#Dry run timer

[darlinimamess]

when you do laundry in a communal space do you want to talk to people there??

[strangerexee]

ꜱɪʀ, ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ꜰɪɴᴇ | ʙᴏ ᴄʜᴏᴡ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Set in 1932 Reader x Bo Chow (Smut | NSFW | 18+ | Kissing | Light Choking —barely | F!Receiving) ᴡᴄ : 4ᴋ Masterlist

The bell over the door gave a tired little jingle when you pushed it open, stepping in from the heat and dust of the street.

𝓑𝓸 𝓒𝓱𝓸𝔀 & 𝓒𝓸 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐓𝐀 ɢʀᴏᴄᴇʀʏ & ᴍᴀʀᴋᴇᴛ Your shoes were worn thin. Your dress was simple cotton, sticking to the back of your knees.

And you were tired, bone-tired, from chasing one dead-end job after another across this godforsaken town.

You needed work. Or a miracle. Or both.

The store smelled like tobacco and dry wood, with a hint of something sweeter, maybe the candy in the jar by the counter, or the bright bruised apples piled up in baskets.

Shelves lined the walls, packed with everything from flour sacks to pistol rounds. It was the kind of place where a man could buy a loaf of bread, a hammer, and a coffin without walking more than twenty feet.

You adjusted your bag on your shoulder, wiping sweat from your forehead, trying not to look as desperate as you felt. It was quiet inside, but not empty.

There, behind the counter, sleeves rolled up over strong forearms, stood a man.

And Lord Almighty. You almost forgot how to breathe.

He was fine. Broad through the shoulders, lean through the waist, and the worn suspenders crossing his chest did nothing to hide it. Dark hair, a little mussed like he'd run his fingers through it a hundred times that morning already.

Sharp jaw. Sleeves pushed up. And a cigarette dangling careless between his lips.

He watched you over the top of the ledger he was scribbling in, one eyebrow tilting up slow, like he wasn't quite sure if you were real or a heat mirage rolling in off the road.

"You lost, darlin'?" His voice was rough, low. Not unfriendly. But not soft, either.

You swallowed. Your cheeks burned hotter than the sun outside.

"No, sir," you managed, clearing your throat. "I'm lookin' for work.”

He tilted his head a little. The cigarette bobbed between his fingers as he tapped ash into a tin. There was a long, heavy pause, stretching thin between you like taffy pulled too far.

He leaned forward, arms braced on the counter, and you caught the faint scar along the side of his throat, a rough, pale line disappearing beneath his shirt.

He smelled like leather and, something familiar you couldn’t name.

"Ain't much work left 'round here," he said finally."Dust's got more jobs than we do."

Your heart sank. You started to thank him anyway, ready to turn, ready to leave with your pride shriveled up tight inside you. But then he said, almost too casual:

"You know how to tally numbers? Take stock? Keep folks from stealin' when I ain't lookin'?"

You blinked up at him. Nodded fast.

"Yes sir. I can read, write, count. And I can run a register." (You prayed you didn’t sound as breathless as you felt.)

Bo Chow smiled then, real slow, real lazy. Like maybe he hadn't smiled all day until now. Maybe longer.

And damn if it didn’t feel like that smile was just for you.

"Might have somethin' for you after all," he said, nodding toward the back room. "Mornings, couple hours. Pay ain't much, but it's clean work. And you get first pick if any more fruit comes in."

You tried to smile back, tried not to look like a fool.

"I'd be grateful," you said. "Truly."

"Name's Bo Chow," he said, holding out a calloused hand across the counter. "Most folks just call me Bo."

You put your hand in his, and he squeezed it firm, just enough to make your stomach flip once, twice. His skin was warm. Rough in the right way.

Your name felt small and clumsy on your tongue when you said it.

He repeated it once under his breath, tasting it, like he was putting it away somewhere safe.

You heard boots scuffing behind you, a couple old-timers coming in, hats low over their faces, and Bo dropped your hand slow, like he hated letting go.

"Be here six sharp tomorrow," he said, voice dropping a little lower. "Don't make me come hunt you down."

And Lord, the way he said it, like it was a promise, like it was a threat, like maybe he wouldn't mind hunting you down at all.

You walked out of that store with your heart rattling around in your ribs, a stupid grin tugging at your mouth. The dust hit your boots. The sun hit your eyes. But you hardly felt it.

All you could think about was him. About the man named Bo chow, the cigarette smoke curling around his smile. About how maybe you’d found something, or someone, worth staying for.

The next morning, you showed up just before six, hair pinned back, boots polished best you could manage, apron folded under your arm.

The sun wasn’t even fully up yet, just a pale silver smear over the flat line of the fields.

The streets were empty except for a stray dog.

You hesitated at the door, heart hammering. What if he changed his mind? What if he realized you weren’t worth the trouble?

But the second you pushed inside, the warm smell of tobacco and cedar wrapped around you like an old blanket, and there he was.

Bo Chow.

Behind the counter, sleeves rolled again over those damn forearms, shirt tucked messy into dark trousers, suspenders hanging low on his hips like he hadn’t bothered to fix them yet. He was counting cash, cigarette stuck lazy between his teeth, the smoke curling up in slow silver ribbons.

He glanced up when he heard the door, and you swear, you swear, for a half second he smiled. A real one. That soft kind, just at the corner of his mouth. Just for you.

"You're early," he said, voice rough with sleep. "Good."

You nodded, setting your things down behind the counter.

Your hands shook a little, but you kept busy, dusting, sweeping, checking the register like he told you. He didn’t hover. Just gave quiet instructions here and there, moving around the store slow and easy, like he had all the time in the world.

And it was the little things. God, it was the little things, that drove you a little crazy.

You noticed it first when he leaned down to pull a crate from under the counter—how his shirt stretched tight over his back, fabric pull against muscle.

How a lock of dark hair fell over his brow and he huffed it out of the way without even noticing.

You caught yourself staring. Snapped your head down fast, pretending to reorganize the fruits and vegetables.

Then it was the way he stood, shoulders wide, hips cocked lazy, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you figure out how to load the till.

There was something about the way he moved, no wasted steps, no fidgeting,like he didn’t have to try to own the space around him. He just did.

And Lord, when he laughed. Low, and unexpected, a real rough chuckle that rumbled from his chest when you nearly dropped the glass candy jar and caught it at the last second. God, you felt it down to your toes.

"Careful, sunshine," he drawled. "Ain't but one of you, and glass is expensive."

You ducked your head, face burning. But you couldn’t help smiling.

Around mid-morning, after he nailed up a new shelf in the back, Bo wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

You offered him the water you packed, nervous, feeling silly. He took it with a little nod, mouth brushing the rim where yours had been without hesitation. Y’all just practically kissed right there.

And when he handed it back, his fingers brushed yours. Calloused. Warm.

You felt it like a jolt of lightning, sharp and sweet under your skin.

"You doin' alright?" he asked, voice low. "Ain't scarin' you off yet?"

You shook your head fast.

"No, sir."

That slow smile again, like he was proud of you, somehow. It made your chest ache.

The rest of the day passed in slow, golden hours.

He showed you how to track inventory, how to read the order forms, how to spot the difference between good grain sacks and ones chewed through by mice.

And every little thing, the way he squinted against the sun when he stepped outside, the way he twirled the pencil between his fingers when he thought, the way he touched the brim of his hat polite to the older ladies who passed by, every little thing made you fall harder.

You were a fool. You knew that. But God help you, you couldn’t stop.

Near closing time, when the shadows stretched long across the floorboards, Bo lit the oil lamps and turned the sign to CLOSED.

The town settled into quiet outside, the cicadas starting up their low hum.

You packed up your things, heart heavy. You didn’t want to leave.

He leaned back against the counter, cigarette smoke curling around his head like a halo, watching you with that unreadable look.

Not smiling. Not frowning. Just watching.

And before you left, just as you reached the door, he said:

"You did good today."

You turned, surprised.

He flicked ash into a tin, voice casual, almost too casual:

"Could use someone steady around here. Someone like you." "If you want it, job’s yours."

You tried to speak, tried to say yes, of course, yes, thank you, yes, but all that came out was a breathless little whisper.

"I'd like that."

Bo nodded slow, eyes never leaving yours.

"Good," he said. "Real good."

You just huffed and left the store.

You showed up early again the next morning. Couldn’t help yourself.

You barely slept, just laid in your bed all night staring at the ceiling, heart banging around your ribs like a fist.

You kept seeing him, that rough smile, that lazy slouch against the counter, the way his hands moved, big and calloused and sure, like he could tear the whole damn world down if he wanted, but he didn’t. He was gentle with you.

You dressed careful, simple skirt, neat tucked-in blouse, hair tied back. Nothing fancy. But you caught yourself smoothing it down a dozen times on the walk to the store.

You weren’t scared of work. You weren’t scared of Bo, either. Not really.

What scared you, if you were honest, was how badly you wanted him to look at you again the way he had yesterday. Like he saw you.

The bell over the door jingled when you pushed inside, and there he was.

Bo Chow.

Good Lord.

You almost had to grab the doorframe to keep from sliding down it.

Today he had the vest on, rich brown canvas, snug over his shoulders and chest, shirt rolled at the sleeves again, forearms out, tan skin dusted with faint scars like old stories he never bothered to tell. Trousers fit firm around his slutty waist, boots scuffed from work.

He looked up from stocking the shelves, and when he saw you, a flash of something warm crossed his face. Almost hidden. Almost.

"Mornin’, sunshine," he said, voice low and gravelly. "Thought you might show."

You swallowed hard, managed a nod.

He stood up slow, dusting his hands off on a rag.

That damn vest hugged him in all the right places. Made your stomach flip and knot in ways that felt dangerous.

You got to work without being told, moving behind the counter, checking the inventory list. Trying to pretend like your heart wasn’t about to explode out your chest.

It didn’t help that Bo kept brushing close, not on purpose, not really, but every time you turned around he was there.

At one point, you bent to grab a crate from under the counter, and when you stood up, you bumped right into him.

Hard, solid chest, vest scratchy and warm against your back, his hand catching your waist automatically to steady you.

Big palm. Firm grip. Fingers splaying wide before he yanked them back like he touched a hot stove.

You both froze.

For one wild second, the whole store was silent, just the sound of the clock ticking on the wall, his breath brushing the back of your neck.

Then he cleared his throat, stepping back.

"Easy, now," he said rough, almost scolding. "Ain't tryna bust that pretty nose, are ya?”

You flushed so hot you thought you might catch fire. Mumbled something, you didn’t even know what, and ducked your head fast.

Later, you were coming out of the storage closet, arms full of ledgers, right as Bo was striding in.

Instead of waiting, instead of shrinking back, you moved right past him. Real smooth. Real bold.

Except, the space was too damn narrow.

Your hip brushed his thigh, your shoulder scraped his chest, and your ass, oh, Lord, your ass skimmed right up against his front when you slid by.

You felt him go still, felt his hand twitch at his side like he had to physically stop himself from grabbing you.

You didn’t dare look up. You just kept moving, pretending you didn’t notice, pretending your whole body wasn’t screaming at you.

Behind you, you swore you heard him swear low under his breath. Real soft. Real dangerous.

You bit your lip so hard it hurt just to keep from smiling.

By noon, the air inside the store was thick and heavy with heat.

Bo shed the vest finally, slinging it over a hook near the door. You caught a glimpse of the way his shirt clung to him, the long line of his back, the strong slope of his shoulders.

You caught yourself staring again, caught yourself wanting, and forced yourself to look away.

But Bo must’ve noticed, because a minute later he drifted close, reached past you for something on the shelf, his hand landing light on your waist to move you out the way.

He didn’t even think about it. Just did it. Like you were his already.

Your breath hitched so fast you nearly dropped the jar in your hands.

"‘Scuse me, sunshine’," he said, real soft in your ear. "You’re in the way."

You stood there dumb, blinking, as he brushed past, close enough to smell the salt and sun and cigarette smoke on him.

It wasn’t until later, after closing, when you were wiping down the counters and Bo was locking the door, that he spoke again.

"You work good," he said, voice low and thick. "Real good. Smarter than most the men that come through here."

You turned, heart hammering.

Bo was leaning back against the door, arms crossed, watching you. Face unreadable. Eyes dark.

You opened your mouth, to thank him, maybe, but he cut you off.

"How old are you, anyway?"

You stiffened. You knew what he was asking. Knew why he was asking it. You met his eyes steady, chin tilting up just a little.

"Turned eighteen last month," you said. "I'm grown, sir."

For a second, just a breath, something flickered across his face. Something hungry and dangerous and real.

Then it was gone, shuttered behind that calm mask he wore like a second skin.

He nodded once. Slow. Like he was making peace with something ugly inside himself.

"Alright, sunshine," he said rough. "Long as you know what you’re doin’."

You smiled, small and sweet and secret, because you did. You really, really did.

And Lord help you, you weren't planning on stopping.

The day dragged in slow, hot and heavy, same as always, but you didn’t mind.

Not when you got to watch him. Bo moved like he wasn’t even trying. Stacking crates, counting stock, slouching against counters, and all you could do was sneak glances every chance you got.

The way his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows as always, showing off strong forearms, tan and scarred, veins running beneath the skin like little rivers. The way the muscles flexed under the fabric when he lifted something heavy.

His hands, god, his hands. Big and rough, palms calloused from years of work. Knuckles scarred like he’d been in more fights than he’d ever admit.

You imagined what they’d feel like, skimming your skin, wrapping around your throat, curling in your hair. It got harder and harder to focus on anything else.

You were wiping down the counter again, pretending to clean when you were really just looking at him, when you realized:

No customers. None. Just you and Bo. Alone. Heat swirling between you like smoke.

Your heartbeat picked up a bit.

And before you could talk yourself out of it, before you could remember to be scared or shy or good, You moved.

Not too fast, a normal shaky pace.

You crossed the space between you in a few quick steps, grabbed his hand, and tugged him toward the back.

He let you. No questions. No hesitation. Just a soft grunt, a half-smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he followed.

"What’s this, sunshine?" His voice was rough, curious, amused. "You stealin' me?"

You didn’t answer. You just pulled him through the narrow back door, into the storeroom, dim and warm and empty, and shoved him back against the wall.

You stood there, breathing hard. Heart hammering so loud you swore he could hear it.

Bo looked down at you, those dark eyes burning, and for a second you thought maybe he’d laugh, maybe he’d brush you off, maybe he’d tell you to run along like the little girl you weren’t anymore.

But he didn’t.

He tipped his chin down, lips brushing yours, and said low:

"You sure, sunshine?"

You nodded. Didn’t trust your voice.

That was all he needed.

He kissed you like he’d been waiting for it. Hard. Hungry. Hands grabbing your hips, dragging you against him.

Your head spun. The world tilted.

His mouth was hot and rough, teeth scraping your lower lip just enough to make you whimper, and God, the sound you made must’ve lit him on fire because he growled low in his chest, cupped your face with both hands, and kissed you harder.

You clutched at him, hands fisting in his shirt, dragging him closer, and he let you, let you crawl all over him, like he was starving for it.

Like he’d die if you stopped.

At one point, you stumbled, tried to pull back to catch your breath, but he chased you, mouth claiming yours again, hands framing your face so careful, so tender even with how rough the kiss was.

You were dizzy with it, with him, with the feel of his body pressed against yours, all hard heat and steady muscle.

And then, You did it.

Hands shaking, you grabbed his wrist, guided it up, placed his big, rough hand around your throat. Gently. Like a question.

Like a please.

Bo froze. For one hot, crackling second, everything in the room stopped moving.

His thumb brushed the side of your throat, slow, thoughtful. Not squeezing, just holding, just letting you feel the strength there, the weight of him.

He pulled back just enough to look you dead in the eye, something dangerous and filthy gleaming behind his gaze. And he grinned, slow, wicked, all teeth and bad intentions.

"You into that shit, sunshine?" His voice was dark velvet, wrapping around you, making you shiver.

You nodded, breathless, grinding your hips against him like you couldn’t help it. (You couldn’t.)

His fingers flexed slightly, tightening just a fraction, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who was bigger, stronger, in charge.

You whimpered, so soft, so needy, and he laughed, low and rough, like you were the best damn thing he’d ever seen.

"Goddamn," he muttered, voice rough and reverent. "You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me."

Then he kissed you again, deeper, dirtier, hand still cradling your throat, the other roaming down your spine to pull you flush against him.

You melted into him, opened for him, let him take whatever he wanted.

Bo’s hand stayed loose around your throat a moment longer, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw, his breath ragged against your mouth, before he finally let go.

Not because he wanted to stop touching you, nah. Because he wanted more.

He gave you a rough, breathless little grin, one you could feel in your knees, then reached down and grabbed you by the waist like you weighed nothing. Lifted you right up.

Set you down on the nearest wooden stool, still warm from the heat of the barn outside, a little unsteady, but solid enough.

Your hands grabbed the edge of the stool instinctively, steadying yourself, eyes wide, heart pounding so hard you could barely hear.

Bo leaned back a half-step, just enough to drink you in.

The way your dress rode up, baring the soft skin of your thighs. The way you sat there all breathless, pupils blown wide, lips kiss-swollen and desperate for him.

He dragged a hand down his face, as if trying to keep himself together, and then just said low, almost to himself:

"Christ, you're pretty."

You didn’t even realize you were doing it, but your eyes kept dropping. To his hands. Those big, rough, dangerous hands, scarred and calloused and strong.

You could feel the strength of them from here. Could imagine them wrapped around your hips, your waist, your throat again, holding you down, holding you up, whatever he damn well pleased.

Your mouth went dry. And Bo noticed. His mouth curled into a wicked, knowing smirk.

"Yeah?" he rasped, voice dropping. "You like the look of my hands, sunshine?" Like he didn’t already know that.

You swallowed hard, nodded. You didn't even try to hide it.

And that was all he needed. Bo stepped between your knees, crowding you close, body heat washing over you like a furnace, and ducked his head down.

