Maybe you’d let yourself fall.

But this is Tony Stark. Your boss.

And that means it’s impossible.

So, you bury it. You convince yourself you’re imagining things, that Tony is just Tony, and you’re reading into it too much.

Then Nathan Ellis comes back.

You’re at your desk, sorting through a ridiculous amount of emails when Happy walks in, looking unimpressed as always.

“Great,” he mutters. “He’s back.”

You look up, confused. “Who’s back?”

As if on cue, Nathan Ellis strolls in, his smarmy grin already making your stomach twist.

Tony is in the corner of the room, tinkering with something, but at the sound of Nathan’s voice, his hands still.

Nathan leans against your desk. “Miss Y/N,” he says smoothly. “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot last time.”

You keep your expression polite but distant. “Did we?”

He laughs. “Look, I’m not here to talk business today.”

Tony doesn’t like that.

His fingers tighten around his wrench, his jaw clenching as he subtly shifts closer to listen.

Nathan continues, oblivious. “I was hoping to make it up to you. Dinner, maybe? There’s a great place downtown. My treat.”

You blink, caught off guard.

Your first instinct is to say no. You don’t like Nathan. He made you uncomfortable, and you have no interest in him.

But then—Tony.

You don’t look at him, but you feel his presence. You feel the weight of everything unspoken between you, the things you refuse to acknowledge.

So before you can think it through, you hear yourself say, “Sure.”

It’s a knee-jerk reaction, a way to prove—to yourself, to Tony, to whatever this thing is between you—that you can still be rational. That you don’t have feelings for Tony. That you can move on, be professional, keep your life normal.

But as soon as the word leaves your mouth, you regret it.

Nathan grins, clearly pleased. “Great. I’ll pick you up Friday at seven.”

You nod stiffly, and he finally leaves.

Silence lingers in the room.

You risk a glance at Tony.

He’s looking at his workbench, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t say a word.

And that, somehow, makes you feel worse.

—

Friday rolls around faster than you expect.

You dread it.

The moment you wake up, you regret saying yes.

You don’t want to go out with Nathan.

But backing out now would make you look ridiculous, and you refuse to admit—to yourself or to anyone else—why you really don’t want to go.

So, you tell yourself you’ll go. One date. It’s not a big deal.

Then Tony ruins it.

The day is insane.

More meetings than usual, a sudden crisis with one of Stark Industries’ overseas contracts, a last-minute tech demo that Tony insists he needs you to be there for.

By the time you finally look at the clock, it’s almost nine.

Your stomach drops.

You completely forgot about the date.

You grab your phone, wincing when you see multiple missed calls and texts from Nathan, all of them getting progressively more annoyed.

Shit.

You stand abruptly, grabbing your bag.

Tony—who is lounging on the couch, looking suspiciously satisfied—raises an eyebrow. “Going somewhere?”

You glare at him. “Did you do this on purpose?”

He blinks, all mock innocence. “Do what?”

“This.” You gesture wildly at the stack of paperwork still on your desk, the mess of your day, the way you were so busy you lost track of time. “You knew I had plans tonight.”

Tony shrugs. “Did you?”

You want to scream.

“Tony.”

Something flickers in his expression when you say his name like that—low, almost dangerous.

You step closer, jabbing a finger at his chest. “You did do this on purpose.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says, but the smug look on his face tells you everything.

He did this.

He made sure you were too busy to leave, too busy to go on the date.

And for some reason, that makes your heart pound in a way you don’t want to analyze.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter.

Tony leans back, tilting his head at you. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a date.”

You gape at him. “That’s not the point!”

“Then what is the point?”

“The point is you manipulated me into missing it!”

He stands, stepping into your space, close enough that you have to crane your neck to keep looking at him.

And suddenly, the room feels too small.

“I didn’t manipulate anything,” he says, voice low. “I just gave you work. You’re the one who got so caught up in it you forgot about him.”

Your breath catches.

Because he’s right.

You were the one who didn’t check the time. The one who let yourself get wrapped up in Tony’s world.

And maybe—just maybe—it was because deep down, you didn’t want to go.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he wanted this. That he made sure it happened.

You shake your head, stepping back. “You don’t get to do this.”

“Do what?”

“Mess with my life like this. You don’t get to control who I see, Tony.”

He flinches.

For a second, you think he’s going to argue, make another joke, deflect like he always does.

But instead, he just watches you, something raw and unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

Then, he sighs. Runs a hand through his hair.

“You’re right,” he says quietly. “I don’t.”

The honesty in his voice catches you off guard.

It almost—almost—makes you soften.

But you’re still angry.

So without another word, you turn on your heel and leave.

Tony doesn’t stop you.

And the worst part?

A small, traitorous part of you wishes he had.

You don’t make it far.

You storm out of the office, heart pounding, anger bubbling in your chest so violently you can taste it. You don’t even know where you’re going—just away.

Away from Tony and his smug little I didn’t manipulate anything face. Away from the way he looked at you, like he wasn’t the least bit sorry. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Like he had every right to do it.

You make it to the elevator before you hear him behind you.

“Y/N.”

You don’t turn around.

“Y/N,” Tony repeats, voice sharp now, edged with something you don’t recognize.

You stab the elevator button. “Go away, Tony.”

“Yeah, see, that’s not gonna happen.”

You spin on your heel, glaring at him. “Oh, what now? You gonna kidnap me? Make sure I never leave this damn building?”

Tony sighs like you’re the one being difficult. “I just want to talk.”

“Oh, now you want to talk?” You laugh, crossing your arms. “Because when I was trying to talk about how you sabotaged my night, you had nothing to say.”

Tony clenches his jaw. “It wasn’t sabotage.”

“Oh, really?” You raise an eyebrow. “So it was just a coincidence that today of all days you gave me twice as much work as usual? That you suddenly needed me in meetings I normally don’t have to be in? That you—”

“I didn’t want you to go.”

The words come out quiet, almost too quiet to hear.

But you hear them.

And you freeze.

Tony exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. His gaze flickers away for a second, like he’s regretting saying it.

But then he looks back at you, and there’s something in his eyes—something real.

Something that makes your stomach flip.

You swallow hard. “Tony…”

He shakes his head. “Just—come back to the office. Please.”

You should say no. You should walk away.

But you don’t.

Because even though you’re furious, even though every rational part of your brain is screaming at you to be professional—to keep things normal—there’s a deeper, quieter part of you that wants to hear what he has to say.

So, you turn. Walk back.

And Tony follows.

—

The office feels different when you get back.

Quieter. Tense.

You lean against your desk, arms crossed, watching as Tony paces the room.

“Well?” you say finally.

Tony stops. Looks at you.

And for the first time since you’ve known him, he looks… nervous.

Not the fake, exaggerated kind he puts on for show, but real nervous.

He exhales. “I don’t want you dating him.”

You scoff. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“I don’t want you dating anyone.”

Your breath catches.

Tony swallows hard. “Because I—” He hesitates, like he’s physically fighting the words. Then, finally, he just says it.

“Because I love you.”

Everything stops.

The air in the room shifts, like the world itself is holding its breath.

You stare at him, your brain struggling to process what just happened.

Tony looks like he wants to take it back, like he wants to shove the words back into his mouth and pretend they never happened.

But they did.

And suddenly, everything makes sense.

The way he looks at you. The way he knows you—your coffee order, your favorite movies, the way you feel about things before you even say them.

The way he brushed his fingers over yours that day, like it meant something.

The way he sabotaged your date—not because he was being petty, but because the thought of you with someone else made him want to burn the world down.

And, God—maybe you do love him.

Maybe you have for longer than you realized.

You exhale sharply, your heart slamming against your ribs.

“Say something,” Tony mutters.

You don’t.

You move.

Before you can second-guess yourself, before you can let all the rules and expectations stop you, you grab him by the collar of his stupidly expensive shirt and kiss him.

Tony freezes for half a second.

Then he melts.

His hands come up, one gripping your waist, the other tangling in your hair. He kisses you like he’s starving for it, like he’s been waiting for this—for you.

And maybe he has.

Maybe you both have.

When you finally pull back, you’re breathless.

Tony stares at you, lips parted, looking so completely wrecked that you almost laugh.

Almost.

Instead, you press your forehead against his, inhaling deeply.

“I hate you,” you whisper.

Tony chuckles, breath warm against your skin. “No, you don’t.”

You sigh, closing your eyes. “You could’ve just told me.”

“Yeah,” Tony murmurs. “But where’s the fun in that?”

You do laugh this time.

Because of course he’d say that.

Because of course it was always going to be this—messy, chaotic, inevitable.

And as Tony kisses you again—slow this time, like he never wants to stop—you know one thing for certain.

You’re never making it to another date with anyone ever again.

Tony kisses you like he’s making up for lost time. Like he’s wanted this for so long he doesn’t know how to hold back anymore. His hands grip your waist, fingers pressing into your skin through the fabric of your blouse as he pulls you closer, eliminating the last bit of space between you. You feel the edge of the desk dig into the small of your back, but you don’t care. Not when Tony’s mouth is on yours, not when he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, not when his hand slides up your back, warm and firm and impossible to ignore.

You gasp against his lips, fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt, and he groans in response. The sound sends a shiver down your spine, and suddenly you’re not thinking about where you are or what this means or how this is completely unprofessional. You’re only thinking about how much you want him. How much you’ve always wanted him, even when you didn’t want to admit it.

Tony shifts, his hands sliding down to grip your thighs, and before you can process what’s happening, he lifts you onto the desk. You barely manage to let out a startled breath before he’s between your legs, pressing into you, his lips trailing from your mouth to your jaw to the sensitive spot just below your ear.

You tilt your head back, your hands moving on their own, pushing his jacket off his shoulders, sliding over the hard planes of his chest. Tony lets out a low curse, his breath hot against your skin, and you know this is getting out of control. You know you should stop. But then his fingers graze the hem of your skirt, and your heart is pounding, and—

A knock on the door makes you both freeze.

Your eyes snap open, and Tony’s lips still against your throat. For a second, neither of you moves. Your breath is ragged, and Tony’s grip on your waist tightens like he’s physically stopping himself from ignoring the interruption.

“Tony?”

Happy’s voice is muffled through the door, but it’s enough to jolt you back to reality.

You push at Tony’s chest, and he steps back with obvious reluctance. His eyes are dark, his hair is a mess from your hands, and his lips are swollen. The sight of him like this, completely wrecked, makes something deep in your stomach tighten.

You shake yourself out of it, sliding off the desk as you smooth down your clothes. Tony watches you, chest rising and falling like he’s trying to get himself under control.

“Yeah, yeah,” he calls out, voice rough. “Give me a second.”

There’s a pause, then the sound of footsteps retreating.

You exhale, pressing your fingers to your temples.

“That was—”

Tony smirks. “Hot?”

You glare at him, but it lacks heat. “Unprofessional.”

