#not to be cheesy on main but i think the love that people have for this character is insane and i think that if you make

[victarin]

i fucking love people here you guys see this dinnerplate-faced daycare animatronic and go "what if they were detectives" and you make all this amazing astounding art and writing and concepts and designs like yeah . sure . im going to be normal abt this and im not going to think about the incredible levels of creativity involved im not gointg to think about how much i love seeing beginner artists using the dca as a way to learn new skills in art and character design Im not going to think about how much joy is in all those AUs and how much artists and writers put aspects of whatever they enjoy in those stupid ass clowns to make these incredible inspired stories and artworks absolutely Brimming with love for what they created &how much i love seeing people in the community huddling around those AUs and hyping them up and making More Art from those yeah im normal. whatever

[piedoesnotequalpi]

Just started reading your Bachelorette AU so naturally I click your Tumblr and seeing that you reblogged a 9-1-1 post just sealed the fact that fate is real and I was meant to find your content :)

Omg enjoy the Bachelorette AU! I'm not sure that I'll be doing a ton of 911posting on Tumblr, but I finished watching it recently and am currently rotating it in my mind

[theetherealbloom]

The Things I Would Do, Just To Be Here With You

Summary: Amidst the whirlwind of movie premieres and busy schedules, you and Pedro Pascal, both thriving in your respective careers, find ways to celebrate each other despite the distance. While Pedro promotes Gladiator 2 in London, he longs for your presence at the after-party.

Or, you two would scream at the stars for keeping you apart... and the government too.

“Pedro Pascal x f!reader, Pedro is promoting Gladiator 2, and reader is in Wicked (Elphaba or Galinda of course!) for the screenplay of Wicked, and they are just really supportive of each other but also joke about their own movie being the best. Finding time to come to each other’s premiers. Posting behind the scenes or visiting each other.” — From @imaginemixedfandom

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Established Relationship, TOOTH-ROTTING FLUFF, Slight Angst, Swearing, Anxiety, Surrounded by A-Listers, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Red Carpet, Cameras, Paparazzi, Long Distance, Timezone Difference, Social Media, Interviews, I’m not a Spanish speaker, I might be wrong with the terms, please don’t come after me T^T,

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: Ty @imaginemixedfandom for giving the idea! I didn’t really want to replace the reader with the cast of Ariana Grande and Cynthia Erivo. Those two are just too iconic. So instead I will make the reader a writer for the screenplay adaptation of Wicked tehe. You all should listen to brent iii by Jeremy Zucker and Chelsea Cutler, it’s absolutely one of my favorite albums of this year. Lastly, remember this is all fictional and for fun! Enjoyyyy my loves!

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: and the government too! By Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler

gif by @andrew-garfielld

| Main Masterlist |

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING

“Hi.” Your voice was soft as you nestled deeper into the duvet, your body cocooned in its comforting folds.

“Hola, mi amor.” Pedro’s face lit up on your phone screen, the warm timbre of his voice washing over you like a balm. “I miss you.” “I miss you too… so much,” you replied with a little pout. The time difference between London and New York was merciless. Between his packed schedule promoting Gladiator 2 and prepping for Fantastic Four, and your whirlwind of work with the Wicked movie premiere, your conversations had been reduced to stolen moments like this. Still, even through a screen, Pedro had a way of making you feel like the most important person in the world. “You look cozy,” he said with a lopsided grin, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. “Meanwhile, I’m freezing my ass off here on set. I think my nose might fall off.” You laughed softly, the sound tinged with longing. “I’d trade you, you know. I’ll take the cold if it means I get to see you.”

“Don’t tempt me.” He leaned closer to the camera, his face filling your screen. “If I weren’t contractually obligated to be here, I’d hop on the next flight and show up at your premiere tomorrow. Red carpet and all.” You smiled wistfully, your fingers brushing against the edge of your phone as if you could reach through it to touch him. “You’d outshine me. Imagine the headlines: ‘Pedro Pascal steals the show at Wicked premiere.’” “Please. Everyone’s going to be talking about you. ‘Brilliant screenwriter dazzles Hollywood!’” He paused, his tone softening. “You’re incredible, you know that?” Your throat tightened at his words, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “Stop, or I’ll actually cry, and my face will be all puffy for tomorrow.” He chuckled. “Okay, okay. But seriously, mi amor, I’m so proud of you. You’ve worked so hard for this.” “And so have you,” you countered. “The Gladiator 2 trailer broke the internet, and you still found time to send me flowers last week. You’re amazing, Pedro.” “Yeah, but flowers aren’t the same as being there with you.” His voice dipped, a hint of regret slipping through. “I hate being this far away.” You sighed, your heart aching in tandem with his. “Me too.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence filled with the unspoken tension of your shared longing. Then, Pedro’s grin returned, bright and mischievous. “So,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “who do you think has the better movie? Be honest.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Are you seriously asking me to compare Wicked to Gladiator 2? One’s a heartfelt, magical adaptation, and the other is a testosterone-filled epic. They’re different.”

“Uh-huh,” he teased, crossing his arms. “Sounds like you’re dodging the question. I knew you were scared to admit Gladiator 2 is better.”

You scoffed, sitting up straighter in bed. “Scared? Please. I just don’t want to hurt your feelings when Wicked inevitably becomes a global phenomenon.”

Pedro laughed, the sound rich and contagious. “You’re lucky I love you. Otherwise, this would be grounds for war.”

“Lucky? You’re the lucky one,” you shot back, smirking. “I’ll prove it when I finally see you in person again. But until then…”

You brought the phone closer, pressing a soft kiss to the screen. Pedro mimicked your gesture, his lips brushing his camera lens.

“Goodnight, mi vida,” he murmured.

“Goodnight, Pedro.” Your voice was tender, laced with all the love you couldn’t put into words.

As the call ended, you clutched the phone to your chest, a bittersweet smile tugging at your lips. Despite the distance, despite the chaos of your lives, you knew one thing for certain: Pedro Pascal would always be worth the wait.

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — MORNING

Today was the day. You were walking the red carpet for the Wicked movie premiere. A sea of celebrities, producers, fellow writers, and editors would surround you. The sheer magnitude of it all left you feeling both giddy and utterly petrified.  

You smoothed your hands over the silk robe you wore, your palms damp with nerves. While you loved the craft of storytelling, the spotlight had always felt daunting. You preferred to let your work speak for itself—a tendency that paired surprisingly well with dating Pedro Pascal, the literal human embodiment of charisma and charm.  

“There, all done,” Laura, your makeup artist, said with a satisfied grin.  

You blinked at your reflection in the mirror. Your skin glowed, your eyes were accentuated just enough to look striking without overwhelming, and your lips were painted a perfect shade of confidence.  

“You’ve outdone yourself,” you said, giving her a warm smile.  

“Of course I did,” Laura replied with a wink. “Big night for my favorite screenwriter.”  

Mia, your stylist, emerged from behind a rack of gowns, holding up the dress. “Speaking of big nights... Ready to put this beauty on?”  

You nodded, though your smile wavered. “I just wish Pedro were here,” you admitted, your voice quieter now.  

Laura and Mia exchanged sympathetic glances before Laura gently squeezed your shoulder. “You’re going to look incredible, and he’d lose his mind if he saw you. How about we take some pictures to send him? A little preview for the man himself.”  

You hesitated, glancing at your phone on the vanity. “I don’t want to distract him. He’s busy with interviews and set work. London and New York aren’t exactly next door…”  

“All is fair in love and war,” Laura teased, her giggle breaking the tension. “Come on, babe! If anything, it’ll be motivation for him to hop on the next flight.”  

Mia chimed in, smirking. “Or just to remind him what he’s missing. Trust me, teasing Pedro is a public service.”  

You laughed despite yourself, feeling the nerves lift slightly. “Fine, fine. But if he complains, I’m blaming you two.”  

They ushered you into the dress—a masterpiece of emerald silk and intricate detailing that clung perfectly in all the right places. As Mia zipped you up, Laura stepped back, her hands pressed dramatically over her heart.  

“Pedro’s going to lose his shit.”  

“You look like a literal goddess,” Mia added, spinning you toward the mirror.  

For a moment, you hardly recognized yourself. The reflection staring back radiated elegance and confidence, even if you didn’t entirely feel it yet.  

“Okay, okay. Take the pictures,” you relented, biting your lip as you tried to contain your grin.  

Laura grabbed your phone and started snapping. You struck a few playful poses, twirling and laughing as Mia adjusted the hem of your dress. It felt silly, but imagining Pedro’s reaction warmed your chest.  

Once the photos were taken, you grabbed your phone and hovered over the message screen. You debated for a moment, then attached the best photo and typed a quick message.  

You: Wish you were here. But since you’re not... Enjoy this. Don’t let it distract you too much, cariño.  

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself, the familiar swoosh of the message sending making your heart race.  

The reply came faster than you expected.  

Pedro: Distract me? How am I supposed to do anything now? You look like an angel. No, better than an angel. Drop-dead stunning. 

You couldn’t stop the grin from taking over your face.  

Pedro: Red carpet better be ready. They’ve got no idea who they’re dealing with tonight.  

The butterflies in your stomach multiplied tenfold. Before you could reply, another message appeared.  

Pedro: I’m so proud of you. Go knock ’em dead, mi amor. I love you.  

Your throat tightened, and you had to blink back the sudden tears threatening to ruin Laura’s hard work. You tapped out a quick reply.  

You: I love you too. Now go back to being the coolest man alive.  

“You okay over there?” Mia asked, watching you with a knowing smile.  

“More than okay,” you said softly, tucking your phone away.  

As you prepared to step into the whirlwind of the premiere, Pedro’s words echoed in your mind. Even from thousands of miles away, he made you feel invincible.  

Tonight wasn’t just about the red carpet or the glitz and glamour. It was about celebrating what you loved—and knowing Pedro would always be your biggest cheerleader, no matter where in the world he was.  

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON — AFTERNOON  

Pedro sighed deeply, his head resting against the back of his chair. The steady hum of activity on set felt like background noise, the voices and clatter muffled by the ache in his chest. His fingers drummed lightly against his thigh, the motion absent-minded, a physical echo of the restlessness he felt inside.  

He missed you.  

It wasn’t the casual longing of someone who hadn’t seen their partner in a while—it was the kind of yearning that settled into his bones, heavy and persistent. A few hundred miles of ocean separated you, but it may as well have been an entire galaxy.  

He opened his phone and scrolled back to the picture you’d sent him that morning. The emerald dress, the way it hugged your form, the way your eyes sparkled even in a still image—it took his breath away. You looked like a dream. His dream.  

“If I were there right now…” he murmured under his breath, running his thumb over the screen as if he could touch you.  

If it were as simple as hopping on a flight, he’d already be on his way. He imagined the way you’d light up when you saw him, how you’d rush into his arms. He’d bury his face in your hair, inhale your scent, and hold you so tightly that he’d forget about the world outside.  

But it wasn’t that simple. The timing was off, as it so often was with both your careers in full swing. He was tied to the production schedule of Fantastic Four, and you were in the spotlight for Wicked. The universe seemed determined to keep you apart, and for the first time in years, Pedro felt the cracks in his patience.  

He closed his eyes, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. “Damn stars. Damn schedules. Damn… government,” he muttered bitterly. The laugh that followed was humorless, the frustration thick in his voice.  

If he could, he’d scream at the stars for conspiring against you both. Curse the invisible forces that made life so complicated. He’d barter with time itself, twist it and stretch it, just to have you here with him for a few stolen moments.  

He wondered what you were doing right now. Were you nervous about the red carpet? Did you feel as hollow without him as he felt without you? Pedro clenched his jaw, guilt gnawing at him. You deserved to have him there, to walk that carpet with you, to hold your hand and beam with pride as you took in the applause for your work.  

“Pedro, they’re ready for you!”  

The call from a production assistant jolted him from his thoughts. He blinked, the weight of reality crashing back down as he stood and stretched.  

“Be right there,” he called back, tucking his phone into his pocket.  

As he made his way back to the soundstage, he couldn’t shake the thought of tomorrow. The Gladiator 2 premiere loomed ahead, another milestone he should be celebrating with you by his side. Instead, you’d be halfway across the world.  

But one day, he promised himself, one day, nothing will keep us apart.  

NEW YORK, NEW YORK — EVENING 

The flashing lights were relentless, casting an almost blinding glow over the red carpet. The screams of fans and the constant click of cameras created a symphony of chaos, one you weren’t entirely comfortable navigating. You’d always preferred the quiet—curled up with a book, tucked away from the world’s prying eyes.  

But tonight, you smiled and posed alongside your cast and the production crew. You owed it to them, to yourself, and to the story you’d helped bring to life.  

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Winnie Holzman, the original writer of Wicked, leaned in with a smile, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the crowd.  

You nodded, though your voice was tinged with nervousness. “It’s incredible. Overwhelming, but in the best way.”  

“You’ve done amazing work,” Dana Fox chimed in, her excitement infectious. “We wouldn’t be standing here without your screenplay tying it all together.”  

Jon M. Chu, ever the cheerleader, clapped you lightly on the back. “Tonight’s your night too. Own it.”  

You laughed softly, feeling a little more at ease with their encouragement. Together, the four of you posed for the cameras, sharing a few candid laughs before heading closer to the press area.  

As you stepped into the spotlight for interviews, the questions started flying.  

“How does it feel to see Wicked finally come to life on the big screen?”  

“It feels surreal,” you answered, your smile genuine. “Everyone on this project has poured so much heart into it. To see it come together like this is... overwhelming in the best way.”  

“You’re known for being quite private. How are you handling all the attention tonight?”  

“It’s definitely out of my comfort zone,” you admitted with a small laugh. “But I’m surrounded by such a talented and supportive team, which makes it easier.”  

Then, inevitably, came the question you’d been bracing for. “We couldn’t help but notice that Pedro Pascal isn’t here tonight. Do you miss him?”  

The question tugged at something deep inside you. “I miss him so much,” you said softly, your expression softening. “He’s busy promoting Gladiator 2 and filming in London. I know he wishes he could be here, just like I wish I could be there for him. We’re both incredibly proud of each other, though.” You grinned, a playful sparkle in your eyes. “But, of course, Wicked is better. Don’t tell him I said that.”  

The interviewer laughed, and you followed with a wink before stepping away.  

AFTER THE PREMIERE  

As the credits rolled and the crowd applauded, you walked alongside Jon, Winnie, and Dana toward the exit. The night air was cool and refreshing after the heat of the theater.  

“You were glowing on that carpet,” Winnie teased, nudging you gently.  

Jon smirked. “Bet it’s because of a certain someone who couldn’t make it.”  

You flushed immediately, your cheeks warming. “Stop,” you mumbled, though your smile betrayed your embarrassment.  

“Oh, come on,” Dana added with a laugh. “You were gushing about him earlier. Just admit it—you’re head over heels.”  

You sighed dramatically, though your heart raced just thinking about Pedro. “Okay, fine. I miss him like crazy. I just—” You paused, glancing up at the stars. “I wish I could be there for him, you know? For his premiere. He’s always so supportive of me. It feels wrong not to do the same.”  

Jon stopped walking, turning to face you with a thoughtful look. “So go.”  

“What?”  

“Go to him,” he said with a shrug. “Take the jet. I’ll make the call.”  

You blinked at him, stunned. “You—you’d let me do that?”  

“Of course,” Jon said, waving off your concern. “You’re part of the heart of this project. If being with him makes you happy, it’s worth it.”  

“But I don’t have a ticket, and I need to pack, and—”  

Dana held up a hand, already pulling out her phone. “Relax. I’ll call a car, and we’ll pack together. You just focus on getting there.”  

Before you could protest further, Jon had already stepped aside, dialing someone on his phone. Dana grabbed your arm and started steering you toward the waiting car.  

“You’re really doing this,” she said, grinning.  

“I—I guess I am.” Your voice trembled with excitement and nerves. “What if I don’t make it in time? What if—”  

Dana cut you off with a gentle squeeze on your shoulder. “You’ll make it. And even if you don’t, just being there will mean everything to him.”  

AT THE AIRPORT  

The private jet was waiting for you, its sleek frame illuminated by the glow of the runway lights. You quickly texted Pedro’s manager and assistant, letting them know you were on your way.  

You: I’m coming to London. Please don’t tell him. I want it to be a surprise.  

The response was almost immediate:  

Franklin Latt: Got it. He’s going to lose his mind—in the best way.  

As you settled into your seat and the jet began to taxi, your heart raced. Seven hours separated you from Pedro, but for the first time in days, the distance didn’t feel insurmountable.  

You leaned your head back against the seat, clutching your phone tightly as you closed your eyes. You could already picture the look on his face when he saw you.  

Just hold on, Pedro. I’m on my way.  

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING

The energy in Leicester Square was electric. Fans filled the barricades, the roar of excitement nearly drowning out the camera flashes as Pedro made his way down the red carpet. Dressed in a sharp black shirt, the top unbuttoned, slacks, his signature charm, and a warm smile lit up every interaction as he stopped to greet fans and pose for photos.

The press area was bustling, and soon Pedro found himself standing in front of a journalist holding a microphone.

“Pedro, congratulations on Gladiator 2! How does it feel to be here tonight celebrating this film?”

Pedro grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It feels incredible. This is one of those projects you dream about as an actor, and to see it all come together, to see everyone’s hard work pay off, it’s… it’s a real honor.”

The interviewer nodded. “You’ve had an amazing year, between this and your other projects. But we couldn’t help but notice that someone special in your life had a big night recently—the Wicked premiere in New York. Did you get a chance to see any photos?”

Pedro’s face lit up instantly, a laugh bubbling out of him. “Oh, I did. Believe me, I did. She sent me some pictures, and I’ve seen the ones floating around online too. I mean… she looked absolutely stunning. Like, knock-you-out, breathtakingly gorgeous. I might be a little biased, but still.”

The crowd nearby caught wind of his gushing, and a few cheers erupted. Pedro laughed, scratching the back of his neck.

“Honestly, I’m so proud of her,” he continued, his voice softening. “She poured so much of herself into that screenplay, and to see her get the recognition she deserves? It’s the best feeling in the world.”

The interviewer smiled. “There’s definitely a lot of love and mutual admiration between you two. Word on the street is you’ve got a bit of a friendly competition going on—Gladiator 2 versus Wicked. Any truth to that?”

Pedro chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Oh, it’s absolutely true. We’ve got a bet going. She’s convinced Wicked is going to sweep the box office, and I, of course, have complete faith in Gladiator 2. Let’s just say the stakes are high—winner gets breakfast in bed for a week.”

The interviewer laughed along with him. “That’s adorable. Who’s winning so far?”

