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amethystarachnid · 3 months ago

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Hey rose! I'm really excited for the Marvel holiday special!! Can I please request Steve Rogers x short!Reader (is this self indulgent? Maybe!😭 People literally have to bend down to hug me idk, tall genes of my family skipped me) for the second prompt- miseltoe mishap? Thank you!<3 🩷

P.s. I LOVE all of your fics 🤌✨

UNDER THE MISTLETOE

⤷ STEVE G. ROGERS

ᯓ★ Pairing: Steve G. Rogers x short!fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 6.2k

ᯓ★ Summary: Steve's new year resolution was simple: confess his feeling for you, but as a new year approaches he still hasn't said a word. So, after a mysterious Christmas gift you receive, you decide to take matter into your own hands.

ᯓ★ TW(s): so much fluff it needs a tw and some teasing and flirty comments from y/n

ᯓ★ I'm sorry but as you all may have noticed the requested aren't being written in the chronological order they were requested because I got confused between the asks and the comments in the post and can't figure out who has requested before who, so I'm just writing it following the prompt list. I'm sorry but don't worry, your request will be written!

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The Avengers Tower is a beacon of Christmas cheer this time of year, buzzing with the energy of festive preparations. Garlands hang from the railings, twinkling lights are draped across every conceivable surface, and the smell of hot cocoa wafts from the kitchen. It’s a cozy chaos, and you’re in the thick of it, perched on a step stool as you wrestle with a particularly stubborn string of fairy lights.

Your arms ache from holding them above your head for so long, but you’re determined to get them just right. The lights have to be even—no awkward gaps or clumps. It’s a matter of principle, and besides, you know Tony will be annoying about it if you don’t.

“Need a hand?” a familiar voice asks from behind you.

You glance down and find Steve Rogers standing there, all broad shoulders and gentle eyes. He’s holding a box of ornaments, his cheeks tinged pink—not from the cold (you’re indoors, after all), but something else. The sight of him is enough to make your own cheeks heat up, though you do your best to ignore it. Steve has that effect on people.

“I’ve got it,” you reply, gritting your teeth as you stretch a little further. The stool wobbles, and his hands dart out instinctively, steadying you with a feather-light touch. You freeze, your heart doing an Olympic-level somersault.

“You sure?” he asks, his voice low and careful. “That stool doesn’t look very—uh—stable.”

“It’s fine,” you insist, though your confidence in the stool’s structural integrity is rapidly dwindling. You glance down again and catch the crease of worry on his brow. The man is the living embodiment of chivalry; there’s no way he’ll let you keep going without making it his mission to help.

With a sigh, you step down. The lights can wait. “Fine,” you concede. “Knock yourself out, Captain Christmas.”

Steve chuckles, setting the box of ornaments down on a nearby table. He steps up onto the stool, and you’re struck again by just how tall he is. He’s got at least a foot and a half on you, which is something you’re reminded of constantly—like when you have to crane your neck just to look him in the eye. Or when he easily reaches shelves that are practically a mile out of your range.

He’s annoyingly perfect. Not just in the tall, strong, and ridiculously handsome way, but in the kind, thoughtful, and genuine way too. He’s the kind of man who offers his umbrella to strangers in the rain, who remembers how you take your coffee, who actually listens when you talk. And if that weren’t enough, he’s also awkward—adorably so, especially around you.

You suspect it’s because you’re small and he worries about crushing you with a handshake. Or maybe it’s because he thinks you’re fragile, which would be ironic, considering how many missions you’ve both survived. Either way, his awkwardness only fuels your ridiculous, head-over-heels crush.

As Steve strings the lights, you busy yourself unpacking ornaments from the box he brought. Most of them are classics—shiny globes, candy canes, and snowflakes—but there are a few oddities mixed in. A Hulk-shaped bauble makes you snort, and you hold it up for Steve to see.

“Look familiar?” you tease.

He glances down from his perch and grins. “Bet Bruce loves that one.”

“He’s probably going to hide it on the back of the tree,” you reply, setting it aside. Your fingers brush against a different ornament—this one shaped like a little star. It’s simple, but pretty, and you hold it up to admire it. “This one’s cute.”

Steve’s hands falter for a split second as he adjusts the lights. You don’t notice, too focused on the star, but he notices. Oh, he notices. Because you just called something “cute” in that soft, slightly breathless way that makes his chest tighten. He swallows hard and refocuses on the task at hand.

“Y-yeah, it’s nice,” he manages, hoping his voice doesn’t crack.

Why is this so hard?

Steve has faced down alien armies, assassins, and world-ending threats without breaking a sweat, but the thought of confessing his feelings to you is enough to make him panic. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. At the start of the year, he’d made a resolution—a promise to himself—that he would finally tell you how he felt. But every time he’s tried, the words get stuck in his throat.

And now, with Christmas just days away, the deadline he arbitrarily set for himself is looming. The idea of starting another year without telling you makes his stomach twist, but so does the idea of screwing it up. What if you don’t feel the same way? What if he ruins everything?

“Steve?” your voice snaps him out of his spiral.

“Hm?” He blinks down at you, realizing he’s been staring blankly at the half-lit string of lights in his hands.

“You okay?” you ask, your brow furrowed. “You zoned out for a second there.”

“Oh, uh—yeah, I’m fine,” he says quickly, though his ears are burning. “Just thinking.”

“About?” you prompt, tilting your head.

You shouldn’t do that. It’s unfair, how cute you look when you’re curious. It makes it harder for him to keep his cool.

“Nothing important,” he lies, offering a sheepish smile. “How’s the ornament situation?”

You hold up the Hulk bauble again with a smirk. “I think this one’s going front and center.”

Steve laughs, shaking his head. “Bruce is gonna love that.”

You giggle, and the sound is like music to his ears. It’s one of the things he loves most about you—your laugh. It’s warm and infectious, and he’d do just about anything to hear it.

Before he can spiral further into his thoughts, you step closer to hand him the star ornament. “Here,” you say. “This one should go up top.”

Steve takes it, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest moment. It’s nothing, really—just an innocent touch—but it sends a jolt of electricity through him. He wonders if you feel it too, or if he’s imagining things.

“Good choice,” he says, his voice a little quieter now. He focuses on securing the star to the top of the tree, grateful for the distraction. When he’s done, he steps back to admire his work, and you join him, standing so close that your shoulder almost brushes his arm.

“Not bad, Captain,” you say, your tone light but genuine. “I think we’ve got ourselves a pretty solid tree.”

He glances down at you, his heart doing that stupid fluttery thing it always does when you’re near. You’re smiling—bright and proud—and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

“Yeah,” he says softly, more to himself than to you. “It’s perfect.”

You glance up at him, your smile faltering just slightly. There’s something in his expression—something raw and unguarded—that makes your pulse quicken. For a second, you think maybe, just maybe, he feels the same way you do.

But the moment passes, and Steve clears his throat, stepping away under the guise of tidying up.

“So, uh,” he says awkwardly, bending down to gather the empty ornament boxes. “What’s next on the agenda?”

You blink, trying to shake off the lingering warmth of his gaze. “I think we’re supposed to decorate the common room. Nat said something about needing backup with the garlands.”

“Right,” Steve says, straightening up with the boxes in hand. “Lead the way.”

As you head toward the common room together, you can’t help stealing glances at him. He’s trying so hard to act normal, but you know him well enough to sense when something’s off. There’s a tension in his shoulders, a hesitation in his words.

You wonder what’s on his mind. And you wonder if it has anything to do with the way he looks at you—like you’re the most important thing in the world.

Christmas morning in the Avengers Tower is a mix of chaos and cheer. The common room is alive with laughter and good-natured teasing, wrapping paper scattered across the floor like confetti. The massive Christmas tree glows softly in the corner, its branches weighed down with ornaments and twinkling lights.

Everyone has gathered here to exchange gifts, and the room feels warmer than usual—maybe because of the crackling fireplace, or maybe because of the bonds you all share. You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, a pile of unwrapped presents beside you, and your cheeks ache from smiling so much.

Natasha is chuckling as Clint holds up a sweater that has “World’s Okayest Archer” stitched across the front in bold letters. “This is slander,” Clint grumbles, but he’s grinning. “I’m amazing.”

“Sure you are,” Natasha teases, her smirk sharp and playful.

Thor, meanwhile, is marveling at a “World’s Greatest Dad” mug that someone (probably Tony) had sneakily customized to include a picture of Thor holding Stormbreaker like a proud parent. “This,” Thor declares, raising the mug, “is a mighty gift.”

“Very mighty,” Tony quips from his spot on the couch, a Santa hat perched crookedly on his head. “You’re welcome.”

Steve sits near the tree, mostly quiet but smiling at the antics around him. He’s already unwrapped his gifts—a vintage Captain America action figure from Tony (complete with the original shield), a sturdy leather-bound journal from Natasha, and an assortment of hand-knit sweaters from Thor’s mother. He’s grateful for all of them, but his focus isn’t on the gifts anymore. It’s on you.

You’re radiant this morning, your laughter lighting up the room more than the Christmas tree ever could. Steve doesn’t know if it’s the cozy glow of the fireplace or the joy of the season, but something about you seems especially beautiful today. Not that you aren’t beautiful every day—but today, you’re breathtaking.

And it’s making him nervous.

Because tucked beneath the tree is one last gift. A gift for you. A gift from him.

“Looks like that’s the last of it,” Clint says, stretching his arms above his head. “Nice haul this year, guys.”

“Not quite,” Tony interrupts, pointing toward the tree. “There’s still one left under there.”

Everyone turns their attention to the tree, and you lean forward curiously. Sure enough, there’s a single box nestled beneath the branches. It’s wrapped neatly in silver paper, tied with a red ribbon, and it has your name on it.

Your brow furrows as you reach for it. “I don’t remember putting this here.”

“Must’ve been one of us,” Natasha says, though she looks just as intrigued as everyone else. “Check the tag.”

You glance at the label, but it doesn’t give you any clues. It simply says To Y/N—no indication of who it’s from.

“Secret Santa, maybe?” Bruce suggests.

“Someone’s being mysterious,” Tony says, leaning back with a smirk. “Come on, open it. Let’s see what you got.”

You hesitate for a moment, your fingers brushing over the ribbon. Whoever left this for you went out of their way to remain anonymous, and that makes you feel oddly shy. Still, curiosity wins out, and you carefully untie the ribbon, peeling back the wrapping paper.

Inside the box is a smaller velvet box. You blink, your breath catching as you open it.

Nestled inside is a delicate silver necklace, the pendant shaped like a tiny star. It’s simple but stunning, the kind of piece that feels timeless. You stare at it for a moment, your chest tightening.

But that’s not all.

Beneath the necklace, folded carefully, is a sheet of paper. You unfold it slowly, revealing a drawing—a sketch of you, caught mid-laugh. The details are astonishing, from the crinkle of your eyes to the way your hair falls. It’s you, but somehow more: the joy on your face, the warmth in your expression—it’s like the artist captured not just your likeness, but your spirit.

The room falls quiet as you stare at the drawing, your hands trembling slightly.

“Wow,” Natasha murmurs, leaning in for a better look. “That’s... beautiful.”

“It’s incredible,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. You trace the edge of the drawing with your fingertip, your heart racing. “Who...?”

“Not it,” Tony says, raising his hands.

“Wasn’t me,” Clint adds.

Everyone else shakes their heads, except for Steve, who sits frozen, his heart pounding so loudly he’s surprised no one else can hear it.

It was a gamble, leaving the gift anonymously. He couldn’t bring himself to sign his name, not when he was terrified of how you might react. But now, watching the way your eyes glisten as you hold the necklace and the drawing, he’s second-guessing everything.

Should he say something? Should he let you wonder? Should he...?

You glance up, scanning the room. Your gaze lingers on Steve for a moment, and he feels like a deer caught in headlights. He quickly looks away, pretending to adjust the hem of his sweater.

“Well, whoever it’s from,” you say softly, clutching the necklace in your hand, “thank you. It’s... it’s perfect.”

Steve lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Perfect. You think it’s perfect. Relief washes over him, followed by a flicker of pride. He spent weeks working on the drawing, pouring every ounce of his feelings into every pencil stroke. Seeing you appreciate it—cherish it—is more than he could’ve hoped for.

But then you put the necklace on, and his chest tightens all over again. The star catches the light, and it suits you so perfectly that he has to look away before he does something stupid—like stare too long or blurt out the truth in front of everyone.

“Whoever did this really knows you,” Natasha says, eyeing the necklace. “It’s thoughtful.”

“And talented,” Bruce adds, gesturing to the drawing. “That’s some serious skill.”

Steve shifts uncomfortably, trying to hide his reddening face. He’s not used to compliments, especially not ones directed at his art.

“Guess I’ve got a secret admirer,” you joke lightly, though there’s a hint of hope in your voice.

“Or someone with terrible taste,” Tony quips, earning a pillow to the face from Natasha.

The room dissolves into laughter again, and the attention shifts away from you and your mysterious gift. But you’re still holding the drawing, your fingers brushing over the lines and shading. It’s so personal, so intimate, that it makes your heart ache in the best way.

And Steve? Steve sits quietly, watching you from the corner of his eye. He doesn’t know how long he can keep this secret, but for now, he’s content to see you happy. Even if you never find out it was him, this moment is enough.

Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

The days between Christmas and New Year’s feel suspended in time—a cozy limbo filled with leftover cookies, twinkling lights, and lazy mornings. At the Avengers Tower, the pace has slowed to something resembling normalcy, with everyone enjoying a much-needed break.

You, however, have been anything but relaxed. Not since Christmas morning, when you opened that mysterious gift.

The necklace still rests around your neck, the tiny star pendant catching the light whenever you move. The drawing that accompanied it is safely tucked away in your room, though you’ve stared at it countless times since then. You can’t stop thinking about it—or, more specifically, about who gave it to you.

For days, you’ve replayed the moment in your mind, analyzing every detail. The craftsmanship of the drawing, the thoughtfulness of the gift—it could only be from someone who knows you well. Someone who cares about you deeply. Someone who, despite their care, wanted to stay anonymous.

And you have a pretty good idea of who that someone is.

Steve.

It’s the only explanation that makes sense. He’s been acting... different around you ever since Christmas. Quieter. More awkward. You’ve caught him stealing glances when he thinks you’re not looking, and when you smile at him, he stammers like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

The thought that Steve might like you—that he might really like you—makes your heart race. You’ve had a crush on him for what feels like forever, but you never imagined he might feel the same way. Now that you’ve started piecing things together, it feels almost too good to be true.

And yet, there’s still no confirmation. No grand confession. No slip of the tongue. Nothing to cement your theory. Which is why you decide to take matters into your own hands.

It’s late afternoon when you start your search for Steve. You’ve checked the gym, the kitchen, and even the lounge, but he’s nowhere to be found. Finally, you decide to check his room—a bold move, but you’re running out of options.

When you knock and get no response, you hesitantly push the door open.

“Steve?” you call softly, peeking inside.

