#she’s going to go scream into a pillow or something who knows

[atereaste]

Sevika as a housewife

CW: Smut

AN: do you know how hard it is thinking of headcannons for this woman? I tried my ABSOLUTE hardest to make it as cannon to her character as possible and I made sure to make it lengthy as possible. Also this was based off this one fanart I found on here that I sadly can’t find.

She’s usually up at 6AM. Not because she wants to but because that is when Anaya wakes. No alarm needed. She’s already halfway out of bed before the fussing starts.

Makes real breakfast like eggs, toast, potatoes, and a ridiculous amount of bacon. Claims it’s “for the baby,��� but we all know who eats six strips before you even get up.

Has your coffee ready like clockwork. Never smiles when she gives it to you. Just grunts, “Mornin’. Go kick ass.”

She's not the apron-wearing, Pinterest mom type. She Never wears the classic housewife look. It’s all muscle tanks, joggers, band tees, and sometimes that old leather jacket she refuses to throw out. Cigarette behind the ear, not lit (she tries to quit for her daughter, but old habits never die).

Has her hair tied back, scars on display, robotic arm gleaming under the kitchen lights.

She doesn’t call herself a “housewife” but acts like one every day. If someone else calls her that, like a friend or a family member She grunts, lights a cigarette, and mutters, “Yeah. So?”

She acts like she’s annoyed when you tease her about being a housewife, but she secretly loves it.

Sevika never saw herself settling down, but once she did, it hit her like a punch to the chest, this quiet, domestic life? She’d kill to protect it.

Handles all the heavy lifting around the house literally and emotionally. Leaky roof? She’s on it. Baby teething and screaming all night? She’s the one pacing the hallway with her tucked to her chest, whispering calm nonsense. but she still makes your coffee just the way you like it every morning.

Keeps the house spotless but not fussy. Everything is practical, efficient, and deeply hers. You tried to buy decorative pillows once she threw them like a discus into the hallway.

Baby-proofed the entire house herself. Installed corner guards, outlet covers, and baby gates that require two hands and a prayer to open.

Her name is Anaya, a soft name that Sevika picked out, surprising you both. (You can change it if you want)

Anaya got your eyes and Sevika’s scowl. Chubby cheeks, big curious eyes, always grabbing her mama’s metal fingers.

Her daughter is the only creature on the planet who makes Sevika melt. Big, soft cheeks, giggly snorts, and chubby hands reaching for her scarred face? Yeah. She’s a goner.

Sevika is not soft by nature, but you and the baby bring out a version of her that’s damn near unrecognizable to anyone who knew her back in Zaun. She's a "tough on the outside, but a absolute marshmallow for her girls" kind of wife.

I hope this is a safe space but Sevika 100% listens to jazz like deep, brooding stuff. She prefers instrumental tracks, trumpet, sax, stand-up bass. Miles Davis, Charles Mingus, John Coltrane, Chet Baker when she’s feeling tender.

Late at night, she plays old vinyl on a secondhand turntable she restored herself. The low hiss of the record starting is practically sacred.

She doesn’t explain her choices, but you’ve caught her pausing at certain solos like they say something she doesn’t know how to put into words.

It’s always on low volume in the background while she cooks or tidies the house.

Anaya’s lullaby is jazz. Sevika rocks her while humming along, sometimes adding her own quiet rhythm with her metal fingertips on the baby’s back.

In the early mornings, you’ll find her at the kitchen table with coffee, newspaper, and a Coltrane record playing gently. Hair still messy from sleep, house quiet except for saxophone and birdsong.

She has a hidden stash of photos of the baby on her communicator like hundreds. Pretends she doesn’t take them. You know better.

Wears a necklace you gave her with the baby’s initials on it under her shirt. Only touches it when she’s stressed or tired.

She slow dances with you in the kitchen while dinner simmers. No words, just the rise and fall of horns, her hands on your hips, chin resting on your shoulder.

If you’ve had a rough day, she’ll put on Ella Fitzgerald or Billie Holiday, pull you into her lap, and let the music speak for her.

Once, you walked in and found her in the nursery rocking Anaya to “Naima” eyes closed, swaying in rhythm, completely at peace.

Surprisingly good at cooking. She doesn’t do fancy, but her food hits like, home. Lots of stews, grilled meats, and roasted vegetables. She seasons like a pro and uses that cybernetic arm to mash plantains like a boss

Savory over sweet. Her palate leans toward rich, bold flavors spices, sears, and anything cooked low and slow.

Heavy-handed. No measuring cups. It’s all instinct. She cooks with the confidence of a woman who knows she’s feeding people she loves.

“Trust me. If I’ve made it more than twice, it won’t kill you.”

Anaya strapped to her chest in a carrier while she stirs a pot.

She doesn’t always say she loves you. But she seasons your rice exactly how you like it. She cooks with one arm so she can hold the baby with the other. She leaves leftovers in the fridge labeled with your name.

Does all the errands while wearing the baby strapped to her chest like a living shield.

The grocery store staff are terrified of her. No one questions the tattooed woman grabbing eight jars of applesauce and staring down anyone who lingers too long in her aisle.

If anyone tries to say anything about her being a housewife, she dares them to say it again. Proud protector of her home, her woman, and her daughter.

NSFW

Sevika’s housewife vibe completely flips in the bedroom. All that restrained energy, all those controlled gestures unleashed.

She’s slow, intense, and hyper-focused. She watches your reactions like a hawk, cataloguing what breaks you.

Very much a giver. Obsessive about your pleasure. She doesn’t finish unless you do first , sometimes more than once.

Kitchen sex happened once after you teased her while she was cooking she bent you over the kitchen island with one hand still holding a spoon.

She didn’t even take her apron off. Just dragged your panties down, muttered “Should’ve behaved,” and wrecked you until your legs gave out. Afterwards, feeds you bites of whatever she was making, while you sit on the counter in just a shirt and nothing else.

She adores your body after having Anaya. Scar, stretch marks, softness she’s obsessed. She kisses your stomach like it’s holy ground. “You made her in here,” she murmurs against you Sevika’s housewife vibe completely flips in the bedroom. All that restrained energy, all those controlled gestures unleashed.

Some nights she gets overwhelmed by it goes down on you like it’s worship, mumbling thank yous between your thighs.

She doesn't need formal dom/sub labels, but there's power in how she touches you. In how you let her.

Sometimes she calls herself “Daddy” in a low growl especially when she’s fucking you from behind with your legs shaking and her hand around your throat.

But more often, she calls you “mama.” In reverence. In filth. Whispered against your skin as she takes you apart: “Let me make mama feel good. Let me take care of you.”

Quickies while Anaya naps. Always risky. Always worth it.

The dryer buzzer goes off? She ignores it. You’re already bent over the washing machine, her hand over your mouth to keep you quiet.

When you come out flushed and trembling, Sevika smirks and goes, “Laundry’s done, babe.”

You say one thing about being tired or tense and she’s immediately kissing your neck, dragging you to bed, muttering “Let me help you unwind.”

That always leads to you face-down in pillows, ass up, her mouth on you like she’s starving, refusing to stop until your legs are shaking.

She loves holding you by the throat not rough, but firm. Controlling.

She’ll squeeze just enough to make you whimper, then lean down and whisper, “That’s my girl. So fucking good for me.” You melt. Every time.

Her other hand always finds your clit when she does it. She knows exactly what you need and exactly how slowly to give it to you.

Sevika lives to use the strap on you. She takes her time choosing it, watching you undress, making you ask for it. She prefers when you’re tied down for it spread open, blindfolded, dripping for her.

When she slides in, she mutters, “Miss this, didn’t you?” and absolutely rails you through the mattress until you’re begging her to stop and she’s smirking like the devil.

She always says “We’ll be quiet.” You never are. Baby monitor’s on. House is still. She promises to go slow, gentle, quiet. Five minutes later, you’re sobbing into the sheets while she pounds into you, teeth in your shoulder, sweat dripping down her neck.

“Told you we couldn’t be quiet,” she teases afterward, licking her fingers clean.

You’ve never experienced focus like Sevika’s mouth between your legs. She doesn’t just eat you out she commits.

Buries her face, groans into you, holds you down when you try to run.

You’ll come once and she’ll keep going. Twice? She’s just warming up. She gets off on how wrecked you get under her tongue.

She jerks off to the memory of it later. Usually in the shower. Often thinking about the exact sound you made the third time you broke.

Sevika loves fucking you in front of the mirror. It's not just visual it's about power. She wants you to watch yourself fall apart for her.

She stands behind you, hand around your throat or arm across your waist, whispering filth in your ear:

“Look at that face. You see how pretty you are when you beg?”

She makes you keep eye contact with your reflection. Every orgasm, every whimper—“Eyes up. Be a good girl.”

Sometimes she fingers you from behind while you sit in front of the vanity post-bath. Just a towel, her mouth on your neck, and your reflection wet and wrecked.

Sevika gets off on almost getting caught. Like when Anaya napping, and she bends you over the kitchen table with the baby monitor in full view.

“Keep your voice down,” she warns right before she slaps your ass and shoves two fingers in.

She loves fucking you in places you shouldn’t be: laundry room, balcony, the hallway, even the nursery rocker (when she’s feeling especially risky).

One time, she forgot the curtains were open. Now the neighbors won’t look you in the eye and Sevika? She smirks every time.

You already have Anaya but Sevika still talks about putting another baby in you like it’s her life’s mission.

She’ll say it in your ear while she’s fucking you, voice low and wrecked:

“Gonna fill you up again. Look so fuckin’ pretty knocked up.”

Even when she’s not using her strap, she fingers you through an orgasm while kissing your stomach, murmuring,

“Wanna see you round with my kid again. You’d carry it so well.”

The idea isn’t just sex it’s ownership, devotion, obsession. She wants every inch of you marked by her.

Early morning. Anaya’s still asleep. Sunlight through the curtains. You’re in her old t-shirt and nothing else. Sevika wakes up hard, sees the little wet patch on your shirt, and groans,

“Still leakin’ for me, mama?”

She wraps an arm around you, pulls your tit into her mouth, and suckles while fingering you slowly from behind.

You’re half-asleep and already moaning, legs trembling as she rubs slow circles over your clit and murmurs, “You’re so soft like this. So mine.”

She makes you come twice before breakfast. Her face never leaves your chest.

I’m gonna make a part two of this but of just basic Sevika headcannons cause I have so many written just let me know if you wanna be tagged in that Ⓒ atereaste

[ilovemarvel97]

Written in Our Souls - Part 8

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Wanda starts to ignore Y/N…again.

Word Count: 5,696

Warnings: angst, fluff

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

---

Y/N's POV

Y/N sat on the edge of her bed, her hands running through her hair as her chest rose and fell with ragged breaths. The room still buzzed with Wanda’s presence—her scent lingering in the sheets, the warmth of her touch ghosting across Y/N’s skin, the taste of her still burning on her lips.

What the hell did I do?

She hadn’t meant for it to go that far. Not tonight. Not like that. But the bond—God, the bond had been screaming. Louder than ever. It was like being possessed, swept up in something ancient and magnetic and all-consuming. When Wanda kissed her back, when her hands touched Y/N like she needed her, it had undone every bit of control she’d built since the day they met.

She could still feel the moment Wanda had trembled under her palms. How her shirt had risen beneath Y/N’s fingers, soft skin exposed inch by inch—and Y/N hadn’t stopped. Not until Wanda’s breath had hitched and she’d yanked the fabric back down like she’d been burned.

And maybe she had been.

Y/N closed her eyes, guilt swelling in her chest. I should have stopped. She should have read the signs, backed off, given Wanda space. But when Wanda looked at her with that kind of want, with those desperate eyes that mirrored her own, how was she supposed to pull away?

She didn’t want to admit how much of her had hoped—selfishly, foolishly—that maybe Wanda was finally choosing her. That this moment would tip the scale. That they would finally stop pretending.

But instead, she’d run.

Back to him. 

Y/N’s hands curled into fists on her knees. The ache in her chest wasn’t just physical. It was that same pain the bond always delivered—a gnawing hollowness, made worse when the distance between them grew. Tonight, it was worse than usual. It was searing. 

She stared at the door Wanda had slipped through, still slightly ajar, as if she’d hesitated before leaving.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath. “What have I done?”

And yet… even as the guilt settled deep in her bones, her body still pulsed with the memory of Wanda’s hands, her mouth, her breathy little gasps. Y/N swallowed hard, trying to shove the feelings down, but it was too late.

She couldn’t stop.

Not her thoughts. Not her heart. Not the bond that tugged relentlessly toward a girl who belonged to someone else.

A girl who had just kissed her like she never wanted to stop.

---

Wanda’s POV

Wanda slipped back into her room like a ghost, the door clicking shut behind her with an unsettling finality. The darkness inside did little to soothe her—it felt heavier now, thicker somehow, like it knew what she’d done.

Vision lay where she had left him, motionless in rest mode, unaware. Peaceful.

She moved mechanically, crawling into bed beside him, her limbs leaden with guilt and confusion. The mattress shifted beneath her weight, but he didn’t stir. That should’ve comforted her, but it didn’t.

As she laid her head on the pillow, a sharp pain bloomed in her chest—deep and suffocating. It wasn’t new. The bond always ached when she tried to suppress it. When she lied to it. But tonight, it was worse. Tonight, it felt like punishment.

She curled toward Vision, trying to find something familiar, something grounding. But the moment her gaze settled on his face, her stomach turned.

He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t know that you kissed her. That you wanted to let her—

Wanda shut her eyes tightly, but it was useless. The memories came anyway.

Y/N’s lips. Gentle, hungry, reverent. The warmth of her hands, how they fit so perfectly against her waist. The breathless sounds that slipped from her throat before she could stop them. And God—her scent. Her taste. Her skin beneath Wanda’s fingers.

Wanda’s heart pounded harder just thinking about it.

She turned her head, staring at the ceiling. What’s wrong with me?

She had kissed Y/N like she meant it. Because she did. She had wanted to feel that connection fully, wanted to fall into it and let it take her somewhere real. Somewhere she didn’t have to pretend.

But now she was here. Lying next to the man she had promised to build a life with.

And all she could think about… was another.

Y/N

Her lips tingled where they’d been kissed. Her skin still flushed with phantom touches. And the pain—God, the pain—throbbed in her chest like an open wound.

Wanda turned onto her side, facing away from Vision, her eyes stinging with unshed tears.

She had never felt more lost.

The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting pale gold across Wanda’s face, but it felt cold—distant. She’d barely slept. Her body had been still, curled tight beside Vision, but her mind had been anything but quiet. The ache in her chest lingered, heavier now, wrapped in shame.

Vision stirred beside her with a content hum, the kind she hadn’t heard in weeks.

“You stayed,” he said softly, a smile forming as he turned to face her.

Wanda forced a small nod, eyes fixed on a spot on the wall just beyond him. “Yeah.”

She didn’t see the full smile that bloomed on his face, or the way his hand reached toward her before pausing, uncertain. She couldn’t. Because her mind was elsewhere.

It was still in Y/N’s room.

On the feel of Y/N’s mouth, her breath, her hands, the heat that had built so fast between them it had scared her. The bond had flared up like wildfire, and she hadn’t been strong enough to resist. Not until it was almost too late.

She’d pulled away only at the last second, yanked her shirt back down like she was trying to bury what happened, hide it from her own heart.

And now? Now all she could do was run.

She didn’t join the others for breakfast. Didn’t go near the gym or the training rooms. Every time she heard footsteps approaching, her stomach dropped—terrified it was Y/N. And even more terrified it wasn’t. 

Because even as she tried to avoid her, Wanda felt her. Through the bond, tugging at her like a current pulling her out to sea. And it hurt to ignore it. It burned like a lie scraped against open skin.

And yet, when Y/N finally found her—at the far end of the compound hallway, near the windows—Wanda didn’t stop. Y/N had called her name once, softly, hopefully.

“Wanda.”

But she kept walking. Faster. Shoulders tense, jaw clenched. She didn’t look back.

She couldn’t.

Not after what she’d almost let happen. Not with Vision smiling at her that morning like he still had a chance.

She told herself it was guilt keeping her away.

But deep down, she knew the truth.

It was fear. Fear of how much she wanted Y/N. Fear that she’d already made her choice... and it wasn’t the one she was pretending to live.

---

That night, Wanda lay in her bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling as if it could offer answers—or forgiveness.

Vision lay beside her, his breathing calm, his arm draped loosely around her waist. He’d fallen asleep quickly, content in her presence. He didn’t know she hadn’t come willingly. That she wasn’t really there. 

Her body was frozen, every muscle taut, as if moving even slightly would shatter the fragile mask she wore. Her thoughts screamed. Loud. Inescapable.

Y/N.

Her lips still burned from the kiss. Her skin tingled where Y/N’s hands had been. The memory of the way her shirt had slid up, how she hadn’t even noticed at first, how natural it had felt to be touched by her soulmate—it haunted her. It wasn’t just physical. It was something deeper, something rooted in her very soul. A call she couldn’t keep denying.

And yet… here she was. Lying beside the man she had once thought she could love, the man she had committed herself to out of duty, out of trying to be good. 

The guilt was suffocating.

She hadn’t even gone to say goodnight to Y/N. Hadn’t looked her in the eye. Hadn’t allowed herself near her room, though every part of her body screamed to go. Every breath she took felt like betrayal—either to Vision, or to herself.

