#display unit for living room

[houseofwolvess]

not me taunting myself with apartment listings

[navybluetriangles]

.

[marscardigan]

when you need the job done

neighbor!ellie williams x reader

neighbor!ellie universe

summary: moving out alone for the first time might be scary—and awfully exhausting. you’re lucky you have a very handy lesbian as a neighbor.

word count: 6.8k

THE BOX you were carrying was way too heavy. You knew it the second you stubbornly yanked it out of the trunk, but by the time you realized how unwise that was, you were already halfway up the steps to your new apartment. The one that didn't have an elevator.

A bead of sweat ran down your temple. Your arms were shaking, the cardboard creaking ominously, and you could feel the edge of a textbook digging into your thigh through the bottom of the box.

You grunted softly as you stagger forward, muttering under your breath, "okay, stupid idea, officially noted."

That’s when you heard it. A door creaking open. You looked up, flustered, and caught sight of her. A young woman that was standing in the open doorway of the unit just across the hall. Faded gray hoodie, sweatpants that sat a little too low on her hips, and a tangle of auburn hair in a messy bun that looked like it gave up halfway. One hand gripped the door frame, the other clutching a half-eaten granola bar.

She blinked at you, shocked. You offered a small, sheepish smile. "Hi."

She blinked again. "Uh—hi."

There was a beat of silence. She kept staring at you, and you shifted your weight, struggling to hold the box and at the same time balance your pride. "I, uh… just moved in."

She nodded quickly. "Yeah, no—I figured. New face. And boxes. That’s… obvious. Sorry."

You bit back a laugh. "I promise I’m not usually this pathetic. Just… long drive. Too much stuff."

Ellie snapped out of it suddenly, like her brain had just rebooted. "Shit—wait. Let me help you with that."

Before you could protest, she’s stepping forward, quickly wiping her hand on her hoodie like she just remembered she’s eating, then gently taking the box from you like she’s worried you’ll shatter if she’s too rough. And she lifted it as if it didn't weight anything. God, you're not sure if it was just the exhaustion, but was the room suddenly hotter? Or was it just you?

"Oh my god," you exhaled in relief, letting your arms drop. "Thank you. You may have just saved my spine."

She grinned softly, cheeks a little pink. "No problem. I’m Ellie, by the way."

You gave her your name, and she repeated it quietly under her breath, like she wanted to make sure she didn’t forget. It was oddly endearing.

She followed you into your apartment and gently sat the box down by the window. "Wow. You’ve got, like… a lot of books."

You glanced around at the stack of boxes marked READING / PLEASE DON’T CRUSH, smiling a little. "Guilty. I had a system, but the system kinda died somewhere around hour five of unpacking."

Ellie nodded like she got it. "Want some help? I mean—only if you want. I don’t have anything going on. Just… reorganizing my guitar pedals and regretting life choices."

You raised an eyebrow. "Guitar pedals?"

She blushed faintly. "Yeah. Music nerd. Don’t judge."

"I’d never," you replied, already walking toward the nearest box. "If you’re serious about helping, I’ve got a bookshelf I was too scared to try assembling alone."

She perked up immediately. "I’m your girl."

An hour later, Ellie was sitting cross-legged on your living room floor, her hoodie sleeves pushed up—her arm tattoo on full display, as she studied the instruction manual with a look of pure concentration.

There was a screw between her lips and her hair was falling in her face, but she didn’t seem to notice. You were lying on the rug beside her, trying not to laugh. "You look like you’re defusing a bomb."

She spat out the screw with a grin. "This is Ikea. You never know." You laughed, and Ellie beamed at the sound. "Okay, hand me the... um. That… L-shaped—thingy."

"You mean the Allen wrench?"

"Right. That. Allen. Bastard of a wrench."

You passed it to her and watched as her hands worked with practiced ease, though she was still mumbling things like 'who designed this nightmare' under her breath. After a few minutes, the pieces started to come together.

You offered her a drink from your tiny fridge, and she takes it with a soft 'thanks,' sipping while scanning the partially-built shelf.

"You know," she said casually, "this place is nice. Good lighting. Kinda cozy already."

"Think I’ll like it here."

Ellie shrugged, maybe a little too fast. "Yeah, well. I mean. You’ve got a cool neighbor, so."

You laughed, leaning your head back against the wall. "I really do."

ELLIE WAS standing at your door, awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other, wiping her hands on her jeans even though she hadn’t touched anything in the past ten minutes. The bookshelf was done. The boxes were stacked a little neater. She helped more than she should have for someone who just met you, and now there’s a weird lull in the air like… okay, what happens now?

You stretched your arms overhead, groaning quietly as your back pops. "Okay, officially retiring from lifting furniture."

Ellie snorted. "You say that now. Wait until you realize you still have, like, six more boxes marked 'miscellaneous disaster'."

You groaned again, dramatically this time. "Those are tomorrow’s problems." Then, with a soft sigh, you glanced toward your hallway and say, "God, I still need to get a new bulb for the bedroom. I haven’t been able to see in there since I got here."

Ellie raises her brows. "No light at all?"

"None," you say. "And of course, I packed the lamps in the box that’s... still in my car. Which is currently blocked in by some delivery truck of doom."

There was a pause. You expected a laugh, maybe a 'good luck with that.' Instead, she played with two of her fingers awkwardly, and smiled at you. "I could take you?" she said.

You blinked. "What?"

"To the store," she shrugged, eyes darting away like she regrets offering. "I was just gonna run out and grab snacks or something anyway."

You tilted your head. "You were?"

Ellie turned red, but tried to play it cool. "Yeah. Definitely. Wasn’t just gonna, y’know, spiral alone in my apartment or anything."

You both knew that was a lie. But you laughed, and something in her posture relaxed. "Okay," you replied, smiling. "Yeah. Let’s go lightbulb hunting."

Ten minutes later, you’re both in Ellie’s dusty old truck—windows slightly cracked, and a faint smell of pine from a crooked air freshener hanging from the mirror. She was gripping the wheel like she’s trying not to white-knuckle it, sneaking occasional glances at you when she thinks you’re not looking. You’re pretty sure you caught every single one.

At the hardware store, the lightbulb section was far more overwhelming than it had any right to be. You stood in front of it together, baffled by the sheer number of wattage options.

"Why are there so many types?" you whispered.

Ellie whispered back, "capitalism."

Eventually, you grabbed the right one (after way too much debate about warm vs. cool lighting), and Ellie casually picked up a few things for herself. Chips. A soda. A pack of sour candy she pretended not to want until you caught her staring at it for a solid minute.

"You’re definitely a sour candy person," you said as she tosses it into the basket.

Ellie shrugged, cheeks pink. "You're saying that like it’s a bad thing."

You shook your head. "No, just… makes sense."

"Yeah?"

"Yep," you said softly, smiling. "It’s cute."

She froze. Didn’t say anything for five seconds. Then muttered a very quiet, 'Oh.' You pretended not to notice how red her ears go.

BACK AT YOUR apartment, it took about eight minutes to screw in the new bulb—and then you were both just… standing in your now-lit bedroom, staring at the glow like you’ve just witnessed a miracle.

"Let there be light," Ellie said reverently.

You laughed and flopped back onto your mattress dramatically. "I owe you my life."

She leaned against the doorway, hands in her hoodie pocket, watching you with the kind of soft smile she probably doesn’t even realize she’s wearing. "You don’t owe me anything."

You glanced at the clock. "You hungry?"

Ellie paused. "Me?"

"No, the bookshelf." You smirked. "Of course you, dummy. C’mon. I’m starving. And you did save my spine."

She tried to brush it off with a joke—'I do take payment in pepperoni'—but you could tell she was secretly thrilled.

Twenty-five minutes later, a pizza box was open between you on the living room floor, two paper plates balancing precariously on a stack of books. You’d strung up some fairy lights that Ellie offered to 'totally not judge you for owning,' and now the room is bathed in warm, flickering gold.

You were sitting cross-legged, a slice in hand. "God, I didn’t realize how hungry I was."

Ellie smiled behind her cup of soda. "You looked like you were gonna pass out when I showed up earlier."

"Honestly? Close."

There was a pause. She glanced at you, then down at her food, then back at you. "I’m glad you let me help," she says.

"Yeah?"

She nods, playing with a corner of the box. “I don’t… really do that. Talk to people, I mean. Not right away. But you’re… easy."

You rose an eyebrow, smirking. "Easy?"

"I mean—you’re easy to talk to,” she blurted. "Not like—not in a bad way. You just—shit. That sounded wrong."

You burst out laughing. "Relax. I know what you meant."

She groaned into her hands. "Kill me."

"Never," you laughed. There’s a lull after that. A comfortable one.

You leaned back on your hands, stretching your legs out toward her. "So what’s your story, Neighbor Ellie? Mysterious girl across the hall. Fixes furniture. Gives rides. Loves sour candy."

She gave you a look. "You clocked all that in one night?"

"I’m a fast learner."

She exhaled a laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. "Okay, well. I moved here a couple years ago. Work in a CD store. Play guitar in my free time. Live a thrilling life of talking to no one and watching horror movies until 2 AM."

"Wow," you deadpanned. "Truly a menace."

She smirked. "I contain multitudes."

You nudged her leg with your foot. "I think you’re cool."

Ellie went so quiet after that you worry you went too far. But then she said, soft: "I think you’re pretty cool too."

Neither of you moved for a second. The pizza was getting cold, the lights were flickering softly. She was staring at you like you hung the stars, and your heart’s doing something very inconvenient in your chest.

IT WASN’T HARD TO figure out where Ellie worked. Not like you stalked her or anything—she just... mentioned it. Casually. In passing. And it stuck with you, that offhand comment about shifts and sorting and 'old people complaining about the price of CDS like it’s 1985.'

And okay, maybe you were a little too curious. Maybe you had a free day and a really good memory. And maybe there weren’t that many record stores in town to begin with.

You checked out the first shop—a dusty little place with an impressive jazz section and a guy behind the counter who looked old enough to have invented jazz. No Ellie. The second one was sleek and modern, curated for aesthetic Instagram posts, with alphabetized playlists and diffused lighting. Also, no Ellie. But the third one… That’s where you saw her.

She was behind the counter, alone, hunched over a small stack of CDs, scribbling something onto tiny sticky notes with a black pen clutched between ink-smudged fingers. Her hair was tied up in a low bun, loose strands falling into her face as she worked. She was mouthing the words to whatever track was playing overhead—some soft, rock ballad you didn’t recognize—but it made the whole place feel hushed, intimate, like stepping into someone’s favorite memory.

You stood near the entrance for a second too long.

Ellie glanced up and froze. Her pen paused mid-word. You caught the brief flicker of surprise on her face—like she wasn’t expecting to ever see you here, like this part of her life was separate and you’d somehow wandered past the invisible boundary.

But then her expression shifted, softening into something unreadable. The corners of her mouth twitched like she was trying to decide whether to smile or run.

She settled on a weird middle ground. "Oh," she said nonchalantly. "Hey."

You raised a hand, suddenly hyper-aware of your own body, your posture, the fact that you hadn’t really thought through what you’d say when this moment came. "Hey. Fancy seeing you here."

Ellie blinked. "In my place of work?"

You laughed, and she smiled for real this time. "Right. I was just... exploring the neighborhood," you lied. "Didn’t realize this store was so close."

She nodded slowly, clearly not buying it—the store was a twenty-minute drive from the apartment complex— but was too polite to call you out. "Yeah? You into CDs?"

"Definitely," you said, scanning the shelves like you weren’t about to have a heart attack. "I mean, I personally prefer vinyls, but yeah, CDs are like, super retro. Very... round."

Ellie snorted. "That’s one way to describe them."

You wandered closer, pretending to browse, your fingers grazing the spines of old cases. She watched you, but not in a judgmental way. More like she was trying to figure you out.

"Do you work every day?" you asked after a moment.

"Nah," she said, leaning on the counter. "Just a few days a week. Tuesdays, Thursdays, sometimes Saturdays."

You nodded like that wasn’t valuable information now burned into your brain. You grabbed a Fleetwod Mac CD, and took out your wallet to pay. "Cool," you said. "Guess I’ll have to stop by again."

"No, uh, don’t worry. It’s on the house." Ellie scratched the back of her neck, eyes darting to her Casio watch. "You, uh... wanna hang out after I’m done? My shift ends at five."

"You sure?"

"You don’t have to. I just thought—I dunno, maybe we could go get coffee. Or you could show me your superior taste in 'very round CDs.'"

You grinned. "I’d like that."

Ellie looked down, then back up through her lashes. "Cool. Yeah. Cool."

You ended up spending the next half hour pretending to look through racks while sneaking glances at her—and she, in return, kept stealing glances at you in the reflection of the display glass. And when five o’clock finally rolled around, she practically flew out from behind the counter, tugging on her jacket and fumbling with the sleeves like she was nervous. Which, honestly, made two of you.

THE COFFEE SHOP Ellie picked was small, local, and mostly empty by the time you both got there—quiet enough that your conversation didn’t have to compete with the noise, but not so silent that the pauses felt heavy. The barista gave Ellie a little nod when she walked in, like she was a regular, and Ellie just muttered a soft 'hey' back before holding the door open for you.

You sat by the window, your cups warming your hands, and the conversation came easier than you thought it would. Ellie was shy, yeah, but not in that way where she tried to disappear. It was more like she was deliberate. Careful. She listened to you like you were saying things worth remembering.

She told you about the weird guy who always came in looking for jazz CDs they didn’t have, and how she’d once spent two hours reorganizing the punk section just because she couldn’t stand the way someone else had done it. You talked about the move, the disaster of trying to assemble your own bookshelf, and the apartment above yours that sounded like a zoo with a drum set.

Ellie laughed at that one, and you caught yourself staring just a little too long at the way her eyes crinkled when she did it. You suddenly felt the urge to count every single freckle that was marked in her face.

Somewhere between a refill and a shared chocolate chip cookie, she glanced at the clock and said, "Wanna come over?"

"To your place?"

She scratched at the back of her neck. "I mean, only if you want. No pressure. I just—I have this CD collection I was talking about and, uh... coffee shops close eventually."

You tried not to smile too obviously. "Sure. I’d love to."

Ellie’s apartment was quite similar to yours—after all, both were from the same block, but something about it was undeniably her. The couch was beat-up but clean, the walls were decorated with band posters and a couple of hand-drawn sketches you didn’t ask about yet, and her windowsill had a few neglected plants that were somehow still alive.

"I wasn’t really expecting company," she said, kicking off her shoes near the door. "Sorry if it’s a little... messy."

You looked around. "Ellie, this is better than mine by far."

She shrugged, clearly flustered, and motioned for you to take a seat while she made herself busy putting on a playlist— just background enough to not distract from her own nervous energy. With your drink still in hand, you wandered to the shelf near the TV, running your finger along the neatly organized spines of her CD collection. "So this is the shrine."

"Hey, don’t mock the shrine," she said, coming to stand beside you. "It’s got history."

You glanced at the rows and rows of titles—some familiar, others completely new to you. "What’s your holy trinity, then?"

She paused, seriously considering it. "Green Day, Radiohead, and—don’t laugh—The Smashing Pumpkins."

You blinked. "Why would I laugh?"

"I dunno. People always think I’m gonna say something cooler. Nirvana or something."

You smiled. "I think that is cool."

Ellie ducked her head and muttered, "Yeah, well... you look cool, so I’m trusting your judgment."

You turned toward her, and right as you opened your mouth to say something, you felt it—a warm splash of beverage sloshing right onto your top. You looked down at the spreading stain and groaned. "Oh my god. I can’t take me anywhere."

Ellie reacted fast, already rummaging through a basket of laundry near the couch. "Wait—here. I, uh, I’ve got something you can wear."

She tossed you a hoodie, worn and soft and a little big. The same one she wore the first time she saw you. You pulled it on without thinking—slightly mortified, and very aware of how it smelled exactly like her. It was stupid. It was just detergent and something like cedar and maybe... her shampoo? But it hit you like a memory you hadn’t made yet, and when you looked back at Ellie, she was definitely flustered.

"You okay?" she asked, voice a little tight.

You nodded, tugging at the sleeves. "This is so comfy. You might never get it back."

Ellie laughed nervously. "That’s, uh... fine. You look good in it."

The sentence hung between you for a beat too long. You turned back to the CDs. "Show me your favorites."

And she did.

You sat cross-legged on her living room floor while she pulled out album after album, fingers brushing the covers like they were sacred texts. Time slipped away. The music got quieter, the light outside faded to black, and before either of you realized it, the clock on her microwave blinked 1:04 AM.

"Oh shit," Ellie said, glancing over. "You’re probably exhausted. I didn’t mean to keep you here so long."

You rubbed your eyes, yawning. "I am tired. But like, in a good way. I had fun."

Ellie stood awkwardly, hovering near the door. "Do you want me to walk you back?”

"It’s literally ten steps ahead."

"Still," she muttered, fidgeting with her fingers.

There was a weird, sudden stillness. Not uncomfortable exactly—just... charged. Like you’d both walked to the edge of something without realizing it, and now neither of you knew what to do. You stood in the doorway, Ellie’s hoodie still wrapped around you, warm from her and too soft to take off just yet.

"I should go," you said.

"Okay," Ellie agreed, voice quiet.

You could feel it—just beneath the surface—the shared, unspoken thing you both wanted. The maybe. The what if. But neither of you crossed the line.

Instead, you gave her a soft smile and a breathy 'goodnight,' and Ellie rubbed the back of her neck and murmured it back. When the door finally closed behind you, your heart thudded like you’d just run a mile.

Back in your apartment, you curled into the matress that laid on the floor, still wearing her hoodie, surrounded by the quiet hum of the night, and told yourself you were fine. That you’d get another chance. You didn’t know Ellie was sitting on the other side of the wall, wide awake, hoodie-less, and thinking the exact same thing.

THE NEXT MORNING, you woke slowly. And the forst thing that you felt was Ellie’s hoodie. Still wrapped around you. Still warm in the chest, even if the sleeves were cold now. You’d never meant to fall asleep in it, but you hadn’t been able to make yourself take it off either. Not when it still smelled like her. Not when it felt like the last piece of her you got to keep before things got too real. Before either of you dared to name what last night had almost been.

You sat up, groaning at the way your spine protested after crashing half-sideways across your bare mattress. One arm still tucked under a throw pillow, hair wild with sleep. You ran your hand through it and stretched—and that’s when you heard the voices. Muffled at first. Laughter. Two people in the hallway, maybe just outside your door. You froze.

One of them was Ellie. You’d recognize her voice anywhere by now. That low rasp that turned warm when she laughed. And she was laughing—louder than you’d heard her in days. And the other voice? Feminine. Confident. Light and teasing.

You moved quietly, barefoot on the wooden floor, hoodie still draped over your frame like a second skin. You opened your apartment’s door just enough to let sound bleed in, and curiosity got the better of you. Just a peek, you told yourself.

You leaned into the silence of your own apartment, looking at the hall. And there she was. Ellie. Hair still damp from a shower, in a flannel over a gray tee and those dirty Converse she always stomped around in. She looked so relaxed, so casual—leaning against the stair railing, grinning in a way she never quite had with you. Her hand came up to push her hair out of her face, and she was looking at the girl beside her. Dark hair pulled into a high ponytail. Pretty. Effortless. Golden skin and a wicked smile and that kind of magnetic energy you’d always admired from a distance. She looked like someone who knew how to charm your mom and talk about records without ever trying too hard. The kind of girl who just fit.

She playfully shoved Ellie’s shoulder and said something that made them both burst into another fit of laughter. And your heart sank. Of course. Of course Ellie wasn’t single. What were you thinking? That someone like her—funny, sweet, handy, effortlessly cool—would just be floating around, unattached? That she'd invite you over, lend you her hoodie, stay up talking music with you ‘til one in the morning because she wanted something more? No. You’d misread it. All of it. You closed the door quietly.

Your face felt hot. Your eyes threatened to let out a couple of tears. You slipped the hoodie off and folded it, hands trembling just slightly, and placed it gently on the edge of the couch like it might burn you if you touched it for too long. Like it had just become hers again, not something you were allowed to keep holding.

And then you started getting ready. Quieter than usual. Slower. You told yourself you’d imagined it. That it didn’t matter. That it was fine. You’d just… back off. Respect the boundary you hadn’t realized existed.

Ellie noticed something was off that same day. No music playing. No lights on. Not even the faint sound of footsteps inside like usual. The little signs she’d come to expect over the past few days—gone. And the worst of all? You hadn’t texted her.

She bit the inside of her cheek as she walked down the street, bag slung over one shoulder, thumb hovering over your contact in her phone. She kept replaying last night over and over again in her head—the way you looked in her hoodie, how you smiled at her dumb music rants, how close your knees had been on the floor, how you hadn’t kissed her when you left. And how she hadn’t kissed you either. Too nervous. Too wrapped up in the fear of ruining something before it even started.

She walked into the shop, tossed her bag behind the counter, and barely had time to clock in before Jesse—her coworker, and unfortunately, her most observant friend—poked his head in from the back room. "Yo, Williams."

"What."

"You got the personality of a wet sock today. Did something happen?"

Ellie groaned. "I’m fine."

"What the fuck? You’re not. You sighed seven times during that one sentence. That’s a record, even for you."

She pulled the stool out and sat down behind the register, slumping dramatically. "It’s nothing."

Jesse raised a brow. "Is it about hoodie girl?"

Ellie snapped her head up. "What? How do you—"

"You literally texted me last night 'she’s wearing my hoodie and I might die.'"

"Okay first of all, fuck you. And second, I was emotionally compromised."

Jesse leaned on the counter, smirking. "So what happened?"

Ellie looked down, fiddling with the string of her hoodie. "I don’t know. We hung out, it was great—like, really great—and I thought we were gonna maybe... kiss or something? But then she left, and now she’s just—cold. Like, totally ignoring me."

"She see you with Dina?"

Ellie’s brows furrowed. “What?”

"Dee told me she went to pick up her speaker this morning. Maybe she saw you two together."

Ellie’s jaw dropped. "She thinks I’m dating Dina?"

Jesse just gave her a look. "Wouldn’t be the wildest assumption, dude. Dina is hot. And you two always look cozy as hell."

Ellie slumped back in the stool. "Shit."

"So go tell her." Jesse folded his arms. "Like, right now."

"I can’t just show up and be like 'Hey, by the way, that girl I was laughing with? Not my girlfriend!'"

"Why not?"

"Because it’s—" Ellie rubbed her face. "I don’t know, it’s embarrassing. What if she didn’t see me with Dina? What if I read everything wrong? What if she’s not into me like that?"

Jesse tilted his head. "Are you into her like that?"

Ellie didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. He smiled. "Then fix it, you idiot."

But Ellie just sat there, heart caught somewhere between hope and dread, wondering how the hell she was supposed to explain the mess when you wouldn’t even look at her anymore.

FOR THE REST of the week, you did your best to act like everything was fine.

Avoiding Ellie wasn’t hard, exactly. Not at first. You slipped out early to grab coffee before she left for work. And you told yourself—again and again—that it didn’t hurt. That you weren’t letting your mind wander back to the way she’d smiled at you in her dim little apartment, the way her voice had gone all soft and reverent when she’d talked about her guitar and her favorite bands. That you weren’t still thinking about her hoodie, folded on your couch like something sacred, something almost yours.

