#crying throwing up shedding my skin I can’t do this LOOK AT HIS T I T S

[yeetlegay]

WHO THE FUCK PUT JEFF SATUR IN OVERALLS

#the noises I’m making right now FUCK I think I just discovered a new decibel #crying throwing up shedding my skin I can’t do this LOOK AT HIS T I T S #HIS A R M S #jeff satur #kinnporsche #OH GOD AND THE FUCKING CHOKER I’M FOAMING AT THE MOUTH

[hollywoodxwhore]

wanted - part thirteen

Colson x Original Female Character x Pete

The moment you've all been waiting for...the threesome. Enjoy!

Warnings: Smut (18+), swearing, very brief mentions of alcohol

Colson groans softly and nods, adjusting himself in his pants. Then, he walks over to the armchair and settles into it. “I want to watch,” he breathes, and I nod, looking at Pete. 

I can’t believe this is real. Colson wants me and Pete to do this. How did I get this lucky? Maybe Pete can fuck me tonight and it’ll be out of my system.

Pete is across the room in seconds, warm hands curling around my waist as he looks me up and down. “God, you’re so sexy,” he sighs, shaking his head a little. “The things I want to do to you tonight…”

“Better get started,” I murmur teasingly, and Colson chuckles from where he sits. I wink at him and then tug Pete’s t-shirt over his head, letting my hands slide down his warm chest after dropping it to the floor. Pete tucks his lip between his teeth as he looks at me, and then he bends, scooping me effortlessly into his arms. 

He lays me out on the bed and brings a hand slowly up my leg, admiring my stockings. “I want these to stay on,” he says gruffly, snapping the top of one stocking. I bite my lip and nod, watching his face. He hauls my hips to the end of the bed and drops to his knees. “Been wanting to taste this pussy since I met you,” he mutters, lifting my leg over his shoulder. Holy shit. Sweet, goofy Pete has a totally different side to him. I like it.

I catch Colson’s eye across the room and he winks at me, taking this moment to unbutton and unzip his pants. I don’t know what to focus on: Colson about to touch himself or Pete about to eat me out. But Pete demands my attention when his thumb presses to my clit over my panties. I whimper, arching my back slightly into the feeling. He’s teasing me, slowly rubbing up and down, and my thighs flex desperately.

“Pete, please, more,” I gasp. “Pete-”

Pete brings his face even with my pussy and as he draws my panties aside, the flat of his tongue finds me and I gasp, throwing my head back. My hips twitch and roll up against his mouth, seeking more and more and more. I push a hand into his soft, brown locks, tightening my fingers around a chunk of hair to keep him right where he is. 

“O-oh fuck, Pete,” I moan, biting my lip. I meet Colson’s eyes. His lips are slightly parted and he’s palming his clothed cock with one big hand.

“How’s it feel?” he rasps.

“S-so good, ah, Pete p-please!” I answer. I beg and squirm and cry out and arch against Pete’s tongue, unable to fathom how something could feel this good. 

“Good girl,” Colson moans as he watches me writhe. “Want you to come all over his tongue. You can do it, baby, come on,” he urges.

I jerk against Pete’s face, and holy shit, I’m close. So close. I’ve never been this close this quickly before. My heart pounds in my ears and my skin prickles and my pussy throbs against Pete’s incredible mouth. “F-fuck, I’m coming-” I gasp out, hunching over Pete’s head as my orgasm hits me like a fucking train. 

I’m shaking so hard as I come down that I almost feel faint. My skin tingles and I pant shakily, chest heaving. “Holy shit,” I breathe, putting a hand to my chest, feeling my heart racing. 

Pete stands, smirking, and wipes off his mouth. “That’s only the beginning, sweetheart,” he tells me, and fuck. I just came and I’m already ready for more. 

“Col,” I say, looking over at my boyfriend. “Please. Come here?”

Colson grins and gets up, letting his pants fall to the floor. He steps out of them, now only wearing boxers, having shed his shirt a while ago. 

He stops in front of me and turns to face Pete. “It’s only fair I get a taste, too,” he says, and then, my eyes are huge because Colson is kissing Pete. And not just a peck. Tongue, teeth, moans and all. Pete’s hand is in Colson’s hair and Colson presses his body to Pete’s and holy shit, I could almost come just from watching them. 

Colson breaks away and gives Pete’s hair a little tug. “Mm, she tastes so good,” he murmurs.

“Sure does,” Pete says with a smirk, and then they both look at me, finding me wide-eyed and speechless.

Colson chuckles. “What, you thought you were the only one getting to fuck around with Pete?”

“H-have you done this before?” I ask, gesturing to the two of them.

“Several times,” Pete smirks. “It just works.”

“Um, I should fucking say,” I marvel, and they laugh. Then, Colson gets onto the bed and pulls me into his lap so I’m facing Pete. He kisses my neck and I moan, tilting my head to the side. Big hands tug down the cups of my bra, allowing my breasts to spill out, and Pete sheds his sweats before climbing onto the bed. He grips one of my breasts and bends to take my hardened nipple into his mouth. Another moan wrenches from my throat as my head falls back onto Colson’s shoulder. 

“Baby,” I say, reaching back to grip onto Colson’s hair.

“Hm?” he replies, lips still traversing my neck and shoulder.

“C-can I suck you off while Pete fucks me?” I ask, cheeks reddening at the request. I may not be very experienced, but I know what I want.

Colson groans. “Fuck yeah, baby,” he says. Pete backs away and I get to my feet. Colson takes off my panties and then his own boxer briefs. I bite my lip at the sight of his cock. I listen to Pete rustling around behind me and then hear the distinct sound of a condom wrapper. I gasp when Pete pushes me so I fold in half, and I arch my back for him.

Pete chuckles lowly. “God, Alex, you know what you’re doing.” 

I blush and take Colson’s dick slowly into my mouth, teasing at first, and my boyfriend moans breathily, head falling back slightly. “Y-yeah, that’s good, Alex,” he groans. Behind me, I can feel the head of Pete’s cock at my entrance, and I arch my back deeper, eager to take him. When he finally pushes inside, I moan around Colson’s cock. 

“Oh fuck,” Pete moans, curling his hands around my hips as he slowly starts to move. “You’re so goddamn tight.”

“Mm, fuck yeah she is,” Colson moans, blissed out with his cock in my mouth. He guides my head a little and I moan around him, suddenly taking him deep. He lets out a choked moan and pulls my hair lightly. The boys say something to each other, and then their hands are no longer on me at all. I’m confused until I hear their hands slap. I have to pull off Colson and laugh. They’re fucking Eiffel-Towering me. I shake my head. Colson smirks down at me and then guides his cock back into my mouth. 

Soon, my rhythm syncs with Pete’s, and as he fucks me, I bob my head on Colson. All three of us are moaning, and the room is hot and everything about this is perfect. My eyes roll back in my head as Pete hits a particularly deep spot inside me, and I have to pull off Colson for a second to pant. 

Colson cups my chin and brushes his thumb over my bottom lip. “What’s the matter, baby, feels too good?” he asks, and I nod, feeling drunk with pleasure. He smirks and lifts my shoulders so I’m standing, back to Pete’s chest. We adjust to the height difference, me going onto my toes while Pete spreads his legs more, and Pete holds me up with his hands on my breasts. The new angle makes me arch, my clit throbbing. 

“Colson, please, touch me,” I beg, reaching for his hand. He smirks and obliges, fingertips finding my swollen clit to rub tight circles into the sensitive spot. Goosebumps cover my skin and my lower stomach tightens as another orgasm builds. “Shit,” I gasp.

Pete moans. “Oh god, you close?” he grits, massaging my breasts. “Can feel you fuckin’ squeezing me.” All I can do is nod frantically, knees buckling slightly. A couple more thrusts and Pete hits me at the perfect angle. I gasp sharply and nearly collapse into Colson as I come, thighs shaking as they work together to prolong my orgasm. 

Pete’s thrusts slow to a stop and he pulls out, panting. Colson sits on the bed and I sit on his lap, panting hard. “Fuck,” I say, swallowing to gather my composure. 

Pete grins. “Kells, you guys, uh, you know, yet?” he asks.

Colson chuckles. “Not yet, man,” he says. 

“What?” I ask, confused. 

Colson smirks. “Anal,” he explains.

“O-oh,” I say, swallowing hard. “No. We haven’t.”

“Next time,” Pete says and my stomach squeezes with excitement. This is going to happen again?

“Next time,” Colson repeats. “Alright, you’ve gotten in two. Time for me to make my girl come.” I shiver with anticipation and Colson jerks his chin up. “Pete, sit in the chair. Alex, sit in his lap facing out.” Pete and I hurriedly follow his directions, but Pete pauses before I can sit.

“Been dying to take this off,” he says, reaching up to unhook my bra. I let it fall to the ground, leaving me in nothing but stockings, but I actually feel sexy. I’m not nervous or self-conscious for maybe the first time in my life, and it makes me smile.

“What are you smiling about?” Colson asks, wrapping me in his arms and rocking me a little. 

I bury my face into his chest. “Just happy,” I mumble. 

Colson kisses the top of my head. “Good,” he murmurs. Then, he sits me in Pete’s lap and drops to his knees. “Alex, have you ever squirted before?” he asks.

I shake my head no, biting my lip as I settle into Pete’s lap. “No.”

Colson spreads my thighs and Pete shifts so I can get comfortable. “Well, you’re about to,” he says cockily.

“How can you be so sure?” I challenge.

“He’s got a track record,” Pete says simply. 

I blink. “Damn. Okay.” 

Colson chuckles and slips his hand between my legs. He admires my pussy as he rubs slowly at my clit, watching as I start to squirm. Once my breathing deepens, Colson slides two long fingers inside of me and curves them. I’m sensitive from my previous orgasms and I clench around him, shuddering. “Fuck,” I say quietly.

It’s then that Pete’s fingers begin to trace the curves of my breasts and my nipples. I arch my back into his touch and moan softly, encouragingly. Colson slowly starts to beckon his fingers and I moan again, shameless. My legs spread even further as I completely give into the pleasure of two men completely focused on me. 

Colson’s other hand joins the mix to rub my clit and I squirm, clenching around his fingers again. “Col-” I whimper, squirming in Pete’s lap, which makes Pete moan, too. 

Colson just smirks at me, and goddamn, he’s so fucking sexy. He looks wicked as his fingers speed up, and soon enough, he’s fucking me with his fingers so quickly that I go silent with shock, unsure of how someone’s fingers could move that fast. The pleasure sharpens and my eyes widen. “Colson-” I gasp. Fuck. I’m all of a sudden desperate to pee. I begin to panic. 

“It’s normal,” Colson mutters, flicking his eyes up to mine. A light sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead and god, he looks so sexy. “Relax.”

I whimper helplessly, not knowing how he could possibly know what I’m feeling is normal, but then, I’m gasping, hips jerking as I come, gushing into his hand. “Fuck fuck fuck,” I chant, writhing, but it’s pleasure like I’ve never felt. My head spins when Colson’s hand pulls back. He admires the puddle in his hand and smirks at Pete. 

“Told you he had a track record,” Pete murmurs, kissing my shoulder. Then, he’s lifting my hips and sitting me down on his cock. I whine in sensitivity, but I can’t deny that I still want this. Pete grips my hips and starts to buck up into me quickly. He unwinds fast, moaning as his hips jerk. “Oh fuck, I’m close,” he gasps. I start to bounce on him, pushing him closer and closer until he comes with a cry. 

Colson pulls me from Pete’s lap and immediately into his on the bed, easing his cock inside of me. I whimper and let my head fall back as I tighten around him. “Come on, baby, almost done,” Colson murmurs. “You’re doing so good for us, you’re so sexy.”

I bite my lip and focus on Colson’s pleasure. Both of the boys are so worked up that before long, Colson is making sounds I’ve never heard from him before. He actually whimpers when I hold his shoulders and begin to roll my hips hard, wanting to make him come. “Alex, fuck,” he rasps. “I’m gonna come, baby.” He looks up at me almost desperately and I kiss him hard, close myself.

He gasps into my mouth, holding my body tight to his as his hips jerk up into me as he fills me with his cum. His orgasm triggers mine and I gasp and jerk against him, coming so hard it almost hurts. Big hands grip my ass firmly as Colson rides his out, and then he collapses beneath me, resting his head on my shoulder. “Jesus. Fucking. Christ,” he pants. Carefully, I climb off his lap on wobbly legs. Pete is in the chair, splayed out and panting still from his own orgasm. Pleased, I smirk as I walk into the bathroom to clean up.

When I return, Colson tosses me a t-shirt and a clean pair of boxer briefs which I gratefully put on. Then, he beckons for me to get into bed with him. Pete is already in bed, smiling sleepily at me. I smile, too, and snuggle up to him. Colson climbs in beside me and then two warm, tall men are snuggling me. It’s too good to be true. As I drift off quickly, I realize that this is the best birthday I’ve ever had.

#mgk #mgk fanfic #mgk fanfiction #machine gun kelly #mgk smut #machine gun kelly fanfic #machine gun kelly fanfiction #machine gun kelly smut #colson baker #colson baker fanfic #colson baker fanfiction #colson baker smut #pete davidson #pete davidson fanfic #pete davidson fanfiction #pete davidson smut #pete davidson x colson baker #pete davidson x mgk #pete davidson x machine gun kelly

[fanficimagery]

When Enough is Enough pt. II

Imagine being let down one too many times by your best friend, only to end up making some new ones in the process.

Words: 8.5K Author’s Note: Okay so some of you asked to only be added to part 2 of this while others asked to be added everything Bucky.. and a few others weren’t exactly clear. So if you want to be tagged in any future Bucky related imagines please let me know so I can get your blog name written down on my list.

Tags:  @aya-fay @70s-chic @sipsteacasually @kaitlyn2907 @scarlettwitch99 @thingsforimagination  @mimilh @felicityofbakerstreet @eternalharry @eliwinchester99 @intothesoul​ @wintershadowkat  @b1sexualtonystark  @meredeph @miszswan

The Sunday before you are to return to work, you sleep in until nine in the morning. Your thoughts are immediately on Bucky's impending arrival and you couldn't help the butterflies that took flight in your stomach. He's a friend, just as all the others are, but you couldn't help but notice just how attractive this new friend of yours is. But not only does his attractiveness draw you in, his easy-going teasing and protectiveness does too. However, Bucky Barnes is still a man trying to find his footing in this world after all that's been done to him and finally getting his name cleared, and if he finds comfort with you then you're going to try your best and be the friend he needs.

So since you're not dressing to impress, you dress in your favorite lazy outfit after your shower- leggings, sports bra, a faded sleeveless band tee with the arm holes having been cut down to around your ribs, and a pair of socks. Damp hair gets gathered up into a messy bun and you walk around your apartment to pick up some things you had unknowingly left out.

You've skipped breakfast, so when there's a knock on your door and you open up to find Bucky standing there, you groan in relief. He raises both hands with paper bags hanging from each. "I come bearing sushi. Wanda let it slip how much you love it."

"Yesss." You step back, quickly taking in his own comfort outfit of sweatpants and a plain black t-shirt under an opened jacket. "Did you bring plenty of wasabi? And you can just kick off your shoes anywhere."

"Of course." He hands you the bags so he can kick off his shoes and strip out of his jacket before hanging it up. You don't know why, but seeing him in a short sleeve shirt makes you happy, knowing full well he was weird about his metal arm being out in the open. "And plenty of dipping sauce as well. Wanda was more than happy to give me advice."

"Wanda, huh?" You chuckle, leading the way to your kitchen. "You actually told her where'd you be?"

"Apparently I looked very pensive this morning. She asked and I figured she was a better confidant than Steve or Sam who would have made a big deal about us hanging out."

"True." Setting the bags down, you let him empty them while you head to the fridge. "Beer?"

"Yeah."

Grabbing him a beer and yourself a can of Cola, you return to the table and your eyes widen at the sight of all the sushi. "Damn, Barnes. That's a lot of sushi."

"Don't act like you won't eat half of it."

You laugh as you take a seat, handing him his beer and pulling a few trays to your side of the table. You take a container of wasabi and dipping sauce for yourself, and grab a pair of chopsticks to start digging in.

You moan in delight at your first taste, happily shimmying in your seat before taking another. Eventually, you ask, "So what are you going to do when I'm back at work and I can't keep you entertained by getting shitfaced?"

Bucky grins around his mouthful of food before chasing it down with a swig of his beer. "We actually got a mission comin' up so I'll be leavin' around mid-week."

"Well that sucks." You sigh. "Now who am I going to send random pictures to when I have downtime at work?"

He grins. "You can still send them to me. I just won't get back to you until after the mission's complete."

"Yeah, yeah."

The two of you continue to eat- Bucky dodging Steve's texts about where he is and when he's coming back, and you sending the middle finger emoji over and over to Wanda who keeps wondering how your date is going. Then once most of the sushi is gone and Bucky puts what little is left into the fridge, the two of you head to the living room. You immediately flop onto the couch as Bucky takes the plush recliner, only for you to hear him moving the chair into its reclined position seconds later.

"Oh. I definitely need to get one of these."

You laugh as he snuggles down and you pick up the remote to bring up your streaming services. "Anything you've been meaning to watch?"

"Not really. Just show me your favorites."

You start off with some humor by playing the Goonies. It's a movie that no matter how many times you've seen it, it always seems to make you laugh. And it seems Bucky is not immune either when they make Chunk to the truffle shuffle. Titanic plays afterwards, but only after making sure Bucky found it somewhat interesting after reading the movie summary to him. He is interested from beginning to end and doesn't even laugh at you when you shed a few tears for the old married couple who opt to stay in their bed as the room floods.

When a break is needed, you head off towards the bathroom as Bucky finishes off the leftover sushi. Both of you check your phones and read each other the missed text messages from Steve and his worrying behavior.

"Wanna tell Steve to fuck off via video message?" Bucky takes a moment to think on it before he grins and nods. "Excellent. Sit in the recliner. I'm gonna crawl up all in your business. That okay?"

"Yeah."

As Bucky gets comfortable in the recliner, you sit on the armrest before sliding down sideways onto his lap. You bring up the camera app on your phone and switch it to video, sliding your right arm behind Bucky's neck while holding your left arm out to capture the two of you on the screen. "Ready?"

"Sure, doll."

You chuckle quietly and then smirk mischievously as Bucky relaxes his expression into his best resting bitch face. After you hit record, you say, "Hey Rogers, stop being a little bitch and sending us text after text. I'm tryin' to fuck your best friend here." Bucky's expression cracks as he barks out a laugh and you turn to face him while grinning. You share a laugh with him before facing the camera once more. "Only joking, but seriously stop buggin' us. I promise to send him back in one piece."

As you prepare to send the text to Steve, Bucky says, "You're terrible."

"Whatever. Admit it, you adore me."

"Occasionally."

You huff another laugh as the video message finally sends. You and Bucky both watch as the delivered status turns to read, and then those three little dots appear as Steve starts typing his reply.

"Tell Bucky to wrap it before he taps it." You burst out laughing at Steve's text, Bucky's rumbling laughter only fueling yours even more. "God I hate your best friend sometimes." And before you climb off Bucky's lap, because honestly you were getting a little too comfortable, you send Steve a few middle finger emojis before deciding on a third movie to watch.

The third movie you choose is one that never fails to make you laugh- Bridesmaids. You had a moment of hesitancy because of the sex scenes, but you figured they were ridiculous enough that it wouldn't be awkward. Thankfully you're correct and you get the added bonus of hearing Bucky's laughter again during Megan's scenes, especially when they get food poisoning and are all fighting for the bathroom.

You and Bucky take yet another break after the film, just stretching and finding something to drink.

"So what's the verdict, Barnes? Are you enjoying the films?"

He grins. "Your taste is all over the place, huh? That last one we watched was raunchy."

"But hilarious! You need to watch the Hangover trilogy, but you definitely need to watch that with Steve and then watch him squirm at the pictures that roll with the credits."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Jurassic Park holds his attention and he can't help but comment how stupid one has to be to replicate dinosaur DNA and then open up a park with live dinosaurs. You laugh, but don't bother commenting. You'll tell him later there are more movies involved, with yet another idiotic man who felt he could get the park up and running once more.

It's getting dark, but it's still a little too early for dinner. One more movie and then you'll order or go out and pick something up.

"So this last one for the day is a movie that's directed more towards the female viewers, but you did ask for my favorite films and Practical Magic is my absolute favorite."

"Well put it on, doll."

As you press play on Practical Magic, you quickly grab a throw blanket and snuggle in. Instead of watching Bucky, you watch the film and mumble certain quotes to yourself. The magic scenes always bring a soft smile to your face just as Gary's confession to Sally of I wished for you too breaks your heart, and Sally and Gillian's heartfelt sister moment makes you cry.

Afterwards, Bucky hums in thought. "So that's your favorite?"

"Absolutely." You tell him. He's watching you curiously and you grin. "If I show you something, you promise not to laugh?"

"I'll try."

"Whatever. That's good enough for me." Standing up, you walk towards him and kneel, and tell him to pull your shirt sideways by the armhole next to your left arm. There on the back of your left shoulder and forever etched into your skin is a salt shaker, a rosemary plant, a lavender plant, and a heart. You then rattle off one of your favorite quotes to him. "Always throw spilt salt over your left shoulder. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck and fall in love whenever you can."

Bucky chuckles as you get up, retaking your spot on the sofa. "You really are a fan of the movie."

You nod. "As a little girl, I was fascinated by magic. I thought I'd grow out of it, but I only grew more fond of it. And then I found Practical Magic and it had a bit of everything I adored."

"So what's the one scene that just gets you every time?"

"Ugh. You're making me choose?!" You feign being distraught and he grins. As you think about it, you keep coming back to two scenes in particular. "So there's two," you tell him, "and I'm not choosing between them." Bucky nods, awaiting your answer. "Gillian's possession. When Sally calls together the other mothers who were mean to her in order to make a temporary coven to save her sister, and Gillian begs Sally to just let her ghost ex have her."

Bucky hums. "That was a bit sad, doll. I saw you shedding a few tears over that."

"Mhm. And the other scene is when Sally comes clean to Gary and admits that she did a spell as a child to call forth her perfect love thinking it wouldn't exist, only it did. When Gary tells Sally that he wished for her too, it just breaks my fuckin' heart."

"Let me guess, you were one of the girls who cast her own spell after seeing that scene." You stay quiet for a moment and the second you feel your face heat, Bucky laughs. "What did you wish for?"

You groan quietly. "If I tell you, you can't laugh!" He only smiles in response and you know he won't drop it until you tell him. "Fine. So even though I knew it would never work, I gathered the weirdest objects and wished for a significant other with dark hair and colored eyes. He had to be protective and funny and love me for me. Simple."

For some reason you can't seem to meet Bucky's gaze then and you feel awkward the longer the silence stretches on.

"So dinner?" He asks.

"Oh god, yes please. Pizza and wings?"

"Sounds good."

You have the nearby pizza place on speed dial, so after finding out Bucky's preferences you make the call and place the order. It's going to be about a thirty minute wait, so you fill the time sending Steve pic after pic of Bucky who's none the wiser as he scrolls through his own phone and adding the most asinine comments to each picture. Steve thinks it's absolutely hilarious.

Then when the pizza and wings arrive, you beat Bucky to the door and thrust several bills at the delivery boy. He's more than happy with his tip and you hurriedly wave him off before shutting the door. You laugh at Bucky's disgruntled expression and then place everything on the table while gathering a beer for both you and him.

"Don't let me have more than two," you tell him while handing him his own bottle of beer.

Bucky agrees and the two of you dig into your own personal pizzas and boxes of wings once you're situated around the table. As you're eating, Bucky asks about what other movies you hold near and dear. You fill him in on a few others and he hesitantly puts it out there that he'd be up for another movie marathon when you both have a day off. You agree that that's doable.

Halfway through dinner, as you and Bucky are chuckling over the thought of making Steve sit through Bridesmaids, there's a sound of glass breaking from your living room and a muffled curse. The two of you immediately cease making any type of noise and Bucky is up with a gun in hand.

"Where the hell did that come from?! You hiss.

The telltale sound of a window then sliding shut can be heard.

"Shut up and get behind me."

The authority in his voice makes you freeze and your heart flutter at the same time, and you have to mentally scold yourself before you quickly do as he says. You follow Bucky towards the living, ready to duck at the ready, only to sigh and roll your eyes when you see who it is.

Bucky stands tall and lowers his gun. "Parker." You can practically hear the annoyance in his voice.

"Mr. Barnes?" Peeking around his shoulder, you raise your eyebrow at your best friend who's been too busy for you and is now frowning at Bucky. When he catches sight of you, he asks, "What's going on?"

"Uh, well we were having dinner until we thought someone was breaking in."

"Alone?!"

Your brow furrows at Peter's incredulousness, only for him to realize you're not impressed with his tone. You raise an eyebrow at him and cross your arms over your chest. "Did you need something?"

"Oh, um, yeah." He shifts from foot to foot, gesturing to his face where there's a scrape on his cheekbone. "My ribs took a beating too. Can you patch me up?"

"Sure." You sigh. "Why not."

Before you can leave to go to the bathroom to get the supplies you need, Bucky says, "I'll just get out of your way then."

You stop and face him. "What? But we haven't even finished our food. It won't take me long."

"It's fine, doll." He grins when he realizes you're trying to get him to stay. "You gotta hit the hay early anyway. We'll talk soon."

You hold his gaze for a moment longer, sighing when he won't budge. "Well at least take your food with you. No use in it going to waste."

Bucky nods and heads back to the kitchen, collecting his food. You watch him and then follow him to the door, holding his food while he bends over to lace up his boots. Once he retakes his food and you open the door, he thanks you for the time away from the tower and disappears down the hall.

Shutting the door and then heading back into the living room, you tell Peter to get back into his regular clothes so you can get to his ribs while you go gather your medical supplies.

Meeting Peter back in the living room and setting everything down on the coffee table, he says, "So you and Bucky-"

"Don't." You pick up the peroxide bottle and soak a cotton ball in it. "Bucky and I are friends."

Peter manages to keep his mouth shut as you clean the scrape on his cheek and place a small bandage on it. Then when you've checked his ribs and tell him he just needs to ice them, he mumbles, "Friends who apparently lick each other." You snort and think nothing of his sullen tone, but when you look at his face you see he's actually being quite serious. There's no chuckle or boyish grin and for a moment you're absolutely floored at his attitude. "I don't think I'm comfortable with Bucky being alone with you in your apartment."

"Are you- are you kidding me?" You huff and take a step back from him. When Peter just continues to frown, you shake your head at him. "First of all, I'm an adult woman who can make her own decisions."

"I know, but-"

"I'm not finished!" You snap. Peter's eyes widen, but he smartly ceases talking. "I am allowed to have friends whether you like them or not. We have a pact, Petey, and since I'm still abiding by it I would hope that you would too."