Pedro smirked. “Let’s just say she’s got me a little worried. But I’ll never admit that to her.”

LATER, BACKSTAGE

Pedro leaned against the wall, sipping from a glass of water while chatting with Paul Mescal. Their conversation flowed easily, but Pedro’s gaze kept drifting toward the entrance, as if hoping for some sort of miracle.

“You’ve got that look again,” Paul teased, nudging him with his elbow.

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning ignorance.

“The ‘I’m desperately in love and missing my girl’ look,” Paul quipped with a grin.

Denzel Washington, who had just joined the conversation, chuckled. “He’s not wrong, man. You’ve been staring off into space like a lovesick teenager.”

Joe Quinn walked by, overhearing the exchange and throwing in his two cents. “It’s cute, though. Very romantic. Someone should write a movie about it.”

Pedro rolled his eyes, though a bashful smile crept onto his face. “Okay, okay, I miss her. Can you blame me? She’s halfway across the world, and I can’t stop thinking about her.”

Frank, Pedro’s manager, stepped in, giving him a supportive pat on the back. “You’ve got it bad, buddy. But hey, it’s not a bad problem to have.”

Frank couldn’t help but smile to himself, already knowing what Pedro didn’t—that you were on your way. He could only imagine Pedro’s reaction when he saw you walk through those doors.

“Alright,” Pedro said with a dramatic sigh, “can we please focus on the fact that we’re here for Gladiator 2 and not my love life?”

“Sure,” Paul said, smirking. “But if she shows up, we’re all watching you lose it.”

Pedro laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll take that bet.”

Little did he know, he was about to owe a lot of people a round of drinks.

UNITED KINGDOM, LONDON, ODEON LUXE LEICESTER SQUARE — EVENING  

The crowd in the after-party buzzed with excitement, a mix of A-list chatter and glasses clinking. Pedro stood near Lux, their conversation about the night’s success lighthearted, though his gaze kept drifting toward the entrance. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, only that the ache of missing you hadn’t dulled, even amidst all the celebration.  

Lux, sharp-eyed as always, caught the slight shift in his expression and smirked. “You’ve got that look again,” she teased.  

“What look?” Pedro asked, feigning nonchalance as he sipped his drink.  

“The one that screams, ‘I wish she were here.’” Lux nudged his arm playfully.  

Before he could muster a witty retort, Lux’s eyes darted toward the entrance, widening in surprise. “Well, speak of the devil…”  

Pedro turned, following her gaze, and the breath left his lungs.  

There you were, stepping into the room, your black silk gown catching the dim lights perfectly. Your hair, slightly tousled from the rush, framed your face with an effortless beauty that made his heart stop. Heads turned as you walked in with Frank, but Pedro didn’t notice anyone else.  

He froze, jaw slack, his mind racing to comprehend that you were actually here.  

“Pedro,” Lux whispered, amused. “Close your mouth before you catch a fly.”  

But Pedro couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. All he could do was watch as you walked toward him, the soft smile on your lips turning into a grin as your eyes met his. He vaguely registered Joe, Paul, and Denzel laughing nearby, but he didn’t care. You were here.  

When you finally stopped in front of him, your grin widened, and you quipped, “Sorry, I’m late. Traffic was terrible—there’s a movie premiere happening, and I—”  

Before you could finish, Pedro moved.  

He swept you up in his arms, lifting you off your feet as a chorus of cheers, whistles, and laughter erupted around you. You let out a surprised giggle, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he held you close, burying his face against your shoulder.  

“Dios mío,” Pedro murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re here.”  

“I’m here,” you whispered back, your fingers threading through his curls.  

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes brimming with love. “I can’t believe this. You’re really here.”  

You smiled, tears threatening to spill as you cupped his face. “I couldn’t let you have all the fun without me.”  

Pedro didn’t hesitate. He closed the distance, kissing you with a fervor that made the entire room fade away. The kiss was deep, all-consuming, and when you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless.  

Your laughter broke the moment, and Pedro pressed his forehead to yours, his hands still firmly around your waist as if afraid you might disappear. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly.  

“For what?” you asked softly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.  

“For being here. For being you. For… everything.” His voice was low, reverent. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’ll never stop thanking the universe for it.”  

You kissed him again, a soft press of lips this time, and smiled against his mouth. “You don’t have to thank the universe. Just let me love you.”  

Pedro let out a soft laugh, his arms tightening around you. “You’re incredible, you know that?”  

“You’ve mentioned it once or twice,” you teased, resting your head against his chest as the room slowly came back into focus.  

From the sidelines, Joe nudged Paul, chuckling. “Think he’s gonna let her go anytime soon?”  

Paul smirked. “Not a chance.”  

Denzel clinked his glass against Joe’s. “Now that’s a man in love.”  

And Pedro? He didn’t care about the laughter, the cameras, or even the early morning call time tomorrow. For now, you were in his arms, and nothing else mattered.

[ultralightpoe]

JUNO - Bucky Barnes

Authors Note: Gah, here we go again with the bucky fics since he looked so damn good in that trailer! Enjoy!

Word Count: 4215

Warnings: SMUT SMUT SMUT.....and more smut.

Requests: OPEN

Main Masterlist ~ ~ Halloween 2024 Event

[Thank you for the gif @ayo-edebiri ]

Enjoy!

“Don't have to tell your hot ass a thing

Oh yeah, you just get it

Whole package, babe, I like the way you fit

God bless your dad's genetics, mm, uh”

-

You were a terrible terrible person, this was a fact. It would be put on whatever wikipedia page they made for villains as soon as people figured it out, which considering the rage building in your body would be any moment now. Why were you a terrible person? That’s easy to explain. 

There was a time where everyone avoided your boyfriend like the plague, when the Winter Soldier cliche had been stuck to his image like a nail in a tire and everyone treated him like crap. And who stayed by his side? You. Not that it was ever about keeping score because you just wanted what was best for him. But now that people are all about kissing his ass since he had some new found fame? You wished things would go back to the way they were. And that made you a terrible person. 

Who would want things to go back when your love was treated terribly?

But then you see girls like Montana clinging to his side and that little green monster in the pit of your stomach begins growing and growing until it leads to moments like now, with you standing at the bar clutching your glass like it was the only thing tethering you to this earth. 

Yet another gala was being thrown, this time it was ‘Rockstars for Schooling Funds’ and Bucky was required to attend for PR. And attend your man did. The jacket, the tie, the pushed back hair and the hot ass glare. 

From the second you saw him ready for tonight you were ready to pull him into the bedroom and never leave, your skin grew hot just remembering the feeling of his hands roaming your body as you tried to lead him into the bedroom. He obviously didn’t fall for it and now you were here watching Montana hold onto his arm as she laughed at something he said. 

As if sensing your glare he turns to catch your eye, and you know that he was surveying your safety by the sharp look in his eyes and all you can think was ‘God bless your dads genetics’.  But you refuse to break for him, so you shrug and turn back to the bar ready to order yourself another drink. 

Best thing about wearing a dress like the one you were wearing tonight? Attention.  Within seconds the men at the bar were clamoring to buy you a drink, crooked smiles and lame pick up lines. The prized contender? The southern man with kind eyes wearing his very own black cowboy hat. 

This could be fun. 

“What’ll it be?” He drawls and you have to fight off the blush filling your cheeks just at the sound of it. 

“Hmm, I haven't decided yet.” You flirt, batting your lashes for a second. “Think you can help a girl out?”

“There’s the ‘Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy’.” He reads off the little menu, looking up to you from under his hat, giving a smooth wink and you huff out a small laugh. 

“Would it be worth my time?”

“It’s the best on the menu from what I can see.” As if on cue you both look out to the crowd around you at the gala, with loud music and cheesy rockstar costumes, and whilst he is trying to make a point your eyes roam for a familiar head of hair. But the group that Bucky had been sitting with for the past 30 minutes was now short a member, your man. “Who would want to waste time with any of these cruds when you could have a real drink sugar?”

But the words were lost on you as your eyes traced over the room in a hurried panic. Where did he go?

But then your nose fills with a familiar woodsy scent as a familiar arm wraps around your waist in a tight grip that has the cowboy standing straight up in his own panic. 

“Yeah Doll, how bout a real drink?”

-

“You make me wanna make you fall in love

Oh, late at night, I'm thinking 'bout you, ah-ah

Wanna try out my fuzzy pink handcuffs?

Oh, I hear you knockin', baby, come on up”

-

That little green monster building in your stomach? Now she had a fire pal burning straight through your skin at the image of the icy glare Bucky managed to send in the cowboys direction, the fingers on your waist tightening and digging into your skin. 

“I was just talking to my friend here about drinks.” You hum out, watching his jaw tighten as he continues to glare. “What do you know about drinks?”

The cowboy, who you now knew to be a foolish man since he still stood in that spot, lets out a smooth chuckle. “Considering he’s holding an old fashioned I would say not much, Sugar.”

“Really? I always thought that the old fashioned ways worked in seduction. At least they did for me.” Bucky all but growls out, pulling you closer to him. “Now how bout we ask the gal. Do my old fashioned ways work?” 

As if to prove his point he presses his thigh between your legs just a notch and squeezed at your waist, you were lost. 

“No words? Hmm? Interesting.” He smiles, “Think you need a break from the crowd?”

He doesn’t waste time waiting for an answer, rather he keeps his grip on your waist as he leads you through the large gala, keeping the glare on his features that has people backing away to avoid his anger. You however basked in it, and as he lead you into the bathroom with the slam of the door and an easy movement to lock the door. 

You got right to work, hopping onto the counter and wiggling a bit as he turns back to you. 

You look up at him through you lashes, kicking one foot out a bit to expose your leg to him. “I mean not that I don’t love this vibe, we didn’t pack the handcuffs baby.” 

“Oh so the pretty girl thinks she’s funny.” He chuckles, stepping forward and moving his hands to the top of your thighs to squeeze before pulling you forward harshly. “In case you haven’t realized it, this is the moment where you start giving me reasons to give you what you so badly want.” 

Words failed you as his palms roamed your skin, rubbing soft circles to begin pushing up your dress. 

“Oh, I’m the one in trouble here?” You huff, leaning back as he pushed his way in between your thighs. “Funny, here I was thinking of granting you mercy.”

“Oh that’s how we are playing it, huh?” And just like that he is pressing the pad of his flesh thumb right onto your core, pulling a sharp gasp from you as you tried to close your legs out of instinct only for him to press you down with his metal hand. “You were saying, sugar?”

“Oh…” You moan, back arching as he circles his thumb with a smug smile, leaning into you to pull your lips into a fervent kiss. It draws your breath until your gasping into him for air, your hands woven into his hair to keep him there and save you all in the same go while he teases at pulling your panties down only to pull back in a matter of seconds leaving you there to try and catch your breath. 

Seconds away from achieving your high only to be left stranded leaves you whining and leaning forward to get him back into your arms. 

He tsks at you, pushing you back gently as you continue whining. 

“What will you give me?”

“Anything.” You gasp out, kissing at the wrist of the hand holding you back, nipping at the flesh of it as you reach for him metal arm to pull you back in. He gives in a little, allowing you to press your hips into his so release some of the pressure. “Please baby.”

“Then how about you behave for the last hour, and we’ll go home and get you sorted. Yeah?”

“Fine,” You snip out, tracing your hand up his metal arm before making it to his collarbone and pressing your hips further into his. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

-

“I know you want my touch for life

If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno

You know I just might”

-

And you feel like a fool for making that promise as he leads you through the crowd once more, this time with a pressure begging to be released in your lower belly as he keeps his metal hand on your lower back. The chill of the metal while your body is ablaze has you reeling, reaching a hand back to keep a hold on him. 

You think of all the things he can do to you as he talks with the Galas president, digging your nails into the sleeve of his tux as you push your thighs together a bit, leaning your nose into him to inhale his scent as he talks with a bold presence. 

When that Montana girl comes back you learn that she is an assistant for the program and that little green monster leads you to nip at his ear in front of her before kissing at his neck to leave a lipstick mark. 

He looks at you for a moment, leaning in to give you a peck on the lips before turning to talk to her some more but it’s too late, you’re already in a haze. The green monster and the red flame have mixed to make their very own monster. 

So you pull him in by his tie, pressing your lips to his ear and whispering the words you knew would break him. “Gimme me a baby.”

-

“Let you lock me down tonight

One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love (Oh)”

-

It was the one secret weapon you’ve never used, but have always known about. 

Back in the beginning of the relationship while you were learning the ins and outs of eachother you noticed how much he loved the pill since it hadn’t been too popular back in his day. He loved the freedom it gave him to mark you as his, but you also noticed the lingering gaze on your stomach and or the intent look he gave when you took the pill. 

But you had never been ready for a kid, you wanted to save that for that someone special who you could raise them with. But you knew that Bucky was it, you knew that he was your touch for life. Why not give in?

And the thrill of giving in the second his eyes meet yours makes it worth it, seeing the heat as he pulls you in so tight you might as well be one person. 

“Come on baby, one of me is cute but two though?” You whisper, leaning up to bite at his lip before his hands come up to pull you into a feral kiss as he begins to lead you out the doors. 

-

“I showed my friends, then we high-fived (Ah-ah)

Sorry if you feel objеctified (Ah-ah)

Can't help myself, hormonеs are high

Give me more than just some butterflies”

-

“Easy there.” He grunts out the second you press him into the seats of the limo, straddling him with ease as your nails rake down his chest to begin tracing the buttons of his shirt. “I might feel objectified.”

“I don’t give a shit,” You gasp, ripping his shirt open before attacking his chest with kisses. You take to kissing his chest, dragging your lips from spot to spot in order to mark him as much as you can as he pulls you down to move his hips into your with a groan. 

Your eyes flutter closed at the heat that crosses through your body at the sound, whining out a bit as he begins to grind into you, pulling you up from his chest with a swift pull to lock your lips together as the limo makes a turn. 

The kiss was feral, teeth gnashing, thigh clenching kiss that has you gripping his shoulders and pushing your hips into his a little quicker. Biting down onto his lip when he stills your hips with his hands before pulling back. 

“You gonna let me lock you down?” He whispers, rubbing your hip as he moves you with ease until your legs are splayed over his lap and he can reach between them to pull more moans from you. “Gonna let me keep you forever?”

“Yes….” You whine out the second he begins rubbing at your core once more, this time with the metal hand. The chill of the metal over the fabric is driving you crazy and you press your hips up for more pressure and as a sign you want the panties off. 

He is quick to oblige, pulling his hand to the waistband of them and ripping them off in one easy movement before pushing his fingers back to ease one into your center. “I’ll give you anything you want. But you already knew that when you said I could give you a baby. Didn’t you?”

And just like that he pushes two more fingers in, curling them in a fluid motion as his lips press into the pressure point of your throat. He works his fingers in a fast paced motion as you close your eyes and give into the feeling, letting him suck and bite at your neck as much as he wanted to. 

And once you reach your high he merely speeds up his movements until your shaking in his lap. 

“Atta girl.” He grunts, pulling his fingers up to suck on while you blink at him, still shaking from that orgasm. 

“I love you.” You murmur to him, leaning on for a gentle kiss. He laughs into it, rubbing at the back of your neck in a sweet gesture before putting your torn panties in his pocket and looking to see how close you are to home. 

-

“You make me wanna make you fall in love

Oh, late at night, I'm thinking 'bout you, ah-ah

Wanna try out some freaky positions?

Have you ever tried this one?”

-

The calm ease he had built up for the rest of the limo ride was quick to vanish the second the limo pulled up to the curb, pushing the door open and pulling you out so quickly your legs swing until he pulls you up so you can wrap them around his waist. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” You giggle, letting him carry you inside until the front door closes and he can set you down to lock it. Even in the mix of all this he can never slack on your safety, and you were sure that once he spent all your energy he would come down here for one last safety check. 

You let him do what he needed to do, walking to the kitchen with a fleeting look to him before grabbing a glass of water to sip on while you waited, legs still a little shaky. But you don’t have much time since he comes around the corner into the kitchen, leaning on the fridge with a small smile as he watches you every movement. 

“Everything locked up and safe?” You ask, moving one step closer to him.

“Yes.” He responds, the deep voice causing a shiver to move down your spine as he takes a step similar to yours without taking his eyes off you. 

“I think it’s so hot you know.” One of his eyebrows raise at your words, the small smile turning into a smirk. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone in this world as protective as you.”

He merely hums back, taking another step closer as his eyes roam over your body. “Yeah?”

“Mmhmm. And I was thinking that you deserved an award.” 

“I do?” You almost laugh at how innocent the question comes out, but you don’t have time since your already turning to press yourself into the counter, pushing your hips out and pulling your dress up to expose yourself to him as he audibly growls. “Have we every tried this before?”

-

“I know you want my touch for life

If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno

You know I just might”

-

His hands are upon you in an instant, rubbing at your hips as his body presses into yours to kiss at the back of your neck, and you realize that he is still wearing his undershirt and pants. The metal of the belt buckle digs into your back as you reach back to undo his belt. 

You hear him undo it and get ready, pressing your forehead into the tile of the counter as he grabs your hands and begins wrapping your hands together with the leather belt. And you should be embarrassed at the moan that fills the air once you realize what he is doing before he undoes his pants and you feel him press at your center. 

He’s quick to press in, and you both your moans fill the air as he presses his forehead into the exposed skin of your back before beginning to rut himself up into you. With every aggressive push of his hips into yours the doors of the cabinet on the counter shake, the cold tile of the counter hitting your hip over and over and over as he claims you for his own. 

With one hand holding the belt that is biting into the flesh of your wrists and the other holding the counter to keep you both stable he stands straight and lets free. Every harsh threat is followed by his grunts and your moans, the sound of skin slapping filling the room before the hand from the counter comes to hold your hair. 

It’s feral, and hot. And the feeling of his flesh hand pulling at your hair has you tightening around him enough that he can’t fight his own moan. 

And the second you hear it you are coming undone around him, shaking harshly as he keeps you held up before you collapse, continuing his thrusts until you reach the peak of the high once more and spasm around him. 

Once you come down, panting heavily and keeping your forehead pressed into the cold tile, he works on undoing his belt to release you as he pulls himself out of you and pulls his pants up. 

You are quick to turn on him, tears in your eyes partly due to the intense orgasm and the fact that you still haven’t gotten what you wanted. “Baby please….”

“Easy doll.” He whispers, pulling you into his arms to wrap himself around you, picking you up easily. “You’ll get it. Don’t you fret.”

-

“Let you lock me down tonight

One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love”

-

He carries you into the bedroom bridal style, setting you down at the foot of the bed before leaning down to grab the end of your dress and pull it over your head, kissing his way up your body so slowly you feel like you might just die. By the time the fabric is over your head he throws it to the side, his gaze meeting yours in a tense blaze. 

