#blankets and books and budding friendships oh my!

[stones-x-bones]

Blankets and Books and Budding Friendships, Oh My! || Sophie and Bex

TIMING: About a month ago (Before Bex was attacked by Kyle) PARTIES: @scribesophie and @inbextween SUMMARY: Sophie invites Bex over for some fun blanket for building time, but she accidentally leaves a few “strange” books out, and the two get talking. CONTENT: Family death mentions (Sibling, Parental)

Sophie seemed like a nice person, albeit a little awkward. But Bex had little room to talk on that front. She was usually pretty amiable with people, but it was all a front. That was never the real her. And although she was good at keeping that front up, sometimes it was too difficult, or she was too tired. And man was she tired these days. It was probably because she refused to sleep solidly through the night, in case she fell back into that dream world she couldn’t escape from. The things she saw there still haunted her mind, even in her waking moments, but so much more so when her eyes closed and sleep tried to claim her. She mostly slogged through her days with extra caffeine and splashes of cold water to the face. More than a few times she’d fallen asleep in class just long enough for her head to hit the desk. But she didn’t have to worry about any of that right now-- not false appearances, not falling asleep at a desk, not dreaming of darkness and isolation. Now, she was just going over to a potential friend’s house to build a book fort and just have some simple fun. What a wild concept, she thought. Doing something just for fun. The last thing she’d done just for fun was with Mina, but did it really count if before that they’d shared a somber moment by the poolside? She wasn’t sure. She also wasn’t sure she’d gotten the right address, as she looked up at the large towering house before her. She hadn’t expected it to be so big, but Sophie had said she lived in a large house, all by herself. How lonely. Bex could relate to that. She lifted her hand and knocked, before stepping back to wait. When the front door creaked open and a face peered out at her, she gave a small wave. “Hi, Sophie? It’s Bex! Am I early?”

This was going to be fine and normal. Most of the people Sophie had talked to online seemed fine. Bex was nice. She was friendly and normal and hadn’t called her weird yet. Making a book fort was a totally cool and normal thing for people to do. Maybe if Sophie thought it enough times, it would sound true. She had piled a number of good books in the living room, big, sturdy ones that could survive a little stacking. There were a number of blankets and pillows she had piled onto the sofa as well, after giving them a thorough wash. Some of them refused to smell any less musty though, even after a few trips through the laundry. And then there was the hotdog sheet… which was not to be used in any sort of book related activity at all and had been banished to the closet. The knock was as surprising as any knock ever was, but Sophie didn’t hesitate before rushing to answer. “Hi. That’s me. No, now is good. Come in.” She stepped back, pulling the door with her, motioning for Bex to follow her inside. “I’ve got fort stuff in here. Oh, and food in the kitchen. Or we can order something, sometimes the pizza guys get lost trying to find the house though.” She was babbling and she knew it. But it had suddenly struck her as she led the way back into the living room, that some of the books she had selected would beg a few questions. Most were in languages she was willing to bet Bex wouldn’t know, but a few were very much in English and their titles seemed to stare her down as she led Bex closer to the pile. “So, um, where do you want to make the fort?”

Bex followed Sophie in and tried her best to not let her wandering gaze be too obvious. Bex also lived in a rather large, rather old house, but hers was maintained with such detail and vigor, she forgot how big and old it was sometimes. And how little of it she actually lived in. Sophie’s house was...emptier. Not that that was a bad thing, but as soon as they’d made it to the living room, the hominess of the place finally settled in. This room felt lived in, and the stacks of books were empirical proof of it, had Sophie not been standing next to the stack as well. “Oh, um, sure! Whatever you’ve got for food is fine! I don’t really eat much pizza, and I’d really hate for someone to get lost trying to find their way here.” Her driver almost had, after all. She let her gaze drift down to the stacks of books Sophie had set out and came over, tracing some of the spines. “Um, well-- here is probably fine? I can’t say I’ve built many ah...book forts? Or forts of any kind, actually,” she rambled, knitting her brows together. “Have you?”

“Some, but it’s been a while. I might be out of practice. When I made them before, I always had help.” Sophie stopped there. Better not to get into who used to help and why they weren’t there anymore. She had already told Bex probably too much online. This wasn’t an in person talk she was ready to have. It might never be. Grabbing a few larger books, she started to make a stack a few feet from the couch. “You can read some too, if you want. Dual purpose building materials. Or if you want to look at other books, you can. Some of them are… weird. My family was really into myths and ancient history.” As if that would explain the shelves full of detailed werewolf diagrams and fae migration history. At least most of those books were in other rooms. The living room was a little more normal, or as close to normal as any of the books got. Sort of an intro to scribe texts, a gentle easing into it for the uninitiated. Still there were a few noticeably odd titles. And Sophie had hauled in a few questionable grimoires herself for fort purposes. Maybe Bex wouldn’t look at them that closely. “So, um, it looks nice out today.” Great work on the small talk.

“Well, guess we can just figure it out together, then!” Bex said, giving a toothy smile. She wanted to ask about who else Sophie had built bookforts with, but she had a guess from what they’d talked about before, and she didn’t want to upset the other girl already and ruin any chance of friendship. Bex needed more friends. She perked up at the mention of ancient history. “Really? Do you have a lot of books on history?” She was unable to hide her eagerness, as she started sifting through books, looking for anything that might catch her eye, setting aside the other ones to help use to build the fort. She tried to copy Sophie and set down a small pillar of them next to the couch, opposite hers. “Like this?” she asked, giving a little flourish to try and show off her pile. At the mention of the weather, Bex couldn’t help but giggle. “It is, yeah. But, you know, you don’t have to talk about the weather if you don’t want to. Not that I mind small talk, but trust me, there’s not much you could say here to scare me off.” She gave the other girl a gentle smile. “Besides, I’d rather talk about books or history or, uhh--” she picked up a random book and read off the title-- “In Spirit: A Guide To The Most Common Spectral Habits.”

“Oh, yeah. Lots. Um, that’s what most of the library is. You can look through them if you want.” That was probably fine. History was good. People could talk about that, normal people. Sophie let a half smile sneak into place. Bex actually sounded like she meant that, not the sort of fake ‘oh that’s nice dear’ sentiments she had always gotten as a child. That was… kind of cool. Maybe inviting over near strangers from the internet wasn’t such a bad idea after all. “Yeah, just like that. Bigger books on bottom. Don’t want them falling over. Bookalanches can be deadly.” That was sort of a relief. Sophie was pretty sure she was actually allergic to small talk. If she had to ask about some sports team, she would probably break out in hives. “Okay. Cool. I’m not so good at that. The talking. I don’t go outside. Well, not ever. Sometimes I need food.” And there was the babbling. She busied herself making another little stack as Bex inspected the books. Oh. Oh no. Sophie slowly turned, her thoughts suddenly going in sluggish slow motion as she tried to find an excuse. “Uh…. yeah.” Is what she came up with. “Some of the books are, uh, obscure. Weird stuff. Collector’s items. The house isn’t haunted. In case you were wondering.” Sophie had to use all of her self control to not smack herself in the face with the book she had been about to add to her stack. 

“Really?” Bex said, unable to hide the eagerness that pitched her voice higher than normal. She paused, cleared her throat, and readjusted. “I mean, if you’re sure? I’d love to. I’m kind of a big history buff, but not like, in the weird, ‘I’m obsessed with World War two’ buff kind of way. Like, ancient history! And the history of human evolution and culture! And, um, just a forewarning, if you get me started, I might not stop. I tend to um, ramble sometimes. So, sorry in advance!” Bex gathered up another stack of books, like Sophie instructed-- biggest on the bottom, smallest on top-- and set them in a pile next to her first one. “You know, this isn’t so hard. I thought maybe book forts were going to be more complicated than I could manage, but I guess if you know what you’re doing, it helps, huh?” She turned to smile over at Sophie again before picking up a book from the pile and glancing over it. The word stuck out to her like a red stain, but she didn’t say anything at first. Cautiously, she opened the book and skimmed through the table of contents. She looked up, blinking. “Sorry, um-- haunted? Oh, no, I mean-- you did kind of make it sound a little haunted, but, really, I wouldn’t have minded either way.” She glanced back down at the book in her hands. “Do you believe in magic?” she asked suddenly.

“Yeah. Books are meant to be read. We have a lot on… a bunch of different cultures. Do you have a focus? That’s okay. Rambling is good, it means you care about the thing.” Sophie knew that all too well. She had used to be a rambler. Now it was hard to find the words, harder to find anyone who would want to hear them… hardest to actually will herself to say much at all. But maybe she could try with Bex. Or try to try. Baby steps. She shrugged a little. “It’s mostly book stacking. And finding places to wedge the blankets so they stay up. Not very technical. Uh oh. Bex picked one of the weird books to look through. Abort mission. Why would she say anything about the house being not haunted? Of course that would make it sound extra haunted. Which it might be. Sophie hadn’t checked. The house had been there for so long, had been so lived in, it was more likely than not that it was at least a little haunted in certain corners. “Uh.” That was a bad question. It was definitely a trap. Sophie fidgeted with the book in her own hands 1000 Common Herbs and Where to Find Them. She should have offered to trade books. “Sort of. Do you? There’s, um, a lot of things that happen here that science can’t really explain. Um, well, not just here. Lots of places. But sometimes also here a lot. I’m not magic. But I think some things are. Some people too. So… yeah.” That was a very normal answer, nothing weird about that. 

“Oh, no,” Bex said, shaking her head, “I’m not actually studying history. It’s just a hobby of mine. Or, um-- interest? I just...really like history and anthropology and stuff like that. Like Lora Croft, except I can’t climb mountains or shoot a bow and arrow. Or...do anything athletic like that.” She felt herself getting back into her pattern of rambling about things that didn’t make sense, so she slowed herself down and readjusted. “Oh, well, I guess that’s true. The-- rambling thing. I never really thought about that. Most people just tell me to stop talking, and my mom often tells me it’s not becoming of a lady to talk so much.” She fiddled with the book in her hands as she talked, trying to not let the bitterness in her voice show too much. She’d never been very good at hiding her emotions, but she could easily pretend. She looked over at Sophie as she waited for an answer, noting that she, too, was fidgeting. Seemed they had that in common. She was quiet for a moment, after Sophie finished talking, and she set the book in her hands down. “I don’t know,” she answered finally, “doesn’t it just feel...like a cop out?” she asked, looking over at Sophie. “Deciding that things we can’t explain is just magic? Just leaving it at that? A lot of people have said that same thing, that-- that this town has stuff that’s hard to explain. But, like-- even if it is magic, wouldn’t you want to know? How that works? Where that magic comes from?” She stopped when she realized she was asking too many questions again. “I-- sorry. You don’t have to um...answers any of those.” She quickly stacked up a few more books and made another pillar, pushing together the three she’d made to form a small wall. “Look,” she said with a small flourish of her hand, “a wall.” Maybe they could just move on from that topic. Maybe they should.

“Hobbies are good. They can still be focused. Um, I mean… are their certain cultures or things in history you like best? It just helps to get specific. For the books. I have them organized by subject.” Bex wasn’t the only one who could ramble. Sophie shouldn’t have been so relieved that they had that in common. Talking to people was hard. Talking to pretty girls was even harder. And Bex was very pretty. Caution still weighing on her, Sophie hesitated. The whole ‘magic is real and might be hiding under your bed at night to eat you’ talk wasn’t usually a fun one. Slowly, she shrugged. “I don’t know about that. That it’s for things we can’t explain, I mean. I want to explain it. Or know how it works. That’s… that’s what some of these books are about. Understanding it, looking at the pieces and how they fit together. That’s why science isn’t magic, right? Because we know how it works. Everything can be explained, you just have to look close and figure out why it works the way it does.” She paused, setting down the book before she could worry the cover into a worse state. “It’s okay. I don’t mind. It’s… sort of my job to help with questions like that. So if you have more, I can try to help. I can’t do magic, but I know about it.” Sometimes she didn’t like that. Reading about all these fantastic things and never getting to really be part of them. But other times… most times, it seemed better that way. Less dangerous. She was watching a storm from a distance, not caught up in the middle of it. “That’s a good wall. We should make another over here. And then, uh, the blankets. For a roof.” 

“I mean, how can I choose, really? But I love the Neolithic era. There’s not many texts on it because we don’t really know a lot, but there’s a few active digs going that have discovered new ancient villages that might actually date back to the era! Can you even imagine what it’d be like to walk through one of those? To see how the first humans lived?” Bex couldn’t keep her mouth shut, could she? She paused to clear her throat and grab another few stacks of books, setting the “magic” and “ghost” texts aside for now. She slowed down a little as she contemplated Sophie’s words. “So then...how do you explain it? Um-- magic?” Her curiosity always got the best of her. It was her best and worst quality. Even if she didn’t fully believe in magic-- or that she was magic-- she was still infinitely curious. Because how couldn’t she be? She’d always been that way. Maybe there was an analogy there, but she was bad at literary comparisons. “Your job? What’s your job? How do you help people with...stuff like this?” She couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope. Maybe Sophie would have an answer, somewhere in these books, or inside her head, or maybe even in the bookfort. They would sit down and all the answers would come to Bex and she’d finally feel like she had some sort of grasp or control on her life. It was a long shot, but she could hope, right? She did as she was instructed and started stacking the books for the last wall. “Can you tell me about it? About what you um-- know about magic?” 

“Oh yeah! I mean, I can’t really imagine it, but I know what you mean. It’s really cool. I think I have some books about that, I’ll look. It’s hard to keep track of them all.” Bex’s enthusiasm was infectious. That wasn’t one of Sophie’s areas, but it was still fascinating. All history was. Every bit of it added to the bigger picture. She frowned, thinking. “It’s like… gravity. And magnetism. No… it’s more like… energy. It’s the movement and control of energy, I think. If a spellcaster is a generator, they have energy they can use to power other things, but a spellcaster is a smart generator. A battery doesn’t decide how to use its energy, but a spellcaster can. If that makes sense.” This was where words became difficult. Sophie had never cast a spell herself, she had never even thought to try. She was boring, human. Her understanding would always be limited that way. But she could still try. “I’m, um… I’m a scribe. That probably doesn’t mean anything to you. But um, there used to be a lot of people like me. People who would study these things. These books, most of them were written by scribes. We keep track of the information and we pass it on. That’s what we’re for. We study, um… things people can’t explain. And magic. I don’t know as much as a caster, but I’ve read a lot of books about it. I understand the theory. I… I could show you those books, if you want.” She turned, looking over the books she had dragged out for the fort. Most were pretty boring, the most normal she could find, but there were still some that could be useful. Grabbing one, she turned toward Bex, giving her a little smile as she held it out. “I can try to answer your questions. This is a good place to start. It’s card tricks in the beginning, but the stuff toward the end, that’s all real. Just… ask me what you want to know. If I don’t know the answer, I’m sure I have a book here that does.” 

“Oh,” was all Bex said. Sophie’s explanation actually made sense. A battery. Bex looked down at her hands and clenched and unclenched them a few times. She was a battery, a conduit for energy. Somehow, that just...made sense. It was like what the Zohar texts had talked about-- she had the energy of God inside of her, and she was a conduit for the energy, the power. Like all the mystics before her, written about in those texts. How could it have been so simple? So obvious? Why hadn’t she ever thought of it like that before? She looked back up at Sophie. “That does. Um...make sense.” She finished pushing the last bit of the book wall up before coming over to Sophie as she handed her a book. Bex took it, a tad tentatively, and glanced down at the cover. “A scribe? So, like...scholars of the supernatural?” It made sense. If something existed, someone was bound to try and study it. Bex almost found herself wanting to know how to become one of those. If human culture and history fascinated her, she couldn’t even imagine the things she’d find if she studied supernatural history. If there were even texts on it. If that was a real thing. Still...she needed to accept it was all real, first. She found something in her still pushing back, still telling her to flee. To go back to her normal life. She set the book next to her purse and came back over to Sophie. “Should we put the blanket on now?” she asked, trying to decide what-- if anything-- she wanted to ask her about. She settled on the one she’d asked almost everyone. “So...did you um-- grow up with this stuff, then? Knowing about the supernatural and, like...magic?”

It made sense? Oh, yeah. Of course it did. Sophie had thought about it a lot before, magic, but talking about it, saying the things out loud… that was new. That uncertainty with herself, it wasn’t comfortable. She had been such a know-it-all when she was younger, everyone had said so. And she hadn’t minded. No, it was a badge of honor, because sometimes, she did in fact know it all. That wasn’t something to be ashamed of. “Yeah. My family, um, they all used to be scribes too. It’s just me now, but I want to keep it going. All the books here--this is our library. We’ve been maintaining it for ages.” She grabbed a blanket at Bex’s prompting offering her one side as she set to work fixing the corners in place, pinning them between a few heavier books. “We need to secure the roof. Then we just… make it comfortable inside. I grabbed lots of pillows.” She had assembled quite the pile of them. Some were a bit musty, but they were still pretty comfortable. “I did. It’s always been my normal. Knowing about these things. It’s harder acting like I don’t know. But I know it’s tough, if you don’t grow up with it. There’s… a lot. I’ve been studying it my whole life and I still don’t know everything, I probably never will. I don’t know if anyone can.” She gave Bex a small smile. “But it’s okay to start small. When did you find out?”

“I think that’s pretty noble of you,” Bex said, watching Sophie as she grabbed the blanket and handed a side to Bex. She copied her and tucked her side under some particularly heavier looking books. “To want to keep something like this going, and...sharing it with others. Even without your family.” Bex wasn’t sure she could relate to that, but maybe Sophie’s family actually meant something to her, maybe they actually loved her the way Bex’s family was supposed to love her. Maybe she’d want to continue the family business if she could just hear them say it once. “It’s a pretty amazing collection. And I’m sure this is only a little part of it. I’d love to see the rest, some day. You know, i-if you want. If that’s okay.” She glanced over at the pillows and blankets Sophie had acquired and it began to click in her head that she would be in very close proximity with her if they actually went inside. She swallowed, cleared her throat. “Find out?” She snapped back to the current conversation, blinking. “I-- oh. You mean about...about the supernatural. Yeah. Um-- a few months ago, technically. But I uh...didn’t exactly wanna believe at first. But then a bunch of things happened and it just got harder and harder to deny any of it. I still don’t really...know how to comprehend a lot of it, but that’s why I want to read. I wanna know. I wanna learn. I wanna understand. You know?” She grabbed some of the pillows and bent down to nestle them inside the book fort. “Where um-- where you suggest starting, then? If someone wanted to...learn more.”

“It’s tough sometimes. I’m… not really a people person. My dad was, he was better at this. But… I don’t know, doing this helps me remember them. I think it’s what they would want for me.” Sophie could still remember the late nights she would stay up reading, how sometimes her father would find her still there the next morning. He always looked so proud. Maybe, if some part of him was haunting the place, he still was. “Oh. Um. Sure. Of course. That’s what it’s here for. The library, for people to look at and learn things. We can go look at it later. I’m still reorganizing things, but there’s a pretty good section about magic.” She grabbed a few pillows and ducked under the blanket setting them up in the fort. It was a little cramped now that she was inside, the forts had seemed so much bigger when she was a child. But there should still be room for the both of them. “It’s kind of hard to take in,” she said, with an understanding nod. “But that’s good, um, wanting to learn more about it. I think it gets a little less scary once you know more. It seems less… unpredictable then, I think.” She settled in, pulling one of the pillows onto her lap. Where to start? Now that was a million dollar question. She put a hand to her chin, running through the magical texts in her head. “Well, that depends on what you want to learn. For magic, I would say either start with some more theoretical texts, or if, um, you kind of learn by doing, I think there are a few books with some pretty basic spells. Can you… do magic? Oh, uh, you don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to.” 

“I don’t think you really have to be a big people person to want to share your knowledge with others,” Bex answered quietly. “I think...you can take it at your own pace, and-- as long as it’s what you wanna do, too, then...I’m sure they’d be proud.” She gave a gentle smile, she was good at those, despite the ungentle nature of her life. “I would really appreciate that, if we could.” The fort was complete and Sophie was crawling inside now. It looked cozy, if a bit cramped. That didn’t seem so bad, though. She’d learned that being close to people actually felt nice. Their warmth, their comfort. Morgan and Nell and Mina had all helped with that. She crawled in next to Sophie and leaned back, looking up at the blanket they’d chosen to cover the fort with. “Stars,” she smiled, then looked over at Sophie. “Clever.” Huh, she hadn’t expected that question. Bex drew her brows together. She needed to learn to not hate that part of herself, didn’t she? She needed to learn that it was okay to share it with others. She grabbed a pillow of her own and clutched it to her stomach. “I can,” she said into the pillow, “do magic.” Swallowed as she chanced a look at Sophie. The same expression, settled behind a frame of wire glasses. “I just found out...a few months ago. And it’s been sort of a struggle. To-- understand it all.” She unraveled her hands from the pillow and looked at her palms as if they had been hiding the answers from her the whole time. “To...connect with that part of myself. Is there-- do you have any books on that?”

“I think so too. The scribe stuff, it’s… kind of a legacy thing. Or it was, there’s not many of us now. But you would inherit your family library and add to it and then pass it on.” It might not sound like much, but it felt big. Sophie was a link in a long chain. There were diaries of grandparents and great-great-great grandparents tucked away in the library. She had added a few of her own to the pile. But even so, there was always that dread, that thought deep down. There had been such a long string of scribes before her… and she could very easily end it. The fort was comfortable, it should be. She had picked all the best blankets and pillows and left a few books inside for good measure. Looking up at the starry sheet, she smiled. That had been Oliver’s old blanket… “My brother’s,” she said, softly. “He always liked making these forts best.” That made sense, that Bex could. People usually didn’t ask unless they could or they had seen someone else do some kind of magic. She nodded slowly, taking it in. “That must be hard. I… I can’t really imagine not knowing. It’s so much. Do you, um, know what kind of magic you can do? A lot of people specialize. There’s some things that just come easier or make more sense. Magic is big. There’s a lot to know.” Brow furrowing slightly in thought, Sophie drummed her fingers on one of the ancient books. “I think so. There’s, um, a lot of diaries, witches’ diaries. I’ve read some, a lot of them had trouble coming to terms with things too. Would that help? Knowing it’s not just you?”

A legacy to pass on was something Bex could relate to, though somehow she supposed Sophie was a bit more eager to carry hers. Bex wanted nothing to do with her family’s legacy at this point, but she still felt as if her choice in the matter meant nothing. One day, they would come and whisk her away and shove her back into that life and then her dreams of this happier, freer life would be over. She settled in more, turning her head to look at Sophie. “Is it a legacy you...want to continue?” she pondered a moment. “I don’t think you should, you know...have to, if it’s not something you want to do. Even if you feel like you do.” If only she could listen to her own words. How many times had Morgan told her that, anyway? She supposed it didn’t apply to herself. Her choices weren’t real. She reached up and traced a few of the stars with her finger. “Do you make them to remind you of him?” she asked quietly, wondering what it must feel like to have had a family that loved you, only to lose them. Wondering if she’d trade what she had now for something like that. “I feel...left out, I guess. Like...this is the world I was supposed to be part of, but no one told me. They just let me go on thinking I was wrong or broken somehow and now I’m supposed to just...accept it, like I didn’t already have a normal reality.” She crinkled her nose. “I want to feel less alone, I guess. Less...confused. Every other person I’ve talked to has either always been in this or been around it and I feel...alone.” She looked back over at Sophie. “Any books that can help with that?”

“It is.” Sophie was sure of that… even if Bex going on gave her pause. It wasn’t really something she had ever thought about giving up. For so long, getting back here, picking up where her father left off, it had been her only real goal. Apart from staying alive. She frowned a little, looking to the books they had stacked up. “I know I don’t have to, but I want to. I… I had to leave for a while. I didn’t really have a choice on that one. Getting back here and… doing this again. I don’t know. It feels right. I didn’t really know how much I missed it until I got back.” She tipped her head back, looking at the little stars. With a very small smile, she nodded. “Yeah. We used to try to make constellations on it. Just, y’know, silly ones. See these stars here,” she said, tracing a little pattern, “I used to call that Big Bird. Oliver said it looked more like a microscope.” The memory didn’t hurt quite as much as she expected it to. It did sort of look like a microscope now. She glanced over the books again, biting at the inside of her mouth. Maybe she should have brought some of the weirder ones out actually. “So your parents aren’t magic? That happens sometimes. Most people are raised with it, but not everyone.” Sophie slowly turned her eyes from the books to look at Bex. “I’m… not sure a book will make that better. That’s a people thing. But you’re finding that now, right? People who know. I was… away from this, for a while. I didn’t have to be normal, but I wasn’t here. And it felt wrong. I was missing this. It’s different than you, but… I think I kind of know. It’s not the thing one book can fix.” She sat up and shuffled toward the entrance of the fort, looking back at Bex with a little smile. “But maybe a lot can. Let me show you the magic room.”

“Well, I mean,” Bex started, “if you really do want to, then I think that’s okay. As long as it’s, you know, what you want.” If only she could follow her own advice. If only she had the choice to. She turned her head to look over at Sophie as she traced her eyes along the spines of the books. “It’s nice to find something that makes you feel good, isn’t it?” Bex had found hers, but she didn’t know if she could grasp it. Not yet, though. Maybe one day. Maybe. She turned back to watch Sophie trace along the sheets. “I think it looks like a microscope, too,” she agreed, nodding. Technically, she couldn’t see either of them, but it was nice to pretend, and it was nice to see Sophie smile. Her face fell a little when the subject turned back to magic, and her parents. The truth was that she didn’t know if her parents were magic, but she supposed the answer no, considering their aversion to hers, and the anger they expressed whenever she used it. “No, I don’t think they are. They were just as confused as me when things started happening. I think they’re...scared of it. They told me to hide it and keep it from happening.” She swallowed. “Yeah, my friend told me that, too. That-- most people are raised with it but I guess this happens sometimes. Where someone with non-magic parents is born with magic.” She wasn’t sure she liked that idea. She didn’t want to be any more different than she already was. She sighed, as if Sophie’s answer wasn’t the already obvious one. “I know..” she mumbled, looking back up at the sheets. “I am. And it’s nice! It’s greater, they’re all great, really! I just-- guess it’s hard for them to understand. How I feel. It’s different, because they’ve never known a life without all this. And I have.” Sophie was shifting, now, and Bex sat up, following her out. Her smile was warm. “You have a magic room?”

“I just said it is,” Sophie said, biting back a frown. Why was Bex pushing it? Did she not seem happy? Well… she probably didn’t. But that wasn’t because of scribe things. That was just… her. Being happy was kind of a foreign concept most days. But she was working on it, remembering how it worked, what it felt like. “Yeah, it is. I was… in a bad place, for a while. I couldn’t really leave, or do things I wanted to do. But I can now. So it’s better.” She tried not to make a face at how vague she sounded. But Bex was new to this, she was still adjusting to magic. She didn’t need to hear the worst parts. Supernatural things could be scary, but she didn’t need to have that thrown in her face. “It’s hard to explain if you don’t already know what’s going on. People don’t want to believe in it a lot of the time. And I get that, but… I think that just makes it harder later.” Denial was tough. Sophie had seen plenty of people come for information and then throw books back in her father’s face when it was too much for them to handle. “Everyone learns about things differently, even if they’re born with it, they don’t know everything. Some people know a lot about magic, but they don’t know anything about werewolves or ghosts. Um, which are also real, just… in case you didn’t know that yet.” She straightened up as she stepped out of the fort and motioned for Bex to follow her. “It’s upstairs. I think you’re going to like it.” 

“Yes, sorry! Sorry, I just meant like-- never mind,” Bex said, shaking her head. Her heart hurt a little as Sophie’s voice fell and she explained what she’d meant. She bit her lip. “I-- I’m sorry. That you were in a bad place. But I-- I’m glad you’re here now. And that you can do this, do what you want. What-- makes you happy.” She crawled out of the fort and stood up, brushing the knees of her tights off as she did so, looking back up at Sophie. She felt a bit of shame tinge her cheeks-- that had been her, not too long ago. She’d been in such heavy denial, she’d blown up a computer lab in front of Nell and still refused to believe her right away. She’d needed to not believe her, back then. But she did now, and that was what mattered, right? She was working on it now. She drew in a breath and looked back at Sophie and this time she had enough confidence to smile, and nod, and follow behind her. “I can’t wait.” And she meant it. “Oh, and uh-- yeah. Yep. I know werewolves are a thing. That’s a big nope for me.”

#chatzy #wickedswriting #chatzy: sophie #sibling death tw #sophie #blankets and books and budding friendships oh my!

[navegandoaciegas]

1-2-3 Way

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader x Steve Rogers

Warnings: smut, bed sharing, there was only one bed???, loss of virginity, dom/sub undertones, dom!Steve, sub!reader, switch!Bucky, unprotected sex, praise, slight degradation, overstimulation, face fucking, fingering, slight spanking, edging, doggy style, aftercare.

Summary: There’s only one bed and you have to share it with your childhood friends Steve and Bucky.

A/N: Listen… there was only one bed is my favorite cheesy trope, I’m sorry. Thank you for the commission, @maryfloat , I hope you like this!!

It’s so clichè, the way that the receptionist offers you a tight lipped smile and an apology. There must have been an error with the reservation, maybe the server crashed or something, she says, you’ve booked one room, and that room has one bed only. Coincidentally, everyone’s in town at the same time as you, and the only hotel in the area is fully booked.

How unfortunate.

She hands you the keys whilst Bucky hauls your suitcase and his up the stairs, and Steve follows behind him. She eyes them warily and whispers to you, asks if you’re safe and comfortable, and apologises again for the inconvenience.

When Steve, ever the gentleman, proposes they sleep on the floor, you’re almost tempted to accept and thank him. They’re big and strong, and one night on the cold, hard floor won’t kill them.

You hate sharing beds anyways. It gets too warm with more than one body rolling around, and then someone hogs all the blankets, or kicks you in the shins, or elbows you in the ribs, and you can’t catch a break.

Instead you scoff and wave him dismissively. ‘I trust you guys more than I trust myself.’

And you do, really. You’ve known them since those awkward middle school days, where Bucky was chubby and covered in painful acne, and Steve was dangerously skinny and a foot shorter than you. You’ve fallen asleep on their shoulders on long road trips, occasionally napped on their legs in their dorm rooms, fallen asleep on Steve’s hospital bed when he was a frail kid and you and Bucky took turns visiting him.

You trust them, you really do, but still, sharing a tiny bed with them seems more intimate, definitely more wrong, than anything you’ve ever done.

It sends a weird signal down your stomach that your brain can’t quite interpret. You’re not anxious, but as you sit sandwiched between them, you can’t say you’re relaxed either.

Bucky sits to your right, computer perched on his lap, open on the Netflix account he pays for and Steve and you leech off of. He makes the most money with his waitressing job, the old ladies love tipping him for his flirty remarks and bright smiles, so it’s only fair.

Steve munches on a chalky protein bar to your right, a frown on his forehead as he chews with his mouth open and judges Bucky’s recommended section.

“You’re not making me watch another sci-fi, Barnes.”

“And you’re not forcing me through another Studio Ghibli movie, Rogers.”

“C’mon, at least those are relaxing-,”, “and cute,” you quip, intercepting Steve’s snack and taking a bite out of it just to spite him. He side eyes you, pinching your side as hard as he can.

“Oh? I forgot you were the ones paying for the account.”

“This is literal blackmail, holding the damn Netflix over our heads like that.”

“Not sure that blackmail is the word you’re looking for, but go off, bud.”

“Don’t smartmouth me.”

“Or what?”

They bicker like they’ve always done, and you’ve been friends with them long enough to have learnt how to drown out their voices when they fight.

Sometimes your friendship feels like it’s always been, playful, sibling like. They roughhouse you, you make fun of them. It’s familiar, warm, comforting.

No matter how bad school gets, no matter how uncertain your future seems, no matter how many times you get your heart broken, you know that Bucky, Steve and you will always be there to pick yourselves back up.

Some other times the lines get blurred, and it’s scary. But the scarier it gets, the more rewarding it becomes to look for signs, finding them in the smallest of things, like how Steve gets all sulky when you go out on dates, or how Bucky constantly seeks your approval for whatever he does.

You space out as they pick a movie, your mind eerily quiet, your body weirdly warm.

There’s a pit in your stomach that you can’t understand fully. It’s been there a while, ever since your friendship has started to shift, and your stares have been lingering as much as their affectionate touch.

Your eyes travel from Bucky’s black t-shirt to his side profile, tracing the gentle slope of his nose and his pouty lips. Lately, you’ve been looking at him a lot more, catching yourself in the act and shaking yourself out of your thoughts.

What thoughts, you don’t know. Your mind is blank more often than not when you’re set on him. When you’re with them.

You’re doing it again, unconsciously, until Steve elbows you in the side, and you’re rudely snapped out of your reverie.

“You’re too quiet,” he mumbles, eyeing you suspiciously.

“Which is weird since you never shut the fuck up,” quips Bucky, hitting you with his shoulder, effectively bringing you back to reality.

You resist laughing because you’ll never give him the satisfaction, and just swing back at him.

“I’m just tired, ‘s all. My neck hurts a lot, guess we’re getting old, huh.”

Bucky just shrugs and presses play on the movie they’ve chosen. You smile at Steve as convincingly as you can to get him off your case.

He nods at you, not quite sold, but leaves it at that, knowing better than to prod you.

