#either way..i’m okay with how it turned out

[luveline]

hi jade! I remember a while back you wrote a drabble about hotchner!reader having a really bad panic attack and Spencer and Aaron helping her at the hospital, and it gave me a lot of comfort to read it. would you be interested in writing something about Spencer and Aaron taking care of hotchner!reader as she adjusts to her new meds?

—Spencer and your brother, Aaron, take care of you when your new prescription gives unexpected side effects. fem (adopted) 2k

When things got quiet at home, you’d get tense. 

Your apartment is silent. No whir of the heating, no washing machine clatter, no voices. You sit on the couch with your legs pulled up, turned to the armrest with your cheek pressed to the seat's backing. Your phone is in your hand at a low percentage. You’ll get up to charge just as soon as you can remember what you’d wanted to be doing in the first place. 

Spencer was going to call you. He’s sweet, really. You didn’t expect for love to feel easy; you never thought someone could like you without allowances. You’re quiet sometimes, your nerves are shot. You ask for reassurance too much, too often, and you don’t believe them when they’re given. 

You aren’t smart, or funny, or particularly hard-working. 

But Spencer loves you, you’re almost certain. Or maybe he’s just content to be half happy. It wouldn’t surprise you if he called you to break up with you —what use have you been to him lately? You’re tired everyday. You can’t sleep, you can’t eat, you never want to go out. You can barely make it through the working day. 

Your phone beeps in your hand. 

Outside, it says. If Spencer’s there, please make sure he’s fully dressed.

You manage to smile weakly. Aaron saw Spencer once getting out of the shower, and he was dressed, thank you very much. You hadn’t done anything salacious as he might’ve assumed from the situation, just showered together, but Aaron always lets you know before visiting now. 

Doesn’t ask, by the way, but you don’t actually want him to. He’s like, the only good thing in your life beside Spencer. 

Aaron lets himself in and finds you immediately. “Hey, honey,” he says. 

He slipped into the affectionate older brother role not long after meeting you, and he’s been worse since you were in the hospital. Which is to say, gentler with you. 

He slips a bag of groceries onto the counter. He pans around the room. It’s cleaner than usual here, but none of the lights are on, nor the TV. You can see him notice it. 

“You okay?” he asks, pulling groceries from the bag. He’s brought milk, bread, eggs, and fresh soups from the nice store nearby. “It’s quiet in here.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Yeah? Any wobbles?” 

He’s asking if you’ve had a panic attack or anything like it, but for the last few days you’ve felt veritably numb. “I’m okay,” you say. 

You should bring up your symptoms. Clearly, lexapro either isn’t right for you or the dosage is too much; you’re a zombie these last couple of days. Medications don’t always work straight away, so for a time you’d felt like your script was useless, serving only to make you nauseous, but the sickness has finally gone away. 

He opens the fridge to put away the groceries. He’s sliding the bread into your bread box when he says, “Honey, aren’t you gonna answer that? Your phone?”

You blink down at your phone. Spencer’s contact glows in front of a green background. 

You click answer and pull it to your ear. “Hello?” you ask softly. 

“Hey, angel. How are you feeling today?” 

You clear your throat. “Fine.” 

“I was thinking I’d come over?” 

“You’re outside?” you ask. 

“How’d you know that?” 

“Must be something in the water.”

“I’ll come up now. I brought some things for dinner.” 

You manage your first laugh that dreary day. It’s nearly normal. “Okay. I might not have room.” 

Spencer promises to be up quickly and disconnects the call. You lift your chin to find Aaron already looking at you. “Do I look okay?” you ask. 

“Beautiful, don’t worry.”

“Is this an ambush?” you ask. 

“Not an intentional one. Can I make you something to drink?” 

He’ll make you something you like, you trust. You try to sit properly on the couch before Spencer gets here, rubbing under your eyes, checking there’s nothing on your t-shirt and sweatpants. It might not matter if there were, you know Spencer thinks you’re pretty without makeup or fancy clothes, but he doesn’t necessarily have to be truthful about it. 

“Aaron,” you say, before you can forget, “did… was Jack’s soccer okay?”

He passes you a mug, squeezing your shoulder lovingly. “It was great. I’ll show you the photos.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t go.” 

You were supposed to. Spencer even drove to pick you up, but he got here and your meds weren’t working and your heart was beating wrong, so you stayed home. 

“It’s okay.” Aaron looks like he wants to hug you, but he doesn’t. “Nobody’s mad at you for that.” 

“For other things?” 

“Nothing.” 

Your door opens again. Spencer bursts in with two things, a brown paper bag of groceries and a bouquet of flowers. It’s a pretty huge bouquet, as they go, white and pink flowers, cornflower blue chrysanthemums spotted throughout, the end of his scarf stuck in the flowers and his coat unbuttoned in the struggle. “Hey. Hi, Hotch.” 

“Spencer,” Aaron says, which is strangely warm. 

Spencer shoves the bouquet aside to see you. “Hi, you okay?” 

You force yourself to stand. It’s obvious you’re not feeling right, your head whirring, but you have to make sure he still wants you. “Spencer.” 

He puts the bouquet down. The groceries next. “Angel,” he says, meeting Aaron’s eyes quickly, then back to you, where he smiles sympathetically, “How long have you been feeling like this?” 

You’ve only taken a few steps toward him when he catches you for a hug. It’s nice and polite, but not without tenderness. He doesn’t pull your weight in like he would if you were alone, but he holds your back and sits a quick kiss against your cheek as he pulls away. 

“I don’t really know, a few days?” you suggest. 

“You could’ve told me. Or Hotch, you know?” 

“I know, I was going to, just–” You press your hand to your eyes. “Didn’t really notice it was happening.” 

“Don’t get upset,” Aaron says, coming to join you both in the kitchen. “It’s alright. Spencer isn’t scolding you, he just wants you to know we’re here for you no matter what happens.” 

“I don’t feel like myself,” you say.

“That’s okay,” Aaron furthers, holding you by the shoulder, his hand settling behind the nape of your neck, “we can talk to your doctor again, this isn’t permanent. We’ll talk to them today, if it’s what you need.” 

“I’m sorry. Not many people have such an adverse effect to lexapro, I was hoping you wouldn’t be an exception,” Spencer says. 

To your surprise, Aaron answers for you, “You couldn’t have known. This is just something we’ll have to keep doing together.” 

Someone sits you down. Aaron warms his fancy soups and toasts the bread he brought, making a plate and bowl for each of you without asking. Spencer barely balks. You manage another laugh, for which you’re rewarded with two smiles. 

Aaron can’t stay much longer, having to pick up Jack from Jess’, but he offers to come back. You decline, not wanting Jack to see you feeling as depressed as you are. He promises to call the doctor tonight and leaves in a rush. He must’ve stayed longer than he should’ve. 

Spencer is more forthcoming with soft touches once he’s gone. He didn’t eat much but neither did you, pushing the plates across the coffee table. He’s still wearing his coat. 

Fond, you reach for his chest and begin slipping buttons from the eyelets. “You’re staying, right?” you murmur. 

“If you’ll have me.” 

You open his coat and push it away from his shoulders. He dressed fancy even when he’s not going anywhere, it’s so strange, the button up and the tie and the sweater vest, all of it, but you love it. You run your hand down his vest. He lets his head dip forward. Not for kissing, just to be near. 

“What’s wrong?” he asks. 

“Just feel wrong.” 

“It’s not really a good idea to stop taking the lexapro now. It’s technically an antidepressant, and your body won’t adjust well.” He holds your waist as you hold his. “But this is weird, huh?” 

“Feels weird.” 

“Short term, uh, I think we should just try and make sure you feel alright today. Is there anything you need?” he’s murmuring, rubbing his thumb into the soft of your stomach. “I can get anything. Or we can do anything.” 

“You don’t have to… worry about me.” 

“Are you kidding?” he asks softly.

“We haven’t been…” You trail your hand to his stomach, where it stays. “I just don’t expect you to deal with this, you didn’t sign up for this.” 

“I don’t think that’s true. I had no idea what I’d find out about you or what you might go through when we first met, but I wanted to find out. I wanted to take care of you then, and I do now,” he says simply.

“It’s not good timing for me to be like this.” 

“Stuff happens all the time. I wouldn’t want to wait for you to be perfect before we met.” He smiles genuinely. “Not that you’re not perfect.” 

“I really feel like I’m not even me.” 

“You’re you,” he says, dipping so close to you that you can’t see his face anymore, just his skin.

You slouch into his chest, coaxed by long, lithe arms cradling you, as kind as anyone’s ever touched you. He smells clean, your nose finding its way to his stiff collar. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“You don’t have to be. Nobody wants you to be sorry, okay?” 

It’s a new feeling. Spencer spends the night with you on the couch and doesn’t for a moment seem like it’s something he doesn’t wanna do. You end up laying on his chest, his fingers drawing lines like a meandering figure skater up your back. Twirls and loops, long laps around your spine. When your phone rings, he’s nice enough to click answer and hold it to your ear. 

“Aaron?” you ask sleepily. 

“Hey, honey. I’ll be by tomorrow to take you back to Dr. Chester’s office, alright? If you don’t want to keep taking your lexapro, don’t. But if you can manage it, take another tonight, and we’ll figure out the new plan after your appointment.” 

“Okay,” you say, feeling very small. “Thank you for doing that for me.” 

“I’d do anything. Jack says he loves you, he’s making you a painting of yourself. He’s very good at the colours.” 

“I bet he is,” you say loudly. In the background, you can hear Jack’s pleased little thank you. 

“Do you want to talk a while?” he asks.

“That’s okay, Aaron, I’m half asleep on Spencer right now.” 

“Good, that’s good. Tell him to take good care of you, okay? Or I won’t be happy.” 

Spencer laughs above your head. “When is he ever happy?” he jokes in a whisper. 

“Shh,” you say, giving Spencer a light shove. “He says he will.” You swallow a lump, as you’ve had to do all day, but it isn’t rawness that colours your voice now. “I love you. Thank you for, uh, calling the doctor. Thanks.” 

“I love you too. I’ll leave you to sleep now. I’ll come at eleven, alright?” 

“Alright. See you tomorrow,” you say. 

Your voice is weak. Spencer pulls the phone away and hangs it up, tossing it without force onto the coffee table, before wrapping his arm around you snugly. 

“It’s gonna be fine,” Spencer says. “You’ll see, things aren’t going to be like this forever. It’s statistically impossible.” 

“Ooh,” you croon, pressing your tired face back into his chest, “I love when you talk statistics to me. Tell me more.”

He draws shapes into your back, his voice a murmur as he starts to talk. 

[perdvivly]

Not waiting for chance or fate to dictate the terms of how annoying I’m allowed to be on the internet. I am choosing to answer them all now, unasked as I am.

1) This is mildly variable depending on the amount of effort I’m willing to expend. Typically the common theme is no adulterants. No sugar, no milk, no queen of England. If I’m getting fancy with it I’ll make an effort to time the brewing duration, 3mins for a black tea, 5mins for a green tea, 7mins for a herbal tea. But honestly the sort of depression chic I’ve been serving lately has been leaving the bag in and drinking it straight, tannins be damned.

2) Mandarin. Just seems like it’d be the most useful innit. Also, relatively harder to pick up non-magically given my native Englishhood.

3) God. I try not to honestly. No, but seriously, my sleep schedule has been all sorts of out of shape recently. I should work on that. At the moment it varies wildly day to day and depends on my responsibilities the days before and after the sleep. I’ve pulled a couple of all nighters recently and it gets screwy.

4) Maybe atla? I remember really liking it when it came out but not fully understanding the whole plot because I didn’t see it serialised until later. Maybe the simpsons? There’s something to say here about the earnestness of the earlier seasons and seeing a deeply dysfunctional family care about each other in ways they struggle to express—that gets glossed out as the production value rises in the later seasons—that’s like heroin to someone trapped in an irony poisoned world. But maybe that’s cope? Maybe it’s just the show I had the easiest access to as a kid. I guess I didn’t watch a whole bunch of tv or at least not a whole bunch that stuck with me.

5) Summer ez. (Have you seen her baphomet pics? 🥵)

6) In general, I doubt very much that either the optimist or the pessimist considers themselves such. It’s not really the sort of thing that admits of self-diagnosis in that way… Philosophically, the broader question is what? Do I align with Schopenhauer, Voltaire’s Leibniz, or Russel’s Leibniz? I’m not sure the tumblrinas care about the history of philosophy. I guess I’ll say to the extent that Schopenhauer relies on Indian mysticism, which I think is typically underrated, he’s simply mistaken about the world as will and representation. I’ll say that, I’m *not* a Buddhist. I think the doctrine of dukkha misses fundamental aspects of human existence. I’ll say that people have richer inner lives, deeper felt internal experiences, than you might assume from reading their little words on the internet. And that, on the whole, these are good things.

7) I mean, both ideally. Variety is the spice of life. If I had to choose I suppose it would be sunshine. But I’m terribly glad I don’t live in a world where I have to choose.

8) I have the cutest little book marks. My primary two at the moment are the sun and the moon, which I use for main text and end notes respectively. Though, I have been known to dog-ear in my time. I once got yelled at by my aunt for turning the corner of the page on my copy of Harry Potter and the order of the phoenix because it was a first edition and she was under the impression that it may be valuable some day. I was like, come on man, I’m 7. Don’t even piss. <- I didn’t say these things, but I was *like* that.

9) For the longest time I *only* wore steel toe capped boots because I ran myself over with an electric pallet stacker and tore my toenail off and decided I didn’t want that to happen again. I don’t do that anymore because I interact with heavy machinery less than I used to. Now all that matters to me is that they’re waterproof.

10) *My* signature scent like, I produce it? Or like I like it? I guess one of my favourite scents is lavender. But I've been told... Okay, it's important you guys know I do *not* have a yeast infection... I've been told some parts of my body naturally smell like bread, like, that sort of doughy yeasty (I s2g I do *not* (I did not hit her. I did not! oh hi mark)) smell that you get with bread sometimes. Is that what the question was asking?

11) I mean... That's broadly not for me to decide right? Unless the sort of dragons you're imagining have some sort of glamoury illusion magic, which seems plausible. Anyway, do you guys remember in Moby Dick when he goes on this wild tangent about how St. George and The Dragon was acutally about whales? And St. George's horse was actually a walrus or something. What was that about??

Okay, author's note, there's a time skip here. I've been scrolling through lists of dragons in popular culture for a while now and there are a pretty neat and widely varied selection of designs. I'll get back to you on this one.

12) It depends on why I'm writing! If it's a quick note to myself for future reference it'll generally be cursive, if it's an important document that will be read by other people generally it'll be print. If it's time-sensitive it'll be cursive. I remember writing essays for undergrad that I'm sure were totally illegible by the end of them, I think literally just a line on a page with occasional lifts and dips.

13) There is more information on wookieepedia than existed in my philosophy but a few minutes ago. The typology I've discerned is thus: blue - jock, green - nerd, yellow - geek, red - edgelord. And I'm a little bit of all of these, so I think any would be fine. Realistically though, I'm not sure a lightsaber is the best weapon in fantasy space-past-future where spaceships and lasers are common. Like, I'll let it slide because the original trilogy was doing a kirkegaardian faith thing and the prequels were doing a logic doesn't matter it's cool thing, and those are both respectable motivations to leave logistics aside for a bit.

14) Sad

15) Ice skates! I love ice skating!

16) I'm a youngest. I have an older sister, I think I talk about her here from time to time.

17) Well, how I would use it would depend massively on what it was. If the question is which superpower I think is the best then why not ask that? Which superpower would I have has a faint ring of incomprehensibility about it. It's really not clear which counterfactual is under consideration. *If* what?

Anyway, I think time control powers are up there right? Top five at least, easy. Imagine what you could do if you could stop time and sleep whenever you felt like it. I feel King Leerish about the ability to just be well rested. I would do such things, what they are yet I know not.

18) The problem with romantic relationships is that eventually, all of your most interesting clothing will end up in someone else's closet. I think my day-to-day wear tends to be mostly blues, blacks and whites. Not hugely interesting colourwise.

19) Snake, I think, they have fewer demands and I can't really handle any more pressure in my life than I already have. I would hate to be a bad bird mom... I would hate to be a bad snake mom too, but I think it's easier. Typically regarded as easier. I don't know.

20) Okay, so, it's like this right: medieval battle = will probably die. And it's also like this: behind city walls = safe, my friend and lover and confidant. And so, for very obvious reasons, it's gotta be a bow right? Like, I'm standing way out of the action and I'll shoot some arrows long range. But if that's against the spirit of the ask then it's gotta be some kind of polearm, like a halberd or something. Not even close. The advantage you get from distance is hard to overstate. Yeah, polearm for sure.

21) Mint choc chip, it's just such a classic. But also, I had a "london fog" flavour recently that was really compelling. It's just earl grey and vanilla but it's so good.

