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juleswritesstuff · 4 months ago

Text

Pieces

Just Theo losing his mind over a tiny, little dress

theo nott x fem!reader

warnings: smut (this one's filthy, y'all)

The music blasting through the Slytherin common room was not only filling your ears, but your whole body too. It was running through your veins, every muscle and nerve consumed by the slow rhythm of the bass.

You were moving to the beat without a care in the world, lost in the flow, surrounded by warm bodies moving along the same melody.

Until a pair of hands found place on your hips, a presence making itself known behind you as your back collided with his chest.

You would've recognized that scent everywhere. A smirk grew on your lips.

Bingo.

“Are you trying to kill me, bambolina ?” his smooth voice reached your ears through the loud banging of some song you didn't quite recognize. (babydoll)

His hands were scorching hot on your hips, feeling them through the flimsy fabric of your dress. The way they wanted to touch, to feel, to own.

The grin on your lips widened.

Oh, he was so easy to tease.

You turned around, meeting his eyes. Their usual sky blue had become deeper, a storm in full swing. They were dark, hungry, and yet you could still find that glint of cockiness that never left his gaze.

Theodore Nott was as beautiful as he was devilish.

Good thing you knew how to take him. Metaphorically and physically speaking.

“Don't know what you're talking about” you said, swaying your hips to the sultry rhythm and morphing your expression to one of fake cluelessness.

“Really ? I'm pretty sure you do” the grin on his face was teasing but you could see the light clench of his jaw.

Trying to keep it cool, to keep control.

Unfortunately for him his eyes scanning every inch of your body betrayed him and his illusion of a collected behavior.

“You don't like my dress ?” you asked, getting closer and circling his neck with your arms.

His hands were on your back, traveling up and down, tracing your skin through the fabric, memorizing every nook and curve of your body.

A shiver ran down your spine as he pulled you closer to him, chest to chest.

“You have the nerve to ask me that ?” he uttered, cocking an eyebrow in disbelief.

A chuckle left your lips.

“You sound so affronted, Nott” your hand slipped through his hair, combing them lightly while your bodies kept swaying to the music.

He closed his eyes in bliss, feeling your gentle fingers brush through his brown locks.

And then you pulled. A bit harsher, a bit rougher. Exactly how he liked it.

Theo groaned, his eyes snapping open as the grip on your hips became tighter.

His forehead touched yours as he leaned closer and closer.

“Oh, you want to play with fire I see” he breathed mere inches away from your lips.

“Maybe I do” you grinned, your tone challenging.

“And what happened to ‘I wouldn't touch you even if you were the last man on earth’, dolcezza ?” he asked teasingly, leaning forward to whisper in your ear. (sweety)

Your cheeks warmed up the slightest bit.

Yes, you and Theo hadn’t started off in the best of ways.

But things changed.

Especially after the most completely unexpected and undoubtedly best fuck of your life, courtesy of a very heated arguement between the two of you that ended with him buried deep inside of you while you basically chanted his name like a prayer.

You wished you could say it was a one time thing, a mistake.

But it wasn’t.

Because soon you found out that no one made you feel better than him.

Your body craved his touch, you couldn't help it.

“Well, I didn't know the wonders that your mouth and your cock were capable of at the time, can you really blame me ?” you asked back, lifting an eyebrow.

“So that's why you chose the tiniest, sexiest dress you own ? Cause you wanted to get your guts rearranged ?” he teased with a shit-eating smirk.

“Who knows” you shrugged your shoulders as a smug smile grew on your lips.

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head.

“You'll be the death of me, bambolina” he mouthed right on your lips before leaning in. (babydoll)

And, fuck, that felt both like heaven and hell.

His mouth was soft and rough at the same time. Hungry, needy, pure fire that was consuming you. The taste of nicotine and alcohol mixed with a sweetness that you couldn't quite pinpoint, but it was there. And it was addicting.

You wanted more. You always wanted more when Theo was involved.

His tongue teased yours, playing his dirty little games.

Your mind went blank.

“Your room or mine ?” you asked, millimeters away from his lips.

“Whichever is the closest, I don't care” he said hurriedly “Non vedo l'ora di strapparti questo cazzo di vestito di dosso” (I can't wait to rip this fucking dress off of you)

You didn't understand a single thing of the Italian coming out of his mouth as he was busy leaving a trail of eager kisses down your neck, going so slow that your brain started to melt.

You had no idea of how you managed to arrive at your dorm, too engrossed in the feeling of having him so close to you.

But now there you were.

The door closed with a click, and after a second you felt him everywhere.

His hands in your hair, on your face, your neck, hips, thighs. Fucking everywhere.

Your back collided with the wall as he kissed you like he needed air and you were pure oxygen filling his lungs.

“You’re a vixen, you know that ?” he whispered “making me lose my fucking mind moving your hips like that”

His lips were still on yours, his hands kneading the plush skin of your ass, making you hiss in pleasure.

“Didn’t know I only needed a dress to make you go ballistic, Nott” you muttered with a chuckle as he decorated your throat with slow, wet kisses.

“I couldn’t give less than a shit about the dress, Y/n. You are the one making me go fucking feral, not this stupid piece of fabric” he groaned against your skin.

“Then rip it the fuck off of me, why don’t you ?” you said, whimpers leaving your mouth as Theo found the most sensitive spot on your neck, starting to tease it with his tongue, his teeth and that sinful mouth of his.

You felt his smirk right on your skin.

“As you wish, bambolina”

In a heartbeat you heard cloth being torn, shredded to pieces.

The air suddenly hitting your skin made goosebumps appear all over your body.

Your eyes snapped to his. The fire in them almost burned you, matching your own.

Lust and hunger filled every cell of your being, seeing the poor dress resting in pieces on the floor.

Because Theo had literally ripped it off.

You didn’t think this man could get any hotter. Guessed you were fucking wrong.

“Cazzo, sei una visione Y/n'' he whispered breathlessly. (Fuck, you're a vision Y/n)

His eyes ran all over your figure, taking in every curve, every inch of your body, imprinting it in his memory forever.

Then he began his journey of torture.

He started with his lips on yours, nibbling and sucking slowly, seductively, proceeding along your jaw, traveling down and reaching your neck, kissing the skin that was already turning a dark red from his previous attentions.

He stopped briefly at your shoulder, delicately removing your bra as the pads of his fingers brushed your skin tenderly.

He left his marks all over you.

On your shoulder, your collarbones, on your breasts teasing your sensitive nipples with his tongue before sucking gently, grazing them with his teeth and sending bolts of electricity throughout your entire body.

His lips were soft, but they left a burning path everywhere they touched.

Moans and whimpers left your mouth with each and every caress of his skin on yours.

He kept giving attention to every single centimeter of your figure, going down and down until he sank on his knees.

The sight of him kneeling in front of you with that deep, dark look in his eyes turned you on like nothing ever did before.

“This might be my favorite angle of you, you know ?” you confessed, your fingers combing through his brown waves.

You felt him grin against your hip bone, kissing it right after.

“Is it ?” his tone was teasing, playful, as he traced your skin with his lips “when I’m on my knees ?” another kiss lingered on your hip “right at your mercy ?”

“Shit- yeah” you choked out a whimper as his mouth got closer and closer to your core.

The grip on his hair tightened and he let out a deep moan.

“Well, that’s good to know, princess” he said simply “cause this is my favorite place to be. Right between your thighs” and then he left a soft kiss directly on your clothed heat before sliding your panties down your legs.

A needy moan escaped your lips before you could stop it.

“You're perfect. You're so fucking perfect” he whispered in awe, completely drunk on the sight of your naked body.

“Theo…” you whined.

“Yes, baby ?”

Fuck, that word made your stomach churn in the best way possible.

“Just fucking get to it” you said urgently.

A cocky smile appeared on his face as he started to slowly get up, placing kisses here and there, making his journey back to your lips.

You whined, missing the feeling of his mouth lingering on your most sensitive spot.

“You’re needy” he whispered in your ear, making you shiver.

“You’re torturing me” you bit back, breathless and impertinent.

“Oh, so you can tease me in front of our whole House, but I can’t have my little fun when it’s just us ? Seems a bit unfair, tesoro” he mocked you lightheartedly with the most irritatingly hot smirk. (darling)

“Wipe that smug little smile off your face Nott, I can't stand it” you said, the annoyance in your tone as clear as the lust in it, too.

“Can’t stand it ?” he asked sensually, his breath tickling your ear before looking you in the eyes with that sinful grin that made you go feral “then why don’t you sit on it, bambolina”

His gaze was dark, the blue of his eyes completely swallowed up by blackness.

The breath got knocked out of your lungs. Hot liquid desire filled your veins.

Your entire body was consumed by him, every single cell screaming his name.

And who were you not to listen ?

“Lay down then” you said with a devilish grin, pushing him backwards until his knees hit the bed frame, forcing him to sit down.

You wasted no time and straddled his hips, your naked body flashed aginst his still clothed one.

“Fucking hell” he mumbled on your mouth as you dived in to kiss him hungrily, tongue brushing his in a filthy dance.

His hands gripped your lower back so tightly you were sure there would’ve been bruises in the shape of his handprints the following day.

And you couldn’t wait to fucking see them.

“Something wrong, pretty boy ?” you taunted, coating his neck with kisses, swiping your tongue over the skin and making him groan in pleasure.

“I have you naked on my lap, Y/n, nothing could be more right” he said, looking at you directly in the eyes with a smile and his usual cocky attitude.

“Why don’t you take off some clothes too, mh ?” you muttered, breaths away from his lips "Preferably all of them"

“Get rid of them, then” he answered you with a challenging glint in his deep blue eyes, and a sardonic smile.

You smirked, fisting both sides of his shirt and pulling harshly.

Buttons flew everywhere as you ripped the shirt open, finally exposing his perfectly chiseled chest to your eyes. Your hands ran all over his torso, tracing every hard and soft surface with fleeting touches.

God, Quidditch practice really had its benefits.

“Now we’re even” you said, kissing his lips again, referring to the dress he had shredded to pieces not too long ago.

Then your fingers traveled down, reaching the hem of his pants and brushing his half hard cock playfully through the fabric.

He hissed in pleasure, but as soon as you tried to unbutton them he stopped you.

“That can wait, baby. I need to taste you first” he purred in your ear before laying down completely, his back colliding with the soft mattress of your bed.

“Impatient, are we ?” you mocked him lightheartedly, but as soon as you felt his hands on lower back, massaging the soft skin, urging you to crawl on his body and come closer until your core was right in front of him, glistening with desire, the smile on your face was replaced by a moan.

“When it comes to you ? Always” he smiled, leaving a trail of steamy, open mouthed kisses on the tender skin of your inner thighs.

A pathetic sob left your throat.

He was going so achingly slow you were starting to lose your goddamn mind.

“Seems to me that you’re taking your sweet fucking time, instead” you snapped impetuously.

He was teasing you mercilessly, and you couldn’t stand it.

“I’ll take all the time I need if it means that I get to see you being a needy mess before my tongue even touches you” he sneered against your skin, mouth getting closer and closer to where you needed it the most, but never close enough.

“Theo, please” you cried as your hands swiped through his brown locks, spread on the pillow like a halo, eliciting him to do something, anything to give you at least some sweet relief.

“Sei così bella, cazzo” he whispered as his eyes shined with an earnestness that you had never seen in them “e sei tutta per me”. (You're so beautiful, fuck)(and you're all mine)

And then finally, finally he stuck his tongue out dragging it over your folds to get a long awaited taste.

The groan that came out of his mouth sent delicious vibrations to your clit, making your whole body squirm.

“Oh fuck” you moaned as he started to devour you messily.

He ate you out like he had been starving for weeks and you were his first meal, like he was born for it and his place was right there, between your legs. He licked and kissed and sucked all over your sensitive core, pleasuring you like no one else ever could, making you feel everything.

You writhed above him.

Loud, shaky whines left your lips as he made out with your cunt shamelessly and sloppy, coating his face with your essence and feasting hungrily.

When his lips wrapped around your clit you whailed.

The whole castle probably heared you even through the music of the party that was taking place downstairs, but you couldn’t care less.

Because Theo was beneath you, eating you out so perfectly and filthily that all you could think about was his mouth on you.

“So sweet. You taste so sweet, Y/n” he said right against your throbbing core, making you shiver. Your hands on his hair tightened their grip, using it as leverage to move your hips back and forth faster, desperately.

“Theo- shit, baby-” you couldn’t even talk.

You were close. You were so close that you felt the familiar tension building up, ready to explode.

And apparently he did too, because his mouth started to work faster, licking and lapping at an unforgiving pace.

“Go ahead, baby. Make a mess on my face” he wrapped his lips around your clit one more time and he sucked, sending you over the edge.

The coil in your tummy snapped, your vision turning white as waves of pleasure washed all over you, making your ears ring and your eyes roll back in ecstasy.

The moans coming out of your mouth were dirty, raw.

The movement of your hips slowed down as Theo kept dragging his tongue over your folds slowly, carefully, licking you clean and paying attention not to overstimulate you, but not letting even one single drop of your sweet essence go to waste.

Once you got down from your high and your brain started to regain its ability to form coherent words you shifted your gaze downwards, finding Theo looking at you while his hands caressed your legs tenderly.

“There you are. I thought I broke you for a second” he smiled, teasing lightheartedly.

You huffed a sneer as you crawled backwards with shaky legs, going back to straddle his hips rather than his face.

“Don't get too confident, Nott. It's not a good look” you bit back with a smile that matched his.

A chuckle left his lips as he lifted his torso to sit up, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

He kissed you softly, delicately, making your stomach flip.

“Everything ok ?” he asked on your lips while he tucked a rogue strand of hair behind your ear, stroking your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb.

And there it was, the thing that made you so confused about Theodore Nott.

It was in moments like these when you forgot that the guy in front of you, who gave you the best head of your life and was an actual fucking excellent lover was the same guy you used to have daily insulting sessions with.

Muggles had a saying, you heard.

‘There's a thin line between hate and love’

And you were sure that that line had been all kinds of blurry since Theo had put his lips on you for the first time.

Or, maybe, even before. You didn't want to think about it.

The possibilities of that revelation being true made your stomach knot up.

So you put them to the side, and focused back on him.

“Yes” you answered, your fingers buried in the hair at the base of his neck, massaging reassuringly “I’m ok. More than ok, even”

“How about your legs ?” he asked, placing soft kisses on your shoulder.

“Is this some new way to ask me if I still have some remaining strength to ride you ?” you teased, narrowing your eyes mischievously.

“Would you believe me if I said it isn't ?” he questioned playfully, lifting an eyebrow and tightening his embrace on you.

“Not really, no” you said unconvinced, your face opened up in a smile.

“Guessed so” he shook his head in amusement, his eyes glinting in the dim light of your room.

“Unfortunately for you my legs are sore, so no riding” you admitted, your smile turning smug “but that doesn't mean that you can't fuck me in any other position know to man”

His hands on your hips tightened their grip.

“Is that so ?” he taunted, his eyes turning hungry again, the fire in them reaching the deepest parts of your soul “then tell me bambolina, how would you like me to take you apart tonight ?”

“However you want” you smirked, leaning in to kiss him again, swiping your tongue on his lower lip before biting the plump skin provocatively “go ahead pretty boy, make me cry on your cock”

His eyes got impossibly darker, hungrier. Ravenous.

“Then get on all fours for me, princess” he rumbled lowly, looking at you like he wanted to devour you whole.

You wasted no time as you kept your mouth glued to his, getting off his lap and flipping your positions. You crawled backwards a little, Theo following you as he chased your lips until you were completely laying down with him above you.

His hands caressed your hips, moving down to trace the skin of your thigh, making goosebumps appear all over your body.

Your fingers traveled everywhere, feeling the heated skin against your pads. They caressed his chest, his shoulders, his back, until they reached the hem of his pants, unbuttoning them with a swift move.

“Impatient, are we ?” he teased you, using your own words against you.

His lips latched to your neck, one hand on the mattress holding his weight and the other sliding his trousers down together with his underwear.

“Less talking and more undressing, Nott” you urged as your hands went to his hair, massaging his scalp, making him groan.

He pulled away from you just enough to take away his pants completely, leaving him naked.

Your eyes took in his perfectly sculpted lean body, and you clenched your legs unconsciously at the sight of his hard cock.

He didn't say anything to you eyeing him up like you wanted to swallow him whole, he just smirked. But the look in his eyes told you that he knew every naughty little thought you were having in that moment.

Your cheeks heated up, and you turned around facing the mattress propped up on your elbows, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you that flustered.

You had seen him naked countless times, and yet his body still had that maddening effect on you.

The bed dipped with every move he made, getting closer to you again, until you felt his breath on your ear, chuckling.

“Going shy on me now, tesoro ?” he asked playfully, leaving a kiss on that sensitive spot that made you squirm. (darling)

“Shut up” you said weakly, completely overwhelmed by the feeling of his mouth leaving a path of steamy kisses along your back, causing your whole body to shiver in pleasure.

He stopped right over the little dimples on your lower back, kissing them tenderly.

“Ready ?” he asked to make sure.

You didn't answer him, you just lifted your ass up, bending your knees and arching your back in the most sinful way you could master.

“Ready” you confirmed with a smug smile, hearing him groan in pleasure.

You turned your head a little, enough to see him stroking his cock at the sight of your exposed cunt, right at his mercy.

“You and your perfect body will be the death of me” you hear him whisper before feeling his hands on your ass.

His tip teasing your entrance made you moan pathetically.

He went slow, so achingly slow that you wanted to cry, feeling him burying himself deeper and deeper inside of you, inch by inch. Until he bottomed out completely, head to base, filling you up so good that you wanted to scream.

“Fuck-” you moaned “fuck, fuck, fuck” broken sobs left your lips as you felt him throbbing inside of you.

“Shit- baby, you're tight” he said through gritted teeth, feeling your warmth around him and trying so hard not to cum on the spot, hearing all the filthy sounds you were making.

“Move” you practically begged “Theo, please. Just move”

As soon as the words left your mouth his hips started to thrust, setting a slow and steady pace, making you adjust to his size without hurting you.

The head of his cock brushed your cervix with every prod, sending bolts of electricity to every nerve of your body.

But it wasn't enough.

You wanted more. You needed more.

“Harder” you blurted, half begging and half demanding “I'm not gonna break, Theo. Fuck me. Harder”

Not a word left his mouth, but suddenly you saw stars. His hips snapped ruthlessly inside of you, knocking the air out of your lungs, making you scream his name.

You buried your face in the pillows, trying to muffle the sound of your wails. But then you felt Theo’s chest colliding with your back and his arms around your torso, pulling your upper body up with him while he still fucked into you mercilessly.

“Voglio sentirti” he whispered in your ear, breath rugged and broken by the intensity of his hips plunging inside of you “voglio che l'intero cazzo di castello sappia chi è che ti scopa così bene” (I want to hear you)(I want the whole castle to know who's fucking you this good)

You didn't understand a single word coming out of his mouth, but you knew it had nothing to do with the language he was using and everything to do with his cock splitting you in half.

Your body was on fire, every muscle and nerve consumed by pleasure, corroded by lust.

You were close again.

Your arm reached behind you, pulling Theo’s head closer.

The position was awkward, making the kiss even more filthy, a mess of tongues and teeth.

“God- Theo, I'm close” you moaned against his mouth.

One hand holding your body flashed against his, the other going to tease your clit with slender fingers.

You were right there, his fingers drawing circles on that little bundle of nerves faster and faster.

“Cum for me, bambolina” was what he whispered in your ear, his breath tickling your skin as your orgasm hit you.

The world stopped, every single thing ceased to exist except for the exploding pleasure in your veins and the feeling of Theo’s heated and sweaty skin on yours.

The clench of your cunt squeezing his cock sent him over the edge too, painting your walls white while a strangled moan escaped his lips.

Getting down from your high you collapsed on the bed.

With your breath labored and short, your body numb and your head in the clouds you placed your head on Theo's chest as his arm wrapped around you.

Was it weird to cuddle with the guy who used to get on your nerves more than anything else ? Most definitely.

Was it also weird to fuck said guy and wanting to sometime still punch his ridiculously handsome face at the same time ? Absolutely.

Did you care ? Not one bit.

“You owe me a shirt” he blurted out after his breath turned back to normal again, stroking your hair absent-mindedly.

“You owe me a dress” you retorted back, feeling his heartbeat slowing down right under your ear.

“Shopping at Hogsmeade next weekend ?” he asked nonchalantly, like he hadn't just dropped a bomb on you.

Your eyes widened beyond measure.

“Pardon ?” your voice went several tones higher than usual, in complete disbelief from the words that had just reached your ears.

“Calm down, bambolina. No need to get all flustered” he chuckled, but rather than mocking it seemed endeared “you'll buy me a new shirt and I'll buy you a new dress. Deal ?”

You had no idea what to answer.

But in the end you accepted.

“Deal”

It wouldn't be weird...right ?

He lives in my mind rent free, I can't help it.

Hope you enjoyed 💗

#harry potter #harry potter smut #slytherin boys #slytherin boys smut #theodore nott #theodore nott smut #theo nott #theo nott smut #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theo nott x reader #theo nott x you #mattheo riddle #tom riddle #draco malfoy #blaise zabini #lorenzo berkshire

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10underoot2 · 7 months ago

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I thought I would have so much to say about the car accident scene. And while I could go on for a while on why it's everything I've ever wanted from a scene of this nature and why it's a beautifully acted cinematic piece, I do think the beauty of the scene lies so much in silence. Their expressions are do a fantastic job to express their emotional state so I'm just gonna call attention to a few things I won't get over anytime soon.

Imagine being Haein and seeing your husband wrecking a car window in hysteria. Imagine seeing disbelief on his face when he sees you and walks towards you. Imagine watching him unable to breathe properly (sound on and high for this scene). Imagine seeing life flood into him as soon as you touch him.

Jiwon plays such an important part here. Because Haein has NEVER seen Hyunwoo like this. He's a pretty calm nice, non-violent guy. She knows him to like mostly everyone and he rarely gets angry - he's pretty composed. But then what is this look of complete shattered pain on his face? With a mix of disbelief, bearing the heaviest heart on the planet? He's unrecognisable to her. She can't make sense of any of his actions. She's in utter shock hearing how hardly any air is making it's way into his lungs.

In his eyes is a look of crazed wilderness just tamed. He's out of his sense. Completely lost in the events that have just passed. Not believing that he can breathe. That it's okay. All is well in the world for now. She's unscathed.

'What's going on? Calm down.'

The way she asks him to calm down - touching his face - cause she just doesn't know what in the world could send him in such a frenzy to forget himself. Her asking him to calm down here is everything to me. She's really just saying I'm here okay. Calm down. Calm down, you can breathe. Tell me what happened and I can fix it.

'Even still, Are you crazy? How could you break the window with your bare hands? Look at this!'

I know it probably didn't register to him at that point. But he's hearing her being worried for him again when he thought her lost forever. Wouldn't that sound like music to his ears.

And her...god she's so worried for him. She's never seen him like this. She doesn't know what happened to make him like this. One she sees his absolutely broken bloody hand. Two she's seeing her husband absolutely crushed. She's so confused.

That is until his words hit her like a truck. I think she had an idea that he did it to save her but she didn't know he did it because he thought her dead. And that makes all the difference for her.

Also I thought it was very interesting to keep showing his injured hand clenching. I think it was a way to show how the physical pain still didn't hold a candle to his emotional turmoil. He CLENCHES that broken hand multiple times. I can't even begin to think when he actively registered the pain.

The need for constant touch to reaffirm that she indeed is there. The sitting down. The head on her hand. The heavy breathing. *Chef's kiss*

I love women comforting the man they love when he's broken. Gah! That hand on his face and hug. Her embracing him. Letting him cry all he wants. Giving him the reaffirmation he needs by placing her self as close to him as possible. Trying to tame and override his sense. The hand on the nape of his neck. The hand caressing his hair lovingly. And good god, the RINGS.

Also notice his breathing on her shoulder. He's trying to calm himself. Telling himself she's here. Hearing her say it's alright. Everything will be alright.

I'm sure they stay like this until the ambulance comes and asks them if they're hurt. Only then Haein must've gently tore him apart from her (hand on his face again ofcourse) and convinced/guided him to finally get treatment. I can just Imagine Hyunwoo completely dishevelled going, 'Huh *sniffs*......oh.......Right, my hand' and that's when the pain hits him.

Special mention to the hospital conversation when Haein asks him 'Will you sob like this if I die?' and he says truthfully, bashfully, embarrassed but without missing a beat 'Ofcourse.' He's hiding behind nothing. He truly meant to give up on himself after her.

For me this is also the night Haein starts to write her diary. Hyunwoo must've been sound asleep, amped up on painkillers and she must've had so much time to sit and admire him and write.

Gif credits: @wolha and @seawherethesunsets

#he cries like such a child and its heart aching #I love/hate how I didn't think I'd write much but thsi post is still so long #this scene satisfies the angsty writer in me #it's beautifully done #such gems acting!#there are no gifs of Haein fussing over him #which is sad #queen of tears #baek hyun woo #hong hae in #kim soo hyun #kim ji won #baekhong

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mattsturnioloswifey · 7 months ago

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Vacation

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo x Reader.

Summary: You and Matt have known each for as long as you can remember due to your parents being best friends. The only thing is, you hate each other. Now you were going on vacation with the Sturniolos.

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"I'm not sitting by him." I say, annoyed.

"Well I'm not sitting back there." Chris shrugs. "I'm not either." Nick agrees. I clench my jaw, theres no way was I gonna sit by Matt Sturniolo for hours on end.

"Please someone just switch me seats." I beg as Nick and Chris shake their heads. I sigh and sit next to Matt in the very back seat. He doesn't look up from his phone. MaryLou gets in the driver's seat as my mom gets in the passenger's seat.

"Everybody ready?" MaryLou smiles as she begins driving. Nick, Chris, and my mom all nod. I put my airpods in my ears and listen to music. This is gonna be a long ride.

After being in the car for 9 hours, stopping occasionally on the way to go to the gas station and whatnot, we finally made it to a hotel. I live in Boston, as well as the triplets. We are going to Orlando Florida. 19 hours away and we still had 10 more to go. 10 more hours.

"I'm so tired." I say as we all walk into the hotel. "Me too." Chris nods.

We check in to the hotel and go on the elevator to the 3rd floor. Once we get there my mom speaks, "Okay so we are gonna have rooms in pairs. MaryLou with me in room 105, Chris with Nick in room 106, and Matt with y/n in room 107." My face drops.

"No. I am not sharing a room with Matt." I shake my head. Matt glares at me as my mom speaks, "you two need to get over whatever hatred you have for each other. It will be perfect for you to bond. You're sharing a room whether you like it or not." I roll my eyes, "Fine."

Marylou hands everyone their room key and we all go to our rooms. When I open the door my face drops in disbelief. Only one bed. "Where are you gonna sleep?" I ask, turning to face Matt.

"In the bed." He states blankly. "I'm not sharing a bed with you. You can sleep on the floor or something." I say, sitting on the bed.

He sits on the bed next to me, "I'm sleeping in the bed whether you like it or not." I sigh, "Fine but keep some distance." He nods and I head to the bathroom to shower.

After I've showered I wrap the towel around myself, brush my teeth, and do my skincare. I realize I forgot to grab pajamas from my bag in the room so I walk out of the bathroom and get some pajamas from my backpack. I see Matt looking at me before turning away.

I walk back into the bathroom and get dressed. I put my hair in two french braids and walk to the bed, I lay down and Matt rolls his eyes, muttering something underneath his breath. He stands up and stomps into the bathroom. A minute later I hear the shower turn on. I drift off to sleep.

I wake up and try to move but then stop, realizing Matt's body was pressed against mine, his arm around my waist. I hear him breathing softly and feel his heart beating against my back. As much as I hate to admit it, I'm really comfortable right now. No y/n you can't be thinking about Matt this way.

I sit up and his arm wraps tighter around me before I push it away and go into the bathroom to get ready for the day.

"You ready to go yet?" Matt asks, sounding slightly annoyed. "Yeah." I grab my backpack and exit the hotel room, seeing My mom, MaryLou, Chris, and Nick all exiting their rooms.

"How did you guys sleep?" My mom asks softly. "Good." Nick and Chris say in union, Matt and I not saying anything.

My mom tilts her head at Matt and I. "what about you two?" I look at the floor, trying to avoid Matt's gaze. "I slept fine." I lie, knowing I slept the best I have in a long time. Matt nods his head, agreeing with me.

"Well, we better get going!" MaryLou says happily and we all walk to the elevator.

"I have to sit back there again?" "Yes y/n Chris and I already agreed we were all gonna sit in the same spots that we sat in yesterday." Nick says, sitting down in his seat.

I roll my eyes and sit by Matt. This time he looked up at me, stared for a moment, then looked back down at his phone. It's okay y/n, you only have to sit by him for 10 more hours.

"We're here!" Marylou sings loudly. "Finally." I mutter, stepping out of the car. I grab my bags and suitcase from the trunk and walk up to the vacation home we're gonna be staying in.

I walk in, everyone following behind me. "Theres only 3 bedrooms so MaryLou and I discussed what we'll do." My mom says, looking at Marylou. "We are each gonna share a room with the person we shared the hotel rooms with. Nick with Chris, MaryLou with me, and Matt with y/n."

My eyes widen "What?" Matt glares at me. "Y/n you'll be fine. You and Matt need to spend some time together." MaryLou smiles softly.

"Which room is it?" My mom points to a room and I walk in, setting my bag down on the bed. Of course there was only one bed. I didn't even question where Matt was gonna sleep.

I wake up and realize this time Matt wasn't holding me from behind, I was resting my head on his chest, my arms wrapped around his waist, and his hand resting on my hip. I sit up and go to the bathroom to get ready, same thing I do everyday.

"Matt I need your help." I say, unzipping my suitcase that's on the bed next to where Matt's sitting. Matt looks up from his book with an annoyed expression on his face "What do you want?"

I pick up two bikini sets "Black or blue? I don't know which one to wear first." He looks at me for a moment "Blue." I smile at him and he shakes his head, looking back down at his book.

I head to the bathroom and change into my blue bikini set. I put on some shorts and a t-shirt over it. When I go back into the room I see Matt shirtless and notice he put on blue swim trunks.

I look down, grab a beach towel, and walk out of the room. I walk to the car where MaryLou, my mom, Chris, and Nick are all waiting. I sit in the same seat Nick and Chris assigned me. Matt walks out and sits in the car next to me a few moments later. Matt looks at me and then looks away quickly.

"Let's get to the beach!" My mom says happily.

How am I gonna keep my eyes off of Matt. Shirtless Matt.

"CHRIS!!!" I laugh as he pushes me into the water with him. I look over and see Matt glaring at us, I quickly look away.

"You two lovebirds having fun?!" MaryLou shouts at Chris and me from the spot her and my mom are laying at. Chris smirks at me and I hit his chest playfully, but I probably shouldn't have because he picked me up and threw me at Matt who was standing in the water next to us.

Matt wraps his arms around me to catch me and then pushes me back towards Chris. "Chris stop doing stupid shit." Matt says angrily. Chris looks at Matt and sticks his tongue out, acting like a child.

"Chris you're acting 5 right now." Nick laughs as Chris turns to face me, wrapping his arms around my waist "You love it, don't you?" Matt clenches his jaw, clearly not liking what Chris just said to me.

"I do not, Christopher!" I giggle, shaking my head. Matt grabs my wrist and drags me away from Chris. "Let go of me!"

Matt keeps a tight grip on my wrist, dragging me to where my beach towel lays. He grabs it and turns to face me, letting go of my wrist. He wraps it around my body and grabs my wrist again, walking towards the car.

"What are you doing?" I try to get my arm away from him but he grips my wrist tighter. "We're going back to the vacation home." I furrow my eyebrows, "what? No, not yet."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes, we are."

"No, we aren't."

He stops, letting go of my wrist as he turns to face me. He grabs my shoulders and looks into my eyes with an unreadable expression.

"I need to talk to you, so we are leaving." I furrow my eyebrows out of confusion, "about what?" He sighs, "just come with me." I nod and he grabs my hand, leading me to the car. We sit in the seats we usually do and everyone else comes in the car too.

When we get back to the vacation home Matt grabs my hand and leads me into the room we're staying in, shutting the door behind us. He sits on the bed and I sit next to him.