Started kissing along your jaw, slow, wet, open-mouthed kisses trailing lower and lower. You gasped when he found the spot just under your ear, sucked there hard enough to leave a mark, and he grinned against your skin when you tilted your head for him, helpless and wanting.

"Good girl," he muttered into your neck. "So pretty ‘fa me."

You could’ve melted right then and there. Could’ve died.

His hands were everywhere, roaming up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts, dragging along the soft curves of your waist like he was memorizing you.

You arched into him, not even tryna to play coy anymore.

You wanted him. All of him.

And Bo, he was starving for you. Before you could blink, he dropped to his knees.

Big, broad body sinking down in front of you, spreading your knees wider apart with those strong hands, pulling your panties down — looking up at you with something almost feral in his eyes.

"Gotta taste you, baby," he rasped, voice half-broken with need. "Been fuckin' dying for it."

You whimpered, hand flying to his hair instinctively, fisting in the thick dark strands as he shoved your dress up higher, higher, exposing you.

No hesitation. Bo dove in like a man half out of his mind.

The first press of his mouth against you made you cry out sharp and sweet hips bucking up without you meaning to.

Bo groaned, like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted and grabbed your thighs, holding you down, forcing you to stay right there for him.

His mouth was hungry, lips and tongue working you open, devouring you like you were his last meal.

Messy. Loud. Absolutely, devastatingly good.

You tried to pull away once, overwhelmed, shaking, breath hitching in your throat, but he only groaned and pulled you back down harder.

"Nah, baby." "You take it." "You let me eat this pretty little pussy just like this." "You fuckin’ taste how bad I want you."

You sobbed his name, it was pathetic, really. Hips grinding helplessly against his mouth, and Bo just groaned again, deeper, like he could come from this alone.

The wet slide of his tongue. The scrape of his teeth just barely grazing. The way he sucked your clit into his mouth and held it there until you were shaking.

He licked you like he owned you. Like he wasn’t gonna let you walk outta this storeroom until you knew exactly who you belonged to.

And when you finally came, loud and desperate, thighs clamping around his head.

Bo just kept going. Didn’t stop. Didn’t let up. Made you ride it out, every shudder, every whimper, every sweet little broken cry.

When you finally slumped forward, boneless and ruined, hands still fisting in his hair.

Bo looked up at you, mouth slick with you, eyes dark and wild, and said, low and rough:

"Ain’t done with you yet, sunshine." "Not even close."

And you believed him. You wanted him. God help you, you wanted everything Bo Chow was about to give you.

A/N: LAWDDDD — I love me some Bo Chow...

[polarfarina]

Okay I do have to get up super early in case my clothes don't fully dry overnight and I have to go run them through the dryer downstairs before work. But. I think after all this frustration lately I deserve a little fun thing before bed first

[jobean12-blog]

Midnight Confessions

Light SPOILERS ahead!!!

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2.5K

Summary: A late night gives you the opportunity to flirt with Bucky and the next night he comes right back for more.

Author's Note: There are some Thunderbolts spoilers here- none really story related so much but more character driven. So reader BEWARE :D I had fun writing all the ridiculous dialogue in the beginning and it's a bit chaotic but I hope it makes you smile! Thank you so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: fun and fluff, flirtiness, tension, sweetness

You set the timer and place it on the counter, leaning back with a sigh. While it seems everyone else in the tower is asleep, you’re as wide awake as the bustling city below. This is the second batch of cookies you’ve made this week, but no one seems to be complaining.

After contemplating something on the TV you decide instead to read, hoping it will make you sleepy.

No such luck and just as you’re starting the next chapter you see a dark shadow at the entrance of the kitchen, you’re body stiffening.

“It’s just me doll.”

At the sound of Bucky’s voice, you instantly relax.

“Jeez you’re quiet,” you whisper.

He chuckles lightly and steps into the kitchen. His hair is slightly mussed as if he’s been running a hand through it and his tee shirt clings to the broad lines of his chest and toned biceps. With a hard swallow you let your eyes drop lower, to the way his pants sit low on his waist but still hug his thighs.

“Can’t sleep?” you squeak out, dragging your gaze back to his face.

He shakes his head no and moves closer, revealing a surprise. The guinea pig Yelena rescued from the lab sits atop his left shoulder, tucked close to his neck and partially hidden by his hair.

You sit up with a gasp and rush over to him, cooing quietly and without a word plucking the piglet from his shoulder.

“What are you doing up?” you ask the guinea pig in a sweet voice.

“I probably should have let him sleep but as soon as I made noise he started squeakin’.”

You look up at Bucky and notice his soft expression as he watches you with the guinea pig.

“It’s a boy?” you ask.

“Actually, I don’t know,” he replies.

“Hmm,” you say as you pet it’s soft fur. “I bet it’s a girl.”

“That works too,” he smiles. “Are you making cookies?”

“I am…they should be out…,” and you walk over to the timer, “in three minutes.”

“Great doll. I could use a snack!” He slowly rubs his stomach as he stretches, revealing the dark trail of hair that disappears enticingly into his sweats.

The guinea pig squeaks and draws your attention away before he catches you staring.

“She needs a name,” you state as you cradle her in your arm.

Bucky is silent for a moment before he blurts out, “Cookie.”

“That’s cute,” you giggle, “but I think you’re just hungry.”

He doesn’t disagree and keeps thinking.

“She’s brown and white so…BACON!”

You stop petting the piglet and narrow your eyes at Bucky.

He holds his hands up in surrender, but you can see the way his eyes crinkle at the corners as he tries to hold back a smile.

“Are you going to wash the dishes?”

Bob’s voice is so low you almost don’t hear it but Bucky spins around at the sound.

“Bob!” both you and Bucky exclaim.

“What’s going on in here?” Bob asks as he looks between you and Bucky.

“We can’t sleep, and I made cookies,” you explain.

“And we’re trying to give the guinea pig a name,” Bucky adds.

“Ok,” Bob says. “I’m going to wash the dishes.”

“Do you want help?” you ask him. “I can dry the bowls.”

“Sure,” Bob says.

You hand the guinea pig back to Bucky. “Don’t get comfy. I want her back when I’m done.”

“Anything you want doll,” he says with a wink.

“How about Piglet?” Bob chimes from the sink.

“Like in Winnie the Pooh?” you ask as you slide up next to him and take the first bowl to dry it.

“Yeah…she’s kinda tiny…,” Bob says.

“So, you think she’s a girl too!” you say happily. “Bucky was calling it a he.”

“Not because I don’t think it could be a girl…I just…said he first.”

“It’s a girl,” Yelena says as she walks in.

“See! I knew it!” you sing song.

“What is going on here?” Yelena asks.

“None of us could sleep,” Bob answers. “So, we’re making cookies, washing dishes and naming the guinea pig.”

“Are the cookies ready yet?” Yelena asks, eyeing the oven.

“Just about,” you answer.

“Bob suggested Piglet…but I like Bacon,” Bucky says to fill Yelena in.

“Of course you would say Bacon,” she tsks. “I like Piglet.”

“Do I smell cookies?”

Walker strides in and heads straight for the oven.

“HEY Walker,” you whisper shout. “They’ll be out in a minute.”

He stops and plops himself down on a stool at the island with a huff.

“Why didn’t anyone invite me to the party?” he says.

“Because you’re an asshole,” but you and Yelena chime simultaneously but not without a smile pulling at each of your mouths.

“Can I least have some cookies,” Walker asks.

“Of course,” you tell him.

“Why don’t you name the pig, Hamlet,” Walker adds.

Everyone is quiet for a minute and tries to hide their smiles. “Actually, that’s cute,” you say, “but we’ve decided it’s a girl so maybe something…more…girly.”

Walker rests his chin in his hands but remains silent.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Ava says, appearing from the other side of the wall.

Bob startles at the sink and Walker rolls his eyes.

“No one can sleep, we are about to eat cookies, and we need a name for our girl guinea pig,” Yelena sums up quickly before opening the oven just as the timer dings.

“Pipsqueak,” Ava says flatly.

Yelena smiles. “I like that. She does squeak…a lot.”

“But she’s brave,” Bob says. “She survived the lab. I wouldn’t call her a pipsqueak.”

“But Piglet is scared of everything isn’t he?” Bucky muses. “So that wouldn’t work either.”

“Oh,” Bob sighs. “Yeah, he is.”

“Still like Bacon,” Bucky mumbles to himself.

“WHO SAID BACON?” Alexei booms when he walks in. “We eat?”

Yelena hangs her head with a sigh and Ava rolls her eyes.

“No bacon,” Bucky says sadly. “But we have cookies.”

“Hm, that will do,” Alexei says as he walks over to Yelena and pulls out the hot tray with his hand.

“You should let them cool,” you say to Alexei as he goes to grab for one.

“No, no…I like them all gooey and melted and messy…” He pops half the cookie in his mouth and hums happily.

Bucky slides over; the guinea pig nestled in the crook of his metal arm as he grabs for a cookie.

Walker reaches over the island to grab his own.

“They’re still hot guys!” you scold but give up with a sigh when half the tray is gone in under a minute. “You better grab one,” you whisper to Bob.

He turns from the sink and wipes his hand, reaching for a cookie and placing it on a napkin near him. “I’ll let mine cool,” he says with a small smile.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence and lots of mumbled praises over the cookies, you ask, “so what are we naming the guinea pig?”

Alexei yells out, “ALEXEI!”

Everyone answers with a determined, “NO!”

Alexei deflates and takes another cookie.

“So far we ruled out all the suggestions,” you say, leaning back on the counter next to Bucky.

Without prompting he hands you the guinea pig. You gently hold her up and look her over.

“I have so many ideas but none of them seem to fit,” you huff.

“All mine are related to food,” Bucky shrugs.

“I still like Alexei,” Alexei grumbles.

“Hamlet isn’t girly enough,” Walker says.

“Piglet and Pipsqueak make her sound too timid,” Ava adds.

Finally, Yelena says, “what about Nat?”

All eyes turn to her, soft with unspoken words.

“That’s perfect,” you say quietly and everyone agrees.

Once the few remaining cookies are packed away and the kitchen is clean you walk over to Bucky who’s leaning against the wall, Nat once again cradled against his chest in the crook of his metal arm.

“She likes that spot,” you say quietly as you gently stroke her back.

“Yeah, maybe because it’s cool,” he says and then softly touches her nose as it twitches.

You watch him for a moment, so sweet and gentle with the little furball.

“You’re so cute,” you say softly.

“She is right,” Bucky agrees.

“She meant you super soldier,” Alexei chuckles from behind you. “Not pig.”

“She’s a guinea pig Dad,” Yelena dead pans.

Alexei waves his had dismissively. “All same.”

Your eyes meet Bucky’s, and you see the tops of his cheeks, just above all the dark stubble lining them, turn light pink.

“You meant little Nat right?” he asks.

“She definitely meant the guinea pig,” Walker says with a yawn as he walks by. “I’m goin’ to bed.”

Ava follows close behind him. “Me too. And she meant you Barnes.”

Alexei slaps Bucky hard on the back, jostling Nat in his arms and Bucky glares.

“Oh. Right, sorry,” Alexei mumbles then smiles wide. “She thinks you are cute.”

He walks away rubbing his stomach.

Only Yelena and Bob remain, Yelena with a smirk lifting her lips and Bob with wide eyes.

Your eyes stay on Bucky, and you lean in closer, still petting Nat. “No. I meant you. You’re really cute. Especially with her. It’s sweet.”

“She said he’s cute,” Bob whispers to Yelena who’s full on smiling now.

“Da,” Yelena nods, grabbing Bob’s arm to pull him down the hall.

“Does she like him?” Bob asks as he passes by you and Bucky.

Yelena laughs but doesn’t answer and keeps tugging him away.

The two of you are now alone and you watch Bucky’s gaze quickly drop to your lips before he says a quiet, “thanks.”

“Hope you can get some sleep,” you tell him then kiss his cheek. “Night.”

“Night, doll,” he whispers as he watches you walk to your room.

The next night when you’re still awake after midnight you head to the common room but when you don’t see a sign of anyone else you decide to go watch a movie until you fall asleep. The light knock on your door an hour later surprises you and when you open it to find Bucky on the other side you’re even more surprised.

“I didn’t wake you did I doll?” he asks in a rush.

“No, don’t worry. I was watching a movie.”

“I thought I saw light under the door so I figured you might still be up.”

“Did you want more cookies? The leftovers are in the cabinet.”

“Actually…Alexei ate them all. I checked…”

You snort laugh and grab Bucky’s hand, pulling him through the doorway.

“Of course he did,” you say as you plop down on the small couch.

Bucky follows and then stands there as if he’s unsure what to do next.

“You can sit,” you tell him.

He does.

“Are you watching The Goonies?”

“I am!” you say excitedly. “I’m so glad you’ve seen it.”

“Classic 80s.”

“Exactly,” you agree.

You settle back into the cushions and let your shoulder brush his. As the movie continues your body relaxes against him and he lifts his arm to rest it along the back of the couch. His fingers brush your shoulder and when he feels your skin pebble beneath his touch he does it again. Your breath catches in your throat and you audibly swallow.

The movie ends and you’re still pressed against him, his arm now circling your shoulders as his fingertips ghost over your skin.

“That’s one of my favorites,” you say and turn to meet his eyes.

“Mine too,” he whispers, curling his fingers around your arm so you turn your body into his.

His eyes wander over your face, their soft reverence only sharpened when they stop on your lips.

“Doll…I…”

Whatever he wants to say is lost in the moment and he presses his mouth to yours, softly at first, but when you slide your fingers into his hair and tug him closer, he hums low in his chest and deepens it, parting your lips.

His knuckles skim down your arm before splaying at your back and pulling you into his lap. His hand slips under your shirt, every caress of his fingertips slow and teasing as if he’s savoring every moment and committing it to memory. His kisses are sweet and languid and the hair lining his face scratches the soft column of your neck as his lips trail downward to your hammering pulse.

A deep and satisfied hum rumbles through his chest and you press yourself closer, feeling the hard lines of his muscle beneath his shirt.

“Bucky,” you whimper.

He lifts his head to stare at you, his breathing fast. His metal thumb lifts to trace your swollen bottom lip before he slides it behind your neck and brings your lips back to his, nibbling the same spot then soothing it with his tongue.

You moan into his mouth and the sound snaps what little control he’s holding on to and suddenly you’re flipped to your back, your wrists in his metal hand and pinned above your head. His eyes teasingly trail over your body, and you go pliant in his hold, your legs falling open as he settles between them.

He leans down, dipping his head to run his nose along your neck, breathing you in before his lips are on yours again.

“You’re so soft,” he murmurs, his hand releasing your wrists and sliding lower to stroke your curves. “I knew you would be.”

“You’ve thought about it?” you ask as you tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, licking his lips. “I came over here with the intention to ask you out on a date…”

“Is this not…?”

He cuts you off. “This is exactly what I want…you’re what I want. I’m just…trying to be a gentleman.”

Your lips form an O shape, and he kisses you again.

“I’ll go on a date with you Bucky,” you murmur between kisses.

“Good, that’s good,” he says, his warm hands continuing their exploration of your body while his lips trail down your neck.

You arch into him and slide your hands from his hair down his back, scraping lightly with your nails.

“Fuck,” he hisses.

When his eyes lift to yours he wears a pained expression.

“A gentleman,” he repeats.

“Right. A date,” you say.

“Fuck,” he mutters again but doesn’t move an inch.

You stare at each other, the tension building in the small space between you before he dips his head and kisses you again. His lips find the spot just below your ear and he whispers, “if you don’t tell me to go now…”

“I don’t want you to go Bucky. I want you to stay. I want you.”

[tardis--dreams]

Had my beddings in the dryer and someone took it out and stuffed their own shit in there before i got it (not even 2 minutes after the time was up) so i should do the same and go there 5 minutes before their timer is up throw their shit in a basked and put my stuff back in since it's still wet. I seriously hate every single person living here so much jesus fucking christ

[carnalcrows]

SOMETHING LIKE MERCY

pairings: namgyu x male reader

synopsis: You weren’t supposed to care. He had a knife to his throat, and you’d already finished your own round—clean, fast, no hesitation. But when Nam-gyu’s partner lunged, you moved without thinking. Shoved your blade under the girl’s ribs and twisted until she dropped. Now Nam-gyu’s alive, covered in someone else’s blood, and staring at you like you just ruined him. He doesn’t say thank you. You don’t explain. And neither of you has the nerve to call it mercy. 

content warnings: 18+, smut, top male reader, graphic violence, blood, knife-related injury/death, namgyu is BLUE, enemies to reluctant allies, power imbalance, sex under the influence, drug use (pills), dominance/submission dynamics, overstimulation, possessive behavior, emotionally charged intimacy, crying during sex, fingering, marking/bruising, belly bulging, breeding, creampie, semi-public sex.

word count: 2.3k

There were only three duos left. The final round was getting quiet.

One Blue. One Red.

And then Nam-gyu.

He stood half-crouched in the corner of the darkened arena, back pressed to a rusted locker, bare feet slick on the tile. His Blue badge flashed faintly in the emergency lights. The countdown timer kept blinking on the wall. Every second pulsed like a warning.

His breathing was ragged, uneven—half from the game, half from whatever pills he’d stupidly swallowed before it started. His pupils were blown wide, chest rising too fast. He didn’t have a weapon. He wasn’t supposed to.

His Red did.

A twitchy woman with blood on her collar and that look in her eyes—dead calm. Resigned. The kind of person who’d already made peace with doing whatever it took to live.

Nam-gyu had nowhere to run.

And his partner had already found him.

You were watching from the shadows, blood drying on your sleeves. Your Blue hadn’t even screamed. Quick knife through the throat. Clean. Efficient. You should’ve handed your blade to the guards and left the game floor like the rest.

But then the other Red started moving.

Knife raised. Footsteps quiet. Not charging—stalking.

