emma23

[emma23]

Wings of ash :

Llewyn davis x reader

The rain had started softly that evening, a kind of melancholy drizzle that matched the brooding atmosphere of the small cafe in Greenwich Village. The hum of quiet conversations filled the dimly lit space, but there, tucked in the back corner, Llewyn sat with Y/N. She had come, against her better judgment, her coat still damp from the rain and her eyes fixed on him with a kind of intensity that seemed both daring and regretful.

Llewyn’s gaze held a familiar fire, the same mix of longing and bitterness she remembered. He looked like he hadn’t slept, his face rough, his clothes barely holding together. But there was a charm to it, and she hated herself for noticing it.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” he started, lighting a cigarette and letting the smoke curl between them, creating an invisible boundary.

“You’re the one who called me,” Y/N replied, crossing her arms. “I thought we agreed to leave the past behind.”

He gave a bitter chuckle, leaning forward. “Leave it behind? Since when have you been the one to just… walk away?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I learned after I left you, Llewyn. I found out that I could do better. I wanted freedom,” she said, her voice growing fierce. “I grew wings after I left you. I soared without you.”

Llewyn’s smirk faded, replaced by a darkness she had seen before but thought she’d moved past. “I’ll burn your fucking wings then.”

Silence stretched between them. His words were cutting, a reminder of the way he had always been able to twist things around to make her feel small, contained.

“I’m not coming back,” she said, though her voice wavered slightly. “I came to hear what you wanted to say. But if it’s the same old Llewyn Davis playing the victim, then—”

“I’m not playing anything,” he interrupted. “You think I wanted to be like this? You think I wanted to watch you walk out that door, to see you act like I was something you had to… escape from?”

She glanced away, the frustration building. “I don’t owe you anything, Llewyn. Not an apology, not an explanation.” But the words felt hollow as she said them.

He studied her for a moment, as if daring her to look him in the eye. “Then why are you here?”

The conversation continued, raw and layered with memories neither of them wanted to confront. They spoke in circles, tearing at each other with words that were both intimate and hurtful, dredging up past arguments and unmet promises.

Eventually, Llewyn reached across the table, his hand catching hers. She felt her heart race, a spark of the old connection flashing between them. She pulled her hand back, but his gaze held her still.

“What if… we tried again?” he asked, the slightest hint of vulnerability breaking through. “I could change. I could—”

“You haven’t changed, Llewyn,” she interrupted, her voice soft. “And I can’t keep sacrificing parts of myself just to be with you.”

The words hung heavy in the air, the truth of them undeniable. But even as she said them, she felt herself being drawn back in. The intensity of his gaze, the familiarity of his presence—despite everything, there was a part of her that craved it.

Later, back at his apartment, the tension finally erupted into something raw and intimate. The lines between anger and passion blurred, and they moved together in a way that was almost desperate. It was the kind of intimacy that felt both liberating and damning, a mix of desire and resentment that neither of them could resist.

As they lay tangled together afterward, Llewyn turned to her, his face still etched with that same dark expression. He traced a hand down her arm, his voice low.

“You know you can’t escape me,” he murmured. “No matter how high you think you can fly, I’ll be right here, waiting to pull you back down.”

She looked at him, knowing that he was right. That part of her would always be drawn to him, no matter how many times she tried to leave. And as much as she hated it, there was a twisted comfort in that truth.

With a bitter smile, she replied, “Maybe I’ll burn my own wings first

[emma23]

Seven minutes of trouble :

Shiv x reader

It started like a harmless game, the type you play at a party when everyone’s a little too tipsy and seeking nostalgia from high school years. “Seven Minutes in Heaven” someone had suggested, and the room erupted into excited cheers and groans. Y/N wasn't exactly thrilled about the idea, but Shiv, her best friend since forever, gave her that familiar smirk, the one that made her feel like she had no choice in the matter.

Of course, it had to be her and Shiv locked in that tiny closet. Typical. She wasn’t even sure how it happened. One minute they were laughing with everyone, and the next, she was being shoved into a cramped coat closet with Shiv right behind her.

The door slammed shut with an exaggerated thud, and now they were trapped, the game counting down from seven minutes while the muffled laughter of their friends filled the outside air. Inside, though, it was silent—uncomfortably silent.

Y/N shifted awkwardly, her back pressing against the wall as she tried not to trip over the discarded shoes littering the closet floor. “Well, this is awkward,” she mumbled with a nervous laugh, her fingers fidgeting at her sides. She had been in weirder situations with Shiv before—like the time they got stuck in an elevator for an hour—but this? This felt... different.

Shiv, standing a few feet away from her, hadn’t said a word. He was strangely quiet, his arms crossed, head tilted slightly down like he was deliberately avoiding looking at her. His dark curls framed his face in that annoyingly perfect way, making him look all the more brooding in the dim light sneaking through the closet cracks.

Y/N rolled her eyes, trying to shake off the weird tension. “Okay, what’s up with you? You’re acting weird.”

Still, he said nothing. His gaze fixed on the floor, refusing to meet her eyes.

"Shiv," she called, a bit louder this time. "Hello? Earth to Shiv?"

Nothing.

She furrowed her brows, confusion and a slight hint of annoyance bubbling up. "Why won’t you look at me?" she asked, half-joking, but the curiosity in her voice betrayed her light-hearted tone.

Shiv sighed deeply, still refusing to lift his head. His voice, when he finally spoke, was low, filled with an edge she wasn’t used to hearing from him. “Because if I look at you right now, I’ll want to touch you.”

Y/N froze, her breath hitching in her throat as her mind tried to process his words. “Touch me?” she repeated dumbly, like she hadn’t just heard him clearly.

Shiv finally raised his head, his eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her stomach flip. “Yeah,” he said, voice rough. "Touch you."

There was a beat of silence, heavy and charged, as her brain tried to keep up with the moment. Was this some kind of joke? It had to be, right? She and Shiv always teased each other, always threw sarcastic comments and playful jabs. This couldn’t be serious... could it?

But then she saw the look in his eyes, the way his jaw clenched like he was fighting some internal battle, and suddenly, it didn’t feel like a joke at all.

"You… don’t want to?" she ventured, her voice quieter now, unsure.

He let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his curls in frustration. "I do," he admitted, his voice raw. "That’s the problem. I want to touch you. I’ve wanted to for years, Y/N."

She blinked, the weight of his words sinking in like a stone in the pit of her stomach. “Years?” she echoed, stunned.

Shiv took a step forward, closing the small distance between them, but he didn’t reach out for her. Not yet. His eyes searched hers, waiting, gauging her reaction. "Can’t you see it? I’ve been in love with you for years, and I can’t… I can’t start now. Not until you’re ready for me to be the only one."

Her heart pounded in her chest, the world tilting on its axis as everything she thought she knew about their friendship started to unravel. Shiv—her Shiv, her best friend—was in love with her? Had been for years? How had she missed this?

"I…" she started, but the words got stuck in her throat, her brain scrambling for some kind of coherent response.

Shiv stepped back, running both hands through his hair now, clearly frustrated with himself. “Forget it,” he muttered, turning his back to her as if trying to shove everything back into the box they had just opened. “This was a mistake.”

But before he could fully retreat into his shell, Y/N found her voice. “Wait,” she said, reaching out to grab his arm. He froze under her touch, not daring to look back at her.

"You’ve… felt like this for years?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Shiv swallowed hard, his body tense under her hand. “Yeah,” he whispered, the vulnerability in his voice breaking her heart a little. “But I didn’t want to ruin things between us. I didn’t want to make you feel like you had to choose���”

Y/N stared at his back, her heart racing as a realization hit her like a ton of bricks. She hadn’t noticed it before, but maybe that was because she hadn’t been ready to notice. She had always thought of Shiv as her safety net, the one constant in her life, but now… now, she wasn’t so sure. Maybe she had been ignoring something deeper all along.

She tugged gently on his arm, pulling him around to face her. “Shiv,” she started, her voice wavering, “you should have told me.”

He finally looked at her, his eyes filled with uncertainty. "Would it have made a difference?"

Y/N hesitated, biting her lip. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But I think… I think I would’ve liked to have known.”

Shiv’s eyes searched hers, hope flickering behind the frustration. “And now? Do you want to know now?”

Y/N took a deep breath, stepping closer to him, her heart pounding in her chest. “Maybe,” she whispered, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Maybe I’m ready to cross that bridge."

Shiv’s gaze softened, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “You sure?” he asked, his voice low as his hands finally moved to her waist, tentative, like he was afraid she might pull away.

But Y/N didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into him, her heart racing, her hands coming up to rest on his chest. “Yeah,” she breathed. “I’m sure.”

Shiv let out a soft laugh, shaking his head in disbelief as he leaned down, his forehead resting against hers. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear that.”

“Well,” Y/N teased, grinning up at him, “guess you’ll just have to make up for lost time, huh?”

He chuckled, and without another word, closed the distance between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was both gentle and desperate, like he had been holding it in for years. And maybe he had been. His hands tightened around her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened, and Y/N felt like she was finally seeing her best friend in a new light—one she wasn’t sure she ever wanted to turn off again.

The closet was too small, too cramped, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the two of them, the years of unspoken feelings finally coming to the surface in the most ridiculous of places.

As they finally pulled apart, breathless and grinning like idiots, Shiv shook his head with a laugh. “Seven minutes in Heaven, huh?” he teased.

