#X-COM: Complete Pack

[ventxekart]

Ah, I remember when the X-COM: Complete Pack was released on Steam. Good times.

Steam's top sellers for September 2008

[himasgod]

idk if its okay

but can I request for the tapis rouge boyos (vil, azul, jamil, ace) with a reader who gets hit on by a well known celebrity who has a reputation for being a playboy.

thank youuu

ACE, JAMIL, AZUL AND VIL X READER

Where a famous playboy actor wants to flirt with you in Tapis Rouge

How would guys react if, at the Vil's Red Carpet Cadets event, a famous actor with dark intentions approached you to hit on you?

I put Zane as the default name, if there is a Zane reading this, don't be offended😭 You don't need to have played the event to read the one-shot, I hope you enjoy it <3

Maquillaville was packed with rich, famous people who—according to Ace—were annoyingly full of themselves. He wasn't really used to this kind of fancy event, but he played it off well with his cocky grin and bold style. In his own way, he looked great.

You were chatting with a few guests when someone Ace couldn't ignore walked in.

Model, actor, and even film director. He had that fake-perfect smile and a dating history that probably broke some kind of record. Tall, tanned, and smooth-talking, he zoned in on you like a predator the second he saw you.

"Sorry to interrupt," "Zane" said with a charming smirk, "but your smile is brighter than the lights in this place. How about I buy you a drink… or better yet, take you out to dinner tomorrow?"

Ace stopped chewing his fancy canapé. He turned his head slowly, like he'd just heard the funniest joke ever.

"A drink? Seriously? Bro, do you think you're in some rom-com?"

Zane blinked at him, confused. “And you are…?”

Ace slid in next to you, his hand on your hip, flashing his most smug smile, though his eyes were sharp.

"The boyfriend. The only one who can make them smile like that without copy-pasting lines from Google."

Zane chuckled. "Well, lucky you, man. No harm in a compliment—"

“Sure, sure,” Ace said, crossing his arms.

"But there's a difference between a compliment and drooling all over my partner. If you want attention that bad, try flirting with a mirror. Bet it'll respond better."

Zane rolled his eyes and walked off in annoyance.

Once he was out of sight, you turned to Ace, one eyebrow raised.

“Jealous?”

“Jealous?!” Ace spun toward you, visibly offended.

"That wasn't jealousy! That was common sense! The guy was talking like you were a character in some cheesy pickup scene! And you laughed at one of his jokes! Like—seriously!?"

You laughed.

“Oh, Ace…”

He clicked his tongue, but his grin gave him away. He leaned in, wrapping an arm around your waist.

"Look, I don't care if you're the center of attention. Honestly, I love it. Let the whole world stare… just so they know exactly who you're with—"

His voice dropped to a murmur against your ear.

“—and who they’ll never be.”

Then he pulled back, smirking wider.

“And if that C-list actor tries flirting again, I swear I'm going to stuff his ego in a box and send it back with a bow.”

Jamil was at your side, impeccable. Although he tried to appear calm, he kept scanning every corner of the room… especially whoever looked at you for too long.

And then he saw it.

Internationally acclaimed actor and singer, known as much for his musical hits as for his romantic history. He was the kind of person who turned every interview into an opportunity to flirt and every gala into a hunt.

He approached you with that well-rehearsed smile of his, champagne glass in hand, his eyes shining with that invasive interest.

"I didn't know stars walked this red carpet," he said, scanning you from head to toe. "Do you have a date for after the event?"

Before you could answer, you felt Jamil's firm presence at your side. His smile was barely perceptible, and his dark eyes, fixed on him.

"I don't think you heard correctly," he said calmly. "They're with me."

Zane laughed sarcastically, never taking his eyes off you.

"Oh, I thought you were a stylish bodyguard. I didn't know you were the… boyfriend?"

Jamil took a step forward, placing himself completely between you and him, like a protective shadow.

"I'll tell you this only once. I don't know what kind of games you usually play with your 'conquests,' but if you want to keep your reputation from falling further, I suggest you back off now."

He raised an eyebrow, still defiant.

"And if I don't?"

Jamil smiled with disturbing slowness.

"Then I'll make you understand. And believe me, I know exactly how to do it without ruining your image… although I wouldn't mind that in the least."

There was a moment of tension. He, perhaps for the first time in a long time, felt insecure around someone. And he left.

You looked at Jamil, somewhat impressed.

"Are you always so calm when you're jealous?"

"Jealous?" Jamil sighed, taking your hand.

"I'm not jealous. I'm irritated. Because that guy dared to look at you like a trophy."

He turned to you, his expression softer.

"And you're not a trophy. You're someone I chose, and who chose me. I don't need to shout it… but I won't let anyone dare touch what I respect."

Every flashbulb seemed to follow you as you walked beside Vil, so perfect it outshone even the biggest stars. The whole world felt like a runway, and you, at his side, were part of the spectacle.

You were used to receiving stares, but this time you felt a particularly insistent one.

"Do you know him?"

Vil whispered near your ear, without taking his eyes off a certain famous actor who was approaching.

It was an international star known for his leading man roles… and for his many love scandals. Vil pursed his lips with the elegance of someone who knew perfectly well who this man was and how little he liked him.

"Only by sight…" you replied, a little uncomfortable as you noticed the actor coming straight toward you.

"Then don't stare at him so much." Vil murmured with a charming smile, but his eyes were sharp.

The actor arrived and, as if he had no idea who Vil was (which was impossible), offered you his hand.

"I didn't expect to see someone so charming tonight. Have we met? Because if not, I'd love to change that."

Vil took a subtle step, standing half in front of you. His face, still sporting a polite smile, was tense like a perfectly placed mask.

"Funny, I thought charm wasn't enough when it came to respect," he said, in that tone of his as polished as liquid poison.

"My partner doesn't usually fall for such cheap tricks, Mr. Zane."

The actor laughed, as if he didn't take the hint.

"A couple? What a shame… Although that's never been an obstacle in romantic movies," he joked, winking at you.

You opened your mouth to reply, but Vil was quicker. He took your hand and entwined it with his, raising his chin

"This isn't a movie. And if you think you can turn my relationship into just another chapter in your "red carpet romances," you're sorely mistaken."

The actor seemed amused by the reaction, but seeing Vil's sharp gaze with pride, jealousy, and elegance, he simply raised his hands.

"Well, well. I didn't know you were so committed, Schoenheit. Lucky for you. And for you too."

He winked at you with a mischievous smile before walking away.

The air seemed to have cooled a couple of degrees.

Vil turned to you, still frowning slightly.

"I warn you, that man is like cheap perfume: strong at first, but in the end, only an unpleasant aftertaste."

"Are you jealous?" You asked with a soft smile.

Vil stared at you, then sighed, smoothing out an invisible wrinkle in your attire.

"No. I'm forewarned. Because I value you. And I won't let someone like him touch you with even the hint of an intention."

He leaned in elegantly, his lips brushing the line of your jaw, just enough for you to feel it only for yourself.

"You're too precious to be trifled with. And if anyone tries… they'll have to face me."

The hair, his thin glasses, and that brown suit with subtle pinstripes gave him an air of sophistication that contrasted with his inner nerves whenever someone approached you.

You'd been walking through with him, just chatting, when a tall man with an easy smile and a foreign accent approached you.

"Are you the person everyone is whispering is stealing the event tonight? My name is Zane Duclair but you can call me Zane. Although I'd prefer it if you called me later."

He winked at you.

Azul blinked. He smiled, but his fingers trembled slightly as he gripped your hand.

"Zane Duclair… the actor with three public breakups and five harassment lawsuits… charming track record," he murmured.

Zane gave a carefree laugh, as if everything was slipping away.

"Oh, all in the past. Tonight I'm only interested in this beautiful person," he said, taking your hand without permission. "Would you do me the pleasure of dinner after the gala?"

Before you could respond, Azul placed a hand on your shoulder. His smile was still there, but his eyes were pure ice.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your attempt at 'conquest,' Zane, but my companion already has plans with me tonight. And they're non-negotiable."

Lucien raised an eyebrow.

"And who are you? Their manager?"

Azul let out a short, almost mocking laugh.

"No, I'm a bit more complicated than that. I'm the person who knows their every taste, every gesture, every look. And also the person who can't stand it when someone with a questionable reputation tries to fish in waters that don't belong to him."

Zane looked offended, but Azul stepped forward, still keeping his voice polite.

"And if you insist, I can present you with a complete list of legal clauses regarding harassment and non-consensual advances. I'm sure your lawyers will be able to read between the lines."

Zane left, visibly irritated, and Azul took your arm to lead you away, taking a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," you said. "I didn't expect someone like him to approach me like that."

Azul shook his head.

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault there are men who confuse charisma with entitlement. But if he approaches you again… I won't need contracts."

He glanced at you, lowering his voice.

"You are valuable. I will not allow anyone to see you as something they can buy or conquer. Because you are already… firmly committed to me."

[nerdygirlramblings]

This blog is my cod wormhole, mostly a place to post my poly!141 x reader work and share fanfic / fanart I like.

NOTE:

I have never played cod: all in-game knowledge and lore comes from ao3 and this site (and a little from game-based wikis).

I write reboot characters and ignore most games storylines.

Reader is afab unless otherwise noted.

We're all (mostly) fluffy here. Life has too much angst already. I like my escapism sweet.

Feel free to ask questions, share HCs, request stuff

This is my sandbox. If you don't like how I play with my toys, you don't have to play here.

Master List

Minors DNI

Series and Extended drabbles

complete

Choose Your Own Meet Cute (implied poly!141 x gn!reader) - choose your own adventure style story

my Works, ye Mighty (ancient gods au) series masterlist [9.6K words]

(poly!141 x fem!reader)

ongoing

Off to See the Wizard series masterlist

(poly!141 x fem!reader)

fierce wars and faithful loves (aka omegaverse au) series masterlist

(poly!141 x fem!reader)

Maverick (implied poly!141 x fem!reader) - drabbles

- spitfire soldier

- meeting Laswell

- mission trouble

one-shots and drabbles (* indicates it's based on an ask)

Wrap Me Up (poly!141 x fem!reader)

rom-coms (poly!141 x fem!reader)

guardian (poly!141 x gn!reader)

aggressive affection (poly!141 x gn!reader)

knight au (implied poly!141 x fem!reader)

The Princess Bride (implied poly!141 x fem!reader)

baby trapped (poly!141 x fem!reader)

viking 141 (implied poly!141 x fem!reader)

Christmas Quickie (poly!141 x fem!reader)

"Where is Gaz?!" (poly!141 x gn!reader)

salvation (implied poly!141 x fem!reader)

shoppe girl* (poly!141 x gn!reader)

homecoming (poly!141 x fem!reader)

date night* (poly!141 x fem!reader)

accident prone (poly!141 x fem!reader)

introverted* (poly!141 x fem!reader)

quiet comforts* (Price x gn!reader + Simon)

child's play* (poly!141 x fem!reader)

puppy love* (implied poly!141 x fem!reader)

pack punishment* (poly!141 x gn!reader, omegaverse)

and baby makes three?* (Simon x fem!reader x Johnny)

star light, star bright* (implied poly!141 x gn!reader)

the light, the heat (poly!141 x gn!reader)

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

Tour Clips

Pairing: Jack Harlow x Singer!Reader

Summary: Jack and his girlfriend are on tour and Wyatt is documenting all their backstage moments on tour. Fans even help him out by capturing a secret moment between them after a show.

The tour was in full swing, and as expected, Jack and [Y/N] were a constant source of entertainment—both on stage and off. Wyatt, being the content mastermind he was, put together a behind-the-scenes montage for the tour vlog, giving fans an inside look at their dynamic.

Backstage Footage: Jack hyping her up before she went on stage. “Go out there and do that ethereal, angelic, heartbreak-inducing magic you do.”

Hotel Room Chaos: Jack stealing her microphone during rehearsal and dramatically lip-syncing one of her ballads, complete with fake tears.

Soundcheck Playfulness: Him walking past her soundcheck, pausing dramatically as she hit a high note, then turning to the camera like he was in awe. “You see this? I gotta go on stage after this. How is that fair?”

Side Stage Moments: Jack watching her perform from the wings, nodding along with a proud smirk.

Goofy Tour Bus Moments: A clip of them singing (badly) to one of her songs at 2 AM, both in sweatpants, laughing too hard to finish a verse.

Fan Interactions: Jack taking a fan’s phone, seeing the lock screen was a picture of his girlfriend, and fake-pouting. “Damn, I lost to my own girl? That’s crazy.”

The montage was already packed with golden moments, but then a certain fan-recorded clip sent social media into a frenzy.

It happened after a show, when most of the crowd had left, but a few dedicated fans lingered, hoping to catch a glimpse of Jack or [Y/N].

One fan had their phone rolling when they spotted them at the edge of the stage—just the two of them, barely visible in the dim lighting.

Jack was standing in front of her, hands on her waist, his forehead resting against hers. Their voices were low, lost in the distance, but from the way his thumb stroked over her hip and how she tilted her head up toward him, it was clear it was an intimate moment.

For a few seconds, the world around them didn’t exist. No cameras, no fans, no crew—just them.

Then Jack kissed her, soft and slow, before pulling back with a grin, saying something that made her laugh.

The fan who caught the moment kept quiet, not wanting to intrude—but later, they posted the clip with the caption:

“They really think we don’t see them having their own little world.”

The video went viral overnight.

“THIS IS STRAIGHT OUT OF A ROMANCE MOVIE.”

“Jack Harlow is officially the blueprint for men.”

“They are so unaware of how in love they look, I’m sick.”

“The way they just EXIST in their own little bubble???”

Jack, of course, saw the video. His response?

A tweet that read: "I thought we were being sneaky 😭."

[Y/N] quote-tweeted him with, "Clearly, we're amateurs at this."

And Wyatt? He reposted the fan video with, “Y’all think this is cute? Try filming this in real time every day. My life is a rom-com.”

[cheynovak]

Soft Touch

Jensen Ackles x Y/N f/reader

Summary: Jensen and Y/N are secretly dating, when Y/N sees Jensen having a rough interview she finds a way to calm him down, right on the spot.

English isn't my first language.

Did not proof read, mistakes are possible

Please do not copy my work. likes/sharing/comments are appreciated

The studio was buzzing, the usual organized chaos of production day filling the air. Jensen, the charismatic star of Supernatural, was gearing up for yet another interview, his last one had a difficult and not to please interviewer, this time it was all about the upcoming season and 'Dean's love life' Dean was more than just a pretty face to the show, Jensen wanted to clarify that, but the interviewer didn't seem to want to hear it.

As he sat in front of the set, adjusting his shirt and chatting with the reporter, Y/N watched him from the sidelines.

She was supposed to be packing up her makeup and hairstyling kit for the day, but her attention was locked on Jensen. His posture was just a bit too stiff, his hand running through his hair—a telltale sign of nerves.

"He's overthinking again," Y/N murmured to herself.

Grabbing her comb and a small bottle of texturizing spray, she made her way over, slipping through the crew with practiced ease. She caught the tail end of Jensen laughing at a question, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Excuse me for just a second,” she said politely, flashing the reporter an apologetic smile. Jensen turned his head at her voice, his green eyes softening instantly.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a mixture of relief and surprise.

Without a word, Y/N stepped close, reaching up to fix his slightly mussed hair. She knew her touch would ground him. As her fingers slid through his locks, gently brushing and smoothing, she let her nails lightly graze his scalp.

Jensen’s reaction was immediate. His shoulders relaxed, his tension melting under her gentle ministrations. He let out a soft breath, trying to stay professional, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward in a small, private smile.

“Better?” she whispered, her voice low enough for only him to hear.

“Much,” Jensen murmured back, tilting his head ever so slightly toward her touch.

Her hands lingered for a moment longer before she stepped back, giving him an encouraging smile. “Knock 'em dead.”

Jensen nodded, his confidence visibly restored. As Y/N walked away, she glanced back over her shoulder, catching the way his gaze followed her.

Later that evening, Jensen came home to the soft hum of the TV. The smell of lavender and something sweet lingered in the air, the kind of comforting scent he associated with her.

Y/N was curled up on the couch under a thick, cozy blanket, her legs tucked up beneath her. A mug sat on the coffee table, half-forgotten as she watched a rom-com unfold on the screen.

Jensen shrugged off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor, and walked toward her.

“Rough day?” Y/N asked, not looking away from the screen but patting the space beside her.

Instead of sitting, Jensen sank to his knees by the couch, leaning his head against her thighs. Y/N immediately shifted, lifting the blanket to cover him as he sprawled against her lap.

“Rough interviews,” Jensen muttered, his voice muffled against her leg.

Her fingers instinctively found their way to his hair, combing through it softly. She knew just how to soothe him, her nails gently scratching his scalp in that way he loved. This time, Jensen didn’t fight it. His eyes fluttered shut, and he let out a long, contented sigh.

“You have no idea how much I needed this,” he murmured, his voice filled with warmth.

Y/N smiled down at him, her heart swelling. “I think I have an idea.”

Jensen reached up blindly, his fingers finding her thigh and giving a gentle squeeze. "I love you," he said, his words quiet but filled with conviction.

“I love you too,” she whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to his temple.

As the movie played on, Jensen relaxed completely in her lap, feeling safe, loved, and utterly at home.

--

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[veebeeboo109]

Cleaning up the Timeline

{You and Xavier have a moment. You chat with Rafayel. Then a night out! Only...who is that stranger?}

Read on ao3. Part One.

Tags: Reader/L&DS Men, Romance, Possessive Behavior, NS!FW, D!rty talk, Xavier has a hard time sharing, P0rn with feelings lol

TW Emetophobia

Chapter 12: The Karaoke Episode

Xavier has a mission coming up. A projected two week long stint where he’ll be across the world fighting some Wanderer the locals can’t handle. 

He’s taken it as a personal challenge. Packing in as much as he possibly can in the week leading up to his departure. You’re fully integrated into this confusing web of affection and skin. Each man has had a taste of you at this point that it's just a matter of when and where and how. 

