#late noon swinging

[uglykidswearingprada]

[motorsportbarbie13]

The Princess & The Pilot

In which Lando Norris meets his childhood crush, who just happens to be an actual princess.

Warnings: none Pairing: Lando Norris x BritishPrincess!Reader Word Count: 3.5k or something

(quick note: running late for a meeting this morning but wanted to get this out. I'll update the tag list later tonight when/if I have time. Enjoy the new seriesssss!)

Master List

There must be a foreign power invading London. 

That is the only reason you can think that your assistant would be waking you up at 8am the morning after you spent nearly 12 hours entertaining Argentinian foreign dignitaries with your father yesterday. When you had tumbled into bed at 2am after the state dinner the previous night, the last words you had mumbled to Noelle were ‘please don’t wake me up before noon tomorrow.’ 

This was supposed to be your one day off after attending engagements with your parents four days in a row. 

“I’m so sorry, your highness.” Noelle whispers from where she stands at the foot of her bed. You immediately wonder if the palace groundskeepers would be willing to install a set of locks on the doors to your apartments that only you had the keys to. 

“Noelle, you’ve been my assistant for how many years now? You can call me by my first name.” You grumble from under the thick cream duvet that you had tugged over your head moments before. 

You glare at Noelle but immediately regret it when you see the anxious look on the older woman’s face. This wasn’t her choice, you realized. “What does my father want now?” 

Noelle worries at the corner of her lip before holding out her cell phone. “He’s been trying to reach you for an hour now. Insisted I come wake you up.” 

“He’s been unable to reach me because he swore up and down last night that I’d get today off from anything family related.” You complain, unable to keep the whine out of your voice.  

Tossing off the covers, you swing your legs over the side of your king sized bed before reaching out to take Noelle’s phone from her. You can see the active call ticking away with your father’s name on the caller ID ‘HRH King Edward’ 

“Good morning Papa.” You expertly adjust your tone, knowing that if your father hears one single hint of grouchiness in your voice you’ll never hear the end of it. “Everything okay?” 

“Your brother is sick.” His tone is brisk and you try to tell yourself he doesn’t mean to be short with you. He is literally the King of England after all. You’re sure he’s got a few things on his mind beyond worrying about waking his youngest child up at the crack of dawn. 

“Does he need me to bring him something? Soup? Medicine?” 

Your father scoffs on the other end of the line. “Don’t be silly.” He scolds. “My doctor has already been in to see him this morning. It’s just the flu, but he is contagious.” 

You’re silent on your end of the phone, knowing there is more to come as the news of your older brother being sick didn’t really warrant an early morning phone call. 

“I need you to take over the engagement he was going to do today.” 

It takes every ounce of royal training for you not to groan. You’d been attending events and engagements all weekend long, standing in for your mother who also was sick with the flu. “Can’t Mike do it?” 

Your youngest brother Michael was in his final year at Oxford before he’d go on to do the requisite military training but he was still able to engagements here and there. 

“Michael has exams this week, so he is unavailable.” 

You nearly suggest your sister-in-law Charlotte take her husbands place but know that would also be turned down as she’s been busy with her new well baby charity and juggling having two young children at home as well. The weight of the expectations of being the second eldest child of the King of England hangs heavy on your shoulders as the sunlight pours in through the curtains Noelle has drawn back. It’s a gorgeous spring day in London, which you know is rare this time of year. You had been planning on spending the day out on the private gardens that are tucked away in a hidden part of the palace not open to tourists reading a book in the quiet. 

“What’s the engagement then?” You sigh, resigning yourself to the fact that once again, your family duties were coming before your own personal agenda. 

You tried so hard not to be resentful of the weight of who you were and most of the time, you were fine with your station in life. You lived a very privileged, if not somewhat regimented and controlled, life as the only daughter to King Edward and Queen Matilde of the United Kingdom. Your parents, while busy with their own lives and duties, adored you and your two brothers, Sebastian and Michael. They had worked hard when you were younger to make sure that you and your siblings were raised as normally as possible, which hadn’t always been easy. 

“You’ll be going out to the Silverstone Circuit in Towcester to meet with some people from the McLaren Formula 1 team. They're the Duke of Dover Awards newest partner and their drivers are doing some laps the track with children from the local schools. They’d like to take you on the track too.” 

Your brother had started the Duke of Dover Awards when he had married Charlotte 10 years ago and had inherited the title as the heir to the throne. The foundation awarded hundreds of thousands of pounds each year to kids and teenagers that applied to be recipients of grants to improve their communities, start small businesses, and conduct scientific research. It was your brother’s brainchild and baby and you were shocked that Sebastian had agreed to allow anyone that wasn’t him to go near an event of theirs. 

Sighing, you stand and shrug on the silk robe that was hanging form the little hook next to your bed. You were certainly not getting a day off today, now were you? “Okay, sounds straight forward enough. Does Noelle have the details?” 

“Yes, Noelle has everything you’ll need. Thank you for helping, little dove.” 

Your heart squeezes as the nickname your father has used since you were a toddler. You knew he carried a heavy weight with the crown on his head and expected nothing but the best from himself, and by extension you and your siblings, at all times because of it. He meant well and loved you fiercely, you knew that but sometimes it got lost in the legacy of what it meant to be a Windsor. 

“Of course, Papa.” 

You hang up and hand the phone back to your assistant. “Papa says you have all the details. Could you have everything printed out so I can read it in the car. Towcester is quite far away, isn’t it?” 

“About an hour and a half, if traffic is good.” 

You nod, mind jumping into preparation mode. The timeline that had landed in your inbox while you had been on the phone with your father said you needed to be there a little after 1pm, which gave you enough time to get ready. “Can you call Tibby, give her the details and have her pull some outfits for me? I can do my own makeup and I don’t think I’ll need anything fancy for hair, yeah?” 

Noelle nods, eyes skimming her emails. “Your brother’s valet says he was planning on wearing jeans and a jumper, so it sounds casual. Natural makeup and a sporty ponytail, maybe?” 

“That’s fine, I can do that myself.” Sometimes it chafed at you how much had to go into your appearance. You could never really go out looking sloppy or unkempt because the bad press that it inevitably invited drove your mother crazy. If your father was preoccupied with the weight of his crown, your mother was preoccupied with the weight of what her image meant to millions of people. It was a difficult relationship to navigate and you didn’t always do a good job, so you tried to maintain at least the minimum appearance standards your mother requested just to appease her. 

Noelle snaps into action, calling Sebastian’s valet to get some more details on the people that will be present along with any other notes he had thought important. You pad towards your private bathroom to take a shower and get ready for what you assumed would be another routine royal engagement. 

And boy, how wrong you were. 

“Are you nervous?” Oscar mutters as he comes to lean against the counter in the garage next to where Lando stands, scrolling on his phone.

Lando looks up, confusion knitting his brows together. “Nervous for what?” 

As far as he knew, this was just going to be another routine event with some kids and the Duke of Dover, who he'd already met last year during the race at Silverstone. Nothing to be nervous about really.

“To meet the princess!” Oscar chuckles, knocking his shoulder into Lando's.

“Princess?" The crease on his forehead deepens even more. "I thought it was the Duke that was coming. Isn’t it his awards thing that we're partnering with?” 

Oscar shrugs. “Zak said the Duke is sick. His sister is coming instead. Apparently she just pulled in as well. Sophie is running around like a chicken with it's head cut off. Something about not being prepared for her."  

Oh. A thick sense of anxiety settles in the pit of Lando's stomach. Oh fuck. This changed things. He certainly hadn't been nervous before but now he was, knowing that it was you that he'd be driving around the track instead of your brother.

Like most guys his age, Lando had grown up with photos of you taped to the back of his door and indulged in several...interesting and not very polite fantasies when he was in his teens. In fact, now that Lando thinks about it, you were probably his very first crush. You had been the first princess to be born into the Royal family in two generations and the press had fallen in love with you the day you were born, dubbing you the English Rose that was going to save the monarchy.

Once you reached your 18th birthday and debuted into society, taking your place beside your older brother and parents by working for the family full time while going to university to study international business, the country had fallen even more in love with you. Your family was well loved by the entirety of the Common Wealth but you? You were absolutely everyone's favorite Windsor by a country mile. And that included the British Formula One driver.

"You okay, mate?" Oscar's thick accent shakes Lando out of his day dream.

"Oh, yeah." Lando replies weakly, rubbing the palm of his hand over his jaw, glad he had shaved this morning and put a bit of extra care into his hair.

"Boys!" Sophie, McLaren's head of Public Relations, yells at the entrance of the garage, fists on her hips as she taps her toe glaring at the pair. "The princess is here and everyone is waiting on you."

"Coming." Lando mumbles, desperately trying to tamp down the nerves that are making his stomach do somersaults. This is like a teenage wet dream come true.

Just outside the garage is a group of people clustered around several McLaren sports cars waiting to get started. Lando can see Zak chatting with you from 50 meters away and he loses all ability to think straight when he sees you in person for the first time. You're dressed in dark wash jeans that hug your curves and, much to Lando's surprise, a papaya colored knit jumper. With your hair pulled back in a high ponytail, your delicate features on full display. He couldn't help thinking how much better you looked in real life compared to the glossy magazine photos he used to keep tacked up to his bedroom wall.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Lando, Oscar, and Sophie approaching before Zak does but you don't allow the group to distract you from your conversation with McLaren's CEO. That kind of behavior would send your mother into a tailspin. She hadn't sent you off to boarding school at the age of 12 for nothing after all. But you can't help how your stomach twists when you lock eyes with the boy with the curly hair. A nervous ghost of a smile plays at the corner of his full lips, sending goosebumps exploding over your skin.

"Oh, there they are!" Zak finally notices the drivers and Sophie and moves to introduce everyone. Behind you, Noelle hovers, lying in wait to correct anyone who might break royal protocol when it comes to interacting with you. You desperately wish she would've let you come alone.

Introductions are made and you try your hardest to ignore the way your skin sparks when you shake hands with Lando. Zak explains how the afternoon is going to go and that Lando is going to take you around the track on a hot lap while Oscar and a few other reserve McLaren drivers take the kids out behind.

"Nervous, your highness?" Lando asks as he checks the chin strap on your crash helmet.

The way your stomach dips when he smiles at you has nothing to do with nerves.

"You're about to whip me around this race track at speeds that could kill me, I think you can call me by my first name, Lando." You tease, deflecting the real reason your palms are sweating.

Lando blushes, eyes falling to the ground. "I guess that's true. Just didn't want your lady in waiting to tackle me for committing some protocol crime, I guess."

The laugh that escapes you would send your mother into a complete fit it's so sudden and loud. "She does look like she's lying in wait, doesn't she?" Your eyes dart above Lando's shoulder where Noelle stands, eyes trained on you as if she's expecting someone to attack at any moment.

"She's just a little...protective." You say, voice going soft. "Last year we had a little incident where I was being stalked for several months. The guy thought we were engaged and he somehow managed to get around my protection officers and into my building at 3 in the morning. They caught him outside my door with duct tape, rope and a knife in his bag."

Your eyes go wide with horror as you realize what you've just said. No one in the public knew about that, your parents had insisted on keeping the investigation quiet. The man had been sent to a psychiatric facility with the blessing of his family and charges hadn't been filed in order to protect your privacy. You had no idea why you had just spilled one of your most closely kept secrets to a veritable stranger.

"Well then I'm glad she's here to watch over you." Lando's voice is quiet, like he knows you don't want others overhearing this conversation. "I'd hate to think of anything happening to such a pretty girl."

For several moments, the busy pitlane falls away a bit as Lando's hands remain on the straps of your helmet and he looks at you like he's known you for your entire life. You're used to people staring at you and being under the microscope but the way Lando looks at you makes you want to squirm in the most delicious way possible.

"Okay, you two!" Zak booms, shocking you out of the little bubble that had grown around you and Lando those few moments. "Lets get you out on the track. Lando, please remember this is a member of the royal family, I'd rather not have to leave the country if you injure her."

"What kind of knight in shining armor would I be if I hurt the princess in my charge?" Lando quips, aiming a wink your way before rounding the hood of the low slung papaya colored McLaren.

You can't help the way you snort in response to his flirting, it's so ridiculous but you also can't ignore the way your stomach twists in delight at the way Lando's tongue works around the word princess while he looks at you.

You had to be careful though. Despite Lando being famous and well off in his own right, you were even a step above that and life had taught you that even the most well connected and rich men saw you as the ultimate prize. Who wouldn't want to marry the only daughter to the King of England, even if they had billions. You can't buy a real royal pedigree. Not like the one you had, dating back generations on both sides of your family.

No, you couldn't allow yourself the luxury of lowered walls but you could allow yourself to indulge in a little innocent flirting, because that's all it would ever or could ever be with Lando Norris.

"Zak, can I file a workplace injury claim if I've gone deaf this afternoon from her screeching?" Lando complained as he held out a hand to help you out of the McLaren 45 minutes later.

"I have no idea what you're talking about! Princesses don't screech." You sniff, smile tugging at the corner of your mouth as you yank your hand out of his grasp the moment you're steady on your feet.

Lando snorts now, rolling his eyes, enjoying the color that flushes in high on your cheekbones. He was the one to make you blush like that and it sends a zing of arousal straight to his cock. While you had been in the car with Lando, before he had scared the daylights out of you, he'd been able to overcome the initial nerves of meeting his boyhood crush and had settled into a flirty conversation. The way you two bantered back and forth so naturally was new to Lando and kind of unnerving to him, but in a good way.

"I'm inclined to believe if the princess was driven to 'screech' that it was all your fault, Lando." Zak jokes with a shrug before turning to you. "Thank you so much for coming out this afternoon and filling in for your brother. We got some great shots of you guys on the track and before with everyone together."

You nod, smiling at the group that's now gathered. Beside you, Lando has wiggled his way between Noelle and yourself so he's settled in at your side. "Wonderful. I'm sure they'll be the perfect content you guys all need. Is there anything else you need from me today? Did all the kids get laps on the track and the merch bags?"

Sophie nods, "Yes ma'am, no one left empty handed."

You sigh internally knowing that the day is almost over. You can taste the freedom of the back seat of the Range Rover where you can finally let your mask down for a few extra moments. You loved days like this, busy and filled with lost of interaction with the public but it was also exhausting beyond measure. You knew you'd sleep well tonight, having attended events nearly every night for the past 9 days.

"Good, thank you." Your eyes find the McLaren CEO who stands across from you. "Zak, I assume we'll see you at the awards gala Saturday night?"

Zak nods, "Yes, Oscar and I will be there."

You can't help the bit of disappointment that blooms in your chest when he doesn't say Lando's name. You hate it and ignore it the best you can because it simply isn't acceptable. So instead you lean on your years of training and upbringing to hide your true feelings. "Lovely, I can't wait to see you both again."

As Lando watches your car pull away, he can't help but feel a little disappointed that your time together is up.

"What awards gala was she talking about? Why wasn't I invited? Lando practically whines, turning to Zak once the Range Rover is out of sight.

Zak chuckles "You were invited Norris and you turned it down because, and I quote, 'you don't do boring awards dinners that aren't written into your contract'."

Lando kicks at a rock with his sneaker, feeling a bit foolish. "Well, I guess I'm just going to have to make an exception for this one then."

Zak narrows his eyes, not liking where he thinks Lando's head is going. "Listen Norris, I know your personal life is none of my business."

"And you'd be right in that assesment, Zak." Lando responds cooly.

Zak holds his hand up, "But I'd be remiss if I didn't remind you that whatever I think is going on in your head about the woman that just left the track is probably a bad idea. A princess like her is not able to have a casual relationship like the ones your used to. Just..." Zak pauses, trying to put his advice in the best words possible. "Just be careful, okay?"

"Message recieved loud and clear, Zak." Lando mutters before turning and walking back towards the garages.

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 2

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a–less–oblivious player. That’s it, that’s the plot. A/N: Ok, I’ve decided to make this by series, so this one’s just going to be purely Sylus. I hope nobody minds the specific names/places/etc. I wanted to create a personality for the “player” and add a bit of backstory work (loosely based on yours truly lol) for the sake of storytelling, but there won't be any distinct description of the player’s physical appearance <3 Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, suggestive language, bouts of delusion

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

Riiiiing– RiiiNGGGGG––

...

“Huh… whazat—?” 

A shrill—earsplitting, headache-inducing, completely fucking loud—noise wakes you up rather rudely from your peaceful slumber at… Jesus Christ, what time is it? 

You blink your bleary eyes open, once… twice—fuck, all you know that it’s too goddamn early for all this ruckus. Groaning, you clumsily try to find the source of the unexpected wake-up call. Quite literally in this case. 

Your hand bumps the vibrating phone straight off the edge of the mattress—along with the charger cord still attached to it—and you cuss up a storm when you hear it clatter on the hardwood floor.

The ringing finally stops, and you’re perfectly content to leave it there and fall back to sleep when, not even ten seconds later, the blasted thing rings back to life, taunting you awake. 

