#our way of saying we are hanging out and touching toes

[campbyler]

anyone want free feet pics

[nyrasvoid]

A Knight’s Prize pt.2

Gwayne Hightower x Fem!Reader

Summary: you overhear a scheming conversation between Otto and Alicent Hightower, leading you to doubt Ser Gwayne’s true intentions.

Warnings: none i think?? if you find any let me know

A/N: this second part was written based on one of the comments of part one

- Word count: ≈3.5k

Part 1

The day after your encounter with Ser Gwayne, you find yourself wandering the corridors of the Red Keep. You wore a teal dress, a perfect blend of Velaryon blue and Hightower green, with gold embroidery down the fabric. A simple gold tiara adorned with tiny pearls rests on your head, while a silver pendant shaped like a dragon, its eyes gleaming with emeralds, hangs around your neck. Your heart flutters with a mix of hope and anxiety as you walk, your thoughts consumed by the image of Ser Gwayne. You can’t help but wonder if your paths will cross today, if perhaps he might seek you out again, this time not as a competitor but as a suitor.

As you turn a corner, the sound of voices pulls you out of your imagination. You recognize them instantly, calculating tone of Lord Otto Hightower and the softer voice of Queen Alicent. You pause, turning around and hiding behind the column where they could not see you.

From your position, you peeked around the corner and saw them standing near the entrance to the library. You feel your pulse quicken as you lean closer, trying your best to hear their conversation.

"Father," Alicent begins, her voice filled with worry. "This match between Gwayne and the Princess... it troubles me."

Otto watches her calmly, his expression unreadable. "And why should it trouble you, my daughter? The girl is a Princess of the realm, of Velaryon and Targaryen blood, and a potential queen one day. A union between our houses would solidify our influence over the Iron Throne."

"But she is a bastard," Alicent argues quietly. "The rumors about her parentage... they are known throughout the court. If Gwayne marries her, it could stain our house, taint the Hightower name with whispers and scandal."

You feel a chill run down your spine, your fingers tightening around the fabric of your dress. The word 'bastard' feels to you like a knife, a painful reminder of the whispers and glances that have haunted you all your life.

Otto remains calm, his tone firm and decisive. "Alicent, you must understand the greater game we are playing. Whether she is a trueborn daughter of Ser Laenor Velaryon or not, she is still the granddaughter of King Viserys and the heir to the throne after Rhaenyra. To have her as a daughter-in-law would elevate our house beyond any stain that her lineage might bear."

Alicent hesitates, her gaze fixated towards the ground. "But what of Gwayne? Does he know of these ambitions? Has he agreed to be a pawn in your game?” she paused and took a deep breath. “If he is to marry a bastard and stain our name, he must at least have a say in this.”

Otto smiles, a cold, calculating smile that sends a shiver down your spine. "Gwayne knows his duty, as we all do. His personal feelings are of little to no matter, compared to the power our house could gain. He will do as he is told."

You feel as though you have been betrayed. Could it be true? Is Ser Gwayne merely a pawn in his father’s game? Have his charming words and tender touches been nothing more than a farce, a way to secure your hand and, with it, the power that comes with your name?

You take a step back, tip-toeing slow and carefully to avoid being discovered. Your thoughts becoming a storm of confusion and hurt. Is this the true nature of the man who seeks your favor? Does he see you as nothing more than a prize to be won?

Just as you’re about to leave, you hear Alicent speak once more, her voice filled with doubt. "But what if she learns of this? What if she refuses him? The Princess has her mother’s spirit and the blood of the dragon. She will not be easily controlled if she feels betrayed."

Otto simply responds - "Then we must ensure she does not learn of it. The Princess is young, and like any young woman, she is vulnerable to the charms of a skilled and handsome knight. Gwayne will win her over with affection."

You finally decide to retreat, wanting to hear no more words of their scheming. As you walk through the halls of the Red Keep, you can’t stop thinking about Gwayne. How could you have been so blind? Could Ser Gwayne be part of this plan, or is he a victim of his father’s ambition too?

The sounds of the tournament grow louder as you approach the field, but you no longer feel the same excitement. You watch as Ser Gwayne enters the field, facing the famous Ser Loras Tyrell. Ser Gwayne’s armor gleams in the sunlight, a shining steel plate adorned with the green fabrics of House Hightower. His cloak, bearing the Hightower sigil. A plume of green feathers decorates his helmet, making him stand out against the other knights. He carries his lance with confidence.

Ser Loras, wearing an armour decorated with the golden roses of House Tyrell, sits on his horse, his gaze fixed on Gwayne with a look of superiority. The two knights lower their lances, and at the signal from the herald, they charge.

The first clash is brutal, their lances meeting with a deafening impact, both knights remain mounted. The crowd roars in excitement, eager for more. Again, they charge, and again their lances crash together, breaking into pieces. But neither man yields.

On the third pass, Ser Loras leans slightly into Gwayne’s track, his lance striking against Gwayne’s shield. With the force of the blow, Ser Gwayne is knocked from his horse. He hits the ground hard, and you feel a shiver run down your spine.

You rise from your seat, your heart pounding in your chest as you lean on the gallery’s fence to see what is happening on the field. Rhaenyra and Daemon exchange looks, as they notice your concern. They have not forgotten the disrespects and insults of the Hightowers towards your family, and your growing interest in Ser Gwayne is not something they view favorably.

From behind your seat, Otto Hightower watches with a smirk, his eyes catching the worry on your face. He seems almost pleased by your reaction, his mind already thinking about your betrothal to his son.

As you slowly sit back down, your brother Jacaerys, seated beside you, leans in and whispers, “Do you have any interest in that Hightower cunt?”

You glare at him, your voice low as you reply, “It is of no interest to you, Jace.”

He frowns but says nothing more, his gaze returning to the field as the match continues.

Ser Gwayne, rises from the ground and calls out to Ser Loras, his voice carrying across the field, “Dismount, Ser Loras, and face me with steel if you dare!”

The crowd murmurs in excitement as Ser Loras hesitates for only a moment before dismounting. The two knights draw their swords, the clash of steel ringing across the field.

Ser Loras is fast and agile, but Ser Gwayne fights with a relentless ferocity that soon begins to wear his opponent down. You watch in distress, worrying for Gwayne, your earlier doubts momentarily forgotten in the heat of the moment.

Finally, with a powerful strike, Ser Gwayne forces Ser Loras’s sword from his hand, sending it to the ground. Loras stumbles back and Gwayne presses the tip of his blade against the Tyrell knight’s throat.

“Yield,” Ser Gwayne commands, his voice firm.

Ser Loras meets his gaze for a long moment before finally lowering his head in surrender. “I yield,” he says.

As the day’s events draw to a close, you retreat to the gardens of the Red Keep, seeking solace in the cool evening air.

You reach a secluded corner of the garden, where the scent of blooming roses fills the air, and there, waiting for you, stands Ser Gwayne. His armor has been removed, he smiles as you approach, but the warmth you once felt in his presence is now overshadowed by the coldness in your heart.

"Princess," he says gently, "I've been looking for you. Is something the matter?"

You hesitate, your mind racing with the memory of what you overheard in the library. The scheming of his father and sister, the way they spoke of you as if you were nothing more than a pawn in their game. You swallow hard, unable to meet his gaze fully.

"Nothing is the matter, Ser Gwayne," you reply, your voice cold and distant.

His brow furrows, sensing the change in your behaviour. "We are betrothed now," he says, "Should we not start spending more time together? I want us to know each other, to trust each other."

"Trust?" you echo, your tone filled with sarcasm. "Trust is a rare luxury in a place like this, wouldn’t you agree?"

He looks taken aback by your sharpness but remains calm. "Princess, I understand your apprehension. But we are to be married. We must find common ground, if not for our sake, then for the sake of our houses."

The mention of your marriage—the idea of leaving your family, your mother, your brothers—. You glance away, "It’s not so simple, Ser Gwayne.”

He steps closer, his voice softer. "Should I come to your chambers before the dinner to accompany you? We could speak more... openly."

You nod, though your enthusiasm is lacking. "Very well, Ser Gwayne. If it pleases you."

You return to your chambers, there, you prepare for the dinner. The thought of marriage, the thought of leaving behind everything you’ve ever known to go to Oldtown, fills you with sadness. And then, of course, there’s the matter of children—something that makes you sick to your stomach just thinking about it.

As you finish dressing, you hear a light knock on your door. You take a deep breath and open it to find Ser Gwayne waiting for you, dressed in elegant dark green attire.

"You look beautiful, Princess," he says with a small smile, his eyes tracing the lines of your gown as he extends his arm offering you to hold onto it.

"Thank you, Ser Gwayne," you reply, your voice polite but distant as you accept his arm.

As you walk together through the corridors of the Red Keep, he tries to make conversation. "I’ve been thinking about Oldtown," he begins, his voice calm. "It’s a beautiful city, with a rich history. I think you will grow to love it there, as its Lady."

You nod, but your thoughts are elsewhere. "Perhaps," you say, not wanting to engage in the conversation.

He senses your hesitance and changes the subject. "And what of children?" he asks gently, "I imagine we will have many, strong and healthy. You will be a wonderful mother, I am sure."

The thought of children—of bearing his children—unnerves you. "We shall see, Ser Gwayne" you reply coolly.

As you enter the grand dining hall, you take your seats beside each other. The hall is filled with the noble houses of the realm, and King Viserys announces your betrothal with a smile. There are cheers and applause.

Ser Gwayne turns to you, "Would you honor me with a dance, Princess?" he asks, his voice soft.

But the last thing you want is to dance with him, not after everything. "I’m afraid I do not wish to dance," you reply, turning away from him.

Moments later, Ser Loras approaches and asks for the honor of a dance. Despite your earlier refusal, you accept his offer, rising from your seat and allowing him to lead you to the dance floor. You can feel Ser Gwayne’s eyes on you, a mixture of hurt and confusion in his gaze, but you ignore it.

When the dinner finally ends, Ser Gwayne is there to escort you back to your chambers. The walk is silent, tension in the air. As you reach the door, he stops, his hand gently grabbing yours.

"Princess," he begins, his voice low and strained, "why have you been so distant with me? And why did you dance with another when I asked you first?"

You pull your hand away, feeling the anger within you begin to boil. "I am not distant," you say, though the lie is evident in your voice.

He steps closer, his eyes searching yours. "We should not start our marriage based on lies, Princess. If something is troubling you, tell me. We are to be husband and wife. We must trust each other."

The pressure of his words, finally breaks you. "You want to know what’s wrong, Ser Gwayne?" you snap. "I overheard your father and sister speaking in the library. They spoke of using me, of marrying me off to you to gain power, to strengthen their hold on the realm. How can I trust anything you say?"

Ser Gwayne’s eyes widen in shock. "I had no idea," he says, "I swear to you, Princess, I was not aware of any of this. My feelings for you—my desire to marry you—are my own, not theirs. You must believe me."

You turn away, tears threatening to spill over. "How can I? How can I believe anything when everyone around me is filled with ambition?"

He reaches out, gently turning you back to face him. "Because I will prove it to you," he vows. "I will confront my father and sister. I will not allow them to manipulate us, to use you as a tool for their own gain. I promise you that, Princess."

You stare at him, a storm of emotions going through your mind. Without thinking, you reach up, grabbing his face in your hands. The softness of his skin under your fingers sends a shiver down your spine, leaning in to press your lips against his.

The kiss is desperate, filled with all the confusion you’ve been holding back. His lips are warm and firm against yours, and for a moment, you lose yourself in the sensation. His hands come up to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss.

When you finally pull away, your breathing is uneven, your heart pounding in your chest. He looks at you, his hands still resting on your waist.

"We must wait," he says gently, his voice tinged with both desire and restraint. "I do not wish to dishonor you, Princess. We should save this for our wedding night, as it should be." He takes your hand, lifting it to his lips and placing a soft kiss on your knuckles.

You nod, unable to say anything, but before you can even try to speak, Ser Gwayne steps back, “Goodnight, my lady," he murmurs, "I will see you tomorrow."

He turns and walks away, leaving you standing at the doors of your chambers, your heart pounding in your chest.

Slowly, you retreat into your chambers, closing the door behind you. You move toward the vanity, removing the silver pendant from your neck and placing it carefully on the table. Your hands are trembling. You slip out of your dress, replacing it with a simple nightgown. As you slide into bed, pulling the covers up to your chin, your thoughts race.

You try to push the events of the evening from your mind, but it’s impossible. Ser Gwayne’s words echo through your mind, his touch still lingering on your skin. He seemed sincere.

Your thoughts go to the future, to what it means to be Lady of Oldtown, to be married to a man whose family you cannot fully trust. The idea of leaving your mother and brothers fills you with a deep sadness. Perhaps, despite everything, Ser Gwayne might be different. He could be a good husband, a good father. He could make this marriage something more than just a political arrangement.

Pt 3???

[luv4berry]

my eyes only.

earth 42!miles morales x fem!reader

SUMMARY: miles belleves that you're for him and for him only, no sharing. not even with your best friend.

GENRE: angst to fluff

WARNINGS: bickering/arguing, suggestive(?), kissing, idk if this counts as toxic miles lowkey right in his anger but at the same time is he fr, jealous miles, y/n is lowkey a walking red flag, cursing, man idk

AUTHORS NOTE: the autism is rlly autisming with this movie </3

“baby you not stupid and i know you aren’t, why you acting like that?”

“miles, leave me alone.”

“nah, cause i already told you ion like him, why you still talking to him? you fuckin’ with him or sum?” he narrows his eyes at you, clasping his hands in between his legs while cocking his head to the side.

“im not having this conversation with you, call me when you done having your lil tantrum or whatever.” you ignore your boyfriend's scowl as you slide to the end of his bed and silently load everything into your coach tote bag, incoherently mumbling to yourself.

“the childish shit im talking about man.” he shakes his head, twin braids following suit. he gets out of his rolling chair, snagging the bag from your hands and holding it above his head where you can’t reach.

visibly annoyed, you roll your eyes at the tantrum he was throwing. before you had even dated him you laid down all possible icks, including your best friend. you told him how your relationship with said best friend was non-negotiable due to the significance he held in your life before miles. before miles, he was the one who you cried to, who you confined in about your family, your feelings, your insecurities. though after getting with miles you weren’t as close with him, he was still your best friend.

“miles give me my shit, don’t piss me off.”

“why? what you hiding? ain’t no way you not messing with him.”

in the stillness of his room, your phone rapidly vibrates inside your bag, miles interest immediately piqued when his fingers curve around the device, the name “dante <3” flashing on the screen.

he laughs to himself, but you knew better than to think it was a laugh of amusement. the manner of his laugh was deeply provoked, a telltale sign that it had an underlying meaning. he sends you a hard look, “so we adding hearts now too? bet.” he says while answering the facetime call.

“y/n?” dante calls out to you, the camera panned toward the ceiling, his ruffled locs in frame.

“nah she busy right now homeboy, what you want?”

“uh okay? can you ask her if she can retwist my hair this sunday?”

“nah.” he blatantly answers.

“huh?”

“dante hang up!” you call out from behind miles, to which he sends you another glare. before dante can respond miles hangs up, turning his whole body to face you. “so wassup?”

“miles give me my phone.”

“your phone? ma this our phone.” you roll your eyes once more and quickly snatch your phone from his grasp, shoving it into the tote bag and slipping your black crocs on. “don’t text my phone either.” you yell on your way out slamming his room door, silently praying that mama rio wasn’t home.

it was getting more and more difficult to manage the pit that sat in your bosom from the fight you had with your boyfriend earlier. you were used to talking to him in your dimly lit room around this time, your hands playing with the loose coils at the back of his head while saying cheesy things to each other, exchanging light pecks and subtle touches.

you groan loudly, tired of sulking to yourself you decide to get up from your bed, do your makeup and take pictures. you sit at your vanity, shuffling your playlist while opening up your makeup bag.

about 20 minutes into your routine, you hear incoherent voices coming from just outside your door. you tip toe towards the door, peaking your head out to see miles, helping your mom set the dinner table while engaging in small talk. “yeah, basketball’s good.” he says, smiling at her with all 32 pearly whites.

“y/n’s upstairs, ill call you guys down when dinners ready.” she smiles, coaxing him towards your room. you quietly shut the door, scrambling towards your vanity table, acting as if you had not witnessed the scene that took place just outside your door mere seconds ago.

you hear him quietly enter and creep up behind you, the mirror capturing his movements. you line your lips, ignoring your lovers presence even when he wraps his arms around your torso and repeatedly kisses your face.

“who you looking all fine for?”

you greet him with nothing but silence, putting your manicured finger over his lips which he attempts to bite.

“oh so it’s like that?”

“yeah, it’s like that, and I didn’t invite you over. go home.” you get up from your position, walking towards the door that he left open, closing it.

