#they’re both happy and having a good time and have not thought twice about me

[lesbiansanemi]

New low. Sobbing in the floor of a dark empty apartment

[solxamber]

And I Pick...

In which you choose the club that caught your eye

Part 1

After much contemplation you've finally decided to pick the:

Basketball Club

The basketball court was quiet for all of two seconds after you announced your decision.

Then Ace exploded.

"HA! I knew you’d pick us! I called it!" He was practically doing laps around the court, pointing at nothing in particular. "Ace Trappola: the ultimate recruiter, the club MVP, and now the guy who brought you on board! This is the best day of my life!"

"Eh, it’s about time," Floyd drawled, stretching lazily. "Took ya long enough to figure out where the fun is." His sharp-toothed grin widened. "Now we can play my version of full-contact basketball. Hehehe."

"Absolutely not," Jamil cut in, but Floyd wasn’t listening.

"Don’t worry," Floyd said, throwing an arm around your shoulders like you’d been lifelong teammates. "If you survive the first practice, you’ll survive all the practices. Probably."

Ace jogged back over, breathless but triumphant. "I told you we’re the best club! No boring rules, no endless laps like in Deuce's lame track team, and best of all—" He struck a dramatic pose, arms wide. "You get to hang out with me every day!"

"Please don’t make them quit on the first week," Jamil muttered, giving you a look that seemed to say, Are you sure about this?

"Quit? Nahhh!" Ace grinned. "They’re gonna thrive here. I’ll even teach them my signature moves—like my no-look, backwards, mid-air layup."

"You can’t even do that," Jamil said flatly.

"Not yet," Ace shot back. "But it’s the thought that counts."

Floyd leaned in closer, his grin somehow growing wider. "You better keep up, shrimpy. Otherwise, I might have to… spice things up a little."

"Spice things up?" you echoed, immediately suspicious.

"He means doing things like replacing the basketballs with watermelons," Jamil deadpanned.

Ace snorted. "Or throwing the ball at the hoop so hard it breaks the backboard. Oh wait, that actually happened. Twice."

"It was fun," Floyd said, completely unrepentant.

Jamil sighed like a man who’d aged a decade in the last five minutes. But then, to your surprise, he turned to you and offered a small, genuine smile. "Still… I’m glad you’re here. Welcome to the team."

The words were simple, but coming from Jamil, they felt like a warm endorsement.

Ace clapped his hands together, clearly ready to move things along. "Alright, enough talking! Let’s get you on the court and see what you’ve got!"

"Or we could start slow," Jamil suggested, but Ace was already dragging you toward the center of the court, Floyd trailing behind with a basketball under one arm.

"Don’t worry," Floyd said, tossing the ball up and catching it effortlessly. "If ya mess up, we’ll just laugh at ya a little. No big deal~."

"No one’s laughing at anyone," Jamil said firmly, already pinching the bridge of his nose.

Ace threw an arm around your shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. "Ignore him. We’re gonna have a blast! First practice starts now!"

You weren’t sure what you’d gotten yourself into, but judging by their enthusiasm (and Floyd’s maniacal laughter), you were in for one chaotic ride.

Track and Field Club

The moment you declared your allegiance to the track and field club, Deuce’s face lit up like someone had just told him he passed his midterms.

“You’re… really joining?” he asked, like he needed double confirmation. When you nodded, his grin widened, the kind that made him look both relieved and excited. “That’s awesome! Uh—welcome to the team! Seriously, it’s great to have you.” His usual earnestness shone through, and he scratched the back of his neck. “I mean, I’m still kind of learning the ropes, but we can figure things out together. It’s gonna be great!”

Jack, standing beside him, gave a firm nod of approval. “Good call. Track and field’s a solid choice. You’ll fit right in.” His tail wagged just enough to betray how happy he was, even if his tone stayed calm.

"Yeah!" Deuce agreed. “And, uh, don’t worry about keeping up or anything. It’s all about improving at your own pace. Right, Jack?”

“Sure,” Jack replied, glancing at you. Then he added, almost casually, ��We’ll work on your stamina. You’re gonna need it.”

It took you a second to catch the faint glint in his eye, and then you remembered—oh no, the fridge comment. Jack had been disturbed ever since.

Deuce, oblivious to the subtext, chimed in, “Yeah, Jack’s great at that stuff! He’s got this crazy endurance. Like, he can run forever. I’m still working on it, but, uh, you’re in good hands!”

Jack’s tail swished again. “Just be ready to push yourself. But don’t worry—we’ve got your back.”

“Exactly!” Deuce said, his fists clenching like he was ready to run a marathon right there. “This is gonna be awesome. I mean, not that it wasn’t already great, but now it’s even better. Right, Jack?”

Jack gave a small, satisfied smile. “Right.”

As they led you toward the field, you couldn’t help but wonder what you’d just signed up for. One thing was certain, though—Jack’s still thinking about that fridge, and he will make sure it’s not an issue anymore.

Board Game Club

The moment you declared your allegiance to the board game club, Azul adjusted his glasses, looking smugly pleased with himself, like he'd just negotiated the deal of the century.

"An excellent decision," he said, his voice as smooth as the perfectly polished board games stacked behind him. "With your addition to our club, I foresee a new golden age of strategic victories."

Idia, sitting half-hidden behind a pile of unopened game boxes, choked on his energy drink. "W-Wait, you’re serious? They actually chose us?" His hair flared a brilliant shade of pink for a moment before he pulled his hoodie tighter around himself. "Th-this isn’t some prank, right? Like, I’m not gonna look up and see them bolting out the door laughing, right?"

"Nope," you replied with a grin. "I’m all in."

Ortho, ever the enthusiastic hype man, zipped into the room with his jet thrusters. "Welcome to the club! Now we have a full party for dungeon raids. This is amazing!"

Azul cleared his throat, waving a hand. "Ahem, while cooperative RPGs are certainly an option, I believe we should start with a game of strategy and wit to introduce them properly. Perhaps a round of Chess of Betrayal?"

Idia groaned, sinking further into his hoodie. "Ugh, that game takes, like, three hours. If you’re gonna scare them away, at least wait until they’re too deep in to quit. Why don’t we start with something easy, like Goblin King Gauntlet?"

Ortho clapped his hands. "Ooh, I love that one! It has a random trap mechanic! Let’s play that!"

Azul raised an eyebrow, his smile shark-like. "Trap mechanics are hardly a proper welcome. It would be far better to demonstrate the finer nuances of strategy, wouldn’t you agree?"

Idia muttered something about Azul turning everything into a power play, but you interrupted before they could spiral into a full-blown debate. "Honestly, I’m fine with anything. Just deal me in."

Azul’s smirk widened. "Very well, then. I shall prepare the game board. And don’t worry, I’ll make certain you’re fully equipped for our upcoming campaigns. You’ll find we offer more than just fun—we offer victory."

Idia peeked out from his hoodie, a small, hopeful smile creeping onto his face. "You’re not bad at this whole club thing. Maybe this won’t be so terrible."

As they started setting up the game, you felt an unexpected warmth. Sure, it was just a board game club, but there was something endearing about their chaotic enthusiasm.

Though one thing was clear—Azul would probably try to sell you game tokens at some point, and Idia would absolutely try to teach you how to min-max your dice rolls.

But hey, you were ready for it.

Film Studies Club

When you announced your decision to join the film studies club, Vil paused mid-sip of his herbal tea, one elegantly arched eyebrow rising. For a moment, he looked like he was considering whether he had heard you correctly. Then, with a practiced air of nonchalance, he set the teacup down.

"Hm. Acceptable," he said coolly, though his tone betrayed a slight uptick of satisfaction. "It’s rare to find someone with enough taste to appreciate the art of cinema. I suppose your presence will be… useful."

But the slight curl of his lips gave him away.

He stood, brushing imaginary dust from his coat, and gave you an appraising look. "We have much to discuss. If you’re serious about this, you’ll need to commit entirely—no half-measures, no excuses. The camera is unforgiving, and I have no intention of allowing this club to falter under subpar contributions."

You opened your mouth to respond, but he was already pacing, gesturing dramatically like the star of an avant-garde production. "Lighting, blocking, composition—they are all integral to creating art, not merely entertainment. I trust you won’t embarrass yourself, or me, for that matter."

Despite his words, you caught the faintest hint of pride in his gaze as he turned to face you fully. "And, if for some reason, acting isn’t your strength, there are other roles. Cinematography, set design, editing… Perhaps backstage work would suit you, should you fail the audition."

He didn’t say it to be harsh; this was Vil’s version of encouragement. And as he continued outlining the club’s vision—"a modern renaissance in storytelling"—you realized he was genuinely excited to have you there, even if he’d rather gargle poison than openly admit it.

Finally, he stopped and gave you a small, approving nod. "Welcome to the film studies club. Don’t make me regret this."

Translation: I’m glad you’re here.

Science Club

The moment you announced your decision to join the science club, Rook’s eyes lit up like you’d just declared him the ruler of the universe.

"Ah, mon ami! What a magnifique choice!" he exclaimed, sweeping you into a theatrical bow so deep you thought he might topple over. "You possess the soul of an explorer, a true seeker of knowledge! Together, we shall unlock the mysteries of nature and celebrate its beauty in all its forms!"

"Uh… don’t scare them off, Rook," Trey interjected, though he was smiling. He adjusted his apron, clearly relieved that you hadn’t bolted under Rook’s enthusiastic greeting. "We’re glad to have you. Really. It’s nice to have someone else around who won’t accidentally set the lab on fire."

You raised an eyebrow. "That’s a low bar."

Trey shrugged. "You’d be surprised how many fail to meet it."

Before you could respond, Rook was already spinning grand plans. "Imagine the adventures we will have! Scaling mountains, crafting elixirs, nurturing delicate blossoms—ah, the poetry of science!" He clasped his hands to his chest, radiating so much joy that you were worried he’d break into song.

Trey, ever the grounded one, sighed fondly. "What he means is: we do a little bit of everything. Growing plants, chemistry experiments, cooking—you’ll fit right in. Assuming Rook doesn’t scare you off first."

Rook turned to Trey with an exaggerated gasp, as if the very suggestion of him being overwhelming was the greatest insult he’d ever received. "Chevalier des Roses, how could you wound me so?" He turned back to you with a theatrical flourish. "Fear not! I shall be your guide, your companion, your—"

"Assistant," Trey cut in, giving you a knowing look. "We'll assist you. Don’t let him take over your projects."

You grinned, feeling oddly at home already. Between Rook’s boundless enthusiasm and Trey’s steadying presence, you realized the science club might just be the perfect balance of chaos and calm.

Pop Music Club

When you announced your decision to join the Pop Music Club, Lilia was the first to react. He shot up from his chair with a dramatic flourish, his cape—where did the cape come from?—billowing as if on cue.

"Ah, an excellent choice! Welcome to the most electrifying club in the entire school!" Lilia declared, his voice reverberating like an arena announcer. He played an imaginary riff on an air guitar, complete with sound effects that you were almost certain were magically amplified.

Kalim clapped his hands, beaming as brightly as the sun. "This is going to be so much fun! We can sing duets, make up dances, throw a party for every new song we write—oh! We should have a welcome party for you right now!" He was already halfway to grabbing balloons out of thin air before Cater stopped him.

"Easy there, Kalim," Cater said with a laugh, pulling out his phone to snap a picture. "We haven’t even started jamming yet! Gotta document this first—‘New Member Alert 🚨🎶! Welcome to the coolest club at NRC!’” He posed next to you, flipping through filters. "Ooh, should we do a pastel vibe or go all-out neon?"

"Why not both?" Lilia suggested, somehow holding a tambourine he hadn’t been holding two seconds ago. He shook it with gusto, the jingles creating an impromptu beat.

Kalim joined in instantly, dancing around the room with energy that could probably power a small city. "This is going to be amazing! Do you play any instruments? Can you sing? Or maybe you’ll write the songs? Wait, can you do all three?!"

Before you could answer, Lilia leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. "Don’t worry, even if you’re terrible, I can teach you. After all, I’ve had centuries of experience."

"Centuries of experience at what exactly?" you asked, though you weren’t entirely sure you wanted the answer.

"Everything," Lilia replied cryptically, shaking the tambourine once more for emphasis.

Cater gave you a wink. "Don’t let him intimidate you. He’s mostly harmless. Mostly."

As the chaos swirled around you, you realized joining the Pop Music Club was probably going to be as much about managing everyone’s energy as it was about making music.

But looking at their genuine excitement, you couldn’t help but feel you’d made the right choice. It was going to be loud, unpredictable, and—most importantly—a lot of fun.

Equestrian Club

When you chose the Equestrian Club, Riddle’s reaction was immediate and deeply Riddle. He straightened his posture, cleared his throat, and gave you a small but dignified nod, though his ears turned the faintest shade of pink.

“A wise decision,” he said primly, but his voice wavered just enough to give away his excitement. “The Equestrian Club values discipline and care, and I trust you will uphold those values. Welcome.” He paused, then added with uncharacteristic softness, “I’m glad you chose us.”

Sebek, on the other hand, reacted with his usual intensity, which was to say, very loudly.

“AS EXPECTED OF SOMEONE WITH DISCERNING TASTE!” Sebek bellowed, saluting for no discernible reason. “THE EQUESTRIAN CLUB IS A PLACE OF HONOR AND DILIGENCE. YOU HAVE MADE THE RIGHT CHOICE, AND I, SEBEK ZIGVOLT, SHALL PERSONALLY ENSURE YOU MEET OUR HIGH STANDARDS!”

“You’re going to scare the horses,” Silver muttered, patting a dozing mare who didn’t even flinch at Sebek’s volume. Clearly, she’d built up an immunity.

Silver turned to you with a sleepy but genuine smile. “Welcome. It’ll be nice having another person around who actually seems calm. I’ll show you the best places to ride, and we’ll make sure you’re comfortable with the horses.”

“And with the rules,” Riddle interjected, already retrieving a stack of laminated pages. “Equestrian care is not something to take lightly. You’ll need to memorize these guidelines to ensure both your safety and that of the horses.”

Sebek leaned over your shoulder to inspect the stack and immediately saluted again. “AN EXCELLENT INITIATIVE, HOUSEWARDEN ROSEHEARTS! I, TOO, WILL MEMORIZE THESE IN CASE THEY EVER REQUIRE REINFORCEMENT!”

“I think they’re fine,” Silver said. “We don’t need to make this harder than it needs to be.”

Riddle frowned. “Standards exist for a reason, Silver. Though I appreciate your enthusiasm, perhaps we can—Sebek, stop shouting—perhaps we can go over the basics first before overwhelming them.”

As Riddle and Sebek debated, Silver handed you a carrot to feed one of the horses. “Don’t worry,” he said, as the horse happily munched away. “It’s not as intense as it seems. Usually.”

You glanced at the stack of rules in Riddle’s hand and the fervent look in Sebek’s eyes. It was definitely going to be an adjustment. But seeing how genuinely happy they all were to have you—yes, even Sebek—you felt like this would be worth it.

Magift Club

When you announced your decision to join the Magift Club as their manager, the reaction was instantaneous and… surprisingly chaotic.

Ruggie let out a whoop, immediately dropping to the floor in a mock bow. "Ayo, everyone, bow to the boss! Finally, someone who can keep this circus in line!"

Leona, lounging on the sidelines, cracked open an eye and smirked. “’Bout time. Herbivores usually flake out, but I knew you were better than the rest.” He stretched lazily, like he’d personally orchestrated your decision. “Just keep the snacks coming, and we’ll get along fine.”

Epel looked between them and grinned, his enthusiasm much more grounded. “It’s great to have ya! With you around, maybe Leona will actually show up to warmups... or not just sleep through it.” He shot a pointed glance at their captain, who was, of course, ignoring him entirely.

“Eh,” Leona drawled, flicking his tail dismissively.

“You could work on that attitude,” you muttered, earning a low chuckle from him.

“See, I told you they’d fit right in!” Ruggie said, gesturing at you dramatically. “They’re already roasting him. This is gonna be great!”

Epel, suddenly inspired, added, “And they’ll keep Ruggie from stealing the fresh apple juice we get after games. That’s worth it alone.”

As the reality of your new role settled in, you felt a bit like a lion tamer walking into a den of mischievous cubs and one very lazy big cat. But their enthusiasm—expressed in their own peculiar ways—was endearing.

Ruggie threw an arm around your shoulder. “Alright, boss, first order of business: snacks! Let’s discuss our game day budget and whether I can convince you to sneak me a sandwich before practice.”

Leona snorted but didn’t argue, which you took as a sign of approval. Epel pumped his fist. “We’re gonna crush it this year!”

Maybe managing this bunch wouldn’t be so bad after all. If nothing else, it’d definitely be entertaining.

Mountain Lovers Club

When you joined Jade for a hike to "test the waters" of the Mountain Lovers Club, you had your doubts. You were prepared for a lot of things—maybe getting lost in the wilderness, maybe Jade pulling out his eerie cryptid knowledge, or maybe just a weirdly formal lecture about moss. What you weren’t prepared for was… actually enjoying yourself.

Jade led the way with an unhurried confidence, pointing out various wild plants, their uses, and fun facts about the environment. He wasn’t his usual enigmatic self, either. He seemed lighter, almost enthusiastic, as he described a tiny wildflower you would’ve missed entirely.

“This particular species only blooms during the autumn months,” he said, crouching to show you. “Quite fascinating how it adapts to the cooler temperatures, don’t you think?”

You nodded, trying not to stare too hard at how his face lit up when he spoke. Jade was… cute? When he wasn’t talking about mushrooms in a way that made you question your mortality, he was actually kind of charming.

By the time you reached a rocky outcrop with a gorgeous view of the campus, you realized you’d been smiling for most of the hike. Jade noticed too.

“It seems I’ve made a decent impression,” he said, turning toward you with a soft grin. “I’m pleased to see you enjoying yourself.”

“It’s… relaxing,” you admitted, surprising even yourself. “I didn’t think it’d be this fun.”

Jade tilted his head. “Does that mean you’d consider joining the Mountain Lovers Club?”