Angrily, you wrestle against the threadbare blanket wrapped around your body like a warm cocoon, pushing yourself out of bed with all the rage of a sleep-deprived insomniac who’s been up til the buttcrack of dawn to grab your—huh, relatively intact—phone off the ground, while the charger cable swings haphazardly from the weight of the power brick on its tail end.  

Without checking the caller, you swipe right to answer. “What?” 

“Don’t use that tone on me, young lady,” Your mother grouses on the other end of the line. “It’s almost noon! Did you just wake up?” 

Barely five hours of sleep. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you shut your eyes and sigh. “No, mom. Sorry, just had a late night,” you clear your throat in an attempt to sound more composed. “What’s up?” 

“Oh, dear. Is it because of work again?” Something akin to sympathy replaces the sternness in her voice, and you dread the all-too-familiar spiel that comes next. “You know, honey, there’s a job opening for a– what was it again? I have to double check, but it’s where your Auntie Helen works. You know your Auntie Helen—” 

“Mom,” you interrupt, before she could go off on a tangent. “Work is fine, don’t worry. Why d’you call?” 

“Should I need a reason to call my daughter who's living by her lonesome, a country away from—” 

“Mom!” 

“Oh, alright,” she finally relents, sounding slightly exasperated. “Were you able to book me and Jodie the roundtrip flight to Orlando? Your cousin’s wedding is barely a month away and I want all the documents ready by now, sweetie.” 

Shit. “Ah— yeah. I’ll email you the flight itinerary in a bit, I’m just–” you catch sight of your protruding hamper, innocuous but an eyesore nonetheless, right by the doorway of your humble studio unit. “I mean, I just left the condo. To do errands and stuff. I’ll send the details to you when I get back home, okay?” 

“Okay, honey,” she sighs. “You stay safe outside now. Don’t talk to strangers.” 

“I am a perfectly responsible adult—” The call disconnects. “Hello? Great.” 

You rub away the remnants of sleep from your eyes, fully aware that your day’s already started, despite your reluctance. Might as well get a head start on today’s agenda.

First thing’s first– brunch. Oh, it’s almost one. Lunch, then. I could maybe grab a hotdog from the corner store before heading to Landers. Oh wait, laundry. Gotta pass by the laundromat downstairs, too. Ugh, c’mon, chop-chop. 

Just as you’re about to stand up from your supine position on the floor, another ping! pulls your attention back to your phone. “Mom, I swear–” 

Ah, you’re finally awake. You’ve had a very long night, kitten. Take it easy for the day – make sure to get enough rest between errands.

I’ll know if you don’t.  

Your heart skips a beat.

Oh! Um. That’s… new. 

… Apparently another one on the growing list of “new features” from the latest update. It doesn't sound like an invitation for you to open the game, strangely enough. It's not a call to action to claim your daily stamina, nor a prompt for you to check your Galaxy Explorer rewards. 

It’s nothing more than a greeting, really. Just one that’s particularly targeted at you, with unnerving accuracy.

You recall the weird (?) events from last night, and the now-erratic beating of your heart suddenly picks up a notch. From the unexpected dialogues to the outrageous amount of dias you’ve somehow ended up with—something you still think is some kind of glitch in the system—you can’t shake the feeling that you’re living out the plot of a Black Mirror episode, as fucking dumb as that sounds. 

Not to mention during Quality Time, Sylus_v2.0 (as you so lovingly dub this version of him in your mind) had been acting more aware of you.

And you’re not talking about the pre-programmed glances that you usually get. No– it’s like he actually hears you. 

He doesn’t say anything. But whenever you make a comment, or utter something under your breath, he reacts with a huff or a hum—depending on the context. If it’s a slew of expletives aimed at your boss, the reaction you’re met with is one of amusement. A snort; sometimes a quiet laugh, if you’re lucky. When you say something self-deprecating, however, it elicits the heavier sighs, the sharp clicks of the tongue. 

At one point, you heard him make a low sound of dissent, something close to a... growl, almost, after making a casual joke about being just another cog in the machine and how offing yourself wouldn’t really matter in the grand scheme of late capitalism. As you oft do. 

Your eyes met, and for a split second, it felt like you weren’t looking at just pixels. His gaze weighed heavy on you—almost accusatory. 

It made you feel… naked, somehow. Perceived. 

You recall how quickly you averted your eyes from his, face flushing hotly from a feeling you couldn’t put into words. 

Bone-tired from last night’s (morning) overtime, you didn’t have the time to look up the news on this recent version update—although you really don’t remember any notifications in-game—so you quickly Google, “sylus acting sentient in rcent update loveamd Deepspace???” on your phone browser.

You scroll down for a bit, but none of the search results yield any relevancy, nor are they in any way similar to your current… predicament. 

(Okay, so calling it a predicament is a little unfair. You’re not exactly complaining about anything per se. No complaints from you. At all.)

Deciding that you’d do a deeper dive on Twitter (X) at a later time instead—probably tonight when you do your daily login—you briefly press the side button to lock your phone… not without a final peek at the banner notification from Sylus. 

You press your lips together in an effort to hold back the stupid giggle bubbling up your throat. 

Unfortunately, all the self-control in the world can’t help you and your need to have the last word—from what even—so you ask aloud, to no one except the person you've deluded yourself into thinking is a valid recipient of your one-sided conversation: 

“... Yeah? And what if I don’t?” 

You’re not really waiting for a response (or were you?), but the nervous flutter in your stomach betrays the impatience you're trying to mask with casual indifference. It’s small, unassuming—but there. 

Impatient for what, exactly, you’re not sure. But maybe, just maybe—

Feeling a bit braver now, are we? How bold. Care to say that to my face, sweetheart?

Oh. 

Oh.

An inhuman noise escapes your throat, embarrassingly loud, almost a keen, and you fumble with the device in your hand; the new banner notification still in full view—taunting you. 

You don’t know what to think, you don’t know how to feel. You–

Spring up, like an agitated jack-in-a-box, and the sudden rush of blood in your head leaves you dizzy. You’re a molotov cocktail of emotions; one more bombshell surprise and you might just blow. 

“I’m– later, okay? Uh,” Whew, girl, keep it together. “I need–I need to go.” You almost stumble as you speed walk towards the bathroom.

-

-

-

If you didn’t switch your phone to silent, didn’t make the conscious effort to ignore any incoming messages, notifications, and whatever else, in a rush to get dressed and go about your day as if it's just like any other weekend—nope, nothing unusual here—you would’ve seen one last cheeky reply:

Of course, sweetie. You take care now. 

Don’t talk to strangers. X

Endnote: This one's pretty short, but I’m world-building, trust. 

Thanks for reading! 

[dirtyvulture]

The Maid

Socialite!Wanda Maximoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

Maid!Natasha Romanoff x Beefy!Rich!Reader*

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 4663

Summary: You are married to a wealthy socialite, but your newly hired housemaid doesn’t approve of the marriage.

AN: I was reading a book series and got this idea. Enjoy!

*Reader has a penis, no pronouns used.

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” you say, poking at the sad bowl of cereal before you.

“Why not?” Your wife frowns at you from across the kitchen.

“Because we’re doing fine! We don’t need any extra help,” you emphasize.

“You’re not the one stuck at home all day cleaning the house and cooking all the meals,” she snaps. Your eyes shift to the bowl of cereal you’d had to make yourself because she was too busy at her pilates class to cook you anything more substantial. 

“This house is huge compared to our old one,” your wife continues. “And if you’re not going to help me around here, I’m going to hire someone who will.” Annoyance burns in your chest because you run your own company full-time, and your wife inherited all her wealth from her parents and hadn’t worked a real job in her entire life. “Besides, Steve’s the one who recommended her and he said she’s been really helpful to his family.”

“You seem to spend a lot of time talking to Steve,” you note, although you feel guilty for calling out your neighbor across the street. You’d spoken to him a few times and he seemed like a decent guy, but you weren’t stupid enough to not notice how often your wife would find her way over to his lawn multiple times a week.

“You’re at work all day and don’t answer your phone half the time,” she says. “You don’t expect me to stay in this gigantic house all by myself doing chores, do you? I’m not a house servant, Y/N.”

“No, of course you’re not,” you apologize. You glance at the Omega watch that had been an engagement gift from your wife. “Hey, I have to get going to work now.” Dutifully, you bring your bowl over to the sink and stop to kiss your wife on the way there. “I’ll see you later, honey.”

“Remember, the pool guy is coming at noon so you need to be back before then,” she says. “I don’t want to be left by myself with him.”

“Okay, I’ll try.” You’re not sure why she’s so nervous around the pool technician; he was about 30 years older than the both of you and had been very sweet and professional when he came to give you a quote for the maintenance.  

“No, don’t try. Do it,” she insists.

You try to hold in your sigh. “Yes, dear.”

***********************************************************************

Natasha curses to herself as she drags her vacuum cleaner and basket of cleaning supplies up the sidewalk to your home. Your wife–Mrs. L/N, as she had asked Natasha to call her, while you had no problem being on a first name basis with her–had told Natasha she didn’t want her parking in front of your house, requiring her to park around the corner. Which wouldn’t have been a significant issue except it meant Natasha had to lug everything to your house every time she stopped by.

“Do you need any help, Nat?” Steve Rogers, the friendly neighbor whom she also worked for, waved at her from across the street.

“No, no, I’m fine!” she squeaks, not wanting to bother him. But Steve, ever the gentleman, runs over anyway and she has no choice but to turn over her supplies to him. 

“You know, you can always just park in front of my house,” he offers, bundling the items in his muscular arms.

“That’s okay,” Natasha says. “Mrs. L/N made it very clear that as much as she needs my help, she doesn’t want people to know I’m here.”

Steve doesn’t argue with her and walks her to your front door. “Well, if you ever need anything–”

“Natasha! You’re late!” The front door swings open and Natasha finds herself face-to-face with your wife. “Oh, hello, Steven.” She flips her hair over her shoulder and bats her eyelashes at him. “Didn’t expect to see you here.” 

“I was just helping Natasha with her things,” Steve explains.

“Oh, don’t worry about her. She can handle herself. Right, Natasha?” She turns a judgmental eye on Natasha.

“I appreciate the help, Steve,” is all Natasha says.

“You’re welcome. See you both later!” He quickly jogs back to his home. 

Mrs. L/N ushers Natasha into the house. “I left a grocery list on the kitchen counter for you. If you can’t find something, please call me before you pick any substitutions,” she instructs briskly. “I have to go out to the HOA meeting, but Y/N should be home by noon before the pool man comes. Do not let him into the yard if Y/N or me are not home yet, understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Natasha nods her head, fighting the urge not to roll her eyes at this lady.

“Good.” She leaves towards the garage and Natasha can hear the purr of her Mercedes starting up.

It was Natasha’s second week working for your family, and she hated nearly every second of it–mostly because of your spoiled, bratty wife. But the few times Natasha had met you, she thought you were as kind and charming as could be (and very nice to look at). She wondered how the two of you had gotten together in the first place and what you saw in your wife. She was one of the bossiest clients Natasha had ever had, and Natasha had seen her be not much nicer to you. Plus, she was definitely hitting on Steve, but Natasha knows he wouldn’t cheat on his wife with yours.

She dumps her supplies in the foyer, then goes into the kitchen to find the grocery list. It only takes a single glance to know that your wife is totally fucking with her–what the hell is a rambutan? Natasha sighs loudly, wishing there were someone around to hear her distress. As much as she wants to quit working for your family, she needs the money. And she was still so new to the business, she couldn’t afford to make any bad impressions. 

With another sigh, she balls the grocery list into her fist and heads back out.

***********************************************************************

Natasha returns from her grocery trip just in time to see you pull into the garage in your bright green luxury sports car she doesn’t even recognize the manufacturer’s logo of. You get out and wave to her and she smiles back, almost forgetting the awful phone call she had to make to your wife when she searched the entire store and still couldn’t locate the rambutans (she ended up having to make a separate trip to Whole Foods for them). 

“Hi, Natasha!” you say, running down the driveway to help her with the grocery bags.

“Oh, don’t worry about these,” Natasha says, trying to swat your hands away. “It’s my job to take them into the house–”

“No, let me help,” you insist, scooping up four bags in one hand in one go. “Oh! Rambutans. These are my favorite. Thank you for finding them.” 

Instantly, Natasha wants to take back all the curses she had put on the spiky red fruit. “It was nothing,” she lies, making a mental note to buy out the store’s entire stock for you the next time she goes.

With your help, it takes half the amount of time to get all the groceries in the house. You also insist on helping her put everything away, showing her the proper drawers in the fridge for the fruit and vegetables versus the meat, and where the cereals went in the pantry. Natasha is beyond grateful for you; she knows your wife would have happily stood there and watched her struggle, then loudly criticized her for not knowing better.

“Thank you, Y/N,” she says, her hand inadvertently brushing yours when you pass her the last bag of apples. She withdraws from you almost too quickly, her skin hot where you touched her, but you don’t seem to notice, distracted by the ringing of the doorbell. 

“That must be Stan.” You dash off to meet the pool man. 

Natasha fills the dishwasher as much as she can and starts in, then goes to finish washing the oddly-shaped pots and pans that didn’t fit in the sink. The kitchen window looks out to your yard that is probably bigger than the footprint of her entire apartment complex. The pool has two different levels, but both are filled with a suspicious green water. You’re standing poolside talking to Stan, an older gentleman whom Natasha personally knew to be very kind from her few interactions with him when he conducted work on the neighborhood pool’s. 

She’s so busy looking at you, fantasizing about a life where this big house could be hers, with a doting partner who would take care of her and raise a family with her, she doesn’t hear the front door opening until she hears the unholy screech from your wife.

“Natasha, what are you doing?” she yells, hurrying over and snatching the soapy sponge right out of Natasha’s gloved hand.

“Um–the dishes? They didn’t all fit in the dishwasher–”

“You turned on the dishwasher?” Her eyes grow wide and her mouth drops like Natasha’s just confessed to a murder. “Didn’t I tell you we don’t run the dishwasher before seven p.m.?” Natasha is certain she’s never heard this instruction before in her life and watches as she rushes over to turn off the dishwasher mid-cycle and throw it open. “Also, you didn’t pack this correctly, you definitely could’ve fit those pots in here.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll rearrange it now,” Natasha says, trying not to get flustered. Surely your wife wouldn’t fire her over such a minor transgression, would she?

“Is Stan here yet?” she asks, but before Natasha can answer, she is interrupted by a shout and a splash. Both of them crane their necks to look out the window, where they can see Stan floating facedown in the pool. You’re kicking your shoes off and throwing your phone onto the lawn before you run up to the pool’s edge and dive in with a form that would rival an Olympic swimmer’s. Your wife screams and darts towards the back door, Natasha following right behind her.

“Y/N! What are you doing?”

“He fell in!” you answer, coughing out water as you loop your arms under the elderly man and kick back towards the stairs. “He just zoned out when he was talking to me and suddenly tipped over into the pool. I think he’s having a seizure.”

“I’ll call 911!” Natasha offers, not wanting to be as useless as your wife. She struggles to get her phone out of her pocket and punches in the number with shaky fingers.

Your wife hovers by the pool stairs, making no move to assist you as you struggle to drag the old man out, clearly weighed down by the water drenching both of your clothes. Stan is holding himself in a position so stiff it reminds Natasha of a mannequin. 

“Ugh, don’t get me wet, Y/N!” your wife complains as the brackish water sprays everywhere.

“I’m trying not to!” you snap, gently laying Stan on the grass.  

“Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” a dispatcher picks up.

“Hello? Yes, I’m at 2800 Sherwood Drive. There’s a man here who fell into the pool and we just got him out, but he’s having some kind of medical episode,” Natasha says, putting her phone on speaker. The dispatcher asks if he’s breathing and you confirm. 

“Can roll him to his side and stabilize his head?”

Without hesitation, you peel off your shirt and roll it into a soggy ball, gently tucking it under the man’s head like a makeshift pillow. Natasha tries not to stare at your nicely sculpted torso, highlighted further by the water droplets on your skin, but her face burns in shame when she sees your wife glaring at her ogling.

“Okay, his head is stabilized!” you call out.

“Perfect, emergency services are two minutes away.”

“Thank you.”

It’s a big scene at the house by the time the ambulance pulls up. Your wife eventually covers you up with a towel, but you’re insistent on waiting outside for Stan to be carefully loaded into the ambulance before you finally allow your wife to usher you back into the house, still dripping water everywhere.

“Thank you for the help today, Natasha,” you say, reaching out to give her shoulder a gentle pat as you walk by her towards the house. Natasha doesn’t even know how to respond but nods furiously and mumbles that “she didn’t help much.”

“You can go now, Natasha,” your wife says curtly, and Natasha doesn’t question her and practically flees the premise.