You saw Nam-gyu flinch.

Just a split second. Not enough to show weakness, but enough to know he was screwed.

You moved.

No hesitation. No warning. Just motion—loud and sudden—cutting through the stillness.

The guards didn’t stop you.

Not in time.

You collided with the other Red mid-swing, knocking her sideways. Her blade clattered across the floor. She reached for it, but your knife was already under her ribs before she could get her fingers around the handle.

You twisted hard.

She gasped and went limp.

The weight of her body sagged against you before you let it drop to the tile.

Silence.

Nam-gyu stared like he didn’t recognize you.

“…Why,” he breathed. His voice cracked. “Why would you—”

“Because she was gonna kill you.”

You stepped forward, blood dripping from your knife.

He didn’t back away, but he didn’t move closer either. His shoulders were rigid, jaw tight.

“I could’ve handled it,” he said stiffly.

You raised an eyebrow. “Sure. That’s why you froze like a deer in headlights.”

His eyes snapped to yours, flaring with something—rage or embarrassment or both. “Go to hell.”

You didn’t flinch. “You first.”

The alarm blared overhead.

Game complete. Blue #124: Survived. Red #069: Violated game protocol. Under review.

Your grip tightened on the knife. You didn’t care.

Not when Nam-gyu was still alive.

You didn’t speak again until you both went to the bathroom. The guards didn’t separate you. Probably thought it’d be fun to watch what happened next.

Nam-gyu was pacing, lips chewed raw, energy all wrong. He was high, angry, and cornered.

“You think you’re a hero?” he snapped suddenly. “That I’m supposed to drop to my knees just ‘cause you didn’t let me die?”

You tilted your head. “Is that an offer?”

He stormed up to you, eyes blazing. “Go to hell.”

You grabbed his jaw. “Make me.”

And then he kissed you.

He kissed like he was trying to shut you up. Like his mouth was the only weapon he had left.

You didn’t let him keep the upper hand for long.

You spun him into the wall, shoved a thigh between his legs. His breath hitched as your hand found his waist and gripped, hard enough to make him shiver. His teeth dragged against your lip like he still wanted to fight. So you let him, for a second. Let him push back, all heat and anger and sweat.

Then you took control.

You gripped his wrists, pinned them above his head with one hand. His back arched off the wall.

“Still wanna die?” you whispered.

He panted, eyes wide. “Y-you think this means anything—”

“I think you’d rather fuck me than fight me.”

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

You kissed him again—slower this time. Deep and firm and claiming. He moaned into it, hips twitching against your thigh.

“I hate you,” he breathed.

You shoved a hand down his waistband and palmed him.

He choked on a moan.

“I can feel how much.”

You pressed harder, mouthing at his throat while his legs went weak. “You’re so loud for someone who acts tough.”

He gritted his teeth. “F-fuck off—”

You squeezed. He gasped, head falling back. You kissed his exposed neck. Sucked a mark just below his jaw. Felt him tremble.

“You want me to stop?”

He didn’t answer.

So you pushed him to the floor.

Shoved him back against the wall and spread his legs. His back met the cold concrete, knees parted, breath stuttering as your body pressed into his. You didn’t let up—not when he looked like that. Flushed. Exposed. Trembling with adrenaline and something else he refused to name.

You shoved his thighs apart, leaned down, and spit into your hand. He wrinkled his nose. 

“That’s disgusting.” You met his eyes.

“So leave.” He didn’t. You slicked yourself quickly, then leaned in again—spitting directly between his legs this time, spreading it with your fingers, slow and deliberate. He hissed. His back arched.

 “F-fuck—” “Gotta make it work somehow,” you murmured, voice low. 

“Unless you want me to go in dry.” Nam-gyu clenched his jaw. “Don’t you dare—” “Then shut up and let me do this.” You dipped a finger in, careful, slow. 

He was tight—of course he was—but the heat of him was enough to make your breath hitch. He squirmed beneath you, biting his lip so hard it turned white. You added more spit. Slid in deeper. “Y-you’ve done this before,” he whispered. You smirked. 

“A few times.” Nam-gyu’s breath stuttered. He didn’t fight. Not anymore. The second finger made him twitch. His whole body tensed, chest rising fast, like he wanted to curse but couldn’t form the words. 

You leaned down, pressing your chest to his, mouthing at the side of his throat. “You’re doing fine,” you murmured. “Taking it so well.” He made a strangled sound. Like the praise short-circuited something in his brain. 

When you finally pulled your fingers out, he was flushed, glassy-eyed, sweat clinging to his skin. 

“You don’t get to pretend anymore,” you said, voice low, the kind that curled under his skin. You grabbed the hem of his pants from his ankles and yanked it off in one motion. “You’re mine.”

His arms shook. His chest heaved. You watched his eyes flick from your face to your hands to the floor—like he was bracing for the impact of what he’d just said.

“…Then,” he whispered, “fucking take it.”

The words hit you harder than they should’ve.

You moved fast.

Hands on his waist, dragging him flush against you, making sure he felt what he’d asked for. His breath caught. You heard it. Felt it in the way his thighs tensed around you.

“No going back,” you murmured, voice close, lips brushing the edge of his jaw. “Are you sure about this?”

Nam-gyu didn’t answer with words this time. He hooked his legs tighter around your hips. Stared you down like he was daring you to prove it. That stubborn little fire still burning behind his eyes.

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of teasing. Not now. Not when he was already twitching beneath you, pupils blown wide, breath shallow. You slid your hand between his thighs—slowly, deliberately—your movements practiced but never careless. His whole body jolted at the first touch.

“Still with me?”

He nodded.

“Words.”

“I’m here,” he breathed, almost biting it out. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You leaned down, kissed the corner of his mouth, and whispered, “Good.”

You reached for your waistband. The air between you shifted.

Nam-gyu’s gaze dropped, catching the motion. He didn’t flinch—but his jaw clenched. His fingers curled tighter against the floor, his breath catching.

You let your hand drop between you both. Let him see the way your body responded to him. How hard you were. How far gone.

He made a quiet, helpless sound. One that barely escaped his throat.

And when you leaned forward, pressing your hips flush to his, guiding yourself into place, you felt him go still. Quiet. Bracing.

You kissed him once more—slow and grounding—and murmured against his lips:

“Breathe for me.”

Then you lined yourself up.

He exhaled—shaky, uneven, a sound that trembled out of him like he hadn’t realized he was holding it in. You didn’t move yet. Just stayed there, forehead pressed to his, your body heavy over his, your hand guiding yourself to where he burned the hottest.

Nam-gyu stared up at you, pupils blown, mouth parted. His chest rose fast under yours. Still trying to keep control. Still trying to act like he wasn’t waiting—wanting—for this.

You kissed him again. Slow this time. Deep enough to make him sigh into it.

Then you started to push in.

Just a little.

He tensed, sucking in a breath through his teeth. “F-fuck—”

“I’ve got you,” you murmured. One hand on his waist. The other bracing you above his head. “Just keep breathing.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. His nails dug into your back. His thighs locked around your hips like he was torn between pushing you away and pulling you in faster.

You waited.

Let him adjust.

Watched his expression shift from tight discomfort to something softer. Needier. His mouth parted again and he gasped when you shifted forward—just another inch.

“Doing so good,” you whispered. “Look at you.”

“D-don’t—” He tried to scoff, but his voice caught. “Don’t say that crap.”

You grinned. “What, can’t take a compliment?”

“Can’t—” He whined as your hips pressed closer. His head thunked back against the wall. “C-can’t think—”

“Good.”

You rocked your hips once—slow and steady—and felt the way he clenched around you. His body opened up for you by inches, shivering under your hands, caught in the middle of pain, pleasure, and adrenaline.

You kissed the corner of his jaw. “You’re doing better than fine.”

Nam-gyu groaned. Quiet, low, like it slipped out without permission.

You kept moving. Bit by bit. Letting him feel every second of it.

And when your hips were finally flush—when you were buried in him and he was panting against your shoulder, arms clinging around your back like he’d fall apart otherwise—you held there. Just held.

Let it sink in.

Let him sink in.

The heat. The weight. The fact that it was you.

Nam-gyu’s voice was barely audible. “I’m gonna lose my mind.”

You kissed his throat. “Good. Then you’ll stop trying to control everything.”

He laughed—breathless, broken.

And then you started to move.

Your hands tightened around his waist, fingers digging into sweat-slick skin like you couldn’t bear to let him go. Each movement rocked through him—steady, relentless, just this side of unhinged.

Nam-gyu’s head was tipped back, throat exposed, mouth parted as breath spilled out in uneven gasps. His whole body shook beneath you, legs wrapped tight around your hips like that was the only thing tethering him to the world.

And every time your rhythm hit just right, he squealed—sharp and breathless, like the sound escaped before he could even try to stop it.

“You’re gonna take everything I give you, aren’t you?” you muttered against the curve of his jaw, voice rough with the strain of holding back.

He nodded—dazed and wordless, tear-lined eyes locked on you like he didn’t know how to do anything else. There was no snark left in him. No biting remarks. Just the raw, open mess of him, completely at your mercy.

You glanced down.

There, below his navel, you caught a subtle shift—like your presence inside him echoed under the surface, the shape of your connection made visible in a way you hadn’t expected.

Your breath caught.

Carefully, you laid your thumb over the spot.

Nam-gyu jolted with a sharp noise—half-squeal, half-shudder—and clutched at your shoulders. His legs twitched around you, muscles locking up, and his eyes fluttered like he couldn’t keep them open.

“You feel that?” you whispered.

He didn’t answer. Just whined under his breath and tried to pull you closer, like that was the only answer he had left.

You were close. So close. The tension in your body coiled tight, your rhythm faltering as heat pooled low in your spine. You pushed in deeper, chasing that edge, watching the way he fell apart in your hands.

“Come on,” you murmured. “I’ve got you.”

And he did.

Nam-gyu went still for a breath—then trembled hard, breath catching in his throat as release hit him. His back arched, hands scrabbling at your arms like he needed something to hold onto, legs tightening around you like he couldn’t bear the space.

That was all it took.

You pressed in close, forehead resting against his as your own climax rushed up to meet you—your body tensing, your mind going quiet, everything focused on the way he felt beneath you. Focused on the way he clenched around you as you came, painting his insides a pearly white.

When it passed, the only sound left in the room was your breathing—his soft and ragged, yours low and uneven.

He didn’t talk afterward.

Just sat there on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, breathing hard, shirt wrinkled, thighs still shaking slightly. There was a handprint on his hip. You didn’t bother hiding the mark you left on his throat.

Nam-gyu didn’t meet your eyes.

You knelt beside him anyway, brushing sweat-damp hair off his forehead.

“You good?”

He scoffed, but it was quiet. Shaky. “I let you fuck me.”

“You begged.”

“Did not.”

“Wanna go again and test that?”

He finally looked at you.

And god—he looked wrecked.

“...You kill everyone who touches me?” he muttered.

You leaned in. “Only the ones who try to keep you from me.”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s fucked.”

“You’re welcome.”

He looked away again.

But this time, when you stood and offered your hand, he took it.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

Taglist: @belovedengie @jrxkar @yippee-yippee8 @faggotboulevard @bleedingbl0ssom @green-turtle3 @mazettns @laynnetteii1 (comment to be added)

[remushrts]

✶ BAKED GOODS / poly!marauders.

— pairing: poly!marauders x reader

— a/n: i did get carried away with this one but it was so fun to write!! i do not mean to set a precedent on poly!marauders and culinary tales, i just love the chaotic dynamic of them in the kitchen i fear

— summary: based on the prompt: ♡ the character realizes how head over heels in love they are when their s/o took over their whole kitchen in a panic bake.

Sirius swears he's trying to be nice. Keyword, trying.

But can he really blame himself when he came home late from another horrible, horrible meeting, more than exhausted, to find your whole house smelling like muffins? And not only a batch or two, he swore the house was to be stacked with piles upon piles of baked goods at this point.

Was he really, really to blame, that he swoon the moment he saw you cursing under your breath as you spilled vanilla essence all over the counter?

"Hi, sweetie." Sirius grins deliberately, placing a kiss on your cheek. He swears you even taste sweet. "What's with the psycho cooking spree at midnight? Not that I'm one to complain." He added, running his finger along the edge of your bowl and taking it to his lips to taste the batter.

You sigh before answering, and Sirius thinks you're even more adorable, if that's even possible. "Your cousin called, Nymphadora has one of those school events tomorrow. We're helping her up a bit."

"Well, are you trying to feed the entire school?" He gestures to the three batches cooling on the counter, plus the one in the oven. "And who's we, darling? Have you started to hallucinate? Should we run with you to the ER?"

You let out a dry laugh in response, shoving his arm playfully. Sirius doesn't budge, if anything, he locks his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. "I am not trying to feed the entire school, some of these are ours. Orange cinnamon for Jamie, double chocolate for Remus, peanut butter for you, and raspberry for Andy and Ted, but..." You don't have time to finish your sentence as the timer of your oven goes off, and Sirius smacks a kiss against your cheek before you can move.

"Let me get those." He offers, placing another kiss on the corner of your lips before he lets you go and picks up a pair of oven gloves disposed on the counter. He picks them up carefully, more than you would have given him credit for. "And where are those animals, huh? Letting my sweetheart do the entire job alone."

You roll your eyes, picking one of the muffin tins — though to Sirius, god knows how you can keep track of which one of them is still burning hot, and which is just warm to touch without burning your fingers off — and taking the perfectly shaped muffins out of it. He watches as you line up new paper cups and pour the new batter he hadn't even seen before, although he can assume they are the orange ones from the heavenly smell.

"You didn't let me finish, you sod." You say, but your tone packs none of the bite, his grin grows wider across his face.

"Sorry, sweetie, please finish." He offers you, trying to pick one of the freshly baked muffins. You swatch his hand away.

"Don't eat those, you'll burn your tongue. And, to your knowledge, Remus went to buy more paper cups and blueberries because certain someones keep trying to catch them in the air everytime we have them." You explain.

"Oi! That's unfair, we did went to get them, you know?" You hear James' voice echo around the house just a second later the front door clicks open. You kind of pity your neighbours for the noise he's making, but a little less as he greets you with a kiss on the lips. "Hi, my love. Has this gentleman been troubling you?"

You see Sirius feigns offense at the corner of your eyes, pressing your lips to suppress a smile. "Yeah, yeah, your sins are atoned for, Jamie. But his are not." You point out to your other boyfriend.

"Oh, I think I've atoned for my sins just fine!" Sirius tries to defend himself, an exasperated glance at you and James. "Moony, I'm being set up here!"

His gaze only seems to soften as Remus enters the room, you turn to see another two dozens of star-lined paper cups on his hands. You know James had made him park at the store by the look on his face, despite the small errand not meaning to take more than ten minutes, tops. The frown that creases your boyfriend's eyebrows don't make him any less handsome.

"What has he done now?" Remus inquiries with a raised brown.

"Nothing!"

"Eaten all the blueberries." You and James answer at the same time. "Sorry, eaten half the blueberries. The other half was dropped to the floor." You correct.

"Sacrificed!" Sirius corrects once again. "And I could eat them off the floor if Moony wasn't such a goody two-shoes."

"Court finds you guilty, sorry. And you're not eating off the floor, Pads." Remus interrupts before any of you can. James seems rather amused at the situation, watching you bicker and discreetly eating off the bag of frozen mixed berries when none of you are looking. You catch him by the corner of your eye, resting your back at the counter at slowly reaching for one too.

Sirius is, to say the least, scandalised. "So they get to eat them?"

Remus only shrugs, you pick a couple berries in a hand and offers him too. James gives him a complicit look, but he doesn't look half as guilty, lips tinted by the blackberries as are the tips of his fingers. He leans to kiss Sirius.

"Désolé, amor." He says, pressing the words sweetly against his lips. Sirius maybe, just maybe, swoons again at the way his accent carries the vowels with such flowy grace. It's unfair of James, and the smile that comes after tells him that he knows it.

"Désolé my fucking ass! Bloody traitor!" He pretends to push James away towards you, but he spins on his heels like a fucking pro, locking you between his body and the counter with a smug grin. You have none of it, clapping your hands loudly and making a cloud of flour dust the room, and your boyfriend's poor lovely face.

"Alright, everybody out of my kitchen unless you're helping!" You say loudly, all the pompous of a professional chef in one of those reality shows you always watch with the boys.

"Yes, chef!" James answers, smile turning enthusiastic as his lips curl up.

"Yes, chef..." Remus follows, already putting himself at work and opening the paper cups on the counter. You look at Sirius, maybe too cocky to expect an answer, but you let yourself have the small power trip.

Sirius smiles widely, the genuine amusement that makes one lovely dimple appear at his cheeks. "Oui, chef."

It's good enough for you. You swoon for him too.

[kotikaleo]

THEY ARE HERE!!!

Just you look at all of them!!!

They are so real, they shine and they smell of plastic XD

And you all know where to get them 👀

Reblogs and comments are appreciated!!

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

Ramblings about design under the cut:

OKAY SO. I have put So Much into the designs, and now you will have to sit and listen to mad man rambling!

I made a few rules for this designs:

No face. The face is always obscured with a shadow or something else, but no eyes are visible. It is more of "no face to tell how they really feel" thing rather than Watcher stuff, but it can be both

Every singe piece of glass has to make sense in real stained glass window. I broke that rule a few times sadly, but not much on purpose more of I was getting tired and some parts slipped my attention. Still it looks good

The corners are heart colored, green on the bottom, yellow in the middle and red on top. And the hears are always present. Scott has only two, because he started Last Life with only two, so it seemed fitting. Pearl's heart is broken because she was rejected.

Celestial body. That one is obvious, but people might ask "oh hey, why Scott has a moon as well" That is called foreshadowing and also there was this moon crescent when he won so why not XD. And Yes Joel is The Car. But he is also a comet, that's why he has colorful flame around him.

