#it’s easy to think outside of the box when you have no idea what the box is

[floral-hex]

Denim jacket came in the other day. It’s a hefty boy. Heavy heavy. Sleeves are kind of long, but I have nefarious plans for them, so it should work out. Stocked up on supplies. Big bucket. Big bleach. Armful of fabric dyes in varying shades of black and yellow. It’s been in the 100°s here, and I already sweat like a swamp beast. Strictly fall & winter wear. Plenty of time to make something garish and gauche. It’s a good distraction. My life is falling apart. I need good distractions.

[avocado-writing]

The idea of Wade as a used car salesman found a love of his life during his midlife crisis before he met Logan. They don’t have a clue that he’s Deadpool. They just fall in love with Wade the used car salesman Wade Wilson, even see him as a funny, harmless person till one day his partner showing a picture of Deadpool and goes “He looks hot, could we find some costume to wear next time we fuck, dear?”

Wade totally forgot that he’s retired from Deadpool cause he’s in his suit, ready to fuck the love of his life for eternity. 👀

Wade Wilson knew he was in love the first time you cried laughing over one of his stupid jokes.

You’re probably too good for him with your easy smile and kind heart, and he knows he’s punching above his weight when he asks you out - but somehow you end up saying yes. 

At the bar that night he keeps you laughing until there are tears in your eyes and then continues the show in bed. It’s so lovely to have you all giggly under him, pressed into the mattress as he makes you cum so hard all you can do is moan. 

You lie there, walking your fingers up and down his chest, molasses-slow as the streetlights outside your apartment silhouette you both in fluorescence. 

“I like you, Wade. You’re nice,” you sigh, in a way which suggests you don’t often meet nice people. Ah man, he fucking melts. He’s never letting you go. 

Your relationship is pretty easy. He never feels like he has to work to impress you or keep you onside, you like him for him. It’s a… refreshing feeling, from a world where Wade Wilson constantly feels like he’s too much. 

He catches the Deadpool keyring on your house keys one night after the two of you have grabbed pizza on the way home; spotting the telltale red and black while trying to keep a pile of boxes in place between his hands and his chin. 

“Oh, Deadpool fan?” he asks, trying to affect nonchalance. He sees you get a little flustered. 

“I mean… yeah? Back in his heyday I thought he was cute, kind’ve a shame he disappeared. Merc with a mouth, what’s not to love?” you pause for a second. “He reminds me of you actually.”

Wade laughs at that way too loud and way too hard.

“What? No. That’s crazy!”

You throw him a side-eye but don’t comment further. 

He lets it rest for a couple of days so as not to draw suspicion, but when you make yourself a cup of coffee and his own mask is staring back at him from the ceramic, he can’t hide his wandering eyes. 

“What’s up?” you ask. 

“Nothing. Just didn’t realise they made those.” He didn’t get a cut. Should he have gotten a cut? Would have been nice if whoever had merchandised his face had asked him if he was cool with it.  

“Oh, look, everyone has a crush on at least one superhero, okay? It’s impossible not to. They’re everywhere and they’re hot!”

He lets himself digest this. You think Deadpool is a superhero? He didn’t get that much. Mostly he was referred to as “god��s curse to crimefighting”. But also you have a crush on him? Both of these facts are… interesting. 

“I… think Deadpool is hot, too,” Wade blurts out when he realises he’s been silent for ten uninterrupted seconds. 

“Oh,” you reply, settling down a little when it turns out he’s in agreement with you. “Well, cool! Glad we can agree.”

Phew. Got outta that one, then. 

He really doesn’t think any more of it, or tries not to, until a couple of weeks later when you bring it up in bed. 

“Wade, can I ask something kinda kinky?”

Cuddled in post-coital bliss, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin, he pauses. 

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely, sweet cheeks. I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

“How do you feel about roleplay?”

He turns to you with a grin which threatens to split his face in half.

“Oh, you’ve been keeping that under your hat!” he laughs, “But, in answer to the question, very positive. What were you thinking? Cop and criminal? Nurse and patient? I’m down to play any of those roles by the way, I believe in equal gender opportunities in the bedroom.”

You chuckle, but when you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and try to work out how to phrase the next part of the question, he cottons on. 

“Oh my god. You want me to roleplay Deadpool, don’t you?”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to! It’s just, you said you thought he was sexy… so I wondered…”

He puts a finger on your lips, stoppering the spill of panic from your lips. 

“Baby, I am so down to clown that you might as well call me Pennywise. Let me sort the details and I’ll give you the best night of in-character boning that’s ever been known to man.”

You look giddy at that promise. Truth be told, he’s kinda excited himself. 

Wade retrieves the suit the next day and feels a little weird putting it back on, covering his body again with red and black. When he’s done this in the past it’s in order to go and kill like, a lot of people, not to fulfil a fantasy. But hey - there’s a first time for everything. And it’ll make you so happy, too.

You scream when he taps on your window from his perch on your fire escape. Admittedly he should have told you he was coming, but he thought it could be a fun and sexy surprise. He was wrong. 

“WHAT THE FUCK—!”

Wade whips off the mask as you lunge for your kitchen knife set, hands up in a gesture of peace. 

“Baby! Babe, it’s just me!”

You go limp with relief, leaning against the counter to support yourself. 

“Holy shit! Wade, what the fuck do you think you’re…”

You trail off as you take in the picture of your boyfriend crawling in through the tiny window decked out in his suit. An eyebrow raises. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah! See, I told you I’d sort it.”

Anger and fear now completely ablated, you walk a slow circle around where he stands in your kitchen, appraising his look. 

“This is a high quality suit. Where did you get it?”

“Peter,” he says quickly. This isn’t a lie. He did get it from Peter… Peter’s locker anyway. You look confused. 

“Our coworker Peter?” When Wade nods you furrow your brow. “He… he hasn’t fucked in this suit, has he?”

“No!” says Wade with far too much force. Actually he can’t prove that. Now it’s an image he can’t shake from his mind. Not super conducive to the mood. 

He takes a knife from his belt, and your eyes go wide in a mixture of panic and arousal. 

“Oh my god…”

“It’s blunt! Well. It’s sharp enough for me to cut your underwear off, which I’ve been rocking a semi all day from imagining…”

From the smile which takes up your face, he knows he’s done right. 

Any way you ask him to fuck you, he does. Over your dresser. Against your wall. While running the dulled point of baby knife over the curve of your ass as he pistons his hips inside you, getting the mess of your cum all over the front of his suit. It’s filthy. It’s fantastic. 

But when you lay there cuddled up to his chest that night, Wade feels… conflicted. It isn’t that he’s lying to you, exactly, but it feels like he’s keeping a pretty fucking big secret. 

If you knew, would you still like him? Still want to be with him? Having a crush on a superhero is one thing, but being with one is entirely different. Ask any of the assorted Spider-Man and their various fucked up partners. It isn’t always pretty.

As if determined to take his mind away from this thought you nuzzle into his side, blissfully fucked out. He buries his lips into your hair. 

It never needs to be an issue. Deadpool is retired. He’s never gonna be used for non-kinky reasons again. 

…right?

taglist: @falsewordz @malfoys-demigod @belilwen @mildly-salted @tvwebs @childeslegstrap @getmeoutofhell @s1eep-o @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @yrthr @momopad @sugarplumz100 @captainjinkx @madspads @acrosstheunivcrse @yeethaw13 @na-is-salty @florduarte @hunterispunk @starfleetteddybear

[zorosdimples]

꒰ FUSHIGURO TOJI X READER ꒱

cw: cheesy! age gap. slightly suggestive. brief sex toy mention. nicknames “kid” and “kiddo” used. reader and toji are neighbors and reader is shorter than toji. based on my earlier admission. wc: 782. notes: this was written so quickly and is cringe—please forgive me!

“Got another package of yours, kiddo.”

Toji stands outside of your apartment, a brown shipping box perched in his palms. You scowl, holding the door open with your hip before wordlessly turning around and leaving. He catches the door before it slams in his face, and—taking your silent cue—steps inside and kicks off his slides. 

He follows you to your cramped kitchen, chuckling when you yank the box from his grasp and scurry off to put it in your bedroom. When you return, he has already made himself comfortable on your couch; spitefully, you don’t offer him a beverage (not that he minds). You stiffly settle on the armchair beside him. 

“So,” Toji breaks the silence, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rises with the movement, a sliver of his waist on display, a thicket of jet hair barely visible. For a moment, your mind wanders—creeping along his happy trail, envisioning where it leads…

His gravelly, lazy voice interrupts your thoughts, and your focus snaps back to his face. “What’d you buy?”

“None of your business.” You pretend to pick at a cuticle. While you’re still upset with him, you aren’t playing coy; he doesn’t need to know what you ordered. It isn’t his business.  

Toji rests one of his hands against his head, looking at you curiously. “What’s with the attitude?” 

For the first time since he walked in, you look him in the eyes. His irises are lush and verdant—easy to get lost in. And they sparkle with mirth. Your frustration with him reaches a boiling point, but you do your best to bring it down to a simmer. “Why can’t you treat me like an adult? For fuck’s sake, I’m almost thirty.”

A smirk tucks itself in the corner of his lips like a secret. “I’ve got two decades on you, kid.”

“Okay. So by your logic, I should start calling you ‘old man’—is that right?”

He shrugs before spreading his legs wider and crossing his arms. “If you want to.”

“God you’re so…” you rub your temples and try to calm yourself with a deep breath. “You’re so indifferent.”

He scoffs. “Is that right?”

You nod. “Either that or you’re fucking clueless.”

“Clueless,” he repeats, like he’s tasting the word on his tongue. It irks you that your words don’t stoke the embers of his anger. 

“Fuck it,” you mutter to yourself. You brace your hands on your knees. “Still wanna know what I ordered, Toji?”

“I’m all ears, kiddo.”

“A vibrator.”

For a split second, you think he’s going to crack. But your confession simply wipes any and all playfulness from Toji’s expression. He stands up from the couch abruptly, brows knit, jade eyes sharp with an emotion you’re afraid to place. 

“You really shouldn’t—” he swallows dryly when you approach him, blocking his exit. 

“I shouldn’t what? Be an adult and buy what I want?”

He shakes his head, murmuring, “Shouldn’t tell me something like that.”

“Why?” 

He's pinned beneath your earnest stare, a needle piercing each of his wings, holding him in place. Does he continue to struggle, to risk upsetting you, to risk harming himself? Or does he give in despite his reservations? A flash of pink darts between his lips as he wets them. “Because…”

“Because what?”

Too close, he thinks to himself, your body inches from his own. The way your chest heaves and your fingers fidget nervously at your sides—it’s too much, too close.

“Because I can’t keep acting like I’m not fucking attracted to you!” he snarls, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Do you have any idea how hard this has been on me? Pretending like I don’t live next door to the most beautiful person I’ve ever met and—”

A laugh bubbles in your throat. Once it floats past your lips, it pops—you can’t contain it. Your laughter rings through the dull walls of your apartment, and while Toji wants to be irritated, the sound is infectious; it makes his heart flutter like a damn schoolboy’s. 

“What’s so funny?” he asks. 

You smile up at him as your hands (small, cold, and soft) find his (large, warm, and scarred). “Give in, Toji. It’s okay. You know I want you—I don’t think I can make my intentions any more obvious.”

He sighs deeply, but pulls you closer. “I’m old and I—”

Interrupting him, you tease, “I’ll be the judge of that, thank you.”

He stares at you hard for what feels like an eternity before leaning in, forehead brushing against yours. “Well,” he clears his throat, “this old man wants to kiss you. Can he?”

Despite yourself, your heart soars. “I thought he’d never ask.”

[fourmoony]

I HAVE THE BEST REQUEST AND IT'S PERFECT FOR JAMES! like imagine reader sitting at home and suddenly she gets a text from james to come outside and he's standing there🥲🥲🥲🥲 so she asks what he's doing there and he's like "i just wanted to kiss you" SORRY IF IT'S TOO SPECIFIC

thanks for requesting, sweetie!

f!reader 1.1k words cw: drunk jamie

You're half asleep when your phone pings, illuminating the darkness of your bedroom in a distracting glow and you're half asleep, content to ignore the single ping, a problem for tomorrow. But another one follows a moment later, the third only seconds after the second. With a huff, your hand reaches out to grab blindly for the device.

James' contact photo smiles at you from the corner of the notification box, his glasses askew and hair a mess. Your favourite photo of him, despite how vehemently he detests it. The messages are a jumble of words you struggle to make out, vowels in the wrong places and an amusing amount of emojis, even for James. A laugh huffs it way out of you as the three text bubbles appear once again, and a fourth message comes through. A photo of your house.

You'd be concerned, should anyone else have sent you the eerie looking photo of your house in utter darkness, but James is a love sick fool. You'd have to be blind not to know that about your boyfriend, even if things between you are still pretty new. He's not got a bad bone in his body. But it doesn't stop the way you sit up in a panic, scanning the floor of your bedroom for less embarrassing clothing. You come up empty, and your phone is incessantly buzzing in your hands now that James knows you've read his messages.

You use the glow of your phone to find your way downstairs, your house keys, make your way to the door and unlock it. James is sprawled out on the grass of your front garden, phone comically close to his face as he squints at the words he's typing. Drunk. Absolutely obliterated, clearly. You'll give Sirius shit for it, tomorrow, you think, as you let an exasperated laugh tumble from your lips.

James whips his head around at the noise, scrambles like a puppy to stand and bound his way over to you. He tramples some of the flowers planted around the borders of the grass and you fight a wince. He's on you in seconds, warmth radiating from him despite having been out in the cold for god knows how long. His arms are strong and steady, even though he reeks of beer, as he pulls you into them, lips firmly planted on the top of your head.

You try to peek over his shoulder for any sign of who dropped him off, but the street is empty, desolate, and you decide he must've walked from the pub.

Sleep still clings to the edges of your eyes as James pushes you back - uncoordinated and a little roughly, but you don't mind - and holds your face in his warm hands. "Hi, lovely girl." His voice is sweet and brimming with excitement at the sight of you and your heart swells.

"What on earth are you doing here, James?" You ask, though your words are kind and laced with amusement.

Your boyfriend only grins like the cat who got the cream, like he can't wait to tell you all about his adventure, until his eyes snag on your pyjamas. Technically, his pyjamas. His old juniors rugby top from secondary school and his boxer shorts, left abandoned by him last week when he'd slept in for breakfast with his mum and left in a hurry, a kiss placed to your cheek and the promise of being home for dinner. It had felt so domestic you'd had to talk yourself down from overflowing excitement for hours.