You hesitated for a moment, but as you looked at the breathtaking view and the rare, genuine smile on his face, the answer came easily. “Yeah. I’ll join.”

For a split second, Jade’s eyes widened in surprise, but he quickly schooled his expression into his usual composed smile. “Wonderful. I must say, I wasn’t expecting this outcome, but I’m glad. It’s not every day someone sees the beauty in what I love.”

There was an odd warmth in his voice that made your heart skip a beat. As he turned to lead the way back, he added, “Now that we’re a team, I look forward to our next adventure.”

Jade Leech was genuinely happy. And, you realized, so were you.

Gargoyle Research Society

When you told Malleus you were joining the Gargoyle Research Society, his reaction was almost imperceptible at first. A slight widening of his eyes, a pause as though he was waiting to see if you were serious, and then—pure, unfiltered delight.

"You have an interest in gargoyles?" he asked, his voice both surprised and reverent, as if you'd just confessed to enjoying a rare and ancient art form.

You nodded. "Yeah. I think they're fascinating. The designs, the history… They’re like stone guardians with stories etched into them."

For a moment, Malleus simply looked at you, his emerald eyes shimmering like the light of distant stars. Then, as if unable to contain his joy, he smiled—a soft, genuine expression that sent a wave of warmth through the chilly Ramshackle evening.

"This pleases me greatly," he said, his tone unusually light. “Not many share my appreciation for gargoyles. Often, I speak of them, and others… how do I put it? Pretend to listen.”

“Well, I’m definitely not pretending,” you said, grinning. “I’m in for real.”

Malleus clasped his hands together in what could only be described as regal excitement. "Then I must share something with you. Sometimes, I create gargoyles myself."

“You what?” you asked, laughing in delight.

“Yes,” he replied earnestly, his eyes alight. “Carving stone requires patience, but there is a certain satisfaction in breathing life into something lifeless. Well, not literal life, of course, but a soul of sorts.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, the image of Malleus with a chisel and hammer popping into your head. “I never would have guessed. That’s… really cool.”

“I can show you some of my creations, if you’d like,” he offered, almost shyly.

“I’d love that,” you said, genuinely glad to have joined him. “I think I’m going to enjoy this club.”

The glow in his expression was impossible to miss. It wasn’t just that you had joined his club—it was that, for once, someone truly shared his passion. “And I am glad to have you,” he said softly.

In that moment, under the watchful eyes of the stone guardians scattered around campus, it felt like you had chosen exactly the right place.

Masterlist

tags: @techno-danger

a/n: it completely slipped my mind that ortho is a part of film studies sorry :(

[xyywrites]

How to write believable enemies-to-lovers dynamics.

Enemies-to-lovers is a beloved trope, but it’s also tricky to execute. The transformation from animosity to love needs to feel organic, not forced. 

1. Establish the Initial Conflict

Give your characters a solid, believable reason to dislike each other. It could be ideological differences, personal betrayal, or clashing goals. The conflict must be significant enough to justify their animosity.

“You stole my promotion. Do you have any idea how hard I worked for it?” “You mean the one you weren’t qualified for? Grow up, Lena.”

2. Show the Nuance in Their Dislike

Enemies don’t always have to hate each other completely. Maybe they grudgingly respect one another’s skills or admire each other’s dedication, even if it drives them crazy.

“For someone so insufferable, you sure know how to shoot straight.” “And for someone so arrogant, you’re surprisingly not dead yet.”

“She’s the most annoying person I’ve ever met.” “And yet you can’t stop watching her, can you?”

3. Create Forced Proximity

Give them a reason to spend time together despite their dislike. Forced proximity allows them to see past their assumptions and grow closer.

“If we don’t get this presentation done by morning, we’re both fired. So, shut up and start typing.” “Only if you stop chewing on that pen. It’s distracting.”

“You’re bleeding.” “Yeah, and whose fault is that?” “Mine, obviously. Now sit down so I can patch you up.”

4. Allow Their Views to Shift Gradually

The transition from enemies to lovers isn’t instant. Let them experience small moments of vulnerability, trust, or understanding that slowly chip away at their hostility.

“You think I wanted this? That I enjoy being the bad guy?” “I didn’t think you cared.” “Well, maybe I do.”

“You fight so hard for your people.” “You do too. I guess we’re not so different after all.”

5. Use Banter to Build Chemistry

Snarky, sharp dialogue is the lifeblood of enemies-to-lovers. Their verbal sparring should reveal their personalities, highlight their tension, and hint at deeper feelings.

“Careful, you almost sounded like you cared about me for a second.” “Don’t flatter yourself. I care about not dying, and you happen to be useful.”

“If you were half as smart as you think you are—” “I’d still be twice as smart as you.”

6. Show the Cost of Falling for Each Other

Enemies-to-lovers works best when there are stakes. Their relationship should challenge their beliefs, goals, or loyalties, forcing them to make difficult choices.

“If I help you, I’ll lose everything I’ve worked for.” “Then why are you still standing here?”

7. Add a “Breaking Point”

There should be a moment where their growing feelings clash with their existing animosity, leading to explosive tension.

“You lied to me!” “What did you expect? You’re the enemy!” “Not anymore. Or at least, I thought I wasn’t.”

“Why do you care what happens to me?” “Because I can’t stand the thought of losing you, okay? Happy now?”

8. Use Physicality Subtly

Small gestures can reveal their shifting feelings—hesitant touches, lingering glances, or protective instincts.

“Watch out!” He shoved her out of the way, taking the brunt of the explosion. “You idiot. You could’ve been killed.” “Yeah, but you’re okay.”

She caught him staring at her, his usual scowl softened. He looked away quickly, muttering something under his breath.

9. Build Toward a Satisfying Payoff

Enemies-to-lovers works because of the build-up. Don’t rush the resolution. Let their relationship evolve naturally before culminating in a moment that feels earned.

“I don’t want to fight you anymore.” “Neither do I.” “Then come here.”

10. Maintain Their Individuality

Their love shouldn’t erase who they are. They’re still the same people who clashed in the beginning, but now they’ve grown to understand each other.

“I’m still not letting you win.” “Good. I’d be worried if you did.”

“You’re still annoying.” “And you’re still impossible. But I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

[thatinwardhell]

winner’s spoils | s. crosby

rating: explicit, mdni

wordcount: 3.8k quickie lol. had to get this out after Certain Videos surfaced

warnings: fem!reader, smut, age gap, oral sex (m receiving) (its facefucking!! be advised!!), no reader orgasm, slight?? gender roles just in case. more in a symbiotic sexy way than “go make me a sandwich”

notes: sigh .... after a 3 YR LONG hiatus from any fic writing !!!!!!! it was the four nations that brought me back. pls send in requests !!!!! i'd love to keep writing more lol. vvvv happy 2 be back !!!!

He’s standing above you, legs spread wide, Colossus of Rhodes, but twice as tall and thrice as golden from where you kneel in front of him.

His hand, still wet, still sticky, from the champagne that slid down it, crystalline, only minutes before, is running through your hair, moving it, manipulating it any which way he pleases. He can, of course he can; he’s Sidney Crosby, Sidney Crosby who’s just added yet another trophy to his gratuitous spoils of war, who, even after all these years, still proves his dominance. Aging though he may be, it never fails to knock your knees, to put warm honey between your legs at the sight of him so easily evincing his overwhelming ownership of the young men whose pointed hits and on-ice jeers seem to roll off his back, reminding the world of his complete and total domination. Not that you needed a reminder. 

Your hands fiddle with the drawstring at the waist of Sidney’s hockey pants, pawing relentlessly at them, desperate to unearth the reward you know awaits you beneath them, and the jock you so frequently call disgusting (something about it puts that old, familiar ache in your tummy though: the thing is nearly as old as you are, and you throw a pathetic, watery-eyed glance up at Sidney at the thought that he has been this good at what he does longer than you’ve even been alive. He’s already looking when you do.) 

Sidney seems to take pity on you; precious girl, he usually says in moments like these, but tonight – no, he seems to crave your tongue, your mouth, in more ways than one. You pant, watching with a sense of wonder as he makes a show of pulling the string apart with the sort of practiced effortlessness that only comes with his age. He takes both of your wrists in each of his hands, gently, his calluses scratching the supple skin of your inner wrists, perfumed just for him, only for him, leading them to the waistband of his jock, leaving them there. He wants you to do it, and this is a capitulation that does not go unnoticed. Traitorous pride blooms in your chest; that Sid needs you so badly, so wantonly, that his infamous and over-practiced stoicism seems to slip after his big wins flatters you to no end, and it stokes a different, softer emotion in you at the thought that he needs you at all. You nuzzle the newly-exposed skin of his thighs in appreciation of this small surrender as you draw down his jock, inch by torturous inch, either ignorant or tactless to the party which still rages outside. 

It’s a wonder Sid even found the broom closet at all, a private corner in the midst of a monsoon of alcohol, and spit, and sweat. It’s a wonder they’re not missing him yet, but a man has needs, and though he seems to walk on water like a god, Sidney is just that: a man. You know this better than most, you think, but your one-track mind is thrown off-kilter instantaneously: you have finally found your prize. His cock springs free, and it is just as good as you have imagined. 

Sid blushes from the tips of his elven ears to his long, sloping nose to the thick, muscled cord of his neck at your unabashed appreciation of him, of all of him. You are too enthralled to notice he thinks, but, though you are thrown into a sea of awe at the sight of Sid’s cock no matter how many times you’ve seen it, you know he needs it: he’ll never say it out loud, no, never, but in moments like this, he needs you to tell him he’s good, without the need for words, without touch, by sight alone, in regards to more than his performance. 

You run your nose along the column of it, and your giving to him gives into an act of selfish self-gratification at the heady, virile scent of him. Sid’s all man, and he makes you dizzy with it, mouth dropping open and little pink tongue peeking out to whet both your appetite and your lips, preparing for the Herculean task of taking all of Sid into your mouth. But not now – not just yet. No, now, he is all yours, all yours to stake claim over, completely yours in the tiny broom closet he had dragged you into, the need boiling over in those hazel eyes you love so much. Usually, Sidney insists on showering before he takes you all for himself, but you love this, perhaps more than the musky bergamot soap he always uses postgame. 

Your vinous desire finally blots out your stalwart want to simply appreciate him like this, though – you have never been good at resisting Sid, though he might say the same of you (your pride simmers even higher, at this thought.) You give him as his grip tightens in your hair, reeling briefly in the doglike panting that reverberates through the room, permeated with the desperation only you can bring out in him. 

Your tongue peeks out once again, pressing tiny kitten licks to the very base of his shaft, to the very beginning of the impressive length that you swear inspires the pure and uninhibited supremacy he seems to exert over others. You often tease Sid about his big dick energy, drunk off the blush that rises to his stubbled cheeks at your flattery, but it couldn’t be farther from a mere act of adulation. You’re bad with measurements, and he’s never given you a number, but you know it takes half an hour of prep with his fingers, his sinewy tongue to fit it in, that, after your months, years together, the stretch of him still punches a half-gasp, half-grunt from your lungs that no other man has ever inspired. 

“C’mon,” Sid half-pleads. His accent seems to get stronger like this, though he’d object to you calling his tone a whine. This tugs another sigh from you, your eyes caressing the bright red maple leaf that adorns Sid’s chest. He seems to be Odysseus now, returning home from battle, to you, Penelope, his one and only, or you his Cleopatra and he a bloodied Mark Antony. He fights for his country, his pride, and, drenched in sweat, returns to you for the womanly comfort he can only find in you, for his spoils of war. More fluid drips from the hot, damp seam of you, but you ignore it easily. Sid will take care of you – he always does. Later, he will see the red silk, the cherry lace that covers his prize, but for now, the only thing that interests you is pleasing him. 

You oblige him easily – this is what you can give to Sidney, after so long and so much of him giving to you. All at once, he’s in your mouth, and his head is back against the racks of cleaning supplies that will inevitably be completely vacant, if the sounds of Team Canada’s celebrations outside give any clues. 

You run your tongue experimentally along the thick vein which runs all along his shaft, up to the swollen head of him, now bright pink with anticipation in the back of your throat. Slowly, surely though, you draw back, dragging your slick lips along Sid’s length until you reach the very tip. Just as quickly, you sink down to the base, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes at this familiar intrusion, but you only look up at him the way he loves so much. Both of Sid’s hands drop, now, to your cheeks, caressing them, his callused fingertips tracing the shapely, gentle slopes of your face. 

“Beautiful girl.” Sidney sounds wrecked, in the way only you can make him, gentle and tender just for you, even as he dominates you so thoroughly, so completely. He gives you a pointed look, wordless, but so intimate, so intense that you know what it means. Though you try to nod as best you can, he would know, even in the darkness of the cramped broom closet, even from miles and miles away, that you have said yes to him, that you’re enthusiastically giving your mouth to him, the last in a long line of tributes from those the conquered tonight. 

Sidney thrusts those fucking hips with a miniscule fraction of the power you know he’s capable of, the pure, raw energy contained within the corded muscle of his thighs, his hips, and now it’s not just the slight lack of air that’s making you dizzy. He draws back, allowing you a momentary reprieve before his cock once more breaches the damp cavern of you, this time harder, more powerful. 

Eyes half-lidded, you will him to do more – to take from you as much as he pleases. Sid could take from you everything you have, and you’d still offer more on hands and knees, ass in the air, and, though nausea bubbles in his stomach at the thought of taking anything from you, the offer sits implicitly in his hands, a reminder of your complete and utter devotion. To drive this home, you apply the most suction you can manage in your present position to Sidney’s cock, still sitting heavy, impish on your tongue, and this draws a wrecked moan from him – a moan! Your revelry is brief, cut by a slight cough as he buries himself even deeper, the thickets of hair at his base enveloping your nose. 

Sidney doesn’t flinch at the sound – neither do you. He knows your body better than you do, and, even in the throes of his pleasure, he knows you can take more, wills you to do so, already so tender, so brutal. 

He pulls out once more, and you ache for the loss of him, mouth clinging to the scant bit of him that remains in the relentless warmth, the unforgiving smoothness of your mouth. Sidney looks down at you once more, asking for the last time, with the last scraps of his self-control, for what he knows you will give him. 

You offer up your love easily, as easily as breathing comes in sleep, knowing that, even despite his age, his money, his undeniable success, he still needs this, your reassurance, from you – you drag your nails down his thigh, he groans, and begins to thrust the way you know he can. 

The hot, wet drag of Sidney’s cock against your lips, the pleasure-pain of him hitting your gag is intoxicating. He’s outside himself – you’re grateful, foggily, for the volume of the music outside, of they’d hear the desperate grunts, the sound of skin on skin on skin, Sidney’s panting, as the thighs that not thirty minutes ago propelled him across the ice at speeds and velocities unimaginable to you now propel his cock to where he needs it most. 

Time seems to slow, or speed up, drifting into the amorphous, pleasurable fog you float in. You revel, hedonist, in the feeling of his heavy balls against your chin, the force of his thrusting pushing your head back and forth, relentlessly, a tiny buoy bobbing in the unforgiving and complete story that is Sidney Crosby. He holds you fast, though, as he always does, large hands that once rested solely on the plushness of your ruddy cheeks now banded across your face, thick, brawny fingers now digging into the base of your skull, so gentle, so terrible all at once. 

The veins on the underside of him pulse, and you feel them against your lax tongue – you drag it, softly, across the quickened river of blood that sits just underneath the tan skin of him, worshipful. He grunts, appreciative, at this, urges you with the caresses of his calluses against the soft expanse of your skin, your hair, to do it again, and again, and again. You oblige.

Sidney permeates every atom in the tightly-cramped broom closet, too small even for the cleaning supplies contained within it, smaller yet for the heat of two bodies, hardly even flesh, a mess of spit and sweat and sticky, sweet-smelling filth, dripping down your face and landing on the floor with a wet sound. His body is so hot, burning so brightly with the adrenaline typical of wins like these, wins he hasn’t touched with the ruggedness of his fingers in so many months, now within his clutches, now brought under a banner of blood red and snow white, his victory so absolute no one, not in the farthest stretches of obscurity, could deny it. 

The power of him overwhelms you, the scent of him, the feeling of his thighs, spattered with a layer of brown hair and now soaking with saliva, under your palms, a psalm for your taking. The musk of sex is overwhelming – you pity the poor worker who walks in here to clean up after your debauchery (you, briefly, remember the absurdity of your situation: it reads like cheap pulp fiction, at times, you think, that only so many months, years now, he had descended on you, delivered you from the dregs of your monotonous, menial, laborious job and into his arms. You would happily open your mouth, your legs, your arms to him as thanks for this epiphany, but he refuses every time; he says the look in your eyes is enough, the brush of hair and skin and the very thought of your shared bed far too much for him already.) 

But you can smell him, feel him all over, a woman possessed – Sid gives as much as he takes, like this, though he doesn’t know it. You hope he doesn’t notice the way you grind yourself against your heel, the red silk already so soaked through with arousal now completely ruined, only a memory of your decadence in the broom closet. Surely, he would insist that you climb on top of him, to let him run his tongue over the folds of you until you scream and pound at his chest, screaming mercy, mercy, mercy, as he’s so fond of doing, but you’re happy, perfectly happy, like this, serving him. He hates to hear it, makes him feel his age, the power imbalance that infrequently, but profoundly, informs small bouts of jealousy or solitude. But you like to serve him, yes, especially when he’s like this. 

Sid’s so utterly debauched, so lost in himself that even if one of his teammates were to enter, they would hardly recognize their usually so measured captain, completely drowned in the throes of his own pleasure. Sidney’s cheeks, already prone to the kind of ruddiness that inspires poetry or paintings, are flushed a bright cherry red, dotted with sweat and the remnants of champagne, dripping down the long, curved line of his nose (you’d like to lick it off, to suck the liquid from his skin and revel in the salt and the musk of his sweat, the bitterness, then the sweetness of the champagne. But alas, your mouth is occupied.) His salt-and-pepper hair is mussed up in a manner only Caravaggio could imagine, every curl so perfectly askew, which seems to be a habit of your boyfriend’s and one that, admittedly, inspires bouts of desire similar to Sidney’s in you, all over him in the dusk when he comes home, or in the early morning before he leaves. The plush pinkness of his bottom lip is worried to pleasantly between his bottom teeth and the top ones and, had you been more lucid, you would have been able to identify the ones he pointed out to you as implants, replacements for the ones that had been knocked out by one Flyer or another while you were still learning your alphabet. 