So that's common rules that all of them obey, now lemme tell about more details of each one of them:

bloodied fist :)

Grian has a waffle - I just draw the lines for it diagonally instead of crossed from top and bottom, image it like an undercut that is meant to look like dragon scales but looks like a waffle XD

his wings are cut. No flying for the birdie úωù

Scott reaches for the star and it overshadows him. Something something victory doesn't feel so good uωu

And I already mentioned the moon but yeeeee the moon. He will be connected to Pearl, but alas it will hurt them both

Broken heart :(

Tilly is SILLY!!! Also Tilly and Pearl are connected by the line of fate, but it is also interrupted, because no matter how much Pearl says that Tilly is her soulmate that is not fully truth and she is still connected to Scott

Scar has The Flowers

He whispers, because he learned painfull way not to tell more then he is allowed to

Sunflowers :)

OKAY SO MARTIN IS SO MUCH TO ME

The sand has run out, you can see that there is a bit of sand trickling down but the top is fully empty

The hourglass is over him, even if the lava spills over and in front of it, Martin is forever trapped and overshadowed by the timer

THE CROWN, THE RED WINTER!!! Martin in last moments betrayed everyone, spilled lava over his teammate killed Impulse, everyone. He is loyal only to the red crown no matter how much he denies that

The Car! :)

Joel is the only one full of joy, he Has Won and he will run this victory till he runs dry!

He breaks out of the frame because he doesn't obey the rules of the game, he plays like he wants to play

Also the number of the car says "FAMI-" - FAMILY.

I think this is it???? If I have not forgot anything, and MY DUDES I AM SO PROUD OF THIS ONE!!! AAAAAAA

[astars-things]

luke hughes x reader where reader has curly hair and teaches luke how to style his curls

"Luke, babe, what the fuck is going on with your hair?" you asked, your eyes wide as Luke walked into your shared room. His usually soft, bouncy curls were a tangled mess, sticking up at odd angles like they had a mind of their own.

 "I don't know" Luke pouted as he belly-flopped onto the bed, since you came into Lukes' life you had been doing his curls (call it the girlfriend effect) you thought he might have gotten the hang of it considering you have been dating him for nearly two years 

You crossed your arms, staring at the heap of limbs and curls sprawled across your bed. "Luke, what happened to the products I got you? The curl cream? The leave-in conditioner? Literally anything?"

He rolled onto his back, lips jutting out into a pout as he gave you full puppy-dog eyes. “I like it when you do my hair.” You let out a sigh "You're so dramatic, c'mon then" You said walking into the connecting bathroom and grabbing out everything you needed, you grabbed the small step stool for Luke to sit on 

Luke padded in a second later, shoulders hunched and a sheepish grin on his face. “You love me,” he teased, sitting on the stool like an overgrown child.

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “Unfortunately.” You grabbed a small about of hair mask on your hands and ran your fingers gently through the mess on his head. Luke let out a small moan at the sensation of your fingers along his head 

"Mmm, see? This is why I wait for you." He let out leaning his head into your hands  "Laziness isn’t romantic, Hughes." you said as you left the hair mask to marinate in his hair 

"Yes it is," he argued  "It’s love. Deep, deep love." You rolled your eyes and set a timer on your phone, shaking your head as Luke leaned back against your thighs like he hadn’t a single care in the world. 

once the timer went off, Luke leaned over the bathtub so you could wash out the hair mask, "Is that too hot?" you asked Luke not really in a mood to burn Luke's head "No it is perfect" Luke mumbled fighting off sleep 

You dried his hair so it was slightly damp. Luke was nearly asleep on the step stool. You had to gently shake his shoulder to wake him, which earned you another dramatic groan.

"Being beautiful is exhausting," he muttered as you carefully sectioned his damp hair and worked the curl cream through each part. "Yeah, yeah," you chuckled, running the wide-tooth comb through slowly, to make sure the product was evenly throughout his hair 

Once you were done defining each curl, you scrunched them gently, using the diffuser to dry his hair little by little while he kept his eyes closed, humming under his breath like he was at a spa.

"All done," You said patting his back, you stretched your aching back and arms, letting out a small yawn as you wiped your hands on a towel. "cuddle and bedtime?" Luke asked to which you let out a hum and moved off into bed 

Luke followed closely behind, flicking off the last light and crawling in beside you with all the grace of a sleepy puppy. He instantly wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you close so your head rested on his chest. 

"Thanks for doing my hair," he mumbled into your hair, already half-asleep. You smiled against his chest. "Thanks for being helpless without me."

He chuckled, his laugh low and lazy. "No one else I’d rather be helpless for." 

[sargeteen]

𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒅 ! ᵐᵛ¹

and this bird you cannot change ּ ֶָ֢.𓍼ོ

𝒎ax verstappen x 𝒆arnhardt!male reader synopsis: it’s not often you find your other half, someone who is just like you. and, it’s even more uncommon for you to be in similar sports and both be a prodigal son.

genre: smau warnings: lowk really bad...using chase elliott as a face claim

requested? yes! author’s note: sorry this took forever to come out i literally had no inspo for it 😭😭…also sorry this is so bad idek

masterlist.

liked by maxverstappen1, ynearnhardt, charles_leclerc, and otherstagged: ynearnhardt

nascar GUESS WHO? IT'S Y/N EARNHARDT: FOUR TIME NASCAR CUP SERIES DRIVERS' CHAMPION!

view all comments

userone there has to be something in the blood of these earnhardt drivers i don't trust them ⤷ usertwo they got the red white and blue running through their veins

userthree tf is max verstappen and charles leclerc lurking in the likes for 😭😭???????/ ⤷ userfour remember when max and y/n did that interview back in 2015 cause they were the youngest people in their sports and nascar and f1 did so much pr on that 😭😭??? ⤷ userthree omfg that was all the way in 2015??? i don't remember that holy that makes sense 😭😭

userfour THATS MY NAPA DRIVER!!!!!!!!

maxverstappen1 congratulations, earnhardt! glad to see you still have it in you 👴🏻 ⤷ ynearnhardt thank you verstappen, but go away??????

userfives USA USA USA USA USA

usersix fucking nepo baby doesnt even deserve it ⤷ userseven yeah tell that to the four championship wins

usereight FOUR IS FUCKING INSANEEEE

usernine there is an invisible string attaching max verstappen and y/n earnhardt ⤷ userten there is a taylor swift reference in everything

usereleven YEAH THATS MY GOAT 🐐

usertwelve why is nobody else freaking out over the max comment

liked by ynearnhardt, maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, and others tagged: maxverstappen1, redbullracing

f1 MAX VERSTAPPEN IS A FOUR TIME WORLD CHAMPION!

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userthirteen dry ass caption 💀💀 ⤷ userfourteen right 😭😭?? like give him some love he just won his fourth championship 😭😭😭

userfifteen I KNOW MY GOAT

usersixteen should've been hamilton

userseventeen wait...y/n earnhardt also won his 4th drivers championship...i know my goats 🐐

ynearnhardt welcome to the 4 timers club, max! 🏆 🐐 ⤷ maxverstappen1 happy to be a part of it, y/n! 👊 🐐 ⤷ usereighteen max using a goat emoji...

usernineteen my goats are interacting...

usertwenty WHY TF DO Y/N EARNHARDT AND MAX VERSTAPPEN KNOW EACH OTHER 😭😭😭😭???? ⤷ usertwentyone long story short, both were young rookies in 2015 and nascar and f1 wanted to make money off of that so they were forced to be bsf, and they hated each other, but now theyre friends...i guess

usertwentytwo yeah whatever when do y/n earnhardt and max verstappen kiss ????

liked by charles_leclerc, ynearnhardt, redbullracing, and otherstagged: redbullracing, ynearnhardt

maxverstappen1 M4X. NEVER QUIT. thanks for all the love and support, here's to 4 and many more.

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usertwentythree "proud of you :')" oh ill see myself out

usertwentyfour EARNSTAPPENS WE WON TODAY

usertwentyfive EARNSTAPPEN TEXT LEAK IN THE BIG 2024???

usertwentysix am i missing out why are people freaking out over y/n and max ⤷ usertwentyseven y/n and max have been "friends" since 2015 after being forced by nascar and f1 cause they were both young and there were rumors that they stopped being friends ⤷ usertwentysix so what youre saying is theyre enemies to lovers ⤷ usertwentyseven i mean..

ynearnhardt stop leaking me being proud of you that's ruining my image of being a ruthless nascar driver ⤷ maxverstappen1 you send me edits of yourself being a softie in interviews i don't want to hear it ⤷ ynearnhardt don't try and pretend you don't have a folder of edits of me on your tiktok account ⤷ usertwentyeight HELLOOOO ???????

usertwentynine oh god...Y/N HAS SEEN THE EDITS ABORT ABORT ABORT

userthirty LETS GO MAXXX WOOOO MY GOATTT

userthirtyone EARNSTAPPENNNNNN

userthirtytwo M4X M4X M4X SUPREMACY

liked by userthirtythree, userthirtyfour, userthirtyfive, and otherstagged: ynearnhardt, maxverstappen1

earnstappen y/n and max spottings recently...all in the same places 👀

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userthirtythree nah they gotta be fuckin ⤷ userthirtyfour HELP 😭😭????????

userthiryfive max spotted in no redbull gear?? ...nah thats photoshop

userthirtysix ok so how many of us actually think there is something between theM ⤷ earnstappen 👀👀 ⤷ userthirtyseven atp...anything could happen ⤷ userthirtyeight like me lowkey ⤷ userthirtynine they would be a power couple ⤷ userfourty they need to come out first

userfourtyone imagine they fted after they texted each other in the text chain max shared in his insta post after his 4th wdc win

userfourtytwo i needed them together yesterday

userfourtythree hoping for a hard launch

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, nascar, and otherstagged: maxverstappen1

ynearnhardt little monaco never hurt nobody

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userfourtyfour damn max is getting air

userfourtyfive EARNSTAPPEN INTHE BIG 2024 WINTER

userfourtysix god bless for earnstappen

charles_leclerc never letting you stay in my apartment ever again ⤷ ynearnhardt whaaaaat whyyyyy 😞😞😞 ⤷ maxverstappen1 it's ok y/n, you can stay at mine ⤷ userfourtyseven oh?????

maxverstappen1 you almost killed me with that fishing hook though ⤷ ynearnhardt that's your fault for standing in the way ⤷ maxverstappen1 i was on the opposite side of the boat ???

userfourtyeight just hard launch already

userfourtynine imagine how tired we are

userfifty my favorite 4 time driver's champion winners just need to realize theyre the same person and soulmates and kiss and makeout

liked by maxverstappen1, nascar, danielricciardo, and otherstagged: maxverstappen1

ynearnhardt what's a hard launch?

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maxverstappen1 i think you just did one ⤷ ynearnhardt ahh well, i think i did

a/n: i have a love hate relationship with this fic

tags: @milessunflowers @lokisen @kevinlolwife @op-81-lvr-reblogs @kazanskied @481rosier @raizelchrysanderoctavius @mountainshuman @youraveragebritishamerican

[peasack]

Today I dyed my hair again, and I thought about how this would be such a cute domestic bonding moment with the Thunderbolts.

Thunderbolts x Gn!Teen!Reader

✦ Which color? ✦

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

You’d stood in the bathroom doorway for twenty minutes holding the box of hair dye.

Yelena noticed first. She always did.

“You're either planning to dye it, or secretly dying John’s hair in his sleep,” she said, sauntering over in socks and a hoodie two sizes too big. “Please tell me it's the second one.”

You shifted your weight and glanced away. “I wanna dye it. I just… don’t wanna mess it up.”

Yelena plucked the box from your hand and studied it like it was a mission dossier. “Bright red? Bold. We love that.” She grinned. “Come on. You’re not doing it alone.”

“Wait, what-”

Too late.

Twenty minutes later, half the Thunderbolts were stuffed into the bathroom like sardines, each with wildly different levels of helpfulness and chaos.

Alexei was holding the instructions too close to his face, squinting like he was trying to read ancient runes.

“This says leave it in for thirty minutes. Or maybe thirty seconds. The text is very small.”

“Give me that,” Ava muttered, snatching the box from him. “It literally says thirty minutes. Are you wearing your glasses?”

“I don’t need glasses.”

“You do.”

Yelena had already tied a towel around your shoulders, humming some Russian pop song under her breath as she separated sections of your hair with surprising skill.

“You do this a lot?” you asked.

“Once dyed mine black in a gas station bathroom,” she said. “Didn’t have gloves. Or running water. This is luxury, malysh.”

John leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, grinning like he was watching live comedy.

“I’m not touching any of that dye,” he said. “Last time I tried to bleach my hair I ended up looking like a wet Q-tip.”

“You still have that patch,” Ava pointed out.

John flipped her off.

Then Bucky walked in, looked at the growing crowd, and sighed. “You’re dyeing your hair in the one bathroom we have?”

You looked at him. “You don’t have to help.”

He shrugged. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t. Just saying if you stain the tub, I’m not cleaning it.”

You all knew he eventually would.

“Where’s Bob?” you asked.

“Here,” came a quiet voice from behind you. Bob Reynolds walked in last, holding gloves and a bowl, all shy shoulders and tucked-in chin. “I uh… used to help my girlfriend in college with this stuff. I can mix it if you want?”

You beamed at him. “Please.”

He relaxed slightly, smiling. “Okay. Cool.”

Half an hour later, the dye was in, the gloves were off, and the whole bathroom smelled like chemicals and teenage rebellion.

Alexei had somehow ended up with red fingerprints on his cheek.

Ava was sitting on the closed toilet lid, timer on her phone, foot tapping.

John was taking selfies with you in the background, trying to catch your face without you noticing.

Bucky had wandered off after exactly six minutes, but returned with snacks like that was his contribution.

Yelena was scrubbing a spot off the sink. “Redheads are powerful. This is going to be iconic.”

Bob was watching you carefully from the edge of the tub, like he wanted to make sure you were okay without drawing attention to it.

You caught his eye and gave a little smile.

He smiled back.

You couldn’t remember the last time something that felt so personal wasn’t also terrifying.

An hour later, you were staring at your reflection.

Bright red. Messy in that good way. Soft waves drying into shape. It looked… like you. Not the you people expected. Not the one you had to be around Val or SHIELD. Just you.

“I love it,” you whispered.

“You should,” Bob said gently. “It suits you.”

“Thanks for helping,” you said, turning toward them all. “All of you.”

John smirked. “Next time, we try blue.”

Yelena groaned. “No. They just started looking cool, don’t ruin it.”

Alexei: “Blue would be patriotic.”

Ava: “God, you’re all disfunctional, they should go purple.”

And you stood there in your new reflection, surrounded by this band of messed-up weirdos who were, somehow, yours.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

There, hope yall liked it!!

[writtenbyan-aries]

matt sturniolo x preg!best friend reader. they had a drunk ons and reader got pregnant. she doesn’t know what to do so she tells bsf!nick and matt and chris overhear?

i love your writing btw!!!

PART ONE | PART TWO

Warnings: strong language, established friendships, pregnancy talk, pregnant!reader, dad!Matt, morning sickness, feelings of worry/being scared, kissing, mostly fluff

Word Count: 3.8 | unedited

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

After helping your friends film a truth or drink video for their channel, you found yourself in the hot tub.

You yourself were kind of tipsy, with the drink you were drinking, you were quickly working your way to being drunk along with Matt who sat across from you.

“Hey, uh. Thanks for helping us do this tonight.” He brings his glass up to take a drink, “I’m glad someone more sober was there to mediate.”

You laugh, “I wouldn’t say sober. Those shots Nick made me do kind of got to me a lot faster than I initially thought they would.” You bring your glass up to your lips, taking a sip as you glance over at Matt, “What?”

He shakes his head, “Nothing, you’re just…” he sighs, “So beautiful.”

You roll your eyes, leaning forward to sit up more, “You’re drunk.”

“I may be drunk, but come tomorrow.. when I’m sober, I’ll still think you’re beautiful.”

You smile slightly, leaning over to grab the bottle of alcohol.

“What are you doing?” Matt asks as he leans forward.

You glance over at him, “I’m just.. uh..” you laugh slightly as you pour some into your glass, “Getting some liquid courage.. because..” you set the bottle down and take the shot.

You take a deep breath, “What I’m about to might ruin our friendship and I really don’t want to think about that right now.”

You move over, straddling his lap and he drops his glass into the water, his hands instantly moving to your waist as he whispers, “It won’t ruin it.”

You grind down onto him as your lips connect with his, moving slowly with heat burning rapidly between the two or you.

He slides his hands down to your ass, bucking his hips up as he swallows your moans and groans lowly himself.

“Do you want to?” You whisper against his lips and he chuckles, “You have no idea.”

You jump, the timer on your phone ripping you from your thoughts and you scramble to turn it off. You drop it to the floor, reaching down with shaky hands to pick it back up and finally silence it.

You let out a slow breath, glancing at yourself in the mirror before you close your eyes and mentally count to three.

1..

2..

3..

You flip the test over and your knees go weak. You drop the test, gripping onto the counter and suddenly it feels harder to breathe.

“Oh god..” you gasp, “What do I do? What am I gonna do?” You turn the cold water on, shoving your hand under and bending down to splash some on your face.

You rest your forearm on the counter, leaning down to rest your face into the bend of your elbow and you can’t help but sob.

A few moments later, you stand up, taking another test out of the package and moving to sit down on the toilet.

Once the stick is ready. You lay it on the counter and finish up. You take your time, facing away from the counter as you pull your shorts up.

Reaching over to flush with a more unsteady hand. You close the lid and sit down.

You felt like you were in shock, but at the same time, it all makes sense.

Getting random urges to puke.

Avoiding food you know you love.

And let’s not forget the period that never showed up.

You reach over, flipping the test over and dropping it as soon as you see the second line. Tears instantly well up into your eyes and your mind is just bombarded with all things negative.

You take a deep breath, standing up to walk to the sink.

