#god it's like I work on it for 12 hours and yet nothing has been done

[kaisollisto]

[ja3yun]

touch me and see | l.hs

boyfriend!heeseung x girlfriend!reader

warnings: smut (mdni), fingering, oral (f.rec), cum eating, overstimulation, they are tooth rottingly in love, but heeseung is commanding, not proof read, anything else lmk!

w.c: 4.6k

REQ: i can't, for the love of God, stop thinking about how heeseung will lose his damn mind if his girlfriend were to take his hand and slip it inside her panties while telling him how needy she is for him. Like. Please you have to write something about this. 🤲

a/n: hi! this was probably not what you were wanting and i can only apologise. after reading and writing about dom men for the better part of a week i needed some fluff and romance! hope you like it <3 also, i'm working through requests so please be patient with me, i am trying my best 🙏🏻

Walking through the door, Heeseung places his shoes haphazardly at the entrance of your shared apartment, the clambering of them echoing in the tiny foyer. Typically, you are home by now, and the familiarity of this daily routine never fails to warm his heart. You have been dating for a few years, and nothing brings him more joy than coming home to you, even though he does it every day. The anticipation of seeing you, feeling your presence, and sharing the quiet moments together fills him with a sense of comfort and belonging that he cherishes deeply.

Heeseung's eyes scan the cosy living room, landing on you nestled on the couch, a book in hand. A soft smile spreads across his face, his heart swelling with love and contentment. He quietly walks over to you, his footsteps almost silent on the carpet, not wanting to disrupt your peaceful moment but eager to be close to you. As he reaches you, he gently wraps his arms around you from behind, pulling you into a warm, tender embrace.

You feel the familiar weight and warmth of his arms around you, and your heart skips a beat. The scent of his cologne, mingled with the faint trace of his day, envelops you, grounding you in the moment. Heeseung leans down, his lips brushing against the nape of your neck, planting soft, lingering kisses along your skin. Each kiss sends a shiver down your spine, a sweet reminder of the love and passion that has grown and never dimmed between you over the years.

"Hi, baby. I missed you," he murmurs against your neck, his voice low and filled with emotion. His arms tighten around you slightly, as if he's afraid to let go. The sincerity in his words touches you deeply, and you can feel the depth of his affection and the genuine happiness he feels being with you.

Turning slightly in his embrace, you tilt your head to look up at him, meeting his warm, adoring gaze. You reach up, gently cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing softly against his skin. "I missed you too," you whisper, your voice carrying the same depth of emotion. It’s a bit over the top for most people, to be so in love with one another that you miss each other even only for approximately 12 hours, but it suits you both just fine.

Heeseung leans down, capturing your lips in a tender kiss, pouring all his love and devotion into the simple yet profound gesture. The kiss is soft, slow, and filled with the unspoken promise of many more years of shared moments and unending love. As you pull away, he places one final kiss on the top of your head before circling the couch and sitting next to you. 

You wedge your bookmark between the pages and place the book on your lap, giving your full attention to your boyfriend. “How was your day?”

Sighing, he rubs his forehead hard enough to leave a faint red mark. “Stressful, I had to basically run after everyone’s mistakes and then somehow I got the blame.” 

Being an office worker is either the easiest job in the world or the hardest. Most days, it’s fucking dreadful since the company decided to hire people who either know nothing at all and mess up the accounts, or people who think they know it all and still mess up the accounts. When he started, he loved his job, it was a nice and simple 9-5 with little stress, even so much so that he could often call you at random points in the day just to see how you were doing. 

But now companies have merged, new staff are useless, his boss is on holiday for 2 months to go back home to Australia, life is just miserable in the office. 

Seeing his frustration, you scoot a bit closer, taking his hand in yours and kissing the back of it, the way you always do in situations like this. He doesn’t need you to come up with solutions or tell him lies like everything will be okay. The subtle gesture of your lips on his skin and your thumb running across his knuckles is enough to ease the discomfort in his bones.

“You should take a vacation once Jaeyun is back, we can go and do something fun,” you suggest, knowing that without Heeseung and his boss, the company would go up in flames. 

Pouting softly, he shakes his head, “I only have 2 days of annual leave left and I’m using it for your birthday.”

“But you’ve been working all these extra hours, days even. Surely you can get some back and we can go on a city trip somewhere?” you insist, your eyes filled with a hopeful sparkle.

Leaning in, Heeseung kisses your lips tenderly, sharing his gratefulness and love for your concern for him. Never in his life did he imagine someone would care this much about him, especially because he knows you will drop all your studying to make sure you can go on this hypothetical trip. The kiss is gentle yet deep, conveying all the emotions he struggles to put into words. When he pulls back, his eyes linger on your face, taking in the worry and affection that mirrors his own feelings.

Heeseung squeezes your hand and sits back to his original position on the couch. “Nah, that’s including me taking time back. You know how stingy the company is with time off.” He smiles, trying to reassure you, though he feels a pang of guilt for the tiny white lie. The real reason he’s been working every extra shift and covering for others is something he can’t share just yet - it would spoil the surprise he’s been meticulously planning for over a year.

You concede, knowing how hard-working Heeseung is and that pushing the matter might end up in one of you sleeping on the couch you’re currently sitting on. If there is one thing he could argue to the death about, it’s about how he can handle work and everything in between quite fine on his own.

“Alright, but promise me you’ll take it easy. I don’t want you to be exhausted when you come home or on the days off you have.”

“I promise,” Heeseung replies, pulling you closer. He runs his fingers through your hair, his touch soothing and familiar. “For you.”

Rolling your eyes, you whack his hand away playfully before joining it with yours once again. “No, for you, not for me. You need to look after yourself because you want to.” He has a bad habit of neglecting himself and only listening to you and never his body; it’s a curse to the admirable hard-working part of him.

Heeseung chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looks at you fondly. “Okay, okay. I’ll take care of myself because I want to,” he says, though he knows that your happiness will always be his first priority. He gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “So, how was your day?”

You settle against the couch, leaning your head on your free hand as you place your arm on the back cushion, a contented sigh escaping your lips. “It was good. I studied most of the morning, trying to get ahead on my assignments. Then, I just spent some time reading. It was nice to relax a bit.”

Heeseung smiles, his heart warming at the thought of you finding some time for yourself amidst your busy schedule. “What are you reading?” he asks, spotting the book on your lap and tilting his head in curiosity.

Your eyes widen in embarrassment as you realise the cover of the book is clearly visible. It's a smutty romance novel, the kind with a particularly steamy cover illustration that leaves little to the imagination; your typical brute man in black and white, the kind you see middle-aged mums reading poolside on their Tenerife holiday. Quickly, you try to hide it, but it’s too late. Heeseung’s gaze follows your movements, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Oh, this looks…interesting,” he teases, reaching out to gently take the book from your hands. “A little light reading, huh?”

Your cheeks flush a deep shade of red, and you cover your face with your hands, groaning. “It’s not what you think,” you mumble from behind your hands, though you both know it’s exactly what he thinks. You curse horny authors for not picking more subtle covers.

Heeseung laughs warmly and shakes his head, dismissing your embarrassment, “Everyone has a hobby,” he reassures you. The thing about your boyfriend is that he will never make you feel shame for anything you do, even if it is the most cringy, despicable act like that one time you tried to whistle note like Ariana Grande at karaoke - he will only encourage you. It’s one of the many, many reasons you fell in love with him. 

Flicking through some of the pages, his eyes land on probably the most graphic and detailed sex scene he has ever read, granted, he might have only ever read one in his life and Fifty Shades of Grey for half an hour while waiting for a doctor's appointment might not be very adventurous on his part. 

He looks at you and pouts, waving the book about in the air. “Is this what I have to compete with? Whips and feathers?” He feigns being disappointed, hiding the lingering smirk that is currently fighting its way onto his face.

You shake your head ferociously, eyes wide and mouth open. “No, no, no. I like you just the way you are, trust me,” you plead with him. He loves it when you play along with him in his upset skit, usually because you end up complimenting him way more than normal, which is like music to his ears.

Sucking in a breath, he juts his bottom lip as he looks at the book once again, his hand easily gripping its edges. The book looks so small when he holds it, like it’s part of the mini-brand series. His long fingers, slightly calloused from work, wrap around the cover with a casual strength that makes your pulse quicken.

Heeseung notices the way your eyes fixate on his hands, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You sure? I mean, these guys in the book seem pretty...intense,” he teases, his tone light but his eyes darkening with a flicker of lust.

Your breath catches as you watch his fingers trace the spine of the book absentmindedly. The sight of his hands - so strong, so capable - starts to stir a familiar heat within you. You bite your lip, trying to focus on his words, but your mind keeps wandering to thoughts of those hands on you, exploring, caressing.

“Heeseung,” you murmur, your voice a little shaky, “you don’t need any of that stuff. You’re perfect just the way you are.” Your words are sincere, but you can’t help the flush that creeps up your neck as your thoughts continue to race.

Heeseung catches the change in your tone, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. He sets the book aside, his full attention now on you. “Oh?” he says, his voice dropping an octave as he leans in closer, his hand coming up to gently cup your chin. “Perfect, huh?”

Taking hold of his hand, you nod quickly, suddenly dipping his hand into the waistband of your lounge shorts and past your underwear, to let him feel just exactly what he does to you, how you’re only needy for him and no one else. Sometimes, you even imagine that it’s him in the books, replacing the CEO and Cowboy faces with your boyfriend’s.

Heeseung’s eyes darken, his breath catching as he feels the evidence of your desire for him. His gaze locks onto yours, a predatory smirk forming on his lips. “Is this how you feel when you think about me? This isn’t because of that guy in the book?” he murmurs, his voice husky and thick with desire. His fingers move deliberately, exploring your softness with a slow, teasing touch.

"It's all you," you whisper, breath leaving your lungs thanks to his fingers, "I get wet thinking about you, especially when you aren't here."

His smirk deepens, and his fingers start to move with more purpose, sliding through your slick folds and finding your sensitive bud with expert precision. “Really?” he murmurs, his voice a dangerous mix of lust and amusement. “Baby, I must have kept you waiting a really long time today then, hmm?” His tone is mocking, clearly enjoying how desperate you’ve become.

The heat from his fingers and his teasing words send shivers down your spine, and you’re so consumed by lust that you haven’t even realised that he’s stopped moving his fingers. Instead, your hips are thrusting desperately against his hand, seeking release as you grind against his touch.

Heeseung’s eyes gleam with desire as he watches you. The sight of you, so lost in need and writhing for him, drives him wild. He loves seeing you like this, your body reacting instinctively to his touch, your pleasure so palpable that it’s almost overwhelming.

“You really are a mess,” he growls, his voice a blend of admiration and raw dominance. “Look at you, so needy and desperate. Does it feel that good, baby?” His words are both teasing and tender, a testament to how well he knows you and what makes you tick. Heeseung’s ability to seamlessly blend tenderness with dominance is one of the many things that make him irresistible to you.

In these moments, he becomes something more than just your boyfriend; he’s a reflection of the deep, unwavering love and respect he has for you. The way he takes charge, guiding you with a gentle but commanding hand, shows just how deeply he cares. He’s not just fulfilling your desires; he’s elevating them, giving you a glimpse of the infinite affection and lust he holds for you.

Heeseung is the epitome of devotion, the kind of man who can turn a simple touch into an expression of endless love. His respect for you is limitless, but when you become this vulnerable and needy, he flips a switch fueled by desire. It’s a delicate balance he maintains effortlessly; he can love you softly and tenderly or take you with a fierce intensity, always attuned to what you need and want.

You moan in response, your words tangled in the throes of overwhelming pleasure. All you can do is wriggle and gasp, your movements growing more frantic as you chase the release that feels just out of reach. “Heeseung...please,” you manage to whimper, your voice breaking with the raw intensity of your need.

Heeseung’s fingers don’t relent. Instead, they delve deeper into your panties, his middle finger now gently tapping at your entrance with teasing precision. His touch is maddeningly light, barely brushing against your sensitive opening, creating a maddening contrast to the desperate pleasure you’re craving. The sensation sends shivers through your body, making your hips buck instinctively towards his hand.

Heeseung’s eyes stare into your desperate ones. “Please what, baby?” he murmurs, his voice thick with both affection and a seductive edge. “Tell me exactly what you need. I want to hear it from you.”

The demand in his voice just adds to your frustration. You can feel the heat accumulating between your legs, and your body's response is becoming increasingly urgent. "I need you…" you declare, the words tumbling out between gasps. "I need you to make me cum."

“Is that what your little book boys do?” he teases, prodding at your sobbing entrance as you whine out, almost crying out in need.

“Shut up, I told you, you’re the only one I need.” you screw your eyes shut, agonisingly frustrated by his underlying jealousy, no matter if he is being serious or not. You need him to touch you and you want it now. 

Heeseung’s finger finally slips inside you, and you gasp as he fills you with a slow, deliberate push. The sensation is both intense and exhilarating, the warmth of his finger adding a layer of pleasure you’ve been yearning for. He starts to move with a slow, steady rhythm, his touch both tender and commanding as he finds your most sensitive spots.

“Like this?” he asks, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper as he curls his finger, seeking out the spot that makes you mewl. He continues to caress your clit with his thumb, adding to the overwhelming pleasure.

You can only moan in response, your head dropping on his shoulder as your body responds eagerly to his touch. Each movement, each stroke sends waves of pleasure crashing through you, pushing you closer to the edge.

Heeseung’s movements are torturously slow as he adds another digit, each thrust of his fingers inside you measured and deliberate. He curves them expertly, finding that sweet spot deep within you and pressing against it, making your whole body shudder with pleasure. His thumb never ceases its flicking motion on your clit, sending jolts of electricity coursing through you.

Gripping his arm for support, your chest heaves as he presses his fingers roughly to a very sensitive area inside your cunt, the spongy surface melding itself around your boyfriend’s fingers as he holds down on it. If your body were a map, Heeseung had studied and explored every part of it, memorising your X spots with ease. It’s the reason you’re already starting to see those stars behind your eyes.

Heeseung’s breath is hot against your neck, and you can feel his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “You’re so beautiful when you’re like this.” His voice is a tantalising blend of tenderness and authority, sending shivers down your spine.

He pulls your head to look at him, and you meet his gaze through flickering eyes, fighting the urge to succumb to your pleasure. "Look at me," he commands softly, his voice a low growl that makes your toes curl and shoulders straighten despite the difficulty of the request. His fingers start to move faster, pumping in and out of you with an unrelenting rhythm, your body arching towards him.

Your hands scramble for something to hold onto, one hand finding purchase on the couch cushion while the other grips at his shirt. Your knuckles turn white as you cling, trying to anchor yourself against the overwhelming sensations. Heeseung’s fingers work you mercilessly, the slick sound of your wetness mingling with your desperate moans and his heavy breathing.

Although you’re slipping into a cum-atose, your eyes never leave his, still abiding by his previous request. His face is smug as he strains, putting immense effort into finger fucking you, his arm working overtime as he rapidly rams his fingers in and out of you the way you like it. 

If there is one thing Heeseung is going to do, it’s please his girl. And by the look on your face and the jittering of your hips, he would say you’re sufficiently pleased.

Yet, he notices how you’re holding your breath and clenching your jaw. “Baby? What are you holding back for?” he asks, his voice softening with concern even as his fingers maintain their relentless pace.

“I... I can’t...” you manage to gasp out, the intensity of the pleasure making it hard to form words. Your body is trembling, teetering on the brink of release, but something is holding you back. Maybe it’s the idea of not having his fingers once you cum, knowing that they can’t live in you forever - sadly.

Heeseung's eyes darken with determination. “Let go,” he commands, his voice a deep growl. “I want to feel you cum all over my fingers.”

His words ignite a wildfire of desire within you, the coil inside you winding tighter with each passing second. Heeseung's thumb presses down harder on your clit, moving in swift, precise circles that send electric waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

“Breathe, baby,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours with tenderness despite the relentless scissoring of his fingers. “Let it happen. Don’t hold back.”

With a strangled cry, you surrender, the tension in your body unravelling all at once. Your orgasm crashes over you with the force of a tsunami, your entire being convulsing as waves of ecstasy radiate from your core. Your grip on his shirt tightens, nails accidentally digging into his skin as you scream his name, your walls clenching around his fingers. “Heeseung, fuck!”

Heeseung watches you with a blend of satisfaction and awe, his fingers maintaining their relentless rhythm to prolong your orgasm. The pleasure borders on overwhelming, your hips bucking uncontrollably as you ride the intense ripple of euphoria.

"That's it, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm against the intensity of his movements. He peppers kisses all over your face and neck, constantly reminding you of reality as your brain gets lost in your high. When Heeseung makes you cum, it’s like you go into your own version of subspace, not quite out of it to the point of unconsciousness but just out of it enough to forget your surroundings.

When he’s fucking you, it’s a lot worse.

As your body starts to relax, the tremors subsiding, Heeseung gently withdraws his fingers, making sure not to cause any discomfort. He brings his glistening fingers to his lips, sucking them clean with a satisfied hum, his eyes never leaving your shaking form. The taste of you is his absolute favourite thing and this sample isn’t enough for him, not when you have a whole pool of it between your legs.

"You did so well for me," he whispers, his voice filled with warmth and pride. He places a tender kiss on your forehead, his lips lingering as if to imprint his affection into your skin.

Gently, Heeseung manoeuvres you, his strong arms effortlessly guiding you to lie back on the couch. His movements are careful, almost reverent, as he shifts your weight, ensuring you’re comfortable. You feel the cool leather against your back, a stark contrast to the heat still radiating from your body.

Heeseung’s hands move to your shorts. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says softly, his voice a soothing murmur. His eyes are filled with a loving tenderness as he slowly slides your shorts down your legs, the fabric gliding over your skin.

He places your shorts aside, his gaze returning to your exposed form with a mixture of adoration and desire. Heeseung leans in, his lips brushing against your inner thigh in a series of feather-light kisses that send shivers down your spine. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers against your skin, his breath warm and tantalising.

Heeseung's breath hitches slightly, his eyes darkening with an intense mix of lust and adoration as he takes in the sight before him. "You’re fucking gorgeous, baby," he murmurs, his voice a low, reverent whisper for only you to hear. He trails the tips of his fingers over your thighs, tracing delicate patterns as he slowly lowers himself to the other side of the couch, his breath caressing your skin with each exhale.

He starts at your ankles, placing tender, lingering kisses along your calves, his lips soft and worshipful. His hands follow the path of his mouth, massaging and caressing, as if he’s committing every inch of you to memory. As he moves higher, his kisses become more deliberate, his mouth seeking out the sensitive spots that make you shiver and sigh.

Heeseung’s lips finally find the juncture of your thighs, his breath hot and heavy against your most intimate area. He pauses, looking up at you with a gaze so filled with adoration that it makes your heart flutter. "You’re so perfect," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. He places a gentle kiss just above your core, eliciting a gasp from your lips.

Heeseung's tongue darts out, teasing your folds with feather-light strokes, his touch tender and unhurried. "I love the way you taste," he continues, his eyes locked onto your face, filled with adoration. "I could do this forever."

“You do, somedays,” you manage to meek out, chest gasping out a laugh even though you’re head is still spinning.

His tongue laves over your entrance, collecting your essence with a deliberate, sensual grace as he cleans you up. Each movement is slow and careful, designed to draw out your pleasure and keep you on the edge of sensitivity. Heeseung hums in satisfaction, the vibrations sending delicious tremors through your core. "So sweet," he mutters, his voice muffled against your skin. "I can’t get enough of you."

Heeseung’s tongue delves deeper, exploring you with a gentle yet thorough intensity. His strokes are varied, alternating between languid licks and playful flicks, each one causing your breath to hitch and your body to arch involuntarily. 

Your boyfriend loves to eat pussy, more specifically your pussy. It’s like a drug to him, a fountain of pure delicious nectar that he needs to be devouring. It calms him down and riles him up all at once. If he’s having a bad day, sometimes he won’t even speak, just carry you to your bedroom and eat you out for hours. It doesn’t even have to be rushed or end with you crying out for him to stop, there are times he’ll simply lick to taste you while asking you about your day.