You knew within an instant that he had gotten serious, and as you kept your gaze on his he let your hands roam until you begin pulling his undershirt off before you reach to undo his waistband. “What’s that look for?”

“Did you know….” He keeps his voice to a whisper as he kicks off his shoes and shucks off his pants, pulling off his socks and throwing everything to the side before moving his hands to either side of your cheeks. “That it’s not actually proven that the amount of orgasms a women has is connected to their ability to conceive.”

“Yeah?” You smile, waiting for him to get to the point 

“I did a lot of research.” He says proudly, “So though the amount of orgasms I give you don’t end up mattering in the end…..they sure are fun.”

And you can’t fight the loud laugh that escapes when he gently tackles you onto the bed, making it bounce a bit as he pushes your thighs open with his hands and pressing them into you by the backs of them. 

“You ready doll?”

“Always for you sergeant.”

-

“Adore me

Hold me and explore me

Mark your territory (Ah-ah)

Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one (Ah-ah)”

-

He keeps the eye contact, soft and open, as he slides himself between your folds to use your past orgasms as his lubricant before pressing into your center and moaning a bit as he pushes himself in. Whereas the romp downstairs had been feral and fast this one started slow, allowing him to kiss at your face as you adjusted to his size this time. 

His weight presses you into the bed, and your hands find purchase at his back so he can pull himself back before pushing his hips back into yours. Slow and precise, every pull he left a kiss and every push has just enough friction on your core that has you arching your back. 

It had been years of him learning your body and by this point he knew how to play it like the back of his hand. It was his and he liked keeping what's his cared for. When you arched a little more he knew he should speed up, and when you closed your eyes he reached a hand down to grip at the fat of your ass, fingers digging in as he readjusted you both for more pleasure. 

And once you came around him, spasming and moaning loudly, all bets were off. 

-

“Adore me

Hold me and explore me (Ah-ah)

I'm so fuckin' horny

Tell me I'm the only, only, only, only one”

-

His entire weight comes down, crushing you beneath him not that your complaining. Between the warmth of his skin and the mix of your sweat with his you both have traction to move as his thrusts turn wild. 

Over and over at a speed he hadn’t reached with you before, his eyes are clenched shut as he ruts into you, overstimulating you as you begin to sob from the pleasure. Your entire body shakes with every intense hump. 

Between his thrusts you meet your peak once more, screaming out as his own thrusts become erratic and harsher. 

By the time he finishes he leans down to your ear so you can hear the heavy moan that escapes him as he fills you to the brim, shaking and pinching you with his metal arm. And his release seems never ending as he continues to thrust, until you are both completely spent and collapse into the cool sheets. 

-

“(Oh, I) I know you want my touch for life

If you love me right, then who knows?

I might let you make me Juno

You know I just might (Might)”

-

You had managed to fall asleep and only woke up at the realization that he wasn’t near you, vision blurry as you looked around. He had cleaned you up and tucked you in with a glass of water on the nightstand, but his side of the bed was  empty. 

So you sit up, ready to go check on him, until you realize how sore you were and stay on the bed to listen for him. You hear the sound of him shuffling around downstairs to check all the locks before he begins climbing up the stairs. 

You know he makes the noise for you, otherwise he would be as stealthy as an assassin. 

By the time he enters the doorway there is a small smile playing at his lips while you open your arms and pull him in to lay with you. 

“Goodnight.” You whisper. 

“Goodnight, Doll.”

-

“Let you lock me down tonight

One of me is cute, but two though?

Give it to me, baby

You make me wanna make you fall in love”

-

The waiting was the most dreadful feeling. 

Sitting on the edge of the bathtub with the test sitting on the counter between where you sat and where your husband sat in the hallway with the back of his head laid against the door. 

It was silent but not in a malicious way, more of a calming way as his metal hand whirred before the alarm on your phone goes off and you both shoot up to look. 

“Is it…”

“I….”

And you both lean to look at the same time to see just how well those new positions took.

-

[beeseverywhen]

today on confessions that probably should be anonymous:

once years ago, I saw an info graph on here that was a body odor wheel. a wheel with all the possible categories of human body odor all split in to different segments so 'fruit' including grapefruit, 'veg' including onion, 'animal like' including goat. anyway for some unexplainable reason this really stuck with me, I've never forgotten it, just lives in my head now and whenever I smell b.o in public my first impulse isn't even to be grossed out now, it's to (I know this is weird lol) try to categorise what type of body odor that bus or train carriage, particularly smells like. Anyway goat comes up a lot. Which has always surprised me as I tend to associate pink grapefruit with sweat. (I won't use pink grapefruit cosmetics cause they smell like sweat to me)

[justatypicalwizard]

Katsuki doesn't believe in love at first sight

Katsuki never believed in love at first sight. How could someone meet eyes and feel as if a thunder ruptured down from the skies and struck them? To love someone means to accept every part of them and to be able to incorporate them into your everyday life. It means building a brand new everyday with that person.

In order to do so you need to know a lot about them. Who they are, what are their plans for the future, what is their character and so on. Then you need to see if you are compatible in many spheres. You need to invite them to your friends group to see if it’ll hit off, you should try living together, they need to get to know your parents.

There are simply so many things to check off the list in order to be able to say you love someone. Otherwise it’s just empty words. I love you here and there. I love you for a week. I love you when you do as I please. Bullshit.

Mina constantly pestered Katsuki that his definition of love feels more like a chore or a job interview than like something a human would be able to accomplish. It wasn’t his fault he had some standards everyone else seemed to lack.

So even now Katsuki doesn’t like to admit that he fell in love at first sight, because it wasn’t the first time when he looked at you.

A quiet ping of his phone tore him out of his work. A new message from someone he didn’t recognise. Without much thought he opened the text.

[Hi, you may not know me but we go to the same lecture on Wednesday at 1 PM. I heard you have neat notes and wanted to ask if it wouldn’t be a problem if you send me today’s ones. I  got sick and couldn’t come and I wouldn’t want to fall behind with the material. Thanks!]

Geez, was there a longer way to type it? Couldn’t you just write: can you give me notes? On the other hand he always complained about people being douchebags.

Clicking onto your profile Katsuki saw a cheesy photo and a few posts from your daily life and vacations. Nothing much to be honest. Yet, he could vaguely remember your face around the people who entered the lecture hall. It won’t hurt to help.

[Sure]

[File attached]

Pushing his phone to the far end of his desk he went back to work. A few minutes later there was another quiet ding and this time Katsuki felt irritation bubbling inside him. It was you once again.

[Thank you so much!]

[I owe you]

[If you ever need anything feel free to write]

Whatever.

It only took a week for Katsuki to be indeed looking for help from someone. Once in a while, during his hero training, he was forced to pair up with someone in order to work on his rescue skills. Usually they’d use dummies but some fucktard in the course planning team decided that it would be most helpful if the students could train with a real human.

Normally Katsuki would ask Mina. He’d swallow his pride and force himself to listen to her babbling for two hours. Just to get it done. Unfortunately, Mina dumped him today, leaving only a [sorry, not feeling well, find someone else]. Damned flu season.

Who was he supposed to ask now, Denki?

As he scrolled down his chats, your profile pic flew by making Katsuki halt.

If you ever need anything feel free to write.

Screw it, you said it yourself, might as well find a person already and move on with his day. He typed a quick explanation and pushed the send button. The day was nearing the afternoon when you responded.

[Sure, if it’s two hours I can make it. Send me when and where I should be]

He shrugged and gave you the address for today's training.

In the early evening Katsuki found himself trotting towards his usual fighting ground absentmindedly. He was thinking about something related to work at Miruko’s when the idea flew out of his head. You were there, he could see you from afar, walking in circles in front of the main door.

Were you an idiot? It was the middle of winter and the early evening cold tore through layers of warm coats to sink into your bones. Why weren’t you entering the building to warm up a bit.

That’s why Katsuki is so stubborn about the whole love at first sight thing. It certainly wasn’t that exact moment when his heart skipped a beat because of you. You were shivering, hiding your chin and red tinted cheeks deeper into the collar of your winter coat. When you spotted him you reached out a gloved hand and waved.

“What the fuck are you doing outside, get in there or you’ll catch another cold.” He persisted, ushering you towards the entrance.

“Wow, good evening to you too.” You looked at him from under your woollen hat, surprised to get yelled at first thing you see him. Though, you did hear the upcoming pro-hero Dynamite, who went to the same lecture as you, was rather intense. “I don’t know, this place just looks fancy. Didn’t want to stand inside like a dumbass not knowing where to go.”

“So you stood outside like a dumbass not knowing where to go.”

“Exactly.”

He let you in and showed you around. After leaving your coat and getting a warm tea (his idea), you were ready to help with his training. The support students and university staff running around asked you to take off any unnecessary piece of clothing such as jewellery or sweaters that could get in the way. You gladly went through with their instructions.

You b-lined another student, a senior support course, who showed you the place where you’d be waiting to be rescued. The spacious arena was moulded into the shape of a city. Some buildings were fine, others rundown as if a villain attack rolled over them. There were paveways and roads, streetlamps and plastic trees. You even spotted a car, though it didn’t look like it could take off anytime soon. 

“It will look the same over and over. You sit or lie down in the place where I leave you and wait for your hero.” Your guide briefed the rules. “And every time pick out a different scenario and tie the band in the place that is put on it.” He handed you a dozen of ribbons with small notes attached to them. The first one you grabbed read: broken arm (tie around elbow).

“Sure.” You nodded your head and he left you on the second floor of a wannabe office building. There were a few chairs scattered around and a table that had a weird bite mark on it. You obediently wrapped the band around your arm and sat down on the floor, waiting.

You wondered how it’ll be, to get fake rescued. You were never in such a situation, always watching the villains from the comfort of your TV rather than first hand. What was Dynamite’s quirk? Suddenly you felt stupid for not knowing. On the other hand, you were never up to date with new heroes and all the popularity polls or colourful magazines. Guess you’d just have to wait and see.

Katsuki didn’t leave you for long. You were counting the pieces of shattered glass beneath your feet when a series of explosions passed beside the building. The small pieces you were meticulously adding shook and you let out a squeak when something heavy hit the wall behind you.

“Shut up, it's me.” Craning your neck, you saw Dynamite’s face, upside down, looking at you. He was halfway through the window. “What have you got?”

“God, you scared me.” You chuckled but quickly shut your mouth. The guide asked you to play the best victim you can. Victims shouldn’t laugh.

Dynamite hopped in front of you and crouched to read the note attached to your elbow. He mumbled something in the lines of fucking scenario and looked you straight in the eye.

“I’m gonna get you out of here.”

There wasn’t anything dramatic going on, it was even quiet outside save for a few shouts here and there. Yet, there was just something in a bulked man looking at you and promising you protection, one secured by his own arms. You felt like the guy from the firefighters video.

You couldn’t stop the giggle at the thought.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?” Dynamite spat.

“Nothing, nothing.” You shook your hands in front of your still laughing face. “Oh shit, this one’s supposed to be broken. Okay, just save me already.” You really fought with the snicker but the cheesiness and awkwardness of the whole situation had you in a chokehold.

“Whatever.” The hero sighed, visibly annoyed, and scooped you into his hands like a sack of potatoes. “I’ll need you to wrap your legs around me. Push the broken arm into my chest and use your healthy one to hold onto me.”

You did as instructed and glued yourself to him as tight as you could. He still held you with one of his arms and just when you started to wonder how the two of you would get down from the second floor he jumped out of the window.

A scream escaped your lips but it was muffled by a loud explosion.

For the next two hours you flew through the air in Dynamite’s hands over and over again. He held you in different ways, depending on your supposed injury, but every time you landed into the safe zone, you realised you were the first or nearly the first. That guy was quick like hell.

The last scenario rolled over and it was a panic attack. You were supposed to be physically fine but otherwise unresponsive and difficult to work with due to your shock. Dynamite tried to take extra steps to calm you down, speaking about how he’ll take you to safety and how it will all be over in a second. It looked like he was having a hard time.

“I need to touch you to take you somewhere safe.” He said, wrapping one of his hands around you.

When you were both at the safe zone, with cardboard paramedics to take care of you, Dynamite did something different. Instead of leaving you in the place where the group of injured would grow, he carried you straight to the ambulance.

“She has a panic attack.” He said to the empty fake vehicle and you just couldn’t take any more of it. You erupted in a fit of laughter. Your body shook in his hands and you gripped the X on his uniform to steady yourself. “What the fuck?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” You tried to explain but the laughter squeezed your throat. “I’m a shitty actor.”

“I see that.” Dynamite grumbled.

“Do you really need to talk to cardboard people and empty vehicles for two hours every week?” You asked, wiping a tear from your cheek.

“Is it really that fucking funny?”

“No, no! I get it.” You finally calmed down, letting go of the front of his costume. “It’s not that funny, maybe a bit but not that much. I think I’m just in a good mood.” You shrug your shoulders. “It was fun, flying with you, like a free rollercoaster ride.” You gave him a big, big smile. A big genuine smile. A big, genuine, lovely smile, with your eyes closed and teeth out and cheeks tinted pink.

People are stupid. That’s what Katsuki thinks. It’s not love at first sight. It’s love because of a single sight.

Even though Katsuki came to some fundamental conclusions in the topic of love he would get all defensive and intense when he was asked about how the two of you met. It would sound way better if he could say the two of you met, then started to talk more, then went on a date and agreed to meet each other and so on. He just felt so stupid, so awkward and silly when he had to admit that all it took for you was a single smile to make his heart skip a beat.

The worst part? It felt a little pathetic honestly, as if people never smiled at him, but truthly they didn’t, not like that. Not like you.

Katsuki still doesn’t believe in love at first sight. Yet, every other piece of his meticulously calculated equation of love was torn down and rewritten, all of which he gladly took.

[icarusallusion]

One of the main reasons I've been so fond of Otasune since I first knew it was a thing was because I think they're genuinely one of the purest forms of love in Metal Gear.

Throughout the series we see horrible relationships between horrible people trying to get by and then that relationship gets dragged through the awful scenarios they live with, be it war, internal struggles, infidelity etc. Despite this common place struggle with so many other characters, we see Otacon and Snake steadfast loyal and healthy throughout every struggle they go through.

They may not be an official couple, but they will always stay the most communicative relationship even outside of shipping. I see people joke about how Otacon kind of bosses Snake around (especially in MGS4), but I always saw it as refreshing. In the series, there is so many times where x character does something horrendous and y character just sits aside and silently sulks about it.

But this doesn't happen, like at all, with Dave and Hal. There are many times where Snake doesn't think about consequences to his actions as a general rule of soldier, however Hal has never been a soldier. So when these things happen, Otacon tells him off and it's something Snake genuinely needs to hear. It's something human, away from combat. Because Otacon is one of the very few characters that talks to Snake as a person, as a human, not as a soldier or fucked up clone baby.

Snake has gone his whole life scrapping the bottom of the barrel to stop feeling so lonely, he flirts with every woman he sees, he attaches himself very easily onto superiors, etc. Snake is a man who has spent his whole life trying to appeal to people, to get the praise he was never allowed as a child. Otacon gives him the comfort he never got. While any military superior can say Dave is the best of the best. None will look him in the face and tell him he has to live to just live.

Hal also opens a lot of doors to Snake's own discovery about himself. While this next point might sound a little cringy, stick with me. People may joke about the anime interest Snake and Otacon share, but it always came across so genuinely sweet to me. Snake's only interests up until he met Otacon have been, stop feeling lonely and war. I think even part of his musher life and interests within sledding can contribute to part of this. I mean come on, not even a regular musher keeps 50 dogs in their house and dogs are a natural remedy to loneliness. But in all seriousness, David refers to the huskies as his only family and I don't see him connecting with any other mushers he works with, it reads as him wanting to not be alone while also still being so lonely. As well as how mushing is considered a more normal interest than being an otaku, especially in the early 2000s. Mushing is a sport, and being an Otaku was pretty much unheard of or hated. Watching this guy who has been stuffed full of war propaganda scream a dorky "falcon punch" and "ninjutsu" with his best friend is so heartwarming in a way.

As well as Otacon's whole meme turned question of "do you think love can bloom on the battlefield?" Is something that I think Snake needed to be asked. It's probably been something he's been thinking about. It is also one of the most human things Snake asked throughout the game. About finding love in fear. Otacon constantly prods into Snake's heart and brings out the good in him.

Not only does Hal open up a space for Snake to have genuine unashamed interests and show true pure humanity. He also shows off their childhood. Both Hal and David never got proper childhoods. They connect that with each other through cheesy animes, talking about uncertainty in love, finding out what life is all about, navigating feelings, and through that damn cheesy handshake hug. It's all genuinely pure and wholesome love that connects what they didn't get to explore in childhood with one another. When Snake opened that piss covered locker and saved Otacon, he brought his own salvation into his life without knowing it. The very presence of Otacon saved Snake. It's why MGS4 felt so depressing for me especially, the strain between Snake and Otacon left a hole in my little heart and made Snake feel even more hopeless.

I also want to talk about how Snake benefited Otacon.

Otacon begins as cowardly and timid, he's an incredibly insecure character that struggles to connect with others, probably stemming from the issues in his younger life. When he meets Snake, he's faced with someone he could relate to that has an outward appearance that makes him seem so much more confident than he is. Snake is not this, he's as insecure as Otacon. Indirectly, Snake is the whole reason Otacon gets on his feet to take action against terrorism, takes action to become a better person. Snake shows Hal that he doesn't haven't to be strong to do the right thing. Throughout time, Snake helps Otacon come to terms with his own self worth and issues.

In MGS2, it has one of my favorite examples. The infamous bro hug scene.

Before it, this is when Otacon allows himself to open up about his childhood, not even just Infront of Snake, Infront of Raiden too. This showcased such a development in his character because he's proudly talking about it, while even through tears he doesn't hide it anymore.

Did you know that during that scene if you pan the camera to Snake, you can see that he is crying too?

When Hal has a breakdown over his sister's death, Snake is there to comfort him as well as tell him how it is in bluntness with a hand on his back that he needs to save people. It isn't cold or callous, it's letting Otacon know that he has something worth fighting for after a loss like that. Then when they face one another, they embrace each other and Snake tells Hal that he believes in him. Hal spent a lot of time as a scientist, hoping for someone to believe in him, while Snake puts all of his belief into Hal.

I can never forget the iconic "You're the only god I can pray to, Otacon" line. Snake has a deep loyalty, love, and belief in Otacon that Otacon has never been truly given before.