***********************************************************************

It’s been a few weeks since the pool incident and Natasha is barely able to hold onto her sanity with the never-ending list of ridiculous tasks from your wife. When she holds a fundraiser meeting for a charity Natasha is sure she made up on her own, she calls on Natasha as her personal servant, forcing her to serve a collection of the snobbiest women in the neighborhood. Maybe I should take up meditation, Natasha thinks to herself as she prepares a third pitcher of iced tea because the first two “did not have the right balance of sugar to tea,” according to your wife, despite that Natasha had put in exactly one-third cup of sugar as requested.

Natasha doesn’t see you much around the house anymore, and she wonders if your wife purposely scheduled her around your work hours, or told you to stay away from her. She wants to ask you if there were any updates about Stan’s condition (there was no way she was going to get that information from your wife). She missed hearing your voice and seeing your smile…wait.

She shakes her head–she shouldn’t be thinking about you like that. You’re her employer and you’re married (to a bitch). It would be entirely inappropriate and dangerous to pursue you, so she would just have to make do with ogling you from afar. Besides, a lot of her clients did not show her respect, likely due to the nature of her job, so just because you were courteous and respectful towards her, didn’t mean you felt a specific way about her.

“You know, Y/N used to be fat.” Natasha startles when your wife walks up behind her. She almost drops the picture frame she’d been dusting of the two of you on a beach, holding hands as you walked towards the sunset in the background.

“Excuse me?” Natasha asks. 

“Fat and poor,” Mrs. L/N adds, much to Natasha’s horror. 

“That’s an awful thing to say about your partner,” Natasha says.

She shrugs. “I don’t want anything to be sugarcoated for you. All of this–” She gestures around to the grandiose-ness of the house, and points to a more recent photo of you, where you’re carrying your wife in your arms, the bulge of your biceps and wideness of your shoulders stretching out your shirt. “–was not a thing when we first started dating. I was there when Y/N had nothing and was no one.”

“Okay.” Natasha wonders why she’s acting like she did you a favor, when you are clearly the catch in the relationship. But then it suddenly dawns on her the reason she’s saying this is because she knows Natasha might have a small crush on you.

“Y/N would never leave me, because I was there from the beginning,” Mrs. L/N says loftily.

“Of course,” Natasha says, fearing she has made a terrible mistake. “Y/N must be very lucky to have you.”

“You have no idea,” your wife smirks. “So let me be a reminder to keep things professional in my house. I’d hate for you to lose your job here. As far as I know, this is the only neighborhood that employs you, and your reputation is everything, isn’t it? One bad review could spoil the whole bunch, and you’d be off having to peddle your services elsewhere.” Icy fear pits at the bottom of Natasha’s stomach. “That is, if the police don’t pick you up first.”

“What are you talking about?” Natasha whispers, even though she knows exactly what Mrs. L/N is talking about. She had been foolish to assume her past would never follow her, but how could your wife have found out? Clint had assured her that with a new name and a new location, she’d be untraceable. 

“Because they’d have to arrest you from stealing Y/N away from me,” Mrs. L/N laughs shrilly. Natasha chuckles nervously, although she was certain adultery was not a punishable offense in the state. “But I’m just joking. That would never happen, right?”

“Never,” Natasha promises, hoping her cover will stay hidden for now. 

“Good.”

***********************************************************************

“How was your day at work, honey?”

“Busy,” you grunt, moodily poking at the chicken pot pie Natasha had made before she went home. The food tastes good–it’s better than anything your wife has ever cooked, you think privately, but you don’t have much of an appetite. The end of the financial quarter was rapidly approaching and it had become extremely apparent to you that the profits of your company were not outweighing the expenses for the third quarter in a row. You were digging yourself a bigger and bigger grave, dipping into your personal investments to pay your way out of debt. It was the most stressful period of your life, with no relief in sight, and your wife wouldn’t understand the pressure.

“Sorry to hear that,” she says, although her words don’t come across as very genuine. “My day wasn’t so great either. I got into an argument earlier with Mrs. Harkness at the HOA meeting.” Your wife clicks her tongue. “Some of these women will go to war over their lawn decorations, I swear.”

A jab bubbles on the tip of your tongue; was she really trying to compare an HOA meeting to your very real, very stressful job running a business? But you stay quiet, shoveling another spoonful of pot pie into your mouth.

“Where’s Natasha?” you ask. Usually she stayed around for dinner (not that your wife would let her sit at the same table as you), but you hadn’t seen her in the house for a while.

“I ran out of time today, so I sent her out to grab some things for tomorrow,” she answers. When Natasha had first been hired, you had been under the impression that she was exclusively a housekeeper, helping with all the household chores your wife couldn’t complete. But you had heard about her running grocery trips and waiting on your wife and her friends during meetings, turning Natasha into more of a personal assistant than anything. You hoped she was okay with that; you knew how demanding your wife could be sometimes.

“Oh, okay.” You finish your helping of pot pie in silence, then go to place your plate in the dishwasher, before going into the bedroom to retire for the night. As you’re washing your face in the sink, you hear your wife pad up behind her.

“Sorry you’ve been really stressed lately,” she says, rubbing her hand up and down your arm. 

“It’s not your fault,” you respond, drying your face on a towel, going back into the bedroom to find your pajamas so you can take a shower.

“Y/N.” Your wife stops you as you’re searching through the dresser for your pajamas. When you look at her, she’s eyeing you with her bottom lip between her teeth. She struts towards you, slowly sinking to her knees and looking up at you. “Maybe I can do something to make you feel better?” 

With you being so busy with work and her busy with the new move, the two of you hardly had time for each other. Plus, your wife tended to be on the particular side and never seemed to be in the mood if you initiated. It was a little frustrating sometimes, but you found ways to cope and besides, it did make the times she was ready for you all the more enjoyable.

She pulls down your pants, palming at your boxers and causing you to groan. You unbutton your shirt as you feel your body start to heat up and let it slide off your shoulders. 

“Fuck, don’t tease me,” you grunt when she leans forward and nibbles on the exposed flesh of your thigh. 

“You need to savor the moment,” she says, although you can tell she’s just as impatient when she hooks her fingers into the waistband of your boxers and draws them down to the floor. Your heavy cock bobs out, slapping against your abs before your wife grabs onto it and brings it to her mouth. 

“Fuck, baby,” you moan, tipping your head back when you feel her lips wrap around your cock. You wrap your hand in her hair, pumping your hips forward to sink your length into the heat of her throat. She grips onto your thighs to steady herself, the faintest of choking noise escaping her. You grunt in satisfaction, thrusting a little harder until the tip of your cock bumps the back of her throat. She whines louder, but doesn’t pull away, and your knees are practically shaking at the sight of her deepthroating all of you.  

“You’re doing so well,” you praise and her cheeks flush red. “Are you gonna let me finish in your mouth?” you ask, and she nods in response, the movement causing a burst of pre-cum to leak out of your cock. You stroke a stray hair out of her face so you can look into her eyes when you finish. “That’s my good girl.”

***********************************************************************

Natasha lets herself into your home, juggling three heavy bags that she’s pretty sure are cutting off the circulation to her fingers. She passes by the kitchen, confused to see it empty; when she had left the two of you were just settling down to eat. She puts the bags by the foot of the table, recalling the time Mrs. L/N had screamed at her for putting “dirty outside bags” on the place where you ate. She wouldn’t make that same mistake again.

Checking her phone, Natasha sees that your wife had sent her a text less than five minutes ago.

Natasha sighs. It had already been a long day, but she wasn’t given an ounce of leeway. She knows better than to walk away from an unfinished task (especially around your wife), so she trudges up the stairs and turns into the guest room. Hopefully her presence can go unnoticed, and your wife will magically find the folded clothes long after Natasha is gone. 

There are a total of three shirts and a pair of jeans left to fold. Natasha knows it would be too much to ask your wife to do on her own. She grits her teeth and folds the clothes, taking the better part of a minute, then looks around and realizes she doesn’t remember where she put the laundry basket. 

Maybe she had already brought it to the master bedroom, but she knew she couldn’t just leave it on the guest bed, or your wife would probably fire her. Natasha gathers up the clothes and walks down the hall to the master bedroom, but freezes in her tracks when she hears noises coming out of the bedroom.

Moaning noises, specifically.

Natasha can’t stop herself as she moves closer to the door, positioning herself to peer through the crack in between the door and the wall. She sees your wife on her knees, her head bobbing against your waist as you stand there, half-naked, moaning and thrusting your hips forward.

Natasha feels like she can’t breathe, totally shocked and embarrassed to have caught the two of you in a moment. She has a strange sense that your wife had set her up like this on purpose, but the thought quickly dissipates as she finds herself moving closer to the door.

“That’s my good girl.”

Natasha’s stomach flips when she hears you say this, even though it isn’t directed to her. But maybe one day it could be. 

She’s practically pressed up against the door, the fear of being caught burning away in her eagerness to keep watching you. The way the muscles in your stomach and thighs flex as your hips roll in a sinful rhythm. Natasha is almost ashamed at how fast she feels the arousal building in her own stomach.

You grunt louder and slow down as you seem to near release. Natasha can’t help but wonder what you must taste like and if she could even fit you down her throat. Your wife seems to be struggling with your size, but Natasha would do everything in her power to make you happy and not let any drop go to waste.

Without warning, your wife removes you from her mouth. Both you and Natasha gasp–you probably in frustration, and Natasha because she’s shocked at how big you are. Your cock is shiny with saliva and pre-cum and is so hard it looks like it’s about to burst.

“I didn’t finish,” you whine as your wife stands up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She puts her hand on your chest and pushes you back until you stumble onto the bed.

“I know. But I don’t want you to finish in my mouth, I want you to finish inside me.”

“Oh.” Your wife takes off her pants and climbs onto you.

Natasha knows how wrong it is for her to stand there and continue watching. She should’ve left a long time ago. But somehow, she knows your wife set her up to see this, and instead of running away in shame, Natasha is totally absorbed and her obsession with you only skyrockets. 

The headboard creaks against the wall as your wife rides you, both of you moaning in unison. Natasha’s eyes are stuck on you, trying to memorize your body’s reactions and wondering if she’d ever be the cause of them one day. You tilt your head back into the pillows, your back arching off the mattress, your hands wrapped around your wife’s waist as you thrust up into her. 

“I’m ready. I’m gonna cum,” you announce breathlessly.

Natasha hopes you’ll say those words to her one day. But she turns away as you finish, scolding herself for her unprofessional and frankly creepy behavior. She drops the folded clothes to the floor, knowing your wife will eventually find them and know of their origin. Maybe she’ll get fired for this; if anything, it’d be for the better. She doesn’t trust herself to be around you anymore–not that she’d ever be so bold as to make a move and disrespect your marriage, but she’d never be able to look at you the same way again.

She quickly pads down the stairs and leaves the house, the emptiness in her heart and core almost reaching a painful point.

***********************************************************************

You jerk your hips up a final time as you cum, dropping back onto the bed exhausted and spent. 

“Hmm, that was fun,” your wife pants against your neck, and you wrap your arm around her tightly, pulling her closer to your body. 

“We can shower together?” you suggest, digging your fingers teasingly into her naked hips. 

“Sure. Give me a minute.” She lays her head on your chest.

Despite your differences, you were truly happy to have this woman by your side through it all. She had been your longest supporter and that had meant everything to you when no one else believed in you.

You kiss her forehead softly. “I love you, Wanda.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Actually screaming and crying. Nat please come save us 😭

Click here for Part 2!

@holiday-house-of-m I finally kept my promise to you after 84 years.

Please like, reblog, and comment! Follow for more content. 🥰

[hiiikiko]

𝖈𝖆𝖚𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖎𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖜𝖊𝖇

[3: “aww, you cheating’ on me?”]

tlou m.list | series m.list

spider!man ellie x reader

Ellie is feeling conflicted, on one hand she wants to tell you that she is Spider-Man but on the other hand, talking to you as ��Spidey’ is just so much easier.. also, would you even like her as Ellie, could you like her without her being Spider-Man?

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The next morning, following the kiss, Ellie woke up with a headache, she couldn’t tell if it was from the lack of sleep, dehydration, or the fact that she kissed you— er, rather you kissed her but same difference.

Tommy and Maria weren’t home yet and Ellie didn’t have class until noon, so she decided to wake herself up by going for a lap around the city. She slipped on her suit, frowning under the mask while looking at herself in the mirror.

“Geez, this suit really does make me look flat” she sighed as she patted her chest, “Whatever..”

While most people enjoyed going for a jog or walk around the block, Ellie enjoyed swinging from rooftop to rooftop, she loved feeling the cold hair hit her skin through the surprisingly breathable fabric of her suit. Not to mention, she enjoyed the free perks that came with it, sometimes the owners of bakeries or cafes would wave her down and give her a hot cup of coffee (in a thermos of course) and a nice, sweet pastry or savoury breakfast sandwich to thank her for keeping the neighbourhood safe. Even if the pigs— um, I mean police didn’t like her, she was satisfied enough with gratitude from the rest of the city.

Ellie loved this part of her morning, children waving from the bus, the free coffee, and the music blaring through her airpods, well, she used to love it.. lately, something strange had been happening. No matter where she was in the city, she found herself somehow at your apartment, actually the building across from it. She didn’t really understand why she was so attracted to this place, maybe it was just force of habit? I mean, she was coming over every other night now, yeah, that had to be it.

This particular morning, she ended up right in front of it again. Her legs dangled from the rooftop as she sipped her coffee, her mask was lifted just enough to allow it.

“God, I should be dropping myself off at the station… I feel like a stalker,” she mumbled against the rim of the bottle, her eyes never leaving your balcony doors.

You were just waking up, you must have worked a late shift at that diner last night, Ellie thinks, she came to find out that not only do you work as a model, you double as a waitress.. it couldn’t stop her from wondering about where your family was in all this.

You stretched your arms and forced yourself out of your bed, the warm blankets wrapped around you as if they were pleasing you to come back to bed.

Ellie had your routine memorized by now. FIrst, you go to the restroom, brush your teeth, then came your skincare routine, you usually had something small for breakfast, then browsed on your phone for a bit or called your friend, then got ready for the day. This day was no different except for one little thing.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“Ah, hey Ellie,” you smiled warmly at the girl in front of you, her hair was messy almost like she had just gotten off a rollercoaster, “You’re right on time! I literally just finished getting ready haha.”

Ellie chuckled and rubbed the back of her neck, “Y-yeah, funny.”

Today, the two of you were spicing up your tutoring routine by studying in the morning because Ellie said she couldn’t do night for awhile.

“Ready to go,” you ask her, you were hoping to eat at this nearby cafe.

She nods and with that, the two of you make your way downstairs and through the buzzing city.

The two of you got a table in the corner after you placed your orders, Ellie studied your face carefully, you didn’t look phased at all by last night, “So, you get home okay last night?”

You nod but Ellie could see a faint blush creeping up your neck, “Y-yeah..”

Ellie’s smirk was hidden by her coffee cup, she was glad that she had left an impression on you,”Hm, that’s good.”

Although, Ellie was happy that she was the one making you blush, she knew that it was actually Spider-Man who made you blush which was what frustrated her. Could she ever make you blush like that..?

The rest of the session went smoothly but Ellie seemed more quiet than usual. Then after the two of you paid and left, she gave you a quick ‘bye’ before hopping on her skateboard and weaving her way through the crowded streets.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

That evening, you went to your friend Gwen’s house, you considered telling her all about how you kissed Spider-man but you decided against it, she might think that you’re lying for attention, I mean, you would think that too. So instead, you told her all about how Ellie was being so distant today.

“She totally likes you,” Gwen said as she popped a skittle into her mouth, “Remember, that’s what Abby did at first, too?”

You grimaced at the mention of your ex. Abby and you dated on and off for the first two years of college. When you first met her, she was.. nice.. (not). The two of you hooked up on the first night or orientation and from that night on and then from there, you kinda jumped into a relationship. It was very sweet and soft at first but as time went on, Abby began acting like a complete asshole. SInce joining the lacrosse team her ego was being stroked daily, by fan girls, her coach, and her team (even going as far as giving her the nickname ‘Flash’) which made her turn into a total egomaniac. You couldn’t stand being with her anymore so you broke it off, for awhile she’d stalk you, threaten girls who dare talk to you, and try to get her father’s company to hire you as an intern so that she could get closer to you.

“Ugh, Abby…” you took a sip of your beer, “Have you heard anything about her lately?”

Gwen shakes her head, “Nah, after that green goblin attack, no one has gotten in contact with her. Although, Harry tells me that he visited her the other day and she had a pretty broken arm but for the most part was okay, but she kept going on and on about Spider-Man and the fact that her dad died, I think that she’s blaming it on Spider, but I don’t know haha.”

You solemnly nod, even though you didn’t like her that much anymore, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness. Abby was an only child and her mom died when she was really young, so she really had nobody to rely on..

You didn’t want to be a downer so you pushed her out of your mind.

Meanwhile, green eyes were lingering on you from outside.

I should really be fighting a bad guy right now but can’t get you outta my mind, Ellie thought.

A good ten minutes or so went by and you left Gwen’s house, the rain beating the ground once again. Gwen’s apartment wasn’t that far from yours so you decided to walk. The cold rain felt good against your warm skin, you wondered what Ellie was up to, you should call her.