Men say they love giving head, but no one quite likes it as much as Heeseung does.

That’s why he will say he’s ‘cleaning you up’ when in actual fact, he’s just drinking you dry so he can cause another billow of your juices to flow straight onto his tongue.

Heeseung’s lips close around your clit, sucking gently while his tongue swirls in a rhythm that has your toes curling and your hands gripping the couch. The sensations are overwhelming, and your body is hypersensitive from your previous climax.

“Heeseung, it’s too much,” you whine out as your thighs threaten to crush his head with force as they suffocate his ears.

He can feel the tension building within you again, your breath coming in ragged gasps as he continues his loving assault. The pressure from your leg pillows mixed with the taste of fresh fluids beginning to flow into his mouth has his eyes rolling to the back of his head. 

Feeling for your hands, he interlocks yours with his as he begins to slurp you up with more vigour, the lewd noises roaming around your apartment like a song on the radio, the familiar tune bouncing off the walls as they increase with volume.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum again, baby,” you warn him, the information sending a thrill of excitement through his spine.

With a final, skilful circle of his tongue, you’re sent spiralling into another climax, your body convulsing with the intensity of it. Heeseung doesn’t stop, his mouth tenderly working you through the aftershocks, his tongue cleaning up every drop of your release with reverent devotion.

As your tremors finally subside, Heeseung pulls back, his lips and chin glistening with your essence. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a satisfied smile playing on his lips. "Perfect," he murmurs, his voice a husky whisper. He leans over you, capturing your lips in a kiss that tastes of you, sealing the moment with a promise of love and devotion. "You’re everything to me," he whispers against your lips, his breath mingling with yours. "Absolutely everything."

He wraps your legs in a nearby blanket, tucking you in with care as your spent body finds comfort on the couch. Heeseung’s hands linger on your skin, his touch a comforting presence. “How do you feel?” he asks, his voice a soft caress, filled with genuine concern and love.

“Perfect,” you reply, your voice a contented sigh. You reach out, cupping his face in your hand, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “You make me feel perfect.”

Heeseung leans into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if savouring the moment. He then presses a kiss to your palm, his lips warm and soft. “I love you,” he whispers, his voice filled with emotion. “And all your kinky books with men who could never compare to me.”

Tuting, you push his face away playfully, smiling so wide that it splits your face in half. “Shut up, oh my god,” you reply, your giggles high-pitched despite your exhaustion. “I love you, too.”

_____

perm taglist: @immortalvee @sunpov @heeseungspookie @strawberrysavi @monstanctiny21 @diorsyun @heexzbae @yzzyhee @baekhyunstruly @zeeloveshee @haechonly @berryblog @no-mannerism @jaehoonii @notevenheretbh1 @shawnyle @addictedtohobi @jiminie-08 @emberuby @nctislifue @lilyuwon @skzenhalove @heeshlove @idkdykilr @chocminteu @y4wnjunz @rikibun @ivesti @parksunghoonsgf @branchrkive @brownsugarbaybee @xxbluestrifexx @bambangan @dollyyun @iluvikeu @deobitifull @yawnazzz @st1llm0nster @woorcve

[katsukistofu]

my caffeine mix-up! pt. ii

contents ౨ৎ ⋆ hawks x fem reader. fluff. slightly suggestive. you accidentally pick up the number two hero’s coffee so picks you up instead. | part i

note: fukuoka is the canon location of hawks hero agency

You stare at the text for what embarrassingly feels like at least the tenth time this hour.

pick you up at 8 ;)

Was sent mere moments ago from the contact Hawks, that had several hearts next to his name that you don’t remember him putting, saved in your phone after he dropped you off at work this morning.

Nearly giving your coworkers who just so happened to be looking out the windows at the time synchronized heart attacks in their cubicles, which would’ve been very hard to explain to your boss.

Who, thank All Might, was not here today.

But the millisecond you walked out of the elevator onto your floor, their nosy natures quickly won over their states of disbelief.

Desperate for the juicy details, nothing could stop them from swarming you like a group of hungry piranhas, and you’re flooded with a sea of questions you’re simply at a loss for how to answer.

“How did you meet him?” “So when’s the wedding?” “Were you rescued in a villain attack that wasn’t on the news yet?” “Oh my god, did you two—?”

“Guys!” You cut them off with a frantic wave of your hands, you did not need to hear the end of that sentence. “We just happened to meet. I, uh.”

Your coworkers look at you with expectant eyes, eagerly waiting to hear your no doubt heart-racing meet-cute story with the hero so popular, that when the paparazzi got a picture of him sipping kombucha tea, the drink went out of stock in stores nationwide faster than you could even say its name.

“I accidentally took his coffee order.”

You cringe a bit as you finish, and you’re met with the most comically shocked faces you’ve ever seen in your entire life.

“You WHAT!?”

“Damn I literally just tweeted ‘my coworker stole Hawks’s coffee’ and it already has a hundred reposts.”

“Oh honey, you’re lucky our boss is out sick today. He’d fire you for that.”

“Yeah, Hawks is his all-time favorite on the charts since All Might.”

You groan. “I know! He was so nice about it too, I still feel bad.”

“You should be.”

All your coworkers simultaneously glare at your company’s front desk receptionist that somehow snuck up to your floor, who for some reason takes that as a signal to continue.

“I could never be illiterate enough to take his order if I was in that coffee shop.”

“No one cares, Janet,” everyone says in deadpanned unison.

Janet huffs and turns to leave, but not before pointedly throwing another withering look at you.

She never did like you ever since you politely corrected her grammar in that passive aggressive email she sent when you were a new hire.

Not illiterate your ass.

Throughout the day, you answer more emails, calls, and print papers in a daze.

When you go to forward an email, all you can think about is how his strong arms felt on your waist. When you go retrieve ink to refill the printer, all you can think about is his gentle yet firm grip that he had on your thighs.

This could not be healthy.

But what if it was? You’ve never been touched so intimately, so softly before, like you were something precious, even in your fleeting experiences with relationships.

No one’s made you feel this safe like he does from just being in their presence.

But you blame that on him being a hero. He was probably trained on how to calm civilians down, especially during rescues.

You don’t really think that applied to people who stole his coffee, but maybe that was just you trying to feel special.

With a shake of your head, you straighten yourself in your chair. You had to get it together.

No more thoughts of Hawks on company time until it’s time to clock out!

But it seems like the winged flirt had other plans.

hawks ♡♡♡ [12:00]

hey

[sent an image]

hawks ♡♡♡ [12:01]

saw a pretty flower on

someone’s roof and it

reminded me of you :)

You freeze when you see the notification pop up, mid-bite through the food that you picked up from your favorite aesthetically pleasing cafe for lunch.

With a mouthful of sandwich, you click on the message to text back, when suddenly the realization hits you.

You had no idea what to wear for the date.

Oh my god, what were you even supposed to wear? Was there some kind of etiquette for this?

I mean, it’s not like he’s taking you to the Hero Gala. It’s just a higher end homey sushi and ramen place, but still.

Pinterest probably didn’t have “cute date outfit ideas for going out with the freaking number two hero” in their search results.

In your mind, you nervously run through different casual but still elegant clothes to wear. Maybe that nice blouse you had been saving, the one with the ruffles on the sleeves? You bite the inside of your cheek. No, maybe your classy sleeveless turtleneck midi dress instead?

Ugh, but you’ve already worn it out too many times last month. Not to mention the current ninety degree weather would cook you alive in that.

You pray that the paparazzi wouldn’t dare to stalk you on your date, but imagine if they did and took a picture of you two?

Caption: Hawks takes girl that never wears anything else out on date.

Even worse, caption: Hawks seen taking girl that can’t dress if her life depended on it out on date.

Nope, not on your watch.

The further you brainstormed, the more each piece of your wardrobe seemed less and less fitting to wear for such an occasion.

An idea pops into your head.

What was Hawks’s favorite color? You could base an outfit off of that instead.

Thinking about it, it was probably red. Hell, if you had pretty crimson wings like him you’d forget every other color in the rainbow.

Should you text him and ask?

After a little mental wrestling yourself, you muster up all the courage you could possibly have on a Monday afternoon.

[12:20]

you

that’s so cute :((((

thank you <3

you

also random but what’s

your favorite color?

hawks ♡♡♡

ooh we playing twenty questions? ;)

you

lol i guess we are ;)

hawks ♡♡♡

hmmm ok then

hawks ♡♡♡

my favorite colors

probablyyy red

you

i knew it

hawks ♡♡♡

oh?

hawks ♡♡♡

been thinking about me

have you, pretty girl?

you

……..maybe

hawks ♡♡♡

you’re so cute when

you get all shy

Your cheeks warm at that, and you physically have to put down your phone for a moment to cool off.

[12:34]

hawks ♡♡♡

my turn

hawks ♡♡♡

whatcha having for lunch?

you

[sent an image]

sandwich :)

hawks ♡♡♡

ooh that looks yummy

you

it is!!!!

you

it’s from the cafe across

the one where i nabbed

your coffee lol

hawks ♡♡♡

ah when fate brought

us together by my overly

sweet latte

hawks ♡♡♡

i’ll make sure to stop by

it after patrol tomorrow :)

you

yay!!! lmk what you think

i want a full review

hawks ♡♡♡

yes ma’am (︶▽︶)7

you

what are you having for lunch?

hawks ♡♡♡

[sent an image]

just chicken lol

Of course he was. It did look good. The fried edges were perfectly crispy, and it was a nice golden brown color and—

hawks ♡♡♡

but i wish it was you instead ;)

you

!!!!!?1!?)$1&1$@-

hawks ♡♡♡

aw, you embarassed right now?

you

YESOHMYHOF???

you

YOU CANR JUST

SAY THAT

hawks ♡♡♡

whyyy nottt

hawks ♡♡♡

it’s true though! :(

you

oh my god i’m going to die

you

and this sandwich is

going to be my last meal

hawks ♡♡♡

noo don’t die

you

i will

hawks ♡♡♡

id miss you :(

you

then know that it

was all YOUR fault.

hawks ♡♡♡

pffft you're so cute

hawks ♡♡♡

wish i could see your

flustered face right now

you

STOP

you

i think i'm going to

have to block you

you

this isn’t good for my heart

hawks ♡♡♡

D:

hawks ♡♡♡

noooooooo!!!!!!

come backkkk!!

You had to bite back a fond giggle, feeling warm all over. How was it fair for him to be this cute over text and in person?

hawks ♡♡♡

okok but before you block me

which i don’t think you will

hawks ♡♡♡

send me your address so

i know where to pick up the

most beautiful girl alive <3

you

oh u smooth ass mf

hawks ♡♡♡

for you? always

you

UGHHH

fine here it is

you

123-4567 fukuoka, tenjin,

chuo ward, 8-91

hawks ♡♡♡

perfect

see you soon birdie ;)

After an eventful day at work, you’re turned around, glancing at your back in the mirror.

Even though the scarlet dress that falls just below your knees hugs your figure in all the right places, you still feel a little self-conscious in it.

You honestly haven’t touched it since you bought it at the mall with a friend, who insisted that red was your color even when you had wrinkled your nose.

But as you admire the smooth, soft fabric of it now, you can’t help but be reminded of a certain someone’s beautiful wings.

You think you were really starting to warm up to the color.

A spritz of your favorite perfume and slight touch up of your makeup later, you hear a knock on the door to your balcony.

That must be him!

You excitedly unlock the sliding glass, and you’re finally greeted with the sight of Hawks’s signature grin that you missed all day.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

“Hi,” you say back, a bit breathlessly.

As if you were the one who flew all across the city just to see him.

He takes the moment to look you up and down, not in a hungry, lustful way like you’re used to when you’re around other men, even when you’re not exposing much skin.

Hawks admires you.

Like you’re a statue of a goddess, made of the most pristine marble. Like you’re a beautiful cherry blossom tree at peak bloom, with the wind serenading your soft pink petals.

Like you’re something so divinely beautiful and enchanting, you deserve to be revered.

“Wow.” Hawks opens his mouth, but no other sound comes out. The bouquet he’s hiding behind his back for you goes limp in his hand.

For a man who never runs out of words to say, he’s been rendered speechless.

There’s a tingle of anxiety at your neck and you’re suddenly a little nervous. “How—How do I look?”

Hawks takes a deep breath, and finally speaks.

“You look absolutely, astoundingly gorgeous.”

Hawks’s lips curve upwards softly when you visibly melt, his touch sweeter than the caramel of his eyes as a hand tips your chin up to meet his warm gaze that the summer heat had nothing on. 

“And that’s the least interesting about you.”

─────────

“This is really good.”

Is what you ultimately decide when you’re on the fourth piece of the unagi roll you ordered.

Hawks grins, you looked cute with your cheeks puffed up like that. “Isn’t it? I knew you’d like it.”

You nod while covering your mouth, chewing slowly to savor the delectable taste of the sushi. “I’m literally going to gatekeep this place so hard.”

“Good.” He reaches across the table for your hand with an amused laugh. “It can just be our little spot, then.”

You softly smile back at him.

“Our little spot.”

At that moment, the waiter comes over with Hawks’s shoyu ramen. “Enjoy!”

“Thanks!” Hawks beams at him, then turns his attention to the bowl in front of him.

Then a slight frown appears on his face.

You tilt your head. “What’s wrong?”

His worried eyes meet yours.

“You sure just sushi is enough? You can always order something else, it’s on me.”

“Oh no it’s okay!” You wave a hand. “I’m not really that hungry—“

“I don’t believe you.” A hint of a teasing smile plays on his lips. “Could hear your tummy growling a bit earlier.”

“You heard that?” You whine. How embarrassing.

“All the more reason to share my ramen with me.”

Your eyes widen. “You want me to?”

“I do.” Hawks stubbornly says, picking up his chopsticks to grab noodles with them. He holds them up to your lips, a growing smirk on his handsome face.

“Say ahhh.”

Throwing a quick glance around the restaurant, your cheeks flame. “Hawks!”

“What?” He’s still wearing that casual, shit-eating grin. “It’s just us and a few other people here, c’mon.”

You huff. “I can feed myself!”

“I know you can, birdie.” Hawks holds your gaze with piercing but warm eyes. “But I want to do it.”

You fiddle with your own chopsticks, looking at anything but his eyes.

“Please? Let me take care of you.”

Finally, you cave at his pleading expression.

“Okay.”

He feeds you, and you’re not still not sure why he’s so happy to do so, but you let him.

The owner of the sushi and ramen place laughs as he looks over at the booth you two had occupied a few hours before closing.

As always, there’s a generously heavy tip left on the table and this time a new, small note.

thank you, boss :> we’ll be back!! - h

─────────

It’s summer, again.

Keigo flies you back home in his arms after his patrol and your nine to five, and as you touch down on your balcony, the sky is starting to turn a brilliant gradient of orange, pink and purple as the sun begins to dip below the horizon.

His eyes are lidded as he pulls you closer to him by the waist on the couch.

“You like when I’m this close to you?”

In the privacy of your apartment with the only sound being the breeze from your air conditioning and the faint chirping of crickets outside, it’s like the both of you are in your own little world.

“Yeah.” You sound muffled while hiding your burning face in his chest. “You still make me nervous.”

“I make you nervous?” His low voice is lilting as he tilts his head, and pulls you even closer to him with a firm hand now on the small of your back.

Keigo smirks, drinking up the sound of your little gasp. “I’m gonna take that as a yes, little dove.”

You blink dreamily, disorientated by his warmth seeping through his sleeveless turtleneck and the feeling of his firm chest against yours. He was so cozy. “Dove?”

“Yeah. ‘Cause they symbolize peace, and you’re my safe place.” Keigo’s eyes soften at the way you snuggle into him in response. He was yours too, your comfort person. “You’re perfect, you know that?”

“Mmm.” You’re resting your head on his chest, listening to the sound of his heartbeat. “Tell me again.”

“As many times as you want.” He leans down to whisper in your ear.

“You’re perfect.”

You let out a laugh, his breath was tickling your ear. “Kei, why’s your heart beating so fast when you say that?”

“Mm.” He offers you a sly smile, hand tracing circles on the small of your back as you lay on top of him.

“Guess you just do something to me when we’re together, birdie.”

Your eyes start to feel heavy, and you hug him even tighter at that.

“I’m so glad I stole your shitty excuse of a coffee that day.”

And it’s when he laughs from deep within his chest that you know he is too.

— Courtship feeding is believed to function as ceremonial pair bonding. The male bird usually feeds their female mate, and the resulting nutritional boost contributes to more and healthier offspring.

[sturniolos-blog]

you’re what? - Matt Sturniolo x Y/n Oneshot

warnings - arguing swearing, fluff, kissing, throwing up ‼️

so thankful for this request by @sturniolosmind and i love itttt ❤️

—————————

11:08pm

Waiting on the couch again, the same thing it has been for about a month now,

Wake up, no Matt.

Come home from work, no Matt.

Going to sleep, no Matt.

It really sucks, i love him so much but his schedule is getting much more complicated.

Ding

Matthew.Sturniolo posted on his instagram story, come check it out!

I hear from my phone, picking it up while putting my feet on the coffee table of our apartment we leased about a couple months ago.

It was a picture with Matt, rootbeer in his hands, probably because he had to drive home, dancing, girls surrounding him.

Nothing looks really that suspicious besides the girls that are gathered around him but he’s not paying attention to them so that’s good. For now.

Now furious, i get out of instagram, going to the phone app and ringing Matt’s contact.

Ring

Ring

Ri-

“Hello?” Matt’s voice comes in from the phone.

“Matt? Where the hell are you?” I scoffed.

“I’m out right now baby, what’s wrong?” He asked, a soft tone to his voice but i could hear the party go on around him.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to a party, matt!” My voice cracked, damn i was crying already.

“A-are you crying? I’m sorry, n/n, we didn’t even know until 3 hours ago, i didn’t even know i would be out this late.” He tried to reason.

I sniffle, “Come home, now Matt, i’m not joking.” I say, my voice low, definitely too demanding.

I hear him scoff before the line cuts off.

—————————

12:03am

I was about to fall asleep before the front door opens, making me jump, and making my eyes open.

I see Matt walk in, tired look on his face as he kicks his shoes off.

I stand up, “Couldn’t find your way home or were you too busy with other girls?” I snapped.

He gives me a confused look, “What?” He asks.

I let out a frustrated sigh, “Matt, you know what i’m talking about! I saw your insta story, you act like i wouldn’t check it when my boyfriend is out really late.” I crossed my arms, my eyes tearing up again already.

Matt scoffs, “Yeah? Well and you act like this is my first time staying out late.”

“That’s the fucking problem, Matt! You just proved my own point! You don’t come home anymore, I barely see you!” I yelled, tears now streaming down my face already, god i usually don’t cry this easily, maybe i’m starting my period.

“Y/n, please stop crying..” He sighs, rubbing his face with his hands.

“I can’t control it.” I mutter.

“I miss you, Matt.” I whisper.

“I missed you too, y/n.” He says, walking up to me and grabbing my arms, i shake my head and back up.

“No.. you don’t.” I sniffle.

I scoff, “I’m a-” I let out a soft sob, “I’m gonna go to bed, b-but i know i won’t see you when i wake up tomorrow anyway so there’s no point in making up if you’re just gonna leave again.” I let out another sob.

“Y/n-” Matt starts.

“Don’t. I don’t care, Matt.” I cut him off, practically running upstairs and laying down, crying to myself.

—————————

1:28am

I hear the door of our bedroom open then close, i hear footsteps walk to the other side of the bed, and then i feel the bed sink down beside me, an arm wrapping around my waist.

Warm tears spilling on my neck as he puts his head into the crook of it.

“I’m so sorry,” Matt lets out a choked sob as he squeezes me tightly, “i- i miss you too.” He says.

I sigh and turn around, i don’t really forgive him yet, because i know tomorrow morning he’s gonna be gone, but i now feel guilty, so i turn around and hug him back, my head going into his chest as my hands go up to his hair, fingers running through it.