Y/N smirked, still catching her breath. “Well, maybe we’ll need more time next time.”

"Yeah, because I clearly wasn’t finished

[emma23]

Shoulder to lean on :

Peter parker x reader

The evening sky was painted in shades of lavender and orange as you and Peter strolled out of the Midtown Science Expo, his hands animatedly gesturing as he recounted his latest Spider-Man mishap. You smiled, rolling your eyes at his enthusiasm, clutching a half-eaten pretzel that Peter had insisted on sharing after the first one "mysteriously" vanished under Ned's watch.

“You’re telling me,” you started, licking a bit of salt off your thumb, “that you thought using web fluid as a quick patch on your suit wouldn’t glue you to a subway car?”

“Okay, in my defense,” Peter said, raising his hands dramatically, “I thought the web would dissolve by the time I got off.”

“And it didn’t?”

“It absolutely did not,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck. “I ended up stuck there for two stops until some nice old lady helped me cut it with her knitting scissors.”

You stopped walking, blinking at him. “Peter. You’re a genius-level science prodigy. But apparently, common sense just—poof—disappears the second you put on the suit.”

“Hey, it’s harder than it looks!” he protested, laughing as he tried to defend himself.

“Sure, sure,” you teased, nudging his shoulder playfully. “Just promise me you’ll keep the suit intact for at least one week. Think you can manage that, Spidey?”

Peter shot you a mock glare, but the small smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “For you? I’ll try my best.”

Back at his apartment, the comforting hum of Aunt May’s favorite sitcom buzzed in the background. You’d both collapsed onto the couch after a long day, Peter half-sprawled out, his arm thrown across the backrest.

“Movie night?” he offered, holding up a DVD of Star Wars: A New Hope—the one he never stopped raving about.

“You and your obsession,” you said, feigning exasperation as you kicked off your shoes and curled up next to him. “Fine, but only if you don’t pause every five minutes to explain the ‘importance of the Force.’”

“No promises,” he grinned, popping the disc into the player.

As the iconic theme blared from the TV, you felt yourself sink deeper into the couch, the day’s fatigue creeping in. Peter’s familiar scent of soap and faint engine grease—a lingering reminder of his tinkering in the Stark labs—was oddly comforting. His shoulder, just inches away, looked like the perfect pillow.

Before you could second-guess yourself, your head found its place against him.

Peter stiffened for half a second, his eyes darting down to you in surprise. But when your soft breathing steadied, his lips curved into a small, almost shy smile. Slowly, he adjusted his arm, letting it drape around you in an almost protective gesture.

“She’s asleep,” he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible over the dialogue on the TV.

You woke up an hour later to find Peter’s hand tangled awkwardly in your hair.

“Why are you just sitting there?” you asked groggily, shifting to look up at him.

“Didn’t want to wake you,” he said sheepishly. “You, uh…you looked really peaceful. And maybe a little scary. You tend to mumble threats in your sleep.”

“Liar,” you huffed, swatting his chest.

“I’m serious! You literally said, ‘If Peter eats the last donut again, I’ll kill him,’” he teased, stifling a laugh.

You stared at him, deadpan. “Well, that sounds accurate.”

The two of you dissolved into laughter, and for a moment, the world felt impossibly light.

Later, as you stretched and yawned, Peter tried to play it cool, but his wide grin betrayed him.

“Why are you smiling like that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” he said, his voice too high-pitched to be convincing.

“Oh, come on.”

“It’s just…nice, y’know?” He looked down, rubbing the back of his neck. “You trust me enough to fall asleep on me. That’s pretty cool.”

You stared at him, warmth blooming in your chest. “Wow, Parker, that’s incredibly cheesy, even for you.”

“Hey, I’m being serious here!”

“Sure, sure,” you said, smirking. “Next time, though? Try not to drool on my hair.”

“I did not drool—wait, did I?”

“Guess you’ll never know,” you said, standing up and stretching, already heading toward the kitchen.

Behind you, Peter’s voice followed, laced with mock indignation. “You’re lucky I didn’t drop you on the couch, Y/N!”

[emma23]

Soft strokes of love :

Jake Lockley x reader

Jake Lockley was not a man of leisure. His days were often spent driving through the streets, handling chaos, and keeping things under control in ways only he could. But today, with the sun streaming through the window and your legs draped across his lap, he found himself indulging in something entirely different—painting your nails.

It had started innocently enough.

"You call that a color?" Jake had teased earlier in the afternoon, holding up the little bottle of baby pink polish you’d chosen. He sat back on the couch, one hand resting casually on your thigh, the other turning the bottle over as if inspecting it for defects.

"I happen to think it’s cute!" you argued, snatching it back.

"It’s boring," he retorted, his lips twitching into that signature smirk of his. "Let me pick."

"And trust you to not make my nails look like they were done by a five-year-old? No thanks," you shot back, rolling your eyes.

That was when Jake’s hand shot out, pulling you down onto the couch beside him with a controlled strength that always left your heart racing. "I’ll show you," he said, his voice low and teasing. "You’re gonna sit right here, and I’m gonna prove I’m better at this than you think."

Now, here you were, half-amused, half-surprised as Jake hunched over your hand with a concentration so intense you’d think he was performing surgery.

"Stop squirming," he muttered, his voice gravelly but soft, as he gently adjusted your hand in his. His fingers were rough, calloused, but his touch was feather-light, cradling your palm like it was something fragile.

"I’m not squirming. You’re just bad at this," you teased, leaning your head back against the couch with a grin.

Jake paused, his dark eyes cutting up to meet yours. "Careful, cariño. Keep that up, and I’ll ‘accidentally’ smudge this masterpiece."

"You wouldn’t dare," you shot back, narrowing your eyes at him playfully.

But Jake just chuckled, that deep, raspy laugh that sent shivers down your spine. "I guess you’ll just have to behave and see."

As he worked, his focus was palpable. His brows furrowed slightly, his tongue darting out to wet his lips every now and then. He’d stolen glances at you, too, his gaze softening whenever he caught you watching him.

"What?" you finally asked, arching a brow.

"Nothing," he said quickly, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

"Jake," you pressed, tilting your head.

He shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. "You’re cute when you’re quiet, is all."

Your face heated, and you swatted at him with your free hand. "Shut up."

But Jake caught your wrist mid-air, his grip firm but gentle, and pulled your hand down to his chest. "Don’t get shy on me now, muñeca. I’m just saying what’s true."

By the time he finished your first hand, the atmosphere between you had shifted. What had started as a playful challenge now felt more intimate. Jake’s movements slowed, his fingers lingering on your skin longer than necessary, and his teasing smirk gave way to something softer.

"You’re taking this way too seriously," you murmured, but your voice was quieter now, almost hesitant.

Jake set the brush down for a moment, looking up at you fully. "Maybe I just like taking my time with you," he said simply.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, the air was thick with unspoken words. Jake’s gaze dipped to your lips, then back to your eyes.

"Jake..."

He smirked, but it was softer this time, tinged with something almost vulnerable. "Don’t look at me like that, muñeca. I’m trying to focus here."

"Focus on what?" you challenged, though your voice lacked its usual bite.

"This," he said, holding up your freshly painted hand. "Making sure you’re perfect. Not that it’s hard."

You rolled your eyes, trying to mask the way your heart fluttered. "You’re so full of it."

"And you love it," he countered, leaning closer. His voice dropped, and the teasing edge returned. "Now, stop being a brat and let me finish the other hand."

The second hand took longer, mostly because Jake couldn’t resist stealing kisses between brush strokes.

"Jake!" you protested as his lips found the corner of your mouth for the third time.

"What? I’m multitasking," he said, completely unrepentant.

"Are you done?" you asked, exasperated but smiling despite yourself.

"Almost," he murmured, his voice low. Then, without warning, he tugged you forward, pulling you into his lap.

"Jake!"

"Shh," he said, holding your painted hand away from his chest. His other hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you down until your foreheads touched. "You’re ruining my focus."

"You’re the one—"

"Shh," he said again, his lips brushing against yours.

Needless to say, the nail polish didn’t survive the next few moments.

Later, as you lay sprawled across the couch, your ruined manicure forgotten, Jake leaned over you with that devilish smirk you both loved and hated.

"Told you I was good with my hands," he said, wiggling his fingers for emphasis.

You groaned, burying your face in a pillow. "You’re impossible."

"And you’re mine," he shot back, leaning down to kiss your temple.

"...Are you seriously gonna redo my nails now?"

Jake laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Not a chance, muñeca. You’re on your own for that one."

[emma23]

Lowkey chill :

Shiv x reader

The peeling wallpaper in Shiv’s apartment curled at the edges, the radiator clanking like it was on its last breath. The city outside was loud, Moscow’s night life moving with a pulse of chaos, but inside the little flat it was warm. Y/N was sprawled on the couch with a mug of tea, feet tucked under Shiv’s thigh.

“Listen to this,” Y/N said, holding up her cracked phone, scrolling through the screen. “Anna’s ranting again about how her boyfriend hasn’t called her back in four days. Four days, Shiv.”

Shiv snorted, tossing a cigarette into the ashtray. “Four days? Hell, that’s not a boyfriend, that’s a ghost with good excuses.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “She says it’s complicated.”