They both, in turn love each other till the end of their lives. Their love was one of the most heart wrenching and beautiful things in Metal Gear Solid and it's no surprise it captivated so many people. Their relationship, whether you ship them or just see them as a bromance. There is no denying the love they feel for one another as friends or lovers is one of the most iconic and sweetest bromances out theres They have impacted so much pop culture and I love them forever, as I'm sure many of you do who read all the way to the bottom.

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt ~Dead on main~Someone is walking over my grave

Jason sits on his tombstone and thinks about..something.

He lazily washes off the dirt that has been stuck on his army boots after the rain. It covers the year of his death perfectly. Grinning, he puts out a cigarette by using the mentioned stone. The cigarette butt throws between ugly funeral wreaths.

Danny: Hey, asshole, stop it!

Jason turns around. A very angry twink is rushing at him. The notorious crime lord does not have time to react when a fist hits him. Red Hood falls into a puddle. Shit! His favorite leather jacket!

Jason: What the hell are you doing?

Danny: No. What the hell are you doing?! Just because a man is dead doesn’t mean you must not respect him. You’re in a cemetery. Behave yourself, shithead. Or I’ll teach you manners.

Jason: You’re not from around here. Right?

Danny: So what? I doubt it’s normal to wipe your feet using a tombstone. Even in Gotham.

A malicious gremlin folds his arms on a chest.

Jason sits in a puddle more comfortably and pulls another cigarette out of his pocket. Damn, it’s wet.

Jason: If you were gothamite, I wouldn’t have to explain. It’s my grave, idiot. I do what I want with it.

Jason throws useless source of nicotine at his photo with black ribbon. The person who convicted him takes a couple of seconds to compare the vandal to the buried one.

Danny: Aw, shit, man. My bad, I didn’t mean to interrupt your break.

Jason’s eyebrow rises in surprise. From the outsider he expected more screaming and running. Not…apologies.

Jason: Yeah? Tell that to my favorite leather jacket. Now you can bury it next to me.

Bad Jason, bad. That’s not how normal people talk.

Danny: I’ll make amends. Tomorrow, okay? It’s my first working day. I’ve decided not to take my wallet. Need to find a safe route.

Jason: First day?

Danny: Yes, new cemetery guard here in the flesh. But I have not had time to meet all of inhabitants. Mistook you for a bad boy in a story. Well, it is your fault too! I understand you’re upset about death or maybe about the color of wreaths but please just put all the shit in the trash. I’m Danny, by the way.

Jason: Ha, I was wondering why there was no regular dude at work. Probably my neighbors drove him to a breakdown. He was an asshole, so no regrets.

Danny: Do you think so? Mrs Dent didn’t seem restless to me, she was quite nice.

The guy didn’t seem to catch the joke. Or was crazy. Why are all the hot people in Gotham are? Doesn’t matter. Why not try, right?

Jason: Don’t worry about the money. You can repay me with something else.

Danny: So you regenerates the suit? Cool. What do you want?

Jason: Um, I don’t get it, but… as compensation, I’m wanna have your number and one date.

Danny: Sure, why not.

Danny looks at the headstone.

Danny:Can you go outside the cemetery...Jason? The place is romantic, I agree, but where I grew up, it’s not customary to bring a mate at the place of rest until you meet parents.

Jason: Seriously? Cheesy horror movies didn’t teach you not to mess with zombies?

Danny: Well, I’ve never had a partner who was attracted to my brilliant brain. It must be pretty nice. And I don’t mind a couple of love bites, zombie boy.

Danny’s playfully batting his eyelashes. Jason can’t help laughing.

Danny: The less fair opinion among my friends is that I’m just brain-dead idiot. But I think they just don’t understand the benefits of adrenaline addiction, miserable humans. *pretends to wipe off a tear*

Jason *pretends to sniff*: Aw, hell, you really are a brainless doll, aren’t you?

Danny: Even so, it just means I’m perfectly safe.

Jason: Don’t think so. I want a piece of you.

Danny: Then don’t be afraid that the feeling is mutual. My teeth are also quite sharp. And when I’m haunting, it’s not easy to get rid of me.

The cheeky smile has given way to a serious look.

Danny: If we don’t get along, tell me right away, I’m not good at reading other people’s emotions.

~~~~~

Red Hood may be the son of the greatest detective but blinded by love Jason realizes that his boyfriend is quite dead only after a couple of months. He used to think Danny was a little…weird. Well, who in Gotham isn’t? It wasn't a problem. But during a funny fight about ignoring Danny in favor of a conversation with Tim , Fenton goes through him to grab his phone and then shouts that 'ghosting him is racist'.

Jason was delighted that he was able to hide his surprise. His boyfriend was too sweet, but sometimes insecure. Jay didn’t want Danny to start being cautious. Evidently, Honey thought from the first day that Jason knows. Let him keep it that way. Nothing has changed.

But now Danny’s promises to haunt Joker for the rest of his life if Jason wants it stopped being just super-hot flirt. So Jason need to make sure he doesn’t sic his darling poltergeist or whoever Danny is on someone. Even if it sounds good.

~~~~~Family dinner~~~~~

Dick: How did you two meet?

Jason: That’s a great story. My brave man beat the vandal who was messing with my grave.

Bruce: What? Who dared?

Danny: Jason, stop. It’s embarrassing.

Jason: No~ My family needs to know that chivalry is dead. My hero. Jason can’t resist a kiss on the cheek.

Danny: Taking this opportunity, I want to thank you all. It means a lot that you accepted Jason even not fully alive.

Alfred: Nonsense. Of course we..He’s family, no matter what.

Danny: Until the death separates us. Even at a wedding, love is promised only for a while. In parenthood, they do not take any oath about it. You’d be surprised how little past relationships can mean to people and how easy it is to hate what we are.

Danny: Damn, I ruined the mood, didn’t I? Sorry.

~~~~~

Jason: B, with all due respect, back off. You should ask Constantine how to help Danny if his family becomes a problem. Don’t mark my babe as a problem.

Bruce: I asked. And he laughed at me and said that you are the one who need protection. not him. Your Fenton is dangerous. Ghosts of such power only emerge in cataclysms after a large burst of energy or reach this level after centuries of battles or cannibalism and battles.

Jason: Seriously, old man? My boyfriend’s not gonna eat me. I’m not Red riding hood and he’s clearly not pretending to be my grandmother.

~~~~~~

Danny: Hi, honey. what’s new?

Jason noted with satisfaction that Danny had eaten all the supplies he had prepared for him.

Jason: Nothing, but now I have an idea for great Halloween costumes for us. They are gonna drive the old man crazy.

Danny: Did you fight again? What is it this time?

Jason: Guess what, now B’s worried you want to bite off my dick or something.

Danny: First, eew, disgusting. Don’t talk about our intimate life with fucking Batman. Why would he think that? I like you whole.

Jason: Whore?

Danny: Idiot.They don’t even sound alike.

Jason: Just admit that I am an eye candy and kiss me already. I need a break from the madness of my family.

~~~~~

Later Danny blackmails Constantine for information about the interrogation from Batman.

Then he sends a short message to the group chat : Tell the future father-in-law that while Jason can cook, he is safe from me.

The chat explodes from questions of Batclan to Bruce. Jay has great brothers and sisters. Danny knew their chaotic energy could be relied upon.

~~~~~

In the morning Jason yells at Tim. Why the hell did Replacement put "Friends For Dinner" from The Land Before Time as his alarm melody?

~~~~~

Bruce *is suspicious of the ghosts at the wedding*.

GhostWriter: Do not think that we like it. The boy is involved in his own version of Twilight. Oh Ancients, I hope the Ancients don't know about it.

Clockwork aka one of Ancients: Come on, that’s sweet. And story will have a happy ending. I guarantee.

~~~~~

Jason's in a date simulator with no chance of losing when everyone thinks he’s in a horror game. Is Danny dangerous? Yeah. Did he hunt when they first met? Who knows. The main thing in the middle of the conversation Danny realised he found a creature with a similar sense of humor. So that made Jason 10 out of 10 aka soulmate and he would kill for him.

[wifeyoozi]

Mr. Lee Pick-me Jihoon

No because Lee Jihoon in love is utterly the most pick-me, cringey, sore loser kinda guy. Jihoon’s got this whole complex about being the perfect boyfriend, but he ends up looking like the most obvious, over-the-top lovesick mess, convinced he’s the coolest guy in the world for it. He tries to play it smooth, like he’s effortlessly romantic and all-knowing about relationships, but it’s so clear to anyone with half an eye that he’s absolutely whipped—and trying way too hard. He somehow misses the irony every single time, basking in this self-made illusion that he’s doing the most “under-the-radar” job at being completely devoted.

It’s hilarious how he’ll throw himself into these “sacrifices” for you, like he’s some kind of knight in shining armor, going out of his way for the smallest things. Once, you casually mentioned craving a certain drink from a café clear across town. The next thing you know, Jihoon’s blowing up your phone with updates as he embarks on this “heroic” journey to get it for you, acting like he’s in some epic quest. He makes a whole show out of sighing dramatically when he gets back, sweat on his brow, handing over the drink like he just saved the kingdom, while casting you these little glances to see if you’re as impressed as he thinks you should be. It’s cringey and way over the top, and yet somehow endearing—because only Jihoon would turn a coffee run into an Oscar-worthy production.

Then there’s his obsession with being ��different.” He’s convinced that he’s unlike any other boyfriend out there, a “hopeless romantic” who just gets it. The first time he tried to explain this to you, he looked off into the distance, like he was pondering some great truth, and murmured, “People these days don’t appreciate true romance, y’know? Not like I do.” You had to bite back a laugh as he continued, talking about how he thinks relationships should be full of little gestures and poetic love notes. He even tried to write you a letter once, but halfway through, he got embarrassed and tore it up because, according to him, “You deserve a better writer than me.” It was cheesy and melodramatic, yet something about his seriousness made you fall a little more in love.

And the fishing for compliments? It’s practically a full-time job for him. He’ll lean in close, adjusting his shirt or messing with his hair, pretending he doesn’t notice you watching him. “Do I look okay?” he’ll ask, like he’s casually inquiring, even though he’s practically holding his breath for your answer. If you compliment him, he’ll brush it off with a fake modest shrug, saying, “Oh, thanks, I guess…” But you know he’s about five seconds from grinning like a complete idiot and checking himself out in the mirror just because you called him cute.

But nothing beats his little sigh-filled monologues about how deeply he loves you, how his feelings are almost too much to handle. It could be the simplest moment—like the two of you watching TV on the couch, or walking through the grocery store—and suddenly, he’ll stop and say, “You know, loving you… it’s like… it’s almost too much. I don’t think you understand how intense it is.” He’ll shake his head, all serious, as if he’s grappling with this grand, tragic love, and you have to stifle your laughter because he’s acting like a main character in a soap opera. But he’s deadly serious, as if his heart can barely hold the enormity of his feelings.

Whenever he’s feeling insecure, Jihoon has this self-deprecating move he pulls, fishing for reassurance in the most obvious way. He’ll sigh and mutter, “I mean, I know I’m not like… the coolest boyfriend ever or anything…” trailing off and casting side glances at you, waiting for you to tell him he’s wonderful. When you finally give in and reassure him, he tries to keep a straight face, but you can tell by the way his shoulders relax that he’s basking in it, practically glowing under your validation.

What’s really priceless, though, is how he’s convinced that being with you makes him the luckiest person alive, and he’ll say it to you at the most random moments. “Do you realize how lucky I am?” he’ll whisper, even if you’re just brushing your teeth next to him. “Seriously. I don’t think I deserve you.” He’ll shake his head like he’s some tragic, noble hero, sighing in contentment as he gazes at you. It’s such a ridiculous, earnest display, and yet you can’t help but adore him for it.

In the end, Jihoon’s trying way too hard to be this ideal boyfriend, failing miserably at being subtle, and somehow landing squarely in “adorable loser” territory. He’s clueless to how transparent his little “cool guy” persona is, blissfully unaware that you can see right through him. But in a way, it’s what you love about him—he’s just so unapologetically and awkwardly in love, and while he thinks he’s fooling everyone, you wouldn’t have him any other way.

[hellishjoel]

ungodly and unprofessional

5.6k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

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summary: who said anything about falling in love? you're just co-workers. warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), smoking, descriptions of food and drink, reader is described to have hair (not descriptive of what color/length/etc.) and wears a waitress uniform, explicit smut, consensual somnophilia, swearing, pet names, allusions to bad parenting/parental abuse, descriptions of a parent abusing drugs and alcohol (please heed these warnings and do not read if you are concerned these may be triggers), lastly not beta'd (lmk if you're interested!) A/N: five or six months later, who really knows. believe it or not, I was never not working on this or thinking about it for all of those months... which is crazy. I completely wing these chapters which is probably why it takes so long but you guys don't mind, right? enjoy these cuties falling deeper <3 I almost forgot - shoutout to BistroHuddy on TikTok because one of their segments inspired something in here (but no spoilers!)

“To love someone is firstly to confess: I'm prepared to be devastated by you.” Billy-Ray Belcourt. 

You have this silly poetry book someone gave you as a birthday present or holiday gift exchange a few years ago. You’ve never picked it up until now. You’re shocked to say all of these cheesy love quotes and poems make you think of one very specific person: a guy with dark curls, a scruffy beard, amber eyes, and the perfect smile. Francisco. 

Falling for a man like Frankie feels like growing up— a sign of maturing compared to the ghosts of terrible boyfriend's past. 

Come to find out, it’s easier to go for the wrong guys, easier on your heart in a way — you don’t feel like you are actually losing anything. 

That’s why you would bet on losing dogs. Invest your emotions and need for romance in those who don’t reciprocate. The ones who despise commitment or lack emotional availability leave you in a state of disappointment. 

Better that than full-blown heartache. Better than ripping yourself open at the seams for another, only to be the one to sew yourself back up again. But not better than winning. 

The letter Frankie’s father sent him weeks ago had been burned into your brain. Every single word, each break of a new paragraph, lines of apologies, and convincing stories of ‘the good times’ they used to have. 

Frankie appeared to be just as wary about the letter as you were, neither of you so easily trusting. Frankie didn’t trust his father, but you did trust Frankie—end of story. 

You’ve never known Frankie to be so tightly closed about something that bothers him. He was the type of man who wears his heart on his sleeve, an open book. 

Aside from allowing you to read the letter, you two have barely spoken about it. And not due to your lack of trying. 

There wasn’t a need for you to bring clarity to the situation, it wasn’t up to you to encourage Frankie to allow his father back into his life. But there was still a lot of emotional trauma that he carried that he didn’t have to bear alone. You just wanted him to know that you support him in whatever avenue he decides is best. 

To forgive or to forget. 

Frankie releases a sigh from his parted lips, squeezing his eyes closed tighter as your alarm chimes from your phone on the bedside table. He hates the fucking morning shift. 

The air is sticky and thick, and the fan on his bedroom ceiling is doing little to help. Late August is still taking its toll on Texas and its residents, but he’s reminded that this time last year, he sunk down on his knees in the back kitchen and tasted you on his tongue for the first time. Can’t believe it’s been a year since then. Plus all the events that have transpired since. 

There’s no label between you two other than the fact you are exclusive— putting your focus on each other and not seeing other people. It was good, better than nothing with you. 

His eyelashes finally flutter open, seeing you shift in the dark to turn off the alarm, only to dig your face deep into your pillow. He thinks you’re fucking adorable. 

Frankie is by no means a morning person, but waking up beside you has changed his perspective. Your hair is a scattered mess, the ponytail having fallen loose in the tosses and turns of last night. The sunlight peaking through the blinds highlights the slope of your nose and Cupid’s bow. Arms tucked into your front, leg hiked up like a ballerina.

His mind starts to swirl at the conversation you shared recently, that you wanted to try something… new. To be surprised. To be taken by him in your sleep. 

He was shocked to hear you say it, all shy and meek - it’s not a side of you he sees often. But it’s the vulnerability talking, advocating the trust you share together. 

“I want to wake up with you inside me.”

Frankie had to blink a few times, his large hand cradling your jaw as you spoke in whispers between the sheets. “You— I didn’t know you’d be into that sort of thing.”

“We don’t have to if it’s not your thing. But there’s something about you moving me where you want me to be, being completely under your control, even a little helpless,” you pause, uncertain if your words would scare him off. 

The exact opposite. Frankie was intrigued. 

“The thrill of trying not to wake you up.” He continues, watching your glowing smile return, indicating that Frankie understands why this would feel good to you. 

“My natural reaction, trusting you, knowing that you’ll be careful, knowing that you’re using me— it’s hot, Frankie. You have my consent, I wanna try.” 

Frankie’s stomach churns with excitement, butterflies spreading through his abdomen and up to his chest, his heart thunking eagerly. 

He was slow and methodical, not wanting you to stir from your sleepy state. Nipping at his lower lip, teeth piercing the skin, he works up the courage to touch you. A rough and calloused hand travels up your side, pushing up your sleep tee and watching goosebumps line the tips of his fingers.

Frankie presses slow kisses to the top of your shoulder, feeling his cock swell against the plump of your ass in all of the excitement. He whispers your name, soft and raspy with the morning hour. Other than a small twitch of your nose, you’re out cold. 

“Shh, s’okay angel, m’gonna make you feel good.” The desire stirs in his stomach, urging him to please you in your sleep just like you asked. 

With two crooked fingers, he curls them around the band of your panties and slowly drags them down your soft thighs. You let out a slow sigh between your parted lips, Frankie pausing to watch as you settle once more. 

 Slipping two skilled fingers between your legs, he slowly massages up and down your folds. He’s surprised to already feel the slick between your legs, a low groan of approval leaving the depths of his throat. 

There’s a shift, your hips squirming for more of his touch. You’re so perfectly pliant for him, causing the embers low in his belly to grow with anticipation, the blood rushing to his cock as it hardens against the curve of your ass. 

“Good girl,” he remarks as you let out a little whimper upon the pads of Frankie’s fingers finding your swollen clit. “Even asleep, you’re nice and wet for me, princess.” 

Goddammit, he thinks, how does she have this much of an effect while perfectly asleep? He can’t stand the feeling of not touching her, the carnal need to take her was strong like a magnet, forcing their bodies together. 

One yank and he was out of his briefs, chewing on his lower lip in concentration. He needed to move you, to perfectly fit in the nook of your body, you’d have to be good and yield to him. 

Frankie hikes up your leg and fills in the spaces between your bodies, stroking over himself as he slowly lines his leaking tip along your entrance. Just as he notches his tip inside, a quiet and sleepy gasp leaves your perfect pillowy lips. 

“Right there, baby, you just stay right there for me,” Frankie growls against your ear, his hips flush with yours as he slowly lets inch by inch of him be swallowed by your warm cunt. 

