#excuse the little stain i dropped some coffee -_-

[t-ierrahumeda]

Showing his paws

#floren #excuse the little stain i dropped some coffee -_-

[helen-with-an-a]

You always have an excuse

Hi. So this is a request and I really liked the idea. Hopefully, I did it justice. I hope you enjoy

Barca Femeni x reader

Description: R always has excuses but eventually slips up.

Part 1 : Part 2

Word Count: 3.8k

Shit. Shit. Shit. You were late. You were so late. But it wasn’t your fault; indeed, honestly, it wasn’t your fault. Your parents were not the greatest at being parents. They had you when they were just 16 and far too young to be having children. Sure, they paid for your football stuff and gave you a lot of what you asked for, but it was to keep you quiet and out of the house. You didn’t mind too much. It was easier when you only had to look out for yourself, never telling your parents where or who you were with. You always had a range of excuses ready for anyone who asked – lying and telling your friend’s parents that someone else would be taking you home, saying your mum was just around the corner, she had work so couldn’t come to your matches. It was fine. You knew nothing different.

You signed for La Masia when you were 10. The training was intense, but you loved it. You thrived under the pressure, quickly working your way up the ranks. Your debut for the first team happened shortly before your 16th birthday. You had never felt prouder of yourself.

“And here we have it. At just 15 years old, Y/F/N Y/S/N, making her debut for FC Barcelona Femeni. She’s homegrown, working her way up La Masia ranks. She is definitely a future star.” The commentator said as you made your way onto the pitch. This is what you have been dreaming of since you discovered football. This was the dream that only some people achieved. And you were one of them. A professional footballer. Your life’s goal was achieved.

The game was an easy win. The other team was fighting a relegation battle, as Barca slipped 10 goals past their keeper.

“Vamos,” Patri shouted as she shook you by the shoulders. “A debut and a brace. Is that a Ballon d’Or I see in your future?” You laughed as she wrapped you in a fierce hug.

“Neña, what a performance, hey?” Mapi called as Alexia affectionately hit the back of your head.

“Where’s your Mamí? I’m sure she wants to see you after that performance.” You didn’t even bat an eyelid as you smiled sweetly at Marta

“Oh, she said we’d meet outside by the main gates – saves us from trying to find each other on the pitch and in the crowd.” You waved at the chaos surrounding you. You knew your mother was nowhere near the football stadium – you doubted she even knew you had a football match, let alone your senior debut. It was easy to slip away from the changing rooms; you had significant practice doing it most of your life.

And now you were running so, so late. You had woken up on time, but the food in the house looked a little off, so you rushed to get something from the bakery on your way to the bus stop. But the line was bigger than anticipated, so you were rushing to catch the bus. A man walking in the other direction wasn’t paying attention and crashed into you, causing you to drop your stuff and spill hot coffee all over yourself. That had disrupted your flow, and you missed the bus, having to wait 5 minutes for the next one, which wasn’t a big deal. However, the metro system was delayed. And now you were 10 minutes behind, and then the bus you were supposed to catch from the metro station to the training centre never showed up, so you had to catch an alternative one, making you 30 minutes late. You had texted Jona to tell you you were running late but you knew you had laps waiting for you when you actually got there. You arrived at the pitch hot, sweaty, and tired. This was not an ideal start to the morning.

It was a known ‘Alexia Rule’ that every minute late to practice without a reasonable excuse was a lap. As you arrived at the huddle, one boot on, one still in your hand and your shirt stained with coffee, you could tell she was unimpressed. With all your rushing, you had forgotten to think of an excuse. You didn’t want to tell her the real reason; you had a feeling ‘Oh, sorry Alexia, I’m late because my parents are really shitty, forget they have a kid sometimes, and they haven’t been home in over a week, and the food in the fridge looked a little funky’ would not go down too well. She arched an eyebrow at you.

“Um …” You floundered, thinking about what to say. You could tell her the semi-truth that the metro was delayed and you had missed the buses, but they thought you got dropped off at the top of the road by your dad on the way to work. You could tell them there was traffic, but they all drove, so they knew you were lying.

“You have 30 laps to run at the end of training,” Alexia had a stern voice that you knew meant she was serious. 30 laps? That was basically 10k. Your eyes widened to comically sized proportions. 45 minutes of running around in a circle … after training? She was trying to kill you; you were convinced of it.

“You can’t be serious?” You gawked at her. Her other eyebrow rose to join the other one.

“Deadly.” She said icily and walked away.

Holy fuck. You were really, royally fucked this time. You were so dead. You had to miss training. But again, it hadn’t been your fault. The boiler had broken in your house, which wasn’t a big deal – it was late spring in Barcelona, and you didn’t need heating. But you did need the hot water. You had tried to ask your parents to stay home whilst someone fixed it, knowing that you had training and they could definitely work from home for a day. They had dismissed you with a flippant wave of their hands and continued what they were doing. You phoned the company, asking them to come and fix it as soon as possible. But, as expected, they told you they would be there before lunch, which was the best they could offer. It was now 2.30pm, and there was no sign of them. You had texted Jona this morning, offering a weak excuse of feeling a little rough. You hadn’t expected him to tell Alexia that you were feeling bad, and it sounded like you were home alone.

The knock on the door had you running towards it – thinking it was the person coming to fix the boiler. “Gracias, Gracias. Es el …” You rushed the explanation, not realising that it was not a plumber but rather your irate captain. You froze as you looked up. Shit.

“You look fine, neña. You don’t look like you’ve … what was it? Ah, yes, ‘picked up a little something’.” She was far too calm. You could see her anger bubbling under the surface, though.

“Ale, I-” you tried to explain.

“No, no quiero escucharlo,” she cut you off, a hand raising to stop you. “You lied. You skipped training. Was it worth it? Was it so much more important than training?” She hadn’t bothered to come into the house, standing at your front door, a bag of things meant to help you feel better in her hand. “Here,” she shoved it at you. “You’re on the bench until you can prove that you want to be a part of Barcelona Femeni.” And with that, she stormed off.

Tears welled in your eyes. She hadn’t let you explain … but what could you say? ‘Sorry, Ale, my parents are arseholes and don’t realise that I have a life and a job as well’? ‘Sorry, Ale, I had to wait for the plumber to come and fix our heating and hot water, and no, my parents – the adults in the house – couldn’t do it because they think their time is so much more important than mine’? ‘Sorry, Ale, I’m currently trying to raise myself, and whilst I’m usually ok at it, sometimes I fuck up’? You couldn’t say those things to her. You couldn’t tell her how tough your life could be sometimes … most of the time. You couldn’t tell her that your parents don’t even know you have a game, let alone watch it or attend it. You couldn’t tell her you often wake up in an empty house for weeks because your parents jetted off somewhere again. You couldn’t tell her that you doubt your parents could even tell you your full name and birthday.

She thought you didn’t want to be a part of Barca. Barca was your saving grace. Barca was the only thing that got you out of bed. The friendships you made were the closest thing to a normal family you had. Jana, Vicky, Martina, Patri, Claudia, Bruna, Esmee, Salma … they were your crazy cousins, always making you laugh and willing to go along with your mad ideas. Ona, Aitana, Lucy, Cata, Mapi … they were your big sisters, always protecting you on and off the pitch and lightly teasing you. Ingrid, Caro, Keira, Mariona, Frido … they were the calming aunts that helped you through any predicament. Marta, Paños, Irene … Alexia … they were your motherly figures, the people you could always rely on to love you regardless of what else was happening in your life. Did they think you didn’t want to be there? Barcelona was the single most greatest thing that had ever happened to you.

You looked at the bag Alexia had shoved at you. It was full of healthy smoothies, nutritious snacks, and your favourite chocolates. You could even see a soft teddy instructing you to ‘Get Well Soon’. It made you sob even harder. Eventually, you moved to the sofa. Once you started crying, you couldn’t stop. You cried over everything – disappointing Alexia, having no hot water, being benched, your parents' dislike of you, your seeming lack of support system, how you appeared to fuck up the one good thing in your life. You cried yourself to sleep on the sofa, clutching the bag to your chest and feeling so incredibly sorry for both you and the girls you had failed.

The next morning, you looked horrific – puffy, red eyes, dishevelled hair, blotchy skin. You didn’t even try to hide it as you made your way to the bus stop, ignoring the weird looks thrown your way. You were in a daze as you walked through the metro system and onto the second bus, forgetting to hurry down the side alleys instead of the main road. You didn’t see Ingrid’s car as it drove past you, a concerned Mapi, Ingrid, Ona, and Lucy in it.

“Era que?” Mapi asked, pointing over her shoulder.

“Y/N? Sí, fue” Ona nodded.

“Why, though? She said she gets dropped off by her dad on his way to work.” Ingrid was just as perplexed. You seemed to know exactly where you were going and had stepped off the bus with an ease only known to someone who took the same route every day.

“Maybe it was a one-off? He couldn’t take her today, so she had to get the bus? Although I don’t know why she wouldn’t just ask one of us – she lives on most of our routes to work.” Lucy pondered, all of them confused over you.

“Hey,” Ingrid said as you walked into the changing rooms. You didn’t even smile at her, just nodding and moving to your cubby. “Um … so, how come you were on the bus?” You froze. How did she know you got the bus?

“It’s just that we saw you as we were driving in. If you needed a lift, you could’ve just asked; you know we’d all be more than happy to —” Ona explained.

“Yeh, my d-dad only told me this morning that he couldn’t take me the whole way, so … he dropped me off near the metro, and I just got the bus from there,” you lied, rushing to gather your boots and head to the pitch. It was a blatant lie. Your voice was too high, and your hands shook slightly as you tried to devise a realistic excuse.

“Todas sabemos que era una mentira, verdad?” Mapi looked around as the door swung shut.

The following month in training was awkward, to say the least. After your slip-up with the bus, you made sure to take the earlier trains, getting to training before most people had even left their beds. You figured you’d use the time to prove to Alexia and the others that you wanted to be there. You were still benched, but your name was still on the game day sheet, so you liked to believe they weren’t thinking of selling you or cancelling your contract after the season ended. The issue was getting home. If you stayed late, you were often questioned, but if you were seen walking out of the car park, you were also questioned. You really needed to learn how to drive ... quickly.

Eventually, Jona could no longer justify you sitting on the bench. Barca had the Champions League semi-finals coming up, and everyone noted your absence on the pitch.

“Y/N, you will be playing the next match. You’re going to be a sub around 60 or 70 minutes.” It was a short announcement, but you couldn’t help your heart soar. Did this mean they finally believed you when you said that Barca was the best thing that happened to you? Alexia still hadn’t looked at you since That Day, but she was no longer actively seething, which you took as a win. But now you would be playing in the home leg of the Champions League semi-finals. You were nervous, but not because of the match; you were on a 0 – 3 aggregate, and you were going to be playing at Camp Nou – it was an almost guaranteed win –but because you knew the team would be more suspicious of your lack of parents.

You decided to do what you always did – never look to the crowd, do a lap of the stadium for the fans, hurry back into the changing rooms, and slip away. Simple. Easy. You had been doing it all your life. But you hadn’t accounted for how attentive the team would be. They watched you wearily from a distance, concerned when you made no effort to look to the friends and family section during warm-ups or after the match when everyone usually went to see their loved ones. You stayed back, signing more things for fans, and then headed straight to the tunnel. After the celebration in the changing rooms, you gathered your things and disappeared before anyone could bring them up. You had mastered the art of vanishing like a ghost after matches.

But now it was the final. It was obviously an away game, but everyone’s family came. Even the coaching staff brought their loved ones. Not you, though. Your parents hadn’t known you’d left the country, let alone understood that you were playing in the most prestigious match in Europe for clubs. You were in the Starting XI, but you weren’t nervous. You knew you could win this match; this Champions title was yours for the taking. You didn’t realise that the fact that you had no family would be exposed the minute the final whistle went.

You played the full 90 minutes and an extra 5 for injury time. You were exhausted, but that didn’t matter as soon as the clock ran out. You had done it. Champions of Europe. The screams and shouts were so loud it hurt your ears, but you didn’t care. You felt unstoppable.

“Vamos, pequeña. Donde esta tu mamí? Quiero finalmente conocer a la mujer a la que debemos agradecer por regalarle al mundo contigo.” Mapi said as you sat on the grass, your medal around your neck.

“Más tarde. I just want to sit here and soak this all in.” You waved her away. She took you at your word but made meaningful eyes at Alexia, having an unspoken conversation as you moved away. Alexia watched as you leaned back, resting on your arms, legs outstretched, and eyes shut – head tilted to feel the sun on your skin. She waited for 10 minutes, watching you make no effort to see your family. It was the first thing she had done after the trophy celebration. She had run straight to her mother and sister, thanking them profusely for all their sacrifices and expressing so much gratitude towards them – throwing her sweaty body at them and tackling them into long, tight hugs.

“Do you want to see your family now?” It was the first non-football-related words she’d said to you in well over a month.

“No, I’m ok. I’ll see them later,” you dismissed her quickly.

“Do you know where they are? We could bring them down onto the pitch if you don’t want to stand up.” She wasn’t letting this go. She had an inkling that she hoped was wrong.

“It’s alright, Ale. Honestly. I’m fine sitting here, soaking this all up by myself.” You hadn’t opened your eyes, so you had assumed from the quietness she had moved away. “It’s not like you’d find them anyway,” you whispered as an unwanted tear escaped you.

“Qué quieres decir, cariño?” Your eyes snapped open, coming face to face with Alexia, Ona and Keira. You sat up, trying to hide your face.

“Oh, noth-”

“No me mientas. Dónde están tu mamí y papí?” Alexia asked sternly. You misunderstood her, thinking she was angry at you. You shook your head, refusing to answer.

“Neña, are your parents here?” Ona asked quietly, coming to sit next to you. You took a deep breath.

“No. They aren’t.”

“Do you want to phone them?” Keira suggested, hoping that it was just because they couldn’t take time away from work to attend in person. She also sat down, gesturing her phone to you as an invitation to use it. You took another deep breath.

“I don’t think they even know I had a football match, let alone a Champions League final.” Another tear slipped down your cheek. Alexia sat in front of you, reaching for your hands.

“Qué quieres decir?” She asked again, thumbs rubbing gently over the backs of your hands.

“My parents … I don’t really know how to say it,” you paused, Ona gently rubbing your back comfortingly. “My parents don’t really … parent?” You chuckled lightly.

“They don’t support you?” Keira asked, her hand resting on your knee.

“They don’t care enough. They leave for weeks on end without telling me. I get food and stuff like that on my own. I’m basically raising myself at this point. I don’t think they know I have a contract with Barca. I doubt they even know I play football. They just let me do whatever I wanted as long as I was out of the house, not causing trouble and quiet; they didn’t care. They’re lucky I haven’t turned into a criminal or something.” You tried to add a joke to lighten the mood.

“But you said you meet up with your parents after home matches,” Ona couldn’t imagine achieving half the things she did without her family supporting her from the sidelines.

“And you told us your dad drops you off every morning on the way to work,” Keira added, equally disbelieving – her parents were her biggest fans.

“Yeh, I lied. I just go home after matches. And I get the metro to training.”

“But training is nowhere near the metro, and you don’t live near a metro station either.” She still didn’t want to consider what you were saying to be true.

You explained, “I get a bus from mine to the metro and then a bus from the metro to training.”

“That’s why you were getting off the bus that day when we saw you,” Ona realised. She hadn’t trusted your story but had considered no other possibilities.

“That’s why you're late to training sometimes? Because of the buses and trains?” Alexia asked, her hands never leaving yours.

“Yeh.” You looked down, ashamed of your situation and lying to them.

“And that day when you missed training. You weren’t sick. What happened?”

“I … um … the boiler broke, so I had to wait for someone to come fix it. Which they never did, by the way. I had to phone some random company that massively overcharged me, and the water definitely doesn’t get as hot as it used to.” You babbled nervously. “It wasn’t because I don’t want to be at Barca. It’s the only thing that keeps me going, knowing that I have you guys looking out for me. It makes everything else seem not as bad,” you whispered, needing them to know just how important Barca was to you. You looked around. Patri and Pina tried to do the perfect chest bump as Jana and Bruna filmed. Lucy was chasing her niece and nephew. Ingrid and Mapi were with Ingrid’s parents, smiling widely as they talked. Marta and Caro were sat off to one side, talking quietly. You could see the others dotted around the stadium, talking to fans, speaking to parents, and enjoying the support.