"Yeah, but that's for significant others!"

"Significant others or friends, it doesn't matter. And you should be grateful I've kept my mouth shut when it comes to you and Leslie because let me tell you, I've been biting my tongue a lot these past few weeks. Bucky and the others have stepped up since you've abandoned me, so you have absolutely no room to tell me that you're uncomfortable with him or any of them being around me."

"Leslie isn't that bad and I have not abandoned you." You snort, but don't bother opening that can of worms even further. He finally gets annoyed with your quietness. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"You're here because you needed a bandage. Tell me, Peter, where are you going after here? Where are you going after making five minutes of small talk and calling it a night?" He opens his mouth and then snaps it shut, shrugs, and you shake your head at him once more in disappointment. "Exactly. Just go, Peter. I'm so over this conversation right now and I have work in the morning."

"Wait, but we promised we'd never leave a conversation where we were still annoyed with each other!"

"And we also promised we'd never judge who the other decided to spend time with, but here we are." He frowns at you. "Go to your girlfriend, Peter. We'll talk again in another few days or weeks or whenever. I don't care right now."

Peter stands there, gaping, before he pulls himself together and makes his way back towards the window he had crawled through. He glances at you one last time, but you merely keep staring until his mask encompasses his head once more and he lifts the window before taking his leave.

As the window shuts behind him, you sag in on yourself and your breathing stutters in your chest as your eyes fill with tears. You've never been this angry at Peter and the fact that he thinks it's okay to ignore you until he needs something and then has an opinion about who you hang out with was just too much for you to let slide.

You quickly gather everything from your coffee table and return it to its rightful place in your bathroom, and throw away the trash. Your appetite is long gone, so you put up what's left of your food and then head to your room to gather some clothes so you can shower and get into bed.

By the time you've crawled into bed, you're still a bit annoyed. So grabbing your phone, you pull up your text messages and click on Bucky's thread.

To Bucky: Well that was a shit show. I don't think I've ever made Petey leave my apartment while we were still angry with each other.

From Bucky: I'm sorry, doll. Anything I can do?

To Bucky: If he gives you attitude, get a non-serum individual to punch him. You, Steve, and probably Nat will send him flying into the wall.

From Bucky: If I remember..

To Bucky: Well I mean if you forget, I won't complain. I'll probably laugh when he comes crying to me.

From Bucky: You're a terrible human being.

To Bucky: Whatever. You adore me just the way I am. And now I should get some shut eye. I'll talk to you soon. Night, Sarge.

From Bucky: Night, sweetheart.

For the next couple of weeks, you keep yourself busy with work. Bucky and a few others do go on a mission as he said they would, so you keep your texts to a minimum of three each day- a good morning, a random story from that day, and a good night. They're gone for four days and in those four days you've not heard from Peter. The only reason you know he's not completely done with you is the fact he likes your posts that you put up on social media.

But since you're not currently speaking to your best friend and are too exhausted to hang out with anyone else, you're in a bit of a funk and completely caught off guard one evening when the patient a police officer brings in smacks you right across the face. You had been trying to insert an IV into his arm when he completely lost his shit, and then you were hit so hard that you were strewn across the gurney behind you. And in your vulnerable position, a fistful of your hair had been grabbed and yanked right before the police officer had intervened and pulled the patient off of you.

You had been given a bit of time to ice your cheek before you had to get back to work, but your face and scalp were hurting you the entire time.

On your way home, however, you're surprised to receive a call from Pepper. You're heading towards your apartment complex when she invites you to dinner there at the tower since Darcy is finally back in town, and you hate to do it, but you're not exactly up to be around such a rowdy bunch. So you apologize to Pepper and ask her to apologize to Darcy for you, and take a rain check. Immediately she knows something is wrong, but you only tell her you had a rough night at work and all you want is a hot shower and to crawl into bed. She hesitates but wishes you well, and the call ends moments later.

When you get home, you waste no time in locking the door behind you and heading straight for your bathroom. You strip down and take the hottest shower your body is capable of handling, and let yourself relax in the steam-filled room. Afterwards, as you're drying off, you gently dry your hair since your scalp is still sensitive and then get dressed in some of your comfort clothes.

Then heading out into the kitchen, you find some leftovers in your fridge and heat those up, tiredly sitting at your kitchen table and digging in. Just as you're done with your food and heading towards the living room, someone pounds on your apartment door. You sigh, hoping they go away, and have only plopped down onto the sofa when a familiar gruff voice speaks through the wood.

You quietly groan as Bucky tells you he knows you're there and you get up to open the door for him. He's on the verge of knocking again when you swing the door open. "Hey. Pepper said-" He trails off as he takes in your appearance, expression going slack before his jaw clenches in anger. "Who?"

You shake your head, gesturing him inside as you turn around and walk towards your sofa. You hear your door click shut before the footsteps follow you. "Work got a little hectic. No need to hunt down anyone, Barnes. I'm fine."

"Half your face is bruised, doll. You are not fine."

"It's all part of my job." You shrug and plop down onto the sofa once more. Pulling a blanket over your lap, you stare up at your friend. "There will always be a drunk and disorderly patient. I was just lucky he didn't do more damage."

Bucky frowns, but he doesn't push you on it. Instead, he walks over and sits next to you, angling his body towards yours when gentle fingers grasp your chin to angle your face more towards him. "What exactly happened?" He asks as his eyes dart over every inch of your face.

"Some petty criminal did some damage to his head in the back of a patrol car. Police officer brought him in and he seemed pretty docile up until I jabbed him with the IV. He got the drop on me. It happens." Gentle fingers brush along your cheekbone and you flinch. Tears sting your eyes as you sniffle. "I'm fine."

"Just because you keep sayin' that doesn't mean it's true."

Your bottom lip wobbles at his words and you lose the battle with keeping the tears at bay. The moment they fall, Bucky pulls you into a hug and you cry into his shoulder. "Dammit," you mumble. "See what you started!"

Bucky chuckles and he holds you a few moments longer, rubbing a hand up and your back to offer a semblance of comfort. When he lets you go, you fall back against the sofa cushions and wipe the tears away with your blanket. "So what are we watching?" He asks while settling in next to you and draping an arm behind your head.

"Shouldn't you go back to the tower and have dinner with the rest of them? I'm-"

"If you say you're fine one more time, I will drag you back to the tower and let Steve motherhen you."

You sigh. "Low blow, Buckaroo."

"And for that horrendous nickname, you've lost the privilege of choosing what we're going to watch."

You laugh and don't bother arguing with him about it as he leans across you to snag up the remote. When he settles back down and you snuggle into his side, you huff a small laugh when he settles on TLC which is showing 90 Day Fiancé.

"Why this show?" You ask.

"Because it blows my mind that some people are so oblivious and can't see that their chosen partner is only in it for the green card."

As you let his reasoning sink in, you can't help but giggle as you picture Bucky sitting in his own apartment and bad mouthing the TV because he didn't like the decisions the people were making in their love life. You watch along with him, cringing at the more obvious couples that are only headed for future divorce and smiling when one of the couples is actually in it for love.

You manage to almost watch a complete two hour episode when there's a knock on your door, but you're too comfortable to get up and answer it.

"You get it," you say as you nudge Bucky.

He nudges you back. "It's your apartment."

"Yeah, but I don't feel like getting up."

"You could have at least come up with a better excuse."

You grin, finally taking your eyes off the screen and glancing up at Bucky. "M'too tired. Brain's not working fast enough." He continues to give you a deadpan stare until you jut out your bottom lip. "Please?"

The second Bucky's lips twitch, you know you've won. He huffs and roughly pushes himself up off the sofa as if answering the door is a hardship, and you go back to watching TV. At least until you hear a familiar voice stammer, "Uh, h-hey Mr. Barnes. Is Y/N home?"

Your gaze snaps towards the door where Peter is standing out in the hallway, hands in his pockets as he sheepishly stares at Bucky. The man in question turns and raises an eyebrow at you as if saying what do I do and you give him a terse nod to let him know it's okay. Bucky steps aside and Peter readily walks in.

"I should be getting back to the tower," Bucky suddenly says. "You kids have fun."

This time it's your turn to give him a deadpan stare and he smirks right before slipping his boots back on. Then as soon as they're laced up, he's walking out the door and shutting it behind him. Peter, who hadn't stopped staring at the intimidating man, finally turns to look at you. And when he does, his eyes widen.

"What happened to your face?!"

You sigh. "I'm fine. Just had a little incident at work."

"And Mr. Barnes was what? Comforting you?"

"First of all, can you stop calling him Mr. Barnes? You two avenge together and what not. I'm pretty sure that means you're on a first name basis." Peter grins as he takes a seat on the recliner near you, shrugging. "And Bucky was here because when I turned down dinner at the tower, Pepper figured something was wrong. Bucky took it upon himself to check in."

"So are you two like a thing or something?" He wonders.

"We're just.. friends," you say. "For some unknown reason we clicked and we're comfortable in each other's company."

For a moment Peter doesn't say anything, nor will he meet your gaze, but then he's looking at you and sighing. "I'm sorry." You blink at him, surprised to hear the apology. "I shouldn't have freaked out that one night. Who you are friends with and who you decide to date is your business."

You finally smile, even though it's rather small. "Thank you. And don't get me wrong, I know you meant well, but you should have dropped it and just trusted my judgment."

"Yeah. I know," he mumbles.

"Soo.. are we good?" You ask.

"Yeah."

"Good. I was getting tired of you liking my posts and not commenting on them."

Peter snorts. A moment of silence passes and then he says, "So you'll be glad to know that Leslie and I aren't together anymore. I broke it off earlier tonight."

You wince. "Sorry."

"Nah. Don't be. She was totally using me for access to the tower." You're torn between being smug about being right and being sad for your friend who just ended his relationship. "I only realized it earlier when she got upset because Mr. Rogers posted a picture of you and Mr. Barnes together, and she had a few choice words to say about it."

"What? Steve posted a picture of us?" You quickly pull out your phone, checking social media for any notifications. There are none, but as you get on Instagram you check Steve's page and sure enough there's a new pic that shows Bucky staring fondly at you as you laugh at something on your phone. "That little shit didn't tag us!"

As your thumbs move furiously to give Steve a piece of your mind and to comment how adorable you and Bucky look, Peter can't help but say, "You're attracted to him."

Your texting falters and you quickly glance at your friend to gauge his reaction, but when he just looks amused, you shrug. "I mean have you seen him? How could I not be attracted to him?"

"Does he know?"

"I have a feeling he does. Asshole likes to fluster me every now and then."

"Well if it makes you feel any better, I'm pretty sure he likes you back." You snort and go back to finishing up the comment on Steve's post. "I'm serious. When we stopped talking, he threatened me. He was pissed that I made you cry and said I was lucky. He's actually really scary when you're on his bad side."

It takes a moment for his words to sink in and when they do you can feel your ears heating up, followed by your cheeks. Peter starts to laugh and you groan in embarrassment. "Why is this so weird? Dating should be easy!"

"Well he is an Avenger.."

"I don't care about that! He's just- he's really, really hot. It's intimidating."

"Wait, what?" Peter huffs. "So you're intimidated by his hotness and not because he's a super-soldier with a metal arm?"

"Well yeah."

Expression melting into one of confusion, your friend eventually shakes his head at you. "You're on your own with that. Good luck."

You hadn't realized how much everyone had known about your and Peter's brief falling out until the two of you were laughing together once again at the tower. It seemed like everyone had sagged in relief now that the two of you were poking fun at one another once more, and you had to apologize for apparently making it awkward for them.

And now that your best friend knew of your crush on a certain super-soldier, there was lots of teasing material. Of course you kept him in line when you could, but there was no stopping the force of Peter, Wanda, and Darcy combined.

It's a random Tuesday night when you've driven over to the Tower, Bucky having called you over for dinner with a few friends. You had the day off so you didn't mind heading on over, but as the elevator doors slide open after having ridden up to the communal floor, you yelp in surprise as the small gathered crows that shout, "Happy birthday!", at you.

Steve, Wanda, Sam, and Peter pop confetti poppers as you step out of the elevator, eyes wide as you glance between each of them. "My birthday is not until tomorrow!" You hiss.

"But you work tomorrow." Wanda frowns.

"Mhm." Your eyes then narrow, glancing behind them at the streamers and balloons hanging from the ceiling. "And how'd you guys even know?"

Everyone glances at Peter and he takes a step back when your gaze slides to him. He chuckles sheepishly. "I might have hid your birthday cupcake here and Steve found it."

"Petey," you groan. "Why couldn't you just hide it at aunt May's like usual? You know I dislike birthday celebrations."

"You don't dislike them. You just dislike all the attention being on you."

"Whatever. Where's Barnes? He's the one who lured me here under false pretenses. I got a bone to pick with him too."

Everyone turns around and Bucky's head appears from around the corner. He smirks and you glare at him. "Not false pretenses. We are having dinner," he says. "It just so happens to be a birthday dinner. And it's running a little bit late, so until the food gets here you get to open presents."

"You guys all suck."

Peter and Wanda each take a hand and drag you further into the room, heading towards the kitchen. Bucky fully steps out from behind the wall and you aim a kick at his shin as you're walking by. He laughs as he easily dodges it and then you're standing by the kitchen island that's been cleared of everything other than birthday presents.

You huff a small laugh and shake your head fondly at them. "I love you guys, but you do know you didn't have to get me anything, right?"

"Shut up and open the presents," Bucky says.

"Open mine first," Sam says, reaching into the small pile and pulling out a white envelope. "Unlike the others, I was literally told within the last thirty minutes we were doing this so yeah. It's not the best present, but I think you'll enjoy it."

You smile at Sam as you open it, chuckling at the plain birthday card and his brief personal message written inside. But it's what else that's inside that makes you meet Sam's gaze once more, smiling fondly at him. "Thank you. I can't get enough of bubble tea and I'm sure I can do some damage with this gift card."

"You're welcome."

"Mine next." Peter reaches in for a medium-sized box and hands it over to you. "I know you're not a fan of presents, so I got you something I actually knew you'd enjoy."

Raising an eyebrow at him, you pull the lid off of the box. Then glancing down, you snort before pulling out a bottle of Patron Silver Tequila. "I knew we were best friends for a reason."

Steve groans. "Please drink responsibly."

"Please. Responsible is my middle name, Rogers." Everyone snorts and instead of trying to remain serious and feign offense, you end up laughing. "Sam and Buck are good babysitters. You have nothing to worry about."

"That's to be determined," he says. "Here. Open mine. I honestly had no idea what to get you, but Peter assured me you'd enjoy this."

Putting the bottle of tequila back in its box, you accept Steve's gift. Pulling off the ribbon, you can't help but laugh when you see what's inside. "Cards Against Humanity." Peter cheers. "We're playing this the next time I have off," you say, grinning at Steve.

"What is Cards Against Humanity?" He wonders. "I just picked it up and boxed it."

"It's possibly one of the most confusing card games or raunchy card games you'll ever play," Sam says. "I, for one, am looking forward to it."

"Thank you, Steve. I seriously can't wait to play it."

"You're welcome."

Wanda claps her hands. "Mine and Darcy's next. She ordered online and I had to pick it up earlier. But, um, I'm not sure you want to open it up in front of everyone."

"Oh god. Don't tell me it's a vibrator."

Sam laughs out loud as both Peter and Steve start blushing. Bucky looks rather amused and intrigued as Wanda slides two boxes over to you. She shakes her head, giggling. "Not quite."

For a brief moment you're relieved, but then her answer sinks in and you're hesitant all over again. You groan. "Is yours safer? I feel like it is. Which one is it?"

Wanda only smirks as she pushes her box towards you. You open it, marvel at its contents, and then put the lid back on much to the boys' displeasure. Trying to keep a straight face, you look at Wanda. "How many sets did you get?"

"There's four. All in colors that will look amazing against your skin tone."

"Thank you. I'll send you pictures when I wear them."

"Yes please! Natasha wants to know how they fit as well. She was the one who suggested them."

"I'll send them to the ladies group chat then."

"Well that's not fair," Sam complains. "First for not showing us what's inside the box and then you guys have a ladies only group chat. I wanna be in the ladies only group chat."

"But then that defeats the purpose of it being a ladies only group chat," you muse.

"Come on," Peter then whines. "What was the present?"

Your gaze slides to Peter, but instead of outright saying what it is, you say, "Think back to that one Halloween night where you wouldn't let me out of the dorm until I switched costumes."

It takes him only a minute to understand and when he does, he snorts. "That wasn't a costume! That was lingerie."

"Whoa, what?" Sam exclaims, grinning.

"Lingerie can be worn as a costume?" Steve wonders.

"I was actually a Victoria's Secret Angel, complete with the most amazing set of wings, and Petey forbade me from leaving the room. It was a sad, sad night."

"As much as I wanna get into that," Sam says, "I wanna know what Barnes got you more."

You chuckle and glance at Bucky, smile faltering when you see him tense. But then he seems to shake himself out of it and offers you a grin. "Open the bigger one first."

Wanda clears away the other presents as Bucky slides his two towards you. You feel giddy as you grab the bigger box, untying the black silk ribbons and lifting the lid. There's tissue paper you open up and you gasp, happily giggling. "You didn't?!"

"Well you did say it was your favorite movie, sweetheart."

"Yes!" You glance up, beaming at Bucky, and your heart swells at his own smile being directed at you. "I really, really love this. I can't wait to hang it up."

"What is it?" Peter wonders, trying to peer across the island.

"It's a quote from Practical Magic," you say and Peter huffs a laugh, knowing full well your love for that movie. You carefully pick it up and turn it around so everyone can see it as you read it off by heart. "Always throw spilt salt over your left shoulder. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck and fall in love whenever you can."

"Aw," Wanda coos. "That's adorable."

"I made Bucky watch this movie a while back," you say. "I need to show it to you one of these days."

"I'm looking forward to it," she says.

With nothing else to say, you place it back in its box and set it aside in favor for the second box. It's a little smaller, but you're excited for it nonetheless. Untying the ribbon and lifting the lid, you immediately laugh at the white petals scattered atop the tissue paper.

"Barnes, you smooth sonuvabitch," Sam mutters.

Steve and Peter laugh, but you're so focused on the notecard that's under some of the petals. Lifting it up, you read the note to yourself because immediately you know it's personal. My better half has to be funny, get along with my friends, won't judge me for my past, and has decent taste in movies.

Heart fluttering, you bite the corner of your lip when it feels like you're smiling way too much.

"Well what does Prince Charming have to say?" Sam asks.

"That's none of your business." You close the note and then tuck into your back pocket, chuckling when Sam and Wanda complain. When you meet Bucky's gaze, you immediately flush and mentally curse yourself when you see him smirk in return.

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, you center yourself and then part the tissue paper. You look at the second portrait and gasp after you read it.

"What? What is it?" Peter wonders.

This second portrait is of a hand drawn bowl with a tipped over salt shaker, a small bundle of lavender, a small bundle of rosemary, and a heart beneath it. Above the bowl is a swirl of flower petals and inside the swirl of petals, in very pretty cursive writing, are the words I wished for you too.

Did he just- did he confess his own feelings by using a Practical Magic quote? Or was this just you overthinking his present? You glance to meet Bucky's gaze and at his gauging expression your eyes fill with tears.

"What did you do, Barnes?!" Sam scolds him. "You made the poor girl cry at her own birthday celebration!"

But Bucky isn't paying him any attention, instead he's solely focused on you. You set the present aside and walk around the kitchen island on shaky legs, and Bucky readily reaches for your waist as you grab his face and pull him down into a kiss.

You can't believe you're kissing Bucky, but then he squeezes your waist and returns the kiss, and you know you made the right choice.

Someone gasps, but then the following words let you know exactly who it is. "Darcy is going to be so angry she missed this." Wanda. That is Wanda.

"What the hell is going on?" Sam wonders. "What type of present can cause this type of reaction?"

You smile against Bucky's mouth, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth before falling flat on your feet after having been on the tips of your toes in order to reach his mouth.

"It's my favorite quote from my favorite movie," you say. You turn around to address your friends, but Bucky doesn't let you go far. He wraps one arm around your waist and tugs you back so you're resting against his chest and tucked beneath his chin. "It's a movie about witches," you explain. "These two little girls are being raised by their aunts and they see them performing love spells for a local woman. Basically, one of the young girls refuses to fall in love after witnessing a love spell gone wrong and she does her own spell to call forward a love that would be impossible to find- a man who's favorite shape would be a star and who had one green eye, one blue. Years down the road, the sisters accidentally murder a man."

Sam snorts. "How the hell does one accidentally murder someone?"

"Shush." Wanda admonishes him. "I want to hear the story behind the gift."

You and Bucky chuckle, and you continue to explain. "Anyway, they send in an US Marshall to investigate the disappearance and the one who had done the love spell at a young age starts to fall for this man. She ends up telling him about the murder, but he doesn't quite believe her. Then they're on the verge of hooking up when she gets a good look at his eyes- one green eye, one blue."

"Oh my god. That's so cute!" Wanda says.

"It gets cuter. And sadder," you say. "So she explains to this man about her family, the murder, and how she can't be with him because he's only attracted to her because of a love spell she did when she was just a little girl. At first he's skeptical about this spell bringing him to her, but then he ends up believing her. And as he's walking away from her, he stops to tell her I wished for you too."

"So you made out with Barnes because of that?" Sam shakes his head, chuckling. "Wow."

"It's fuckin' adorable. Stop ruining the moment, Samuel!" Bucky laughs at your words and pulls you closer to him.

"So while I'm happy for Buck," Steve says, "I'm still really curious about what Darcy's gift is."

Peter nods. "Same."

Wanda giggles, but says nothing as she grabs the box and slides it over to you. You groan because you know it can be nothing good, but you still open it since everyone is watching and waiting. As soon as you part the tissue paper and read the box, alongside taking in the picture on the box, your face flames as you shove the lid back on. Wanda cackles.

"I hate her."

"She said to give the remote to-"

"Don't!" You cut Wanda off, blushing even further. "I know who she means to have control of that."

"They- they make underwear that does that?" Bucky muses and you die a little on the inside in embarrassment. You elbow him as he starts to laugh behind you.

Sam instantly knows what the gift is now and starts to laugh, but Steve and Peter apparently need some help.

"Lewis got you vibrating panties, didn't she?"

"Oh my god, Sam, if you don't shut up I'm gonna punch you in the throat."

Steve is torn between laughing and trying not to make you even more uncomfortable, but his amusement wins out. "Given Y/N's flustered state, I'm assuming Darcy wants Bucky to have the remote."

"I mean this seems like it could make for an interesting night."

Everyone laughs at Bucky's sudden interest in the box you're doing your damnedest to keep shut, but luckily Peter steps in. "As much I love watching Y/N squirm, can we get ready to eat? I'm starving."

"Yeah, yeah. Let's go wait downstairs for it, kid."

Sam and Peter head for the elevator to take them down to the lobby, and you turn around in Bucky's hold. "Help me take this stuff to my car so I don't have to do it later?"

"Sure thing, doll." He grins. But instead of stepping away, he pushes you further into the kitchen island. You smile as he cages you in and then huff a laugh when he reaches for the box behind you. "So exactly how long do we have to be dating before we can test these out?"

You slowly lean upward so your lips brush his as you say, "I'd say very, very soon if you would put your ass into gear and help me move these presents like I asked."

Bucky laughs and presses a quick kiss to your lips. "Then let's get to it."

The telltale sound of a phone's camera goes off and you turn your face towards the sound. Wanda is beaming, her phone pointed towards you and Bucky. "Darcy wanted evidence I wasn't lying. She's going to be so happy."

Bucky turns his face to look at her then, his cheek brushing against yours where he's yet to back off from you. "Tell Lewis I said thanks for the present. I'll give her my review of them in a few weeks."

Wanda's eyes widen and you immediately blurt, "Don't you dare!" But she's already texting and you know the group chat full of ladies is going to be full of messages that you'll have to reply to later. Quietly groaning, you slap your hands against Bucky's waist and push him back. Looking up at him, you shake your head but the corner of your lips turn up in amusement. "You're terrible. I would threaten to withhold sex, but I've been looking forward to that for a while. I'd just be punishing us both."

"Just tell me when and where, sweetheart, and I'll be there."

"Oh no. You guys are going to be that couple," Steve complains.

And without missing a beat, you face him and say, "Fuck off, Rogers!" Bucky snorts.

"You're cranky when you haven't gotten laid."

You gasp as Bucky bursts out laughing right in your ear, but he quickly catches you as you try to lunge for his best friend. "You know what, I was going to be discreet when banging your best friend, but now I'm going to tell you all the filthy things Bucky likes to do just to annoy you. I will go into excruciating detail about the look and taste of his dick!"

Steve blanches as it's Wanda's turn to burst out laughing. "You've done it now, Steve."

And as Steve looks to Bucky for help, he merely shrugs. "You brought this on yourself, Stevie. Hope you enjoy the play by plays."

Relaxing in Bucky's hold and moving so you're hip to hip with him, you slide your arm behind his waist and hook your thumb into the belt loop of his jeans. "We're going to have so much fun."

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #marvel imagine #peter parker #bucky barnes #wanda maximoff #sam wilson #darcy lewis #the avengers #avengers #avengers imagine #marvel

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Idiot | Tony Stark

Hey lovelies— I wrote some flangst even though I have a billion other things that needed to be written. I really woke up and said “comfort character? I think you mean: Tony Stark” and then wrote a fic with no plot. It’s just sappy and sad and cuddly and kinda’ elusive as to the relationship. Might expand on this or might let it sit in the void like I am :) Enjoy

Description: Literally like zero plot, this was literally written today this morning because I am a heartbroken mess and I fucking hate real life men right now and I hate the military and I hate guys who tell you that you’re special when they don’t fucking mean it and I really need a Best Friend/Maybe More!Tony Stark cuddle

Pairing: Best Friend / Maybe More!Tony Stark x Female!Reader

Warnings: Like nothing, kinda angsty

Word count: 2.7k

Tags: Fluff, Angst, breakups LOL

She wakes up screaming again. This is the ninth night in a row and she’s starting to think that the others are going to request to soundproof her room. She wouldn’t blame them. She would almost prefer they do that because at least then she won’t have to stop screaming when she wakes up. She can just keep going and finally run out of voice and then maybe— maybe— she won’t be able to say his name anymore.

She flips over, her hair plastered to the back of her neck, her stomach tossing like she’s on a roller coaster. She can’t tell if she wants to cry or throw up— she wants to scream at both choices. She wants to rip her hair out too but then she would be sad and bald and she can only do one of those things right now. She’s not deep enough in the spiral to chop it off yet— that’s a day twelve activity.

She settles on crying— like she even has a choice— and soon her room is filled with the sound of her heaving against a pillow that still smells too much like him. She tosses it— she whips it across the damn room and doesn’t flinch when she hears something shatter. It was nothing important, she knows that for a fact. She hopes it’s the picture of them.