"What did you wanna talk to me about?" He takes a deep breath before responding, "I don't hate you. I thought I did, but I don't."

"So you wanna be friends with me now?" I question, looking up at him. He shakes his head, "I think I'm falling in love with you." My eyes widen and he continues to speak, "I know you don't-" "I'm actually in love with you, I just acted like I hated you because I thought you hated me."

His eyes widen and he grabs my face, making me look at him, "I love you, y/n."

"I love you, Matt." I smile and he presses his lips against mine.

The end.

____________________________________________

a/n: this is horrible. There might be an epilogue but idk. I put all 3 parts together for this since they were so short and could all be 1 part.

#matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader

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scribblesofagoonerr · 5 months ago

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— Yeehaw' it's cowgirl era!

pairings: leah williamson x reader

summary: readers' in her cowgirl era as she goes to nashville with leah and her family, she tries to contain her excitement, but its' too much to handle at the end of the night.

↪ this is my fav one shot to write, because I love country music!

and as always thank you to @alotofpockets for the help/inspiration to keep going with this fic!

"I'm so tired, why's the airport so noisy?" You grumble in complaint, all you want to do is sleep but with the news around the airport, its' difficult to do that.

You're tired, so tired. You weren't going to miss the chance to speak to your best friend in Australia though.

Stupid time zones really do suck.

"Well, that's what you get when you don't sleep, monkey," Leah chuckles, glancing at you while you are curled up on the floor.

"Its' not my fault though-- Kyra phoned me!" You whine in protest.

Leah chuckles and shakes her head, "Surely you can't be comfy down there?" She wonders, trying to understanding your reasoning to lie on the floor.

"Its' fine," You murmur, keeping your eyes shut and trying to ignore everyone around so you can sleep.

"Why don't you come and sit up here, love?" Berny, Leahs' grandma suggests, "You can't be comfortable down there."

"M' fine here," You repeat, trying to be as polite as possible.

"Shes' fine, Grandma. I'm happy for monkey to sleep wherever as long as I don't have to chase after her," Leah tells the older women, speaking nothing but the truth about the matter.

"What?" Jordan, Leahs' older cousin chuckles.

Leah exhales a sigh and locks her phone from where she's previously scrolling through Instagram, "Monkey likes to do this thing where she bolts, at literally any single chance that she gets. So as long as she's not making me run after her then I'm fine with that," She explains to them both.

Jordan blinks her eyes in confusion, "Uh, er, what?"

"Don' make me move, I'm comfy!" You whine from your position on the floor still.

"See?" Leah gestures to you with an amused smile, "Be grateful shes' not trying to pet the dogs over there." She adds.

"That was one time!" You exclaim in protest.

You try pet a few dogs' in the airport and suddenly everyone starts to make a big deal out of it, pft.

All you wanted to do was say hi to them.

You like animals, so what?

"I have so many questions right now," Jordan remarks.

Leah chuckles amusedly, "Well, we might be here a while then."

"The floors' not comfy anymore," You complain, huffing in annoyance.

"I thought you said it was?" Leah teases you at your own expense.

"Well now I'm not and everyones' been too loud," You whine in frustration, scrambling to get up from the floor, "Everyone needs to shuuuut up!"

"Uh, Le, is she okay?" Jordan turns to look at Leah in concern.

"Oh, yeah, this is just monkey being well, this is just monkey being her normal self-- Ooft, I didn't think you'd literally flop yourself down on me there," Leah groans as she feels your whole body weight completely slump down on her.

You let out a yawn and rest your head on her shoulder, "You make a comfy pillow, so deal with it." You state.

"But, you know..." Leahs' words are cut short by you.

"Shush, you're bein' too loud, Le," You grumble, not happy with her continuing to yap in your ear when you just want to sleep.

"Oh you poor baby," Leah mocks you.

"Mean Malfoy," You murmur under your breath, but it's still loud enough for the blonde to hear.

"What-- Whos' Malfoy?" The blonde's completely thrown off by the namedrop of a certain character.

"You are," You don't hesistate to admit.

"What? I am... I am not--" Leahs' still in disbelief to even realise that you'd managed to drop off to sleep while using her shoulder as a pillow, "Oh, she's asleep. Would you look at that?" She mutters.

"Must've been tired," Berny chuckles, amusedly.

"I still-- I... I don't look like him," Leah is still continuing to have a full blown crisis over the newfound nickname, "Do you guys think I look like Malfoy?" She questions, confused.

"Hey, monkey. You're quiet," Leah pokes her head around the door to check in on you, after not hearing much from you since you had all arrived at the hotel, "Whatcha up to?" She questions.

"Watchin' Black Widow," You pause the current film your watching and peer your head up from your iPad, "Wouldn't it be so cool to have Widow Bites?" You wonder.

That would definitely be so cool.

Apparently Leah thinks different by her facial expression.

"I think I'd fear for everyones' safety around you with them things," Leah remarks, shaking her head in disagreement, "What would you even use them for anyways?" She asks.

Shrugging your shoulders, you fumble with the strings of your hoodie, "Hurt my enemies and stuff, ye know'?"

"Enemies?" Leah questions in amusement.

"I got 'em, Le. Loads of 'em!" You tell the blonde.

Leah continues to look at you bewildered, "Right, oookay then. Well, we're gonna get ready to head to the festival soon, so are you ready to go?" She wonders.

"Uh huh, just watchin' this to kill the time-- Ooh! I still need one of them fancy hats!" You exclaim in realisation, jumping up from the bed.

"Slow down there cowgirl," Leah chuckles, making the reference to the jumper that you're wearing, "I've got you covered." She gestures to the cowboy hat which she just so happens to have in her hand before she plonks it on top of your head.

"Yeehaw! Howdy there partner!" You beam a wide grin as you try and put on the perfect accent.

The blonde continues to laugh in amusement, "You are something else sometimes, monkey," Shaking her head, she slings her arm around your shoulder, "C'mon, lets' go and find my family." She adds.

"Whatcha mean by that?" You turn your head to look at her in confusion.

"Well, you've heard the phrase 'one sandwich short of a picnic', right?" Leah explains to you as the two of you start to head out of the hotel room.

"Uh huh," You nod your head slowly in understanding.

"You're that sandwich, monkey," Leah states as she smiles.

Now its' your turn to look at the blonde bewildered, "What? I--"

"Anyways, let's go before we're late!" Leah interjects, tugging you in the direction to go and meet her two family members down in the lobby of the hotel.

"Whoa!" Your eyes are lit in excitement as you take in the sight around you of the festival, "We're in Nashville!"

"We are indeed, monkey," Leah chuckles in amusement, using her usual nickname for you since your well, a cheeky monkey.

The blonde also has another nickname though, menace, but that's usually referred to when you're being well, a typical little shit in her eyes.

So, most of the time... You guess.

You still to look around at the atmosphere in awe, "Whoa! This is so cool!" You whisper in awe, not actually believing you were here right now, "Like, I can't believe we're here-- It's so awesome, isn't it?" You turn to the blonde for her answer.

"I can see somebody's excited, huh?" Leahs' grandma, Berny chimes in as she watches you take it all in.

"Hey!" You gasp excitedly, spotting a girl nearby who just so happens to be wearing the same boots as you are, "That girls' got the same boots that I've got! We're totally matching!" You can't help but squeal.

"That's bound to happen here monkey," Leah remarks as she rests her hand on your shoulder and you sense that she's got something to say, "Listen, I know you're excited to be here, but I don't want you to be running off at all, alright?" She questions, knowing just what you're like.

"C'mon Le, I know that. I'm no idiot!" You dramatically whine.

"I didn't say that, but you know, sometimes you get distracted--" Leahs' words are cut short when you do in fact get distracted.

It's only a matter of seconds before it would happen.

"Look, they've got Churros!" You gesture over to a nearby van that's selling them and try to walk off in that direction.

"Ah, ah, no you don't," Leah's quick to yank hold of you by the back of your jumper, "See? This is exactly what I mean!" She states, firmly.

"But there's Churros, Le-- Churro's are life!" You all but insist, you couldn't get enough of the sugary treats.

"Don't even think about running off, menace!" The blonde is quick to warn you seeing that it looks like you're keen to bolt in that very minute, "I can see that look in your eye!" She adds.

However, the blondes' made the rookie error of letting go of you as they start to walk over to enter the arena where the music would be, at least the blonde still thinks you're following behind her.

Only for her to turn round and her eyes' widen when she realises you had not followed her at all, but went wandering off because of course, when there's Churros around... It's an easy decision to make.

So you bolted, running right in the direction for them without even second guessing it.

"Where the hell has she gone?!" Leahs' throwing her hands up in the air and looking fed up already, not even making it near the arena yet and you're already up to your old tricks, "I swear to god, I need to put a tracker on that girl!" She grumbles under her breath.

Both Berny and Jordan can't help but laugh, "You've got your hands full there, huh?" Her cousin jokes.

"Yeah, you're telling me," The blonde pinches the bridge of her nose, "I need to go find her, I'll be back." She huffs, very much not in the mood to deal with your antics.

And here Leah thought you will be tame tonight...

Ha, no.

"Good luck, love," Her grandma tells her, amusedly.

Leahs' shaking her head in annoyance, wandering through the various food vans' to get to where you where, currently being served the battered sweet treats, "There you are, menace! C'mere!" She states, annoyed.

You whip your head round and give the blonde a cheeky grin, "Le, look. Check out all the Churros I got! Do yer' want one?" You offer one out to the blonde, completely unaware of how peeved she is.

"What, no, I do not want one. What I want is for you to stop wander off," Leah looks at you in disbelief as she is quick to yank hold of the back of your jumper, "C'mon, now!" She states, firmly.

"Sooo, you don't want a Churro then?" You repeat the question, clearly not getting the idea of how annoyed Leah was, "Oh well, more for me then..." You shrug your shoulders and continue to shove it in your mouth.

Keeping a hold of you in one hand to not make the same mistake for you to run off again, Leah uses her other hand to rip the Churro out of your hand and toss it in a nearby bin, "You know you shouldn't be eatin' that many. You're going to get sick!" She tells you.

"But they're so good though!" You whine in protest.

Leah shakes her head, "No, no, that's enough of them. I'm not dealin' with you being sick. You know what you're like with that much sugar!" She states, firmly.

"COUNTRY GIRL, SHAKE IT FOR ME, GIRL," You sing along to the lyrics of the song that's currently being performed at the top of your lungs, having the best time of your life, "SHAKE IT FOR ME!"

If there was a table to stand on top of right now, your damn sure that you would be standing on it and pumping your fist in the air.

"Enjoyin' yourself there, monkey?" Leah glances at you and smiles, although slightly concerned for the impending sugar crash that's going to follow anytime soon.

"Hell yeah! I'm in my cowgirl era right now!" You scream in response, swaying to the music and continuing to live in the moment, "I never ever wanna leave this place!" You exclaim.

Leah laughs slightly and shakes her head, "Stay here, alright? I'm goin' to get some drinks-- Don't even think about moving!" She warns, following what happened earlier on when you went on an adventure for Churros.

"Ooo, drink. I want one!" You insist, whipping your head in the blondes' direction, "I'll take a vodka coke, please!" You declare.

"Sure, nice try. How about we hold the coke, eh?" Leah remarks, amusedly, "Legal age is 21 here, sorry, monkey." She pats you on your shoulder.

"Boo!" You huff in protest at the news, "C'mon, the rules don't have to apply to me!" You tell her.

Rules are there to be broken, right?

Definitely.

"Yes they do," Jordan chimes in.

"Pft, says who?" You scoff and roll your eyes at the older women. Your definitely not a rule follower most of the time, "Rules don't mean nothing to me."

"Me, because the rules really do apply in this case, monkey. I'm not being the one bailing you out of jail," Leah tells you, laughing in amusement.

You can't help but huff once more, "Meanie, complete meanie, Malfoy."

"I do not look like Malfoy!" The blonde exclaims.

"Yer you do, carbon copy of him," You remark cheekily, sticking your tongue out at her.

"You little-- I'll be back. Stay put here, don't even think about moving or I'll follow through with the threat of that tracker!" Leah warns, wagging her finger in front of your face, "Stay." She repeats.

"Woof," You reply to the blonde by barking, being completely, well, being completely you.

"Le? Pst, Le!" You not to gently nudge the blonde in the ribs as you start to get bored in the middle of a performance and want her attention, "Le... Leeeaaah!" You continue be that lovely irritating twerp that everyone seems to put up with.

"What?" Leah turns to face you confused, "What's up, monkey?" She questions.

"Hi," You can't help but snicker in amusement, just winding her up for the sake of it.

Mission success when you see the facial expression is unamused.

"Your such a pest sometimes," The blonde grumbles, shaking her head before she takes a swig of her drink.

You smirk and take the opportunity to be even more of a pest per say, "Malfoy's cranky." You murmur, just loud enough to still be heard.

Leah's head whips around in your direction, "I heard that, you little shit!"

"Language!" You gasp dramatically and widen your eyes, "You said a bad word!"

You feel a swat around the back of your head, "You're a menace sometimes."

"Le, love, don't hit the child," The blondes' grandma chides.

"She's not a child, she's a literal devil," Leah remarks, scoffing as she scowls at you as if to be cautious of your next move.

"Regardless, don't hit Y/N," The older women states.

You can't help but stick your tongue out at the blonde, "I win!" You exclaim, doing a little victory dance in your spot where your sat.

"I can ground you again, so be careful with your next move!" Leah warns, giving you a pointed luck.

Where's the fun in that?

You faux hurt and rest your hand on your chest, "Who, me? I didn't do out. You can't prove anything," You play innocent in front of Leah's family members.

"I was right, you really are a devil sometimes!" Leah murmurs, shaking her head in disbelief, "A complete menace to society."

"Yeah, but you still keep me around, right?" You can't help but grin cockily, letting out a sudden squeal when you feel an arm wrap around your neck and pull you down slightly, "Agh! Lemme go, lemme go!" You whine in protest.

Soon enough the wave of the sugar rush soon turns into a sugar crash.

Eating a bunch Churros was really, really not a good idea.

Although they were too good to not eat, so definitely worth it at the time in your opinion.

However, now, it is a completely different story now your energy is starting to wear off.

The state being where you somehow manage to slump off your chair down to the floor and curl yourself into a ball on the ground in front of Leah and her family.

You just want to get comfy, and the ground seems acceptable.

No judgement here, alright?

Leah's a bit drunk from the alcohol but seeing you in the way that you are and shes' sobering up pretty quick, "Monkey, what an earth are you doin'?"

"I'm tired," You murmur in half asleep state, finding it hard to keep your eyes open.

Leah exhales a sigh and shakes her head, "Why don't you come back up here and sleep on the chair, like a normal person?" She suggests.

You barely are shaking your head in response due to the tiredness, "No thanks, I'm comfy here."

"That can't possibly be comfy though?" The blonde continues to look at you in disbelief.

Jordan can't help but look over at the chaos and chuckle slightly, "Are you okay, kid?" She asks.

"M' tired and the grounds comfortable," Your voice is just loud enough to be heard, as your eyes flutter shut as your just content enough to listen to the music, "Night night."

"Monkey, come on. The grounds dirty and cold, get up please," Leah looks at you in bewilderment, trying to get you up of the floor where's there no doubt several amount of things you definitely shouldn't be lying in, "Monkey, come on. Up here." She repeats.

There's not much response from you, because somehow bizarrely, you have managed to get curl yourself up in a ball and fall fast asleep.

The soft snores are a dead giveaway that you are indeed out cold.

"Is she... Is she really asleep?" Jordan looks completely baffled.

Berny peers over at you and chuckles, "It appears she is."

"Monkey can sleep anywhere. I've never seen her fall asleep in the middle of a festival though," Leah snorts in amusement, before she takes pity on you and moves off her seat to crouch down and gently scoop you up into her arms, settling back onto her seat with you nestled against her.

It takes a few minutes before you shift in your sleep, burying your face in the blondes' neck and letting out soft snores, which make all 3 women smile in amazement.

"Shes' out for the count so it seems," Leah murmurs, swaying to the beat of the music and softly patting your back to allow you to still stay asleep for the rest of the concert, "Hopefully she can make it all the way through the acts tomorrow before she sleeps." She jokes.

Another day in Nashville, a whole lot more for you to see.

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso imagine #arsenal x reader #woso one shot #scribblesofagoonerr #arsenal women x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #leah williamson x reader #chaos fc #woso #monkey

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yannawayne · 3 months ago

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vi. what's up danger?

SYNOPSIS: "Alright, let's do this one last time. My name is Y/N Kyle. I was bitten by a radioactive spider, And I've been the one and only Spidey in Gotham. I’m pretty sure you know the rest." PAIRING: Older! Damian Wayne/Fem! Reader TAGS: Established relationship, Wounds, Violence, Surgical procedures, Panic Attacks, Arguments AO3: yenwayne SERIES LINK: gotham's only spidey

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

NOTE: THIS IS PART 6. I POSTED 2 CHAPTERS TODAY! PART 5 IS HERE

 ༻⊰───⋅

"No sign of activity. Just monitoring. Slow night."

"Figured," Nightwing's voice spoke up. "There is a storm."

“Ishth Gotham,” Jason's voice chimed in, muffled as if he was chewing something. “When isn’t there a storm?”

"Are you eating right now?" Tim's voice squeaked with disbelief, the sound sharp and incredulous over the comms. "Again? Really?"

"Yeah?" Jason retorted, taking another bite of whatever he was munching on. "A guy's gotta eat. Maybe if you actually ate more, you wouldn’t be so scrawny, Timberland."

"I'm fit!" Tim snapped back, voice cracking. "And can you please stop using my name? We have codenames for a reason."

"You're the genius who called yourself 'Drake'."

 ༻⊰───⋅

Friday, 8:35 AM - Gotham Academy, Gotham City.

The halls of Gotham Academy buzzed with the usual chatter and laughter—a total disconnect from the storm of nerves brewing inside you. You zigzagged through the crowd, your trusty, battle-worn Converse scuffing against the linoleum. Damian’s varsity jacket hung over your uniform, the hood pulled low to hide the cuts on your face.

Morgan had ditched you at the entrance, probably off to plot some mad science in the labs. Not exactly your idea of fun, so you opted for aimless wandering instead.

And if I only could I'd make a deal with God. And I'd get Him to swap our places. Be runnin' up that road. Be runnin' up that hill Be runnin' up that building.

Your headphones were snug, the music offering a temporary refuge as you walked, your head instinctively nodding to the beat. Even with the volume cranked up, you couldn’t shake the awareness of every shift in the crowd, the way the jacket rubbed against your sore muscles, or the stiffness in your back and arm from the muscle tear. Concerned whispers drifted past you, catching on the currents of passing conversations, but you kept moving, trying to lose yourself in the rhythm of the song.

When you reached Damian’s locker, you leaned against it, letting the cool metal soothe your aching back. You adjusted the hood of his jacket, tugging it further down to hide the cuts around your face. With your free hand, you quickly typed out a message to Damian, your fingers flying over the screen, each tap a small burst of nervous energy.

You:

"At your locker."

You hit send, slipped your phone back into your pocket, then immediately pulled it out again. This time, you opened Twitter, your thumb instinctively scrolling through your feed for any updates on the recent incident.

Tweets about the attack were already trending, paired with blurry photos and clickbait headlines. You cringed as fan accounts for #Nightcrawler started flooding in. It was wild how fast the public’s attention could flip from genuine concern to a full-blown obsession with the latest hero—or villain.

You sighed, the tension in your shoulders building as you scrolled through the flood of posts.

“Beloved?”

A tanned hand brushed gently against your arm, followed by the sight of polished brown dress shoes stepping into view.

“Dami,” you murmured with a relieved smile, leaning into his hold, your head still bowed.

Damian instinctively pulled you into a hug, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. The embrace was firm but careful, as if he feared you might break under too much pressure. He could feel the stiffness in your muscles, your body wound tight with unspoken tension. His eyes narrowed with concern, but he stayed silent, letting the quiet speak for both of you.

His gaze flicked to your phone screen, catching sight of the trending tweets.

“Nightcrawler…” Damian murmured, and you lifted your head just enough to meet his eyes.

Sighing, you shifted so your cheek rested against his chest, the cool scent of his cologne grounding you. You kept scrolling, clicking on a particularly cringeworthy tweet and wincing at the fanatical comments.

“Can you believe these people?” you murmured, frustration seeping into your voice. “It’s insane.”

Sometimes you wondered how Damian and his brothers dealt with all the fanatics, the constant drooling over their hero personas—or even their civilian lives.

Damian’s grip tightened as he held you closer, his brow furrowing in disapproval as he read the tweets over your shoulder.

Repulsive. To him, it was a grotesque spectacle. The media had managed to paint the Spider into a celebrated hero, a figure of admiration, when in reality, the person behind that mask was nothing more than a monster, cloaked in deception and false heroism.

“They’re utterly obsessed,” Damian scoffed. “It’s as if they’ve completely forgotten there’s a real person behind that mask.”

“I know, right?” You sighed, closing Twitter and slipping your phone back into your pocket. “Like, I really don’t want to see those posts. They’re just—so much.”

Damian noticed your distress and instinctively started rubbing soothing circles on your back. But as his hand moved, a sharp muscle spasm seized your shoulder. You cursed, a wince escaping you as the sensation left you momentarily frozen. It felt as if someone had taken a wrench to your shoulder, yanking and twisting until every fiber protested in sharp, jarring bursts.

Damian’s hand froze.

Muscle tear. He realized.

Without a word, he guided you gently into a nearby janitor’s closet. The door clicked shut behind you, cutting off the noise of the bustling hallway and granting you both some much-needed privacy.

Inside, he carefully placed his hand on your elbow and began to stretch the affected muscle. You winced as a sharp twinge of pain flared, but Damian’s voice was soft and soothing.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, offering a small but comforting distraction from the pain.

Gradually, the pain eased, and you let out a sigh of relief. Your shoulders relaxed, the tight knots unwinding.

"I love you and your weird Robin skills," you said with a grateful smile, rolling your shoulders and feeling the tension dissipate.

Damian’s lips twitched into a faint, approving smile, though his voice remained gruff. “Love you too.”

He continued to watch you with a keen, sharp gaze, noticing the hood of your hoodie pulled up. His eyes traced the shadowy outline of your face, and he realized he hadn’t seen it clearly. His expression shifted to one of concern, a frown creasing his brow.

“Why haven’t you taken your hood down?” he asked quietly, his voice low and probing.

You pursed your lips, trying to edge toward the exit. But before you could make a clean getaway, Damian’s hand shot out, gripping your arm and yanking you back into him. You collided with his chest, and for a second, it felt like you’d just hugged a brick wall in a hoodie.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

“Uh, nowhere, apparently,” you sighed, realizing escape wasn’t in the cards today.

“Look. I just didn’t want to get my hair messed up,” you continued, trying to sound casual, but the words felt hollow in the small, enclosed space.

“Oh yeah…?” Damian murmured in disbelief, his voice thick with something darker. His eyes narrowed, and without warning, he bent down to your height, his rough fingers sliding up your jacket. You felt the fabric shift and the warmth of his hand against your side.

You swallowed hard, your hands instinctively bracing against his shoulders. Your nails dug into the fabric of his uniform as you tried to push him back.

“Pull the hood off,” he demanded, his hands working insistently to tug it up. You sputtered out protests, swatting at his hands, but Damian was relentless. “Habibti, let me see! Pull it up—let me see!”

Your grip on the hood tightened, your knuckles going white as you held on for dear life. But Damian’s concern bulldozed through any resistance you put up. He mumbled curses, and suddenly shifted tactics. Bending down, his hands slid under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly. He pinned you against the wall, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist as your weight pressed into his hips.

"Damian, stop!" you groaned, trying to push him away.

But he ignored your plea, yanking the hood off. His eyes widened in shock as he took in the full extent of your injuries. Cuts and bandages marred your face, some fresh, others scabbing over. Dark bruises colored your cheek, spreading out like ominous clouds.

“Who did this to you?” he demanded, even though he was already cursing a certain spider vigilante in his head. Damian dipped his head low, his dangerous glare cutting through you. “Tell me who hurt you, and I’ll make them pay.”

“Baby, you’re being melodramatic. It’s just a few bruises,” you deflected, avoiding his gaze. “I’ll survive.”

“Plus, it’s not like you can just go around punching everyone who hurts me,” you huffed, wincing as you tried to pull your hood back up. Damian scowled and yanked it down again.

“Yes, I can.”

“Oh my god,” you said, raising an eyebrow and trying to stifle a smile. “I hate you so much.”

Damian tightened his hold, his eyes flashing with irritation. “Our relationship status says otherwise. And I’m not letting go until I get answers.”

You squirmed in his embrace, attempting to free yourself, but he held you tightly. “Seriously, let go.”

“No.”

“You’re going to miss your first period.”

“And?”

“Your education will be in ruins.”

“Beloved, my GPA is already at a 5.0. I’ve been at the top of my class since junior high. Missing one period won’t ruin my future.”

You groaned and grabbed the nearest object—a mop. Raising it in a mock-threatening manner, you declared, “I’m seriously considering hitting you with this until you let me go.”

Damian gave a flat “Tch,” raising a hand to the metal handle. With a casual squeeze, he bent the metal in half effortlessly. You blinked.

Okay, that's a little annoying, but also super, super, super hot.

“Seriously? You’re showing off now?” you huffed, crossing your arms.

“Showing off?” Damian arched an eyebrow. “I’m merely proving a point.”

“I can handle myself!” you insisted, frustration creeping into your voice.

“Clearly,” he shot back, eyes narrowing. “That’s why you’re covered in cuts and bruises.”

“Fuck you,” you snapped, your irritation bubbling over.

“I would be delighted to,” Damian replied, his tone dripping with syrupy sweetness that was equal parts enticing and infuriating.

"Ugh!" you groaned, pulling the hood back over your face in a futile attempt to hide.

“Drop the theatrics and tell me what happened,” he sighed, tugging the hood back down. “I need to know so I can handle it.”

“I already handled it! I just need some rest, okay?” you retorted, rubbing a hand over your tired eyes. "I can fight my own battles, thank you very much."

Damian’s jaw tightened at your response, setting off alarm bells in his head. He’d need to dig deeper—because if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that you weren’t giving him the full story.

"You're not telling me everything," he said firmly. "But I’ll find out. I always do."

“Uh-huh, sure," you said, rolling your eyes as you grabbed him by the front of his uniform and yanked him closer. “You’re such a control freak, you know that?”

Damian scowled, leaning in until his forehead pressed against yours. “And you’re impossibly stubborn.”

“Yeah, well, you’re nosy.”

“Nosy?” He raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking. “I prefer the term thorough.”

“Right,” you said, barely holding back a laugh. You shook your head with a smile and leaned in, brushing your lips against his. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, honey.”

Damian’s eyes softened as he closed the distance between you. You melted into him, pulling him into a tender kiss. Damian hummed softly, the vibration tickling your lips and adding a cozy warmth to the moment. He kissed you again, and again, each one a little more affectionate than the last. Your laughter bubbled up, breathy and light, as you both got caught in a playful rhythm. His nose nudged against yours, and you couldn’t help but giggle.

The sudden ringing of the school bell cut through the moment.

“Mmph!” You pulled back slightly, a smile tugging at your lips as you gently stroked his cheek. “You… probably should get to class.”

It took a few more (okay, a lot more) minutes before Damian finally let you go. You practically had to wrestle your way out of his arms, like he was a kid clinging to a favorite toy. When you told him to go back to class instead of tagging along with you and Morgan, he sulked like a toddler.

Despite his stormy mood, you managed to convince him to head back. As you both stepped out of the closet, Damian trudged away with a grumble, throwing one last dramatic look over his shoulder.

“Behave yourself,” you laughed, waving him away before setting off to find Morgan.

When you finally spotted her by the entrance, she was holding up a flash drive like it was the Holy Grail. Meanwhile, you looked like you’d just been through a whirlwind: your hair was a tousled mess, your jacket was askew, and your tie was twisted at an odd angle.

“Got the goods?” you asked, breathless as you straightened your tie and smoothed down your messy hair.

“Yep,” Morgan said with a grin, her eyes darting to your state of disarray. “Damn. A janitor’s closet, huh? I see it got pretty heated in there.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, scoffing and giving her a kick to the shin. “Nothing happened, you ass. We were just talking. I had to practically wrestle my way out because he was going nuts over my injuries.”

Morgan chuckled, tucking the flash drive into her pocket. “Looks like you’ve got your hands full with him.”

You raised an eyebrow at her. "How did you know it was the janitor’s closet, anyway?"

“CCTV,” Morgan simply shrugged. “Was checking out the live feed for security. And I figured you two were up to something when I saw you both ducking out of the room. The system was laughably easy to hack into. I was honestly surprised.”

“You’re Tony Stark’s daughter,” you snarked. “Anything less than government-level encryption is basically child’s play for you.”

Morgan grinned. “True that. But there’s one tiny issue.” She raised a finger and twirled it in the air. “I might have tripped a few alarms.”

WEE-OWW-WEE-OWW!

The distant blare of sirens cut through the air, growing louder with each passing second. Red and blue lights began to flicker through the windows.

You stared at Morgan, incredulous.

“What. What the fuck!? What did you do?”

“Let’s just say security’s gonna be a bit more interested in our location now. Oopsie!” Morgan’s grin widened. “I had to shut down some things to avoid detection. So, the power’s going to go out in 3…2…1.”

As she finished her countdown, the lights flickered erratically before plunging the hallway into complete darkness. A heartbeat later, the wail of the announcement system cut through the silence, urgently repeating, “Please evacuate the building. Please evacuate immediately.” The strobing red emergency lights cast frantic shadows, and chaos erupted as students screamed, darting from classrooms and colliding in the dark.

Morgan spread her arms wide, a triumphant grin plastered across her face as if she’d just dropped a mic. “Boom.”

“What the hell about this screams ‘stealth’ to you?” you whisper-shouted, grabbing Morgan’s hand and pulling her toward the exit.

Morgan’s eyes gleamed with excitement as she squeezed your hand in return. "It’s way more fun this way."

You both sprinted down the dimly lit corridor, your footsteps echoing through the hallways and mingling with the blaring alarms.

Turning a corner, you nearly collided with a group of students stumbling through the chaos. Their faces were masks of panic. One of them tripped, sprawling onto the floor with an undignified thud.

“Watch it! Are you okay?” you shouted, skidding to a halt and kneeling to help the fallen student.

Morgan, unable to hold back, burst into laughter. “Dumbasses!”

You shot her a half-angry, half-exasperated look. “Just get us out of here before we get arrested for public disturbance!”

“Right behind you!” Morgan said, grabbing your hand again and pulling you both into a sprint. As you neared the exit, the muffled voices of security personnel grew louder, rushing to restore power. With one last burst of speed, you burst through the exit doors, the alarms fading into the distance.

Morgan looked over at you, her face glowing with sweat and a victorious grin. “And that’s how you make an exit.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Friday - The Safehouse, Gotham City.

After your adrenaline-pumping escape and a bumpy ride across the city in an Uber that looked like it had seen better days—note to self: next time, cab— you finally made it back to the safehouse.

Morgan was already at the main table, surrounded by a chaotic sea of files and documents spread out across multiple screens. Her eyes were locked onto the flash drive she’d pulled from the school, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she sifted through the data.

A few steps away, you were hunched over a cluttered workbench in the tech area, surrounded by spools of web fluid and a mess of metal tools. The entire day had been spent tinkering, but finally, your whip project was coming together.

With a few final tweaks, you picked up the whip and gave it a few test swings.

You couldn’t help but think back to when you were a kid, watching Selina work her whip with that effortless skill. You’d sit in the corner of the training room, eyes wide, totally mesmerized. She made it look so easy, so natural. Inspired, you’d sneak off to your room after her sessions, grabbing whatever you could find—a belt, a rope, anything that even remotely resembled a whip. You’d slam the door behind you and practice in secret.

Sometimes you’d catch a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror—awkward, stumbling, and kind of a hot mess—but you didn’t give a damn. You’d keep at it, again and again, dead set on matching her skill, even if it meant looking like a total idiot in the process.

CRACK!

Morgan jumped, her chair spinning around as she stared at you with wide eyes. You couldn't help but grin as you sauntered toward her, twirling the whip around your body. The webbing swirled through the air, curving gracefully around you in a move straight out of Catwoman's playbook. With a final flourish, you cracked it down onto the floor, the sharp snap echoing through the room.