The bond was stinging as if telling her to go.

Wanda blinked back tears, unable to stop the overwhelming weight on her chest. She didn’t sleep. Not a single minute. Because how could she?

How could she close her eyes and not see Y/N?

How could she sleep when the arms around her felt wrong.

---

Y/N’s POV

Y/N lay in bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling, the soft glow of the hallway light creeping in beneath the door. The clock beside her blinked 3:08 AM.

She waited.

The sheets were cool without her. Her arms ached from the absence of weight, from the missing warmth they’d grown so used to. Every night for weeks, Wanda had found her way here. Quiet steps. A soft knock or none at all. Then that subtle breath of air when the door creaked open, followed by the hush of Wanda crawling into bed like she belonged there.

Because she did. God, she did.

But tonight, nothing.

No knock. No creak. No warmth. Just silence.

Y/N blinked slowly, trying to will her heart to beat softer. It was too loud in the quiet. Too desperate.

She’d felt the bond roaring earlier. All that kissing, all that touching—they’d crossed a line, and neither of them had wanted to stop. She didn’t even remember pulling Wanda’s shirt up until it was already bunched around her ribs, until her lips were trailing down soft, heated skin. She only remembered the way Wanda tasted, the way her breath caught, the way she let it happen—until she didn’t.

Y/N had barely registered the panic in Wanda’s eyes before she’d pulled her shirt down, muttering about Vision, guilt and fear taking over. And then… she was gone.

Y/N had half-expected her to come back. To sneak in like she always did. To lay in her arms, even if they didn’t talk. Even if it hurt.

But the door never opened.

Not even a whisper of footsteps outside.

And so Y/N just stared at the ceiling, trying to forget the smell of her, the feel of her skin, the way her lips had trembled.

She wasn’t angry. Not really.

But she was hurting. Quietly. Deeply.

Because her soulmate didn’t come tonight.

---

Wanda’s POV

That night, Wanda’s guilt had grown into something monstrous.

She’d avoided Y/N all day—ducked behind corners, left rooms too quickly, pretended she hadn’t heard her voice. Every time Y/N tried to talk to her, to even look at her, Wanda acted like nothing had happened. Like they were nothing.

But they were everything. 

And that was the problem.

Because even while ignoring her, all Wanda could think about was Y/N. The kiss. The way her lips felt on her neck, down her chest. The way her body reacted instinctively—hungrily. She ached for more. For all of her. And that terrified her.

She thought going back to Vision would help. That it would re-center her. Remind her who she was supposed to love. Who she’d chosen. 

So when they lay in bed that night, and Vision—sweet, gentle Vision—turned to her with a hopeful gaze, Wanda didn’t stop him.

She let him touch her.

They had done this before—awkward, clinical attempts at intimacy. She had always chalked the discomfort up to his nature, to her nerves. But tonight?

Tonight felt wrong from the first moment.

Vision’s lips were soft on hers, but they didn’t burn. His hands touched her waist, but they didn’t leave fire in their wake. When he moved to lift her shirt—just like Y/N had done—her stomach lurched violently.

“No—wait,” she said, panicked, her voice barely more than a gasp.

Vision blinked in confusion. “Wanda?”

She shoved his hand away and bolted from the bed, stumbling into their bathroom. Her knees hit the cold tile and she barely made it to the toilet before she began vomiting.

Everything came up. Everything she’d eaten. Every lie she’d told herself.

Vision was behind her in seconds, kneeling, reaching out, concern all over his synthetic face. “Wanda, what’s happening? You’re sick—”

“Don’t touch me!” she cried, her voice hoarse between heaves.

She tried to breathe through the nausea, but his hand on her back only made it worse. She wrenched away from him, dry heaving again, shoulders shaking.

His touch didn’t soothe her. It repulsed her.

And that’s when the truth hit her, raw and unrelenting:

It wasn’t just the bond with Y/N.

It wasn’t just guilt.

It was her heart—completely, irrevocably—choosing someone else.

And her body, her soul, refusing to betray it.

Wanda didn’t answer. Her body lurched forward again, another wave of nausea crashing over her as she vomited into the toilet, her hands shaking against the porcelain. The force of it left her breathless, trembling, her throat raw and her stomach aching.

Vision froze for a second, visibly startled, then moved beside her with quiet urgency. “Wanda—”

Another dry heave cut him off, her body rejecting everything left in her. She couldn’t breathe properly, couldn’t think. The only thing she could feel was the wrongness clawing through her skin. Everything about this night—about what she almost let happen—felt sickening. Violating.

“Wanda, your system is clearly—”

She gagged again, barely hearing him through the ringing in her ears. Tears streamed down her face, but they weren’t from the vomiting—they were from shame. From the taste of Y/N still on her lips. From the memory of Y/N's hands on her body, the pull of the bond so strong she couldn’t think straight.

Vision moved to place a steady hand on her back.

“Don’t,” she choked out between breaths. “Please… don’t touch me.”

But even as she said it, another wave of nausea wracked her body and she collapsed forward again, emptying the last contents of her stomach. Her limbs were shaking, her soul splintered.

Vision didn’t move. He just watched, helpless, quiet—his synthetic face tight with worry.

The frantic knock echoed through the room, cutting through the tension like a knife. Wanda barely had the strength to lift her head from the toilet, her body still trembling from the violent waves of nausea. Vision was already moving to the door, his confusion palpable as he glanced back at Wanda before stepping to the side.

He opened it just a crack, his mechanical frame blocking most of the doorway. “Y/N?”

Before he could say anything else, Y/N brushed past him with a speed that left him no time to react. She didn’t even pause to acknowledge Vision, her eyes locked onto Wanda the moment she stepped into the room. Without hesitation, Y/N rushed to her side, pulling Wanda into her arms, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Wanda’s body, trembling and wracked with emotion, collapsed against her. She gripped Y/N desperately, her arms around her neck as if holding onto the only thing that could anchor her in this chaos. She buried her face in Y/N’s shoulder, letting the familiar scent of her comfort her, grounding her. Her breaths came in sharp gasps, the pressure in her chest finally starting to ease. The nausea, the suffocating weight of guilt, and the tangled mess of emotions that had been suffocating her since that moment with Y/N all seemed to dissolve in her embrace.

Her tears were hot, a release that she didn’t even know she needed until she felt them falling. And all the while, Y/N held her tighter, murmuring something soft into her ear—words that Wanda couldn’t quite catch through the fog of her own thoughts. All she could focus on was Y/N’s warmth and the relief that slowly flooded her chest.

"Shh... I've got you," Y/N whispered, pressing her forehead to Wanda's, holding her close. "You're safe, Wanda. I'm right here."

Wanda clung to her even tighter, her heart hammering with a strange mixture of grief and overwhelming relief. She didn’t want to be anywhere else, with anyone else. It was only Y/N. Always only Y/N.

As the moment stretched on, Vision watched silently from the door, the confusion still clear on his face. But Y/N wasn’t concerned with him now—she only had eyes for Wanda, offering her the comfort she so desperately needed.

"I should've known you were in pain," Y/N murmured. "I should’ve been here sooner. I’m sorry."

Wanda’s trembling slowly eased as her breathing settled, the tension in her limbs giving way to utter exhaustion. Curled tightly in Y/N’s arms on the bathroom floor, she finally began to drift—her body giving out after days of guilt, denial, and the unbearable weight of everything she was feeling.

Y/N stayed still, holding her protectively, her fingers brushing lightly through Wanda’s hair, whispering quiet reassurances even as her own chest ached. Eventually, Wanda fell asleep in her arms, her tear-streaked face pressed softly against Y/N’s collarbone.

With careful, practiced movements, Y/N shifted to lift Wanda into her arms. She carried her gently to the bed, laying her down with a tenderness that made her chest ache even more. She brushed a strand of hair from Wanda’s face, staring at her for just a second too long—wanting, aching to stay.

But then she remembered where they were.

This wasn’t her room.

And Vision was still there, standing a few feet away, his expression unreadable, quiet but observant.

Y/N straightened, swallowing down the instinct to reach for Wanda again. She glanced over at him, feeling the question in his silence even before he opened his mouth.

“What’s going on?” Vision finally asked, voice low, not confrontational but certainly filled with concern.

Y/N exhaled slowly, keeping her tone casual. “I… I was just passing by and heard her vomiting,” she said, looking away quickly. “And your voice—sounded worried. I was coming back from movie night with Nat...”

A lie. One she had to tell. For Wanda.

She didn’t wait to see if he believed her—just offered a soft smile and a nod toward Wanda. “She just needs rest.”

Vision looked at her for a long moment, as if trying to piece together something he couldn’t quite grasp. But he nodded eventually.

Y/N gave one last glance at Wanda—sleeping peacefully now, her hand curled near her chest like she was still searching for comfort—before turning and quietly slipping out the door. The moment it shut behind her, it felt like something inside her cracked open.

She didn’t look back. But God, she wanted to.

---

Few hours later, Wanda shot upright in bed, a strangled gasp caught in her throat. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as her eyes darted wildly across the dark room. The nightmare still clung to her—flashes of pain, of Y/N walking away, of a void she couldn’t fill. The sheets stuck to her skin with cold sweat, her heart thundering as if she’d run a marathon.

Vision stirred beside her, sitting up immediately. “Wanda?” he said softly, placing a hand on her back. “You were dreaming. Are you alright?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her lips parted, but no sound came. Her body was trembling, her mind disoriented—not because of the nightmare, but because the arms she craved, the scent she needed to calm her, weren’t here.

They weren’t Y/N’s.

She pulled her knees to her chest slowly, grounding herself. Finally, she turned to Vision, forcing her expression into something calmer, more composed. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice raw. “Just… a bad dream.”

He looked at her with concern, his hand still on her back. “Wanda… last night—you were ill. You were terrified. Then Y/N came…What happened?”

Wanda’s breath hitched subtly. She felt the lie forming even as she spoke. “I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head slightly. “It was probably just something I ate. I guess I panicked. And Y/N just happened to hear. That’s all.”

Vision didn’t seem convinced, not fully, but he nodded slowly, accepting it for now. “If it happens again, you should see Bruce. Or at least let me help you…you didn’t even let me tou-“

“I will,” she whispered, already turning her face away—because if he looked at her too long, he might see it. The truth. The longing. The lie.

But all she could think about was how it wasn’t him who pulled her out of the dark.

It was Y/N. Again. Always.

---

Wanda felt like she was unraveling.

She avoided Y/N at every turn—ducking out of rooms, changing her training schedule, pretending to be busy whenever Y/N’s eyes found her across the compound. But now, it wasn’t just Y/N she was running from.

It was Vision too.

She hadn’t let him touch her since that night. Not his hand on hers, not his arm around her shoulders. Every time he reached out, her body stiffened, her stomach turned, and the phantom sensation of Y/N's lips on her skin would return like a curse. She was terrified of feeling that wrong again. Terrified of hurting him. Terrified of the truth.

But more than anything, she was confused—torn between guilt, duty, and a bond that burned through her chest no matter how hard she tried to ignore it.

And it wasn’t getting better.

In fact, everything was falling apart.

The nightmares had returned with a vengeance. Every night she woke in a cold sweat, gasping, reaching out for someone who wasn’t there. And when she wasn’t dreaming, she was lying wide awake, eyes open in the dark, aching for the peace she’d only ever found in one place—Y/N’s arms.

Her powers, once quiet and calm, had begun to lash out again. Small accidents at first. A cracked mirror. A flicker of red when she didn’t mean to summon anything. But then, it escalated—books flying off shelves, mugs shattering, lights bursting above her head when she startled. Her magic had always been tied to her emotions, and right now, she was a storm barely contained.

She told herself she needed more time. That it would settle. That she could fix it.

But deep down, Wanda knew the truth: she was losing control, and the only person who made her feel safe was the one she kept pushing away.

---

Today Y/N went on a mission.

She tried to talk to Wanda, but just like the other days, Wanda avoided her. 

That week without Y/N was supposed to be a reset. That’s what Wanda told herself.

Y/N would be gone on a mission, so the bond should quiet down. Her guilt should quiet down.

She thought with space, everything would quiet down.

But it didn’t.

It got worse.

Each night Wanda was plagued by nightmares—worse than before. Not faceless threats or childhood echoes, but vivid, gut-wrenching visions of Y/N dying. She watched her fall in battle, scream in agony, disappear into smoke. Wanda would wake up screaming, her sheets soaked in sweat, her heart racing, hands glowing red and shaking.

By the fourth night, the nightmares weren’t just dreams anymore. Her powers lashed out uncontrollably, slamming books off shelves, blowing the lights in her room, fracturing the mirror. 

Vision tried to talk to her but she avoided him too.

Then, during one of the training, she nearly obliterated the entire combat simulation with a burst of chaos magic. It left the room charred, twisted. Steve had to pull her out before anyone else got hurt.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t explain.

Her body trembled, her eyes wild—and instead of going to her room with Vision, she ran.

Before she knew it, her feet had taken her to Y/N’s door. Her hands shook as she opened it, her breath catching the moment she stepped inside. It still smelled like her—clean, warm, comforting. Her scent wrapped around Wanda like a safety net she didn’t deserve.

She didn’t hesitate.

Wanda climbed into the bed, curling into the pillow Y/N always used, gripping the blanket like it was a lifeline. Her body finally stopped shaking. Her magic settled under her skin, the storm easing into a whisper. And for the first time in a week, Wanda felt a sliver of calm.

Not peace. Never peace. Not without her.

But stillness.

And in that stillness, Wanda buried her face into the pillow and let herself cry quietly, aching for the girl she kept trying to forget, the one her soul refused to let go.

---

Steve’s POV

Steve found Vision in the common area late that afternoon, seated stiffly with a book in his hand he hadn’t turned a page of in nearly fifteen minutes.

Steve sat across from him without invitation, his voice low but firm. “Vision,” he said, “what’s going on with Wanda?”

Vision blinked as if startled, then straightened his shoulders. “I… am not sure.”

Steve frowned. “You’re with her every day. You share a room. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed anything.”

Vision hesitated. “She is… distant. More than usual. She doesn’t sleep well. She flinches when I reach for her, and she avoids speaking unless necessary.”

“That’s not just ‘distant,’ Vision. That’s falling apart,” Steve said carefully. “Her powers are out of control again. She nearly destroyed the training room yesterday. That doesn’t happen unless she’s in serious distress.”

Vision’s fingers curled slightly around the edge of the book. “She claims she’s just tired. I’ve tried to speak with her, but she insists everything is fine.”

Steve leaned forward. “She’s not fine. And if you’ve noticed it, others have too.”

Vision nodded slowly, voice low. “Something changed. Around the time Y/N left for her mission… it got worse. But even before that, I noticed Wanda would be gone some nights. She wouldn’t be in our room, and I never knew where she went.”

Steve’s brow furrowed. “Gone at night?”

“Yes,” Vision confirmed. “Then suddenly, she stopped. And ever since, she’s been more… unstable. Emotional. Restless. Especially when Y/N is around.”

Steve leaned back, his expression darkening with realization. “So this isn’t new. Something was going on before. And now Y/N’s away, and it’s all coming undone.”

Vision nodded slowly. “A week ago… I tried to be intimate with her. We’ve done so before, cause I assume the human body needs that kind of affection. But this time—she pushed me away. She panicked. She ran to the bathroom and vomited. I tried to help her, but even touching her made it worse.”

Steve’s eyes widened slightly. “Jesus.”

Vision’s voice dropped. “Then Y/N came. Out of nowhere. Uninvited. She didn’t ask questions. She went straight to Wanda, like she already knew where she’d be. And Wanda… she clung to her. Like she was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.”

Steve sat silently for a long moment, then said, “And she just showed up, like that?”

Vision nodded. “She said she heard Wanda being sick as she passed the door on the way back from movie night with Romanoff.”

“You believe her?” Steve asked.

“I don’t know what to believe,” Vision admitted. “But it felt… wrong. Familiar, somehow. Like it wasn’t the first time.”

Steve's jaw clenched. “Vision… you don’t think they—?”

“I don’t know,” Vision cut in. “There’s no record. I checked. Nothing shows Wanda ever left the room at night. The logs are clean. Too clean.”

Steve narrowed his eyes. “So someone wiped the footage.”

They exchanged a look.

Vision finally said, “I fear… there’s something between them neither of them is speaking about. And whatever it is—it’s destroying her.”

Steve exhaled, quiet and heavy. “Then someone needs to speak up. Because she’s not going to make it through this much longer.”

---

Y/N’s POV

Y/N had never known a pain like this.

Not on the battlefield. Not in any mission gone sideways. Nothing compared to the aching pull in her chest that had haunted her the entire week she was away. The deeper she got into the mission, the heavier it became—like something inside her was withering.

Every night she lay awake in her bunk, staring at the ceiling of the temporary outpost, Wanda’s face burned behind her eyes. Her lips. Her voice. Her skin. The memory of her in Y/N’s arms, trembling and breathless and warm. And then gone.

Clint noticed by the second day.

“You’re not sleeping,” he said bluntly over breakfast rations.

“I’m fine,” she lied.

He didn’t bite. “Is it the bond?”

Y/N looked at him sharply, and that was all the answer he needed.