The room is empty, neat and orderly as always. The bed is made, the desk is tidy, and his shield leans against the wall like it belongs in a museum. You step inside, glancing around for any sign of where he might be.

Your gaze lands on the leather journal sitting on his desk. The one Natasha gifted him for Christmas. It’s open, a pencil resting on top of its pages.

You know you shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. But curiosity gets the better of you, and you find yourself drawn to the desk.

“It’s just a peek,” you mutter to yourself, your fingers brushing over the leather cover.

The page it’s open to stops you dead in your tracks. It’s a drawing—of you.

Not just any drawing, either. It’s almost identical to the one you received on Christmas morning, the same detail, the same expression, the same care in every line. Your breath catches as you realize what this means.

Steve drew this. Steve gave you the necklace. Steve has been hiding his feelings for you all this time.

A smile tugs at your lips, and a thrill runs through you. He likes you. He really likes you. And yet, he hasn’t said a word. Typical Steve—too noble, too careful, too worried about messing things up.

You close the journal carefully, placing the pencil back where you found it. You won’t confront him about this—not yet. No, you have a much better idea.

If Steve won’t confess, then you’ll make it impossible for him not to. And if that means teasing him a little, well... all’s fair in love and war.

You find Steve in the lounge a little while later, sitting on the couch with a book in hand. He looks up when you enter, and his face brightens instantly, though he tries to hide it.

“Hey,” you say, leaning casually against the doorway.

“Hey,” he replies, setting the book aside. “Looking for something?”

“Actually, I was looking for you,” you say, crossing the room to sit beside him. You’re closer than usual, your knee brushing against his. He stiffens slightly, his eyes darting to yours.

“Oh?” he says, his voice a little higher than usual. “What for?”

You shrug, tilting your head as you study him. He looks nervous—adorably so—and it only fuels your confidence.

“Just wanted to see how you’re doing,” you say, your tone light and sweet. “You’ve been kind of quiet lately.”

“Have I?” he asks, clearing his throat.

“Mm-hmm.” You reach out to adjust the collar of his sweater, your fingers grazing his neck. He freezes, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard.

“You sure everything’s okay?” you ask, your voice dipping slightly.

“I—I’m fine,” he stammers, his cheeks turning pink. “Really.”

You lean back, feigning innocence. “Good. I’d hate to think something was bothering you.”

He nods, clearly unsure of how to respond.

You spend the rest of the evening finding subtle ways to fluster him. Leaning closer than necessary when you talk. Touching his arm when you laugh. Complimenting him on everything from his sweater to his hair. By the time you part ways, Steve looks like he’s been through an emotional whirlwind.

The next day, you up the ante.

Steve is in the kitchen making breakfast when you join him, your hair slightly tousled and your sweater slipping off one shoulder. He nearly drops the pan he’s holding when he sees you.

“Morning,” you say, your voice soft and syrupy.

“G-good morning,” he replies, turning back to the stove.

You step closer, peeking over his shoulder. “Whatcha making?”

“Just eggs,” he says, his grip tightening on the spatula.

“Smells good,” you say, resting a hand on his back. You feel the muscles beneath his shirt tense, and it takes all your willpower not to laugh.

“Want some?” he asks, his voice strained.

“Sure,” you say, flashing him a smile. “Thanks, Steve. You’re the best.”

His ears turn red, and you bite your lip to keep from grinning.

By the third day, Steve is visibly unraveling.

You’ve spent the last forty-eight hours being as sweet, flirty, and touchy as you can manage without outright declaring your feelings. Every time you brush against him, compliment him, or catch him staring, he looks like he’s about to combust.

You find him in the training room that afternoon, throwing punches at a heavy bag like it owes him money. He doesn’t notice you at first, and you take a moment to admire him—his broad shoulders, his focused expression, the way his sweat-soaked shirt clings to his chest.

“Working hard?” you call out, stepping into the room.

Steve pauses, glancing over his shoulder. “Oh, hey. Didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly,” you say, walking toward him. “What’d that poor bag do to deserve this?”

“Just... letting off some steam,” he says, wiping his forehead with his arm.

“Need a sparring partner?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

His eyes widen slightly. “You want to spar? With me?”

“Why not?” you say, stepping closer. “Unless you’re scared I’ll kick your ass.”

A laugh escapes him, and you feel a spark of satisfaction. “I’d like to see you try.”

You grin, stepping onto the mat. “Suit up, Rogers.”

After a playful (and very one-sided) sparring session, Steve is more flustered than ever. You’re lying on the mat, catching your breath, and you turn to look at him.

“You’re holding back,” you tease.

“Didn’t want to hurt you,” he replies, still trying to recover from your relentless teasing.

“You’re sweet, Steve,” you say, your voice soft. “Really sweet.”

He looks at you, and for a moment, the tension between you is palpable. You’re half-tempted to just kiss him and get it over with, but you want him to make the first move.

“I should... hit the showers,” he says abruptly, standing and heading for the door.

As he disappears, you smile to yourself. He’s close to breaking. Very close.

And when he does, you’ll be ready.

It’s New Year’s Eve at the Avengers Tower, and the entire building is buzzing with excitement. Tony, true to form, has outdone himself, transforming the common areas into a glittering wonderland of gold, silver, and twinkling lights. The air hums with music, laughter, and the promise of a fresh start as the year draws to a close.

You’re in your room, standing in front of the mirror with a slight frown as you adjust your dress. The sparkly red fabric hugs your figure perfectly, but the zipper in the back refuses to cooperate. Despite twisting, stretching, and trying every awkward angle imaginable, you can’t quite reach it.

With a sigh, you grab your phone and type out a quick message:

Hey Steve, can you come to my room for a sec? Need a hand.

You press send before you can overthink it, a mischievous smile tugging at your lips. You already know he won’t say no—he never does when it’s you.

Steve arrives less than two minutes later, knocking lightly on your door.

“Y/N? Everything okay?” His voice, deep and warm, filters through the door.

“Come in!” you call out, keeping your tone casual. You hear the door creak open, followed by the soft sound of his boots against the floor.

“Y/N, I—” Steve starts, but the words die on his lips when he sees you.

You turn to face him, clutching the front of your dress to keep it from slipping down. His eyes widen, and his breath catches in his throat as he takes you in. The dress is a vibrant, glittering red that hugs your curves like a second skin, the hem brushing mid-thigh even with the extra height your heels give you. Your hair is styled elegantly, soft waves cascading over your shoulders, and your makeup highlights your features just enough to leave him completely speechless.

“Wow,” he finally manages, his voice barely above a whisper. His cheeks flush a deep pink, and he looks away, as if giving you privacy in a moment that clearly isn’t private.

You bite back a smile, pretending not to notice his reaction. “Thanks for coming. I need a little help.”

Steve clears his throat, his hands fidgeting at his sides. “Help with...?”

“The zipper,” you say, turning around to show him the back of your dress. You hold the fabric up with your hands, revealing the delicate, stubborn zipper that sits halfway down your back. “I can’t reach it.”

“Oh.” Steve’s voice cracks slightly, and he clears his throat again. “Right. Sure. I can do that.”

You hear him take a hesitant step closer, and your pulse quickens. There’s something thrilling about having him this close, about knowing he’s flustered because of you. He smells like clean soap and cedarwood, and the sheer size of him behind you is enough to make your breath hitch.

His large, calloused hands brush against your back as he takes hold of the zipper, and you have to resist the urge to shiver at the contact. He hesitates for a moment, clearly nervous, before carefully tugging the zipper upward. His fingers graze your skin as he works, and the sensation sends a rush of warmth through you.

“Is... is this okay?” he asks softly, his voice rough around the edges.

“Perfect,” you murmur, glancing at him over your shoulder. His face is closer than you expected, and the intensity in his blue eyes makes your heart skip a beat.

The zipper finally reaches the top, and Steve’s hands linger for a moment longer than necessary before he steps back, his gaze darting anywhere but at you.

“There,” he says, his voice tight. “All set.”

You turn to face him, giving a little spin. “What do you think?”

Steve stares at you, his mouth opening and closing like he’s searching for the right words. “You... You look amazing,” he says at last, his voice full of awe.

His honesty makes you blush, and you grin. “Thank you. You’re not looking too bad yourself, you know.”

Steve glances down at his outfit—a crisp navy suit that fits him perfectly—and rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, thanks,” he says, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re welcome, Captain,” you tease, stepping closer. “Shall we head to the party?”

“Y-yeah, sure,” he stammers, stepping aside to let you pass. His hand hovers near the small of your back as you leave the room, but he doesn’t quite touch you.

The elevator ride to the party is quiet, but not uncomfortably so. You steal glances at Steve as he stands beside you, his shoulders stiff and his jaw clenched like he’s holding something back.

“You okay?” you ask, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

“Yeah,” he says quickly, though the slight crack in his voice betrays him. He clears his throat, flashing you a tight-lipped smile. “I’m fine.”

“Steve.” You raise an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m not acting weird,” he protests, but the redness in his ears says otherwise.

You decide to let him off the hook—for now. The elevator doors slide open, revealing the main event: Tony’s New Year’s Eve extravaganza.

The party is already in full swing by the time you and Steve arrive. The common room has been transformed into a glamorous ballroom, complete with a dance floor, a live band, and a fully stocked bar. Guests in glittering dresses and sharp suits mingle beneath cascading strings of fairy lights, and the energy in the room is electric.

“Y/N!” Natasha calls out, making her way toward you with a drink in hand. She gives you a once-over and lets out a low whistle. “You clean up nicely.”

“Thanks, Nat,” you say, twirling for effect. “You look amazing too.”

Natasha smirks. “Oh, I know.”

Steve hangs back slightly, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he watches you with a soft smile. He doesn’t seem to notice the way Natasha’s eyes flick to him, her smirk widening.

“Well, don’t you two make a picture-perfect couple,” she says casually, raising an eyebrow.

“We’re not a couple,” Steve blurts out, his face turning an impressive shade of red.

Natasha raises her glass in mock surrender. “Whatever you say, Rogers.”

She winks at you before disappearing into the crowd, leaving you and Steve standing awkwardly by the entrance.

“She’s relentless,” Steve mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.

“She’s not wrong, though,” you say, your tone light and teasing.

Steve looks at you sharply, his eyes wide. “What?”

You laugh, giving his arm a reassuring pat. “Relax, Steve. I’m just messing with you.”

His shoulders relax slightly, but the pink in his cheeks doesn’t fade.

The night unfolds with laughter, dancing, and plenty of drinks. You make a point to stay close to Steve, brushing against him whenever you can, leaning into him when you laugh, and catching his gaze across the room. Each time, his reaction is the same—wide-eyed, flustered, and utterly endearing.

At one point, you drag him to the dance floor, your hand firmly clasped in his. He protests at first, claiming he’s not much of a dancer, but you refuse to take no for an answer.

“You’ll be fine,” you assure him, pulling him close as the band starts a slow, jazzy number. “Just follow my lead.”

Steve hesitates, but when you rest your hands on his shoulders, he relents. His large hands settle on your waist, and the two of you sway to the music, moving in perfect sync despite his earlier protests.

“You’re better at this than you let on,” you say, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

Steve chuckles nervously. “You’re easy to dance with.”

The compliment makes your heart flutter, and you tighten your grip on his shoulders. For a moment, it feels like the rest of the party fades away, leaving just the two of you in your own little world.

You’re about to say something—something bold, something that’s been on the tip of your tongue for days—when the song ends, and the moment is interrupted by a burst of applause.

Steve steps back, his hands dropping to his sides. “That was... nice,” he says, his voice soft.

“Yeah,” you agree, your chest tightening. “It was.”

You’re not sure how much longer you can keep up this game of subtlety and teasing. The clock is ticking, and the New Year is just around the corner. If Steve doesn’t make a move soon, you might just have to do it for him.

The party is in full swing as midnight approaches, the energy in the room building with each passing minute. The band has picked up its tempo, and laughter and clinking glasses echo through the air. You and Steve have stayed close all night, and now the two of you make your way toward the bar for a drink before the countdown begins.

“What’ll it be?” Steve asks, glancing at the menu. He’s been doing everything he can to appear calm, but the slight tremor in his voice and the way he keeps running a hand through his hair are clear giveaways.

“Champagne,” you say with a smile, leaning casually against the bar. “It’s tradition, isn’t it?”

“Good choice,” he says, signaling to the bartender. Moments later, two glasses of champagne appear in front of you, the golden liquid fizzing enticingly. You pick yours up and raise it in a mock toast.

“To the end of a very interesting year,” you say. “And the start of a better one.”

Steve clinks his glass against yours, his blue eyes warm. “I’ll drink to that.”

You take a sip, savoring the bubbly sweetness. The two of you fall into easy conversation, and for a moment, it feels like the rest of the room doesn’t exist. That is, until your eyes drift upward—and you notice the sprig of mistletoe hanging above you.

Your heart skips a beat, and a mischievous smile curls at the edges of your lips.

“Steve,” you say, your voice tinged with amusement.

“Yeah?” he asks, oblivious, before taking another sip of his champagne.

You tilt your head upward, your gaze fixed on the mistletoe. His eyes follow yours, and when he realizes what you’re looking at, he freezes.

“Oh,” he says, his voice barely audible. The tips of his ears turn bright red, and he looks away quickly, as if avoiding eye contact will somehow make the situation disappear.

“Did you know Tony hung mistletoe all over the tower?” you ask innocently, though the twinkle in your eyes betrays your intent.

Steve scratches the back of his neck, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. “Uh, yeah. I might’ve noticed. He’s… thorough.”

You take a step closer, your heels clicking softly against the floor. Even with them on, you still have to crane your neck to look up at him. He’s towering above you, his broad shoulders blocking out everything else, and the nervous way he’s fidgeting is almost too cute to bear.

“So,” you say, your tone teasing. “What are we supposed to do when we’re under mistletoe?”

Steve swallows hard, his eyes darting between you and the small sprig above. “I—uh—well, I think… traditionally… people…”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting patiently as he struggles to form a coherent sentence.

“They kiss,” he finally blurts out, his voice cracking slightly.

You can’t help but laugh softly. “They do,” you agree. “It’s tradition, after all.”

His blush deepens, and he looks like he’s about two seconds away from bolting. You can see the internal battle playing out in his mind, the way he’s torn between his feelings and his nerves. The countdown begins in the background, voices ringing out in unison:

“Ten!”

“Steve,” you say, stepping even closer. “You know what I think?”

He blinks, staring down at you like a deer caught in headlights. “W-what?”

“Nine!”

“I think you’re overthinking this.”

“Eight!”

His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. You’re not sure whether to be exasperated or endeared by how utterly flustered he is.

“Seven!”

“Six!”

“Steve,” you say firmly, reaching up to place a hand on his chest. You can feel the rapid thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm, and it sends a thrill through you.

“Five!”

“If you don’t kiss me right now,” you whisper, your voice low and teasing, “I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands.”

“Four!”

“Three!”

Still, he hesitates, his lips parting as if to speak but no words escaping. You sigh dramatically, rising onto your tiptoes and tugging him down by his tie.

“Two!”