"Woah." James breathes, eyes wide.

You'd known he wouldn't mind you wearing his clothes, even if a little embarrassment at the idea had clung to your skin as you slipped them on before bed. But you hadn't expected him to feel like that about it.

"Easy tiger, you're three sheets to the wind." You chide softly, using the distraction to usher him into the hallway.

You close and lock the door behind him, place the keys in the bowl beside the door. James finds you in the darkness, hands soft against the fabric of his clothes on your body. You don't have to see him to know he's smiling that coy smile he gets whenever he seems to remember he has you.

"Am not." He mumbles, as if your statement has just now caught up with him.

You laugh, take his hand to lead him towards your bedroom. He follows quietly and without protest, but frowns when you flip on the overhead light and place him on the edge of your bed.

"What happened to Sirius' epic boys night on the town?" You ask, hands on his face as you crowd the in between of his legs.

His hands come to rest against the backs of your thighs, grip firm but soothing. He smiles, head lolling to the side, "Well," He sighs, as if buckling in for some wild tale of beasts slaughtered and mountains climbed, all just to get to you, "Sirius and Remus got drunk, like really, really drunk, and touchy and they were kissing and it made me realise how much I wanted to kiss you. So I left, and I came here for a quick kiss."

"A quick kiss?" You ask, eyebrow raised.

James just smiles, nodding dutifully, like it makes the most sense in the world. "Yeah, I gotta go back. They don't know I left."

You let out a long, suffering sigh, reaching for your phone beside James. "You can't just leave and not tell anyone where you're going."

"If they even realise I'm gone, they'll know where I am. With you." James shrugs.

"How do you reckon?"

"Where else would I be?" He asks, so serious and determined, so sure of himself that it makes your breath catch in your throat.

You can't help but smile, sweet and saccharine, glowing all over as you lean down to press your lips to James'.

"You're sweet."

James wrinkles his noise, grip tightening on your thighs as he pulls you down to him, falling backwards with a gentle thud. You catch yourself before your head collides with his nose and James grins, childish and playful, "You're sweet, too."

"Thanks, Jamie."

He presses his lips to yours, again, simple and warm. He knows he's in no condition for anything else, simply tucks you into his side and tries to get you to fall asleep with him, right there in the middle of the bed, on top of the blankets.

He's dead to the world in seconds, so you don't have much room for argument.

[xvysarene]

ℙ𝕦𝕫𝕫𝕝𝕖 ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤

Pairing: LADS Men (All 5) x Fem!Reader Words: ~2.2k || 400-500 per LI Genre: Fluff, fluff, and fluff, Pre-relationship Summary: A chance encounter and an unexpected chemistry: two strangers finding a spark when they least expect it (AKA meet-cute with our favourite boys)

[ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST]

⊱ 𝕏𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕖𝕣

The soft “Oh!” and a light touch of fingers are enough to snap Xavier’s focus back. He’s been on a shift that stretches far from the usual working hours, what's with the metaflux disturbance near Linkon, a task that has left his body operating on autopilot.

All he craves now is a simple meal.

Lost in a fog of fatigue, he registers, just a second too late, another hand already reaching for the last pack of his favourite beef hotpot ramen.

“You look like you need it more than I do,” a soft voice murmurs next to him. Xavier turns slightly, catching your gentle smile as you gesture for him to take it.

He shakes his head, soft strands of hair falling into his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. Guess I’m just too tired.”

“All the more reason you should have it,” you insist, as your gaze flickers to the Deepspace Hunter uniform he’s wearing. “It’s the least I can do to thank you for keeping Linkon safe.”

He shakes his head again, handing you the ramen. “I can survive without it for one night. Sorry for almost snatching it out of your hands.”

But you’re not backing down either. “I’m serious, take it.” Dodging his attempt to place the pack in your hands.

And before either of you realise it, a lighthearted back-and-forth of who deserves it more begins.

“You were fighting wanderers!”

“And you were here first!”

Laughter spills out through the aisles of the mostly empty 24-hour minimarket at this time of the night.

Until it’s interrupted by a soft cough.

The both of you turn to see one of the staff appearing between you, holding a whole box filled with… beef hotpot ramen.

“I have more than enough for both of you here.” The staff’s lips twitch, barely containing his laughter.

Exchanging sheepish looks, Xavier accepts the whole box with a soft thank you, before the staff leaves you both again.

When your eyes meet, you burst into laughter. “That’s so embarrassing.”

He chuckles. “I’m Xavier, by the way,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you uh… want to enjoy this together?” He cocks his head toward the small dining area, holding up the two packs of ramen he now has in his hands.

Offering him your name in return, you walk beside him before coming to a halt, remembering something. “Please tell me you also eat this with a boiled egg. It’s the only way to do it right.”

His eyes sparkled, making the Cerulean clearer than ever, as he watches you heading towards one of the aisles.

“Absolutely. It's a crime to eat it without one.”

You grin back, already scanning the shelves for the perfect eggs.

⊱ ℝ𝕒𝕗𝕒𝕪𝕖𝕝

You’ve been standing in front of the painting for a while now, long enough for him to wonder what’s keeping you there.

It’s the way you tilt your head slightly, combined with the soft furrow of your brow, that captures his attention.

Rafayel approaches, curious, until he’s close enough to ask, “What do you think of it?”

He expects you to turn toward him, maybe offer a polite response, but you don’t. Your eyes are fixed on the painting.

For a second, he wonders if you’ve heard him at all.

“I… have no idea,” you chuckle softly. It’s sincere, honest, and free of the usual pretense people have when they don’t ‘get’ art. “I can appreciate a nice piece, but I wouldn’t call myself knowledgeable.”

Your gaze then shifts to the window, watching the trees outside swaying in the gust of wind as the raindrops patter against the wide glass windows.

“I pass by Flux Art every day on my way to work but never came in until now. Seems like a good way to kill some time when it’s pouring outside.”

A beat of silence passes as your eyes trace back to the abstract shapes that don’t seem to offer any easy answers.

“Looking at it now, it almost seems like a battle between chaos and serenity. Just like how silent it is here while there is a storm outside.”

He nods, though you can’t see him doing so as your back remains turned. “There’s no right or wrong answer. Each person interprets art differently and that’s the beauty of it.”

You hum in agreement. “Well, what about you? What do you think of it?”

Then, you finally turn to him.

With a small smile, Rafayel watches closely as a flicker of recognition and realisation flashes when your eyes meet.

Your mouth opens, then closes, head tilting downward as you drop your gaze. “You’re the artist,” you murmur, cheeks flushing slightly.

“Rafayel.” He extends his hand, and he swears he feels a spark of static when your warm palm meets his as you share your name in return. “It’s always interesting to hear how others interpret my work.”

“Oh my God, I feel like I made a fool of myself.” You try to cover your flustered face when you draw your hand back.

“Hey, none of that,” he reassures. “Your honesty is more meaningful than any rehearsed compliment.”

There’s a softness in his gaze and a playful smile that puts you at ease.

“If you’re interested in knowing what I thought while painting that,” he continues, unconsciously leaning in a bit closer while nodding towards the abstract piece. “I’d be happy to share.”

Your eyes light up with genuine interest. “I’d love that. There’s no other place I’d rather be now.”

⊱ ℤ𝕒𝕪𝕟𝕖

“Come in,” he calls out.

As you step through the door of his office, Zayne’s eyebrows twitch in surprise. Normally, the faces of those who aren’t his direct patients blur together in his memory, but he instantly recognises you from the emergency room earlier that morning.

Why does he remember? He has no idea.

“How can I help you, Ms…?”

You introduce yourself quickly, before continuing, words coming out a little rushed, “I was the teacher who brought in one of my students earlier. You were incredible with him, and I just wanted to thank you personally. He also made this for you.”

A warm smile spreads across his lips as he looks at the crayon drawing of himself alongside the small boy and you, complete with a simple ‘thank you’ in a vibrant splash of colours.

“I’m glad I could help. It’s always a little more personal when it’s a child.”

You smile softly, and Zayne feels his heart skip a beat—startling even him. It's been a while since he's felt this kind of warmth, a stirring beneath the surface of what Greyson likes to joke as his cool cucumber front.

“I should also thank you. It’s not every day I meet a teacher so dedicated to their students, someone willing to go out of their way after hours just to hand me this.”

The soft light of late afternoon brings out the kindness in your eyes. There's something in the way you’re looking at him that leaves him momentarily stunned.

However, a sharp alarm from his phone breaks the delicate moment. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say, taking a half-step back, and waving idly towards his desk. “I didn’t mean to take up your time. I’ll let you get back to your work.”

He silences the alarm with a quick swipe of his finger. “It’s just a reminder that my workday is over.”

There’s a brief pause, and his eyes meet yours again. Something about you just draws him in. 

“Taking a half day today,” Zayne explains. Then, with an unexpected boldness that defies his usual personality, he adds, “There’s a café not far from here that serves great coffee and sweets. Maybe you’d like to join me? I think we could both use a little reward after such a long day.”

For a moment, you’re silent, caught off guard by the sudden invitation.

“I mean,” he continues, a little more softly now so as not to spook you further, “if you don’t have any other plans, that is.”

It feels like the weight of the world is taken off his shoulders when he sees you nod, a shy smile and a hint of pink blooming on your cheeks.

“I’m not in a rush.”

⊱ 𝕊𝕪𝕝𝕦𝕤

Of all days, why does he have to run out of wine when Luke and Kieran aren’t around? He is particular about his wine, and the only winery he sources from can’t deliver to N109 Zone.

However, his hopes for a quick transaction vanish when the staff behind the counter checks the pick-up list, gives him a once-over, and the next thing Sylus knows, he’s ushered to a seating area.

Outside. Where the sun is shining too brightly for his liking.

“Mr. Qin?”

The scowl on his face falters as he looks up at the voice calling his name. You appear slightly out of breath, hair disarray as if you’d rushed over just to see him.

“Oh, how my grandparents would have loved to see you! Too bad they’re not here today.”

He watches a couple of staff members appear behind you, pouring him a glass of wine and setting down a charcuterie board filled with a selection of cheeses, cured meats, and mixed nuts.

It’s not too extravagant, but it surprises him, nonetheless.

“What’s all this?” He is utterly confused.

“It’s just something I usually prepare for Luke and Kieran when they pick up deliveries.”

Sylus blinks. Those two never mentioned anything. “You mean they ask for this every time they are here?”

Eyes widening at his assumption, you quickly shake your head, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. “No, no! They never expect this or anything. I just like making them feel welcome since it’s a long trip from the N109 zone.”

“Thank you for this, I appreciate it," he says genuinely. “Don’t think I catch your name, though?”

A sheepish smile graces your lips as you share it with him. “I don’t believe we’ve formally met. My grandparents own the vineyard, and they’ve mentioned you quite a bit—their favourite customer.”

Liking the way he repeats your name when he thanks you once again, his gaze lingers just a moment longer. 

Your cheeks are starting to flush under the intensity of his ruby eyes. “Well, I’ll leave you to it so you can enjoy them. It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Qin—”

“Just Sylus, please.”

Flustered, you shift awkwardly. “I hope you’ll come to visit us again, Sylus.”

But before you can take a step away, he glances down at the spread before him, then back at you. “It’d be a shame to enjoy this all by myself. If you have the time, some company would be nice.”

He rises and pulls back the empty chair across from him, the invitation clear. “I could really use a change of scenery from the twins’ endless shenanigans.”

Maybe doing the pick-up isn’t a bad decision after all, Sylus thinks as he sees you chuckle, the sunlight catching in your hair.

⊱ ℂ𝕒𝕝𝕖𝕓

After spending too much time in the sky, Caleb always finds himself drawn to the library. The silence grounds him, and chatting with the librarian reminds him of the earlier days—when he was just another student at the nearby Aerospace Academy and working part-time as the library assistant.

He’s already planning to return the next day since he has some leave lined up when a loud sigh catches his attention.

Looking between the shelves, Caleb sees you balancing a stack of heavy volumes in your arms.

“Need a hand with that?”

You turn toward him and nearly drop the books, not expecting anyone else after seeing the last visitors trickled by earlier.

“Woah, easy there.” Without waiting for an answer, he steps closer, lifting half of the books from your arms, his fingers brushing yours ever so slightly.

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“I insist,” he says with a crooked smile. “Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

You murmur a small “Thanks,” grateful for the help and a bit flustered by his easy confidence.

In awe of how he is so at ease at placing the books on the correct shelves, you ask, “You’re Caleb, right?”

Which earns you a raised brow and surprise flickering across his features.

“I've heard your name around—fighter pilot and all.”

He chuckles. "Ah, so my reputation precedes me. Should I be worried?"

You shake your head quickly. “It’s a good reputation, don’t worry. The librarian tends to mention you a lot.”

As you shelve the final books together, his hand rests briefly on one of them.

“So”—he glances at your tag and call your name, breaking the comfortable silence—“you’re new here? I haven’t seen you around before.”

You hummed. “Just started last month. It has been great, except for all these books left behind.”

“Those academy students always do that. I might even be guilty of doing it too before,” he says with a sheepish grin.

When the librarian rounds the corner, their attentive eyes flicker between the two of you, and with a knowing smile, they gently usher you both to leave as it’s getting dark outside.

“Well, thanks again for the help,” you say, pulling your zipper up to fight the chilly evening air of Skyhaven. “I owe you one.”

Caleb fully faces you, and with the extra height from the steps, you can meet his gaze directly, sparkling under the sunset sky. “What do you say if I take you up on it now? Would you like to grab a drink or have dinner together? Think of it as a belated welcoming party from myself.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “I’d like that.”

Let’s just say the warmth that spreads through you both has nothing to do with the jackets.

⤷ ᝰ.ᐟ MASTERLIST

[jolalibrary]

1. butterscotch orange

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter one of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.3k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] meet cute, flirting. fluff. flirting in person and over <redacted>. frankie being a single!dad to a son. coffee date. an: it is finally here! this little thing has rotted me from the inside out and nothing brings me more joy than a romcom. so here we go. buckle in. all hail @secretelephanttattoo for the wondrous idea and support (seriously thank you, i know you know ily, but i don't think I've been this happy writing something in so long). a thank you to @thetriumphantpanda who i forced to read this when we had our sleepover, ily.

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics [winks]

IF I CAN DO IT, ANYONE CAN DO IT. ALL YOU NEED—

It rings, echoes through your skull.

Has been doing so the whole ride over—your groan doing nothing to dilute it, even as you kill the engine of your car and are welcomed with silence.