Morgan’s ears flushed red, and she shifted in her chair, clearly taken aback. “Woah. That’s hot as fuck.”

You laughed, tossing her a wink. “Glad you think so. I was channeling my inner Catwoman.”

Still a bit flustered, Morgan cleared her throat and extended her hand. You placed the whip into her palm, and she inspected it closely, her fingers tracing the intricate details of your craftsmanship.

“Seriously, though,” she said, looking up at you, “Where’d you learn to handle a whip like that?”

You shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Just a little bit of practice, you know? I’ve had some pretty good teachers.”

Your gaze then shifted to her screen, where a file on Ivy's toxins was open. Charts, chemical structures, and old lab notes cluttered the display.

“Thought you were going through Octavius’ files?” you asked.

“Oh, I was," Morgan handed the whip back to you with a shrug.

"But then I stumbled on this.” She pointed at the screen. “Insane, right? Did you know Gotham University lets their Botany majors examine Ivy’s toxins? There are detailed reports from student lab projects—college students analyzing some seriously dangerous stuff. Who thinks that's a good idea?”

You arched an eyebrow. “It’s Gotham University. Top in the country. They probably consider it a rite of passage. It’s not like the city holds back on the bizarre.”

Morgan shook her head, her disbelief morphing into a bemused smile. “Seriously, though, it’s even in their chemistry curriculum. ‘Advanced Chemistry: How to Survive Ivy’s Toxins 101.’ Like, what kind of class is that?”

You chuckled. “Sounds like standard Gotham fare. The city has a way of turning even the most mundane academic subjects into survival skills.”

As you stared at the file, your mind drifted to Ivy—Pamela Isley, who had once been a big part of your life. Back when she was close with Selina, you even used to call her Aunt Isley. It felt right at the time, natural, given how much she was around.

One memory stood out: Ivy had to leave town, and she’d entrusted Selina with her beloved plants. You were just a kid, but you remember how excited you were to have Ivy’s vibrant greenery filling the place. Selina had promised to take good care of them, but… she forgot. Just plain forgot to water them.

When Ivy returned, the plants were withered and dead. For someone like Ivy—an eco-terrorist with a green thumb so legendary she could probably make a cactus bloom in a snowstorm—this was more than just a mistake. It felt like a betrayal.

The fallout was brutal. Ivy was livid, and Selina was wrecked. If you hadn’t been there to calm things down, Ivy might’ve strangled Selina with a vine on the spot.

Morgan sighed dramatically, pushing her chair back from the screen and stretching like a cat. "I’m so over these files," she announced, spinning around to face you with a mischievous glint in her eye. "We need to do something fun."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued as she started navigating through a map on her command center. "What are you up to?"

"Finding us a little adventure," she replied, her grin widening as she zoomed in on a spot on the outskirts of Gotham. "Look at this—an old, supposedly abandoned greenhouse. Rumor has it, it’s still full of Ivy’s plants. We should go check it out."

You blinked, taken aback by the suggestion. "You want to go trespassing in an abandoned greenhouse filled with potentially dangerous plants?"

Morgan shrugged with a carefree grin. "Why not? It’s way more exciting than sitting here with these boring files. Besides, think of the intel we could gather! Maybe even some samples. If you're serious about this hero thing, having some cures on hand could be pretty useful."

You raised an eyebrow. "Last time I checked, my focus was on tech companies. Not plants."

Morgan leaned back in her chair, throwing her hands up. "C'mon, it’ll be fun! We could call it a ‘field trip’ for our mission."

You scoffed, but a smirk tugged at your lips as you grabbed your glasses. “I thought you were supposed to be the smart and responsible one among the two of us?”

Morgan shot you a playful smile as she grabbed her jacket. “Smart enough to know when we need a break.”

She slung her jacket over her shoulder with a casual flick. “And who knows? We might stumble into something interesting or at least have a hell of a time.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Fine, but if this turns into a mess, you’re the one explaining it to Tony.”

“Deal,” Morgan grinned, heading toward the door. “Now let’s get out of here before I lose my mind.”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 12:34 AM - Ivy's 'Abandoned' Warehouse, Gotham City.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the overgrown landscape as you swung through the rainy Gotham air. Raindrops pattered against your suit, mixing with the cool breeze as you guided both yourself and Morgan down toward the warehouse’s perimeter. You landed softly on the other side of the fence, the wet ground beneath you squelching slightly.

The warehouse loomed in the distance, shrouded in shadows and engulfed by a thick veil of greenery. Vines and creeping plants had swallowed the building, twisting their way up the walls and breaking through the broken windows. Shrubs and wild foliage sprawled across the once-smooth concrete, creating a tangled jungle that had overtaken the area.

You and Morgan navigated through the thick underbrush, your footsteps muffled by the lush carpet of foliage.

“Welcome to the jungle,” Morgan whispered, adjusting her glasses as raindrops collected on the lenses. She reached for a flashlight, flicking it on to cut through the gloomy darkness.

“Did you really have to pick the creepiest spot in Gotham?” you muttered, glancing around warily. Your spider senses buzzed faintly, a low hum that told you to stay alert, though you weren’t entirely sure what you should be on the lookout for.

As you approached the warehouse’s entrance, you noticed the heavy wooden doors were slightly ajar, propped open by a stubborn vine wedged in the gap. You took a few steps back, then charged at the door with all your might. It crashed inward with a resounding clang, sending splinters flying and the vine recoiling.

CLANG!

You kicked the door aside and stepped into a scene that looked like something straight out of a botanical horror movie. The interior of the warehouse was a riot of green. Hanging plants and tendrils formed a dense canopy overhead. The remnants of old plant pots and scientific equipment were half-buried under layers of creeping vines and moss.

“Keep your eyes peeled for anything useful,” you said, stepping inside.

The plan was simple: infiltrate the location, gather as much information as possible, and leave before anyone even noticed you were there.

Your boots squelched slightly on the damp ground as you made your way further into the labyrinth of greenery. Morgan followed close behind, her flashlight beam scanning the surroundings.

“Looks like she really made herself at home. Can’t believe she’d leave all these beauties behind,” she murmured.

After a few minutes of searching, you stumbled upon a makeshift lab tucked away in a corner of the warehouse. Old tables and shelves, now covered in a thick layer of dust and grime, held an assortment of glassware, old notebooks, and strange samples.

Morgan’s eyes lit up as she approached the lab. “This must be it! Look at all this stuff.”

Kneeling down, she began sifting through the clutter, her flashlight revealing dusty glassware, faded notebooks, and a variety of botanical samples in various states of preservation. She carefully picked up a few jars, examining the contents with growing fascination.

You stood guard by the door, senses on high alert. The slow hum of your spider senses gradually intensified, morphing into a persistent, almost blaring buzz in the back of your mind. It felt like a magnetic pull, drawing your focus to every flicker of shadow and rustle of the unseen.

Morgan, oblivious to your heightened alertness, was engrossed in a particularly worn notebook.

"This is so fucking cool," she said, her eyes wide with excitement. "Check out these notes—they look like they’re from Ivy’s earlier research. She was experimenting with ways to boost plant growth, mixing toxins, and even concocting some kind of antidote."

As Morgan continued to study the notebook, the buzzing in your senses grew stronger. You tensed, feeling a prickling chill race up your spine and the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. There was something else in the warehouse—something you couldn’t immediately identify, but it was there.

“Morgan,” you said quietly. “I’m getting a bad feeling.”

Morgan looked up from her work, fingers curled around a test tube. “What do you mean?”

“Just keep your eyes open,” you warned, eyes narrowing as you scanned the shadows. “Start packing up and be quick. Something doesn’t feel right.”

Morgan’s fingers flew over the lab equipment as she grabbed several samples and shoved them into her bag. The air seemed to grow thicker, the plants rustling with an almost eerie liveliness.

!!!

“We need to go. Now!” you hissed, urgently grabbing Morgan and pulling her to her feet.

Morgan flinched but scrambled up, stuffing the worn notebook she’d found into her jacket. “Alright… let me just—”

Before she could finish, your spider senses exploded into a full-blown scream of warning.

DANGER.

“Get down!”

Without warning, you grabbed Morgan and pushed her down behind some crates, your suit beginning to uncloak.

A thick vine lashed out from the shadows, slamming into your side with a force that knocked the wind out of you. Pain exploded where the vine struck, radiating through your ribs as you skidded backward and crashed into a metal rack.

Your helmet hadn’t fully materialized in time, and the impact with the shelving unit sent a jarring shock through your skull, leaving you dazed and disoriented.

"A little spider has wandered into my web~"

Shit.

Warmth trickled down from your forehead where the impact had split the skin. With a shaky breath, you pushed yourself off the rack, using it for support as you steadied yourself.

"Hello, crazy plant lady," you quipped, your helmet materializing as the voice modulator kicked in.

You weren’t her estranged niece now; you were Nightcrawler, Gotham's latest hero.

From above, Ivy unfurled herself from the ceiling, smirking as she lounged on a sprawling leaf. Vines curled around her with languid grace, reacting to her slightest gesture as if extensions of her will.

"Ah, Gotham's newest little hero," Ivy's voice was a melodious yet chilling purr, her laughter echoing softly through the warehouse. "What brings you to my sanctuary?"

The slits in your mask narrowed as you drew your claws and unclipped your whip from your belt. Ivy’s eyes narrowed at the choice of weapons, a flicker of recognition in her gaze. She was clearly connecting the similarities between you and Catwoman.

"Oh, just swinging by to see what all the fuss is about. Heard you've been busy in Gotham."

Ivy's smile sharpened, a glint of admiration lighting up her emerald eyes.

"Hm. Spunk," she purred, hands moving to tangle in her hair. "I do appreciate that in my visitors."

Out of the corner of your visor, you spotted Morgan inching away. You gave her a discreet nod, signaling her to keep going while you kept your focus locked on Ivy.

"So, this place wasn’t as abandoned as I thought," you said, trying to keep Ivy talking and distracted. "For someone who supposedly retired from the spotlight, you sure know how to throw a party."

Ivy threw her head back and laughed. "Retired?" she repeated. "Oh, honey, you have no idea."

Around you, vines stirred, their sinewy tendrils snaking up your legs like snakes. Unfazed, you subtly shifted your weight, and then, with a swift slash of your claws, the vines split apart. You flipped away, slipping out of their grasp with ease.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice when my darlings are disturbed?” Ivy’s voice dripped with mockery. “Just when I finally manage to reclaim this space from concrete and steel, pests like you decide to get curious.”

“Look, I’ve got a busy schedule,” you quipped, narrowly dodging a lashing vine. “So how about we skip the tango and save us both a night of pain?”

“Oh, you’re simply delightful,” Ivy purred,sultry and chilling. “Very well, little spider. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

In a heartbeat, Ivy was in motion. Vines shot through the air like whips, each one aiming to entangle or strike. You sidestepped a thick vine that snapped past your ear and rolled under another that slammed into the floor where you’d just been. Your senses were on fire.

Beep!

In the corner of your visor, Morgan’s face flickered into view—a welcome sight amid the chaos. The camera feed was shaky, but you could make out her anxious expression as she huddled behind a stack of crates, her phone clutched tightly in her hand.

“Are you okay?” you hissed through the comms, trying to keep your voice steady despite the whirlwind of vines around you.

“M Outside! Sorry! I…I didn’t realize Ivy was here!” Morgan said, her voice tinged with panic. “I thought this place was a total ghost town!”

“Apologize later!” you shouted back, ducking a swinging vine. “Just stay out of sight. I’ll catch up with you once I deal with the plant lady!”

With a quick flip, you barely managed to dodge another flurry of whipping vines. You drew back your whip and snapped it towards the incoming tendrils, slicing through them.

Ivy scowled, her eyes narrowing as she watched her plants get cut down. She retaliated, sending a fresh wave of vines hurtling toward you.

You dodged and weaved, the thick, green tendrils brushing against your suit. Each crack of your whip was followed by a sharp hiss of defeated foliage.

You charged through, ducking and weaving to avoid the onslaught. When you were close enough, you landed a solid left hook to Ivy’s face, the impact echoing with a satisfying thud. Ivy’s head snapped back with a sharp yelp of pain. You laughed, not giving her a moment to regroup, and threw another punch straight to her jaw.

JAB!

“Had enough, or should I keep going?” you taunted.

Ivy’s eyes flared with rage. “You little—”

Leaping onto a stack of crates to dodge another lash from her vines, you shot a web at Ivy. The sticky strands wrapped around her wrists, pinning her securely against a nearby support beam.

Ivy struggled against the webbing, her vines twitched with agitation as they lashed out. You kept your whip and claws at the ready, prepared for any sudden moves.

“Alright, listen up,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “Unless you want more of your precious plants turned into mulch, I suggest you calm down.”

“Calm down?” Ivy hissed, her frustration barely contained. “You’re the intruder here, desecrating my sanctuary. I won’t tolerate this!”

You took a deep breath, trying to defuse the situation. “Look, I’m really sorry about the intrusion. Didn’t mean to step on your botanical toes. We were just here to explore—”

“Explore?” Ivy’s brow shot up. “Is that why your friend took of my vials and papers?”

You stared at her, blinking a few times. Then, with a sheepish shrug, you said, “Okay, to be fair, you left that stuff lying around. It kind of looked like it was up for grabs. Plus, we didn’t exactly see a ‘Keep Out’ sign.”

“So, it’s a case of ‘finders keepers,’ then?” she scowled. “And here I thought you were a little more refined than that.”

“Hey!” you said, walking towards her until you were just a foot away. “I’m just calling it like I see it, lady. Maybe if you knew how to clean up, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Ivy tossed her hair over her shoulder, the golden-orange strands cascading like vines down her back. She leaned closer, her lips brushing against your jaw, her breath warm and tantalizing against your skin.

“Well, if you’re so keen on exploring,” she purred, her voice a sultry whisper, “I could show you something that’ll really satisfy your curiosity.”

!!!

Your spider senses flared with urgent warnings, but before you could react, Ivy thrust a slender vine beneath the edge of your helmet. In an instant, a cloud of pollen erupted inside your mask, catching you completely off guard. You gasped and choked, stumbling backward as your vision blurred and your nose was overwhelmed by the suffocating, heady scent of the pollen.

Your visor’s alarms blared, vitals flashing urgently:

TOXIN DETECTED.

“Damn it,” you grimaced as a searing heat began to radiate through your skin and bones. The prickling sensation quickly escalated into an intense burn, making it feel like your blood was boiling beneath your skin.

“Morgan!” you called out. “Find me an escape route, now!”

"Underestimated me?" Ivy cackled. "Thought you could resist my charms, did you?"

Morgan’s shaky voice crackled through the comms. “I’m searching for a way out! Just hang in there!”

“Oh, you won’t be escaping that easily,” Ivy sneered at you, still trapped in your webs. Despite her restraints, her vines writhed and twisted with a life of their own. “This is my domain, and you’re not leaving until I say so.”

You gritted your teeth, struggling against the searing pain as the vines inched closer. “Alright, I’m really sorry for this, but I’m done playing nice.”

With a sharp flick of your wrist, you shot a web at a vase perched precariously on a high shelf. The vase tumbled through the air and crashed down onto Ivy’s head, shattering into a shower of shards and a splash of crimson.

Ivy screamed as the shards rained down, a flurry of leaves and flowers cascading over her head and shoulders, momentarily obscuring her vision.

Morgan's face reappeared on your visor, her brow furrowed with worry. “There’s a clear window—no vines blocking it! Hurry! I marked it on your map!”

Glancing at the map in your visor, you spotted the indicated window.

"This was nice, but I’ve got places to be and people to save," you heaved, your voice breathy as you kicked away a lashing vine. "So if you don’t mind, I'll be taking my leave."

THWIP.

Launching yourself through the open window, you felt the cool, rain-soaked Gotham air slap your face as you soared into the night. The roar of the storm and the distant hum of the city below filled your senses. Behind you, Ivy’s furious shouts pierced through the downpour, her curses mingling with the crack of thrashing vines slamming against the walls.

“PEST!”

 ༻⊰───⋅

Saturday, 1:05 AM - Crime Alley, Gotham City.

"Robin, status?" Oracle's voice beeped in from Damian's earpiece.

Damian was perched on a rooftop, jade eyes scanning the dark expanse of Crime Alley below. The rain poured down in relentless sheets, the cold droplets cascading off the edges of his hood and dripping onto his shoulders.

From his vantage point, he could see the dilapidated buildings lining Crime Alley, their broken windows and graffiti-covered walls illuminated by the sporadic flashes of lightning. The streets below were deserted, the few brave souls out in the storm moving quickly, their faces obscured by umbrellas and hoods. Puddles formed in the uneven pavement, reflecting the occasional flicker of streetlights.

He lifted a gloved hand to his communication device, the wet leather squeaking slightly against the earpiece.

"I'm in my usual position," he reported, his voice steady. "No sign of activity. Just monitoring. Slow night."

"Figured," Nightwing's voice spoke up. "There is a storm."

“Ishth Gotham,” Jason's voice chimed in, muffled as if he was chewing something. “When isn’t there a storm?”

"Are you eating right now?" Tim's voice squeaked with disbelief, the sound sharp and incredulous over the comms. "Again? Really?"

"Yeah?" Jason retorted, taking another bite of whatever he was munching on. "A guy's gotta eat. Maybe if you actually ate more, you wouldn’t be so scrawny, Timberland."

"I'm fit!" Tim snapped back, voice cracking. "And can you please stop using my name? We have codenames for a reason."

"You're the genius who called yourself 'Drake'," Damian scoffed as he kept his eyes trained on the rain-soaked expanse below.

"Demon brat's got a point," Jason drawled, the sound of him slurping a drink faintly audible over the comms. "Harley still calls you Duck-Boy."

"Just focus on the job," Nightwing interjected, his voice slicing through the bickering with an authoritative edge. "Tonight’s a washout. Red Robin and I are on patrol near the docks. We’ve encountered a few low-level crooks, but nothing major."

"Alright," Oracle’s voice came through again. "Stay on high alert. Let me know if anything changes."

As the comms went silent, Damian pulled out his phone, the screen lighting up against the storm's backdrop. For a fleeting moment, his stoic expression softened. A nearly imperceptible smile tugged at his lips as he glanced at the lock screen—a picture of you, warm and content in one of his shirts, your face framed by tousled hair and a genuine smile.

He noted the time—1:05 AM. Given your unpredictable sleep patterns, you were likely still awake. Damian's finger hovered over the screen, caught between sending a quick message or making a call. But before he could decide, a sharp gust of wind swept across the rooftop, making his cape snap and sending a chill through his soaked uniform.

He slipped the phone back into his belt, shook off the cold, and refocused on the scene below. His eyes scanned the shadowy expanse: dark alleys, rain-slicked roads, and flickering, rusting shop signs.

Then, a sudden, unexpected movement shattered the monotony. A flash of red and white streaked across the skyline, its vibrant colors stark against the darkened sky. A web shot out, glinting briefly in the intermittent lightning before anchoring itself to a nearby building.

THWIP.

There was a pause.

Damian’s lips curled into a sharp snarl. His fingers tightened around the grip of his grappling gun, his mind shifting into high gear. With a scowl, he tapped his earpiece.

“Oracle,” Damian began, boots crunching as he moved to the edge of the rooftop. “I have visual on the spider vigilante. Engaging in pursuit.”

Without waiting for a reply, he fired the grappling gun. The line shot through the air with a metallic twang, slicing through the rain-soaked night. He felt the jolt as the grappling hook latched onto a distant anchor, pulling him forward.

As he swung through the storm, a fierce thrill coursed through him, like a bird unleashed with new wings. With the city sprawled out beneath him and the rain pelting against his face, Robin was ready to do what he did best.

Hunt.

 ༻⊰───⋅

"It's going to take hours to get this smell out of my suit," you heaved, wrinkling your nose as you fired a web into the distant skyline. The line stuck firmly to a building, and with a jarring lurch, you swung deeper into the city.

Morgan clung to you for dear life, her voice barely audible over the rush of air. “Not the time to worry about laundry! Focus on not crashing into something! And maybe on not dying from the poison?!”

"Hey, I’m just saying," you shot back with a strained chuckle, “if I survive this, I’m gonna need to have this suit professionally cleaned.”

Morgan’s grip tightened, and she shouted, “Survive first, clean later!"

With a yank of your web, you aimed for the next rooftop, but as you hurtled through the air, you realized that you’d miscalculated the distance. The rooftop was rushing in too fast, and panic surged through you like ice.

Your stomach lurched, and in a split-second decision, you threw Morgan forward, trying to cushion her fall. She landed with a thud, a breathless gasp escaping her as she hit the roof.

You, however, weren’t so fortunate. Your foot snagged the edge of the roof awkwardly, sending a sharp pain shooting up your leg.

CRACK.

The sickening crack of bone snapping echoed through the air as your ankle twisted violently. The force of the impact jolted your entire body, sending you sprawling onto the rough, gravelly rooftop.

“Great…” you muttered through gritted teeth, struggling to push yourself up onto your hands and knees. Your body felt like it was on fire from the inside out, the toxin’s effects amplifying the pain with each passing second.

You bit down hard on your tongue, the metallic taste of blood bubbling into your mouth. You fought to keep yourself upright, but your legs felt like lead, and you crumpled onto the rooftop, unable to fully bear your weight.

“Shit!” Morgan scrambled to her feet, her face a mask of panic and concern. “Are you okay? What happened?”

"Just… a little off target," you panted, wincing as you assessed the damage. Your visor had taken a hit during the fall, causing the data to flicker erratically. Through the static, you could still make out the crucial info: a broken bone.

“It's fine… Just a broken ankle,” you added, trying to maintain your composure despite the sluggishness creeping into your movements.

“You’re getting brain fog and dizziness,” Morgan said urgently, her fingers flipping through the notebook she’d snatched earlier. “It’s a side effect of the toxin. We need to get you to the safehouse—”

Before she could finish, you shook your head with a groan. “No. You call a cab and head there. I’ll swing.”

“Are you insane?!” Morgan nearly shouted, grabbing your arm in panic. “You can barely stand, let alone swing through the city! We need to get you help, now!”

You pushed her away, trying to ignore the throbbing in your ankle. “It’s not like I have much of a choice. The suit’s tampered, I think. Look.”

You attempted to uncloack, but the metal sputtered and glitched erratically. “See? I can’t uncloack. If you’re seen with me, they’ll find us out in no time. I can’t risk that.”

Morgan’s eyes darted between you and the malfunctioning suit, her face a mix of worry and frustration. “This is all my fault. I’m so sorry. I should have—”

“Stop,” you cut her off, wincing as the pain intensified. “It’s not your fault. Just get to the safehouse. I’ll manage.”

Tears of frustration welled up in Morgan’s eyes. “I can’t just leave you like this!”

“You don’t have a choice,” you said firmly, trying to steady your voice. “If we’re both caught, it’ll be worse. Now go! I’ll be fine.”

With one last, apologetic glance, Morgan pulled out her phone and dialed for a cab, her hands trembling.

 ༻⊰───⋅

Damian, concealed in the shadows of the rooftop, landed with a muted thud. He crouched behind the crumbling ledge of an old brick wall, the slits in his mask narrowing as he took in the scene unfolding just a few feet away.

He watched as you struggled to regain your footing, your movements pained and uneven. The girl beside you—her rain-soaked silhouette a blur against the storm—was clearly in a panic, her phone clutched tightly as she fumbled with it.

‘A civilian,’ Damian thought, frustration lining his features. Launching a direct attack now would be reckless. He had to be certain the vigilante was genuinely on their own before making a move.

After a tense moment, the girl finally moved and dashed down the fire escape, her figure barely visible through the downpour. Damian squinted through the sheets of rain, straining to catch a glimpse of her features, but the storm blurred his view into an indistinct smear of color and motion.

The moment she was out of sight, his attention snapped back to you. You took a deep, ragged breath, bracing yourself. Then, with a sudden burst of movement, you launched yourself into the night.

Damian followed, his movements fluid and precise as he pushed off from the ledge. His cape billowed behind him like a dark, flowing banner, and he darted into the storm.

Below, the streets were a chaotic blur of honking horns and glaring headlights, their harsh lights slicing through the darkness like knives. Heavy sheets of rain hammered down, obscuring your vision and drenching you to the bone. Water seeped through the cracks in your suit, each drop feeling like an icy needle against your overheated, feverish skin.

The sensations were overwhelming. It was too much. The pain, the heat, the storm—it was all too much.

Your breath came in ragged gasps, every inhale bringing more of Ivy’s insidious toxin into your lungs.

In one desperate swing, you miscalculated the web’s trajectory. It shot out too low, sending you plummeting uncontrollably below.

Cursing through gritted teeth, you were hurled down into traffic. Everything was a blur as you slammed into the side of a car, metal denting and screams deafening your ears. Your shoulder bore the brunt of the collision, sending shockwaves of pain through your bones.

For a brief, suspended moment, everything went dark.

A cold, mechanical voice sliced through the void, its tone harsh and insistent. Maggie’s synthetic voice, though devoid of human warmth, was tinged with urgency.

“Immediate response required. Vitals are critically low. Consciousness levels decreasing. Current status is life-threatening. Please respond.”

Abruptly, your senses snapped back into sharp focus. You jolted awake with a ragged gasp, your breath coming in frantic bursts. Your vision was a fractured mosaic of blinding lights and shadowy figures. The sounds of blaring horns and panicked shouts crashed back into your ears, tires screeching all around you.

Morgan’s voice crackled through the static, panic evident in her tone. “I’m at the safehouse! Where are you? I couldn't reach you! What’s going on?”

“Change of plans,” you managed, your voice strained. “I won’t make it to the safehouse in time.”

You tapped the side of your visor, making a map flicker to life through the cracks and glitches. The display was unstable, but it highlighted a route to your apartment.

“You know where my mom's apartment is, right?” you heaved. “That’s where I’m heading.”

Entering your apartment was risky, but with your condition worsening and death looming, it was the closest refuge you could manage.

Damian, hidden in the alleyway, watched you with a furrowed brow. What he initially wrote off as rookie mistakes now seemed out of character. Your disoriented movements were starkly different from the precise maneuvers he had seen in news footage and CCTV feeds. He had been tracking your case closely, and this chaos didn't match the profile he had built.

He watched as you struggled to stand, your legs shaking with each attempt. The driver's shouts were drowned out by the storm of noise around you. Your strained apologies were barely audible. Desperation marked your actions as you fired another web, using it to pull yourself up and away from the wrecked car and the angry crowd.

Damian cursed under his breath and quickly took off after you.

He tracked your erratic path through twisted, narrow streets until he saw you aim for an apartment building. With a quick stretch of your arm, you shot a web toward a balcony, but your aim was off again.

Another sloppily thrown web sent you slamming into the windows of the apartment. The metal edge dug into your ribs with brutal force, knocking the wind out of you. You gasped, your lungs burning as you struggled to draw in air. Pain radiated from your side, and shards of glass sprayed everywhere.

Damian, perched on the rooftop across the street, stared in disbelief. This was Catwoman’s apartment—Selina Kyle’s. The worst possible scenario unfolded in his mind. To him, it looked like a break-in. His jaw clenched tightly, and his fingers gripped the edge of his grappling gun, knuckles whitening with the force of his anger.

Pest.

Without hesitation, Damian leapt into action. He aimed for the fire escape with single-minded intensity, propelling himself toward it with a powerful thrust. His boots hammered against the metal steps, causing them to buckle and the entire structure to groan and rattle under the force of his descent.

In the corner of his eye, he saw your figure slip into the window.

Tunnel-visioned and driven by a surge of protectiveness, Damian kicked the door to the fire escape open, the metal panel scraping roughly across the floor. His father would have his head for causing unnecessary public damage—something Robin was frequently under fire for—but at that moment, he couldn't have cared less.

"Was that a crash?!" Nightwing's voice crackled through the comm line.

"I think it's coming from demon brat's side. What's the report, squirt?"

Damian merely growled in response as he began to stalk down the hallway. His tall figure, cloaked in shadows, cast long, dark lines across the floor as he moved. He cracked his knuckles, the sound sharp and menacing over the comms.

"Someone's about to learn the price of crossing me."

 ༻⊰───⋅

Dazed and disoriented, you slipped into the building, the rough edge of the window scraping against your battered body. As you tumbled through your apartment, you hit the floor with a heavy thud, the impact shaking your entire frame. Your head struck the ground with a thump, stars exploding in your vision.

For a brief, haunting moment, there was silence—deep, oppressive silence. Then, a cold, creeping dread slithered through you.

You clawed at the floor, your body shaking.

"Mom? Mom, please! I need you!" Your voice cracked, a raw, fear seeping through every syllable. "Mom, are you there? Please, help me!"

Tears streamed down your face, mingling with the sweat and blood as you cried out into the empty, echoing apartment. The lights were off, casting the space into a suffocating darkness that seemed to press in on you.

Desperately, you stumbled into Selina’s bedroom. Your heart sank as you noticed the absence of her suit—no sleek, black leather or whip. She must have been out on patrol.

A deafening crash shattered the silence as the apartment door was ripped from its hinges. Before you could fully react, a rough hand clamped down on you, throwing you to the floor.

Your vision blurred in and out of focus as you were pinned to the floor. A heavy foot pressed mercilessly against your chest, crushing your ribs with every breath. The weight lifted, then slammed down again, ripping through your suit with a sickening crunch. The suit uncloaked, its torn pieces clinging to your clothes, leaving you exposed in just your undershirt and pants.

Through the dim, flickering light, the outline of your attacker became clearer. A katana was unsheathed with a chilling rasp, its cold blade pressed menacingly against your neck. The steel gleamed ominously, catching the sparse light and reflecting a deadly shimmer. The edge was so close you could feel its icy touch, a mere breath away from slicing into your flesh.

The thought of that forced you to tilt your head back, exposing more of your neck to the shadowy figure looming over you.

Tall and imposing, the figure was clad in grey and black armor, with a black cape flowing behind them. A red emblem, unmistakably the symbol of an R, was stitched onto their chest.

A cold realization cut through the fog of pain and fear—Robin?

<- PREVIOUS | NEXT ->

 ༻⊰───⋅

dundunDUN

whatchu think bookiebears

surely the batfam will handle this well

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne #batfamily #dc robin #damian wayne al ghul #damian wayne imagine #selina kyle #bruce wayne #batman

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loves0phelia · 6 months ago

Note

Please write about Rafe who believes in love and a reader who doesn't! I love your first fic btw

Love

Summery: the request

Words: 1k

Warnings: small injury, grammar mistakes (feel free to correct me)

A/N: thank you so much for this request! xxx

Ever since you and Rafe met, he has been head over heels for you. He would follow you around like a lost puppy, he would get you anything you could possibly want, and always make sure you were okay.

In a way you loved how much he cared, but sometimes the feelings he left you with, made you confused.

In your head love was nothing but a useless feeling. The lovey dovey movies were fake and unrealistic, the people holding hands or kissing in the streets were disgusting and anyone who tried to prove you wrong was definitely not sane.

So why was Rafe Cameron making you feel this way?

“Good morning pretty, got you your favorite like always” He says the second you open the door to his black pick up truck, and hand you the chocolate chips cookie from that bakery you adore.

“How many times do I have to tell you that you don't have to get me something every time?” Even though you wish you kept your lips in a straight line, a small smile took place on your lips.

“But if i stop bringing you snacks how else will i see this pretty smile of yours?” immediately your cheeks became red, so you turned your head to look out the passenger window as he finally started driving away.

After what felt like hours, you got the courage to speak up and asked him where he was taking you.

“Well I figured you wouldn't like the movies because you claim its “too romantic” so I decided on going up to the hill with some food and a book, we could spend the afternoon together until sunset. Also I brought my laptop in case you changed your mind about rom coms…” he uttered the last words anticipating your reaction to them.

“Are you serious? that's like the most rom com thing ever!” you threw your hands above your head and looked at him in disbelief.

“Come on Y/n just give it a shot please” you looked at him with a glare not breaking against his attempt at begging.

“for me?” your fake anger vanished the second the words left his mouth. His soft blue eyes and pouty lips had you in a choke hold. You could never refuse him even if you tried.

“fine” Rafe shouts in victory before grabbing your hand and shaking it while still holding the steering wheel.