“what i told you ‘bout that mouth? you got all sorts of attitude today.” he argues, trailing behind you.

you scoff while crossing your arms, turning around and mean mugging him. you watch as he takes a moment and backs up, giving you a once over. the argument that had him so worked up earlier dissipated into thin air, his focus now on the biker shorts that hugged you a little too tight, and the cropped cami that hung a little too loosely. you watch a ghost of a smile adorn his lips.

“nasty ass.” you snap him out of his thoughts.

he snorts, taking a seat on your bed and pulling you in between his legs. “you still mad at me?” he questions you, raising his brows.

“it’s not gonna magically go away miles, you didn’t even try to apologize, showing up at my house at 8:00 kissing me and shit isn’t gonna fix anything.” it was the truth, and you weren’t backing down from it. you wanted an apology, you weren’t willing to go any further with him till you got said apology, you couldn’t push this to the side.

“y/n, baby, you know i love you but im not fucking with the way you making it look like im wrong for feeling the way i feel.” miles argued.

“because you are wrong! i told you about him before we even got together, you can’t expect me to drop him in 2 seconds just because you asked, he’s my best friend!” you argue back, keeping your voice down cautiously due to your nosy family on the other side of the door.

“no ma, im your best friend, you for my eyes only.”

“if you came here to argue with me you should just go.”

“we don’t sleep mad at eachother, we fixing this right now.” he says, dragging you into a straddling position atop him, his arms momentarily wrapping around your waist. your eyes dart around your room, refusing to make eye contact in fear of folding immediately.

“i just want you to put it this way, you got this fine ass girl, right? but then she got this ugly ass—“

“miles.” you warn him.

“… she got this boy best friend that she always on the phone with, always going out with, and she always wanna see him when you’re right there. she always talking about him, texting him when with you, answering his calls.” for the first time in a while you realize how off that sounds, maybe you had been the wrong one, though your stubborn nature made it hard to admit it.

he begins to speak again, “im not asking you to cut him off, im asking you to minimize how much you talk to him—im a guy and i know how we think. you might think y’all homeboys but he plotting on you, just think of it like that baby.” he finished while rubbing the skin of your thighs in slow tender circles.

“im sorry.” you quietly murmur under your breath into his shoulder. just barely loud enough so he can hear. but no, he had to hear this, you admitting you made a mistake.

he taps your thigh, “speak up, cant hear you.”

“you heard me, don’t be annoying.” you said when you realized his true intent, embarrassed by how you had previously acted.

miles snickered to himself, “ma?”

“yeah?”

“my fault for getting loud with you earlier, i didn’t mean to do all that.” he admitted, kissing your shoulder blade.

you remove your head from the crevice between his neck and shoulder, repeatedly giving him big smooches on the lips in acceptance of his apology which he gladly returns.

the moment is ruined by knocking on the door. you scramble off his lap which ultimately ends with you landing on the floor with a thud. snickers come from your bed, a deadpan expression immediately sweeping over your features.

“hope y’all not in there being nasty.” your mother calls out, “get decent and come downstairs to eat.”

love, berry <3

[jobean12-blog]

For the First Time and Forever

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female reader (princess!reader)

Word Count: 1,181

Summary: Marcus can't stay away any longer and comes to you in the middle of the night with a confession and so much more.

Author's Note: First of all, why are summaries so hard- ugh and I suck at them haha- anyway, I reallllllly loved writing this one. It's their first time together and I wanted it to really feel extra deep- hopefully that comes across. Extra thanks to all the lovely people who have been so kind and supportive with my little stories, I really appreciate you! Thank you all so much for reading and much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you sweet Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: sweet softness, fluff, lots of love, fluffersmut (best way I can describe it haha), lots of feels, love making

Marcus Acacius Masterlist

Pedro Pascal Character Masterlist

The jiggle of the iron lock startles you from your reading and you jump up from your bed and hurry toward the door. You wait, your breath caught in your throat, for a signal.

A book slides under the small space at your feet, stopping when it hits your toe. You bend to pick it up, smiling before pressing it to your chest and quietly unlocking the door.

He has never been to your room, and when he walks in, he barely glances at anything, his eyes trained on you. His hands cradle your face, and he pushes you back toward the wall, his mouth firm on yours.

As gentle as his hands are on your skin there is nothing gentle about his kiss. It’s hard and desperate, a hunger that he can’t seem to satiate.

“Marcus,” you gasp, grabbing his wrists.

His eyes seem to refocus at the call of his name and when you look over his shoulder at the open door, he mutters a curse and quickly walks back to shut and lock it.

In seconds you’re back in his arms, his hands gripping and pulling ineffectually at clothing that is in his way.

“I am sorry my love,” he whispers against your lips. “But it seems you have me losing my mind. I could not wait another second to see you.”

The only light in your room is from the small oil lamp hanging near your bed and it casts a small burst of warm yellow light around the pillows.

He kisses you again then pulls away to watch you walk backward toward your bed.

“Marcus, I…”

“Undress for me.”

You take a deep breath.

Looking down at your clothes you lift shaky hands to your tunic and slowly unwrap it from your shoulder and torso. The linen falls to the floor and you’re left in nothing but your two pieces of underclothing.

“Your nervousness makes me think you do not know that I am in love with you Princess.”

You lift your gaze, eyes wide and hands frozen.

“I love you,” he repeats.

You’re silent as you reach behind you to unravel the linen that covers your breasts. It falls at your feet followed by the fabric you loosen at your hips.

“I love you.”

The words are a whisper on your lips, and he takes a step closer, his dark eyes wandering reverently over every inch of your bare skin.

“And I’m terrified.”

He takes you in his arms, all your softness pressed firmly against the hard lines of his armor.

“I would be lying if I did not say the same,” he murmurs. “I am frightened I put you in danger each time we are together. Frightened that I may not survive your father’s plans and our time together will be far too short.”

You gently touch his face, tracing the outline of his jaw until you find his lips.

“I will not watch you die,” you whisper. “It will not be so.”

Your movements are delicate and slow as you untie the cuirass and remove it from his chest, next pulling the scarf free of his neck.

You press a kiss to his neck and feel him swallow against your lips.

When you have his belt loosened it falls to the floor and you start to lift his tunic, ridding him of the last piece of clothing before looking your fill.

He breathes out your name, his voice shaky with distracted and insatiable desire.

“And I will have you know, Princess, that each and every moment spent loving you have been the greatest I have ever lived.”

And in that instant everything became about the feeling of his mouth on yours, the feeling of his hands on your body, his lips pressing more words of love into your skin. You feel every breath he takes and absorb every sound that leaves his lips.

His mouth grows hungrier and more urgent as he lays you on the bed and moves down your body. Slowly, he presses two fingers inside you and slides his tongue through you. He takes his time, savoring and teasing until you cry out his name.

“You are stunning beyond compare,” he whispers when you’re finally still and he crawls over you. “It is overwhelming how it affects me so.”

You reach up and drag your nails along his chest, grabbing his shoulders and urging him closer and then pushing him back so you can watch when he reaches between your bodies to position himself against you.

“Please” you whisper.

He groans, exhaling as he lowers his body over yours and pushes into you fully. The sensation is blissful. The stretch rides the edge of the most pleasurable pain and the feeling of his skin against yours, his face buried in your neck, and his hair silky between your fingers, is everything all at once.

His hands pull your thighs around his waist and his hips pivot as he moves inside you.

You’re out of words as he rolls you on top of him and he watches your face until it’s too much, too intense, and you’re falling together, your lips pressed to his and his arms keeping you impossibly close.

Marcus is curled up behind you when the sun barely begins to lighten the sky. His hair is rumpled, curls wild as it frames his peaceful expression. He’s hard and pressing into your back, gently rocking his hips, and not saying a single word when he realizes you’re staring.

His hands are calm and deliberate, teasing. He starts to build a slow burn under your skin, kissing you everywhere, touching you just how you want, just how you need. The sun has barely broken the horizon when you collapse together again and fall to sleep.

He stands quietly, crossing the room and retrieving his clothing and armor. Before he’s fully dressed he leans over you and whispers, “my love. I must go,” against the shell of your ear.

Goosebumps break out over your skin, and you stir, mumbling with a stretch.

“I do not want you to go. Ever.”

He braces his hands on either side of your head and hovers above you.

“You are even more gorgeous in the morning light. Did you know that?”

“Yes?” you smile, lifting your hand and brushing your thumb across his bottom lip.

He sucks it into his mouth then releases it to lean down and kiss you. The sounds of a rainstorm begin as water pelts the roof and thunder rumbles in the distance.

Your lips move from his mouth and to his ear. “I am sore but in the best way.”

You rock your hips against his. “I want more.”

“Woman,” he growls. “I will never tire of hearing those words.”

Pushing on his chest, you roll him onto his back. “Do not go Marcus.”

The sheet falls away and he grabs your hips. “I love you,” he whispers. “I will do anything you ask of me.”  You bend down and capture his lips, breathing the same words into his mouth.

@hiddles-rose @blackwidownat2814 @tripletstephaniescp

[allzelemonz]

Developing Powers: Clark Kent X Male Reader

Pronouns: he/him, Reader referred to as ‘boy’ and ‘man’ Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: M/Mentions of sexual situations, nudity Warnings: Characters are the same age, high school aged characters, awkward teenagers, pillow fights, farm boys being farm boys, showers, cold showers, accidental peeping Tom, mentions of masturbation Summary: Clark’s developing powers complicate things when his best friend stays over the weekend.

Clark’s pillow hits your head and you fall backwards onto his bed with a grunt. Before you can react, he’s on top of you with his hands pressing you down on your chest as he laughs in victory.

“Not fair, Kent.” You huff, struggling to reach for your pillow.

He grins, grabbing your wrist. “You started it.”

A knock prompts you both to look past the foot of Clark’s bed to the door. Pa Kent stands in the doorway, laughing lightly. “You boys are supposed to be in bed, lots of work in the morning.” He looks down at you. “And I won’t have your father thinking I ruined your work ethic, young man.”

Clark moves off of you. “Just messing around, Pa.”

“I know.” He smiles. “But I let him sleep over so you two could get to work early.”

“We’ll go to bed, sir.” You say, sitting up. “Sorry if we were being loud.”

“Just get your showers and get in bed, boys.” He turns to you. “We milk our cattle early, up by four.”

You nod. “Yes, sir.”

Pa Kent gives one last fatherly point before he closes the door and his footsteps creak over the floor towards his and Ma Kent’s room.

Clark tosses you a towel, hitting you square in the head as he giggles. “You can go first.”

You stand, giving his shoulder a light shove as you grab your backpack and disappear into the hall. Clark giggles to himself, just happy Pa agreed to let you stay the night to help with farmwork over the weekend. He flips through his homework packet, trying to find the energy to actually read the questions. He doesn’t. It’s Friday, his best friend is staying over, math homework can wait. He tosses the packet onto his desk, writing a note to do it on Sunday. With any luck, his developing super-speed applies to his math processing too.

When Clark looks up, he nearly jumps out of his skin. He can see you. His x-ray vision has slipped before and he’s been practicing his control on it, but it’s never caused him to glance up and see his best friend naked. Not just naked either, naked with water dripping over your skin and absolutely no limbs obstructing his view of your hanging dick.

Clark’s face turns bright red and he slaps his hands over his eyes. His skin has turned hot and his heart is beating a mile a minute. Sure, he’s been in a locker room with you and you’ve used urinals around each other but he’s never got such a full frontal in his life, there’s always been a wall or arm or folding pants in the way. Clark takes deep breaths, trying not to think, but when he looks back in the direction his eyes peer through without control. His breath hitches, he nearly chokes, watching your hands run over your dick. It's just scrubbing, just washing, but Clark’s mind wanders to images of you alone in your bedroom and he has to bury his face into the pillows of his bed to get his head back.

He’s sweating, face hidden in his pillow as he tries to breathe. He shouldn’t think about his best friend like that, he shouldn’t even be able to see you through the stupid walls. When Clark catches his breath and shifts to sit up, he freezes. The cotton of his boxers rubbing with the rough denim of his jeans, all making sparks of sensitivity shoot down to his toes by shifting against his now hard dick. Clark wants to scream. He just got hard at the mere thought and sight of his best friend touching himself.

The water shuts off and Clark scrambles to grab his stuff, holding it in front of himself as you walk out. His heart skips as you do, your hair still a bit wet and the pajamas clinging to your body from only just being put on.

You stop, looking at him strangely. “Uh, you okay?”

Clark nods, trying to hide his flushed face. “Mhm, yeah, just really need the shower.”

He rushes past you, disappearing into the hall. He closes the bathroom door behind him, breathing heavily as he tries to clear his head again. When the thoughts remain, Clark turns the water on cold and closes his eyes. The water washes over him, helping his erection die down in the icey temperature.

[daisynik7]

cw: fluff, established relationship, suggestive at the end

Author’s Note: this drabble was inspired by my snookums @dprkento because we were talking about building forts together the other day and I thought how cute would it be if we did that for husband!Nanami?! anyways, ily, thank you for always making me feel so special and loved. Divider by @/cafekitsune.

It’s been a stressful week for both you and your husband, more so for Nanami though, who has worked overtime nearly every day since Monday. When Friday finally arrives, you come up with an idea to help the two of you unwind. It’s a bit unconventional, maybe even a little childish, but you have a good feeling that it’s just what he needs. 

Around seven in the evening, you hear the familiar jingle of keys from the other side of the front door. You crawl out from under your creation, chest thumping with excitement, unsure how he’ll react to all of this. Waiting by the entrance, the door swings open to reveal Nanami, eyes tired, shoulders hunched, the aura of an overworked man surrounding him. He shrugs his jacket off, hanging it on the coat rack while he removes his shoes. When he sees you, his expression brightens, a small smile forming on his lips, always happy to be home. You greet him with a warm embrace, wrapping your arms around his torso, squeezing him tight. He nuzzles his nose to the top of your head, inhaling your scent, exhaling a heavy sigh. “Hi.”

You giggle into his chest then peer up at him. “You sound exhausted.”

“I am exhausted,” he admits, bowing down to kiss you on the lips.

“Have I got the perfect surprise for you then,” you say, smirking. 

He stares at you with a brow raised, curious. “Oh no, what now?” You’ve got another trick up your sleeve, keeping him on his toes. And while he pretends to be hesitant at first, he always looks forward to whatever you have in store for him. 

Tugging on his hand, you lead him into the living room, where your masterpiece awaits. “Ta-da!” You hold your arms out, presenting the pillow fort you constructed for him. The base is made of the chairs you dragged all the way from the dining table, concealed by mismatched throw blankets laid out on top of each other to act as the roof. The interior is designed with every pillow you could find lying around the house atop the thickest comforter you have to provide enough cushioning. The finishing touch is your favorite stuffed animal sitting in the corner inviting you in, the same one that Nanami won for you years ago after spending far too much time and money on a crane machine to get it. 

His lips are parted in surprise, inspecting each inch of it carefully. When he doesn’t have any response, you nudge with your elbow. “Well, what do you think?”

He kneels down at the entrance, appreciating the interior, eyes wide with wonder. “You built this? For me?”

“For us,” you correct him, beaming. “I thought we could give up on being adults for a night and relive our childhood.”

He chuckles, crawling inside, his muscular body filling up nearly the entire space. “I never built a fort like this when I was kid. This is a first for me.” Loosening his tie, he rolls over on his back, leaning his head into the pillows, finally relaxed. He waves over to you, beckoning you to join him. 

“Hold on. Let me get the snacks.” You shuffle towards the kitchen counter, gathering all the treats you prepared for tonight: chips, candies, even a box of pizza from one of your go-to restaurants. You dump all the food near the entrance of the fort and shimmy beside your husband, laying the pizza flat on your laps. He presses a sweet kiss to your cheek before grabbing a slice to indulge on. 

When you finish dinner, you set up a laptop on a small standing tray near your feet, snuggling closer to Nanami, who has since removed his tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt. From your peripheral, you can tell he’s not paying attention to the movie. Instead, his focus is on you. 

Still facing the screen, you grin. “What?”

He hums, leaning in closer, his mouth hot on your skin, not answering. He places a delicate kiss on your neck, lingering as his hand slides across your thighs, slipping between your legs. “Kento,” you breathe out, turning towards him, capturing his lips with yours. 

“Thank you for this,” he whispers between kisses, sliding his other hand beneath your shirt and up your back, fingers at the clasp of your bra. “I love you.”

It doesn’t take long for the two of you to undress and christen the pillow fort properly. As Nanami cradles you in his arms, watching you sleep against his chest, he admires the fort one last time before slipping into a peaceful slumber with a smile on his face. 