There’s an element of regret you feel thrumming in you since discovering that perky voice, her high-pitched excitement becoming the bane of your existence. Forever replaying in your head. Regardless of whether it is actually playing. It remains on a loop in your mind—all light and sweet—grating on you from the amount you’ve had to watch it, just to get to this stage.

Realistically, you know you shouldn’t hate the voice, because it has been helpful—in that effortlessly playful way that’s kind of begun to fuck you off.

But then, you’re not even sure if any voice would fare much better. Because you just don’t feel like it’s just that easy—so possible, all simple and quick to do.

Because DIY apparently isn't that trouble-free for you. The bandaids on your palm, fingers, and forearm are proof of it.

Yet, somehow you’re outside of a hardware store.

One that Google promises will have all you need and more. Not that you know what that is.

The only thing you do know is that it at least gives you another reason to focus on something other than the mountain of boxes that never end. The ones not unpacked. In the home that’s now only slowly beginning to feel more like yours, and not the people you purchased it from.

Eyes flicking over the front of the store, the clutter of things all left outside—in judging various shades of buckets and plastic garden chairs—before your eyes land on the door to Harold’s Hardware.

There’s no breeze, but the door moves ever so slightly. Sitting, slightly ajar, as though once—a long time ago—it fit in the frame perfectly, but now remained warped and unwilling to even try. Then there’s the glass, all smeared and sitting inside (what you assume) would have been a bright-white frame that’s slightly yellowed and has been adorned in scuffs, swinging in its layered overuse.

But, at least it’s visited, you think. Shoving open the door, a bell sounds in some distant corner, ringing, it almost muffled by the voice from the video continuing to play in the space between your ears—a to-do list, a handful of items required, listing themselves on a never-ending loop, the billionth play through since you’d woken up.

It’s so much bigger inside than you banked on. Jaw-ticking to the side, eyes marvelling at the floor-to-ceiling display and the array of things all living and existing under hanging signs that appear worn and peeling.

With each second, more and more of the charm comes to you.

That there’s a radio, crackling away, a song from decades gone by playing with difficulty, as an array of scents swirl, fighting themselves for your attention. But, two stand out, fresh-cut wood and lemon disinfectant. The latter you assume kills dirt but doesn’t make the floor tiles gleam in the way they once did. Scuff marks adorning well-walked paths. But the former, you gravitate more to, wish for it to fill your nose and remain with you long after your visit.

Adjusting the strap of your bag, you glance about again, almost fidgeting your feet in your shoes, before it dawns on you. Slams into you as you flick your gaze from sign to sign—

You haven’t got a clue about where to start.

Listing the things from memory—suddenly distant and difficult to find amongst the dooming overwhelm—as your feet begin moving of their own accord. Choosing an aisle, selecting it—all eeny-meeny-miny-mo.

Because better that, than standing aimless, lost. Watched on some flickering CCTV in the back where you assume the person who works here is.

Dragging your eyes, scanning them up and down, taking in the varying types of paint brushes, different thicknesses, different intentions. Moving from single purchase to grouped, to multi-packs, and landing finally on rollers before you’re turning, heading down an entirely different aisle.

The next isn’t any less overwhelming.

If anything, it’s more, because it’s at least more of what you needed.

Screws, bolts, fixings.

Your brain assessing, attempting to assemble whether a bolt is what you need, a screw or—

“You need a hand?”

It throws you off, the voice.

Cuts through your processing, through the low replays of the video (the ones only in your head) and the cracking radio which has moved into an advert for migraines.

It’s low, a slight gravel that he rids with a clear of his throat as you look over your shoulder, eyes sweeping over the owner of the voice, eventually turning to face him.

And fuck.

He’s broad, dressed in a deep green t-shirt under a tan apron—name badge scratched over, only leaving the lingering marks of a “here to help” and the fading logo you’d seen outside.

You don’t mean to gawk, but yet you do all the same.

Practically swallowing, attempting to whir your brain into gear as you take in the rest of him. The thick loose curls atop his head, the strong nose and the round-brown eyes. His moustache, the wiry facial hair across his chin he slowly begins to scrape at, as he remains waiting for a response.

“Screws.”

“You… you need screws?”

Nodding, you will your brain to work, to function. But, he’s just so—

Lifting his chin, he runs his thumb up and down the underside of his chin, waiting, waiting, until he smiles. “Do you know the kind?”

Think. Think. Fucking think.

And then you do. Somehow able to unspool some thoughts, find sentences. Beginning to explain, in barely-there pauses and animated hand gestures about your move, and your new lease of life, and this video you found and how you felt inspired by it to the point it had led you to order wood cut to size and tools from the internet, but screws, screws and this and that are all that you’d forgotten.

And, he listens. Sliding a hand over the sleeve of his sun-scorched tee as he does. Just nodding on occasion. Thin lines appear along his forehead at certain parts of the story, but nonetheless listening.

“Show me.”

“Show… you?”

Then he smiles. Soft, it slides up in a slow, almost cautious way, but then it’s at his eyes, touching, brushing itself there and sending sparks up into the darker brown flecks.

Licking his lips, he gestures, “The video.”

You do.

A quick shuffle in your pocket, a slide to unlock your phone and then your fingers are brushing his. They’re warm, his. That you can tell.

Heat radiating from them, slowly blanketing yours as his hand and yours cradle the phone like a newborn in an announcement photo.

From there, your chest tightens, more so when you meet his eyes, finding them watching you as intently as you wish to look at him, and it makes your heart stammer, skip—a full chaos of beats following before he’s holding your phone independently.

That’s when a new crisis calls. A new thought is all set to erode your mind.

Because your phone looks tiny in his hand.

The plastic case is almost dwarfed by him as he tips his chin, watching the video, occasionally tapping at the screen to skip ahead before he nods to himself, you all but busy trying not to choke on your own drool.

“I know what you need.”

“You do?”

A foolish question, all escaping without thought or rationale.

He just smiles, in a way that seems to settle your incoming anxiousness.

“I do.”

And he does.

A tilt of his head, his back turned to you, a brief thought crossing your brain at the sight but you quickly rid, and you’re following. Listening as he explains, as he points out things with his long, thick finger, as you nod, as though nothing lives in the space between both of your ears.

It isn’t until you’re back in your car that it hits you. Do you suddenly wish as your engine ignites and your car roars to life, that you had asked for his number—or better yet, his name.

It’s been days, and you’re still wondering if some part of you’d concocted him, made him up—thrown up an illusion of a man and exaggerated how good he looked.

The more you thought about him, the more insane it got. Even hearing yourself explain it to a friend made you question if you'd been dreaming. That maybe you’d let days mould him, shaping perfection in your consciousness.

It has more weight when you walk past the older man at the till, all white hair in a slick-back style and who tips his head and looks more what you’d expect from the decor of the place.

But a part, one fighting, scrapping for a moment to exist, still believes. Hopes.

Forcing your legs to wander down aisles you don’t need, pausing at each corner, desiring to be proven wrong. Hovering, hoping—half-wondering if it was essential that to make him appear, you had to look lost and hopeless—or whether that had just been a coincidence that first time.

With each up and down, you almost give up. Hope almost gone, erasing itself with each step, all but fading.

But there, in the centre of the paint aisle, speckled in dried flecks, it clinging in varying shades—a kaleidoscope dream on his jeans and worn t-shirt—is him. The man you haven't stopped thinking about.

"It's you."

"It's me," you grin, heat flooding your cheeks, growing up into your neck.

Arm lifting, hand brushing the back of his curls not housed in a cap, as he matches your grin. "New project?"

"Something like that."

His gaze doesn't waver, doesn't lessen, not as his grin slopes into a shy smile, before he wipes his hand on his jeans, offering it out. "Realised... I never... I'm Frankie, by the way."

You hand him your name, dropping an octave as you do—all unmeaning, entirely accidental—fingers sliding past his as you shake his hand.

“I don’t… you’ve not got your apron on.”

Glancing down, you find him grinning when he looks up, “Not my day today. Here on personal business.”

“Oh is…” squinting at the paint can in his hand, “Butterscotch Orange on a hit list or something?”

His lips slide into his cheek, a tooth-filled smirk. “Should be, it’s a right bitc—pain in the ass to sell.”

Rolling your lips, you trace your tongue across your teeth as you grin. “It’s no…” eyes squinting. “Mt Rainier Grey.”

His brow arches. “That your shade of choice?”

“I like it—don’t hate the orange though. So, maybe it’s not the paint, but the seller.”

Something twinkles in his eye, lips still cocked to one side, smirk still ever-present.

And it’s a challenge to drag your eyes to look at the floor, you shift your weight. Trying, and failing, to think of an excuse, to leave before it gets weird—before you become too much and ruin this nondescript thing. But, his throat clearing stops you. It forces your chin up. Barely just able to catch it, the whisper, how it’s almost said to the can in his hand than to you.

“You… doing anything right now?”

Shaking your head slowly, you bite your cheek as you grin. “Just talking to a man holding a paint can.”

Tapping his fingers along the top, lips rolling, “You fancy getting a coffee? With me?”

You have to bite your smile, out of fear you’ll show how practically beaming you are. Mouth opening, but he adds an addition of I don’t usually do this that makes your lips curl into a smirk.

“What? Invite random customers for coffee or accost them with paint you can’t sell?”

Biting his upper lip, he shakes his head, tucking a curl behind his ear as your eyes glance over at them. How they glisten under the yellow-fluorescent light.

Letting your heart dance like leaves in the wind. “I’d love to get coffee with you, Frankie.”

It’s nice, the coffee place.

Not a far walk, a few doors down. The charm of it coaxes you in with sounds of crunching beans and strong scents of varying levels of caffeine sliding over and relaxing your shoulders from your ears.

Because suddenly you’re nervous.

A slight shake to your bones, a twitch of your fingers.

“Let me get this.”

Smiling, you find him watching you, not caring to drag his eyes away when you catch him.

“Because you never do this or because you’re hoping to persuade me to buy your unsellable paint?”

Smirking, he traces his eyes over you, “Both.”

The corner of his mouth slides back into his cheek, a dimple appearing, deepening—one you want to brush over with your thumb the longer he keeps looking at you the way he does.

All dark eyes, beedy, but sparkling.

'Who's next?' breaks the spell. Shatters the magic. It forces you both to blink, to focus on the task at hand. Both orders said, whirring and crunching sounding as you admire the place, glaze over the menu until he’s nudging you.

With your order in hand and tucked away in the corner—the large window letting in light and warmth from the sun on your back—you try not to moan at the taste of your drink once it hits your tongue.

Because it’s good. Brilliant, practically everything.

To the point you have to bite back a thank you, one that you feel would be never-ending, a constant swirl of words landing on the circular table between the two of you. Nothing napkins and good conversation could soak up.

Because good coffee is always great, but knowing where to find it in an unknown place is something else.

Distantly, you hear him say your name, chin dipped, eyes focused, realising—in a flood of embarrassment—he’s been talking to you.

“Sorry?”

“I said, I’ve not seen you in the store before…”

Swallowing, you take a steadying breath.

“You don’t have to…”

But, you do all the same. You pour open small bits of truth, words falling, tumbling half-strung together as your history rolls out in a timeline in front of you both. How you’d bought a new place, that it’s a bit run down, seen better days—a determination to prove friends wrong by doing it yourself.

Foolish, you comment with a shake of your head, I know fuck all about decorating.

And he listens—to the fact you’re alone, not even a pet; he listens even as you talk about your work, all boring, not entirely interesting. The two of you simply lost in one another, surrounded by coffee mug swirls and the sounds of sizzling food, coffee shop noises and mumbling daytime talk as you ask him about work, about his love for orange shades.

And your eyes glance down at his phone, how it’s turned over—his all undivided attention given to you—yet your eyes linger on the phone case. The one with a drawing, likely in pencil, a man in a hat on a hill, a child next to him and a sun with a smile on its face.

“I… I have a kid. Luca—shared custody,” he says, nodding, tongue peeking out between his teeth, hands leaving the table and wiping back on his jeans in slow slides up and down. “He… he made it me.”

It’s the grin that makes your heart swell.

Makes your hand cup your mug a little tighter so you don’t offer it out to him to hold, a thing which feels so natural, no thought required. Except you don’t know his last name—barely know a thing about him.

Yet, your body practically leans forward as you mirror the smile—all soft, as another piece of a missing puzzle sliding into place.

“Does he like drawing?”

Laughing, his palm slides along his jaw. “Loves it.”

“How old?”

“Five—does that… does that bother you?”

“That you’re a dad?” He nods, and you lick your lips, you make sure to hold his gaze. “Not in the slightest.”

You smile, watching him mirror you this time. It rushes out, kissing across every bit of his face—a shyness soon fluttering over him before he clears his throat.

“So, you freelance? You like being your own boss?”

“Not especially, but it does mean I can work at night.”

Nodding, he slides his hand around the white porcelain, hand practically dwarfing the mug. It makes you want to ask him to hold things, to see if IKEA pencils or children’s eating utensils look more ridiculous than your iPhone and a regular coffee mug.

“Prefer the night?”

“I prefer the quiet of it... to think. It’s why… why I began trying to do something in the day, needed to still be busy.”

“Sitting still not an option, Rainier Grey?”

Shrugging, you smile. “Says you Butterscotch and your three tins of unsellable paint in the bed of your truck.”

“You got me there.”

“I just… like to be busy, and with the new house, no partner—commitments, I thought why not try a bit of DIY.”

Nodding, he lifts his mug, and takes a sip—eyes remaining fixed on you as he does, as though it buys him time, lets him think up an opinion, an assessment. It makes your skin warm, but for all the uncomfortable reasons, the panicking ones—parts of you beginning to catastrophise that you’ve said the wrong thing.

“Open up your Instagram.”

You stare, blinking.

“Trust me.”

And you do. With another fumble, another slide of your phone screen open, and you follow his instructions as you type in the spelling he gives you. When you click the page, it’s hard not to grin, to not have your face explode into a smile so large it cuts into your cheeks.

“I don’t like to sit still either,” Frankie adds, as though the thousand photos and videos, the tutorials and follower count don’t say that on their own.

You’ve fallen down a hole—willingly.

It cracked open the moment you’d sat on your couch, drink in hand, blanket half over your body.

The moment you’d begun your scroll, you discovered you couldn’t stop. Starting with the latest and moving back, until you realise you’d rather see the story in the way it happened.

Choosing a moment, almost nine months ago, before you work your way forward to the present.

You were cautious, more careful than needed, to not like anything too late—to not give away how deep into his page you’d gone. Even if you were in awe, a little proud—your cheeks a little warm and lips turned up into your cheek—as you saw in real-time his confidence grow. The way he’d look at the camera, began experimenting with angles, all in all being smoother, more happy.