Sidney’s thrusts are ragged now, are getting deeper, faster, more desperate, his grip on your head that much more intentional, maneuvering your face the way he wants you. He makes you wonderfully lightheaded like this – so completely and thoroughly possessed. You love being his toy, like this, to sit on your knees and please him, almost as much as you like for him to do the same, to press a worshipful mouth to your ankles, your calves, your thighs, then the part of you he loves very most, apart from your eyes, maybe your laugh or the shape of your teeth, the feeling of your smile; if not what he loves the very most, the one he serves – the one thing that puts ‘Captain Canada’ himself on his knees. This is a secret pride of yours, one that you tell no one, one that is kept safe in the depths of you until Sidney is away on a roadie and his side of the bed, still smelling of that bergamot and musk, is getting cold. 

But he’s close – you know, you know, and you resist smiling around the heady, intoxicating weight of him. You know him so intimately, you think, you could know his orgasm even if blindfolded with your hands behind your back. You like to think you could coax one from Sidney the same way, but you’ll have to wait, to bide your time. Your ears ring with it, watching the way Sid’s crows’ feet bloom across his cheeks, disturbing the stubble there, the way that, when he grimaces like this, teetering on the edge, his dimples pop out, digging graves in his cheeks. 

Sidney’s fingers are doubly hot against your scalp now, dangerously lecherous as they clutch the base of your skull tighter still, pulling you even deeper into him, your nose buried in the wiry brown hair at the base of him. On the precipice of ecstasy, he misses the way your eyes roll back, the way your mouth vibrates at the smell of him, all sweat and manhood, the way you like him, completely in control, yet so entirely under your thumb. You hear a familiar hymn on Sid’s tongue, vaguely, and wonder if he’s been talking this entire time, if you’ve just been so enthralled in the scent of him, the wires of his thighs under your hands, that you missed the oh fuck baby oh fuck yes yes take it fuck yeses. He’s teetering, desperate, flailing for it, grasping at straws as he thrusts deeper still. 

You want him to come, want him to give the reward of his spend so badly that you’re suffocating on it. You’re grinding on your own foot so hard it’s almost painful, desire controlling every movement, every gyration of your hips against your heel, pushing into the floor rolling your swollen clit with the daftness you’ve realized is inherent with orgasms not provided to you by Sidney. You won’t cum like this, certainly, but you don’t need it, no, not when you have him like this. 

You slide the viscous hot pleasure of your tongue along the vein on his underside and he breaks. 

Sidney tenses, your hair now taut between his fingers, pulled to its limits, your face pushed as far into his pelvis as it can go, now suffocated in the truest sense of the word in the man who stands above you, so powerful and so destroyed all at once. His pink mouth is dropped open, completely lax, and you can see the edges of his teeth, where they meet the softnesses of his own mouth, the pink tongue, the reddish gums, the pale pink roof of it, and his eyes have screwed shut, now only two tiny, puckered hints of eyelash and supple, thin skin, barely covering the dark bags which have accumulated under his eyes. Stress, you think, maybe sleep, but, then again, no, he’s always good about that. No worry. You have your ways of keeping him in bed when you need to, of keeping him exhausted in all the ways he wants the very most. He gives smaller, tiny thrusts as the heat of him spills down your throat, and you hum at the taste. Sidney eats well, so virile, so fecund, that he tastes good, strong, heady, and a base, animal part of you revels in the smaller thrusts, the taste of him, pines the loss of his cum; he could be thrusting like that in you, keeping his spend inside of you, where it belonged, where it’d carry on his progeny better than TNT or ESPN could. 

Sidney eases, taut muscles now weak, so spent you swear you can see his legs shake. It’s an illusion, you know, knowing that his legs, so well accomplished, can hold his weight under much more pressure than any orgasm. But you stroke your pride this way, like to think that you can make him weak, can make him strong whenever you please. His hands slips from your hair, returning to your cheeks, where he turns your head back up from where you hadn’t realized it had slumped. The amber of his eyes is so soft, looks so brown in this light, rather than the greenish they look in the bright lights of the media room or the fluorescence of the rink, so much like pools of dark water, undiscovered, unthinkable to anyone but you.

“Swallow for me.” Sidney is so soft like this, so disparate from the man who can level men twice his size without a second thought on the ice. He could crush you between his thumb and his finger, so easy, like this, but he doesn’t. 

You listen, swallow him the way he likes you to, so you keep some of him in you until the next time he can have you. 

“Good girl. My best girl.” Sidney says, so quiet anyone else wouldn't have been able to hear it, said for your ears only. He brushes his hands once more over your cheeks, wiping away sweat, stray tears that may have fallen with the tenderness only he’s capable of. “C’mere, give me a kiss.” 

You oblige him easily, but act as if it’s a chore – you shrug, roll your eyes as you rise uneasily from your feet, steadied into Sidney’s arms at the first sign of unsteadiness, huff a little for dramatic effect. 

He laughs, a soft, easy sound, wraps his hands once more about your cheeks, and presses his lips to yours. Sid’s yours, like this, all yours, away from the cameras, from his teammates, from the rink, and you revel in the softnesses of his mouth, the plush of his lips and the slight scratch of his five-o’clock shadow, and everything else falls away, quickly, easily, just like this. The party persists outside – they’ll have to miss him for a minute more.

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (24 - The Last Day)

Chapter Summary: “Promise me,” you murmured between kisses, your hands roaming over her bare back. “Promise me that when you’re backed into a wall, you don’t think twice. You run. Run back to me. Don’t be a hero.”

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 5.1k+ | Chapter Tags: angst, smut

A/N: Infinity War > Endgame, honestly. There won't be an update next Wednesday as it's already finals week for me :) // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Wakanda was a fortress. 

From where you stood, gazing at the seemingly endless plains and lush forests that cloaked the hidden nation, you could almost believe you were safe. The sight of the golden African sun spilling over the landscape had a sort of hypnotic effect—like it was trying to convince you there was no danger beyond these borders. 

Of course, you knew better. Nowhere was safe with Thanos out there, collecting the Infinity Stones one by one. 

You tore your gaze away from the sweeping view, letting out a heavy sigh before turning to Wanda. She stood beside you on the balcony, arms wrapped tightly around herself, her face etched with quiet worry as she stared into the distance. With Vision gravely wounded and the impossible task of removing the Mind Stone without ending his life looming over everyone, she’d been on edge. You didn’t blame her. Vision was her friend and she cared about him. 

You slid closer, pressing a comforting hand to her back. “You okay?”

Wanda nodded, though she didn’t take her eyes off the horizon. “I will be,” she murmured, her Sokovian accent thickening with anxiety. You didn’t even realize it was still there. “It’s just… I hate waiting like this.”

You remembered the feeling of helplessness in Scotland: Vision had been pinned down, helpless, and you and Wanda had been forced to watch as he was nearly killed for the stone in his head. You closed your eyes, shoved the memory down, deep into that place where unwelcome things go to rot. You were both seconds away from the same fate—until Steve and Natasha arrived, pulling you all back from the brink. Just in time. Always just in time.

“They’re good people here,” you assured her. “They’ll find a way.”

“I know. I just…” Wanda swallowed thickly, her words catching in the process. “I… we were naive to think this was just another assignment. We’ve lost so much already.”

She didn’t have to say who else she was referring to. You knew about her parents, her brother, everything she had endured. And now, this war was threatening to take more. You gently pulled her into a side embrace, resting your forehead against hers for a moment.

“We’ll do whatever it takes,” you promised, and you meant it.

—

You left Wanda alone with her thoughts and headed to the lab. It was a pressure cooker—hissing, ready to blow—filled with people moving like they were on rails, locked into some critical task. Everyone had a job, a purpose and no task felt too small when the goal was stopping Thanos. 

You came here because you needed to know your place in all of this—what you could do, how you could help. You couldn’t stand the idea of just waiting around while everyone else carried the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Bruce Banner stood at a console, studying Vision’s neural scans. He didn’t look happy. You worried he’d start turning green from all the stress of figuring out the impossible task of separating the Mind Stone from Vision without reducing him to something less of a being and more like his former iteration. 

“How’s he doing?” you asked.

Bruce didn’t glance up. “Stable, for now,” he said. “Shuri’s stasis is the only thing keeping him that way.” He finally met your eyes. “If we remove the stone and botch it, we lose him completely. We don’t have a margin for error.”

Shuri spun around, sweeping a hologram to the side. “Banner, look here,” she said, pointing to a tangle of code. “If we sever this pathway first, we won’t risk a chain reaction in the cerebral cortex.”

Bruce studied it. “You’re sure?”

“As sure as I can be,” Shuri replied, not missing a beat. “But I’ll need time to reroute all these connections.” Her face tightened. “If Thanos shows up in the middle of that, or if anyone so much as unplugs the wrong cable, Vision’s done.”

Across the lab, T’Challa and Okoye conferred with Natasha Romanoff over a holographic map showing Wakanda’s borders. Multiple defensive lines lit up around the perimeter, funneling any possible attackers into one choke point.

Okoye pointed at the display. “We force them here,” she said. “We strike from both sides, and the rest of our forces remain mobile—ready to reinforce wherever the line thins.”

Natasha didn’t look away from the map. “Works for me. If Thanos wants what’s in Vision’s head, he’ll have to go through an army of Wakandans first.”

You caught T’Challa’s eye. “Where do you need me?”

T’Challa broke away from the map and leveled his gaze on you. “I need you with Shuri,” he said, “I hear you’ve been trained by Barton and Romanoff—made a habit of picking up new skills fast. My sister needs the best at her side.”

You swallowed hard, nodding. You understood what he meant without him spelling it out. If Shuri’s lab got breached, there wouldn’t be much left to protect outside.

“Tell Wanda I want to speak with her.” T’Challa added.

It wasn’t your place to ask, but you needed to know. “Where do you need her?”

He let his gaze drift to the massive layout of Wakanda’s borders. “The front lines.”

You’d been afraid he’d say that. You knew Wanda could handle herself, but the thought of her out there—exposed to whatever Thanos threw their way—turned your blood cold. Still, there was only one answer to give.

“Understood,” you said.

—

You stepped out of the lab, feeling a strain behind your eyes you couldn’t shake. Down the hall’s half-light, you spotted Steve and Natasha talking in low voices. Whatever it was, you could tell right away it wasn’t a happy conversation—probably the number of casualties from other places, other worlds, an entire universe. 

Steve caught sight of you first. His eyes dipped to your hand. “That a ring?” he asked. Then, without waiting for your answer, he offered a soft smile. “Congratulations. And… I’m sorry.” You understood exactly what he meant—sorry that a moment like marriage had to happen with a crisis looming.

“Thanks,” you said, offering him a timid smile. “For that and for coming to help me and Wanda in Scotland. I owe you.”

Steve shook his head. “No debts among friends.”

You cleared your throat again, forcing your nerves down. “Mind if I talk to Natasha alone?”

He glanced at her, then nodded. “Sure,” he said, stepping aside. “I’ll go see how Shuri’s doing.”

With that, Steve gave you a pat on the shoulder and slipped away, leaving you alone with Nat.

Natasha folded her arms across her chest and gave you a once-over. Her eyes landed on the ring before she spoke. “So,” she said, arching an eyebrow. “You got married, and I didn’t even get an invite?”

You fumbled for a response. “It wasn’t exactly a ceremony—”

She waved you off. “Relax, I know the details. Wanda and I caught up already.”

“Oh.”

Natasha’ss lips twitched into a half-smile. “So you married your assignment. I guess you really like to go above and beyond.”

A laugh escaped you, along with some relief. “We both know you only gave me that job so I’d have a valid excuse to chase after her.”

Natasha merely smiled, letting you know she was waiting for what you really came here for.

“Listen, Natasha. About the messages you sent…” You rubbed the back of your neck. “Look, I’m sorry about that. Things… they got complicated, and I just—” You trailed off, not sure how to put it all into words.

Natasha gave a slight shrug, like she’d seen all this coming. “I get it now,” she said. “Don’t worry about it. If I thought we couldn’t do without you, trust me, I’d have found a way to drag you back.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So you don’t need me, then?”

“Of course we do,” she shot back, “but it also means if you’d walked away, I’d understand.”

You exhaled slowly, guilt chewing at you. “I walked out on Steve, you know.”

A corner of Natasha’s mouth tugged up. “Steve told me he couldn’t find you.”

You looked down, your foot scraping the floor. Natasha took a step closer to you, her entire posture becoming a little rigid.

“This Thanos thing isn’t just another mission. It’s everything—our lives, the lives of everyone in this universe. Mine, yours, Wanda’s. I promise I��ll fight to the end for all of us. For this team. And I hope you’ll do the same,” she said.

You felt an odd calm settle over you. “I promise. For Wanda, for you, for all of them.”

Natasha’s face softened, and she clapped you gently on the shoulder. “I’m glad to have you back, Y/N.”

—

You found her in the small quarters Wakanda had assigned the two of you, sitting cross-legged on the bed, wearing pajamas you recognized from your old drawer in Scotland. The cotton was a bit wrinkled—made sense, given you’d both only had ten minutes to pack what you could before leaving the life you’d built together.

Wanda looked up when you entered, pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Hey,” she said.

You set your jacket on a nearby chair, letting out a long breath. “Hey yourself.”

You crossed to the bed, and for a moment, all you wanted was to sink into her warmth, forget the day, and pretend tomorrow didn’t exist. But the world wouldn’t let you off that easily.

“Natasha filled me in,” you said. “I’ll be posted in the lab with Shuri. Make sure no one interferes with her while she works on Vision.”

Wanda’s eyes lit up in quiet relief. “I’m glad,” she whispered. “Someone has to watch out for him.” She set aside whatever she had been distracting herself with. “You’re the best person for that job.”

You blew out a breath. “Doesn’t mean I’m thrilled you’ll be out there on the front lines, Maximoff.”

Wanda giggled and tapped the spot beside her. With an exaggerated sigh, you flopped onto it, resting your head comfortably in her lap. “You worry about me?”

You closed your eyes and she started massaging your scalp, making you mewl in appreciation. “Of course, I do. I’m your wife.”

Wanda laughed. “Wife,” she repeated fondly. Then she sighed and said, “I need to be where the fight is. All this power… what good is it if I’m not going to use it to protect the people I love?”

You opened your mouth, but no argument came out. You wanted to tell her to stay safe, to keep her away from Thanos’s reach, but you knew there was no talking her out of a fight she believed in. She had never backed down.

“Just… be careful,” you whispered, voicing the same plea you’d made countless times, even though you both knew Wanda could handle herself as well as anyone.

Wanda huffed softly, her hand smoothing over your hair. “I’m always careful,” she murmured, eyes softening with concern. “But I also have to do what I can out there. You know that.”

“I do,” you admitted, shifting so you could look up at her. 

The bed dipped as she scooted beside you, the cotton of her pajamas brushing your arm. Wanda leaned down, her hand settling at the side of your face. Your hand slid around Wanda’s waist, pulling her closer until she was nearly on top of you, your lips parting against hers in a  tentative kiss.

“Wanda…” you breathed, voice catching on the edge of desperation.  You had missed her. It felt like an eternity had passed in the single day you couldn’t be alone together. She didn’t answer, only kissed you deeper, pouring a day’s worth of tension into the press of her body against yours.

You rose from your position and tugged her with you onto the bed fully, your fingers curling into her shirt. She helped you yank it off, and then she was pulling at yours, too, the scent of her hair flooding your senses. You helped each other strip away clothes that felt suddenly cumbersome, until there was nothing left but skin on skin. You found yourself pressed into the bed, Wanda’s body above yours, her hair falling like a curtain around your face.

In that moment, you could no longer stop yourself from being selfish.

“Promise me,” you murmured between kisses, your hands roaming over her bare back. “Promise me that when you’re backed into a wall, you don’t think twice. You run. Run back to me. Don’t be a hero.”

She froze, her mouth curved into that coy smile at hearing your repetitive plea. You could see the flicker of mild annoyance at your overprotectiveness—like she thought you were being adorably childish. But then you felt your throat tighten, tears suddenly burning in your eyes at the thought of losing her.

“Please,” you choked out, a tear slipping free. “Please, Wanda… I can’t—I can’t lose you.”

The teasing smile she wore vanished instantly. “Oh, love,” she whispered, pulling you into her arms. You let yourself cry silently into her shoulder for a few moments, feeling a little pathetic for breaking down like this. You knew asking Wanda to run was an absurd request, but you had to say it. Deep down, you knew it would absolutely destroy you to lose her in any way.

Wanda’s own voice cracked as she cupped your cheek, guiding your gaze back to hers. “I’ll come back to you,” she promised. “I promise—if there’s nowhere else to go, I’ll run. I’ll run straight to you.”

You swallowed hard, nodding as you let out a shaky breath. “Okay,” you whispered, brushing away your tears with the back of your hand.

Wanda kissed you again, and this time, her hands slid lower, her hips shifting against yours. You surged up to meet her, your palms sliding over her ribs as she gasped into your mouth. The slow, careful strokes turned into something more insistent: hungry, messy, a collision of lips and muffled pleas.

“Y/N, please…” Wanda mumbled almost incoherently as she moved down your jaw. The huskiness in her voice sent a thrill through you, and you pecked her inviting mouth one more time before moving behind her and circling your arm around her waist, as she braced herself on all fours. Her skin was warm under your touch, her back arching instinctively as she pressed her hips back against you.

Leaning forward, you pressed a line of kisses down her spine, your lips lingering at the base where her back dipped. She shivered, her breath hitching as your other hand trailed down her side, fingertips grazing her hip before settling between her thighs.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” you murmured roughly as you watched her body respond to your touch.

Her only response was a soft moan, her hands gripping the sheets as your fingers found her wetness. You teased her entrance, sliding two fingers slowly inside, feeling her walls tighten around you as you filled her. Wanda gasped, her head dropping forward as her thighs trembled, trying to adjust to the sensation.

