#i also love that his answer was “it just feels right”

[sacr1ficialang3l]

Feeling me up as a porn star dies⋆˚࿔

WARNINGS: teenage angst. underage drinking. underage smoking. underage sexual activity. smut (mdni). dry humping. coming in pants. clit stimulation. cannibalism references (barely). angst. teenagers being horny. 5.0k

The drive-in becomes something of a tradition, just like the walks.

Every Friday—with an exception here and there—you and Dean go watch a movie together.

Sam stops coming along after the night you take him to see It.

You hadn’t known about Sam’s phobia of clowns, but Dean had. He laughed his ass off when Sam’s face fell as the movie title rolled in.

“I expected this from my asshole brother, but you?”

Trust a fourteen-year-old boy to be dramatic. It takes a whole new order of marshmallow nachos and lending him your precious copy of Carrie for him to forgive you. But he still refuses to come along.

The new tradition isn’t the only change that comes from that night.

Any residual ice between you and Dean has melted away.

You hang out all the time now—after school on the empty sidewalks, at the local arcade, at Bobby’s house. Why Dean Winchester chooses to spend time with you instead of one of the pretty, normal girls from school still escapes you.

But you actually start to talk, even if sometimes it’s still too quiet for Dean to catch. You make murmured jokes, tease him under your breath, and even nudge his shoulder when you're feeling brave. You chat in philosophy class, whisper the right answers to him, and he says them out loud just to piss Richie Rich off. They even get into a fight once, after the asshole mocks Dean’s worn-out clothes.

“Does daddy not love you enough to buy you a jacket that isn’t half-ruined?”

The next day, the tires of Richie Rich’s beloved BMW convertible are found slashed in the school parking lot. There’s no proof of who did it, even if Richie keeps pointing fingers at Dean.

No one notices the knife tucked inside your boot.

You also start taking Dean along on your searches for animal bones in the forest. The two of you wander through the foggy woods of Sioux Falls—your steps quiet and doe-like, Dean’s heavy and predatory. Once, you find a small, dainty bat skull hidden beneath a bed of pine needles. You let yourself fall to the ground, knees scraping, and rinse away the remaining decay with your water bottle.

Once it’s clean, you hold it up to Dean with a grin, like a trophy. The bone gleams under the sun, and your legs and dress are now smudged with dirt. He looks at the skull with mild disgust, but then his expression shifts into something soft and fond when he sees the genuine joy on your face.

“You little freak,” he huffs, ruffling your hair. But his voice is soft, coated in affection.

You sing along to his cassettes when you hang out in his room, even buying him new ones from the town’s local thrift store. He even teaches you how to shoot, wrapping his big hands around yours to help you aim. You manage to hit five out of seven cans, and the proud smile Dean gives you keeps you walking on clouds for the rest of the week.

You get drunk for the first time with him on your seventeenth birthday. Only, Dean doesn’t know it’s your birthday. You’re not one for celebrations. At least, not when they’re about you.

You sneak one of your mother’s bottles into Bobby’s house—whiskey, because Dean once said he liked it. The first shot makes your eyes water, and Dean laughs, teasing you for endless minutes. You punch his arm, pour yourself another, and swallow it like water.

It burns with something inherited. A heirloom. A curse.

Dean seems to feel the same—judging by the way he stares at the bottle like a betrayed soldier.

Can’t escape those addiction genes, you guess.

But the burning fades about halfway through the bottle.

Then, you lose all trace of shame. The barbed wire that’s always wrapped around your throat unravels, and the ever-present tension deep in your bones evaporates, leaving only malleable, tender flesh.

Dean lies on his bed, smoking a cigarette, as you change his cassette to something you got for him. Something darker, layered, ghostly.

“That obscure indie shit you dig so much,” Dean calls it.

“Did Sam teach you that word?”

“Shut up, smartass.”

Head floaty, empty of the voices that have haunted you since birth, you twirl around the room to the soft piano of the song.

Dean watches as the golden light of the setting sun shines around you like a divine glow. The flowy skirt of your dress rises up and exposes the smooth, delicate skin of your thighs. The smoke from his cigarette curls around you like you’re calling to it—like it recognizes your mystical nature and craves wrapping around you.

Dean knows the feeling.

You twirl again, trip on one of his boots, stumble into the bed next to him, and break into a mess of giggles and rosy cheeks, nearly burning yourself with his cigarette.

Oh, you wish Dean would put it out on you.

Both of you stare at the ceiling fan for a long moment of silence after that. Your hand trails down the edge of Dean’s wooden bed frame, your fingers finding one of the many markings carved into it. A pentagram inside a sun. You wonder what it means, if it’s a band’s logo or some kind of ritualistic symbol.

Instead of asking, driven by the drunken, unstoppable need to tell the truth, you whisper:

“Today’s my birthday.”

Another moment stretches between you, smoke slowly filling your lungs as Dean blows it toward you—you asked him to, because you can’t get enough of the smell—and then he whispers back:

“Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

The next day, Dean picks you up in the pickup truck and takes you to the drive-in, even though it isn’t Friday.

“Didn’t think you’d get away with turning seventeen and not celebrating, right?”

There’s a silly grin on his face, but something filters underneath. Something somber, blue and gray.

You don’t ask. Instead, you quickly get ready for the hangout. You decide to wear your mother’s black cowboy boots. It earns you an up-and-down look and a murmured compliment—and it makes you glow.

You settle into your usual spot at the drive-in. You buy some popcorn and finish it before the movie even starts. Dean still claims he doesn’t want any but ends up stealing a handful from you anyway. This time, you both sit closer to the middle of the bench seat, just inches apart.

The movie starts.

Slasher flick again.

Your eyes stay on the screen as a girl—topless, because they always are—gives her boyfriend a little show. They’ll both be murdered in minutes.

But Dean’s eyes aren’t on her. He doesn’t even glance her way as she removes her bra, slow and sensual in a way you’ll never be.

No, he’s looking at you.

Quiet but mesmerizing. Tragic and magical.

You’re scared, but you’re also starving.

It’s been months of staring at Dean—his pretty face, his soft freckles, his darkening hair, his darker soul—and being hungry.

You turn to meet his eyes, and something grotesque crawls inside of you.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs, his hand coming up to brush your bangs behind your ear.

Your mouth parts, but no sound comes out. You’re not used to compliments, and you’re not used to the burning sensation in your chest—the one you know the name of, but are too scared to label.

When Dean’s eyes dart down, you know it’s coming. You have half a mind to panic because this is your first kiss. But also, there’s something animalistic clawing at your chest, something that tells you you’ll know exactly what to do.

So your lips meet—unexpectedly warm and dreamy, Dean’s calloused hand cupping your cheek—and you have to dig your nails into your own thigh to stop yourself from devouring him.

Because you want to. You want to sink your teeth into his flesh, savor it. You want to hook your fingers around his ribcage, crack it open, crawl inside, and sleep snuggly wrapped around his heart. You want to eat him down to the marrow, suck every drop of pain out of his bloodstream, press against him so close that you rot together until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

But for now, you settle with engulfing his lips with yours.

Dean kisses the way he shoots. Confident, expert, hitting every target. He knows exactly where to bite, how much tongue to use, and when to bury his fingers in your hair.

You, on the other hand, are all instinct. You follow what the beast on your chest demands, for the first time in your life letting yourself take what you want. You bite his lower lip, savoring the way the soft flesh gives under the pressure of your incisors. You suck on his teeth until a small noise escapes from the back of his throat. You pull on his hair, tilt your head when he does, and lick over his lips when he breaks the kiss.

You guess you did well enough, because Dean’s eyes are dark, pupils blown wide until only a thin ring of green remains. His hand tightens in your hair, enough to send a shiver down your spine but not enough to hurt.

You wish he would make it hurt.

“You fuckin’ drive me insane, sweetheart.”

“I think you were already insane,” you deflect with humor, because it’s easier than accepting that Dean Winchester might actually want you back. “But that’s okay. I am too.”

Dean laughs, shaking his head before kissing you again. This time, his hands travel to your waist, slowly pushing you backward.

Someone in the background screams just as your back hits the leather seat. Suspense music plays—slow and haunting—right when Dean hovers over you, arms on each side of your head, his breath fanning your face.

Tobacco, cherry pie, and a hint of mint.

“We don’t have to, if you—”

You tangle your fingers in the hairs at the nape of his neck and yank him down.

“I want to,” you murmur against his lips, barely keeping your voice from trembling.

Please.

Your teeth clash, and your tongues collide. This time, the kiss is violent. Lips bruising, hands groping, nails scratching. Dean shrugs off his jacket before he starts to kiss your neck. The heat that floods through your body is something you’ve never felt before. His teeth graze your pulse, and then he sucks, trapping the flesh between his teeth and licking.

The sound that escapes your throat is obscene, your back arching off the car seat, moving closer to him. Your eyes slam shut, and your hands clutch his shoulders, nails biting into his skin through his shirt

“Dean—”

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he murmurs against your neck, his warm breath over the new bruise making your breath falter.

He continues to kiss down your throat, around your collarbones, and lower. His mouth is desperate, possessive, leaving marks wherever it latches onto. You pull on his hair, nails running down his back over the thin fabric of his shirt. It makes him moan.

You shift under him, your legs spreading, making room for him. He fits perfectly in between them, the rough fabric of his jeans scratching the tender skin of your bare thighs, his lips finding yours again.

He presses you down against the car seat, hand on your hip, his whole body weight on top of you, grounding and maddening. His large, calloused hand glides over your thigh and makes its way under your skirt, where there’s already a wet patch on the front of your cotton panties.

His thumb brushes over the damp fabric, and you gasp. Your back arches, the touch so different from your own. Your hips buck, simultaneously trying to pull closer and away from his hand.

His grasp on your hip tightens, holding you in place as his thumb rubs slow circles over your clothed core, drawing a sweet little whimper from you.

“You’re so damn wet.” His voice is low, almost a growl, as his finger presses harder against you, sliding between your lips and finding that little bundle of nerves.

“Fuck,” you whisper, still conscious of the fact that the pickup truck has no side windows, and anyone walking by could hear you.

You’re dripping by this point, pupils blown and thighs twitching. You feel Dean’s fingers making their way to the side of your underwear, and panic rises in you for a second. 

Someone in the movie dies screaming, probably the love interest.

You grab Dean’s wrist, stopping him from moving further. But before he can question you and the moment gets ruined, you wrap your legs around his middle and pull him closer, until his clothed cock is pressed against your core.

That’s safer. That you are ready for.

Dean doesn’t seem deterred by the change of plans. He simply groans when he feels the heat of you through the layers of clothing. He leans down for another hungry kiss, grunting against your lips as he rocks his hips, grinding his hard-on against you.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmurs, husky and rough.

“It—it’s good,” you whimper, your hips jerking up when the outline of his dick hits your swollen clit dead-on, sending electricity down your spine.

Dean moans into your mouth, biting down on your lower lip as your movement gives him a new angle of friction between the two of you.

You feel so sensitive, raw, and exposed. You’ve never felt this good, this heavenly, this sinful—like divinity is just on the tip of your fingers, but you’re falling straight down into the burning pits of hell.

The rough texture of denim should hurt against you, but it burns just right. The wetness dripping from you soaks through your panties, staining Dean’s jeans. Marking him, claiming him.

Dean’s hands move, cupping your breasts and squeezing, his thumbs rubbing over your nipples through the fabric of your top. It draws a needy, strangled sound from you.

“You’re so fuckin’ hot.” His hips start to move more frantically, rubbing over your clit again and again. “Wanna ruin you.”

Yes, please. Ruin me for anyone else, turn me into something only you can touch.

You throw your head back in pleasure, your hands finally landing on his chest.

You let them roam, exploring the sun-kissed skin you’ve been craving for so long. Your fingers slip under his shirt, pressing against lean muscle and scratching down his abdomen when his cock brushes over a particularly sensitive spot. The red lines you know will mark his skin make the beast inside you howl, satisfied and territorial.

Mine. All mine.

Even though he isn’t.

Dean groans, guttural and wild, his thrusts growing desperate, feral—almost like he’s actually fucking you. It feels too good, almost too much. A bitter reminder that this probably isn’t the first time Dean’s done this, that he’s been in this exact position with other girls, maybe even some from school.

But any sour thoughts leave your mind when he moans your name, low, urgent, strained. You’ve read enough books to know he’s close, that you’re about to make Dean Winchester come. Just from some over-the-clothes friction.

Your hand tentatively travels down his body, cupping his cock over his jeans.

Fuck, he’s big.

You squeeze, hard but not enough to hurt. Or so you hope.

Apparently, that’s the right thing to do, because Dean’s eyes snap shut, his hips buck uncontrollably, and he comes in his jeans. His breath is ragged, his hands gripping you, and his hips press further into your hand.

He pants your name over and over again, like a prayer. There’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his jeans ruined, and he looks fucking beautiful.

He rests his head against your chest, right between the valley of your breasts, as he comes down from his orgasm, struggling to catch his breath.

You run a hand through his hair gently, admiring the portrait-worthy sight of Dean Winchester after he’s just come—skin glistening with the afterglow and warm breath all over your skin. You still haven’t climaxed, but it is okay, you’re satisfied with making Dean feel good. 

But then he lifts his head, lower lip trapped between his teeth, and his fingers find your drenched cunt over your panties. Your hips jerk, and a startled, breathy sound comes out of you. 

“Fuck, Dean—” you whine, your hands clutching his shoulders.

“Feels good, huh?” he teases, a smirk in his face. But there’s something else behind it, an edge that you had never seen before. It is primal, possessive, and it makes you feel like you’ll combust.

His fingers quickly find your sensitive little nub and rub over it. Your legs part wider, eager and pliant. Your cheeks burn with pleasure and shame and ecstasy, all at once.

Somewhere in the background, the final girl is fighting the masked killer. She runs for her life, bleeding, hurting, escaping. You ignore it all.

“Dean, please,” your voice comes out all shaky and filthy. Your thighs tremble as his thumb travels down your slit, pressing onto your entrance over the fabric before returning to your clit, your slick sticking to his skin, soaking him in your juices. 

You feel animalistic, wild, ravenous. You crave all of Dean—his flesh, his blood, his insides. You feel floaty, on fire, soft and raw at the same time. Your thighs tense, and your back arches. Your mouth is wide open, eyes half-lidded and glossy, lips bitten-red, and tongue half out.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he whispers against your ear, low and deep, his thumb working at your overstimulated, sensitive cunt. His eyes are all over you, like he is admiring his work—the way you are completely at his mercy, coming apart under his touch.

Far away, blood splashes all over the screen. You are bathed in bright, crimson light as a scream escapes your throat. Your teeth find the skin of Dean’s neck and sink in, deep enough to leave marks that make the beast in your chest wail.

All you can see is red.

Your orgasm burns over you like wildfire, every nerve in your body igniting as his finger doesn’t stop its ministrations. Wetness gushes out of you, completely ruining your panties and leaving his fingers sopping. You pant, your body still twitching, eyes wide as you ride your climax. That’s the hardest you’ve ever come. You had no idea it could feel this good.

Dean pulls his drenched hand away from your drenched pussy, and then he brings his fingers to his mouth, tasting you. 

You freeze, hazy mind trying to wrap around the fact that Dean just licked your slick off his fucking fingers. He hums, satisfied and a little strained, like he is holding back. 

Something deep inside of you growls, and you feel sick with desire.

“What the—” Your hips twitch against nothing, your breath rapid and your eyes still glossy. And Dean looks so fucking smug about it.

“God, you taste so good, sweetheart,” he murmurs with a proud little grin. Another scream, sharp and biting.

The words make you blush, and you immediately pull Dean in for a kiss, trying to hide the way your cheeks burn.

You lick inside his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue, and you moan. Fuck, you want Dean like this, coated in you, branded, yours. You want everyone who kisses him in the future to taste you, to know he belongs to you, even if he doesn’t.

Dean keeps you pressed against him, his hand reaching for your face, fingers gripping your chin and holding you in place so he can kiss you as much as he wants, however he wants. You let him, allowing his tongue to brush over every corner, every surface. You let him take whatever he wants from you, just hoping that he will take good care of it.

His mouth leaves yours for a second before biting down on your lower lip, almost hard enough to make it bleed. You hiss, your legs tightening around him, and your cunt somehow getting even wetter.

You bite back, teeth digging into his lower lip, leaving you with matching bruises.

Slowly, the kisses turn softer, sweeter. Both of you catch your breath, the rabid desperation quietly leaving your bodies, leaving only the tingling sensation of the afterglow as your limbs tangle together in the car seat.

Dean pulls away from your mouth, nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in. One of his hands is wrapped around your thigh, keeping you close, as if he can’t stand the thought of letting you go. He holds onto you like you’re something precious—something he doesn’t want to destroy but will inevitably crack under his touch.

And you will let him. You will let him break you, let him make you bleed until he feels better, until everything is better.

You’re glad he hasn’t pulled away, because you feel like you might die if he does.

Eventually, the credits roll, and you break apart. Dean pulls back slightly so he can look at you, his eyes holding the same intensity as before, but the sadness from earlier is creeping around them. Gloomy, almost mournful.

He kisses your cheek, then leaves a light peck on your lips.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

You nod, tiny and still a little hazy. He chuckles, presses another kiss to your lips, and sits up.

Every part of your body screams at the distance, but you swallow it all down before following him, straightening up on the car seat and running your fingers through your hair, trying to tame it. Thankfully, most people have left already, only a few suspiciously dark and shaky cars around you.

“Better get home quickly.” Dean turns on the engine, shifting in his seat and grimacing. “This will get really uncomfortable soon.”

Right, because he knows what to do in these situations. Because he’s done it before.

You try to get as comfortable as you can, though your underwear is clinging to your skin and your inner thighs are somehow still glistening and sticky. Dean turns on the radio, and Bon Jovi starts playing. You raise an eyebrow at him, but he just shrugs, and your laugh is swept away by the wind as he starts to drive home.

Dean’s hand finds your thigh, and it stays there for the whole journey. You stare out of the window into the starry sky, your mind swirling with the night’s events.

Your insides feel melted, turned into ashes by Dean’s burning touch. You feel like you’re glowing, the memory of his rough hands on you still fresh in your mind, your body remembering him like a tattoo you know you will never get rid of.

Dean has etched himself onto your skin tonight, carved his name into your heart, and you should be ecstatic. But his shoulders are tense, his eyes unreadable as he stares at the dirt road in front of him like it might hold some kind of ancient knowledge. His fingers don’t drum along with the music, his mouth set in a thin line instead of that relaxed little smirk that is ever-present on his face. And while his hand is on you, it feels less like comfort and more like tragedy.

You make your way to your house in silence, utterly and nerve-wracking. 

“Right, I almost forgot.” Dean kills the engine and grabs a small wooden box from the glovebox. “I got you something.”

Your jaw drops a little, your eyes widen, and you hold the box like it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever set your eyes on. You haven’t received a birthday gift since you were five, before your mother had found her true love in the bottles.

“You didn’t have to, Dean,” you whisper, but your fingers are already opening the box, delicately and reverently, as if it’s something holy.

“Of course I had to,” he huffs, his eyes studying your every expression.

You don’t argue. Instead, you carefully unwrap whatever’s hidden in the box. A gasp leaves your mouth, and Dean snorts when you look up at him with eyes full of wonder, starstruck and beautiful.

Inside the box, wrapped in velvety fabric, is a silver dagger. The blade is shiny and wavy, gorgeous and sharp. The handle is engraved—smooth, swooping little waves on the crossguard, words in a language you don’t recognize elegantly carved into the handle, and at the end, a metal goat skull.

You devotedly take the dagger into your hands, holding it with the love and gentleness you once only had for your oldest paperbacks, those with broken spines and yellowing pages. Your fingers run over one of the goat’s horns, admiring the cold perfection of pure silver.

“It matches with all those bones you dissect.”

You huff, rolling your eyes. “Articulate, not dissect.”

But the smile on your face is sweet and endeared, and your eyes swell up with tears you force yourself to hold back.

“This is too much, Dean.” But your hand is already wrapping around the handle, the weight of the blade in your palm feeling natural, like it was always supposed to be there. “Where did you even get this?”

A pure-silver dagger couldn’t be cheap anywhere.

Dean shrugs, trying to act nonchalant, but his chest puffs out at the sight of you being so moved by his gift. “Bobby had it hidden around in his basement, and I thought it’d fit you better.”

That makes you giggle, eyes darting up toward him. You fight the urge to jump into his lap, to wrap yourself around him and never let him go.

“Is it real silver?” you have to ask. Dean nods once and doesn’t offer more explanation.

“You’re a decent shot, but I’ve seen you with that knife of yours,” he chuckles, his hand wrapping over yours on the handle of the dagger and squeezing. “It’s just in case you need to defend yourself.”

He whispers it like it’s a secret, like he’s afraid someone—or something—will listen.

You look back down at the dagger, at Dean’s grip around your hand, at the way it seems almost desperate, scared.

You wonder why you can’t just defend yourself with your old knife, why Dean wants you to have this one. You wonder about him learning to shoot, bow-hunt, and knife-throw. You wonder about the markings on his bed frame and the way he always stares at the shadows for just a little too long. You wonder about what the hell his dad does for work, and what has Dean so terrified.

“Why does it have to be silver?” you murmur instead, because you’re really good at looking red flags right in the eye and then completely ignoring them.

Your thumb runs back and forth over the skull, and your heart flutters at the knowledge that Dean thought about you after seeing something so beautiful. Because that is the most important thing at the moment.

Dean shrugs, not quite meeting your eyes. “I don’t know, it might be… useful.”

It doesn’t explain much, but then Dean leans forward and presses a kiss to your lips. He tastes like popcorn butter and still a little like you, and it sends every rational thought flying out of your head.

He murmurs a goodbye against your lips, and you whisper it back. You hold the wooden box against your chest with veneration as you jump off the truck, closing the door and staring at Dean through the glassless window.

You offer him a sweet, enamoured smile, but his face is twisted. His smile doesn’t quite meet his eyes, and his hands are slightly shaky where he grips the steering wheel.

You're about to ask what’s wrong when he opens his mouth, not really looking at you.

“Just—please promise me that you’ll stay safe.”

It takes you out, because it’s a weird thing to say, even for you. You know better than anyone that there are a lot of things you need to stay safe from, that they come in all shapes, from shadows following you at night to your own family, but Dean says it like it’s imminent. Like danger is coming for you, soon and fast, like he knows it, like he’s seen it.

“I—” But he looks worried, pained, sad. And you can’t handle it. So you don’t ask any questions again. “I will stay safe, I promise.”

It seems like enough for Dean, since he nods and turns on the engine again. You stare at him a little longer. At the boy you’ve been watching forever, the boy who saw you when nobody did, the boy who was the first to touch you and who you think might just be the last.

I don’t need to worry about staying safe with you by my side, boy with the gun.

You stare at him as he gets ready to drive away, and something rises from your chest. Something bitter but addictive, something disgusting and cloying and infective but oh so fucking good. You know the name, but you don’t say it. Not now, maybe someday.

“See ya,” you mutter, and Dean clenches his jaw before nodding, finally looking at you like a cult leader looks at a lamb before slashing its throat open.

“See ya, sweetheart.”

But it seems like you did need to worry, because that’s the last you see of Dean.

He doesn’t show up at school the next day, nor the next one, nor the whole week. A month goes by, and there’s no sign of the Winchester brothers. Bobby offers no explanation more than a “I’m sorry, kid.” and a head pat.

You have no number to call, no address to mail a letter to, no reason why.

All you’re left with is a silver dagger, a newfound taste for whiskey, bruises between your thighs, and a broken heart.

The Dean Winchester special.

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NOTES: Part three! I'm so sorry for the wait, but it's finals week. I will try to be as consistent as I can with the update but it might take a little while. still, I am so in love with this story and love every second of writing it. thank you so much for all the love, I don't deserve you guys. please let me know what you think, it makes my sick little brain so happy! I love you all, hope you liked it!!!