She pulls her knees up, tucking them under her torso, praying the pressure will alleviate the bubbling in her stomach. It won’t— she’s only fooling herself. He’s not a cramp— it’s not food poisoning; it’s rage. It’s brain melting sadness. It’s every ‘Good morning beautiful’ and ‘I miss you’ and ‘I love—

No. Nope— not that one. She can’t think about that one. If she does then she might never stop— she might take a match to everything in this room, every piece of clothing in her closet, every mug in the kitchen that he ever touched. Where would she be then— stuff-less, clothes-less, and with every Avenger looking for a coffee mug pissed at her?

Yeah no— better to just not think about it. Better to just scream.

She squeezes her eyes closed— not like it matters, the room is pitch black anyway— and slams her fist against the mattress, letting the sting that rips up her arm ring louder than his name in her head. It only works for a moment before it’s back— louder and angrier than ever. Louder and angrier than her. His name in her head is a separate entity, haunting her skull like it’s a dilapidated mansion, trying to evict her from the endless halls of her own mind.

She bunches the blanket up, shoving it against her mouth and praying that it muffles the crazed roar that sheds from her lungs— like an animal being ripped apart, she can’t tell if she’s screaming for help or for something so much worse.

There’s a knock on the door and she freezes, her blood running ice cold. A few seconds tick by, her limbs and jaw glued into a tight position, tongue heavy and aching in her mouth. Her heart pounds hard in her chest— the entity knocking back to whoever’s at the door— there’s just no way.

“Would you open the door if I told you there are macaroons in my hand?” A collected, slightly sarcastic, familiar voice breaks through the wood barrier of her door.

Her shoulders drop, her throat closing slightly— it’s just Tony.

“I— erm—” she jumps off her bed quickly, stumbling in the dark until she finds the lamp on her desk, turning it on the the sight of her blasphemous pillow and the shattered remains of a purple mug— damn she overshot the pillow by an inch— “gimme’ a minute, ‘k?”

“You get five seconds — these walls are thick but Friday alerted me to the— and I quote— distressed wailing.”

Oh god of course she did— how could she forget about the damn AI? She presses her palms against her eyes, wicking away as much moisture as possible. She’s so tired— her bones feel like cement, her neck barely keeping her head screwed on let alone straight. She’s a mess and all she can do is chuck her pillow back on her bed and ignore the purple shards peeking out from behind her dresser. One thing at a time.

She pushes her lead bones to the door, trying not to wince as the light pours into her dim room. She blinks a few times, her eyelashes sticky and cheeks stiff, taking in the man in grey sweatpants and a worn MIT hoodie in front of her. She glances down and sure enough he has a mug of pistachio macaroons. A mug. How ironic.

She flicks her gaze to his face, blinking back another wave of tears when she sees the concern mingling with his coffee eyes. “Hey doll.”

She swallows, trying to clear her stinging throat. It doesn’t work, her voice still sounds like she’s been chain smoking since the ripe age of five years old. “Hey Tony.”

He raises a dark brow, eyes drawing down her front, and she shifts on her feet, wishing the hallway light would flicker out. She just knows her eyes are puffy and her hair a mess. Her t-shirt is definitely crumpled, hiding what she can only hope is shorts and not just a pair of panties, and she only has one sock on— she can feel it now, the hardwood like ice against her toes. Her face flushes with heat, fingers clasping awkwardly in front of her— she may as well have a sign flashing above her head. Heartbroken idiot.

For a moment they just stand there, eyes locked, daring the other to move or speak or do anything at all first. Finally Tony sighs, holding his arms out, shaking his head. “Are you waiting for an invitation? Get your butt over her— now.”

That’s all it takes for her to practically jump into his arms, throwing her weight against the man like a drowning woman would a life preserver. That’s kind of what he is. Her best friend— her life line. Any other time she would have been the one knocking on his door— kicking his door down is more like it— but he told her— he told her that he was no good and she didn’t listen. She wraps her arms around his neck, biting her lip hard enough to keep the tears from dripping down her face again. She missed him— she’s been missing him for months.

“He’s an idiot, doll.” Tony mumbles against her hair, arms circling her back and pressing her to him so tight that it feels like he’s trying to fuse their bodies together.

He smells like motor oil and coffee and her chest shakes from the contrast of the fire in her veins and the cool relief of finally going home. It feels like longer than months— it feels like years. She’s been walking on eggshells around him since she introduced her— now ex— boyfriend. They don’t fight— at least, they didn’t before. They’ve never had a reason to.

Not until him.

Warmth seeps from him, curling around her limbs. She presses her face into his shoulder, breathing in the scent ingrained in his hoodie. He’s been wearing it for a few days, she can tell. If things were normal she would be tugging at the pocket, slipping her hands in and tangling them with his, tracing his knuckles with her thumbs. She’ll settle for this though— she’ll take anything.

“I’m the idiot.” She mutters dejectedly, fingers tugging on his hood, trying desperately to distract herself from how much she wants to scream again. “I thought, Tony— I— god I’m so stupid.”

Tony stiffens, chest like marble and pressing against hers so hard she can feel his heart beating against her practically bare skin— deadly calm but beginning to pick up.

“Don’t you dare.” His voice is gravelly, grinding his words against her ear.

His hold on her loosens and she panics, her own heartbeat spiking rapidly in her chest— what is he doing? Is he leaving? No, no, no he can’t leave! She locks her arms around his shoulders as he bends down, shaking her head, the tears finally spilling over her cheeks, hot and angry and desperate. “No please— don’t go I’m sorry— I’m— please don’t leave me.”

She’s incoherent, not even sure that the words coming out of her mouth make any sense at all but she has to at least try. He can’t leave— not now. She can take a broken heart, she can take one stupid man, she can take having a sockless foot and a head that feels like its caving in— she can’t take her best friend walking away and leaving her in this obscenely bright hallway to fend the light off by herself. If she loses her home she’s done for. “Tony no you can’t— you can’t go.”

She’s sobbing, chest heaving, and she just barely registers the soft clink of the mug settling against the floor before one of his arms is slipping under her thighs, hauling her toes off the floor. His other arm remains anchored around her back, fingers digging into her side to keep her from falling. The sudden motion makes her gasp— a watery, broken noise— her legs pushing around his hips and clinging for dear life.

“Hey—” his jaw rubs against her temple, her cheek pressed against his shoulder, stubble scratchy enough to regain her attention— “I’m here, doll. Right here— you honestly might be an idiot if you think I’m leaving you.”

She chokes out a laugh. It sounds more like a whimper— like she’s scrounging for the last drops of happiness in her for his sake. Probably because she is. She tightens her legs around his waist, socked ankle crossing over bare ankle, sucking in a deep breath as his thumb rubs circles on her ribcage.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you did.” She sighs and his hand stills. “You were right.”

“Trust me— I wish I wasn’t.” His fingers crawl up her back, curling around the back of her neck, pushing the hair from her clammy skin.

The warmth of his skin on hers is like heaven and she tries to ignore the fact that he’s touching her while she’s a complete wreck. “You should hate me.”

His hand clamps harder around her skin, the sharp inhale he takes making his chest rise and push against hers. His fingers slip into her hair and he tugs gently, coaxing her to lift her head from shoulder. When she does she meets his determined, narrowed stare and his minute frown. Her heart clenches when she takes in the rest of his face, her gaze landing on the off purple bruises under his eyes, the tell tale sign that her best friend hasn’t been sleeping. It’s her fault— she knows it is.

He shakes his head, his brown hair ruffling slightly. “God, baby, you really are an idiot, aren’t you?”

Her lip trembles, her stomach squeezing— baby. “Tony—”

His forehead drops, his damp skin meeting her own, nose bumping against hers, drawing up the bridge and then back down— she can’t breathe. “You’re an idiot if you think for a second that I could hate you. For anything let alone something so damn ridiculous.”

He laughs a breathy, frenzied sound, nose drawing along her cheekbone. She must be dreaming. That's the only explanation as to the sudden lack of oxygen in the hallway— the only explanation to the way her veins are thrumming like guitar strings being plucked. This can’t be real. She feels like she’s going to wake up any minute now, throat raw and chest aching twice as much.

She opens mouth— she has to say something— but he keeps going. “An idiot if you think I wouldn’t follow you to the other end of the earth. Of the galaxy. Here you are thinking I hate you because you dated a moron? Because, what, I told you not to? Big deal— you tell me not to do things all the time. That’s what we do, baby. We tell eachother not to do stupid things and then we don’t listen.”

He pulls back enough to take in her face, eyes drawing over the curve of her nose and the slope of her cheeks before landing back on hers. His stare is intense— demanding, like him— she wouldn’t be able to look away if she wanted to. That’s impossible though; she could stare at this man all day and not get bored. She thinks back to all those days in his workshop, watching him fiddle with his suits. What she wouldn’t give to be there now, legs curled under her and his MIT hoodie— the same one on him now— pulled over her, singing along to their playlist and passing him screwdrivers. Her chest squeezes at the thought— she can’t remember the last time she did that.

His hand in her hair tugs again and she forces herself to stay in the moment, watching his lips form the words first and then letting her ears catch up. “He was a tool and you’re too good for that, alright? That has nothing to do with us. Point blank, whatever, he has no effect on us. Okay?”

She nods, her nose bumping against his again, and for the first time all night— all week— it feels like she can breathe. “Okay.”

His chest sags under her, the tension in his shoulders releasing under her fingers. “Good. Don’t say stupid things. That’s my job.”

“You’re right.” She cracks a smile, one that feels too foreign but entirely familiar. “You can have it back.”

Tony’s brows push together, head pulling back, his own smile beginning to carve over his lips. “Have what back?”

“The title of world’s biggest idiot.”

Just like that she’s giggling, throwing her head back and letting the laughter pour out of her. It’s cathartic— it’s natural. Like a dam breaking, it’s fast and dangerous and exhilarating. Before she knows it he’s laughing too, his forehead pressing against her shoulder, chest shaking, and she’s digging her fingers into his hoodie to keep herself steady. They’re definitely waking up everyone else in the compound but she doesn’t care. She only throws herself closer to him, hugging him so tight that she’s practically falling over his back, legs locked high around his stomach.

He turns his face against her neck, mumbling his words into her skin. “Missed you, doll.”

Her fingers slip into his hair, toying with the soft strands and sighing. “Missed you more.”

Groaning, he straightens, re-securing his arm around her. He passes her another smile, this one softer, more in control. She pulls at his hair in return, earning a half-hearted eye roll and the reward of him sinking his head against her hands. She scratches at his scalp lightly, scrunching her nose and trying not to giggle again. Now that she’s started she can’t stop— that’s his real super power; leaving her in stitches.

“You think you’re ready to sleep again?”

She sobers at his question, shrugging. She already knows she’s not. The thought of going back to her room and having to sleep without a pillow again, alone, makes her blanche. She would rather not sleep at all then do that. She may as well go make a pot of coffee if that’s her option. The answer bubbles in her mouth— no.

No she is not ready— but she has to be. She has to be a big girl. Even if it means sleeping with the window open so that she can’t smell her sheets, even if it means freezing because the windows are open and she can’t use her blankets, even if she would rather be tucked under the covers of Tony’s bed like the old days when things were normal and she was happy.

But she can’t say that— can she?

“I guess— you gotta’ put me down though,” is what she finally settles on, trying to keep the disappointment from her words. It definitely doesn’t work but for the sake of her sanity she pretends it does.

He frowns— fully this time— blinking at her like she’s grown another head. “Uh no I don’t.”

He says it sarcastically— like she’s crazy for even suggesting such a thing— his face incredulous. It makes her heart spike, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She’s missing something.

“Tony, what are you talking—“

And then he turns, starting down the hall, starting towards his room, and she shuts her mouth. She’s not going to protest— she’s not risking her chance.

She’s not an idiot.

#Tony Stark #tony stark fluff #tony stark angst #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x reader #tony stark imagine #iron man #mcu #mcu fic #marvel cinematic universe #marvel cinematic universe fic #tony stark fic #iron man fic #wow sad dizzy hours

[constilationn]

Changing The Sheets || Part 2 🥀

A/N: Hey guys, I wrote a part two of this because I really like the direction it was going in. Anyway, I’m really really proud of this one and I loved writing it. Please do give any and all feedback, I love it. Much love guys. 

Rating: T?

Warning: naughty words, that's about it. 

Summary: You think you’re doing okay, Ashton shows up and you realise you might not be. But time can mend and you know that. 

Part 1

At the end of three weeks, crisis mode ends for everyone but you. Calum stops coming by every day, understandable because he has his own life to live but it hurts all the same. Luke and Michael still come around occasionally but everything goes back to normal. You’ve accepted Ashton isn’t coming back anytime soon, you’ve accepted that he’s probably with her now and it’s time to move on but it still hurts. It hurts so much that your heart seemingly twists with every breath you take and a pain lingers in your gut that you can’t get rid of no matter how hard you try. Still, you think it might be time to fix the bedroom, throw out all of Ashton’s old stuff and start fresh. You think you can do that, think after weeks of shutting the world out, you can drag yourself down to the department store and buy replacements for all the stuff you broke. You can drag yourself out of bed, put your goddamn clothes on and start putting yourself back together like you promised you would.

And so you do.

Two days after changing the sheets for the first time, you kick the comforter back off and let it land on the floor. You drag yourself up, throw the pillows from the bed and strip the sheet from the mattress. It’s different now, this isn’t anger anymore or at least you don’t think it is, you think its acceptance, think it’s the determination to pick up the pieces of yourself and slot them back into place no matter what you have to do. Because you can’t stay in this apartment with all the things you shared and the shards of the promises he made to you. You can’t stay in this house with fragments of his cologne and toothbrush and his record collection that stares mockingly at you every time you sit on the couch and try to forget everything he destroyed when he left you. You think ... you think you need to make this place your own, fill it with your own love and your own light and everything you know you can be with him. Because you’ll be okay, you know you’ll be okay but it’ll take time, and you know that too.

The first thing you do when you finally force yourself away from the bedroom and away from the pile of sheets you’ve pulled from the cupboard, is grab a trash bag from the cupboard under the sink and head back into the bathroom. You don’t spare the broken glass another look as you sweep it into the bag, try not to touch the bristles of the toothbrush as you throw the fragments of the life you had before into the bag. In fact, you clear out every single thing in that room that belongs to him and make a note in your mind to buy your favourite bath salts and bath bombs and replace everything he said he loved with what you like because this is your home now, and you intend to make it a place filled with love instead of betrayal and regret.

The trash bag is full by the time you reach the closet in your bedroom, all traces of Ashton gone from the bathroom and the kitchen. You left the living room, can’t bring yourself to touch his record collection that he spent weeks organizing or the stack of books with his scribbled post it notes on top. You loved reading almost as much as he did. You’ve always been a sucker for getting lost in a story, mostly Jane Austen, and her talent for writing a romance you could only dream about. You’ve fantasied about meeting your Prince Charming on more than one occasion. You thought you’d found that when you’d met Ashton. Turns out you were wrong.

It takes you a minute. It takes you a minute because everything hits you, suddenly and all at once, and you have to stop yourself from falling back into the chaos you’re so determined to leave behind. You take a breath, shaking, then another and turn back into the bedroom without giving that stupid coffee table another glance. You might have to buy another one, fuck, you might have to refurnish your entire apartment until you can learn to love and breath in here again.

Crescent moons appear on your palms as you dig you nails into your skin in an attempt to stop your hands shaking. It feels stupid, like you should be able to shake and cry and scream all you want in your own apartment but you feel Ashton lingering in everything you do. You have to be strong, you have to be able to throw these things out without a second glance because you’ll destroy yourself if you keep them here for much longer. You’re torn, torn between keeping his things because you know you still love him, or getting rid of them because you know you have to move on. But there’s something in the pit of your stomach, something that feels suspiciously like hope, that he’ll realize his mistake and come back.

You tear his clothes off the hangars and stuff them into the trash bag without another thought.

You leave the stripped bed, bare pillows and duvet on the floor and drag the trash bag back through the apartment. You spare a glance to the clock that hangs in your kitchen and you’re surprised to see it’s almost eleven at night. It means you’ve spent the better part of three hours throwing every trace of Ashton out of your apartment without shedding a tear. It’s an accomplishment, of sorts, something to be proud of and you know in that moment, you’ll be able to make this apartment a beautiful home for yourself.

You grab the bag, pull the door just as someone pushes from the other side and you stumble, fall back and drop the bag as Calum stands on the other side of the door with his hand still on the door handle and a stunned expression on his face.

“Calum?” You scramble to shove Ashton’s stuff back into the trash bag as Calum watches with the ghost of a smirk on his lips. “What are you doing here?”

“Checking on you.” It’s the first time he’s been back in a few days and you weren’t expecting one of Ashton's best friends to open the door just as you were throwing out everything he owned. Calum’s voice is thick with amusement as he speaks. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m cleansing.” You fumble for the ties at the top of the trash bag and pull them tightly. “Getting my shit together.”

“Getting rid of shit, you mean.”

“No,” you sigh, run a hand through your hair and realizing you haven’t brushed it in the same breath you realise you probably smell awful. “I’m creating something.”

“You don’t have to get rid of his stuff right away, you know. Just like you don’t have to stop loving him right away.” Calum takes the bag from you, fingers gently brushing yours, and you know by your lack of resistance that he’s right. “Let me take this.” He pauses, glances at your face for any sign of discomfort. When he finds none and instead is met with a soft smile, he continues. “You’ll regret it if you dump this right now. Trust me.”

“I do,” you reply, relinquishing the bag. “I do trust you.” You pause, watching Calum as he smiles. A deep breath leaves your lips without you meaning it to and Calum raises an eyebrow like he knows there’s something you want to ask him. He waits, he’s patient because he knows how hard this is for you. “How is he?” You finally ask, voice no more than a breath.

“Luke says he’s heartbroken.”

“Luke? You haven’t seen him?”

Calum shakes his head. “I’m here for you, not him. He’s my best friend but I can’t support what he did.”

It takes a lot of strength for you not to cry then, and you blink back tears, sniffle and disguise it with a laugh as Calum wraps you in his arms. You almost deflate against him, like you can finally breath, like you’ve got the validation that Ashton is in the wrong, not you. “Thank you.” You whisper, fighting to keep your voice even. “Thank you.”

Calum pulls away after a minute, “Give me this shit,” he laughs, waiting as you grab your purse and jacket and lock the door. “You want me to drive you?”

“You don’t even know where I’m going.” You chuckle, following him down the stairs and outside to his car as you struggle to keep your gaze away from the trash bag he holds in his hand. You whole life is in there, well, your old life. You dig for your keys, push the thought away and head to your car. “I love you Cal, but we’re going different ways and you’re not the best driver.”

“I’m a great driver!” He insists as you duck into your car and give him a wave. He flips you off with a grin and you shake your head as you pull out of the lot ahead of Calum and take the turn to the department store.

You’re ready, you know you’re ready and you’ve already got a list in your head of what you can buy now that Ashton’s gone. You’ll fill the bathroom shelves with wicker baskets full of bath salts. You’ll buy new sheets, ones alive with colour and you’ll replace the cushion covers with the ones you wanted to get all along. You’ll buy plants and put them in every nook and cranny of your apartment and you’ll stock the fridge with your favourite food and forget how it used to be crammed with beer. It’s the next step for you, the next chapter.

But the thing is, you didn’t want to turn the page at all.

You pull into a space outside the store, grab a basket and head inside in high spirits because this is the first time you’ve felt confident with a decision since Ashton left. You dressed in something other than pajamas, you threw on some makeup and you hauled your ass out of the apartment because you’re so determined to make a life for yourself.

And you’re so confident in this decision, so unbelievably proud of yourself as you turn down the aisle to pick out your plants, that you think you might be having some sort of mental break when you see Ashton standing at the other end of aisle with a plant in hand.

And you freeze, your blood turns cold and you fucking freeze on the floor of that department store because every emotion that you’ve felt in the last few weeks hit you like a slap to the face and you fail to pick your jaw up off the floor, fail to turn around and leave despite the amount of fear and hate and adrenaline that’s racing through your veins. So, when he turns and meets your eyes and the plant he’s holding falls to the floor and the pot shatters, your heart fucking explodes.

And yet, you still can’t fucking move.

Your name on his lips for the first time in weeks makes your stomach turn and bile rise in your throat. Your heart races, thunders in your chest and you can hear blood pounding in your head as you try to figure out what to do before he reaches you. But you can’t leave now because he’s seen you and as much as you want to show him that he means nothing to you, you can’t bring yourself to destroy the last little piece of your relationship that has survive. So you take a breath, steady yourself because you refuse to be afraid of this anymore and turn to Ashton as he stops in front of you.

“Hi.” You wait for him to speak first and when he does, you’re surprised to find there’s anger in the pit of your stomach instead of the grief you expected to feel.

You cross your arms over your chest. “Hi.”

Ashton hesitates, “How are you?”

“How do you think?”

“I— “

“You what?” You’re aware you don’t give him the chance to finish but the rage that seems to have consumed you in the time that he’s walked from one end of the aisle to the other is the thing that guides you.

“I’m so sorry.”

You scoff, “I bet you are,” you glance down to the basket in his hands. “So what, you’re already shopping for your new place? For your new girl?”

You’re not sure Ashton’s eyes can widen anymore. He’s always known you were feisty, knew exactly what he was getting into but he’s never seen you like this, driven by blinding anger. “No. No, I... I’m staying with Luke. Thought I could get him something to say thank you.”

“Not staying at your new girls house then?” You haven’t unfolded your arms, eyes glaring at Ashton as he focuses on anything other than your face.

Ashton’s eyes fall to your shoes. “I haven’t seen her since that night.”

You laugh, short and bitter. “Don’t be shy, Ash. Since the night you fucked her.”

Ashton shakes his head, “Please, please let me explain.”

“What’s there to explain?” And despite yourself, you take a step closer to him. “You don’t love me anymore, remember.”

Ashton seems close to tears, frustration and exasperation driving him towards the edge. “Just give me a chance to explain, please.”

You’re silent for a moment watching Ashton as he watches you before you let go of your cart, raise an eyebrow and turn to leave the store. You’re not sure if Ashton picked up that you want him to follow but then you head into the parking lot and hear his footsteps behind you as he follows you to your car.

“Get in.” Is the only thing you say as you open the door to your car and watch Ashton slide into the passenger seat. He doesn’t have to say yes. All he does is wait.

🥀

A silver Honda passes you as you and Ashton sit side by side on the hood of the car. You’ve been here for seven minutes and twelve seconds, you know because you’ve been watching the seconds pass you by on the clock on the dashboard.

“We haven’t talked in a while.” You finally say, remembering every single might where you pushed the call button on Ashton’s contact on your phone.

“No,” Ashton replies, quiet as ever, “No we haven’t talked at all.”

The freeway’s almost empty but some traffic zooms by the two of you as you stare past Ashton and into the inky blue of the sky. It’s fourteen minutes past one, all you know is that you drove the freeway for two hours and then pulled over to the an emergency bay on the side of the road. But you don’t know much else because your head is spinning and Ashton is sitting the closet to you that he has in weeks.

You can’t avoid this forever, you suppose, which is a shame because you've done a good job trying.

So you sigh, slide off the hood of the car as you wipe your hands on your jeans. Ashton looks like he wants to follow but the glare you cast his way tells him to stay put. “This is how this is going to work. You’re going to answer every fucking question I ask you and I might not shove you in front of an oncoming vehicle.”

Ashton nods, barely breaths as he says “yes.” Probably because he doesn’t want to be thrown in front of a car, you suppose. But still, it’s a start.

“Who bought you your shit?” It’s no mystery to you that some of Ashton’s stuff disappeared from your apartment before you started to break everything. You couldn’t bring yourself to care back then. You do now, though.

“Luke and Michael.”

“You saw them a lot?”

“A bit, yeah.”  

You nod, run your tongue over your teeth. “Calum?” Because despite what he said to you, your trust has been shattered and you want to see if Ashton will lie to you even now.

“He hasn’t returned my calls,” Ashton says quietly. “I don’t know.”

Okay, you think, two questions in and you don’t want to snap yourself in half. You take a few steps away from the car, then walk back and stare Ashton straight in the face as another car growls past.

“How’ve you been? Really? Don’t sugar coat it.”

Ashton gives a sad sort of smile as he fiddles with the bottom of his shirt. “Fucking...terrible. Maybe worse. Haven’t been getting out of bed a lot.”

“Good.” You snap, can’t stop yourself because he should hurt just as much as you did. He shouldn’t be able to get out of fucking bed either. You breathe in the crisp night air and try to calm yourself.

“How’ve you been?” You stop pacing across the gravel of the freeway and look up at him.

“You already asked me that. I already answered.” God, your voice is vicious, prowls across the cool night air and bites at him. But you feel satisfied, knowing you can give Ashton little cuts like this.

Ashton bites his lip and looks down. He looks out of breath, like he’s run miles and you can’t help but think god, because he deserves every bit of pain you felt. “I know. But it’s all I think about.”

Cry me a fucking river. You want to scream. You couldn’t handle one fucking day of this.

Fuck, you love him so much.

And even though he hasn’t talked over you once you can’t help but snap, “Interrupt me one more time and you can fucking walk home.” And then before you can stop yourself, before you can falter, “Now, why’d you do it?”

Ashton stops moving then, stops fiddling, stops breathing, so quickly that you’re almost worried. But then Ashton opens his mouth and you realise you’re not ready for this answer so you cover your fear with malice. “Don’t hesitate” you say, “Don’t fucking um and ah. And don’t bullshit me, don’t you fucking dare.”

“Okay.”

“So why’d you fucking do it, you selfish prick.” You say and when your voice finally cracks, Ashton looks away.

Good, you think, fucking let him hurt. Let him feel half of what I have.

“Baby— “

“Why did you fucking do it?” You yell, veering straight past the nickname because you can’t handle that right now, not on top of everything else. You voice makes Ashton’s head snap up. “Don’t fucking look away from me. Just tell me!” And then softer, because your voice has cracked and you can’t do this anymore, “Just say it. Please.”

Ashton nods, wipes the back of his hand over his eyes.

“Okay...okay, but you can’t...it’s not logic. It’s not.”

“Just say it.” Four cars go past before Ashton speaks again and you fight to keep yourself steady on your feet.

“I got scared,” he says finally and you’ve never heard Ashton’s voice so small. “I got scared and you didn’t. I got scared and I panicked and I drank too much and you were a million miles away and I fucked up.”

“Not enough,” you shake your head. “That’s not enough. You don’t get to fuck someone and tell me you don’t love me and get away with it in a single sentence. That’s not fucking good enough.”