After that, there wasn’t a lot of nicety to him. The level of control he carried was lost. He just wanted to take and take, feel and fuck. He wants to use you like his own personal toy; do whatever he pleases with no resistance. You were his to devour. 

He’s still inside you, but he’s gotten this far, and you’re still out. Even in sleep, you’re pulsing around his cock, so fucking tight around him that it steals the air from his lungs. There’s a hint of discomfort in your face, a quiet gasp held within your expression. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, the hand he holds firmly on your hip now moving under your sleep tee. 

You were so fucking accessible to him, so beautiful, so peaceful being fucked raw. 

He rolls your nipple between his thumb and index finger, getting the reaction he’s been waiting for all morning. A sweet, slow moan tumbles loose from your throat, your hips reeling back to grind against Frankie’s lap. 

He’s somewhat pleased he knows you this well, knows what gets you worked up and gushing. The fact that even in your sleep, you have this reaction towards him makes the fire burning inside his abdomen grow. Maybe a deep part of him gets off on knowing you so well. 

Frankie lets out a sigh at his own thoughts, lightly nipping the skin of your exposed shoulder as he slowly rolls his hips back and glides in again, feeling the drag of your tight pussy keeping him lubed up and warm.

If he weren’t so desperate to fuck you, he’d love to just sit inside you like this all goddamn day. It would probably give him the same comfort as the first cup of coffee. 

He gives your breast one more firm squeeze before returning the attention back to your clit, all desperate and tingling with each eager circle he gives you. 

“So fucking perfect,” he whispers against your ear, his hips continuing at a steady pace until he simply needs more. He hikes up your leg once again to allow himself more movement, smirking as your ass smacks against the front of his hips with each thrust that now jostles your body. 

You’ll surely wake any moment, shocked and sleepy and startled at his cock so deep inside your perfectly spent cunt. 

You whimper each time he fills you, your face digging into the pillow as you moan against the cover. Frankie’s efforts grow needy and demanding, fisting your hair out of his way as he sucks marks into your neck; teeth and tongue massaging the skin before leaving a bruise in its wake.

A sweet little sob exits your parted lips, Frankie groaning at the pretty little noises you make. 

“Take me so well, princess. You want me to keep fuckin’ you, huh?” He snarls against your neck, smirking as you hiss at the sensations you’re feeling all throughout your body.  

Suddenly, your eyes flutter open. They absorb the settings around you and it all clicks. A long, desperate moan crawls from the depths of your throat, your movements sluggish but your hand eventually clasps onto Frankie’s forearm, his fingers still swirling around your clit. 

“Ohmy— Frankie, fuck,” you gasp as you feel the full force of his cock drilling deep inside your pussy. Your voice is still thick with sleep, eyes cloudy with lust, and skin-prickling sensations that you had never felt before; a million emotions, but the standout being desperation to come undone like this with a man you trust. 

“This what you wanted, angel? Wake up with my cock stuffed between your legs?” Frankie smirks as he presses his lips against your cheek, jaw dropping against your own as you ride out the high together. 

You cry out something wrecked, a garble of syllables as your spine arches against his front. You weren’t given the pleasure of feeling the orgasm build and build; you woke up at its high heat. 

In an instant, your skin was clammy, hair sticking to your skin as desperate pants filled the room, along with broken moans of Frankie’s name. 

It’s exactly what you wanted, maybe better. Yes, way better. 

You’re so tight, literally clinging to every single inch he gives you as your slick drenches his cock. Your nails dig into his tan skin, feeling the muscles and tendons work to play with your clit. 

A whimper leaves you as the warmth in your stomach boils over, turning your head over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of his face. His eyes are dark, cast over with lust as he stole you in your sleep. In an instant, he meets you with a messy kiss, your bodies and the bed still jolting with each rough thrust he gives you. 

“Please,” you moan against his lips, nodding your head as you look into his eyes. “Come inside me, I wanna feel it, please, give it to me, Frankie,” your words turn into a whine as he begins to fuck you harder, deeper, his tip tickling your cervix as you damn near blackout from the pleasure. 

The pleasure inside of you finally reaches the surface. The feeling was like a wave breaching over your rocky shores, washing over you both in pleasure as your cunt spasms around his thick cock. 

Frankie spoils your clit as his hips snap against your ass, one, two, three more times before the feeling of you overcomes him. He braces you tightly in his arms, panting against your shoulder, eyes clenching closed as he lets out broken grunts of release. He paints your insides with his spend, both of you relaxing in one another’s hold as you slowly descend from heaven. 

“Jesus Christ,” Frankie breathes, shaking his head with a tilted smirk. “You don’t know what you do to me.” He remarks as you look over your shoulder in a haze. 

You whimper as you pull him in closer, fingers weaving into the curls at the back of his head and encouraging him to meet your parted lips. 

The words are at the tip of your tongue, and you can feel them spread heat throughout your body. You can hear both of your hearts beating, thundering against the human flesh, and signaling the feeling of being alive. 

Frankie waits for the words. The feeling of anticipation has been lingering for quite some time. Your touch of nervousness was welcome, expected even. A moment in time when your heart feels exposed but also overwhelmingly full. Only hoping that the other person feels the same way, yet uncertain of how they will respond. A game of chicken of who will say it first and who will have to respond. The leap of faith one will be forced to make and the right words the other will have to find.

Both roles are downright frightening. 

You’re risking everything, the biggest gamble one can make without physical currency. 

But he sees the panic behind your eyes, the nervewracking feeling of saying the sacred words to someone, maybe even for the first time. And he knows that they will be worth it to hear. 

“I know,” he whispers against your lips, shaking his head in a way that tells you he knows what you’re thinking. “I know.” 

You don’t attend church, so you have one question: why the fuck is God sending people to get brunch after Sunday’s service? Why is that their beck and call? 

Every Sunday morning, like clockwork, a flock of people flood the diner with their church clothes and a hankering for waffles and Frankie’s house lumberjack skillet (you wanna know what’s in it, don’t you?)

Frankie’s Secret Ingredients:

Potatoes: 1/4 lb (about 4-5 small potatoes)

Olive Oil: 1/2 tablespoon

Breakfast Sausage Links: 3 oz (about 4 links)

Onion: 1/8 of a whole onion, chopped

Red Pepper: 1/4 of a whole red pepper, chopped

Jalapenos: 1/2 jalapeno, sliced (omit if person looks too old to handle)

Butter: 1 tablespoon

Hickory Maple Seasoning: 1/2 teaspoon

Eggs: 2 large eggs

Milk: 1 tablespoon

Cheddar Cheese: 2 tablespoons, shredded

Anyway, Tommy’s Diner is slammed by mid-morning, and you’re working up a sweat. You’re wiping at your neck and forehead every few minutes, and the sun filtering through the windows does little justice to cool your skin. Tina called out sick, which is code for hungover from Saturday. It’s overwhelming. Your brain feels like the scrambled eggs you just plated for that family of four.

“Enjoy,” you whisper a little breathlessly, tucking your notepad into the front of your apron, rubbing at your temple with the heel of your hand as you walk past the rest of your tables. 

By the time you lift your head, you see a large potbelly man who is waving an arm up above his head, fingers already snapping incessantly. He looked like a chubby rat, with a large dark-haired mustache and a shirt that didn’t fully cover the beer gut he was sporting.

“Uhm, hello? Miss, can we get some service over here?” 

Jesus fucking Christ. Your jaw tightens a few notches, pushing your hair out of your face and wrapping around to their table. You remember them; you took their table’s order a bit ago now - shit, did you forget their plates? No, you didn’t. 

Stopping at the head of their table, you smile politely at the large family. 

“Hi, can I get you something while you wait?”

The man scoffs and snaps, “Uh, yeah, our food.”

Taking a deep breath wasn’t enough; you were a ticking time bomb. “Sir, do you see how many people are in the diner? We’re at capacity with a line out the door. I understand you’ve been waiting, but our kitchen is backed up and-” 

“Bull-honkey-bullcrap, little miss,” the man raises his voice, spitting violently with each syllable, “This is ridiculous! We’ve been sittin’ here for nearly an hour. How hard is it to make some eggs and Mickey Mouse pancakes, huh? You just that stupid? What the hell is goin’ on back there? Are you people completely incompetent, or are you just ignorin’ us?”

Worse things have been said to your face, but you’re at your breaking point. You can feel your face flush with warmth radiating throughout your body. Now, the entire diner is staring at you from all the commotion. Your lungs feel tight, a headache casting heavy behind your face. Tears line your eyes, but you don’t dare let them fall. 

“Again, I’m really sorry, but like I said, the kitchen is backed up.” But apologizing isn’t enough. This guy just wanted someone to take his punches. 

“Don’t even try to apologize. I don’t wanna hear your pathetic excuses. How hard is it to cook some damn eggs? This place is a joke. You must be the worst server I’ve ever dealt with. ‘Nd I swear, if I wanted this kind of useless service, I’d go to a fast food joint. Is this how you treat payin’ customers, or ya’ll just this lazy? Do your job, or I’ll make sure everyone knows how worthless you and this diner is.”

You clutch the empty coffee pot tightly, biting your tongue. Turning swiftly, you head straight for the back swinging door. You don't intend to contribute to the chaos or the bustling mess in the kitchen, but here, in the safety of the back section, you allow a few stray tears to escape.

Shoulder blades hitting the cold brick, you wish to blend into the wall. It feels like the air’s been knocked out of you, your chest heavy and tight. Every sound around you blurs as the man’s harsh words replay in your mind, louder and louder each time. Your hands shake just enough to want to hide them behind your back, feeling afraid to have eyes on you in such a vulnerable state. Exposed. You’ve absorbed the anger meant for something or someone else, so now, it sticks to you, something you can’t wash away. 

Your name echoes once, twice. 

“Hey,” A calm amongst the rushing waves - it’s Frankie. You blink him into focus, bleary tears slowly fading away. His red bandana is tied tight around his forehead to catch the sweat from his forehead and hair. His face is laced with concern. He wipes his hands off on his apron, gently capturing your face as he shields you from the rest of the kitchen. 

And just like that, life returns to your body. You can feel the tips of your fingers, previously tingling, wiping under your eyes as you hiccup through your breaths. Frankie knows this high-traffic area will only make your anxiety worse. 

“It’s okay, take a deep breath and tell me what happen.”

The eyes of the kitchen staff are slowly starting to turn to you, asking if you’re alright and why you’re upset. Shaking your head dismissively, you blink away your tears and look down at the grubby floor that probably hasn’t been mopped since the invention of flip phones. 

“I’m fine. This customer just got pissed and yelled at me. He was upset that his food was running behind, and I tried to explain that the kitchen was backed up.” You part your lips to continue, but the jaw drops of the kitchen staff signal shock by your words. 

They all start honking in unison like a flock of geese. 

“He what?”

“Which fuckin’ table?”

“You okay, sweetheart? Fuck them.” 

Frankie's back straightens stiff, having previously been craning to see your face, now strict with annoyance. 

“Is that him?” Frankie asks as he walks to the window between the kitchen and the back counter, narrowing his eyes on the rat man and his family. 

“Frankie, please don't,” you huff, already refilling your pots of coffee and hoping to just forget the whole thing ever happened. "It's okay, it happens."

But it’s not okay. Because this guy made you cry, and what the hell was it for? Some scrambled eggs and bacon on delay?

The rest of the line cooks have abandoned their food to gawk at the asshole who thinks he can get away with yelling at one of their own like that. 

Frankie tightens his bandana and peels off his gloves, slapping them down in the trash. 

His boots thunder across the linoleum, catching the attention of many of the patrons on his way to the booth by the window where the rat man has continued to reside angrily. Even worse, he chuckles at the sight of Frankie. 

“Take a load of this guy," the rat man appears to mutter to his wife who looks between them both with startled eyes. "Okay, okay, just bring back the pretty waitress. I’ll tell her I’m sorry.” He sneers, shaking his head. 

“No, you’re done with her. You’re dealin’ with me now.” Frankie snags an empty chair from a nearby table, turns it around, and straddles the seat as he gets in the burly man's face. 

“I just feel terrible that we’re not meeting the quality of service you expected. So what exactly is the problem?” Frankie asks with a hint of venom lining his words. 

“Well- we’ve been waitin’ here for half an hour and-”

“Right, and what did the pretty waitress say?”

The man scoffs lightly, feeling embarrassed with all the eyes on him not once but twice now. “Well, she said the kitchen was backed up.”

“That’s right, that’s right, well, I’m the fuckin’ kitchen. You wanna yell at someone? Well, I thought I’d give you the chance to yell at me since, hey, I'm in charge of the kitchen today. Please, tell me your honest review.”

The rat man stares blankly, looking from left to right in surprise, but his family all gawks at Frankie. 

Frankie waits, eyes unblinking, face hardened as the man sputters up something weak in response. 

“This is ungodly and unprofessional,” he gargles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. 

“You’re absolutely right!” Frankie says, smacking the table with his closed fist before pointing at the rat man, the tip of his finger inches from his face. “I am unprofessional, but that’s because I don’t have the great customer service skills of our waitresses. That’s her job,” Frankie juts a thumb backward towards the kitchen in your direction. “So now, instead of cookin’ you and your ugly wife and kids some food, I gotta come out here and knock some sense into ya since you seemed to have lost your manners. So you gonna let her do her job so I can get back to mine?”

You can only watch from the window in shock, hand over mouth, unblinking eyes - but it’s like a car crash you can’t look away from. The man is shocked into an embarrassed silence. 

“We’ll just… we’ll wait. There’s-uh-there’s a lotta people here.” 

Frankie sighs and smiles with fake relief. He stands from the chair, looking around the quiet restaurant. 

“Anybody else have somethin' they wanna say?”

They all seem too scared of Frankie to complain again to the psycho chef. Chants of ‘Everything’s great!’ or “Thank you!” echo through the dining room. 

You smile warmly, forcing yourself to turn away from the scene and clean up your teary makeup in the bathroom. But all you can think about is Frankie. Francisco. Stupid Catfish. Stepping in like that to protect you, to make that jerk take accountability. It makes your heart flutter knowing how much he cares. And you feel the same way.

It’s about time you tell him. 

Knuckles wrap against the bathroom door, and an echo of, “You okay?” follows. 

He comes in without a response, somewhat relieved to find you adjusting your hair and wiping at the smeary makeup. Your eyes soften at the sight of him, watching in the reflection. He looks disheveled and annoyed, shaking his head as he starts ranting about rat man. 

“I don’t get how people like that- the God-loving church people- come in here and act like they weren’t just told at a sermon to love thy neighbor or whatever bullshit.”

He continues, but all you do is stare.

A part of you thinks he defends others due to his childhood. No one picks on the people Frankie cares about. That letter riled him up, maybe more than either of you had realized. He’s thinking about those times of the past, the innocent hurt by the deviant. 

“You didn’t deserve that, I’m sorry, he’s a fucking dick. You don’t have to take his food out, I’ll do it. Honey,” he breathes, hand resting on your shoulder as he gently turns you around to face him. “Are you mad at me? I know you told me not to go out there, but no one makes you cry if I can help it, y’know? I don’t want him to think he can get away with that.”

Once Frankie starts ranting, it’s really hard to get him to stop. 

“Frankie,” you breathe out, resting your hand over the one he holds on your shoulder. 

“I mean, does he really think that it’s smart to be rude to the staff? I’ll spit in his food, and it will feel really good because he’ll have no idea.”

“Frankie,”

“You’re a good fucking waitress! Doesn’t he see the entire breakfast bar and all the booths filled with guests? The line out the door wasn’t an indication of how busy it is? Get a fuckin’ brain, I mean-”

In an instant, you tilt your chin up, catching his gaze just long enough to see the shift in his eyes before your lips meet. Your hands slide around his neck, fingers weaving into the soft curls at the nape, gently tugging him down toward you. The kiss begins with an urgency, part playful, part to silence his words, but mostly, it's to thank him in a way that words never could.

Frankie’s initial surprise fades quickly as he melts into you, his breath hitching for a moment. His hands travel to your waist, sliding around until they lock just above your hips, anchoring you to him. He presses closer, his touch firm yet tender, and slows the kiss, savoring the warmth of your lips. You feel the way his body relaxes, how he leans in, letting the world around you both fall away as he holds you, close and unmoving, like he’s never letting go.

It takes every ounce of courage in your body to pull away, your lips lingering against his for a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if tethered by an invisible force. Slowly, you break the kiss, your breath shaky, heart racing. His forehead rests against yours for a moment, his eyes still half-closed, unaware of the words hanging on the edge of your lips.

You gently pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers still laced in his hair, trembling slightly. His eyes search yours, soft and expectant, filled with something unspoken but unmistakable.

With a deep inhale, you let the words slip out, vulnerable and raw, barely louder than a whisper, but heavy with meaning.

“I love you.”

The world stands still as the words hang in the air, your heart pounding as you wait for the weight of what you’ve just said to settle between you.

And then he smiles like an idiot. And you’re joining him. 

“Did you say what I think you said? Did you say that you love me?" His voice is soft, teasing, as he presses his forehead against yours, capturing your lips with a few playful, quick kisses between his words. “Come on, say it again.”

You feel your heart flutter, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. Frankie’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “I heard you say it. Now you can’t take it back,” he adds with a grin, pulling you tighter, his arms leaving no space between you.

You giggle, your hands pushing lightly against his shoulders, though he doesn’t budge. “Stop, that was really hard,” you huff, breathless, as though the words had stolen all the air from your lungs.

Frankie just shakes his head, his smile fading into something softer, more real, as the weight of the moment catches up with him. “I’ve thought about better places or times to tell you this, I wanted to wait until you were ready,” he whispers, his voice hushed with disbelief, eyes locking onto yours, “but I love you more than you’ll ever know. More than you’ll ever understand or dream. I love you.”

His thumb traces the curve of your cheekbone, a gentle, affectionate touch that sends shivers down your spine. The intensity in his gaze mirrors your own, both of you lost in this shared vulnerability, your hearts speaking in unison.

“I love you, too,” you breathe, the words falling effortlessly this time, as if they’ve always been waiting for this moment.

So, yeah. You sort of love your co-worker Francisco Morales. 

The sun is blinding—orange and yellow streams of light as it is forced to set along the horizon. It’s slow but noticeable, sinking into the land beyond what you can see.

The sun goes down in Texas once again. 

Frankie raises his cigarette, its glowing tip mirroring the fiery hues of the sunset.

His neighborhood is tranquil, lined with single-story homes and tree-bordered streets where autumn's touch is just around the corner. Children ride bikes, joggers and dog walkers pass by, and new parents push their baby strollers—a picturesque scene that feels meticulously arranged yet somehow distant. Frankie, too, feels out of place here.

"You got pretty worked up today—more than usual," you say softly.