22) I'm more of a herbs person than a spices person. Like, hmm, I do really enjoy paprika and ginger and stuff like that, don't get me wrong. But it doesn't really hold a candle to the sheer universality of parsley or basil or oregano or mint. Herbs stay winning.

23) These days it's aptos because I am the worlds most basic bitch. And yes, I do still have a fondness for arial.

ask game that tells a lot about you.

how do you take your tea / coffee?

if you could be fluent in any language at the snap of your fingers, which one and why?

when do you wake up?

what was your favourite tv show as a kid?

summer or winter?

realist, optimist, or pessimist?

rain or sunshine?

how do you mark your spot in a book?

what are your favourite shoes like?

what would your non-perfume/cologne signature scent be?

if you were a dragon, what would you look like?

is your handwriting more print, cursive, or a mix?

what colour would your lightsaber be?

what is your defining personality trait?

roller skates or rollerblades or ice skates?

are you an only child? oldest / middle / youngest?

what would your superpower be? how would you use it?

what’s your clothing colour palette?

pet snake or pet bird?

weapon of choice in a medieval battle

the best ice cream flavour

what spices do you always use when cooking?

default font when typing?

[hotshotsxyz]

living lies and compromise

(8b spec) (buddie) (879 words) spoilers for 8x08! set a few days after eddie returns from texas and i still managed to make it angsty :) i bet you'll never guess what band i stole the title from

The knock on Buck’s door isn’t entirely unexpected. He doesn’t know what to do with it, though, doesn’t know how to exist in this strange liminal space where Eddie’s back but everything is still different.

A few months ago, Eddie would’ve used his key and walked straight in. A few months ago, Buck would’ve welcomed him with open arms. As it stands, he hesitates. Just for a moment, but—

It’s been a long time since Buck was hesitant with Eddie. He hates it.

He opens the door, and the smile he greets Eddie with feels brittle and fake.

“Hey, man,” Buck says, trying trying trying to make it come out right. He hears it, though—it doesn’t sound the same.

“Hey,” Eddie replies. He hoists a six pack in the air, and if Buck squints he can almost pretend this is exactly what it used to be. That they’re what they used to be.

“Come—come in,” Buck invites. He can’t remember the last time either of them waited for permission like this.

Eddie swallows visibly and steps into the loft for the first time since—god, he’s not actually sure. Right after Halloween, maybe?

“Thanks,” Eddie says. He drops the beer on the counter but makes no move to grab one.

Silence stretches between them. It’s not uncomfortable, necessarily, but it’s also not the kind that falls when everything that needs to be said is out in the open and everything left can wait.

“I thought you’d be happy to see me,” Eddie says finally, achingly quiet.

Buck shakes his head. “I am, of course I’m happy to see you,” he says.

“Please don’t do that.” Eddie’s eyes are wide and sincere, and if Buck’s not careful—

“Eddie,” he says, pleading, “I am, you have no idea.”

“Then why…” He gestures vaguely at the space between them. Why the distance? Why the reticence? Why aren’t they falling together the way they always have?

Buck bites his lip and steps into Eddie’s space to grab a beer for himself. He retreats, but he doesn’t go far.

He pops the cap off and sighs. “You left,” he says simply.

Eddie stumbles back against the counter. “But I came back,” he says. “And I thought you understood.”

Buck offers him a sad little smile. “I did. I do. But—coming back wasn’t the plan.”

“Did you… not want me to?” Eddie asks, small and a tiny bit incredulous.

“No,” Buck says, watching as Eddie’s disbelief turns to hurt. “I didn’t want you to come back. I needed you to.”

A wounded noise escapes Eddie’s lips. “I did,” he says.

“What about next time?” Buck asks. He wishes he didn’t sound so raw and ragged, but it hardly matters when Eddie’s the one listening.

“What?” He breathes, punched out like a cough.

Buck looks over Eddie’s shoulder, out the window and into the vague glow of night in Los Angeles. He takes a swig of his beer.

“I need you, Eddie, I still—the whole time you were gone it felt like—like I was missing a limb. And I can’t—I can’t keep needing you like this, not if I don’t get to keep you,” Buck admits. “So I just… I have to figure out how to stop. But I can’t do that when you’re here.”

“Don’t,” Eddie says desperately. “Please don’t. I’m here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. You have me.”

“I’m not sure I know how to survive believing that again,” Buck replies.

Eddie takes a step forward, close enough now that Buck can feel his breath ghosting across his skin.

“Look at me?” he asks.

Buck’s never been able to deny him much of anything.

“I kept looking for you. I’d see something funny and I’d turn, because I wanted to see your reaction. The front door would open, and I kept thinking you were going to be the one to walk through it. Hell, every time I went to the grocery store I wanted to call you to make sure everything we needed was on the list.”

“Eddie,” Buck breathes.

His hand drifts toward Buck’s shoulder, just like it always seems to, but this time it doesn’t stop. Eddie reaches until his fingers are resting against Buck’s neck and his thumb is slowly sweeping across his jaw.

“You need me?” he asks.

Buck nods.

“Good,” Eddie says in a rush of air. “Because I need you too, okay? So please don’t stop, please don’t pull away. I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to come with me.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to stay.”

Eddie’s shoulders slump. He takes the last step forward and pulls Buck into a tight hug.

There’s this thing Buck’s been trying not to look at. It’s been growing in size, taking up more and more of his field of vision since the moment Eddie left for Texas. It’s been fuzzy and hard to discern, difficult to ignore but easy to avoid putting a name to. As he melts into Eddie’s arms, though, everything comes into sharp relief.

It’s need. It’s want. It’s love.

And the thing is, Buck knows how this goes. But what the hell? It’ll be a privilege, getting his heart broken by Eddie Diaz.

He clings a little tighter.

[y3sterdaysproblem]

smoke and mirrors - chris sturniolo

chapter eight

summary: your best friend Matt backs out of plans you had made together, so you replace him with his brother. the only problem is the two of you can’t stand each other.

{enemies to lovers, fake dating}

includes : explicit language, fluff, smut(penetration, oral, fingering, etc.), angst if you squint, lots of bickering, slow burn

wc: 4.6k

“Chris!”

“Shut up!”

“I’m s-sorry!”

“Shut up!”

Chris grabs a handful of your hair from behind and slams your face into the pillow, muffling your moans that were definitely echoing through the rest of the house before placing his hand back on your waist.

You had snuck in, once again, through the back door that conveniently connected to Chris’s room, where you had spent most of your free time this last week since coming back from the wedding, and half of the time you came over, it ended up like this, getting your mouth covered somehow in a desperate attempt to keep you quiet to avoid his brothers hearing you, especially like this. Not that you minded, you loved when Chris got a little aggressive in bed, so maybe sometimes you got a little loud on purpose.

Chris’s hands were no doubt creating bruises in your sides where they gripped on, pulling you back towards him every time he thrust into you, your bodies slapping loudly in the otherwise silent room. Normally you guys had something playing on the tv, or at least his speaker, to drown out how loud you typically got, but today when you walked into his room, you may or may not have immediately ripped your shirt off once the door was closed, waggling your eyebrows suggestively. Chris got the hint and you guys wasted no time jumping into bed together.

Now, however long later, you were nearing the end of your session and unable to control the sounds coming out of your mouth, grateful Chris had turned you into the pillow to quiet down.

Chris delivered a final pump inside you, groaning as he came, your sounds finally quieting down, head turning back out of the pillow to suck in a deep breath.

“You are way too loud,” Chris grumbles. “You’re the one that wants to keep us a secret but you can’t shut the fuck up when you need to.”

“I’m sorry,” you whine. “You’re just like… magic or something.”

That rips a laugh out of Chris as he pulls out of you, letting your body flop onto the bed. “Magic or something, I like that.” He leans forward and hovers his body above your back, placing a soft kiss to your shoulder. “Hey, I-“

“Chris?!”

The sound of Matt yelling at the top of the stairs ripped you both out of your post-sex haze, eyes widening and staring at each other in shock. “Yeah?!” Chris yells back inconspicuously, both of you jumping up from the bed and scrambling to find your clothes. The sound of footsteps gets louder, panic setting into both of your chests as you guys realize you’re about to get caught. Chris definitely didn’t lock the door before you guys got started either.

“Fuck,” you whisper, gathering all of your clothes into your hands, knowing you won’t have time to put them back on.

“Bathroom!” Chris whisper-yells, pointing at the bathroom door connected to his room. You’re running into the bathroom as he’s ripping his comforter off his bed, soaked by your so called ‘party trick’. He’s only got sweatpants on, and he’s mumbling obscenities to himself as he sees the sheets soaked as well, ripping those off when the door swings open, revealing a confused and slightly worried Matt in the doorway.

“Are you okay?” You hear Matt’s voice through the bathroom door. His eyes are raking over Chris’s room which seems slightly in disarray, watching him stripping his sheets.

“Of course I’m okay, why wouldn’t I be okay? I’m fine. Why?” Chris babbles, standing up straight and placing his hands on his hips, slightly out of breath.

“Uh… I just heard, like, screaming and I didn’t know what it was and you weren’t answering your phone.” Matt says, still confused.

“Oh!” Chris forces out a laugh and waves a hand at his brother dismissively. “I was watching a movie, sorry.”

Matt nods, not fully believing him but not having any reason not to either. “Why are you stripping your bed?”

Chris looks around at the blankets now on the floor, pursing his lips. “My bed? Oh my blankets, yeah, I’m just.. gonna wash them.”

Matt looks really confused now, eyebrows surging towards his hairline. “You’re doing laundry?” He asks, to which Chris just nods in response. “Alright. Well as long as you’re okay, I’m just gonna go back in my room.” He turns around to leave, but stops in his tracks, turning just his head back to Chris. “Also, it fucking reeks in your room. You need an air freshener, bad.”

“You got it,” Chris agrees, turning to open his window. Once his bedroom door is shut, he walks to the bathroom door and opens it, revealing you fully clothed in your sweat shorts and tank top, cheeks a bright red color. He laughs at the sight of you, walking in to wrap his arms around your shoulders. “Why do you look like that?”

You stayed limp, hands at your sides. “He said it reeks!” You cry out, face pressed in Chris’s bare chest, making him laugh loudly.

“It just smells like sex in here, that’s all. He probably just couldn’t place it because he doesn’t think that’s what I’m doing in here. It’s not you that stinks.” Chris comforts you by rubbing his hands on your back sweetly, pressing his lips into the top of your head. “Although, the sheets almost got us caught, I didn’t realize it went through the blanket so he saw me ripping those off.”

You just groan even louder, still embarrassed. “I think I need to be celibate.” You mumble, to which Chris gasps.

“Absolutely not! You don’t get to show me what I’m missing all these years just to rip it away from me.”

-

“Chris,” you whisper, shaking the dead weight body next to you in bed. Silence. “Chris,” you whisper again, shaking him harder.

The boy next to you groans, pulling the blankets up to his chin and settling back into sleep quickly. You’re faster, though, refusing to let him ignore you.

“Chris,” you say in your normal tone, shaking him once more.

Chris turns his head, eyes barely cracked open as he stares at you in the almost pitch black room, the only thing illuminating your face being the moon in the sky coming through the window. “What?” He snaps, annoyed.

“I’m thirsty,” you tell him in a deadpan tone.

Chris blinks at you a few times, like he can’t believe the words that just came out of your mouth. “Are you serious?” He asks, voice groggy. “You woke me up to tell me you’re thirsty? Go get water.”

You pout at him, not wanting to get out of bed. “You go get me water.”

Chris turns back to his position facing away from you, getting comfortable once more. “You sound wide awake, I’m not doing that.”

You huff and throw the blankets off of yourself aggressively, standing up from the bed. It was almost three in the morning and you guys had been asleep for quite some time, but you woke up randomly and needed that middle of the night glass of water, you were just hoping Chris would get it for you.

You trek up the stairs, maybe a little louder than you should’ve considering the time, entering the dark kitchen. You’re filling up a glass from the fridge when a voice calling your name startles you out of your thoughts.

You whip your head around, free hand clutching your chest as you turn, eyes landing on Nick sitting on the couch staring back at you with wide eyes.

“Nick?” You question, heart racing in your chest.

Nick slowly stands up and walks over to you where you’re seemingly glued to the floor, unable to move. You think maybe if you stay completely still you’ll disappear into the background and Nick will be none the wiser. But of course you weren’t so lucky, and he kept his eyes locked on yours until he was standing right in front of you.

“What are you doing here? When did you get here?” He questions, hands flailing as he spoke, clearly confused.

You swallow thickly, looking around like something in the room would hand you the perfect lie on a silver platter. “Uh… I’m…” You make eye contact with Nick again, smiling uncomfortably.

“Did you just come from downstairs?” Nick questions again.

Fuck.

“Downstairs?” You ask dumbly. “Why would I be… downstairs?”

Nick crosses his arms as he stares you down, gaze becoming more intimidating. “That’s exactly what I’m wondering. Because the only thing downstairs besides our garage is Chris’s room, and there’s no way you’d be in Chris’s room, right?”

You laugh, shoving Nick’s shoulder playfully. “Chris’s room? No way, no, I just, uh… I forgot something in there so I just went and grabbed it real quick.”

Nick furrowed his brow, not believing you. “I’ve been in here for two hours, which means you’ve been downstairs for at least two hours, and it’s the middle of the night. Are you sleeping in Chris’s room?”

There’s absolutely no way you wiggle yourself out of this one. You’re caught red handed by the loudest mouth in the family, no doubt in your mind Matt would know by morning. He’s got you cornered, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Except lie, you can always lie.

“Fine, I was in his room. You want me to be honest?” You sigh like you’re about to pour your heart out to Nick, setting your glass down on the counter. “We’ve been trying to work on our relationship. We know how annoying it is for you and Matt to deal with so we’ve been trying. We were talking last night and I told him I was exhausted and he offered to let me sleep on the couch in his room so I took him up on it and decided to crash there and leave in the morning before you guys woke up but obviously you’ve caught me.”

Nick narrows his eyes at you while you speak, trying not decide if he believed you or not, but ultimately he nods his head slowly, taking in your words. “Okay,” he starts. “That’s good, I guess. You could’ve told us that instead of sneaking around like a weirdo, I thought you were sleeping with him or something.”

You gasp and cringe a bit over-dramatically. “What?! No! Ew! Chris?! No!”

Nick holds his hands up for you to stop talking. “Alright, dude. Chill. I’m going to bed.”

You nod and clear your throat, picking up your glass from the counter. “Sure. Goodnight.”

Once you’re alone in the kitchen you let out a sigh of relief, leaning on the table like you just ran a marathon.

That was way too close.

-

from: chris <3

bathroom

You looked down at your phone that illuminated your face from where you’re sat on the couch next to Matt, legs thrown over his as you guys shared a blanket. The four of you were sat in the living room binging a show on Netflix, all spaced out at different ends of the couch except for you and your best friend. Chris, however, had gotten up to go to the bathroom a few minutes ago, and you did not expect him to request your presence, especially when both of his brothers were around, but the thought of sneaking around so close to them had you slightly hot and bothered as you looked at your phone.

“Uh, Matt?” You start sheepishly, looking up at the boy who stared mindlessly at the tv.

“Huh?” He replied, not looking down at you.

You clear your throat nervously. “Can I lay in your bed? I’m not feeling so good, I think I want to go to sleep.”

Matt tears his eyes away from the television finally, looking down at you worriedly. “Are you okay?” He asks, bringing a hand up to your forehead.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you chuckle, grabbing his wrist. “Just tired I think.”

Matt nods and pulls the blanket off of you both, letting you up. “Of course you can lay in my bed. Let me know if you need anything.”

You smile and nod at him, standing up and heading towards his room. When you get there, though, you look back at Matt and Nick to make sure they’re not looking before you slip into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you.

Chris smiles at you from where he sits on the closed toilet seat, reaching his hands out to graze over your thighs as you walked up to him, your own hands landing on his shoulders. “You look way too good right now, I just had to tell you.”

You blush, a shy smile gracing your face. “I look the same as I always look,” you mumble quietly.

“I know.” Chris agrees, standing up from his seated position and walking forward, pinning you against the wall. “You have no idea how bad I want you right now.”

You lean your head up towards Chris so your lips are barely touching, sliding your hands up under his shirt. “It’s too risky,” you tell him, disappointment clear in your voice. “They’ll hear.”

Chris whines, hands resting on your waist pulling your body closer to his. “Can’t you just be quiet? Just this one time?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “That’s like asking a duck not to quack or something. It’s impossible. You’re too good for me to be quiet.”

“What if I kiss you the whole time to keep you quiet?” Chris bargains a little more.

Your hands trail down to Chris’s waistband of his sweatpants, thumbs looping underneath so you can start to pull them down, eyes still locked on his. “What if I just blow you? Since you’re so good at being quiet.”

You push his pants past his hips and let them fall to the ground, leaving him in just his tight, black Skims briefs that don’t leave much to the imagination, especially with his dick already straining against the fabric.