“Calm down, Matt.” I whisper, his sobs start to slow down, “Shhh..” I comfort, leaning up and kissing his neck softly.

—————————

7:34am

I wake up, my eyes opening slowly, my mouth filling with saliva as i get the automatic feeling to throw up, i get up and run to the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet and throwing up, puke spurting out of my mouth.

I feel two hands grab my hair into a makeshift pony tail,

I didn’t even know Matt was home, i didn’t bother checking before getting up.

He takes my hair in one hand and rubs my back with the other, “Let it out baby..” He says, he must notice the tears running down my face from the pressure, but also from confusion and feeling uncomfortable.

I cough and get the rest out, immediately sitting on my butt and pushing my back up against the tub.

Matt closes the toilet lid and flushes it.

“What was that?” He said softly, no anger to his tone, no annoyance to it either like last night. Just calm and soft.

“I don’t know!” I raise my voice, he gives me a confused look, “Sorry, sorry i’ve been moody lately.” I sniffle and wipe my nose with my sleeve.

I stand up and grab my toothbrush, putting toothpaste on it, starting to brush my teeth.

“Are you on your period?” He asks me, his hand going on the small of my back.

I spit and shake my head, “No haven’t got it in january yet, which isn’t out of the ordinary i’m never really on track.” I said, putting my toothbrush back in my mouth.

“But tomorrow’s february first..” Matt says, his voice cautious.

My heart drops, but i shrug it off. “I’m fine, Matt. You have work to go to, don’t you?” I said with an annoyed tone, rinsing my toothbrush off.

“I take it you’re still mad?” He took his hand off my back.

I look at him through the mirror, “How’d you guess?” I said sarcastically, turning around and shoving past him.

“I’m just gonna go then, chris and nick have been blowing me up anyway.” He says, following into our bedroom behind me.

I start to pick out clothes for the day, staying silent.

“Whatever. Love you.” He says, leaving the bedroom and shutting the door.

I take a deep breath in, then let it out. No way i’m pregnant.

—————————

3:05pm

After procrastinating for hours today, i finally picked up three pregnancy tests, i learned in my 8th grade science class that scientists use 3 trials for experiments because 2 would only give you 50/50, three would give you one of the answers twice, so you know what it actually is.

Is this the same thing? Definitely not. Am i trying to calm myself down because i might be pregnant at 20 years old with a man that i’m not even sure loves me and doesn’t even know how to spell? One hundred fucking percent.

I took the first test, pacing in my bathroom back and forth, i’m always late on my period, so obviously this could just be that and maybe i only threw up because i was stressed. That happens a lot i-

My thoughts get cut off by the timer i set on my phone.

I look at the flip test and crossed my fingers, i wasn’t hoping for the test to be negative, i was hoping that if it was positive Matt would not leave me.

I flipped the test over,

Pregnant

Holy fucking shit.

—————————

3:16pm

The second one came out negative, so it was time to check the last one.

Doing the same routine i did for the last two, timer started, test flipped, fingers crossed.

Pacing around the bathroom, if it’s negative i’m gonna be disappointed, if it’s positive then im really fucking scared.

Ding

Timer went off.

I reach for the rest and flip it over.

Positive.

I’m pregnant.

—————————

4:56pm

After a much needed nap, i called Matt. The phone ringing.

“Hello?” Matt said into the phone, he sounded sort of mad.

“I need you to come home.” I said, a monotone sound to my voice.

“Listen, y/n, i’m not gonna come home just for you to yell at me ag-”

“Matt, please.” My voice cracked.

“I’m on my way.” He said immediately. Hanging up the phone.

—————————

5:12pm

I was sitting on the couch, almost the same position i was in last night, the three pregnancy tests in my hand.

The door opened, i shoved the pregnancy tests under my leg,

“Hey.” Matt said as he shut the door, walking in and taking his shoes off, sitting on the couch next to me.

“Have you been crying?” He takes my face in my hands, his thumbs tracing over my tear stained cheeks.

I sniffled, “I need to tell you something, but please don’t freak out.” I warned him.

He dropped his hands from my face, “Is everything okay?”

I shrugged, “I don’t know!” I sobbed, my hands wrapping around Matt’s neck, he wraps his arms around my torso and hugs me.

He kisses my neck, “Oh baby, it’s okay. Please, talk to me.” He rubbed my back.

I wiped my eyes and pulled away.

“Matt, i’m pregnant.” I whispered.

“You’re what?” He said surprised, him asking again to make sure he heard me right.

I sobbed at his reaction, “Im sorry! i’ll get an abortion or something or- please don’t leave me i can’t-”

“Y/n, shut up! That’s amazing!” He pulls me in for a tight hug,

“Baby that’s great!” He kisses my cheek.

“You’re not kidding?” He pulls away from the hug to look at me, i cry and shake my head, pulling the pregnancy tests out from under my leg.

“We’re to young, Matt. What if i can’t do it? What if i’m a bad mom? what if-”

Matt cuts me off by kissing me, “No no no, stop. You are going to be a great mother. You can have this baby, y/n.”

“You won’t leave me?” I sniffle.

“Hell no! I’m so fucking happy, y/n.” Matt kisses me again.

“You’re pregnant.” He breathed out.

“I’m pregnant.” I laugh, hugging Matt again.

—————————

I hope this is what you were looking for! Finished it in 40 minutes! thank you for the request and i will probably do the other one tomorrow!

[loguetowns]

the one that (almost) got away

roronoa zoro x fem!reader

it takes him 12 hours to realize

3.6k words

a/n: ok listen, i think i started writing this like 6+ months ago and it’s just been sitting in my drafts bc idk how to commit to endings so y’all are gonna have to take this as it is. also i have no concept of how sailing works or how long it takes oops

9:00 pm

“y'know, there's really no point to a farewell party if the one leaving isn't there.”

you look up from your spot on the library floor. your eyes land on the green-haired swordsman leaning against the doorframe and you smile.

“i’ll be there in a second. i just have some more stuff to go through.”

zoro eyes the mess of books surrounding you, recognizing a few of nami’s atlases and robin’s textbooks. “you haven’t finished packing yet?”

“i’m mostly done. i’m just trying to decide which books i want to keep.” catching his eye, you joke, “why? you want me gone that bad?”

crossing the room, a scoff leaves his lips. nothing could be further from the truth.

“you got me. i am so sick of you,” he says with a grin. “can’t wait to get rid of the annoying librarian invading my napping spot.”

zoro plops down on the bench behind you, catching a whiff of your shampoo as he lies down. you sit with your back to him, sorting through your piles, but zoro can hear the smile in your voice when you speak.

“you’re such a pretender, eh?”

zoro puts on a look of overdramatic offense, a hand on his chest. “me? you’re talking about me?”

at his poor acting, you turn around. you rest your chin on the bench, your face so close to zoro’s that one could only describe it as a kissable distance.

“you act like i'm all in your space, but nami told me that you never used to spend any time in here at all!”

“pfft, why would you ever trust what that con artist has to say?” zoro pokes your forehead. “you see it with your own eyes. am i or am i not here every day?”

you purse your lips as you think back to the last few months; he’s right.

you’ve spent most of your days in the ship’s library, and zoro has almost always stopped by. in the beginning, it would be for a few minutes, but over the last little while, he’d be in here as long as you were.

zoro smiles as he watches you think, eyebrows furrowed as you replay the last few months in your head. little do you know that this is exactly why the library is his new hideout. watching your pretty little mind work — doing what you love, thinking and studying and reading — is a far better use of his spare time than anything else he could be doing.

“anyway,” he says. “i guess your silly star stories have been a good trade-off.”

now it’s your turn to be mock-offended.

“silly star stories? you’re the one who asked about the constellations in the first place!”

“only because you kept talking about these fictional gods like they actually did something important.”

“says the guy who's completely enthralled by hades,” you roll your eyes.

“king of hell, god of the underworld,” he grins. “that’s my kinda guy.”

zoro laughs when you shake your head at him. he’ll never tire of teasing you; you are far too adorable with your little sigh and a ghost of a smile on your lips.

“did you know,” he says with a playful look. “that you still owe me about ten more constellation stories? d’you think you could squeeze in one more before we head up?”

zoro smiles at you, and you can't help but smile back. 

you have so many treasured memories with zoro in this library; ones of just the two of you (him napping while you studied), ones with nami and robin (and sanji until nami kicked the boys out for their incessant bickering), and ones where the night listens in as you recite the history of the stars.

whether you were telling the story of another righteous deity enacting justice, or the tale of mere mortals who insulted the gods, zoro would listen with his eyes closed, lying across the bench as he is now, and you’d sit in front of him as you are now.

everyone’s waiting for you upstairs and you hate to disappoint, but some things are more important — like telling a silly star story to a silly swordsman.

“of course i can.”

12:00 am

raucous laughter and cheering that’s loud enough to deafen anybody; empty plates, once piled high with food, now scattered around the room; bottles on bottles of sake and rum and whiskey and every liqueur that one would hope to find on a pirate ship.

these are zoro’s requirements for a good time, and suffice to say that your farewell party has them all in spades.

zoro watches his friends’ tomfoolery from his spot at the table (currently, luffy’s trying to get franky to see how far he can slingshot him) when you plop yourself into the seat beside him.

“this,” you say as your arm knocks against his, “is the best party i’ve ever been to.”

zoro takes a swig from his glass, “you haven’t partied until you’ve partied with pirates.”

“seriously! you guys are insane!”

as if to prove your point, franky chooses that exact moment to show off a juggling sequence involving a barrel of whiskey, a giant potted plant, and a squealing chopper.

you gasp at the spectacle but quickly dissolve into laughter when nami saves chopper, and it’s with both awe and pure excitement that you turn to zoro. laughter is etched into your lips, your cheeks are flushed, and zoro can’t help but marvel at how you’re even cuter when you’re having fun.

“what, you’ve never seen a cyborg man toss a speaking reindeer in the air before?”

you nudge him with your elbow, “well, excuse me for leading such a mundane life where animals don’t speak and men don’t tinker with their bodies.”

“ah, but that’s where you’re wrong.”

you look at zoro quizically.

he takes a sip of his beer, “most men do tinker with their bodies.”

it takes you a moment to catch his innuendo and zoro roars with laughter when the realization hits you. embarrassment tinges your pretty face and you shove him with a loud “ew, zoro!” but he can’t stop cackling.

“you’re disgusting!”

you make to swat zoro across the chest but he quickly catches your hand. he leans in to waggle his eyebrows at you, “but i’m not wrong, am i?”

you groan loudly, which only makes him laugh again.

perhaps it’s the alcohol that let his inhibitions go, or maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t have much longer with you, but when you hastily change the subject and there’s no longer a reason for him to still be holding your hand, he doesn’t let go.

when nami joins you two, his fingers slips between yours and to his surprise, yours do the same. sanji joins your threesome, then franky and robin, and in no time at all, it’s no longer just the two of you at the table.

but zoro doesn’t care.

drunk, carefree, and more content than he’s ever been, zoro closes his eyes and smiles. he lives in the moment, and in this moment, he’s happy — happy with a full stomach and a full glass, happy to be surrounded by his favourite people, and happy that, under the table, you’re still holding his hand.

3:00 am

“and what’s that one?”

hands swinging between you, you and zoro dodge the tide as you roam further and further from the thousand sunny. the sand is cool under your feet and the tide kisses your toes with each step. your other arm is stretched above you, pointing at a constellation in the distance.

“what is this - a pop quiz?”

you smile, “i want to make sure you don’t forget about my ‘silly star stories.’”

zoro groans, “has anyone told you that holding grudges isn’t healthy? keeping going and you’ll turn into a bitter old thing some day.”

you stick out your tongue, “you’re just afraid you’ll get it wrong.”

“wrong?” zoro scoffs. “i’ve gotten the past six right.”

walking along the beach, you and zoro fall in step with each other and your footsteps match the ebbing waves in perfect rhythm. you smile in his direction and his chest is flooded with a warmth that has nothing to do with the copious amounts of alcohol he’s consumed.

“alright, let’s see what we got here.”

zoro follows your gaze at the cluster of stars you’ve chosen, and he grins when he sees the constellation. “really? at least try to make this hard for me, please.”

his cocky attitude leaves you speechless, making zoro laugh. 

“you’re so annoying!” you shove him with your free hand and the force of his stumble pulls you along, and you shriek as he drags you into the ocean with him. he doesn’t let go of you, not even for a second — not when water splashes your legs, not when zoro’s pants get soaked as he spins you around. 

your laughter is warmth in its purest form, the kind that you can feel all the way down to your cold toes. when he sets you back down, you give his hand a little squeeze, to which zoro answers back with a tender smile.

now with wet feet and a distance between you that’s even smaller than it already was, zoro continues to walk alongside you.

“moving on from your pathetic distraction attempt,” — you let out a dramatic gasp — “i’ll tell you exactly who we were looking at.”

pointing at the starry zodiac sign, zoro speaks with complete confidence.

“virgo the maiden, otherwise known as persephone, wife and muse of the best god of them all, hades—”

“fanboy much?” you tease but zoro pretends not to hear you (the little tug of his lips tells you that he does).

“—who snuck her a pomegranate seed because he couldn’t bear for her to leave him.”

zoro puffs his chest with pride, relishing in this one niche study of which he is now an expert. it’s incredibly endearing how pleased he is with his answer and you almost feel bad for correcting him.

almost.

“good answer,” you grin. “but you left out the little detail about how she was kept in hell against her will.”

zoro gasps, “are you accusing my idol of being a kidnapper?”

“your idol!” your cheeks already hurt so much from smiling but another giggle slips out. “first of all, these aren’t my accusations. historians have told their love story this way for years—”

“slander is what this is.”

“—and secondly, why would you want to look up to hades? he’s literally the antagonist in every story.”

“he’s the king of hell! that’s so bad ass.” zoro winks at you, “don’t be surprised if you hear them calling me ‘zoro, king of hell’ some day.”

“what’s wrong, demon of east blue doesn’t go hard enough for you?”

embarrassment rushes to zoro’s face and he’s never been more grateful for the night. “who told you that? was it usopp or nami? i bet it was nami.”

“i might hold a grudge but i don’t snitch,” you flash a mischievous smile. “anyway, let’s get back to how you want to be just like devil who tricked a poor girl in returning to the underworld.”

“come on, can you blame a man for doing whatever it takes to stop his beloved from leaving him?”

it sounds like an innocent question — harmless banter, really — but something in the way he says it makes you stop dead in your tracks. a silence falls and in its wake, all you can do is stare at the man you’ve spent the last several months with, the same man that you have to say goodbye to tomorrow.

moonlight falls unto the both of you and bathes zoro in soft light. it illuminates his eyes and when you meet his gaze, you see a sense of longing there that you feel in your chest. a longing for what, you don’t know — or rather, you don’t want to know.

at least, not yet.

so you hold his hand a little tighter, and underneath the watchful eye of the gods and constellations, muster a smile,

“i guess not.”

6:00 am

if this was any other morning, zoro would be awake and working out already. he'd be done his fourth set of bicep curls or, at the very least, working on his form. he could even be in the middle of deadlifts (because he knows not to skip leg day), but he definitely wouldn't still be in bed the way that he is right now.

the thing is though, if this was any other morning, he wouldn't have you sleeping next to him, curled into him like you were made to be a perfect fit.

he's never been more glad to still be in bed.

your breath matches the rise and fall of zoro's chest, perfectly in rhythm with the waves outside his window and the beat of his heart, like the universe meant for all these things to be in harmony at this one singular moment in time.

your lashes flutter in response when he shifts his weight.

he takes a peek at you, “psst, are you awake?”

eyes still closed, you manage a noncommittal grunt but your body says otherwise.

zoro can’t help but smile as he watches you start to wake up. your toes wiggle beneath the covers and you rub your eyes before looking up at him with an adorably sleepy look that he would love to wake up to every day. 

if only he could.

you focus your gaze on zoro like he’s an anchor in a sea of slumber. the way that you look at him, as if he’s the only thing that you see, fills his chest with a golden warmth akin to the breaking dawn.

you offer him a soft smile, and zoro wonders if the sun knows that you glow brighter than it ever could.

“why are you up at this ungodly hour?”

he chuckles, low and tender, “’m used to it. i’m usually up by now.”

“freak,” you mutter. zoro laughs, and you can’t think of anything else that sounds more beautiful at six in the morning.

you’re not usually up this early but what you notice is that, at dawn, time has a habit of moving slowly. it’s as if the morning casts magic upon those who rise with the daylight — and you’re so thankful for that.

because if time moved any faster than this, you’d have to say goodbye that much sooner.

“are you going to miss us?” zoro puts his arms around you.

you murmur into his chest, “of course, i will.”

“who do you think you’ll miss the most?” 

you give pause and zoro’s almost certain you can hear his heart beating a little louder — he can definitely hear it. he doesn’t typically get nervous like this but, then again, nothing about the way you make him feel is typical.

you seem to have come to a conclusion because you look up at zoro and he holds his breath. 

“sanji.”

he blinks.

“wait, are you serious?”

you’ve never seen zoro looks so wonderfully scandalized before, and you burst into a fit of giggles. as soon as you start, he knows he’s been had. he scowls but only for a moment; for who could be upset in the presence of such twinkling laughter?

 “silly man,” you snuggle closer, "of course i’m not serious.”

“okay, good.” you can hear the smile in his voice. “i don’t know if my ego could handle losing to him.”

zoro holds you close, his thumb tracing circles on your skin. his movements are slow, steady, comforting — ‘round and ‘round, in the same spot, like he’s drawing an invisible mark that is only known to the two of you.

"but, you know,” you hum, careful not to disrupt the peace. “you wouldn’t.”

“wouldn’t what?”

“lose.” and after a beat, you quietly add, “you wouldn’t lose to anyone.”

and just like that, zoro’s on cloud nine, airborne and weightless. he’s always known that he has a place in your heart, but this is the first time that you’ve ever hinted about where that place may be. if he allowed himself to be hopeful, it almost sounds like a confession. 

but almost isn’t good enough for him. zoro wants more — wants to find out exactly where he belongs in your life, wants to know if he can make himself at home there. 

it’s a shame that he’s out of time.

you interrupt his thoughts with a whisper, barely audible above the sound of the ocean and his aching heart,

“will you miss me?” 

more than anything.

9:00 am

surely, zoro’s dream to be hades has been granted. otherwise, why would it feel like he’s in hell, standing on the deck, all alone and watching your dinghy sail away from the thousand sunny?

zoro’s had his fair shares of farewells while aboard the ship, and to be honest, yours wasn’t any more emotional than anyone else’s. you left with a smile as beautiful as the morning sun and with far less tears than he expected (which he’s thankful for because he would hate to see you cry). as far as bittersweet goodbyes go, yours was definitely more sweet than bitter.

and yet, here zoro stands, with a bad taste in his mouth that he can’t explain. he can still see you from where he stands, and watching your little boat in the distance is the only thing that seems to settle his uneasy heart. 

should he have bid adieu privately? maybe he should’ve left you with a memento of some kind? should he have done more than offer you a quick hug? was it his imagination, or did you hold onto him just a beat longer than you needed to?

zoro’s so occupied by these messy thoughts that he doesn’t even hear sanji approach him.

“well?”

startled, zoro can only stare at the blond cook. ignoring the dumb look on his face, sanji continues.

“what’d she say when you told her?” sanji nods in the direction of your boat.

“told her what?”

“that you love her,” sanji takes a drag of his cigarette, looking at zoro directly now.

he speaks so frankly, so matter-of-fact and candidly, that it takes zoro a second to really register what it is that he’s saying. 

he loves you.

and as soon as he thinks it, the truth comes barreling through all the doubts clouding his head. clarity floods his chest as he comes face-to-face with what his yearning, pining heart has been trying to tell him this whole time.

he loves you. he loves you. he loves you. he loves you. he loves you-

fuck.

he loves you.

and he never told you.

epilogue — 9:30 am

sails closed, your boat floats with the current and the salty breeze reminds you that your adventure with the strawhats has come to a close. compared to the never-ending bustle of the crew, it’s almost too quiet being at sea alone. the silence lends itself to your overactive mind, working full time to unravel the tightness you feel in your chest.

you’re lost in thoughts of what could’ve, should’ve, and would’ve been — so much so that you don’t even hear the commotion behind you. it’s not until you hear zoro call your name that you hear the frantic swimming and you whirl around.