[disneyprincemuke]

another williams adoptee * ls2

it's never fun feeling like an outsider, so you'd sworn that nobody would ever feel the way you did all those years ago

pairings: logan sargeant x platonic fem!driver

notes: this actually took me longer than thirty minutes to write im sorry

| "wanna hang out?" | driver's parade | american burgers | american football | the thanksgiving incident | another williams adoptee | beating the heat | you’re embarrassing me | santa baby | the favourite driver | the situationship | it's nice to have a friend |

you press your lips together as you approach the pit lane. you sip from your water bottle and squint as three men come into your sight. around them is a camera crew sporting the williams team shirts, the cameras pointed towards logan and alex predominantly.

and when you look closely, you can see your teammate not too far from alex, stretching. "what are you guys doing?"

logan is the first to acknowledge you out of the three. he stands up from his previous position of bending down to touch his toes and grins at you. "we're racing."

"what?" you raise an eyebrow and tilt your head. "racing?"

"yeah," alex says with a sigh, also standing from his position of stretching. "we're foot racing to those karts over there at the pit lane exit."

you crane your neck to the view behind them and notice three karts. then you look again at the two williams boys, and point at your teammate at the side. "why is he here? is he joining you?"

"yeah," alex says again. "he will always be part of williams."

"wait a second," you shake your head, closing your eyes momentarily to try and understand the nature of their competition. "you're foot racing to those go-karts over there for a round on the track?"

logan nods, beaming with the widest smile you think you've ever seen him sport all year. "yeah. you should join us!" he turns around abruptly to someone behind the camera. "do you have another kart she can take so she can join us?"

george finally steps up. "what, no! she's not a williams girl!" he cries, shoving you in the direction of the paddocks once more. "you're not welcome here - this race is for williams racers only."

"no," logan whines, chasing after both of you. he grabs the sleeve of your shirt and tugs you towards him. "come on, it could be interesting!"

"no way," you scoff, taking a step away. "you guys have much longer legs compared to me. no way i have a chance to even win this stupid race of yours."

"come on," logan whines, pouting his bottom lip out as he stares down at you. "we'll give you a three-second advantage."

"your marketing team didn't even say 'yes'," george scoffs, glancing over his shoulder to seek for the verdict that never seems to come.

"we got a spare kart!" someone shouts within the crowd around you, and you sigh, throwing your head back.

you glance at logan with a hopeful smile at you, nodding to hoax you into joining them for the race. then alex, who simply shrugs you off and continues to stretch, then george who is blankly staring at you.

"this is for williams, isn't it," you mutter, throwing the question towards their marketing team that's now scrambling around to prepare the kart for you. "i don't want to be a bother, really."

"no, it's alright!" a man smiles at you. "you're like part of williams now - you're always with logan and you've made two appearances on our instagram now. the people love you."

you grin. you take a step forward as logan guides you towards their huddle with a hand on your shoulder. george begrudgingly follows behind you, muttering something about how you've never driven for williams before. "okay, you're on. a five-second advantage, was that, logan?"

"i believe i said three."

"i don't think that's what i heard."

[quirrrky]

—03. LEAVE ME LOVING YOU

『MASTERLIST』 PREV • NXT »

SAMU disguised himself as his brother to save you from embarrassment, but what should be just for a day ended up in more. How long could he keep hiding behind his brother's shadow?

secret admirer, unrequited love? timeskip, mini-series

baby, there's no drug quite like denial

The whistle blared through the gymnasium. It’s Inarizaki’s last game with the neighboring school for the present school year. The third years’ focus was on the game because it would be the last game they’d be playing for the rest of their high school life, but Samu had his mind elsewhere. 

You encountered him and Tsumu together the other day, yet you just played it cool. Your eyes were filled with astonishment and confusion but then you smiled through it saying, “Oh, there’s two Miya-san now.” You excused yourself afterwards and left everything hanging in the air. Earlier during lunch time, you still hung out with him on the rooftop. It was like nothing happened. 

The ball approached his way and he’s quick to toss it right back. The crowd cheered yet Samu didn’t care much less notice. His attention involuntarily shifted to you among the sea of people in the bleachers, and you looked back at him, smiling at a distance. Shyly, he averted his gaze in a snap.  

Have you found out that he’s just disguising as Tsumu all along or do you still think that he’s his twin? 

“Geez, bro. What’re ya bein’ shy for? It’s our last days in school.” Tsumu teased—a big grin was on his face as he saw the ball comin’ for him. “If ya already have the chance...” He leaped and passed the ball directly to his brother. “Ya, better take it!”  

Samu slammed the ball with precise strength and it landed straight on the opponent’s court, earning them their winning point before the time ended.   

Their schoolmates cheered while Tsumu screamed, claiming their final win in Inarizaki.  

ೀ ‧ ˚ 🍙 ⊹˚. ♡

It’s early in the morning when you headed to the pool. You were the one assigned in your class to clean up as part of your graduation turnover. They said a representative from Class 1 would also be there to help you and you were welcomed with a familiar figure. 

“M-Miya-san?” Your eyes were wide with surprise. He looked right in your direction. “Oh, sorry. I just...I just don’t know which Miya-san it is right now though.” 

Seeing you looking at him like that made him a little flustered. Rubbing the back of his neck, he informed you, “Samu...it’s Samu.” 

A prim smile spread across your face. “Samu...” 

It was as if time stopped while his heart drummed against his ear when he finally heard his name from your lips. 

“What do we have here?’ you asked, shifting your weight on your feet back and forth.  

“I’m almost done. We just have to rinse the soap,” he pointed to the pool’s surface, while prepping up the water hose. “I got this. Ya can go ahead.” 

“No, I’ll help you,” you took the water hose from him, your hand slightly touching his. He was feeling extra nervous now that he’s being just himself, but he didn't want to be anyone else around you. “Let’s do this together.”  

He turned the faucet on, and the water instantly blasted on you. “Y/N!” Samu immediately twisted it off. You were doused from head to toe. Both looking at each other, you turned the faucet on again, now completely soaking him too in retaliation.  

You both burst into laughter until Samu tried snatching the hose from you, but you’re never letting him get his way. You ran around the side of the pool, attempting to steal the water hose from each other which drenched the both of you even more instead. 

Your little moment of fun was interrupted by the roaring thunder. Sharing a glance, you both chortled until the skies showered. With the hose in one hand, Samu held yours in another as you ran through the rain towards the changing area. His grip on your hand was firm, careful not to let you slip.  

Finally getting under a shaded area, you picked up on your breathing. Remembering that you still had your phone in your pocket, you took it out and flipped it open. It’s dead.  

Samu snickered. Uncannily, his laughter sounded so soft and comforting in your ear. His eyes rested on your bewildered gaze, holding it for a while. His expression was filled with tenderness you couldn’t fathom but it made you happy. His Adam's apple bobbed as his eyes turned a little half-lidded. He was inching close to you, and you felt your toes tipping towards him. You could almost feel his breath with how near he was. Your eyelids were triggering to close, until a sneeze came through you.  

“Are ya alright? Do ya have a spare shirt?” 

The coldness of the rain got you shivering. With your arms around your frame, easing the freeze out, you shook your head dismissively.  

“Hold on,” Samu quickly went inside the boys’ changing room and came out with a spare shirt. You looked at him querulously. “I have extra. Go ahead, change. I’ll take it from here,” he reassured, and you heeded his advice, taking the black shirt from his hand.  

The rain soon subsided, and you emerged from the girls’ changing room wearing his Inarizaki jersey. You turned to him with a beautiful smile, and at that moment, he realized that you probably had the power to stop time, his lungs and his heart all at the same time. 

Samu gulped, dryly.  

It was a little big on you, but you looked in it. His number printed on it made it seem like you were made to carry every bit of him. It was made for you. He was made for you. He shook the thought away, or at least, he tried.  

“Thank you, Miya-san.” You tapped your head as if you committed a mistake. “S-Samu! Samu!” You blushed. What’s with his name that was making you so anxious and fidgety? “M-Miya S-Samu-san-" You sneezed and he lightly chuckled.  

“Y/N!” A classmate called out to you. “It’s time for our next class already.” 

“Oh!” you hastily bowed before him, a little nervous to show your face, scared that you’d embarrass yourself even more.” 

Samu watched as you left.  

If you already have the chance, you better take it. Tsumu’s words echoed through him.  

Eventhough you were calling him by his name just now, he still couldn’t differentiate where Miya-san ends and where does Samu begin. 

ೀ ‧ ˚ 🍙 ⊹˚. ♡

With a bento in tow, Samu quietly entered the clinic. He asked for the nurse on duty who happily assisted him towards the infirmary. 

He slid open the curtain covering the bed where you were resting. You’re sleeping so soundly but your expression gave away how feverish you were.  

He was supposed to tell you everything clearly, but when he went to the rooftop, there was not a single trace of you there. He stopped by your classroom and one of your classmates informed him that you went to the clinic. 

Seated on the stool beside you, he took out the bento he prepared for your lunch, just as usual, and left it atop the bedside table.  

You looked so peaceful, and cozy all tucked in the blanket. He could watch you like this for hours and hours long. His hand reached out for your face. You felt hot to the touch due to being drenched by the poolside a while ago.  

Warmth fluttered inside his chest as he studied your features. His finger ran through your lashes and skimmed through your fluffy cheek, thumb tracing your lower lip.  

Samu kept fighting the feelings arising deep within him. He convinced himself that this would be nothing more, but here he was unable to stop the back of his hand from stroking your soft cheeks lovingly. He thought it was gonna be just for a day yet he always chose to be beside you. He told himself that he’s alright with remaining behind his brother's shadow if it meant extending the time he had with you.  

A scoff escaped from him. How foolish. 

The school bell rang, signifying the end of the lunch period and prompting Samu to stand from his seat. However, you held his hand, stopping him on his tracks and not letting him go just yet. 

“M-Miya-san...” you murmured.  

Samu was tempted to stay, but his reflection in the nearby mirror was eating him up. His stomach twisted, unsatisfyingly. He’s wearing the shirt his twin lent him and while they wore the same size, Tsumu’s number imprinted on the jersey he’s wearing punched a cruel reminder. 

If you already have the chance, you better take it. 

Would you still accept who’s beneath his facade? Would you see past his mask?   

ೀ ‧ ˚ 🍙 ⊹˚. ♡

Atsumu stretched his arms. His action was paired with a satisfying yawn. “At last, no more wakin’ up early in the mornin’.” He turned to his brother whose mind seemed to be elsewhere. “Hey, hey...don’tcha worry now, ya can still dance with yer girl. We’ll get back in time for the graduation dance.” 

“What?” Samu finally snapped from his musings. 

“Hey! Don’t tell me ya forgot! Ya promised to go with me to the sports camp! It’s our last one ever,” he reminded. “It’s only for a few days then we go back, take her to dance with ya and then we graduate the next.” 

Samu’s eyes widened. That meant he won’t get to see you and he wasn’t even able to let you know about it. 

“Oh...” Tsumu picked it up quite easily. The look on his brother’s was a dead giveaway. “Hmm...ya borrowed my shirt, right?” 

“Already gave it to ya,” Samu replied a little annoyed. 

“Oops...my bad.” Tsumu pressed his palms together. “I think I left it in my locker.” 

They stared at each other as if they were transmitting a special and weird kind of message. 

Tsumu gave him a heads up and Samu hurriedly ran back to school on his way to the lockers as fast as he could.  

After what happened this morning, with you just spending time with each other and him not pretending to be someone else, he just wanted to see you, talk to you, be with you as himself. 

His chest rose and fell as he caught up with his breath. He had arrived at the lockers, but it was empty.  

No one was there.  

You weren’t there.  

His shoulder slumped in dismay while he opened the locker, which he somehow shared with his brother. The shirt wasn't even there and Samu knew it was just Tsumu’s phony excuse to let him off the hook. 

Closing the door, he resigned in defeat. Sighing as if fate was playing him all along. Everytime he wanted to come clean and make things clear, the opportunity was always not in his favor.  

However, a sliver of hope had lit him up as he heard faint footsteps approaching. 

It’s you. 

Suddenly, all the courage he had dissipated, and the anticipation turned him into a frozen mess. Your backs were against each other as you fetched your own stuff from your locker. Though he’s already done with his business, he remained standing there not lifting a finger nor saying a word. 

“I’m all okay now, thanks to you. The bento brought me a lot of comfort,” you initiated, closing your locker. “I know that the school year’s about to end and we might go our separate ways.” Samu took a sharp breath and clenched his fists as you continued, “But I really cherish every single second I’ve spent with you, Miya...”  

Before you could even finish, you suddenly found your back pressed against the locker, a hand over your eyes and his lips crashed against yours. The kiss took away his name from your lips before it could even escape. He couldn’t take the pain if you’d say his brother’s. He couldn’t bear to hear it.  

Right now...when he had you with your eyes closed and his kiss was disarming your very being, it’s just him. Just like each of the moment he shared with you. It’s just him. Samu...Osamu. 

You easily caved into him. His familiar scent, feeling and warmth were making you wish that this won’t end. Even with eyes closed, you knew him and you just melted in his arms, hoping that this very minute would turn into hours.  

His kisses felt like a plea. A desperate plea. Desperately, he was begging you to love him back.  

Love...He parted from you, now waking up from the realization. 

All this time, he’s not fighting his feelings for you...he’s escaping the pain if you don’t feel the same way too. 

Feeling the loss of his touch, you called out to him. His name softly breezed out of your lips, but when you opened your eyes, he was no longer there.  

Your fingers went over your lips, tracing every whisper of his. Your chest tightened--heart all squeezed out. Why did it all feel like goodbye? 

『MASTERLIST』 PREV • NXT »

super sorry for the delay! I got a little bit under the weather yesterday and though I'm done with the chapter, I can't bring myself to open my laptop. we're getting there! we're getting so close to where things would culminate and fall into place! thanks for sticking with me. updates will be bi-weekly, moving forward!

REBLOGS ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED ♡

Please help me reach other viewers. Thank you so so much! 

TAGLIST

@miiyas @sagejin @wyrcan @dailyakira @pixelcafe-network

[multi-fandoms-posts]

Chaos Before the Oscars

X Men Masterlist

It’s Oscar night, and Y/N is already fully dressed, standing before the large mirror in the bedroom. Her gown, an elegant, floor-length piece in deep navy blue, fits her figure perfectly. Her makeup is flawless, and her hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders. She looks like she stepped right out of a high-fashion magazine, but her gaze isn’t on herself. Instead, she watches with an amused grin as her two men, James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender, frantically rush around the room.

“Where the hell is my shirt?” James shouts in frustration, pulling open drawer after drawer. “I swear I just saw it here!”

Y/N sits down on the edge of the bed, casually crossing her legs, and watches the spectacle unfold. “It’s hanging on the hook, darling,” she says calmly, barely lifting her gaze from her two men. “You shouldn’t be so nervous. This isn’t your first time at the Oscars.”

“Nervous? Me?” James replies, though his frantic rummaging says otherwise. “I’m completely relaxed.”

“Sure,” Y/N murmurs with a smile. “So relaxed you almost put on the tie instead of the shirt.”

“Funny,” James retorts, giving her a slightly annoyed glance before finally finding the shirt and tossing it on.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, Michael is struggling with his tuxedo. “Why the hell are these things always so tight?” He fumbles with the collar while simultaneously wrestling with the bow tie that refuses to sit properly.

“Maybe it’s because you’re always in such a rush,” Y/N says, folding her arms across her chest and enjoying the scene.

Michael sighs in frustration and turns to her. “Alright, I admit it. Will you help me before I completely ruin this damn thing?”

Y/N rises with a smile and walks over to Michael. “You two would be completely lost without me, wouldn’t you?” She stands in front of him and expertly begins tying his bow tie. Her fingers glide smoothly over the fabric, and Michael immediately relaxes under her touch.

“I’m sure we would’ve managed somehow,” Michael says, though he’s grinning.

“Somehow,” Y/N echoes, shaking her head slightly. “It’s amazing you both managed to succeed in the film industry when you can’t even handle a bow tie.”

James, now fighting with his shirt, throws her an amused glance. “Oh, we have other talents.”

“Oh really?” Y/N challenges as she finishes adjusting Michael’s bow tie. “Like what?”

"For example..." James begins, stopping to think. "Well, for example in... improvisation. Or in charm."

“Mhm, charm,” Y/N repeats slowly, turning toward James. “Maybe charm will help you when you’ve buttoned your shirt wrong.”

James looks down at himself and groans loudly. “Damn it!”

Michael laughs and pats James on the shoulder. "You are really in top form today”

“I was distracted,” James defends himself, hurriedly starting to fix the buttons.

“Sure,” Y/N says, stepping closer to help him. “I know all about distractions.”

James looks down at her as she unbuttons and rebuttons his clothes. "Can you blame me? You look incredible."

"Oh, I know," Y/N says with a cheeky grin. "But you guys don't look bad either... once you're done, anyway."

Michael steps behind her and gently places his hands on her shoulders. "You're particularly quick-witted today, you know that?"

"Maybe it's because I'm the only one here who doesn't have a nervous breakdown over a shirt or a bow tie," Y/N replies dryly, patting James on the chest when she's finished. "There. Now you almost look decent."