“Hello?” A raspy, exasperated voice comes from the other side.

“H-hey, Ellie,” you slurred out, “Can I come over?”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

“God, you’re so fuckin’ wet,” Ellie says as she hands you a towel to dry your hair with.

“Thanks,” the walk from Gwens place to Ellies sobered you up and now you kept thinking to yourself ‘what the fuck am I doing here??’

Ellie nods and leans against the doorframe to her bedroom, “So… what’s up Y/n?”

You blush a bit, “N-nothin.. just wanted to say hi..”

She chuckles, “You came all the way here just to say hi? Must’ve really wanted to say hi, huh?”

Her teasing causes you to blush again, “Y-yeah, fuck, sorry this was dumb, I’ll lea—.”

Just as you’re making your way to the door, Ellie grabs your hand and pulls you closer, you’re now standing between her legs. Her green eye’s gaze up at you, “Nah, don’t leave..”

Your could feel your face going red and your heart beating faster, Ellie took another step closer to you, you could feel her breath against your skin.

Ellie didn’t know what was coming over her, for some reason when she was around you her spidey senses went dull and all rational thinking went out the window. Without a second to think, she was pinning you against the wall and her tongue was exploring the inside of your mouth. She was kissing you like she wanted to devour you whole, her hands almost painfully gripping your waist and pulling you into her lap, your hair tangled in her damp hair and her knee in between your pretty legs.

You whimpered a bit, the pressure of her knee against your cunt sent shivers down your spine. Hearing your sweet whimper, she pressed her leg up a bit more into you.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” Ellie mumbles against the skin of your neck.

What does that mean? Whatever.. you can’t think straight when her mouth is hitting all the sensitive parts of your neck.

You had no idea Ellie was so masterful, you had assumed that she was nerdy virgin. You never would’ve guessed that this was the same girl who blushes over your teasing and could only ever make eye contact with you through the lens of a camera. Her kiss felt weirdly familiar and made your knees buckle, making you crave more.

“C-can we take this to your room?” You whimper out, pulling yourself away from Ellie so you can gaze into her pretty eyes.

Her eyes were full of animalistic need but her words betrayed her, “Actually.. n-no.. sorry, I should get to sleep.. It’s late and don’t you have a shift at Ma and Pop’s Diner?”

Your face dropped.. how could her eyes be so full of hunger but her voice full of conflicting, “O-oh, okay.. yeah.”

You grabbed your coat and ventured into the rainy night once more.

Again, there were no taxies and your feet hurt like hell from the stupid heels you were wearing.

“Gotta love New York,” you sarcastically muttered under your breath as you made your way down the street, passing the same alley where you had that amazing kiss, you sigh. What was up with everyone leaving you after one kiss??

Even though your feet hurt, you did not feel like almost getting murdered so you avoided the alley, only for you to forget your lesson and make your way down another alley a few blocks down. It was a little more it and was behind a church so it should be safe, you thought to yourself

The single light in the alley flickered like a candle, making you a little more anxious almost like you thought that a single gust of wind would make the electric lightbulb flicker out.

As you trudged through the alley, your mind couldn’t help but drift back to Ellie.. what was up with her? First, she pushes you away and now she, obviously, wants to fuck you but is telling you to get out? You sigh, tears welling up in your eyes, not because you were sad but mainly because you were frustrated and humiliated.

“What’s wrong?” After you left, Ellie decided to make sure that you got back to your apartment safely, I mean, it was the least she could do, right?

You whip around, your face now mere inches from that familiar masked figures.

You gasp a bit, “I-It’s you, again..”

“You say that a lot,” Spider-Man chuckles and releases himself from his web, “So.. what’s got this pretty girl down in the dumps, hm?”

You wipe a tear from your face, “I-It’s nothin’, just girl trouble..”

“Aww, you cheatin’ on me,” he teases, you know he’s only joking but a blush creeps onto your cheeks, “That’s not very nice.”

“I-I’d never do that to you,” you attempt to tease him back but the stutter in your words making you sound a little to genuine.

“So, who’s the lucky lady,” he hums out, “Come on, you can tell good ol’ Spidey.”

“Oh.. I don’t know about lucky but…. S-she’s a girl in my biology class at NYU, she’s really smart and funny, a little awkward and nerdy—,” ‘Ouch, Ellie thinks to herself, “ but I don’t know.. we were making out and then she forces me out of her apartment, well, not forced but it felt like it? I don’t know, it was really embarrassing and—.”

“I-I’m sure she had her reasons!”

You frown, “Oh, yeah? Like what?”

Crickets.

“Wanna see somethin’ cool?” He said, obviously trying to deflect.

Before you could say yes, he wraps his arm around your waist and the two of you slingshot into the air, your arms hanging tightly around his neck. The rain stopped and the wet city passed underneath your feet, it looked like a tiny glowing ant colony. The night breeze made you shutter a bit and the feeling of Spidey’s warmth made you want to snuggle further into him, he smelled of.. pine and.. you couldn’t place it but a very familiar cologne…

Spidey takes you to a church in the heart of the city, it’s architecture very gothic with a bell on the top, that’s where he takes you. There’s a stone canopy above the bell, allowing for the two of you to sit somewhere dry.

“I like to come here when I’m feeling bad about things,” he collapses onto the ground, chest heaving, he’s obviously not used to swinging around with a person on his hip for extended periods of time.

“It’s nice,” you sit next to him and gaze up into the gigantic bell.

For awhile, you forget all about Ellie, your mind focused on the hero in front of you. The two of you talk about everything and anything, about spiders, of course, the crime problem, and finally, you reach the topic of music which seems to get him going.

You pull your phone out and the two of you listen to music for a bit, he seems to really be enjoying it, it’s almost like he’s never had anyone to talk to about this, you think for a bit.

Just as you’re about to play another song, you see rays of sunshine run onto your skin.

“Shit, mornin’ already,” Spidey sits up, covering his eyes with his arm, “Guess, I should get you home.”

You frown but nod, and the two of you make your way through the city, once again.

Reaching your apartment, you had given him directions, the two of you stand awkwardly on the roof.

“Thanks for cheering me up.. you really are ‘friendly,’ huh?” you joke.

“Yeah, well, y’know, gotta live up to the name.” he chuckles.

You smile, “Well… see ya, later Spidey.”

Once you’re inside your apartment, you close your door and throw yourself onto your bed, giggling and kicking your feet.

You let out content sigh, what a night.. the events of it flash through your mind, the way his laugh sounds, how excited he got talking about music, and…. wait…

“Am I crazy or does Spider-Man have boobs?”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

part four here!

taglist: @elliecoochieeater @wavesgocrash @g3latin @elliesflowersblog

[natalievoncatte]

1. Leaves

Lena was, in all honesty, having the time of her life. Since they’d arrived here, she had finally relaxed. Really relaxed. Lex was gone. Capital-G Gone. The last of Cadmus had been mopped up. The Conpany was no longer a problem- L-Corp was being sold off, from entire divisions down to sales of old office chairs. The Estate and nine-tenths of the family holdings were all being sold off, and the money quietly funneled into a holding company. Sam Arias would manage Lena’s wealth.

Lena had nothing to do anymore, and it was glorious. She’d done what she’d never done in her entire life: rest. She ate when was hungry, slept when she was tired. She stayed up late finishing a thriller novel she’d grabbed off one of Kara’s tables and slept it off the following day. She could do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, so one day she said, “Let’s go watch the leaves change.”

“Not much of that in National City,” Kara had said, not looking up from her laptop.

Lena was flipping channels when she made the suggestion, another pedestrian activity that had been too far beneath her to ever indulge during her CEO days.

“I’m serious,” said Lena. “I’ll rent us a cabin, book a flight, and we’ll be there by tomorrow morning. Vermont, or maybe New Hampshire.”

Kara looked up. “I could just fly us.”

“Short distances only,” said Lena.

Kara weighed it for a moment. She looked at Lena for a drawn out instant, eyes darting this way and that. Lena knew she had a deadline; she had become privy to the details of Kara’s life ever since she started couch surfing at Kara’s place after dumping her chic penthouse on some petroleum heir from the Emirates.

She had been “crashing” at Kara’s place for three months and had her own key, but they weren’t talking about it. Lena had remained on the couch, falling asleep to YouTube videos of molten lava and cat purring sounds, while Kara puttered around the house.

There were moments of tension. Pauses during shared meals. Moments when they pressed closed on sofa, times when Kara got up to go to bed and Lena felt this yearning to follow that she never quite obeyed.

Kara was thinking. Hard.

“Rent a cabin?”

“Yeah, someplace remote. So you can take a break. You’ve been working harder than ever, Darling. It almost feels like you’re avoiding me.”

Kara swallowed. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll fly. The regular way.”

They did, arriving in Maine less than a day later. Lena rented a Land Rover (because they were on an Adventure) and did all the driving, three hours from the airport to the cabin.

Kara rode in silence, though Lena heard her gasp.

The trees were beautiful. They were alive with color, as if an impressionist master had made the world a canvas and run riot. It was more than a mass of reds and yellows and oranges. It was astonishing.

It was dark when they arrived at the cabin. Lena had chosen one with two bedrooms, though she hesitated when she did. It had a full kitchen with a gas stove and all the amenities but also a fire pit and picnic table and gazebo, and overlooked a private swath of a small lake. It was like something out of a Bob Ross painting.

They were both tired from the flight, or at least Lena was, and turned in right away. When she rose the next day, she cheerily told her cabin-mate she was headed into town to get some supplies.

Kara went out to chop wood. Lena, of course, watched a few swings before leaving. Kara didn’t really need an axe but Lena didn’t care; she was preoccupied watching the muscles of Kara’s shoulders and back as she swung the splitting maul.

Lena got back before noon and carried the groceries inside, enough for her to use the fancy kitchen to prepare a mighty feast for her companion.

She didn’t hear the sobs until she had most of it put away. Lena bolted to the back door and stopped.

Kara was sitting on the picnic table, feet resting on the long board that acted as a seat. She was holding a single golden leaf on her hand, studying it and sobbing softly to herself.

“Kara?”

She looked up, soft blue eyes wet with tears. Lena felt a wave of grief but also panic, rushing to the table.

“Kara, what’s wrong?”

“I,” Kara started. “Lena, I’m scared.”

Lena swallowed hard. “Why?”

Kara looked at the leaf. “Another year past. The leaves turn colors and fall, school starts, things change.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Alex is married now. They’ve got a kid to raise. Nia and Brainy will probably get married soon. We hadn’t had a game night in two months.”

Lena swallowed. Kara was right. When Lena had first joined, then rejoined, this wonderful found family had been aggressively social, and now they forgot to text as often as not. They all spent more time at home or at their real jobs than at the Tower. The world had just started moving on. Kara didn’t even wear the cape every day anymore.

“I know,” said Lena, her voice thick. “But you’ve got me.”

Lena felt her pulse start to race. Kara had been so distant, she couldn’t help wonder if she was enough. If boring, retired Lena wasn’t enough. Oh God, what if Kara was thinking about going to Argo? Or the future?

“Not forever,” said Kara, her voice cracking like glass. She let the leaf drop from her fingers. “Eventually you’ll go. All of you. Brainy, Nia, Alex, Clark if he doesn’t come back from Argo. You.”

“Oh,” Lena said, softly. “Oh, Kara.”

“I think I might be immortal,” Kara whispered. “I don’t feel any aches or pains. Nothing about me changes. I don’t forget things like people do. My body just keeps repairing itself and it never makes any mistakes. What if I’m just like this forever? Or even a thousand years? What if everyone is gone and their kids are gone and no one knows who I am anymore?!” she was frantic now, the words coming too fast.

Lena reached out, tentatively. She put her hands on Kara’s shoulders and pulled herself in, wrapping her best friend in a hug.

Birds chirped, the waters of the lake made soft glug-glugs, and all around them was the soft tapping sound of the leaves, already letting go.

“I won’t leave you,” Lena whispered. “Kara, I won’t. If I have to live forever I will. I’ll find a way. Tech, magic, fifth dimensional imps. I’ll find a way.”

Kara sighed, arms firmly around her.

“Do you need space?” Lena asked. “I could leave you alone for a bit. Look for a place when we get back, so I’m not on the couch all the time.”

“I don’t want you to leave,” Kara blurted, almost cutting her off. “I know I’ve been distant, it’s just… I keep looking at you and thinking about all the time I’ve lost and all the mistakes I’ve made and how I’ll regret it forever. We have so little time and I’m so scared I’ll lose you.”

Lena pulled back to look at her. “We have a long time to make more memories. As many as we can.”

“I’ll lose you too,” said Kara. “I know you want more. A family, a partner. You’ll start to have less time for me. You’ll all just fall away and I’ll be stuck here alone.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“How can you say that?”

Kara started to pull away. Lena stopped her with a tug on her arms. It stunned her, sometimes, how she could overpower a god with her tiny human hands. How she could stun the other whirlwind or a touch.

“Kara,” said Lena. “I don’t want someone else. I want you.”

“Me?” Kara squeaked.

Lena cleared her throat. “I wanted to tell you at the wedding. I mean, I didn’t dress like that and go stag for the hell of it. I just lost my nerve and you seemed so overwhelmed.”

Kara blinked a few times.

“You want me?” said Kara.

Lena felt a cold rush of terror. She’d just blurted it out, artlessly, unplanned.

“Like want me want me? Like kissing want me?”

Lena licked her lips. “Yes. I’d like to kiss you right now, if you let me.”

Kara settled back into the table, leaning forward. Lena leaned in, pushing her back slightly, moving her hands from shoulders to hips, scoring the way Kara tensed and trembled. She was hardly inexperienced, Lena knew, but something about this felt like a first kiss, even for her. It tasted like one, too, down to the quivery way their lips met.

Kissing quickly became something more. Lena didn’t know if she was pulling or Kara pushing. It didn’t much matter; the path led to the bed in Kara’s room, marked by a trail of shed clothing.

Years of anticipation overwhelmed them both; dinner was forgotten, and they didn’t even emerge until the next day.

It was in the morning sun, the light turning Kara’s skin gold, that Lena saw it. Twisted within one of the curling locks of hair, splayed around Kara’s head on the pillow, was a faintly visible thread of purest silver, chased through the gold like an engraver’s masterpiece. Lena couldn’t help but twirl the errant strands around her finger.

As Kara slept, she looked up through the window and watched the wind as it caressed the leaves.

[riecoeur]

luch break.

pairing — husband!sungchan x fem!reader

summary — you and your husband sungchan have been navigating married life alongside his whirlwind idol career with riize. when a mix-up in his schedule leads you to drop off a homemade lunch during a live practice session, fans catch a glimpse of the mysterious "mrs. jung," sparking chaos online.

warnings — none, just pure fluff and a tiny bit of embarrassment for sungchan!

📌 any feedback are appreciated, i’d love to know what you think of my first mini-series, request open or send ask → 💌🦕🩵 !

🏷️ taglist ; @strawbrryvyy

your apartment smells like soy sauce and sesame oil, a faint hint of the kimbap you’d spent the morning rolling. you glance at the clock.

11:47 a.m.

and figure you’ve got just enough time to swing by the company before sungchan’s practice break. he’d texted you last night, voice groggy from a late rehearsal, promising he’d be free around noon.

“bring me something good, please.”

he’d teased, and you’d laughed, already planning the little lunchbox in your head.

you slip on a hoodie, grab the bento bag, and head out, the spring air are cool. it’s a short walk to the building, and the security guard gives you a familiar nod as you flash your visitor pass, perks of being jung sungchan’s wife, even if you still feel a little shy about it. you’re used to sneaking in and out quietly, keeping things low-key. sungchan’s fans know he’s married, but you’ve both been careful about keeping your face off the radar.

the practice room’s just down the hall, and you can already hear the thump of music through the walls.

you pull out your phone to text him.

y/n:

here with food, you on break soon?

but before you can hit send, the door swings open, and sohee’s grinning face pops out.

“y/n! perfect timing… wait, you’re here now?”

he blinks, then waves you in. “come on, sungchan hyung’s gonna flip.”

“is he not on break?”

you hesitate, clutching the bag tighter. the music’s still going, a steady beat you vaguely recognize as one of their new tracks.

“uh, not exactly,” sohee says, scratching his neck.

“we’re live. like, right now. but it’s fine, he’s starving anyway.”

your stomach drops.

“live? as in… camera?”

“yep! don’t worry, you’ll be quick.”

he’s already tugging you inside before you can protest, and the room hits you all at once, bright lights, a couple of staff adjusting equipment, and the boys mid-choreography.

sungchan’s in the center, sweat glistening on his forehead, his tank top clinging to his broad frame as he hits a sharp turn. he spots you mid-move, and you swear you see his foot catch for a split second. his eyes widen, and then he’s grinning, that big, boyish smile that still makes your heart skip.

“y/n?”

he calls, voice cutting through the music. the others falter too, turning to look, and you feel your face heat up as wonbin smirks and eunseok raises an eyebrow.