“Complicated’s just Russian for *he doesn’t give a damn*.” Shiv leaned back, arm resting along the couch, brushing her shoulder. “You know what’s not complicated? Us. I see you, I call you, I show up. No four-day disappearances, no ghosts.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Y/N teased, sipping her tea.

“It is simple,” he said, eyes sharp but soft at the edges. “You stick with me, I treat you good. That’s the deal.”

They went quiet for a while. She watched the smoke drift from his lips, curling toward the ceiling. There were holes in the curtains, the kind of holes that let in neon light from the street, painting Shiv’s face in blues and reds.

“Sometimes I feel like I messed up,” Y/N admitted suddenly.

Shiv raised an eyebrow. “Messed up how?”

She shrugged. “Being with you. Like—”

“Oh, ouch.” He clutched his chest dramatically, making her laugh despite herself. “Please, break it to me gently.”

“No, idiot,” she said, nudging him with her foot. “I mean… I always make the wrong choices. Always. But you—somehow you’re the one thing I didn’t screw up. It doesn’t add up.”

For once, Shiv didn’t joke. He leaned in, voice lower. “Maybe because I was busy making the choice for you. You think you found me, but truth is—I wasn’t lettin’ you go, not then, not now.”

Her lips parted, breath catching. “That’s possessive, you know.”

He smirked, brushing his thumb across her jaw. “Yeah. You like it.”

Later, their tea forgotten, Shiv pressed her back into the couch cushions. His kisses were urgent but playful, the taste of smoke and something sweeter on his tongue.

“Shiv—” she whispered against his mouth.

“Mm?” he hummed, fingers sliding under her shirt, calloused hands warm against her skin.

“You always… take care of me.”

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes. “That’s my job, isn’t it? To make sure you’re treated like gold while everyone else is stuck with scraps.”

Her laugh turned into a moan as his lips found her throat, tracing slow paths down. Clothes became a trail across the floor, his muttered curses in Russian mixing with her gasps.

“Tell me,” he breathed, sliding into her with a groan, forehead pressed to hers, “do I make you regret that choice?”

She clung to him, nails digging into his back. “Never.”

His pace was steady, every thrust punctuated with soft words and low growls. “Good. Because I’m not lettin’ you regret it. Not in this life, not in any other.”

“Shiv—” she moaned, arching into him, her body burning with him everywhere at once.

“That’s it, kotyonok,” he whispered against her ear, voice breaking with the rhythm. “Mine.”

The couch creaked beneath them, the city’s chaos drowned out by their own. When they finally collapsed together, tangled and breathless, Shiv kissed her hair, her cheek, her lips, grounding himself in her presence.

Afterward, lying on the floor wrapped in a sheet, Y/N scrolled lazily through her phone again.

“Anna’s still complaining,” she muttered, grinning. “Now he’s stood her up at dinner.”

Shiv chuckled, stroking her arm. “Toxic, messy, full of drama… Good entertainment, I’ll give her that.”

“And us?” she asked, turning her head toward him.

He smirked, brushing his lips against her temple. “Lowkey chill. You get treated perfectly. No complaints, da?”

Y/N smiled, resting her head on his chest. “Da.”

[emma23]

Possession games :

Nathan Bateman x reader

The sprawling glass mansion was buzzing with the low hum of conversation, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. Nathan Bateman’s parties were infamous, invitations coveted by the elite of the tech world, artists, and curious socialites alike. Tonight, the air was thick with the scent of money, power, and just a hint of unease that always seemed to linger around Nathan.

You stood in the corner of the room, trying to make yourself as inconspicuous as possible. The entire space, with its sleek design and minimalist decor, felt like a perfect reflection of Nathan himself—sharp, imposing, and undeniably captivating.

From your vantage point, you watched Nathan interact with the guests, his tall, athletic figure moving effortlessly through the crowd. He was holding court as usual, surrounded by sycophants and admirers. His casual demeanor hid the calculating mind behind his dark eyes, and the occasional flash of arrogance in his smirk reminded everyone who the real star of the evening was.

You hated how he could affect you, how your gaze was drawn to him even when you tried to focus elsewhere. How could you not be captivated by Nathan? He was everything wrapped into one—a genius, a billionaire, a physical presence that radiated confidence. But he was also dangerous. You’d seen the way he could manipulate a situation, twist a conversation to his advantage. Yet here you were, secretly hooking up with him, letting yourself get pulled deeper into his orbit.

You tried to swallow the jealousy bubbling up inside as you watched him talk to a tall, statuesque blonde. She leaned in close, her hand casually resting on his forearm, lips painted in a shade that screamed notice me. Nathan was saying something that made her laugh, and she touched his arm again, lingering just a little too long.

You clenched your glass tighter, the cool surface grounding you for a moment. He’s just being Nathan, you told yourself. But a part of you, the part that was secretly involved with him, couldn’t ignore the twist of jealousy in your gut.

Nathan’s eyes flicked in your direction, a subtle acknowledgment that made your heart race. You looked away quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed your reaction. But, of course, he had. Nathan didn’t miss much, especially when it came to you.

A few minutes later, you felt a presence behind you, and then his voice, low and amused, close to your ear. “Are you jealous?” he asked, his breath warm against your skin.

You turned sharply, trying to mask your surprise with a glare. “Let me go,” you muttered, stepping back, but Nathan’s hand was already on your waist, pulling you against him.

“No can do, princess,” he said softly, his tone mocking but with an edge of sincerity that made you shiver.

You scoffed, trying to maintain your composure despite his proximity. “Don’t you have a hundred other girls here you could hold hostage?” you shot back, nodding toward the blonde who was now looking around for him.

Nathan’s smirk widened, his eyes locking onto yours with a dangerous glint. “If you’re really that jealous,” he murmured, his fingers tightening slightly on your waist, “why don’t you show them who I belong to?”

Your heart pounded, a mix of anger and desire swirling inside you. “And who’s that?” you challenged, trying to maintain the upper hand even though every nerve in your body was screaming at you to give in.

Nathan leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Come on now, be a good girl and kiss me.”

You hesitated for a split second, the logical part of your brain fighting a losing battle. Then, with a surge of emotion, you grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him down to meet your lips. The kiss was intense, a clash of pent-up feelings and frustration. Nathan’s hand moved to your hair, tangling his fingers in it as he deepened the kiss, leaving no room for doubt about who was in control.

The room seemed to blur around you, the noise fading as you got lost in the moment. When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathing heavily, and Nathan’s eyes were blazing with a mix of triumph and lust.

“Feel better?” he asked, his voice rough.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so you just nodded, biting your lip.

“Good,” he said, his thumb brushing over your lower lip. “Because I plan on making you feel a whole lot better before the night’s over.”

Nathan’s private quarters were just as sleek and modern as the rest of his mansion, but the air here felt heavier, more intimate. He wasted no time once the door closed behind you, his hands pulling you close as his mouth found yours again. This kiss was different—less show, more raw need.

You moaned softly against his lips as his hands slid down your back, gripping your hips to pull you closer. The feel of his body against yours was intoxicating, his heat seeping through your clothes and into your skin.

“Nathan,” you whispered, breaking the kiss just long enough to catch your breath. “We shouldn’t—”

“Stop talking,” he growled, his mouth finding the sensitive spot on your neck that made you gasp. “Unless you’re telling me to keep going.”

You didn’t answer, but your hands slipping under his shirt, nails dragging lightly over his skin, told him everything he needed to know. Nathan made a sound of approval, his own hands working to unbutton your blouse.

The fabric fell away, and his hands were on your skin, hot and firm, making you shiver. You were drowning in the sensations, the feel of his mouth, his hands, the way his body moved against yours, each touch unraveling the last threads of your restraint.

He walked you back until your legs hit the bed, and then you were falling, Nathan’s weight pressing you down into the mattress, his body covering yours. The way he looked at you, eyes dark with desire, made you feel like you were the only person in the world.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your skin, the words sending a thrill through you. “All mine.”

“Yes,” you breathed, your hands tangling in his hair as he kissed his way down your body. “Only yours.”

Hours later, you lay tangled together, the room bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the large windows. Nathan’s arm was draped over your waist, his breath warm against your neck.

You knew this thing between you and Nathan was complicated, that it probably wouldn’t end well. But right now, in this moment, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Nathan made you feel alive in a way you hadn’t in years, and for that, you were willing to take the risk.

“Are you still jealous?” Nathan’s voice broke the comfortable silence, laced with a teasing edge.

You turned slightly, meeting his gaze. “Maybe a little,” you admitted.

Nathan chuckled, a deep, satisfied sound. “Good,” he said, pulling you closer. “Jealousy looks good on you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he murmured, brushing a kiss against your forehead.

“Yeah,” you said softly, snuggling into his side. “Here I am.”

[emma23]

Shattered lens, mended hearts :

Moon knight boys x reader

Steven Grant was pacing. Well, technically, Marc was pacing, but Steven was doing all the worrying.

"Steven, it's a camera, not a family heirloom. She's not going to crucify us," Marc muttered, leaning against the wall of their shared apartment.

"You don’t understand, mate. Y/N loves that camera—it’s like her baby," Steven said, wringing his hands.

Marc rolled his eyes. "Then buy her a new one. Problem solved."

Steven froze mid-step. "It’s not that simple. Y/N doesn’t just… accept things like that. She’ll want an apology. A proper one."

"Then apologize."