“God, you’re always so tight,” you groaned, curling your fingers slightly to press against her sweet spot. “And so fucking wet for me…”

She whimpered, her hips instinctively rocking back against your hand. You set a slow rhythm, pulling your fingers out before pushing them back in, deeper each time. The sound of her arousal, slick and wet, only made your hand work harder, your body pressed closer, your clit brushing against the soft curve of her buttocks. The contact sent a jolt of pleasure through you, and you couldn’t help but let out a shaky moan. You adjusted slightly, angling your hips so your clit slid more deliberately against her with each thrust of your fingers.

Wanda’s moans grew louder, and with every motion of your hand, you felt her body tense, her back arching against you. She pushed her hips back more insistently, searching for the friction she needed. “Y/N… I’m so close,” she whimpered, her thighs trembling under your hands, her walls fluttering around your fingers.

But you weren’t ready to let her go over that edge yet. You slowed your pace deliberately, still lazily pressing your clit against her slippery skin. “Not yet, baby,” you murmured, lips brushing against the shell of her ear. “Just hold out a little longer for me…”

A frustrated moan escaped her lips, and she tilted her hips back more aggressively, trying to coax you into giving her the release she craved. But you held your pace, savoring the way her body trembled under your control.

“I want to come,” she whimpered, her hands clutching the sheets so tightly her knuckles whitened.

“Patience, baby,” you said, dragging your fingers almost completely out of her before easing them back in, slow and deliberate.

The friction of her skin against your clit, her soft gasps, the way she was so pliant beneath you—it was all driving you dangerously close to the edge. But you held back, biting your lip as you drew out the moment, not wanting it to end too quickly.

Your free hand, which had been holding her steadily against you, slid lower, fingers brushing over her swollen clit. The second you started rubbing her there, your own body jolted with need. Your hips snapped forward, rubbing yourself against her shamelessly.

“I’m close,” you ground out, fingers working Wanda’s slick flesh at a fast, demanding pace. “C-Come with me…”

Her body tensed, her walls clenching around your fingers as a broken sob of your name fell from her lips. You didn’t stop, didn’t ease up as your own orgasm hit, your hips grinding harder against her as you rode the waves of pleasure together.

Wanda’s cries blended with your moans, the two of you lost in each other as you shuddered and gasped. Your hand stayed on her clit, guiding her through every aftershock until her body went limp beneath you, her breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts.

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to her shoulder as you both came down, your bodies still trembling. “You’re so perfect,” you murmured softly, kissing the damp skin of her neck. “So fucking perfect.”

Wanda let out a soft, tired laugh, her hand reaching back to thread through your hair. You collapsed beside your wife, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. A shaky breath left your lips as you rolled onto your back, exhaustion settling into your bones like a warm, heavy blanket.

Wanda was quick to shift position, sliding over to curl around you. She coaxed you onto your side, gathering you in her arms as though you weighed nothing. 

“Come here,” she murmured, pressing soft kisses to your forehead. You sighed contentedly, letting yourself sink into her embrace. It felt so safe—like no matter what happened outside this room, no matter what the world threw your way, you could face anything.

“You love me,” you murmured, already drifting toward sleep. You felt her smile against your skin—amused by this little ritual of yours, saying the other’s love out loud first.

“You love me too,” she whispered back.

Wanda’s fingers moved in slow, soothing patterns across your back—until they stopped. She let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “For making you cry earlier. For—”

You cut her off with a soft shake of your head, your arms tightening around her waist. “Just promise me,” you said.

“I promise,” she whispered, her own eyes shining. “I’ll always find my way back to you.”

—

It’s twenty-three days later, and Wanda’s promise never came true.

People wandered around in dazed confusion, half of them gone, the other half trying to make sense of what remained. You barely recognized the place. You barely recognized what was left of your team—or even yourself.

You had no idea where the motivation to wake up each morning came from. Maybe it was the faint ember of hope burning inside you, the belief that whatever the stones had done could somehow be undone. That if Thanos had caused this, he could reverse it. You just had to find him. As long as he was out there, there was a chance to bring everyone—and Wanda—back.

It tore at you to see Wanda’s location still pinned on your phone, only to realize it led to the bedroom you had shared in Wakanda. She had left it there that morning, tucked under her pillow on her side of the bed before joining Natasha on the frontlines. It killed you to know her true location was nowhere. And yet, in moments of weakness, you found yourself checking her GPS as if it would somehow change. Old habits die hard—and you couldn’t seem to escape this one no matter how much it amplified the Wanda-shaped hole in your heart. 

This morning, you found yourself at the old Avengers compound. The halls felt cavernous and too quiet. You checked in, as usual, with Natasha, Bruce, Steve—whoever was around. Most folks you ran into had that same thousand-yard stare, the same one that greeted you in the mirror every time you looked.

You spent hours in front of the massive digital map that dwarfed the main operations room, searching for any scrap that might lead you to Thanos. Where’d he gone? How had he disappeared so thoroughly? You chewed on the question day after day, ignoring exhaustion, heartbreak, and even hunger. If there was a lead, you’d chase it. If there was a whisper of information, you’d hunt it down.

Steve approached as you stood at the console, looking weary in a way you had never seen before. He was usually so determined and motivated, but now, for once, he seemed human—no longer everyone’s constant beacon of hope. He rested a hand on your shoulder, a gesture he’d been making with everyone lately. You figured it was his way of reassuring himself that you were still there, after watching the people he cared about turn to nothing but particles in the air.

“You’ve gotta give yourself a break,” he murmured. “You look like you’re running on fumes.”

You pulled away gently, shrugging him off. “I can rest after we find him,” you said, voice clipped. You tried to keep the desperation under control, and so far, it was working. 

Steve exhaled, resting his hands on his hips. “We’re working on it,” he said. “As soon as we locate Tony—”

“That’s one of my concerns, actually,” you cut him off, rounding the center table to put distance between you. “We don’t know if he’s even still alive, Steve. It’s been three weeks since—”

Steve’s posture stiffened, and his eyes narrowed. “Finding Tony is the top priority,” he said, voice low and taut, like he’d repeated it a hundred times already. “If Banner’s right—if the people we lost can be brought back somehow—anyone we lose now might be gone for good.”

You let out a scoff and almost regretted it immediately, knowing how apathetic it must have sounded. “It’s been three weeks, Steve. If he’s out there, do you honestly believe he’s got enough air, water, or food to survive? We’re gambling on a possibility that shrinks every day.”

“Those are the orders,” Steve fired back, his jaw set. “We focus on finding Tony.”

“Orders?” Your laugh came out harsh. “Whose orders, exactly?”

“Mine,” Steve said, squaring his shoulders. “And I’m not asking.”

You felt your pulse surge. “So that’s it? We chase a ghost ship with no sign of life, no backup plan—while the rest of the universe dangles by a thread?”

Steve’s hand slammed down on the table. “We don’t abandon our own!”

You closed the distance between you, anger flaring. “Don’t talk to me about abandoning anyone! I’m trying to be realistic—”

“That’s enough.” His voice was ice. “You’re out of line.”

“Am I?” You leaned in, practically nose-to-nose. “We all want Tony back, but it’s time we—”

Natasha, who had just arrived, slipped between you. She pressed a firm hand against your chest. “Both of you, stop. We don’t have time for this.”

Steve backed off first, turning away with a muttered oath. You stayed put, adrenaline coursing, hands balled into fists.

Natasha grabbed your arm and steered you out of the room. Once in the hall, she spun you around, eyes blazing. “Hit me.”

You blinked, breath catching. “What?”

She dropped into a ready stance. “I said hit me. Clearly you need to let it out.”

You didn’t move. “No.”

She shook her head. “If you don’t acknowledge what you’ve lost, it’s gonna eat you alive.”

“There’s nothing to grieve,” you said evenly, willing yourself to believe your own words with every fiber of your being.  By now, Natasha understood that no matter what she said, it wouldn’t get through to you. She knew Wanda meant the world to you, and you were driven by a personal mission. In her opinion, you were still handling it better than Clint, who had lost his entire family.

“Look, Steve needs you,” she said after a moment. “And I—”

Her sentence was cut short by a sudden commotion from outside. You both froze, exchanged a quick glance, and then ran for the exit. 

People were already gathered on the makeshift runway by the compound’s wide hangar doors. You elbowed your way through the small crowd—Bruce, Rhodey, Steve, and a handful of others—until you reached the front.

And there, at the heart of it all, Carol Danvers was bringing Tony Stark home.

—

It figured that the missing piece to finding Thanos was his own daughter, Nebula.  A snap-like energy signature had been detected across the galaxy just two days earlier, and with the new information she provided, Steve gave the team only a few hours to prepare before setting a course for Planet 0259-S.

If you had been a little apprehensive about the plan to find Thanos, the actual act of locating him—now the biggest hurdle solved—allowed you to fully lean into the expectation that it was only a matter of time before everyone was back, and everything returned to how it was supposed to be. The Avengers had never lost to anyone, not even gods. There was no doubt in your mind that you could all overcome a mere Titan.

So you and the remaining team boarded the modified Benatar—Nebula insisted it was the only ship fast enough to reach the planet in time. You still remembered the moment the engines roared to life, and you caught yourself thinking about Wanda. She would’ve stood at the viewport, eyes wide, taking in the stars with that sense of wonder she always had. But you also reminded yourself that you wouldn’t even be here if Wanda—and trillions of others—hadn’t vanished into dust. 

It was your first trip beyond Earth’s orbit, but it felt like mere minutes before Nebula’s voice crackled through the comms: “Entering the atmosphere now. We’ll touch down in thirty seconds.” Below stretched a battered field of half-dead crops under a sky like stale ash. You and the others fanned out once the ramp lowered—Steve, Banner, Rhodes, Thor, Carol, Natasha, Rocket, and Nebula. Even with the thinning hope in your veins, you still felt a faint thrill of certainty that you’d see that monster face to face and force him to undo this nightmare.

Thanos appeared in your line of sight, sitting on a makeshift stoop in front of a tumbledown shack, his left arm twisted and scarred from the energy of the Gauntlet. He looked worn, as if using the Stones had left him a husk of what he’d been. 

From this point on, it was an ambush—the most ruthless attack Steve had ever sanctioned for the team. You were surprised to see he had it in him. You wanted to strike Thanos yourself, but Natasha held you back, letting the superpowered members and those equipped with advanced suits handle the dirty work. Thor didn’t hesitate to hack off the Titan’s hand, and you actually smiled at Thanos’s screams as you, Natasha, and Steve closed in on the shack.

Rocket rolled over Thanos’s severed hand, the gauntlet still attached. What you all saw next pushed you further into madness:

Every single stone was missing.

Blood had rushed to your head, but you could still hear Steve very calmly inquire where the stones were, despite the ringing that had started in your ears. 

“...after that, the stones served no purpose beyond temptation…” Thanos uttered.

“Where are the stones?” Natasha repeated, her patience slipping in a rare moment of unease in front of an enemy.

“Gone,” Thanos uttered. “Reduced to atoms.”

“You used them two days ago!” Banner yelled.

“I destroyed the stones… using the stones.”

Everything turned to static the moment you heard the word destroyed. You’d pinned your hope on the Stones—on using them to bring her back. Now there was nothing. It was like the ground gave out beneath you, your entire center of gravity tilting around one brutal truth: Thanos hadn’t just wiped out half the universe—he’d taken your only way of undoing it.

The blood pounding in your ears muffled the exchanges. You saw Nebula’s lips move. You heard Thanos’ bullshit about realizing too late how he mistreated his own daughter. But it was like you were trapped in an echo chamber, drowning out the present.

Gone. Reduced to atoms.

He’d destroyed the Stones. You would never see Wanda again.

It was over.

You were quick to draw your pistols and fire a shot straight into his eye, but Thor was quicker—his axe already swinging, aimed directly for the head.

There should have been relief, or maybe some triumph in exacting revenge on the monster who’d purged half the universe. But there wasn’t. Only emptiness. The final blow had landed, and it changed nothing. Wanda was still gone, along with the rest.

A sick sense of finality wrapped around you, the suffocating knowledge that the Snap was permanent.

A few seconds later, Natasha laid a hand on your shoulder. You didn’t bother looking at her. You could feel her gaze, searching your face for any sign of composure. She’d find none. Nebula stood at a distance, staring at the father who had never been a father.

Someone—Carol maybe—muttered, “Let’s go.” And so you did. You stumbled away, feet dragging as if the scorched earth itself was holding you back.

It wasn't a victory. Not by a long shot. It was just the end of one more impossible avenue, closing shut.

The crushing grief welled up inside you, too much to contain. Finally, a scream ripped free from your throat, raw and guttural. It didn’t make you feel any better. It didn’t make it hurt any less. 

But for a fleeting moment, it was all you could do to keep from drowning.

[hedwig221b]

hi! i wanted to know ig you’ve got any recommendations of the pack knowing about stiles and derek even before they realised it for themselves lol. thanks in advance <3

Hi! Maybe you'll like these ones,

O Father of Mine by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

"He told me he understood, and that he was happy we were both happy, and that if I hurt you he knew how to kill a Werewolf and where to hide a body.” Stiles paused in his task of spooning rice onto one of the plates, giving Derek a weird look. “My dad had a similarly confusing discussion with me this morning,” he admitted. “Yeah, I’m not sure I understand what he was talking about.” They stared at one another for a long while in silence. “Dude,” Stiles finally said. “Does my dad think we’re dating?” “Is that what that was?” Derek asked.

how to court a werewolf by graveltotempo

Stiles accidentally begins a courtship with Derek. Wary at first, the werewolf accepts, and Stiles ticks off all the boxes of a traditional Hale werewolf courting - oblivious to the whole thing. Because of course he is. Peter thinks the entire thing is hilarious. Cora thinks that they deserve each other. (spoiler alert: they do)

Welcome to Rosie's Diner can I interest you in an eye-opener? by crossroadswrite

When the unfairly attractive couple walks in, at their usual hour, Kat starts humming the wedding march. Jason elbows her sharply in the ribs, trying to hide his snicker even as he waves nicely at them. “Fuck they’re so pretty,” he sighs mournfully, “why did they have to be a couple, that’s just unfair.” “I know,” she commiserates. (Or: The one where Stiles and Derek are regulars at Rosie's diner and exactly zero of the employees believe they're not actually a couple, I mean come on look at them.)

Accident (Waiting to Happen) by Jerakeen

"You’re just jealous of our friendship,” Stiles says cattily, butting the top of his head more firmly into Derek’s armpit. “Right,” Scott says, putting his jacket on. “I’m jealous that I don’t get to snuggle on the couch with the two of you.” “Obviously,” Stiles agrees.

Stupid Say What? byisthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

Stiles shoved another bite into his mouth, glancing over at Boyd and Erica. Boyd was smiling down into his eggs benedict and Erica was grinning at Stiles. He frowned in confusion, his chewing slowing. Tucking the food into one cheek, he asked, “What?” “Nothing. It’s just nice. I like when the four of us come out together. Our little double dates,” she teased, stabbing her fork into a strawberry and putting it between her lips. Stiles snorted at her comment, since this wasn’t a double date—he wished—but didn’t comment on it because he liked their outings, too. Even if he whined incessantly about it until he got there, it was always a good time.

Define "Dating" by raisesomehale

"You and Derek text each other memes?” she sounds both surprised and delighted - but more surprised. “Well,” Stiles says, “I send memes. Derek sent me a picture of a newspaper comic strip, once.” Lydia says, “Oh my god.” - OR the 5 times people point out that Stiles might be dating Derek + the 1 time Derek tells Stiles they're dating himself.

Together, Unfold by vipertooths

"Everyone thinks we’re dating.” Derek blinks at him once, twice, thrice. “What?” “Dating. Going steady. An item. Courting. Seeing each other. Romantically ent—” “I know what dating is." Or: Seven times Stiles and Derek weren't dating & the time they finally started.

Nurses Know Everything by Flicker_Ash

After a lacrosse game, Melissa looks around for Isaac. She's surrounded by family, her son, Noah, Stiles, both of whom are practically part of the family tree by now. Her urge to bring Isaac into this mismatched family is stifled when she sees he might not be as alone as she thought.

[masterlist link]

[lexirosewrites]

Day 9: Fake Dating/Courting

for @stmarchmm

“When in doubt, just smile and nod and say ‘yes, ma’am’ or ‘yes, sir’ until they shut up. It doesn’t always work, but sometimes they’ll back off if they see you have good manners. And if that doesn’t work, then we—”

Eddie stares.

“Did I lose you? I can start from the beginning, but it’ll have to be twice as fast because they’re expecting us in the next five minutes and tardiness is not an option with them, Eddie. They’ll never back off unless I can prove that this is real,” Steve laments.

“But it’s not.”

Duh. He’s well aware.

“Yeah, I know that? And you know that. If we play our cards right, they never need to know that,” he reminds the alpha.

Eddie’s mouth does a weird thing.

Is he getting cold feet? That would ruin the entire plan. Steve can’t pretend to have a boyfriend without the “boyfriend” present.

“What’s wrong? I swear they’re not as bad as they sound, Eddie. I mean, they’re pushy and they will grill us both because they want me to be happy, but if we pull this off, it will probably buy me another six months before they bring up the arranged mating idea again.”

And now Eddie won’t meet his eyes.

Maybe he should’ve asked Robin after all.

His parents have been hassling Steve about her for years and he didn’t want to put her in a high pressure situation (she can’t handle pressure well), but she wouldn’t have backed out on him at the last minute.

“Man, if you’re reconsidering this, I can tell them we got a flat tire on the way here and call Robin in for back-up. She’s gonna hurl when she has to tell a lie, but she’ll commit to it if I ask her to.”

Eddie’s face finally budges. The half-assed smile he gives is beyond fake.

“It’s nothing, Stevie. Just— uh, nerves, yeah. I’ve never met your parents before,” he mumbles unconvincingly.

So weird. They don’t really have time for whatever this is.

“Okay. Well, this is all pretend anyway. So if you’re fine now, we really gotta go in before we’re late,” Steve reminds him.