“Want me to give you a massage?” he asks, wiggling his fingers in front of your face.

“Please?” you pout, turning your back to him.

Your thought process was that you can never refuse Steve’s healing hands. You didn’t think it through so much, clearly, as he kneads the knots in your neck and you feel your lower body coming alive, a warmth pooling awkwardly in your belly.

Bucky gives you the most offended, betrayed look you’ve ever seen, frowning and pouting like a petulant child.

“S’ not fair. I want a massage too,” he whines, shimmying his shoulders in your direction, offering you the best puppy eyes he can muster.

Cute, you think. “Gross,” you say, “I’ll give you one if you stop with the face.”

He just sticks his tongue out, wiggling between your legs.

The movie plays in the background, your mind too focused on Steve’s warm hands on your bare skin and Bucky’s back muscles flexing under your touch.

The hot feeling in your chest is back when his eyes move from the screen to yours, a goofy smile on his lips, features relaxed.

You bury your hands in his silky hair, scratching his scalp. He almost moans, butting your palm like a kitten.

He’s so effortlessly sweet that it hurts.

It’s silent in a comfortable way, with the sound effect of the movie lulling you all, except your traitorous brain, in a serene state.

It’s a kids movie, and you’re just giving yourselves a massage like you’ve done hundreds of times before, but something feels different about it, in the way that Steve’s warm breath tickles your neck, or the way that Bucky turns around every few minutes just to smile at you.

At some point your hands stop moving, and your back is flush to Steve’s front as he holds you in his arms, Bucky’s head on your lap as he hugs your thighs to his body, fingers absentmindedly caressing your skin, hiking up your legs, higher and higher-, goosebumps erupting all over you. He stops just before the hem of your shorts, making his way down to your knee, just to do it all over again.

You can no longer deny the fluttering in your core, nor the slick gathering in your panties at the thought of what would happen if he just crept higher.

By the time that the end credits roll around, you're cocooned in their warmth, Bucky asleep on your stomach, your own eyes droopy. You’re drowsy, pliant in Steve’s hold as he adjusts you both comfortably on the pillows.

The last thing you feel, as darkness envelops the room, is his lips on your forehead as he whispers to you good night.

-

You hate sharing beds, but when you wake up in the middle of the night between them, you think you may not hate it as much as you thought.

Bucky is a messy sleeper, arm swung over your hips, legs sprawled over half the mattress, face buried in the pillow next to yours, back gently rising with every breath he takes.

Steve is more put together. He sleeps on his side, lips parted, one arm under the pillow, the other close to your side, his fingers intertwined with yours.

You don’t know how long you spend staring at the ceiling, heart hammering in your chest, wondering if this shift in your friendship will bring you closer or break you apart in the long run. You don’t want to entertain the chances of them breaking your heart, or you breaking theirs.

Even the possibility of having to choose between one of the two seems absurd to you.

The bed creaks under Bucky’s weight as he turns to you, tightening his hold on your hips. You’re paralized as he nuzzles his nose in the crook of your neck, a breathy whine escaping his lips. All your blood travels to your face when you feel his hard on rub against your legs, his hips uncounsciously rutting on you.

“So soft,” he mumbles, eyes fluttering open.

You’re staring at each other, almost in a daze, and maybe it’s because it’s pitch black outside and you’re in your own little dimension, or maybe it’s the adoration in his bleary eyes, but you don’t turn away when he closes the distance between you.

The kiss you share is soft, lazy, tentative.

You prod his mouth open with yours, tongues swirling together with no rush and no shame. You’d imagined kissing your best friend would feel more awkward than this, and instead his warmth, his taste, his hungry kisses, everything about it seems natural to you, like it’s what you’re supposed to have been doing all this time, a chance you were too scared to take.

You’re so lost in the moment that you barely register the lips on your neck and another set of hands making its way under your t-shirt, settling on your stomach, fingers barely grazing the underside of your boobs.

As soon as his mouth detaches from your own, Steve is pouncing on you, his kiss more rough and demanding than Bucky’s, tongue less hesitant as it explores you, wiping any remnant of sleep out of your mind.

You’re breathless as he invades all your senses, barely wrapping your head around the fact that your shy friend is eating you whole and the flirty, outgoing one is just looking with hunger and rubbing himself on your leg.

Steve breaks away from you, a string of drool connecting you, his eyes dark with desire. He pecks your lips again, smirking at you as he lowers his face, leaving a trail of kisses on your jaw, to the column of your neck, down your collarbones, settling between your tits.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, grasping the hem of your t-shirt, “Can I touch you? I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

You nod fervently, growing needy with each passing second, “Please Steve, just touch me.”

Bucky gets bolder, kissing you with more conviction this time. Your clothes are shedded, his bare skin heated against yours, your hands in his hair.

Steve takes his sweet time making his way downwards, leaving a trail of bruises on your chest, stomach, hips, kneading your ass. He settles between your legs, looking up at you as he closes his mouth on your clothed pussy, sucking through your panties and leaving a wet mark on them.

You’re embarrassingly horny, arousal dripping out of you, nipples stiff as Bucky plays with them. You want him to rip your panties to shreds and take you right there and then, but Steve has other plans, enjoying the way you’re so pliant underneath him.

He grabs you by the hips, turning you around with your face down and your ass up in the air. The string of your underwear is almost swallowed between your puffy folds, stained with your slick.

Steve takes a deep breath before tugging the string up, teasing your swollen clit with the material, raptured by the way you’re so open and ready for them, glistening with desire.

Bucky sits back on the headboard, eyes half lidded, legs spread before your face. You trace the outline of his hard cock through his boxers, mouth watering at the idea of him inside you, filling you up.

Steve doesn’t give you the time to touch him before he’s tugging you upwards by the hair, flush to his chest. His breath tickles your neck as he teases you through your panties.

“Are you gonna be good for me? For us?”

You don’t have to think about it, strings of ‘yes’, ‘please, ‘touch me’, leaving your lips as if having a mind of their own. It would be embarrassing to be this wanton with anyone else, but with them, everything is like it’s meant to be.

“Then be a good girl, okay? Show Bucky how good you can be with that pretty mouth of yours,” he grunts in your ear, pressing his hard on against your ass cheeks, “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?”

You nod, grind yourself on his cock, so pent up and desperate for release that you rub your legs together just to feel the string of your panties digging in your folds, hoping it would help soothe the ache in your cunt.

“Of course you have, you little slut,” he grunts, pushing your head down on the mattress as Bucky tugs his underwear down.

Yours is ripped by Steve, thrown somewhere in the room, exposing your quivering hole to the cold air. Arching your back, you silently beg for something, anything, which comes in the form of a sting and a loud smack reverberating in the stuffy room.

Steve smacks your pussy again, and again, and again, until the sharp pain in your clit becomes so pleasant that you could come just from that. Bucky wastes no time yanking your head towards his crotch, slapping his heavy cock on your cheek, until your face burns with humiliation and need.

Your hands tremble as you reach for him, hesitating before licking a stripe from the base to the tip, savoring his musky pre cum. You swirl your tongue around the head, teasing his sensitive slit with kitten licks, hands fondling with his balls.

Steve’s thick finger prodding at your entrance makes you gasp, giving Bucky the perfect opportunity to shove your face down his cock until you’re coughing, lungs burning, clawing at his things as he holds you down.

“Calm down, Bucky. Stop bein’ so desperate,” Steve’s voice is muffled in your ears as you struggle for air, feeling light headed.

He plunges a finger inside your pussy, then another, eased by the embarrassing amount of wetness dripping out of you.

Bucky whines something in return, yanking you up. Tears blur your vision as you heave, barely getting enough air in your lungs before he pushes you down again, using your head as a flashlight.

He keeps you still, nose buried in the dark hair of his pelvis, as he stands on his haunches. Grabbing your face with both hands, he starts relentlessly pummelling inside you, fucking your mouth with abandon.

With a broken moan he thrusts all the way down, his balls slapping your chin, fingers clamping around your nose when you start gagging.

“Oh, she likes that. She’s squeezing my fingers,” Steve says, scissoring his fingers between your gummy walls, “Do it again.”

Bucky pinches your nose one more time, depriving you of all air. Dark spots start appearing at the sides of your vision, mind hazy. He lets up before you faint, barely giving you time before he’s stuffing your mouth with his cock once more.

Steve lays down between your legs, face up. From his perspective he can see your glistening pussy, your tits bouncing with the force of Bucky’s thrusts, and his cock disappear between your abused lips. You’re being so good to them that he feels like rewarding you.

His hands guide you to sit down on his face, your moans muffled as he latches onto your swollen clit. He sucks on it until you’re on the edge of your orgasm, walls quivering with the need to release.

He stops just before you can reach your peak, and spanks your clit again.

“You’re not coming on my mouth now.”

Your throat vibrates around Bucky’s cock with moans of pleasure, spurring him on to hold you down longer, chasing his own orgasm with a string of curses.

“She’s gonna faint, idiot,” Steve scolds him, tearing you away from Bucky’s cock, drool dripping down your sore jaw.

“She can handle it,” rasps Bucky, rolling his eyes.

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” you frown, slapping Bucky’s hands away when he reaches for you.

“Brats, both of you,” Steve sighs condescendingly, “Be more gentle. And you,” he warns, pinching your inner thigh, “don’t talk unless it’s to beg for more, ‘kay?”

There’s a pause, an awkward moment when you don’t know where to look, what to do with your hands, waiting for Steve to take control again, like he always does.

“So-” Bucky starts, looking up at Steve for guidance, “What now?”

“You’re both- y’know, it’s your first time actually doing it, right?” he asks after pondering for a second, eyes darting between the two of you.

“Yes,” you both respond, and he hums.

“Then you two should go first, be each other’s first times. It makes more sense. I got her ready, so it shouldn’t hurt.”

The idea of Bucky’s cock inside you makes you a bit anxious, considering how much you struggled taking him in your mouth, jaw still sore from his abuse, but it also fills you with warmth.

You trust them blindly, and you want this, you want him to be the first one inside you for whatever reason.

There’s no need for words between you, a tiny nod and a reassuring smile all you need to settle on the pillows, spreading your legs for Bucky to settle in between.

He’s always so sure of himself, but in the moment he looks like a lost puppy. He pumps himself a few times, and braces his weight on one arm as he lines his cock with your entrance.

He gives you one more kiss, tasting himself on your lips, before pushing past your entrance. The tip is barely in by the time that you screech, the pain sharper than you imagined, and Bucky halts immediately despite looking like he’s about to bust on the spot.

Your pussy feels like it’s burning, and no amount of fingers inside you could have prepared you for the stretch of your walls.

“It’s okay,” Steve whispers in your ear, a hand rubbing your shoulder to comfort you, “You’re doing so good, being such a good girl, you’re so perfect. It will go away before you realize, promise.”

“Okay, okay, I can do this,” you pant, digging your nails in Bucky’s back.

“Let’s switch, it will hurt less if you’re on top,” Steve suggests, and you and Bucky comply.

He lays down on the pillows as you straddle his hips, propping yourself up on his toned abs. Steve kneels at your side, holding you up as you hover over him.

Your heart’s beating out of your chest as you grasp Bucky’s cock, taking a deep breath to steel yourself before inching down on him, whimpering with every centimeter that gets swallowed by your gummy walls.

The stretch feels like it’s splitting you open, and if it weren’t for Steve’s strong arms, you’d collapse and cry on Bucky’s chest.

Steve whispers praises and reassuring words in your ear and kisses your tears away, swirling his fingers around your clit to help you out, and Bucky caresses the sides of your waist, mumbling broken apologies to you, kissing your neck.

Once you finally bottom out, you still and slump on Bucky’s shoulder, burying your nose in his hair, inhaling the familiar, comforting scent.

The pain is throbbing, burning, but it becomes more subtle and bearable the longer Bucky stays inside you.

“Okay, it’s getting better” you wheeze in an attempt to encourage yourself, “But I can’t feel my legs now.”

They break in a fit of laughter, easing the tension in the room.

“Let’s switch again,” Bucky proposes, slightly out of breath with the way that your pussy is squeezing him in a vice, “I can move.”

You nod, clinging to his neck as he lifts you up, careful not to let his cock slip out of you.

“I want to feel you close,” Steve says, slightly out of breath, “Lay her on me.”

They help you lay on his chest, Bucky’s cock still buried inside you, the pain fading away in a dull sting.

You’re sandwiched between their bodies, enveloped by their warmth and affection, coated in your slick and their sweat, and despite the discomfort, you’ve never felt as full of love as now.

Bucky seeks permission with his eyes, then reassurance from Steve, and starts rocking his hips tentatively, biting hard on his lips to keep himself from cumming embarrassingly fast.

His cock drags against your walls, a ring of white cream slowly accumulating around the base.

It’s not painful anymore, slightly uncomfortable at times when he’s accidentally too rough, but the burn is now a simmering heat that grows in your core with every thrust.

Steve sings praises in your ear, “Look how good you’re doin’, taking Bucky’s cock so well, you’re such a good girl,” whilst Bucky rutts needily on you.

He’s sloppy in his movements, and his hips don’t have a rhythm to them. He takes you high, close to a release, just to fuck it up again when he stutters, involountarily edging you over and over again.

“I’m close, I’m so close, I’m gonna cum inside you,” he moans.

In a blur you’re on your stomach. Bucky positions you on your knees and pummels inside you again, thrusting more forcefully as he loses himself in the pleasure.

You whimper between Steve’s tender kisses before Bucky tears you away from him, yanking you flush against his chest.

“I love you, I love you, love you so much, love you,” he keeps mumbling, tightly clutching his arms around your stomach and tits, slamming you hard on him.

At that angle Bucky’s cock pushes against a sensitive spot inside you that makes the coils in your stomach tighter, your clit throbbing and your walls clamping down on him.

Steve, never one to be outdone, sits back on his haunches and manhandles your head down again until you’re faced with his hard, leaking cock.

He’s trimmed more neatly than Bucky, but he’s just as big and intimidating.

He slaps his cock on your lips, smearing his precum on you. You’re a moaning mess, automatically taking him in your mouth, savoring his musk on your tongue.

Your jaw is still sore but you do your best to accommodate Steve, eager to please. You relax your muscles and let Bucky’s thrusts do the work for you, already lightheaded with the lack of air.

They keep stuffing you with their cocks, bouncing you between each other, the lewd sounds of your squelching pussy and the bed creaking filling the room.

Bucky’s fingers teasing your clit, your lungs burning, your vision going spotty, it’s all too much for you.

Just as you think you’re about to reach your peak, you feel Bucky pause and stutter, a choked moan escaping his throat as he comes, stuffing you full of his warm cum. Steve comes at the same time, and you almost choke on his release as he spills his load down your throat.

It feels good, you’re fuller than you’ve ever been, but it’s still not enough to push you over the edge.

You both collapse on Steve, exhausted, cum pouring out of your hole and onto the sheets. You expect him to take you immediately after, instead he snakes a hand between your bodies, finding your sensitive clit, overstimulated with all the touching.

“You did so well, baby, you were so good for Bucky. Now cum on my fingers, cum for us,” he moans, twirling your bud between his fingers.

Pent up as you are, it doesn’t take long for you to finally come, almost blacking out with the intensity of your orgasm, your limbs shaking and quivering between theirs.

When you come down from your high, you’re tired out, your whole body is sore, your hips and legs hurt, and the cum seeping out of your entrance reminds you of the burning pain there, now back with a vengeance.

When morning comes, you’ll have to remind Steve to buy you Plan B.

The exhaustion catches up to you as soon as your head hits the pillow, a loud ring in your ears as you barely register your surroundings, Bucky already asleep by your side in true Bucky fashion while Steve takes care of you both, cleaning you up and tucking you in bed.

He whispers ‘I love you’ and kisses the tip of your nose.

Maybe one day you’ll say it back.

For now, you let yourself rest in their embrace, always the three of you like it’s meant to be.

—

Damn, 4k words of porn. This felt like giving birth or something sksjshj

Please, share and leave a comment if you can 🥰

#bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #stucky x reader #steve x bucky x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you

[mandoalorian]

Touch Starved [Frankie Morales x Reader]

Summary: You and your best friend Frankie Morales have had silent feelings for each other since the day you met. No one could’ve ever guessed the strange circumstance which occurred one fateful night, and how the proceeding events would be the push you needed to take your friendship to the next level.

Word count: 6k (what the heck this is the longest piece i’ve ever written BY FAR)

Rating: 18+ only.

Warnings: SMUT, thigh riding, oral (m and f receiving), alcohol consumption/intoxication, food/drink mention, lot of pining over each other and just some general fluff

Author’s Note: This is my first ever Frankie fic anddddd my first ever smut lol. Please be kind I hope you enjoy. PS if you want a part two let me know! xx

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Your eyes were heavy and you shuffled into the cushion, adjusting your position on the couch until you felt more comfortable. You grazed your fingers against the pages of your book, but found yourself re-reading the same sentence over and over again in attempt to keep yourself awake. Even your two scented candles were close to burning out, and you figured it was time for bed.

Gently dropping the book on the floor, you closed your eyes and felt yourself drift off into a dreamy sleep when a loud bang on your door woke you up with a jolt. Your heart was pounding as you bolted upright, clutching the thin wooled blanket that was lazily draped around your body in fear. Within seconds, you heard another bang on the door. Rubbing your eyes, you flicked on your phone and checked the time. 11-48pm. Almost midnight. You groaned, standing up and padding to the front door of your apartment. Who could possibly want to see you at this hour? You wondered. Not even bothering to check through the peephole, you let out an elongated groan.

“Who is it?” You called out and rubbed your tired eyes. You ran your fingers through your hair in hope that you would look somewhat presentable for when you greeted your uninvited visitor.

Without hesitation you heard him. A voice you were so familiar with. “It’s Frankie, man! You gotta let me in!” you noted that his voice sounded urged and your stomach filled with concern. Was he alright? Why was he at your apartment at 11-48pm? A million thoughts raced through your mind in just the second it took you to open the door. The thought of Frankie being here made you nervous, but excited. In a fluster, you stumbled with the door lock before finally managing to get it open.

There he was. His dark brown waves were tucked into one of his infamous baseball caps and he was wearing a dark green flannel and a washed out pair of denim jeans. You tried to search for answers in his face, but he truly seemed fine, other than the slight panic in his voice. He slid past you, allowing himself into your apartment and began pacing around.

“Would you like a drink?” You asked, almost rhetorically. Frankie didn’t answer, nor did he need to. You were already clicking open the bottle of ice cold Bud and handing it over to him. He took a big sip out of the alcoholic beverage, and you took the liberty of admiring him as he done so. He wasn’t watching you anyway, but instead focusing on downing the drink. That's what he needed. A drink to wash away his worries. How could he ever explain this to you?

You loved the way his chocolate brown eyes shone under the candlelight and the way his skin looked almost soft and golden. You waited patiently for him to finish drinking, never wanting to hurry him.

Frankie appreciated the atmosphere of your apartment too. He always had. It made a change from his current living situation. Frankie wasn’t picky as such, but living with his four best guy friends definitely had its downfalls. Whether that be Ben constantly hogging the living room television to play his Call of Duty video games, or Santiago bringing home a different lady every other night, making such noise that nobody but Will could sleep, or even Tom with his untidy behaviour and complete disregard for everyone else who lived with him. It wasn't great but what other choice did Frankie have? Other than you. You didn’t feel like a choice to him, you felt like a necessity. He needed you. You were his safe place, and your chic apartment felt more like home than his shabby downtown place.

“I gotta ask you a favour.” Frankie prompted eventually, sliding down into the cream faux-leather sofa and placing his bottle of beer on the coffee table. You took a seat in the chair opposite him and folded your arms, waiting for him to continue. “Actually, I don’t know. Never mind. Uhm… it’s a funny story to be honest. But, maybe it’s fine. It’s not fine. It’s just, well-”

“Spit it out Frankie!” You giggled jokingly, reaching over and nudging him slightly. He was immediately put at ease by just the simplest brush of your fingers, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with you. He found himself staring into the burning flame of your cinnamon scented candle. He felt mildly ashamed about how this whole situation had even surfaced in the first place.

“Me and Santi… we had a bet. A dare kinda thing.” Frankie explained, shuffling around with discomfort. He was definitely embarrassed that he had driven himself all the way to your apartment in the dead of night just to tell you this— or rather, ask you this. “The guys were teasing, you know how they are. About how- well, you know, I’ve never really been with a girl since…” Frankie paused.

“Marià.” You sighed, and Frankie nodded slowly. “Your ex wife…”

“Yeah. And I know it’s crazy but after the divorce and everything… I just haven’t really uh, had the opportunity. I mean I’ve had the opportunity it’s just- never felt right. I suppose. And you know, it’s not that I don’t want to start dating again. Or seeing women. Sleeping with wo-” Frankie was about to start rambling about his sex life (or lack there of) and you were not prepared to let your mind journey there. Not that you had never thought about it before… no. He was your best friend. And it would be wrong. Besides, Frankie had a tendency to over share but you were always there to help him get back on track, whereas others, namely the guys, would tease and mock him for it.

“Why are you here, Frankie?” You cut him off with as much delicacy as you could muster up. Your voice was soft, and Frankie noticed how gentle you had always been with him.

“Santi said he bet I couldn’t ask a girl out if I tried,” Frankie explained with a short sigh and you frowned. You knew Santiago well and you knew that he and Frankie were like brothers, but Frankie had been through a lot lately and Santiago never really had the best choice of words. You wondered if he had hurt Frankie, and instantly felt defensive over your friend.

“And then what happened?”

“I told Santi I could get a girl, and then, this afternoon, he asked me how I had come on. I lied, told him I asked out a pretty girl. He asked me about her and well, the girl I described… I guess… in my head I was just picturing you.” Frankie said, and finally glanced up at you, his pretty eyes shimmering in the dim light. You felt your heart rate increase at his revelation. “You know? It’s funny. This made up girl looks just like you.” He chuckled lightly. Your silence was deafening and his stomach filled with anxiety. “I don’t know why!” he assured but that was a lie. He knew why. He was your first thought at the start of the day you were his last thought at the end of the day. Every moment he got, he was thinking about you— pining over you.

“Oh,” you whispered, unable to process any more words. You weren’t sure what to make of it. You brushed away your feelings, thinking that you only came to Frankie’s mind because you saw him so much. You were the only girl he really hung out with.

“Of course Santi didn’t believe me. I’m a terrible liar. You know that. But I really don’t want the guys to catch me out on this! It’s so embarrassing.” Frankie was exasperated. You took to your feet and walked over to him, falling back on the sofa and resting your hand on Frankie’s forearm. To Frankie, your touch was like electricity.

“You do not need to be ashamed of something like this Frankie,” you assured him. Frankie took off his cap and ran his fingers through his brown locks.

“I know I know,” he sighed before looking back at you. “Santi wants to meet this fake girl. He’s been seeing Yovanna again and he’s organised a double date kind of thing. For him, Yo, myself and well… I'm hoping, you.”

You blinked hard. “Wait,” you paused. “You want to go on a date with me?”

This had to be dream. Had you just fallen asleep on the sofa? You pinched yourself and checked the wall clock above the television. Only a few minutes had ticked by. Definitely not a dream.

“Fake date.” Frankie corrected and you felt your heart sink slightly.

Or maybe it was a nightmare.

You shuffled around, not knowing how to feel. “Uhm, Frankie… I’m not sure…” you hesitated. All you had wanted for so long was to go on a date with Frankie. A real date. You had been dreaming about the day he would ask you out since you first met him, but this wasn’t what you had pictured at all.

“Please,” Frankie begged, clasping his hands together in a pleaing manner. “Just pretend to be my date.”

And how could you ever say no to Frankie Morales’ puppy dog eyes?

The night of the date, you and Frankie had agreed to meet at the restaurant. You hadn’t really discussed anything prior, but this date, albeit fake, was all you could think about. Every chance you had, you were thinking about Frankie. You wondered how it would be, pretending to be his date. And equally, Frankie was thinking the same.

He struggled to catch any sleep, and instead would lay in his bed staring at the ceiling. He wondered how to fake a date. He didn’t want to do anything to make you uncomfortable and he simply hadn’t dated anyone in so long. He was so sure that he would embarrass himself, and that you’d never want to talk to him again.

Frankie, Santiago and Yovanna were already sitting around the restaurant table before you arrived. It was a quaint little Italian place on the coast and it had the most beautiful evening view. The sky was darkening and there wasn't a cloud in sight, but instead, pearly white stars pierced the velveteen abyss above and it looked like something straight out of a romance movie. The environment was perfect. The place was slightly out of the usual burger joint budget for Frankie and Santiago, but Yovanna insisted on the high-end restaurant, and even Frankie had to admit it would be nice to eat some good quality food for a change.

You weren’t late, but rather Frankie, Santiago and Yovanna were early. Frankie had already downed three bottles of beer before you arrived, trying to wash away his nerves. By the time you came, he was already slightly intoxicated. His ease was all that mattered and besides, Frankie was a happy drunk.

When Frankie saw you enter the restaurant, it was like his whole world stopped. He always thought you were beautiful, but tonight he was looking at you in a whole different light. You weren’t in your usual sweats and hoodie, and truthfully he had never seen you like this before. Your little black dress hugged your body in all the right places, and your matching heels clicked against the marble floor as you padded over to the table. You felt a blush creep upon your cheeks when you caught Santi gawking.

“Whoa, you clean up well!” Santiago complimented, looking you up and down, grinning ecstatically.

Frankie tried to keep his cool, but he couldn’t take his eyes off you. He took in your bare legs and how fine they looked in your dress, and he admired the way you had styled your hair. It was out of your face, and he appreciated that, because now he could infatuate himself over your features. You wore minimal makeup, but your eyeshadow accentuated your eye colour and your choice of lip gloss plumped your lips slightly. Frankie’s eyes went from being drawn to your legs, to now your lips, and he cursed himself for the thoughts he was thinking. Fake date. He reminded himself; but he couldn't help but question— what if it was real? If he could, he’d take you in his arms right then and there and kiss you.

You took your seat next to Yovanna and opposite Frankie, trying to remain as nonchalant as possible, but as you felt Frankie’s eyes burn into you, electricity sparked in your in your lower stomach. A certain kind of excitement. You pushed it away the best you could, focusing on reading the menu in front of you and deciding on the food you would order. Frankie pushed over a vibrant purple drink in a cocktail glass. “I got you your favourite,” Frankie smiled, and you felt your heart flutter. “I hope you don’t mind.”

You smiled and took a sip, but scrunched up your nose when the strong taste of vodka hit. “Um, sweetie,” You thought that tonight you would have to force out the pet names but it came so naturally. “How many shots are in here?”

“It’s a treble.” Frankie bit his lip, watching you with intent as you took another sip. His heart blossomed at the little name you called him.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?!” you gasped playfully and Frankie offered you another warm smile. “I don’t mind. Actually, I need it. Had a bad day at work.” you explained.

“It was Santi’s idea.” he admitted and Santiago innocently raised his hands in response. Frankie reached over the table, taking your hands in his and brushing his thumbs over your knuckles. You felt a shiver run down your spine at his touch. “Bad day?” he furrowed his eyebrows together, concern peaking in his gentle voice.

“Talk about it later.” you promised. Frankie brought your hands to his lips and kissed them softly. You had to stop yourself from swooning on the spot. Your heart began to pick up speed again and at this point, you were finding it difficult to remember that this was all fake.

As the four of you ate your food, you and Frankie were flirting all night; playing footsie under the table and exchanging dirty jokes. At one point, you accidentally ran your heel up his leg and he let out an accidental groan, fillet mignon almost spilling out his mouth. You hurled with laughter and his cheeks rosied up in embarrassment. Both you and Frankie were enjoying yourself way more than you had ever even considered.

“Wait,” you spluttered out in a fluster of giggles. You were still laughing at one of Frankie’s jokes. “Yovanna and Santi have gone home.” You noticed, pointing your finger at the empty seats next to yourself and Frankie.

“Oh yeah,” Frankie replied. “And we didn’t even notice.” He burst into laughter again and you followed, the alcohol really letting you both lose your inhibitions. “That bastard left me with his and Yovanna’s bill too.” Frankie shook his head in disbelief.

“Let me help you pay,” you unzipped your purse but Frankie put his hand out and stopped you.

“Don’t worry baby, this is on me.” Frankie promised and offered you a cheeky wink.

Santiago and Yovanna were gone. They had no one to prove their fake date to— and yet, exchanging flirtatious comments were simply too fun to stop.

“Okay,” you laughed, taking a gulp of red wine. You were sure the warm liquid must have stained your lips crimson with how much you had drunk, but you weren’t too concerned. “But next time, I’m paying.”

“There’s going to be a next time?" Frankie asked you hopefully.

“Isn’t there?” you returned a smile. “This was the best fake date I’ve ever been on.” You and Frankie let out a boisterous laugh, even catching the attention of other couples who were sitting around you trying to enjoy their romantic candlelit dinners.

“Touché,” he agreed, taking out his wallet and signing a check before clipping it to the bill and standing up. He took your hand, pulling you forward but you stumbled to your feet, falling into his chest. He was so broad and his arms were so big. Your feelings for him picked up a notch and you were unsure how long you could keep up the charade of pretending you saw him as just a friend.

You thought about how strong he was, barely flinching when you fell into him, and honestly, it turned you on. He slung his hands around your waist, slowly pushing you off his, but even when you weren’t resting on him anymore, he kept his big hands around you as you left the restaurant and walked through the parking lot to Frankie’s truck. You were grateful because without him guiding you and steadying you, you’d probably struggle to even reach the truck.

The close proximity between you and him made Frankie overwhelmed, his palms getting clammy and his cock hardening from your scent alone. Everything felt so intense. The cool night air took his breath away and he loved the way he could feel the shape of your body through your dress. He craved more.

He hoped that in the darkness of the night, you hadn’t noticed his throbbing length under his jeans. He slid into the driver seat of the car and you sat next to him, strapping yourself in. Frankie turned the key and as you set off, you both sat there in silence. Silence around Frankie was never uncomfortable, but this wasn’t a situation you were used to. It was a big difference to the environment in the bustling restaurant, but now it was just you two, alone, in his car— and you could cut the sexual tension with a knife.

“Come home with me.” You said eventually, not moving an inch and still looking at the road ahead. You managed to find the confidence, but you weren’t yet able to bring yourself to look him in the eye. He was your best friend. And you realised that what you were asking of him was a lot.

Frankie wasn’t put off, in fact, he felt his cock twitch at your words and he had to suppress a moan from escaping his lips. Did you really want him to take you home? As if on cue, you continued your proposal.

“Stay the night.” This verified Frankie’s thoughts and you hoped he had got the hint. You looked up into the rear view mirror and watched Frankie as he concentrated on driving, his body completely tensed up. He didn’t say a word, but when he detoured, you knew he was taking you back to your apartment. You wanted to calm him. Relax him. Soothe him. You let your fingers grace his jean clad leg, accidentally brushing over his erection. Frankie cursed under his breath. “S-sorry.” you mumbled, feeling your face flush. He was already hard. You crossed your legs tight together, trying to ignore the way your cunt was already dripping for him.

“No,” Frankie said. “Was good. Felt good.” his grip on the steering wheel tightened as you contemplated his words. He liked it. You moved your hand over his crotch again and began to palm him as he drove. He felt so constricted in his jeans and he couldn’t wait to get them off. It wasn’t long before his vision began to feel hazy under your touch but luckily he soon pulled up in front of your apartment. You removed your hand from his leg and let yourself out of the truck, feeling dazed also, and hurried inside. Frankie followed, loosing his belt as he stepped foot into the building. He was throbbing and in such desperate need of relief.

You pressed the button and waited for the elevator to come. By the time Frankie caught up with you, it was here, and the pair of you stepped inside. As the doors began to close on you, Frankie crashed his lips onto yours, pushing his body against you. This time it was his turn to touch you. His rough manner made you gasp but you needed to feel his body against yours. You let his hands explore you, his fingers rolling over the curves of your breasts and the dips in your waist. Within seconds, the elevator door opened with a ping and you had reached the floor of your apartment. Hungrily, you grabbed Frankie by the collar of his shirt and dragged him to your front door, unlocking it with haste. Once you were inside, you turned to shut the door behind you when Frankie pinned you against it. His hands were on your wrists and your arms were spread out over the wood. He pressed a kiss into your jaw. “You want this?” his voice was rough and barely above a whisper, and his manner made your knees weak. He was so close to you, you could smell the beer mixed with his fragrance.

You didn’t dare move, but instead mewled out a tiny “yes”. Frankie smirked and turned you around so he could look at you in the eyes. He still had a hold of you, his grip was as tight as vice and his eyes were no longer the usual shade of honeyed brown but instead were much darker and lustful with a predatory glint. He kissed you again, hard, and his tongue swiped along your lower lip, begging for entry which you quickly granted. It was easy to get lost in the kiss; he was so good and so passionate. He worked his hands all over your body, pulling the occasional moan from your lips. Hearing the noises you made felt like music to his ears. You felt his hardened manhood press against the inside of your thigh and you shuddered, breaking the kiss to regain your breath. “Bedroom.” you mumbled out. You took Frankie’s hand and dragged him through the living room and into your small bedroom. He sat himself down on the edge of your bed and began to kick off his shoes when you took him by surprise and straddled him, wrapping your legs around him and initiating another heated kiss.