"Easy for you to say," Steven snapped. "You’re not the one who accidentally elbowed it off the table because you were too busy explaining the intricacies of Egyptian tomb carvings!"

From the back of their mind, Jake Lockley chimed in, amused. "You’re both overthinking this. Buy her the camera, say sorry, and if she’s still mad, I’ll take care of it."

Marc sighed. "You’re not helping, Jake."

It wasn’t until the next morning that Steven worked up the courage to address the situation. Y/N was in the living room, scrolling through her phone, her brow furrowed in thought.

"Morning, love," Steven began cautiously, holding two steaming mugs of tea.

Y/N glanced up, her face softening. "Morning, Steven."

He handed her a mug and sat down beside her, fidgeting. "Listen, about… yesterday, with your camera—"

"It’s fine," she interrupted, though her tone suggested otherwise. "It was an accident."

"But it’s not fine, is it?" Steven pressed.

Her silence confirmed his suspicions.

"Right, well…" He cleared his throat, reaching for a neatly wrapped box he’d hidden behind the couch. "I know it won’t replace the sentimental value of the old one, but I got you this."

Y/N unwrapped the box, revealing a brand-new, high-end camera. Her eyes widened.

"You spent a fortune on this, didn’t you?" she asked, inspecting the gadget.

"Well, I—"

"I’m only letting you buy it because you broke my camera. I’ll take it as an apology," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"This is not an apology," Steven protested, his earnestness making her laugh.

"Either this camera is an apology, or I’m not taking it," she teased, narrowing her eyes playfully.

Marc, who’d been watching through the reflection of a nearby mirror, groaned. "She’s playing with you, Steven. Grow a backbone."

Steven ignored him. "Fine," he relented, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’m sorry, Y/N. Truly. It was my fault."

"Apology accepted," she said, her grin widening as she stood and marched to the counter, calling for assistance to set up her new camera.

Later that evening, they were sprawled on the couch, the awkwardness replaced by their usual banter.

"You know," Y/N began, looking at Steven, "you didn’t have to buy me the most expensive camera on the market."

"I wanted to," he said softly, his brown eyes sincere. "You deserve the best."

Her cheeks flushed, and she leaned in closer. "You’re lucky you’re cute, Grant."

Before Steven could respond, Marc took over, his voice deeper, more commanding. "We’re all cute, thank you very much."

Y/N burst out laughing, her head falling back against the cushions. "Alright, alright, Marc. You’re cute too."

Jake’s voice cut through their laughter, cheeky as ever. "She likes me best, though."

"Shut up, Jake," Marc and Steven said in unison, earning another round of laughter from Y/N.

As the night deepened, the conversation shifted. Marc and Steven switched effortlessly, with Jake occasionally chiming in from the background. Y/N marveled at how natural their dynamic had become.

When Steven kissed her softly, the moment felt warm, genuine, and entirely theirs.

But just as things started to heat up, Jake decided to ruin the mood. "If you’re gonna take this to the bedroom, let me know. I’m not watching a rom-com in my own head."

Steven groaned, Marc muttered something unintelligible, and Y/N dissolved into laughter.

"Alright, Jake, we’ll give you a heads-up next time," she said, wiping tears from her eyes.

"Don’t encourage him," Marc snapped.

But Steven, ever the peacemaker, simply pulled Y/N closer, his smile soft. "Ignore them, love. It’s just you and me tonight."

"Technically, it’s all of you," she quipped, earning a groan from Marc and a chuckle from Steven.

"You broke my camera, Steven. If you break my heart, Jake’s buying me a car."

[emma23]

Crown of thorns :

King John x reader

The first time John kissed you, it had been with the fervor of a man who thought the world owed him everything. He had pressed you against a stone pillar in Nottingham Castle, his fingers rough beneath your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. You had laughed, breathless, telling him he tasted like arrogance and wine. He had smirked, telling you that you tasted like temptation.

Back then, you thought it was love.

Now, watching him pace across his chambers in a fury, golden robe undone, dark curls disheveled, you know better.

"You dare lecture me on duty?" he spits, turning on his heel, his eyes burning into yours. "When you sit here in silk, eating from my table, warmed by my fire—"

"When I have spent years standing beside you," you cut in, voice quieter, but sharp enough to slice through the space between you. "Defending you when your nobles scoff. Holding my tongue when you tax your people into ruin. Looking away when your hands wander—"

"Careful," he warns, stepping closer.

But you are past careful.

"You are a selfish, spoiled child," you say, voice shaking, "and I was foolish enough to believe you would become a king."

John exhales sharply through his nose, his lips twisting into something cruel. "And yet here you are, still in my bed, still in my chambers, still—" His voice drops lower, his fingertips ghosting up your arm. "Mine."

You flinch. It is slight, barely there, but he sees it. His mouth parts, surprised, and for a moment, just a moment, his gaze softens.

It is not enough.

"I wanted you to be the father of my children," you whisper, stepping back, tearing yourself from his touch. "But now I see—you will only be the story I tell them when they come home with a broken heart."

John's expression hardens. "You think you can leave me?" he sneers. "You think there is a place in England where I would not find you?"

A bitter smile tugs at your lips. "I think you will be too busy clinging to your crown to notice I am gone."

Silence.

Then, John lets out a soft chuckle. He steps back, shaking his head, and when he looks at you, there is something almost like admiration behind the arrogance.

"Well played, darling," he murmurs.

You nod once, a lump in your throat, and turn towards the door. You do not look back.

John watches you leave, fingers curling into fists at his sides. His throat tightens, his jaw clenches

And then, to no one at all, he mutters, "You always did make the worst choices."

[emma23]

Spicy lessons :

Peter Parker x reader

The late afternoon sun poured through Peter's small bedroom window, casting a warm glow across the bedspread littered with loose notes, highlighters, and the occasional stray sock. You had been roped into tutoring him—again—though the term "tutoring" was loosely applied when it came to Peter Parker.

“Okay,” you said, plopping a thick chemistry textbook on his desk. “We’re starting with valence electrons. You can’t just breeze through this chapter if you want to pass your exam next week.”

Peter, sprawled out on the bed like a tired cat, groaned dramatically and flung an arm over his face. “Do we have to? My spider-sense is telling me this is unnecessary torture.”

You rolled your eyes, tugging the book out of his reach when he tried to shove it aside. “Your spider-sense better start telling you to focus, or Aunt May’s going to ground you. Do you really want to explain to her why your grades look like a villain’s evil plot?”

He peeked at you from under his arm, grinning. “You’re scarier than Doc Ock when you’re in study mode, you know that?”

“Good,” you said, smirking. “Now sit up. We’re doing this.”

Two hours later, Peter had finally managed to understand ionic bonds—or at least pretended to. He looked up at you with his best puppy-dog eyes, his lips tugged into a hopeful smile. “Can we take a break? My brain’s officially fried.”

“Fine,” you relented, closing the textbook. “But we’re coming back to this in twenty minutes.”

Peter sat up, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You know, I’ve been thinking...”

“That’s a first,” you teased, earning a dramatic gasp from him.

“Ha ha,” he said, scooting closer. “No, really. I was thinking you could, um, tutor me in… something else?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Something else? Like what? Algebra? Biology? Wait—are you failing gym class? How is that even possible?”

“No! Not gym,” he said, cheeks tinting pink. “I meant… uh… spicy stuff.”

“Spicy stuff?” you repeated, laughing. “Peter, what on earth are you—”

“You know,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Spicy stuff. Like… romance. Kissing. That kind of thing.”

You blinked, caught between amusement and disbelief. “Are you asking me to give you… smut lessons?”

“Not like that!” he sputtered, his face now fully red. “I just thought… since you read those books, you’d know more about… stuff. And you could… teach me?”

“You’re unbelievable,” you said, shaking your head. But you couldn’t help the smile creeping onto your face. “Fine. But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

The next day, you showed up at his place with a tote bag full of books you’d borrowed from a friend. Peter, sitting cross-legged on his bed, looked both excited and nervous.

“What’s in the bag?” he asked.

“Your curriculum,” you said, dumping the books onto the bed.

Peter picked one up, his eyebrows scrunching as he examined the half-naked man on the cover. “Wait… are these cookbooks?”

You snorted. “No, Peter. ‘Spicy’ in book world doesn’t mean food. It means smut.”

“Smut?” he repeated, flipping through the pages. His eyes widened. “Wait, there are sex scenes in books?”

“Lots of them,” you said, laughing at his astonished expression.

He looked up at you, eyes wide. “People read this stuff?”

“Peter,” you said, smirking, “people love this stuff.”

He nodded slowly, like he was processing the discovery of a new universe. “Okay, so… what’s the first lesson?”

You leaned closer, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “Lesson one: Don’t laugh, or I’m going to make you read the steamy parts out loud.”

The “lesson” devolved into fits of laughter within minutes. Peter kept losing his place in the book, stumbling over the more graphic descriptions, and turning as red as a stop sign.

By the time Aunt May called you both down for dinner, you were lying side by side on his bed, clutching your sides from laughing so hard.

“You’re a terrible teacher,” he said, grinning up at the ceiling.

“And you’re a hopeless student,” you shot back, poking his arm.

Peter turned his head to look at you, his smile softening. “But you still like me, right?”

You pretended to think about it. “I guess you’re tolerable.”

He laughed, rolling onto his side to face you. “You know, for a tutor, you’re pretty amazing.”