“Cariño, I am so sorry,” Alexia implored. I shouted at you and benched you. I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t believe you took Barca seriously.”

“Why didn’t you tell us, neña?” Ona asked.

“We only want what’s best for you, kid,” Keira added.

“Um … I don’t really know. It doesn’t really matter. It’s been like this my whole life, so…”

“Cariño. It does matter. But we know now, and that’s all that matters, sí?” Alexia stood up, dragging you with her. “Let’s go see my family. Mi Mamí has been asking to meet you for ages. And before you say no, she already has plans for you to come round for dinner one night. Y en secreto, ella siempre quiso una tercera hija.” She said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder as Ona took your hand.

“Oh, Eli will have to fight my Mama on that one, Ale. She always wanted a goal-scoring daughter.”

“Well, my mum says you are more than welcome to stay at her house if you ever visit the UK as long as you cook her paella.” Keira smiled.

Maybe your biological family was shite, but your found one certainly wasn't.

I hope you liked it <3

#barca femeni #barca femeni x reader #fc barcelona #woso blurbs #woso community #woso imagine #woso x reader #alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #woso fanfics #woso fluff #woso oneshot #woso angst #woso #womens football #woso soccer

[astralnymphh]

♯┆spacesoldier/spacescientist!ellie: who won't shut up about the hookup between you and her from the night before, and longs to do it again, fully. .ᐟ ★

literally don't question the randomness of this blurb. i run on revelations and sudden visions, and this one was just too hot to let rot. i had to pause a whole request for this thing. and it's a bit rushed, i'll like expand on it some other time i just wanted to return to this trope. anyways, I digress— space scientist ellie, nine month voyage through the cosmos, hookups.. tipsy hookups.

it'd be morningtime in the wake of certain events preceding that memories would slowly begin to prick through the surface— owing to ellie's imperfect subtlety. hills and hills of planetary research, prototype weaponry, instructions on how to properly utilize said prototypes, and coffee-stained reports, dawdled through like the process couldn't get any more boring than it presently is; stress, procrastination, a murk in the thick of your thoughts— literal brainrot. then, the main office zone gate slides open, that little airy whir pulls through your ears, and the person that walks through foments sudden recollection to the promotion party last night. ellie. a new recruit under your stations wing— and the immodest girl who was under your hood many hours ago.

ellie is a damnable pesterer of love; portending that if you've ever been intimate with her, she'll be stuck to you like an idiot's tongue adheres to icicles in wintertime. and tipsy her definitely was after you two had sex: pleading for you to stay a minute longer to cuddle, pressing every work-related praise hot into your nape, mentioning how good you taste out of the blue, so on and so forth. yet now that it is a bright and advantageous morning, and considering that she woke up to the scent of you woven through each fiber of her clothes— she remembers, and she reminds.

ellie's got her legs crossed, arms crossed, leaned against your desk's edge, small butt of hers rudely stamping one of your precious folders; the usual stance she does when you're plying your trade, and she prying for attention. "seriously. thursday, you and me, conference room number twenty-seven, i'll bring wine and fetch dinner from the canteen— please?" an earnest ask, you can sense it in her tone; evenly pitched and soft, softer when she pleads, as always, albeit that the spaceship you dwell in has no actual restaurant so dating environments are centered around some good old D.I.Y and empty meeting rooms. her foot winds out slightly to tap the spokes of your office chair, nudging the focus you so dearly casted to the papers below you, to her instead. which regrettably works; tossing an eye roll as you spin, "dates and recreational dinners don't fit into anyone's schedule here, you know that." it aches to claim that, and aches harder to see her take that hit of an that answer. watching her head drop and her mouth tug into a contemplative shape that wanted to battle it out with excuses, loopholes, promises— but it forms into a grin rather, and decides to be impish. "had time for last night though, didn't we? a great time, actually, n' i wanna see where that.." her voice sinks into the pit of her throat— deep and reserved — and her thumbs start to do that cute fiddly thing at her waist, rolling over each other while the rest of her fingers intwine and overlap, "—takes us?" modifying her words into a delicate, unsure question. a toothy, one-sided smile and sad puppy brows, ugh you could just pinch her cheeks. but of course, she spices up the deal, "hopefully.. back into my room, if my flirting skills aren't total shit." annoyingly rambling as a way to showcase how gravely you've impacted her mind the last twelve or so hours. so grave, you're the only thing her motivation could cling upon to urge her limbs and weasel her sluggish weight out of bed earlier. "please?"

that please chisels a smile into your lips, unfortunately-fortunate, "god, you're so bad, williams." poking fun at her and coasting the wheeled chair away with the back of your knees straightening, rising from your seat with documents in-hand, and agreeance in-mind; written ripe on your lifted cheeks.

"was i?" said indirectly, a cocky implication twisting her cheeks to the same level as yours. it took you— let's say, two, three, awkward seconds of squinting before you understood her crafty-ass joke that took your words a completely different, and lewd direction. stupidly faced too: cocking her brow with the scar slicing through, and cocking one side of her head upwards too, overall just cocky. now you could just squeeze her annoying face until it exploded. figuratively.

"shut up." "okay."

MASTERLIST . DAILY CLICK . READ THIS . PALESTINE MP . DOC VER

#ellie williams #⤹𓍢ִ໋aestras asks #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie williams fic #lesbian #sapphic #ellie williams blurb #ellie williams drabble #ellie smut #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie the last of us #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams x masc!reader #tlou ellie #the last of us #tlou2

[luveline]

hiii jade i have a request for u if you’re up for it!! something about spencer and the reader in a new relationship and sort of keeping it from the team but having to tell hotch for an HR report or something and the subsequent kind teasing from him and the team? thank u love u have a wonderful day

thank you, ily I hope you have a great day too! tysm for u request! —you and spencer tell the team you're in a relationship. 1.1k, fem!reader

You decide to take the plunge if only to save Spencer the embarrassment, but things don't go as planned. 

You knock on Hotch's office door primly, invited inside with the same professional politeness. You and Hotch actually get along very well, and though it took some time for him to warm to you, once Hotch is warmed, you can't ever not feel it. 

"L/N," he greets. You're startled to receive his full attention, no notes scratched under his hand or phone tucked between his ear and his shoulder. 

"Hi, Hotch. So, uh, I'm a little nervous, but I have something to tell you." 

He sits back in his chair subtly. "You don't have to be nervous," he says. "Unless you've broken the coffee maker again. I'm afraid I won't be as forgiving twice." 

"It's nothing broken, it's…" 

"Do you want to sit down?" he asks, his joking softened to a familial concern. 

"No, it's not as bad as I'm making it out, I just know how embarrassing this is going to be. I," —you squeeze your hands together as you take the plunge— "asked Spencer to be my boyfriend, this weekend. And he said yes. I know it's not very convenient because we work together, but I checked the government website and it said that we have to tell you, and that you'd actually have to fill out a bunch of forms. I'm sorry." 

Hotch's eyebrows rise a little further with every sentence. "I'm sorry you can't be afforded a little more privacy," he says, standing up. He smiles as he rounds his desk. "Congratulations, Y/N. This is good news, no matter how many forms I have to fill in."

You sigh in relief as he pulls you in for a hug. "Thanks, Hotch. I'm really happy." 

"It's been a long time coming," he murmurs, rubbing your back quickly before he steps back. "Excuse me a second." 

You bring your hands together at your abdomen, startled. "Sure." 

Hotch walks out of his office onto the landing overlooking the bullpen. Spencer, who didn't know you were going to do this, is sitting unawares at his desk, a look of dread flooding his features. 

You frown. 

"Reid, a word," Hotch says.

The rest of the team look up at his scary tone, see you confused in his office, and offer looks of mirrored confusion plus a good helping of sympathy. 

Spencer gives you a reassuring smile as he follows Hotch back into the office. The door closes with a formidable thunk. 

"Y/N's just told me you have news." 

Spencer's hand twitches toward you. 

"Congratulations," Hotch says, dropping the act. 

You're honestly astounded —Hotch can be playful, especially with the team, but not often at work. 

Spencer seems a little dumbfounded too. "Thanks, Hotch." They share a hug. Spencer relaxes into it quickly. "We're sorry about all the forms," he says. 

"Y/N's already apologised. What's another mountain of paperwork?" They step apart. "I'm happy for you both. Really. This job is different when you have someone at home you're doing it for." 

You leave Hotch's office together and in shock, though the floor feels cushioned, weight shelling off of your shoulders with every step. Spencer puts his hand behind your back as you descend the steps back into the bullpen, his fingertips impossibly affectionate. They're only fingertips, how can they be loving? But they are. 

You smile at him dopily, endeared by the blush staining his cheeks. 

"What the hell was that about?" Emily asks in a whisper shout, tucking her dark hair behind her ears. "What did you guys do?" 

Spencer steps closer to your side. Too close; a colleague would never have reason to do so, nor to put the hand behind your back. He doesn't even need to curl his hand over your hip for Emily and Derek to understand, but he does. 

"You're kidding!" Emily cheers. 

"Don't act like you guys didn't know," you say. 

Spencer isn't the shy, awkward boy he was a few years ago, but he also isn't uber confident, and the attention you feel all of a sudden has his grip tightening on your hip. 

"You finally told her?" Derek asks, practically leaping out of his seat. 

You get the first hug. Spencer gets the longer one. You know it means a lot to him that Derek approves, and luckily Derek loves you. "Actually, she asked me," Spencer says, pulling away with a blinding smile. 

"Really?" Emily asks.

"Well, I asked Spence to be official," you amend, accepting her side hug. "He kissed me last week in New York." 

"I knew it!" Emily says in your ear, nearly deafening you. 

"I thought you chickened out?" Derek asks Spencer, jabbing him in the side with two hands. 

Spencer did not chicken out, the opposite. You'd been sitting together at the end of his bed after the case finished, lamenting over your lack of sight-seeing. Spencer had shrugged, said, "We'll come back." 

"For a case?" you'd asked. "That's not likely, right? We barely ever come to New York." 

"We could come without the team. Me and you." 

"You and me?" 

It wasn't an overly charged run up, though there have been moments of tension between you both. This was tame, and sweet, the perfect confession. Spencer as courteous as he always is, cautious with nerves, took your wrist into his hand and looked you in the eye. "If you want to see more of the city, we could come together. There are so many places here I think you'd be interested in." 

"As friends?" you'd asked, knowing it was make or break.

"No… Not as friends."

It wasn't a second longer before you were closing your eyes for a kiss. 

"I told you, man, it's the city of love," Derek says. 

You laugh and move forward to slide your fingers between Spencer's. "That's Paris." 

"You kissed, didn't you?" Derek pretends to dry his eyes. "My babies are all grown up." 

Spencer rubs the back of your hand with his thumb. "We'll be subjected to this for a while." 

"A few weeks, at least," you agree. 

"Wait until JJ and Penelope find out," Emily says with a laugh, her eyes lit with amusement. 

You look up at the side of Spencer's face with a huge beaming smile. You can take any amount of ridicule if it means the space between you is finally nullified. You're sure of it. He turns his head to you, smiling with less zealous joy but the same budding, dizzying affection. 

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

[bunmurdock]

just working | matt murdock x f!reader

summary: you’re trying to focus on work, but matt murdock has something else in mind. tags: softdom!matt, office sex, oral (f!receiving), piv, established relationship, (not-so) secret relationship, idiots in love. word count: 1.9k a/n: i wasn’t expecting to share a fic so soon after putting out the poll, but someone replied something lovely on one of my fics, and it really made my day and motivated me to put to paper a little fantasy i’ve had for a while. 😭

“matt, we really shouldn’t be doing this here,” you whisper, giggling as you hide your face in his chest. you can feel his heart pounding as fast as yours, the thrill of the secret adding to the excitement.

“you started it,” he teases, his voice low and warm, the vibrations tickling your ear. you’re in his office, papers and files strewn across his desk with a half-spilled coffee on the floor, a testament to the workday that’s supposed to be happening. but right now, all that fades away. it’s just you and matt, alone in a bubble of your own making.

you look up at him. there’s a glimmer of mischief on his face, a challenge. “did not,” you retort playfully, trying to stifle another round of laughter. matt’s hand rests on your back, his touch light but firm, anchoring you to the moment.

“anyway,” you say, still fanning the half-dry coffee stain on your skirt. “seriously, matt, we need to focus.”

"i am focused,” he insists, the corner of his lip upturned in mischief. “focused on you.” he reaches out, pretending to adjust a nonexistent wrinkle on your shirt. the light touch sends a shiver through you, and you swat his hand away playfully.

"stop it,” you whisper, but with no real severity in your tone. matt just grins, undeterred.

"you know, you’re adorable when you’re trying to be serious,” he teases, leaning back in his chair and with an air of nonchalance. 

"i’m always serious,” you retort. 

he reaches for and grabs your arm, pulling you into his lap. he noses at your neck, the stubble of his chin teasing over your pulse point. his mouth opens to respond, but the sound of footsteps in the hallway jolts you both into stillness. matt’s head beams up, listening, and in a second his quick reflexes have you both stepping apart, looking every bit the consummate professionals as the door opens.

“got some fresh leads on the dawson case…” foggy announces, stepping in. “ahem, am i interrupting something?” he asks, his gaze flickering between the two of you.

"no,” you and matt both reply, a little too quickly. foggy raises an eyebrow.

“right,” he says, drawing out the words with a hint of skepticism. “well, i just came to drop off these files.” he places a stack of papers on matt’s desk, his eyes lingering on the two of you a moment longer before coming to rest on the coffee cup on the ground.

"thanks, fog,” matt says, his tone casual, but you can sense a slight tension in his posture.

foggy sighs, shaking his head slightly. “you two are about as subtle as a brick through a window, you know that?” he says.

matt turns away to hide a smile, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“foggy, we’re just working,” you reply, trying to sound convincing.

"sure, sure,” foggy says. “just remember, we’ve got a lot riding on this case. so don’t, uh—work—too much,” he says, with that, he turns and leaves, closing the door behind him.

as soon as the door clicks shut, you look at matt incredulously. “matt!” before you can chide him, he gets a goofy look on his face. 

“so, i uh, might have finished prepping this case last night.”

"you... wait, what?” you exclaim. the thought of him letting you ramble on while knowing the work was already done makes you shake your head. “and you let me go on about it all day?”

“guilty,” he admits. he stands up, reaching out his hand to you. “but i thought it might be nice to have an excuse to spend the day with you.” there’s something so pure and honest about his tone that it makes your heart flutter.

you shake your head but are unable to hide your smile. he holds a hand outstretched, nodding toward the exit.

you take matt’s hand, but right before you reach the door, he veers off course, pulling you into a small, rarely-used bathroom. he locks the door with a soft click, and his lips are on yours in an instant.

he picks you up with a soft grunt, sitting you on the bathroom island, hiking your skirt up until it bunches at your waist. he drops to face-level with your cunt and pulls your waist to the edge, nosing hungrily at your underwear.

“matt, are you su—” you begin, but then you stop. the small space amplifies your sound, each tiny breath and touch echoing off the walls. you instinctively cover your mouth.

as if a switch suddenly flipped in him, a low chuckle comes from between your legs, and it's him doing the chiding this time. “that’s right. wouldn’t want to get caught again, would we?” 

a rough finger pulls your underwear to the side and he playfully nips at your unsuspecting folds, then molds his lips around your clit and sucks. you whine into your own palm, your legs closing on instinct, but he holds them open, impossibly strong.

“mmphf— just a quick one before we get home,” he groans, arms snaking under your open legs to wrap around them like a vice. “c’mon, sweetheart, give me more,” he grunts against you, tapping your thigh twice with his hand. you’re not sure what he’s asking at first, but then he pinches your thigh, and you yelp. you grind into his face and he groans. you catch on, working up an erratic rhythm against his stubbled chin. it doesn’t take much for you to cum like this, his tongue suctioning torturously around your sensitive clit and darting into curl against your walls, eager for a taste.

it’s unrelenting. just like the rest of him.

after you come down from your climax, he helps you stand, holding out an arm for balance as you shakily step to your feet and let your underwear and skirt drop to the floor. he then drops his hand to his own aching erection, unbuckling his belt and stepping out of his slacks and boxers. you undo his dress shirt and pull it over his shoulder and down his arm, where they catch on the muscle of his biceps. 

cock freed, he shucks off his shirt, and helps you pull yours over your head, bra in tow. he pulls you near enough so that, for a moment, you’re chest-to-chest and you feel his cock pulses against your lower stomach. you’re about to lower yourself down, take him into your mouth, when he puts a hand on your waist, stilling you.