“You’re in pain,” he said, voice quieter this time. “That’s not good, Y/N. You two were already skating on the edge.”

“I didn’t choose this,” she snapped before she could stop herself. “I’ve been trying to talk to her. She’s the one avoiding me. She left.”

Clint softened. “I know. But when you get back… you can’t keep letting her run. You’ve gotta try again. Before this eats you both alive.”

Y/N didn’t reply.

But she promised herself she’d find Wanda the second she got home.

One more day.

---

Wanda’s POV

As Wanda lay curled in Y/N’s bed, her face buried deep in the pillow that still held the trace of her scent, the soft hiss of the door opening made her heart leap.

She looked up quickly, hopeful. “Y/N?”

But it wasn’t her.

It was Vision.

He stepped inside with a strange coldness, eyes scanning the room—the messy sheets, the obvious indentation where Wanda lay, the pillow she clutched like a lifeline.

His voice was sharper than usual. “What are you doing here, Wanda?”

She sat up slowly, flustered, her magic twitching faintly at her fingertips. “I… I couldn’t sleep. I just needed— I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to sleep in her bed?” Vision interrupted, stepping closer. “To bury yourself in her scent like some phantom lover? Wanda, are you cheating on me?”

Wanda froze, eyes wide.

His tone hardened. “Answer me.”

Her lips parted, but the words stuck in her throat. Her pulse pounded. “I… I’m not… It’s not like that—”

“Wanda.”

She flinched. “We kissed.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Vision’s head tilted slightly, as if trying to recalculate reality. “When?”

She swallowed thickly. “2 weeks ago… I didn’t mean for it to happen—”

“But it did.” His voice trembled—not with sadness, but anger. “And you kept sleeping in my bed like nothing changed.”

“I didn’t know what to do,” she whispered, eyes glistening. “I was scared. I told myself it didn’t mean anything. But it did. I—”

“You cheated, Wanda.”

She stood abruptly. “It wasn’t like that! I didn’t plan it, I—”

“Did you enjoy it?” he asked coldly. “Her kiss?”

She stared at him, stricken. “...Yes.”

That was all it took.

In a flash, Vision’s hand closed around her wrist—not violently, but with force she couldn’t ignore.

“You don’t belong here,” he said, dragging her toward the door.

“Vision—” she gasped, stumbling after him. “Please—”

“We’re not doing this here. You’re going to our room. Now.”

She didn’t fight him.

Her body trembled, tears streaming silently down her cheeks as she was pulled out of Y/N’s sanctuary and into the sterile hallway, leaving behind the only place her heart had felt steady in days.

But in the back of her mind, one thought rang louder than any guilt.

Y/N would be home tomorrow.

And Wanda didn’t know how to face her now.

---

Y/N’s POV

The quinjet had barely landed when she was off it, backpack slung half open, boots still caked with dirt. She went straight to the tower—straight to her room first, but it was still cold and untouched, Wanda nowhere in sight. Her next stop was the one she hated: Wanda and Vision’s shared room.

She barely made it to the hallway when the door opened—and Vision stepped out.

His expression darkened the moment he saw her.

“I need to see Wanda,” Y/N said quickly.

“You need to stay away from her,” Vision said sharply, stepping forward and blocking the doorway.

Y/N’s jaw clenched. “She’s in pain. I can feel it—”

“She’s sick because of you.”

That stopped her cold.

Vision’s tone cracked for the first time. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t know what you’ve done to her. But ever since you came into her life, she’s been getting worse. She doesn’t sleep, she cries, she flinches when I touch her. She vomited when I tried to comfort her. You think I don’t notice?”

Y/N’s voice dropped. “You don’t understand.”

“I don’t care,” Vision snapped. “She was better before you. And now… she’s unraveling.”

Y/N’s chest burned. “Then let me help her.”

“No,” he said coldly. “Whatever this is—it’s your fault. And I won’t let you near her.”

The door clicked shut between them.

And Y/N stood there in the hallway, jaw tight, heart breaking all over again.

---

The next day, the tower felt colder than usual.

Y/N tried again to see Wanda. She barely slept the night before, haunted by the image of Vision’s furious face and the weight of being turned away from the one person she ached for. But when she went to the training floor, Steve was already waiting.

“You’re not joining the session today,” he said.

Y/N frowned. “What? Why?”

“You just got back. You need rest.”

“I’m fine,” she snapped, too fast. “I need to train. I need—”

“Y/N.” His voice was firmer. “That’s an order.”

She didn’t argue further. Not because she agreed, but because she saw the way he avoided her gaze. Something was off.

She wandered the halls like a ghost, every part of her tense. Her chest had only gotten worse overnight, her stomach a pit of dread. Something was wrong. Something is wrong. 

And then it happened.

As Y/N felt a sharp pain on her wrist, thunderclap of power cracked through the tower like lightning at the same time. 

An alarm blared overhead—Containment breach. Power surge. Floor lockdown initiated.

Y/N didn’t hesitate.

She ran. 

Her feet carried her on instinct alone, her chest seizing tighter with every step as her bond screamed in her bloodstream. Wanda.

---

Bear a little with me 😅

[duchessbird]

Love your writing style

Tf 141 x reader whos footsteps dont make sounds. Scaring the fuck out of everyone, needing to wear a bell on their boots when at the base and being sneakily deadly in the battlefield

This is so cute!! Toothrotting fluff, angels!

I made this into pranks and hijinks, and some Price x Fem!Reader towards the end, luvvie, I hope that’s okay! <3

If this isn’t what you wanted, feel free to send me another ask and be like “Hey, Mrs. Beth! That was cute and all… but not really what I asked for!” While I love to write for myself, I open up my ask box so you lovely people can experience my writing as well.

Forever tailored to you,

Mrs. Beth.

Truth be told, you were Price’s favorite. His prized girl. Among the TF141, everybody knew it. Even if nobody said anything. Lingering glances from Price as you swayed around in your civvies, a dress brushing along your thighs and barely reaching your knees. A firm fist planted along his leg while he held back from proposing.

Everybody loved you. Maybe not the recruits, so much, when you tore them a new one for their lack of respect and discipline, but the boys loved you. Simon loved how you cuddled to his side when you were just too cold to be in your room. And Johnny loved how you constantly matched his energy and would always bounce off the walls with him. And Kyle loved the brightness. The constant pep in your step even after all you had seen on the battlefield. Your immense ability to separate work and life.

But, what these four loved even more? How you would let your guard down with them. Silly little lamb, thinking she was safe from the hijinks of her best-friends. And how sneaky they were about to be. Making no noise with their boots.

Simon, his moniker indicative of his love for stealth, loved to piss you off by scaring you. Knowing you didn’t expect anything to be happening, you would just stop listening. Stop asininely surveying your surroundings and just let your brain turn off. It didn’t help that Simon was trained to make no noise when he walked. No noise when he did anything at all. So, a few times a day, the entire base would hear a scream like someone had been murdered. And honestly? I think the victim was your ego.

Johnny scared the piss out of you too, unfortunately in a literate sense at one point, but he would go about it differently. Hiding under blankets and throw pillows and waiting for you to sit on the couch before grabbing onto your arm or leg and causing you to flail off the couch like a fish out of water. Giggling until he tears a stitch in his side.

Kyle pranks you with food, making you coffee or tea with an extra scoop or an extra bag and acting clueless when you ask why it’s so strong. Or making you Oreo’s with toothpaste in the middle. And subsequently being confused when you enjoy it more than a regular Oreo… or swapping all the food in the fridge for plastic baby food, thinking it’s the most hilarious thing he’s ever done.

And Price pranks you too, but you’re his favorite. So while he does enjoy the occasional sneak attack, and the occasional toothpaste Oreo, he enjoys his gifting pranks even more. Saying he got you something extravagant for your year anniversary of working with the TF141, only for you to open up the box and find a little racecar, something akin to a Hot Wheels. He watches you play it off, say you’ll cherish it and set it up somewhere but he knows his girl better than that. He hands you another box, and inside? A meticulously laid diamond necklace, heavier than a damn paperweight and shinier than the sun.

“Now, you’ll be wearin’ diamonds when Simon scares the piss outta ya,” he winks.

[district-thirteen-intern]

do not engage (unless it's to your hot ceo and you're drunk)

pairings: katniss everdeen x peeta mellark

blurb:

Katniss has two moods: 1) throw her boss Peeta Mellark into traffic, or 2) throw herself at Peeta Mellark. When a scheming executive tries to bride-nap him, she ends up fake-engaged instead. Now she has to survive corporate espionage, his stupidly perfect forearms, and the mortifying ordeal of being known.

Some people have intrusive thoughts about jumping off cliffs. I have them about licking my boss’s collarbone and pushing him into oncoming traffic — not necessarily in that specific order. I never know, at the start of a workday, which of those two moods will prevail, and it usually ends up being a curious mix of both. And it's not like that's my fault, really, that my boss, Peeta Mellark — seriously, what kind of person names their child after bread — heir to the world's saddest corporate dumpster fire and poster boy for accidental charm, has once again ruined my day simply by existing in my general vicinity with his sleeves rolled up. The office used to be normal before he took over for his father — or, well, as normal as a multi-generational capitalist hellscape run by dead-eyed board members and one nepotism baby can be; now, we just have a designated scream room to preserve the mental sanity of all the employees. It used to be a wellness pod for relaxation, equipped with massage chairs, and a diffuser, and one of those sound bowls. Somewhere along the way the diffuser broke, the chair started shocking people, and now it’s just a soundproofed closet where overworked interns go to cry between budget meetings. Sometimes they scream and cry into a pillow with the CEO’s stupidly beautiful face printed on it. 

I pretend I don’t know who keeps ordering those.

(It’s me.)

As I enter his office, he looks at me with darkened eyes and this amused little smile like he can tell I want him to bend me over his desk and make me see stars. I don't know how long I stand there — half a minute at least — and he's saying something something about the coffee in my hand, but I can't hear him over the buzzing in my head, because he's unbuttoned the top two buttons of his dress shirt, and it's short-circuiting my brain. 

He grabs the coffee cup from my hands and takes a sip. 

I can't breathe. 

“Tastes delicious,” he murmurs. 

“Thanks. I spit in it.” 

His lips twitch. “That explains why it's extra sweet today.” 

I narrow my eyes. “I'm going to kill you,” I inform calmly, professionally. “I'm going to murder you, and frame the cafeteria lady.” 

“You'd have to get past Delly first,” he says, unphased. “And she likes me.” 

Everyone likes him. It's his stupid, beautiful face, and that angelic smile, and how he remembers everyone's names and details, and always stops to ask after them, with his kind eyes and his forearms— 

“I'll find a way.” 

“Will that be before or after you tell me why you're so grouchy today?” 

I roll my eyes. “If you worked for you, you'd be grouchy too.” 

“Mm.” Peeta perches on the edge of his desk, sleeves pushed up like he knows what that does to people with eyes, and gives me the kind of smile that makes interns cry in the stairwell. “But you’re especially bloodthirsty today. What happened? Did someone take the last muffin in the break room again?”

“Yes,” I say flatly. “It was you.”

He lifts his brows, all fake-innocent. “Are you sure?”

“You left the wrapper on my keyboard.”

“It could’ve been anyone,” he says, and then grins when I scowl. “You know, you’re very cute when you’re plotting my demise.”

“I’m cute always.”

I immediately regret saying that when he agrees. “That's true but the murder face is definitely a highlight.” 

“Don't talk about my face.” 

“Would you prefer I write about it then? I'm no poet but I'm sure I could come up with something.” 

I should leave. I should turn around, go back to my desk, and scream into the Mellark pillow like a normal employee suffering a standard case of terminal CEO-induced rage. But I don’t. I just stand there like a moron at the gates of hell, mesmerized, because my boss is a golden retriever in a fitted button-down with forearms that have no business being that defined and a voice that could make a nun rethink her vows.

He tilts his head. “You're staring again.” 

“I'm plotting ways to kill you.” 

“Ah, well,” he says with amusement, “don't let me stop you then.”

He mercifully leaves me alone for the next few hours, buried in back-to-back meetings but the peace is short-lived. Every time he walks by my office, he throws me one of those infuriatingly sweet smiles like he’s not singlehandedly responsible for my slow descent into madness. Honestly, if I ever snap and end up in court, I’m blaming his smile and his sleeves. “Your Honor, I plead guilty to aggravated assault, but in my defense—have you seen him?” When he finally reappears in the doorway of my office, he’s leaned against the frame like we’re in a rom-com where sexual tension is a currency and asks, “Katniss. How do you feel about dinner?” like I’m not currently mentally reviewing OSHA-approved ways to body-slam a person through a plate-glass window.

I finally answer, “I have plans.”

“Then cancel them,” he says, like I just told him I’m free. “I'll pick you up at seven.”

“Cancel— what? Why?” 

He rolls his eyes. “So I can kidnap you and chain you up in my tower where I'll have my wicked way with you.” I bite the urge to tell him he doesn't need to lock me up for that. “Seriously, Katniss, it's a work arrangement. I need you there taking notes.” 

I look at him with suspicion. “What kind of work arrangement?” 

“Dinner.” 

“With who?” 

“It's irrelevant.” 

“Peeta.” 

“No, really, it doesn't matter.” 

“Peeta.” 

He sighs. “It's Drusilla.” 

“As in Head of Board of Directors Drusilla? Vampire Drusilla?” 

“Yes.” 

“Fuck no.” 

“Katniss—” 

“No. Last time we saw each other, she tried to scratch my eyes out and I ripped out a chunk of her weave. I’m not interested in doing a round two.”

“I’ll fire you if you don’t go.”

“Do it,” I say sweetly. “Please. Put me out of my misery.”

“Katniss.”

“Take Marvel. He’s basically a corporate mannequin. He’ll do great.”

“Marvel has a restraining order from her poodle.”

I blink.

A what? “You’re lying.”

“I wish I were."

“Peeta—”

“Look, she arranged this with a lot of hush-hush so I'm ninety percent sure she's planning something. But she's afraid of you; and if you come along, I'm sure she'll think twice about pulling any tricks.” 

I give in. “Fine, but I'm not suffering through it sober.” 

He grins. “It won't be that bad.” 

“Right,” I say, unconvinced. 

Famous last words. 

The night is terrible. 

And not just the common ‘the food is awful and the conversation is awkward’ kind of terrible. This is the kind of terrible that makes you question your life choices, your sanity, and whether or not you’re actually trapped in a very specific circle of hell that smells like expensive perfume and slow-roasted duck confit. Drusilla Lavellan — head of the board, CEO of passive aggression, and part-time swamp creature masquerading as a socialite — is wearing what I can only assume is the entire cosmetics section of a makeup store on her face. Thick layers of foundation in a shade that doesn’t exist in nature, contoured cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass, eyebrows arched like she’s constantly judging your existence (spoiler: she is), and lips outlined in her signature color that is best described as dried blood, which has only ever solidified the conspiracy going around our office that she is some kind of a bloodsucking vampire. There's a wig perched on her head, voluminous, blond, stiff, and slightly askew — which turns a lot of heads for entirely wrong reasons — and she talks in a frequency so high that I drown out her voice out of habit. I'm not concerned with paying attention. My only job is to sit here and glower occassionally when Peeta looks uncomfortable. Which is often, because she keeps eying him like he's the last item on a buffet, and she's got coupons. So far, she has managed to imply she would be happy to throw her support behind his ascension as the CEO, which is very contentious and unpopular right now because of the mess his father left, but in return for something she doesn't seem to want to reveal before me. 

But she must have gotten over her reserve over my company soon because then comes the strangest part of the night. 

I choke on my drink. 

Peeta looks alarmed. “You're proposing what?” 

“Marriage, of course,” she says like it's a given. “You’re young and handsome. Are you surprised I'd want you?” 

“I'm surprised you think he'd want you,” I say, emboldened by my seventh glass of wine and a lack of will to live.

She ignores me. 

Peeta flails around for a response. “But we don't know each other.” 

“What's that got to do with anything?” she frowns, confused. “It’s a great business move. Romanticism is for children, and we're all adults here, aren't we?” 

“But I — I can't.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because I'm already engaged,” he's smoother now, calmer, as he smiles and reaches for my hand. The fog of alcohol clears up just in time for him to lift up my hand on which he's somehow slid on a ring — one of the ones I've seen on his own hand — slightly dangling from my hands. “To Katniss.” 

Drusilla gapes. 

I gape. 

Everyone and their mom gapes. 

“You're engaged?” she says, voice raising another decibel. 

I stare. “We are?” 

“We are.” Peeta cheerfully leans over and presses a kiss to my cheek. “Katniss wanted to keep it private for a while.” 

“I did?” 

“Mhmm.” 

The alcohol has murdered every functioning brain cell I had. I nod along, because sure. Why not. Reality is a construct and I’ve decided to opt out.

It can't be that bad. 

(I'm wrong.) 

Because right behind Drusilla — standing with the posture of a man who smells scandal for breakfast — is a cameraman. And right next to him is Plutarch Heavensbee: corporate gossip merchant, board puppet, and part-time vulture. He’s been writing hit pieces on Peeta since the day he inherited the company — everything from drug abuse (false), to playboy behavior (debatable), to outright incompetence (still debatable). And now he’s here, watching all this unfold like it’s his birthday. Before I can stop myself, I surge to my feet, ready to throw hands, or at the very least, hurl a breadstick at Drusilla’s beady little eyes for trying to paparazzi-marry my boss under duress. But the universe hates me, so my heel catches on the edge of the tablecloth and I immediately stumble. 