“And for a superhero, you’re a total dork,” you said, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

Peter’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, and he looked at you with that goofy, love-struck grin that made your heart skip a beat. “Best lesson ever,” he said.

“You know,” Peter said, holding up the book with the half-naked man on the cover, “this guy kind of looks like Thor. Do you think he wrote it under a pen name?”

[emma23]

A glimpse of the impossible :

Marc Spector x reader

The apartment was eerily quiet tonight, a silence that felt like it stretched between worlds. You sat on the edge of the worn-out couch, a hand pressed against your temple, exhaustion pressing down on you like a physical weight.

The soft hum of magic pulsed beneath your skin, the residue of the spell still clinging to you. You’d done it again. Brought him back. Just for a while.

Marc was in the other room, oblivious to everything. He didn’t know what you had been doing—what you’d been sacrificing—just to keep him here, to keep him alive. He thought he was fine. That whatever miracle had saved him after his death in that godforsaken desert was natural.

He was wrong.

The magic was dangerous, ancient, and entirely forbidden. But you hadn’t cared when you found it. How could you? The moment Marc’s lifeless body had crumpled at your feet, something inside you shattered. You couldn’t let him go. Not like that. Not ever.

The door creaked open, and Marc stepped out, his hair disheveled, his sharp eyes soft with curiosity. “You’re still awake?”

You forced a small smile, turning to face him. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Again?” He raised an eyebrow, crossing the room to sit beside you. His presence was a comfort, warm and grounding, but it only made the guilt twist deeper in your chest.

“Just... restless,” you murmured, avoiding his gaze.

Marc frowned, studying you with that penetrating intensity that always made you squirm. “You’ve been restless a lot lately. What’s going on, Y/N?”

“Nothing.” The lie came too quickly, too easily.

He tilted his head, unconvinced. “Y/N.”

“Drop it, Marc,” you snapped, sharper than you intended.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he leaned back slightly, his jaw tightening. “Okay. Fine.”

The air between you grew heavy, the tension thick enough to cut. Marc looked like he wanted to press further, but he stayed silent, his lips pressed into a thin line.

It wasn’t the first time you’d lashed out, and you hated how easily it came now. The magic was taking its toll, chipping away at your patience, your strength—your sanity. But it was worth it. As long as Marc was here, it was worth it.

The first time you’d used the spell, it had been out of desperation.

The image of Marc lying in the sand, his body broken and lifeless, haunted your every waking moment. You’d screamed at Khonshu, begged him to fix it, but the god had been silent, his judgment cold and final.

You didn’t remember how you found the spell—only that you had. The words were ancient, the instructions vague, but the promise was clear: life restored, at any cost.

The first time, it had almost killed you. The magic tore through you like fire, and for days after, you could barely move. But it had worked. Marc had gasped back to life, his eyes wide with confusion, and you’d cried harder than you ever had in your life.

He didn’t remember dying. Didn’t remember the spell or what you’d done to save him.

And you hadn’t told him.

“Y/N,” Marc’s voice snapped you back to the present.

You blinked, realizing he was staring at you, his brow furrowed in concern. “What?”

“You were zoning out,” he said, his tone softer now. “What’s going on? You’ve been distant for weeks.”

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, standing up and moving toward the kitchen.

“Bullshit.” His voice followed you, sharp and unwavering. “You’re not fine. You’re pale, you’re barely eating, and you’re not sleeping. What the hell is going on?”

You froze, your back to him, your hands gripping the edge of the counter. The weight of his concern was unbearable, but you couldn’t tell him. If he knew...

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you said finally, your voice strained.

“That’s not good enough.” Marc’s footsteps were steady as he approached, his presence looming behind you. “You’re hiding something, Y/N. I can feel it.”

Your chest tightened, and you squeezed your eyes shut. “Please, just drop it.”

“No.” His voice was firm now, unyielding. “You don’t get to shut me out like this. Not when something’s clearly wrong.”

The words burst out of you before you could stop them. “You shouldn’t even be here!”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Marc stared at you, his expression shifting from confusion to something darker. “What the hell does that mean?”

You turned to face him, your heart hammering in your chest. “It means... It means you’re only here because I brought you back.”

He blinked, his brow furrowing. “What are you talking about?”

Tears welled in your eyes as you gestured helplessly. “You died, Marc. In the desert. You died, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t lose you. So I used magic to bring you back.”

Marc’s face hardened, his jaw clenching. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “It’s the truth.”

He took a step back, his hands running through his hair. “Jesus Christ, Y/N. Do you even hear yourself? Magic? Bringing me back? That’s insane!”

“It’s not!” you shouted, the tears streaming down your face now. “It’s real, Marc! And it’s the only reason you’re alive!”

Marc’s breathing was heavy, his eyes wild as he processed your words. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What that kind of magic does to people?”

“I don’t care!” you cried. “I’d do it a thousand times if it meant keeping you here!”

His voice cracked as he shouted back. “At what cost? Your life? Your sanity? Do you think I’d want this?”

You crumpled under the weight of his words, sinking to the floor as sobs wracked your body. “I didn’t know what else to do,” you choked out. “I couldn’t lose you, Marc. I couldn’t.”

Marc’s anger faltered, replaced by something softer—something that looked dangerously close to heartbreak. He knelt beside you, his hands trembling as they cupped your face.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m not worth that. Not like this.”

“Yes, you are,” you whispered back, your voice barely audible.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and fragile, until Marc pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he could keep you from shattering completely.

Marc held you tightly, his grip firm but not suffocating. You felt his heartbeat against your cheek, steady and real. Yet, his silence was deafening. The man you had brought back to life with your own sacrifice sat before you, and you couldn’t tell if his embrace was filled with love or guilt.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost hesitant. “How long, Y/N?”

You pulled back slightly to look at him, your tear-streaked face meeting his sharp gaze. “How long what?”

“How long have you been doing this?” he clarified, his tone harder now, the edge of his frustration creeping back in.

You swallowed hard, suddenly feeling small under his scrutiny. “Since... since the day you died.”

Marc’s expression darkened, his brows furrowing deeply. “That was months ago.”

“I know,” you whispered, your hands trembling as you clutched at his forearms. “Marc, I—”

“Months, Y/N?” His voice rose, and he pulled back fully, pacing the room as his hands moved through his hair in agitation. “You’ve been tearing yourself apart for months without saying a damn thing?”

“What was I supposed to say?” you shot back, your voice raw. “That I was dabbling in magic no one should touch? That I brought you back from the dead? That I can see the cost every time I look in the mirror?”

“Yes!” Marc barked, his hands gesturing wildly. “You should’ve told me! You don’t get to make that decision for both of us!”

You stood, anger bubbling beneath your skin. “You don’t understand what it was like for me, Marc. Watching you die. Watching you leave me. I couldn’t just sit there and do nothing!”

“You think I wanted this?” he snapped, his voice shaking now. “You think I’d want you to destroy yourself just to keep me around?”

“I didn’t do it for you!” you screamed, your voice echoing through the room.

Marc froze, his chest rising and falling rapidly as your words hung in the air.

“I did it because I’m selfish,” you admitted, your voice cracking. “Because I couldn’t handle losing you. Because I needed you here, even if it meant losing myself.”

His shoulders slumped, the anger draining from his face as your confession hit him like a blow. “Y/N...”

You pressed your hands to your face, the tears coming again, but this time quieter, more defeated. “I know it was wrong, Marc. I know I should’ve let you go. But I didn’t. And now... now I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Marc stepped toward you slowly, his movements hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure if you’d let him close again. When he reached you, his hands came up to gently pull yours away from your face.

“You’re the woman who saved my life,” he said softly, his voice trembling. “Even if it was the wrong choice. Even if it cost you more than it should have. You did it because you love me. And I can’t... I can’t hate you for that.”

His words broke something in you, and you let out a shaky breath as his hands slid down to cup your face. His thumbs brushed away your tears, and for the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of peace.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I’m so sorry.”

Marc shook his head, his forehead pressing against yours. “We’ll figure this out. Together. No more secrets, Y/N. Promise me.”

You nodded, your breath hitching as his lips ghosted over yours in a tentative kiss. It was soft and unhurried, filled with a quiet desperation that spoke of pain and longing. When you pulled away, Marc’s gaze was steady, his jaw set with determination.

“We’re going to fix this,” he said firmly. “But first, you’re going to rest. No more magic. No more burning yourself out. Promise me that, too.”

You hesitated but finally nodded. “I promise.”

Marc pulled you into his arms again, his grip unyielding. For the first time in months, you felt like you could breathe. But deep down, you knew the road ahead wouldn’t be easy. The magic was still there, lurking in the corners of your mind, whispering its temptations.

And you weren’t sure how long you could keep your promise.

[emma23]

Hooked on you :

Peter parker x reader

Peter Parker’s phone buzzed against the cafeteria table, a faint vibration masked by the lunchtime chatter at Midtown High. His best friend Ned Leeds didn’t even try to hide his curiosity.

"Who’s that?" Ned asked, leaning over to sneak a glance at Peter’s screen.

Peter hesitated, his Spidey instincts not prepared for this level of nosiness. “Uh… just Y/N.”

The way his lips curved into a barely-contained smile gave him away instantly.

“Dude.” Ned leaned back, folding his arms with a knowing grin. “You’re totally smiling right now. You’re so gone for her, huh?”