“uh, hi,”

you manage, holding up the bag like it’s a shield.

“i brought lunch?”

the staff don’t miss a beat, one of them pans the camera slightly, catching your awkward wave before sungchan jogs over, waving them off.

“cut it, cut it,” he laughs, though his cheeks are pink.

“this wasn’t part of the plan.”

“jagi, what plan?” you mutter, handing him the bento.

“you said noon.”

“i meant i’d call you at noon,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

“we got held up. this is… uh… live on youtube right now.”

you freeze. “wait, what?”

“yeah, like, twelve thousand people watching,”

sohee chimes in, peeking over sungchan’s shoulder.

“hi, y/n-noona! the chat’s going crazy.”

“oh my god,” you whisper, stepping back, but sungchan grabs your wrist gently, pulling you closer.

“it’s fine, they didn’t see much,” he says, voice low and reassuring.

“just… stay here a sec, okay? i’m dying for this.”

he opens the bag, peering inside, and his whole face lights up.

“kimbap? you’re the best.”

“you’re welcome,”

you mumble, still mortified. the others are already crowding around, anton snagging a piece before sungchan can swat his hand away.

“dude, she made it for me,”

sungchan protests, but he’s laughing, that easy, warm sound that always puts you at ease.

the staff call them back to finish the session, and you slip out as quietly as you can, heart pounding.

by the time you’re halfway home, your phone’s buzzing texts from friends, a couple of notifications from X.

‘sungchan’s wife spotted?’

one post reads, with a blurry screenshot of you handing him the bag.

another.

‘who’s the lunch angel???’

you groan, burying your face in your hands. so much for low-key.

it’s past eight when sungchan finally gets home, the apartment quiet except for the sound of the tv you’d left on. you’re curled up on the couch, scrolling through the chaos online.

fan edits,

theories,

even a fan-screenrecord of him blushing when you walked in. he drops his gym bag by the door and flops next to you, still in his hoodie, smelling faintly of sweat and cologne.

“yeobo,” he says, nudging your shoulder.

“you okay?”

“i’m fine,” you say, setting your phone down.

“you’re the one who got ambushed by your own wife on live.”

he laughs, head tipping back against the cushion.

“honestly? worth it. the guys wouldn’t shut up about how good the kimbap was. and the fans, god, they’re insane. someone called you ‘lunch fairy’ already.”

“i saw,” you say, biting back a smile.

“i didn’t mean to blow up your spot.”

“nah, it’s cool,”

he says, turning to face you. his eyes are soft, a little tired, but there’s that spark in them, like he’s still riding the high of seeing you earlier.

“i like that they know i’ve got someone taking care of me.”

your cheeks warm. “yeah?”

“yeah.” he leans closer, resting his forehead against yours.

“plus, you looked cute, all flustered like that. made my day.”

“shut up,” you mutter, shoving his chest lightly, but he just catches your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. his thumb brushes over your knuckles, and for a second, it’s just the two of you.

no cameras, no fans, no schedules.

“thanks for the food,” he says quieter, like it’s a secret.

“and for dealing with… all this.”

“anytime,” you reply, squeezing his hand.

“but next time, text me the right schedule, okay?”

he grins, pulling you into his side until you’re tucked against him, his arm heavy around your shoulders.

“deal. now, wanna see the clip of me tripping when i saw you? sohee sent it to me.”

you laugh, nodding as he pulls out his phone, the warmth of him next to you chasing away the day’s chaos. maybe the internet’s losing its mind, but here, with sungchan’s arm around you and his laugh, it feels like everything’s exactly where it should be.

[dadvans]

Your latest ficlet is so good… I can’t stop thinking about Tommy having to tell Buck about their 10 year old, it’s delicious

(part one)

There really isn’t much cool to do in Ukiah. Buck told Tommy this and he could hear Tommy rolling his eyes over the phone the way he said, “Buck, we live in Tehama, she’ll cope,” and then Tommy had said, “we can all go to a park, you can kill me and they’ll never find the body, it’ll be a great way for you two to bond.”

So, just before noon on a Saturday morning one month after the CFCA, Buck sees his daughter for the first time in person, watches her as she practically dislocates Tommy’s arm as they enter his favorite coffee shop and she bounces right up to the counter, braids swinging. It’s quiet, morning rush over and lunch rush yet to come, so he hears Tommy say, “you can have one flavor.” He hears his daughter’s voice for the first time when she leans on the butcher block counter top, smiling, and says, “a white hot chocolate with raspberry, please,” like she’s getting away with murder.

“That’s a small,” Tommy says, “and a medium drip, thanks. For here.”

“With whipped cream,” their daughter adds.

“None for me,” Tommy says, as if automatic. Like they’ve done this a hundred times. Maybe they have. He digs out his credit card and taps it against the register screen before he actually looks up and around to spot Buck sitting in the far corner. He nods. Buck raises a tentative hand, gives a small wave, and then Tommy is leaning down and getting their daughter’s attention, pointing him out.

She skips over while Tommy waits at the counter.

Buck wants to puke.

“Hi,” she says, and she reaches out a hand like she’s a little adult. “I’m Mary.”

“Nice to meet you, Mary,” Buck says, by some miracle finding his voice. He shakes her hand. “I’m uh, I’m Buck.”

“Daddy said your name is Evan,” Mary says, letting go and sitting down.

“Oh, yeah, Buck’s just my nickname. It’s what my friends call me. So, you can call me Buck too.

“Evan’s my middle name,” she continues, as if she didn’t hear or care. His daughter. “Mary Evan. Evan’s usually a boy’s name, but girls can be named Evan too. Like Evan Rachel Wood. She’s the mom in Frozen Two.”

“Yeah,” Buck says weakly. He didn’t know that, even if Jee made him watch everything Frozen before she hit high school. “My niece used to love that movie.”

Tommy walks over to join them, two mugs on little plates in hand. The smaller one has a mountain of whipped cream, sprinkles, and a straw.

“Here’s your cup of sugar, kid,” he says, sliding it in front of Mary before sitting down with his own. He takes a sip and gives an approving nod. “Not bad.”

“Yeah, I like this place,” Buck says, trying to keep his tone even. “They roast their own beans, so my house gets their coffee from here.”

“That must make you popular,” Tommy says, voice wry but not unkind, “Chief.”

“Daddy says you’re a Chief that doesn’t fly helicopters but still fights fires,” Mary says. The table shakes a little, because she’s kicking her feet.

“Uh, yup, just a boring, regular firefighter,” he replies. He can’t stop looking at her. Even with her braids she’s got frizz coming out from underneath her beanie bright red, redder than he was when he was her age but without ever seeing a picture of Tommy as a kid he’s sure she gets it from him. Her eyes are blue like the Pacific Ocean, murky and deep. She’s wearing a puffer vest and long sleeves even though it’s late September. Tommy always ran cold too, he remembers, thinking of the one summer they shared together.

“That’s not boring,” Mary tells him, so serious, before taking a sip of her drink. “I like engines more than helicopters. Did you know helicopters have a thirty-percent higher chance of crashing than planes? I’m learning percentages in school.”

His heart bursts. Yeah. She’s his fucking kid.

[earthtooz]

x : DON'T GO :*+ﾟ

in which: blade has always felt cold, but even more so without you.

warnings: 1.9k words, HURT/COMFORT with a sprinkle of angst, gn!reader who calls blade 'ren' once, mention of blood, ooc!vulnerable!blade, he's like a kicked puppy in this one

a/n: perhaps the most intimate piece i've wrote to date, this is nothing but pure yearning and longing on blade's behalf, and a nice fix-it fic with the most vulnerable i think blade could ever be. enjoy!!

in his new life, blade has always felt cold.

he is not spared from the constant feeling of goosebumps prickling his skin, not even for a second as the cold bites the tip of his fingers and sink their teeth into him to send shivers up his spine. but he has never felt colder than he does right now. 

your side of the bed is untouched, perfectly made, and devoid of any indication that you had been there. the blankets and mattress are cool to touch, with hardly any wrinkles in the sheets, and an ache declares itself home in blade’s chest.

the sun spills on his bare skin when he kicks the covers off, illuminating his scar-ridden chest as he gazes around the room, as if waiting for an sign that you were still here, and that he wasn’t too late. however, an immediate soreness tickles his throat that causes him to wince, serving as a reminder of the unpleasant discourse you had last night. 

it was hardly over anything of importance, but blade, a man of pride and relentlessness, had refused to back down, and you went to bed angry that night. he did too but woke regretful and cold under the covers, your warmth taken with you.

today was the day you had to leave for a mission, and although he knows you have a strict schedule to follow, he just wonders why you couldn’t have woken him up to say goodbye, especially after everything. 

he didn’t even get to say sorry or try to at least make amends. the swordsman only hopes you didn’t leave furious with him, and that you at least had something to eat before leaving.

to distract himself from the heartache, blade forgoes lying around and decides to start his day before the absence you left overwhelms him and the only thing his mind can do is think about you. 

not that he’s successful, because despite dedicating a monotonous afternoon of drilling sword techniques, the rampant thoughts about you did not decrease. rather, with each swing and sway of the cracked blade, his mind finds more and more to think about, with you at the epicentre of all of them.

it’s sometime around sunset when blade receives update on your status.

the swordsman is sat on a stone ledge, gold rays from the sun spilling on his skin as he waits for the sweat and fatigue to roll off. blade thinks of how you’d normally be seated nearby, watching him train to supply water and energy bars. although he never used to like the company or the doting, it doesn’t feel the same without you beside him, he misses you and wonders when you’ll return. 

“how long have you been here?” a raspy, female voice asks, breaking blade’s train of thoughts.

“since noon,” he responds merely. he doesn’t need to look up to see that it’s kafka talking to him.

“right. makes sense. i thought you’d be lonely since y/n’s gone.”

“need you remind me?” he huffs, voice teetering a threatening gruffness that would make ordinary people shudder, but does nothing to kafka.

“oh, spicy today, aren’t we?” she coos, ignoring the immense pressure radiating off blade effortlessly before taking a seat beside him. “what’s up? is there trouble in paradise?” a scoff comes from the swordsman. “i was only joking, did something really happen between you two?”

“none of your business.” 

kafka shrugs before her phone begins vibrating violently. when she reads the notifications, her face pulls the closest expression to concern that blade has ever seen her wear. 

“y/n got ambushed.”

his world freezes over.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

the sunlight is gentle in blade’s eyes when he wakes up.

clothes are strewn on the floor, bedsheets are half off the bed, ceramics lie in pieces along the cracks of the planks, and despite the mess blade has made of your shared space, he is the most crumpled of them all. a kaleidoscope of volcanic anger, tsunamic worry, and mountainous yearning, the only place that has remained untouched by blade’s destructive touch is your side of the bed, lest your scent disappears. 

it’s been five days since anyone has received a live update from you, only hanging on to tracking notifications of your spaceship as any indication that you were fine. for the duration of it, nothing has been able to calm him, with kafka and silver wolf needing to stun him before he could do anything brash, like running off into the infinite cosmos to find you.

elio’s promises had never felt emptier, his constant claims of how you’d return very soon turning into dust in blade’s ears because how could he hold on to hope when you are alone amongst the stars? 

his texts are left delivered, but never read. in fact, it has been five days since your contact displayed to be online, and he finds himself staring at it in case that the circle will illuminate green, that you’ll give him some sort of update on your liveliness. 

so that you’ll see how sorry he is and all he wants for you is to return home. 

he doesn’t remember when he became so dependent, but perhaps this is another cruel punishment from fate with another inconceivable price of repentance.

for someone as unforgivable and despicable as blade to love means to mutilate the universe with aftershocks that tear through boundaries of what’s possible. for a man like blade to rebel, it means that the consequences will return tenfold.

and there is no crueller damnation than tearing you away from him. 

he turns on his side, arms reaching over to where you would normally lie, and dozes off again, feeling colder than ever.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

blade wakes up a second time. the sun is no longer the thing that awakens him, but rather, the sound of footsteps that echo outside the bedroom. disgruntled and still trying to gather his bearings, he shoots awake at the sound of your door opening.

you stand on the other side.

is this a dream?

“oh,” you breathe. you sound winded, caught off guard by the sight of your lover who stares at you like a bewildered deer. “i’m sorry, i didn’t think you would be here.”

he doesn’t say anything, just merely looks at you, unnervingly unresponsive.

you look miserable. fatigue clings to your skin like a second skin, your eyes lack the brightness they usually have, and you are, evidently, very battered and bruised, blood staining your ruined clothes. 

but you are like sunlight, and blade thinks he can breathe again. 

“i guess i’ll leave,” you murmur, interrupting blade’s momentary assessment.

“don’t.”

turning back around, the swordsman is now slowly stalking towards you, seemingly teleported from the bed to halfway across the room in the blink of an eye. 

“is something wrong?” you ask and he holds back a scoff from the irony of your question. he’s the one that should be asking that, not you. 

but yes, there is something wrong; you left him alone. you went somewhere he couldn’t and then made him feel helpless because he didn’t know whether or not you were going to come back, stranded in the cosmos forever. 

stopping before you, his hands gravitate upwards with the magnetic need to touch you, to ensure that you were real and not some figment of his hazy imagination. blade raises a hesitant hand to sit on the back of your neck and the frostiness of his fingertips causes a shiver to run up your spine. gently, he presses you for a pulse and visibly gulps when he finds it, suffocating you in the tense silence that has occupied the air (you’re real, and you’re okay, delivered back to him in one piece).

then, he looks at you with the saddest expression you have ever seen him wear before engulfing you in his embrace. the stellaron hunter is hesitant with his touch, hovering around you in fear of overstepping, for blade would never forgive himself if he were to scare you off again. 

because you’re finally back where he can reach, and he never wants you to leave. 

“ren?” you pause, gently wrapping your arms around his waist and closing the gap he left, meeting him halfway. the little action floods him with endless relief. “what’s the matter?”

he shakes his head against you and his hold tightens mercilessly, squeezing all air out of your lungs. 

“you had me worried,” he confesses, no louder than a whisper because otherwise he would crack under the weight of his own words. the constant fear that has plagued him for the last few days would finally break him and he’d be in shambles in your arms, making a mess of something gorgeous with something hideous. 

so instead, he will continue simply holding onto you where you are safe. in his arms, you cannot leave, you cannot go places that danger you, and you cannot break his heart and choke him with the emptiness of your presence.

“i’m sorry,” you say, rubbing his back and he tugs you closer. “i didn’t mean to worry you, everything jus-”

“-you left without saying goodbye.”

you’re silent and guilty, but so beautiful. “i thought you didn’t want to see me. we were pretty mean to each other before i left,” you say after a second of contemplation. “i didn’t know where we stood, i wasn’t sure if you still wanted me.”

whatever is left of his heart breaks, crumbling into shambles that ring at your feet. there are a multitude of things that blade wants to say, yet no words come to fruition, to his dismay. he wants to offer you the comfort and promises you want to hear, and he wants to express the overwhelming relief he feels, but he can’t, and he curses his own inability to be heartfelt. 

instead, his grip around you tightens, like you’ll slip away otherwise and have him search for you throughout the cosmos. 

“don’t do any of that again,” he pleads instead, hoping that you’ll understand. “i beg of you.”

“okay,” you breathe. “i won’t.”

“don’t leave like that,” he tugs at your ruined shirt, grasp gentle and careful in fear of scaring you away with the intensity of his emotions that are hanging on by a thread

“i wont.” 

“please don’t go.”

“i’m here, aren’t i?”

blade sighs, nodding. you smile at him and it feels like a warmth powerful enough to drive the cold away. 

“but first, i need a bath,” you murmur, placing your hands on his chest to push him away. “please, keep your distance, i’m pretty sure i reek.”

he doesn’t say anything and clearly doesn’t listen, because instead of letting go, he simply leads you to the bathroom without ever unwrapping his arms. soon, the bath begins to run, and the sound of water streaming down ceramic echoes off the tiles, but the warmth of your laughter and tired words overpower it. blade sits at the edge, nothing but an oversized shadow that watches as you relax in the water, frowning when he catches the frequent bruise or fresh scar. 

afterwards, you both stumble onto the bed (careful to avoid the mess that blade as made, which you scolded him for, and he listened dejectedly before promising to clean it all up), and blade reaches over to your side, chest warming when he finds your figure to tug close. 

you fall asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. your lover, on the other hand, stays awake for a few moments longer, simply trying to commit you to memory. 

“don’t go,” he repeats, tugging at your shirt as the evenness of your heartbeat lulls him to sleep.

he doesn’t feel cold anymore. 

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[bjwmastermind-writes]

shared desk part 3 ~ bucky barnes x f!reader

This is part three of shared desk! You can check out the prior chapters on my masterlist!