You needed some kind of release and on impulse, you began to grind yourself over Frankie’s denim clad leg. Your heart was racing as you rubbed yourself over the material, a fire burning deep in your stomach at the friction between the jeans and the thin silk panties you were sporting. Frankie placed a soft kiss to your lips, along your jaw, and down your neck as you began to get yourself off on him. He bit down gently, leaving his mark, wanting to claim you as his own. “Mine.” His voice was dark and you grabbed his shoulders, grinding on his leg harder.

“Yours.” You shakily exhaled, trying to keep your composure. You shuffled forward, further onto him and started rubbing yourself over his erection, pulling a groan from his lips, and you couldn’t help but smile knowing that this was your doing. You kept at it, enjoying the control, and watched Frankie’s eyes close from the sensation as you grinded over him.

“Yeah baby that’s it,” he praised. “Take what you need.”

Those four words threw you over the edge. You reached up, letting your fingers tangle in Frankie’s chocolate coloured locks of hair, tugging at them as you rode out your high. He opened his eyes, watching you as you dropped your head back, seeing stars. You were truly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Feeling satisfied, you scrambled off him, your legs shaky and he grabbed the hem of your dress. He began to pull it off you as eagerly as he could. Frankie noticed the damp patch on his leg from your wetness and muttered another curse. You were so wet and it was all for him. He looked up at you, watching you kick your dress to one side and felt his jaw tick. He was mesmerised by your body. In only your panties, you straddled him once more, and Frankie let his hands roam over your breasts, giving them the occasional squeeze.

“My turn.” you told him, pulling his shirt over his head and pushing him into the blankets of your bed. He let out a soft groan as his head hit your pillow and you shuffled backwards a little. You unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped them before pulling them down to his ankles. Frankie kicked them off and they pooled into a pile amongst his shirt and your dress at the bottom of the bed. A little gasp escaped your lips when you eyed up his hardened length under the thin cloth of his boxer shorts, a small patch of wetness already visible. You dipped your hands into his underwear and pulled him out, licking your lips at the sight of his precum beading at the tip.

You let your fingers wander his length, teasingly, making sure you were as soft as possible. Then, you pulled away and spat into your hand. You wrapped your hand around his cock and began pumping at it. “Ngh, s-so good,” Frankie grunted, closing his eyes as you worked at him. “Haven’t-haven’t been touched in so long.”

“Relax,” you soothed. “Let me take care of you.”

Frankie bucked his hips further into your hand and you kept going. His eyes fluttered shut and his mind was in a solid state of euphoria. This was better than he had ever imagined and he knew he wouldn’t last long. You stroked him up and down and watched him as he came undone beneath you.

“Wanted this for so long,” he admits mindlessly. “Imagined this, so many nights… imagined your pretty lips around my-”

You cut Frankie off by taking his length in your mouth and pushing as deep as you could, opening your throat up to him and gagging slightly from his length. However, it didn’t take long to become comfortable with the way his cock filled you. He let out a gasp, his back arching and his fists grabbing the bed sheets. You bobbed your head up and down and he took a fistful of your hair, only encouraging you further.

He raised his head and watched you take him. Your hand still wet, you begin to pump the remaining length of him that you couldn’t fit into your mouth and he shudders in ecstasy. With your free hand, you cradle his balls, rubbing circles with your thumb and you can feel him almost lose it completely.

“Won’t last,” he warns you. “Please, wanna be inside you. Wanna feel your pussy.” he practically begs and as soon as you feel his cock twitch in your mouth, you pull off him, leaving a trail of your saliva between your tongue and his length.

You admired Frankie’s naked body spread out in your bed, a thin sheen of sweat glazing over his chest. It was a sight you had only dreamed about. He sat up and grabbed you by the waist, pulling you down so now he was on top. He positioned himself in between your legs and gently spread them apart, eyeing up the dark patch in the crotch of your panties from where you had previously orgasmed on his leg. He let his finger glide over the material, rubbing against the bud of your clit and you whimpered in desperation. “So wet for me.” he drew out. “Can I taste?” he asked, looked up at you with his big brown eyes. You wanted to smack that innocent look he had playing on his face.

“Frankieee.” you cried out. You would never, ever deny oral from Frankie but right now you craved something else. “Need you inside me. Please.”

Frankie pulled your panties down your legs and threw them to the floor. “Oh baby,” he moaned, running his fingers through your slick wet folds. “I’m just warming up.” his voice was like honey and he attached his mouth to your clit, sucking intently. You threw your head back at the sensation and felt his mustache and stubble tickle you as he worked your core.

This was better than anything Frankie had ever dreamed about. He needed to taste every drop of your arousal. He had wanted this for so long, and now it was finally happening. He wanted to savour every moment like it was his last. After all, you two were the best of friends and he didn’t know where exactly you’d stand about all of this tomorrow. If you’d even want to see him again. You were both risking a lot but somehow, it felt worthwhile.

Frankie found it difficult to remain composed as he devoured you and felt your body shake as you neared your climax. He grabbed your thighs, steadying you as you let out a wail. “Please Frankie.” you cried out, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Need you inside of me.”  You reminded, tugging on his hair even harder. He took his finger and grazed your entrance while still working his tongue against you. “Stop teasing.”

For once, Frankie listened to you and pulled his lips away from you. He thought he could cum just from eating you out and he didn’t want that to happen. This could be his only chance. You groaned in frustration at the break of contact. You were so close and he had edged you completely before pulling away. You had asked for it. He was such a tease. Frankie hovered himself over you and pressed a kiss to your forehead. You felt his cock nudge against your core and you dug your fingernails into his back. You needed him now.

“Do you have a condom?” Frankie whispered into your ear. He hadn’t brought any to the fake date because truthfully, he didn’t expect the night would be ending like this.

“I’m safe.” you promised him and he smiled, kissing your lips. You laced your fingers into his hair as he steadied himself on the bed.

“Are you ready?” Frankie questioned, nudging his cock over your entrance again causing you to let out a wail.

“Please Frankie. I’m ready.”

The second those two words left your lips, Frankie thrusted deep inside you. You gasped as he slowly adjusted himself inside of you and, still experiencing your high from when he ate you out, you knew you wouldn't ask long. He felt your walls tighten around him and he knew it too.

“I’m gonna cum.” you warned him, tugging on his curls at the nape of his neck and pulling his head down into your collarbones. He pinched at your skin with his teeth and increased his speed.

“Cum for me.” He instructed, his voice dark. With a few more sloppy thrusts, you came undone beneath him, dragging your nails down his back. He didn’t stop and continued to thrust into you as you climaxed causing small screams to emit from your lips. Frankie loved the little noises you made.

“Shit,” he whispered, his coarse hands finding and massaging your breasts. “Your cunt gets so tight when you cum.”

“Frankieeee, keep doing that and I’ll cum again.” you said softly and you felt Frankie’s lips twist into a wicked smirk as he pushed himself deeper inside of you.

“Ngh you feel so good,” Frankie grunted, pearls of sweat beading at his hairline. “Can you cum for me again? Can you give me another one?”

“Yes Frankie,” you obeyed, cupping your hands around his face and forcing him to look you in the eyes while he fucked you. His coarse facial hair grazed your hands but nothing felt as good as his length filling you up, hitting you in just the right spot with each thrust.

“I want you to cum with me,” Frankie gasped, groaning loudly as he felt his cock twitch inside you. He was close, and you could feel it too. “Same time.” he instructed. He was so used to giving orders, that it turned you on even more. “Can you do that for me?” his voice was urged and he kept his pace consistent.

You managed to give him a small nod and closed your eyes feeling nothing but pure bliss and ecstasy. “I’m close!” you managed to cry out.

“Me too, n-not long baby,” Frankie promised you. “Say my name.”

“Fuck Frankie, you fuck me so good. Your cock fills me up so well. Feels so good,” you moaned, your legs tightening around his waist.

“That’s it.” Frankie groaned.

“Cum inside me Frankie,” you gasped. “Pl-please. Need to feel your warm cum inside of me.”

“Gonna count down baby girl,” Frankie said, straightening up and pushing more hard thrusts inside of you. He admired your tangled body between him and brought his thumb to your clit, rubbing at it while he finished fucking you. “Are you ready?”

“Frankieeee.” You cried out, squeezing your eyes shut.

“3, 2,” Frankie pushed one final deep thrust into you. “1.” You and Frankie both came together, your wet cunt squeezing his cock like a vice and his thick ropes of cum spilling inside of you.

Frankie rolled off you and lay next to you. You curled yourself into his damp chest and he slung his arm around you. You felt safe. Protected. You knew that Frankie would never let anyone or anything hurt you but now it felt different. He was your safety, and you were his home. For a few minutes, you both laid there in silence trying to regain your breath and settle down.

“That was-” Frankie started but you cut him off.

“So good.” you smiled and he grinned back in agreement.

“The best.” He replied and gave you a little squeeze of reassurance.

“Hey Frankie?” You asked and he hummed in acknowledgement. “If that was a fake date… what the hell do you do on a fake date?” You raised an eyebrow and giggled when you saw Frankie’s cheeks rosy up.

“Wanna find out?” He beckoned and your grin couldn’t have grown any wider. You were finally going to get your chance to have a real date with Frankie.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #frankie morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales smut #smut #catfish morales #triple frontier #x reader

[sehunniepotwrites]

there’s no place like you | l.jn

part of the Walking in a Winter Wonderland collaboration by @suh-insane and @neocitybynight

🎄 SYNOPSIS — a story of falling in love with lee jeno throughout four seasons and finding a home in him through it all 🎄 GENRE — slight angst, fluff 🎄 PAIRING — model!jeno x makeup artist!reader 🎄 WORD COUNT — 3.1k 🎄 PLAYLIST — no place by the backstreet boys; the perfect gift by joshua bassett

🎄 PROMPTS — “Maybe Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas…perhaps means a little bit more!” - How the Grinch Stole Christmas // “You are my home, my home for all seasons.” - Sia (Snowman)

You met Lee Jeno at the dead-end of last winter when spring was just around the corner. He was a stranger to you then but your friendship bloomed much like flowers during the season. 

He was a fresh face in the modeling scene and you were a makeup artist who worked closely with his modeling agency when it came to shoots. You met Jeno through a mutual friend, Na Jaemin, one of the regular models you worked with. Jeno, still new to the scene, wasn’t really one to talk much and so unbelievably shy until he was under the lights and in front of the lens.

“This is Jeno,” you remembered Jaemin introducing him when they first came into your mirror. Jeno offered his hand to you and you took it. 

He gave your hand a gentle shake before muttering, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” you smiled back. You saw his eyes glisten at your reply and you felt a weird rush take over your body.

You were ogling the newcomer during his first shoot and Jaemin caught you red handed. It was the first time someone had caught your eye after your last relationship ended. According to his friend, Jeno had recently gotten out of a relationship, too. The model teased you about Jeno endlessly but you couldn’t help but stare— under the flashing lights, Jeno was a natural. 

Charismatic.

Beautiful.

And when he smiled so kindly at you, you just knew that Jeno was going to be someone special.

You dated in the summer when the sun was hot and Jeno radiated nothing but a comforting warmth.

After that first meeting, you exchanged numbers and something just clicked. Texts were exchanged and then they transitioned into phone calls and facetime sessions that lasted for hours. If you weren’t on the phone with him, then you were spending time with Jeno in person: beautifying him before his photoshoots, touching up his makeup during his short breaks, and grabbing food with him after the shoot was over.

Jeno was easy to hang out with. Even when you were far apart in a room, you would eventually gravitate towards each other. 

Jaemin, being the observant person he was, noticed it first and pushed Jeno to ask you out; surprisingly, Jeno listened to his nosy best friend. Although he did it in the simplest way possible, it still tugged on your heartstrings just the same. 

Jeno took you out right before sunset on a summer’s evening in his Jeep. He didn’t tell you much, he just asked you to dress comfortably and you did it without question. It was a bit of a drive, your car heading to the outskirts of the city, which piqued your curiosity. He refused to say a thing but you figured it out once the entrance to a drive-in theatre came in sight.

Squealing with joy, you turned in the passenger seat to grasp Jeno’s arm that rested against his Jeep’s center console. “You’re taking me to a drive-in? I’ve always wanted to go to one!”

“I know,” he chuckles fondly, sneaking a glance at your glowing face. “Jaemin told me it was your dream date.”

“He did?” you asked, your cheeks heating up. “Did Nana tell you anything else?”

“He may or may not have told me to man up and ask you out since we practically go out on dates anyway,” Jeno answered a bit shyly. The conversation took a pause as he drove up to the ticket booth. He pushed your card away when you tried to pay for your share and purchased the tickets before slipping the pieces of paper in between his lips.

The sight was nothing extraordinary-- just a boy in a sleeveless hoodie with a ticket caught in between his teeth but it sent your heart racing.  

“So is this your way of asking me out on a date? By casually sliding us into my dream date spot,” you probed. 

“No,” Jeno laughed as he placed his car into park and your heart dropped for a second before he continued his sentence, “I was actually going to ask you to be my girlfriend after I set everything up in the back.”

“Oh,” you replied. 

He rubbed the back of his neck, facing you with the cutest look you have ever seen grace his features. His eyes were much like one of a puppy’s and there was a pink flush creeping up his cheeks. “It’s not set up yet but not everything goes to plan, I guess,” he started to stay.

You giggled, not believing any of this was happening. Jeno grabbed hold of your hands, his touch oh so gentle but the action made your weak heart skyrocket to the moon. “Will you be my girlfriend?” 

“I thought you’d never ask,” you grinned and he wasted no time, seeing as you wasted so much teetering around the label, in kissing you. Jeno leaned over the center console to press his lips lightly against yours and you can’t help but smile into it. 

Your first date and official day as a couple was spent cuddling on top of blankets and pillows in the extended trunk of his car, enjoying a movie under the stars. The summer breeze lingered in the air but that was alright; you had a cozy and warm Jeno to snuggle up to.

You truly fell for him in autumn, just like the leaves that trickled down from the many branches. 

You and Jeno were out for a walk in the park. One of his hands held on tightly to a dog leash and the other was clasped onto yours. His beloved companion and cute Samoyed, Max, trotted ahead with his paws lightly hitting the ground.

A simple yet perfect date with your newfound family— it was something you always dreamed of having. 

Max started tugging on his leash, trying to run ahead towards something, and his weight dragged Jeno forward. Your boyfriend let go of your hand to tame his dog but laughed when he saw what Max was aiming for.

You watched fondly as he leaned down with a smile to let Max free of his leash. Jeno quickly nuzzled his face into his fur, “Go ahead, bud.” 

At those words, Max ran straight towards a neat pile of leaves before leaping into it. You giggled at the dog’s delight and your laughter grew tenfold when its owner shortly followed.

“Oh my god, Jeno, what are you doing?” you laughed. 

“Jumping into a pile of leaves, what else does it look like?” he replied, yelling over his shoulder before diving into the pile. Max yelped with joy as his owner joined him, rolling around in the leaves before Jeno began to scratch his belly. 

“You’re ridiculous!”

“No, you just don’t know how to have fun!” Jeno countered with a teasing scrunch of the nose. “Isn’t that right, boy?” Max let out a little bark and you couldn’t help but take a few pictures of the moment.

He looked so happy in the photos and so effortlessly handsome— it was really no wonder why he chose modeling as his career. 

“Stop taking pictures and join us!” Jeno waved you over. You shook your head to disagree and he shot you a playful glare. He whispered a command to Max while giving his companion an abundance of pats. 

“Go!” Max, with leaves clinging onto his milky white fur, bolted straight towards you until his head was butting on your legs. The force of his actions slowly inched you towards the leaves and you giggled at the disastrous duo you adored so much. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll go, Max! Stop,” you bent down to shower Max with pets. The samoyed just let out little noises of happiness as you ran your hands over his fur, focusing on his favorite spots. 

“I’ll race you, Maxie, how ‘bout that?” you tell the dog as Jeno affectionately watched the scene. He barked back as you counted down to one. Bubbles of laughter left your mouth as you ran after your dog and into the giant pile. 

Leaves rained down on you as you landed face-first into the now scattered heap, Jeno’s arms immediately wrapping around your body. He chuckled as you grinned up at him, Jeno’s eyes curled up in the crescents you loved to see. “See, it wasn’t that bad? All you had to do was take the leap.”

And take the leap you did.

“I love you,” you said suddenly. 

His chuckles halted and he blinked down at you. “What did you say?”

“I love you,” you repeated, voice a little louder.

Jeno bit down on his bottom lip, trying to hide his smile from escaping. He couldn’t hide it from you for long, though. His grin was so wide, almost bursting at the seams as he looked down at you with such adoration. There was this tenderness taking over your body and soul as he stared at you, you never wanted it to leave. 

“I love you, too.” And for the first time, Jeno’s words felt like home. 

It was supposed to be your first winter with Jeno. In some ways, it was. 

You moved into a one-bedroom apartment together after having a serious discussion about your relationship. You shared space and co-parented an extremely affectionate dog and you thought nothing could ever tear that happiness away from you.

That was where you were wrong. 

As Jeno booked more shoots, his popularity grew. With rising popularity came a more demanding career. Even when living with him, you barely saw Jeno— he was constantly in and out of the house for a shoot. There were times you almost forgot what he looked and sounded like. With the time apart, all you wanted to do was spend your first Christmas together. That was all you asked for. Just one holiday would be enough but that didn’t go according to plan.

“Jeno, you promised you would be home for Christmas! I barely see you anymore as is!”

“I know, babe, I know but I can’t pass up the opportunity to work with John Suh!” he argued back. “It’s John Suh!”

Yes, the world-renowned photographer, John Suh. That would be an amazing opportunity but there was just one problem with that collaboration.

“But John Suh is located in America,” you replied with a frown. 

“It sounds like you’re not happy for me,” Jeno pressed.

“No, it’s not that. I am happy for you but you promised.”

“This will be so good for me, for us. I’ll be back before you know it,” he grabbed hold of your hands, pressing them tightly to reassure you, “and I’ll make it up to you, I promise!”

You tore your hands away from his grip with a glare and he stared back at you with hurt. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Jen.”

He broke so many promises before. Why would this time be different?

“Don’t be like that,” he said, disappointment taking over his features. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Because the only time Max and I see you now is when you’re going to sleep and getting ready to go to work! We’re your family and you barely have time for us anymore,” you hissed back. “This was the one thing I asked of you and you can’t even do that. You know how hard the holidays are for me.”

It was true; the holidays were difficult. Your parents died while you were young during the usually merry season and the hurt of being left alone still hurt you. On top of that, every romantic relationship you entered ended during the wintertime and it only added to the pain.

“But—” Jeno tried to retort.

“No, you know what?” you muttered as Jeno looked at you desperately. “Just go.”

“No—”

“No, Jen,” you swallowed down a cry that was building in your throat. “Just, just go.”

And in a flurry of anger, Jeno did, leaving you alone for the week of Christmas.

You drowned your apartment with Christmas decor to fill the void. Tinsel was pinned onto the walls and handmade snowflakes were strung from your ceiling. You bought a fake tree and dressed it with dainty white lights and colorful ornaments. It was filled to the brim, your living space now a winter wonderland, and yet, it still felt empty. 

Even with Max by your side, you felt hollow as if something was missing. He was missing. 

On Christmas morning, you woke up with an empty bed and your frown dug deeper into your face. You felt your sense of loneliness hit you and you stared blankly at your pictures with Jeno, wishing he would come back to you.

You were so terribly lonely and your seasonal depression was hitting you at an all-time high. 

The place you called home didn’t feel like a home at all without him there. So much for being home for the holidays.

“Max?” you called, noticing he wasn’t on his side of the bed. It was actually Jeno’s side but he wasn’t there so Max claimed it until he came back...if he came back. You weren’t so sure he would after that last argument. 

You heard your dog yelping out of excitement from the living room, which was pretty unusual for him. 

“Maxie?” you called for him again but he didn’t answer, too preoccupied with whatever he found in the living room. Did he finally find that bone you hid for him?

You heard footsteps against your hardwood floors and you froze. Was someone here?

The pounding against the floor grew louder and louder, your heartbeat matching its timing as you gripped onto your blanket. A familiar head popped out from behind the door frame, a shy and worried smile taking over his face. Max fought his way in between his legs, his head also peeping into your room and suddenly, an overwhelming feeling took over your body.

“Jeno,” you whispered.

“Hi, love,” he greeted back, slowly making his way over to you. Jeno took a seat at the end of your bed and you used that time to take him in. His appearance looked so ragged compared to his usual self.

His black hair was a mess, strands sticking up in all directions, and there were designer bags under his eyes. Wrinkled clothes dressed his body while his cheeks were sunken in as he smiled helplessly at you. 

“You— what are you doing here?”

“I shouldn’t have left,” he explained with a frown. “I know the holidays are such a difficult time for you and I just added onto it, like a shitty person.”

You reached out to him, interlocking your fingers with his. You immediately felt better at the touch. “No, I know how much an opportunity like that means to you. I shouldn’t hold you back.”

Jeno lifted your knuckles to his lips, pressing a light kiss on them. “Let’s say we were both in the wrong and call it a day, okay?”

“Okay,” you chuckled as he placed another kiss on your hand. 

Jeno used his other hand to reach into his pocket to pull a small box out of his pocket. He pushed it towards you, gesturing for you to take it.

“What’s this?” You hesitated to take it but he easily shoved it into your hold. 

“A present for you, dummy,” he replied. 

“I didn’t get you anything,” you murmured. 

He shook his head, “That’s okay.”

You gently opened the box to find a heart-shaped pendant. It was old and a little tattered but beautiful just the same. “Oh,” was all you could say as you ran your thumb over the surface. 

“It’s a locket,” Jeno whispered before urging you to open it. “Found it in an antique shop while I was abroad.”

You grinned. You always had a thing for antiques. 

You pressed on the tiny clasp you found on the side and inside was a tiny picture of you, Jeno, and Max from that autumn day in the park. “Oh my god, Jeno.”

Looking up at him, you see his face dusted with a rosy shade of pink. His thumb rubbed against your free hand as Jeno abashedly smiled at you. “While I was gone, I was stressing over getting you the perfect gift to make up for everything. It’s not much, I’m sorry this was all I could think of,” Jeno said. 

You didn’t care about the monetary gifts.  You didn’t care about them at all. All you cared about was him. “That doesn’t matter— all I wanted for Christmas was to be home.” 

He shot you a confused look and tilted his head. Your boyfriend looked so similar to your pet samoyed at that moment, you had to hold back a laugh. “But you are home, I was the one that left.”

You scooted closer to him on the bed, wrapping your arms around his middle. You immediately relaxed as his arms returned the hug, pressing your closer to his body. Snuggling into the crook of his neck, you said, “But this place isn’t home without you. when I’m with you, I’m home.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Jeno said. 

He lied. It did make sense. It made perfect sense but he just couldn’t believe it.

“Of course it does,” you grinned back at him, taking hold of his cheek. Jeno radiated a warmth that you missed so dearly into your freezing hand. “Home stopped being a place when you entered my life.”

You pressed a kiss on his shoulder, “There’s no place like you, Lee Jeno.”

The brightest smile broke out on his face, making him shine like the stars you used to wish upon. You swore you saw golden specks in the brown of his irises. Jeno beamed like a brilliant light, eyes scrunching up so lovingly before putting his forehead to yours. He nuzzled his nose with yours before whispering an affirmation of love against your lips and the feeling sent shivers down your spine. 

You closed the distance, connecting your lips with his and there it was again: that comforting blanket, that safe haven that you missed so dearly. 

You were embraced by his love and that feeling of home. 

“Merry Christmas, babe,” he murmured, still not parting from your lips.

Merry Christmas. Welcome home.

🎄  author’s note—here’s my fluffy holiday fic! this was such a fun write, if only i could write holdiay fics all year round huhuhhu please tell me what you think and be sure to check out the other fics in the collab!

🎄 taglist — @notnctu

#cznnet #neowritingsnet #lee jeno #nct #nct dream #jeno scenarios #jeno imagines #jeno x reader #nct dream x reader #nct x reader #nct scenarios #nct imagines #jeno fluff #jeno angst

[klixxy]

weekly fic recs

(ft. my bookmark comments - mostly mha and voltron)

boku no hero academia:

what is right and what is easy - theroyalsavage

(bnha; tododeku; fluff + angst; 2k words; oneshot)

Midoriya Izuku is not chosen to represent Hogwarts in the Triwizard Tournament. He does not slay a dragon, or rescue innocents, or brave a maze of dark magic. He does not win accolades, or fame, or glory.

Instead, Izuku meets the son of the greatest dark wizard of the age, a Durmstrang student with hair like a sunrise and eyes like a war. And maybe, he just might win something else.

If I'm Being Honest.... by I_dont_know_man 

(bnha; tododeku; fluff + crack/humor; 26k words; oneshot; truth quirk)

Midoriya scrunched up his nose in confusion. “Uh, Shouto, why are you glaring at me like that?”

“I-” Todoroki began to lie, until nausea slammed him like a door to any room that Bakugou entered. “I--” Todoroki grit his teeth, and glared daggers into the wall behind Midoriya. Goodbye, friendship. It had been absolutely divine while it lasted. “Because you’re very attractive.”

They say honesty is the best policy, but it sure as hell had a knack for Todoroki making a complete and utter fool of himself.

Or: In which Todoroki is placed under a mysterious truth-telling quirk and suffers, Uraraka laughs at him, Midoriya is confused but smitten nonetheless, and Twitter is the thirstiest site on the planet.

paint on our lips (paint on those fingertips) by spicanao

(bnha; tododeku; angst + magical realism; 11k words; oneshot; gallery au)

Galleries are wonderful places. The works seem so vibrant, so beautiful, so alive.

Until they're actually alive.

(Ib AU)

[my bookmarks: holy shit this is beautiful in an odd, poignant, dream-like way]

Todoroki Shouto’s Amateur Guide to Not Fucking Up The Timeline by Anubis_2701

(bnha; tododeku; crack/humor; 13k words; oneshot; time travel; future fic)

All that Todoroki had wanted was milk. Nothing drastic, nothing dramatic, just milk.

Unfortunately, in his quest to get milk, he ended up running into one of the saltiest, most impulsive people this side of the globe. Who also just so happened to have a volatile time-travel quirk.

So yeah, he was fucked. Just slightly. Being punted randomly through time wasn't exactly how he'd wanted to spend his Saturday morning. At least the younger versions of his friends are cute.

awake and (un)afraid, asleep or- by driedupwishes

(bnha; tododeku; fluff + angst + The Feels; 54k words; oneshot; social media/future fic)

“You,” Shoto says, picking his head up from where his screen is filled with The Worst Photograph Ever, curtesy of Shinsou, Jiro, Kaminari, his brother, and nearly everyone they know. “You are so dead to me.”

Kirishima blinks, mouth half open while Izuku mutters oh god, it’s too late, isn’t it on the other end of the phone, before Kirishima is leaning into his space to see his screen.

“Oh,” he says, in response to the photo someone in the crowd of civilians watching the fight had taken of them. “Oh, that’s-” he cuts himself off for a minute, leaning back to eye Shoto’s face while on the other side of the phone Izuku smothers what is probably a laugh, and then changes tracks.

“It’s super manly to love and support your friends,” Kirishima tells Shoto haughtily, as if this whole thing isn't his fault in the first place.

-

or: Kirishima and Shoto accidentally start trending on Twitter and in retaliation Shoto decides to make an Instagram to showcase all his Hero Deku merchandise, so that everyone knows how much he loves his boyfriend Izuku, and no one expects how quickly it will all spiral out from there

[my bookmarks: broke my heart. i teared up multiple times and even now I'm barely holding back tears.

pure beauty. pulls an incredible amount of emotion from the descriptive language and conveys the love and loneliness and that pulsing ache so well that i thought that my chest would cave in from the force of all the fucking feelings in it. this entire fic was a perfect, awe-inspiring package of fluff, beautiful shoto and class 1a interaction, heartfelt long distance tododeku feels, and almost every single paragraph had my heart fucking squeezing so hard in my chest that i could barely breathe.

i am in awe.]

Hooliganisms by aphrodaisyacs

(bnha; gen/todofam; crack/humor; 17k words; series; social media)

In which an anonymous artist’s street art of Bald Endeavor goes viral, causing a chain of coincidental events and ironic situations to ripple through the lives of everyone- heroes, villains and civilians alike.

[my bookmarks: i'm crying so much from laughter]

Part 1: Where it all begins- the origins of the street artist known as the "Bald Hooligan" and their rise to infamy

Part 2: The spin-off focusing on the unlikely trio whose friendship was borne from the events of Part 1

Daydreaming by AnonymousTwit

(bnha; gen/todobakudeku; angst; 7k words; oneshot; todoroki-centric)

If he'd been more careful, then they'd be fine. If he'd been paying attention, then he wouldn't be alone right now.

But he wasn't and he hadn't, so it's just him, now. It's him, his thoughts, and the unconscious bodies of two of his closest friends as he waits for someone to reach them.

Whether they be friendly or not.

Or

Author has writer's block and coughed up some Todoroki angst in retaliation.

A Study in Firsts by Oceanbreeze7

(bnha; gen; angst + fluff + humor; 76k words; ongoing; class 1a-centric)

There’s a first time for everything.

The first time everyone crammed in Momo’s room to study, a mess of limbs and books on her bed.

The first time Mina burned crepes so badly the smoke alarm went off.

The first time a jumpscare got Sero so badly, he flipped off the back of the couch.

The first time Uraraka fell asleep at the table and accidentally sent it floating.

The first time someone realized Todoroki walked far too quietly, and far too cautiously around the dorms to be normal.

The first time Midoriya broke his toe on a door frame and kept walking through it.

The first time Kirishima woke up screaming through the walls.

The first time Tsuyu blanched at the sight of a needle.

The first time Bakugo dropped, clutching the back of his neck with eyes scarily vacant and detonating everything around him until Aizawa had to intervene.

It wasn’t always pretty, but the dorms were filled with firsts.

Responsibility by deafmic

(bnha; gen; angst + hurt/comfort; 94k words; series (complete); todoroki-centric; dadzawa + papamic)

“I told you outside,” Aizawa chooses his words carefully, reiterating the same point he’s made before. “My responsibility for you doesn’t end at the classroom. Every part of your life is partially my responsibility. Your father doesn’t scare or intimidate me. If you need help, I can get it for you, but you and I both know that you need to ask for it first.”

Aizawa organizes a way for the students to go home for the holidays. Todoroki Shouto, however, gets left behind by his father. Aizawa, annoyed at Endeavor, takes Shouto under his care for the night, and is joined by a certain Yamada Hizashi.

[my bookmarks: *unholy screaming sobbing noises*

an incredible and emotional journey from start to finish.]

the drip of melting ice by walking_through_autumn

(bnha; gen/platonic shintodo; angst + fluff; 19k words; oneshot; todoroki/shinsou-centric ft. dadzawa)

Aizawa found out within a day. It was quite likely due to the dish Todoroki had washed and left to dry in the shared kitchen after the kitten had been fed off it. Hitoshi was forced to reflect that it wasn’t any good hiding the litter and cat food in their wardrobes if Todoroki was going to make a fundamental mistake like that.

Aizawa stood in his door frame and raised an eyebrow. “Well? Where is the cat?”

Hitoshi gave his most disarming smile. “What cat?”

Todoroki chose that moment to exit his room, eyes on his phone, other hand holding a cat toy. He bumped into Aizawa and looked up slowly, like in a horror movie.

“...oh,” Todoroki said. Aizawa raised the other eyebrow. Hitoshi rubbed a hand down his face.

Herbal tea, weekly floor gatherings, spoiled surprises, movie marathons, shared custody over a cat, rain and ice and blankets and plushies, and the journey of falling into a friendship.

(Or: Hitoshi moves into the 2A dormitory at the beginning of his second year, learns who his neighbour is, and makes the friends he had declared he isn't there to have within the space of a semester.)

Hand in Hand in Hand by kngsbrg (Citlalcoatl)

(bnha; todobakudeku; fluff + strangers to lovers; 10k words; oneshot; tea au)

Boiling the water, choosing the right temperature for the right kind of tea, using quality leaves, scooping the precise amount, and letting it steep for just the perfect time...

All that and more is needed to make a delicious cup of tea.

A business that Shouto was quite knowledgeable about.

*

Spring begins and brings with it the hint of new fresh air, buds waiting to blossom, and just a bit of change.

[my bookmarks: featuring: oblivious teamaker shoto and pining firemen baku and izu]

even if i die (it's you) by monomoon

(bnha; todobaku; fluff + angst + strangers to lovers; 75k words; complete; paramedic au)

Or; where Todoroki never went to UA and, in rejection of his father's ambitions, became a paramedic; and where pro hero Bakugou Katsuki is just a little bit too intrigued with the heterochromatic man who always glares daggers at him whenever he sees him.

When Bakugou was suddenly and abruptly met with two cold, heterochromatic eyes glaring daggers right back at him, he had two immediate thoughts:

"Why does he look like he's plotting my assassination?"

and

"Why the fuck are his eyes so pretty?"

[my bookmarks: UGH THIS IS JUST FUCKING PHENOMENAL- GORGEOUS LOVELY INCREDIBLE HEARTSTOPPING HEARTBREAKING BEAUTIFUL RIDICULOUSLY GOOD POIGNANT I AM RUNNING OUT OF ADJECTIVES BUT IT'S GREAT TRUST ME AKDHJSFNW]

This Is Now by colormesherlocked

(bnha; gen; angst + hurt/comfort + fluff; 193k words; series (ongoing); todoroki-centric)

Todoroki Shoto will be a hero.