“Shut up,” Peter muttered, ears burning red.

“‘Shut up’ means yes. Man, she’s got you wrapped around her finger. Does she even know?”

Peter huffed, shoving his phone into his pocket. “I’m not—wrapped around anything.” But his friend’s words gnawed at him because… well, Ned wasn’t wrong. Y/N did have him hooked. Completely, helplessly, hopelessly.

Peter had known Y/N for years, since the early days of middle school when she’d moved to Queens and managed to accidentally trip over his backpack on the first day. She had this knack for making an impression, whether it was by picking arguments she couldn’t win or showing up to science class without her homework because she’d been too busy binge-watching a documentary series.

Somehow, they’d become friends, then best friends. Somewhere along the way, Peter fell for her. Hard. But it wasn’t until she kissed him first during a movie night at his apartment, both of them buried under a mountain of blankets and a very questionable amount of popcorn, that he realized she might just feel the same way.

Now, three months into dating, Peter couldn’t quite believe how lucky he was. Y/N was his. And she was… well, she was everything.

That evening, Peter swung by her place, his Spider-Man mask tucked into his backpack and the leftover adrenaline from patrol making his hands jittery. He knocked twice before she opened the door, her hair thrown up messily and an oversized hoodie falling off one shoulder.

“You’re early,” she said, her lips quirking into a grin as she stepped aside to let him in.

“I finished patrol fast,” Peter admitted, toeing off his sneakers. “What’s the plan tonight? Pizza and a movie? Or do I finally convince you to let me cook something edible?”

She snorted, plopping onto the couch. “We both know that’s not happening. You nearly set my kitchen on fire last time.”

“That was one time.”

“One time too many.” She grabbed her phone, scrolling idly. “Anyway, I’m in the mood for bad rom-coms and takeout. What about you, chef?”

“Bad rom-coms sound good.” Peter dropped onto the couch beside her, his knee brushing against hers.

“Cool.” She handed him her phone, already open to the food delivery app. “You pick. I trust you. Kind of.”

“Gee, thanks,” Peter deadpanned, his fingers brushing hers as he took the phone.

Somewhere between the pizza arriving and the second movie starting, Y/N stretched across the couch, her head landing in Peter’s lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Comfy?” he teased, looking down at her with a smirk.

“Very.” She yawned, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of his shirt.

And just like that, Peter was a goner. Her touch sent electricity humming through his veins, a sensation no radioactive spider bite could ever replicate. He wanted more—needed more.

“Hey,” she said softly, pulling him from his thoughts. “What’s with the face?”

“What face?”

“That face. Like you’re thinking too hard. Are you about to lecture me on the physics of swinging again?”

Peter rolled his eyes, leaning down until their noses almost touched. “No. I was thinking… you’re kind of mean to me, you know that?”

Her laughter bubbled up, light and infectious. “Mean? Please. You love it.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

Later, tangled together under the dim glow of her living room lamp, Peter whispered against her ear, “You know you’re kind of dangerous, right?”

Y/N tilted her head, her brows furrowing. “Dangerous?”

“Yeah.” His voice was low, almost a growl. “You’ve got me completely hooked. It’s unfair.”

Her lips curved into a mischievous smile. “Hooked, huh? That bad?”

“Worse.” His fingers trailed down her arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “I want to be in every part of your life. All of it. I don’t want you to remember what it’s like without me.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, heavy but not suffocating. Her teasing facade faltered for a moment, replaced by something softer, more vulnerable.

“Peter…” she started, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I was already hooked the moment you tripped over your own feet trying to impress me in seventh grade.”

Peter groaned, burying his face in her shoulder as she laughed.

“Don’t remind me.”

The night ended with Y/N falling asleep on his chest, her soft breaths lulling Peter into a rare state of calm. He stayed awake a little longer, brushing a strand of hair from her face and marveling at the fact that she was his.

Just before he drifted off, his phone buzzed with a text from Ned:

“Did you confess your undying love for her yet, Romeo?”

Peter sighed, muttering to himself, “You’re the worst, Ned.”

But his grin didn’t fade.

Peter whispered, “You snore.”

Y/N stirred, mumbling sleepily, “You’re dumped.”

[emma23]

Sick days and sweet nothings :

Poe dameron x reader

Poe Dameron stood at the door of Y/N’s quarters, tapping his knuckles against the frame while balancing a small bag in his other hand. The glowing sign taped to the door read in big, blocky letters: “SICK INSIDE. ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK.”

"Y/N," he called through the door, his tone a mix of exasperation and concern. "Are you under there?"

A muffled groan emerged from the other side, followed by a faint rustling of blankets.

"I swear if you step in here, you're leaving covered in germs and regret!" Y/N’s voice was hoarse, punctuated by a series of sniffles.

"Come on," Poe pressed, shifting his weight and craning his neck to peek through the crack of the slightly ajar door. "I’m not leaving until I see you."

There was a dramatic sigh before the lump under the blankets shifted, revealing a tousled head of hair and red-rimmed eyes.

"Damn it, Poe. Hi. I'm… uhh…" She coughed violently. "…I'm doing fine. Really. Not sure what you’re doing here, though. I’m a-okay. Never been bett—ah, ah—ACHOO!"

Poe winced at the sound, stepping fully inside. "Yeah, you're thriving, sweetheart." He placed the bag down on a nearby table. "I brought soup, meds, and some tea. You're coming out of there. I need to visit you—it’s important. Please?"

She eyed him suspiciously from her nest of blankets. "Important, huh? You’re not just here to gloat about how healthy you are?"

Poe pressed a hand to his chest, feigning offense. "Would I do that? I’m here to take care of you."

Y/N snorted, her congested nose making it sound more like a honk. "Fine. But if I sneeze on you, it’s on purpose."

A few minutes later, Y/N was sitting begrudgingly on the couch, cocooned in a blanket, as Poe fussed over her. He handed her a steaming mug of tea and adjusted the pillow behind her head like she was made of glass.

"You’re enjoying this too much," she muttered, sipping the tea.

"Not true," he countered, grinning as he perched on the edge of the coffee table. "I’m just thrilled to finally see you sit still. It's a rare event, like a comet or an eclipse."

She rolled her eyes. "You’re lucky I don’t have the energy to argue."

"That’s the spirit." Poe reached over to smooth a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering just a second too long. His touch was warm, and despite her protests, Y/N found herself leaning into it.

"You’re impossible," she whispered, her voice softer now.

He smiled. "And you’re adorable, even when you’re sick."

Y/N groaned, burying her face in the blanket. "You’re really pushing your luck, Dameron."

Hours passed with Poe refusing to leave her side, despite her insistence that he would catch whatever plague she was harboring. He made her laugh with stories of BB-8’s latest antics and mock reenactments of Finn’s grumbling about Resistance rations.

By the time the sun had set, Y/N was dozing against Poe’s shoulder, her earlier irritation forgotten. He carefully shifted, trying not to wake her, but she stirred, her eyes fluttering open.

"Stay," she mumbled, her voice barely audible.

"I’m not going anywhere," he assured her, brushing a kiss against her temple.

[emma23]

The price of genius :

Nathan bateman x reader

The sleek, minimalist interior of Nathan's high-tech home always felt like stepping into a different dimension. Despite the cold steel walls and the omnipresent hum of machinery, the kitchen remained a cozy sanctuary in its own way—a haven where you could tease Nathan without him retreating into his world of algorithms and codes.

You leaned against the marble island, the glossy countertop reflecting the faint blue glow of the estate’s ambient lighting. A shopping bag sat beside you, contents half-spilled out: a small silk scarf, a ridiculously expensive hand lotion, and a pair of earrings you’d splurged on because they "looked like little galaxies."

Nathan raised an eyebrow as he approached, a bottle of craft beer in hand. “What’s this?”

“Things I bought today,” you said, casually inspecting your nails.

His gaze flicked to the receipt sticking out of the bag. “Seventy dollars,” he said flatly, as if you'd committed some unthinkable crime.

You blinked at him, unsure if he was joking or actually annoyed. “Uh… yeah?”

Nathan sighed dramatically, running a hand through his short beard. “Y/N,” he started, shaking his head.

“Oh, come on, I used the lotion!” you said, holding out your hands like that explained everything. “See? My skin feels great.”

He gave you a deadpan look, crossing his arms. “Baby, you spent seventy dollars.”

You bit your lip, suddenly feeling unsure. “Are you… mad?”

For a moment, his silence was unnerving. Then he sighed again, this time more exaggerated, and rounded the island. Before you could react, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you against his chest.

“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice low but teasing, “I need you to spend at least fifty thousand a month. Preferably closer to a hundred thousand. If you don’t, it looks like I’m not providing for you as your husband. Do you understand?”

Your jaw dropped. “What?! Fifty thousand?!”

He chuckled, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re married to a tech billionaire. You can’t just stroll into a store and buy one thing. You need to walk out with a trunk full of stuff, or people will think I’m stingy.”

You pulled back slightly, frowning up at him. “You’re joking, right?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?” He smirked, tipping his beer bottle toward the bag. “You call this a haul? That’s rookie behavior.”

“Excuse me, Mr. ‘I-Build-Robots-For-Fun,’ but I’m not about to spend fifty grand on nonsense just to boost your ego.”

Nathan tilted his head, pretending to consider. “So, what you’re saying is, you don’t care about my reputation?”