Ashton slides from the hood of the car then and you’re so scared he’s going to end this conversation and get back in the car and leave you again. So, you say the first thing you can think of. “You wanted it too, though, didn’t you? You wanted me?” And, fuck, you can barely stomach how stupid your question sounds but you need to know. You need to know.

“Of course I wanted you.” Ashton says, polar opposite to the venom that coats your voice. “Of course I did.”

“Then what the fuck?” You ask angrily because you don’t understand, you don’t. “What the fuck was all of it for. I don’t understand.”

“We weren’t supposed to make it.” Ashton whispers and the distance you’ve put between the two of you, you quickly close because you can’t miss this. “We were twenty-one and twenty fucking three something and we weren’t supposed to make it. It wasn’t...it wasn’t supposed to go anywhere because I was leaving for tour and you wanted that degree and wanted to leave this stupid goddamn city. And we didn’t have a chance in hell of making it.”

Your inches away from him now.

“And then by some fucking miracle, we did make it.” Ashton says, “and then you’re talking about a future with a house and a family and fucking colour schemes and shit and it scared me. I was fucking scared and so out of my depth and I didn’t know what to do.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You croak out, “Why didn’t...you could’ve told me.”

Ashton snorts and makes the two of you seem impossibly closer. “Do you know what kind of person you are to let down?” He asks, “I couldn’t do that to you and so I got scared and I tried to avoid it and I fucked up.”

“So you went and stuck your dick in someone else?” You spit, “like that wasn’t going to raise anymore fucking issues, like that wasn’t going to cause a bit of a problem, like— “

“You asked me why.” Ashton says and his voice raises for the first time. “You asked me why. I’m not saying it makes sense but...that’s it.”

You thought knowing would make you feel better. You really did, but now you know just how mistaken you’ve been. “I should’ve known,” you say, face white, “I should’ve known, I was right there and I just...I did nothing.”

You could deal with not knowing, you realise, you could deal with that but now there’s a pressure on your chest saying it’s on you, saying it’s your fault. You think you might throw up and brace yourself against the hood of the car.

“It’s not your fault,” Ashton says from behind you and you’ve forgotten how much you miss his comfort, his safety. “It’ll never be your fault. You have to know that.”

“But it is.” You say, snapping back around to face Ashton. “Because you couldn’t tell me. You couldn’t tell me and you couldn’t touch me a and so you had to find someone else.” And it’s so overwhelming, so fucking overwhelming and it hits you all at once and you don’t realise Ashton holding you until your legs are about to give out.

You want to push him away, want to throw yourself off, want to barrel into traffic for all you care but you’re not strong enough. Because you’re so fucking tired and sad and so, so in love with the boy in front of you that it feels like if you let go of him you’ll forget how to breath.

“I hate you.” You sob but pull Ashton closer and you shudder as he kisses the top of your hair. “I love you. I can’t fucking do this.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ashton whispers. “I’m so so sorry. I’m sorry I did it and I’m sorry I hurt you and I’m so so sorry I fucked it all up.”

“No. Don’t do that. You don’t get to say sorry and have yourself feel better and leave me here like this. You don’t get to do that.”

“I’m— “

“I fucking love you,” You yell and somewhere, someone sounds their horn as they pass you and you kick up a cloud of dust. “God, I love you so much but I can’t fucking trust you and I hate you a lot but I still love you too. And I don’t understand how you can say you feel the same when you did all this.”

Ashton stops in his tracks then, freezes just like you did in the department store. “No one picked up the phone for me, you know that? No one picked up for the longest time and when Luke finally did, he gave me a fucking earful.” Ashton pauses, lowers his voice. “And I didn’t care.”

Everything in your head snaps quiet.

“What?”

“I didn’t care,” Ashton says, “because all I could think about was getting you back. I knocked on Luke’s door that first fucking night and said I want to go home.”

“But that can’t be true,” you whispered, “because you fucked someone else.”

You see the way that rips through Ashton, see the way it absolutely breaks him but you don’t feel satisfied. You just feel so, so tired.

“Yeah,” Ashton says and it’s the first time you’ve heard him own up to that. “Yeah and it only took me a fucking second to realise I’d made the biggest mistake of my life.”

You don’t say anything, watch the moon and the sky and a red car that growls past before you finally look back to Ashton.

“I don’t know what to do,” Ashton says. “But tell me what it is and I’ll fucking do it. I’ll do whatever you need, whatever you want. You’re so...” he trails off, bites his lip. “You’re so gorgeous, baby. You’re my favourite person in the world and I want to make you believe that again, if you’d let me.”

It’s too much, it’s all too much and suddenly all you need to do is go home and go to bed.

“Yeah. Well. I think you’ve done enough for today. Let’s go.” And the car is silent for the two hours back to the city.

You let Ashton walk you to the door for no other reason than you’re too tired to stop him. He casts a hopeful look at the door but you remember everything you’ve thrown out, what the apartment looks like now and the anger and emptiness still between those walls and you know you can’t let him in.

“You should go, Ash.” You say finally.

“Please,” is all he says. “Please, baby.” His voice is miserable and cracked and hoarse.

“I’ll call you.” You murmur. “I promise. I just...I just need a couple days.”

Ashton nods, presses a kiss to your cheek and leaves without another word.

You open the door and fall straight onto your bare bed. You’ve driven for hours, had the life drained out of you and all you need now is to sleep.

🥀

You get yourself a coffee the next morning, enjoy the sun for just a little while before you head back inside and sit and stare at your phone for a good couple of minutes. You know who to call, know what you want to say but you’re not sure if you’re ready for the conversation.

But you suppose that if you don’t do it now, you’ll have to do it later.

So, you pick up the phone, dial and it only takes a couple of seconds before Calum picks up on the other end.

“Hey,” you can already hear the concern in his voice, already know he’s straight back into panic mode. You can’t let it phase you though and so you take a breath and begin. “I need to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth.”

“Okay.”

“Do you think,” you start, closing your eyes. “Do you think it’s stupid or, I don’t know, weak if I take him back?”

Calum doesn’t say anything for a long time, although you can hear him drumming his fingernails on the table top.

“I think,” he says slowly, “that as long as you’re in this for you and not him...then I think forgiving him is the strongest thing you can do.”

“I haven’t forgiven him yet.” You mumble.

“I know.” He says, waits for you to speak again.

“Thank you,” you say because you need him to know how much he’s meant to you throughout this. “I do love you Cal, really.” And of course, it’s not in the same way you love Ashton, you doubt you’ll ever love someone the way you love Ashton, but you need him to know nonetheless.

“You know,” he pauses and when he speaks again you can hear his smile down the phone. “You changed the sheets, not me.”

You laugh and cry at the same time.

“I’ll talk to you later.” Calum murmurs gently. “Go get him.”

And so you do.

🥀

The first couple months are difficult to say the least.

You walk on eggshells for the first while, walk around each other and every touch, every brush of your skin against Ashton is uncertain. You’ll wake up in the middle of the night to Ashton breathing softly next to you and it’ll get too much and you’ll pad to the living room and sleep on the couch and wake to Ashton staring at you from the kitchen with guilt in the pit of your stomach.

When you come home and Ashton isn’t there, there’s an initial wave of nausea that hits you so hard you can’t do anything but sit and stare at the TV without turning it on. You know that he’ll be getting groceries or having a beer with the boys but all you’ll be able to think is that he’s back out with her and he won’t be coming back to you.

There are days when you think you can’t do it and nights when you can’t be in the same bed with him. The uncertainty lingers for a while but in the midst of that, there’s so much more. You start dating each other again and Ashton looks at you like you’re his whole world. You eat takeout and watch cheesy movies and take stupid photos and there are nights when you stay up until three in the morning and talking about everything that’s happened. There are nights when neither of you say anything either too, you don’t need to, because you know you’re going to be okay.

Everything mends, slowly. There comes a day when you don’t find broken bits of glass in the drawer in the bathroom. There comes a day when you’re on the couch with Ashton and you think that, somehow, it’s exactly how it used to be.

“Baby,” Ash murmurs one night, knowing that you’re okay with the nickname now. “You awake?”

You leave it for a second and then reply. “What’s up?”

“Just thinking.” Ashton says and you roll your eyes in the dark.

“Dangerous.” You grin into his chest. “What about?”

Ashton’s quiet for just a little too long before you realise this isn’t just going to be a goodnight.

“I just,” he says, “I lie here and I think about you. And I just...I just want you to know that there’s nowhere else I’d rather fall asleep than right here. That’s what I think every night before I go to sleep.” Ashton pulls you closer as you stay silent. “I just need you to know that I love you.” And he says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

“Yeah,” you murmur and you kiss his jaw and then his lips with heavy eyes. “I know. I love you too, if you hadn’t realized.”

Ashton seems happy with that but you stay awake a little longer. You brush your hand over his skin until you’re calm enough to fall asleep next to him, next to the love of your life. And when you wake the next morning, it’s to the smell of Ashton cooking breakfast in the kitchen.

Everything mends, slowly.

The two of you mend last, but you think that’s okay. Because back before this, back when it all began, you were the one to change the sheets. And, you suppose, if changing the sheets wasn’t so bad, the rest won’t be either.

#5sos #5sos fic #5sos fandom #5sos fanfic #ashton irwin #ashton irwin fic #ashton fletcher irwin #ashton irwin x reader #ashton irwin imagine #calum hood #calum hood fic #calum hood imagine #5sos imagine #5 seconds of summer smut #5 second of summer imagines #luke hemmings #luke hemmings fic #michael clifford #michael clifford fic #5 seconds of smut #5 seconds of summer fic #5sos x reader #ashton smut #ashton fic

[astouract]

The Smell of Soil — Chapter 2 (Y/N)

Synopsis: (Y/N) almost burns her house down, and of course Loki shows up to help

Words: 1901

Warnings: None yet 😈

—

You practically slammed the door behind you, leaving the god-turned-gardener on your front step. Something wasn't right. You weren’t supposed to be stationed at the house right next to his, why would they put you there?

Watch him from afar, they had told you, don't get too close. He's still dangerous. Unpredictable.

Your heart felt as if it would beat right out of your chest, you noticed, as you placed a hand on your chest and let the door support you. After taking a moment, you pushed yourself off of the door and wandered into the cottage. It definitely wasn't anything like the Asgardian architecture you were used to, floral patterns and natural wood instead of stark white marble and expensive accents. There was no television, which was almost a relief as you had absolutely no idea how to use one. There was, however, a little pink radio on a shabby looking green end table.

A floral sofa was the centerpiece of the room, placed in front of a small fireplace. Small tables held little knickknacks and tiny vases that could only hold one or two flowers. And, actually, it seemed like plants were taking over the house. They were everywhere, you realized with a groan. You’d have to water them every day, and they’d still end up dead.

You moved on and into the kitchen, where there was not nearly as much counter space as you were used to. The room was a cacophony of different patterns and colors, but somehow it all came together to form one cohesive style. A little round table sat in the corner, with two mismatched chairs and, of course, a potted plant. Everything looked like someone else had used it for twenty years and then dumped it on the side of the road somewhere. Even the gas stove could've used a cleaning. Cooking--yet another thing you would have to learn how to do. Fresh herbs hung from the wall above the large window, making the room smell faintly of rosemary and basil.

To the left of the kitchen was a small flight of stairs that led to the second floor, which you soon discovered was more of an attic with a bed and some windows. You let your hand trail along the puffy duvet, feeling its softness under your fingers. It wasn't an Asgard duvet, that's for sure, but you had a sneaking suspicion that you may like it more. It was plush and inviting, and you resisted the urge to sink into the mattress.

A little dresser held flowing skirts and dresses, and a few pairs of jeans. You looked down at your current outfit, your last work of magic before hopping through the portal, and the first assignment of your mission: a loose T-shirt, paired with blue jeans that had to be the tightest pants you had ever worn. Not your usual clothing choices, but you were to play the part and do it well. So, flowing dresses and flower crowns it was.

Your feet carried you to the window, where you brushed the curtains aside. You had a clear view down the street, and your eyes landed on Loki's house, where he was on his hands and knees in his garden.

It was so odd, seeing him like this. Loki, God of Mischief, Prince of Asgard, was on his hands and knees digging through dirt to care for fruits and vegetables. Loki, who a week ago would have killed anyone who even looked at him wrong, came over just to help you with a yard sign. His hair had been thrown haphazardly into a top knot, and he'd had dirt smeared on his cheeks. He wasn't in Asgardian robes, trading his armor out for cotton button-ups and flannel pants. What had become of the prince you’d known your whole life?

Shaking your head, you stepped away from the window and retreated back to the first floor. The rest of the downstairs consisted of a small bathroom and an equally small study, where picture frames hung on the wall presented pressed flowers of all kinds and random journal entries. A wooden desk sat against a big window, and a small bookshelf was tucked into the corner.

You made your way back into the kitchen and through the back door, where nature had reclaimed the property. It was immensely overgrown, with so many clusters of weeds and flowers that your eyes couldn't find a place to settle. There was a rotting shed, and a greenhouse hidden behind greenery. Various gardening tools were scattered around the area, and you couldn't even imagine what else might be hiding in the bushes.

"It's. . . Charming." Loki's words echoed in your mind, and you rolled your eyes.

You liked a good project.

--

"Shit shit shit shit!"

You clamped your hands down over your ears, rushing into the kitchen and throwing the oven door open. You reached through the billowing smoke and grabbed the pan, crying out and dropping it immediately as burning pain overwhelmed your senses.

"Fuck!" You switched the oven off and held your hands helplessly in front of you, coughing.

You didn't know what to do. Your hands were an angry shade of red, an alarm was blaring from somewhere in the kitchen, and the smoke wouldn't stop billowing out of the oven. Somehow, above all of the noise you were able to hear a series of knocks at your front door. You crossed the distance from the kitchen into the living room, and carefully pulled the door open, hissing sharply at the pain rolling over your hands.

Shit.

There, standing on your doorstep for the second time that day, was Loki. Of course it was, because what else could happen when you were supposed to be watching him from afar?

He looked into the house behind you, and back at you with wide eyes. "Is everything okay? I heard the alarms and some loud crashes, and. . . Your house is full of smoke." His gaze asked what he wouldn't say out loud--asked if you needed help. Norns, he was practically begging you to let him help.

Who even was he?

You sighed, and then did the unthinkable: you stepped aside to let him in. He followed you into the kitchen, and you realized just how much of a mess you’d made. The oven door was hanging open, with smoke still billowing out relentlessly, and there were charred cookies all over the floor. The baking pan was upside down in the middle of the room, but Loki didn't seem to notice as he rushed around the room trying to reconcile the smoke issue.

"What happened?" He asked breathlessly, propping the back door open and sliding every window open that he could.

"I made cookies. I think."

Loki reached up above the door frame, and pressed a button on a white box that stopped the screeching alarm. He started opening every drawer in the kitchen, until he found what he was looking for. He offered you a tea towel, but you just stared at it.

"I can't," you murmured, looking down at your hands. Loki's gaze followed.

"Oh my God." He sucked in a breath, "You need to take care of that."

I would, if I could use my magic, your subconscious snapped.

He turned on the sink, and gently guided your hands into the cool water. "I think maybe you should go to Urgent Care."

"Urgent Care?"

Loki didn't seem to hear you, lost in thought as he looked around the room. He pulled over the chairs from the kitchen table, offering one to you at the sink before leaning against the counter while you soaked your palms.

"Did all of this furniture come with the house?"

You nodded. "It was mostly furnished when I got here, I just had to add a few small things. I only brought one suitcase with me."

"I see. Where did you move from?"

Shit. Why was he interrogating you? Did he know something?

You removed a hand from the water to gesture vaguely. "Just some run down old town about a day's trip north of here." The lie came effortlessly, and Loki accepted it with a nod.

"Where's your bathroom? Though I really think you should see a doctor for your hands."

"To the left of the entry, and there’s no need for medical treatment. I’m a fast healer." You grimaced, not daring to move your fingers.

Loki disappeared into the next room, and returned a moment later with gauze bandage. "It's going to hurt, but you have to wash your hands with soap before I can wrap them."

"What?" You asked stupidly.

Loki took the old soap from beside your sink and squirted a bit into your open hands. "Just wash them real quick. The internet said so."

Gods, being mortal sucked.

You did as told, and Loki turned off the tap before grabbing the gauze. "I'm going to wrap them now, okay?"

You offered him a hand, and he began to unwind the bandage with extreme delicacy onto your skin. It was mesmerizing, watching someone who you knew to be an actual war criminal act so selflessly. Gone was the dark, brooding prince, and standing in his place was a mortal, kind and simple. And concentrating.

Loki released one hand and moved onto the next, and suddenly, those green eyes were staring right back at you. Your breath caught, and for one, fleeting moment, you were swept up. The atmosphere felt different, like a static kind of electricity clung to the air.

War criminal. He shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be here, with your hands gently in his.

The things those hands had done, the lives they’ve ended. The cities destroyed, each one’s story carved into the lines on his palm. Those hands were unpredictable. Dangerous.

War criminal.

"That should do it," Loki said softly, "and look, the smoke has cleared!"

You grimaced as he collected the charred cookies from the floor. "You don’t have to do that. ."

Loki only grinned, putting the now dented pan in the sink. "I'm more than happy to help."

You walked together back through the house, and ended up back on the front steps for the third time that day. The sun was setting behind the trees, the sky a breathtaking canvas of oranges, yellows, and pinks. The world outside was quiet, peaceful.

"Seriously," Loki emphasized, turning to face you. "If you need anything. You know where to find me." He offered a sympathetic smile.

And, unfortunately, he knew where to find you.

Loki pointed to your hands. "You should take the bandages off in the morning and see what the burns look like; your hands will likely get worse over the next twenty-four hours or so. Whatever you do, don't apply ice. And, don't apply any ointment until the burns have cooled. Make sure you keep them clean and wrapped."

You cocked your head slightly to the side, regarding him curiously. Suspiciously. “How do you know all of this?"

Loki smiled all the way to his eyes. "Internet."

"Oh. Right.”

Loki rubbed his hands together--something that you wouldn't be doing for a couple days, by the sound of it. "Well, you seem to have had a rather. . . eventful. . . day so I'll leave you to it. Have a good evening, (Y/N)."

"Loki," you called out, stopping him on his way down the steps, "Thank you."

He smiled.

#loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki x reader #cottagecore #original post #avengers #loki #marvel

[soldierfirstclasszeldafair]

AN: Thank you so much for requesting! Sorry I didn’t get this out sooner. I’ve been overwhelmed with school and didn’t want it to show in my writing. Please let me know what you think. I’m a little rusty.

Fandom: Devil May Cry

Dante Sparda NSFW ALPHABET

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Dante is very attentive. He knows he just put you through a lot and depending on who you are to him it can differ. If it’s just a one-time thing he’ll still make sure you’re ok, probably get you some water, but will avoid small talk. He’ll wait for you to fall asleep before sneaking off into the night.

However, if you’re together it’s a whole other story. Dante’s very gentle after sex. He takes his time cleaning you up, not wanting to cause any unwanted discomfort and also to watch you bask in the aftereffects. Dante loves to hold you in his arms and lazily stroke your back, peppering you with kisses while whispering sweet nothings in your ear.  

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His: Dante doesn’t really have a favorite part of himself.  

Yours: Dante likes to have a handful. Whether it’s your ass, boobs, thighs, it doesn’t matter. He just likes having something nice to hold onto while he thrusts heavily in you.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Honestly, it’s everywhere. This man packs quite the load and he’s aware of it. Whether it covers your stomach or down your throat, he doesn’t care as long as it’s messy. Though his absolute favorite place to cum is inside you but that only happens once he’s sure he can trust you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He secretly has a Daddy kink. He’s not all that into having kids but call him Daddy in the heat of the moment and he may just cum right on the spot. Seriously be careful.  

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He acts like he has more experience than he really does. Truthfully, he has a hard time trusting someone enough to be that vulnerable with. He may have been under the influence of alcohol when he was with someone else but was never seriously involved with anyone.

Though he may not have much experience, he certainly makes it up with enthusiasm. He’s a very fast learner and has plenty of source material to learn new things. He does have his natural instincts with his demon heritage too.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He loves having your front laying across his desk, hand full of your hair, hips snapping furiously against your ass. He loves the view of seeing himself disappear inside you. Also, it gives him great access to your neck where he loves to sink his teeth.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

You get the best of both worlds with this man. He’s loves that sex doesn’t have to this serious thing and that he can have fun and laugh. He may bring out the cowboy attire for some roleplay, but the both of you can’t help but laugh at his fake southern accent. He knows it can’t be all laughs and giggles though and when he needs to be serious, he can be.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

His hair is the same color. He’s got a happy trail that leads to a decent amount of hair. If it bothers you he will trim it, but he prefers to have some hair though.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He may be a devil in the sheets, but he’s the one doing the worshiping. When he’s committed you’ll know it. Dante can be very affectionate and loving. The first “I love you” may bring him to shed a tear. He’s ruined every other man for you. Dante makes sure you know you’re loved.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He’s no stranger to it. When he’s not particularly interested in someone it’s not all that often. He does have to deal with his heat somehow. It isn’t until someone has piqued his interest it becomes more frequent.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

He’s willing to try most things. Always makes sure theirs mutual consent before doing anything.

This demon loves orgasm control. It comes with the dominate nature of his being. He likes to hear you beg for him but flip the script and make him do the begging and he becomes putty in your hands.

He likes breath play but will never fully close off your airway.

Roleplaying is one on his list. He’s a sucker for need a pretty nurse to take care of his needs.

Devil Trigger Sex. It’s going to take a lot of convincing to persuade him into doing it. The last thing he wants to do is hurt you.  

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

It’s no surprise that Dante likes taking risks, so as long as you’re ok with it anywhere can be up for grabs. Whether it’s in a dark alley for a quickie, in the back of Morrison’s borrowed car with fogged up windows, or in the bedroom for something more sensual.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Biting him on his neck is a surefire way of getting him to take you where you stand. You just marked him as yours, so he needs to do the same.

Lingerie, he tends to rip it off so be sure to warn him if you really like it.

A simple way that can be hidden from prying eyes is to take his hand and putting it between your legs. Or just stroke him. (He may make a game out of it so be prepared.)

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Inviting somebody else in is a huge no. Dante doesn’t share. It’s a fast way to ruin all the trust you’ve spent so long building. If you even bring it up, he’s already shutting you out of his life.  

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Dante loves to receive especially when you look him in the eyes while you do it. He’ll throw his head back and lets you work him over. If you denied his release he’s going to growl in frustration (in a good way) and if you continue to edge him, you’ll get him to beg for release.

Remember how I said Dante will worship you? You may have to tell him to stop because he tends to get carried away. He wants to hear you. He lives for it. He tends to get rather vulgar while he’s going down on you too.

If you’ve mange to get him to trigger good luck getting him to stop. His heated breath is going to have you so wet just anticipating his tongue. God his tongue. It’s barbed and should be illegal to possess something so deadly. It usually ends when you black out from overstimulation.  

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Dante tends to take his time with foreplay, making sure you’re prepared for what’s to come, but the pace quickens very fast from that point. There’s passion in his roughness. He likes to make a mess of you, having you say his name over and over. He leaves you sore in the best way.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

100% down. He likes to be fully in control for quickies. He pins you to the wall or closest piece of furniture, sliding your panties to the side and fucks you nice and fast. He loves it when he has to clamp his hand over your mouth to keep you from being a moaning mess. It’s an ego boost for him knowing just how loud he makes you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

YES, in short. If he trusts you and you him, he’s willing to try. There’s been many, many times where you’ve both have nearly been caught. You’d swear it’s his favorite pastime. And no, it did not stop him when you did get caught. He simply used his body to keep you from being seen, laughed, and kept going like nothing happened.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

His heritage is both a blessing and a curse. He has more stamina than the average man. He’s a bit of a sex fiend. He likes to make a day of it if he’s honest, but it’s whatever you’re comfortable with. If you’re down for one round he’s completely fine with that. He’s going to make sure your both satisfied. Willing to help him deal with his heat? Great! Just know you he’s not letting you go far.  

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

It started out for you only then he’d became more experimental. He likes being handcuffed and blindfolded. You took the vibrator that was originally intended for you and strapped it to his cock. You’d never seen your devil squirm so much.

Dante doesn’t use them unless you’re with him. He’d rather experience the fun with you. However, he’s more possessive of you than he originally thought. Dante Sparda gets jealous of the dildo you have. He’s thought about throwing the damn thing out the window. He wants to be the only thing inside you, not some fake cock that can’t even compete with his size. He understands that you have needs when he’s not around, so he has to forcefully block it out of his mind.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Dante is the Devil when it comes to teasing. He’s got a vulgar mouth, a wicked tongue, and he’s pretty great with his hands. The smug bastard.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Dante isn’t loud per say. He more breathy than anything. That doesn’t mean you can’t get something else from him. He tends to moan when things are going slower, a more romantic setting if you will. Though if you do want to hear him, the easiest way is to start teasing him, making him grunt or growl in response.

His demonic form is where things get interesting. He’ll purr if he’s breeding you. It’s an eerily calming sound from such a creature. Though if you’re brave enough and dare to tease him in that form, he’ll growl. It’s a low vibration that you feel throughout your body and it sends chills over your skin. It quickly becomes a favorite of yours.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Dante didn’t realize how good it felt to have someone else run their fingers through his hair. The light pulling against his strands does something for the man. He prefers you to play in his hair after sex. It’ll help him fall asleep faster plus he let’s out the cutest noise. It’s like a light moan but not quite. He’ll soon start to purr the closer he is to falling asleep. If you play in his hair in the morning it’ll most likely lead to morning sex.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He’s above average in length for sure with a nice thickness. He’s got a prominent vein on the underside and he curves a bit to the left.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Before your relationship he could manage going 2 weeks without helping himself out. He didn’t really have the time to whip it out when he was busy trying to keep the lights on. Now though? He can barely mange the length of your cycle.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’s got this internal rule that he doesn’t want to go to sleep until you do or if he’s sure you’re satisfied. You do tend to fall asleep before him, mostly with your head on him.  Every once in a while, he’ll fall asleep first mostly when you play with his hair, with his faced tucked into your neck or chest with an arm wrapped around you. Dante to sleep deeply after sex so it’s ideal to get in a comfortable position before he falls asleep.

#dante x reader #Dante Sparda #dante son of sparda #dante devil may cry

[starkerdestroyedmylifee]

Thief

Peter tries not to feel the weight of his backpack as he makes his way up from the lab. He really does. But, it’s heavy. 

‘Well, of course it is.’ 

Peter curses himself, popping up each step and hoping- praying- he doesn’t bump into anyone on the way. It’s still heavy, though. Even with his super-strength; heavy, and metal, and not his, because he really, really shouldn’t have it.

At all.

When the day had begun, Peter’d played the part of ‘devastated mentee’ to a T. His eyes had been puffy, exiting his aunt May’s car, rubbing his runny nose on the cuff of his suit.