“spit on it,” he murmurs, voice impossibly low. his whole demeanor seems to have shifted in just moments, confined in a space that’s so filled with your intoxicating scent.

you comply, and watch your own spit dribble down onto his erect cock. he holds a hand under it, catching any spare saliva so he can work it over his cock.

“jesus,” he curses softly, and his other hand comes up cup your chin and thumb at your lips. for a moment, he just takes his cock and runs it across the supple skin of your stomach, the curves of your waist, then against the fat of your thighs, slapping it a few times, spreading the slick around. “you have no idea, do you? the things you do to me.”

you whine softly against the thumb at your lip. “matt, please.” you’re not sure what you’re begging for, but, as always, he knows exactly what you want.

“turn around,” he orders, and you waste no time. he nestles between your parted legs, spreading them further with his own and bending you over the counter, the head of his cock already pushing past your entrance. you gasp, pushing back but meeting resistance with his size.

“‘s alright. ha—’ he breathes. “we’re going to take care of you, kay,” he murmurs, hand guiding himself in slowly, the low timber of his voice sending shivers down your spine. he works an arm under you, and slowly bottoms out into you.

you hiss at the stretch, but before long, you’re bouncing in his lap, the sound of skin slapping on skin filling the space. he’s bigger than you, and every thrust punches another guttural sound out of you. you gasp and writhe, trying to catch your breath and adjust to the stretch and pace. you grab the counter, the sink, the mirror.

he murmurs something, but you don’t quite hear it at first.

“—push back,” he repeats, a little louder. you do, but the next thrust fills you so deep, you almost yelp out loud.

“quit running from it,” he chuckles, but his size and pace are so overpowering, your arm instinctually moves back to slow his thrusts. he grabs it instantly and folds it back over your chest. 

“push—back—” he grits, pulling your hips into his thrusts. when he’s satisfied, he groans into your ear, barely muffling the sound in your hair. and then rough fingers are rubbing over your clit, circling them.

“i know, baby, i know.” he croons softly against your ear as you bite down on your forearm to keep from moaning. “you—fuck—be brave for me.” 

“that’s right. you’re gonna get it nice and creamy for me.” he keeps an unrelenting pace.

“or else—“ he chuckles, patting your cunt a few times.

“i’m gonna slap this pussy raw.”

you barely mask the sob into your arm. “matt— please.”

“you can do it, you can do it,” he breathes, voice breaking and growing equally as desperate. “‘m gonna follow you, sweetie.”

you push back into him, holding your temple flush against his. 

“love you so m—,” you croak. “—much.”

“oh, i love you so much too— you’re mine, you know?” he breathes, and then he says your name, the final trigger.

you grab the counter in front of you, seizing up and crying his name inaudibly as you come harder than you’ve ever come. his arms hold you, your steady anchor at sea as you forget all your surroundings. 

it’s just the feeling of him coursing, thunderous and electric, through your veins.

he joins you moments after, groaning into the meat of your shoulder.

you don’t know if seconds or minutes pass. in this moment, it’s just the two of you. 

~

you both step out of the bathroom, adjusting your attire. the office around you is silent, the usual hustle of the day having ebbed away with the setting sun. matt pauses, his heightened senses scanning the environment.

“coast is clear. foggy and karen must’ve left,” he notes. "office is empty.”

"your heightened senses come in handy," you giggle.

matt’s hand reaches for yours, fingers entwining. "they have their perks," he admits.

matt pulls you close for a moment, kissing your forehead. surveying the aftermath of your impromptu interlude—the spilled coffee, the disheveled papers—he comments, “we made quite the scene here."

you glance at the mess, a playful glint in your eye. “just working, though,” you say.

“right, ‘just working’,” he repeats with a smirk.

hand in hand, you leave the office, stepping into the cool night. the city around you is alive with lights, but in this moment, they seem to pale in comparison to the excitement still buzzing through you. 

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fic #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x you #x reader #matt murdock #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock fanfiction #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #matt murdock fluff #bun’s #bunny brain

[jasmines-library]

hi!

So I was thinking that their little sister is lesbian (if you're comfortable with this kind of stuff though) but she doesn't know. So she's 15 and one day a guy tries to flirt with her in a dinner, but she's just staring in complete fascination at a cute girl behind her. And after the guy goes away Dean calls her out. After she kind of goes on a date with the girl and some homophobic dude comes walking past whilst they're kissing and says some pretty mean stuff. And when her brothers find out they comfort her.

Thank you so much and I wish you a very good day and happy new year!

Unconditional

Note: I literally love this request as a gay girly myself. This was super cute to write!

Warnings: Homophobia but Sam and Dean to the rescue, homophobic slurs and swearing. Please read with warning that this is fairly heavy and may be triggering although I have tried to keep it non-explicit...but it's also a little cheesy too..

Word Count: 1.6k

⛤ SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST ⛤

You knew that the guy beside you was trying to talk to you. His low voice but through the chatter as he leaned on the coffee-stained counter beside you, just a tad too close for your liking. He had sauntered over and was trying to drop compliments, but you didn’t really hear anything he was saying. You were completely fixated on the girl sitting in a booth across the room. She was with her two friends but you couldn’t take your eyes off of her and the way she smiled with not only her rosy lips but also with her eyes. You admired the lilt of her voice as she spoke with a grin and the way her hair, which was tucked neatly behind her ears to show off her face, cascaded over her shoulders. She was beautiful and you were in awe. Then, her gaze shifted away from you and her eyes met yours. Before you could turn away quickly, she blushed and gave you a small smile to hold your gaze.

“So, what do you say?” The boy asked you expectantly, though you were still too entranced to take a notice. 

Dean cleared his throat and nudged you from under the table with his knee. “Y/N?”

You tore your gaze away from the girl and snapped towards your brother who indicated to the boy with his head.

“Sorry- What?”

“I said, ‘Did you maybe want to go out sometime?’”

You felt awful, because you had every intention of answering the guy to send him away, but you found your attention shifting towards the girl across the diner again. 

“Sorry, pal.” Sam told the guy, “I don’t think she’s very interested.”

The boy nodded and left, slightly deflated that his attempts had failed. 

“What the hell was all that about, kid?” Sam furrowed his brow. “What’s got you so distracted?”

Dean, who was sitting opposite you, craned his head to follow your eyeline, where he spotted the girl you had been fascinated by. He turned to you with a shit-eating grin on his face. 

“I think I’ve got her all figured out, Sammy.” He pointed to the girl. “She is so checking that girl out.”

“What?! Am not.”

“Are too. I know that look when I see it.”

You huffed and sunk down in your chair. 

It was then that her and her friends shuffled out of the booth and made their way towards the door. As they passed you and your brothers she smiled at you shyly. You watched as she pushed open the door and the bell chimed signalling that she had left, but you continued to watch her in awe through the window. 

“Are you just gonna sit there and stare?” Sammy raised an eyebrow. 

“Huh?”

“Go get her number.” Dean urged, ushering you out of the booth. Your cheeks flushed as you chased quickly after her.

The sunlight hit your face as soon as you stepped out of the diner and you made your way slowly over to her. She smiled brightly as she saw you approaching and excused herself away from her friends for a moment.

“Hi” She greeted, “I was wondering if you were going to come and speak to me.”

“Hey.” You smiled “I’m Y/N.”

“Nice to finally put a name to your pretty face.” She said before giving you her name. 

“So um…” You swallowed thickly trying to conjure up the courage to ask her for her number. This was something you had never done before… sure, you had never really shown much interest in guys, and you knew that every time you glanced at one of the women on the front of one of your brothers magazines, or spotted a pretty girl walking down the street you couldn’t help but feel that something was different, but you were never able to place it until now. You had thought it was because you never had time to spend hanging out with people outside of hunting, but now that Dean had pointed it out, you knew that he was onto something. You couldn’t help the butterflies in your stomach that you felt when you looked at the girl before you, and back in the diner you had been so desperate to talk to her that you found your thoughts drifting to what it would be like, however now it was actually happening it was like your mind was betraying you because you couldn’t think of anything to say as your body froze. You took a deep breath and cleared your mind. “I was wondering if you wanted to go out sometime?”

She looked at you with a look of pure happiness that made you melt. “I would love to.”

~

The two of you sat inside the diner again a few days later. The two of you had been texting back and forth constantly after exchanging numbers and you couldn’t contain your excitement. You had taken her to the cinema across town before you two made you way to the diner. She looked even more beautiful than the time you had first seen her as she sat across from you, sipping her milkshake which you had purchased for her with Dean’s plagiarised credit card. The two of you spent hours talking to each other and laughing at the other's jokes and you barely noticed the sun setting and the busy diner thinning out, she had even reached out to grab your hand from across the table which she kept there until her it was eventually time to leave. 

You walked her back to her house, slightly disheartened when you finally reached it and the pair of you paused just in front of it. 

Reaching out, she tucked a loose piece of your hair behind your ear. The closeness made your stomach flutter and you blushed. Suddenly her rosy lips were on yours. You leaned into the kiss, kissing her back with the same keen gentleness that she had initiated it with. When she finally pulled away, the kiss leaving you breathless, the two of you let out a small chuckle only to have the moment ruined by a passer by who glared at the two of you in disgust before rolling his eyes.

“Great, just what this town needs. More dykes.” His words cut deep and your heart sank as they crushed everything you had been working to accept was okay about yourself. The longer you looked at him, the more you recognised him. It was the boy from the diner. The one that had tried to ask you out but you ignored. It seemed he also seemed to recognise you too.

“You’re the girl from the diner.” He started shaking his head. “No wonder you weren’t interested you fucking freak.”

“Excuse you?” your date asked, clenching her fists and taking a step forward. 

“I said you’re disgusting.” He spat. “That shouldn’t even be allowed.”

“Listen here-” She took another step forward, but you put out a hand to stop her. The last thing the two of you needed now was for this to become a fight. 

“Don’t. Just leave it.”

She stepped back and with one last huff the boy left with his head held high.  

“I’m sorry-” 

“It’s not your fault.” She said as you looked at your shoes. 

“I know… but I can’t help but feel responsible.”

“Well you shouldn’t.” She told you, cupping your face and cutting off any more of your protesting with another kiss to your lips before turning up the steps to her house. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

~

Sam and Dean were still awake when you shuffled in through the door, trying to poorly plaster a smile on your face. Of course they were, they wouldn’t sleep until they knew you were safely in bed at the motel. Sam was typing away on his laptop at the table while Dean had sprawled himself out on the bed with a box of pizza and was watching shitty tv. 

“There she is!” Dean said when he saw you in the doorway. “How was it?”

You shrugged, trying to keep up a happy facade. “It was good.”

“What’s the matter, kiddo?” Sam frowned as he shut his laptop and crossed the room to sit on the bed. 

“Nothing.”

“Y/N.”

“I told you. It’s nothing.”

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Did things not work out between the two of you?” Dean asked.

“No. No. It’s not that.”

“Then what?” your eldest brother pressed.

“Someone said something.” You admitted, eyes finally brimming with tears that you had tried so desperately hard to keep from escaping. The boys words had made you feel so... wrong. “The boy from the diner. Called us names. Said we were ‘freaks’”

“He what?” Dean clenched his fists, but Sam shut him down with one look as you began to cry. 

“Oh kid” Sam said, pulling you close to his chest. “You’re not a freak. Don’t listen to him.”

“But I am, Sammy.” 

“No.” Dean shut you down quickly. “Don’t say that Y/N. You are perfect just the way you are.”

Sam agreed. “Exactly. Who cares what that guy thinks, Y/N?”

“Me?” you sniffled “I don’t want people to treat me differently-”

“We’re not gonna treat you differently. You think we’d really do that, Kid? We’re your brothers.” Sam asked gently. 

“Exactly. You don’t see us treating Charlie any differently, do you?”

“No.” you moved your head away from Sam’s shirt which was now covered in your tears to see Dean moving closer to you. 

“We love you unconditionally, sweetheart.” He said and he wrapped you up in his arms, placing his chin atop your head. “Nothing you could tell us is ever going to change that. Nothing.”

#supernatural x reader #writing #supernatural #angst #spn #hurt/comfort #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean winchester x sister reader #sam winchester x sister reader #dean winchester x little sister reader #sam winchester x little sister reader #supernatural x sister reader #supernatural x little sister reader #supernatural fanfic #lesbian #wlw #wlw love #lesbian pride #LGBTQ+

[chvoswxtch]

girls night

pairing: elektra natchios x fem!reader

summary: elektra is always trying to convince you to come out with her. one night, you convince her to stay in.

warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of alcohol, explicit sexual content (minors dni)

word count: 4.5k

a/n: this one goes out to my one & only @pleasurebuttonwrites. thank you for requesting this & letting me be a feral whore for my babygirl elektra. ❤️ as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

To say you were intimidated when you first met your roommate would be a severe understatement. Elektra Natchios radiated pure confidence, came from a family that was richer than God, and always got whatever she wanted. 

Oh, and on top of that, she was drop dead fucking gorgeous.

The second you stepped through the door of your shared dorm room, her deep brown eyes were on you, shamelessly analyzing you from head to toe before meeting your stupefied gaze. A playful smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she quirked one of her perfectly arched dark brows.

“You must be Y/N?”

And she had an accent. Of course she fucking did.

You couldn’t even speak. She was dressed to the nines in an outfit that probably cost more than your entire life with perfectly straightened hair while you were…well…it was move in day so you had on a comfy pair of leggings and your favorite sweatshirt, and your hair that you hadn’t brushed in three days was tied in a knot on top of your head that was far too messy to be passed off as cute. 

Clutching onto your bag a little tighter, you feebly nodded as you stared at her. Elektra seemed to find your quietness amusing, because her lips pulled into a full blown devilish grin as she sauntered over to you.

“Oh don’t be shy, little dove. We live together now. I’ll get you to open up for me sooner or later.”

Elektra fully taking you under her wing was not something you had anticipated. You weren’t really sure what to think of her at first. You didn’t necessarily think she would be a mean girl, but you certainly didn’t think she would like you. The two of you were polar opposites. 

Elektra could be abrasive to some, demanding oftentimes, and probably came off as a spoiled brat to anyone that dared to tell her no, but she was always gentle and patient with you. 

She constantly invited you to come out with her friends, which you always graciously declined, to which she would purse her ruby lips in a pout and give you pleading eyes that nearly made you give in; but she never pushed you. 

“Alright, fine. Don’t come have a good time with me. Just break my heart, yet again.”

She asked for your opinions on placement when she wanted to re-decorate, which happened to be every two months like clockwork. 

“Styles come and go, love. We’ve got to keep up with the times. Don’t you think the couch would look better over there?”

She constantly bought you things that she would just leave around for you to find, knowing that you would protest if she tried to give them directly to you, and would come up with an excuse as to why you both needed it.

“Darling, your coffee machine was practically being held together by duct tape. Besides, you love espresso, and so do I. And it came in your favorite color. We need the best caffeine money can buy if we’re to survive midterms, yeah?”

You warmed up to her pretty quickly, granted she didn’t give you an opportunity not to, but you never felt like you could fully let go with her.

Because you had a massive crush on her.

It made you want to slam your head against the nearest wall, because falling for your best friend? What a total fucking cliche. 

But still, every time she crawled onto the couch and laid her head in your lap asking you to read whatever was in your hands to her, your heart started to thrash against your ribcage. Every time she grabbed onto your arm or held your hand when the two of you were walking around campus, you tried to fight the blaze that stained your cheeks a deep shade of pink. Every time she joined you in your bed in one of your oversized t-shirts and nothing else, snuggling up close to you for movie night, it left you feeling heavy with despondency. 

Because it was so fucking easy. 

Being with Elektra was like breathing. She understood you in a way that no one ever had, or had taken the time to try to before. She made sure that you felt included on the rare occasion that you did join her for a group outing. She listened patiently and intently when you vented about having a bad day, and always offered words of encouragement or comfort, whichever one you needed most. She made you feel worthy and supported, and wanted.