Frankie lets out a dry chuckle, cigarette between his lips as he leans back on his elbows, squinting at the fading sun. "Yeah, maybe. You think I’m off right now?" He tilts his head, genuinely curious, as if searching for what’s changed.

You shrug, glancing at him with a fond smile. "I think that letter from your dad has you more rattled than you realize. I found it in your sock drawer this morning."

Frankie’s gaze drops to his lap, a flicker of shame crossing his face.

"I thought you said you were gonna toss it?" you muse gently, watching as his mind churns, cigarette hovering at his lips before he sighs deeply.

"You’re too observant," he smirks. "I don’t know why I haven’t crumpled, burned, or shredded it into pieces by now. I have every right to."

You rest a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing the tension there. "But you didn’t. Why?"

Frankie bites his lower lip nervously, glancing your way. "At the end of the apology letter, he asked to take me out for my birthday. Put down the time, place—everything. Said he’d wait for me."

Your expression softens, letting him know you’re here, really listening. "And you’re thinking about it?"

"Yeah… I guess so. But I don’t even know what I’d say. I’ve only seen him once or twice since I moved out. It’s been years. And when I do see him, I’m thirteen all over again, just yelling at him, so angry. I see his face, and it’s like a switch flips. And that’s not me. You know that’s not me," Frankie stammers, panic flickering in his eyes.

"I know," you whisper, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He pulls you closer, resting his head against yours as the weight of it all settles.

After a deep breath, Frankie gathers himself. "He used to bring out the worst in me. I don’t know if I still hate him as much. Time’s passed, maybe he’s changed. But I’m not holding my breath."

He’s an adult now, more guarded, wiser to the people who’ve hurt him. He’s fought through battles and traumas you don’t even know about. Yet, in his eyes, there’s a flicker of hope. Maybe his dad has turned a corner, maybe he’s cleaned up, seen his mistakes. But you know better than to trust in maybes.

And you’d protect him from being let down again.

"Do you want me to go with you?" you offer quietly.

Frankie’s eyes snap to yours, wide and searching.

"Okay," he says after a long pause. "Let’s do it."

[conelluwrites]

how wonderful life is while you're in this world

Reader/Francis Mosses (she/her used for reader, reader is described as having female genitalia)

Posted on my AO3 as well

Title from Elton John's Your Song

TW: None that I can think of! I think this might be my first vanilla fic?

Your boyfriend is typically too tired for sex, but tonight he wants to remind you how special you are to him

Francis’ girlfriend was used to him not initiating sex, after all he was her sleepy baby.  She couldn’t even properly figure out the last time they had sex, it had to have been a month or so ago.  She didn’t mind, her fingers were expert enough at making her cum and they had other ways to show love for one another.  A love note here or there, tired cuddles that make him almost late in the morning, remembering small details about each other that people would typically overlook -- so many ways they had grown to show love. When her boyfriend finally stumbles through the door he lets out a hefty sigh, getting her attention from the small television sat in front of the couch.  His eyes find hers, they always do regardless of the room they’re in.  A small twinkle appears in his eyes, a small twitch of his lips, a visible weight is removed from his shoulders as he walks over to her.  He flops onto the couch, an arm finding its way over her.

“Long day, hun?” She asks, leaning against him.

“Always is.”  His answer is short, indicating just how tired he is.  He leans down, nestling his nose into her hair.  He inhales his home, his other arm going around her waist and enveloping her into a sort of hug.  

“Hate to hear that.” She reciprocates the hug, resting her head against his shoulder, her nose resting against his neck.  Her thumbs rub small circles on his waist, pressing small kisses on the skin his white button up exposes.

Francis hums, removing his hat before placing his arm back over her as they cuddle up on the couch.  It’s not the most comfortable, he would be fine going to bed but he has a plan in mind for tonight.  He’s wanted to do this for a while, but he’s always been too exhausted. “It’s quite alright, I do get to come home to you, after all.”  He presses a kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering for a moment.

“Always the charmer, huh?” She quips, though the way her cheeks flush show just how charmed she is just by the simple sentence.  She has always found solace in his loving words, no matter how cheesy they were.

He laughs, the tired sound like music to her ears.  “Mm, I have something more in mind to charm you; something to show you just how special you are to me.”  His voice is a warm murmur as he pulls away from her, kissing her neck before sinking to his knees in front of her.  The grin plastered on his face is more than enough to send a bolt of arousal through her body.  Her eyes never waver from his as she shifts on the couch.  He delicately takes her legs,his hands trail down the exposed flesh until they reach the waistband of her shorts and gives the fabric a slight tug.  It’s just enough to give her the hint -- that she needs to lift her ass so he can remove them.  She gets it immediately, allowing him to remove the soft fabric.  He places them beside him and licks his lips.  The soft pink of her panties inviting him and teasing him.  “So pretty…”  He takes her legs and places them over his shoulders, leaning in and kissing the pretty pink covering her pussy.  A gasp leaves her instantly, a hand going up to her mouth.  She’s always been sensitive, something that Francis adores.  He inhales the sweet scent just barely covered by the fabric, his eyes fluttering closed.

“C’mon…” She whispers, one of her hands going to his hair.  The locks of brown are so soft through her fingers.  She doesn’t mean to be impatient, she really doesnt- it’s just been so long that it’s so tempting to get straight to the main event.

“Can’t be patient for me, can you, darlin’?” He asks, pulling away and looking up at her.  A crooked grin on his lips.  His eyes still look so tired, but so attractive.  He doesn’t mind, this is for her after all.  He rubs his thumb over her sensitive nub through the fabric. “Sorry, my love, how long has it been since you came?”

His blunt question catches her off guard, causing her breath to hitch.  “I-I don’t know.” She stammers out. “A week?  Maybe?”

“Far too long since your last session then, huh?”

“I couldn’t find the time.”

“I’ll make up for lost moments then, my baby.”  He whispers, tugging the underwear to the side and exposing her glistening her cunt.  

She swallows and nods, letting out a breath of air and tugging his face close to her bare pussy.  “Please…  Please, Francis.”

A low moan leaves him, kitten licking at her slit and allowing her sweet arousal to coat his tongue and lips.  His thumb rubs lazy, small circles on her clit.  His brown eyes gaze up into hers, enjoying the look of immediate gratification on his lover’s face.  Her eyes are half-lidded in enjoyment and her hips grind upwards against his tongue.  His tongue enters her cunt just enough so he can feel her tremble around him.  Her thighs tighten around his head, earning a groan of pleasure from him as he knows he’s pleasing his beloved.  He mumbles something indecipherable against her cunt, his eyes closed as he starts to circle her nub with more vigor.  She’s close, he knows she is as her heels dig into his back.

She tugs his hair desperately, gasping and moaning.  Her back arches off the couch, the hand that’s not tugging his hair goes to cover her mouth so the neighbors don’t hear the sounds escaping her.

Francis tuts and pulls away just enough to talk, her love making his lips glimmer wetly.  “I want to hear you, my darlin’, I want to know how you feel.”

“Please don’t stop~!” She moans loudly, whimpering afterwards at the minor embarrassment that comes from knowing the neighbors must hear something.  He doesn’t offer any words back, going back to eating her out like his life depends on it.  “Fuck!”  Francis sighs and moans as her slick coats his tongue deliciously.  He licks her through her orgasm, his nose brushing her clit as she grinds her climax out.

“Good girl, good girl, good girl…”  He praises as he pulls away, her legs slip off his shoulders and remain trembling for a few moments.  He leans up to kiss her, she can taste her own cum on his lips.  She doesn’t mind, of course she doesn’t, as she kisses him back.  When the kiss is over, they’re both slightly out of breath before she chuckles.

“Let’s go to the bedroom, hm?  I’d love to give you something special too.” -- AH it's been too long since I wrote smut so I'm a little rusty, but this man (along with a couple others) has completely stolen my heart and the game has quickly became a comfort to me. I have a plan for a doppelgänger!Francis fic but who knows when it'll be out AND it'll certainly not be vanilla lol

[theemporium]

[1.6k] sick of their lovesick friend crushing on you, remus and sirius take it upon themselves to give james the boost he needs to talk to you. it doesn’t quite work out the way they planned.

. 

It wasn’t meant to happen like this.

Or, to accurately rephrase that, it wasn’t meant to be this fucking intense. 

Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were nothing but good friends. They were there when you needed someone to listen, they were there to offer advice, they were there to make you laugh when all you really needed was a distraction. 

They were good friends. 

But even this was pushing their limits. 

It was no surprise to anyone at Hogwarts that James Potter fell hard and fast. It may not happen often as people like to make it out to be, but the second that boy sets his eyes on someone, he’s a goner. And there’s no one better than his friends to know that. 

They had seen it with crushes over the last few years, but none of them hit the boy as hard as you did. 

One snarky comment, a broom race and one infirmary  visit later, and James Potter was completely besotted by you. 

And as his best friends, Remus and Sirius had been subjected to far too many rambles the bespectacled boy had given over the months since he first laid his eyes on you. 

But even they had their limits and their patience was quickly running out. That’s why they had a plan, a simple plan. It was honestly the simplest of plans where nothing could go wrong. 

Or at least, that’s what they had thought. 

The main problem was that for all he was confident and arrogant and loud, James Potter seemed to lose all confidence and suave when he was around you. The boy got flustered and stumbled on his words and struggled to even say anything remotely impressive, and it was a disheartening sight to see. 

So when Remus suggested a simple confidence boosting potion from the alchemy in Hogsmeade, the plan was set in stone. They’d sneak him the potion, convince him to ask you out and the rest would be history. 

The task to acquire the potion was left to Sirius considering Remus had prefect rounds and would be unable to get the potion himself. But Sirius didn’t think some measly potion from Hogsmeade would be enough, so he didn’t see the big deal in grabbing one from his family’s favourite upend alchemy instead. 

As it turns out, it was a very big deal. 

Not only were the potions stronger, but they were laced with extra festive elements for witches and wizards who were stupid enough to buy potions during holidays. 

And this confidence potion was laced with a very, very strong love potion—-in celebration of Valentines Day. 

“What the fuck did you buy?!” 

“The man in the store said it would enhance!” 

“Enhance what? His bloody insanity?!” 

“Stop yelling at me, Moony, I am sensitive!” 

Both boys stared at their friend who sat on the bed in front of them, a cheesy grin on his face and his tousled hair falling into his eyes. They thought it would be easiest to slip in the potion in the morning, just before they headed down for breakfast. 

Now, they realised, it would probably be best if they hadn’t given him the potion at all. 

James Potter sat on his bed, a badly drawn picture of you that was no better than a stickman on a piece of parchment in his hand as he sighed hopelessly. 

“She’s so pretty,” James murmured happily. 

“That’s a bit of ink and paper, mate,” Sirius replied, looking at James with the caution one would have for a wild beast. 

“She’s even pretty when she’s a drawing,” James continued as he lifted his head to look at his friends. “Don’t you think?” 

“Uh, sure,” Remus murmured, unsure if disagreeing with a lovesick fool would be the best course of action. He turned to look at Sirius, a glimmer of annoyance in his gaze. “We can’t let him leave this room when he is acting like…that.”  

“He will be fine, Moony,” Sirius scoffed and waved his hand dismissively. “It’s barely noticeable anyways.” 

Remus raised his brows. “Oh really?”

“Hey, buddy, how ya feeling?” Sirius asked as he turned back to James. 

James jumped onto his feet, puffing his chest out. “I feel like I wanna sing to the world how much I love my girl—“ 

“Yeah, okay, maybe he’s not ready to leave the room just yet.” 

Remus let out a heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Okay, I’m gonna go down and grab us some food and possibly some books from the library that can help us…reverse whatever this is,” he announced as he turned back to Sirius and fitted him with a glare. “Keep an eye on him, and do not let him leave.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Aye, aye, captain.” 

“I’m serious.” 

“I thought I was Sirius.” 

“I swear to Merlin—“ 

“I promise, I promise!” Sirius eventually sighed and raised his hands in mock surrender. “Now go, before Prongs starts spouting sonnets and you start correcting him.” 

It didn’t sit well with Remus has he quickly exited the Gryffindor common room, heading into the halls of the school and making his way down to the Great Hall. Leaving Sirius in charge of a very…odd James was not reassuring in the slightest, but at this point they had little choice in the matter. They needed to get this sorted out and get it sorted out soon without alarming any of the teachers. 

Or worse, James’ mother. 

Remus suppressed his shudder as he made his way through the throng of students, heading towards the Gryffindor table so he could grab some food for the lot of them and make a quick escape. 

However, the boy failed to notice the group sitting just a few feet away from him. 

“Remus, hey!” 

Remus froze, a piece of toast hanging between his fingers before he turned his head to the left, giving you what he hoped was a casual smile—although it looked more like a grimace. 

“Hey,” he answered lamely. 

“You’re late this morning,” you joked lightly, your attention purely on the boy. You stretched your neck to try and catch a glimpse of his friends but he was alone. “Hey, where’s—”

“James is sick!” Remus blurted out and watched as you frowned in concern. “Not like, deathly sick. But just enough for him to stay in bed for the day.” 

“Oh,” you murmured and the disappointment was clear in your voice. “Is there anything I can do to help? I have some potions my mum gave me—“ 

“No, no,” Remus waved you off. “Potions can’t fix this.” 

But that only seemed to deepen your worries. “Remus, are you sure he’s okay?” 

However, before Remus could even open his mouth to spout another lie, another voice yelled through the hallway just outside the Great Hall. 

“OH TREASURE OF MY HEART!” 

Remus closed his eyes. “Fuck.” 

“OH DARLING APPLE OF MY EYE!” 

“He had one fucking job,” Remus muttered to himself. “One. Fucking. Job.” 

“WHERE IS THE LOVE OF MY LIFE?!” 

Your wide eyes met Remus’. “Is that—” 

Just then a figure came bursting through the entrance of the Great Hall, standing in nothing but socks, a pair of boxers and a white shirt. But James Potter didn’t care about the gasps or gawking eyes, he was looking for one person—you. 

“My love!” His eyes brightened as he spotted you on the table and quickly began making his way over to you. 

Not even seconds later, Sirius came running after him as he panted heavily. “Fucking…prick…hexed me.” 

Remus would’ve snorted if James approaching you wasn't the priority. 

Your eyebrows furrowed together as a partially dressed James kneeled down in front of you. “James—”

“Love of my life, you look absolutely stunning today, it wounds me!” James sighed dramatically as he reached to take your hands in his, pressing kisses on the back of each knuckle. 

“I wound you?” you murmured as the boy looked up at you with wide eyes. 

“Don’t you know, darling? It wounds me to even be apart from you!” James exclaimed. 

“Okay, buddy, how about we head back to the dorm?” Remus murmured as he tried to pull James up, but his hands were quickly batted away. 

“Leave me alone, Moony, you are getting in the way of true love!” 

“True love?” you repeated, biting back the smile growing on your lips. You were still very confused, but at least you were amused. 

“The truest!” James said as he looked you in the eyes before taking a deep breath. “Oh darling, do me the pleasure of becoming Mrs Potter—“ 

“OKAY!” Remus clapped his hands together, finally pulling James away from you as Sirius cackled beside him. 

“You’ve ruined my proposal, Moony!” James whined. “You’re officially taken off the best man list.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Remus muttered before flashing you a sheepish smile. “Just…pretend this never happened.” 

Before Remus could make proper move of herding a boisterous James out of the Great Hall and back towards the Gryffindor dormitories, you were out of your seat and chasing after them. 

“James!” 

His head quickly snapped around, big eyes finding yours as his face split into a grin. “Yes, my love?”

You stopped when you stood in front of them, your chest moving up and down quickly and your heart thundering in your chest, but it was too late now. 

Before you could second guess yourself, you leaned forward and grabbed his face in your hands, pressing a kiss on his lips before pulling back. 

“Come find me when you’re…better.”

James didn’t even get the chance to reply as you quickly skidded off, his lips parted in shock and his cheeks burning a bright pink as he aimlessly stared at the spot where you stood moments ago. 

“Moony?” 

“Yeah, Prongs?” 

“Did that really happen?” 

“Yeah it did, mate.” 

“Right…great…catch me, mate.” 

Remus opened his mouth to reply but James’ body had already sagged against his, the boy’s eyes now closed and he couldn’t help but let out a snort as he heaved the unconscious boy’s arms around his neck. 

“I better be your fucking best man now.” 

“Hey!” 

“Shut up, Pads and carry the croissants.”

.

[alphajocklover]

My and my 2 straight friends are doing a watch party for the spooky season. We try to find some movies generally unheard of, doesn't mean they are always good tho. I wondered if you had any idea to spice up 3 gamer's night, and maybe more. And I think this is deserving of a trick.

So, I have some good news and some bad news. The bad news is that, unless something changes soon, no one is going to go to your watch party. You and your two friends you planned it with, Liam and Tyler, are the only three who show up, and the party will be a complete flop. It’s not as bad as it sounds though. You three have a great night, watching bad movies, playing video games, making inside jokes and eating junk food and candy. It was a little embarrassing that no one else came, but all in all it wasn’t a bad night.

The good news is that it’s not too late. Your night doesn’t have to be just ‘not a bad night.’ You asked for something to spice up the night, and I’m going to give it to you. 

I did a little research into you and your friends before I sent this out. No offense, but you guys are kind of movie snobs. It’s not unexpected that you’re intense about movies, given that you’re all film students, it’s just that you take it a bit too far. You guys don’t mean to, but you tend to pick apart and criticize movies people like until you take all the fun out of it, only to then rave about bad movies because to you they were so bad it was hilarious. That's the main reason everyone skipped out on your watch party, because they knew you’d pick unusual, and sometimes bad, movies. So the best way to fix your problem? If your movie choices are driving people away, put on something else! I know it sounds awful to you. Putting on something else to bring people in means putting on some dumb, overplayed mainstream movie you’d have to suffer through the entire night. Watching some overhyped dumb cash grab just to make your watch part more popular doesn’t just sound shallow, it sounds unbearable. But you’re going to have to trust me on this. This movie isn’t popular, it’s not that good, and it will change your life. ‘Brad, Chad, and Vlad’ Isn’t a movie most people have heard of. No one in your school's film department will probably have heard anything about it. It’s an 80’s Halloween comedy about two frat boys, Brad and Chad, who accidentally awaken a vampire, Vlad, and end up getting into a bunch of college shenanigans with the ancient bloodsucker. There’s even a classic 80’s makeover scene where the vampire gets a frat boy makeover. As you, Liam and Tyler watch the movie, just to check it out before the party, you can help but laugh at how cheesy the whole thing is! It’s like if a frat boy tried to make a scary movie, and somehow hit comedy gold. As the movie continues, you start to find some of this stuff… honestly funny. The part where Vlad uses his powers to scare a bunch of nerds made you and your friends laugh loudly, and the storyline about Brad and Chad almost getting kicked off the football team was strangely… relatable? You actually felt for the two dumb jocks, and cheered as they beat the nerdy chemistry club slash dark magic cult and freed Vlad from his curse. As the three friends, now all able to be together in the sunlight, flex their muscles cockily for their sorority girl love interest, you and your bros Lee and Ty couldn’t help but flex too, celebrating the movie's end with your solid meaty muscles shining in the light of the TV.