"Almost?" James asks, raising an eyebrow.

"All that's missing is the jacket. But honestly,” she gives him a sharp look, “as long as you put it on the right way, I’m happy.”

Michael laughs again and falls onto the bed. “I love it when she’s so direct. It keeps us on our toes.”

Y/N gives him a challenging look. “I’m sure without me, you two would never make it out of the house on time.”

James shakes his head as he pulls on his jacket. “Probably not,” he finally admits. “But… that’s what makes us so interesting, isn’t it?”

Y/N stops, her arms folded across her chest, as she looks at the end result of her work. Both of her men look stunning in their tuxedos, but the journey there was beyond chaotic.

“Interesting?” she repeats, stepping back to look at them both. "I would call it more 'challenging'."

"But you love that," says Michael, winking at her. "A little chaos, a little excitement..."

"Maybe," replies Y/N, grinning. "But a little more organization wouldn't hurt either."

James steps towards her and gently puts his hands around her waist. "Well, that's what we have you for, isn't it? You're the connecting link in this chaos."

"Right," mutters Y/N, playfully pushing him away. "But now we should go before we're really late."

"Wait," calls Michael, who stands up and frantically searches for his cufflinks. "Where are they..."

"In your jacket pocket," says Y/N without even looking. "Exactly where I put them so you don't lose them."

Michael reaches into his pocket and smiles. "You're a real miracle, you know that?"

"I know that," Y/N replies, shaking her head as she heads for the door. "Come on now. I'm not the only one who's supposed to look good tonight."

"Before we go," James murmurs, pulling Y/N gently to him, "is there something else I need to get off my chest."

"Oh yeah?" Y/N asks, looking up at him curiously.

James leans forward and presses a soft, intense kiss to her lips. Y/N closes her eyes briefly and returns the kiss with a slight smile. As they separate, she feels Michael behind her wrap his arms around her waist and gently kiss her shoulder. "I think that's our ritual before we leave," he says quietly.

"A ritual I don't want to miss," Y/N murmurs, turning slightly to Michael to kiss him too. His lips are warm and familiar, and when they finally pull apart, her gaze falls on James, who is standing next to them, smirking.

Michael raises an eyebrow and takes a step closer to James. "I think I'm not the only one who deserves a kiss tonight," he says with a mischievous smile.

James smiles slightly, steps closer. Their lips meet in a gentle kiss, and Y/N watches them with a satisfied smile as her two men lose themselves in their own togetherness for a moment.

When they pull apart, Y/N shakes her head slightly. "You two... are impossible."

"You know that," James says as he gently takes her hand.

Michael joins them, and together they leave the room, hand in hand, ready for the evening.

[blakeswritingimagines]

Set My Love On Fire (Kinktober)

Word Count: 3.1k

The soft sound of jazz music filled the room as Elias and you sat cuddled up together on the couch in the cozy apartment. The warm glow of the overhead lights cast a gentle hue on your smiling faces as you both talked about your day and laughed at each other's jokes. Elias wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him and kissing your forehead tenderly. "This is nice," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. "Just the two of us, together like this." You let out a small sigh of contentment, snuggling into his embrace. "It is," you reply, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your chest. "Just the two of us, in our own little world." Elias strokes your hair gently, his fingers tangling in the strands. "Sometimes I can't believe how lucky I am to have you," he says quietly. "You make every day feel like a dream." Elias' words sent a flutter through your chest, warmth spreading from where his hands caressed your scalp down to your toes. He always had a way with words, making you feel cherished and adored. "I feel the same way about you," you whispered back, nuzzling into his neck. "You're my everything, Elias." The music shifted to a slower, more sensual tune, the tempo mirroring the growing intimacy between you. Elias' hands began to roam, sliding down your back to rest on your hips. His touch was electric, igniting a hunger within you that only he could satisfy. "I want you so badly right now," Elias breathed, his lips grazing your ear. "Can we…?" He trailed off, leaving the question hanging in the air, his intentions clear.

A shiver ran down your spine as his words sent heat pooling in your core. You could feel the tension in his body, the desire in his touch, and it mirrored your own aching need for him. "Yes," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "Please." Elias's grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to send a spark of pleasure through you. He pulled you closer, his body taut with coiled desire, the air thick with anticipation. "I've been wanting you all day," he murmured against your neck. "I can't wait any longer." Elias captured your lips in a searing kiss, his mouth hot and demanding against yours. One hand slid up your side, cupping your breast through the thin fabric of your shirt, his thumb brushing over your nipple until it pebbled beneath his touch. He tugged impatiently at your clothes, desperate to feel your bare skin against his. "I need you naked," he growled, breaking the kiss long enough to yank your shirt over your head. Buttons flew everywhere as he tore open his own shirt, revealing his chiseled chest and abs. His eyes were dark with lust as they raked over your exposed body, drinking in every curve and hollow. "Fuck, you're perfect," he rasped, his hands skimming over your sensitive flesh, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

Elias' touch was like electricity, igniting a burning desire within you that threatened to consume you both. His words and the heat in his gaze fueled the fire that was consuming your body, leaving you trembling with want. You reached for him, your hands skating over his bare chest, tracing the ridges and planes of his muscles. "Elias," you breathed, your voice shaking with need, "touch me. Please." Elias groaned at the pleading note in your voice, his control slipping away. He pushed you back onto the couch, covering your body with his own, his weight pressing you into the cushions. His mouth found yours again, hungry and insistent, as his hands roamed your curves, exploring every inch of your heated skin. He dipped his head to your breasts, taking one hardened peak into his mouth and sucking hard, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. His free hand slid between your thighs, finding the damp heat there, stroking and teasing until you were writhing beneath him, begging for more. "I'm going to make you scream my name tonight," he promised roughly, his fingers delving deep inside you. "Over and over again." Your mind was a haze of sensation, your body completely under the control of his touch. His words sent a thrill through you, the promise in them stoking the flames in your core. You arched your back, pressing your body into his, craving more of his touch, his kiss, his everything. "Elias," you gasped as his fingers skillfully sought to bring you pleasure, "I need you. Now."

Elias growled in response, his fingers still working magic between your legs while his other hand moved to position himself at your entrance as he pulled his fingers out of you. He thrust inside you in one smooth motion, filling you completely. You cried out, your nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure rippled through you. He began to move, slow at first, giving you time to adjust to his size before picking up speed. His pace grew frantic, his thrusts becoming harder and deeper with each passing moment. "Fuck, you're so tight," he ground out, his breath hitching as he fought to hold on. "I love being inside you." Elias' words, combined with the relentless pounding of his hips, drove you to the brink of ecstasy. Each thrust hit a spot deep within you, sending waves of pleasure crashing over your senses. Your body clung to his, urging him on, as you chased the high he'd awakened within you. "More," you begged, your voice a ragged whisper, "please, Elias, give me more." Elias's eyes flashed with primal desire at your plea, his movements becoming even more urgent. He gripped your hips tightly, angling them to take him even deeper, and then he was slamming into you with abandon, the force of his thrusts rocking the couch. "Take it, baby," he grunted, his voice strained with effort and pleasure. "Take every fucking inch." The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and your mingled moans of ecstasy. Elias's pace was brutal and unrelenting, pushing you higher and higher until you felt the coil of tension in your belly begin to snap. With a keening cry, you came undone, your inner walls clenching around him as wave after wave of bliss washed over you.

Your climax tipped Elias over the edge, his body convulsing as he emptied himself inside you. He collapsed on top of you, panting heavily, his heart hammering against your chest. Gradually, his breathing slowed and he lifted his head to look at you, his expression one of pure satisfaction. "That was incredible," he said huskily, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. "You were amazing." As the aftershocks of pleasure rippled through your body, Elias collapsed beside you on the couch, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. You nestled into his side, relishing the feel of his strong arms around you. After a few moments of comfortable silence, you lifted your head to look at him, a devilish gleam in your eye. "Can I ask you something?" you asked, your voice low and sultry. Elias raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing on his lips. "Of course, baby. What's on your mind?" He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer as he waited for your question, his curiosity piqued. You bit your lip, a wicked grin spreading across your face. "Well, I've been wanting to try something new in bed…something adventurous." Elias's eyebrow rose further, a mix of surprise and intrigue flickering in his eyes. "Oh really? Do tell, darling."

You felt a flush of excitement at his anticipation. "I was thinking…maybe we could try something a little different tonight," you said, letting your words hang in the air. Elias's eyes darkened at the implication, a smirk playing on his lips. "And what exactly did you have in mind, love?" "Wax play," you replied bluntly, watching as his lips parted in surprise. "I've always been curious about it, and I thought it might be fun if we tried it." Elias's expression shifted as he processed the idea, his gaze growing heated as the possibilities set in. He ran his fingers through his hair, a habit he had when deep in thought. "I see," he murmured, his voice husky. "You want me to drip hot wax on your naked body." Elias's eyes glinted with intrigue and arousal as he considered your request. "It's definitely not something I've done before, but I'm always up for trying new things with you," he said, his voice dripping with seduction. "As long as you're sure about this, I'll do whatever makes you happy." He leaned in close, his warm breath caressing your ear as he whispered, "Just imagine the feeling of the molten wax against your skin, the sting followed by the coolness as it solidifies. And then there's the visual - your body adorned with intricate patterns, glistening with wax." Elias's words painted a vivid picture, stoking the flames of desire within you. "Let's get started," you breathed, your pulse racing with anticipation. Elias grinned, getting up to grab a candle and a lighter.

You watched as Elias rummaged through a drawer, your heart thudding in your chest with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. When he returned, he held a long, slender candle, the wax a rich, creamy white. He also had a lighter clutched in his hand, the flame dancing at its tip. Elias settled back onto the couch beside you, his gaze fixed on your face, searching for any hint of hesitation. "Are you ready for this, love?" he asked, his voice thick with desire. You nodded eagerly, your body trembling with anticipation. "Yes, I'm ready," you assured him, reaching out to take the candle from his hand. You examined the candle, running your fingers over the smooth surface, before turning to meet Elias's gaze once more. "Show me how it's done," you commanded, your voice laced with lust. Elias's eyes widened at your boldness, surprised by your eagerness. He chuckled darkly, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. He nodded, taking the candle back from you and lighting it with the lighter. Once it was burning steadily, he held it up, the wick glowing orange. "Just relax and trust me," he instructed, his voice soothing. "Let me take care of you, love." Elias gently guided your body onto your stomach, positioning you so that your back was exposed to him. He drizzled a small amount of wax onto your skin, watching intently as it cooled and hardened into a delicate pattern. Then, with a steady hand, he applied more wax, creating a design that seemed to dance across your flesh. "You're doing beautifully," he praised, his fingers trailing along the edges of the wax, making sure it adhered properly. He occasionally blew on the wax as he worked, causing it to melt slightly before hardening again, leaving behind a mesmerizing texture. Elias continued to adorn your back with intricate designs, each one more breathtaking than the last. Finally, he stepped back to admire his handiwork, a satisfied smile on his face. "There, all done," he announced, his voice tinged with pride.

You lay there, eyes closed, completely boneless and blissful. The sensations on your skin were unlike anything you had ever experienced before; the heat, the cold, the slight sting, the smooth texture of the wax. It was like nothing else existed except for the sensations Elias was creating on your body. "That was…" you murmured, your voice trailing off as you struggled to find the words to describe the experience. Elias knelt beside you, his hands gently tracing the wax designs on your back. "Words can't capture it, can they?" he mused, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin beneath your shoulder blades. "But maybe this will help." He dipped his finger into the still-molten wax, collecting a small bead. Carefully, he placed it on your lower back, just above the curve of your ass. As it cooled, he blew softly, watching it spread and pool, forming a small, shimmering puddle. "We could add some color to it," Elias suggested, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "A nice red to contrast with the white." He reached for another candle, this one tinted a deep crimson. "What do you think, love? Want a little pop of color on your beautiful skin?" Your body jerked slightly at the new texture on your skin, the hot wax sending a small jolt of pleasure through you. You hummed in agreement, your eyes still closed as you savored the sensations. "Yes," you said breathlessly, "Please."

Elias smiled, pleased by your enthusiasm. He dripped a small amount of the red wax onto your lower back, near the spot where the previous bead had formed. As it cooled, he used his fingers to shape it into a tiny heart, the contrasting colors creating a striking visual effect. "There you go," he said, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your shoulder blade. "A little love token, just for you." His hands roamed over your back, admiring his handiwork. "You know, I never realized how much I'd enjoy decorating someone like this," Elias confessed, his voice low and intimate. "Seeing the wax melt and harden on your skin, creating these unique patterns…it's incredibly arousing." He nuzzled your neck, his warm breath tickling your ear. You shivered at his words, the combination of the sensation of the wax on your skin and his voice so close to your ear sending tingles down your spine. "I never realized how much I would enjoy being decorated like this," you admitted, your voice thick with desire. "But I am," you added, arching your back slightly, presenting your body to him with a wiggle of your hips, "very much enjoying it." Elias groaned, his hands sliding down to grip your hips as he pulled you back against him. "Fuck, you're driving me crazy," he muttered, his hardness pressing insistently against your ass. "I want to mark every inch of you, make you mine in ways no one else has." His fingers dug into your skin, leaving faint impressions as he ground against you. "Tell me what else you need, love. I'll give you everything."

Your breath hitched at the intensity of his words and actions, your body responding instinctively to his touch. "I need you inside me again," you whimpered, pushing back against him urgently. "Fill me up and make me yours." Your hands fumbled between your legs, seeking the warmth of your core. "Please, Elias, I ache for you." With a growl, Elias flipped you over onto your back, hovering above you with a predatory gleam in his eyes. "As you wish," he purred, he stroked himself a few times, coating the head with pre-cum before positioning himself at your entrance. "Ready for me, baby?" Elias asked, his voice strained with desire. Without waiting for an answer, he thrust forward, sheathing himself to the hilt in one powerful stroke. A guttural moan escaped him as he felt your tight heat enveloping him. "Christ, you feel incredible," he gasped, beginning to move, his hips snapping against yours in a relentless rhythm. Your nails dug into Elias's shoulders as he filled you so completely, a sharp cry escaping your lips at the sudden intrusion. But as he started to move, the pain melted away, replaced by waves of intense pleasure. "Oh god, yes!" you cried out, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him deeper. "Harder, Elias! Fuck me harder!" Your body arched off the bed, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor. The room filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and your mingled moans of ecstasy.

Elias obliged your plea, pounding into you with unbridled passion. The force of his thrusts made the couch creak ominously, but neither of you cared, lost as you were in the primal dance of lust and desire. "Take it, baby, take every fucking inch just like that," Elias grunted, his breath coming in ragged pants as he drove into you again and again. One of his hands slid down to grasp your thigh, using it as leverage to piston even deeper. The other found your breast, pinching and rolling the nipple between his fingers, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. "So fucking tight," he groaned, his pace becoming erratic as he neared his climax. "Gonna fill you up, love. Gonna mark you as mine." Your vision blurred at the intensity of the sensations overwhelming you. Every nerve ending felt electrified, each brush of Elias's body against yours igniting a firestorm within. "Y-yes, please!" you begged, your voice hoarse with need. "Claim me, make me yours!" As if summoned by your plea, Elias's thrusts grew more urgent, his cock throbbing inside you as he chased his release. The hand on your thigh tightened its grip, while the one on your breast squeezed almost painfully, sending you hurtling towards the edge. With a final, brutal plunge, Elias buried himself to the hilt, his member pulsating as he spilled his seed deep within you. The sensation of his hot cum filling you triggered your own orgasm, and you came apart with a scream of pure bliss, your inner walls clenching rhythmically around him.

Elias collapsed on top of you, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. His spent cock remained nestled inside you, still twitching with aftershocks. After a moment, he rolled to the side, taking you with him so that you ended up curled against his sweat-dampened torso. "Holy fuck, that was intense," he murmured, his arms wrapping around you in a possessive embrace. "You okay, love?" Elias asked, concern creeping into his voice despite the sated look on his face. "That was quite a ride." He brushed a strand of hair from your forehead, his touch gentle now compared to the fierce passion of moments ago. You nodded, still trying to process the overwhelming sensations that had just coursed through your body. "I'm…I'm more than okay," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "That was…amazing." You snuggled closer to Elias, relishing the warmth of his body and the feeling of being held so securely. "Thank you," you murmured, meaning it deeply. "For everything." Your hand traced idle patterns on his chest, marveling at the rapid beat of his heart. In this quiet moment, with the aftermath of their lovemaking still lingering, you felt a profound connection to Elias, a sense of belonging you'd never known before. And as you drifted off to sleep in his arms, you knew that this was only the beginning of a journey together.

[nattysstargirl]

Alone, again.