But even so… you missed her. And she noticed. She wasn’t stupid, either. Every time Ellie walked past your apartment, her chest tightened just a little. She couldn’t stop checking—subtle little glances at your windows, your doormat, listening for footsteps inside. But she was met with nothing, just pure silence.

It had been nine days. Nine days since your almost-date. Since you wore her hoodie and sat so close she could smell your shampoo. Since you’d yawned around midnight and she’d practically panicked, blurting something awkward about how you didn’t have to go but also yeah totally if you’re tired cool cool yeah no worries. And she hadn’t even walked you to your place. Just stood there, heart in her throat, as you smiled at her one last time without kissing her. Now you didn’t even look at her. And Ellie? Ellie didn’t know how to fix it.

That evening, a thunderstorm rolled in with no warning. It was more chilly than you expected, and by the time you realized, Ellie’s hoddie was back like a second skin. You tried to lie to yourself, thinking you were too tired to open the winter clother box. But in reality, it was just to feel it again. You’d tried to settle into a book, when the lights suddenly flickered… and then went out. You sat in stunned silence for a beat before peeking out your window and confirmed what you feared—the whole damn block was dark. Not a gleam streetlamp in sight.

And the worst part? You didn’t have a single candle. So you were swallowed by black-pitched darkness. You were just settled back onto your couch, the book long forgotten by now, when someone knocked. A soft, tentative knock. You froze. And then came her voice.

"Hey… It’s Ellie."

Your heart did a little jump, stupid and immediate. You stood slowly, suddenly all too aware of your pajama shorts and the way your hair had half-dried in soft, tangled waves.

You opened the door. Ellie stood there holding two thick candles—one already lit, the other one tucked under her arm—and a slightly sheepish expression. She was wearing a red flannel, straight jeans, and a pair of black Converse. Her hair was tucked messily behind her ears, her freckles barely visible in the low light.

"Power’s out," she said.

"Yeah. I noticed."

She shifted her weight, and if she had noticed you wearing her hoodie, she chose not to say anything. "Thought you might need these."

You took the candles from her slowly, your fingers brushing hers in the exchange. Her hand was warm. You swallowed. "Thanks."

Ellie nodded, but didn’t move. She glanced into your apartment and then back at you, chewing the inside of her cheek. "You okay?" she asked. "You’ve been, uh, quiet lately."

You hesitated, trying to ignore the knot isnide your chest. She had noticed. Your heart beat against your ribs, stubborn and tired. "Yeah. I’m fine."

A pause. "You’ve been avoiding me."

Your breath caught as you looked away. "No, I haven’t."

Ellie tilted her head, gently, like she knew you were lying. "Okay. Cool, then."

"Do you wanna come in?" You mumbled, stepping back. Fuck. Why’d you even said that?

She bit the inside of her cheek. "Only if it’s okay."

You nodded once. "Yes. It’s okay." So she stepped in.

The candlelight made everything feel hazier, slower. Her shadow danced across your floor as she walked toward your living room and stood awkwardly near your bookshelf, hands shoved into her hoodie pocket. You followed her in, set the candles on the table, and sat.

Ellie sat too—but not too close. She glanced around, then down at her lap.

"I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable," she said finally, voice soft. "The other day. At my place."

"You didn’t," you said too quickly. She looked up. You wrung your hands in your lap. "I just… It was silly for me to misread the situation, I guess."

Ellie blinked, then blinked again. "What do you mean?"

You gave her a look. "You know. I saw you with the girl... friend."

Realization dawned on her face. "Dina?"

You didn’t answer. Great. She had a great name too.

Ellie let out a breath and leaned back. "She’s not my girlfriend. She’s—God—she’s like my sister. We’ve known each other since middle school. We were talking about Uncharted."

That made you look at her. "Uncharted?"

"Yeah, she was making fun of me for being obsessed with it, and playing the stupid game the whole night. It wasn’t flirting."

A small laugh broke out of you before you could stop it, quick and surprised. Ellie smiled—just a little. And then the room got quiet again. That flickering, charged quiet where neither of you really knew what to say next.

Until Ellie whispered, "You look really good in my hoodie."

You swallowed hard, but didn’t answer. Ellie’s gaze flicked to yours. Her cheeks were flushed, soft pink in the candlelight, but smiled anyway.

"I thought maybe you were gonna kiss me," she murmured.

You felt your whole face go warm. "I wanted to."

She blinked slowly. "Then why didn’t you?"

"I got scared."

Ellie’s voice was barely above a whisper. "Me too."

You looked at her then. She looked nervous, her knee bouncing like she couldn’t sit still. She was leaning in just a little—but not enough. Like she was halfway between running and staying. And then she said it, "can I try again?"

Your breath caught. You nodded once, biting your lower lip unconsciously. And this time, she leaned all the way in, her hands finding your cheeks. The kiss was soft, shy, and barely there—like both of you were scared it would vanish if you moved too fast. But then she pressed in a little closer, and your hand slid gently to her cheek, and she smiled against your mouth.

And when you pulled back, her forehead rested against yours. In the flickering candlelight, everything else faded. No hallway whispers. No misunderstandings. Just Ellie. Warm and nervous and real.

THE MORNING SUN peeked in lazily through Ellie’s half-drawn curtains. The green-eyed girl had been working her ass off last week, and still pleaded you to wake her up once you did, but you weren’t going to do it. She needed the sleep. So here you were now, bleary-eyed, standing barefoot in her kitchen and wearing Ellie’s Pink Floyd oversized shirt.

You were trying to figure out the ancient coffee machine she kept saying 'wasn’t that bad' when you heard the apartment door creak open. No knock. No announcement. Just a solid, casual entrance. You froze with one hand on your chest, wide-eyed.

"Ellie, if you’re gonna leave your damn wrench where I can trip over it, I swear to—"

You turned just in time for him to round the corner into the living room, carrying a paper bag and squinting toward the kitchen. He paused when he saw you. His eyes dropped to the oversized shirt, the unbrushed hair, your whole deer-in-headlights vibe. His brow lifted—just slightly—but it said everything. "Well," he said slowly, adjusting the grip on the bag, "you ain’t Ellie."

You cleared your throat. "Um—no. She’s still asleep. I think. Probably."

The man stared at you for another long beat, then sighed through his nose and gave a slow, skeptical nod. "Right."

And just like that, Ellie burst out of her room, hair a mess, wearing a tank top, some boxers and a mismatched pair of socks, looking completely and utterly disoriented.

"Oh—shit," she groaned, voice thick with sleep. "Joel. What—uh—what are you—what time is it?"

Joel raised the bag. "Brought you breakfast. And coffee. Thought I’d surprise you. Guess you beat me to it."

Your face was probably nuclear at that point. Ellie looked like she might combust from within. Joel’s gaze shifted between the two of you. He let out a grunt. "Well. I’ll be damned."

"I’m gonna—uh—bathroom. I’m gonna use it. Yours," you muttered, already halfway down the corridor. "Yep. Bathroom. Gone." You shut the door behind you and leaned against it, hand covering your face.

Out in the living room, there was a heavy pause.

"So," Joel began, in a voice that could only mean trouble, "you finally got your head outta your ass."

"Dude. Please." Ellie rubbed a hand over her face. "She’s not— I mean—we’re not, like… together together."

Joel arched a brow. "Does she know that? ‘Cause she’s wearin’ half your closet and looked quite comfortable in your kitchen."

Ellie’s mouth opened and closed. No response. No correction. Joel nodded to himself. "Didn’t think so."

"I didn’t say anything!" Ellie hissed, lowering her voice like you might somehow hear through the closed door.

"But you ain’t denying it either, kiddo." Joel said smugly. "Look, I’m not gonna give you the whole dad speech or... whatever. You’re grown. But if that girl’s gonna be hangin’ around, I expect you to treat her right. Like how I raised you. No ghostin’. No weird mind games. No—"

Ellie sputtered. "Jesus, Joel, can you not?"

"You like her or not?" He asked calmly.

She was quiet for a long beat. "…Yeah," she said, voice soft and barely audible.

Joel grunted, satisfied. "Then don’t be an idiot."

The bathroom door creaked open a second later. You emerged, trying your best to look composed despite the fact your heart was definitely doing somersaults.

Joel glanced between the two of you, and his face softened for just a second—like he was genuinely happy for Ellie. "Well," he said. "I should get goin’. You kids behave."

Ellie groaned, already anticipating some parting remark. "Don’t say it—"

Joel ignored her entirely, giving you a quick, amused glance. "Good luck dealin’ with this one," he said, jerking a thumb at Ellie like she wasn’t standing right there. "And bon appétit."

You grinned. "Thanks for the breakfast."

"Take care," Joel said with a wink, then stepped out the door and closed it behind him with a soft click.

A moment of silence settled over the apartment. You turned slowly to face Ellie, arms crossed, squinting with faux betrayal. "You. Nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Me?" Ellie blinked, slightly offended. "What?"

"Don’t 'what' me, Williams," you said, marching toward her dramatically. "Your dad, or whatever he is—just walks in like he owns the place and finds me in your shirt, barefoot and barely awake, making a fool of myself trying to work that prehistoric coffee machine—"

"You mean the beautifully vintage coffee machine?" she interjected, raising a hand in mock offense.

You shoved her shoulder gently. "Don’t deflect! I looked like I had just rolled out of bed after a one-night stand!"

Ellie choked. "You didn’t! You—you look cute."

Your brain short-circuited at that for half a second, but you rallied. "I was wearing your clothes, Ellie!"

"I didn’t tell you to wear my clothes!" she argued, but her voice was breathless, half-laughing. "And you do look cute!"

You shoved her again, this time with both hands, and she stumbled backward into the couch, grinning as she caught herself.

"Oh, okay, so it’s my fault," she said, recovering. "Next time, I’ll just let you walk around naked. Note taken."

"You didn’t even try to explain!" you pointed out, still feigning dramatic offense.

Ellie held her hands up in surrender, though her face and ears were red. "Okay, okay, you’re right! I panicked!"

"You liked it," you accused.

"I did not—!" Ellie protested, but she was laughing mid-sentence. "Okay—maybe. Maybe a little. It was kinda… nice. I mean, not the surprise Joel part. That part sucked."

You hovered above her where she’d half-sunk into the couch cushions, breathless from all the mock fighting, face flushed. The laughter slowed between you both.

"It was nice," you echoed, voice soft now. "Him thinking I was your girlfriend."

Ellie looked up at you, suddenly quiet, her grin faded into something gentler, something almost vulnerable. "You didn’t run away screaming, so… that’s something."

You dropped your gaze, fighting a shy smile. "I thought about it. Then I remembered I still have your hoodie, and you’d probably come after me."

Ellie sat up a little straighter, nudging your knee with hers. "Damn right I would’ve. It’s one of my favorites, you know."

"You’re unbelievable."

"But charming," she added hopefully.

You tilted your head like you were thinking it over. "Eh. You’re on thin ice."

She reached over and poked your side, making you squirm. "I brought you breakfast."

"That was mostly Joel." You finally let yourself smile fully, sitting beside her and tucking your legs underneath you, shoulder brushing hers.

"But I didn’t stop him," she said proudly. "You’re welcome."

You laughed again, leaning your head on her shoulder without thinking. It just felt natural. Warm. Safe.

Her voice was softer now, almost a whisper: "You can… stay. If you want. A little longer. You don’t have to rush back."

You didn’t lift your head. "You sure? I might steal more of your clothes."

"I’d let you," she mumbled. Then, like it was the easiest thing in the world, she added, "they look better on you anyway."

Your heart flipped. "God," you murmured, eyes closing, "you’re such a loser."

"Yours though," she said under her breath.

perm taglist !

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[antinousletmehit]

Apollo and his lover got into an argument which he regrets deeply but reader is very mad at him and won't forgive him easily.The whole Olympus tries to get them together because they're fed up with Apollo's sad love poets and songs.

୨୧┇Apollo x reader

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The great halls of Olympus were rarely silent. Gods bickered, muses sang, and the sound of nectar filled goblets clinking together echoed endlessly. But this particular week had been… different. It wasn’t the usual chorus of divine rivalry that filled the air. Instead, a melancholic voice, rich and golden, reverberated through the celestial mount, dragging everyone down with its relentless woe.

Apollo was heartbroken.

He sat on the steps of his golden temple, his lyre in hand, his head bowed as he sang yet another mournful ballad about his lover. She had refused to speak to him after a bitter argument, one involving—according to Hermes, who’d gleefully eavesdropped—a misunderstanding about Apollo’s ego and her need for space.

“I burn brighter than the sun itself,

But her light I cannot see.

Oh, cruel fates, to steal her love,

And leave her silence haunting me…”

“By the Styx, someone make him stop!” Hera groaned, massaging her temples as Apollo’s lament drifted into the great hall. “He’s been singing that same verse for three days straight.”

“And it’s getting worse,” Ares grumbled, leaning against his spear. “I’m this close to starting a war just to drown him out.”

Hestia, ever the voice of reason, frowned. “We can’t let him continue like this. He’s hurting.”

“And we’re suffering,” Poseidon interrupted, shaking his trident for emphasis. “Even my sea nymphs are complaining about hearing his sobs through the waves. My ocean, for gods’ sake.”

“Alright, everyone,” Athena said, standing up and raising a hand to silence the growing complaints. “Apollo’s our brother. He needs help. Instead of whining, let’s figure out how to fix this.”

“Fix it?” Hermes snorted, lounging on the armrest of her throne. “Good luck. The only thing that will shut him up is making up with his lover, and she won’t even look at him.”

Zeus, seated at the head of the hall, finally spoke. “Then we’ll have to make her listen.”

All eyes turned to him, surprise flickering across their faces. It wasn’t often that the King of the Gods intervened in romantic squabbles, but it was clear that even Zeus couldn’t endure another hour of Apollo’s sob songs.

“Who agrees?” Zeus asked, raising a commanding brow. One by one, every god and goddess in the room nodded. For once in their immortal lives, Olympus was united.

———-

The plan was set into motion that very evening. Each god took on a task, pooling their talents to create an elaborate display of apology that Apollo could deliver to his lover.

Aphrodite crafted a wreath of the finest roses, their petals shimmering like rubies under the starlight. “No mortal or immortal can resist the charm of my flowers,” she said smugly, twirling one between her fingers. Hephaestus forged a delicate necklace of golden threads, inlaid with tiny opals that shimmered with every color of the sky. Hermes wrote a letter, overflowing with poetic charm, and tucked it into a golden envelope. “This will sweep her off her feet,” he said, grinning. “No offense to Apollo, but I’ve got more flair for words.”

Even Dionysus contributed, brewing a wine so sweet and rich that a single sip could soothe the angriest heart. “Pair it with the necklace, and she’ll be wrapped around his finger,” he joked, handing the flask to Hera. Meanwhile, Athena and Artemis tried to coax Apollo into proper behavior. Artemis, his twin sister, stood before him with her arms crossed. “You’re embarrassing yourself,” she said bluntly. “If you want her back, stop singing about how miserable you are and do something about it.”

Apollo looked up from his lyre, his face streaked with golden tears. “But what if she doesn’t forgive me? What if I’ve lost her forever?” Athena placed a hand on his shoulder. “She loves you, Apollo. That doesn’t vanish overnight. But love requires effort, not just poetry. Show her you’re willing.”

For the first time in days, Apollo nodded, determination flickering in his sun bright eyes.

The following day, Apollo, armed with the gifts and a newfound resolve, approached his lover’s dwelling. The other gods watched from afar, peering through enchanted pools and reflective clouds, each silently praying their efforts would end the wailing. Apollo took a deep breath and knocked on the door. When she opened it, her expression was guarded, her gaze flicking to the bouquet, the necklace, and the letter clutched in his trembling hands.

“What do you want, Apollo?” she asked, her voice cool.

“I want to say I’m sorry,” he began, his voice steady but thick with emotion. “I let my pride get in the way, and I hurt you. I’ve spent days singing about how much I miss you, but Athena reminded me that words mean nothing without action. So I’m here.”

She studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. Back in the halls of Olympus, the gods watched as Apollo disappeared inside her home.

“Do you think it worked?” Hermes asked.

Artemis smirked, her arms crossed. “If it didn’t, he’ll be back here wailing in an hour.”

But the hour passed, and there was no wailing. Then another hour. And another.

At last, Zeus leaned back in his throne, a satisfied grin on his face. “Finally.”

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, peace returned to Olympus. And while they’d never admit it, the gods secretly congratulated themselves on the success of their rare, united effort.

[dannyriccsystem]

ik this is a common trope by now in the fanfic community but can we have drivers reacting to their girlfriends calling them their husband even thought they're not married (yet). please and thank you

ME AND MY HUSBAND…

FORMULA ONE DRIVERS X READER

MEOW

Summary: Calling your F1 Driver boyfriend your “husband” ^^

Warnings: Fluff, Y/N usage, alcohol consumption, not proofread

Featuring: MV1, LN4, CL16, LH44, CS55, OP81

I’m a sucker for this trope idc

MAX VERSTAPPEN - MV1

You were a famous podcaster, known for your interviews with various famous celebrities of different career paths and backgrounds. People particularly enjoyed your show because of the diversity in content, allowing viewers to branch out into various new interests and gain insight on lots of interesting topics. Anyway, today you had an interview with a famous model who offered to give discernment into the industry.

She had shared a particularly relatable point about her and her husband, mentioning how they both had very different jobs and lives, but still worked as a united team. You, in the haste of the moment, replied with, “Yeah, me and my husband are the same way.”

You didn’t even think much of it. You were just trying to relate to your guest on the show, and hadn’t registered the fact that you made a mistake. Even if you did, you’d probably just shrug it off…

Until you came home. Max seemed to have been waiting for you, sitting on a chair in the living room with Jimmy— Or Sassy, you could barely tell the different— Sitting on his lap, like some sort of evil mastermind. The sight made you laugh as you slipped off your shoes and jacket, hanging it up on the coatrack.

“Your husband,” He said pointedly, his lips quirked up into a knowing grin. You raised a brow at him, and he unlocked his phone to show you the clip. Your face lost its color, shaking your head.

“Uhm… Whoops.” You grimaced, because the reality of things was finally starting to settle in.

“I kinda like the title. Might have to start ring shopping. Everyone’s expecting it now.”

—

LANDO NORRIS - LN4

Today was one of the first races you attended in person in a long time. You had been occupied with law school and opted to support your boyfriend from afar so you could focus on your career. Of course, Lando had no complaints, but he was eager to have you in the garage supporting him once again.

Of course, you can’t be a WAG in the paddock without being caught by hundreds of interviewers. You managed to brush most of them off with short responses, or simply dismissing yourself politely, but there was one in particular that managed to catch you up.

“Y/N, Y/N!” The woman called out, rushing over to you. She looked exasperated, like she had been trying for some time now to catch you. You paused, taking pity on the woman who was clearly running in heels. She seemed polite, so you stopped to give her your attention. “Thank you,” She directed you towards the camera, and you smiled and waved.

“Hello,” You spoke cautiously, unfamiliar with this experience. It had been forever since you were put in such a position— Hopefully you didn’t look too awkward.

“How do you feel about Lando starting from pole position?” She asked, a glint of excitement in her eyes. You were glad you stopped to give her the time of day.

“Oh! I’m very confident in my husband’s abilities, and I think this will be a promising first race.” You nodded with a warm smile, but the interviewer gave you a befuddled look. You caught her gazing at your hands briefly, before nodding.

“W… Wonderful, thank you Miss Y/N.” You quietly thanked her and dismissed yourself, thinking back on the interview. You huffed a sigh, brushing the confusion off as you stepped foot into the Mclaren garage. Lando, who was watching the TV with crossed arms, which was currently displaying pre-race interviewers, turned to look at you, and his eyes widened.

“Your HUSBAND?” He questioned with raised brows. You blinked, and then your jaw dropped. THAT’S why she was being so weird.

“Oh God, now they’re all gonna think we’re married.”

Oscar, who was watching the interaction with amusement, clapped you both on the back and chuckled. “Guess it’s time to go ring shopping.”

—

CHARLES LECLERC - CL16

Today you and Charles had chosen to stay in. It was supposed to be some big event with the whole Ferrari team, but instead you guys decided to opt out and play sick. It felt slightly naughty since he was technically obligated to go, but the two of you just needed a break.

You were both relaxing on the couch, catching up on some random TV show you found a few months back and never got the opportunity to finish. It was nice to be able to dress down in comfortable clothes and not care about public appearances for a while.

Your boyfriend was sitting beside you, scrolling on his phone to order takeout from the local restaurant. “Hm, want any dessert?” He questioned mindlessly, his voice hoarse as if he had just woken up, despite the fact it was nearly 7 in the afternoon.

“You’d think my husband would know the answer to that by now,” You spoke without thinking, your voice infected with sleepiness. You stretched your arms out like a cat, resting your head against his lap. You noticed he fell silent, turning your head to look up at him. He was giving you a cheeky smile. “What?”

“You called me your husband,” He muttered with a fond look in his eyes. You playfully rolled your eyes, lightly smacking his chest. “Hey, don’t hit your husband,” He teased. “What a bad wife.”

“Oh shush, it was an accident and you know it.”

He leaned down, pressing his lips to yours with a promise whispered against them, “One day.”

—

LEWIS HAMILTON - LH44

Note to self, never get drunk at a race after party.

Lewis had just finished an incredible race in P1, so while you normally left him to celebrate with his friends by himself, you decided to come along this time to show your extra support for such a smooth win.

Within your excitement, you had decided to challenge various drivers in swimming competitions, which you won with ease. By the end of the night you were shitfaced and behaving wildly unlike yourself.

The bar you all went to decided to show highlights of the most recent race. In your rather drunken state, you decided to point at one of Lewis’ overtakes and scream out loud for everyone to hear, “That’s my husband fuckers!”

The next morning you awoke with a major headache and lots of regrets. You rolled over, resting your head on your boyfriend’s chest. He groaned and stretched to life, his fingers running up your bare back.

“Good morning, wife.”

You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. “Damnit.”

—

CARLOS SAINZ - CS55

It was actually a run on joke within the fandom that you and Carlos were married, but all of the teasing had come from him. There were various instances where, during interviews, he’d call you “the missus” or “my pretty wife” and so on. It was all fun and games, but this was different.

Earlier that day, Carlos had posted a picture of him with Alex Albon. It was a pretty typical picture, but you always left comments on his posts no matter what. This time it was “my husband looks so good today!”

You didn’t even mean to, which is why you were confused when you realized your phone was blowing up. Your notifications were limited to very few people, which meant it was your family and friends contacting you.

So many missed calls and messages from your mother… “You got married without telling me?” was the most prominent one. You quickly opened up Carlos’ contact, shaking your head at the singular message he left.

“I didn’t know we were officially married 😃”

—

OSCAR PIASTRI - OP81

Oscar Piastri was never a fan of post race interviews, but this one had been quite enjoyable. A polite interviewer was kind enough to ask you, his girlfriend, to join them on their little adventure. Usually he was quite nonchalant, but he seemed smiley everytime you answered one of the questions given to you.

“And, while we’re on the topic, how do you feel about Oscar being the new race leader?” The microphone was pointed in your direction, and you grinned.

“I have never felt more proud of my husband right now, I just…” You could feel him staring into your soul, causing you to pause. When you looked at him, he had the biggest smile possible. Probably the biggest smile the public eye had ever seen. “What?”