Why does Eddie look so sad?

He really thought they were close enough friends that they could pull this off together, but Eddie is acting beyond strange.

Steve exits the car and waits for Eddie to do the same before grabbing his hand and leading him up the driveway to the front door.

Eddie’s palm is sweaty and Steve silently wonders if he always runs this warm.

“Don’t be so nervous. As far as they know, we’re both happily in love and on our way to a spring wedding and a litter of pups.”

Eddie’s hand tenses in his.

He never took Eddie for the skittish type.

Steve doesn’t even get a chance to grab the doorknob before his mom is in front of him and yanking them both through the doorway.

“Steven, you’re right on time! It’s so nice to have you here for dinner. Isn’t it nice to have our son home, Richard? Oh, and you must be Edward!”

He turns to face his fake boyfriend, sending Eddie a lovey-dovey look that used to work on girls back in high school.

But Eddie is staring dead ahead at Steve’s dad with fear in his eyes.

“Eddie?” Steve nudges him gently, trying to regain his attention and get him to focus on the mission at hand.

“Right, sorry. Um, it’s so very nice to meet you Mrs. Harrington, Mr. Harrington,” he squeaks out.

This cannot be the same alpha who used to walk on cafeteria tables and not bat an eye when he told basketball players that they were ruining society.

Eddie is choking. Badly.

“Aren’t you just charming?” his mom giggles, reaching out to flatten a stray curl that’s sticking out from Eddie’s head. “Your hair is due for a trim, but you seem to be presentable enough for our Steven.”

That’s as close to approval as they’ll get from her.

Now for his dad.

“Dad? How’s work treating you these days?”

Steve knows damn well his dad doesn’t care about Eddie, but his dad does care about his business and boasting his accomplishments.

“Well enough, son. Slow quarter, but sales should pick back up soon. What do you know about stocks, Edward?”

Nothing.

Eddie could not give less of a shit about numbers or finances. In fact, if it was up to him, he’d happily let Robin and Steve pay for all the expenses in their apartment.

“Plenty, sir. I check the DOW Jones regularly and keep a strict watch on my investments, as any wise man does.”

Who killed Eddie and replaced him with someone else?

“Atta boy. You’ll have to show Steven a thing or two. Been working since he was 17 and still can’t save a penny worth a damn,” his dad chuckles, cheerfully slapping Eddie on the back.

What Twilight zone did they fall into?

“Of course. Naturally, we’re eager to save up for a proper spring wedding so we can start a family as soon as possible. Every penny counts.”

Eddie recites the words like lines in a play, but Steve can tell he doesn’t mean them.

It hurts more than he wants to admit.

And they still have dinner.

Luckily, the rest of their actual dinner goes remarkably smooth.

Steve’s parents ask Eddie a question, Eddie pretends to be someone he’s not, Steve’s parents eat it up and heap praises on him, and they all eat his mom’s overdone meatloaf without complaining.

And then they leave.

They leave with words of approval and reminders to stop by for dinner again the next week and encouragements for Eddie to be good to Steve.

It’s all… very fucking weird and strange and wrong.

Steve hardly recognizes the alpha he spent the last two hours with as his good friend, Eddie.

Once they’re in the car, Steve can’t keep silent anymore.

“What the hell was that?”

Eddie looks sufficiently surprised by his question.

“What? I thought that went pretty well, considering the circumstances.”

Steve shakes his head, trying to stay on track here with his point.

“Eddie, that didn’t even sound like you. I know I asked you to polish up a little so they’d ease up on me, but you were a whole different person in there,” he explains.

Eddie’s face falls and Steve feels like he’s said the complete wrong thing.

He is grateful, just confused.

“You told me to act like we were in love and ready to mate and have kids. Is that not what I did?”

Yes. No. Sort of.

“But that wasn’t anything like you,” he protests.

Eddie bites his lip.

“Yeah… because someone like me wouldn’t stand a chance with you, Stevie. We both know that.”

“What’s that supposed to be mean? Of course you’d stand a chance with me? Aren’t we friends, Eddie?”

This isn’t making any more sense.

Eddie exhales slowly, not meeting his eyes.

“Right. Friends. That’s all we are… because that’s all you’ll ever see me as, Steve.”

What the hell does that mean?

“Are we not friends?”

Eddie’s mouth does the weird thing again.

“You told me to act like we’re in love and ready to mate and have pups,” he states again.

Steve nods. They’ve been over this already.

Eddie continues in a soft whisper, “That part required no acting from me, sweetheart.”

Steve is lost for words.

Robin had said it was a bad idea to ask Eddie to do this for him.

He assumed it was because Robin knew how he felt about Eddie. Maybe he had it all backwards here.

“Then kiss me like we’re going to have a spring wedding.”

Eddie kisses him like that and so much more.

[coldfanbou]

What A Few Drinks Do

Alright, new twice mommy series part. We had some slight fallout from the last part before we spent some time with Dahyun. We learn something interesting about this mommy lol. This part is gonna help set something up for later.

Length 2.5K

Dahyun X Mreader

Last Part

Next Part

You wake up, get ready, and drive to Dahyun’s home. You chat with her briefly as she puts Eunsoo in the back. “You said Nayeon was just going to ride with us yesterday, right?”

“Mhmm, she just wanted a good look at the area. She hasn’t asked for another ride, so we can go as soon as I have Eunsoo all set.” Dahyun buckles in her sleepy baby and climbs into the back, checking herself for everything. “We’re all set back here.”

“Then let’s get going.” Your drive is peaceful, and the two of you walk into work. You notice Jeongyeon hadn’t come in yet. It was strange, but you thought that maybe she was just going to be late. During your break, you meet up with Dahyun, “Did you see Jeongyeon at all today?”

“No, I haven’t. Nayeon’s not here either,” Dahyun pouts as she begins to think with a bit of worry on her face, “Do you think something happened to them?”

“I don’t think so, to both of them? I’ll call Jeongyeon, and you can call Nayeon. You do have her number, right?” Dahyun nods her head and calls Nayeon while you do the same for Jeongyeon. You hear the tone as you wait for your call to go through, only to get sent to her voicemail. Dahyun receives the same response, but neither woman responds. The two of you are considering visiting Nayeon. “I don’t know where Jeongyeon lives, so we’ll have to visit Nayeon to see if she knows anything.” Dahyun nods her head.

“Yeah, I hope nothing bad happened.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much Dahyun. They’re strong. Let’s finish the day before going.” Dahyun nods along, her face a mix of concern and uncertainty. The two of you focus on your work, trying to distract yourselves before finishing up the day and heading back to her home. You unload Eunsoo first, helping Dahyun get everything back home before heading to Nayeon’s apartment. You knock on the door when no response comes; you knock again, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway. 

This time, the door opened; it was just a crack, but it was enough to tell you Nayeon was home. “Nayeon!” Dahyun says, relieved to see her. “We got worried when you and Jeongyeon didn’t show up for work. Are you alright? And do you know if Jeongyeon is okay? We tried to call her earlier.”

Nayeon opens the door a little more, “Sorry for not coming in today. It’s just that Jeongyeon isn’t doing so well.” The older woman looks inside before turning back to you. “She found out her husband has been cheating on her. She’s been in bed crying all day. I don’t think now's the time to have company.” You struggle to find the words to respond.

“Is there anything we can do for her? Maybe bring her something to eat?”

“We’d appreciate that, Dahyun. I’m probably going to miss the next few days of work while I watch Jeongyeon. I’ll tell you both when she starts to feel better.”

“Right, we appreciate that, Nayeon.” You tell her before she closes the door on you and Dahyun. You head back to Dahyun’s home, entering behind her. “Dahyun, would you mind if I stayed the night?”

Dahyun gently bounces Eunsoo in her arms as she heads towards her bedroom. “Of course. Let me put Eunsoo down, and I can start something.” Dahyun uses her body to close the door to her bedroom. Placing Eunsoo in her crib, Dahyun's grin grows. She knew it was a bad situation, but she was happy it caused you to spend more time with her. Dahyun jumped up and down in the room as quietly as she could, far too excited. She calms herself down, running her hands through her hair to clean her messy hair before stepping back out. 

“What do you want to eat?” She says, struggling to hide her smile as she looks at you.

“Let’s see what you have first,” you say as you look inside the fridge. “Actually, let me cook something for you. It’ll be something simple but delicious. We can bring some over to Nayeon and Jeonyeon, too.”

“Yeah,” Dahyun says, walking over to you and placing her hand on your back. “At least let me help you.”

“You can help me after you change, Dahyun. You should change into something more comfortable.” Dahyun nods and hurries to her room, changing quickly before returning in an oversized t-shirt and pajama bottoms. 

“Alright, now let me help,” Dahyun says with conviction. The two of you make a small meal of seared fish, rice, and stir-fried vegetables. You prepare enough for yourselves and Jeongyeon and Nayeon. 

“We should take these over while it’s still hot. I can take them real quick; you can plate the rest.”

“Sounds like a plan.” You pack some of the food and head to Nayeon’s home. You knock on the door, waiting outside for a second when Nayeon opens the door slowly, poking her out from behind it.

“We made you two some food; it’s still hot.” You tell her as you hand over the food. “Is Jeongyeon doing alright? I mean, is she at least eating?”

“She’d rather not, but I’m making sure she does. Thanks for the food. I know she’ll appreciate it.” Nayeon says with a slight smile. “I’m glad that she’s made some good friends.”

You nod in response, “We just want to see her do well. I’ll be leaving now. Good night.”

“Good night.” She says, closing the door.

You return to Dahyun’s, thinking about how Jeongyeon must be feeling. As you step through the door to Dahyun’s apartment, she grabs your arm and drags you to your seat. “Come on, let’s eat.” You and Dahyun talk about various topics throughout your meal, going from work to what you like to do at home as you have a few drinks.

“It’s amazing that you’re able to work and take care of Eunsoo. Do you even have any time for yourself?”

“Sometimes, but for the most part, I just sleep. I’m too tired to do anything else.” 

“I’m sure it must be tough sometimes.”

“Yeah, but it’s a little easier now that you pick us up and drop us off. I’ve had a little more time to sleep in the morning. I’ve gotten the chance to relax more, and I feel really good.” Dahyun runs her finger along the rim of her glass. She gives you a nervous look before breaking into a smile. “Um, would you like to… never mind.” Dahyun wipes her face. You watch it begin to turn red and decide to push her on the subject.

“Would I like to what?”

“I-um was going to ask if you’d like to…” Dahyun looks around the room, trying to find some way to change the subject. You lean over the small dining table and place your hands around the side of Dahyun’s eyes, giving her nowhere else to look. “I want to know if you wanted to have sex.” She says quietly, her pale face turning a bright red. 

“What was that?” You ask her to repeat herself, wanting to tease her.

“Do you want to have sex?” Dahyun says as she looks at the dining table.

You stop covering Dahyun’s peripheral vision, “I think that you’re the one that wants to have sex, Dahyun.” She blushes at your statement. The alcohol was talking for both of you; you lean in and steal a kiss from Dahyun. She shuts her eyes, her hands gingerly wrapping around you as you get closer to one another. You grab Dahyun, lifting her as you two continue to kiss. You carry her to the living room, crashing on top of her couch. You feel her legs wrap around you. Your hands move down her sides, grabbing at the hem of her shirt. You lift it slowly before tossing it off her body, seeing her bare breasts as Dahyun looks away from you. You cup one of the soft mounds, giving it a light squeeze and shaking it in your hand. She shivers at your touch, a gasp escaping her lips. 

You run your thumb over her nipple, flicking it lightly. A small amount of milk leaks from her tit as you give her breast another squeeze—this time, Dahyun moans, her eyes filled with lust as she grabs the couch's armrest. You kiss the middle of her chest, slowly moving to her left breast. You kiss around her nipple, teasing her as her breathing becomes heavy with anticipation.

Dahyun felt herself getting wet as you teased her body. She could hardly keep her eyes off you. You avoid her nipple, moving up toward her neck and planting sweet kisses. Dahyun coos as she feels your tongue against her skin; your finger flicks her nipple again, making her grimace as her world becomes filled with pleasure.

Your slide your other hand down her smooth stomach, sneaking under her pajama bottoms and rubbing against her cunt, the thin fabric of her panties quickly becoming soaked in her juices along her slit. “Ah, that feels so good,” Dahyun groans. 

You stop kissing her momentarily, getting by her ear to tell her, “Don’t forget to make me feel good.” 

Dahyun looks down at your bulge and reaches for it. Cupping it in her hands, she feels the heat radiating from it. She rubs it slowly with her hand, earring small groans from you as you get under her panties and push two fingers inside her. “Oh fuck,” Dahyun moans as she grips your shirt. You curl your fingers inside her, rubbing against her walls as you push your fingers in and out of her. You take in one of her nipples, running your tongue along it. Dahyun’s body grew weaker; she could hardly move as you flooded her mind with pleasure. “Keep going,” She moaned, grinding herself against your hand. 

“Dahyun, you’re sounding so slutty.” You whisper into her ear.

“Don’t say that. I’m not a slut,” Dahyun whimpers as she nears her climax. You feel her walls tighten around your fingers; you speed up, causing her to whine. 

“Don’t you hear yourself? You’re moaning like one.” You say as you flick her nipple with your tongue. 

“I’m-I’m cumming,” Dahyun was trying to refuse your claims, but she climaxed before she could finish. You watch her body twitch as she cums, as she soaks her pajama bottoms in her nectar. Still, you continue to finger her, “Wait, please!” Dahyun whines as you overstimulate her. You shut her up with a kiss. 

Feeling her walls tighten around your fingers again, you slow down and deny her another orgasm.  You climb off the already-exhausted woman, stripping yourself down to nothing before doing the same to Dahyun. Back on the couch, you grab Dahyun and place her on your lap so she can straddle you. Dahyun places her hands on the sofa, trying to support herself as you tease her cunt with your cock. She mumbles something, and when you ask her to say it louder, she repeats herself, “I want your cock.”

“Are you being honest with yourself now, Dahyun?” She lazily nods at you. You get by her ear, whispering your question, “Are you a slut, Dahyun?”

“I’m not a slut,” 

“What if I made you my slut?” You let go of Dahyun’s body, letting her support herself but keeping your cock pointed toward her cunt. “All you have to do is drop yourself on my cock.” You make the choice harder for Dahyun by rubbing the tip against her lips. When you come to a stop, Dahyun drops her weight on you, impaling herself on your cock. You both moan. Grabbing onto Dahyun’s waist, you start to thrust, holding her still as you drive your cock deep into Dahyun’s cunt. She grabs your shoulder and fills the room with her moans as your bodies smack against each other. You move one of your hands to Dahyun’s ass, giving the soft piece of flesh a rough squeeze and making Dahyun groan. “How does it feel, Dahyun?”

“I love it, I love your cock.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” You nip at Dahyun’s neck, “Who’s my little slut?” You ask teasingly.

“I am, I’m your slut.” Dahyun groans as she bounces on your cock, her modest breasts bouncing along with her. Dahyun’s walls clamp down on your cock as she says that. You figure that she might like the slight degradation and slap her ass.

“Say it again.”

“I’m your dirty slut,” Dahyun moans, a tired expression on her face as she approaches her orgasm. “I’m going to cum, I’m going to cum.”

“Not so soon, Dahyun. Hold on a little longer.” Dahyun bites her lip as she tries to hold off her orgasm. As you continue to thrust into her tightening cunt, you feel yourself about to cum. You speed up, moving like a piston in and out of Dahyun. 

“I’m cumming!” Dahyun shouts. You bring her down onto your cock, burying yourself inside her as you cum. Dahyun feels the familiar warmth inside her as your cum rushes into her, painting her walls white as your baby batter makes its way into her womb. She leans forward, kissing you as you both come down from the high. You lay down on the couch, with Dahyun lying on top of you, your cock still inside her. You end up falling asleep like that.

When you woke up, it was early in the morning, and it was still dark outside. A light down the hallway stayed on as Dahyun came back into the living room. She was startled to see you awake. “What are you doing up so early in the morning?” you asked her.

“Eunsoo woke up and started crying. I just finished putting her back to sleep.” Dahyun responds before sitting on the couch. “Last night was…something.” She says, struggling to describe what happened.

“I think we both had a little bit too much to drink,” you tell her, placing your hand on your thigh. Your memories of last night are a little foggy, but there was one thing you remembered. “Dahyun, I’m sorry for last night, but I have to ask.” She looks at you nervously. “Are you into degradation? Because you got really tight when that started.”

Dahyun felt her nerves relax as you asked that question before she began to huff. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She said defiantly, trying to ignore that part of last night.

“No, I definitely remember you getting tighter when I degraded you.” You squeeze Dahyun’s thigh and lean in. “Who’s my little slut.” Dahyun shivers at your words, and her legs rub against each other. It makes you laugh.

“Don’t laugh! It’s not funny!” Dahyun whines as she smacks your chest.

“It’s a little funny!” You retort as you take hold of her wrists. “It’s nice learning these things about you, Dahyun; now I know how to turn you on.” Dahyun blushes and buries her face in your chest.

“Shut up,” She says quietly. “We still have four hours until work; let's get some more sleep, Mister.” She says, mildly annoyed at you. You stifle a laugh and agree with her as you try to relax and go back to sleep for a little while longer.

[bluesidez]

The Love Lab presents:

One Bite for You, One Bite for Me

💗 THIS IS MY 100 200 300 FOLLOWER SPECIAL!

pairing: Miguel O’Hara x AFAB!Reader

summary: One of the things you and Miguel bond over is delicious food. One day, you notice that your clothes aren’t fitting like they used to. Miguel is there to remind you how beautiful you are.

content warning: established relationship but they’re not married, 18+ so MDNI, non-Spiderman Miguel, LOTS OF MENTIONS OF FOOD AND DRINKS, weight gain, cycles, insecurity about body, alcohol, body worship, unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up 🫵🏾), cunnilingus, lots of praise, a little Spanish (if wrong please lmk)

credit for art + dividers: Me! + @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

a/n: This is actually the first fic I wrote when my Miguel hyperfixation came back in full force. I based it off of this video and a comment saying that girls are usually the ones that gain weight super quick in a relationship. Please know that gaining weight is not a bad thing, especially in this story. Relationship weight can be positive and food is here to nourish your body! Also know that everyone’s body is different. Our bodies will react to things in different, unique ways. If you’re ever feeling icky about your weight/health, please take a step back, breathe, and know that you’re beautiful no matter what. There are also sources out there that can help you if your thoughts overpower your heart. Please don’t hesitate to seek help.

word count: 4.3k

To all my food-lovers and fellow plus-size girlies, kisses to you! You’re beautiful!