Mafia!Wanda Maximoff X Reader angst

Brief Mafia!Pietro Maximoff X Reader

Short blurb

Age gap (undisclosed)

I thought the way Pietro treated me was bad, but it was nothing compared to what his sister has done. From him I expect nothing less than selfishness and disloyalty, but her? No. It has been a week since we slept together for the second time and I awoke in her room alone again. I was disappointed and wished that she would have woken me to say goodbye, but I didn’t for a second doubt that we would talk later in the day.

The rose-tinted glasses I have worn since I was old enough to think Wanda Maximoff was a mixture of superhero and goddess, have left me vulnerable to the fact that she is as capable as her brother of using and discarding women. At least Pietro never pretended to be anything different. He told me explicitly that he didn’t love me right before we had sex.

Wanda sucked me in. She gave me a taste of what I have craved for so long. I felt safe with her, protected. My eyes roll every time I think of the warmth I felt when she called me baby or my darlin’. How naive and stupid was I that I thought that meant she cared at all for me? Wherever she has been sleeping this week, she has probably been whispering the same sweet words into another woman’s ear.

My cheeks redden with the humiliation I can’t shake. The feeling that I am pathetic. All I am worth is a political marriage. My mother can’t see me past her self-obsession and my father, he sees me as a pawn in his miniature game of thrones. My half-brother fucking kidnapped me, for goodness sake. The fact remains that the only person who I have ever truly felt loved by is Bucky and he has been lying to me too.

He spends more time with Sam than he does with me now anyway and I feel our special bond slipping away. I’m glad I have Natasha, but our friendship is still new. We bond over work dramas, the gym members who hit on us, and all the normal bullshit. We hang out, but she doesn’t know all the inner workings of my complicated life. The past week I have been a zombie.

I don’t want to speak with anyone. I have stayed at the Maximoff house because being near my parents would only make me more miserable, but I haven’t seen Wanda. I snuck into her room the first night in the wee hours of the morning and she wasn’t there. Her bed was still as I had made it that morning. The second day I text her.

Y/N: Hey? Is everything ok?

But I didn't get a response. That was when I knew that she was avoiding me. There was no alarm in the rest of the family that she was missing or out of touch. It was just me she avoided. Bucky tried to comfort me. He called his cousin all sorts of names and was on my side. But he kept pushing me back towards Pietro. His solution to my heartbreak was for me to throw myself into my sham marriage.

“You’re only saying that because it’s what the Famiglia wants!” I screamed at him. “When did you stop giving a shit about me!”

The guilt on his face told me I was right. He was working toward an agenda, not caring about his oldest friend. Interestingly, Piet has been nice this week. His cheerfulness has been a reprieve from all the angst. He took me out for brunch on the third day and although it was nice, his hand on my lower back as we walked through the cafe felt wrong. He is the only one who seems to get how shit it is to have your life at total mercy to what the Famiglia dictates.

We have bonded over our mutual hatred of the control being exerted over us. Now, it’s six nights since I last saw Wanda and I’ve sent several texts which have all received no response. Miserable, I sneak into her room again. I can’t sleep and pathetically, I think maybe if she still isn’t there, I could just sleep in her bed.

Maybe her scent on her pillows will help me drift off. I pad barefoot down the hallway wearing one of Bucky’s massive t-shirts and slip into Wanda’s room. I pause, allowing my eyes to adjust to the dark room before tip-toeing toward the bed. A dark form lies entangled in the blankets. She is home. She’s here and she didn’t reply to a single text or check I am ok. I want to throw things at her sleeping body. Wake her up with my hurt screams.

But instead, I walk around to the other side of the bed and slip under the covers. I crawl over to her and turn around so my back is to her. I rest my head gently on the bicep of her outstretched arm and she instinctively pulls me in close, curling her body around mine. I loathe how good it feels. My eyes fill with tears and my heart with self-hatred.

“Y/N,” Wanda groans, sleepy and exasperated, a few moments later.

“I hate you,” I reply, my voice thick as I battle the tears threatening to fall.

She is silent for a moment and then sighs. “I know, baby. I hate myself too. Go to sleep.”

And I do. In her arms, I slip into the easiest sleep I have had all week. I know that the morning will bring with it more heartache. She will push me away again. But for now, I feel safe and exactly where I’m meant to be. I wake up before Wanda. She is still wrapped around me, and every fiber of my being cries out for me to burrow deeper into her arms and go back to sleep. Thankfully, I have a tiny bit of self-preservation left, and instead, I gently peel her off me and creep back to my own bed. Sliding into the cold sheets feels like salt in the wounds of the past week, but I do it because I can’t bear the thought of waking alone in her bed again.

[countrymusiclover]

7 - Love Letter

Part 8

It’s About Time

Should the reader have special moments with Memaw. What would you like them to be??

Shutting the red locker in front of me I shrieked in surprise not expecting Ryker to be standing on the other side. “Ryke! What are you doing there?”

“What would ya say about me and you getting a bite to eat?” He shrugged his shoulders.

I made a confused face. “You normally hang out with Hannah after practice.”

“Yeah normally. But I thought we don’t hang out enough anymore, just the two of us.” He replied leaning against the lockers.

I cut myself short. “Ryker, I appreciate it. But I promised Georgie I would watch him during football practice - hang on what’s the paper in his hand?” I peaked over his shoulder seeing Georgie walking past me carrying a note in one hand.

Ryker shifted in front of me trying to block my view. “I insist Y/n. Let’s go to Waffle House right now.”

“Ryker, let me see. We can go on Saturday.” I tried moving past him but he moved in front of me.

“No, let's go right now.”

“Ryker! Let me see - Veronica!” I pushed him into the locker gently and we both turned our hands for me to see Georgie walk up to Veronica about to hand her the piece of paper.

A guy that I assumed had to be her boyfriend snatched it before he could. “What's this, a love note?”

“Give that back!” Georgie reached up on his toes trying to get it back but couldn’t.

The guy chuckled, unfolding the paper reading it aloud. “Oh, I don't think so. "To my beloved Veronica, Every minute I'm away from you is an eternity. But it feels longer than that…”

“Y/n, I didn’t want you to see this.” Ryker explained standing behind me.

I clutched my hands into fists at my sides grumbling under my breath. “Veronica!” I didn’t want to be jealous of the blonde girl but I couldn’t bury my feelings deep inside.

The guy who was dating Veronica kept reading and she just sent my best friend an embarrassed look. “I can't eat, I can't sleep, it feels like there's a hole in my heart that only you can fill..."

Georgie turned on his feet quickly moving through the crowd of laughing students who were watching the whole thing. “Georgie.”

“Not now Y/n.” He shoved his way past me.

I remained there for a few seconds seeing him disappear around the corner. Ryker touches my shoulder gently, calling my attention. “Y/n, I’m sorry -ah!”

“Leave me alone! It’s never going to happen between us.” I smacked his hand running away from him and past Veronica who I wished I could punch in that moment.

My mom had already had dinner with me and my dad expected me to be over at the Cooper house, except I wasn’t for long. I heard George sr voice down the hallway when I entered through the front door of the house. “Going somewhere?”

“Alaska.” Georgie was in his bedroom stuffing things into a gym bag. “Gonna work on the pipeline.”

His dad leaned in the doorway of his bedroom not noticing me peeking in on them from the living room. “Alaska, huh? That-That's pretty far.”

“Not far enough, but it'll have to do.” Georgie responds.

Mr. Cooper enters his bedroom and I snuck around the corner to hear the rest of the conversation. “Look, Georgie, I know it feels bad right now, but... I promise it'll get better.”

“How's it gonna get better? Veronica thinks I'm a jerk, and everyone in the school's calling me Lovey Cooper. “

His dad sucked in a breath. “Ooh, that is not a good name.”

“It doesn't matter, 'cause I'm never going back to that school.”

George sr called his son’s attention. “Listen to me. Hey. You're a good-looking kid, and you got a big heart. Once we get you on a daily shower schedule, the girls are gonna be lining up.”

“I don't want girls. I want Veronica.” Georgie admitted and I felt tears welling up in my eyes.

“Yeah, maybe you'll get her and maybe you won't. But someday, you'll find the woman who was really meant for you.”

I scramble over to the couch, opening one of the magazines from the table pretending to read it when his mother walked past with a basket of laundry. “You mean like Kathryn Dempsey?”

“Alaska's beautiful. How 'bout I go with you?” Georgie’s dad mumbled.

Georgie asked him. “Who's Kathryn Dempsey?”

“I was 15 years... I was 15 years old!” His father hollered back to her and it was shortly after that I heard him leaving the room so I bolted up and out the door onto their front porch. I plopped down on the front porch swing sniffing through some tears feeling some tears falling until the front door opened. “Y/n, I didn’t know you were here. Hey are you crying?”

I wiped under my eyes trying to act like I wasn’t. “Uh no. I’m not.”

“No, something is bothering ya. So what’s wrong?” George sr came over to me sitting down beside me.

I dropped my hands in my lap avoiding his gaze. “Nothing is wrong.”

“Look, I know I’m not your father. But you’re always around like one of my kids so I’m here for you if you want to talk.” He explained letting the cricket noises fill the silent air until I finally had the courage to blurt out what I needed to say.

“I have feelings for Georgie.”

His father became nervous at that. “Oh I wasn’t thinking that but okay…um when did it start?”

“About a year or so after we made these marks together.” I rolled up the sleeve of my jacket showing him the scar on my wrist.

His dad just leaned back on the porch swing seat with his hands in his lap before he spoke. “And he’s being an idiot for not realizing it sooner. That’s why you’re out here because you’re jealous that he’s looking at other girls.”

“Yeah…I shouldn’t be that way.” I run my fingers through my hair.

George sr placed a hand on my knee causing me to meet his gaze. “You have every right to be upset. He’s got a good heart and you are a good girl around him. Eventually when he gets older I have no doubt you two will be together.”

“Thanks Mr. Cooper. I should be getting home it’s late.” Getting up from the seat I slide my backpack on my shoulder walking down the driveway making my way home.

Maybe just maybe he was going to be right about our future. That we would end up together.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

Tags just ask - @lover-of-books-and-tea @bvbwestfall @bubble-blu @liesanddreams @bethanymccauley @skeletonontheroad

[gingerlurk]

RAW

Joel Miller x f!Reader x EzraProspect

Out of universe. Out of character. Out of my damn mind. 

Rating: 18+ explicit MDNI – mfm, no-outbreak!Joel Miller, menace!EzraProspect, established relationship (with Joel), pair of consent kings, porn without plot, cuckholding (not really), ass slapping, tit grabbing, a touch of breath play, ass play, rimming, unprotected piv x 2 (be safe), self-pleasuring (reader & Joel), spitting x 2, a little hair pulling (only description of reader is having hair to be pulled and caressed), biting, cmnf (both men stay mostly clothed while you are naked), creampie, we’ve got a cock-drunk reader I think, maybe even a squinty breeding kink (I surprised myself there), aftercare, it’s implied Ezra is your ex (you’re cool though), he has both arms, he also has a variety of weird nicknames for you I dunno, Joel just calls you baby, Joel carries you but he’s just so strong, you know? Appearances from Frankie Morales, Javier Peña and Din Djarin. 

Look it’s just… look. Let me know if I should add any others, cheers!

Word count: 4.6k

AN: Interrupting my own Mandalorian-obsessed programming to share this self-indulgent, pure unadulterated filth. I don’t know what this is. It came to me as I was lost in an acute migraine haze and it just feels like it needs to be out of my head to bring me any kind of peace.

Honestly just a way to get me through the holiday sads at this point.

These are standalone characters, and I have thots for the other three PP boys mentioned at the start. So we’ll see how tortured I am by those/how this one goes and they may turn into follow-ups. Enjoy?!

--

He's not your first choice. He's not even your third.

But fuck, Joel wants this and you're seeing your options get shot down one after the other.

Frankie is an outright no – positive Joel is just gonna kill him the moment he lays hands on your body. Unwilling to listen to your assurances, your assertions that it wasn’t even your idea to begin with, he doesn’t relent from his refusal. 

Lifting his cap to run fidgety fingers through his hair, the gorgeous pilot turns you down with regret in his dark, sweet eyes.

Javier Peña, the sex siren incarnate, also shakes his head.

‘Don't get me wrong, hermosa,’ he croons, leaning in close. ‘I'd fuck you three different ways on three different days, no question.’ He lifts a brow, pouts. ‘But not with another man present.’

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, he says, ‘If I can have you all to myself, you call me.’

All breathy as he saunters away, you file that for later. Maybe once Joel has had his fill of this little venture, he'll be feeling generous to such a request.

And Din. Well, the mysterious perennial traveller is off overseas somewhere and no one knows when he'll show up next. Bust there. 

So it is with a little apprehension in your chest that you text the man that, as you know all too well from your wild days at uni, is up for just about anything.

The message has barely landed on read when he calls.

‘You crave defilement as your beasty man watches, do you?’ Ezra snarls into the line. ‘Want me to do it? Raw? Want him to bear witness to the things I know I can get you to do and scream?’ His voice buzzes in your ears and makes your belly thrum.

‘That's quite the prospect.’

With some brief explanations he barely even pretends to need, a date is set and you hang up with a shaky thumb to your screen.

It’s shaking again along with the rest of you as you tug the door open on the tap-tap-tap Ezra places to the glass. His half side smile turns to a lascivious grin as he sees you, eyes tracking over you – head to toe. They flick to Joel, who stands at the base of the stairs with arms crossed and jaw locked.

‘Evenin’,’ your guest greets as you wave him inside. ‘We ready for this arrangement of ours to commence?’

In answer, Joel turns and climbs the steps. Ezra looks at you with a smirk.

‘Not a talker, is he?’

‘You know he isn’t,’ you reply.

Nothin’ to say to that so you gesture and he follows. Up the stairs and into the bedroom, where Joel has already taken his position – seated in a dining chair dragged up from the kitchen, facing the far side of the bed.

Your heart flutters at the sight. At what you’re about to do.

Ezra steps up to stand beside you, where you’ve come to a stop on the opposite edge of the double-queen. 

He hisses in a breath. ‘Now, we discussed this on the phone but I am keen to confirm, with all parties here and present, that – in your words – no act, motion or gesture is strictly off the table tonight. Is that right? No glarin’ slips? In this moment, right here?’ 

‘There is the one rule,’ you say. ‘It’s a firm one.’

Ezra turns to you, raises his arms and skates a palm across each of your shoulders. It makes a sizzling path on your skin.

‘Now that small detail has not left my awareness, dear,’ he says, melty pools of want in his gaze. ‘Be most assured. Anything else?’

‘We have the safe word,’ you say, getting antsy. 

‘Mmhm, I remember that too, don’t worry,’ he replies. ‘But,’ a nod to Joel, face serious, ‘with those taken wholly and – may I add, justly – into account. To confirm?’

Joel’s jaw ticks. He looks to you for a moment. As you nod, so does he – shifting his gaze back to the man standing next to you.

‘Excellent,’ Ezra turns and gives you a thorough leer, a Cheshire grin. Eyes seizing your insides with the intent behind them. ‘Then, I would say that the next pertinent steps are for you to remove every single stitch of clothin’ adorned to your body and get on that there bed.’

You do as you’re told, shucking off top and skirt but pausing with a little trepidation at bra and panties. Ezra has to make a little ‘go on’ motion before you shed those too and – fighting the butterflies erupting in your belly – climb across the quilt.

On hands and knees, you look up and lock eyes with Joel. He’s bent forward, elbows on his own knees spread wide, gaze intent. You feel Ezra behind and a covetous grip on your thighs tugs you closer to his side of the bed.

‘So,’ Ezra murmurs. A hand lands on the small of your back, warm and large and calloused. ‘I admit I hold a curiosity that cannot be helped. And I must ask.’

The hand raises and lands with a firm smack on an ass cheek. You gasp a little and the momentum of the slap has you leaning toward Joel, whose teeth have bared just a little. He doesn’t move. The fingers behind you dig into your flesh, urge you back toward Ezra’s edge again.

‘It is a simple curiosity,’ he goes on. ‘It is only this: why?’

Another slap and, at your pained yelp, he carries on, ‘Why allow me this? This beauty who I imagine has known only your hands for the longest time? Why let me have her now…’ His palm soothes the burn of his flagellation. He waits.

Joel gives in to the slightest shrug.

‘Guess I’m curious too,’ he drawls. ‘I’ve explored every single part of this sweet thing. In’erested to see what another man’ll do with her.’

The low whistle over your shoulder is filled with relish. You hear Ezra suck in air between clenched teeth. Holding you firm, he rocks against your exposed rear, lets you feel the erection straining against his pants.

‘Every part of her, huh?’ he queries. Without warning, a huge arm wraps across your middle and slings you up. In a heartbeat, you find yourself pressed flush to his front, the rough fabric of his shirt no barrier to the heat radiating off his torso. He holds you so tight to himself, you can feel the thud thud thud of his heart between your shoulder blades.

The movement also causes your legs to twitch and you feel it. The start of your arousal leaking between your thighs. Another look at Joel, and his intense focus has you slippery and throbbing.