Before he can protest—or, more likely, overthink himself into oblivion—you press your lips to his.

The kiss is soft and sweet at first, your lips fitting perfectly against his. His initial surprise quickly melts away, and his hands come to rest lightly on your waist, steadying you as you lean into him. Even with your heels, he has to bend down significantly to meet you, and the height difference is so absurdly Steve-and-you that it makes you smile against his lips.

When you deepen the kiss slightly, sliding your hands up to his shoulders, he lets out a quiet, surprised sound that sends a rush of warmth through you. He tastes faintly of champagne, and the sheer rightness of the moment makes your head spin.

The countdown fades into a deafening roar of cheers and applause as the clock strikes midnight, but you barely notice. For this moment, it’s just you and Steve, wrapped up in a world of your own making.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathless. Steve looks down at you, his expression a mixture of wonder, disbelief, and pure adoration.

“I…” he starts, his voice shaky. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

You laugh softly, your hands still resting on his broad shoulders. “You don’t say.”

“I mean, I—uh—I’ve liked you for a while now,” he stammers, his words tumbling out in a rush. “A long while, actually. Since before last Christmas. And I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how, and then the gift—I mean, the necklace—I thought maybe it would say it for me, but then you didn’t say anything, and I—”

“Steve,” you interrupt gently, placing a finger over his lips to stop his rambling. He freezes, his eyes wide and uncertain.

You smile, rising onto your tiptoes once more to kiss him again. This time, it’s slower, sweeter, a silent reassurance that you feel the same way. When you pull back, you whisper against his lips:

“Happy New Year, Steve.”

He stares at you, his blue eyes shining with so much emotion it makes your chest ache. “Happy New Year, Y/N.”

And as the room around you erupts into celebration, you know this is going to be the start of something truly amazing.

I'm sorry (not really) but I can't imagine Steve as nothing else than a softie, like, I don't know where you all see the big dominant man...I see a puppy

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aikaterini-drag · 1 year ago

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Smiles and Smooches

Summary: You get drunk and demand kisses and hugs from your boyfriend. He is more than happy to please you.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader (no mention of y/n)

Warnings: no smut, takes place during tfatws, boyfriend Bucky, emotional security, fluff, kisses.

The night carried a pleasant breeze, the stars twinkling. You and Bucky sat close together under the dimmed light of a cozy booth at your favorite bar. The hum of laughter and clinking glasses surrounded you. And tonight, you were a little tipsier than usual. You had consumed two of your favorite cocktails— despite your boyfriend’s advice to take it slow. Bucky, unlike you, couldn't get drunk no matter how hard he tried, thanks to his super soldier genes. He had finished the last sips of your drink, attempting to prevent you from feeling sick later on.

Thankfully, you were feeling fine. Only slightly drunk and blissfully happy inside.

With flushed cheeks and a captivating smile, you shifted on your chair and leaned toward him.

"You know, babe," you slurred slightly, "you're like... seriously the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Bucky couldn't help but half-laugh. “I told you, you shouldn’t have ordered that second drink, sweets. You’re drunk.”

“I’m fine.” You hiccuped and hugged his arm. “It’s not my fault you’re superman.”

“Super-soldier,” he corrected with another half laugh.

“Tsk… is the same. You’re my strong, virile man. And I love you!”

He grinned and gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. "And you're the best thing that's ever happened to me.”

You beamed at him, your fingers tracing patterns on his bionic hand. "No, I love you more! Seriously, you're, like, super super cute. I mean, like, cuter than, like, a basket of puppies."

He chuckled at your comparison. “What an adorable declaration of love.”

“You’re adorable.” Your breath ghosted over his lips. “My adorable James. My Bucky.”

He smiled and kissed across your forehead. “Well, that’s debatable. I have the most adorable girl in the world right here with me."

Your cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of pink. "Can I have a hug? Please? You give the best hugs."

Who was he to deny you? He eagerly wrapped his arm around you and pulled you close. You melted into his embrace, your head resting on his chest, your fingers playing with the fabric of his shirt. You popped a button and he chuckled and gripped your hands gently.

“No funny business, sweets.”

You pouted. “Want to kiss you. Everywhere.”

He kneaded your hair. “We’re in a bar full of people.”

“Then let’s go home,” you said as your mouth trailed a path of warmth along his unshaven jawline.

“I’m not letting you drink ever again. You get turned into a little kiss monster.”

You giggled. “Your kiss monster.”

“Mine. Always.” He hummed, his voice a warm murmur.

“Take me home, sarge.”

“Home it is, my sweet.”

After taking care of the bill, he held you up, his arms wounding around you to steady you. You still felt a little tipsy but you were also so happy and warm, holding him close, inhaling his fresh masculine scent. Holding you protectively against him, he led the way to the apartment you shared.

As they walked, he glanced at you. “Why did you drink so much, sweets? You dislike it.”

You sighed and clutched his arm. “I’m just sad you’re going on another mission. I don’t want you to be hurt. I meant to have one drink but… I lost control a bit, I guess.”

Bucky stopped and cupped your flushed face. “Hey, don’t worry. I’ll be fine. You know I’ve got this.”

“So what if you’re good at it? Does that mean you have to risk your life without concerns?” Tears welled up in your eyes. “What if something happens to you?”

Exhaling, he drew you into a tight embrace. “I’ll be careful, I promise. You know I’ll always come back to you.”

You nestled into his arms, suppressing a sob. “I just hate seeing you go into danger again.”

“I know, sweetheart. But it’s what I do. And I do it to protect people like you, people I care about,” he said, pressing gentle kisses on your moist cheeks. “Don’t cry. I’ll be counting the minutes until I can come back to you.”

“Promise?” You gazed up at him, searching his ocean eyes for reassurance.

“I promise.”

“My Bucky,” you said, caressing his face. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice filled with emotion.

He held you tighter, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Love you too, more than words can express, sweets.”

With his arms wrapped around you, you stayed there for a while, holding each other, kissing lazily. His lips brushed against yours repeatedly, his tongue coaxing your mouth apart and slipping inside. He consumed you, with his touches and his warmth, until there was nothing left but his warm gentle touches and the assurance that everything would be alright.

Follow for more content 🩵 Reblogs or any other kind of support are greatly appreciated. Hugs and kisses 🩷

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celestisdivinitusinsaniavero · 6 days ago

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That one time, Charles had a slip-up.

[Listen, I watched Apocalypse again, and this has been on my mind ever since. I love this man so much, it hurts.]

young!Charles Xavier (Wheelchair) x Reader TW: Oral (f!receiving), dirty telepathy.

You're pacing the front of the classroom in Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, chalk in hand, as you sketch out Mendelian genetics on the blackboard. The familiar screech of chalk against the slate is comforting. You're in your element here, explaining the logic of dominant and recessive genes with an enthusiasm that hopefully borders on infectious.

"Any questions so far?" you ask, facing the class. But it's not their faces you seek; it's not them you crave validation from. No, if you're honest with yourself, you're playing to an audience of one—the one who's not even here today: Charles.

Of course, you've seen him around the mansion—how could you not? Charles Xavier, with his sharp wit and sharper suits, his intense eyes. Even seated in his wheelchair, he carries himself with a grace and confidence that sets your heart racing. His presence lingers like in the study halls, and every so often, when your paths cross, his warm eyes seem to twinkle just for you.

"Miss?" A student's voice pulls you back to reality, and you shake off the daydream with a laugh that you hope sounds more professional than flustered.

"Sorry, I got lost in thought. What's your question, Jamie?"

As you navigate the minefield of mutant teenage curiosity, something shifts within you—a sudden invasion of vivid and unexpected images almost knocks you off-balance. There you are in your mind's eye, but not as you are now. Instead, you're perched on the edge of Charles' desk, the mahogany surface cool beneath your fingertips, the ambient light dancing across your—

No. Stop that. This is neither the time nor the place for such fantasies. You cough to dispel the inappropriate mirage and refocus on the lesson. It must be the pollen of spring air wafting through the open windows, you tell yourself, or perhaps the strain of teaching genetics has finally cracked your decorum.

You walk back to the front of the class, your mind still reeling from the vivid images that seem to have hijacked your thoughts. You clear your throat, attempting to regain composure as you refocus on the genetic intricacies of Punnett squares. But it's difficult—oh, so difficult—when you think of Charles's mahogany desk, your body is there, on top of documents and pens, spread like a sacrifice for him.

"Adenine pairs with thymine," you recite, your voice a little too breathy. You fumble slightly with the chalk, and it drops to the floor. Bending to retrieve it, you're hit with another wave of those illicit thoughts.

You’re sprawled across that desk now, papers fluttering to the floor like they’re too shy to watch. Your thighs are parted, your panties soaked through, and Charles stares at you like you are his favorite meal. His breath is hot against your skin, puffing out in little gusts that make your core throb like it’s got its own heartbeat.

“You’ve been thinking about this for weeks, haven’t you?” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, like gravel soaked in whiskey. His tongue darts out, tracing the crease where your thigh meets your swollen center.

He doesn’t stop there. Oh no, he is just getting started. He’s kissing his way up the inside of your thigh, his lips soft and wet, a hint of teeth scraping against your skin in the best kind of way. And then he’s there, right on your hot flesh, his tongue brushing against your clit.

“Charles,” you gasp, your fingers clawing at the edge of the desk as his tongue slips between your folds, lapping at your juices. He’s good at this—too good—and you know why: He can read your thoughts and understands precisely what drives you wild. You’re already shaking, your hips jerking up to meet his mouth as he sucks your clit into his mouth, rolling it between his lips.

“Oh god,” you moan, your voice cracking as he slips two fingers into your dripping wetness, curling them, hitting that sweet spot inside you like he’s got a roadmap. Your thighs are trembling and you can feel the heat building in your core, white-hot and unstoppable.

“I want to hear you,” he growls against you, his breath hot and wet, and then he’s devouring you again, his tongue flicking against you in hard strokes while his fingers move at that delicious pace.

And that’s when you feel that sweet, soul-crushing wave of pleasure that starts in your toes and rips through your body like a hurricane. You’re coming, hard, your heat clamping down on his fingers as he licks and sucks you through it, drawing every last drop of ecstasy out of you until you’re a quivering, sobbing mess on his desk.

It's like being jolted awake, and suddenly, you're back in the classroom. The daydream bursts like a balloon, and you're aware of your surroundings. You're standing in the middle of the classroom, giving a lecture about... wait, what was the topic again?

"Guanytosine... cytosine..." The words are suddenly foreign on your tongue, a tangled mess of syllables. You shake your head, trying to dispel the imagined orgasm, but it clings with a tenacity that makes your knees weak.

"Any questions?" you ask, more out of need to break the spell than actual inquiry. A sea of blank teenage faces stares back at you.

"Alright, then." You manage a smile as the bell finally chimes. "Don't forget to review chapters five and six. We'll be discussing mutations next class."

The students file out, their chatter and laughter a welcome distraction. Once the last one leaves, you lean heavily against the doorframe, taking in the now-empty classroom.

Fresh air. You need fresh air. Stepping outside into the crisp morning, you embrace the solace of the estate's gardens. The manicured lawns stretch out before you. You close your eyes, taking in deep lungfuls of the verdant fragrance to push out the scent of Charles that you can’t shake.

The soft sound of wheels on gravel draws your attention. The sunlight catches in his hair, giving him an almost ethereal glow that's hard not to notice.

"Hello, darling," he greets you warmly, those expressive eyes meeting yours with a depth that always seems to see right through you. "How were your classes today?"

You open your mouth to reply, aiming for nonchalance. "Good," you manage, but it comes out more as a question than a statement. A blush creeps up your neck as flashes from that earlier inappropriate fantasy flicker behind your eyelids. You can feel the heat of your cheeks matching the roses beside you.

"Is everything alright?" he asks, his tone laced with concern.

Before you can fabricate some form of reassurance, his hand brushes against yours, a simple touch that sends a jolt of energy through you. His thoughts unexpectedly merge with yours, revealing the image you've been dreaming about—now seen from his perspective.

Your cheeks flush crimson. You either revealed your secret fantasies about him or... those vivid images were actually his, projected directly into your mind.

"Charles," you breathe, looking up at him with wide eyes

"Ah, I'm sorry about that," he says, his voice tinged with embarrassment and a playful undertone suggesting he's not entirely repentant. "I suppose my thoughts were... louder than intended."

"Your thoughts..." you begin, feeling heat rise to your cheeks again. "They weren't... "

"I projected," Charles admits with a small smile. "A slip-up. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable."

Uncomfortable isn't quite the word for it; more like overwhelmed and flustered beyond belief.

"Seriously?" you ask. "That happened unintentionally?"

"Well, not entirely," he replies with a grin. "It was bound to slip out eventually. But..." He chuckles alongside you, the sound mixing with the rustling leaves and distant chatter from the mansion. "Next time, I'll endeavor to keep my dirtiest daydreams to myself," he promises, though the twinkle in his eye makes you wonder if he truly intends to.

"Well, you could at least take me out to dinner first," you jokingly reply.

"I'll be by your door at seven." Charles smiles, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You blink, caught off guard by his swift response. "I... wait, really?"

Charles' lips curl into a playful smirk. "Unless you'd prefer to skip straight to the desk?"

Your cheeks flush an even deeper shade of crimson. "Dinner sounds lovely," you manage to say, your voice a touch higher than usual.

"Until then," he says softly, bringing your hand to his lips for a gentle kiss. The gesture is so charmingly old-fashioned that you can't help but smile as he rolls away.

#charles xavier #professor x #x men #charles xavier x reader #x men apocalypse #x men first class #x men days of future past #x men movies #reader insert #female reader #charles xavier imagine

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lostloveletters · 5 months ago

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This Must Be The Place (John Brady x OC)

Summary: Home is a place, and a person, and a strange thing to navigate when Brady’s been away from his for so long, and Woody’s never quite had one.

Note: I really missed writing for Brady and Woody, I'm sorry it's been so long! I was thinking I'd have this done like a week ago, but then I got stuck on a scene and had to rewrite some things. Do not interact if you're under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: Some angst.

‘I’m coming home. Woody will be with me. We’re getting married.’

John’s letter home, sent just before their departure from England, hadn’t been that short, but the message was clear enough that by the time they were Stateside, his mother had called—paid the long distance charges and all—just to speak to him after years of anxious writing. He choked up when he heard his mother’s voice again after so long, handing the phone to Woody so he could compose himself when he felt the conversation getting away from him.

Woody’s semi-frequent correspondence with his mother, particularly after his father died, put her in her good graces, as she found the letters odd yet charming. She especially appreciated the photo of the two of them that Woody included in one of her letters—which must have been from the party for Dye’s crew when they completed their 25th mission, since she was actually wearing her WAC uniform instead of her typical coveralls in it. ‘I thought it was from a movie magazine!’ his mother gushed to him in the letter that followed.

Looking at that photo, framed and displayed on the slightly yellowing floral-patterned wall along with decades’ worth of memories, from his parents’ wedding to his childhood with his brother, made him more certain of his future with Woody than ever.