SPRING 🥭

“Baby!”

You grinned as you heard Miguel’s shout from the front door. His voice had a giddy tilt as if he made a breakthrough in one of his projects.

“I was finally able to stop by the new Jamaican spot before they sold out and look what I got us,” Miguel says before he slides the take-out bags across the table. “Ribs, oxtails, rice and beans, mac, and your favorite…fried plantains!”

You quickly untie the bags, happy to have a break from your research paper, and immediately get hit with the smell of spices both sweet and savory. “Oh my god! That looks incredible.”

After frantically digging around for a plastic fork, you were finally able to pull a piece of meat off the oxtail. It looked mouth-watering and tender. One bite of the meat and you’re immediately groaning, slumped in your chair. You nod your head and scrunch your face, watching as the juice from the gravy soaks into the pieces of rice stuck at the bottom of the take-out plate.

“That is so fucking good, Mig. No wonder there’s never any combos left by the time you leave work.”

Miguel just watches you eat with a glint in his eyes, happy to see you so relaxed and enjoying the food. He reaches into the second bag, pulling out two bottles of juice, “And to make it better, I got their fruit juice, made fresh daily-”

“Passionfruit and mango flavor!” Your eyes got big as you jumped up and wrapped your arms around his neck. He knew how much of a juice fanatic you were, so this drink was just the cherry on top of the large ice cream sundae that was your generous boyfriend.

“Thank you, baby,” you giggled and gave his cheek a fat smooch. You patted his chest twice and moved back to set up the table, “Now, hurry and wash up so we can eat this before it gets cold! We’ve got shows to watch.”

“Entendido, I’ll be right back”

SUMMER 🍦

You and Miguel were walking hand in hand along the Cancun Hotel Zone, taking in all the sights. Miguel’s job had given him a promotion along with an extremely high bonus, so what better way to celebrate than to use his PTO and bring the love of his life on vacation?

Granted, the area you guys were currently in was a little touristy, borderline bougie, but it was all worth it when Miguel got to see your eyes light up as you watched the turquoise waves fade into white foam along the shoreline.

You wobbled a bit while clinging to Miguel’s side, a little tipsy from the frozen paloma you drank to pair with today’s lunch. It was a waterfront restaurant with a live band so the vibes were just right for a little bit of liquid fun.

The downside was that the two of you were supposed to meet up with Miguel’s family later that evening and while you were fine with the confidence boost you were sporting, you wanted to be more alert when speaking with loved ones. Plus, you needed to give a good impression to the relatives you hadn’t met yet. It will be nice to put a face to the names of Miguel’s childhood.

“What do you say we stop and get some ice cream?” Miguel suggested, chuckling at you when you grinned up at him, ecstatic over the proposed plan.

“You know me so well,” you said, arms reaching around his waist, face squished into the side of his chest. “I would absolutely love some ice cream. Cool me down from the inside.”

Miguel chuckled and kissed the top of your head. You were especially cute when you got like this.

FALL 🍕

“Baby, check this out,” Miguel shouted, finally returning to your table with your food.

The fair was packed full of people, especially due to the pop-up food truck festival happening that same week. You had never seen more people run to get fried turnip greens and loaded fries in your life.

Still, this was just another chance to hang out with Miguel. You really didn’t care where you went with him, as long as you got to see that pretty smile.

You look down at the table and see what he brought back. Before your eyes sat the most un-Miguel order ever: birria pizza and two walking tacos, one Hot Cheetos and the other Dorritos.

“Dorilocos, Miguel. Really?” you raised an eyebrow watching him try to steady the open chip bags over some spread-out napkins.

“Amor, don’t look at me like that! I had to get them because Gabriel kept talking my ear off about this new food truck that made them better than the ones we used to eat on our trips back home. I, for one, don’t believe that for a second, so what better way to test that theory than to eat it with my baby?” Miguel gave the saddest look he could muster and slid his hand across the table, trying to convince you to indulge with him.

“Fine, fine. Don’t give me that look,” you say, pulling off a slice of the pizza, making the cheese stretch as long as you can. “Just don’t complain to me from the bathroom while your stomach fights to digest something it hasn’t had in over a decade!”

Miguel pursed his lips while shoveling as much food as he could on one Doritto, “Shouldn’t I be the one telling you that? That’s a lot of cheese, babe.”

“Oh my god, some queso tears up my stomach one time and you can’t let that go, can you?”

“It was once and yet you were in agony about it for days. I think I’m allowed to remind you at least monthly.”

“Just eat your food and leave me and my iron stomach alone. We’ll see what happens between today and tomorrow,” you quip, pulling your phone out ready to record Miguel’s reaction to send to Gabriel.

Miguel takes a bite and just leans against the table, head slumped on his clean head.

“Dios mio, he was right. This can’t be happening,” he groaned, slightly annoyed that Gabriel wasn’t exaggerating. He was also shocked at the fact that someone even came close to getting the local snack right.

You giggled behind your phone, happy that his reaction worked in your favor. You zoomed in a little more on his face, capturing him smacking his lips and licking off excess sauce. He was so zoned in on his food that he didn’t even notice you with your phone up.

“Is it good, Mig?” you asked, mirth in your voice.

He looked at you ready to answer but his eyes snapped to your camera and started to whine, “Amor, please stop recording!”

With a small smile, you made sure to add the video to your folder full of Miguel. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You just look so cute, I couldn’t help it.”

Miguel just mumbled to himself while stacking up another chip, neck heated over the interaction. “Here, just try this,” he said, holding a nacho close to your mouth.

You opened your mouth, just barely getting the chip in. Cupping your hand under your head, you begin to hum, the flavors all tangy, spicy, and savory. “I don’t know what your childhood Dorilocos tasted like, but this is really freaking good.”

“Just know that this one is only slightly better. By 0.00001% to be exact,” he said, rubbing sauce off of the corner of your lips and licking it off. The movement was muscle memory for him as he always liked to watch your face when you ate food, especially when it came to any nostalgic or homecooked dishes you never tried before. It warmed his heart to see you find comfort in his favorite foods.

“Well, I can tell you it’s 100% better than the ‘Taco Tuesday’ luncheon my job hosted last month. Nothing but unseasoned ground beef, endless black olives, and store-bought guacamole for two hours,” you respond, shuddering at the memory of soppy taco shells and your coworkers complaining about how spicy the mild salsa was.

“On second thought, this is absolutely a step up. Was the guacamole name brand at least?” He asked, peering up at you with a twist on his lips.

“I’m pretty sure it was a grocery store brand, so no.”

“Damn.”

WINTER 🍫

You were at your apartment in your bed, completely covered under the comforter with a fluffy blanket on top.

It was snowing heavily outside and you were freezing. However, your heater tended to make your apartment feel like a sauna, so you kept snatching the blanket off only to put it back on minutes later. Plus, your cycle was here. Your cramps left you lying on your side, rolling back and forth between the cool side of the bed and the warm side.

Physically, you were exhausted, but mentally, you knew you had so much to get done.

Christmas was just around the corner but you still had so many presents left to buy and wrap. Your job was doing the dreaded Secret Santa gift exchange and you were stuck wondering what gift would appeal to the stuck-up director in the accounting department.

You and Miguel were also hosting a small Christmas party amongst your friends, and there was still food left to buy. To top it all off, you were worried about your gift for Miguel, wondering if a silly little apron saying “Kiss me, I’m Irish” would hide the fact that you spent a ridiculous amount of money on some new tech he was eyeing.

You heard the apartment door open and close.

Knowing it was Miguel, you groan out dramatically.

He opens the bedroom door and peaks inside, “Baby?”

You just groan out again, “Everything hurts, Miggy.”

He comes up to bed and sits on the edge, “I know, amor. I’m sorry.” He bends down to kiss your head. “Want me to plug up the heat pack?”

“Yeah,” you say, leaning into his hands. When he gets up to grab the pack, you whine at his absence.

“I know, I know. I’m coming back,” he says, voice soothing.

Instead of turning the pack on, he removes your covers and sits back down on the edge. You shiver a little bit and he’s quick to cover your body with his, rubbing the top of your head as he kisses your temple.

“Are you feeling too bad to eat something for me?” Miguel asks, the timber of his voice settling you.

You shake your head and lean in closer to him.

“I think I want some food,” you reply, squeezing his body. “I haven’t eaten anything yet.”

Miguel tuts as he sits up and pulls you up with him, “That’s no good, baby. You have to eat so you can feel better. Your body needs it.”

You groan again and put your face in his neck, not wanting to move.

“Come on,” Miguel says, rubbing you from your back to your leg. “I got you some soup and a grilled cheese.”

“Did you get the stuff for the hot chocolate bar? For the party?” you whisper.

“Mm hm. Jumbo marshmallows included.”

You nuzzle his neck before you look at him, “Carry me to the kitchen?”

He makes a swift move to wrap your legs around his body and hike you up.

He gets up and holds you close, heading to the kitchen, “Let’s get some food in you, yeah?”

SPRING 🍇

The short spring break trip that Miguel surprised you with has been lovely. Miguel woke you with kisses down your body, taking you to the hilt with his mouth alone. You had to muffle your cries as to not disturb the neighbors in the inn. As his tongue danced inside of you, you gripped his hair with one hand and his head with your thighs. Miguel wouldn’t want it any other way.

After his first course, Miguel treated you to breakfast on the balcony. You two enjoyed looking over the horizon as you ate yogurt parfaits and fluffy omelets.

Later on, the two of you enjoyed a few tours of the vineyard and the city. The sights were beyond compare and the atmosphere was serene.

“Thank you so much for this Miguel,” you say, interrupting the silence.

“Anything for my lady,” he says back. “You’re doing great work this semester so you need the break.” Miguel stopped and turned to you, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You leaned up and kissed him, hands warm on the sides of his face.

You both started to makeout for so long that Miguel forgot about the massage he had planned for you before tonight’s farm-to-table dinner.

Needless to say, he laid you out on your bed and oiled your body down. Your head was in your arms as rubbed his hands up and down your back. His hands were heaven and you felt like puddy by the time he flipped you over.

After he massaged your inner thighs he pounded you into the mattress. Something you’re sure the hired masseuse would never be able to do.

Miguel joked and called it the Miguel Magic Massage when you asked if he offered this special regularly. The price? Being his cariño, his amor, his sweetheart.

By the time dinner started, you were glowing. You felt adored and the courses were amazing.

Miguel made sure everyone knew you were his. His hand never left your thigh the entire meal, staring down the older men sitting at the end table who were looking a little too long at the dip of your dress.

You were oblivious, feeding Miguel bites occasionally and humming at how fresh and delicious everything was.

After the last course was over, the men came to you all’s side of the table quickly. All of them started to make conversation with you, plugging in their businesses, and stuffing their business cards in your hands.

It was as if Miguel was invisible. He scowls deeper when they let out hearty laughs at something you said.

“Are you fellas here with your wives?” Miguel asked loudly, completely irritated. “My wife and I have really enjoyed our time here. It’s a beautiful place for couples.”

Some of the men went red in the face flustered at Miguel catching their scheme. Others just scowled, pissed off at being interrupted.

None of them could answer his question.

You looked at Miguel, eyes heavy and relaxed.

“You gentlemen have a great night,” you said, putting your hand in Miguel’s as he guided you to the exit.

“Your wife, huh?” you asked, core on fire. It was hot watching Miguel get so worked up over you.

“Baby, they were looking at you like you were some fresh meat. Like I wasn’t even sitting there,” he grumbled.

“One of them already offered to bring me on a cruise. He’s staying right next to us,” you say, standing outside your room as Miguel swipes his card at the door. You walked your fingers up his chest, heated over the grit you could see from his profile.

He was oh so upset.

“He’s next to us? Right here?” Miguel asked, voice low.

You nodded as you bit your lip, arm around his neck.

Miguel picked you up and dragged you to the bed. You giggled a little to yourself as he plopped you down. Mission accomplished. Silently, you thank those older men. If it weren’t for their overconfidence, Miguel wouldn’t have been tearing at your clothes like he us right now.

Miguel kept you up almost that whole night, making sure that the neighbors heard your cries. Those old geezers were sure to know his name by the next morning. Buying you a ring wasn’t enough. He needed a bat.

It was all worth it to see the tired and flushed looks of their faces when you all checked out the next day.

SUMMER 🍯

“What the fuck,” you mumble, looking down at the pair of jeans you were trying to put on.

It was early morning. You had a family reunion that you and Miguel would take a bit of a drive to get to.

You made sure that everything was packed the following night. Some clothes to stay for a few days, a few snacks for the road, a book for you to catch up on, and even a crossword puzzle book for Miguel.

You planned ahead. You were diligent. So why is it that when everything else is going right, your pants decide not to button up?

You pulled at the flaps once more, trying your hardest to connect the button with the hole. It fails as they slip from your grasp. You try again, sucking in your stomach as much as you could. You get the button to snap in this time, but it’s digging unbearably into your skin. The zipper fights against you as you try to pull it up.

You huff out in frustration and the pants snap open again.

Defeated, you let out a watery sigh and look in the mirror.

Your stomach was bigger than you last remembered, fupa a little more prominent. Your thighs were also a little thicker, the jeans hugging them a little tight. Your breasts looked a little big in your shirt. The family name stretches a bit more across your bust than the original design intended. Even your face was a little chubbier than normal. When was the last time your jaw was like this? High school?

When did you get like this?

You felt your throat start to burn, a sob building in your system. You’ve always been fine with your body, loving the dips and curves. Adoring your flaws and finding beauty in what society decides is not worthy.

You knew this. You knew that you were beautiful. Why was it so hard to get that thought into your conscience?

You felt the tears roll down as you peeled the jeans off of your legs. They were especially tight at your hips and you wondered how you even forced them past in the first place.

You didn’t know what to do. It was so hot outside, so you needed something comfortable, but those jeans…you had your mind set to wear those jeans.

You rummage through your closet in frustration, pushing and pulling the clothes across the rack.

By the time Miguel found you, you were squatting in the closet, hot tears covering your face.

“Babe, it’s been almost 30 minutes and we need to head out before the work traffic starts-”

Miguel stopped in the doorway as he noticed the state of the closet, “Hey, hey, what’s wrong? ¿Que pasó, cariño?”

You wipe furiously at your face, sniffling loud as you hear Miguel push clothes to the side to get to you.

“My pants don’t fit. I don’t think anything else will fit either,” you say, stuttering out your words as Miguel gets to your side.

You let him pull you up into a standing position. You felt defeated.

Miguel looked at you and wiped away the tears that you missed. You feel horrible as your face scrunches up again, tears forming in your eyes.

“No, no, no,” Miguel says, hugging you close. “Listen to me. I know that this feels like a lot, but this is normal. Your body will always change with you. You’re still the same beautiful, gorgeous woman I met years ago and that’s not changing because you got some extra hips, baby.”

“But Miguel,” you say, voice so sad. “I feel like I just got those pants. And. Nothing else in here goes with this shirt. I’m scared that nothing else will fit-”

“And if that’s the case, I’ll buy you new clothes,” Miguel says, pressing kisses over your face. “If these clothes mean that much to you, I’ll take you to the gym. Let me work out with you, but until then, I’m loving your body as is.”

You stare at Miguel, heart beating at his revelation. He stared right back at you, daring you to question or challenge his words.

“Don’t beat yourself up over something like this. If anyone has ever let you feel insecure about your body, they’re an ass, let me deal with them. If I ever do anything to make you feel insecure, tell me. Yell at me. Question me, because as far as I’m concerned, that’s not me.”

He hiked you up on the closet island in the middle of the room. You shiver a bit as your naked legs hit the wood.

He leans closer, placing his hands on the side of you, “Now, let’s think. Don’t you have a pair of cargo shorts that match the ones I’m wearing right now?”

You whisper out a yes.

“Would you be ok with wearing those? I’m sure they fit perfectly.”

You say yes again, head leaning onto his. You could accessorize it perfectly. It would make a great couple’s look.

Miguel knew this much, he just had to get you to see it.

“I love you, ok?” he says, voice clear.

“I love you, too. Thank you,” you say.

“Anything for my girl,” Miguel says. “My beautiful girl. She’s just for me. I can’t believe it.”

Your heart beats faster as he starts to kiss down your body.

“Her face is so lovely.” A kiss to your cheek and your lips.

“She’s always working so hard.” A kiss to your neck and your collarbone. He pulls your shirt over your head.

“She makes me so happy.” A suck to your breasts as he unclasps your bra.

“Her body is beyond comparison.” A trail of kisses down your stomach, your belly twitching as his breath twinkles on along your skin. “Soft. Amazing. Irresistible.”

“Her thighs are my earmuffs.” A caress to your inner thighs. Your legs snap a bit, ticklish at his ministrations.

“Miguel?” you whimper out.

“I have to relax you before this ride. Can’t have you upset,” he says, kissing his way up your thighs to your panties. “May I?”

You nod your head, fingers grasping at nothing but then a flat surface.

Miguel was swift. He pulled your underwear down and kissed at your clit. You could only hold tight as he pulled your body forward and dove in.

It wasn’t long before you were shaking like a leaf. Miguel sucked at you for minutes, pulling a long orgasm out of your system.

He kneaded your thighs as you trembled around his tongue, humming as your legs squeezed tighter. That was the queue for him to go further, so he added his fingers to the mix, moving his mouth up so that his fingers could pump in and out of you.

It took all of your strength not to let your body drop off the other side of the island.

“Miggy, please,” you wailed. You wanted more.

Miguel looked up at you whining above him. You pull your legs up, holding your hands under your thighs, practically begging for him.