“You're not going to regret it baby, i swear” his happiness calmed and now you could only hear the soft music playing on the radio and the harsh sound of his engine.

What you hadn't noticed though was how his hand was still holding yours on top of your thigh for the rest of the ride.

When the car finally came to a stop, Rafe jumped out and rushed to your side to open your door. While holding the small bag with the cookie you haven't eaten yet in your left hand your right one grabbed his so he could help you climb out. This gesture was almost too familiar now.

You stood a few feet away as he grabbed the cooler filled to the brim with various beverages and snacks. Your breath hitch when you noticed his arms flex beneath his gray shirt.

“You ready?” you snapped your eyes away from his muscles as fast as light and quickly nodded, unable to speak any word.

In silence you both climbed the small trail up to the hill. While you could've been watching the blooming flowers, your mind was on rafe, you were daydreaming not paying attention to anything.

“shit” were your last words before tripping over a small branch on your path. your exclamation immediately made Rafe turn on his heels, he dropped the cooler to the ground and ran to you, examining the damage.

“im fine Rafe i just wasn't paying attention” you tried to comfort him but his gaze was fixated on the small cuts over one of your knees.

“Do you want to go back? we can do this another day” he asked concerned and almost already getting ready to turn back the way you came from.

“No rafe. Really I'm ok it's just a small scrap and I don't want our day to be ruined because of me” you almost pleaded.

“Are you sure you can walk? cause i can carry you” he suggested.

“don't be ridiculous, you're already carrying all that” you laughed and optimistically went back on the way.

the entire pathRafe and a small furrow in his brown and he stayed close to you in case of another accident, he was ready to catch you,

When you two were finally settled on a blanket led on top of the grass he began unpacking.

“So a movie or a book? also I'm warning you, if you choose a book you need to read to me.” he smiled innocently.

“book please” you answered shyly before taking the book from his hand. instantly rafe led his head on top of your lap and snuggled while grinning, knowing what he was doing,

but surprisingly you did not comment, nor move away, you stayed like that even when you began to read the words out loud.

he was so peaceful he almost looked asleep but the soft and smooth movement of his thumb over your small injury proved you he was definitely awake.

“Whats up” your brows furrowed wondering why he was asking.

“you stopped reading.” You hadn't even realized you had stopped and you definitely didn't realize he was looking up at you, admiring you for almost 2 minutes before saying something.

“i was just thinking how much i appreciate this,i never realized before now how much i enjoyed it”

“yea?” He sat up with the brightest smile.

“mhm” you hummed and you felt like a magnet was pulling you to him so without a thought you crashed your lips on his.

he made a noise of surprise before rapidly returning the gesture while sliding his fingers in your hair and holding you to him.

passionately you and Rafe kissed until you couldn't breath and that's how you realized love was actually the best thing to ever feel.

#rafe outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x pogue!reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron x reader #obx rafe cameron #rafe imagine #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x female reader

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sanarsi · 4 months ago

Text

Pink Braids

no-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: Joel decided to take his daughter on vacation for a few days. The sea and the beach were the perfect destination for a short break. Joel could never resist Sarah's charms. The stand selling colorful braids was no exception. Warnings: NONE it’s pure and sweet like Joel’s love for his daughter <3 Wordcount: 3,2k An: I wrote this to satisfy my need so don’t judge me pls :c Joel and Sarah deserve at least some happy and calmly times, so this is it! I hope this satisfies your appreciative heart at least a little xx Music I worked with: Falling for Ya - Grace Phipps (Teen Beach Movie)

Masterlist

Like every year, it's time for a short family vacation. Sarah decided that this time she wanted to go to the seaside to collect seashells and make a necklace out of them. And who was Joel to deny her anything? His princess wanted seashells and sand? His princess got shells and sand.

The sun was pleasantly warm on his skin for the second day in a row as he lay on the blanket without moving even an inch. There was a blissful smile on his lips because he could finally rest.

Sarah sat nearby, digging in the sand to bury Joel's other leg. He didn't complain. At least his feet were cool.

There was muffled music, conversations and laughter all around, but Joel only heard Sarah. Her delicate voice sang the same song from some children's musical over and over again. He wouldn't complain if she changed the album because he already knew that damn song by heart. Worse still, he has to listen to it every time they drive. For a few hours at least. But what can he do when he sees her big smile while singing her favorite song? Start singing with her, of course.

"Dad, I'm hungry."

Joel looked up and raised an eyebrow as he watched Sarah continue to bury his leg. He sighed quietly and then groaned heavily as he rose to a sitting position. Sarah raised an eyebrow and looked at him with amusement.

"You moan like you're sixty," she pointed out.

"I have it mentally," he replied, rubbing his eyes under his glasses and stretched, looking around the beach full of people. He glanced at the watch on his wrist and knew that they should get going. It was soon lunchtime and he had to admit that his stomach was growling. "What do you want to eat?"

Sarah fell silent for a moment, wondering what she wanted. In the meantime, she handed Joel a plastic shovel so he could dig out his legs. She smiled broadly and leaned towards the sand to catch her father's attention.

“Can we have waffles, please?” she asked, grinning widely, hoping this would bribe him. Damn, she was right.

“Sure,” he nodded.

“With whipped cream and strawberries?” she asked hopefully, but she already knew that Joel would agree to anything.

“With whipped cream and strawberries,” he nodded again.

Sarah got up from the sand, full of energy, and started packing all her things into her bag. Joel had only just managed to dig out both legs and she was already standing ready to leave the beach. How happy he was to have such a resourceful daughter.

He took his shirt from her and put it on. He took the bag from her and slowly followed her lead. And it definitely wasn't his fault that Sarah managed to get out of the beach and come to him again while he was dragging along like a snail.

“Give me a break. I'm forty years old," he groaned miserably as Sarah literally ran around him.

"Forty, not sixty," she noted, jumping on the sand and waiting for her feet to sink in. “Maybe you should do yoga?” she suggested, and Joel snorted under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Better watch your steps," he said and put his leg under her, causing her to stumble. Joel started laughing to himself as Sarah looked at him in disbelief.

"What the… Dad?!" she shouted after him and punched his shoulder, starting to laugh.

A dozen or so minutes later, they were both walking, eating waffles. The beach was always full of souvenir and food stands, so Sarah had something to do. Of course, Joel followed her like a shadow and commented on everything she showed him.

She ended up with a new bracelet on her wrist and a colorful magnet for the fridge.

"You think they made it out of real sand?" she asked, examining the sand-like structure. Joel glanced down at her purchase.

“It looks fake,” he commented and finished eating his waffle.

“I knew it,” she muttered confidently under her breath.

They walked calmly, watching the sea from nearby. Joel watched everything that was happening on the beach, but Sarah didn't have this pleasure because her view was blocked by colorful flower bushes. Suddenly he felt a tug on his hand, which made him stop and turn towards his daughter, who was looking enchanted at the stand where they were making colorful braids from artificial hair. Joel knew immediately what this meant, but he had a vestige of hope in him that died the moment he locked eyes with Sarah. Her eyes sparkled as if she had seen at least a unicorn.

"Dad..." she began calmly, to which Joel only groaned pitifully.

"You'll finish off your old man someday," he said, rubbing his face with his hand, and Sarah immediately started jumping in place with excitement with a wide smile. And that was enough to make him smile too.

He didn't resist when his daughter started pulling him towards the stand like a racehorse. A young girl who was browsing something on her phone when they approached her stand.

You looked at them belatedly. A wide smile spread across your face as you looked from Joel to Sarah.

“Hi, good morning, how can I help you?” you asked, putting your phone away and getting up from your chair, ready to work.

"My daughter wanted..." he started to say, but Sarah immediately interrupted him.

“I wanted some braids,” she said excitedly. You looked amused at Joel, who just shrugged, giving his daughter the right to decide.

“Okay, then, my name is y/n and I will do whatever you want on your head. How does it sound?" you turned to Sarah with a friendly smile. The girl smiled broadly.

“Sounds great” she nodded “I am Sarah” she introduced herself and shook hands with you.

Joel's eyes fell on you the moment he heard your name. He swallowed hard at the strange hit of nostalgia that rose in his chest.

That was Sarah's mother's name.

“Okay, so choose the colors you like,” you started to show her a wall with dozens of colors of colorful strands of artificial hair. Sarah stood and smiled, enjoying the neon colors. The longer she tried to choose, the more her smile began to fade. Joel stood with his arms crossed, watching his daughter.

“Dad, I don't know which one to choose,” she said, turning towards him worriedly. Your eyes also fell on the girl's father and you smiled warmly at him.

“Should I choose for you?” he raised his eyebrows, letting her know that this would end badly.

“Maybe I can help,” you suggested, immediately seeing the relief on the man's face. You crouched down next to Sarah and her attention was focused only on you. "What is your favorite color, Sarah?"

"Pink," her smile immediately returned as she shrugged casually. You laughed to yourself because her answer was predictable. Joel also snorted quietly under his breath. You glanced at the man out of the corner of your eye and your eyes met for a moment.

“What color do you think goes best with pink?”

“Blue,” she replied, proud of herself.

“Okay, we've got two. We need one more color” you showed her three on your fingers. “Now you need to focus” Your words caught her attention even more and Joel shook his head in amusement. "What color is most in your closet?" you asked, looking at her carefully and Sarah began to think hard. You saw the gears in her brain working at full speed.

The silence began to drag on so Joel came out to help. “Purple,” he said, catching your attention. Sarah immediately brightened and nodded at her father's words. You smiled warmly at Joel and nodded.

“Then I have five suggestions for you,” you turned to the girl again. You stood up and started pulling off a few strands of hair and presented them to Sarah. She began to carefully look at all the colors you had chosen. “And? Which ones do you like?”

Sarah looked up at you with a smile. “All of them,” she replied and turned back to looking at the neon colors in your hands. You looked up at Joel, who understood your silent question and nodded in agreement.

“Okay, then sit on the chair and look at the sample photos of updos,” you pointed to the board with photos of different hairstyles. Sarah obediently followed your orders. Joel started to accompany her in choosing her hairstyle while you started preparing the equipment.

“Can I have this one?” she asked.

"No," came the answer. You smiled to yourself as you listened to their conversation.

“And this one?”

“No”

Groan of anger. A moment of silence.

"This?" she asked with less confidence, fearing that her father would not agree to her next choice. a moment of silence.

“Let it be,” he agreed, so now you could spring into action. You walked up to them with a smile and a few pins attached to your small apron.

“And what is the final choice, princess?” you asked, so Sarah immediately pointed to one of the photos on the board. “Great choice,” you said confidently to convince the girl that her dad made the right decision.

It worked.

You winked at Joel and he smiled at you gratefully. You started combing the girl's hair, so Joel sat on the wall right next to her so he could watch everything. And so began an adventure that lasted several hours.

You slowly finished braiding the first braid, listening to the girl's story with a wide smile. "And then I told her she was an idiot because Carly and Freddie didn't fit together," she said, moved.

You glanced at her father, who just nodded resignedly, listening to his daughter's story. "Who's the idiot?" he said, on the verge of a breakdown, and Sarah gave him a deadly look.

“Dad, did you even listen to what I said?” she asked suspiciously, and confusion appeared on her father's face.

“Bethany,” you said, deciding to save him from his predicament.

"Exactly. Bethany,” she murmured in agreement. Joel gave you a grateful look and continued to watch your work. It was impossible not to notice his curiosity.

“Shall I show you how it's done, sir?” you asked encouragingly, tying the first braid. Joel was silent for a moment, hesitant to agree. But he finally got up from his seat and walked closer to you, standing next to you.

“I'd appreciate it,” he nodded with a sheepish smile. “And… just Joel, please” he added and you smiled back. It was nice.

“Okay, Joel… Have you ever braided hair before?” you asked, preparing another color of artificial hair. He shook his head in denial, so you gave him a reassuring smile. "Then we'll start with the basics."

For the next half hour, you explained to him every move you made while braiding the two braids. He asked detailed questions every now and then and seemed genuinely interested. It touched your heart more than it should have. But you couldn't help but feel strange emotions stirred in you by the sight of a single father who loved his child.

“Would you like to try?” you asked when you finished tying braid. Joel looked at you uncertainly. “If you make a mistake, I will help you,” you assured him, wanting to give him some comfort. This finally convinced him.

Satisfied, you started another braid and gave it halfway to him. His movements were uncertain as he moved strands of hair between his fingers. You watched him closely, trying to steer him in the right direction, but he was extremely deaf to your words.

“No, Joel, wait-” you cut him off and it wasn't until you placed your hands on his that he noticed you.

He sighed under his breath, furious at his poor skills. "I guess my fingers are too big for this," he remarked.

“Your fingers are perfectly fine,” you laughed under your breath and gently wrapped your fingers around his. “You have to do it more gently,” you said and started controlling his hands like a puppet. Joel watched as everything suddenly started to look perfect. Your hands were gentle and tender unlike his. His thoughts began to enter dangerous territory, causing him to clear his throat nervously, afraid that you could somehow read minds.

“There you go,” you said with a wide smile, finishing another braid with his hands.

Joel looked at his work and had to admit it didn't look bad. He nodded in approval and looked your way. His eyes immediately fell on your hand, which contained more strands of hair.

“Now you do it all yourself,” you encouraged him with a smile.

And that's how Joel got the braid on one side and you on the other.

Perfect cooperation.

You looked at him every now and then with a smile, observing how focused he was on what he was doing. You couldn't help but think how sweet he was.

You stared at him shamelessly until his eyes met yours. You felt your cheeks heat up as you focused on your work again. A smile appeared on John's lips, and he had to admit that it felt... good. For so many years he focused only on work and his daughter that he forgot what it was like to have contact with a woman. It was such an exotic experience.

A moment later, you were fixing the final details in Sarah's hairstyle. Joel stood watching her with a warm smile.

"You look beautiful," he said, making her blush. You smiled to yourself as you arranged her curls.

“Your dad is right. You look like the most beautiful flower in the meadow,” you said, crouching in front of her. She smiled still embarrassed. You glanced at her father. "A daughter like that is a treasure."

Joel smiled, looking at his little princess. "Yeah, I tell myself that every time I find an eggshell in my scrambled eggs," he joked, raising an eyebrow. You and Sarah burst out laughing.

You exchanged a few more words with the girl and then stood up.

“Can I take a picture of her?” you asked Joel. He was confused for a moment and only then did he understand what you meant.

“Yeah, sure,” he nodded, giving you the green light. You took your phone out of your pocket and quickly took a few photos of her hairstyle. You were delighted with your work because the little one looked like a blooming flower with pink habesha braids. You let her look at herself in the mirror and in the meantime you added up all the expenses. You wrote everything down on a piece of paper so as not to make any mistakes while you glanced at the delighted child.

However, Joel blocked your view. You looked up, locking eyes with him.

"How much did this little star cost?" he asked, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. You blinked a few times and looked at the piece of paper with the calculations.

“Sixty dollars” you read and glanced at the bill he was already holding out towards you. You took the money and reached into your pocket to give him the change, but you froze when his hand grabbed your wrist. You looked at his warm smile and your throat went dry for a moment.

“The rest is for you,” he said, letting go of your wrist. You opened your mouth to deny it because a forty dollar tip was way too much for your job.

“I can't…” you managed to say, but he silenced you with a shake of his head.

“Consider it a bonus for teaching the old man how to braid that devil's hair,” he said with amusement and your eyes immediately fell on his daughter who was still looking in the mirror.

“You could have learned that from a YouTube video,” you pointed out, looking back at him. “For free,” you added, raising your eyebrows.

Joel just smiled wider and shrugged. “And yet you taught me that.”

You looked at him for a moment, looking for any sign of doubt, but eventually you gave up. you snorted under your breath, shaking your head in disbelief and pocketed the money.

“Well, thank you…” you started to say but stopped when you saw the piece of paper he was holding out towards you. Hesitantly, you took a thick piece of paper and looked at the series of printed numbers.

“In case you need someone to build you a house… or something…” he explained with a grimace and scratched the back of his neck in stress. You stared at the business card with his phone number and your heart sped up several times. He actually gave you his number with the stupidest excuse you've ever heard.

You smiled widely and looked up at him. He was stressed and it was visible to the naked eye. You laughed softly, still in shock.

“The 'or something' option seems more likely to me,” you wrinkled your nose with a smug grimace. Joel's smile immediately grew bigger. He snorted under his breath and nodded at your words, feeling a stone fall from his chest.

He was stressed like a teenager. It was so stupid and yet so exciting.

“Yeah, okay…” he nodded, swallowing hard.

Sarah ran over to you two and snuggled into her dad's side. You both looked at her and each of you knew that everyone had left happy with the whole situation. Sarah saw it in her father's eyes. In the way he breathed so easily.

“Thank you, ma'am, I love the colors and the hairstyle,” the girl said. You smiled warmly at her.

“It's me to thank you. It was nice to meet you."

With that, Sarah shook your hand. “I hope we see each other again someday,” she said, making your and Joel's eyes meet for a moment.

“I don't doubt it,” you winked at her and she laughed and snuggled into her father's side again.

“It was nice for me too,” he added, squeezing your hand and kissing the back of it. You stared at it as if enchanted because it wasn't an everyday sight. His stubble irritated your skin, sending shivers down your spine. You forced a sweet smile in response, not trusting yourself enough to speak up. Sarah gave you one last wave before she and her father disappeared into the crowd of other people.

Only then did your eyes fall back on the small business card in your hand. You read the row of numbers again, feeling your heart beat hard in your chest. You bit your lip as your smile widened. What a day…

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #the last of us #sanarsi fic #joel miller fluff

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greensagephase · 6 months ago

Text

Nonviolent Communication - Part 15

Pairings: Miguel O'Hara x SpideyFemReader Summary: You get sick and then get hit with your period at the same time. Word Count: 15k (most reasonable word count this story has had in months 🤣) Warnings: Sickness; menstruation; Miguel just wants to look after you!!; Short A/N: I'm ready to read the comments on this one, you guys better not disappoint Previous Part Masterlist Music Inspo (You can find the official Spotify playlist for the fanfic here) "Corazón de Poeta" - Jeanette "Sparks" - Coldplay, Acoustic Guitar Revival (guitar version)

Enjoy and thank you for reading! ❤️

Part 15

The moment you wake up, you feel it. The worst thing to wake up to.

A sore throat.

You sit up, blinking a few times as you adjust to the lighting. The sound of rain reaches your ears as it hits the penthouse’s windows. Glancing around, Miguel is nowhere in sight, though the pillow he used last night is still on the floor near you.

You swallow saliva, finding it hard to do so. Yep, you’re definitely sick. You sigh and push the blanket off you, only then realizing it’s been covering you.

Memories of last night come to mind. The power went out just as Miguel and you were going to have dinner, which led to lit candles and flashlights, and music from cassettes while lightning and thunder filled the sky. You eventually moved to the living room, where you continued to listen to music. You showed Miguel new ideas for his place and talked before you fell asleep next to him. And did you offer Miguel your pinky finger?

Staring at the rain, you remember you did and not only that, Miguel accepted it as you gaze into his eyes before you drifted off, too tired to bother with a blanket, which means Miguel covered you at some point after you fell asleep.

For a few seconds, you think about how you’ve slept on Miguel’s living room floor twice now. With him, Miguel. You never imagined such thing but the thought brings a soft smile to your face despite the ache in your throat.

You look around again, wondering where Miguel is before you stand up, your body feeling off, fatigued.

You still have it in you to fold the blanket before you realize you need to wash it considering you’re sick now. You sigh quietly in disbelief. For the first time in a few years, you’re sick. Your thoughts are interrupted by Miguel’s footsteps coming down the stairs, which makes you realize it must be sometime after 6am.

“Hey, good morning,” Miguel says, stepping into the living room, hair damp from his morning shower. Traces of Miguel’s hygiene products, scents you’re all too familiar with these days, immediately reach your nose when he approaches you, already in his suit. It doesn’t take long for Miguel to sense that something is off. “Are you alright?” Miguel asks, immediately taking in your appearance now that you’re awake.

You nod but then shake your head. “My throat hurts. It feels sore,” you reply, wincing slightly as even talking seems to make the ache worse.

Miguel’s eyes soften as he hears your voice for the first time today, taking notice of the way you wince and how your voice sounds different.

“Mierda [shit],” Miguel says gently, taking several steps closer to you. “Sore throat. Do you have a fever?” he asks.

You lift your hand to your face, unable to tell right now. Are you warm because you just woke up, or are you warm because you have a fever? You wonder to yourself, hand on your cheek, trying to figure it out when you suddenly feel fingers pressed to your forehead. They feel cool against your skin, though not cold.

You blink, realizing.

“Tienes fiebre [you have a fever],” Miguel says, his tone being one of concern while the back of his fingers are still pressed softly on your forehead. His fingers are bare despite the fact that his suit is already activated, making the contact skin to skin. “Your face is burning.” Miguel lowers his hand at last, not even thinking about what he just did, concern for you being the only thing present in his mind.

“You shouldn’t be this close to me then,” you say, stepping back. “I might get you sick.”

“Nonsense,” Miguel replies. “I won’t get sick, don’t worry.” Miguel steps forward again until he’s the same distance he was just seconds ago. “I’ll have one of the doctors at HQ check you.”

“That’s not… necessary, but thank you. I”ll be okay,” you reply, touched by Miguel’s offer and his concern nonetheless.

Your response instantly makes Miguel frown. What do you mean you’ll be okay with a sore throat and fever?

“You’re sick,” he says gently, despite his frown.

Holding on to the blanket, you look away from Miguel. You know you’re sick, you can feel the ache in your throat and how your body feels off, but a part of you doesn’t want to make a big deal out of this. A part of you simply wants to take some over the counter medicine and go on about the day, pushing through your symptoms. It’s what you did in the past the few times you were sick before joining the Spider Society, and after Peter’s death. You learned to take care of yourself since then and now, you’re no longer used to the concern or attention from someone.

“Do you want to go to your universe, or do you want to go HQ?” Miguel offers. “One of the doctors can check you, give you medicine.”

Your gaze meets Miguel’s at last. He’s staring at you, intently, waiting for a response. You nod at last. “HQ. Let me put my suit and get ready.”

“No suit,” Miguel says. “It’s raining and you’re sick. I’m driving us there, no swinging to HQ today. So just… put some regular clothes on, okay?” he adds softly. “Go ahead and get ready, I’ll let my team know we’re going.”

“Alright… thank you,” you say, agreeing with Miguel. You have a feeling that if you were to decline both of his options, he’d probably bring a doctor here to the penthouse to get you checked.

You get ready and change into regular clothes before you meet Miguel downstairs. He’s now wearing regular clothes, too, his suit disengaged to blend in, though that’s not his priority. His priority is to get you treated by a doctor and make you feel better.

The two of you leave the penthouse and head down to the car garage. He unlocks the vehicle and is quick to open and hold the door for you before he gets in the driver’s side. Despite feeling sick, you’re still somewhat aware of how strange it is to watch Miguel drive. It’s like you’ve unlocked another side of him.

The drive to HQ is a short one with Miguel knowing shortcuts around the city. You’re soon walking into the building under an umbrella that Miguel holds to shield you from the rain, walking near you as if he’s your bodyguard.

You head straight to the infirmary sector where a doctor is already waiting for you. Thankfully, the paperwork is short and soon, you’re in a room ready to get checked.

Miguel watches the process, standing by the door as the doctor does basic procedures such as getting your throat swapped and blood work.

“Lab results should take a few minutes. I’ll be back then,” the doctor says before they step out of the room.

You turn to Miguel as he walks over to you, a soft look on his face. He’s already making plans.

“Don’t,” you tell him softly.

Miguel raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me… You’re going home, right?”

You raise an eyebrow.

“You’re not working today, so you’re going home, yes?”

“You don’t want me here?” you ask softly.

Miguel steps closer, placing a hand on the patient’s bed, a few inches from your body, and looks down at you, his gaze gentle. “I’m not telling you what to do, but you need to rest properly on a bed where you’ll be comfortable, cozy. Not here at HQ.”

You nod. “I know, I was just… I don’t know. It’s been a while since I’ve been sick,” you admit, feeling fatigue. You turn away and yawn, covering your mouth.

Miguel watches you, hating that you feel unwell. He has little time to think about what you’ve said, about it being a while since you’ve been sick, but a quick thought comes to mind. Have you been sick before joining the Spider Society? The door to the room opens, interrupting his thoughts. Miguel turns back to look, removing his hand from the patient’s bed and stepping back to give you and the doctor some space.

“Blood work looks good and the throat swap is negative. It seems to be a simple cold, but I’ll give you medicine. Would you like a shot as well?”

You nod. “Yes, please.”

“I’ll take care of that, let me just write down the prescriptions I’m giving you - record keeping,” she explains looking up at you and then at Miguel for a second before turning back to their paperwork. They scribble quickly, thinking it’s not strange to see the owner of the building, the boss, with you. Not anymore.

They recall when he was here a year ago, injured. You stayed by his side the whole time and it had been briefly discussed by the other infirmary staff that you had taken care of Mr. O’Hara at his home. Clearly, the two of you are close friends, or something like that.

Now, Mr. O’Hara is here with you for less serious reasons, a cold, to show up for you like you did for him.

They finish up and excuse themselves.

“While you get the shot, I’ll be stepping out. I need to take care of something,” Miguel tells you, both to give you privacy since the shot will likely go on your upper buttock, and also because he needs to talk to Jess about today, maybe even about tomorrow.

“Alright, everything okay?” you ask him.

“Yes, don’t worry. I just need to talk to Jess about something,” Miguel reassures you.

You give him a nod, not probing for more information just as the doctor returns. Miguel gives you a small smile, that being his cue to exit the room. “I’ll see you in a few minutes, okay?” he says softly.

“I’ll be out shortly,” you reply giving him a small, reassuring smile.

With that, Miguel steps out of the room to give you privacy. He calls Jess through his gizmo, standing outside the infirmary room. A second later, she answers.

“Miguel.”

“Jess,” Miguel says. “Morning. It’s very sudden, but I want to ask if it’s possible for you to take care of things around here today?”

“I can. Is everything alright?” Jess asks, watching as Miguel turns away.

“Y/N is sick. It’s only a cold, according to the doctors here at the infirmary, but she has a fever…”

“It’s always good for someone to be around when dealing with a fever. It may change,” Jess tells him, knowing already that Miguel doesn’t want to leave you alone.

“Yes,” Miguel replies, turning back to face her. “I’m going to look after her, make sure it goes down.”

“Let me know if you guys need anything. I’d be more than happy to help.”

“Thank you, Jess,” Miguel responds. “I’ll keep that in mind. And I’ll tell Y/N about it. Thank you for today.”

“If you need to, take off tomorrow, too. It might just be a cold, but it can take a toll on the body for days.”

Miguel gives her a nod, relieved that Jess is making such offer so he can look after you. He had already planned for that, if he was honest. “Thank you. I appreciate it, Jess. I hope it doesn’t get worse, but we’ll see. I’ll keep you updated if I do take off tomorrow just to give you a heads up.”

“No need. I’ll know. Just look after her, alright? And tell her I hope she feels better soon. I’ll be sending her a message in a bit but either way.”

“I will,” Miguel replies softly. “I’ll tell her. Thank you again. Do let me know if I’m needed for backup.”

“Alright, take care.”

“You, too,” Miguel says before he ends the call. He gazes down the hallway leading to the infirmary lobby, lowering his arm to the side. Thankfully the floor is empty save for the medical staff, you, and him. No serious injury or someone on the verge of death. He sighs deeply as he remembers the few days he spent on this floor, injured, before he was allowed to go home. It feels like a lifetime since then.

He decides to wait a bit more to give the doctor and you time, so he stands there, just looking around. It’s so silent. He wonders if this is what it was for you, spending so many hours next to him with no one around to talk with. He thinks about you, waiting in the lonely lobby while his injuries were treated that rainy night.

You stuck by his side, like glue. You could’ve easily gone home at some point to rest, asked someone else to take a shift, but no. You stayed by his side every day. Miguel has a suspicion you would’ve stuck by him every second if you had it your way. He believes that especially when he remembers you offering to sleep on his bedroom floor to look after him that first night.

Miguel shakes his head now, still in disbelief. He would never allow such thing. He would’ve shared the bed with you before letting your body lay on the ground while he rested on the mattress. Of course, he didn’t make that offer because it was too personal for either of you back then, but now…

Miguel’s thoughts are interrupted when he hears the door open. He turns and finds the doctor wishing you a speedy recovery before she exits.

“I’ve given Miss Y/N medications and the shot, she’ll be feeling better soon but in any case that she doesn’t, bring her back in and we can give her other treatments,” she tells him. “Also, she’ll need to rest.”

“I understand, I’ll make sure she does. Thank you,” Miguel responds with a nod.

“You guys take care.”

Miguel nods again before he knocks on the door, entering when he hears your voice. He finds you halfway across the room, heading for the door already. You’re carrying a prescription bag just given to you by the doctor.

“You okay?” he asks softly, holding the door open for you as you keep walking.

“Yeah, I got the shot. It’s kind of hurting a bit,” you admit, feeling it sting as you walk. “But hopefully that means I’ll feel better shortly. Along with the medicine.”

“I hope so,” Miguel says genuinely as you walk out, falling in step with you. The two of you walk down the hallway, side by side, towards the lobby. “We can go home now. I’ll cook you some breakfast, something warm to ease the ache in your throat. And you’ll need to rest so you can get better, let the medicine do its job - let your body recover.”

“Rest? I don’t think I need to.”

“Doctor’s orders,” Miguel replies gazing at you, a hint of a smile on his face, wondering if you’ll be stubborn about this.

“She told me the same thing,” you say with a sigh as you both enter the lobby and head for the elevators.

“You’re not going to ignore doctor’s orders, right?” he asks.

“I guess not… What are you cooking?” you ask softly.

Miguel smirks softly to himself as he presses the button, the doors opening in seconds. He gestures for you to enter before he steps in.

“Don’t worry about it. You just rest and get better.”

The doors close and the lobby is once again empty, or so it seems. A nurse and the doctor turn to look at each other after listening to the little snippet of conversation, the interaction between the boss and you catching their attention. They turn to the elevator again, not recognizing the man that just walked by. He’s a different man from the one they met many years ago, one that was distant and stoic.

“To love and be loved, is to be changed,” the doctor mutters before turning to look at a medical chart, smiling to themselves.

-♥︎-

Miguel and you leave HQ, and drive home. You said you didn’t need to rest but the entire drive back to the penthouse suggested otherwise to Miguel. He glanced at you a few times while driving, finding your sleepy gaze each time as you stared out the window.

Upon arriving home, he ushers you upstairs to change into more comfortable clothing, which you obey without question before heading back downstairs, feeling tired.

You find Miguel moving around the kitchen. Pans are already on the stove. He’s changed into sweatpants and a dark t-shirt now that you’re both home, ready to look after you for the day, tomorrow, or however long it takes for you to be back to your healthy self.

You sit down on the counter and grab the medicine bag, taking everything out so you can read the directions and side effects, seeing that you’ll need to eat before taking some of them.

“Breakfast will be ready in just a few minutes, okay? Do you want coffee?” Miguel asks softly, walking up to the counter and standing across from you now.

“I can make-”

“Sit tight,” he says firmly but gently. “I’ll make it.”

“It…” you finish but Miguel has already turned around. A few seconds later, he starts on the coffee. He moves quickly around the kitchen, his moves careful yet determined.

Just as he’s placed two cups on the counter, he turns to the stove and checks on the food.

You lean back and close your eyes, feeling drowsy. You wrap your arms around yourself, glad you’re in cozy pajamas and wearing one of your favorite sweatshirts, the one Miguel gifted you for Christmas. You could actually go to sleep now without eating but knowing Miguel, he’ll probably refuse to let you sleep on an empty stomach and besides, you don’t want to decline his kind gesture when he’s already halfway done. So, you sit back and wait, listening to Miguel’s movement with your eyes closed. It brings you comfort and a sense of home, something not unusual to you in Miguel's presence.

“Café [coffee],” Miguel says gently a few minutes later, careful not to startle you.

Upon opening your eyes, you find Miguel in front of you. You glance down and find a mug of fresh coffee on the counter, steam coming from it. You can already imagine how great the coffee will feel against your throat, soothing the ache.