No, not his suit.

Some store-bought thrift that didn’t quite fit his shoulders. A black jacket with fabrics frayed at the base, and dress-pants not quite long enough. Pepper had offered paying to get something tailored, but Peter’d declined quickly. It didn’t feel right, taking money from Mr. Stark’s fortune, even beyond the grave. They hadn’t known each other well enough. Which is odd, considering he’s currently attending said man’s funeral.

Peter tries not to linger on the fact that he’s technically (Technically meaning actually) stealing from Mr. Stark, and instead makes his way through the crowded living room. The majority of guests seem to be winding down now, what with Tony’s eulogy all said and done. Only soft, meditated tones, and consoling hands on shoulders, and Ms. Pepper Potts- smiling politely, but dead on her feet- striking up some conversation about sewage. He meets her gaze, and the weight of his backpack is bone-breaking.

She doesn’t walk over to him, thankfully. Of course, he’s just another kid wrapped up in her late husband’s antics. The invitation sent their way had been courteous at best, but worded as something that was supposed to happen, despite being a bit inappropriate. Peter’s a stranger, after all. And, what happens when you invite strangers into your house?

They steal your stuff.

Still, Ms. Potts nods his way. Soft; disinterested. Her gaze quickly slides over him, onto another guest far more deserving of her attention. Despite this, Peter’s back goes rigid for the few seconds spent on him. He holds his breath- freezes- before letting it out in relief.

‘This is horrible.’ Peter thinks to himself. ‘I’m literally going to hell for this.’ 

It doesn’t matter at this point. Not with his mind fogged in an overwhelming cloud of grief, or his eyes still stinging from such a heavy cry, or his throat burning from yet another wave of anguish. ‘No,’ he decides, tapping his aunt’s shoulder. ‘It doesn’t even matter at this point.’

He feigns a stomach ache, by which May thinks he’s playing sick to escape the depressing atmosphere of his idol’s funeral, and drives him home before Happy can so much as woo her to stay at his place.

Up the stairs.

Through the hallway.

Into his bedroom.

He shuts the door. Crumbles to pieces. Because-. Because, he finally starts realizing what he’s just done.

‘Oh, god. Oh god, this is so much worse than I thought it would be. This is- This is literally the worst idea I’ve ever had. Stupid, stupid, stupid!’

Peter can’t help his hands from shaking as he lifts the metal helmet out of his bag. It’s cold against his skin, which only makes his mouth go dry. Mr. Stark used to wear this. He used to wear this, and it’d been cold. Heavy and cold.

“...I really fucked up.” He says out loud, which only seems to solidify it.

Well, he can’t take it back now. Not if Pepper ends up noticing that it is gone. A monument. A goddamn trophy of Mr. Stark’s. One of his earliest models, with the classic red spray and golden faceplate. Christ, if he’d wanted it so badly, why didn’t he just buy a replica?

Because it wasn’t the same.

It isn’t the same.

But, damn it all, it’s also not his. 

Peter had just wanted something to remember Mr. Stark by, and-. God, that helmet had called to him like a siren. 

‘Mr. Stark would want you to have it.’ His brain had supplied.

Which-.

Uh.

No.

No, he would not want a literal child hanging onto his legacy like a fucking baseball card, instead of in a museum, or some well-maintained pedestal, or in a safe to be preserved for the next thousand years. Tony had been over the top like that. He liked to think his work was worth something. It was meant to adore.

The thought of Peter one day throwing it on top of his dirty laundry made him want to cry.

“Oh, god. Oh- Oh, shit. Okay, Peter. This is-. Oh, shit.” He tosses Mr. Stark’s helmet on the bed, and really does almost cry. A High-Tec, revolutionary piece of hardware, worn by Earth’s savior had just been thrown on his rumpled bedsheets, and goddamn fucking shit Peter is definitely- definitely- about to have a panic attack. He throws his arms up.

“That’s it.” Peter rambles sharply. “I’m screwed. I am so screwed, because I-. Oh my god, is it chipped? Of course it’s fucking chipped, Peter. It-. It’s Tony’s. Of course. Oh my god, I’m going to jail.” He peeks out the window, half-expecting to see cop cars at the entrance of his apartment complex. “Why did I do this?”

That’s the big question. Up until this point, Mr. Stark had only ever been an idol. Then a mentor. Then a father figure.

And, then-.

Okay, no. Peter is not going there. He paces around his room, onto his walls, the ceiling, hanging off his fingertips before plopping back onto his bare feet. He sighs, cursing, before making his inevitable journey back to the helmet.

Picking it up, his senses note a slight rise in temperature. It’s still cold, obviously. His room is well-heated though, unlike the lifeless cellar they’d had it cooped up in just hours before. Which makes Peter feel a little better about things- he smiles, tilting it this way and that. ‘Ha! A real home.’- before noticing a patch of crumbs on the helmet’s jaw from when he’d eaten Cheetos on the bed, wiped his fingers against the sheets, and seamlessly forgotten to throw them in the wash.

Peter almost faints.

Luckily, they’re easily wiped away by some bed-side tissues (Peter tries not to remember what he uses said tissues for. He’s already mortified by his poor treatment of it.) He sits on the bed with a huff, settling Mr. Stark’s tech in his lap like a pet. Peter runs his fingers over it apologetically, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Nothing feels like enough. He sighs, lowering his head.

“I bet you think this is pretty funny, huh?” Peter supplies, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, it’s not… It’s a little funny, but only because I know you’d probably have some quippy one-liner set up for me.” He falls onto his back, bringing the helmet to rest against his chest. Breathing out through his nose, he raises the metal mask just above him, so he can stare up at it. His bedroom light catches the surface of gleaming red, and Peter feels like a dirty slob just touching this rare treasure.

“Something like…” He pauses, thinking for a moment. “‘Oh, Peter. Looks like you’re a head of the game…’ That was really bad.” He chews his lip. “‘Sorry, kid. I want you to fill my shoes. This is a little much.’ God, no. That doesn’t sound like Mr. Stark at all.” Peter turns onto his side, letting the helmet lay against his pillow. They stare intimately at each other. ‘They’ being Peter and a lifeless curve of metal. He pulls the mask a bit closer.

“‘Woah there, Spiderman. At least buy dinner before you take it to bed.’” Peter turns his face into his pillow, groaning pitifully. 

“Why are helmet jokes so hard?” He pauses, mulling his complaint over. “Okay, that one wasn’t bad.” Like that, Peter angles his face to check on the helmet, and looks to see its reaction. Which creeps him out, of course. Alright, so maybe there are even more implications to stealing his idol’s helmet then the fact he stole it. Maybe it’s just bad to have an inanimate object symbolic of Mr. Stark around him.

‘No shit.’ Peter thinks to himself, drawing a hand down his face.

Still…

He places a finger along the metal mask’s faceplate; feels the cool of its surface, the crisp curve of each indent. It’s nice. Really, really nice. Which is exactly why he has to pull away and face the wall of his room.

‘Nope. No chance. Time out, Peter.’

He closes his eyes, counting back from one hundred. He does it seven times. Eight. It doesn’t matter. Peter turns around to face it again, and does exactly what he’d been doing before. His fingers map out the metal slabs, just imagining what it must’ve been like inside.

‘It probably smells like him.’ Peter’s brain coos.

‘What? Like booze, and sweat, and morning breath? Is that what you’re tempting me with?’

‘Yes.’

It doesn’t smell like Mr. Stark, for the record. It smells sterile and lifeless and unworn, like someone went and purged it of everything Tony. Which, Peter assures himself, is completely, totally fine. It doesn’t bother him a bit.

Not one bit.

Not when he slips a hand inside and feels the strange padding used to cradle Mr. Stark’s head. Or when he pulls it out, not devastated to find the man hadn’t shed any hair. Nope. Not even a little. Because that would be weird, and a little obsessive. A lot obsessive. It’s not like Peter could clone Mr. Stark if he had any kind of DNA. It’s not like Peter wants to.

He checks his alarm clock, the same one still ticking five years after the blip; 10:47.

Not crazy late. On the contrary, it’d be amazingly early for the hyper-active teen to turn in just yet. That’s what he tells himself as he reaches over his night stand, tugging the string of his lamp light. The room goes dark and Peter tries (Read: fails miserably) to fall asleep. Looking his crime in the face anymore than he already has to is punishment enough, at least for today.

He tries to ease his muscles, but they just won’t let up. There’s a weight in his bed that he’s not used to, and it sets all his human nerves on edge, even with his Spidey-senses dormant. Peter should put it in the closet, but he can’t bear the image of allowing it to collect dust. On the contrary, the thought leaves him choked and wanting a glass of water he doesn’t have the energy to grab. The idea of mistreating anything Tony Stark-related has the young vigilante in shambles.

Which is why he soon finds himself rotating around to face the helmet in his bed. Even through darkness, he can make out a sharp outline of lunar beams streaming in through the window. It’s soothing. It’s reprimanding. Peter sniffs, blinking away what feels like an ocean of tears.

“I’m sorry…?” He offers shyly. His tone breaks, shoulders bunched, brow pinched with a grimace only offset by the flush of his cheeks. ‘At least here,’ Peter thinks to himself, ‘I can get some kind of closure.’ 

Which is exactly what leads him to kiss the metal armor.

Soft, across where he’s sure Tony’s lips would be located. It’s quick. Innocent, really. If things weren’t so different in the 21st century, people might mistake it for a platonic peck. Because Tony- brave, wise Tony- was like a father to him, in the only way he understood a father could be. It’d been so tender, after all. With those sweet, thin fingers caressing, not pulling, and palms that cradled, not smooshed. Nothing demanding. Nothing sexual. Just a good ol’ fashion kiss, which lasts no more than a few seconds.

Peter promises himself it isn’t anything else. It’s a platonic kiss on the lips. Which is a thing. It is, but other people might make it out to be something more. Someone like MJ would probably cackle her ass off if she knew he’d given the mask a kiss, as short as it is.

The few that follow after are a bit longer.

By the time Peter finishes, he’s relaxed in the worst way possible. He feels groggy, worn at the lips, and shitty as all hell because that last kiss had definitely been excessive. 

And, okay.

Peter has a massive crush on Mr. Stark.

It’s terribly obvious. And tragic as shit, since the man is dead. Despite reminding himself, he can’t help but cling onto that damn feeling of metal on chapped, teenage lips. He feels sleepy, and he suddenly doesn’t want to be. It feels immensely inappropriate falling asleep next to a helmet he smooched to pieces.

Like sleeping next to Tony in Peter’s perverse, miserable fantasies.

Where Ms. Potts is away on business, and Mr. Stark is oh-so alone, and oh-so desperate for some kind of bodily touch. Where Peter is his sexy young intern, who has the confidence to wear feminine lingerie under his work clothes, and doesn’t mind brushing hips. They could make hot, passionate love in the lab for all he cares, and Mr. Stark would call him Baby, and Peter would call him Daddy, and it would hardly be funny to say in the moment, though he might snort when thinking over it later.

Best of all, Tony likes Peter best in his fantasies.

Parker is his favorite.

It’s only ever fantasy, though. Peter knows better than to indulge it.

In a conflicting fit between putting the helmet away, or pulling a sheet over top, or entertaining the notion of sneaking it back in place before anyone notices it’s gone, Peter decides to give the mask his bed while he sleeps on the floor. He’d much rather give Mr. Stark his best than chance disrespecting the man’s memory in favor of comfort. He obviously can’t be trusted, getting too close to Tony-related objects.

Laying on his bedroom floor twiddling his thumbs, Peter can’t help but wonder: What has my life come to?

#Starker #Peter x Tony #Tony/Peter #Fic #I don't know anymore guys #I miiiiight continue this?? #Or maybe I'll just leave the babe to suffer

[rekrappeter]

care about me || r.c

pairing: rafe cameron x fem!bestfriend!reader

word count: 2.4k

summary: being in love with your best friend is tough, it being rafe cameron makes it even worse

warnings: cursing | angsty | car crash | death wish / suicidal ideation | mention of blood

a/n: i would just like to thank @butgilinsky​ for awakening this crazy undisclosed love I had for rafe within me. plus this is my first rafe fic so i hope it’s okay  ♡ ♡ also, if anyone has requests, please send them my way ♡

One of the hardest things in life was watching your closest friend rapidly spiral into madness and not being able to do anything. Rafe Cameron wasn’t always the man that was unstable and drowning in debts, he was fifteen when he got into his first proper fight with a pogue; he always gave them lip because he was conditioned to do that but he never wanted to result to violence until he got his first taste of it, it was if his whole persona changed. Growing up with Rafe, you knew how ambitious and driven he was to do good in life - which made it even more difficult to watch him throw his life down the drain. 

Rafe was always a different person when he was around you - he was sweet, kind and he laughed a lot. You liked hearing the sound of his bellowed laughter, whether it was to do with something you said or something he came across on his phone. It wasn’t a sound you heard often when he was with Topper or Kelce, definitely never with his family. He laughed but you could tell it was forced, he was always tense around other people. 

“Hey you,” Your ears perked up at his voice and you removed the sunglasses that were resting on your face. You were out your back garden in your favorite swimwear, laying on a sun lounger trying to get an ounce of vitamin D. Rafe, who was dressed in a light blue polo and beige shorts, tried his best not to let his eyes wander down your exposed body and he swallowed back the lump forming in his throat.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, not expecting to see him until later tonight. 

Rafe sat down on the sunbed beside your legs, he scratched the back of his neck nervously and his eyes scanned the large back garden that your family had. You knew Rafe too well to know that he needed something but you weren’t going to push him. “I just thought I’d come to see my favorite girl.” 

Rolling his eyes at his words, you ignored the fluttering butterflies that swamped your stomach. It was hard not to fall for Rafe, he was charming and knew how to talk his way to the hearts of many ladies. The only thing that was different is that you never acted on the feelings that you developed, knowing that if you did, you could never go back to how it was before. “And?” You asked, raising your brow curiously. 

Rafe laughed, twisting and resting the palm of his hand on your leg that was burning from the sun. “Can I borrow your car, please? M-my bike is in the garage.”

“Do you want me to just drive you somewhere?” You questioned, wanting to spend more time with him. Despite being best friends, you felt that you haven’t seen him in so long. He was always busy, either golfing with Topper or doing an errand for his father. 

“No, no.” Rafe insisted, running his hand through his hair. That’s why he looked different, you thought, there was no gel plastering his hair back like usual. His brown locks looked soft and your eyes following his fingers going through them. “So, can I?” He asked, moving his head so that he could make eye contact with you.

You blinked rapidly, realizing that he definitely just caught you checking him out. “Yeah, of course.” If he did notice, he didn’t say anything. “The keys are where they usually are… You’re not going to get in trouble, are you?” Every time Rafe wasn’t with you, you constantly worried. 

Rafe chuckled, shaking his head. “Not today, I have a date with a special lady tonight.” He winked, standing up from where he was sat. He reached to cup your face before bringing his lips to the side of your head. An uneasy feeling erupted inside you as you bid goodbye to him and you couldn’t relax for the rest day despite the beaming sun above you.

Seven p.m came and went, you were eagerly waiting for the return of your best friend in one piece. The two of you agreed that he would pick you up at seven and you’d go to the outdoor cinema like you used to, but so far, you haven’t heard from Rafe since he left with your car earlier that day. You tried calling him, each call going straight to voicemail. It was until eight-thirty when his name appeared on your screen and you answered it immediately, not in the mood to play any games.

“Rafe,” You exhaled, “Are you okay?” Despite the anger that was seeping through your veins, you were more worried for his wellbeing.

The first sound he made was a sob and it made your heart clench, “I-I’m sorry, y/n… can you come get me?”

“Rafe, you have my car.” You exclaimed, confused but you were already grabbing the keys to your parent’s BMW that they left behind when they went on their cruise at the beginning of the month. 

Rafe cursed through the phone, “Fuck, shit…” He mumbled, “I’ll-I’ll call my father.” 

“No, it’s fine, Ray. Just tell me where you are and I’ll be there.” 

After getting his location, you were there in less than fifteen minutes, surpassing the speed limit every now and again but your heart was pounding at the thought of Rafe being hurt. You were surprised to find out he was on the outskirts of the cut, he rarely ever visited that side of the island unless he needed to. You spotted his figure sitting on a rock, his head in his hands, and your eyes scanned the scene as you hopped out of the black car. 

Rafe stood up when he heard you, blood seeping from his multiple cuts on his arms and your car was turned upside down, smoke surrounding the silver vehicle. You couldn’t hide the obvious shock that encompassed your features and Rafe stumbled over to your nervously. “I’m so sorry, I-I don’t know what happened but I… y/n, I can’t get done for this.”

Looking up at your best friend, disappointment replaced the shock. You knew exactly what he was asking you to do, he wanted you to take the fall for this. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin paler than usual and his fingers were shaking. “You’re high…” You mumbled, and Rafe’s head fell in sorrow.

“I’m s-”

“Great, you’ve said that three times, Rafe. It doesn’t change the fact that you got into a car drugged up! Do you know how lucky you are? You could have been killed!” You yelled at him, watching the tears stream down his cheeks. 

“I know…”

“I don’t think you do. What if you couldn’t call me to come and help your ass? You would be stuck in that car, and… and…” You couldn’t stop the tears that spilled from your own eyes, your chest heaving as you sobbed at the thought of this morning being the last time seeing Rafe. His blue eyes were trained on you, he didn’t want to hurt you and he especially didn’t want you to cry this much because of him. Despite his mind being cloudy, he reached out for you and brought you close to his chest. 

“y/n, I thought I’d be okay.” He whispered, rubbing his fingers up and down your back. Being best friends with Rafe was unpredictable, especially during these times and today just proved how any day could change with a flick of a switch. 

You pulled back from his embrace, reaching to rub your thumb over a bruise forming on his face. “I’ll call this in. Get into the car and we’ll go back to my house.” 

After you dealt with the authorities, coming up with the best lie you could possibly manage, you finally settled back in your house. Your first-aid kit was opened on your kitchen isle and Rafe sat on the stool, slightly more sober than earlier. You were cleaning the cuts on his arm, luckily he wasn’t in need of any stitches but you recommended that he go and get checked up in the hospital. Rafe’s eyes watched every move you made, noting that you barely said anything to him since you returned from the station. 

“Are you angry at me?” He asked, his voice soft. Your eyes looked up at him briefly before returning your attention to the cut on his hand, ignoring his question. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He mumbled, causing you to groan in annoyance.

You stood up straight, placing the bloody wipes in the bin beside you and looking at him intently. “I’m not angry at you, I’m happy you’re still alive.” 

“But?” Rafe grimaced, wanting to reach out to you and bring you to him but he refrained, knowing that he’d probably receive a slap in return. 

“But what? What do you want me to say, Rafe?” Snapping, you didn’t want to cry again. You had a shed enough tears today to last a lifetime; the thought of losing him made you crazy but the thought of sitting there and doing nothing for him made you insane. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Rafe.” 

Rafe’s expression fell, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. “What’s that s’posed to mean?” He whispered, he didn’t want you to tell him that you had given up on him. But he’d understand if you felt that way. 

You ran your fingers through your hair, unknotting the heads and you shook your head. “I don’t know, Rafe, but I can’t sit back and watch you throw your life down the drain as if you have nothing to live for.”

“But do I have anything to live for?” Rafe was the one to snap now, feeling the anger bubbling in his veins. The words he spoke hurt you, he noticed how your face distorted but he was only seeing red now. “I haven’t been home since this morning, I haven’t got one phone call from my family to where I am. I could have fucking died today and they wouldn’t have known unless someone came to their door, and at that, I don’t they’d even fucking care. I have no job, no college, no goals like you, Y/N. As you said, I’m just throwing my life down the drain.” He spat, standing up from the stool and stalking away from you. 

“Don’t fucking run off like a child.” You screamed after him, you watched him open the door before slamming it shut. He never left though, he knew you were right. 

“Why shouldn’t I? I should have just driven that car off a fucking cliff.” 

You rushed up at him, slapping his chest in agony. “Don’t say that.” You whispered through clenched teeth. 

Rafe started to sob, collapsing into your arms as they circled around him. His taller figure felt like a weighted blanket on you but you managed to steady yourself, comforting him. “They don’t care about me.” He cried, his fingers grasping your blouse as he tightened his grip.

“I do though.” You whispered into his ear, your heart hurting seeing him like this. Rafe was strong and thick-headed, he very rarely lost his mind like this. 

“You shouldn’t though. I got you in trouble today, and who knows what will happen down the road.” 

You pulled back from him, cupping his face in your hands but his arms remained around your waist. “I am never going to leave you, Ray. I care about you so much and I’m here to help you, always.” Rafe nodded his head, whimpering his gratitude. He sniffled his tears back, his eyes scanning your face. It happened so quickly; one minute, you were staring into his sea blue orbs, and then the next, your back was up against the wall and his lips crashed onto yours. The kiss was hungry and needy, it was nowhere near how you imagined your first kiss with Rafe to be. You had studied his lips for so long during your friendship, they looked so soft and sweet. You pushed Rafe’s chest gently, urging him to stop and when he pulled away, he was breathing heavily. 

Realization washed over his features and he stepped away further but you reached out to grab his wrist to ensure he didn’t create too much space between you. “That-that was stupid, I’m sorry,” Rafe mumbled, pushing his hair out of his face.

“Rafe, I wanted that for so long.” You confessed, watching him perk up slightly.

“Really?”

“Really, but I want to know if you want it to and you’re not just doing it to ease the pain.” You whispered, and Rafe stepped closer to you, cupping your face gently and his lips met yours again. This time was the one you wished for. His lips were tender and your eyes fluttered shut, allowing him to push you back up against the wall. His thumb rubbed your jaw, his tongue swiping against your bottom lip and he deepened the kiss when you allowed him. Your hands found their way to his hair, running your fingers through his locks and tugging at them gently. The moan that erupted from his throat made your legs weak and his right hand left your face, wrapping his arm around your waist to keep you up. He lifted you with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist. 

Rafe pulled away this time, his forehead resting against yours. Your eyes opened, his blue orbs meeting yours and he cracked a small smile. “I wanted this so bad, for years.” He said, breaking the tension that was created by both of yours heavy breathing. “I promise to be a better person.” 

“I want you to be Rafe, you don’t need to change.” 

“I want to, for you.” He whispered, connecting your lips again. In that moment, he felt wanted and needed. There was a lot more to life than just family, when you find someone that is willing to love you for who you were.

🌻 🌻 🌻 🌻

apologies for any typos

but pls gimme feedback, i beg, ty

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #rafe x reader #rafe camerona x y/n #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe #outer banks imagine #outer banks oneshot #obx #obx imagine #obx fanfic #drew starkey #friends to lovers #fanfic #obx writing #outer banks writing #rafe cameron friends to lovers #rafe cameron smut

[nazyalenskyism]

Shadows in My Mind

Summary: It wasn't supposed to happen like this, not yet. A/N: I really don't know how to tag this fic but it's been sitting in my drafts for a few months and I hope you like it! As always feedback appreciated, and thanks for taking the time to read! <3 The rest of the fic is under the cut!

Ao3: Shadows in My Mind

        “No,” she hissed, pressing all of her weight into her hands but the pallor of his skin kept worsening despite her efforts. “No. Hey. Stay awake!” Zoya snapped, tapping his cheek with her blood stained fingers. She fought back a wince as she left scarlet prints on his face, his unfocused eyes fluttering open at the sharp pain she’d dealt him. “I won’t let you leave me, you idiot. You’re not allowed to leave.” Zoya couldn’t even summon the horror that would usually wash over her when tears rose in her eyes. She rarely let them fall, but now, they streamed down her face as her best efforts yielded no results. She continued pushing down on the wound, feeling Nikolai’s weary gaze on her when she paused for a moment, using her Squallers’ abilities to throw her voice, calling for someone, anyone, even though she knew there would be no answer. ‘This can’t be how this ends,’  Zoya let herself despair for a moment before turning back to Nikolai,  ‘he was supposed to have more time.’ She steeled herself, ripping off a sleeve of her bloodied and torn shirt, pressing it into the wound. Her bones were tired, her powers screaming, she wanted nothing more than to curl up on the ground and close her eyes, but she couldn’t afford that-- not until she’d saved Nikolai. ‘If I save him, then everything will be fine.’ 

        “Okay,” she whispered, “okay, we can do this. I just have to reapply pressure before I get you onto your feet.” She reached out, faltering when warm fingers wrapped around her wrist. Nikolai looked up at her, pale, bloodied and beaten, but his eyes were still bright. “Nikolai you need to stand up, if you can walk, we’ll do that, or I’ll carry you.” ‘Whatever it takes,’ she thought, trying to pull herself from his grip, but he was surprisingly strong. 

        “Zoya,” he said hoarsely, “it’s no use, dear.”

        “No,” she snapped, looking at him incredulously, “you’re always the one babbling on about hope and optimism, you do not get to tell me it’s futile. Not now,” but in her heart, she realized that she was at yet another funeral, being left behind again. He was going to leave her. He had promised that he would come back. He was leaving her.

        “Nazyalensky,” Nikolai muttered, fingers brushing away the tears that had spilled from her eyes. “Don’t shed tears for me, I don’t like seeing you cry.”

        “Well I don’t like seeing you--” she broke off, she couldn’t do this. 

        “Hey,” he said softly, “I need you to go back to the others, there’s a document with the finance minister, and another with Tolya. I need you to put them into action immediately, don’t give anyone a chance to hurt our country.”

        ‘Our country’. “You’re not thinking about Ravka, not right now.” 

        “I’m running low on moments,” he replied, and to her horror his eyes were shining too. 

        “We can try,” she insisted, “we can’t be too far from the others.” 

        “No,” he said firmly, “I’m fine where I am. I need you to do something for me.” She nodded without hesitation and he continued, “let’s pretend we’re an old married couple.” 

        “What?” Zoya croaked.

        “Tell me a lie. Tell me it will be alright,” his eyes were wide, imploring.

        She pulled on her best guise, what he’d taught her, how to play the part. “Don’t be daft, of course you’ll be fine. You think that your best general would let you d--” she choked back a sob. “That she would let you die? No, you’re going to make it back to the camp, and the healers will patch you up perfectly, or else they’ll have me to deal with. You’ll ride back to a capital on your favourite horse in your best coat, the victorious king of a resilient country.”

        “Will there be a ball in my honour?” the corners of his lips pulled up, “I would’ve loved to dance with every lady in the country.”

        “Of course,” she replied, clinging on to the moment, this moment that was just them as if nothing was wrong, as if this was not their last moment like this. “They’ll write ballads in your honour, and perform hours into the night, the festivities will last for weeks, until you can’t stomach any more parties. All the ladies will be fawning over a chance to dance with their handsome king” 

        “Handsome?” he let out a laugh, wincing immediately, clutching at the wound in his side. Zoya carefully peeled his hand back, replacing it with her own over the injury. She tried not to think about how feverish his skin was under her hand, how his blood had soaked through the fabric of her balled shirt sleeve. ‘I need to remember everything about this moment.’