You breathe deep and wait, eyes now closed and listening only to two men breathing hard as well.

Ezra’s other arm moves onto you.

‘So I am given to be assured you’ve amply taken in these pretties,’ Ez growls. Both hands cup and massage your tits, bring the nipples to a standing attention. He waits. ‘Well?’

‘What d’ya think?’ Joel spits with a small head tilt.

‘Mm,’ Ez hums, nods into your shoulder. ‘Mmhm.’

Fingers move up, up, across a collarbone and to the base of your throat.

‘And here?’ he asks. ‘Have you known her here? Gifted her the dizzying sensations of restricted breath? Held her life, both gentle and savage, amidst the pressure of your digits?’

At that, he presses his middle and index fingers into the soft skin under your jaw and you feel it, just a little. Just the beginnings of light and airy pleasure pulsing in your head. His thumb strokes by your other ear.

Joel's own hands are clenched into tight fists, resting on his knees as he has straightened up. Almost primed. Like an animal ready to pounce.

‘Have you?’ The man with his hand around your neck presses.

With eyes growing hungrier, Joel nods.

That elicits a surprised little sound from Ezra.

‘Well,’ he turns his head and addresses you. The thumb engages and pushes down, in. Now you’re feeling it. Feeling it thrum from the crown of your head through your body and down to your cunt, which is decidedly dripping. ‘This bird may have flown my nest, but you took a little something learned with you, huh?’

You can’t move, can’t speak. Might just cum. Might just fucking cum and he hasn’t even touched you yet. So you just let your eyes roll back and hope Joel can see how much you love it. The choke stays light, your possessor seemingly interested only in taunting and testing. 

A tiny whine escapes your throat. Ezra lets go and you gasp a little, let your chest rise and fall as you suck in oxygen. 

Look to Joel again, feel an undeniable rush as you see he’s staring at the apex of your thighs. His shoulders rising and falling too, almost in sync with you. He can see it. You know he can.

Ezra is still holding you tight as your head lolls with abandon, falls onto his shoulder. 

Finally, finally, the hand that had been around your neck moves down. Down. 

God yes, please…

But he only barely cups your mound, doesn’t go anywhere near where you need it. 

‘And this?’ he questions unnecessarily. ‘And of course, you will have intimate carnal knowledge of this right here? Please assure me you know every single blessed millimetre of this holiest of shrines. I would be aggrieved were it not so.’ 

‘Yes,’ Joel rasps in a voice filled with fury and lust.

You can’t help yourself. You start to beg, ‘Pl- Please.’ Try to buck into his hand, for the contact, for just a little bit of friction to where you’re humming like a charged wire. But it backfires. He leaves your core and covers your mouth instead. Leans into your ear.

‘Ssh, my bird,’ he murmurs. ‘Ssh, do not fret. I’m going to take care of you.’

With a little shove, he lets you flop forwards, where you catch yourself on your forearms and bury your head between them, burning up.

With your ass still high, cool air only has a moment to make itself known before he’s drawn you close, presses himself against your thighs.

‘You impress me, Joel,’ he grits. ‘Joel, I have to say that you have indeed impressed me. And with now a… slight doubt in my conviction, I am keen to make the case there is a space within her you have yet to take solace.’

A large thumb lands between your shoulders and starts a path down your spine. It takes its time, feeling each vertebrae and letting you arch against the touch. Slipping over the sweat that beads on your skin. It comes to rest against the crease at the top of your ass cheeks. Oh god. He’s gonna--

‘So Joel, what of this?’ The snarl behind you is feral, frightening. ‘Have you made an expedition of—’

He doesn’t finish the sentence as his thumb swipes down and connects with your tight ring of muscle, presses firm there but doesn’t yet go further. 

‘Oh fuck,’ you twist your head to look back. He’s not looking down at you but up and over your head, staring at Joel.

‘Have you?’ he snarls again, making you clench.

You can’t hear or see Joel's response, but Ezra’s reaction is a look of pure delight.

‘Mmmm,’ he groans and moves his thumb just long enough to spit there before it’s back and massaging your entrance. Hot want coils in your belly as he teases and teases. God, you should have known he would really draw it out.

‘Please.’ Another plea escapes you, hitched and breathy. ‘Please.’

‘Who are you talking to, my pet?’ he asks, pressing just a little harder and leaning himself against you. You can feel his hard cock digging into your ass again. ‘To whom do you make this entreaty?’

‘You,’ you cry out. ‘You. Please, Ezra. Please, pl—’

He drops to his knees behind you and, without preamble, lays his open mouth over your asshole. Pressing hard before setting a furious pattern of licking and sucking – turning away only to bite and nip at the flesh on either side. 

The man works like he is trying to devour the universe. His tongue circles a few times before pushing inside you.

It’s unreal – a sublimity to get lost in. You let yourself sink into it. Keen and cry and buck back into him as he sets each and every nerve ending on fire.

He pushes your knees apart so you sink deeper and reach wider for him. Hands are gripping your ass to hold you open and it doesn’t seem like he’s planning to move on anytime soon, working lips and tongue and teeth across your seam and every inch he can reach.

You just can’t stand it anymore.

‘Can I touch myself?’ you gasp. ‘Can I—’

He withdraws his tongue from you with a chuckle. ‘Mmmm, what do you say?’

With a frustrated groan, ‘Please, Ezra.’

‘You do whatever it is your heart desires, sweet one,’ he grunts against you, going back to his ruminations. ‘I am quite content here.’

You’d had your face pressed into the linens of your bed, but you arch your head up to look at Joel while reaching between your thighs, stretching your shoulder to give yourself the space.

As you move, so does he. In time with desperate movement onto yourself, he leans back, undoes his belt and pulls his cock free, stroking its firm length as your fingers connect with your clit.

It’s an instant jolt of mind-numbing pleasure. The hungry bundle of nerves ready to blow. Your scream of ecstasy, echoing in the room, is responded to with a pair of deep, guttural groans. Ezra’s shoots through your body as it vibrates behind you. Joel’s rings in your ears.

The man in front of you nods, encouraging you on as you circle and work yourself. Watching his own pace, you match it and it’s not long before your mouth is locked open in an ‘O’ of bliss and you’re cumming. The wet suctioning sensation on your rear drives your orgasm along a straight and narrow rush that shoots through you so hard you’re screaming into the sheets.

As you start to be able to hear again, Joel is murmuring praises.

Huffing and heaving on the remnants of your comedown, you look up. He’s furiously fisting his cock, bent so far forward you could reach out and touch him. You don’t though, just stare with mouth-watering want, desperate to have him on your tongue and pressing down your throat.

With that thought, you rub and rub and rub. Push back, back, back on the mouth working you with a tireless appetite.

Reading your face, watching your every twitch and pulse – Joel waits for the perfect moment and-

‘Another,’ he grits out.

‘Fuh—hah!'

It comes for you with a ferocious force, taking over every muscle in your body and making you shudder with its savage intensity. Both men pause as you spasm and let a dozen tortured little ‘Ah’s escape you.

Barely able to lift your head, you twist it just enough to see the possessed demon that was once Joel – dark eyes ablaze and tendons taunt and straining on his neck. 

‘Fuck her,’ he commands. Pre-cum glistens on your view of the underside of his shaft. ‘Fuck her, now.’

Ezra pulls away from you with a slick gasp.

‘Okay, Joel,’ he says – his outer calm contrasted with Joel’s madness somehow the hottest thing happening right now. 

Ez stands, replacing his tongue with his thumb, which he pushes in to the first knuckle. At your pitched moan, he holds you there. Doesn’t seem at all bothered by your hand still working your clit as you feel the pressure of his cock’s head at your entrance. It slides through your folds and he uses his grip on your ass to guide you to back up onto him.

‘I’m going to fuck her now, Joel,’ he says, all hushed and lowly.

The motion of your hips moving back right as he – fierce and swift – bucks his cock hard into you punches the air from your lungs. The slap of his hips meeting your ass fills the room. 

So full and stretching. The emptiness replaced by shards of excruciating pleasure. It’s too much. It’s just enough.

The space is quiet for a moment and you look round, see Ezra through your blurry, tear-stained vision. He seems paralysed, head tilted a little and mouth locked open. The only movement is the hollow of his throat dipping and peaking fast – the man’s practically hyperventilating. Sweat at his temples and eyes glassy and staring at nothing.

On your knees, split open by his cock, you wait and watch. After a moment--

‘Ez?’ you question.

His eyes clench shut, as do his teeth, and he takes several deep, dragging breaths.

‘A queen’s…’ he rasps out. ‘A queen’s cunt. That is what you have. Fucking… queen of cunt.’

And at last, he fucks you. One single draw back almost to leave you, then he’s slamming into you, making sure you feel every single thrust hit your ass and thighs. Convulsing your clit every time. 

He reaches forward and grabs a fistful of your hair, using the purchase to lift your head so Joel sees your face twisted with bliss. Your tits bouncing with each smack of flesh behind you.

You can tell he’s enjoying the view, rewarding your efforts with a gaze so hot and crackling, the sight might just make you c—

The penetration in your ass leaves you and you gasp as you’re hauled up and locked against Ezra’s chest again. So that Joel has a perfect view of his cock disappearing into you. Over and over. A perfect view of your pussy being abused by him.

The man fucking you senseless grabs hold of your wrist, lifts the fingers that you’d been pleasuring yourself with and sucks on them. He moans at your taste, appreciative and reverent, like you’re a pure miracle. Pushes your hand deep so he can cram his tongue into the webbing.

‘Mm,’ he mumbles, letting your fingers go with a wet suck. He spits over your shoulder so it dribbles between your breasts. ‘But you are divine, do you know that? Does he tell you? Makes sure you know?’

All hissed into your ear as he pumps and pumps. Fucking up into you with a freakish stamina you hadn’t remembered before now but is coming back to your pleasure-buzzed mind. 

‘Allowing me to take this perfect body apart, as I see fit?’ he goes on. ‘You are divine.’

It’s just a little annoying. How coherent he still is. So – tightening your belly and bearing down – you clench your cunt around him as hard as you can and are rewarded with a pained gasp.

You don’t think he intends to, but he bolts forwards and collapses the two of you onto the bed, sprawling out over you. There’s just enough time for you to grab a pillow and shove it underneath, tipping your pelvis into him. And it doesn’t slow him at all. Flat out on your stomach, he adjusts and takes the new angle inside you with glee, hips rocking into you so hard you jolt and slide back and forth.

He ruts your pussy like the deranged animal that he is. His belly presses into the small of your back where he drives himself down into you. Teeth collect a chunk of flesh by your shoulder and bite down. Fingers tangle and lock into hair to hold your head still, so that you can’t move and can only take it.

He finds your sweet spot, connecting the huge head of his cock with it over and over. He fucks you so hard that your clit is forced down onto a run of stitching in the cushion, and it rubs the tight bundle in perfect sync with the stimulation being exacted deep within you.

It’s intoxicating. A rhythm of ecstasy. A crescendo that is near unendurable. You fight it for as long as you can, wanting the sensations to last, but your body has ideas of its own.

Ezra moans.

‘She’s clenching up, Joel,’ he says with desperation. Babbling. ‘I can feel it. Joel. Can feel. I can feel her. I’m going to feel her- cum on my cock, uhhhnnn.’

It’s so intense you just moan and whine into the bed, twitching and writhing as fireworks erupt inside you.

Joel literally growls. It’s echoed by the man on top of you, who’s draining the sound right into your ear. You twist your head to see Ez. He’s looking up, face to Joel with an ecstatic rictus of an expression locked on his features as you flutter and clench around him.

‘Oh, fuh- fuck,’ Ezra, finally incoherent. ‘Fuc- cum—gonna c—’

‘Rule,’ you gasp. ‘The rule, Ez!’

In a heartbeat he withdraws from you, pushes himself up and you feel the hot ropes of his spend land on your back, your shoulders – maybe a little in your hair.

‘Fuck,’ he repeats, panting. ‘Uhhh.’

From where you’re sprawled, limp and fucked out on the mattress, two strong hands loop around your upper arms and pull.

You give a yelp of surprise as you whole bodily slide out from under Ezra, across the bed, off of it entirely, and you’re manhandled into Joel’s lap. He’s so strong and you’re so boneless, you’ve got legs either side of him and are being guided onto his cock in a matter of moments.

‘My turn,’ he rumbles, so impossibly low and wrecked.

Your spent pussy lets him slide home in one swift thrust. Hands glide across the cum spread on your back, push it back and forth for a moment before he’s holding your hips and lifting and slamming you onto himself. You grip his shoulders for dear life, the place inside you that Ezra had just been abusing roaring back to set a blaze in your entire body.

Hands falling off his shoulders with his force, you fist the front of his flannel instead as he pumps his thick shaft with you, uses you on himself. 

Thinking he’s going to just go and go until he cums, he surprises you. Changing his thrust, he pulls you closer and starts to buck up his own hips into you. One arm holds you to his chest and the other reaches around.

Oh my g—

‘So you really like this, huh?’ A thick finger finds your puffy, messy hole – opened up by Ezra’s attentions – and pushes in. Joel’s eyes roll back at the resistance. ‘God, it’s so… tight,’ he drawls, huffing into your mouth. 

He works the finger in and out, specifically seeming to enjoy the sensation of that initial breach. It’s different, and physically heady. You’re not long for it, and with a groan from Ez, still behind you – a muttered, ‘you see, Joel? Do you see?’ – you’re screaming loud again as you anoint Joel’s cock with your climax. 

And now he’s getting close.

‘Whose cock do you want?’ he demands, not relenting his pace for a single moment.

‘Yours,’ you say.

‘Who else’s?’ 

‘His,’ you whine, tilting a bliss-filled head back over your shoulder.

‘Mmhm, good girl,’ he affirms. ‘Whose pussy is this though? Who is the only one who gets to cum in this pussy.’

The finger slips out as he grips you hard for purchase, driving himself to his release.

‘Who? Tell me.’

‘You!’ you cry. ‘Joel, you. The rule is– hah- uh- Only you can. Only y– Joel.’

With the tiniest bit of muscle control left in your body, you grind your hips deep into him. The sweat and release coating both your skin lets you slide and push. So that when he meets his cliff’s edge and falls over it, the head of his cock is firm against your cervix and his cum soaks your walls. Both strong arms lock around your back and his face is buried in your neck, mouthing and devouring as he groans and groans.

It settles into grunts and gasps as his high rides itself out.

With weak, sloppy movements, you grasp either side of his head and bring it up to yours so you can kiss him, slide your lips and tongue and teeth together for a moment while he comes back to himself. As you part, you’re greeted with the most beatific smile.

Ezra appears by your side, pants zipped up but a fresh erection clearly tightening them again. You take this in then tip your head back to him with a hazy smile.

‘Thanks, Ez,’ you slur. 

‘My unequivocal pleasure, dove,’ he says, lifting the thumb that had not been buried inside you and swiping it over your lower lip. ‘Know that I’d ask to kiss you right now, but well…’ A lopsided grin and a lick at his own lips.

‘Yeah, nah,’ you say, mumbling whatever nonsense slips into your mind. ‘Next time, maybe.’

‘Mm,’ he groans. He looks at Joel as you flop forwards into that broad chest and feel arms tighten round you again. ‘Indeed. If you do feel your compersion arise again and wish to seek out my participation once more, I will respond with an enthusiasm most prompt.’

‘Thanks,’ Joel murmurs. ‘Can ya let yer’self out? Got some lookin’ after t’do.’

His attentiveness has you feeling all warm as you listen to Ezra’s footsteps move out of the room, down the stairs, and the front door open and close.

Joel sifts fingers through your hair. Nuzzles your ear. ‘Did so well fer me, baby,’ he whispers. ‘So well. Looked s’fuckin’ good.’

All you manage is an affirmative ‘mmmmm’.

‘You want a shower?’ he asks. ‘Can ya stand?’

You nod to the first question and shake your head to the second, tucked into his neck. He sighs with content and braces your legs against his sides, stands up with you firmly locked in his embrace. Carries you to the bathroom where he only sets you down, cock slipping out, when you can lean against the cool tiles. Stumbling a little, you use the toilet as he gets the water up to temp and undresses.

In the warm cocoon of steam, he cleans you from head to toe, washing away Ezra’s spit on your chest and cum on your back. The sweat and the tears. The mess on your thighs. Hands soothe across bite marks and finger grazes. Each one he checks, ‘this okay?’, ‘this one?’, ‘okay, baby?’. You nod and hum and get lost in this unique feeling.

After, he guides you back to the bed where he’d watched another man take you to pieces, settles you under the covers.

‘Hungry?’ he asks. ‘Thirsty?’

‘Thirsty,’ you mumble. ‘And tired.’

‘Okay, one sec.’ His warmth and shadow vanish for a little bit, and you’re fighting sleep as he returns with two glasses of water. Makes you drink the first and sets the second by your bedside before climbing in and cradling you against his chest – by which point you are dead to the world.