“Oh, my God.” You pushed at his chest, laughing despite yourself. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he said, leaning in closer, his lips brushing against your temple, “you’re still here.”

The conversation shifted as you stayed wrapped in his arms, leaning against the counter. You talked about your day in town, the things you saw, and the overpriced coffee you’d tried. Nathan listened intently, his sharp, calculating mind momentarily set aside in favor of just… being present with you.

“I still don’t get why you wanted that lotion,” he teased. “Your skin’s already perfect.”

“Flattery won’t get you out of trouble,” you said, though your cheeks warmed at his words.

“Trouble?” He grinned, leaning back slightly. “Sweetheart, if I was in trouble, you’d be yelling at me, not looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want me to shut up and kiss you.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress your smile. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he quipped, pulling you closer until your bodies were pressed together.

This time, when his lips met yours, there was no teasing. The kiss was slow, deliberate, and entirely consuming. His hands slid up your back, holding you firmly against him as if the entire world outside his estate didn’t exist.

By the time you pulled away, breathless, his smirk had returned. “See? Told you.”

“Shut up,” you murmured, pulling him back down for another kiss.

The hours that followed were a blur of warmth and passion. Nathan was as meticulous in love as he was in science, his hands and lips exploring every inch of you with an intensity that left you trembling. The cold, sterile environment of the estate faded into the background, replaced by the heat of your connection and the sound of your laughter echoing through the halls.

Later, as you lay tangled in the sheets, Nathan propped himself up on one elbow, tracing lazy patterns on your arm.

“So,” he said, breaking the comfortable silence. “Tomorrow, we’re going shopping.”

You groaned, burying your face in the pillow. “I am not spending fifty thousand dollars.”

“Fifty-five,” he corrected with a grin.

“Nathan!”

“What?” He laughed, leaning down to kiss your shoulder. “Just think of it as… contributing to my image.”

“If anyone asks,” you said, glaring at him, “I’ll just tell them you’re a robot who doesn’t understand human budgets.”

“Joke’s on you,” Nathan said smugly. “They’d believe it.”

[emma23]

Royal chains :

King John x reader

The candlelight flickered against the stone walls, casting long shadows that danced in the dimly lit chamber. The air was thick with the scent of burning wax and wine, remnants of a feast that had long since ended. You stood by the heavy wooden doors, your fingers grazing the iron handle, your mind set on leaving.

"Y/N."

John’s voice, smooth yet edged with irritation, echoed through the room. He didn’t have to raise it—his words alone carried enough weight to command attention.

You exhaled sharply, hand tightening on the handle. “I am not in the mood for another one of your—”

“Come here.”

It wasn’t a request.

You turned, slowly, arms crossing over your chest. He was leaning back in his chair, dressed in his usual deep reds and golds, a goblet of wine resting in his grip. His dark eyes were fixed on you, unreadable but unwavering.

“I said come here,” he repeated, softer this time, but no less demanding.

“I don’t take orders from you, John.”

He smirked. “That’s a lie.”

Your jaw clenched. He was right.

You had known John for years—before the crown, before the power corrupted what little decency he had left. You had loved him when he was just a reckless prince, craving validation in the shadow of his brother. Now, he was king, and his hunger had only grown.

But he was still John.

And that was the problem.

"You think you can just command me and I'll obey?" you challenged, stepping closer despite yourself.

He tilted his head, amused. "History would suggest so."

Your fingers twitched at your sides. You hated that he knew you so well. Hated that even now, standing at the threshold of leaving, a part of you wanted him to pull you back.

And, of course, he did.

As soon as you turned toward the door again, his hand shot out, gripping your wrist and yanking you back. You stumbled, crashing against his chest, the scent of wine and leather invading your senses. His arms circled you with ease, trapping you there, his breath warm against your temple.

"You’re not going anywhere," he murmured.

Your breath hitched. His hold was firm but not forceful, possessive without being cruel. You had fought him on so many things, but never this. Never the way he touched you.

"Let go, John."

He exhaled, his lips brushing against your ear. "Say it like you mean it, and I will."

You stayed silent.

His grip tightened ever so slightly. "That's what I thought."

Damn him.

Damn the way he knew your weaknesses.

Damn the way he was yours as much as you were his.

You turned in his grasp, your hands pressing against his chest, not pushing away but grounding yourself. His pulse was steady beneath your palm, a stark contrast to the storm behind his eyes.

"You infuriate me," you muttered.

His lips curved, his fingers trailing up your spine. "Good. It means you still care."

Before you could argue, he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft or hesitant—it was John, through and through. Greedy, consuming, a king who took what he wanted without remorse. His hands were in your hair, at your waist, pressing you closer until there was nothing left between you.

And you let him.

Because, despite everything—despite his arrogance, his cruelty, his insufferable pride—John had always been yours.

And you had always been his.

The next morning, as you sat at the long dining table, sore in ways that made you glare at him across the room, John simply smirked.

"You look tired," he mused, sipping his wine.

You shot him a withering look. "I wonder whose fault that is."

He leaned back, satisfied. "Mine, I imagine. And yet, you didn't seem to mind."

You threw a piece of bread at him.

He caught it with a laugh.

[emma23]

Unveiling shadows :

Blue jones x reader

You arrived at Lennox House with a heavy heart, the weight of the imposing building pressing down on you. The hallways were sterile, the air thick with the scent of antiseptic. As you were led through the maze of corridors, you couldn't shake the feeling that you were descending into a place you might never leave.

Blue Jones, the man in charge, greeted you with a smirk that sent chills down your spine.

"Is this really necessary? I'm not... I don't belong here," you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Blue leaned in closer, his eyes boring into yours with an unsettling intensity. "Everyone says that, sweetheart. Welcome to your new home. Let's get you settled."

You glanced around the cold, uninviting hallway. "This place... it feels wrong."

"You'll get used to it. Or maybe you won't," Blue replied, a sinister edge to his voice. "It doesn't matter to me. What matters is that you follow the rules. Understand?"

You swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."

A few days later, you were ushered into Blue's office for your first session. The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing on the walls. Blue sat behind his desk, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

"Sit down," he ordered, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.

You complied, feeling the weight of his gaze on you. "What do you want from me?"

"Straight to the point. I like that," Blue said, leaning back in his chair. "I want you to tell me why you're here."

"I don't belong here," you repeated, your voice trembling. "There's been a mistake."

Blue chuckled, a low, menacing sound. "There are no mistakes here. You're here because you need help. And I'm here to make sure you get it."

"But I don't need help," you insisted. "I was... I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Blue's eyes darkened. "That's enough. You're here because I say you're here. And you'll stay here until I say otherwise. Is that clear?"

You nodded, fear gripping your heart. "Yes, sir."

"Good," Blue said, his smile returning. "Now, let's talk about your treatment plan."

The days turned into weeks, and you found yourself under Blue's watchful eye more often than not. His presence was a constant reminder of your imprisonment, his authority absolute.

One afternoon, as you were walking through the common area, you felt a hand grab your arm. You turned to see Blue, his grip firm and unyielding.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, his voice dangerously low.

"I was just... going to my room," you replied, your voice shaking.

Blue's grip tightened. "You don't go anywhere without my permission. Do you understand?"

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. "Yes, sir."

He released you, but the threat in his eyes remained. "Remember that. Always."

The constant pressure and fear began to wear you down. One night, unable to sleep, you found yourself in the hallway outside Blue's office. You knew it was a risk, but you couldn't take it anymore. You had to confront him.

You knocked on the door, and after a moment, Blue opened it, looking surprised to see you.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"I need to talk to you," you said, your voice barely steady.

Blue stepped aside, letting you in. "This better be good."

You took a deep breath, summoning all your courage. "I can't take this anymore. The way you treat me, the way you control everything... it's breaking me."

Blue's expression softened, but only slightly. "This is for your own good. You need to be strong."

"But I don't feel strong," you said, tears streaming down your face. "I feel trapped."

Blue sighed, stepping closer. "You're stronger than you think. And I'll prove it to you."

"How?" you asked, your voice breaking.

"By pushing you to your limits," Blue replied, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. "And when you come out the other side, you'll thank me."

You closed your eyes, the tears falling freely now. "I just want to be free."

Blue's grip tightened on your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tears. "Freedom comes at a price. Are you willing to pay it?"

You didn't know how to answer, the fear and confusion overwhelming you. But in that moment, you realized that Blue wasn't just your captor. He was also the key to your survival. And you would have to find a way to endure his harsh methods if you ever hoped to see the outside world again.

Weeks turned into months, and slowly, you began to adapt to the harsh reality of Lennox House. Blue's methods were relentless, but you found a strength within yourself that you didn't know existed. And through it all, an unspoken bond formed between you and Blue.

One evening, after a particularly grueling session, Blue approached you in the common area. "You've changed," he said, his voice almost... admiring.

You looked up at him, the exhaustion evident in your eyes. "I had to."

Blue nodded, a rare smile tugging at his lips. "You've done well. Better than I expected."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" you asked, a hint of sarcasm in your voice.

Blue chuckled. "Take it however you want. You've earned it."

For the first time, you felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, you could survive this place. And maybe Blue wasn't the monster you had once thought or maybe he was and your were stuck with him…forever.