“Do you mind?” he asks, gesturing to the medicine bottles. He picks them up and reads the labels once you gesture that you don’t. He nods to himself, noticing that they’ll likely make you feel drowsy and dizzy on top of the fact that two of them need to be taken with food. He also memorizes how many times a day you’ll need certain medicines and the hours between to make sure you don’t miss them.

As he reads, you reach for the mug and softly blow on it to cool it off before grabbing the spoon and stirring it. You yawn just as Miguel places the medicine back on the counter, pretty much all the directions locked into his head. He’s going to make sure that you’re taking the medicines the way they need to be taken, his priority is for you to feel better soon.

“Let me get you breakfast,” he says turning away and walking to the stove. He fixes your plate first, doing it with affection and hope that you’ll find it suitable despite your sickness. He grabs the appropriate utensil before walking over to you, plate in hand, and gently places it in front of you, his gaze soft. “Please eat, it’ll help you,” Miguel says as he puts the utensil on the side of your plate.

With a sleepy smile, you nod. “I am, thank you, Miguel,” you say softly, your tone tired. You pick up the utensil, eating because he’s asked you to. You try to cool off the food a bit before taking a bite. Of course, your throat hurts even to eat but it doesn’t take away from Miguel’s amazing cooking, and you feel like it even awakens your appetite. “So good, as always,” you comment before taking another bite.

Miguel smiles, watching you eat and enjoy the food despite being sick. His chest flutters at the sight of your sleepy smile, unable to not find it endearing.

“Are you not eating?” you ask softly, an eyebrow raised.

Miguel blinks, distracted. He nods. “Si [yes], yes, of course. I was just… Making sure your breakfast is okay.” He turns away to fix himself a plate before joining your side. He glances at you every few seconds, wanting to make sure that you’re alright and not in need of something, but you eat silently and peacefully, at least as much as you can while being sick.

You both finish eating and continue to drink your coffees. The rain has not let up since yesterday and so, you both hear the soft pit pat on the penthouse’s windows, filling the silence in a very cozy way. A few minutes later, Miguel watches as you place your empty mug down. He downs the last bit of his and stands up, picking up both mugs to take to the sink.

You watch as he retrieves a glass and fills it with water before he approaches you. He places it on the counter gently and then places the medicines in front of you. “For your medicine. Then, rest.”

You thank him for the water and take your medicine, hoping the ache in your throat will disappear soon. “Hopefully I feel better soon.”

“You’ll feel better soon,” Miguel says, reassuringly. “You just need some rest. Why don’t you go to bed?”

You shake your head. “I’m not sleepy,” you say even though your eyes say another story.

Miguel tilts his head to the side. “Really?”

You nod but end up yawning at the same time, causing Miguel to raise an eyebrow. You give him a sheepish look. “Okay, maybe I am…” you glance at the medicine bottles, thinking about laying down and Miguel heading back to HQ. “Be careful, okay?”

Miguel blinks in confusion. “Be careful? Of what?”

“If you go out on missions. Just - be careful, okay? If you need backup, call for backup. Please.”

He shakes his head, brows knitted as he stares directly at you. He waits until you look back at him to respond. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re not…?” you reply, looking up at him, now confused.

“Nowhere. I’m staying here. At the penthouse. With you…”

“Oh.” You look down at the glass with water and take another sip. “I thought…” you trail off, not finishing your sentence. You thought Miguel would head back to HQ after breakfast to work, especially since it’s a work day. You look up at him again, finding a gentle and reassuring look on his face.

“No, I’m staying here… I’m looking after you. I’m not leaving you alone,” Miguel responds softly.

Holding his gaze, you nod, for some reason feeling relieved you won’t be alone, yet you don't want to keep Miguel away from work. “Thank you… Are you sure though? I’ll probably just sleep, so you probably don’t want to waste-” you start, wanting to let Miguel know he doesn’t have to stay at the penthouse all day, that he can go on about his day.

“Por favor [please],” Miguel says, lowering himself on the counter, resting his arms on it to be eye level with you. “Don’t say waste. You’re starting to sound like the old me,” he says gently, internally feeling frustration that you’re thinking like that, as if you don’t matter to him. “The one that didn’t want you to spend an entire day in the infirmary room with me a year ago.”

“That was different, though, you were injured. Seriously injured… Close to death. I’m just sick with a common cold.”

“Thankfully,” Miguel states. “It’s just a common cold and nothing more serious, but that doesn’t make it less important. It doesn’t mean I’m going to leave you all alone here to fend for yourself. I wish to do this, okay?” Miguel pauses and clears his throat quietly. “You’re my best friend.” Miguel's gaze is unwavering, leaving no room for questioning nor arguing with him. He's going to stay home and look after you today, tomorrow, or however long, until you're well. Period. “Déjate cuidar [let yourself be taken care of],” he adds gently.

You hum softly. “I wanted to say that to you a year ago.”

Miguel grins, eyes softening. He knows a year ago your friendship was still unofficial, neither of you had addressed it, so you held on to many of your thoughts, keeping them to yourself with the purpose of not pushing his boundaries. It’s a year later and things are different, at last. Progress has been made and Miguel can say what you are to him without the fear of what it means. He can now say those words you weren’t able to say to him a year ago. “Then, you understand… I ask the same of you now. Let me look after you. Please. It’s what friends do.”

Hearing Miguel’s soft tone and words, not missing the fact that he’s used the same words you said to him a year ago, you nod after several seconds of silence. “I understand,” you say, nodding. You know that feeling too well, of wanting to take care of someone. It was exactly how you felt with him when he was hurt. You just wanted to look after him and make him feel better as best as you could. You wanted him to be back to full health because you hated seeing him hurting and unwell. “Okay,” you add softly, accepting.

“Good,” Miguel replies, happy and relieved you’re not being stubborn about him staying at the penthouse to look after you. “I’ll stay here, if you need anything - anything at all - please let me know, okay?”

“I will, thank you, Miguel.”

“Always,” Miguel says, a hint of a smile on his face.

You give him a smile and nod, really accepting the fact that Miguel is going to look after you today. You understand where he’s coming from but a part of you feels off. It’s not because of Miguel, of course, but rather because it’s been a long time since someone has looked after you when you get sick. You’ve grown used to taking care of yourself ever since Peter died. Now, Miguel wishes to do so, and a part of you is trying to remember what that feels like - trying to accept that it’s something normal for you to experience, to receive, as well. You sigh softly as you feel drowsiness, thinking it’ll take you a moment to get used to receiving this kind of care after so long. You yawn again, covering your mouth. You already felt fatigued after the doctor’s appointment, and now the food and medicines seem to be taking effect, adding to it. “I’ll go upstairs and rest a bit,” you tell Miguel, your voice showing signs of sleepiness.

“You need all the rest you can get,” Miguel says nodding. “I’ll be here, go on and take a nap.”

You finally stand up and give him a nod, thanking him for breakfast before you head upstairs to your room. You quickly find yourself in bed, under the sheets. Snuggling into the pillows and covers, you can definitely feel the medicines kicking in.

Your eyes flutter and you feel yourself slowly falling into a slumber when you hear footsteps - Miguel’s footsteps. You raise your head to see just as he walks in.

“Shh, rest. Duerme [sleep],” he says softly, carrying a blanket.

You lay back down as he comes to a halt next to the bed, your brain trying to process what he’s up to. He gently throws the blanket over you, tucking it in around your feet and legs. The rest, he carefully pulls up your body, just below your shoulders.

“There,” Miguel says quietly, watching your sleepy face, one he’s memorized by now but still beholds with keenness.

You hum softly, half-asleep and half-awake, his scent reaching your drowsy senses. “It smells like you,” you say sleepily, a soft smile grazing your lips, content and comforted by Miguel’s warm and cozy scent.

Miguel grins softly, gazing down at you. He can’t deny that he’s equally surprised and delighted by the fact that you even recognize his scent on the blanket. “Sometimes I sleep with it, so I guess it makes sense it smells like me,” he shares, his fingers still holding on to the edge of the blanket.

“I like it,” you say before you blindly reach for the blanket, your fingers curling around warmness before you tug it towards your face, wanting the scent closer.

Miguel’s brows raise in surprise when he feels your fingers wrap around his, tugging them, and the blanket, closer to you. “You like it?” he repeats gently, something in his chest stirring as he keeps gazing at you, slowly drifting off.

You nod sleepily. “I love it,” you whisper with a soft sigh, still holding on to Miguel’s fingers and the blanket before you let go, unaware that you were even holding them or of what you’ve admitted in your sleepy state.

Miguel exhales softly when you release his fingers, feeling the loss of touch immediately. Your words echo in his mind. You love his scent. A few seconds later, Miguel notices that you’ve surrendered to sleep, the sound of your even breathing reaches his ears in the quietness of your bedroom. “I’m happy you… love it,” he whispers back even though you’re asleep now. He lets go of the blanket, his knuckles brushing under your chin softly, tenderly, before he takes your chin between his thumb and index finger for about four seconds, the gesture so instinctive - so right - Miguel doesn’t realize nor questions it in the moment.

He lets go and steps back, watching for a few minutes as you sleep, listening to your soft breathing. He tells himself it’s time to step out of the bedroom and let you rest, so he does. He leaves your door halfway open and returns downstairs to the kitchen to clean up after breakfast.

Once he’s done, he works from home, checking on a few things that he can do from the penthouse to help the team but unlike previous years, Miguel doesn’t drown himself in work. He doesn’t feel the need nor want to check everything, to ensure that everyone is doing what they’re supposed to.

His focus is you, everything else is secondary.

He checks on you every thirty minutes to make sure you’re okay and resting well. Each time, he checks you to make sure the fever has gone down, pressing the back of his hand to your face, keeping track of how warm your face feels. He also fixes the blanket around you when he notices it’s shifted in your sleep, wanting you to feel the most comfort possible. Miguel watches your face, his eyes searching for any sign of discomfort in your sleep before he exits the bedroom, his steps deliberately gentle to avoid disturbing you each time he’s in the bedroom.

On the two-hour mark, Miguel is pleased when he touches your face once again and finds a normal warmth, no longer burning hot.

“Normal,” he whispers to himself with a relieved smile.

Despite your fever going down, Miguel continues to check on you throughout the day. He cooks lunch and gently wakes you up at midday so you’ll eat and take your medicine again, making sure you hydrate yourself, too.

After lunch with some food and medicine in your system, you decide to stick around in the living room, not wanting to be in bed all day despite Miguel’s gentle comment about you resting more comfortably on a bed rather than the couch.

You fight off sleep as much as you can but you eventually doze off once again after replying to the spider gang chat, who sent you messages stating they hope you feel better soon, even asking if they can send you something.

Upon seeing you fall asleep again, Miguel brings his blanket downstairs and once again, covers you with it before settling on the couch, across from you, to keep watch.

He continues to work from a tablet, spending some time reading about mission updates and replying to questions from spider members, though he still doesn’t spend much time with work related tasks. He reads for a while, too, but even that doesn’t hold his attention. His eyes find their way to you more than he realizes, as if he finds the sight of you much more intriguing than any word in his book.

At some point, Miguel gets up to make dinner while you sleep and as always, he moves around the kitchen with ease. He’s a man that knows his way around such space, the kind that makes cooking look easy as he gathers everything he needs on one counter from the fridge and pantry. He has two goals in mind with the meal he’s cooking for dinner. One, to give you some comfort and make you feel better.

And two, to please you with his food. For months, he’s found happiness seeing that look you always get of pure delight when you take a bite of the food he makes. It used to be twice a month with the weekend dinners at each other’s place but ever since you moved in, temporarily, Miguel has the opportunity to cook more often for the two of you.

He always looks forward to it, wondering what your thoughts will be when he cooks something he hasn’t before. Either way, whether it’s something new or something he’s cooked before, Miguel always cooks with love.

He peels and dices vegetables, each one with precision. He washes the rice and keeps an eye on it to make sure it doesn’t burn once he pours it on a pan before applying some oil. Despite his concentration with the food, Miguel takes a few seconds to check on you, finding you still passed out on the couch, the TV playing quietly in the background.

Some time later, you wake up. You blink the sleep away and sit up slowly, feeling disoriented for a few seconds before you realize you’re in the living room. You breathe in, only to find your nose stuffy, which immediately dampens your mood. You sigh and look for Miguel, finding his usual seat empty. His tablet is on the spot next to his seat along with the TV’s remote, left alone. Glancing around, you hear subtle noise from the kitchen, giving you an idea of where Miguel is. You look down at yourself, finding his blanket over you once again before you tug it close to your face. It’s so soft and you can smell just a bit of his scent on it, unable to truly smell it due to your stuffy nose. Despite thinking about Miguel’s scent, you don’t remember your confession from earlier.

You stand up from the couch and stretch at last. This has to be the most you’ve slept in a while during the day but you feel rested. You follow the scent of food to the kitchen where you find Miguel stirring a spoon in a medium size pot. He’s still in his sweatpants and t-shirt, gizmo on his wrist. He turns suddenly, as if sensing you.

“You’re awake,” he says softly, a smile immediately forming on his face, happy to see you up. “How do you feel?” Miguel asks walking around the counter to meet you, he pats the chair you always sit on, silently gesturing for you to take a seat.

“Better. I can still feel a light ache in my throat but it’s not as bad as it was this morning. It’s doable,” you reply as you move to the chair, Miguel pulling it out for you.

“Is your nose stuffy?” he asks, with a slightly raised eyebrow, making note of how your voice sounds now.

“And my nose is stuffy, yes,” you reply with a sigh.

“Hopefully dinner will help with the discomfort of your throat. It might help a bit with the stuffiness, too. I have something that’ll help for sure, if you’re open to it - after dinner,” Miguel says with a frown on his face, wishing you hadn’t grown sick.

“I’ll accept anything if I can breath properly again,” you state, now sitting.

“I feel that,” he replies leaning on the counter, eye level. His body is pretty close, seemingly not worried about catching a cold from you. He observes your face, his gaze landing on your chin. He suddenly remembers what happened earlier, realizing he brushed his knuckles against your skin, and how he then held your chin for a few seconds. He clears his throat. “Let me check the food, so you can go ahead and eat. I hope you like it,” he says softly, pushing himself off the counter. He flexes his hand, the same one he caressed you with earlier, having the sensation on his skin still.

“What did you cook?” you ask softly, sniffling.

Miguel smiles a bit at the sound of you sniffling before he thinks of something. Instead of walking back to the stove, he walks to the laundry room. “Hold on, just a sec.” You watch as he disappears into the laundry room, before he steps out several seconds later, carrying a small box. He approaches you, reaching you in no time, and offers it to you, which you realize is a tissue box. “For your nose,” Miguel says. “So you don’t hurt your skin with something else, like a napkin, if you need to blow your nose.”

You accept the box with a soft smile and thank him.

“Always,” Miguel says with a little nod and gentle smile. “Now, let me get you some food. I feel certain it’s going to make you feel good. My mom made it for Gabriel and I when we got sick sometimes. It’s caldito de pollo [chicken soup] with vegetables,” he says. “I made some rice, too.”

You lean back on the chair.

“That sounds really good. I think I’m actually hungry.”

“You think?” Miguel asks, amused as he grabs some bowls.

“Okay, I am hungry,” you say, fixing it. You give him a soft smile. “I think I’m still drowsy from the medicine.”

“That’s to be expected. The dosage on one of them is pretty high. If I remember correctly, it’s the same one you have to do double the dosage for bedtime,” Miguel replies as he recalls the instructions. “But maybe you’re also sleepy from hunger. I noticed you didn’t eat much for lunch. You haven’t had much fluids either.” Remembering that, Miguel stirs the pot before he gets you a glass with water. He takes it to you and of course, you catch the message.

Hydrate.

You oblige and drink, making Miguel satisfied. He turns back around and fixes a plate with food for you.

“So Gabriel and you used to eat this sometimes when you were sick?”

“Yes, we always loved eating this. It gave some relief to our sore throats. And well, we both enjoyed it overall, so it was also a comfort food.”

You nod, thinking about a young Miguel and Gabriel, sick and eating caldito de pollo as children. The image painted in your head brings a smile to your face.

Miguel finishes fixing you a plate and his own, so he brings both to the counter, placing yours in front of you with delicacy. He’s quick to get utensils and napkins along with some warm corn tortillas, and refilling your glass with water before he sits next to you.

“Eat,” he says gazing at you. “It’ll help you recover sooner.”

You nod with a small smile before you begin eating, the warmth of the liquid soothing your throat immediately. It’s like easing an itch. You sigh softly in content before you eat more, the flavors hitting you all at once in the most delightful way possible thanks to the rice and vegetables.

“That feels and tastes amazing,” you mumble as you bring another spoonful to your mouth.

Miguel smiles, feeling pleased with himself. You didn’t eat much during lunch but now, he’s hopeful you’ll eat the serving he gave you and that you’ll feel much more nourished.

“Tortilla?” Miguel offers as he grabs one from the tortillero [container used to keep tortillas warm]. “Gabriel and I used to roll it like this before dipping it in the caldo [broth], and then ate it.” Miguel demonstrates as he lays the tortilla flat on his palm, looking smaller than it actually is against his large hand before he rolls it outwardly. The tortilla is now a thin roll. He dips it in his caldo before taking a bite from it, clearly enjoying it.

You grab one yourself, craving it. “I’m very familiar with that,” you say with a little smile as you do the same, dipping it into the warm liquid. “Childhood memories,” you say before taking a bite.

Miguel smiles once more at the sight, watching you eagerly eat. There’s definitely a difference now. You’ve got more of an appetite than you did earlier and your tone sounds less tired.

“Did I miss out on something today? Missions?” you ask, looking at Miguel.

Surprisingly, the man that once used to bury himself in work with data reports on anomalies and missions, the fate of the multiverse, playfully rolls his eyes. “No work talk on a sick day. You worry about resting, and that’s all… but I will say, the spiderlings went on a mission today and their team flow was amazing, well planned out,” Miguel says, a hint of admiration and pride in his voice, like that of a proud mentor, or parent.

You smile. “They’ve grown and learned, so much. Sometimes I forget they’re growing up, but it’s happening.” You look down at your plate. Time is passing, whether you realize it or not. The years have gone by, and maybe it was the loss and grief, but when you lost Peter, it never occurred to you that the years would go by so quickly after his death. You almost feel that a part of you doubted you’d even make it this far without him by your side, but you did.

You have.

Despite the tearful days and nights you spent alone grieving, you made it. You silently hope you’ve made Peter proud, wherever he’s now.

“I forget, too,” Miguel says after a few moments, thinking. “It’s strange. They’re still these kids but much more mature, more experienced in their roles than when I first met them. I’m - proud of them.”

“I am, too,” you reply softly, putting your thoughts on Peter to rest. “Though sometimes…”

Miguel chuckles. “Sometimes they say the craziest things, and it reminds you they’re still kids.”

“Right? They keep us on our toes, for sure,” you say chuckling, feeling a sudden discomfort in your stomach, a cramp. The sudden shot of discomfort reminds you that you’ll be having your period soon.

“Trust me, I know,” Miguel replies, still smiling and talking about the spiderlings.

You both chuckle at that and keep eating, with you deciding to ignore the thought of your period. You ask Miguel what he’s been up to all day and he tells you about it, how he’s worked on some things regarding the society, read, and other miscellaneous things. Of course, he mentions checking up on you, accidentally informing you of how often he did it. You find the fact endearing, that he checked on you every thirty minutes.

Eventually, you both finish eating. You feel better than you have all day, so much that you feel like taking a shower. You offer to help Miguel clean up but of course, he politely declines, telling you to go and rest, and then to go shower once you mention wanting to do that.

After your shower, you come back downstairs, planning to just hang out in the living room. After sleeping for the majority of the day, you don’t feel like being in bed any more. You find Miguel fixing something in his bookcase before he turns, glad to see you again. He takes in your appearance and sees you seem to feel better. You sniffle as you approach the couch, which reminds him about the thing he said he’d give you for your stuffy nose, but before he heads to get it, he notices your little pout when you look at the couch.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, walking over to you, standing just a few inches away.

You look up, surprised he noticed you pouting over the fact that his blanket is gone from where you left it. “I… Nothing,” you say softly, causing Miguel’s head to tilt to the side, thinking. It takes him a few seconds before he realizes. The blanket, which he threw in the wash along with yours from earlier.

“Go ahead and lie down, rest. I’ll be right back,” he says gently, itching to place his hand on your shoulder and give you a soft squeeze to reassure you, to comfort you. Once he sees you lay down, he heads upstairs, a plan in action.

He collects what he needs and heads back downstairs, walking through the living room before you even notice him entering the kitchen and dining area of the penthouse. Silently, you wonder what he’s up to. You try to into the kitchen from the couch, curious. He appears a few seconds later, your face softening at the sight.

There’s Miguel, a 6’9” tall man, walking towards you with a blanket draped over his shoulder and on the other one, what seems to be a sweatshirt. On his hand, there’s a saucer plate with a cup on top, steam rising from it. And in the other, a familiar small blue and green tub. He walks towards you, with purpose, a man on a mission.

He reaches you in no time with his long strides and begins to work, placing the saucer and cup on the coffee table, along with the small container before turning to you.

“Miguel?” you say, gazing up at him from the couch.

“Yes?” he responds as he unfolds the blanket.

You don’t even know what to say as he spreads the blanket over your body. You simply gaze at him with wide eyes and awe as you watch him towering over you while he tucks the blanket around your feet and legs once more, leaving it loose above your knees and pulling it up to your tummy.

The sight stirs something in you, something stronger than endearment and appreciation that grows stronger as Miguel carries on with his pampering.

“Is your nose still stuffy?” he asks and for a moment, you don’t even comprehend his question, still awestruck.

“Ye-yes,” you stutter softly, sniffling once more.

Miguel nods and grabs the small blue and green container from the coffee table before he gets down on his knees, next to you. He’s now more eye level with you, though he still towers over you easily. He opens the tub, a familiar scent hitting his nostrils right away.

“Put some on your chest and rub it in gently,” he instructs softly.

You nod and pick some up from the tub once he holds it out to you. You slip your hand under your top and do as he said, pushing past your undergarment to apply it properly. Once done, Miguel nods.

“Good. It also helps putting some on your back,” he says gently, still holding it out for you.

You nod, knowing that, too. You pick up more and lean forward, reaching behind you and under your top once more. You apply the product as best as possible, it being a bit of a struggle with your undergarment, which Miguel notices.

He looks down at the tub and then back up at you. “Do you need help?” he asks quietly, making you pause.

Shaking your head, you reply. “Thank you but it’s alright, I got it.” You lie. You’re struggling but you’re not about to accept Miguel’s help with something so… Personal. Intimate. Especially when it involves Miguel and physical contact.

For a moment, Miguel wonders if you’re simply uncomfortable with the idea of him, as a man, touching you, a woman. He wonders if he’s pushing boundaries just by merely offering.

You stare at him, noticing the look on his face. He’s questioning his offer. You frown and regret your words instantly, thinking that you might have made Miguel feel rejected.

“It involves physical contact,” you say softly. “I don’t want to push your boundaries, Miguel.”

He glances up at you, listening to your words before he nods. He gives you a reassuring smile, feeling relieved. You’re not rejecting his offer, his gesture, for the reasons he was thinking. You’re as always, looking out to respect him and his boundaries.

“Even when you’re sick, nose stuffy and feeling fatigued, you’re still so considerate… so sweet, you know that?” Miguel says staring right into your eyes, without fear or embarrassment from stating those words. “I don’t mind, at all,” he continues as he looks at the container and collects some of the ointment with his fingers. “If you allow me, I’ll help you.”

You smile and facepalm, chuckling. It’s been so long since someone has looked after you like this. The last person was Peter, of course. You used to look after each other when the other got sick, just like Miguel has done for you today. Still smiling, you nod, accepting his help. You remind yourself to accepting the fact that Miguel is looking after you, that this is normal. That friends look after each other.

“Lean forward for me, please,” Miguel says, giving you a smile back.

You do so and lift your top slightly, just enough to let him slip his hand underneath it. “My - I’m wearing my-” you start, trying to tell him you’re wearing an undergarment to support your chest.

“I know,” Miguel says gently. “I could tell you were struggling because of it. Is it okay if I shift it slightly?” he asks carefully before he even makes a move, being a gentleman as always.

“… Yes, that’s alright,” you reply softly.

Miguel nods. “I’m going to slide my hand under your top now,” he says, letting you know what he’s doing as a way to avoid making you uncomfortable, and aware of his actions. As soon as he slips his hand under your shirt, your warmth radiates off your skin, greeting his own.

You stare right ahead, sensing the warmth from his hand even though he hasn’t even touched you yet. You wait as he moves his hand further up.

“I’m going to apply it now,” Miguel says softly, waiting to see your reaction. Once you nod, he nods back. He presses his fingers to your bare flesh, a second later, he begins to rub the ointment onto your soft skin. His fingers move gently but efficiently, making sure he’s applying the product appropriately so it does what it’s supposed to do.

Your eyes move to your lap as you feel Miguel’s fingers on you. They’re warm, but you’re not surprised. The man always seems to be warm, so it’s not unusual. What’s unusual is his actual touch. From pinky hugs to him touching your forehead and now your back, this is a lot of progress on Miguel’s end. It’s a lot for one day and yet, he’s doing it.

Then, there’s your own progress, you suppose. You haven’t had someone look after you in a long time, haven’t had someone touch your bare skin like this. You try to remember the last time someone, Peter, touched your back when you were sick like this. You find that you can’t remember it. It’s been that long.

Miguel rubs his fingers gently over your skin, unable to ignore how soft your skin feels. “I’m going to move your underwear a side. Is that okay?” he asks again, withdrawing his hand to grab more of the ointment.

“Yes, that’s okay,” you reply softly, returning your attention to the moment.

With permission, Miguel slips his hand once again under your top. He shifts the undergarment aside, gently and respectfully, before pressing his fingers to your skin again. With more space now, he moves his fingers more freely, rubbing in the ointment until he feels it’s been applied properly.

Neither of you truly notice that his fingers have gone still against your skin once he’s done. His fingers remain there, pressed to your soft skin, your warmth marrying his.

It’s seconds later that Miguel realizes, leading him to withdraw his hand in a way that would seem hesitant to anyone watching. He exhales softly and collects more ointment, just a little, not as much as before while you both silently miss the touch and warmth from each other, like the moon misses its stars on a starless night sky.

“And then, for the stuffy nose,” Miguel says, gaining your attention. “Just a little right here.” With you facing him, he reaches with his index finger and gently rubs the ointment on your nose. “It’ll help you breathe a little better,” he whispers, staring at your nose to be precise with the application. “There.” He slowly lowers his hand and meets your gaze. You seem surprise, so Miguel gives you a small and sweet smile. “We need to cover these arms,” he says, pointing at them. “The AC has been turning on, you’ll get cold. Here, you can put this on if you’d like.” Miguel tugs at the cloth still draped over his shoulder. A sweatshirt.

Wordlessly, you accept it. You recognize it as his, Miguel’s. Sometimes he wears it around the penthouse in the evening. You remember him wearing it yesterday, which means it’ll smell like him. You put it on, careful not to rub off the ointment from your nose. The sleeves are a bit long for you but you don’t mind, if anything, that makes it feel even more cozy. You sniffle quietly, noticing how warm and soft it is, and despite the ointment’s fragrance on your nose, you still catch Miguel’s scent on it. You smile as you fix it around your waist before Miguel pulls the blanket higher up your body.

“Thank you,” you say softly, gazing at Miguel who is still on his knees next to you.

He’s still smiling, giving you that sweet and gentle smile, even when he reaches behind him. He offers you the saucer plate with the cup.

“I made you a tea, it’s supposed to help with colds,” he says while you accept it. “Be careful not to burn yourself.”

You take a small drink, the flavor settling well with you and rushing soothingly down your throat and chest.

“Thank you, Miguel. That's really soothing and it tastes great.”

Seeing your smile, Miguel continues to smile back. “Me allegra [I’m happy], I'm glad you like it. Are you comfortable?”

You begin to nod but Miguel gets up. “I should get you a pillow. Hold on.”

“Wait, that's not-” you start but Miguel is already up the stairs. A few seconds later, you hear his approaching footsteps.

“Lean forward, please,” he says gently, so you do. Miguel slides the pillow behind you, fixing it so it'll be positioned just right for your head to rest on. “There.” He steps back and looks at you, trying to think if he’s forgetting something, or if there’s anything else he can do to make you feel better and comfortable.

“I… Thank you, Miguel,” you say, looking up at him, holding your tea. You briefly notice that he didn’t bring a pillow from your bedroom, but one of his own since the pillowcase is grey, just like his bedding set.

Miguel smiles softly at you and nods. “Always,” he says softly. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

You nod once more, giving him a smile. “I will, thank you. You’ve done so much… Thank you, truly.”

Miguel crouches, grabbing the ointment container and closing it. “I’m looking out for you, just the way you looked after me,” he says, turning to look at you. “I don’t like seeing you like this, you know. So rest properly, so you’ll be back to your usual self. Please.”

“I will… I am,” you reply, sounding like you’re making him a promise.

“Good, thank you,” he says, as if you’re doing him a great favor by resting and getting better.

“You should rest, too.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you’ve been - looking after me all day. You’re probably tired, too.”

“I’m good,” Miguel reassures you. “Not tired at all. Promise.”

“Alright… will you at least sit down?”

Miguel smirks softly. “That I can do,” he says before he settles on the couch across from you once more. “TV?”

You nod. “Yes, please.”

With a soft smile, Miguel asks what you want to watch before you both decide on something, settling for a movie. You spend the rest of the evening in the living room together, Miguel watching over you like a loyal knight to his queen, both when you’re awake and when you doze off due to the medicines’ effects.

He makes sure you have everything you need and even notices when your face shows signs of discomfort, your hand pressed to your tummy.

“Is your stomach hurting?” Miguel asks, worried that your cold is turning into something else.

Noticing his concern, you ease his worries by telling him the truth. “It’s my period. It’s coming up soon, probably a few days. Or even tomorrow,” you say, trying to remember what day it is. With running into Harry and then your lunch with him, and now sick, you can’t even remember. “It’s cramps. They’re not bad, thankfully.”

Miguel almost scoffs. They’re not “bad” and yet, your face shows clear discomfort. “I can make you another tea - canelita.”

“No, no, it’s alright. I’ll just take some medicine in a bit,” you reassure him before you ask him a question about the movie, distracting him from the topic for the rest of the night, or so you think.

-♥︎-

The next morning you wake up without an alarm. Miguel and you decided last night to take off today again, for your sake, and yet, you’ve waken up just past 7:30 by the need to use the bathroom.

There, you’re met with the lovely (not) news that your period has begun.

“Yay,” you say, grumpily. “Sick and now on my period.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re back in bed with brushed teeth and different clothes on. You fall asleep again for some time. Only waking up when you hear Miguel’s gentle voice, coaxing you from your sleep.

You blink softly, your gaze finding his warm gaze and sweet face.

“How are you feeling?” he whispers, gazing back at you. He notices you look better today, back to yourself.

“Better,” you reply in a whisper, eyes fluttering for a few seconds to blink the sleep away.

“I’m relieved to hear that,” he says, crouching next to the bed. “How are you feeling… your period?” he asks softly, worried you’re feeling unwell from it. Last night you may have succeeded in changing the topic but not in erasing the worry and thought from Miguel’s mind. It reminded him of the first time he went to your apartment, how unwell you were. You haven’t missed any days at HQ because of your period since then, he knows that. Ever since that time, you’ve added more self-care steps to your period routine but Miguel hasn’t forgotten how unwell you were.

Over the months, he’s silently, and discreetly, made sure you don’t push yourself too much when he guesses you’re on your period. Thankfully, the new things you’ve been doing has helped you a lot, which include drinking canelita ever since he made it for you the first time. Either way, Miguel still tries his best to figure out if you’re pushing yourself too much because he worries about you.

“You don’t have to tell me… I just - you’re okay?” Miguel adds.

“Yes, I- I started today. I’m feeling alright right now. No cramps, or headaches,” you share, feeling comfortable to talk about your period with Miguel.

He seems relieved to hear that. “Good, I’m glad.” He sighs softly. “I bought you medicine either way, if you’re interested.”

You sit up slowly, fixing the covers. His blanket is sprawled over your bed and you’re still wearing the sweatshirt, the one he gave you last night. “You did? When?” you say, shifting slightly and patting the edge of the mattress, offering Miguel a seat.