A/N: I have kept you waiting for so long for this!! here you go the official date date!! I don't even know what to say, its gone off the rails completely. I just couldn't stop typing.

mentions: lots of flirting my dudes, unprotected sex, p/v, couch sex my dudes on a really awful couch, I guess some slight angst or vulnerable moment between reader and bucky. If you think I'm missing any important mentions let me know

minors dni. if you're under 18 don't interact with this fic or my blog. I'm not responsible for what you choose to do.

do not copy, translate or claim this story as your own.

as always, i hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing this! no fr, I hope you do enjoy this.

The next morning, he’s already at the desk when you arrive—unusual for him. There's a cup of coffee waiting beside your chair.

"I didn’t know what coffee you like, so I just… went safe," Bucky says with a soft chuckle, his eyes not quite meeting yours.

You smile, taking a sip. "This is good. I like it."

He nods, relief flickering across his face before both of you settle into your usual rhythm. The clack of keys, occasional sips, the faint hum of low conversation and machines around you. Comfortable silence.

But something’s shifting under the surface—bubbling just beneath—and you can feel it coming before he even says anything.

"Hey…" he blurts, breaking the silence. “Can we talk about the kiss?”

You glance up, fingers pausing mid-sentence in your email. “Yeah. What’s up, Buck?”

His hand runs through his hair. Nervous. “I mean, we can talk later if you're busy—”

“It’s just an email. Tell me.”

He hesitates, then exhales. “I didn’t plan on doing it—it just happened.”

Your brow lifts. “Oh shit. Was that not meant to happen? You wanna pretend it didn’t?”

“What? No. No, nothing like that.” He shakes his head quickly. “Just… in my mind, I’d planned it differently.”

A beat.

You lean back in your chair, coffee in hand. “Well… sometimes things come out even better unplanned.”

That stops him. You see it in his eyes—how the words hit and settle. He looks at you like he’s thinking about kissing you again, right here, right now. But he just nods, slowly.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "Yeah. You’re right."

It goes back to silent. You finish the email and he goes back to his work except he blurts out again.

“So… listen,” he starts, clearing his throat. “My idea was, uh… to walk you home, of course. So you don’t get murdered late at night.”

A small laugh escapes you, the kind that tugs at the corner of your lips despite trying to keep it cool. He keeps going, nervous energy in full swing.

“But really—I just wanted to ask you out. Like, actually out. A proper date. A nice one. Or not formal, if you’re not into formal. It doesn’t have to be, I just—something that’s not a coworking lunch. Though those are nice too. I like those. We can still do those—”

“Buck,” you interrupt, amusement dancing in your eyes, “you’re going off.”

“Right. Sorry.” He exhales, cheeks a little pink. “I just wanted to do things right. In order.”

You raise a brow, playful. “Didn’t know you were a control freak.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Really? You didn’t notice ‘til now?”

You both laugh—and it’s a little too loud for the quiet, focused vibe of the coworking space. A few people glance over. One guy near the printer gives you both a look that definitely says get a room.

After a beat, you lean in just slightly, your voice soft but sure.

“So this proper date… is it still in the plan?”

He looks at you like he’s been waiting to be asked that exact question.

“Yeah,” he says. “It is.”

After the laughter settles, you both ease back into work. But it’s different now—there’s this buzz in the air. Something warm and giddy threading through the glances you sneak at each other when you think the other isn't looking. He catches you once. Smiles. You smile back.

When noon rolls around, it’s almost expected—you pack up your things at the same time, exchange a casual, “Lunch?” and head toward the elevator like you haven’t done this a dozen times before. Except this time feels different.

Inside the elevator, it’s quiet. That kind of intimate quiet where the silence isn’t awkward, just full of potential.

A strand of hair slips into your face as you look down at your phone.

He reaches out, slow but certain, tucking it behind your ear. His fingers graze along your jaw as he does it, featherlight.

“It was in the way,” he murmurs.

You arch a brow. “Control freak.”

“Guilty,” he says, not even pretending to deny it.

You both laugh again, a softer one this time, as the elevator dings open.

The day ends earlier than expected—his work got rescheduled, your deadline moved. There’s no real reason to head home together… but he waits anyway. You walk out side by side.

“You really ate this hero role up, huh?” you tease as you cross the street. “You won’t let me walk home alone from now on?”

“Not if I can help it,” he says, simply.

Your heart tugs a little.

The sun’s lower in the sky now, casting a soft gold light over everything. It’s quiet when you reach your door. That moment again—lingering.

You turn to him, voice low, a smile tugging at your lips. “So… what’s this proper date you’ve got in mind?”

He leans in slightly, like it’s a secret only for you.

“That depends. You like Italian?”

“I do.”

A small, satisfied nod. “Good. Friday? I’ll pick you up.”

And just like that… the not-a-date lunches are officially retired.

Friday evening 

Across town, Bucky’s staring at his reflection like it owes him money.

He holds up a button-down. Frowns. Too formal.

Switches to a basic black Henley. Classic. Safe.

Switches again. Tries it with a jacket. Then without. Then back again.

“You are spiraling,” he mutters, annoyed with himself. “It’s just dinner.”

He shuts the door and heads over to your place—though not before stopping by a flower shop to pick up a small bouquet.

———

You’re in your room, chaos at full volume.

Half your closet is on the bed. Your hair’s half-done. Your playlist is jumping between calm and hype like it’s trying to match your heart rate. You hold up two outfits—one a bit flirty, one a little more classic.

You go with the flirty one. You stare in the mirror and re-apply your lip gloss twice. You mutter to yourself, “It’s just a date. Not like you haven’t seen the guy every day this week.

Bucky rings and it’s go time. You answer through the machine that’ll be down in a second.  

Still, you check the mirror one more time before heading out. 

———

“Hey,” you say with a smile that is both confident and quietly nervous.

He looks at you like you just stepped out of a dream. “You look… wow.”

You glance him over and grin. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

He offers you the bouquet, a little awkward but sincere. “I, uh… got these. Figured flowers were required.”

“They absolutely are,” you tease, taking them. “Good to know you’re a traditionalist.”

He scratches the back of his neck, still trying to recover. “So… I have some news for you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He gestures toward the curb. “We’re going on my motorcycle.”

You lean out to look. And there it is. The beast. Matte black. Loud. Aggressive. The opposite of what you pictured when you heard “nice Italian dinner.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh… oh no no no.”

“I have a helmet for you,” he says, holding up the one he brought.

“This could’ve been a nice warning, Barnes.”

He gives you that half-grin, the smug one. “You would’ve canceled.”

“Damn right I would’ve.”

He sets the helmet on your head—your perfectly styled hair that you spent a reasonable amount of time on.

“It’s going to ruin my hair,” you grumble.

“Impossible,” he says without missing a beat.

But somehow—you don’t. Somehow, minutes later, you’re on the back of his bike, clinging to him like your life depends on it. (It might.)

“Hold on,” he calls over his shoulder.

You tighten your arms around his waist, muttering, “Believe me, I am.”

The engine growls beneath you, a deep rumble that vibrates through your bones. The city blurs past—neon signs, headlights, the fading pink of sunset melting into dusk.

Your arms are wrapped tight around his waist, and you lean in close, yelling over the noise, “I HATE YOU!”

He doesn’t respond.

But you know.

You know he’s smiling.

You can’t see his face, but you can feel the grin spreading across it. That cocky, smug little smirk he wears when he knows he’s won.

Your hair whips around you, wind cutting past your cheeks like laughter, and despite yourself… a laugh escapes your lips too.

It’s terrifying.

It’s exhilarating.

And it’s a little bit too much fun.

You pull up to the restaurant, a cozy little Italian spot glowing warmly on the corner. As you take the helmet off, hair a mess, you glare at him.

He holds up a hand, gesturing—may I?

You nod, and he gently runs his fingers through your hair, trying to fix the damage the helmet caused. His touch is light. Careful.

“I still hate you,” you mutter, breathless.

He shrugs, completely unbothered. “Didn’t hear you complain back there.”

“You couldn’t hear anything over my screaming.”

He opens the door for you with a little bow. “C’mon. I’ll make it up to you. There’s pasta with your name on it.”

———

Inside, the restaurant is warm and low-lit, all exposed brick and hanging lights. It smells like heaven—garlic, fresh herbs, something sizzling in a pan.

The host greets Bucky like he’s a regular. You raise an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me this is your go-to first date spot.”

He smiles innocently. “Would it be a red flag if it was?”

“Depends. How many helmets do you carry around?”

He laughs, head tipping back just slightly, and gestures for you to walk ahead.

Once seated, the waiter leaves a bottle of wine and two menus. You both open them at the same time… and neither of you looks down.

You’re watching each other instead.

“You gonna pick for both of us too, or are we back to equal rights now?”

“You’re welcome to order for me, if that’s your thing.”

You hum, pretending to think. “Something with anchovies, then.”

He looks horrified.

You grin. “Power shift complete.”

He’s still smiling when he pours the wine.

The pasta arrives, steaming and rich, and for a few quiet seconds, it’s just the clink of silverware and shared smiles over wine.

“Okay,” you say, after a sip, “you’ve told me your favorite band. But what’s your comfort movie?”

He lifts his brows, chewing thoughtfully. “The Great Escape.”

You blink. “Really?”

He shrugs, grinning. “There’s something satisfying about the plan. The tension. Also—motorcycles.”

You laugh. “Of course.”

You keep going—music, food, things you’d never eat. He tries to pretend he isn’t picky, but you catch the face he makes when you mention oysters.

Then, in a lull, you glance over at him, playful but curious.

“So what was your plan?”

He blinks. “Plan?”

“You said you had one,” you remind him. “With me.”

He exhales, chuckling softly. “God, yeah. I mean—there were rules. No kissing until at least the second date. Keep it casual. Let things unfold naturally.”

You smirk. “And how’s that going?”

He looks at you like he wants to say something smart—but then just admits, “I wrecked it the second I met you.”

The silence after that is warm, charged.

Then he blurts, almost without thinking, “Which, statistically, is ridiculous for someone my age.”

You blink. “Your age?”

He winces, realizing what he’s done. “Shit. No. I didn’t mean—forget I said that.”

You lean in, eyes narrowed. “What, are you older than you look? What are we talking here—mid-forties? Fifty?”

He mutters something.

You lean closer. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

He sighs, looking anywhere but at you. “I’m… technically… one hundred and seven.”

You stare at him. Then you smile, slow and wicked.

“So if I asked for your birth year, would I need to use Roman numerals?”

He groans, but you see the corner of his mouth twitching.

You add, “Do I need to puree your food from now on?”

“Okay, enough,” he laughs, covering his face with one hand.

The table shakes with your laughter. And underneath it, his hand finds yours. Warm. Solid. Grounding.

“Are you going to let me pay this time?” you ask, tilting your head.

He shakes his head immediately, brows furrowed like you just insulted him. He gets to the check before you can even pretend to reach for it.

“What kind of gentleman would I be?” he says, almost scolding—but there’s a warmth behind it.

That makes you blush. The way he says it. The way he means it. He is a gentleman—truly. The kind you’ve only read about. The kind that makes you pause and wonder if this is real.

He’s folding the receipt away when he glances up and catches the look on your face—just for a second like you forgot to hide it. Like you're lost in a thought you didn’t mean to let show.

“What?” he asks gently, a trace of amusement in his voice. “You’re looking at me like I just grew another metal arm.”

You laugh, soft and breathy, shaking your head. “Nothing. Just… you’re kind of unfair.”

He tilts his head, curious. “Unfair?”

You nod. “Too good. Like you stepped out of some daydream or something.”

His eyes soften. No teasing this time. Just honesty.

“I think that about you,” he says quietly, “all the time.”

Then, even softer—almost like he’s admitting it to himself more than to you. “Which is probably why I keep messing up my plan.”

 After the check is paid you step outside into the crisp night. The city hums around you, but it all feels muted—like you're wrapped in some kind of bubble.

He hands you the helmet.

“Still worried I’ll fall off?” you tease.

He just smirks. “Not worried. Just prepared.”

You take it, slide it on, and glance up at him through your lashes. The helmet’s too big and makes your hair puff awkwardly, but you’re smiling—and that smile hits him like it always does.

He huffs a soft laugh, eyes crinkling. “Come here,” he murmurs, stepping closer.

His hands reach up—one warm, one cool—and gently adjust the strap under your chin. He’s careful and focused, thumbs brushing your jaw as he fastens it just right.

“There,” he says, voice low. “Wouldn’t want you flying off and blaming me.”

You’re close enough to see the flecks of gray in his stubble, the softness in his eyes, the way he lingers just a second too long.

Too good, he thinks. Too good to be mine.

You swing your leg over and wrap your arms around his waist. There’s no joking this time, no pretending you’re terrified. You just lean in. You breathe him in. He feels it.

And for the ride home, it’s quiet. The wind against your jacket, the rhythm of the engine beneath you, your cheek against his back.

He feels your arms around him, your grip tightens slightly on turns, and it’s… grounding. Intimate. It's almost like he could believe he belongs somewhere.

When he parks outside your building, you swing your leg off and remove the helmet, hair mussed and cheeks pink from the wind.

He watches you, that same quiet look in his eyes as always.

You hand him back the helmet. “You wanna come up for a second? You said you needed to use the bathroom, remember?”

He hesitates—but only for half a second. “Right. Yeah. Bathroom.”

Inside, the apartment is dim and calm. You flick on a low lamp in the corner and start to gesture toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s just—”

But you don’t finish the sentence.

Because when you turn, he’s already looking at you.

He steps forward. “I had a whole plan, you know.”

You smirk. “Yeah? How’s it going?”

He’s close now, one hand finding your waist, the other brushing your arm. “Totally wrecked it.”

And then he kisses you.

Slow. Focused. A little desperate—like he’s been holding it in for too long and something just gave way.

You reach behind you, fumbling the door closed without breaking the kiss. Shoes half-kicked off, jackets forgotten. You both laugh softly as you stumble over your bag and bump into a table, don’t care.

You barely make it past the entryway before you fall into each other again.

The kiss grows hungrier. Your back hits the couch, or maybe his back—you’re not sure who landed first. All you know is you’re straddling him now, knees on either side of his thighs, your breath uneven.

His hands roam—your waist, your thighs, your back. Yours are in his hair, his jaw, gripping the edges of his shirt like it might anchor you.

Then his vibranium hand slips into your hair—cool and sure. He tugs, just enough to tilt your head back, exposing the line of your throat.

His mouth finds your neck.

You gasp, fingers tightening in his shirt. He exhales against your skin, and it sends another shiver through you. His hands grip your waist firmly.

“You’re really bad at following plans,” you murmur, breathless.

He grins against your throat. “Yeah. I’ve noticed.” His hands find your zipper and pull it down—slow, careful.

You stop him—not to push him away, but to shift.

Wordlessly, you slide off his lap and stand in front of him.

He watches you with eyes dark, hungry, locked in place—like if he blinked, he might miss it. Like you’re something he’s been starving for.

You let the straps of your dress slip from your shoulders. Let it fall in one clean motion, pooling softly at your feet.

You stand there in your underwear—bare skin kissed by the soft lamp light—and for a beat, he just stares.

Like you’re something holy.

Then he reaches for you. No hesitation. No teasing. Just raw, reverent need. He pulls you back onto his lap, your knees on either side of him.

His hands are everywhere—your thighs, your waist, your back—gripping, grounding, like he still can’t believe you’re real.

His voice is low, almost wrecked.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

And he says it like it’s killing him. Like it’s been on the tip of his tongue since the moment he first saw you.

You reach for him, fingers finding the edge of his jacket. He lets you pull it off without a word.

Then comes the shirt—your hands slipping beneath the hem, dragging it up over his chest, his shoulders, and finally off.

And—holy shit.

You blink.

Fuck me.

Why was he hiding all of that under his clothes?

Defined, scarred, solid. Like he was carved from something real. Something earned.

Your breath catches. And suddenly? The whole “I’m a hundred” thing feels like absolute bullshit.

“Seriously,” you mutter, eyes wide. “There’s no way.”

He raises a brow, amused. “No way what?”

“That you’re a hundred. Bullshit.”

He laughs, soft and a little breathless, but you’re not really listening anymore.

Your hands find his chest, running slowly over warm skin, the lines of muscle, the scar on his shoulder—faint, but deep—and the place where metal meets flesh, the seam where his vibranium arm connects. You pause there, not to inspect, not to question—just to feel it.

You’re not studying him. You’re admiring him.

Your hand lifts, soft, fingertips brushing along the edge of it. Just to feel. Just to understand.

And that’s when you feel him shift.

Not visibly. Not loudly. Just a subtle change in his breathing. A tension in his jaw.

You glance up—and his eyes are on you, guarded now. Watching you watch him.

Like he’s waiting. For judgment. For you to flinch. For the part where you see the damage and pull away.

Like he’s had people look at him like that before—and it never ended well.

But you don’t flinch. You don’t pull back.

Your fingers trace the line where metal meets flesh, soft and slow. You look at him—not with pity, not with fear. Just… awe.

“You’re not a monster,” you whisper. “Not even close.”

He exhales, shaky. Like he didn’t know he’d been holding his breath.