        “Yes. Handsome.”

        His eyes found hers, a steadfast sincerity behind them. “You’re forgetting how the king may dance with every woman in the country, but the entire evening, his eyes will only be on one.”

“You will meet a nice girl, fall hopelessly in love, have too many children to inherit your throne, and you will grow old with a family and country that love you as you deserve, ” Zoya continued, attempting to ignore his words, the look in his eyes. 

        “The woman whose name the wind whispers in his dreams.”

        She pushed on, “you will be a fantastic king, you will--”

        “And if he never summoned the courage to follow his heart, he would spend every day of the rest of his life wondering what could have been if he had been able to make a queen out of his ruthless general.” 

        “Nikolai--”

        “Zoya,” he whispered, “I fear that I don’t have much time left. Can I ask of one more favour from you?”

        “I thought kings never begged.” She bit out as Nikolai pushed aside new tears, his hand warm against her cheek.

        He gave her a sad smile, “is it truly begging when asking something of a queen? If not, then it will be our secret.” His voice was growing fainter with each word and Zoya felt her heart lurching. She was not ready. ‘Help me’ she implored to the dragon inside her, but the Saints were quiet, like they always were. No one would be coming to save her, they never did.

        She nodded resolutely, “what do you need?” 

        “Will you kiss me sweetly? In my dreams you always do, and this seems like nothing if not a dream of mine.” 

        “Nikolai you--”

        “Nazyalensky, humour me please. I know you don’t share my sentiments but--” 

        He was cut off as Zoya dipped down, pressing her lips against his fiercely with years worth of longing, hope, desperation combined with her heart’s mournful goodbye to a future they would never see. His arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her closer, kissing her harder until she felt like she couldn’t breathe. 

        She pulled back slightly, her forehead resting against his. “That was sweeter than I ever dreamed,” he said quietly. 

        Zoya took his hand in hers, “don’t go.” 

        “I have to,” his voice was barely there now. She drew back, his fluttering eyelids racking another sob from her chest. “I’ll see you again one day, I hope.” He pushed open his eyes, gazing at her intently, as if struggling to commit each detail to memory, to hold onto the picture for a moment longer. “Don’t forget me.” Nikolai drew their intertwined hands towards him, pressing a brief kiss against her knuckles. 

        “I won’t.” 

        “I know,” he smiled up at her, before closing his eyes. “I’m only going to take a short nap, Zoya dear. Wake me up when our friends are here.”

        She was fully weeping now, “I will, Nikolai. I will.” 

        The world was quiet for a few moments, Nikolai’s slowing breaths the only sound. 

        Then, as quick as sleep, he was gone. 

        For a shining moment, she didn’t believe it, but it shattered all too quickly when she pressed her fingers to his neck. Nothing. He was truly gone.

        “No, no, no,” she murmured, throwing herself over his warm body, crying out as she felt the wind knock out of her chest, her lungs aching from impact. A searing bright light and stars engulfed her vision and she fell back, breathless, cold, smooth tile delivering another blow to her battered body. 

        She blinked rapidly, attempting to right herself, her surroundings only just beginning to register in her mind. She was in a secret cell hidden behind the Darkling’s, now Nikolai’s war room in the Little Palace. It was the place that they were keeping the Darkling— or at least had been— until he had escaped, wreaking havoc and delivering the fatal blow to Nikolai.

        ‘Nikolai,’ Zoya thought, scrambling to her feet despite the pain. How had she gotten here? She had been in the middle of a barren battlefield, her body thrown over her king’s lifeless one… had she been captured? Where was his body? Zoya glanced down at the broken skin on her hands that had braced her fall backwards. They were clean, no trace blood. She frowned, her shirt was whole, her kefta clasped overtop of it. Last she’d remembered, it had been torn off her back as she fought in battle. Looking up, Zoya found a chair that had toppled over laying at her feet, and a metal table before her, and behind it, was the Darkling, a predatory smile playing at his lips.

        “Did you like that little dream?” his voice was as smooth as glass, his hands bound together before him. “All those tears for your little boy king, did you cry like that for me, Zoya?”

        She said nothing, her head still fuzzy. ‘What was happening?’

        “No,” he continued, his eyes fixed on her, trying to gauge her emotions. She knew this game, he found the gaps in your armor and twisted the knife until you were writhing on the floor and he was satisfied with his work. “I don’t suppose you did, you were pretending to hate me at the time, what with the way that you turned against me,” he sneered, raising an eyebrow at her unflinching demeanor. So it had all been fake? Then why did it feel so real? She could feel Nikolai’s lifeless presence over her like an enormous weight, even now. 

        “What was that?” Zoya asked, pushing to make her tone as even as possible. Her fingers dug into her crossed arms, forcing herself to stay in place. She needed answers, she couldn’t afford to run out of the room and make sure that Nikolai was actually okay. As her head cleared, she began to remember what had happened. She’d volunteered to try to get the Darkling to talk, she hadn’t wanted anyone else to have to deal with him. It was her fault that he was back and she refused to let him hurt her friends again. Nikolai had been hesitant, and the look he’d given her at the meeting was puzzling. She had assumed it was because of the story she’d told him that night in the Fold, about what the Darkling had said to her. But now, after whatever she had just experienced, she wasn’t so sure.

        “That,” the Darkling began, pulling Zoya’s attention back to him. “That was a little glimpse into your future.”

        Zoya rolled her eyes, unable to help herself, “let me guess, that’s what’ll happen if I don’t let you go?” 

        “No,” he leaned back in his chair, “it’s inevitable now, that’s the only outcome left after what you and your prince did in the fold.”

        “King,” she replied absently. She didn’t believe him for a second, but the vision had been so real-- she could still feel Nikolai’s blood on her hands, his lips pressing against hers, his lack of a pulse under her frantic fingers. It wasn’t real, and it wasn’t her future. The Saints hadn’t been able to determine this for her and she sure as hell wasn’t going to let the man in front of her try to. 

        “So it can’t be stopped then?” 

        He looked up at her, “oh noble Zoya, so desperate to save everyone. First it was those cubs, then your aunt, Juris, and now the Lantsov pup. As much as you try, they all die in the end. The sooner you learn that, the easier it will be.”

        ‘No. No. You don’t let him play these games.’  Her inner thoughts were echoed by the dragon inside of her, and it took everything to stop herself from slamming the Darkling’s face into the table. As she took a step towards him, planning her next move with blood roaring in her ears, the door behind her flung open. 

        “Zoya, we need you.”

        She frowned, she needed answers. “ Give me a minute,” she called.

        “Now, Commander.” 

        “Ask your little king how he felt about that vision.”

        Zoya spun around on him, unable to hide her shock. “You showed it to him?

        “Why don’t you ask him what it felt like to die? He should remember that feeling, it’s going to happen again sooner than later.”

        Zoya forced her feet out the door, slamming it behind her as she followed Tolya into the viewing room, where a mirror looked out at their prisoner. 

        “What is it?”

        “What happened in there? You froze, and the next thing I knew you were crashing to the ground.”

        She waved him off impatiently, her heart still racing from the Darkling’s parting words, “where’s Nikolai?”

        “He’s with Ehri in the gardens, why?”

        “Go check,” she said, her chest tightening, “go check on them now.”

        “What’s wrong?” he asked, briefly touching her arm. His face was full of concern and Zoya couldn’t take anymore heartbreak now. She couldn’t imagine the possibility that anything might take her friends from her.

        “I’m fine,” she snapped. “Go now, and check on David and Genya and Tamar too, that’s an order.”

        He shot her another puzzled look before leaving her alone in the observation room, while the quiet slowly began to consume her. She didn’t order her friends around, not like that, but with every passing second she felt more of her control slip away. Her heart was full of pain, she couldn’t see anything but red.

        He’s fine, it’s alright. They’re all unharmed. But it wasn’t enough. She sank to the floor, knees drawn to her chest, numb as the dream repeated itself again and again in her mind. All the while her king strolled through the gardens, entertaining his future queen at his side, unaware that all she could feel was his lifeless body under her, as she watched him die over and over again.

#zoyalai #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #zoyalai fic #tgt #the grishaverse #king of scars #king of scars fic #rule of wolves #row fic #kos #row

[therenlover]

Gimme Swayze (Part 4.5 of Till Forever Falls Apart, A Peter Maximoff/Reader Series)

Synopsis: Now that the issue of Y/N leaving is out of the way, and Peter has finally kissed her, he falls into the motions of learning how to love someone for the first time. It’s easier than he thought it would be.

Tags: Fluff, Dancing, Gratuitous Dirty Dancing References, Love Confessions, Insecure!Reader, Minor Hurt/Comfort

Rating: T

Warnings: Mild Language

Word Count: 2600~

This has been cross posted as the first chapter of the fic Cry To Me on my Ao3!

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“Dance with me, Peter?”

Y/N stood in the middle of the floor holding her hand out to him, hair mussed and wild with cheeks still streaked from tears shed earlier in the night. There, in the lamplight, she looked ethereal. Peter could imagine her as she was then in some grand Viennese ballroom. Every man, woman, and child would want to be seen on her arm, fully disregarding her casual clothes and the unhinged fire in her eyes, but she was choosing him. Something in his heart told him she always would.

With a smile and a groan, he pushed up off the creaky old plush couch and stretched his arms. “Are you gonna put on some music or are we gonna have to make our own?”

Peter didn’t miss the way Y/N’s breath hitched as she rushed over to the record player near the window. Her fingers skimmed over the knee-high stack of records at the base of the machine, searching through for something specific. After a moment she let out a small victorious noise. She pulled out the item she was looking for, a plastic-wrapped vinyl sheath, before holding it out towards Peter with a grin. Outside, the rain had slowed to a gentle pitter-patter on the concrete.

The paper cover was plain white, but it had a large title scrawled across the front in black magic marker: Y/N’s Ultimate Romance Mixtape.

“You put a mixtape… on a record? How much did this thing cost you?” Peter asked, walking to Y/N’s side to give the vinyl a closer look.

“Not just any mixtape,” she groaned, motioning for him to flip it over, “Our mixtape!” There on the back of the record, just as she promised, was a tracklist. Upon first viewing, by any average person, it would look pretty normal. To Peter, though, it was like looking down at a list of the top hits of his life. Time In A Bottle, Strange Magic, Born to Run, Sweet Dreams ...

“How did you-”

“I just started finding the songs I saw you listening to more than once, one day,” Y/N replied. She was staring at the floor again, wringing her hands. Was she… embarrassed? “I know it’s kinda weird and creepy… okay, it’s really weird and creepy, but I didn’t have anything else to do. It was just me in the Paris apartment back then and I still technically wasn’t a real person in the eyes of the government so I couldn’t work. What I’m trying to say is it was a nice way to pass the time, waiting for the newest song on the list to release, sitting patiently in the record shops hoping to hear a snippet of a melody I heard you humming along to in a vision...”

As she spoke, Y/N’s eyes seemed to glaze over. By the time her stream of consciousness had turned into less of a pour and more of a drip she looked halfway caught between the world and a dream. Peter could only imagine that when you’d lived as long as she had sometimes the past could seem like a dream. He’d been around for about 31 years, 67 if you included the years he lost between dimensions, and even he found himself looking back on parts of his childhood as if they were someone else’s. What would it be like in 10 more years? 20? 30? 100 didn’t even seem plausible.

Peter was only snapped from his internal monologue when Y/N snatched the record out of his hands and held it to her chest protectively. Her dreamy look was gone, replaced with one much more defensive.

“What?”

“If you’re just gonna gawk at it, I’m not gonna show you,” she said, carefully setting the record down on top of the closed player before turning her attention back to Peter, “I know it’s a little odd-”

“It’s cute!” Peter was quick to respond. He held up his hands, giving a small gesture of goodwill, before moving in to wrap her in his arms. She accepted, however stiffly. “Really, babe, it’s cute! I promise,”

With what seemed like a great amount of effort, Y/N relaxed into his touch. “Sorry, sorry, I’m just a little nervous… I’ve never done this before,”

“Oh, come on,” Peter’s mouth was almost against her skin now. His hot breath tickled the sensitive curve of her ear as he rocked their bodies back and forth on the balls of his feet, half calming and half comedic. “You don’t have to be nervous, Y/N. It’s just me,”

“That’s the problem!” Y/N was floundering in earnest now, her little heart pounding hard enough that Peter could feel it against his own chest. “With other guys it was easy! I knew they weren’t the end goal, and I knew… well, I thought they’d die long before you ever came into the picture, but now you’re here, and you’re you, and I’m so fucking terrified of messing everything up,”

Peter moved his hands to loosely grip her arms, rubbing calming circles into her flesh. “Babe, newsflash, I really like you. Like, stupidly like you. Head-over-heels type shit,” he paused to laugh, “and hey, I’m not the one who sees the future or anything, but I don’t see this going bad anytime soon. So take a deep breath, put on our mixtape, and just… let go,”

Y/N let her eyes find Peter’s, peering up through heavy lashes. “What if I fall?”

He kissed her softly on the forehead before he answered, “Baby, I have super speed. You can’t fall faster than I can catch you,”

The softest of smiles graced Y/N’s face before she pulled away, turning back to the record player and grabbing the record off the top as she opened it. She paused for a second, pensive, and Peter thought he might have to bolster her again before she turned back to him.

“Side A or Side B?”

Peter shrugged. “Whatever side you like the most,”

“Side B it is…” she smirked as she set the record on the table and got it spinning, dropping the needle gently onto the edge of the vinyl with a practiced hand, “That’s my side,” Under the sounds of the gentle rain and the city, the opening notes to a song halfway familiar began to ring out through the old bones of the apartment. The ancient wood seemed to creak its own melody under Y/N’s feet while she started to sway. Peter tried to follow along as best he could.

“I hope you know I can’t dance,” He mumbled, swinging his hips to and fro as Y/N giggled at him.

“Oh, I know,”

“Then why did you ask me to?”

“Just because you’re bad at dancing doesn’t mean I don’t wanna dance with you,”

“That’s so cheeeeesy, Y/N!”

She threw her head back as she shimmed into Peter’s arms across the floor. “And you love it,”

When she was finally in his arms again, they swayed loosely to the tune. There was no real rhythm to it, all clumsy feet and breathless laughter as they bumped their way through Y/N’s greatest hits, but it came from the heart. There were no doomsday clocks ticking in the background, no expectations of what to was to come. It was just the music around them and the rain in the street and the jerky unnatural movements of Peter Maximoff doing his best to internalize the beat as The Mamas and the Papas slowly drifted into Solomon Burke. Y/N hummed thoughtfully, pulling away from Peter’s arms as it began, bringing her arms up above her head as she shook her hips. Peter just groaned.

“You actually put the song from Dirty Dancing on the mixtape?”

Y/N didn’t respond, instead bopping her head along with the beat.

“I can’t believe it. You’re not even gonna answer me,”

She gave a wink and continued on.

“Really? The silent treatment?”

“I’m not saying another word until you embrace the Swayze, Peter,”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, took a deep inhale, and then stared daggers into Y/N’s eyes as he shrugged his shoulders. “You want Swayze, baby? You really want Swayze?”

“Oh, I wanna see some Swayze, Peter,”

“How’s this for Swayze?”

With a burst of superhuman speed, Peter raced across the floor, snatched Y/N up by her midriff, and lifted her above his head, delighting in her giggles and shrieks while he spun her. He may not have been the best dancer or the best mover, but Peter was good at a few things; things like utilizing his surprising strength and speed.

He kept Y/N aloft for a moment before gently returning her to the floor. There she stood, slightly dazed, as she got her bearings back, gripping the sleeve of Peter’s t-shirt for balance. To put it simply she was a giggling mess.

Peter loved watching her like this, carefree and loose, unbound from the tethers of trauma and time for a few brief moments. It made his heart soar higher to know that he made her like this. He was the one who threatened to toss her in with the seals at Central Park, which made her laugh so hard she almost yakked up her hotdog. It was him who sat with her on the couch throwing popcorn at the fuzzy TV screen whenever she suddenly froze up at the sound of a scream, distracting her enough that she could enjoy the movie till the end. His hands were the ones she grabbed whenever she saw a cute dog on the street and wanted to get close fast enough to pet it. He was a part of her joy, a minuscule blip on her radar making waves in her life for the better. Peter didn’t know if there was anything else he wanted to be in life that could mean more than that.

When Y/N finally got her giggles under control, she looked up at him with wet eyes and whispered. “That was pretty Swayze, babe,”

The second it left her lips she was in stitches again, her knees buckling as she collapsed to the floor, whole body wracked with her laughter. Peter joined her this time, settling himself down by her side and allowing the hysteria to wash over him like a pleasant wave. Once all was said and done, he and Y/N laid shoulder to shoulder on the antique sitting-room rug, staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes and soft smiles. The record, all spun out, sat forgotten on the turntable.

“I know I’ve told you this already,” Y/N said, eyes glued to the rotating fan above her, “but I love you, Peter. I love you and I love who I am when I’m with you. You don’t have to say it back, I mean, I know this has all been ridiculously fast, but… I dunno. Even without the whole fated to cross paths thing, I think I’d love you now anyways, you know?” She bit her bottom lip, groaning, “Sorry, sorry, I know things are moving way too quick-”

Peter shushed her gently, rolling onto his side to look her in the eye. “Babe, you’re talking to the fastest man alive. Quick is literally in my name. Don’t worry about it,”

“Yeah. I guess it is, huh?”

“And for the record,” he took a deep breath, steeling himself, “I love you too, Y/N. I have for a while now. It has to have been since… well all the way back when Dr. Strange had me tied up at your work. I was so sure that I had screwed everything up with you, that you were gonna let him drag me to superhero prison and wash your hands of me, but you didn’t. You came in there guns blazing, even when you knew I had fucked up big time and accidentally tried to steal some real spooky shit, and from that second on I never once felt like you would ever be willing to get rid of me just because I’m annoying,”

She nudged him with her shoulder. Not hard, just enough to jostle him. “You’re not annoying,”

“Have you met me? Annoying is literally my middle name,”

“No,” Y/N’s voice got soft, “No, your middle name is Django. Your favorite color is blue, but specifically bright teal-ish blue like the blue moon ice cream your mom used to buy you on vacation back when you were a little kid. You can’t dance but you have surprisingly good rhythm, and even if you’re not proud of your voice you should be because if you weren’t the world’s fastest man you could be touring as a singer with your guitar. You always sleep on the right side of the bed, your favorite season is the weird limbo between summer and fall, you can’t stand the James Bond movies, and if anybody asked you’d say your favorite food is Twinkies but it’s not. Your favorite food is pierogies, specifically the cheese and potato kind from Nana Dudek’s in Polish town because they remind you of your Nana the few times you remember going to see her. All of that is true, and so is the fact that you love me,”

She went quiet, eyes watching the blades of the ceiling fan in their lazy rotations. Slowly, she reached out her hand, interlocking her pinkie with Peter’s own without even having to look down and find it.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that,” Peter whispered.

Y/N let a huff of air out of her nose, a silent laugh at a joke only she knew.

“You’re not supposed to say anything. I just wanted you to know,”

“Know what?”

“Know that even if you can never build up the courage to tell me you love me again, I’ll be just fine, because I know, and you know, and that’s all that matters,”

Something in Peter’s heart, however small, shattered at just how vulnerable Y/N sounded.

Both of them were jaded in their own ways. They had seen bloodshed and torment and the roots of human suffering. It wasn’t always as simple as saying ‘I love you’. Sometimes the world left you a broken pulp with little faith and saying three little magic words just wasn’t possible. There’s no place for love in the heart of a person at war, nor is there any guarantee that they’ll ever be able to express that forbidden weakness again. It’s a commodity, like hope, that came in rare supply to people like Peter and Y/N. That being said, in the safety and warmth of the sitting room with the cozy couch and the antique rug and the ceiling fan and the record player, neither of them were at war, and Peter would be a damn fool if he didn’t take advantage of that.

He rolled onto his side once again, waiting there in silence until Y/N rolled onto her side to greet him, and then, with all of the feelings he had hidden in his heart since the moment he ran at top speed for the first time he kissed her.

Without hesitation, she kissed him back.

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a/n: Sorry this took so long to get out! It’s short, but I wanted it to be long enough to be it’s own mini chapter, so our minor friends can enjoy the sweetness without having to lose any of the story in the spicy bit. That being said, the spicy bit comes next lol. My shift bar is being fussy, and I need to sleep, so I’m signing off for the night, but thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, let me know!

Please do not post my work to any other sites, thank you ! <3

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #fanfiction #quicksilver #quicksilver x reader #marvel fanfiction

[honeypiehotchner]

you’re so golden -- Steve Rogers x Reader one-shot

Hello! This is 100% a self-insert lmao when I can’t sleep I like to imagine stuff like this. All fluff lovies xx.

Warnings: Some talk that makes prude!Steve blush, boob-holding (is that even a phrase?), some teasing/fluffy talk of sexy times, mentions of nightmares and therapy, that’s basically it, it’s tooth-rotting fluff

Living with a bunch of Avengers can be many things, but one thing it isn’t is private.

There is no privacy when Tony is around, or Sam and Bucky, for that matter. Hell, the only one who really respects privacy around here is Steve, but go figure with that one, right? America’s golden boy, of course, he’d know to knock and wait for a response before entering, to not ask certain questions, or to avert his eyes quickly if he happens upon you in an indecent situation (your swimsuit came untied last summer, no further explanation needed).

You still snicker when Natasha calls him a prude. He makes it too easy, quite frankly. 

Like right now. You’ve just finished working out, so you’re in the kitchen, making yourself a sandwich. Your body is covered in sweat, so you shed your tank top, hating the way the material clings to your damp skin. This leaves you in cropped leggings and a sports bra.

Natasha sits at the bar, sipping her water with a smirk on her face. You’re not sure why, until you see Steve practically bolt past you to get to the fridge.

“Steve!” You laugh, turning around to face him. “What are you doing?”

“Just getting some water,” he says firmly, like he has to force each word out.

“Okay…” You raise an eyebrow. “Are you not looking at me for some reason? Scared I’ll burst into flames?”

Natasha muffles her laughter into the palm of her hand.

Steve downs the entire glass of water before shoving it back under the dispenser, his eyes focused on it as if it won’t fill his glass correctly if he doesn’t stare it down.

“Steve,” you chuckle, knowing exactly what’s got him acting this way. It’s your lack of a shirt. “It’s just a bra.”

“Exactly,” he swallows, bringing the cup back to his lips, still not looking at you. “It’s just a...bra.” He says the last word quietly, quickly before guzzling more water.

“I know you’re a super-soldier,  but don’t drown yourself,” you tease, turning back to your sandwich. “You know, just a bra is technically a shirt. I’ve worn it as a top before to a music festival -- hell, some girls only had glitter covering their boobs. But I wore it with shorts, too, not even leggings. They barely covered my--”

Steve coughs loudly, discarding the cup in the sink before sprinting in the other direction. You shake your head with a laugh. Who knew that Steve Rogers, a man who looks like that, could be such a prude.

“You are so bad,” Natasha sings. “He’s scarred for life now, you know.”

You shrug. “Isn’t he like, a hundred years old or something? He’ll get over it.”

+++

That very same night, the lot of you are sitting around, throwing stories back and forth. Sam and Bucky are caught in a feud trying to one-up each other, and somehow (you don’t really remember, but it’s not impossible) the topic of boobs got brought up. 

“Do you ever do this thing,” you look to Natasha, “when you’re just laying down, and you just hold your boob?” You bring your right hand up to cup your left boob over your shirt, smirking at how everyone’s eyes follow your hand -- except Steve’s. Steve, well, becomes Very Interested in his hands.

“Yes!” She laughs. “It’s comforting, I don’t know why.”

“I know why,” Sam says, grinning like a madman.

You roll your eyes, taking your hand away. “It’s not sexual, asshat. It’s just comforting.”

“You guys also stick your hand down your shorts,” Bucky chimes. “On the side,” he slides his hand down his leg to show the spot. 

“That too,” you nod. “But the boob thing...that’s even more comforting. If I’ve ever been crying or something, it just helps calm me down.”

Steve, who has gone completely red in the face, stays quiet, but this time, he’s looking at you. Your eyes meet his and you smile softly, wondering what it was that made him finally look at you. Regardless, you won’t question it.

+++

Nightmares are the bane of your existence. Truly.

They’re practically unavoidable, and you know that. Therapy can only do so much to keep them at bay, and that’s when you actually attend. You haven’t been in a while. You can blame it on being busy with missions all you want, but that’s not really it.

There are just some things you don’t want to talk about.

So, now you lie awake in bed. It’s four-thirty in the morning, and you know that in half an hour, Steve will be waking up to go on his run. He runs every morning without fail, rain or shine. You’ve never understood why he runs in the rain, though. Lightning is a thing. And to quote Sam, “We have treadmills in the gym.”

Five o’clock rolls around and you hear Steve’s alarm and movement in the room next to you. Ten minutes later, his door opens and closes. 

You close your eyes, wondering if your body will give it up now and let you sleep, but she doesn’t. You huff, lazily opening your eyes. Another night with shit for sleep.

A knock sounds on your door, dragging you from your bed. You pull the door open, tiredly raising your eyes to meet those of a certain super-soldier.

“Steve?” You murmur. Despite knowing he’s the only one awake at this hour, his presence still surprises you. He’s not one to knock on your door this early.

“Morning,” he chuckles, eyebrows furrowing. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod, leaning onto the door. “Didn’t sleep.”

He frowns. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you wave your hand. “What’d you want?”

“I uh…” He pauses, scratching the back of his head. “I knock on your door every morning to see if you want to run with me...you’re not normally awake.”

“Trust me, I’m not awake right now by choice.”

He smiles, but the worry still seeps through. “Did you...um, did you try…?” He trails away, bringing his hand up to his chest, cupping his left pec. It takes a second for your mind to register what exactly he’s doing, but once you do, you nearly burst.

“Oh my god… No, I didn’t actually.” You shake your head. “Some nights I forget about it. Too many thoughts, and...yeah.”

Steve nods. “Do you...do you want me to help?”

“Help?” You raise an eyebrow. “You trying to take advantage of me while I’m sad, Rogers?”

“What? No!” He takes a step back, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Relax,” you laugh, reaching out to grab his hand, pulling them down. “Sure. You can take your shot. Come on.”

Steve walks slowly into your room, eyeing you and waiting for you to kick him out. But you shut the door and tug him over to your bed.

“What helps?” Steve asks, kicking his shoes off.

“Uh…” You sigh, sitting down on your bed. “I...Well, this is ridiculous, but could you...hold me?” It’s the one thing you know that has helped in the past, but obviously it’s been years since you’ve had someone do that for you, and holding a pillow isn’t the same.