He stands up and sits, keeping some distance to avoid disrupting how comfortable you look on the bed right now. “After you went to sleep last night, I ordered some. I got it delivered this morning,” he replies. “I figured I could help and offer you another option just in case what you’re taking now is not working. Plus, I remembered that medicine from this universe might be more effective than what you’re taking from your universe.”

“You think so?” you ask, looking hopeful.

Miguel smiles, his gaze softening because of your face. “I think so. Lyla has done some research and comparisons. Medicines are more effective in some universes than others, from prescriptions for colds to menstruation pain, even birth control pills. Apparently this universe is one of them, so this menstruation medicine might be better than yours.” Miguel pulls out a box from his pocket and offers it to you, the package sealed. “So, if you want, try this out. See if it works better. If it does, I can buy it, or if you’d prefer, I can have the infirmary supply it to you, whatever you wish to do. If you’d like to try another prescription in the future, just let me know, too, and we can look for an alternative,” Miguel offers as he watches you look at the box with hope.

“I’m going to give it a try if the need arises, thank you,” you tell him softly, looking up at him with a smile. “If it does, I’ll definitely be asking you or the infirmary to supply it to me. I’ve been trying new ones but they seem to stop being efficient after some time, so I’m hopeful about this one. Thank you so much, Miguel.” You gaze at him happily, feeling hopeful about this medicine. You’ve been using a different kind ever since the day Miguel showed up to your apartment, realizing the former one only seemed to make you drowsy and since then, you’ve been trying out new ones, hoping to find something more stable. You have hope this new medication will help after what Miguel said.

“Always,” Miguel replies, returning the smile. “Just let me know what you want to do, okay? I’ll happily do either. Do you want breakfast yet?”

You place the medication on the nightstand, considering Miguel’s question for a few seconds before realizing your stomach feels empty. It’s as if the moment he brought up food, your body recognizes it’s hungry.

“I myself, do,” Miguel says. “My stomach feels empty. I didn’t eat anything else after the chicken soup.” He pats his stomach, a bit of a frown on his face. “And neither did you,” he adds.

You chuckle. “So does mine, so I could definitely go for breakfast,” you reply. “What are we making?”

“I’m making something I’m certain you’ll like.”

You grin, hearing him emphasize that it’s him that’ll be doing the cooking. “Alright, alright. I’ll just…”

“Sit on the counter and give me cooking advice,” Miguel says, remembering the first time you cooked for him here at the penthouse when he was injured in the spring. He wanted to help you make food but you declined and told him he could offer conversation and advice, but no physical help considering his injuries. Despite you being capable to use your arms and the rest of your body, Miguel refuses to let you do any kind of work. He wants you to keep resting so you’ll fully recover soon.

“I see how it is,” you reply, shaking your head slightly in amusement. “But I can do that… I have no choice.”

Miguel smiles and stands up from the bed. “You’re still recovering, so take it easy. I’ll wait for you downstairs, okay? I’m going to start on the coffee.”

“I’ll meet you downstairs in a bit. I’m going to make the bed.”

He nods with a small smile and heads back downstairs, giving you your time to start your morning routine in peace. He’s relieved to see you feeling so much better this morning, even smiling and playing along with him. You’re almost back to your usual self, the way he likes to see you. If he could, Miguel would take away your sickness for himself. Hell, he’d take the period cramps, too, if it meant you wouldn’t experience pain and discomfort.

As Miguel starts on the coffee and waits for you to come downstairs, he wonders to himself for the first time why you got sick. He wonders if it was the rain, or maybe sleeping on the living room floor, even over the rug. Growing up, he was told that such thing can make someone sick among other things, like walking barefoot, or sleeping with wet hair. He was always warned by his Mexican mother about it but he brushed it off, even when he got sick after doing one of those very things he was warned about.

Miguel sighs softly. Maybe it was sleeping on the ground.

Then, he wonders if it was stress from your encounter with Harry Osborn, a thought that brings a frown to Miguel’s face. The encounter with Osborn left you tense and nervous, and he hated seeing you like that. He doesn’t like how Osborn caused you such stress and is now wanting to be back in your life after years of ghosting you when you needed someone after Peter’s death.

Miguel still doesn’t know what your decision on that is. He hasn’t asked, though he won’t deny he’s curious. At the end of the day, it’ll be your decision.

However, that doesn’t mean that Miguel will let go of the grudge he has for the man. Miguel can’t help it, knowing what Osborn did to you. It does more than upset him.

He clears his mind from Osborn when he hears you approaching the kitchen, deciding to not give a moment of his time to the man when you’re here with him. What matters right now, is you, so he carries on with breakfast.

Miguel gives you a cup of coffee and continues to cooks, filling the penthouse with lovely scents of food. You sit at the counter, drinking coffee and talking with him. At some point music starts playing, surprising both Miguel and you.

“Lyla,” he says, remembering. He hardly saw her yesterday since he stayed home and she was busy helping Jess at HQ.

Both of you wait for her to pop up but she doesn’t.

“I guess she’s busy,” you say softly when she doesn’t show up.

Miguel nods with a grin. “Seems like it. I’m sure she’ll make an appearance later today.”

The two of you continue on and have breakfast, with soft music playing in the background. You take your medicine afterwards, which prompts Miguel to ask you to go and lay down. Even when you offer to help clean the kitchen with him, he declines and gently asks you to rest.

So you do. Feeling better than you did the day before, you think about yesterday and everything Miguel did to help you get better, even pushing his own boundaries regarding physical touch. You softly touch the top of your nose, remembering the way he gently applied the ointment yesterday. That leads you to the fact that he applied some on your back, too. That seems surreal but it did happen.

You smile at the thought, thankful for Miguel, who eventually joins you in the living room where you both watch some TV for a while. He’s truly glad to see you in a better mood today, taking notice that you don’t seem as sleepy as yesterday and that your nose isn’t stuffy either. It seems that you’re recovering quickly, which makes Miguel feel relieved. He still feels some worry about your period, though, but he really hopes that the new medication will at least help lessened your symptoms if you experience any.

He watches you for a few seconds after taking a seat, noticing that you’re still wearing his sweatshirt. With looking after you and making sure you have everything you need, he suddenly remembers yesterday, when you told him in your sleepy state that you “like” and then “love” his scent. The thought brings a warmth to his cheeks.

Did you really mean it? Or, was it just words being said in such sleepy state? He almost wants to ask you now but he stops himself, thinking the topic might embarrass you, and maybe, you really didn’t mean them.

He shakes his head at himself, turning to look at the TV instead. You both watch it for a while and spend the morning together. You manage to stay awake all the way up until after lunch time when you excuse yourself to your room, telling Miguel you’re going to take a nap because the medicines prescribed by the doctor at HQ are making you sleepy.

A few hours later, you wake up to your name being called. Miguel is crouched next to you, watching your face for any signs of discomfort. You’ve been sleeping for a few hours and he’s decided to finally wake you up to ask if you’re feeling unwell due to the cold, your period, or both.

“Are you feeling okay?” he asks quietly, trying not to startle you too much with his voice.

You nod and stretch your legs under the covers. “Mhm, I’m okay,” you reply sleepily, making Miguel smile softly. He ends up sitting on the floor, next to your bed, and leans back on the nightstand, his body covering most of it. He stays quiet for a few minutes, looking at the ceiling in silence, thinking about something while waiting for you to fully wake up. Ever since you’ve been sick, he’s had this on his mind but every time he’s about to really think about it, something interrupts his thoughts. He’s wondered about it before but he’s never asked about it. Part of the reason why he hasn’t asked is because the timing was not right. The other part, the main reason, is that Miguel didn’t want to know the answer.

He still doesn’t because if the answer is yes, Miguel knows that it will hurt him. The time has come though. With you being sick and Harry Osborn trying to come back into your life, Miguel finds that this is the best time to ask. Sensing that you’re fully awake now, Miguel decides to ask what’s been on his mind.

“Did you ever - get sick? Before joining the society?” Miguel asks, still staring at the ceiling. “Between Peter’s death and you joining the society?” he continues, quietly, softly.

On your side, facing him, you stare at the wall thinking about his question.

“Yes. I got a few colds here and there but nothing more serious like the flu, thankfully,” you reply a few seconds later after thinking about it, thinking of the few times it happened. “And then a few times because of my period.”

Miguel nods, gulping softly. He turns to face you, remembering when he went to your apartment the first time ever because you were unwell due to your menstruation. You were all alone in pain and discomfort. That was one time alone - one month in many years of solitude. He silently wonders for how many of them did you experience a similar situation? How many times did you lay alone on your bed in an empty apartment while the rest of the world went on about its day?

How many times did you lay half-unconscious, half-awake squirming in pain and clutching your stomach?

It kills Miguel to think about it.

“Hey,” you whisper softly, catching his attention. For several seconds, his eyes have a distant and pained look in them. “What’s wrong?”

“I”m sorry,” he whispers back, blinking and coming back to the present - to you.

“For what?”

Miguel sighs and looks away, leaning his head back. Eyes closed, he wonders if he should tell you.

“Miguel?” you whisper. “What is it? You look upset.”

Miguel’s head snaps back to face you, eyes open. “Not with you.” He shakes his head, making it clear he’s not upset because of you or at you. “Never with you, I’m sorry. I just - you being sick - I’ve thought about it before and now that I’m here to see it, it’s brought back thoughts - questions,” Miguel says in a whisper, eyes meeting yours.

“Questions… About what?” You prop yourself up with one arm, wondering what’s going on inside Miguel’s mind. Whatever it is, is bothering him deeply. You wonder if it has to do with his question about you being sick in the past while alone.

“It hurts me,” Miguel admits softly.

“What hurts?” you ask, brows knitted, concerned.

“To think about you, alone for so long all those years. Especially when I think about you feeling sick, with no one to care for you - to make sure you ate, someone to ease your discomfort. To think that you were on your own,” he whispers.

You inhale deeply, your heart’s strings pulled by how bothered Miguel is by this. It feels as if Miguel really is in pain.

“Don’t think about that, Miguel,” you tell him softly. “It’s in the past now. Those days are over.”

“But you shouldn’t have been alone. Someone should’ve been there with you.”

“It was my fault. I pushed everyone away after Peter died.”

“No,” Miguel says, shaking his head. His tone is somewhat stern. “None of your friends should’ve ever accepted you parting from them. They should’ve kept reaching out. Kept showing up to look for you - to make sure you were okay. You had just lost Peter - you shouldn’t have been alone,” Miguel insists, his voice gentle. “Harry… He should’ve been there for you, especially.”

Surprise rushes to you. You weren’t expecting Miguel to talk about this, for this to be what’s been bothering him so deeply, as if it pains him in a physical way. “I was going to cut ties with him, too,” you reply, trying to lessen his hurt by stating a truth. “I was planning on it.”

“Planning,” Miguel states. “But you didn’t. Maybe you would’ve gone through with it but you didn’t actually do it because he disappeared before you could. He just - left you,” he says softly, shaking his head in disbelief. Ever since he learned about Harry Osborn and the fact that he abandoned you right after Peter’s funeral, it’s been impossible for Miguel to not hold a grudge against him but now, knowing that there were times when you were sick and alone, it only makes that grudge grow. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry you were alone all those years, with no one to look after you.”

“You have no reason to apologize. You didn’t do anything,” you reply gently, wishing that you could lay a hand on his shoulder to comfort him.

“No one deserves to be alone,” Miguel says.

You slowly sit up when he says that. “No, no one does. Including you,” you say softly, remembering the time Miguel told you he used to think he was meant to be alone, to live a lonely life.

Miguel’s gaze softens. He nods. “Including me.”

Smiling, you pull the covers higher as Miguel watches you. He returns the smile, feeling some calmness despite his negative emotions about this topic.

“I’m sorry if I’m… Overstepping.”

“You’re not,” you respond, gently.

He gives you a nod. “I just - I hate thinking about it. I wish…” Miguel trails off. “I wish you hadn’t been alone for so many years. If I,” Miguel pauses. “If I was there… I would’ve never left you alone. I would’ve gone to your place, every day, and knocked on your door until you opened up.”

You smile softly, your eyes slowly filling up with tears because of Miguel’s words. You blink them away, trying not to cry in front of him. With a sigh, you nod.

“I have no doubt you would’ve,” you tell him, believing this in your heart.

Miguel smiles, his own eyes glistening while thinking about the past. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, sincerely.

You shake your head, sniffling a bit. “Don’t be, Miguel. In the past, I’ve wished I had been here sooner, that I could’ve been here for you when you needed someone, too. Even if you pushed me away, I would’ve kept trying, the same way I did when I first started organizing the lab for you. Knowing what I know now about your life, I’ve wished for that many times. Too many,” you admit. “But you know what? I’m just thankful we’re in each other’s lives now. I wish it had been sooner but the fact that we’re even here now, that makes feel so grateful.”

You sniffle softly, thinking about your past.

“Those years I spent on my own… They’re in the past. Behind me. And although there were many lonely days and nights - days that I can’t even remember anymore because they all blended into one - it makes me appreciate the now so much more. I’m thankful for our friends, the spider gang. This,” you say gesturing to Miguel and yourself. “I’m so - so thankful for it. For all of it. For you,” you answer softly, smiling sweetly at Miguel despite your eyes threatening to spill your tears.

Miguel smiles again and leans forward. He reaches with his hand, placing it on top of the bed. He offers his pinky finger, which you notice immediately. You smile warmly at the offer and take it, wrapping your own pinky around his. Gently, you give it a squeeze, one Miguel returns.

His feelings of hurt regarding this conversation have calmed more. A part of him will always wish he had met you earlier, that he had found you sooner so you could’ve been in his life earlier, but your words and smile - your sweetness - replaces his hurt with pure ternura [endearment], so much the next words simply spilled from his mouth like stardust.

“I’m grateful for you, too, dulzura [sweetness],” Miguel whispers, still smiling. “I have been, for a long time now.”

You stare at each other, smiling, your chests stirring with affection, appreciation, and love. For several minutes, you simply enjoy the moment of such vulnerability with Miguel, calming each other.

You think about the little nickname Miguel gave you. Despite all the feelings you’re experiencing right now, that doesn’t mean you missed that part. You chuckle, still holding his pinky finger.

“Does this mean I can call you ‘Miggle?’” you ask.

Miguel rolls his eyes, playfully, of course. “Only when we’re alone. The spider gang would have a field day with that nickname. Peter B. especially,” he says gently.

You snort softly. “Fair enough.”

Miguel stares at your joined pinky fingers. “You may call me something else.”

Humming softly, you give Miguel’s pinky finger a hug with your own, smiling. “I’m going to think about it, then.”

“I look forward to hearing your ideas,” Miguel replies, amused.

You stare at the wall, beginning to think of a nickname you’d like to give Miguel.

Mig.

Migs.

Miggy.

Fangs.

You feel a cramp in your stomach, interrupting your thoughts. With your free hand, you press your stomach slightly, something that catches Miguel’s attention.

“Does your tummy hurt?” he asks, worried.

“Just a cramp,” you reply. “I’m going to take some of the medicine you gave me.”

He nods. “I can get you a heating pad. I have one.”

“I have… the socks with rice.”

Miguel’s brows raise in surprise. “The ones I made you?” he asks. “From back then?”

You nod, looking away, embarrassed. “Uh, yes, they’re quite efficient, so I… Kept them. They’re in the dresser,” you say nodding at them.

He turns to look, still surprised, only to find them laying next to a clean stack of clothes. He didn’t notice them before until now. He nods after a few seconds, gently squeezing your pinky finger. He doesn’t want to let go, even if he doesn’t voice that, but he also wants to look after you.

“How about I make dinner and then you take the medication? I’ll heat up the rice socks for you, if that’s what you want to use.”

You nod after a few seconds. “I like that plan, but I can help-”

“By resting,” Miguel finishes, somehow standing up without letting go of your pinky finger. “I got it. You rest, alright?”

“Alright,” you say with a sigh, still not used to someone looking after you like this after so long.

“Good. I’ll cook and you can rest. I’ll tell you when dinner is ready.” Miguel stares at your joined fingers once again. He frowns for a second before squeezing your finger one last time for today.

You understand, so you squeeze back before letting go. “I’m going to take a shower while you cook. A hot shower always helps me.”

He nods, smiling softly. “If that helps, then go ahead and take your time. We have unlimited hot water.”

“Trust me, I know,” you say standing up at last from the bed. “I’ve become quite spoiled with the shower here, I feel like I forgot what my shower even looks like.”

Miguel chuckles despite the fact that he remembers that soon you’ll be returning to your universe. Your building will be livable once again and you’ll be gone. He fights the urge to tell you that you can come use the shower whenever you wish to. That you can use all the hot water.

That you can stay here longer, even if your building is ready.

But Miguel doesn’t.

“It hasn’t been that long, has it?” he asks, personally feeling that it hasn’t. Weeks have gone by, but for Miguel, it feels like you moved in just yesterday. “You just got here.”

You laugh softly as you grab something you’ll need for your shower. “It feels like that sometimes, doesn’t it?”

Miguel nods. Always. “Yes, sometimes,” he replies instead, looking away from you and around the bedroom. It looks so homey, so cozy. So you. He wishes the bedroom would look like this for longer. He sighs quietly, shaking his head as you gather what you need. He needs to let it go. He clears his throat. “I’ll be downstairs in the kitchen, alright? Take your time with the shower, no rush.”

You nod with a smile. “Alright. I’ll be downstairs shortly.”

Miguel gives you a little nod and smile, wondering what you’d think about his thoughts. If only he voiced them. He finally steps out of the bedroom and leaves you to get ready for your shower, pushing his thoughts aside and focusing on cooking dinner and making you feel better, even though his mind is whirling with thoughts about you moving back to your universe, about your expressed gratitude for him, his nickname for you, which slipped from his mouth without a thought, and of your joined pinkies.

Two hours later, you lay on the couch. You’re in clean pajamas, wrapped up in Miguel’s blanket. You’re still wearing his sweatshirt, something that pleases Miguel for some reason. The socks with rice are under your clothes, pressed to your tummy. As soon as you came downstairs after your shower, he heated them up for you since he remembered to get them while you were showering.

You also took your medication for your cold and the new medicine Miguel got you for your period, which seems to have helped with the cramping.

And of course, Miguel made canelita for you. Your empty cup is now on the coffee table thanks to Miguel, who noticed you falling asleep still holding on to it.

As you sleep, Miguel sits across from you. The TV is on since you both decided to watch the telenovela again but you fell asleep halfway through it, which is no surprise to him due to the medication, and the fact that you got hit with a cold and your period at once. Definitely too much in a few days.

Miguel sighs softly. At least you’re feeling better. The worse of the cold is over now, at least it seems so, and you have new medicine for your period, so hopefully it’ll be better this month.

“She’s sleeping?”

Miguel blinks in surprise, finding Lyla over you. “Yes,” he says softly.

Lyla nods, watching you. “She always looks very peaceful in her sleep.”

Miguel raises an eyebrow but nods. “She does.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?” Miguel replies.

“I’m surprised you’re awake.”

“Why?”

Lyla snorts and disappears for a second before appearing over the coffee table. “You fall asleep on the couch sometimes, especially recently.”

“Okay, and?”

“I’m just saying.”

Miguel rolls his eyes, not annoyed but just wondering why Lyla is even bringing that up. “How are things at HQ?” he asks.

“Good. Everything is running just fine. Don’t worry.” Lyla stares off to the side, arms crossed over her chest now. “I learned about a theory the other day.”

“What’s the theory?” he asks.

“Humans sleep better when people they love are around. Sometimes even small things that remind the human of their loved ones help, like the sight of their jewelry, or the smell of their perfume…”

Miguel hums. “That’s interesting. What piqued your interest in that?”

Lyla shrugs. “Nothing, just came across the article. Interesting stuff,” she says looking at Miguel and then at your sleeping form. “Well, I’m glad to see she’s doing well.”

“She is. She was better today. I’m sure the worst is over now,” Miguel says, his tone one of relief.

“I’m glad,” she says, turning to face Miguel again. “Well… I’m going back to HQ. I have some stuff to do.”

Miguel turns to her, nodding. “Okay, that’s alright. Thank you.”

Lyla smiles and nods. “You got it, boss. Take care of Y/N.”

“I will,” he says before Lyla gives him a peace sign and disappears.

He turns to look at you, finding your sleeping face. You truly do look so peaceful when you sleep.

“Always.”

A/N: MIGUEL GAVE US A NICKNAME!!!!! Sorry for screaming but - it was necessary!! You guys... Miguel... 🥺😭 HE WAS SO SWEET AND TENDER AND JSJIDJ why is he not real??? I want to marry him. AND WHEN HE TOUCHED OUR CHIN ??? AND APPLIED VAPORUB ON OUR BACKS AND NOSE????!!!! (Not me screaming about my own fic) Miguel really said f them physical contact boundaries today 😌 for real!!

I really hope you guys enjoyed this update!! Thank you for the support as always, guys 🥺 it really does mean a lot to me!! THANK YOU!!!!

-Alondra ❤️

Also, this was Miguel fr but with a smile and tenderness because it's reader obviously:

taglist: (text block limit sucks) @loverlorn @saturnknows @d1lf-loverrr @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick @freehentai @arithestrawberry @scaleniusrm @haradasaya @spidermanismyfav @bitchykittenconnoisseur @thecraziestcrayon @obi-mom-kenobi @natsury-kazuki @coraline750 @edgycatx @safixiovi @sunnyx07 @nxrdamp

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thejakeslayla · 1 year ago

Text

╰─▸ ❝ mine ❞ - ,, yang jungwon

pairing bf!jungwon x gn!reader ୨୧ genre secret relationship, idol au ୨୧ wc 733 ୨୧ warnings pushy heeseung, jealous and sfw!possessive jungwon req; hii can you write possesive bf jungwon?

. . . . . -ˋˏ ✎ author's note! more jealous than possesive, sorry !!

you entered the restaurant with niki, his shoulder brushing against yours as you walked beside him. they had all invited you to celebrate their latest music show win with a new song over dinner. seeing them triumph made you especially happy, given the nonstop work you had witnessed them put in over the past weeks.

niki gave your back a pat as you split to take your seats at the table. you both were slightly tardy due to traffic, and since niki was your closest friend among them, he had promised to pick you up.

your bond with the group had grown mainly because niki was like a brother to you, and vice versa. you both had met during training days, and unable to resist niki's lost eyes, you took care of him, creating a sibling-like bond. after the boys got into i-land, you decided to give up on being an idol and decided to focus on producing music.

seated at the table, heeseung was on your right, sunoo on your left, jay in front of you, and jungwon right next to him, offering you a soft smile when your eyes met.

you were about to initiate a conversation with jungwon when heeseung spoke up.

“did you see our performance?” he asked, looking directly at you. you nodded, your mind filled with images of jungwon looking angelic on stage. wanting to clear your mind, you planned on complimenting jungwon later, as you grabbed the menu, your focus shifting to the dishes.

heeseung continued to ask you questions, and although you had nothing against him, he sometimes pushed your limits, especially today.

as the food arrived, you dove in immediately, realizing it was your first meal of the day. it had been a busy day in the studio, and you had forgotten to eat, engrossed in your work.

while some of them took pictures of the food, chatted, or simply enjoyed the meal, heeseung seemed incapable of keeping his mouth shut.

"so, anything changed, y/n? finally found someone?" he asked, once again, earning him an annoyed look from you. heeseung had always been interested in your love life, sometimes dropping hints that he was clearly interested in you.

your relationship with jungwon had to be kept as a secret, simply because it was easier for both of you. being friendly in public was safer, enhypen was getting more popular, obsessed fans or media almost always following them. you didn’t want to start rumors.

"if you didn't know, i'm here—" heeseung began.

"you're not my type," you cut him off, prompting laughter from the rest of the group. as they teased heeseung, you looked towards jungwon.

a shiver travelled down your spine, jungwon looked scary. a slight furrow between his brows, his eyes piercing through heeseung and mouth slightly open, as if he was in disbelief.

“c’mon, y/n. stop joking around, you’re just too shy to admit that you have a crush on me,” heeseung bounced back, but not really saving himself from the embarrassment caused by your words and (almost) everyone laughing.

jungwon shifted his gaze to you, waiting for your response. panicking, you'd seen him annoyed with other members before, and being the leader, he had an intimidating presence. but he had never looked at you like that. frozen, chopsticks in hand, holding a piece of meat in the air, you waited for magic to happen to get you out of this situation.

“heeseung, switch your seat with me.”

jungwon's rough voice made everyone look at him as he stood up. heeseung obeyed, still confused, as it was evident on his face. your boyfriend finally sat next to you, and you felt slightly relieved.

"is our leader jealous?" jake spoke, quickly silenced by jungwon's gaze.

your boyfriend almost forcibly took your hand, interlocking your fingers and resting his elbow on the table for everyone to see. you gasped quietly, looking at jungwon, who didn't spare you a glance, his eyes focused on heeseung.

"we're dating," he declared loudly and firmly. "don't ask them such questions. i don't want to hear that. if you ever make them uncomfortable again, i'll make sure you never see them again."

heeseung nodded, and for a couple of minutes, it was very quiet. everyone focused on their food, the atmosphere heavy and awkward. jungwon placed your interlocked hands on his thigh, holding you tightly for the rest of the evening.

niki broke the silence, asking how you and jungwon started dating, and from there, everyone went back to normal—making jokes, having regular conversations, but mostly poking fun at heeseung and his big ego.

#thejakeslayla #enhypen fluff #enhypen #enhypen drabbles #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x you #jungwon x reader #jungwon fluff #jungwon imagines #jungwon scenarios #jungwon soft hours #jungwon x you

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alchemyfreak321 · 19 days ago

Text

Wish You the Best

I wanted to read some angst and had this brilliant (questionable) idea to write it myself. But somewhere down the line this became a bit too self-reflective and honestly I'm too embarrassed to admit just how much of these thoughts are my own.

This is my first attempt at writing in over two decades so go easy on me. I blasted Lewis Capaldi while clobbering this together. If nothing else at least you'll hear some good music while slogging through this. Constructive criticism is always welcome.

Paring: Gaz x lowselfesteem!Reader

WC: 1.7k

"I can't do this anymore." Kyle whispers so softly you almost don't hear him over the sounds of the telly. You glance at him but he's still looking at the telly, sunk low into the couch next you. He almost looks too engrossed in the generic action movie you've put on, but his eyes are unfocused, his knee slightly bouncing.

"The movie? Yeah it's pretty bad, last time I take Robin's recommendation." You blabber while reaching over to the coffee table to grab the remote. Kyle stops you and grabs your hand, pulling it to his lap. The warmth of his palm feels wonderful against your perceptually cold fingers. You push his words back, not yet ready to process what he meant, instead you lean back into the cushions and focus on his large warm hands dwarfing yours, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your palm, the almost intoxicating scent of smoke, leather, bergamot and something spicy that rolls off him and re-stains your apartment.

You missed him. It's hard to put into words how empty your world feels when he's off saving the world for months on end. Even the mundane routine of work, dinner, doom scrolling, sleep, rinse and repeat becomes almost technicolor when he's next to you. You wanted to curl up around him, but wasn't sure if he'd welcome that yet. The first few days after a mission always left him a little jumpy.

He shifts on the couch and sits up, your hand still clutched in his. Sensing something serious you follow suite but he still isn't looking at you, instead he just looks at your hand in his. The corner of his mouth turned into a small frown, his fingers tracing the lines along your palm, "I can't do this," he repeats.

Slowly it dawns on you what he's talking about and you snatch your hand away, the pleasant warmth now scalding. He finally looks up and meets your wide eyed gaze. His deep brown eyes normally filled with mirth and love now just look spent. The sound of the telly fades away, drowned by the buzz in your ears. Surely you've misunderstood him.

"Why?" you whispered, anxiety clawed up your stomach and made itself home in the middle of your chest, where seems to grow with each breath. Was it someone else, did he finally have enough and get sick of you? Did he finally realize what you've known all along, that he can do infinitely better.

He looks down at his hands, his shoulders slumped and all the weariness seems to catch up."I can't -"

"do this anymore, yeah you said. Why? Is it-is it someone else?" you choked out.

"No, no!" he exclaimed, his eyes widening as he looks at you with disbelief. His brows knot together as he takes a deep breath, opening and closing his mouth, trying to find the right words. "I can't keep being the only one who tries." he finally admits.

Kyle looks at you head on now, the tick on his jaw getting worse. His knees bouncing worse than ever. You want to reach over and still him but the knot of anxiety in own your chest is getting bigger, you can feel tendrils of it running through your veins. You wish you didn't know what he was talking about but you did.

"We've been dating for almost a year now yeah? And I still feel like I'm chasing you. Hell half the time I'm still wondering if you even like me! " he confessed, the crease between his brows deepening. "I'm the last person to know what's going on in your life, I'm the last person you make plans with…I got home two days ago and you didn't even come to see me!" his voice rose with each word. He took another shuddering breath, rubbing his palms over his thighs, as if to sooth himself. Blinking rapidly, his glassy eyes focus on a spot over your shoulder.

You sit on the edge of the couch, wrap your arms around your soft belly, feeling too exposed. How do you explain you spent the day before cleaning your apartment, grocery shopping, begging your coworker to cover your demo so you can take a day off to spend curled up with him. How you spent the night before rubbing your skin raw, priming and preening so he doesn't see your flaws. Doesn't see dark marks, or how your belly protrudes more than before. How do you explain to someone as perfect as Kyle how you used the day to hide all your shortcomings.

His hand twitches as if to reach out and reassure you, instead he mirrors you, gripping the edge of the couch to keep from folding you into his arms. He continues his confession, tongue tripping over the words spilling out all the dark thoughts he's had, "I'm tried of being the only one who tries. You never even call, I got what three texts while I was away?"

"You're mad I didn't text you while you were on deployment? When you couldn't even see them?" You snapped, immediately regretting your words when you see Kyle's heckles raise. The imploring tone vanished, replaced with defensive anger.

"Didn't stop Simon's girl, hell Johnny's bird sent him nudes whenever there was reception." he snarled.

Heat rose to your face in embarrassment and the anxiety gave away to anger, "Nudes?! That's what it's about? That I won't put out enough for you?" you hissed out.

"Christ are you even listening?" he swore as he rose to his feet, rubbing a hand down his face. "I wish you'd call me sometimes because you want to hear my voice because you miss me! Because you want to know if I'm alive! Why is that so much to ask for?!" he retorted, breaths coming out heavy. His face twisted into an expression you've never seen before, one you hoped you would never see. Disappointment and disgust, and it was directed towards you.

He's not wrong, you rarely reach out to him, afraid with each text you'd come off as too clingy, too smothering. You wanted to be the cool girlfriend, the one with her life together, successful career, beautiful. Most of all worthy to be seen standing next to him. One no one would see and wonder what he sees in her.

"…I didn't want to bother you…" all the anger seem to fizzle out and leave you just as quickly.

He looked at you incredulously, "You think my girlfriend remembering I exist would bother me?" He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. "Christ, I'm not asking for a public declaration…I-I deserve better" he whispered his final confession, his arms dropping limply to his side, defeated.

You blink and blink again, trying to keep the tears at bay.

"Okay."

Kyle stares at you in disbelief and wonders if he misheard you, his face crumbling for a second at how quickly you give in. Did he mean nothing to you? "Okay? that all you have to say?!" His voice low and thick.

"What else can I say? You do deserve better."

"That's not what-" he spluttered, you cut him off before he can continue, your voice soft and filled with false confidence, not betraying the heart that's fracturing.

"No, you do. You think I don't know what people say when they see me next you? You look like you stepped out of a GQ magazine!" A small sad laugh escapes your lips. You turn back to the movie, unable to meet Kyle's sad gaze anymore. "You're the smartest man I know, you're out there saving the world! I can…I can never measure up to that, I'll never be enough…" You confess, the lump in your throat painful, your vision blurring.

Kyle wanted to swoop in and reassure you that you were more than enough but he held himself back, finally understanding no amount of reassurance would convince you of his love for you. But his hands seems to have a mind of its own as they reach out towards you -

The door bell goes off.

The rest of the apartment blooms back into focus.