--

Uh, so yeah. Go about your day…

[jessi4fanfics]

TROLLS HOLIDAY OF HAVOC- A VALENTINES FANFIC: Part 1 (warning, rlly long)

only read this story if you are like REALLY bored and have nothing to do for the next bajillion minutes cuz ITS LONG

Its a mix of Broppy with a bit of Cliva!

I wrote this on Wattpad if you would rather read it there. 😘

"UGHHHHHHH," John Dory groaned as he and the rest of the BroZone brothers fell onto the couch the morning after one of their shows.

They were in Branch's bunker living room, where all of them except for Bruce lived now, though Bruce did live there when he was planning on staying in Pop Village for a while for shows, like this last week.

And there was only one way to describe what the brothers felt now: EXHAUSTED.

"I can't believe we did six shows in five days last week!" Clay groaned.

"I don't think I've slept since Monday," Branch sighed.

"At least we were all together," Floyd suggested. "It's better than when we were all apart, right?"

They all stared at him. It was obvious from their faces that they didn't really agree.

"I miss Brandy," Bruce sighed sadly, taking a picture of his wife and kids out of his hair.

"You always miss Brandy," John said, annoyed. "Why don't you enjoy hanging around us for a little while at least?"

"Because you guys never tell me how much you love me," Bruce shot back.

Floyd touched his shoulder. "Bruce, we love you a ton."

Bruce stared at him, then shrugged Floyd's hand off of his should. "Ehh, it's not the same."

"I'd be concerned if it was." Branch stood up. "Guys, we're all acting weird and mopey. You know why?"

"Because you didn't make us pancakes for breakfast like we asked?" John asked.

Branch frowned. "What? No. I told you; I don't have all the ingredients!"

"Well, I offered to go to the store for you, but nooooo you said--"

"It's because we all need a break!" Branch interrupted. "We've been working our butts off ever since we got back together, which is good, but we deserve a break sometime. Which is why--" He turned and grabbed the BroZone Planner book from off of the breakfast table, "--I completely emptied all of our activities this week." He placed it in front of Clay.

"What?! No way!" Clay opened the planner to the week that it was. It was true. The whole week had nothing written anywhere on it.

The brothers stared at it for a while. 

"Omigosh, yes!! This is what I've been secretly wanting for the past two months!" John gave a sigh of relief.

"That means we can do whatever we want all week!" Floyd smiled. "This is gonna be so much fun!"

"Guys, we should totally go bowling!" Bruce suggested.

John gave Bruce a funny look. "Why?"

"Cuz I haven't been bowling in forever! Last time I went bowling with Brandy, I broke my left pinkie toe!" He lifted his foot to show his toe, which was hanging in a weird way.

"Eww, that is disgusting, put that down!" Branch shrieked, covering his eyes.

"Dude, it's just the way of nature. Things break. Including toes," Bruce explained.

"That doesn't mean we want to see it!" Floyd gagged.

"Okay, okay!! If you put that foot down, we'll go bowling!" John compromised. 

"Okie!" Bruce put down his foot and gasped. "We can call it-- browling!!"

"Haha!! Yes! I love it!" John laughed, nudging him.

Clay had been quiet. His eyes were so wide they looked like saucers. Then he gave a relieved sigh. "Oh my gosh, it is so satisfying to open this planner to this week and see nothing in it."

"There's not nothing in it," Literal John pointed out. "It says 'Valentines Day' right there."

Clay gave him the bro, are you kidding me?  look. "Thanks."

"You're welcome! 🤗" John answered.

"Ahhh, Valentines Day," Bruce gave another sigh, this time full of relaxation and enjoyment, as he sat back. "You know, Brandy and I met on Valentines Day."

His brother turned to him, annoyed. 

"Yah, we know," John grunted. "You tell us every Saturd--"

"It was exactly ten years ago," Bruce began suddenly.

The rest of BroZone groaned. 

"I was new to Vacay Island and the Islanders, and watched them party in the evening of Valentines Day, all partying like they were never gonna stop. I watched sadly, wishing that I had my own Valentine to party with."

"And then that's when you saw her," Branch predicted.

"By the snack stand," Clay continued.

"All alone," Floyd reminded.

"Looking kind of depressed," John finished. "Maybe a bit like us right no--"

"And then!" Bruce didn't wait for JD to finish. "I decided now was my chance. So I walked up to that beauty. Her eyes were shining like bits of heaven itself. Her skin as yellow as a really ripe banana. Her hair as stringy as the cheese in a cheese and spinach ravioli."

"Why do you always describe her like that?" Clay asked. "It absolutely disgust--"

Bruce ignored him. "And I walked up to her and said, 'Hey, you must be today's special cuz you're making me hungry!"

All the brothers winced, just as they always did whenever Bruce got to that part.

"I'm really surprised she didn't punch you after saying that," Branch remarked.

"Oh, she did," Bruce chuckled.

"Wait, what?!!" Clay gasped.

"Dude, how come you've never told us the one interesting part in this lame story?!!" John gaped.

"I don't know. It didn't really matter," Bruce shrugged.

"What is wrong with you?" Clay asked.

Floyd laughed.

"Well, anyways. After I said that, she--"

They all groaned again.

"BROOOOOZOOONNNEEEE!!!" came a high but sweet voice from the hallway.  

Queen Poppy burst into the living room, her face full of excitement and joy. She waved a pink envelope in the air before twirling excitedly in the room. "I'm sorry that I just popped out of nowhere, but I had to tell you--!!"

She stopped, noticing Bruce's mouth open, mid-story. "Oop, am I interrupting something?"

"Nope, you just saved us," Clay said gratefully. 

"Yes, please continue. Even your news may beat Bruce's story," John pleaded. 

Branch smiled and rolled his eyes. He was completely grateful to Poppy for interrupting though. Hearing the same story every week wasn't very fun.

"What'd you want to tell us?" He asked, walking toward her.

"Well, you know how Valentines Day is in two days?" She sang in a happy voice.

"Ugh, don't start Bruce all over again!" John said, alarmed.

Bruce crossed his arms. "I don't get why you guys don't enjoy it. It's absolutely lovely."

"Sure, Bruce. If you say so." Floyd patted his shoulder.

"We were just talking about it," Branch informed Poppy, who looked a bit confuzzled.

"Oh. Well, good!" She grabbed his left arm. "I wanted to invite you all to--"

"Wait, invite us to?" Branch stopped her. "Poppy, I thought I told you, we were taking a break from parties and everything else all week!"

Poppy looked at him, remembered, then blushed. "Oh. Well, uhhh--" she scratched the back of her head. "It's not really a... party."

Branch sighed and took the pink envelope and opened it. Inside the card said:

YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED TO POP VILLAGE'S FIRST ANNUAL VALENTINE'S DAY DANCE!!

Formal Dress Required. Snacks Provided! 6pm to 9pm.  

"Popppyyy," he gave long groan.

"I'm sorry, I didn't-- I forgot, you don't have to go!" Poppy's face flushed even more. 

"Another party?!" John moaned, leaning back on the couch.

"But I was hoping to go back home that day!" Bruce said. He sighed. "Well, I guess..."

Clay also gave a sad sigh. "There goes our empty week." He grabbed a pencil and tried to bring himself to write in the planner Valentine Dance.

"For the second time, it's not empty! It already says 'Valentines Day', right there!" John pointed out again. 

"DUDE HOW LITERAL CAN YOU BE?!!" Clay shrieked.

"Guys!" Poppy yelled.

They all turned to her.

She turned back to Branch. "Look. You're right. You told me not to invite you to a party. I thought the ball would be alright since it wasn't really a party, but I shouldn't have taken you so literally, and I'm sorry. You all don't have to go, no pressure." She gave him a kind smile and turned around and left.

They all stared after her.

"That was really sweet of her," Floyd said.

"Wow. Branch. She practically got on her knees, begging for forgiveness, and you just stand there like a doofus!" John said.

"Yeah, Brandy never would never have done that for me," Bruce said, impressed.

"Mostly because she doesn't have knees," Clay smarted.

The Clay and John snickered.

"I don't find that funny!" Bruce shouted.

Branch sat down next to Floyd. 

"Penny for your thoughts," Floyd said gently.

"I think I'm gonna go to the dance," Branch said shortly.

"What?!" John turned to him. "What happened to browling?!!"

"We have all week to do that, it's just one day, guys." Branch shrugged. "Besides, I kinda want to make this Valentines Day perfect for Poppy. The past few haven't gone-- well, very well."

"What do you mean?" Floyd asked.

~~~ THREE YEARS AGO~~~

"Happy Valentines Day, Branch!!!" Poppy held out a Valentine's Day card to a grumpy Branch.

He took it with a plastered smile then stomped on it angrily.

"😱😱!!!" Everyone gasped. 

~~~ TWO YEARS AGO~~~

"Happy Valentines Day, Branch!!" Poppy held out another Valentine's Day card for a grumpy Branch.

He took it and stomped on it.

"😱😱!!!" Everyone gasped.

~~~ONE YEAR AGO (Branch has his true colors now, y'all)~~~

"Happy Valentines Day, Branch!!" Poppy held out her annual Valentine's Day card to a now happy Branch, sure he wasn't going to stomp on it.

Glitter sprayed in his face.

"EEEWW, I GOT GLITTER IN MY MOUTH!!" Branch shrieked. "I THINK IMMA PUKE-" runs away gagging dangerously.

 "😱😱!!!" Everyone gasped.

~~~BACK TO PRESENT TIME~~~

"Oof, yah, you do owe her a good Valentines Day," Floyd completely agreed. 

"And maybe this is my way of doing it," Branch said. He got up. "I'm going to go tell Poppy. But none of you guys have to go."

"Oh, don't worry, we've got that in mind," John said, annoyed. 

"Poppy!" Branch ran out of the living room smack into--

"Hiii!!" Poppy gave him a giddy smile.

"Poppy, were you standing there the whole time?" Branch asked, lifting an eyebrow.

She shifted uncomfortably. "Mayyybeee."

He couldn't help smiling.

"I was hoping you'd say you would still come! And you did!!" Poppy gave an excited squeal and jumped onto him, giving him a big hug.

"Okay, okay, but I don't think the rest of them are coming," Branch gently pushed her off of him.

"That's okay." She waved her hand carelessly. "As long as you're there."

He grinned.

"Viva and I are so excited, we're planning on decorating it all by ourselves and we're ordering the biggest cake you've ever seen and--" she gave an excited gasp. "Branch!! You'll have to come over tomorrow! I have so many ideas for your tuxedo!"

"Well, I-- uhh." Branch wasn't sure if he wanted to wear another tuxedo in his life. He had worn that all week so far.

"How about around 11am tomorrow?! Okay, good!" She kissed his cheek, not waiting for an answer. "I'll see you then!!!" And she danced toward the elevator.