“Don’t know what I’d do without you, little dove.”

But she also let you in too. She let you see the sides of her that she hid from everyone else. She let you hold her when she cried. She confided her fears and mistakes in you. She pleaded for forgiveness when she lost her temper because of a sour mood. She let you see the real Elektra.

Which only made it harder for you to deny how you really felt.

Because Elektra was beautiful, and witty, and intelligent, and kind. She was the beaming sun right in the center of your universe, and you were drawn to her like gravity. 

But so was everyone else. 

And Elektra was never alone.

She always had a boyfriend that she would either dump because she didn’t feel like they were good enough, or drown in a bottle of mezcal over because they’d treated her poorly. In the five months that you’d known her, she had never dated a girl, or expressed any interest in them, which made you more adamant about hiding your feelings.

Because falling in love with your best friend was one thing. But falling for your best friend, that you lived with, that was straight, was a whole other thing.

You ran the risk of not just making your friendship with Elektra awkward by telling her the truth and ruining everything, but losing her friendship completely, and also having to find a new place to live when you inevitably freaked her out and made her uncomfortable. 

As you laid on your stomach on Elektra’s bed, you watched her while she got ready in front of her vanity, letting out a soft sigh.

“Ellie, do you have to go tonight?”

“My presence has been requested, and there’s an open bar.”

“We have an open bar.”

Elektra glanced at you in the reflection of the mirror, her signature smirk curling at the edge of her lips as she pulled off the cap of her lipstick.

“You could always join me.”

“Or you could stay.”

Elektra paused as she stared at you in the mirror, tilting her head to the side slightly as her smirk evaporated. Your heart suddenly started to beat louder in your ears. You never asked her to stay when she said she was going out. 

“Do you want me to?”

There was an emotion in her eyes that you couldn’t read. No one was better at masking how they really felt than her, and it annoyed you since you couldn’t hide your feelings to save your own life. Dropping your gaze to the book beneath you that you had been pretending to read, you lightly shrugged your shoulders.

“You don’t have to. We just…haven’t had a night just us in awhile. Thought we could have a girls night or something.”

Please stay. Don’t go out tonight. Don’t go home with some asshole. 

When you lifted your gaze, a sharp gasp slipped past your lips and your eyes widened slightly seeing that Elektra had knelt in front of the end of the bed and was staring right at you.

“I’ll stay if you want me to.”

You always felt nervous under the intensity of her alluring gaze. Letting out a soft laugh, you glanced back down at your book.

“You sure? Your presence was requested.”

Elektra grasped your jaw in her hand to lift your gaze, staring into your eyes as she nodded in your direction.

“You’re more important.”

You were frozen in place, unable to tear your eyes away from hers, and your heart was beating so loud you swore she could hear it in the silence. After what felt like an eternity, but was more likely about a minute, Elektra dropped your chin and clasped her hands together with a bright smile on her lips.

“So, girls night. What shall we do?”

An entire pizza and half a bottle of tequila later, you and Elektra were on the couch trying to decide what latest drinking game you should play. A tiny little voice in the back of your head was trying to warn you about something…something about alcohol being a truth serum and another drinking game being a bad idea…but you were having so much fun, you simply drowned it out. Elektra waved her hand around frantically as she moved to sit on her knees on the couch in front of you, a devious smile on her lips as her eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Ooh, I’ve got one. Let’s play truth or dare.”

“Oh come onnnn, Ellie. You know everything about me already-”

“Don’t be a coward, darling. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Sense of adventure? What are you-”

“Shh shh shh. We’re playing. You go first.”

Rolling your eyes with a playful smile, you leaned your head back against the couch as you took another sip of your drink.

“Okay, truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Okay…I dare you…to…not spend money for an entire day.”

A shocked gasp parted Elektra’s lips as she stared at you with wide eyes, scoffing loudly as she reached for her drink.

“Evil. Dares are supposed to be fun, not mean.”

“That was not mean!”

“Was too. Fine, I see how this game is going to be. Truth or dare, love. Choose wisely.”

Elektra arched one of her dark brows in challenge as a wolfish grin settled on her lips. The look in her eyes suddenly made you nervous, and you giggled anxiously as you lightly shrugged.

“Fine, truth.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun.”

“You said choose wisely.”

Elektra tilted her head to the side slightly as she studied you, her mocha eyes traveling from the top of your face down to your bare thighs where your shirt had ridden up slightly. They lingered there for a moment before snapping back up to yours.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Your lips parted in surprise at the question, and you quickly averted your gaze to the contents of your glass. 

Yes.

“Um…I…think so, yeah.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Why not?”

“I never…never told them.”

“Why?”

“I…just didn’t. Truth or dare?”

A displeased sigh slipped from Elektra’s mouth as she sat back on her heels, taking another sip of her drink.

“Truth.”

“Are your parents really not going to be home for Christmas, or did you feel bad I was staying here alone?”

Elektra narrowed her eyes slightly and pursed her lips as she looked over at you.

“They’ll be in Mont Blanc.” 

“And you didn’t want to go?”

“I got burnt out as a child. Truth or dare?”

Nibbling on your bottom lip, you traced your finger around the rim of your glass as you hummed in thought.

“Dare.”

“I dare you to tell me why you didn’t tell that person you were in love with them.”

You instantly flickered your eyes up to find that Elektra was already staring at you expectantly. She had that look on her face that let you know she wasn’t letting this go anytime soon. Letting out a heavy exhale through your nose, you shook your head as you downed the rest of your glass.

“Because I knew it wouldn’t work out.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m not their…type.”

“Did they tell you that?”

“No-”

“Then how do you know?”

“Because I just…know, Elektra. Can we drop it, please?”

Elektra pursed her lips in a dissatisfied pout at the use of her full name. Reaching over to set your glass on the coffee table, you moved to stand as you tucked your hair behind your ears.

“I think I’m gonna call it a night.”

Before you could get off the couch, Elektra grabbed onto your wrist and reached over to set her glass on the coffee table next to yours.

“Not yet. I have one more dare for you.”

“I’m really not in the-”

“I dare you to kiss me.”

All of the oxygen in your lungs seemed to disappear as those five words hit your ears. Your eyes nearly tripled in size as you stared at Elektra in complete bewilderment. Surely your buzzed brain hadn’t heard her correctly.

“W-What?”

“You heard me.”

There was no humor dancing around in her eyes. Her stunning features were void of any hints of playfulness or jest. As a matter of fact, she almost looked…nervous? You could see her chest start to rise and fall a little quicker when you didn’t attempt to move or speak, and her tongue quickly darted out to wet her lips.

“It…it’s me, isn’t it? The one you’re in love with?”

Elektra stared at you with hope glimmering in her irises and a timid smile ghosting across her lips as she inched closer on her knees. All you could do was gaze at her while your brain tried to process her words and form a coherent reply. Had you had that much tequila? Were you passed out and dreaming right now? 

No…her words had evaporated every drop of alcohol in your system. You were completely stone cold sober at the moment and stupefied in place. The longer the silence drew on, the more the hope in her eyes morphed into panic, and that little voice in the back of your head was screaming at you to say something. 

Suddenly Elektra climbed onto your lap and took your face in her hands, frantically searching your eyes and nodding as a nervous smile tugged at her mouth.

“Tell me it’s me. Please…tell me it’s me. Kiss me and tell me it’s me.”

Elektra looked like she was on the verge of tears, and there was a vulnerability lodged in her throat that you had never heard in her voice before as she pleaded with you.

“It’s you, Ellie.”

A tear slipped down her cheek as she broke out into the biggest grin you had ever seen on her face, laughing happily as she surged forward to capture your lips in a soft kiss. The spark you felt when your lips connected seemed to jolt you out of the trance you were in, and your hands flew up to grip onto her waist to pull her closer. Her lips were just as pillowy and warm as you’d imagined they would be, and you hummed in satisfaction at how good it felt to finally kiss her.

Elektra pulled away slowly to look at you, her eyes searching yours as she rubbed her thumb along your cheekbone. A slight furrow formed between your brows as you looked back at her.

“Wait…are you-”

“In love with you? Yes.”

“And you’re just now telling me?”

“You didn’t tell me either.”

“Yeah but…you…had…boyfriends. Lots of them.”

Elektra rolled her eyes as she grinned, moving closer on your lap as she shook her head slowly.

“Just play things, darling. Nothing more. All I really wanted was you. Thought I was making that clear, but I suppose I wasn’t doing a very good job.”

“I…guess I just thought…you wouldn’t want me…like…that.”

Elektra’s eyes suddenly darkened, and the look had your breath hitching in your throat. She leaned in languidly, tracing her thumb over your bottom lip as her mouth split into a wicked smirk.

“Why don’t you let me show you how I want you?”

She didn’t wait for an answer as she surged forward again, capturing your lips this time in a much hungrier kiss. She nipped lightly at your bottom lip before soothing it with her tongue, and your lips instantly parted in a gasp. You couldn’t hold back the moan that echoed in your throat when Elektra slipped her tongue in your mouth, and your grip immediately tightened on her waist. She kissed you so fiercely it made you dizzy, and you fought your need to breathe so that you didn’t have to stop. 

Elektra trailed her opened mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the column of your neck as you panted, gently nipping at the sensitive skin of your neck and sucking harshly at the juncture above your collarbone. A soft whine fell from your mouth feeling her tongue soothe the sting of her bites and bruises, and you shivered as her warm breath fanned over the shell of your ear.

“Sound so pretty, little dove. Wonder what other pretty sounds you can make for me, hm?”

You tightly fisted her shirt to pull her even closer, reveling in the sound of her melodic giggle filling your ears.

“You wanna take this off?”

“Please.”

Gripping onto the hem of her shirt, you quickly tugged it upwards, moaning softly at the sight of Elektra’s bare chest. Gazing up at her in desperation, a wide grin split her mouth open as she moved her dark hair off her shoulders, grabbing your wrists to guide your hands upwards.

“You can touch me.”

Delicately cupping her breasts in your hands, you gave them a gentle squeeze before brushing your thumbs over her nipples, your mouth falling open at the way she let her head fall back and arched her chest further into your needy palms. Sitting up a little, you leaned in to attach your lips to her neck, teasing her nipples between your thumbs and index fingers as you grazed your teeth along her shoulder. Elektra started to slowly rock her hips against yours, which caused the heat between your thighs to rage into a wildfire, and you could feel your thighs starting to stick together with desire.

All of a sudden Elektra pushed at your shoulders, gripping onto the hem of your shirt to tear it over your head, and she wrapped her hand around your throat as she pulled you in for another passionate kiss. You moaned into her mouth in surprise at the feeling of her slender fingers wrapped around your throat, digging your fingertips into her thighs as your tongues tangled together. Her other hand boldly explored your chest, alternating between squeezing at your breasts and toying with your nipples, causing you to whine against her lips.

Pulling away breathlessly, Elektra moved off of your lap to sink onto her knees before you, staring up at you with eyes completely eclipsed with lust. She pulled you closer to the edge of the couch by your hips and leaned in to wrap her lips around one of your nipples, causing you to moan out loudly in surprise. She swirled her tongue slowly around the peaked bud, and you cried out when she lightly bit down on it. Her free hand parted your thighs so she could move further in between them, and you gasped when her nails dragged along your lower stomach right above your panty line.

“I want these off.”

All you could do was feebly nod as she tugged the soaked fabric down your legs, her mouth hanging open as she spread your thighs further apart. An eager moan fell from her mouth as she sank her teeth into her bottom lip, rubbing her thumb in slow circles on your inner thigh.

“Oh darling…look at you. What a mess you’ve made for me. So pretty, my love. Can I show you how pretty you are?”

“Ellie…please…”

Elektra closed her eyes for a moment as a proud smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Letting them flutter open slowly, she locked her gaze on yours as she moved her hand closer between your thighs, keeping eye contact as she collected some of the wetness dripping from your core. The delicate touch made you jump, and you whined as you stared back at her with need.

“Please.”

“Say my name again.”

“Ellie…”

Elektra sank her teeth deep into her bottom lip as she slowly pushed her finger into your welcoming heat, her lips parting slowly as your mouth hung open and your head dipped back. You sucked in a deep breath as she retracted it slowly before slipping it right back in easily.

“Again.”

“Please…”

Elektra reached forward to wrap her hand around your throat again, giving it a light squeeze as she gazed into your eyes, gliding her tongue along her front teeth before flashing you a devious smirk.

“Say my name again, little dove. Let me hear you beg for me.”

“Elektra…please.”

Before her name could even fully roll off your tongue, her head was between your thighs, and her lips were wrapped around your clit. You moaned loudly at the sensation of her warm mouth and wet tongue devouring you as she slipped another of her fingers inside you. You couldn’t help but roll your hips upwards against her face in search of more, which she didn’t seem to mind. Elektra hummed against your pussy, which sent vibrations of pleasure throughout your lower half, and you moaned her name again when she curled her fingers upwards against that spongy part inside you that turned you into an incoherent fucking mess.

You weren’t sure what was louder; the sounds of you desperately crying out her name or the obscene slurping sounds coming from Elektra sucking fervently on your clit while her expert fingers explored inside the depths of you. She moaned again when you slipped your fingers into her dark hair and tugged, and it made your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head.

“Ellie…please…”

Your voice came out so high pitched and breathless, you didn’t even recognize it. Elektra replaced her tongue with her thumb, massaging your clit in quick circles with applied pressure as she looked up at you with her lips glossed with your wetness.

“God, I could come just from how good you taste. You’re doing so well for me, my love. Doing so good letting me have you like this. I want you to come on my face, can you do that for me?”

“Fuck…Elektra…”

A huge grin took over her mouth as her tongue darted out to lick over her lips, teeth lightly grazing over her bottom lip as she hummed.

“Love the way you say my name. Make it sound so pretty. Now, make me proud and come on my face.”

Elektra dipped her head back down between your thighs, alternating between lapping at your clit and sucking on it with renewed vigor. Her fingers continued to massage that spongy tissue inside you in a ‘come closer’ motion with more pressure, and you gripped onto the back of her head to grind your hips against her face. Your moans got breathier and higher in pitch the more your orgasm steadily built in your lower half, and Elektra hummed against you in encouragement, various chants of mm’s & mhm’s reverberating against your core.

“Yes…yes…right…right there, please. Please Ellie…ah…oh fuck!”

When you finally reached your peak, a blinding white orchestra of electricity buzzed in your veins and sent shockwaves of pleasure throughout your entire nervous system. Elektra continued to drag her soft tongue along your slick pussy as she gripped onto your thighs tightly, digging her nails so hard into your flesh that she left maroon crescent shaped indentations behind. She didn’t stop even as you came down from riding out your high, and you nearly sobbed from overstimulation as you futilely pushed at her shoulders. 

With the loss of her warm mouth, the cool air hitting your soaked cunt felt like a slap, and you winced with a whine as you clamped your thighs shut. Elektra giggled softly as she rubbed your thighs soothingly, moving to climb onto your lap once again as she held your face against her chest and ran her fingers slowly through the ends of your hair.

“Sorry, my love. I get a bit greedy when it comes to you.”

You attempted to respond with something that made sense as you attempted to catch your breath, but it must have come out scrambled, because Elektra simply laughed and cradled your face in her palm as she gazed down at you adoringly and cooed.

“Aww, little dove. Did I break you?”

“No.”

“Hm, shame. Shall I try again?”

“No! Let me…regain the feeling in my legs, God.”

Elektra beamed with pride as she tucked your hair behind your ear, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose.

“So, does that clear things up?”

“Cristal.”

“I’ve actually got some in the fridge. Should we pop it open to celebrate?”

“Celebrate what?”

“Me being right.”

The look of confusion that twisted up your features had Elektra smirking as she leaned in to grasp your chin, staring deeply into your eyes.

“I told you I’d get you to open up for me.”

Your jaw nearly dropped to the floor as her words nestled in your ears, staring up at her in complete shock.

“Elektra!”

“What?”

“If I had known that is what you meant I would’ve…we could’ve…”

“So, I should’ve just seduced you on the spot?”

Pressing your lips into a firm line, you narrowed your eyes as you looked up at a very amused Elektra. She tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth and grinned as she leaned in to bump her nose with yours.

“You love me.”