Tony sighs dramatically. “Yeah, that too.”

You shake your head, trying to ignore the way your entire body is still buzzing. “We can’t do that at work.”

Tony’s smirk widens, and you realize what you just said a second too late.

“So you’re saying we can do it outside of work?”

You groan. “Not what I meant.”

Tony grins, stepping closer again. His fingers brush your wrist, light and teasing. “Come over after your shift.”

You bite your lip, considering.

Tony dips his head, voice dropping. “I’ll behave.”

You snort. “No, you won’t.”

Tony shrugs, completely unapologetic. “Yeah, okay, I won’t.”

You roll your eyes but don’t say no.

Tony notices.

—

You don’t talk about what this means. You don’t sit down and define your relationship, don’t have some long, serious conversation about what you are to each other now.

But you don’t need to.

Because it’s obvious in the way Tony kisses you when you show up at his penthouse after work. In the way he pulls you onto the couch, his hands sliding under your shirt, his mouth never leaving yours. In the way you spend the night tangled in his sheets, waking up to his arm draped over your waist, his breath warm against the back of your neck.

It’s obvious in the way he looks at you at work, in the way he always finds an excuse to touch you. A hand at the small of your back when he passes by, a brush of his fingers against yours when he hands you something, a teasing whisper against your ear that makes you shiver.

You try to be subtle.

You don’t want anyone thinking you’re only with him to climb the corporate ladder, and Tony—surprisingly—understands. He doesn’t push. He doesn’t announce it to the world, doesn’t make some grand declaration in the middle of a meeting.

But he also doesn’t hide it.

Not really.

Because the way he looks at you isn’t subtle. The way he finds any excuse to keep you in his office longer than necessary isn’t subtle. The way he calls you sweetheart in private and Miss Y/L/N in front of others with a smirk that says he knows exactly what he’s doing definitely isn’t subtle.

And then there are the stolen kisses.

The ones in the elevator when no one else is around. The ones in the hallway when he tugs you into a supply closet with a grin and a just real quick, I missed you. The ones at his penthouse when you show up after a long day and he greets you at the door with his hands already on your hips, pulling you inside like he’s been waiting for you all day.

Because he has.

You find yourself spending more nights at his place than your own. It starts slowly—one night, then two, then three. Then, before you know it, most of your stuff is at his penthouse, and you don’t even think about going home after work anymore.

Tony never says anything about it. He never asks you to stay.

But he doesn’t have to.

Because the way he holds you when you fall asleep says everything.

Because the way he presses a lazy kiss to your temple in the morning when he thinks you’re still asleep says everything.

Because the way he looks at you—like you’re the most important thing in the world—says everything.

Tony kisses you like he’s savoring every second. His hands rest on your waist, fingers pressing just enough to make you shiver. You’re sitting on his desk, legs wrapped loosely around his hips, completely lost in the moment. It’s a rare quiet afternoon in the office, just the two of you, and Tony has taken full advantage of it.

You hum against his lips as he trails his mouth down your jaw, then lower to your neck. His stubble grazes your skin, sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. His lips are warm, soft, teasing as he lingers just beneath your ear. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

Tony chuckles when he feels your breath hitch. You can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

You grab a fistful of his shirt. Tony responds with a slow, deliberate kiss to the side of your neck. His tongue flicks against your skin, followed by a light nip that makes you gasp. His mouth lingers there, sucking just hard enough to leave his mark.

A sharp knock on the door shatters the moment.

You both freeze. Tony exhales against your skin, shoulders tensing.

Another knock, this one louder.

Tony groans. "They have the worst timing, I swear—"

Then the door swings open, and your stomach drops.

Nathan Ellis stands in the doorway, his expression dark and furious.

The sight of him immediately kills any lingering warmth from your moment with Tony. He looks different from the smooth, arrogant man who asked you out—his jaw is clenched, his eyes cold, his posture rigid with anger.

You stiffen, already knowing this won’t be good.

Nathan steps inside without waiting for permission, eyes locked onto you. "You stood me up."

Tony straightens, immediately stepping in front of you in a way that makes it clear he has no intention of letting Nathan get any closer. "Big deal," he says flatly. "She didn’t want to go. Move on."

Nathan ignores him, eyes still burning into you. "You didn’t even have the decency to text me? Let me know instead of wasting my time?"

Your throat tightens. You don’t want to deal with this. "I got caught up at work. It wasn’t intentional."

Nathan scoffs. "Bullshit. You’re just another woman who likes to play games. You say yes to a date and then don’t even bother showing up? You think that makes you look good?"

Something shifts in Tony. His entire body goes tense, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. "Watch how you talk to her."

Nathan finally looks at Tony, his upper lip curling in disgust. "Oh, I get it now. This is why you didn’t show up, huh?" His gaze flickers back to you, sharp and accusing. Then his eyes catch something on your neck, and his entire expression twists into something uglier.

Your stomach sinks.

You don’t even need to look in a mirror to know what he’s staring at. You feel the lingering warmth where Tony’s mouth was just moments ago.

Nathan lets out a short, bitter laugh. "Wow. That’s just perfect." He turns back to Tony. "Guess I should’ve figured. Why go out with someone like me when you can just screw your boss instead?"

Your eyes widen in shock.

Tony moves before you can react.

His fist collides with Nathan’s jaw, the impact loud in the silence of the office. Nathan stumbles back, his hand flying up to his face, a stunned expression flashing across his features before fury takes over.

"Tony!" You grab his arm before he can swing again, your heart pounding.

Nathan straightens, eyes blazing with pure hatred. "You’re insane."

Tony glares at him. "Get out."

Nathan sneers, wiping his mouth. "Oh, trust me, I’m leaving. But you’re gonna regret this. Both of you."

Tony doesn’t even let him turn fully before pulling out his phone and pressing a button. "Happy. Come get this asshole out of my office."

Nathan’s jaw tightens, but before he can say anything else, heavy footsteps echo down the hall. Happy Hogan appears in the doorway, expression unreadable but posture firm.

"Let’s go," Happy says.

Nathan glares at you one last time, then at Tony, before reluctantly stepping back. Happy follows him out, and just like that, he’s gone.

The office is silent again, but the tension lingers.

Your pulse is still racing. You take a deep breath, willing yourself to calm down. Then you look at Tony.

He’s standing there, still tense, his hand flexing like he’s barely holding himself back from going after Nathan again.

"You punched him," you say, still a little in shock.

Tony shrugs. "He deserved it."

You let out a breath, rubbing your hands over your face. "I can’t believe this happened."

Tony frowns. "You okay?"

You hesitate. "I just—" You groan. "Tony, you gave me a hickey."

Tony blinks, then smirks. "Just now realizing that?"

You glare at him. "I have to work in this office. People are gonna see."

Tony tilts his head, completely unbothered. "So? Let ‘em see."

You stare at him. "I don’t want them to see."

He sighs dramatically. "Alright, alright. I guess I can be more strategic about my placement next time."

You groan again, turning toward your desk. "I need concealer."

Tony snickers. "You could just wear a scarf. It’d be very elegant. Very old-Hollywood."

You shoot him a look over your shoulder. "You think this is funny."

Tony steps closer, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. His chin rests on your shoulder as he murmurs against your ear, "I know this is funny."

You shove at him, but you’re smiling despite yourself. "You’re the worst."

"Yeah, yeah," Tony murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to your jaw before finally letting you go. "Now hurry up and cover it. I have a meeting in ten minutes, and I need my very professional assistant to not look like she just had a makeout session with her boss."

You roll your eyes, reaching into your bag for your concealer. Tony watches you with a stupidly smug expression.

You shake your head, but your heart is still racing for a completely different reason now.

Because even after everything, even after the chaos Nathan caused, one thing is crystal clear.

You and Tony? You’re solid. And no one—not Nathan, not anyone—can change that.

[fizzyapplecandy]

The one with the shy bunny and the rowdy cat Part 4 Final

Ateez Seonghwa X Wooyoung X Reader

Find previous parts on my Masterlist

Genres and warnings: hybrid imagine, poly relationships (no mxm), mature language, fluff, angst, happy ending

Word count: 2.2k

The day is finally here. Seognhwa goes to your previous owner in hopes of finally making your theirs, but will it be easy?

Seonghwa couldn't remember the last time he slept so peacefully. It was nice being alone, having the bed for himself, but something about a tiny, warm body beside him made it even better.

Y/N was still fast asleep, her nose twitching as she dreamt. He's been watching her for the past fifteen minutes, enjoying the moment he had with her. She might not have been awake, but she was just the thing he needed.

Today was a big day. He had plans to go open his bakery, leaving it afterwards to Yeosang, his trusted worker. Hongjoong would be waiting for him, because they needed to go and find your previous owner to serve him the papers. For some reason, he couldn't imagine going on in his life without the little bunny by his side. Wooyoung loved her, that much was obvious, but he bonded with her on another level. It takes immense trust to be somebody's owner, and she was willingly giving herself to him. The past couple of days showed how comfortable she could get with them, and he hoped her confidence would grow bigger. Although, it was nice having someone calm and collected with them, Wooyoung was already a handful. Not that he didn't adore his hybrid, he just needed someone to enjoy the silence with. Y/N was just that person.

Seognhwa glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table, confirming he would be late if he stayed even another minute. They would have all the time in the world after he settled the deal with Jisung, and that was enough to motivate him to get up.

The rustling of the bed didn't disturb his bunny, and he tucked her back in after taking everything necessary from his room.

He didn't expect to run into Wooyoung in the hallway.

"Hey Woo, what are you doing up so early?"

Wooyoung yawned, stretching lazily.

"I can't sleep without her. Move, I'm going to your room."

He didn't wait for Seonghwa's reply, pushing him to the side and entering his bedroom. He watched as his hybrid tucked himself behind Y/N, nuzzling his face in her hair.

"Okay, get some more sleep. Please, for the love of God, don't do anything in my bed."

Wooyoung turned his head, smirking lightly.

"Can't make any promises." He went back to his previous position, and Seonghwa kind of knew he was joking. Well, he hoped he was. He shut the door, leaving the two to their own devices.

.

.

"I'm telling you Hongjoong, this isn't going to work."

"Will you just shut up and trust me for once? I know what I'm doing."

Seonghwa and his friend Hongjoong were outside Jisung's workplace. It was a classic office building, consisting of numerous cubicles. Jisung was in one of them, and the nerves were starting to eat Seonghwa alive.

It's not like he didn't trust Hongjoong, but the situation was delicate. One wrong word, and he could lose Y/N forever.

"Joong, I appreciate you doing all of this. I'm really sorry about the way I'm behaving. It's just..." Seonghwa couldn't even finish his sentence. He didn't know what to say anymore, but his friend knew him quite well.

Hongjoong gave him a pat on the back.

"It's okay buddy. We'll make this work, and you'll be home before you know it."