For Xavier, the question of where can be answered right here. He doesn’t care where you’re at, or if anyone else is in the room. He seems to get a thrill out of it, actually. 

He likes pressing you against the windows. Like bending you over the countertops. Like pushing you into the pantry or a nearby closet. Whatever surface is nearby he’ll take advantage of it. 

He’s got you on your back on the training mat in the gym. A match of sparring turned into torn clothes and a different kind of stretch. The battle is the foreplay. Pinning him down with your thighs better than any hand job to get him hard because by the time he’s got you on your back he’s already leaking. 

“You like when I take you like this?” He hums, voice even despite his labored breathing and the sweat dripping down his neck. “C’mon bunny, open up for me.”

You part your legs for him, letting him slot between them. He grabs the waistband of your workout pants and tears them down the middle, exposing his prize to him. Your underwear is next, torn and discarded– given a scowl for good measure for getting in his way. 

He leans over just enough to spit a fat glob onto your cunt, the smack of it making you jump. “Xavier!” You cry, only partially scandalized. 

He pulls his shorts down just enough to pull out his cock, long and curved with a harsh cherry tip. Xavier’s eyes are hyper-focused on you, and he’s soothing the crassness of his spit with a gentle kiss to your lips. 

The head of his cock presses in, and he only gives you time to adjust for the first inch. Pushing the rest of the way in with a ragged groan. 

“A-ah, gentle, Xavier.” You whine as he starts to move. Fast, precise thrusts that meet your sweet spot the instant he begins. He doesn’t waste time. Doesn’t bother doing anything that doesn’t bring you toe-curling pleasure. 

“You’re so wet though, bunny.” He huffs, “I think you like it. Your pretty cunt is telling me she likes it, just listen to her.”

He’s not wrong. The sounds of his cock spearing you are loud, the overabundance of slick only giving away that you’d been thinking of this since you’d started your workout this morning. 

“C’mere,” Xavier grunts, grabbing your wrists and pinning you to the mat fully. “Wrap your legs around me.”

You obey and when he moves he’s got you completely beneath him, pistoning his hips mercilessly. Pushing you into a frenzy of high-pitched whines. 

“You’re so perfect.” He whispers to you. Voice gentle and full of sweet affection. So unlike his cock, which bully into you without care for how oddly you might walk after this. “So perfect for me. Can I come in you, bunny? Oh, you like that idea? Don’t lie to me, I can feel you squeeze me. Your pussy is honest with me, even when you’re not.”

“Ah– ah– X-Xavier…” The sounds are punched out of you, punctuated by his brutally precise thrusts. “I’m getting— I’m getting close.” 

“Already?” Xavier’s grinning now, a feral sort of pride that has him letting go of one of your wrists to hold your neck instead, “That’s because you’re mine. Because you’re made for me. And I for you. Come for me, bunny. Nnh, oh my starlight. That’s it. Keep– Keep squeezing me.”

His eyes grow unfocused and he’s babbling, growing close just like you. 

“Come for me. Come for me. Come for me.” He demands, half mad, “F-fuck. I’m gonna fill you up. You want that, bunny? Yeah. Yeah you do. That’s it. Take it, oh god, take it.”

“Oh god! I can’t– M’ cumming. Cumming!” You screech, your free hand coming to grip his tightened bicep as your walls clamp down on him. He can feel it, and you watch his face when he comes. His body tensing up as his balls empty inside you– ropes of dewy come filling you to the brim and dripping out alongside the cock stuffed there. 

When he relaxes, his face eases into something altogether ethereal. So utterly beautiful that you’re straining your neck to try and kiss him again. He lets go of your wrists entirely, and instead cups the sides of your face to kiss you deeply.

“Sorry,” He whispers when he pulls away, “That was impulsive.”

You can’t help but laugh, “I don’t mind. If you couldn’t tell…I enjoyed myself.”

Xavier kisses you again, rolling his hips just to feel you against him. His cock twitches inside you, like it might try for another round. 

“I have to go soon.” Xavier says regrettably as he drags his lips across your cheek, leaving trails of kisses there. A lingering line of affection he’s reluctant to part with. “They want me to fly out this evening.”

“I know.” You answer, wrapping your arms around his neck and embracing him. Giving him that tight tangle of limbs he’s been seeking all week. “It’ll pass by quickly, and then you’ll be home.”

“It’s hard now.” Xavier confesses, “I didn’t mind it…before. But now that you’re here…I don’t want to—I don’t want to leave. Not if you’re not with me.”

“What about the others?” You ask; your heart feeling mushy and soft.

“I care for them.” Xavier replies. “They’re the most important people to me but you…I miss the others when I’m gone, but I ache for you. Like the air is just a little too thin when you’re not there.”

He places his forehead against yours and closes his eyes, letting the room fall into quiet. Sharing the same breath, you let his confession settle into you. The reverberation of some unbreakable vow, but settling with a sense of deja vu. 

You nuzzle your nose against his, unsure of what to say next, but letting your lips move anyway, “I’ll always be here. When you get back– there’s no getting rid of me now.”

Xavier smiles, but it’s sad. A bone deep ache marring that perfect, beautiful smile. He shakes his head slightly and that agony hiding behind his smile fades, “I’ll hold you to that. It’s a promise now.”

You nod, shifting your legs a little tighter around his waist, “I promise.”

Another week passes by, and then another. Xavier’s still gone on his mission and the house feels like yours. Cleaning and tidying is routine, and too often do you find tasks already finished when you get to them. Rafayel has started actually putting discarded papers in the wastebasket and taking it out himself. 

The gym equipment is always wiped down, and the floors swept by the time you get there. Even the living room is kept tidier than you remember it being. You’re not sure if it's a conspiracy the boys are doing behind your back, or if you’re actually losing your mind. 

Your bed is never empty now. One or two of them finding their way there at some point in the night. Rafayel is the worst offender, slinking into your covers nearly every night unless Sylus and Zayne are already there. 

It’s funny, seeing how different their interactions are. How differently they react to each other and how many different ways three bodies can get tangled up. 

Zayne and Sylus are like wolves, either one or the other deciding to take charge and the other happily rolling over and showing belly. It’s shocking to see such large men obey so easily. Shocking more how much they agree when it comes to you. For them, sharing comes easily. 

Rafayel and Sylus is a torture experiment. They bring out the worst in each other. Teeth and claws and possession. When they get hold of you, you’re sure to walk differently. Decorated in tokens of their love. Able to determine who left which mark because you know their dental patterns now. Rafayel has sharper canines on top, leaving two harsher dots where they dig into you. Sylus’ incisors are large on top and bottom, and so his mark is equally dark on top and bottom. 

They marathon with each other, counting how many times they can get you to come. Mantras of mine, mine, mine pairing with your hoarse cries. 

Zayne and Rafayel is a different kind of torture. They go slow. Agonizingly slow. Taking their time with you and each other. There’s no rush for them, drawing out pleasure and edging for as long as they please. Their control over you is rock-solid, and their evenings are ones where you can simply disappear into a different space entirely. Wrung out so thoroughly of every ounce of pleasure from such precise hands. 

Xavier has a hard time sharing– the hardest of them all. He likes having you to himself, but when another joins in Xavier is the one calling the shots. The other only touches when Xavier allows it. 

What a peculiar life you have now. And it occurs to you, one night with Rafayel curled around your back, that this is your life now. You’re not sure when you accepted it, but it is, and imagining anything else makes your chest hurt. 

None of them have exactly asked you to join them in their relationship. But, at this point, surely you’re considered a part of it, right? You’ve been so entangled with them lately you haven’t had much time to think. 

“There’s that smell again.” Rafayel hums sleepily, “Why are you awake, princess?”

You’re too awake to pretend to be asleep and so you swallow back your trepidation and speak, “Rafayel, am I…are we…are we in a relationship?”

Rafayel laughs at you, a low amused rumble. The arms he has wrapped around you pull you tighter to his chest, “You think I’m careless with my words, cutie? Think I call just anyone mine?” 

You shiver, “No, I guess not. I just– We haven’t talked about– About where I fit in all this.”

Rafayel takes a deep breath and sighs, pressing a kiss to the mark he left on your neck, “You fit right here. With me. With us.” 

Your heart swells and you can’t stop your voice, “As a fuck buddy or–”

“As mine.” Rafayel says purposefully, “As part of my life and my heart. Now, go to sleep.”

It shouldn’t soothe you as much as it does, but you're smiling despite yourself. You’d never be able to explain how you got here other than you fell into it. Tumbled headfirst into four open arms like they’d been waiting forever for you.

“You’re dressed up.” It’s Sylus that notices you first, tiptoeing towards the door with your shoes in your hands. Well, Mephisto gave you away. A sharp caw alerting his master that you were up to something

Just your luck that all four of them are not only home, but awake, and in the living area. Zayne is in the kitchen, going through the fridge and the pantry with a list in his hands— getting ready for grocery shopping tomorrow.

Rafayel is stretched out on the couch, a book in one hand and Xavier sprawled out across him. A fluffy blanket nearly hiding the blond completely– he’s only just gotten home from his mission a day ago.  

You’re unlucky. Or cursed. You think as much because Sylus had just been walking through when he spotted you, and if it hadn’t been for him and that meddlesome bird on his shoulder you would have made it out unnoticed.

And now that you’ve been spotted? You’re screwed.

You glare at Sylus, who smirks at you— knowing exactly the escape attempt he’s thwarted as Rafayel shuts his book with a harsh snap, waking the man on top of him.

“Are you going somewhere?” Rafayel’s voice is accusatory.

You’re still frozen in place, strappy heels dangling from your fingers and maybe— just maybe— if you don’t move, they won’t see the short dress you’ve put on for a night out. “Noo…?”

“Where are you going? Who’s going with you?” Zayne still has the grocery list in his hand when he approaches you.

You shoot Sylus one last venomous look and sigh, letting your hands fall to your sides, “Tara asked me out tonight. She and some other Hunters. I wasn’t planning on staying long so I thought I could go alone–”

“Yeah, no.” Rafayel huffs. He tosses his book onto the coffee table and shifts to stand, sending Xavier rolling off the couch and thudding into the floor. 

“I can go out with friends.” You’re bristling with irritation now, disgruntled by the implication of being stuck here.

“I’ll come with you.” Rafayel steps over Xavier, who is pouting slightly as he wakes up.

“Me too.” Sylus adds, rolling his shoulder slightly so Mephisto flies off. “I’d like to meet your friends, kitten.”

“Absolutely not.” You retort, “I am not bringing the head of Onychinus and a world-famous artist to a friendly outing of coworkers.”

“I’ll go.” Xavier’s up on his feet, and his hair is a wreck. “As a hunter, I will fit in with the coworkers.”

“We shouldn’t intrude on her evening.” Zayne, the voice of reason, says, but he doesn’t sound convincing. “I’ve met Tara before, I should go.”

“Oh my god, just–” You raise your hands and then take a deep breath. “You can all come. If you promise to behave. It’s a private karaoke place, we’ll just get our own room.”

The words are barely out of your mouth and the men are moving. Rafayel mumbling about getting changed and the others following suit. 

In less than ten minutes you're piled into Zayne’s car, squished between Rafayel and Xavier in the backseat while Sylus inputs the address to the GPS from the passenger seat.

“You can just sit in my lap, cutie.” Rafayel teases, ticking your side with a flutter of his fingers– just enough to make you jump. “You look uncomfortable.”

“No.” Zayne chastises, giving the painter a firm glare from the rearview mirror, “Seatbelts stay on.”

You can’t help but laugh a little at the way Rafayel deflates. Scolded like a schoolboy by daddy in the front seat. 

As Zayne drives, you see the glint of a bracelet on his wrist, and recognize it immediately. It’s the same one on your wrist– and Sylus’s, and Rafayel’s…and when you take Xavier’s hand and pull up the sleeve of his dress shirt there’s one there too. 

Holy shit they were friendship bracelets. Very expensive bracelets, but some kind of club marking nonetheless. You’re giggling when you spy it, and can’t help but feel a sense of belonging. A little token that marks you as part of them. Their group. Their home. Their family. 

You pull up to the karaoke bar and spill out of the car, Xavier holding your hand as you step out, and stepping to block the sidewalk so no one can see up your skirt. Rafayel is right behind you, a hand on your back and adjusting the hem of your skirt down. 

You’re new phone dings and you check the text while Sylus and Zayne debate who will be designated driver. 

Hey lovely! So…bad nws. Flux stabilizer broke 😣 we’re working late to fix it and clear the area. Reschedule for next weekend? I’ll buy drinks! 💔

You frown, “Oh, bummer.”

“What is it?” Xavier asks while looking over your shoulder.

It’s frigid cold on the pavement outside the club, and you’re grateful for the wall of six foot men that block it from you. 

“They can’t make it.” You say. It’s been so long since you’ve gone out for fun that you’re left more than a little disappointed. 

Xavier looks sympathetic, but Rafayel lets out a loud sigh of relief, “Oh good, I didn’t want to hang out with them anyway. Come on, let’s get a drink before we get a room.”

You’re being pulled inside, your posse following along like little ducklings. The club is made up of a more typical nightclub and karaoke stage on the bottom floor, and then smaller private karaoke rooms on the upper one.

You shoot Tara a text, telling her not to worry and you’ll see her soon. And by the time it’s sent, Rafayel is putting a drink in your hand. 

“It’s some mint specialty they’ve got tonight.” Rafayel explains as he hands Xavier a different drink. A short glass with a spiral of orange rind at the top.

Zayne comes up behind you, and presses his hand to the small of your back, “Don’t let them pressure you to drink. Did you want something else?”

The attention is a little overwhelming coupled with the bumping music and the sounds of so many people within the bar. You’d fully intended on drinking this evening– letting loose and having a carefree good time. It’d been too long since you drank for fun, and not to forget. 

“No, this is good.” You reply and take a sip. It’s sweet and minty, heady with some kind of gin. It’s not too strong, but not weak either. “It’s delicious.”

One drink down and you’re in the karaoke room, Rafayel and Sylus poking away at the touchscreen to pick a song. 

“No, we are not starting with that!” Rafayel shoves his elbow in Sylus’ stomach, “I don’t have nearly enough alcohol in me for your cawing right now. Let me or Xavier go first.”

“What’s wrong with my choice?” Sylus scoffs, “I think she’ll like a pop song.”

“Yeah, but let her get a little drunker before you subject her to your singing.” Rafayel groans, “Here, a duet. It’s a good one! Who wants to be my Sandy?”

You’re hiding your face in your second drink because you’re surely going to pass out from laughter. Rafayel and Xavier are in front of the long bench, holding their microphones and singing an equally passionate duet of “Summer Lovin’”. Rafayel being Danny of course. 

Rafayel moves along with the music, dancing and acting along. Xavier, on the other hand, is completely still. He shifts from side to side, but other than that he’s still. His singing isn’t bad, but the contrast between their performances has you keeling over in laughter. 

“Don’t be mean, sweetie.” Sylus croons in your ear, laying his arm across the back of your seat. “You’re up next.”

“I’m not mean!” You counter, “It’s just nice. I’m having a good time.”

Zayne is browsing the music but then he turns, “I’m sorry your coworkers couldn’t make it.”

“No, it’s fine.” You turn your attention as Rafayel and Xavier fit the pinnacle final note, and your equal parts amused, and horrifically, insanely enamored. “This is much better.”

You take your turn next with Sylus. Singing a slightly tipsy rendition “The Boy is Mine.” Sylus isn’t terrible but he isn’t exactly good either. He’s that perfect type of off-key you hear at karaoke, all soul and no technique. 

When you finish, Rafayel’s ordered shots and you watch the others take them before you do your own. It’s a candy flavored monstrosity that makes your stomach turn when it hits it, and you grimace when the bite of the alcohol hits you.

“Another one!” Rafayel cheers, going to order some more.

“Are you trying to get me blackout?” You ask with a bubbly laugh, already ready for another round. 

“If it makes you smile like that more,” Rafayel is suddenly in your space again, nose nearly brushing yours, “Then, yes.” 

Xavier insists on going again. Singing just as stiff as he did before, but when he finishes he smiles so joyfully that your heart spins. Sparkles of effervescent delight filling all the empty spaces inside you. 

You lean against Zayne, who ordered a plate of food to prevent the rest of you from getting too drunk. You sink into him. Into this. This life, this peace. 

That wound inside you had stopped bleeding, and you’re not sure when that happened. That feeling that you shouldn’t be here– that you were two steps from being the third fatality in that accident– that it should be you. Not Grandma. Not– Not him.

But now, you don’t want to go anywhere else. Your mind isn’t stuck in some tarlike sludge that drags you further in the more you struggle. There isn’t anything to fill that void in your heart, but your cup isn’t nearly empty. Overflowing with that unnameable sensation of home that fills you when you’re with them. 

Your mind is drifting, swimming in starry waters thickened with alcohol. Sylus seems to notice and gently holds your hand, lifting it to press a soft kiss to your knuckles. 

A few more songs and you’re itching to get out of this room. 

“Let’s go dance.” You say, taking Zayne and Xavier’s hands from where they sit on the couch. 

“You’re very drunk right now, love.” Zayne says, but rises to his feet anyway. “Maybe we should head home.”

“Absolutely not!” Rafayel says as he comes up to hold your waist, “C’mon cutie, I’ll dance with you.”

The five of you are downstairs, mingling into the nest of dancing bodies. The thrum of the music vibrates your body and you’re dancing. Moving with Rafayel holding your hand, spinning you around and then drawing you back to him. 

His laughter is divine. Richer than any wine and falls against you in such a way that makes you laugh with him. Your mind is spinning– your limbs light and footsteps unsteady. 

Xavier is there, and he holds you by the hips. Moving with you simultaneously. Rings of saturn spinning around each other, only a roll of the hips away from each other. 

You spin and suddenly it’s Sylus. He’s got you in a waltz hold, letting you drift from side to side. You step on his foot but he only laughs at you, and you're falling against him in a drunken fit of giggles. 

It’s perfect. The perfect day. The perfect evening. 

You try to order more drinks but Zayne cuts you off. Offering you a tall glass of water with a spiral colored bendy straw. He places the straw in your mouth and gets you to drink. When he sits the nearly empty drink aside, you grab him. Dragging him back out to the dance floor. A siren dragging her prey to the depths.