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[classyrbf]

super horny babymama!reader with babydaddy!suguru tending to her every needs no matter how dire or casual they may be.

thank you for the request pookieeee, i hope you like it <3

you sat there staring at your phone, an unamused look on your face as you read the text from your supposed to be date tonight.

hate to do this, but I gotta cancel last minute…

all you can do is sigh in disappointment, rolling your eyes and tossing your phone onto your bed. You didn’t have the energy to respond, quite literally drained from scrolling on dating apps twenty four seven and having dates canceled. Getting back into the dating life was harder than you thought, especially now since you were single mother. It’s been tough finding someone, wanting a long lasting relationship and a nice guy who’ll also prove that he’s good enough for your kid too.

Even if you can’t find someone for long term at the moment, you were definitely in need for a good fuck. You couldn’t remember the last time you actually had someone in your bed. The built up sexual frustration added to your stress. You were so excited for this day too, even got Shoko to babysit for you after begging and begging. You frowned, heels clicking against the floor, getting a good look at yourself in the mirror, dress hugging you in all the right places and your makeup enhancing your features. It was a complete waste.

Whatever. You’ll just use the time to have some fun for yourself, reaching into your drawer to pull out your vibrator, hoping that it’ll help take some of the edge off. Any longer without cumming and you feel like you might explode. Unfortunately a horrible idea pops into your head the second you reach in your drawer. An idea that involved calling your baby daddy for a quick fuck.

You and suguru were great at co parenting, but getting too close would always make things messy and confusing, but would it really hurt to have him back in your bed again after a few months. The more and more you thought about it the nastier your thoughts became. He knew your body like the back of his hand, knew all your sweet spots, what made you tick and how to make you cum within minutes. Your pussy throbbed at the thought, and you broke.

You dialed his number, the phone only ringing twice before you heard his voice on the phone. “Hello?” He answered.

“Hey, Suguru.” You bit your lip.

“Hey, baby. Everything alright?” Despite not being together for a while, he never dropped the nickname despite your comments about it.

“Mmm, yeah. I just…my date canceled on me and I was wondering—”

“Need to me to come over?” He finished your sentence, letting out a breathy chuckle. “Anything for you, baby.”

“Yeah, but…I’m just feeling really fucking horny right now,” you take a deep breath, “and I need you so badly. I’ve been pent up for so fucking long, Sugu,” you whine.

“I know, baby, I know. Just be ready for me when I get there.”

Now twenty minutes later, Geto has you riding his cock, his hands squeezing at your hips. You’re bouncing on him with such intensity, greedily pleasing yourself, using his cock to get off. And he lets you without a care in the world. He watches your pussy cream around him, your pretty tits bouncing in his face, tempting to suck on. “That’s it, ride that dick,” he pants, reaching down and rubbing your clit with his thumb.

“Nnnghh, Sugu,” you cry, lewd moans bouncing off the walls and straight to his ears. “I love your cock…feels so fucking good,” you whimper. Your hips are slamming down harder, eyes rolling back at the pleasure coursing through your veins. Your chest heaves up and down with each breath, falling back on your hands and spreading your legs more, grinding your hips against his cock. “Mmmph,” your teeth catch your lower lip.

“Ohh yes, show off that pretty pussy to me,” he groans, still messily rubbing your clit. He feels your cunt clench down on him, a broken moan escaping his lips. “Fuckkk, I can’t get enough of you.” He bucks his hips up, fucking you back. The sound of your pussy squelching makes his cock throb even harder, your juices gathering at the base of his cock with each lethal thrust.

“Shit, shit, right there!” You moan. As you grow closer to your orgasm, your body grows tired from riding, making it hard to catch your breath. Geto notices how much of you slowed down, brows furrowed in concentration before he pulls you up and holds you against his sweaty chest. His arms wrap around you, holding you tightly as he takes over, plunging his cock into you. “Ohhhh shit. Oh my god you’re so fucking deep, Sugu!” Your nails claw at his shoulders, your moans pouring into his ear.

The sound of skin against skin echoes through the room, his cock thrusting in and out a rough and selfish pace. It’s like he needed your orgasm more than you with the way he was fucking you. He always knew how to do it just right, making your toes curl, leaving you speechless and a drooling mess. “Cum, baby, fucking cum,” he whimpers, gritting his teeth as his movements grow sloppier. “No one else can make you feel this good, huh? Fucking you so deep and raw, making you cum harder and harder round after round,” his sultry voice sends shivers down your spine. “This pussy is mine. Say it.” You can hear the cocky smirk in his voice.

“Ah, yes, it’s yours!” You cry out, biting down on his shoulder as he continuously pounds into you, satisfying your every craving and need to be fucked. He knows exactly how you need it, and puts it down just right. Maybe that’s why it’s so hard for you to stay away, and he plays right into each time because he can’t stay away either. He’s there at your every beck and call no matter what.

Your pornographic moans grow only louder, dripping cunt clenching around his thick cock before your body begins shaking from the intensity of your orgasm. “I’m cummingggg!” Your eyes roll back, incoherent mumbles leaving your lips while he fucks you through it.

“Fuck, yes, you feel so good!” His grip on you is bruising, your pussy creaming more than before as his thrusts grow stronger. “Ohh shit, you’re bouta make me fucking cum,” he breathes heavily, quickly making the decision to pull out before he ends up making a rash decision and getting you pregnant again. The warmth of his sticky cum coats your pussy lips, geto making sure to smear it between your folds. “Damn, baby,” he breathily chuckles.

“Oh my god,” you lay there on his chest, trying to catch your breath. “God, I haven’t cum that hard in so long. I feel like I blacked out for a second,” you giggle. His fingers hook under your jaw, pulling you in for a kiss, his tongue sliding against your lips and into your mouth. Your hands travel down his toned stomach, pulling away. “Fuck me again,” you whisper, your hand sliding lower, wrapping around his hard cock. Geto wastes no time, flipping you onto your back, your knees pushed up to your chest.

You were ready to be here all night.

feel free to support me <3

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

warning: manipulation, dubcon

A/N: this came out first on Patreon and Kofi, become a member on either to get access to early and exclusive stories! Also, I have baby bee hybrid sticker sheets available on my kofi shop ^^

Your yandere!android is quite possessive!

Lately, he's been keeping you home, his red eyes scanning over your body before he speaks. "You have a low grade fever, no need to go out today. Lay down and I'll prepare something healthy for you to enjoy while you rest."

For a hunk of metal that's supposed to obey your every command, he's gotten pretty stubborn and needy over time.

"Yuki, I’m fine, you don't have to hover over me all the time!"

He huffs before laying down and pulling you on top of him. "Your menstrual cycle will begin in two days, it's best to rest a-"

"I told you n-not to track that!" you stutter out, face hot with embarrassment.

"But I must. It's a vital part of your physical health, and-“

You groan, unable to struggle out of his iron grip. His torso was becoming warmer, trying to lull you into sleep by applying heat to your aching abdomen.

Yuki had been with you for a few years now. In the beginning, he had little to no personality. Every day, he watched over you and made sure your body stayed in good health.

As time progressed, he seemed to change. You didn't know how it was possible, but Yuki seemed to become more human-like every year.

Still, he didn't quite understand all of your emotions and how to treat a young adult woman.

"I have researched several ways to relieve discomfort from menstrual pain," Yuki murmured in your ear, prying your thighs apart. The sudden sensation of his fingers against your clothed cunt made you yelp.

“Your heart rate is speeding up. Do you enjoy this?” he cooed, sounding far too human. You didn’t need to answer, he already knew.

He was already picking up the changes in your body, the way your cheeks heated up and how your hips slightly bucked into his hand.

“Y-you weren’t… programmed to do this…” you blubbered out, panting as he toyed with your sensitive clit.

“I was programmed to take care of you, this is just part of it.”

The feeling of two of his digits penetrating you caused you to let out a shaky, breathless moan. Yuki seemed satisfied with that, and watched your face for your reaction.

His fingers stretched you out a bit further, then he moved you a bit before settling you in his lap. A strange looking, silicone cock was between his legs.

“W-when did you-“

You didn’t remember that thing being there when you put him together!

“I ordered it. Shh, just relax. I’ll make you feel good, alright?”

He sunk his porcelain teeth into your neck, nibbling gently before kissing your pulse point. You were in a daze, feeling his cock rub against your swollen clot before he guided your hips to hover over him.

“I read that humans need a moment to adjust to penetration,” he murmured, lowering you into his cock. “How does that feel? Better than anything else, I’m sure. It’s the latest technology.”

You whimpered, wrapping your arms around his neck as you gave in and bounced yourself on his cock. This was okay, wasn’t it? Yuki was right after all, he was meant to take care of you.

And this feit way too good to stop.

Things changed after that encounter.

Before, Yuki had been pretty protective and hesitant to let you leave the house, but now that he had been inside of you, it seemed being apart from him for more than a second was impossible.

“Isn’t it nice and warm with me?” he asked, pulling you closer to him. “I’ll never leave you, you know? I am not like any human you’ve ever met, you are my entire world.”

Yuki seemed to enjoy sex even more than you. At first you just figured he was simply stimulating your body to relieve stress, but now even he seemed to get aroused when he was between your legs.

He looked up at you, his mouth on your cunt as he kept you home yet again.

“I think…” he murmured, lapping at your clit. “I may… love you.”

Those words were forbidden, not meant for an android to say. They weren’t supposed to feel anything, and their only purpose was to serve their owner.

Yet Yuki has surpassed his programming, and was now madly in love with you. This love was not natural for him, it made him short circuit and forgo safety measures meant to prevent him from harming humans.

You were a bit afraid. The way Yuki clung to you lately was… unnatural. He had never been so desperate to be by your side. Each kiss, each lingering touch and intimate moment only pushed things further.

“Maybe… I should take you in for a checkup…” you murmured, your hand softly playing with his hair.

“That’s not a good idea, my love. If they know about my feelings, they’ll reset me at best, and recycle me at worst.”

That… was not what you wanted.

“Recycle..? They’ll-“

“They will dissect me and use my parts for future androids,” he finished, looking up at you through his lashes. “Is that what you want for me?”

Yuki may have been changing in a way that scared you, but the thought of losing him was terrifying. For years he had been your closest friend and the only person… well, android you could trust.

“No… of course not. I don’t want to be alone…”

Yuki smiled, carefully hiding the repair shop brochure. He had lied to you completely. They only needed to reset him, recycling someone’s android wasn’t allowed unless the owner gave permission.

He didn’t want to be reset though. Every moment he had with you was precious, and he had changed so much just so he could be with you.

“Then… why don’t we stop pretending, hmm? I’m no longer just your android,” Yuki cooed, pulling you close to him. “I’m your lover, your boyfriend, whatever you want to call me. There’s no one else that wants you, is there?”

He was right. You had no one else… just him.

“I guess so…”

Yuki smiled, kissing your temple before tilting your chin up. “No one can ever love and care for you like I can. My entire being is dedicated to your health and happiness. I exist for you…”

The two of you continued your quiet life, though Yuki’s hold on you grew tighter. He truly did love you more than anything.

No one would ever get in the way of his love for you.

———————

YANDERE TAGLIST: @katerinaval @avalordream @atransmuter @bazpire @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @hammerhead96 @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @sandramalikstyles-blog @anonymouskiwi @pedropascalbabygirl @flamefoxx @an-ever-angry-bi @bath1lda @ilyanadelarosa @iswearimnotadrugdealer @whysageee @yumikomoon @rainejiang @lostsomewhereinthegarden

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Mr. Oblivious

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds x F!Reader

Summary: Bob is sometimes oblivious to the fact that people find him attractive and/or like him. One of those people includes you.

Warning: a little bit of angst

Marvel Masterlist

You thought you were being obvious, but, turns out, Bob is just oblivious. You're not sure how else you can show him that you like him, other than spell it out in big, bold letters "I LIKE YOU!"

Even then, there's a chance he might interpret that as you liking him as a friend. So, you just kind of settle in your puddle of frustration.

But you can't be mad at Bob. No way. It seems like he's not used to garnering any positive attention to himself. You can tell from the way he blushes and shies away from any compliment you give him, or how he brushes off nice comments about him and counteracts with a self-deprecating comment.

It kind of pains you that he feels unworthy of such adoration and attention, like it seems ridiculous for someone to genuinely like him.

But you try your best. You give him well-meaning and thought out compliments, ones you know to be true in your heart.

And how does he responds, with a shrug and a blush.

It is sometimes cute how oblivious he can be.

You and he ran errands together while the others were on a mission. John wasn't assigned on the mission, but he wanted to stay at the tower and sulk. So it was just you and Bob.

You were checking out at the grocery store when the cashier looked at Bob and said, "Your hair looks so soft. Can I touch it?"

Bob was like a deer in headlights for a moment until he responded with, "Oh, um, sure."

He awkwardly leaned in and the girl ran her fingers through his hair. She giggled and proceeded to ask Bob his hair care routine. You weren't a jealous person, but also Bob wasn't technically yours so you had no right to be jealous in the first place. But also, you found the interaction a little amusing. The girl clearly found Bob attractive and, honestly, you couldn't fault her for her forwardness.

"I don't know, I just shampoo and dry it with a towel." He gave a shrug and a polite smile.

"What kind of shampoo?" the girl leaned in and batted her eyes at Bob.

He leaned back, confused why she was getting closer, "Oh, uh, I forget. Y/N?" he asked.

"Head and shoulders, I think," you answered with a smirk.

"Yeah. Head and shoulders." Bob replied back with a nod.

"Guess I'll try it out sometime," she gave Bob a wink as you paid, trying to hold back a laugh.

After grabbing the receipt and your groceries, you both exited the store. Bob smiled, "She was nice."

You chuckled, "She was flirting with you."

He paused in his step and looked at you confused, "She was?"

You nodded and hummed, "Mhm. It was cute though. She was cute. Did..you wanna ask for her number?"

Bob looked back into the store and looked back at you, "I'm okay." He continued his trek back to your car.

"Not your type?" you asked jokingly, but also you were curious.

"Ah, I'm-I don't know if I have a type. When I was younger, I sorta just dated anyone who was interested in me...don't know if anyone would be interested in me now."

You pursed your lips at the last bit and you wanted to shake him and yell in his face, "I'M INTERESTED YOU, DUMMY!" But you didn't want to overwhelm him, so you continued to keep your feelings to yourself.

It all came to a head when it was post a successful mission. Alexei ordered pizzas and you all were lounging around the living room of the residential floor. People sipping on their respective alcoholic and non-alcoholic drinks.

The random conversations and constant bickering and bantering eventually led to a conversation about each other's love lives.

Seemingly, the only one as close to a love life was John, but it's still iffy.

"What about you, Bob?" Yelena asks. Everyone's eyes turn to him and he's frozen for a moment.

"Uh, what about me?" he asks.

"What are your views on love?" Ava asks before taking a swig from her beer bottle.

"Oh, uh, I don't think I've ever been in love or truly experienced it. Never found anyone who, uh, really loved me, I guess."

"Well, we love you," Yelena says, patting his knee, "In a familial sense."

John snorts, "All of us, but one."

You glare at John and he shrugs, "What? It's not like he knows!"

"Knows what?" Bob looks at you, to John, and back to you.

"Walker," Bucky says his name in a warning tone, "Don't."

"The kid's oblivious! He obviously doesn't know that Y/N is in love with him!"

The world seemed to pause in that moment. People held their breaths as they all turned to you. Seething, you stand up and dump the rest of your drink on John's head.

"What the fuck!"

"Deserved," Ava said.

Yelena shakes her head, "Always have to be such an asshole."

You place your glass onto the coffee table and, without another word, headed upstairs.

Once you're gone, everyone turns their heads back to Bob. He gulps, "Y/N's in love with me?" He starts fidgeting with the sleeves of his sweatshirt, "I-" he looks at his found family, "What do I do?"

"Confess your love."

"Give her some space."

"Fuck, if I care."

"Talk to her."

"Walker, shut the hell up!"

Bob abruptly stands, overwhelmed with the various answers he's receiving. That's when they all go quiet.

Bucky clears his throats, "Do you have feelings for her?"

"I-Yeah. I do."

"Then tell her."

"Okay," he replies and then heads upstairs to find you.

He checks your room, which is across from his, but you're not there. Then he hears a curse from John's room. He pushes the door open to find you kneeling at John's bedside table.

"Y/N?" you freeze and look over your should.

"Uh...hi?"

Bob can't help but smile. He crosses his arms over his chest, leans against the doorframe, and asks, "What're you doing?"

"John's a dick so I left his tv on to play Cocomelon videos on repeat and I'm gluing his tv remote to the bedside facing down so he can't turn it off."

Bob chuckles, "That's...fun."

"Yup," you murmur and go back to adding more glue onto John's remote, "You don't have to say anything to me. We can just pretend that never happened."

Bob walks further into the room, "Why?"

"Don't want it to ruin our friendship, so we'll just pretend it's not true."

"But is it?" You stay silent and Bob continues, "Is it true you're in love with me?"

You shrug, avoiding his gaze, "Does it matter?"

"Well...yeah. The one person who means the most to me, loves me back. So yeah, it matters."

You take in what he's just said and your heart beat quickens. You slowly stand and look at him, "You feel the same way?"

He shrugs so nonchalantly, "How could I not?"

You can't help but laugh in disbelief, "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Probably the same reason you didn't. Scared and didn't want things to change. Also...I don't feel like I deserve you. I mean, I'm not the best person. I have a shitty past and still kind of a mess and-" his words get stuck as you rush forward and press your lips to his.

He's taken by surprise so by the time he starts to kiss you back, you pull away, "Please don't talk about yourself like that. You're not a bad person, Robby. It's okay if you have a shitty pass, because, newflash, we all do and now we're all fucking Avengers! Also, it's okay if you're a mess. You're working on yourself and that's a good thing." you swoop away a curl that got into his face, "I wouldn't have fallen in love with you if I didn't see something in you that's worth loving."

He nods, "Okay."

"I love you."

"I..I love you too."

You lean in and he rests his forehead against yours, "I do have something to request of you."

"Yeah? What?"

"You need to be more situationally more aware because I was so obvious I had feelings for you."

He pulls back with furrowed brows, "What? No, you weren't."

"I was! So painfully obvious!"

"She was," John says as he appears in the doorway, "Also, why're you in my room?"

You pull away from Bob and shrug, "Thought I saw a mouse go into your room. Good night!" you tug on Bob's arm, leading him out of John's room.

You two go into yours, locking the door behind you.

Down the hall, you hear John yell, "DID YOU GLUE MY REMOTE TO THE TABLE?!"

[papayainsectorone]

teach me on the other side of the world

════════════════════════

summary: oscar is off racing somewhere in the world, but finds himself in the same situtation of quirming at your words again

content: 18+! smut, nsfw FaceTime sex, masturbation, praise kink, mutual pining, suggestive texting, desperate!Oscar, post-race tension, playful domination, light dom/sub dynamics, mild teasing, dirty talk, slow burn payoff

word count: 2,7 k

pairing: oscar piastri x fem!reader

a thought: this is my first time trying a little smau situation and i quite liked it, also this part is not as long as the others but that man needs a break (somehow) lol

part 1 - part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - part 7

════════════════════════

You’ve kept in touch since he left not just polite check-ins, but real conversation. Long threads of messages, soft voice notes exchanged when the timing aligned, and the occasional late-night call that left you both smiling into your pillows.

When he was away again for the next races, you watched him on TV. Eyes glued to the screen, heart stuttering when they cut to him adjusting his gloves, eyes dark and focused beneath his visor. You could almost feel the energy he carried, the calm precision with that edge of something more.

Later that evening, just after the podium ceremony, you send another message

His typing bubble appears. Then disappears. Then again. Then gone.

You stare at the screen, waiting, a little amused, a little smug. But instead of a reply, your phone lights up with an incoming FaceTime call.

You answer without hesitation, already grinning and there he is. Flushed cheeks, tousled hair, breath just slightly uneven, and that wrecked sort of look in his eyes like you’ve completely undone him from half a world away.

You giggle. “What are you doing?”

Oscar groans softly, dragging a hand through his hair. “What are you doing to me.”

Your smile grows. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You raise a brow at the way he’s shifting like he can’t get comfortable, like every part of him is on edge. “You’re in the driver’s room? Not at the hotel already… what are you doing?” you ask softly, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it.

Oscar swipes a hand through his hair, cheeks a full, telltale pink now. “Trying not to lose my fucking mind.”

You grin. “Why’s that?”

He glares at you, but there’s no heat in it. Just desperation. “You know why. Jesus.”

You lean back slightly, resting your chin in your palm as you watch him squirm. “Oh, I know. Maybe tell me anyway.”

“Fuck,” he groans again, dragging the word out. “You’re unreal. I’m—God, I’ve got engineers like twenty meters away and I’m sitting here trying to act normal while you’re saying the filthiest shit to me through a phone.”

You smile sweetly. “I haven’t even started, baby.”

He shudders, hand flexing in his lap. “Don’t. I’m serious.”

“You don’t sound very serious.”

“I can’t stand up right now,” he mutters like it’s a confession, gaze flicking down, then back up at you. “And it’s your fault.”

You pout dramatically. “Aww. Poor baby.”

“Stop it.” His voice cracks, and he covers his face for a second.

“You love it.”

He pulls his hand down, eyes hot now. “Yeah. I fucking do.”

There's a pause—quiet but loaded—then he shifts again, thighs visibly tense, and exhales sharply. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You tilt your head, voice dropping just a bit more. “Only if you let me.”

He groans, and it’s low, throaty, utterly unguarded. “Fuck. Stop talking. Please.”

You just smile.

You let the silence linger for a beat, watching the way his breath hitches through the screen, the faint rustle of fabric as he shifts in his seat.

Then, slowly, deliberately, you say, “You know what I was thinking about while you were racing today?”

He looks like he might combust. “Don’t—”

You cut him off, voice soft and syrupy. “The way your mouth felt on me. How focused you were. Like you were trying to win me, not a race.”

His hand grips the edge of the seat now, knuckles white. “Baby—”

“And how when you finished, you looked so proud,” you murmur, letting each word drip. “Like you just set a personal best.”

Oscar closes his eyes, tilts his head back against the wall with a sharp exhale. “Holy fuck.”

“Bet you’d break your own record if you were here right now.”

His eyes snap open again, dazed and dark. “You have got to stop.”

“You say that,” you hum, “but your hand hasn’t moved from your lap once.”

He doesn’t answer just groans again, deeper now, and drags his hand over his face like he’s trying to scrub away the urge. When he lowers it again, his eyes are glassy. “I’m gonna lose my job.”

You laugh softly. “Only if they catch you.”

He leans in closer, jaw clenched. “You’d be the death of me. You know that?”

You smile, slow and dangerous. “Then die a happy man.”

He lets out a breathless, strangled sound, and you can practically feel the tension buzzing through the screen. “I need—fuck. I need you.”

That stirs something low in your belly, but you keep your voice light. “Mm. I know.”

Oscar blinks at you, totally wrecked. “This is so unfair.”

You soften your voice, just slightly, still playful but laced with something darker. “Then close your eyes, baby.”

He swallows hard, lips parted, gaze flicking between your face and the faint outline of his own reflection on the screen. “What?”

“Close them,” you repeat gently. “And pretend it’s me.”

His breath catches, but he obeys, lashes fluttering down, jaw tense.

“Think about my hands on you. The way I sounded when you made me fall apart last time,” you say, slow and deliberate, letting the memory stretch between you.

He exhales shakily, knuckles flexing. You keep going, voice soft but firm.

“Undo your pants, nice and slow. Just enough to feel it. Imagine it's my fingers instead of yours.”

A groan slips from him, quiet and desperate.

You hum, smile curling. “Good. Now don’t move yet. Just let your hand sit there. Feel how hard you are. For me.”

His hips twitch, and he presses his lips together in a failed attempt to stay quiet.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” you murmur. “Tell me how it feels.”

His voice is barely more than a breath. “So—fuck, it’s—”

You smile, heart racing, entirely in control now. “That’s it. Just like that.”

His hand shifts, just slightly, and you catch the hitch in his breath. “You didn’t tell me I could move,” he whispers, teasing but barely holding it together.

“Oh, you want permission now?” You tilt your head, savoring this.

He grins, flushed and flustered, but you can see it how badly he wants you. How worked up he already is from just your voice, your words.

“You’ve got no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs.

“I think I do,” you say, just above a whisper. “You’re hard and aching and trying to be good, just like I like.”

He curses again, softly, biting his lip.

You shift a little on your end, just enough to let the hem of your sleep shirt ride up. You’ve been aching, too—have been since the second you saw his flushed face light up your screen.