You press a soft kiss against his lips —hands pressed to his chest, your body close—he kisses you back like something unlocked inside him. Like he’s not afraid of being seen anymore.

The kiss deepens, slow but intense, your mouths moving together.

His hands return to your body—warm, solid, reverent. One curls around your waist, holding you steady. The other, vibranium and sure, cups the back of your neck as he pulls you closer, closer, like he still doesn’t believe you’re really here.

You shift against him, your thighs straddling his hips again, and he groans into your mouth—quiet, rough, needy. It unravels everything.

The heat grows. His hands explore—your back, your sides, under the edge of your bra, then, with a smooth flick of his fingers, he unhooks it with one hand. Effortless.

You blink, breath catching. “Show-off.”

He grins against your skin. “You’re welcome.”

You grind down against him and he groans—low, sharp, like he’s unraveling beneath you.

“Won’t this mess up your plan?” you murmur against his lips, breath shaky.

He pauses just barely, eyes flicking open, dazed.

“…What plan?”

His voice is ragged. Like he genuinely forgot it ever existed. Because you wrecked it.

“You sure you want this?”

He groans when you nod, like the permission undoes him.

You barely get the word “yes” out before he’s kissing you again— It’s messy now, deep and heated, his mouth hot against yours, all tongue and teeth and hunger.

Your hips grind against his and he gasps, hands flying to your waist, gripping tight like he’s barely holding it together.

You tug at the waistband of his pants and he helps—shoving them down without grace, without care, because nothing matters now except skin and friction and you.

He curses under his breath when you sink down onto him, head falling back against the couch, eyes blown wide.

“Fuck,” he breathes—raw, reverent. “You feel…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He’s too busy watching the way your mouth parts in a moan as you move—slow at first, teasing, and then faster, harder.

Your hands are everywhere—his chest, his shoulders, the edge of the couch for balance. He fills you completely, and the stretch has you gasping, clinging to him as you move. Your hands claw at his shoulders, fingers digging into muscle. He loves it.

Your pace quickens and so does his grip, guiding your hips with both hands like he needs this to last but knows it won’t.

His grip on your hips is possessive, guiding your rhythm, dragging you down harder with every roll of your body.

“You’re driving me insane,” he growls, voice hoarse, head tipping forward to nip at your collarbone, your jaw, your shoulder.

You tug at his hair, and he groans again—louder this time, shameless.

The couch creaks.  The room’s too hot, too perfect.

He shifts, hands gripping your thighs as he flips you—your back hitting the cushions, legs still wrapped around him as he settles between them.

Now he’s on top. And he doesn’t slow down.

He thrusts into you deep, steady, relentless—his eyes locked on yours like he wants to watch the way you fall apart.

You arch beneath him, breath shattered, hands gripping anything you can—his shoulders, his arms, the couch cushions, your sanity.

He lowers his head, mouth trailing hot across your collarbone before his teeth sink lightly into the curve of your neck. Not too hard—but enough to make your breath hitch, enough to mark.

His hips snap harder. His grip tightens.

He’s groaning against your skin, biting, licking, losing it as your moans rise in pitch, your nails dragging down his back.

You feel it building—fast and sharp.

“Bucky—” you gasp, voice breaking.

“I know,” he growls, voice wrecked. “I know—don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—”

And you don’t. Neither of you do.

You come together like a crash—loud, clinging, uncoordinated—his mouth still on your neck, your back arching, both of you trembling through it.

The couch groans in protest, a final creak under the weight of your bodies and everything that’s been boiling over between you.

And then—

Silence.

Except for the sound of your breathing. His heartbeat against your chest.

And the way neither of you dares to move just yet.

He collapses onto you with a low groan, forehead damp, breath still catching in his throat.

His weight is heavy, but not crushing—just solid. Comforting.

He rests his head against your chest, cheek pressed between your tits, one arm draped lazily over your waist.

Neither of you says anything for a long moment. Just breathing. The sound of it filling the room as your heartbeats slowly, slowly return to something almost normal.

You brush a hand through his hair—sweaty, soft, a little wild—and smile to yourself.

“So,” you murmur, voice hoarse. “Still think you’re too old for this?”

He groans into your chest. “Don’t start.”

You laugh softly. “No, seriously. Should I call a medic? Or a chiropractor?”

He pinches your hip, but he doesn’t move. “I hate you.”

“Liar.”

He hums, lips brushing your skin. “A little.”

The couch creaks beneath you again and you both wince.

You look at the state of it—cushions everywhere, throw blanket on the floor along the rest of your discarded clothes. 

“Okay,” you whisper. “So we definitely killed the couch.”

Still, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even lift his head.

“You wanna move to the bed?” you ask, fingers lazily tracing circles along his spine.

“Can’t,” he mumbles.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.”

You grin. “You’re seriously going to pass out on my tits?”

“Best pillow I’ve ever had.”

You giggle softly, but you don’t push him off. You just let your hand keep stroking his back, slower now, as his breathing evens out and the weight of him starts to feel like something more than just exhaustion.

Like comfort. Like trust.

Like maybe he’s safe here.

You shift under him, trying to get comfortable—but there’s no hope. The couch is broken, cushions askew, and your back is already protesting.

Still, you don’t move.

His head is still tucked against your chest, one arm slung heavy around your waist, and his breathing has slowed into the kind of deep, steady rhythm that says he’s out.

You stare at the ceiling, the room dim and quiet around you, the air still thick with sweat and warmth and everything you didn’t say out loud.

You try to wiggle your leg. Nope. Trapped.

You sigh.

It’s the worst sleep you’ve ever had.

Your shoulder aches. The couch dips weirdly to one side. Your neck’s at a horrible angle.

But his arm tightens slightly in his sleep.

You smile. Close your eyes.

And fall asleep anyway.

Hope you enjoyed your read just as much as I enjoyed writing this for y'all, let me know what you think!

Reblogs, likes and comments help this story grow! ✨✨✨

Let me know if you want to be added to a Taglist so you can be the first to know when the next part comes out!!

@pickuptruck01 @writing-for-marvel @bluelygreen @pins-and-flowers @voodoo-tofu @mcira @lostinspace33

[theglassofmiddleearth]

Imagine arriving to the siege of Gondor with Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas.

Masterlist

Orc: 'Late as usual, Pirate-scum! There's knife-work here that needs doing.'

Orc: 'Come on, you sea rats! Get off your ships!'

Aragorn leaps over the side of the ship, brandishing his sword. Legolas and Gimli nimbly land on the ground while Y/N trips over a rope and lands on her behind.

Y/N: Uh... noone saw that.

Y/N scrambles up with the help of Legolas.

Aragorn draws his his sword, advancing towards the orcs.

Gimli: 'There's plenty for the four of us! May the best Dwarf win!'

The legions of ghost men charge the orcs, over running them. They storm the area with Aragorn leading them. Y/N begins to draw near the front lines.

Y/N: 'Fourteen!'

Legolas: 'Fifteen, Sixteen!'

Gimli: 'Seventeen!'

Y/N: 'ARE YOU GUYS CHEATING?'

Y/N dodges a sword before spinning around and slicing the Orc's head off. She draws an extra blade, advancing towards the Oliphaunts.

Y/N spots Gothmog and a grin of malice appears on her lips.

Y/N: 'Hello there Lieutenant.'

She slices his axe wielding arm off before stabbing one blade through his chest. Y/N sneers.

Y/N: 'Seems like you need a hand.'

Y/N draws back both blades and slices his head off cleanly.

Y/N: 'Too Bad!'

Aragorn: 'Legolas!'

Y/N: 'Wanna go for a ride?'

Legolas and Y/N grin at each other, racing towards the tusk of the giant creature, scaling up it's ivory tusks and body.

Legolas: 'Thirty-three, thirty-four.'

Y/N: 'Thirty-five Thirty-six. I'm going to lose count..

She whips her head around to look for Legolas.

Y/N: 'Bring it down Legolas!'

Legolas swings to the rope holding the saddle up, slicing through it. The large saddle falls, along with the people riding the Oliphant.

Y/N: 'Those were mine too. I helped.'

Legolas laughs before running to the head of the Oliphant and shooting three arrows into its head, bringing the beast crashing down.

Gimli: 'That still only counts at one!'

Y/N bursts into laughter, a hand on her hip.

Slowly, Minas Tirith is taken back. The orcs are driven back and the city is swamped by the dead army. As the battle ends, The Dead King finds his way to Aragorn

The King of the Dead: 'Release us.'

Gimli: 'Bad idea. Very handy in a tight spot' these lads. Despite the fact they're dead.'

The King of the Dead: 'You gave us your word.'

Aragorn: 'That I did. I hold your oath fulfilled. Go. Be at peace.'

The wind wafts over the ghostly army, seemingly blowing away the men like dust.

Y/N grimaces and plops down. Drawing her hand away from her side.

Legolas: 'Y/N? What is wrong?'

Y/N: 'Nothing.'

She winces.

Y/N: 'Just got a nick.'

Legolas quickly kneels down, scooping her up.

Y/N: 'Wow look at you, ever princely, are you. I can walk y'know.

Legolas rolls his eyes, starting off to the city.

Legolas: 'I know.'

Y/N: 'Do you not have any questions for me?'

Legolas: 'No my lady. I have faith in you. You have led us thus far. Frodo and Sam must be fine for you to be here with us.'

Y/N sighs,

Y/N: 'I hope so, I don't know if I made the right decision.'

Legolas: 'Rest, you have done enough for today. Rest, my lady.'

Y/N:'If I didn't know any better, I'd say you held affection for me Ernil Nin (My prince.)'

Legolas: 'Rest.'

Legolas holds back a smile, continuing his pace to Minas Tirith.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

🧚🏻‍♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe thot about: CE!babe + nearly breaking a rib from cumming so hard 😘

Thanks for this one! I kinda went left field but it's fun!

Pay Up

Summary: your lot fees are due and your land lord isn't in a good mood.

Warnings: dubcon, coercion, extortion, NSFW. This is a dark drabble like most of my stuff so take this as your warning to stop reading.

Please leave comments and reblog.

The door shakes as someone pounds on it. You groan and hide your face under your arm. It’s eleven AM, who the hell is bothering you? You groan and stay as you are, hoping they just give up. 

They bang again. This time harder. You sigh at the voice that comes from the other side. 

“I know you’re in there, sunshine.” Lloyd calls through. 

You snarl. How many times do you have to tell that sleazeball not to bug you before noon? Shady ass landlord. 

You swing your arm down and hit your hand off the wall. You sit up groggily and look around the trailer. You hang your feet over the edge and nearly kick over the vodka bottle with a swig left in it. You grab it and finish it off as you stand. You fling the empty plastic and go to the door. 

The strap of your leopard print camisole slips down your arm. The door trembles against his battering and the lock threatens to give. You slid back the latch and push it outward. Lloyd stumbles back as it hits his shoulder. 

“Calm down, you’re gonna break the thing,” you snarl and cross your arms as you lean against the frame. 

“Lot fees,” he rubs his shoulder, “now.” 

“I told you, I’ll have them next week.” 

“They’re due today,” he jabs his finger toward you, taking a step closer. 

“Well, you’ll just have to wait.” 

“Listen, sweetheart, you don’t make the rules,” he growls. “So give me my money.” 

You scoff and look him up and down. He’s a con man like all of them. They wear their fancy suits and grease back their hair and think you can’t see through it. 

“Don’t got it,” you shrug. “So wait until Monday or kiss my ass.” 

He snorts as you go to shut the door. He catches it, lodging himself between it and the frame. He crowds you as he looms over you. 

“I’ll call the fucking police. You signed a lease, doll face.” 

“I don’t got it. You hard of hearing?” You sneer. “Look, I got half. I’ll give you that and you can take your hoity toity loafers and come back next week.” 

“Half?” He echoes. 

“Yeah, half.” 

He stares at you then raises his hands to rub his fingertips together. You let go of the door and spin. You stomp over to the bed and search around for your wallet. It’s somewhere here. Always falls down when you fold in the table and pull out the bed. 

His footsteps scuff behind you and you feel his weight in the floor. 

“I didn’t invite you in,” you snip and turn to him with the bills. “Here.” 

You shove the money at him and he catches your hand. He pulls it above your head and glares at you. 

“Late fees. You’ll pay in full on Monday,” he grits. 

“Fuck you. I don’t got that much.” 

“Not my problem, honey pie,” he taunts. “I’ve been pretty fucking lenient. I’m done waiting on what’s mine. You are going to pay me. One way, or another.” 

He tugs up the strap and lays it over your shoulder, tickling your skin. You snarl. 

“Get the fuck off of me,” you snatch your arm away and push his chest. 

“I know how you got all this,” he thumbs the money then tucks it away. “I am willing to cut a deal for your services.” 

“I’m not a fucking hooker,” you spit. “Get out.” 

You try to shove him again and he grabs your wrists. He tuts and squeezes as you bare your teeth at him. He snickers. 

“Coulda fooled me. Ah, come on, a few minutes of heaven and I’ll waive the late fee,” he drawls. 

“As if. Get off--” You writhe as you try to twist free of him. “Look, you filthy old perv, stop touching--” 

He lets go of one arm and grips your shoulder, spinning you to face the bed as he twists your arm behind you. You whimper as he forces you against the frame. You bring your other arm back into his side and he grunts. 

“Hey!” He swats your skull, “look, you bend over and I won’t even ask for the other half.” 

“Are you that fucking desperate?” 

“Nope, but I wouldn’t mind shutting you up,” he chortles. “Come on, I’m sure you’ve had worse.” 

“You’re disgusting,” you tug on your arm and it strains in your shoulder. You whine. 

“Ow, fucker. Give me the money back and I’ll let you get the worm out,” you scoff.    

“How about you take the bottle of whiskey in my backseat? Top shelf shit, not like that piss you got all over.” 

He kicks the empty out of is way. 

“Get it over with, idiot,” you reach back with your free hand and hook your thumb under the top of your shorts. 

“I knew you were fucking easy,” he snarls. 

He lets go of your arm and you whimper. You bend and catch yourself on the mattress. You push back against him. 

“I don’t want to see your face,” you shake your head. 

He chuckles and pushes down your shorts until they fall to your ankles. 

“All the better,” he slaps your ass and sinks his nails into your skin. You hiss. 

“Hey, don’t leave any fucking marks,” you growl. “What’s the matter old man? Need time to get it up?” 

He spanks you again, “shut your fucking mouth.” 

He grabs your head and forces it down to the mattress. You grunt and swing your arm back at him blindly. He laughs under his breath as his fly unzips. You shudder and brace yourself. You’ve done worse, he is right about that. 

He bends his knees as you feel him pumping himself. You curl your lip and close your eyes. He presses his tips between your cheeks and lingers along your puckered ring. You twitch. 

“Don’t you fucking dare.” 

“Really? Woulda thought you’d prefer it,” he slides further down and pushes against your cunt. 

“Limp dick like you used to going in dry,” you rasp. 

You snake your hand down and rub your clit as your cunt burns at his prodding. He leans into you, pushing his tip in with his thumb. You drone and flick your fingers faster. He stretches you around him and you snarl. 

“Fuck, goddamn,” you rub harder. “Can’t wait till I get fucking--” 

You gasp as he thrusts. The force behind it brings you to your toes as his fingers curl into your scalp. You grit your teeth as he buries himself to his limit. He’s not small by any means. Fucker. 

He shakes as he slides out. You swallow and gather what’s left of your pride. Your fingers slicken as he dips back in. 

“You fucking suck,” you spit. 

“And you’re a fucking slut,” he spanks your ass. His hand slides up to grip your hip as he finds his tempo. “Look at how your fucking taking me.” 

His flesh claps against yours as he slowly bends forward. He drags his grip from your head and loops his arm around you. He tears the camisole down beneath your chest and gropes your tits. He snarls and bites your ear. 

“God, you fucking smell like rich dick,” you sneer. 

“Sure as shit, baby,” he ruts as your toes slip on the floor. 

“Disgusting.” 

“Takes one to know one,” he puffs. 

“Ugh, I fucking hate you. You make my insides crawl--” 

“I can feel that,” he pounds harder and your legs fold as you land on your stomach. “Squeezing me all fucking desperate for it.” 

He crushes you again the thin mattress, his hips bucking wildly as he pants into your hair. You can only just swirl your fingers enough to get yourself to the edge. Your thighs tingle and tremble. His deep groans roll into your ears and his breath dampens your scalp. 

He pulls his hand from beneath you and pins you with his forearm against your shoulders. He pushes himself up as he slams against your ass. You snarl and reach back to touch his hip. Jesus fucking Christ. He didn’t even put a condom on. Fuck. Fuck. This is what happens when you’re woken up before noon. 

“You better not fucking blow--” 

“Shit!” He gurgles and spasms. You feel the gush inside of you as his rhythm turns erratic. You curse again and smack his thigh. 

“What the fuck!?” 

He keeps going, fucking his cum deeper and deeper, rumbling and rattling as he empties himself. Jesus. How much does he got? His grunts turn to squeaks. 