...But not just yet. Right now, Todoroki Shoto is a bitter, pessimistic, hurt teenager who doesn't want help, friends or hinderances of any kind getting in the way of his misguided goals.

Thankfully, there will soon be people in his life who will be more than happy to drag him into a place of happiness, safety, and acceptance - kicking and screaming the whole way, if they have to. All he has to do is survive his first meeting with them and all the incredible changes that will come after.

This is Todoroki Shoto's Hero Academia.

(Semi-canon compliant up to a point and told from Todoroki Shoto's POV.)

the league of anti-villains by aizawa_wears_crocs (avenris), avenris

(bnha; gen; angst + fluff + humor; 35k words; ongoing; todobakushinmono-centric)

When he's secretly tasked to find the UA traitor, Todoroki isn't expecting help. He's especially not expecting it from the three other first year students perceived as villainous in their own ways. Unfortunately for him, Shinsou, Monoma and Bakugou have all got something to prove, and his solo mission turns into a team effort that rapidly spirals far beyond what they were expecting to find - but hey, they're in too deep now.

Or: in which the gang solves the mystery of the traitor feat. todoroki family shenanigans, copious amounts of dadzawa, backstory for my favorite 1-B gremlin, and good old-fashioned illegal vigilantism.

such eloquent graffiti by firelilyblooms

(bnha; todobaku; angst + hurt/comfort; 9k words; oneshot; todoroki-centric; future fic)

Todoroki Shouto is sitting cross-legged at his coffee table, hunched over a bowl of instant ramen, when he finds out along with the rest of the world that the Flame Hero, Endeavor, is dead.

Or, Shouto's guide to dealing with death.

[my bookmarks: i am in ✨pain✨:)]

Tell-All by HopeNight

(bnha; todofam; angst; 4k words; oneshot; todofam/natsuo-centric)

When Natsuo is twenty-years-old, he publishes a tell-all book on his father and growing up in his house. This starts a domino effect, of course. With the book comes an investigation and sets the groundwork for the Hawks scandal in several years’ time that will see the disbandment of the Heroic Public Safety Commission and the ascension of pro hero Deku to the Number One slot. This will also lead to a decades long chain of change and progress with Deku wielding his influence and charisma like a sword and shield to make society and the world a little better than when he found it.

In essence, you can say, that Todoroki Natsuo is the true hero of this story with his fake quirk and an anger burning in his gut. Just one small book and suddenly…everything changes. The future is brighter for its existence. The curtains are thrown back and the light begins its work to disinfect and cleanse.

When Todoroki Shouto is in his second year of UA, his brother, Natsuo, publishes a tell-all book of essays about growing up in Endeavor's house.

This is Natsuo's story about how he really changed the path of things.

like an open wound by filzmonster

(bnha; gen; angst + hurt/comfort; 5k words; oneshot; todoroki-centric; manga spoilers)

It's a Sunday and Shouto is making gyoza in the dorm kitchen - or: It's a Sunday and Todoroki has an existential crisis over food.

[my bookmarks: oh my GODDDDDDDDD

*screeches while crying**is a blubbering mess*]

Shouto Todoroki and His Stuffed Eeyore (And Also Childhood Trauma) by ThatSpicySeaFlapFlap

(bnha; gen; angst + MORE ANGST; 42k words; complete; todoroki-centric)

Aizawa looked him in the eye, placed a gentle hand around his bicep (not like Endeavor, his father had only ever touched him with the intention to burn) and asked, “Are you okay?”

People don’t usually ask him things. They like to tell him things, like where to sit or what to wear or how to talk or how to be a hero or how to be himself.

‘Am I okay?’ He thought. He realized he doesn’t ask himself things, either.

Shouto didn’t have an answer to Aizawa’s question, so instead he said:

“A very long time ago, my mother did something....highly upsetting.” The boy was tracing the outline of his scar, his calloused finger stopping and jumping around the bumps and ridges of the burnt skin. “Something today reminded me of that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” His teacher asked.

“No.”

“Okay. I’m here when you do. I’m always here, kid.” Shouto only responded with a sob. He felt as if he’d earned that right after all the emotional labor he had been put through tonight.

days by chibistarlyte

(bnha; todobaku; angst + hurt/comfort; 19k words; series (complete); todoroki-centric)

Most days, Shouto is fine.

But some days...

Some days, Shouto falls apart.

Location Sent by sunflowerstorm

(bnha; gen; angst + hurt/comfort; 15k words; oneshot; todoroki-centric; third year 1a)

In their first year at UA Midoriya sent his location to the class 1-A group chat during the Hosu incident because he didn't have time to do anything else before rushing to Iida's aid.

Now in their second year, Todoroki sends his location to the group chat at 6:30am on a Saturday morning after going home for the weekend. Midoriya knows immediately that something is very wrong and takes off, Bakugo hot on his heels.

-----

"They’d known each other long enough to be able to communicate practically wordlessly. The quiet rage on Midoriya's face was extremely telling, this was bad. Bakugo braced himself as Midoriya shuffled to the side to show where his hands were hovering over what was most certainly a burn and a serious one at that. Todoroki’s own fire didn’t burn him but they all knew that didn’t make him fire proof. Bakugo could do the math."

Faith by phinnium

(bnha; gen; angst + hurt/comfort; 7k words; oneshot; todoroki-centric; manga spoilers)

"You wanted to open a case?"

Aizawa frowned, "uh, yeah. Someone showed you Dabi's video, didn't they? And I don't doubt Todoroki himself has told you bits and pieces."

Izuku did not expect this to be how the conversation went.

"Yeah. But Todoroki isn't being hurt now. He's fine. Endeavour's changed."

Or: Midoriya trusts the Hero Commission far more than he should, especially given the situation at hand. Todoroki isn't available to explain what's what, so Aizawa and Bakugou do it instead.

(Written after the release of issue 293 of the manga, and in the aftermath of the current arc. Spoilers ahead.)

Incendiary by macrauchenia

(bnha; gen; angst + hurt/comfort; 17k words; ongoing (hiatus?); todoroki-centric)

"You're going to die, little Todoroki. And if you don't, your classmates will instead."

A training exercise backfires when Izuku and Todoroki become tangled in an escaped villain's vendetta against Endeavor. Alone in a perilous situation due to the villain's barrier quirk, Todoroki must take desperate and creative measures to save his classmates.

[Class 1-A Teamwork/Bonding]

Parallax by petrichor (findingkairos)

(bnha; gen; angst + hurt/comfort + fluff; 64k words; ongoing; todoroki-centric)

Todoroki Shouto has memories that he didn't make on his own, motor skills that his brain doesn't know how to parse, and a love of science and mathematics and physics that means he broke down his Quirk into its most intricate, universe-bending components at the age of seven.

In one universe, he wants to become a hero. In this one, even though he doesn't want to, he might have to.

(Featuring: a rapidly developing Shoutosquad, Quirk science, headcanons of all flavors, healthy and supportive sibling and sibling-like relationships, and Dadzawa.)

[notes: one of my current favorite fics that i’m eagerly following for the next update. :D]

Caturdays by staqua (aka my fav todobaku author)

(bnha; todobaku; fluff + angst + enemies to lovers; 10k words; oneshot)

"Hmm... It's lunchtime now isn't it? You should have lunch with him."

"With Bakugou?" He blanched. "I think he would refuse and then murder me."

Rei chuckled softly as if death was a joke and held his hand tenderly. "If he's in the hospital, someone he cares about must not be well. I think anyone going through that should have a nice meal with good company."

"You overestimate me," Shouto pointed out and she gave another laugh.

OR: Shouto's usual Saturdays included visits to his mother and the cat cafe; he wasn't expecting Bakugou to get thrown in the mix.

voltron: legendary defender:

*hacks twitter in space* by Zakyuu 

(vld x marvel; gen/klance; crack/humor + fluff; 17k words; social media au; ongoing)

the voltron paladins arent as popular as the avengers, obviously — in fact, no one even knows they exist. but they still radiate the same kind of dumb gay energy like the rest of the world.

or: pidge somehow manages to connect voltron's communicators onto earth and virtually nothing is the same. voltron also collectively makes everyone lose their marbles while they play hot potato with the fact that theyre in a ten thousand year war with the galra.

the fear of falling by amillionsmiles

(vld; gen; angst + fluff; character study; 3k words; oneshot; keith-centric)

Keith can pull off a downward spiral. It's the kind of maneuver he does in his sleep.

[my bookmarks: stunning. beautiful. breathtaking. poignant.]

Recoil/Release by Cheshyr

(vld; gen; angst + hurt/comfort; 22k words; oneshot; keith-centric)

When Keith is bitten by an alien creature with venom that causes your dominant emotions to be amplified, the team is ready for a day of dealing with an incredibly angry paladin.

Which means they're not ready at all for what actually happens.

hound by story_monger

(vld; gen; angst + hurt/comfort; 47k words; oneshot; keith-centric)

Keith has a lot of practice being alone; you might almost say he's good at it. When he finds himself seriously injured and stranded on an unknown planet, he knows he's not alone there. And here's the worst part: even after rescue and after things return to normal, Keith gets the distinct sense that whatever was on that planet has followed him. He doesn't have proof. But he knows it's there. He knows it's not going to stop until it gets what it wants.

Keith's 'Physical Contact' Initiation Program by alisayamin (sh_04e)

(vld; gen; fluff+ angst + hurt/comfort; 26k words; oneshot; keith-centric)

Keith didn’t move and neither did Pidge. It was a little awkward until Keith finally said, “Maybe we could officially officiate this..?”

“What do you mean?”

“Fist me.”

Pidge recoiled and sputtered, “Keith, what the f-” She was cut off by Shiro’s bellowing laughter from the observatory deck.

With his straight face unchanged, Keith lowered his left hand with the stopwatch and lifted his right hand, fisted.

Pidge actually sighed with so much relief, “OH. You mean fistbump! Right.” She slapped her forehead to remove the very very wrong image her imagination drew for her, “Holy shit, Keith, we need to work on that but yeah sure, I’d be honoured to officiate your physical contact program whatever.”

Or

That one time Coran realized Keith was too distant and decided to make him undergo the 'Physical Contact' Initiation Program which then led to --> 5 times the paladins realized Keith was an actual cat.

The Red String by Le_Tournesol

(vld; gen/klance; angst + fluff; 19k words; series (ongoing); keith-centric; pre-voltron au)

Lance and Keith keep coming across one another at different points in their lives.

[my bookmarks: this is so sad and sweet and lovely]

All that is gold does not glitter by Rangergirl3

(vld; gen; angst + fluff + hurt/comfort; 28k words; complete; keith-centric)

Keith isn't what most would call a 'people' person, but that doesn't stop him from caring about his team.

aka

Five Times the other Paladins learned something about Keith, and the One Time he learned something about them.

[my bookmarks: fuck. just- fuck.]

Miscommunication Celebration by SleepySsnail

(vld; gen; fluff + hurt/comfort; 4k words; oneshot; keith-centric; birthday fic)

Keith was never too focused on his birthday, but when it rolls around he hopes his team remembers it. When Keith's birthday is full of quality time and fun, he doesn't even question why his friends haven't said "happy birthday" to him.

Or: Where Keith thinks everyone is celebrating his birthday when they really forgot about it.

Keithtober 2019 Day 23: Birthday

avatar: the last airbender:

Change of Address by hearmerory

(atla; gen/zukka; ANGST + fluff + hurt/comfort; 89k words; series (ongoing); zuko-centric; modern au)

A collection of instances in a modern AU of Zuko's shitty childhood, featuring Ozai's dislike of his son's autism and sexuality.

[my bookmarks: FUCK F U C K WHAT THE ACTUAL F U C K.

I CAN'T WITH THIS ANYMORE.]

#mha fic recs #bnha fic recs #todoroki #todoroki shouto #todoroki fic recs #tododeku #todobaku #gen #fics #fanfiction #fic recs #weekly fic recs #not so weekly but whatever lmao #voltron fic recs #vld #voltron #keith #keith fic recs #klance #angst #hurt/comfort #todoroki-centric #keith-centric #atla #avatar: the last airbender #zuko #zukka #atla fic recs #feel free to look at my ao3 bookmarks for more that i didnt include #and then judge my taste in raw angsty fanfic and the blatant favorism i have for certain characters

[gooddaykate]

You Already Mean the World to Me

Marcus Pike x Reader

Word Count: just under 8500

Tags: childhood best friends, pining idiots, King Arthur/Monty Python references, some cursing, roughly unedited terrible writing

A/N: It’s finally here! Again, absolutely would not have been finished without the constant support of my dearest @thedaysarenotfull​. @hdlynn​ helped me talk through my roadblock. Let me know what you think!

You had been friends with Marcus Pike for as long as you could remember. You grew up together. You were toddlers together. You went to the same schools together. You fell in love with art together. You went to every gig his band had. He went to every art show of yours. You stood up as his “best man” in the wedding to his college sweetheart, and sat with him while he cried after she’d handed him the divorce paperwork.

You weren’t sure which broke your heart more.

You were certain that Marcus was the love of your life. He had just… never felt the same. And that was okay! You were perfectly fine loving him as much as you could. When he left a quiet but excited voicemail at three in the morning telling you that he met someone, you let all the love you held for him mold into the cracks in your heart.

Three months and many conversations about Teresa later, you got a call from him.

“Hey, Lance, I have news. Guess what.”

“Oh, it’s good you called, I’ve got news, too. Yours, though? I don’t know, Art. You’re finally moving to DC to come be with your best friend?” you asked sarcastically. The line was quiet for long enough that you took the phone off your ear to look and see if the call had dropped. “Marcus?”

“How did you know?” You could practically hear his furrowed brows.

“Wait, what?”

“How’d you know I’m moving to DC?”

“I was being facetious, you asshole. Are you serious? Are you really moving here? You’re not going to be halfway across the country anymore?”

“Nope. I got a promotion. I’ve got about a month left here in Dallas, and then I’m headed your way. I’m invincible!”

“You’re a loony,” you laughed, continuing the phrase you’ve said to each other since you were kids. “Oh my god, Marcus! That’s so incredible! I can’t wait to show you some of my favorite places. I mean, you haven’t even visited me here, Marcus, and I’ve been here for three years.”

“Yeah, I’m excited. It’ll be nice to be in the same city again, huh? Tell me your news, though.”

You laughed. “Forget city, just the prospect of even being in the same time zone is getting me excited. My news doesn’t really feel all that important, now. My show kind of took off and I had to get an agent. Now I’ve got three galleries wanting my paintings.” You knew Marcus couldn’t see you, but you shrugged anyway. “I’m not as excited by that anymore. Not when I’ll get to see you very soon. I can’t wait to have you here, oh my god. I’ve missed you so much, Art.”

“Hold the hell up, you mean to tell me that the first art show you’ve had your work in got so much traction that you needed to hire an agent? So you’re actually painting full time, now?”

“I guess when you put it that way, it does sound kind of important.”

Marcus let out a sarcastic laugh. “You freakin’ think? Man, I’m so proud of you, Lance!”

That brought a smile and heat to your face. “Thank you, Marcus,” you said quietly. “But yeah, painting full time. That triptych I did of the valley back home, remember that one?” Marcus hummed in affirmation. “That one sold for nine k. Three grand a panel, Marcus. I about crapped myself when Jenny told me how much the guy was offering.”

“That’s awesome. Did you ever meet the buyer so you could thank him in person?”

“Nah, he was some anonymous guy out of Texas somewhere. Apparently he grew up in the same general area we did. He told Jenny it reminded him of home. Enough about me, though! When will you be here officially? I’ll help you move in.”

“Three weeks. I don’t know the actual date, yet.” Marcus was quiet for a moment. “I, uh, I asked Teresa to come with me.”

In the euphoria of the galleries and having your best friend back, you’d forgotten about his potential plus one. “Oh! Oh, that’s… quick.”

He immediately jumped on the defensive. “It’s not like I demanded she go with me. She has a month to think about it. I’m going to talk to the director there and see if a place could be made for her, so she’d have a job to go to if she wants it.”

You tried to backpedal. “No, I know, Marcus. I know. It’s just,” you tried to find the words. “I don’t know, Art, you’ve been dating for three months. And I know you don’t want to hear it, bud, but I just… I just don’t think she’s all the way in like you are.”

“What?” he spat.

“From what you’ve told me I just-”

Marcus interrupted you. “Oh, that was rhetorical. You really don’t have to say it again.”

“Art, I’m sorry I just don’t think-”

The way Marcus said your first name stopped you in your tracks.

“If you can’t support me in this, then maybe I need to take a step back from our friendship.”

“Wait, Marcus, don’t you think that’s a little dramatic? I mean, I just don’t want to see you get hurt again. Art, you’ve gotta-”

“That’s enough. I’ll talk to you later.”

The line was quiet again, but you knew the line was dead this time.

“Bye, Art.” You sucked in a heavy breath and could feel your lower lip starting to quiver. “I love you.”

•

DC didn’t feel right. Marcus had moved with mostly excitement. He put a down payment on a house not far from headquarters. Teresa would be joining him today- he needed to leave to pick her up from the airport in about an hour, and then they’d start life as an engaged couple.

But Lance was missing.

It’d been almost five weeks since he’d spoken to her. He knew he’d been hasty and rude the last time they’d talked. He also knew she was just trying to help him protect his heart. But he didn’t need his heart protected. Lance didn’t know Teresa like he did. She’d see that when Teresa was finally here and they could meet. Everything was going to work out.

Marcus picked up his phone to call her for the hundredth time since moving to the same city she lived in. He missed her, and he knew it was his place to pick up the phone and apologize, but he just couldn’t.

A call from Teresa lit up his screen.

That’s odd, he thought. She should be on a plane right now.

•

The next five weeks passed slowly. The longest you’d ever gone without talking to Marcus was that one weekend when you were in high school and he went on a camping trip and didn’t have service.

This was slow torture, and you knew it was your fault. If you’d just kept your mouth shut and supported him like you had with Ashley, this wouldn’t have happened. It would have hurt you, but at least he’d still be around.

You knew he was in DC by now. Because of the way things were left, you didn’t even know if Teresa had decided to come with him, though you figured she’d be stupid not to. You had considered going to the fbi headquarters and asking for him, but then you thought better of it. The fbi probably wouldn’t appreciate some random person coming in and asking for an agent, and you didn’t really want to be detained. That probably wouldn’t win any points back in Marcus’ book.

Going to your studio was just depressing. Everything you painted was spoiled by your sadness. Your agent had laughed and called this your blue period. You just threw a pained smile her way with a nod and a shrug.

It was nearing the end of the sixth week without any contact from him, and you felt the Marcus sized hole in your heart. The other day, you ordered Indian takeout, and only when you were sitting on the couch with it on your lap did you realize that it was the malai kofta that he would usually get. That realization just served to make you cry and lose your appetite.

You were getting ready for bed when you heard a knock on your door. Thinking it was the sweet old woman from next door in need of some honey for her nightly tea again, you shrugged on your robe and swung the front door open with a smile.

But it wasn’t Miss Agnes.

Marcus’ eyes were rimmed red. He just stood there in your doorway looking at you. The sight of him brought you tears of both relief and concern. His chin wobbled and more tears sprung up in his eyes.

“Marcus, I’m so sorry. I never should have-”

He cut you off with a shake of his head. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m so sorry, Lance. I just didn’t want to hear it. I’ve missed you so much.”

You let go of the door to open your arms to him. He fell into your hug with a heavy sigh. You closed the door behind him and then just held him. You both had silent tears rolling down your faces.

Marcus mumbled something into your shoulder.

“What, sweetheart?” you whispered.

You could feel the wobble of his chin when he moved his face to answer. “You were right.”

“Oh, Marcus. I’m so sorry. That’s the last thing I wanted to be right about, hon. I’m so sorry.”

You didn’t want to be the first to let go, so you just stood in your front hall holding him. After a few more minutes of tired silence, you moved your face from the crook of his neck so he would be able to hear you.

“Marcus, honey, why don’t we move to the living room? It’ll be more comfortable. And then maybe you can tell me about it? If you’re up for that. We’ve missed a lot the last month and a half.”

He stayed quiet and glued to you for just a bit longer, before mumbling a ‘yeah’ and letting go. You grabbed his hand and led him to the couch.

“Tea?”

Marcus grabbed one of the fluffy throw blankets you had folded in the basket by the couch. “Yeah. Please.”

Walking into the kitchen, you grabbed a chamomile mint blend from the shelf and spooned some of the loose leaf into a steeper. You squeezed a honey stick into each mug  and waited for your electric kettle to come to a boil. When you got back to the living room, Marcus was sitting cross-legged on the couch with the blanket pulled over his head.

“You look kind of like a sad nun, Art.”

The corners of his mouth twitched up as he took a mug from you. You sat facing him on the other end of the couch and just waited. He’d tell you when he was ready.

“I had, uh,” Marcus cleared his throat. “I had asked her to marry me.”

Your eyebrows shot up, but you didn’t say anything. You just waited for him to continue.

“She had said yes. She said she’d move here with me and had agreed to marry me. I put a down payment on a house. I was so happy.”

“Did she change her mind?”

Marcus scoffed. “She didn’t just change her mind. She left me for Patrick Jane.”

“Wait, the asshole clairvoyant?”

Marcus rolled his eyes, but the ghost of a smile lit up his face. “Yes, the asshole clairvoyant. I guess she’s been in love with him for years and it just took the prospect of her being taken away for him to finally realize he wanted her.”

You put your hand on his blanket covered knee. “If that’s the kind of man she wants, then you’re better off, Marcus. She made it clear that she only wanted him to see what he’d lose without any regard for who she hurt in the process. I know it won’t fix anything, but I’m so sorry, Marcus. You didn’t deserve that.”

He looked over at you with more tears in his eyes. “What’s wrong with me, Lance? Why am I not wanted? What am I doing wrong?”

“Marcus Alexander Pike.” You reached out to your coffee table to set your mug down. When you looked back at him, his eyes were wide. “My best friend in the entire world. Sunshine of my life. My literal favorite person. There is nothing wrong with you, okay? Let’s pick this apart, shall we? Starting with Ashley. I can guarantee you’re not going to like this part of the conversation because I’m going to be blunt and say not nice things about people you’re too kind to stop caring about, but it needs to be said, okay?”

He nodded slowly and looked down at the mug still in his hands. You put your hand on his knee and nudged so he would know to turn and face you. When he got the memo, you nodded and continued.

“Marcus, what is your degree in?”

“Art history with a specialization in art conservation. But you know that.”

“I do. Did Ashley?”

“Well, I mean, I assume so, yes. We met in art history in undergrad.”

You blinked at him. “Marcus, why did you join the fbi?”

“Well, the job I had with the museum didn’t exactly pay a whole lot, and Ashley knew someone in the art recovery department that got me an appointment. And it pays a lot better, so…” he trailed off.

“So you gave up your dream job and safety for the sake of a higher paycheck?”

He scoffed. “Well, of course. There are just some things that you have to compromise on in a marriage. You’d know that if you ever let anyone close enough to try.”

You shot him a glare. “First off, we’re not talking about me, asshole. Uncalled for. Second, compromise, I get. But what did she compromise? Marcus, you gave up your dream job, friends, a town you loved all for a dangerous job because your wife said she wanted more disposable income to spend at Nordstrom?”

“I was happy to do all of that because we loved each other and she-”

“Marcus, Ashley cheated on you,” you interrupted.

��No she didn’t, Lance. And even if she did, I was just too overbearing. I pushed her away.”

You heaved out a sigh. “Okay, let’s look at the facts. I know you’ve kept tabs on her. How long after your divorce was final was she engaged to that Todd guy?”

“Tedd, actually, but three-ish months.”

“You cannot tell me that she wasn’t with that guy while y’all were still married. She was never someone to rush into things. I mean, you asked the girl three times to marry you, and she said ‘not yet’ the first two. So three months after she wasn’t Mrs. Pike anymore, she rushes into another marriage? You’re a smart man, Marcus. Use that big fbi brain to look at the facts.”

“Okay, sure. She cheated on me. But like I said, I’m the one who pushed her to that in the first place. I was too much. Overbearing, or whatever.”

“Don’t make me bring out your middle name again, sir. I’ll do it.”

Marcus just rolled his eyes.

“Roll reversal, Marcus. Let’s say you were married to a wonderful woman who gave you her all.”

He scoffed. You shushed him.

“No interruptions. Quiet. Let’s say this wife gets a new job because you didn’t think the one she loved paid enough to support you.” You held your hand up to silence the start of his protest. “Ah, ah. Theoretical, Art. Roll reversal, remember?”

His eyes rolled, but nodded for you to continue.

“So she gets a new job that puts her in danger on the daily. Still passion-adjacent, so she figures ‘at least she’s got that’. And then you meet some other woman at some country club you insist on having a membership to and you refuse to work like this is the freaking fifties because she’s the breadwinner and you’re the absolute worst.”

Marcus’ eyebrows had shot up. “Wow. You really didn’t like Ashley.”

“No, I didn’t. She was a shitty person and a worse wife. Stop interrupting.”

He shook his head. “You’ve made your point, Lance. She wasn’t right for me. I didn’t pick well there, either.”

You placed your hand on his knee again and gave a soft squeeze. “The point I’m trying to make, Marcus, is that you’re  already worthy of love exactly as you are. You deserve someone who’s going to support you in everything, just like you’d do for them. You’re also allowed to feel used, Marcus. Ashley used you to get herself into a specific station so that she could live a charmed life. Teresa used you to show the man she actually wanted what he’d be missing. Neither of those relationship failures are your fault. You are the kindest man I know. You deserve to have your love returned tenfold. You more than anyone I know. It breaks my heart that you’ve had to deal with these horrible women.”

He gave you a sad smile. “Come on, Lance. They aren’t horrible.”

“Just because you choose to see the good in people, doesn’t mean I have to. And to be quite frank about it, if I ever see either of them, I will be throwing the first punch, I don’t give a damn. I’ll go to jail. I don’t care. They broke your heart, they can go through me.” You crossed your arms over your chest and mumbled, “Bitches.”

Marcus barked out a laugh and you smiled.

“And that’s why you’ll always be my Lancelot. I know you’ve got my back.”

Your smile dropped for a moment, but you plastered another on and placed your right fist over your heart. “Always, my king.” You dropped your hand and just sat smiling at each other, and for a moment, it felt like you were kids again, just playing a silly game.

“Alright, Art. I’ve got a hankering for pancakes, so I’m going to call Bob & Edith’s and order some. I swear, they’re the best here. I’ll go pick them up and then we can chow down, yeah?”

“Sounds like a plan to me, Lance,” he said with a yawn.

You knew he wouldn’t be awake for much longer, so you decided to just hold off on the pancakes, but walked into the kitchen anyways. You busied yourself by cleaning out the tea steepers and dumping the water left over in the kettle.

“On second thought,” you called, “I know I’m tired. I’m sure you’re exhausted. So I think I’ll just hold off until we can go sit in together.”

When there wasn’t a response, you turned the sink off. “Marcus?”

You walked down the short hallway and came back into the living room to find that Marcus had fallen asleep on the sofa. His long legs were stretched out taking up all of the space, and he still had the blanket wrapped loosely around his head and shoulders. You grabbed another to drape over his body. 

Standing above him, you gently ran your fingers through his hair. He let out a satisfied hum, but didn’t stir.

“There’s another thing that I didn’t say, Art,” you whispered. You didn’t have the courage to say it to him while he was awake, but you needed it said out loud. “Watching you pick these women who only want to break your heart is torture for me. I have loved you for so long, and they have just hurt you. I wish they could have seen you like I see you. You’re such an incredible man, Marcus. You’re so kind and selfless, and so, so handsome. You make me laugh. You indulge me in late night pancake runs. I just wish I would get the chance to show you the love that you deserve.”

Marcus shifted a bit, and you paused your hand working through the curls on his forehead. When he didn’t wake up, you continued. “I know I’m not who you want, though. It’s not ever going to be me. I’m okay with that, I promise. I will just keep quietly loving you because you’re the best man I know and you deserve it. Sweetheart, you are worth so much. I hope one day you can find someone who appreciates and loves you like I do. I really, truly hope so. You really are the sunshine of my life. You already mean the world to me. I love you, Marcus.”

You leaned down to place a soft kiss on his forehead and then turned to head back to your room.

When you woke up the next morning, Marcus had left, but he had written a note and put it on top of the folded blankets he had used.

Your neighbor came over to see if you could help move her new couch in. If you need me, I’m over at Agnes’.

Making your way over with a Tupperware of scones you had made, you heard Miss Agnes chatting Marcus’ ear off.

“It’s been so nice having that sweet girl next door. She always indulges my whimsy.”

Marcus laughed. “Mine, too, Agnes. For entirely too long. I’ve known her since we were two, ma’am. She’s had to put up with me for years.”

You knew if you walked in, you’d see her hand on his shoulder. “That’s certainly not the way she puts it, my dear boy. That girl is enamored with you. I’m glad to see you’ve finally come to your senses.”

There was a deep sigh. “I was wrong for not talking to her for so long. I was mad, but she’s my best friend, so that’s not an excuse.”

Miss Agnes’ chuckle was breathy and her chair creaked as she sat down in it. “It was like her heart had been ripped out for weeks. You can’t leave the love of your life stranded like that, young man.

“Love of- no, Agnes, I think you’ve got it wrong. Lance and I are- we’re just friends. We’ve been friends since we were kids. Friends. She’s not the l- we’re just friends.”

Rather than let Marcus flounder and also have him casually break your heart without knowing it again, you walked into the room. Marcus was sitting on the flowery print couch and Miss Agnes was sitting in her usual reclining chair across from him.

“Are you done with your interrogation, Miss Agnes? Can I have my friend back?”

“Oh, fine, sweet girl, but you need to promise me that you’ll be straight with this one.”

“I always am, Miss Agnes. I brought you some scones for your tea. I’ll leave them on the kitchen counter, okay?”

She gave you a pointed look. “Well I think he needs to know that-”

“Miss Agnes,” you gave her a small shake of your head. “Please.”

Her sharp eyes stayed on you and she raised her eyebrow, but didn’t say more.

Marcus looked between the two of you with furrowed brows. “Okay, well, it was good to meet you Agnes. I’ll probably see more of you, now that I listened to reason.”

“Not all reason, boy, but enough. Keep thinking about what I said. The both of you.”

With both of you back in your home, you turned back to him with a smirk. “So what had she talked to you about that she wanted you to think about?” you asked, as if you hadn’t had your heart stepped on by his response.

“Oh, uh. She was just under the impression that we were more than just friends. Or maybe that we should be. I don’t know what she was saying, for the most part. What was that look you two shared at the end there?”

You brushed it off with a shrug. “Oh, Miss Agnes just likes to tease me, that’s all.”

Marcus hummed like he didn’t fully believe you, but he didn’t push it.

“Well, I’ve got to go to the office today, so I’ll see you later?”

You smiled. “Of course, Art. Text me your address. I’ll bring you some dinner?”

Marcus reached over and pulled you into a hug. “That would be great. Thank you, Lance. For everything.”

“Of course, bud. Any time, you know that.”

With a wave, he was out the door.

•

The decision to take the undercover case in Dallas was not an easy one.

He knew it would be a relatively easy case, but the prospect of seeing both Teresa and Jane was… daunting, to say the least. Marcus was over his anger at Teresa. He still had the lingering sadness of the ‘what if’, but Lance had helped him see that she wasn’t right for him in the first place.

He’d been off since the night he’d apologized to her. He could tell that she knew something was up, but he also knew she wouldn’t say anything about it until he did.

The truth was, he’d been awake when she came back out to her living room that night. He hadn’t meant to deceive her like that, but he knew from experience that she would have been embarrassed if he’d given away that he was actually hearing what she was saying. And he couldn’t believe it. Lance? In love with him? It didn’t add up.

And that’s why he’d been off. He didn’t know where his head was at. He’d had a crush on her his freshman year of high school, but that was it. He’d never actually considered her as a romantic partner, and it was throwing him for a loop. How the hell was he supposed to say that he wasn’t interested in her. Did he even need to say anything at all? They’d gone this long as just friends, they’d be fine, right?

But more importantly, what if he was wrong, and she was exactly who he actually needed? What if the butterflies he felt every time he looked at her were real? Lance helped him slow down, helped him breathe. She was the eye of his storm, whenever he was out of control. She knew when to apply pressure and when to leave him alone. She’d been the person he turned to when he was at his most broken.

What if Agnes was right, and she was the love of his life?

All of that was running through his head as he bent over Teresa’s desk to leave her a note saying he was happy for her.

“Uh, excuse me, can I help you?”

Marcus stood with a sigh. “Jane.”

“Pike, hello.”

He turned toward Patrick and then shifted back again. “I was, uh, looking for Teresa.”

Jane came closer. “Yeah, I’m sure she’s uh,” he looked around the glass-walled office. “I’m sure she’s around here someplace.”

This is weird, Marcus thought. “Yeah, she probably is.”

“Beard looks good.”

“It’s for an undercover thing.” It felt like they were at the start of some measuring contest and all Marcus could think of was Lance’s voice saying ‘that asshole clairvoyant guy?’  He shifted his weight to the other leg and decided to hell with it. He wanted to know. “So it’s, uh,” he smiled at Patrick, trying to show he wasn’t angry. “You and her.”