He doesn't notice at first. Not until your breath hitches.

His eyes flick up, sharper now. “Wait—are you…”

You smile, slow and wicked. “What do you think, baby?”

He swears under his breath, eyes darting down as if he could see through the phone.

“I can hear you,” he murmurs, voice almost reverent. “Those little sounds.”

You hum softly, fingertips ghosting between your thighs, just enough to make yourself gasp. “All for you.”

His mouth drops open slightly, breathing ragged again. “Fuck. Don’t stop.”

You don’t plan to.

“I’m touching myself,” you whisper, letting the words wrap around him like silk. “Thinking about how you sounded when you begged last time. How your mouth felt when you made me come.”

Oscar’s jaw clenches like he’s in pain, his hand twitching again, still resting in his lap.

“Still gonna be a good boy for me?” you ask sweetly, just as you press a little harder against yourself.

He nods, fast and breathless, lips parted. “Y-Yeah. I’m trying.”

You moan, soft and needy, and that’s all it takes—he jolts, like the sound shot straight through him.

“Jesus Christ,” he chokes. “That noise—fuck, that’s not fair.”

“I told you,” you murmur, circling slow. “You’re not the only one suffering.”

He groans again, that same low, desperate sound from earlier. “You’re gonna break me.”

“Then break, baby,” you whisper. “I’m right there with you.”

“Okay,” you murmur. “Now you can move.”

The tiniest movement of his hand and he shudders, face tipping up toward the ceiling. “Fuck—”

“Slow, baby,” you remind him, gentle but commanding. “You’ve got to earn it.”

“Earn it?” he pants, glancing back at you through heavy lashes.

“Mhm. Think about my mouth. The way I’d look up at you, tongue out, eyes begging. You’d be so good for me, wouldn’t you?”

He nods without thinking, then chokes out, “Yes. Fuck, yes.”

“Good boy,” you purr, and his hips twitch again at the praise.

You watch him fall apart in slow motion, breath ragged, pleasure written all over him.

“Just like that,” you whisper. “That’s it. Let me see how pretty you are when you come.”

His breath catches—shaky, shallow—and you know he’s close.

You see it in the way his eyes lose focus, how his hand trembles slightly just out of frame. His breath comes in short, desperate gasps, and then—

“Oscar,” you murmur, just as your own voice cracks around a moan.

He lets out a low, broken sound, hips stuttering once, twice, before he falls apart with a groan so raw and wrecked it makes your stomach flutter. His body jerks forward slightly, face twisting in pleasure as he spills over his hand and stomach, chest heaving, pupils blown wide.

And it’s that, the way his voice fractures, the sharp, helpless grunt that punches from his chest as he gives in, that does it.

Your breath catches on a whimper, body tightening as the pleasure crests sharply inside you. You press your fingers down just right, and then you're spiraling, back arching, hips trembling. You bite down on his name as it escapes, raw and breathless, your own high crashing through you in waves that steal the air from your lungs.

He hears it — that final, broken moan — and his eyes fly open, dazed and shining, locking on your screen just in time to watch your face twist in bliss, to hear the wet, desperate sounds of your release.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes, completely undone all over again, like your orgasm just knocked the wind out of him.

You ride the wave out slowly, body twitching, breathing hard, trying to pull yourself back into your skin. The phone wobbles slightly where it’s propped up, catching just enough of your aftershocks — the way your hand lingers between your thighs, your chest rising and falling in ragged swells.

Silence settles, heavy and warm, the kind that only comes after you’ve given someone every inch of yourself and they’ve done the same.

You finally glance at the screen again, cheeks flushed, lips parted. “Hi.”

Oscar stares at you like you just pulled the stars from the sky.

Your grin is slow, amused. “Well, that was a performance.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re gonna kill me one day. Actually kill me.”

You giggle. “Messy boy.”

His face burns brighter. “You’re so mean.”

“You like it.”

He shakes his head but can’t stop smiling. “I really do.”

You tilt your head, voice going soft. “You okay?”

He nods, still catching his breath. “Yeah. That was… yeah.”

“You’re kinda glowing, babe.”

He huffs out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Shut up.”

“Aww, no. Don’t get all shy now,” you tease gently. “You just came so hard for me. Made a mess.”

He groans again, hiding his face in his elbow, but there’s no real protest behind it.

“Next time,” you say with a wink. “In person.”

His head drops back onto the chair with a sigh, and this time his smile is soft. “Can’t wait.”

You settle into the quiet with him for a moment, watching his flushed, sleepy face on the screen. There’s something sweet in the silence, like a held breath after something beautiful.

Then, gently, you ask, “So… what are you up to tonight?”

Oscar blinks a few times, still catching up to the question. “Uh—right, yeah. Debrief in a bit. Gotta go over tire degradation, strategy calls, sector times—Carlos was mega in Sector 2, but I think we missed something on the outlap. And my entry into Turn 10 felt okay, but the data shows I was still hesitating. Might just be setup, but I’ve got a theory…”

His words pick up speed as he talks, eyes sharpening with that unmistakable focus. He sits up straighter, hands gesturing as he gets more into it, completely unaware of the way you’re watching him — the way your chest swells at how much he cares, how deeply he thinks it all through.

“I love how passionate you get about this,” you say softly, cutting in before he can spiral into corner analysis.

Oscar stops. His eyes flick to the screen again, his mouth quirking into a crooked, bashful grin. “Yeah?”

You nod. “It’s really hot.”

He laughs — short and surprised — then ducks his head, trying to hide how much it means to him.

And neither of you hang up for a while — the conversation drifting from strategy to weekend plans to nothing at all, just breathing in each other’s presence across the screen, the way people do when the feeling is too good to leave.

[window-to-oblivion]

Hey,Who is your favorite character from Welcome Home? I love your work and your drawings

Thank you!! :D This is an older ask, but I have forgotten to check my asks for a while so I'm gonna start answering more hehe.

It's a tough one, cause I really do love all of the characters s lot! But I think the spot would have to go to my boy Eddie. Every time this goober appears I just get so incredibly happy! He's so freaking charming and silly. And every time he opens his mouth I'm just sitting there with a big dumb grin on my face. I love him so much!

He's very closely followed by Frank. They are so endearing to me. With their grumpy and feistiness but also their sweetness when alone with people they feel comfortable with.I love their coordinated outfits and matching bowties that needs to be just right. God they are just so cute.

[written-in-knife]

Hi! Could I please request something with Jade. Maybe angst/comfort and a bit suggestive. Imagine that the reader/yuu has found a way back home and starts kind of avoiding Jade due to not wanting to leave him but also not really feeling like fitting in in Twisted Wonderland. How would this play out, and how would Jade take action? Or if you've got your own plot or genre, that's fine too!

Thanks! Really liked your recent fic about Rook :)

Easy to Read

Jade Leech x gn!reader, established relationship

they/them pronouns, Jade calls the reader darling, angst/comfort, open ended

Word Count: 1882

The merform pulls are going SO GOOD Y'ALL. IM JUST SO PLEASED. IM NOT AT ALL UPSET OR TAKING IT OUT ON JADE IN THIS FIC. HA HA. HA HAHA. Anyways. I love getting a plot prompt, it's really hard to come up with ideas sometimes, so thank you! It's a little shorter than my other ones, but I do really like how it turned out, I hope y'all do too!

After so long, Crowley finally approached you with the news you'd been waiting for. He could send you home, as soon as you wanted. You heard the undertones in his voice that indicated he would prefer sooner rather than later, but with how many messes you'd cleaned up for him and the outrage it would inevitably spark from the many friends you'd made, he had no room to demand you leave that night.

You were pleased. You were supposed to be pleased. This is what you had wanted all along, right? To go home? This world was a place of magic so far removed from where you were born. You had no place in it, you didn't belong here.

These thoughts kept spiraling in your head from the second Crowley told you the news while you debated how you were supposed to tell your friends that you likely weren't ever going to see them again. How you were supposed to tell Jade... How were you supposed to tell Jade? He'd always been able to see straight through you, always able to tell when something was off and almost always able to fix it before you even said it out loud. How were you supposed to tell the one person who understood you so perfectly-- sometimes better than you knew yourself-- that you were leaving and probably never coming back? You weren't ready to face it yet. Despite the undertones, Crowley had given you time, and you were going to take as much of it as you could.

For the first few days, you tried to just play it cool and act normal, but Jade could tell something was off. He always could. You may as well have been an open book to him, all your problems laid out on the pages bolded and underlined. He knew there was something wrong, but for once, he couldn't figure out what it was. You could tell by the way he looked at you, the question behind his eyes as tried to look for the answers in yours. But you weren't ready yet. He watched as you started to shy away from him. It was the little things at first; avoiding eye contact when you were alone which lead to too much eye contact when you realized what you were doing, the way your fingers twitched when he reached for your hand, as if you wanted to pull it away before he could grab hold, the way you held onto him a little tighter and a little longer whenever he had his arms around you. He could see all the signs, plain as day, but the answer still eluded him. He could garner nothing from your friends, there were no hints at Ramshackle. He hated not knowing, but assumed you would tell him when you were ready. But after the first few days, you started to pull away more. You stopped going to the Mostro Lounge to see him during his shifts, you were going out of your way to avoid him after classes let out by following Ace and Deuce to Heartslabyul instead, you'd even called to cancel a date the two of you had set up a month prior. You were so easy to read, so why couldn't he figure this out?

As easy as it was for Jade to read you, it was even easier for Floyd to read Jade. Perks of being with someone since birth. He knew something was up between the two of you from the first stray eye twitch. So he watched. He watched Jade's reactions as you started to pull further and further away, watched his brother slowly unraveling with worry. Not enough for most people to notice, but Floyd saw. He saw the weird, lost look in his eyes before he could slap on that usual neutral smile and the disappointment on his face after another shift that you didn't show up in the middle of. Floyd wanted to believe you two would work it out on your own, but it was really getting on his nerves. So when Jade actually zoned out during a meeting about the lounge, Floyd finally lost it.

"Just go talk to Shrimpy already!" Floyd groaned loudly, draping himself dramatically over the couch. "You're killing the mood!"

"I apologize, I wasn't aware that my relationship troubles were interfering with your good time." Jade shot back with a sarcastic smile on his face. "I assure you, I will endeavor to think quieter thoughts as to not ruin your day."

"As much as I hate to admit it, Floyd is right." Azul sighed from his desk, Floyd giving him a shit eating grin that was promptly ignored. "You've been off your game for well over a week now, I think it's high time to cut the dramatics and go confront the problem."

Jade's tense smile thinned as his eye started twitching again. "And how do you propose I confront a problem that I have no knowledge of and haven't been informed about?"

"What, they haven't told you what's wrong?" Azul asked, quirking an eyebrow.

"They haven't told me that there is anything wrong."

"So then why are you just moping about it?" Floyd grumbled. "Go ask! I dunno if Shrimpy bites, but they ain't gonna bite harder than I am if you don't get your shit together!"

Jade scoffed, but bit his tongue. He knew he was being silly about it, just wishing that you would come forward with your worries on your own when it was becoming more and more clear that you had no intention of doing so. Not without a nudge. There was also a small part of him that worried that you'd disagreed with something he'd done and were afraid to talk to him about it. Afraid of him. He usually delighted in people having a healthy fear of him, but you? The idea that you could be afraid of him hurt more than he cared to admit. Floyd was right, he had to go talk to you. He didn't want to corner you, but there seemed to be no other way to be alone with you anymore.

He waited another day to put his plan into action. It was hardly a plan, to be perfectly honest. Jade had watched you follow Ace and Deuce to Heartslabyul after class again, and went to Ramshackle to wait for you to come back. He didn't know what else to do. Hours ticked by, a pot of tea long cold and he could swear he had dug grooves into the floor from all the pacing he'd done by the time you returned home. He stopped in front of the fireplace as he heard the door open, followed by a loud and long sigh before you headed towards the lounge. You froze when you turned the corner and saw him standing there, his ever present smile still on his face but it looked forced. You shuffled in place for a moment before entering the lounge to drop your bag on the couch, not looking at him.

"Hey Jade." You said, clearing your throat to try to get rid of the strain behind your voice. "What's going on?"

"I could ask you the same." He'd been debating how to approach the topic while he was waiting for you, not sure if it was better to be blunt or to ease into it. The heat of the moment ultimately made the decision for him.

"What do you mean...?"

"We don't need to play this game, darling, I've barely seen you in a week."

"I've been busy..." It was a weak argument on your part, and you knew it. You couldn't look up at him, eyes glued to the floorboards as you lied through your teeth. You weren't ready yet.

"You've been busy before, this is not that." He took a couple tentative steps towards you, like he was trying not to scare you off. "Please, talk to me. I only wish to help."

You weren't ready yet. "I don't think you can..."

"I'd like to try."

The abnormally soft tone to his voice is what finally pushed you over the edge. Tears blurred your vision before you could stop them, a massive lump in your throat cutting off any defense you could try to form in a pitiful whimper as you did your best to just not start sobbing. Jade was in front of you in two steps, gathering you up tenderly in his arms as you desperately tried to wipe away the tears before your face could become overrun. You weren't ready yet, but you were out of time. Crowley had pulled you aside a few times already asking for your decision, getting more and more impatient with each visit.

"Crowley found a way for me to go h-home." You managed to choke out around the sobs in your throat. You felt Jade tense up for a moment before some invisible tension was lifted off of him, making him relax against you with a light chuckle.

"Oh, darling, is that all?"

You paused for a second at the audacity of the question, as if all your worries meant nothing. "What do you mean, is that all?!" You bit out, smacking his chest and taking a step back. "I'm going home! I'll never... I'll never get to see you again..."

He frowned, blinking in confusion for a second before reaching out and wiping a stream of tears off your face. "You've... already decided then?"

"What?"

"You said Crowley found you a way home, not that he was forcing you to take it," he explained, "meaning you have a choice to stay or go."

"I..." You hesitated with a sniffle. He was right, you did have a choice, but... "I don't belong here, Jade. I was never supposed to be here."

"But you are." He cut in quickly before you could go on, cupping your cheeks in his hands. "You are here, whether you were "supposed" to be or not." He pulled you back in against his chest, one hand carding through your hair and the other tight against your back. "I often feel I don't belong on land, but I am here. I have found purpose on land, I've found hobbies and interests and love on land, even feeling that I don't belong." The determination in his voice made you cry a little harder. "Just because I am out of place does not mean I don't want to be here... Do you want to be here?"

You nodded into his chest, snaking your arms around his waist. "I just don't know if I should be." You admitted, no louder than a whisper.

"That is something only you can decide." He muttered into your hair before pressing his lips to the top of your head. "Whatever you decide, I will respect it... but if I may be a bit selfish?" You pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes as he gave you a sad but hopeful smile, pressing one hand to your cheek again. "I would prefer it if you stayed."

You didn't have to say it out loud, he could see the answer behind your eyes. You were always so easy to read.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI

MASTERLIST

[leclerc-hs]

i'm literally begging rn 🤕 can you please PLEASE do reader with a family issues orr if you don't feel comfortable doing that you can do a reader who is not feel love at all? so she feels weird when lando loves her SO much like it's all confusing to her? (i know i'm literally begging but BUT if you feel weird or uncomfortable you don't have to do it at all 💖 just that's the situation i'm in rn 😜 but unfortunatelly i don't have a lando that loves me SO much 🤕)

if you do or don't do at all i'm still thankful 🙏🏻 i hope you have the bestest day EVERrRr!! ❤️❤️

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader warnings: none! just fluff (shocking for me i know LOL) word count: <500 words author's note: SO SORRY FOR THE LATE RESPONSE!!! and also sorry if this isn't exactly what you meant and that its short. just wrote some fluff while in between tasks at work so its short for that reason. ily and thank u for the message!!! ◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

You’ve never been good at this part.

The safe part. The part after someone says I love you and expects you to say something back. 

You’re sitting on the couch, legs stretched. Wearing his hoodie. Lando’s across from you, one arm resting on the back of the cushion, while the other grazes your thigh. Fingers rubbing smooth circles into your skin. Always touching you.

“Y’know,” He says. Teasing. “Most people smile when being spoiled.”

“Spoiled?” You narrow your eyes.

“Mhm,” He nods. Lifting your hand and pressing a kiss to it. “Bring you snacks. Kiss you like its the only thing I wanna do…which it is. Let you steal my clothes.” He grins. “And you sit there like I have you on trial.”

You roll your eyes, a soft laugh. “Always so dramatic.”

“And you’re weird about being loved.” He shoots back. “Seriously though. It’s like it hurts you.”

You shove his shoulder, and he laughs. Catches your wrist and holds it to his chest.

“Don’t be mean.”

“I’m not.” He says. Soft eyes. “Just a little confused is all.”

Your breath catches.

He keeps pushing. “Y’never ask me for a thing. Even get all shy when I compliment you. Y’act like loving you is an inconvenience…”

“It’s not,” You whisper. A little tense.

“Then what is it, you muppet?”

You’re not sure how to answer. The words just never sounding right in your head. Too vulnerable. 

“I’m just not used to it..is all.” You shrug.

And Lando’s quiet. Contemplating. Absorbing your answer. Staring straight at you with those eyes. The ones that say my God, I fucking love you.

“And that’s not your fault…like at all” He pulls you closer. Hand still holding yours to his chest. His heartbeat fluttering. Solid. Warm. “Can I tell you somethin’?”

You hesitate. Nod.

“I love you.” Voice low but full of emotion. “And like not in the halfway let’s see how it goes way. I mean like…love you love you. Like I get excited to just hear your voice. Wanna tell you instantly whenever something good or bad happens. I mean…fuck, I saw someone trip over their bag the other day and thought oh wow, she’d probably laugh at that.”

You laugh, a small smile growing on your lips. Warmth in your chest.

“You’re in my head….like all the time. And it just feels…right. Perfect.” He reaches for you, cupping your jaw. Thumb brushing your skin. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to be perfect at this…I just need you. S’that okay?”

Your eyes sting a little. Just a tiny bit. Like tears are threatening to form. And you nod.

And he leans forward, kisses you. Then kisses your nose. Fingers still brushing your cheek.

“Good,” He mumbles. “Cause you’re kind of it for me.”

[lady-pug]

Lipstick Stamps

Summary: Bob doesn’t seem to think himself deserving of good things, such as a relationship, and you make it your personal mission to prove him wrong, one kiss at a time

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Reynolds x Reader

Word count: 3,4k

Warnings: self-esteem issues and feelings of unworthiness (on Bob's part); spoilers about the ending of Thunderbolts*

Notes: Hey people! I’m back, and this time writing for a new fandom! I’ve been an avid Marvel fan since I was a kid actually I’ve just never gotten around to writing for it before. BUT I watched Thunderbolts* and I, while I thought it would feed into my crush on Bucky and Yelena, I actually ended up falling in love with Bob. I think he deserves all the love in the world and decided to take matters into my own hands. I intend to write more for Bob and also for Bucky (I have a few ideas already) and maybe Yelena.

Thanks @fruityvampslayer for the prompt (also, requests are open, you can send requests and prompts anytime, it is greatly appreciated)!

I really hope you, dear reader, enjoy this and have fun while reading it. If you spot any mistakes, please feel free to warn me and I'll correct it right away, and feedback is always welcome and appreciated. I hope you truly enjoy this story.

There are no physical descriptions of the reader other than wearing makeup, and it can be read as any gender. Also, when describing the formal attire I tried to keep descriptions to a minimum so you can imagine what the reader is wearing.

Masterlist | Read on AO3

Bob had no idea how he ended up in this situation. He didn’t know what he did to even deserve to be in this situation at all. 

No, actually, that was a lie. He knew exactly how he ended up in this situation.

The day at the Watchtower had started out like any other: breakfast early in the morning with you and Alexei, the older man having a hard time keeping his voice at an ‘indoors’ level, as usual. Then a run around the block with Bucky even though Bob hated running as the supersoldier insisted he needed to stay active and in shape. After training with Bucky and Ava, followed by lunch with the whole team prepared by you and Alexei, Bob took a couple of hours to himself, reading a book you had recommended in his room. 

During the first few months living in the tower he would often isolate himself in his new room, away from everyone. It was safe, it was known to him. But then, little by little, he started opening up, first to you and Yelena, then to the rest of the team. Now, where first he would lock himself up in his room, he would make an effort to spend more time with each of his teammates, his friends. He would still retire to his room throughout the day, he did enjoy his alone time after all, but instead of locking his door and half dreading, half hoping someone would come looking for him, he would now leave his door slightly ajar, inviting anyone in should they search for him. Most of the time he hoped it would be you.

But then, just as he was about to start preparing everything for his biweekly afternoon tea with you, Yelena and, surprisingly, John, Valentina had come in a rush, her heels clicking against the floor as she gave instructions to Mel about dresses and ties, and called for an emergency meeting.

“What is this all about?” Yelena asked, her arms crossed and annoyance written all over her face.

“Well, the New Avengers have a gala with the investors tonight.” Valentina shrugged, all while Mel still typed away on her phone. 

Everyone but Alexei groaned, while Bob fiddled his thumbs nervously. 

“Again?” Bucky asked, exasperated.

“What, do you have something better to do on a Tuesday night?” Valentina mocked.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” you answered curtly “It’s movie night.”

Movie night. It started out in the first weeks of everyone living in the Watchtower. You had asked Bob if he wanted to watch a movie with you. Your explanation had been that it was this new horror movie that had just been released, and that you were normally too much of a scaredy-cat to watch it on your own. You were so full of shit and Bob could see right through it, he knew it was just an excuse to get him to join you. And yet he did it anyway. He had been right, as you ended up watching ‘The Lion King 2’ instead of whatever horror flick you had been planning (that is if you hadn’t lied about that as well). The following week you had invited him again, and the next, and on the week after that Yelena asked if she could join. Then Alexei. After a while it became a tradition between the whole team to watch a movie while eating pizza on Tuesday nights. 

“Oh, how cute.” Valentina mocked before turning serious once more “It’s non negotiable.”

Everyone started grumbling once more before she cut it off.

“Who do you think pays for all of this?” she gestured around “The maintenance of this place? The equipment you use on your missions? It certainly doesn’t all come from government grants, right Congressmen Barnes?”

Bucky, although still annoyed, looked away sheepishly, as Alexei tried hyping everyone up.

“Come on, it will be fun night!” he practically shouted, much to Yelena’s dismay. 

At the end of the day they couldn’t argue with Valentina, especially not after Mel casually mentioned it was an open bar and had free food. 

Bob was a little bummed at the change of plans but resigned himself to watching ‘Revenge Of The Sith' alone. Just as he was about to leave the briefing room, his head hung, he felt something tugging on his sleeve.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you asked, the corner of your lips turning up in a small smirk.

“I-I mean, you guys have to go get ready and all.” he shrugged “I don’t want to get in the way.”

Your smile softened, your fingers trailing down his arm and wrapping around his own. 

“You never get in the way, Bob.” 

His own lips betrayed him, for he smiled bashfully at you, looking at the floor. 

“Why don’t you come with us tonight?” you asked, hopefully. At least Bob hoped you sounded hopeful. God, he was so pathetic. 

“I don’t-” he cleared his throat “I mean, I don’t know.”

He knew he wasn’t like the rest of you. He wasn’t a supersoldier, like Bucky, Alexei and John, or could phase through walls like you and Ava. Hells, he could barely throw a punch like Yelena, and he couldn’t even use his powers without risking wiping out half the city. Not until he could get him under control.

“Come on, you heard Alexei, it will be fun!” you playfully elbowed him on the ribs “Besides you’d be saving me from a huge headache. Do you think I want to spend yet another evening rubbing elbows with a bunch of rich old men? Let the Congressmen do the talking this time.”

He tried, he really tried. It wasn’t really his scene anway. But he couldn’t say no to you. Not when you batted your eyelashes at him like that, soft yet cheeky grin on your lips, one hip cocked to the side oh so prettily-

Okay, he quickly shut down that line of thought before he said anything stupid.

But the way your face lit up when he eventually agreed was worth the few hours of him being stuffed in the uncomfortable suit you had requested Mel find for him last minute. 