He pulled his pipe from his mouth and sighed. Being home without his father around made him feel a bit unsettled, even though he had been greeted with hugs and kisses from just about every one of his relatives at the door. His father had been their rock, the one who kept it all together, the kind of husband and father he aspired to be someday. Turning around to look at his fiance, he tried to see her through his father’s eyes, and quickly determined he would have liked her, there was no way he couldn’t have.

Woody cleaned up damn well when she wanted to, her blonde hair had been in hot rollers and then painstakingly styled early in the morning, before they took the train into town, his brother Gene waiting at the station to drive them to Victor. She scrounged up the money to buy a new dress from a department store for the occasion—midnight blue, loose-fitting, ‘Something I can move in,’ she had told him. John wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to seeing her legs like that. Throughout the evening, his eyes drifted to the soft, flowing hem around her knees as each of his relatives fawned over her.

It wasn’t necessarily eavesdropping, not when aunts and uncles and cousins clamored over each other to speak to his future bride, who bashfully accepted their compliments and patiently entertained their questions.

“You’re from San Diego, aren’t you?”

“San Francisco, actually, but I’ve been all over.”

“San Francisco! It must be so sleepy up here to you!”

“Oh, I’m just glad to be wherever John is,” she said, glancing over at him almost shyly. “We could end up in Alaska for all I care.”

Her story of how they met won them over. The twinkle in her eye when his relatives gasped and crossed themselves when she told them of his crash landing upon arrival at Thorpe Abbotts—a detail he omitted in his letters home, it only would have been a source of unnecessary anxiety back then, but humorous and exciting in hindsight.

She’d ridden up to the wreckage of a well-executed emergency belly-landing in the truck with Ken Lemmons and the rest of the available ground crew, ready to get to work once he examined the damage. In the middle of Ken’s quick and astoundingly accurate assessment—’It really wasn’t that bad,’ she assured his enraptured family—she introduced herself to the fort’s pilot, mentioning to them how handsome she found then-Lieutenant John Brady when she first saw him.

“Love at first sight,” one of his younger cousins gasped.

“Something like that.” Woody said, light laughter in her voice. “After a while, I realized the progress on the plane wasn’t all he was interested in when he came around the hangar to watch me work.”

Their eyes met from across the modest living room’s threshold, sharing private smiles as if the dozens of people crammed inside all disappeared.

“Can you blame me?” he finally said.

Everyone had something to say after that, all clamoring to get their two-cents in. One of his uncles patted his shoulder, "You picked a good one."

He grinned—he sure did.

The sentiment was reiterated as the larger group dispersed throughout the house. He managed to slip into the dining room to make a plate of what was left of the hors d'oeuvres his mother had set out. Cheese and crackers, some cold cuts, too. Didn't realize how much he missed things like that, savoring each bite as he stood near the kitchen, watching Woody with one of his aunts.

She slouched a bit, withered compared to how she had been entertaining everyone in the living room.

“A lady mechanic,” his aunt marveled, “you know I can hardly believe it, but I’m sure you showed those boys a thing or two.”

“I was just glad I could do my part,” Woody said, the canned answer acceptably modest.

“Your family must be so proud of you.”

Her strained smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “My parents are, um—“

“Aunt Del, I think I heard my mother asking for you,” John interrupted, setting his plate down.

“Oh, I better go see, then. Lovely talking to you, dear,” she said, patting Woody’s arm before departing the kitchen.

Woody leaned against the counter, audibly sighing in relief. She fought to blink away her exhaustion, traveling into town in the morning to keep up a facade through the evening, wanting so desperately to make a good first impression on his family, the agreeable, lovely future in-law they all wanted.

He moved in front of her, shielding her from any nosy relatives who might poke their heads in, looking for her.

“You saved me,” she said.

“She shouldn’t be bringing it up anyway," he said. "I know my mother told them—"

"It’s a practice run for the wedding.”

“We could elope. Go to the courthouse first thing in the morning…”

She chewed on her bottom lip, eyes darting all over the room before bringing her attention back to him. "No, we couldn't," she said with finality. "It wouldn't be fair to them."

But it'd be nice. Shorten the list of things they had to worry about, though it'd just as quickly put her on his family's shit list as she managed to get in their good graces over the course of an afternoon. It almost felt too easy. Maybe that was what everyone wanted after everything that happened over the past few years, glad to finally have John home and willing to overlook any reservations about the woman he brought home with him.

“Have I mentioned how beautiful you look?” he asked, gently tugging on the hem of her dress and pulling her from her thoughts.

“I feel naked without trousers on.”

“I wish you were.”

She tapped his chest with the back of her hand. “Watch it, Johnny.”

“I’m sorry we have to stay here.”

“Why?”

He nodded toward the crowded living room. “Lack of privacy, for starters.”

She shook her head, echoing her earlier sentiment. “I’m just glad to be with you.”

“As soon as we’re both working, we’ll start looking for a place. Maybe an apartment to start.”

“Your family would be okay with that?” she asked. “Us living together?”

“Probably not, but we’re engaged at least, and after the past two years, I don’t want to be without you again.”

“Me either.”

They spent the following half hour or so hiding in the kitchen before his relatives began filtering out, leaving them with hugs and well-wishes and promises to invite them over for lunch or dinner sometime.

"Woody, it was great meeting you," Gene said, giving her a hug. "Keep an eye on this one, he might not look it, but he can be trouble."

"I'm enough trouble for the both of us, believe me," she said, retreating back to John's side.

The house was soon empty, save for the three of them, sitting in the living room with the radio playing softly in the background of the conversation between John and his mother.

Even though she brewed some coffee for them, Woody could hardly keep her eyes open. She nodded off for a moment, her mug nearly slipping from her hands.

"John, the poor thing is exhausted. Why don't you show her upstairs while I clean up? I made up your brother's old room for her."

"Thank you," Woody said. "Really, for letting me stay here. I can pay you rent, or—"

"Please, you're almost family now. And I trust you both to…" his mother struggled to find the words, almost flustered, and Woody tried her best to contain a snicker, "mind yourselves."

"Woody keeps me honest," he lied.

"Alright," she conceded with a smile. "Good night you two."

As soon as they were upstairs, they wasted no time in shoving into the bathroom together—a tight squeeze, but more than fine by them. Their respective nighttime routines peppered with kisses and soft touches while teeth were brushed and faces were washed, practically pressed against one another while sharing the limited sink space.

They paused to look at themselves in the mirror on the wall, a domestic portrait staring back at them. He pressed his lips just below her ear, settling his chin on her shoulder as his arms wrapped around her waist from behind.

Whenever she blinked, she expected it to be a dream she would wake up from, back in the barracks at Thorpe Abbotts, waiting for him to come back, worrying incessantly. But she put her hands over his and squeezed gently. Real, warm, loving. Always loving.

"I wish we didn't have to sleep in separate rooms," she mumbled.

"We'll be fine," he said. "It won't be for too long, anyway."

She wanted to say something—that it was ridiculous, they were adults for crying out loud. And after everything he especially had been through, couldn't there have been some grace, some wiggle room, all things considered? But it'd been clear through the way his family interacted with him throughout the day that they didn't know nearly as much about it as she did. Even then, there were things he kept to himself, things she'd probably never know.

Feeling almost useless, she turned around, pressing her lips to his, hoping he knew everything she couldn't say was in that kiss, in the way her blunt nails tenderly scratched his jaw. "I'll see you in the morning."

The hallway was short, the room easy enough to find with Woody's two suitcases sitting neatly next to the door, Gene having brought them up for her once they got to the house, encouraging her to unpack after the party, 'Make yourself at home.' She hesitated, more than used to living out of the two suitcases and not having much to her name anyway. She was careful when she set one of them on the bed, digging through for pajamas, a satin set consisting of an olive green camisole, matching robe, and loose, flowy pants with lace detailing around the cuffs. John bought it for her when they were in Manhattan, insisting his family would think he wasn't taking good care of her if she puttered around in her old PT shirt and men's pajama bottoms. Felt like they spent half the money they had on hand to buy new clothes, so they'd be real people and blend in with all the rest.

His mother made up the room beautifully for Woody—the soft, worn linens smelled faintly of detergent, but mostly of home, something she heard plenty of people refer to when the scent of a certain blend of tobacco or freshly cut grass was in the air, but never quite understood until she got under the covers and immediately thought of John.

Settling on her side, she stared at the wall between them, like if she looked at it long enough, she'd be able to see through it, see him. One measly wall, nothing compared to two years and thousands of miles, but she still missed him terribly.

She wrapped her arms around her middle in a weak attempt to comfort herself and closed her eyes. She couldn't find sleep behind them despite her earlier exhaustion, her racing thoughts keeping her awake.

The door creaked open, and she sat up on her elbows, brows furrowed in confusion until John closed the door behind him.

“Are you out of your mind? Your mother could come up here any minute and—“

“It’s not that…I can’t sleep without you,” he mumbled, almost embarrassed. They’d spent the past few weeks practically attached at the hip, from the time he arrived back at Thorpe Abbotts, on the ship from England to New York, to the guilty weekend in a Manhattan hotel room. Even in the familiar walls of his childhood bedroom, he tossed and turned when left to face the night alone.

“Oh, Johnny,” she cooed, extending her arms to him. “Come here.”

He curled up into her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. She silently cradled him until she felt hot tears on her skin.

“Are you alright?” she asked softly.

“‘m sorry."

“Don’t ever apologize. I love you.”

“I love you.” He held her tighter, the way he would cling to a teddy bear when he was a boy, too young to face his fears on his own but too old to seek the comfort of his parents for it. “I love you so much.”

In an attempt to calm him down, she stroked his hair. It wouldn’t look great, his mother finding them entangled in bed together or catching him sneaking out of her room. She didn’t seem like an unreasonable woman, though. Surely she would understand that seeking comfort wasn’t a sin—nothing they did was, not when there was love at the root of it all.

“Go to sleep,” Woody whispered, though she could tell by his steady breathing he already was. “I’ll be here in the morning.”

#john brady x oc #masters of the air x oc #masters of the air #john brady #mota oc #mota fanfic #mota x oc #mota #hbo war x oc #hbo war #ch: woody

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elryuse · 7 months ago

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Can u do a yandere fic vampire Red Velvet x Male Reader?

Details: YN is a hematologist and a certified nutritionist, he has rather a normal if not boring life, well, successful to be exact, but almost 24/7, his life is just work and work.

One day he thinks about life and tries to get out of his usual life, he doesn't like dating apps, but his friend insists him on trying one of those.

He then meets Park Sooyoung (Joy), he doesn't know why but he is captivated by her eyes and they match, they talk and go out, soon YN asks her out for a dinner date. After the dinner, Joy tells YN to take her home and, guess what, she then says sorry and traps him there.

There he'll meet her sisters, Joy apologizes 'cause her she and her sisters can't just go around and feast on people's blood or steal it from a hospital so they need a perfect (unlucky) candidate to fill their thirst.

The girls are not those who just know take but not give, having lived for a few centuries they have built up a big fortune so Irene gives him a deal, a hefty price a month, and YN is only allowed to go home under their supervision.

Why YN but not the others? During YN and Joy's time before that fateful night, Joy learns of YN's blood type and he has a mutation in his gene which makes his blood more rare and it can help them stay full for a long time, longer than usual compared to other people's or animal's blood.

Day by day, they (except Irene) fall in love with him more and start to hate and compete against each other more. Irene tells her sisters that he is just food, no more no less. Irene hates YN for turning her sisters into love craving maniacs, her words, her physical tortures, they hurt him a lot. Gradually, the girls start to resent Irene more. Irene then knows that she is losing her sisters, YN knows their history, what they've gone through together so while doesn't want to, he still helps her, at least for the sake of his love for the other girls.

After that, Irene spends nights thinking about her actions, she wants to redeem herself but not knowing that she will join the circle and compete against them to get YN.

The Cost Of Immortality

Red Velvet X Male Hermatologist Reader

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the endless rows of blood bags. My world, for the most part, resided within these pale confines. Dr. Y/N, hematologist extraordinaire, by day. Sleep-deprived researcher, by night. The monotony was a steady thrum in the background of my life, a rhythm I barely noticed anymore.

Until her. Park Sooyoung, or Joy as she insisted, was a splash of vibrant crimson against the beige canvas of my existence. Her laughter was like wind chimes in a gentle breeze, a stark contrast to the sterile silence of my lab. We swiped right on a whim, two lonely souls seeking a spark in the digital abyss. Our dates were stolen moments of whispered secrets and stolen glances, a world existing outside the confines of my workaholic routine.

One evening, after an intimate dinner bathed in flickering candlelight, her smile faltered for a fleeting moment. "Take me home," she pleaded, a tremor in her voice that sent a shiver down my spine. But 'home' wasn't the cozy apartment I envisioned. It was a sprawling mansion that loomed out of the darkness, an unsettling air clinging to its ancient bricks.

Inside, bathed in an eerie moonlight, stood two other women, the same captivating crimson eyes staring back at me, framed by raven hair in shades of red. Introductions were swift, clinical even. Wendy, the eldest, with an aura of quiet authority. Seulgi, the playful one, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. And lastly, Irene, the epitome of stoicism, her gaze as sharp as the glint of silver moonlight on a blade.

The facade they'd meticulously crafted crumbled in that instant. They weren't human. A cocktail of fear and morbid fascination bubbled in my gut as Irene, her voice devoid of warmth, revealed their true nature. Vampires.

Relief, a fleeting emotion, washed over me only to be replaced by a cold dread that coiled around my heart. Irene then explained the reason for the charade - my blood. A rare type, a euphoric feast for their kind. The offer they presented was a gilded cage - a hefty sum deposited into my account every month in exchange for my…companionship. Leaving was an option, but only with armed guards as my constant companions.

Trapped, I became their prisoner, their provider. Nights were spent in opulent rooms, my blood sustaining them. Days were a monotonous blur of tests conducted by Wendy, their resident physician, and guarded outings with Seulgi, whose playful demeanor couldn't quite mask the possessiveness simmering beneath the surface.

But it was Joy, with her intoxicating gaze that seemed to see straight into my soul, who held the key to my heart. As weeks bled into months, a twisted dynamic began to take hold. Wendy craved my intellectual sparring sessions, dissecting medical journals with a fervor that both scared and intrigued me. Seulgi sought out my laughter, our days filled with playful banter that often teetered on the edge of something more. Joy… Joy craved something deeper, a yearning that mirrored the burgeoning affection I felt for her.

Irene, ever the pragmatist, remained aloof. I was a source, a necessity, but never an equal. Their affections, fueled by my unique blood, twisted into a possessive love that bordered on obsession. One night, sleep evading me, I found myself wandering the cavernous halls, drawn by a sliver of light filtering from beneath a closed door. Straining my ears, I caught the tail end of Irene's scathing words, calling my presence a curse.

A flicker of hurt ignited in my chest, a silent plea that resonated with the others. A shift, subtle yet undeniable, began to take place. Wendy's once objective demeanor morphed into veiled defiance. Seulgi's playful banter took on a tinge of possessiveness, her playful swats laced with a silent threat. They began to resent Irene's cold control, their love for me blossoming into a silent rebellion.