You avoid looking at the two tests while you wash your hands, you felt like you could puke just from looking at them.

You bend down, running cold water over your face before drying off with the towel.

You gathered up all the empty packaging and wrappers and stuffed them into your garbage can. You laid a few ravels and clean toilet paper on top to hide it and grabbed the two tests.

You walked out to the living room and sat down on the couch, your eyes glued to the two little window screens that both have a double line.

A part of you was in denial, trying to convince yourself they were false positives, but that’s rare, and to get two in a row, also rare.

You stood up, walking to your room to grab a sweatshirt. You threw it on and walked over to grab your phone before your bag and car keys.

You locked your door and quickly made it out to your car and to one of the furthest drug stores you could go to.

You threw your hood up before walking in, quickly making your way to the pregnancy test isle and grabbing one of each kind of test.

You walked up to the check out, thank god it was self scan.

You scanned each one, paid and bolted out to your car. You pushed your hood down and took a deep breath, jumping as your phone went off.

You searched your bag, pulling it out and your heart skips a beat when you see Nick’s name.

“Hello?”

“What the fuck have you been?” Nick asks, “Feels like forever since I’ve seen you.”

You force a laugh, “You saw me last week.”

“I know, but you’re literally more fun than these two idiots here, come over tonight, pleeeease!” he begs, “I’ll get your favorite pizza or whatever you want.”

“Oh gosh, no. No pizza please.”

“Why? What’s wrong with pizza?” He asks and you sigh, thinking of a lie on the spot, “I’ve had pizza these last two nights. Not really in a pizza kind of mood.”

“Oh, well then I guess it’s a good thing I said or whatever you want.” He laughs, “Just come over. We miss you over here.”

“Okay. I just have to run home quick and then I’ll come over.” You start to drive home, “It’ll probably be like an hour or so.”

He groans, “Fine, I’ll manage. Where are you at?”

“I uh, just had to drop some stuff off for my sister.”

Again, another lie.

“Why do you sound like you’ve been crying? You sound stuffy. Are you getting sick?”

Nick knows you way too well.

“Maybe? I know I was up coughing last night on and off so probably.”

“You weren’t crying?” Nick questions and you swallow, “No, Nick. I’m fine. Just..” you sigh, “Nevermind. I’ll see you in a little bit.”

You hang up before he can say anything else and you toss your phone back into your bag. As soon as you come to a stop at the red light, you burst into tears.

You quickly wipe your face before the light turns green and you get to your house as fast as you can.

Once inside, you go straight to the fridge to grab a water. You told Nick about an hour, and now you’re down to about twenty minutes.

You didn’t live far from them, so that’s not what you were worried about. You were worried about them knowing something was up, but with Nick, they probably already know.

You go to the bathroom, taking a plastic cup with you to pee in. You unwrap all of the tests and dip each one in before letting them sit on the counter.

It was shocking at how fast the non digital ones showed up, and of course, the digital ones said pregnant in bold black letters.

You gripped the counter, shaking your head as you took a few slow breathes. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest, your face also felt like it was on fire.

“Fuck, okay. Okay. I’ll just.. I’ll talk to Nick. He’ll know what to do.” You threw away the boxes and grabbed the tests, putting them back in the wrappers before walking out to your bag and tossing them in.

As you make your way out to your car, you text Nick, I’m on my way.

He quickly answers, About time. Drive safe.

You get into your car, sitting there for a second before starting it and beginning to drive.

The whole way there it felt like you were going to hurl.

Your nerves felt like they were about shot, you didn’t know how to even bring it up to Nick and especially Matt.

You are best friends.

Or, were.

The thought along wanted to make your curl up and bawl. Thinking about a life without Matt, or his brothers, was heart wrenching.

Your stomach felt like it dropped through the car floor as you pulled in right behind Matt’s car. You wanted to turn around and leave but Nick was already walking out the door to greet you.

He walks up to your window and you open the door to step out. You throw your bag on your shoulder and turn to face him.

His face falls when he finally sees you “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, y/n. Are you okay?”

“I need to talk to you about something, but I need it to be just you.”

“Create a diversion. Got it.” He gives you a thumbs up and you shake your head, “Not right away. Just hang out for a little bit then ask me to come with you for clothing advice or something? I don’t know.”

“Oh it’s bad isn’t it.” He shakes his head, “Girl, what are we going to do with you?”

You laugh slightly, fighting to hide the tears, “Oh you haven’t heard anything yet.”

He leads you in and you freeze when you see Matt walking out towards the door, “There she is.”

“Here I am.” You try not to sound nervous, squeezing your bag shut between your arm and body, “Sorry, I’ve just.. work has been hectic and I have a deadline to meet at the end of this week.”

Again, not a total lie, but still a lie.

“You’re good.” Matt smiles, “We’re figuring out what to get for dinner, you can come help us if you’re hungry.”

You nod, suddenly feeling like you’re starving, “Yeah, I could eat. I haven’t had anything all day.”

“Just no pizza.” Nick teases and you nod, “Yes, please no pizza.”

Matt furrows his brows and you laugh, “I’ve ate it the last two days. It was just what I had at the house.”

“Gotcha.” He laughs and turns around to walk away.

Nick looks at you but your focus is on Matt.

“I’m sure you have a picture of him that’ll last longer, y/n.”

You push his shoulder, “Shut up. Thats not- don’t do that.”

He laughs, “Whatever you say.” He walks past you and into the living room and Chris yells as soon as you walk in, “Ah, oh my gosh! It really is you!”

“Shut your mouth.” You laugh, “As I told Nick, you literally seen me last week.”

Chris mocks you, “You literally seen me last week, okay!? And!? That doesn’t make up for all the other days.”

You laugh and sit down in the chair, “Oh cry about it.”

“Maybe I will.” Chris pouts, “My feels are hurt.”

Matt and Nick laugh and you glance at Matt, looking away before he looks back at you, “So, y/n. What are you hungry for?”

“We can do chiplotle? If that’s okay with you guys?” You look around they all nod, “I haven’t had that in so long.” Nick groans, “See. This is why we needed you to come out of hiding.”

“I.. wasn’t in, hiding.” You roll your eyes, “I told you, I have a lot of work to do.”

“Like what?” Nick tilts his head and you sigh, “I have to design a dress for my boss and that is like.. a lot of pressure, okay?”

“What’s the design?” Matt asks and you tilt your head, “Something for the spring line. Floral, white lacy pastel flowers. I don’t know. That’s what she said she wanted incorporated with it, so..”

“I think it’ll turn out better than you think.” Matt nods, “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“I’m trying.” You swallow, “So, food?”

Ever since that night with you and Matt, it hasn’t been weird at all. It’s been literally normal, you both know what happened, you had one conversation about it, and that was that.

It wasn’t until you couldn’t wake up without wanting to barf that you started using work as an excuse for you being so extremely tired that you just slept most days.

You barely had any work, your boss has been on vacation the last few weeks.

“Oh, fuck. Y/n.” Nick snaps, “I need you to help me with something.”

“With what?” You look at him and he nods, “I need your opinion on these outfits I have picked out for my Space Camp photoshoot that I have coming up.”

“You don’t want our options?” Chris asks and Nick laughs sarcastically before giving him a harsh, “No.”

You stand up, your bag still in your hand, “Speaking of, I have those color swatches for you.”

“What the fuck are color swatches?” Chris asks and you bat the air, “If you don’t know, then it doesn’t concern you.”

Matt laughs at Chris and you follow Nick upstairs to his room. He closes the door behind you and you immediately start to hyperventilate.

“Whoa, whoa. Deep breathes, deep breathes.” Nick wraps his arms around you, squeezing you slightly, “in through your nose and out of your mouth.”

You do that a few times and nod, “Okay. I-I think.. I’m good.”

“What has gotten into you, y/n? I’ve never seen you-“

“I’m pregnant.”

His jaw drops, “Excuse me?”

You nod, opening your purse and pulling the tests out.

“Okay. I’m not going to lie, you having those in your bag is kinda gross.”

“Niiiick.” You whine, “I’m actually losing my shit over this.”

“How many..” he walks over, pulling your bag open, “Jesus fuck, y/n. How many are in there?”

“I don’t know, I took two and then when you called I just left the store with one box of each so maybe like eight or something.. I don’t know.”

You sit down on the bed and pull out two, “They’re all positive.”

“All of them?” He asks as he sits down next to you, “Did you call the doctor?”

You nod, “All of them.. and no. I didn’t know what to do, I just..”

“Panicked.”

You nod and he tilts his head, “Do you at least know who the father is?”

You nod and look at Nick, “Yep. Sure do.”

“Well who? Who is it?”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes and you sigh, “Matt.”

“Matt!?” He asks in a shocked and loud tone as he stands up, “as in, my brother, Matthew Bernard Sturniolo?”

“Shhh! I don’t want him to find out like this!” You pull him back down to sit, “Nothing is weird between us, but I know that we’re both young and he has the YouTube thing and I have my.. whatever going for me.”

“Y/n. You work for one of the biggest stylist in the country. You’re fine.” Nick assures, “But he needs to know.”

“No, no I know. I know. I just.. what if he doesn’t want me around anymore? It was one stupid drunken one night that’s turned into a lifetime of being around each other, and I know we’re all friends but-“

“Oh no, honey. You and Matt are not just friends.”

“What do you mean?” You furrow your brows and Nick laughs, “Are you joking? He looks at you like you’re his entire world. That one night stand was bound to happen at some point.”

You sit there stunned, “A-Are you.. what.. I-I..”

“Listen to me. Telling Matt is the best thing you can do for you and that little tiny thing growing right.. in.. there..” he pokes your stomach and you laugh, swatting his hand away, “I know. I just.. how do I tell him?”

“Maybe you can show him one of the five thousand tests sitting in the bottom of your purse.” Nick laughs, “I still can’t believe you just have them. Like, they make ziplocks, y/n.”

“I was panicking, Nick! You can’t blame me for that!” You laugh, wiping away your tears, “I didn’t know what else to do and you’re literally my best friend.”

“Aw.” He tilts his head, “And you are mine.”

He pulls you in for a hug and you sigh, “I just hope he doesn’t freak out and things go south.”

Nick shakes his head, resting his cheek on top of yours, “He might be shocked at first, but I don’t think it’ll go south. Plus..” he laughs and you lean back, “What…”

“I’m gonna be uncle Nick.” He smirks and you nod, “Yes. The best uncle Nick ever.”

“Do you want me to go get Matt, or..” Nick looks at you and you sigh, “Yeah, might as well get it done and over with.”

Nick nods, “Okay, just stay here and try not to panic.”

“Easier said than done.” You laugh nervously and take a deep breath. You watch as Nick opens the door and stops, “Um, it’s not polite to eavesdrop ya know.”

“Move.” Matt pushes past Nick and closes the door.

You stare at Matt, the tears burning as they make their way up to spill over your waterline. Along with that, word vomit spews from your lips, “A-Are you mad? Are we not friends anymore? I-I totally understand if that’s what you want, I just.. I thought you’d be mad so I went to Nick first to see what I should do and-“

Matt’s hands are cupping your face, “Shh, shh.. just, relax, y/n. I’m not mad. I promise.. I’m not mad.”

“You’re.. you’re not?” You look up at him and he shakes his head before resting his forehead on yours, “I knew it was a risk, doing what we did, but I didn’t care because I just love you so much.”

“You love me?”

He chuckles, “Are you going to question everything that I say?” He smiles as you shake your head and you smile slightly, “I love you.”

“You love me?” He teases and you roll your eyes, “Yes. I do.”

“Nick was right.” Matt sighs, “I look at you like you’re my whole world because you are.” His hand slides down to your stomach and he swallows, “And now we’re adding one to the solar system.”

You raise your brows and laugh through the tears, “Oh my god, Matt, that was so cheesy. I love it.” You press your lips to his and you hear Chris and Nick giggling outside the door.

Matt takes your hand into his and walks over, quickly opening the door.

Nick and Chris shoot up straight and stare at him.

“You know, it’s not nice to eavesdrop.” You raise your brows and Nick sighs, “You expected me to leave without knowing how this was going to go, please.” He rolls his eyes and Chris looks at you, “So it’s true? I’m going to be an uncle?”

You nod, “Yep.”

“And you..” he points to Matt, “Are going to be a dad?”

Matt nods, “That’s how it works Chris.”

“Woo! Daddy Matt. Oh everyone is going to love this.”

“No, now hang on. I’m not even sure what we want to do about that yet.” Matt looks at you, giving your hand a squeeze, “It’s up to y/n anyway.”

“Very respectful, I like it.” Nick nods, leaning up against the door, “You should probably call and schedule an ultrasound before anything.”

You snap, “Oh shit, right.” You walk over and grab your phone, “They’re closed now. I’ll have to call in the morning.”

“First thing, missy.” Nick points and you sigh, “Yes, Nick. I’ll make sure to wake you up as soon as they open.”

“Okay.” He shrugs and Matt laughs, “I hope you’re ready for nine months of mother hen Nick.”

“That’s not always a bad thing.” You smile, “At least I won’t have to set a reminder to take my prenatal.” You eyes go wide and you start to tear up, “I need to get prenatals.”

“I’m on it!” Nick lifts his finger into the air, “Just text me which kind.”

“You can’t drive!” Matt yells and Nick walks back in, “We’re all on it. Now let’s go!”

Him and Chris walk out of the room and Matt pulls you in for a hug, “I knew something was up with you. You never avoid us, especially me.”

“I didn’t- okay..” you laugh slightly, “I was feeling sick and then today I just had this gut feeling to test and I took like eight..”

“Eight!?” Matt laughs, “Holy fuck. One wasn’t enough?”

“Well, I took two at first, but then I was in denial so I went out and got one box of each test and here we are.”

He shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “It’s fine, ma. I’m just glad I know now.” He grabs your hand and squeezes it, “So when are you moving in?”

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

A few weeks later

“Oh look!” You point to the screen, “Are they the toes?”

The tech nods, “Yes, this is the foot, and oh! They’re a kicker.”

“That’s so weird, I don’t feel anything yet.” You look up at Matt and he smiles down at you.

“Babies start to really move between sixteen and twenty five weeks, some people may not feel anything until closer to the twenty five mark, but everyone is different.”

You nod, “Okay. We’re close to being fourteen weeks now.”

“Yeah, you probably have a little bit to go. If this is your first pregnancy, you might not feel it until around the twenty five week mark.” The tech clicks a few times and takes the wand from your belly, “Everything is looking good. If you want, we can do a blood test and get the gender back to you, or you can wait until the twenty week mark?”

You look at Matt, “What should we do?”

He shrugs, “That’s all your choice, babe. Whatever you want to do, I support.”

“I think we’ll wait until the twenty week scan.” You nod and look at the tech. She nods, “Alright. If you want, we can get you scheduled for another check in about four weeks and then another for twenty weeks. Okay?”

You nod, “Okay. Thank you.” You smile and wipe off your stomach before pulling down your sweatshirt, “This is real. This is actually happening.”

Matt helps you sit up and he presses a kiss to your temple, “It sure is.” He smiles, “I couldn’t picture doing this with anyone but you.”

You look up at him, reaching up to lay a hand on his cheek, “I love you.”

─── ⋆⋅ ☾⋅⋆ ───

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! I love you so much! I’ll catch you in the next one! 🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!

[urhoneycombwitch]

frozen like an angel

Eddie Munson x shy!Reader holiday edition.

foreword: ohhhh I’ve missed them!!! and you all!!!! happy holidays to those who celebrate, and for those who don’t, have a cozy winter fic <3 here is the masterlist for shy!reader, some references may be made to previous fics in the series but no beforehand reading required here. 

cw: Christmas activities, bittersweet fluff, Elizabeth Munson memories, mentions of Reader’s familial backstory (intentionally a bit vague, hoping to expand in future fics!)

wc: 2.8k

___

You’re not even trying to snoop- the paper flutters to the carpet all on its own, freed from the stack of Eddie’s notebooks you’d lifted to dust under. 

Expecting it to be something D&D related, you scoop it from the carpet with the intent to slip it back between the leaves of a random book- when the title catches your eye. In neat, looping black ink across the top: Christmas Apple Cake. 

There’s a pencil-drawn sketch of an apple in the top corner, faded and yellowed with time like the paper it’s on; your thumb runs over it as you scan the ingredients. 

This’ll be perfect, actually- Wayne is coming over tonight for holiday drinks with you and Eddie, a Munson family tradition that’s included you the last six or so years, and you haven’t sorted dessert yet.

The recipe is simple- a hearty, apple-filled spiced cake base, brown sugar glaze to pool on top. After hunting through the kitchen cupboards (sometimes it’s glaringly apparent you live in a former bachelor pad- the baking soda sourced from under the sink and a layer of dust), you get to work baking.

A pound of apples is peeled and diced, meticulously, to the tune of a Bing Crosby record- Eddie bemoans the cheesier aspects of holiday music, so you get your fill while he’s at work (though you’ve caught him humming along to White Christmas on more than one occasion). 

Not that either of you need the money after the generous nest-egg from various government agency pay-offs, but the part-time mechanic schedule has been good for Eddie. Wayne’s pretty much set to take over when the garage owner retires next year, and Eddie is happy to help- keeps his mind and hands busy, sorely needed after so much recovery downtime. 

And you’ve been busy, too- the apples are set to soak in cold water while you prep the batter, thinking of post-winter break classes already. You passed your first end-of-term exams with flying colors, like Eddie knew you would- never mind that they were all 101s, and that your college plans seem a little directionless- at least you’re moving. Able to do something other than waiting to get better.

Eddie’s proud of you, deeply so. That’s really all that matters for now. 

With the batter mixed, you lift handfuls of apple chunks from the water to dry on the rows of flat kitchen towels. There’s a burst of static from the living room speakers; you flick water from your hands and cross swiftly to flip the record to its B-side.

Let It Snow! rings out cheerily while you stir the apples bit by bit into the batter, Deck the Halls by the time you’re pouring the mixture into a greased baking tin. After twisting the counter timer to tick down for an hour, you clean the kitchen in good spirits.