For some reason, that only made him more nervous. He knew Y/N was home, waiting to hear her fate. Wooyoung was probably trying to keep her mind occupied, but that could also lead to two things - them having a nice movie day, or him having to go to the vet to get Wooyoung sprayed.

Seonghwa shook his head, focusing on the task ahead of him. The two men entered the building and gave their names to the receptionist. Hongjoong had previously made an appointment to see Jisung, stating he had some problems with his fake account that he needed fixed. The lady told them the number of the cubicle, and off they went.

As they approached that devil of a man, Seonghwa could barely keep his anger at bay. This was someone who brought harm to his bunny. Someone who made her scared of basic human interaction. She didn't know pets were a reward, she barely ate unless given specific permission, and she protected her ears like she was afraid he'd pull them clean off.

After a short walk, there he was. Jisung, sitting there in all his glory, smiling at a coworker as if the hybrid he's supposed to take care of hasn't run off to god knows where.

"Hello there." Hongjoong said casually. The man's head turned, eyes widening slightly. Maybe he felt intimidated? That was a good thing.

"Hello gentlemen. How can I help you?"

Hongjoong extended his hand and Jisung shook it before moving onto Seonghwa. He had to get it together in order not to break all of his fingers off.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Seonghwa."

Jisung smiled, motioning for them to sit in front of his desk. They were separated from other employees by a wall, and it was almost perfect. Hongjoong dropped the act as soon as Jisung sat down.

"So, Jisung, how's Y/N doing?"

The man in front of them froze, hands clutching his pencil.

"I'm sorry, who are you talking about?" His voice was calm, but his hands were starting to twitch.

"Oh, cut the shit. You know exactly who you little pie-"

"Calm down Hwa." It was a miracle Seognhwa caught himself. He knew Hongjoong's warning was serious.

"Okay, who the hell are you? What do you want from me?" Jisung asked, his tone showing how upset he was getting.

"We want you to sign over your rights to be Y/N's owner. Seonghwa here has provided your former hybrid with a suitable home, we just have to get the formalities out of the way." Hongjoong explained.

"You have her?" Tone as cold as ice, Jisung turned towards Seognhwa, glaring as he spoke.

"Yes, I have her, and I'm not planning on letting her come back to you. Who knows what you did to that poor bunny." Seonghwa spat out, gripping the handles of his chair to stay put.

Silence followed his words, Jisung appearing lost in thought for a minute. It wasn't until Hongjoong took out the forms from his bag that he focused back on them.

"There is no way I'm signing anything. Y/N's mine, and I want her back!"

"You are so firm on getting her back, but were you even trying to search for the poor thing? There is no trace of you ever reporting her missing. How will you explain that to a judge? Your hybrid runs away, and don't move an inch to find her. Interesting, isn't it?"

Hongjoong's tone had a slight edge to it, but he kept it professional.

"She is mine. I knew she'd come crawling back to me, that's why I didn't do anything. That bitch can't look after herself."

Now Seonghwa was getting furious. How dare he call her such a degrading name?

"Who do you think you are, huh? The hybrid police?" Jisung questioned.

"Yes, that's exactly what I am." Hongjoong answered.

He placed a paper in front of Jisung.

"This right here is a report on Y/N's injuries. There are multiple lesions on her arms and legs, as well as sensitivity to her hybrid ears. According to her, they were inflicted by you in fits of rage. A doctor can and will confirm it if I ask for an examination."

Another paper followed.

"Next, we have the fact that you hadn't uploaded the shelter about Y/N in over three months. In any hybrid contract, there is the rule of keeping the shelter informed about your hybrid's condition up until one year has passed. They have confirmed you haven't done what you were obligated to."

Jisung was starting to get red in the face, just as one other paper was placed on the table.

"And here we have a recollection of events from when Y/N was in your home. Multiple statements show the abuse she's suffered by your side. One look at this paper and you'll be in handcuffs. Y/N is prepared to testify against you, and your fate will be sealed."

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, almost too casually for the occasion. Seonghwa could only watch in awe as his best friend did his job.

"So, what do you say? Do you still refuse to sign over your rights? I hope you are prepared for some jail time, I hear abusive owners have it rough in there."

That seemed to give Jisung a wake up call. He rubbed his eyes, huffing and puffing as he did. After taking a deep breath, he took a pen from his drawer.

"Where do you want me to sign?"

.

.

"Bunny, stop packing your things! You're not going anywhere!"

Wooyoung was slowly starting to panic. For the past hour, you've been locked up in his room, packing the few belongings you had into a bag. You'd probably have to return it to Seonghwa, but he won't mind you borrowing it.

There were more bangs coming from the other side.

"Y/N, do you hear me? Stop ignoring me! I'm not letting you go!"

You knew there was no chance you'd be able to stay. Your luck wasn't the best, and it was better to accept it before spiraling into an even deeper depression.

"Please bunny, I'm begging you! Oh, Seonghwa! Thank god you're here!"

Wooyoung's footsteps could be heard rushing away from the door. You froze, realising you'd have to face the two of them now and say your goodbyes.

"Y/N? Can you come out now?" Seonghwa said, knocking lightly.

You braced yourself for a tough conversation. Straightening your new white skirt and pink sweatshirt, you walked towards the door, unlocking it and stepping out.

"I-I'm all packed." You whispered, not able to look into Seonghwa's eyes. A pair of arms wrapped themselves around your shoulders, squeezing you in a hug.

"You're not going anywhere! Tell her Hwa, please! She's not going, is she?" Wooyoung shouted, pushing your head into the crook of his neck. There was no chance he was letting you go, ever.

Seonghwa sighed, motioning towards the living room.

"How about we all take a seat over there?"

You couldn't make out the tone of his voice, but it felt bad for some reason. Maybe you were just too focused on the worst outcome.

The three of you made your way to the couch, Wooyoung placing you onto his lap. He had to keep you close, that way, nobody would take you from him.

"So, we went to see Jisung today, as you already know."

You nodded, listening carefully as Seonghwa spoke. He took out a stack of papers from his bag, placing them in front of you.

"These are official adoption forms. In order for you to stay here permanently, you have to sign them. You'll be officially ours tomorrow morning once they put everything into the system."

There was silence after he said that. Wooyoung was speechless for the first time in his life, and you were certain you weren't hearing right. Seonghwa noticed how you two reacted, so he tried to lighten the mood with a chuckle.

"Hey, I thought this was supposed to be a great thing. Do you not want to stay?"

You immediately jumped into action, throwing your arms around Seonghwa.

"Thank you! Oh, thank you so much! I want to stay, please! I really want to!"

Your new owner laughed, tightening his grip around your waist.

"You're ours now, bunny. Just ours." He whispered into your ear.

"This is the best day of my life!" Wooyoung shouted, finally getting himself together. He wrapped his arms around you, hugging your back.

"I knew our Seonghwa would make it work."

"That would be all Hongjoong's doing, but I helped. Jisung won't ever be a problem in our lives again, we made sure of it."

He continued explaining how it all went down, and you couldn't believe they managed to convince him to let you go. Jisung will never be on your mind again, as long as these two stay by your side.

After talking about the official adoption, you signed the papers and jumped into Seonghwa's embrace again. You knew Wooyoung would be jealous, so you opened your arms to invite him in. He gladly joined, the three of you now giggling away.

Maybe it was the perfect time to show them how much you trusted them. It was only fair after everything they did to keep you.

Without a word, you turned around in Seonghwa's lap, straddling his legs. He stayed quiet, curious about your next move.

You took Wooyoung's hand along with Seonghwa's and carefully placed them on top of your bunny ears.

Their eyes widened, and they glanced at each other to make sure it was really happening.

"C-Can I get some pets, please?"

Wooyoung was the first to act, his touch so as light as a feather. The cat stayed quiet again, enjoying the intimacy of the moment.

Seonghwa seemed to snap out of it too, copying Wooyoung's movements. He smiled at you, his other hand caressing your cheek.

"You can get all the pets in the world now, our little bunny."

.

.

Here we have it! The final chapter is done. I'm really proud of this work of mine, and I'm thankful for each and every person's support. I know this chapter might be shorter than previous ones, but I wanted to get their happy ending out.

If you're interested in reading a bonus chapter, comment down below.

Lots of love, and happy reading X

.

.

[writer-freak]

New years eve | Lads x reader

Characters: Sylus, Xavier, Rafayel and Zayne

Warnings: Gn reader, kissing, fluff, english isn't my first language, a bit rushed so sorry for anything sounding weird

A/n: This is something that I just wrote quickly so it's a bit short (and you can maybe notice that I have favorites), but I hope everybody is gonna have a great new year <3.

Thank you for reading and Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated and really motivate me to write more <3

Sylus

Sylus loves going all out, and New Year’s Eve is his perfect excuse to treat you and to celebrate in style. He’d plan something amazing, like a rooftop dinner with a breathtaking view of the city lights, soft jazz playing in the background. When you arrive after putting on the dress he bought for you, he’s also dressed to impress, his usual charm is actually turned up even more if you can imagine that. With a glass in hand, he’d toast to the past year and the one that's to come, making sure you know just how much you mean to him. As the clock hits midnight, Sylus steps closer, his movements careful, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart beat out of your chest. He slides one hand up to cradle your face, his fingers brushing against your jawline as his other hand finds its place at the small of your back, gently pulling you in. Time around you seems to freeze, you can't even hear the music anymore when his eyes lock onto yours. When his lips finally meet yours, it’s like the world melts away entirely. The kiss is deep and full of passion, his lips soft yet firm as they move against yours with precision. There’s a heat to it, a pull that leaves you breathless and utterly consumed. His thumb gently strokes your cheek, adding a tenderness that contrasts with the intensity of the kiss. Time seems to stretch forever as he pours every unspoken emotion into the kiss, letting you feel how much he cherishes you. When he finally pulls back, his lips linger against yours for just a moment longer, reluctant to part completely. His forehead rests against yours as his warm breath fans across your skin. “Here’s to a year full of moments just like this,” he murmurs, his voice low and velvety, a promise that makes your heart flutter.

Xavier

We know Xavier’s the more quiet casual type, he would value the little things and meaningful traditions. He’d prepare a cozy night in, maybe cooking dinner together and snuggling up on the couch with blankets and a classic movie. When it’s close to midnight, he’d take you outside to a quiet spot to watch the fireworks light up the sky. As the countdown echoes faintly in the distance, Xavier turns to you, his eyes soft and filled with a warmth that makes your breath hitch. He steps closer, his hand rising to cup your cheek with a gentleness that sends a shiver down your spine. His thumb brushes lightly along your skin, his touch featherlight but purposeful, as though committing the moment to memory.

When he leans in, there’s no hesitation, just a certainty that this is exactly where he’s meant to be. His lips meet yours in a kiss so soft it feels like the world has slowed down just for you. The way his mouth moves against yours is unhurried, every motion deliberate and full of emotion. It’s as though he’s trying to tell you everything he feels—how much he loves you, how much he treasures this moment, and how he never wants it to end.