“My husband,” He quoted with a dreamy tone, his smile remaining in place.

“Ah,” You giggled, shaking your head. “My boyfriend,” You began again, correcting yourself. “Has been performing incredibly well this season. I wish him a good year for 2025.”

“Oscar, your thoughts?” The interviewer asked. He was still grinning boyishly.

“Just like my wife said, it’s been a good season.”

[celayasmash]

Living Room - Music Room Remodeling ideas for a medium-sized eclectic living room with white walls, a wall-mounted television, and a music area.

[thewulf]

Bulletproof Bonds || Aaron Hotchner

Summary: Request - Maybe a husband!Aaron x Long Time BAU!wife and how there’s a new member to the BAU and she keeps trying to flirt with Aaron but he keeps turning her down🥲 but the new member doesn’t know that Aaron and reader are married, and new member just thinks of reader as competition to get with Aaron, eventually leading to reader getting really mad cause new member does something really stupid on a case that leads to reader almost getting seriously injured??... Read Rest Here

A/N: Really loved writing this one. Hope you all enjoy! Thank you for the request @viscade !

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Female Reader,

Word Count: 3.1k

TW: Yelling, gunshot (non wounded)

In the bustling chaos of the BAU bullpen, Aaron Hotchner sat at his desk, his brow furrowed in concentration as he sifted through the multitude of case files scattered before him. A usual sight for the unit chief. The harsh fluorescent lights cast stark shadows across his features, accentuating the lines of exhaustion etched into his face by years of chasing monsters in the dark.

You sat by his side, a silent sentinel amidst the whirlwind of activity. Your own workspace dedicated beside him cluttered with documents and crime scene photos. The faint aroma of stale coffee hung in the air as you both delved into the intricate web of clues left behind by the latest serial killer to plague the streets. It was always so easy with him, your husband. The way the two of you were able to bounce ideas off each other was like none seen before.

The tension in the room was palpable, a heavy weight pressing down on everyone present as they grappled with the enormity of the task at hand. Each unsolved case seemed to loom over them like a specter, a constant reminder of the lives lost and the justice yet to be served. Amidst all the usual chaos, Agent Sarah Miller made her presence known. Her arrival heralded by the soft click of her heels against the linoleum floor. She moved with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, her youthful exuberance a stark contrast to the world-weary countenances of her colleagues. She had no idea what she was getting herself into.

Sarah's eyes lingered on Aaron as she sauntered past his open aired desk, a knowing smirk playing at the corners of her lips. She was young, ambitious, and hungry for success. Her gaze fixed on the formidable figure of the BAU's leader like a moth drawn to a flame.

Despite Aaron's cold indifference, she persisted in her attempts at flirtation, undeterred by his lack of response. Her tactics were shamelessly transparent, her words dripping with false sweetness as she sought to capture his attention. Agent Sarah Miller yet again walked past Aaron's desk, her gaze lingering on him for a moment too long before she turned her attention to you. There was a subtle flicker of annoyance in her eyes as she took in your presence, her lips curling into a barely concealed sneer.

"Hey, Hotch," she purred, leaning against the edge of his desk with practiced ease. "You must be tired of staring at all those files. Why don't you take a break and grab a coffee with me?" Her eyes kept looking back to you in brief flashes to gauge your reaction. You decided early on after her brazen attempts that you would give her none. A layer of disgust masked on top of the doe eyes she was attempting to give your husband was meant for you. She was very forward, you had to give her that one.

Aaron's response was polite but firm, his tone devoid of any warmth. "I'm sorry, Agent Miller, but I have work to do," he replied, his eyes never leaving the papers in front of him.

Undeterred, Sarah flashed him a flirtatious smile, her gaze lingering on him expectantly. "Maybe some other time, then," she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness before she finally strolled away.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at her blatant display of interest, the subtle scoff escaping your lips as you returned your focus to the files sprawled across your desk. "Some profiler she is," you muttered under your breath, the sarcasm dripping from your words like venom. It was a small act of defiance, a way to vent the frustration bubbling just beneath the surface as you watched Sarah's failed attempts at seduction.

Your comment earned a small smirk from Aaron, his lips quirking up in amusement as he glanced up from his work. His eyes met yours, a silent acknowledgment passing between you, a shared understanding of the absurdity of the situation. In that fleeting moment, you found solace in the unspoken reassurance that he was not blind to Sarah's antics, nor was he unaffected by them.

As the tension in the room continued to get heavier, you exchanged a knowing glance with Aaron, the unspoken bond between you speaking volumes. It was a silent reminder of the unbreakable connection that bound you together, a tether grounding you amidst the disarray swirling around you. In that moment, you drew strength from the knowledge that no amount of flirtation from the new agent could ever hope to rival the deep-seated love and loyalty that defined your marriage.

But beneath the surface, resentment simmered, fueled by the blatant disrespect for the boundaries of your marriage. Each lingering glance, each flirtatious comment served as a reminder of the fragile line Sarah was treading, unaware of the storm brewing beneath the calm facade. Yet, as frustrating as her antics were, you knew that the true test of your marriage lay not in her misguided advances but in the unwavering trust and devotion you shared with Aaron. A bond that would withstand any challenge thrown your way.

You had to give the girl credit. She certainly didn’t stop. It was not even an hour later that the girl came crawling right back to him. In the dimly lit bullpen of the BAU, the seasoned agents huddled together, their eyes darting furtively around the room as they exchanged knowing glances. Reid, Garcia, Morgan, and Prentiss stood in a tight circle. Their voices hushed as they leaned in conspiratorially.

"So, who's going to crack first?" Garcia whispered, her eyes sparkling mischievously behind her glasses.

Prentiss smirked, crossing her arms over her chest. "My money's on Y/N. She's got that poker face down pat."

Reid nodded in agreement, adjusting his glasses. "And she's got a wicked sense of humor. I don't think she's sweating it."

Just then, Morgan, ever the observant one, interjected with a grin. "You know what, I'm with both of you on this one. Y/N's handling this like a pro. She's probably just waiting for the perfect moment to drop a witty comeback."

The others turned to look at you, noticing your bemused expression as you observed the scene unfolding with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. The new agent, eager to impress, leaned in a little too close to Hotch, her voice dropping to a suggestive whisper. "So, Hotch, any plans for dinner tonight?"

Hotch glanced up from his paperwork, his expression remaining impassive. "Just finishing up some reports, Agent. Nothing planned."

Undeterred, the new agent persisted, fluttering her eyelashes coyly. "Well, if you change your mind, I know this great Italian place down the street."

Hotch merely nodded, returning his attention to the file in front of him. "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Agent."

Behind his back, the BAU members couldn't contain their laughter, stifling their giggles as they watched the new agent's attempts fall flat. It was clear that Hotch was immune to her charms, his focus unwavering even in the face of relentless flirting.

As Sarah retreated, finally somewhat defeated, the BAU members exchanged triumphant looks, their silent bet settled. Hotch may have been unflappable in the field, but when it came to dodging unwanted advances, he was truly a master of his craft. And you, well, you were just enjoying the show, your amused smile barely masking your annoyance as you watched the scene unfold.

The breaking point came during a particularly intense case, where the unsub's erratic behavior had everyone on edge. You felt the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you moved cautiously through the dimly lit corridors of an abandoned warehouse, every nerve on high alert.

In the heat of the pursuit, Sarah's impulsive decision shattered the fragile equilibrium you had struggled to maintain with your team. Ignoring protocol and disregarding the safety of the team, she charged ahead recklessly, her actions sending shockwaves rippling through your ranks. Bullets flew past you like angry hornets, the deafening roar of gunfire echoing off the walls as chaos descended upon you.

It happened in the blink of an eye, a split-second decision with far-reaching consequences. A bullet sliced through the air like a deadly whisper, its trajectory aimed straight for your chest. But thanks to the protective barrier of your bulletproof vest, the impact was nothing more than a forceful shove, the fabric absorbing the blow with a sickening thud. The impact knocked the wind out of you, pain searing through your body as you stumbled backward, clutching your chest.

As the adrenaline faded and the reality of what could have been sunk in, fury ignited like a wildfire within you. You rounded on Sarah, your voice a crescendo of anger as you unleashed the pent-up frustration that had been building for weeks. Each word was a dagger aimed straight at her heart. Your tone laced with a venomous ferocity that mirrored the intensity of the emotions raging within you.

Coughing up blood, your vision blurred as you struggled to make sense of what had just happened. Anger surged through you like a tidal wave, drowning out the pain as you staggered to your feet. With a primal roar, you lunged at Sarah, grabbing her by the collar with a strength born of desperation.

"What the fuck was that?" you yelled, louder than you ever had before. And certainly not in front of the team. Your voice raw with fury. Each word was a thunderclap, reverberating through the warehouse like a warning shot. "You could have killed me! Or them! Do you even realize what you've done?"

But Sarah's response was a defiant sneer, her gaze unwavering in the face of your righteous indignation. "I did what needed to be done," she spat, her voice laced with arrogance. "I'm not afraid to take risks to get the job done."

The words were like a slap to the face, a cruel reminder of the recklessness that had nearly cost you everything. With all your rage, you shoved her away, your hands trembling with anger as you struggled to contain the tempest raging within you.

"You're a liability," you growled, your voice a low, dangerous whisper. "And if you ever put my life, their lives,” You pointed to Spencer and Emily behind you, “in danger again, I won't hesitate to take you down myself."

As you stood there, trembling with fury and pain, the rest of the team made their way over. You still hasn’t seen Aaron yet but the rest of them looked on in shock and disbelief. Derek surged forward, his strong arms wrapping around you as he pulled you back from the confrontation. "Easy there Y/N," he said, his voice low and soothing as he tried to calm the storm raging within you. "Cool off."

Emily and JJ exchanged worried glances. Finally, Aaron found you after too many moments of losing it in front of everyone. His eyes widened in alarm as he took in the sight of blood staining your lips, his heart clenching with fear at the sight. "What happened?" he demanded. His usually calm voice was laced with urgency as he reached out to gently touch your arm. His fingers trembled against your skin, his touch a comforting anchor in the swirling chaos of the moment.

Still reeling from the confrontation and the shock of narrowly escaping serious injury, Spencer stepped forward, his voice calm but tinged with urgency. "Aaron, Sarah made a nearly fatal mistake," he said, his words cutting through the tension like a knife. "Her impulsive actions endangered everyone on the team, especially Y/N." You were thankful he was willing to step in because you weren’t quite sure if you had the right words.

Aaron's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching with barely contained fury as he turned his gaze on Sarah. The air around him crackled with palpable anger, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive. "Is this true?" he demanded, his voice cold and steely as he pinned her with a hard stare.

Sarah shifted uncomfortably under his intense scrutiny, her bravado faltering in the face of his unwavering gaze. "I...I was just trying to apprehend the unsub," she stammered, her voice wavering with uncertainty.

But Aaron's patience had worn thin, his temper flaring like a raging inferno. "You made a reckless decision that put the entire team at risk," he snapped, his voice echoing off the walls of the warehouse. "Until you can prove that you're capable of following protocol and putting the safety of your teammates above all else, you will not be back in the field."

The weight of his words hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the consequences of her actions. Sarah's expression fell, her defiance crumbling under the weight of his judgment. It was a harsh lesson, but one that she would need to learn if she ever hoped to earn back the trust of her colleagues and prove herself worthy of wearing the badge.

As Aaron turned away, his attention returning to you with a renewed sense of protectiveness, you couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for the unwavering support of your team leader and husband. But as you tried to catch your breath, a sudden coughing fit wracked your body, drawing Aaron's attention back to you. Concern flashed across his features, his eyes narrowing with worry as he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to steady you.

"Hey sweetheart," he murmured softly, his voice a gentle caress against your ear as he brushed a strand of hair away from your forehead. "Let's get you checked out, alright?"

You attempted to speak, but the coughing fit continued, leaving you gasping for air. So, you shook your head in protest. You were fine and you knew it, but the damn bullet hit you right in the lung leaving you gasping for air. Aaron's worry deepened, his brow furrowing with concern as he knelt down beside you, his hands hovering anxiously over your shoulders.

"Honey, just breathe," he urged, his voice filled with tenderness as he placed a comforting hand on your back. "We'll get you to the hospital, and they'll take care of you. I promise." It wasn’t usual that he dropped those sweet terms of endearment to you in front of the team, but he couldn’t really care. Not when he could’ve lost you.

Despite your protests, Aaron's determination remained steadfast. With gentle insistence, he scooped you up in his arms, cradling you against his chest with a strength born of love and concern. "You're going to the hospital," he declared, his voice unwavering as he carried you towards his SUV. “I’m not taking no for an answer sweetheart."

As Aaron settled into the driver's seat beside you, his eyes flickered with concern as he stole glances, his hand reaching out to brush against yours in a silent gesture of reassurance. But despite his unwavering determination to get you to the hospital, you couldn't help but feel a stubborn sense of resistance bubbling within you.

"I'm fine, Aaron," you insisted, your tone tinged with frustration as you crossed your arms over your chest. "This is incredibly dramatic. You’ve been hit in your gear too."

Aaron's expression softened at your words, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Maybe I am," he admitted with a chuckle. "I also know what it feels like honey. I’d rather be safe than sorry."

You shot him a playful glare, unable to suppress the teasing smile that danced on your lips. He cared for you, truly. Every inch of himself loved you more deeply than even you could have fathomed. You also knew that love bore stubbornness and there was no talking him out of what he knew he had to do. You were just along for the ride now. "You just can't resist playing the hero, can you?" You spoke up after a moment of silence between the two of you.

Aaron chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he glanced over at you. "Guilty as charged," he replied. "Always remind me never to get on your bad side," Aaron quipped, a lighthearted smile playing on his lips as he attempted to alleviate the tension that hung heavy in the air.

You managed a weak laugh trying your hardest to hide the pain radiating from your chest. However, so grateful for his attempt to lighten the mood. "You looked like you were about to take matters into your own hands back there," he teased gently, his voice laced with affection.

The image of you, ready to throw down with the new agent, brought a genuine laugh bubbling up from deep within you this time. "Well, she did have it coming," you admitted with a mischievous grin. "But I guess I'll let you handle the heroics this time."

As the laughter subsided, Aaron's expression turned more serious, a hint of regret flickering in his eyes. "I'm sorry things got so heated," he said softly, his voice tinged with sincerity. "I should have stepped in sooner. I thought she was harmless. Dealt with her type so many times before." He sighed, running a hand through his hair before finding your hand and lacing his fingers within yours.

You squeezed his hand, a warm smile spreading across your face. "It’s not your fault you’re such a silver fox," Tossing him a wink you couldn’t help but to tease him right on back. It’s how you knew everything was going to be just fine. The two of you had dealt with so much worse and come out even stronger, this would be nothing but a minor blip on your journey together.

Aaron laughed at your playful comment, a warmth spreading in his chest at your familiar banter. "Ah, so you're saying my charm is both a blessing and a curse," he retorted with a grin, his gaze softening as he looked at you.

You nodded, a fond smile playing on your lips. "Something like that," you agreed, feeling a surge of gratitude for the ease with which you could navigate even the toughest moments with Aaron by your side.

As the car glided through the streets towards the hospital, a comfortable silence settled between you, punctuated only by the gentle hum of the engine. Despite the events that had unfolded, you found solace in the quiet intimacy of the moment, knowing that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. With each passing mile, you felt the weight of the day begin to lift from your shoulders, replaced by a sense of reassurance that only Aaron could provide. His unwavering love and support was everything you needed. He guided you through the darkness, illuminating the path forward with hope and determination.

As you arrived at the hospital and Aaron helped you out of the car, you knew that this was just another chapter in your life together. You couldn't help but feel a profound sense of gratitude for the man beside you, your literal partner in crime, your rock, your everything. Together, you were truly unstoppable.

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[lightseoul]

can you make one for number 4? (⁠^⁠^⁠)

sure, i can! thank you for participating, sweetheart <3 hope you like this one—it was fun to write!

(this is lightseoul's 2k milestone event ft. bakugou katsuki! to play, view the numbered list of prompts here, then simply send an ask with your chosen number and i'll whip something up!)

4. "DO I MAKE YOU NERVOUS?" (0.8k)

you pad your way to your small living room, two mugs of hot chamomile tea in tow, diligently trying not to spill any on your pristine, tiled floor.

but not as much as you’re trying to steady your hammering heart.

the perpetrator of your impending cardiac arrest remains unaware of your plight, however, seemingly relaxed with his right arm resting on top of the backrest of your two-seater couch.

upon seeing you approaching, he sits up ever so minutely, but his arm stays put.

“thanks,” he mumbles as you carefully place the beverages on the tiny coffee table in front of you.

“sure,” you retort, voice pathetically wobbly, and for a second you just stand there awkwardly, not knowing what to do with yourself.

bakugou’s eyes drift up to look at you, questioning. “aren’t you going to sit?”

“r-right!”

gingerly, you plop yourself down beside the man, purposefully making sure there’s an appropriate enough distance between the two of you.

a few moments pass with neither of you saying anything, the air so unusually tense you could cut it with a meat cleaver. you find yourself toying with the hem of the boxer shorts you hastily threw on while bakugou did his business in your comfort room upon your arrival at your apartment unit.

the very unit he’s visiting for the first time.

with tonight being the first either of you has ever visited the other’s home.

alone.

so, yeah—maybe the looming heart attack is a bit warranted.

“…this is your place, right?”

your face contorts in a mix of offense and confusion before you can think better against it. “of course, it is!”

“then why do you look so fucking stiff?”

at the call out, it suddenly dawns on you how tense your body is, spine straight in a rare occurrence of you having good posture. you roll your shoulders back in an attempt to relax a little, still finding yourself unable to look the pro-hero in the eye.

beside you, bakugou huffs, before muttering: “and are you saving some space for the holy spirit, or something? fucking glued to the armrest…”

you can’t help it—you snort at his petulant comment. this grants you a light shove from the man, who doesn’t need to move much to do so what with his wingspan being abnormally wide.

“quit laughing at me, dumbass.”

it takes you a few more seconds to get the chuckles out, and you’re finally lulled into a comfortable silence soon after. mustering the courage, you chance a glance at bakugou, who’s apparently already been looking at you.

“what?” you ask, feeling overly self-conscious.

he studies you for a while longer. “are you really going to sit like that for the rest of the night?”

you’re really going to have that fucking stroke.

“why?” you manage to get out, “where do you want me to sit?”

again, bakugou lets out an exasperated sigh, as if this entire exchange is tiring him out. “do you need me to spell it out? get fucking closer.”

before you even get the chance to get flustered at his command, bakugou grabs you by the hip with one, strong hand, unceremoniously pulling you flush against his firm chest.

instantly, you feel yourself flame in embarrassment, mind barely registering the brazen display of confidence and strength. you find yourself trying not to focus too much on the comforting heat radiating off his frame, or how his toned torso feels so solid against your skin.

or, perhaps most importantly, the fact that he just doesn’t seem to get nervous around you as you do around him.

you don’t get to dig too deep into that, though, because bakugou reaches out and gently tugs your head down against his chest, effectively snapping you out of your trance.

but that’s when you hear—and feel—it.

stunned, you jolt away from the man, who startles ever so slightly you would’ve missed it if it weren’t for the way you’re staring at him in absolute shock.

“what the f—”

“do i make you nervous?” you blurt out before you can talk yourself out of it.

bakugou’s face scrunches up, “what?”

“your heart’s beating so fast,” you point out. “or at least i think it is.”

bakugou doesn’t say anything for what feels like an hour, before he throws his hands up and turns away from you, opting to face the TV instead. “so fucking what. sue me.”

you can’t help the grin that takes over your face at the sight, a tinge of pink now resting on the high planes of the pro-hero’s cheeks.

bakugou side-eyes you, face sullen, “the fuck are you grinning about?”

“nothing,” you sing-song, looping your arm around his in a burst of new-found confidence. “just found out i make pro-hero dynamight nervous.”

at that, he scoffs. “that’s hardly an achievement, dumbass. i’m your fucking boyfriend.”

[mistyorchid]

Meet-Cute (Ch. 3)

Old Man!Logan x fem!reader

summary: You and Logan relax during a particularly hot summer day, engaging in "parallel play" together. An innocent hangout quickly gets heated after he overhears a nsfw Twitter video blaring from your phone. Goddamn auto play. Ch. 1 Ch. 2 warnings: MDNI, no use of y/n, smut, established relationship, age gap, reader is 21+, oral fixation, praise kink, oral (male!receiving), light d/s, pet names (bub, baby, babe, daddy, good/dirty girl, princess), size kink, slapping (referenced + explicit), cum play. wc: 3.6k

Logan kept his promise. Well, you didn't go on a million more dates, but the time you spent together stretched the meaning of time itself. They started as singular outings; with early nights overlapping into early mornings. It didn't take long until your dates morphed into week-long "hangouts" at his place.

You willingly uprooted your life for Logan after a year of dating, packing your world into cardboard boxes and weaving it into the fabric of his home. The only thing you missed was the in-unit air conditioner that cooled your tiny apartment. It turns out that summers are unbearable when you live in a smelting plant.

The metal walls and poor insulation transform your makeshift studio into a furnace. Oil paint fumes waft upwards from the canvas, aggravating a migraine that slowly travels from the top of your head to your temples. In an attempt to preserve your sanity, you rapidly untie the paint-stained apron and storm out of the studio.

Beads of sweat trickle into your cleavage, gathering at the underwire of your bra. You tear it off somewhere between the kitchen and the living room; you can't be bothered to pick it up from the floor. Maybe Logan will stumble upon it and stash it away, an uncharacteristically pervy habit that he thinks goes unnoticed.

"I'm melting, Logan. Save me!" You slump into the couch, dramatically grazing your forehead with the back of your hand to mimic a damsel in distress. Logan lowers his newspaper to acknowledge your presence. Cigar smoke billows from his mouth; the inky tendrils momentarily fogging his glasses.

"Not much I can do, bub. Fan just died," He explains, tilting his nose towards the archaic floor fan. An annoyed grumble escapes your lips as you move to the end of the couch, relaxing your head against the armrest and stretching out like a starfish. Logan shifts the paper to one hand to lightly caress your ankle.

You stare at the ceiling, mentally conjuring metallic constellations by connecting the bolts and welds. It takes five minutes for you to snap your eyes shut in defeat. Although you normally accept boredom as a challenge—a testament to your imagination, the sweltering heat makes it difficult to think.

Logan quirks his brow, sensing your exhaustion. "You're such a baby. It's barely ninety in here." You shake his palm off your leg and draw your knees toward your stomach, creating a makeshift boundary against his feigned judgment. "Barely ninety? Don't piss me off," You laugh, reaching for your phone on the coffee table.

Parallel play is new to Logan. He tends to isolate himself, preferring to spend his leisure time alone. When you introduced the concept to him, he dismissed you with an eye roll that bordered on sassy instead of annoyed. "You getting this from your Tick-Tock-whatever the fuck?"

"Let's be alone together," You reasoned. He’s enjoyed these moments of domesticity ever since.

Your index finger lingers above the touchscreen, debating which app will distract you from the heat. The comforting feeling of Logan's hand returning to your ankle inspires you to open Twitter. Your body is slowly relaxing and you want your brain to follow suit.

Logan cherishes your laugh as you stumble upon a hilarious tweet. You scroll further, settling on a video that displays a pitch-black screen. Assuming it was an edit, you wait for a transition to reveal a montage from a show you liked, or an incredibly depressing edit of Kendall Roy. Those always seemed to invade your TikTok for-you page around 3 am.