You let out a sigh of relief and jump up from the couch, almost running to get the door, glad to put some space between you and Kyle. The few minutes it takes to get the takeout (Thai, from his favorite restaurant) you hope cools down both your emotions. As you fish for some change from the bottom of your purse, it gives you some reprieve to gather your thoughts and find the correct words and hand the delivery girl a tip.

You'll apologize, you decide, take back your words, promise you'll be better, promise you'll make more of a effort to tell him how much he means to you. Words never come easy to you, the ones that you manage always feels ungainly and clumsy. They never quite encapsulates your thoughts or feelings and always leaves you feeling like a child trying to string sentences together.

But you'd try. You'll even call him as often as he allowed. Risk him getting sick of you, you know he will, what's a boring life like yours compared to his. You'll do it all if it meant keeping him in your life for just a little bit longer.

Kyle is putting his coat on when you walk back to the living room. You stare at him wide eyed but both say nothing as he walks up to you. You see his adams apple bob as he swallows thickly. He reaches out and cups your face and you cup your hand over his. You want to beg him to stay, but your tongue feels too heavy to move.

Umber eyes implore yours to say the words, to ask him to stay but the words get stuck in your throat. Instead you turn your head and press a kiss to his palm. Imploring him without words, but it's not enough. He wraps his arm around you and presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head before stepping around you and walking to the door.

"I'll see you around love." he mummers closing the door behind him.

As the soft click of the door closing sounds, the tears finally fall.

#mine #mine: fic #kyle gaz garrick #kyle x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick x reader #cod angst #fanfiction #call of duty

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deliciousangelfestival · 10 months ago

Text

Curses from Ex-Boyfriend || Oneshot

Character: Artist!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Y/N navigates humorous breakups and manages an art gallery. A reunion with first love, Bucky, at an exhibition ignites a whimsical love story woven with unexpected enchantments.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

Y/N sunk into the barstool, her eyes telling tales of another failed relationship. Yolanda, the supportive friend, encouraged Y/N to share the latest misadventure in her love life.

Y/N sighed, "Okay, get this. The first one, Mike, broke up with me because he claimed my choice of pizza toppings was a reflection of our incompatibility. Apparently, pineapple lovers and non-pineapple lovers are destined to fail."

"Then there was Mark," Y/N continued, a smirk playing on her lips. "He couldn't stand the fact that I had a more extensive collection of pokemon than he did. He said it was a sign of divergent life goals."

Yolanda raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Tell me more."

"James, number three," Y/N chuckled, "Simple, he doesn't like dog."

"Alex was next in line," Y/N continued her tone a mix of disbelief and amusement. "He called it quits because he believed my excessive use of emojis in texts was a clear indication of a lack of emotional depth. Can you imagine?"

Yolanda laughed, "You can't be serious! What about the fifth one?"

Y/N sighed again, "Oh, Tom. He said my insistence on arranging our bookshelf by color instead of genre was a deal-breaker. Apparently, a good relationship requires organized literature. Can you believe these reasons?"

"Bucky was the longest, wasn't he?" Yolanda mused, a smile playing on her lips.

Y/N nodded, "Yeah, high school sweethearts, you know? We were the classic emo couple, complete with matching black outfits and moody music playlists."

Curiosity flickered in Yolanda's eyes, "So, why did you guys break up?"

Y/N chuckled, "Dead serious. Bucky was deep into it. I remember one day, he used a spell to try and cancel a math quiz."

Y/N grinned, "Oh, maybe because I'm over with emo and I think because Bucky got into magic, like, real magic. He bought this ancient-looking spell book at a flea market."

Yolanda's eyebrows shot up in disbelief, "Magic? Seriously?"

Yolanda burst into laughter, "Wait, what? A spell to cancel a quiz?"

Y/N nodded, "Yeah, he was convinced he could influence the universe with his newfound magical prowess. The thing is, our math teacher did cancel a quiz that week, but I later found out it was because he had a stomachache."

Yolanda's laughter faded into a look of realization, "Wait, are you saying Bucky's spell worked, or was it just a coincidence?"

Y/N shrugged, "Who knows? But I guess that was the beginning of the end. Bucky's magic phase and my inability to take his magical ambitions seriously eventually led to our breakup."

Yolanda winked, still teasing, "Maybe he enchanted you with a love spell, and that's why your relationships have been so... uniquely challenging."

Y/N rolled her eyes, feigning exasperation, "Please, if Bucky had any magical influence, it would've been to summon more black eyeliner or something."

Yolanda joined in the laughter, realizing the absurdity of her own suggestion. "I guess you're right. Love spells and high school relationships don't really go hand in hand."

As they clinked their glasses together, Y/N couldn't help but feel grateful for Yolanda's light-hearted humor.

Y/N groaned as she woke up with a slight headache, the remnants of the drinks from the previous night's escapade still lingering. Despite the throbbing in her head, she dragged herself to work at the prestigious art gallery where she served as the manager.

As Y/N settled into her office, her boss, the eccentric Madam Madeline, swept in with her fur jacket and oversized glasses, an aura of sophistication surrounding her. Madeline, always on the lookout for the next big thing, had an uncanny talent for discovering hidden gems in the art world.

With an air of excitement, Madeline announced, "Y/N, darling, I've found the next big artist during my travels around Europe. A true visionary! Prepare yourself; this is going to be huge for the gallery."

Y/N, still nursing her headache, tried to focus on Madeline's words. "Really? That's fantastic news. Who is this artist?"

Madeline beamed, "Oh, you'll see soon enough. I've arranged for the gallery to showcase their artwork. We need to get everything ready for the grand reveal. This could be a game-changer for us, my dear."

Despite the pounding in her head, Y/N felt a surge of adrenaline at the prospect of introducing a groundbreaking artist to the gallery's patrons. With a nod and a determined smile, she assured Madeline, "Consider it done. I'll make sure everything is prepared for the big showcase. This artist is going to leave a mark on the art world, and our gallery will be at the forefront."

As Madeline left the room, Y/N rubbed her temples, contemplating the exciting challenge ahead.

The day of the grand art exhibition arrived, and the gallery buzzed with anticipation. Y/N couldn't help but be excited about unveiling the mysterious artist's work. The moment Madam Madeline revealed the artwork, gasps of awe echoed through the gallery.

The paintings were truly impressive, capturing the essence of emotion and movement in each stroke. Yet, as Y/N studied the intricate lines, a sense of familiarity tugged at her. It was only when Madeline dramatically unveiled the artist's identity that Y/N's surprise reached its peak.

"Bucky?" Y/N muttered under her breath, disbelief washing over her. She couldn't reconcile the image of the once-emo high school boyfriend with the sophisticated artist standing before her.

Without the signature eyeliner and long hair covering half his face, Bucky had transformed into an entirely different person.

Madeline, reveling in the dramatic revelation, announced, "Ladies and gentlemen, the brilliant artist behind these captivating pieces is none other than Bucky!"

Y/N's eyes widened as Bucky approached her with a confident smile. "Hey, Y/N. Long time no see."

It took a moment for Y/N to process the situation. "Bucky? The Bucky from high school?"

He nodded, "The one and only. Surprised?"

Y/N couldn't help but laugh nervously, "More than you can imagine. I didn't know you had this side to you."

Bucky chuckled, "Life is full of surprises. Just like art."

As the reality of the situation sank in, Y/N couldn't help but marvel at the unexpected twist of fate.

Intrigued by the transformation in Bucky's life, Y/N couldn't help but ask, "Bucky, where have you been all these years?"

Bucky grinned, a twinkle in his eyes, "After high school, I decided to pursue art more seriously. I entered art school, but it turned out the formal education wasn't for me. So, I packed my bags and hit the road, traveling around the country to draw inspiration from different landscapes and cultures."

Y/N listened, captivated by the adventurous turn in Bucky's journey. "And then?" she prompted.

Bucky continued, "I found myself in Europe, sketching the beautiful landscapes and immersing myself in the art scene. That's where I crossed paths with Madeline. She saw something in my work, and the next thing I knew, I'm back home."

Y/N couldn't hide her amazement. "That's incredible, Bucky. I had no idea you were out there making a name for yourself in the art world."

Bucky smiled modestly, his eyes reflecting a mixture of pride and gratitude. "Yeah, life has a way of surprising you," he remarked. "Art became my language, and every stroke on the canvas felt like a piece of my soul. Little did I know it would lead me here."

As Y/N continued to admire Bucky's work, a comfortable silence settled between them, punctuated only by the soft background hum of the art gallery. The familiarity of their shared past mingled with the newfound understanding of the paths they had taken.

Bucky broke the silence, "You know, Y/N, seeing you again brings back a flood of memories. The art, the laughter, the quirky moments—some things never change."

Y/N smiled, "Indeed, some things don't. Life has a funny way of circling back, doesn't it?"

As Madeline enthusiastically dragged Bucky away to meet other attendees, Y/N found herself momentarily alone, surrounded by the captivating artwork.

Observing Bucky engage with the crowd, Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of pride for the once-emo high school boyfriend who had evolved into a renowned artist. The whimsical nature of their teenage years seemed worlds apart from the sophisticated individual now navigating the art world.

Y/N strolled through the gallery, and she noticed a subtle but significant detail in each painting – a delicately drawn flower nestled somewhere within the vibrant strokes. The realization struck her like a soft breeze, and she couldn't help but smile. It was her favorite flower, a subtle signature Bucky had left in each masterpiece.

Bucky, engrossed in conversation with other attendees, glanced in Y/N's direction. Their eyes met, and in that fleeting moment, an unspoken understanding passed between them. Y/N felt a warmth spreading within her, realizing that the flowers in Bucky's art were more than just a visual motif.

The language of art spoke louder than words, and Y/N interpreted the message within those flowers in the quiet exchange of glances. It was a silent acknowledgment, a whispered confession that transcended the boundaries of time and distance. Bucky's subtle gesture conveyed, "I still think of you."

As the art gallery hummed with admiration for Bucky's creations, Y/N couldn't help but feel a connection rekindling.

After the event, the air crackled with anticipation as Y/N mustered the courage to approach Bucky. "Bucky, would you mind grabbing a coffee with me? It's been so long, and I'd really like to catch up," she said, her heart pounding with a mix of nerves and excitement.

Bucky, meeting her gaze with a warm smile, replied, "Absolutely, Y/N. I'd love that."

As they sat in the dimly lit cafe, the atmosphere seemed to thicken with unspoken emotions. Conversations veered into shared memories and life's twists and turns. Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that, perhaps, this was a crucial moment—a juncture where destiny hung in the balance.

Later, in the intimacy of Bucky's hotel room, he opened an old sketchbook. Pages turned with a whisper, revealing an old photo of Y/N. Intriguingly, on the adjacent page, a spell was inscribed—an enchantment woven into the fabric of their shared history. The room seemed to pulse with an energy that felt both familiar and intense.

Bucky's chuckle was dark and enigmatic as he muttered, "Damn, it works."

The revelation left Y/N completely unaware. Little did she know that the seemingly whimsical magic from their teenage years had woven a thread connecting their souls, guiding them back to each other after years of divergent paths. As they continued to share laughter and stories, the magic of the past lingered in the air, creating a subtle but powerful force that bound them together.

Author Note:

Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account. Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating. Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

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If you've got any cool ideas or prompts, whether for this fluff series or any other series, feel free to share them with me!

Just drop them in my ASK/SEND REQUEST box.

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#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes au #buckybarnes #james bucky barnes #sebastian stan characters #sebastian stan #marvel x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x female reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky imagine

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bandgie · 1 year ago

Text

During the Party

virgin!hueningkai x fem!reader

a/n: second part to this post

synopsis: Seeing you get hit on by Yeonjun during a frat party makes Kai do things he knows he'll regret. You take this opportunity to test to see how far Kai is willing to go to please you, at the expense of his dignity.

warnings: MDNI 18+, semi-public oral (f receiving),, Yeonjun is more involved, cum eating (sorry it's my speciality), jerkin off, forced!voyeurism, alcohol/weed mentions, reader is mean mean mean!, kai is just a wee lad, hair pulling, kai is referred to as a dog, idk that's it

3.9k words

Sucking Kai's cock became a way to pass time. In the library, the back of the abandoned buildings, the nearby park deep into the night. It really didn't matter where, your throat just craved to be stuffed with him. Kai was still hesitant, but after a few more times of cumming in your mouth, he let up his protests.

You couldn't do that forever though, and you were getting rather bored of your activities with him. It's how you ended up at the party Yeonjun's fraternity was hosting. The music was loud, the living room was packed with sweaty bodies, and your head was spinning from the smoke clogging the air.

Your eyes were scanning the sea of bodies for your next fuck. There were a few potential candidates, but you couldn't find the energy to talk to them. It would be much better if they were like Kai. Easy, but not in the sense that they've been around. More like they couldn't say no, that they couldn't manage to stand up for themselves.

Pathetic. You've gotten used to Kai's pathetic self that putting energy into sleeping with anyone else turned you off.

A sudden pair of slender fingers grabbed your waist, and you opened your mouth to tell them to fuck off before you saw the familiar face. Yeonjun had sunglasses on, his hair slicked back, and a simple black tank top that screamed I'm here to get fucked tonight. You've messed with Yeonjun more than once, and his easy going personality made it easier for you to sit back and let him do all the talking.

He’d do for now.

"Funny seeing you here," a lazy smile sits on his face. You turn to face him fully, matching his smirk. "Funny? Why’s that?" You fold your arms across your chest as you regard him. He lifts his shades to rest them on his forehead, "You've been gone a lot. Ignoring my calls, ghosting me. I think this is the first party you've turned up to in weeks. That's not like you."

As tempting as it is to roll your eyes, he's right. You have been absent from your usual tendencies. His observations irk you, "Why do you care? Not getting enough pussy?" Yeonjun is quick to notice your clipped tone, but he ignores it. "Me? Not getting enough pussy? I don't think that's possible. You should see the chicks that throw themselves at me. Not that I can blame them, I'd fuck me too."

Now you're done with the conversation. His cockiness is something you thought you've grown accustomed to, but 'hanging out' with Kai so much made you favor the opposite. You turn on your heel to escape Yeonjun, but he follows suit behind you. "Come ooonn I was joking! Well...kinda. Honestly my dick has been lonely. I heard some horndogs going at it in a bathroom a while ago and I haven't been able to get it out of my mind."

You stop walking abruptly and whirl to him. "In the bathroom? The one in the library?"

Yeonjun's eyes light up, "Yeah! You heard it too?" You smile and laugh, "Well yeah I heard it. I was the one in the stall." Yeonjun's eyebrows go up in surprise, and he chuckles in disbelief. "Bullshit. Who was the lucky guy?" Rather than answering, you lift your hands to trail your fingers over his broad shoulders. He tenses for a second, then relaxes as your hands travel down to his navel.

"How about I show you what I did huh? Wouldn't that be more fun?" Yeonjun smiles widely at your request and reciprocates your touches. He grabs two handfuls of your ass, pushing your body to be chest to chest with him. You can feel the heat that radiates off his body, the lust in eyes. This is what you need. Not some wimpy boy who eats his own cum on command. But a man who-

Another pair of hands yank you away from Yeonjun rather harshly. This person is bigger, thicker, but the way he's shaking is what catches your attention the most. Yeonjun reaches for you immediately, looking both confused and concerned.

"Holy shit Kai? Is that you?"

You freeze at Yeonjun's words. Then the body behind you begins to feel familiar, too familiar. You whip your head to see Kai's nervous expression. He doesn't even regard Yeonjun, instead locking eyes with you. There's no doubt in your mind that Kai is beyond terrified. Back in middle school, you and Yeonjun used to torment him. It wasn't until halfway through highschool that Yeonjun moved past bullying.

"God damn it is. You look good man! I didn't even know you were going here, haha." For the first time in your life, you're thankful for Yeonjun's obliviousness. Kai's eyes shift to his for a brief second, "You too." There's no maliciousness in his voice, not even fear like you thought. He sounds worried, nervous, upset.

Oh.

The grip on your waist, the eye contact Kai maintains, his pained expression. It doesn't take a scientist to figure out why he's here embarrassing himself. Kai's jealous. He's jealous that you're here to fuck another man, that you've started ignoring him a few days ago. Though his hands are shaking, he's content with not letting you go. He’s so desperate you can't help but find it cute.

It would be better to tell him to buzz off. You came here with the intention of putting no effort into your pleasure, but Kai's presence makes you ache for him. Like you miss him. It's a thought you shove far, far away into the depths of your mind. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to keep Kai for the night; he looks like he'd do anything to stay with you.

"Aw shit. Sorry Yeonjun. Me and Hyuka had something to do and I totally forgot. Bye." You don't stay to hear his complaints, instead grasping Kai's wrist and taking him to the other side of the house. Kai is silent as you both weave through the bodies of people. He doesn't say a peep when you open the door to the basement, closing it behind you two.

Yeonjun and his frat brothers had a man-cave that was off limits to everybody. But being Yeonjun's 'special' friend gave you some perks. You made your way down the stairs to plop yourself on the couch. Kai stood awkwardly beside you, unsure of where to place himself.

When he does decide to sit next to you, you shake your head. "Nope. Here." You snap your fingers and point to the floor between your legs. Kai hesitantly approaches, getting on his knees in front of you. He looks perfect, like he belongs down there.

You spread your legs open, hiking your dress above your waist to show yourself. Kai's eyes widen and he gulps, "I-this wasn't what I-"

"You embarrassed me tonight Hyuka. Do you know that?" His expression turns guilty, a frown on his face as he nods. "You got in the way of me having fun. Acting like you're some boyfriend to me. Don't you think you owe me for ruining my night?"

Kai glances at your clothed cunt then to your eyes. "I'm sorry," he speaks softly. His smooth voice makes you shiver with arousal. "Well," you look at him unimpressed. "Go ahead and show me how sorry you are." Kai's mouth opens to protest but you cut him off. "And don't give me that shit that you've never eaten pussy before. There has to be something you've learned from all that porn you watch."

He snaps his mouth shut and blushes. That's exactly what he was going to say, but it wasn't because he didn't want to. You've given Kai head countless times, and he's never had the opportunity to reciprocate. It wouldn't be unreasonable to say that he thinks about it, even dreams about it when he's away from you. There's nothing Kai wishes more than to taste your sweetness, he's just worried about his lack of experience.

Still, you're laying yourself on a platter so nicely for him. He can see the outline of your clit through your thin underwear. Carefully, he uses his finger to trail your crevices. Kai's digit lightly drags up and down your pussy. You can’t help but twitch, your hips slightly jumping from the ghostly sensation.

It's not necessarily confidence, but curiosity that makes him eager. Kai wants to know what makes you wet, what pulls the pretty moans from your throat, how your cream would taste on his tongue. He can feel the plushness of your lower lips. The wetness of your pussy sounds like music to his ears.

His teasing touches get you restless. There's a part of you that tells you to wait, that Kai might get overwhelmed from his first time seeing a cunt. But the need in your gut and the way your hips keep thrusting upwards to hump his hand wins out in the end.

You use one hand to pull your underwear to the side, shivering at the cold air. Kai's breath gets caught in his throat and his tongue pokes out to lick his lips. Your other hand reaches for your folds to spread them open. You softly hum at the intensity of Kai's stare, pulling at your pussy a little harsher.

"You like it Hyuka? You ever seen a pussy this close before?" You sound a little breathless, but Kai finds that insanely attractive. "Never...it's beautiful." The warmth of his breath on your cunt makes you whimper.

The compliment doesn't fail to give you little butterflies in your stomach. "Oh yeah? I think it tastes better than it looks." To prove your point, you use the hand that was stretching you open to collect your juices. Kai's eyes never leave your hand even as you place your fingers in your mouth, swirling your tongue around them.

His Adam's apple bobs and his eyes twinkle like a kid seeing their favorite ice cream. You exaggeratedly moan as you taste yourself, "Your turn." Without waiting for Kai's response, you grip the back of his head and force him into your cunt.

There's no protesting or hesitation once his lips are on your aroused ones. He buries his face between your legs and his arms wrap around the underside on your thighs. Kai's a little too enthusiastic with his aggressive licks, but his little grunts make up for his lack of experience.

He's never tasted anything so good. Kai was thinking that it might taste like his own cum but he could not be more wrong. Your flavor is a natural musk that has him straining in his pants already. If this is how you tasted all the time, Kai thinks there couldn't be a day where he wouldn't eat you out.

His tongue flicks at your nub on occasion, but he seems to be focusing on your entrance instead. You keep a firm grip on the top of his head and guide him back up to your clitoris. "Here Hyuka. Don't make me tell you again." Kai nods at your order and centers at your sweet spot.

You don't bother looking away from Kai. It might be a little too intimate to keep eye contact while he laps at your cunt, but you love seeing him so pliant. It's a huge power trip you've accepted when giving him head. It didn't matter who was on their knees, you both knew who was in control.

Kai was a quick learner. He figures out you really like when his nose brushes against your bud while his tongue lapps deeper into you. Your hips start grinding on his face, and his heart swells with pride. It feels good knowing Kai could do this to you. Even if you were mean to him, he still felt like he owed you this pleasure.

There's no way Kai's face is still dry after dragging it up and down your pussy. He doesn’t seem to care about how dirty he gets, only that you chased the high you've been neglecting yourself from. You don't care about how loud you're being either. Not that it matters anyway, the hollering from upstairs is enough to cover up your sounds.

The first signs of your orgasm course through your body. Your legs tense around him and you throw your head back. "Ah~Hyuka, don't stop. Feels so good." Kai doubles down, knowing there’s no way he could get tired of your taste no matter how many times you came on his tongue.

Your cunt starts contracting around nothing, longing to be stuffed. You close your eyes and imagine how Kai's cock would fill you up so nicely. He might be pretty sloppy with his thrusts, but it would get the job done in making you cream around him. As much as you want him inside you, you know that you both would reach the point of no return if that happens.

Your obsession would turn into something you don't think you're ready for.

Instead, you'll have to settle for asking for his finger. He might struggle in the beginning, but he'll get the hang of it.

"Hyuka," you try and steady your voice. "Finger m-" You're cut short by footsteps descending the steps. Kai tries to rip himself from you, but you slam your thighs shut to keep him in place. He struggles for a second, but the feeling of your soft skin surrounding him pacifies him.

Familiar orange hair peeps from the stairs as Yeonjun makes his way down. He looks at you surprised for a moment, then his eyes travel to the hostage between your legs. Being the dramatic person he is, Yeonjun jumps at the sight. "What's going on here?"

Kai stiffens at Yeonjun's voice, and he looks at you pleadingly. As if saying get him out of here please. You turn your attention back to Yeonjun and shrug, "Nothin'. I'm kinda busy right now." Rather than taking the cue and leaving, he goes down the remaining stairs and slowly walks over to you. He lifts his sunglasses to rest on his head, "Doesn't look like nothing. Who ya suffocating down there?"

Once something grabs Yeonjun's interest, it's practically impossible to get rid of him. There's nothing you can do other than watch Yeonjun plop himself on the couch beside you. He shows no shame in staring at Huening Kai between your legs. Yeonjun lets out a little chuckle, "So is this what you and Kai had to do?"

You nod, pushing the hair from Kai's face. His eyes have welled up with tears and his cheeks a bright pink. From oxygen deprivation or embarrassment, you aren't sure.

Yeonjun's eyes never leave Kai's face, darting from your pussy and his wet face. "Well don't let me stop you, carry on," it's only amusement in Yeonjun's voice.

You can feel your heart drumming in your chest, and the little trembles in Kai's hands. You've never tried to explore having sex in front of someone, but you'd be lying if you said it didn't intrigue you. The thought of Yeonjun's eyes and Kai's mouth on you is exhilarating, and you can feel your cunt throb in excitement.

"You heard the man Hyuka. Go ahead." You spread your legs and allow Kai to take in a deep breath. He takes a few gulps of air before he shakes his head. "I can't." He speaks so softly, as if he would break if he said it any louder.

One of your eyebrows raise from his refusal. It's been a while since Kai has denied you, and you don't really have the time to play into it right now. You were torn from your orgasm minutes ago, your high was still nestling in your stomach waiting to be released.

"You can't?" You question. "What do you mean you can't?"

Kai doesn't answer you, insistent on shaking his head as his response. You groan and roll your eyes, I don't have time for this bullshit.

"Yeonjun," you call to the man beside you. "You'll eat my pussy won't you?" Before Yeonjun has the opportunity to respond, Kai immediately begins to protest. "Wait! I can do it. I can, I'm sorry." His eyes lock with yours, pleading. His quick obedience makes you shiver, and you involuntarily open your legs a little wider.

"You keep saying you're sorry, but I dunno if you mean it," you tsk. "We have a guest Hyuka, it's rude to keep him waiting."

"I am sorry! I didn't mean it." His words are mumbled as Kai places his lips back on your core. You hum at the warmth of his mouth, lifting your hips up to chase the heat.

Kai isn't as aggressive, most likely nervous from having a one-man audience. But his slower licks make that heat in your belly begin to gently rise once again. His tongue travels into your hole to collect your wetness and bring it back up to your clit. You moan at the flick of his tongue against your nub.

Yeonjun lifts your dress higher and spills your tits from your bra. Your hazy eyes look into his and he licks his lips hungrily. The tension in his jeans gets the better of him, and he unbuckles his belt to relieve himself.

The jingling sound makes Kai peek over at Yeonjun, and there's a slight panic in his eyes. You notice this quickly, and cradle his face in your palm. Kai's gaze turns to yours, and you can see the ease quickly return back. The obvious effect you have on him makes your chest tighten, and you pray it's just because you're turned on.

Yeonjun grips himself and starts pumping his cock. Curses and groans leave his lips as he pleasures himself. The sight of Kai burying his face deep into you leaves Yeonjun yearning to not only spectate, but somehow get a taste of you too.

With one hand steady on Kai, you use your other to play with your exposed breasts. You tug and twist your nipples, jolting in Kai's mouth. Though it's getting difficult to keep your pussy in his hold, Kai finds his confidence to harshly suck on your cunt.

You cry out and try to escape his hot tongue, but his grip on you is firm. The stimulation is borderline painful, but the way you're flooding in his mouth is anything but.

"Oh fuck" Yeonjun's voice startles you for a second, forgetting his presence. His cock is completely hard, his tip swollen red. "That's a good little fuck toy you got there. Listens to every word you say. A good boy huh?"

A lazy smile finds your face as you nod. "Yeah, he is a good~oh shit... good boy. The best boy...isn't that right Hyuka?"

Your praise makes Kai's heart swell, and he happily nods and moans at your words. The movement of his head makes his nose brush against your clit, and you flinch.

Chillsbegin to spread throughout your body. Your moans are getting more frequent, the thrusting in your hips more erratic. Kai's head has begun to hurt from how hard you're gripping his hair, but he's still determined to make you finish.

"Don't stop. Hyuka I'm gonna cum–," you whine.

Stopping was the last thing Kai wanted to do, and he started wondering why he even hesitated when Yeonjun walked in. He was nervous at first, feeling like he couldn't compare to someone who has obviously slept around a lot more. But seeing your reaction and Yeonjun’s enjoyment builds up his self-assurance.

"Shit, I'mma cum too," Yeonjun's slick hands play with his tip. You bite your lower lip and harshly grab the back of Kai's head.

"Stick your tongue out." Kai obeys you immediately, letting you ride his face like a dildo as you reach the beginnings of your orgasm. Your hips stutter and your moans are choked when you cum. You squeeze your tit as your body tightens. Yeonjun's nearby moans coax your orgasm longer, making your legs tremble.

Kai's face is completely soiled in your juices, making it easier for your pussy to grind on his face. His head follows your movements easily, not wanting to miss a second of tasting your cum.

His imagination is nothing compared to what you taste like.

He keeps licking you even when your hips have collapsed back on the couch. Kai shows no signs of stopping even as your moans turn into gasps.

Yeonjun doesn't think he can take much longer, and he stands so his cock hovers over your pussy and Kai's head. The change in movement makes you focus your attention on the very close Yeonjun, and you yank Kai's head back.

A loud smack sound echos in the room when Kai is pulled away from your sensitive cunt. He looks at you as if he's going to complain, but the loud groaning of Yeonjun makes him shut up.

"Go ahead and come on me Yeonjun. Right here." The hand that was playing with your boobs comes down to spread your lower lips open. You avoid your nub while you rub yourself, still too delicate to be touched.

"On my favorite pussy." It's the last coherent sentence Yeonjun says when he cums. His hot spurts land on your lower stomach, your pussy, and the inner parts of your thighs. His thighs shake and he throws his head back as he continues pumping himself. You smear his arousal over your pelvis, bringing a finger to your tongue for a taste.

You moaned around your digit, "Mmm, so much for me."

Kai does nothing but watch as another man defiles you. The jealousy is strong in his body, he can feel the heaviness in his chest. Still, you keep your eyes on Kai. He can see the mischievousness and teasing behind them, and for some reason he feels like you enjoy his envy.

Once Yeonjun comes down from his high, he finally notices the mess on your cunt. "Hold on, lemme get you a towel."

"That won't be necessary. You know what to do Hyuka." There's no resistance in his eyes when Kai sticks his tongue out to clean you up. You can practically feel Yeonjun's jaw drop, disbelief in his features.

"No shit."

Kai's hot tongue promptly licks you up, collecting Yeonjun's cum. You can see Kai scrunch his nose up at the taste, making you giggle. His mouth travels to your stomach, your thighs, and your pussy as he wipes any trace of arousal from you.

"I've trained him well huh? Little puppy just for me," you hum when Kai rolls your bud gently over his tongue.

"This is my favorite part," you say giddily once Kai has collected all the cum in his mouth.

Kai opens his mouth to reveal the white release he's gathered. His eyes sting from the unfamiliar saltiness, but he keeps his tongue out to show you and Yeonjun his hard work. You purr at the sight, sitting up to grab a hold on Kai's face.

You squeeze his cheeks together and force his head to face Yeonjun who's gaping at the sight.

"Swallow."

Unable to keep his eyes open, Kai swallows thickly. You can hear Yeonjun groan at the sight, his soft dick twitching.

You give a few gentle slaps to Kai's face and peck his cheek. "That's my good boy~"

a/n: here's the 2nd part to the huening kai series! I hope ya'll like it! no idea what I'd do for the 3rd part, lmao proofreader/editor: @then-make-me (thank you!!)

update: third part here

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spiderfunkz · 1 year ago

Text

✧.* FLOUR N COOKIES.

— summary : when baking cookies with natasha turns into a flour fight.

— word count : 0,6k

— warnings : fluff, fem!reader, established relationship, nat & reader live together, flour fights, pet names, nat being a tease.

a/n : it's october so the autumn-y fics r here !! also i am a firm believer that nat struggles to do basic cooking.

baking was something you've always loved to do, since ever. you loved the process of buying the ingredients, picking the flavours, toppings, decorations, everything.

you especially loved baking for other people. it's your way of showing that you love and care for them, a love language sort of.

and it's always been a tradition for you to bake fall cookies for your friends. today, you were baking them for clint.

it was the perfect time to bake. the weather was perfect, it was foggy but not too foggy since you could still see the reflection of sunlight. the music was playing in the background, and nothing could possibly ruin this you thought.

tying your apron, natasha walks in to help.

"you look good in that apron." she smirks.

you ignore the comment as you grab the eggs from the fridge. "stay focused, we need to finish these cookies."

"well, i'm more or so thinking that you should wear that apron more often." she teases. "these cookies are for clint. realistically, you should be taking the lead." you reply.

"i've never baked before."

"ever? in your entire life? not even once?"

"i'm pretty sure that's what the word never means." — "do you at least know how to crack open an egg?"

you were met with silence. is she serious?

"just crack these eggs to that bowl, please." you point. "like this?" she asks.

you stare at her in disbelief. she seems confused, possibly wondering what she did wrong.

"you know, maybe, without, the eggshells."

she looks down at the bowl, "i think we should leave it. crunchy cookies, you know? it adds more protein, so it's healthy." she awkwardly smiles.

"whatever, i'll just pick the eggshells out." you carefully grab the slippery shells.

"soooo.. what's next?" she wipes the egg residue on her pants. "i'll whisk the wet ingredients, you can help me by grabbing the flour and baking soda."

natasha nods, as she grabs the ingredients you asked for from the cabinets above. "you know i've always wanted to do this with someone." she says, toying with the bag of flour.

"yeah well, this feels more like a me effort instead of a team effort." you state. "there's no me in team." natasha replies.

"yes there is. there's an 'e' and an 'm'." you stated.