You suppose that’s why you type a comment under one picture:

Is that butterscotch orange in the flesh? 🟠

Stalking me are you?

Getting some tips from Mr DIY himself.

I know you went back some months, Rainy.

How do you know that?

Because as soon as you commented that’s what I did. You looked nice at the beach.

Now who’s the stalker, Butterscotch.

Me. Clearly. I’m being very upfront about it.

Out of interest, do you tutor at all? Give hands on help to beginner DIYers?

You genuinely asking or flirting?

Big-headed much?

I can help you with something if you need it.

I think I do.

Then I’m yours. Don’t worry, I promise to only snoop in your drawers when left alone.

Think we should get food first, show you what I’m thinking—make sure you’re up to the task.

You asking me on a date?

No. But if you keep showing off tools topless I’ll be tempted to ask you.

Knew you’d gone back further than a month.

FRANKIE’S INSTAGRAM 🌝

NEXT CHAPTER

an: you do not understand how giddy i am about this series. the chapters have flown out of me. i hope you enjoy it half as much as i'm enjoying writing it. see you soon xx

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

I have a small idea and I think your writing is always amazing. So y/n has a crush on Bucky but he doesn't know. He opens up about having nightmares one time in conversation and she says she has lots of ideas (yoga, meditation, music, dancing, massage, reading the hobbit to bucky, doing skin care etc) and begins this whole ordeal of trying to get rid of buckys nightmares. She places a huge teddy bear outside his door one night as she knows he sometimes leaves his room after having nightmares. Sometimes she'll leave her perfume on things and he begins to get attached. Eventually it's suggested they cuddle and bucky confesses his feelings?? I don't know.. It's just a thought.

Ways To Help » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Female Reader

Summary: You come up with ways to help Bucky with his nightmares.

Warnings: Fluff, language, cuddling, kissing, use of pet names

A/N: Thank you for requesting @teddybearbucky 🩵

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators. I found it on Pinterest.

“Good morning, Sarge!” You chirped with a smile.

“Morning.” Bucky mumbles loud enough for you to hear.

He sat down at the table in the kitchen in the Avengers Compound and put his head in his hands, sighing loudly. You looked at him and frowned.

“Are you ok?” You asked with concern in your voice.

“I didn’t sleep well last night.” He says.

“This might help.” You say, putting a cup of coffee in front of him.

“Thanks.” He sighs, taking a sip of it.

You sat down next to him with your own cup of coffee. You could see the dark circles under Bucky’s eyes.

“Did you have a bad dream last night?” You asked.

“That’s one way to put it.” Bucky looks down at the coffee in the cup. “I don’t want to unload my problems onto you.” He says.

“I know I’m new here, but you’re more than welcome to tell me anything. I’m a good listener.” You say.

Bucky thought about it for a moment before looking at you.

“I have nightmares.” He starts. “Nightmares from what I done as the Winter Soldier. The blood, the screams, it’s still there.” He says.

“That wasn’t you, Bucky.” You put a comforting hand on his arm. “Nothing was in your control then. You don’t need to feel guilty for something you didn’t do.” You say softly.

“I know, but it’s still there and it won’t go away.” He says.

“If you want, I can come up with ways to help you.” You suggested.

“You’d do that for me?” He asks.

“Of course I would!” You smiled. “I consider us friends. Friends help each other out, don’t they?” You say.

“I suppose they do.” He says with a smile.

You smiled and kissed his stubbly cheek before going to the gym and train. Bucky sat at the table in curiosity, curious to know what you’re going to come up with to help him with his nightmares. Later that day at night, you knocked on Bucky’s bedroom door and he opened it, stepping aside to let you in.

“What’d you come up with?” Bucky asks curiously as he closed the door.

“I thought we’d start off with something easy. Like reading. Do you have any books?” You asked.

Bucky went in his closet and dug around in a box, finding what he was looking for. He walked out of the closet and handed you the book.

“Feel free to call me a nerd, but this is all I have.” He says, handing you the book.

You read the title of the book, The Hobbit. You continued to look at the book, admiring how old it is.

“I read it in 1937 when it first came out.” He says.

His cheeks turned red in embarrassment, thinking that you would think he’s a nerd for reading something like that.

“I don’t think you’re a nerd.” You looked at him. “I think it’s cute.” You say, smiling at him.

You and Bucky got on his bed and got under the blanket. Bucky listened to every word you read, loving the sound of your voice. It soothed him. About halfway through the book, he fell asleep. You bookmarked the page you left off on and put it on his nightstand. You kissed his forehead and carefully got out of bed, trying your best to not wake him up and went to your own bedroom and went to sleep. Around 3am, you woke up to the sound of someone knocking on your bedroom door. You got out of bed and opened it to see Bucky on the other side. You stepped aside to let him in your room.

“Bucky, are you ok?” You asked.

Bucky shook his head no. You took in his appearance and noticed that he was shirtless, sweaty, his hair was messy, and his breathing was heavy.

“Breath.” You say softly.

Bucky watched as you took a deep breath in and exhaled. He copied your breathing pattern till his breathing was back to normal.

“Nightmare?” You asked, sitting down on your bed.

“Yea.” Bucky sighs, sitting down next to you. “Reading didn’t work.” He says, his voice laced with disappointment.

You two sat in silence for a moment when something came to your mind. Something that helped you when you were a kid.

“Come with me.” You say, standing up.

“Where are we going?” Bucky asks, following you down the hall.

“To the kitchen.” You say, pushing the button.

The elevator dinged and you two got on it. You pushed the button to the kitchen. The elevator dinged again and you two got off of it. Bucky watched curiously as you rummaged through the cabinets for something.

“What are you looking for?” He asks.

“Hot chocolate.” You say.

“Why?” He asks.

“It’s something that my mom you give me when I was a kid when I had bad dreams.” You explained.

You found the hot chocolate and grabbed two packets, along with two mugs. You made the hot chocolate and gave Bucky one of them and sat down at the kitchen table.

“Ok, so reading didn’t work…” You start, taking a sip of your hot chocolate. “How do you feel about yoga?” You asked, looking at him.

“It’s too girly to me.” He says.

“Ok. Umm…” You continued to think. “What about meditation?” You asked.

“Not my thing.” He says, taking a sip of his hot chocolate.

“Alright. What about…” You thought harder. “Music?” You asked.

“Sounds interesting to me. Let’s do it.” He says.

You and Bucky drank your hot chocolates before going back to his bedroom.

“I don’t have anything for music.” He says.

“That’s ok. We can use my phone.” You went to the music app on your phone. “What kind of music do you like?” You asked.

“I like 40s music.” He tells you.

You looked up 40s music and played the first song that popped up. You placed your phone on Bucky’s nightstand and sat down on his bed. You looked up to see Bucky holding his right hand out to you.

“Let’s dance.” Bucky says.

“I don’t know how to dance.” You say, feeling your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

“That’s ok. I’ll teach you.” He says with a smile.

You smiled and put your hand in his and stood up. Bucky wrapped his vibranium arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him, making your breath hitch in your throat. Your heart fluttered in your chest.

“Just move with me and you’ll be fine.” Bucky says softly.

You and Bucky swayed to the music. Your stomach erupted with butterflies when you felt Bucky’s vibranium hand gently rub up and down your back.

“You know…” Bucky breaks the silence. “You’re a really amazing friend.” He tells you. “You’re definitely my most gorgeous friend.” He says in a flirty tone.

“Y-You think I’m gorgeous?” You asked, stuttering.

“Yes.” He says with a smile.

You couldn’t help but blush uncontrollably. Your eyes began to droop and you laid your head on his chest. Bucky sensed it and shut off the music.

“Let’s get you to bed, doll.” He says softly.

Bucky picked you up bridal style and carried you to your bedroom, gently laying you down on your bed.

“Shouldn’t I be the one helping you sleep, not the other way around?” You asked, giggling.

“I’m just returning the favor.” He says with a smile.

Bucky shut your bedroom light off before walking out of your room and went back to his own room. Over the next few weeks, you and Bucky have gotten closer. You two know each other better than you guys did a few weeks ago. Saying you two are best friends now is a statement. Plus, Bucky hasn’t been having nightmares as much as he used to.

You placed a big teddy bear in front of Bucky’s closed bedroom door and sprayed your perfume on it. The elevator dinged and you quickly were to your bedroom and closed the door before he seen you. Bucky stopped in his tracks when he seen the teddy bear. He slowly approached it, slightly suspicious. He dropped his suspicions when he got a whiff of perfume. He automatically knew the scent of perfume. It’s the scent you wear on a daily. He picked the teddy bear up and opened his bedroom door, placing it on the floor against the wall.

“Hey, Bucky!” You say, smiling widely.

“Hey, doll.” Bucky says, not as enthusiastic as you.

You frowned as you watched his vibranium hand rub his right shoulder.

“Did something happen to your shoulder?” You asked with concern in your voice.

“I think I pulled a muscle or something while training earlier.” He says, slightly wincing in pain.

“I can give you a massage if you want.” You suggested.

“Would you?” He asks.

“Of course I would!” You smiled. “Like I said, friends help friends out.” You say.

“You really are a doll.” Bucky kisses your cheek. “I’m going to take a shower before that massage.” He says before walking away.

You stood there frozen with butterflies fluttering in your stomach and blush creeping up on your cheeks. After a few seconds, you closed your eyes and shook your head before going to your room. A little bit later, Bucky knocked on your bedroom door and you gave him permission to come in.

“Take a seat.” You say, patting the bed in front of you.

Bucky sat down on your bed while you sat on your knees behind him. You rubbed his right shoulder, applying pressure. Bucky quickly relaxed with your touch.

“You give amazing massages.” Bucky sighs. “You have really soft hands.” He compliments.

“Thank you.” You say, smiling.

Bucky couldn’t see your face, but you’re blushing uncontrollably behind him. The compliments he gives you and the kisses on the cheeks he been giving you lately has been making you blush more than you normally do.

“You know…” He speaks up. “I know you’re the one who put that teddy bear outside of my bedroom.” He says.

“How- How do you know it’s me and not Natasha or Wanda?” You asked, stuttering.

“Natasha and Wanda don’t wear floral scented perfume.” He says.

You went quiet and felt your cheeks heat up. Bucky turned around to face you, seeing that your face is red.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you have a crush on me, doll?” He asks, looking deep in your eyes.

“We were getting to know each other so well that I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.” You say, looking down at your lap.

His vibranium hand caressed your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing against your skin, making you shiver. What Bucky did next surprised you. He leaned in, placing his lips on yours and kissed you passionately and sweetly. His lips felt soft against yours. It felt like everything around you guys was in slow motion and sparks were flying. It was everything you imagined. When Bucky pulled away, you were left breathless.

“Holy shit…” You say breathlessly.

Bucky couldn’t help but lightly laugh at your cuteness.

“How about we cuddle for the rest of the night.” Bucky suggests.

“I like the sound of that.” You say softly, smiling at him.

You and Bucky laid back on your bed and covered yourselves up with a blanket. You turned your TV on and put a movie on. You laid your head on Bucky’s chest. Your fingers played with Bucky’s dog tags while his vibranium hand rubbed your back soothingly.

“Just so you know…” Bucky breaks the silence. “I have a crush on you.” He says.

“You like me?” You asked, looking up at him.

“I thought I was making it pretty obvious for you when I complimented you and gave you cheek kisses.” He says.

“I thought you were just being friendly.” You say.

“Do friends do this?” He asks, kissing you again.

“No.” You giggled against his lips.

“Then that makes us more than friends.” He says.

“I’m completely fine with that.” You say.

“Me too.” He says, softly pecking your lips.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[rovsemyri]

I smoked away my brain..(plug!k.choso) ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚

❄️UP ON MY GUMS , (I THINK THEY GOIN NUMB!)

now playing: demons- a$ap rocky

cw: plug!choso / drug dealer!choso, soft dom!choso, fem!reader, dubcon (kinda; sex under the influence), car sex, praising, riding, pussydrunk chosooo!, plot(kinda?), unprotected sex, creampie ₊˚ෆ₊

synopsis: it’s a friday night after work, you finally have the weekend off! stressed, you decide to call your plug, choso. you met him through one of your closest co-workers, yuiji after finding out he had a brother, since then, I guess you can say that you became choso's favorite customer — ★ (intended lowercase)

levy's note⭒⊹ ࣪ ˖: not my best work (i wrote this while i was high) :( but the show must go on. i had the idea to add visual links but i didn't know if people would be cool wit that, so lmk! tyy :) *there may be spelling errors,etc*

╰⟢ it was a late friday night and you didn’t have work tomorrow, so what did u do? called choso, your plug of course. though he was your drug dealer, you knew him a little bit more than his other customers, might even say, you got special treatment. choso was always laid back, he hated people in his business so not many people knew much about him, you wouldn’t have met him if it weren't for yuiji. 

 when he arrived, you stood outside the car door , just talking for a moment before he asked if you wanted to chill for a bit, suggesting you smoke a few blunts and talk…as you know, he always enjoyed your company. 

“so how you been, ma?” he asks, passing you the blunt as he fights a grin asking you the question. taking it from his hand, you take a pull before answering, “ tired, work has been stressing me out lately, but i’m doing okay” you flash him a small smile before taking another pull from the blunt. “you've been staying after hours, right?” he laughed a little, you could tell he was already buzzed. “you stalking me?” you ask, keeping up the light mood. passing the blunt back to him, your body began to feel heavy. 

“nahh, yuiji told me. the boy never shuts up about you, he’s worried bout you”, he says nonchalantly, taking another hit from the blunt. “you gotta take it easy for realll” his words slowing down a little. you could feel your head start to spin as the car became filled with more and more smoke, making your brain blank a little. “i’m doing fine though! just make sure you tell him to not worry when you get back” you laugh a little at the fact that yuiji worried about you and told his brother. choso takes a few pulls before outing the blunt. “you ain’t fine, you just said you was stressed” his words slur a little, the bud getting to his head. “ know i had smoke with you real quick, mama” he says with a grin on his face, pulling out another pre-rolled blunt, passing it to you with his lighter.