Jane walked closer still. “Yeah,” he looked down and at least had the decency to look guilty. “I’m sorry, we didn’t intend for it to happen like this.” Jane took a breath and Marcus had to look away from him. “I know it was the last thing on her mind, the idea of hurting you.”

Marcus wanted to laugh, because he knew that wasn’t the case. Asshole clairvoyant rang in his head again. Jane couldn’t have given a care less, and Teresa’s goal was to show Jane what he’d miss.

“I know,” was his response instead. “I know that.”

Asshole clairvoyant. “So do you have a plan?” He crossed his arms and stepped away from Teresa’s desk.

Jane rolled his eyes and looked away. “I don’t really understand.”

Asshole clairvoyant. “Well, I was offering her a life, a home, a family if she wanted it. A future. Have you thought about any of that?” Marcus knew the answer was no, but he wanted to hear Jane say it.

“I haven’t thought that far ahead, yet.”

Marcus hummed and furrowed his brows in mock thought. “Well, what are you offering her? I mean, other than,” he gave Jane a once-over. “Patrick Jane?”

Marcus turned at the sound of footsteps approaching.

“Hey.” Teresa looked spooked, like this was the last place she wanted to be.

Jane looked up at him with a smug twist of his lips. “Excuse me.” He walked over into the hallway, far enough away that he wasn’t in the conversation, but close enough that he’d be able to hear it.

Asshole clairvoyant.

Marcus looked down at Teresa and sighed.

“What’re you doing here?”

“I was upstairs giving a deposition, and uh, thought I’d say hi,” Marcus looked away. “Stupid idea,” he said with a sad chuckle.

Teresa responded with a nervous chuckle of her own. “No, it’s fine.”

She still hadn’t actually looked him in the eye. He looked over at Jane and watched him angle his face away like he wasn’t listening in. “Anyway, it’s good to see you, Teresa.”

“You too, Marcus.”

“Jane.” Patrick nodded back at him.

That one tense conversation was all the closure he needed. Teresa was never his, Lance had been right about that. She had been right about a lot of things. The ‘what if’ brought the storm of butterflies back to his stomach. He walked out of the office with a smile. For maybe the first time in his life, he knew the next time he gave his heart away, it would be safe. He needed to have a conversation with his best friend.

•

Two months after ‘the absurdity’, as you and Marcus had taken to calling it, he had to go back to Dallas for some work thing. He had grown out his hair and beard, said it was some undercover job. You were a little worried for him, knowing he’d have to be back in the Dallas office with Teresa and that clairvoyant guy. He told you he’d be fine, and you hoped that was true.

You hadn’t left your studio in almost seventy-two hours, but the wall sized landscape you were working on was almost finished. Marcus still hadn’t been to your studio, and that was fine by you. You’d started a portrait of Marcus because Jenny had asked you to paint something personal to get back to “your emotional roots”. Whatever that meant. Marcus being out of town and not coming to your studio meant that the portrait could sit out undisturbed while you made slight changes to the oil paints.

Jenny knocked and let herself in. “Okay, love, how’re we doing?”

You stepped back from the landscape. “Done with this one. I’ll let it sit for a week or so, see if anything needs to be layered over after it’s dried, and then it can head to the gallery. What do you think?”

Jenny hummed as she looked up at it. “It's difficult to enter into this work because of how the disjunctive perturbation of the purity of line endangers the devious simplicity of the essentially transitional quality. With regard to the issue of content, the disjunctive perturbation of the spatial relationships brings within the realm of discourse the distinctive formal juxtapositions. I'm troubled by how the mechanical mark-making of the emotional signifier visually and conceptually activate the remarkable handling of light.”

You paused and took a steadying breath. “Jenny, what in the blue blazes are you talking about? You sound like you’re talking out of your ass. Would you have said all that bullshit to Bob Ross? It’s just some happy little trees and a majestic mountain.”

“As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t have. But I’m not Bob Ross’ agent. I’m yours.”

You scoffed. “That doesn’t mean you can make up critique-y phrases. If it’s bad, just say it’s bad.”

“Oh, whatever.” She turned to the smaller piece to her left. “Is that portrait the one I asked you to do? The personal project?”

You tried to school your features so they wouldn’t soften too much at the sight of Marcus’ profile. “Indeed it is.”

Jenny looked at you with wide eyes. “Whoa, do you have a boyfriend I don’t know about?”

Your eyes snapped back to her. “No. Why would you think that?”

Jenny chuckled. “Well, if that reaction wasn’t enough, this is a pretty… striking portrait, babe.”

“I’ve just known him my whole life. That’s all that is, Jenny,” you said, still trying to deflect.

She hummed. “Then I may ask him out when I see him. He’s quite handsome.”

You swallowed and tried to collect yourself. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, I guess he is. I could, uh,” the lump forming in your throat was making it difficult to speak. “I could introduce you, or whatever.”

Jenny’s eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms. “Girl. Just tell me the goddamn truth.”

You threw your arms up. “What do you want me to say, Jen?! That I’m in love with my best friend and have been since the second grade when he climbed a tree to get my teddy that a big kid had stuffed up there? That no man will ever measure up to him because he’s everything I’ve ever wanted? That it kills me to think of him with someone who isn’t me, but also kills me to know that it’s my reality? That Marcus will never love me the way I love him because all I’ll ever be to him is his fucking Lancelot?!”

Your chest was heaving after yelling most of that at Jenny. A dry sob clawed its way out from your chest.

She uncrossed her arms and engulfed you in a hug. “Oh, sweetie. I’m sorry. I was teasing, I didn’t think. I’m so sorry honey.”

Jenny patted your back and pulled away. “Why don’t you go home, hon? You haven’t showered. Have you even eaten anything?”

You looked away from her disapproving face. “Dry granola,” you said sheepishly.

“Girl. Go home. I’ll clean up here. Go get yourself cleaned up. Make yourself something to eat. I’ll be by in a couple hours to make sure you’ve actually taken care of yourself, okay?”

“Okay, Jenny. Thank you.”

“No worries, babe. Can’t have my star’s light dim, can I?”

•

Marcus pulled up to Lance’s studio with a stupid smile on his face. He wasn’t sure how this was going to go down, but he knew he needed to tell her he was in love with her. He’s not even sure when it started, only that hearing what she said and listening to Agnes made him realize what was in his own heart.

He pulled the door open to a quiet, well-lit room. The windows were large, so it lit everything in the most wonderful natural light. There was a massive landscape painting directly in front of him that was stunning. The mountain was towering over him like the real thing would, and the oranges of the autumn leaves were a beautiful contrast.

He heard footsteps behind him, but didn’t turn to face them. “You’re so talented, Lance.”

He looked around the studio, and his eyes landed on a portrait of himself. He couldn’t remember this ever being a picture that was taken. It was his profile, and he looked a little sad. He’d never cared for his nose, always thought it was too prominent and made him look like a bad guy, but she’d taken so much care in painting it. He could see the emotion in his painted eyes.

“When did you know you loved me?” he asked quietly.

“I can’t say that I’ve ever known, because I don’t actually know who you are.”

Marcus startled at the voice that was definitely not his best friend. He turned quickly to find a small Asian woman looking at him with bright amusement.

“Sorry, I, uh. Who are you?”

The woman laughed. “I’m her agent, Jenny. I sent your Lancelot home about an hour ago. She’d been here for three days straight with only dry granola in her system.”

“That sounds like her,” he sighed. He held his hand out. “Marcus, by the way.”

Jenny shook his hand and smiled. “Oh, I’m well aware.” She gestured to the portrait. “I wanted her to paint something personal. She’s been in her own head a lot recently, hasn’t tapped into the emotion she usually uses to paint. It’s in that one, though, don’t you think?”

Marcus looked over at it again. He’d never really considered himself a very handsome man, but he certainly felt it right now. The way she had captured his likeness… “For sure. She’s a brilliant artist.”

“And she loves you a great deal.”

Butterflies erupted in his stomach again. “It was nice to meet you, Jenny, but I have to go.”

She just smiled and waved him out the door. “Make sure she actually eats something.”

•

After you’d gotten home, you decided self care was actually in order. You washed your face and put one of those weird face masks on. You poured a glass of sweet red wine and sank down into a hot bath filled with a de-stress bath bomb Jenny had given you. You turned on your audiobook of Pride and Prejudice and settled in.

About an hour and a half later, the Bennets were talking to Mr. Collins about Rosings Park when you heard a noise in your kitchen. Assuming it was Jenny coming to check on you, you unplugged the bath and toweled off.

With your hair stuffed in a cotton t-shirt and your robe secured around your middle, you stepped out into the hall.

“Sorry for my meltdown over Marcus earlier, Jen. It’s been a particularly rough season in our friendship. And I think he knows, now, that I’m in love with him, because-”

You rounded the corner and stopped short.

“Well, if he didn’t, he does now,” Marcus joked.

You felt the dread settle on your lungs like smoke you’d inhaled. Your eyes closed. “Oh, god,” you whispered. “What’re you,” you swallowed hard and fought the bile rising in your chest from the amount of dread you felt. “What’re you doing here? I thought you were going to be in Dallas for another three days.”

You couldn’t see it, but you could hear the smile in Marcus’ voice. “They didn’t need me anymore. Got done early. I stopped to see your studio. Met Jenny. She said you hadn’t eaten anything, so I let myself in to make you dinner.”

You rubbed a hand over your face, and still hadn’t opened your eyes to look at him. “That’s nice of you, Marcus. Unnecessary, but nice, thank you.”

“When did you know?” he asked quietly.

“Know what?”

You could hear the smile in his voice again. “That you were in love with me?”

Your eyes snapped open and fell on a shit-eating grin. “There’s no need to be cruel. I will smack you across the face, Marcus, I’m not even kidding.”

He said your name and reached up, but you took a step back so he couldn’t touch you. His brows furrowed and his hand dropped. “It’s a serious question. Please indulge me?”

You shook your head and turned away, feeling the beginning of tears fill your eyes.

Marcus cleared his throat. You could hear the scraping of a wooden spoon in a pan. “The first time I realized that I am fully, truly and completely in love with you, I was standing in the office of the fbi’s special crimes unit in Dallas having a conversation with the man who took a woman I now know never actually loved me away.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“But I think what really got me thinking about it was knowing that my best friend has harbored feelings for me for, seemingly, a long time, and even though it must’ve broken her heart, she was always there when I needed her.”

You turned to face him again. He looked into your eyes and gave a small smile. “The truth is, I think I’ve been in love with you for a lot longer than I have even realized. You’re everyone’s comparison. Even Ashley, thinking back on it. You’ve always been it, Lance. It just took me a while to see it. I’m sorry.”

You let out the breath you’d been holding and brought the heels of your palms up to your eyes. “This isn’t some type of sick, joke, is it? I’ve never known you to be cruel, Marcus, so don’t start now. Please.”

He took a step closer and gingerly took your forearms in his hands. When you moved your hands away from your face, he dropped your arms and brought his hands up to your face to brush the tears away.

Marcus whispered your name and tenderly stroked your cheek. “Agnes was right. You are the love of my life. I’m so sorry it took me so long to figure that out, sweetheart.”

“You have to be serious about this, Marcus,” you whispered back. “You’re it for me, and if you decide you don’t actually want me, it’ll break me. I won’t recover, and neither will our friendship. So I have to know you’re sure.”

The slow smile he gave you was filled with reverence. “What do you want me to say so you’ll know that I’m serious?”

You pressed your lips together and shook your head. “I don’t know, Marcus.”

He let out a soft sigh. “How about this?” He took your hands in his and stepped closer. Marcus whispered your full name as he closed his eyes and rested his forehead against yours. “We’ll go at your pace, sweetheart. I know you’re skeptical that this is real for me, so we’ll go as slow as you need. I’ll wait for however long it takes for you to trust this. I trust you. I know you’ll keep my heart safe. And I’ll do my very best to reassure you that I’ll keep yours safe, too.”

Marcus tilted his head to leave a soft kiss on your forehead.

“So, my dear, sweet, wonderful, beautiful, lovely friend,” he pulled back to look in your eyes. “Can I take you on a date and get to know you?”

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but him asking to get to know you definitely wasn’t it. You chuckled. “Get to know me? Marcus, you’ve known me since I was three years old. What else is there for you to know?”

He grinned and glanced down at your lips. When he looked back up, he lifted his eyebrows, asking silent permission.

With your slight nod, he leaned closer. “There’s so much to learn, Lance. What makes you smile,” he tilted your chin up and kissed below your ear. You let out a soft whimper and he smiled. “What inspires you,” he kissed the underside of your jaw. “What makes you feel like the most important girl in the world,” he moved up to kiss the tip of your nose. “What makes you cry,” he kissed your forehead. “How I got lucky enough to have a woman as wonderful as you love me.”

Marcus paused long enough for you to open your eyes to look into the deep brown of his. “How to make your knees weak.” He brushed his thumb along your cheekbone and whispered, “How to kiss you properly.”

He looked back down at your lips and waited. You knew he wanted to give you the time to pull away if you weren’t ready to take that step. You had waited so long to kiss him, though. You had wanted it for so long that you were a little afraid that if you didn’t kiss him, you’d never have the chance again.

He glanced back at your eyes and smiled. Just as he moved to give you space, you closed that distance. Your lips met his with an almost desperate passion. You brought your hands up to cradle his face, and he moved his around your torso to pull you closer. He brushed his tongue against your bottom lip and you let him in.

The two of you stayed like that until the oven timer went off, startling you into separating. Marcus rested his forehead against yours again.

“Dinner’s ready,” he laughed.

You chuckled and let go of him to grab dishes, but he tightened his hold. “I love you,” he said, looking into your eyes. “I love you, and I will wait as long as you need me to. You already mean the world to me.”

Your breath caught in your throat again at his reuse of the words you said to what you thought was a sleeping Marcus two months ago. He gave you a quick peck on the cheek and turned back around to turn off the timer and pull whatever he made out of the oven.

“So is this what I can expect for my relationship with Marcus Pike?”

He looked at you with a small smirk on his face. “A relationship, huh? I thought I’d have to take you on a date, first.”

The heat in your face was immediate. You’ve loved him since you were seven, of course you wanted a relationship with him. But he was right, there was no need to rush this.

“Well, a date would be nice, I guess.”

Marcus’ smile softened. “I’m just teasing you, Lance. I plan on romancing the hell out of you for as long as you’ll let me.”

“You’re a loony.”

He set the baking dish on a hot pad and turned to mime drawing a sword. “The black knight always triumphs.”

You hummed and matched his smile. “The only time you ever let me be King Arthur was when he faced the black knight. Did you just like having me pretend to cut all of your limbs off?”

Marcus chuckled and a light blush spread across his cheeks. “It always made you laugh. So yeah, I guess.”

“That’s it, right there.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you.

“That’s how I fell in love with you. Those little things. You gave up playing your favorite character just because you knew it would make me laugh.”

He blushed deeper and looked bashful.

“I’d follow you anywhere, Marcus.”

“You won’t have to. Because whatever happens, it’ll be together.”

Together.

You liked the sound of that.

•

Everything was planned out. The two of you had gone to Bob and Edith’s for breakfast pancakes in the morning, you’d gone to the Smithsonian to see the O’Keefe exhibit they’d just brought in, and then you decided you’d have a little fun with it and go to a wine and painting class together, completely ironically. You’d secretly flown both of your parents in, and his sisters decided they wanted to be there, so they came in, too. The wine and painting would be just the two of you, and then they’d all come in and be there for the big question itself.

What you weren’t ready for was the instructor to recognize you, and ask you to lead the staff and Marcus in a painting.

“Well, this is really just something fun for my boyfriend and I to do together, I’d rather-”

Marcus put his hand on your shoulder and drew your attention to him. “How often does an opportunity like this come around? It’ll be fun, Lance.”

You sighed and closed your eyes. Damn him for being able to talk you into anything. That’s how two dogs and a cat had found a home in your shared townhouse. “Okay.”

The instructor squealed and rushed to hug you. “Oh my god, this is going to be great! Can we do a mini version of that mountain in autumn one you did last year? Please?” Her please was drawn out long like she was a kid asking for ice cream.

“Yeah, that’s fine, I guess.”

“This is going to be amazing! Okay, I’ll set everything up, you don’t have to do a thing except walk us through your process.”

Marcus ran his hands down your arms. “I know it’s not ideal, but you’re giving them such a cool experience. How often do they get to have such a legitimately professional painter show them how they work?”

“That’s not- I mean, sure, but there was a plan, and it’s getting messed up, and-”

“Breathe, baby. It’s just a silly date night. We’ll have many more, my love.”

You glanced over his shoulder and saw your family silently filing into the shop. The panic you felt suddenly multiplied.

“Why are you so upset about plans changing? You’re usually okay with a bit more of a go with the flow date.”

The instructor came out from the back room and looked past the two of you. “Oh, I’m sorry, this is a private party.”

Marcus turned to look at who they were talking to.

“Mom? Dad? What are all of you doing here? Not that I’m not happy to see you, but...”

Your dad nodded for him to look behind him, and when he turned, you were already knelt down.

“I have loved you since I was seven years old when you climbed the tree at the park to get my teddy that Blake Jones had thrown up there down. I loved you while you loved someone else, twice,” you winked at him. He had tears gathering in his eyes. “I will love you for as long as I’m breathing, and I’m sure long after that, too. You already mean the world to me. And I figure it’s about time you’re the one getting romanced. So, Marcus Alexander Pike,” you opened the black velvet box to reveal a simple platinum band, “Will you marry me?”

He looked up at the ceiling and chuckled as a tear fell. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

Your family and the staff cheered as he pulled you up from the floor. “I love you.”

You took his hand and slid the ring on his finger. “I love you, too, Marcus. With everything I have in me.”

And as he leaned in to kiss you, you knew your heart was full. That this man was everything you’d ever wanted, and you knew he wanted you right back.

TAGS: @seasonschange-butpeopledont @plexflexico @din-damn-djarin @dirty-dancefl00r5 @cinewhore @aplaceofpeace @just--a--snail @thecrystalgempearl @mrschiltoncat @campamcam @littlevodika @keeper0fthestars @greengrassandcyansea @uncomicalhumour @agentpike @yespolkadotkitty @chaotic-noceur

#marcus pike x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction

[seihun]

can i be your boyfriend? — a bbh social media au

ϟ prev ◂ part 15B ▸ next

ϟ pairings: byun baekhyun + oc:reader

ϟ word count: not too long, hopefully, because this is supposed to be a social media au (2.6k)

ϟ notes: hello! look at me, writing things out on this fake text blog, and updating before midnight. i don’t usually do this, but somethings are better said in incoherent paragraphs than in screenshots, plus it’s hard to convey the in-between steps of a relationship through just texts, so i hope you enjoy this insight into their budding relationship 🤗 more notes at the end!!

MONDAY.

“How exactly is it that you started working at Buzzfeed?” you question, reaching over a pillow to dip your bread in olive oil.

Baekhyun watches with amusement as you whine audibly when some runny oil drips from the bread onto your jeans. The indoor picnic he’d set up is pretty damn great if he does say so himself—blankets, pillows, and enough Italian food to feed a small army; and you, of course.

It’s another one of his many, many dates with you—or at least, he’s pretty certain they’ve been dates. Hearing you confirm that you like him was definitely a confidence booster, and reassuring, to say the least, but if Baekhyun’s being completely honest, he’s not sure where to go from here.

He likes you, he knows that much. He likes you a lot; a lot, a lot—(“You’re halfway in love with her, call it what it is,” Minseok said, before getting his ear pinched by Maize)—and he definitely loves spending time with you, and if you asked him, he’d say you’re dating casually, but would you agree?

It’s not like he would know, this is his first serious sort-of-relationship, after all. Baekhyun was never exactly the most suave kid back in high school; more clumsy and awkward than anything with anyone who wasn’t Kyungsoo. He’s not a complete novice; he’s been on dates, gone out, even had a few one night stands in his freshman year, but nothing close to this—whatever it is he has with you—so sue him for basically winging everything for these past two months.

“Honestly,” he recounts, “I did what you did. I complained publicly about one of their posts, and someone DMed, and eventually offered me a job, and here I am.”

“Wait, that’s not fair!” you whine, “Nobody wanted to pay me for my complaint tweets!”

“Well you should have tagged the VP of the company, not me.”

Baekhyun laughs while you pout, toothy smile diminishes into a closed lip one, as his eyes glaze over and flutter between your eyes and your lips. He finds himself leaning in after you, a nervous kind of excitement taking over him as you grow closer. And it’s just barely after his lips have grazed yours that you’re both interrupted by the buzzing and ringing of a cellphone.

You seem to know that it’s your phone, if the crinkling of your eyebrows and embarrassed exhale are anything to go by. Baekhyun simply chuckles, gently presses his index finger to the tip of your nose, and pulls away with a smile.

He watches you fetch your phone, and reluctantly answer the call—which, appears to be a FaceTime judging by the noise and the distance with which you hold your phone from your face.

“Chanyeol, if you’re trying to let Sehun win best friend of the year, you’re succeeding,” are your first words, and Baekhyun can’t help the audible laughter that leaves his mouth.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by you, or Chanyeol. “Who’s laughing, are you—is it the Buzzfeed boy? Oh, is this is a date? Baekhyun are you listening! Hello! My name’s Chanyeol, and I’m—”

“I’m going to hang up on you, what do you want!” you hiss.

Baekhyun finds himself smiling throughout the rest of your conversation. He likes that you’re comfortable enough to answer Chanyeol in front of him; he thinks that if Maize or Kyungsoo or Minseok called him, he’d pick it up in front of too. He’s not too sure about Junmyeon, though, he’s more likely to embarrass him.

Baekhyun hopes he can stick around long enough to meet the rest of your friends—from what you’ve told him about them, they sound like just the kind of people he likes having around. And after hearing how long you’ve been friends with them, namely Sehun, he finds himself even more understanding of your dynamics.

Not many people get just how deep a friendship can run, so when he tells people he’s known Kyungsoo for as long as Kyungsoo’s been alive, their reactions are surface level at best. But you get it, because Sehun is your Kyungsoo; or, rather, you’re Sehun’s Kyungsoo. Baekhyun shakes his head at the thought—the point is, you’re both similar in that respect, and he likes it. He likes you.

“Anyway,” he tunes back into to hear Chanyeol sighing, “I just wanted to let you know I burned the bear, so our apartment smells like smoke, which makes Sehun and I homeless for the evening, so we’re at your place, please bring dinner.”

“What do you mean you burned it! Chan—”

“You know, as in we lit it on fire. Sehun also wanted to throw it off the roof, but Chungha stopped him, so we just did it our living room, and now she’s being a meanie and saying she can’t help refuge us because she has a ‘group project’ meeting at her place in an hour, which I think is a lie. Baekhyun, if you’re still listening, I want you to know that I’m not a pyromaniac—”

“—Debatable—”

“I’m not. Anyways, bring food when you’re done flirting, Sehun and I are hungry, and Chungs is leaving us foodless, as per usual.”

“Then buy food.”

“Do I look rich to you?”

“Yes, actually—”

“Hyung—oh, hey, is that _____?” Sehun’s voice asks, “Hey, Chanyeol finished the gummy worms, can you—”

“I’m hanging up!”

Baekhyun watches with light in his eyes as you hurriedly end the call, then sheepishly turn back to him. “I am… so sorry they’re like this,” you apologize, putting your phone back face down on the blanket and composing yourself.

Baekhyun shakes his head, “Don’t worry, my friends are much worse.”

“Your friends are smart,” you reason, “And quiet, and don’t break into my apartment at their earliest convenience.”

“Actually, Junmyeon has done that last one,” Baekhyun hums, scooting a bit closer to you, “Except, it wasn’t my apartment, he broke into Minseok’s. Let’s just say it didn’t end well for him.”

Baekhyun thinks the embarrassing anectode was worthwhile to hear you laugh, even if it was at Junmyeon’s expense. It’s fine, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“So, does Chanyeol normally light things on fire or was this a one time thing?”

“You’d be surprised by the amount of things he’s accidentally set on fire since I’ve known him, actually,” you laugh, “But no—well, you know the bear I told you about? The one, um, Jongin gave to me when I saw him on Sunday?”

Baekhyun nods. Of course.

“Well, I also told my idiot friends about it, and that’s what Chanyeol burned,” you tell him. Baekhyun bites his bottom lip, trying not to laugh, but the temptation is written all over his face—or, evidently, so, as you chime in with, “It’s okay, you can laugh.”

Thank god, because Baekhyun wasn’t sure he could keep a straight face (or hide his blatant happiness). He decides right there that he likes Chanyeol. You have good friends.

Admittedly, after hearing you tell him about your history with Jongin as both a friend and a boyfriend, Baekhyun can’t say that he’s exactly fond of the guy. Junmyeon tells him to never judge a book by its cover, but seeing as you gave him the summary, he thinks he can fairly conclude that Jongin isn’t… the best person in the world. And the way he treated you and your friends is enough to make Baekhyun weary about him as a person.

Still, Baekhyun doesn’t judge you for talking to him. He’s not exactly jealous; he’s confident in your feelings for him and his for you, and above all, he trusts that you’re being honest with him. Quite frankly, Baekhyun doesn’t consider your ex boyfriend to be a threat.

Baekhyun knows you clearly just want to be a good friend, or at the very least, a good person to Jongin; and after knowing him for almost a decade—even if things got a bit bumpy—Baekhyun thinks you’re more than justified in that. You clearly see something in Jongin that you think can be helped, and Baekhyun trusts your judgement; you did pick him, too, after all.

Does he like that Jongin gives you gifts, and is very clearly still into you even tho you can’t see it, and don’t want any part in it? No, not exactly. But, on the bright side, Baekhyun’s the one that has your attention, and that counts for more than something.

(Not to mention you have a couple of guys who are both rooting for him and willing to beat up your ex at moments notice, so, he’d say he’s in a pretty good boat).

The only thing Jongin has ever had that Baekhyun wants is the opportunity to call you his. But he thinks he’s getting there. Hopefully. Is it weird to ask the ex of the girl you’re interested in how he got her to be his girlfriend in the first place? Do you even want to be his girlfriend? He hopes so.

He doesn’t know if sharing cheese and crackers and pasta and bread is any indication that you want to be his girlfriend, but he’d like to think it is. Because that’s what the next half hour consists of—you and Baekhyun, sharing food over smiles and stories and endless laughter.

Baekhyun finds himself laughing so hard at a story you tell him about Chanyeol and Chungha pranking Sehun, that he might as well be laughing over you. His hand ends up on your shoulder in his fit of giggles, and yours just barely above his knee. Neither of you comment on it, but you don’t pull away, either.

He’s about to chip in with a story about his childhood self, when he’s interrupted by notification noises again. Baekhyun grins at your exasperated exhale and tightly closed eyes. “It’s fine, they’ll be fine,” you tell him, silencing the ringer, and turning back to him in an attempt to continue your conversation.

Baekhyun’s about to tell you that it’s okay, that you should check your phone in case it’s an emergency or something, but he doesn’t have to; because it starts buzzing again and again and again and eventually is back to ringing.

“Answer it,” Baekhyun smiles, “Seriously, I wouldn’t want you to have to face Sehun’s wrath for ignoring him.”

It’s silent for a minute, while you scroll through your messages, and thumb a response. Baekhyun watches as your expression changes from annoyed, to vaguely amused, to concerned, to borderline unhappy. It makes his own eyebrows draw together when he sees the frown start to form on your lips.

“Everything okay?”

“Uh… I don’t think so,” you sigh, locking the screen and looking up at him, “I think I gotta head home, Sehun might have broken smoke detector and Chanyeol got… something stuck to the ceiling trying to fix it.”

Baekhyun can’t help the laugh that escapes him. You have really good friends.

“Fuck, Baek, I’m so sorry, this is—you did all of this, and my idiot friends—”

Baekhyun takes one of your flailing hands into his, effectively calming your stature and forcing to you make eye contact with him. “Hey, it’s fine, I promise,” he reassures you, “Really, it’s okay. If I got stuck to the ceiling I would hope Kyungsoo would come rescue me, too.”

“You don’t have to say that just because—”

“I’m not just saying anything,” he laughs through his words because the look on your face is nothing short of adorable, “I mean it. I had fun on our—I, I had fun, today. It’s fine, really, I promise.”

And so, you smile, demeanor significantly calmer, “I… should call a car,” you tell him, his eyes traveling down your enveloped hands, which he releases slowly, embarrassed; but then you grin again, tapping away at your phone, “I had fun on our date, too, Baekhyun.”

(So these were dates! Nice, cool, cool, keep it cool. He doesn’t; he grins like a blushing fool).

Baekhyun helps you gather your things, and moves the food around so that neither of you step on it; walks you to the door when your car says it’s arriving shortly. He waits with you on the doorstep, pretending to look out for a white sonata, when he’s really stealing glances at you through your small talk.

“Would you, uh… I mean, you’re probably already going, so,” you cut yourself off with slow exhale, turning your body towards his, “There’s this showcase, presentation type thing, for some students to, uh, present about their research coming up soon. You might already know about it, since Kyungsoo is giving one about his summer internship, I think—and it might be a little boring, and that you’re not a science guy, so it’s okay if you don’t want to—”

Baekhyun cuts you off by calling your name, a wide smile playing on his lips. “I’d love to go,” he tells you, earnestly, “I was going to go, to see Soo anyway, but I wanna support my new favorite biochem student, too.”

“Really?” You reach out and grab his hand, an action that almost seems lost on your in your flurry of excitement or flattery—or both—but, not on Baekhyun, whose palm suddenly feels warm. You must have been able to tell you flustered him, because your eyes widen, looking down at your hands, then promptly pulling them away.

“You, I mean, I want you to come, but only if you want—”

Baekhyun doesn’t know what moves him to take a leap, step a little more into your space, and take both of your hands in his with unwavering intention, but he’s glad for it; because you don’t pull away, and the look you give him kind of makes him never want to look away.

“I want to go,” he says slowly, dipping his head down the slightest, close enough to see the rings of your irises, even in the dim lighting of his porch, “I want to be there for you.”

There’s an almost inaudible “okay,” that leaves your lips, the letters rolling off your tongue with a shy smile that Baekhyun finds himself mimicking. His eyes flutter away, just for a moment, to your hands, then back to your face, before he slowly lets them go, only to rest them against your jaw again.

Baekhyun might be using the “taking things slow” mantra as an excuse for his complete lack of experience on how to navigate a real relationship, but this, right here, he’s sure of. That he likes you, that he wants you, that he—

“Can… can I kiss you?” he asks, just above a whisper.

His eyes are frantic, looking for an answer in yours, but instead he gets them from your lips; a soft, “Yes,” accompanied by a softer nod that Baekhyun would have missed if not for having your head in his hands.

When he leans forward, you meet him halfway, lips pursed together—and Baekhyun thinks that, yeah, if being in a relationship with you meant he got to do this, all day, then he would have to figure out how to be your boyfriend sooner, rather than later.

One kiss turns into two, then three, then four with smiles, and giggles in-between, and the only thing that seems to pull you away from each other is the honking of a car horn. Flustered, Baekhyun lowers his hand, bites on his bottom lip as you fumble to check the license plates on the car to those on your phone.

“I think that’s my car,” you tell him, and maybe it’s wishful thinking, but he swears there’s slightest twinge of disappointment in your voice, too, “I—I had fun, Baek, really. So, thank you, again.”

“Me too,” he says, words on autopilot, brain still stuck in the moment before.

He smiles, daystruck as he walks you to the curb, before you cross the street. He’s about to wish you well again, before you turn to him, and give him the smallest, barely there peck on the lips.  

“Goodnight, Baekhyun.”

He doesn’t even know if he responds audibly, he’s processing you in fragments, watching your silhouette as you cross the street, and head into the backseat of the car. He swears he catches the smallest wave from you through the window, but for all he knows that could have been his imagination.

Your goodnight kiss lingers on his lips, on his mind, and it’s only when he’s back inside that he lets himself break out into the foolish grin he’s been hiding all night. He’s going to have to figure out how to do that boyfriend-girlfriend thing. As soon as possible.

ϟ tag list: @artfulbarnes @bat-shark-repellant @baek-byunies @baeklooming-day @bbh-kji @cosmins​ @coffee-prince-kyungsoo​ @etsjusoa @exuwu @elyxion1485 @fifiaaaaaa @haechanspudu @honeyboocal @httpschoisan​ @junkfoodwriting @just-a-sad-writer​ @j-pping @kkpoptrashhh @littleflowercrown13 @loeytingz @marina-del-rey98 @mangobaek @miraculyfe @mochahyuck @oasissehun @ohwosehun @p-polaroid @peachesyeol @peacherparker​ @penguinsoo-l @rikachusworld @sakura-uji @shesdreaminginoverdose @sekshi-namjas @smolpeyy​ @strawberrychannie​ @takoyakkun​  @to-all-the-stories-i-love @vaiva @writingindaisies @xiutingmyself @yourexotextplus

ϟ more notes: more smoochies!! they have kissed a few times (maybe once or twice) since their first kiss a few parts ago, but i had no way of showing that to you guys so here you go!! they’re in a weird stage where they kiss each other goodbye and go on dates and like each other but it’s not exactly... dating? 

i hope this gives some insight into baekhyun’s thoughts, as well. some things are harder to get across through just texts, but i wanted to show his feelings beyond his overexcited, adorable messages 🥺 he’s still a whole babie, but he has complex thoughts!! 

i’ll finish rambling now, but there is an intended part 15C (which I know, sounds like it should just be part 16 at this point, but in a perfect world, I’d have been able to fit everything into one post but i digress). maybe it’ll be part 16 anyway, but it’ll likely include some writing because the xiuchen drama is back!! 🤗

#exo smut #exo fluff #exo fake texts #exo scenarios #exo imagines #exo reactions #exo fanfic #exo fic #baekhyun scenario #baekhyun smut #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun x reader #exo x reader #chanyeol smut #chanyeol fluff #sehun smut #sehun fluff #exo college au #exo fake snaps #exo fake quotes

[imagine-loki]

Between pages

TITLE: Between pages

CHAPTER NO./ONE-SHOT: One-shot

AUTHOR: fanfictrashdump

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki always carries a book. Not because he’s reading 24/7, but because he likes tucking flowers from the bouquets you make and leave in the shared kitchen in between the pages. 