“Hold you--?” Steve accepts the strange request. “Yeah. I can do that.”

“Don’t be weird,” you laugh, scooting up and stretching out. “Hey, at least I have more than just a bra on,” you tease. 

Steve gives you a look, and for the first time, he looks you up and down. From the leggings to the oversized t-shirt, landing on your eyes. You find gentle worry there in his eyes. An old voice in the back of your head nags you for trusting him so much. Acting like a gentleman is sometimes used as manipulation, but not here. With Steve, it’s genuine.

He was raised to be a gentleman, sure, but this is a different time. He could trade in the niceties for being a dick -- he’s pretty enough for it -- but he doesn’t. Maybe that’s what makes him different.

“Are you sure?” He asks, walking to the other side of the bed.

You sit up tiredly, leaning back on your palms. “Steve. We’re not about to have sex. If you’re uncomfortable, just go run. It’s okay.”

“I’ll run after you sleep,” Steve says firmly, finally sitting down.

“Alright,” you exhale.

You lie back down and turn on your side, waiting for Steve to do something. You feel the bed dip as he lays next to you, turning on his side. He drapes an arm over your waist, pulling you into his chest.

Your eyes close almost on instinct. Steve’s heartbeat thumping softly against your back causes your breathing to deepen.

“Better?” He asks, his breath fanning the back of your neck.

“Mm,” you sink further against his chest. “Yeah.”

He chuckles softly, his arm tightening around your waist. “Go to sleep.”

“Shut up and maybe I will,” you snicker, elbowing him in the ribs. “I’m surprised you’re so talkative. Normally you’re turning red and coughing by now. Or drowning yourself.”

“Shhh,” he says, but you know he’s smiling. His lips barely graze your neck, but it’s enough to send a jolt down your spine.

You stay still, letting yourself savor this feeling. You’ve harbored a small, but albeit obnoxious, crush on America’s golden boy. How could you not? He blushes when he realizes you’re wearing a sports bra or even the time when you wore a deep v-neck shirt. You don’t have a big enough chest to show any cleavage at all, and yet he was as red as a tomato.

His innocence has only made him adorable, and your subtle innuendos became your choice of flirting tactic. 

You don’t know what changed. You never imagined Steve being possible of this -- holding you tenderly, not fumbling for words or burning up. Right now, he’s calmer than you’ve ever seen him.

But it seems so wrong. Did you force him into this? You don’t think so, but you worry. He’s not normally like this, so you can’t help but wonder if he’s doing it because he felt bad for you.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Yeah, doll?”

Doll. That’s new. You thought it was something only Bucky says, but then again, Bucky calls any woman he sees doll. 

“You can go run,” you murmur. “I don’t think I’m gonna sleep anytime soon.”

He shifts, and you think he’s getting up, but he pulls you closer. “Do you want me to go?”

You wait a beat. You smile. “Not really.”

He chuckles. “Then I’ll stay.”

“Okay.”

Silence covers both of you. The tender kind that only two people who know each other well can share. No tension lives here, no anxiety. Only peace.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you mind if I try something else?”

“Sure,” you shrug softly. “Why not. What do you wanna try?”

Your breath hitches when his fingers tease the hem of your shirt. Surely, he’s not…

But he is.

“Is this okay?” He asks, fingertips ghosting over your stomach, not going any further until you say so.

“Yeah,” you murmur, not believing your ears or eyes or body.

Tentatively, Steve’s fingers trace your ribs, goosebumps rising on your skin everywhere he touches. After what seems like hours, his palm cups your left breast, gently, no ulterior motive in sight. You lean into the touch, knowing he can feel your heart racing against his hand, but not caring. Because right now, it’s too soothing.

“Is that better?”

“Better,” you admit sheepishly, hiding your smile in the pillow.

And damn him, the combination of the weight of his arm around your waist, hand on your breast, breath on your neck, and heartbeat on your back -- all of it lulls you to sleep. 

A restful sleep, the one you know you’ll only have here, safe in the arms of America’s golden boy.

+++

When you wake, Steve is still there, his run a forgotten thought when he has you in his arms. You turn around to face him, smiling dumbly when you see his eyes are closed.

His hand slips from your breast to your ribs, and you hold onto his wrist, keeping him there. Your free hand traces the lines of his jaw, his nose, his cheekbones. The golden, hand-crafted, wondrous boy. Here in your bed, sleeping soundly.

The clock reads 11:46 AM, and you’re sure the rest of the team is wondering where the two of you are -- though Tony probably knows.

Still, you make no move to get up. His weight isn’t trapping you, but his softness is. Your heart has never known a gentle touch, and yet here he is.

Steve senses your movement and opens his eyes, fingertips twitching against your skin. You watch as the blush dusts his cheeks upon realizing his hand is still underneath your shirt. Giggling, you let him slip his hand away.

“Did you sleep well?” You tease.

“Did you?” He counters, genuinely asking.

“I did,” you nod, voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you.”

His eyelids flutter his silent welcome. You can’t stop yourself as your hand cups his jaw, thumb brushing against his cheek. This tender, golden boy.

He tips his chin forward, hand on your back pressing you forward until your lips meet his in a gentle, longing kiss.

“I’ve waited three years to do that,” he says, kissing you again.

“Me too,” you admit, lips ghosting over his.

Golden sparks explode behind your eyes when your lips collide. His arms cage you in, holding you close, keeping you safe. The gentle touch you have never known has finally arrived in the form of America’s golden boy. Your golden boy.

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x fanfiction #steve rogers one shot #fluff #all fluff #purely my own fantasty lmao

[mlb-au]

The Things We Lost

This is my attempt at writing an angst MLB au where Marinette is too overwhelmed at everything she has lost to Lila and loses control. This story does contain suicidal thoughts, strong language, and suicide so be warned.

If asked a few months ago about what the young girl was like, people would talk about how sweet and caring she is. She works hard, puts others first, and is a bit clumsy but is so loving and helpful. They might also say how expressive and optimistic the girl is, like she’s a ball of sunshine. Cut back to the present and none of these words would be used to described the baker’s daughter. Marinette knew that Lila could be trouble. She was telling so many lies, each one getting bigger and more threatening, how could she not be concerned. She had hoped that after everything Lila had done that people would stop believing her. They did not. Instead all blame was placed onto the dark haired girl. Thief. Cheater. Liar. Jealous bitch. Bully. These words and more were thrown at the girl until she felt like they coated her body like a second skin. Even when she was adorned in her red and black suit, she still felt the presence of these comments. It was a miracle that she hadn’t slipped up and allowed Hawkmoth to akumatize her yet.

Her friends, classmates, teachers, and even parents were against her. Her only comfort was the kwamis. Each night they would comfort their guardian in hopes of doing something for the girl. Each night she cried herself to sleep. Each night she hoped that tomorrow would be a better day. It seemed like her wishes never came true. She went through the day like a zombie. She walked into class and went into her seat in the back. People’s eyes putting holes into her body as they whispered about her. Freak. Stalker. Crazy. Jerk. She stare blankly at the front as class went on. If she was lucky, she could go home without being stopped. However most days she wasn’t.

Lila would corner her. Her smirk and eyes were like daggers into Marinette’s soul. She would bark and laugh about how she was good on her promise to rid Marinette of all her friends. Somedays she left it at that. Other days she would hit her or push her. Of course no one noticed her bruises. They even failed to notice the scars forming on her arms, just hidden by her jacket. Marinette stood on her rooftop balcony. She was in her pajamas, and the wind stung her freshly made cuts. She glanced down wondering what it would be like to jump. Tikki and the other kwamis gently nudged the girl back inside. She couldn’t leave them.

Even her partner noticed the difference in her behavior and tried to ask her about it. He expected something simple and easy to fix. He never would have expected what she said next. “I’m looking for a new Ladybug.” “What, why?” Ladybug stared out onto Paris. “I can’t do this anymore. If I continue to be Ladybug, then Hawkmoth will win. I’ll continue to be the guardian, but Paris needs a new Ladybug.” He looks sad but then turns it into a smile. “So does that mean I can find out who you are?” Marinette didn’t even have the energy to yell at him. “I’ll let you know when I find one.” She stood and swung off, leaving him to wonder what he did wrong. Marinette detransformed and couldn’t quite understand why she was crying.

She eyed everyone in the city closely. She needed to sink into the background, and the sooner she did that the better. She did discover someone. A girl her age who went to a different school. She had some friends, did a school club, and most of all was kind and selfless. She waited for a few more days, watching in the shadows, before approaching the girl. Her name was Raven, a nod to her parents dark black hair. Marinette came to her as Mutlimouse. (Only Chat knew that Marinette was Mutlimouse, and it wouldn’t matter once she was gone.) The girl was shocked, but trusted the hero’s judgement. She helped trained and coached the girl, and it was time for the world to have a new, permanent, hero. Mutlimouse and the new Rubybug met with Chat Noir. Chat Noir didn’t even give Marinette a second look.

Over the week she carefully watched the two worked together. It was a bit of a shake up at first, but Rubybug was able to save the day and gain the love of Paris’s citizens. At the end of the week, Marinette said her last goodbyes to Tikki and that was that. However, Tikki had one last parting gift. Hidden in Marinette’s sewing box was a small book. Tikki had wrote out so many messages, all comforting her chosen one. For the first night in a while, the tears she shed were happy. One thing was clear though, she needed to escape more of her life.

Marinette carefully worked. She found a place hidden in plain sight. It was fair enough from her old life yet close enough to be reached in case a different miraculous holder was needed. Not to mention that it wouldn’t be searched or questioned. She moved as much stuff over to the new location as she could without raising suspicion. Then she waited for the day. The day when she would no longer be around. Everyone at school made sure to mention the date. Lila had been working on her final scheme: to get Adrien to be her’s. They would have a date and talk while going to André’s ice cream stand. They would get ice creams that matched each other and would kiss. That was Lila’s plan.

Marinette stood on a newby building, as Scarlet Vixen, and waited. Sure enough Adrien and Lila came around the corner. The rest of the class waited and watched. Alya was recording the whole thing in a livestream. Scarlet Vixen waited for the right time. Lila had just gotten her ice cream, and it matched Adrien. Now it was time to get his. “Strawberry for her blush, blackberry for her hair,” Adrien couldn’t help but get a sense of dread in his stomach. Something bad was about to happen. He glanced around and noticed Marinette standing on the railing. As André said “blue bell stare”, Marinette’s eyes turned to him. She had tries rolling down her eyes, and before Adrien could process it she jumped. Alya had turned her phone to record the girl moments before she jumped, so the whole livestream saw it. The class around her stared at where the girl once stood. She never did resurface from the water.

*

*

*

It was a week after the incident and Lila had a sick feeling of pride. She had done this all before. Take over the school, have everyone love and fawn over her, and destroyed anyone who opposed her. However she never had someone so distraught to have killed themselves, but it’s whatever. She can use this to her advantage. Claim that the girl had really wanted attention so badly she was willing to jump for it. Maybe state that the incident has made herself distraught and needs people to love and support her. But things were different than what she had planned.

First was Marinette’s parents. The night of the incident, Sabine was calling for Marinette to come down and banging on her trap door. Earlier that day she and Tom had yelled at the girl for hurting Lila again, and the girl ran up to her room to hide. Now Sabine was going to yell at her daughter for her grades. It got to a point where she had Tom take off the trap door. The bedroom was a mess. Things were thrown around and out of place. The mom was gonna yell at her daughter for having a  temper tantrum when she spotted the blood. A small box cutter laid on the ground, with fresh blood still on it. As Tom looked around, he found a note on their daughter’s bed.

“Dear Mom and Dad,

I know that I am an awful daughter and don’t deserve you. I am sorry for causing trouble and for making me mad. I know you can never forgive me. I won’t come back, so I hope you will live a happier life.

- Marinette”

It was thirty minutes later when they were informed that their daughter had jumped into the river never to be seen again. The parents were in shock, and they had the bakery shut down for the rest of the week. They could only walk around their house, staring over to the opening where the trap door to the pink room once was. They hadn’t expected their only child to just be gone.

Next came Alya. She was at first in denial. There was no way that Marinette would do that. Bully and hurt Lila? Sure. Steal important test papers to cheat? Of course. Throwing herself into a river was not on the list of things that girl could do. It took her several minutes after seeing the incident to realize that she was still recording. The next day she woke up thinking everything was a bad dream. Or even some sick kind of joke that the brat pulled in hopes of gaining attention. However, when she checked her phone to see several messages concerning the content on her blog, she realized it was real.

Next was her general classmates. They didn’t want to believe what they saw at first, but what else was there to do? They couldn’t have done anything to stop it.

However the person who was effected most was Adrien. He had reluctantly agreed to go on the date with Lila, as pushed by Nino and everyone else in the class. He expected his ice cream to be like what he had ordered the first time, to represent his love of Ladybug. However André said said something different. Strawberry for her blush. He had never seen Ladybug blush before, it was never in her nature. The only girl with blue bell eyes and dark hair was... Marinette. The last time he saw her was when she jumped into the river with tears in her eyes. He didn’t know what to think. Why would she jump? She was always so happy. “Not when she was getting harassed and bullied.” Plagg supplied with a scoff. “So much for take the highroad.”

As the week of the incident progressed, the world seemed to stop. However once the week was up the world unpaused, but only to show the darkness of the situation. The bakery was permanently closed when Tom and Sabine were charged for Marinette’s suicide and providing an unsafe home for a child. Alya’s blog was shut down for recording a suicide. The students kept staring at where the girl used to sit, feelings of guilt leaking in. Adrien could barely function, and Gabriel had to rework his schedule to try to get Adrien under control. Adrien was even effected as Chat Noir. While Rubybug was sweet, quirky, and hardworking, he couldn’t help but miss the old Ladybug. The one who, while she would be serious most of the time, was always looking out for him. Rubybug had to save Chat Noir several times during attacks since he began to get distracted so easily.

Lila had expected things to be easier for her. She tried to do some sob stories about how much the death was impacting her but it backed fired. Not because they didn’t believe her, but because the school was now being forced to give more counseling and care when it comes to bullying. Lila was put into therapy and had her lies backfire on her when concerned classmates filled in their teacher on the awful things Marinette said and done to the girl. Not to mention all those other things. Her mom and the school had a several hour long discussion before the truth was exposed.

The school year continued on. The class was two students down for the count. One was simply transferred out and the other was gone forever. Sometimes the students would forget that Marinette was gone. Alya had gotten to talk to the new Rubybug and was about to call Marinette to talk before remembering that she was gone. The members of Kitty Section were discussing new costumes before remembering that their old designer couldn’t help anymore. Her parents still felt like they could hear their daughter’s voice coming from the bedroom. Adrien sat on top of rooftops at night staring at the lucky charm Marinette had made him. Their everyday ladybug. Gone without a trace and never to be seen again.

Of course, she was still around. Hidden away in the shadows of Paris. The miracle box and kwamis as her sole companions. Waiting for when her new bug would come by to seek out help. She saw the world fall before her and watched. Her soul had died long before. It didn’t matter to her how any of those people felt. After all, she had lost more. She had lost her family, friends, dreams, hopes, and her partner in one go. Why should they care about her now that she’s gone. It’s not like they lost everything. No. They only lost one stupid girl. She didn’t matter to them before she was gone, why did they care now that she was gone. Ah, such is the way of life.

#miraculous fanfic #mlb au #mlb marinette #fanfic #miraculous ladybug

[masterofmunson]

all i ask of you (2)

Harry Styles x Fem!Reader Broadway AU

Summary: You’re forced to work with your famous ex boyfriend on Broadway.

Word Count: 3.7k+

Warnings: language

Author’s Note: This chapter is definitely a little more dramatic than the first one. You get more insight on what happened between the MC and Harry when they used to date. Let me know what you think! I appreciate any and all comments! It also encourages me to update faster!

“I hope you know how proud I am of you,” Harry whispers into the shell of your ear. His fingers brush softly along your back. He had gently pushed up the soft fabric of your t-shirt to the underside of your breasts earlier. It makes your skin shiver. 

You hum into his neck, gently carding your fingers through his hair. You kiss the side of his head sweetly. “I know,” you whisper back, “which is why I’m excited to tell you that I have my first role. I got a role in Cats. It’s not very big, but it’s a start.”

“What?” Harry asks in shock. He sits up on the bed. You pull away from him to look him in the eyes. You’re beaming at him. You had been dying to tell him ever since Jane helped you make your decision.

“I made it, H. I’m in my first professional musical. I’m in Cats,” you tell him with a warm and bright smile. 

Harry grins, gently reaching for your face. He presses a warm and eager kiss to your mouth. You squeal in delight and he pushes you down into the mattress. He kisses across your face. 

“Congratulations, baby! What theater? Segerstrom Center? La Mirada? Thousand Oaks?” 

Your smile falls and Harry pulls away at your negative reaction. He brushes hair out of your face and caresses your cheek. You swallow hard and reach for his hand. You squeeze it gently. 

“Harry, it’s on Broadway. I’m going to New York City.”

… 

You’re not doing well. Harry is getting on your last nerve and it’s only the third day working with him. You have exactly one week to act like Christine is positively in love with Raoul. It’s a lot harder than you thought. 

All you want to do is knock Harry’s teeth in. 

He acts like nothing happened. You suppose it’s a good thing since no one suspects that you used to date, but it’s bugging the shit out of you. 

Everyone loves Harry. He’s kind and charming to the rest of the cast. Jane refuses to acknowledge his existence outside of the two or three scenes they’re in together. She knows just how much he hurt you. You can’t look at him the same anymore. The love and admiration you had for him has disappeared into existence. 

Harry tries to get you to open up when you’re not on stage together or practicing in the rehearsal room. You don’t let him. Instead you brush him off and ignore him. Frank doesn’t have to know you’re not doing what he asked. You refuse to give Harry your number. 

“More passion!” Frank shouts as you run through All I Ask of You for the third time today. “You’re in love!”

You project more and so does Harry. Your eyes meet his and Harry reaches for your hands. You recoil from his touch and step away from him out of habit. Your thoughts take you back to the last time you saw Harry. The feeling of Harry touching you brings back memories you’ve tried so hard to forget. You can’t seem to forget the coldness in his eyes when he made you choose between him and Broadway. 

The music cuts and Frank grabs at his hair in frustration. He shakes his head at you before walking up on stage towards you. 

“Y/n, what the hell was that? You can’t do that. I don’t care if you don’t like Harry. I need you to sell that Christine is in love with Raoul. These next six weeks are going to be incredibly difficult if you won’t do what I ask of you. I have a lot at stake here,” Frank snaps at you. “If you can’t work with Harry, I’ll have Rebecca take your place.”

Your stomach drops. In the year you’ve worked with him, he’s never snapped at you, least of all in front of the entire cast. It makes you feel small and embarrassed. He’s never threatened to replace you. You’re nothing without Christine. 

You resist the urge to cry. If only Frank knew why you were so cold towards Harry. You hate feeling so weak, especially in the presence of your stupid ex boyfriend. You won’t let him see you cry. 

“We’ll start back up in 20 minutes. I need a break,” Frank shouts to the rest of the cast. 

You turn away from Frank and Harry and practically run off the stage. You walk through the curtains and hurry down the hall to your dressing room. You rip your coat off its hanger and quickly exit the building. You make a hard left into the ally and rest your back against the aging brick wall. 

A tear slides down your cheek and you laugh miserably. You shake your head in disbelief. You can’t believe your life has come to this point. You’re crying over your stupid ex boyfriend. You’re crying over Harry. You swore to yourself on the day you broke up with him you wouldn’t shed a single tear over him. You hadn’t until today. You hadn’t until being around him threatened the security of your job. You hate him for it. 

He forced you to pick what you wanted back then, and now Frank is doing it to you this time. Only now do you have to pick Harry. You hate him. 

The back door to the theater opens with a deafening scream and you quickly pull yourself from the wall. You wipe your face, quickly ridding your cheeks of your tears. 

You can’t help but let out a dry laugh when Harry walks towards you. You shake your head, rolling your eyes at him as he approaches you. You rest your head against the wall. 

“What, Harry?” you snap. “What do you want from me now? Are you happy now? Now I’m forced to pick you over my career. It’s what you wanted from the start anyway.”

Harry’s face falls into a deep frown. For a moment you revel in the victory of getting under his skin. As much of a sore subject your break up is to you, it’s an even deeper wound for Harry. It’s his fault you broke up. He gave you an ultimatum and the man you thought you knew was gone. 

Harry scratches at the back of his neck uncomfortably before fiddling with his precious rings. You glare at him and he sighs softly. “Listen, Y/n, I’m sorry. I know nothing I say can change what happened between us. I shouldn’t have made you choose. I know you would have never done that to me, but I still did it to you.”

“Whatever, Harry,” you scoff, rolling your eyes at him and pushing past him and walking back into the theater. 

You throw your coat on the chair in your dressing room before heading back to the stage. Your eyes meet Jane���s and you wave her off. You’d tell her everything later. You stand beside her and Aaron leans over to whisper in your ear. 

“Are you okay?” he asks you. 

You shrug indignantly. What are you supposed to say? He has no idea that Harry is the ex boyfriend. All he knows is that before you came on Broadway you had an ex who made you choose him or your dream. He doesn’t know that the person in question is standing across the stage from him. 

You cross your arms over your chest and watch Frank walk on stage. He claps his hands together before his eyes meet yours. 

“Now that we’re back together, I want to start with The Phantom of the Opera. The chemistry you have with Aaron is easy because you’ve worked together for a long time. We have one week to make the chemistry between you and Harry flawless,” Frank states. 

You resist the urge to scoff at Frank. He’s getting on your last nerve. Aaron nudges you playfully and the two of you step to center stage. You relax your shoulders and you stand just feet away from him. The music starts and muscle memory kicks in. You have all the steps and blocking memorized. 

You slowly walk towards Aaron and start to sing. He gently grabs your wrist and the two of you walk the length of the stage as you sing. Aaron turns and pulls you back towards everyone else on stage. The sound of the ensemble singing rings through your ears. Your eyes are trained on Aaron as the two of you sing and walk along the length of the stage before stopping. 

Aaron’s hand caresses your cheek before your body turns towards him. His hand reaches out towards you as he shouts, “Sing!”

Like clockwork, you sing the famous high notes when cued. Your chemistry with Aaron on stage is unmatched. You work off of each other. It’s one of the reasons why you work so well together. 

The song ends and you take a sip of water. Frank compliments you for the first time today. 

“Good, good. Now I want you to use that with Harry. We’ll have you sing through Why Have You Brought Me Here into All I Ask of You. Since Harry doesn’t know the stage movements, you won’t move too much across the stage just yet,” Frank directs the two of you. 

You nod and don’t say anything. You know better than to protest against Frank. He’s threatening to replace you. He’s threatening to take your job. 

Harry walks up towards you and quickly thumbs through the pages of his script. You turn to face Harry and his eyes linger briefly on his script before looking at you. 

The music starts and Harry starts to sing. You join him and convey the fear and terror Christine has as you sing. Since you know the movements, you can’t help but move across the stage. Your hand grabs at your shirt tightly as you sing and Harry approaches you. He twists you to face him and he grabs your shoulders. You sing and pull away from him before grabbing at his shirt. 

Your grip tightens as you sing to him. Your eyes find his and you can tell he’s shocked that you’ve grabbed him. He holds you as you finish the song and transition into All I Ask of You. 

You pull away from Harry to reset and Harry hesitantly reaches to hold your hands as he starts to sing. You resist the urge to jump and pull away. You have to do this. Your ass is on the line. You can’t risk your job. 

You join in with Harry and avoid looking at the floor like you want to. You try your best not to look uncomfortable or anxious as you anticipate the next lyric. 

You know Harry knows what it is. It’s written in the script. You have to kiss right before the last lyric. You feel like you’re going to faint when you sing, “Say you love me.” 

It’s bringing back unwanted memories. It’s opening up old wounds when Harry sings back, “You know I do.”

Harry never loved you. If he did, he would have never forced you to choose between him and your dream. He would have supported you instead. Maybe you would still be together if he wasn’t so selfish. 

You have to remind yourself that in this moment you’re playing Christine, and Harry Raoul. They are the ones that are in love. You and Harry are not. You’re far from it. 

Harry approaches you slowly. You let him take your hands again and the music thrums through your ears. You can hardly breathe. Harry’s about to kiss you. You’re about to kiss Harry. You feel like you’re going to throw up. 

He lets one of your hands fall to your side and he leans forward. You do the same. You have to remind yourself that you’re Christine. Christine is the one that wants to kiss Raoul. Harry isn't Harry. He is Raoul. You pretend that John is in Harry’s place. It’s easier that way. 

Harry kisses you and everything escapes you. You forget that the kiss is a part of the story. You forget that you’re playing two characters hopelessly in love with each other. You momentarily forget all the pain and hurt Harry put you through. 

His mouth is warm and gentle against yours. His fingers press into the softness of your cheeks. You force yourself to close your eyes, but you refuse to savor the feeling. You shut that door a long time ago. 

You pull away from Harry at the right time and the two of you stand nearly chest to chest as you finish the song. The music fades out and your head is ringing. You step away from Harry and lick your lips. You can taste his cherry chapstick. 

Frank cheers and claps at the performance. “That was wonderful, wonderful! Great job. You had me convinced you were singing as yourselves instead of Christine and Raoul for a second! Wonderful progress, Y/n. You just needed a bit of tough love to get the job done. I knew you could do it. You and Aaron can go to the rehearsal room while I work with Harry, Jane, and the others.”

You nod silently. You can’t bring yourself to say anything. You don’t know what to say and you just want to get as far from Harry as possible. 

Aaron follows you to the rehearsal room and you find yourself on the floor. You grab at your hair in frustration and Aaron laughs before shutting the door behind him and joining you on the floor. 

You turn your head to look at him and glare. You stare up at the worn ceiling. “Don’t laugh at me,” you pout. “I am trying to get over the shame and embarrassment I feel right now.”

Aaron’s brows crease together as he stares at you. He has no idea what you’re implying. “What are you talking about? You just kissed Harry Styles! Harry Styles! He’s arguably one of the most attractive men on the planet.”

You roll your eyes in response. You don’t need reminding. You know that. What Aaron doesn’t know is that you used to date him. Now you have to lie through your teeth. He has no idea and you want to keep it that way. 

You sigh. “His fans are ruthless, Aaron. If they find out a nobody like me is getting paid to kiss him, they’ll come after me. I don’t want that.”

Aaron scoffs at you. He shoves you a little harder than before and you glare at him. “What do you mean you’re a nobody? You’re on Broadway! You have a lead. You’re incredibly successful. That doesn’t make you a nobody.”

You know he’s right, but you’re not the Taylor Swift of Broadway. If only he knew. You’re a nobody compared to Harry. Everyone seems to be a nobody when you compare them to Harry. 