“being generous tonight, cho?” you smile at him, lighting the next blunt. “ you said you were stressed…you know i gotchu.” he says looking at you with a soft expression, making eye contact you try to avert your eyes. though choso was your friend’s brother you couldn’t help but admit he was so fucking hot. he was the quiet type, never spoke too much about himself or his life, he was a chill type of guy. that's what made you take interest in him, he was a mystery, really. 

you continue to spend the night just talking, getting things off your mind. choso was always a good listener and it seemed like he loved to listen to you talk. you could sometimes feel the way his eyes are glued to your lips as you're talking…or when he thinks you're not looking, you could feel the way his low eyes trace your figure as you tell him about what's going on. your mind gets more and more intoxicated as the rotation continues several times, somehow he’s still going, waiting for you to tap out or break the box. 

it's getting later as you both continue to talk, rotation going back forth as well, reminiscing about the past you both giggle and laugh. the euphoric feeling takes over your body, you haven’t felt this high in a really long time, you almost feel yourself twitching. choso lets out a soft laugh before passing the blunt back to you, his eyes low and red. “hmmph, cho, you’re not tapping out yet?” you pout giving him a playful hit on his arm before taking the blunt from his slender fingers. “think you could out smoke me, baby?” his tone lowers, a grin plastered on his face, laying back in his seat he watches as you look surprised at the name he called you. 

“of course i can!” you reply quickly with a smile on your face. “what you suggestin’ , girl? we try?” he says, his words slow and slurred, looking up at you making eye contact with you. 

you tried to avoid his eyes as you took another hit from the blunt, you couldn’t help but think about how hot he looked when he was high, you thought maybe shit was just getting to your head. 

“why you keep lookin’ away from me, ma?” he couldn’t help but laugh a little, clearly intoxicated. he passes you another blunt again with his lighter, willing to give into your little game. you kill off the blunt before looking at him, taking the next blunt from him to light , he couldn't help but smile. you could tell choso was on a different planet at the moment but you both felt the tension. “ you're gonna regret this, baby. you can’t out-smoke me” his tone was lower than before. you laugh, exhaling before passing it back to him.” you said you were being generous tonight, right cho?” you tease him, thinking that he’ll tap out sooner or later. the rotation continued.

and somehow, you find yourself in the backseat of choso’s car, the two front seats pushed back, making enough space for you to be perfectly sat on top of him. one hand on your hips, gripping them firmly. His shirt and your clothes are discarded and thrown onto the dashboard of the car and on the car floor. your chest pressed against his as he has one hand harshly holding down your hips on top of him, and the other around your neck. smashing his lips onto yours as the hand on your neck slightly tightened as it guided you to keep up with how he was moving. 

his kisses become sloppier by the minute as you grant his tongue access to yours, before he pulls away, loosening the grip on your neck and allowing you to catch your breath. “this is what ya’ get, baby” he groans, his gaze focused on the way your body looked as you were on top of him, trying to catch your breath. you couldn’t help but take a minute to breathe, his hands traveling to your lower body. his two large hands on your hips, gripping them firmly, slightly pushing your clothed cunt against his tightening bulge, his jeans unbuckled & pushed down far enough to reveal the wet spot forming in his boxers..“cmonn, please help me, baby” choso whined, guiding your hips to grind against his bulge through your soaked panties. . “choso, you’re just really high right now, relax” you pat his head before looking down at him, your hands on his shoulders. 

he groans, throwing his head back before pulling you closer to his chest. “fuck, i’m so impatient, girl” he whines, burying his face into your neck. one of the hands-on your hips now placed on ur neck, you almost gasp at the feeling of the slightly tight grip on your neck “cho.. take it easy on me” you choke out trying to keep yourself composed as you could feel how hard the poor boy was under you. 

planting wet kisses and leaving deep shades of red and purple on your neck, you bite your tongue to hold back the small yelps that almost escape your lips each time you feel his teeth gently sink into the sensitive spots of your neck

poor thing, he couldn’t help but think about how badly he wanted to stuff your tight cunt. his head spinning and low eyes making it worse, he needed it. 

“please let me fuck you, baby” he whines into your neck, he couldn’t take it anymore. he barely waits for you to nod before choso let’s out a soft growl, growing needier by the moment, one of his hands moving away from your hips. slowly moving down to your panties.

he brushes his thumb over your clit, “just the tip baby, I promise” he whines, looking up at you with his low red eyes, moving your panties to the side , “promise??” you move one of your hands down to his erection, freeing them from his boxers. “promise, doll face” he says, lining himself up with you, his hands digging into your soft hips. 

you choke back a moan as the tip of his cock enters your soaking cunt. a loud whimper escapes his lips as he throws his head back. he couldn’t take it , your tight cunt was squeezing his leaking tip. he wanted to see how you’d take him sooo bad. 

 “fuck- i’m s-sorry ma but-“ he manages to say through his sped up breathing before roughly pushing your hips down, your cunt stretching around him as he throws his head back in pleasure. “chosoo, you p-promised” you moan loudly. “sorry baby, take it for me… please?” he almost finds himself begging. 

his rough hands hold your body up, rutting his hips into you at a slow but steady pace, allowing you to get used to the feeling, kissing your cervix each time he comes back down. bouncing yourself back on him, one of his hands cup your face forcing you to look at him with your teary eyes. 

he couldn’t help himself from taking in every part of you. he loved watching the way you tried to hide the way your facial expression changed each time his tip hit the right spot. admiring the pretty sounds you made for him and only him to hear. he loved knowing that he was the one relieving your stress. 

““fuckkk .. you move your hips so well. keep riding me s-so fucking good.” he moans loudly before pulling you closer to him. you could swear his voice was louder than yours but he just couldn’t help it. 

you feel the tears well up in your eyes as his pace begins to quicken, pounding into you, the vibrations riding along your sensitive clit making you moan louder with pleasure. “-- ngh! feels good .. s-so good,” you babble, your body getting tired, you lean on his chest for more support. 

your nails digging into his back, the pain almost giving him more energy, he pounds into you harder making the sounds you were making impossible to suppress. you feel the knots in your stomach tighten. 

“c-cumming—m’ gonna c-cum mmph!!” you whine, 

“ cmon baby,, cum on my dick m’ almost there” he groans in your ear as you grip his shoulders tighter. you feel a euphoric wave overtake your body as he continues to chase his high, fucking you through your orgasm, leaving your legs shaking as he overstimulates your weak spot. 

“fuckfuckfuckfuck!--- p-please take it, princess. m’ right there” he’s at the point of tears. your vision is blurry as you watch as he desperately fucks into you. you weakly push yourself back against him, attempting to help him. 

“i’m cumming, p-please don’t stop” he whines loudly as he continued to fuck into you before feeling his dick twitch inside of you, his breathing became heavier. he buries his face into your neck, whimpering as he paints your tight gummy walls white, riding out his high.

he lifts his head, face stained with tears, he looks at you with low eyes, trying to catch his breath. 

“ think ya got one more fa’ me, princess?” 

[slowlyoats]

The Lost Boys: What they like in other people

Marko

- creativity

- Absolutely HATES the idea of blending in

- Hence why his jacket is so different from his brother’s jackets

- He’s drawn to creative people who outwardly express their creativity with their appearance

- This is why he loves the board walk!! There are TONS of people who dress originally and In an unapologetic way

- I think one of his biggest struggles with being a vampire is that he can’t be outside during the day, and it’s not because he misses the sun or the warmth, it’s because thats the time of day people are usually outside creating wall murals, doing chalk art, painting landscapes.

- He misses interacting with those artists

- So, if he is at the board walk and just so happens to see someone set up with an easel, painting the lights of carnival rides, you BET that boy is going to introduce himself

- And find out everything there is to know about you

- And try to convince you to stay in Santa Carla forever with him

Paul

- Music taste

- Paul is a music snob

- He will totally judge a person based off the music they listen to, and will, on many occasions, choose his victims based off their poor music taste

- His favorite place on the Boardwalk is the record store

- It’s run by this older lady who shares Paul’s love for music

- He goes in at least once a week to say hi, and discuss music with her

- I feel like her name is Gretchen, but Paul insists on calling her Gretch

- He usually sits behind the cash register and talks to her in between customers

- And if it’s one of those nights where Paul can’t sit still, Gretchen makes him unload boxes in the back room and set up any new displays

- She LOVES to play matchmaker with Paul

- Because she is the only record store around, she knows the music taste of most people who live in Santa Carla

- So she try’s to find Paul a date, by matching up his music taste with a regular’s

- This usually doesn’t work out, but she LOVES to try

- *whispers* “look at her Paul! Isn’t she lovely?? And she listens to Motley Crüe!”

- He went on one date that Gretchen set him up on, and it didn’t end too well….so he swore he would never do it again.

- Let’s just say that the girl smelled a little TOO good and he couldn’t stop himself from having a taste

- He cares too much about Gretchen’s companionship to ruin it with him loosing control and eating all her customers

Dwayne

- kindness

- The boys don’t get shown a lot of kindness because…you know…they kill people and stuff

- But that doesn’t mean they don’t have feelings!!

- Dwayne might be the silent, stern type, BUT if anyone shows him the tiniest bit of kindness this man will become your devoted follower

- He may be a vampire, but he remembers what it was like to be human, and how easy it is to be selfish and just plain mean

- He also remembers that kindness is a choice

- And the kindest people tend to be the strongest

- Being kind to him is one thing, he might keep an eye out for you on the boardwalk in case you find yourself in trouble, or change your tire if you get a flat.

- But

- If your kind to Laddie?

- Maybe he got lost and you helped him find his way back to the boys? Or bought him a ice cream? Or maybe even helped him reach an arcade game he so desperately wanted to play?

- Oh boy.

- You just found your self a guardian watch dog angel. Trust me when I saw NO ONE will lay a hand on you or look at you the wrong way EVER and live to tell the tale

- And if you just so happen to be his type?

- Well, I hope you like Santa Carla because you won’t be leaving

David

- courage

- He admires someone who can stand there ground

- Who can get in the face of a surfer nazi and tell them where they can stick it

- Who won’t put up with Paul and Marko teasing them, and will dish it right back to them!

- Who won’t be intimidated and has no problem telling him and the boys “no” with a smile on their face

- Someone who doesn’t give a flying you-know-what about what anyone has to say to them about hanging around him and his boys

- Their confident in their decisions, even the bad ones

- When offered a drink from that sparkly bottle they give him a wink, and take a huge swig!

- And PROMPTLY spit it out all over their prized poster, because like HELL will you be tricked into doing anything you don’t want to do

[corroded-hellfire]

I've got this image in my head of very pregnant!AYW reader sitting outside with her feet in a kiddie pool, letting the older boys splash around and keep her cool on a hot day. Maybe a cooler full of frozen treats at her side.

I have had this one in my ask box forever because I wanted to write something I’d be happy with and I think I’m there lol. I hope it makes you happy as well 😘

Words: 1.4k

[As You Wish masterlist]

Of course. The August that you’re seven months pregnant is the hottest summer Hawkins has had in over fifty years. Of course.

Eddie could see how the heat was getting to you. Sweat would dot your forehead just moments after you’d step outside. Your ankles had swollen to almost double the size. It hadn’t escaped anyone’s notice that you were a little more irritable than usual as well. But your husband wasn’t sure what he could do to comfort you. Usually, his way of comforting you included wrapping you up in his arms but the one time he’d attempted to do that you’d given him a death glare that blazed hotter than the weather. He’d learned his lesson after that: no touching when the temperature is above a hundred degrees. 

One early Saturday afternoon, you and Luke are eating lunch while Eddie and Ryan run a few errands. Luke had wanted to go too, but ever since you started your third trimester, Eddie didn’t like the idea of leaving you by yourself. 

It’s quiet between you and your ten-year-old son when the back door bangs open, making you jump and swivel around in your seat–which was no easy task. Perspiration runs down Eddie’s forehead, Ryan’s own golden brown hair plastered to his forehead from the moisture. Patches of Ryan’s gray shirt are black and clinging to his skin from the sweat. If Eddie’s black Iron Maiden shirt weren’t so dark, you know you’d see the same thing on him. Despite how hot and sweaty they both look, they both have smiles on their faces and Eddie looks quite proud of himself.

“I f’ought oo were goin’ to da store,” you say around a mouth full of pasta salad.

“We did,” Eddie said, breaths labored.

“And we set up a surprise for you!” Ryan adds, his beaming grin stretching from ear to ear. 

“And me?” Luke asks optimistically, craning his neck to look over at his father and brother.

“Actually, kind of,” Eddie says with a shrug. “Come on.” Your husband waves the both of you over towards the back door before remembering he should help you up out of the chair–even though you’re capable of doing it yourself. 

The boys both run ahead of you as Eddie stays back with your waddling pace. It feels like no sooner than your bare foot hits the grass of the yard than sweat begins to break out along your hairline. You swear you’ll never complain about the winter being too cold again. 

“It’s small,” you hear Luke say. 

Your eyes catch on the short inflatable kiddie pool set up in the middle of the backyard, two white and blue striped lawn chairs set up beside it, and a large red cooler between them. The garden hose is hanging inside the pool, the green tube writhing like a snake as the water whooshes in to fill the empty space. 

“Cause it’s a kiddie pool, duh,” Ryan replies to his brother. 

“I thought,” Eddie starts, reaching up to rub your shoulders before catching himself, not wanting to make your discomfort worse, “you could sit out here with your feet in the nice cold water. Might help your ankles, too. And you know these two monkeys are always splashing so you’re bound to get caught in the crossfire.”

“Hey,” Luke protests, but Ryan nudges him with his elbow because they both know that their father is right. 

“And…” Eddie takes your hand and gently leads you closer to the chairs, where he opens the cooler that’s nestled between them. Inside there are different flavors of ice pops, ice cream bars, and cold drinks, all enveloped in gallons of ice that have a pleasant chill wafting off them. 

Words become trapped in your throat. Your wonderful husband did all of this for you just because he knows how the heat has been making you feel lately. And after you’ve been a pain in the ass. This would’ve made you emotional even if the hormones didn’t beat you to the punch. 

“Eddie,” you say, all other speech cut off as your bottom lip begins to wobble.

“Uh oh,” Luke whispers.

“No, could be a good thing,” Ryan mumbles back quietly. He was slightly better at understanding the emotional aspect of hormones than his little brother. 

“This is so sweet,” you say, turning to cup your husband’s face in your hands. 

“You’ve been hard at work cooking that bun in the oven,” Eddie says with a shrug. “Oven needs some cooling down though, she’s getting overheated.”

“Ahem,” you hear from behind you. Ryan moves into your peripheral vision, and you turn your head to look at him, sliding your hands down to Eddie’s shoulders as you do. The eldest brother is clearly holding something behind his back, and you scrunch up your brow as you look at him.

“Whatcha got?” you ask.

Eddie huffs out a small chuckle and presses a kiss to your temple before saying, “Ryan found something at the store he says is on every ad for the beach.”

“You bought me sand? The ocean?” you tease the boy.