RATING: T

NOTES/WARNINGS: There is fluff in my soul and I will not apologize for it. Language, extreme awkwardness, and unlikely friendships ahead. Let Loki be soft 2020.

=

Loki, God of Mischief, Prince of Asgard, Rightful King of Jotunheim, Odinson was a master sorcerer. His talent was unmatched in the Universe, and he was capable of feats that were previously unheard of in all the Nine Realms. He could defy the laws of physics, of imagination. He could bend the very fabric of the Universe and arrive at a different planet with merely a step in any direction. He was awe-inspiring and nightmare-inducing in equal measure.

So, how in the fucking hell did some silly flowers become his ruin?

Groaning pathetically against the plumpness of his down-filled pillow, he contemplated escaping the Tower. He had run away from more dangerous places before. Surely, walking out of Stark’s prized building would be little more than child’s play to a sorcerer of his caliber. However, any time he reminded himself that he was, indeed, a sorcerer the wound on his ego would split and bleed fresh, once more.

It would have been so easy to explain away. There was a reason they called him the Silvertongue, but he just stood there. Like a moron. He just… he just handed it over, and now…

He groaned again, teeth bared in a half-snarl as the memories flooded his mind.

There were few things in this little, mortal trash heap of a world that intrigued Loki. The supersoldiers held his interest for a moment or two, until he had all but uncovered the secrets of their endurance and had promptly become bored. The spies were fun to watch, if only to watch Barton squirm under his intense gaze, thinking he had another plot to put him under mind control. Banner was… well, he didn’t mess with Banner. Or Stark, for that matter. They were on an unspoken truce upon which his very survival was pinned. After all, Loki was nothing if not self-serving in his quest for continued breathing.

Then, there was the mutant; the plant witch.

The five-foot-nothing little imp who he could not seem to put the fear of god in, no matter how much he tried. The mortal had talked back, disobeyed direct orders on the field, sassed, hugged, and blackmailed him over a hobby in the course of less than a year. Loki would be impressed at her ruthlessness of character if he wasn’t utterly annoyed at her existence.

Well, that, and the fact that he couldn’t, for the life of him, figure out how her powers worked.

And that was the source of his current anguish.

Lily, the little mutant, had a predictable daily routine. She would wake up with the sun, make breakfast for the whole team, go to the gym and be back in time for the meal. Once she set the table, she would always conjure a handful of flowers in the vase in the middle of the table. It was never the same arrangement, twice, and it was never the type of arrangement the mortals would overpay for at the local flower shops. Wild variations of popular flowers, bits of flowering tree branches, weeds–wildflowers of all types that brought in butterflies from the open balcony windows and delighted all.

At first, he thought she simply picked them outside and coaxed them into bloom. It wasn’t until one morning, when he had been up uncharacteristically early that he had been proven wrong. He watched her kneel on a chair at the table, hands held aloft around the vase before every vein visible pumped a fluorescently-bright green. Like seedlings, the flowers grew from tiny roots until they overflowed from the jug. Loki had walked over, almost reflexively, watching how the petals bent under his fingers and how the cool stems still felt like they were thrumming with life as if freshly picked.

Fascinating.

Loki, while talented in his own right, had never been able to conjure a flower that looked so much like a flower. They usually looked too perfect, almost artificial–like a painting of a flower brought to life. He plucked a bud and tucked it between the pages of the book he had been reading (ironically, it had been Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman). He decided that he would study this specific specimen and figure out her secret. Surely, it would be easy to conquer the skill that a mortal wielded.

He had been horrendously wrong.

That first failed attempt at replicating her craftsmanship prompted him to grab a few more samples, the next day. And the next. And the one after that, too. After a while, he had all but given up on learning how to conjure these life-like flowers, with their slightly irregular patterns and charming blemishes. But the habit had stuck and he still collected them.

Every morning, like clockwork, he would go to the kitchen for a glass of water, pull a bloom and press it between Whitman’s promises to return to his beloved dirt. The team had started making jokes about his current inability to put down the poems book, everywhere he went. They wrongly assumed that he was simply enamored by the mortal’s views of humanity or that he was learning what being human really meant. In reality, all Loki was doing was carrying the vessel for his preservation and lying in wait for the opportunity to be all on his own to snatch another souvenir.

He’d be loathe to admit that his theft was now out of pure admiration. Flowers were always his mother’s thing and he never really cared much for gardening, but he could appreciate the intricacies of every subtly veined petal and rough leaf. His fingers often ran the length of the stems and leaves, gathering the light coat of dew that glistened on the greenery, smiling to himself all the while. He supposed he had never found the need to conjure a flower or anything of the sort meant to be a soft gift–it wasn’t really his style–but the fact only made him all the more awestruck.

“You like today’s bouquet, Lokes?”

He nodded, a little distracted, having just pressed the most perfect daisy, with a little notch in one of the petals into the book. The small, leather-bound tome rested beside him on the table, golden lettering catching Lily’s eye.

“Oh my gosh, I love Leaves of Grass,” she exclaimed, and Loki had mindlessly handed her the book for her to peruse before he even had the good sense to panic. “I know. Surprise, surprise, plant babe likes plant-themed title of book, but I truly loved it when I read it in high school. It’s sad, but a good type of sad, if that… makes… sense…”

It was her trailing voice that had made Loki blink away from the flowers. Green eyes trailed from the vase, to his empty floating hand, to the table. His book was no longer there… and he was the reason for that. When his shocked gaze flickered up to hers, he found her dainty fingers trailing over a perfectly dried dandelion that Loki had chosen because it had a singular freckle amidst a canvas of soft yellow.

Loki had disappeared before she even looked away from the keepsake.

“Maybe I should just take my chances in the dungeons. I’m sure Father dearest would rather see me in a cell,” he moaned petulantly before he stiffened.

There was energy crackling in the air, making it smell like ozone and magic. Loki sat up in bed, retrieving a dagger from under his pillow and noiselessly stepping onto the carpeted floor. Beneath his feet, the carpet felt odd. With a frown, he glanced down, finding the floor covered in green and yellow–a blanket of buttercups. By the door, Lily smiled shyly, her body slumping slightly against the wall as the green faded away from her veins.

“You’ve overtired yourself,” he remarked, drily, ignoring the fact that his cheeks burned in a way that told him that he was flushed crimson. His feet shuffled beneath him, grounding him to reality and allowing him to resist the urge to bend down and run his fingers through the blooms.

She shrugged. “I’ll feel better after breakfast.” There was a tense silence between them for several more seconds. Lily held the book out in her hand, but Loki hesitated crossing the landscape to retrieve it. “You always pick the iffy ones.”

His brow pinched in with confusion. “What?”

“The flowers. You always pick the ones that aren’t perfect. Spots, notches, missing petals or stamens–”

“It makes them real,” he interrupted. “The flaws make them real. Machines can make flawless flowers.”

“I agree. I just… didn’t peg you for the type who could appreciate that, y'know?” Lily sighed, trying to suppress a grin. “Then again, I didn’t peg you for the type who pressed flowers, either.”

Loki glanced at his feet with a frown. “Everyone likes flowers,” he muttered under his breath, just shy of defensive. He managed to will his feet forward, relieving her still reaching hand of the book without glancing at her.

He swore that he hadn’t been this pathetic before he moved to Midgard.

Lily cleared her throat awkwardly, tipping a golden flower back with the toe of her trainer. “Would it be OK if I brought some flowers for your room, every once in while?” She gave him a hesitant smile before adding, “I-I need the practice,” in a rush.

“Don’t you think the others would be more deserving of them?” Loki hated the fact that he sounded somewhat bitter.

She giggled under her breath. “The others won’t really appreciate them, will they?” Before he could offer a witty retort to try and dispel the awkwardness he felt, Lily had grasped his wrist and tugged him along out the door. “Come on, we’re late for breakfast,” she remarked, conversation already forgotten.

#Loki #Others #Submitted one shot #submission #between pages #Fanfictrashdump

[katherinewilliams221b]

Girl you know I'm jumping at the occasion :D

Pre-relationship: 1 and 2

General: 1 and 7 bc I can't ever get enough of the dynamics between those two 🖤

Love: 7 and 13

Domestic life: I'd ask for 1 and 2 but I know you plan that hand-fasting fic in the future (still, won't say no to some spoilers... :D)

PRE-RELATIONSHIP

1. How did they first meet?

Charlie already knew who Kate was from the stories Bill told about her. It was Charlie himself who approached her in the first Care of Magical Creatures class they had together. He had no romantic interest in her at the time, but Bill had spoken so highly of her that Charlie felt they could be good friends. 

His first words were something along the lines of "I know who you are..." He didn't mean to cause her the disappointment he saw on her face.

Kate forced a smile without looking up, wanting to be polite, but nipping in the bud the conversation she was about to have with yet another stranger pretending to know her. 

This all went by very quickly, and as soon as Charlie mentioned that "Bill has spoken very highly of you..." Kate finally met his eyes.

"You're Charlie!" she exclaimed, a little too loudly "Bill has told me about you, too."

They worked very well together that day, like a well-oiled machine foreshadowing the kind of relationship they would have later on. When class was over, Kate ran off to meet Rowan, but not before shouting to Charlie that it had been a pleasure to meet him.

He shouldered his satchel, watching the messy-haired girl hurry off, and thought that not only was she not as the horrible rumours circulating about her described her, but that this had been the beginning of a great friendship.

2. What was their first impression of each other?

He had never been swayed by rumours. But so many people spoke ill of her and her brother that he was tempted to believe them.

The first time he formed an opinion about her was in his first year; he entered the Great Dining Hall with a determined stride and fury written all over his face. Charlie did not know that she had just escaped from a devil's snare, nor that the feud with Merula had begun. Trying not to be too swayed by what he had heard, he merely watched as she sat down at the Hufflepuff table and began speaking at full speed to a girl he would later come to know as Rowan. He had no interest in finding out about her. He just let her be.

Bill remarked that he had a brother at Hogwarts in the same year as her. In the courtyard, Bill pointed to Charlie, who was reading by the fountain. Kate thought he wasn't like Bill at all, that adventures weren't his thing and that he seemed like a quiet boy. A rule-follower. Oh, boy, was she wrong. They didn't meet that day, or for another three years.

GENERAL

1. Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go?

The fifth year was very critical for Charlie, and Kate was his rock in that regard. It was when they started spending more and more time together and to the rest of Hogwarts, they were dating without a doubt. At this point Kate already had feelings for him, but she kept them to herself in the face of his disinterest in dating. In his sixth year, and in better mental health, Charlie began to...feel...things. Dazed by these new sensations, he sought refuge in the forbidden forest until André confronted him. At the same time Rowan, commented that they spent all. the. day. together. Both friends took it upon themselves to set them up on a date.

It was so orthopaedic, so strange and awkward that they both questioned their feelings for each other.At the end of the year, having pretended that the day had never happened, Kate decided to admit that she still liked him. He did the same, with great difficulty.

They both came to an agreement and decided that their friends should not interfere, that whatever they did would have to flow naturally. That agreement day was the start of their official relationship.

7. Who takes the lead in social situations?

Contrary to what it might seem, Charlie. Although he is known as the dragon boy, who is always alone, reading or in the forest, he is held in high esteem by everyone. He makes friends wherever he goes.

Kate is a bit more reserved. She has no difficulty talking to people, but tends to be more cautious around strangers. Paradoxically, she is a magnet for anyone who gets to know her, and although Charlie takes the lead in social situations, there will always be people gravitating around Kate. She says she makes a lot of friends by chance, but it's because she prefers listening than talking about herself.

That said, although they both enjoy being around their friends, they always need to get away somewhere quiet for a while.

LOVE

7. What are their favorite things to do together?

In the Hogwarts years they used to spend the whole day together studying, reading or going to the Forbidden Forest. It was then when Charlie taught Kate how to track both animals and people.

Their activities didn't change much when Kate moved to Romania, as soon after, the war started and there was no more time for leisure.

After the war, they set about making up for lost time, and began to explore Romania and other nearby countries, making short trips wherever they could. One trip a year is mandatory.

They like to go on picnics in the mountains every weekend; they take a blanket, food, maybe books, and spend the day talking and laughing, sometimes even...

They were both surprised at how much they liked watching movies; when they got their first TV, they started having marathons every night over dinner.

Cooking? Or rather, chatting while Charlie cooked. It's a time just for them, especially during the war, where they can clear their heads. Many times they both prepare food in silence, just enjoying each other's company.

Dancing! Some time ago I mentioned that they attended several dance classes as a couple, something they didn't like very much, they prefer to dance without an audience.Later, when they have their daughter, they discovered how much they like to play board games together.

Although they deny it, they like to attend events as a couple; birthdays, or parties at their respective jobs, where they can show each other off.

13. Who remembers the little things?

They both do, I think. Kate remembers how he likes tea, that he takes a bubble bath when he is stressed and she often anticipates it, the brand of pencils he likes, many of the names of the dragons on the reserve, his favourite balaclava and so on.

Charlie knows what her favourite mug is; when she runs out of seeds, how she braids her hair; that she likes to wear jewellery and also knows what style; that there are some yellow flowers that give her allergies, and he has an antihistamine potion in his backpack just in case....

It's not the only thing, but I think they're both good at paying attention to detail. It's one of their love-languages.

DOMESTIC LIFE

1. If they get married, who proposes? 2. What’s the wedding like? Who attends?

Ok, I'll try to answer with as few spoilers as possible. It's no secret that they do a handfasting ceremony. I once said it was Kate who officiated at it, but no. I'm going to change that because I think I have a better idea.I'm still studying how marriage works in the magical world, but what I do know is that neither Muggles nor the Ministry see a handfasting as a legal union (although it used to be, I'm still studying). This will be important.

If I can get it right, the two of them will be proposing to each other in very subtle and unknowing ways. I haven't decided who will be the one to take a more definitive step, I like both options: on the one hand Kate, because I like the idea of seeing the woman propose, and on the other hand Charlie, because it's something he would never have seen himself doing.

There are 4 people in attendance (6 counting them), one of them is her grandpa, Bernard, and the other three are people they meet in Ireland. One of those three people officiates the wedding.

As I said, the wedding is a handfasting, a Celtic ceremony used to symbolise the intention to marry and the commitement to someone. I don't want to say anything! I think this is my favourite part and I want it to be very emotional. I have looked up what the officiant says to do the ceremony and it is really beautiful. I have personalised it a bit with the fragments that I liked the most.

This is what struck me most (from a website about the ceremony) and what I intend to reflect:

"The absolute honesty inherent in the answers to the questions in this ritual usually takes guests by surprise. This leads the guests to concentrate on what is happening and gets them more emotionally invested in this part of the ceremony".

From this ask

#ask #kat tag #kate williams #charlie weasley #i should send you some more numbers lmao i honestly want every answer

[orwocolor]

Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter Six

Pairing: Gwilym Lee x Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: Cursing

Summary: Charlotte’s birthday is right behind the corner, and it’s time to bake the cake with your friend Gwil. Or is it?

Author’s Note: So. Much. Angst. is coming your way. Comments and reblogs are always very appreciated :) Check my masterlist to read the previous chapters. Dedicated to my sweetie @justgwilym​.

With the help of your crutches, you skip your way to the kitchen and plop down on a pulled-out chair that Gwilym has prepared for you. Grabbing a cup of strong coffee, you let the heated porcelain warm you up.

“Thank you,” you mumble and take a sip.

“You’re welcome,” Gwil smiles and sits opposite you, placing a plate of croissants between you.

“Damn, that’s great coffee!” you cannot refrain from praising, wondering whether it has always tasted this good or whether your taste buds have changed for some mysterious reasons.

“Well, it’s from Hazel’s,” Gwil explains and grins at your face when the understanding finally hits you. “Yeah, you’d run out and I figured I might as well have gone get us something for the breakfast. We deserve something delicious, don’t we?” he offers and cocks his eyebrows.

“True,” you agree and raise your mug in a toast.

“I wish to propose something,” Gwil suddenly says and you notice the shift in his tone. You take a bite of one of the sugar-dusted croissants and answer with your mouth full.

“Okay, I’m all ears.”

“If you’ve got another nightmare, you won’t stay here in your bed, alone, but you’ll come over to my place. No, don’t argue –” he lifts his hand when you open your mouth to protest, a small cloud of sugar landing on the table. “You really scared the shit out of me last night and I hated seeing you so distraught. You’ve got my keys and my permission to come over, even in the middle of the night.” His look turns thoughtful for a moment. “Just maybe wake me up gently. But don’t sneak up on me.” He chuckles, but you spot his fiddling hands.

You swallow down a couple of tears that threaten to spill from your eyes. You have no idea how you could have ever deserved this man in your life. “Thank you,” you say earnestly, and with some difficulties, place your mug to your lips only to hide your face.

“You’re getting better with the crutches.”

Turning around, you let your eyes skim the two crutches leaning against the kitchen wall, grateful for the change of topic.

“Yeah, the wrist’s getting better so I can finally use them properly. I think I’ll give a call to Peter soon to tell him I’m returning to work.”

“You’ve still got a couple of weeks of rest, though.” Gwilym’s forehead creases with uncertainty.

“I know, but my job can be hardly defined as demanding and I’m sure Peter will more than welcome accommodating my needs, like the possibility to prop up my ankle on a stool, if that means he doesn’t need to cover for me any longer and can return to his working from home.” Gwil’s expression has not changed. “Look, I know it may seem sudden, but I’ve been thinking about it for some time. And now that I can actually walk with some ease, there’s nothing stopping me. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

It takes a few moments of pondering over it but eventually, a defeated sigh leaves Gwilym’s lips and you are flooded with relief. For some reason, you have really wanted him to support you in your decision.

“I do,” he says softly, and you give him a reassuring smile which he reciprocates.

It has not yet been a month since you sat at this same table with Gwil for the first time. He came knocking on your door at a God-awful hour, drunk as a lord. You let him crash on your couch and made breakfast for him the next day. You smile fondly at the memory. Who could have known that such a sight would soon turn into a daily occurrence.

You watch Gwil over the rim of your cup. His kind eyes and lovely smile. And your heart skips a beat at the realisation that Gwil has quickly become one of your closest friends.

The companionable silence that you have fallen into, disturbed only by cups being placed on the table and lips smacking at the delicious pastries, feels like a warm blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

Once you finish the breakfast, Gwil gets on his feet to rinse the plates and cups. With his back turned to you and with no intention looking into your eyes, he starts talking again.

“I’ve got another audition today,” he begins tentatively.

“Oh?” you urge him to continue, finding the nervousness creeping to the edge of your mind rather troubling. Gwilym’s voice is weak and you become painfully aware of how much he averts your questioning gaze.

“Yeah, I… well, it would be better if I were offered a job rather sooner than later. Might as well not be able to pay for the new flat in a couple of months.”

It’s as if someone poured a bucket of freezing-cold water over you. The sense of safety evaporating so quickly that no trace of the sensation remains, only the chill that makes the hair on your arms stand up and dread running down your spine. Now you understand why he has waited the whole morning to tell you and took the advantage of doing the dishes so that he didn’t have to face you.

He cannot just vanish from your life. He just can’t. Not now. Please.

Please, not now.

Everything you wish to say dies in your throat and you’re not sure whether the feelings of things unspoken that are forcing their way to the surface are something you want to deal with right now.

You stand up and gingerly limp your way to his figure standing at the sink, his hands in tight grips around the edge of the counter. Closing the distance between him and you, you press yourself against his back and snake your arms around his middle. You pour all your feelings into the embrace and release a relieved sigh when his damp hands find yours and he leans into you. Nuzzling your cheek against the dip between his shoulder blades, you’re filled with gratefulness he cannot see your face contorted in pain at the thought of him leaving.

You have no idea how long you stand like that in your tiny kitchen, the only thing you’re sure of is that you don’t want him to leave.

~

With your return to work, you rarely get a chance to hang out with your lovely neighbour as much as you did when you were on sick leave. Even though your shifts are the same as they had always been, everything takes you at least twice as long, since your achy ankle protests every now and then, and even your daily routines such as putting your clothes on or taking a shower turn into a time-consuming task. Gwil, on the other hand, stays barely at home. He frequents more and more auditions, and you consider it a miracle if you run into each other at least in your building. Sometimes you make dinner together, but you’re both so exhausted from your days, you say goodnight early in the night and crash into your respective beds.

You cannot stop returning to the conversation you had in your kitchen and the mere thought of him not living so close makes your throat tighten. If it’s already hard to find opportunities to spend some time together, there is no way you would see each other enough if he lived elsewhere.

Your hands are shaking now, and you almost do not register a customer talking to you.

“You seem a bit distracted today, my dear,” Mr Dean’s voice reaches your ears as the customer says her goodbye and you turn to your friend. He has not taken his eyes from the book he is currently reading. “Actually, come to think of it,” he adds after a moment, “you’ve seemed distracted since the moment you got back to work.”

“Hmm, I guess so,” you sigh eventually and quickly plant a smile on your face as an elderly couple comes to your register. You ring them up and wrap their books into very nice and delicate paper, a gift for their grandchildren. They give you a grateful smile and with a ring of the bell hanging above the door, they leave the bookshop.

Gently closing the book and putting it back on its shelf, Mr Dean shuffles to your side and takes a seat on a vacant chair on which you occasionally rest your foot.

“My dear, is everything alright?” he asks, trepidation seeping into every syllable, and he takes your hand in his.

“I’m just worried about my friend. He’s been hunting for a job for quite some time now but to no avail.” Mr Dean’s dry fingers pet the back of your hand. “And the worst thing, I’m pathetic and selfish and afraid I might lose his friendship.”

“How so?”

“There’s a possibility he might let go of his flat. He’s my neighbour, you see,” you add hastily when you notice his baffled face.

“But dear, that’s not the end of the world!” he chuckles softly. “I’m sure he would remain your friend even if he lived at the other end of London. The two of us don’t live in the same building and we’re still friends, aren’t we?” He tilts his head to catch your gaze and gives you a wide smile when you can’t help the grin pulling at the corners of your lips.

You truly missed his kind eyes and warm words he always has to offer.

“Yes. Yes, we are,” you confirm and squeeze his hands in emphasis.

“Good.” He returns the gesture and with softness in his eyes lets go of you, standing up to browse the aisles.

“I need to close a few minutes earlier today,” you tell him when the end of your shift nears. “We’re having a birthday party for my friend Charlotte tomorrow and I need to bake the cake.”

“I didn’t know you could bake,” Mr Dean replies, and you can’t miss the look of incredulity at your culinary skills in his face.

“That’s very low, Mr Dean, even from you,” you protest but immediately make a grimace. “But you’re right, I’m not gonna bake the cake myself, my neighbour has offered his assistance.”

“Good, you need supervision,” he teases.

“Oh, you didn’t! You’re going to take that back, Mr Dean, or I’m gonna tell on you.”

“Whom, your boss?”

“No, your son.” A flash of winning grin crosses your face when momentarily Mr Dean stops in his tracks. “Or that lovely lady you go with for walks in Hyde Park.”

“Penelope has got better things to do.”

“Oooh, Penelope! I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned her name. And you’re already in the first-names stage, nice!”

“Oh, stop, you.” He walks over the register and brushes a kiss on your cheek. “See you on Monday?”

“Yes, Mr Dean, enjoy your weekend.”

“You too, my dear.”

~

Where is he?

You check the time for an umpteenth time and swear profusely under your breath. Grabbing your phone, you give him another call, but the line is silent. Has he turned off his phone or has something happened? He did warn you that the audition might take a bit longer, but it is two hours after the time he claimed he would have been back by. But there is no sight of him. (Yes, you also keep opening and closing your windows to give a quick inspection to your street illuminated by lamp posts.) And you cannot even reach him on his phone.

You start biting your nails, an old habit from a kindergarten that you hated and that your mother pointed out every time she got the chance.

When your knee starts buckling too, you jump from your seat and dial a different number.

Two rings and the voice on the other end greets you gleefully.

“Hi, Ben, how are you? Look, I wouldn’t call you this late but Gwil hasn’t returned from his audition yet and I’m a bit worried.” ‘A bit’ is an understatement but Ben is not stupid and gathers the true meaning behind your words.

“It ended some time ago. I think I saw him chatting with the pretty assistant of the casting director when I was leaving. He’d told me not to wait for him. You guys had some plans?”

“Yeah, we were supposed to bake a cake for my friend’s birthday. I…” You are not certain how to finish the sentence. “Do you have any idea where he could be right now?” you ask eventually and hate how weak your voice sounds.

“No idea, sorry. It’s so weird, Y/N, that doesn’t sound like him at all. But don’t worry, I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe they let him give it another try. He was devastated when his audition ended, so it’s possible they gave him one more shot. People underestimate assistants but they can have huge power over their bosses if they know how to play the game. And she seemed quite enchanted by our dear Welsh friend, so who knows…”

You hum in agreement but then Ben’s words finally hit you. You are about to answer but you need to swallow down the lump in your throat that has formed in there in the past few seconds.

Honestly, you can say it is an option that has not crossed your mind.

Clearing your throat, you finally respond. “Yeah, that’s possible. Well, thanks, Ben, and sorry for calling you this late again.”

“No problem, lovely,” he says with a cheerful edge to his voice, a tone that does not match your mood at all. After exchanging a couple of pleasantries, to which you pay very little attention, you hang up.

You stay motionless for a moment, the grip around your phone tightening. You feel your lip starting to tremble but before your emotions can cloud your better judgement, you set your jaw and open a laptop. A quick search and you find a recipe that seems similar to that which Gwil has had in mind for Charlotte’s birthday cake.

You keep checking the recipe just to occupy your mind some more even though you have memorised it by now as you mix the ingredients and pour the substance into the cake pan. But Ben’s words are constantly echoing in your head and no matter how hard you try, you can’t silence them.

You close the oven with too much force, and the slam of the small door makes you jump.

So what? He’s got the right to chat with anyone he wishes to. And he doesn’t owe you anything even though he promised he would be here for you. Maybe he just forgot. He can do whatever he wants, he’s an adult and anyway, you’re neither his mum nor his gi–

Groaning, you lean against the kitchen counter and your thoughts come back to the day you spent in the hospital, the day he mentioned his agent had suggested he should bow and scrape before casting directors if he wanted to get a role. And even though it was clear Gwil was against that idea, he might have changed his mind.

Fuck, why does the image of him leaning over a beautiful casting director assistant in an attempt to charm the pants off her infuriate you so much?

And what if you’re jumping to conclusions? Who knows what Ben saw, and maybe the vivid images in your mind are truly just what they are – figments of your imagination.

But that would mean something awful might have happened to him and just the mere thought makes you physically sick.

Come to think, there’s something in the air that truly causes your stomach to turn.

Fuck, the cake!

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!” You frantically swing the oven door open and start coughing as the smell of burnt sponge reaches your nose.

Tears threaten to fall down your cheeks but you swallow them down, toss the ruined cake into the bin, take a deep breath, and start all over again. This time you don’t forget to set the timer and while the sponge is baking, you also cut out star-like shapes from mangoes, kiwis and pineapple to decorate the cake with early in the morning.

This wouldn’t have happened if Gwilym was here.

Your mind keeps returning to your neighbour’s face and with thoughts swirling relentlessly in your mind, you finish the baking, get a couple more ingredients ready for tomorrow, wrap gifts, and change to bed.

You’re dead tired, but sleep is avoiding you. Wishing your brain had an on/off button, you toss and turn, your ears trained to every creak and rustling that the old house constantly makes. But there is no sound of keys rattling in the lock, and eventually you drift off to restless sleep.

~

Oh, no.

You almost can’t recognise your face in the bathroom mirror. Dark circles under the eyes, messy hair and slightly hollowed cheeks, your reflection is anything like you. Not that you’re a sight for sore eyes in the wee hours of the morning, but you’ve never looked this bad.

That’s what a few nightmares and an occasional staring at the ceiling can do to you.

You run yourself a bath to allow yourself at least a moment of relaxation before Jane picks you up, and with some make-up, you manage to cover the traces of the sleepless night. She gives you a call to tell you she’s waiting on the parking lot when you’re adding the last touches to the cake. It’s a decently looking dessert. It would not probably make the cover of Good Food magazine, but it’s the effort that counts.

You’re confident enough to leave the crutches resting against the hall wall. Swinging a purse on your shoulder and carefully lifting the box with the cake, you lock the door and start descending the stairs with slow and measured steps.

When you make a turn on the last landing before the foyer, a loud bang of the entry door catches you off guard and your head flies up to find the source of the noise.

At first, a wave of relief washes over you. Gwil is alive. He’s seemingly unhurt, only his eyes are bloodshot and when he spots you at the top of the staircase, a flash of guilt strikes his features. And then you remember that awful pang of jealousy you felt yesterday, how worried and angry you were, how much stress and pain it caused you that he hadn’t shown up as he had promised, and your expression hardens.

You make sure your grip on the box with the cake is firm and continue your way downstairs.  

“Great, you’re alive,” you cannot deny yourself the dry remark that has been burning your tongue with every step you’ve taken.

“Y/N, I’m–”

“Save your apology for later, I’m kind of in the rush here,” you cut him off mid-sentence. Walking past him, you make sure your eyes are cold and distant as you give him a scornful look, hopefully meaningful enough that the slightly awkward limp does not undermine it.

“Look, I–”

“Don’t.” You turn to face him and lift your hand to silence him, the cake box precariously swaying on the other one. You hear how dangerously close your voice is to breaking. “Just don’t.”

And with that, you turn on your heel once more and exit the building, Jane’s questioning gaze follows your steps as you open her car, place the cake and gifts inside and take the front passenger’s seat without uttering a single word.

“In a bad mood, are we?” she mocks, and you’re quick to realise you’ve directed your anger at the wrong person.

“Sorry,” you say softly and take a deep breath to shake away the cloud that has settled on your shoulders. There are plenty of dark grey clouds gathering on the sky, no need to add your own. “I’m being a bitch. I just…” You’re looking for words but when you try to formulate your thoughts and feelings, it crosses your mind that you truly might be overreacting here. “I just didn’t sleep much. This,” you point to the white box on the back seat, “is cake number two. I burnt the first one last night.”

“Ah, I see,” Jane answers, although she remains reluctant to believe it’s the whole truth. But she knows when not to stir up a hornet’s nest and decides not to further comment on it as she shifts into first gear and pulls away from the curb.

“Well,” she continues after a few minutes of a silent ride, “there’s gonna be plenty of booze so you can easily drown whatever’s troubling you in a tumbler or two. Or ten.”

Chuckling, you flash her a smile. “Yeah, sounds good to me.”

~

Okay, so let’s sum up the facts. You really like Gwil, he’s been an amazing friend so far. Well, until he decided to stand you up. Whether for someone else or whether because of another pressing matter is irrelevant. But he doesn’t owe you anything.

And yet, he promised.

Urgh, your pondering is turning out to be unbearable. Maybe another glass of sangria will help.

The truth is, you suddenly come to the realisation, that you allowed him to get so much closer to you than you’ve allowed to anyone else. You let him spend his days and (occasionally) nights in your home and you were relishing that friendship and companionship with every fibre of your being. Every joke that you’ve shared, every moment of honesty and sincere confessions, every innocent touch or brush of his fingers. Hmmm, the skin on his hands is so soft…

You blink a couple of times.

But it should have been clear that sooner or later, he would let you down. And the problem is it’s not even his fault. At least, not entirely. When you open your heart this readily, it is doomed to get either broken, crushed or stomped at and there’s nothing left for you to do but to pick up the pieces again and let it heal in its due time.

Wait, your heart? Who’s talking about your heart? All you feel is just the disappointment of a broken promise, that’s all. That’s all, right?

Right?

“Y/N?”

“Hm?” You make a quick turn, staggering, which is in all honesty due to the countless number of drinks rather than your injured but almost healed ankle, but nobody needs to know.

“You’re having fun?” Charlotte asks, a tad of concern in her eyes.

“Totally!” You flash her a wide smile and, as an emphasis, down the glass in your hand.

“I’d like to introduce you to someone. This,” she turns around to bring into your periphery a nicely dressed man, “is Daniel.”

“Hi,” you say in a weak voice, immediately sobering out.

“Hi, Y/N, right? I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Yeah, me too,” you answer politely, having only a distinct and vague memory of Charlotte mentioning a colleague of hers, whose name probably truly was Daniel.

“I’ve been wondering whether you would like to go grab a coffee or dinner with me sometimes,” he tries tentatively, and a sheepish smile is playing on his lips. Oh, right. He’s the guy she wanted to set you up with. For some inexplicable reason, Gwil’s face flashes in front of your mind’s eyes and a rush of heat reaches your cheeks.