Branch gave an exasperated sigh. 

~~~ The Next Day~~~

"I'm off to Poppy's to see about tuxedos, guys," Branch said. 

"Ouch, good luck with that." John lay on his back on the couch, covering the whole thing.

Branch rolled his eyes.

"Branch, do you have a mailbox?" Bruce asked from the breakfast nook. "I haven't had mail in forever!"

"Pfft, who'd send mail to you?" John asked. "You aren't a thrilling teenager anymore, Bruce."

"As a matter of fact, I get tons of fanmail, Mister I'm-Jealous-Cuz-I've-Never-Gotten-One-Fan-Letter-In-My-Entire-Life. But I was talking more about my family," Bruce said defensively.

"Mmm." John had no comeback.

"As an answer to your question," Branch finally managed to cut in, "No, Bruce, I do not. Poppy's working on that. I can go get your mail at the post office if you want."

"Ooh, and while you're there," Clay handed him a letter to mail.

"What's this?" Branch asked.

"Well, it's--" Clay began in his I'm-about-to-blab-about-serious-boring-and-important-stuff-for-about-fifteen-minutes voice.

"Ya know what, doesn't matter, I'll take it." Branch was not about to stand here for fifteen minutes. Not when he could be talking to Poppy. "Anything else?"

"Oh! I have a grocery list!" John got up and handed him a five-foot-long list. 

"John, I'm going to Poppy's pod. I'm not going anywhere near the grocery store."

"Well, you asked 'anything else' and I told you!" John went back to the couch. "You're welcome."

Branch rolled his eyes. 

"Here, Branch. I'll go do that stuff." Floyd got up from the breakfast table. "You can go on ahead to Poppy's pod."

"Oh. Thanks, Floyd." Branch gave him a smile. 

"We're off!" Floyd announced.

"Hmm."

"They don't care, let's just go before they order us to go pick up something somewhere else," Branch whispered.

"Good idea," Floyd agreed.

They started off toward the direction of Poppy's pod (the post office was on the way).

"Soooo...." Floyd said in a singsong voice.

"Soooo?" Branch asked.

"What's your gameplan?"

"For what?"

Floyd laughed. "Asking Poppy to the dance!"

"What?" Branch gave him a funny look. "I have to ask her? She's not just gonna assume we're going together because we're dating?"

"Well, of course she does. But it's more fun for the girls when they get asked." Floyd grinned. "You know, you'd think you've never been in a famous boyband."

"Yeah, well, girls weren't always my first priority, you know."

"I can see that." Floyd's grin turned into a gentle smile. "Branch, I want you to do how proud I am of you."

Branch shifted uncomfortably. "For what?"

"Getting along. Without us. Even before you had your true colors back. You dealth with Grandma..." Floyd gulped. "Well, you dealt with that all alone. And you still went on."

"Barely." Branch shrugged. "If it wasn't for Poppy, I don't know where I'd be right now."

"Well, it wasn't just Poppy." Floyd looked straight into Branch's blue eyes. "Poppy isn't in control of you changing, Branch. That's almost all you. She may have changed you, but you let her. And that's why you're here now, dating the Queen of the Pop Trolls."

Branch flushed. 

Floyd chuckled. "I remember the day you were born. Clay made ten lame jokes about you right away, laughing at them by himself, Bruce seemed to be grumpy because you had blue eyes when he had always wanted them, and John looked like he wanted to die because he now had four brothers instead of three. But I knew right away, you were something special, Branch."

"I'm not that special," Branch said. But he couldn't stop smiling. "Oh, there's Poppy and Viva!"

They were in front of Poppy's pod, doing backflips in the grass, giggling like crazy.

"Oh, man, they're gonna break their necks!" Branch rushed to them. "Poppy, wait, don't--!!"

Floyd laughed, watching. Then he looked at Viva. She was laughing at Branch as well, giving him a teasing push, and he turned on her and tweaked a blonde curl, grinning, something he had grown to do lately as he as now as close to her as his brothers.

Branch knew a lot about Viva already because he hung around Poppy so much. Floyd wondered if he was close enough to her to be able to jokingly tweak a curl. 

No, definitely not. But it would be fun to have a friend like that. And he hadn't had very many since he went to Mount Rageous. 

Suddenly, an idea popped in his head. It sounded alright. Would Viva think so?

He smiled and walked toward her calmly, on a mission.

...

[gigglymarvel]

From Strangers to Sisters - Prologue

The back story to our series, enjoy! ❤️

After Ultron, Wanda had grown close to Clint who promised to watch out for her, but she also was taken under the wing or web, in this case, of the Black Widow.

The two had become like sisters. However, when the team was ripped apart by the Accords, Natasha went on the run and rediscovered not only her younger sister but her “parents” after destroying the Red Room with them. 

Her parents were more at a distance, but they did give her a second family, and Yelena and Natasha came back with Cap to break Wanda out of the prison cell. While she appreciated the time with Vision as her protector in hiding, she couldn't help but feel heartbroken at the loss of the family she felt she'd built when the team came together, that is, until Yelena made a comment about how Wanda was always low and hanging onto a red jacket that seemed to be in Yelena's memory as the redheaded widow's at one point, and Nat realized her neglect of her dear friend. 

Wanda has given up on trying to get any sort of family back, as they always seem to end up being ripped away from her. She chose to keep to herself in her room, concluding that it was best to keep to herself. 

Nat knocked gently on her door, “Wands?” She asked softly. The young witch jumped at the sudden sound, just letting out a grunt in response, thinking that Natasha just wanted to use her for her magic or something.

“Can I come in?” The Widow asked softly. Wanda just sighed, curling up a little tighter.

“I do not have the energy to help you with my magic right now.” She murmured.

Nat was hurt at that comment but couldn't blame the young witch for feeling this way, it had been all business lately, and she knew she should've seen this sooner. “I'm not here for your magic, Wands. I've missed you.” 

“I think you miss your sister more though, so you can make up for lost time with her, it’s more than what I can do with my brother.” She told Nat straight out, numb to the world.

The Widow was shocked at her words, but instead of leaving, went to her on the bed and rubbed her back, “Wanda, I'm not leaving you. Just because Yelena is back in my life, and we've had missions together, doesn't mean I don't see you as my younger sister anymore. We built something too, and I'm sorry I've neglected it after everything.” 

Wanda initially flinched away at the touch. “You don’t have to say that, I am used to everything being taken away from me, so it’s fine.” She murmured, hesitant to relax into the feeling.

Natasha scratched her back still, running her other fingers through her hair, “I'm not saying it because I have to, I mean it. I've missed you, Wanda.”

The Scarlet Witch shrugged, trying to push Nat away by moving away from her. “All of this is not necessary, you are wasting your time.”

The Black Widow furrowed her brow, “Okay Wanda, you leave me no choice.” As she gently began wiggling her fingers into the younger woman's sides and belly. 

Wanda’s eyes widened, already flinching away and beginning to squirm, trying to get away from her fingers. “Nono don’t you dare, surely you’d rather do stuff like this with Yelena…”

Nat grinned, “Nope I'm gonna tickle you to pieces! Coochiescoochiecoochie coo little witchy woo!” The older redhead tickled the witch and gently wiggled her fingers into her ribs, making her squeal and roll away from her.

“Nope, you’re not.” She tried to defend herself as she covered her mouth.

The Widow smirked and crossed her arms, snagging Wanda's feet into a headlock, scritching into her socked arches with her short nails. 

Wanda yelped, reaching to shove Natasha whilst pulling helplessly at her legs, a few giggles slipping out. “Quit ihit!”

“Aww, there's that laugh I've missed!” She grinned at the witch’s plight as she gently tickled under her toes, “Gitchiegitchiegitchie goooooo I've got your toesies!” 

“You’re not getting any more!” She whined, not wanting to use her magic in case she scared Nat, she just scrunched her toes up and shook her head.

The spy wasn't fazed, however, and tickled her nails along Wanda's arches, hunting for any particularly sensitive spots, and then managed to slide her socks off in a millisecond, attacking her bare feet, “Oh dear it seems we need better access to find the Scarlet Witch’s lost smile.” 

Wanda squeaked, reaching forward to try and shove Nat’s hands away, the arches of her feet almost breaking her. 

“The itsy bitsy spiders tickled Wanda’s feet. Down came the legs and danced a little bit. Out came her smile and chased away sad brain and she and Natasha could be best friends again,” the spy sang playfully, giving it her all as her fingers traced and then randomly skittered along her arches, above her heels and below her soles. 

The witch blushed, squealing whenever Nat would touch her arches, a few more giggles slipping out as she kept pulling at her legs.

The older woman then sat on her shins, gently turning, “Hmm let's give your feet a break and try somewhere else?” And with that, she tried jellyfishing and squeezing above her knees, and spidering around her thighs, ticklishly exploring and playing with Wanda. 

“Fuck!” She squeaked, the knee squeezing causing her to break a little more as she whined and let out a couple of light giggles, still attempting to shove at Natasha’s hands.

The ex-spy smirked, gentle as a feather but quick as lightning and secure as steel, Nat sat her knees on Wanda’s wrists, “Let's give your hands a little vacation, shall we? Some acupressure, let's call it.” The redhead smirked as she wiggled her fingers above the witch’s belly. 

Wanda squeaked when her hands were pinned, thankful that her knees were pretty much skipped, but squirmed around when Nat threatened her with an attack on her belly. “Noho…”

However, the redhead was playfully cruel, shrugging, “Okay!” And reached back to squeeze above her knees rapidly. Then, just as quickly, she fluttered lightly and slowly all over Wanda's tummy, “Oops changed my mind.” 

“FUHUHUCK!” Wanda yelped, the rapidly changing attacks causing her to crack, she kicked out and thrashed helplessly as she pulled at her hands whilst sucking her belly in, her thin shirt not helping.

Nat decided to go in for the “kill” and slowly and gently rolled Wanda's shirt up, “Uh oh peekaboo, I can see your tummy boop,” she smiled and gently poked around her belly to tease her, spidering her nails light and slow before suddenly sucking in air and, “PFFFFFTT!” Raspberrying just below her belly button, shaking her nose in as she raked her nails up and down the younger woman's sides. 

“NAHAHAHAT I HAHAHAHATE YOU SOHOHOHO MUHUHUCH!” Wanda screeched out, helpless, free laughter came out of her as she shook her head helplessly.

The Widow chuckled, letting her breath momentarily, “Aww you hate me? That's too bad, I looove you.” She giggled, curious to see what Wanda would say. 

“You… what?” Wanda asked after she took a moment to breathe, not knowing if she heard the Widow correctly or not.

Natasha tilted her head, gently brushing hair out of Wanda's face, “I've never actually said that to you? I love you, Wanda. You helped me believe in sisterhood again. The boys are family sure but you, you showed me sisterhood could exist and you're probably the main reason I was even able to repair my relationship with Yelena after we nearly strangled each other the first time in person after a decade or more.” 

She bit her lip, hesitant to believe her. “I-I- what?” She asked in disbelief.

The Widow looked at the witch softly, now laying on her to hug her tightly, trying to show she was sincere, “Yes, Wands…you did that for me. And you still do, I've just been absent and I'm truly sorry because I have really missed you.” 

“But what about Yelena? You grew up with her you’re finally reunited with her despite a rocky beginning.” Wanda asked, still hesitant to believe her.

The redhead smiled gently, “We've had a rocky forever. This is the closest to stability we've ever known besides little glimpses of “normal” sisterhood. But normal 13-year-olds don't fly planes with their sister crying and their parents shot or nearly so. And my relationship with her doesn't take away what you and I have or what we've built, and I'd like to make more memories with each of you maybe both of you together.” Natasha said softly, her voice hesitant but hopeful. 

“You’d want me to be included? But what about what i’ve done? I may panic and use my magic and scare everyone” Wanda asked quietly.

“Not Yelena and I, we've done horrible things too,” Nat assured as she pulled her closer, “We'll help you.” 

Wanda just went quiet for a moment. “You’re not going to give up on this, are you?” She asked.

Natasha smiled and rested her forehead on Wanda's, just like she'd do to reassure Yelena, “Nope.” Wanda couldn’t help but pause her stubbornness and that, she just sighed and briefly pulled away. “Whatever…”

The Widow smirked, and shook into the witch’s ribs, “All that and I get a whatever? A whatever?” She teased and began her playful attacks again. 

Wanda gasped, squealing as she broke into giggles again. “Yehehehes you dohohoho!”

She giggled at the witch and raspberried her neck and then cheekily nibbled her ribs, making Wanda screech with giggles and shove at her hands. “Okahahahay you wihihihin!”

Nat stopped immediately, pulling Wanda into a tight hug, almost into her lap as she moved off her. The witch assumed Nat wanted her that close was an accident and moved off her.

The Widow spoke this time, “Nooo, come here,” she said softly, trying to be lighthearted as she pulled the younger woman back into her lap and rocked her. 

Wanda bit her lip, not used to this type of affection, so hesitant to accept it. “But I am not a baby” she replied innocently.

“I'm not swaddling you, I'm just holding you,” Natasha said softly, the witch just shrugged, sitting there awkwardly. 

“Am I making you uncomfortable?” The redhead asked softly, rubbing her back. But Wanda shook her head. “I’m just not used to it…”

“We can work on that,” Nat assured her, holding her close. The witch sighed in response, pretty much giving in as she wanted to get closer to Natasha.

Just then a blonde head popped in the door, “Oh heeeey there you guys are. Wanda, would you like to be doing a movie night? Kate Bishop has just appeared and I am making the Mac and cheese, and I have extra hot sauce. Maybe a Sokovian like you appreciates my taste?” 

Nat smiled and rolled her eyes, chuckling, “What do you say, Wanda? Wanna save me from being a third wheel and their crazy antics?” 

Yelena’s mouth dropped open, and she reported playfully, “I did not say you could come, Natasha,” the blonde smirked and giggled. 

The redheaded widow raised her eyebrows, “Well, in that case, we'll stay here and let you and Kate clean up the popcorn fight you'll surely have on the couch.”

Yelena rolled her eyes, “Fine fine you may join. Wanda?” The blonde widow smiled at the witch, who widened her eyes in disbelief.

“Oh, uh, sure.” She replied quietly, but tugged Nat to come with her, feeling a little hesitant about this whole ordeal.

However, she was glad to step out of her comfort zone, as the evening was the start of what would soon be an incredibly close bond she didn’t realize she craved.

[slippinmickeys]

Thank you for the Proof of Life prompt this morning! You've mentioned a wedding band and a wedding (I think??) in one of today's prompts. Um...Could you maybe write the wedding? Please?? I get if its too fluffy an ask, but I'm on my kneeeees I love this universe so much I want to live in it

1. She sits against the pillows of the bed, lounging like a limp doll, totally sapped of strength.

“How come all our assignments are to places that are hot?” she asks.

Mulder, at the end of the bed, his lap half covered in only a sheet, has his hands around her foot, which he raises to his face. He gives her toes a sniff and then presses them to his lips. “Are you lodging a complaint?” he mumbles through them.

There’s a sheen of sweat across her brow and tiny beads along the bridge of her nose.

“Perhaps” she says. “I’m experiencing a fair amount of thermal fatigue.”

Mulder looks out the window of the small bungalow and into the green beyond it. He has been in India for four months. Scully has been here for one.

“Maybe we should go somewhere colder,” he says.

2. He has been working with a journalist for the Washington Post on a story about an elephant sanctuary on the fringe of the remote Manas National Park. He has been staying on property for the last week and Scully arrived that morning to finally join him. Matthas, the journalist writing the piece, left the night before, and Mulder’s work for the article is done, though Scully doesn’t know this. He has arranged a rare day off for her, and the mahouts who live at the sanctuary are eager to show her a good time.

She has taken to dressing in brighter colors since her arrival here, and today wears a gauzy pink blouse over a bright green sarong, her hair a frizzy muzz on the top of her head. It is hard to look away from her.

Mulder, his camera in its ubiquitous place around his neck, is talking to Anand, one of the mahouts.

“Scully,” he calls out.

She is standing atop grass of virulent green reading one of the signs they have up for visitors, explaining the need for the camp in Assam.

She waves and he gives her a “come here,” gesture. She moves toward him.

“I don’t want to get in the way,” she says demurely, hanging back a bit.

“It’s fine,” he smiles at her. “I have a surprise for you.”

On a nod from Anand, he takes her hand and walks her over to the river, where another mahout, Davanesh, stands next to one of the sanctuary’s stars, Tara, who sways on soft feet, keeping a rhythm known only to her kind.

“Come and meet her,” Mulder says. He had met Tara upon his arrival and knows the beast to be kind-hearted and affectionate. He picked her specifically for this.

The river next to them is a purling brown, with the grass-cutter area beyond it. In the woods behind the river, one of the sanctuary elephants calls out and Tara answers with a short, happy trumpet.

Scully smiles at him nervously. “Is it safe?”

He shrugs and grins back. “Safe enough.”

The elephant turns her attention to the newcomer and lifts her trunk when Scully approaches, reaching out to touch her lightly on the shoulder, on her ponytail. Scully is delighted by the attention, if a little timid. Tara begins gently nosing Scully’s face. The elephant’s trunk is gray on top, the bottom the same delicate pink as Scully’s shirt. Her long eyelashes are soft and feather-like, gentle fans around intelligent eyes.

The mahout says something and Mulder interprets.

“You breathe into their trunk so they can get to know your scent,” he explains.

Scully, still a little skittish, does as prompted and then Tara takes a step back, swinging her trunk back and forth a few times before swinging it over to Davanesh, who smiles at Mulder and nods.

“Now hold out your hand,” Mulder says, butterflies set to wing in his stomach.

Tara takes a step forward and swings her trunk back at Scully, dropping something gently in her outstretched hand, her trunk as nimble as human fingers.

“What is…?” Scully says, and looks at her palm. There is a small turquoise satin bag sitting on it.

“Open it,” Mulder says softly, stepping up behind her.

She opens the bag and shakes out a delicate silver ring into her other palm. She gives a small gasp.

Mulder lowers himself to one knee beside her and Davanesh smiles widely, his teeth bright white against his dark skin.

“Mulder, you don’t have to-”

“It feels like the thing to do,” he smiles up at her. “Will you?”

He doesn’t actually say the words, and Scully doesn’t actually say yes, but she nods happily, a look crossing her face that Mulder interprets as the urge to laugh and cry at the same time. Before he can reach up to put the ring on her finger, Tara starts bumping him in the head with her trunk, unused to not being the center of attention. Scully lets out a sharp peel of laughter and Mulder finally stands, a thought occurring to him.

“Shit!” he says, someone indecorously. “I forgot to take a picture!”

3. “I’ll give you this,” Scully says as they walk past the building of the Consulate General, a ritual they do on their first day in any foreign country. “It’s certainly not too hot here.”

They are just down from the Royal Mile in Edinburgh, still on Princes Street. It’s early April in Scotland, and, Mulder has to admit, butt-fucking cold.

The American flag snaps and flaps in the cold breeze at the top of the building they stand in front of, and they nod at the Marine behind the gate before turning on their heel and heading back toward the castle. They are unlikely to need the services of the Consulate here, but have had the occasion, on no less than three separate instances, to yell “I’m an American!” while running full bore at embassy and consulate gates in other parts of the world, and every time, the young Marine (it’s always a young Marine) stationed there has snapped to attention and saved their hides.

Here, they’re more in danger of tripping over a cobblestone while walking to the closest coffee shop, but Scully said she was sick of the heat, and Mulder has an idea.

It started with listless boredom, as these things tend to, laid out in a tent near the equator, reading whatever English-language book that happened to be left behind by a colleague or visitor. In this case it was a Regency romance novel that Scully had burned through the weekend before and Mulder picked up on the working theory that you could actually die of boredom. At the time, all he thought was: needs must.

In the story, a young daughter of a marquess – madly in love with the blacksmith who’d heroically fixed the axle on her wayward carriage, eloped with her muscle-bound beau to Gretna Green and married only minutes before her viscous older brother arrived on scene with the cavalry of the ton at his back. The young couple slipped away and consummated the marriage (with many a heaving bosom) beneath a willow in the village square and what’s done was done and they lived happily ever after.

Mulder prefers the bed in their rented flat to the wet sod of a village green and they had consummated their relationship hundreds of times over at this point, but Gretna Green: now there was an idea.

He grabs her mittened hand, the ring around her finger a hard nub under his hand, and feels a swell of something like pride. That this incredible woman would choose him.

As they begin the walk up the Royal Mile, they pass coffee shops, gelato shops, store fronts hocking kitschy souvenirs. Mulder pulls up in front of one of probably twenty with a mannequin in the window wearing a kilt. It’s fitted out in the whole nine yards (literally—where the saying came from) of formal wear; hose with flashes, a sporran, Prince Charlie jacket. There’s even a sheathed dirk tucked into the waistband.

“So, I had a thought,” he says.

Scully turns her attention from the window to him.

“I was thinking we could elope.” She raises her eyebrows at this. “Here,” he goes on to explain.

A small smile creeps up her cheek.

“Do you remember that novel in Laos, the one that made the rounds through camp? The blacksmith and the wanton wallflower, something…” he trails off.

“I remember an outbreak of the clap not long after…”

Mulder stifles the urge to laugh.

“That’s the one.”

It takes Scully a moment to catch up. “You want to elope to Gretna Green?” Her eyebrows are sky high.

“Bad idea?” he says a little self-consciously.

“No, I-“ she turns back to the store window. “I kind of love it, actually.”

“We ran off to Gretna Green would make a great story,” he says.

She squeezes his hand. “I don’t think anything could top our meet-cute.”

He smiles at her, looks to the window himself.

“Would you wear a kilt?” she asks.

“Would you want me to?”

She half-turns her head to him, a sly little smile on her face.

4. Click.

He takes one picture before handing his camera over to the volunteer witness, who immediately turns the lens back on Mulder, an odd, curious feeling.

One he forgets the instant he turns to Scully.

She is in a simple white dress, her long hair brushed to a high shine and curled over one shoulder. She carries no flowers and is wearing only simple silver jewelry, and her hands are warm and dry and fit just right into his. She never once looks away.

They opted for a ceremony in the original marriage room of the old smithy, partly for the kitsch of it and partly as an inside joke, but Mulder doesn’t feel like laughing as they stand over the old anvil. There is an ethereal earthiness to the room, with its whitewashed stone walls and rough hewn low ceiling battened with old horseshoes.

As the officiant speaks of love being forged in an unbreakable bond, Mulder thinks of 1055, of their stringy hair and unwashed bodies, of the boot-steps of the men always lurking outside their door.

Love isn’t just forged in peace and bliss, he thinks, but in trial and turmoil too.

They hold hands and exchange rings and when the officiant pronounces them wed, he leans in to press his lips to hers and it’s all sun-dried linen and eucalyptus and that room on the 10th floor. Flowers come from dirt. Good things can come from bad. Love can come from anywhere if only you have the courage to hang onto it.

Click.