“I do.”

Elektra’s smile softened a bit as you wrapped your arms around her waist, a tender smile spreading over your own lips. You did love her. And she loved you. 

As your hazy brain started to clear, a realization slammed right into your hammering chest.

Elektra was wet; practically dripping onto your lower stomach as she sat on your lap, and the smile on your face quickly dropped as you gazed up at her hungrily. The warm smile on her own mouth vanished as she took in the look in your eyes, and you felt a surge of power and confidence knowing you had the ability to render Elektra Natchios nervous.

Feeling emboldened, you trailed one of your hands slowly up her thigh, letting it dip down so that your fingertips just barely brushed along her inner thigh, tearing a gasp from her lips.

“Now, do I get to show you how pretty I think you are? Or do I have to dare you to let me?”

Elektra’s lips suddenly parted as she looked at you with widened eyes, and her grip on your shoulder tightened.

“Please.”

“So polite, Ellie.”

tags: @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042

#elektra natchios #elektra natchios x you #elektra natchios x y/n #elektra natchios x reader #elektra natchios x female reader #elektra natchios x fem!reader #elektra natchios x f!reader #elektra natchios fic #elektra natchios request #elektra natchios smut #daredevil #daredevil fic #daredevil request #daredevil smut

[prolix-yuy]

Chapter 5: They Destroyed the Man I Was

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x F!Reader “Sugar”

Summary: He's only living the life he dreamed of.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: T, FEELINGS but that's about it, Jack in his element comes with a warning, will be E in later chapters so full series is 18+ MINORS DNI.

Notes: It's time to see Jack going about his life in this little town, and that includes another cameo by a Golden Circle character. I'm just forcibly taking that cast and giving them better lives because the directors sure as hell couldn't be bothered. Enjoy!

Cross-posted on AO3

Decoherence Masterlist   ||   Whiskey & Westworld Masterlist

You thought sleep would never come, swirling thoughts clamoring to the surface as soon as you crawled into bed, but the exhaustion pulled harder. Tumbling into mesmerizing dreams of landscapes that were only painted on large canvases, wiring and scientists watching through glass, you finally woke when one of the panes shattered under your touch. 

The symbolism of your dreams was only getting more ridiculous.

Michelle let you be yesterday, seeing your tear-stained face and pretending to be occupied in the kitchen. She did offer you a glass of whiskey later in the evening, when a walk didn’t prove fruitful for your restlessness. This morning, she’s treating you to “a stick-to-your-ribs” breakfast, complete with eggs, bacon, toast, and a strange puffed pancake she calls a dutch baby. It’s delicious, and indeed presses against your ribs as you fill up. 

“So what brings you here to our quiet corner of the world? I don’t get many strangers outside of the agricultural fair in the fall.” Michelle tops off your coffee, waiting expectantly as you try to stall by mixing your beverage the way you like it. When you catch her gaze again she’s looking at you kindly but expectantly.

“Visiting an old friend,” you say, hoping that will sate her curiosity. You should have known a community this small would take notice of your intrusion.

“The Strongs? Or the Moores? You one of their city friends?”

You smother a laugh. Between deciding to leave and getting on the plane, you hadn’t exactly packed for the occasion. Your outfit isn’t quite “city girl lost in a strange new world,” but it’s not as worn-in as her boots and faded denim.

“Jack, actually. Jack Daniels. He’s just…” you start to gesture, but Michelle’s eyes widen, putting the coffee pot down on a towel and squaring her hands on her hips.

“Well I’ll be damned. I didn’t think we’d see the day but here you are!” Your face must radiate confusion, because Michelle drops into the seat across from you, hands tented under her chin. “Jack’s a private man, but he’s told us enough of his story to know a few things, and the topic of his heart was always ripe gossip.”

Skin beginning to tighten, you drop your hands in your lap and try to think of an excuse to leave. There’s a danger you’re tiptoeing up to and you desperately want to run from it. The best you can manage is a strained, “Oh?”

Right on cue, Michelle’s hospitality kicks in and she squeezes your arm across the table.

“Oh damn my mouth, sweetheart, I didn’t mean to make you self-conscious. We don’t get new people often, especially those who stay, and a handsome country boy rolls in? We all had questions, and some finally pestered a few answers out of him.” Michelle leans forward folding her hands on the floral tablecloth. “I’m guessing you’re the one he’s been waiting for.”

“I don’t know what…” you begin, but Michelle doesn’t really need your input to continue this conversation. Which is perfect because you have no idea what to say.

“Few of the young girls, and some of the lonely and divorced, sniffed around Jack when he bought his ranch. Attractive man, no family in tow, kind and helpful. If I weren’t happily married I’d have tried my luck too.” Her conspiratorial smile does relax your shoulders, though the image of Jack surrounded by eligible, beautiful women flips your stomach. “But he always turned them down. Nicely, but firmly. Wasn’t until Mary at the Fairweather got a few drinks in him that the story came out.”

His past comes to mind unbidden. A wife lost, child never known, a life driven to revenge and anger. At least that’s the history Delos gave him.

“He said there was a woman he fell for, thought she felt the same. Classic wrong place, wrong time. Always said he was waiting for her to let him try again. It was romantic, even if it frustrated most of the female population.” Michelle cups her chin and sighs, fixing you with a soft gaze. “He’s been happier lately, taking trips away and coming back excited. I thought maybe it was work, but I hoped it was love.” 

Your story. He gave them your story with Jack. And one of many questions still needing answers - how long has he known how to find you? - clatters in your silent throat.

“The last few weeks he’s been anxious, always checking his phone. Waiting for something. And I guess we know why!” She slaps the table with merriment scrunching her face. You put up your hands placatingly.

“I don’t know if it’s really all that,” you say, but Michelle shushes you. 

“Of course it is. Don’t worry, I won’t spread it around. The two of you must have a lot of catching up to do.” Her eyes flit to the front hall, a bell tinkling at the edge of your hearing. Heavy boots approach, and even before you turn you know who it must be.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear!” Michelle calls, standing to greet Jack. 

“I’ve hardly been tempting you to sin, ma’am,” Jack drawls as you turn to see him enter. He’s in a heather gray button-up today, the heavy denim jacket complementing his broad shoulders. Hat in hand, the other holds a stack of two dozen eggs that Michelle takes gratefully.

“I just finished the blanket, it’s on the chaise in the living room.” She goes to reach into her pocket when Jack shakes his head.

“The blanket is payment enough, Shelly, you’ve been slaving over it for too long. Those’re a down payment, I’ll bring the rest next week.”

The exchange tingles your body with a sentimentality that you can barely explain. A town that still gives gifts and barters in a time when everything is transactional? You fix your eyes on the little bit of breakfast still lingering on your plate.

“Thank you for taking such good care of my friend too,” he says, finally acknowledging your presence. When you turn your face up to look at him the shyness in his smile heats your cheeks. 

“Michelle has been an excellent host,” you agree, getting another dismissive wave.

“We’re friends now, sweetie, I’m Shelly to you. I’ll leave you to it.” Waving as she takes her eggs into the kitchen, you and Jack are left alone in the ample dining room. He shifts, hat between his hands as you try to find something to say.

“Sorry for bursting in like this, I figured you were here. Not many other places to stay in town.”

You nod with a bright smile, easier today than yesterday.

“Shelly was just telling me all the gossip. Seems like you’re quite the heartbreaker.”

Jack groans as you get to your feet, the space between you still tenuous. “I hope nothing too embarrassing. She’s a heck of a town collector, specializing in secrets.” He leads you towards the door, softer, slower steps as you follow.

“Apparently you have quite a fan club,” you tease, pulling a chuckle from Jack’s lips. It makes your heart clench, hearing it again. 

“Apparently, keeping to myself is dark and mysterious to the imaginative.”

Jack holds the door open for you as you step onto Shelly’s front porch, warm sunshine peeking through delicate clouds. Patterns dapple the asphalt as you walk side by side into the main part of town. After visiting his home you thought the town might be Sweetwater 2.0, but it’s charmingly modern. A main road stuffed with shops, doors open to let the soft breezes in. A public garden, blooms fat and heavy on the branches ready to burst. The towering steeple of a church, the squat columns of a library, Christmas lights still wound around streetlights. Like taking off a snow-caked winter coat, your spirits lighten with each step until your hand itches to find its way into Jack’s palm, consequence be damned. 

“First stop is the Unwin’s shop, my truck’s parked outside,” Jack says, interrupting his soothing descriptions of each storefront and landmark. You’d lost the thread of his conversation two blocks back but nodded as he led you into a general store. He reaches up in the doorway and taps an archaic brass bell hanging over your heads. 

“Right on time, Daniels,” a male voice with a Cockney accent calls, the owner climbing down a beat-up ladder. The men slap shoulders as the ringing fades. “Got comp’ny?” the man asks, turning to hold out his hand to you. He’s got a million-watt smile and a sharply angled face, light brown hair swept back from his forehead. Brown eyes that seem to have perpetual mirth in their depths sparkle behind thick-rimmed glasses. He’s lankier than Jack but all muscle under a white henley and canvas apron. “Gary Unwin, proprietor of this fine establishment.” You shake his hand and tell him your name, faltering when he holds it for a moment longer.

“Jack never graces me with beautiful lady friends. Got quite the poor record with them, ain’tcha Jack, never could close the deal.” Gary straightens and gives you a once over, and where you might feel offended instead the swaggerish nature of this interaction is outlandish enough that you glean it as good-natured ribbing.

“Knock it off, hotshot,” Jack warns, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up at his firm command. Gary’s eyebrows shoot up, turning to retort, but suddenly snaps back to you with a knowing smile.

“Oh, you’re his girl then?” he says, hands on his hips and backing up a step. You mustn’t have schooled your face well enough, because Gary’s smile drops as he turns back. Jack is the picture of embarrassment, busying himself with something in the dried goods aisle. When Gary whips around his smile is full of wonder.

“Oh you’re his girl. The girl,” he says, leaning back against the shop counter. Your eyes dart to Jack for help but he’s standing between two shelves, looking intently at something of interest.

“Didn’t expect such a warm welcome, but I’m thankful for it,” you say, resisting the itching feeling of invisible eyes all over you. 

“You haven’t had a warm welcome until you’ve met my wife. Tilde!” Gary shouts over his shoulder, closing up the ladder and setting it to the side. A scuffle of footsteps and a rosy-cheeked blonde woman peeks out from the back of the shop.

“Hello!” she calls, coming to stand beside Gary. “I’m…” she starts when Gary interrupts her.

“She’s the girl,” he says, giddily nodding in Jack’s direction. His gaze doesn’t lift from its spot, and something pings in your mind at it.

“She’s the…?” Tilde asks, then seeing Jack her face springs into surprise. “You’re the girl!”

“She’s the girl.”

“I’m the girl,” you interject, making a small wave and suppressing a grimace. 

“Oh you must think we’re the nosiest bunch outside a herd of anteaters.” Tilde swats Gary, who shoots her a hurt look. You plead silently with Jack to come to your side, but he’s honed on the shelf, sharp, focused. 

“I swear Jack hasn’t been running around airing all his laundry, we basically dragged it out of him,” Tilde continues, but your eyes are locked on Jack. His face is flushing, one hand gripping the shelf so tight his knuckles are white. Panic flares like a lit match in your chest.

“Jack?” you ask to no response. Gary and Tilde look over their shoulders and snap into action, Gary hurrying to Jack’s side and leading him away from his spot. Tilde yanks a chair from a cafe table and places it beside Jack, Gary urging him to sit. You’re frozen on the spot, heart hammering and your ears ringing until all you can hear is the thin wail of fear.

“Jack, c’mon bruv, sit down,” Gary soothes, Tilde hovering as Jack blinks slow, hard. Numbly you rush to him, gripping his biceps as he struggles. Finally his hands close around your shoulders as a whoosh of air fills his lungs. 

“There we go, we got you,” Gary reassures as Jack slumps into the chair, sucking in slow breaths. You drop to your knees with him, studying his pained face. He manages to get his breathing under control as Tilde hurries to the back. Water runs as you slide your hands down to hold one of his. 

“M’good,” Jack mutters, leaning forward to cup the back of your head. It’s just you and him now, Gary and Tilde a distant afterthought even as Tilde places a cool towel on the back of Jack’s neck. His thumb caresses your cheek, the brim of his hat shading your face. When he opens his eyes there’s exhaustion, but also relief. 

“Sorry for the scare, Sugar,” he rasps. You worry your own thumb in the palm of his hand, reassuring pressure. 

“S’okay, I’m here,” you say. Jack’s face is still a little pink, but you swear the bitten-back smile is all your doing.

You sit on the porch with Tilde as Gary helps Jack load a couple boxes into his truck. Jack rolls his eyes when Gary calls him an old man and refuses to let Jack carry anything, but you catch the mild concern in Gary’s brows, the gentle redirection of hands. Jack huffs but allows the other man to take the lead. Tilde offers you a glass of iced tea, sweetened to perfection.

“Has that happened before?” you murmur as Jack’s shirt pulls across his shoulders. The heat has started to beat down, sweat gathering along your hairline and glistening on Jack’s chest. He unbuttons his shirt one further, treating you to a tantalizing view of his chest.

“He has spells sometimes. Told us he was taking care of it, that he saw a doctor about it.”

What kind of doctor would that be, Jack?

“Some kind of seizure, he said. It’s not often, but we’ve caught him a couple times before. He tells us he’s fine, and we mind our business about it.”

Jack pats Gary on the back as they talk, leaning against his truck tailgate. You trace the curve of his relaxed smile, the expressive lilt of his brows, how perfectly he fits into this landscape so much like his home but leagues freer.

“You’re good friends to him,” you say, smiling at the sunny woman. She returns it, her whole face crinkling genuinely. 

“He’s easy to love. It’s like the world gave him all the gifts but all he does is share them with others. You know that,” she says, tilting her head with a knowing wink. 

“We didn’t get much time together when we first met. I still feel like there’s so much to learn about Jack,” you muse, watching the boys finish their conversation. Jack checks on you over his shoulder, eyes lighting up every time.

“You could take seven lifetimes and never learn everything about a person,” Tilde says, pushing her rocker to sway. “That’s where trust, and patience, and love comes in. Fills in the gaps.”

Gary clomps up the steps, accepting Tilde’s outstretched tea with a large gulp. She trails her fingers over his arm and they share a look that speaks whole sentences. Jack follows cautiously, nodding to you. 

“Ready to go, Sugar?” 

You don’t correct him this time.

The slam of the truck doors precedes a silence you expect. Jack’s hands dance along the wheel, keys in the ignition dangling unattended.

“I’m sorry about…”

“What was that back there?”

You speak at the same time, your resolve canceling out his apology. 

“It wasn’t a seizure, not in the way they think it is. So what are these little spells? Is something…going wrong?” You think malfunctioning but the longer Jack stays by your side, the harder it is for you to imagine him as a machine. He sighs, rubbing his mouth and smoothing back errant mustache whiskers.

“There are other people like me out in your world. Maeve, probably a few still under Delos’ control. But there are some that are awake, and they’re angry, and they’re trying to find anyone they can to help them do God knows what for revenge.” Jack’s eyes plead, grip tightening on the wheel. “That’s not me, Sugar. All I wanted was to get free and stay that way. But we’re all connected, and sometimes one of the others reaches out, tries to figure out who I am, where I am. To what end I don’t know, and I don’t want to. I’ve done a good job keeping them away, but sometimes they try harder, and I have to fight them off.”

You swallow hard, suddenly small in a world that’s full of unseen struggles. 

“So Delos is looking for you, and…I guess rogue hosts are looking for you.” Your next question sticks in your throat, Jack’s eyebrows raised expectantly. “Why come looking for me?”

His mouth opens, and you see the answer written on his tongue, but he swallows it back. Instead he starts the truck, tossing an arm over the back of your seat to reverse. Inhaling the sun-baked warmth of his jacket, shot through with dust and sweet hay, you let your question drift away on the wind.

“I’m sorry about all the attention. Made one slip-up and the whole town knows, apparently.” He parks closer to the center of town, keys jingling as he puts it in park. “If you’d like to stay in the truck and avoid repeating that conversation four more times, I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“Sure, I gotta call Lacey anyways,” you agree, watching Jack swing out of the truck and shut the door behind. In the faux privacy of the truck you let yourself admire his swaying shoulders, the swagger of his walk, that tight ass peeking out from under his jacket.