[emma23]

What happens in Vegas :

Nathan bateman x reader

The low hum of Nathan’s voice filtered through the speakers of his ultra-modern estate as he rambled on about some groundbreaking neural networks he was working on. Y/N barely registered his words, too focused on the mesmerizing view of the surrounding mountains through the glass walls. She had always thought Nathan’s home was as intimidating as he was—isolated, sleek, and cold.

Yet, there was warmth in the way Nathan glanced at her from across the kitchen counter, his fingers idly drumming a beat against the edge of his whiskey glass. “You’re zoning out again, aren’t you?” he teased, his lips curling into that signature smug grin.

“Not zoning out,” Y/N countered, poking at the salad she wasn’t hungry for. “Just wondering if you ever turn off your genius brain. It’s exhausting trying to keep up with you.”

Nathan let out a laugh, deep and genuine. “You’re not supposed to keep up. That’s what makes us a team. You make bad decisions, and I calculate how to survive them.”

“Gee, thanks,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “Nice to know you think so highly of me.”

His grin widened as he leaned closer. “You kidding? It’s adorable. Like that time you nearly electrocuted yourself trying to ‘fix’ my AI module. Or when you tripped into that fountain in Vegas…”

Y/N’s face flushed as the memory hit her like a truck. That weekend had been wild, chaotic, and, well, life-changing. “Okay, first of all, that fountain was slippery. And second, I’m not the one who thought getting married in Vegas was a rational decision.”

Nathan smirked. “It was the best bad decision you ever made.”

Her eyes narrowed, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. “Debatable.”

The atmosphere in the dimly lit bar was buzzing as the two of them entered later that night. Nathan had insisted on a “date night,” which usually involved him showing off in some way—whether it was hustling people at pool or charming the bartender into free drinks.

They found a corner table, and Nathan wasted no time ordering their usual. As Y/N scanned the room, her stomach flipped when she spotted a familiar face near the bar. Sam.

The man who had once shattered her heart.

She froze, and Nathan’s sharp eyes caught it instantly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she lied, though her gaze darted nervously back toward Sam. Nathan followed her line of sight, his expression darkening as he pieced it together.

“That guy?” he asked, his voice low but loaded with menace. “He’s the one, isn’t he?”

Y/N hesitated, then nodded. “Can we just… ignore him?”

Nathan’s jaw clenched, but instead of arguing, he leaned back in his chair, a wicked glint in his eye. “Sure, we can ignore him. Or…”

Before she could protest, Nathan stood and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. “Follow my lead,” he murmured against her ear, his breath warm and conspiratorial.

“Sam, right?” Nathan’s voice cut through the noise of the bar as he approached, dragging Y/N along with him.

Sam turned, his eyes widening at the sight of her. “Y/N? Wow, I… didn’t expect to see you here.”

Nathan didn’t give him a chance to say more. “Yup. Not sure if you heard. Convinced her to marry me in Vegas.”

Y/N’s eyes widened as Nathan’s grip tightened on her waist. His other hand slid lower, giving her a playful squeeze that nearly made her yelp. “I’ve been obsessed with her forever, but for years, I was sure she’d never give me a chance. So, I had to lock it down quick, you know, before she realized she could do better.”

Sam looked like he wanted to crawl under the nearest table. “C-congrats,” he sputtered, scratching at the back of his neck.

Nathan bent down and captured Y/N’s lips in a kiss—intense, territorial, and far too passionate for public decency. When he pulled back, he flashed Sam a grin that was more feral than friendly. “Thanks, man. Fuck, I’m a lucky guy.”

Y/N blinked up at him, her cheeks burning, but she couldn’t deny the thrill coursing through her veins. Nathan wasn’t just playing a role; he was staking his claim.

Back at home, Y/N shoved him playfully as they entered the living room. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

Nathan shrugged, unbothered, and collapsed onto the couch. “Hey, you wanted to ignore him. I made sure he ignored you.”

She groaned, though a laugh escaped her. “You didn’t have to kiss me like that.”

“Oh, I had to,” Nathan said, tugging her down onto his lap. “I couldn’t let him think he had a shot. Besides…” He tilted her chin up, his gaze softening. “I wasn’t lying. I am a lucky guy.”

Her breath hitched as his lips brushed hers again, this time slow and deliberate. The kiss deepened, and soon, she found herself tangled in his arms, every thought of Sam melting away.

As they broke apart, Nathan smirked. “So… still think marrying me was a bad decision?”

She laughed, pressing her forehead to his. “Absolutely. But maybe you’re my favorite bad decision.”

Nathan’s chuckle rumbled against her chest. “Damn right I am.”

“You’re lucky I didn’t tell him about the fountain incident,” Nathan teased, earning a smack on the arm.

[emma23]

Passing through :

Llewyn Davis x reader

Llewyn Davis had never been the type to stay in one place for too long. His life was a series of temporary arrangements—crashing at one friend’s place after another, never staying anywhere long enough to call it home. It was a lifestyle he had grown accustomed to, and one he figured suited him just fine. He had his guitar, a couple of people he could count on for a place to sleep, and the city’s endless corners where he could disappear.

It wasn’t the first time he’d run into Y/N. Their initial meeting had been months ago, at a dive bar where Llewyn was doing his usual set, playing to a half-empty room with indifferent faces. She’d been there too, sitting alone at the bar, looking like she had nowhere else to be but also nowhere to hide from whatever was going on in her head.

After the show, they’d exchanged a few words—nothing deep, just polite conversation. He figured that was the end of it. Yet somehow, fate seemed to have other plans.

Tonight, just as he was about to head back to yet another temporary place to crash, he saw her standing in the alley near his friend’s building. She looked like she was waiting for someone—or maybe just waiting for something, though it was hard to tell. The city had emptied out for the night, leaving the streets eerily quiet, except for the distant hum of a few cars passing by.

“Hey,” Llewyn called out, his voice low and a little surprised. “What are you doing here?”

Y/N turned toward him, her smile a bit teasing. “Same thing as you, I assume. Avoiding going back to your couch.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I don’t have a couch. I crash at different places.”

“Sounds... comfortable,” she replied, her tone dry.

“Only if you like not knowing where you’re going to sleep the next night,” Llewyn said with a shrug, his hands slipping into the pockets of his jacket. “But it works for me.”

She studied him for a moment, then shrugged, leaning against the wall in the same casual way he always did. “Yeah, I get it. Sometimes it's nice not having a place to call home.”

Llewyn didn’t respond immediately, instead looking at her with a little more attention. He was never the type to open up about his own situation, but something about the way she spoke made him think she might understand in a way most people didn’t.

“So what are you doing here, then?” he asked, trying to keep the conversation casual. “Didn’t expect to run into you again.”

“I could say the same thing,” she answered, her gaze flickering away from him for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “I guess I’m just... passing through.”

“Just passing through, huh?” He gave a half-smile. “Sounds like a line.”

She chuckled softly. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just the truth. Anyway, looks like we both found ourselves here... together. Funny how that works.”

Llewyn glanced over at her, watching as she crossed her arms and leaned back against the building. He knew he shouldn’t be this intrigued by her, but there was something about the way she held herself that made him want to stick around longer than usual.

“So, what now?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“I don’t know,” Llewyn replied, his voice sounding a little more sincere than he meant. “Guess we just hang out for a bit.”

She smiled at that, and for a second, Llewyn wondered if maybe he didn’t mind the idea of having someone to talk to after all. He wasn’t exactly great at being social, but with her, it felt different.

"Not really what I had planned for tonight," he said with a shrug. "But you make it sound like it could be worth it."

"That’s the spirit," she replied, stepping closer to him. “So... do you ever plan on sticking around somewhere long enough to unpack?”

“Unpack?” He let out a short laugh. “I don’t know if I’d even know what to do with a proper closet.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "And I bet you’re still using your guitar case as a suitcase, aren’t you?"

Llewyn shifted uncomfortably, though his smirk remained. “You’re not wrong.”

“Why am I not surprised?” She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re a mess, Llewyn.”

“You just noticed?" he said with a half-grin. "Takes one to know one, though, right?"

Her eyes glinted as she stepped even closer, the teasing smile on her lips returning. "Maybe," she said, her voice lowering. “But I don’t think I’m the only one who’s a little lost.”

Llewyn could feel the tension hanging between them now, something unspoken building in the space they shared. It wasn’t like the usual encounters—there was something more, but he wasn’t sure what it was yet.

"So," he said, glancing at her lips for a second before pulling his gaze away. “Do you always do this? Wait for people in dark alleys, hoping for deep philosophical conversations?”

She smirked, looking up at him with a glint of mischief. “Only the ones I think are worth it.”

Llewyn didn’t say anything at first, but he stepped a little closer, his hand brushing against hers. Her breath caught for a moment, and he wondered if she felt it too—the pull, the charge between them. For a second, the world outside of the alley felt like it disappeared.

Then, without a word, he leaned in, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that wasn’t soft or gentle. It was more like two people who didn’t know what they wanted but were willing to figure it out. She responded quickly, matching his intensity with her own.

When they finally pulled away, both of them were breathless. Llewyn let out a low chuckle. “Well, that’s new.”

Y/N smiled, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “Maybe you should stick around in one place longer. Might start getting used to this.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Not sure I’m built for that.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to make you,” she teased, her smile playful but somehow full of something more.

For the first time in a long while, Llewyn found himself not caring about the walls he had built around himself. Something about tonight felt different—like maybe, just maybe, he could start to build something worth staying for