Once you’re finished for the day, it’s nearly nine o’clock. You’re tired, hungry, and you’re dying for a drink. Jane nearly runs you over when you step out of the dressing room. Aaron and Harry follow close behind. 

“I’m dying for some drinks,” you tell her. “Do you want to go to Glass House?”

Jane throws an arm over your shoulder. “God, yes. You read my mind,” she responds. “I need it, especially after today.”

You laugh loudly and Aaron throws his arms over you and Jane. “I hope the invitation to drinks is extended to Harry and I,” he says with a soft laugh. 

You tense up and swallow hard. You want to drink because of Harry. You don’t want to be within 10 feet of him. Jane squeezes your arm, pushing you to respond. 

Your eyes flicker over to Harry. He watches you, nervously waiting for your response. “Yeah, of course. Only if you’re comfortable to join us, Harry.”

It’s a subtle dig at him and Harry knows it. He’s only ever been truly comfortable in Malibu. He doesn’t know the area as well as you do and he has no idea if he’ll be approached on the walk over or inside the bar. He was always passing up on going out with you and your friends when you were in California. You weren’t in the entertainment business and Harry never wanted to go out in public with just you. It always had to be him and his friends. They were the rich and famous ones. The paparazzi never linked the two of you together when you were in public with him because they were too focused on his equally famous and gorgeous friends. God forbid if he dated someone normal like you. 

Now it’s different. Paparazzi never take photos of Broadway actors. They are not the same level of celebrity like Hollywood actors or singers like Harry. You’ve never been stopped in public for photos by eager fans. You don’t care. You’re glad you still have your anonymity in tact

You and your friends are not even close to the fame Harry has so you don’t have to worry about being photographed or stopped. That’s a Harry issue. 

“Of course,” Harry responds. “I’d love to join you.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at him. Of course he would say yes. Jane tightens her grip on you, clearly upset at your response. You don’t blame her, but Aaron doesn’t know the ugly history you have with Harry and you want to keep it that way. No one has to know.

The four of you walk out the back door of the theater together and make the short walk to Glass House Tavern. You and Jane make small talk despite her being upset with you. She knows better than to show her true feelings in front of Aaron. She knows that you want no one to know of your past with Harry. She doesn’t blame you. It could get real ugly real fast if it gets out. 

You open the door to the tavern and walk down the stairs to the bar. It’s pretty busy for a Wednesday night. It doesn’t bother you, but you know it bothers Harry. It’s too public and there’s too many people for his liking. 

You and Jane practically run to the bar counter. You lean against it and greet Tristan warmly. You hug him over the counter before sitting on the empty stool. You and Jane order two shots of tequila and Tristan laughs. 

“Rough day today?” Tristan asks as he fixes your drinks. 

“You have no idea,” Jane answers with a scoff. You laugh and nod in agreement. She pouts and crosses her arms over her chest as Harry and Aaron stand beside her at the counter. Tristan sets your shot glasses on the bar counter. 

Harry and Aaron order their drinks and you can tell that Harry’s relieved that Tristan doesn’t say anything other than asking him what he wanted to drink. You and Jane find an empty table near the back of the bar and wait for Aaron and Harry to walk over with their drinks. They’re both holding glasses filled with beer. 

You and Jane cheer. You down the tequila and the alcohol burns down your throat. Your face twists in disgust and so does Jane’s. Aaron laughs at the two of you and Harry takes a small sip from his beer as he watches you. You swallow hard and lean back in your chair. The alcohol does nothing for the ache inside your chest. Your eyes meet Harry’s momentarily. His eyes are soft and gentle as he looks at you. It does nothing to fix the wounds that are slowly opening up inside your heart. It hurts too much to look at him and remember the good times you had together, so you look away. The image of Harry’s eyes glaring at you with anger and disgust come to the forefront of your mind. 

Now it’s like you can’t stop thinking of your break up. The hurt you went through because he was too selfish to look past his own successes and celebrate his now feels like a fresh wound. Everything was always about him. His brand deal with Gucci. His first single as a solo artist. His sold out world tour. He only momentarily celebrated your first professional role in a musical because he thought you were staying in California. He thought you would join him on his tour and quit your job just to travel with him. You called him crazy and left his house. 

“I need another drink,” you mumbled, sliding out of your chair and heading back to the bar counter. You order a rum and coke before sitting on the stool in front of Tristan. You stare at all the drinks on the wall in front of you when Harry sits on the stool beside you. He drinks his beer again. 

“I’ve been racking my brain trying to think of something that could make up for what I said that night, but I can’t,” Harry tells you. You don’t say anything and Harry sighs before continuing. “I was so incredibly selfish. I wanted you to come with me because I didn’t want to experience my first tour without you by my side. I made the worst mistake of my life by forcing you to choose. I lost you to my selfishness. I’m sorry.”

You let out a dry laugh and shake your head at him. You take a sip of your drink before you turn your head to look at him. “Spare me the bullshit, Harry. I know you brought Camille on tour instead. I know if I was as famous as you or Taylor or even Kendall you wouldn’t have made me choose between you and my career. It was different because I wasn’t famous and you thought you could convince me to choose you because of who you are. I never used you Harry, but you definitely used me.”

You quickly finish the rest of your drink and you throw cash down to pay for your drinks. You leave Harry speechless alone at the bar counter. You ignore the warm tears coating your cheeks as you leave the bar and walk home.  

#enjoy!!!!!! i loved writing it #harry styles x reader #harry styles #harry x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfic #harry imagine #harry imagines #my writing

[oftenderweapons]

It’s Your Birthday! - Jungkook

ENTERING AT NUMBER 1 ON BILLBOARD HOT100 IS DYNAMITE BY BTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

On the little one’s birthday!!!!!!!!!!

Army, let’s celebrate!

Pairing: Jungkook x reader (nicknamed Candy)

Wordcount: 1.5k words

Genre: tiny bit of angst (grumpy Koo), smut, romance

Rating: 18+

And even though it’s Googie’s bday, guess who’s getting a gift? Yeah, you. (Sidenote: he’s nicknamed you -- his gf -- Candy. If you wanna know more of this, check out his other pieces in the masterlist, or The Nicknames, where I explained this a little better 😉)

It’s a short drabble of maybe 1.5k words (I didn’t run a check). Careful, it’s smut, so if you’re a minor please do not engage with this kind of material.

And on to TRIGGER WARNINGS: handjob (male receiving), oral (male receiving), kind of subbish JK, lowkey nipple play, slight roleplay, costume play, quite kinky cum play, mentions of predators-prey dynamics. Swearing.

If you want to vote for the next prompt, check the link in my bio! 

And here you can find my Masterlist!

----------------------------

He's upset.

It's his birthday and you ran out of bed, leaving him a sweet note and breakfast on the kitchen table.

Happy birthday baby. I'm sorry I had to run, they called me in early. Can't wait for tonight. I love you.

Still, he was upset.

You didn't come home for lunch.

You were late for dinner.

He had been spending the whole day in the gym and at the studio, trying not to think about you missing.

You texted him:

I'm coming home baby, I just got stuck in traffic. I'm so sorry. 

Grumpy and pouting, he sat on his chair in his home studio, switching on his computer and immediately connecting his headset and clicking the game icon on his desktop.

He waited for the main titles to roll by and selected the extreme mode, hoping for it to be difficult enough to actually distract him.

He won three rounds in a row, beating his record time after time. He was on a fucking roll.

Fuck sex.

This is better.

When he roared in victory for his ninth time, you slowly crept up to the doorstep.

He began his tenth match, entering the level. Slowly, you quietly walked towards the back of his chair, your fingernails raking up his nape, caressing him.

He turned, meeting your glance, surprised, but his confused expression was quickly substituted by a scowl.

"You're here."

"I love you, baby. I missed you." You nuzzled your nose to the crown of his head.

"Yeah." He said.

"Are you angry at me, Googie?" You slipped your hands from his nape into the neckline of his t-shirt, massaging his pects.

He was hard at the first touch.

He took off his headset. "Is this my birthday gift?"

"I know you've won the last nine rounds. Win your tenth and I'll give you your present."

He tried turning around but you held him still. "Stay focused, babylove."

He emitted a small whine, spreading his legs and thrusting up. "What do you have there for me, Candy."

"Win this match and I'll show you, my cute bunny."

He couldn't bring himself to hold back a moan, your lips connecting with his collarbone, staining it red with your lipstick. Your fingers found his nipples, teasing them with small, slow circles.

"Are you crying out for me, sweet thing?" You scratched his chest delicately, almost imperceptibly.

"Candy. Please." He almost closed his eyes, pausing the game.

"Jeongguk, finish the match so I can give you your present." You reminded him, almost in warning.

"I said please..." He complained.

"And I said finish your game." Your voice sounded almost stern.

He tried turning, but you put your hands on his cheeks, making him face forward.

"Finish the game, Jeongguk. I want you." You whispered at his ear.

With newfound enthusiasm he started moving through the level with precise ease, eliminating enemies as soon as they popped up, already knowing where to expect them to appear.

The moment "Mission accomplished" appeared on the screen, he threw his headset on the desk, turning around on his chair. "I want my gift!" He said before noticing your attire.

You were wearing a cute lingerie set with a corset and a quite demure pair of panties. The true surprise was your wavy hair, your cherry red lips and most importantly the sexy set of bunny ears on top of your head.

"Happy birthday, bunny boy." You said, his eyes obviously dropping to your pushed up breasts and your cinched waist.

"Is this for real?" He asked with glimmering eyes.

"Real and all yours, Googie. What do you want me to do, babylove?" You stood between his parted legs, combing his hair with your hands.

"Everything."

You dropped to your knees, caressing his strong thighs. "Then lose your pants." You invited and in three seconds they were gone, his whole body entirely naked before you.

Still kneeling, you moved closer, your nails dragging repeatedly from his knees to his upper thighs, every time inching a bit closer to his lap.

You kissed his sternum, then his collarbones, then his jaw. "I'm sorry for this morning." You kissed the mole on his neck, following the tendon running just below it. "I wanted to wake you up and give you cuddles and shower head, but they called me in early." You kissed the sweet spot just over his heart. "I'm so sorry."

He took in a laboured breath. "It's all good, Candy. You're here now."

"I'm here for sure." And with that, you bent your head to his nipple, sucking it in as your hand finally skimmed the skin of his crotch and wrapped around his erection.

He growled, impatient, but then his voice softened in a whine. "Sweet fuck, Candy. Yes, babe."

You giggled and moved to his other pect, licking it lewdly, wetness covering his smooth skin and his hard nipple. Your hand had started toying with his tip, wetness collecting there and spreading all over his glans. You looked up at his face before letting your gaze move southward, focusing on the dark pink hue of the skin under your fingertips.

Your lips climbed up again, kissing him fiercely and devouring every inch of space in his mouth. Your hand, squeezing the tip, felt too dry to actually slide on him so you parted from his lips, shrinking your figure enough that your forehead touched to his belly, your mouth hanging open, drooling over his cock.

He shifted a little, trying to gain a better angle of vision. "____. I swear, I'll be so good, just touch me."

Satisfied with the amount of spit on his flesh, you dragged your finger from base to tip, your hand wrapping around him and beginning to actually stroke him.

You kissed all over his abs as his small moans and cries spurred you on, biting on his stomach gently.

"Where do you want my mouth next, Koo?" You asked, letting him choose.

He was scorching hot under your touch, your palm rolling against his tip, while your other hand cupped his balls.

"Lick me, please." He murmured, eyes almost close.

"Eyes on me, Bambi. You wouldn't wanna miss out on your present, right?" You teased.

He groaned as if you were physically paining him.

As soon as his eyes went wide, you put him in your mouth, his scent strong on your tongue. You let your cheeks constrict around him, his mouth falling open as he forced his eyes to stay wide for you, taking everything in.

"Please, baby, can you move your head?" He asked, his knuckles going white as he gripped his chair hard enough to break.

Carefully, you started moving your lips up and down, taking two or three strokes before adding an inch, swallowing him slowly, at your own pace.

It was way, way easier with his eyes on you, making you feel proud for every small progress on his length.

When you were comfortable enough to take almost three fourths of him, you slid him out of your mouth entirely, taking a big breath.

Stroking him with your hand, keeping his tip on your lower lip you spoke gently. "You know I love you, right?"

He seemed very serious for a couple seconds. "I know. I love you too, Candy. A whole hell of a lot."

Smiling at him, you kissed his tip, then parted your lips and swallowed him whole.

"Fuck, shit! Candy. That's it."

You watched him fight the need to roll his eyes closed and throw his head back, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.

Your hands joined his on the armrests, fingers grabbing his wrists and bringing his palms on your head, into your hair.

Inviting him to guide you, he gently took control, directing you with small pulls, delicate enough that they were barely there.

Your eyes left his, closing in order to focus before diving in, your nose brushing his lower abdomen.

He slightly lost control on his grip, becoming a bit more harsh. Your now spare hand scratched his inner thigh and abs, making him groan loudly.

"Almost there Candy just two more baby, you're doing so good."

Your spirits picking up, you started bobbing your head more greedily, eyes watering as they made contact with his needy stare.

That was his undoing.

"Candy. Love, that's it. Yeah, so good." He forced himself to keep eye contact as he spilled inside you, groaning wildly. "Mouth made for me. Fuck, ____, I fucking love you, damn."

He went deadly still, eyelids falling closed as you moved your head very carefully, freeing him.

As soon as he opened his eyes you opened your mouth, showing him the results of your efforts.

He stared, wide eyed, shocked, his cum in your mouth as you stood and shed your panties parting your legs slightly before dragging your index and middle finger where you'd collected his wetness on your tongue, bringing your stained fingers between your wet folds. Taking a step back you closed your mouth and swallowed, opening your lips to show him that you had drunk it all.

"You want me?" You asked, taking another step back.

His fucked out state had been quickly substituted by complete attention to your every movement, his cock still hard, a predatory gleam in his eyes. He nodded.

"Then come and get me." You said before dashing out of the room, cackling.

He shook his head in disbelief, a cocky grin on his lips.

"You'd better run fast." And as he chased after you, he wished he could spend all of his birthdays with you.

#bangtan sonyeondan #jeon jungkook #Jeon Jungkook x reader #jungkook one shot #jungkook smut #jungkook drabble #jungkook reaction #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #bangtan smut #bts smut #bts blog #happy bday jk!!!

[jadekitty777]

On Your Six, Chapter 4

Already at chapter 4 - we’re halfway there!

Day 4: Role Swap for @taiqrowweek

Rating: T for this chapter, M for overall

Words: 2.5k

Summary: Qrow was what most of society would call a small-town criminal. But to those oppressed, he hoped only to be a healer. In an effort to make a change in the world, he moves from kingdom to kingdom, searching for branded omegas in need. His goal? To turn the derogatory words the reformatories forced them to bear on their skin into works of art.

Then one day, his past catches up to him in the form of Taiyang, his former best friend, with a brand of his own stained onto his skin and a plea for help in his eyes. Qrow has no choice but to answer, even if it means he’d have to face his mistakes once and for all.

[An ABO-style universe in a modern-day style Remnant. No Grimm, because people are the real monsters in this one]

Ao3 Link: On Your Shoulder

When Qrow was ten, he was declared old enough to be able to spend a week away from home without his folks tagging along. Which meant he was allowed to join Tai’s family on their week-long vacation at their cabin in the woods they went to every summer.

On one condition: He had to bring Raven.

One grisly agreement to do all her chores for an entire month later found him leaping at imaginary foes in the backyard with Tai as they weaved around the maples trees forest of doom.

“Hi-yah!” Tai roundhouse kicked a beowulf into dust. “Harbinger, watch out! Three behind you!”

“You thought you could sneak up on me!” Qrow bellowed, swinging his scythe around him and sliced the three right in half.

Tai rushed past him. “Hurry! I see the exit!”

He followed him, his shorter legs struggling to keep up. But in this case it was a benefit, because he could see his friend’s path was leading him to a patch of dirt ahead. “Tatsu, watch out! Quicksand!”

“What? There’s no – oh noooo!” He wheeled his arms, flopping onto his stomach. He flailed about like a fish. “I can’t get out!”

Qrow frantically flittered at the edge. “Hold on, I’ll get you out!” He circled around to where Tai’s front half was, squatting down. After a moment’s consideration, he scooted off the grass so he was in reaching distance.

“You’re in the quicksand.” Tai whispered loudly.

“I’m not gonna pull you out by your butt.” He whispered back before going back to hero mode. “Reach! I got you!”

Silently agreeing to the no-butt policy, his friend carried on as normal. “No, it’s too late for me. Go, you have to save the kingdom without me!”

“I’d never leave you behind. It’s you and me against the world and we’re gonna stick it out to the bitter end.” Qrow vowed, hoping he sounded just as brave as the Rosette did when she was encouraging her team into the big battle during the finale of Silver Eyes. “Now take my hand!”

Tai stretched his arm out as far as it could go. Qrow scooted a bit more forward, grabbing on.

Just as he was about to pull out his friend and be the big hero, his sister ruined everything. “What are you guys doing?”

They both groaned loudly, pulling themselves off the ground.

“Raven!” Qrow whined. “You’re supposed to stay in the castle until we knock on the door!”

She gave a dismissive glance back at the shed she’d been in since they started their epic journey across the land. “You guys were taking too long. And I finished my book already.”

“Well go get another one and go back in there!” He stomped his foot angrily. Why did she always have to be the worst? They let her be the Last Boss and everything and she still couldn’t get that right.  

“Nah, I’m bored. Besides you’re not even playing it right.”

Tai looked up from the dirt he was trying to pat out of his shorts. “What do you mean?”

“You’re supposed to be the one saving him.” She explained, waving to Qrow. “Omegas aren’t strong enough to save people.”

He hunched down until his shoulders were practically touching his ears. He hated it when his sister was being a know-it-all. “Shut up. It’s our game.”

“Yeah. Besides, Harbinger is a hero. Heroes can do whatever they want.” Tai agreed, reminding Qrow why he was his best friend in the whole world.

Raven wrinkled her nose, making her face look ugly. “That’s dumb. You gotta do it right. Here, I’ll show you.” Then, with no warning at all, she strode over and shoved her hands into Qrow’s chest, knocking him down.

He yelped, trying to catch himself, his palms getting scrubbed raw on the dirt. He bit his lip, eyes starting to water.

“What are you doing?!” Tai cried as he hurried over, pushing Raven back.

Though she stumbled, she didn’t go down like Qrow had. “I said I was showing you! Look he’s already crying.”

The dam he was trying to hold back overflowed the second they were both looking at him. He scrambled to his feet, trying to hide his face as he ran away. Normally, he’d go hide up in his room but he didn’t want Tai’s parents to see him crying because then they might call his parents. Then he might have to go home. The idea only brought more sniveling.

Instead, he found himself clambering into the Secret Cave Tai had shared with him on the first day. It was a hole under the porch where the lattice had broken in. It wasn’t wide enough for an adult, but Tai and he had no problem squeezing through. The ground was littered with random odd and ends – leaves, rocks, a single black feather. They’d collected it all when they had been dragons and were gathering their hordes. He crawled around it all and made his way to the very back where the porch met the foundation of the house, sitting against it and burying his face into his knees.

He was mostly better by the time Tai crawled in beside him.

“I brought you something.” He offered him one of those prepackaged cupcakes with the little white swirls on top.

Qrow scrubbed the last of his tears away, and took the treat with a quiet, “Thanks.” The smell of chocolate hit his nose immediately as he tore into the plastic, taking a huge bite to get right to the frosting inside the middle.

Tai started picking up some of their rocks, throwing them at the lattice. The ones that didn’t slip in between the diamonds made a pleasant knocking noise as they bounced off the wood. When he’d run out of things to throw, he asked, “Wanna go and play some video games?”

The idea of leaving his hiding spot and running into his sister filled him with dread. Unsure how to say that, he just shook his head frantically.

“Okay.” Tai gathered more rocks, giving him a handful. It wasn’t a competition but Qrow started to keep count in his head as he tried to throw more of them through the holes. Though, it quickly became clear who was going to win when his friend was already up to three by the time he got his first one.

He felt like crying again and he didn’t know why.

“Tai?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Yeah.”

Qrow sat on his knees and grabbed his arm, very serious. “You can’t tell anyone else, okay? Not even if they threaten to scratch out your eyes. Not even then!”

“I won’t!” Tai motioned an X over his heart. “I swear.”

Satisfied, he settled back, though the franticness inside him only seemed to increase. Faced with the realty of saying the words aloud was more terrifying than he expected.

But if there was anyone he could trust, it was definitely Tai.

He took the biggest breath he could and let it all out in a rush, “I don’t want to be an omega.”

“Because of what Raven said?” His friend guessed.

“And everything else.” He threw a rock as hard as he could. It rebounded from the wood with enough force that it dropped back between his feet. He threw it again. “You know how we had to go get those tests done at the doctor’s so we’re ready for P.E. next year? I asked mom if I could get the special one like Raven so I could join wrestling too, but she said no, ‘cause it’s too rough for me. I hate it. I can’t do anything Raven does! They always treat her like she’s better.” He hugged his legs again, clutching onto his pants. “And you know what dad said to mom when I was begging to come here with you? He said to let me go because in a few years I won’t even want to be friends with you.”

Tai looked just about as distressed as he felt. “Wait, why wouldn’t you want to be friends with me anymore?”

“I don’t know!” He cried. “‘Cause I guess being an omega means I can’t have fun and I don’t like people and I’ll be sad all the time.”

“I don’t think that’s right.”

“Well, my mom cries almost every day and when I asked dad about it he just said it was an omega thing.”

Still frowning, Tai shook his head. “But my dad doesn’t do that. The only time I’ve seen him cry is during movies.”

“He’s probably hiding it.” Qrow claimed, because it was the only thing that made sense. His mom used to do the same thing. He only knew back then because he could hear it through the wall of his bedroom.

Tai was quiet a long moment, considering that. When he spoke again, it sounded like he was trying to work out the words as they came out of his mouth, “Maybe your dad’s wrong. Maybe it’s not an omega thing, but your mom’s thing.”

“My dad wouldn’t lie to me!” He shouted.

“Maybe he doesn’t know he is. Parents can be wrong.”

“No, they aren’t. That’s why they’re parents.” He claimed, the statement a universal truth.

But Tai had always been better at arguing than him as he pointed out, “Okay, if your dad’s right about everything, then that means he’s right about us not being friends when we grow up.”

Hearing that should have made everything better, but it just made things worse. If he couldn’t believe his mom and dad, then maybe everything was wrong. That was too much to think about.

Qrow turned his head away, curling up even tighter into a ball. He didn’t like this conversation anymore.

There was a bit of shuffling as Tai pressed in close, hugging him.

They didn’t talk again for a long time.

~

“I can’t believe you remember that.” Qrow remarked. His pen was buzzing out brown ink to shade the cave that had sparked the memory in the first place. With the onset of July, the room was sticky and hot, furthering the illusion of that long-forgotten summer day.

Tai peeked an eye open to give him a cursory glance, before burrowing his head further into his arms as a few sweeps came close to his spine. His voice was tight when he spoke, “Well, they say the mind is the first thing to go.”

“The next is motor functions.” He quipped right back as he pulled back to ink up, faking tremors in the hand still lying flat along Tai’s back. “Might just make a mistake here.”

“Don’t you dare!”

Chortling, he steadied before the needle met skin again. He continued the conversation almost absent-mindedly, “I really made a big deal out of nothing back then, huh?”

“Only seems like nothing in retrospect.” Tai contended mildly. “You know, the kids in my class are just like we were back then. Most of them are already worried about presenting – and they’re only eight! The worst of ‘em have parents like ours, who put so much emphasis on what they think their child is going to become and have already started raising them that way.”

“Yeah. It messes with their heads. As if growing up ain’t hard enough.” He scoffed. “Though even if I was raised alpha to begin with, pretty sure I was always destined to have a messy childhood.”

“Well… yeah.” The omega trailed off, unsure what to say.

What could anyone say? Between his mother’s depression that landed her in the reformatory and later death, and his dad’s developing alcoholism that resulted in Raven and he practically raising themselves from middle school onward, Qrow probably had enough issues to fill a lifetime drama series.

(Sometimes, he thought about seeking out his old man. Telling him it wasn’t his fault. That none of them knew how to help mom, least of all the suits who claimed it was just a common case of chronic hysteria.

Thought about it up until he looked in the mirror and saw the scar above his right eyebrow and reminded himself just why he had left home to begin with.)

“Still.” Tai cut through his thoughts, “I think you turned out pretty alright.”

As he pulled back to survey his work thus far, his reply was cheekily derisive, “I’m only a criminal constantly on the run from the law. So, yeah. Doing spectacular.”

But his friend had always been good at giving back what was dished out as he cupped a hand around his ear, “Oh sorry, what was that? Your newest customers are a trio of triplets? And you’re planning on spending the next several days making sure their tattoos match? Wow, you must be really dedicated to what you do to go through so much effort.”

“If you’re going to use my clients as ammo, I’m going to stop telling you about them.” Even to his ears, it sounded painfully childish. Tai grinned like he knew it too. “Come on, break time. I got to switch to the rounders for the yellow.”

Qrow undid his pen from the power cord, heading into the kitchen. His motions were practiced as he started undoing the screws that held the needle chamber in place before popping it open and taking out the needle itself, tossing it in the trash. He turned on the sink, and while he waited for the water to run hot, he heard footfalls beside him. Tai lent his hip against the counter, still modestly fascinated by the way the device came apart despite how many times he’d seen it by now.

Or maybe he just wanted to continue their conversation. “You know, I told myself early on I wouldn’t make the same mistakes my parents did.”

“Meaning?” He asked as he thrust the chamber under the steaming waterfall.

“I want to give my kids the opportunities we didn’t have. So if Yang wants to learn kickboxing and sewing, then damnit, she’s gonna learn kickboxing and sewing. And if I turn around one day and Ruby’s constructed a – a scythe, then I don’t want to tell her how alpha that was of her, I just want her to know I’m proud of her.”

“Bullshit.” Qrow laughed. “You would not be proud of her for making a scythe. You’d have a level five meltdown.”

He smacked his arm. “I was exaggerating! The point is, I want my kids to be able to explore who they are without worrying about upsetting me. Or give them lifelong doubts of whether they disappointed me by not turning out the way I expected them too.”

They weren’t talking about Ruby and Yang anymore.

The water was shut off. Qrow gave his friend a gentle glance. “Lucky for them, they’re being raised by you. You’ve never let stuff like that get in the way before, you won’t let it start with your kids.”

Tai blinked, then beamed bright as the sun. “Thanks Qrow.”

“Yeah, yeah. Now cut it out. You’re gonna make me melt.” Too late.

He already had.

#qrow branwen #taiyang xiao long #Taiqrow #taiqrowweek #rwby #fanfiction #Chase Firekitten's Tale