Chris hums in agreement, pressing his lips to yours for a moment before he pulls away, smirking at you. “I’m not gonna turn down a blowjob from the prettiest girl I know.”

You giggle quietly, still wanting to make sure the boys in the living room don’t hear you, slowly sinking to your knees in front of Chris, keeping eye contact with him the whole time you descended until you were face to face with his still clothed member, dropping your eyes down to it. “May I?” You ask sweetly, bringing a hand up to rub him through his underwear.

Chris breaths out a breath of relief and hums in agreement and you waste no time before grabbing the waistband of his underwear, pulling them down to join his sweatpants around his ankles. “I love your dick, Chris, you know that? It’s so good to me, never disappoints. I normally hate sucking dick but for you? It’s like the sexiest thing in the world to me. I love how you sound and how you pull my hair.” Your hand comes up to start stroking Chris languidly, thumb running over his slit every few times your hand comes back up to his tip.

Chris’s eyes are still on you, watching as you pleasure him with your hand, genuinely feeling like this would be enough for him to get off. Just the sight of you has his skin buzzing at all times, especially now that he knows what you sound like, what you feel like. He couldn’t get enough of you. “You have no idea what you do to me, do you?” He breathes out, hands reaching out to brace himself on the wall.

Your eyes shoot up to meet his for a moment, smiling at him before you open your mouth and guide his dick onto your tongue that lay flattened out, slapping it on the pink muscle before closing your lips around him, eliciting a quiet moan from his mouth.

He’s definitely quieter than you would be, but the thing you guys forgot to be mindful of was how long you were in the bathroom. It’s already been a few minutes of you in there together, and Chris was already in there for about five minutes before you joined him, so the time was ticking up, and you both were none the wiser, only focused on each other.

You had been enthusiastically sucking Chris off for a few minutes, hand stroking the base of his dick that didn’t fit in your mouth while your tongue trailed over the first few inches, eyes shut as you focused on his pleasure, making sure it was one of the best blowjobs he ever had, when there was a soft knock at the door, Matt’s voice ringing from the other side and ripping you both away from the trance you were in.

“Chris?” He calls, concerned. “You okay in there?”

This was terrible timing for Chris, as he had just started to feel his orgasm building in his stomach, his dick getting tenser and breath getting caught in his throat. You didn’t let up, though, just kept going and trying to bring him over the edge, finding the idea of someone just on the other side of that door, someone that had no idea what was going on and was just innocently checking on his brother.

Chris sucked in a breath and tried to even out his voice, eyebrows still furrowed in pleasure as he spoke. “Y-yeah, I’m okay, sorry, just on my phone,” he called back, sounding surprisingly convincing.

“Oh, okay,” Matt replies, but you don’t hear his footsteps leaving.

Chris turns to stare at the door, breath getting choppier and hips starting to stutter and push his dick father into your mouth, almost making you gag.

“Are you almost done? I gotta take a piss, dude.” Matt speaks up again, clearly still right outside the door.

Chris throws his head back and pulls one hand from the wall, grabbing a handful of your hair to keep your head in place as he starts to thrust his hips, now fully fucking your mouth as he neared his climax.

“I’m- fuck, I’m coming,” he replies, a double entendre unbeknownst to Matt as Chris cums in your mouth, warm liquid sliding down your throat and you accept it happily, swallowing around him as he breathes shakily, hips coming to a halt.

“Uh, okay,” Matt replies, finally walking away from the bathroom and back to the living room.

You slowly slide your lips off of Chris’s dick, biting your bottom lip as you rise back to your feet, face to face with him again. “That was so hot,” you whisper giddily, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Chris huffs, still trying to slow his heart rate. “That was terrifying,” he whispers back, but kisses you anyway, knowing it’s the last kiss he’ll get of the night.

-

It had become pretty routine for you to sneak into the triplets’ house at this point, almost exclusively coming in through the back door in Chris’s room where you would spend the rest of the night until you went home or spent the night, and it quickly became your favorite part of the day.

Chris had gone from the person you spoke to the least in your life to being your favorite person to be around, always laughing and smiling when you were with him, despite there not being a label on your relationship yet. However, you didn’t mind the lack of label quite yet, you both knew what this was and what you both wanted, you just didn’t want to rush slapping a name on it and making it so serious.

Tonight you both had decided to watch a movie together and cuddle up in bed, not worried about the fact that his brothers were home as they typically were but their rooms were so far away it almost didn’t matter how loud you guys got. Almost.

You’re laid in bed under Chris’s blankets on your back with him laid beside you on his side so he could face you, hand running underneath your shirt sweetly as his eyes trailed over your face. “You’re so fucking pretty, you know that?” He tells you quietly, causing a blush to arise on your cheeks.

You turn your head to meet his eyes, not responding. You didn’t really know what to say to that.

“I’m serious,” he continued, scooting closer to you. “I could look at you forever and never get bored. I love… everything about you.”

Those words made your heart race and almost made you want to cry. It wasn’t quite a confession of love just yet, not quite the three words that danced along your own tongue, but it felt so close that it still gave you a similar rush, the kind that made you want to say fuck it and tell everyone you knew about your newfound relationship. You couldn’t believe how sweet this boy was, how tender and caring, how many affirmations he would whisper to you out of the blue, how attentive he was. It all made it so easy to fall for him.

You still stayed quiet, but you reached your hand up to wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him down into a soft kiss. He leaned down over you, still running his hand over your soft skin under your shirt as your lips meshed together perfectly.

But nothing was perfect in this household, and you’ve known that for years, and you definitely should not have been shocked when Chris’s door flies open, his brothers standing on the other side. You’re hoping your instincts kick in quicker than they can make out your face, grabbing the blanket and pulling it fully over your head, hiding your identity.

Chris whips his head to look at the now open door, Matt and Nick staring back at him in shock. “What the fuck? Who is that?” Matt points to the bed, eyes wide.

Chris just looks down at the lump under his sheets, then back at his brother, shrugging his shoulders. “No one,” he said calmly.

Nick pushes past Matt with a smirk, nodding his head like he had all the answers. “I know exactly who that is, Matt.”

Matt turns to him, still confused. “You do?”

Nick nods again, raising his eyebrows towards Chris. “It’s that girl you went on a date with a few nights ago, isn’t it?”

Chris’s eyes widen, and your heart drops to your stomach. There’s no way, right? There’s no way Chris would hurt you like that, especially so soon. He wouldn’t go behind your back to see somebody else, would he?

“What?” Chris spats out. “What are you talking about, dude?”

Nick laughs, shaking his head. “So not the girl from the date? Is it the girl you’ve been fucking the last few weeks then? What’s her name, Maya?”

Maya, you think. That name is way too familiar.

“I haven’t been fucking Maya,” Chris defends, voice shaky.

The girl. The one he had taken all the photos for, the one he said was too clingy and he wanted to get rid of. He was still sleeping with her?

You swallow thickly, heart racing at every word being spoken. You felt like if you tried to stand, your knees would be too weak to hold you up, your hands shaking where they held the sheets.

In a split second decision, you brace yourself and pull the cover off of your face, sitting up slowly next to Chris. His brothers gasp at the sight of you, Nick screeching out your name in confusion. However, they’ve become background noise as your eyes lock with Chris’s, your own welling with tears uncontrollably. “Chris?” You whisper, lip quivering. “Is that true?”

Chris opens his mouth to speak, but closes it quickly as he realizes his brothers are still in the room. This was the most uncomfortable he’s ever felt in his life, feeling like everyone was turning to him for answers and his mind was reeling, not knowing what the right answer was for any of it, not wanting to hurt anybody’s feelings in the process.

You, though. You took his hesitation to speak as an answer, and a small, broken squeak left your lips as you got out of the bed, grabbing your sweater off of his couch. “Are you fucking serious?” You spat, slipping your shoes on next. “You’re still fucking somebody else when I’m not around? I knew this shit was too good to be true, you really are a fucking asshole, aren’t you?” Tears flowed freely down your face now as you spoke to him, his brothers standing in shock in complete silence, not knowing if what they walked in on was real or a hallucination.

“Wait, no, I’m not fucking with anybody,” Chris says, clambering off the bed towards you, hands grabbing your arms. You shook him off though, pushing him away by his chest.

“Don’t fucking touch me. Let’s just make our lives easier and go back to hating each other,” you tell him, staring up at him with red eyes, noticing his own starting to gloss over.

He’s silent, words caught at his throat as he watches you unfold in front of him, not knowing how he could save this in the moment. “Please,” he chokes out, a small tear sliding down his cheek. “Please don’t leave, it’s not true.”

You want to give in so badly, but you know Chris’s history, you know how much he fucks around and how many girls he’s used to talking to and you feel stupid for thinking he’d stop doing all of that for you. You actually feel like a fucking fool for thinking he’d change for you.

You shake your head at him and turn around, grabbing the handle of the door to let yourself out. Before you leave, though, you turn and look at Matt and Nick who are stuck to the floor in shock, mouths hanging slightly open as they watch the exchange. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you.”

You pull the door open and leave, shutting it quietly behind you as you start to walk to your car, soft sobs leaving your lips as you get further away from their house.

Chris stands there for a few moments staring at the door, before he turns around and glares at Nick, rage clear on his face despite the tears in his eyes. “Are you fucking serious?!” He screams, walking up to him and grabbing him by the collar, pushing him back a few steps until they reach the wall, Nick’s back pressed up against it. “Learn how to read a fucking room! You just lost me the girl I’ve been in love with for the last three fucking years, all because you don’t know when to stop talking!”

Nick’s eyes were wide as he grabbed Chris’s wrists, trying to get him to let go of him. “I’m sorry!” He squeaked out, staring into his brother’s eyes that spoke a thousand words.

Matt came up to them and placed a hand on Chris’s shoulder, trying to remain the calm one in the situation. “Hey, let him go, he didn’t know,” he said softly, rubbing up and down his arm when Chris finally let go of Nick, turning his younger brother to face him.

Chris’s eyes finally softened when he looked at Matt, knowing that if there was anyone here that cared for you as much as he did, it was Matt. “I love her,” he whispered, finally processing the words that he said out loud for the first time.

Matt nods at Chris and pulls him into a hug, rubbing his back. “I know, man. It’s okay, she’ll be fine, she’ll come around, she’s just upset right now, trust me. Once you explain everything she’ll come back to you.”

Chris hugs his brother back, hands gripping on the back of his shirt as he took shaky breaths in, still terrified he was going to lose you forever even though he barely got to have you.

“I need her.”

-

a/n: one more chapter for real this time gang

taglist

@liiixsturniolos @madelinesturn @mattslolita @ifwdominicfike @sophand4n4 @chris-hallelujah @sophsturns @ariana2saucyy @045696 @scorpioosworld @byhrxb @vickytaa @taelovesmattsturniolo @secret-sturniolo @theboredknightcat-blog @slvtf0rchr1s @flouqissss @gabri3la-sturns @delilahsturniolo @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @vanillsstuff @sturnlsstuff @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @mattsbrat @mattsfavoritestar @dominicfikeenthusiast @certified-sturniolo @chrisslollipop @mattsside @sofiaaguilaxx @idrk2292 @dylansfavwife @pvssychicken @sturnl0ve @sturnioloangelxoxo @afilmbykay @sofia-is-a-sturniolo-triplet-fan @r0s3luvr @milasturniolo @mattsdillion @birkinbratsworld @sturnburbs @aria003 @poppingmypussy4chris @victoryouactuallydidthis @seluky10 @annsx03 @ouchywow @sluttybitchformattsturniolo

[escapisttt]

a lot of this was supposed to be posted for redacted kinktober but. college got in the way. i’m ovulating let me have this. it’s very long OOPS WHO LET ME OUT OF MY CAGE.

NSFW LMAO

lasko has a puppy kink. he likes being told he’s a good boy and craves to be of service to dear. would do anything to please them and do it well; it’s what turns him on the most. leash and collar. god, he’d lick the fucking dirt from their shoes if it made them smile down at him. yeah perhaps him and ash could bond over this. the difference between them though is that during those moments, lasko will never goof off or make jokes meanwhile ash is a bit of a brat. lasko would never disobey dear, but ash likes to push baabe’s buttons so that they “force” him into submission.

milo uses “good girl/good boy/good pet” hnnnngghh. as well as “pretty girl/pretty boy/pretty thing” oh my god. he’s so good at praise.

milo is usually pretty physically rough with it, going fast and deep, but you wouldn’t know that if you were just listening to his voice. sometimes while he’s absolutely fucking sweetheart’s brains out, he’s right in their ear speaking so softly and encouragingly with soooo much praise. “that’s right baby, ‘m i doin’ it right?” when he KNOWS he’s doing it right, he just wants to hear their confirmation. “yeah, lemme touch you, you like that? tell me you like that.” he looooves making sweetheart tell him how they’re feeling, and when they inevitably confirm that it feels good, he nods and doubles down. he craves good feedback, it’s his praise kink. “awwww i know it feels good baby, ‘m gonna make it feel even better.” it’s not condescending, it’s confidence. he knows what he’s good at, and he wants to get better. he’s a huge pleaser.

this is self indulgent if you aren’t into daddy kinks don’t read this one lmao. but daddy milo is soooo real to me. “was that too much? aw ‘m sorry baby, daddy’ll make it feel better. shh shh it’s okay, daddy’s sorry…” OUUUGGHHHH. “daddy wants what you want baby, tell‘im what you want. c’mon, be good and use your words, daddy wants to hear you,” i can’t do this anymore RELEASEEE MEEEEEEE. milo does it tastefully okay he’s not one of the weird ones TRUST ME.

milo who subs occasionally. to put a number on it, about 10% of the time. it may not be his natural default, but when the time is right, it’s so right. it happens one of two ways: either milo had a really rough, tiring day and needs to be coaxed into being cared for, or his sweetheart had been relentlessly teasing him. he’s such a brat at first, rejecting every dominant advance from sweetheart with a performative cocky demeanor, but it breaks down quickly enough when they touch him in the right places.

porter is such a masochist, but not in a traditionally submissive way. god, he loves when treasure slaps his face, yanks his hair, and scratches his back deeply on purpose. he likes being choked a little sometimes as well. but when all of these things are enacted on him, he smiles. he’s got a cocky grin and he’s nodding emphatically, his hips pistoning, almost twitching, even if he’s not inside of treasure. he’s groaning and his eyes are rolling back, but he’s not submitting. he’s daring them to do more, knowing that the only one whose limits being tested are theirs: how much are they able to take of porter when he’s losing himself to the pain? the more intense the pain, the harder he fucks treasure. basically porter is saying without saying, “the more you hurt me, the more i’ll pleasure you.” treasure essentially controls their own pleasure through him; if they want him to go faster, they dig their nails into his back or his scalp or his hips. and as soon as they let go, he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and eases back down to a slower pace. and porter knows what they’re doing. he likes it. he likes that they have that level of control over him, but he’s absolutely not a whimpering mess like lasko.

david does not like using toys or bondage material. that’s his job. he’s very animalistic in the sense that he does not want anything, even objects, interfering with his time with his mate. he’s the type to get jealous of a vibrator or any sex toy. not because he’s worried about it doing a better job than him, but because it was the thing pleasuring his mate and not him. if his angel is in the mood, he wants to know so he can take care of it. an unspoken rule in the shaw house is that neither of them are allowed to touch themselves. david sticks to this rule through and through, but if angel is caught in the action, the punishment is pretty intense, meaning overstimulation. david is usually quite rough and is already a lot to take even when he’s going slow, so him when he’s angry can be… a lot. he’s got angel on their tummy in the prone bone position and is absolutely laying into them, growling in their ear with genuine irritation. “you should’ve told me… why didn’t you tell me? is this not cutting it for you? you had enough of this cock? i thought you liked it. thought you liked being full of me, not a piece of fucking plastic.” yeah he’s angy. and he’s not being mean to them, he just wants to prove to them and remind them how good he makes them feel. they shouldn’t want anything else. and when angel does it because they think david is too busy for them? yeah he would stay up during all hours of the night to prove them wrong. “how do you think like that, hm? you think i’d put work above this? god angel, i do everything to come home to you, give my time to you. you don’t get that? let me keep showin’ you….”

azmidi who literally nuts on a lot of phone call role plays with sweetie (it’s canon yall hear the way his breath shakes all the time). just hearing their pretty voice, god he feels his pants getting tighter (if he wears those lol). he demands they tell him about their day even though they know he knows exactly how their day went. it feeds into that delicious fear of stalking, the idea that their every movement is being tracked and scrutinized and constantly mulled over. he wants to listen to them talk while he palms himself, nodding along with their version of events, happy that they’re being obedient and not lying to him. he doesn’t have to take himself out of his pants, though he likes to most times. he can come without that, just dry humping into his hand and pressing the phone to his ear, letting out the occasional moan. he knows sweetie can hear him, and if they show signs of getting flustered, it only makes him harder. “you know what you’re doing to me, right? you—you know… oh god…. hey, don’t stop. don’t stop talking. you’ve been doing such a good job, sweetie. let me hear you.”

william “eye contact” solaire. hngggnhnnhg. let’s imagine he’s got a long term partner, right? he is suuuuuuch a gentle lover. he’s not about rough sex very much, he’s too sophisticated lol. no, the actual reason he isn’t too keen on rough sex is because to him, his lover is a deity; an angel that walks the earth, the image of divine perfection. he isn’t going to treat them like a ragdoll, he worships the air they breathe for gods sake. he doesn’t see himself nearly worthy enough to be their companion, their equal. he gives them everything and then apologizes because it just isn’t enough. when he gave them their crown? “i hope you like it. the jewels are the finest i could find of course, for you. i—i perhaps could have gotten larger ones… i apologize. oh, but the weight may be a bit much for your neck… oh dear.” yeah this man is rich but he fucking won’t be if his partner doesn’t stop him from spoiling them. but i’m ranting, this is supposed to be about sex lmfao please ask me to make a post ab william i will do it so fast. this aspect of himself shows especially when he and his partner are intimate. he’s on his knees a lot of the time, staring up at his lover with worshipful reverence. he pleads in his soft spoken voice, his eyes fluttering shut as they put their hand on his cheek. “my love, what would you have me do for you? ask me anything.” and he means anything.