Your jaw drops when it fades into the unmistakable sight of an amateur porn video. It depicts a woman on her knees, presumably filmed by her partner. The man slaps his cock on her tongue before slowly inching the tip into her eager mouth. "That's a good girl, drool on my cock," the faceless man praises.

The video had been relatively silent until that moment.

Nothing could have prepared you for the high-pitched moan that traveled from the girl's throat and out of your phone's speaker. You were ambushed. Logan pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and shakes his head, pointedly refusing to react to the noise. "I'm reading the paper, and you're watching porn?"

"I didn't click on it, I scrolled, I—" you threw your phone onto the couch, crossing your arms over your eyes to shield your flustered cheeks. "—Ugh! whatever." Your embarrassment provides Logan ample time to grab your phone as he quickly unlocks it and scrolls back to the source of the moan.

Auto-play resumes, suddenly filling the room with the sound of more slapping. "Please give it to me, Daddy! Promise I'll be good for you," the woman pleads in an exaggerated falsetto. Logan shoves the phone in front of your face, forcing you to acknowledge the video.

"You into this shit?" He asks, invading your mortified posture to push your arms away from your face. His knee slots in between your stretched legs, effectively caging you in. "I asked you a fuckin' question." His gruff tone would have scared you if it wasn’t accompanied by the slight upward curve of his mouth.

Logan's cock throbs as his eyes linger on your gaping mouth. You were reacting appropriately, dropping your jaw in shock. All Logan could think about was how your plush lips formed a perfect "o," similar to the woman on the screen.

"I plead the fifth," You huff, narrowing your eyes and reaching out to pause the video. Logan clicks his tongue while mocking you, shaking his head side-to-side. "It's in your feed. Doesn't that mean you are into this shit?"

Fuck. You regretted explaining social media algorithms to Logan. It was an act of charity, showing an old man how to use the "interwebs," as he first called it. He'd still have a flip phone if you didn't explain why only drug dealers and Y2K-obsessed tweens used them.

You push Logan's knee forward, making him momentarily lose his balance. He falls on top of you, the full weight of his adamantium-plated bones pressing you firmly into the couch. Logan's heart drops in his chest as he sees you shut your eyes in pain. "Oh my god, I-" He uses his elbow to twist away from your chest, landing on the floor with a comically loud thunk.

He groans with the force of the fall and immediately regrets landing on his back. The scarred planes had already been traumatized by decades of recklessness, but his old age further weakened their tenacity.

"I'm sorry, babe. You okay?" He slowly rises to his feet, grimacing when he hears his joints creak under the weight. Logan uses the edge of the coffee table to stand up fully. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks," You squeak, unable to meet his worried stare. When he fell on your chest, you could feel his bulge through the thin cotton boxers.

Two can play that game.

You fail to stifle a giggle as Logan waves his hand in a sweeping motion in front of your face. "You sure I didn't hurt you? Seems like you're in shock," He asks, genuinely concerned with your well-being.

"You're hard," You state, fixated on the prominent tent in his boxers. Logan is a cocky motherfucker; he rests his hands on his hips and slightly leans backward, emphasizing the bulge.

"Yeah? So what? I’m always hard when you wear those shorts. Makes me feel like a fuckin’ teenager." He smirks, clearly enjoying the sight of your flustered face. His nostrils subtly flex and you can tell he smells how wet you are for him. It's simultaneously embarrassing and empowering unraveling for Logan—you feel so timid under the heavy weight of his gaze, yet so brazenly sensual.

“Know what I think?” You drawl, shifting from your position on the couch to stand before Logan. His broad frame would be intimidating if he weren’t so gentle with you. Only you. Sunset filters through the lace curtains you installed last summer to soften the hostile industrial space. Soft, indeed. The living room is swathed in an amber glow, and so is Logan’s face. The light tenderly traces each wrinkle and scar—decorations gifted by the tedious passing of time. Your calves burn as you rise on your toes, lips grazing the shell of his ear.

You grasp his strong shoulders to stabilize yourself before whispering, “I think you’re secretly into this, too.” Logan turns his head away from you, closing his eyes to conceal how much your words affect him. He’s confused when he feels you rake your palms against his chest, only opening his eyes when your hand catches on the waistband of his boxers.

Logan’s a man of few words. Your unabashed look of adoration combined with your position on the floor stole any he could use to disagree.

“What’s the matter, Daddy? Cat got your tongue?” You lean forward, tenderly nuzzling your cheek against his leg. 

“Jesus,” Logan mumbles, tentatively reaching down to pet the top of your head. “You’re fuckin’ filthy. Don’t call me that.” The gravel of his voice triggers a dull throbbing in your core. It was easy to unravel for him because he never demanded your submission. He earned it by respecting your mind and body, nurturing it like a fragile orchid that could wither if handled without care. 

You strain your neck to peer into his eyes. He tugs on your roots before tenderly tracing your bottom lip—a silent betrayal of his plea. “Why, you don’t like it? I’ll stop if you don’t,” You reason, allowing him to admire your plush lips. A ragged groan escapes him as he watches you suck his callused thumb into your hot mouth before releasing it with an audible pop.

“It’s not that, I just—” His words die in his throat as you pull the hem of his boxers down, tugging the elastic until you can feel his hard cock bob on your face. You gently stroke his length before pressing your cheek against it, smiling against his warmth. “I don’t wanna ruin you any more than I already have,” He chokes. The doubt written on Logan’s face kills you. You’re suddenly on your feet again and Logan’s cock can’t help but twitch at the absence of your hot breath. 

“Stop it. I hate when you say shit like that.” Logan resists the urge to clench his eyes shut. He hates it when you look at him like he’s a puzzle you’re eager to solve. “All you’ve done is give me everything I’ve ever wanted,” You sigh, reaching on your toes to burrow your head into the crook of his neck. 

Logan wallowed in self-deprecation like it was his job. The age gap between you both was a recurring theme of past arguments. He often distanced himself whenever you begged to ride him, gazing sympathetically into his eyes as you felt his thrusts falter. 

You cherished it.

He could be bandaging your knee after a bad fall in the studio and then spanking your ass until it matched the deep purple and red hues mixed on your palette. The duality drove you crazy. Logan knew exactly when to nurture you and when to fulfill your desire to be taken, worn down; he masterfully chipped away at the facade of your resolve until you were pliant in his rough embrace.

“Besides, ‘Daddy’s just a term of endearment. Same as baby, doll . . . my girl.” You whisper, teasingly nipping his earlobe. “I love being your girl.”

Logan’s hesitation breaks at that, planting a chaste kiss on your neck and inhaling the comforting scent of your hair. You smelled like home.

“Can you get on your knees for me, baby?”

The subtle command ignites a tender ache in your bones—you’re suddenly slinking down his form and bracing against the cool concrete. This must be how people felt when the first skyscraper was built. The towering mass of his body is deliciously intimidating; you’re at his feet, worshipping the foundation of an idol that refuses to be honored.

His hips jut forward as you teasingly lick the head of his cock in short, cat-like strokes. You indulge in his flesh, roaming the hard planes of his thighs and caressing the black tendrils around the base. Something in Logan breaks when you pause to gently kiss the tip while peering up at him through your fluttering lashes. 

“Give me your phone,” He commands. You were too embarrassed to admit how much you craved this side of him. Your back strains with your sudden movement to reach behind you, knocking little knick-knacks on the coffee table as you fumble for the phone. 

Logan’s cock twitches as you hurriedly unlock it before presenting it to him like a pup offering its owner a bone. “I, uh—” His voice hitches when you place your hands on your thighs; your arched back pushing the swell of your breasts against his legs. “I need you to open the camera app for me.”

A teasing smirk overpowers your once coy visage. “Sure thing, Daddy.” You strain to reach the phone, quickly swiping to find the cute camera icon. He’s purposefully not bridging the distance. 

He’s making you work for it.

Logan reverses the camera before angling it in front of your face. “Repeat what she said.” His hooded eyes follow your dumbfounded expression, lingering on the inviting expanse of your lips. You stutter as Logan’s thumb traces dizzying patterns on your open mouth, dipping in quickly to collect your spit.

“Pl- please give it to me, Daddy . . . promise I'll be good for you,” You drawl, satisfied now that you could feel Logan in your mouth. Your face is inches away from his hard cock and you can’t help but admire how fucking pretty he is. When he’s worked up like this, his cock resembles an enticing red lollipop, shiny with the glaze of your spit. The line between your internal thoughts and external babbles blurs as you murmur, “Wanna suck you off so badly. Need to taste you.” 

“What was that, bub?” He props up your chin with his finger, helping you focus on his hazel eyes. He shifts the phone into his left hand before firmly grabbing the base of his cock with his right to lightly slap your cheek. “I asked you a fuckin’ question,” He growls, snapping you out of your horny reverie.

Your voice is meek and airy, a familiar sign that you’re falling further into a comfortable haze. There were no labels to describe your relationship, but you both fostered a nurturing pattern of dominance and submission—often smudging the lines whenever necessary. At this moment, all you wanted was to surrender to him.

“I need to suck your cock, Daddy.” You smirk as it bobs almost subconsciously, leaving dribbles of precum on your cheek.

“Good girl. Fuck.” The praise lures a wanton moan out of your throat that sends pleasant vibrations throughout Logan’s body. You slowly inch the tip in, eagerly spreading his precum around the head with your tongue. Heavy, thick, and wet. So unbelievably wet.

Logan’s stifled growls encourage you to grasp the heft of his cock with both hands. You often joked that jerking him off would give you arthritis in your right hand; the stamina needed to twist up and down his length utterly exhausted you.

His eyebrows knit together in pleasure, a silent love letter to your unabashed yearning to soothe him—in mind, body, and spirit. You adore Logan like this, all bark and no bite. 

“So fuckin’ needy, hm?” You peer up at him through your lashes, focusing on the subtle twitch of his nostrils. “Just the tip and you’re already a mess,” He chuckles. Although you’ve enjoyed each other’s company for a few years, a warm blush always manages to reveal how flustered you get whenever Logan smells your arousal. The strained moans that tumble out of his throat ignite a dull throbbing sensation in your core.

Logan opens his eyes when he realizes your hands have left his cock, eager to scold you (lovingly, of course.) He thrusts into your mouth as he’s greeted by the sight of you desperately toying with your clit, pausing here and there to slap against the sensitive bud. 

You can barely think. Pleasure transforms into a tangible gift, tied off with a voluminous red bow. The pressure to open the box is removed—you’re content with admiring the details of its exterior, swirling your fingers on the silky textile and getting lost in the feeling.

“Ah—Logan! I’m gonna— fuck, I—” You stutter, unable to string together words into a sensible arrangement. Logan slowly thrusts deeper into your hot mouth, reuniting your nose with the coarse hair around the base.

He pulls back slightly when you gag around him. Your pussy flutters as you feel his cock harden at the involuntary sound, somehow stretching your mouth even more. “I know, baby,” Logan sighs, gently wiping away your tears. “Shhh . . . you can take it.”

Every time your mouth swallows his entire length, you dart your tongue out to playfully coat his heavy balls with spit. You’re acting like a bitch in heat—as if the thought of living without the taste of Logan’s cock would be futile. Realistically, you knew that the masculine salt of him on your tongue served as a reminder of his tangible presence in your life, a presence that was meaningful, nurturing, and everlasting.

“That’s a good girl. Drool on Daddy’s cock,” Logan praises, adapting the line from the video.

Your release is sudden and impactful. The shaky tone of your cries corresponds with the shakiness of Logan’s hand. His knuckles turn white as he struggles to hold the phone upright.

“Oh my god, oh my god, mmmm!—” You moan, muffled by the delicious drag of Logan’s cock. “Ah—I’m coming, fuck . . .” Your swollen clit pulses as your thighs cave inwards, pushing you even closer to the hilt.

He comes immediately following your orgasm, finding your fucked-out expression unbelievably attractive and haunting. Thick ropes of cum flood your mouth and you can feel his cock twitch when your eyes meet. A rough cacophony of moans and grunts breaks free from Logan’s chest.

You look utterly ruined. Swollen lips still stretching around his girth, tears etched onto the flustered apples of your cheeks. “As beautiful as you look right now, I need to pull out, baby.”

You’re desperately trying to taste more cum from his weeping slit, but Logan manages to push away from you with a dramatic hiss. His jaw falls when he watches you emphasize the act of swallowing his cum.

“My dirty girl,” He drawls, pleased when you stick out your tongue as proof. You want the echo of Logan’s thick cock slapping onto your tongue to be ingrained in your mind. It doesn’t take long for him to explode again. You help him along, breathlessly stroking the plush stiffness of his cock and looking up at him with sinfully soulful eyes.

The first streak lands on your lips. Logan’s head rolls back as he mindlessly ruts forward, painting your entire face with hot cum.

He returns to earth when you press chaste licks to the tip once again. “Holy shit, there’s so much cum, I’m sorry—” Logan apologizes, stunned by the masterpiece he’s created. His release drips down the sloping facade of your cheekbones before landing on your cheeks and lips. You quickly dart out your tongue to taste him.

“Don’t be, Daddy. Can you give me some more?” You plead, batting your eyelashes. Logan pauses the recording and  tosses the phone onto the couch. Before you can process why, you hear a loud thunk on the concrete.

Logan kneels in front of you to match your position on the floor. He reaches out to brush your hair away from your face, studying the white marks adorning your skin.

“You’re so pretty with my cum on your face,” He sighs. Your eyes widen when he reaches down, dragging two thick fingers through your sensitive folds. Then, he swipes the same fingers through his cum before bringing them to his lips and sucking gently.

He closes his eyes, truly indulging in the delicacy of your love. “Mmm. We taste so good together, baby. Wanna try?” You nod earnestly, biting your lip to dampen your whimpers. Logan repeats the process, in awe of the way you lean into his touch.

Logan doesn’t register that you’re falling until he’s sprawled out on the cool concrete floor with your tits cushioned against his chest. He’s quick to check on you, stunned by the sudden movement.

“You okay, princess? What happened?” Worry is framed by the wrinkles between his brows.

“Mhm, Logan. Daddy. We do taste good together,” You confirm, feeling pleasantly overwhelmed yet supported against the solid foundation of his body.

Logan kisses you sweetly, wrapping his broad arms around you to stabilize your torso. “It’s a lot cooler on the floor, baby. Gotta clean you up, I’ll be right back.” You whine as he gently rolls over to lay you on the floor before walking towards the kitchen.

After picking up a nearby towel and wetting it under the faucet, Logan almost slips on something on his way back to the living room.

The familiar heart pattern of the bra makes the corners of his mouth turn upwards; it’s satisfying knowing that you left these out for him rather than randomly forgetting a thong here and a lacey bralette there. You were deliberately feeding into his desires and he loved you for it.

You both played the game of life together, and Logan wouldn’t want it any other way.

an: I heard it's someone's bday today . . . I hope they never read this but consider Meet Cute Ch. 3 my gift to all of you. Thanks for being so patient, I know it's been a while. FYI I imagine the character whenever I'm writing, not the actor. Hope everyone has a great weekend.

tag list: @bratscave @elflutter @fairiebabey @pointyxsole @scorpiosaintt @th3mrskory

[rhadamanthes]

Private show. JeanxreaderxEren

word count : 4,7k

warnings : modern au, arranged marriage but reader still has a boyfriend on the side, jealousy, boys kissing, lots of praises and pet names, handjob, cum eating oral sex fem receiving, fingering, squirting, slight overstimulation, double penetration same hole, nipple play, after care, non protected sex.

author's note : had this fic on my mind for a while now i have a full lore for it, not very detailed here but maybe i'll write more, it's my first time wrting smut in a while so a threesome was not really a smart choice but i'm kind of proud with how it turned out let me know what you think about it and enjoy!

Part 2

There is no place like home you think, as you finally inhale the familiar scent of incense in your apartment.

Not that the honeymoon was bad but you wished it was with someone you actually loved.

"Eren! No airport clothes on the couch, are you crazy ?" you squeak ushering him to stand up

"You know for someone who's not my real wife you sure do nag me like one"

"Very funny just go clean yourself up then you can sprawl all you want, anywhere you want "

His answer is drowned by the ringing of the door bell. Who could that even be when you landed just a few hours ago. Exchanging a look with Eren you plead him to take care of it. As the good husband he is, he makes his way to the entrance mumbling in the process of course what you can only imagine is curse on your name.

The ajar door  reveals the man you wished you were married to, the man you wished  you had spent the last two weeks with... Jean. You heart start beating faster at the sight of him and you rush to the door, trapping him in a tight hug

"Ew just let me get out the way at least" Eren protest but it doesn't matter you are finally reunited with Jean you missed his scent and the way his body feels against yours,

"Hi baby" you smile, giving him a quick peck. He smiles back, hiding his face in your neck, inhaling deeply.

"Jean ! I haven't showered yet!"

"Who cares?" he groans, pressing harder in your skin. You giggle at the muffled sound of his voice.

"Anyways, I got something for you, come on in" you turn making your way to the luggage you left near the couch. You only notice now that Eren left the room, in the distance you can hear the water running good, 

"A gift from your honeymoon just for me ? That is way to kind"

You shake your head not even bothering to look back at him. 

"I brought gifts for everyone. I'm just cool like that, you know ?" 

You tap the floor next to you inviting him to sit and help you find the package in the mess that are your multiple suitcases.

At the same time Eren re enters the living room a towel around his waist as he dries his wet hair with a smaller one.

"Your gift for ponyboy is in my suitcase, remember how you bought so much it wouldn't fit anymore ?" he chuckles sitting on your other side, working down the zip of the said suitcase,

Both of you exchange a look at the first item displayed, one of his shirts is rolled up in a very distinct wine glass shape. 

Upon your first night of the trip you went to a restaurant, finding yourself obsessed with the glasses they used for the drinks : cut in the form of a seashell . Eren went to the staff  asking if you could bring a pair back to the hotel as a newlyweds gift; it didn't work but they agreed on giving you one single piece in exchange for a couple bills. You laugh at the memory and so does he.

From his spot Jean feels nothing but pure jealousy, of course he knows this is not a love marriage. Both your dad's made an agreement for an arranged marriage showing an united front as their companies are going through a crisis. 

But still, seeing you laugh with another man, exchanging knowing looks and private jokes makes his eyebrow knit a bit. There is nothing funny about a shirt in a suitcase. You're wearing another man last name for god's sake. Mrs Yeager-Smith enough to make him barf. On top of that the bastard is shaped like a god.

If anything Jean wishes this wedding could be over in a few months and not a year like your father mentioned. A wave of relief hits Jean as your husband leaves, announcing he'll be napping for the rest of the day. 

You dig a little velvet box from the suitcase, giving it to Jean with a shy smile. The content reveals a gold ring with your initials engraved on the inner part.

"I figured you might as well have one" you laugh, second thinking about the choice of your gift.

Jean's lips crashes into yours in a deep kiss, ushering you closer.

"I love it, thank you" he murmurs after breaking the kiss.

You caress the stubble on his chin, eyes locked with his. "I love you."

A warm sensation spreads through his chest.

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

A few weeks have passed since you got back from your honeymoon. Your life came back to normal, well almost. You jungle between your public relationship and the private one, it is hard at times, you wish you could hold Jean hand whenever you want, not second guess every one of your actions. Part of your consolation is that you get to see your friends all you want. 

Right now, you are at practice with Annie, the two of you go back to kindergarten. You've been doing ballet with her ever since. Needless to say she's not happy with your current condition, you haven't stretched the whole time you were travelling, you're a bit stiff and it shows.

"I can't believe you had all this free time and didn't even take advantage of it" she exclaims, pushing your leg deeper on the wooden bar.

"It was a honeymoon Annie not a bootcamp" you wince, muscle crying under her assault. 

"Yeah yeah  I know, a very romantic trip"

You're about to snap back at her when you hear your boyfriend's voice coming from the netrane of the room.

"My savior" you dramatically says rushing to meet him in a hug.  "You came at the right time, she was about to kill me."

Annie shakes her head left to right, greeting Jean with a wave of her hand. 

"Just come earlier on monday and tuesday we will stretch together you should come to normal quick."

"Okay boss I'll do that, Bertholdt not here yet ? Want us to drop you off ?" 

"He'll be there in five he made a detour for Reiner"

"What a gentleman picking up his boyfriend and girlfriend" you feel Jean's shoulder shake with laughter next to you and you can't help but follow him. 

Annie is giving you a death stare, you wrap your arm around Jean'susing him as a human shield. "Well we better be on our way see you " blowing kisses her way tou rush to the elevator. 

The ride back to your place goes smoothly, you tell Jean about practice and the gossip Annie filled you in with while you were away. Soon enough you find yourself walking to your doorstep. In the distance you can see Eren sitting on the floor. 

"Forgot your keys again ?" you extend your hand for him to stand up. 

"Yeah we really need to give the concierge a spare." you laugh, the three of you entering the duplex. Eren hand on the small of your back.

You and Jean are in the kitchen, cooking up a meal for tonight he's been quiet ever since you guys got back. 

"You know the honeymoon really got me to know Eren better, I think you two would get along well" 

"Why would I want to befriend your husband ?" His tone is harsh.

"Come on Jean, it'll make everyone's life easier and you're bond to see him anyway"

"What do you propose ? me and him flying out to the Maldives ? "

"Hmmm I was thinking about a threesome actually" 

A beat of silence fills the room.

"You're serious ?"

"Deadly, and don't tell me you didn't think about it. I saw the way you looked at him the other day" his cheeks glow pink at your words: got him. "This could be an icebreaker and then you two go on friendly dates. What do you think" you say tracing his arms through the clothes. "Once we've seen each other naked we won't have a lot of secrets left, but if you're not down for it I'll understand"

You're treading on thin ice. Jean expressed his desire to experience new things some time ago. This seems like the perfect occasion.

"Ok, but you tell him that this is a one time thing I don't want to share you for the rest of my life"

"Roget that" you seal the deal with a kiss. 

After Jean left you went to Eren with your offer, needless to say it didn't take a lot of convincing for him to agree.

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

The day has come, Jean is sitting on the edge of the bed farther away from you and Eren. He wants this you know it, he must be uncomfortable that's all, so you take matters in your hands. Approaching him, from up close you can see a faint pink glow on his cheeks. 

 Ever the embarrassed boy.

 The thought makes you smile.

"Looks like someone here needs to relax," you whisper, running your lips horizontally on his ear. 

He's been your boyfriend for as long as you remember, you know everything about him, weak spot included.

"Come on baby don't you want to loosen up so we can have fun ?" As you speak Eren's hand starts to feel Jean hips slowly unbuckling his belt.

"Y-yeah i'll do that "  he answer lifting his hips slightly so his pant can come completely off 

"Good" Eren mumbles, as he explores Jean's penis through his boxer. You take it as a cue to intensifie the torture, sucking his lobe into your mouth.

The strained moan he lets out tell you everything you need to know. 

Jean feels like he's levitating, Eren's hands are not as delicate as yours but the roughness adds something to the  up and down motion applied on his cock. Combined to the way you're feasting on his ear he can't help but-

"God that feels good" he feels your lips curl in a smile against his skin you must enjoy that too.

"I understand why she likes torturing you so much now, you are pretty when you squirm" Eren's words add to the fuel.