He’s too big to move unwillingly, and so despite his uncomfortable facial expression, he’s coming with you because he wants to. Because you want him to. He’s not a dancer, and so you take it easy with him. You’ve likely already made a fool of yourself this evening, Zayne is nothing in comparison. 

It takes a second, but he’s moving. Dancing to the rhythm and following your movements. He’s so focused, a bit stiff, but all his attention is focused on you. On your lax smile and joyful laugh. 

Drunk on more than just spirits.

You’re not clue what time it is when you’re dragged out of the club. Stumbling on the doorframe and dissolving into hysterical laughter when you fall against Rafayel’s back. He laughs with you, nearly as drunk as you. Xavier is snickering at the two of you as he helps the two of you to your feet. 

The cold night air is a little sobering, and you’re able to take a deep breath and find your footing. Sylus is removing his blazer and putting it over your shoulders, but the weight of it nearly sends you toppling.

“We need a bigger bed.” Rafayel hums as he sidles up to you. “I don’t wanna sleep in mine tonight.”

“We can fit,” You cheese, grinning too widely, “Or…maybe the floor? Big pillows in a circle– put em’ on the floor.”

“Make a big ole’ pile.” Rafayel continues for you.

“Alright, I’m going to get the car.” Zayne says, pressing his hand to the back of Rafayel’s neck and you see the shimmer of his Evol when the painter yelps. A sobering wash of ice for poor Rafayel. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

“Yes, sir!” You say with a sharp salute, “Will do!”

“That wasn’t nice!” Rafayel shouts after the doctor, rubbing the back of his neck.

Sylus comes over and covers his neck with his hand, “Poor fishie, was Zayne mean to you?”

There’s the barest slur to Sylus’ words, the only sign he’s drunk at all. Unlike Rafayel whose face is red, and Xavier who’s barely able to keep his head up. 

Rafayel turns to Sylus, the two entering some kind of verbal foreplay, and a bit of motion catches in the corner of your eye. 

You turn to look down the sidewalk. The line of neon lights of various clubs and restaurants illuminating the nightlife. There’s not a ton of people, but it is busy. People in line for a different club down the block, others waiting for their rides, and some just lingering outside smoking. 

A man is standing a single block away. Still in comparison to the movement of the rest of the people. His black hoodie is pulled up over his head, and he’s got a grey cap underneath it– shadowing his face. 

There’s nothing remarkable about him. Nothing strange. He’s just standing there, alone. Facing you. 

But there’s something….something about his build. His shoulders. The barest flash of jawline you catch when a car passes by. Your stomach wrenches and you feel sick. Recognition a nauseating arrow to your gut. 

It can’t be. It isn’t. It’s just someone that looks like him. Someone that holds himself the same way. That same cocky tilt of his chin and stance to his feet. 

Caleb. Your mind cries. A wailing, mournful sound that sends ice water down your spine. 

“Hey, where’re you goin’, cutie?” Rafayel catches you by the wrist, halting you from walking more than you had. 

You hadn’t realized you’d been moving, walking towards that stranger and his familiar form. Feet moving without your knowledge towards the tiniest ember of memory. 

“I…” You slur, mind still swimming, “Nowhere. Sorry.”

You turn back to look and the stranger is gone. Nothing but the flash of neon and passing cars left. People pass by, talking indistinctly and you barely hear them. Barely hear anything. 

All that joy. All that giddy jubilation suddenly settled like ash in your mouth, and you’re choking on it. Choking on grief and alcohol and oh– that’s vomit. 

You're bent over towards the road, spilling out the contents of your stomach with Sylus holding back your hair. Was it because you were drunk? Or had the sudden reminder of Caleb made you sick with guilt and grief?

“Sh, it’s okay.” Xavier coos as you stand back up. He’s wiping your face with a napkin he got from inside. “Do you feel faint?”

“I told you– you gave her too much.” Sylus sounds angry now. His hands pulling back your hair and brushing against your neck. 

Are you crying? It feels cold against your cheeks. The world is too dark and too bright and you want to go to sleep. You want to go back to your bed and not be here. 

“Zayne’s here, sweetheart.” Sylus says in your ear, and you’re not sure whether you’ve spoken aloud or if he just knows what you’re thinking. “C’mon, you can sit up front with me.”

You’re being picked up and the world spins. The pulse of bass and the rumble of people diminishing as you’re tucked against Sylus’ chest and enter the car. 

“What’s wrong?” Zayne asks, a cool hand coming out to press against your forehead. 

“She got sick.” Rafayel explains as he climbs in the backseat, but leans forward to adjust the air con to blow cool air towards your face. “I think she saw somebody though. She got upset and then–”

“Let’s get back.” Xavier says, pulling Rafayel into the backseat with him. 

“I’m sorry.” You mumble against Sylus’ shirt, “I was having…fun…”

“We had fun too, sweetie.” Sylus replies as he pets your hair. “Just went a little too hard. We’ll get you cleaned up at home.”

Your face scrunches at the word. Tears threatening to spill, “Home.”

The space between here and there is fuzzy. You’re floating in between being asleep and awake when you get home, only half aware of someone picking you up from Sylus’ lap and carrying you inside. 

You’re a little more sober when you’re in your bathroom. Rafayel runs a bath while Zayne helps you undress. Your dress is peeled off of you and you’re given a toothbrush to clean your mouth. You run a cool rag over yourself, cleaning up the filth from the club before getting into the bath.

“I’ll go find some medicine for her,”  Zayne says softly, “Do you have her?”

Rafayel scoffs, “Psh, always.”

You sink into the warm bath and sigh, and a tap on your shoulder has you shifting forward to let Rafayel slide in behind you. 

Rafayel can be so rough sometimes. Feral like he’s mad at you for something you don’t remember, but at times like these he’s achingly gentle. Tender. He holds you like you’re something precious and takes his time. 

He washes you slowly, and sighs contently when you relax against him. 

“Is it warm enough?” He asks in your ear, and you nod. 

“Mhm…yeah.” You reply, letting your eyes fall closed.

“Uh-uh, princess.” Rafayel drawls, drawing the sudsy luffa up your arm and across your neck, “No sleeping in the tub.”

“But you’re here.” You sigh, “I won’t drown if you’re here.”

Rafayel is quiet for a moment, and you feel him press a kiss to your hair, “No, you won’t drown with me here. But you have a nice cozy bed to sleep in. Xavier’s gettin’ it all ready for you.”

You mumble something but even you’re not sure what. Some half-hearted retort most likely. 

Rafayel gets you clean and helps you out of the bath. There’s a knock at the door and Sylus enters with some clothes. He’s changed out of his other clothes and into something comfortable. 

Sylus is frozen for a moment at the edge of the bathroom while Rafayel moves to help you get dressed. You’re sober enough to do it yourself, but Rafayel insists and honestly, you don’t mind. 

“Want to take a picture?” Rafayel says towards the other man, glancing over his shoulder. “Or are you trying to memorize it?”

“I don’t get many opportunities with you both,” Sylus crosses his arms and his brow quirks in amusement, “Forgive me for enjoying the view.”

“You’d get more chances if I didn’t look like a dog toy after you two get together.” You snark. 

Sylus approaches, tapping his fingers up the length of Rafayel’s exposed spine, starting from the low waistband of his sweats. His other hand comes up to hold your chin, “Don’t tell me you don’t like it when we nibble on you. You’re always so enthusiastic.”

“Alright, down boy.” Rafayel moves Sylus’ hand away, “You’re going to get everyone excited and then what? I don’t think our poor girl can take all four of us.”

You shiver, and the two of them notice because they're turning back to look at you. Predatory glints in their eyes. Of the four of your boys, these two are the most animal. Sometimes you’re convinced they’re not human. Their nostrils flare, they remark on your taste– your scent– like it’s some deep olfactory drug. 

“Don’t tempt me, darling.” Sylus is almost growling, and you’re still drunk to think clearly because you want to. You want all of them. All of them at the same time. 

How would that even work? Your swimmy mind starts imagining contorting positions and odd configurations.

“Stop that.” Rafayel scolds, “I can smell you thinking lewd things, princess. Quit it, or we’ll never sleep.”

“Sorry.” You say, even though you aren’t.

When you exit the bathroom, there’s no one there, which is surprising to you. And what’s more surprising is that Sylus is leading you out of your bedroom and down the stairs. Down to the living room where Xavier and Zayne are debating pillow arrangement. 

“It should be a bigger circle.” Zayne argues as he moves some of the blankets on the floor into a wider arrangement. 

The coffee table is pushed to the wall and the couches pushed apart, leaving a larger space for a nest of blankets and pillows. 

“You know we’ll all be piled on top of one another anyway,” Xavier’s pushing the blankets back, folding them to be a thicker palette. “We should use the blankets as a cushion.”

“I call middle.” Rafayel is zooming into the very middle of the palette, sliding past the two bickering men and opening his arms to you, “C’mon cutie! I saved you a spot.”

His ridiculousness makes you laugh and you go to him, kneeling down onto the soft pile of blankets and laying next to him. 

“Hey! We need to discuss the arrangement.” Xavier hisses. He’s quickly kneeling down on the other side of you, “You can’t just call it.”

“Yes, I can.” Rafayel grabs a blanket and covers the two of you, letting you line up next to him, “That’s why calling it was invented. So you can call stuff.”

“Then I call this side.” Xavier hums, laying down and placing an arm around you. 

“You two are ridiculous.” You laugh, “What if I wanted that spot? Huh? Then what?”

“Oh please, don’t pretend like you're not the meat of this sandwich, cutie.” Rafayel teases, “We’re just the toppings. Let the big guys be your bread.”

“Oh so I’m bread, am I?” Sylus rumbles as he climbs in behind Xavier. “I never agreed to that.”

Xavier turns slightly and gives Sylus a knowing look, “So you don’t want your back to the wall?”

“Hush,” Sylus says with a click of his tongue, leaning down to nip at Xavier’s ear, “At least let me pretend for a moment. I could be lettuce or even cheese, couldn’t I?”

“I think I’d prefer to be bread.” Zayne lays behind Rafayel but gives him space, laying on his side with his head propped on his hand, “A nice sourdough, perhaps.”

You’re laughing again. The absurdity of it. Piling all together on the floor of the living room like a child’s sleepover, only this is four grown men and you. Clinging and cuddling to each other here because no bed is big enough. 

Making sandwich metaphors and settling in like pieces to a five piece puzzle. Your heart is racing but only because of your laughter, and your tummy feels light with butterflies. 

“You’re all so ridiculous.” You sigh, settling from your giggle fit. You turn to Xavier first, kissing him, and then to Rafayel. Then to Zayne, and then Sylus. A soft, affectionate kiss goodnight. “But I love it. I love you.”

The air electrifies, but then settles. Rafayel pulls you by your waist to be tighter against him, and Xavier is curling around your other side, pressing more kisses to your cheek and jaw– even the corner of your eye. 

Sylus and Zayne are the bread, sandwiching the rest of you and reaching their hands to lay on top of you. Sylus against your chest, and Zayne against your belly. 

You let your eyes close, mind too content to fight sleep any longer. 

A drunken hallucination. That’s all that had been. Seeing a man that looked like Caleb had been nothing more than the vestiges of your grief punishing you. His memory is so deeply ingrained into your bones that you remember him in shadows– in the reflections of strangers.

Nothing more than a false flicker of hope. A reminder to hold dear to those that you love, because they might be gone tomorrow. 

But as your mind slips into sleep, a darker voice whispers. Was it a reminder? Or a warning? A warning that you were cursed, and that everyone you loved would be taken from you? A cursed soul, leaving behind broken souls and broken bones in your wake. Sentenced to love and be loved but be stripped of it. A fate of suffering. 

A reminder? Or a warning?

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[amethystarachnid]

I loved your story late nights and little ears, if I could request a part 2... It could be a part where the reader makes plans for the promised (tomorrow) night, Part 2. The reader has sent the kids to sleepover at her parents' house. When Tony comes home late from work and finds out they are home alone, he really feels like a kid at Christmas 😅 and after that long hot night, they get the news of their new baby.

LATE NIGHTS AND LITTLE EARS - part 2

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance, rom-com

ᯓ★ Word count: 7.7k

ᯓ★ Summary: what the asks said (thankfully I was able to merge (?) them together)

ᯓ★ TW(s): mild sexual content , suggestive humor,

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

You don’t wake up to soft cuddles or sleepy “Mom?” whispers. You wake up with an elbow in your ribs and a foot shoved under your shirt.

By the time the sun is streaming through the windows, Nova is snoring directly on Tony’s chest, and Howard is using your stomach like a pillow while softly humming some Minecraft song in his sleep. Tony’s other arm is stretched out, uselessly reaching toward you, like even in dreams he’s still trying to get to you.

You catch his eye as he cracks one open.

He mouths: Help me.

You mouth: Later.

Because you have a plan.

You survive the morning—barely. There’s syrup in someone’s hair (you’re trying not to think about whose), Nova turns the living room into a spa for stuffed animals, and Howard tries to “upgrade” his toothbrush with small motorized parts. Tony kisses your cheek and says something about a meeting in the city, and vanishes into the sleek hum of his Audi.

You, meanwhile, are already working your magic.

It starts with a call.

Grandparents are thrilled. The twins? Less so—at first.

“I don’t wanna go,” Howard pouts, clinging to your leg like a small, determined barnacle.

You crouch down and cup his cheeks gently. “It’s just one night. You’ll go over, eat cookies, stay up late watching movies, and I promise—Daddy and I will come visit in the morning.”

“Promise promise?” Nova asks, narrowing her eyes like a tiny mob boss.

“Promise promise,” you say, sealing it with a pinky swear and a kiss on each forehead.

By 5:00 p.m., they’re gone—bags packed, buckled into the car with snacks and enough toys to colonize Mars. You wave goodbye from the porch, standing there until the taillights vanish.

And then the house goes still.

Silent.

Deliciously quiet.

You lean against the door, exhale slowly, and grin to yourself.

Now you get ready.

You don’t go over the top—just enough. Enough to make Tony Stark forget what day it is.

The lingerie is black lace, sleek and dangerous, paired with a silk robe that clings in all the right places. You light a few candles. Nothing cliché—just warm and low, casting shadows across the bedroom like soft hands.

Then you wait.

And wait.

The clock ticks past 8:00.

You start to wonder if he got stuck in traffic—or worse, dragged into a last-minute Stark Industries disaster.

You’re pacing the hallway when you hear the door unlock downstairs. The sound of polished shoes against hardwood. A jacket being thrown over a chair.

And then, his voice.

“Sweetheart?” A pause. “Why is the house so quiet? Should I be worried?”

You smile to yourself.

You descend the stairs slowly, one hand gliding along the banister, your robe barely tied, the hem whispering over your thighs. You stop halfway down, right where the light hits you just enough.

Tony looks up from the bottom of the stairs and goes completely still.

His jaw literally drops.

“The kids,” you say softly, “are spending the night at their grandparents.”

You swear you see his pupils dilate.

“No interruptions,” you add, taking one step lower.

He blinks like he’s just been told Santa is real and brought him a Ferrari.

“We have the whole house,” you finish, your voice velvet.

Tony’s dropped his briefcase somewhere between stunned silence and total disbelief. He stares at you like you just descended from heaven itself.

“You mean—” He gestures around wildly. “They’re not here? Like, actually not here? Like, I could scream right now and no one would run in asking where their sock went?”

You smile. “Exactly.”

Tony exhales through a slow, stunned laugh. “This is the best day of my life. I’m not even exaggerating. I’d like to thank the Academy, the board of grandparents—” He takes a breath, eyes locked on you like you’re a wish he made months ago and forgot ever came true. “—and most of all, my incredibly hot, terrifyingly perfect wife.”

You raise a brow. “Are you going to keep talking, or are you going to come up here and show me what you’ve been waiting two weeks for?”

Tony doesn’t answer.

He just moves.

In seconds, he’s bounding up the stairs two at a time, hands already reaching for you. The second he reaches the landing, he pulls you in like gravity was invented just for this. His mouth captures yours in a kiss that's slow at first—reverent—but quickly deepens, fingers gripping your waist through silk, pulling you against him like he can’t get close enough.

“You look…” he breathes between kisses, trailing his lips along your jaw, “like trouble.”

You smile against his mouth. “Good. I was aiming for ‘dangerous.’”

He slips his hands under your robe, voice low and rough. “Oh, baby. You nailed it.”

He kisses you again, one hand sliding up your back, the other already toying with the delicate strap of your lingerie.

The bedroom becomes a shared orbit—clothes falling, kisses deepening, every touch slow and burning. It’s not rushed. There’s no frantic need to finish before someone knocks. You savor each second, every shift of his weight, every whisper against your neck.

He kisses a line down your spine, murmuring your name like a prayer. You arch into him, your hands in his hair, both of you rediscovering every curve, every sound, every memory of what it feels like to love each other without holding back.

There’s laughter. There are whispered teases. There are moments where you pause just to look at each other—flushed, breathless, smiling like you’ve just remembered exactly why this marriage is your favorite thing in the entire universe.

And afterward, tangled in sheets, legs intertwined, Tony’s fingers lazily stroking along your hipbone, he murmurs into your ear, “I missed this. You.”

You smile against his shoulder, soft and sleepy. “We needed this.”

He presses a kiss to your hair. “Let’s send the kids to your parents once a week.”

You snort. “You think they’d survive?”

“Not the grandparents. The kids.”

You both laugh.

And then, wrapped in warmth and silence, you finally drift off together.

Just the two of you.

No interruptions.

No elbows to the ribs.

No glitter in the sheets.

Just you and Tony.

Exactly where you belong.

---

You think you're both too tired for anything else.

After hours of rediscovering each other in a house blessedly devoid of chaos, after kisses that left your lips tingling and touches that lit up every nerve ending, you're lying there in the dim candlelight, breath still uneven, Tony's arm heavy across your waist.

But then he moves.

Just the smallest shift—his thumb brushing the inside of your thigh, his breath warm on your neck, his lips trailing one slow kiss beneath your ear.