[foolishaetherguardian]

“… and be sure to report any further unusual tectonic activity. Dismissed.” Bats finally finished the report. Why was he here? Right the first five minutes had been about the possibility of magic having been used. This really should have been an email he just ignored or left Zatanna to deal with. Bunny girl was better at feigning interest than he was after all. “John, Zatanna if you would both remain.”

Damn the brat. Why did the inter dimensional brat decide today to bug him? John knew he could pop up at literally any point in time like it was normal. It was revenge. For what offense he didn’t know. Or maybe he hadn’t even done it yet. Stupid fifth dimensional traveling.

“… stantine. CONSTANTINE.” “Bugger off.”

“John.”

Shit. Okay first names were bad with the cape. Like find a new existence and disappear off the face of the planet bad.

“Right sorry mate just, distracted.”

“The fact that an eldritch horror from who knows where was hanging off you like a scarf actually had some effect on you? You must be getting sentimental in your old age.”

“Love we both know that if it was weighing on me I wouldn’t be around to talk. You wouldn’t be either.” John had some respect for Zatanna. She was a good mage. Understood the proper importance of a cigarette and a blokes need to keep up appearances. Usually at least. “Got a cig?”

“Those will kill you someday.” The disapproval and sarcasm rolled off her tongue as smooth as the honeyed lies the lass would use with magic. John wanted to quip back but settled for a death glare as the big bad bat threatened to perfect his own death glare on him. Why did the bat have to be such a stickler? Rules rules rules. Rules don’t save lives when they shackle you from good. Damnit. Why were all the big dogs so damn… good?

“Hrm.”

Right the bat. The bat that right now probably wanted to string him up by his ankles and let the archdemons sort out how to cut him into nice even thirds if his damned rules didn’t stop him. Why did he have a cigarette?

“Uh bats?”

“Hrm.”

Just as loquacious as always that cape. Keep that thought inside. Definitely keep the thought inside. Especially as you take that stupidly expensive cigarette.

“Thanks. I could really…” The cig was hard. It was candy. The bat almost had an actual expression under the cowl, there was the slightest tightness of the lips. A smirk. He was smirking. ”You know what? Fuck you.” The fake cig crunched in his mouth. It actually tasted pretty good. Not that he was going to ever let anyone know that. “I’m going home. Hopefully to eat my leftovers. The brat isn’t a threat. If you want to know just ask the lass about the between or the Infinite. Or better yet go ask Grundy about The Protector.”

God he needed a drink. And a smoke. And maybe another drink. John was pretty sure that his food was gone too.

“How old is he?”

Dammit lass. Why did you always know just what to say? “14…. I think.” John replied stopping at the door to the stupid tech magic tubes that Supes had insisted on. “He’s some other world’s hero.”

The lass had to think on that one. Not every day you meet an alternate. “Is he… okay?”

“He’s doing alright. Insists his parents couldn’t understand though, so he always carries it alone. Protects people that way, or so he says.” John finally let himself laugh. It was a fitting description of most of the capes who worked with the league. And himself. If he was generous. Pity he couldn’t afford to be generous with himself anymore. “I’m just his fallback. And debit card.”

“It would do him some good to meet others. If you can invite him to the next picnic.”

John blinked slowly. Then turned. The Bat had a smile. A proper smile. Soft and understanding. How? The man was almost certainly just a mass inhuman muscle and brains with the bare minimum speech capability bundled into a bat suit. “I’ll make sure to offer it. But he’s still weird about his… abilities.”

“I’ll get him added to the budget.”

“Budget?” Now this was sounding promising. While the league did pay it wasn’t much more than rent for the closet he used to access the house.

“For young heroes or metas under league guidance. One of the points Bruce Wayne insisted on when he decided to find us officially. So they have a safe place.”

“I’m a safe place?” John’s incredulity was finally outweighing his paranoia. A hefty feat considering even he considered himself to be 90% paranoia by volume.

“Sure sounds like it mate.” Only the lass could say something so damning like it was a good thing.

“{Guess so}” Why did he understand the grunt? Are the grunts some secret dad cape speak? Why was he suddenly qualified for…. Nope. Nope. He’s going home. Sleep liquor and maybe a bit of tele. No he wasn’t tearing up. And no one could see his face to tell you otherwise.

Danny has met Constantine.

Constantine has a coat.

Danny regularly pops out of it to say hi or when Constantine calls him for something.

Nobody in the JL knew this, so when Danny popped right on out in the middle of a meeting.

Well.

[m4rv3l-girl]

Could you do a request based off this song

https://youtu.be/8ofCZObsnOo?si=yGD6SMOL25REbasf

Like it's bucky pov about finding the reader hiding a serious injury after a mission and passing out in the bathroom with the door locked

I need major angst then super fluffy Ending🙏

Hold On

Bucky x Y/N

Warnings: Angst. Injury. Mentions of violence. Blood. Super fluffy ending. 😉

The quinjet’s hum was steady, almost comforting, as Bucky slumped into the seat across from Y/N. His eyes were drawn to her like a magnet. She sat stiffly, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, staring blankly at the wall as if lost in thought. Normally, she’d be cracking jokes with Sam or recounting some detail of the mission. Tonight, though, she was silent.

Bucky frowned.

“You okay, Doll?” he asked softly, keeping his voice low enough that only she could hear.

Y/N blinked, startled by his voice. For a second, her expression softened, the corners of her lips tugging upward in a weak smile. “Yeah, just tired.”

It wasn’t a lie, exactly, but it wasn’t the truth either.

Bucky’s frown deepened. He studied her face—the way her skin seemed paler than usual, the tightness around her eyes. His gaze dropped to her hands, noticing how her fingers twitched slightly, almost like she was fighting to keep them steady.

“You sure?” he pressed. “You don’t look—”

“I said I’m fine, Bucky.” Her tone wasn’t sharp, but it was firm enough to make him pause.

Bucky leaned back, his jaw tightening as he nodded. “Alright. If you say so.”

The rest of the ride passed in tense silence.

By the time the quinjet touched down, Y/N was the first to unbuckle and make a beeline for the exit. Bucky followed, watching her retreating figure with growing unease.

She was limping—subtle, but there. His enhanced senses caught the slight drag of her right foot, the tension in her posture as though she was bracing against pain.

Still, she didn’t say a word.

“Y/N, wait up,” he called, his long strides easily catching up with her.

She stopped but didn’t turn to face him. “I just need a shower and some sleep, Buck. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The words felt final, a wall thrown up between them. Before he could argue, she slipped inside her room and closed the door softly behind her.

Bucky stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door. A knot of worry twisted in his chest, but he forced himself to respect her space. If she wanted to talk, she’d come to him—right?

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Inside her room, Y/N leaned heavily against the door, her breaths shallow and uneven. The adrenaline that had kept her upright on the mission was gone now, leaving behind searing pain radiating from her side.

When she reached the mirror, she caught sight of herself—pale, gaunt, and shaking. Her hand trembled as she gripped the hem of her shirt, pulling it up just enough to expose the wound.

The gash was deep, running diagonally across her right side. The edges of the cut were jagged, torn by shrapnel rather than a clean blade, and blood oozed steadily from the open flesh. A makeshift bandage she'd tied during the mission was soaked through, crimson seeping into the fabric and dripping sluggishly down her side to pool on the tiled floor.

“Shit,” she hissed through clenched teeth, her head spinning. The room seemed to tilt and blur as she fumbled for the first aid kit.

She tore open a packet of antiseptic wipes, her fingers clumsy and slick with blood. When she pressed the wipe to the wound, a whimper escaped her lips, the searing pain like fire licking at her nerves.

“I can do this,” she muttered, grabbing the first aid kit from the cabinet.

Blood continued to flow, the bright red mingling with the darker, dried streaks on her skin. The sight made her stomach churn, but she bit down on her lip, determined to clean and close the wound herself.

But her body had other plans. As she reached for the bandages, her vision tunneled, black spots dancing before her eyes. The world spun violently, and her knees buckled, sending her crashing to the floor.

Her head struck the cold tiles, and for a brief moment, everything went still. Blood seeped from the wound in a slow, relentless trickle, pooling around her as her body lay limp and unmoving.

She knew she should have told Bucky, or at least let the medics on the jet take a look. But the thought of admitting she couldn’t handle it, of being a burden, made her stomach churn.

She didn’t want him to hear.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Bucky couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

He paced his own room, running a hand through his hair as his mind replayed every moment of the mission. Y/N had been reckless—throwing herself into the thick of the fight, taking risks she normally wouldn’t.

And now, the way she’d brushed him off...

He stopped, listening carefully. His enhanced hearing picked up faint sounds coming from her room—a muffled groan, the clatter of something hitting the floor.

His stomach dropped.

“Y/N?” He was at her door in seconds, knocking firmly. “Y/N, you okay in there?”

No response.

“Doll, open the door.” His voice was sharper now, edged with fear.

Still nothing.

The sound of something heavy hitting the floor was the last straw. Bucky’s heart pounded as he threw his weight against the door, the lock giving way under his strength.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

Y/N was crumpled on the bathroom floor, her shirt stained red with blood. The first aid kit lay scattered around her, its contents unused. Blood was everywhere—on her shirt, smeared across her fingers, and pooling around her side where the wound continued to bleed. It wasn’t a slow trickle anymore but a steady, terrifying flow that made his heart stop beating.

“Y/N!”

Bucky dropped to his knees beside her, his metal hand gently brushing her hair away from her face. She was pale, her breathing shallow, her lips tinged blue.

“No, no, no. Come on, Doll, keep your eyes open for me.” His voice cracked as he pressed his Vibranium hand against the wound, trying to stem the bleeding.

Her eyelids fluttered, a weak groan escaping her lips.

“Buck... don’t...,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

“Don’t what? Save you?” His laugh was bitter, panicked. “You’re bleeding out, and you want me to not help? What the hell were you thinking?”

Tears blurred his vision as he worked, his hands trembling. He couldn’t lose her.

“Hold on for me, okay? Just hold on.”

He grabbed his phone with his free hand, calling Sam.

“I need help. Now,” he barked into the phone, rattling off their location.

The minutes stretched into an eternity as Bucky carried Y/N from her room to the medical wing. His steps were quick but measured, careful not to jostle her more than necessary. Her head lolled against his shoulder, and her breathing was so faint it was barely perceptible.

“Stay with me, Doll,” he muttered under his breath, his voice thick with fear. “You don’t get to do this to me. You hear me?”

He reached the med bay just as Sam burst through the door, his expression shifting from confusion to horror in an instant.

“What happened?” Sam demanded, rushing to help as Bucky laid Y/N gently on the exam table.

“She hid it,” Bucky growled, his jaw clenched. “She got hurt on the mission and didn’t say a damn thing.”

Sam swore under his breath, grabbing gloves and supplies. “Alright, let’s stop the bleeding first. Get me that gauze!”

Bucky moved without thinking, his hands steady even though his mind was a storm of panic. He handed Sam what he needed, stepping back only when absolutely necessary.

As Sam worked, Bucky’s eyes never left Y/N’s face. Her lips moved weakly, forming words he couldn’t quite hear.

“Doll?” He leaned closer, his metal hand brushing against hers. “I’m right here.”

Her eyelids fluttered open just a fraction, and she looked at him through the haze of pain. “Bucky... I’m sorry.”

His chest tightened painfully. “No, don’t you dare apologize. Just focus on staying awake, okay? You can yell at me later if you want, but you’re not leaving me. Not like this.”

Hours passed before Sam finally turned to him with a relieved sigh. “She’ll be okay,” he said, clapping a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “She lost a lot of blood, but we got it under control. She just needs rest.”

Bucky nodded, the tension in his body easing only slightly. He sank into the chair beside Y/N’s bed, his elbows resting on his knees as he dropped his head into his hands.

Guilt gnawed at him like a living thing. How hadn’t he noticed sooner? He’d seen the way she limped, the way she avoided his gaze. He should have pushed harder, should have made her tell him the truth.

“Bucky.”

Her voice was hoarse, but it snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see her eyes open, glassy but focused on him.

“You’re awake,” he breathed, his relief palpable. He reached for her hand, holding it gently between his own.

She smiled weakly. “You look terrible.”

A choked laugh escaped him, half amusement, half tears. “You’re one to talk, Doll. Scared the hell out of me.”

Her smile faded as her gaze dropped to their intertwined hands. “I didn’t want to worry you. Or the team.”

“Worry me?” His voice rose, but he quickly softened it when she flinched. “Y/N, you almost died. Do you have any idea what that would’ve done to me?”

Tears welled in her eyes, and she turned her head away. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

Bucky’s heart broke at the words. He cupped her face gently, turning her to look at him.

“You could never be a burden,” he said firmly. “You’re my world, Doll. I need you to promise me something—no more hiding. No matter how bad it is, you tell me. Okay?”

Her tears spilled over as she nodded. “Okay.”

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

The following days were a blur of soft words and quiet moments. Bucky barely left Y/N’s side, fussing over her despite her protests.

“Bucky, I’m fine,” she insisted as he hovered, adjusting the pillows around her for the third time that day.

“Humor me,” he said with a small smile, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead.

Y/N sighed, but the soft smile tugging at her lips betrayed her protests. “You’re hovering, you know that?” she teased, though her voice was still a little raspy.

“Damn right I’m hovering,” he shot back, brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead. “I almost lost you, Doll. I’m entitled to a little hovering.”

She tilted her head, her eyes softening as she studied him. The crease between his brows hadn’t quite smoothed out, and there was still a flicker of worry in his blue eyes. “You look more stressed than I do,” she murmured.

“Well, you gave me a few new gray hairs,” he quipped, though his smile widened.

Y/N reached up, resting her hand against his cheek. “I’m okay, Buck. You don’t have to keep treating me like I’m made of glass.”

His gaze softened, and he leaned into her touch. “You’re not made of glass, but you’re my Doll. And I don’t care how strong you are—I’m always gonna take care of you.”

The words hung between them, warm and reassuring. Y/N chuckled, her voice light but affectionate. “Guess I can’t argue with that.”

“That’s right,” he said, his tone mock-stern. “Now, lay back and let me spoil you a little. I’ll even make you soup later—though I make no promises it’ll taste like Sam’s.”

She laughed, a sound that made his chest ache in the best way. “If it’s terrible, I’ll let you know,” she teased.

Bucky’s lips twitched into a grin as he leaned down to kiss her forehead again, lingering just a moment longer this time. “You’d better,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t want you hiding anything from me ever again.”

Y/N nodded, her smile softening. “No more hiding. I promise.”

“Good,” he said, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders. “Now, get some rest, Kitten. You’ve got a whole lot of recovery ahead, and I’m not letting you skip a single step.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, a contented sigh escaping her lips. For the first time in days, the weight of guilt and worry lifted, replaced by a warm, comforting certainty. With Bucky beside her, she knew she’d be 

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

As she recovered, the weight of what happened began to lift, replaced by something lighter, something hopeful.

One evening, as they sat curled up on the couch, Y/N rested her head on Bucky’s shoulder.

“I don’t deserve you,” she murmured, her voice tinged with emotion.

Bucky wrapped his arm around her, pulling her closer. “You deserve the world, Doll. And I’m gonna spend all of my life proving it to you.”

——————————————————————————————————

Hi anonymous reader! I found this really interesting to write because I have a Bucky playlist (Yes, I’m that obsessed) and this song is on it! So, I hope you think this captured the vibe like I thought it did, and enjoy. 🫶

Requests Open!

[spidermans-l-o-v-e-r]

Hailee Steinfeld

Pairing: Eddie Diaz x Reader

Word count: 2.1k

Notes: Yall see what I did with that title?? Her song Starving? Hahahahaha me

Eddie had had one too many…okay, maybe 12 too many—but who was counting? The nice bartender loaded him into a Lyft with the only address he’d managed to babble out and sent him on his way. 