Peeta catches me with reflexes that should be illegal. His arm wraps around my waist, steady and warm, as he murmurs something calming — probably to me, maybe to the table, hard to tell — while the camera flashes explode like fireworks and Plutarch’s smug, greasy smile stretches wider.

I should be screaming. I should be plotting my escape. I should be wondering how I let myself get fake-engaged to my golden retriever boss in front of corporate America.

Instead, I do the worst thing possible.

I lean into him.

And smile for the camera.

Which is how I accidentally end up fakely real married to my boss, start a corporate war, and develop a sudden allergy to press releases— but well.

That's a story for another time.

this cringe-fest was in my drafts for days and days because i couldn't decide if i like it or i hate it, so there you go; hope you liked it! if you did, please comment, like and reblog! any and all feedback is appreciated.

[ryoflix]

dinner dynamics in the sukuna household | f. reader, s/h prns., crack 'n fluff, estb. rl ؛ ଓ

the clink of plates, the gurgle of water boiling, and the smell of exactly three different types of sauces signal dinner time in the sukuna household — a highly organized, high-stakes daily operation spearheaded by one (1) very grumpy, very meticulous man.

“nuggets are done,” he calls, reaching over the stove with practiced ease to flick the flame off one burner while tossing pasta with the other hand. “your spaghetti looks like worms today, just how you like it.”

“with the red sauce that’s not spicy!” your daughter squeals from the dining table, legs swinging under her chair.

“what do you think i am, a rookie?” sukuna grunts, opening the oven to pull out mini garlic bread shaped like... stars. they’re supposed to be stars. they look a little like squished octopuses, but the kids cheer anyway. your son's already clambering up onto his booster chair, fork in hand like a knight wielding a sword. “where’s the dinosaur dessert?”

“freezer.”

“can i have three?”

“you can have one. finish your spaghetti and we’ll negotiate the other two.”

you’re at the counter, pretending to scroll through your phone while secretly admiring the way this hulking man — tattoos on show, hair tied back, apron comically small across his chest — is simultaneously plating spaghetti worms, carrot smiley faces, and cheese-stuffed dino nuggets with more concentration than he ever gave battle.

he doesn’t sit, not yet. not until both twins have been served, their drinks topped off, and their demands for “a little bit more of the good cheesy cheese” addressed. not until you have your bowl in hand, complete with the garlic sauce he knows you've been craving recently. not until the second round of napkins has been passed out, because someone always forgets to wipe their face.

he eats last. always.

and if anyone were to see it — this broad-shouldered beast of a man wiping dino-shaped crumbs off his daughter’s chin and refilling the ketchup with clinical speed — they’d say, isn’t this supposed to be the mom’s job?

but in the sukuna household, tradition is just a word. the pillar of the home is not who holds the spatula last, but who makes sure no one sleeps on an empty stomach. and sukuna makes damn sure of it.

by 8:30, the chaos has shifted upstairs.

you hear him stomping up the steps, one twin under each arm like sacks of rice, both squealing and laughing like they aren’t stuffed to the brim with carbs. he deposits them into their beds dramatically, bouncing the mattress until they scream in glee.

“now,” he says, pointing at them sternly, “story time. and if i hear you say the word ‘snack’ again, i’ll turn your pillows into bricks.”

“what if mommy says snack?” the boy pipes up.

“then i’ll turn into a snack,” you say, entering the room with a smirk.

“grooossss!” they both giggle.

you take your seat on the plush reading chair, storybook in hand. “daddy’s gonna go eat his food now,” you say sweetly.

but then your daughter sits up.

“no,” she says, pout forming. “i want daddy to sit too.”

your son nods, echoing, “yeah! daddy eats with us!”

“you’re not eating,” sukuna reminds them, annoyed but not really.

“then sit anyway.”

and it’s not like his knees don’t ache from earlier. or that his back doesn’t threaten mutiny every time he bends a certain way. but the way they look at him — like their bedtime didn’t count unless he was there too — makes something sharp and gooey twist in his chest.

so he exhales, mutters something about dramatic children, and disappears downstairs.

he comes back with his full plate: half-warm garlic pasta, two lonely nuggets (because the others are now gone), and a side salad he clearly doesn’t want but you made him promise to eat.

and when he sits on the floor, back against the bedframe, plate in his lap, and you begin to read aloud about a prince with an itchy crown and a pet alligator, both kids curl up under their blankets with dreamy smiles.

the girl reaches out and tugs at his sweatpants. just once.

he looks down.

she whispers, “you’re the bestest daddy.”

he grumbles something low and unintelligible, shoving a nugget into his mouth to hide the softening of his jawline. but he stays for all three stories. even the one about the unicorn detective he hates.

because in this house, dinner is served in three acts — and the final act is a man surrounded by warmth, chewing slowly, his family pressed close, storybook light washing over the tattoos on his arms like quiet stardust.

[gutsby]

Ruined!

Pairing: dbf!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel is an old man who struggles to cum sometimes. You’ve got time to kill and a tight hole to fill.

Warnings: 18+. Peepaw brainrot + a dash of anorgasmia. Unprotected p-in-v, cockwarming, age gap, daddy kink.

Note: Finals are whooping my ass left & right. This is a quickie.

Word count: 1.2k | Part of the Waiting Game ‘verse

Surely he was hurting you now.

Joel Miller had a kink for many, many fun activities, but splitting a sweet young thing like you over his cock to the point you were almost in tears was just not one of them.

At the same time your poor, surely-bruised walls pulsed around his hardened length, he felt a pang of guilt. His balls were pressed against your ass like two lead weights, soaked with the remains of your third release, and his mind was at war with itself—keep fucking you like this? Pull out and offer his sincerest apologies for not being able to cum? A boy your age would’ve never had you waiting around like that, aching around his cock, much less begging for something as simple as a cumshot.

He decided to go straight to the source. Leaning over your prone body on the bed before him, he was careful not to rut his hips or jostle his dick around too much.

Joel pressed a hot, stubbled kiss to your cheek, then:

“‘S’it too much, baby? She need a break, maybe?”

Joel thumbed at that space where your body ended and his began and nearly lost his mind to the pearly-white slick that had accumulated with time. Two hours time, he had to remind himself while you moaned and writhed and bucked your ass back. Your cunt was choking him.

Crying, too.

Your eyes flew open the moment his words reached you.

“You kiddin’ me, Miller?! I could do this shit all day.”

Sometimes Joel forgot you were only in your twenties. Really, the thought only occasionally crossed his mind in moments like these—or when your father, his best friend, happened to bring you up—but when it did, it hit him hard. You were young. Lively. Surely far too spry and full of life to be messing around with a man as old as him.

Joel’s guilt ran almost commensurate with his pleasure when he felt you anchor your feet on the bed and start to fuck yourself back and forth over his still-throbbing dick.

Almost.

He planted a hand beside your head and grinned. He let you fuck him. Felt you pull off, crawl up the bed a little, then beckon him back to your body, where your ass was now pointing up and your back was arched in invitation.

Almost.

“You know I can’t sleep without your cum inside me.”

And you made a point to spread your knees and look behind you with a smile as sweet as Milo’s tea, fingers drumming a beat against the bedspread in anticipation.

“You do wanna fill me up, don’t you, daddy?” you teased.

Yeah, no. The guilt was gone. Joel could worry about being a depraved old man when he was done cumming.

Then he was back inside you, driving his hips until every last inch of him was wrapped snug within your wet and velvety embrace, and he sighed. A real protracted one, like the kind he was liable to exhale after climbing two flights of stairs, or else just hoisting himself off the sofa. Or lifting you in his arms and fucking you hard against the hood of his Bronco. Any time. Any place. You were kind enough to oblige him with the best cardio of his life, so the least Joel could do now was make you cum again.

He snatched your hands up in one of his own and placed your wrists at the base of your spine. With his other, free set of fingers he took to rubbing your clit gently.

“SON OF A—”

“—good girl.”

You let out a bloodcurdling scream into your pillow and secretly hoped this man’s dick would never deflate again. Not with the way he was sawing his thing back and forth and dragging you to the edge, circling your clit like you were the single most precious thing in the world to him.

“Oh, sweet pea, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Like he could feel the tears staining the cushion himself.

“Mmrooonme,” you cried into it, voice garbled by cotton.

“What’s’at, honey? Can’t hear ya.”

Joel then bent at the waist, pretending to be leaning in to hear you better, when really he knew he’d be digging in your guts with that big, bulbous head of his and making you squeal again. Hands still held captive behind you, you inched your chin back on the pillow so your moans could be heard even louder while Joel sped up.

“You— ruined me,” you repeated. Now clear as ever.

Joel tried to hide his smile and glanced down between your body and his. Then, while his ring finger joined the other two to make their tight, light circles, he returned,

“Ruined? Pussy feels just fine t’me.”

You’d kill him if he wasn’t so good at this. You turned your head more to meet his eyes from the corner of yours.

“No. Ruined me. For anyone else.”

Probably forever.

“Good.”

You knew he liked it that way.

You saw it in his eyes. Felt it in his touch. The hefty, broad, and greying Joel Miller had been loafing around on this earth long enough to know how to claim what was his. When his hips knocked yours to lay you flat on the bed, you already knew what was coming next.

First, his arms came to rest on either side of your body.

“Shit,” you whimpered.

Next, his lips went trailing down to your ear.

“Just a little more, sugar—that’s it,” he murmured while his hips sank in, and you felt that big, delicious stretch.

Then he released your hands so they were free to squeeze the sheets, and when they did, his moved over them—lacing his fingers through your own—and his lips pressed a kiss to your jaw. He held you in a tender grasp. His breath was hot on your neck, and the whole of his body was blanketing yours. Joel knew you liked it like that, which is why he made sure not to leave an inch of space in between. He was grunting, rutting, holding you close while his cock drilled a maddening pace inside you.

“You ruined me too, y’know,” he mumbled into your skin.

His nose was flush with the side of your cheek, nudging inward. Begging you to turn your head just a little more so he could kiss you. Weak as you were, you obliged.

And you moaned against that grey, stubbled chin of his when the thrusts above you had your cunt grinding the bed, rubbing that soft and helpless nub on the sheets.

“C’mon— let daddy have it,” he growled, “Let daddy have it and make it his, huh? That okay by you, baby?”

It was.

More than okay, as confirmed by the orgasm that tore through your body moments later while your teeth sank into the flesh of Joel’s lower lip and your cunt clenched and soaked over him whole. Joel wedged his tongue in your mouth and fucked you through it. His broad and callused hands were like iron around your own, holding you tight and keeping you still amidst a maelstrom of pleasure that combed over your every last nerve.

He licked into your mouth. Licked over it. Took the sick and distinct pleasure of knowing no one but him got to see you like this, with your jaw hanging slack and your eyes rolling back and your whines repeating quietly, ‘Daddydaddypleasedaddyfuckohfuckdontstop.’

Maybe ruined wasn’t such a bad thing to be at all.

[fungateshortcakes]

Tummy ache

Do I have kids? No. Do I want kids? Fuck no. Did I still write this because dad logan makes me feel a certain type of way? HELL YES

Pairing: Worst!Logan x single mom!Reader

Summary: It's late and your little daughter Laura won't stop crying and screaming, no matter what you do. You take her to your best friend Wade, who lives in the same apartment buildung. Will he and Logan be able to help you?

Wordcount: 3.4k

Warning/tags: english is not my first language, fluff, slight missunderstandings, Wade bc he needs a warning, implied sexual themes, friends to lovers, just cuteness, Laura doesn't exists as an adult like in the movie, rushed ending?, leave me alone I finished this at midnight

__________________________________

Logan was snoring on the couch in Wades apartment when loud, frantic knocks sounded on the door. He grumbled in annoyance as he turned, pulling a pillow over his head.

He heard Wade skip to the door in a pair of white underpants with hearts on them and a loose, grey wolverine fangirl shirt. "Must be the horse dildo I ordered" he spoke happily as if it was the most normal thing to say. Once Wade opened the door, the piercing shrieks of a baby crying echoed through the apartment.

You held your one year and a half old daughter in your arms, her face red as she cried into your shoulder. Wade noted that your hair was a mess and you seemed awfully tired. Well- it was late and on any other day, you and your daughter would already be sleeping. But there was clearly something that bothered her. She had been crying and screeching and in discomfort for an hour without you finding what caused it or how to fix it.

You tried feeding her, but she wouldn't open her mouth for the spoon. You tried reading to her, but she would always push away the books. You changed her diapers in case her sensitive skin was irritated by the dampness, but she hadn't peed. You didn't know why she was so distressed and nothing seemed to distract her from whatever it was that made her cry.

You were desperate. And while your best friend Wade wasn't really...fond of kids, which you couldn't blame him for, you still went to him for help. You never truly wanted kids yourself. But when the condom broke and your ex left you upon finding out you were pregnant, you were stuck with your baby. And now you wouldn't trade her for the world. Except in times where she was screaming with no appearant reason. "Hey Wade, I'm so sorry to bother you guys this late at night, but Laura, she won't stop crying. I've tried everything and I don't know what to do" you croaked, rocking the small child in your arms, shushing her to no avail.

Wade brought you inside so you wouldn't stay outside in the hallway any longer. No need for some neighbors to peek their head out of their doors to see what was going on.

In situations like these, Wade could be oddly serious and actually tried to help. He knew you were insecure because of your baby. You didn't want to be a nuisance or burden to anyone because you knew that your daughter could be a lot. Kids were high maintanance and you didn't want to make people feel like they were obligated to make room and drop everything once you arrived with your child. You couldn't expect from anyone that they were okay with you bringing your kid over. But Wade wanted you to know that even though he didn't like kids, you were his best friend and Laura had been nothing but a sweetheart so far. You were always welcome in his apartment.

Wade kicked Logan from the couch "Get your fat ass off the couch, the Lady needs a place to sit" he loudly said over Lauras crying. Logan groaned. You sat on the sofa and tried to take up as little space as possible. "Im sorry Logan, didn't want to disturb your sleep." you apologized meekly. "I can..I can move to the chair here" you muttered, pointing to an uncomfortable-looking wooden chair that replaced an armchair, which had recently been thrown out of the apartment due to mysterious stains and various rips and cuts in the fabric.

You had met Logan a few times since he lived with Wade and Althea. And you would be a liar if you said he didn't catch your eye. He was tall, broad and very handsome, pretty much right up you alley. But there was no way he was looking for a chaotic single mother that barely had her life together and struggled to raise an unplanned child because her ex left her. Yeah, no. You were miserable. Logan didn't need any of that.

Adding to that, he always seemed to avoid you when Laura was near. You just thought he didn't like kids, which was totally fair. Truthfully, Logan liked kids and had always wanted some of his own, but it just...never happened. With him being the worst wolverine and all.

Then why did he avoid you and your baby?

Simply said, he didn't want to scare her. Most kids looked at him like he was some sort of big, bad monster. Some ran away, some started crying, others hid from him behind their parents when he walked by. He wasn't good with children either because they never let him close enough before getting scared. He was afraid that Laura would react the same way like all children did. He didn't want you to back away once you realised that Laura didn't approve of him.

He couldn't bear only seeing you from afar.

As you were about to stand up from the couch, Logan stopped you. "No, its fine. Stay on the couch. I can move" he replied and you felt another pang as he moved away from you again.

Wade leaned over the couch, looking down at Laura who was still wailing uncontrollably. You sighed deeply, a throbbing ache behind your eyes. "Why won't you stop crying? What's wrong, sweetheart?" you nearly sobbed as well. You were so tired of this, so tired of this sound. You felt so helpless and stupid. "Maybe she wants some food? We have some left-over pizza, I can grind that stuff up into a slurry for her or something" Wade suggested.

You softly shook your head. "She doesn't want to eat, I tried. I also tried to read her a bedtime story, but she just push me away. I also changed her diapers but nothing helped" you rasped, ready to just fall asleep on the spot.

Wade reached down to get your crying daughter out of your arms. "How about you get some sleep while Wolvie and I take care of Laura? Maybe we'll find out what's rubbing her the wrong way." Wade said, cooing to your crying baby. You fell onto the couch, closing your eyes. "I can't just sleep when she is crying" you mumbled, clearly deadly tired.

"We'll take care of her. You go sleep" Logan drawled and his deep voice soothed you even more, made you even more sleepy. It was so easy to let your body betray your mind and you hated it. "Okay..." you whispered, too tired to argue. And before you could snuggle into the couch cushions, you felt two strong arms slip under your body and lifting you up as if you weighted nothing. You were so tired, you couldn't even gasp or protest as Logan brought you into Wades room, your senses enveloped with his scent.

He carefully lowered you down onto the matress, covering you up with a blanket. "Sleep tight, love. We'll take great care of your little one, so you don't have to worry about a thing" he drawled softly and only after closing the door behind him did he hope that you hadn't catched his slip-up, that he had called you love.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

In had been another two hours of constant crying and screaming. The kid must be exhausted from all the crying, but she still didn't stop. If you asked Logan, it became even worse.