Miguel kissed up your body again. He was swift with removing his clothes. You still had to have these clothes fresh for later and Miguel was about to wear you out.

He moved to push himself inside of you, grunting as you gripped him.

He replaced your hands with his and pulled your legs up by his head. You balanced yourself on the island as he slowly started to thrust.

“So good. Just for me,” Miguel said, watching as your body moved with his movement. “Perfect. And all mine.”

You remained quiet, whimpering softly as he dragged against you.

“You heard me, hermosa?” Miguel said. “You’re beautiful. C’mon. Say it for me.”

“I’m,” you stopped, mind foggy. You didn’t know how you were supposed to respond when he was going so deep.

“Say it.”

You cried out as he snapped harder, “I’m beautiful.”

“That’s right baby,” Miguel praises you, bending further to give you a kiss. “So amazing.”

He praised you until you finished, squeezing at any of you that he got his hands. By the time he was done, your arms felt like jelly from holding you up.

He carried you to the bathroom for a quick shower, never stopping his reassurances of you.

You guys made it in the car an hour and a half off schedule, but it was worth it for the uplifted way you carried yourself throughout the day.

It was worth it to see you happy and healthy.

By the time you made it to the reunion, it was like you were born anew. You greeted your family with smiles and laughter. Miguel couldn’t help but to cheese watching you do your thing.

He felt his heart soar as you caught up with family. Your smile was the biggest as you were out on the floor line dancing your heart out. He was right up behind you when Outstanding came on. The song was really a declaration of how he felt about you.

You giggled as he crooned in your ear.

“You light my fire,” he sang, swinging your hips in time with his.

“I feel alive with you, baby,” he spins you around to him, a smile on his face.

“You blow my mind,” he pulled you out and back in.

“I’m satisfied,” you squeal as he spins you in the air and puts you back down to keep dancing.

Outstanding. You really knock him out.

Another season where Miguel adored you more.

Another season where Miguel wanted you to be forever his.

Another season where he made sure he fed you well.

Another season of you making his heart pound.

Another season of your love reaching to the fullest.

Miguel was excited for the next season with you.

As always, I hope you enjoyed reading! 💗

Any likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated. Let me know how you feel! 🥺🧁

Until next time,

-Lauro 💗

[bnnysweets]

WILL YOU STILL LOVE ME IF TURNS OUT I’M INSANE?

abby x bpd!reader

author’s note: english is not my first language. i labeled like “bpd!reader” bc i have it and it’s inspired by how much i wanna comfort during crisis, but you can read it thinking just about mental illness in general. i listened to the whole the record album by boygenius while writing this!

warnings: angst & comfort. reader has a crisis and abby helps. talks about voices inside reader’s head, bad past memories and fear of abandonment. mention of self harm but it’s very brief. modern au. readers is called baby, sweet girl and angel.

when you both started to live together you agreed ‘bout the cameras, abby work a eight hour shift and you were almost graduating, but despite that, you still spent a bunch of time alone at house, so the main reason was security. you are a little unpredictable while going through a crisis and sometimes self destructive, abby just wanted to keep a eye at you.

today was one of those days when you did everything as you should, everything was alright until the voices in your head told you it wasn’t. you arrived home, went to the gym, did your homework, cooked and bathed, you were laying on the couch scrolling through instagram when suddenly it hits you, a felling that you are nothing, just absolute hollow.

at first you were just crying, it was okay, nothing new, but everything escalated quickly, your heart was beating so fast that you thought it would stop, you vision almost completely black and you had lost when was the last breath that you took properly.

abby was exiting the parking lot when she thought about checking on you, she opened the app to see the camera footage and saw you sat on the ground, with your knees pressed against your chest, rocking backing and forth and trembling like you were naked at alaska, she called you immediately and looked what would be the fastest way home.

“hi baby.”, you didn’t answer, abby could hear you crying and trying to catch your breath without any success, “i saw it on cameras, i know okay? you don’t need to say anything just listen to me.” you let a little “mhm.” and she was a little bit more calm, just to know that you still could listen to her without your mind disturbing it. “i’m coming home, almost 10 minutes away, i need you to try your breath exercises, i know you think they don’t work but i need that you at least try them.” you started to do without thinking twice, “you’re such a sweet girl, you know that, right? i love you so much, you’re the most precious person that i’ve met, the kindest, sweetest and smartest. i don’t know what is going on your mind, what they’re saying to you or what you’re remembering…but nothing of that define who you are. you are so much more than anything, and i mean, anything that happened to you, you are so much more than what your mind try to convince you that you are. sometimes i even think you’re an angel on earth. i need you to know that, you know that? that you’re a angel? you make heaven a true place when i’m with you. don’t let they say to you that you’re not making progress because you are, everyday i see how much you try to be the better, and trust me, you are. i love you. i’m not going to leave you. we’re are all good”.

“i’m sorry abby.”, her heart stopped, finally you were talking, “i’m sorry i’m this shitty girlfriend, always disturbing you, i love you so much, so so much but i don’t deserve you. i’m just empty.” and now her heart shattered, her foot stepped harder on the accelerator. she was already on yours street but for some mysterious reason the traffic was horrible, she parked in the first empty space she spotted and got out of the car, running towards your house. “nothing can make me hate you, nothing. i don’t care if your mind say to you that you don’t deserve this but you do, you deserve love, gentle love. love without fear, without turbulence, and i’m more than happy to give it to you.” she took a deep breath, “now, may you please open the door?” you left your phone on the couch and rushed to the door.

when you opened it abby was catching her breath, her eyes lit up seeing you, you were a sight for her sore eyes, even when you looked like this. she grabbed you and closed the door with a kick, you hold her so tight that you felt alive again, you felt your heart stopping hurting, she was the best medicine. she carried you to the bed you shared, “i love you, i love you, i love you, i fucking love you, you understand me?” she positioned you on top of her, she was holding your face delicately with a hand and with the other she was smoothing your back. “you are not mad at me?” you asked, even fearing the answer, “oh my love, how could i ever be mad at you? how?” her hand moved from your chin to your cheek, caressing it, she looked at you like she could truly see you, without see all the bad things that went through your mind, all the bad things that you did, all the bad things you always remembered, she could comprehend and appreciate you, even when you were a mess, she loved you even when you couldn’t understand why.

“i’m sorry.” you said and she took your hand in hers and kissed it, “why are you sorry for?” she looked at you with those eyes again, those eyes that you were always able to saw how much she cares for you, “i’m sorry for being like this…for always be a burden, for never being stable, for not being able to give you a normal relationship.” you started to spiraling again and faster than the light abby put her hand on your chest, where you heart is, and she started to breathe really calmly, deeply, and without noticing you were following her rhythm. when you finally calmed down you rested your head on her shoulder, she moved to the edge of the bed to reach the little table beside the bed, she opened the drawer and grabbed your medication and your water bottle, she offered to you and you took them.

“what is a normal relationship?” she asked softly and you let a little scoff, “it’s one that you don’t need cameras to see if i’m not going to harm myself just because my mind hates me.” abby guided your head to look at her, “so a normal relationship is one without you? without your intensity?” you nodded, “yes, it’s one without me being so extreme about everything.” abby caressed your face, “so i would never be happy in a normal relationship.” your eyebrows furrowed, “what do you mean?” she put her fingers on your lips, like she was admiring, “if i won’t have your intensity i don’t wanna it. i know that most of the time it makes your life very hard but it also brings so good things to your life and consequently to mine.” you looked confused but before you could say anything she answered, “when we started dating, on our second month together i already knew we would work out, you know why? because you were so transparent that i already knew you, your reactions, your likes and dislikes and i already loved them. you never lied to me about anything, even when you broke my favorite watch. you remember when you had a fight with one of my best friends because they said something bad about me behind my back? and when i didn’t believed on you, you didn’t get mad, you explained to me what was happening, you showed me proof. this is what makes you the person that i want to spend the rest of my life with. i understand your condition, and that sometimes you’re going to relapse, but every single time it happens i’m gonna to be here, to comfort you, to you talk to or just cry, i don’t mind it. i love you, you are so much more than a diagnostic.” when abby stopped talking you pecked her lips, “thank you.” you said and hugged her again, “you don’t need to be thankful babe, i just doing my job.” “well you do a very good job.” she giggled, “it’s because i fucking love it.”

dividers by @byuvly

[onepiece-polls]

One Piece Crack Ship War - Semi Finals!

CoraBelle art by @halacska-fins

Propaganada under the cut.

CoraBelle:

A surprisingly popular ship considering they never interacted, but I see the appeal. Both former Marines, both loving and caring adoptive parents.

Two of the best parents in One Piece, imagine if they both lived and raised a happy little mixed family together.

Best adoptive Dad + Best adoptive Mom. I think they would vibe.

Cora is Bell-mere's malewife failure and she loves him. She enjoys making him flustered and tripping him up. He is just heads over heels in love with her, he loves her so much Just the thought of Bell-mere making a man who's twice her size completely melt for her fills me with joy. They were both apart of the Marines and ended up adopting children while on the job. I'm not exactly sure who died first but learning about your lover's death (if it wasn't covered up) is amazing angst potential. They're watching over their kids in the afterlife together.

Dead serial adopting Marines smokers, what else is there to say?

hi i’m back with my corabelle agenda. these two are a match made in heaven. literally. they have so many narrative parallels, it hurts. they both sacrificed themselves for their adoptive kids’ longevity, they’re both former marines who deserted their positions in order to give these kids a better life. they were both killed by a flintlock, and their last words to their kids were “i love you.” !!! it’s uncanny!! they could have known each other when they were marines, too! bell-mere is just one year older than rosinante. they were from different blues, but there’s a chance they could have run into each other or even trained together for a period of time. bell-mere would be the perfect friend for a young rosinante who’s preoccupied and stressed over his brother. in terms of personality, that’s where we get some of that juicy opposites-attract theory into play. they do have a lot in common tho! some common flaws, (hotheaded, a bit irrational, impulsive), and some common strengths as well, (determined, fearless, values the strength of a smile)! but otherwise, bell-mere isn’t afraid to lay the flirt on and seems a bit more extroverted, where rosinante is a little more reserved and keeps a very small circle of friends, (literally one and it’s sengoku). someone direct like bell-mere could easily draw him out of his shell, and someone down-to-earth and occasionally goofy like rosinante could help keep her grounded.

Both marines with rough lives who seemingly picked up children when they weren’t expecting it. Bellemere would make a great mom to Law and Corazon would make a great dad to Nami and Nojiko. Both of them would bond over the bullshit of the world!!

Art by @gendervapor14

Zeff x Sora:

Sanji should get to have two loving parents.

Let the good Sanji parents raise him (and maybe the rest of Vinsmokes) together.

They're both Sanji's parental figures. Sora, Zeff, and Sanji would've made such a cute family together, and Zeff would've treated Sora the way she deserved to be treated. Just imagine an AU where Sora survived and escaped with Sanji into the East Blue! And then meeting Zeff! It would be adorable.

I just think it would be nice if Sanji had two parents that loved him and that they love each other.

I think sora deserves a husband who's not the worst person on the face of the planet and who loves her and her son unconditionally is all.

Dailyrebranded's au is everything to me. Imagine Sora escaping and raising her children with Best Dad Zeff. They are adorable, the food and meals metaphors are through the roof, and Sora lives!

[spacerockfloater]

hi! i noticed you learnt about what ryan condal said regarding blood and cheese. it was…something. i would like to know your thoughts on the matter. though it would be completely understandable if you need sometime to gather them together or if you would rather not at all! thank you and bye!

Hello beloved, thank you so much for asking me! I’d love to share my opinion!

If anyone’s wondering, @rhaenelle is referring to this interview where Ryan Condal essentially says he believes that Blood & Cheese’s brutality and heinousness was exaggerated by the Greens in a propagandistic attempt to convince their subjects that Rhaenyra and Daemon are the worst villains ever born, hence why he toned the event down; to show us what he thinks is the accurate version of Jaehaerys’ murder.

Now, I am aware that Condal had already warned us that HOTD was going to be a feminist retelling of the events of F&B, which practically means that his plan has always been to whitewash the everlasting fuck out of Rhaenyra. So what do I think about this?

Well, for starters, I think that Ryan Condal is an excellent businessman. He knows what kind of tropes are going to make the audience engage with his show. He understands that people need a hero to cheer for and a villain to hate, therefore he removed the moral ambiguity from all of the characters and divided them into two categories: the Blacks, enlightened revolutionaries full of passion, deserving of admiration and correct in everything they do, and the Greens, pious fools with a moral superiority complex who are stack in the ways of the past and commit despicable crimes. The average viewer does not possess the intelligence to comprehend that both parties have their good and bad moments, and that they’re both correct in fighting for what each believes is rightfully theirs. Simultaneously, he benefits from the modern trends that want women in media to take revenge when they are wronged and emerge as triumphant girlbosses, because of course a white upper class woman’s suffering in a western world (or Westeros) society has everything to do with her gender and nothing to do with her personality or decisions (even if this works solely for Rhaenyra, because Alicent seems to be held accountable for every single one of her actions). Finally, it is obvious that Condal is trying to appease disgruntled Daenerys fans, so he has rebuilt Rhaenyra into this tortured martyr that wishes to change the world for the better in an attempt to make her resemble her great granddaughter six times removed.

For all of these reasons, I find it very logical that he is going out of his way to minimise the tragedy the Greens experience. It just doesn’t make Rhaenyra look good and honestly, who wants that? The producers saw how unhappy Danny’s stans were when they made her lose her shit; they’re not going to make the same mistake twice. They don’t want their show to tank like the last season of GOT did, so they’ll do everything in their power to keep the audience happy. And it’s working! What’s the last thing Condal says in this clip? “You kinda start rooting for [Blood and Cheese]!” and boy oh boy, the TB stans sure do! Literally hundreds of memes that rejoiced at Jaehaerys’ death were posted on X this week, with tens of thousands of likes. But when Lucerys died, it was presented as the most foul thing to ever happen in the ASOIAF universe. It is the TB supporters that dictate which child murder is good and which is bad, and that decision usually depends on which child came out Rhaenyra’s womb, not let’s say, the fact that one kid was a toddler that could barely walk, while the other was a teenager that laughed at the disabled person he mutilated himself.

It’s all just marketing

That being said, I want to clarify that I understand why Condal and the HOTD producers do what they do, but being a good entrepreneur does not necessarily make you a literary genius. Now, I’m not gonna explain why stripping Rhaenyra off of every character trait that made her interesting is a bad decision and that in their attempt to remove the blame from her so that they can elevate her as this righteous patron of feminism, they’re accidentally removing all of her agency and turning her simply into a victim, because I have a whole blog dedicated to that. But let’s just say that presenting Rhaenyra as this sexually liberated idol that’s incapable of evil, when in fact she’s an entitled aristocrat who’s completely at the mercy of men around her, from her father to her husbuncle, is the most performative activism move ever pulled in recent TV history, as well as pushing the narrative that Alicent suffers from internalised misogyny because duh, a woman can only be good and a feminist if she supports Rhaenyra, not when she pursues her own interests.

Ultimately, I think we just have to accept that this show is not meant for TG fans. We are not going to find any satisfaction in it. Everything that was unique and admirable about the Greens in the book has vanished. Their family dynamic is fucked up, Alicent’s children hate her, Aegon and Halaena cannot stand one another, Alicent is constantly a victim and never someone that chases her own ambitions, Halaena is very vague, Aemond appears to be more angsty than angry, Aegon is a stupid rapist, Jaehaerys’ death was turned into a mockery, Alicole was weaponised in order to make us shit on Alicent and Criston even more and so on. This show barely caters to us because we’re not making them any money.

The reason that there are more TB than TG stans is because (I’m gonna get so much fucking hate for this) most people who watch TV are fucking morons. I swear, when F&B came out 6 years ago, no one gave a flying fuck about Rhaenyra, because we all understood that everyone involved in the Dance of the Dragons was fucked up in their own way and that the message of this story, just like the general message of ASOIAF, is that nobody deserves to sit on that fucking throne. We were all in agreement about that. But then this fucking show came along and all the oblivious simpletons that swallowed whatever the producers shoved down their throats, grabbed the book and decided that “Woah, this book is obviously a critique on patriarchy and Rhaenyra is obviously the victim of the story”! As if GRRM, the man who said that he doesn’t sit down and think “Oh, I’m going to write a woman now” but instead he believes women to be people just like men, with complex personalities, would ever do that. And they just can’t believe that it is possible for book!Rhaenyra to be an evil racist classist full of entitlement! Surely it must be because the Greens are rewriting history! There’s no way GRRM, the man that created Cersei fucking Lannister, would ever make a female character that’s vicious and crazy just because she feels like it! Y’all need to sit down for a moment. I say this as a radical feminist that supports the 4B movement: you’re projecting your own ideas onto George’s work. Not all the media we consume has to reflect our ideologies, but if you think that it has to, then this book isn’t the anti misogynistic masterpiece you wish it was.

Like, when it comes to F&B, I am firmly anti Targaryen and did not wish for any side to win. I wanted them all wiped out to be honest. But when it comes to HOTD, I’m TG basically out of spite at this point.

All in all, I just think that things are going to go downhill for us from this point on. They’ll just keep glorifying the Blacks until the very end.

[fawnsmagicalisland]

oh my god your blog theme is so beautiful it’s giving temptation 🥰🥰

I follow your bnd acc and I love love love the way you write them! And I see you write for &team which is great since not many people do 😭

So I was wondering, if you take requests, how do you think Nicholas would deal with coming home to you after a long day of practice? I see him as a switch so in I think in this case he would let you take control and make him feel good but I ask for you to expand on this idea!