He’s lying across the backseat when the car stops, nearly sending him rolling off onto the floor but he manages to stay snuggled into the surprisingly clean upholstery. He can hear voices outside the car but he doesn’t care, he’s comfy. He’s nuzzling his face into his jacket/pillow when the door opens.

“Hey big guy,” You say sweetly, rubbing his thigh and Eddie perks up a little 

“Y/N?” He sits up and looks around slowly, first around the car, his entire head moving as he trails his eyes up your body.

“Yeah it’s me, you wanna come inside?” 

“Why are you at my house” He mumbles and you blink for a moment because you’re not at his house… he was sent to yours.

“Are you sure you have the right address?” you ask the man who volunteered to help Eddie get inside.

“Yup. Wouldn’t stop talking about you either” 

You managed to coax him out, and he fell right into “Jake’s”arms. You grabbed his feet, and you both carried him in and straight back to your bedroom. As soon as he’s hanging somewhat off the bed, you turned to Jake, panting lightly.

“Thanks so much” you reach for your purse “How much does he owe you?” 

“He can just pay from the app tomorrow, it’s fine. I’m just happy I could help”

“Well, you have to at least me tip you” You pull out your wallet and he shakes his head, putting his hands out as you both walk back to your front door.

“Nope, no way, I’m not accepting any money from a lady. Besides, you’re going to have your hands full tonight, I can already tell. You’re gonna want him to tip you” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You’ll see!” 

You watch as he gives you a wave and drives off, okay… whatever that meant. 

You walk back to the bedroom and Eddie is standing… sort of. He’s staring at the mirror in front of him, an irritated glare on his face.

“Eddie? You okay?” You ask cautiously and he turns to you.

“Do you always have men over?” He scoffs as he eyes the mirror up and down. You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a breath. 

“Eddie that’s a mirror. Why don’t you get back in bed huh? I can bring you some water.” 

“I’m not thirsty” He’s pouting, and you have to bite your lip to keep from giggling at him. 

“You sure?“ you reach out and put a hand on his arm and he stares at it, he stares so long you think you’ve offended him, but when you go to move away he takes your hand into both of his, pulling you closer.

“I’m sure, don’t- don’t leave okay?” 

You blanch for a second, staring at his pleading face before you nod slowly.

“I’ll stay… it’s okay baby boy I’ll stay” 

You watch him absolutely melt when you say that, his cheeks burn bright as he rolls his eyes and goes to move away from you.

“D-don’t say that” 

Eddie decides he’s had enough of whatever this moment he created is and walks away, you silently groan and walk after him. 

“Eds, hey I thought you were gonna- oh okay oh my god.”

You swipe Eddie’s shirt up from the floor as you come around the corner, he’s searching through your fridge while pulling at the front of his jeans and you lean against the counter. He somehow found your cowboy hat you kept in the hall closet from an old Halloween costume, you’re not even sure when he freaking went in there…

“Whatcha doin' there buddy?” Your mouth drops with his jeans as he kicks them to the side 

“Just hot” he shrugs “I thought…. I could have sworn I bought more eggs” 

Maybe he had, you know, in his own house.

“Nope, fresh out. You hungry? Why don’t I make you somet-“

“You don’t have to baby me you know” He frowns deeply and turns his head away, you set his shirt on the counter and come to wrap your arms around his torso, you lean your head against his back and he freezes 

“I didn’t mean to baby you,” You say quietly. His hands tap yours gingerly before he rests them on your arms, you can feel a little tremble in them, maybe it’s from the alcohol. 

“S’okay” He mumbles and pulls you around to face him. 

“You okay?” You whisper and he looks like he’s about to pass out and you’re sure you’re going to have to carry him back to your bedroom. 

“Have… you- have you always been this pretty?” 

“What?” You laugh a little when you say it, his hands come up to the sides of your face, scrunching uncomfortably like he doesn’t know what to do with them. 

“I like your stupid face” He mumbles more to himself and your eyes widen as he stares at you like you’ve hung the very moon shining through the window. 

“It’s so stupid. It’s so…I like it. Can I touch it?” 

“C-can you what?” You ask breathily and he steps forward, pinning you between the counter and his body… a rock and a hard place. 

“Can I touch you?” He asks softer this time, there’s a little growl to his tone and you nod dumbly trying to understand whatever the hell is happening but not exactly opposing it. 

He cups your face so gently like he’s afraid he’ll break you. He runs his thumbs over your cheekbones first, feeling your smooth skin. They trail across the shape of your nose and down to your lips. He likes how soft and plump they feel under his fingertips. 

“You’re so fuckin pretty” He whispers and you hold his waist, squeezing lightly.

“I think it’s time for you to go to bed cowboy” 

“Will you come with me?” He takes the hat off, putting it on your head and you blush when he smirks at you, tilting your chin up toward him. 

“If that’s what you want” 

His hands slide under your thighs and he picks you up, kissing your neck when you wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist securely.

“That’s all I want” He sighs, nuzzling into you before unceremoniously dropping you onto the bed, your giggle gets caught in your throat as he pulls at the hem of your pajama pants and slides them off. 

“Hold on there Mister what do you think you’re-“ your palm hits his hard chest as you hold your hand out. He pulls your hand away, kissing down your arm before laying on top of you fully. He sighs loudly, settling in on you, and nuzzles his head into your chest.

You lay still with your hands in the air before he whines a little and your heart melts in your chest. You reach out, stroking his hair, scratching his scalp and he moans softly, his body fully relaxes against yours and you know you’re stuck there for the night. 

“Love you pretty girl” He purrs, and you blink slowly, taking in the words you’ve always wanted to hear from this idiot. 

Eddie wakes up with a raging headache, he reaches blindly to grab his phone from the nightstand but instead, it hits a lamp. He immediately pops his head up, looking around the room.

“Ohhh my god” He whispers, sitting up quickly. He holds his head as he grabs his phone that’s plugged in further down and dials Buck’s number.

“Hello??”

“Dude. Dude dude dude find me on Life360” 

“Bet”

Eddie grabs his pants from the end of the bed and yanks them on, Buck gasps wildly, dramatically, annoyingly, and loudly. 

“What?! What is it?! Did someone kidnap me??? Are they gonna use my body for sex?!”

“You’re at Y/N’s house”

The entire world stops spinning as Eddie drops his phone, he can hear Buck screaming that he has to give him every single dirty detail. He can’t even wrap his head around the fact that there MIGHT be dirty details that he!!!! Can’t remember!!!!

“I have- I have to go I’ll call you later I promise!” 

“I’m gonna text Y/N” 

“Don’t you fucking dare”

“….”

“You did, didn’t you” 

“I don’t think we need to talk about that”

“Jesus fucking-“ Eddie hangs up and gets out of bed, he holds his head in his hands as he takes the medicine that’s there and then downs the glass of water. Now to find you. 

If he hadn’t been freaking out so hardcore he’d have noticed the smell of bacon sooner. He wanders out of your room and down to the kitchen where you’re just plating it up. 

“Oh, hey! You’re awake” Your voice is soft and he’s so incredibly thankful. He sits down at the island and you slide the plate over. 

“Uh…yeah,” he said uneasily. How the fuck does he go about this? Hey girl of my dreams, did I finally cream in more than just my pants?? He toys with his bacon and you look at him.

“Somethin’ wrong? Did I not cook it enough?” 

“Huh?” he shakes his head fast “No- no no no no no it’s great it’s- it’s so good” 

“Uh huh…” you narrow your eyes suspiciously before going back to eating your food. It’s quiet for a little bit and you can just feel Eddie’s uneasiness, you can practically see him sweating.

“Eddie? Are you sure you’re-“

“Did we have sex?” He finally blurts out, his eyes squeezed shut “Please please tell me we didn’t”

You set your fork down and he puts his hands out “Now- now don’t get me wrong! If we did, I’m- shit I’m so so into that and I hope I get the memories back!! But- I- if I don’t remember I’m so sorry really Y/N”

He just sounds so distressed as he’s telling you and you scrunch your face up, feeling secondhand embarrassment and also really freaking bad for him. 

There’s also that… little piece of you that’s kind of sad he doesn’t remember snuggling you all night and whining every time you tried to pull away. 

“We didn’t have sex Eddie” 

Eddie caves in on himself, sighing in relief “Oh thank god” 

“You did tell me I was pretty tho” You lick the yogurt from your spoon as his mouth drops. 

“Said my face was stupid, that ya liked it” 

He slaps his hands over his face and groans, melting into the chair

“Are you shitting me?” 

“Nope! Oh, I fully expect you to grovel when you take it back too. I’m thinking of breakfast in bed. Maybe I’ll make you pay for a massage too… oh and-“

“Who said I was taking it back?” 

You’re taken back for a moment, blinking at him 

“Uh-“

“It… fuck it wasn’t the way I wanted to tell you exactly” He laughs awkwardly “B-but uh- no. I don’t… I don’t want to take it back” 

“You said something else” You swallow awkwardly and he braces for the worst. 

“What?”

“It- it was- it was just you know… a goodnight…”

“Okay? What did I say?” 

“Um-“ You poke at the eggs on your plate “You just. You said uh-“

“What the fuck did I say?” He whispers to himself trying to figure it out and you turn to grab another cup of coffee 

“You said “Love you pretty girl” “You clear your throat as you take a minute to not look at him. 

“Oh” 

You turn to face him, oh?? That’s what he had to say. You sigh as you stir the creamer in and come back to the counter. 

“Ha-ha yeah… yeah pretty uh- pretty weird right?? That’s- that’s the one I want the massage for. You know, saying-saying you-“

“I’m not taking that back either,” Eddie says firmly, his cheeks are blushing, he looks like death and like he’s about to keel over from pure embarrassment but he means it. 

“I do love you” 

He comes around the counter, shoving his anxiety down as hard as he can, and eases the cup from your hands. He puts them on his shoulders before putting his hands on your hips and pulling you close. 

“I’m sorry I was so fucking wasted last night, I’m sorry I somehow ended up here and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I loved you sooner” 

You look at him, clasping your hands behind his neck and standing on your toes, he bends down and smirks, nuzzling his nose against yours as you pull him closer to you, your heart beating wildly. 

“You gonna say anything?” 

“Maybe instead of paying for a massage… you can just give me one instead” 

You press your lips to his, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer. He grabs your thighs again, lifting you and splaying his hands across your ass. 

“Sounds good to me”

[silhouetteonpaper]

Benched

Summary: You’re cut from participating in missons for the foreseeable future; the news was delivered by none other than your girlfriend, Natasha. The torturous break from Avenging seems to be unfair... until you hear the other perspective. Natasha Romanoff x Reader WC: 2,393 Warnings/Themes: Angst, fluff, gun use, killing, repressing memories

“I’m sorry?” You weren’t sure if you had heard Natasha’s words correctly; her serious tone didn’t match the saddened look on her face. She was standing across from you as you sat at the empty conference table, summoned only moments ago by the Widow herself.

“We’re benching you from missions until we feel you’re ready.” They didn’t sound any more real this time, either. Natasha, your mentor and girlfriend was telling you to sit the next few missions out. Actually, she was forcing you to sit every mission out for the foreseeable future. You were furious, but tried to keep composed as to not dig a deeper grave.

“Until you feel I’m ready? That’s subjective, how long will it take?” You questioned with crossed arms, your shoulders stuck by your ears out of defense. You’d never been like this around Nat; closed off, defensive, angry. She’d never needed to bar you from missions like this, so it was a first for the both of you.

“We feel your actions on the last mission require some time off.” She explained, noticing the unrelenting confused yet frustrated expression on your face. Natasha felt bad, she was only following the orders of her superiors. They believed that making her relay this information would soften the blow, but as your girlfriend it didn’t make it any easier.  “Look,” She walked around the table, sitting beside you. Her hand found your knee, a soft touch forcing you to unfurl your brows slightly. “This isn’t a punishment. We just want to make sure you’re okay mentally after what happened.”

She was referring to the events of yesterday's mission, something you had hoped would just get buried under the rug. It was supposed to be a simple interrogation; the team would press the target to find some confidential information. The only issue was that the target had a liking for pushing people’s buttons. His jabs were relentless, spitting insults about the people he’d killed like they were nothing.

You were only supposed to hold the gun to his head in a daunting, coercive way. So you did, for a while anyways—until he stated something you didn’t believe was humanly true.

“I don’t regret killing them.” His words had turned your blood to ice, the pointer finger stationed over the trigger shaking out of anger. He was talking about the people he killed to get close to the Avengers. Some of them being your family, the people you loved most. His greedy play was wiping pawns off the table, when in reality they were more than just objects. Natasha was originally reluctant to include you on this mission, due to your emotional connection. But this man had targeted many of the Avenger’s closest relatives, so if she benched you she’d have to bench everyone else.

It turned out she’d have to bench you anyways, as you broke protocol within seconds of his nasty comment. The gun echoed through the cellar you were all stationed in, the man suddenly going quiet as his head lolled to the side. The main source of intel for one of the biggest missions was dead. Everyone’s heads turned toward the responsible weapon; there you were, eyes wide with a smoking gun still held to his head.

After being escorted back to the compound between silent teammates, you locked yourself in your room for the night. Natasha tried to come in, knocking on your bedroom door every so often with tempting offers of cookies or movie nights, but you wouldn’t budge. The next morning, hushed whispers greeted you the second you entered the kitchen. It was obvious they were talking about you, but you couldn’t have cared less. You knew what you did was wrong, and were ready to move on. So, you acted like it didn’t happen.

Maybe that worried the team even more, especially Natasha. You weren’t one to move on from things so quick, especially considering the grudge you held for the man responsible for all that death. Breaking protocol like that and shooting an important hostage was even more out of character, you knew the importance of his intel. Running on impulse, especially in regard to your emotions was unusual, it would be for any trained agent.

But it all caught up with you, and clearly the team discussed a plan of action behind your back. They believed your slip up was more than just a mistake—that there was something deeper behind it. It was slightly offensive, seeing them assume you were emotionally inept that they didn’t even include you in the conversation. You didn’t even think hard enough on what happened to realize maybe they were right; instead you shoved it deep down inside. Now, the truth was facing you head-on, and there was no escaping it.

This isn’t a punishment? You repeated Natasha’s words in your head. It sure felt like one, your favorite thing in life being withheld like a kid getting their iPad taken away. Everyone knew how much your work meant to you, so why would they take away the one thing you loved doing? Besides, you felt fine mentally. The past was in the past, and you were ready to move forward.

“I’m fine, I swear. Please, Nat—don’t take me out of the running just because I made a mistake.” You pleaded, looking to her with a softened expression. The two of you were close, having been in an official relationship for months now. But this was uncharted territory, and the thread connecting you both was slipping as this new side of you was showing. It was her turn to become defensive as she withdrew her hand.

“A mistake? You killed our most important hostage! If you weren’t one of our top agents, Fury would’ve had you fired!” She was right, but you weren’t going to admit that. Instead you huffed, leaning back in your chair as your gaze found anywhere to look but at Natasha.

“I couldn’t let him get away with what he did.” You muttered, shaking your head. Natasha took a deep breath, concern slowly rising across her face. It was easy to see the hurt on your face, even without directly mentioning your family. They were your everything, and he killed them like they were nothing. But two wrongs don’t make a right, every agent knew that. You should’ve known that. And she didn’t want you to jeopardize your job—your passion, over your stubbornness. She leaned toward you slowly, her eyebrows lowering.

“See, this is what scares me. You knew we’d find justice eventually, but you could’t wait and it blew the entire mission.” Natasha spoke carefully, her words making your stomach churn. Scared?Blew the entire mission? Even for her, these were hasty conclusions to draw.

You crossed your arms again. “What are you insinuating?” To say you blew the entire mission was harsh, even if it was true. An agent would never blame another, not directly like this; especially when that agent was your girlfriend. You knew there was more to it, the ice hidden underneath her tone queued you in.

“That now your family will never get the justice they deserve.” Her words are like knives, stabbing straight into your heart. You weren’t sure if she was trying to break you, or if she truly felt this way. That your mistake cost the entire mission, one that was supposed to avenge your dead relatives. Your eyes went wide with shock, expression frozen as you processed the very words that left her lips. They weren’t coming from your girlfriend; the girl you loved would never say such a thing.

Natasha doesn’t flinch, yet unbeknownst to you she was heartbroken on the inside. You both felt like a stranger was standing opposite, your actions and her words causing a rift between the connection that was strong mere days ago. You were impatient, emotional, and couldn’t follow the stupid protocol, and now it may have cost your job and maybe even your girlfriend.

Your eyes narrowed, oozing with betrayal. “You don’t mean that.” Words softer than the hardened expression painting your face, you were almost speechless. Once again, Natasha left you questioning if what she said was actually true, or just a figment of your imagination.