Ryan rolls his eyes, another reminder that he’s a preteen now. 

“No,” he says. From behind him, Ryan brandishes a floppy hat, and he is certainly right—a woman is wearing one of those in every ad for the beach.

“Ryan, I love it!” you exclaim with a giggle. The grass crunches beneath your feet as you waddle over the few steps to the boy. He holds the straw hat out to you, a bright grin on his face at your happiness. 

“You know,” you say as you accept the hat from him, “I’d bend down so you could put it on my head but then I wouldn’t be able to stand back up.”

“Like crowning a princess!” Luke adds as Ryan laughs.

“Well,” your husband says, coming up behind you, “it’s a good thing I’m taller than Ryan then, huh? Or we could’ve just made Luke help you back up.”

Eddie plucks the hat from your grasp, the straw scratching lightly against your fingertips as he pulls it away. He steps in front of you, and you keep your head level, only raising your eyes to watch Eddie’s pale, toned arms lift to place the floppy hat on top of your head gently. 

“Your Highness,” Eddie says, bowing his head. Your giggle makes Eddie grin as he gestures towards the lawn chairs. “Your throne awaits.”

Twenty minutes later it’s as if the summer heat were merely an annoying insect that you’re only somewhat aware of. Even though the chill water of the miniature pool only goes up to midcalf, sloshes of water have hit you all the way up to your neck. The cool beads of moisture feel like heaven as they meander down your red tank top, though. The denim shorts you’re wearing will weigh a ton later since the boys’ splashing has gotten them so wet, but Eddie’s such a pro at taking your clothes off that he could use a little challenge this time. 

Luke and Ryan manage to find games to play in the small pool—after Luke’s failed attempt at Marco Polo, anyway. Toy boats glide through the water, a few of them on the grass from flying overboard. The two boys shout but they’re outside and having fun, and it’s nice to hear. 

The sound of the back door slamming shut reaches you as you tilt your head back, protected from the sun by Ryan’s thoughtful gift and the sunglasses you grabbed when you got changed. Eyes closed, you listen to footsteps in the grass as Eddie walks your way from the house. They come to a stop and you sense as he crouches down next to you. Lazily, you loll your head to the side and crack your eyes open. 

“How’re my girls?” Eddie asks, placing his right hand over the soaked red shirt covering your baby bump.

“Mmm, good,” you hum. “She’s very happy you bought strawberry shortcake bars.”

“I’m glad she liked them,” Eddie says with a chuckle. “What about you, princess? How do you feel?”

You pretend to consider his question for a moment before speaking.

“Kiss me?” 

You pucker your lips and there’s no hesitation as your husband leans in and gently presses his own against yours.

“Perfect. Now I’m perfect.”

[willowsnook]

When Love is Left Unspoken pt. 3 (MV)

max verstappen x reader

tags: @shelbyteller @formulaal @maluzets55 @dying-inside-but-its-classy @what-a-curated-mess @anilovessadbooks @how-what-why-huh @abbyandersonstargirl

pt. 1, pt. 2

After Brazil, you flew back to New York to catch up on brand content and the stack of books waiting for you. It was a rainy afternoon when just after filming your October reads, your phone pinged. Max was streaming. You'd turned the notifications back on after Austin but hadn’t actually tuned in.

Setting up your phone in the kitchen, you half-listened to him playing Minecraft as you started dinner. Then you heard him say your name, and you froze.

“Lots and lots of questions about y/n, I see. I’m trying to win her back, guys, so I need your help. Any suggestions?”

You smiled as you scanned the chat comments.

Move to NYC

Let her drive your F1 car

Fly her out to all your races

Propose

With a grin, you couldn’t resist joining the fun. Typing quickly, you sent a comment that lit up the chat.

Y/N: $500 worth of books is a good first step, I think.

The next morning, your doorman called. “I need you to come down and get these packages. There are way too many.”

Confused, you walked downstairs—only to be met with a pile of Barnes & Noble boxes and realization hit. Back in your apartment, you opened them to find 25 books from your Goodreads “want to read” list. Your heart swelled.

Y/N: Max! This was too much!

MV: Nothing is too much when it comes to you.

Later that day, you went live on Instagram, answering questions. Predictably, most were about Max. Your fans were torn, with some excited at the idea of you two rekindling and others still wary.

“Look, I get it. He did me dirty, but it’s complicated. It’s easy to say I shouldn’t even consider this, but we have 15 years of history. He’s… still my Max.”

A comment caught your eye.

Maxverstappen1: Glad to know I still have a chance.

The chat erupted, and before long, gossip accounts were tagging you in posts speculating on your relationship.

That evening, you were winding down with a glass of wine, just about to turn on the Thursday Night Football game, when there was a knock at your door. With a sigh, you shuffled to answer it, already irritated by the interruption—until you opened the door to find Max standing there.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, surprised.

“Oh, I was just in the area,” he said casually, his eyes gleaming, though you spotted a duffel bag at his feet.

“In the area? With your luggage?”

“Mmmhmm.” He grinned as you laughed, letting him in. He set his bag on the counter and pulled you into a warm hug, resting his head on top of yours.

“We’re supposed to be taking it slow, Max,” you reminded him, your voice muffled against his chest.

“Whatever, schatje.” He rolled his eyes as you led him to the couch. He plopped down beside you, lifting your legs onto his lap, and you couldn’t help but relax into the moment.

“How long are you staying?” you asked as he pretended to watch the game.

“Until Monday, if that’s okay.”

“And you just assumed I’d drop everything to host you?” you teased.

“Yeah,” he replied, turning back to the screen.

“Ugh, you’re impossible.”

He smirked. “Cheer up, schatje. I got us tickets to the Bills game on Sunday so you can see your team. And I get to see Daniel.”

Your face lit up. “Daniel’s going to be there?”

He narrowed his eyes, a hint of jealousy flickering. “Yeah. Don’t act too excited.”

You laughed, entwining your fingers with his, grateful for these small, familiar moments.

The next two days were spent showing Max around NYC, and you started to fall back into your old habits with him. He refused to let go of your hand anytime you were walking somewhere, and you felt his eyes on you everywhere you went. 

It was Saturday night, and you were waiting for a table outside of a restaurant, watching as Max took a selfie with a younger fan. 

“Is that your girlfriend? She’s pretty,” the young girl said, and you blushed. Max shot you a big smile. 

“She is pretty, but not my girlfriend. She will be soon,” he replied, and the girl giggled. 

Max led you to your table with one hand resting on your lower back. You’d chosen one of your favorite Italian restaurants, and you're eager to put a nice bottle of wine on his tab, of course. 

Sitting across from him, you felt nervous at the intimacy of the setting. His eyes were swimming with emotions of the past and where you were now. 

“I want to hear everything that has happened to you since I last saw you in Australia,” he said inquisitively. You took a sip of your wine before diving in. 

You told him about your channel growing and getting famous guests on the podcast. How you’d moved to New York a year ago for a change of scenery but still visited back home often. You told him about your friends who had started getting married and having kids, but you weren’t jealous of them; you were very content in your life. You described NYC at Christmas and how the first time you experienced it, you felt like you were in a different world. He listened as you mentioned a few guys you had briefly dated, and he was pleased to hear that none of them had worked out. 

Finishing up your monologue, you meet Max’s gaze and notice the lingering sadness in his eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked concerned. 

“I’m just thinking about all the stuff I missed,” he admitted, looking down. “All the stuff I should have been there for. How could you ever forgive me?” 

His eyes glistened, and you thought for a moment before replying.

“Because I want to believe that the Max of the past is still there,” you said softly. “You broke me down, but I survived and kept going. As much as it hurt, good came out of it. Maybe we needed time to be away from each other to grow up. I don’t know if I can ever forget what happened, Max, but I can try and forgive.” 

He reached across the table to grab your hand, “I don’t deserve you.”

“You definitely don’t,” you teased, trying to lighten the mood. 

—------------------------------------------------------

The next day, you bundled up in your Bills gear and headed off to meet up with Daniel before the game. He was supposedly at some random person’s tailgate, so you and Max wove through the hoards of people to get to him. Watching Max in this environment was very amusing as it was just another world of people; not a single person had stopped him to ask for a picture. 

“Hey man,” Max greeted Daniel, pulling him into a hug. “Enjoying retirement?” 

“I get to do this now, so of course,” Daniel joked before turning to you. 

“What’s up y/n? It’s been a while,” he said, eyebrows raised, and you knew a million questions were running through his mind. He had been Max’s teammate for a little while back then, so you knew him well. 

“It has,” you agreed. More and more people joined the tailgate, and you could tell Max was getting on edge. 

You were conversing with Scotty and Daniel when you grabbed Max’s hand, pulling him closer to you to ease his discomfort. He took your invitation, sliding behind you with his arms wrapped around your chest, his head resting on the top of yours. Daniel gave him a big smirk, and you rolled your eyes, moving your hands up to hold on to Max’s. 

Max had no idea what was happening during the whole game but he still enjoyed watching you get so excited. The way your face lit up in excitement was something he was committing to memory, hoping he would get that same look from you soon enough. 

After the game, you walked back to your apartment, the city lights twinkling as you strolled through the crisp November air. Max kept your hand firmly in his, his thumb brushing against your knuckles in a way that made your heart race.

Inside, you set your things down, still buzzing from the excitement of the game. Max shrugged off his jacket, glancing around the apartment as though trying to memorize every detail.

He looked over at you, his expression softening. "You know, this place really suits you."

You smiled. "Thanks. It finally feels like home."

There was a pause, a comfortable silence settling between you. Then, he spoke again, his voice laced with a vulnerability you rarely heard from him. "I want you to come to the Netherlands with me for the holidays. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’d love for you to see my family again and… just, maybe, have you close."

You looked at him, surprised. His gaze was steady, unwavering, but there was a hint of nervousness in his eyes. You could see he was waiting for an answer, for you to trust him again enough to take this step.

“Max…” You hesitated, your mind racing. A part of you was scared of what it would mean to spend Christmas with him and his family—to be a part of his life again. But then you looked at him, really looked at him, and saw the man who had always been there, in some way, over the years.

A smile crept onto your face. “Alright. I’ll come.”

His face lit up in a way you hadn’t seen in a long time. He pulled you into his arms, kissing your forehead softly. "You have no idea how happy that makes me."

You laughed, suddenly feeling warm and at ease. "I guess we’ll see how much Dutch I remember."

As he held you close, you knew that whatever lay ahead, you were ready to see where this new chapter with him would lead.

[sleepymarimo]

𝕚𝕥'𝕤 𝕒 𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙!

summary: just a small list of qualities & traits which may be ideal for these op men when it comes to choosing a partner pairing(s): luffy x reader, zoro x reader, sanji x reader notes: based off my personal opinion of the monster trio and what we've seen from them! i also tried to utilize their alleged mbti and enneagram types. i totally didn't get butthurt while writing this (cries)

luffy

adaptability. luffy marches to the beat of his own drum. a dinner date might quickly turn into infiltrating an underground criminal organization. its just how he is! having a partner that can roll with the punches, maybe even enjoy it, without feeling neglected, is ideal

he doesn't like the predictable and will take any opportunity to spice things up. someone who panics when plans go off track, who finds comfort in having routine, may not be the best match for him

commitment. someone who is flaky and can't keep their promises is a big red flag for him. he craves connection and loyalty. despite his childlike enthusiasm, his feelings run deep. his pain isn't something he openly shares, as he opts to express himself happily, but he will open up his his soul to you if he knows you'll be there, no matter what

following the first point of adaptability, know that luffy will show up for you regardless of the situation. a date or outing or fight might not go as planned, but he won't leave you hanging he will want to take on your big emotions too. he loves feeling, he loves knowing your feelings and understanding you. while he might not necessarily agree with all perspectives, he can see where people come from. be open with him, don't hide

creativity. this captain hates boredom and routine. he does things his own way and enjoys thinking outside the box. his partner would likely be the same way. a big imagination and a lot of enthusiasm draws luffy in. if you constantly shut down ideas without offering any of your own, it frustrates him

he would love doing things like arts and crafts with a partner. anything hands on will catch his attention! loves talking about the future. goes back to the point regarding commitment. he doesn't care if the ideas you offer are crazy or unrealistic, as long as you have him in mind for what's to come, he's all in luffy attracts people, its just how he is. to keep him actively interested, he needs excitement. if the two of you are cuddling and you're looking too cozy, he might have to start a tickle fight

vocal and affectionate. luffy feeds off the energy around him and gets satisfaction from others. he loves seeing his nakama happy and the same goes for his partner. it could be as small as a smile or as grand as tackling him to the ground- let him know, verbally and through action, that he's doing well and making you happy!

words of affirmation and quality time! he'll never get tired of hearing you talk and very much prefers it over silence. even if it's the most obscure and obtuse topic, he doesn't care as long as it comes out of your mouth a partner who is easily embarrassed by pda may not be the best match for him. luffy has no shame and will not hesitate to pull you to his side and drag you off towards whatever adventure he has planned. he'll be confused and maybe even slightly offended if you push him off

patient. luffy is not the most easy person to deal with at times. along with being patient, he would love a partner who revels in the attention he gives and can also reciprocate it without getting too overwhelmed.

however, sometimes, you want your own space and time to do things. luffy might take this as a personal hit to himself, since he's much more receptive to the criticism of his partner. this is why he would also do well with someone who is...

gentle and constructive. don't snap at the man or suddenly grow distant! if he truly loves you and is in deep, he'll be hurt and might even force himself deal with an issue in a bid to 'solve' the conflict. taking the time to explain things to him while giving him a healthy dose of affection will work wonders

will very much ask what he did wrong if you ever say you want time away from him. his extroversion makes him able to be in the company of others for extended periods of time without needing to take time for himself a partner with emotional awareness would be great for him. he feels a lot, and he feels it very strongly, so having someone who can read him is great!

likes unique features! freckles, scars, killer eyeliner... luffy is drawn to people who look interesting. before he really gets to know you, he'll probably associate you with whatever he finds most captivating about you!

zoro

independent. this man values his ambitions. having a partner with a full and functional life, outside of the relationship, is something he would admire and respect. he sees a relationships as a union between two individuals, very much egalitarian. he's loyal and passionate to the core, would do most anything for his partner, but he also expects the same in return. all or nothing.

you recognizing him as a being, as an individual, really makes him comfortable. codependency and clinginess, too many expectations will have him retreating talks of marriage and future endeavours might also be touchy. as much as he craves stability in a long term partnership, he also values his freedom and being unconstrained by expectations. don’t set marriage dates or make a ‘plan’ for the relationship. he loves you, but he truthfully doesn't know what the future holds. all he knows is that he wants you now. the act of choosing you in the first place shows that he has you in mind for the future- he won’t get into a relationship for fun or for the sake of keeping his bed warm. he takes it more seriously than you think!!