“zoro! what-”

“can you help me first?” he splutters.

you pull yourself together long enough to run to the side of your dinghy, pulling a sopping wet pirate on board. zoro leans back, trying to catch his breath as you rummage through your things.

“are you crazy? do you know how far we are from the sunny?” you throw a towel over him before reaching for another. you start drying off his hair, frantically fussing over him.

“you think that just because chopper gives you the clearance that you can push yourself over the limit-”

“y/n.”

“this is why you’re always on house arrest! you’re actually insane, you know that?”

“y/n.”

“i know you work out, but for goodness’ sake, zoro, you’re only human-”

“y/n.” zoro holds your wrists, forcing you to stop with a start.

in all your worrying, you didn’t realize that you’d been gravitating closer to zoro until you’re staring into his dark, obsidian eyes. there’s clarity in the way that he looks at you. his eyes are shining with a fierceness that you’ve only seen in his worst fights, and you brace yourself for whatever comes next.

because you know that this will change everything.

“hades and persephone.”

“huh?“ you blink at him. “did you hit your head-”

“ask me if i think hades loved persephone.”

you stare into zoro’s eyes, desperation reflecting back at you. there’s a hidden question there and you understand immediately.

quietly, you ask, "do you think hades loved persephone?”

“i do,” he whispers. “i think he loved her and he would've been stupid to let her go.”

your breath catches. zoro places a hand over yours, surprisingly warm as his fingers find their home between your own.

the heavens watch on as the two of you finally open your hearts and give way to the stuff that myths and legends yearn for — a connection that can only be described as fated, destined, purely and resplendently magical.

the gods smile at the two lovers who find themselves falling into each other, laughing as you confess, over and over again,

i love you.

[cybrsan]

[12:47 AM]

SUMMARY: A late night in Hongjoong’s studio takes an interesting turn.

PAIRING: Kim Hongjoong x GN!Reader

RATING/GENRE: M ; smut, pwp

WORD COUNT: 652

WARNINGS: Blow job, cock worship, D/S dynamics, face fucking, (slight) spit kink, studio sex

A/N: Yes, yet another Hongjoong studio smut, and my first timestamp. A big thanks to @yourfatherlucifer for inspiring this. This one’s for you ♡

No one man should be allowed to look this good.

For the love of God, Hongjoong is literally just sitting there. In his studio, at his desk, working on the same song he has been for the last three hours. You don’t know what happened. Maybe it was the way he groaned, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Maybe it was the way he leaned his head all the way back, exposing that beautiful neck of his. Maybe it was how his fingers moved, tapping along with the beat on his thigh. But something in the air changed. Something made your entire body heat up, overwhelmed you with the urge to rip off his clothes and screw him into oblivion. 

But you can’t. 

You know that if you interrupted his work process, even if you begged him to fuck you, he’d withhold himself from you as punishment. Don’t interrupt him—it’s the number one rule. So you won’t make him stop working. You won’t even say a word. But surely you can still have a little fun? After all, you have to satisfy this craving of yours somehow. 

Stealthily, you move from the couch to the floor, crawling on your knees. You sidle up to his desk and settle yourself underneath it. You gently touch his knee, and he jumps, cursing under his breath. 

“Y/N?” He asks, looking down at you. “What are you doing?” 

God, that angle. Something about how he looks from this position makes you squirm without him even having to do anything. You’re desperate for him. Your fingers trail up his thigh, and he smirks, beginning to get the idea. 

“I thought we agreed you weren’t allowed to interrupt me while I’m working, sweetheart.” It’s not worded as a question, so you don’t respond. “Though I guess you aren’t actually stopping me from working, are you?” To this, you nod. “Go ahead.” 

Emboldened by his permission, you get to work undoing the button of his jeans, smiling to yourself when you see the hint of his arousal tenting his boxers. You palm it, mouth practically salivating as you feel it continue to harden underneath your hand. You glance up at Hongjoong once again; besides the slight flush to his cheeks, he continues working as if nothing is amiss. 

You pull his cock out of his boxers, pupils immediately dilating when you see the way it curves up against his abdomen. Pre-cum pools at the tip, and you stick your tongue out, licking it off. Hongjoong’s body jerks slightly, but you’re the one who moans. Digging your fingers into his thighs, you sink down, enveloping him in your mouth.

You could do this for hours; just sit here with the weight of him on your tongue, unmoving. If you weren’t so impatient, you would. But you are, and so you begin bobbing your head. You take him in all the way to your throat, choking around him, spit dripping out of the corners of your lips. It’s messy, it’s fast, but god, how you love it. 

Apparently, Hongjoong loves it, too; you finally get him to the point where he can no longer focus on the work before him. Pushing his keyboard aside, he brings his hands down to your head. He tangles one in your hair and uses the other to control your movements. It doesn’t take much longer for him to start fucking your mouth without reservation, filthy praises tumbling from his mouth like prayers. Once he finishes, you eagerly swallow it all. He has to practically pry you away from his cock, so eager to go for a second round.    

“Y/N,” his voice is husky, his chest heaving from exertion. “Give me five minutes to wrap this up, and then I’m going to fuck you into that couch. After that, I think we need to have another discussion about our rules, yeah?”

NETWORKS: @cromernet @kflixnet @pirateeznet

TAGLIST: @nebulousbookshelf @ad0rechuu @seonghwaddict @sanniesbunnie

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen

TW: nsfw, angst

You wake up to the smell of bacon, coffee, and something sweet in the skillet.

Usually such a thing would mean you are dreaming, and you need to wake your ass up before you’re late for work. But you roll over to look into your tiny kitchen, finding a sight fit for Playgirl Magazine before your disbelieving eyes.

Dear Penthouse, I can’t believe this actually happened to me…

Detective Tom Ludlow is in your kitchen, making pancakes…in nothing but a towel around his trim waist. His dark hair is combed back, still wet from the shower. His broad shoulders are something to write home about–Kansas farm boys had nothing on this beautiful specimen of masculinity.

Had the night before even been real?

As though he senses your return to consciousness–or maybe the weight of your gawker’s stare upon him–he turns to look at you. “Morning, beautiful.”

You blink with surprise, because he is talking to you.

“Hi,” you greet, clever as ever, and goddammit but are you blushing?

“Whacha looking at?” he teases, spatula in hand. The very picture of domestic bliss. God help you, but in that moment you were 300 percent ready to put a ring on this man.

“Just…the most best thing I’ve ever seen,” you admit, knowing you’ll kick yourself for it later.

However, the smile he pays you, smug yet somehow gentle–it fries your brain entirely.

“Likewise, sweetheart.” He crosses the short space with a few long strides to press his lips to yours. “You like pancakes with blueberries?”

You’d bought the ingredients–and promptly stuck them in the cupboards–for just such a purpose, thinking that someday, when you had time, and weren’t bone fucking tired from working 12 hour shifts days in a row, you’d make a point to treat yourself.

Funny, how that never happened, until Tom Ludlow came around.

Here you are, getting emotional about blueberry fucking pancakes.

“Yes,” is the only answer you can muster, and he kisses you so sweetly that it curls your toes.

His soft smile down at you will be the death of you. “Sleep well?”

“Like a well-fucked rock,” you tell him, winning a bark of masculine laughter. 

“Likewise, beautiful. Definitely likewise.” He vacates the couch to flip his pancake. You continue to stare, still dumbfounded.

“Tom?” you ask, still struggling to wake up.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Did last night…actually happen?”

“Sure did. Don’t you remember driving to Vegas? We got the best Elvis in the building.”

You blink stupidly for a few moments, before registering his absolutely shit-eating grin.

“Very funny. And the joke would be on you, if you married me on a drunken lark.”

“Why?” he asks, seemingly amused by your discomfort.

“I told you. I’m a fucking mess.”

“Far as I can tell? You’re fucking perfect, and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.” 

You’re not really sure why this pithy little compliment brings tears to your eyes, your lip quivering. Only a beat later does he notice, and he rushes over again.

“Hey, hey, no crying, baby, I’m sorry. What’s wrong? I was just joking.”

You swipe at your eyes with the heels of your hands, embarrassed. “You’re just..so sweet, and I actually fucking believe you, when you say this shit, ok?”

He blinks, but god bless, it only takes him a moment to assess, and act. He presses his soft lips to yours, then his forehead to your forehead, as though he can will you to accept his declarations through osmosis. “Believe it,” he tells you. “It’s true…well. Not the Elvis bit. We can do that next weekend if you want.”

You know he’s joking…but it still doesn’t fail to utterly melt your insides. This man who manhandled and harrassed you has turned out to be the biggest fucking softy, and you just might lose your shit.

You’ve already cried in front of him too many times, though, so you play it off and act like what he’s saying is no big deal. “Really? I think I’d rather have Michael Jackson instead.” 

You wonder if he misses being married. If he fucked his wife like he’d fucked you last night…you can’t fathom stepping out on him. But then you also know, that sometimes cops can also be married to their jobs. It could make for a difficult threesome. You imagine going without him, while he was working an intense case, would be absolute hell.

Tom snorts. “Whatever floats my lady’s boat,” he answers, flipping another pancake onto the stack. He ports them to the table with a flourish. “Come eat, sweet girl. You gotta work today?”

“Later. Unfortunately.”

He sticks his full lip out in a pout that should be illegal on a grown ass man. “Then eat quickly, because I’m not done with you yet.” he informs you with a wicked smirk that causes a brand new flood between your already sticky thighs. 

He turns, that broad, tapered back on full display, to finish plating breakfast, and you can’t not watch the tight muscle in his butt shift in the thin towel. You get this sudden strange urge to sink your teeth into him and latch on, and wonder if ancient cavewomen bit their partners to lay claims. Because that’s what Tom Ludlow works on—the part of your spongy brain that developed before speech and theory—the part that wants to bite and howl. 

Evolution is a bitch. 

Oh no, he can cook. And cook good. The pancakes he sets in front of you, drizzled with honey and topped with fresh blueberries, taste like a fluffy heaven in your mouth. Even the coffee is splendid, done up blonde and sugary just the way you prefer. “Tom, damn,” you compliment between mouthfuls. “You went out to get blueberries?” It’s selfish, but the thought of him leaving you alone even to run out and grab something for you makes your insides twist uncomfortably. 

“Oh, no, I borrowed some from your neighbor.” 

Of course at that moment you have an entire mouthful of coffee that you almost spray on his bare, beautiful chest. “What?!” 

He adopts a bemused smile. “Very nice lady.”

“Please tell me you had more than just a towel on?” 

“Less, actually.” 

He bursts into laughter and the astonished look on your face. 

“I’m gonna kick your ass, Ludlow.” 

“She asked me something really interesting.” He wipes a little honey off your top lip and sucks it into his mouth, making you dumb enough to forget you’re annoyed. “She asked me if I’m the nightmare?” 

“I have no idea what she’s talking about.”

“You are a terrible little liar, you know that? I can see your tell from a mile away.” 

“Oh, what is it?” You smirk, shove a bite of pancake into your mouth. 

“You’re lucky I’m hungry,” he threatens, playful and promising, sending a thrill through your chest. 

You grab a glob of honey on your finger and kitten lick it off, almost bold enough to make direct eye contact with him for more than five seconds while you’re doing it. “Or what?” 

He pops up from his seat, and your first instinct is run. Run away. You make it two steps before he has you grabbed around the waist and is dragging you back to his place at the table. 

Your squeals of nervous laughter crescendo into a moan when he pulls you down onto his big cock. It surprises you as much as it did last night, how well he fills and stretches you. Not a piece of your fluttery hole unpunished by his silky, maddening pressure. You immediately grind, eager for that pressure to shift and rub and build you, but he stills you with a mitt on your waist. 

Then his big hands bunch in the ruffled fabric of your sundress, which somehow you never managed to remove amidst both of your eagerness to get to other parts of you instead. Slowly he draws it up over your head, tossing it away somewhere across the room. Before you can even begin to think about feeling self conscious he makes a low sound of appreciation behind you, running his hands down your curves. 

“So fucking beautiful. I just wanna stay inside this pretty little pussy all day,” he tells you, smoothing his wet tongue across your shoulder. You arch into him, and he nips your skin for the retaliation. “Feel her throb while I tell you what I wanna do to her. Jesus, you’re soaked.” 

You try to squeeze your thighs together for precious friction on your clit, but he tugs them back open, chuckling at the pathetic attempt. “You wanna fuck yourself, baby?”

“Yes. Fu-uhck.” 

“Want me to pet that pretty clit while you ride me?” He kisses up your neck, into your hairline, tugs your ear between his teeth and you see white fire. 

“Yes, Tom. Yes. Please.” 

“Then eat your breakfast.” 

It’s impossible to focus on the delicious food anymore. The chunks of stuff getting forked into your mouth are no match for the small taste of him. It isn’t long before he’s done with silverware and hand feeding you, making you lick and suck his sticky fingers clean. 

“Atta girl. Keeping me all warm and cozy.” His mouth traces circles on your upper back that make you twitch and gasp while his heavy pointer and index finger rest on your tongue, sweet and salty-pleasure and pain-the desire to move trumping all of it. 

When his fingers trail up your side and land on your nipple, rolling and pinching, you clench your thighs shut again. He grunts at you, although you think it was meant to be a sound of disapproval before you clenched deliberately on his cock. 

“You want to cum?” 

“Yessss.” 

“Then open your legs back up.” 

You obey with a groan of frustration, widening your hips so that the tantalizing pressure is off your throbbing clit. That means all you can focus on is having him inside you, and that would be great if he would just fucking thrust. 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He grabs your hips to hold you in place. “You’re busy.” 

“Could be important,” you say. 

“More important than this?” He grinds up, into your cervix, into all the sensitive soaked walls of your cunt, and the answer to his question is no. Absolutely not. There is nothing more important than him or his cock. 

“Tom,” you hiss. 

He sighs. “Alright. I’ll get it. Get dressed.” 

How empty you feel, when you slide off of his cock as you stand on trembling legs. He halts your progress by gripping your hips, pressing his mouth to the curve of your buttocks. You forget about the door, and everything else, turning in his arms so that he can bury his face in your cleavage. “These beautiful–” He kisses one breast cupped in his hand, “Naughty,” a kiss for the other, just beside your nipple, the tease, “titties are in so much trouble.” He sucks on your perked nipple with a pop, making you cry out. 

Knock knock knock.

“Someone’s fucking determined,” he grumbles against your skin. 

Reluctantly you manage to pull away from him, and you remember this state of the art technology in your door called a peephole. Naked as a jaybird, you peer through the tiny lens–and gasp at the sight on the other side.

This clearly interests Tom, his head canting at an angle in question. You shake your head, just knowing a perfect storm is brewing. “It’s no one. Ignore it,” you say quietly, hoping they don’t hear you on the other side, praying they have the sense to go away. You try to distract Tom again with kisses and by trying to pull him towards the bedroom, but dammit this man is solid as a fucking tree when he doesn’t want to move.

“Who is it?” he asks with a lifted brow.

Knock knock. “Y/n? I know you’re home.”

Goddammit.

What can only be described as a wicked grin spreads over Tom’s handsome features. “Oh. Let’s say hello, shall we?” 

[purecommemasolitude]

Okay so re: Darry as the captain in a sound of music AU. This is just one possible route that I thought up last night and typed out while I couldn’t sleep

It’s the type of AU where we steal beats and plot points from TSOM and transfer them into the outsiders, because not being rich is very important to why Darry is the way he is (also for reasons I outline below I made Two-Bit Maria and that man is never even going to think about becoming a religious career man)

And also I don’t actually know when he and Two-Bit would end up together because with some of the changes I made I couldn't make it work within the main plot, so it would have to be in an event bit taken from TSOM. So it’s not in the bullet points

anyway I'll put the bullet points I typed up in an hour at midnight yesterday below the cut because it’s long but I will admit. this one kind of got away from me

- okay so Darry is the captain. Obv

- High school & football take the place of the navy

- Racked my brain for a bit and I think Two-Bit is Maria?? Like I said I don’t really go in for outsiders ships anyway so I cross-referenced usual Darry LIs and general characters and he was the only one who was age-appropriate and also could have a Maria vibe (is able to find the light in life, willing to poke at a cold figure until it shows emotion, gets along with the brothers in canon)

- Soda & Pony are aged down because otherwise this wouldn’t make any sense — Soda is 14 going on 15 and Pony’s 12

- (Steve and Johnny are also aged down to match their respective buddies so the boys can still have friends I think. I haven’t decided what to do with Dally yet in this AU — I would put him as Max with a personality transplant but I don’t know if I can see Dally being chill with Darry’s attempt to. Play into respectability politics essentially)

- Darry’s infinitely more stressed supporting two more needy kids on his meagre income alone. Soda does odd jobs but nothing full time

- This manifests in him being colder / less outwardly affectionate than in the book to Soda as well as Pony

- Furthermore he’s desperately trying to ensure their futures, which means he disapproves of them being too outwardly greaser, both for separation reasons and for respectability reasons down the line

- However being 12 and 14 means they’re less able to control their emotions and understand Darry. So the guy from the state comes down and sees them and says you need to spend more time with these kids man. They’re not loved

- Shit.

- Two-Bit, meanwhile, is living an unluckier life than the book

- After his father left his mother was only able to choose one kid to be able to support, and because he was older and more self sufficient, Two-Bit had to go

- He grows up bouncing around from orphanage to foster home to foster home to orphanage etc, erasing his family out of his mind because it hurts too much and Two-Bit Mathews does not like to dwell on things that hurt him

- Upon turning 18, he’s out of the system and despite his nature is forced to get a job to survive

- He does odd jobs around and scrounges enough money to pay for a shitty shitty motel

- Meets Marcia through these jobs, and they strike up a friendship

- However most of these odd jobs are a lot of labour and very unstable so he’s looking for better & easier work

- He starts thinking and he thinks of his own childhood. If there had been someone else around to watch him, maybe his mother wouldn’t have had to give him away

- And then he has one too many encounters with the bugs in his motel and decides fuck it. I’m putting an ad in the paper

- Darry’s reading the news as he does one night when he sees what may very well be God’s gift to the Curtis family

- There’s someone willing to work for — well, he can’t afford that, just like he can’t afford any of the other prices he’s seen on nannies and babysitters and watchers — but he’s also willing to work for pretty much nothing if he gets lodging

- Soda & Pony are still bunking together for nightmare reasons, and Darry’s sleeping in his own room, so he sits Soda down and asks him if he’s okay with someone else using his old room

- If he’s not, Darry will have to move into their parents’ room, but thank God he is

- So Darry contacts Two-Bit who is surprised that he’s a man and not a single mom but agrees readily

- Darry’s wary of Two-Bit’s manner but monetarily he’s desperate

- Two-Bit meanwhile takes one look at the Curtis house and is like damn no one ever has any fun within these walls. I’ve gotta change that

- Instead of making new clothes for them, Two-Bit teaches them how to grease their hair

- (Darry was away working on a house a little out of the city — it’s a placing he’d normally have had to decline because of the kids, but because of Two-Bit he’s able to accept and get a slightly higher pay)

- Darry is of course furious but Two-Bit argues back, saying that kids need self-expression and haven’t you noticed how happy they are about their hair, and besides, you know damn well grease is more than just what you put in your hair, Curtis. You think Socs can’t take one look at those boys and see exactly what they came from? Exactly what they are? You’re out of your mind.