"Shut up" not very convincing, his cheeks are burning now

"Gladly, I do not want to miss a pretty moan out of you Jean "

Fuck is it so obvious that he runs on praises ? All this attention gets to his head. When you first proposed the three-way he wanted the focus to be on you, there is nothing he enjoys more than pleasing you, being at your service, but he can't deny that this feels pretty good . His head falls back, closing his eyes with a deep groan. You move from his ear to his neck sucking and biting while one of your hands rolls his nipple between soft fingers. The two of you are going to kill him.

His hips start to move on their own, thrusting into Eren's hand as his release approaches. With every stroke the sensitivity increases and makes his mind go blank a little bit more. The tingling sensation rises from his balls and through the cock. 

"That's right Jean, let it all out"  And he does, spilling his seed all over Eren's hand as your saccharine voice guides him through the edge. 

Feeling Eren's hand unwrapping from his dick, Jean opens his eyes again and straightens his head. On the right time he might add, You're licking the semen off Eren's skin while staring at the long haired boy in his eyes. Eren is staring right back at you with a devilish smirk on his lips.

"Dirty girl" you snicker at his remark reducing the space between your bodies, you kiss him languorously, you want him to taste Jean, after this night is all about sharing. He's hesitant at first but soon enough his hand locks you in place by your hair, tongue invading your mouth licking all over. Spit is drooling at your chin. The whole deal feels dirty but it feels good.

The kiss is needy and full of frustrations.  It is a long awaited relief. You two never had physical contact with each other over the four months you lived under the same roof. Apart from the public apparition of course but this is nothing like the fake affection you show the tabloids.  You break the kiss scared to get lost in the way it makes you feel.

"Alright my turn" you say excitedly sitting on the edge of the bed you kick your panty off quickly, the cold air of the room hitting your cunt makes you realise how excited you already are. Eren waste no time spreading your knees to be able to sit between your legs on the floor. You turn to Jean, who looks like he is still coming down from his high, 

"Get to work" You nudge him with your foot.

"Yes ma'am" 

The two men are now on their knees between your legs. On the left Eren's head is resting on your thigh, biting softly while your flesh as he observes absently minded your pussy. Jean lifts your right leg to rest it on his shoulder, kissing it tenderly. 

"What a sight" you exclaim. "Come on, don't be shy guys, I'm all ready for you."

As the reactive dog he is, Eren dive face first in your cunt lapping at your clitoris. Jean scoffs at his behaviour.the reaction makes you laugh." What ? you're going to let him steal your food ?" the words come out strained  due to Eren's ministrations, he sure knows how to use his tongue. And fuck, he's skilled with his fingers too. They are not as long as Jean's but he is curling them at the perfect angle . Not trusting your body to hold you anymore you lean back on your forearm appreciating the spectacle from afar.

Jean has entered the dance, getting into Eren's rhythm so that your bundle of nerves is never left unattended. their eyes are boring into yours, feasting on  your every reaction. You can't take it anymore, laying completely flat on the mattress you let out a breathy moan, eyes shut in pleasure. This is what heaven must feel like. 

The new position gives them more access to your body, the slenders fingers of your boyfriend travel down to the rim of your anus. his index circling slowly the puffy flesh.

"Please" you hum, arching your back of the bed, gentle perspiration starts forming on your lower back "Please my love"

"You want it inside, doll ?" you nod your head hoping he'll get the message."There you go" he purrs against your skin. Entering your tight rim prodding at your spongy walls. As he resumes his assault on your clit.

Jean and you never went as far as anal penetration but from time to time you enjoy his finger wandering there. 

You barely control the moans you let out anymore, it all feels too good, your brain is getting mushy from all the pleasure you feel, you know your orgasm is approaching. You take a fistul of whoever hair you can ,grinding your hips against their faces.

"Guys, i'm gonna cum"  you feel beads of sweat on your forehead.

They hum against your wet cunt, the soft  vibration it gives is too much for you to handle. Electricity courses your  clitoris, spreads  through your whole body, down to your toes and fingertips in sweet, sweet relief. 

Kisses are left on your slit, fingers retriving from your holes. A lazy smile creeps on your face. The bed dips on your left a large hand pet on your forehead and the crown of your hair. "You've done good" it's Jean's voice. You open your eyes to kiss him and you realise, it's the first time you feel his lips against yours since the beginning of the night.  

Slowly, your thighs close on themselves sore to have been spread so wide for both of them to fit in between. Eren is still sitting on the ground, he places your legs over his shoulders before suctioning his lips to your clitoris. Still sensitive from your orgasm, you jolt straightening up.

"Eren!"

"Just a bit more i want her all to myself" 

You don't have enough energy to fight him so you let him do as he pleases, back colliding with the mattress. Lewd noise comes from his spot, he wasn't lying when he said he wanted it all for him, when he was sharing with Jean their tongues were flat against your mound, he is now full on slurping on it pointy tongue flicking over it. The rapid motion makes you twitch,  hips lifting off the mattress. Your nerves are on fire and you already know that you won't last long this time.

"God Eren" you moan gripping Jean's forearm for support. 

Jean's lips trace your jaw up to your temple.

"Come on princess on more so we can fuck you properly yeah ? "he croons searching for your eyes, you nod your head absent mindly. You need to be stuffed soon or you'll go crazy The thought of having their cocks inside of you makes you whine out loud. "You're making me hard again baby"

"I am? "Taking your right hand Jean makes you feel his erected cock. "Jean I need it" your eyes start to tear up in frustration.

"I know love, just a bit more i'm ready for you" he englobe your hand, making you squeeze his penis lightly. 

The sweet talk makes you want to grant his wish, he's been sex deprived for a while now, between the honeymoon and your new life, you two haven't had the time to see each other as much as you usually do. You call his name, feeling a new orgasm approaching. 

Eren must feel it too, encasing his face deeper in your cunt. Your eyes close shut and the familiar sensation runs through your veins. the knot in your belly snaps once more tonight, legs thrashing around your tormentor's head. The saccade moans coming out of your mouth makes you sound like a broken record. 

"Good job baby, good girl" Jean praises, as you feel eren collecting the arousal that has been leaking down your inner thigh the loud slurping noise coming from him gives you no doubt on what he did with it. 

"I think she's ready now" you can hear the smile in his voice, you open your eyes, drowsy from your second orgasm of the night. Eren is standing on his feet licking at the remnant of your cum on his digits. You kick him playfully, what an arrogant bastard he is. Eyes roaming down his figure, you notice the tent in his pants, god, it must be painful for him, you and Jean came at least once but not him, you feel bad. 

"Come here Eren" you straighten back up tapping the empty side of the mattress, he obliges.

Fishing down his pant you start to stroke his cock slowly but he grabs your wrist

" I want to cum inside of you not in my pants like a teeanger"  taking his word in action he positions himself in the middle of the bed, head resting on your silk pillow. A sigh of relief escaping his lips. "Mind if I take the spot from under Jean ? I want to see your girlfriend tits bounce in my face"

"Suit yourself, I can have this view all I want"  you scoff at their childish bickering. Turning around, you extend your arm in front of you to stretch your back in a cat like manner before crawling to straddle Eren's legs. 

"I hope you're not only about barking, I'm very needy tonight" you taunt getting rid of his pants, his cock spring free taping against his lower abs. 

"Is it to your liking my pretty wife ?" He takes it in his hand, rubbing it along your belly. At the same time you feel Jean positioning himself behind you, his warmth seeping into your skin.

"Hm not bad " you say, running a finger on his already wet tip "What do you think Jean ?" 

"I've seen better" you giggle, grabbing his chin to steal a quick kiss. Jean pushes your back slowly, until you're flat against Eren's chest. "Now let's have some fun."

Jean rubs his cock against your entrance, you put your hands on Eren's shoulder in anticipation. You feel the familiar stretch of Jean's dick inside your pussy and  let a relieved sigh.

"Lift your hips for me baby hm ?" you do as you're told knowing what is about to come..

Jean grabs Eren cock by the base, running it down your slit until he finds his own cock, pushing against it. Your jaw goes slack at the pressure you feel, nails digging in eren's skin.

"Look at me, baby you can take it" Eren pets your hair to get your attention, locking your eyes with his, you nod, digging deeper in his shoulders. 

 You feel every inch of his dick filling you up and gasp once it is fully inside of you.

"Good girl" he plants a kiss on your forehead 

"You're feeling alright ? " Jean asks hugging your mid section to get you closer to him again 

"Hmm I don't remember ever been this stretched before but... it kind of feel nice" you giggle 

"Coming from a ballerina I'm flattered," Eren laughs, caressing your thigh in a soothing manner.

Both you and Jean huff at his remark. The moment you have waited all night is here you start to rock your hips back and forth in search of an easing feeling. Soon enough you find your pace, and pleasure in the process as wetness produces salacious squelching sounds against their skin. Eren hands are clenched around your hips now, calling your name in soft moan. Jean is slowly thrusting into you, seating himself deeper and deeper inside of you.

Leaning down on your husband you bite his jaw.

"Come on Eren fuck me, I'm asking " you beg in the most sultry voice you can muster kissing his lips softly. You want, no you need to feel them ramming inside of you at the same time. 

He opens his mouth and closes it, deciding he'll show you instead of talking.You balance your weight on your knees giving him enough space to move his hips. The grip on your hips intensifies as he starts fucking his cock inside your cunt.

"Like that ?" you nod, biting your lips. The sensation is unmatched. while Eren is pumping in, Jean stops remaining inside, stretching you wide. You feel yourself losing control, hips going still. as your head falls back on Jean's shoulder, moaning out loud you leave it to them to make you feel good.  "Do you like how her pussy feels, Eren ?" he can only grunt in response, brow tight on his face."Come here" confusion can be read on his face but he nevertheless obliges.  Jean grabs the back of his head, locking him in a heated kiss. 

Fuck that's so hot, out of them two you wouldn't think that Jean would be the one to iniciate the kiss but it makes you smile. He's really getting into it, you whine being left out. Eren breaks the kiss, redirecting his attention to your neck biting and mumbling all sorts of praises, while Jean pinches your nipple. All of this care makes you feel like your brain is melting.

They start to go back and forth, Two different temperatures, two different sizes, two different rhythms sometimes simultaneously pumping.  It is the first time you acquire this feeling of fullness. 

You're a squealing mess at this point, letting them use you as they see fit. Their penises heads are grinding up against your g spot you're close to cumming but there is something else. You feel  like you need to pee.  

"W-wait I feel weird" you don't have the courage to say it out loud.

"Fuck, I knew it from when I was eating that pussy, you're gonna make a mess baby?" you hide your face in the crook of Eren's neck too ashamed to answer. "Come on doll, all over me make me yours" he starts to thrust faster, almost pistoning inside of you.

From behind Jean calls your name, hands travelling south to your clitoris applying circular motion on the abused bud "You heard him ? we'll cum with you, just make the call" his motion intensifies building up even more tension in your body then you thought was possible. Another wave of heat crashes over you. 

You cum till I'm numb like a rag doll, your warm juices squirting everywhere between your bodies, even on the mattress. The force of your orgasm makes you collapse on top of Eren, bodies crashing on the bed.

"That's my girl, I'm so proud of you" he chants peppering kisses on your lips "We're gonna come inside of you yeah I don't want you to waste a drop baby" you can only nod, feeling sleep taking you away. 

True to his word a few seconds later the two men empty themselves, coating your walls with their semen. Their breaths are heavy, Jean hovers on top of you kissing and rubbing at your sweaty back. Inches by inches Jean pulls out, laying next to your nested bodies. 

"Took it so well darling, you're the best"  a weak smile crawls on your face,  Jean lifst your body from Eren's positioning you on his lap as he covers your face in kisses.

You wish you could feel this state of bliss all the time, loved warm and totally fucked out but the sweat drying out on your body makes you feel a bit gross.

"Hm, can we go shower ?" you ask, locking your arms behind his neck. As an answer he clamps your thigh around his waist making his way to the bathroom.

"You weren't so bad yourself Jean" you hear Eren's voice trailing behind him then give Jean's bare ass a spank. Your chest shakes with laughter as Jean grumble curses in your hair.

The hot water dripping on your sore body feels like a resurrection, the three of you are standing under the ceiling faucet  taking a moment to appreciate the relaxing sound. Your trio starts to clean themselves and each other.

"Can you wash my hair ?" Eren inquiries, you nod smiling at his tired voice.

"Well you two braid each other's hair I'm going to change the sheets" Jean steals a kiss from you. He visibly hesitates to kiss Eren but he hands up slapping the back of his head. A faint groan leaves his lips.

"My poor baby come here" you giggle, starting to massage the soapy liquid on his scalp. 

Once cleaned and dried, Eren carries you back to the bedroom. Your body hit the soft mattress and the scent of lavender floods your nose, you hum in bliss. 

"Here" Jean says, offering one of his t-shirts for you to sleep in. He throws one at Eren too and you climb under the sheets, eager to fall asleep squeezed between your husband and your boyfriend. 

The room is dark and you bid them goodnight when an idea crosses your mind.

"Wait guys there is one last thing i want to try" Eren flick the light on giving you a curious look. 

"Anal ?" you roll your eyes hitting his shoulder. You lift your shirt revealing your breasts.

"Come on each of you got one" Jean laughs, happily sucking a nipple into his warm mouth, following suit, Eren does the same. You close your eyes feeling them hardening in their mouth. The tugging sensation relaxing you deeper in the mattress You could easily fall asleep like that. You really do have it all tonight.

[ekingston]

So it’s 2019, because that’s what it said on the screenshot I used to create the gif, and you’re casually browsing Netflix, grateful to be alive in a world where COVID or an internationally devastating shift in political alliances are but distant echoes of a future that may never come to pass, and you happen upon a movie that’s just been added, called BREACH.

Your Netflix synopsis says: When a man turns up dead on the shore of a remote mountain town and a local girl vanishes without a trace, it’s up to a local detective to put the pieces together. But when she rescues an attractive tourist off the side of the road, the investigation takes an intimate—and dangerous—turn.

And you’re like, ‘eh, nothing I haven’t seen before,’ (though the LGBTQ label is interesting), but then the preview starts autoplaying and IS THAT KATIE MCGRATH?! And it IS. So now you have no choice but to sit through the trailer.

Nocturne by Blanco White is playing, calmly at first, swelling as it goes on. You’re presented with a wide shot of a towering dam, the camera slowly rising up the water-streaked concrete before breaching the top. An enormous lake BOOMS into view, jagged mountains beyond it, forming a serrated edge against the lightening sky. It’s early morning. Mist is rolling down the densely forested mountains and over the water.

(You wonder if this production used the same locations (or rather special effects) as Les Revenants did, and yes, it absolutely did, because I loved the atmosphere of that show and I adore mountain towns with enormous lakes and it is, to date, the most Hollywood version of non-Paris France I’ve ever seen.)

The wide shot narrows to a ground-level closeup of the pebbled shoreline, pulling slowly away from the water until we glimpse a piece of discarded police tape, fluttering on the breeze. The camera pans past a pair of sneakers and then a pair of uncomfortable-looking high heels, wobbling on the rocky beach. It’s a news crew, reporting live on the disappearance of a young girl. The camera pushes past them, staying at ground-level as it leads us into the woods, where we find the paws of a canine unit, splashing in a shallow mountain stream. There’s the sound of police radios, and then we see the boots of a police search party. We stop at a much smaller but otherwise identical pair of leather boots. The camera pans up at our detective—it’s Katie McGrath! Finally!

She looks amazing, obviously. For the sake of this miraculously being a supercorp AU, her character is a fair bit more acerbic version of our girl Lena Luthor, except we’re time traveling so she’s now in her early 40s, her dark hair greying slightly at the temples (let a girl dream), her jawline somehow sharper than ever, freckles proudly on display in the natural light. Her hair is hanging loosely over her shoulders, looking like it hasn’t seen a brush since she last laid down. Lena is wearing slacks, a wrinkled dress shirt and a men’s blazer that is slightly too large for her. She stares off into the woods, chin jutting, a muscle jumping in her jaw, her fingers absently playing with a pack of cigarettes.

CUT TO:

Early nighttime. A dark mountain road, lit sparsely, tall pine trees walling it in on both sides. We see over Lena’s shoulder, her hands on the steering wheel, as her cruiser’s headlights sweep over the shape of a woman, bent over the engine of her stalled car. The woman—blonde, mid-thirties, wearing cut-off jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt far too thin for the late hour—turns when the car appears, squinting into the light. It’s Kara.

Lena comes to a stop behind her and rolls her window down. She calls out, “You need a ride?”

CUT TO:

The dimly lit interior of a spartan living room. Lena dumps blankets on the couch.

Kara asks, “You sure this is okay, me sleeping here?”

CUT TO:

Daytime, and we’re at the sheriff’s office. Lena, wearing a clean-but-barely-ironed dress shirt, drinks coffee as if her life depends on it. Mike Matthews, the sheriff’s deputy, makes fun of Lena’s uncharacteristic hospitality.

“What was I supposed to do?” Lena asks him, as we see a flashback shot of Lena watching Kara over the rim of her coffee cup, earlier that morning. “Next town’s hours away.”

We see Kara maintaining eye contact with Lena for a moment, the corners of her eyes crinkling, as we hear Mike telling Lena, back at the office, “You won’t even let me stay at your place.”

“You had bed bugs,” Lena points out. Then she raises an eyebrow, looking away, adding as a casual sidenote, “Plus she’s prettier than you.”

WLWNESS/SAPPHICTROCITY/LESBIANANIGANS CONFIRMED.

CUT TO:

It’s evening, and we’re in Lena’s kitchen. Kara is making dinner when Lena walks in, feeding scraps to—and this is very important! but only to me—Lena’s dog. Did I mention this is actually also a crossover with Person of Interest, and for absolutely no other reason than I need Lena to have Bear the Brilliant Belgian Malinois? “I see you made a friend,” Lena says. It’s unclear whether she’s talking to Bear or Kara.

The news is on, talking about the missing girl. Lena turns it off before settling into a chair near the open doorway, her legs splayed wide at rest. Bear immediately settles at her side, chin resting on Lena’s thigh. We all kind of want to be a Brilliant Belgian Malinois, in that moment. Kara asks, indicating the TV, “You think she’s still alive?”

“Could be.” Lena digs for her pack of cigarettes and pulls a lighter from a kitchen drawer, probably shoving an old walkman she’s had forever out of the way to get to it, scratching the course hair between Bear’s ears before settling back down. “‘Course if you asked me last week, I may have told you something different.”

Kara turns off the stove so you can all stop worrying, and starts plating the food. “What changed?”

Lena pauses while she lights her cigarette and takes a deep drag, the blue smoke drifting through the doorway outside as Lena savors it, slowly breathing out as gays the world over are forced to reconsider the merits of smoking. Like yes, it kills you in terrifying, excruciating ways, but LOOK AT HER. Lena watches Kara intently, but doesn’t answer her question.

CUT TO:

We see Lena in her bedroom, late at night, flipping through case files. Her fingers (which, EXTREME closeup, EXTREME CLOSEUPS OF HER HANDS THROUGHOUT THIS ENTIRE PRODUCTION, hover over a grainy picture of a young white man, wearing a red baseball cap. His back is turned so we can’t see his face, though if you hated hard enough back in the day you may have a hunch. As the camera circles around the room, Lena is replaced by Kara, the bedroom now bathed in golden morning light. She’s looking through the photos too, her fingers shaking. We see her react to the photograph of the ballcapped man, before quickly putting things back exactly as they were.

CUT TO:

An evening shot of the lake, the water wrinkling in the breeze, softly lapping at the shore. We hear the sound of something large hitting the water.

CUT TO:

A pee break, actually, and you’re gonna go ahead and grab a snack while you’re up. There sure is a lot of water in this movie. Wait, weren’t you just watching a trailer? Why does it feel like an hour has passed? Is it the hands? How many times have you hit that pause button? What year is it?

CUT TO:

Lena and Kara are at the Lake Pub. It’s dimly lit and smoky. Lena drinks whiskey. Across from her, Kara stirs a glass of soda with her pinkie finger. They’re regarding each other so openly you genuinely start to feel a bit faint.

“You’re looking at me like I’m one of your suspects,” Kara says.

You disagree. That’s not what suspicion looks like. You’re sure, because you’ve seen Katie McGrath look at approximately 99.9% of her female costars this way.

Lena keeps her gaze level, unflinching and forward. “I look at everyone like that,” she lies.

A beat.

“I don’t think that’s true,” Kara says.

You’re feeling suddenly thirsty, too.

CUT TO:

Red and blue lights illuminate the deep indigo sky over the lake. A body is being dragged from the water as Lena watches, clenching her stupendous jaw. Seriously, how is she growing hotter all the fucking time if storybook-princess-turned-mesmerizing-murderess was her baseline?

CUT TO:

Lena, sitting in her parked car. She slams her fist against the steering wheel. (Don’t worry, no hands were injured in the making of this film.) It’s overlayed with imagery of a burial service, a US flag draped over the coffin, a pair of grieving women—one middle aged, the other a pretty 20-something brunette, surrounded by officers in dress blues. Lena is there too, looking dashing in her uniform, but also like she hasn’t slept in a week.

CUT TO:

Lena is standing in the center of her living room, rubbing her brow with her long, spatulate fingers. Kara is hovering in a corner a couple of feet away, cautious. “Just say it,” she whispers. “You think I killed him.”

Lena releases a breath that is half-huff, half-groan. “I’m not sure it even matters anymore,” she says.

“How can you say that?” Kara asks. When Lena doesn’t answer her, Kara steps closer and touches her arm. Lena turns as if she’s going to shrug Kara off, and the instant you begin to wonder what the hell this movie is supposed to be about, you stop caring because Lena abruptly pulls Kara closer and they kiss, urgent and rough.

You’re not sure if your ears are ringing or if the sound you’re hearing is a chorus of lesbians all over the world exploding into cheers & wild applause.

As the music builds to a crescendo, we see a quick series of images:

Lena presses Kara against her bedroom wall, Lena’s lips at her jaw, her fingers undoing the button of Kara’s jeans before they slip inside her pants; your life flashes before your eyes; Lena points her gun at someone, but we don’t see who; Lena’s fingers support Kara’s chin as she gently dabs at her bloodied brow with a piece of gauze; headlights illuminate a figure in the road, mirroring Lena picking up Kara, but this time the smiling man in the red baseball cap (again seen only from the back) is the one pulling over & rolling down his window.

The dam’s floodgates open, a roar of white water pouring through.

The music stops abruptly as we end on a final, long shot. Lena stands on top of the dam, looking down, the sky above her, the dizzying depths below. The camera falls away, down down down, until it breaches the surface of the water and sinks into the dark water beneath.

Kara (voiceover, pleading, breathless): “If I go under, I’ll pull you down with me.”

Lena (voiceover, raw but full of conviction): “I’m a pretty good swimmer. And I have a feeling you are, too.”

CUT TO BLACK.

You blow out a breath and resign yourself to your fate. You hit the mute button, and press play.

Also I was proud of how this one manip turned out so I’m sharing the version that makes it marginally more clear that Kara isn’t randomly & uncomfortably touching her own face:

Like I said: SO MANY CLOSEUPS.