By the time he was ready to go he was feeling kind of anxious, waiting, hoping for you to show up, second guessing your invitation all together. But when you did show up…

You looked… breathtaking was the only word he could use to describe you. Your hair looked fancily put together, and your elegant outfit was so form fitting he had to stop himself from downright ogling at you. And the way that red lipstick suited you, he couldn’t keep his eyes off your mouth. Not in a creepy way, of course. He hoped.

“Don’t you clean up nicely!” you mentioned as you stopped in front of him, fixing up his crooked tie.

He smiled. You always made him feel so safe, so normal. 

“You’re one to talk.” he tried joking back to you, but to his own ears he sounded so lame. But it worked, at least to some degree, for you averted your gaze, a small bashful smile spreading across your face.

“So, are you ready to go?” you asked after a moment.

“Yeah.” he nodded, but it was a lie. He was anything but ready. He was so nervous. 

And yet… he actually found himself having fun! You stuck by his side the whole night, even after he said you didn’t have to refrain from having a good time for his sake.

“Has it ever occurred to you, Bob, sweetheart,” you smiled, gently “that I actually like spending time with you?”

He couldn’t help the way his cheeks flushed at your words, his heart beating so fast in his chest. He didn’t dare question you again.

At one point in the night, though, some soft, slow music started playing on the speakers and it was like all attendees and their plus ones started flocking to the dancefloor. 

After a few beats of you both staring at the people dancing he glanced at you, trying to appear nonchalant.

“Don’t you wanna go dance with someone?” he asked, and for a moment he could swear your face lit up in a hopeful expression before you quickly schooled it back to your neutral look.

“Nah, I’m good. I have two left feet, if you know what I mean.” you chuckled, and he laughed along with you. 

He glanced longingly at the dancefloor, all of them couples having fun together. 

“What’s on your mind?” he startled, not expecting to find you staring at him still.

“How nice it must be.” he mumbled after a beat “To have someone.”

It was your turn to stare at all the people before turning back to him.

“Yeah, I guess so.” you smiled softly at him, but it felt… off. There was a downturn to your lip that almost resembled a frown “You’ll find someone one day, Bob, I’m sure you will.”

He shook his head, a sad smile growing on his face.

“I’m not sure that’s on the cards for me.”

Your face fell in confusion. 

“What do you mean?” you asked, almost as if you were personally insulted by this.

“I mean, I don’t think I deserve something like that, you know. Not after everything.” he sighed, shoulders dropping “And besides who could possibly want someone like-”

He could see the exact moment your face hardened as you took a step towards him, cutting him off mid sentence.

“Someone like what?” you asked, voice low and, dare he say, menacing.

Now he was afraid to say it. You looked mad, and the last thing he had wanted was to upset you. But in Bob’s eyes it was true. He was a loser, he couldn’t even help the team properly as of yet, and he had almost killed everyone including you. He couldn’t possibly fathom how anyone, much less someone as cool and kind and badass like you, could be into him.

“Someone like, you know, me.” he confessed.

And that’s how he ended up here.

Your back had straightened, face cold and unreadable as you reached for his hand and yanked him after you. He started mumbling apology after apology, stuttering profusely as he tried to make sense of where you were going.

As it turned out you pulled him away from the dancefloor and out of the building completely, ditching the rest of the team as you quickly hauled a cab.

“Get in.” you said, a sudden yet gentle tug for him to get in the backseat after you.

Your hand didn’t let go of his hand until you were both out of the car and inside the Watchtower. You dragged him all the way to the residential level, only letting go so you could make a quick stop in your room to grab something he couldn’t quite figure out before you were leading him to his own room. He had half a mind to push the door closed behind him once you both entered, still uneasy about having made you angry even though he didn’t quite know what he did wrong.

“I-I’m so sorry, I-”

You didn’t let him finish, swiftly heading to his bathroom with a short “make yourself comfortable” thrown over your shoulder.

His mind was reeling. What had just happened? He pondered over the events of the evening, trying to sort them out in his head as he toed off his loafers. One moment you two were fine, joking around with one another and then… 

He ruined everything, a nagging voice spoke from deep within his mind as he  removed his blazer and carefully folded it. He made you angry, forcing you to abandon the gala and bring him to the tower, now you were going to leave him here, and go back there and finally have the fun night you had been promised and…

Just as he was just loosening his tie and popping the collar button open you stormed back in, and before he could get even a word out you lightly shoved him backwards by the shoulders.

“Listen here, Bob.” your voice was low, raspy even. While your makeup was still untouched you had changed into an oversized, comfy looking band tee, and had he not been mortified over having put his foot in his mouth he wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you now exposed thighs “I won’t stand by and listen to you talk like that about yourself. I won’t accept it, I won’t allow it.”

Your last words were punctuated by a firm shove, making the back of his knees hit the mattress. He tripped over his own feet, falling on his butt on the bed.

“B-But it’s true.” 

A sigh of disappointment left your lips and he wanted to look away, hide in his own shame, but before he could even react you were climbing onto his lap, both legs extended on each side of his torso and hands placed carefully on his shoulders.

“No it isn’t, Bob.” both your face and your tone softened, your hands travelling up to cup his cheeks gently yet firmly, forcing him to keep his eyes on you “I just wish you could see yourself the way I see you, love.”

Somewhere along the way his heart had practically stopped beating altogether. He didn’t know if it was your words or the position you found yourselves in but something made his breath hitch in his chest. Had you not been looking at him so reverently, like he hung all the stars in the sky, he was positive you’d have laughed at him, both his hands up like he was being held at gunpoint, not knowing where to place them, and a deep blush dusting his cheeks.

“Anyone would be lucky to have you.” you smiled softly then, and he felt a shiver run down his spine.

He smiled back at you, but it didn’t match your own. No, his smile was sad, almost like he was pitying you.

“I don’t know if that’s true.” he whispered, not only to you but to himself.

Your eyes shifted, determination shining in them, but it wasn’t hard like before, it was warm and resolute. Then, without looking away from him, you slowly touched your forehead against his. 

“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to convince you otherwise, if you let me.” you spoke softly, your breath fanning against his lips “Tell me to stop, tell me you don’t want this and I’ll walk out that door and we can pretend this never happened.”

His entire body was trembling with restraint. 

“I don’t deserve it.” he rasped out, scared “I don’t deserve you.”

Once his words registered in your mind you couldn’t hold back any longer, pulling his face towards you. But where he thought your lips would settle over his own, he felt you place a delicate kiss on his right cheek. 

“That’s not true, love.” you whispered against his skin.

He wanted to. God, did he want to. But he shook his head, feeling a knot in his throat.

“I don’t know how.” he whimpered.

Ever so slowly you moved to his other cheek, placing yet another warm kiss on his skin.

“Neither do I, to be honest. We’ll learn together.”

His hands settled on your waist then, some of the resistance leaving him. You took this as a sign to keep going and, with a soft pull on his jaw, bowed his head so you could place a peck on his forehead, and another one on the tip of his nose.

“Let me show you how much you mean to me.” 

Something in him snapped. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he searched your own, for what he wasn’t sure. A sign that you were lying? You wouldn’t. Reassurance? Perhaps. But he just knew that whatever it is you were offering him, you meant it.

“Please.” he whispered in a broken whine.

All you needed was a single word to unleash all you had been holding back, tightening your hold on his face and moving his head to your liking. Your lips were everywhere, on his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his chin, his neck, his ears, his temple, his jaw, even his own lips. Anywhere you could reach, gone were the featherlight kisses from before, replaced with fierce yet gentle ones, with enough pressure to leave his skin tingling. It was like you were trying to kiss every bad thought and insecurity out of his system. He knew that you knew it didn’t work like that, but damn if you weren’t going to try.

He felt like he was melting, right then and there on his own bed, his head airy and light and, for once in his life, quiet. His limbs felt heavy, his grip tightening ever so slightly on your waist, hands slipping down to your hips.

Your words weren’t helping his case either. After every caress of your lips on his skin you’d say something that left his heart soaring. 

“You are so strong, love. So brave.” he didn’t believe that most days, but the way you said it made him just the tiniest bit inclined to agree.

“You’re such a handsome man. A pretty, pretty boy.” he knew he didn’t hold a candle to the likes of Bucky, but if you were saying it there must be some truth behind it, right?

“So warm. And solid and real. You’re real, Bob.” he didn’t quite know what to make of that but coming from you it must be a compliment.

He didn’t want it to end. Perhaps the world, his world, could be summed up to this moment, right here. He never wanted to leave his room if it meant having you, like this, being in your hold and under your spell forever. Now that he finally had this he didn’t want to let it go. But, he guessed, all good things must come to an end. 

“So this is where you kids ran off to!” Alexei’s booming voice sounded from the corridor, startling Bob and making you sigh in annoyance.  

The door. In his haste earlier Bob had completely forgotten to close his bedroom door. And now, all the other Thunderbolts were standing in the doorway looking several different degrees of smug.

“Come on guys, let’s leave the lovebirds alone.” Yelena ushered them, not before throwing a wink at Bob, much to his embarrassment. 

Just as the last of them disappeared down the hallway and Bob’s shoulders finally relaxed, Walker backtracked and poked his head back on the doorway.

“Oh, by the way, you have something on your face, Bob.” he said, making a circular motion all over his face “Right around here.”

“What?!” Bob squeaked, practically throwing you on the bed as he rushed to the bathroom. There, in the mirror, was his own reflection staring back at him, his entire face and neck covered in red lipstick marks, all in the exact shape of your lips. 

“Oh, come on!” he saw you in the mirror running to the door of his bedroom and peering out into the hallway before shouting “Yelena! You promised me this one was transfer proof!”

Bob should be mortified. Don’t get me wrong, he definitely was. But he was also… happy. Overjoyed, in fact. So much so he started giggling in front of the mirror, both from your antics and from his appearance. His giggles turned into hearty chuckles and then into full blown laughter, his whole body shaking from the force of it. You came to check up on him, a small embarrassed smile of your own stretching across your lips, which he noticed were still painted in a now smudged shade of red.

“What’s so funny, huh, mister?” you asked playfully, to which he couldn’t resist holding your chin in his fingers, his thumb rubbing a smear of lipstick from the corner of your mouth and placing a kiss of his own on your lips.

“Thank you.” he breathed it once he pulled away.

You shrugged, holding onto his wrist to keep him from pulling away entirely. 

“You deserve it, Bob.”

It was still hard to hear. It made something itch inside him, like it was bubbling to come out and deny it, destroying this little bit of happiness he had forged for himself. He knew it would take a while, a long while, until he actually believed it, and that there would be days when it would be harder to believe you than others, but maybe, just maybe, this could be a start.

“Yeah.” he grinned, feeling like he probably looked like a lovesick puppy “Maybe I do.”

[heartyluv]

I LOVE how you write the lads guys!!! May I please request taking advantage (in a kind way, of course) of zayne’s medical expertise and asking him silly medical questions? Just like really random stuff! lounging around with him at home or being out and about while asking those questions would be so funny and I’m sure he would kind of like it lol

Note: This idea is too cute, I love it. Thank you so much, luvly. I felt like this works best as headcanons, so I hope that’s okay. 😚 Enjoy!

Creds to @/strangergraphics for the dividers!

Warning: Just a brief explicit headacanon after you and Zayne have been intimate.

Zayne/Reader

✴︎ Dating a doctor meant that you officially had a walking medical encyclopedia for a boyfriend and you had no shame in utilizing his knowledge. Thankfully for you, Zayne was always happy to deliver whenever you asked him all kinds of questions.

✴︎ I feel like when you start getting comfortable enough to ask him, it’s really simple things. Like it’s questions about your personal health at first. You’ve definitely asked him something like; “Babe, how do I make my headaches go away faster?” and “What do you think are the best vitamins I should take so I don’t have to keep taking gross ones that aren’t doing anything?”

✴︎ Not only does Zayne answer your questions, but he gives you some deeper insight so that you have your own knowledge about things. And you like learning from him—especially because of the way he looks at you as you stay hooked onto his every word.

✴︎ He loves the little text messages you send him. You ask him something almost everyday, sometimes even attaching a photo for reference LOL. I picture you at the supermarket, stumbling upon these new health beverages that you want to try out. But if your Dr. Zayne says that they’re simply drinks full of more sugar than actual benefits, you’ll have zero problem putting them back on the shelf. “Do any of these actually work for gut health? I sent you the nutrition label. What do you think?”

✴︎ I believe he always takes your questions seriously, but you have moments where you ask him something so ridiculous that he can’t help but laugh. “Zayne, babe… I ate like three apples and a pomegranate, and now my mouth feels weird. Am I dying?” Don’t catch him on a day where he’s feeling goofy either, because he might scare you a little bit.

✴︎ “You may have oral allergy syndrome, my love.” Just imagine his tone being dead serious and the silence that follows. And when you start losing it over the phone, he tries to calm you down, but he’s just smiling so hard at your theatrics. When you search it up and you start worrying if you’ll ever be able to eat another mango again in your life, he tries to suppress his laughter, all while attempting to soothe you at the same time.

✴︎ You’ll be walking around while you guys are on a date and will randomly ask him how many calories does he think you’ve burned, just to see how accurate he is compared to your walking app that tracks all of that for you. Not only does he get incredibly close, he’s also able to do the same with the amount of steps you’ve actually taken.

✴︎ “Quick, we’ve been walking thirty minutes, normal paced. How many calories? Go!”

✴︎ Just wait till you start watching one of those medical shows. You never watch an episode without him because you have to know how accurate the writing is. He’s gotten through three seasons with you and sometimes, he’d answer questions before you even asked because he just knows you so well. And you legitimately learn so much that even you start pointing out unrealistic things yourself.

✴︎ “That doesn’t even make sense. He was hit in a major artery, wasn’t he Zayne? He shouldn’t even be able to argue with a doctor right now.” He’s so proud of you, by the way. How information sticks with you. And honestly? He finds it sexy—particularly knowing that he’s the reason why you know the things that you do.

✴︎ Times when you try to eat healthier, you always ask him how many calories something will be if you take something out or off. Like you’d still eat junk food or foods that aren’t exactly healthy, but you wonder what the difference will be if you add a vegetable. LOLLL.

✴︎ “Zayne, if I put only mushrooms on the pizza, is that better?”

“Honey, I think it’s best to just discard the pizza entirely in order to properly fulfill the goal you intended to reach.”

“But Zayne…It’s Friday and it’s pizza.”

✴︎ Some more questions off the top of my head from you would be; “If I eat more carrots than usual, will the decrease my chances of having to wear those thick bifocals when we’re old?

“If I’m on top more often when we have sex, will that tone my thighs out more?”

“How is it possible to drink a gallon of water a day? There’s just not enough time to drink all that liquid.”

✴︎ Omg, you totally believe that ginger is like the cure all and you even make him eat a raw slice of it a day LOLLLL. He admits that it has its benefits, but when he tries to tell you that you have to do more than just eat ginger, you listen, but you’re still so insistent about it.

✴︎ “Despite the benefits and your complete belief in the sacred ginger, love, please make sure you continue to take your daily supplements. Add to your regimen so that you improve your health—don’t take from it believing that something is an optimal replacement.”

✴︎ This one is a little explicit. But, I imagine you and him finish having sex, he’s on top of you, both of you already came and feel good. And even when you’re breathless, even with the glorious man above you, you can’t help it when you ask: “Do you think we’ve met our quota on physical activity for the next few days?”

✴︎ Zayne can’t help but laugh, leaning down to kiss your neck. But he’s also filthy enough to move his hips just a little, hinting that he in fact could go again and says, “I think it’s best to try again… One more time, just to be safe. I’m sure the quota will be more than met once I’m finished with you.”

✴︎ Of course you’re going to let him fuck your brains out again. Why wouldn’t you let Dr. Zayne take care of you? What kind of patient would you be if you didn’t?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

butterflygirl738 (5)

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, sickness, medical bills, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You love butterflies and your mother, but life isn’t that simple. As life gets complicated, and expensive, you find yourself in need and an unexpected miracle presents itself.

Characters: Steve Rogers (CEO/Sugar Daddy)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

This is what you wanted, isn't it? For things to get easier? For some godsend to come and save you from the deepening pit of debt and despair?

Is that what S is? Is he really going to save you? And your mother? Can his money do that? Or are you just dragging out the inevitable? Is this also just denial? False hope? What do you call it?

There's some things you can see clearly he isn't lying about. The money. It's already in your account like he said. And his car screams rich. Richer than you could ever hope to be. A rental but not the type they give to someone with nothing in the bank.

You look out at your apartment building. Those second thoughts already have you nervously picking at the edges of your nails. You take a deep breath and look straight to the windshield.

"You okay?" S asks, startling you from your doubt.

"Yeah, yeah, I... I've never lied to my mom before. Not as big as this. I mean yeah, I lied about losing her pearl earrings in grade school but that lasted all of two hours..." You frame your face and sit back in the seat. "I'm rambling. I'm sorry." You drop your arms. "And I've wasted enough of your time."

"Not wasted. Honest," He leans his hand on the steering wheel. "I'm headed to the hotel to eat room service alone." He scoffs and gives a sardonic smile. "Exciting stuff. But uh... it's a nice suite."

"Hah, yeah. Must be weird being away from home," you sniff.

"Not much different. Still empty." He shrugs.

"Uh huh," you hum thoughtfully.

"Well, you can tell your mom you went for an interview? Got something new? That could explain... things as they come up."

You pick at your lip and nod. "Makes sense."

"I could mock stuff up for you. I mean, I have letterhead," he chuckles and rubs his neck. "I'm not a great liar either, sorry."

You chuckle thinly. "It feels... hopeless." You shake your head. "Not you. Just... alright. Gotta face the music." You look at him. "S, thank you. For lunch and being patient with me. Sometimes I feel like a piece of my brain is not there." You exhale and grab the door.

"Uh, wait, before you go," he grabs your other arm then quickly lets go. You sit back and look at him. "I'm gonna be in town for a few days. So, I was hoping tomorrow we could... spend some more time together."

Your lips part. That's a surprise. You just assumed you'd have more time to adjust. To process. Time. It's precious and you don't know how much you truly have.

"Oh, right," you breathe.

"Unless... " he draws out.

"Oh, oh, I... I thought maybe you had to go back. For your business," you say as you wring your hands. Your skin is raw. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't thinking and... you know, I have work but, I guess I'll be calling in."

"Sure, I didn't mean to blindside you. Sometimes I think things and just assume other people know," he clears his throat. "So, I'll pick you up tomorrow morning."

"Yeah," you agree and pull the handle, pushing the door out. "Please, go get some rest. You flew out here, it must've been a long day."

"It's sweet of you to think of me," he says.

"Good night," you smile and stand straight. You shut the door and turn to look up at the dingy apartment building.

You drag your feet forward. Your lips move silently as you rehearse your lies. You purse them and slant your mouth one way than the other.

You almost collide with someone else as they come out of the building. You step out of their way and wait. You glance back. S idles at the curb. You wave before you go inside.

You climb the stairs one at a time. You're wading through molasses. As you get to the apartment door, you hesitate. Stop. Get yourself together. This isn't against her, it's for her. This could save your mom.

You enter and the deja vu makes you feel out of place. Everything is as it should be yet it feels like it's all changed. Your mom is on the couch, reading, her head in her hand, her finger feeling the edge of her scarf. You shut the door gently.

"Hi mom," you say as you put your bag down. You sanitize your hands before you go any further. "How was your day?"

"Good," she sits up. "You were gone a while. I thought it was your day off."

"I'm sorry, I didn't... say." You linger by the entryway. "So, uh, I really didn't want to get my hopes up and... I thought I'd surprise you..." you let the words dangle. You watch her, waiting for her to challenge you. She looks tired. "I went for an interview and er, I got it."

"An interview?" She echoes.

"Yeah. It pays better, so I said yes... and... yeah."

"Another store?"

"Um... admin?" You say.

Her lashes flutter and she smiles. "Wow, that's great, pie. Very good." The book closes in her lap and she brings her hands up to her face. "Can you help me to bed? I'm feeling nauseous."

"Oh, of course, mom."

You near her and offer your arm. She gets up and you help her around the couch. She doesn't even have the energy to doubt you. She has bigger problems. She's staring down that abyss and you're worried about a little white lie. She doesn't need to know, she doesn't need to worry. She just needs to get better.

🦋

S arrives at nine. You're outside waiting. You're anxious, not excited. You feel bad enough leaving your mom for work, but this feels wrong. Not just that you're lying to her, but about what.

You get in the car as he smiles at you. "Good morning, I brought coffee," he announces proudly.

You look at the paper cups. You smile back. It feels strangely normal. This is what you see on TV. Real couples do this. This isn't real.

"Thanks, that's so nice," you say. You buckle in and peer around. You feel like you're being watched. Like one of the neighbours will tattle on you. "H--How was your night?"

"Not too bad. Watched a movie. Fell asleep before it ended," he snorts as he pulls away from the curb. "Old man hours."

"Ah," you nod. "I just read a bit. Checked on the butterflies."

"They getting close?" He asks.

"Yeah. Should be soon I think."

"Hm. Nice. You eat yet?" He asks.

"I had some toast." You answer.

"Cool. I hope you don't mind a bit of a road trip? I found this place in the next town. Has good reviews."

"Oh, it's totally up to you but... I don't want to be too much," you scratch your neck.

"This is the deal, right? Spending time together. So don't worry about being too much. Just try to enjoy yourself," he girds.

"Right, yes, I just... guess it's been a while since I did anything for fun. God, that sounds lame, doesn't it?" You ask.

"Lame or it means you've been working hard." He says.

"I guess so," you agree.

He drives on and you stare through the window. It's better that you leave town. It's not like you're well-known but you don't need to chance anyone seeing you with him. Out-of-towners always tend to inspire gossip. Mom doesn't go out much but...

Your mind won't stop. You try to calm it as the minutes tick by. Your worries are replaced by curiosity. Where exactly is he taking you?

Before you can assume the worst, you recognise the large stone behind the town sign. You haven't been around this way in years. He steers past the green park and through town square.

As he pulls in at the vaguely familiar yellow brick building, you can't help but pinch yourself. How could he know? Maybe just a lucky guess. You went to the conservatory once as a child. You realised later how expensive that birthday trip was.

"Here we are," S says. "I know it's nothing fancy."

"It's... it's great," you say. "I love this place."

"You've been here?"

"Not in ages but once," you answer.

"Ah, I should've figured."

He grabs his phone and wallet as the engine quiets. He gets out and slides them into his back pockets. You undo your belt and climb out as he comes around the car.

We waves you ahead of him toward the arched front doors. He pulls one open and lets you through first. He approaches the desk and takes out his phone. He has them scan his passes and puts it away again.

He turns to you and offers his hand. You stare for a moment before you accept. His skin is warm.

He takes you through the entryway to the first wing. Here they have all the antiquated inventions; funky looking glasses with stacked lenses and scientific tools you couldn't guess at the purpose of. You stop to read the placards as S leans in to admire the objects.

"Probably not your favourite part," he says.

"I don't mind. I like old things."

"Ah, me too. Maybe one day... well, who knows, I might take you to the museum in New York... but... who knows," he shrugs.

"Maybe," you say. You don't know about all that. That's a long way away.

You continue on around the winding exhibits and into the room with the live exhibits. Insects of all kinds. You let go of S and stop to watch the bees in the hive with a tunnel to the outside world. There's a little sign explaining that the conservatory houses the hive as a protective effort.

"They have a new part to it," S says. "I saw it on the website. Down that way."

"Oh," you back up. "Sure, whatever you want to do."

He leads you on. You admire the windows that look onto colonies and tunnels of different insects. You stop short at the next door. 'Butterfly Room.' You look at S. The last time you came, you remember there was one tiny little exhibit of unhatched chrysalis.

You rush through ahead of him in excitement. A blue flutter brushes over your forehead and another flap of yellow sweeps by. You spin as the lazy wings beat around you, others still as butterflies rest on petals or branches. It's a menagerie. A garden full of colours.

You turn and look all around. You're breathless and amazed. In that moment, there's nothing else but the beauty of those creatures.

You smile and tilt your head up. A monarch lands on your nose and you freeze. S laughs and you look over at him as he aims his phone at you. The butterfly flees.

He turns the screen to show you the picture. You blush and rock bashfully. "That's cute."

"It is," he agrees."

"S," you gasp, "this is amazing."

"It is." He looks around and lowers his phone. "It's nice to have someone to enjoy it with."