She nodded once, slowly, like a predator bowing its head to prey. You were officially benched, and there was no arguing your way out of it.

—————-

2 weeks, 4 days, 1 hour, and 37 minutes had passed since you were forced to stay within the many walls of the compound. Not like anyone was counting, though. Although spacious and full of various forms of entertainment, the large facility made you feel restless after the first day. You grew bored, itching to get your hands on new cases or even old mission reports.

The quinjet was taunting you. Standing outside the large glass window, calling your name as you sat inside waiting for the go-ahead. But as the hours, days, and weeks passed, it never came. You hadn’t spoken to Natasha since the fight—only exchanging quick glances through narrowed eyes or inconspicuous expressions in passing. Instead, you bothered everyone else about it.

“No, you’re still on temp-leave,” someone would say. “Take some time to relax, focus on yourself.” More voices would eventually join in. It was unrelenting; the only ‘self-care’ you cared about was the one thing that genuinely made you happy: Avenging. But everyone was stuck following orders, keeping you locked inside the compound with your own self to blame.

When everyone left you alone at the compound to go on missions, It gave you time to reflect. You paced the halls replaying the mission over and over, eventually shaking your head as the memory morphed into the shape of your family. You didn’t want to think about them, so you simply filled your time with busywork in order to keep the hurt at bay.

After picking up a few new hobbies, discovering some newfound talents, and recovering old favorite pastimes, you still felt a hole where Avenging used to be. You missed it, and this time off was making you feel worse, if anything. On the 20th day, you built up the courage to talk with Natasha. She was tame the past few days, finally offering you the occasional smile when you made the team dinner, or handing you baked goods when she went on her usual coffee run.

Natasha was sitting in the empty living room, typing on her laptop as she glanced between the screen and some mission reports. “Hey,” you spoke softly, sitting down on the couch opposite of her. Her green eyes popped up, eyebrows lifting ever-so-slightly. You had her attention. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have belittled my actions that hurt other people, it was truly more than just a mistake and I feel terrible about it.” You were speaking truthfully, and Nat could tell; but she wasn’t satisfied.

Shutting her laptop, she stacked her work off to the side with full intrigue. “Tell me, have you thought about your parents during this time off?” She questioned. You swallowed thickly, immediately regretting your half-assed apology when there was more to it than just feeling bad about your actions. You hadn’t thought about your parents, mostly on purpose; and Natasha was hoping to get after exactly that.

“Look, love,” Her tone softened slightly, and the use of the nickname made you feel even the smallest bit more comfortable. She was still yours, and you were still hers, it was all just on hiatus for the moment—like your job. “This break wasn’t supposed to be time for you to feel bad about what you did. It was time for you to process what happened.” Natasha stood, moving to sit next to you as her words made the air catch in your lungs.

“You can’t change the fact your family has passed, and I need you to have a chance to grieve before we send you back onto the field.” To an average person, everything she was saying made sense. But the issue was, you didn’t want to pause and take the time to process what happened. You wanted to swallow it all and move on to whatever job would come next. But Natasha knew the dangers of that.

You took a deep breath, your gaze finding the floor. “I told you, Nat. I’m fine to go out onto the field. I’ve thought over everything and I feel ready.” You countered, eyes meeting hers as you really tried to convince her. She found your hand, gripping it tightly with both of hers.

“Then tell me exactly what he did to your parents.” Her words hit your chest like a boulder, all of the air you once had no longer existing as your breathing stopped. It was a test, and she knew you wouldn’t be able to answer without breaking down. And fortunately for her, it worked. Tears welled in your eyes, the flood of emotion hitting the wall you built in an attempt to avoid it. But it wasn’t strong enough this time, Natasha knew all the right buttons to push. You gave in, allowing each tear, each sob, to have a chance to see the light as you leaned into Natasha.

“That’s it.” She cooed, pulling you close into her shoulder. Her hands ran through your hair, offering a comforting touch you desperately missed. The person she loved dearly was slowly coming back, the agent who wasn’t just a stone-cold face ready to suppress all emotion in the name of work. Being an Avenger wasn’t just about being brave for others, it was about being your best self so you were capable of offering that support on the field. The entire time, you missed the true meaning of the hiatus.

But now, you were back on track. Natasha was glad to see you finally start the long road to processing your grief, and she’d be there the entire journey. You were grateful to have her, and suddenly even more grateful she gave you the time off in the first place. If you weren’t so naive and stubborn, maybe it would have been easier for you in the long run. But that didn’t matter, because with Natasha, time felt like it didn’t exist.

[greengoblinswifey]

𝑭𝒂𝒎𝒆’𝒔 𝑬𝒅𝒈𝒆 ・₊✧🩶 Part II

Pairing— Nicholas Chavez x Model!Reader

Summary— You’re thrusted into a PR relationship with your new neighbor, Nicholas Chavez, you’re hesitant at first not knowing how it will benefit you but you warm up to it and find out he’s not the cold and detached person the media says he is.

Warnings— Fake relationship, Fluff, Sexual Tension, Mentions of Substance Use, Smoking.

Series Masterlist

The following morning, you were up earlier than usual. The events of the past day still loomed over you, from the damaging headlines to your ex-best friend slandering your name. Thankfully, it was mostly small blogs and gossip sites spreading her story, and you were confident you’d rise above it all. The photos of you shopping downtown were taking off on social media, and for once, the narrative seemed to favor you. You just hoped Angela’s so-called plan would center on building you back up.

Determined to present your best self, you called in your stylists to give you the ultimate morning glow-up. You chose a sleek off duty model look, an oversized Chanel tweed jacket paired with high-waisted tailored shorts and classic black ballet flats. The cream and beige color palette contrasted beautifully against your dark skin, which practically shimmered under the lighting. You felt put together, and it was a good feeling—one you hadn’t experienced in weeks.

At exactly 10 a.m., Angela called to let you know she was at the gate. “By the way,” she said casually, “I’m bringing a guest.”

“A guest?” you asked, glancing at yourself in the mirror one last time. “Who?”

“You’ll see,” she replied, then hung up.

You stood in the foyer, waiting for the sound of the bell. When it came, you smoothed down your jacket and opened the door, only to freeze in surprise. Standing next to Angela was your neighbor, Nicholas Chavez, looking annoyingly polished in a leather jacket, dark jeans, and a crisp white tee that screamed effortless charm.

Angela was all business. “Morning,” she said, breezing past you into the house. Nicholas followed, offering you a small smile.

“Uh, morning,” you said, closing the door. “Why’s my neighbor your guest? Wasn’t the cake enough?”

Angela turned to you with an exasperated look. “This isn’t about the damn cake. And Nicholas, thank you for humoring us this morning,” she added, motioning for him to sit.

Nicholas smirked as he lowered himself onto your couch. “The cake was really good, by the way. Thanks again.”

You folded your arms, leaning against the armrest of the sofa. “Okay, so why is my neighbor in my house? What’s the plan here?”

Angela gave you a pointed look, as if the answer should’ve been obvious. “The plan,” she began dramatically, “is a relationship.”

You blinked, then burst into laughter, the sound echoing off your high ceilings. Angela didn’t laugh. She just stood there, unimpressed, until you finally composed yourself.

“You know I don’t do relationships,” you said, raising a brow. “What are you talking about?”

“A PR relationship,” she clarified. “Very public. Very strategic.”

You tilted your head, glancing between her and Nicholas, who was casually leaning back on your couch, arms stretched out along the cushions. “I don’t get it. Why would either of us need that?”

Angela crossed her arms. “Because you are in damage control, and Nicholas here is the perfect solution.” She gestured to him. “He’s new, popular, fresh, clean-cut. Hollywood’s golden boy in the making. A rising star who just scored a breakout role and needs the right kind of visibility to stay in the conversation. You, on the other hand, are…” She trailed off and gestured vaguely at you.

You scowled. “A supermodel? A party girl?”

“A mess,” she corrected. “A rich, famous, gorgeous mess, sure, but still a mess. The public loves a redemption arc, and this will give them one. The troubled supermodel tamed by the sweet, boy-next-door actor. It’s a PR dream.”

Nicholas finally spoke, his voice calm and low. “I’m not exactly boy-next-door, Angela.”

“Close enough,” she shot back, waving him off.

You shook your head. “This sounds ridiculous. And I don’t see how being tied to me helps him. I mean, I’m in the middle of a PR crisis.”

Angela didn’t flinch. “It helps him because you’re you. You’re a household name, a media darling, even with all the drama. Being seen with you puts Nicholas on magazine covers, gets him into rooms that will skyrocket his career. And for you, it softens your image. It shows stability, maturity, and lets people focus on something positive for once.”

Nicholas turned to you, his expression unreadable. “And for the record, I’m not opposed. If it helps both of us.”

You frowned, unsure how to respond. “And what? We just pretend to be in love?”

Angela nodded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Exactly. Dates, appearances together, a few staged paparazzi moments. Maybe even some cryptic Instagram posts.”

“That sounds exhausting,” you muttered.

Angela stepped closer. “It’s not forever. Just a few months. Long enough to shift the narrative. You’re already halfway there with those shopping photos from yesterday. Let’s seal the deal.”

You looked at Nicholas, who shrugged, a small smirk playing on his lips. “Could be fun,” he said lightly.

“You think this is fun?” you asked.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I think it’s an opportunity. For both of us. And honestly,” He paused, his eyes locking with yours. “You don’t strike me as the type to back down from a challenge.”

You rolled your eyes but felt your resolve wavering. The way Angela had laid it out, it almost made sense. And Nicholas, well, he was easy on the eyes. You could admit he was fine. If nothing else, he might distract you from the chaos for a while.

You sighed, finally throwing your hands up. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

Angela grinned. “Good. That’s all I need for now.”

Nicholas stood, adjusting his jacket. “Let me know what you decide. I’ll be next door.”

As you walked them to the door, you couldn’t help but feel like you were being dragged into something much bigger than you anticipated.

You screamed out in frustration, the weight of Angela’s plan sinking in. You didn’t have a choice. If you didn’t make a big move to salvage your image, your agency would drop you. Bookings would dry up, shows would pass you over, and the fashion world would leave you behind. You’d be finished. And you couldn’t let that happen. You’d worked too hard to get here.

The thought of smoking on the balcony crossed your mind, but you shook it off. Paparazzi were probably camped out in the bushes beyond your gates, waiting for any misstep to capture and sell. You’d come too far to give them an easy headline. Instead, you lit up inside, taking a long drag from your joint as the familiar calm washed over you. You were making changes, after all. No hard drugs anymore, just weed. Baby steps.

The high brought clarity. A PR relationship wasn’t just an idea—it was a necessity. As much as it stung to think about Nicholas Chavez leeching off your fame, you knew it would be mutually beneficial. But still, the thought of tying yourself, even temporarily, to someone like him made your stomach twist. Sure, he was very attractive but he wasn’t in your league. You were scared of how much you’d have to give to make this work.

But it was fake. That’s what you told yourself. It was all for PR. Nothing more. Nothing less. He wouldn’t ruin your image, and you wouldn’t ruin his. It was transactional. Professional. It would be fine. Right?

You stubbed out the joint and made your way to Nicholas’ house next door. You barely had to ring the doorbell before he opened it, an actual smile lighting up his face. It threw you off. You’d never seen him smile in person or even in interviews. His reputation for playing cold, detached roles, especially after his breakout as Lyle Menendez—preceded him. Maybe Angela was right. He needed this just as much as you did.

He led you into his sleek, modern living room. The place was clean, organized, and clearly decorated by someone with taste. He motioned for you to sit, and you took a spot on the plush sofa.

“I hope you’ll be seeing more of this place,” he started, his voice smooth but slightly nervous. “And have you thought about our manager’s plan?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Wait, Angela’s your manager too?”

He nodded, and you rolled your eyes. Of course, she had orchestrated this from every angle.

You leaned back, crossing your legs. “Yeah, I’ve thought about it. I don’t have a choice, do I? It’s the best move for you.”

He looked a little taken aback, his ego clearly bruised. “For both of us, I think you’d benefit too,” he replied, his tone defensive.

You smirked, brushing him off. “Sure. But we both know you’re the one getting the most out of this. Let’s not kid ourselves.”

He let it go, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Fine. So, are we starting this now? What’s the first move?”

His eyes flickered to your lips briefly, and you caught it. Clearing his throat, he added, “I was thinking we could stage something big to kick things off. Flowers, candles, the whole deal. I’ll set up a space, maybe on your balcony or one of your other properties, and ask you to be my girlfriend. We’ll take pictures and post them to soft-launch the relationship a few days from now but first we’ll get paparazzi to snap a few candids of us but making sure to not get my face. Just enough to get people speculating.”

Your brow arched. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

He grinned, a hint of smugness in his expression. “Guess I’m cut out for this Hollywood life after all.”

“Or you just really want to be seen with me,” you shot back, and he laughed.

“Can you blame me? You’ve been my celebrity crush for years,” he admitted, his tone playful but honest.

You laughed, shaking your head. “Expected.”

By the time you left his house, the plan was in motion. You both snuck off to one of your properties near the beach, Nicholas’ team working quickly to decorate the space with candles, roses, and twinkling lights. You’d gone home to change into a white Chanel dress that flattered you perfectly and made your skin glow under the evening light.

Once the setup was complete, you snapped a picture, careful to keep Nicholas out of frame. The photo went into your drafts, ready to post in a few days. Before leaving, you called your paparazzi contacts, making sure they’d capture strategic shots of you on the decorated balcony with your “mystery man” in the background, his face obscured.

The photos hit the internet within hours. By the time you were back home, your phone was blowing up with texts and notifications. Every media outlet, TMZ, Page Six, even Vogue—was talking about the “romantic mystery” surrounding your evening.

You and Nicholas sat close together on your bed, scrolling through the headlines. Angela called, her voice practically buzzing through the phone.

“Congratulations, to the new couple! This was perfect. Everyone’s talking about it. I knew you could pull it off.”

“Not like I had a choice,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

Angela laughed. “Well, keep it up. Keep the image clean. And, Nicholas, I trust you to handle this.”

“What about me?” you snapped. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Not as much as I trust him,” Angela teased before hanging up.

You scoffed, tossing your phone onto the bed. “Great. Well, since we’re here, we might as well stay the night. But stay away from the windows. Last thing we need is more candid shots.”

Nicholas nodded in agreement. “Makes sense. Where should I sleep?”

“In here,” you replied nonchalantly. “We’re going to have to share hotel rooms eventually for appearances. Might as well practice now.”

He blinked, a little surprised, but didn’t argue.

You decided to shower first, stripping out of your dress and walking into the bathroom, fully aware of his eyes on you. You smirked to yourself, knowing he was watching your naked figure from behind. When you returned, towel-clad and refreshed, he took his turn. You couldn’t help but notice his muscular back and firm figure as he disappeared into the bathroom.

By the time he returned, you were both in bed, lying on opposite sides in a comfortable silence, the glow of the TV casting soft light across the room.

Nicholas broke the quiet, turning his head to you. “Alright, girlfriend. Since we skipped the talking and dating stage, tell me about yourself.”

You chuckled, rolling onto your side to face him. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything, you can start off with your modeling career if you’d like,” he said simply. His expression was soft, genuine. For the first time, he didn’t look like the detached actor or the PR project Angela had roped you into.

And, against your better judgment, you started talking, hesitantly at first. “I started because—I wanted to feel like I was someone, like I mattered, I want to be appreciated for what I had to offer. But it wasn’t easy,” you said, your voice steady but tinged with vulnerability. “It took years of hard work, long nights, endless rejection, and now it feels like it’s all slipping through my fingers.” You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “The scandals, the rumors, it’s like everything I built is crumbling, and the worst part is they don’t even know the real me. I’m not that person they paint me as—some careless, drug-addicted mess.”

Nicholas’ expression didn’t waver. He didn’t interrupt or glance away. Instead, he shifted slightly closer, his elbow resting on the mattress as he propped his head on his hand. “And now,” you continued, your voice breaking slightly, “I just feel like a failure. Like I’ve disappointed everyone who ever believed in me.”

He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against your cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was so gentle, so uncharacteristic, that it caught you off guard. You froze, your breath hitching as you stared at him, unsure of how to respond. “It’s going to be okay,” he said softly, his deep voice laced with sincerity. “You’re not what they say you are. I see you for who you really are—a hard worker, talented, smart, beautiful, and so much more. We’ll figure this out. We’ll fix your reputation together.”

Your throat tightened at his words. You didn’t know how to react—this wasn’t the detached, unfeeling Nicholas the world talked about. He was warm, reassuring, and entirely present. “Thank you,” you said quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not like what people say you are either.” You managed a small smile. “Detached with dead eyes? Doesn’t seem to fit right now.”

He chuckled, a low, genuine sound that made your chest feel lighter. “Guess they don’t know me that well either, huh?”

You laughed softly, the tension between you easing. He hesitated for a moment before clearing his throat. “So, uh, do you maybe want to cuddle?” he asked nervously, his usual confidence replaced with uncertainty.