[avifaunaa]

how the world spins without you [ n.r. ] [ pt.1 ]

AUTHORS NOTE: Hey guys just a quick note. I go a bit into Natasha's entrance into the U.S. and exit from the Red Room in a sort of big chunk of this. It involves Clint being there as her buddy and as someone who helps her get used to her new life. If you're just here for smut I apologize greatly. I do get to it but I wanted to have Nat be a large focus in this fic! That said -- I hope you enjoy it otherwise. This is an AU where Thanos simply doesn’t live after infinity war. They get to him in time.

Masterlist

PART TWO | PART THREE | PART FOUR | PART FIVE

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!reader

Summary: Natasha was adept at many things: assassination, spying, avenging — they made for a great resume. What she wasn’t quite so adept at was understanding you when she returns from her exile and found you at her beloved table.

Content Warnings: Discussions of culture shock and Natasha's integration into the States, SLOW BURN TO GET TO THE SMUT, Mild-to-moderate angst, SO SOFT, hints that R's parents are absent / neglectful at best, Yelena and Kate being immediate gremlins upon introduction

Word Count: ~7.9k

Men and Minors DNI

Natasha Romanoff did not indulge in many things for herself. 

Growing up, it was because she was never offered such things. Enjoying 'the small things in life' was simply not an option in the Red Room and Dreykov was particular about ensuring what his girls consumed. Even the smallest comforts could lead to the idea of freedom.

One of the first things Natasha did when she walked away -- after signing an agreement with the United States government, with S.H.I.E.L.D., -- was get coffee. With Clint.

"You ever had coffee? You've had to have coffee," the Hawkeye said as though it were obvious. They had just been transferred back to the U.S. after a successful escape from Budapest. Growing close in tight quarters had meant learning a little about one another between them listening and watching the people go about their lives.

And between the games of hang-man and tic-tac-toe. Another introduction from Clint, seeming flabbergasted that he had to explain the concept of both games to Natasha who, despite her brief stay in America as a child, simply did not know either game.

She learned quickly and had eventually started to defeat him.

"Once," Natasha replied shortly following behind the bruised and filthy man into the bustling New York shop. "For a mission. To blend in."

Clint did not ask her to elaborate, but he clapped his hands together loud enough to garner some curious looks towards the two [ who already stood out like bleeding, infected thumbs needing to be amputated ].

"Wonderful," he chortled, eyes focusing on the chalk-board menus hanging above the barista bar. Fake vines wrapped invitingly around the signs and little drawings decorated the corners.

Natasha did not know -- could not know -- if she hated such a sight of casual happiness when her entire world before today was never allowed this.

"What do I get?" the redhead asked as the line grew closer.

"Whatever you want," he responds as his muscled arm gestured to the various pastry displays and again at the hanging menu board. "Everything here is different. Some things are iced others are hot. Do you want it made like a caffeinated milkshake? Ask for a frappe, I guess."

"Why so many options?" Natasha questioned next, frowning and feeling slightly overwhelmed.

She would never admit that even her fine training and brutal grooming couldn't have prevented some of this culture shock. The Red Room was able to prevent her from seeking out these luxuries in the name of her duties -- they scarcely deigned to say what luxuries they were.

Natasha felt as though she were face to face with one now. Why so many choices when not one person can try nor like them all? She did not even want to look at the amount of food inside of the displays stacked. 

She knew the reality of what happens to the food not finished after a store closes. Thrown out and wasted while others hunger for prices they cannot afford.

"Natasha?" They were at the counter now, where all the thick scents of coffee beans and other smells unfamiliar were at their strongest. "Anything look good?"

Natasha scanned the board for something and to squash that overwhelming lump that threatened to rise from her stomach and into her throat, she just said, "Coffee, black."

Clint groaned from beside her as he pulled out a battered wallet. Natasha watched as he used a credit card to pay and wondered if that would be another luxury given to her.

The Red Room gave them everything they saw as a necessity. Money for missions was sent through a wire transfer to a bank account to withdraw as cash. Mostly to keep their mission as untraceable as possible, but also to control the Widows by only ever giving them enough to get through their assignment. 

Running away never worked out for most who tried, anyway.

Clint nudged her a moment later. "C'mon, let's get you sat down okay?"

"Where?"

Clint shrugged more dramatically than needed as he once again used his arms to gesture to the open plan floor where some tables were taken and some sofas around a fire-place hosted people as well. Other tables and some overstuffed leather chairs remained vancant.

"Wherever the heart desires, Nat. No assigned seating required. I'll wait for the order -- why don't you find somewhere for us to sit?"

Natasha wanted to do something other than that.  People hardly bothered her in most circumstances -- people had been her job for her entire life. But she was not used to people in a casual context where there was no target to watch out for, no enemies to ensure weren't around with you.

But her feet were moving anyway, avoiding the high traffic tables and definitely shying away from the social circle the fireplace seemed to attract.

She found an empty table near the back close to the hallway leading to the bathrooms where the volume wasn't so thick and where her back could sit comfortably where less amounts of threats were.

She sat awkwardly, arms crossing across the table as she waited. Her eyes floated around the small but busy shop and took in the scene. A mother handing her child a small lidded cup of chocolate milk, a delighted look in the kiddo's eyes, as she adjusted her bag and grabbed her own cup of coffee and started leading the child out the door.

"Clint!" a low-sung voice called out clearly. Clint practically skipped to the counter where two different drinks awaited him as he thanked the barista and turned around on his heel with a swerve.

He spotted Natasha pretty quickly and danced through the crowd -- but he actively involved himself in people instead of avoiding them. He said cheerful "excuse me's!" and a very scolded "pardon" to an elderly couple he nudged the table of as he approached.

"That was a lot of foot work when you could have walked around," the Russian told him when he finally made a safe approach with a smug grin. 

"What, and not show off my circus-grade balancing act? I don't think so," he retorted with an even wider grin as he set both drinks down with a flourish. 

Natasha bit her tongue when a comment almost forced its' way out. Instead she turned her gaze to the two drinks on the table and read their labels. BLACK read one, the other in a clear tall cup with heavy ice, ICED MOCHA.

Clint pulled his toward him and pulled a straw out of nowhere [ later, Natasha would admit she was still impressed by it for a month until she learned his secret to the trick ] and popped it into the drink's lid.

"I cannot believe," he starts, dropping into the chair across from her and leaning back comfortably, "that I bring you to one of the best coffee shops New York City has to offer and you insult me--"

"It is all the same -- the same intentions, yes?" she asked as she brought the hot drink up to her lips. It was bitter like the one or two other times she'd had coffee but this flavor had a hint of hazelnut. Perhaps a different brand?

"Sure, I mean sort of?" Clint scratched the chin scruff he'd began growing in Budapest. "Some people can't stand the bitterness of normal coffee or don't like it hot. That's why there's so many different ways to get it."

"I don't see the point."

"Would you eat pizza the same way as someone who say . . . likes anchovies?"

Natasha lets herself think on it. The one time she had pizza was when she was with Melina and Alexi as a child. She could still remember how melted the cheese was -- that was the type they got. Cheese. Alexi got some sort of "Americanized Everything" as he called it.

She answered with, "I suppose not. Anchovies are not good."

Clint laughed. "Right. Not everyone wants anchovy on pizza but they still want the pizza. The same goes for coffee. They want the coffee but they may not like how bitter or hot it is. So there's different flavors, different ways to make it. Iced, blended, the works."

"I see," Natasha said as she sipped at her bitter, hot coffee while Clint held his not bitter, hot coffee. "What form did you get?"

"I like mine iced with extra chocolate syrup," he told her. He eyed her, grinned, then nudged it closer. "Wanna try?"

She blinked at him. "It is your drink, I have my own."

Clint raised a bloodied [ days old and dried ] eyebrow at her. "So? It doesn't mean there's a contract that legally binds you from tasting it. Just try it. If you don't end up liking it, you know to not get it next time."

Natasha regards the drink for a moment as it was offered. She decided that she's already done so many things that she shouldn't otherwise be doing -- she was no longer working with Dreykov. Dreykov was dead and he could not touch her.

She leaned over and took a sip. It was definitely cold and tasted like coffee but had a chocolate taste and was sweeter than anything she's ever tasted.

"Good? Terrible? Wanna pull your tongue out and burn it?" Clint wondered. 

Natasha smiled a little at him. "I think I like it very much."

Over the years, Natasha would keep coming back to this coffee shop. She learned its name and kept it safe — especially when the attack of New York occurred. 

It had been destroyed when she got to it but she was able to save everyone inside. They rebuilt and continued on as anyone can do when a disaster strikes and shock that aliens exist have made the human brain barely able to cope. 

The first time they opened since the attack was when Natasha decided to try something new. She had been able to do many new things: become an Avenger, work somewhat nicely with other people, and above all: save the world with Tony Stark and not kill him in the process. 

She’d been greeted reverently by the staff who had starshine in their eyes and gratitude to give. 

It was overwhelming. She wanted to run away and never come back again. 

She ordered an iced mocha with extra chocolate syrup, instead. To go — because too many people were starting to come in. Regulars of the store that she’d recognized but ones that now knew her too. It was too much to handle at once and she needed her exterior to stay solid. 

They threw in a free pastry — she didn’t see what it was but heard the crinkling of the bag sat down by her as she leaned against the counter. She took her coffee and unwanted bread product of unknown origin and left. 

She didn’t return for three weeks. 

When she did she made Steve come with her. They’d grown close the more the government had implemented the Avengers program after the attack and had suffered Tony in bogus amounts. 

[ They grew to love Tony, too, if only because he knew how to handle the public more than even Steve but also because he was able to make them forget ]. 

Steve was better at this thing — the superhero persona. He took it in stride and spoke warmly with people when approached, offering conversation and knowing how to slip away from it politely and smoothly. 

This time while Steve was talking to a young pretty blonde near the entrance, Natasha ordered a macchiato. She got Steve his enormously detailed drink he’d listed off for her before being taken to the side and she threw in a couple of pie slices. Blueberry. 

She almost believed she could stay this time. Her table was open and it was still early enough to enjoy the energy before the morning rush took over and invaded their space. 

Natasha turned to Steve and said, “Okay, Captain America, your coffee is getting cold. We should sit down and eat our pies before we get called back.”

A perfect exit, a glance of relief from the blonde hero, and they sat down. Nat facing the front again but for entirely different reasons this time. 

She picked at her pie slice with a plastic fork while Steve drank his coffee and ate his with just the right amount of speed to not concern other patrons. 

“You’ve been holding out on me,” he told her, looking around comfortably at the shop. It looked somewhat the same rebuilt — perhaps more updated in terms of structure but otherwise not as new as one could come to think. “This is your hideout?”

Natasha played with a blueberry that fell from the crust. “It was.”

Steve regarded her for a silent minute, then sighed and set down his fork. “You’re not settling well with the attention.”

“I’m doing fine.” She didn’t glance up at him. They were the defacto leaders of their little operation even if Fury believed he was. Besides Clint, it was Steve that Nat was starting to confide in for some things. 

For others he seemed to read her like an open fucking book that she had previously managed to keep chained and locked tight. 

America was making her soft. 

“You’re lying,” he decided after a moment, then took a sip of his coffee and said nothing more. 

She waited for him to dig further, but he simply went back to his pie and coffee. She watched him suspiciously. “What — no pep talk about how this is my life now? How I should find a way to live with it so that I can better serve the people?”

Steve tapped his chin. “I’d say you’re living with this life in the best way you can, Nat. I don’t exactly know your entire story but I do know that you worked with people like I did but uh —“ he squinted, “oppositely.”

“You can say I killed people, Steve,” she sighed. Her pie was pushed back, uneaten. 

Steve nodded. “Okay. You killed people — maybe they didn’t deserve it but for whatever reason you were sent to do it. You didn’t ask questions but you did as you were told. I was in the army and they essentially ran the same rules but we did it on a greater scale in a massive war instead of in the shadows. Killing was in the job.”

“You became Captain America,” Natasha told him bluntly, curling her lip slightly, “A man that brought great comfort and safety to his country and protected them with the serum they never knew he had running in his veins. But they didn’t have to know — because you did good.”

“Sure,” Steve agreed, looking slightly sadder, “and maybe some of the men I killed could’ve been good. Because I didn’t ask.”

Natasha smiled at him, sadly, “I don’t think so, Steve. They let you play publicly like they let the Red Guardian in Russia play.”  She tapped her fingers against the table. “I was never meant to be a hero in anyone’s stories. I was always their nightmare and a blacked out mention on the paperwork and files.”

Steve didn’t know what else to say, how to comfort her. That was okay. Natasha wouldn’t know what to do with comfort or gentleness. She strayed away from it like she strayed away from her mistresses beatings in her ballet lessons. 

“In truth,” Natasha says, pulling her coffee closer in hopes it will ground her better than she can ground herself, “I needed you here because maybe I struggle being the part of someone’s story that doesn’t bring endless grief and anger.”

She watched now as the customers began going about their business and pretended that Captain America and the Black Widow were just ordinary people among them. 

“Right now, I’m just trying to figure out how to find my place in a world that wasn’t initially meant for me.”

She met you after the long, destructive battle that ended with the death of Thanos — and Vision with him. Wanda had vanished and Natasha knew she’d be called in when they found traces of her. 

But for now she was home. The drive from the compound was longer than the walk from the Tower but that’s okay. 

“Natasha,” Fiona, the manager, greeted with a small smile and quiet demeanor. “Welcome back. I saw what you did in Wakanda. What you and the Avengers all did.”

Natasha smiles in return, dipping her head in acknowledgement. “Ah, news travels fast now. It was a group effort.”

“I’m glad your name got cleared by the Accords. It wasn’t right,” she continued, shaking her head stiffly, “After all you did. You and Captain America. It simply wasn’t right,” she repeated.

“It’s okay,” Natasha told her with a relaxed stance as she put her hands into her jacket pockets. She was somewhat truthful. It was okay — the fight with Thanos had forgiven a lot of things. 

The government had turned their head and seemingly forgotten who their named fugitives were. Lost the paperwork and welcomed their beloved heros back as though it never happened. 

The other half of Natasha and the others — the halves that had sacrificed a lot of themselves over the years — were still angry and demanding more. 

“It’s being taken care of,” the redhead-turning-blonde continued as she graced an easy smile toward Fiona. “I’m just happy to be home. I missed this place.”

“We missed you too! We kept your streak for what you’ve tried and what you haven’t,” the small barista exclaimed, crouching down and digging under some shelves presumably. 

She pulled out a white board that was somewhat on the verge of being erased with all the scuffs it had on its writing. But thankfully it was still legible. She was on course for trying the caramel apple mocha next. 

She went with that. “Frappe or cappe?” 

Natasha thought for a moment. “Let’s do it as a frappe,” she decided, pulling out her wallet and handing over the sleek black credit card labelled with the large STARK INDUSTRIES on top. 

Fiona swiped it once before handing it back, “It’ll be out very soon,” she said as she hopped over to the machines to start making her order. 

Natasha meandered over to the pickup counter, finding a spot on the corner to lean against and pull out her phone. The chubby, slobbery face of Nathaniel grinning next to Cooper and Lila greeted her when she looked at her Lock Screen. 

She had one text from Tony regarding her rooms at the compound needing to be Clint-proofed [ “Why are you trying to keep me out of your life?” Clint bemoaned when he called her from the blocked off vents later that night ].

She sent a quick text, telling Tony to add flamethrowers to the vent walls if needed to keep the Hawkeye from breaking the damn thing. 

Tony only sent back a devil emoji followed by three fire emojis. 

Natasha snorted and pocketed her phone as Fiona came over capping the top of her drink, extra whipped cream spilling out the top. 

“Here you go,” she chirped proudly as she slid over the drink. “I did add a little of the spice that we use for our pumpkin flavored drinks. It’s really good with this one too.”

“I trust your judgement, Fiona,” Natasha said as she took the drink in hand and smiled. “Thank you. I’ll let you know how I like it.”

“Please do! Your reviews keep us busy.”

Natasha turned and tapped the cup with her fingers as she looked for her table. It was busy already this morning but Natasha had quickly learned that blending in could be as easy or as difficult as she made it. 

She said hello to some people who greeted her first, and made some small conversations. The regulars knew she liked to keep to herself until she finished her drink, however, and left her alone with just a smile and short greeting. 

But she came to a stop shortly. 

Someone was at her table, littering the surface with notebooks and a textbook opened that they seemed to be deeply focused on. 

Natasha kept walking towards her table cautiously, suddenly greeted with a new challenge in her comfort zone. 

Small talk was an effort — but maybe —

You looked up and they struck Natasha like a speeding car with no intentions to stop. They were so brown — your eyes. Rich in the color and fierce in the cold New York sun. 

She expected shock when you realized who she was. Some sort of spluttering hello. 

But you only looked slightly irked as you pulled out an AirPod she didn’t see you wearing before and said, “Why the hell are you staring at me?”

This was the worst place for you to have chosen to study — especially since you chose to do it during the height of Winter Break.

Kate had insisted on its perfect aura, the warmth it was saturated in. You called her dramatic and she didn’t answer any of your texts the rest of the night other than to spam emojis at every message you sent her. 

Whatever, you thought, as you settled at a table with your newly ordered dark chocolate frappe. It was five in the morning with no sun, few to no people, and sugar and caffeine to keep you going now even if it led to the inevitable crash later. 

You got to work with pulling your textbook out and beginning to take extremely detailed notes that you can make even more detailed study cards on at a later date. 

It was hours before an intrusion broke you from your study fever. It wasn’t a forceful one, either, but it demanded attention enough that it had you pulling focus after hours of studying with no end in sight. 

You pointedly ignored it as best you can, hoping that your music and the lack of eye contact would send a strong and clear message: leave me alone, I don’t wish for human contact. 

The message went undelivered as did the feeling of being watched. When you wrote the same bullet point down twice, your eye twitched and you finally gave in. 

Removing your AirPod and breaking your peace when the bustle and surroundings of the shop filtered into your space, you stared back with no motivation to hide how irate you were. 

The words came out long before your brain could process who, exactly, you were talking to.

“Why the hell are you staring at me?” you hissed out. Your eyes dragged upward just as the sentence fully formed and you suddenly wished you were not so eager. 

The Black Widow was staring at you, apparently. Dressed down from battle gear in a pair of jeans and a soft turtleneck, long hair down in waves. But that was the Black Widow without a doubt. 

You couldn’t back down now, you’d lose all respect if she had any when approaching you to begin with. No — you held your ground. You had to. 

Green eyes, green darker than gardens and well-cared for parks, crossed yours. Surprise lit up within them briefly — but it was gone as quickly as it came. 

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said perfectly polite, with an apologetic smile forming on her features. “I didn’t even mean to just stare like I did. Sorry.”

Really? You rubbed at your aching temple and glanced down at your phone. 8:45. You hadn’t moved for a good near four hours at the least. Your coffee was only half finished, and your hand writing had grown less organized on the sheets of paper beneath you. 

“It’s — it’s fine. I didn’t realize anybody was there. Or what time it was.” You flipped the textbook shut and clenched and unclenched your fingers. “No wonder you were staring. I must have looked like a zombified student.”

A soft laugh rose from the woman across from you, feet crossing as she stuck a hand into her jacket pocket. “Not at all. It actually had nothing to do with you, I must confess.”

You gave her a confused look. “What? Then why all the staring? If anything I should be giving you the wide eyed awestruck look.”

The Black Widow in all her glory and turtleneck sweaters suddenly seemed to grow shy. The smile remained but she tapped her fingers rhythmically against her cup. 

“It’s moreso that you’re at the table I usually sit at when I come here,” she confessed quietly, embarrassed at such a small thing to have been caught confused over. ���But it’s been a while since I’ve been here so I should’ve expected that the table was likely to be used like I used it.”

You blinked at her confession to you, now more curious and being drawn out of your desire to over-study than ever. “Oh — right you were on the run for a while.”

“Yes,” she confirmed simply, lips thinning into a line as she glanced behind her. 

“You can sit here if you want,” you said, breaking the silence and deciding you didn’t want her to have to leave. You moved your stuff. “I’ve been here since five. I mean, if you’re fine waiting while I finish my coffee I can be out of your hair.”

“I don’t mind, if you’re sure.” Natasha pulled out the chair and gave one more long glance toward the shop behind her before sitting down with her back to them and starting to slowly sip her coffee. “May I ask what you’re studying?”

“Oh. Sure. I’m majoring in electrical engineering with a minor in physics,” you said, turning the textbook slightly so she could see the title of it. 

“That’s a heavy major,” she mused, but didn’t say it in a way most usually did when you told them. “What made you want to go into that?”

You felt your cheeks turning red at the question — something you normally have no problem answering but now do considering who it is asking. “Well to be honest with you —“

“Honesty is always best,” the older woman agreed in a drawl, amusement glittering across her face. 

You puffed, still red, and redder more when Natasha’s amusement seemed to grow upon realizing why without you saying yet, “Okay. I’ve always been sort of interested in engineering. But Stark Industries is literally paving a new path into technology we otherwise wouldn’t break ground on. Imagine what we could do for people in war-torn nations with it? What about turning it to medical use for progress towards incurable diseases? Anything is possible because it hasn’t been done yet. I want to see it, to try it. Like Tony Stark was able to do with that access.”

You were expected to be given a lot of incredulous responses when you told people your ideals for your major. Your expectations were met — but Natasha simply looked thoughtful as she sipped her drink. 

“A passion like that could get you anywhere you want,” Natasha told her. “You have dreams that most people give up on. If they have the technology why haven’t they done it?”

A question you loved answering. “Because they don’t have anyone fighting to get it used in those specific areas, to be produced for those situations,” you replied, leaning closer, “Don’t you see? It needs someone or multiple people to see it for what it can do if given the time and the resources.”

Natasha tilted her head curiously, studying you with an unreadable expression, “You think you’re that person? The one who can make the change?”

A flush of defiance coursed through you at the question. “If nobody else will, who better than myself?”

“Where are you going to school?”

“I go to MIT. I’m currently on my winter break.”

“And yet you’re studying like you have a test tomorrow,” Natasha concluded. She glanced from the scurried notes to the textbook and back to you, as if trying to read you out and get your secrets. 

“I’m on a scholarship and otherwise wouldn’t be there,” you admitted carefully, chin lifting, “It was a lot of hard work to receive it and losing it isn’t an option.”

Natasha rested a hand on her fist — calloused from whatever dark past and Avengering has rewarded her — and regarded you with a startling feline-like expression. 

“Working hard and overworking are different, that will be important to remember. I didn’t know the difference when I was young either.”

“What made you learn?” You ask carefully. 

She pursed her lips and stared behind you at the hallway that held no interesting object to look upon. “I did ballet as apart of a program. I found it fun until my instructor made my ankles bleed every single day for every mistake I made each session.”

You swallowed your shock down and fisted your hands together on the table. “She sounds like a fucking cunt.”

Natasha barked out a laugh, the glazed distance disappearing and replaced by a spark as she returned to focus on you instead. A stray lock of hair lowered across her forehead as she relaxed slightly, “She was, I assure you. I did not know the difference between brutality and hardworking traits until I came to the states. Sometimes,” she finished, “I still do not and must be reminded that I am no longer a tool for anyone’s use that I do not myself see purpose in.”

“Wouldn’t you consider the Avengers program being a tool?” You wondered aloud without meaning to.

Her lips twisted, perhaps impressed by your bravery despite the accidental slip. “That is why you must choose carefully what games you want to play and with who. Who to be a tool for and who to destroy.”