His free hand slides to your waist, pulling you just close enough for you to feel his heartbeat. The world around you fades away, the fireworks and cold air forgotten as all that exists is the feeling of his lips against yours. His breath mingles with yours, warm and steady, as he deepens the kiss just enough to leave you dizzy and completely at his mercy.

When he finally pulls back, it’s with a slowness, as if he's reluctant to let the moment slip away. He stays close, his forehead brushing yours as his eyes search yours, seeing the faint glow of the fireworks reflected there. A soft, almost shy smile tugs at his lips as he whispers, “Happy New Year, my love,” his voice barely audible over the distant sounds of celebration. His arms tighten around you slightly, as though keeping himself to the only thing that matters, this moment, with you.

Rafayel Rafayel’s all about fun so maybe he’d take you to a lively gathering somewhere earlier in the day but later he would probably prefer a quiet moment alone with you. As the countdown starts, he’d grab your hand and pull you away from the crowd, flashing you that smile that always tells you that he has a great idea.

As the seconds tick down, Rafayel pulls you closer, his body pressed against yours in a way that makes your heart race. His fingers dance along your sides, sending sparks wherever he touches. There’s a playful spark in his eyes, but underneath it, you can feel a the affection, a warmth that you can’t ignore. The countdown reaches its final seconds, and just before midnight, he leans in, his breath warm against your ear, his lips brushing just beside it. You can’t help but shiver in anticipation.

When the clock strikes twelve, Rafayel’s kiss is everything you’d expect: fiery, full of energy, and utterly consuming. His lips crash against yours, eager and demanding, as though he’s been waiting for this moment all night. His hands slide to your waist, gripping you tightly as he dips you, just enough to make the world tilt and spin around you. The kiss is wild and intense, full of passion and excitement. You feel his smile against your lips, and you can’t help but smile back, caught up in the moment.

For a second, you forget everything else around you, just the two of you are currently existing even the cheers are just a distant muffled sound. His hands hold you steady, pulling you back up to stand tall, and as he does, he twirls you effortlessly, lifting you off the ground before bringing you back in close, his lips lingering on yours for just a moment longer.

When he finally pulls away, his eyes are sparkling, his grin wider than ever. “There’s no better way to begin the year than with you,” he says softly, his voice filled with sincerity as he holds you even closer, his gaze locking onto yours. The distant sound of fireworks fades into the background, leaving just the two of you in this perfect moment. You’re breathless, both from the kiss and the fact that this is the man that you wish to spend your rest of your life with. Zayne

We know Zayne’s more on the quiet side, but he’s a sweetheart, so his way of celebrating is all about keeping things intimate. He’d take you somewhere peaceful, some hidden place like a hill, where you can just sit under the stars together. Sharing a blanket, you’d talk about your plans for the new year cuddled up against each other, feeling totally comfortable just being with each other.

As midnight approaches, Zayne’s gaze lingers on you, his expression calm yet something deeper behind it. He reaches for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours, as he pulls you closer gently. The world around you feels quieter in his presence, and the cold night air feels warmer somehow.

When the clock strikes twelve, Zayne doesn’t rush it. He takes a moment to look into your eyes, his gaze so full of emotion that it makes your heart skip. The softness in his eyes speaks volumes, and before you can even process it, he leans in. His lips meet yours with a tenderness that feels like the world has slowed down.

The kiss is slow and lingering, as if he’s savoring every second. It’s soft but meaningful, his lips brushing against yours in a way that makes your chest tighten. You can feel the depth of his feelings, even without the words. His hand gently cups your face, his thumb brushing over your skin with the same care that he gives you everytime. The kiss isn’t hurried, not in the slightest, it’s exactly the kind of kiss that lets you know just how much you mean to him, how much he’s already thinking about the future, and how grateful he is for you.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, both of you taking a breath as if you’ve been holding it for too “You make every year worth it,” he murmurs, his voice quiet and full of sincerity, as though those words were everything he’s wanted to say all along.

[starsinthesky5]

hi archhhh 💘 i have a yail blurb ask for you (?)

what is it like when joe and singer!reader get to have an off day together? do they sleep in, have a morning routine? are they catching up on a favorite t.v. show or going for a peaceful drive? i’d love to hear anything and everything about them just being 🥹 existing as normal people outside of their exciting and hectic careers!

off-days || joe burrow x reader

description: ask sums it up! a blurb all about their off days and normal couple activities :)

a/n: sorry it took me so long to finish is chai <3 ilysm and ty for this ask! i was working on this here and there for like 2 weeks but here we gooo

also for clarification, the YAIL fics are in second person whereas the ask blurbs are in third person but, since i started writing YAIL in second person, these ask blurbs will jump around with the pronoun usage :) think of it as me describing you and joe, or if you want, her and joe. up to you <33

word count: 6.8k

series: you are in love

warnings: language, suggestive references (?)

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

off days are non-negotiable for them.  

with both of their careers being so demanding and intense, it’s easy to get caught up in the relentless grind. before they met, neither of them really knew how to slow down. relaxation and leisure were afterthoughts—things they’d get to someday, when the work was done.  

but the work was never done.  

their shared mindset had always been the same: if you want to be the best, you keep pushing—no matter what. winners don’t rest. (if they ever got matching tattoos, they’d definitely get that inked on their wrists).

and to some extent, that was true. but the reality was, pushing past their limits came at a cost. burnout. anxiety. stress. and in joe’s case—injuries. the relentless pursuit of greatness took its toll, and when all the blood, sweat, and tears didn’t pay off, it stung even worse. for him, it was the agony of losing—of seeing the bigger picture blur instead of sharpen. for her, it was the crushing weight of feeling unseen, of pouring her soul into her music only for it to feel like it wasn’t resonating the way she needed it to.  

and when those moments hit, when the sacrifices felt too great and the setbacks too heavy, the lack of rest caught up with them.  

they constantly talked about how tiring it all was, how much they loved what they did, but the work that went into it was so draining to the point where sometimes they questioned if it was all worth it. after that conversation, they had a realization that they needed to take a minute to breathe. they helped each other understand that none of it would be worth it if they weren’t mentally and physically at ease. that you can’t be the best version of yourself if you’re not feeling your best. 

so after this, they slowly learned to take the off days seriously—not as wasted time, but as necessary time.

time to recharge. time to just be.

and there were plenty of ways for them to do so…

baking & cooking

they love to bake together! she loves, and i mean loves to bake joe a pumpkin roulade with ginger buttercream. it’s one of her specialties as well. anyone lucky enough to get a taste of this dessert, made from her by scratch, would remember the taste for days to come. she’d bring this dessert to thanksgivings, friend gatherings, and even for the guys in the lockeroom. they would ask, and ask, and ask joe when the next time she’d bring some around was. that’s just how good it was. usually it was her victory monday treat for them, but she squeezed in some for birthdays and well…whenever her phone would start blowing up with messages from his friends.

fortunately for joe, he never had to wait for his favorite dessert. he got to have her…i mean it, the dessert, whenever he wanted ;) she loved to see that satisfied grin on his face after the first bite, the first taste of his childhood in dessert form. 

when they bake together, they stick to the classics and make cookies. simple enough for joey’s mind and delicious enough to satisfy their sweet cravings. they’d get all cozy in their most lazy-sunday clothes, standing at the counter together, teasing and laughing while they prepared a variety of cookies from oatmeal (her fav) to chai cookies (his fav). 

they’d steal bites of cookie dough when the other wasn’t looking, fingers sneaking into the mixing bowl, only to be caught red-handed and met with playful swats and breathless giggles. joe always pretended to be innocent, flashing that boyish grin of his, but she knew better—especially when he would wrap his arms around her from behind, chin resting on her shoulder, murmuring, “just one more taste, baby,” before stealing another bite straight from her fingers.

it wasn’t just about the baking, though. it was the way he lingered beside her, hands brushing, bodies melding together effortlessly in their homey kitchen. it was the way he’d sneak a kiss when she was distracted measuring flour, or how he’d take over stirring the dough just so he could slide in closer, feeling the warmth of her body against his.

in moments like these, their stardom, their fame, their reputations, it would all melt away. here, in this kitchen, they were just an ordinary couple spending quality time together. just two hopelessly in love individuals being sweeter than the cookies they loaded inside the oven. 

when the cookies were finally out of the oven, they’d curl up on the couch, plates balanced on their laps, stealing bites and feeding each other between soft murmurs of “these are so good,” and “i think we outdid ourselves this time,”. and if joe happened to catch a crumb at the corner of her mouth? well, he’d take his time brushing it away—with his thumb, his lips, or a slow, lingering kiss, because he could never resist an excuse to taste her.

and it wasn’t always just cookies or pumpkin roulade. they’d bake, or attempt to bake anything their hearts desired. cakes, pies, muffins, danishes, tarts, you name it. just put them on the great british baking show already. although, i think joe would flip out if they hated on the way he would sometimes ignore how you would need to prep the dry and wet ingredients separately. to him, it didn’t matter because it was all getting mixed together anyway, why should he waste time making sure the flour and sugar mixture was “powdery enough”. 

as for cooking, they try to make a few new dishes each off-day together. usually a different cuisine too. last week was indian, and they made this delicious butter chicken with homemade garlic naan and tandoori chicken tikka kabobs. when joe sent a photo to his chef, he couldn’t believe that the same man who burnt french toast the first time he made it—had made this impressive meal without any professional help. but what Joe didn’t tell him, is that she led most of the cooking. she usually always did. he’s way too scared that he’ll mess the food up, burn the house down, or somehow give her food poisoning. which is why he lets his lovely girlfriend order him around, telling him what to marinate, what to chop, what to stir, what not to add. 

and you know what? he’s completely fine with that. he’ll follow her around like a lost puppy to the ends of the earth if he needed to. 

—

as they work on plating their scrumptious meal, joe nudged her playfully with his hip, nearly making her drop the serving spoon. “you’re getting cocky in the kitchen, burrow,” she teases, setting the dish down and turning to him with a smirk.

he grins, reaching for her waist to tug her in closer. “i think i deserve a little credit, don’t you? i only needed your help, like, ten times tonight,”.

“more like twenty,” she corrects, giggling when he dramatically clutches his chest like she just stabbed him.

“okay, rude,” he says, leaning in so their noses nearly brush. “you weren’t complaining when i was kneading that dough, though. seemed like you liked watching me work with my hands.”

cocky joe. classic. 

he wasn’t lying to be honest. no matter what he was doing with his hands—gripping a football, kneading dough, kneading her bare skin—she was transfixed by the dexterity and skills of arguably one of his best features. 

her breath hitches slightly, but she recovers from the reaction quickly, narrowing her eyes as she pushes him away with a laugh. “oh, shut up and sit down,”.

he smirks, letting her shove him back but not before he catches her wrist, his fingers curling around it just enough to make her breath hitch again. “make me,” he challenges, voice filled with dangerous intent. 

she rolls her eyes, gently yanking her hand away, but the heat lingering on her skin betrays her. “god, you’re so impossible, joe,”.  