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “Why do you wanna do that, Chavez? Ain’t no media or paparazzi in here to see what’s going on.”

He paused, his mouth twitching into an embarrassed smile. “Just practicing,” he said with a shrug.

You couldn’t help but laugh again, rolling your eyes as you shifted closer to him, resting your head against his chest. His strong arm wrapped loosely around your shoulders, and you let yourself relax, his steady heartbeat soothing you. “You’re something else,” you murmured before sleep claimed you both.

Hours later, you woke to the soft rise and fall of his chest against yours. The room was still dark, the quiet hum of waves beyond the windows faint in the background. His arms were wrapped firmly around you, his body pressing against yours in a way that felt impossibly warm and secure. You blinked groggily, realizing your legs were tangled with his, your face nestled against his chest. And then, you felt it—a firm pressure against your hip.

Your cheeks heated as you carefully shifted, trying to move without waking him. You turned away slightly, hoping to create some distance, but before you could, his arm tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against him once more. He shifted in his sleep, his breath brushing against the back of your neck as he spooned you. You froze, hyper-aware of every inch of contact, his solid frame molding against you and the unmistakable hardness pressing against you.

“It’s just—early morning wood,” you muttered quietly to yourself, trying to convince your racing thoughts to settle. “That’s all it is.” You closed your eyes, willing yourself to ignore the heat creeping up your neck. After a few moments of stillness, his steady breathing calmed you again, and you drifted off, lulled by the warmth and weight of him enveloping you.

Maybe this PR relationship thing wouldn’t be so bad, he was tolerable—just a bit, for now.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿

Taglist: @blackynsupremacy @rafeysslut

[fanbasetwo]

Hii love! I couldn’t tell if your asks are open or not but I wanted to request reader having their first kiss with hao </3☹️

I love your writing so much btw! 🤍

NOTE : my asks are always open but you can still check it out on the pinned post where I do mention the ask status (if it's closed or not) this is my first hao ask btw + tysm for the compliment, I'm glad you enjoy my works 💕 MASTERLIST!!

You and Zhang Hao had been together since high school. When it was time to grow up and explore job opportunities, the two of you managed to make long-distance work, though you’d always joked about who’d be the one to kiss first once you reunited. When Hao finally moved back to your city after landing a job, things shifted—not in a bad way, but definitely in a new direction. You both decided to live together because, honestly, after five years of dating, it didn’t feel like a big leap.

Still, there were moments of awkwardness, like when you’d share the same bed at night. Sure, you’d cuddle, but neither of you ever took it further—not because you didn’t want to, but because you were both too shy to take the first step. Every touch felt hesitant, every glance carrying the weight of unspoken feelings.

“Hao?” you whispered, nudging him gently. He was sprawled on the bed after a long day at work, clearly exhausted. You both split rent evenly, and lately, you’d noticed how much effort he put into his job. He hummed softly, his body shifting as he turned on his side to face you. Without a word, he pulled you closer, his arm draped around your waist.

“Did you have a hard time at work?” you asked, your voice barely above a murmur as your sleepy eyes met his. He blinked at you, his gaze warm yet hesitant, before one hand reached up to cup your cheek.

“It’s not work,” he said quietly, shaking his head slightly.

“Then what is it?” you pressed, your curiosity piqued.

He hesitated for a moment, his thumb gently brushing against your skin. “It’s about us,” he admitted, his voice soft but tinged with uncertainty. “Are you... not attracted to me anymore?” The question caught you off guard, and you frowned, trying to piece together why he’d think that. “Of course I’m attracted to you,” you replied quickly, your tone laced with confusion. “Why would you feel otherwise?”

He let out a small sigh, looking almost embarrassed. “Because... you never, you know... take any hints. And you don’t really drop any hints either. About wanting... my kisses.”

His words trailed off, his cheeks dusted with a faint pink as he avoided your gaze. You stared at him for a moment before giggling softly, the nervousness between you both dissolving just a little. “Is it because I smell?” he asked suddenly, his tone half-serious, making you laugh even harder.

“Hao, no!” you managed to say through your giggles, shaking your head. “I’m just... nervous.”

“Then... can we do it now?” Hao's voice was barely a whisper, his nose brushing against yours as his hand rested gently on your cheek.

“Right now?” you echoed, your heart racing at his sudden question. His shy yet eager nod made your cheeks flush, and though you wanted to take the lead, the thought itself made you feel timid.

“Okay,” you murmured, giving a small nod of your own.

Neither of you moved at first, the shyness between you lingering in the space where your breaths mingled. It was as though a silent agreement passed between you: close your eyes and let it happen naturally. You squeezed your eyes shut, nerves buzzing through your entire body. And then, it happened—a soft, fleeting brush of his lips against yours. The touch sent a jolt down your spine, warm and electric, leaving you breathless even in its gentleness.

Both of you were lying on your sides, facing each other, and though the moment was slightly awkward, it was perfect in its own way. You tried to remember the romantic scenes you'd seen in dramas and movies, hesitantly capturing his upper lip between your own. Hao followed suit, tentatively suckling on your bottom lip, his movements clumsy yet tender. The kiss was inexperienced, both of you unsure of what to do next, but that only made it more endearing.

Your lips moved together in a rhythm that was anything but polished, yet the emotions behind it made your chest feel tight in the best way. With every soft press, every subtle tilt of your heads, you felt your connection deepen.

It wasn’t perfect or seamless, but it was real, filled with the quiet love and nervous excitement you’d built over the years.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, faces mere inches apart as you opened your eyes. Hao’s lips were slightly parted, his cheeks glowing with a faint blush as he grinned at you.

“That was...” he began, trailing off as he searched for the right word.

You giggled, touching your lips lightly. “Messy?”

“Perfect,” he corrected, his gaze soft and adoring.

[fictionalcharactersaremypassion]

Liam and His Ickey

Set around s5 I guess

In the show, Liam doesn't really talk until he's older so he doesn't really say much here

4 +1

///

“Carl, don’t shovel it in like that, you’re going to burn your mouth,” Fiona frowns in disapproval. She’s made a big batch of potato soup for dinner, and honestly, it’s really fucking good. Mickey’s not used to home cooked meals. Him and his siblings are either eating what little is around the house or whatever they manage to steal. 

“I’m hungry,” Carl says in between mouthfuls. 

“Jesus,” Ian mutters. 

It’s mostly quiet around the table. Debbie chatters about school and fucking Lip adds in a thing or two about his own life that Mickey couldn’t find it in himself to give two shits about. 

Even so, it’s kind of...nice he supposes, to sit around the table like this. Fuckin’ weird, but he’s never really had this. Back when his mom was around, they never ate together. She was always sprawled out on the couch, passed out and intoxicated. 

Ian’s fingertips leave a ghostly trail on his leg. The electric current shoots up Mickey, leaves him tingling, and he flushes, hoping nobody else notices. 

“Mmm,” Liam says suddenly. He looks up at Fiona with a toothy grin, soup around his mouth. “Mmm.” 

She laughs. “It’s good, huh?” 

He nods and mmms, again. 

“Well, at least I have Liam’s approval,” she says to the rest of them humorously. 

“He’s just trying to get on your good side,” Ian teases, “so you don’t give him a bath.” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Fiona groans. “I think it’s my turn.” 

“Glad it’s not mine,” Debbie says. “I hate doing it now. He splashes too much.” 

“I don’t mind,” Carl pipes up now that he’s almost done with his bowl. “He makes it look like a waterpark in there.” 

“Yeah, that’s just what we need,” Fiona deadpans. 

Lip wipes his mouth, takes a drink of his beer. “I think Mickey should have a turn,” he says, and Ian and Mickey’s head swivel in his direction. “It’s only fair now that he’s living here.” 

Fuckin’ asshole. Mickey glares at him. 

“No fucking way.” 

“Come on, Mick,” Lip must have a fucking death wish. “Haven’t you bathed a kid before?” 

“Lip,” Ian says warningly. 

“What? I’m just saying. We always rotate the chores.” 

“Mickey helps out around here,” Ian says firmly. Yeah, he fucking does. Doin’ the laundry, the dishes and other shit. He never did any of that at home. “If he doesn’t want to bathe Liam, he doesn’t have to.” 

“Ian’s right,” Fiona agrees. Huh, Mickey takes a second to blink. “He doesn’t have to.” 

“Okay, okay,” Lip grumbles, holding his hands up in surrounder. “It was just a suggestion.” 

“Yeah, a stupid ass one,” Mickey interjects. Lip rolls his eyes. 

Silence falls over them again. Their spoons clink against the bowls, chairs creaking whenever someone shifts. 

“Ickey,” Liam pipes up again. All heads turn his way, expressions flicker with confusion. 

“What did he say?’ Ian asks. 

“Ickey,” Liam repeats. 

“He said Ickey...” Debbie furrows her brow. “Is he trying to say Mickey?” 

“Ickey,” Liam emphasizes. This brings forth a laugh from Fiona and Ian. 

“It’s fitting,” Lip quips. Mickey scowls. 

“What the fuck ever.” He digs into his bowl, taking a large scoop and ignoring them all. 

Fucking assholes. 

*

Mckey thinks it’s a one and done kinda thing. For a while, Liam doesn’t say it again, and the others make a few jokes for a couple of days before they move on to something else. 

Of fucking course it isn’t that simple. Liam waits for the perfect opportunity to strike. He’s a fucking sadist, Mickey’s sure. 

Today, Colin and Iggy drop by. His brothers are starting to be around more since Mickey came out. It’s uncomfortable as fuck, even though Ian beams like it’s the most fucking precious thing he’s ever seen. 

His boyfriend really is gay as hell. 

“What do you fuckheads want?” Mickey demands, His words don’t have as much heat to them, not really, it’s just how he talks. 

Iggy tosses a plastic bag his way. “He’s more of your clothes, Stupid.” 

“What brought what we could,” Colin shrugs. “Terry burned most of it.” 

“Asshole,” Mickey mutters. 

Iggy nods a little too enthusiastically. “Shoulda seen it. He made a huge fire pit in the backyard.” 

“Whoop de fucking doo.” 

He’s pretty sure both his brothers are complete idiots, because Colin glances around, not even trying to be subtle here. “Where’s your boyfriend?” 

There’s this change to his tone at the word boyfriend, like it’s this strange new thing for him to grasp. Mickey supposes in a way it is. 

“None of your damn business, that’s where,” he retorts. 

“Cool it, Mick,” Colin rolls his eyes. “I’m just askin’.” 

“He’s just protectin’ his boy, ain’t that right?” Iggy grins. 

“Do you wanna fucking die?” 

He staggers back when Colin uses the palm of his hand to push his chest. 

“You forget that we changed your diapers,” his older brother snorts. “We’re not scared of you.” 

Iggy nudges Colin. “Remember when he used to get mad if he thought we didn’t hug him enough before bed.” 

“I never did that!” Mickey snaps, his ears going pink. 

“God,” Colin shakes his head. “He used to throw the worst tantrums. Worse than Mandy ever did.” 

He doesn’t need any of that information to get back to the ears of any Gallagher. “If you don’t have anything else for me then get the fuck out,” Mickey orders. 

“Aw, Mick-”

“We were just messing around, dumbass.” 

“I don’t give a shit,” Mickey folds his arms. 

At that moment, they all hear thudding coming down the stairs. Mickey assumes it’s Carl until he turns to find Liam all dressed in his pajamas. 

“Liam, come on. It’s time for bed,” Fiona’s voice is getting closer. Kid musta ran right outta the bathroom. 

Unfortunately, he has really bad timing. He spots Mickey, beams and says, 

“Ickey!” 

Fuck, Mickey sulks while his brothers crack up laughing. 

“Did he just call you Ickey?” Colin howls. 

Iggy is laughing so hard he leans against Colin for support. Liam giggles too, even though he probably doesn’t know what’s so funny. 

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Mickey sneers. “It’s real fucking funny.” 

*

“Ickey.” 

“Mickey,” he enunciates slowly. “Quit forgetting the M, kid.” 

They’re sitting at the kitchen table where it all started, just him and Liam. Ian comes down the stairs, shooting Mickey this shit-eating grin. He comes over to the cabinet to get himself a glass, filling it with kool aid. 

“How’s the spelling lesson going?” He asks lightly, taking a seat beside him. 

“Fuck off.” 

Liam just doesn’t listen no matter how many times he tries. Mickey thinks it’s a Gallagher trait. 

“Mickey,” he repeats. 

“Ickey,” Liam says solemnly. 

Ian snorts. Mickey contemplates strangling him. 

“It’s not Ickey,” Mickey says through grit teeth. “It’s Mickey.” 

Liam does not agree. “Ickey!” He exclaims defiantly because that’s all these Gallaghers knew how to do. 

“No!” Mickey barks. 

“Has anyone ever said you’d be a good teacher?” Ian says. 

Fuckin’ Gallaghers. 

“I’m never touching your dick again if you don’t shut the fuck up,” Mickey threatens. 

“You make a really compelling argument,” Ian says, not at all sincere. 

Remind him again why he chose this dumbass? 

“You know, if you keep bringing attention to it, he’ll keep doing it,” Ian continues. “Just ignore it.” 

“No,” Mickey shakes his head. “Cuz he’ll think he’s won and he didn’t win.” 

“He’s three, Mickey.” 

“So what? You think your ginger ass wasn’t annoying at his age?” 

“You didn’t know me at three,” Ian says, amused. 

“Don’t have to know you. You’ve always been fucking annoying,” Mickey says. “Nah, I ain't gonna acknowledge it unless he says it right.” 

Ian rolls his eyes. “Seriously?” 

“Seriously, Firecrotch.” 

“You’re at war with a three year old, you know that right?” 

Mickey ignores that. He knows he can win this. He ain’t gonna be outsmarted by a damn kid. 

It goes quiet. Liam loses interest in the conversation so he goes to color in the living room. Mickey accepts a beer that Ian offers him, and they just sorta sit there, close and enjoying that the house isn’t currently being overrun with a million Gallagher brats. 

Few minutes or so pass when Mickey feels a tug on his jeans. 

Liam has a picture he wants to show him. “Ickey, look!” 

So he deliberately turns away. 

“Oh my God,” Ian mutters. 

“Ickey,” Liam repeats. He frowns when Mickey doesn’t respond in any way. “Ickey!” 

“Seriously?” Ian sighs. 

“Ickey!” Liam starts to poke him incessantly. Mickey takes a deep breath. He won’t let himself be bothered. 

Except it does bother him. 

Poke, poke, poke. 

“Ickey, Ickey, Ickey-” 

“What?” Mickey explodes, whirling around in the chair to face him. His outburst startles Ian a bit but Liam is unfazed. He’s grinning and holds up the drawing. 

“Look!” 

Ian stands up, bringing the cup to his lips as he passes by to put it in the sink. “I guess Liam won,” he comments nonchalantly. 

*

Now he’s not just goin’ around calling him Ickey. He’s been sayin’ My Ickey too. 

“My Ickey,” he’ll say at random times, just pointing to him. 

Maybe it’s because they’re around each other a lot. Him and Gallagher stay at the house whenever Mickey’s not working while Ian tries to get adjusted to these new meds. So he sees them two more than anybody else. 

Ian says Mickey is partly to blame, he shouldn’t be saying, “No!” whenever the kid says it because it’s just encouraging him. 

What the fuck ever. 

Like now, while they’re trying to watch TV, Liam decides he should be the one in the middle. 

“My Ickey,” he says to them seriously. 

“You wanna sit next to Mickey?” Ian grins. Liam nods. 

“Too fucking bad,” Mickey says blandly. “Stay there, Red.” 

“He’s just a little kid, Mick-”

“So what?” 

Liam becomes impatient from a lack of action. He pushes his way onto the couch, trying to separate them. Ian laughs and scoots over. Mickey wishes he wouldn’t. He’ll fucking murder somebody if they knew but he liked having his redhead right there with him. 

Once there, Liam leans into Mickey, hugging his arm. “My Ickey,” he says, strangely firm for a kid. 

“I think I have competition,” Ian snickers. 

“Ay, Kid,” Mickey tries shaking his arm but Liam has a good grip on it. “Let go.” 

Liam ignores him. 

“Face it, Mickey,” Ian says cheerfully. “You’ve won the hearts of two Gallaghers. How’s that feel?” 

“Fuckin’ great,” Mickey deadpans, although there might be some part of him that warms ever so slightly. It’s not like he’s used to people seeking him out other than Ian. 

That warmth floods him from head to toe when Laim squirms his way into his lap, his head against Mickey’s chest. He’s pretty sure Ian’s giving them those heart eyes right now. 

Whatever. This Ickey shit still has to go.

*

He’s trying to sleep. He’s nearly there when he feels a tug on his shirt. 

“Wha-” he mutters sleepily. 

Liam’s beside the bed, clenching a stuffed bear that’s seen better days. 