You tilt your head back without thinking, and that's all the invitation he needs.

"Round two?" you whisper, your voice already gone husky.

Tony hums, lips pressed to your shoulder. “You’re kidding, right? This is a celebration. We’re child-free. I’m making the most of it before someone walks in and asks me to fix their action figure’s leg.”

So round two happens. Then, eventually, round three—somehow in the shower, laughter muffled by hot water and lips pressed to wet skin.

By the time you both collapse into bed again, it’s sometime past 3 a.m., and your body feels like melted butter wrapped in silk.

You don’t remember falling asleep.

You just remember his hand in yours.

The next morning, you're still tangled up in each other when your phone buzzes from the nightstand.

You blink blearily at it, groaning into the pillow. Tony rolls over and drapes himself across your back like a very heavy, very smug blanket.

“You have to move,” you mumble.

“Incorrect. I live here now.”

“Tony.”

He kisses your shoulder again. “You’re warm. I’m comfortable. The bed still smells like sex and vanilla. This is utopia.”

You somehow escape his grip, though he clings dramatically and groans like you're abandoning him in a war zone. You throw on leggings and one of his hoodies, hair still messy from the shower, and grab your phone.

A text from your mom: Kids are doing great! Hope you two slept in. Come over for breakfast if you're up to it—bring donuts?

You grin and turn around. “You up for a family breakfast?”

Tony groans into the pillow. “Do I have to wear pants?”

“Only if you want the kids to continue respecting you.”

He lifts his head. “So… no pants, then.”

You throw a pillow at him.

----

You stop at Tony’s favorite donut place on the way—he insists on picking out the box himself, stacking it with enough sugar to fuel a small city. He wears a beanie and sunglasses, but it does absolutely nothing to hide the fact that he’s Tony Stark. You get stopped twice before you even pay, and he handles both with charm, kisses your temple in between autographs, and carries the donut box like it’s a fragile artifact.

“Ready to face the chaos again?” you ask as you pull into your parents’ driveway.

Tony grins, reaching over to squeeze your thigh. “Let’s bring the Stark Circus back to town.”

You barely make it up the porch steps before the front door bursts open and two small humans tackle you.

“MOMMY!”

“DADDY!”

Howard wraps around your waist like a vine, Nova practically flies at Tony, who manages to catch her with one arm and the donuts with the other.

“Hi, tiny tornadoes,” he says, kissing the top of her head.

“You smell weird,” Nova mumbles.

Tony looks at you, smirking. “Vanilla and victory.”

“Tony.”

Your parents come out behind them, smiling warmly. Your mom hugs you tightly, eyes crinkling. “You both look well-rested.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Tony mutters.

You elbow him lightly. “Thank you for taking them.”

Your dad shrugs. “They helped me reorganize the garage. Which means everything is now upside down, but they were very proud of themselves.”

The morning unfolds with sweet, sleepy laughter and sugar-fueled chaos. You all crowd around the kitchen table, your mom pouring coffee, Tony helping Nova eat her frosted donut without getting the entire thing on her shirt (he fails). Howard tries to explain how he and Grandpa used a wrench to "fix the garden hose into a water cannon."

Tony grins proudly. “That’s my boy.”

Your parents ask gentle questions, the kids chatter nonstop, and you sit there, warm coffee in hand, Tony’s arm draped around your shoulders, feeling like this is exactly the kind of morning you used to dream about before you had it all.

Not perfect. Not quiet.

But real. Yours.

And you wouldn’t change a second.

----

You don’t even make it all the way inside the house before the chaos begins again.

Howard explodes through the front door with a dramatic wail. “I call MOMMY FIRST!”

Nova stomps in behind him, arms crossed, chin raised. “No fair! I didn’t get to sit next to her in the car! You did! It’s MY turn!”

You raise an eyebrow, still holding the donut box from earlier as a peace offering. “You know I don’t belong to anyone, right?”

Tony saunters in last, shutting the door with a sly smile. “That’s not what you said last night.”

You spin around. “Anthony.”

He holds up his hands, grinning. “I’m just saying—someone was calling me her favorite about eight hours ago.”

“I was asleep eight hours ago.”

“You were screaming my name eight hours ago.”

“TONY.”

Howard gasps. “MOM?!”

Nova’s eyes widen dramatically. “What were you doing to Daddy?!”

Tony slaps a hand over his mouth, fake-gasping. “Betrayed! Betrayed by the woman I let wear my hoodie!”

You roll your eyes, walking toward the kitchen. “Okay. No one’s anyone’s favorite. You’re all equally dramatic and exhausting.”

“See?” Tony calls after you. “She loves me the same amount as the kids. I win!”

Howard appears in front of you seconds later, arms wide. “But I was born first! You said I was born first by two whole minutes, which means I was your baby first!”

Nova storms into the kitchen behind him. “I let you do my hair yesterday! That means I win! That’s, like, love law!”

Tony strolls in, smug as ever, sipping the last of your coffee from your mug. “And who bought you that silk robe you like so much, hmm? I rest my case.”

You hold up a hand. “Stop. Stop, all of you.”

They all freeze, watching you with wide, hopeful eyes. It’s absolutely ridiculous. Your fully grown husband and your two small children, standing shoulder to shoulder like they’re waiting for the final rose in a reality show.

You sigh, placing the donut box on the counter, and cross your arms.

“Let’s make something very clear,” you say slowly. “I love all of you—”

“Yes!” Howard throws a fist in the air.

“But—�� you continue, raising your voice slightly over Nova’s victory twirl, “—I also need five uninterrupted minutes to put this box of donuts away and go to the bathroom in peace. Whoever lets me do that wins.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then all three bolt for the hallway, shouting, “I’LL CLEAN THE LIVING ROOM,” “I’LL DO THE DISHES,” and—yes, from Tony—“I’LL MAKE THE BED! AND FLUFF HER PILLOWS! AND MAYBE MASSAGE HER FEET LATER—LOVE ME MORE!”

You press your fingers to your temples.

But you’re laughing.

Because this is your life.

Ridiculous, exhausting, loud—and completely perfect.

You finally manage to sneak away to the bathroom, closing the door with a sigh of relief. As you wash your hands, you catch your reflection in the mirror. Your hair’s a little messy, you’ve got a faint smudge of jelly near your shoulder, and your cheeks are pink from too much laughing.

You smile to yourself.

Down the hall, you hear Tony shout, “I said fold the blankets, not roll yourself into them like a burrito, Howard!”

You shake your head.

Back to normal.

And honestly? You wouldn’t trade it for anything.

---

Evening settles into the house like a sigh—soft, warm, and finally calm after a day that felt like a game show you didn’t sign up for.

Baths are done. Pajamas are on. Teeth brushed (with minor toothpaste explosions). You’ve read the same book twice, sung one song quietly, and now the twins are tucked in, sleepy and smelling like clean cotton and bubblegum.

Tony sits on the edge of Howard and Nova’s shared bed, one hand smoothing back his daughter’s curls while the other holds Howard’s tiny fingers. Both kids blink up at him with that specific, tired sparkle of almost-sleep.

Tony smiles. “Alright, troublemakers. Sleep tight.”

Nova yawns. “’Night, Daddy.”

Howard mumbles something incoherent into his pillow, already halfway to dreaming.

And then, soft as a promise, Tony leans in and says, “I love you 3000.”

Nova says it back. Howard too, barely audible but there.

You stand in the doorway, arms crossed over your chest, heart full and aching at the same time. The way Tony glows in dad mode… it doesn’t get old. Somehow, even after all these years, it still tugs at you—this perfect mix of genius, goofball, and pure devotion.

Tony joins you at the door, flipping off the light with one last glance back.

You both pad down the hallway, not talking, not needing to.

It’s that comfortable quiet—earned, deserved.

You change into pajamas, brush your teeth side by side. He’s already under the covers when you climb into bed, his arm lifting automatically so you can curl against him.

Tonight isn’t about heat or tension or sneaking touches under the sheets.

Tonight is warm skin and steady heartbeats.

His arm tightens around your waist. You bury your face into the space between his shoulder and chest. It smells like cedar and shampoo and him.

Tony presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I like this,” he says quietly.

“Cuddling?”

He hums. “No laundry on the floor. No screaming. No one demanding snack refills or asking how babies are made.” A beat. “But also yes, cuddling.”

You laugh softly against his chest.

The last thing you hear before you drift off is his voice, muffled but certain: “I love you 3000, too.”

The next morning, you're back in the hustle.

Nova’s lost her shoe. Howard wants to wear pajama pants to school. Tony claims the toaster is “conspiring against him,” and your coffee is still sitting on the kitchen counter when you’re halfway down the driveway.

But somehow, miraculously, you make it to the school drop-off line on time. Tony insists on walking them in with you, sunglasses on, looking like a rockstar who just woke up (because he is and he did).

After dropping the kids off, the two of you are halfway back to the car when Nova’s teacher, Ms. Lane, waves you both down.

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Stark!”

Tony straightens like he’s about to be asked to build a new wing for the school.

You smile politely. “Good morning!”

Ms. Lane approaches with a clipboard and a warm, over-caffeinated teacher energy. “Just a heads-up—we’ll be holding our annual parent-teacher meetings next month. It’s a great chance to chat about how the kids are doing, share some highlights, and you know…” she glances at Tony, then quickly back to you, “…any challenges, too.”

Tony grins. “Challenges? Are we talking about the time Nova tried to sell her brother’s sneakers during recess?”

“She’s resourceful,” Ms. Lane says, diplomatically.

Tony looks proud. “That’s my girl.”

You elbow him gently. “We’ll be there. Thanks for letting us know.”

As you turn back to the car, Tony leans in close and mutters, “Parent-teacher meetings. Sounds… ominous.”

“Relax,” you say with a smirk. “I’m sure it’ll just be a perfectly normal day of hearing how your children are running the school like a miniature Stark Industries.”

He nods. “We should bring a slide deck. Maybe a portfolio.”

You laugh as you slide into the passenger seat. “Or maybe just bring snacks so we can bribe the teachers.”

Tony starts the car, glancing over at you with a grin. “That’s why I married you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Because I think like a criminal?”

“Because you think like a mom and a criminal. Hot combo.”

He pulls out of the lot as you shake your head, but you're smiling.

----

Friday night, and for once, the house is quiet.

The twins are asleep—finally—after Nova insisted she couldn’t sleep without her pink stuffed unicorn and Howard asked no fewer than four existential questions before conking out mid-sentence.

You’re curled up on the couch in one of Tony’s old MIT hoodies, legs tucked under you, blanket across your lap. The lights are low, the TV murmuring something you’re not really watching. You’re sipping chamomile tea, but it doesn’t help the tightness in your chest or the weird ache behind your eyes. You’ve felt… off, for a few days now. Not quite sick, not exactly tired—just not yourself.

Tony comes up behind you, drops a kiss to the crown of your head, and sinks onto the couch beside you. His hand slips across your thigh, warm and familiar, thumb brushing lazy circles.

You lean against him automatically, and he presses a kiss to your neck, soft and lingering. “Hey,” he murmurs. “You’re awfully quiet tonight.”

You hum, trying to smile. “Just tired, I think.”

Tony’s hand shifts slightly, fingertips trailing under the hem of your hoodie. “I could help with that. You know… wear you out a little.”

His voice is low, teasing. It usually makes your stomach flip. Tonight, though, it only twists your insides a little more.

You rest your hand over his and stop him gently.

“Tony,” you whisper. “I… don’t think I can tonight.”

He pulls back immediately, searching your face. Not annoyed. Just—concerned.

“Hey, hey, that’s okay,” he says softly. “Are you alright?”

You nod, but it’s a little shaky. “Yeah. I just don’t feel good. Haven’t all week, honestly.”

He brushes your hair back. “You want me to get you something? Ginger ale? Hot water bottle? A foot rub? A Netflix documentary on aggressive cults?”

That earns him a small laugh. You shake your head and curl into his side. “Just stay here.”

So he does. He holds you. Rubs your back. Kisses your temple. And doesn’t ask again.

You fall asleep like that—tangled up in his warmth, wrapped in something unspoken but safe.

The next morning, Tony is up and gone before the sun.

A soft note on the kitchen counter—Lab emergency. Promise I’ll be back before bedtime. Love you forever, T.

You smile faintly, but your heart’s already pounding, nervous and fluttery.

Because today’s the day.

The test has been hidden in the drawer beneath the extra hand towels for a week. You’ve been waiting for the right moment. Waiting to feel sure.

You slip into the bathroom, shut the door softly behind you, and take a deep breath.

Five minutes later, you're sitting on the edge of the tub, hands shaking.

Two pink lines.

Two.

You’re pregnant.

Your breath catches, not quite joy yet—more like shock wrapped in awe, wrapped in the kind of quiet panic that only comes from knowing everything is about to change.

You don’t tell Tony. Not yet.

You don’t even text him.

Because before you share this with him—or anyone—you want to spend time with your babies. Just them. Just for a moment longer, while it’s still the three of you.

You pad into the kids’ room in the early morning hush. They’re tangled up in blankets, Nova snoring softly, Howard drooling on his pillow.

You kneel beside Nova’s bed and nudge her gently. “Hey, baby. Wanna come hang out with Mommy? Just us?”

She mumbles something, blinks slowly, and then—when it registers—her eyes widen.

“Can we have pancakes?”

You smile. “We can have anything you want.”

She grins and throws off her blankets.

You spend the morning in the kitchen together, making a glorious mess. Nova cracks the eggs too hard. Flour gets in her hair. You let her put chocolate chips in everything. She giggles when you sneak a mini pancake heart onto her plate.

Later, you sit out on the porch wrapped in a blanket, Nova on your lap, watching the trees sway. She tells you a story about a girl who tames dragons using glitter and juice boxes. You kiss the top of her head and don’t say anything, just hold her tighter.

That night, when Tony gets home, you greet him like usual. You don’t say a word about the test. You just watch your daughter run into his arms and wonder how you ever got this lucky.

The next morning, you do the same thing—but this time, it’s Howard.

You find him already half-awake, blinking up at you with sleep-puffed eyes. “Is it breakfast already?”

“Only if you want it to be,” you whisper. “Wanna hang out with just me for a little bit?”

He sits up like he’s been called to action. “Yes.”

You make waffles this time—he demands peanut butter and bananas on his. You sit at the table together, eating slowly, his foot resting on your shin under the table like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You end up on the living room floor building Lego towers and spaceship launchpads. At one point he looks up at you, cheeks pink, eyes bright.

“I like when it’s just us.”

Your heart tightens. “Me too, sweetheart.”

Later, you’re lying on the couch with him curled up against your chest, his breath warm and steady.

You rest a hand over your stomach, heartbeat racing.

Because soon, everything changes.

But right now?

Right now it’s just you and your boy.

And everything is still perfectly whole.

---

You wait until the house is calm. Until the kids are in bed, and the only sound is the hum of the dishwasher and the lazy ticking of the wall clock.

Tony is sitting on the couch in his sweatpants and a t-shirt that says Stark Expo 2008, scrolling through something on his tablet. You’re curled beside him, your legs draped over his lap, pretending to read while your heart tap dances behind your ribs.

It’s been two days since you found out.

Two days of smiling at your kids with your hand resting on your belly. Two days of hugging Tony a little tighter. Two days of carrying this secret and feeling it grow heavier—and more beautiful—by the second.

You close your book.

He glances over at you. “Everything okay?”

You nod, but your throat is thick. “I need to tell you something.”

His face stills, tablet lowering. “Okay. Do I need to sit down?” he adds, joking.

“You’re already sitting.”

“I meant emotionally.”

You smile. It helps. “Tony.”

He sets the tablet down and gives you his full attention. His expression is soft now, serious, that quiet Tony Stark intensity that only shows up when it really matters.

You slide your legs off his lap and turn to face him, tucking one foot under yourself.

“I’ve been feeling off all week,” you begin, “and I wasn’t sure why. I thought it might just be stress or lack of sleep or—you know, parenting two energy goblins—”

He snorts. “Goblins. Accurate.”

“—but I took a test. Just to be sure.”

His brow creases, but he stays silent, listening.

You reach into the pocket of your hoodie. You’ve been carrying the test with you like some kind of talisman, folded up in a tissue, hidden away.

You hold it out.

Tony looks at it. Then at you. Then back at it.

You don’t say anything else.

Because you don’t have to.

He blinks once.

Then again.

“Wait,” he breathes.

You nod, eyes misting.

“You’re…”

“I’m pregnant.”

For a long second, all you hear is his breath catching.

Then, quietly, like it’s too precious to say out loud: “You’re serious?”

“Yes.”

His hand covers his mouth. He blinks again, like his brain’s still catching up.

And then he laughs.

Not loud—more like this stunned, breathless sound that bubbles up from his chest and tumbles into a smile so wide it makes your eyes burn.

“Holy sh—” He stops himself, eyes flicking toward the ceiling, where the twins are asleep. “Holy wow.”

You laugh through your tears. “That’s not a word.”

He reaches for you, cupping your face like you’re glass and gold all at once. “Are you okay? Are you… are we okay?”

You nod, pressing your forehead to his. “Yeah. I think we are.”

And then he kisses you.

Soft. Deep. Like he’s memorizing the taste of this moment.

When he pulls back, his hand slides to your stomach, resting there with something between reverence and wonder.

He whispers, “We made another one?”

You nod, smiling, your cheeks wet.

He looks up at you, eyes glossy but shining. “You’re magic, you know that?”

You breathe out a laugh. “I was kind of terrified you’d freak out.”

“I am freaking out,” he admits, voice shaky with disbelief. “In the best possible way. Like—panic and joy had a baby, and now we’re having a baby.”

You both laugh at that. Quietly. Holding each other.

It’s not loud, or explosive, or dramatic.

It’s just the kind of happiness that sits between two people like a heartbeat. Gentle. Steady. Real.

You don’t talk much for the rest of the night. You just lie curled against each other, his hand never leaving your belly, your fingers tangled in his.

And in that stillness, you both know:

This is the beginning of something new.

Again.

And it’s already perfect.