private. you're a team, a unit. if something comes up, talk to him first. he gets needing to consult with friends for outside perspective, that's understandable, and he might even do the same. but giving your friends the hot gossip, spilling details about your relationship- it ticks him off

does not necessarily mean he prefers a quiet partner! he enjoys listening to his partner and participating in engaging conversations about obscure topics. does not care much for drama can be quite empathetic, but you have to let him know how you're feeling. he won't figure it out on his own, but once he understands where you’re coming from he becomes a lot more reasonable.

respectful. his pride is important to him. he doesn't like embarrassing himself or being embarrassed. he enjoys your teasing and affection in private, but in public prefers to hold himself to a certain standard

if you ignore these boundaries, maybe embarrass him for the sake of a good laugh, he gets a bit irritated, even if it is only for lighthearted fun preferring to do things alone, zoro knows he's starting to fall for someone when he lets someone join him for the smallest of things. could be polishing swords in silence or sharing some sake- the fact that he wants you around, even if he isn't too outwardly expressive of it, is meaningful. respect and cherish the time he gives you, don't complain of boredom or head off to do something with someone else loves you and adores you, but will not put you on a pedestal. will point out hypocrisies and double standards. don't take this point the wrong way, because once he's committed, he's committed, and won't let the relationship go that easily, but he respects himself he expects you to call him out if he ever treads over your boundaries as well

understanding & perceptive. this man very much does things how he wants, when he wants. not to say that he's inconsiderate, not at all, but sometimes things come up that simply demand his attention. if he's on his way to meet up with you and sees some marines unjustly terrorizing civilians, he won't think twice. know that in his heart, he'd never intentionally do anything to hurt you

if he chooses you, he expects you to have trust in him and his intentions. having a partner that can read between the lines and see the magnitude of his actions is something he appreciates he won't outright ask for much of his partner, so, ideally, they should be perceptive enough to give him what he needs. show him and tell him that you appreciate what he does acts of service and physical touch!

realistic, or perhaps even idealistic. he admires those with lofty goals and ambitions, those who are aware that what they seek won't just be handed to them on a silver platter

relationship-wise, zoro would appreciate a partner who is aware of the facts…without getting butthurt yes, sometimes he wants time alone, even from you. no, it doesn't mean that he doesn't love you. yes, he'll protect you with all his heart and soul, but you can't expect him to hold your hand on every island you stop on. you're pirates- this won't be a sappy love story

supportive. a partner who shows interest in his craft will get his attention. you don't have to be an expert on the ways of the blade, but asking him questions and allowing him a chance to engage in something he's passionate about will draw him out of his shell

asking about swordsmanship is probably what drew him to you in the first place. he won't bother with conversation if its not something he's interested in, so its a good way to get his attention! similarly, if he's genuinely in love, he would go the extra mile to learn about his partner's interests and passions. he is an intense lover

zoro is a bit indifferent when it comes to physical preferences. he's very much drawn towards character above all else. however, in my opinion, due to his friendship with kuina, he does tend to have a soft spot for those with darker hair and eyes, maybe even someone taller than him

sanji

generosity. sanji is a giver and is not afraid to show it. it's a double edged sword. he's shown that he is willing to sell himself short, willing to put himself down if its for the sake of others. while he enjoys giving, revels in it, he desperately craves someone who can coddle and spoil him rotten

ideal partner would not be embarrassed of him or push him away. he's a sensitive soul, afraid of abandonment from the one he loves most. accepting his love with a smile and returning it with equal or greater fervor would send him over the moon partner does not necessarily have to be super bubbly or extroverted to check this point! if sanji loves you, he knows you. a quiet partner who gives him a smile and squeezes his hand can be just as reassuring as an extroverted partner pulling him into a hug

emotional depth. this man would merge his very soul with yours if it were possible. sees partnership as a bond that will transcend all else and won't accept anything less. allowing him to explore you, all of you, will not only make him feel trusted, but truly connected to you

seconding this, a partner who can be open with him would be ideal. if you close yourself off, hesitate to divulge information, he might feel that he is doing something wrong. he understands needing time to process emotions, so if that's what you want, then at least make him aware of that he will be just as open. you're his safe space, his haven

committed and idealistic. this is a man who loves to talk about the future. marriage, kids, how your kitchen will look like… it warms his heart and makes him feel secure. it lets him know, even if some of the ideas are outlandish, that you have him in mind for the long run

partners that find discussing such commitments to be nerve racking, may make this cook a little panicky. you might not doubt him, but he would wonder why you felt the need to avoid the topic. did you not see him as someone you could be with in the future? talk with him, dream big with him

organized and orderly. he recognizes the effort it takes to formulate a plan and execute it, especially when it comes to dates and gifts. in the moment, spontaneous outings are meaningful, but don't hold as much weight as something which requires effort and is tailored to his partners wants and needs. he's a planner and likes when things fall into place

also ties to previous point about commitment. he finds comfort in planning a future with you and discussing your desires

compassionate. ties back to first point relating to generosity. sanji will very much push aside his own wants as long as you're happy. having a partner who can get him to speak up for himself, and actually listen, would be a dream come true. when he treats you and spoils you, he expects nothing in return. its just how he is. reciprocating and giving him his own spot in the limelight will heal him in ways he didn't even know he needed

unlike the marimo, sanji will put you on a pedestal. he thinks you're an angel, incapable of wrong. sanji needs a compassionate partner who recognizes this and gently reminds him that it takes two to form a partnership, and that he is just as worthy of love sanji does not do well being criticized by his partner. lack of reciprocation and a general disinterest in him will turn him away

reliability. he'll be in your corner, always. in a pirate world where everything is tumultuous and unpredictable, he finds solace in knowing that his partner is waiting for him. you being there for him, regardless of the situation, makes him even more eager to please you and show you that he's worthy of your affections. the simple act of showing up means more to him than most

sanji has been known to indulge in the finer things. aesthetics and looks are what catch his attention and he floods most any pretty thing with affection. however, its that emotional connection and depth, authenticity and passion, which ultimately keep him hooked

disclaimer: don't worry if you lack any of these traits- any relationship can work! these things work in mysterious ways... as long as there's proper communication and love, i'm sure any of these one piece men would adore being with you ૮ • ﻌ - ა

[lizardsfromspace]

So I guess Film Twitter is apoplectic with rage over some people suggesting they have intermissions in long movies. Not over theaters adding one without the director's consent, but like, at the concept of them

...by which I mean, getting mad at disabled people daring to have complaints. There's a lot of "HAHA are you so STUPID you can't go beforehand? You can't HOLD it for three hours?" and implying you don't deserve to experience art if you can't

And, of course, because Film Twitter is a bunch of insular discourse-addled dipshits, they're tying this...to Marvel. Yes, people are only saying they have health conditions that make sitting still for a three hour movie is because...they're Marvel fans mad at Scorsese, or something?

Why is this complaint new? Well, bc runtimes are ballooning to the levels of the old epic filmmaking days of the 50s-70s. And those movies...had intermissions. Multi-act plays have intermissions. Bollywood films have intermissions. Intermissions were literally just abandoned so studios could cram in more screenings, not out of an artistic ideal. But anyone saying "this would make it easy for me to access this film I want to see" needs to be viciously shouted down and called a moronic, lazy child hating on Scorsese bc of "discourse"

I've seen that meme multiple times and Jesus, look at the bizarre disdain for your fellow human beings embedded in it. You dare still bodily exist during a Martin Scorsese movie? You have a disability I don't? Well, I have no problem just peeing beforehand and not buying popcorn or a soda (you should really just sit their quietly until it's done, when you can pull out your phone to log it on Letterboxd), so what's your problem?

Calling people who are into non-blockbuster films "film bros" is mostly untrue, but man, the hardcore Film Twitter types unambiguously check every box. They're certainly dismissive of anyone outside their little box; extremely insulting, in fact, of how anyone who disagrees with them even slightly must be a Marvel-addled hysterical artless moron. Because nothing says "artistic appreciation" like preemptively calling analysis of a movie's choices "discourse" ("Ugh, I can't believe the DISCOURSE about how a movie portraying a morbidly obese man portrays obese people" - what should they talk about, then, if the movie's subject is instantly off the table?) They think the idea that someone out there may have a disability that prevents them from sitting in one place for three and a half hours is a laughable thing made up by the internet; or when people pointed out that a movie only getting one or two screenings a city may be inaccessible to working people, and these bloggers and podcast hosts dunked on the idea that working class people may like art as a hilarious, made-up thing.

I don't know, maaaaaaybe classing the life experiences and complaints of anyone who isn't you as "discourse" and presuming it's made-up kvetching about nothing as a matter of course is bad, cruel nonsense, actually?

[weebsinstash]

You know what I've been thinking about lately? Reader x yandere Japanese coworker who gives you inappropriately elaborate bento boxes

That sounds so ultra specific and you're like "well weeb what do you mean, INAPPROPRIATELY ELABORATE" and like I don't mean there's gold leaf and pearls in there or anything but

Say we have Izuku because he's actually specifically who I've had this idea for. I've been having ideas specifically for a Quirkless AU where you work at a company and you're a grown ass adult and he's like, freshly 20, 21, and he's already a significantly higher position in the company than you. I'm talking one day you start hearing of a new transfer and you're standing at the bus stop/train station whatever to go to work and there's some baby faced young man who is being a little too chatty and friendly with you and you're almost wondering if he's stalking you to work when you find out... He's the son of the president of the company or he's like a few positions below CEO 💀💀💀 you could be like 32 and you've worked here for 4 years and here's this, almost KID making like triple if not even more multiples of your entire year's salary

So you're frugal with your money, saving up for a house or something big, or just straight up in a position that isn't paid very well or, maybe you even have an eating disorder or have a diet where you skip meals, and one day Izuku is doing the thing where he's standing inappropriately behind you to look over the quality of your work on your current task when he hears your stomach grumble and asks if you've taken your lunch yet, and pressures you to go eat, oh "it's our obligation as a company to make sure you're taking your legally mandated breaks :) go take a break, you've worked hard today", and then he's being nosey as fuck about THAT too, snooping to find out what you're eating, maybe even taking his lunch at the same time to try and follow you to where you're eating

Either after finding out you straight up don't eat lunch, or you eat too little, or food that isn't very good for you, one day Izuku is very confidently setting a bento down in front of you, all smiles, so friendly, "I made this for you! I really hope you try some of it!"

I've heard Japanese people say things along the lines of "we don't say I love you but we will ask if you've eaten today" and how in a lot of cultures food is a love language (like how the Mystic Messenger boys would ask if you've eaten?). So. You go to open this lunchbox, having no idea what to expect. And it's. It's not just like, store-bought rice balls, he obviously COOKED THINGS. You open up your bento thinking it's just something easy and simple and it's something like THIS

like. Appreciate the love language that is "cutting food into fun and cute shapes". The man hands you something that took WORK, DEDICATION, FOCUS. There is no point in all the detail besides to make it more enjoyable and he's giving it to YOU. He's handing you an ENGAGEMENT RING OF BENTO BOXES here. And this man is... your boss whom you spend absolutely 0 time outside of work with and you also resent his success 💀

I also see Japanese yandere, specifically in Japan, taking advantage of the Japanese culture of drinking after work. There's real pressure to go to certain company drinking parties, to know how to politely serve drinks to and obey your higher ups, how you'll be ostracized if you don't go when invited, so then you're being awkwardly pressured into situations with a yandere who is trying to make you slip up and let loose little personal details about yourself. So what's your favorite color? Aaa, mine too! I think you said something about growing up innn.... yeah, that was the name, thank you!" and just. Really boiling your frog, you know what I mean? You're getting more comfortable, not realizing the yandere is gradually increasing the amount of alcohol you're drinking and the intensity of their questions

"So, you said you were saving up for a house? Are you going to live there with your partner? Oh, you don't have anyone? Well, surely there was someone in the past, right? No? But... but you're so wonderful, that's so sad! I'm sure someone will come along and, help provide for you and help you settle down someday :) so, what kind of house were you thinking of buying--"

[janeyseymour]

Never in a Million Years, Unless... part 4, final

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

Summary: melissa schemmenti said she’d never do a lot of things. until you come along.

WC: ~3.05k

The idea of planning a wedding with Melissa is easy enough. While she’s the one who had proposed marriage, she’s done this before- you haven’t. So, while her hand is in the mix when it comes to decisions, it’s mostly what you want. She’ll put her two sense in when she deems it necessary, but for the most part, it’s you. 

You won’t lie, you’re exhausted over all of the wedding planning on top of teaching. Pulling off a wedding is long and hard. Nights usually end in you falling asleep with various papers scattered over you, a mix of papers to look through for the wedding and IEP papers for your students. You’re exhausted throughout the weekdays, and weekends that were once spent lazing around and soaking up any energy you could for the upcoming week are replaced with going to different venues, different fittings, various tastings…

But that day comes and goes. Mr. Johnson walks Melissa down the aisle, your own father walks you down. Jacob ends up officiating the wedding, being something of a son to your now wife. Barbara stands at the redhead’s side, while you have Janine standing by yours. You’re officially Mrs. Schemmenti. The plaque by your doors change from ‘Ms. Schemmenti’ and ‘Ms. Y/N’ to ‘Mrs. Schemmenti’s outside of both of your classrooms. The rings that you wear stay on your fingers and sparkle brightly. 

Not much changes in all actuality. Before the two of you officially decided to tie the knot, you were essentially married anyway. The two of you still live the lives that you did as girlfriends.

About a year goes by as married women before your mother begins asking you again when you’ll have a child on Christmas Eve.

“Mom,” you sigh out softly from your place beside Melissa. Her hand lays gently on your thigh.

“I’ll I’m saying is-”

“I don’t know that we want kids, Mom,” you tell your mother very flatly. “We both have a lot going on with the kids at school as it is.”

That first statement doesn’t necessarily tell the whole truth. You would like to have children of your own. But you know that your wife doesn’t- that topic was one that you spoke about in detail when you were getting serious. 

“Those aren’t kids that I get to spoil though,” your mother argues back.

You have to bite your tongue from lashing out on the holiday, but your wife just chuckles from beside you, squeezing your leg gently. “We’ll see,” is all she says before dotting a few warm kisses to the side of your head.

You turn to look at her with furrowed brows, and she just gives you a smile that tells you that you’ll speak about it later.