- We probably tie Maria’s impassioned “please, love all of them” speech to here — then again it’s been a while so maybe somewhere else is better we’ll have to see

- Two-Bit especially throws accusations at him about how Ponyboy thinks his brother doesn’t even love him, and if he’s not going to prove he cares about them then maybe they all would be better off without each other

- He thinks Darry might punch him for that but instead he staggers back like he’s been hit

- Darry remembers what this whole thing was for and resolves to be better

- In showing more of his love for his brothers he also shows more of his personality to Two-Bit, who wasn’t expecting to like this guy as much as he does

- He looks at how hard he fights to keep his family together when his own fell apart for very similar reasons and his heart hurts

- Also Sandy is Rolf (Ralf?? Whatever Liesl’s nazi boytoy’s name is)

- Except we are cutting the nazis because there is no not-grossly insensitive way to do the nazis

- We might have to cut the music theme too? Which is a SHAME, but none of Darry’s hobbies work. So we may just make him dig out his dad’s old guitar or we’ll just ignore that because the music theme, as far as characters go, isn’t as important in this AU. Or maybe music = the greaser lifestyle

- Anyway, life continues and it’s as good as can be, bla bla, somehow Dally is there, without realizing Two-Bit and Darry are catching feelings for each other

- One day, Ponyboy and Soda make some innocent remark about Two-Bit being in love with their brother, and he bluescreens

- Because. Oh shit. He’s in love with their brother.

- And the class difference & pre-existing engagement as reasons they can’t be together in the original is replaced with good old fashioned homophobia in this one, and Two-Bit denies and gets the hell out of there before anyone, let alone Darry notices

- He uses his meagre savings to return to the shitty motel, until finally he talks with Marcia and she’s like what the heck. Why did you leave a dream job to go back to the crummiest motel imaginable

- He dodges and denies but one of the things that drew him to her in the first place is that she’s sharp

- Marcia figures it out, or at least something very close to the truth, and while she’s too aware of 60s homophobia to actually urge him back, she does half-convince him through sneaky means like calling him a scaredy-cat who can’t even tell a few lies until the situation passes

- He goes back to the motel and thinks hard about the situation and remembers how much happier the kids were with someone to keep them company when they were done running around before Darry got home

- He thinks about how Darry was able to get better pay with him there and how much that helped give the family breathing space

- He thinks about how it really didn’t even feel like a job, which is a big draw to someone as disinclined to work as Two-Bit

- And he also thinks about how truly shitty the motel is. And decides to go back

- It’s for the good of the family, he convinces himself, telling himself he does not miss them at all

- He returns, no one says anything about him being in love with anyone, because the boys have learned that when they point it out their new brother leaves, and they’re not about to risk that again

- Darry & Two-Bit have a reunion with a lot of unspoken feelings and they do NOT get together because neither of them are willing to risk outing themselves for the sake of a one in a million chance

- Instead they do a lot of prolonged longing eye contact and are too busy looking at each other to notice Soda and Ponyboy sharing confirming glanced themselves

- So things continue kind of like they were before but with more pining, and also Austria is replaced by the Curtis house, which they’re in danger of losing

- Both Darry and Two-Bit are terrified the boys are going to end up following their respective paths, and they end up having a lot of talks about their futures that turn into co-parenting discussions that turn into heart-to-hearts about themselves

- Darry learns that Two-Bit never found his family again, and does some digging and asks some old school friends and lo and behold, they’re still in town, and here’s their address.

- Two-Bit, who has managed to convince himself that he made up being in love with Darry, sees this man who has every right to drop all three of the people in the house like a hot potato and chase the dreams he’s determined and ambitious and intelligent enough to get, pouring every ounce of his being into care for others, who takes hard times and instead of drinking them away or giving up pushes himself past the edge and comes out swinging, and realizes that he is still in love with Darry. And maybe he will never not be in love with Darry.

- Unfortunate!

- He came back determined to never run away again, and he’s sticking by that, even though it’s never been harder to live under the same roof as Darry and not Do something about his feelings

- (Also, at some point Soda gets jumped, and together with Two-Bit he fights them off. When they all talk about it later at some point in the Curtis home, someone makes an offhand comment about how Two-Bit is basically family and then he really resolves to not leave unless Darry chases him out with a broom)

- Maria and Liesl’s Sixteen Going On Seventeen Reprise is replaced with Two-Bit and Soda having a talk about Sandy, during which Two-Bit talks about being in love like he’s experienced it, which of course he has, but Darry overhears and it puts a lot of stupid hope into his heart because to his knowledge Two-Bit’s never gone steady with someone, and some of his descriptions sound awful familiar…..

- But he crushes those thoughts because he’s learned by now that Darry Curtis does not get lucky breaks

- And if he does confess and it goes wrong, which it will, it could mean his brothers getting taken away

- But he watches Two-Bit joke around with his brothers and sees someone who takes everything life throws at him and inexplicably grins back at it, who is just as intelligent as Darry is but in a way that takes its time to make itself understood, and who cares about his brothers as much as he does, and it’s stupid and hopeless, but he wants. Heaven help him, he wants so badly

- Meanwhile, he’s gotten a job offer. It’s a good job offer too, it means they could maybe afford to spend extra money on new clothes or nicer groceries

- And it’s an office job, someone who heard of him through the bookkeeping he does as his second job for his roofing company, which means fewer hours and more time with the people he cares about

- There’s a recreational football league in the area he’s never had time to join, or Two-Bit’s suggested coaching a younger team too, so he can return to workouts he likes rather than workouts that make his body ache like a man of 40 instead of 20

- It’s pretty much perfect. But it’s halfway across the city and it means they’d have to move out of their parents’ home

- (Yes this is Switzerland. It’s a lot harder to replicate without pre-WW2 Europe)

- He’s conflicted, Two-Bit thinks he should go for it but is also convinced he’s going to be left behind in the move

- Soda & Pony don’t want to leave but they do want Darry to work less so they’re also conflicted

- Two-Bit is listing out reasons for the move and one of them is that they’d be able to cut his cost since Darry’d be home more

- Darry looks at him and carefully says, “you wouldn’t be coming with us?”

- Two-Bit, with a raised eyebrow masking his heart starting to hope, says “well, do you want me there?”

- Darry is too stressed and tired and conflicted to mince his words when he replies, “of course.” like it’s a given, like they’re maybe something more than what they pretend

- But he still doesn’t want to move, until one day they have no choice: if they don’t get out of there, they’re going to lose the house. It’s just not in suitable shape for growing boys, says the state. They don’t have enough money to pay for renovations but Darry is going to rebuild the entire thing himself if he has to, damn it all, until Two-Bit asks him to talk and convinces him to move on

- “Your parents live on in your brothers more than in this house. Your parents live on in you more than in this house. You want to keep their memory alive? Start by doing what they would want you to do, and let yourself have an easy break for once.”

- And so they pack up and Darry takes the offer, but before they leave, Two-Bit visits his family

- It goes… well. Sort of. After seeing Darry run himself into the ground he’s forgiven his mother, and his sister is open to the idea of having a brother

- Their lives were better off than they would’ve been if he’d stayed but his was not and that hurts

- But he remembers the three people who now view him as their own like he was always there, and somehow the pain eases, and when his mother makes him promise to visit again, he actually means it when he agrees

- They gather to say one last good bye to the Curtis home, and despite facing the most unknowns since any of them can remember, they’re together, and that’s enough

The end <3 this is just one possible route that I thought of, I truly have no idea if this is cooking or if the kitchen is burning down

[pinksatinsashes]

The end of the year is the best time of year for us self improvement obsessed girlies because the planners are out, everyone's making vision boards and its finally time to write a nice long list of New Years Resolutions and achieve precisely nothing! Nothing!

Then the end of that year comes and we start the cycle again, making lists, checking them twice, achieving absolutely nothing, staying exactly the same and sometimes worse! How exciting! :)

When I was 16 I thought I'd have my life together at 18...lol! When I was 18 I figured I'd be totally together when I was 20. I'm 20 now...I think I've genuinely gotten worse.

But this year I am determined! I have said absolutely no more, absolutely no way is another year going to pass me by and I'm going to be stuck here in the exact same place. I NEED change.

Your 20's are meant to be the 'best years of your life'!

This is probably the easiest I'm ever going to have it! I have no children, no husband and I don't pay rent yet, if I don't do it now I will never do it..I don't want this to be my life forever.

Want to know how I'm going to make this year my year? Keep reading.

About two weeks ago I coined 2024 as the year of the Glow Up and started to meticulously plan out exactly what I wanted out of it.

My main goals for 2024 are:

To Hit My Goal Weight.

To Save Up Enough Money to Move to London.

To Be 75% of my Dream Girl

There are tons of other things I want to achieve of course, but If I don't achieve those three 2024 would genuinely have been a waste of time for me.

Now a couple years ago I would've just written those two goals down, put them on a vision board and went about my business...but Oh No, not this time.

I had a nice long think about the person I wanted to be at the end of 2024, financially stable, clear skin, goal weight, ready to move in spring 2025, closer to God, found her signature scent.

Each of these goals had a wider theme:

Routine

Fitness and Body

Food

Skincare and Hygiene

Beauty & Makeup

Hair

Clothes

God

Books & Brains

Music

Budget

I fired up Notion, created a home page that had a sub page for every month and then finally I created the Overall page, which has a sub page for every Goal Category and then I broke down each goal into lots of SMART goals. (Specific Measurable Achievable Realistic Time-Based)

So my 'get down to my goal weight' goal became:

Fitness and Body:

[ ] Size 10 clothes or under and 140 lbs (I'm 5'9 with naturally big boobs so this is my ideal weight)

[ ] Hour Glass Figure, building up glutes and upper body

[ ] Maintain Goal Weight for at least 3 months

[ ] Able to Stair Machine for 10 minutes

[ ] Able to go on a full Run

[ ] Do at least one form of Excerise a day

[ ] At least one form of Excerise a day

[ ] Take the Dog on Daily Walks

Food:

[ ] Try 12 New Recipes

[ ] Learn How To Cook 4 Different Nigerian Recipes

[ ] Form Consistent Eating Routines

[ ] Eat out twice a month or less

[ ] Stay in a Caloric deficit until I reach my Goal Weight

See how much more specific this is?

Having my goals listed like this makes everything so much easier because I'm tackling multiple things at once. First I'm changing the majority of my goals to habits or tasks (things I can control) from outcomes (things I may not be able to control).

Now I know that if I do all of these things written out, staying in a caloric deficit and excising daily there's a 90% chance I'll reach my goal.

This is much more effective than writing an outcome with no plan on how to achieve it.

From here, I'll break the Goal Down Even Further, into monthly goals.

For example, to reach the goal weight Goal by the end of December, January may look like this:

Eat at 1500 calories a day or 10,500 calories a week (to allow for the high calorie company lunches I often attend as part of my work, I'll simply eat less on the other days

Go to the gym 4 times week,

Complete X Fitness plan

Go on one Dog walk a week

Meal Prep ever week.

Lose 10lbs

To Save enough Money to Move to London by the end of the year, January might look like this:

Prep for no Spend Months in Feb and March (stock up on skincare, budywash etc)

Meal plan every week

Sell £200 worth of clothes on Vinted to spend on Spring Wardrobe (I'm not buying any clothes unless I use the money I get from selling my current clothes)

Stick to Budget

My Goal to get Smarter and Stop Mindless Scrolling may look like this in January:

Read at least 1 book

Listen to 4 Podcast Episodes

Limit Social Media use to 1 hour a day

Write 6 Blog Posts

Watch one Documentary

Setting the tasks in this way also allows me to feel a sense of achievement, every month I'm able to tick off my goals which can increase my motivation, instead of writing down a list of things to do and forgetting about it until the end of the year. It also allows me to recognise when I'm going off track faster and adjust for the next month.

You see how this is better?

I was strategic in using notion because I knew that I could then use it not only to set out my goals, but as a home base, a setting point to house all the things I could use to achieve them.

Under each section I've also included a bunch of things to help me, the Food section for example has a list of my go to recipes, so that when I can't think of anything to eat and want to run over to the closest KFC I have something to choose from. The Hair section has a list of hairstyles I've done and the Pro's and Cons, the Skincare section has a list of the products I've tried, if I liked them and If they worked for me.

Each month has its own page with a section for each wider goal and a spot for me to have a monthly write up, detailing what works and what didn't work so I can change and approve the following month and prevent falling behind.

I'm determined to make this year my year so let me know if you'd like me to keep you updated, feel free to ask any questions or send them to my asks. Also let me know if you want my notion template, here's a little peak-

Till we speak again!

-hannah🤍

[steddieasitgoes]

@steddiemas Day 12 Prompt: Hallmark Movie Tropes

Tags: Pre-Relationship, Dual POV, Getting Trapped In A Small Town, Stobin Owns A B&B, Rockstar Eddie Munson, Inspired By Hallmark Christmas Movies, Meet Cute,

wc: 3188 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

Eddie doesn’t know how luck works, but he’s pretty sure he’s used up his lifetime allotment.

It’s the only way he can explain the last 72 hours without launching himself into a multi-day meltdown. Honestly, who the fuck did he piss off? How did he go from landing in New York after the biggest and most successful Corroded Coffin world tour yet, only to be thrust into the nearest recording studio because somehow the entire third album they recorded on the road is, ironically, corroded and unable to be played?

Eddie and the rest of the guys holed up in that dimly lit studio for 48 hours recreating only half the magic they’d manage to create on the road. If he’s straight with himself, he’s not even sure the songs they churned out are even close to the original. It would be easy to go back and check if he had his trusty laptop and notebook full of lyrics and chords and the like. Unfortunately, they’re a victim of his bad luck too — having been left and lost on the bus ride from the airport to the secluded studio in upstate New York. after their private car no-showed.

Naively, Eddie had thought nothing could get any worse when they finally saw daylight and handed over the second draft of their third album. But then disaster struck again in the form of a blown engine and a fucking snowstorm to end all snowstorms that has him stranded, alone, and cold in middle of nowhere New York.

All he wants is to get home to Wayne and drink his sorrows away with the famous Munson spiked hot chocolate, but no. Life has other plans for him, apparently.

Fresh off the Australian leg of the tour where the sun was shining, Eddie’s not dressed or prepared for this winter weather. Already shivering in the dead van, he bundles himself up in his leather jacket and ratty blanket he hasn’t washed in god-knows how many years and gets to walking.

On one hand, the fact that the snow is still falling is a massive pain in the ass. Eddie’s boots are quickly filling up with liquid and he’s pretty sure his face is going to be frozen if he has to stay out here for more than five minutes. On the other hand, the bright white shines in the evening light, making it so that he’s not tricking through bumfuck New York in the pitch black.

Unfortunately, there’s no pay phone in sight (his cell went dead hours ago) and most of the small shops Eddie passes on his trudge through town have their lights shut off and doors locked. He’s about to cut his losses and accept the fact he’s going to be sleeping (and dying) in his van when he spots a sign for a Bed and Breakfast up ahead.

Eddie’s senses are flooded the minute he pushes the heavy, Victorian-style door open. The air wafts over him like a warm blanket, heating up his frozen fingers and nose in a way that would make him cry if he could even produce tears right now. There’s a cacophony of noise coming from a nearby room — a piano and singing, plus tons of laughter. And don’t even get him started on the smell. Pine and apple cinnamon, hints of vanilla, maybe even fresh gingerbread. His stomach growls on cue.

There’s a small desk stationed in the center of the foyer, a golden bell sits beside a foot-tall Christmas tree decorated to the nines. A small welcome plaque sits in front of it. Brushing off his soaking shoes on the festive welcome rug, Eddie makes his way to the desk and rings the bell.

A second or two later, a similarly aged man appears. A Santa hat sits askew on his head, cheeks flushed from the warmth inside, and a smile so bright he’s pretty sure it could be used as a homing beacon. He’s beautiful.

“Hi there,” the man greets, mossing his way over to the desk. “Welcome to Buckington B&B. How can I help you?”

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

“Robs,” Steve whisper shouts, pushing his way past the swinging doors that separate the dining room from their private kitchen. He tries again, a little louder this time but still nothing. He can hear the piano in the other room, the hoard of guests singing along to whatever Christmas song is being plucked out by the five-year-old piano genius on vacation with her parents.

“Robin!” he shouts louder this time, pocking his head out into the backyard that’s currently two feet deep in powder, fresh snow. “Dammit, Robin. Where are you?”

“What’s all the yelling for?” she asks, appearing behind him.

“There’s a guy out front looking for a place to stay. Says his car broke down like a block or two away.”

“Okay, well, that sucks for him, majorly. But we’re already at capacity. You’re going to have to tell him to try Elaine’s or something.”

Steve knows Robin is right. They’re already at max capacity. Max-max capacity if he wants to get technical considering he gave up his room yesterday to the newlyweds who got stranded trying to get to the airport. It’s just well… Well, Steve’s always had a thing for unlucky people, especially when they’ve got a pretty face and a warm smile.

“See, the thing is,” he pauses, scratching nervously at his chin while trying to avoid Robin’s steadfast gaze. “I sort of already told him he could stay.”

“Steve!” Robin scolds, rolling her eyes. “We have no room!”

“I mean, yeah, you’re right. We don’t technically have any visitor rooms left. But, we still have your room.”

“Absolutely not,” she growls, crossing her arms. “No. Not gonna happen. I can’t believe you’re even asking me to give up my personal bed to a stranger! Nope.”

“Oh, come on, Robs!” Steve groans, throwing his hands on her shoulders to stop her vicious shaking. “Remember two summers ago when you made me give up my room for those best friends who fought the entire trip? You know the one you ended up hooking up with? I didn’t complain once!”

“That was different.”

Steve snorts, shaking his head. Definitely not different, but he’s not going to get what he wants if he argues with Robin. It’s not how their friendship turned business partnership works. “You owe me. I never cashed it on it, but now I am.”

Robin huffs and Steve knows she’s mentally stomping her foot like a child. If they weren’t overflowing with paying guests, he knows he’d be getting a long-winded lecture right now.

“Fine.”

He doesn’t wait to hear the list of conditions he knows Robin is going to have. She can’t even call him rude when he rushes out. After all, a freezing cold guest is waiting to be taken care of in the lobby.

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

It’s been a long time since Eddie’s been in a quirky room like the one he’s ushered into by Steve’s warm touch. Gone are the days of sleeping in motels on the side of the road on good nights, and shoved into the back of the van between equipment on bad days. Corroded’s management loves to book them the swankiest of hotels. Always looking for ways to send the label a massive bill — one that always ends up coming out of their own paychecks.

If it was up to Eddie, they’d be staying in places like this instead of the godawful monochromatic luxury prisons they get shoved into night after night. As an artist, he doesn’t get a say though. At least, that’s what he’s been told.

Glancing around, he takes in the bright-colored wallpaper. The dresser is cluttered with frames and other tchotchkes. A burnt orange rug takes up most of the floor and there’s an overflowing box of records perched in the corner by a small record player.

Eddie knows this isn’t a normal guest room — Steve had told him as much while guiding him up the stairs — and yet, he feels more at home in this quirky room than he has in months. Probably since the last time he visited Wayne.

Shit. He needs to call Wayne.

That unlucky string rears its head again as Eddie is met with dead silence when he picks up the pale blue landline. Of fucking course the phone lines would be down. The snow is dropping in sheets now. The telephone poles didn’t stand a chance.

At least he was lucky enough to land a place to sleep tonight, now all he needs is a —

“Hi, sorry to bother,” Steve says, pocking his head in. “I noticed you didn’t have any luggage with you when you checked in. It’s probably best to get out of those wet clothes. Hopefully, these will do.”

Eddie watches as Steve enters the room with a stack of clothes in hand. A pair of jeans and sweatpants sits at the bottom. Various shirts and sweaters stacked neatly on top. He’s pretty sure he spots a fluffy pair of socks at the top of the pile too. He might cry at the generous hospitality. After all, it’s a bed and breakfast not a fucking clothing store which means the clothes folded neatly must belong to Steve.

“You can leave the wet clothes outside the door when you’re done and me or Robin will come get them and throw them in the wash for you,” Steve says, setting the stack of clothes down. Then he’s moving again, hand reaching behind him before pulling out a laminated piece of paper from his back pocket. “I also brought you our itinerary for the evening. There are a few activities and tonight’s dinner menu. No pressure to join us. We also deliver food to rooms.”