---

It turns out, keeping a pregnancy secret from two seven-year-olds is harder than hiding a missile in a shoebox—especially when your husband is suddenly acting like you’re made of crystal.

You try to play it cool.

But Tony?

Tony is on full overdrive.

He won’t let you carry the laundry basket. He hovers in the kitchen if you so much as glance at a knife. He’s installed two new air purifiers. He won’t let you climb a step stool to get the winter mugs from the top shelf.

And he says nothing to the kids. Just acts weirdly intense around you 24/7.

It starts to throw the twins off.

“Why is Daddy being so weird?” Howard whispers one night, peeking around the corner to spy on Tony as he fluffs the couch cushions like he’s prepping for a royal visit.

Nova narrows her eyes. “He’s acting like Mommy’s about to explode.”

“Maybe she is,” Howard says, clearly impressed.

You overhear the entire exchange from the kitchen, hiding your smile behind a mug of peppermint tea.

The week passes in a blur of mild chaos and increasingly suspicious children. And then: the parent-teacher meeting.

You arrive at the school together—hand in hand, dressed like the effortlessly hot couple you are. You in your favorite wrap dress and boots, Tony in a sleek charcoal blazer and that perfectly messed-up hair that takes him exactly 45 seconds to achieve.

You’d almost call it a date… if not for the fluorescent lights and smell of crayons.

The teachers greet you with warm smiles—some warmer than others.

“Mr. Stark,” says Ms. Hamilton, the older but still flirty science teacher. She’s got lipstick that’s just a little too red and eyes that linger a little too long. “It’s so nice to finally meet you in person.”

Tony offers his hand, smile polite. “Nice to meet you too, Ms. Hamilton. Thanks for not blowing anything up in the name of chemistry this year.”

She laughs like he’s handed her diamonds. “Oh, you’re funny, too.”

You glance sideways at him. His smile freezes for half a second, eyes flicking to you like a silent help me, but you just raise an eyebrow.

Ms. Lynn, the twins’ English teacher, steps in next. “Mr. Stark, I have to say, you’re not what I expected. I was thinking… more ‘boardroom billionaire,’ less…” she waves a hand vaguely, “…broad-shouldered genius superhero dad.”

Tony clears his throat and shifts his weight. “Ah, well. I multitask.”

You fold your arms slowly. “Do you?”

He flashes you a desperate little smile.

The meeting proceeds with Nova and Howard’s glowing academic reports, peppered with the occasional “strong personality” comments that make Tony grin proudly and you mentally start budgeting for future therapy.

But you can’t stop watching the way the teachers keep sneaking glances at your husband. You’re used to it—he’s Tony Stark—but tonight, it’s getting on your nerves. Because he hasn’t shut it down. Not directly.

And you’re pregnant. And hormonal.

And maybe just the tiniest bit possessive.

You lean closer, whispering, “Your teacher fan club is getting bold.”

Tony lets out a slow breath and turns to you.

And that’s when he does it.

He places his hand gently over your belly.

Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just… deliberately.

You stiffen a little, caught off guard.

He speaks casually, voice warm. “Honestly, I’m just impressed you’re still here tonight. You’re kind of doing double duty.”

You blink at him. He’s still looking at the teachers, but now with this soft, proud smile that’s 100% Tony in protective-husband-and-dad mode.

You see their faces shift—confused, then surprised, then sheepish.

Your heartbeat thuds.

Ms. Hamilton tilts her head. “Double duty?”

Tony squeezes your waist. “She’s pregnant.”

You exhale sharply. He said it. Just like that.

“I… what? Oh—oh!” Ms. Lynn says, eyes widening. “Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” you say, finding your voice, suddenly filled with so many feelings you’re not sure whether to laugh or cry.

Tony’s hand stays firmly on your stomach, like it belongs there. And maybe it always has.

The teachers politely scramble to adjust their tone and offer more genuine congratulations. The flirting vanishes like steam in a storm.

You lean in, voice low. “So much for keeping it a secret.”

Tony leans down, brushing his nose along your temple. “What? Was I not supposed to mark my territory?”

You elbow him, laughing under your breath. “You’re such a menace.”

“I’m a menace in love,” he says sweetly. “With you.”

You roll your eyes, but your hand finds his over your stomach.

Yeah. It’s out now.

And you’re not even mad.

---

You wait until you’ve passed the first trimester before telling the twins. Not because you're trying to keep secrets—okay, maybe a little—but because you want to be sure. You want to see the tiny life on the screen, hear the heartbeat, feel the ground under your feet settle before you drop this beautiful bomb on your kids.

And when you do?

Howard screams. Actually screams.

Nova shrieks, jumps up and down, and immediately asks if she can name the baby “Princess Warrior Pancake Sparkle.”

You gently say you’ll think about it.

They’re thrilled. You take them out for ice cream that night, and Howard keeps hugging you randomly like he’s afraid you’ll float away. Nova talks to your stomach in the car like she’s already having full-on big sister conversations.

Tony watches them both with the dumbest, softest grin on his face. He looks over at you and mouths, we did that.

You just nod. Hand on your belly. Full in every sense of the word.

A few months later, you’re lying on the ultrasound table again, hand in Tony’s, the tech grinning at the screen.

“Well,” she says, turning the monitor toward you. “I hope you’re ready to be outnumbered.”

Your breath catches.

Tony stares. “Is that—?”

“Yep,” the tech says. “Two girls. Identical twins.”

You squeeze Tony’s hand. Hard. He squeezes back, then immediately starts muttering something about learning braids and building a second nursery and stocking the fridge with juice boxes.

You can’t stop laughing. Neither can he.

When you tell the twins later that day, Nova literally falls off the couch from excitement. “TWO BABY SISTERS? I’M GONNA DIE!”

You laugh so hard you almost do.

She’s already planning matching outfits, bunk bed configurations, and which princess books they’ll read. She kisses your belly five times before bed and tries to draw the babies a picture in crayon. It’s… mostly pink scribbles with the word “QUEENS” under it.

Howard smiles. He hugs you. He even high-fives Tony.

But he’s quieter than usual.

You don’t say anything—yet. You just watch him. Notice how he clings to your side at bedtime, how he watches Nova giggle to herself while coloring a “welcome banner.”

You tuck them both in that night, extra tight.

And a couple hours later, after Nova’s fallen into deep, even breaths, you and Tony exchange a glance and slip into the room again.

Tony kneels beside Howard’s bed and rubs his shoulder gently. “Hey, bud.”

Howard stirs. His lashes flutter open.

“You okay?” you whisper. “Can you come hang out with us for a bit?”

He nods sleepily, rubbing his eyes, and lets Tony lift him up without a word. You bring him into your room, settle him in between you like you did when he was smaller.

At first, he’s quiet. He stares at the ceiling.

And then he whispers, “I’m happy.”

Tony hums. “I know, buddy. We know you are.”

“But…”

Your heart clenches. “But?”

Howard swallows. “What if the babies like Nova more?”

You blink, not sure you heard that right. “What?”

“They’re both girls,” he says, eyes still locked on the ceiling. “So maybe… maybe they’ll like her more. And she’ll want to do stuff with them and not me. Like tea parties and princess games. Or sleep in the same bed when they’re bigger.”

His voice wobbles near the end. Barely audible.

Tony exhales softly, brushing Howard’s curls back from his forehead. “Hey. Hey, listen to me. That’s not going to happen.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” Tony says, quiet but certain. “Because they’re gonna love you like crazy. You’re their big brother, Howard. Their protector. Their superhero.”

You pull Howard against you and kiss the top of his head. “They’ll look up to you. They’ll run to you when they’re scared. They’ll laugh at your jokes, and you’ll teach them all the best stuff—like building Legos and making slime and how to be brave.”

“But what if they want to do girly stuff?”

“Then we’ll learn girly stuff together,” Tony says without missing a beat. “I’m already halfway to being a certified hair stylist. You think I’m letting you skip out on that?”

Howard smiles a little. “You’re not good at braids.”

“Yet.”

You snort. Howard leans his head on your shoulder.

“They’re gonna love you,” you say softly. “All of you. Nova, too. But that doesn’t mean they’ll love her more. There’s enough love for all of us.”

Howard’s eyes drift closed again, lashes still wet.

“Okay,” he whispers.

You and Tony lie there a while longer, one of his hands over your belly, the other cradling your son.

Your son who’s already carrying the weight of love he hasn’t even met yet.

Your heart aches with it—in the best way.

Because family?

It keeps growing in ways you can’t predict.

And every little piece finds its place.

----

It starts one morning when you try to step over a sea of Legos in the hallway and nearly go into labor right there.

You lean against the wall, clutching your very pregnant stomach, breath shallow.

Tony rushes over like you’ve been shot. “What happened? Is it time? Did you sneeze too hard again?”

You point down. “Legos.”

He stares. Then at your belly. Then back at the hallway.

And that’s when it hits both of you: you’re going to be out of space in about five minutes.

The twins’ current shared room is already a war zone of action figures and glitter. Layla and Charlotte will need theirown spaces someday. And let’s be real: Howard is starting to request “privacy” and Nova asked yesterday if she could “just once sleep without Howard breathing like a dragon."

It’s time.

Tony doesn’t waste a second. He opens a new tab mid-breakfast and starts muttering specs to himself. “Five bedrooms. Walk-ins. Full baths. One level. Manhattan. Rooftop. End of discussion.”

“You’re seriously apartment shopping while brushing your teeth?”

He shrugs. “Multitasking.”

And within two weeks, you find it.

A penthouse in Manhattan—top floor, wraparound rooftop terrace, massive open floor plan kitchen into a sprawling living room with wall-to-wall windows overlooking the skyline. It’s all one level (thank God), with five bedrooms, each with its own en-suite bathroom and walk-in closet. There’s even a sixth bathroom for guests and a private elevator entrance. It’s sleek but homey, modern but warm. And the nursery space catches the sunlight just right.

You don’t even have to say yes. You look at Tony, and he’s already nodding.

“I want you happy and barefoot in this kitchen,” he says, grinning, rubbing your belly. “And I want the kids having Nerf wars on that terrace without knocking over my holographic displays.”

“You mean your lab toys.”

He kisses your cheek. “Tomato, to-mah-to.”

When you break the news to Howard and Nova, they’re not thrilled at first.

Howard frowns dramatically. “But this is our house. What about my window? I like my window.”

Nova crosses her arms. “I don’t want to move! My unicorns live here!”

“Your unicorns are plushies.”

“They’ll be sad!”

You sit down carefully, rubbing your lower back. “Guys, we’re not kicking the unicorns out. They’re coming too. And guess what?”

Nova lifts her head, suspicious. “What?”

“You’ll each get your own room.”

There’s a full five seconds of silence.

Then Nova gasps.

“Wait, like, my own closet? And no Howard touching my stuff?!”

“Yes.”

Howard’s eyes go wide. “And… I can decorate mine with all my Iron Man posters?”

Tony smirks. “You better.”

They shriek in unison and start talking over each other—curtains, walls, themes, whether or not a lava lamp counts as a fire hazard.

By bedtime, they’re planning a moving-in party and asking if they can have their names carved into the front door.

Tony handles everything.

Movers. Interior designers. Custom closets. Advanced air filtration systems. You’re seven months pregnant with twins and barely able to tie your own shoes—he refuses to let you lift a finger.

“I love you,” he says one morning while fitting compression socks onto your legs, “but you’re officially on ‘do not lift anything heavier than a throw pillow’ status.”

You want to argue, but it feels too good to sit while someone else handles it.

He checks the security, upgrades the entire floor to JARVIS-access only, triple-pads every sharp edge he can find, and installs black-out blinds with remote controls that make Howard declare it’s “just like a space station.”

The day you officially move in, Tony doesn’t leave your side for more than three minutes. Even while coordinating movers and directing people to the right rooms, he keeps circling back to you like a satellite.

“You good?” he whispers constantly.

“I’m sitting on a velvet armchair in a room bigger than my childhood house. I’m great.”

He grins and kisses your forehead, hand sliding over your round belly. “They’re gonna love it here.”

So will you.

Because even amid the chaos, the packing tape, the box forts and noise, there’s something steady now. Something settled.

It’s not just a new home.

It’s the place where your already beautiful life is about to grow in the best, loudest, and most chaotic way possible.

And with Tony by your side, hand on your back, whispering a thousand ideas about nursery lights and organic paint, you realize:

You wouldn’t trade this chaos for anything.

---

Moving in takes a couple of weeks. Getting used to the new place takes a little longer.

The penthouse is stunning. It has everything you could ever want and more — sunlight pouring in through floor-to-ceiling windows, quiet corners that make it feel cozy despite the size, and enough space for everyone to just… breathe. But there’s something disorienting about suddenly living in a place with more bathrooms than people. You keep forgetting where you left things. The first week, you accidentally open the linen closet three times looking for the pantry. And Howard asks daily why one of the guest toilets has its own chandelier.

But slowly, it starts to feel like home.

The kitchen smells like your favorite tea. Nova’s unicorns are now arranged like a royal court on her bed. Howard has taken over one of the walk-in closets to build his “secret lab” (which currently just has a flashlight and a lot of duct tape). The nursery is nearly finished — soft warm tones, little cloud mobiles, and two cribs waiting like open arms.

And Tony?

Tony is absolutely, irredeemably, disgustingly smitten.

You swear he falls more in love with you every day — which would be great, except now he looks at you like you hung the stars, all the time.

“Have I told you how good you look pregnant?” he says one morning, leaning over the island while you’re trying to find a cereal box that doesn’t make you nauseous. His eyes are half-lidded, voice low.

You blink at him, bloaty, swollen, wearing a robe and slippers that don’t match.

“Tony, I haven’t washed my hair in three days.”

“I know,” he says dreamily. “It’s hot.”

You snort. “You’ve got issues.”

“Yup. And all of them revolve around how much I want to kiss your belly right now.”

Which he does. A lot.

He kisses your belly in the kitchen. On the couch. In the hallway. Before bed. First thing in the morning. Talks to it like the twins can hear every word.

And the twins? Yeah. They notice.

Howard first.

He watches Tony one evening as your husband crouches in front of you, murmuring to your bump like it’s a radio that might respond. Then Howard quietly disappears. Five minutes later, he returns wearing a suit jacket (one of Tony’s, dragging on the ground) and kneels next to you dramatically.

“Hi babies,” he says in a low voice. “This is your cool big brother speaking. I’m also a genius. Like Iron Man. But younger.”

You choke on a laugh.

Tony stares. “Okay. Wait. Did you just Tony Stark me?”

Howard shrugs seriously. “You talk to the belly. I can too.”

Nova doesn’t take long to follow.

The next day, she brings you water and fluffs your pillows with alarming force.

“Are you comfy, Mommy? You have to be comfy for Layla and Charlotte. I read online that your uterus is their house.”

Tony’s coughing in the background, trying not to laugh.

Nova scowls at him. “And you need to let her nap. Her feet are probably swollen.”

Then she plants a wet kiss on your belly, mutters, “Sleep tight, babies,” and walks out like she’s closing a business deal.

Tony crosses his arms, deeply offended. “She stole my move.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Looks like you’re being copied.”

“I should feel proud, but I feel threatened.”

The following few days turn into a competitive whirlwind.

Howard builds you a footstool. Nova makes you a belly-rubbing schedule. They both start calling the twins “my babies” and take turns putting their ears to your bump and narrating what they think the girls are saying.

“Layla says she wants me to name my new robot after her,” Howard insists.

“Charlotte says she’s excited to play tea party with me and not you,” Nova snaps.

“Layla says she hates tea.”

Tony looks at you like he might burst from joy. “This is better than cable.”

At night, when the kids are asleep and you’re curled up beside him, your legs aching and your belly full and tight, Tony wraps himself around you like a warm, protective shell.

“They’re already fighting over them,” you murmur, half-laughing.

He brushes your hair back, fingers gentle. “They’re in love with them already. Just like we are.”

You smile sleepily. “They’re going to be the best siblings.”

He kisses your forehead. “Because they learned from the best.”

Then his hand moves to your belly again, as it always does now, resting there like a promise. He whispers something only the girls can hear.

And you lie there, safe, full, and loved — with the two kids tangled in blankets down the hall and two more growing steadily inside you.

The house is new. The furniture is new.

But the love? That’s always been there.

And it’s only growing.

[deanbrainrotwritings]

—  GIMME HALF

REQUEST : “hi!! I was wondering if you could maybe write an age gap (legal obv) with female!reader × dean winchester where the reader is like in her 20s and dean's in his 40s :) just some rough smut with choking and hair pulling and spitting (if you're comfortable with it) and dean being like super "hungry" for her, like he's waited a long time for it to happen. also lots of dirty talks cause i absolutely love them hahah :) anyways im in love with your writing and all your stories! thanks a lot! <3” — anonymous

PAIRING : dean winchester x professor!reader (f.)

CHARACTERS : miracle, sam winchester

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), angst, enemies to lovers, age gap, voyeurism, smut, oral sex, p in v, praise kink, choking, hair pulling, dacryphilia, rough sex, spitting

WORD COUNT : 8.4k

A/N : devil wears prada song title. @spnkinkevents : #12daysofspnkinkmas2023 — chair sex and food play. I wrote this half-asleep while listening to ASMR, like… that’s how I write most of my stories, plus, they’re always written between 00.00-02.40. Doctor Who references, ‘cause I’m a nerd. I got carried away…. Cliffhanger bc I’m cruel.

There were countless pros and cons to having houses built so close together with windows facing the same direction. 

Pros: Accidentally seeing your hot neighbour walk around naked in the living room and kitchen. Accidentally catching your hot neighbour jerk off when they think that everyone’s asleep.

Yup, she’s seen all of that and more. All from that nameless, freckled, green-eyed man next door. 

Even wholesome things, like him playing with his cute dog, babying the little rascal and spoiling it. Him cooking and baking, being wholeheartedly content with feeding it to the tall, Hazel-eyed puppy dog of a man, the tall man’s gorgeous deaf wife, and his tiny adorable son; the blue-eyed, dreamy dude in a trench coat; and that endearing young boy with blue eyes who looked like a combination of all three of the men. 