Eddie will be home, soon- Wayne’s closing up shop, which gives his nephew plenty of time to beat him home and cook you all dinner. There’s a tender strip of beef marinating in the fridge with something Eddie referred to yesterday, ominously, as “Grinch Juice”. (The pale green of the sauce is likely due to the rosemary. You think.)

Eddie’s got the meal covered, regardless. (Plus there are always frozen pizzas to fall back on.)

The air swells with warmth from the oven, taking on a sugared, nutmeg and applesauce smell; the little window over the sink fogs over with sweet steam, making the white-snow world outside look even dreamier. Lights twinkle from the front banister, winking at the strip of sister lights across the path at the Mayfield’s door.

Plucking behind your back to loose your apron strings, you realize- for the first time in years, it feels like Christmas. Last year, you were all still learning how to be human, still nursing wounds (both external and in), stepping cautiously onto the thin ice of what it means to survive and be alive.

This year, though? You’re out in the middle of the frozen pond of life making snow angels. Ice skating over the bumps. Twirling around hand-in-hand with Eddie as you both figure it out, together.

Later, the front door creaks open then slams shut, a rhythmic thump of boots shedding snow onto the hall mat. From your vantage point on the couch- sock feet tucked underneath your body to keep warm, dog-eared Tolkien in your lap- you see Eddie before he sees you.

His back is turned as he toes off his work boots, hunched against the cold still in a hand-me-down winter coat of Wayne’s. Stray curls escape the half-up bun of his dark hair, twisting around his face, which lights up with a smile when he sees you.

“Well, well, well,” Eddie says, adopting a faux-serious, low tone as he hangs up his coat and shakes the snow from his hair. “Looks like we got an escapee from Santa’s Workshop.”

You snort, setting the book aside to roll your eyes fondly- if a red flannel shirt and jeans spells elf, you’re willing to play the part. 

Eddie approaches with menacing intent, grin so wide the corner of his lip meets the line of scarring at his cheek. 

He’s still in his work coveralls, pinstriped and oil-stained; Eddie leans his weight into his hands on either side of your head, close enough to bump noses, couch emitting a squeak of protest. 

You flick at the embroidered patch over Eddie’s heart, the one that currently reads JERRY. “Someone’s been naughty today.”

Eddie clicks his tongue, dark brows pulling together in his best approximation of someone who is very sorry. “Yeah. Guess so. You gonna tell the Big Boss on me?”

”Wouldn’t dream of it,” you sigh, tired of playing, ready to loop your arms around Eddie’s neck and kiss him silly (an action he’s more than willing to give in to).

He tastes like sharp mint, and faintly of the cigarette he probably had on break; Eddie mumbles something between kisses and you pull back just enough to hear him say, “You taste sweet.”

“Mmhm. Had to make sure the batter wasn’t poisoned,” you reply, more concerned with dotting kisses along the line of scar that disappears behind his jaw. 

Against your temple, Eddie’s lashes flutter in surprise- “You baked something?”

Pulling away fully now (with one last parting kiss to his forehead), you narrow your eyes as you shift to hold his shoulders at arm’s length- “Does me baking come as a shock to you?”

“No!” Eddie says, quickly, brows lowering from where they’d shot up just a second ago. “No, of course not. You just don’t usually… I mean, I like being the one in the kitchen.”

”I know you do.” Your hands trail to cup his elbows, briefly, before you disentangle yourself to check on the oven. The timer is just about to shriek its warning chorus- with a twist of your hand, it dings pleasantly instead. “I wanted to make something special for our Christmas dessert tonight. Hopefully it’s not actually poisoned.” 

Based on the delicious smell that wafts from the oven, you’ve got nothing to fear- the tines of your testing fork come out from the middle of the cake clean, a pair of mitts snagged to pull it out and set on the stove.

Clouds of steam rise from the fresh pastry, spiced and golden under the overhead lights- it smells like Christmas in a pan. Eddie approaches to watch over your shoulder, his hand steady on your low back as you explain the glaze that needs to be made next- he takes a lungful of fragrant air, and then his hand stills.

Eddie isn’t in the habit of interrupting you, so it’s strange when he does, voice sounding strained as he stumbles through the start of a few different sentences. “How did you- this is- that’s apple cake. My mom’s apple cake. What…”

It must be the smell, transporting him back, and for a moment, your heart sinks. Eddie hasn’t had a flashback in so long; the last one was months ago over the summer when a car backfired and sent his mind spiraling for hours after. 

You turn in his arms, speaking carefully, ready to soothe- “Shit. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you, honestly, the recipe just fell out when I was moving your things, and I-”

Eddie’s eyes are brimming with tears when he interrupts you again- this time, to kiss you; there’s a slip of his tear that tracks down your own cheek as you kiss him back. 

He’s holding you, now, mirroring you from earlier, thumbs squeezing at the inside of your elbows, forehead resting in a slow roll against yours as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Don’t apologize. You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I didn’t know… I didn’t think any recipes of hers survived the move from Tennessee.”

“It was in one of your old journals,” you murmur, reaching to wipe the wet track of tears from his face even as he moves to do the same for you. “Did your mom used to make this for you?”

“Yeah.” Eddie laughs, wetly, kisses the palm of your hand where it rests against his face. “Every Christmas until I was five or so. Got the recipe from her mom, some Appalachian tradition. Wayne would know better than me.”

Eddie’s looking at the cake again, a familiar hazed-over stare that makes your heart hurt in sympathy, memories flooding back in at an overwhelming degree. You’re quiet for a few moments, pressing your face into the side of Eddie’s coveralls, letting him find his footing before asking, quietly- “Wanna help me make the topping?”

In another life, you and Eddie would run a mean kitchen together- years of learning the distinct ways in which the other moves comes in handy when you need to share cooking duties. 

He ducks under your arm effortlessly to grab vanilla while you whisk the sugars and butter, adds splashes and dashes of things to your bowl periodically until the mulled glaze is formed. 

The top of his (Jerry’s) coveralls were shoved down earlier, your help enlisted to tie the long sleeves around his waist in a makeshift apron; good thing your boy runs hot- means he’s comfortable enough to cook in a white cutoff undershirt that’s thin as a napkin. Underneath, Eddie’s all alabaster, lean muscle, black ink tattoos dancing with the corded ripples of scar tissue as he flits around the kitchen.

Between getting the steak ready to sear, and tasking you with prepping the hill of potatoes, Eddie talks about his mother- holidays of years past floating to the forefront on a wave of recollected smell. 

Along with Tennessee apple cake, Elizabeth Munson would wrap chestnuts in tin foil to roast low and slow in the embers of a Christmas fire. One year, she penny-pinched enough to buy part of the neighbor’s turkey for her and then-five-year-old Eddie.

You soak up all these memories, asking questions periodically, immersed in Eddie’s storytelling. It’s rare to hear Elizabeth’s name, and you wonder, suddenly, if that could be changed.

“You know, I really like hearing about her,” you tell Eddie gently, after a gleeful retelling of the time she crashed his sled into the big stump of maple at the edge of their woods. You give the chopped potatoes on your cutting board a push, and they tumble into Eddie’s proffered bowl. “If there’s something I can do, to help… I dunno, make it easier to bring her up- you’d let me know. Right?” 

Eddie considers this as he gathers jars from the narrow spice cupboard, lining them up in a neat row. “Yeah. Thanks, sweetheart. And it’s not… you’re easy to talk to. It’s just hard, sometimes, to learn how to remember her.”

You nod, thoughtful, watching him layer spices and olive oil into the bowl; he uses a wooden spoon to make sure all the potato sides are coated before saying, “And sometimes, it feels downright braggy. I got six whole years with her- most all of ‘em good ones- it’s not something I take for granted. And your mother-”

Eddie cuts himself off, abruptly, knuckles glistening with oil as they tighten into fists. Something inside you wilts, stretches desperately for its light source; you budge up under Eddie’s arm, place a hand to the middle of his chest where his breaths meet you with a shuddery kickstart.

“I know. But you were a kid too, Eddie. Six is just a kid.”

He does his best to hug you back with one arm as your nose seeks the notch behind his ear, a perfect fit, enveloping your senses as you breathe in the spot that smells most like him. “You can share however much or however little you want, of her, with me. Just ‘cuz my parents sucked doesn’t mean I don’t wanna hear about your one good one. Let me live vicariously, okay?”

You give Eddie a teasing little shake, a flash of teeth against his neck that has him chuckling, shaking off the anger before either of you can be derailed. The potatoes are moved to a baking sheet while Eddie preps the meat, and you send a river of brown sugar glaze over top the cake so it has time to cool.

If Wayne notes the missing piece from the corner of the dessert, later, he doesn’t mention it- the whiskey he’d brought over pairs perfectly with the rich, spiced cake. 

One bite in and Wayne’s head turns, slow, to his nephew sat beside him. Without looking up from his spoonful of melting ice cream, Eddie nods. “Yup. Mom’s cake. Don’t look at me, though.”

Wayne blinks down at the bowl in front of him, then to you, like someone’s woken him from the middle of a dream. “Tastes just like how she used to make it.”

Were it possible to bottle and live off someone’s praise, you’d like to find a way; instead, you tuck the compliment away for a rainy day and give him a warm smile. “I’m glad. I’ll make it next year, too, if you want.”

After dinner (totally delicious despite Eddie’s best attempt to scare you both off with increasingly weird holiday-themed adjectives), Eddie pulls out his acoustic guitar to try his new capo, a gift from Uncle Wayne that’s immediately put to good use.

This autumn, on the same week you went to college for the first time, Eddie taught himself how to play guitar again. A year on from the attacks, his left hand was still stiff, a deep scar across the bridge of his abductor that made more dexterous movement near-impossible.

But your boy, smart and strong and determined, found a way. Eddie surprised you over Thanksgiving break with a cover of Fleetwood Mac’s Hypnotized, though with multiple false starts since both of you cried most of the way through it.

Less tears, this time around, but no less emotional- you steal glances under the pretense of wiping down the table as Eddie sits wide on the couch, black guitar propped on his knees while he adjusts the capo. 

In a nearby armchair, Wayne takes a sip from his whiskey glass- at the first few notes of Edelweiss, his eyes slip closed, lost in memory.

“This was one of her favorites,” Eddie says to you, grinning while his fingers pluck the pattern smoothly.

You lean a hip against the table, wiping abandoned, taking in the gentle movement of Eddie’s hair, his arms, while he plays. He gets so lost in the music, sometimes- a soft look that usually only shows when he’s sleeping peacefully. 

You wonder if Elizabeth looked the same, all those years ago- bent over her special Christmas cake, sneaking tastes on the back of a spoon to the set of dimpled hands that reached for her apron. 

In your back pocket, the recipe card in her handwriting is tucked safely away. While Eddie plays, your fingers brush the outline of the pencil-etched apple, sending a prayer or a wish of some sort to the snow angel in your head.

He’s doing great. He’s so loved and cared for, with me. I hope you know I’m taking care of him. Merry Christmas. Thanks for the cake. 

___

for more shy!Reader content: masterlist

[g0thc0re420]

Manicure: Spock x Reader

Song: Apocalypse - Cigarettes After Sex

CW: MINORS DNI!! smut. from the very beginning it’s just smut. hand fetish (it’s foreplay with a vulcan lol.) oral fixation with fingers (finger sucking, gagging on fingers). breeding kink (but like also trying for a baby) hair pulling. 

Spock might be a little OOC but honestly I stand behind the idea that loves being very touchy with the people he loves and adores the most.

Spock didn’t know what he was expecting when he entered the code to your room, but it certainly wasn’t this. He had seen you many different ways, sick, excited, even naked, but this was different. He scrunched his nose, the smell of nail polish wafting across the room. He saw you, sitting criss-cross in front of your coffee table. You had a row of metal nail instruments and a cleaner sitting in front of you. You were happily singing along to the background music you had on. 

It was one of his favorite things about you, you always seemed to have the right music for any situation. You had even curated a playlist for him for his birthday, Spock listened to it frequently. It took him a moment but he soon recognized the melody flowing into the room. He stood across from you, contentedly watching, trying to not disturb the focus you held on the cuticles of your fingers.

“Kisses on the foreheads of the lovers, wrapped in your arms,” You softly sang as you looked up at him. Noticing his shadow fall over the table. You gently smiled at him, scooting over on the floor to make some room for him, patting the floor next to you.

He sat, forgetting what he was needing to talk to you about, “T’hy’la, might I inquire how your day was?” He felt breathless, watching as you gently started buffing the previous layer of clear polish off. 

“McCoy was more annoying than usual, but other than that I would say my day went pretty well. I was able to start research on testing to see if there is a genetic predisposition for Bendii Syndrome.” You had now moved to shaping your nails, and Spock was watching every movement. “It seems the Vulcan high council is now more set on completely eradicating it. And they chose a human to do it.” A smile Spock had only seen a couple times appeared on your face. You were proud of yourself. This smile had mainly been reserved himself, although Spock was never really sure if he ever deserved it when you looked at him like that.

You were now taking the cleaning solution and cotton balls and wiping the dust from all the filing off your nails. Spock couldn’t keep his eyes off your hands as you inspected your hand, stretching your fingers and humming at your handiwork, “Do you think they look good?”

Spock noticed how his mouth had run dry, he swallowed thickly before flicking his eyes to yours, you were waiting patiently for his response, even wiggling your fingers in the air for a dramatic effect. He watched as your look slowly shifted to one of concern. 

“Spock, are you feeling okay?” You slowly shifted, facing toward him, and Spock finally looked somewhere other than your hands. Noticing the black tank top you were wearing. His eyes falling over your exposed skin, eyeing the intricate details of the tattoos that covered your arms. He felt a very human emotion fill him, and soon he would be showing you just how he was feeling. 

“Spock,” he blinked, looking into your eyes as you snapped, “Are you feeling well? You’re turning green-oh.” He watched as you shifted your weight, finally realizing.

“I promise I am in perfect health my dear. Your hands look great. Please continue.” You nodded sheepishly and he watched as blush creeped over your neck and cheeks, before turning back to the table. Slowly pulling a thin coat of clear polish over your nails, before placing them under a UV light. After a moment or two the timer went off. You wiped them clean once again before placing your hand in front of you.

Spock had been resisting the urge for so long he felt almost robotic as he reached forward and grabbed your hand. Pulling it towards his face as he traced the lines of your fingers. He felt another wave of lust roll through him as he moved behind you, pulling you into his lap, the feeling of his cock straining against his pants was getting to be too much.

You squeaked at the sudden movement, moving around in his lap, Spock let out a soft moan as you pressed against him, just trying to get comfortable. He closed his eyes, letting his hands fall at your hips. He had missed you today. There wasn’t a moment today that either of you could steal away. You had spent all day in back to back Federation meetings and holed away in the research labs. Spock had spent the better part of his day on the surface of a new planet. Finding an interesting micronism, he had a suspicion it was a type of fungi, but as of right now, he wasn’t sure. Right now, he couldn’t focus on anything. 

“Spock,” Your voice was quiet, “I’m finished, do you wanna see them?” He could hear you lightly tap them on the table in front of you. He couldn’t help the way he snaked his hands up your body, before sitting forward, pressing his chest against your back. Gingerly taking your hands into his, he let go of the breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. The way you could make him feel so human, yet so Vulcan at the same time always baffled him. It was the way you truly saw him as who he was. Never comparing either side or trying to push him to either. You always looked at Spock as if he was a complete being.

“They might be the most beautiful hands I’ve ever seen.” He mused aloud as he started playing with your fingers. 

You took a second and adjusted yourself, turning in his lap so your chests pressed each other’s. “I think that might be the highest compliment I could ever receive from you.” You were looking at where your fingers lined with his, a shiver running through you as you inspected the size difference. He watched as you took the opportunity and stole a second for a Vulcan kiss, your fingers almost dancing over his, as if you were nervous to make a move like that. Then, without warning you gently kissed his knuckles. The kiss was barely a whisper, your lips gently grazing over his skin, almost as if you were teasing him. He didn’t miss the way your lips twitched at the corners as a breath caught in his throat. 

“I missed you today. I know Vulcan’s require less sleep, but Spock you were gone before I was awake and I woke up at 0500.” Your thumb works soothing circles on the back of his hand. The love you held for him, washed into him as you pressed your palms together. It clicked for Spock that you had genuinely worried about him today. The light touches and kisses a way of conveying that softness to him. 

“I apologize. My intention was not to worry you. I’ve been working on some interesting research. We found an oceanic micronism in the water testing samples and it’s displaying some interesting characteristics. It may be a certain type of fungi. However, I am not certain-” Spock had noticed the look on your face, he had seen that mischievous look in your eyes before. The time you hid a whoopie cushion in the Captain’s chair. Most recently was when you had hidden lingerie under your uniform and gave Spock a private show in his office. He had no time to react as you kissed the tips of his fingers before pulling a single digit into your mouth. Eyes still holding his gaze. 

He tried to continue, but just as he did, you pulled a second finger to join the first and he didn’t miss the way you lightly grazed your teeth over the tips of his fingers. He could only imagine how he looked, he knew his cheeks were flushed a dark green right now, he watched as you pulled his fingers from your mouth, a small trail of drool still connected to your lips. He had to remind himself to breathe as he moved you off his lap and stood. Standing over you now, he watched as a glint of worry crossed your features. He held out his hand to you, “It would simply be most illogical to partake in coitus anywhere but the bedroom. The carpet would burn your skin.” 

You accepted his hand and with Spock’s help stood, before he had pulled you into his chest again. He needed to have you close at this moment, he had never even wanted to have sex before he met you, and you were intoxicating. You always had been for him, seeming to take the air out of any room you were in. Even now, Spock was following the human tradition of an engagement before he wed you. You wanted a ceremony with your friends and family. Spock would give you that if you wanted it, he would give you Earth if he could, and he hoped he had spent his entire courting you, making sure you knew that. 