"God, can you shut up for a minute? I am trying everything here!" Wade stressed, bouncing Laura in his arms and patting her back. "Don't tell your mom I said that" he whispered right after. Laura wailed and pushed herself away from Wade with her tiny hands, which were surprisingly really strong. She squirmed in his grasp, desperate to be set down.

"This is how you thank me? I've worked my ass off the past hour to get everything to your liking and now you push me away?" he grumbled, but set her down with a loud 'ouch!' after she started to scratch him.

Her tiny feet waddled against the livingroom floor as fat tears rolled down her chubby cheeks. She had a tummy ache, but she couldn't communicate that with anyone. There were a few words she knew and could say- cat, dog, mama. But she didn't have the words to say that something was hurting.

Logan sat on the couch and watched her as she stood a few feet away from him with her red face, screaming together the whole neighborhood. He sighed deeply, the sound making his ears ring. Then, out of nowhere, she waddled over to him.

"No, no, bub. Not a good idea. Get back to uncle Wade" he told her, scooting up the couch a bit more. He could have just stood up and walk away- why didn’t he? Laura stood between his legs now, demanding uppies from him as she cried. Logan shook his head, ready to call Wade from the kitchen, when Laura began screetching, stretching herself to Logan, standing on her small tip toes.

With a huff, he picked her up, his big and warm hands eveloping her small body. He leaned back against the couch with her on his lap. To his surpise, she quieted down. "You okay now, bub?" he asked her, jumping as she snuggled herself against his chest. Due to his mutation, Logan was always very warm. His whole body was like a heater and that warmth soothed Lauras tummy ache, unbeknownst to him.

The apartment was quiet now, only a few hiccups and sighs coming from Laura as she let her stomach ache be washed away by Logans cozy warm body. He didn't know what to do! One minute he was tortured by her screams and now she was napping on him. On him! Out of all people, she chose to rest on him.

"Is she dead!?" It was now Wades turn to yell as he came stumbling into the kitchen because it suddenly went all quiet. Logan didn't answer him nor did he move a muscle, too scared to wake your baby up.

"What the fuck" Wade blurted out upon seeing something he had never thought he would ever witness in his entire life. Logan shushed him, making Wade frown. He came closer, his face next to Lauras sleeping one "You little cheating slut" he sharply whispered, earning himself a shove from Logan. "Seriously, did you knock her out? Why is she sleeping all of a sudden?" Wade asked with crossed arms.

"I don't know. She wanted me to pick her up, so I did. Then she stopped crying and fell asleep" Logan explained, a warm feeling spreading in his chest as he watched the slow rise and fall of Lauras breath, her tiny hand tightly holding onto his shirt.

"Wow" Wade said. "You're the baby whisperer" Logan shot him a glare.

Wade went on a rant about how everything would have been easier if Logan took Laura from the start before finally falling asleep draped over the chair, leaving Logan alone with his thoughts. For a moment, Logan thought about bringing Laura to you so she could sleep with her mom. But as he tried to peel her off of him, she started fuzzing and whimpering until she was laying back on his chest.

He sighed deeply. Well, gotta make the best of the situation, huh? With a grunt, he made himself comfortable on the couch and fell asleep with a broad hand securily holding Laura on top of him.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

You woke up well rested. Weird. You haven't slept this good since Laura had been born.

Laura!

You jumped awake, stumbling over some stuff in Wades room before you reached the door. It was quiet as you opened it and you were met with the sight of Logan, the fucking Wolverine, sound asleep with your daughter cuddled up on him as if he was some kind of big teddy.

Your heart soared in your chest, your stomach did flips and summer saults. And your pussy throbbed. Couldn't help it, seeing him with your baby did something to your ovaries. It was...so cute. You wanted nothing more than to snuggle up with them, trace patterns onto his pecks while Laura would squeak out an adorable smile-

"Mama" Laura squealed suddenly, flashing you a smile with her few teeth. "Hey there, baby" you cooed to her, kneeling down next to the couch to be eye-level with her. She smiled brightly, whatever it was that had bothered her yesterday completely forgotten. "You seem happy using uncle Logan as a pillow" you said to her, kissing her chubby cheek.

Logan started waking up, only registering Laura at first. "You slept well, bub?" he muttered with a deep sleep laced voice, gently rubbing Lauras small head with his large hand that easily fitted around the back of her head.

"Yes, I did. Thank you for asking" you giggled softly, amused by the way Logan nearly jumped out of his skin upon noticing that you were there too, witnessing how he went soft for your daughter. An embarrassed blush krept onto his face and he cleared his throat, sitting up and avoiding your gaze. "Sorry, she...she only stopped crying when she sat on my lap"

You smiled softly at him. "Seems like she really likes you, then." and I like you too, you wanted to add, but didn't. "She is usually not that touchy with people she barely met" you said and hearing your reassurance- the fact that Laura seemed to like him- it warmed his heart. But he would never admit that.

"Well, I guess I'm flattered" Logan replied with the hint of a smile, his gaze soft as you lost yourself in his eyes, Lauras babbling fading into the background. For a moment, you let yourself think about what could have been. This baby, it could have been Logans and yours. She could have been born because two people truly loved each other. Did Logan love you? You doubted it. But when he looked at you like that, you allowed yourself to be fooled.

"I don't know how you manage to fuck each other just with your eyes, but get a room. There are children present" Wade suddenly said outraged, covering Mary Puppins eyes.

You picked up Laura from Logans lap, holding her against your hip to bring distance between you, Logan and Wades teasing. Logan cleared his throat, clearly disappointed.

"I am so, so thankful that you guys helped me. I don't know what you did or what was wrong with her, but she seems all better now. Is there anything I can do to show my gratitude? you asked, gently bouncing Laura in your arms.

Logan shook his head "No need, bub" he grumbled in his deep voice. He would have done this a thousand times if it meant he could hold your baby in his arms as if it was his. "Make that creamy ass mac and cheese and my life is yours. That stuff tastes and sounds better than any pussy" Wade chimes in, making you laugh. You promised to invite both of them over for dinner sometimes this week and they happily agreed. Laura squeaked out a cute "bye!" before you went back to your own apartment again.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

Ever since that day, visits to either Wades or your apartment became more frequent and Laura couldn't be happier seeing Logan pretty much every day. She would stick to his leg from the minute she saw him and to the last second before he left. It was adorable and made you fall even deeper in love with someone you could never have.

Wade made it his mission to steal Laura away from you and Logan. Partly because he wanted you to spend more time alone, and to teach her some words since he was her 'uncle' after all.

Laura sat on his lap, staring down at Wades phone. He looked over her head. He had a picture open that showed you, Laura, Logan and Wade. "And who is that?" he pointed to you, earning a delighted squeal from Laura as she pointed to your smiling face on the picture as well "Mama!" she babbled. Wade cheered her on, applauding her. "That's right, and that is Dada. Dada" he pointed to Logan. Laura recognized him, smiling brightly and giggling, but she didn't say anything. "Can you say that? Dada?" Wade asked in the best baby voice he could muster. But still, Laura wouldn't say anything. "Come on, say Dada. Da-da" Wade tried one last time, but Laura unwrapped himself from his arms to go and play with some toys scrattered on the floor. He huffed in frustration. It was easier to teach kids swear words than this.

Two days later, the day for the dinner came and someone rang your doorbell. You left Laura to play on her playmat and went over to the door, opening it a slit before realising that it was Logan. You fixed your hair with flushed cheeks, you hadn't expected him to come this early, you had just started the dinner preperations. "Oh, hey Logan. What are you doing here? Dinner was planned in two hours" you said, gingerly letting him into your apartment which you hadn't had the time to tidy up yet. Logan wasn't the guy to judge, but you still felt insecure.

"I thought I'd help you with the cooking and all. Look after Laura so you can work in peace" he said, knowing that he was just here to spend more time with you and Laura alone to give him the feeling of having his own little domestic family that he will never actually experience.

You smiled at him "That's very nice of you, but Laura is actually being very umcomplicated today" speaking of which, you showed him that your kid was silently playing with her toys. Upon noticing you and Logan, she squealed and stood up slowly, trying to keep her balance, before she waddled up to him excitedly. "There's my little pumpkin" he drawled, bending down to pick her up swiftly.

"Dada!" she giggled, making you an Logan stop in your tracks. "Did you hear that?" he asked you, looking over at you with a shocked expression. You frowned. You had never taught her to say that. "Sweetheart, who is that?" You asked the little girl, tapping Logans arm, just to be sure you hadn't heard her incorrectly. "Dada" she squeaks again, playing with his coarse beard.

You both looked at each other in disbelieve and for a second, you feared Logan woulf shove Laura into your arms and leave. "Look, I'm sorry. I don't know where she got that from" you tried to apologize, but the rejection from Logan never came.

He held her lovingly to his chest, giving her forhead a kiss. It made your heart pound faster. "No, it's okay" he reassured you, his large hand enveloping the back of Lauras head. "I...I could be her dad. If you want me to be" his question struck you like lightning, it was like a damn marriage proposal.

A marriage proposal you would never say no to. He looked at you with hopeful eyes, waiting for your answer and worrying he had overstepped.

"Yes. Be the father she never had. And please be the love I always wanted" you whispered, leaning up to kiss him. The kiss was soft, your lips brushing against the other and it was nothing you had ever felt before. You had kissed your ex- but never did it feel like this. So right. His free hand snaked around your waist, deepening the kiss until Laura decided to pull at your shiny necklace.

You smiled at her, taking her into your arms. "Do you want to play with daddy while I make mac and cheese?" you asked your daughter and minutes later, Logan had brought her playmat and some toys into the kitchen to sit beside her on the ground to watch and entertain her. It was like nothing had changed. Little did you know, Logan had accepted the little girl as his daughter way before today, even if you guys had never confessed.

And as you stole glances down to Logan, who was already looking at you with these half lidded bedroom eyes, you knew that after dinner, Logan and you would be trying for Lauras sibling.

_______________________________

I really hoped you liked this, I feel like I've rusted a bit. Still got a lot of smut ideas and fics open that I need to finish. Wish me luck☹ if you saw any grammatical mistakes, no you didn't. Leave me alone im tired

Btw, thanks to @buck-star for motivation me to finally finish this <33

[aleese1111]

homework and heart | yeon sieun x neighbour!reader

summary: yeon sieun is just trying to get through a study session without losing his sanity, but his lifelong neighbor makes that impossible—armed with sarcasm, zero personal space boundaries, and a habit of falling asleep on his arm mid-math problem. they argue like enemies, act like friends, and care like something they won’t admit.

warnings: [fluff fluff fluff] , mutual but unspoken romantic feelings .

author's note: i just know sieun would treat his girl like a delicate flower. everything about him (apart from his psycho tendencies) screams gentleman. the reader is sort of a tsundere or something. wrote this while listening to [ My Love Mine All mine - Mitski] . requests

“your handwriting looks like a drunk spider fell in love with a pen,” she said, peering over si-eun’s shoulder.

si-eun didn’t glance up. “you’ve said that before.”

“yeah, and it hasn’t improved.”

“you’re here for math help, not calligraphy critique.”

“i’m here for the free heating,” she declared, collapsing onto his bed like it owed her rent. “your floor heating is elite. i feel like a warm croissant.”

si-eun exhaled through his nose. “you’re supposed to finish the worksheet i gave you.”

“you’re supposed to stop being a fun vacuum,” she shot back, flipping onto her stomach and burying her face in his pillow. “why do you smell like laundry detergent and sad?”

he ignored that. “that’s page two. the functions review.”

she groaned into the pillow, her voice muffled. “why are you like this?”

“efficient?”

“emotionally unbothered.”

“that’s not a flaw.”

“it is when your only reaction to my suffering is to hand me a pencil.”

she sat up and tossed said pencil at him. he caught it midair without even turning his head.

“show-off,” she muttered.

“you threw it with the force of a butterfly.”

“rude. accurate, but rude.”

they sat in silence for a moment—her pretending to work, him actually working—until she groaned again and fell dramatically across the table, narrowly missing his open notebook.

“i give up. i’m becoming a flower shop cashier. i’ll name the succulents and everything.”

“you hate plants.”

“they hate me first. it’s mutual.”

“finish number five.”

“no.”

sieun said her name.

“make me.”

he leaned back in his chair, expression flat. “do your homework.”

she leaned forward, matching his energy. “make me.”

their faces were inches apart now, eyes locked in a silent, petty standoff.

“childish,” he murmured.

“lifeless.”

“stubborn.”

“robotic.”

“you still haven’t moved.”

“you blinked first.”

“that’s not how this works.”

“says who?”

“says logic.”

she rolled her eyes and dramatically scribbled on the worksheet. “there. number five. happy?”

he checked it. “that’s number six.”

“i hate you.”

“good. now do five.”

she cursed under her breath, then muttered, “you better carry my backpack at my funeral.”

“you won’t need a backpack if you fail this class.”

“then you better carry my coffin. same energy.”

si-eun glanced at her, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

she caught it and pointed. “there. you smiled. admit you like me.”

“i smiled because you said something dumb.”

“same thing.”

they didn’t look at each other after that. not directly, anyway. but she was quietly doing question five, and si-eun casually slid a bag of her favorite snacks across the table like it didn’t mean anything.

like always.

she got up without warning and dropped beside his chair, her chin resting on his arm, body invading his space like it was natural law.

“you need a break,” she muttered.

“you’re distracting.”

“good.”

he didn’t pull away. just let her stay there, still scribbling notes while her cheek pressed against the sleeve of his hoodie.

“you’re going to smudge the ink,” he murmured.

she shrugged. “you’ll rewrite it for me anyway.”

“that’s not how this works.”

she smirked. “isn’t it?”

they stayed like that, the sound of pen on paper and her breathing settling into rhythm.

she, of course, fell asleep fifteen minutes later. head still leaning against his arm, mouth slightly open, clumsy as ever.

si-eun didn’t move.

he just kept writing with one hand, while the other lightly tugged the blanket from the bed to drape over her shoulders.

outside, the sky finally decided to rain.

inside, there was peace—chaotic, uneven, stubborn peace. the kind only the two of them could create. the kind that made sense even when nothing else did.

✶ ᶻz .ᐟ ,

[babisawyer]

Me when my mom tells me she hates me

[batsandbirdbrains]

I’m half asleep so have a half baked idea that’s keeping me awake

The one where Dick and Bruce troll everyone

Set during season one of young justice. Dick is just an overall menace who loves to make everyone question everything they know. His favorite topic to cause mass confusion amongst unknowing Justice league members and every member of the young Justice team? His relationship with Batman

There are days where he insinuates Batman kidnapped him off the streets of Gotham.

“He saved me from Killer Croc eating me like a chicken wing.”

“I was supposed to go with the nice CPS lady but then Batman showed up and shoved me in the Batmobile and now I’m here!”

“I was walking home from school one day and he snatched me out of the shadows (he was hiding behind a dumpster).”

Sometimes they act like brothers who can’t stand each other half the time

“You’re such a buttmunch I hate you!” “Literally all I’m asking you to do is shower after training before you come home. You stink, Robin. You’re smelly.” “You’re smelly! Did the bats crap on your cowl before you came here?” Batman’s sigh is long, drawn out, and dramatic. He turns on his heel. Robin sticks his tongue out at him.

“Hey if I get this training sim completed at 100% will you get me Batburger on the way home?” “Fine. Don’t tell Agent A.” “Only if you also promise to get me a milkshake.” “Fine.”

“Yes.” “No.” “Yes!” “No!” “YES!” “NO!” This goes on for three full minutes. They’ve forgotten what they were arguing about. They’re not sure who wins.

Sometimes Batman is such a dad it feels like they’re not supposed to be watching even though it’s in the middle of Mount Justice where anyone can see.

After a particularly tiring mission and the subsequent debrief, Robin leans against Batman and definitely doesn’t close his eyes. He’s just resting them. It’s a slow blink, nothing more. Batman has a hand very softly carding through Robin’s hair, and he’s basically carrying him to the zeta tubes a couple minutes later to go back to the batcave.

Sometimes there’s a new video game out or something that Robin really wants, and he’ll whine and hang off Batman’s arm until he weasels Batman into buying it for him. He has to pinky promise. No take-backsies

They’ve absolutely heard Batman call Robin “chum” in a soft, proud voice that sounds nothing like the big bad Bat they all know.

Sometimes he just says wild shit to send them way off base:

“I dunno Conner, maybe you’re not the only clone around here.”

“He made me by mixing his own DNA with an actual bat, that’s why I’m so acroBATic. Haha, get it? Acro-BAT?”

“He stole me from the circus.”

“He’s actually a cryptid. He asked lady Gotham for light and hope and she gave him me!” “Does that make you a cryptid too?” “I dunno, maybe!”

“I’m his love child with justice.”

He’s only said the circus one exactly once because Bruce told him off for it being too close to the truth, but they did both get a laugh out of everyone’s reactions.

And then one day someone just straight up asks Robin, in front of Batman, if they’re related. And Robin blinks once, twice.

“He’s my roommate.”

It’s said so matter of fact, Robin just shrugs, and goes about whatever he was doing. Batman grunts in a confirmation sort of way, busy looking at a data pad.

Artemis, standing a little ways away behind Conner (who the rest of the team elected to go ask the question), shoves her face in a couch pillow and lets out a muffled scream. M’gann and Conner are confused. Wally is laughing. Kaldur tries to remember different surface customs in when children move out and get roommates.