If you don’t take requests that’s fine too, I’ll be supporting your future works 🫶🏽

EEEEEK nonnie tysm for your sweet compliments!! 🥰 i'm so happy you're happy with my work!!! 🤧🤭 also i definitely did use txt’s temptation concept as inspo hehe. and i do take requests, yes yes! i LOVE this idea when i saw it i squealed n giggled… kicking my feet, twirling my hair, etc. but anyway let’s just get into it. hope you enjoy! <3

warnings: smut, mdni!, switch!nicholas but really only focuses on him as a sub in this scenario, just some thoughts not a full fic, afab!reader but no pnouns used, praise, oral (reader receiving), edging (idol receiving)

wc: 550

nicholas gives me switch vibes too! sometimes domming is too much work, so he just wants to be subby for you. :( in any case, he loves things to be taken slow. i think he’d be a pretty romantic guy in the sense that for him, sex is more than just the physicality. it’s about the emotions as well. 

when nicholas comes home to you after a tiring day of practice, all he wants is to be coddled. this man lives for giving you compliments, and also receiving them from you. when you run your fingers through his hair with his head on your lap, telling him about how proud he makes you, he immediately goes into a subspace. 

nicholas has a tendency to get overstimulated after a long day–who wouldn’t?--and his best way to cope with that is via sex. there’s something about combating a negative overstimulating environment with a positive overstimulating one that has him hooked. even if he’s had a long, tiring day, he’s still got enough energy to last him for a couple of hours. 

he loves to eat you out on days like that. he loves it when you’re a bit rough and needy about it too–bucking your hips into his face as he desperately tries to keep up a rhythm. he eventually gives up though, instead just allowing you to use his face. 

he also likes to bury his face in between your boobs. it’s both comforting and so hot to him. he loves marking up your skin too while looking up at you with adoration as you ride his cock. 

i think he’d be a soft sub, not very bratty. especially when he’s tired–he’d rather direct his energy toward making you, and therefore him, feel good. he loves putting a lot of care into making you feel good because sometimes he feels like he could just cum from the sound of your moans alone. 

he does appreciate being told what to do, but he would be a bit whiny if you told him to not touch you. nicholas loves to always have his hands on you–whether it’s holding your hand or fondling your boobs. i think that’s the only time he would be “bratty.” he knows that he’s sexy, though, so he knows that even if you try to be more strict during sex, you’ll probably fold for him. 

extra thoughts: 

he wouldn’t mind edging–especially if it means he can still touch you.

he would prefer, whether he’s dom or sub for the evening, to light some candles and turn on music to make things even more romantic. 

he is desperate when it comes to making you cum. he prefers for you to cum before him, maybe even twice or three times. 

he’s big on power imbalances, so i think he’d always like things as either he’s dom and you’re sub or he’s sub and you’re dom. sometimes the positions may switch during sex, but they’re still present nonetheless. 

speaking of positions… i think he’d love trying different ones. one position i think he’d really like is when making out, having you straddle his lap while on your knees, hovering above him. he’s really tall, so he kind of likes it when things are flipped and he’s the one looking up at you.

[lilgarbitch]

Nick Folio Alphabet Head-canons

Thot Tags: @theanarchymuse95 @dontwantthemoney @badomensgoodomens @blade-dressed-in-red @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @thatchickwiththecamera @tosoundlessdarkistare @lacy1986 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @death-ofpeace-ofmind @fadingangelwisp @heyyoplayer @super-btstrash-posts @chey-h @bluehairpunklol @geminigirlfromfinland @lovesick-evangelist

(If you don’t want to be tagged in headcanons lmk)

18+ ! MDNI below the cut.

A- Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

An absolute sweetheart. Even while he’s still panting, sweat dripping down his face, he’s kissing you and telling you how much he loves you. He’ll hold you close until you’re ready to move and then follows you to the bathroom to make sure you’re okay, even if you’re completely fine. But Folio likes going hard, so you learned quickly that there’s no privacy between you two as he makes sure he didn’t hurt you, having accidentally made you bleed once or twice without either of you realizing.

B- Body Part (Their favorite body part of their partner)

Ass. Everything about it. It’s where his hands land every time he’s hugging you. If you’re lying down, he’s kneading it like a stress ball. And his favorite part is where your ass meets your thighs. The fold of the fat causing his eyes to follow it until it meets between your legs. He’s instantly hard every time it catches his attention. He’ll be grabbing your ass, letting his thumbs fall into the crease and dragging them along until they meet between your thighs, rubbing his fingers against you.

C- Cum (Anything to do with cum)

This man goes absolutely feral at the thought of cumming inside you. He doesn’t always do it, and when he does, he makes sure to be safe about it, but just the thought of spilling deep inside you has his head spinning.

D- Dirty Secret (Hidden kinks and fantasies)

He’s terrified to bring it up, but the thought of being called Daddy would probably make him pass out with how fast it’d turn him on. It’s just the perfect mix of lewd dominance.

E- Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s never been the type to sleep around, despite it fitting with his love for partying and socializing, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t skilled. He’s not a guy who likes to half ass anything. If he has an interest, he does research on it, so he’s definitely knowledgeable on how to make a girl feel good.

F- Favorite position (Self explanatory)

Mating press 100%. Being able to see your face as he pumps deep inside of you will always be his favorite. Being able to glance down and have where your bodies connect, him completely filling you, on display for both of you just drives him insane. And he knows you love it, too.

G- Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment or are they willing to joke around with their partner?)

The two of you are giggling the entire time. Laugh filled kisses and tripping over each other as you tear your clothes off one another. Up until the moment all the two of you can do is moan, it’s all smiles and chuckles.

H- Hair (How well groomed are they?)

Routinely trims. With constantly using his legs on the drums, both clean shaves and long hair don’t mix with the movements.

I- Intimacy (How romantic can they be in the moment?)

An absolute cheeseball leading up to it. Nothing is ever too serious when it comes to showing you his appreciation for you, so there’s no candles or rose petals or Marvin Gaye playing in the background, but he absolutely fucking adores you and will let you know every way he can.

J- Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Truthfully, he doesn’t do it much unless he’s away from you. Even on nights where you don’t want to do anything and he’s turned on, he’s happy to just cuddle for the night. (Except he’s very convincing, so after having his hands on you, the need for you in every move he makes, how he holds you and how he grips at your waist or presses against you, you happily change your mind) But on the nights when he is away, he has a whole private folder just of you. Of pictures of outfits you’ve sent him. Little teases you send as surprises. Even a video or two, either of him pounding into you or of you looking absolutely gorgeous blowing him.

K- Kink (One or more they’re open about)

Fully convinced he has a breeding kink. (Heavily related to needing to cum inside you, heavily unrelated to the Daddy kink) Not to the point where he truly fantasizes about making you pregnant, but just knowing he has the power to. The risk of it all, too. That moments leading up to and the moment when he spills inside you, his mind turns animalistic, bouncing between the thoughts of the gamble of it all and the pure primal need.

L- Location (Favorite places to fuck)

If you asked him, he’d never decide on an answer. Because the bedroom isn’t as fun as a quickie in an empty bathroom. But doing it in public takes his mind off of you because he’s always paying attention to his surroundings, making sure no one sees you. A backseat of a car fuck is great, but there’s no room to change position. Everything has pros and cons. Eventually, he’d just say that he has to try every surface of every room to help him decide.

M- Motivation (What turns them on/ gets them going?)

What doesn’t turn him on when you’re around? Not to the point of him constantly trying to make a move or only ever focusing on sex, but just having you near him sparks a match inside his body. It’s never anything specific that you do, either. You simply exist and he wants you. He wants you as close to him as possible. To feel the energy that your presence gives him.

N- No (Turn offs)

Basics. Not into bodily fluids other than squirting. Definitely into the idea of being rough with you, and if something turns you on, he can quickly get behind it, too, but it still reaches a point. Wouldn’t purposely hurt you too bad.

O- Oral (Preference on giving/receiving, skill, etc.)

I’ll keep repeating it, he is one dedicated mfer. He learns his skills, he has focus, and could probably go for hours. He aims to please and more than anything, needs to hear you, both for his ego and because he just wants you enjoying every second of it. With receiving, he’s more than happy. Unless it’s an offered quick bj, he probably won’t let himself get off, pulling you off so you two could finish together, but the sight of you going down on him is something he wishes he could stare at for days. The feel of your mouth around him has his mind spinning in seconds. Definitely the easiest way to make him vocal, too.

P- Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)

90% of the time, fast and rough. But it never takes away from sensuality of it all. He doesn’t need to go slow to get you to really feel the love and adoration he’s putting into it. The effort and care is still there, despite the fact that your mind is most of the time too numb to even witness it. You still feel it. The way he holds you. How he speaks to you. Especially the way he looks at you and reacts to you.

Q- Quickie (Their preference on quickies, how often, etc.)

If the two of you have even the sliver of a chance of sneaking away without being caught, you’re having a quickie. Something about slipping away from the group and finding a small quiet place for a few minutes gets both of you worked up. And people have caught on. Anytime someone notices that the two of you are both missing at the same time, they know what’s most likely happening. But they can’t even be mad. There’s never evidence, you’re barely gone for 5, maybe 10 minutes, and you come back like nothing happened. Besides the wide grin on his face, possible knotted hair, and the fact that you’re squeezing your thighs together, no one would ever be able to tell.

R- Risk (Are they down to experiment with their partner? Do they take risks?)

It’s Nick Folio. That man would eat a live bug for 5 bucks. If there’s something you want to do, he’s willing to do anything. And once he’s comfortable with you, he really means anything.

S- Stamina (How many rounds can they go? How long do they last?)

He’s a drummer. Have you seen how fit he is? He uses his arms and legs nonstop for an hour while on stage. When practicing or playing for fun, he can go for even longer. Between the stamina and focus he holds, you’re already so long gone by the time he’s done with you that you didn’t even try to count how many “rounds” he went. And on nights where he’s extra worked up and desperate for you, not lasting very long, he simply has you cumming over and over again until he’s ready to go again.

T- Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On just their partner or on themselves, too?)

A chance to pleasure you more? Sign him the fuck up. If he sees something online that he wants you to try out, he immediately buys it. You now have a collection for him to use on you and for you to use when you’re alone. And he is anything but opposed to having you use one on him. Once, while seeing just how good you looked like you felt as he held a vibrator to you while fucking you, he had the idea of you using it on him. And the next day, he had a vibrating cock ring in his cart.

U- Unfair (How much of a tease are they?) 

If he’s in a playful mood, he’s absolutely going to tease you. Whispering things in your ear, preparing you for when you get home. Wrapping his arms around you and giving you his signature ass squeeze, letting his hands wander if you’re out of sight from others, but then leaving after a quick peck and a small chuckle. But he only does it because you do, too. And when you tease him, it’s so much worse, so it’s only fair he gets back at you eventually.

V- Volume (How loud are they? What sounds do they make?)

Sounds aren’t always guaranteed, but boy, is he vocal. He’s talking you through it every step of the way. He never feels embarrassed to ask questions. He’s always encouraging you to make noise (unless it’s a quickie) so he knows just how good he’s making you feel. Oh, but when he is making sounds; when you’re making him feel so fucking good, you want nothing more than to make him louder. The choked groans and the soft grunts. The shuttered breath every time he slides into you. When you’re in control, either on top or sucking him off, and he’s getting close, the most beautiful whimper leaves his lips. It’s like his mind is barely working enough to let him breathe, but a dragged out whine still escapes.

W- Wild Card (Random headcanon I have)

He loves dry humping. Those sloppy make out sessions where he’s grabbing at you, pulling you onto his lap and rocking your hips against his. Where neither of you know which to focus on more: the kiss or the movement. Every time a kiss gets a little too heated, it’s almost impossible to stop him. He needs to feel your body against his more than he needs air. Even better if you’re on a couch or bed and he can gently lay you down, holding you tight as he leans between your legs, and start grinding against you without even realizing.

X- X-Ray (What’s happening under those clothes?)

Average/ possibly above average. But ever since I heard the term “Thick Dick Nick” a few months ago, it’s all I can think about. The girth is what you love about it. How he fills you, hitting every spot. The stretch. The struggle when you give him head. How your fingers just barely touch when you hold him.

Y- Yearning (How high is their sex drive? How badly do they need their partner when they’re turned on?)

You and only you: that’s all that’s on his mind most days. It’s not that he has a high sex drive, it’s just that you do it to him. The thought of you. The sight of you. The sound of you. You. And when his mind is set on you, god, he needs you so bad.

Z- Zzz (How quickly do they fall asleep after)

Quickies seem to give him more energy, like a quick refresher before going about his day. But for nights where it’s just the two of you alone at home, once you’re both cleaned up and comfortable, he’s out like a light. That man goes way too hard when he’s enthusiastic about something. He doesn’t even realize how tired he is until his heart rate finally slows again and he’s already snoring away.

[damiansgoodgirll]

can you please write an Damian Priest X Fem Reader Fic,

Both are dating, and they are at Dom's Wedding and when they are sitting together at there table Damian takes her hand kissed her knuckles and said "next time I'm wearing a suit will be our wedding"

(no engagement just damian admitting he wants to spend the rest of his life with her)

love this request

damian priest x reader

in love with this pic

my forever

“they’re so beautiful…” you whispered watching with teary eyes marie and dom dancing together. deep down you always wanted something like that too. your happy ending, spending the rest of your life with your forever person.

you were almost sure that you found that person in damian.

almost.

you’ve been dating for the past three years and even in it wasn’t that long, you dreamed every night about being married to damian and having your own little family.

maybe with a dog, a few cats and a baby. that was your dream but you didn’t know if he felt the same. watching how buddy and rhea had been together for less than you two and they were next on the altar made you think that maybe damian wasn’t that kind of person. you thought that maybe having you by his side was enough for him.

but you couldn’t stop imagining yourself with a diamond ring and a white wedding dress, saying yes to the love of your life.

“yes…they are” he said watching proudly damian dancing with the beautiful bride.

“plus…look at the dress” you laughed “it’s amazing! it looks so good on her” and damian smiled agreeing with you.

“well…i kinda prefer the blue dress you’re wearing tonight…” he teased making you chuckle.

“you look pretty handsome tonight…” you teased back but before he could answer, austin called him cause they needed to take a few pictures with dom.

“i’ll be back” he said getting up from his chair, leaving you there, watching how everyone was approaching the bride, complimenting her, making her feel special.

you shouldn’t be upset so why were you? was it selfish wishing you would experience the same thing?

you smiled at her when she waved at you, not wanting you to feel excluded.

but you were dying to be in her shoes.

it took a good fifteen minutes to finish up with the photoshoot when you saw damian walking back at your table with a glass of champagne for you.

“for the most beautiful woman in the room” he whispered in your ear, making you laugh.

“you shouldn’t say things like this at someone’s wedding…the bride could hear you” you joked.

“can’t help it when you really are the most beautiful woman in this room…in the entire world” he said again, making you laugh even more.

maybe you didn’t need to marry him, you felt good about your relationship that maybe you didn’t need to have a wedding, in the end it’s you and him right?

while you were overthinking damian slowly grabbed your hand “what are you thinking about mi amor?” he asked seeing how you’ve been acting off the whole wedding ceremony.

“nothing important…it’s just an emotional day…weddings always make me cry and laugh at the same time, and then cry again…plus i can’t tear my eyes away from how good that suit looks good on you…” you teased again.

“next time i’m wearing a suit will be at our wedding” he said kissing your hand.

“what?”

“you heard me right…” he smiled.

you were speechless.

“you want to marry me? like…do you really want to get married? i thought-…” you couldn’t even speak.

“i know i know, the rockstar lifestyle thing” he joked “but i love you, i love you more than anything in the world…and i want to spend the rest of my life with you…so yes, if you want it…”

“of course…” you said not thinking about it twice.

“you’ll be the one in white…” he whispered into your ear.

“i’ll be the one in white…” you repeated, still shocked about what just happened.

you’ll be the one in white and you couldn’t wait for it to happen.

[foreverdjh]

terrible influence tour | 04/02/2025

(sorry for the two month delay in posting this)

it happened again. can you believe i started this account desperately posting about how badly i wanted to meet dan, never thinking it possible, and now i’ve met him not once but twice?

tit glasgow was truly the best experience of my life that even three days (or … two months) on, i don’t want to accept that it’s over. it was very different from my wad experience as i actually made friends before tit (shoutout to the queephs) who i met on dan and phil twitter and have seen pretty regularly for the last few months.

i was determined to go all out on the tifit after not committing as much as i would’ve liked for wad, so after months of planning i was so happy with how my outfit came out - my we’re all doomed longsleeve, black denim skirt, leather jacket, and my docs with purple laces, complete with purple eye makeup, nails, and the most gorgeous patterned tights. i’ve never really put a whole outfit together for an event like this before but i had such a fun time doing it. i also bought the tour t-shirt and hoodie whilst i was there, along with my vip merch bag.

i met dan and phil with my best friend lucas and honestly our meet and greet couldn’t have gone better. everything was so much clearer than expected (shoutout to sarah for recording) and really accommodating. i had them sign the time i got locked out of my twitter account for calling dan a whore (during the interval at wad😭😭) and made him laugh, and also the birth certificates for our build-a-bear children, dip and pip. we brought dip and pip for the photos and dan and phil loved them so much!! dan called them his children and told us give them good lives. we got group photos and individual photos which i will be gatekeeping for now apart from that photo of dan because he’s just too pretty not to share. i actually remembered to give them their letters (and a late birthday card for phil) which i’d prepared, unlike last time when i completely forgot. i didn’t get the chance for them to write out the tattoos i had planned but it was honestly the perfect m&g. they’re both so sweet and take genuine interest in what you have to say. i couldn’t be happier.

the preshow was also amazing. i seem to find that impulse questions are the way to go as i panic-wrote “thoughts on our gropuchat being called the queefs?” (we were all at the show), and dan suggested that we rename it queephs with a ph. which of course i immediately did. i love him. and here’s our preshow photo which im actually visible in this time!!

the show was, of course, amazing. dan was absolutely born to be on stage, he’s so beautiful under those stage lights and you can really see that look of pure adoration in him that i’ve seen in so many other performers, myself included, so many times. it truly makes me theatre kid heart so happy.

i traded so many bracelets in the interval because i truly had made so many (too many) (like genuinely however many you’re imagining, it’s Worse).

no spoilers but it’s such a good show that i can’t to see again when the recording eventually comes out (lmao i wrote this so long ago). after the show it was back to the hotel with my friends for a hilarous games night, and wetherspoons the next day to conclude an unforgettable couple of days.