“and yet, you love me sooo,” he quips, finally settling into the barstool, looking way too satisfied with himself.

she turns back to the counter, reaching for the rolling pin, but not before shooting him a playful glare. “debatable.”.

joe leans forward, resting his elbows on the counter, eyes locked on her with that same smug expression. “mm. you weren’t saying that last night when you were nibbling on my earlobe, begging me to let you…you know,”.

her hands freeze mid-motion, fingers tightening around the handle as heat rushes to her cheeks. she looks like a deer caught in headlights, and the way his lips twitch into a slow, knowing smirk only makes it worse. joe and his cheeky, unfiltered mouth—always throwing out shameless comments like they were casual conversation, leaving her flustered no matter how many times he did it.

she exhales sharply, composing herself as she shakes her head with a laugh. “i really should’ve put more salt in your cookies,”.

his grin widens, dimples deepening as he tilts his head. “you wouldn’t dare,”.

“oh, I would,” she counters, pointing the rolling pin at him in warning.

Joe leans in a little closer, voice dropping to a murmur. “but then I wouldn’t be as sweet when I kiss you later,”.

she gasps, whipping the rolling pin at him—not to hit, just to scare—but he laughs, dodging it easily, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“i swear to god, joe—,”.

“you love me,” he interrupts, still grinning like he’s won something.

and damn, she did. 

t.v.

when they’re not baking or cooking, you can almost always find them curled up on the couch, wrapped in blankets, watching the trashiest reality tv shows they can find. at first, joe showed resistance to the world of reality tv, claiming how this was the reason as to why the population of america was slowly becoming stupider and stupider. but then one night, she was watching her favorite guilty pleasure of all time while he was sitting at the dining table working on some film stuff, only half-listening as she gasped, shouted at the screen, and occasionally muttered insults under her breath. love island usa, season 6 was the reason for her outbursts, and as much as joe tried to ignore it, he found himself glancing up more and more often, trying to piece together what the hell was going on.

then came the moment that changed everything.

“are you kidding me?” she shrieked, nearly launching off the couch. “liv chose rob, and now leah’s single? she totally swooped in on her man like it’s been two seconds! what the actual fuck is happening and why is nobody doing anything!”.

joe blinked, his pen hovering over his notes. “wait…what?”.

“oh, now you care?” she shot back, spinning to face him with fire in her eyes. “no, no, no. go back to your very important football things, joe. i wouldn’t want to distract you with reality tv garbage,”.

he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face before giving in. “okay, just explain it real quick. i wanna know why you’re mad,”.

and that was it. the beginning of the end.

because the second she started ranting—breaking down the drama, the betrayals, the absolute clownery of it all—joe was hooked. he acted like he was just listening to humor her, but by the next episode, he was sitting next to her. by the episode after that, he was throwing in his own commentary.

now? well, now he’s the one pausing the TV so he can go on a rant about how dumb these guys are. “babe, there is no way she actually likes him,” joe scoffs, tossing a handful of popcorn into his mouth as they watch the latest episode. “she’s playing the game,”.

she hums in agreement, snuggling closer into his side. “oh, for sure. you saw the way she was looking at miguel before she got picked in the recoupling. she’s gonna dump kendall the second they get out of there. i see right through you, nicole,”. 

joe shakes his head, eyes glued to the screen as one of the guys delivers another overly rehearsed speech. “man, how do people fall for this? it’s so obvious that they’re all just horny as fuck, are physically attracted to the person they think is the hottest, but ultimately stay with the ‘safe pick’ just in hopes that they’d make it to the end because america likes a power couple and not the couple who eye fuck each other all day,”.

she smirks, glancing up at him. “you say that but you’re the guy who’s been yelling at the tv for the past hour,”.

he glares at her playfully before stealing some of her popcorn. “whatever. i’m just matching your energy. this is still stupid as hell but i’m invested,”.

“mhm, sure,” she teases, nudging him. “you literally gasped when andrea walked in as the bombshell. you loveeeee the drama. invested? more like ass glued to couch every night for an hour and a half,”.

joe groans, rubbing a hand down his face. “it was shocking, don’t lie. she was all up on rob right infront of leah. like leah? c’mon babe. and he was enjoying every second of it. what a dick,”.

“exactly! and don’t even get me started on the casa amor mess that they started doing a few seasons ago. it’s about to be so fucking messy this time around,” she adds, eyes widening. “you know those boys are gonna be on damage control the second they walk back into the villa with there wannabe insta models hanging off their arms,”.

joe lets out a long sigh, shaking his head. “man, the producers are evil for the shit they spew on these kinds of shows. like this is probably so damaging for the contestants,”.

she giggles, reaching for the remote to start the next episode. “i know, but just admit…you love the drama,”.

joe leans back against the couch, wrapping an arm around her. “...fine. but if we’re watching this, you better not complain when i make you watch game of thrones later,”. 

when joe found out she had never seen game of thrones, he looked at her like she had personally offended him. it was so bad. he literally had to go get some fresh air on the patio after her confession. 

god, he’s such a drama queen. 

“you’re joking,” he said, blinking at her in disbelief like she had just confessed to a murder.

she shook her head, trying not to laugh at how dramatic he was being. “nope. never seen a single episode,”.

joe ran a hand through his hair, looking absolutely distraught. “baby, this is the best piece of visual media ever created. like, ever,”.

“that’s what you said about the dark knight,” she teased.

“okay, well, that’s also true,” he said, still reeling from the information. “but game of thrones is different. it’s a cultural phenomenon. i…i can’t believe you’ve never watched it,”.

so, naturally, he made her start from season one, episode one, and they spent the next few weeks binging the entire series. and, to joe’s absolute delight, she lowkey loved it. sure, she complained about the amount of war scenes, and she definitely wasn’t thrilled about how the last season turned out, “they did daenerys so dirty,” she huffed. 

but overall? 

she was obsessed. 

and she hated it.

of course, she got her revenge when she caught joe secretly enjoying gilmore girls with her. at first, he acted like he wasn’t paying attention. he’d sit on the couch, scrolling through his phone while she had it on in the background. but then, slowly, he started asking questions.

“so, who’s this jess guy? why does he look so smug?”.

“wait, why is everyone mad at rory? what did she do?”.

“oh, this dean dude suckkkkks. i mean, why the fuck is he getting mad at her for not being able to say ‘i love you’? she should break up with him. if she can’t say it that means she doesn’t feel it,”.

before she knew it, joe was fully invested in gilmore girls just as she was with game of thrones. he had opinions on all the characters and it was so freaking adorable because this was so not his domain. “emily gilmore is ruthless, but lowkey iconic,” he admitted once. and he definitely had a soft spot for luke. i mean, who doesn’t? “luke is so misunderstood. him and lorelei make perfect sense, i need them to get together like…now,” he’d ramble, and the sight of him so immersed in something she enjoyed made her heart skip a beat. 

aside from their individual guilty pleasures, they had plenty of shows they loved watching together—the office, spongebob (which joe swore was peak comedy), true crime documentaries, stranger things, and currently, the white lotus and suits.

oh, and don’t even get them started on their marvel movie marathons. those were mandatory. no excuses, if, ands, or buts. although, they were close to being on the chopping block because one time, he caught her looking at steve a little too…lovingly. 

“that’s america’s ass joe. don’t take this from me,” she waved off while turning her attention back to her first love while her true love looked at her like a neglected piece of candy at the bottom of the halloween candy bucket.

but ultimately, you’d find them both glued to the screen, no matter how many times they’d watched the same superhero movie over and over again or which secret childhood crush of hers was on the screen. their shared love for marvel was one of the first things they bonded on the second time they hung out—dinner in soho post july 4th celebration. 

the fact that she had this hidden nerd side to her was one of the most attractive things to him. she came off as so polished, rich but genuine, and diamond-like. but inside? a total nerd with a soft heart that geeked out over everything and anything imaginable. 

it was adorable. 

peaceful drives

some of their best off-day moments happened on those peaceful evening drives.

sometimes, there wasn’t a destination. just them, the hum of the engine, and the open road stretching ahead. she’d have her feet propped up on the dash, joe’s hand resting on her thigh as he absentmindedly traced circles on her skin. the windows were cracked just enough to let the breeze in, and the playlist they curated together—filled with everything from 90s r&b to soft love songs—played quietly in the background.

other nights, they had a mission. ice cream. there was this little spot, tucked away on the outskirts of town, that they swore had the best homemade flavors. she’d always get something fruity, while joe stuck with classic dairy free chocolate chip cookie dough. they’d sit in the car, parked under the glow of a streetlamp, sharing bites and laughing over whatever ridiculous thing came to their minds. 

but her favorite drives? the ones where joe took her to his quiet place. the lookout point. a secluded clearing, just outside the city, where the sky stretched wide and the stars shone brighter than anywhere else.

“i used to come here all the time when i needed to clear my head,” he admitted one night, leaning against the hood of the car with her tucked against his side.

she looked up at him, then at the endless sky above them, the stars mirroring the look in his eyes. “and now?”.

he glanced down, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “now, i just bring you here when i want a perfect night,”.

because this wasn’t just any place to him anymore. it was their place. the spot where he first told her about his dreams, where he let her see the parts of him he kept hidden from the world. and most importantly, the place where he asked her to be his girlfriend. “i knew that night,” he murmured, tracing his fingers along her wrist. “knew that i wanted you to be mine. couldn’t imagine doing life with anyone else,”.

she smiled, tightening her hold around him. “good thing i said yes, huh?”.

he laughed softly, pressing his lips against her temple. “best decision you ever made, if i do say so myself,”.

they’d lay back against the grass, her head leaning against his side. both of them staring up at the stars, thinking about how they found each other in the midst of the chaos of the universe. like two stars in the extensive, endless galaxy, they had been pulled toward each other by some unseen force, their paths crossing at the perfect moment.

the stars above them seemed to shimmer a little brighter, as if reflecting the spark between them. the world had felt so large, so overwhelming at times, but here, in this quiet moment, everything made sense.

they were like constellations that had been drawn together by fate, their bond a connection written in the stars. in the grand scheme of everything, they were just two tiny dots in the cosmos, but together, they created something beautiful—something infinite, like the galaxy that stretched above them, full of mysteries and promises yet to unfold.

that place used to be his safe space, but now, his safe space had become her. the feeling he would get when he’d come back there, with her, made him realize he’d truly won at life, he was right where he needed to be.

everything he had ever wanted was right there beside him, under the stars.

weed (duh)— not in season though

sometimes, after a long week, they just needed something to take the edge off. nothing crazy—just a little something to help them unwind. joe, of course, looked ridiculously good while smoking, the way his fingers held the joint so effortlessly, the slow drag, the way his lips wrapped around it. she swore he did it on purpose, especially when he’d exhale, head tilted back, a lazy smirk playing on his lips when he caught her staring.