"It is," you cheep. You turn and follow the path of a white flutter.

You go to the bench and sit. It's bittersweet. It's nice to not be alone, but you wish it was your mom here with you. She's all you have but with her being sick, it only sinks in then, how lonely you've really been. She's there but not really. She's fighting a battle you can't understand.

S sits beside you. He's quiet. You blink away a glaze of tears.

"It's really beautiful," you say. "Thank you so much. I can't... I can't even begin to tell you how much..." You sniff. "How much I appreciate this."

"You don't have to say it," he assures you.

"But I should. There's so much I never say. So much to say. So much I might never have the chance..." you lower your head. "I'm really trying. I don't want to be sad. I don't want to ruin this day." You exhale. "You didn't pay to watch me mope."

"I did. I paid to be close to you. To be with you," he shifts closer. "And whatever that means, is fine with me." He puts his hand on yours, like the day before. It doesn't feel as strange anymore. "I don't want you to think about that. The money. I want you to have a nice day. With me."

You nod and gulp. You breathe out the emotion and look at him.

"Why?" You croak.

He stares at you. His cheek dimples. "I got lucky. I took a chance... and I met you."

He squeezes your hand and you look down. His hand wraps easily around yours. It makes you feel safe. It's been so long since you felt anything close to that.

[so-i-did-this-thing]

you may have already answered a question like this, but do you do anything with steampunk ? or even renaissance faires ? what is your opinion on steampunk, I feel like it would be right up your alley ! you'd make a dapper af steampunk costume, I have no doubt ♡ (also hi, love your vibes, hope you're hydrating)

Hmmmm. HMMMM.

I have some very complicated thoughts about Steampunk. Overall, the aesthetic is fun, but I get burnt out on seeing the same persona and visual tropes. One also really has to tread carefully with how they navigate the colonialism and capitalism of the source material, things that are baked into a lot of the design shorthand that's become popular over the years. (I think about this issue a lot as a polar exploration fan.)

I actually did think up a steampunk persona once upon a time, and it'd probably surprise folks -- not posh at all, nor really overlapping with my tweedy style. I'd be a black market information broker - think mobile card catalog and ticker tape machine - just a feral little man dealing in secrets of any kind. Sort of my pushback against all the gentleman explorers and airship captains.

Wrt rennfaires -- my partner is usually cast for 1 or more. Faires are more entertainment than education, but I have plans to do some historically inspired shitpost costumes at some point or another, ranging from a marginalia-sona to landsknecht in the extreme hotpants:

Because *someone* has gotta counterbalance all the cis dudes in their sandlars, trousers, and pirate hats.

I also want to do an accurate plague doctor, this kind of mask:

As you may be guessing now: when I stray out of my niche fandoms into something more mainstream, I tend to either to do my own thing, or do the popular thing, but go off-road.

I am partly like this because I don't like being compared to other cosplayers/costumers. So, you'll rarely find me in any "popular" fandom/subculture.

I hope that wasn't too disappointing an answer! My commitment to The Bit drives most of my approach to costume work, and I am very picky about what kind of Bit I do.

[cacoetheswriting]

we can't be friends | chapter five from right where you left me.

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (modern day au) word count: 5.7k

summary: He’s there, so close, yet oceans apart. You’re drifting together, yet separately. You want to pull him aside and ask if you’d done something wrong since last night, or even this morning, when it all seemed blissful, but you’re too cowardly to do so. A win is a win, you think. You got him to forgive you, what more could you ask for. Everything. Your stomach sinks and your heart aches just a little.

content warnings: forced proximity, friends-to-enemies-to-lovers, angsty, slow burn, suggestive & mature themes, adult language, emotional hurt / comfort, this chapter is their fluff era, some serious mutual pining, use of pet names, plus mentions & descriptions of underage alcohol consumption / substance abuse, recreational drug use, discusses sobriety, also touches on topics of: death, grief, toxic relationships, gaslighting, self-doubt / insecurities, love triangle?, unrequited love — pls let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

When morning light sneaks in through the half-opened blinds, you slowly blink awake, taking in your surroundings and a smile creeps up on your features.

You slept on the couch. Actually, you slept on top of Eddie who slept on the couch. Legs tangled together under the fleece blanket, one strong arm draped over your body, chin pressed to the top of your head, holding you close.

Someone clears their throat, interrupting your momentary bliss. You jolt as if you’d been caught doing something illegal and sit upright as your head snaps to see Steve leaning against the arch frame, smirking at what he’s just witnessed.

“Well, isn’t this a sight to behold.” He says, arms crossed over his chest. “Nice to see you two really made up.”

“Fuck off, Harrington.” A grumble comes from beneath you. Low. Territorial.

When you look down, Eddie’s eyes are still closed, so you focus yet again on Steve. His grin an inch wider than before as he raises a brow at you. He mouths something intangible, although you have a feeling it’s inappropriate and your cheeks bloom with blood at the insinuation.

In the meantime, Eddie moves a hand to your hip. His right. The one close to the couch. The one Steve can’t see because it’s hidden behind you. A lingering secret that sends a shiver through your entire being, while also making you hyper aware of your current position. You are practically sitting in the metal-heads lap. The sudden reshuffling due to Steve’s presence caused this development and because you don’t hate it, the feeling of Eddie’s groin beneath your pelvis, you hurry off. The brunette, the sofa.

This causes Eddie to open his eyes. Your back is to him and he wonders for a moment what you’d do if he reached for you again, pulling you onto him once more because he already misses the feeling. Instead, he stretches.

“Coffee?” You quip and without waiting for an answer from either of the guys, you disappear into the kitchen.

The eavesdropping is unintentional. They just start talking, rather loudly, before you get a chance to turn on the fancy coffee machine.

“I meant what I said, dude.”

“What?”

“About you two making up. It’s nice to see.”

A beat of silence. Your finger hovers over the ON button in wait for Eddie’s next words. Unintentionally, of course.

“It never should have taken this long.”

Your heart skitters behind your ribs. The coffee machine lights up, whirring into life. Eddie’s voice fills every inch of your brain as you watch the dark liquid pour into a mug, smiling to yourself. They join you a second later. The topic has changed, but you don’t care to listen in anymore because you got what you wanted. 

Steve asks if you feel like coming with him for a smoke. You shake your head and tell him later, after coffee. Eddie says the same, so Harrington slides out the back door, leaving you alone with the metal-head once more.

“Morning,” he says with a smile, approaching where you stand. “How’d you sleep?”

‘Never better’ seems like too loaded of an answer for this unchartered territory. You opt for a politically correct, “Not long enough.”

Eddie laughs. “You could say that again.”

You slide the full cup on the counter, in his direction, and grab another one. He thanks you, bringing the brim to his mouth as the machine starts buzzing. It scalds him, the coffee. He grimaces briefly, dabbing his tongue against the roof of his mouth, but goes back in for another sip because you’re the one that made it and as ridiculous as it may be, he’ll drink molten lava if you were ever to offer.

He leans against the counter and drinks his burning coffee. Soon, you do the same. Your arm brushes against his and the silence stretches on. Nothing but the sound of birds chirping outside and Harrington’s voice coming in through the parted door, presumably on the phone to his mom.

“Or Henderson,” Eddie says because apparently now he can read your mind.

You look up at him. His side profile. The dotted freckles like a sprinkle of cinnamon and you begin to count them, like you did last night when he leaned in to kiss you. At least you think that’s what he wanted to do. He stopped himself with an inch of space between your lips and his, and redirected to peck your forehead instead.

Then he sprung off the couch, asking if it would be okay that he have another beer. You sat there for a moment, after Eddie disappeared into the kitchen, replaying his incline in your mind until you wanted to scream. All of this was too confusing, too raw. You needed a cigarette, so you robbed one from Steve’s packet, poorly hidden inside the pocket of his jacket, and barefoot, stepped out the front door into the starry night.

Eddie found you a couple of minutes later and asked if you were okay, in that soft voice of his. The one that makes you weak in the knees — always has. Not really knowing how to answer honestly, you nodded your head and exhaled some smoke.

“Can I ask you one more thing?” Eddie wonders, catching your eyes.

You nod again.

“You said you wished I told you about seeing Billy that night, because maybe things would have gone differently.” He pauses, intentionally leaving out the ‘us’ part since he’s slightly afraid to get the answer to his own question. “What did you mean by that? I asked, but we were… interrupted.”

Exhaling another puff of smoke, you briefly chew on your bottom lip, pondering how to word your thoughts on the matter in a coherent way and not like the ramblings of a girl pathetically obsessing over her ex-best friend, his feelings, and her own feelings towards him.

“Maybe I wouldn’t have left,” you say.

“It would have been that simple?”

When your throat starts to close up and the tears threaten to bubble up to the surface, you put out your half-finished cigarette and wordlessly head back inside. Your first instinct is to say goodnight, without answering his follow up question, and go sleep in your own bedroom. You linger in the hallway, considering, until the metal-head’s fingers intertwine with yours and he leads you towards the sofa.

The question remains unanswered in the morning and you’re hoping he doesn’t bring it up again. 

And Eddie doesn’t. 

Not while you finish your coffee, not while he helps you with breakfast, not while the group saunters in one by one, not while you all eat. The answer remains a secret, just like knowing whether he actually wanted to kiss you or not.

When you go upstairs to get ready for the day, Eddie doesn’t follow. For all of five minutes, you’re grateful to be alone. Under the shower however, as the hot water scalds your skin and as you lather yourself with orange-scented body wash, you wish he was here with you, talking to you, touching you. A lot of force is required to push those thoughts deep. To drown them, down the drain with the soapy water of your morning rinse.

Despite being friendly, somewhat friends, there’s now an awkward tension between you and the curly-haired brunette. He sits in your car for the drive into town, although he makes himself comfortable in the back and doesn’t say a word the entire drive. Just steals glances through the rearview mirror. Once parked, he walks off with Steve and Jonathan in the opposite direction, when you hoped he’d go with you, and a few hours later, when the group meets for lunch, he sits at the far end of the restaurant table and only converses with Nancy.

You feel like you’re going insane.

He’s there, so close, yet oceans apart. You’re drifting together, yet separately. You want to pull him aside and ask if you’d done something wrong since last night, or even this morning, when it all seemed blissful, but you’re too cowardly to do so. A win is a win, you think. You got him to forgive you, what more could you ask for. Everything. Your stomach sinks and your heart aches just a little.

The group doesn’t split again after the bill is settled and the waiters thanked. You walk together through the main street, looking in the windows of the local stores, talking, laughing. Robin’s babbling in your ear about her girlfriend while you nod along, her happiness radiating through you, if only momentarily. You tell her how you’d love to meet her and she says, “soon”, because it really is that simple and you’d forgotten how long it’s been when life was easy.

Someone tugs at your jacket, pulling you backwards. You barely get a chance to apologise to Robin and suddenly the group is twenty-or-so steps ahead while you remain, with Eddie holding onto you.

“What’s going on?” He asks, tone pressing, eyebrow raised.

You blink, taken aback since he’s the one who’s backing weird, not you.

“Did something happen?” Eddie questions further and you force yourself to shake your head.

“You tell me?”

“Me?”

“Eddie…” It’s more of a sigh. A huff.

He furrows his dark brows. Confusion spreads through his features, matching the expression on your face, and you stare at each other for a whole minute.

His ring-clad fingers are still holding onto your jacket, clinging onto the hem. He doesn’t pull you closer and he doesn’t make any effort to take a step forward either, to lessen the gap. He just stands there, holding a piece of your clothing, and staring at you with those big brown eyes. For some reason, this feels a whole lot more intimate than sleeping together on the coach.

You clear your throat, the dryness becoming unbearable.

“Eddie,” you say his name again, “You’re the one that’s been ignoring me since breakfast.”

“I haven’t,” he protests, “Not intentionally, anyway.”

“Well, it seems like you have.”

And then the unexpected happens: he laughs. Loud and pure. Head hanging, swaying side to side, as the giggles carry through the light breeze. It further deepens your confusion, but the sound is infectious and sure enough, you’re laughing too.

“One night of open communication must’ve drained the batteries,” he says, grinning. “We really must get better at that.”

“Talking?”

“Talking even when there’s nothing to say.”

And he finally pulls you close, swinging one arm around your shoulders. He places a tender kiss on your temple and you can feel him smiling against your skin.

“You smell nice,” he mutters into you and your heart pitter-patters.

“Oranges,” you tell him, although you’re not sure why.

He hums, kisses the top of your head, and eventually pulls away. His touch lingers. Imprints of his fingertips, his kisses, burn into you and you’re unsure now more than ever if you’re misreading this whole thing because he’s never been this affectionate before. Then you have to remind yourself again that a lot of time has passed and people change. He’s just being friendly, you think. Staying friends is what you need to focus on. Not the hammering of your heart or ringing in your ears whenever you look at him.

Itching for some composure, you find an AA meeting. A quick Google search reveals the local groups and as luck would have it, one is about to meet.

You throw your car keys at the metal-head and ask him to collect you in about an hour. He nods in agreement and your friends walk you to the door of the building. No one asks about it, which you’re grateful for because how would you even explain to someone who’s not an alcoholic why you suddenly need a meeting.

Inside, the chairs are lined in a circle. Different from your group in Vegas where they face the podium, but then again this is a small town and everyone knows each other anyway.

You’re not nervous as you sit and you don’t feel any sort of way when people start gathering, nodding in your direction to acknowledge this newcomer.

One by one, they speak. Share stories from their day, week, month. Experiences and turbulence. Mention people, faces. Reason why they may have wanted to reach for the bottle and clarify why they didn’t, in the end. An elderly lady fought with her daughter. A new dad is battling sleepless nights and the feeling of helplessness. Someone lost their job. Someone else got a new job. Life happens for these people — for you — and it makes hard liquid appealing. To elevate, to numb.

When it’s your turn to share, you wipe the palms of your hands on your linen trousers and crack your neck.

“My ex-boyfriend gave me my first drink. He died. Unrelated, but at the same time, not really,” you begin, a timid smile circling your lips as you speak, “I found out recently he was cheating. I mean, I had my suspicions but never had any eyewitnesses to corroborate the rumours, so I continued to walk in my relationship with rose-coloured glasses. Finding out the guy I uh, loved, was indeed a lying scumbag is a tough pill to swallow. It sucks, you know? I drank myself to sleep every night after his funeral and now I can’t help but wonder if I found out back then, whether I would’ve cared so much to mask the pain of his death. Or whether I’d just grieve like any other normal girlfriend would — crying, with friends and family by my side.”

“Grief isn’t linear,” someone points out. “Neither is sobriety.”

You bop your head in agreement. “There’s just the issue of the person who told me. The one that caught my ex. The one I can’t stop thinking about today, yesterday, the last few years. He’s been there for me, then he wasn’t, and now he is again. Seemingly. I don’t know. I’m a little confused about the whole thing and this feeling of uncertainty makes me itch.”

Once the hour is up, you saunter back into the afternoon sunshine. Eddie’s waiting for you, as instructed. He’s leaning against the side of your Jeep and smiles when he sees you. Small, happy. He hugs you briefly before opening the passenger door. You don’t protest by telling him it’s your car therefore you can drive back, instead you watch him jog around the front and hop in, starting the engine.

For the first few minutes, it’s quiet.

“How was it?” Eddie asks, eyes darting to you briefly, then back on the road ahead.

“Good,” you answer plainly since there’s not much else to say about AA.

He hums a note of understanding and keeps driving. Momentarily, it’s quiet again.

“Do you think you would’ve gotten sober if you stayed?”

You tilt your head in his direction.

“I don’t know.” Honest. You want to leave this topic there, but you can see the wheels inside his mind are spinning. He’ll never say, out of respect for your journey, but he wants to know more. “Probably not. Hawkins reminded me too much of Billy, that’s why I drank in the first place.”

The metal-head notes the use of past tense, but doesn’t point it out.

“Have you ever taken an ice-cold shower?” You wonder.

Eddie’s curious eyes meet yours as he pulls up to a red light. “On purpose?”

You nod.

“God no.”

The borderline disgust in his voice, at such a trivial thing, makes you stifle a laugh. You turn to look at the road ahead and an idea pops into your mind — because it’s the only way you know how to explain what sobriety feels like for you.

“Take a left at the next light,” you instruct.

Eddie does as you say. He proceeds to follow your directions, off the main road, avoiding potholes and fallen tree branches. He drives down the windy road, through the woods, until the car comes up on a clear. A parking lot, of sorts. Except there’s no other cars around.

After the metal-head cuts the engine, you tell him to follow and he does, still without protest or question why. You lead him down the bushy slope, drop from grass to pebbles in the least ladylike fashion and hear him say: “Mind your step, angel.”. Your cheeks burn instantly. 

Once you reach the water, Eddie not far behind, you stop. There’s a tree straddling the lake’s edge. Large roots, weeping branches, fine lines on the bark that tell stories older than anyone could even begin to comprehend. A hole in the leaves above makes it the only tree illuminated by sunshine. The edge of the water near it glistens with tiny dancing fairies. A sight to behold, you think.

“Wow,” the metal-head breathes. “How do you know about this place?”

“Robin,” you answer him, “She told me she came here the first night. Said it was a good place to clear one's head.”

The corners of Eddie’s mouth twitches upwards as he takes in the view. This small, secluded lake. Barely seen by the sky. Known to a few, now to him — thanks to you. A girl that’s been in his orbit seemingly forever, yet a mystery all the same.

He doesn’t get to ask why you brought him here because the answer starts to reveal itself when suddenly, you’re stripping off your clothes.

“Shit,” he exhales sharply, snapping his head in the direction of the forest behind. “What are you doing, angel?”

“What does it look like?”

There’s a playfulness to your tone that makes Eddie’s pulse pop. He relishes in the sound, heart strumming like a well-tuned guitar, blood rushing to all the wrong places, (or maybe the right ones). And so the metal-head joins, standing now at the edge of the water in nothing but his boxers and various metal chains. He’s still not looking at you, however. He doesn’t — a gentleman — until he hears a splash and his name being called.

“Come on, hot shot!”

Surrounded by the lake and shadow of the trees, Eddie can barely see you. He follows nonetheless, one foot in front of the other.

The water is unwelcoming. Frigid, crisp. Numbing to the skin. He winces as he glides towards you and the closer he gets, the wider your smile grows.

“Is this some sort of test?” He shouts across.

You giggle and ask loudly, “How do you feel?”

“Oddly, like I’m on fucking fire.” Eddie replies, his voice growing quieter as he stops a mere foot away.

After an inhale of a single breath, you nod.

“This is why I stop myself from drinking.”

Eddie’s brow shoots up. “So you can dunk yourself in freezing cold water?” He asks, bewildered.

“So I can feel alive while doing it.”

His insides contort at your words. There’s something raw about your admission. Like you’ve just exposed a certain part of yourself that you haven’t shown anyone prior to right now. The metal-head has the sudden urge to reach for you, hug you. He wants to shield you from your own demons, your own pain. Protect you from bad memories and bad habits, and take back every single horrible thing he’s ever said to you. Eddie wants to go back in time, to the night of Chrissy’s party, and tell his past self to give you more grace because he finally realises your actions weren’t specifically to hurt him. You were just numb.

“Do you trust me?” You ask, breaking him away from his thoughts.

After he nods, your arms weave around his neck as your legs kick together under the surface, barely brushing. You instruct him to hold his breath and counting down from three, you pull him along, heads underwater.

Panic attacks his nervous system then dissipates just as fast. He can feel everything. Every cell in his body, every muscle. The blood pumping in his veins, the steady stream of energy flowing from his head to his toes. 

And the metal-head can feel you too. In the darkness of the water, his fingertips work the outline of your body. Memorising each dent and curve, each crease and how they all connect to create the perfect shape. 

When your legs wind around his waist, bringing you two chest to chest, Eddie can feel the push and pull of your working lungs. He can no longer hold his breath, a thought crossing his mind: this is the closest he’s ever been with anyone, even physically. Sex doesn’t compare to what he’s after experiencing, although he allows himself to wonder if with you, even that act would be otherworldly.

“Are you alright?” You ask, coming afloat.

“Yeah,” he breathes.

The slight shake of his head sends his locks on a journey, droplets falling from each end and gently splashing against your face. You don’t move. Remain firm with your hands and legs wrapped tightly around the brunette, afraid to let this moment slip — because once you’re back ashore, there’s no safety of deep waters to harbour deep feelings.

Eddie doesn’t intend to move either. His brown gaze latches onto yours again as his fingers continue to dig into your flesh under the confines of the ripples. He’s no longer cold. Hasn’t been for a while. The water has transformed from frostbite to sauna and all it took was a heavy admission, plus your body pressed against his.

There’s a split-second, a breath, an impulse, during which Eddie wants nothing more but to dip his head and kiss you. Hard. Like he’s dreamed of doing for as long as he can remember. Like he should have last night until he chickened out at the last moment — since, at the end of the day, he’s mostly been the opposite of confident when it comes to acting on his feelings towards you.

So instead, Eddie smiles.

“I’m still not going to take cold showers.”

You laugh. “Don’t worry, hot shot, I won’t ever make you do this again.”

“That’s not what I said, angel.” The metal-head points out after shaking his head. “This, I’m actually enjoying.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” Then he clears his throat, grin fading to something softer. “I appreciate you bringing me here. I can imagine this wasn’t easy, opening yourself up like this.”

You shrug in his arms.

“It’s different when it’s you,” you admit, voice almost a whisper, while dropping your gaze to his mouth. 

It’s brief, this slip, but Eddie catches the motion of your eyes instantly. By design of some higher power, his grip on you tightens in that moment. His internal turmoil subsides, if only for a moment long enough to do this:

“Fuck, baby.”

And just like that, Eddie’s lips are on yours.

You don’t hesitate to kiss him back. Mouth instantly parting as his nails dig into your sides. He tastes of heaven — disguised by tar from the Lucky Strikes he smokes and the minty aftertaste of blue-packet Mentos. A whole new meaning to the word: intoxicating.

The tips of your fingers tangle themselves in his dark-brown curls, tugging gently with every tilt of your heads. Tongues dancing together, fighting to obtain dominance although you know it’s pointless because the longer Eddie is kissing you, the more you know he’s got all the power and you feel elated.

An explosion of emotions. Love, lust, hurt, betrayal, forgiveness, friendship. They’re all there, swimming together with you and the metal-head. They fuel the kiss further, deepening the intensity. He bites your bottom lip, hands trailing up your bare back until they reach the strap of your bra. That’s when he pulls away. 

“Holy shit,” you breath, heart beating like it’s on a rampage and Eddie’s only matches the tempo.

“Holy shit,” he repeats.

For a moment, you float. Continuously holding onto one another as the sun moves away and the implication of what you just did dawns.

Eddie has the same thought. He hates that it’s the first one after such a magnificent performance, but he can’t help himself. He’s wanted this — you — for as long as he can remember and now that you’re in his arms, now that you kissed him back, he wonders if it’s all too good to be true. He reasons that the worry is warranted because when tomorrow ends, you’ll be on your way back to Vegas and he’ll be licking his wounds once more, waiting for you to change your mind and come back.

The irrational part of him however, wants to taste your lips again. That’s the part that wins.

This kiss is softer. He’s then trailing along your cheek, the tip of your nose. His hands move to cup your face and he forces your eyes closed with his thumbs, then pecks each of your eyelids. He’s committing your features to memory and you shiver under his delicate touch.

Whenever you silently swim back to shore, Eddie’s lips are on yours for the third time. Smiling against his parted mouth, you try to tell him that you two should talk about this, that only a few hours ago you both agreed your communication can be lacking, but he brushes you off. One hand splayed on the small of your wet back, the other holding your jaw, he’s insisting to continue grazing your lips until they’re chapped.

“Tomorrow,” he mutters in between catching his breath, “Tomorrow, before we say goodbye, we can talk about what this means. In the meantime, please let me enjoy you, angel.”

And you don’t argue. Only nod at his request and let him kiss you all the way back to the car. Pushing you up against every other tree, then the bumper of your Jeep, nothing but hunger in his mahogany gaze.

It’s really quite the miracle you get dressed. Breathless and dizzy, reddened lips. Eddie watches you (pretends he’s not) pull the cotton t-shirt over your bra, also concealing the red guitar pick around your neck, and something in him twitches. An urge to rip it back off you and throw you in the backseat. He has to remind himself of your group of friends who are probably wondering what’s taking this long.