It’s the first time something carnal has stirred in your chest (and elsewhere) since you’d accepted Jack’s return. Dashing it away, you dial Lacey.

“Not dead?” is her first question, making you laugh louder than necessary.

“Definitely, calling from beyond the grave,” you shoot back.

“Fuck, I knew ghosts were real.”

You share a giggle before Lacey bursts into questioning. Is he handsome? Polite? Not a creep? Did you stay over last night? What have you been doing? You answer rapid-fire - yes, yes, no, no, mostly talking - before she gets to the meat of the matter.

“So is this the real deal?”

You watch Jack as he moves from store to store, picking up paper-wrapped bundles and crisp bags. Every person’s face lights up when he’s in the room, and more time is spent chatting than running errands. It would take twice as long with you by his side. The girl. 

“I’m still figuring it out. There’s definitely potential. It’s just…” You falter, sinking lower in the seat as your stomach clenches. Lacey tuts into the phone.

“It’s just that his cock is too big, right? He only makes you cum three times, not five?” she fake sighs on the other end. You both dissolve into giggles, lolling your head back on the seat. 

“Leap of faith, babe. You made it this far. Don’t leave without knowing if this will work,” she says, another sage piece of advice doled out on a hot Saturday morning. 

“Love you Lace,” you say. A smacking lip sound follows.

“Love you too. Make good choices.”

Rolling your eyes, you hang up just as Jack climbs back in the truck.

“That Lacey?” he asks, turning the key and bringing the truck back to life. Weak air conditioner pummels your face, but you’ll take it. 

“Yeah, just checking in.”

“How’s she doing? Married?” he asks, startling a smile onto your face.

“Yeah, all good. You remember her?” 

Jack tosses you a wink.

“Whole reason I met you, after all. Hard to forget.” 

You settle back in the seat, another warmth seeping into your bones.

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#jack whiskey daniels x reader #jack daniels x reader #jack whiskey daniels x f!reader #jack whiskey daniels x you #jack daniels x you #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x female reader #jack daniels x female reader #kingsman the golden circle fanfiction #westworld fanfiction #prolix fics

[soulofapatrick]

Family isn’t Always Blood - Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: Your parents make a surprise appearance, Joel and Tommy arriving to your rescue and a big secret gets revealed

Words: 1.5k

Warnings: fluff; angst; mentions of abuse; someone being punched; fluff

Notes: I don’t know why my stories are suddenly so family orientated angst I promise ill write some fluffy and smutty ones soon

Y/N’s POV

I open the front door, expecting the knocking to be any of the four Millers from across the street. They all have a key to mine but sometimes they forget them so they knock meaning I wasn’t expecting anything unusual. Yet, standing in front of me are two people I never expected to see. Two people who have made my life a living hell and the exact reason I moved to Austin, Texas. They shower me with fake smiles and hugs before pushing past me and into my house, beady eyes looking around as they walk to my kitchen like they own the place. I debate whether leaving them here and going across the street to the Millers, feeling a lot safer if Joel or Tommy were here but it’s almost 4pm so they’re still at work and won’t be back for another hour at least. 

It takes a deep breath for me to close the front door and joining them in the kitchen, my mum holding a photo of Joel, me, Tommy and Joel’s two daughters out in town for the night. It’s one of my favourite photos and she can tell how much it means to me by the way she puts it back down a little too far to the edge of the counter, watching it fall to the floor with a shattering of glass. Silently, I grab my dustpan and brush, sweeping up the glass and putting the broken frame in the drawer so Joel can fix it for me another time. 

“Tea or coffee?” I ask my sorry excuse of parents as I put the kettle on, grabbing three mugs and pouring coffee and sugar into one of them for myself and tea bags into the other two. I don’t know why I asked when I know they’re going to guilt trip me about forgetting or something so I just wait for my mum’s voice.

“Why would we have anything other than tea?” Dad booms instead, voice making me flinch a little, “Have you really forgotten that much about us in the five years since you’ve been gone?” 

“A lot of things happen in five years,” I reply flatly putting the mugs in front of them and staying standing by the counter with my coffee. I refuse to put myself in a position to get trapped by them, knowing from past experiences of having plates thrown at me for making their food slightly wrong. Somehow, I barely flinch when my dad’s mug smashes against the wall behind me, tea sliding down and staining the white surface. 

“You think you can just up and leave?” He stands, anger in his tone as he tries to rile me up and I’m putting my mug down, grabbing my keys and slipping them into my back pocket. I manoeuvre myself away from the wall so I can make a quick exit if things get heated which they no doubt will. Both of the people sat in my kitchen having violent natures and will give into them eventually, the niceness facade dropping, “You think you can just start your own family and not let us see our grandkids?” 

The picture of me and the Millers. They think Sarah and Ellie are mine? Where the fuck is the logic in that? Both girls are sixteen and fifteen respectively, so no way are they biologically mine which means these strangers have no claim to them. I would fight them tooth and nail if they had grandparent rights anyway, years worth of evidence of the abuse in the way of scars and therapy sessions on my side. They can’t do anything towards the Millers and I wouldn’t let them if they tried, “They’re not my family, they’re my friends.” I lie, it hurts but it’s better than getting them involved in this fight. 

“Really?” Mum speaks this time, the card from Ellie in her hand, “Says here you’re their mum. Which means they’re our grandkids.” She snaps putting the card back down and knocking her cup of tea all over it, a lump in my throat as I want to cry and fall to my knees in submission but Joel and Tommy have taught me to stand up for myself over the years so that’s what I’m going to do instead. 

“I think you two should leave,” I tell them, head up and steeling them with a hard look. It takes them aback so I seize the opportunity to carry on, “You have overstayed your welcome and I have things to be doing this evening” 

“How dare you speak to us like that?” Dad snaps, his anger bubbling to the surface as he knocks over the table, shattering everything on it but I hold firm, walking to the front door and opening it. My heart and confidence soars when I see the familiar pick up truck pulling into the driveway with Joel and Tommy bickering in the front seats, “We are your parents!” 

They stalk after me so I step outside, seeing their land rover parked in my driveway and they follow me out, both steaming from the ears and red in the face as I say, “Thank you for visiting, have a safe trip home and don’t visit me again.” 

“You spiteful little bitch!” There’s a sharp sting across my cheek, car doors slamming and suddenly two large and familiar hands are on my waist, chest against my back and breath ghosting my neck as he pulls me away from my mum. Tommy standing to the left of me as mum spits out, “We are your parents, we raised you and this is how you repay us?” 

It’s like something snaps in me, having Joel and Tommy here to protect me if they get physical again so I say what I’ve been bottling up since I left, breaking away from Joel’s safe grip, “You didn’t raise us! Elliott and Charlotte did that! What you did was beat on us until you got bored, why do you think I left? It wasn’t to be spiteful or abandon my siblings! It was because you beat my twin brother nearly to death and then spent that night laughing about it while I held his dying body in my arms! You took the one person from me that-“ 

I’m stumbling back, hands flying to my nose that is now bleeding profusely and tears are welling up in my eyes, the fist connecting to my jaw this time before there’s a flash and arms are wrapping around me while my dad is slammed into the side of his car by a very red in the face Joel. The usually soft man I’ve come to love has murder in his eyes, Dad’s hand being twisted behind his back as Joel hisses out a warning to him. 

‘Wait!” I shake Tommy off but not before squeezing his arm reassuringly, stepping back over to my parents, gently drawing Joel away from them so I can say my final piece, “I might have three children but you,” I point a finger at them, my other resting on my belly instinctively “Will never have any grandparent rights to them. If you even think about coming anywhere near Austin again I’ll call the police and have you done for murder. I should really be calling them now and telling them about Scott so you can shut your fucking mouths and get in your car and never come back!” 

There’s a stunned silence before they’re shuffling to their car and climbing in, not another word spoken to any of us and I stay where I am until I see them disappear around the corner then Joel’s hand is on my shoulder. His honey eyes are wide and voice shaky when he asks, “Three?” Glancing down to my hand on my belly before meeting my gaze again. I’m swallowing thickly before nodding, not knowing how he’ll react as it’s only been two and a half years since we started dating but Joel’s sweeping me off my feet into a hug. Tommy joins in, hugging us both and there’s tears and laughter, as if the last hour hadn’t happened.

“I guess we should tell the girls that they’re gonna have a sister.” Joel steps back holding me at arms length, face contorting from love and happiness to concern and pain when realises my nose is still bleeding, “I think we should clean you up first.”

“Who says it’ll be a sister.” I tease, having a strong feeling it’s gonna be a boy, and knowing that everything will be okay. I made my own family here in Austin that I wouldn’t change the world for and that’s all I need. 

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@words-are-cheap @clover723 @a-psych0s-w0rld @sexyvixen7 @iraot @gemimawrites @pedropascalsrealhusband @twopercentmilk @amythenortherner @sxnshinebxcky @nelsoomon @urnewghostfriend @grooveandshit @reyas-world @canpillowscry @androgynoysgaz @outl4wage @ginger-swag-rapunzel @quinnverses @librafilms @leonkennedyslefthand @notsosecretspy @intergalacticspacemonkey @certifiedhunter @yourmommilf @mediocrewallflow3r @fariylixie0915 @randomhoex​ @secretsthathauntus​ @ems-alexandra​ @pedr0swh0r3 @quinnsgrapejuice​ @marvelsimps​ @cutesyscreenname​

#Joel Miller #Joel Miller x reader #Joel miller x y/n #Joel Miller x you #Joel Miller fluff #Joel Miller smut #Joel Miller angst #Joel Miller x smut #Joel Miller fanfiction #Joel Miller fanfic #Joel Miller fanfics #Joel Miller fics #Pedro Pascal #Pedro Pascal character #Pedro Pascal characters #the last of us #the last of us 2 #the last of us fluff #the last of us smut #the last of us angst #tlou #tlou2 #tlou fluff #tlou ansgt #tlou smut #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #tlou Joel #Joel tlou

[raccoonhearteyes]

Part I  | Part II  | Part III | Part IV  | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII

October 14th, 2018. 

I love you, Clarke.

Clarke hits play on the voicemail again. I love you, Clarke. I love you, Clarke. I love you, Clarke.

Clarke tried calling the number back. She got a dial tone and an automated message that said “The number you are trying to reach is not accepting calls.” She tried to trace it but it only led to a payphone a few blocks from her apartment. 

If it hadn’t said her name, she could pretend it was a wrong number. If it hadn’t spoken about her art, and her heart as if she’d known them, she could imagine it was a prank. But the details of that voicemail, the tenderness in the caller's voice, Clarke has to believe it’s real. But who? Clarke hasn’t dated anyone. She knows her friends’ and her exes’ voices well enough to know it’s none of theirs. 

She listens again. I love you, Clarke. The voice seems familiar, but she can’t place it. It’s been two weeks since she woke up to this voicemail and she’s no closer to finding the girl. She thought she heard the voice in her coffee shop last week, but lost it again once she turned to find her.

It’s a cold and rainy Sunday. Clarke wants everything the voicemail promises. She wants french toast and couch snuggles. She wants to be loved the way the girl in the voicemail loves her. Why doesn't she know this girl? Why does she only remember a cheating heartbreak and a first date who belittled her work? 

She’s sad and confused and just wants to snuggle up and avoid everyone, but she’s in desperate need of groceries, so she forces herself to get up and get dressed. Her mood sours even more when she can’t find her favorite sweatshirt. It’s a purple hoodie she got her freshman year. Emerson emblazoned on the front. It’s comfy and warm and a little old with a hole worn in the wrist, but Clarke loves that sweater. She keeps it in the back of her closet for days just like this, but today it’s not there.  

---------------

Clarke shoves her way onto a crowded subway car, arms full of grocery bags. There’s nowhere to sit, her umbrella is inside out and three blocks away, and this day cannot possibly get any worse. She unceremoniously drops her bags between her feet and reaches up to grab the rail above her when some purple catches her eye. 

The girl seated on the chair in front of her is beautiful. She has chestnut brown hair tied neatly in a braid, and she’s focused on a book in her hands. 

“You’re wearing my sweater.” 

The girl looks startled, peers up from her book, and Clarke catches the barest hint of a smile before she says “Excuse me?” 

Clarke hears the voice and there’s something familiar about it. The earth shifts beneath her feet, everything a bit off kilter after she hears this girl speak, but she ignores the feeling and blames it on the bumpy subway ride. 

“I have the same sweater. It’s my favorite, but I couldn’t find it in my closet this morning.”

“So you think I stole it?” the girl asks, clearly amused. 

“I must sound insane.”

“A little bit.” 

“You didn’t steal my sweater. Obviously. Probably… Besides, mine had a hole in the left wrist,” Clarke glances down to see a thumb poking through a hole in the wrist, “and a green paint stain in the hood,” her eyes trail up the arm of the sweater in search of the stain, which she finds. Clarke stops talking, suddenly confused. Is that her sweater? How does this girl have it? Did she accidentally donate it when she cleared out her closet over the summer? 

The girl gives her a curious smile, then turns back to her book. Clarke watches her just as curiously as the subway bumps along to her stop. Her eyes are so green. The slope of her neck is elegant. Long fingers flipping through pages. Clarke has a sudden urge to draw her. 

The train screeches to a halt at her stop and Clarke bends over to grab her groceries. The paper bag soaked through from the rain and one of them rips a huge hole in the bottom as she lifts it. Her groceries slide to the floor and start rolling  underneath chairs and feet. 

She might be about to cry. Nothing about today is going the way she wanted it to. She’s wet, sad, and so done. But her sweater thief is on her hands and knees before Clarke has time to lose it in this subway car. All of Clarke's animosity for her stolen sweater melts into gratitude as she watches this stranger methodically gather items and look at her with soft eyes. She fills her backpack with Clarke’s spilled groceries. “Crisis averted,” she says and gestures for her to lead them out of the station. 

“Thank you. I think I might have had a meltdown in there if you hadn’t knight-in-shining-armored me.”

“No problem.”

“I can try and fit those all in this bag instead.” 

“It’s okay, I’ve got them. I’ll walk you home?” She says it as a question, giving Clarke the chance to turn her down. But for some reason Clarke trusts this stranger. Normally she’s quick to pepper spray any weirdo on the train that breathes too close to her, but this girl feels familiar for some reason Clarke can’t quite put her finger on. Maybe it’s the sweater. 

“I’m only a block away.” 

“It’s the least I can do for stealing your sweater,” the girl smirks, a mischievous glint in her eye. She looks so smug and pleased with herself for her joke that Clarke just wants to wipe it off her face. She almost does with a kiss before she catches herself and wonders what came over her. Who does that? Why did that urge feel like muscle memory? 

Clarke narrows her eyes instead. “Just let me be the crazy lady on the subway, okay? It’s been a rough day.” 

The two emerge from the subway station to be met with a torrential downpour. While Clarke only lives a block away, they are absolutely drenched by the time they make it to her doorstep. The girl starts to unload her backpack when Clarke stops her, “Come in. I’ll make you some tea and give you some time to dry off and wait out the storm. It’s the least I can do for the girl who saved me from ending up a viral sensation as ‘lady has a meltdown on the subway’”

They shuffle into the entrance of Clarke’s apartment, toeing of boots, shucking off soaked layers. Clarke offers a towel to the shivering girl in her doorway, who happily accepts it. She then moves off to the kitchen to start the kettle. 

She pulls a wide white mug with a sheep hidden in the inside and a tall blue one with a whale painted on the side from her mug collection. “Spring or fall?” She asks, even though neither mug has anything to do with either of them. 

The girl says, “Fall,” and Clake pours hot water over the teabag in the sheep mug and pushes it towards her. She keeps the whale mug for herself and oh they’re standing much closer than Clarke realized. Close enough that she can see the vibrant green of her hero’s eyes. 

“Your eyes are like a forest,” and suddenly she’s hit with a wave of familiarity. Has she said that already?

The girl looks down, wraps her hands around her mug and takes a long sip, then lets out a contented sigh.

Clarke flashes a brilliant grin, “Good, right? The secret is--”

“Cinnamon,” the girl finishes, immediately flushing a pretty pink.

“Yeah, actually… have you had it before?”