“Wait but so how old is Batman then?” Wally’s question makes them all now wonder if Batman is even that much older than all of them.

In the other room, away from curious, prying eyes, Dick is smothering a giggle behind a gloved hand and shoving his face in Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce lets his lips quirk up just a little.

[catrianaghvst]

Teen Parents

teensimon x teenreader

Your hoodie’s stained with milk, your hair’s in a knot you don’t remember tying, and your phone alarm is going off again even though the baby’s already awake—and screaming like the world’s ending. Simon groans from beside you.

“I just closed my eyes,” he mumbles, face buried in the pillow.

“Yeah, and she just opened hers. Guess who wins?”

You’re already scooping your daughter out of her bassinet, your arms on autopilot. She’s warm and fussy, rooting against your chest like she knows what she wants and isn’t taking ‘later’ for an answer.

Simon peeks with one eye, voice rough. “You need me to—?”

“No, I got her. Just…” You lower yourself onto the edge of the bed, unclip your nursing bra one-handed like a total pro. “Get me a granola bar or something. Please.”

“On it,” he says, sitting up with a stretch and a yawn, hair sticking out in about seven directions. He disappears into the kitchen while you latch your daughter on. The crying stops almost instantly, replaced by soft gulps and the tiniest sigh you’ve ever heard. Your heart does that weird twisty thing it does every time—like it still hasn’t caught up to the fact that she’s yours.

Yours and Simon’s. Teen parents. Two barely-grown kids figuring out how to keep another human alive.

He comes back with a granola bar and a juice box, which honestly feels like the most romantic gesture in the world right now.

“Your breakfast, madam.”

You smirk. “Fancy. What’s next, candlelight and a clean burp cloth?”

“Let’s not get crazy,” he says, dropping onto the mattress beside you. “We still haven’t folded the laundry from, what, last Tuesday?”

You rest your head on his shoulder while the baby nurses, the room still dim, full of warm, sleepy morning light.

“I’m pretty sure normal teenagers are asleep right now,” you mutter.

“Normal teenagers don’t have a bossy little milk gremlin,” he says. Then, softer, “But she’s ours.”

You both stare down at her. Her hands are so small. Her cheeks are full and flushed, and her eyes blink up at you like she knows you. Not just your face, but you—the scared, overwhelmed, stubborn girl trying her best. And she loves you anyway.

“She smiled yesterday,” you say, brushing your knuckle gently across her cheek.

Simon leans in. “What? No way.”

“Totally did. Right after she peed on my leg.”

He snorts. “A true romantic, this one.”

The baby unlatches with a soft pop, and Simon immediately grabs a burp cloth with the speed of someone who’s learned the hard way. You hand her off carefully, and he lays her against his chest, patting her back with his big, gentle hand.

[duvetchico]

stupid in love

summary you’re down bad for yunjin. rumors say she’s crushing on someone, and you’re losing it hoping it’s you. turns out, she’s been in love with your dumb ass the whole time.

genre fluff / humor / mutual pining / best friends to lovers / gay panic™

pairing huh yunjin x fem!reader

masterlist.

you are so fucking tired of people saying “i think yunjin has a crush.”

like ok. good for her. congrats to her and her mysterious crush. may they live happily ever after. whatever. you’re not bitter. totally unbothered. you’re just gonna lie down in traffic real quick.

because the thing is… you’ve been in love with her for, like, ever. and not in a chill way. in a “i see her tie her hair up and forget how to breathe” way. in a “she hugs me for too long and i have to physically restrain myself from proposing” kind of way.

and now everyone keeps talking about her stupid crush and you’re spiraling. if it’s not you, you’re gonna eat drywall.

“i’m just saying,” chaewon whispers one night like she’s gossiping about a celebrity scandal, “yunjin’s totally into someone. she’s been singing love songs in the shower.”

“maybe she just likes music,” you say, deadpan, already preparing to scream into a pillow later.

“she’s been smiling at her phone like a loser,” kazuha adds, sipping her tea.

you… dying. combusting. already halfway into a breakdown.

“okay cool,” you say, casually, while gripping your chopsticks like you’re about to stab someone. “good for her.”

meanwhile, yunjin walks into the room, looks at you, and goes, “hey loser,” with a grin that’s all teeth and heart-eyes.

and you? you just sit there blinking like a broken npc because holy fuck she’s so pretty and she called you loser in that tone and you're this close to kissing her out of pure emotional instability.

you’re unwell. actually.

you almost confess like. five times. every time you chicken out. flop behavior. you should be banned from having feelings.

the closest you come is during a dumb late-night kitchen moment. it’s 2:43am. you’re both standing in front of the fridge like divorced parents debating what to eat.

she’s wearing your hoodie. your hoodie. sleeves covering her hands. hair messy. half-asleep. and she’s so close.

you look at her. you open your mouth.

“i like your face,” is what you almost say.

but what actually comes out is “do you want noodles or eggs?”

yunjin blinks. “…what?”

“i said noodles. or eggs. pick one. coward.”

you don’t speak for the next thirty minutes.

everything gets worse when you see her and kazuha laughing together. they’re holding hands for some reason??? why are they touching?? why is yunjin giggling like that. why is your soul leaving your body.

you go to the bathroom and stare at your reflection like “girl be so serious rn.” you look insane. you feel insane. you’ve entered the third act of a queer romcom and it’s giving cringe.

y/n u busy? yunjin for you? never. what’s up?? y/n having an aneurysm come to the roof. i need to tell u something yunjin if u push me off i swear to god

you’re already pacing when she gets there. full gay panic. knees weak, arms spaghetti.

“yo,” she says, casually. like you’re not about to emotionally vomit all over her.

“yo,” you say back, voice cracking. excellent start.

she squints at you. “you good?”

“define good.”

“…are you dying.”

“maybe.”

you inhale. then just. let it rip.

“do you have a crush on someone?”

she blinks. “wow okay. starting strong.”

“answer the question, yunjin. this is life or death.”

she tilts her head, arms crossed. “why?”

“because i—i just. i need to know,” you say, immediately regretting this entire thing.

she stares at you. her expression shifts. softens.

she squints at you. “why? you jealous or something?”

you snort way too aggressively. “pshh. no. haha. what the fuck. who. me. jealous. lol.”

a beat of silence.

“you are jealous,” she says, grinning. “holy shit.”

“shut up,” you groan, covering your face with your hands. “fuck. forget i said anything.”

“can’t. too late. it’s burned into my memory forever.”

you peek at her through your fingers. she’s just. smiling at you. all soft and amused like you’re the most interesting thing in the room. your heart does a backflip and crashes into a wall.

“…so?” you ask, muffled. “do you?”

“i do.”

you drop your hands. “oh.”

she snorts. snorts. she’s having fun. you’re dying.

“wanna know who it is?”

you freeze. “not if it’s gonna hurt my feelings.”

she leans in. leans the fuck in. you can feel her breath on your cheek. you go red instantly. like. tomato. full cherry blossom.

“it’s you,” she whispers.

you blink. once. twice.

“fuck off.”

“dead serious.”

“ME??” you screech. “ME?????????”

she laughs. “yes???”

“you’ve been singing in the shower about me???”

“you were eavesdropping???”

you grab her by the sleeves of your hoodie.

“you’ve been walking around here making me lose my entire mind for MONTHS—”

“same??? i literally thought you hated me.”

“i thought you were in love with kazuha.”

yunjin makes a face. “ew no. she’s hot but she’s like. my emotional support retriever.”

you wheeze. “i was gonna write a whole ass letter.”

“i was gonna write a song,” she retorts. “it was called ‘i think my best friend’s a hot idiot.’”

“oh my god,” you whisper. “kiss me before i jump off this roof.”

she does.

and it’s fucking perfect.

like. embarrassingly good. like years of tension melting into soft laughter and shaky hands and her lips tasting like mint and ramen and pure serotonin.

when you pull away, breathless, she grins.

“soooo,” she says, “can i call you my girlfriend now or are we still playing the 'emotionally repressed besties' game.”

“nah,” you say. “i want the title. gimme the label. say it.”

she leans in, all smug and sweet.

“mine?”

you nearly pass out.

later, you’re lying on her bed, tangled in limbs and way too many blankets. she’s scrolling through her phone while playing with your fingers like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“by the way,” she says, casually, “i still want noodles.”

“you’ll get noodles when i stop blushing.”

“so… never?”

“shut the fuck up.”

she kisses your cheek. “make me.”

you do. poorly. but she giggles anyway and pulls you closer like you’re the whole damn world.

and yeah. turns out she was crushing on you. the whole time.

turns out you were just a dumb bitch in love. but hey. so was she.

so it worked out.

[lexiputellas]

Sleep? Never.

It’s so peaceful here. The sun is warm, wrapping around you like a blanket. The waves roll lazily in the distance, their rhythmic crashing blending with the occasional seagull call. You’re stretched out on your stomach, the sand soft beneath you, eyes closed, completely weightless.

Next to you, Alexia flips through a book, one hand resting on your lower back, tracing lazy circles. The food was incredible, the drinks even better. You could stay here forever, basking in the sun, in the quiet, in—

A cry.

A sharp, piercing cry slices through the tranquility. It sounds robotic, unnatural.

Maybe it’s not real.

Maybe the beach isn’t real.

The cries grow louder, like a personal concert—one you’d never pay to attend. Something tugs at your arm.

"Baby."

Is this real?

"Baby, wake up."

No, no, no, no, no.

"I don’t want to."

"She’s hungry."

"So go feed her."

"I physically can’t."

You groan, rubbing your eyes, and glance at the baby monitor. Alice’s face, red with frustration, fills the screen.

"Alexia, I’m so tired it’s not even funny."

"I know, baby," she sighs, already swinging her legs off the bed. "I’ll go get her."

You wave a lazy hand. "It’s the least you can do."

Alexia doesn’t dignify that with a response—smart move. She disappears down the hall, and a few moments later, returns with a very angry, very hungry Alice.

You blink, groggy. "Didn’t I just feed her?"

"It’s been four hours."

You’re already adjusting your pajama blouse, making room for the tiny milk addict currently squirming in Alexia’s arms.

Alice immediately wiggles toward you, desperate, latching on with the urgency of someone who has been completely neglected for decades. Her tiny fingers clutch at your shirt like she’s afraid you might disappear.

"I wonder where she gets it from," you murmur, narrowing your eyes at Alice’s sheer determination.

Alexia raises an eyebrow. "Gets what from?"

You gesture vaguely at the baby. "The dramatics. The belief that the world revolves around her."

Alexia scoffs, leaning against the headboard. "Wow. No idea where she could’ve picked that up, remember when you cried because someone at the store got the last bag you wanted?"

Your jaw drops. "That was a devastating loss, Alexia. That bag and I had a connection."

Alexia crosses her arms. "You never even touched it."

You throw your head back against the pillow. "Because I was savoring the moment! And then—boom—stolen from me."

Alexia rolls her eyes so hard you’re surprised they don’t get stuck. "Right. Just like how the universe ‘betrayed’ you when your favorite pen ran out of ink."

You scoff. "That pen and I had history."

Alexia shakes her head, but she’s smiling, fingers grazing over Alice’s back. "She’s cute when she’s not screaming."

You smirk. "So, like, ten percent of the time?"

Alexia huffs, nudging you with her knee. "Don’t be mean."

"I’m not! I love her. Even when she’s screaming in my face."

Alice sighs against you, her little body going limp, milk-drunk and utterly satisfied. Her tiny eyelashes flutter as sleep creeps in.

Alexia watches her, softer now. "She’s getting so big."

You hum, stroking Alice’s back. "She drooled in my mouth today."

Alexia snorts. "That’s disgusting."

"It was. I think I saw my soul leave my body."

Before Alexia can respond, Alice suddenly unlatches with a loud, unapologetic burp—straight onto your pajama top.

You freeze. Alexia claps a hand over her mouth, her whole body shaking with barely contained laughter.

You slowly look down at the damage. Then back up at Alexia. "Oh. My. God."

Alexia loses it.

She wheezes, wiping fake tears from her eyes. "I love her so much."

"You’re supposed to be on my side."

Alexia grins, already grabbing a clean pajama top for you. "I am. I just really enjoy watching you suffer."

She helps you change, pressing a kiss to your cheek as Alice gives a sleepy little sigh against your chest.

Once Alice is full, her tiny fingers unclench, her whole body relaxing. Alexia laughs under her breath before carefully lifting her from your arms. "I’ll put her back in her crib."

You nod, already sinking into the pillows, exhaustion pulling at you again. Alexia cradles Alice to her chest, murmuring something too soft to hear as she disappears down the hall.

But then—

Minutes pass.

And Alexia doesn’t come back.

You groggily peek at the baby monitor on the nightstand.

She’s still in there.

You watch as Alexia stands beside the crib, swaying slightly, her fingers brushing over Alice’s tiny back. Even after Alice has fully drifted off, she doesn’t put her down right away. She just stays, watching her with a quiet smile.

Through the baby monitor, you see her finally tuck Alice in. But instead of leaving, she lingers, adjusting the blanket, smoothing a hand over Alice’s hair.

You should sleep. You should take the chance while you can. But you can’t, because the bed feels too empty.

You roll over, rubbing your face, and press a button on the monitor.

"Babe."

A second later, the monitor crackles.

"What?"

"Come back to bed."

"She’s just settling, give me a second."

"She’s asleep. You’re just staring at her."

A guilty pause. Then, "Maybe."

You groan, rolling onto your back. "Alexia, I can’t sleep without you."

The monitor crackles again. "You are so dramatic."

"Says the person who’s been watching a sleeping baby for twenty minutes."

Silence. "Okay, fair."

A minute later, the bed dips, and Alexia slides under the covers, immediately curling into your side.

"You’re obsessed with her," you mumble, half-asleep.

"She’s my child," Alexia deadpans.

You peek one eye open. "I was starting to think you were gonna move in there."

Alexia sighs, pressing her face against your shoulder. "And leave you alone in this state? You’d probably stage a protest."

You smirk, nuzzling into her. "I was already drafting a strongly worded letter."

Alexia chuckles, her arms tightening around you. "I don’t doubt it."

Your breathing slows, warmth settling over you.

And just like that, with Alexia beside you, sleep finally comes.

[space-cowgirllll]

Crush

a/n: soft jackson ellie ily.

not proofread, if you see any mistakes look away lol.

She couldn't stop staring. Sitting on a cold bench in front of Jackson's little schoolhouse, she hides behind the astronomy book she'd recently found while out on patrol. Frozen fingers flip to the next page every couple of seconds, far too fast to actually retain any information. She watches you lead Joel to a particular part of the fence that has clearly seen better days. The wood is rotting and splitting apart in certain spots. No longer safe for the children who play nearby. You nudge the post with the toe of your boot, eyes widening when it topples over. 

Her eyes follow the curve of your neck as you throw your head back, laughing at something Tommy said. Your smile lights up your entire face, sending a flutter of giddiness through her body, almost as if it had been directed at her. She bites her lip, averting her eyes when you crouch down to inspect the damage. Where you found jeans that fit you like that in times like these she'd like to know. One more quick glance and she contemplates walking away, leaving Joel to get dinner by himself.

"What are we looking at?" A familiar voice whispers behind her, causing her to almost drop her book. She clutches it to her chest.

"Nothing!" She whips her head around to find Jesse and Dina behind her. The pair plop down on either side of her watching while the two men try to make the broken piece work until Joel can come back and replace it later. You stand off to the side chatting, not wanting to get in their way. Ellie marvels at how pretty you look under the street lights. Your hair a messy halo of waves, making you look angelic. 

"So," Jesse knocks his knee against hers "Are you ever gonna actually talk to her?"

"I talk to her!" Ellie scowls. "She comes over to Joel's for dinner once a week."

"Oh, we know." He interrupts "We've been invited."

"It was brutal."  Dina winces. 

The couple quietly tease Ellie, reminiscing over that night a few months ago. She had begged them to come and serve as a buffer between you and her. They spent the whole night watching Ellie try and fail to not make a complete fool of herself. Stumbling over her words and cracking lame jokes that left her screaming into her pillow later that night in embarrassment. Jesse's foot kicking her under the table when she stared for too long. Ellie listens with a pout on her face. 

"You guys are the worst." She groans. Her eyes travel back to where you stand, widening a little when she sees you already staring. There's a tiny smile playing on the edge of your lips. Heat rises to her cheeks when you send her a little wave. Sorry, you mouth, gesturing to Joel and Tommy.

Dina's giggle seems to catch your attention. You shift from Ellie's flushed face to the brunette beside her. The two of you share a look, seemingly having a conversation with just your eyes. There's a sly smirk on your face when you finally look away. Her brows furrow in confusion. In that moment, Ellie wishes she spoke girl better. 

"You know what? Surprisingly, I think she might like you too." Her best friend pats her thigh as she stands. "Do something about it before she finds someone else who will actually make a move." 

She grabs a confused Jesse by the hand, leading him in the direction of her house. The two whispering as they go. 

Ellie digs the heel of her sneaker into the ground, the thin layer of snow crunching underneath her foot. Most of the people in her life knew about her little crush. The way she offers to take your patrol shifts if it was too cold. Always on the lookout for things that would brighten up your small classroom. Volunteering when you ask for help with random little tasks during town meetings. She isn't as subtle as she thought. There's no way you don't know she's spent the past year and a half pining after you and haven't said anything. 