“you like watching me, don’t you?” he teased one night, passing it to her.

she rolled her eyes but took a second too long to respond, too distracted by how unfairly attractive he looked. “shut up,” she muttered, waving him off.

but she wasn’t really a smoker. never had been. which is why joe—because he was thoughtful like that—went out of his way to find the best fruity edibles money could buy. something just strong enough to relax her but not enough to make her feel like she was floating off the earth.

“try this one, baby,” he had said, holding up a little pink gummy. “it won’t hit you too hard, i promise,”.

and he was right. twenty minutes later, she was curled up on his lap, giggling at absolutely nothing while joe ran his fingers up and down her back, just watching her with that soft, adoring look. “i love you,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her face. 

she snorted, her giggles bubbling up like a fountain. “you’re like…really good at making me feel like a queen,” she murmured, her words dragging out a little more than usual. her fingers traced random patterns on his chest, completely losing track of where she started and where she ended. 

joe, his head tilted back against the couch, let out a chuckle, his voice slow and thick with the high. “nah, baby, you make me feel like.. like a king,” he grinned lazily, reaching for another gummy, his hand moving in exaggerated slowness. “like...a king who has the most beautiful queen, ya know?”.

“oh my god," she giggled again, her eyes going wide. "did you just…did you just say you’re a king?" she leaned in, squinting at him like she was solving a mystery. “you’re, like, a royal or something?”.

joe just stared at her for a beat, lips twitching as if he was deep in thought. “yep. royal...that’s me,” he nodded seriously, his tone way too dramatic for the situation. “king joe. ruler of the couch, prince of snack foods, master of…this.” he gestured wildly around them, making everything sound so important.

she laughed so hard she almost fell off his lap, clutching onto him for support. “oh my god, we’re so high,” she gasped between giggles, “this is amazingg,”.

joe snickered, his hand lightly rubbing her back, his touch lazy but somehow still rhythmic. “i know, right? we’re, like...we’re so high, the stars probably think we’re floating with them,” he paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “are the stars high? do they even know how high they are? like, are they high?”.

“oh my god," she breathed, eyes wide, "i’m gonna have to go to space and ask them. they probably have, like, a whole planet of edibles.” she grinned, completely lost in the idea. “i bet they smoke meteors,”.

“meteors!” joe echoed, his voice a little too loud, his excitement making him sit up straighter. “that’s it! that’s what we need—meteor weed. it’s out of this world.” he paused, his hand on her cheek, his eyes soft and amused. “you’re so cute when you’re high, you know that? i wanna put you in my pocket and carry you around everywhere,”.

she sighed, practically melting into him. “shut up, i’m already in your lap,” she mumbled, but it was affectionate, a goofy smile spreading across her face. “you’re gonna have to get a bigger pocket to fit me, though,”.

“don’t worry,” joe smirked, pressing a lazy kiss to her lips, “i got the biggest pocket,”.

gardening

gardening became their thing—well, mostly hers, but joe was more than happy to help. he liked watching her work, liked how focused she got when she was tending to her plants, her hands in the dirt, her hair tied back, a little smudge of soil on her cheek that he never told her about because he thought it was cute.

his house, his backyard—it had never looked this full of life. all her doing. once upon a time, it was just a plain, well-kept lawn, but now? now there were raised beds overflowing with fresh herbs and vegetables, flower beds bursting with color, vines creeping up the frame she insisted they build together.

“it just needed some love, joe,” she had said, planting a kiss to his cheek before turning back to her garden, her little paradise.

and sure, he might not have been the most knowledgeable gardener, but he did have one favorite plant.

“ms. pepper pot,” he had proudly declared one afternoon, pointing to a thriving bell pepper plant. “because she gave us nine orange bell peppers, and, well—,”.

she nearly fell over laughing. “joe, you did not just name our plant ms. pepper pot,”.

“i absolutely did.” he crossed his arms, nodding in satisfaction. “she’s special. she deserves a name,”.

and just like that, ms. pepper pot became a staple in their little backyard garden, and joe—whether he’d admit it or not—got a little too invested in her progress. 

he even started taking photos of her. like i’m talking week by week progress to make sure there was nothing wrong with her growth because he was just so damn proud of those juicy peppers. he’d even be out there alone sometimes, admiring all the work they’d put into making this house feel like a home. 

joe also surprisingly found solace in being out there with the plants. something about being with nature, away from the screens and the chaos inside, was healing for him. like he could just exist out there with the shrubs and greenery. 

be one with the plants, as he liked to say.

sometimes, joe would even go as far as making her a custom bouquet with flowers from their garden. when he had the time, he looked up a beginners tutorial on how to arrange one, ordered all the necessary things to properly cut and trim the flowers, and got down to business. 

and to both of their surprise, joe was actually pretty good at it. 

it was those damn hands. 

their versions of nights in on off days

self-care nights were her specialty.

she took them seriously, too—candles lit, soothing music playing, and a whole lineup of skincare products ready to go. joe had been skeptical the first time, grumbling about how he didn’t need a face mask, but she knew how to wear him down.

“just trust me, babe,” she had said sweetly, already smoothing the cool mask over his skin before he could protest further.

now, it was routine. she’d get him all cute—plush headband to keep his hair out of his face, a fluffy robe that he pretended to hate but secretly loved, even a little eyebrow shaping because “joe, just let me clean them up a little, you’ll thank me later,”.

“this is embarrassing,” he muttered once, sitting there with a clay mask drying on his face.

“this is self-care,” she corrected, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “and you love it,”.

he just huffed—but he didn’t deny it.

he didn’t deny it because, deep down, he knew she was right. even if he acted like it was the most ridiculous thing ever, he secretly loved these nights—loved the way she took care of him, the way she made him feel pampered in a way he never expected. and the little things, like the plush headband and the robe, made him feel...comforted.

“yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, but his lips twitched into a small smile. “i don’t know how you talk me into this every time,”.

oh, please. he’d once again, follow her around like a lost puppy till the end of time if needed. he’s never saying no to her and that signature pouty face she’d sport around him. she doesn’t need to talk him into shit. 

“it’s a gift,” she teased, grinning as she applied a layer of lotion to his hands with the utmost precision. “you’re lucky. most guys don’t get this kind of treatment,”.

he raised an eyebrow. “you mean torture,” he quipped, but the softness in his voice gave him away. he was more than content, especially when she moved closer to adjust the robe around his shoulders, brushing her fingers along his arm like it was second nature.

“whatever you say, baby,” she smiled, smoothing his brow with a little more care. “we’re just getting started,”.

he sighed dramatically, his head falling back against the bed frame, clay mask cracking a little in the process. “at least this part’s not too bad,” he muttered, but his eyes were half-closed in relaxation. “it’s actually…kinda nice. i’ll admit it,”.

she smiled and kissed the tip of his nose. “see? i told you you’d love it,” she teased lightly, brushing some more lotion but over his neck now. “next time, no complaints. just let me do my thing,”.

“yeah, yeah,” he mumbled again, but there was a softness in his tone now, a warmth in the way he looked at her. “you’re lucky you make it so...worth it,”. she laughed, content in the quiet, in the way they fit together perfectly, even in moments like this. 

game nights were his specialty.

the moment they settled into their usual gaming spot, it was on. the couch, covered with snacks and blankets, became their battleground. joe was all in, the competitive fire in his eyes burning brighter with every game they played—whether it was mario kart, smash bros, or fifa. any game where he could wipe the floor with her? he was all about it.

“baby, do you ever let me win?” she groaned one night, tossing her controller aside dramatically after another crushing loss in smash bros.

joe leaned back on the couch, smirking with that way too confident look on his face. “Nope,” he said smugly, like he’d been born with a controller in his hand. “you’ve gotta earn it,”.

"wow," she huffed, folding her arms over her chest. “what happened to happy wife, happy life?”.

“we’re not married,” he reminded her, nudging her thigh with his foot, making her flinch. “but you know, close enough,”. she shot him a playful glare, eyes narrowed in mock offense. “small details. you treat me like wifey,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

his grin widened, and before she could react, he pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist, making her feel that familiar warmth of his embrace. “fine,” he said. “one free win next game just to make wifey feel better about her skills,”.

“oh, how generous,” she teased back, looping her arms around his neck, their faces just inches apart. “guess i’ll just have to practice more to beat you fair and square, huh?”.

his smirk deepened, a mischievous glint in his eye. “i’d like to see you try,” he said, his voice playful and a little taunting. he nudged the controller closer to her hands, his fingers brushing hers as he did. “but good luck with that, babe,”.

she laughed, the tension between them crackling with flirtation as she settled back in his lap, her gaze locked on the screen. “oh, it’s on now,” she said, the determination in her voice completely at odds with how comfortable she was nestled in his arms.

the game resumed, but their playful banter and his occasional teasing made every win and loss feel like it didn’t really matter. what mattered was that they were together—competitive, cute, and perfectly in sync in their little world.

morning routine tid bits

on their off-days, they take their time when they wake up. no alarms, set time to roll out of bed, or any early morning priorities to attend to. joe’s football body clock does cause his eye to flutter open around 6, but she quietly lulls him back to slumber if he tries to get up. also because she was not about to lose her human body pillow before 9 am. 

once they do wake up, they tend to cuddle in bed for at least 20-25 minutes. just time for lazy morning kisses, skin to skin time, giggling over the dreams they had during their sleep, the usual. 

they’d take turns freshening up in the bathroom, sometimes together when they felt extra clingy in the morning. joe was always the last one out, but it wasn’t because of his infamous superman curl—it was because of the skincare routine she had roped him into once they started dating.

at first, he’d grumbled, calling it “too much” and “a waste of time.” but she’d been so sweet about it, and over time, he couldn’t deny how good it made him feel. he’d become surprisingly dedicated, even if he still made fun of it in his own way.

“you know,” she’d tease from the bedroom, hearing the sounds of him in the bathroom, “you’re lucky you look cute with all that stuff on your face,”.

“i’m so happy you noticed, babe,” he’d call back sarcastically, but she could hear the smile in his voice. “this is my super secret routine for glowing skin. you should try it sometime,”.

“oh, i do try it,” she’d reply, laughing. “but your skin’s, like, way softer than mine now,”.

he’d roll his eyes in the mirror, even though she couldn’t see it, pretending to be annoyed but secretly pleased. “whatever, i’m just doing it for you. don’t get any ideas,”.