She shakes her head. “Just recognized the flavor.” But for some reason Clarke doesn’t find it all that believable. She takes another moment to watch her stranger. Has she--?  

“Sorry, I realized I never asked your name.”

“Anna.” 

Clarke nods, leaning over the counter and slouching into her tea as if it could regenerate her. 

“You look like a wilted flower,” Anna teases. 

“Water me and watch me bloom,” Clarke responds with a wink. 

“I think the rain already took care of that one for me. Not how I usually like to get girls wet, but…” her voice starts to fade, and a deep laugh erupts from Clarke’s chest. Maybe this day isn’t so bad after all. 

----------

Clarke peers out the window after they’ve finished their tea. “It doesn’t look like it’s going to stop raining any time soon. Do you want some dry clothes or a blanket?” 

“Sure,” and she pads after Clarke into the bedroom to find a dry sweater. She starts to pull off Clarke’s favorite sweater, but the wet fabric is all stuck to each other and her shirt comes up with it. Clarke doesn’t think to stop herself from watching new skin become available, the jut of a hipbone… It’s only when the girl flails a bit and requests a bit of help as her arms are stuck over her head and the fabric is too damp and adhered to her that she can’t escape that Clarke steps closer to ease the shirt over her head. 

It feels intimate and familiar. She smells like pine and rain, and Clarke is drawn even closer. She’s been freed, and there’s no reason for Clarke to still be standing this close to her, but neither say anything. Clarke just quietly stares, eyes flitting between lips and forest green.

Clarke thinks she might kiss her. There’s a moment where she thinks she leans in, but is cut off by Clarke blurting out, “Can I paint you?” 

The girl nods, and moves to put on the dry shirt, but Clarke stops her, “Actually, I have an idea.” 

Clarke brings them back out to the living room and lays out a large drop cloth, pulls out a few body-safe paints, and instructs her to lie down on her stomach and Clarke sees the moment it clicks for her. “Oh, you want to paint on me.”

“Is that okay?” 

She nods, and there’s an intensity to Anna’s eyes that exists whenever their eyes meet, and Clarke isn’t sure how someone could hold so much and not burst.

She lays down on the drop cloth, pillowing her head on her arms, and Clarke starts by sitting next to her, but the angle isn’t quite right. She insists that Clarke just sit on her thighs, but Clarke hesitates. “I don’t want to squish you.”

“I’ll be fine, I promise.” 

Clarke settles on her thighs, straddling her, immediately grateful that her model can’t see her face with how flushed she is. She’s a professional artist. Most of her models are nude. Why is this affecting her so much? She’s still wearing pants, and a bra!  

The bra will actually be a problem for the paint so Clarke slides her fingers under the clasp, “Can I…?” She’s not sure why her thoughts aren’t coming out fully formed, but the gesture was enough for her model to get the gist, and she agrees. Clarke unhooks the back and slides the straps off strong shoulders. The rush of heat to her face and her core-- Clarke is sure she must feel like a small space heater on the girl’s thighs. She traces her fingers over her new canvas, watching ribs expand with each deep breath, seemingly trying to slow her heart rate. Maybe that’s just Clarke's wishful thinking. 

“What are you going to paint?”

“The universe.”

Clarke tries to keep her hand steady as she brings the brush to the model’s back. With the first stroke of the brush, she inhales sharply and shivers. “No wiggling,” Clarke gently scolds. 

“It’s cold.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to paint quickly.” 

It’s some kind of exquisite torture, painting Anna’s back. She goes as fast as she can to minimize her discomfort. It’s different, painting on a living canvas. It’s gentler, even more intimate. The longer Clarke paints, the more she’s sure that the heat between her legs is burning a hole through her model’s jeans.  Her model squirms and makes noises and Clarke’s grip on her hip increases the whole time, unclear which of them she’s trying to anchor. She tries not to focus on it, instead holding her breath to keep herself steady with every brush stroke, but it’s nearly impossible with all of the wiggling.

Clarke strokes her finger over the rough shape of planets and galaxies she has planned in her head, and sees goosebumps erupt beneath her fingertips, “Are you still cold?”

“No,” her voice is rough and sultry.  

Clarke flushes red again, and tries to pick up the pace to end this maddening exercise in restraint. 

When she’s finished, her back is a sparkling array of stars. Within an atmosphere of black space there are swirls of undulating patterns of deepest blue-gray. There are hints of planets and an ever-expanding view. It’s carefully executed with delicate strokes of smooth brushwork, the galaxies shift in color as they overlie one another: mint green becomes forest green as a light circle of purple drifts over it also turning bubble-gum pink into a pale, dusty tone; cherry red fades into lemon yellow; lilac purple fades to lapis-lazuli blue. It’s vibrant, and seeing it move and shift as her model stretches sore muscles and readjusts her position makes it even more compelling. 

Clarke lets out a soft whisper, “wow” 

“Take a picture so I can see,” her model requests. 

Clarke tries to capture the beauty of this piece through the lens of the camera. She plays with the light and the angles, ensuring to get the model’s entire back, but only the hint of the face. A sharp jawline, the tip of a chin, an intricate braid, a profile at most. When she takes some that would have the whole face, it ends up blurred-- Anna must have turned-- but the effect is intriguing, adds to the mystery of the art and she decides they don’t need to retake them.

“Come see,” Clarke requests, switching the camera into view mode. The screen is small so they crowd close together to look at the pictures. 

“These are great,” she says earnestly. Clarke looks up to meet forest green eyes, sparkling with pride. 

The first kiss can barely be called a kiss. Two smiles bumping into each other. “I’m sorry, you just looked so pretty,” But the second one is initiated by her model and it ignites something in Clarke. Cupping a sharp jawline, Clarke makes sure to kiss her properly this time. As far as first kisses go, this has to be the best. Their lips fit perfectly together and they find a coordinated rhythm as if they’ve done this a thousand times before. Clarke wraps one arm around a thin waist, immediately smudging the paint along her back, but she can’t bring herself to care. This feels right. 

And for whatever reason, that grounded feeling she finds in this kiss makes her think of that voicemail. I love you Clarke. And her chest aches. God she wants that so badly. But fucking the girl you just met probably isn’t the way to get that, so Clarke forces herself to stop kissing. Anna chases lips that aren’t there, then opens her eyes in confusion, “Did I do something wrong?” 

“No. No. You’re perfect. Wonderful, really. I just want to do this right.”

She’s smiling a big wide grin, but her eyes are welling up with tears, so Clarke tries to quell them. “I’ve been kind of rushing into the physical stuff too much and I want something real. I think this could be good.”

“You think we’d work?”

“Yeah, I really do. So, I need you to go shower, get this paint off, and then have dinner with me.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” She grabs the dry shirt and sweater Clarke had offered hours ago, but never let her put on, and heads to the bathroom. 

--------------

Clarke sits on the couch mindlessly scrolling on her phone, when she hears her front door creak open and then gently shut. She grabs the nearest heavy object, a vase she sculpted in college, and sneaks towards the kitchen, “Who’s there?”

No answer. She raises the vase, armed and ready for whoever is trying to break in. But there’s no one there. She flips the deadbolt just to be safe. Weird. I must be hearing things, she thinks.

Clarke makes her way back to the couch and sees her purple Emerson sweater balled up on the floor, “Aha! I knew I didn’t lose you!” she says to no one in her apartment. She shrugs the sweater on, wondering why she couldn’t find it this morning when it was right there and is bright purple. She snuggles into it and resettles on the couch. It smells vaguely of pine. 

#lexa #clexa #clarke griffin #the invisible life of addie larue #clexa au

[ai-luni]

How would Hesh react if the Ghosts openly teased him about his… late night adventure with Virago? Imagine the next day Hesh is in the kitchen getting breakfast and one of the others drops a bombshell of a comment. Funny and cute!

Maybe a lil vision of how you would see something like this going down? <3

I absolutely love this request and I love how this little fic turned out so I hope you like it. Our little doofy man <3

word count: 1.2k

Saturday, 9am

The ghosts were gathered around the small table in the makeshift kitchen/dining area. Each of them sporting their own pair of eyebags and pale hungover faces. None of them are willing to give in and lose the card game in front of them however. All except a specific two that went missing in the middle of the night and have yet to be seen. 

“You lost a lot of money last night son, it may be better to tap out before you make it worse.” A smug Elias stood from his chair, mug in hand with intention to make another coffee. Merrick followed, with not as pure of intentions. He promised he would stop when the flask was finished, not that Elias was complaining. The alcohol was already wearing off to a pounding headache for the two large men. 

Logan was dishevelled, a concentrated look on his face as he contemplated the four cards in his head. His eyes darted between them and the upright Keegan sitting across from him, the man looking as though last night's drinking had little to no effect on him whatsoever. Neither were providing him with any comfort. Logan had only one way out and that was to create a diversion. 

“WHAT’S THAT?!” He pointed to the door behind a very disappointed keegan. With a sigh, he entertained Logan and took an extra effort in making a show of turning around. Elias and Merrick holding back their drunken giggles as Logan frantically shuffled through the deck, only pulling out two cards and leaving the table in disarray by the time Keegan turned back towards him. 

“We’re done here. Nice try, kid.” And with that Keegan dropped the perfect hand onto the table, the closest to a smirk he could form was on his face as Logan further sank into his chair. 

The moment Hesh entered the room, Riley had already latched onto his tail (pun intended). The boy was only wearing his jeans from last night, his bare chest littered with red marks he was yet to even notice were on display. Some were love bites, some were lipstick smudges, some were just plain unidentifiable. 

“You look like you had fun last night.” Merrick’s mocking tone was always one to brighten the room. All the boys shared a knowing look amongst each other. Logan not shying from an eye roll to his father. 

“Yeah, just terribly hungover.” He chucked, reaching for a mug from a top cabinet. A glimpse under his arm was revealed to the two men who stood against the counter. They scoffed and shared a look, almost impressed with the amount of marks and stains that trailed up his arm. There was a silent beat as he made his coffee.

“Have you seen Vig last night? She disappeared.” Keegan asked with a straight face, he was playing into the bit but of all of them, he was the hardest to tell. Logan just smiled for him, finding any excuse to avoid packing the dreaded cards away. 

Hesh only shrugged, back turned to the crowd. All of his energy was focused on making this drink in hopes it’ll wake him up. His eyes barely open. 

“Better question, where did you go last night?” Logan couldn’t stop himself, arms crossed and prompted up on the table. A serious, inquisitive look on his face that made his father laugh. 

It was only now that Hesh seemed to catch on. As subtle as he thought he was, he wasn’t. His movements completely froze for a solid few seconds before he turned around with his mug, proceeding to pretend he had no idea what Logan was talking about. But if looks could kill, Logan would be poisoned in seconds. 

He took a sip from his coffee, hoping that if he disregarded the question, everyone would move on. That most definitely was not the case however, every single ghost in the room held a very expected stare his way. Riley was his saving grace, the dog back at his side providing the perfect excuse that no one was really going to believe. 

“Took Riley out.” And as expected, no one believed him. “I can’t keep him cooped up in here with all of you wasted. Come on, boy.” 

Mild embarrassment made his feet more quicker as he began to lead Riley out of the room, extra cautious not to spill his drink. 

Elias stopped him, a hand to his chest and a subtle smile playing his features. The room watched in silence as he grabbed a glass from the shelf, poured a glass of water and walked towards his son. 

“Take this to Virago. Take care of the damn girl.” The room couldn’t hold it back anymore, everyone breaking out into giggles and laughs. Of course you even knew they’d all find out fairly quickly, it’s not like the two of you tried to be quiet. Hesh was the only one who thought he was getting away with it. 

“That lightweight. She’s gonna need it after last night.” Merrick had to add.

“Can’t even imagine how she’s feeling in the morning.” Logan laughed, a little genuine concern playing in his voice. Amidst all the noises they heard into the early hours of the morning, there was one moment where they almost considered actually checking up on you. That was until all the screaming was followed by “David! Again! David!” again. And they knew you’d be just fine. 

“I can. Thin walls.” Keegan said, getting up to make his own coffee now. Hesh was just about squirming to leave. 

“You got your stamina from me.” Elias gave him a proud pat to the shoulder. The room disbursed at that very moment with a communal groan. Logan passing his father moments after mumbling something about not needing to ever hear that. Hesh was already long gone. 

- 

“Daviiid.” Your speech drawled and lazy as you stretched across the cot, your smile peaking the moment he entered the room again. He watched as you tired smile turned to a childish frown. “Get back here, it’s so cold!” 

He hurried by your side, handing you the glass of water as you propted yourself up. You thanked him with a peck to the lips before downing the cool liquid. Maybe it was the relief of it going down your sore throat or the sudden different position you were sitting in but a long, exhausted groan fell off  your lips. Followed by another and then another. All until you were comfortably laying against Hesh’s chest. 

You trailed your finger across his chest, one mark to another. Admiring your handiwork until it hit you.

“Did you go out there like this?” Your finger tracing a lipstick mark that would’ve been a perfect line of your lips if he didn’t sleep on it. 

“Yeah? Why?” The clueless boy finally looked down, face turning bright red realising the evidence of last night was plastered over him completely. The only remedy? A kiss to the cheek. “You think there's a chance nobody saw it?”

“They already know!” You playfully hit his chest.

“How did they know?!” You couldn’t help but laugh at your big doof.

“I barely have a voice.”

#cod #call of duty #call of duty ghosts #david hesh walker #hesh walker x reader #hesh walker #hesh walker x you #thomas merrick #elias walker #logan walker #keegan russ

[imagine-knb]

Imagine Midorima thinking no one can love him only to be asked out in the cutest and clumsiest of way by reader

How about making it a continuation to this post~ Admin Neon

He was ten minutes late to work. Traffic had been terrible and delays had Midorima walking into the building with rushed steps. He'd only been a part of the staff for a few months at this point — partially thanks to your generosity for helping him through the hiring process — and already, he felt like he wasn't showing his employers the best that he could do.

With curt nods toward his peers, Midorima made his way to his cubicle, thoughts of pulling up a leave slip so he could have those ten minutes excused already filling his mind — he would not accept payment for the minutes he was tardy — but when he reached the little space he called his own, he was surprised to find it already occupied.

"____-san?" he questioned your presence.

His sudden voice startled you and you yelped, dropping the paper cup of coffee you had in your hands. It toppled over onto his desk, right over his keyboard.

"Shit!" you hissed, picking up the keyboard to try shake the brown liquid off it. "Ah, shit, shit, sorry Midorima-san, I have a spare keyboard at my desk. Let me go get it."

Unplugging the keyboard from his computer, you hurried past the green haired man, trying to hide the light flush of embarrassment on your cheeks. As you sped off, Midorima entered his cubicle slowly and with a sigh. So the day could get worse.

Glancing down at his desk where the coffee had begun to spill over the edge, he noticed a piece of paper sitting next to the half empty cup of coffee you'd abandoned. He picked it up, reading the smeared penmanship that had begun to bleed from the liquid stains.

'I got you some coffee for your first bad traffic day. Let's get lunch together during our break. Just us two'

The sound of your shuffling feet as you dug through your desk drawers a few cubicles away caught his attention. As a small smile crossed his features, Midorima thought, maybe the day could get better.

#midorima #divider by skylightlantern

[tinydestinybear]

Hii, have you ever written something about Harry having a daughter and she starts her period with him and is embarrassed?

hi anon, not written before but i gave it a try below! also i think they might have had a conversation with her before and explained to her :)

tw: mentions of blood

-

It had started in the morning with her feeling an indescribable pain in her stomach and feeling slightly nauseous, she didn’t think of it more and thought she just felt under the weather. It didn’t strike her mind that she had started her periods which is why when she went to use the washroom, seeing the blood on her garments made her let out a short scream.

Since it was her first time to see blood herself, it felt a little scary but since you both had a conversation before she mostly knew what she had to do. She was glad she didn’t feel that much of a panic as she had expected to. What she did feel bad about was that she had ended up staining the bed sheet slightly.

Harry had been preparing breakfast that very morning while you had gone for an early morning at work, which meant only your daughter and him were alone. As soon as he heard her scream, he turned the stove off and rushed upstairs to her room.

He knocked a little before he let her know that he’s entering her room, “Baby I’m gonna come in.” 

When Harry had entered, her bathroom door was slightly open and he could hear the drawers being opened and then closed. She was rummaging around the drawers but could not find any pads for herself. 