“Damn,” Eddie whistles, glancing at the itinerary. “You guys really know how to take care of people around here, don’t you?”

“We try our best,” Steve smiles. “If you need anything else, just give us a shout.”

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

Steve doesn’t expect to see Eddie for the rest of the night. Especially not after a freakout from one of the teenagers vacationing tips him off on just who he’s agreed to let stay in Robin’s bedroom. He knew Eddie looked familiar. Wait until he tells Dustin about this — the shithead is going to be so mad he passed up a Christmas at Buckington B&B with Eddie Munson for some cruise.

Color him pleasantly surprised when he walks into the main room a few hours later to find Eddie behind the keys of the baby grand piano. The excited teenager from earlier sits to his left, a few of the ladies circle the edge of the piano as they wait for their cue to start singing “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas.”

He’s caught in a trance, watching Eddie in the soft maroon sweater he’s borrowed from Steve professionally stroke the keys of the piano. It only gets worse when he starts singing himself. Rich baritone cutting through the breathy singing of the ladies, carrying the tune in a way Steve’s never heard before.

Usually, Steve hates Christmas carols, but maybe he’s just never heard them sung right before.

He’s the first to break into applause when the song ends. Hands coming together before he even registers he’s the one responsible for the thundering noise. Thankfully, he’s quickly joined by the rest of the guests of the B&B. It makes the embarrassment wane inside for a moment until his eyes scan the room and discover that Eddie’s only looking at him.

“Well, then,” Robin says, sauntering over to him from the kitchen. “Now I see why you couldn’t turn him away.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says and deliberately looks anywhere but in the direction of Eddie and the grand baby piano. Not that it really matters. He can feel Eddie’s warm gaze on him without even looking.

Robin hums, shaking her head. “Sure you don’t.”

“I don’t!”

“Just remember that he’s staying in my bed and payback is one of the only dishes I know how to serve,” she says, winking before she’s whisked away by one of the young children looking for a game to play.

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

The quiet of the early morning should be a welcome reprieve from the cacophony of sound from last night. He had started as a gentle observer in the celebration, but when the young child holding court at the piano was sent to bed, well, Eddie stepped up as the piano player of the evening. It wasn’t long before he had everyone putting a rock and roll twist on those stuffy Christmas carols.

Maybe Corroded Coffin’s fourth album should be a holiday one.

Drinks were poured and ready before he even had to ask and his stomach was treated to a delicious spread of meats and cheese. The gooiest brownies he’s ever experienced and a perfect Gingerbread recipe that would have put his Nana to shame.

It was nice. Existing with others. Reminding himself that life doesn’t always have to be moving at 100 miles an hour like it does when he’s on tour. Sure, he still wished he was home with Wayne, but a call to his uncle when the phone lines came back washed away any of the guilt he felt.

Now, though, alone in his room as the sun begins to rise over the mountains of snow outside. Well, now, he feels that same sense of restlessness he always feels when he’s in one place for too long.

Sliding into a pair of slippers Steve dropped off last night, Eddie carefully pulls open the door and sticks his head out into the hallway. It’s quiet aside from a few muffled snores coming from down the hall. With the coast clear, Eddie tip-toes his way down the hall and to the stairs.

He didn’t get a formal tour when he arrived, but he’s pretty sure Steve mentioned something about a stocked coffee bar on the first floor that was available to them whenever they needed. The first two doors he opens reveal a closet and a bathroom and a wrong turn has him standing amongst cluttered laundry. Not ready to give up, Eddie pushes his way through a swinging door and finds himself face-to-face with Steve himself.

“Oh, hi,” Steve says, voice thick with sleep though his appearance makes it look like he’s been up for hours.

He’s in a yellow sweater and jeans. Hair tousled in a way that definitely doesn’t look like he just rolled out of bed like that. His eyes are bright and shining, just like they were last night. Eddie really has to squint to notice the subtle bags under Steve’s eyes.

“Shit, sorry. M’not supposed to be here, am I?” Eddie asks as he looks around the room. It’s a standard kitchen, except for the two pale yellow fridges that take up an entire wall. A window hangs over the sink just like it does at his uncle’s place and he’s pretty sure they have the same green stove too.

“You’re not,” Steve smiles. “But it’s okay. Robin’s not up yet and I don’t mind the company. Can I get you a cup of coffee? Orange juice? Hot chocolate?”

“Are you sure you’re not running a coffee bar here instead of a bed and breakfast?” Eddie teases, leaning against the kitchen island. “Hot chocolate sounds delightful, thanks.”

“We strive too please,” Steve says before fumbling through the cabinets for a mug. “So, what has you awake at this hour? Was the room not to your standard?”

“The room is great! I’m honestly just not used to the quiet,” Eddie says, eyes trained on Steve as he flits around the kitchen preparing their drinks. It’s weird to find someone so attractive when they’re doing nothing out of the ordinary. But he can’t help it. Steve is beautiful in a way Eddie can’t really comprehend. “What about you? Are you always an early riser?”

“Robin and I usually take turns on the morning shit. Technically it’s her turn, but I told her I’d handle it,” he pauses, shaking his head as he looks out the kitchen window to the snow-covered backyard. “Definitely regretting it now. There’s no way m’shoveling all that snow today.”

Pushing up from the island, Eddie crosses the small distance and joins Steve at the window. Steve isn’t exaggerating in the slightest. The entire yard is covered in at least three feet of snow. Some parts even deeper judging by the absence of a fence he knows should be there.

“Guess m’staying another night.”

Steve hums, sidestepping away from Eddie to finish making the hot chocolate. When he turns back around, his cheeks are the slightest bit pink and Eddie can’t help but wonder if it was the steam of the hot chocolates doing or his own words.

“One cup of hot chocolate,” Steve says, handing him a pipping hot mug.

It’s decent. Not legendary like last night's brownies, but then again hot chocolate never is. Nothing ever stands up to the famous Munson spiked hot chocolate. There’s too much chocolate and not enough milk. And it’s severely lacking in the alcohol department. Though, he supposes, five am is a bit too early for liquor.

It would be easy to ask Steve for a shot of whisky to add, he knows they’ve got a stocked bar around here somewhere judging by last night's festivities. But he’s not about to impose more. Nor does he want to risk giving away his and Wayne’s hot chocolate secrets. At least, not to a guy he’s known for less than 24 hours. No matter how cute he is.

“So, Eddie, where were you headed before you got trapped here?”

“Well, I don’t know that I’d call it trapped,” Eddie says, hiding his smile behind the mug. “I actually think this is the nicest place I’ve stayed in a long time.”

🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄🎄 🏠 🎄

Steve’s never been one to believe in luck.

He got dealt a shitty card right out of the gate, born to parents who could provide for him financially but never emotionally. Throw in falling into the wrong crowd and struggling through school, and well, Steve’s the poster child for privileged unluckiness.

Some might say luck found him in the form of Robin, but he thinks that a copout. Luck had nothing to do with bringing them together, nor did it have anything to do with the success they’ve found. That was all them. Blood, sweat, and tears.

Wishing on stars and believing in luck only happened in fairytales.

At least, that’s what he’s always told himself.

But now, standing in the kitchen listening to Eddie ramble on and on and on about how great the bed and breakfast is without ever breaking eye contact with him.

Well, maybe luck has finally found its way to him in the form of one stranded rockstar.

[sarahscribbles]

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LOKI MASTERLIST

[Last updated: March 8 2023]

[All my readers use she/her pronouns]

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

12 DAYS OF CHRISTMAS MASTERLIST

THE SAKAAR FILES MASTERLIST

FOLLOWER CELEBRATION MASTERLIST

☆ Signifies 1k notes and up

✧ Moments of Magic ☆ 

Summary: You bring Loki two gifts to mark his birthday. One a magical object and the other your heart

✧ 14 Hours to Cape Town (18+)☆ 

Summary: When the rest of the Avengers are sent on a mission to Cape Town, you're forced to stay behind to recover from a previous mission while Loki isn't trusted enough to go along. How will you cope with being made to stay in the compound with the man you're in love with when he seemingly wants nothing to do with you?

✧ Warming Him (18+) ☆ 

Summary: Loki makes you warm him

✧ Stay Here One More Time

Summary: On the anniversary of the Battle of New York, Loki discovers he has someone on his side

✧ Don't Go Tonight

Summary: While on a mission fighting against HYDRA you do the one thing you’re not supposed to do and get distracted. The price you pay is a high one.

✧ Do I Haunt Your Mind?

Summary: You finally work up the courage to confess your feelings to Loki, but it goes badly wrong

✧ Little Green Dress (18+)

Summary: You try, and spectacularly fail, to tease the god of mischief.

✧ I Want To Make You Feel Wanted (18+)

Summary: On a mission you get the opportunity to kill the HYDRA agent responsible for torturing you, but, misreading the situation, Loki kills him before you get the chance. And now you want to kill him

✧ "My Pet." (18+)

Summary: Tony’s Christmas party gets a little steamier than you had imagined

✧ Tiny Blessings

Summary: Growing up within the royal palace of Asgard, you learned magic alongside Loki and his mother Frigga. After Frigga's death, you find a way into the dungeons to comfort her broken son

✧ Paper Trail

Summary: Loki organises a romantic treasure hunt for you

✧ Back In Your Arms

Summary: Loki arrives back at the compound, and back in your arms, after the battle with Thanos

✧ Illicit Affairs (18+)

Summary: A marriage built on nothing but childhood infatuation was always bound to fall apart. The love you once thought you had for Thor has dwindled to nothing but indifference. He doesn't know the things you crave and makes no effort to find out, so you turn to the one person who will fulfill all your filthy desires: his brother.

✧ One More Week (18+)

Summary: When Loki makes a request of you in bed, how can you possibly deny him?

✧ Burned (18+)

Prompts: “Do I look like I’m messing around? Do I look like I won’t punish you?” ||"Fucking is a reward, but you haven’t been good.” || "Be a good girl

✧ In The Quiet Of The Morning (18+)

Prompt: Soft morning sex with Loki

✧ For All To See (18+)

Summary: You, Loki, and a floor-to-ceiling window. What of it?

✧ Between His Thighs (18+)

Summary: Loki makes you warm him. Again.

✧ Emerald Lace (18+)

Summary: Your first time wearing lingerie for Loki has you nervous, but your god is quick to show you how much he adores you.

✧ Victory Prize (18+)

Summary: Loki arrives home from a mission eager to celebrate its success

TWO PARTERS

✧ When You Play With Fire (18+)

Summary: When Loki doesn’t accompany you to Scott’s birthday celebration, you think you have the upper hand by leaving him to stew in his own desire. You should have known better than to play with fire.

PART ONE

PART TWO

✧ Dancing With The Devil (18+)

Summary: You’ve burned for him for centuries, but you know he sees you as nothing more than a prize to claim. Still, you play his game of teasing and innuendo, but never give in to how badly you crave him. That is until an innocent smell of a flower on Midsummer leaves you with no other choice.

PART ONE

PART TWO

✧ On The Throne (18+)

Summary: Yet again Loki has allowed a security council meeting to run late. You decide that, this time, you’ll go and help hurry it alone

PART ONE

PART TWO

DRABBLES

✧ Don't Move, Darling (18+)

Prompt: "Move an inch and you won't be coming tonight."

✧ Purple And Red (18+)

Prompt: "I won't apologise for marking you up, everyone should know you're taken."

✧ Against The Glass (18+)

Prompt: "I want everyone to see how good you take it."

✧ Make You Sing (18+)

✧ Eyes Open (18+)

Prompt: "Keep your eyes open."

✧ Consequences (18+)

Summary: Loki gave you one simple order when leaving the palace and now you have to face the consequences of failing to follow it

✧ Worship You (18+)

Summary: Yours is the only altar Loki will ever worship at

BLURBS

✧ Loki with an overstimulation kink

✧ How would Loki love us?

✧ Loki praising us

✧ President Loki

✧ Sub!Loki

[jamespottersmixtape]

september 12: iced 1,742 words @rosekiller-microfic

Barty really needs caffeine. Evan works at a small coffee shop.

It's an incredibly average Tuesday when Barty manages to make a fool out of himself and fall in love on the same day.

Well, the whole thing isn't as dramatic as he makes it out to be, but he isn't known for being subtle with his retellings.

Barty had thought he'd be fine—running on two hours of sleep was perfectly reasonable for sitting through a 3 hour business lecture, right?

Did he mention that he was a fool?

Whether by luck or fate or the incessant blaring of Barty's alarm clock, he had managed to crawl out of bed early enough for his 9am class—calculations and formulas and useless information on the status of the economy still swirling through his brain from the night before.

However, what his sleep deprived brain had failed to remember was that Barty lived off caffeine. Nothing would get done in a day if he hadn't downed at least 2 cups of coffee or the strongest black tea he could find. Dorcas always told him it was an addiction; he never listened.

So at 8:50 he trudged across campus and sat down heavily in the back of the lecture hall, mentally preparing himself for 3 torturous hours of his professor's monotonous voice, with absolutely no caffeine in his system. A mistake on his part.

It wasn't until he awoke at 11:55, the feeling of someone nudging his shoulder enough to rouse him from a dreamless sleep, that he finally realized this mistake. He had slept through the entire fucking lecture.

And it wasn't him dozing off halfway through, fighting diligently not to nod off. No, as soon as his professor began speaking Barty's head was on the desk, drool pooling in the corner of his mouth as he slept soundly on the uncomfortable wood. Frankly, he was mortified.

That brings him to now, briskly walking through the sea of students milling about between classes, his finger scrolling quickly through the selection of local coffee shops.

He still has two more classes, there's no way he'll survive without something helping him stay awake.

His eyes scan his phone screen, looking at distances and reviews until he settles on a place not too far from the North corner of campus—Twin Flame Coffee & Co.

He supposes it'll do.

Barty arrives in record time, his long legs carrying him faster than average. The building is quaint but lively, cream walls with colorful chairs out front—Barty's surprised he hadn't found it sooner.

When he pushes open the door a small bell rings overhead. There's not too many people, a few students with their laptops and an old couple sharing a pastry, but there's someone ordering and he can't see the register.

He scans the menu just long enough to make sure they serve the drink he wants, and only looks down when it's his turn.

He means to step forward but the movement gets halted as soon as his eyes lock on the person working. In front of him is a boy about his age, wispy blonde curls and bright eyes, a winning smile directed right at Barty as he waits patiently for him to approach. He has freckles scattered loosely across his face and neck, disappearing beneath the tank-top he's wearing. Is that even work appropriate? he thinks.

There are at least a dozen tattoos littering his arms—nowhere near the amount Barty has, but enough—and his skin looks soft enough that biting it would leave a mark. Suddenly Barty's throat feels impossibly dry.

"How can I help you?" the boy says, and oh Jesus fucking Christ he sounds like heaven too. Barty is a goner.

Suddenly his brain is on high alert, catching up with the fact that he's been staring at this guy for at least 5 seconds. He shakes his head and approaches the register, his legs shakier than before.

The boy's smile is unwavering, yet he seems amused at Barty's slow uptake. Barty swears his eyes flick up and down Barty's figure, but quickly pushes that thought aside.

"Hi," Barty says flatly. He's lucky his voice doesn't crack but god, could he sound any more unapproachable?

"Hi," the boy says, levity clear on his face now. "What can I get started for you?"

"Uh, can I just have a large latte?"

"Large latte," the boy repeats, punching something onto a screen. "Anything else?"

"No, that's it," Barty replies. "Thank you," he adds, trying his hardest to remain calm.

He tries to smile but it definitely looks strange. Their eyes meet briefly and he has to physically restrain himself from doing something very fucking stupid. Like telling him he's pretty. Or begging for his number.

Yeah, he's fucked.

"Okay, can I have a name for that?"

"Um..." can he even remember his own name? Probably not. He wants to learn his name but can't see a name tag. Damn. "Barty," he finally gets out. "My name is Barty."

The boy laughs, his face becoming even lovelier in the process. Clearly, Barty's repeated blundering is funny to him. "Alright Barty, that'll be ready on the side for you," the boy flashes him another smile. Barty pulls out his wallet to pay, disappointed at the short interaction, but as he's inserting his card he notices the boy grabbing a cup for hot drinks.

"Shit, sorry," Barty starts, unprepared for any further conversation. "Did I say hot? I meant iced. Large iced latte."

The boy's hand stills from where it was prepared to write Barty's order. "Oh! That's fine, it's the same price."

He grabs a clear plastic cup instead, scribbling on it before passing it to a girl with similar colored hair. They look related, Barty thinks.

Barty pulls his card out, payment finished. This is where he's supposed to walk away and wait for his drink like any other customer. But, well, there's no one behind him, and he really wants to find out this guy's name.

"Sorry about that," Barty scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. His stomach swoops every time he looks at the boy's face. He really is gorgeous. "It's been a weird day."

"Hard classes?" the boy asks, placing his hands on the counter, drumming his fingers.

Barty's eyes widen, taken aback that he was asked a question. He clears his throat. "Nah, not really. I slept through my entire first lecture."

"Wow." the boy deadpans.

"Yeah," Barty huffs out a small laugh. "3 whole hours of sleep. At least it was a good nap," he shrugs.

The boy laughs again, louder this time. Barty really wouldn't mind making it happen again. "3 hours? I guess you really need this latte."

Barty groans, rubbing his hand over his face. "Tell me about it. I forgot to make coffee this morning."

The boy purses his lips, "Glad we could help then."

Barty stands there awkwardly for a moment. He wants to stay and talk, he wants to know everything there is to know about this boy—his name, for starters. Ten minutes ago he was blissfully oblivious to his existence, but he's enlightened now, and there's no way he's forgetting him.

Maybe he's a fool, it's been said before.

"I've uh– it's my first time here. It's nice, I can't believe I've never seen this place before."

The boy hums, nodding. "Well, my sister and I," he gestures to the girl making drinks, "We only opened this place a few weeks ago. It's gotten a fair bit of traction, so that's been nice. But it's new, so don't worry, you haven't been missing out for too long," he shoots Barty a wink and he swears his heart nearly stops.

"Oh," Barty chuckles, his voice higher than normal. "Well maybe I'll come back then." He's testing the waters, trying to read if this guy even cares about his existence outside of an obligation to his job.

"I hope so, would be a shame if this was the last time I saw you," the boy says, leaning forward on the counter. And what? That had to be flirting, right? Right? The boy's eyes rake over his torso in a much more obvious manner, taking time to fully appreciate his appearance.

Barty wants to say something but he finds he's too incoherent to string words together. "Yes," he says lamely. "Yeah, yes. I'll definitely be back."

"I'm looking forward to it," the boy replies, flashing him another grin.

"Here," the girl—his sister—says, passing her brother Barty's drink. The pair seem to have an entire conversation with their eyes, never saying a word out loud. At the end of the exchange, the boy lets out a frustrated sigh. She offers Barty a quick smile before turning swiftly on her heel and disappearing behind a curtain.

The boy holds his drink out. "Here's your iced latte."

Barty's cheeks flush at the reminder of his mistake, taking the coffee and straw from his grasp. If their fingers brush and Barty's face glows pink, nobody has to know.

Barty sticks the straw in the cup, taking a quick sip and practically moaning right in front of the poor man. "Fuck, that's good coffee. You'll be lucky if you don't see me here everyday."

"The coffee's the only reason, huh? It's that good?" the boy asks, raising an eyebrow.

Barty smirks, shrugging as he takes another sip. "Among other things," he says, noticing a faint blush creep up the boy's neck and cheeks. The color reminds him of a rose.

The bell above the door rings faintly, signaling a new customer. Barty spares a quick glance at his phone, the time signaling he only has half an hour before his next class. He reluctantly takes a step back towards the door. "I should probably head out."

"It was nice meeting you Barty," the boy tells him, offering another dazzling smile. Barty has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from smiling back like an idiot.

"You too. I'll see you around, uh..." he hesitates, praying to all that is holy that this infuriatingly attractive boy will finally give him his name.

He rolls his eyes, but Barty can tell it's amiable. "Evan," he fills in. "My name is Evan."