Spock led you into the bedroom, trying to control the needs bubbling inside of him. The desire for you feeling like it was trying to claw its way through his chest. Suddenly, you stopped, stepping in front of him and bending down as you silently pulled down the shorts you were lounging in. Your bare ass now bent over in front of him, you slightly shimmied in front of him, just enough for a teasing jiggle . He noticed the absence of underwear in the forming pile on the floor and that was it. What little reserves Spock had left his body. He was behind you in an instant. Pulling your bare ass against his clothed dick, he didn’t miss the way that you pressed yourself back into him, or the sigh that fell from your lips. 

He fumbled for a second with his belt, before weaving his free hand into your hair and shoving you face first into the mattress. He couldn’t stop the growl that rumbled in his chest if he tried. You weren’t even fighting back. “T’hy’la you look pathetic right now.”

You scoffed, managing to turn your head to the side and trying to glare at him from over your shoulder, “Yeah, you say that, but you should take a look-” 

Spock had moved his hand from your hair, and shoved two fingers in your mouth. He closed his eyes as your lips wrapped around his digits, and he took a moment to see just how far he could push you, slowly pushing his fingers further down your throat before pulling out, and restarting at the tortuous pace, pushing further each time. Until tears pricked at the corner of your eyes and you were solely relying on breathing from your nose. You coughed as he pulled his fingers out of your mouth and he softened. Pulling you to him ever so slightly. Guiding you by your chin until you were looking at him. 

Your eyes slightly glazed over and Spock noticed how your skin felt flushed, “I apologize. I should have asked-”

You quickly shook your head, so aggressively you stumbled a little bit, “No,” You were still breathless, “I liked it.” you placed a kiss just under his ear lobe “I trust you.” A second kiss, now on the shell of his ear, “Completely.” 

Your face was in the mattress again as he stepped in between your legs, spreading them slightly until the fit was comfortable for him. He stepped back for a moment, only taking the time to pull himself through the zipper of his pants before coming back to you. His hand once again snaked up the base of your skull, weaving his fingers into your hair, the other one gripping your hip. He took a breath, before slowly starting to push into you. He set his pace slow, wanting to enjoy every second of this moment. He could feel you wiggle slightly under him. Desperate to feel anything more than he was currently giving you.

“Patience my dear. It is a virtue you must learn.” His second thrust was just as slow, he even took a brief pause while he was fully sheathed, slightly bumping his head into the spongy tissue he felt. He reveled in the feeling as you fluttered around him. You wiggled under him and he rolled his eyes, “I expect you to listen to your superior when you’re given an order.”

You froze, he watched the muscles in your thighs tighten as you tried to stiffen as straight as a board, He started again, “Do you understand me Lieutenant?”

You nodded under his hand and he paused again, slowly tightening his fingers in your hair as he lifted your head, “Do I need to repeat myself?”

“No Commander.” The words spilled from your lips and he noticed how swollen they already looked. He was amused by the way he could so easily make you lose all logical sense, just wanting to do anything to make him pleased. He clicked his tongue as he set a quicker pace this time. He pulled you closer to him, the slight whimper from you egging him on even more, his hands moving from your hip to your thigh. Raising your leg until your knee was resting on the bed as well.

The change in angle caused a surprised moan to fall from you and you clenched around him. Spock faltered in his pace for a brief second before he pursued you faster, his thighs now hitting the edge of the bed frame as he felt a familiar tingle starting in the pit of his stomach. The sounds coming from you with every thrust were almost too much for him, between the sound of your skin, and the incoherent babbling he was pulling from your lips it was almost enough to do him in.

He moved his hand from your hair, your head gently falling back into the mattress, as he gently traced the lines of jaw, resting his first two fingers on your temple, and soon, he was basking in the warm golden light that was you. He could feel the love and adoration from you. He could feel something more, just a thought floating around before his own smacked him in the face. A primal urge seemed to fill him as he thought about it.

You, filled to the brim with his seed. You, pregnant, the way your skin would glow, how he would have even more of an excuse to go randomly see you in the middle of the day. You, as a mom, to Spock, it would be no greater than honor than raising a child who had half of what you did.

He couldn’t hold the words, they were falling from his mouth before his brain even registered what he was saying. Jim always said ‘a drunken mind speaks sober thoughts’ and Spock now understood what that meant, in his love drunk state, he had told you one of his deepest desires, from the moment he had met you. His hand fell to your chin, resting his hand under your jaw to keep you supported, “Do you want a baby?”

Your hips stuttered for a split second, and Spock panicked. He felt his heart squeeze in an uncomfortable way, his lungs felt heavy, “Yes Commander.”

“Do you want my baby?” He needed clarification, he needed to know you wanted this.

Your eyes fluttered open, taking a deep breath, trying to steady your breathing, “Yes Spock. I want to have your baby.” 

Spock was done for. He found your temple once again as he reached the edge, holding on to anything for just a second longer, before you were there with him. He let himself fall, moving his hand from your thigh to your midsection, pulling your body further against him. He gently worked you down, never stopping, only slowly in his languid motions in and out of you. He stayed in you, until your breathing slowed down and until, all, parts of you relaxed. 

He slowly pulled away, before working on you, helping you move further up on the bed. Making sure you were comfortable with a pillow. He was gone as soon as you were settled, returning moments later with a glass of water and a warm washcloth. “Please, drink my dear.” He wiped you down from head to toe. Starting with your face, he gently wiped the tear streaks, before noticing how dry your lips were. He placed a very human kiss on them, almost as if he were trying to kiss them better.

 There were bruises forming where he held your jaw. He could feel the slight furrow in his brows. Your hand graced his cheek, he looked in your eyes for the first time and he swore he could see the love he felt from you earlier, had you always looked at him like that? “Stop worrying. I liked it, and I like the bruises.” You gently trailed off again, eyes dropping from his gaze. Spock couldn’t believe you were shy about admitting this to him with everything that just happened between the two of you. 

He had now moved on to your chest and arms. Moving in steady even motions across your skin.“I know I can be…forceful. I do not wish to inflict any-” He stopped as you held your hand up.

“Spock, I need you to understand that I wanted everything you did to me done. I promise, I will let you know if you ever take it too far, but maybe we could benefit from having this as a bigger conversation tomorrow.” He has now moved to your hips, taking extra care around the where he once gripped you. “I think it would be great to establish boundaries so there are preset guidelines for any type of sex we have.”

He was now wiping down your thighs and legs, letting the words you spoke process as he inspected your body. He was amazed at how you always seemed to find a way to find a solution that benefited everyone, “I think your idea sounds very logical. It would benefit in the enjoyment for both of us.”

“Yes! Exactly!” You lazily smiled at him as you crawled under the blankets, “Now, I know with as much as you love me, Vulcans need time to process things. But you are Spock, and you did a lot of things tonight ruled by your emotions. I know that takes a toll on you.” You opened your arms, and he willingly fell into them, letting all of his weight on you as he took what seemed like his first steady breath of the night. 

He couldn’t help but press his head further into your touch as you gently ran your fingers through his hair, your nails every so gently grazing his scalp, he felt his skin tingle after you, you continued speaking, you voice quieter now, “You need to go shower, you’re still in your uniform. Take a moment for you, I’ll be here when you come back.”

You were laying on your stomach when Spock entered the room again, his hair still slightly damp, he may have rushed his routine just to be by your side again. He thought you were sleeping, until he heard your voice call out into the darkness, “Computer, play ‘Apocalypse’ by Cigarettes After Sex, year 2017.”

Spock recognized the tune immediately, the same song all of this had started with, as he crawled into the bed beside you, within a breath you had pressed yourself into his side, your head finding solace in the crook of your neck. He could feel his skin prick as your breath fanned across his skin. Your hand quickly found his as you laced your fingers together.

“I was being serious earlier. About wanting to have your baby.” Your voice is just barely a whisper as you speak in the darkness of the room.

“As was I. I feel it would be my greatest honor to raise a family with you,” he gently rolled, so he was able to look at you, his free hand gently cupping your face, “I want to be with you for the rest of my life.”

“I cannot wait to marry you.” You closed your eyes as you spoke those words and Spock knew he would spend the rest of his life making sure you spent every moment knowing how much he truly loved you. 

He didn’t even care when he instinctively pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Sleep well T’hy’la. I will be here when you wake.” Spock knew his life was now changing, forever. There was no going back, yet also not an ounce of doubt arose from his decision. As your breathing slowed, subconsciously falling into rhythm with his. He slowly closed his eyes, letting everything else but the current need for sleep fall to the wayside. Sinking lower into the feeling, Spock realized, if you liked the bruises, the next time you put on a show for him like that, he wouldn’t wait to make it to the bedroom.

[macabr3-barbi3]

CTRL ALT DELETE- Task Manager (Vox/Reader)

Something's up with Vox and you offer to help troubleshoot- it both does and does not go how you're expecting it to.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54688282

The least serious thing I've ever written: inspired by the time i started a timer in class one day to see how long my teacher talked about her son instead of teaching us; i ended up realizing 4 months later that i never stopped the timer and it was just running in the background and making my shit slow that entire time lmao there's a screenshot in the ao3 notes

Tags: Stress Relief, Sexual Tension, Chair Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Begging, Computers. Dirty Talk, very basic knowledge of computers

<3<3<3<3<3<3

Your new boss seemed stressed. 

Not in the usual way that he was stressed, either- the note from the assistant you had replaced was that usually when Vox was having an off day he would call for Valentino or have you pull a list of low earners for the month, banishing you from the room in either case. But he hadn’t spent any time with Val in months, basically the entire time that you’d been working with him as a personal assistant after getting promoted from a stage grunt for the news channel.

You had thought for a bit that he might make a move- that maybe that was why he promoted you, that he was charmed enough by you to end the on/off thing he had going on with Val, which made sense based on the timing. But when you tested that theory recently- made double entendres, brushed your hands against his arms or leg or back, blatantly invited him out for dinner and drinks- he didn’t seem interested. He declined your invite, allowed you to touch him without being overcome with lust, and the sex jokes just seemed to go whoosh. 

Right over his head. 

He was on edge and twitchy. He took longer to respond to things than he normally did, his processors slow, occasionally getting a ‘buffering’ message that flashed across his screen when someone asked a question. His hypnotic eye seemed to be suffering as well, the swirls having slowed down now to the point that they were no more mesmerizing than watching paint dry. It was frustrating and enraging him, and in turn frustrating you- he was fucking hot when he was angry, which didn’t help your attraction to him that he was ignoring. 

He was sitting at his desk in the control room when you entered, head in his hands as he stared at a piece of paper on his desk. The monitors were all lit behind him, showing recorded footage of the Tower throughout the day- you spotted a short recording of yourself talking to some of the marketing team a few hours ago. Like a Valentino caricature he read the paper, blinked his eyes a couple times, read it again. Picked it up and pulled it closer to his face like that would help, and his screen scrolled the words along the bottom like his internal system was trying to transcribe it so something he could understand. He finally dropped the paper with a groan, letting it flutter to the floor where it slipped under his chair and stopped just before you. 

“Are you okay, sir?” The question is out before you can stop it, and as was the normal recently it took a few minutes for him to answer. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he muttered, swiveling around to look at you. He clutched the sides of his screen, eyes narrowed and mouth delayed in its movements as he spoke. “I feel like I can’t focus on anything. I can’t process anything. My- just, fucking everything is slow and useless in my head right now! How am I supposed to be a master media manipulator when I can’t fucking concentrate for more than two minutes at a time?”

“You have seemed more… stressed than usual,” you agree. “Are none of your usual relaxing activities helping? Or have you done any troubleshooting?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“Troubleshooting,” you say again, and at his blank stare you chuckle a little. “You know, doing a couple ‘quick fix’ things to see if that’s what’s causing the problem. Do you have like, a cache or something that you have to clear? An archive dump to get rid of old files?” You let your eyes track his body from top to bottom. “I’m not super familiar with how your… anatomy works?”

God, but you wanted to be.

He blinks a couple times. “I think I used to have someone that did that for me,” he says. “Years ago. I fired them because it didn’t seem necessary, I was running perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, well, that might be what the problem is.” You offer him a soft smile. “Sometimes stuff will work in sub-optimal conditions for a while before it starts causing issues. I used to do programming customer support when I was alive- it’s been a while but I could take a look if you want?”

His mouth twists in a frown. “I guess so,” he agrees. “I’m desperate enough to try anything. I need to be able to fucking concentrate if the Vees are gonna stay on top, everyone fucking knows that Val is hopeless with the business aspect of everything.” He gets the buffering symbol on his screen for a few seconds, groaning and shaking his head as he clears. “What do you need access to?”

“Do you have a way to access your… system? Externally,” you clarify. “I’m not a surgeon- I don’t plan on cutting into you to get to anything.”

Vox gestures behind him. “I can hook up to the monitors,” he says, “but we’ll have to be pretty close, doll. I have to be sitting here to be hooked up, and since this is the only chair, looks like this will have to be your seat.” He pats a hand on his thighs, not so much an invitation as a statement.

You fucking wished. You know this isn’t him trying to initiate anything though- you’d been trying for long enough that you’re ready to give it up and just accept that your hot, overlord boss didn’t want to fuck you. Helping him out felt more important than that anyway, so you would do your best.

“You got it,” you say, and cross the remaining space to perch yourself gracefully on his lap. You push the inappropriate thoughts about how firm his muscles are underneath you- how exactly did this man’s body work? Was it really just his head that was not organic matter?- and let him rotate the chair back to face the monitors.

The sight is intimidating, as is the position- you’re surrounded by reflections of yourself from every angle, Vox’s lithe frame seated behind you. This is where he does most of his business, the background site of everything that VoxTec handles. And he’s trusting you to help him fix whatever is wrong with him so he can get back to handling all of that, free of distraction.

You watch as thick wires come up from the floor to plug into the back of his head, the sharp hiss making you wonder if it was painful or intrusive. You won’t ask though, not when you’re getting ready to try to restore him to his usual ruthless self; he might consider that to be prying.

He pulls something up on the main monitor, the one that sits directly across from you, and waves a hand to it. A little keyboard and mouse emerge from the desk as the monitor powers on, and when you glance back you can see the same thing reflected on his face. “Have at it,” you hear him say, even though you can’t see his mouth moving.

Ignoring his open programs for the time being in case he needs any of them, the first thing you do is go in and clear his archived files. He’s got entire terabytes of useless information; employee records for people that have been dead or fired for decades; funny videos that he saved; resources for old news stories that are no longer relevant. Some of it you help him upload to a cloud server- after explaining to him what a cloud server is- and create files to designate for actual important shit.

You find the internal browser that he uses to pull information on the fly and help him clear the cache and cookies.

You help him sort security footage from Vee Tower and get rid of stuff that wasn’t actually necessary, like the short bits of static and dead air that happened whenever he used the cameras to teleport around the building. Everything that he has saved about mentions of that fucking radio demon also goes into the garbage. There are some files you can’t access, things like his memories and day to day recordings of conversations and things that he personally is part of. 

You delete what you can and empty the recycling bin.

As the process has gone on, Vox has relaxed more and more behind you. “I still don’t feel completely back to normal,” he murmurs, “but this is already loads better. It’s like a massage directly on my brain. You know, if I still physically had one.”

You hit the keys to open his task manager- CTRL ALT DELETE. “Unholy fuck- Jesus, sir, if you thought that was good this is gonna feel orgasmic,” you say absently, scrolling through the opens apps and programs that he has running. Has this man ever closed anything? You hadn’t realized a person or device could even have so many things going at once. “Do you just leave everything open in the background?”

He peers around your shoulder, bracing his hands on your hips as he sits up a little straighter. The movement causes your stomach to drop, arousal threatening to make itself known, but you push the notion down as he sets his hands back on the arms of the chair. “I guess so?” He watches you scroll through the extensive list. “I guess it just never occurred to me to close them. Opening the programs to use is just like my stream of consciousness I suppose.”

“Kay, well, that’s stopping now.” You click on the first item on the list- VoxtaGram. “I recommend closing non-essential stuff out at least once a month. More, if you have the time to go through everything. For now, just in case, there is something important we’re gonna go through some of the more recently opened things, set them up to open automatically when you start up, before we reboot your system- wait, can we reboot your system entirely without killing you?”

“No worries there, dear. I can, I just haven’t done it in years because it can take a while to start back up afterwards.” He sneers at the social media page. “You can close that shit. Any of Velvette’s crap she can handle on her own. Same with any of the fucking games that Val loads up when he’s bored- can I delete those entirely? Or block them? Fucking moth and his blue-light addiction…”

You get through a lot of the list, Vox kind of dozing off and only passively participating in the process. You’ve got the gist of it; things like his news sources, contacts list and phone, and the notes app are staying open and set to automatically launch when he does reboot and start back up. Pretty much everything else is closed out, things he pulled up for two seconds weeks ago to check on something or another before abandoning it. You’re making excellent progress when the next thing on the list gives you pause.

“Vox? Why is this- oh my god.” You can’t help it- you start laughing, throwing your head back to rest on his shoulder as you look at what’s now displayed on the screen.

A stopwatch had apparently been started and never stopped. The elapsed time was over three thousand hours, which came out to something like four months if your mental math was correct. He had had this running constantly in the background since you had started working for him, possibly even before. “I think I found the problem,” you chuckled, and his eyes were narrowed as he looked at the timer continuing to tick. “What is this?”

“What the actual fuck?” He buffers for a second- and you’re pleased to note that it’s already much faster than it has been lately- before you hear a dinging sound coming from him. ‘Fucking Hell, I should have known this was all Valentino’s fault.” He drags a clawed hand down his screen in an imitation of a facepalm. “I was timing him. He was fucking ranting about Angel Dust again while we were in a strategy meeting with Velvette- I had the stopwatch going to see how much of the hour session he wasted talking about that whore. I must have forgotten to turn it off.” He barks out a laugh, throwing his head back with the force of it while you look at him with amusement. “I’m gonna owe you big time for this, doll, you’re a lifesaver.”