There were times where she’d seen the green-eyed man dressed as a cowboy and even a princess to entertain the little baby boy—his nephew. For sleepovers with him, he’d read him bedtime stories while being completely animated. He’d build a bunch of forts, with sheets, the couch, pillows, and some Christmas lights. He'd talk to the little boy and hold serious conversations despite neither of them being able to understand each other. He’d teach the young boy and the baby boy how to fix cars—at least he tried to. He’d pack his best friends' lunches every morning with his hair unkempt, half asleep, while sipping on some coffee. He’d even take naps with the baby, treating him as his own son. 

He’d do ridiculously endearing things, too, such as baking bread at night when he couldn’t sleep. He'd read books only when he was alone, as if he’d be made fun of by his friends, and she finally understood why. They were either romantic, erotic, or completely nerdy and abstract. He had range. He’d watch cheesy soap operas and rom-com k-dramas when he did chores. He loved to collect things such as Pokémon cards and even legos. 

There were a million things he did that she thought were cute. The windows into his house were like the screens of a television, like her favourite character, she got to see him when he’s relaxed and surrounded only by those who love him 

As for the cons, we’ll get to that…

When they first moved in, it was about three and a half years ago. She’d been visiting her family in Kansas City for her oldest brother’s birthday in June. 

When she returned to Lebanon, they had already settled down. There was a brown and beige Ford pickup truck, a black Subaru—both parked in the front, and a sleek black Impala in the driveway.

The youngest, Jack, waved at her one day when he returned with Cas after buying groceries. Then, Cas awkwardly introduced himself and Jack, and gave her the names of the other two men who were brothers, Sam is the tall one and Dean was the freckled one. 

Sam was the most social one. He’d spark up conversation with her whenever he saw her, dropping bits and pieces of information about himself, his brother, his fiancée, Cas, Jack, and Dean’s loyal dog, Miracle. 

After seven months of living together, Sam moved out with his wife, Eileen. They’d just gotten married, and they both invited her. She’d gone, the wedding was pretty, cute, and modest. Y/n had spoken to a few of their close family and friends. Dean, however, kept to himself the whole night as if he were grieving. He’d smile occasionally if any of his friends came to him, he was enthusiastic, and then he'd go back into himself.

Four months later, Sam and EIleen returned; she was pregnant. It was a boy, he’d planned on naming him after his big brother, which Y/n thought was adorable. He hadn’t told his brother, but planned on telling him the day his son was born.

Y/n could tell Dean had mixed feelings about his brother’s departure, mostly negative feelings. He loved Eileen and his nephew. But when it was just him, Cas, and Jack, he'd often drink, despite concerned, useless interventions with Cas. Unless Sam, Eileen, and his nephew were there. He’d never even glance at that top-shelf cupboard.

The good thing was that at least Dean was a happy drunk.

The first time she interacted with Dean was a few weeks after she’d returned from Kansas City, she assumed two things: his heart was closed off to new people, and he’s one hot, irritating, grumpy, sour, old man.

It was the spring semester at Kansas University. Y/n was grading her students’ creative, personal essays in the office downstairs. She was perplexed by the small percentage of her students and their inability to use proper grammar or follow the thorough, detailed checklist she created to get them to pass easily. 

Just when she thought she’d gotten great at making their lives easy, they return the shittiest, half-assed essays. She felt bad for the bad grades, but since the rest of her students managed to get perfect scores or at least proficient scores, she couldn’t just let them pass. 

Loud banging on the door startled her from reading an impressive essay. Her blood ran cold and she scrambled up from her rolling chair, ignoring that she pushed it halfway across the room. 

Her socked feet were quiet on the wooden floor, making her way quickly down the hallway until she got to the shelf where she kept her gun. She pressed it against the door and looked through the peephole, then relaxed when she saw Dean.

She was irritated by the loud knocking, though, regardless of how cute he looked when he was clearly pissed off. She opened the door and set the gun down on the table where she usually placed her keys.

“Lady, have you seen the mess you made outside?” Dean asked her, pointing behind him. She stared at him, stunned by how much prettier he looked up close. Her cheeks turned hot, but she looked past him trying to see whatever he was pointing at. 

She looked at her red Mustang parked in the front as a reminder to restock the kitchen, then looked close to where his house was. She winced at the mud and the running water from her hose going into his nice lawn.

“Shit,” she murmured, toeing her socks off before moving past Dean to turn the hose off. She got distracted by the mud and the puddles as she pulled the hose, and coiled it back where it should have been. It’s been a while since she last let her bare feet feel this beneath, the smell of wet dirt was amazing, even when it wasn’t caused by rainfall.

“Do you always do shit like this?” He asked from behind, his tone harsh. 

She frowned when she turned to look at his furious face, careful to not touch her forehead with her muddy hands when she used her wrist to move hair away from her face.  

“I’m sorry,” she apologised, tilting her head at him. He just rolled his eyes at her, then he stared at his lawn, and ran his hand down his face. “Did I do somethin’ else to piss you off?” She asked, looking around to see if there’s anything else she may have forgotten.

“One, your cat’s too damn loud, crying and meowing for my damn dog when you let him out,” he started, which made her blink in confusion. She didn’t expect something like that to get on his nerves. “And B, why the hell do you have cameras facing my place?” 

She narrowed her eyes at him, her ego being injured fueled her anger and defensiveness. “Okay, listen, Doctor Who, I said I was sorry, okay?” She could tell her words stunned him by the furrowing of his brows in bewilderment, disarming him and shutting him up. “It’s not my fault your dog likes my cat, too. And the cameras are off, they’re there to scare people, so fuck off,” she snapped before she stop herself. 

Dean scoffed at her, “fuck you.” She rolled her eyes at him this time, staring daggers into his back when he turned around to get to his home.

“If you’d fuck me, maybe you wouldnt be such an asshole.” Her snide words made him freeze. He laughed dryly and he turned to face her once more, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Pretty sure I’d still hate you, sweetheart,” he chuckled, crossing his own arms. That stung, even if she didn’t know him personally and half the time she spent romanticising him based on the little bit of information she had. “And I’d rather go fuck some other chick.” She clenched her jaw and breathed in slowly, angry heat began rising up her neck the faster her heart started to beat.

Entirely unintended, she venomously spat, “according to your brother, you haven’t been lucky enough, and you’re not going to be.”

“You talking to my brother about my sex life?” He stepped closer to her, his nostril flaring in anger. Betrayal and hurt crossed his features and she realised her mistake.

“No, just overheard him ‘cause you’re an overbearing douchebag,” she lied smoothly. Truth was, Sam and Eileen did accidentally—drunkenly—tell her how hard it was for Dean to maintain a serious relationship for more than three months. They don’t remember sharing that information. It was easy for her to casually ask about Dean’s love life and availability, masking her attraction to Dean as mere surprise as to how the younger brother got married before the older one. “Makes sense now why no one will sleep with you,” she laughed mockingly, stepping closer to him defiantly.

His face was red now, too. Angry, offended, he rolled his eyes at her smug face and body language. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“Sure, yeah, if that makes you feel better,” she snorted, patting his very nice, broad shoulder with her muddy hand as she made her back into her house. Preoccupied by the small mud-print on his beige Henley, he couldn’t get the last word in or stop her from leaving him flustered in her swampy driveway.

That was the start of a horrible relationship with her neighbour. The neighbour she had a crush on. 

He found all kinds of reasons to complain. Big and small. And she secretly did things to piss him off, occasionally sabotaging his plans. 

The thing was that deep down, she still liked him, but he made her so angry and frustrated. And it felt good to see him angry and frustrated by things she caused either on purpose or accidentally. Any attention was better than no attention.

Eventually, that all changed. The fun, the it’s-better-than-nothing feeling, it didn’t last. Fourteen months later, she stopped the cruel games and decided to avoid him completely. 

When her friends offered to take her out, she agreed, even if she wanted to stay home. If Dean was home, she made sure to never say no to them, and sometimes she’d offer to take them out. Wherever.

She’d started to grade at the cafe, library, or the diner, even if Dean went to all those places often. At least he wouldn’t say anything there around all those people. 

When she grew closer to Sam, Cas, and Jack, she’d find excuses not to go over to Dean’s when they offered either food, game nights, movie nights, or random hangouts. They started to notice too—the tension, the avoidance, the hostility—and they’d go over to her place instead, often without Dean, who’d choose to go out to avoid staying home alone.

It was awful. The rejection started to hurt, yet, he had her heart in the palm of his hand. Deep down, she knew that Dean wasn’t a bad person; he just didn’t like her.

Eventually, Dean ended his animosity, too, and everything went back to ‘normal’. She slowly started to reject offers from her friends to test the water, stayed home to grade, and didn't permit her cat to leave even if it cried for an escape. If she took him out, it was with a leash she eventually got him to get used to.

They ignored each other when they crossed paths—in the driveway, at the grocery store, at diners, at the cafe. They acted like complete strangers. She’d keep her curtains closed, at least she did for the windows that face his house. She made her presence as unnoticeable and as invisible as she could to prevent causing more damage to each other.

Then, about two months ago, on Halloween, Sam, Eileen, Cas, and Jack went to her house to collect candy. Sam made a point of staying back while the rest of them walked to where Dean was waiting—looking anywhere but at her house—to convince her to go to his and Eileen’s place for Thanksgiving. 

He was honest, cute, wide hazel eyes attempting to convince her to try and make amends with Dean. She didn’t doubt it, when he told her that Dean felt guilty, but her pride was bruised, and her heart was broken. She told Sam she would be visiting her own family for that holiday. She omitted that she’d be going to her mother’s house a few miles away, still in Lebanon. And she easily convinced her mother to let her stay the rest of the week until she had to go back to work.

Now, Christmas was near—in four days, to be exact. It wasn’t the holiday spirit that made her change her mind, it was the hurt and the exhaustion of planning her life around avoiding Dean. 

So, she called Sam, she asked if he could do anything to get Dean alone tomorrow. 

For the rest of the day, she would start to prepare everything—even though it was Dean who created the mess—she was willing to make the first move and hopefully meet him halfway. 

She couldn’t lie that she felt embarrassed by how excited she was to see Dean. She couldn't even differentiate the meaning of the butterflies in her stomach, but she powered through her fluttering heart and her shaking hands as she prepared everything before going to see him.

She considered not doing it at all, calling it quits—but the consequences of that quickly made her miserable. That would just mean more avoidance, more hiding, more changing everything about herself to make him happy.

All of this over one little misunderstanding. One bad day where her mouth ran without consulting her brain first ruined what could have otherwise been a good friendship—perhaps even a romantic relationship.

She was twenty-six and just like Dean, she hadn’t had a serious relationship since… Well, ever. The last time someone convinced her to date them was in highschool, and even before that, it took her a month—or less—to figure out she wanted nothing to do with them. She didn’t like the people she dated. She realised quickly that she didn’t even want a future with them, she didn’t even allow them to kiss her or touch her. So she figured that if she didn’t want to marry them, what was the point of wasting her time?

For so long, the first thing she thought of when she felt attracted to someone was: can I stand the thought of their touch? Can I see myself kissing them, letting them kiss me? Can I stand the thought of the fights and staying with them through thick and thin? Can I picture myself with them in the future, permanently?

The answer was always ‘no’ and the attraction died immediately after the realisation. 

With Dean, the answer was different. Not for some stupid reason, like fate, or the boy-next-door trope. No. This was reality, and the real reason was the fact that she got to see who he was before she was attracted to him. 

It was the selflessness, the love in everything that he did, the gentleness of his heart, the kindness that radiated from him, and the ease in the way he did chores, the way he made his friends laugh, his playfulness, the loyalty, the way he was clearly protective. 

It was the open windows of her house into his open windows that let her see through him, down to his very beautiful core. It was the lack of hidden things, the openness of his soul because he felt safe, unwatched. It was real because Cas, Jack, and Sam were proof that even though Dean wasn’t perfect, he was worth it.

The Doctor did say once: the good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant. 

For the first time, she was willing to take a chance.

She smoothed down the silky emerald-green dress. It was pretty, flowing down her body perfectly, stopping at the middle of her calves…. Actually, now that she looked at herself in the mirror, her curls perfectly maintained, the light touch of makeup, the heels… was it too much?

She ignored those anxious thoughts and made sure she had everything she needed and everything that she prepared before stepping out into the cold.

The spaghetti straps didn’t stop the cold, but the heat of her nervousness at least did something as she walked up to his door and waited after knocking gently. 

When he opened the door, he was stunned to see her.

“What?” He asked bluntly. 

She could tell that the way she was dressed caught him off guard. His eyes moved from her face, up to her hair, back down to the boxes in her hands, and lower to her feet. 

“I’ve got pie,” she said the first thing her mind thought of. Yes, it was blunt, yes, it disarmed him further… It was not smooth, but Dean looked behind him, and then he looked at her once more while biting his lip before opening the door wider, and stepping out of the way for her to enter. 

She exhaled shakily as he scratched the back of his neck. Out of habit, she slipped out of her heels before stepping inside his home, planting her bare feet on the soft, long rug he had. He kindly, wordlessly, took her heels from outside and placed them on the shoe rack he had inside before shutting the door behind her.

She felt so… warm. Finally, she was inside the place she longed to be in. Right where Dean was. Along the walls there were dozens of pictures, but she didn’t go too far, she waited for him.

She felt his presence behind her and it made her shiver, but she couldn’t bring herself to look back at him. Instead, she stared at photos of him with Cas, Sam, Jack, and other people she hadn’t met. Women and Men. Dean was smiling in all of them. And in a large majority of them, they were looking at him while he looked at the camera. 

What a funny thing. 

“Here,” he said from behind her, his deep voice sounded soft, gentle, unlike the last time they spoke to each other. It made her shudder. “Let me help.” She slowly braced herself when she turned around, staring into his beautiful green eyes, illuminated magically by Christmas lights. 

“Thanks,” she whispered, carefully loosening her grip on the objects in her hand for him to take what he wanted—which was everything. 

She stepped to the side when he murmured, “no problem,” and started to walk off to the kitchen. She followed him slowly, took a look around, respectfully, curiously, just when she heard the clicking of nails and the thump of paws on wooden floors, and the bark of his dog headed in their direction. 

“Miracle,” Dean grunted, setting everything down on the table, “not inside.” While the fluffy dog did stop its excited running, his enthusiasm was not lost as he wagged his tail, and playfully got down on his stomach in front of her feet. Still on his belly, Miracle approached Y/n slowly, paws and tongue at her toes, as if testing the waters. 

“Hey,” she greeted softly as she squatted slowly and laughed quietly, gently scratching Miracle’s head as he nudged her hand with his wet nose, staring up at her with adorably wide eyes—much like Sam did. “You’re so cute,” she cooed, her heart warming up when Miracle barked quietly.

He then jumped up and turned towards Dean, who was watching them—perplexed, happy, conflicted. 

“You were asleep,” Dean scolded, but sweetly took Miracle’s head in his hands and kissed him between his ears. Miracle whined and stepped away, sitting in front of Dean as if saying ‘I’ll be good if you let me stay’. “Whatever,” Dean groaned with a smile, which made Miracle happy, because he laid his cheek on his paw and stared up at Dean, resting.

Now, it was awkward. 

Dean caught her staring at him, her expression inquisitive. She cleared her throat awkwardly, but she couldn’t form words. She only now noticed that he was wearing a faded black shirt and hotdog pyjama pants. 

“So…” Dean began instead, “pie.” It wasn’t any better, but it’s as she always said: it was better than nothing. 

“Yes,” she confirmed, “strawberry… you weren’t getting ready for bed…?” She inquired, tipping her chin in the direction of his attire. 

“Not to sleep,” he reassured her, taking a few steps toward the cupboards to pull out two plates, glass cups, and then some utensils from the lower drawer. “Why are you doing this?” Dean asked quietly from where he was across the kitchen, everything still in his hands.

“I deserve better that’s why,” she snapped. He blinked at her, guilty, but she paused and took a deeper breath. Careful to not smear her eyeliner, she rubbed her temples instead. She reached behind her to wrap her ankle around the leg of a chair to pull it out and sit down. “Sorry, I don’t like… being angry,” she breathed out, looking out his kitchen window into her dark living room. She switched the Christmas lights off. “It's very stressful because I…” She turned to look at him and forgot her words as he came closer. 

He looked cuter in person and prettier, still. Three years and nothing has changed, he still had her heart right in his hand. 

“Why?” He pressed, placing everything down on the table in front of her. Looking up at him felt intimidating, so she averted her gaze. He was much older than she was… it made her… feel dumb. See-through. Like he could figure her out in seconds. 

“Because I’m friends with your friends,” she admitted without looking at him, then she reached out to arrange the plates, cups, and utensils. He sat down thoughtfully, and watched her unstack the small boxes she brought over. 

“You’re doing this for them,” he laid out flatly, but he took a seat next to her and stared at her. His eyes on her made her self-conscious, flustered. She bet he could see everything, all the ugly and the weird in her.

“I’m doing this for me,” she corrected him gently, “I just want to be happy,” she sighed, removing the plastic wrap she placed over the pie she baked. “Is that selfish?” She wondered out loud, taking the knife, she stared at it. 

“No,” Dean sighed, wrapping his hand around hers to take the knife. She inhaled sharply at the warmth of his touch, his calloused palms brushing against the back of her hand, sending warmth over her chest, pressing into her wrist with her heart excitedly pounding against her ribs.

She released the knife into his hold, trying to hide how much he affected her, but she doubted she could fully do that with the Christmas lights exposing the blush she could feel on her face. She could feel her veins pumping blood faster, caught up with the heavy beating of her heart. If he looked down at her neck, he could probably see it in her veins.

She looked away, down at Miracle who was still peacefully laying on his belly, and Dean looked away towards the beautiful pie to start slicing into it.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, taking her plate to give her the first slice. She looked up at Dean, taking the plate with a generous slice of strawberry pie. 

“I wanted to be the first to say it…” She complained playfully, trying to maintain eye contact with him, but his beauty was intimidating, forcing her to look away, “soon as my ego stopped being sensitive,” she added. 