“You had to fucking say—ah, shit, shit--” his voice fizzles out as he pulls out and flips onto the top of the mattress, his legs hanging over the edge as he writhes. 

You roll away and sit up, shoving your fingers into your cunt to scoop out his cum. You wipe it on the blanket and snarl. “You dumbass. Why the hell did you do that?” 

“Ah, ah, ah,” he sounds as if he can’t breathe as he hugs his ribs. His dick twitches over his pants as he groans and reaches for you. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you slap him away. You reach out and smear cum across his fancy jacket. “Jerk off.” 

“I... I...” he inhales, little by little, and wheezes, “I think I cracked a rib.” 

“What?” 

“When I... finished, it just...” he touches along his ribs, “feels like a knife--” 

You laugh. You cover your mouth with your clean and snicker. “Are you serious? You pulled a fucking muscle, you geezer.” You get off the bed and grab a towel, wiping between your legs. “We made a deal, not get out.” 

“I... can’t.” He groans. 

“Get out or I’ll actually break your rib,” you bark. 

“Fucking christ,” he sits up with a whimper, “you’re fucking cold.” 

“And you’re limp,” you retort. “Out.” 

He stands, hunched over as he keeps his arm across his middle. He limps toward the door. 

“Same time, next month?” He stops at the door. 

You push him out, “no, you’ll get the money on time.” 

[midnightskookie]

jungkook deserved the world so despite earning millions, he never fails to buy you flowers, yet despite his refusal, you never fail to buy him flowers too. specifically tiger lillies...

jungkook deserved the worldso he deserved munching on the most delicious meals where'd you'd wake up and start cooking as early as possible just to watch the way his brows furrow, his mouth pout and hear the moans of contempt spill from his throat.

jungkook deserved the world so no matter how much you wanted to see the sparkle in his eyes and the laughter coming from his lips, it meant letting him sleep in till after noon letting him rejuvenate on sleep from working late into the night.

jungkook deserved the world so you were always at his beck and call any time of day for cuddles, legs and fingers intertwined

jungkook deserved the world so he was the centre of your attention. peppering small kisses on his face and softly scraping your nails against his scalp. listening intently to his rambles and putting your phone down as soon as he opened his mouth.

jungkook deserved the world so you massaged all his aches and pains away after a long day of practice or sitting at a table.

jungkook deserved the world so you took him out at night for fresh air, a way to be out of the public's eye, intertwined fingers and clasped swinging hands, giggling late into the night as if there were no worries.

jungkook deserved the world so you tried your best to make time to bring him food for him and his members.

jungkook deserved the world so you learnt how to play his favourite games beside him. laughing and pouting when nothing went your way. making an effort to learn and improve in your free time when he wasn't with you.

jungkook deserved the world so anytime he beat himself about his performance during the day, you'd kiss his worries away, affirm and reassure him with soft rubs against his back or with your arms wrapped around his shoulder with your head on top of his.

[keyotos]

can i request any hsr characters sleepover hcs w/ gn reader?

nights like this

summary ⎯ sleepover hcs w/ the hsr men! you basically stay over.

includes ⎯ dan heng, gepard, blade, sampo, & jing yuan.

tana's words ⎯ yk i was never much of a sleepover kid as a kid; i missed my mother too much. this is kinda short. maybe bad bc i had writers block during this. anyway i hope u enjoy anon!!!

dan heng

⎯ terrible sleeper. sleep schedule is messed up. sometimes he goes to sleep at 12 (early), sometimes 6 am (late).

⎯ when you're with him, he sleeps a little better (sleeping at 2 instead of 6). your rhythmic breathing always manages to set him at ease, which causes him to relax and sleep better.

⎯ you guys like to read together before bed. he reads at a faster pace than you do, but that's okay bc he's always waiting for you to finish a page before he moves on. doesn't matter how long you take; he'll wait forever as long as it's you.

⎯ before y'all became official, you'd sneak into dan heng's room just to hang out. but that always ended up in you two sleeping on his floor mattress together. was it comfortable? no. was it enjoyable? yes. bc ur with dan heng.

⎯ he sleeps with his entire body literally draped over yours. you guys take the phrase, "tangled limbs," to the max. sometimes when you wake up, it's practically like a puzzle trying to get yourself out of his grip.

⎯ dan heng is always cold at night, so naturally he pulls you closer for warmth. only, he pulls you so close that it still isn't close enough.

⎯ he's not the deepest sleeper, but he sleeps pretty well (when he's not having nightmares). you are mostly a part of the reason why he is able to sleep better.

⎯ dan heng tries to sleep in your room as much as possible; mostly because your bed is usually more comfortable and because he wants to feel you in between his arms

⎯ likes to kiss you on your eyebrow before bed

⎯ you two ARE NOT getting out of bed until like noon. you guys would wake up early but you'd both just stay in bed foreverrrrr. dan heng loves being near you in general: dan heng wants you to stay in bed with him for life sometimes. and you're not arguing.

gepard

⎯ he is the man you'd have a night routine with. i'm talking like skincare routines, brushing teeth together, facemasks, watching the news before bed. you guys are like a little old couple.

⎯ when you'd do skincare with him, gepard would let you sit in between his legs on the counter. it's just hot.

⎯ swings an arm around you as you two brush your teeth. like his arm is around your shoulders and he is unknowingly pulling you deep into his chest. and he's just leaning on you. it's bc he's comfortable with you and he is secretly really touchy.

⎯ he has a relatively good sleep schedule. he's probably not getting the right amount of sleep due to his duties, but he gets more sleep than dan heng!

⎯ cuddles you when you two go to sleep. you guys would sleep face to face and he'd rest his head on top of yours while you guys are sleeping. he pulls you so close.

⎯ on nights he can't sleep, you two just lie awake and talk. talk about each other's days, pet peeves, future dreams: gepard finds solace with you no matter what. he's the type of person to have deep conversations about the future with because he has probably planned it out.

⎯ you two would be in bed and gepard would accidentally blurt out that he wants to marry you. and then he's a mess.

⎯ sleeps so peacefully. no nightmares no nothing. nothing disturbs his sleep (except for his alarm). he's just so peaceful and content just being in bed with you.

⎯ wants to stay in bed with you forever but he actually has to wake up super early. before he leaves, he always kisses your forehead and places a kiss to your knuckles. you're always asleep when it happens so it's just his secret routine.

⎯ he likes to admire you before he leaves. he wants to study every crevice on your face like you're a famous artwork in a museum. thinks about you for the entire day. then he gets home and all of his past problems have diminished.

blade

⎯ he's probably too busy plotting VENGEANCE to think about sleep.

⎯ im jp. he loves sleeping, especially if you're there next to him. he thinks being able to sleep with you is one of the best things that have been granted to him by the aeons.

⎯ you're just too adorable. you like to come up and wrap your arms around his torso, while he's sleeping on his back with an arm around your entire body. he wraps an arm around you to make sure you wouldn't fall off/he wants to keep you close to him. it's a reminder that you're here and you're so peaceful against him.

⎯ he sleeps so late. you would always fall asleep first. you always fall asleep on him so his arm is always numb. but blade doesn't mind, especially when it's you.

⎯ likes to be a fucking TEASE before bed. omg he's like a like roblox troll. his hands are usually cold, so he'd reach under your shirt and like put his hands around your ribcage. it surprises you and makes you jump up into him, which is why he does it.

⎯ blade does not move when he sleeps. he sleeps perfectly still. he isn't a deep sleeper, just a still sleeper. he's hypervigilant, but he manages to stay in the same spot throughout the entire night. that being said, the way his arm/shoulder/whatever body part you're sleeping on becomes numb in the morning...

⎯ blade may seem like a simple guy, but he is not. every time he pulls you closer, he intends to keep you with him for the rest of his life. he likes to bury his head in your hair to remind himself of you; he wants to remember the smell of your shampoo for ages.

⎯ when he wakes up and he sees that you've moved away from him, blade likes to pull you back in.

sampo

⎯ another horrible sleeper. it's bc of his "business hours" that he arrives home at terrible hours.

⎯ sneaks into bed with you... always wakes you up. you give him a oblictatory smack on the shoulder every time he does this, but to your (mock) dismay, he always pulls you on top of him.

⎯ sleeps and does not wake back up. you have to like violently shake him to even get him to stir out of sleep. he arrives home so late and, to make up for lost hours, he sleeps for so long.

⎯ grabs you and does not let you go. you're pressed against him and awake while bro is dead asleep. it's like a whole mission trying to get out of his grip.

⎯ he is so MOUTHY when he wakes up; somehow he regains all energy that he missed out on the previous night and wakes up all happy and clingy. tries to GO BACK TO SLEEP after he realizes the both of you are awake.

⎯ the type to be like, "five more minutes," mf you have slept for FIVE DAYS. he'll use every trick in the book too; he'll do the pout, puppy dog eyes, even going so far as to beg and plead on his knees in the bed.

⎯ and of course, you stay in for five more minutes. i lied, you guys stay in for more than five minutes. you agreed because of his incessant pestering, but also bc you love him i guess.

⎯ he gets home really late and you barely get to see him at night, so for now, you suppose you'll settle for late mornings with sampo.

jing yuan

⎯ GREAT SLEEPER. PERFECT FOR NIGHT ROUTINES. PERFECT FOR MORNING ROUTINES.

⎯ as general, he doesn't have the hectic sleep schedule like dan heng, and he also does not have to wake up as early as gepard. he gets to sleep early with you and he gets to wake up and spend the morning with you as well.

⎯ sometimes yanqing likes to spend time with you in the morning. he goes in to remind jing yuan of something but he ends up staying for one hour bc you two strike up a conversation filled with widely various topics.

⎯ on mornings yanqing doesn't come in, you two just spend the whole morning talking about your plans for the day. your schedules are around the same length as each other, so you two barely have time to spend together during the day. but at least you two have your mornings and nights.

⎯ nights are great. you two like to talk about your days while you lay side to side, head resting on jing yuan's chest. your breathing is synchronized, not uneven. you feel safe, at peace, and calm.

⎯ yk that couples that fall asleep quickly together are chemically bonded? yeah that's you and jing yuan. you two are KNOCKED OUT after like 11:30 (old folk) because you two are chemically bonded.

⎯ whenever the other is not around, you guys have trouble sleeping. you guys sleep so early together, but when you guys are apart? you will be getting no sleep.

⎯ loves sleeping early with you. loves to have you in his arms as fast as possible. loves mornings with you. loves how you look similar to being iridescent in the morning. loves everything about you tbh.

NOT one of my best hcs but thats ok

[zhvakinnn]

Hello! I apologize if your busy doing something else but could I request a Tyler Hernandez (or other characters if you would like) x reader? Wherein reader has heterochromia but hides by wearing contacts but one day they forget to wear them and Tyler Hernandez (and the other characters you chose) found out.

How would they react? Thank your time and have a great day/noon/night!

Im so sorryyy I've been busy with exam these few weeks(⁠っ⁠˘̩⁠╭⁠╮⁠˘̩⁠)⁠っ

Btw how was your weeks, good luck with some y'all's exams

Warnings:none?

Characters:Tyler x any gender reader ft. Aiden,Ben, Taylor, Ashlyn,logan

🌺as always i don't know much English so if something is wrong correct me🌺

The gc was texting to meet up in the park to hangout and you were late they said they will be there at 6:30 but it's already 6:50

You were to busy watching a movie that you didn't notice your phone rang

You were scrambling around the house getting your things and fixing your looks that you forgot the contacts and ran off the house

You got there and saw them just sitting and messing up each others, you sigh of relief and walk towards them

Taylor was the first to notice you and ran up and hug you tightly, you let out a wheezing laugh and looked over to see Tyler looking at your direction staring at you

You laugh and ran up to him and hugged him this time Tyler puts a hand both of your cheeks to make you look straight to him

The other 4 was to busy to realize the situation, "what?, what are you looking at?" You giggled "what happened to your eyes, they're.. different?" Your eyes widen as you quickly hid it

You search your bag and remember you put it on the kitchen counter "shit.." tears started to prickle, you started to feel overwhelmed and noticed everyones attention was on you

"hey you okay?" Ben typed approaching you, you didn't notice Tyler was rubbing your back "im sorry if I said that, I was just curious"Tyler felt guilty and thought he went to far with his words

You 7 sat down and calm down for a moment, "sooo... What's happening?" Aiden smiled looking at your direction while you cover your other eye, you stayed quiet for moment, "I have this thing where my other eye is different color to my other one, I've been wearing contacts so it's the same color"

Tyler squeeze your free hand and smiled at you and said "there's no need to hide that, you know we won't judge you, like Ben we didn't judge that he can't talk" Ben nodded "and like Aiden we didn't judge him even though his kind of autistic" "im not-" "we won't judge you for who are were here for you" Taylor continued

"hey? Im still not-" "were always here for you (name) if somebody mess with your eyes Ashlyns gonna kick someone's ass" Logan said, everyone looked at him and laughed "im still not autistic!"

You laugh with them knowing that your safe with your friends

After a while you didn't cover your eye anymore just chilling in the swing with Tyler while everyone was chicken fighting

"im glad you guys became my friends" your smiled at him as he nodded "im glad you became my friend too.... Hey I wanna ask you something" you hum in question looking at him

"I know we've been friends for like a month but.."

"would you like to go out with me?"

Waaa it's short but hope you guys loved this

[chuubian]

Girl dad Nanami

A/N: This is just a little drabble that I've been thinking of for a while! I'm working on a longer Arlecchino fic but for now I’ve been NEEDING girl dad Nanami.

Tags Christmas and Santa, soft Nanami

Girl dad Nanami who gently wakes his daughters up for the first day of school, brushing out their tangled hair and putting it into pigtails. He reassures them that it'll be okay. There's nothing to worry about, daddy is just a call away if anything goes wrong.

Girl dad Nanami who packs their lunches and helps them with their difficult addition homework every night, patiently showing them how to work through it.

Girl dad Nanami who pries his pocket-sized daughters off each other when they fight. Tiny fists curled tight, swinging at each other and pulling at their hair. All over a simple game of house. Reluctantly, he joins in, monitoring how they behave, and begrudgingly accepting his role as the baby.

Girl dad Nanami who is glad to have his daughters at home for Christmas break. The constant crying in the mornings was starting to wear on his poor heart. Listening to their soft sobbing as they were forced to leave their dad once again is too much to bear forever. He can finally take his time, cooking a big breakfast for them and finally getting them to cooperate enough to decorate the house.

Girl dad Nanami who makes sure to stay in the living room until midnight, until his girls could not possibly be awake. They're mischievous little girls who have tried more than once to open their presents ahead of time. He found them weeks before Christmas, trying to be discreet, giggling behind their small stubby hands. And when he's sure they're asleep, he goes into their shared room, which is decorated with a million stuffed animals, and presses a soft kiss onto their tiny foreheads. Then, he goes to bed, relaxing after a long day of dealing with his daughters.

Girl dad Nanami who helps his girls bake cookies for breakfast. Unfortunately, as children they have no sense of self-preservation and attempt to eat the raw dough. Multiple times. No matter how many times the man says no. Eventually he has to pry the bowl out of their hands and do it himself. When the cookies are done, they immediately try to grab them, burning their chubby fingers. Nanami sighs and runs their hands under cold water, soothing their little cries and wiping their tears away. You girls need to be more careful, don't act without thinking next time.

Girl dad Nanami who, despite their injuries, lets them decorate the cookies with as much icing as they'd like. It gets all over the table and their clothing, sticking to their cheeks- evidence of them sneaking mini tastes of it. The cookies look terrible. They have no fine motor function. But to Nanami it's the best art he could ever see. Because it's theirs.

Girl dad Nanami who finds comfort in venting to Geto when he gets to their house at noon. The girls had begged him for a play date with Mimiko and Nanako, and he finally agreed. The four of them ate all the sugary cookies they could. Even after telling them to pace themselves, they didn't listen and instead stuffed their faces with as much candy as they could. Once they got too out of hand, Geto cuts the playdate short. The whining doesn't deter him, as he scolds them for making a mess of someone else's house, besides, he has to take them to a family party.

Girl dad Nanami who sits them down in front of the chimney at midnight on Christmas eve. It took all day to style their hair and clothes, he was exhausted. But as he saw their excited smiles, he couldn't help the feeling welling up in his chest. Their hot chocolate is ignored, as their attention is turned toward the presents in front of them. Like rabid dogs, they rip apart boxes and wrapping paper, yearning for the presents Santa brought them this year.

Girl dad Nanami who finally puts his daughters to sleep at 1 A.M. They could hardly handle staying up so late, yawning in his face, but still swearing they can stay up more. When they eventually fall asleep on each other, Nanami carries their little bodies upstairs. They're tucked into his bed this time, under their new blankets and in their brand-new pajamas that they couldn't wait to put on. Drawn towards the heat radiating from him, they cling onto his arms. It's like he has two mega heaters surrounding him. He can't even move into a comfortable position. But despite that, he doesn't move. He doesn't want to wake them up. His daughters are more important than his comfort.