Not only is she ridiculously awkward, Ellie speculates your disinterest also comes from the three year age gap between you two. At twenty four, you probably see her as a little girl with a crush. 

She can see how much you enjoy spending time with Joel, especially after your grandfather's passing. She would hate to ruin that for you. It's better for everyone if she keeps her mouth shut.

____

It isn't until a week later that Ellie sees you again. She's shirtless in the middle of her makeshift home in the garage just feet behind Joel's house. There's a small pile of discarded tops sitting at the foot of her bed. She huffs, trying to find one that nice enough, but doesn't make it look like she tried too hard.

You stopped by the stables in the morning, making plans with Joel for dinner and a game of poker. Ellie hid behind Shimmer, trying to think of a way to get out of tonight when a look from Joel told her she had no choice. She fumbles with the last couple of buttons on the flannel, too lost in thought to hear the sound of the door opening. 

"Ellie, food's read- oh!" 

"Shit!" She spins around to find you standing in the doorway, eyes fixed on her panicked face as she pops the last button open. Ellie shoves her arms into the sleeves of the maroon flannel she'd borrowed from Dina, knowing it probably matched the color of her flushed cheeks. At least she'd thought to put on a bra.

"In my defense, I knocked twice." You state as you slowly make your way around the room, pausing to inspect the posters hung on her walls. She watches you pick up the comic she'd thrown on the coffee table earlier. Your eyes light up in recognition. "Oh hey! My grandpa used to read these to me. I think I have some you're missing if you ever wanna see them." 

Her breath catches in her throat at the prospect of spending more time with you. "Really?" She grins. "I'd like that."

You nod, walking slowly towards her. Your footsteps loud in the quiet room. Ellie watches the way your piercing gaze roams her face, slipping to her exposed torso for just a second before locking eyes with her. She hopes you didn't hear the embarrassing way her breath hitches when you replace her clumsy fingers with yours. Ellie basks in the warmth radiating from your body as you button up her shirt, your warm breath hitting her temple. 

"Cute." You smirk looking down at her. "Really makes your eyes pop." Tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, you step back towards the door. "Don't make us wait too long."

Ellie stands frozen, heart pounding in her chest, listening to your retreating footsteps wondering what the hell just happened.  ——

After another slightly awkward dinner, she was shocked when you showed up at her doorstep again that night, this time waiting until she opened the door. Giving her a shy smile, you'd held out a box full of old comics, letting her know there was no rush on returning them. Ellie still remembers the grin that bloomed on your face when she'd invited you in. 

The two of you rarely left each other's side after that. Your friendship blossoming in the months that followed. It helped that you liked to talk and Ellie liked to listen to you talk. Most nights were spent together, either at your place or hers. She loved it when you read to her while she drew in her sketchbook. Some nights she would attempt to teach you how to play some of her favorite video games, enjoying how cute you looked when you were pouting after losing to her. The two of you had even started growing a dvd collection, always fighting over what movie to watch (she let you win almost every time.) 

She couldn't believe how quickly you'd become such a big part of her life. Ellie still had the urge to pinch herself on the mornings when she'd wake up to you sleeping soundly next to her. And on the nights where she'd stay awake, late into the early hours of the morning, memorizing every inch of your face, the magnitude of her feelings for you scared her. She'd do anything for you. 

Which is how she finds herself standing in the corner of the room nursing a drink, doing what she does best - watching you. You've been looking forward to the winter dance for weeks, begging Ellie to come with. The sweet look on your face when she walked through the door sent a rush of excitement through her.

You stay by her side all night until one of your friends pulls  you to the makeshift dance floor, managing to get Ellie out for one song before she quickly retreats back to where she was despite your protests. You're glowing under the twinkling lights, dancing and singing your way around the room. The navy blue sweater she'd gifted you for Christmas last month fits you like a glove.

"So where's your girl?" She looks up to find Jesse standing there, his face covered in a thin sheen of sweat from dancing. Dina's laugh sounds off from somewhere behind him.

Ellie chokes on her drink "She's not my girl." She says through a nervous chuckle. 

"You mean to tell me you follow her around like a lost puppy and you'll sleep in her bed but you won't tell her how you feel?" 

She shifts nervously from one foot to the other. "We're just friends. I sleep over at Dina's all the time."

"You don't look at Dina the way you look at her." He sighs looking out at the crowd of dancing people. "All I'm saying is it's only gonna get worse the longer you ignore it. Are you prepared to be her friend while she dates someone else?"

Ellie's eyes follow to where he's currently staring. Bile rises in her throat as she watches you dance with someone else. Twirling around with another woman, her hands where Ellie's had been just minutes before. Her hand grows clammy around the glass. The blonde kisses you. Her lips far too close to your mouth for it to be friendly. Before she knows it, she's pushing past her friend and rushing out the door. 

The chilly January wind bites at her face as soon as she steps outside. Blood rushes in her ears as she quickly walks back towards her house. She's mad. Mad at Jesse for being right. You for leaving her standing there alone. But mostly she's mad at herself. What had she been thinking? That she would just get to know you more and not fall even further? Her cold palms press into her eyes, trying to alleviate the stinging sensation. This crush was going to ruin her. 

She stops just feet from her door, digging into her pocket for her key. Footsteps that are not her own pound on the snowy pavement behind her. "Ellie!" 

Her eyes squeeze shut, regretting not walking faster. She wants nothing more than to freak out while buried underneath her covers. For the first time ever she doesn't want to see you. 

Your hand grips her bicep, spinning her around to face you. "Els what's wrong?" 

"Nothing 'm jus tired." She mumbles shrugging you off and taking a step back. Your lips pull down into a frown at her actions. 

"Why didn't you tell me? We could have come back together."

She scoffs. "You seemed a little busy. Didn't wanna bother you." 

"Ellie-"

"Caroline's great." She interrupts. "Word around town is she has quite the crush on you. If you wanna go back don't let me stop you."

"Oh my god shut up." In the blink of an eye she find herself up against the wall, your body caging her in. Your hands fly to the back of her head, fingers tangling in the short strands of her newly cut hair. You tug gently, forcing her to look up at you.

"She kissed you." Ellie whispers looking like a kicked puppy. 

"And if you had stayed long enough you would have seen me brush her off." You cup her face, slowly dragging your thumbs across her cheeks in a soothing manner. The tenderness in your eyes will forever be ingrained in her mind. "There's only one person I want to spend my night with and she's right here."

"Really?" You nod, brushing the tips of your noses together.

"I don't want to be just your friend Ellie," You whisper against her lips, your breaths mingling together. Her ears ring at your confession, and she hopes you can't hear the way her heart is pounding. "and I know you don't either. I've been waiting for you to make the first move, but I'm real tired of being patient baby." 

Your lips press against hers in a soft kiss. It's hesitant at first, giving her the option to pull away. You see her eyes flutter shut, shaky hands wrapping around your neck. She whines quietly, wanting more. Her fingers slip down and hook onto your belt loops, pulling you in and deepening the kiss. Your tongue is soft and warm in her mouth, sliding against hers as you press her further into the wall. She shivers when your cold hands caress the warm skin of her lower back. 

Ellie's head goes fuzzy at the feeling of your thigh slotting in between her legs. Her hips seem to have a mind of their own as she slowly rocks back and forth on it, the seam of her jeans giving just enough friction to provide some relief. 

Her soft mewls and the wet sounds of your mouths fill the air. Somewhere in the back of her mind she realizes you two are still outside, where anyone walking by can see. You need to go inside. She just can't find it in her to care at the moment. 

Hands slide from their place on your hips to cup your ass, squeezing harshly, drawing a groan from you. "Hmm. Do you wanna know how many times I've caught you staring at it?" You ask as your mouth pulls back to kiss down the column of her throat. Teeth nipping the soft skin there. Ellie laughs breathlessly in response, somewhat lightheaded from the lack of oxygen. The dazed look in her eyes sends a jolt of heat through you. 

"Ellie?"

The two of you rip apart at the sound of Joel's voice. He stands just outside of his back door, the concerned look on his face vanishes when he spots you and Ellie off to the side of the garage. 

"You two alright out there?" 

You want to laugh at the clear discomfort and amusement in his voice. "Fine Joel, just walking her home."

"Uh huh." He doesn't sound convinced. "Well, best get inside before the snow picks up."

"Right. Good night!" 

Ellie rushes to unlock the door, pulling you in and slamming the door shut. 

"How did you know?" She asks, playing nervously with her fingers. Her freckled face deliciously flushed. A love bite peeking through the collar of her hoodie. 

"You weren't good at hiding it. I had my suspicions." you giggle, intertwining your fingers with hers. "Dina also might have put in a good word. Said I would love you if I just got to know you better."

"And?"

"She was right."

[wosospacegirl]

Head over heels - Ingrid Engen

Summary: 4 times Ingrid and Y/n almost confessed their feelings, and 1 time when they actually did.

Word count: 3.6k

This is part of my 1k commemoration blurb! <3

Masterlist

..

1. The beginning.

Y/n didn’t imagine she’d end up as Ingrid Engen’s neighbour when she first signed up to teach the U12 girls at La Masia. 

In fact, she hadn’t expected much of anything—just another job, a few classes, maybe some peace and quiet.

She definitely hadn’t expected to form a friendship with Ingrid.

Y/n knew nothing about football. She didn’t keep up with it, didn’t even know who Ingrid Engen was.

That changed the day she casually mentioned Ingrid’s name in class, and the girls let out the highest-pitched scream she had ever heard.

That’s when she learned Ingrid Engen was royalty.

Both in Barcelona and Norway.

Although, honestly, it didn’t look like it. Not when Ingrid had shown up at her doorstep with a bag of fresh cookies, introducing herself and welcoming Y/n to the building with a shy smile. 

Not when her washing machine broke and she had to use Y/n’s for a week, leaving behind her weird Norwegian detergent that smelled like pine trees.

Ingrid was nice. Kind of awkward, really pretty, and... normal.

Y/n liked that.

It was one of those nights that felt like it would never end.

The streets outside were quiet, and the soft hum of the city was the only sound drifting in through the open window of Ingrid’s apartment.

Y/n sat on the sofa, her legs tucked beneath her, and Ingrid was sprawled across the floor, head resting on a pillow.

They had spent hours talking about Y/n’s class, Ingrid’s training—like they always did. But tonight, something felt different.

There was something quieter between them, heavier.

Not uncomfortable, just… lingering.

Ingrid could feel it in the way her pulse sped up every time Y/n laughed a little too loudly, her entire face glowing like it didn’t even know how to hold back.

“So, how are you feeling? You’ve got a game tomorrow, right? A big one?” Y/n asked, glancing over at her with the kind of attention that made Ingrid’s stomach twist.

Ingrid shrugged, trying to stay casual.

“Hmm, yeah. It’s the last game of the league.” She paused, and her voice dropped a little. “It's kind of a big deal.”

Y/n nodded slowly, her eyes still on Ingrid.

They had been friends for a few months now, but every time their gazes held like this, it felt like something was shifting. 

Like something was almost—almost on the verge of being said.

Ingrid wondered, just for a second, if Y/n felt it too, if maybe she was about to say something important.

Something real.

But the moment passed.

“You’ll have a good game, I know it,” Y/n said eventually, her voice light. “The kids keep telling me to remind you to close the end on your right, though.”

Ingrid huffed a quiet laugh, her smile soft. “Tell the girls I'll put it into the plan.”

2. The Café

It was one of their usual spots—a quiet café tucked between a bakery and a bookstore, with uneven chairs and coffee that always came a little too hot or a little too cold.

Y/n sat across from Ingrid, halfway through her drink and animatedly retelling her day, hands moving with each sentence.

“So, how are the kids?” Ingrid asked, her chin propped on her hand, watching Y/n with a soft smile.

Y/n leaned back in her chair, sipping from her mug.

“Unhinged, mostly,” she said, grinning. “But there’s this one girl...Selena she’s ten. She’s already convinced she’s going to be Spain’s next starting goalkeeper.”

Ingrid raised a brow, amused. “I’ll tell Cata she’s got competition.”

“No, listen,” Y/n said, leaning forward like she was about to reveal a secret. “She caught a paper ball someone threw at her from across the room. Without looking. Mid-lesson. Didn’t even flinch.”

Ingrid laughed, eyes lighting up. “Alright, I’m sold. Sign her up.”

Y/n smiled at that, her gaze lingering a second too long. “She reminds me of you a little.”

Ingrid tilted her head, eyebrow raised. “Because I catch rogue paper balls? I’m sorry, I know you’re not that good at football, but I’m a defender.”

Y/n snorted, ignoring Ingrid’s last statement. “Because she’s confident. And calm. And kind of annoyingly good at everything.”

There was a pause.

Not awkward, exactly—just quiet.

Ingrid looked at her for a second longer than necessary, and Y/n suddenly realised how close they were sitting. 

The café buzzed faintly around them, but the warmth between them made everything else feel muted.

“Also,” Y/n added, teasing, “she told me she thinks your hair is cool. So, you know. Icon status or whatever....”

Ingrid’s smile curled up at the corners, soft and amused. “Well, I try.”

The silence lingered again.

Ingrid opened her mouth like she might say something else, but Y/n reached for her cup too fast, nearly knocking it over.

“Okay, I definitely don’t need more caffeine,” she said with a laugh, cheeks warm.

Ingrid let the moment pass, though something flickered in her eyes. “Shame. You’re cute when you’re over-caffeinated.”

Y/n pretended not to hear it, not knowing how to deal with it,

 “So, uh, what about you?” Y/n asked, trying to change the subject, her voice just a little too sharp. “How’s the prep for the next match going?”

Ingrid noticed the shift, but instead of pushing, she smiled softly, settling back in her chair. “Busy, but good. Same old routine.” 

Ingrid paused, eyes glinting mischievously.

“I’m just hoping no one decides to challenge me for my position as ‘most intimidating defender.’”

Y/n’s chuckle was softer this time. “Guess you’re pretty safe there, huh?”

Ingrid leaned a bit closer, her smile widening. “For now. But you never know... I might need a backup.”

Y/n swallowed, a little embarrassed by how quickly her heartbeat picked up at the thought of that proximity. “I don’t think I’m cut out for being a defender. I can barely keep my coffee from spilling, remember?”

Ingrid’s laughter softened the tension, but Y/n could feel it lingering between them...something new.

3. The Goodbye

The afternoon light filtered softly through the windows, casting a warm glow across Ingrid’s living room. 

Y/n stood by the open suitcase, folding Ingrid’s clothes as neatly as she could, trying not to look too closely at the other woman. 

Ingrid was busy rifling through a drawer, clearly searching for her shins, her expression focused and a little frantic as she threw things from one corner of her room to the other.

Y/n’s eyes lingered on the clothes she was folding, Ingrid’s shirts, her sweatpants, all items that had become so familiar to her over the past few months. 

She let out a quiet sigh.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t been around when Ingrid went off to camp before, but this time... it was different.

Ingrid was leaving for Norway’s national camp, and Y/n was unsure of how to navigate it.

She had never had to deal with this before—this feeling of missing someone who wasn’t... quite hers.

“So..." Y/n started, trying to make small talk, anything to distract herself from the tightening feeling in her chest.

“How does camp work, exactly? I know you’ve told me a bit, but like, what’s the routine? Is it much different from here?”

Ingrid’s voice drifted over to Y/n as she continued to dig through her drawers. 

“It’s pretty much the same as Barcelona. Training, recovery, more training, meetings... But with Norway, everyone’s Norwegian,” she said with a little chuckle, glancing over her shoulder to catch Y/n’s eye. “Oh, and we don’t actually leave the training facility. It’s more intense, too.”

Y/n nodded slowly, but she couldn’t hide the frown that tugged at her lips. It wasn’t jealousy…no! She wasn’t jealous. Ingrid was just... going away. 

To play football. To represent her country. This was good. This was important. 

Still, a tight feeling formed in her chest as she folded one of Ingrid’s sweaters.

Ingrid caught the frown, her gaze softening as she walked over, finding her shins and tossing them on the bed.

“Hey,” she said gently. “It’s just a week. You’ll be fine, yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Y/n muttered, clearly lying.

She didn’t want to admit that the thought of Ingrid being gone for an entire week made her stomach churn, even though she couldn’t exactly explain why. 

They were just friends, right? Neighbors.

She didn’t need Ingrid around—she was perfectly capable of being alone for a while.

But the idea of not seeing her... of not having those quiet nights, those easy conversations that stretched into hours, made her feel like something important was going to be missing.

Ingrid stopped and looked at Y/n for a long moment, noticing the way she stood there with her arms folded tightly, her eyes cast downward. 

“Y/n,” she said softly, her voice full of warmth. “You’re gonna be fine. It’s just a week. You’ll barely even notice I’m gone.”

Y/n hesitated, but finally, she spoke. 

“They’ll miss you,” Y/n blurted out, not thinking. “The girls, I mean. They always ask about you. I always tell them about the things we talk about. “

Y/n paused, but contineudm feeling a little embarrassed, her face growing warm. “They won’t have any Ingrid content for a week.”

Ingrid blinked, and then her lips curved into a smile.

“You tell them I’ll miss them too,” she said, her voice soft but teasing. “I’m sure they’re all heartbroken without me.”