I, aware of their history, a dark secret Irene guarded with an iron fist, found myself playing a dangerous game. I helped Irene, not out of fear, but for the sake of the fragile connection I had with the others. This unexpected kindness sparked a flicker of something in Irene's eyes - a flicker I dared to hope was redemption.

But redemption rarely comes easy, especially for creatures of the night. One evening, while Seulgi and I were returning from a guarded outing, a tense silence hung heavy in the air. Suddenly, the car swerved, tires screeching in protest as we veered off the deserted road. The world lurched, and then… darkness.

As weeks bled into months, the opulent mansion I was confined to became a gilded cage. The initial thrill of being around captivating vampires dulled, replaced by a gnawing sense of longing for freedom. Yet, a strange sense of camaraderie started to blossom between me and my captors.

Joy, with her fiery spirit and infectious laughter, was the first to chip away at the walls I'd built around my heart. Our late-night conversations, fueled by stolen glances and whispered secrets, transformed into a silent understanding that transcended the boundaries of our situation.

Wendy, the stoic doctor, surprised me with her curiosity about the human world. Our discussions, initially clinical and scientific, evolved into philosophical debates that stretched into the wee hours. There was a spark of intellectual intimacy that ignited a warmth within me.

Seulgi, the playful prankster, brought a lightness to my captivity. Her days were filled with teasing jabs and playful challenges, a subtle shift from her initial possessiveness. There was a sense of innocent affection in her touch, a camaraderie that soothed the ache for human connection.

Even Irene, the enigmatic leader, began to show a flicker of something akin to…gratitude? Her cold demeanor softened a fraction during our bloodletting sessions. The way her eyes lingered on me for a beat too long, the hesitant brush of her fingers against mine while administering the numbing agent – these subtle signs hinted at a transformation within her.

However, Irene's possessiveness manifested differently. Unlike the open affection of her sisters, hers was a veiled control. She dictated the terms of my captivity, monitored my interactions with the others, and treated me more like a valuable possession than a person. This dissonance between her actions and the subtle shift in her eyes created a confusing dynamic.

One evening, after a particularly draining bloodletting session, I found myself alone with Irene in the dimly lit library. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken emotions. Finally, I gathered my courage. "Why, Irene?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "Why do you keep me here like this, a prisoner in your own home?"

Irene's gaze snapped to mine, crimson eyes blazing with a flicker of something I couldn't decipher. "You are…different," she finally said, her voice laced with an emotion I couldn't place. "Your blood…"

"It sustains you," I finished for her, a bitter taste in my mouth. "Makes you stronger, keeps you from succumbing to the sire bond completely."

She looked away, a muscle clenching in her jaw. "That's not all," she muttered, her voice barely audible. But before she could elaborate, the library door creaked open, revealing Joy, her face flushed with anger.

"There you are!" she exclaimed, her eyes flashing between me and Irene. "We need to talk." The air crackled with unspoken tension, and I realized with a jolt that the night was far from over. The delicate balance between affection, possessiveness, and a shared captivity was about to be tested.

Joy's anger crackled in the air, a stark contrast to the usual warmth in her eyes. "What did you do to him?" she demanded, her gaze fixed on Irene. Seulgi, her playful demeanor replaced by a cold fury, stepped forward, her voice trembling with barely contained rage.

"Don't play dumb, Irene," Seulgi spat. "We know. The bruises, the flinches… you've been hurting him!" Wendy, her stoic facade crumbling, placed a calming hand on Seulgi's shoulder, but her eyes held a newfound suspicion directed at Irene.

The accusations hung heavy in the air, shattering the fragile peace that had settled within the mansion. Irene, cornered and defensive, finally spoke. "It's not what it seems," she said, her voice strained. "I…" She faltered, the carefully constructed mask of control slipping.

"You what?" Joy pressed, her voice laced with hurt and betrayal. For the first time, I saw a flicker of fear in Irene's crimson eyes, a vulnerability that sent a jolt through me.

Taking a deep breath, Irene confessed, her voice barely a whisper. "I was afraid," she admitted. A collective gasp filled the room. Fear? From the ever-stoic, ever-in-control Irene?

"Afraid of what?" Wendy asked, her voice gentle but firm. Shame tinged Irene's cheeks as she met their gazes. "Afraid of losing you," she said, her voice cracking. "All of you."

Confusion clouded their faces. How could their fear of losing them translate to the way she treated me? Sensing their bewilderment, Irene continued, her voice thick with emotion. "You've never needed me before," she explained. "The hunt, the sire bond… I was always the one who protected you from it all."

Her words hung heavy, revealing a truth I hadn't considered. Irene, the eldest, had always shouldered the burden of leadership, of protecting her sisters. "But now," Irene continued, her voice trembling, "he does it all. He gives you what you need. Makes you stronger. And suddenly… I'm not needed anymore."

A heavy silence descended upon the room. The revelation painted Irene's actions in a new light. Her possessiveness, her cruelty, stemmed not from malice, but from a deep-seated fear of abandonment. For the first time, I saw Irene not as a captor, but as a woman grappling with her own insecurities.

Seulgi, the first to break the silence, stepped forward, her anger replaced by a newfound understanding. "We need you, Irene," she said, her voice soft. "Just… differently." The other sisters murmured their agreement, their gazes softening towards their eldest sister.

Tears welled up in Irene's eyes, a storm of emotions battling within her. "But what about him?" Joy asked, gesturing towards me. "He doesn't deserve the way you've treated him."

Shame flushed across Irene's face. She looked at me, her gaze filled with a mixture of regret and something… hopeful? "I can change," she whispered. The night that followed was a turning point. We talked, all five of us, sharing our fears, our desires, and our newfound understanding.

Irene apologized for the pain she'd inflicted, her voice raw with remorse. I, in turn, confessed the strange mix of fear and affection I felt for them all. As the night wore on, a fragile truce formed, a new chapter beginning within the walls of the mansion. The future remained uncertain, but a flicker of hope, a tentative promise of a future built on trust and something more, flickered between us.

The aftermath of the confrontation was a whirlwind of activity. Wendy cleaned my wounds with practiced efficiency, her gaze carrying a silent apology. Joy hovered nearby, her touch hesitant but comforting. Seulgi, ever the pragmatic one, made plans to reinforce the mansion's security.

And then there was Irene. Shame seemed to cling to her like a shroud. Her apologies, though heartfelt, felt hollow in the face of my visible injuries. They were a stark reminder of her cruelty, the bite marks and scars a map of her failings.

Suddenly, a commotion erupted in the hallway. Guards bustled about, their voices raised in urgency. Apparently, there was a malfunction in the security system. They needed someone to manually reboot it – a job usually reserved for Irene.

With a resigned sigh, Irene turned to me. "I need someone to watch you," she explained, her voice strained. "It shouldn't take long." The others exchanged hesitant glances, but in the end, I volunteered. The tension in the room was thick, but the prospect of some alone time with Irene, however awkward, was strangely appealing.

We were escorted to a small, book-lined room that served as Irene's private study. As the heavy door shut behind us with a resounding thud, the air crackled with unspoken emotions. Irene approached the control panel, her back turned to me, her fingers flying across the keypad.

The silence stretched, broken only by the rhythmic beeps of the security system. Finally, unable to bear the tension any longer, I spoke. "It's okay, Irene," I said softly. She froze, her body taut. Slowly, she turned around, her crimson eyes filled with a mixture of shame and disbelief.

"You… you forgive me?" she stammered, her voice barely a whisper. I reached out, my hand hovering over the intricate web of scars marring her arm. Scars older, darker than mine. "We all make mistakes, Irene," I said, my voice gentle. "The important thing is we learn from them."

A single tear escaped her eye, tracing a glistening path down her pale cheek. The sight of it, of her vulnerability, broke something within me. In that moment, I saw not the stoic leader, but a woman burdened by fear and insecurity. A woman who, despite her actions, had always been fiercely protective of her sisters.

Taking a step closer, I cupped her face in my hand, wiping away the stray tear with my thumb. Her eyes, wide with surprise, met mine. Slowly, hesitantly, I leaned in, bridging the gap between us.

The kiss was a revelation. It was raw, desperate, fueled by a desperate need for connection, for forgiveness. Irene clung to me like a lifeline, her initial hesitation melting away into a torrent of passion. It was a kiss that spoke of unspoken apologies, of a newfound understanding, and of a hope for something more, something real.

When we finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, a fragile peace settled between us. Irene, her gaze searching mine, whispered, "I don't deserve you, Y/n." "Maybe not," I replied, cupping her cheek once again. "But maybe, together, we can learn to deserve each other."

The future remained uncertain. But as we held each other close in the dimly lit study, a flicker of warmth ignited within me. It was the glimmer of a new beginning, one built on trust, forgiveness, and a love that bloomed in the most unexpected of places.

The following weeks were a whirlwind of stolen moments and whispered promises. My relationship with each sister blossomed in its own unique way. Joy's fiery spirit ignited passionate encounters, fueled by stolen kisses under the moonlight. Wendy, with her intellectual curiosity, discovered a new kind of intimacy in late-night discussions that morphed into explorations of touch. Seulgi's playful demeanor evolved into a playful possessiveness, her playful nips replaced by gentle love bites.

Surprisingly, it was Irene who turned out to be the most possessive. The initial shame of her actions morphed into a fierce determination to prove herself worthy of my affection. She'd watch, a flicker of jealousy in her crimson eyes, whenever I spent time with the others. But when it was her turn, her touch was the most hesitant, the most tender. It was as if she was constantly afraid of breaking something precious.

One evening, as the six of us sat nestled together by the fireplace, a comfortable silence settling between us, Irene surprised us all. "He's ours," she declared, her voice laced with a possessiveness that sent a thrill down my spine. The others, instead of protesting, simply chuckled, a knowing look in their eyes.

"Ours?" I echoed, feigning confusion. Wendy, a playful glint in her eyes, clarified. "Yes, ours, Y/n. Our lover, our provider, our… family." A warmth bloomed in my chest at the word 'family.' It was a concept I hadn't dared to dream of, not with these extraordinary creatures of the night.

The following months were a blur of shared experiences and deepening affection. We explored the hidden corners of the city under the cloak of darkness, their laughter echoing through deserted streets. We spent lazy afternoons curled up with dusty tomes in Irene's study, their thirst for knowledge rivaled only by their thirst for me.

The nights were a symphony of touch and whispered desires. We explored each other's bodies with a newfound reverence, the boundaries between human and vampire blurring with each passing night. The sire bond, once a source of fear, became a bridge, a way to experience each other's emotions with an intensity that defied explanation.

Our unorthodox relationship wasn't without its challenges. There were moments of jealousy, of possessiveness, but we learned to navigate them together. We were, after all, a coven, bound not just by blood, but by an unconventional love that defied definition.

One starlit night, as we lay tangled together in the sprawling master bedroom, Irene spoke, her voice barely a whisper. "Thank you," she said, her crimson eyes reflecting the moonlight. I smiled, pulling her closer. "For what?"

"For showing us that love can exist even in the darkest corners," she replied. And in that moment, under the watchful gaze of the moon, I knew that our love story, born from captivity and fear, had blossomed into something beautiful, something extraordinary. We were a family, bound by blood, by love, and by a shared eternity.

The End

#red velvet #irene red velvet #seulgi red velvet #wendy red velvet #joy red velvet #yeri red velvet #kpop #kpop x reader #kpop x y/n #x male reader #beautiful #update #kpop smut #yandere blog #yandere girl #yandere stories #yandere #vampire #vampire girl

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starhvney · 11 months ago

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𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: roomate!gene x fem!reader

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: not able to sleep, you run into your roommate in the kitchen. to try and get you to feel sleepy again, he shows you how he would take his mind off of things in high school.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: fluff, comfort, slice of life, insomnia

𝐂𝐖: gene smokes a cigarette

𝐀/𝐍: i love his character development. also, i’m not sure how i feel about this. it almost feels rushed? i hope you like it regardless!

𝐌𝐀𝐒��𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

you stretch out uncomfortably under the sheets, your back popping as you try to release the aching tension in your shoulders. for three hours, you’ve been staring at the ceiling. you’ve flipped your pillows to the cool side until they were all warm, ripped your sheets off and buried yourself back in them again, but nothing has worked.

turning onto your side, you squint as your bright phone screen lights up, revealing the bright 2:47am on the screen. after groaning into the pillow, you frustratedly rip the bed cover off of your body for what felt like the fiftieth time tonight. after pacing your way to the kitchen with blurry vision, you fill up a cup with water and quickly start gulping it down.

“can’t sleep?” gene’s deep voice startles you, causing you to nearly choke and drop your glass.

you set down your drink, the cup making a small clink against the counter. gene is leaning on the doorway with his arms crossed, and his eyes hooded and sleep deprived. the dim kitchen night light and the moonlight shining through the window casted a soft glow against his skin, making him look paler and his eye bags darker. his black hair was even messier than usual, the wavy strands sticking out in all directions.

you sigh, leaning back against the counter. “nope.”

he rolls his neck, the action causing a faint popping sound to resonate from his spine. he glances at your now empty water glass before tipping his head back, motioning for you to follow him.

“huh?” you question, trailing behind him as he approaches the window of your small living room.

“just follow me.” he insists with a groan, too tired to explain himself as he swiftly unlocks the latch and lifts the creaky window like it was routine.

you freeze for a split second as the window makes a particularly loud squeak, not wanting to wake up and alert sasha or zenix of your little escapade. gene turns to stare at you with a look of mild amusement before he shimmies his way out of the window, using the sill to boost himself onto the low-hanging edge of the roof.

you lean out the window, peering up at the empty space where gene’s feet disappeared. a short moment later, his head leans over the edge of the roof as he looks at you expectantly.

“you coming up here?” he questions, his eyebrows furrowing as you glance between him and the ground.

“you’re taller than me, i can’t climb up there like that.” you explain, your hands getting clammy as you think of slipping from the edge.

gene’s hands reach down for yours, playfully grabbing onto your shoulder as you hesitate.

“c’mon, kitty. i won’t let you fall.”

you sigh, clasping your hand tightly with his and letting him carefully tug you to stand out of the window. after fumbling halfway onto the roof, gene helps pull you up the rest of the way. catching your breath, you glance at gene with a puzzled look. he only smirks in response, shimmying up the slope of the roof a bit and looking out at the night scenery.

you lean back next to him, glancing out in the same direction. the house your group rented out was in a neighborhood on the outskirts of phoenix drop. the distant twinkle of city lights glowed in the distance, far enough to admire while still being able to see a few stars in the sky. the cool breeze carries the scent of fresh night air and a hint of dampness like it may rain later. in the opposite direction, there was a lack of stars as distant dark clouds cover the sky.

gene reaches into his pocket and pulls out a beat-up pack of cigarettes, glancing back over at you.

“you okay if i smoke one?” he asks, pulling one out and lightly waving it between his fingers.

you nod, leaning forward and resting your head on your knees.