You and your best bros had fucking loved the movie, and you knew the rest of the frat would love to see it. You had found the perfect movie for the party, which was great considering the 3 of you knew nothing about movies. The three bisexual sports majors barely knew how to take a good enough video for their shared OnlyFans. Not that it mattered. People didn’t pay to watch you three fuck for the camera quality.

[dear-slim]

Hello, i would like to Em in the 2000s x reader that the reader is a pop singer. She was nicknamed the "Princess of the Industry" or "Good Girl" because she has a sweet and shy personality. which the reader has never even had a boyfriend. which em does not believe that she is really like that (of course, this is the entertainment industry) He mentioned her in his songs such as "a good girl? of course I want to fuck her to forget the world." no idk 🫠 when he had to go up to receive a prize with her. he thanked his fans and talked about her that he actually wanted her more than an award (because he still thought she was not a good girl) and people were very angry with him that he talked about her like that. because the reader is loved by people and she is a really good girl. which motivates him to want to play with her a little more

you can choose the ending yourself, which I have but I'm not sure if it will be good, which I think of 2 types 

1. He knew the fact that she was actually a good girl, so he felt like getting to know her more. 

2. He played with the reader until she really fell in love with him and she was pregnant. And she knew the truth at that time that he was just playing with her for his fun. but at that time he actually loved her, you can change the ending scene as you like! ✨ (I want a happy ending🥹)

sorry, English is not my main language.🥲

Thank you✨

Warnings: Smut, 18+ degradation, swearing, mean comments, sexualising, cute!reader

Pairing: slim shady x fem!reader

A/N - I love this request so much! I put ‘Slim Shady’ instead of ‘Eminem’ on the pairing coz it feels more…suited 😉

The Princess of Pop. The little Good Girl of the industry. That’s what you were known as. And, well, it was almost like it was a rule of the Hip Hop world to hate anyone and everyone who sang Pop. It was so…cringy and cheesy and just weird, and everyone hated it. 

But no one hated it more than Marshall Mathers. He despised that one, specific genre from the pit of his heart, so who better to shed his anger on than the girl who all the crazy pop fans absolutely adored. 

In fact, not even just the pop fans, basically everyone knew who you were and it ignored Em more than he’d ever care to admit. Well, he’d gladly admit it in a song. “Man, she’s so damn infuriating,” Em groaned for what seemed like the hundredth time in that hour alone. 

“C’mon, man, you ain’t even met her,” Dre said, his voice sick and tired of saying the same words again and again to his prodigy rapper. “I know but her and her stupid bows and frills and…god, not everything is sunshine and rainbows!” Em said, his voice coming out in a groan.

time skip 

Of course you’d heard the song Em has written. Everyone and their mother had heard it, it was a great song, but it wasn’t a secret to anyone who the song was about. You. Particularly the lyric, ‘a good girl? I’d fuck her to forget the world’. 

Of course, being a pop artist, you didn’t have the assets to be able to retaliate or write a song back, but you were still intrigued by the song. It had basically just been a song questioning your innocence, or however he put it. And your fans, as well as some of his, were very perplexed. 

Why was he dissing your behaviour? And what did he mean thta you were faking it? It didn’t take an awfully smart person to see that you were the sweetest person to ever exist. And him to express his lust for you? They’d seen him make similar references or Britney Spears or Christina Aguilera but you were different…fuck, you’d never even had a boyfriend. Not that Em believed that.a

You were standing in the middle of the stage, wearing your sweet little pink dress, a bow on the back of your head as you adjusted the microphone to be pointed at your lips as you held the envelope in your hand. You’d been invited to the MTV awards to read out some of the names for the awards. 

“And the Award for The Best Rap Video is…” you opened the envelope, a smile on your lips, “oh, Eminem,” you said, smile faltering slightly, but you fixed it nonetheless. Basically just proving Em was right on saying you were a fake ass bitch.

“Uh, thanks,” he said, walking onto stage and taking your place in front of the microphone as you stood politely to the side. Your outfits couldn’t have been more different, with him wearing a matching grey jogger and hoodie set, and you in a damn princess-like dress. 

“I don’t really have a speech planned for this, you know what I’m sayin’?” he said into the microphone, chewing his gum between every few sentences, “but, uh, thanks to, like, Mr Dre…Dr Dre,” he said, the camera panning to Dre. “Nice trophy and stuff…heavy,” he said, weighing it up in his hands. 

“Rather take something else home with me, though,” he said, his eyes flickering to you for the briefest of seconds, barely even register-able if you’d blinked. Your cheeks tinged a little pink but you said nothing, showing no reaction as he walked off stage, casting one final look to you. 

The after party was a hell of a lot more lively than the awards, with people drunk everywhere, celebrities talking and shouting and cheering over everyone as you sat with some classic other singers, like Britney and Christina. “What was the speech about, man?” 50 asked, raising a brow to Em. 

“Thanking people and shit,” he said, with forced innocence as 50 rolled his eyes. “What’s that about ‘takin’ something else home’?” 50 quoted him. “Maybe I want something other than the award,” Em said, a slight smirk playing across his features. 

It didn’t take long for Em to notice you were a bit tipsy, your words slurred and your giggle being louder then you probably intended. And to think people genuinely believed you were innocent? He’d intend to change all of that and prove that stupid little lie wrong. 

You didn’t even know when Em had brought you to his house, you must’ve blacked out, but you were well aware that he was carrying you into his place, shutting the door as your eyes fluttered open. “Em,” you mumbled, a lot more sober than you had been before as you looked up at him. 

You could feel his legs moving up the stairs, where were you? “Shut up,” he said, his voice sounding pretty pissed as you made a sound, not entirely coherent. Your body bounced as he dropped you onto his bed, your legs parted a bit, arms splayed behind you. 

“Sick and tired of people thinking you’re such an innocent little fairy,” he scowled as you sat up, well, attempted to, before his hand pushed you back down. “Em…” you said again, your voice more coherent as his hand pushed down a little more firmly onto you chest, your lips parting, 

“You’re not a fucking angel, Y/N,” he sneered, his voice holding a hint of mockery, “some fucking little pretty princess who wouldn’t hurt a fly,”. You stayed silent, your eyes wide, Em’s words hitting you like a ton of bricks. “How many guys have you really fucked, hm?”. 

Again, you stated silent. “Didn’t expect you to answer,” he scowled, “so what am I? Your twentieth? Thirtieth?”. You didn’t protest as he lifting the bottom of your small skirt, his fingers trailing oh we your panties, which were already slightly wet. “Whore,” Em smirked, pushing his joggers down with his free hands whilst moving the thin material of your panties. 

Your legs squeezed together as he traded over your sensitive bundle of nerves, a scowl on Em’s face at the movement. “Keep it open,” he snarled, forcing your knees apart, throwing your legs over his shoulders as he worked on sliding his finger into your core, a whine on your lips, legs shaking as he curled his digit.

Your cunt clenched round his finger subconsciously as he scoffed again, rolling his eyes. “How fucking needy can you be, Y/N?” he mocked you again, but you paid no mind, too focused on his finger deep in your heat, coated in your juices, his other hand holding your body down. 

Another whine left your lip as he pulled his finger out, your hips moving closer to him to try and make him push his fingers back into you. “Knew you weren’t innocent,” Em rolled his eyes, pushing the head of his thick cock through your folds, a moan on your lips. 

Your eyes rolled back at simply the feeling of his tip stroking against your sensitive clit, even more so when he aligned the entrance to his cock with your hole. “Em!” you shrieked as he slowly pushed into your core, your warm cunt welcoming his cock with your juices. 

“Fuck, calm down,” he said, “it’s not a damn broomstick,”. Your nails clawed at his back, leaving deep red lines across his skin as he raised a brow. And…was that a hint of fear in your eyes? “Y/N,” he said, his eyes widened for a split second before he masked it with a neutral expression, “how many times have you done this?”. 

“I-I haven’t,” you said honestly, his jaw going slack. So, you aren’t lying about…everything? You whined again, trying to move your hips down, to create some sort of friction. “Y/N, I can’t be your first,” he said, his tip hanging inside of you as you clenched round him again, almost as if you were trying to refrain him from moving his cock out of you. 

“You’re already in me,” you said, trying to grab his wrists as he looked down. There was a part of him that would love to take your virginity, for him to be your first, to have you moaning his name and thinking about him like that, with no other guys…he’d love that. 

“You sure?” he asked. That was all he needed. To make sure he had your full and final consent. As soon as the word ‘yes’ left your lips, he pushed his cock fully into you, your warm cunt squeezing tightly round him, silky and velvety around him. 

“God, you’re tight,” he said, his breaths coming out in short pants as he slowly pushed his tempo up, his hips snapping into to yours. “Oh f-fuck,” you gasped, eyes wide as the sound of his cock plunging into your wet juices echoed in the room. God, you looked so good, all spread out under him, for him. 

You could feel a knot building in your stomach as Em angled his hips, the tip of his cock hitting that one point that seemed to turn the volume of your moans up to maximum, and make your eyes roll and your cunt clench round him in that perfect, hot way. 

“I’m close,” he groaned, his head leaning forwards for him to nip and pepper kisses along your collarbone, small pink marks forming on your supple skin. “Do you want me to cum in you?” he asked, lifting his head from your neck to ask the words. 

“P-Please,” you said, cunt clenching round him, your body shooting into little, small spasms, your hands clawing at him as your own orgasm washed through. The whines in his ear from you was enough for him, his cum shooting in thick hot spurts inside of you, spilling down your thighs. 

Besides, what harm could one time do? And he liked the look of you like that for him, as he tranced his cock over your folds, pushing his cum back into you. “Em,” you gasped, hands resting on his shoulders, the bulge of his muscles beneath your hands. 

You stayed under him, your legs still over his shoulders, tilted slightly upward so his cum stayed inside of you, your breathing slowing, Em’s body covered in a light sheen of sweat. “You good?” he asked, moving you to sit on his lap as you nodded, your eyes closed slightly. 

time skip

You’d slept with Em, and you hadn’t even gotten his number. So you’d had to begrudgingly drag yourself to his studio, waiting outside as the door stayed shut. And then finally, after nearly a whole minute of waiting, it opened. “Y/N?” Em raised a brow. 

“We need to talk,” you said, a slight flicker of worry crossing his face as he let you on. “I just… didn’t think it’d happen in one time, a-and I thought I’d be o-okay,” you said, the words all spilling out, somewhat incoherently, before his hand rested on your shoulder, snapping you out of it. 

“Slowly,” he said, leading you into the private section of the studio and sitting you on a chair as he knelt in front of you, his eyes locked on yours. “What happened?” he asked. “I-I’m pregnant,” you said, steadying your breath as his eyes widened. 

“How long?” he asked. “Not sure,” you said weakly, “it’s yours, though,”. Em nodded slowly, saying nothing. “D’you wanna keep it?” he asked softly, moving his hand to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah,” you said softly, your eyes welling up a bit. 

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to your cheek, on the edge of your lips, “I’m gonna be here the whole time, okay? I promise,”.

[asgardiansofthegalaxyvol3]

I was a fool. An absolute bafoon. Deadpool and Wolverine 2: the musical starts with a montage of their daily life to the soundtrack of Accidentally in Love (from shrek) to WADE falling in love with Logan, not the other way around, because honestly who better than Deadpool? He can girlishly kick his feet and smile sweetly to the camera and (badly) play it off when Logan is actually looking at him. And it’s just them being domestic. Logan cooking, Wade sneaking glances throughout the day, can even have them fighting something together. And of course it ends with them platonically sharing a bed and you can see Wade wanting to reach out to Logan but he doesn’t, just goes to sleep instead.

And one way or another they’re fighting some big bad magical being, and honestly Marvel it doesn’t really matter who you pick. All they need is to be able to use magic and get pissed that 1-Wade can’t die and 2- he never shuts the HELL up. And bam, instant curse. The entire world is a musical and Deadpool has to suffer the consequences (being annoyed by the constant noise of everyone singing)

Except he LOVES it. He walks down the street and hears someone singing about cheating on their spouse, someone singing about how they miss their dog at home, and someone getting increasingly angry about traffic through the open window of their car. And the icing on the cake is that his roommate, THE Hugh Jackman is cursed too. Since y’all wanna make him be the Wolverine until he’s 90 you can at least throw him a bone and let him sing again, it’s what he was made to do. And since Ryan can’t/wont/doesn’t like to sing it gives him the opportunity not to, plus it has comedic effect if he’s bland and boring, making comments through everyone’s songs. Social commentary on people’s rhymes/pitch/beats. The potential is limitless. They should also have multiple people who are just genuinely bad singers, because that’s just how the real world works.

And by the third act Wade has had enough of the singing. “Can everyone shut the fuck up for five minutes PLEASE. Not you, Logan, you have the voice of an angel, please keep going.”

And since Disney owns them now they can have a scene of Logan singing ‘i won’t say I’m in Love’ from Hercules with Ellie, Yukio, and Blind Al as the muses because surprise surprise the main story is Wade trying to undo this Musical curse but the subplot is Wade and Logan both being in love with each other but both being too emotionally constipated and unaware to make a move on each other. And you know what, if the power of hand holding and gay love could save the day last time, maybe it can do it again this time. I’m thinking something cheesy like an off key duet between Wade and Logan that ends in a kiss, but I’ve never been great at endings so I’ll leave it up to Ryan.

And bam @vancityreynolds I’ve got the outline of your new movie right here. I’ll accept payment in the form of one meet and greet with you and Hugh where I can take a picture of you guys holding my Toddler so I can frame it, hang it on the wall, and ask her for the rest of her life how she could possibly not remember something that happened when she was under 2 years old.

[silhouetteonpaper]

Tricks, Treats, and Tribulations

Summary: Of course you were going to dress up for Tony’s Halloween party; but if you knew what your choices were going to provoke… maybe you would've picked a different costume. With Natasha by your side, who could've expected were would land by the end of the night. Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader WC: 4,932 Warnings/Themes: Angst, fluff, mentions of death, medical related stuff, hallucinations, proof read when I was tired lol A/N: Happy october! This fic features a certain stone that I rewrote some stuff about. I guess this would be an au if the stone was in a different form! Enjoy <3

The cheesy halloween music filled your ears, speakers lining each room—there was no escaping it even if you tried. You didn’t mind though, a few drinks in and you were having a great time. The annual halloween party at Stark Tower always provided a good time, and you were always happy to dress up for the occasion.

This year, you wore a witch costume complete with a blouse, flowy overcoat, and of course your mom’s heirloom ruby necklace. You definitely looked the part—at least enough to appease Tony at the front door. He was always strict about people entering in full costume, yet he himself never really dressed up. Maybe he assumed being Iron Man was his costume, but you weren’t going to pry through his ego to find out.

You’d been working for S.H.I.E.L.D. for a few years now, your main station as an agent usually landed you beside the Avengers. The team knew you well, which is why you often attended Tony’s work parties. Although they were sometimes flashy events filled with high ranks, you still enjoyed hanging out with your co-workers. At S.H.I.E.L.D., you felt you belonged. And more importantly, you felt you clicked with a certain redhead that was often beside you during missions.

“Here’s that refill,” Natasha appeared from the crowd with two drinks in hand, the bubbling red liquid perfect for the Halloween theme. You accepted one gratefully, ditching your empty glass on a nearby tray. “I love that necklace.” She commented, looking toward the sparkling ruby on your neck.

You smiled. “Thanks, my mom gave it to me. She got it from her mom, too.” Natasha smiled in return, a hint of something somber behind her eyes. It was hard to tell in the dim lighting, but you knew. She didn’t have a family that could pass down relics like this.

Overtime, you had gotten to know the Widow on various stakeout missions. There was a lot to learn about her, especially since she was often guarded—getting any piece of knowledge about her past was like a little clue in a large treasure hunt. But hours, even days, spent waiting for an enemy to show up left you two with not much else to do but talk.

“I like your costume.” You broke the silence, noticing her outfit for tonight. She sported a deep red dress, her red hair topped with small devil horns. It was fitting, considering her personality. And damn, that dress looked good on her.

“Thanks,” Her smile turned warm as she sipped on the red bubbles. “I’d hate to disappoint Tony.”

You chuckled softly. “He didn’t even dress up, like always. I wouldn’t say it to his face—but that’s a major cop out.” Natasha couldn’t help but laugh, something you hadn’t seen in a long time. You always appreciated each moment you and Natasha spent together, especially when you had the chance to make her laugh. She was a serious person, so breaking through to that softer personality on the inside was a treat.

Suddenly, after a few sips of the red drink amidst your fun with the redhead, a wave of nausea washed over you. You tried to swallow it, but Natasha could easily sense something was wrong. She knew your usual hardened exterior well, and wasn’t scared to speak up. “Hey, you alright?”

You nodded, taking a deep breath. “I think I had too much to drink, I’ll be right back.” You handed her your glass without giving her a chance to respond, immediately rushing off to the bathroom. You only had three drinks… usually they didn’t have this strong of an effect so soon. You felt a sense of embarrassment, letting Natasha see you like this. It was weak to let the alcohol get to a tough agent like yourself.

Regardless, your reality left you crouching over in a bathroom stall. The tower’s bathrooms were nice, luckily—yet this wasn’t how you imagined spending halloween. You hadn’t gotten drunk in a long time, but for some reason you didn’t feel very inebriated. You groaned, sitting against the cool-tiled wall as a headache began to pound in your head.

The sound of heels clacking up the tile forced you to take another deep breath. You already recognized who it was just by the calculated sound of her walk. Deep down, you knew she wouldn’t leave you to wallow alone. Even outside of missions, you two were a team—and Natasha valued that more than you realized at the time. “You in here?” Her voice echoed.

“Yeah,” Your voice was weak and raspy, and the last thing you wanted was to ruin someone else’s halloween. “I’m fine, though. Go enjoy the party.” You tried to convince her, but she’d already made up her mind. Three knocks landed on the stall door, her heels waiting in the gap below.

“Let me in.” It wasn’t a question, so you reached over to unlock the door. She took in your figure, now slightly less green than earlier. But your scrunched up features queued her into the pounding in your head. “Let’s get you to bed.” Once again, she wasn’t asking. Your night was short lived; clearly you didn’t party responsibly. You could’ve sworn you only had three drinks… but the present was telling a much different story. 