“Are you saying I should take more breaks?” You finally ask. 

She grins smugly as she removes her chin from her fist and leans back in her chair like a fat cat. “Well done, Malyshka. I like playing with you.”

You pondered her words and sort of wanted to know what got you into this situation where the Black Widow was giving you confusing advice. 

Natasha and you were comfortably silent as you two sipped on your coffees together. You think you like whose is without the grandeur that the media tends to flash onto her. She’s thoughtful and quiet — and holy shit you just met and hardly know her. 

Natasha suddenly broke your peaceful silence, looking very serious as she says, “I know a guy I can connect you to at Stark Industries when you graduate if you’d like to get your feet off the ground. He’d probably be impressed with you.”

You stared blankly at her, brain shutting down for ten seconds and rebooting in that time. 

“What.”

Natasha played with her empty coffee cup, nonchalantly saying, “I know a guy —“

“I heard the first time,” you said, shaking your head a little bit to clear it, “You’re talking about Tony Stark. You — you’re willing to put a word in for me?”

Natasha nodded once with finality. “Yes. You remind me of Tony in ways that are all good — and yet you lack the parts of Tony that make me want to kill him.”

“Thanks?”

“You’re welcome.”

“So . . . Like what’s the catch?” You asked, stacking your notebook on top of your textbook and fiddling around to keep from exploding. “Because it’s weird to me that the Black Widow is sitting down across from me and offering me a gigantic opportunity.”

“Once in a life time,” she corrects, “But there isn’t really a catch. Just a request — the offer will still be open and I’ll ensure Tony gets you on his ledger when you graduate and apply.”

“Sure,” you said, pretty much willing to do anything. 

“May I have your number?”

It was so clearly an unexpected request and even you could see Natasha's confident request was followed by tinted cheeks and more taps on her empty cup.

You gave Natasha Romanoff your number.

Your first date with Natasha was at the coffee shop —  where you met at the table. You spent hours talking like the day before except for this time you got to know each other a bit more on a deeper level. 

You learned she adopted a cat straight off the street that wouldn’t leave her alone. A small black creature with wide yellow eyes. The photos she showed you led to you seeing photos of her nieces and nephews through the Clint Barton. 

“He’s chubby little dude,” you noted as you scooted your chair closer to her to see the photo better. 

“That’s what I said!” she exclaims, beaming at you and nudging your shoulder with hers. 

“Just look at him,” you continued, “those cheeks say it all.”

You learned a little about her and she you. You had similar tastes in music and entertainment, but when it came to movies it seemed you were at an impasse. 

This became evident when she showed up to your apartment for the second date and flashed two tickets to a new horror as snow fell around you both. 

Your head dropped in defeat as she wrapped an arm around your shoulders and led you to her car. “I promise on Tony’s suit that I will protect you from the big bad.” Then she opened the passenger side door for you. 

With a heavy sigh and a suffering look sent her way, you plop into her car and wait for her to shut the door. 

She was a pretty decent protector at the movies. She armed you with sugary drinks and snacks and lifted the armrest between you two and opened an invitation into her arms at any point when it got scary. 

For you it did not take very long at all. You dived into her side and curled so tight when the first brutal murder flashed on the large screen. Natasha was smart, Natasha was clever. She wrapped her arm around you as you buried your face in her neck and grinned as she watched the movie without so much as flinching. 

They went to the coffee shop after to get the remaining heebeejeebies out of your system by chasing it down with caffeine. You notice Natasha thinking it over before ordering a plain mocha latte. 

“You ordered something different this time?” you asked her after she paid for both your orders like she had at the movies. 

Natasha rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s something I’ve been working on. For a lot of my life I was devoid of choices. They were made for me. This helps me remember that decisions I make are my own, nobody else’s.”

“One unique coffee at a time,” you murmured as you brought your straw to your lips and felt something flutter in your chest. 

“One unique coffee at a time,” she echoed, meeting your gaze as she brought her own drink to her lips. 

The third date was the only one left before you would be set to return to MIT. You were firm on making plans for this one and Natasha didn’t argue. 

It was planned for after Christmas and New Year’s — somewhere you had to begrudgingly drag Kate over to help you set up. 

“A date? Good enough to go here?” she asked as you scrolled the website for the restaurant. 

“I really like her,” you say, licking your lips and unsure of what else to tell her in regards to Natasha. “She walked right up to me and . . . I don’t know. She sort of just missile fired into my life.”

Kate snorts, but leans against your pillows and nibbles at her cuticles. “Okay. This is a place I think is good if you really really like her. It’s expensive.”

You checked your bank account earlier. You had enough fun money left to spend on this date. “It’s fine. I can do it.”

Kate tapped a few things into her phone before handing it to you. “Then make the reservation.”

Natasha had to pick you up from your place — considering you didn’t have a car in New York at the moment. She was beautifully dressed in a styled pant-suit with her hair curled into a bun. She had some sort of watch you thought looked familiar but couldn’t remember the brand name of. 

You ran your hands down your glittery dress and hoped it would be enough to impress her. She came to greet you, reaching out to take your hands. “You said dress nice and you end up dressing nicer than me,” Natasha comments. 

You scoffed, fussing with your bracelet to distract yourself from her unwavering gaze and how it made you blush. “T-thank you. You’re so . . . Yeah.”

“Yeah?” she echos, amusement and glee creeping into her tone as she guides you by the hand to her car. 

“Yeah.”

“Glad I got the yeah approval.” She settles you in and punches in the address you give her.

The restaurant is very nice — far nicer than even you usually were able to attend despite your parents’ wealth and reputation in the city. You stayed home from the nicer events often with a nanny. 

Dinner was started with a set course of appetizers followed by a few dishes brought for the main course. Dessert was the most popular dish and it brought you and Natasha closer and sitting together instead of facing one another so you could enjoy sharing the food while giggling to yourselves and talking. 

An entire bottle of wine had been left in an iced bucket at your table and the both of you indulged in a couple of glasses. 

“You hid in a vent for five days?” You squawked at her, failing to hide your laughter behind your hand and thus forced to set down your wine glass. 

“It was our only option, to be fair,” the redhead admitted, smirking. “We had the entire city in a state of disarray and we had to find a way to lay low for a bit.”

“I can’t imagine the discomfort between two people up there!”

“It was sort of fun. Clint was the first person who was actually . . .” Natasha pauses as she considers what to say next. “. . . Who actually spoke to me like a human, I suppose. Not a soldier or a robot.”

You frowned, lacing your fingers with hers. “That’s terrible, Nat.”

She tilted her head at you. “No, that’s just what my life was. I didn’t know any better, really. Didn’t see what life could be like if I knew what was out in the world other than cruelty.”

You ran a thumb over her the top of her palm. “I’m glad you got out and that you’re here now.”

“Me too, Malyshka,” she agrees, and meaning it to the depth of her soul, “me too.”

She drove you home and held your hand the entire time. It was hard to let you go even as she got out to walk around the front of her own car and help you out and walk you to the door of your building. 

“Well, this is me.” You tried to sound cheerful, but there was a sadness laced in the tone thick enough for Natasha to detect. 

“Will you let me drive you to the airport tomorrow?” she murmured, her fingers loosening from yours so her hands can trail up your arms, fingers marking the outline of your neck, and finally cupping your cheeks. 

You locked gazes with her and smiled warmly as you leaned in, seeking out her closeness just as she did with you. 

Natasha was not an expert with how to handle what you made her feel. It took everything in her training to control herself — so she wouldn’t run from the emotions that pelted her. 

It was like having her ribcage peeled open and her heart exposed for you to see. Natasha despised it as much as she adored it — the rush it gave her followed by the nerve-wracking fear. 

You had the sole ability to tear her apart because she’s giving you the chance. She was warned at a young age never to give anyone that opportunity lest they get you killed by betrayal or by weakness. 

It was a cardinal rule Natasha never broke. Even when she got out she never sought out sex, romance, connection. It had the power to destroy everything she was. 

And here she was giving you the paperwork to the instructions. 

 But you wrapped your hands so incredibly gently around hers as they caressed you, nuzzling into the touch and inhaling in her scent and just . . . Simply being there. Both of you. Together. 

“Malyshka?” she murmured, nose nudging yours to grab your attention. “Airport?”

Your eyes flew open, still hazy from the moment that overwhelmed the both of you. You sighed. 

“I have to be there by six to catch by flight, Nat,” you finally told her, shaking your head slowly in her hands. “Too early.”

“I’ll be there at four.” Natasha leaned in, beginning to press soft kisses to your cheeks. One on each one. Then your forehead. 

You furrowed your brow. “Nat, no. That’s way too early.”

“I’m an Avenger, baby.” Nat only pulled back enough to grin at you with that trademark smile of hers. Smug and knowing like she was. 

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. Four thirty.”

“Okay.” She grinned. “Four.”

Then you leaned up and kissed her first, shaking her confidence and surprising her. One hand dropped from where it held your jaw and fell instead to grasp your hip to steady herself. 

It was the most amazing thing she’d ever experience since leaving the Red Room. She’d done many things in her newfound freedom — but this . . . 

You eventually had to pull back for air and she leaned forward to brush an errant piece of hair back behind your ear. So soft, so gentle. 

Your Natasha. 

“I’ll see you at four.”

You walked off the stage with a diploma -- a piece of paper telling the world that you were now a credited electrical engineer. Your parents promised to make it and then backed out the day before with apologies and a graduation gift: money. Perhaps in hopes to buy your forgiveness.

Kate flew down though and she hugged you so tight when you walked out into the crowd of thousands as the stadium emptied after the ceremony. You were hot under the robes and you wanted to go change but Kate wanted to embrace you in a death grip first.

"So fucking proud, duuuude," she said, shaking you before releasing you with a beam. "Look at you! My baby girl, all grown up."

You rolled your eyes. "Thanks, mom. You're not embarrassing me at all."

"I should hope not! It would be really awkward since I plan on dragging you to every single bar we can manage until we wake up somewhere the next morning," she said with the Kate-stamped seriousness.

You winced. "Kate, I'm not sure --"

She twitched, then grinned. "I'm joking. Your shit's already packed at your dorm and ready to be flown home. Plan tonight is something entirely low-key."

"First of all." You held up a finger. "How and why did you pack up my stuff already? I had the week to get my dorm cleared. I was going to drive it down with a rental and have Natasha help me move it into storage."

"Oh," Kate clapped her hands, "that reminds me--"

"Hi, Malyshka." That voice you'd been in love with since at least March, when she stayed up late with you while you tried not to break down during sessions of studies.

Natasha, who made the distance work by using her superhero mojo to fly down in her own jet to see you for a day and just hang out when she knew you needed it.

Natasha who was beautiful and followed by a younger, curious blonde with braids as she came up to you. She held an expression of pride as she took you in and --

You burst into tears when you saw her, "Nat?"

The blonde looked perplexed and leaned back a bit, expressing loudly in a thick accent, "Does your face always make her cry. Sistra?"

Sistra. Sister. Natasha had told you about her sister Yelena who she'd reunited with while she was on the run. Who helped her take down the Red Room and Dreykov for real this time. It was a story that Nat had told her on one of her visits to you and as she was opening up more. She told you that Yelena was her entire world before and that night expressed that now you were too.

"Yelena," you spluttered, gesturing to the wary ex-assassin in an attempt to hug her. 

"Hello," she greeted awkwardly, tapping your arm with a heavy hand. "I see you know who I am. Natasha." She side-eyed her sister accusingly, but Nat ignored her in favor of embracing you.

"You looked so gorgeous up there. I was very proud watching you walk that stage and keeping your chin up." She kissed the top of your head and held you close as you finally were able to hug your partner again for the first time in months.

Kate and Yelena stood off to the side awkwardly next to one another. "I did not invite you," Kate mentioned, squinting at Yelena.

Yelena sniffed. "Natasha goes, I go. Simple. What are you? Kate?"

"Kate," the brunette confirmed, "Bishop."

"Kate Bishop," Yelena repeated, letting the words flow off her tongue smoothly. A mischievous glint lost on you and Natasha but not on Kate started to glow in her eye. "Do you like mac'n'cheese?"

The look Kate gave her would've had you on the floor in tears if you weren't already in tears in Natasha's arms.

"Let's get you to a hotel, yeah?" Natasha murmured soothingly. She kisses your head again. "You can get to know Yelena if you'd like. We can all watch a movie together."

Nothing sounded better.

I will not be discussing how much fucking trouble this gave me. just take it and pls enjoy it.

PART TWO

[lxndonorris]

home race - Oscar Piastri

Y/N x Oscar Piastri Theme: Smut (you've been warned) you're in a long-distance relationship with Oscar and surprise him at his "home race" x word count: 3250+ taglist: @game-set-canet open for requests :) EN: Another big piece and I hope you'll like it. My first time writing Oscar.

You sat in your living room, staring at your phone. The screen displayed a countdown timer you set months ago when you and Oscar, your boyfriend, decided you could handle a long-distance relationship.

Living in the United States while dating a Formula 1 driver based in Europe wasn't easy, but the two of you made it work. You spoke every day, sent each other thoughtful gifts, and cherished the moments you could spend together in person.

The countdown finally hit zero. It is time for your big surprise.

Oscar is in Monaco for the Grand Prix, and you planned to surprise him for months since the season started. You told him you wouldn't be able to make it due to work commitments, but in reality, you managed to arrange everything perfectly, with a little help from the Mclaren Team.

You had your flights booked, your accommodation sorted, and a special pass that would allow you into the Mclaren motorhome, where Oscar would eventually be.

When you boarded your flight, you felt a mixture of excitement and nerves. You knew how much this surprise would mean to Oscar. The past few months have been challenging for him, dealing with the pressures of being a professional F! driver while missing you. You wanted to make this moment unforgettable.

After a long flight and a quick check-in at your hotel in Monaco, you head straight to the racetrack. You are wearing a Mclaren team hoodie, jeans, and a fitting cap, blending in with the team. You find your way to the motorhome and, with the help of a team member who is in on the surprise, get inside and wait for Oscar.

The atmosphere in Monaco is electric. The sun shines brightly over the azure waters of the Mediterranean, and the roar of engines echoes through the narrow streets of the city. The Monaco Grand Prix is one of the most prestigious races on the calendar, and the excitement is palpable.

The qualifying session just ends, and he pushes his car to the limit and secures second place on the grid. The team is ecstatic, and Oscar feels a rush of adrenaline as he climbs out of the car, waving to the cheering fans. 

Inside the motorhome, your heart races as you finally hear footsteps approaching. The door opens, and you turn around to see Oscar standing there, a look of shock and disbelief on his face.

"Y/N? Is that really you?" Oscar's voice trembles with emotion.

You smile, your eyes filling with tears.

"Surprise!"

Oscar closes the distance between you in an instant, wrapping you in a tight embrace. He buries his face in her hair, inhaling your familiar scent, and holds you as if he never wants to let go.

At the same time, the faint scent of him swirls around you, and with a deep breath, you take it in, closing your eyes for a second to relish in this moment.

"What are you doing here?" He murmurs, his voice choked with emotion. "I can't believe you're here."

"I wanted to be here for you, at your home race." You say softly. "I've missed you so much, Oscar Piastri Leclerc."

Both of you pull back slightly to look at each other, your eyes meeting with an intensity that speaks volumes. Oscar cups your face in his hands, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears that escape down your cheeks.

"I've missed you too, Y/N. More than you can imagine."

You kiss—a tender and passionate kiss that seems to make up for all the time you spent apart. 

When you finally break apart, Oscar can't stop smiling.

"You look amazing in that Mclaren gear," he says, his eyes roaming all over you as they sparkle with admiration.

You chuckle, feeling a warmth spread through you. "I have to show my support for my favorite driver."

As you stand facing each other, the air between you seems to be charged with electricity. You feel the tension and excitement from qualifying still radiating off Oscar. 

Tentatively, you reach out, letting your hand run across his firm chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heaving chest beneath your fingertips. His whole body is slightly tensed, still buzzing from the adrenaline rush.

Oscar's eyes soften as he looks at you, a smile spreading across his lips.

"It's so good to see you," he murmurs, his voice filled with awe.

You smile back, your gaze drifting over his racing suit. "You look so good in that green and yellow racing suit, Oscar. Really, you do. It suits you perfectly."

The special suit, designed to honor Senna, clings to his frame in all the right ways, accentuating his athletic build. The vibrant colors contrast beautifully with his complexion, making him look every bit the star he is.

Oscar chuckles, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Thanks. I didn't think I could pull off these colors, but hearing it from you makes me believe it."

Your fingers linger on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. "I missed you so much," you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. 

As your hand continues to stroke his chest, you feel Oscar's hands move to your waist, his fingers lightly gripping the fabric of your jeans. He pulls you slightly closer; your bodies now mere inches apart. The intensity of his gaze makes your heart flutter.

"Do you have some free time?" You ask, your voice soft and teasing, eyes glimmering with anticipation.

Oscar smirks, a playful glint in his eyes. "For you? Always."

The corner of your mouth lifts in a smile, your hand moving up to his shoulder. "Good." You breathe deeply, feeling the tension between you increase even more. "Because I've been waiting for this moment for a long time."

Unable to resist any longer, you lean in and kiss him passionately. The moment your lips meet, Oscar melts into the kiss, his arms tightening around your waist. The warmth and familiarity of the embrace make everything else disappear, leaving just the two of you in your own private world.

As the kiss deepens, you steady yourself against his firm chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath your palm. His hum of approval sends a thrill through you, and you take your time, savoring the moment, relishing the closeness you missed for far too long.

With a teasing glint in your eye, you reach for the zipper of his racing suit. Slowly, you begin to unzip it, feeling the resistance of the fabric give way. Oscar's breath hitches as you draw the zipper down to his tummy, exposing his tight black fireproofs beneath.

You let your hands slip inside, and stroke his chest. "You look so good," you murmur, your hands resting on the exposed fabric. The smooth, taut material hugs his body, accentuating his toned muscles.

Oscar's eyes darken with desire as he looks at your hands running across his chest, a mixture of amusement and longing playing on his features. "You're making it very hard to concentrate," he says, his voice low and husky.

You chuckle softly, your fingers tracing patterns on his fireproofs. "Good," you whisper, leaning in for another kiss. 

This time, it is slower, more deliberate; each touch and caress a reminder of the desire crackling between you.

As your kisses grow more intense, you feel the heat rising between your bodies. Oscar's hands roam over your back, pulling you even closer, as if he can't bear to let you go.

With your hands still roaming over his chest, you draw a line down to his abs, feeling the firm muscles beneath your fingertips. Each touch elicits several low growls from deep inside his throat, the sound sending shivers down your spine. As you continue your exploration, Oscar leans his head back, his eyes closing as he savors the sensation.

You decide to take things a step further. 

"Let me help you." You breathe deeply, gently pushing the upper half of his suit off his shoulders. 

Oscar obliges, his breath hitching as you peel the fabric away, revealing more of his muscular torso. The sleeves hang down from his waist, the tight fireproofs beneath barely able to contain the immense tension building inside him.

His muscles bulge with each movement, with each breath he takes, the strain and excitement of the day evident in every contour of his body. You can't help but admire him, your hands now tracing the lines of his arms, feeling the strength beneath his skin.

Oscar opens his eyes and looks at you, his gaze filled with desire and affection. "You're driving me crazy," he growls, his voice rough with need.

You smile with a playful glint in your eye. "Flex for me." You reply, your fingers continuing their journey across his entire upper body.

With a mischievous grin, Oscar obliges again, flexing his arms and chest, showcasing the impressive muscles that have been honed through countless hours of training. The sight makes your heart skip a beat; a rush of admiration and desire floods through you.

"Like what you see?" he teases, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You bite your lip, trying to keep your composure as you let your hands roam over his flexed muscles. "You have no idea," you reply, your voice filled with genuine awe.

He chuckles, the sound low and rumbling from deep inside his chest. "I'm just glad you're here to see it."

One of your hands traces the contours of his biceps, feeling the power and strength beneath your fingers, while you let your other hand roam freely across his chest and even further down to his crotch.

You feel his hunger building up inside his pants; the fabric bulges just along his member tenting visibly. With two fingers, you trace the tangible outlines of his lust again and again, eliciting more and more deep growls from his throat.

Oscar is thoroughly enjoying himself, responding to your teasing with a mixture of laughter and passion. You see the gleam in his eyes, the way he savors every touch and caress. 

Then, with a bold move, you slip one of your hands underneath his fireproofs, feeling the intense heat of his skin radiating against your palm.

Oscar's breath hitches at the sensation, his eyes so dark with desire. With a swift motion, he swipes the Mclaren cap from your head and lets it drop to the floor. A playful chuckle escapes his lips as he leans in, capturing your mouth in a deep, fervent kiss.

The kiss is electric, filled with a hunger that threatens to consume you both—the long separation and the yearning that built up between you. Your fingers splay across his warm skin, feeling the hard lines of his muscles beneath your fingertips. 

Oscar's hands roam over your back again, pulling you closer, before he takes the lead, guiding you through the room and across a huge empty wall. Gently, your back meets the wall, steadying the two of you fully. 

You feel the rhythm of his heartbeat, fast and powerful, matching your own. The world around you seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you locked in your passionate embrace.

His hands are now all over your chest, his touch both soft and possessive. Each caress sends waves of electricity through you, making your pulse race as far as his race car.

Oscar's kisses trail down your neck, leaving a warm, tingling sensation in their wake. His lips are gentle yet insistent, making a path that sets your skin on fire. The sensation is almost overwhelming—a perfect blend of tenderness and desire that makes your heart swell with emotion.

Amidst your intimate moment, you take in Oscar's familiar scent, a comforting aroma that envelopes you in a sense of security and belonging—a mixture of his cologne, mingled with the faint trace of adrenaline from the day's events, and the subtle hint of his natural scent.

Breathing him in, you feel a wave of warmth wash over you, and his scent is like a familiar embrace, making it even harder to concentrate.

Now, his hands slide underneath your hoodie, his fingertips dancing across your skin. You shiver at the sensation, your body responding instinctively to his touch. The contrast of his warm hands against the cool evening air heightens your senses, making every touch feel even more intense.

"You're amazing." Oscar breathes against your neck, his voice rough with emotion. "I need you."

Your breath hitches, your hands grip his shoulders for support as you tilt your head back, giving him better access. "Oscar," you whisper, your voice trembling with a mixture of desire and affection.

His hands roam freely now, exploring every inch of your torso with a reverent touch. You feel the strength and control in his fingers, the way he holds you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

You arch into his touch, your own hands exploring the hard planes of his back, feeling the tension in his muscles. The fabric of his fireproofs is smooth and cool against your palms, a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his body.

"Oscar." You murmur again, your voice barely audible as you revel in the sensations he is creating. "I need you, too."

He lifts his head, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that takes your breath away.

"I'm right here," he replies, his voice steady yet husky.

Licking your lips in anticipation, you let out a long, exhausted sigh. At the same time, you feel one of his hands make its way down your chest and right to your jeans. In one swift motion, he unbuttons it, just to make way for his hand to slip inside.

Your breath hitches right away as you feel his fingers tracing patterns in all the right places.

Even though it's hard to keep your composure, you manage to return the favor, letting one of your hands run down his back, along his spine, around his waist, and between his legs.

As you touch him, Oscar lets out a low, primal groan, the culmination of all the teasing and desire building up between them. His response sends a thrill through you, igniting a fire that burns hotter with each passing moment.