Barty can't help it, a painfully lovestruck grin splits across his face. Evan.

Evan, Evan, Evan.

He likes the way it sounds in his head. Likes it even more when he tells him, "I'll see you around Evan," and walks out the door.

[noramoons]

and tomorrow we’ll begin anew | l.sm

pairing: lee seokmin x g/n reader

genre: fluff, slight angst

rating: T/13+

warnings: language, descriptions of anxiety/insecurities, (not proofread 🤡)

word count: 2k

summary: today has been a colossally bad day—luckily, your boyfriend is there to remind you that you don’t have to deal with it alone.

a/n: this is so wildly self indulgent it is not even funny…not even sure i like this piece anymore tbh but it is here! 🤭

7:17 a.m.

The morning light streaming into your bedroom is warm, basking you in the golden glow of a new day. It doesn't bring you the reassuring warmth it's meant to, however, when you wake up to see your alarm clock and realize you've slept in an extra half hour.

8:07 a.m.

Okay, you're seven minutes late to work. Fine. Whatever. That shouldn't send your entire day up in flames.  

But it burns down anyway. Everything past that first hour is tinged with smoke, hanging heavy over you like a cloud of inevitable mistakes. You've nearly forgotten a deadline. Your printer stops working. One of your coworkers calls in sick and you end up having to do double the work you would normally do.

And even with all of that, the day drags—you think to yourself no less than five times throughout your shift that you're aren't sure you'll ever make it home again.

Okay, you aren't delusional enough to not realize how slightly dramatic you might be behaving—but you really can't remember a day at work worse than this in a long while. You feel utterly useless. There's no other way to put it.

4:12 p.m.

It isn't until your clock finally ticks on the last hour, a single glimmer of hope in what has been an absolute shitshow of a day, that you remember your day has really only just begun.

> s ❤️

> i'm heading over your way now! sorry i'm a little early lol

> just looking forward to seeing you :)

Oh, Jesus Christ. With the near-constant nightmare that your shift at work was, you'd almost entirely forgotten—you made dinner plans with your boyfriend to eat at your apartment tonight. You know that should excite you, relax you, even, at the thought of seeing him at the end of a long and exhausting day.

Instead, it fills you with nothing but dread.

Your relationship with Seokmin is new—still in that cautious, tip-toeing early phase of dating where you don't really quite know each other yet. You know him, sure—know his name, his phone number, some of his favorite shows and movies and songs, just the same as you know most of these facts about your regular friends. The fact that you do know what the tender, delicate sensation of his lips on yours feels like is the only thing so far that distinguishes him from most of your other casual friendships.

But that's not to say that you don't want to learn more. You do—God, you do. Seokmin is unbelievably funny and sweet (and punctual, you're delighted to learn now). So you'd offered last week for him to stop by your apartment for dinner, telling him he could let himself in with the key underneath the potted plant by your front door. Nothing incredibly complicated—just a dish you've made a million times and that you know you can't possibly screw up (and that you hope might still impress him a little). You'd bought the ingredients on your grocery run over the weekend, so all in all, it should be something you can do with your eyes closed.

Or it would be, at least—if the only thing on your mind now wasn't dropping everything you're currently holding at your front door and collapsing into your bed, ready to sleep off this ridiculously exhausting day. And if you'd been dating Seokmin for longer than you have now, you'd tell him that. Tell him that you need to reschedule your dinner date because the only thing propelling you through this last half hour of work is the thought of getting to be in a coma the minute you set foot in your apartment.

But you haven't been in this relationship for that long—and so you don't quite know how he'd react to that. Would he think you were avoiding him? Think that you were tired of him already? Those thoughts certainly aren't the truth—so you'll just have to put an Oscar-winning performance for a few hours in the hopes that he'll stick around for another (less inwardly painful) dinner date.

And it isn't Seokmin's fault by any means. Certainly not his fault that you're so anxious about the beginning of this relationship, one that seems almost too good to be true, that you've found yourself working overtime to make sure you don't scare him off the first time he sees you under stress like this.

You'll just have to make an effort to plan your next date on a day you're aren't so in your own damn head about everything.

5:03 p.m.

By the time you're finally speeding your way out the door of your office, you're already mentally rehearsing what you need to do to hurry the evening along as quickly as possible but not seem like you don't want Seokmin to be there. The lettuce for your meal has been washed already, so you won't have to worry about that, and there's still leftover rice in the fridge you can serve your entree with—all you need to do is marinate the meat for half an hour and cook. Maybe Seokmin will want to talk about a TV show he's been enjoying and you can steer him away from discussions about work, because you know you won't be able to hide your exhaustion if the conversation lingers there. You can't offer any wine tonight, even if it does pair terribly well with this beef—that will just have to be a next-date plan. If he sticks around.

You're still cycling through your well-crafted lines in your mind as you finally reach your apartment, bracing yourself as you make your way up each stair step, practically holding your breath as your reach your door and turn the doorknob—

The door shuts as you walk in.

He turns to face you. "Y/N!" Seokmin beams, grinning ecstatically like he hasn't seen you in years—that damn smile that fills you with the warmth of the sun itself.

You let go of that breath.

And it isn't all you let go of. Seeing that goddamn stupid smile of his is like the straw that breaks the camel's back—because your bag slips out of your fingers and onto the floor before you even realize it. There's tears welling up at the corners of your eyes, leaving tracks down your cheeks before you even realize you're crying.

But Seokmin realizes. He's rushing out of his seat in an instant, making his way to your side and begging you to tell him what's wrong as he leads you to the couch.

"Look, it's just...I just had a bad day," you admit as you sink into the couch, embarrassment creeping back in to your conscious mind once you feel Seokmin's thumb rubbing over your hand reassuringly. "That's all." Why are you like this? Even now, your first instinct is refusing to let him in—because what if he finally sees how you can really be, and runs away screaming in terror?

His frown deepens. "I don't think it was just a bad day. You can tell me, Y/N—please tell me. If you want to."

The urgency in his voice feels genuine—feels real, in a way that nothing else today has felt. So you do. "It's been nonstop," you tell him, laughing a little through a sniffle. "Like ever since the moment I woke up today, I've been doing something wrong. I was just exhausted when work was over, but I didn't want to cancel this date because we've been planning it for a week to accommodate both our schedules, and I...I like you, Seokmin." There it is—your last card, laid in front of him to examine if he so chooses. "And I would really, really rather not fuck this up."

A soft grin starts tugging up the corners of his lips before he moves to cup both of your cheeks in his soft hands. "I really like you too, you know," he says, laughing a little. And you laugh too—how can you not, when the sound of his voice is enough to set you so simply at ease, enough to practically erase all the earlier worries of the day?  "You haven't fucked anything up. I don't want you to ever feel like you have to prioritize your day over mine—if you're having a bad one, then that's what the two of us can worry about."

Seokmin squeezes your cheeks a little, and the action makes your chest tighten with affection. "I don't want you to feel like you have to put on a performance around me, either. If you've had a bad day, you've had a bad day—and you can tell me about it. I won't put on a performance for you, either. Mostly because I've been told I'm a terrible actor," he informs you, and it pulls another light laugh from you. "And just so you know...I like you too. I like being around you, no matter what. One bad day is never going to change that."

His words are like waves cascading over the sand, washing away whatever had been written there before—but you still can't shake that last itch that refuses to subside. "But I ruined our date."

"What date?" he asks, smirking a little. "I thought we scheduled it for tomorrow. Remember?"

It takes you a moment to understand what he's saying, but when you laugh, it's real—a loud, joyous laugh that leads Seokmin to burst into giggles as well, throwing his arms around you and enveloping you in that comfort that he is. He reminds you that tomorrow will always be there—a promise that you can always try again.

9:48 p.m.

The two of you talk for hours after ordering in dinner, laughing (and crying one more time) about anything that comes to mind. Seokmin was right—you don't have to put on a performance around him to feel comfortable. The conversation feels practically never-ending, which is fine by both of you.

Seokmin makes a move to stand up and leave right before 10:00 pm. You know he's giving you an out for if you still want some time to yourself today.

You reach out a hand to stop him, to make him stay—but you don't even have to say a word before he's taking your hand and sitting right back down in his seat, grinning at your ability to have an entire conversation without words.

11.27 p.m.

By the time you're crawling into bed beside Seokmin, tucking yourself into his side, the exhaustion from your day earlier is finally, finally, catching up with you—you think you're barely conscious when he's leaning over to kiss the crown of your head and humming a soft goodnight.

But it doesn't matter how the day ends, you think. Like Seokmin had said, tomorrow will always be there too—a chance to begin anew. 

a/n: thank you sm for reading! feedback is always welcome through reblogs, comments, and messages 💛 

taglist:  @petrichor-han @kangroo-chan @ot7lonelylover @lilacdreams-00 @mainexiii @awkwardnesshabitat @lotus-dly @elizabeth11moreno @nerdysl-t @seung-scrittore  

©️ noramoons 2021-2023. do not translate or reupload my writing.

[911-on-abc]

(i'm that anon that wrote the buck being giddy and sore and having beard-burn all over his body thing) they get back to the station. buck puts his outer gear away after checking it over for tears, and walks up to the loft to get something to drink and another coffee. eddie and hen are talking about some playdate for denny and christopher for when karen and hen pick up their new foster and chimney is on the phone with maddie (something about the wedding), but buck only listens half-heartedly. his uniform is getting a little uncomfortable, it's chafing in the wrong places and he really doesn't want to be teased about puffy nipples thank you very much, and the cream tommy put on this morning has either been sweated off or has sunk into his skin. point being, he should probably apply some more cream to avoid even more chafing. it's not nearly as fun when it's caused by cotton rather than tommy's stubble, and the soothing kisses and teasing nips at his skin that are missing definitely have something to do with it. the soreness in his glutes is really nice though, and he kind of revels in it. it feels like after a really good workout. makes him feel accomplished. and the 3 orgasms in a little over 12 hours are definitely a benefit he doesn't get from going to the gym. jfc, he's at work he needs to reign in his thoughts. it's like he's a horny teenager discovering his own body for the first time. and yes, technically he is experiencing a lot of new things and firsts, and sure, maybe in a few months he'll brag about his stamina as a man in his 30's but now? now all of this is very inconvenient. "buck, you're okay?" shit. "yup, just sore and a little tired, haven't finished my coffee yet." "if you say so" hen's definitely suspicious. "buck, help me with brunch?" he could kiss bobby right now. well, no, EW, but he'll take the win and get away from prying eyes. bobby hands him veggies to cut up to put into the omelettes later, and buck grabs a knife and starts to cut up the mushrooms and the bell peppers. they work along in silence for a bit, and then bobby hands him a little post-it, whispers "we will never speak of this" and moves on to whisk the eggs like nothing. buck puts the post-it away, finishes cutting up the veggies, washes his hands and walks over to the bunk rooms. he kinda wants to check-in with tommy anyways. it's in the corner of the room, away from prying eyes, that he opens the note, turning scarlet immediately upon reading it. burt's bees mama soothing nipple cream and stokolan. i put some samples in your locker. stay safe. buck sends a pic of the note to tommy after applying the creams (they're a god-sent) with a simple "still jealous of the tight-knit family of the 118?"

anon I want to kiss you on the lips thank you for blessing me with this OHMYFUCKING GAWDDDDD (part 1 sent to @canonbibuck which you should read because hot DAMN 🥵)

[ireallywishiknew]

DO NOT READ IF YOU WANT TO READ TPW AS SPOILERS AHEAD!!! Keep scrolling right NOWWWW.

Anyway I just wanted to write some tormented older Nezha. Im on my phone so pls excuse the formating. Also i haven't written in years so pls be kind...

Enjoy?

*********

The system of democracy worked. Though people are born, and eventually die, the land survives and moves on. Rivers reroute, vegetation, and crops re-grow with the right resources and systems. It took years of civil war, famine, disease, and bowing to Hesperia to stabilise the 12 provinces before a centralised government formed. Yet, through it all, he is still here.

They now call this period the Nikan Enlightenment. Ironic, he knows.

He is lost. Has been since he silently endured all that fell onto his shoulders at her death. Time has warped and twisted in 40 years of nursing delicate political threads of Nikan and Hesperia. In his waking hours, Nezha Yin only allows himself to remember the future he fought for after the end of all things he believed in.

He is no longer the young Warlord of the past, but now the Emperor of Nikan. The country is not the one she left behind or dreamed of, and every day, a small part of him disappears. His heart has become numb to the endlessness; his way did work and is working. It all feels pointless to Nezha. Whilst everyone else he loved has rotted and turned to dust.

Nezha catches himself in the mirrors as he walks but can no longer recognise himself. He only sees the ghost of his Father, the previous Dragon Warlord, Vaisra. He sees his Father in every wrinkle and in his stern straight mouth. His reflection is a live capsule of his father's disappointment that stares back. He can’t remember what it was like to smile. He looks like the very face that she kissed to destroy.

For years, silently he mourned for his lost family, his friends, his God - her. He once bent water at his will, but now, pathetically, can’t muster tears for his eyes. He consumed the drought from the land to his heart.

His memories betray him, the only thing he has is the stories on the streets. No one talks of Kitay's anxious genius or Venka's skill. They don't know that she was so much more than her anger, her fire. History has written them as traitors.

Are any of their ghosts at peace?

All these years, yet he yearns that he died alongside them. She was his divinity, and like a devout fool to a God that doesn't exist, he clings to her last command.

“Fix this.”

***

In the quietest of nights, where there are no Hesperian eyes or Nikara assassins, he is isolated to his thoughts. Nezha allows himself to feel. What is left in his memories are a drug. Through them, he allows himself a sick fantasy, and a mercy of death.

He transports himself back to when he was no more than a child himself. Back to the white sandy beach of Speer. The place full of death and her ancestors’ bones. He is on his knees with Kitay’s lifeless body at his side and her small one in his arms.

He repeats this memory like a terrible obsession. Remembers the stone-cold terror settle in in his being, feeling her searing heat diminish from her body. He remembers every detail of her familiar blood-red, angry eyes, that he loved so fiercely, fade. He can replay the sound of her black blood spluttering from her mouth to only twist into a nightmare. She then laughs a blood-crazed sharp laugh. Her eyes become as black as her hatred, (did she ever love him?), and her voice blurs with those of the gods he has long since been blocked from.

“Destroy them," the gods whisper viciously through her, choking on her blood that she spits at his face.

She kills him in many ways. Rin will strangle his neck, which she burns to decapitate him. Sometimes she does it swiftly. Other times she does it slowly, so he dies in unfathomable pain. She smiles at him the brightest then.

He paints her vicious, she may blast him, or make his bones crack to be reduced to sweet nothing. She always uses her holy hellfire in his dreams. He begs for the burns to be real. He wishes his skin would sear and melt. He prays for the physical torment to silence his mind in the way that only she could bring. When he dreams death close, he is startled awake and left with his sweat-drenched clothes in the shadows of his soulless room.

He's brought prosperity to the country. Civilians are happy, but the Hesperians are still here. There is still the fight for independence. This fix is not enough.

He knows his living nightmare will not end until Nikan is free. There is no peace in death for Nezha. He will live and endure.

Alone, forever.

[randomshyperson]

Wanda Maximoff Needs a Hug - Chapter Two - Series

Summary: Since joining the team, Wanda Maximoff has captured all of your attention, even if she has no idea about this. In a six-part story, you'll do your best to give her everything she needs and maybe she never thought she deserved it. Along the way, you two might end up realizing you were in love with each other the whole time.

Warnings: (+18), Friends to lovers, smut in the last few chapters, slow burn, conversations about self-love and individual worth, mentions of anxiety, past trauma, avengers being a family, canon-fix, a lot of magic. Words: 5.246k

General Masterlist || Series Masterlist || AO3 || Wattpad

--//--

Chapter Two - Wanda Maximoff needs a therapist

"I'm not hungry."

It would be strange to say that you knew she hadn't eaten anything for at least 12 hours, because you were sure it would look like you were monitoring her, and it was the complete opposite of that. You noticed her, it was different.

Shifting the weight of your feet hesitantly, you put down the tray of food. "Okay. Can I still eat next to you, though?"

It’s Wanda's turn to hesitate. She doesn't want to send you out, to block you off. She really doesn't want to. But today, it's officially been six months since Pietro was dead, and she wasn't feeling the least bit sociable.

Still, you stared with puppy dog eyes, and Wanda was giving you space to get in before she even thought about it.

You didn't eat quietly - You filled the silence of the room with as many things as you could talk about. About the team, about work, about television. Every joke was an attempt to make her smile, and it was only at the first laugh that Wanda began to cry.

"God, I'm so sorry, I'm such a mess." She tried to disguise her own tears, wiping her face with the sleeve of her blouse and evading your gaze. But you moved away from the table and knelt in front of her on the carpet. Gentle hands on her knees.

"Talk to me." You asked in a whisper. "I'm right here for you."

Wanda collapsed. She doesn't think she had ever cried so hard, not since Pietro was gone. She just couldn't stop - He was gone and it was forever. Nothing would ever change that. And with each passing day, she seemed to miss him more. She wondered when it would get better, and you, holding her in bed against your chest, hands caressing her back until she stopped sobbing, said it wouldn't.

"I'm sorry." You said immediately. "There is no magic formula. You lose someone, and the pain gets numbed with time, but it never goes away. The thing is, you're not going to face it alone anymore. I'm right here."

She sobs. "What happens when I lose you too?"

You huff softly. "I'm fucking immortal, what are you talking about?" You tease, managing to make her laugh past the crying. She hides her face in your collarbone, perhaps it's closer than a friend should get, yet neither of you makes any mention of pulling away. A moment later, you comment, "If you want, we can go to the memorial. Pay tribute to him."

Wanda nods, exhaustion falling on her body, forcing her to fall asleep. "Thank you." She whispers and is asleep before she hears your reply.

It's not difficult to get released from the missions to go to Sokovia next weekend. Wanda has the impression that you have blackmailed someone.

In fact, the country no longer exists. It is a very sad trip for her, despite your thoughtfulness.

Everything she knew was gone, and now all that was left was a black stone with the names of the victims. It took her almost ten minutes to find her brother's.

The words she muttered were not so familiar to you, and with your hands in the pockets of the thick coat you were wearing, you waited for Wanda to finish her prayers before commenting:

"I didn't know you were a religious person."

She gives you a sad smile, instinctively intertwining her arm with yours, and you don't mind one bit. "I'm not, but our parents were. Jewish. Pietro tried to follow their faith for a while, but when you grow up in the midst of war, orphanage to orphanage, sometimes you lose your connection to that kind of thing."

You blink in surprise at the information, but nod in understanding. Walking side by side down the old street, you let Wanda guide you to a coffee shop you saw on the way.

"What do you want to do now?" You ask, once inside, sitting at a table in the back.

Wanda smiles sadly. "I think I just want to lie down and not move."

You swallow dryly, hands moving to hers on the table. "I think you should talk to someone."

Wanda frowns in confusion, "I'm talking to you."

You stroke her fingers, drawing patterns that shiver her skin. If you notice, you don't say anything. 

"I meant..." You almost hesitate, not wanting to press too far. But Wanda has been your friend for six months now, and you care enough to say. "I'll always be here, of course, but I don't know what to say very often. You should talk to someone, a professional, who will."

Wanda is surprised, really. She doesn't have any kind of prejudice toward therapy, it just never occurred to her, especially due to the way she grew up. No one had time to listen to any of her anxieties in the midst of an armed conflict. 

The possibility of solving her problems sounded almost absurd. It made her laugh with nervousness.

"What? Like... therapy?" She needed to confirm, and you nodded immediately.

"I did it for a while, I really needed it." You counter. "You know Sam has a veterans support group, right? We've all been through some pretty bad shit, Wands. It's important to deal with it in a healthy way. Natasha was in intensive therapy for a long time after the Red Room, and so was Steve when he got off the ice. Tony and Clint do follow-ups to this day for PTSD."

Wanda gathers her hands from yours, suddenly very exposed. Very vulnerable. "I don't...I don't think that's a good idea."