“i didn’t know you still smoked.”

“i’m trying to stop, but every once in a while i’ll have one,” he lazily holds up the worn pack before pocketing it again. “i’ve been stringing this one out for a couple of months.”

i nod, staring at his features as he pulls out his lighter. his long lashes brush against his high-set cheekbones and hide his dark blue irises as he situates the cigarette between his teeth. the lighter sparks before the flame takes shape, illuminating his sharp features with an orange glow. he takes the first drag with a deep inhale, before turning his face away to blow the smoke away from you.

he turns his head back towards you lazily, raising an eyebrow as he notices your stare.

“what’s going on in your pretty head, there?”

you clear your throat, cheeks reddening as you realize you’ve been caught. “just thinking.”

he quietly snorts out a laugh at you, eyes squinting mirthfully as he uses the palm of his free hand to lightly smack your forehead.

“well, obviously, silly girl.”

you press your lips together and roll your eyes.

“do you come up here when you can’t sleep?”

“yeah, i started doing it in high school. when i wanted to clear my head.” he takes another drag. “i couldn’t sleep pretty often and i was pretty… pent up, i guess.”

his eyes dart to mine as his face twists to an almost sheepish expression. “well, you remember how i was.”

you lightheartedly scoff as you remember the delinquent he used to be: skipping classes, vandalizing, drinking and smoking. you two definitely did not have the same relationship that you two have now.

“oh i remember,” you recall, your voice sarcastic in tone before shifting to something more genuine. “but… you turned out pretty cool. and, for what it’s worth, i think you’re a good person now. so there’s no use in rehashing the old stuff, right?”

gene’s eyes drift down, his eyes softening as he stares at the number of roof tiles between the two of you. the corner of his mouth turns up and his eyebrows raise as he looks back up at you. it’s only a second that he appears this soft, before his eyes squint again and he makes a face like he was cringing at his own thoughts.

“well, thanks. i think you’re giving me a little too much grace, but…” he stares down at the barely smoked cigarette in his hand, before putting it out on the cool roof tiles. “i appreciate it.”

he sighs, submitting to his previous thought as his eyes move back up to meet yours. his hand reaches up, fingers sweeping away stray strands of hair the light breeze had blown in your face.

“i appreciate you.”

©starhvney, 2024. please do not steal or repost my works as your own.

#aphmau #aphmau mystreet #mystreet x reader #aphmau gene #mystreet gene #mystreet gene x reader #gene x reader #x reader

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carrie-tate · 1 year ago

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I saw your playmobil super 4 oc and she is great😃👍

And i love super 4😁 it is the best shows and one of my favorites😃

And to be honest i been sensing all four of the super 4 being 100% ticklees💖

And when i type for super 4 tickle content i was disappointed for was no tickle content.

And so i was thinking and wondering......... When you are not too busy with other things and you have free time can i do requests of super 4 tickle art and fanfics please?

Oh thank you!

It's nice that there are people from the tword community who know this show. I completely agree with what was said above and...

Speaking of requests, it’s unlikely in the near future, if I open requests, it will only be by mid-summer? May be?

But I can leave a couple of old drawings from 2022 uwu

Which makes it clear that I ship Gene and Twinkle a bit, heh 'x>

#talk #art #super 4 #tword community #tickle art

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malarkgirlypop · 1 year ago

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Come Away With Me (Eugene Roe x F!Reader)

So @footprintsinthesxnd had a 'Saturday Night Live ask' and I asked her what her ideal date was and with what BoB man. No one was surprised when she chose her man Gene! @footprintsinthesxnd has kindly made the most stunning moodboard to go along with the story, so head over to her blog and find the post with the #bobcollab tag!

Based on the HBO show and the actors who portray the characters, no hate to anyone involved. Keep reading

Tag list: @next-autopsy @panzershrike-pretz, @xxluckystrike @bucky32557038ww2 @b00ks1ut

Y/N rubbed her lips together staring in the mirror, her finger carefully rubbing away some of the lipstick she had on her lips. She stood back giving her face and hair a once over. She took a deep breath trying to steady her nerves. Why was she so nervous? It was just Gene.

Y/N had known Gene for years, being next door neighbours and childhood friends they had grown up with each other. They were hardly ever apart. Their bond they shared was everlasting.

Or so Y/N thought.

When Gene broke the news he was signing up for the war she broke down immediately. The thought of him going away and maybe never coming back was the most gut wrenching feeling. But Gene said he wanted to make a difference, to help. He didn’t go to kill, he went to heal. There was no stopping him, he was set in his ways. He had always been stubborn. As much as they loved each other they butted heads on occasion. Always an agree to disagree situation, where they accepted they didn’t think the same and moved on. But Y/N loved that about their friendship, they were constantly challenging each other to think broader, to see things in a different light.

When Gene left they promised to write to each other. There was a flurry of letters back and forward, but they slowly dwindled. Gene didn’t have time and Y/N had started her new job. Y/N wanted to write to him so desperately but didn’t want to burden the man with her ramblings, thinking he would have better things to do.

Y/N couldn’t believe it when it was announced the war was finally over. Her heart soared, Gene would finally be home. Y/N had waited patiently for her best friend to arrive back. His mother had let Y/N know he was going to be home that week. Everyday Y/N rushed home from work to see if he had returned yet.

She walked down the street briskly, nearly running. A cab pulled in front of his house. She stopped dead in her tracks, the familiar figure exiting the car.

“Eugene!” She cried, running down the road. He turned knowing the voice that called him. A small smile tugging at his lips. She charged straight into the man, almost bowling them both over. He enveloped her in his arms, enjoying the familiar scent of her. Y/N hugged him so tightly, ensuring it wasn’t a dream or illusion.

“Ma mouche, gosh have you gotten stronger.” He said hardly able to breathe. She loosened her hold, realising she might have been hurting him.

“Oh, sorry.” She smiled up at him. “I missed you so much.” She quickly wiped the stray tears from her face. He smiled, but it wasn’t his usual smile. The sparkle she knew, didn’t twinkle in his eyes like it used to.

“I missed ya too.” He said. They stood staring at each other unsure of what to say. There was so much that Y/N wanted to tell him, so much she wanted to ask. But she couldn’t form the words, not knowing where or how to start. See when Gene had been away Y/N had realised that maybe she loved him, more than what she believed she had. Her mother always teased them that they were in love, and she was just waiting for them to both figure it out. Yes, she loved him as a friend. But there was always something more she wanted, yearned for. They hugged, but she wanted him to hold her longer. They spoke, but she wished she could listen to him speak forever. They loved each other, but she wanted him to love her. They way she loved him.

“Gene, I know you just got home. But I was wondering if you wanted to spend some time with me, only if you’re free. I’m sure you’re so busy, and everyone probably wants to see you-” Y/N rambled on, trying to hide the blush that rose to her cheeks, since when was it nerve wracking to speak to Gene.

“Of course I would!” Gene cut her off, before she fainted from talking so much without taking a breath.

Y/N smiled brightly at the man. “What do you want to do?” She asked, he hummed in thought, tapping his finger on his chin.

“How about a surprise?” Gene grinned, Y/N was shocked, she didn’t expect that answer from him.

“Are you sure, Gene. I can plan it, you will probably be so busy.” Y/N said worried about burdening her friend.

“Ma mouche, stop fretting!” He laughed at his friend, he looked at her longer. She was nervous with new people, but they had known each other nearly their whole lives and he had never seen her so flustered. He thought maybe it was because of the distance and time they had spent apart. It was like meeting someone for the first time again.

“We can make a day of it. I’ll come pick you up tomorrow around eleven, how does that sound?” Y/N looked up at Gene, eyes sparkling full of joy. She nodded excitedly. His mother had rushed out of the house after that, pulling him inside. He only was able to manage a small wave as he was dragged away.

Y/N sat nervously on the staircase by the front door, she had gotten ready so early. Not being able to sleep a wink at all last night. She was too busy planning. She was going to tell him today, confess her true feelings to Gene. The thought made her stomach flip, so many what if’s flooded her brain. The last thing she wanted to do was ruin what she already had with him.

Ding dong, Y/N bolted to her feet hearing the familiar chime of the doorbell. She smoothed down her dress and hair, taking a deep breath and opening the door. There on her doorstep stood Gene, in casual clothes, but looking handsome as always. She glanced down at his hands, they thrust out the flowers he held. Y/N looked at him shocked.

“For me?” She grinned, taking them from him, bringing them up to her nose to sniff. They smelled heavenly. The bouquet had flowers from his mothers garden. His mother had the most magnificent flowerbeds, she giggled imagining Gene stealing the flowers from her garden. Y/N knew well enough that Gene wouldn’t have asked and just taken them without telling her.

“Hold on, let me go put these in water.” She left him standing on the doorstep, running and putting them in a vase.

“Shall we go?” She asked, closing the door behind her. He nodded, leading the way. They walked down the road, chatting about life. Gene didn’t bring up the war, making conversation about other things.

“Where are we going?” Y/N said as Gene stepped off the path and down a small track leading into one of the meadows that was on the outskirts of their street.

“I told you, ma mouche, it’s all been planned.” He smiled, extending his hand for her to take. She smiled holding his hand as they walked down the dirt path. At this time of month it was late spring, the weather was warmer, but not too hot yet. The flowers all in bloom and new babies of all kinds being born. It was as if life was restarting again, becoming anew.

Y/N gasped as they approached the clearing. She could see under their favourite tree they used to play under as children, was a picnic blanket. An assortment of food lay on top. It overlooked the meadow that was teeming with wildflowers.

“Oh Gene!” Y/N covered her mouth, feeling choked up. “This is perfect!” She ran ahead to get a better look at the perfect picnic he had created.

“Gene!” She squealed, turning around to tackle the man into a hug. He held her back as she held him tightly. “Do you like it?” He asked into her hair.

“Like it! I love it! Gene, you didn’t have to do all this!” She pulled back to look at him, showing her gratitude all over her features.

“Anything for ma mouche.” She rolled her eyes at the nickname, it means my fly in french. Gene had been calling her ma mouche for years, one day he said it and it stuck. They never discussed between them what he meant by it. Y/N had assumed he called her my fly because she annoyed him but he could never get rid of her.

“Yes I know, annoying like a fly.” She mumbled. A confused expression appeared on Gene’s face.

“What?” He asked, trying to figure out what she meant.

“Cause I remind you of a fly, that’s why you call me that.” She smiled at him, it was a funny nickname, he was only teasing. His brows furrowed together.

“Y/N, no. That’s not what I mean at all. Is that what you thought the whole time?” He seemed upset. She nodded confused at why he was so overcome with concern.

“Oh Y/N, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean for you to think that.” He reached out cupping her cheek.

“Well, what do you mean then?” She asked, tilting her head.

“Ma mouche, it’s short for my butterfly. Mon papillon.” Y/N looked at him shocked, unable to form words. My butterfly was a lot different than my fly.

“You have always been my butterfly. So bright and colourful, everything you touch comes to life. You make me want to be a better person.” Gene said holding her face in his hands, his eyes shone with love.

“Gene, what are you saying?” She asked hoping she wasn’t reading into his words.

“I love you.” The words she had been so desperate to hear from him easily fell from his lips. A gentle whisper for only them to hear. Everything stilled and muted. They were in their own bubble. Gene was unsure if Y/N had heard him, she stood so still.

“You do?” She uttered, overwhelmed with joy. Her heart beat so hard it hurt, she felt like she could burst into tears. “Gene, you love me?” She asked again to confirm she had heard him correctly.

“I do.” He chuckled, still holding her face in his hands. “Do you love me?” He asked, unsure of what his friend was feeling, was she happy, sad? He couldn’t tell.

“I love you more than words can say.” Her face broke into a beaming smile. She pulled him into her arms as his hands slipped from her face to hold her close. She pulled back, unable to stop grinning. Gene smiled down at her, relishing in her adoration. He bent down, placing a soft kiss to her lips. The kiss was sweet and tender, but only short as he stepped back.

But he hadn’t known the fire that he had awoken in his lover. Y/N’s hands flew out catching his face, she pulled him down to her. This time the kiss was more passionate, she kissed him like she would never be able to touch her lips to his again. Gene wrapped his hands around her waist pulling her closer. The kiss was everything that Y/N had dreamed about. Being held in his arms as they tasted each other, like forbidden fruit. Y/N lips parting softly as Gene found his way into her mouth, their tongues swirled together. Their breaths mixed together as they grasped each other with roaming hands. Gene’s lips moved from Y/N’s to her neck, as she tilted her head back. His soft lips pressed harsh kisses along her throat. Y/N stilled his movements when she moved his face back up to her’s. They paused, foreheads pressed together, their breaths fanning each other’s faces, noses slightly touching. Savouring their kiss together.

“More than words.” Y/N whispered, Gene understood her completely. There were no words to say to express their love, but there were acts, thoughts, touches, that represented it.

Y/N felt so giddy she thought she could faint, as Gene and her sat on the blanket eating the food he had prepared. Fresh fruit, a cheese platter, pastries, freshly baked cookies. Gene had thought of it all.

“Would you like some chocolate strawberries?” Gene asked, pulling out a punnet of strawberries from the basket.

“Ah, my favourite! Gene, how did you get these?” She took the box from him, bringing it to her nose to smell the aromatic fruit.

“I can’t tell you my secrets.” Gene grinned at her, as she pretended to pout. He chuckled, reaching out to tickle Y/N under her neck. She laughed trying to get away from him but he snatched her up quickly, jumping on top of her. She squealed and giggled trying to get away from his onslaught of attacks.

“Gene, ahh, Gene!” She laughed breathlessly, trying to stop him but he had her pinned down. They laughed together as Gene slowly stopped. Their faces inches apart, a smile pulled to Y/N lips, as she lifted her head to kiss him. Her lips pressed to his gently, letting the feeling linger before laying back down to stare at him.

“I missed you.” She uttered, feeling tears prick in her eyes. A sadness overwhelmed Y/N, she was unsure of where it had spurred from. But it was a moment of stillness when everything finally crashed down. All of the worry she had in his absence, the realisation that she loved him. Then she had him back in one piece, and then all of today. The confession, the kiss, it had been so much, everything Y/N had hoped for. But it scared her all the same, now she really had something to lose.

“I missed you so much.” She whispered, as Gene watched her concerned, her tears slipped down her cheeks into her hair. He moved off of Y/N so she could sit up. She moved into his arms, clinging to him desperately.

“It’s ok ma mouche, I’m here now.” Gene stroked her hair, as she cried into his shoulder. Gene’s stomach knotted, he hated to see her so hurt. He hated being away from her for so long. After a long day on the front lines he would often think of her. He kept all of the letters she sent, and would re-read all of them when he missed her, which was constantly. He couldn’t articulate to her what he had been through during those times, he didn’t want to burden her with those images. He was sure if he told her that she would tell him it wasn’t a burden, and that it was better to share the load than carry it all by himself. But reliving it was just as painful. He was sure with time he would be able to open up slowly. But for now he wanted to focus on them, on being home. The war was over and he wanted to move on from that time, he could do that with Y/N.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbled into his neck, sniffling softly. She sat back wiping the tears from her face. “I’m ruining this.” She shook her head, feeling bad.