“too late,” she’d say, winking at herself in the full-body mirror diagonal from the bed.

when he finally emerged, his skin glowing, she’d grin at him. “well? am i seeing the benefits of this routine?”.

joe would lean against the doorframe, looking like he was pretending to be casual but secretly loving the attention. “yeah, yeah, you’re welcome,” he’d say, ruffling his hair. “i’m basically a skincare guru now,”.

“a very cute skincare guru,” she’d add, walking over and pressing a kiss to his cheek, her fingers lingering there just a moment longer than necessary. he’d smile, pretending to be indifferent but totally melting under her touch.

for breakfast, sometimes their chef was around, and sometimes he wasn’t. joe still stuck to his football diet on his off-days (unless it was off-season) so if his chef didn’t prepare something ahead of time, which abided to his nutrition and protein intake, then she would. or he would. or they both would. 

she lovvvveddd her toasted everything bagels with avocado & herb cream cheese, side of turkey bacon, and whatever smoothie joe had whipped up for her because he was an absolute pro at it. he made sure that she got her protein intake, either from the food or from the smoothie. her health was one of his biggest priorities and he’d do anything to make sure her mind and body were both right. 

his breakfasts were…quite large. i mean, he is a 6'4" football player after all. the spread would include eggs, turkey bacon, toast, sometimes pancakes if he was feeling extra hungry, and a massive bowl of fruit—he always made sure to add some green stuff in there, like spinach or avocado, because “gotta get my nutrients, babe,”.

she always found it adorable how seriously he took his food, especially in the mornings. he’d sit down at the table with that satisfied grin, eyeing his plate like it was a trophy he’d just earned.

“you know, most people don’t need this much food for breakfast,” she’d tease, leaning on the counter as she sipped her smoothie, watching him go to town on his third serving of scrambled eggs.

joe just grinned, wiping a bit of egg off his lip, his eyes glinting with playful mischief. “it’s a necessity,” he’d say with a shrug, leaning back in his chair. “you’re lucky to be witnessing greatness at work.”

“greatness, huh?” she raised an eyebrow, chuckling. “looks more like gluttony to me,”.

he’d just laugh, shaking his head. “hey, you’re the one who bakes me cookies and pies. i’m just making sure i can fit in my uniform at practice and have enough weight on me to prevent damage,”.

she grinned, rolling her eyes. “yeah, well, maybe don’t eat like you’re training for a marathon. i still have to live with you,” she teased, pushing his plate toward him for the fifth time.

“hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” joe smirked, taking a bite of his avocado toast. “besides, i gotta keep my energy up to beat you in smash bros later,”.

“we’ll see about that,” she replied, already planning her revenge in their next game. but for now, she couldn’t help but smile at how he was so comfortable with himself—huge breakfast and all. it was just one of those little things that made him so him.

after breakfast and a little morning news recap—because they both hated being unaware of what was happening in the world around them—they’d head out for their morning walk around the neighborhood, sometimes even down by the river. 

joe would grab her hand as they walked, fingers intertwined with a natural ease, his long stride keeping them moving at a steady pace while she stayed close, content just to be in his presence. the mornings were still cool, the sun barely starting to break through the sky, and they’d chat about anything and everything—lighthearted conversations about what was on their minds, or sometimes just comfortable silence, the kind that made the world feel like it was just the two of them.

“you think the river’s any lower today?” she’d ask, peeking down at the flowing water as they passed the familiar path. the river had always been something she loved to check on during their walks, the way the water changed from day to day, shifting and moving with the weather.

joe would shrug, squeezing her hand gently. “probably,” he’d say, glancing over at her with that soft, lazy smile that always seemed to make her heart skip a beat. “we could walk down there and see, if you want,”.

sometimes they did, taking the small detour toward the water, the quiet rush of the river mixing with the sound of their footsteps on the gravel path. joe would slip an arm around her waist as they reached the bank, the soft breeze tousling his hair, and they’d stand there together for a moment, watching the water flow by.

“feels like we’ve been here a million times,” she’d comment, leaning into him, her head resting on his shoulder as they both watched the sunlight catch the river’s surface.

“yeah,” joe would agree, his voice a little quieter than usual, the calm of the morning settling over him. “and yet, it always feels like the first time. always feels new with you,”.

she’d smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “we’ve got our second spot,” she’d murmur, the words holding an unspoken promise of more mornings like this.

more quiet moments shared together.

[yvesssssssss]

Hello! It's my first time requesting and english isn't my first language so sorry if my request sounds bad...I was wondering if you could write something about how Sakamoto Days men would react after their s/o had their wisdom teeth removed (like, would they make fun of her or anything like that).

I love your writting 🎀🎀🎀

Nagumo, Shin, and Gaku after their s/o has her wisdom teeth removed:

I hope you like it!!:D

Nagumo yoichi

He absolutely records everything. From the moment you start mumbling nonsense in the car to when you ask if he’s a "magical rabbit," he’s got his phone out, laughing the whole time.

“Baby, you just tried to high-five the mirror, I can’t take you anywhere.”

He’s teasing but gentle—wipes your drool with a tissue and feeds you pudding like a princess. Will keep the videos forever and show them at every opportunity, especially when you try to act tough.

Later: “Remember when you asked me if trees have feelings? Iconic.”

Shin asakura

He tries so hard to stay serious and supportive, but your drugged-up ramblings hit him hard. You’re slurring his name, asking if he’s a "mind-reading fairy" and telling the nurse he’s your husband.

He blushes like crazy and mutters, “I-It’s not that funny,” while secretly dying inside.

He holds your hand the whole time and gets flustered every time you stare at him and say, “You’re so handsome, are you a K-pop star?”

Aftercare king. Keeps track of your meds, tucks you in, and will never admit how many times he replays that video of you trying to kiss a stuffed animal.

Gaku

Laughs. A lot. He thinks it’s hilarious how loopy you are and teases you without mercy.

“You just threatened the dentist with a juice box, babe. Iconic.”

But he’s also weirdly sweet about it. He carries you around like a sack of potatoes (gently, of course) and makes sure you’re comfortable. He’ll mash up your food without you even asking.

When you start crying because you “miss your teeth,” he panics a little, awkwardly patting your head. “They were dumb teeth anyway. Who needs ‘em?”

Won’t let you live it down. “Remember when you tried to bite me and called yourself ‘the tooth fairy’s nemesis’? Classic.”

Taglist:@shenwi @astronomyloveraster @yokaistirfry @shineinouzen15 @cjafjatkstke @starizzm @imightgoinsane @istillremembermissamericana @ilovewhattatops @elorajelaaa @takenbyacircle @ilylmwwifys @empty-void-of-dreams @reomikas

Hey lovelies! Just a heads up—if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist, now's the time to let me know! I don't want to flood anyone's inbox unnecessarily. 🫶

Drop a comment or send me an ask if you'd like to be added/removed!

Thank you all so much for being here! You all are the best!🫶🫶

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤTIKTOK TRENDS⁴ * CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　4 times that Y/N and Chris made a couple's trend on tiktok.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²　::　part 1 || part 2 || part 3

1. Watch my boyfriend for me

It was a balmy summer night, and the city lights glistened off the glass walls of the charming Italian restaurant where Y/N and Chris were dining. The restaurant's facade exuded rustic elegance, adorned with hanging green plants and softly twinkling string lights that created a warm, romantic atmosphere.

Y/N had come to the restaurant with a playful plan in mind. She had seen a viral TikTok trend where people left their partners alone at the table with a recording camera, asking viewers to "watch" them while they went to do "something." It seemed like the perfect opportunity to have some fun with Chris.

While they enjoyed their meal, Y/N discreetly took her phone from its spot on the table. Unlocking it, she quickly opened the TikTok app, which was prominently displayed among her most used apps. With a mischievous grin, she hit the record button.

Her eyes flicked to Chris, who was engrossed in his pasta, before she propped her phone against a glass Coca-Cola bottle, adjusting the angle to frame him perfectly.

"Hey guys, can you watch my boyfriend real quick while I go to the bathroom?" Y/N said in a low tone, trying to suppress a giggle as she stood up and headed towards the bathroom, not glancing back at the bewildered Chris.

Chris, mid-chew on a hefty forkful of pasta, looked up, watching her walk away with a puzzled expression. He then shifted his gaze to the phone screen, his brow furrowing.

He delicately set his cutlery down, adjusting his black cap in a nervous gesture.

"Hey guys... I think Y/N is making some kind of video." He muttered after swallowing his food, resting his right elbow on the wooden surface of the square table and laying his chin on his palm, his blue eyes fixed on the screen. "Caught me with my mouth full, sorry about that."

Chris glanced around the restaurant, a hint of nervousness replaced by curiosity.

"So, since you're here, let me tell you what we're up to. We're at this new Italian place in Los Angeles. The decor here is amazing, really cozy and authentic." He gestured with his free hand, indicating the charming details around him that the camera couldn't capture. "We had bruschetta to start... Did you know it was originally a way to use up old bread? They toast it, rub garlic on it, and top it with tomato and basil... Delicious."

His eyes lit up as he described one of his favorite appetizers.

"Now, about the main dishes, since it's Saturday night, we figured we could indulge a bit." He continued with a chuckle. "Y/N ordered lasagna. Classic choice, right? Pasta, meat, tomato sauce, cheese... You can't go wrong." He pointed to Y/N's plate, observing momentarily the remaining piece of lasagna. "I got the carbonara, one of my all-time favorites. Loads of bacon, so good."

Chris picked up his fork, filling it with the food from his plate and twirling some carbonara for the camera to see.

"I've had a tradition on Saturdays of taking Y/N out to dinner since the beginning of our relationship, and there's something special about going out to dinner in a new place, you know?" Chris commented warmly. "It's a little gastronomic adventure. Oh, and the music! They're playing something in Italian."

He paused, pointing his fingers upwards, letting the camera pick up the soft, melodic tunes playing in the background. He began to sway his head to the rhythm, clearly enjoying himself.

"Cool, right? Also, we always order different dishes so we can share and try more things." He added, laughing. "Though I usually end up eating half of Y/N's, and she always gets mad at me for it." His eyes sparkled with affection as he spoke about her, shaking his hear jokingly. "Talking about her, her food's going to get cold if she takes much longer."

He lowered his head, frowning as he looked between his plate and hers, refusing to eat until she returned.

"She just said she was going to the bathroom and left you with me. Not sure what she's up to." He shrugged, eyes darting back to the screen. "But tell me a little about yourselves..."

He pretended to listen to the viewers' imaginary responses, nodding thoughtfully.

"I think this is a TikTok trend. Y/N's been obsessed with these lately." Chris said, changing the "topic" abruptly, rolling his eyes playfully.

Just then, Y/N returned to the table, quickly grabbing her phone and trying not to laugh at Chris's expression.

"Thanks, guys. I hope he behaved." She said happily, smiling and waving at the camera.