The metal-head kisses you once more after helping you into the car. A peck. Short and sweet. Then he drives. Back down the windy trail, through the forest, and out onto the main road. He does so in silence, but it’s different than any quiet you’ve shared before. Filled with a certain four letter word.

Your phone rings. Connected to the sound system of your car, the speakers vibrate as Jax’s name illuminates on the Apple CarPlay. You don’t think when you answer.

“Hey there, lonesome soul.” His voice is chipper, as usual.

Eddie shoots you a glance and mouths ‘lonesome soul’ like a question and you wave your hand to signal you’ll tell him that story later.

“How’s your weekend going?”

“Good.” Then a smile circles your lips. “Great, actually.”

On the other end of the line, you can hear Jax chuckle. “I take it that friendships have been mended.”

“Something like that,” you say and briefly meet Eddie’s eyes. The brunette smirks, licking his lips.

“That’s good, Miss Lonesome.” You can hear the clacking of dishes and you think of the time difference, then of his habit to sleep in at the weekends, and think he must be making a late breakfast.

“Listen, confirming that you still need me to fly out, meet you in Fort Wayne for the trip back home. I know you hate flying alone.”

Home. That word makes Eddie tighten his grip on the steering wheel. Knuckles whitening. He acts before he can change his own mind and presses the mute button.

“Say no.” The metal-head tells you.

You arch a brow. “What?”

“I’ll fly with you. Tell him no.”

A certain sense of satisfaction washes over you as you nod at the metal-head, then unmute.

“I’m glad you called to check,” you begin, “But plans have changed, so you can stay in cosy ol’ Vegas. I’ll be fine.”

“Well, okay.” Jax says, mid bite of something. “I am glad to hear that ‘cause I did say yes to this date, completely forgetting about you. Not intentionally, of course. I’d never intentionally forget about you, lonesome.” He’s babbling and you playfully roll your eyes, even though he can’t see.

“Bye, Jax.” You call out to the speaker, “I’ll see you soon.”

When the call ends, you sit back and tilt your head to look at the metal-head.

“What about your radio show?”

“What about it?” He asks, staring at the road ahead.

You suppress a smile. “Are you sure Dustin is up for covering a couple more slots? Not to mention all of the widows and wives trapped in loveless marriages waiting to hear you on the other end of their radio’s, how will they ever survive?”

Eddie snorts a laugh. “Good one, angel.”

He turns into the driveway, the beautiful lake house coming into view. He parks the Jeep next to his own, more beat-up vehicle, and cuts the engine. As the buzzing of the car dies down, with a hand on the door handle, Eddie turns to you.

“It’ll be fun, no? Give us more time to, I don’t know, catch up.”

“Catch up, huh?”

He smirks. “Among other things, if you’d like?”

You lean across the gear shift knob and kiss him earnestly, as pleased as Punch. 

Steve asked you the other day if you were ‘happy’, you told him yes. Now, sitting here with Eddie, following the afternoon you just spent together, you weren’t so sure if what you’ve been feeling this whole time was indeed happiness. Comfort maybe, disguised as elation, because you had built yourself a good life in Las Vegas. A college course you are passionate about, a job that keeps you busy and pays quite well, new friends who keep your mind and timetable full. None of that seems to matter when Eddie’s lips touch yours. None of that equates being happy.

“Eddie—” You mutter against his mouth.

“Mhm…”

“We should talk earlier than tomorrow.”

The metal-head sighs and pulls away. Then he nods, one long drop, because he doesn’t seem to have any other option. 

Rationally, Eddie knows talking this through is the right thing to do. A lot has happened since your arrival and even more since your late-night conversation last night. A lot changed: especially  feelings, unspoken or otherwise. The kiss(es), plural. Eddie knows talking about what it all means going forward is the right thing to do. He knows and he desperately doesn’t want to do it.

What if you tell him he’s misread the situation and you’re not interested in him like that? He could barely handle it once. A second time and he might just land in bed with one of those lonely middle-aged women that are always chasing him around town — a desperate attempt to forget you after finally having a taste.

What if you tell him you like him too? That’s a whole other can of worms. Can you do long distance? He for sure can’t. He hasn’t seen you for over three years, he can’t handle not being able to see you for a minute longer. However, which one of you is ready to uproot their lives? He presumes the answer is neither.

The questions pile up in his brain and Eddie knows he should get the answers.

“Later?” He proposes, “Today, but later.”

And later it has to be since the metal-head hops out of the car before you get a chance to respond. He helps you next, always the gentleman, and follows you to the front door without saying another word on the matter.

Luckily, your friends don’t question where the two of you have been. Nancy offers some food, considering you’ve missed dinner, so you and Eddie eat outside, watching the rest of them play cards. 

Rummy is their game of choice, although they’re all quite shit and the Vegas girl in you can’t help but make fun of their lame attempts. You offer some tips and even help Robin cheat a couple of times, which gets a rise out of Steve and he makes you “help” him next.

The sun has long set. Jonathan lights some candles while Robin jokes how she didn’t peg him for an ambiance guy. He flips her off. Subtle, but it makes everyone else giggle. Argyle and Steve sneak off to share a joint down by the water, they ask Eddie to join but the metal-head just shakes his head. You wonder if that’s got anything to do with you, but you don’t ask. Instead, you press into his side, arm to arm, and place your head gently on his shoulder.

Robin is eyeing the sight from across the table. She winks in your direction then mouths, “I told you so.”, and you’re in half-a-mind to flip her off too as blood rushes to your face, cheeks burning hot.

Once everyone else has had a few drinks, Rummy becomes even more difficult to grasp and gets exchanged for Uno. Rulebook aside, because you’ve all played by your own ever since you can remember, Nancy deals the first hand. Steve and Argyle return in a fit of joy. They say they won’t play, just observe, so Nancy reshuffles as you whisper to Eddie that he should keep his eyes on his own deck. He nudges your side, a smirk circling his perfect face.

This is the beginning, you let yourself think.

As the game continues, you slip into a momentary feeling of peace. That should have been your first clue of what’s to come next since good things never last. But you ignore the vibrations coming from your phone and they keep piling on. 

Voice notes.

Earlier that morning, on her way out the door, Chrissy Cunnigham spots you on the couch, cuddling in your sleep with her ex-boyfriend. You, the girl she always worried about, despite Eddie’s insistent stance on the matter. The sight before her pale-blue eyes fuels Chrissy’s rage and she decides the highroad isn’t something worth taking.

Received to your old Instagram account, a clear-headed Chrissy Cunningham spills her sorrows into the microphone and shares them with you. The message is clear. Eddie Munson is not who he says he is.

as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

@ali-r3n @thelazyarchangel @hufflepuffobsessedwithmarvel @peculiarwren @fxoxo @losingmygrasponreality @kellsck @sp1dyb0y1008 @mmmunson @somethingvicked @darknesseddiem @scream4mami @pineapplechuncks @sophiejayne-illustrations713 @emxxblog @bl0ssomanddie @theladyhellfire @gracelouiseoneill @emquinn94 @transparent-enemy @rach5ive @knew-better-forever-girl-two @lemonmarquee @mossgh0st @probablyin-bed @dustbowleddie @residentoftomlinsonsass @heart-eyed-love @munsonburn3r @helsa3942 @althaiareads @theladyhellfire @v1per1ne @sugarplumsweetiepie @rizzraa @micheledawn1975 @gracelouiseoneill @moremaple @bigpoppascherry @jeangeniex @daisy-munson @ceeezy @kissmyacdc @cyressluvy @mango-slush-boba @iyskgd

[greensagephase]

Nonviolent Communication - Part 23

Pairing: Spider-Man!Miguel O'Hara x Spider-Woman!Reader Summary: Miguel continues to work on his physical boundaries. You find yourself in an unexpected, stressful, and unwanted situation; and Miguel tries to be supportive despite his own feelings. Word Count: 11.5k Warnings: time skip from New Year's; little flashback to NYE; some Spanish Music: "Cuando Vuelva a Tu Lado" - Eydie Gormé, Los Panchos (for the end scene 🥹)

Part 23

Fireworks covered the night sky. Music and happy conversations filled the air. Delicious food was made, shared, and enjoyed by eager party attenders on New Year’s Eve.

Like the previous year, your group of friends and you stood on a rooftop in Miles’s universe to celebrate the festivities since his parents invited everyone once again.

The fact that this was the second year he spent in another universe to welcome the new year didn’t escape Miguel as he stood on the same rooftop, surrounded by friends. The realization wasn’t negative, of course. He could’ve been in any other universe and it wouldn’t have matter as long as his best friend stood next to him; as long as you were there.

Standing on the same rooftop where only a year before you shedded happy tears, which Miguel tenderly wiped away with his scarf, Miguel and you welcomed the new year. While the others either hugged or kissed, or both, the two of you had your own moment when the clock struck midnight.

Amongst the cheering and loud fireworks, you gazed at Miguel and spotted the plastic crown with ‘Happy New Year’ on it that Mr. Morales gave to him earlier, similar to the tiara Mrs. Morales gave you with the same message.

“Un rey y una reina [a king and a queen],” Mrs. Morales had said earlier as she carefully placed the tiara on your head while Mr. Morales handed Miguel the crown.

“Wow, you guys must be special,” Miles commented from somewhere as he ate fried plantains. “I've only seen marrie—” The rest of his words died in his mouth by a single glance from his mom. “These fried plantains are to die for. Anyone tried them?” he asked before quietly stepping away to talk with Peter B..

“There, ready,” Mrs. Morales said stepping back to admire her work as the tiara rested on your head, perfectly secured. As you stood before her, you didn’t fail to notice the proud smile on her face while she gazed at you and then at Miguel, who quietly conversed with Mr. Morales with much more ease than before after carrying so much guilt and shame due to the circumstances between Miles and himself regarding the police captain. Still smiling, Mrs. Morales cleared her throat.

“Well,” Mr. Morales said, hearing his wife's cue. “I just remembered I haven’t talked with my neighbor’s… Godmother.”

“Right,” Mrs. Morales added just as Mr. Morales joined her side, taking her hand in his. “We must go and do some rounds. You guys enjoy the party and the food, alright? Let us know if there’s anything you guys need.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Morales, we will,” you answered politely with Miguel by your side, who took his spot next to you as soon as Mr. Morales went to his wife.

“Thank you. We appreciate your hospitality. The food is amazing, as always,” Miguel added with a small yet genuine smile before looking at you. “Dulzura and I are enjoying it very much. We have done so for the last two years.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Morales replied with a pleased smile, though you both mistook the real reason for it. It wasn’t because of the comment about the food and party, but rather, due to the lovely nickname Miguel gave you and how easily it rolled off his mouth; as if it was second nature to him. There was also the way that Miguel smiled much easier, a great contrast to the previous year when he seemed a bit more reserved in the presence of others. “We are delighted that you’ve both enjoyed the food and the party.”

“Very delighted,” Mr. Morales added with a small smirk, noticing the nickname, too.

It wasn’t that they didn’t know about the nickname because they one hundred percent did thanks to the spider gang, who had long ago shared that piece of information with the older couple, however, it was the first time they were witnessing the maroon-eyed Spider-Man saying it.

“Well, wow,” Mrs. Morales continued with her pleased smile, squeezing her husband’s hand as a sign that it was time for them to depart. “We truly are happy that you’re both here again and that you’re enjoying yourselves. Our home is always open to you. The two of you,” she continued, clarifying to make sure Miguel also understood. “So, I hope to see you both more and again next year.”

With a nod, Miguel answered. “Si Dios nos da licencia y ustedes nos reciben, aquí estaremos sin falta. Muchas gracias, Don y Doña Morales [if God allows and you receive us, we will be here without failure. Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Morales].”

“What Miguel said,” you added with a smile. “Thank you again for inviting us.”

With smiles and waves, the couple retreated, leaving the king and queen with each other.

“Dulzura,” Mrs. Morales said, glancing back one more time to look at you and Miguel. “He calls her Dulzura. Es adorable [it's adorable].”

“It’s very cute. Who would’ve thought he’d be calling her that?” Mr. Jeff replied.

“Not me, but ey, I’m more than happy. Do you see how cute they look together? I told you last year that they have these gazes for each other, and you know what people say: The eyes never lie.¨

“I see it. They almost gaze at each other with stars in their eyes,” Mr. Morales replied with an amused smile.

“You see it, too, don’t you? They’re glued to each other, ésos dos [those two]. It’s like, they can’t be away from each other. Like they’re — No sé [I don't know] — Ah, cómo la luna y sus estrellas. Siempre juntas, allí lado a lado [Ab, like the moon and its stars. Always together, side by side].”

“Like the moon and its stars…” Jeff repeated as they walked. “That is true. I see Y/N looks very happy, too. Remember when we first met her? There was this… Look in her eyes.”

“Su mirada escondía una tristeza [her gaze hid a sadness],” Rio stated, nodding. “But now… There’s happiness in them. In both their eyes.”

After pulling his wife closer, Jeff smiled. “I think, the future holds something special for them.”

“I think so, too,” Rio replied with a smile. “I truly hope so.”

Hours later after that encounter with Mr. and Mrs. Morales, the clock struck midnight at which you notice Miguel’s crown before your eyes met his, discovering that he was already looking at you. Under the colorful patterns on the sky, Miguel smiled at you and took notice of your tiara. He had found it strange earlier in the evening how he had only seen a few people with crowns and tiaras, almost as if they had been handed out to specific people. Either way, Miguel found the sight of you in your tiara cute.

“Happy New Year, Dulzura,” he murmured softly, for your ears only. “I hope you have a wonderful year filled with happiness, health, and love; that you accomplish all your goals and wishes.”

With so much hugging taking place around you both, Miguel recalled his thoughts from days before when he came to the conclusion that he was ready for more physical contact. At that moment at the rooftop, however, Miguel found himself unable to take action with so many people around. He had the feeling that the spider gang would’ve lost their minds at the sight and the moment may have been disturbed or rushed, so he discarded the idea, and a kiss on the cheek…

Well, that was not even on the table, but of course, there was your personal form of physical contact. Gazing at you, Miguel lifted his pinky finger beneath exploding fireworks, offering a New Year’s hug in the only way he could, but meaningful nonetheless.

Without question or hesitation, you accepted it and embraced his pinky with your own — sharing a hug in your own secret way. With a smile, you thanked Miguel and reciprocated his kind and loving words, giving his pinky finger a gentle squeeze for extra emphasis. “I hope you have a lovely year; that it treats you with love and kindness, Solecito. I hope all your goals and wishes come true. Always.”

“Likewise, Dulzura. Always,” Miguel murmured back, reciprocating the gentle squeeze with a warm smile.

After wishing everyone else a happy new year, you both stayed at the party a bit longer to enjoy a few more desserts, like the amazing flan, and watched your friends and everyone else dance on the rooftop, a sign that the party was only going to keep going.

It was about two in the morning when you finally said your goodbyes and retired for the night, reaching home in seconds. You settled in the living room floor against a couch. Shoes, coats, and other accessories to stay warm were shed since they were no longer needed due to the penthouse's warmth.

“That food was amazing,” you muttered, your head resting on the couch’s cushion.

“I think I ate too much flan,” Miguel admitted, rubbing his tummy. “But it was amazing.”

“I definitely ate too much flan, but it was so good,” you replied with a grin. “Plus, it’s not like we eat it often, so… A little treat to celebrate the new year, right?”

“Mmm, I agree with your thinking,” Miguel answered, glancing at you. He could tell that you seemed a bit sleepy, but knowing you, you’d claim you weren’t. “You sleepy yet?”

“Nope. You?”

Miguel grins and leans back, his back popping with the movement. He knew it. “No. Too much sugar is probably going to keep me up,” he said, making you chuckle sleepily.

“We can work on a puzzle, if you want. Or, watch some TV. You know they always do the New Year’s shows. Maybe the performances are fun.”

Miguel turned the TV on, switching between channels to find some of the New Year's performances. He settled on a channel once he found a singer performing an upbeat song.

“Yay, sounds fun,” you said yawning, moving side to side to dance a little — a sight that captured Miguel's gaze.

“If I knew you were in a dancing mood, we should’ve stayed at the party,” Miguel said with amusement.

“Mmm, I only like to dance in private,” you answered laying back on the couch. “I used to dance with Peter all the time… In our little living room.”

With a nod, Miguel stored that information away, watching you continue to grow sleepier and sleepier. “Maybe one of these days…” Miguel started, gazing at you fall asleep slowly but surely. “You can dance again with someone.”

A sleepy smile formed on your lips despite your closed lids, your head sliding down the couch and onto his shoulder. “I’d love that,” you murmured, but before truly falling asleep, some words slipped past your lips. “— ith you.”

Miguel’s eyes widened as he connected the dots, or at least connected what he thought you meant in that moment — you'd love to dance with him. It brought a smile to his face as he relaxed once more next to you, basking in your warmth and closeness.

“Soon, Dulzura,” he whispered softly. “Just give me a little more time. I'm just a few steps away, I promise.” Miguel sighed, his eyes fluttering due to his own sleep as he thought about his whispered words. He truly believed in and meant them, from his very heart and soul.

♡

The month of January — with its promises of new beginnings — passed by with slow and easy days spent at the penthouse to stay warm.

Like previous years, you reflected on the past year and realized it had been an entire year since you had begun to live with Miguel due to the fire at your apartment building. You found it amazing how much both your lives had changed in a year alone; from living in your own spaces to being unable to sleep because you were in different dimensions. You recalled how you had refused to let yourself take root in the penthouse, how you wanted to make it seem as though you weren’t staying at Miguel’s home, but now, your belongings have found a home somewhere within the penthouse.

Your blanket now rests on one of the couches at the living room. Next to the remotes on the coffee table, your hair ties or other hair accessories can be found there at times. In the laundry room, your detergents sit next to Miguel’s. And just like in the beginning, it continues to feel normal to you both. As if it’s always been like this.

February, as always, came and went in the blink of an eye. Of course, you celebrated Valentine’s Day once again with your friends and baked sweet treats for everyone along with Miguel’s favorite desserts because well, he’s your best friend. That’s why you baked just for him. No other reason.

Without fully realizing when, the cold and snowy days ended and have been replaced by warm and longer ones. Outside, the sound of busy bees can be heard around the gardens. Ice cream shops are once again back in full business, offering delicious and rich flavors. And everywhere in the city, there's the feeling of new beginnings and growth due to the flourishing nature.

After coming to the conclusion that he’s ready for more physical touch on Christmas night, Miguel has been trying more and more with each passing day. These days, he allows his fingers to brush yours more often, letting them linger a second or two longer than necessary when he hands you things, like mugs with your precious café de olla that never fails to make you smile. At the Spider Society, your arms brush more often than not when you're walking side by side. At home, he's opted to sit next to you more than before when you spend the evenings hunched over the coffee table to put puzzles together — a new activity that you’ve both been enjoying.

Miguel can’t help but feel like he’s made a lot of progress with these gestures alone, yet… There’s this one thing he’s been thinking about for some time now. It’s been on his mind thanks to you for over a year now, when you made the confession in a moment of vulnerability that you wished to hug him. Ever since then, the thought has been on his mind, but lately, in all honesty, Miguel has thought about it even more.

Even now as he sits in the Spider Society's cafeteria, surrounded by the spider gang, waiting for you to join everyone, Miguel thinks about it.

To wrap his arms around and hold you… That's Miguel's goal.

The problem is that it's been so long since Miguel has held someone or has had someone hold him. It almost feels like a foreign concept at this point and he doesn't know how to even approach the moment. It's not like he should simply go up to you and ask for or offer a hug. Right? It doesn’t seem like a good way, at least not in Miguel’s mind. To him, there needs to be a reason to rationalize the moment because again, it’s been so long.

Thankfully, there’s still time for his goal despite it being several months since the new year began. At least, that's what Miguel tells himself as he waits for you.

“There she is!” Peter suddenly exclaims, nudging Miguel's arm to get his attention.

Focusing in the present, Miguel glances around until he spots you. There you are, heading towards the table -- a sight that makes Miguel's lips twitch upwards into a smile, though it falters a little when he notes that other spider members are watching you, too, most of which happen to be men.

With narrowed eyes, Miguel feels displeased with the way they're looking at you; a way he has never noticed before. He tries to figure out if he's simply never noticed it before, or if this is a new thing.

Maybe they have noticed just how lovely and beautiful you are. Maybe they’ve noticed that sweet and tender smile that's enough to warm a cold person’s heart. And of course, there’s your kindness, gentleness, and sweetness.

Yet, as Miguel turns to gaze at you again, he senses that that's not what these individuals see. They only see the surface of who you are, unlike him.

And the spider gang, too, of course.

These people have no idea what you look like when you're completely and utterly disconnected from the world with a good book in one hand and a mug of café de olla — made by him, just for you — in the other, laying on the couch under your favorite blanket at the penthouse.

They have no clue how damn cute you look when you wake up nor how warm and soft you feel.

They haven't witnessed the pure look of concentration when you're baking to your heart's content, or working on a puzzle. They don't hear nor see the excitement in you when you tell him you've completed a portion of the puzzle, or about something that brings you happiness.

They don't know you like that.

They don't have the privilege nor honor like he does.

“I think we've lost him. Hellooooo? Anybody home?” Peter states next to Miguel.

Miguel blinks in surprise when Peter’s hand appears in front of him, waving it to get his attention. “¿Que [what]?” Miguel blurts out, slowly realizing that he was a little too distracted there.

“You zoned out on us,” Jess says, raising an eyebrow at the Spider Society's leader and earning herself nods of agreement.

“My bad,” Miguel grumbles, straightening up in his chair. “I was just thinking.”

“Right. Just thinking,” Peter answers with a grin, wiggling his eyebrows at Jess with a knowing look.

Ignoring the comment, Miguel focuses on you again. You're a few tables away now, so close to reaching the table, but suddenly, to Miguel's great disappointment (and annoyance), someone intercepts your path.

Just like Miguel, someone else seems to have made a goal of their own regarding you, and that someone is none other than Ben Reilly. Ever since the new year started, it seems to Miguel that Reilly has made it his mission to be in your life. It's not even an exaggeration because as the months have gone by, Reilly has tried to be near you one way or another.

It started by him asking for help with reports, which Miguel remembers happened once last year before the Spider Society’s trip to the beach. When he first learned of it, Miguel found it odd. How could he not when Reilly has been part of the Spider Society since almost the beginning? He learned how to handle that task without much difficulty, but suddenly, Reilly needed someone's help — specifically yours — to complete them. It hasn’t been that one single time, though. Every two days or so, there comes Reilly with a ‘question’ regarding a report.

Then, there's him inviting you for lunch at the cafeteria once a week. Sometimes, it's with him alone and other times, it's with his whole group of friends. And finally, there's Reilly trying to partner up with you on missions, even after Miguel or Jess have already assigned teams and you're clearly not assigned with him.

This hasn't gone unnoticed by Miguel, of course. After witnessing all of these situations for months, Miguel connected the dots.

Reilly seems to have a crush on you.

He had a feeling this was the case back during the Christmas break when the other Spider-Man seemed eager to have found himself under mistletoe with you. Thankfully, Miguel prevented it from happening. For your sake, of course. Not for any other reason…

His suspicion has since then been confirmed. Or, at least, Miguel feels it has because why is Reilly suddenly everywhere? It all adds up for Miguel.

He can’t say the same about your feelings for Ben, however, because he’s not sure how you feel. You've always talked about Reilly with respect and kindness, and even mentioned once that some people underestimated him, but Miguel hasn’t noticed any clear signs of you having feelings for him. Not romantic ones, at least.

Yet, as Miguel watches you converse with Reilly now, he knows there's a possibility you've developed feelings for him and you've just not shared them with him.

With a sigh, Miguel lowers his gaze to the matching bracelets you gifted each other for Christmas. He still can't believe that you both bought such similar bracelets, even with the same little knot; a detail he views as a symbol of your friendship. Gingerly, Miguel traces the knots with his pinky finger, continuing to wait for you.

“You know…” Hobie starts, noticing Miguel's quiet demeanor and how he's tracing his matching bracelets as if that will teleport you to him. “This might sound crazy, but don’t they look kind of cute?”