Dean laughed softly, placing his own slice on his plate. The sound of his laugh made her smile, her stomach flipped with elation, at the crinkles by his eyes. Her breathy exhale made him look at her.

“Well, I’m forty-four, my ego’s been bruised enough times,” he told her, “I don’t care much for it when…” he trailed off and chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. She bit her lip, too, trying not to stare too long at his pretty mouth. 

“Well, thanks,” she murmured, her jaw twitching as she looked away from him. 

“I’d consider all this an apology,” he told her, gazing at her as she opened two rectangular boxes. She smiled, shaking her head. She pulled out a bottle of homemade eggnog along with a decorated jar filled with white frosting, and a small container with crushed peppermint candy. “This isn’t… poisoned, right?” He teased, still watching her while she opened the bottle of rum eggnog, she tilted her head at him, amused. “Just making sure… you did make all this…” he trailed off, impressed.

“Taste the pie,” she encouraged as she started making the drinks.

“You’re just trying to shut me up,” he chuckled gruffly, but he picked up his fork and started to dig in. The strawberry filling barely touched his tongue when he moaned, she watched him not even begin to chew. His brows furrowed and he closed his eyes, savouring the pie. 

It made her blush, but she focused on covering the rim of the cups he brought with the whiskey frosting she made and the peppermint candy shavings before filling it with eggnog.

“You made the frosting, too?” He asked, tipping his head towards the jar. His mouth was full, some strawberry filling dripped down the corner of his mouth, but he picked it up with his tongue. She licked her lips, trying to stop herself from breathing airily, and passed him the eggnog with a nod and slid the jar of frosting towards him to serve herself some eggnog. 

Dean dipped his finger into the frosting, collecting a large amount before wrapping his lips around his finger to suck the frosting off. She forced herself to look away from how hot he looked and ate her own slice of pie instead.

“I’ve seriously been missing out,” he murmured regretfully. “I was real childish,” he told her, “I never should’ve gotten pissed over… everything-”

“Dean,” she interrupted him, giving him a sheepish smile, “you already apologised and I forgive you. Besides, I did things, too.. on purpose… so, I’m sorry.” She pursed her lips and took a sip from her eggnog, swiping her tongue along the sweet frosting.

“You did things on purpose?” He repeated, a smirk on his face. She breathed out a laugh and nodded bashfully. “Why?” he wondered, leaning into her curiously, subtly moving his plate of food towards her. She considered being blunt, but she chose to test him instead.

“Probably the same reason you got pissed at everything I did and didn’t do,” she laughed, pulling a piece of strawberry out of the pie to put it in her mouth.

“I doubt that,” Dean muttered, picking up his own drink, and taking a large gulp. She eyed him closely, her eyes becoming hooded when he licked across his lips after drinking to collect the thin layer of sweetened alcohol on his mouth. 

“What was your reason then?” She wondered flirtatiously, her voice low and seductive. She pushed her plate away with her arm., and mimicked his body language, scooting forward in the chair. 

She watched as his eyes darkened and his jaw clenched, his hand tightening around his fork before he dropped it. She’d never quite been stared at that way before, but it suddenly—almost, made her laugh. Her legs felt weak, her stomach heavy, almost fooling her into thinking she couldn’t get up, but she did.

With a rapid heart and shaky knees, she pushed her chair back, and Miracle lifted his head in alarm. Dean leaned back in his chair, sliding his palms up his thighs, and watched hungrily as she lifted her dress up her legs, squeezing in front of him and part of the table to sit on his lap. 

“Seems like we’ve both been missing out on a lot of stuff,” she whispered, her stomach fluttering for a variety of reasons, but mostly from excitement. He bit his lip, eyes twinkling as he placed his hands slowly on her thighs. She sank her teeth down on her lip, too, breathing heavily when his hands began sliding up her thighs, lifting her dress higher, and higher.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, continuing to move her dress up until his hands were wrapped around her hips where he could realise she wasn’t wearing any underwear. “I thought I should tell you, before I ruin you,” he rasped, tightening his hold on her hips.

“Fuck,” she moaned, moving forward in his lap until their hips were pressed together. She brought her hands into his hair, and pulled it gently, bringing her mouth close to his, but she never kissed him. She breathed against his lips and when he leaned forward to kiss her, she pulled back teasingly.

“You’re seriously gonna make me wait?” He whispered, slowly rolling his hips up into her, his hard cock pressing into her wet core. She gasped softly against his mouth and laughed breathlessly.

“You feel good,” she praised, flushing as she ground against him harder.

“I’d feel better inside you,” he smirked, sliding one of his hands farther up her dress, his warm palm flattening up her stomach reverently, stopping beneath her breasts..

“I bet,” she moaned, arching into his touch before finally pressing her tinted lips against his. Dean moaned softly against her mouth, pressing against her hungrily, then lifted her up, carefully moving his plate and cup aside to lay her down on the table. 

“Miracle, bed,” Dean ordered when he pulled away from her lips. The dog obediently stood up and excitedly made his way to where Dean’s room was. Dean kissed her once more, drawing her attention away from Miracle and back to him.

She’d never been kissed the way Dean kissed her or touched the way Dean touched her. His hands were everywhere, testing, learning, skillful. He scratched her skin sending sparks down to her already soaked core, kneading her body roughly until she moaned against his mouth. He squeezed her and made her wet. He dug his blunt nails into her and made her nerves ignite. His hands smoothed across her, sailing over her body like she were an ocean and he was a sailor. 

He was desperate, devouring her mouth with his tongue and his teeth, putting his all into the kiss, licking her lips, teasing the inside of her mouth, brushing against her warm tongue. He yearned to memorise the taste of her mouth, to feel close to her, pressing and moaning against her the way he’d done when he ate the pie and frosting. He nibbled on her lips, tugging, biting, claiming, taking the air from her lungs and pulling away at the perfect time. 

He rolled his hips into her frantically and finally started to move away from her now-swollen lips, the colour of her raspberry tint robbed and replaced by the redness of his kiss. 

He dragged his teeth teasingly along her jaw and licked his way down her neck, pressing his stubbled face into her neck, kissing and sucking softly, searching. She rolled her head to the side, giving him all the access he needed, until finally, she moaned loudly when he sucked into her sweetspot. He smiled against her throat, feeling her take handfuls of his shirt, her hips wiggling impatiently beneath him.

He kissed lower still, then back up to the other side of her neck, and bit her collarbones, kissing every inch of her skin, her shoulders and her sternum. She loved every second of it and slipped her hands beneath his shirt, touching and scratching his skin, pulling him closer as he bucked into her bare core.

“Did you know your shirt was see-through when we first met?” He whispered into her cleavage. She laughed and replied with a breathless ‘no’. “Well.. your tits on display, legs bare in those tiny shorts, all pissed as hell… it was hot,” he chuckled, lowering the thin straps of her dress until the top started to reveal her breasts. 

“Is that why you jerked off that night?” She asked, gripping his hair and tugging hard. He grunted and laughed, staring into her lustful eyes.

“You saw?” He teased, bringing his hand to her breast, squeezing roughly. “The answer’s yes.. And everytime after that, it was also ‘cause of you,” Dean confessed, “couldn’t stop thinking about you, every day and every night. I thought I hated you, but I guess I just needed to fuck you.” 

She chuckled, gripping the hem of his shirt, dragging it up his body as he latched onto her nipple. She hummed softly, tugging hard at his hair, in complete bliss as he wrapped his mouth around the bud, licking, sucking, and biting until she whimpered for him to give her more—which was impossible. He moved onto her other breast, savouring her warm skin with his hotter mouth, tugging her neglected nipple with his fingers, twisting and pinching. 

“Please,” she moaned, yanking his hair so he’d pull away. Dean growled against her flesh and bit down hard on her breast, before pulling away, drawing a mewl from her of his name. 

“You could be nicer,” he muttered, allowing her to lift his shirt up off his body, but he continued to kiss her breasts, sucking gently around the flesh to leave red marks. He lifted her feet up on the table and pressed her thighs close to her chest, opening her up to admire her soaked sex.

“We’re long past nice, pretty boy,” she teased blushing and biting her lip when he stood up straight. She didn’t look at him, too insecure to watch him as he brought his hand to the inside of her thighs, teasing her vulva.

“You think I’m pretty?” He grinned, circling her entrance, moaning at copious amounts of arousal on his fingers. “So wet… you that needy for my cock inside you?” He asked smugly. 

She looked at him now, heat flooding up her face at his obscene words. Before she could say anything about it, the tattoo on his chest drew her attention away from the adorable pride on his face.

“You’re a hunter,” she stated, stunned, blinking at him with a smile. He looked down at himself then at her, speechless. She lifted her hips and hitched her dress up higher to reveal her ribcage where she had the same tattoo, twice as small.

“You’re a professor,” he remarked with arousal on his face, pushing his finger into her. He lowered himself down her body and wrapped his arm around her legs, holding her open as he breathed warmly against her wet cunt.

Before she could close her legs to him demurely, Dean dove in, his mouth hot on her pussy. He ate her out the same way he kissed her, teeth making her whimper, his tongue parting and tasting, picking up the flavour of her wetness as she moaned. 

He salivated on her, humming in satisfaction while he sucked her clit into his mouth while he fingered her. Her hands found his hair once more, pulling hard and almost painfully, but his cock jumped each time inside the thin material of his pyjamas. Dean added a second finger as he moaned against her swollen clit, knuckles deep, pressing against the front of her textured walls, drawing silent moans from her, making her squirm more and more. 

“Fuck,” she panted, “you’re so good,” she praised, flexing her hand above his head before gripping at the honey strands. He slurped lewdly, devouring her pussy, squeezing her hips desperately holding her close to his face while she pushed him harder against her cunt. “Dean… I’m close,” she moaned, closing her legs around his head. 

He moaned again, adding another finger, shoving deep as he circled her swollen clit with his tongue, drawing figures on her clit possessively. She gasped loudly and cried out his name, tensing up when she orgasmed, her walls clamping down on his three fingers. The rapture of her orgasm seemed endless as he continued to tongue at her clit, it made her writhe uncontrollably, and he smirked against her pussy.

Her whiny laugh and the way she squeezed his head to stop him made him chuckle, and he tapped her thigh once he pulled his fingers from within her pulsing walls. She released him, melting into the table while he licked his fingers clean of her release.

“You taste good,” he told her earnestly, “so fucking good.” She bit her lip, giving him a look of disbelief. He narrowed his eyes at her, leaning down to lick a long stripe up her pussy, then down, pushing his tongue past her clenching, wet hole. 

“Dean, fucking…” she moaned, “oh, God, why does that feel good?” She snickered, then he pulled away hovering above her. She opened her eyes to his smug face, his clean fingers squeezed her cheeks roughly until she opened her mouth. She furrowed her brows, whining out with her hands around his wrist so he’d release, but she shut up when he spit in her mouth.

“Taste yourself,” he ordered, licking his lips. Her pupils dilated as she looked into his eyes, the tangy taste of herself made her mouth water and she swallowed. “D’you know how hot you are?” He asked rhetorically, kissing her roughly once more, ravenous and stopped only when he felt her hands pushing his pants down his legs.

“I want you, Dean,” she whispered against his mouth, biting his lip before returning the passion of his kiss.

“Where?” He asked teasingly, wrapping his arm around her waist, he sat her up on the table and gently held her face in his hands, before releasing her to strip completely. 

“I want you inside me,” she told him coquettishly, hopping off the table to slowly let her dress pool around her feet. “I want to ride you, to feel you stretch me open…” she walked towards him, watching him completely aroused, a look of pleasant surprise on his face, “I want you to fill me up, and make me cum on your cock…” she licked her lips, staring down at his cock, erect and leaking precum. “... I’ve never seen a dick this nice,” she told him, wrapping her hand around the base and stepping closer to him.

He grunted, “suck it then.” She laughed through her nose, releasing his cock to fondle his balls. He moaned, stumbling slightly.  “I’ve been wanting to shut you up with my cock in your mouth,” he told her, a smirk on his face, “now, I’m just thinking how pretty you’ll look with your lips wrapped around me.” Dean reached up and curled his fingers around the back of her neck. 

She looked behind him, removed her hand, and tipped her head to the chair, “sit.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned, kicking the chair towards him like she had earlier, then he sat, legs wide and tempting. “You’re sexier than you were in my imagination,” he told her, watching her get down between his legs, kissing his thighs while looking up at him through her curled lashes. 

“Keep talkin’,” she grinned up at him, taking his heavy cock in her hand once more. Dean gave her a sexy look, smug and aroused.

“I wanna finish in your mouth,” he told her, “want to see you swallow my load.” Pleased, she moved forward and began kissing and licking the length of his cock, teasingly and experimentally feeling the velvety, veiny texture against her hand, tongue, and lips. “I want to hear you choke on my cock, and see what you look like with tears in your eyes as I fuck your pretty face.” She moaned softly, intrigued by the description of his fantasy. 

She dipped her tongue into the slit, moaning at the taste of his precum, drooling over the soft head of his cock before sucking him into her mouth.

“Fuck,” he moaned, tangling his fingers in her hair. She slowly took him deeper, pulling him out of her hot mouth teasingly, then swallowing inch by inch of his hard cock. “You’re so good at that, baby,” he panted, letting her take her time at her own pace, but he gripped her hair tightly. “Don’t stop,” he moaned, staring into her eyes as she continued to take his cock, bobbing her head, not stopping until he hit the back of her throat. She swallowed around him, and he bucked his hips up, releasing a whispered curse, attempting to keep his eyes open to watch her suck him off.

She got comfortable between his legs, taking his freehand to put it in her hair. He took her hair, put it together, and waited for her permission before slowly lifting his hips, pushing his cock slowly into her throat. When she gagged, he slowly pulled back, then pushed back into her, lips parted, releasing quick breaths. 

Eventually, he started to fuck her face in earnest, lifting his hip up off the chair, pulling her hair hard to guide her on and off his dick. Her spit dribbled down her chin in a mixture of his precum. She swallowed as much as she could, moaning and blinking tears that tickled her eyes and her jaw. 

“You look so fucking…” he chocked on a moan, “so damn sexy.” 

She ignored the soreness of her jaw, relaxing it as best as she could as he fucked her near mercilessly. Her pussy throbbed with every sound of his pleasure, clit aching for attention at the way he gazed down at her with burning desire, but she refused to touch herself, enjoying the build-up, the desperation for another orgasm, for his touch. 

He throbbed in her mouth, turning to mush beneath her mouth. He even began to whimper and moan her name, praises and dirty words becoming scarce in attempts to hold back his orgasm, edging himself with her mouth. It didn’t take long for him to hold her with her nose against his pelvis breathlessly. 

He pulled her off his cock, and released her hair to wipe tears tenderly from her hot cheeks with his thumbs, trying to get his mind off the near-pleasure of her mouth around his cock while catching his breath. 

“Yummy,” she rasped, pulling a breathless laugh from him. She wiped her chin with her shoulder and smiled up at him, slowly getting up on her knees to get rid of the ache of sitting on her legs.

She got up, leaning back against the table, admiring him in his red, flushed, somewhat sweaty state. His hair was a mess from her hands and he had a blush around his neck to his ears. She knew the hardness of his body accounted for the fact that he was a hunter, as well as the scars she felt beneath her soft hands, bite marks, bullet wounds, and healed slashes.

“Come closer,” she told him and he laughed, bringing himself and the chair closer, stopping when she sat on his thighs, fixing herself over his strong thighs. “Gonna cum if I tease you?” She asked, tapping the head of his cock. It twitched instantly and he moaned.

“Depends,” he replied breathily, sliding his hands up her body. She hummed softly, spreading her legs, positioning his cock near her soppy folds.

“On what?” She cackled playfully, parting her folds with one hand, circling her clit with her fingers. He watched her lustfully, the wetness that made her pussy shine coated her fingers.

“How wet and warm you feel on my cock,” he replied truthfully. He grabbed her hand and moved it out of the way anyway, taking his cock to push it between her folds, pressing the tip against her clit. 

“Fuck, Dean,” she moaned softly, grasping his shoulders, “you feel… I need you,” she whimpered, rolling her hips along the length of his cock. He moaned with her, moving her hips closer to him, her wetness coating his cock.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart…” Dean moaned, watching her lean back against the table, positioning the soft head of his cock to her entrance. Completely enthralled, he watched himself slip inside her, and she watched him, biting her lip hard in concentration, the stretch of her walls around him almost painful. “Fuck… I can feel how bad you need me… I need you just as bad,” he panted, flexing his hands on her thighs, desperately trying not to thrust up into her warmth. He dug his nails into her flesh, his head tipping back, his hips rolling up.

“Dean,” she moaned again, starting to lift herself up and down his cock, reaching up to cup her breast. “Shit, you feel amazing,” she breathed out, grinding her hips against his until he was fully inside her. 

“You okay?” He asked, one of hands drifting up to knead her breast comfortingly. She nodded, buried her fingers in his hair and brought him in for a kiss as she bent her knees, and tucked her feet in between his thighs.

“I could cum like this,” she mumbled against his lips. His chuckle rumbled through his chest and he shook his head, her pussy clenched at the sound and she started to lift herself up again.

“Don’t worry,” he told her, sucking on his lip momentarily. “I’ll make you cum so hard…” He paused to moan, thrusting up into her slowly, meeting her hip. “...you’ll never want to fuck anyone else,” he promised her, building up the pace of his thrusts until she stopped moving with him altogether, letting him fuck up into her needy cunt. 

“You’ll only wanna be fucked by me,” he continued, watching her lean back with her elbow on the table, her hands roaming his warm body, “and I’ll be there, ready to fuck you hard.” He looked over her shoulder, at the jar of frosting. “Pounding into your sweet cunt,” he swore breathlessly, reaching behind her, dipping his fingers to gather frosting, “makin’ you beg, makin’ you impossibly wet.” He smeared frosting over her nipples, over her collarbone, her sternum, until he had no more while she moaned his name needily. 