"Hey, I'm the best boy around, alright?" Chris retorted, grinning widely.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

2. Serving myself a little bit of food and telling my boyfriend that's all we have left

The house was a haven of quiet on that early afternoon. With Nick and Matt away on business for their channel, set to last all day, Y/N and Chris found themselves with a rare stretch of time alone. Deciding against the hassle of preparing a new meal, they settled on enjoying the leftovers from the previous day's lunch.

"I'm going to put the dishes together, honey." Y/N called, already making her way to the door of their shared bedroom after hearing Chris’s stomach rumble in protest as they watched a random and new action movie.

"Alright, I'll be there in a few." Chris responded, not taking his eyes off the screen, where a heated scene of racing cars and guns shooting occurred, his hands reaching blindly for the remote on the bedside table.

With Chris still in the bedroom, Y/N seized the opportunity to record a new TikTok trend that had been flooding her For You Page in the last few days. She fished her phone out of the front pocket of her Fresh Love hoodie, positioning it strategically on the wooden surface of the dining table to capture both the plates and Chris’s reaction, as well as her own figure. Her fingers worked quickly to unlock the device, find the app, and start recording, lowering the screen brightness to its minimum.

While waiting for Chris, Y/N prepared two plates: Chris's, as usual, was generous, laden with a large portion of each meal item. For herself, she placed just a few spoonfuls of each, creating a stark contrast between the two.

When Chris finally appeared in the kitchen, he moved with a relaxed grace to his usual chair, his stomach growling in the quiet of the room, sitting down.

"Finally!" He exclaimed, rubbing his palms together in excitement as he watched Y/N place the plates on the table and sit down beside him. "I was so-" His sentence cut off abruptly as he noticed the disparity in the amount of food on their plates. His brow furrowed as his eyes darted between the two servings.

"I hope it's still good." Y/N said with a small smile, lifting her right arm to reach for her cutlery, her fingers closing around her fork.

"No, wait." Chris stopped her, raising his hand to hover over her plate, his concern evident. "What?"

Feigning confusion, Y/N put down her fork and looked up at him, frowning.

"What what?"

"Weren't you starving?" Chris asked, his voice tinged with worry as he looked her over, his eyes searching for any signs of discomfort.

"No, babe, I'm not that hungry." Y/N shook her head, offering a reassuring smile.

"Are you feeling sick?" Chris's concern deepened, his blue eyes scanning her figure anxiously.

"I'm fine, sweetheart." Y/N insisted, her tone light.

"Babe, this isn't normal." Chris pointed to her plate. "Even on days when you have no appetite, you don't eat this little."

"I need to reduce the amount of food I eat." She invented, using the first excuse that her brain could think of.

"Tell the truth, Y/N. Do you want to go to the hospital?” Chris's worry was palpable as he prepared to stand, but Y/N quickly grabbed his wrist, stopping his next movements.

"Why, Chris? I told you, I'm fine-"

"Then why did you put so little food on your plate?" Chris interrupted, his concern mounting.

"Babe, we just... It's because that was all that was left from yesterday. We ran out of food." Y/N finally revealed, looking down in false shame.

"What do you mean? Is the food gone?" Chris's disbelief was clear. Despite his bigger appetite, he would never allow his girlfriend to go without. "Baby, stop it. Are you crazy? I'm not going to eat all this while you have so little just because our food runs out."

He stood up abruptly, the sound of the chair scraping against the floor echoing sharply in the quiet room. His large hands moved quickly to switch their plates, placing the larger serving in front of Y/N.

"No, Chris! That's all that's left, really! I want you to eat what I gave you." Y/N protested, curving her spine above the wooden surface, her hands hovering in the air.

"Babe, you're hungrier than me. I already ate, you didn't." Chris lied, sitting down again, receiving a surprised look from Y/N. She knew he hadn't eaten anything, just like her.

"What did you eat?" She asked, genuinely confused.

"I had one of those Bold protein bars you always eat." Chris claimed, pointing towards the cabinet above the sink behind his back.

"But, there's no more bar-"

"Of course there is, or was, I ate the last one." Chris interrupted, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.

"Babe..." Y/N's heart warmed, her eyes softening. "Let's split it then, okay?"

"No, petal, I want you to eat all of this." He insisted, pointing at the plate that was once his. "How did all the food even run out?"

"I needed to go to the grocery store today, but I wanted to spend the day with you." Y/N explained, her tone tender, her bottom lip jutting out in a little pout.

"It doesn't matter, babe. Just because the food is gone doesn't mean you should eat this little. It looks like bird food." Chris's voice rose with worry, his hands moving to adjust his cap nervously.

"It's no problem, honey, I promise." Y/N argued, moving to switch the plates again, but Chris stopped her.

"Babe, wait, no! Let's go out? Let's go out to eat, hm? Where do you want to go?" Chris's desperation was clear, his blue eyes searching hers. "Let's go out, like a date, yeah?"

Y/N's features brightened instantly, a smile spreading across her lips as small drops of tears appeared in the corners of her eyes, her heart fluttering inside her chest, feeling like she was falling in love all over again.

"A date, babe?" Her voice sounded airy.

"That's right, let's go out for lunch somewhere special. You choose the place and the food, okay?" Chris asked softly, watching her closely, pushing the plate of food in front of him away.

"Yeah." Y/N looked down, her cheeks heating up with a rosy blush.

"Great, I'll get my wallet," Chris said, rising from his seat calmly this time, curving his upper body so that his face was close to her head, sealing the top of it with his lips momentarily, exhaling the soft smell of shampoo. "You heard me?"

"Yes, okay," Y/N nodded quickly, sniffling softly, observing her boy step away. "I love you."

"I love you more, bunny. I'll be right back, okay?"

"Okay."

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3. Testing my boyfriend if he was an Uber driver

Chris adjusted himself in the leather driver's seat, trying to keep a straight face. His eyes flicked towards Y/N’s phone, checking if it was recording him. A few seconds later, the sound of the back door opening echoed inside the vehicle, and Y/N appeared, sliding into the seat where Nick usually sat during their car videos. She did her best to look like a complete stranger.

"Good afternoon! Are you Chris from Uber?" she asked, adopting a foreign accent. Her head lifted, catching Chris's upper body twisted towards the back seat, his eyes fixed on her. "Why are you looking back like that, Chris?" Y/N yelled, playfully smacking the back of the driver’s seat.

"But I was just-"

༻

"Hey!" Y/N’s voice cut through the brief silence, settling back into the leather seat with a dramatic sigh.

"Good afternoon! Would you like some candy or gum?" Chris greeted, taking his right hand off the steering wheel and reaching towards the car’s console. He pulled out a small box of mints from the cup holder, lifting it up with a flourish.

"Why are you offering candy to the girl, Christopher?" Y/N crossed her arms, her eyes darting from the box to Chris's face and back again before she rolled her eyes and turned around, pretending to get out of the car.

"Sometimes people have bad breath, babe-"

༻

"Hi! Good afternoon. How are you?" Y/N chirped as she got into the car again, a broad smile lighting up her face.

She adjusted herself in the seat, but as she did, her head bumped against the roof of the car.

"Ouch! I hit my head." She burst into laughter, her right hand instinctively reaching up to rub the sore spot, her eyes closed as giggles escaped her lips.

Chris quickly turned back, his eyes wide with concern and amusement. His lips trembled as he tried to suppress his laughter.

"Do you want me to take care of you, miss-" His sentence was cut short by a loud slap, Y/N's free hand playfully hitting his shoulder. "Ouch! Sorry!"

༻

"Hey, good afternoon!" Chris began this time, his eyes fixed on the garage door in front of the car. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, swallowing hard.

"Hi, how are you?" Y/N adjusted herself in the seat, leaning forward so that she was perched on the edge. She leaned her upper body against the back of the driver’s seat, raising her right arm and resting her hand lightly on Chris’s shoulder, giving it a sensual squeeze.

"Do not touch me!" Chris raised his right arm roughly, trying to shake off Y/N’s hand without success. "If you knew my girlfriend, ma'am, you wouldn't dare. She could be nearby right now, you know?" He pretended to look around desperately, finally managing to push Y/N’s hand away. "She's going to kill you."

༻

"Hi, good afternoon! Can I sit in the front?" Y/N asked, already sitting in the back seat, leaning over the console and pointing to the passenger seat.

"You can’t, ma'am." Chris shook his head quickly, keeping his eyes fixed forward.

"But there's no one there. You must feel so lonely." Y/N pouted, looking into the rearview mirror, trying to catch Chris’s eyes.

Chris moved suddenly, lifting his right leg over the gear lever and resting his foot on the floor of the passenger seat.

"Don’t worry, miss, that’s not a problem. I take both seats, you see?" He glanced at the rearview mirror, losing his balance and accidentally pressing the horn, its loud sound echoing through the garage.

༻

"Excuse me, sir, there's a little thing in there! Let me clean it for you." Y/N, already inside the car and leaning between the passenger and driver seats, murmured. Her right hand lightly grabbed Chris's chin, turning his head towards her.

Chris let her, his blue eyes meeting hers. His pupils dilated as he watched her face, his lips parting slightly as he felt his heartbeat increase its pace. He tilted his head closer, their mouths brushing for a brief moment.

"Christopher Sturniolo, are you going to kiss your passenger?!" Y/N suddenly pulled away, hitting his shoulder hard.

"It was an accident, babe-"

༻

"Sir, do you like brunettes?" Y/N asked, leaning over the back of the driver's seat and laying the side of her face on the headrest. She kept her eyes fixed on Chris, biting her bottom lip lightly, trying to convey an air of seduction.

"No, miss, I like bald ones." Chris quickly responded without looking at her, causing Y/N to burst into laughter.

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4. I can't go out

"I can't go out."

Y/N lay sprawled on the bed she shared with Chris, the soft, inviting sheets cradling her body. Her phone hovered above her, capturing her every move as she began to lip-sync to the familiar audio. The screen’s glow bathed her face in a gentle, almost ethereal light, accentuating the gleam in her eyes and the subtle curve of her lips, painted with a delicate pink gloss.

"Cough, cough." She murmured as she feigned illness, her free hand coming up, fingers curling into a delicate fist that she brought to her lips, a playful, exaggerated expression dancing across her features. "I'm sick." She finished, the mock severity in her face making her eyes sparkle with mischief.

She shifted the phone slightly, widening the view just as Chris’s strong arm snaked into the frame. His biceps, taut and defined, flexed dramatically, the play of muscles under his skin evident and undeniably captivating.

His skin was warm around her neck, the faint scent of him - a mix of his natural aroma and the lingering trace of his Dior cologne - intoxicating her senses. The pressure of his bicep against her cheeks made her bite down on her lower lip, her teeth digging into the soft flesh to stifle the smile, threatening to break free.

Her body responded instinctively to his closeness, a shiver of excitement coursing down her spine. She tilted her head slightly, her hair cascading over his arm like a silken waterfall, each strand catching the light in a mesmerizing display.

She was so lucky.

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