The tension is palpable; both of you are aching for a release, craving the other's touch.

Together, you help each other undress just enough to make it work. Panting and growling, he tugs at your jeans until they are sliding down to your ankles, so his hands stroke your thighs delicately.

Then, it's your turn to help him. Pulling at the suit clinging to his skin, the two of you manage to pull his length out of his pants, just for you to hold it and play with it.

Exhausted, Oscar leans in, kissing you passionately. You melt into him, offering yourself for what's to come next.

The moment he slides inside your body, it sparks a tingling sensation inside your stomach, and you let out a low grunt. Simultaneously, he moans right into your mouth, making it even harder to keep a straight face.

He is the first to take the lead again.

With your back against the wall, he begins to grind his hips against yours, rhythmically, sensually, and it is easy for you to catch up. The two of you move in sync with one another, letting out low growls, moans, and grunts.

Your hands wander all over his chest, stroking him through his firerpoofs. Oscar's breath comes in ragged gasps, his eyes dark with desire as he watches you. 

The sensation of your touch through the fabric sends waves of heat through him, encouraging him to increase the pace and strength of his thrusts. In return, he steadies himself against the wall behind you while his other hand lingers on your breasts.

Your movements are slow and deliberate; you are fully aware of his most sensitive spots, and you encourage him more and more. Pinching his nipples, tracing the tangible outlines of his abs, and feeling his muscles bulge harder and hader.

Panting and moaning, Oscar's body grows stiff and rigid; unable to contain himself, he bites his lower lip before he grunts angrily.

"Fuck."

You revel in the power you have over him and the way he responds so intensely to your touch.

With each stroke, you feel him growing even more aroused, his body still tightening instinctively to your touch. His hands grip your breasts tighter, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body.

The two of you move as one; every thrust sends you closer and closer to the edge, and the way he grunts deeply tells you he feels the same.

As you lose yourself in the heat of the moment, you know there is no turning back. Your passion burns bright, consuming you both in a whirlwind of sensation and emotion.

With one final, heavy thrust, both of you let go of all that pressure and tension and scream out in ecstasy.

Several exhausted moans leave Oscar's lips, and he leans forward, grateful for the wall steadying him. At the same time, you lean your head back, moaning deeply.

You rest your head against his shoulder, swallowing hard. His body embraces yours right away; his firm shoulder is the perfect place right now.

Out of breath, the two of you barely regain your composure before you lock eyes again, both of you smiling contently.

"That was so good." He moans, exhausted, before he leans in, kissing you deeply.

"Oscar." You breathe into him, kissing him back.

After your passionate moment, you share another tender smile, your hearts still racing with the intensity of your connection. 

With gentle touches and soft kisses, you help each other get dressed again, your movements slow and deliberate again.

As you adjust the sleeves of his fireproofs, you look up at Oscar, your eyes filled with affection. "You were amazing today," you say, your voice filled with pride. "I am so proud of you."

Oscar smiles back, his expression softening. "I am so glad you are here." He replies, his voice tinged with gratitude.

As he begins to change into fresh clothes, you watch him closely, unable to tear your eyes away. 

Oscar moves with natural grace; every movement is fluid and confident. You can't help but admire the way his muscles shift beneath his skin as he removes his racing suit and tight firerpoofs.

He catches your gaze, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. Sensing your admiration, he makes a little show out of changing, exaggerating his movements slightly as he slips out of his fireproofs and into a fresh pair of underwear you hand him.

You laught at his antics, enjoining the playful side of him that he reserves just for you. As you pull on the pair of jeans and the Mclaren shirt, you feel a surge of affection for him, admiring the way he looks in the team gear.

"You look amazing." You say. "But then again, you always do."

Oscar grins, his eyes shining brightly. "I have to look my best, especially with you around." He replies, his tone teasing.

With a final adjustment to his shirt, Oscar turns to you, his expression softening. "Thank you for being here," he says, his voice sincere. 

You reach out and place your hand on his chest again, gently stroking him once more. "I'll always be here for you." You reply. "No matter what."

[manicmanuscription]

Exhibit

PolySJM Week: Day Five

Prompt: Memories and History

Pairings: Feysand / Reader

Summary: You're the last one left in the inner circle, taking a weekly visit to the museum.

Word Count: 2225

Tags: Extreme angst, no like, a lot of angst, hurt and barely any comfort, author hurt her own feelings. Inner circle is all dead. briefly smutty memories but explicit, 18++

PolySJM Week 2025 Masterlist | Acotar Masterlist

My shoes clicked softly against the hardwood floors, yet each step echoed throughout my entire being, the sound deafening in the quiet halls and a sense of dread bled into my heart with every movement.

Being here was suffocating and I tried to remind myself to breathe, to force air into my lungs. Yet I tortured myself with this feeling every Friday, at one p.m. With tentative steps I reached the next room, the open floor plan allowing everything to be displayed properly and I halted in front of one of the clear cases. 

My heart constricted at seeing the matching set of jewelry. A custom set commissioned by Rhysand for Feyre and I. Small glittering black diamonds fashioned into the shapes of small stars and tiny pearls all strung up elaborately to cascade down the earlobe. 

The earrings sat next to their complimentary tiara's, the highest point also forming into a star. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment at the sight. It had been a mating gift, one of many after the elaborate ceremony he planned. The earrings had been one of my favorite pieces in my vanity and had seen the sun so often my mate had regularly taken it in for cleaning and upkeep services.

Though when they stopped pumping air into their lungs and their heart gave out from the extent of their injuries the sight of it quickly made me want to tear my skin off. 

Lifeless eyes and bloodsoaked satin flashed before my vision and I gripped my walking cane so hard I swore you could hear tiny wood pieces splintering.

A few hundred years later andI could still hear Nesta’s anguished cries and Mor’s horrified whimpers as we rushed to save them. 

Too late. Too late. Too late. 

I could still feel Cassian’s grip on my arms as he forcefully pulled me away from the sight of the gruesome scene, everyone yelling over one another as it all dissolved to chaos. The only thing that existed in that moment was them, the sight of their limp bodies into my mind forever, that agonizing pain in my chest as the bond shattered with their last breath. 

Madja wouldn’t even tell me what had truly happened to them. I found out, of course. It took me weeks but eventually I found out. That knowledge nearly sent me spiraling over the closest cliff, and the memory had that ragged bond in my chest stirring painfully. 

I forced myself away from the display case and ventured further into the Inner Circle’s exhibit. Blinking the horrid memories away as I passed a few of the other cases, letters between The Spymaster and Highlord, various weapons, sculptures, depictions of great battles my family fought in and other heroic deeds, even some shattered siphons from when my friends were youthful and untrained, a replica of the mirror the General used to capture the death god Lanthys, then a replica of the sword used to slain him. -the real thing had been given to their daughter-  great paintings depicting the Battle of Hybern and the Three Sister’s once human in all their glory. Each piece a living reminder of the legends that were my family until eventually I paused in front of my greatest torment. 

Feyre’s last unfinished piece was sitting in a storage unit a few blocks away, sometimes I’d sit there wondering what it was meant to be, my sneaky little mate having kept it a secret until she meant to reveal it on our anniversary, it tortured me for years after their deaths knowing she’d never finished it and never would, yet this canvas in front of me…

Feyre and I were sitting on lavish chairs facing forward as Rhysand stood behind us with an arm on each of our shoulders, a coy smile playing on his lips. Even though I was starting to forget a lot of things with my age, I remember that day like it was yesterday. 

“Stop trying to make me laugh!” I scolded Rhys mentally. His laughter echoed down the bond and I whirled around in my seat to face him, still keeping my hand firmly intertwined with Feyre’s. A reprimand on my tongue even as I struggled to control my giddy smile. 

The painter gently reminded me to sit still and Rhysand smirked. “Yes darling sit still we’re trying to get our portrait taken after all.” I rolled my eyes, sending a harsh wave of annoyance down the bond. “You’re the one distracting me!” I protested even as I faced the painter once more. 

“I. am. not.” Rhysand objected, his smooth voice falling on my ears, the sound of it a balm to my soul even though he was getting on my last nerve. Three seconds passed before another image of the three of us flashed in front of my eyes, my lovely wife was all wrapped up in pretty silk tied to our bed while I had the pleasure of tasting her, my tongue circling her clit as my husband kissed up her thighs before reaching her breasts. Her soft moans filled the room and- the image dissolved with a brush of Feyre’s magic and she glared at both of us and huffed slightly. “That is enough!” She snapped angrily, a faint blush crept up her cheeks and she adjusted herself on her chair. 

“The both of you are behaving like children! We wouldn’t even be in this position if you” She sent me a pointed glare.  “hadn’t insisted on a live portrait.” 

The artist gave us a confused glance at our conversation flowing in and out of mental or verbal speaking but returned to their canvas quickly not wanting to somehow upset the powerful leaders of the Night Court. 

“I thought it would be fun!” I whispered back and Rhysand chuckled softly leaning down to give Feyre and I a quick peck on the cheek. “She truly had no idea how boring these things are. I'm just trying to liven it up a little.” 

“Well quit it. Because you’re distracting me, our mate, the artist and making this whole ordeal last longer than it needs to.” 

Rhysand winced as her harsh words dug into his mental walls and I threw a look over my shoulder sticking my tongue out at him before returning my gaze forward. Feyre gave my hand a warning squeeze accompanied with her signature glare and I muttered an apology. 

Another few agonizing minutes passed before another image flashed before my eyes. I was slowly removing the silk dress from my body, stepping out from the expensive fabric in nothing but lingerie, Feyre trailed her hands up my spine from behind me a dark look in her eyes watching as Rhys leaned down to hungrily claim my lips with his own. Soft manicured nails tugged at my hair harshly eliciting a soft moan from my lips and she turned my head to the side to give our mate more access and Rhys trailed those kisses down to the side of my neck– 

“That is it!” I hissed. Standing up from my chair and storming out of the room as I fought to get my arousal under control. 

Rhysand just leaned down to Feyre’s ear. “I told you I could get her to break.” She just rubbed a tattooed hand over her temples, a small -annoyed- smirk playing on her lips as she stood as well. 

The memory faded and I brushed the tears away with an aged hand. Feyre ultimately finished the painting by taking the reference photo from the memory of the artist we hired, and reimbursed the poor girl for wasting her time. 

A wave of anger rose within me, I would never not be mad at them for leaving me to raise our child alone with that stupid fucking pact. Sure I had our family’s help but they had their own children and spouses to attend to as well and eventually old age or injury picked them all off until it was just me. The shattered bond in my chest ached at the thought refusing the anger and sadness that suffocated me so strongly a wave of pain almost had me doubling over in the exhibit.

I knew I was starting to go, forgetting things and losing time. I had to start walking with a cane and my hair turned fully white ages ago. Even my hearing was almost nonexistent. Not a lot of fae got to be this age but I was stubborn, refusing to go until I was sure my son, nieces and nephews, and court were ok. 

Sometimes I could feel my mates, brushing their hand with mine as I hobbled down the streets of Velaris, whispering things to me in the wind that I could not decipher. Sometimes I could feel one of my friends, urging me to relax or even teasing me from realms apart.

 It was getting more frequent and I knew my loves would be coming to collect me from this realm soon. 

When they did I would never, ever stop yelling at them for what they did to me. They broke their promises leaving me with a temperamental and newly made High Lord who was just a little too young to rule and a grieving court. I sat down on one of the museum’s benches as a cluster of people entered the exhibit, the clock striking one fifteen. 

My favorite part of the day. 

The tour guide spoke softly as the fae walked around the room, awe lining their faces. No one recognized me from the paintings and they were all too young to realize anyways, I hadn’t ventured to any political or public events in years, not ever since I broke my hip on some stairs in the Hewn City and my son all but banned me. Just as protective as his father. 

The guide spoke about my family with quiet reverence, telling stories about countless battles and wars won, treaty’s built. She talked about victory over Koschei and the Illyrians unrest. She talked about the political wins of my mates, she talked of the Lady of Death and her Valkyries. 

She then spoke of me, telling the love story of my mates and I, put together from long dead witness statements, letters, and even stories spilled from the old Inner Circle. 

The guests moved about the room excitedly, pointing at old artifacts and statues. It was always strange to hear my life and my family’s lives from another person, one who wasn’t there but had studied us. My nieces and nephew’s loved to hear the stories I told when they were young, but sometimes…it was nice to hear about it from someone else, I was the only one left who truly remembered what happened after all and even those were slowly going. 

It helped me remember. Remember Cassian’s booming laugh long faded, Azriels quiet reassurance, chess games between Nesta and Amren, Elain’s garden long untouched by her own loving hands. 

The perspective shift was amusing to me and war and peace raged in my heart at the memories the tour guide returned to me with her intricately weaved tales. I missed my family, missed the way our home came alive with their presence. 

Every fiber in my body ached and a stray tear slipped as the guide eventually moved onto my mate's demise and the betrayal of our ‘allies’

There wasn’t time, even if we spent eons together it would have never been enough. 

Eventually the crowd cleared as she concluded this part of her tour and moved to another exhibit. Leaving only one person in the room with me. Nyx strode across the room in just a few steps sitting on the bench beside me. “I nearly had a heart attack when Simone told me she lost you. Again.” 

“Why must you torture yourself like this Mother?” He asked, placing a comforting hand on my wobbled knee as he took a pained glance at the room. I didn’t respond, just took a chance to study his face doing my best to commit it to my weathered mind.. He was getting old, stress lines making him seem even older and being a High Lord and a new father certainly didn’t help.

Gods he looked so much like them. With his soft freckles and violet eyes. He most certainly had Feyre’s nose. 

I smiled, another ghostly wisp of a warm touch running along my spine and I knew it would be soon. I could feel that knowledge all the way down to my weary and ancient bones. Just as I knew Nyx would be fine, him and his cousin’s had been ruling for quite some time and I’d never been prouder of them and I would finally get the chance to confront my mates for I had hundreds of years of grievances to settle with them. But I would also get to hold them close once more, press kisses to their shoulders and tell them stories of the male our son had become. 

I would be able to cherish them once more, to hold them close once again, to hear their voices and see their smiles. 

I would be able to see my family once again and that peace would settle my soul for eternity. 

[enwoso]

You have somehow managed to make me fall in love with this little universe you created with grumpy and Alessia in such a short amount of time!

Would you be able to write something about when the England squad first found about Alessia having a child and how they handled that on camp and stuff? I feel like there would be quite a lot of protectiveness, especially considering how she's part of the younger group, particulalry from some of the older age groups, like Lucy, Leah, Ellen, Jill, Jordan, Millie ect.

mini me | alessia russo x child!reader

*oh my god i love writing this little universe!*

grumpy masterlist

alessia had never imagined that she'd be a mother at such a young age. she had always dreamt of having a baby at the end of her footballing career while being in a stable relationship, living in a comfortable environment with little to no stress allowing her to enjoy motherhood.

the total fairytale fantasy.

however that fairytale fantasy never became a reality as alessia fell pregnant at 20 while in university, after one too many drinks and night with a boy she did trust enough but clearly trusted too much as after she took a test and the two lines displayed on the test telling her she was going to be a mother — he left? he didn't want that type of responsibility at such a young age.

so when alessia moved back to england and signed for manchester united she kept you hidden from her teammates worried about what they may say or think, ella being the only one who knew about you. after all she would sometimes look after you when mummy had important adult things to do or pick you up from nursery when mummy couldn’t.

"y/n? where've you gone?" she whisper yelled, looking around the foyer. you were in that toddler stage of hiding at any chance you got, putting your mum on the verge of a heart attack everytime you went out places.

"this isn't the time to play hide a seek lovie!" alessia said, a slight sterner tone in her voice as she looked around for you.

"boo!" you giggled, coming out from your hiding spot from behind the large indoor plants, looking up at your mum a devilish smile on your small face. a pointed look on your mums face as she kneeled down, grabbing your two small hands in hers.

"lovie, what have i told you about hiding, especially when we are in a new place. what if i had of walked away? you would have lost me" alessia reminded you softly as you nodded, your smile that was previously on your face replaced with a pout.

engulfing your mum in a hug, "sorry mummy" you mumbled into her chest as she kissed your forehead.

"i didn't know you had a little sister?" a voice was heard from a distant as alessia handed her passports over to the staff members, getting her room key. the blonde looking around to see who it was before her eyes landed on mille bright, lucy and leah.

alessia could feel her cheeks going redder by the second, as she stood up picking you up with her and placing you on her hip. the blonde beginning to stutter out a a response however you beat her to it with your innocent smile covering you face.

"that my mummy! i no have a sister!" you smiled at the three girls, their eyes almost popping out their head as you spoke. shock consuming them as their jaws hung to the floor.

"oh my god" lucy whispered as she was the first to break the awkward silence. alessia setting you back down on the floor as you were wriggling to be down.

"this is y/n, my daughter" alessia sighed, there being a slight silence as the information was being processed by the three girls head as you walked a little closer to the three girls, leah being the first to react by crouching down to your height. "hi y/n! i'm leah" you smiled nodding at her name looking to the other two girls standing in front of you.

“i’m lucy”

“and i’m millie”

you said a small hi to them as you moved back a little so that you were standing near to your mum, an arm wrapped around her leg. “and how old are you?” leah asked as you hummed thinking as you held up four fingers, “three!”

the girls giggling a little at your confidence, your mummy putting your extra finger down and correcting you, “lovie that’s three”

“ah”

“you play football with my mummy?” you asked, looking at leah but directing your question at all three of the girls. as they nodded all in sync.

“we do and there’s a few more of us too” millie said as you looked back to alessia wondering if she was telling the truth as your mum nodded her head as a little gasp came from you.

“where they?”

“through that long corridor, getting ready for a training session later on” lucy commented pointing to the way before you turned to your mum begging her to let you to go and see everyone else.

your mummy nodding as you grabbed her hand, swinging it a little as you followed the three girls you had just met just moments ago.

“auntie ella!” you yelled as you brushed past lucy and leah as they stood in the doorway, running to get to ella as she looked up from her phone, a smile cracking on her face as her arms opened up for you to run into. faces stopping and watching the interaction with both adoration and confusion.

“hey tiny, you alright!” ella asked as you hugged the girl tight, you hadn’t seen her since the last manchester united game a week ago. your mummy having being busy with getting ready for camp and you being at nursery up until yesterday.

“yep, i met lucy, leah and mille” you proudly said pointing to each girl as they had sat down at a table beginning to talk most likely about boring adult things.

“oh that’s exciting, what about everyone else though?” ella said as you began to shake your head stopping moments later as the midfielder began to twirl the two of you around, giggles escaping from you as she did so. stopping when she got back to her original place.

you looking around the room, a few familiar faces that you had recognised from your mum playing with them in manchester seeing them when you went to games with your grandparents — mary, keets and lotte who you only ever saw if you were down in london. the rest were new people, new people to talk to and share you infectious personality with.

ella took you around each person introducing you to each person with the permission from your mum first of course. the news spreading quickly throughout the camp that you were here and whose daughter you actually were much to many’s surprise.

the day going a lot smoother than alessia could have ever imagined, she had spent the past week thinking over and over about how it was going to go. replaying over and over in her head about how her teammates would react to her having a child.

alessia spent a good part of the afternoon after the introductions were over in the garden of st george’s park explaining her story in depth to those who were most interested; leah, keira, beth, lucy, mille, rachel and ella.

“that must have been so scary, you were so young.” beth whsipers still loud enough for everyone to hear, the girls all so intrigued but also immensely proud of alessia for her whole journey since you had arrived in her life.

as alessia told her story from the start, how she found out she was pregnant to how she came back to football.

“it was, but she’s my reason now. everything i do is for her future” alessia said simply a couple of the girls humming.

“if you ever need anything and i mean anything even if it’s just for someone to talk to, don’t be scared to ask any of us. we’ll always be here for you less” leah said softly but you could hear the protectiveness in her voice, alessia nodding taking in the support of her teammates which had grown to be her family as her eyes trailed over to where you were, the other girls following where the blondes eyes were looking.

“she’s literally a mini you” beth commented the rest of the girls agreeing as they began to list the similarities between you and your mum. as alessia smiled looking at you kicking a football with jordan and georgia

“i know, my mum says all the times that’s she’s a copy and paste of me from when i was little - only difference is she’s a bit more chatty than i was” alessia pointed out, hearing you talk away to jordan about the flowers growing in the ground, as the midfielder picked the ball from around them.

“but i think she gets that from her auntie ella!” alessia grinned looking towards her best friend who threw her hands up in shock.

“hey!”

“mummy! mummy!” you yelled out, the blondes head turning from her conversation towards you as jordan passed the ball to you. “watch this!” you added as toy had the ball at your feet and began to juggle with it from foot to foot.

alessia watched on grinning, as jordan counted the amount you got as georgia cheered you on. a small buzz of excitement coming from you as the ball dropped from your control as you ran over to your mum.

“lovie, that was awesome!” mummy cheered, as she held her hand up for you high five. the other girls saying there well dones. alessia watching as you smile got bigger and bigger with each seconds.

the way you had bonded with the team in hours warmed alessia’s heart to no end. knowing that these girls were going to now be apart of your life forever. her two worlds had joined and she couldn’t even to describe how much she loved it.

“any chance we can borrow her when we play on tuesday!” jordan joked as she and georgia came over slotting in on the seats with the other girls as they laughed but agreeing. as they all fell into a deep conversation.

you climbing up onto your mummy’s lap, as her arms wrapped around your front. a yawn escaping from your lips as you slumped back into your mummy’s chest playing with the rings on her fingers.

liked by keirawalsh and 612,540 others

alessia new day, new faces🩷

comments -

bethmead dibs on being best auntie!

1h 140 likes     reply

-> leahwilliamson no i am

-> georgiastanway no it’s me

-> lucybronze come on guys i obviously win!

-> ellatoone it’s quite clearly me!

-> millebright you all wrong it’s me.

-> maryearps it’s me

-> keirawalsh no me

-> racheldaly its obviously me!

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Cute little 1957 house in Lynn Haven, FL, looks so normal, you'd just pass it by. I was totally unprepared for the interior- what is going on here? 3bds, 4ba, 1,378 sq ft, $244,900.

Enter a sparse room with a half skeleton lounging on the couch. To the right is a small sunken living room with faux stone walls and stalactites on the ceiling, plus a bright blue floor.

Streaky painted cabinets need another coat of paint and a polyurethane top coat. Anyway, they were going for a gothic look in red and black.

This looks like a large sun porch. Maybe a dining room or family room. It's hard to say.

Double doors at the far end of this room open to a home office with a nice built-in wall unit and doors to a patio. They redid all the ceilings in the main living areas with Victorian tin-style tile.

I really don't know what this is. Looks like maybe a hallway and a bathroom? I see hands coming out of the wall. Maybe it's supposed to simulate the outer walls of an old mansion?

Speaking of simulations, they've recreated a murder scene in the retro bath. I can't figure out what's happening in the tub- is that a saw?

This must be the primary bedroom b/c it has an ensuite.

It's a small shower room with a Victorian castle flair and a half door to the basement.

Bedroom #2 is a good size and has a closet.

This bedroom is being used as storage or display- I see Grogu and the Millenium Falcon.

Partially covered patio out back.

Quite a large fenced yard.

.26 acre lot.

The neighborhood.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/911-New-York-Ave-Lynn-Haven-FL-32444/42759272_zpid/