“Hey. I know it’s a lot, I feel it too. But it’s fine we have each other now. You can cry to me anytime.” Gene said, wiping away the stray tears she had missed, an adorable smile on her lips. He leant forward to kiss her again. “I’ll kiss it all better.” She sniffed chuckling.

“You can tell me anything too Gene.” They sat in silence letting her words settle. They both knew what she meant. He nodded, pulling her close.

They lay in each other's arms, staring up at the clouds. Y/N laid with her head on his chest and listened to his comforting heartbeat. His steady pulse was strong and firm, she could hear him breathing gently. His hands played with the ends of her hair, twirling them around his fingers in an absent-minded motion.

“That one looks like a bunny.” She pointed up to the sky to the white fluffy shapes that drifted past. He hummed in agreement, staring up at the twilight sky. Gene felt so fulfilled just being here with Y/N, he couldn’t ask for anything more. He checked his watch, sitting up abruptly, sending Y/N flying onto the blanket.

“Gene!” She laughed thinking he was playing around. She watched him, he looked nervous. “What’s wrong?” She asked shuffling forward to sit closer to him.

“We’re late!” He announced, standing up and hastily putting away the picnic. Y/N watched confused.

“Late? Late for what?” She helped Gene pack away the picnic even though she had no idea why he was in such a hurry.

“I can’t tell you, it’s a surprise.” He glanced over his shoulder, as she shook her head laughing.

“Gene!” She whined playfully.

“Come on, Y/N.” He hurried her, as he grabbed her hand dragging her away. They made their way back to the road, a cab pulled up in front of Gene’s house.

“A cab? Where are we going now?” Y/N asked as he opened the door for her to get into the car. All Gene did was tap his nose, she rolled her eyes. She knew Gene well enough to know he would never reveal his surprise.

They sat in the back seat holding hands and chatting quietly, as the scenery flew past. Y/N tried to keep track of where they were but as night fell it was harder to make out their location in the dark. The cab finally pulled to a stop, Gene thanked and paid the man. He helped Y/N out of the car. They stood on the bustling street in town in front of a dance hall, the music from inside spilling onto the street.

“Are we going dancing?” Y/N asked delightedly. Gene smiled seeing her reaction, taking her by the hand and leading her into the building. The music and chatter filled the hall. People danced and drank as the jazz band played. Y/N watched people swing dance on the dance floor as onlookers clapped and cheered.

“Shall we?” Gene asked with his hand outstretched. Y/N nodded enthusiastically, taking Gene’s hand, as they made their way to the floor. The song ‘In the Mood’ blasted from the lively band onstage. Gene and Y/N danced together, laughing and smiling. Gene twirled her around, Y/N skirt floating out around her. They danced for hours, stopping occasionally to get a drink and rest before they went out onto the floor again.

They danced the whole night away, the band slowly bringing down the tempo for the remaining few couples who swayed gently to the music.

The familiar melody of Etta James’ ‘At Last’ was played by the band. Gene and Y/N held each other close as they listened to the lyrics being sung. Y/N sighed contentedly. Pulling back to look at Gene.

“Today has been perfect.” She smiled sweetly at him. Overcome with so much love and joy. Today had been the best day ever, but she knew every day spent with Gene would be even better.

“You’re perfect.” Gene whispered into her ear placing a kiss to her cheek. She blushed furiously, shy from his charming words.

“I love you.” She kissed him on the lips. “More than words.” He finished for her.

#bobcollab #eugene roe #band of brothers #hbo war #band of brothers fanfic #enjoy the cutest date #ahhhhhh #fanfic

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baronstopfan · 19 days ago

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Imagine there was an opposites day where they where the heroes and Super4 took the role of the villains.Dr.X discovered life outside Technopolis, all the pirates where female and only Sharkbeard was the male, Baron was the prince and Alex was "The Black Baron" and Babacara was the one who got banished for turning the Queen onto a frog whilst twinkle was the evil fairy.

Except only them realise the role swap whilst everyone else doesn't, so they all meet up and confirm they remember being the villains not the heroes so wtf happened. It was Dr.X's fault with one of his inventions.So until Dr.X can sort it out and return things back to normal, they find themselves taking on the hero roles, which they temparily enjoy as they end up winning for once, claiming victory and being applauded for there work.

#super4 #fandom #playmobil super 4 #super4baron #blackbaron #super 4 baron #super 4 black baron #super 4 gene #super 4 ruby #super 4 alex #super 4 twinkle #super 4 babacara #super 4 sharkbeard #super 4 dr x #fan episode

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holdmytesseract · 2 years ago

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Autumn Blues

☆ The Baby Fever AU ☆

Loki x fem!Reader feat. Ella

Summary: Loki spends some precious time with his newborn daughter.

Warnings: none, I'd say... This is pure fluff!

Word Count: 1,5k

a/n: This just a fluffly, lil' oneshot, kinda based on the pictures of Tom, taking a walk with his baby. 🥰 Why not letting Loki take a walk with baby Ella? 🙃🧡

Tagging: @km-ffluv @lokisgoodgirl @eleniblue @vbecker10 @loz-3 @jennyggggrrr @lokisninerealms @peaches1958 @multifandom-worlds @fictive-sl0th @loki-laufeyson-1054 @lovingchoices14 @simping-for-marvel @stupidthoughtsinwriting @lou12346789 @kimanne723 @coldnique @lady-rose-moon @mostclevermiss @aagn360 @acefeather2002 @iamlokisgloriouspurpose

Baby Fever Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

"Darling?" Loki entered the apartment he shared with you on quiet feet, pulling off his shoes. "I'm back!" He called out in a hushed tone, in case Ella was sleeping. "Living room, babe!" Your voice echoed back, but in a normal volume; giving Loki the hint that his baby daughter must be awake. The god went to the kitchen first, placed the few groceries he got on the counter, before moving on to the living room. Both, you and him still had to learn a few things; being only parents for a little over a month now - namely to buy enough nappies. That was the reason Loki had to go to the next supermarket today.

Entering the living room, Loki immediately started to smile. Ella was indeed awake, currently in your arms, quenching her hunger. "Somebody's hungry, I see?" His blue eyes shone bright, watching his wife breastfeed his daughter. A sight he would probably never tire of. It was so wholesome and intimate. A special moment every time.

You nodded. "Uh.Huh. Not even ten minutes after you were gone, she started to complain - and I was just on the verge of dozing off." Loki furrowed his eyebrows in compassion, "Ohh, I'm sorry, love." and made his way over to press a kiss on your forehead, before sitting down on the sofa beside you. "It's okay, babe. I mean... We chose this life, didn't we?" You said with a soft giggle, stroking Ella's tiny, chubby cheek with your free hand. "And I wouldn't trade it for anything in this life." Loki answered, still with a smile, cuddling close to you. His big hand went to cover yours, which rested on the baby girl's tummy; his wedding ring twinkling in the ray of sunshine. "Me neither."

It was a beautiful day today. Utterly cold, but sunny and with a clear blue sky. No single cloud in sight. This, and the fact that you barely had any sleep last night and today, gave Loki an idea... "What if I take Ella outside for a while? I can take her on a walk, so that you can get a bit sleep, love. How does that sound?" He asked, lovingly nudging your cheek with his nose. Your lips curved into a smile. "Heavenly." A sweet laugh urged to your ears, before you felt Loki's lips press to your cheek. "In that case, my queen, I am happily obliging and take our princess on a walk." The god stood up then, moving to take the tiny girl out of your arms. Ella was looking up at her dad almost deliriously; totally content and tummy filled to the brim. He giggled and pressed a kiss on her small head; then leaned down to bestow a kiss upon your lips. "Rest, darling. Sleep for a while. I'll be back later." You nodded, already laying down on the sofa and getting comfortable. "Love you, babe." "I love you, too." He was on the verge of turning around to leave, when you stopped him in his tracks. "Make sure to dress her warm enough! It's cold outside." He smiled, nodding. "I know, love." You smiled as well and cuddled into the blanket, closing your eyes, as you heard Loki's steps fading. Sure, Ella had some Frost Giant genes within her, but nevertheless... She was just an infant.

On quiet feet carried Loki the already half-asleep Ella into her nursery and laid her down on the wooden changing table with the pink blanket on top. "Let's change you into something much warmer, princess." The god started with a smile, pulling off her tiny socks, to replace them with a pair of warmer socks. "Not that your tiny toes get frozen." He tickled her small foot softly with his pointer finger, causing Ella to yank her feet away from his touch. A low chuckle rumbled through his chest. "My apologies, baby girl. I just couldn't resist." He leaned down to kiss her chubby cheek - as a redemption, then continued to getting her bundled up.

Once he was finished, Ella was barely able to move. A protesting whine left her small lips, but Loki quickly shushed her, cradling her in his arm again. "I know, I know, but daddy doesn't want you to get cold - or even sick. As your mama always says... Better be safe than sorry." Ella seemed to accept her father's reasoning, looking up to him with sleepy eyes, cooing. "There you go." Loki whispered, and tiptoed down the hallway. He took a last, quick look on your sleeping self on the sofa, before he headed towards the main door. Gently, Loki placed Ella in her pram, tucking her in and getting dressed himself. He slipped in his black boots and pea coat, tied his untamed raven curls into a bun and left the apartment, closing the door quietly behind himself and Ella. "Let's go on a little walk, sweetheart."

The god made his way down the long corridor, rounding the corner and heading for the elevator. It opened with a ding and revealed a completely sweaty and dishevelled Natasha, who was clearly on her way 'home' from the gym, which was located a few floors above yours and Loki's apartment. "Natasha." Loki greeted the Russian beauty with a nod and a small smile, joining her in the elevator. "Loki." The redhead greeted him back, smiling as well. The metal doors closed shut. "Going for a walk?" Natasha asked, nodding towards the pram, and crossing her arms over her chest, as she leaned casually against the metal walls. "Yes. Giving Y/N a little break and time to get some sleep." "How gentlemanly of you." Natasha snickered, teasing him a bit. Through you, Loki and Natasha definitively became some sort of... friends. "Was there a time I've not been a gentleman, Romanoff?" "Well..." Natasha drawled, wanting to speak further, but got interrupted by a sweet coo, coming undoubtedly from inside the pram. "See? Ella is on my side." Loki stated, smiling proudly. Nat scoffed, shaking her head. "I don't think so. She's on my side, right Ella?" The Russian spy stepped over and peaked inside the pram. "Hiii, Ella! You're with auntie Nat on this, aren't you?" Ella loved Natasha, and therefore, it wasn't a wonder, that she started to smile, when her blue eyes fell on the Widow. "See? That seems quite clear to me." Loki scoffed, rolling his eyes, before he sighed dramatically, looking down at Ella as well. "Did you just stab daddy in the back, huh?" "Like father, like daughter, eh?" Loki just wanted to answer something, as the elevator came to an halt with another ding. The doors opened and Natasha stepped out. "Have a nice walk." With those words, the red-haired woman disappeared around the corner with a smirk. Loki just shook his head in amusement, before continuing his journey.

Finally arrived on the main floor, he made a beeline to the main entrance of the Avengers tower, passing by Bruce and Tony on his way. They were looking at some papers, discussing something. They looked up to face him, when his steps got closer. "Stark, Banner." Loki greeted them with a short nod, although passing them by quickly. He had no intentions in talking to them now. "Loki," said Bruce, while Tony went with 'Reindeer Games' - as per usual. The two men's eyes followed him as he left the building, pushing the pram. "It's still very strange to see Loki pushing around a stroller, isn't it?" Piped up Bruce, facing Tony. The billionaire nodded, crossing his arms. "Reindeer Games being a father? Weirdest thing ever, and yet here he is." Tony answered, pausing for a moment. "Honestly? I never ever thought someone would make a guy like him a dad, but well..." A boyish smile crept up Bruce's face. "Well, Y/N felt quite different about this." "And I'll never understand her."

The cold, autumn breeze hit Loki immediately, as soon as he stepped out of the doors. Not that it bothered him. He was a Frost Giant after all. So, he walked with Ella through some quieter streets of New York, enjoying the cold, but sunny day. Ella loved it as well, without a doubt. It was also a great way to lull the already tired girl to sleep. By the time they were back at the compound, she was sleeping like a rock - like Loki noticed with a smile. The sun had already started to set, when he stepped through the door of the apartment. Quietly, he took Ella to the nursery, peeled her out of a few layers of clothing and tiptoed a room further. Yours and his bedroom. He gently tucked her in her crib and pressed a lingering kiss on her head, feeling her tiny, soft curls grazing his lips. "Sleep tight, princess. I love you." With a last look at his daughter, he tiptoed down the hall and into the living room. You hadn't moved an inch, still peacefully sleeping on the sofa. Loki smiled and stripped himself off his hoodie and jeans, before he joined you. He slipped behind you on the sofa, wrapping his arm around you and pressing your body against his warm, comforting chest. "Lokes?" You mumbled, still halfway asleep. "Shh, my love. Go back to sleep." "Mhhh." You smiled and cuddled closer to your husband. Home. It was home.

#the baby fever au #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki x female reader #loki x you #tom hiddleston x reader #loki x y/n #loki fanfiction #loki fluff #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson x female reader

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anastasia974realqueen · 5 months ago

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So instead of doing my homeworks, I was thinking about a Super 4 AU were they were all in Hogwarts.

Alexandre :

Alexandre and his sister Léonore live in France whith their dad, and both of them are half-blood. But between the two, it's only Alex who had magic.

Their mother came from England and she had studied at Hogwarts. She came from a long pure-blood lineage. She left her family who call her a blood-traitor for having a muggle boyfriend, since then, they have been no contact. She never tell them that she had gotten married nor that she had children. They also didn't know that she has past away.

Kendric had, over the years, made friends with wizards who is :

Gareth, a half-blood wizard who had just finish his last year at Beauxbâtons. He is also the official baby-sitter of Alex, who he had to watch if he want the boy to stay out of trouble (and trouble he get to much)

Ulf, a wizard who retired. He was a former teacher at BeauxBâtons (he also was a former teacher of Gareth). He use to teach Muggle Studies. He had a big interest in muggles and became very good friend with Kendric whom had a big interest in wizards.

Archibald is a squib. He live in the muggle-world and with the help of Kendric, is getting use of the muggle life.

They make Alex learnt some easy magical spell and with Léonore they spent time playing with her and use their magic to change the colour of her dress or making flowers appear in her hair.

Léonore love her brother, but she is a little jealous of him : he can do magic while she can't

Alex had to normally go to Beauxbâtons, but seeing that he also have the authorization to go to Hogwarts, which is known as the best witchcraft school in the entitre world (and the school his mom had studied to) he decided to go there instead

He is a Gryffindor (no surprise there)

He hate his Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Fourchesac

He is Captain of Gryffindor Quidditch team, his position is being a beater

Twinkle :

She came from the wizarding world

She live in a only girl orphanage

At some point when she was younger, she accidentaly transform the head matron into a frog. Fortunately, the other workers were able to get her back to her human form but there were aftereffects such as : her having a green skin, the incapacity to stand straight and upright for a more than ten minutes, the inability to walk or run with a straight back, her jumping like a frog, her croacking like one.