For a moment, you squeeze your eyes shut and will the picture of the piercing blue eyes, prominent nose, and the most beautiful smile away.

When your eyelids lift again, there is no trace of your inner turmoil and you look like the luckiest girl in the whole wide world.

“That sounds amazing!”  

~

Taglist: @lv7867, @spacedustmazzello, @queenwouldyourathers, @im-an-adult-ish, @fairestkillerqueenofall, @supernaturalee, @queenlover05, @geek-and-proud, @chlobo6, @mrsmazzello, @timeandpixiedust, @kerouacsroad, @gwilsmainhoe​

#gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee fluff #gwilym lee imagine #gwilym lee angst #gwilym lee fic #multichapter #fluff #angst #vee writes #*mine

[simply-not-an-egg]

Harry Potter’s Sister Cliches

Alright so I wanted to look up some cliches and see how they compare, if they exist in my line of fics and if they did, how have I done them justice. All credits to this cliche list go to @/Purplemist14 on Wattpad from the third chapter of ‘Everything Wrong With HARRY POTTER Fanfictions’. I may do some more of these, but we’ll see. 

Of course, featuring dearest Willow-Violet Potter along with spoilers for future unreleased books so, you have been warned!!

1. The sister always has red hair and green eyes. Basically the exact replica of Lily.

- Alright, so, I’ll admit, I did fall down the trap of blessing Willow with the red hair and green eyes, and it is mentioned many a time throughout the fics that she looks like her mother BUT here’s a fun fact, if we were to rid her of the red hair, green eyes and obscene amount of freckles, she does actually look quite similar to James, arguably more so than Harry, specifically her smile of all things. In other words, the only reason she looks like her mother is because of the red hair and green eyes. Dye her hair and give her coloured contacts though along with a pair of glasses and she will basically just look like a freckled version of James Potter.

2. Either Harry’s twin, a few months younger or almost a year younger in the rare case.

- Willow is eleven months younger than her brother, although this fits timeline wise. She was also quite obviously an accident - Lily and James wanted another kid, but not during the time they were living in for obvious reasons. Of course she was not told this information, and either way she was loved by her parents and godparents.

3. Either dropped off at an orphanage, taken to Minerva, Remus or Snape, or just completely forgotten about until she starts Hogwarts.

- This is where the first cliche is really broken. Yes, she is initially taken in by Severus (later revealed that this was a plan done by Voldemort, as since discovering the kid existed he was like ‘hey she could turn on everyone she’s supposed to love and serve me’ and so wanted her to be taken in by his most faithful Death Eater) but, contrary to what most fics have, this f*cker abandons her with the only people he knows where to put her and that’s with Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy!! Some people who have not read the series or my previous posts may be confused as to why they would ever even consider taking this half-blooded kid in, but I’ve explained before and will do it again; Narcissa is a mother, she has very maternal instincts which have been seen throughout the main HP series, and Willow, at the time was barely five months old. To add to that she was found practically dead on their doorstep having been left out in the freezing cold with nothing but a thin blanket overnight. Narcissa was prejudiced, most definitely, but completely heartless? No (I mean, she risked her life to save Harry’s life in DH). And she was sure to make Lucius raise Willow the same way they were raising Draco because Narcissa was also a Black; I think she can see well enough and feel well enough what it’s like to be raised different from the other siblings.

She is, upon turning eleven, adopted by Remus but of course, naturally, he is her godfather and therefore rightful guardian, later parent.

4. She has a lightning scar on any other part of her that isn’t her neck, aka, the Girl Who Lived trope.

- Completely eradicated. Voldemort was there to kill Harry, not Willow. It’s as simple as that. Read your canon children or, if you really want to do this trope, please for the love of god develop a suitable plot in which this can take place.

5. Sorted into either Gryffindor or Slytherin.

- Now this one I did use BUT the thing is, the house she was sorted in matches with her personality and traits (Slytherin). So in this case it’s excusable, but if it’s just being done for the hell of it ... yeah, I’m not impressed.

6. Socially more active and is friends with the Trio, the Malfoy gang, the Weasleys and almost the entire school population.

- Guilty as charged, although once again I have done it in a way that makes sense according to canon. She considers Draco a brother because they spent eleven years being raised together; Crabbe and Goyle aren’t even friends of Draco in this fic, as Draco ultimately grew up a little less prejudiced knowing who and what Willow was; yes, Willow is friends with the Weasleys, specifically Fred and George, but none of their relationships are the whole nice straightforward sh*t you read about in every other fic. The three of them have perhaps the most complicated relationship between them ever (toxic to some degrees, sometimes even, especially as the 2WW takes place), something actually realistic that keeps to all of their characters. Now when it comes to the trio, Willow isn’t really friends with either Ron or Hermione?? She was one of Ron’s better mates to begin with, as he was one of the first friends she had, but they drifted apart more as they grew (and also after they broke up because Willow was honestly left pretty heartbroken after that), and Hermione, well, she’s only ever really been a mutual up until Willow’s fifth year and her sixth when they begin to form more of a friendship due to her (Hermione) being so alone all the time, and Willow needing someone that can emotionally support her when need be.

7. Sister nearly always replaces Hermione in the trio.

- Willow barely ever interacts with the trio. I could honestly count all the times they properly interacted on my fingers. 

8. Loneliest person alive, if she’s in Slytherin she’s bullied, and nearly always ends up in dangerous situations.

- In the series Willow is never actually alone, although feels that she is during her later teenage years, due to the simple reason that no one can truly understand what she has to put up with (also she does sorta force herself to be allienated from others, due to wanting to protect them and keep them out of harms way). She is bullied, yes, but once again it’s entwined into the canon, and by her fourth year no one f*cks with her because they all know that if they do she will not hesitate to bite back and hard. Now I suppose she does end up in dangerous situations, but once again, it isn’t always, and when she does it fits the canon. 

9. Always falls for Draco Malfoy.

- I was guilty of this in the very first drafts, 100% but now that I’ve grown and matured and learnt to understand characters more all I can say is that a) they’re basically siblings (covered in a previous point) and b) you honestly cannot convince me otherwise that Draco is one of the gayest beings in existence. Like you cannot tell me this f*cker isn’t at least a very male-attracted bisexual. You just, you can’t. It’s not possible.

10. Or the other love interest is Cedric Diggory.

- Literally ew. I could not, for the life of me, think of Willow and Cedric as a couple. Best buds? Hell yeah. F*ck buds? No way. They loved each other, sure, but it was purely platonic.

11. Lily’s brain, James’ attitude, brightest witch of her age.

- It is true that Willow has higher-above-average intelligence for someone her age but, here’s the thing, she’s autistic! This is never explicitly mentioned until the eighth book, which partially follows her adult life, but, yes, she’s canonically autistic (as is Remus Lupin, Arthur Weasley and, he isn’t autistic, but James Potter has ADHD). Now when it comes to personality and traits, I’d say she’s a healthy mix of both, but there is also that bit of influence from the Malfoys (she is, to say the least, quite prejudiced towards house-elves, for example). There was also a sub-point about knowing hexes and spells and jinxes which can only be found in restricted books, but both Narcissa and Lucius were quite proud to have a kid as smart as her, and if she wanted to learn something, they just let her, which meant there was a LOT of her reading in the library at the Manor about all of the Dark Arts and objects and such like that.

12. Involved in every major event that takes place in the books, and she always saves the day.

- Once again, guilty as charged, although it all works with the established plot and characters and in her case the later things happen from a different and arguably more entertaining perspective (the perspective of a teenaged, forcbly created Death Eater who’s trying her best to save her friends and family while also not accidentally getting murdered by Voldemort in the process). She also never actually saves Harry. I don’t think there’s ever a time where she saves Harry from anything really, especially not the major things that have been mentioned in the HP series.

13. Minerva gives her a timeturner and she goes back to fall in love with Tom Riddle.

- I’ve never actually seen this cliche before, but oh god if this is one that anyone out there uses, once again, please read the canon; Tom Riddle cannot fall in love, timeturners only work for minutes at a time, not to mention if future Riddle saw MC time would f*ck itself up, and also that is a bit creepy imo (the whole MC with Riddle thing).

14. Hermione and Ginny are made jealous individuals who would do anything to rid the sister.

- No chance this will ever happen, nor has it ever happened. That is very OOC, thank you very much, and you ain’t seeing me take characters OOC unless the canon can make up for it.

15. Ron and Neville are never paid attention to; more or less just desperate crushes.

- While it is true that both Ron and Neville are in relationships with Willow at different times, this serves the plot and their character developments. They are also not forgotten about; Neville is barely mentioned after the break up as neither of the two have the courage to interact with one another again (until after the war where they become friends again) and Ron, as I mentioned, slowly drifts out of Willow’s friend circle, after the break up and as they grow older and develop different personalities.

16. Draco Malfoy is OOC.

- Anyone who has read my so far published books knows that Draco, seemingly is a lot better behaved in my series (which, to a degree he is), but all I have to say for this is that once Harry crushed the dude’s heart to bits in the summer before fifth year, this motherf*cker became one of the biggest d*ckheads you would ever meet. Usually he didn’t mean to be, but the dude lost the love of his life, and of course soon after war shit was happening; basically he was more or less going with the flow of things, but yeah, no, Draco sucked, a lot, in the later WV books. Until after the war and his mental state is a little healthier, but until that point, from age 15 onwards, he was more or less of the asshole you see in the HP series.

17. Severus Snape does not hate her.

- Haha, lol. Snape absolutely despises Willow, because she’s never let him live down the whole ‘leaving her on the doorstep to die’ business and you know, she sees enough of how much of a c*nt he is to other students and she may as well give him a taste of his own medecine.

18. All the professors adore her.

- There is only one, and that is Minerva, but even then that isn’t made a major thing until book four. Aside from that, every professor treats her the same way they treat their other students, as they should.

19. Hagrid is not mentioned, or barely mentioned ever.

- The only reason for this in my series is that he is not pivitol to the main plot. If he was, it would be a different story, but he isn’t, so there is no real need to mention him.

20. Cho Chang is either the best friend or Cedric’s possessive girlfriend.

- Too tired to go further into detail with this, but there is a whole-ass character arc I have for Cho in the series, that abides by canon and plot and character and actually does her justice. 

Anyway, this was really fun to do, I think I’ll do some more but we’ll see. I’m tired now - it is sleepy time. Goodnight guys!

#harry potter #hp #willowviolet #wv #draco malfoy #drarry #remus lupin #other characters i'm too tired to mention

[blankblankityblank]

Just, don’t wake up

Hi everyone! This is my fic for the @starkerkink exchange, dedicated to @vaguekiwi! I really hope you enjoy it :)

Pairing: Peter Parker x Tony Stark

High school AU, with superpowers.

Tony’s home life has never been amazing, but one night, it’s just too much for him. He flies blindly to the first destination he can think of in his battered suit, holding his breath when he realises exactly who’s house he’s flown to. He doubts this evening will be normal, especially when he realises there’s only one bed.

Warnings: Masturbation, Flogging, Name-calling, Restraints, slightly dub-con, both 17. Check ao3 for further warnings!

Read on ao3!

Tony arrived late to class, as usual. Peter sighed, the usual thought flitting through his head: How does he always manage to arrive late, even with a full body suit that flies?

The teacher for their class, AP Bio, glanced at Tony unimpressed but unsurprised-this was a regular occurrence, and it showed.

Tony waltzed to his seat with the usual I-really-don’t-give-a-shit attitude, plonking down and prompt executing a yawn. Peter rolled his eyes; did he always have that look on his hot face? How did he even get into AP Bio when he didn’t even pay attention? Oh yeah, that’s right-Howard Stark’s son, prodigy at 4, bla bla bla. Peter needed a break from the constant ‘Tony Stark made his own suit’ fawning that half the girls, and guys, constantly exhibited. Like yeah, big deal-was anyone gonna talk about Peter’s amazing skills to do with web fluid? Or crafting his own suits, which, well, didn’t always go particularly well?

“And today, we will be taking a bit of an off-topic turn into some neurobiology! Chemicals and hormones produced by the brain!” The teacher sang, trying to mask her own boredom with the unresponsive class, “who can tell me what the four main hormones to do with happiness contain?”

Peter shot his hand up, excited that he for once knew the answer to the question before smart-ass Tony.

“The four main chemicals are endorphins, dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin, often abbreviated as D.O.S.E,” Peter stated. Tony slowly turned around in his chair, and glared at him. Peter just smirked. ‘One day,’ he mouthed at the growingly frustrated classmate.

“Very good! Can someone tell me what each of these hormones’ functions are?” Their teacher again asked. Peter’s hand shot up for the second time, his mouth forming a smirk in sync.

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

“Well well well, if it isn’t smart-ass Parker in a sticky situation?” Tony purred, his smooth voice richoeing off of the poorly-designed science lab. Peter sighed, closing his eyes in preparation before facing the problem.

“Does it look like I don’t know what I’m doing? Wouldn’t wanna steal your thunder now, would I?” He snarked back, trying to stir his web fluid in peace. The teacher had allowed his class 15 minutes of time to work on their various powers, any tweaks or fixes being attended to. Tony had apparently finished oiling up his suit, but Peter had no such privilege.

Tony flicked the back of Peter’s head as he strutted away, going over to talk to Steve and Bucky. Goddamned overpowered mutants. Ok, so maybe Peter was a tiny bit jealous of their friendship, but that was his business.

He dispensed the web fluid with a sigh, getting ready to pack up and head back to his apartment, and hopefully blow off some steam with a Star Wars movie night. He smiled softly to himself; maybe the day wouldn’t be so bad after all. He could chill with may, have some hot chocolate, quote every line of Empire Strikes Back because he totally doesn’t know it word for word.

The bell rang, immediately followed by a cacophony of bags zipping, several whirring sounds as various students fired up their ride home. Peter ducked his head down, knowing his power wasn’t as rich or powerful as his classmates’ privileged ones. And they didn’t even know it, how lucky they were. They’d never know what it’s like to be born with stickiness and a general strength upgrade. No super-advanced knowledge of tech, engineering, how to fly, being able to fly...everything that separated him from the rest of his peers.

Peter swung his backpack over his shoulder, cursing as his AP Bio textbook dropped onto the ground, setting off a too-loud thump on the concrete floor. A few heads swivelled in his direction, and Peter flushed as he hurriedly picked the offending book up, and returned it to its rightful place. Face still hot, he all but rushed out of the classroom, eager to change into his suit and get this day over with.

“Hey! Parker! Wait up, for fuck’s sake. You dropped two books, not one, you blind-ass bat,” Tony hollered, his feet slapping against the linoleum. Peter grabbed the exercise book from Tony’s offering hand, not dignifying the teen with a response. Ok, so maybe it was a bit harsh. But he had to stay ice-cold around Tony; if it got out Parker had a crush, it would not go down well. At. All.

“You’re not even gonna say thanks?” Tony spluttered in disbelief, hand still outstretched.

“Nope,” Peter replied, popping the ‘p’.

“Pretty sure I deserve some recognition, I could have just left that book on the floor for some other snotty-nosed kid to find,” Tony said indignantly, hand returned to his side.

“Well then don’t do it next time. I don’t give a shit, Stark,” Peter fired back, attempting to quell his progressingly noticeable butterflies.

Tony opened his mouth in a retort, but instead opted for an eye roll and spun on his heel. Probably to get back to his fancy 5 star penthouse, Peter thought bitterly. He headed to the bathrooms, diligently fighting his instinct to catch a glance of that ass. God, he was so, so gone.

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

Peter entered his apartment silently, not wanting to disturb May. He kicked off his shoes, deflating his suit and carrying the rest of his belongings to his room. Or, his cave, as May liked to call it. The 16 year old dungeon was another favourite of hers.

“May? ‘M home..” He trailed off when the bright Post-it note caught his eye. He frowned, peeling it off the bench and reading the bubbly handwriting. ‘Picked up an extra shift, be home tomorrow at 7! Sorry I couldn’t make it tonight kiddo xx’ Well. He could kiss his plans of venting to may goodbye, it seemed. Hot chocolate and a movie night still lifted his hopes, albeit less enthusiastic with no one to share it with now. The teen hummed the Star Wars theme song as he boiled the water and got his hot chocolate ready. He finished his task from earlier, dumping his stuff in an impossibly messy room that cleaning seemed impossible. There were things he didn’t want to uncover by doing so.

The TV flickered to life, selecting the chosen movie as directed by Peter. He sipped on his hot chocolate, swearing softly when the liquid burnt his tongue. It’d probably need to cool, considering the loss of feeling in his taste buds. The TV screen suddenly paused the movie, indicating the buffering icon as the infuriatingly slow loading bar popped up.

“For fucks’ sake…” Peter muttered, deciding to take a quick shower to pass the time. He didn’t bother getting clothes, seeing as he was the only one home. He padded to the bathroom, turning the shower on and watching as the water slowly began to produce steam. He then stripped, chucking his clothes into the overflowing hamper and stepping into the soothing water. He let it wash over him, adjusting himself to the temperature as he scrubbed himself with vanilla soap, the day’s events flicking hazily through his mind.

The teen looked down, noticing his growing hard-on. Maybe his thoughts about Tony had taken a...darker turn. He palmed himself half-heartedly, almost jolting when the spark of arousal ran through his body. He groaned softly to himself, putting more energy into pumping his hard on. His precum provided lubricant, his hand going up and down faster and faster until he was right on the edge and it felt so good, and-

Peter pulled his hand off, letting his erect cock bob helplessly in the air. He was breathing hard, not having reached his orgasm. It just...it didn’t feel right. He rubbed soap on his body again, his dick slowly returning to it’s normal size.

The shower came to a close after 15 minutes of staring at the wall, he may or may not have been thinking about a certain black head of hair, brown eyes flecked with gold, the body of a Greek god...maybe he lost track of time, but it was time well spent in Peter’s opinion. He towelled himself off with less energy, suddenly losing the motivation to actually dry himself off-probably because all his brain power was used trying to figure out a certain someone’s personality.

He plopped onto his nest of blankets and pillows, smiling when he saw the movie was ready to watch again. He hit play, content with the world at last.

That is, until some fucking idiot banged, not knocked, banged, on Peter’s door. He resolutely ignored it, turning the volume of the TV to max. Until, the banging didn’t stop. It just kept going. And going. And going-

“This better be a real good fucking reason,” Peter snarled, pausing his movie with more force than he probably needed to, and he stomped to the door.

The assault on the door didn’t stop, even when Peter yelled ‘Coming!’ to try and ease the banging. It did not succeed. He swung open the door, fuming, the epitome of annoyance as expressed on his face. He was ready to give this newcomer a piece of his mind, what, interrupting his fucking movie night, the audacity-

The words died in his throat as he looked up to launch a deadly glare, only to be met with chocolate brown eyes, flecked with gold, a soft pink cupid’s bow, the presence of stubble beginning to form a goatee, and oh wait, he’s seen this before, wait a minute-

“Tony?” He spluttered, taking a step back as he took in the scene before him. Tony, in a banged up suit he probably used as his transportation, his hand poised to bang at the door again. Tony’s expression mirrored Peter’s, a mixture of shock and confusion. Unlike Peter’s, Tony’s cleared quickly, and formed a new expression-one of almost desperation.

“Look, Parker, I’m sorry alright? I just...I need somewhere to stay tonight,” he rubbed a hand over his face, “forget it. I knew it was stupid to come, sorry for wasting your time I guess,” he muttered, already pivoting on his heel. Without his conscious consent, Peter grabbed Tony’s arm as he turned away. They both froze, neither knowing what Peter did.

“Wait, I...you can stay, Tony. You can come in, I just was watching Empire Strikes Back,” Peter ranted, gently tugging Tony inside. The latter seemed to be in a state of shock, obviously not expecting the positive response.

“Empire Strikes Back? You would be watching that, of all movies,” Tony snarked, recovering quickly from his bout of shock.

“You’re the guest, at least try to be nice,” Peter countered, blushing at the tips of his ears from embarrassment. He huffed, flopping onto his comfortable collection of pillows. He raised an eyebrow meaningfully at Tony, who looked a little out of place with his scratched suit. Peter was curious, but didn’t pry-there was obviously something that caused Tony to come in so suddenly.

“Being nice? To Parker? Talk to me when you have an achievable goal,” Tony grumbled, walking around to tour Peter’s apartment. Peter hoped it would be up to his standards. Wait, no he didn’t, Tony’s standards didn’t matter to him. At all.

Peter resumed his movie, soon becoming engrossed in the iconic plotline that he’d seen hundreds of times before, yet it never failed to make him excited. Tony watched his classmate from the shadows, the smile on Peter’s face contagious. His auburn curls, sharp jawline...Picture perfect Tony mused, as the lights from the movie danced across Peter’s angelic features. Tony shook his head, afraid of getting caught in the act-someone that beautiful would never return his feelings.

The depressing thought prompted Tony to emerge from the shadows, gliding over to where Peter was laying down and slumped nearby, resigning himself to the fact he’d have to watch this nerd movie. His suit whirred in the corner, fixing its own malfunctions as Tony had programmed it to.

“I don’t even know what the fuck is going on, Parker,” Tony muttered, the movie’s plot confusing him due to the lack of knowledge in previous films.

Peter just smiled, deciding it would take too long to explain the plot. Tony saw this, and a small smile spread across his face, too. It was nice to have a friend that just accepted you into their home, even if you had no explanation. Well, he couldn’t really tell the boy his explanation. Home was...a bit hard to go to at the moment, not that he’d ever tell Parker. He glanced at the serene expression on Peter’s face again, taking in the pure joy as he watched his seemingly favourite movie. Yeah, he was not gonna spoil that expression. Not ever.

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

The movie’s credits rolled, signifying the end of the movie night. Tony softly blew out through his nose, wondering if it would be overstepping to stay the night. Before he could dig a hole of despair within himself, Peter noticed his obvious inner battle. Deciding to put the rivalry behind him for now, he reached out to Tony, gently touching his arm and effectively grabbing his attention.

“We should head to bed...if you’re ok with that,” Peter murmured, gently tugging Tony’s arm as he stood up.

Tony sucked in a breath at sparks of pleasure that rippled through him as Peter’s hand lingered. He got to his feet, following Peter through the apartment, taking in the few decorations and pictures. He paused at an old picture of an obviously much younger picture of Peter, sitting on a man’s shoulders. He looked so...well, happy. Tony frowned; what had happened? Not wanting to intrude, he tucked the question away for later, and hurried to catch up with Peter.

“So, this is it. The humble abode, I guess,” Peter chuckled nervously, giving a dramatic wave with his hands. Tony looked around, taking in the worn twin bed, well-read books mounted on shelves that looked as if they could fall at any minute, the stained dresser, obviously the victim of many late-night hot chocolate spills. Tony could feel a slight smile tugging at his lips-this felt like Peter.

“Humble, huh. Didn’t know you were a Potter fan,” Tony smirked, gesturing at the aforementioned books. A red blush tinted the teen’s cheeks as he rushed to defend himself.

“I’ll have you know Harry Potter is a very famous series, thank you very much,” he huffed, crossing his arms. The following silence was comfortable, Peter rifling through his dresser as he looked for his pyjamas. He succeeded, muttering a soft ‘aha’ at the victory, and turned to head to the bathroom.

“Get yourself comfy, you can sleep wherever, couch or bed,” Peter stated, trying not to blush for a third time in an hour. He made quick work of changing, exiting the bathroom once he was satisfied with his appearance. A new toothbrush smacked Tony in the back of the head, credits of Peter.

“The fuck, Parker? Why couldn’t you just ask me to turn around,” Tony muttered, grabbing the toothbrush and making his way to the meager bathroom. He cleaned his teeth, checked his face for any signs of, well, outstanding blemishes, and once satisfied, returned to the bedroom. Peter was already in the bed, having turned off the lights and receiving a wave of sleepiness that he couldn’t refuse.

Tony hesitated before quietly sliding in beside Peter, careful not to touch him in hopes of keeping him comfortable. After all, this was Peter’s bed. He shifted, finding the proximity a little too...exciting.

Peter stirred, muttering something incomprohensive that sounded suspiciously like ‘Stop fucking moving,’ which Tony grudgingly obeyed. He found himself drifting sooner than he usually did; maybe it was the company that finally got his eyes to close, who knows. It just felt good to be cared about.

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

“Fuck, harder Tony,” Peter cried out, relishing the feeling of the flogger on his burnt ass, “please. Please Tony, ah!”

Tony whipped mercilessly, painting the teen’s ass and lower back a pretty scarlet colour. He knew Peter loved it, despite the whimpers of pain as he relentlessly assaulted his body, again and again.

“Little slut, begging for me to stop like a good little bitch. Ask me nicely, I might consider,” Tony snarled, drinking in the moans that came tumbling out of Peter’s mouth at the sentence.

“P-please, I promise I’ll be your good little cockslut, please just let me go,” Peter repeated, rolling his eyes back from pleasure. His cock twitched at the constant stimulation, begging for touch, but Peter couldn’t move, the restraints preventing him from relief.

Tony growled, pausing the flogging at 15 hits. “You better live up to that, whore,” he snarled, taking in the sight before him. Peter, bound to the bed face-down, bent over the back, ass on display. His petite frame quivered in anticipation, preparing for more of the flogging.

“Yes, Tony, I promise I’ll be good, no more,” Peter begged, too aroused to care how desperate he might sound. He jerked his hips forward, trying and failing miserably to acquire friction for his painfully hard dick.

Tony untied the restraints slowly, careful not to hurt his lover any more, now that the scene was over. Peter sobbed, reaching down almost immediately to try and relieve his aching cock. Tony slapped Peter’s hand away, taking the matters into his own hands.

“Such a naughty boy, trying to touch yourself without permission. What do we say?” Tony crooned, teasing Peter’s tip. The latter cried out, grinding against Tony’s hand in hopes of release.

“‘M sorry, so sorry, please, please let me-ah!” Peter abruptly cut off his rambling as Tony took him in hand, stroking along his length tantalisingly. Peter sobbed, crying out as the feeling grew. He centered in on the sensation Tony was giving him, pumping his dick with such earnest it was almost too much, the heat building in his lower abdomen, ready to burst-

Peter woke up with a start, acutely aware of his burning arousal. Oh. Oh shit. He just had one of those dreams...about Tony. Who was right next to him. Peter sucked in a breath, his eyes going wide. He calculated his options, quickly realising he couldn’t move without waking him up.

He cursed the lack of space in the bed, horror taking over as his arousal became too prominent to ignore. He whined softly into his pillow, at loss with how to deal with the predicament. How did things go so badly wrong so soon?

As if things couldn’t get any worse, Tony elicited a groan in the silence of the room and shifted to that his hip was pressed against Peter’s...problem. He unconsciously bucked into the stimulation, immediately regretting the action as Tony groaned again and moved, if possible, closer to his dick. Well, wasn’t this just amazing.

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

Tony awoke from his sweet abyss of darkness, groaning in annoyance. What had woken him up? He thought he’d heard a whimper, but that couldn’t be right. He shuffled closer to his warm pillow, which promptly moved back against him. Tony froze; pillows weren’t supposed to move. Pillows...also didn’t have a bulge. He recovered quickly, a smirk slowly growing when he realised what had happened here. Parker was hard. So, so hard.

Tony groaned again, this time intentionally shifting against Peter’s bulge to try and gauge how exactly this was going to play out. He was met almost immediately with a response as Peter grinded against him. Tony stifled a moan; it was insanely hot, how responsive Peter was. He was obviously trying to hold back, covering his mouth as he desperately sought relief against Tony. The latter helpfully shifted again, receiving a small squeak in response. Peter’s hand snaked down to his cock, unable to hold back anymore. Tony closed his eyes, savouring this moment-possibly the only time he’d get to be this intimate with his crush, even if he was ‘asleep’.

Peter palmed against his sweats, the pleasure making his breathing uneven as he neared his climax. He felt so bad for doing this with Tony in the same bed, but he was past the point of being able to control his movements. The pressure built up inside him like a spring coiled at it’s base, as he desperately rutted against his hand, when it all became too much-and Peter went rigid. The white-hot pleasure consumed his body, racking through him in wave after wave as he tried to silently ride out his orgasm. The spurts of come soaked his boxers, but Peter was too out of his mind to care as the high slowly came down. His breathing was hard and his sweats were cold and sticky, but the aftershocks of the orgasm jerked his softening cock.

The world slowly came back to him as Peter blinked a couple times, trying to orient himself. The first thing he thought was oh shit, now I’ll have to lie in this mess until Tony wakes up.

That is, until he realised a tiny detail. Tony’s back and hip was completely covered. In. Peter’s. Cum.

Peter looked up slowly, the horror beginning to consume him. His entire body froze when Tony looked right back at him.

#starkerkink2020 #tony stark x peter parker #highschool AU with powers #vaguekiwi #promptexchange #starkerkinkchallenge #my work

[sinner-as-saint]

Longing

(Post Endgame) Bucky x Reader

Requested by Anon.

 “Hi hun so could you please do a bucky reader where you borrow his sweater and then he walks past your room and over sees you masturbating and you are wearing his sweater and he gets so turned on??? Xxx”

 Themes: masturbating, smut, dirty talk

 A/N: I hope I did well, Anon. ILY! 

  “Hey Buck! Say, can I borrow a sweater?” you asked, walking into the kitchen.

Bucky looked up from his enormous cup of coffee and simply nodded, flashing you a smile.

 “You steal all my clothes. Why?” he asked, not really caring why you did so; he just wanted to talk to you.

He noticed you blushed right after he questioned you. It was no secret that you did, indeed, steal the soldier’s clothes – mainly sweaters and hoodies. He caught you doing the laundry once, and while you were getting the clothes out of the dryer, you picked out his grey, NASA sweater and put it into your basket purposely.

He smiled and decided not to confront you about it. Secretly, he liked seeing you in his clothes.

 “They’re much more comfy than mine. You have at least twenty-five of them, can I borrow one, please?” you pleaded, leaning against the door frame in PJ shorts and a tank top.

 “Fine. Take whichever you want, doll,” he shook his head smiling, his metal hand picking up the coffee mug once again and brought it to his lips.

You yelled a quick ‘thanks’ as you ran back upstairs. The compound had been rebuilt; but not many lived in it now.

 There was no denying that you had feelings for the super soldier. And you were almost 70% sure that he felt the same towards you.

Everyone visited often, but it was mainly just you and Bucky at the compound; which meant that you spent most of your time together. And it only further confirmed that you were slowly, but surely, falling for the super soldier.

 You loved sleeping in his clothes. Not just because they were softer than any other material, but because despite being washed – they smelt like him. His cologne lingered in the fabric long after he wore them, and sleeping in it gave you a weird comfort that there was someone else here with you.

Before being an Avenger, you had nobody. Then you found a family, but then Thanos happened and even that was snatched from you.

Now all you had was Bucky. And you couldn’t risk your friendship with him by confessing your feelings for him, so you kept your one sided love hidden.

  Rushing into Bucky’s room, you went straight for his closet and pulled out a random sweater. It was a beige one; simple and cozy. You sniffed the soft material in your hands, you were aware how weird the scene would look from another person’s point of view, but you didn’t care.

Bucky’s cologne infiltrated your senses; his signature rosewood scent, mixed with just the slightest hint of nicotine.

 Happy with what you found, you made your way back to your room; hoping that Bucky would forget about the sweater because you planned on keeping it.

You stepped into your room and immediately discarded what you were wearing; the shorts and the tank top. Once bare, you slipped on the sweater.

The soft material rubbed against your nipples and a soft whimper escaped your lips, your eyes widening right after the sound left your mouth.

What was that?

  You had trouble sleeping that night, you tossed and turned in a desperate attempt to find a comfortable position so that your body could shut down and allow you a good sleep but, nothing helped.

You tried reading but you had already read each and every book you owned at least twice.

You laid in bed, absolutely still; until you finally figured out what the problem was – you were horny.

 Instinctively, your hand slipped under the sweater you borrowed from the super soldier and flew straight to your erected nipples.

You pinched and rolled the buds in between your fingers – back arching off the bed in the process, as soft whimpers left your lips.

Your blood rushed to your face as you thought about how much better things would be if it were Bucky’s hands instead of your own.

You thought about how his cold, metal arm would feel against your warm skin, and how skilled his tongue would be against your body.

 As your sinful thoughts carried you away in a haze; mind clouded with lust – you didn’t notice that a certain metal-armed super soldier was watching you from outside your bedroom; through the door which was left ajar.

 ^^^

 Bucky couldn’t sleep that night, perhaps because he had too much coffee in the evening. Wanting to tire himself out a little bit, he decided to make his way to the gym downstairs.

Often, he would drop by your door, knock and ask if you wanted to join him as well because he knew that on some days – you had trouble sleeping as well.

 He soon reached the hallway which lead to your bedroom, and he noticed that the door was slightly open and the dim light from inside could be seen.

She must be reading, he thought and made his was to your bedroom – glad that he got a partner to work out with.

 The soldier had feelings for you, but so as not to make things awkward between the two of you; he decided not to tell you about it. He believed that you only thought of him as a friend, nothing more.

 As he approached your room, he thought that his ears are playing tricks on him because he could’ve sworn he heard a soft moan coming through the semi closed door.

His heartbeat increased as he steadily approached the door, soundlessly.