“Baby all good? Are you fine?”

She was a little hesitant to ask for his help, but maybe he knew where else they were kept. “Dad I think I just started with my periods but I don’t have any pads here. Could you please help me find them and keep them on the bed?”

“Yes darling, give me a second.” Since he had seen where you kept in your pads, he was quick to bring in a pack for her and excuse himself out to let her adjust herself. 

A few minutes later when she’d come down, he had prepared coffee for her along with keeping some chocolates in a bowl by the side. He wasn’t the best at knowing what to do right now but he wanted to make sure she felt better. They both had breakfast together before she remembered the stained bed sheet.

“Dad I’m so sorry to trouble you again but I think I stained my bed sheet. I feel a little pain in my stomach so is it fine if I drop it for cleaning a few hours later?”

“Oh baby, that’s no problem. I’ll do it for you hm? You can do it from next time.” He said while he kept the dishes in the sink, leaving a kiss on her forehead.

“But Dad-”

“Trust me, it’s fine. If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll not do it but all that matters is that you feel good.”

“I’ll come along with you then.”

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #dad harry styles #dad!harry #harry styles fluff #sejal files #harry styles blurb #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harrystylesfanfic #harry styles fanfiction #love on tour #harry styles love on tour

[luvgirlxblue]

I don't get paid enough for this, pt.1

Character: Shoto Todoroki

Category: [series]

Words: 0.9k

Warnings: some for the entire series in general, but none for this part :)

Authors notes: it's 2am you know the drill

Y/N: no race for this one either but i mentioned hair in your face so keep that in mind, Y/N is female and both Y/N and Shoto are in their early 20's. quirk: temperature. as the name suggests you can simply change the temperature in certain areas or of certain objects.

Beep, beep, beep, be-

"Alright, that's enough of that." Y/N grumbled while rubbing her eyes. Slamming her hand down on the alarm clock she thought about quitting her job and joining the circus just so she wouldn't have to wake up at such an early time for an 9 hour shift at the hole-in-a-wall cafe. Rolling out of bed she pushed the hair out of her face and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. After going through the necessary motions of her morning routine, she eyed the uniform hanging on the handles of her wardrobe, and sighed. "I'll have to get those coffee stains out later."

Keys? Check. Purse, Check. Motivation? Nope, but considering she was already clocking in at this point, there wasn't much to do about it, she had to support her cat child after all.

And so the day began: late trains, rude customers, loud kids and occasionally spilling hot drinks on herself were all parts of the many trials of her job. After graduating highschool, since she didn't have any ambition of pro-hero or public service work, she was relatively stuck for choices. So here she was doing the best she could to support herself while she figured things out.

It was around 7PM now, and the population of the small shop had thinned out considerably. While cleaning out cups, Y/N heard the bell above the door tinkle quietly, and sighing she reluctantly pulled out her notepad. Not bothering to look up she asked the stranger what they would like to drink in a monotone voice. The response she got back was pretty standard but after writing the order down, and going to ask for a name, she stopped dead in her tracks. She was met with red and white hair, and two hetero-chromatic eyes (with a huge scar to match) staring at back at her.

Taking a look at the outfit he had on, her first impression was that whoever this man was, he was probably either a low-ranking hero, or some obsessive fan-boy. Probably some sidekick that had shown up on TV beside on of the pro's, or maybe some kind of eccentric PR manager? That would explain away the strange hair colour...

Now, Y/N had lost much of her previous interest in heroes after realising that her quirk just wasn't cut out for the job, but she did remember the faces of most of the finalists in U.A's sports festival -the one she had watched at 14. Blurry memories of the winner and runners up began to swim across her mind. The main three being the hot-headed #8 Dynamight, of course the up-and-coming #5 Deku, and... oh. Right. Shit- wait there was no way he was just casually standing in front of her right now. Did the number #9 pro-hero just walk in? To a place like this? Now? Ah- the coffee, this ha to be the best one you've made yet, don't mess up Y/N don't-

"Excuse me ma'am, but are you alright? You dropped your notebook."

You turn your face back to a slightly concerned looking Shoto holding out your notebook.

"Oh, me? I'm fine - i'll just start on your drink sir..."

There was no way she would let a rising pro catch her stuttering. Absolutely not. Never.

Y/N takes the opportunity to slink away behind the counter and turn her back to him, while focusing a little too hard on the whirring of the espresso machines.

Shoto took the hint and sat himself down at one of the booths in the corner, while he pulled out his phone to occupy himself with.

After a little while he took a break from work emails and paperwork too peak at his barista. Sure, she had recognised him, that much was clear - it was nothing new. But what was new was that she hadn't screamed, or thrown herself at him, or fainted, or asked for an autograph, or gushed about his quirk or display even a hint of any other fan-girlish reaction he'd been subject to in the past. She had just...done nothing?

It was a well known fact that Shoto wasn't the fastest when it came to social ques or interacting with fans (something his PR team had tried to capitalise on), and he could not figure out why the woman had been so casual about meeting him. (Was she not aware of his rankings? Maybe she preferred Dynamight over him?)

And suddenly it was one of those rare moments in his life, where, despite growing up in the shadow of a famous pro-hero himself, and attending a prestigious and well known school, he felt...

Small. Unimportant.

Another quick glance confirms none of the other patrons seemed to recognise (or care) who he was either.

He decided it was a welcome contrast to the attention he usually boasted, and that he was grateful to the woman for not mentioning it.

Y/N on the other hand was quite dejected. She had seen the way these heroes lived - in luxury and comfort - and it only added insult to injury to see his dazzling face juxtaposed against the cracked wall of the diner. She was also gloomy about his eventual departure, and it reminded her of how insignificant her interactions with people like him would always be.

Just another face in another crowd.

She still had a couple more hours of her shift left, and both of these harsh facts were making her more than irritated at this point.

That's why, when the first explosion burst through the door, and her ears started to ring, her first thought was annoyance at all the damage coming out of her paycheck instead of worry for the blood seeping out of the wound on her head.

#i dont get paid enough for this #part one #shoto torodoki #todoroki x reader #series #chapter one #shoto is clueless but we love him regardless #idk how to tag help #mha #my hero academia

[imagines-for-the-fangirls-soul]

PSL - Peter Parker

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader Word Count: 1,114 Synopsis: A pumpkin spice latte meet cute.

A/N: Check out my fall return!

If one more thing went wrong today, you were going to lose your mind. After a long day of classes, a quick shift at your crappy part time job, and a mountain of cleaning waiting for you back at your apartment, you were ready for the day to be over. There had been only one thing that had gotten you through it all -- the promise of a pumpkin spice latte. 

You had held off on getting one since they released at the end of August. You wanted the perfect fall experience: cool weather, fallen leaves crunching under your boots, and a pumpkin spice latte in your gloved hands. 

But it was halfway through September, and the low today was eighty degrees. You couldn’t even pretend it was different -- the sun was beating against your back as you stood in the never-ending Starbucks line, making you sweat. You had waited long enough, you decided, and after your stressful day, you deserved to treat yourself a little. 

When you got to the front of the line, you placed your order, much to the annoyance of the barista. Clearly, this was not his first pumpkin spice latte of the day, but you didn’t care. No one was going to ruin this moment for you.

You moved on down to the opposite end of the counter, waiting alongside three other people for your order. After a few minutes, the barista working the counter called out, “Pumpkin spice latte!”

You stepped forward and reached for the coffee just as a man brushed in front of you and grabbed it first. 

“Oh, excuse me, I think that’s mine,” you said, trying to stay polite, even though you were practically steaming like the cup in his hand. The cup that was supposed to be yours.

“It’s not,” he said.

“Look, you just ordered, you have to wait for yours,” you said, trying to take the cup from his hands. 

“Hey! Get your own!”

“This is my own,” you said, gripping it tighter. 

“Knock it off!” 

The barista at the counter tried to interfere, telling the man that his coffee would be only a few minutes more, just as the cup went flying out of both of your hands. You waited for the hot coffee to spill over you, burn your skin, and for your day to hit a triumphantly terrible note, but it never came. You and the man had both been embracing for the pumpkin flavored wave, but when you opened your eyes, you saw a new man standing in front of you, holding the cup of coffee perfectly upright. 

“I believe this is yours,” the tall man said. You smiled at him, and briefly noted how handsome he was, but even more important than that, you noted that he was handing the cup to you, without a single drop spilled. “Ever hear of common decency, or waiting your turn?” he asked the man you had been wrestling the cup from. 

“Whatever,” he said, turning towards the counter and grabbing the nearest cup of coffee, before storming out.

“That wasn’t his either,” the barista muttered, giving the waiting customer a sympathetic look.

“Thank you,” you said, looking back to the tall man next to you. “I was worried I was going to have to throw out this shirt if it got stained.”

“You’re welcome. Had to help out a fellow PSL lover,” he said, grinning as he lifted his own coffee cup. 

“Can I buy you like a scone or something? That was so awesome.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” he said, running his hands through his hair.

“Well, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You have insanely good reflexes. I didn’t even realize you were standing there.”

“Just lucky I guess.”

“Anything for a PSL, right?”

“Right,” he said, grinning back at you. You both moved towards the exit and realized after a few steps out of the Starbucks that you were both walking the same way. You laughed easily and fell into step together.

“Y/N,” you introduced.

“Peter,” he said, shaking your hand. “Is this your first pumpkin spice latte of the season?”

“It is,” you said, smiling, “I was hoping to wait for some more autumn-y weather, but I couldn’t wait anymore.”

“I totally understand.”

“And you?” you asked, nodding to his cup.

“Not my first,” he said, laughing, “My tenth, I believe.”

“I admire your commitment.”

“Thank you,” he said, grinning down at you, “But I respect your waiting for fall. A PSL is much better when the weather is cold and there are pumpkins everywhere.”

“Yes, thank you! No one seems to understand the beauty of fall. Whoever wants this steamy weather to hang around us insane in my mind.”

“Mine too,” he said kindly, “And you’re right about fall, it is a severely underrated season by far.”

“All I can think about is the leaves turning and Central Park become a rainbow of reds, oranges, and yellows, and no matter where you turn, leaves are falling all around you,” you said wistfully. Peter smiled at you and for some reason it made your cheeks blush similarly to the leaves you had been describing.

“Yes! There is this spot on a building near Central Park that has the greatest view of the park. For miles, it is just an ocean of fall colors.”

“On a building?”

“In,” he said, stammering over his correction. “It’s just so close to the park that it feels like you’re practically stuck to the building.”

“Hmm,” you said, taking another delectable sip of your coffee. “Think of Spider-Man, that bastard probably gets to see the best views of the park.”

“Probably,” he said quietly. 

As you approached the subway station, you were surprised that you were reluctant to leave his side. It wasn’t every day that you met a stranger on your daily commute, much less someone who loved pumpkin spice lattes as much as you. You felt your steps slowing, and noticed that his did, too.

“This is my stop,” you said softly. “Thank you again for saving my PSL.”

“Anytime,” he said, smiling at you.

“Well--”

“Y/N?” he called softly, turning your attention back up to him.

“Yeah?”

“Maybe I could see you again? I could buy you your second pumpkin spice latte.”

“I would like that very much,” you said, smiling at him. You exchanged numbers and let out a sigh. 

“And maybe we could take a look at some leaves, too. Maybe not Spider-Man level of intensity, but still some colorful ones,” he said. You laughed at him and nodded.

“That sounds wonderful. Until then, Peter,” you said, turning back towards the station.

“Until then, Y/N.”

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #spiderman #spiderman x reader #spiderman imagine #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman fanfic #spiderman fanfiction #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction

[the-starryknight]

tagged by @tackytigerfic, @lqtraintracks, @shealwaysreads, @saintgarbanzo to "Recommend us 3 of YOUR fics: 1 that is “most popular” and 2 that are “hidden gems.” Then tag some folks." read theirs here: tacky, lqt, bella, garbanzo!

One "popular" fic: The Notion of Attention { T, 4k } - Draco snoops about Harry's bedroom when he wakes up before Harry does. I think this one might've been rec'd on tiktok, which is why it's been read more than my others:

The act of pouring out the grinds in the base of the press was steadying. He moved carefully, neatly, afraid to drop even the smallest crumb onto the counter, though maybe that wouldn’t be so bad: leaving a little mark of himself on this place, a stain of coffee on the granite countertop. He shook the grounds into the press, breathing in the fresh scent, already more awake for the smell of coffee on the air. When the water boiled, he let it sit for a moment, watching the steam curl lazily into the air. He poured it over the grounds and waved a finger, stirring it gently and watching the inky crumbs swirl into the water.  In the moments while it steeped, he ran his hands over the smooth countertops. They were a bold black and green granite, cold under the touch and as always, perfectly, strikingly clean. Feeling only slightly guilty for prying (as the excuse of looking for cream was always available to him), Draco opened the fridge and looked inside. He had expected an abundance of takeout or a total lack of food, as was usually the case at Blaise’s flat.  Instead, the shelves were overflowing with fresh produce and tupperware, evidence of an extensive cooking regime. Eyeing the closed bedroom door, Draco opened one container, sniffing at a rich yellow curry. He put a pinky into the sauce and tasted it, shutting his eyes as the flavors burst across his tongue, sweet and spicy and perfectly balanced. Oh, Harry was a good cook.

Hidden Gem #1: Saltwater Stain { M, 9k } - this one is a little dark, a bit unsettling, and tagged for an ambiguous ending. Harry's completely blinded by his own pining, which is exactly where I like him best. here's my favorite scene from it (warning for magical shaving!)

Draco moved — unbearably — nearer. His hand slipped to cradle Harry’s head, fingertips curling behind his ear, holding him so tenderly Harry wanted to break apart. His hips were a breath away. Could he feel how desperate Harry was from only this? “Let me finish this too,” Draco murmured, running his thumb over Harry’s half-shaved jaw, his fingernail sharp against Harry’s lower lip. “Yeah.” Harry swallowed, his throat clicking against Draco’s careful palm. “Sure.” “Close your eyes.” Harry shut them. “Good.” Darkness was bliss; Harry slipped out of his own mind. He was the point of Draco’s fingertips against his cheekbone, his chin, his jaw; he was the brush of magic against the fragile softness by his ear, he was the pull of muscle in his neck when Draco pushed his chin this way and that. Loose, he was easy, he was anything Draco wanted him to be. “You’re so good,” Draco murmured, as he pressed Harry’s head back, the tip of his wand curving along the underside of his jaw. “Look at you,” he breathed into Harry’s ear. “You’d do anything for me.”

Hidden Gem #2: Meet me at Midnight { 57k, T } - honestly, i'm not sure if this one counts as a hidden gem because i have been honored by a lot of love on it (and this incredible binding!!), but it may be my favorite thing I've ever written, so I'm reccing it anyway. here's a passage I enjoyed:

“Harry,” the voice said, one final time, insistent and near. The figure ahead of him, standing on the edge of a high cliff, was facing him, though Harry couldn’t make out their face. He was too tall and too thin to be Ron. “What is this?” Harry said, pushing himself to his feet. He spun in all directions, staring around himself. The sky was silver-blue, alive with smoke and heavy grey clouds and so bright Harry could barely stand to look up. “Where am I? Is he safe?” “You’re dreaming.” The man — and he must have been a man, his voice was deep and warm — stood at the edge of the cliff, black shoes grounded among the dark rock. “This is all a dream.” The air smelled like sulphur, like heat. It was distinct from the Room’s paper-burning wood scent. As though the air itself was on fire. It was warm on Harry’s face, like standing at the heart of the Burrow rather than in the middle of a burning room. “I know who you are.” Harry stepped closer to the cloaked man. He was about Harry’s height, a little thinner in build but wearing heavy clothing, masking his true figure. For a moment, Harry thought of the Death Eaters with their awful masks. But this man… this creature, perhaps… He wasn’t a threat. He kept his hands open, palms up, no wand or weapon in sight. Harry said, “You’re the Dreamwalker.”

Who else would like to play? no-pressure tagging @skeptique, @writcraft, @ruinsplume, @americanmoths, @gryffindorhearts, @softlystarstruck @onbeinganangel @fluxweeed @epitomereally and anyone who wants to play. If you haven't yet, please have at it, and tag me if you do.

#starry writes #am very stressed so i'm doing this instead of everything else #queue star