Of course, you both get swept up in holiday traditions, and the topic of potentially having children of your own doesn’t come up again that day. You’re both exhausted by the festivities, and you’re asleep almost as soon as your head hits the pillow.

But come Christmas Day, you’re settling on your couch in the living room again with a stack of presents for each other.

“Merry Christmas, my love,” Melissa tells you softly as she hands you the last present that she has for you.

Your eyes sparkle with love for the redhead that you’re lucky enough to call your wife. “Hun, you already got me enough.”

“Just open this one,” she prompts. “I think you’ll like it.”

With a lifted brow, you begin to carefully unwrap the present, and when you open the box, there’s a few things in it.

a stuffed bear and a… a onesie?

“Mel, what?” you turn to look at the woman sitting next to you. “What is this?”

You know she isn’t pregnant. There’s physically no possible way for either of you to be pregnant at this moment.

“I’m ready.”

Your eyes immediately begin to well with tears. “Mel, I-” You wipe at your eyes frantically as you continue to look at the items in the box. You pull them out carefully to get a better look at them. They’re- they’re absolutely precious.

“Mel, you told me-”

“I told you a lot of things,” your wife says softly as she reaches up to brush away the remaining tears from your cheeks. “I told you I would never date a coworker, I told you I would never get married again, I told you I wouldn’t ever take the plastic off my couches or lamp. Didn’t I do all those things anyway?”

“Y-yeah,” you choke out.

“You’re the miracle in my life, babe,” Melissa tells you with conviction. She leans in to kiss you gently. “So, what if I changed my mind on this one thing too?”

Your arms around your wife tightly, tears clouding your eyes again as you truly realize that she’s serious about having a baby with you if you’re ready. “Really?”

“Really,” the redhead mumbles into your hair. “I know you want at least one, and I- I’m ready to take that on, as long as it’s with you.”

And so, once the holiday season is over, you begin to pour over your options in terms of how you want to go about attempting to have a child. It does sadden you slightly that the two of you can’t make a baby on your own- that this child will not have the DNA that your wife does entirely- but one of her brothers is more than willing to help you with this affair.

The only person aside from your brother in-law to know is Barbara Howard. Melissa and you confide in her quietly during a professional development day when you both seem more stressed than usual.

“Melissa, dear,” the kindergarten teacher knocks on her doorframe softly. She had really only come down to see if the three of you were going to lunch like you usually do on these days, but what she had walked into was not what she was expecting to see. Where your wife would usually be scrolling on her phone, glasses on the tip of her nose, because she was caught up with her work, Barbara sees the redhead with her head in her hands, fingers entangled in the curls. Where you would be humming quietly as you plan for the next coming days, you’re near tears.

“Girls?” your grade level partner comes into the room and shuts the door behind her. “Is now not a good time?”

That gets your wife to look up, although you continue to stare down at the papers in front of you.

“Melissa, what’s going on?” Barbara treads lightly.

“Stressed to hell and back,” your wife grumbles. “Trying to-” She glances to you. “Trying to have a baby is… good lord.”

Brown eyes widen, and perfectly sculpted brows creep up the kindergarten teacher’s face. “What?”

“We haven’t told anyone,” you whisper. “But I- we’re trying to get pregnant, and it’s… it’s just been a lot.”

Barbara nods sympathetically and pulls you into a warm hug. “I understand that. I’m sorry it’s been so hard.”

“Three treatments,” you sniffle out. “We have one more shot, and then we won’t have the money to try again for… for a long time.”

“Oh honey,” the kindergarten teacher whispers as she rubs circles on your back. “Sweetheart.”

“I- I don’t know what we’re doing wrong,” you mumble into her shoulder.

Melissa groans again. “I told you, you ain’t doin’ anything wrong. I don’t know how many fuckin’ times I have to tell you that.”

“Melissa,” Barb tries to cut in. 

“It just- it takes time. And maybe now isn’t our time,” your wife continues.

You whip around and look at her, tears and remnants of mascara streaming down her face. “Is our time going to come then? What if it doesn’t? We’ve been through this three times, we’re- we’re running out of time!”

Green eyes meet yours, and you can tell that she’s ready to fight fire with fire, but at your heartbroken look, she softens. “Honey.”

“I can’t keep doing this!” you cry. “I- I can’t! Do you know the toll that it’s taking on me, physically and mentally? I-” you lose yourself to tears, hugging yourself and not even bothering to wipe at your eyes anymore. There’s no use.

Melissa sighs and she makes her way over to you, wrapping you up in her own arms. “Mi amore.”

“I- I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” your wife tells you softly as she kisses your temple. “I’m the one who should be sorry… I shouldn’t have started swearing.”

You chuckle through your thick tears. “Maybe not.”

“I’ll be sure to pray over the two of you,” Barb promises. “I’ll leave you be for now.”

“We’re still going to lunch, right?” You look up. “I- I think we could all use some time out of this damned building.”

“If that’s what you want,” your counterpart tells you. “But I also won’t say nothin’ if you two decide to just go home at lunch… not like Ava’s here to notice anyway, and I know the two of you are all caught up on your work.”

Your wife’s eyes twinkle with just a bit of mischief. “We might sneak out then, if that’s alright with you.”

“I’ll swear Janine to secrecy and take her out to lunch as a bribe,” Barbara chuckles as she turns on her heel.

“Thank you,” you call softly as you wipe your nose with a tissue.

“Of course,” your grade partner replies. Then she turns back to face you. “And hey, I’ll be praying for you.”

When the rest of the crew sees you and Melissa leaving the school with all of your bags come lunch time, well… Barbara Howard is there to shoot them daggers and dare them to challenge her authority in not saying anything.

By the time your fourth and final appointment comes around, you and your wife had made peace with the fact that it just may not be in the cards for you to have a child of your own this way. You’ve discussed other options- adoption, foster care. No matter what, the two of you have decided that whatever happens is okay. There’s no more stress around it.

You leave the appointment not feeling any different than you had before you had gone in. Time will just have to tell.

The time comes for you to take that damned test again, and you really aren’t expecting anything to come from it.

“Whatever happens, happens,” you sigh as take the test from your wife’s hand. She kisses you softly and nods before you disappear behind the door.

You do your business, set it on the counter, start your timer, and then walk out of the room. You can’t just sit there for the next five minutes dwelling on it.

“I love you,” Melissa whispers as she takes you into her arms gently.

“I love you too,” you mumble as you sit down on the bed.

The next few minutes feel like hours as you mindlessly scroll through social media. But then your phone starts to buzz, signifying the time is up, and your fate is in the bathroom.

You take a deep, fortifying breath to steady yourself. Melissa just squeezes your shoulder gently before the two of you make your way out of your bedroom and into the bathroom.

“Are you ready?” the redhead asks you softly.

You shrug. “I have to be, right?”

“Whatever it says, we’re going to be okay,” Melissa promises you. “No matter what.”

Neither of you makes a move towards the test.

“Can you look at it?” you ask as you hug yourself tightly. “I- I’m nervous.”

“Yeah,” your wife sighs softly. “I can look.”

You turn your back to the test, facing the mirror, although you keep your eyes down. You don’t want to see the look of disappointment on her face when she sees that it reads negative again like you had the other three times.

Because you’re facing away from your wife, you don’t see the wide eyes or the grin that appear on her face almost as soon as she reads that one simple word: positive. She sets the test back down on the counter and looks to you. 

Her arms snake their way around your waist and gently pry your hands away from your body.

“Stop hogging our baby,” she teases you softly.

It takes a few seconds for her words to sink in, but when they do, your jaw drops. You freeze in her arms.

“What did you just say?”

“I said to stop hogging our baby,” your wife repeats. “Let me in on the cuddles.”

“You- we’re- it worked?” you stammer out as you turn to face the redhead.

She nods with an ear splitting grin on her face. “It worked, mi amore. It worked.”

“We’re going to be parents?” you ask her, tears of joy rapidly falling down your face.

She nods again. “We’re going to be parents.”

You and Melissa both understand that you’re quite early into the pregnancy, and there is a risk this early on, so you don’t announce anything quite yet. And it’s difficult to do so. Your excitement is hard to contain, and your wife’s is even more so.

Morning sickness hits you hard. It hits you hard, and it hits you out of nowhere- which only makes it more difficult to keep this big secret of yours between you and your wife.

You’ve taken to eating lunch in your classroom more often, under the guise of having things to work on and prepare for. In reality, the many different aromas that swirl through the break room are enough to make you want to vomit the second you step into the room- much less sit there for thirty minutes. 

Those who aren’t aware that you were going through fertility treatments are none the wiser, accepting that you’ve got more on your plate than usual this year. But Melissa knows. And she has an inkling that Barbara is aware of it too.

That suspicion is confirmed when your grade level partner comes into your classroom one morning with you bent over the trashcan and your wife holding your hair back for you.

“Oh honey,” the kindergarten teacher mumbles as she makes her way into the classroom and shuts the door behind her. “I’m assuming that last round worked?”

You close your eyes as yet another wave of nausea ripples its way through your body, but you force yourself to nod. “Please tell me all of this nausea is worth it.”

“I was sick as hell with Taylor,” Barbara sighs. “It’s worth it.” She then proceeds to pull a bag of something out of her purse and hands it to your wife. “These might help. My niece had terrible morning sickness with her son, and these lollipops did wonders for her.”

“Thank you,” Melissa smiles softly. She reaches the hand that isn’t holding your hair up and gently squeezes her best friend’s wrist.

“How far along?”

“Eight,” your wife relays. “It’s been like this for the last two weeks.”

“Well, hopefully those work,” Barb shrugs. She turns on her foot to leave the two of you be, but she stops herself in her tracks. “Congratulations, you two. You’re going to make wonderful mothers to a very lucky baby.” You hear her press a kiss to Melissa’s cheek before you feel one being planted on the top of your head.

As soon as you’re finished emptying the contents of your stomach, your wife hands you the small container of mouthwash that you now keep in your purse. You take it with a grateful smile before spitting it out into the trash can. Melissa closes it up quickly and takes it out of the room before she reenters and hands you a lollipop.

“Mel, I don’t want a lollipop,” you chuckle softly.

She insists you take it. “Barb said it’s supposed to help with the morning sickness.”

You’ve never open a sucker so quickly.

Those things work like a miracle, and you keep them on hand for the rest of your pregnancy. 

When it comes time to tell the Abbott clan, you’re thirteen weeks and you’re able to conceal the newly appearing bump under slightly baggy sweaters and shirts. The group is thrilled with this news, clearly excited to shower the newest addition to the Abbott family with lots of love.

After telling them, they’re all a bit more mindful of what they bring into the staff room for lunch- a considerate gesture. They’re constantly bringing in little gifts for your unborn baby. It was clear to you before how much your work family cared for you, but this only proves to you how lucky you are to have these ridiculous, goofy, wonderful, special people in your life.

And after what feels like forever, you’re holding a stunningly beautiful little girl in your arms.

“Margaret Jane,” you whisper to the little bundle of blankets. “Our little Maggie.”

“The little girl that we wished and prayed for,” your wife mumbles as she strokes your daughter’s cheek with the tip of her finger. Her eyes don’t leave the baby, but you feel a soft kiss being pressed to your head as she whispers, “I’m so proud of you.”

You look up at her tiredly, but the warm smile on your face hasn’t left since you were handed your girl for the first time a few hours ago. You lean up just slightly, as much as your aching body will allow. Your wife leans down the rest of the way to kiss you softly.

“You know,” Melissa sighs quietly. “If you had told a recently divorced me that this is what my life would turn out to be… having a perfect wife and a beautiful little girl I get to call my daughter, I would’ve told you that you were bat shit crazy- never in a million years would that happen.”

“I know,” you laugh tiredly.

“Miracles really do happen,” your wife says softly as her fingers brush over the small tufts of red hair atop your daughter’s head. 

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @sarahjohannson @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead

[followthebluebell]

Hi hi!!!! I’m super super sorry to bother you in such a stressful time but I have some things going on with a cat in my life and thought you’d have some ideas!!! My boyfriend recently picked up a female cat from his friend. This is his first ever cat, and the friend said they were strays he found as kittens and now keeps on his catio. The problem is that the friend said the female has always been kind of shy but explained that the two brothers were a lot more social and kind of butted her out of the way to get attention. So now she’s at my boyfriend’s house, she’s been there since Monday, and she won’t come out from under the bed at all during the day. She has been lightly exploring at night and has used her litter boxes a couple times, but last night she didn’t use them or eat or drink at all. He’s getting really worried and stressed since this is his first cat and I keep telling him to be patient. Is there anything else we can do to make her more comfortable or is it a waiting game? Do you think she’ll actually warm up or is she just going to be a cat that’s stressed out being in a house vs outside on the catio?

hello, hello! honestly, i'd rather talk about cats than politics any day. I don't know how to solve a country's myriad of problems, but i know cats.

so, it's really normal for cats to be shy at first, especially in a new environment. For a moment, imagine what it must be like: you are a small animal who's known only one place all your life. Suddenly, you are in a new place! With strangers! You're vaguely aware that they PROBABLY aren't harmful, but you're really not sure. Better to stay safe until you ARE sure.

It can take a cat up to three months to FULLY become comfortable in their new environment (tbh, it can take MUCH longer for some cats, but they tend to be extreme outliers). The fact that she's coming out at night to use her box and eat are VERY good signs.

So when i recommend is that your boyfriend spends some time on the floor. He doesn't need to interact directly with the cat--- in fact, I recommend he ignores her mostly. Just sit down on the floor with a puzzle, a book, a video game--- just anything that's quiet that lets him exist in the cat's environment for a little while. By just existing there, he can demonstrate that he's not a threat. He doesn't need to be there for like. a long time or anything. he can start out with small stretches of time and adjust as necessary.

She might start to come out slowly, but try to leave all interactions up to her. He can offer her little treats--- little bits of chicken (no seasoning; cheap roast chicken is a favorite, as long as it's the unseasoned bits. you can even just boil up chicken breast), temptations, churu (or anything similar) are all favorites and do pretty well. Leave the treats within her easy reach. As she starts to come closer, leave the treats closer to his leg or something. The idea is to get her to associate him with Tasty Delicious Things.

It's also fine if she doesn't eat the treats immediately while he's watching. Again, she's stressed and scared; she doesn't realize he doesn't mean any harm. She's just scared :( She's a very small cat in a very big world that's suddenly gotten a whole lot bigger.

He could also buy some feliway diffusers, but this can be a bit pricey. I can say that most cats react very well to them, but most cats react just as well to chicken, so let's start with the lower cost items.