"you're so smart, detka. keep blabbering. see what happens."

was that a threat? you look up from the bowl to see her grab a handful of flour. "put that down. don't get closer." you commanded.

"or what?" — "or the cookies won't get done, and clint will have over-floured cookies."

natasha shuffles forward.

"nat. i swear. i just cleaned the floor this morning."

"i'm not even moving."

"i can see you shuffling towards me."

"i'm standing very still. actually, here, catch!" she throws the flour to you. your clean apron was now covered in flour.

"oh you are so gonna regret that, natasha."

you swiftly grab a handful of flour from the bag, throwing it right on her black top.

natasha gasps, before throwing another handful to your direction.

this went on for a good minute before natasha finally stopped it by grabbing the bag from you.

"okay, okay! time out. i've got to take a picture of you, you look like a ghost!"

"really? because you should really look in the mirror, natasha. i can barely make out the red in your hair right now."

she glances at the reflection of the fridge. "that's. rude."

"who looks like a ghost now?"

"you still do. if i poured the mixture on you with chocolate chips and put you in the oven, would you become a cookie?" she jokes.

"don't you dare mess with the mixture."

"don't worry, love. i'd still love you if you were a cookie." natasha smiles.

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orchidniins · 7 months ago

Note

anything for arthur hill 😭😭 maybe with a musician partner? no pressure take your time!! <3

Heartstrings | Arthur Hill

Summary: Y/N is a musician on her first solo tour. All she wanted was her boyfriend to be there to support her, but conflicting schedules might make for a bittersweet reunion. Pairings: Arthur Hill x Musician! afab!Reader Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Smut Word Count: 6.8k A/N: Thanks anon for the request! There needs to be more on tumblr for our talented king!!! This fic took a very different turn than what I had intended it to have. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Surrounded by the buzzing energy backstage, you stand in a dimly lit corridor. Staff scurry around, with headsets and clipboards, finalizing last-minute details, the hum of voices and hurried footsteps echoing off the walls. Amidst all the organized chaos, the only thing you can hear is the pounding of your heart and the muffled thump of the bass from the stage. As always, a flurry of excited nerves bubble in your stomach right before your cue.

You exhale deeply in an attempt to calm your nerves as your makeup artist puts the finishing touches on your makeup, ensuring it's flawless and accentuates your features perfectly. Simultaneously, your stylist adjusts your top from behind, the outfit meticulously chosen to embody the concept of your album.

Tonight marked the final show of your first solo tour, a moment that once felt like an unattainable dream. And you had relished every moment of the past two months on the road. From the electric energy of the stage to the bone-deep exhaustion of late nights and early mornings, and you loved every single second of it. Yet, amidst the overwhelming excitement, a different emotion began to surface—a subtle pang of disappointment that tugged at your heart.

You made your way toward the stage entrance, still out of view of the audience. Their murmured conversations intertwined with the ambient music playing in the venue. With just ten minutes until your set time, you peered into the crowd, scanning the sea of faces and you searched for one person in particular: your boyfriend, Arthur.

Arthur had been one of your biggest supporters since long before you two became a couple. Being a musician himself, he understood and empathized with all that you had gone through to get where you are today: the late nights, the hours of hard work, the busy schedules, and the stress and fears that came with all of it. When you had broke the news of your first solo tour, he was easily the happiest person in the room.

-------⋆✧⋆-------

The pair of you were cozied up on the couch in your apartment, your legs draped over his lap as you snuggled close, halfway through a movie that you couldn’t even remember anymore when you received a call from your manager.

As you made a move to get up and answer your phone, Arthur’s arm wrapped around you, a playful pout formed on his lips. "No, don't go," he murmured softly, his hand tightened on your thigh to keep you in place.

“I’ll be right back…it’s just, it could be important,” you said softly, offering him a gentle smile before planting a tender kiss on his nose. "Just give me a minute," you reassured him, feeling his grip on you loosen as he gave you a small nod. With a resigned sigh, you peeled yourself out of his comforting embrace, slipping away to take the call.

You paced around the living room, absorbed in conversation with your manager, while Arthur rested his chin on the back of the sofa. His gaze followed you intently, furrowing his eyebrows in an attempt to decipher the conversation from your expressions and strings of “okays” and “uh-huhs”. After a few minutes, you ended your call, spinning on your heels to face him, disbelief etched on your face.

You pause for a moment, dumbfounded, the words caught in your throat. Arthur looked at you expectantly and finally he broke the silence, "So? Everything ok?"

"I'm going on tour!", you screamed out, your voice filled with excitement as you jumped up and down in sheer joy.

He sprung off the couch, reaching you in an instant with his arms wide open.You jumped into his arms, overwhelmed with pure joy. He wrapped you in a tight embrace, lifting you slightly off the floor in one swift move. His wide smile mirrored yours, reflecting the genuine happiness he felt for you and you felt so lucky to have him by your side, celebrating this moment with you.

Gently, he set you back down on the ground, and as you faced each other, his hands found their place on your waist while yours naturally rested on his forearms. "I knew you were gonna make it big," he whispered, his eyes sparkling with admiration.

You playfully teased him back, a grin tugging at your lips. "Look who's talking," you quipped, your tone light and teasing.

He lightly chuckled, his lips met yours in a soft and sweet kiss. As he pulled away, a hand caressed your cheek, his gaze filled with pride. "I'm so proud of you," he whispered, his voice laced with sincerity.

Arthur knew the dedication you poured into your music, especially your most recent album. His acknowledgment of your talent and his unwavering faith in you meant more than words could express. "It was only a matter of time until the whole world saw what I saw," he said, his voice filled with conviction. "How talented you are." Tears welled up in your eyes as you felt overwhelmed by his words.

"Baby, why the tears?" Arthur gently wiped them away, his expression softening as he saw the conflicting emotions in your face.

"I-I don't know what to feel," you whispered, your voice came out shaky, as he wrapped you in another comforting hug. You buried your head into the crook of his neck, and the two of you stood in silence for a moment. “I’m kinda scared babe,” you finally spoke up, your voice barely above a whisper, your vulnerability coming through in the trembling of your words.

You pulled away slightly, your eyes falling to your feet. Arthur, sensing your apprehension, bent down slightly to have a look at your face. "Hey, hey, listen to me," he said gently, his hands lifting your chin to meet his eyes.

He smiled at you warmly, "I, of all people, know how hard you've worked for this."

"And I know you are going to do great,” he continued, his smile growing wider. "And best believe I'm going to be at every single show to support you. You're going to kill it out there, babe."

-------⋆✧⋆-------

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted by the backstage manager's announcement: "Five minutes to go." her voice snaps you back to reality.

The reality was that two months had passed, and Arthur hadn’t been able to make it to a single one of your headline shows. Usually, before either of your shows, you’d atleast video call each other, finding solace in seeing his face and hearing his voice over the phone. But this time, you chose to forgo it, not wanting to set yourself up for disappointment again.

You let go of any hope that he might appear for this one and focus on trying to hyping yourself up instead.

But you didn't blame Arthur for not being there, he was currently on tour as well. While he had offered to rearrange a few dates to work around yours, you declined the idea instantly, not wanting to inconvenience him or his fans. So in the end, you two recognized that the two of you just had to make it work, and moving around either of your tour dates was impractical.

Most of your show dates overlapped or were in different cities altogether, making it logistically challenging for Arthur to be there at your shows. Despite this, you managed to catch a few of his shows over the past few months, even flying out to Glasgow the week before, only to have him whisked away to another city shortly after.

He was always extremely apologetic about it, but you couldn't help but feel slightly upset each time. You felt selfish for feeling the way you did; after all, this situation was out of his hands. And dwelling on it only added unnecessary stress. It’s not like it made you love him any less. You were incredibly proud of the success Arthur had garnered and knew how hard he had worked for it. But at the end of the day, you were finding it difficult to shake off the disappointment of him not being able to witness perform live.

So you made a conscious effort to push aside those feelings of disappointment and focus on your performance. You shook out your shoulders and your hands, trying to calm your nerves, trying to get yourself in the right headspace to deliver your finale show. Then, once both your tours ended, you looked forward to having your boyfriend's undivided attention once again.

As you finally step onto stage, highlighted under the spotlight, you are welcomed by the roar of the crowd. You let the booming sounds drown out whatever you were feeling previously and you felt the nerves melt away as you started to sing your music. You pour all you have into your set, feeding off of the electric energy of the crowd.

As your final song begins to fade into the air, you take a moment to catch your breath, taking a little bow. "Thank you London!" you scream, your voice ringing with sincerity. "You have been amazing tonight. I love you all so much!" Tears well up in your eyes as you bid your final goodbyes to the cheering crowd. With a final wave, you make your exit from the stage, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

As you pull out your ear monitor and hand it, along with your mic, to one of the staff members, they swiftly assist you in removing your mic pack. You take a moment to express your gratitude to them and exchange thanks with everyone who passes by at that moment. Left alone for just about a minute, you take a deep breath, allowing yourself to calm down and soak in the moment. A sense of accomplishment washed over you, disbelief as you realized that you had just completed your first headline tour.

Amidst the bustling backstage atmosphere of people packing up, your manager approaches you, enveloping you in a warm hug. "You were absolutely incredible out there," she says, her voice filled with pride.

"Thank you so much," you reply gratefully. "I couldn't have done any of this without you."

As she pulls away, she mentions with a warm smile, "Nonsense, you worked so incredibly hard for this."

You flash her a smile, as she continues, "I've got to head out soon, tuck my kid into bed. You’ll be okay if I leave first?”

You nod understandingly, "Of course. Don't worry, I'll be fine. I’ve got your assistant to keep me company."

She smiles appreciatively, giving you a final hug before bidding you farewell, "Take care, and go celebrate with the band tonight! Use the company card!"

As she heads off, you chuckle at her parting words. Her assistant approaches, congratulating you, "Great show, Y/N. You absolutely killed it out there."

You exchange a hug with him, expressing your gratitude. He then hands you a towel and a bottle of water.

You take the bottle from him with a small smile, engaging in light conversation as you sip on it. As you hand back the half-empty bottle, your gaze catches a familiar head of messy hair entering the backstage area through the stage exit.

Your heart skips a beat as you realize it's Arthur, standing there with a proud smile on his face. It feels almost surreal seeing him at one of your shows in the flesh. You couldn't believe it. Having given up hopes of seeing him at your show, the moment felt too good to be true, as if you're caught in a dream. Especially considering he had his own show tonight as well, the fact that he'd made it felt nothing short of a miracle.

You are pulled out of your thoughts when you hear someone clearing their throat. You look back to your manager's assistant, who shifts awkwardly before speaking up. "Well, I'm gonna go be someplace else," he says, his tone a tad awkward.

"Yeah, sure," you respond quickly, offering a polite smile. "Just call me if you need anything," he adds hurriedly. "I have some things to wrap up." You nod in acknowledgment and offer a quick thanks as he swiftly exits the backstage area.

Now that the two of you were alone, Arthur walks up to you. Despite feeling happy to see him, you couldn't shake off the lingering sense of disappointment. All you wanted was for him to be there, to watch you perform, and the frustration of his absence during your shows still weighed heavily on you. And your facial expression reflected how you were feeling. When he finally reaches you, you make no effort to move.

Arthur had always been able to read you like an open book, and he had noticed the slightly annoyed, tight-lipped expression on your face. Rather than trying to coax you into a better mood with words, he instead pulls you into an embrace. Despite your attempt to appear upset, your body betrays you as your arms instinctively wrap around him, drawing him closer. As he holds you, you can't help but melt into his touch, your tummy doing a little flip as you take in his familiar scent. His presence has a calming effect, momentarily pushing aside the frustration you were feeling just moments ago.

You feel him smile against your hair as he feels you wrap your arms around him tighter. "Hey, you," he murmurs softly against your hair, exuding sweetness. Despite feeling comforted by his presence, you still feel slightly conflicted."Hi," you mutter, your voice coming out quieter than usual.

He then pulls away, his hands gently cupping your face as he looks into your eyes before he leans in, engulfing your lips in a soft kiss. The warmth of his lips against yours elicits a response, kissing him back, but Arthur can sense that something is amiss. "I thought you'd be happier to see me," he says, flashing you his cute heart-melting smile. You try to put on a brave face, reminding yourself to be happy now that he was finally here. "No, I'm excited to see you," you insist, placing both your hands on his chest, though your voice lacks its usual enthusiasm.

You try to force a smile, but then a realization flashes across your features. With a cocked eyebrow, you ask, "Didn't you have a show today? When did you get here?" You attempt to steer the conversation away from you. With a gentle smile, he says "I left as soon as my show ended. I caught the end of your show. You were amazing." He adds, "You did so well out there." You muster a faint, "Oh, thank you, babe," but your smile falls short of its usual brightness. Arthur lets out a sigh as he grows more concerned by the shift in your demeanor.

Arthur's expression turns serious. "Hey, what happened, baby? Tell me what's wrong," he urges gently. You hesitate for a moment before responding, "Nothing, I'm fine." He gives you a skeptical look, and you quickly add, "Seriously, I'm fine," trying to brush it off. Deep down, you feel the urge to cry, and the last thing you wanted right now was for Arthur to see you in tears.

Just then, you hear a mix of voices coming from the stage, and Arthur takes a step back from you, turning to face the direction of the noise. You see the band finally making it backstage after packing up their instruments. One of the band members waves to you as they walk by and calls out, "Hey Y/N, you coming with us for a drink?" Sniffling, you quickly wipe your eyes, determined to rid them of any tears that may threaten to spill. Gathering yourself, you reply, "Yeah, just give me a few minutes. I need to change. I'll be right there with you lot." They nod quickly before heading off to their green rooms.

You turn back to Arthur, who was still eyeing you with a concerned expression and furrowed eyebrows. "Talk to me, Y/N," he says, his hands grabbing yours, his thumbs running comfortingly over your hands. Part of you wanted to break down and tell Arthur everything, how you've hated not having him here, how upset you've been. But you know that if he sees you like this, he would feel absolutely horrible and blame everything on himself.

Swallowing hard, you remove your hands from his and respond softly, "Nothing, I'm just tired." Arthur's concern deepens, and he suggests, "Okay, then let's get you back home. I don't have to leave until the morning anyways."

You quickly interject, "No, it's fine. I think I should go out with the band for a bit. They've worked so hard, I should celebrate with them. I won't be out long." By the look of his face you knew that he wasn't buying it, so you continued, "I'll just go change real quick, and then we'll go out. I think we both deserve a bit of a night out, yeah?" He nods with a smile, and you tell him to wait as you head off toward your dressing room, hoping to compose yourself in private.

You quickly enter your dressing room and shut the door behind you, just wanting a moment to yourself. Taking a deep breath, you stand in front of the mirror, trying to compose yourself. You look at yourself, trying to push away the feelings of frustration and letdown that were bubbling up to the surface again. You remind yourself to be okay, not wanting to start a petty fight with Arthur over something so trivial. With your tour now over you were now happy to have the time to support him.

But, before you could stop them, tears start rolling down your face, tracing hot paths down your cheeks, smearing some of your mascara in the process. "Pull yourself together," you whisper to your reflection, your voice trembling slightly. You grab a makeup wipe from the packet on the dressing table and attempt to wipe away the tears and clean up some of the smudged makeup under your eyes, but the tears don’t stop coming. You try to calm yourself down again, but in that moment, you break down. Finally crying freely as you let your head hang and your hands coming up to cover your face, releasing the pent-up frustration that had been building over the past 2 months.

You didn’t realize that your sobs were now audible through the door until you heard a soft knock. Arthur's voice, laced with concern, seeps through the crack. "Baby, are you okay?" he asks gently. "Please open the door. Tell me what happened."

You hesitate, feeling torn between wanting to let him in and not wanting him to see you like this, afraid that your reasons might upset him as well. As you glance at the door, you hurriedly wipe your tears, attempting to regain your composure. "Everything's fine," you manage to choke out, your voice trembling slightly, "Just give me a few minutes."

Arthur's voice gets slightly louder, "Y/N, don't lie to me, please," he pleads. "I need to see that you're okay. Please just open the door, baby."

You feel a pang of guilt at his words, knowing that he genuinely cared about your well-being. Despite your reluctance, you can't bear to keep him waiting outside. Taking a deep breath, you walk over to the door and unlock it, allowing Arthur to step inside.

He instantly pulls you into another hug, drawing you close to his chest. His arms envelop you, trying to comfort you. One of his hands moves to the back of your head, gently stroking your hair soothingly as you lightly sob into his shirt. You stay there for a moment.

Sensing your sobs beginning to subside, he gently attempts to pull away, intending to get a better look at your face. "Come on, baby, let me see you," he whispers softly. You shake your head softly, not wanting him to see your tear-streaked face, and snuggle even closer to him. He lets you stay nestled against him, resting his chin on your head and pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" he asks very softly, trying to be patient with you. He knew that when you got like this, trying to force you to talk was never the answer. He understood that if you felt pressured, you would only shut down further.

You slowly shake your head, not knowing how to even start that conversation. He mutters, "Are you sure?" and you reply with a hesitant nod, "Yes, I'm fine." Though he doesn't believe you, he lets you stay in his arms for a little while longer, sensing your reluctance to open up. After a while, he continues, "Come on, baby, let it out. You know you’ll feel better if you just talk about it." He strokes your hair soothingly, encouraging you to share your feelings.

He says softly, "We can stay like this for as long as you want, but eventually, you're gonna have to come up for air." You chuckle slightly, feeling a bit lighter after releasing all the built-up emotions. With a deep breath, you pull away from his embrace, looking up at him with puffy eyes, smeared eye makeup and tear stained cheeks. Though you'd stopped crying, looking at the tender loving look in his eyes makes tears well up in your eyes again.

He lightly cups your face, wiping away at your tears. You nod, signaling that you are about to speak. Despite the concern in his eyes, he gives you a reassuring smile, silently encouraging you to go on.

"Okay, yeah…," you begin, your voice trembling slightly. You pause, trying to gather your thoughts before continuing, "Arthur, it's just that... Okay, now, whatever I'm about to say, you shouldn't get upset by it, alright? I’m probably just making a big deal out of nothing," His worry deepens, his brows furrowing. "Baby, just tell me. You're scaring me now," he urges softly.

Softly chuckling, you reassure him, "It's nothing like that," as you gently guide his hands away from your face, holding onto his forearms. You finally say, "Arthur, it's just... it hasn't been the easiest not having you here," your voice shaky with emotion. "I know we’ve talked about it before, and I know I’ve repeatedly said that I’m okay with you not being here all the time and that I understand most of the time you just couldn't physically be here." Tears begin to well up in your eyes again as you continue, "But, when I imagined this whole tour thing in my head, I just imagined you at all my shows, and being able to celebrate with you backstage afterwards." You wipe away at your face, trying to compose yourself, and add, "You know what? It's stupid, just forget about it," before glancing down, feeling a lump form in your throat.

Arthur's expression softens as he listens intently to your words. "I'm sorry, Y/N" he begins, but you quickly interrupt, insisting, "You have nothing to be sorry for." Your head is still down, but he gently lifts your chin, meeting your gaze. "No, I should," he says softly, his eyes reflecting remorse. "I should have been more understanding. I absolutely loved having you supporting me at my shows, and I was just so happy whenever you were there. I am a dense idiot for not realizing that you would, of course, want the same thing. I should have tried harder to be here." He pauses, his voice filled with sincerity, "And I'm sorry for that."

"Arthur," you start saying, but he interrupts you, his voice tinged with remorse, "Even if I wasn't able to actually be here for you, I should have checked in more often with you... I feel like such a shitty boyfriend."

You quickly interject, "Hey, no! Honestly, I've been fine mostly. It's just that seeing you here today just brought everything out, that's all. I'll be okay in a bit," you assure him with a small smile.

"You don’t have to hide your feelings from me, or hide your tears. I love you and your emotional ass, so tell me everything, okay? Especially when I’ve done something to upset you, no matter how small you think it is. I don’t ever want you to feel like you can’t tell me something. And I promise you, I will never get mad at you," he reassures you, his voice filled with sincerity. "I'm here for you, always."

You look at him, at a loss for words, and he simply pulls you into a tight embrace. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck as his encircle your waist. "I love you so much, baby," he whispers softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "And I’m so proud of everything you've achieved. You're not selfish at all for wanting me here. I’m the selfish one for not being here," he admits, his voice filled with remorse. "I promise I’ll be better in the future," he reassures you, holding you close.

You exhale deeply, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. Meeting his gaze again, your foreheads gently touching, "Just having you here now means everything to me." Your voice is filled with sincerity and gratitude. "I love you too, Arthur," you whisper. As you finally manage to muster a genuine smile, he returns it warmly. "There's that smile I love so much," he remarks, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your mouth. You can't help but let out a small giggle in response.

Feeling a lot better now, you glance at his white T-shirt and let out a little laugh. "Sorry about your shirt," you say, noticing the makeup smudges and wet tear spots on it. He chuckles in response, "No, it's fine, it adds character." Then he teases, “You know, if I sell this shirt on eBay, I can make a ton of money from it. It'll be an authentic Y/N creation." You giggle, playfully rolling your eyes and lightly swatting at his chest.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious about your appearance, you mutter, "God, I must look like such a mess right now," as you wipe at your cheeks. With a sigh, you pull away from him and walk slowly back to the dressing table. Grabbing another wipe, you clean up your messy face, taking off the remaining makeup as well.

Arthur follows you, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder as he watches you in the mirror. "Never," he murmurs softly, "you are the most beautiful woman I know, even when you cry." His words make you chuckle a little, scoffing lightly, and you see him smile with warm eyes.

He moves your hair aside, pressing a tender kiss to the exposed skin on your shoulder. "You always look perfect to me," he adds, "And besides, you looked like an absolute angel on stage today," he compliments, his eyes filled with admiration as he gazes at you in the mirror. You can't help but smile at his words, feeling a warmth spread through you. One of your hands comes up to rest on his, your head leaning against his. In that moment, all felt right again in the world, just the two of you together.

Once you're done wiping your makeup off, you turn in his arms to face him, leaning against the edge of the table. He looks at you with a tender smile, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. You take a moment to admire his handsome features, your hand gently caressing his face, tracing the lines of his smile with your thumb. As you smile back at him, you notice the slight dark circles forming under his eyes.

"Did you manage any sleep at all today?" you ask, your voice laced with concern, your fingers lightly tracing his cheek. A slight frown forms on your lips as you await his response. He chuckles softly, shaking his head. "No, I'm just running on adrenaline," he admits with a tired smile.

You nod sympathetically, understanding the toll a busy schedule can take. "How did your show go by the way?" you ask, your voice filled with genuine interest as you gaze at him intently. He starts detailing the performance, his eyes aglow with excitement.

You listen attentively, captivated by his every word. As he talks, you can't help but feel a sense of pride and joy for him, your expression mirroring his enthusiasm. "You really are amazing, Arthur," you compliment him with a warm smile. He responds with a playful scoff, "Oh please, stop it," earning a laugh from the both of you.

"Are you feeling better now?" he asks, gently tucking your hair behind your ears. You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. “I’m sorry that I absolutely freaked out on you” you say, feeling slightly guilty but he quickly dismisses it, "You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about."

"I mean, I was expecting you to run up and jump into my arms, but maybe next time." he says playfully. "Well, go stand over there. Give me some space for a run-up,” you suggest, playing along. Chuckling, he shakes his head, his hands gently resting on your waist. "No," he replies with a grin. You lean in and plant a soft peck on his cheek, returning his smile.

"But seriously, if you ever feel like this again, about anything, just talk to me, okay?" You nod in agreement, feeling incredibly grateful to have such a supportive boyfriend. "I promise," you assure him, squeezing his hand gently.

Arthur wraps his arms tighter around your waist, pulling you closer as he gently strokes the exposed skin on your back, a playful smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. Your hand instinctively moves up to his chest, a tingle spreading down your spine at the warmth of his touch. "You know," he murmurs softly, "I missed you." You respond with a giggle, teasingly saying, "Aw, Arthur, I missed you too." He leans in to kiss you, but you tilt your face away at the last minute, laughing as he ends up planting a kiss on your cheek instead.

"Well, If you missed me so much, then you should have come to more than just this show…. I mean I’ve been to pretty much every other one of yours," you jokingly tell him, a playful twinkle in your eye as you reach up to place a kiss on his jaw. He feigns hurt, "Oh, way to kick a guy when he's down babe."

“Hey, it's not like you’re completely forgiven,” you tease, a mischievous glint in your eyes. He pouts slightly, "You're right, I’ll make it up to you somehow." he says with a little wink, leaning in closer. His warm breath tickles your skin, sending shivers down your spine as his lips inch closer to yours. Butterflies flutter in your stomach as he places his hands on the table, trapping you between his body and the table. "In fact," he adds, "I can start right away if you want."

Without another word, his hand moves to the back of your neck, closing the distance between you two. His lips meet yours in a tender kiss, and as the intensity of the moment grows, you melt into his embrace, lost in the sensation of his lips against yours. He deepens the kiss, his grip tightening at your waist, digging into the exposed flesh, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

Your hand begins to move from his chest and slowly makes its way towards his pants, your fingertips lightly grazing the fabric over his crotch, but Arthur gently redirects your hand, placing it next to you on the table.

You pull away from your kiss, gasping for breath, confusion evident in your eyes as you gaze into his deep brown ones. Arthur lightly shakes his head, a small laugh escaping his lips. "It's all about you today, baby" he whispers softly against your lips. You visibly swallow, and it wasn’t long before his lips trail away from yours, leaving a trail of feather-light kisses along your jaw and down to your neck. A breathy moan escapes your lips as you feel the press of his lips against your skin, your skin feeling hot under their touch.

You feel him smirking against your neck before he cups you below your ass, effortlessly lifting you up off your feet. You couldn't help but giggle as you wrap your arms around his neck, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. He carries you over to the couch, gently placing you down.

You shuffle back slightly until your back touches the armrest, making room for him to join you. He places his between your legs as he leans in, capturing your lips in another deep kiss. "Think I could help you out of these clothes, baby?" he murmurs against your lips, his hand finding its place on your hip, “I'm sure they're very uncomfortable.”

You laugh in response, placing a hand on his chest and gently pushing him back, eyeing him playfully. "You first," you tease, a smirk dancing on your lips as you nod towards him, “Go on.”

Arthur stands up, wasting no time in taking off his clothes until he's left only in his boxers as you eye him up and down taking in the sight of the gorgeous man in front of you. He’s quick to come and help you with yours, reaching for the waistband of your pants, along with your panties and sliding them off, his hands tracing over your thighs.

As he moves to remove your top, you wince, causing him to freeze in concern. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?" he asks, his brow furrowing with worry as he searches your face for any signs of discomfort. You can't help but laugh at his reaction. "No, no," you reassure him, shaking your head. "I just forgot I had fashion tape on to keep my top in place."

He asks again, his voice filled with concern, "Are you sure you're fine?" You nod, "Yes, Arthur, I'm fine." With a seductive smile, you pull him closer by his shoulder, your eyes dark with lust. "Now come here," you whisper, "I forgot how much I enjoyed seeing you without your shirt on."

He chuckles, as you run your hand over his chest, tracing your fingers along his tattoos. He dips his body down to kiss the skin above your breasts, tenderly placing kisses on the red marks left behind by the tape. Moving lower, he takes one of your tits into his mouth, his lips wrapping around your hard nipple while his hand caresses your other breast. A moan escapes your lips at the sensation of his tongue, and your hands instinctively move to his hair, gently tugging as he groans in response.

He trails kisses down your body, each touch sending a sensation of electricity through you. You revel in the softness of his lips as he moves lower, his kisses tracing a tantalizing path over your skin. He works his way down to reach your inner thighs, gripping one of your thighs firmly, he carefully maneuvers it over his shoulder. His kisses grow more urgent as he inches closer to your needy core. Your skin tingles under his lips, the wetness between your thighs increasing with each teasing kiss.

His fingers dip into your folds, collecting your wetness, "You're already so wet for me, baby," he murmurs in a low voice, his voice thick with desire. You stifle a moan at his words, your breath catching at the look of lust in his eyes. "Fuck, Arthur," you breathe out, your voice laced with need, as he attaches his lips to your clit. His tongue explores your wet folds with a slow, gentle pace, driving you wild.

He starts sucking a little harder, eliciting a loud moan from you, and you feel him groan against your clit, the vibrations of his voice sending waves of pleasure through you. Your moans and groans only make Arthur increase his pace, and you shut your eyes, throwing your head back. The sensation of his finger dipping into you makes you gasp. You manage to open your eyes, finding him looking back at you with hooded eyes, the intensity in his gaze sending your heart into a frenzy.

You knew that Arthur was good with his mouth, but he never failed to surprise you each time, and you could feel yourself edging closer to your high. He continues to suck and stroke your clit until you finally feel your orgasm bubble up to the surface. You scream out his name as you reach your peak, your body trembling with pleasure, cumming into his mouth.

He cleans you up with his mouth as best he can before he pulls back, placing your leg back on the sofa. He supports his weight by placing his hands on either side of you, attaching his lips to your neck.

"I'm not done with you yet," he whispers against your neck, his eyes dark with desire as he gazes up at you. "You think you still have it in you for one more?" Your brain is still clouded from your recent high and you struggle to form coherent words, just nodding in response.

Arthur lets out a low, throaty laugh before crashing his lips against yours as you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He starts to take off his boxers, kicking them to the side and settles in between your legs, the heat of his body pressing against yours.

After a bit, he reluctantly pulls away from you, your lips chasing his as he makes his way to where he had flung his jeans. Rummaging through them, he finds his wallet, pulling out a foil packet. He quickly rips it open and slides it onto his already hard length before swiftly returning to you.

He slowly grabs your thighs, spreading them wider as he positions himself between them. He gives you a kiss on your jaw before he lines himself up, before he finally thrusts into you. “You ok baby?” he asks. You groan in response, managing to mumble out a breathy, "Yes, Arthur... fuck," reveling in the sensation of him filling you up. The pleasure evident on Arthur's face drives you wild, causing you to melt into the couch beneath you.

Arthur grabs your waist as he quickens his pace and his mouth finds its way to your chest again.

The sensation of his hands on your skin, his mouth on your chest, and feeling him deep inside you becomes almost overwhelming and you grip onto his biceps, your nails digging into his skin.

“God, Y/N, I love you so much,” he murmurs, his words sending your heart soaring, but the intensity of the moment consumes you. The pleasure courses through your body and you feel your orgasm approaching much quicker than before. You moan and arch into him, desperate for release.

Almost as if Arthur read your mind, he breathes out, "I’m so close, baby." You respond, your voice barely above a whisper, "Me too." He furrows his eyebrows, trying to hold on longer, wanting to make the moment last, but it becomes increasingly difficult when you're a gorgeous, moaning mess under him.

He feels your walls clench around his shaft as your orgasm washes over you, and you moan his name aloud. Arthur lets a groan before he spills inside of you with one last thrust. Collapsing on top of you, both of you slightly sweaty, he rests his forehead gently on yours as you both pant against each other.

Once you both get your breathing leveled out, you look at him, feeling his hand come up to softly caress your cheek. "Am I forgiven now?" he laughs as he asks you. You smile back at him, "I think I might consider it now," you reply, laughing softly.

"I love you, Arthur," you say softly, gazing into his eyes. A smile at you, warmth spreading over his handsome features before leaning in to place a tender kiss on your forehead.

As you're about to suggest that the two of you should go get cleaned up, you hear a knock on your door, your head whipping in the direction of the sound. "Hey, are you ready to go? We'll leave in a bit," you hear the voice of your bandmate peer through the closed door.

"Yeah, just us five more minutes, we'll meet you out front," you scream back, and you hear him reply with an "Okay" before his footsteps retreat.

Turning back to your boyfriend, you grin mischievously. "I should get mad at you more often," you tease.

But he looks at you deadpan and says, "No, please don’t,” and you both share a laugh. “I hate it when you're upset with me," he adds with a playful smirk before planting a quick peck on your lips and getting up.

He helps you to your feet and says, “Now let’s go celebrate you, baby,” before the two of you head off to get cleaned up and step out together.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

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#arthur hill #arthur hill smut #arthur hill fluff #arthur hill imagine #Arthur hill fics #arthur hill x reader #arthurtv #chrismd #george clarke #george clarkey #chaos crew

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