His breathing stopped for a good 2-3 seconds when he saw the enticing sight in front of him.

 The lights in your room was dimmed to the lowest and you were lying down on your bed; hair sprawled around your head messily, legs parted, whimpers escaping your lips and your hand rubbing lazy circles over your core.

His lips parted as he took in deeper breaths. He couldn’t believe he caught you in such an intimate act. He knew he should leave just as soundlessly as he came, he knew he should leave. But he couldn’t.

You had him under a spell and his body refused to turn away.

 Bucky watched you intently; your head was turned the other way so you couldn’t see him as he inched closer to the door.

He watched how your fingers toyed with your wet folds, and he was so close that he could even hear the obscene sounds – and it made all his blood to rush to his lower abdomen.

He watched how your back arched off the bed and how the delightful sounds left your mouth. Your breathing quickened as your fingers sped up against your core.

His hungry eyes raked all over your body; drinking in your ethereal appearance. He smirked when he noticed that you weren’t wearing anything but his beige sweater.

It was lifted up till you chin so it gave him a clear view of how you toyed with your breasts; it was the first time he noticed how perfect they were.

Sure, he checked you out all the time; but this was different.

 Bucky watched how your fingers slipped in and out of your folds and how the palm of your hands rubbed your sensitive bundle of nerves.

He was shamelessly enjoying the show, but his entire body froze when he heard the most pleasing sound ever – you moaned out his name in your haze.

 “Oh . . . Bucky,” your breaths came in shreds as you moaned his name again.

The sound of his name leaving your lips, right as you were indulged in a provocative act; aroused the wildness in him.

The starved animal in him surfaced once he heard you moaned his name a couple of times more, and he wanted nothing more than to just replace your fingers with his, and attach his mouth to your nipples and touch you wherever he wanted to – marking you as his.

His preying eyes watched with more alertness, taking in every single movement; the rise and fall of your chest as your release got closer, the muscles in your thighs twitching as you pleasured yourself.

 His cock twitched in his sweatpants, and his hands itched from holding back from touching you. Bucky wanted nothing more than to just walk in your room, settle himself between your legs and just rock in and out of you until you could no longer bear another stroke of his member against your pulsating walls.

 Something in him flipped like a switch. He no longer wanted to you work out with him, he wanted to thrust his cock into you relentlessly until you begged him to stop.

He closed his eyes, and tried to calm himself down; knowing that he shouldn’t be invading your privacy like this.

But the way you were whimpering his name wasn’t helping at all.

 Damn you, doll.

  Intuitively, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. You were much too preoccupied with pleasuring yourself that you didn’t even notice the arrival of the super soldier.

Bucky approached your squirming body with caution, until he reached the foot of your bed. He watched you with nothing but lust and an insatiable hunger in his eyes.

 His sweater being the only thing which barely covered your naked body added to his need to have you. Your eyes were closed, and your lips parted as ragged breaths came through.

  “So, this is why you steal my clothes. So, you can think of me while you touch yourself, huh, doll?” his voice rang in your ears and the sound of it immediately halted your actions.

 His voice was deeper than usual.

 Embarrassment washed over you as you wanted to just disappear. You immediately reached out for the covers and tried to hide your bare body from his hungry eyes.

He smirked as you buried your face into the blankets.

 “Shit!” you screamed into the blanket and it came out muffled.

 Bucky chuckled darkly.

 “There’s no need to hide, doll. I’ve seen it all now. Come here,” he sat beside your covered body and pulled the blanket down, revealing an embarrassed girl whom he had just caught masturbating while she thought of him.

Messy hair, flushed cheeks, and a certain dampness flowing out of your glistening folds – he thought you were the most gorgeous thing he had ever seen, yet he couldn’t wait to ruin you. He couldn’t wait to be buried deep inside you. He couldn’t wait to stretch you to your maximum as he took you, over and over again.

 His hands cupped your face; his metal arm felt soothing against your flushed skin and you sheepishly looked at him smiling down at you.

 “I bet I feel better than those pretty fingers, doll, don’t you think? ‘Gonna let me touch you? Let me fuck you to sleep?” he asked sternly, sending chills all over your body and his words didn’t help the non-stop flow of desire which escaped your folds.

 You nodded.

 “Speak up, doll. I know you weren’t shy when you were moaning my name out loud just now. I wanna hear you, tell me, will you let me have my way with you? You’re gonna let me make you cum over and over again around my cock?” he asked again, his vulgar words making you dizzy with lust and the need to have him.

 “Yes,” you whispered and he wasted no time in connecting his lips with yours.

 His mouth moved feverishly against yours, claiming your lips as his and he pushed you down on the bed; his hands running along your sides as he slowly took his sweater off of your body.

 He got rid of his clothes in no time and focused back on you. His lips trailed all over your skin, kissing and biting your neck, collar bones and breasts.

His mouth latched on to your soft swells and he instantly fell in love with the raw taste of your skin.

 “Bucky . . .,” you moaned as you felt his tongue gliding downwards on your skin. He stopped right above your dripping heat and placed a kiss over your wet folds, your slick coating his way too pink lips.

The sight was sinful; he never broke eye contact as his mouth latched on to your core. His tongue circled your clit and trailed down to your entrance, teasing the tight hole.

 You cried out as his teeth slightly grazed your clit. Your body squirmed under his touch and he loved each and every second of it.

He believed you tasted divine, and he couldn’t get enough of your taste, but he knew he had to be in you soon because he was having trouble controlling himself.

 “Gonna make you feel so good, baby,” he spoke, lips wet due to his previous assault on your heat.

His hair was messy and the hair band could barely contain it as your hands ran through it multiple times, tugging at his roots every now and then.

 You moaned out loud as he roughly wrapped your legs around his waist, his rock hard member pressing right onto your core.

You started removing the sweater but he seized your wrists.

 “Leave it,” he said sternly.

 You panted, sighing at the friction caused by his member as he abruptly moved.

 “Why?” you whined as you grew more and more impatient for his touch.

 “Like it. Like seeing that you belong to me,” he replied, his gravelly voice signaling how possessive he was and you liked it.

 Wasting no time, he aligned his tip to your entrance and slipped into you with ease. He immediately started thrusting in you, allowing you very little time to adjust to his size.

Like he fantasized, he stretched you to your maximum; and the sight of your tight hole wrapped around his thick cock was driving him more and more feral with each passing moment.

 He rocked into you, and gradually increased his speed as your moans got louder and more and more improper.

 “Fuck . . . Bucky, I’m-,”

 “No you’re not! Not yet, doll,” he growled and moaned out loud as well as your walls milked him perfectly.

His head dipped down and his lips found yours, roughly kissing you while he pounded into your tight entrance.

 His mouth moved to your ear where he whispered the filthiest words you had ever heard. He voiced out all of his vulgar thoughts and you listened in delight.

 Your hands found their way into his hair yet again, you pulled at his roots and he groaned in pleasure, and sped up into you even more.

 “Fuck . . . God, baby, you feel so g-good,” he moaned out, his breath coming through in shreds as he panted right in your ear.

 You cried out as his thumb found its way to your clit; he rubbed the little bud and you were a moaning mess within seconds, squirming under him like he imagined you would. Except, you were better than his imagination.

 He groaned and his thrusts got more and more rough, his tip caressing all your sensitive spots as he brought you closer and closer to your orgasm.

Soon, you came with yet another cry of his name. The waves of euphoria washed over you and tears accumulated in your eyes at how good he felt, his thick cock throbbing inside you.

Bucky came right after; pulling his length completely out of you and slamming into you one last time before he fell limp into your arms.

 You were both panting, too worn out to move; so you just relished the feeling of having each other.

You felt Bucky’s cum shoot at your walls; his cock pulsating against your walls – dragging another moan out of you.

 “Be mine,” Bucky spoke and your previous embarrassment washed over you again.

He lifted his body up and hovered over yours, his hair falling out of his messy man bun.

You smiled shyly and reached out to tuck his hair behind his ears. He was so close that his body heat warmed you as well. And it was something you could easily get used to.

 “I’m all yours,” you pecked his nose, causing him to smile down at you. You started getting up to go and get cleaned up, but he stopped you.

 Bucky stopped your actions by pushing you back down on your bed.

 “Who said I was done with you, doll? I bet you look ravishing on your knees, don’t you, baby?”

 His voice sent chills down your back yet again. And the tone he used had you wet all over again, but you weren’t complaining.

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[moonlightstars16]

Love’s Fated Moments

30 Days Connverse Challenge

Day 17 ~ Kisses

"Since the invention of the kiss, there have only been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind." ~ The Princess Bride

Ever since Steven and Connie met, it would seem fate had brought them together for a reason. Love strengthened their bond than no matter of human or gem could ever break. Even as they became best friends, the connection was an unstoppable force. Through ups and downs they went through it all. They had moments of sorrow, pain and even doubt. But they stayed beside one another always.

Connie remembered the first time she attempted to kiss him. Failing due to his magical healing powers restoring her eyesight. Thinking back on the matter, she wondered if he ever knew about her intentions. Lifting her hand to her cheek, she felt the familiar blush that permeated her smile.

His own cheeks were tinted as her's were. But his eyes were full of confusion and a soft glaze from his tears. Telling her the feelings he had at the time if he never got the same ability. What she said to him then still rang true to this day. He didn't need any powers to be there with her.

Sitting against the warm glass of their apartment's bay window, she wrapped her arms around her legs, knees to her chest as she rested her head. Recalling the moment she did finally kiss him. Not quite on the lips, yet, but his soft chubby cheek. It was quick, it was brief, it felt right. This was something she had been dying to do for a long time. Especially before leaving for about a month. Developing more than a childhood crush, but something much more meaningful. She could still feel his beating heart racing from hit all against her palm, right down to her fingertips.

Giggles emerged from within at the imagery of leaving him in shock as she raced down the stairs. Seeing the big smile on his face as he called out to her by the balcony. Her own smile widened at the mere thought, eyes shut tight. Suddenly sensing two protective arms slip around her waist. Lifting her up gently as he sat down and laid her on his lap.

"Whatcha thinking about strawberry?" Steven's voice whispering so gently against her ear.

"Oh nothing much...." Feeling his disappointing gaze from behind, obviously not satisfied with her answer, she sighed rolling her eyes. "Okay, I was thinking about the time I first kissed you."

"Ah now that's the tea I've been waiting for. I believe it went something like this." With a teasing tone, he stole a quick peck on her cheek just like she did once. He remembered the moment so well. Lifting his hand to where her lips touched and his other feeling where her hand laid. The widest smile only she could ever bring out of him. He began to admire her more and more so around that time. The feelings he soon couldn't deny much longer. It was such a sweet relief and surprise to know she had the same notion.

"Well I couldn't help it. You were taking forever to make a move."

"What do you mean?"

"Ugh are you really going to make me explain it?" Hearing nothing but silence she groaned and turned to face him more. "Call it intuition, a gut feeling, whatever, but I always thought you had like-liked me then. You know that I did."

"Yeah when you finally kissed me first."

"Which is exactly why I had to make my move!"

"Wait hold on, so you knew that I was already beginning to like you more? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Uh, I think I did." With a smirk, she pecked his lips with a hand above his heart. Pulling away as he shook his head chuckling. "Just. Like. That."

"Okay Miss Maheswaren you know what I meant." 

"Steven I was embarrassed to tell you. Nothing could ruin our friendship, but I was worried this was. Especially if my gut instinct was wrong."

"But you did take a chance....why the sudden-"

" 'Leap of Faith' so to speak? Well I had to know sooner or later. I wanted to know if my feelings were going to be reciprocated or not. The thought of not being able to know tore me apart inside. So I finally decided to gather all my courage and went for it."

"I'm glad you did Connie." Reaching up to caress her cheek, stroking his hand through her soft locks, repeating the process over and over. Loving the way she leaned into his touch. Eyes closed as a content expression revealed her love for what he as doing as she sighed. Gazing upon her serene state, he remembered when it was her second kiss that saved his life.

Well along with his other family and friends showing him love too. Physically he felt everything his monstrous form did. Vision blurry as he tried to get away, tried to push everyone away, and almost hurting them in the process. Inside he was drowning in darkness. The familiar voices touched his very soul. He felt their loving embrace all over.

Garnet in her giant form, Lapis, Pearl, Amethyst, his dad, Bismuth, Peridot, heck even the Diamonds, Spinel and the Cluster. And then he felt her, the light was becoming brighter and brighter that he could see them all more clearly. Especially Connie, A portal opening as she leapt off Lion's back and landed right upon his monstrous face. Coming closer and closer as she hugged him close. Telling him they were never going away. Their love for him will never die.

"You know what? I may not have your powers, but...."

Then he felt it. Her kiss. The one that touched right through his heart. He felt everyone's love for him. All his family and friends. But it was her's that sealed the deal. That last bit of reassurance to know that it was all going to be okay. Their connection reformed once more.

"Connie?"

"Hmm?"

"For all that it's worth, you did have healing powers that day."

"What?" Looking up with a raised brow he chuckled.

"When you kiss me. Even as a monster you showed me what love is. Or at the very least reminded me of it." It took her a second to register but her eyes soon widened in remembrance.

"I only spoke what was true." She whispered before pulling him into her arms. Letting his head lay on her shoulder. Both in thought of the that memory from a couple years ago. He was crying healing tears for the first time. A bright light emerged as everyone magically shifted from where they were embracing him, to inside the clusters large formed palm. Pearl brought out a large blue blanket from her stored items. Wrapping it around him as he reformed back into his old self.

They all stood back a little for him to get fresh air. Watching as he awoke from it all. Feeling her gentle hand brush away his tears. Connie did so again when she felt them on his shoulder. The memory was painful but the sorrow that came from it lessened much more.

Especially since Steven finally let out all what he pent up in a cathartic cry against Lion's main. Who had hugged him licked him as his way of showing love. It was good he was there because he needed one thing to focus on with everyone around him. 

Lifting up his head he lifted his hand against her cheek once more. One glance and they knew what the other was thinking. There first, real kiss. Not on the cheek, not through scales. And it was his turn to make the first move.

They were talking on the balcony. Laughing and having a great time. Just like long ago when they were eating biscuits and jam while playing music together. Like they were reading/listening to the stories in a book. Like they were going on adventures with Lion. They were truly Jam Buds once more.

Now they had talked about the proposal in depth. Both sides telling why they did what they did. Soon coming to and understanding about it. Of course they ended that conversation with a joke to ease off any remaining tension. Then while their laughter faded away from the moment, He reached out and placed a hand on her cheek. They leaned closer as he pressed his lips on hers. Feeling her comply without hesitation. It was slow, it was soft, it was an innocent first kiss.

Pulling back Connie sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. His head laid on top if hers as they reminisced in the memory of their first. It was the kind of kiss they said goodbye too when on the beach before he left for the world. With constant visits from Connie from time to time during the trip.

During which they did so more often. Innocent and slow but oh so satisfying. Not just on the lips, but on the ear, neck, cheek, almost everywhere one would think of kissing when it came to PDA. Even in private. Teasing each other as they continue to grow more within there relationship.

When he heard she got into her dream college, they celebrated with dinner, a fun walk in a nearby forest and ended with a kiss so intense they couldn't believe it was them who did it. This took them to a new level of ecstasy. They were laying against the sheets sprawled across the van.

The seats folded downwards so there was enough room for a makeshift bed. Cuddling closer from the cold midnight air as he became their personal heater with his magic. Especially for his beloved Connie whose skin felt like she was freezing. Shivering from the cooler temperatures, he laid his jacket over both of them.

After awhile both were caught up in conversations of different topics. The future, what was happening now in the world and "meaningless" stuff like how many licks does it take to get to the center of a loli-pop. Which Steven replied as 207 if it's the swirly rainbow kind, original sized. Connie laughed and didn't even question it. Well not seriously at least, she was curious how exactly he came to that conclusion. He admitted it was an hour of many licks and many tallies. Afterwords he needed loads of water.

There was no build-up(recently so), no spoken words about it, just both having a single look in each others eyes and instantly they knew. Getting closer, their lips touched like before, only this time they became even closer. His tongue slid against the bottom of her lips seeking entry, she widened her lips more so they could deepen the kiss. Breathing so heavy that they gasped for air briefly before going back. At one point he had kissed down her neck. Sucking at the nape as she moaned and ran her fingers through his thick curls.

Of course, they didn't go much further yet. But that moment introduced the possibilities that laid before them. So much that they soon laid boundaries they each respected. Neither one of them ready for what was to come. At least not until after she graduated college of course. Those memories made them blush so hard that they couldn't even look at each other, but hands were locked every time. For awhile at least.

Now they didn't care. Lips locked once more, Steven felt one hand down her skirt and over her right bum, with only the thin lace garment separating the two. Though that hardly mattered as he felt the heat on her skin. His other hand running up her shirt and laid two fingers just underneath the hem of her bra. She slid her hands under his shirt, caressing his bare and soft chest and stomach.

"I love you so much, my Strawberry."

"I love you too, my Biscuit."

They stayed like that for awhile at the bay window. The night sky filled with stars as there view also overlooked some of the city. Being safe and protected within each other's embrace. Giving there all in that moment to one another.

These kisses helped to shape their love. The almost, the deep crush, the healing, the innocent and the most passionate. But for them the most important one of all was them kissing together. Past, the here and now and in the future they would live in, side by side.

#steven universe #steven universe future #connie maheswaran #connverse #steven and connie #stevenxconnie #day 17

[devintrinidad]

Yeah it’s me.

5100 and NC would totally bond over protecting 3803 from all the trouble she gets in. The difference is 5100 gets on 3803’s case while NC never thinks 3803 is in the wrong. He always likes it when 3803 does things the typical RBC wouldn’t do. NC does get along with 5100 since she acts almost like a big sis to him too after awhile. But he really disagrees with how inside the box her thinking is and has gotten inbetween her and 3803 when 5100 wants to reprimand 3803 for sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. NC probably gets along with 4201 the best since she never gets on his or 3803’s case. At most she’s too by the book to get involved with his michevous or anyone else’s business. But she won’t judge or reprimand him either. Sometimes if she’s with them she’ll just quietly go along with what they’re doing, only voicing some concerns about getting work done. It secretly annoys 1146 that 4201’s stern face doesn’t make NC nervous at all. 5963 actually makes NC feel warm and safe almost the same way that Normal Cell does. But he’d never admit it to either of them. He just appreciates 5963 doesn’t embarrass him.

My personal HC over 1146 hearing the whole story from 3803. A lot of time has passed. Things are good between them and NC. One night when 1146 is walking 3803 home to make sure she gets there safe (she got stuck with a late shift). She invites him in to give him tea and snacks. They have a nice time. She says she wants to tell him about it. Not because she needs to tell him. But because she wants him to know/understand. No other reason why. But she doesn’t want to look at his race or vice versa in case he gets upset and can’t hide it. Which she knows would upset him. She sits in her bedroom leaning against the closed door while his back is leaning on the other side. 

She basically tells him RBA we readers read from the moment she met Cancer pretending to be a Normal Cell up until 1146 found her. She’ll add some more details like other stuff that happened too. Like how she used to brush his hair and how he didn’t like her gloves and stuff. 1146 is glad she suggested the closed door method because he does not want her to see his face when she told him how Cancer physically hurt her, telling her she should never have been born and she was like a Cancer, throwing all the deaths he caused in her face and blaming her for them, the affection he gave her. He tightened his fist so much to refrain from punching a hole in the wall he bruised his own hand. The only time he interrupts her is to he protest against Cancer’s claim everyone abandoned her. Despite hearing how she didn’t hold it against anyone, he still wanted her to know he never stopped searching.

By the end of it he quietly asks if he can open the door. She let’s him and then gets swept up into a big hug. His face is borrowed in her neck it feels wet. She lets him let it out and apologizes for burdening him with that knowledge. She tells him she wishes she could take it back. But he says he’s glad she trusts him so much and he’s happy to carry this weight with her of it will make her happier. 1146 says again how sorry he is for failing to rescue her. Which shocks 3803 because she tells him He was the one who found her and got her out of that dark prison. 1146 accepts what she says and finally tells her he believes her over this. 3803 relaxes in relief that 1146 has finally stopped seeing himself as a failure and falls asleep to him cradling her. When she wakes up she finds out he moved them to a comfy chair and she’s been sleeping in his arms and lap the whole night. 3803, knowing 1146 did this to guard her all night, thanks him (and laughs a little at his snoring. She’s not sure how she slept through this) and covers him with a blanket while she leaves a note for him as she goes to work. 

After that it’s actually a few cycles until she sees him again. When BC tells her no, he hasn’t seen 1146 at all for awhile She starts to get a little worried. What if she ruined everything? What if 1146 hates NC and now whatever hard earned peace and normality they’ve all found will dissapear? Her fears are laid to rest when 1146 pops up and gets both her and NC tea. He doesn’t treat NC any differently and seems perfectly content as always. Later she admits her worries and 1146 tells her he was busy on a mission. Also he did need time away from NC because he wanted to make sure he didn’t lash out on blind emotion at NC and ruin the progress NC and him have made. 1146 lets get know he will always protect her trust/faith in him and her way of living. 

That. That is the moment 3803 develops a crush on 1146.

But she’s not like 1146 who bottles things up. Later after processing it, 3803 is pretty quick to infirm 1146 of her feelings. It goes like,

3803: Mr Neutrophil since we have such a honest relationship. I wanted to tell you I think developed a bit of a crush on you earlier. I know an amazing guy like you can do way better then a klutz like me. But I just wanted to tell you how I feel and that this won’t affect our friendship no matter what you say. =D

1146:…. *inside his mind* (What the Heck are you doing!? Say something. Say something! Anything!!!!) Okay o_o (No not that! Stupid what are you doing?!)

He probably messes up and has to work up the courage to tell 3803 her feelings are not one sided and he’s been totally in love with her for a long time. But he’s a dumb boy about it and needs a lot of help. Meanwhile 3803 is oblivious and happy she was honest and still has 1146 as a great friend. Really 1146 is so kind and has it together. = D

~~~

SHGJHDFJGH HADJGHJSFHG AHFGHJAFHG AFHGJHAFKJGH

YOU ARE MORE THAN WELCOME TO WRITE SIDE STORIES FOR THIS PARTICULAR UNIVERSE! ALL OF THESE ARE JUST SO GOOD???

But yes, all of these headcanons really ring true in my head. I bet NC really finds himself at home with the RBCs because they’re all civilians like him and they also care about 3803. Even though he’s out of the running when it comes to romantic interests (which is great considering 5100 is still overprotective over 3803 and she’s still coming around 1146), he’s definitely one of the few friends 5100 really takes to almost immediately. Sure, there are some hang ups with their differences in views, but it’s really cute. 4201 is a bit more perceptive when it comes to 3803′s relationship with NC, but she doesn’t pry. She’s observant and is willing to step in if NC gets a bit... off whenever his past comes to rear its ugly head. Heheh, PO and DB definitely think of NC as a younger brother/son respectively. 

Oh my gosh??? I love the door scenario? It’s so cute!!! The way you describe it is definitely plausible and I can also see it as one of the major catalysts for 3803 to realize her budding feelings for 1146. It’s really adorable and is definitely an idea if I were to expand the universe beyond what I’ve done so far.

Thank you so much for the submissions and I hope that you have a wonderful day! :D

#cells at work #hataraku saibou #caw #caw anon #anon ask #devintrinidad author #devintrinidad #devin trinidad author #devin trinidad #submission

[thevirtualcanvas]

You don’t really know someone until you go on a desert island together ~

Steven's birthday aka the time Connie lured Steven to Watermelon island because I don’t want Steven to be sad anymore. 

Yesterday was a really angsty piece. Today we get to see how he gets his first kiss. Hope you’re all ready for some proper fluff.

“Cmon Steven! We're almost there!”

They were on Watermelon Island, he knew that much. The first thing that gave it away was, well, he was the one that warped them there. The second was the split mountain that hung over his head behind the now fixed warped pad. The third thing was the party of Watermelon-Stevens that welcomed them with a bubbly joy, dragging him by one hand as Connie took the other.

“Connie, where are we going? There's so much to be done before little homeschool opens. My itinerary is clogged,” he thought of the planner on his phone, full of meetings, and jobs and far too many things to do.

Her laughter was infectious, her bright eyes warmed Steven's cheeks. “Well, Mr. Itinerary, I cleared your calendar for the day. Little home-world will just have to do without you, for a couple of hours anyway.”

“Connieeee,” he whined, haphazardly. It was so nice to see her, between his work orchestrating repairs after Spinel, integration of the gems, and meetings with his space Aunts; and Connie's high workload from school and her Mom they saw each other in glimpses. Mostly through video chats and the occasional moonlit jaunt via Lion. So holding her hand, and being led through the crystal jungle of the watermelon island – he could think of worse days to spend his birthday.

The palm trees gave way, the grass turned to sand and a beautiful cacophony of blues decorated the horizon, Steven had forgotten how nice it was here, relaxing even. On the sand sat a banner – Happy 16th Birthday Steven in Connie's lovely cursive handwriting. Beneath that was a picnic basket, blanket, his ukulele, and her violin and another batch of Watermelon-Steven's completing the finishing touches. He wasn't going to cry. Probably.

Connie held her hand out-stretched. “Ta-dah! Happy Birthday, Steven! You didn't think I'd forget, did you?”

“Connie, this is...this is incredible, thank you.”

He walked, enraptured by his surprise. The Watermelon-Stevens scampered to give them some privacy and peace. Steven kicked off his sandals, wriggled his toes in the sand, plonked himself down on the blanket and picked up his ukulele. The instrument had been sat in a stand on the shelf for months. Since the events of Spinel and her injector, he'd lost his child-like wonder, concerned that another attack could happen any moment, Steven had focused more on growing-up; putting away anything that would deem him childish, expanding little home-world, dealing with actual home-world and the Diamonds. His passion, his music, that had taken an unfortunate back-seat. He plucked at the strings, the sound reverberating through his fingers and up the length of his spine. Steven shivered, he missed this.

He took a deep breath, the first one in a long time, he listened to the sound of the ocean, the rustle of the palms and relaxing sounds of Connie breathing next to him. She plucked her violin first, playing and humming along to a creation of their own design.

The sun is bright, our shirts are clean.

Connie smiled brightly at him, loose strands of her pinned back hair danced among the breeze.

We're sitting up above the sea

Was her voice always this beautiful? It sounded like silk in his ears.

Come on and share this jam with me.

She looked at him expectantly, nodding her head as she strummed and hummed the tune. Carefully, slowly, Steven strummed along. In the back of his mind, he was worried he forgot, or worse, didn't want to. But that worry melted away at her sweet harmony, and sweeter face. As the mismatch of ukulele and violin merged tunes, Steven hummed in time with Connie, pulling up the unforgettable lyrics from his mind.

Peach or plum or strawberry.

Any kind is fine you see.

Come on and share this jam with me.

They played together, the simple chord a testament to their friendship, their devotion to one another and the memories of a simpler time. Playing again with Connie, it was the best present he could have ever asked for. To be in her presence, to forget about his responsibilities for just a little while – sure, her laugh, rich eyes, brilliant smile, lithe dexterous hands, and lean figure, made Steven a tad nervous and weak at the knees but it was Connie, his Connie and that was perfect.

I'll do my best to give this jam the sweetness it deserves ~

He sung at her, waggling his eyebrows in time to the vibrato, causing her to laugh, scrunching her nose.

And I'll keep it fresh.

Jammin' on these tasty preserves!

She sung back with enthusiasm, the fine strings of her violin plucking hard at her rocking out.  

Steven's heart was racing, he hadn't felt this happy in months. Not true joy, not like this. Connie picked up her bow and slowed the rhythm down, ready for the climax of the song. Waiting on his queue, she watched her best friend carefully.

Ingredients in harmony.

We mix together perfectly.

Come on and share this jam with me.

The tune faded naturally, petering out in the ambiance of the ocean. They both breathed heavily, the duet taking more out of them then it would have done nearly 3 years ago. Steven placed his ukulele down, content, and Connie followed suit, keeping her eyes firmly on him. She moved closer, so their knees and hips were touching as they looked out onto the ocean.

“Jam buds, back in action,” Connie laughed, nudging him in the side. “Not bad, Mr. Itinerary.”

Steven snorted and nudged her back, taking off his sports jacket and wrapping it around his waist before leaning back into her. “I thought you're supposed to be nice on my birthday.”

“I am being nice,” she responded with a giggle. “Besides, this isn't the only thing I've planned for you. We're gonna have dinner with my parents, your dad and the gems later. Peridot is 'constructing' the birthday cake, my present for you is at the beach house and – ” She hummed and cleared her throat. A dusky hue rose on her cheeks.

“And?” Steven asked, curious.

Connie twiddled her fingers, puffed her cheeks and risked a glance at him. Steven had grown so much since dismantling the Diamond Authority. He was taller, give it another few months and he'd be taller than her for the first time in their friendship. His shoulders were broader, the material of the band shirt he wore stretched over his shoulder blades. His arms and legs had elongated, but she loved the way they felt around her. Connie felt a smug satisfaction whenever he would sit behind her, legs outstretched, arms around her neck. He would rest his chin against her shoulder as they watched a movie marathon, or Connie would read her newest book aloud to him. Steven's jaw, while still soft and round showed signs of a beard under the surface, the slightest five o'clock shadow discoloured his lower face. He would scratch absently, as if not quite used to this newfound adulthood. And what could she say, she'd noticed. Her jam bud was growing-up, and so was she.

“And...I have one more surprise. If you want it.”

His eyes lit up. “A secret present, what is it?” Steven pursed his lips and shook with joy. “Where are you hiding it? Do the Watermelon-Steven's have it? Oh man, I love surprises!”

She chuckled at his enthusiasm, this would make the next part of her surprise so much easier. He made everything easier. “Good to know you're not too old for surprise presents. Steven, do you trust me?”

He creased his brow, what kind of question was that. “Of course I do, Con. You're my best friend.”

Not for much longer if she had anything to say about it. This was a turning point in Connie's life. She loved Steven. She'd tell anyone as much. But recently a lot of mature thoughts crossed her mind; and between the trips in the Dondai, visits to the beach house and increasingly more tense sleepovers, Connie realised something. She loved Steven. Which didn't change much overall; she would do anything for him, want to be in his life for the rest of hers and, jam on the beach whenever possible. But she also wanted to kiss that adorable face of his.

“Good, so face me, and close your eyes. Keep 'em closed too. No peaking.” He complied, swiveled around, knees crossed, hands-on lap, and eyes locked tight.

Connie leaned forward, taking a sallow breath. She reached out of him, fingertips connecting with his cheeks warm at her touch. She could feel his cheeks dimple as he smiled, turning his head into her fingers. Connie brought her face closer, seeing the pores on his skin, his long lashes, and his soft pink lips.

His eyelids trembled a bit, like he was trying to search for her behind them. Connie, what are you – ”

“Don't peak,” she whispered, wetting her lips, running her fingers down to his neck and feeling as Steven hitches and freezes.

“Connie...” His breath felt hot against her lips, and name danced across her skin.

“Happy birthday, Steven.”

Her lips met his, certain, lacking confidence but wanting. They trembled against one another, this was new, scary and exciting all at once. Steven's hands mirrored hers, buried into the hair at the base of her neck, terrified to explore and desperate to hold. He turned his head, pressing his face further into hers. Button nose pressing into her cheek, tight curls brushed against her brow.

Connie pulled back, flustered, gasping for breath,  hands around his neck, playing with the curls at his hairline. She licked her lips, tasting him against them.

Steven opened his eyes and touched his lips, feeling where Connie had just kissed him. He was shocked, giddy and he really wanted to do it again. He pressed his forehead against hers, interlocked his fingers around her back and grinned. How long had he daydreamed about this moment?

“Connie?”

“Yeah, Steven?”

“That was definitely a surprise.”

She snorted, rubbing her forehead against his. “I'm glad.”

He bit his lip, deep brown eyes reflected into hers. “Can we do it again?”

Their stomachs grumbled in tandem, Connie opened the picnic basket and reached for the sandwich on the top of the pile and shoved it into his mouth. “Maybe, after our picnic, and away from prying eyes.” She motioned to the sheepish group of Watermelon-Steven's half-poking out of the brush behind them. Some gave a little wave, others blew a kiss of their own.

“R-right,” Steven said with a mouthful of jam and bread.

Connie waved back to them before taking a sandwich of her own. She shuffled back up to Steven, her Steven and they enjoyed their picnic in peace and quiet. The tension was gone, replaced by a fondly remembered quiet comfort between them. His hand around her waist, her knee against his thigh, watching as the crystals danced in the shallow waters and the sun changed colour in the sky.

“Thanks for dragging me away from gem stuff,” he said after a while.

“You're welcome, it is your birthday, y'know.”

“I know... Connie?”

She turned to him, mid-afternoon light bringing out the warmth in her skin. “Yeah, Steven?”

His hands found her, connecting perfectly. He should just say it, he'd thought about it a million times before.

“I love you,” it was barely above a whisper, and he couldn't look her in the eyes. But he said it. He'd told her. He was holding his breath and going pink in the face. Thankfully not that kind of pink.

He watched as her face turned the same shade of pink as him, she reassured him with a squeeze of his chunky fingers and gave him the exact answer he needed. “Love you too, Steven.”

Maybe he could keep celebrating his birthday after all?

#steven universe #suf #steven universe post movie #connverse #connie maheswaran #connie x steven #fanfic #first kiss #fluff