Girls at the orphanage now tend to avoid her, being scare of the girl who had cast a spell so powerful that not even the adults were able to perfectly defuse it. It make Twinkle feeling lonely at times.

Since them, that woman despise Twinkle. She tell future parents who come to the orphanage to not adopt her or they will serve the same fate as her.

After that, she got herself being bullied by some girls in the orphanage. They made fun of the fact that she will never get herself adopted. The bullying stop when the girls (Lorella, Rosalba and Donella) got themselves adopted by their respective family.

Even thought her big bullies had gone, girls at the orphanage still mistreat her (but not as much) by : talking behind her back or making fun of her

Fortunately, some caregivers who work there are nice to her and treat her well

She meets Ruby, Alex and Gene on the train to Hogwarts and soon begin to be their friends

She learnt Alex and Ruby are both in their second years, while Gene is in third year

When she enter Hogwarts, the Hat put her into Hufflepuff (again no surprise there)

She was horrify to discovered that her big bullies are in Hogwarts too (Lorella is in Gryffondor, Rosalba in Slytherin and Donella in Ravenclaw). Thankfully her friends promise to keep a eye on them, to protect her and to fight them if must.

Gene :

(I actually didn't have many backstory idea for him)

He lives with his uncle Dr X in the city

His uncle is an inventor and a man of science, he got numerous degrees and he teach students at university.

Gene also love science and want to be an inventor like his uncle when he will be an adult

He use to go to a private primary school and the uniform he use to wear was very refined

I like the idea of Gene being muggleborn

Like, our boy who doesn't believe in magic suddenly have magical power

I'm sure when he did accidental magic as a child he retorts this with a logical solution such as :

"My book suddenly come to me ! It couldn't possibly be me, it was probably due to a gust of wind."

He doesn't believe in it, he think that there a rational explanation to it but he hadn't know what it is yet (and that make him angry)

He go to Hogwarts not because he got the letter but he want to have a logical explanation to ALL OF IT (he hadn't found it yet)

He got sort into Ravenclaw (again NO SURPRISE)

He hadn't got any friends during his first year stay at Hogwarts, it wasn't until the next year when Alex and Ruby arrived that he got himself friends (Twinkle later joined their group)

He was desappointed to learnt that his owl robot Lenny doesn't work at the school, he soon learnt that most muggle electronics doesn't work at Hogwarts. So instead he take his toy car with him at Hogwarts (he is very protective of it).

He has undiagnosed Asperger syndrom (my headcanon of Gene to be honest)

Ruby :

One day, while walking by the sea, Rubens had found a basket on the water, upon inspection he found a baby in it. He adopt her and name her Ruby.

Ruby always thought she is muggleborn but actually she is half-blood but she doesn't know that. She was never interest of who must be her biological parents

At Hogwarts, the Hat sent her to Slytherin (who is SURPRISE ? Again not me)

She befriend some boys in her house, they get along well and they give each other nicknames.

After only a few weeks at her being at Hogwarts, she befriend Alex and they soon become friends.

One time, Ruby was talking to Alex about her friends, the boys in her house and the nicknames they gave each other. Alex immediately make her learnt that the nickname they gave her, which is "mudblood" is actually a insult. Ruby is mad and she confront them, but above all the boy who she thought was her friend, the one that call her "mudblood" the most, the one she nickname Sharkbear. He laugh at her saying that it had take times for her to realise that and inform her that she is stupid.

Fight insued.

A few weeks later, Alex present her to Gene, who she became slowly friends to. Mostly because of what previously happen and the now little trust issues she had with friendship and because of Gene stoic and cold attitute.

The next year, while being on the train, they meet Twinkle and soon they became friend with her.

Ruby want to entered the Slytherin quidditch team but Sharkbear, who is the captain and the other boys refused to let her in, simply because she is a girl mudblood.

Fight insued.

Alien :

Idk, we can say his species, the mysterios are unique to the wizarding world ????? Like elves and goblins ???

Or they are a species that are use like service animals and known when someone blood sugar is low, or can calm someone for having a panic attack and that's why a mysterios are with them ?? Idk ??

Or they sort of guardians and protect Hogwarts and it's surroundings, they can be seen in the school, most of them at going to the kitchen were they eat the food giving by the elves

#super 4 #super 4 playmobil #super 4 au #super 4 playmobil au #super 4 Hogwarts au #super 4 hp au #super 4 alex #super 4 gene #super 4 twinkle #super 4 ruby #super 4 alien #I hadn't finish the books yet but I'm already writting an au about it lol #english isn't my first language

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letstalktea · 2 years ago

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Prized Heifer part 3

Series Pairings: Remy x Reader, Wren x Reader, Remy x Wren

Series content: Farmer!Reader, amab!Bull!Remy, amab!Bull!Wren, random extra characters, role reversal, hybrids are treated like animals, breeding (functional and kink), Wren fucks a cow!girl, voyeurism, vaginal sex (extra cow!girl receiving), anal sex (reader receiving), noncon turned dubcon, blood as lube

The violent outbursts only got worse the next day, after Remy had been subjected to a night of smelling all the cows that were supposed to be his in heat and desperate for the bull that was neglecting them. Wren's presence hadn't made it any easier either when, all night, he did exactly what you wanted him to and let him mount a cow (or three) right in front of the chained up, sex-crazed, orgasm-denied Remy just to taunt him.

Unlike Remy, Wren was a good bull. A little naughty sometimes perhaps, but ultimately did his job as you needed him to. That's why you almost felt a vindictive kind of glee when you praised him so highly after he'd finished with your cow.

You sat where Remy could see you, letting Wren rest his tired head in your lap as you stroked his head. His floppy ears jostled at your touch as his warm breath tickled your thighs.

"Such a good bull, making lots of babies for me," you praised. "I should give you a treat for taking such good care of these cows too. You left all of those ladies so happy that they may want to mate again next time they're in heat. Unlike a certain someone."

You gave a pointed look over to Remy, who was holding up shockingly well for how much of his bloodstream must have been drugs at this point. His fists wrapped around the bars of his cage, gripping so tightly that his knuckles turned white and the veins popped and throbbed.

His eyes were focused on you and Wren as he pressed against the pen door, cock bobbing as it dribbled out over the ground. It was a waste of cum, but you smiled anyway because it meant he was finally reaching his breaking point. Soon enough he would be mounting a cow and giving you the quality calves that your clientele expected from him.

Wren rolled over in your lap, nuzzling close until his face was buried against your stomach and his arms were wrapped around your waist. His happy eyes looked up at you, twinkling in wonder as his tail flicked back and forth behind him.

His fur was the prettiest golden shade that others adored just as much as you and made his calves a favorite among those who wanted cattle for show more than function. It was the same fur that shined so brilliantly in the sunlight as he trotted around the field, playing games with whatever other creature crossed his path. It's why the cows were sweet on him, along with a few bulls.

You couldn't tell if Remy was one of those bulls or if Wren was the one who wouldn't leave him be, but you were grateful that it was what it was because it made punishing Remy even easier.

His breathing ran ragged as you gave Wren more love and affection in one brief moment than Remy had received in… a long time, if you were to be entirely honest. Unlike the cooperative Wren, Remy was a stubborn bull who you had to fight at every turn to do his job. You hadn't been pleased with him since the day he was a calf and you were a playful child following around your favorite cattle; since the days you thought cattle and horses and dogs could speak like humans; since before you understood that he was nothing more than a rebellious breeding bull who served as nothing more than a sperm factory to make even more cattle.

Wren though? Wren was a good boy from the moment he was born. His genes weren't as desirable as Remy's, but his temperament was better in every way. He never disappointed you the same way Remy did.

"Moo?" Wren whined from his spot in your lap.

When you looked down at him, you could see that he'd gotten hard again. The sight excited you because it meant he could take care of another cow already. It seemed Wren would be fathering the most calves this season.

"Does it hurt?" You asked as you placed a small kiss against his forehead. "I'll get you a cute cow to play with, so wait right here."

You slipped his arms from around your waist and stood up to go look for a decent cow in the fields, where your assistants were watching them and seeing that the last of your bulls was doing his job. As you left the barn, the assistant with dark shadows under his eyes pointed you in the direction of a heifer you'd gotten a few months back.

She was a young thing that you'd bought from another farm just after she'd reached maturity specifically because she came from a line of good milk producers – the massive tits that made her noticeably top heavy proved that. None of your bulls had made a move on her yet and she seemed skittish to approach them, but you figured there would be no better first time experience than Wren for a sweet thing like her. Plus, she needed to have a calf soon or else she wouldn't start making the very milk you'd bought her for.

You marched into the field, grabbing her by the back of her neck and dragging her along with you back into the barn. The entire way, she was mooing in distress and weakly trying to pull away. It was a natural reaction for inexperienced cattle, so you didn't think much of it.

When you finally managed to get her into the barn and force her away from the grass she'd been so comfortably munching on, you could see that Wren had decided to change positions and move closer to Remy's cage.

"Don't play with naughty boys, Wren. You'll pick up his bad habits." You pinched the back of the heifer's neck to establish your power over her and warn her to follow your lead before spinning her around and bending her forward so her ass was sticking out toward where Wren was – where Remy was. "You can play with this instead."

She balled her fists against your chest and began to pound them pathetically as she whined and cried. The sound made your fingers twitch in anger. It was always the fearful ones that were the worst to break in because they didn't understand their position just yet.

"Shut up," you said through gritted teeth. "It's this or the butcher's shop, so be grateful."

As soon as the threat of the butcher was mentioned, her whining turned into sobbing. However, she also stopped struggling against you and seemed to resign herself to being fucked until she was officially just another cow on the farm.

"That's better." You pet her head. "Now be a good girl and spread your legs so this bull can fill you up."

She closed her eyes and braced herself against your steady body as she shakily separated her thighs and moved her tail aside to show her acceptance of him.

Wren stared at her in wonderment and, if he had the ability, you swear he would have whistled at the untouched fruit being offered to him. He was more cautious than usual as he slowly approached her, erection jumping as he smelled her heat in the air that called to all virile bulls.

As he closed the distance, he placed his hands on her hips and squeezed until bruises started to form against her skin. He brushed his long, thin cock between her inner thighs as if to test the waters. She mooed and he seemed to take that as a sign to keep going because he moved to press his tip against her wet slit.

It was moments like this that proved as the clearest sign that he really was a beast; that he would lose all semblance of composure he pretended to have the moment a fertile female was placed in front of him. At least he was your beast and knew how to fuck and reproduce.

Wren's chest rose and fell with deep, heavy breaths as he hesitated to continue.

Hesitation was pointless in this situation.

"Come on, Wren," you goaded him on. "Show her the pleasures of a bull's dick."

His nails dug into the fat of her hips and pulled her back against him as he pushed forward, sinking his cock into her without any further ceremony.

She cried out as he stretched her open for the very first time. The immediate, primal way that he claimed her made something inside of you burn up. From where you stood, you could just barely see how his cock went into her over and over, each time accentuated with a grunt and her mooing as she experienced pleasure for the first time.

Wren, for his part, was an experienced bull despite his younger age. It was okay if it didn't feel good at first. Her body would adjust and accept Wren soon. After that, she would love being bred just like every other cow on the farm.

Unlike humans that had sex for pleasure, beasts only fucked as a consequence of their instincts. That meant no one cared if her first time felt good or if she even wanted it. She was in heat – that fact made clear by how wet and messy her entrance was without being touched – and any bull that smelled her would take advantage of it.

And, just behind the scene, was you bull Remy watching from inside of his cage.

Remy’s green eyes were transfixed on the sight before him. No doubt he could smell the heifer’s heat just as easily as Wren and it was driving him mad to be so close to her without being able to touch. If the drugs were still running through his system, watching had to be painful. The angry erection standing between his legs was a sure sign that he was suffering only being able to look without touching.

“C'mon, Wren," you said to him even though you were looking directly at Remy and his futile struggle to tear the bars from the cage door and the retraining leash from around his neck. "Be a good boy and make her a cow."

You could feel as her hold on you went weak; as she let go and collapsed against the ground so only her ass was still in the air. You could tell that Wren was slamming into her at a brutal pace because of how she rocked against you, but you weren't watching her. You weren't even watching Wren to make sure he filled her up.

You were watching Remy.

You were watching your naughty bull and his dripping cock that wanted to be buried inside something. You were enjoying watching him go mad from denial. The joy of it tingling between your legs as you reveled in his suffering.

But you needed him to do his job.

"Remy?" You called out to him.

You slipped out of the heifer's grip and stood, walking past the display of Wren finally filling her up with her first batch of cum. He was a good boy, but you weren't here to praise him at the moment. You were here to correct Remy's bad behavior.

You approached his cage, stopping just shy of the bars and looking up at him.

"Do you want to get out of there?" You mocked. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind another round with a bull like you." As you spoke, you looked down at his cock, which seemed to jump at the promise. "Are you finally ready to fuck some cows? Such a good bull…"

You reached for your waist, expecting to grab your keys to open his cage door but fumbling when you couldn't find them. Had you set them down somewhere? Did they fall off the clip where you usually kept them?

Shit! You couldn't open the pen without them.

You didn't have time to wonder where they were though, because, as you patted your waist trying to find them, Remy reached through the metal bars and grabbed the front of your shirt. He nearly tore it open as he pulled you forward, slamming you into the bars as he nearly growled.

It was clear that Remy wasn't under control just yet. Even drugged and drowning in the smell of a female in heat, he was still more focused on his anger and fighting against you.

"Let go of me you stupid bull," you hissed as you reached for something else you kept on your waist in case of emergencies.

Remy ignored your words, leaning forward to the point the collar around his neck began to choke and squeeze him. He let his warm, fat tongue hang out of his mouth, running it up the side of your face pressed against the cage bars and leaving a trail of sticky saliva crawling up your skin.

You finally managed to wrap your fingers around the short knife on your waist and pulled it from your side. Raising your arm, you quickly plunged it down into Remy's shoulder. It wouldn't be deep enough to truly damage the thick skin of a cattle, but it was enough to shock him into letting you go.

He staggered back instinctually, letting the prey animal inside of him take control. You did the same, jumping back away from the cage bars so he couldn't grab you again.

"You fucking-" You spit through gritted teeth, unable to finish the thought for lack of words vile enough to describe your rage.

It was fine. If he wanted to be so angry and stubborn that he'd rather be locked up in a small cage he could barely pace around or lie down in than out in the field where he could fuck all the cows he desired, you wouldn't fight him anymore. You didn't need him, anyway. You only needed his semen and you could inseminate the cows yourself, although the cows wouldn't be happy about it. But who cared? They were just cows and he was just a stubborn bull.

Prev Next (coming soon)

#h2ho #a cool drink of water #degrees of lewdity #remy the farmer #wren the smuggler #nsft post #tw hybrids

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