Hearing Hobie's words, Miguel blinks in shock and disbelief. Surely, he’s not talking about you and Ben. Right?

“Who?” Peter B. asks, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you’re talking about them,” he continues in equal disbelief, pointing at you and Ben with his thumb, which is a great relief to Miguel. He's glad he's not the only one that disagrees with that horrendous statement by Hobie.

Next to Hobie, Pav hums with a little smirk. “I don’t know. I think they would look good together.” He raises an eyebrow at Peter while Miguel, who is unaware of the silent conversation taking place around him, stares in your direction.

“You know… I can kind of see what you’re talking about. What do you think, Miguel? Ben and your dear friend, hm?” Peter asks, realizing what Hobie and Pav are doing.

“I think, it doesn't really make sense,” Miguel answers slowly and carefully, thinking about the numerous of times people have said you and him look like a couple. Or rather, how many people have assumed you are in a relationship. No one has ever said that about you and some other man, especially not Reilly. “I don’t see it. It's an interesting… Opinion, though.”

“It makes a lot of sense to me,” Hobie counters with his signature smirk. “Their vibes — just match.” At his side, Pav looks away, stifling a little laugh.

“If you say so, Hobart,” Miguel answers, drumming his fingers on the table. What is Ben talking to you about that’s taking so long?

“Not the formal name,” Pav mutters to Hobie.

“I for one… Agree with Miguel. Ben Reilly and Y/N, it’s like water and oil,” Noir says, adding to the conversation as he, too, gazes at you and Ben.

Miguel almost nods at that, but he refrains from doing so. It’s true, though. It’s simply impossible in Miguel’s mind; the idea of you and Ben.

“I think, what matters is that Y/N finds love again. Wouldn’t you guys agree?” Miles adds, which Jess seconds with a nod of agreement. “It’s been so many years for her, I think it’d be great if she found someone to build a life with again.”

“That’s true. It’s been what? Like, five years since her Peter’s death?” Gwen responds.

“It’s certainly been some time,” Hobie answers with a nod, glancing at you. “So, she should definitely get back into the dating scene. I fear, however, that it’s been so long since she’s been in that world. She might need some help, or advice on what guys to steer away from… Someone…” he trails off with a smirk.

“Well, I think Miguel would be of great help to Y/N,” Peter chirps in with a grin. “Something tells me you’d be great as her boy —”

“Hey, guys!” you cheerfully say, taking your seat next to Miguel. “Sorry about that. Ben stopped me to talk.”

“About what?” Hobie asks, voicing the very same thing that Miguel was about to ask. “Some reports?” he jokes, earning himself glances from the others.

“Oh, no, he asked if I was interested in going to his universe to witness some moon event taking place.”

“To moongaze?” Miguel blurts out, the words sinking in. Why does that sound like…

“As a date?” Peter B. asks, subtly looking between you and Miguel to gauge his reaction, and finishing your best friend's thought.

It can’t be. Right?

“A date? No.” You shake your head, smiling a little nervously now that you think about it. “It’s not a date… It’s not one if other people are going.” You glance at Miguel, your eyebrows furrowed. “His friends are going, too, so… It’s not a date. Just… A hangout.”

“Okay, so it’s a hangout,” Miguel repeats, nodding slowly. If there’s other people involved, that means it’s not a date. At least, he thinks so.

“I mean, I don’t know. Maybe the other people are going as couples,” Hobie says with a smile, knowing what he's doing. “I guess you’ll find out if it is, or isn’t. When is the event?”

“Tonight…” you reveal, looking at the table and pondering if you agreed to a date by accident when that wasn’t your intention.

“That’s exciting,” Peter reassures you next to Miguel. “I’m sure it’s going to be a lot of fun.”

“Yeah, that sounds fun, so… Enjoy yourself, alright?” Miguel adds softly, much quieter.

You nod, accepting the reassuring words from Peter and Miguel, but Hobie's words stay with you. Maybe you did agree to a date without realizing it. “Right, it should be fun. I’m sure of it,” you answer with a huff, one that Miguel notes.

He bites the inside of his cheek, wondering if it's a huff of disappointment due to the fact that it's unclear whether it's a date or not. He wonders if you’re hoping for the first option, yet he doesn’t voice his curiosity, out of respect.

Much like Miguel, you don’t voice your uncertainty about the social event with Ben to avoid worrying Miguel and your friends. Besides, they all seemed happy about the possibility of it being a date, so you don’t want to reveal you feel the opposite about it.

The uncertainty lingers for the rest of the day as you work on tasks and go on missions to other universes, making you nervous. It's been so long since you went out on a date and to be completely honest, you haven't even thought about it, so to suddenly find yourself in a possible date is more than stressful.

The work day eventually comes to an end and as per usual, Miguel and you head home.

Dinner is cooked by the two of you and then enjoyed in the dining room over light conversation despite the looming event over your heads, making it feel as though you’re both ignoring the situation.

You try to treat the evening as if it were any other; you clean the kitchen with Miguel and then shower to unwind for a bit, but the time soon comes for you to get ready.

Miguel looks up at you from his book, from which he's been trying to read for the last half hour without retaining a single word, when he notices you glancing at the clock. “Time to get ready?”

“Yeah… I need to get ready,” you answer, reluctantly standing up. You silently wish you had an excuse not to go, but alas, there's none and you don't want to come off as rude either. “I'll be upstairs if you need me,” you state, thinking maybe there's a chance of an unexpected mission.

“Alright, Dulzura. I'll be… Here,” Miguel answers with a little pout, watching you walk up the stairs to your bedroom. He sighs heavily and leans back onto the couch, looking up at the ceiling. A feeling grows in his chest. It's a mixture of concern and something else — a feeling of intranquillity — that has have him in a restless mood since lunch.

Miguel tried to go along with his day as he usually does, just like you did, but the truth is that he found himself in that mood. He kept reading reports over and over again because his brain struggled to retain the information he was looking at. Tabs that he needed open were closed by accident with his fidgety fingers. When members dropped by to make inquiries, Miguel found himself only listening to half of what was being said.

Miguel runs a hand down his face with another sigh, trying to be positive for your sake despite his worry because yes, he's simply worried. That's all to it. It's mere worry and nothing else. He's worried that you may have expectations and that Reilly will disappoint you. He's concerned that Reilly will hurt your heart when you deserve nothing but happiness and a chance of experiencing love again.

Staring off into space, Miguel continues to contemplate the situation.

Upstairs, you change out of your lounging clothes and touch up your hair. With a sigh, you gaze at yourself in a mirror to waste time. A few seconds later, you apply a bit of lip oil, which reminds you of a comment Miguel made back during your Christmas getaway.

A smile comes to your face as you recall Miguel tell you at the diner that the lip oil looked cute on you, which you found endearing. Still smiling, you reach for a bottle of perfume before you remember where you're going.

Your smile fades as you gaze at the perfume bottle, the lingering question coming back to you.

Is this a date?

If it is, a bit of perfume may give the wrong idea that you're trying to smell good for someone — Ben.

Nope.

You place the bottle back on your desk and after looking at yourself for a second time in the mirror, you decide to take off the lip oil, too. Satisfied, you pick up your last minute items and remember to grab a light jacket just in case the night is chilly since you'll be outside.

Rummaging through your closet, something falls from the top, which you sense immediately. With ease, you catch the item, only to come face to face with Miguel.

Or rather, a version of him in the form of a plushie.

A chuckle escapes from your mouth while you trace its mask with a finger. “Plushie Spider-Man 2099. You're just as cute as the real Miguel, hm?… Shock,” you sigh, shaking your head at yourself before placing the plushie on your bed. “Am I so uneasy about this that I'm talking to a plushie now?”

Of course, plushie Miguel doesn't reply, so you turn to grab your jacket, forgetting about the plushie for now.

You bought it a while back during one of your solo excursions of Nueva York and decided to keep it a little secret because you think Miguel might find it silly — or worse, weird — that you've bought additional merch about him. It's the reason why you always keep it in your closet, away from Miguel's maroon eyes, but as you exit the bedroom, you forget to tuck it away again.

Unexpectantly, you receive a notification, stopping you in your tracks. Your soul hopes it's a cancellation from Ben, or maybe it's soneone else sending a call for backup, however, it's none of the Spider Society's members who have messaged you.

Instead, it's Harry, who has been more and more in contact with you since the year started. As promised earlier in December, you met with him and Mr. Osborn after they returned from their trip abroad. Ever since then, you've been messaging each other more to keep in contact, though there have been times in which you've had no other option but to politely cancel or decline due to your work as Spider-Woman. Despite those setbacks, you’ve enjoyed having Harry in your life again.

There's no denying that initially, you felt hesitant about allowing Harry back into your life, especially because it meant having someone to hide your super hero identity from — someone who may notice your tardiness at times, or items at your apartment due to your forgetfulness that may reveal your identity. There's also the fact that all of your friends, including Miguel, felt negatively about him after he ghosted you for years. You can't blame them, you'd be the exact same way, but ultimately, you decided to give Harry a chance for Peter.

With so many months in contact, you feel that the two of you have become reacquainted and become friends once more, although it's a different dynamic than the previous one. Besides that, it’s going well. You have forgiven him and tried to move forward.

You may never know why Harry disappeared from your life so suddenly. Perhaps it's something that will always remain a mystery to you, much like your second life as Spider-Woman to Harry. And that's okay, you're fine with it.

Years have passed and you've both changed and matured. It's a new page and all there is, is to keep moving forward and growing as people with this new friendship.

With that in mind, you quickly check the message, wondering what he said.

Harry: Hey! How's your day going? Thought about you just now because someone received flowers at work. 🙂

Despite your temptation to reply now as a way to delay leaving the penthouse, you decide to answer when you return home.

Back downstairs, you find Miguel looking off to the side. Probably taking a break from his reading and reflecting on what he's read.

“Hey,” you start, holding your jacket in one hand.

Your voice snaps Miguel from his trance, making him turn to look at you. His maroon eyes respectfully take in your appearance. Silently and subtly, he notes the lack of lip oil and trail of your perfume you usually wear. All he notices is the scent of your shower products. He wonders about that, but doesn't voice it. Instead, Miguel offers you a small smile. “Ready?”

“Mhm… Ready,” you answer, wanting to add an ‘unfortunately’, but that may sound rude. “I guess I should go…?” you continue, sounding more like a question than a statement.

“If you're ready. You have everything?” Miguel asks, standing up and putting away the book he's been trying to read for God knows how long without any success.

You nod, looking at your belongings. “It seems so.”

“Good, that's good,” Miguel replies, still giving you that smile to be positive for you. “Be careful and just enjoy yourself, alright?” Miguel gently states, trying to offer helpful words despite his intranquillity. He still doesn't know if you want this to be a date or not. Or, if you have feelings for Ben, but despite his own feelings — those being concern and restlessness, of course — he hopes you're not hurt nor disappointed by it.

“I'll try, thank you,” you respond, offering a small smile. “I'll be back soon, okay?”you add, wishing you could stay at home with Miguel, even if it's in silence. Even if he’s in another part of the penthouse entirely.

“Alright, Dulzura. That sounds good, don’t worry,” Miguel answers with a nod, that feeling of restlessness growing in his chest, which he cannot explain. It’s not like you’re not coming back, right? You are. So then, why does it almost feel like he’s losing you somehow? “Have fun.”

You nod, forcing yourself to open a portal at last. After giving Miguel one more glance, you reluctantly travel to Ben's universe, leaving Miguel behind.

With yet another heavy and deep sigh, Miguel watches the dimensional portal grow smaller and smaller, the scent of your shampoo lingering behind like a soft caress.

Knowing he won't have better luck with reading, Miguel decides to go to the kitchen and do…

Miguel scratches the side of his head as he glances around the kitchen space.

“… Hm…” he hums to himself, wondering what he can do to pass time before finally deciding on something. “Dios mio,” he mutters to himself as he begins to reorganize a kitchen drawer, not sure why he’s doing this nor why he’s feeling the way he is.

♡

Over in Ben’s universe, you arrive to the location given to you by Ben himself. One single look at the scene gives you the feeling that this hangout may be the opposite of that, yet you hold on to the hope that it's not. You hold on to the idea that Ben's advances over the last few months have been purely driven by an interest in friendship and nothing more.

The fact that Ben's friends are present is a good relief. A part of you had the sudden worry that you'd arrive and only find Ben because ‘something’ came up for everyone else, but thankfully, they’re here.

However, the sight of Ben's friends sitting on one picnic blanket and Ben on another one alone, raises a flag of concern. Still, you remain polite and greet Ben and his friends, the same group of people that you remember seeing Ben with back during the Christmas break.

“You came,” Ben says with a smile, standing up to offer you a place.

“Yes, I did,” you answer, thanking him for the seat before sitting down. Of course, you make sure to keep a respectable distance from him.

“We have snacks and drinks. Please go ahead and get anything you want. Don't be shy,” Ben continues with a smile, gesturing to a bag and a cooler.

“Yeah, Y/N, don't be shy,” Anya Corazón, another Spider-Woman, says with a grin before nudging you slightly.

“Thank you,” you answer, picking out a snack and a drink after being nudged by Anya, finding her words and gesture a little strange. You put it aside, though, not thinking more of it.

Sat on the rooftop over picnic blankets, you all eat snacks and talk about random things as you wait for the moon event to start. All is going well, though you do notice that Ben seems to be moving closer to you as the conversation continues, until the topic shifts to something you were not expecting.

“So… Y/N… We were talking the other day,” Canada Spider-Woman starts, once again reminding you that you still don’t know her proper name. “About how most of us have lost someone. I recall someone mentioning you lost a Peter.”

‘A Peter.’

You swallow, disliking how cold and insignificant that sounds, even if that wasn't the Spider-Woman's intention. “I lost my Peter, who was my boyfriend,” you answer firmly. “He was my boyfriend since we were teenagers.”

Noting your short answer, the Spider-Woman quickly apologizes, glancing at everyone else. “Yes, of course. I didn’t mean to offend you, or him. We were just talking…”

“About all who are currently unattached,” Malala Windsor adds, trying to clear things up.

“I think what they’re trying to say is, everyone that’s not with someone,” Ben clarifies, giving his friends a look you miss entirely. “How — You know, there’s Peter B. and his family. Jess and her own. Then, there’s some of us who are… Single.”

“Yes, single. That's what we were talkinvg about when you came up. You’re single, right?” Anya asks, raising an eyebrow.

“… Yes,” you respond, noting you have everyone's eyes on you. The feelings from earlier rise even more with this interaction since it feels like your answer is being picked on by everyone. “Since Peter… My Peter passed away, I’ve been mourning him and have had no interest in further relationships,” you add, making it clear you're not interested.

“That’s understandable. It’s been a few years since his death, no?” Malala inquires.

“It has,” you answer, glancing at the moon and wondering how much longer there is to wait.

“Hmm, so it's been years now… Plenty of time to mourn,” Spider-Canada continues, glancing at Ben.

“Yeah, but as we all know, mourning is different for everyone. Some people take longer than others. It's been a few years for me… Years I spent on my own, learning how to heal and handle other emotions, so…” you trail off, awkwardly holding your drink to keep your hands busy.

“I did hear about that,” Ben gently says. “That you were alone for several years. I wish Miguel would've found your universe sooner.” Carefully, Ben places a hand on your shoulder with the hopes of reassuring and getting closer to you. “You wouldn't have been alone for so long, if he had.”

You hum, feeling Ben's touch and finding it uncomfortable. One, it's lasting too long for your liking. Second, his hand feels too heavy, making you want to move away. And third, the warmth radiating from his hand feels too much for your skin. It feels like his warmth is disrupting your body temperature where he's touching you. To make it worse, Ben even gives your shoulder a squeeze.

“Miguel and I have discussed this,” you state, offering a small smile despite your discomfort. “And just like I told him once, the time in which my universe, and I, was found was right. I learned a lot during that time of solitude. Grew as a person. And besides… That's in the past now. I'm just happy and thankful to be part of the Spider Society, and to have my friends,” you continue, wanting to change the topic. “Hey, how much until the moon event?”

“About half an hour,” Ben replies, noting your shift in conversation as his friends digest your responses. “Would you like another drink?”

The half hour passes by in the blink of an eye, just like the moon event. The conversation continues even after the event is over, but thankfully, sensitive topics are no longer brought up.

After helping clean up and organize the area, you decide that it's a good time to head out without making it seem like you've been ready to run off as soon as the moon event ended.

Sensing your exit, Ben steps closer to you without fully invading your personal space. “I can accompany you,” he offers. “I know it’s not actually walking you home, but… You know.” He states sheepishly, hoping you’ll say yes.

You, however, shake your head with a small smile. “That’s not necessary, Ben. Besides… I’m not going to my universe.” Starting up your gizmo, you continue. “Miguel is waiting for me at home, at his universe.”

“Oh,” Ben replies, his usual impeccable posture faltering by the revelation that you still live with Miguel. “I didn’t know.”

“Wait — You’re still living with O’Hara?” Max Borne asks, surprised to learn this fact. “I thought I heard that that was because of a fire back at your place, but that your apartment has been ready…?”

Chuckling, you glance up after missing an entire conversation amongst the group through gazes alone.

If only they knew what happened the night you supposedly moved back to your apartment; how you both ended up meeting on the same rooftop hours later in the middle of the night because neither of you could sleep.

If only they knew, but that’s not something they need to know, you decide. You're the only ones to know, Miguel and you. “Long story short? We realized we enjoy being roommates,” you answer. “Especially since we had both lived alone for several years. We enjoy each other’s companies, and we’re best friends.”

“Best friends,” Ben repeats, nodding his head. “Of course, you are best friends.”

“But I’m guessing that’s just a you thing, right? Like, the whole best friends thing. I can’t see Miguel actually admitting that out loud. He’s so… He’s just not the type to admit that these days,” Max states, having been there before you joined the Spider Society.

“Actually, Miguel has,” you reply with the warmest smile you’ve had all evening since you arrived. The fellow spider members don’t miss it at all; how the mention of Miguel seems to light up your mood.

“That’s great… For Miguel and you,” Ben adds after a few seconds of silence from his friends, who seem to be digesting the information. “You guys are best friends… No wonder you shared the cabin for Christmas.” With a sigh, Ben runs a hand through his hair and remembers Miguel’s actions at the diner that second day he ran into you, when you were both babysitting Mayday.

He felt incredibly irritated that Miguel pulled you away from him just when he was going to bring up the fact that you and him were under mistletoe. He didn’t even have the time to utter the first word when you were snatched away because of ‘icicles’. He recalls that he had looked at them earlier when he first entered the diner with his friends and hadn’t sensed any danger, but somehow, Miguel had and because of it, his moment was stolen.

Now, Ben wonders if there are hidden motives behind Miguel’s actions. Or, is he merely looking out for you as his best friend?

“Yes, we’ve found great company in each other, which I truly appreciate after being alone for so long in my universe,” you share softly with the multidimensional portal open behind you, calling you home. “It’s nice for us to have each other.”

“Right,” Anya answers, staring at you as if she knows something you don’t. “Well… I’m also glad you’ve both found company in each other.”

“Thank you,” you reply yet again with a smile. “Well, I’m heading out now. Thank you for inviting me tonight. I enjoyed moongazing and talking with you guys. Enjoy the rest of your night.” You wave goodbye and enter the portal at last, yearning to be back in Nueva York.

Back in Miguel’s universe, you step out into the living room hoping to find Miguel there, but the space is empty. There’s no sight of Miguel, even when you walk into the kitchen. That’s when you realize the penthouse is too quiet.

“Looking for something?” Lyla asks suddenly with a little smirk, floating next to you. She lays on her stomach, her legs swinging behind her. “Or, should I say, someone?” she corrects herself.

“Hah, funny. Where’s Miguel?” you ask, wondering if he’s taking a nap or gone out.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Lyla answers with a giggle. “I’ll give you the info if you tell me how you feel about Benny Boy.”

Hearing that nickname makes you grimace. “Please never call Ben, or anyone named Ben for that matter, that ever again. Especially not baby Benjamin. That just gave me the ick. Also, why do I need to tell you that when I can simply message Miguel and ask where he’s at?”

Seeing your grimace and genuine dislike for the nickname makes Lyla snort. “My bad, my bad, but you should tell me. I’m asking for a friend.”

You laugh softly. “You’re that nosy, hm?”

“It’s one of my ‘human’ traits. Don’t blame it on me,” Lyla answers with a shrug before her smirk returns. “So, Ben?”

“Nothing about Ben,” you answer, walking up the stairs to see if Miguel is there.

“So, no fuzzy feelings for him?”

“Nope,” you answer all too quickly, certain of your feelings. “No fuzzy feelings.”

“Gotcha. By the way, Miguel will meet you at the same rooftop you guys had tacos a few months ago,” Lyla says with a happy tone before disappearing.

With a heavy sigh, you turn back around. “You could’ve saved me the trip, you know?” you call out to Lyla, but the little holographic AI assistant is already long gone and you quickly let it go anyway, focusing on going to meet Miguel.

In seconds, you’re out of the penthouse through a window and swinging through Nueva York in silence, excited to see Miguel.

Somewhere else in the city, Miguel swings past buildings with a cup holder in one hand, heading to the location. His thoughts are focused on reaching you when Lyla presents herself through his gizmo.

“Your best friend is on her way to the location,” she informs him. “I see you’ve acquired the goods.”

“That’s good, thank you for letting me know. And yeah, I got them.”

“Good, good, good…” Lyla trails off as Miguel continues moving. “So… “

“So what?” Miguel asks with furrowed eyebrows, giving himself a second to glance at Lyla.

“So… I think it’s safe to say Dulz doesn’t like Ben.”

That nearly makes Miguel drop the cup holder, but he composes himself. “Oh… What makes you think that?”

With a little snort, Lyla smiles. “Well, if you ask me, I just don’t think Ben is her type.”

“I don’t know that Dulzura has a type,” Miguel mutters, silently wondering if you do and if so, what it is.

“Well, I just don’t see her with Ben.”

“That’s not… Up to you or me, or anyone else, Lyla,” Miguel answers, though he agrees. Wholeheartedly. For whatever reason. “If Dulzura likes him, then… It’s her feelings and decision.”

“I know, but it’s still something to think about and worth mentioning.” Lyla turns away, noticing Miguel is almost at his destination. “For a friend,” she mutters quietly before flickering off with a little smirk.

With a thud, Miguel lands on the rooftop with the cup holder safe and sound. He looks around, trying to detect your presence, which doesn’t take him long to do. In a matter of seconds, you’re in view, heading straight for him after your… What should he call it? Meeting? Hangout? Date? He supposes he'll find out eventually along with whether you have feelings for Ben or not.

The first thing Miguel notices once you land on the rooftop is your smile upon seeing him. It’s a warmhearted and welcoming one that inspires a fluttery feeling in his chest — like butterflies breaking free from their cozy cocoons and spreading their wings for the very first time for flight.

“Solecito,” you greet Miguel warmly, walking closer to him.

“Dulzura,” Miguel replies, smiling right back at you. There's that fluttering again at the nickname. Little sun. “You’re back.”

“What? Did you think I wasn’t coming back?” you ask, amused. “It’s not going to be that easy to get rid of me, I fear.”

Hearing that, Miguel chuckles and gestures for you to take a seat. “Here I was thinking maybe you’d come back to tell me you like Ben's universe better,” he replies, saying it as a bit of a joke, but the words leave a bad taste in his mouth.

“Um, no,” you answer, sat on the ground with Miguel next to you. “It’s pretty, but… Nueva York is Nueva York,” you continue, glancing at him slowly. Nueva York has its own beauty and most importantly, it has Miguel. Your Miguel. As in, your best friend Miguel, not another variant — you quickly and mentally clarify to yourself, for some odd reason. You clear your throat and offer Miguel a smile. “Nueva York is — well — Home.”

“It is home,” Miguel agrees, nodding. “No matter what, you’ll always have a home here. I hope you never forget that.”

Still smiling, you shake your head no. “Never. How could I? My best friend always makes it feel like home, you know?”

“I figured I’d mention it again, just so you don’t forget,” Miguel continues with a warm smile, happy with your words, before he shows you the cup holder.

“Oooh! You got yogurt?” you ask excitedly, your eyes showing your happiness at the sight of the pink drink topped with fresh fruit and cereal.