You don't push. Never. Instead, you smile at her and nod. "All right then. Let's order some breakfast."

But when you get back to the compound, the same day at the quinjet, Wanda calls you before you go to your room.

"Thank you, for today." She murmurs sincerely, taking a deep breath before adding. "About your suggestion, I'll think about it."

You move closer again, and hold her by the shoulders, before kissing her forehead, and then each cheek. Sweet and firm, and it makes her skin prickle, her chest warm. Wanda almost melts against you, static and afraid to move and causing you to pull away. Her fists clenched at her sides. 

"I'm here for whatever you need, Wands."  You assure her, and it's a good thing you leave after that because Wanda has the impression that she would do something stupid if you remained that close.

–//–

Therapy is strange for the first few weeks.

Her doctor is very kind and is part of Shield which is a good thing because she has experience with special agents who have dealt with death on a daily basis. And well, sad pasts are not lacking for war heroes.

Wanda thinks she might be getting better when she buys some Jewish items for her room.

"Maybe I should get a haircut." Your phrase immediately attracts her attention. You are in her room, helping her with the cleaning. Or rather, Wanda is cleaning and you are getting in the way and looking annoyingly pretty while doing it.

"Why?" she asks confused and curious, using magic to lift a couch. She's tidying up because it was your idea of a room that had her whole personality, and Wanda simply accepted that she didn't know how to say no to your ideas.

"Because I'm a secret agent, of course!" You retort as if it were obvious, your elbows propped up on her bed. "Black Widows change their appearance all the time, you know. Nat told me. And I'm supposed to preserve my secret identity."

"You don't have a secret identity." Wanda retorts. "You literally tell everyone that you are the Iron Angel. Yesterday we went to buy bread and you introduced yourself like that."

"Okay, first of all, rude." You sit down on the bed indignantly. "I was trying to get us a discount!"

"With bread?" 

"I'm a poor person, Wanda!" At this point, both of you were chuckling. She grumbles for you to stop getting in the way of her cleaning, throwing a pillow at you, and consequently losing concentration on the air-raised couch, which makes a loud noise when it falls. 

"Tsk, let me help you, little witch." You tease, leaving the bed and hooking your sleeves up. Wanda rolls her eyes.

"I'm not a witch."

You laugh. "Debatable, pretty girl. All you do is these magic tricks. And who uses magic? That's right, witches."

Wanda rolls her eyes, definitely unable to have this discussion, or any when you lift the couch with one hand. Muscles flexed and exposed by the short, tight shirt.

Something inside her boils, right at the pit of her stomach.

Maybe she's getting sick.

"Earth to Wanda." She blinks embarrassedly away when she notices you calling her. You chuckle, thinking she has been distracted by the cleaning. "Shall we get something to eat later? I think it's Steve's night to cook and he's terrible at it. Want to grab a pizza with me, maybe go to a movie?"

That screams date energy, and Wanda agrees before actually thinking about it. You offer her a wink, pleased with the confirmation, and go back to talking to her normally as if Wanda isn't hyperventilating over the amount of exposed skin on your stomach when you keep holding the couch up in the air and gesticulating as you tell stories.

If she survived the afternoon of cleaning, she might survive the date. Of friends.

—//—

Apparently, you enjoyed Wanda's company as much as she enjoyed yours. 

It was a good thing and eventually turned movie nights into a recurring event. Wanda sometimes forgot how shy and introverted you could be outside the tower - with the Avengers, who were your family, you were comfortable and always making jokes with everyone. Outside, fumbling with simple matters like ordering in a cafeteria reminded Wanda that you had in fact grown up in a laboratory.

She was just happy to follow whatever schedule you were comfortable with, more or fewer days outside or under the covers, what mattered was if you were together. 

And it didn't take long for you to grow practically inseparable. It was almost strange to think that when she first arrived at the Compound, Wanda barely exchanged two syllables with you, and now, she sleeps in your room practically every night.

The thing about intimacy, though, is that it included sharing. Even subjects that make you cranky.

"I just have a connection with him." Wanda half-heartedly justifies herself, because you are, again, muttering about the strange interest she had in Vision. 

Wanda thinks it's because you don't trust machines - After Dr. Zola, she couldn't blame you. But if anyone asked any Avenger why you didn't like Vision, none of them would think Zola was the reason.

You hum at her justification, and Wanda huffs softly. "What's the problem? You always act so weirdly about this."

You frown. "Oh, I'm sorry I don't like your new best friend."

Wanda crosses her arms. "Don't be silly, Vision is not my best friend. You are." Your gaze begrudgingly softens over Wanda's sweetness. She smiles at your insistent pout. "Is that what this is about, then? You're jealous of Vision."

You huff indignantly, leaving the small pile of blankets on her bed where you were chatting in a jump. "Jealous? Now you're the one being silly!" You retort, cheeks softly rosy. Wanda stares at you in surprise at the scene. "You can have as many friends as you want, I don't care."

She looks away, uncrossing her arms to play with the loose threads of the mattress. "I don't, though." She mumbles half sadly, shrugging when you look at her with confusion. "I don't really have any other friends, Y/N."

The anger unravels at once from your chest, and you sigh, crawling back onto the bed. "Nonsense. Everyone loves you because you're amazing." You retort, getting a weak laugh from her. You lean over her, nose brushing her cheek, and Wanda holds her breath, but it is only an affectionate gesture, and soon, you are on top of her, face on her collarbone and weight on her body. Arms around her, keeping her pinned on the bed and your body. Warm and safe. "Everyone here is your friend. Don't forget that, Wan. The Avengers are your family. I am your family."

She feels something burn behind her eyes. For so long, the only family she had was Pietro, and she lost him too. And now, she had this group of people she could lose as well. Terrifying, honestly. And the thought of losing you made her hold you tighter.

"I don't like fighting with you." She confesses, and you chuckle softly.

"We weren't fighting, I was just jealous." Your admission brings butterflies to her stomach, but she masks it with a giggle. "Don't mind me. Be friends with Vision, he could use some company."

You may have said it for real at that moment, but it didn't mean you made living with Vision any friendlier, given that at every opportunity you responded to him with rude storms, and interrupted any moment Wanda might have with the synthesized. She didn't mind, your company was always welcome, but he might have been annoyed. But who cares about Vision anyway?

While your relationship with the synthesized didn't improve, you nevertheless worked to make Wanda's relationship better with other Avengers.

For Natasha, Clint and Steve there was no need to try too hard - The three of them were very affectionate towards Wanda, and patronized her naturally. Always teaching her as much as they could and keeping her company.

For Sam, it was easy too, because he was a very sociable gentleman who was available for almost every movie night. He was also easily impressed by Wanda's magic, and it was some sort of fresh air to be around someone who hadn't fought her and didn't have any bad memories about Ultron.

Tony was the tricky one. You were trying to convince him to apologize to Wanda, without being awkward or forced, and he was not a person who dealt very well with the past. Much like your friend honestly.

It was a coincidence that Wanda had a session in therapy about forgiving and moving on the same day Tony approached her in the kitchen with a tablet in hand that he placed on the counter next to the glass of juice she had just picked up.

The team stood in absolute silence, watching the interaction from the breakfast table.

"Maximoff, I want to talk to you." He announced seriously, one hand in his pocket. Wanda frowned slightly.

"Okay." She muttered. Tony took a deep breath, bringing his attention to the tablet and on it, clicking so that a small hologram of data appeared in the air. It was several numbers and Wanda figured it was for some mission. But Tony cleared his throat and explained:

"These are the shipping lots for all the Stark companies' ballistic supply." He begins. "It took some time to gather everything, but it's here. In 99, one shipment went to Sokovia. Lot 7212, collected from the rubble of a civilian building. Authorization to sell, Obadiah Stane."

Wanda crosses her arms, uncomfortable. "Stark, what is all this? Why are you bringing this up now?" She asks, looking away from the holograms of the exploded bomb, collected from a building she knows well.

Tony takes a deep breath, and faces her, "I was a different person, Wanda. I didn't care about any of it, all I wanted to do was spent my money. I didn't know what was going on at Stark companies, the war funding. I stopped that when I discovered it." He blurts out. "But, yes, I designed those weapons. And I have a share of guilt for ignoring my responsibility to them. And I want to apologize for that because my negligence caused the death of your parents."

Wanda looks down, with tears in her eyes. The other Avengers exchange tense looks and Tony swallows dryly, taking a step closer.

"I know nothing I say will change things, but I wanted to say it anyway. You're part of the Avengers now, you have my loyalty. Maybe, someday, we could even be friends." Wanda raises her eyes, returning his small smile with another.

She sighs and nods. "Thank you, Tony. For apologizing. It doesn't change things, but still... thank you."

"Of course, kiddo." He offers her a gentle tap on the shoulder before collecting the tablet and leaving the kitchen.

Wanda steals a glance at you at the table, and you smile at her in assurance before she too leaves the kitchen.

Nat is the first to speak. "Was anyone else surprised at how mature Tony was about everything?"

The Avengers laugh and go back to eating, and you keep to yourself the last two weeks you've been nagging Stark about it.

It was interesting, that less than two weeks later, Tony was the person assigned to teach Wanda to fly.

The thing is, Sam had iron wings - so he flew differently than Wanda could. And well, you wouldn't fly if you could help it because you hated heights. Yes, Wanda couldn't miss an opportunity to tease you about that. So it was left to Tony and his armor.

"You can focus your magic on your hands, like the way it works on my suit." He guided alongside her in the outer courtyard, with the whole team watching. "And keep your feet together to stay balanced. This way. Try it."

It took a few tries for Wanda to successfully glide a few inches off the ground, but it wouldn't be long before she could fly more effectively.

It was you who tried to find out if she could focus magic on other parts of her body.

The question must have come out in a strange way because it made Wanda look at you curiously, her cheeks half rosy, and the odd expression of Steve and Natasha pausing their practice behind her made you clear your throat.

"I mean you use your hands during the fighting, right?" You try to explain further. "You could try focusing your magic on the soles of your feet, to fly. And then you would have your hands free."

"Oh, I get it." She mutters. "I could try, but I don't think it would make that much difference. I control my magic mentally; It flows around my whole body, even if my hands are busy."

"You always impress me, Maximoff." You praise naturally, missing the way she smiles shyly because you are stepping closer to Nat and Steve's tatami. "And Captain Rogers keeps missing out on the same strike. How sad."

Steve frowns in confusion, "What strike?" He asks, and his distraction momentarily is enough for Nat to hit his legs and knock him down. Laughing as you do. "Very funny, ladies." He complains from the floor, but you are already waving for Wanda to follow you to the next tatami.

By now, she has grown more confident in fighting you, knowing that she won't hurt you. 

"You need some new tricks." You tease between one punch and another, half as breathless as she is. Nat has improved - considerably - Wanda's hand-to-hand combat, and well, you don't mind a bit exchanging a few punches with her. Mixed fights with magic are just as perilous as they are fun. 

Wanda laughs, deflecting five of your blows in a row with precision, before managing to grab your wrist. She's not physically stronger, by any means, and Hydra's description is that you're like a war tank, so in theory, she couldn't take you down. But her magic does the hard work, pushing your legs apart. You are thrown by her shoulders, falling backward onto the tatami. 

"I think I'm doing fine." She confidently retorts, offering you a cocky wink, before offering her hand to help you stand.

But you move your feet instead, and knock her to the ground as well, wasting no time in mounting her, immobilizing her hands. 

"You can't get cocky in a fight, that's a beginner's mistake." You recall. Wanda struggles against the grip, without any success. War tank after all, and when focused, you simply absorb any magic she tries to use on you. "You're fighting well, Maximoff. But what if you didn't even need to engage in conflict?"

She frowns, impressed that she could keep her gaze on yours when you are so close. "What do you mean?"

You lick your lips, it's your turn to be distracted by the position. Whatever is going on is completely broken with Steve and Natasha approaching the tatami, and the widow speaking before you:

"She means mind tricks, Wanda." Says the widow, and the witch hesitates immediately. You sigh, letting go of her arms, and acting way too casual when still sitting on her hip.

"Wanda is powerful, she shouldn't waste her abilities." You try, but all three of you are unsure about it.

"Hydra taught her that sort of thing. It's not a clean way to fight." Steve says, and you grimace indignantly.

"Clean? What's that supposed to mean?"

Steve sighs. "I just meant it would be an unfair fight. It's not that there's anything wrong with her powers, Y/N. It's just that it feels wrong to act like that, it's like mental torture. You don't know how it feels because Wanda never used it on you."

Wanda looks away, embarrassed. You snort indignantly. 

"That's fucking hypocrisy, Captain Rogers." You declare angrily, standing up. "You think you have some short of honor in shooting people instead of bewitching them? You're fooling yourself that's what." You continue, ignoring his attempt to explain. "Wanda is the strongest among us, and you are impairing her potential for greatness out of fear! She should not fear who she is!"

"Y/N, that's not what we're trying to do-"

"Then let me teach her!" You cut him off. "I'll take responsibility. I trust her. I can teach her to do more than Hydra did. Hell, she can get inside someone's head. The possibilities are endless! She could end any fight before she even starts them!"

Steve hesitates, but Nat rests her hands on the supports of the tatami, looking at the girl sitting on the floor. 

"What do you think, Wanda?"

The witch looks at your confident and curious gaze, and then at Steve Rogers' hesitation. She sighs and hugs her knees.

"I trust Y/N. If she teaches me, I could try to learn."

You celebrate softly, ignoring Steve's protest. Natasha smiles at you. "Just be careful, okay? I don't want anyone getting hurt."

You twitch your nose, glancing at Wanda over your shoulder. "Don't be silly, Nat. Wanda would never hurt me."

–//–

"I'm still learning to trust people again. But she is my safe haven. I don't know what I would do if I messed that up."

The confession surprises herself as much as it surprises Dr.Christina Raynor, who stops writing to raise her eyes to Wanda.

"You have a history of loss, Wanda. It's normal to hesitate and worry that it will happen again. But you need to trust that you will be able to handle it. With my help, of course. But also with the help of others, because you are no longer on your own. Death is part of life, it is a painful truth. You can learn to deal with it in a healthy way."

Wanda nodded, unsure if she could manage that at all. That day she told about starting to practice mind tricks with you next week, and how anxious it was making her. Christina reminded her that she could refuse if she was uncomfortable with the idea, but she explained that it was about the possibility of hurting you, not about her magic. The doctor asked her to act as was best for her, and not for other people.

And so, Wanda was late for her first class.

You decided to create a comfortable setting for her. Soft armchairs on the balcony, overlooking the whole compound, and a table of sweets and drinks on the side.

It felt almost like a picnic together and made Wanda's stomach churn when she remembered what she could do with you.

"Hey, little witch, I almost thought you weren't coming." You tease about the fifteen-minute delay, getting a small smile from her. "And it would be, all right, okay? If you didn't show up. We don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

"It's fine." She assures as she swallows dryly, and moves closer to occupy the empty armchair in front of you. "I want to learn more about myself."

"Speaking of which, I have gifts." You state raising a finger in the air for a moment. You lean over to grab something from behind the armchair, and Wanda watches you take out books that you place on the coffee table. "Hydra had a dozen or so files on the stone, but nothing really helps us. I did my own research, and it turns out that there are a lot of people who do cool tricks. There's a bit about telekinesis here and traditional witchcraft. High chances that it's all fake, but it's better than nothing."

Wanda simply leans over and hugs you by the neck, really tight. It's so sweet, the way you care for her. She murmurs about it and your response makes her swallow dryly.

"That's what friends are for." You whisper, and she lets you go. "Shall we begin?"

She nods, confused about the conflicting emotions in her stomach. 

You place your hands on your thighs looking up at her in anticipation before giving an awkward chuckle. "Well, I suppose it's you who has to start sweetheart. I'm only here to serve. I mean. not serve, like help-"

She laughs at your nervousness, raising her hand to your face. "Shush now, darling, relax." She asks gently, appreciating the way you shut up immediately, swallowing dryly. So obedient. Her magic leaves her fingertips when she touches your eyelids. "Show me your fear."

You choke, eyes glowing red like hers as your surroundings transform.

Wanda feels different - It is your abilities, she assumes. You can absorb her magic, so in a way you are allowing for what she sees, creating and maintaining the connection. She thinks to ask about it to confirm but shuts up at what she sees.

It is the compound, completely destroyed. And there are bodies lined up that she recognizes as the team. You are crawling in the grass, blood and dirt mingling in your torn iron suit. The man on the hill, Wanda doesn't know.

"You did well, puppet." He praises, turning around. Wanda does know him, she realizes. She has seen Dr.Zola's pictures in some reports before. "Our own angel of death, bringing Hydra's vengeance on these traitors."

You cough, blood on the grass. Wanda narrows her eyes and recognizes herself in the row of bodies. You are trying to touch her, but Zola steps on your fingers. 

"That's not my name." You gasp in a sob, looking at the man, "I wouldn't hurt my family."

"But I am your family, Y/N. And you have hurt me, haven't you?"

The illusion is transformed, but you and Zola remain at the center. What was once the destroyed compound is transformed into a laboratory room. Steve and Nat, now alive, help another version of you on a stretcher with chains. The day of your escape.

"How could you destroy me, child? After all I've taught you." Zola questions, also watching your memory, the way you destroyed every piece of metal that make up the computer. "I created you, and you turned your back on me for them."

The memory turns again, to before Wanda. Your early, strange, awkward years with the Avengers and Shield. Until Hydra's influence was out of your head, and you could live with them. The nasty jokes from agents, the strange looks. Flashes of painful memories that make her sick

"That's enough." You say from the floor and repeat until Wanda realizes that Zola and you are looking directly at her. You are talking to her, not to him. "That's enough, Wands. Please."

She panted, her memories getting faster all around. "I-I don't know how to stop, I don't-"

Your eyes glitter. "Show me your fear then."

The destruction returns, but this time it is a civilian apartment. Wanda chokes on a sob, hugging her own body.

She can hear someone crying, a little girl. Under the table.

"I don't want to see this again. Please, let's come back." She asks into the empty room, and it shouldn't take you half a second to stumble up behind her, holding her by the shoulders, but Wanda feels like it took forever.

You hug her, letting her hide her face in your collarbone, and your gaze goes around. "It was here, wasn't it? When they died?"

"Y/N, please...."

"I'm not doing anything, Wan." You mutter. "It's your magic, remember? I don't control it. I just gave it back. You have to control it." You explain, rubbing her back. 

Wanda takes a deep breath, lets her arms wrap around your body, and ignores the sound of the bomb ringing in your ears. You hug her tightly. "Concentrate. Get us out of here, take us somewhere nice."

You have to close your eyes a few times to get used to the clarity of the next illusion. It is the beach, and it makes you chuckle lightly.

"What...?"

"I used to go swimming with my family when I was a kid. When it was safe." She confesses as she turns away from your collarbone, and you can see a family running into the water in the distance.

You smile at her. "I'll take you to the beach, Wands. In real life, so you can have new memories."

She nods, refusing to let go of you. "I could stay here a little longer."

You frown slightly. It's a dangerous thought because it's an illusion. A memory. Wanda shouldn't be stuck in it, she should move on. Stay with you.

"Let's go back. We've practiced enough today."

She hesitates, the sound of her mother's laughter, lifting a smiling 7-year-old Pietro under a wave making her hesitate.

"B-but..."

"Now, Wands." You insist so seriously that she swallows dryly. But your gaze softens, and your hand is warm on her cheek. "We'll make a blanket fort in your room today. We can sleep side by side and watch some TV series. What do you think?"

Paradise, she would say. And before you need confirmation, the illusion is shattered and you are back on the balcony of the complex. Both of you were half out of breath, blinking confusedly at the new brightness.

"That was..."

"Fucking incredible!" You declare with a laugh, surprising her with your excitement. "You have the most amazing skills! And that was just the first day, imagine what you'll be able to do when you master this mind stuff completely! Damn, that was wonderful. Come on, I promised you a movie night."

You are pulling her by the hand before she can protest, not that Wanda was thinking of doing so anyway.