“Natasha,” She tried to help you up, but you brushed her off. There was no way you were getting babied. “Thank you, but I can get to bed by myself. I don’t even feel tipsy.” She holds her hands up in surrender, letting you walk off on your own. But the second you hit the hallway, your world shifted on its axis. The feeling of all your blood rushing to your head made the floor meet your body as you collapsed onto the hardwood.

“Famous last words…” Natasha muttered, assuming you were blackout drunk at this point. But as she ran over to check your unmoving state, she realized something much worse was going on. As she flipped your body, your skin was pale and lifeless. Her fingers found the pulse point on your neck, her own breathing becoming labored as she felt the absence of a heartbeat—you weren’t breathing.

—————

“Tony!” Her voice was muffled under the chatter of the crowd, but the urgency lacing her voice turned heads on its own. What caught the most attention was you, laying in her arms unconscious. The billionaire was chatting up a few higher ranks, his large gestured hand movements making it obvious he was inebriated. With both of her own hands taken, Natasha kicked him in the back of the knee.

“Shit! Hey—what was that for?” Tony whipped around, a fake hurt expression on his face. His eyes were quickly drawn to the pale figure lying in her arms; that nearly sobered him up on the spot. “Is she…?”

“No! She’s not dead,” Natasha huffed. “But she will be if you don’t hurry up and help me figure out what’s wrong.” Tony quickly excused himself from the group, following Natasha down the corridor to the secluded med bay. She felt the fear nearly strangle her, but the Widow wasn’t going to let the pressure of the situation prevent her from being of use—not when your life was at risk. She was a superhero, afterall, and superheroes don’t back down in times of fear.

As the pair finally arrived at the technology-filled room, the quiet atmosphere aided Natasha in a deep breath. The air was cooler, finally free of the crowd overwhelming the gallery upstairs. The redhead laid you down on the bed, allowing Tony to tap a few buttons on his tablet. In an instant, your vitals were being taken—and they didn’t look good.

Your appearance reflected that; skin so pale it looked cold to the touch, veins pronounced, and lips colorless. If only your life weren’t jeopardized, you looked the part for a spooky halloween costume.

“I thought she was drunk. She got sick in the bathroom, and then collapsed. I’ve never seen her look so…lifeless…” Natasha explained as she watched over you like a shadow, worry filling her expression. She wasn’t often so expressive, but for some reason the facade she usually held was slipping.

You stirred, eyes flicking back and forth under closed lids. Light hums escaped your lips as you felt your senses come to. “Natasha—I…” You tried to tell her that it felt like a weight was crushing you, your chest felt so heavy you were sure your lungs collapsed.

“What is it, love?” The word just slipped out of her mouth, so naturally she didn’t even notice. You were too groggy to notice either, but Tony did. He shot Natasha a questioning look—but ultimately knew it wasn’t the time.

You opened your eyes, finding gleaming green ones hovering over you full of concern. “It hurts.” You whined, hoping the Widow would somehow understand. She exchanged a glance with Tony.

“Where does it hurt? Show me,” Natasha held your hand gently, allowing you to move in tandem to the spot where pain was building. Slowly, you guided her hand up to your chest. Natasha completely ignored the movement, she was only worried about what was happening to you. Suddenly, your movements stopped—directly on top of the sparkling red ruby necklace. Her brows furrowed, and something in her gut just didn’t feel right. “Where did you get this necklace again?”

You thought for a moment, letting your eyes close under the bright overhead light. “My mom, who got it from her mom, who got it from hers… I can’t remember how many greats’ it was from.” Your voice was soft, groans interrupting your words occasionally as the aching continued.

Natasha exchanged another glance with Tony, but this time it was more knowing. “What are the chances…?” She shook her head, logic stating that there was no possible way her theory could be true. Tony was right there with her, understanding what she insinuated was completely crazy.

In case her crazy idea was true, she needed to act fast. “I’m going to take this necklace off of you,” she explained, waiting for you to nod before continuing. Her hands lifted your head slightly, shifting the chain of the necklace to locate the clasp. Her fingers guided it around your neck… and again… and again. There was no clasp. “Tony.” Her words were sharp, like a bomb would go off at any moment. “I need wire cutters.”

He wasted no time rummaging through drawers, eventually leaning in and grabbing the chain for himself with the pliers in one hand. Clink. The chain was rock solid. He tried cutting it again. “Ah, shit!” He dropped the pliers, waving his hands around like they were on fire.

“No, this can’t be possible! Give me the wire cutters!” Natasha wasn’t staying calm anymore, her hands desperate to pull the necklace off of you. Tony handed them over, letting the redhead fall into the same trap. The pliers suddenly felt like hot lava in her hands, having no use on the dainty chain keeping the ruby on your neck. But it wasn’t a ruby, and Natasha quickly realized her theory was true. It was the reality stone.

“How could her mom have had it? How is this possible?” A million questions were racing through Natasha’s head, and your life was slipping before her eyes. You were becoming less and less responsive, groans and whines tapering out. “I need you to tell me everything you know about this necklace. What did your mom say when she gave it to you?” Her hands brushed your forehead softly, attempting to coax you out of your near unconscious state.

You used whatever energy you had left to share what you knew, but it wasn’t much. “She didn’t give it to me, she left it to me in her will.” Natasha froze. She didn’t know your mother was dead. Even after all those hours spent getting to know each other, you failed to share the most important piece of information.

“How did your mom die…?” Her words were cautious, like the answer was going to reveal a deadly secret. Well, that’s exactly what it did.

“She got really sick all of a sudden, and just kinda… faded away.” The hurt in your voice grew, you had yet to tell Natasha anything about your mother. A part of you always wanted to keep a strong front about that because you knew Natasha had none, and maybe yours would give her a sense of comfort. That all was lost now, knowing the truth was pertinent to saving your own life.

Natasha felt her heart drop into her stomach. The reality stone killed your mother. And it was going to kill you too. Tony looked somber for once, if only you could’ve seen his face. He knew the only thing left to do was keep you comfortable until the stone finished its course through your body. “Nat, I think we should move her somewhere comfor-“

“No.” Her words were like ice; she wasn’t ready to give up on you yet. “There has to be someone who knows more about the stone than we do. It traces back from Asgard, right? Thor has to know something…” She was grasping at straws, but knew the stone's origin was the first place to start.

Tony nodded, deep in thought himself. He was at a loss for ideas, and agreed Thor would be the best bet if Natasha was insistent on finding a solution. “I’ll call him now. Let’s hope he knows the stone better than we do.”

—————

“What a shame. You need help with the funeral arrangements then, yes?” Thor’s booming voice did anything but offer Natasha comfort. She stood right in front of him, her green eyes piercing his with a look that could cause mortal beings to cower in fear.

“We called you here so you could help keep her alive, not rush her death.” She was furious, willing to do anything at this point to save you. But the problem was, there wasn’t much anyone could do. And she wasn’t willing to admit that.

By now, more than just Thor had heard of what happened. Soon, the entire team filed in one by one. Although the previous silence was nice, Tony agreed it would be a good idea to have more heads thinking on a solution. Natasha was bitter at first, but reluctantly allowed it once you were settled. Bruce had set up some intravenous meds to keep you comfortable, and Wanda cast her red wisps on your mind to keep your thoughts at ease.

The last person to arrive was Dr. Strange, who didn’t attend the party like everyone else. “Too busy for some halloween fun, huh?” Tony greeted him snarkily.

“I don’t entertain myself with childish holidays.” He smiled, nodding to Natasha as their eyes met. Everyone was hovered around you, similar expressions of concern and worry filling everyone’s faces. So much for not ruining anyone’s halloween.

Natasha filled the group in on what she knew, leaving the team asking themselves the same million questions. Strange was the first to speak up “Do you know if she can harness the powers the stone brings its owner?” Natasha shook her head, she never considered that seeing as you were incapacitated.

“No, we never tried. We only found out it was the reality stone after she was in and out of consciousness.” She explained, her eyes locking with the deathly red gem clinging to your chest. Strange nodded, brushing his chin with his pointer finger and thumb in deep thought. The gears in his mind were turning; he was especially knowledgeable about the stones and how they worked through his years of protection over the time stone.

“Strange might be onto something,” Thor chimed in. “If she can use the stone’s abilities, would she be able to warp her own reality?” The entire team was silent, no one truly knew if that was viable. But what everyone did know was that there was no harm in trying, they were all desperate for any solution.

“The only issue is, we need to keep her conscious enough to even attempt it.” Tony commented, looking around for any suggestions. Wanda stepped up, knowing exactly how to help.

“I’ve got that covered. I can use some of my power to keep her conscious,” She bit her lip. “I don’t know how long I can hold it for, so you’ll have to be quick.” Natasha nodded at her, knowing she’d be the one to explain the situation to you. And god, she hoped the plan would work.

“Everyone else, wait outside. Let’s give them some space. Strange, Romanoff, Maximoff,  Thor, you four stay and figure it out. We’ll be outside if you need anything.” Tony instructed everyone, earning a nod of respect from Natasha. The room grew silent once more, the four gathered around your bed.

“Alright,” Wanda prepared herself, eyeing everyone in the circle. “On my count, three… two…” The red wisps in her hands returned, flowing streaks of light swirling above her palms. “One.” She directed them at your mind, causing your eyes to immediately flutter open.

The world was foggy, and the weight on your chest remained. Something soothed it slightly, but only like how a bandaid stops a gushing wound. You noticed the IV on your arm and assumed it was responsible. “Natasha?” You blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of the handful of people before you. They were all heroes you recognized, though you hadn’t seen Strange in quite some time.

“Hey, welcome back,” Natasha was on your left side, leaning in so you could see her face clearly. A smile was pasted on her face, attempting to cover the worry underneath it. “I’m going to give you a lot of information at once, and I need you to do as I say very quickly, okay?” She explained softly. You nodded, ready and listening even in your weakened state.

“That necklace,” Her eyes fell toward the stone. “Is the reality stone. It’s sucking the life out of you, and we need you to try and use the stone’s powers to stop it. Can you try to imagine taking the necklace off?” You nodded, unsure where to start. You’d never used any of the stones before, but had watched other’s perform certain actions with them. Think, c’mon, just imagine. The meds being pumped into made you feel even weaker, like you couldn’t focus your groggy mind on just one thing. As you went to tell Natasha that, you realized she wasn’t there.

None of them were. The room was empty and dark, the overhead light flickering on and off. What the hell? It was eerily silent, you could hear the sound of your own slow heartbeat. “Hello?” You called out, your voice still raspy. Silence. You looked around, that’s when a sudden humming filled your ears. Was it one of the machines? No, it was someone actually humming.

You turned to your right, and there she was. Your mother softly hummed as she played with your hair. A deep breath found its way to your chest, like a sigh of relief. She hadn’t sung you to sleep since you were little. You looked up at her, but her own gaze was locked on your hair.

“Mom,” You whispered, like the sound of your voice would scare her off.

“Hm?” She responded softly, eyes still straying from yours.

You smiled, taking in the delicate features of her face. She could hear you. “The necklace, it hurts, Mom.” She furrowed her brow, continuing her soft humming. Her hands moved from your hair, down to the back of your neck. She fiddled with the chain, a small click sounding. Before you knew it, the necklace was in her hands.

“I’m sorry it caused you so much trouble,” She suddenly spoke, her eyes finally meeting yours. They were full of warmth, all the memories hidden beneath their deep color. “I’m sorry it left you without a mother.”

You moved to thank her, but in an instant she disappeared. Your heart sank, she was gone just like before. Rapidly blinking your eyes, you tried to puzzle together the shifted perspective. You were still in the room, this time with the four familiar figures around you. The humming was replaced by the slow beeping of a heart rate monitor.

“I can’t hold on for much longer, she’s slipping.” Wanda’s voice filled your ears, and you could soon make out the red wisps swirling around your head. Your eyes were watering, tears cascading down your cheeks as you realized none of it was real. Your mother was still dead, and it was all fake. The stupid stone made up a reality only there to taunt you.

You felt for the necklace around your neck, everyone’s eyes widening in fear as they noticed. It was gone. “Oh my god… you did it.” Natasha breathed, leaning in to see for herself. Just as Wanda’s red wisps dissipated, the red stone was no longer holding hostage around your neck. Taking into account all of your senses, you felt the weight of something in your palm.

Slowly uncurling your fingers, there it was. No longer gleaming, just an innocent looking red stone. Your gaze met Natasha’s, her evident expression of fear slowly slipping away as she noticed the harmless necklace in your hand. The room was silent. All that chaos over a stone, now sitting happily in your palm.

“I’ll go get Tony.” Strange commented, unwilling to stick around for any emotional reunion that might take place. Though, you weren’t sure what to feel. Being brought to a false reality made you question if this one was even real, and if it was actually all over. It all happened so fast; you felt victim of stone-induced whiplash from seeing your mother for only a second before she was cruelly taken away.

“Hey,” Natasha’s soft voice brought you back from your spiraling thoughts, aiding you in proving that this reality was in fact real. “Are you okay?” You could only nod, eventually feeling Natasha’s hand slip into your free one. It didn’t take long for Tony to rush into the room, a clear jar being nursed in the crook of his arm. He held it out, nodding at you with permission.

Slowly, you let the necklace slide out of your hand and into the jar, Tony hastily screwing the lid on just as the chain hit the glass with a clink. And just like that, the necklace was gone—along with the last physical reminder you had of your mother.

—————

A few days had passed since the incident; you were given paid time off to stay home and rest—partly because Tony didn’t want to be held liable, but mostly because the team genuinely cared about your wellbeing. You were frustrated by the sentiment, even though it was kind. Trapped in your apartment with nothing to do for a few weeks was a nightmare. Though nothing was as nightmarish as what you experienced.

The image of your mother next to you was burned into your mind. Every corner you turned, it felt like she was there. At the kitchen counter, staring at you in wait. On the living room couch, sitting peacefully watching television. Even in your bedroom, folding clothes for your dresser. But then you’d blink and she’d be gone like before.

You hadn’t told anyone about these hallucinations, mostly because you figured they were your post near-death anxieties. Agents would stop by your apartment occasionally, checking in or bringing groceries and whatnot. On the third day of your isolation, you heard the usual knock around dinnertime.

“It’s unlocked.” You called out from the couch. The apartment door swung open, a smug looking redhead on the other side with a pizza box in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

“I thought you might want comfort food tonight.” Natasha smirked, letting herself in. You matched her expression, quickly jumping up to meet her in the kitchen.

The bottle of wine made you especially giddy. “Bruce says I’m not supposed to drink.” She shrugged, locating your wine opener and popping the cork.

“What Bruce doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” You chuckled, grabbing two glasses for her to pour. “Besides, I think this is long overdue. Especially considering what the agents who come by here are saying…” The wine glugged as she filled each glass, your expression furrowing in a questioning manor.

“What are the other agents saying?” You asked. She slid you a full glass.

“You look terrified out of your mind. Obviously something’s up. I don’t blame you for keeping it to yourself around them.” She grabbed a slice of pizza, taking a bite to punctuate her words. You slid her a plate, grabbing one for yourself next.

It finally dawned on you why she came. “I see, so you came here to try and get more information on the situation? I told you, Natasha, I don’t know where the necklace came from.” You sighed, sipping on your wine. Her expression softened, a slight offense in her eyes. Maybe that wasn’t why she was here.

“No,” She paused for a moment, swirling her wine to watch the red liquid move fluidly. “I came here to ask what you saw when harnessing the stone’s abilities. Clearly whatever you did, it messed with you.” Natasha looked up at you, dead in the eye. She knew. Maybe you shouldn’t have been surprised, yet her actions always left you guessing. Of course, the agent you’ve known for all this time knew you were keeping something to yourself.

You put down the pizza slice that had been occupying your hands, taking a deep breath as you debated how to word what you saw. After all this time, keeping up the appearance of a hard-shelled agent, you needed to break that wall down.

“I saw my mom,” Your words hit harder than you expected, your own breathing becoming irregular. “She took the necklace off, that’s all.” You didn’t want to go into detail; instead, you swallowed thickly and stared at the pizza now left for the cold on your plate.

“Is that all?” Natasha questioned, her gaze still landing on you. It seemed too brief an explanation for how long you were unconscious for. You covered your face with your hands in frustration. There was no hiding anything, you’d have to tell it all.

“God, fine! She sat by me, and played with my hair. She sang to me like she used to when I was a kid. And she apologized, for what the stone caused. Then she was gone, and I didn’t even get to say goodbye; just like the first time.” Before you knew it, tears were rolling down your cheeks. Natasha hadn’t seen you like this before, but that didn’t deter her.

She was at your side in mere seconds, her boots clacking as she walked around the kitchen island. And eventually, her arms were wrapped around you, holding you tight like you might fall if she let go. “I wish it was real, Nat. I wish she were here.” You sobbed into her shoulder, letting all your hopes fall into her arms.

“I know, love.” There it was again. Love. This time, it didn’t go without notice. You just didn’t know how to respond. So instead, you sat in her arms in silence, letting the wave of emotion flow that needed to for years now. And Natasha didn’t mind one bit.

—————

Finally, your return to work had arrived. After weeks spent in isolation, you were more than ready to head back to S.H.I.E.L.D. with a clean bill of health. On top of Bruce’s immense tests, you were also well rested for once. After your talk with Natasha, the ghostly appearances of your mother just… stopped. You expected to be saddened by them, but mostly you felt relieved. She was at peace, and now you could be too.

Your first day back at the office was more memorable than you were expecting. The team decorated your desk, streamers of red hanging from it’s surface with a plate of red-frosted cookies and a ‘Welcome Back!’ sign. You all laughed, sharing the cookies as you rolled your eyes over the symbolic red decorations.

While everyone strayed back to their own departments for the day, Natasha lagged behind. “Don’t work yourself too hard on your first day back.” Her voice made you look up from your pile of documents, your eyes meeting.

“You and I both know I can’t do that.” You smirked, standing from your desk. She stepped in front of you, your bodies adjacent. “Thanks,” Your expression turned soft, a smile accenting your words. “For all your support, and for helping me get back on my feet.”

She nodded, a matching smile covering her face. “Anytime.” There was a comfortable silence, which urged Natasha to ask you something that’d been on her mind. “Now that you’re back, how about I take you out for a real dinner?” She asked, that familiar smugness quickly returning.

You chuckled, slightly surprised she was the one to make the first move after all. “I’d love that.” In the end, you were able to rely on Natasha as so much more than just a supporting agent on the field. You could rely on her as a friend—and maybe after this dinner, something even more.