You close the app out with a smile. “Just trying to help,” you say. “I think that was probably the worst of it- do you want to just try rebooting now?”

He lets out a groan when the app closes, and the sound shoots through your body straight to your core. “Go for it, hun,” he says, eyes closed as he leans back against the chair. “I think I’m good to go now, but it can’t hurt. You were right, sorting this shit out feeling fucking good.”

You’re suddenly very aware of the dampness of your panties as you bypass ‘kinda horny’ straight to ‘fuck me on this desk.’ You scold yourself mentally: Don’t jump your boss. He’s trusting you to help him right now- do not take advantage of that. Do not ride his leg like you very clearly want to because his voice is fucking hot. Fucking focus.

You clear your throat, closing out the task manager and hitting the button to restart him. “See you in a bit, sir.”

You stay seated on his lap just in case- he might still have something he wants you to do when he comes back online, some settings you could apply to close out things that are used for more than a week or so. It’s definitely not because you like the feeling of his strong thigh underneath you, tantalizingly close to your cunt if you, by chance, decided to tilt your hips forward and start grinding down on him. 

After just a few minutes get a message on the main monitor telling you to wait a moment- things start popping up on the other screens surrounding the central one, and it takes you a moment to recognize the pattern.

Its all videos of you- shot from Vox’s perspective, and a mortifying blush takes over your face. They’re all the moments that you had tried coming onto him. The innuendos and subtle entendres, the times that you touched him, pressed yourself against him in a tight space despite having another way to get to the copy machine, when you had invited him out for dinner. There’s also videos where he had just been watching you, apparently, taken from a distance as you spoke with Velvette or passed instructions along to a member of the team or discreetly tried to hide behind a vending machine when you noticed  Val coming into a room. 

There’s a satisfied grumble behind you, and before you can turn to look at him Vox has settled his claws onto either side of your waist and shifted you over a bit, to rest directly on the erection straining his pants. 

Which is a surprise, albeit a pleasant one.

“Thanks for the reset, doll,” he says, and his voice is a quiet growl as he lets his hands wander from your waist to your hips and back again, claw tipped fingers catching on the fabric. “I got a chance to look at some files while I was under and found quite the treat in your logs.”

This could either be very bad or very, very good. “Sir-”

“You know, I’m usually pretty good at picking up what a woman is putting down. Imagine my surprise when I realize you’ve been coming onto me for weeks and my shit was so fucked up and bogged down that I didn’t even notice. Like that?” He uses one hand to point to a screen in the far left of the central monitor, while he snaked his other hand down to rest on your thigh, his hand large enough to encompass the muscle at the edge of your skirt. On the screen, you had come to his office to drop off meeting notes for something you attended on his behalf. You had dropped the stack as you came around his side of the desk, and got down fully on your knees to pick them up, glancing up at him through your lashes. You blush watching it now- it had seemed obvious to you even then, but watching it now, the way that Vox had seen it? When he didn’t say anything about you being face level with his prick you had used a hand on his thigh to brace yourself to stand up, letting your fingers run along the inner seam of his trousers when you rose back to standing. Still no reaction, and you had left his office equal parts turned on and irritated with yourself. Him not having acted on it had been the final nail in the coffin cementing the fact that he was not interested in the slightest.

You let out a weak exhale as the Vox sitting under you gets his other hand in the same position as the first, using his grip to ever so slightly spread your legs on his lap. He lets his fingers skim your inner thighs and you shake with the effort of not begging him to just touch you. This was delicious, agonizing torture.

“Had I been in my right mind for that display, baby, I would have fucking ṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧd̶̵̯̯̼̘ͨ̓ y͙͙̪̰ͫ͌́o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡.” His voice crackles and glitches on the last words, and the sound of it forces a moan from your throat as you let your head fall back. You clutch your hands to the arms of the chair as his tongue- and who even really knew he had a tongue, what the fuck?- licks down the side of your jaw and at your exposed neck. “I would have had you choking on my cock before getting a taste of that sweet cunt and fucking you into the desk for hours.”

One hand finally slips under the edge of your skirt and you shiver when his fingers make contact with your soaked core. “Is that what you want now, babygirl? You want me to give you my cock as thanks for helping to set me straight? To make up for lost time?” He slides a finger under the thin material of your panties, groaning in your ear at how slick he finds you. “That’s what I want, doll. I want you to ride me so hard you go stupid with the feeling, and you never feel whole without some part of me in your cunt for the rest of for-fucking- ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧv̹̹̘̼̞̻͆ͩ̓ͪ͢ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟.”

“Fuck, please,” you gasp out, the word devolving into a cry as Vox finally slides a finger into you, mindful of the claws as he pushes in and quickly follows the first with a second. He uses his free hand to hold your hips still as you try to grind into his digits, keeps you held firmly against his erection as you squirm in pleasure.

His sharp fingertips angle to prod gently at a spot inside of you that has you seeing stars; your eyes are clenched shut as you ride the feeling, so close to the edge you feel like you’re going to implode with the force of it when you finally tip over. “Fuck, sir, please, so c-close,” you mumble, and his tongue is back to licking at whatever parts of your skin it can reach.

“You wanna come like this, sweetheart?” The main monitor in front of you glitches out, and when it comes back into focus you see yourself on the screen- like a mirror, you’re reflected, and you can see Vox’s grinning face behind you. Your skin is flushed, sweat dripping down your face, the hint of tears along your lashline as your mouth drops open when he adds a third finger. “Look fuckin’ beautiful, baby, you were made for this- maybe we give Valentino a call, he could-”

“No!” You release the arms of the chair to grab onto his wrists where his hands meet your body. “No one- no one but you, sir. Vox, please, l- let me come. Please?” You let a little whine into your voice, and you can see the way his mouth goes lax and his eyes laser-focus on where you’re grabbing at his hands.

“I didn’t mean to join us, dollface, just to record- but you’re right, you’re right.” He pulls his fingers from your pussy, slicing the center of your panties in the process before he brings his digits to his mouth- you watch on the screen as he curls his tongue around each one, licks the flavor of you from his skin and glitches out at the taste. “How could I possibly share such a fucking vision with anyone else?

He shifts you to one side so he can get his dick out, and the sight of it in the monitor, his own arousal beading at the top and rock hard, has you whimpering before it’s even inside of you. He carried himself like a man with a big cock, but Christ.

“Hope you like what you see, hun, cause it’s all yours.” He scoots forward in the seat, tilts his hips forward for the right angle, and moves you back into your previous position with ease- this time, the tip of him is pushing inside you, and you watch in the monitor as you sink inch by glorious inch onto him.

Once you’re fully seated, Vox seems to lose capability for rational thought. “Fuck me, you’re perfect,” he moans, bracing his feet more firmly on the ground to thrust up into you, getting a firm grasp on your hips to pull you down into it. The result is a beautiful stab at that sweet spot inside of you that makes you clench and cry out, watching Vox’s hypnotic eye start spiraling at its normal speed on the screen, and you can see backwards scrolling text of his stream of thoughts- a bunch of nonsensical letters and cuss words interspersed with your name. “I want to fucking- chain you to my desk so I can have this perfect pussy whenever I want it. Fuck, I can’t believe we- we could have been doing this for weeks.” He punctuates his sentence with a hard thrust.

“A-all the more reason to regularly clear your task manager, sir,” you say, so caught up in the feeling of him railing you from below that you can hardly believe you formed a coherent thought. He feels so fucking good and you’re a hair trigger away from collapsing and wringing him for all he’s got.

With one quick movement he’s shifted, and there’s a hand on your throat arching you backwards at the same time that he gets a couple clawed fingers rubbing at your clit. The shock of the combination makes you flutter around his length, a choked noise escaping your throat before he tightens his grip- not enough to really cut off your air supply, but enough that your brain starts going soft and mushy and the vice grip your cunt has on his cock gets impossibly tighter. You can see the shine of your slick arousal coating him every time he pulls out to rut back into you, and the sights and sounds are threatening to rip you into the chasm of ecstasy that you’re flirting with. 

“Vox,” you whine, “please, I’m so fucking- please please please-“ 

“Christ, babygirl, whatever you fucking want.” His eyes are wide and frantic as they watch the place you’re joined, his mouth set in a snarl as he fucks into your pliant body. The cry you release is nothing short of agonized- it’s so fucking close you can taste it, nearly overwhelmed with the tension.

“You wanna fucking cum on my cock? Do it, angel, let me see it- come on, baby, cum for me-“

Your walls clench down hard as you reach your orgasm, Vox’s grip on your throat making your vision and mind go fuzzy with the force of it as you choke on a moan that tries to escape your tensed muscles. You’re distantly aware of Vox thrusting hard into you, more praise and curses falling from his lips as he hits his peak as well, pressing his screen to the side of your face when he relinquishes his handle on your throat to clutch at your hips and grind into your cunt as he spills inside of you. The aftershocks of your release leave you twitching, milking his cock of everything he has to offer before he collapses into the chair behind you, a boneless pile of a man now simply running his hands over any bit of skin he could reach. 

It’s truly a testament to how helpful the reset and reboot had been that Vox’s system doesn’t simply crash. “Fucking Hell, I haven’t felt this good in decades,” he mutters in your ear, and you shiver at the feeling of his tongue brushing the sensitive skin.

“Ha, you think that’s the reboot or the mind-melting orgasms?”

He hums contentedly. “Jury’s out on that, doll. Guess we’ll have to do a re-run on both and see how it stacks up to this one.”

“I’ll make sure to schedule some time out for it,” you chuckle before fixing him with a stern glare through the monitor. “I’m serious about clearing your apps and shit more frequently though. Christ, you had decades of backed up shit open-“

“Don’t berate me while my dick is still inside you, fuck.” He leans you forward far enough to pull out, and you grimace at the feeling of his cum starting to spill back out of you. He notices the expression though- “Whoops, sorry,” he says, and after a quick second during which he tucks his softening prick away he scoops you into his arms, standing from the chair and stepping away from the desk. “Let’s get you cleaned up at the penthouse, angel, what do you say?”

“If you’re carrying me then lead the way.” You gesture towards the door out of the control room. “Just don’t start any timers to see how long it takes to get there or anything and we should be good.”

The glare he fixes you with shouldn’t be hot, but it fucking is. “Hardy har,” he deadpans, and rolls his eyes while he stalks towards the elevator, control room door closing behind you; but there’s a small smile on his screen despite his ire and he’s functioning normally, and when you see the little stopwatch icon pop up in the bottom right corner of his face and start counting, you can’t help but laugh.

[reidsdimples]

Seven Minutes in Heaven

Spencer Reid x Reader (BAU!Reader)

18+ ❤️‍🔥 MDNI

in which you’re shoved into a closet for a fun little game of seven minutes in heaven with your work crush Spencer.

The team is gathered at Rossi’s while he makes some authentic Italian cuisine that you can’t remember how to pronounce. You’re with the girls, talking about JJ and Will and Penelope and Kevin, when they ask you if there’s someone you’re interest in.

Your eyes swim to the other side of the room where Spencer is helping Rossi chop some vegetables.

“Not really,” you drop your gaze.

“Mhmm,” Emily hums sarcastically.

“Just tell him,” JJ nudges you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie.

“My smartest love!” Penelope calls to Spence. “Come here!”

No no no. Your cheeks flame, you beg whatever god is above to spare you from what they were about to do. The wine had gone to their heads.

Spence washes his hands and walks over while drying them on a towel, you watch the movements closely. You fantasized far too often about those damned hands.

He takes long strides towards you, that dark purple button down fitting his skin body perfectly. You catch yourself staring and look anywhere else.

“You’ve been dragged into our game,” Penelope purses her lip.

“What game?” He looks intrigued.

“Truth or dare but right now the dare is seven minutes in heaven,” Penelope says. At that JJ and Emily light up.

“Yeah,” Emily nods.

“What’s that?” He tilts his head. You’re horrified, there’s not way they’re doing this to you.

“Did I hear were playing seven minutes in heaven?” Derek slides into your little group.

“Guys, keep it clean,” Hotch warns.

“I don’t even wanna know,” Rossi laughs but continues to cook.

“Okay! All but Rossi are in,” Penelope chirps.

“What’s the premise of the game?” Spencer asks again.

“The group selects a couple to go into a dark closet for seven minutes,” JJ smiles and sips her drink.

“For what purpose?” He asks. Derek claps him on the back and leans down to whisper in his ear. His eyes widen and color stains his cheeks.

You’re pretty sure you couldn’t press yourself further into the wall if you tried.

“Anyway we were playing truth or dare and I dared Y/N to play seven minutes in heaven with you,” Penelope tells him. His hazel eyes dart over to yours where your hand is covering your face.

The girls give you wicked smiles.

“Okay?” He raises his eyebrows suspiciously.

“Go on lover boy,” Derek urges and he’s leading Spencer to a walk in closet in Rossi’s guest room.

“All of you are dead to me,” you bite out as JJ ushers you in behind him.

The door snaps shut and you’re plunged onto complete darkness.

The room outside of the closet goes silent.

Your ears burn, your body tenses as you listen for Spence who moves next to you.

“Why did they pick me specifically?” He asks, of course he asks.

“No idea,” you lie. “But we don’t have to do anything.”

“Timer starts now!” Emily yells and you hear the bedroom door shut too.

Your body hums as Spencer steps closer to you.

“I can’t see you, it’s hard to profile you in the dark. My guess from your rapid breathing and fidgeting though is that you’re hoping something happens,” he speaks lowly.

“What if I do?” You decide to be brave.

The feeling of being so close to him in utter darkness is exciting and hot as hell. You were aware of his every movement and as your eyes adjusted, you could see him. Not very clearly but he was right in front of you.

“I’d be okay with that,” he exhales a shaky breath.

You place a hand on his chest and run your finger down to his waist band where his shirt is tucked in. You pull him closer to you and lean up. He slowly and clumsy finds your lips in the dark.

His hands grip your hips as your tongue starts to explore his mouth. The taste of wine lingers between you, making him taste sweet. The softness of his lips and feeling of his hands on your body make you moan into his mouth.

You’re pleasantly surprised to feel his erection grow in his pants so you hurriedly undo his belt.

“What are you gonna…” he asks.

“I just want you, Spence,” you whisper. You’re thankful for the darkness of the space, it’s making you more bold.

You wrap your hand around his silky skin and pump him gently. A small moan escapes him and he’s running his hands up your skirt.

“We have to be quick,” you say after kissing him again. He nods. “Sit, against the wall,” you usher him to the back wall.

He obliges as you step out of your panties and shove them into your pocket. He’s looking up at you from the floor, his cock hard as he registers what you’re about to do. You stand over him and lower yourself slowly, teasingly. He bites his lip in anticipation. You’d been wanting to sit on his cock for months.

You straddle his waist and reach down to line his cock up with your entrance. You slide down on it with a restrained moan. Taking him felt like finally getting everything you’d been missing. The whimpering that escaped him awoke something inside of you that you’d long lost.

“You’re so wet,” he whispers in awe and grips your ass.

“I told you I wanted you,” you smirk and start riding him.

He throws his head back as though in disbelief of how good it feels. You’re wound so tight from the excitement and anticipation of the ordeal that you know you could cum at any second. Something about the team being just two doors aware adding an extra thrill to what you were doing.

“4 Minutes!” Someone yells, you don’t register who.

You wrap your arms around Spence’s neck and ride him until his clawing at your back and digging his nails into the flesh of your ass. You inhale his fresh scent, one you’d always been fond of but now it’s mixed with something else. Like you can smell his arousal, it’s addicting.

“So tight, I’m gonna..” he groans.

“Shhh.”

You rock your hips, feeling him as deep as possible while your clit rubs against his lower abdomen. You lean down and kiss his neck, before probably stretching the collar of his shirt to access his shoulder.

Your orgasm seizes you and you’re biting down on that sweet spot where his neck meets his shoulder. You suck on his soft skin hard, needing to taste him while you fall over the edge.

A loud groaning sound begins to escape him and you clamp your hand over his mouth. Your pussy clenches around him as you move, taking in the delicious feeling of cumming around him. It’s better than you ever thought it would be. Especially when his cock twitches and he’s biting down on your palm to cum with you. You feel his hard cock throb and his massive amount of cum starts pouring out of you, around him.

It’s messier than you hoped but it’s so fucking hot, it feels so good as you grind down onto him on last time to enjoy the feeling.

“Is that okay?” He pants, clarity returning.

“Yeah I’m on birth control,” you swallow and move off of him.

“It’s been a while since I..”

“Me too,” you sigh. You didn’t want him to feel bad for cumming so much, you fucking loved it.

He stands and you stop him from pulling his pants back up. You clean up the mess on him with your underwear and shove them back into your pocket.

“Thanks,” he huffs a shy laugh before tucking himself back into his pants.

“I’m gonna need to go to the restroom to…”

“Yeah…” he sucks air through his teeth in an ‘oops’ kind of way.

“One minute!” It’s Derek who yells it.

You grab Spencer’s shirt and pull him into a kiss, one that he smiles into.

You help him adjust his collar and fix both of your hair before opening the closet. Heat seems to roll out of it and you’re sure it smells like sex. You’re just grateful the team is in the living room when Garcia screams that time is up.

Spencer steps out of the room first, his head down as he b-lines for the kitchen.

You hear Derek stop him as you hurry to the bathroom to clean up.

“Okay I dare Hotch to eat an entire pickle!” Emily says. He protests because he hates pickles.

“What happens in the closet stays in the closet,” is all you say when they turn their attention towards you.

Spencer is back in the kitchen helping Rossi cook.

“Yeah, keep it in that closet. I don’t want to fill out any unnecessary fraternization paper work,” Hotch grins.

“I’ll cheers to that!” Rossi calls and raises him glass.

You all clink glasses, Spencer’s eyes meet yours and he smiles shyly.