Ian’s sleeping soundly as is Carl. Mickey sits up slowly so he won’t wake his boyfriend. “What’s up, Kid?” He yawns. 

“Ickey,” he chews on his lips. From the moonlight, he can see tears in Liam’s brown eyes. 

“You have a nightmare?” Mickey says, hushed. 

Liam nods. 

“Fine. Go on,” Mickey jerks his head towards the bed Liam’s using, the one that Carl used to sleep in back when Lip was here. 

The kid climbs onto the bed and Mickey follows. Liam’s been having a lot of nightmares recently, and with no one else up at this hour to tend to him, that falls on Mickey. 

“What happened this time?” Mickey whispers. 

“Monster,” Liam sniffles. 

“Ay, it’s okay,” Mickey pulls the blanket up so it’s covering Liam again. “There ain't no monsters here. No unless you count that goofy ass red giant over there.” 

His words do little to comfort the kid. 

Come on, work with me here, he thinks. 

“Look,” Mickey says, “even if there were monsters, we wouldn’t let ‘em get to you, alright? We’d let ‘em eat Lip if we had to.” 

This makes Liam giggle. It makes Mickey start to smile unconsciously. 

“You good now? Think you can go to sleep?” 

Liam considers this, and nods. 

“Good.” Mickey doesn't kiss him goodnight or anything, he just starts to get off the bed when Liam throws his tiny arms around his neck to hug him. 

“My Ickey,” he whispers. 

Mickey sighs, a smile emerging against his will. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, for once not at all annoyed like he should be. “Your Ickey.” 

[airas-story]

Stephen tries very hard to temper it but he can be rather possessive of Tony. In a moment of weakness, he snaps and lets it show, only to learn that Tony finds his possessive streak absolutely enchanting.

Okay, so I've been SO good about keeping these to the 100-300 range, but then this idea hit me and wouldn't let go. So... not a drabble.

Stephen’s gaze darted to where Pepper had just entered the room, perfect smile on her face.

Instinctively, Stephen wrapped his arm tighter around Tony’s waist, pulling Tony into his side. Tony glanced up at him, amused. Stephen leaned down, pressing a kiss against Tony’s lips, an almost painful need to claim Tony surging through him. It happened almost any time he saw Pepper, saw her and remembered the life that Tony had almost lived.

Would have lived, if Stephen hadn’t interfered.

In front of them Rhodes sighed and Stephen realized that he’d completely interrupted whatever conversation Tony and Rhodes had been having.

He didn’t have it in him to feel guilty.

Tony pulled back from the kiss eventually. “I know I’m irresistible, Stephen. But if we’re not careful Rhodey’s going to put a ban on all public displays of affection. He’s like a nun, ridiculously chaste and virtuous.”

“I’m not chaste,” Rhodes argued. “But the two of you are ridiculous.”

Tony met Stephen’s gaze and rolled his eyes fondly, but turned back to Rhodes. “You are so chaste. You never liked the stripper pole.”

Rhodes gave Tony an exasperated look, shaking his head as though Tony was being ridiculous. Which, technically, could very well be argued as accurate. “Tony, it was a stripper pole.”

“And I looked damn good on it.”

That caught Stephen’s attention. “Wait, you got on the stripper pole?”

Tony smirked at him. “I’ll have you know that I’m quite flexible and I had excellent teachers.” He leaned forward. “I’d be more than willing to show you at some point.”

“Oh, would you,“ Stephen purred, letting his hand drift down Tony’s side.

“Nope, no.” Rhodes held up his hands. “Not happening. You two are not having this conversation in front of me.”

Tony stuck his tongue out at Rhodes in what was a completely mature response. “See what I mean? Chaste.”

Rhodes rolled his eyes. “You know what, I’m leaving you two sickening love birds alone; I need a drink.”

“Chaste,” Tony sang-song after him. When he turned to Stephen, however, his face was serious. “You know Pepper and I were over long before you came around, right?” Tony said, lip quirking up in a smile that was meant to reassure. “You don’t need to feel threatened by her.”

Stephen hadn’t realized that Tony had put together Stephen’s displays of possessiveness with the presence of Pepper, but he wasn’t surprised, either. Tony was far more perceptive than he pretended to be. “I’m not threatened by her,” Stephen countered. It was true, he wasn’t. He was entirely certain about Tony and him. He brought his hand up to Tony’s face, cupping it. “You love me. I know that.”

Stephen had made sure of it. Fascination was a powerful thing, and it’d been such a little spell.

It had faded, eventually, but all Stephen had needed was an in.

“I do,” Tony agreed, easily. “So why do you act as though she’s going to steal me away every time she so much as walks through the door?”

Guilt.

Because he needed to convince himself that Tony was better off with him. Safer with him. Happier with him.

“Do you really mind that I’m a possessive bastard?” Stephen asked instead of putting any of that into words. “Does it bother you to know how much I want you?” And by the Vishanti, did he want Tony. Everything he’d done was for the want of Tony.

A wry grin crossed Tony’s face. “You know I don’t mind the possessive bits. Probably should. But don’t. In fact, I probably like it a little too much.” His eyes glittered teasingly. “Honestly, it’s a bit of a turn on, knowing you want me the way you do.” He paused. “I just worry about you, I don’t want you to feel like I might run back to an old relationship the moment your back is turned.”

“I know you won’t,” Stephen said slowly. “I’m just not used to being able to keep good things.” He’d lost Tony once. He leaned down to kiss Tony again. “You’re one of the best things to ever happen to me.”

A faint flush crossed Tony’s face. “Well, you get to keep me,” he promised. “I’m not going anywhere.”

[misspelledwordswizard]

Alright, I'm feeling some Sky fluff so how about The Chain ends up on Skyloft and Sky takes the reader for a ride on Crimson as a cute little date?

Oh, that was so sweet to write! I hope you like it <3

A date in the skies

The blond man’s blue eyes shone as he recognized the place they had arrived at after passing through that portal. The blue sky surrounded the surroundings, the wind howled along with the sound of several birds flying nearby, all of this mixing with the natural cacophony of the people who lived there, on that large island in the sky.

The others, however, seemed a little more than confused about their current location. Of course, most quickly associated it with the heroes of the skies, but it was still shocking and intriguing, it was all very new to the others, including me, who had been following them for several months now.

Sky promptly informed and explained to everyone that they were in Skyloft, his home, and made sure to give them a quick tour of it, mainly to prevent them from ending up lost. The sun was shining high in the sky indicating the beginning of the afternoon when he finally finished explaining everything about the island to his brothers, releasing them to explore it at will as long as they returned to the designated meeting point, the knight academy, at the end of the afternoon.

I considered the idea of going exploring as well, I’m naturally quite curious about the place where my beloved was born and raised, but I want much more to spend this time alone with him and enjoy this beautiful day. Knowing Link, he must have planned the whole day for the two of us, maybe he’ll show me the places of his childhood, or we’ll just spend some quiet time together, either way it’ll be great.

I stood next to him as everyone dispersed, some obviously more excited than others, but all curious about the floating island we’d ended up on. As soon as the others were out of sight, we looked at each other, already knowing what the other was thinking, and we smiled at the coincidence.

— Okay, Mr. Romantic, what are your plans for today?

— Oh, I’m so excited for this, I’ve been waiting for the chance to show you Skyloft, and Crimson, and spend some time alone, I could take you flying after a romantic picnic. – He replied, visibly excited about the idea, making me smile at the lovely thought.

— That sounds great, love. I couldn’t think of anything better, but just being able to spend this day with you makes me happy. Especially when it’s been so long since we’ve had our alone time. – I said, remembering all the company, as much as they were very dear to me, sometimes eight brothers-in-law could be a bit much.

With the plans set, we went together first so I could meet my boyfriend’s Loftwing, a large red bird, with a huge beak, who looked at me curiously. He seemed to accept me well, though. He happily let me stroke his soft neck feathers, rubbing his head against me affectionately, and Sky seemed very pleased with that.

After this friendly encounter, we agreed that it would be time to eat something, we had been walking for a while and this would be the perfect moment for that romantic picnic previously planned. We bought some food and walked towards the waterfall that flowed into the island’s lake. It was truly a spectacular sight to behold, the water fell beautifully and sparkled reflecting the sun’s rays, giving the place na almost magical air.

I was totally enchanted by the Remlits on the way there, they were totally adorable, had soft fur and kept following us around so we could play with them. But I have to admit that I almost had a heart attack when I saw Link throw one of them off the edge of the floating island. I mean, I trust my boyfriend, of course I do, but who in their right mind wouldn’t be scared by that? And of course, to my surprise, the little feline came flying back with his ears, which was partly relieving, partly adorable, and partly comical.

We turned our attention back to the meal we were waiting for, choosing a spot near the lake, on the bright green grass, sorting out what we had brought and laying it out on a charming red picnic blanket. We took our time to eat, our conversation flowed as always, it was always a mutual understanding, a comfortable and fun topic to discuss. I love hearing the sound of his voice, how excited he seemed to be talking about his era and his adventures, and now, seeing how beautiful and wonderful this place was, I could understand.

We must have spent a good few hours there, much more engrossed in each other than in the activity itself, and every moment was wonderful, I must say. Sharing a very different pumpkin treat was na experience, it seemed that pumpkins were popular around here, and certainly everything they made with them was delicious.

— Are you ready to go, feather? – Link asked, using his sweet nickname he gave me.

— Sure, dear. I’m excited to do this, even though I must admit I’m a little apprehensive.

— Don’t worry, you’ll be more than safe with me, my love. With that, we finished putting our things away and walked towards the statue of Hylia. The large statue that was visible from all over Skyloft. Arriving there, I was even more impressed by its size, but that didn’t draw as much attention as the red bird that flew over the place, just waiting for the hero’s command.

Link asked me to wait on the edge, and then jumped without any hesitation, something that would have scared me if I hadn’t known it beforehand, but I couldn’t help but be at least a little surprised. Soon the sound of his whistle was heard, and then my boyfriend resurfaced, riding his Loftwing, close to where I was, holding out his hand so I could climb up too. Even though it was a bit difficult, that’s what I did, and then I held on tightly to the blond, making him laugh. My grip tightened when I felt the large bird move, flapping its wings and rising into the sky. I hid my face in the crook of Sky’s neck and only saw what was around us again when I felt the flight stabilize.

The view from up there was incredible, it was possible to see the whole of Skyloft from there. I could see, even though with some difficulty, some of the boys walking towards the knight academy. Only then did I notice that it was late afternoon, the sun was setting on the horizon, bathing everything and everyone with its golden rays that made the situation even more beautiful. It was breathtaking, without a doubt. I managed to get used to the feeling of flying, so it became something fun and magical, and being able to be so close to Link was na added bonus, it was the perfect way to end the day.×

— This is beautiful. – That was all I could think when my mind was too busy processing all of that. – I love you, Link.

— I love you too, feather. – He said smiling, looking divine illuminated by the sunset light, making me think how lucky I was.

[darlingdaisyfarm]

im so sorry, i don’t even know how to explain myself at this point, consider this my apology for all the filthy nonsense i post here

so, this is a lil bonus to this post

nsfw (not really, but mentions of sex)

Ford is dead. Not literally (you check his pulse just to be sure), but emotionally and physically, this man has perished. Such a beautiful ruined mess underneath you, he’s sprawled out like a crime scene chalk outline, drenched in sweat, staring blankly at the ceiling as if questioning all his life choices.

But you’re not doing much better. Your legs shaking so much you can barely sit up, whole body feels like jelly and your brain isn’t working either. Somehow, you manage to flop next to Ford, throwing a limp arm over his scarred chest.

“Bravo, folks!” Bill exclaims. “what a show! Truly the pinnacle of human endurance and stamina! Sixer, gotta say, i missed seeing you like this, ah, the good old days!”

Ford groans faintly. “I hate you. . .”

“You’re so mean,” you mutter at Bill, glaring up at him with half-lidded eyes. “why’d you even join in? That’s not what we agreed on.”

The moment these words leave your mouth, you know you’ve fucked up. Ford’s body stiffens under your arm as his exhausted brain cells rapidly recalculating everything.

“What— what did you just say?” although his voice is hoarse from all sounds he made earlier, you still catch a note of seriousness in it. His head turns toward you in slow motion, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What do you mean. . . agreed on?”

You panic. “Wait, I mean, uh—”

“Oh, let me tell him!” Bill interrupts. “she’s talking about the little deal we made! you know, where I said, ‘hey, doll, wanna fuck your dusty old man to death?’ and she said, ‘of course, Bill, but no creepy tendrils, okay?’”

Ford looks like he’s been hit by a bus. “WHAT?”

You swear you feel yourself sweat from panic and embarrassment as you look at Bill in pure fear. “I thought you’d just watch! Not—”

Demon cuts you off with a laugh. “Oh, sure, you thought! And by the way, Sixer? these pathetic, desperate little whimpers, ugh, they’ll echo in my mind for eternity! I’ve waited so long to see you like that. A helpless, sloppy mess, both of you, my little huma—”

Ford's face flushes with either shame or anger, and you think he’s going to explode. But no. He pushes himself up, pushes himself up, the madman, and throws the sheet off in anger.

But Bill keeps. “I mean, you came so hard I’m surprised you didn’t pass out after the first round, old ma—”

Ford looks at that demonic creature. “That’s it. That’s it, Cipher, you’ve gone too far this time.”

You barely manage a “Ford, wait—” as he pulls on his boxers with surprising speed for a man who five seconds ago looked like he was on the brink of death.

“I’ll make you pay for this,” Ford declares dramatically. “Mark my words, Cipher, I’ll find a way to make you regret ever stepping into my house again.”

Both you and Bill fall silent, watching Ford’s boxers riding low on his hips as he marches out of the bedroom.

You watch your Ford walk away, eyes wide with panic, realising what just happened, but then your gaze goes lower. At that tattoo.

Flirty Gal.

Bill floats beside you, narrowing his single eye slyly. “I know what you’re looking at, doll.”

You glare at him, exhausted and annoyed. “I hate you.”

Cipher’s gaze flicks to the doorway Ford just walked through. “hate me all you want, but you've got good taste. Sixer's got a hell of an ass for an old man.”

“STOP TALKING.”

[dissapointu]

hey! :D

Can I have headcanons or a short drabble (whatever you prefer) about Ekko with a s/o who's not used to being touched/touch others, or to affection in general?

Thank you for writing for us and being so dedicated! ily ♡

-🫧

Of course! I’m so glad you enjoy my writing! Here’s a drabble with Ekko and an S/O who’s not used to being touched or showing affection.

Ekko x S/O (not used to touch/affection)

———————————————————————-

Ekko had always been patient, but he had never quite encountered someone like you before. You were kind, thoughtful, and so gentle, but there was an air of wariness around physical contact that he could never quite figure out. You never pushed him away, but he could tell you weren’t used to touch.

One evening, after a long day of working on tech and catching up on the latest plans with the Firelights, Ekko found you sitting on the edge of the platform overlooking the city. The sun was setting, the sky a gradient of oranges and pinks, and you were quiet—always so quiet in these moments. He liked sitting with you like this, just being in each other’s company without the pressure of conversation. But there was always that tension he couldn’t shake when his hand was near yours or his arm brushed against you.

“Hey,” Ekko murmured softly, sitting down beside you, careful to keep some distance at first. His fingers twitched, wanting to reach out, to offer comfort. But he knew you weren’t quite there yet.

You shifted slightly, turning your head to glance at him. “Hey,” you replied, a little hesitant but still looking at him like you trusted him. That meant a lot to Ekko.

After a pause, Ekko nudged closer, just enough to be in your space without crowding you. “You okay?”

You nodded, but he could tell there was something on your mind. It was rare for you to be so quiet around him. Ekko had learned that you preferred to work through your thoughts alone, but he still wished you would lean on him more.

“Can I…?” Ekko hesitated. He’d noticed how touch made you tense, even the simplest brushes of skin or small gestures.

You caught his gaze, and though you didn’t say anything, there was an unspoken agreement between you two—Ekko always respected your boundaries, and you knew he’d never push you. But, tonight, he wanted to try something different.

He slowly reached out, his hand hovering near your shoulder. His fingers brushed lightly against the fabric of your jacket, just enough to let you know his intent. His touch was soft, and his hand stayed there, waiting for any sign from you.

For a long moment, you didn’t react. Ekko felt the silence stretch, his heart beating a little faster, but he didn’t pull back.

Then, very slowly, you relaxed. You shifted slightly, just enough for your shoulder to lean into his touch, your body responding in its own quiet way. You didn’t reach for him, but you didn’t shy away either.

Ekko’s smile was small, but it was full of understanding. He didn’t need to rush things. Just being here with you, letting you set the pace, was enough.

“You’re doing good,” Ekko murmured, his voice warm. “Whenever you’re ready, I’m here. And I’ll be here for as long as it takes.”

You didn’t need to say anything in response. You just let the moment settle between you, knowing that for the first time, maybe, you felt safe enough to let someone else in.