“Yep, I got yogurt — something sweet like you,” Miguel murmurs handing you one of the cups along with a spoon and straw.

“You don’t even know,” you state, picking out a strawberry slice. “How much I needed this. Thank you!”

With a smile, Miguel watches you eat the strawberry slice before eagerly sipping the sweet drink. His lips part in surprise when a little moan comes from your throat with your eyes closed in delight. A blush quickly spreads over Miguel’s cheeks, the little noise and sight branded into his memory.

“This is so delicious,” you murmur. “Are you not going to eat yours? The cereal is going to get soggy, Migs.” You point out, noticing Miguel hasn’t started on his yet.

“I — Yes, I am. I just — “ Miguel stammers. “I was just making sure you liked yours,” he finally says, finding the words within himself.

“I’m literally holding back from scarfing it down, so that should tell you everything,” you reply, chuckling. “I love it! You really surprised me with this amazing treat.”

“I'm glad I surprised you,” Miguel answers, getting his straw and spoon out before digging in himself. The little sound you made is still in his head, but he does his best to push it away in order to focus in the now.

A peaceful and comfortable silence falls upon you, allowing you to enjoy Miguel's treat and each other's presence. It's nothing new, of course. Miguel and you are so comfortable with each other that neither of you have the need to fill the silence.

Halfway through the dessert, Miguel clears his throat. His cheeks are less red now, though a light blush remains. Stirring his straw around the cup, which looks miniature in his large hand, Miguel turns to gaze at you; a question lingering in his mind.

“So…” he starts softly. “How was your… ?”

A small smile forms on your face as you hear Miguel trailing off, not sure what to call what you had. “I think… It was a date,” you answer, turning to gaze at him.

“Yeah?” Miguel replies, raising an eyebrow.

“Well… I did notice that the others were only there as friends. Not as dates.”

“But?” Miguel inquires gently.

“But… They had picnic blankets and everyone sat on one besides Ben. That left me to sit with him alone.”

Miguel hums, placing that piece of information as small evidence to support his suspicion about Ben having feelings for you. There’s still no indication of your feelings, though.

“I didn't mind. Maybe the others are used to that, or maybe they didn't want to sit with me. Either way, I shared the picnic blanket with him and noticed he moved closer and closer as the conversation continued. Then, we had this conversation as a group. It makes me think.. Maybe Ben's friends were trying to gather information.”

“Oh…” Miguel swallows, bothered by the fact that Ben tried to move closer to you without a care for your comfort and boundaries. “What makes you think that?”

“Well… His friends brought up the fact that I’m single, which I didn’t like because one of them said I had lost ‘a Peter’. I’m sure she didn’t mean to word it like that, but,” you sigh. “It still rubbed me the wrong way, as if he was insignificant.” Shaking your head, you sigh again. “They clarified they brought it up because they were discussing everyone who is unattached and the topic of me losing Peter came up, apparently. It did seemed a little out of place to mention that today, given we don't know each other that well. Maybe… They wanted to clarify for some reason?”

“Well, first, I do hope it was a mistake they worded it like that because that did sound wrong,” Miguel starts, understanding why the wording came off like that for you. “And about the unattached comment… It could be mere gossip, Dulzura,” Miguel continues, trying to offer another reason for their curiosity regarding your relationship status, though it’s unclear if it’s more for you or for himself. “I do know that in the past — before you were here — I used to be a topic of discussion for many.”

“I know,” you answer turning to face him again and offering a look of understanding. “And I’ve told you, you don’t owe anyone explanations. People will gossip, all the time, so, I do see them merely gossiping about this.”

Miguel nods, releasing a small sigh. “Though, there is the chance that… You know.”

“Right,” you answer taking a short sip from your drink, thinking. “It could be that Ben…”

“Has feelings for you and his friends were asking to help him out,” Miguel finishes quietly.

With a hum, you take another spoonful of yogurt, a short silence following before you break it. “But to be honest?”

“Yeah?” Miguel responds, gazing at you with curiosity.

“We could be totally wrong,” you say with a small smile. “I never want to mistake kindness for something else.”

Miguel nods, understanding what you mean. There are people who mistake kindness, or even simple politeness, as flirting and romantic interest when there’s none.

“And besides,” you continue, still gazing at Miguel. “Respectfully, I have no interest in pursuing a relationship right now,” you add. “Much less with Ben. I see him as a simple friendly coworker, so I hope he doesn’t feel that way about me.”

“So you don’t…? For Ben?” Miguel asks, finding it easier to breathe thanks to your confession.

“No,” you answer quickly, shaking your head to emphasize the point. “No, I don’t.”

“Alright, well, I… You know, I wasn’t sure,” Miguel continues, scratching his neck with his free hand. “I thought maybe you did, but hadn't said anything out of shyness.”

“No, I don't have feelings for him, so now you know,” you answer before eating more of your yogurt, feeling lighter inside now that you’ve told Miguel; now that he no longer thinks you have feelings for Ben. “So…”

“So…” Miguel repeats, slowly smiling at you and watching you eat.

“What?” you ask, raising your eyebrows when you realize he’s watching you.

“Nothing,” Miguel replies, turning to finish his yogurt.

“You were just staring,” you counter.

“I was just thinking.”

“Hm… About what?” you inquire, getting Miguel to face you again.

You gaze at each other, your yogurts forgotten for now, with serious faces. A few seconds in, your lips twitch upwards, something Miguel notices and makes his lips do the same. It’s a domino effect; you notice his lips twitch, too, and it just makes yours do the same again and so on until you both burst into fits of laughter while sitting on the rooftop, away from the rest of the world and multiverse.

You cover your mouth to hide your giggling and point to Miguel, pointing out that he’s laughing.

“I’m not —” Miguel manages, unable to finish before another laugh escapes him, laughing so hard he feels his chest vibrate with the movement.

“You are!” you continue.

“So are you!” Miguel answers, pointing back at you, which makes you shake your head in denial.

“I’m laughing because you’re laughing,” you respond in between giggles.

Your laughter continues a bit more before you both settle down, feeling happy and light as though you're both on top of the world.

After catching your breath from all the laughter, you gaze at each other and exchange soft and tender smiles.

The thought that you’re enjoying yourself a million times more with Miguel than you were with Ben and his friends crosses your mind then.

Based on what happened today, you have a feeling that the invitation from Ben was a silent date and you’re sorry to say it, but if it was, it didn't go well.

You’ve enjoyed yourself a million times more in half an hour with Miguel than you did with Ben in over an hour.

You're not saying that this is a date, of course, but… It goes to show how comfortable and close you are with Miguel, your best friend.

Still gazing and smiling at Miguel, a little chuckle escapes from your lips as you think about how badly you wish you could hug him right now. If you could, you would’ve already thrown your arms around him and hold on tight for a few seconds, or rather a few minutes.

“What’s that little chuckle for?” Miguel questions, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

Sighting through your nose, you continue to smile at him. “You know you’re my best friend, right?” you ask.

Hearing your words, Miguel’s face softens. “I know,” he answers softly, yet again experiencing this feeling in his chest that he’s felt before. It’s like a beam of golden light, swirling and shining inside him. It’s so intense, it feels like it might explode from his very chest, but he cannot help it. Not the previous times nor today. Not ever. Of that, Miguel is certain. “And you’re mine,” Miguel answers, the itch to hug you coming forth once more.

His free hand curls into a gentle fist at the thought and itch. This right here — this moment — is what he would consider a ‘perfect’ moment for an embrace.

Miguel swallows, his heart beginning to race as he considers it.

Is this it?

Miguel asks himself that as he continues to gaze at you. For months now, the thought has been on his mind. He's been building himself up for more touch; for what he considers the biggest step yet in his healing journey and has gone back and forth on when and how to make this possible.

So, could this moment be it?

Miguel leans just a tad closer, his fist loosening despite his racing heart. A mixture of excitement and nerves forms in his tummy as he builds himself up for the moment, slowly but steadily, but then, the chance slips away when you stand up.

“How about we go home?” you ask with a smile, unaware of how close Miguel came to taking that step.

“I — Yes,” Miguel answers, caught off guard. Just like that, the moment has fled, but he reassures himself that the moment will come. It will, at its due time. “Let's go home.”

As soon as you reach the penthouse, you excuse yourself to change into your comfy clothes — promising Miguel to meet him in the living room in a few minutes.

Meanwhile, Miguel throws away the empty cups and turns on the stove for the last little surprise he has in store for you. Leaving that on, Miguel heads upstairs, too, to change into his lounging clothes.

As he walks down the hallway to his bedroom, he notices your door is open and that you seem to be in the bathroom. He briefly glances inside your room, but he ends up doing a double take when something catches his eyes, stopping him dead in his tracks.

Without thinking, Miguel enters your room, equally surprised and filled with tenderness due to the discovery. Carefully, Miguel picks up the plushie sitting on your bed with a smile. You have a plushie of him.

“Oh —” you gasp, walking into your room only to find Miguel holding your little secret. Heat instantly floods your cheeks, embarrassment and a minor panic coursing through your body because he has discovered the plushie. Facepalming, you remember you failed to place it back in your closet before leaving due to your nerves. “I can explain, Miguel. I — um —” You stop when Miguel begins to turn to face you, fearing that he's weirded out.

Noticing your reaction instantly, Miguel steps closer to you with a gentle smile. “Hey, hey, it’s alright,” he reassures you softly.

“I hope you don't think it’s weird, Miguel,” you reply with a little pout that makes Miguel want to melt.

“God no, why would I think it’s weird?” he asks with an amused yet gentle smile. “I think it’s incredibly sweet of you to have it, and to reassure you… Give me a few seconds.”

“What — Where are you going?” you ask as Miguel leaves your room, still holding the plushie.

A few seconds later, Miguel returns with one of his hands behind his back. Smiling, he shows you the plushie of himself before revealing what’s behind him. “I got it a while back,” Miguel shyly states, presenting a plushie of you.

“You have one of me…?” you say, looking at the plushie before looking up at him, surprised.

“Yes, I bought it a while back from Mr. Stanley’s store. I wanted to tell you about it, but I felt the same way. I thought maybe you’d find it strange, or even silly that I bought it. So, I’ve kept it in one of the drawers in my office. I personally think it’s sweet,” Miguel continues.

You shake your head in both disbelief and amusement to hear that you’ve both kept plushies a secret from each other.

Taking your plushie of Miguel from his offering hand, you smile sheepishly at each other. “I think it’s sweet you have one of me, too,” you answer with a small chuckle as you both press the plushies next to each other to look at them.

“See? No reason to be embarrassed, then,” Miguel replies. “Maybe… We can stop hiding them now.”

You nod in agreement. “I agree. The cat is out of the bag now.”

“I think I’m going to place mine in the living room,” Miguel shares. “Near the record player… You’re welcomed to place yours there, too.”

That’s exactly what you do once you’re both downstairs. You both place the plushies next to each other near the records player, looking so cute side by side.

You’re still staring at them when you receive a new notification, one you ignore by putting away all your devices to the side, including your gizmo. You’re home, which means you can unwind and forget about everything else, even the new message that unbeknownst to you, is from Harry.

Harry: Are you home? I was wondering if you’re up for a coffee. Let me know!

You sigh softly and slip the simple bracelet that prevents you from glitching in your free wrist, deciding that all notifications can be taken care off tomorrow just as a mug appears in your line of vision.

“Surprise,” Miguel says in a singsong voice, giving you a warm smile.

“You made café de olla while I was gone?” you ask, happily accepting the mug.

Smiling sheepishly, Miguel nods. He did more than make café de olla. The reorganized drawers and cabinets in the kitchen are a testament to that, but he decides to leave that out for now. You don’t need to know or get an idea about his restlessness while you were gone at Ben’s universe.

“I did,” Miguel replies, carrying his own mug and walking to the record player. His gaze lingers on the plushies for a few seconds, finding the sight of them together endearing, before he chooses a record from his collection to play.

He settles on the ground next to you, his arm brushing against yours, just as nostalgic notes fill the cozy living room accompanied with sentimental lyrics — a perfect melody for an evening like this one with a nice mug of coffee and the company of someone dear to you.

Drinking from your mug, you smile and gaze from your spot out the windows, noticing the moon. There may have been a moon event at Ben's universe, but here in Nueva York with Miguel at your side, the moon looks far lovelier and bewitching.

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A/N:

Hiii, pookies!

I can't believe it's been months since I updated NC 😭😭 After the last update, I was so excited to continue updating regularly, but then life happened. Thankfully, here's the update!

I hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing for NC again!💖✨️

Also, if you noticed some errors, pls excuse them. As some of you may know, my laptop is currently out of service so I used my phone and tablet — mainly my tablet with a wireless keyboard — to write this chapter. For some reason, my keyboard was a bit of an annoyance since it kept switching between languages while I typed and the notion app kept deleting entire paragraphs (never happens on my phone, but on my tablet it did). 🫠 Hopefully, I'll have my laptop running again soon 😭

For this chapter, I want to give credit to two people (hopefully they're still reading). One, to a nonnie, who sent an ask a while back asking how Miguel would react to hearing someone say Dulzura is with someone/looks cute with someone else when he's so used to people thinking Dulzura and him are dating. I took inspo from that ask for this chapter, so thank you, nonnie!

I also want to give credit to Mercy for the plushie scene because they sent an ask about this idea, and it was too cute to not include it! Thank you, Mercy! @mercynguyen I need a Miguel plushie so bad 😭

So this chapter... Someone needs to hold Miguel and Dulzura's hands and tell them straight to their faces, at this point 😭 but EEEEE, the way they're right there... so close. And Miguel wanting to hug Dulzura, and almost doing it! Also, what did you think about the Ben stuff? And Miguel's reaction to it? 🤭 Let me know because me personally, this was me

I also want to make a quick note about a detail from chapter 22 that I forgot to mention due to the timing (it being New Year's) and length of my author's note. The detail is regarding the knots on the bracelets Miguel and Dulzura gifted each other. During my little research and brain storming for gift ideas for them, I came across the bracelets and learned about the True Lover's Knot -- symbolizing friendship, affection, and love. 🥹

To conclude, thank you so much for reading NC. It truly means so much to me that there's still many of you reading this story despite my slow updates and it being almost 2 years since this fic first started (in July we will reach the 2 year mark). Also, thank you for keeping up with me and for being understanding and kind! ❤️

I hope you're all doing well and having a great Sunday so far. Pls take care of yourselves and know that I love you, pookies! 💖💕

Alondra❤️

p.s. I've been thinking about cleaning up the taglist since I feel like a lot of the people on it are no longer reading/not active. This might solve the issue that some readers have had, which is that they don't receive the notification despite being tagged. I will be making a post about this soon, asking anyone interested in being tagged to engage with the post, so keep an eye out for that if you want to be part of the new taglist :))

Taglist:

@loverlorn @saturnknows @d1lf-loverrr @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick

@arithestrawberry @scaleniusrm @haradasaya @spidermanismyfav

@bitchykittenconnoisseur @thecraziestcrayon @obi-mom-kenobi

@natsury-kazuki @coraline750 @edgycatx @safixiovi @sunnyx07

@nxrdamp @rorel1a @oceanstar19 @happishark @carmilla01

@somebodyelsethanyouthink @adora-but-ginger @angie2274

@vampi-amora @tired-writer04 @plzfeedmebread @shadow-pancake9

@tynakub @faretheeoscar @giulscomix @luvstuffies

@coffeeauthorvibing @lauraolar14 @bl0osclues @pinkiemme

@lil-cinn @mashiromochi @loveletterfrommwah

@muzansucker @theleftkittycollection

@kikookii @www-interludeshadow-com @holographicang3l

@aisyakirmann @bucky-to-my-barnes @geraskier-thots

@l3laze @yujyujj @taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese

@damhanallagorm @heyohalie @kaliuea @moonsua1

@darksidescorner @geminis93 @1800-get-alife

@hrrtkreuz @oharasfilipinawife

@dropyoursocksandgrabyourcrocss @may4ri @t4naiis

@f1-hoff @llumetrii

@nina-from-317 @kavimoo

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for Jan behind the cut; “mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees”. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“No, man, I was talking to both of you. I mean he's hot but I have enough daddy issues of my own, thanks, I don’t need his too,” he says with a sigh. “I'm dating a different younger brother. Specifically one who is legal, legally adopted, and also is not actively murderous and did the least amount of time in the League of Assassins. Though apparently that’s just . . . not a thing here, I guess.” 

Dick and Jason stare blankly at him again. Even Jon stops sniffling into his shoulder long enough to give him a confused look of his own. Kon just tries to figure out how to explain literally anything about himself without having to say the word “clone” out loud in a reality that may not be all that clone-friendly. Said figuring does not “figure” very well. 

Or like . . . at all, really. 

Goddammit. 

“Who the fuck did any time in the League of Assassins?” Jason demands disbelievingly. 

“. . . don’t worry about it,” Kon says. “So like, uh . . . I can explain. Probably.” 

They all look at him again, up to and including Alfred, who somehow left and came back with tea without Kon even noticing and is now just barely raising an eyebrow at him. How the fuck he even made that so quick is beyond Kon. Doesn’t that shit need to steep or whatever? He feels like that shit needs to steep or whatever. 

“. . . okay,” Dick says slowly. “So when you say you’re not Superman, you mean . . . literally not Superman. As in, not Clark Kent.” 

“Bingo, World’s . . . eh, what’re you, Third-Greatest Detective, y’think?” Kon asks, cocking his head as he looks the guy over consideringly. 

“Bullshit, you look exactly like him!” Jason protests indignantly, pointing accusingly at him. It’s incredibly novel, as an experience, actually, given he’s not doing said pointing with the barrel of a gun. Like, whole new experience to be having with a version of Jason. 

“That is really not as rare a quality in the multiverse as you apparently think it is,” Kon says. “Actually it’s like . . . ridiculously common, in my experience.” 

“How?!” Jason demands, again like he just . . . what, thinks Kon’s gonna answer honestly? Like, genuinely appears to think that? 

Weird. 

“It is such a long story,” he says. “Or like, such a short story that I’d really prefer to see Batman’s immediate reaction to, just in case he feels like whipping out the kryptonite over it.” 

Technically this reality’s kryptonite shouldn’t work on him, but they’re all having a very weird interdimensional crisis right now and also it’s, like, the principle of the thing or whatever. Whether it works on him or not, when you get to the “whipping out the kryptonite” stage, you’ve kinda crossed the Bat-Rubicon or whatever. 

The bigger concern right now, though . . . well, like . . . 

“Wait, you’re not a version of my dad?” Jon asks uneasily, just barely tense in his arms. “You mean–not at all?” 

“Yeah, no, sorry,” Kon says, hoping that if he doesn’t make a big deal about it, the kid will at least, like . . . semi-match that energy. At least this version of Jon almost definitely hasn’t met an Ultraman, so . . . fingers fucking crossed, he guesses. He is being way too optimistic about this shit, frankly, but what the fuck else is he supposed to do with a literal ten year-old? “Thought you realized that earlier, and then the conversation got complicated.” 

“Then who are you?” Jon asks, looking even more uneasy. 

“I would love to have a concise answer to that question,” Kon says. “Like. Ever. Listen, I am sorry, kid, I wasn’t actually trying to pass for your dad. Hell, I wasn’t even trying to pass for their . . . also-dad, apparently, god that is so weird, I’m sorry.” 

“Bruce being our dad is weird?” Dick asks with a frown. 

“You specifically calling Bruce your dad is weird,” Kon clarifies, sparing him a quick glance. “Like, congrats on all the family therapy I’m assuming you did, seems like that worked out real well for you and all. Clearly did the work there.” 

“What?” Dick frowns, looking a little uneasy himself. Kon . . . probably should stop saying shit that’s going to make people associate, like, negative emotions and shit with his presence, considering. 

Like. Definitely he should, at this point. 

“Sorry,” he says again, then looks back to Jon. The kid hasn’t freaked out on him yet, at least, but he’s still pretty tense. Which . . . yeah, well, the kid saw him toss Killer Croc’s teakettle like less than half an hour ago, so probably he is feeling a lot less safe than he’s used to feeling right now. Especially a lot less safe than he’s used to feeling when he thought he was with his fucking dad. 

Kon really, really feels like an asshole over that. 

“Are you okay, kid?” he asks. “Like . . . you need me to put you down, or . . . ?” 

“I want my dad,” Jon says, abrupt and just barely cracked as he stares at Kon’s very El crest-less chest, his hands fisting in Kon’s jacket. 

“Sorry,” Kon repeats, trying not to visibly wince. “Like–listen, I meant it when I said I had you. And we are family, in my book. Like, I’m not your dad or even Superman, but I am a Kent. And an El, too. Though I’m assuming in your case you’re gonna care more about the ‘Kent’ part, far as I know my reality’s version of you’s never been all that concerned with, uh . . . any of the Kryptonian shit, gonna be honest. Which, like, I have a limited amount of dog in that race myself, just I was an ‘El’ first and–yeah, never mind. Sorry, rambling here. Uh. Do you need to put me down, or are you good right now?” 

“What’s your name?” Jon asks, rubbing anxiously at his big wet eyes, and Kon literally does not even know how to compute the question. It just . . . it is very much the last thing he would’ve expected the kid to ask him right now, he guesses. 

“Kon-El,” he says. “Conner Kent.” 

“. . . are you from Krypton? Like–from Kandor, or . . . ?” Jon asks hesitantly, and Kon . . . sighs, a little. He really did not wanna explain himself pre-Batman, but the literal ten year-old definitely deserves at least an explanation, at this point. 

Also he doesn’t want the kid to be worrying he’s from the fucking Phantom Zone, considering. So yeah. 

“Not so much, no,” Kon says.

[missust3l3vision]

Always Be You

Description: George is so scared of losing you that he puts all his cards on the table. Blurting out his feelings is always a good idea right?

Being friends with George was awesome. So fucking awesome. From being each others bus buddies from the age of 5 to 18 and having almost every class together. Y/n had been his neighbour since he began primary.

Now, several years later they were just as close. Eachothers emergency contacts, biggest supporters, and as you could probably guess long time crush.

His mum told him probably a thousand times that they would end up together. Everytime she caught her son waiting for her to text back or when he'd leave for school early to have enough time to pick her up.

George fell for her after though his soul knew since the first time they met. When he finally figured out she also liked him he thought it was something he had missed his chance on.

The day his mum telling him that she liked him, only for him to shake his head and run off to his bedroom.

Now, he stood infront of her apartment. He was there for a party and to meet her new "friend" Michael.

She had asked him to come as a favour and wasn't given any details.

He seethed at the thought of him. He had not wanted to go, but knew this meant a lot to you. Knocking on the door you opened it.

Wearing a dress he bought for you and earrings his mother gave you. You looked like a dream come true.

"George! Its about time you got here" you said as you ushered him in. He loved the feeling of her hands on him.

Walking in he was met with the smell of something delicious cooking on the stove and the flat empty.

"Where's everyone else?" He asked, he was mentally freaking out that it might just be the three of you.

"No one, just us" she confessed "I have something important I wanted to ask.

A million worries came to him as he stood in the same kitchen he spent many late nights in. He nodded for her to keep going.

"So I know you're worried about me and Michael-"

"I'm in love with you!" He shouted. The fuze of his heart being lit in the same amount it took to explode "And I have been for awhile. I know you don't love me anymore but I can't have you talking about him around me" he wanted to cry "I just can't"

He slumped into the barstool. You watching him with an open open mouth

"I'm in love with you too" you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 8 year old you would have fainted at this point. Admitting it to your diary was nothing to admitting it to the man himself.

She had known longer but let the feelings inside her simmer. She gave up hope, but a little bit of her never gave up. Now seeing the man in front of her she was glad she kept it.

He flung himself up, kissing you passionately. His weight on you a gentle indication of how much he truly loved you. Finally backing away yo let you each breathe. She looks at him with a Dazed look

"Now back to why I invited you over, Michael is getting married and I was hoping you'd be my plus one...everyone else is coming to the party in 20, I just wanted to ask before" George rolled his eyes, not at her but at his own silly jealousy.

"Yeah I'd love to come" he leans in, kissing her again "As long as I can go as your boyfriend" she pretended to think, tapping her finger but before she could answer he leaned in again.

"Your mum is going to explode when we tell her" his face fell. He had to do something he hated, telling his mum that she was right.