Y/n chuckled, but it felt a little hollow in her chest. She nodded, feeling her heart race for no reason at all. 

The silence settled between them, but Y/n didn’t mind. She was used to this comfortable quiet with Ingrid. 

Still, it didn’t stop the ache that continued to build inside her as Ingrid moved around the room, packing the final bits into her suitcase.

As Ingrid was finishing up, she grabbed her jacket from the back of the chair, ready to go. 

“I’ll call you when I get there, okay?” Ingrid said, glancing over her shoulder. “And I’ll bring you more chocolate, obviously.” She smiled, and Y/n tried to ignore how much that smile made her chest tighten.

“Yeah, okay,” Y/n replied, smiling weakly. “Take care of yourself. Don’t get too caught up in...football stuff, alright?”

Ingrid rolled her eyes playfully. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. I won’t get hit by too many balls.”

Y/n’s lips quirked up. “You better not.”

Ingrid winked at her as she slung her bag over her shoulder. 

“Thanks for helping me pack. And for the good luck charm, obviously.” She gave her a teasing grin. “Maybe next time we can actually work out a football tactic for you.”

Y/n laughed, shaking her head. “I’ll stick to the cheering–and–teaching section for now.”

“Fair enough,” Ingrid said with a shrug, then hesitated for a moment before walking over and pulling Y/n into a quick hug. “I’ll miss you,” she whispered into Y/n’s ear.

Y/n froze, her heart skipping a beat.

She wanted to say something, but the words stuck in her throat.

Instead, she just squeezed Ingrid back, holding onto her for a little longer than maybe she should have.

“I’ll miss you too,” Y/n said, her voice quiet but sincere.

And with that, Ingrid was gone, her presence lingering in the air long after she left, and Y/n stood in the empty apartment, feeling a little less like herself than before.

..

When Ingrid came back from her trip, Y/n found herself unexpectedly waiting for her. The week had felt much longer than it was. 

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but when Ingrid finally showed up at her door, a huge smile on her face and a bag in her hand, Y/n felt something settle in her chest.

“I brought you something,” Ingrid said, holding out the bag with a small grin. “Norwegian chocolate, as promised.”

Y/n smiled, her heart lifting at the gesture. “Kremtopper,” she said, recognising the name on the packaging from the searches she did on the internet. “Thank you!”

“Welcome” Ingrid said softly, a knowing look in her eyes as she handed her the chocolate. “And I brought something for the girls, too. More chocolate...you’ll have to share.”

Y/n smiled more brightly, taking the bag from Ingrid’s hand. “I’ll share with them, don’t worry. But... only because you brought me something sweet.” She looked up at Ingrid, eyes soft. “How was the camp?”

“It was good,” Ingrid replied, but her voice held a small, almost wistful quality. “But I’m glad to be home. I missed our talks.”

Y/n’s heart swelled at that. “Yeah,” she said quietly, “me too.”

And there it was again, the familiar, comfortable silence. But this time, it felt different. It felt like something more.

4. The Stupid Misunderstanding

Y/n woke up to the soft hum of her phone alarm, groggily rubbing her eyes before pushing the blankets away.

Her first thought was of Ingrid—of course. 

They had a little routine, one that was comfortable and familiar.

Whoever woke up first in the morning went to the other’s apartment to make breakfast. 

Y/n stretched and threw on her robe, slipping her feet into her slippers. She walked down the short hallway and knocked on Ingrid’s door, as she always did.

No answer.

She waited, but the usual sound of Ingrid humming in the kitchen didn’t come.

Y/n shrugged it off, knocking once more.

But then, the door opened, and Y/n’s eyes widened in surprise.

A girl, a random girl Y/n didn’t recognise, walked briskly out of Ingrid’s apartment, right by her side. 

The girl was wearing a Barça jacket, she stepped into the elevator, and Y/n felt something in her chest that she didn’t quite understand.

She frowned. Had she missed something? The girls from the team were always in and out of Ingrid’s place, but the girl was most definitely not from the team.

Y/n stood frozen, unsure of what to do next.

Ingrid appeared at the door then, beaming as she waved the girl off. “Bye, Michelle. It was great!”

Y/n’s gaze snapped up to Ingrid. 

She was so casual about it, like there was nothing unusual in the situation. 

Ingrid didn’t even seem to notice the way Y/n’s jaw had clenched, the surprise and maybe a little hurt bubbling in her chest.

Ingrid’s smile faltered for just a moment when she noticed Y/n standing there, but it quickly returned. 

“Oh! Y/n, you’re early,” Ingrid said, her tone light, not catching the tension that was growing between them.

Y/n couldn’t hide the anger building in her.

She had to say something, but she didn’t know what.

“Michelle?” Y/n asked, her voice tight. “You didn’t tell me you had company this morning.”

Ingrid opened the door wider, clearly oblivious to Y/n’s frustration. “Yeah, she slept here because–”

Y/n swallowed, trying to keep her tone steady. “Oh, right. She slept here.”

Ingrid nodded, completely unbothered. 

“Yup... slept here. We had some coffee, I made breakfast.” She gestured toward the kitchen, oblivious to the growing distance between them. “Come on in, I made extra for you and me. Still some left if you want.”

Y/n’s hands tightened into fists, frustration bubbling over.

Without thinking, she turned on her heel and walked back down the hall, slamming her door shut with more force than she intended.

Ingrid hurried after her, her voice softening with concern. “Y/n?”

But Y/n didn’t stop.

She heard Ingrid knocking softly on her door, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she threw herself onto her bed, burying her face in the pillow and letting the tears come—tears of anger, confusion, and the hurt she didn’t know how to voice.

Minutes passed before Y/n finally pulled herself together. 

She couldn’t let her emotions control her, especially not when she had to teach twenty girls math that morning.

She quickly got dressed, throwing on a sweater and jeans, and left for La Masia, trying to push everything out of her mind.

She was halfway through her class when her phone buzzed. It was Ingrid. But Y/n ignored it.

By the time the school day ended, she was exhausted and emotionally drained. She was just walking down the hallway to her apartment when she saw it—a bouquet of flowers sitting on her doorstep.

Y/n knelt down to read the small note attached:

“Michelle’s Patri’s sibling. She asked me to give her a place to stay while her apartment is being renovated. PS: I’m pretty sure she’s straight.”

Y/n blinked, her chest tightening in embarrassment as the realisation hit her: she had completely overreacted. 

She had let her insecurities get the best of her, jumping to conclusions about Ingrid’s friendship with Michelle.

Before she could process it any further, Ingrid’s voice came from behind her. 

“Y/n?” Ingrid’s soft voice held a note of uncertainty. “I made carrot cake... if you want some.”

Y/n’s face flushed with guilt. She turned around slowly, meeting Ingrid’s eyes. “I’m sorry. I--I was being dumb. I jumped to conclusions.”

Ingrid gave her a soft smile, shaking her head. “It’s okay. Honestly, I would’ve reacted the same way if it were you.” 

She reached forward, holding out the plate with the freshly baked cake. “Friends?”

Y/n smiled sheepishly and nodded. “Yeah. Friends.”

They stood in the hallway for a moment, neither of them saying anything. 

Y/n’s heart was still racing, but it was a different feeling now—a mix of relief and the quiet warmth of understanding between them.

Ingrid stepped into the apartment, and Y/n followed her inside.

The door clicked shut behind them as they sat down at the small kitchen table, cutting the carrot cake and laughing at the simplicity of the moment. 

No more misunderstandings. Just the two of them, the cake, and the quiet realisation that everything was okay.

5. The Confession 

Barcelona had just clinched the league title, and the team threw a private celebration at one of the club’s event spaces—no press, no fans, just players, staff, and a few invited friends. 

Y/n arrived in a simple silk dress, heart pounding from more than just the excitement of victory of the team.

She spotted Ingrid near the dance floor, laughing as she clinked glasses with Aitana and Alexia.

When Ingrid’s eyes met hers, she waved Y/n over with that dazzling, lopsided grin that sent butterflies crashing through Y/n’s chest.

Across the room, Alexia whooped, and Aitana held up a plate of patatas bravas.

A few of the players winked at Y/n’s direction as they passed. 

But Y/n’s eyes never left Ingrid’s, who beckoned her over with a grin that made Y/n feel all warm inside.

The DJ slid into the next song—a R&B track with a slow, pulsing beat. Ingrid extended her hand wordlessly. 

Y/n slipped her fingers into Ingrid’s, and they drifted to the small dance floor.

Beneath the gentle glow of overhead bulbs, tables of empty plates and glasses fell... It felt like it was just the two of them, two bodies swaying in perfect sync.

Ingrid’s hand settled at the small of Y/n’s back; Y/n’s other hand came to rest lightly on Ingrid’s hip. 

The thrum of the music echoed in Y/n’s chest, but the only rhythm she heard was her own heartbeat, speeding up as Ingrid leaned in. 

Warmth brushed Y/n’s ear as Ingrid spoke, her voice low, the tiniest tremor betraying nerves. “I have been waiting all night for this moment.”

Y/n’s breath caught. The air between them felt charged, as if the entire loft had hushed.

She met Ingrid’s gaze, searching the hazel depths for confirmation.

Then Ingrid asked—softly, tentatively—“Is it okay if I kiss you?”

Time stretched. Y/n’s mouth felt suddenly dry. 

The thumping of her pulse was louder than the bass. She nodded, her voice caught in her throat.

“Yes,” she managed, and her words flared in her ears. “Please.”

Ingrid’s lips found hers in a soft, searching kiss. 

First gentle—an exploration—then confident, as if they’d been practising for months. 

Glasses clinked in the background, but Y/n heard nothing but the rush of Ingrid’s breath and the warmth of her hands cradling Y/n’s face.

When they broke apart, Ingrid’s forehead rested against Y/n’s. Her voice was husky.

“I’ve wanted to do that ever since you moved in nexxt door.”

Y/n’s cheeks burned. 

She tucked a hand behind Ingrid’s neck, tracing the line of Ingrid’s jaw with her thumb.

“I’m glad you did. I’ve been head over heels for you, for what, seven months?”

Ingrid’s brow rose. “Seven months?”

Y/n laughed, the sound soft and breathy.

“Since the day you introduced yourself with those freshly baked cookies. But don’t let it go to your head.”.

Ingrid grinned, brushing a loose curl behind Y/n’s ear.,

“Too late.” She dipped her head and captured Y/n’s lips once more, more boldly this time, sealing their first real confession beneath the glow of victory lights and the away‑game hum of celebration.

..

a/n: if you read this far-- first of all, ily. second of all, feel free to let me know what you thought!

i love hearing your reactions, fav lines, or just general thoughts 🫶 it really makes my day <3

Tag list: @edensbreeze @silentwolfsstuff, @goodloe-e @mccabeskcc @blaugranafairy, @footy-lover264 @the-fandom-ness

[drunkinyourbenz]

୨ৎ blush. b.e

୨ৎ billie eilish x fem!reader

୨ৎ genre: fluff

୨ৎ content: loser gf billie! you do billie's makup. reader is specified to be relatively feminine for the plot.

୨ৎ note: I NEED A GIRLFRIEND. literally me and who. screaming crying throwing up. #needthat.

୨ৎ wc: 1.3k

you and billie had been invited to some party—some celebrity’s’ birthday, you were pretty sure. you didn’t really care, because going to a party meant one thing. you, billie’s girlfriend, had a chance to do her makeup for her. it was a rare occurrence, considering that the two of you didn’t go to parties all that often, but it was something that you knew she adored just as much as you did.

you slipped into her house with the spare key you were given, already dressed in your outfit for the party, billie’s hoodie over top to keep you warm. once your shoes had been taken off at the door, you made your way through the house, glancing into the living room and her bedroom before finding her in her home studio. she was sat in her large comfy black chair, headphones over her ears and knees hugged up to her chest as she adjusted a few things in the production of her latest song. she was wearing a black tank top and baggy gray sweatpants, hair held up with a black claw clip. 

shark, who lay in the dog bed at her feet, perked up when you walked in, his ears twitching forward as he straightened up. billie, however, didn't hear you enter. you walked up behind her, wrapping your arms around her and pressing a soft kiss to the bare skin of her shoulder and mumbling into her ear, “hi, baby.”

billie turned to see you, eyes practically lighting up the moment she was pulled out of her musical trance and saw you in front of her. “hi my angel, i missed you,” she leaned in, pressing her lips to yours in a sweet kiss.

you smiled against her lips, but didn’t indulge her for long, pulling away and looking at her with a small grin painted across your lips. reaching down, you took her hand, intertwining your fingers with her and tugging her to stand. once she stood, you gestured for her to follow you, gently pulling her towards her bedroom. 

she gave you a small pout as you pull away, but she followed you nonetheless, allowing you to lead her out of the room. from where she walks a few steps behind you, her eyes travel up and down as she gives you a once over, a smirk on her face, "you look good, my love."

“you don’t even know that, the hoodie covers the whole outfit.”

billie hummed, “sure, but you always look hot. now isn’t an exception.” 

with a grin over your shoulder at her, you squeezed her hand softly before tugging her further down the hall.

“sit down, baby,” you hummed once the two of you were in her room, going to her vanity and grabbing a few products, as well as a few extras from your bag. 

sitting without a complaint, she looked up at you from where she was on the bed, eyes trailing after your every move with a look that could only be described as adoration. if it were possible for a person to have hearts in their eyes, she would have them every time she looked at you.

turning to face her, you gently took her shoulders and gestured for her to move back slightly on the bed, so that she was propped up by her pillows but not fully sitting up. she didn’t argue, letting you shift her position without giving it any thought. you placed the products down next to her, noting the way her eyes were fixed on you as you moved around the room.

eventually, you got onto the bed with her, moving so that you were straddling billie’s waist—you could’ve sworn you heard her breath hitch slightly as you settled down. at that, your lips twitched up slightly into a knowing smile, and you leaned down to press a quick, teasing kiss to her lips. billie practically chased after your lips when you pulled back, her eyes darting back and forth between your eyes and lips, the look in her eyes almost pleading.

her hands found their place on your thighs, rubbing soft circles there as you did her eyeliner. she couldn’t help the way her thoughts became so impossible to verbalise at your actions, having you right there on top of her was making her brain short circuit. 

you did her eyeliner—a brown eyeliner, it felt softer with her blonde hair and it made her blue eyes pop—in that way that looked so jaw-droppingly gorgeous, trying to ignore the way her icy eyes were fixed on you. you moved to eyeshadow, just applying a little of the silver shimmery one that looked so gorgeous with her eyes. 

while billie watched you, a soft smile pulled at her lips. once you’d finished the eyeshadow, she allowed herself to shift sightly, a soft giggle falling from her lips. when you took her head in you hand, cupping her chin between your thumb and index finger, she let you tilt her head like putty in your hands. her eyes were soft, as they often were when she looked at you, and you held her head still as you looked at the eye makeup you’d finished. 

with a hum, you released her face, “perfect.” 

“yeah?” 

leaning forward, you pressed a kiss to her lips, feeling the way her lips curled into a smile against your lips, and watching the way she chased after them once you’d pulled away. 

she had a stupidly large smile on her face as she watched you, and it only grew as you leaned in and pressed your lips to each of her cheeks a few times. soon enough, your grin was matching hers, and you bought two fingers up to blend out the lipstick marks your lips had left. 

still smiling like a lovesick fool, billie mumbled, “what are you–”

“this is your blush.” you giggled as you spoke, looking at her with a warm smile. her heart practically melted at your words. billie had soon joined the giggling, soft laughter leaving her lips as she watched your focused face. the second you paused, she leaned forward to press a chaste kiss to your lips. 

once she’d pulled away, she murmured against your lips. “i love you. you’re so cute.”

“oh, i’m the cute one? you should see your face when i’m doing your makeup, you’re like a lovesick puppy.” 

billie’s bottom lip poked out in a pout, “i am not! i just…i love when you do my makeup.” 

you simply grinned at her, “i know you do. with the way you're blushing right now, you didn't even need my kisses."

billie groaned, her hands moving up to your waist and her fingers digging in ever so slightly, “shut up,” it was likely supposed to sound intimidating, but it came out sounding like a whine, and she hid her face from your view by hiding it in your shoulder. 

“nuh uh,” you hummed, gently moving her face from its hiding place, voice teasing. “you’ll mess up your pretty makeup, baby.”

she let out a soft grumble of protest, sending you a glare—although it was all too clear that she was biting back a smile. “i hate you.” 

“mhm, sure you do.” you simply held her face in your hand again, holding her still while you finished blending out the ‘blush’. once it was finished, you hummed in content, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips once again. billie didn’t stop herself from chasing after your lips that time, and the second you pulled away, her hand had found the back of your neck. she pulled you back against her lips. only once the two of you were breathless did she part from you, mumbling something softly against your lips, something that sounded pretty close to ‘i love you’. 

still sat on her lap, you looked at at her once you’d pulled apart. the corner of your lips twitched into a soft smirk, “well, you’re lucky i didn’t do your lips yet.”

୨ৎ tags: @47lake @st0nerlesb0 @n0vabug @darkside-0f-the-sun @asterisk-eyes @amara-eilish @dragoneyelashart @greenbttrflyy @bilswifee @tan1shere @asothinking @ilovealiceosemann @chrissv4mp @lovelyy-moonlight @jennaswifey @billiesbabygirleilish