“Makin’ you feel things you’ve never felt before.” He gripped her hip with frosting-coated fingers, leaning forward to lick and suck the whiskey frosting from her body. “I’ll fill you up as many times as you want,” he vowed, smoothing her hand up her back, into her hair once more, pulling until she whined his name. “I’ll fuck you wherever you want.”

Her pussy continued to gush over Dean’s cock the more he talked—his breathless, husky voice taking her over the edge. Each rough pull of her hair made her mewl and whimper as she rolled her hips desperately against his. 

“Dean, please,” she whispered, scratching down his back, digging marks into his skin the harder and faster he thrusted into her. Loud skin slapping, the wet sound of her pussy being penetrated, with every push of his cock in and out of her, squelching and driving her crazy. She dug her nails into her palm, making obscene sounds that made her self-conscious.

“I’ll fuck you all over your house, all over mine.” Another moan of his name, another rough pull of her hair. “I’ll fuck you in my car, in your car, anywhere and all over town.” He pulled away from her sticky chest, licked his lips at the sight of her, so she screwed her eyes shut. She felt a warm pool of wetness on her pelvic bone, opened her eyes to him spitting between their bodies, watching his saliva drip down her folds to her clit. 

She’d never heard of or experienced sex quite this raw and dirty.

“I’ll make you scream my name, make you forget how to talk, how to walk…” She leaned back into him, panting into his ear, keeping him close while rubbing her clit. He yanked her hair, forcing her to look at him. 

“Dean…”

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispered, closing his eyes, he breathed against her lips, “and I want you forever.”

As he promised, she cried out his name when she came, squeezing his cock hard, coating him in her release. He grunted her name, cursing loudly as he came inside her, his hot seed spurting into her, filling her as he said he would. 

He circled his arms around her as she writhed once more, releasing her hair as she put her arms around his neck, panting and catching her breath until the pleasure subsided.

“I want all of that,” she murmured after a few moments of silence, kissing his cheek. He squeezed her and moved back, bewildered. He moved hair from her face and tilted his head at her, drawn to her nakedness, her flushed beauty. “First, I want to shower…” Slowly, carefully, she climbed off his lap, her legs shaky, her pussy releasing the mixture of their pleasure. 

“That’s a good start,” he told her softly. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled when he stood up from the chair and looked around at the mess in the kitchen. “No one’s coming home anytime soon… thanks to Sammy…” Dean trailed off, smoothing his hand over his head to fix his hair.

“Thanks to me,” she came clean with a shy smile, bringing his gaze up to hers. His eyes twinkled and he laughed loudly, tugging her towards him again by her arm, his lips pressing against hers.

➥ sempiternal

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do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

[writershapeholeonthedoor]

Mayores

Pairing: Scarlett Johansson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Someone sends you flowers and your girlfriend isn't happy about it.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. Also, this was requested by one of you. Thank you for the request, anon!

MASTERLIST

You spent most of your life being disappointed at all the people you tried to date.

Don't take it the wrong way, but there was always something that displeased you in a way that you couldn’t brush off. Your first girlfriend would do overly romantic gestures that you were fairly sure she was getting ideas from the rom-com she was fascinated with. The relationship didn’t last that long, although she kept the record of the most amount of gifts any girlfriend ever gave you for many years after that. The girl that came after her was the complete opposite, difficult to show any emotions and very closed off. You fell hard, of course, and had your heart broken several times by her. She cheated, she lied, she manipulated, and she wouldn’t even tell you she loved you unless it was when you found out about another one of her affairs. You made yourself go through that hell for nearly three years.

After that, you vowed to give yourself some time to recover, to be alone and think about your own life. You were almost done with college at that point but that didn’t stop you from suddenly becoming the party girl you couldn’t be for the last few years. None of your one-night stands were remarkable enough for you to want a second round with them, even when some would ask and beg for it. It was fun, but you also met every type of girl in your adventures.

When you finally met someone again and tried to start a new relationship, things just didn’t work out. No dramas, it just didn’t. It was nice at first, but the spark was gone so fast that you two became friends very quickly. You were done with college soon after you broke up, so you packed your things and moved to NY.

It's not like you made a conscious decision not to date anyone. You didn’t put any walls around your heart or anything like that. What happened was that no one seemed to be able to catch your attention for more than a few dates. It was like they would bore you somehow, which was insane to think because you were sure they were all great people.

Just not the right ones for you.

So you kept living in NY while going through a small rampage of quick dates. You found a job, you started your career, you got yourself a nice apartment that was way more expensive than you thought it should be, you made some friends, and you lived the freedom of the early twenties.

Until you met her.

Scarlett Johansson popped up in your life out of nowhere, as if she had appeared out of thin air, but she soon proved to be very different from anyone else you knew. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly what made her so different from the rest, but you figured it out after a while. She was older than you, she was already divorced, she had experience. She had experience.

It didn’t take long for you to fall for her, head first and without going back. How could you not? How could you not fall for her when she did things that no one else had ever done for you?

Scarlett would open the doors for you - and it would never fail to make you blush. She would bring you flowers, but not only when she was picking you up for a date - no, she was always pampering you with flowers, sometimes sending you a bouquet even when she was traveling and currently on the other side of the ocean. She would treat you to fancy dinners and expensive wines, and take you to try dishes you never even heard about. She would call you "darling" and kiss your cheek in public, although she wasn’t usually holding your hand - her hand was normally at your lower back, guiding you gently but with no hesitation. Scarlett would give you small gifts all the time too - you picked up on the fact that you would talk about a book you wanted to read one day and said book would be waiting for you in the next one. Scarlett even renounced her side of the bed because that was your favorite.

Overall, Scarlett was a true gentleman.

Except when you were inside the bedroom.

Oh, when you were inside the bedroom things were very different.

She never truly forewent her gentleman persona since she would whisper sweet nothings in your ear while pounding you mercilessly on the bed. Scarlett would pull your hair and kiss your jaw sweetly at the same time. She would ruin you and then go up your body kissing every inch of your skin while also telling you how good you were. She would call you a slut and, after you had the best orgasm in your life, she would prepare you a hot bath where she would rub your feet and tell you how much she loves you.

That’s why you were so damn surprised with the conversation that took place that night.

“Thank you for the flowers,” you said while peeling a potato.

Scarlett was cutting up bacon into cubes beside you, but she hit the knife a bit harder after she heard what you said. “I didn’t send you flowers.”

She looked at you with one quirked eyebrow, clearly asking you for more information, but you were too busy trying to fight back a blush. When you were called in the middle of your workday to go to the reception table to sign off a delivery, you were already halfway expecting it to be flowers. Scarlett didn’t make a habit of sending things to your work - unless you shamefully admitted you skipped a meal and she made a goal of trying to feed you - but you also never received anything unless it wasn’t for something Scarlett sent you.

So, when you got there and saw the bouquet, you immediately assumed it had been from your girlfriend, although you didn’t have time to send her a quick text to thank her because you needed to rush for a meeting and couldn’t take your phone with you. You were busy until closing hours and, since you had plans with Scarlett that night, you didn’t bother texting her, just deciding to thank her in person.

Which was what you were trying to do.

“What do you mean?” You asked with your head tilted to the side.

“I didn’t send you anything,” Scarlett repeated, now putting the knife down to fully look at you. “You received flowers today?”

“Yes,” you still sounded confused when you also stopped peeling the potatoes. “It wasn’t you?”

“No, no it wasn’t.” Her voice was firm now, leaving no room for arguments, and you could see her jaw clenching a bit. “Who sent you flowers?”

“Babe, I thought it was you!” You were fast to try to explain, even though you weren’t exactly sure how you could explain something like that. “I don’t know who - Oh.”

Oh, indeed.

The thought crossed your mind while you were talking, but that was the only thing that could make sense. If Scarlett hadn’t been the one to send you the flowers, there was only one other option for who did it. And it was bad because, sure, you didn’t want to receive flowers from anyone but your girlfriend, but the fact that it was that particular person who did it made it a thousand times worse.

Scarlett must have picked on your reaction because she raised one eyebrow at you, clearly not amused at all. “What does ‘oh’ mean?” You didn’t reply since you weren’t sure if it was a good idea to do so, although it only resulted in Scarlett crossing her arms while she glared at you. “Y/N.”

It was a warning, you knew that much. It usually happened when you were making too much noise when she was fucking you somewhere you might get caught or when you tried to distract her from her work by walking around naked around the house. It always came to you to decide if you would take the risk to keep pushing your limits or if you would back down - and, of course, sometimes you just kept pushing just to see what she would do to you.

That wasn’t the time for that, though.

The mood wasn’t set for sexy times. Scarlett seemed mad and impatient.

“Uh, I might know who sent them,” you admitted and watched as her eyes narrowed. “Are you sure it wasn’t you, though? Maybe you forgot about it.”

“Forgot?” Scarlett repeated the word with a scoff. “I would’ve done it in my sleep for me not to be able to remember if I sent my girlfriend flowers or not.”

Well, fine, so there was no hope for you. “Okay.” You bit your bottom lip and looked down at your feet. “Don’t be mad,” you plead in a whisper.

You were still looking down, but you heard Scarlett sighing before you felt her soft hands touching your face. She prompted you to raise your head, which you did, and you saw she was making an effort to wash the anger from her features. “I’m not mad,” Scarlett said and, despite it all, she sounded honest. Her thumbs were making soothing circles on your cheeks and you felt yourself relaxing when she smiled at you. “I’m sorry if it looked like I was. I was just caught off guard, that’s all.”

You nodded to let her know it was okay, but you still whimpered a bit. “It’s not really my fault.”

“I know it’s not.” Scarlett pulled you for a hug, making you rest your head on her shoulder as she kissed your forehead. “I’m sorry, princess. I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was mad at you.”

You knew she wouldn’t actually be mad with you about it. Scarlett was way more laid back about it than you, for sure, so you weren’t honestly worried about it even for a second. If things happened the other way around - if Scarlett had been the one receiving flowers from someone who was trying to hit on her - you would be livid too. Not at her - the same way her anger wasn’t directed at you - but you also would’ve been in a much worse mood.

No one could blame you for pushing things a little bit, though. Not really. Because you knew Scarlett would comfort you and that she would jump in to make you feel safe in her arms, loved and cared for - and maybe that’s the exact reason you always pushed your limits around her.

“I, uh, I might know who sent them,” you declared once you pulled away a bit shyly. Scarlett nodded in encouragement for you to keep talking, so you did. “I had a meeting yesterday with someone from another company. It was just business, really, but I noticed that this guy wouldn’t stop looking at me and, when the meeting was over, he walked towards me to ask for my number so we could ‘discuss more personal matters’.” You made the quotation marks with your fingers while you rolled your eyes at the memory. It had pissed you off the day before and it was pissing you off again now that you were remembering it. “I told him I wasn’t interested and he walked away. I thought he got the message.” The last part was said with a groan as you pinched the bridge of your nose.

That made Scarlett’s expression shift to something assembling worry and concern. “Has he made you uncomfortable?”

“Just annoyed,” you sighed and shrugged. “He didn’t insist. But he apparently sent me flowers today, so I don’t know how I feel about that.” The conversation with the man had been strictly professional and you couldn’t imagine what happened to make him think he could send you flowers like that. You did care that he hadn’t taken the hint and was insisting, but, at the same time, you couldn’t care less if he suddenly had a crush on you. You had the most perfect woman beside you, you didn’t need or want anyone else.

Scarlett nodded and leaned to kiss your forehead again, more firmly now to offer you some comfort, before she offered you a grin. “Well, if he tries something like that again, you let me know,” she asked before her grin became a bit devious. “I could ask Hemsworth to give him a piece of mind.”

You laughed as you pictured the scene. A man like Hemsworth - a muscle mountain - walking inside someone’s office to defend your honor on Scarlett’s behalf. “I think he would shit his pants if he ever saw Hemsworth in front of him.”

“That would work perfectly for me.” Scarlett shrugged, now sounding amused about the whole thing.

You chuckled happily and gave your girlfriend a quick peck. “Thank you. There’s no need to call in anyone in this situation. Yet,” you added as a later thought, noticing how Scarlett got serious again. “I promise I will tell you it keeps happening. If he sends me something else, I will go to my boss about it as well. He might do something about it.” The man worked for a company that your boss was thinking about making some transactions, so that could actually work in your favor if he decides to give the dude a little scare. Your boss was an older man with four daughters and seven granddaughters. You were sure he would be even angrier than Scarlett if he ever heard about that story.

“Okay,” your girlfriend conceded. “I will let you handle that for now, but you come to me if you need any help. Deal?”

“Deal,” you agreed quickly with a little smile, happy to be given that trust to handle things for yourself first.

You loved it when Scarlett took over to solve your problems because you trusted her blindly to always make the best decisions and to get things done. Sometimes you got too overwhelmed by everything and it was nice to rely on someone else. This time, however, you were sure you could deal with things alone. You would get to your office the next day and send the guy a very straightforward email to let him know he shouldn’t be sending you any more gifts and that your conversations would remain only work related, and see how things go after that.

The best part of having someone like Scarlett was that you knew that, if things didn’t work out how you wanted them to, you could come to her at any time and she would jump right in to help you. You knew that she wouldn’t actually call her castmate to help scare some grow-up man - logistically, it would be hard to do it since Hemsworth was currently in his home back in Australia - but Scarlett was a very skilled woman herself. She would know no boundaries to protect you.

With that in mind, you placed your arms around her shoulders, letting your wrists meet behind her neck, and took a step forward to get closer to her. “My knight in shining armor,” you sang provocatively before giving her a kiss.

“Hm,” Scarlett moaned against your mouth, causing a content sigh to escape your lips and you both pulled away a few inches. “Maybe he needs to know that you’re taken,” she suggested.

“Oh, I am?” You tried to sound as innocent as possible, though you knew it just sounded like you were teasing her. You didn’t care. The mood had shifted and you now wanted to push your limits again.

“Yes.’ Scarlett’s voice was firm, but it was the way that her hands gripped your hips to pull you against her that made you gasp. “Haven’t you noticed it yet? That you’re mine.” She was smiling now, her green eyes going darker by the second, and you suddenly felt like you were a few seconds away from dying right then and there. “All mine,” Scarlett whispered with a hoarse tone and your knees lost some of their strength.

“I know.” You eagerly nodded because, yes, you knew that. You made yourself hers.

Scarlett smiled even brighter and she leaned over to hide her face in the crook of your neck. You felt her lips brushing against your skin, although she didn’t touch you. “Do you really? Maybe a reminder would do some good.” Finally, an open-mouthed kiss was pressed against your pulse point and you felt goosebumps going up and down your spine. “Maybe a little mark so everyone knows you belong to someone else.”

“Scarlett,” you moaned both at her words and the sensation of her tongue darting out to lick a path on your skin.

“Yes, darling?” Scarlett sounded amused, which almost made you roll your eyes at her.

“If you don’t take me to your room right now to keep up your word, I will be sending your flowers back from now on,” you threatened and, even if you both knew it was a blatant lie, it did the trick.

“Hm, we can’t let that happen,” Scarlett joked before she pulled away to look at you again.

The next day, you came back from a meeting and saw a life-sized bouquet on top of your desk with a small card written in Scarlett’s beautiful cursive letter.

“To my beautiful girlfriend,

You own my love

and I promise to protect your heart.

SJ”

You decided to forego the email idea. No, you would do something even better. You would call the stupid man to your office so he could see for himself that he was nothing compared to your girlfriend.

And, if you had three new hickeys in your neck that he might see, well, that was just a consequence.

[betterinvienna]

Hello, I don't know if you are taking requests but I was wondering if you could make a female reader x Aki Hayakawa where they are both a couple (they have been dating for a while) and she moves in with him so she helps him deal with his roommates (including Nayuta because she is very cute) I don't know if I explained myself well, do what you want hahaha I only ask that it be fun and fluffy

pink cheeks and hot coffee | aki hayakawa x reader

synopsis: 8 months ago, in the cold Tokyo snow, you met him. Time-skip, and you're moving in with him, and meeting the people closest to him. Aki Hayakawa truly is a rom-com dream.

[ 2.8k words — fluff — no warnings ]

author's note:

uuuugh this took me a month to complete im so sorry to who requested this i've been infinitely busy :( changed some stuff up & left some key aspects of the request out, so let me know if you want me to continue this story rather than stop here. + not sure if this is ooc or not. fujimoto took my babies away from me so i havent seen their personality in forever dont beat me up pls

8 months ago, you met Aki Hayakawa in the café a block from your apartment. Having just moved to Tokyo, you needed something familiar – thankfully, cafés are essentially the same everywhere. He ordered his coffee black – and you only remembered because that’s weird, ew – and shot you two fleeting glances before awkwardly returning to staring out the window.

Ten minutes later, you saw him leave a nice sum of yen on the table, exiting the café with a ding as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. Naturally, cigarettes repel you – secondhand smoke, ew again – but you shrugged and slid out of your booth, leaving the money necessary to cover your meal and then some, your shoes crunching the snow as you left the warm café. To be fair, you just wanted to test your luck – he’s cute and you like to talk. The worst he could do is start running in the opposite direction.

“Hi.” You breathed, cold fog punctuating your words.

He gave you a quizzical look, almost annoyed, even, and you chewed down on your bottom lip, regretting your bold choice already. He returned his gaze to his cigarette, flicking on the lighter and directing it to the end of the stick.

“Hello. Can I help you?”

“Right. Sorry. I noticed you –” You drew a blank. What’d you notice? Quick! Lie – he’s too cute. “Had the new Onitsukas. I like the, um, colorway. Black and grey. Suits your vibe.” You gesture to his black and grey Onitsuka Tigers, laced with matching black threads.

“Oh.” Confusion settled deeper into the man’s face, but a fresh pink tint decorated his cheeks. “Right.” He looked down, kicking some snow around and checking out his Tigers as if he forgot they were there. “Thank you.”

“I’m a big shoe fan myself, you know.” What a lie. You gave him a meek smile and kicked your Isabel Marants into the air for him to see. “The viral ones. Sold out everywhere. Couldn’t get them anywhere – well, except for one place. I stood in the rain for these.” Another lie. You ordered these online on a whim, because your best friend, Lou, said they’d look good on you and you were desperate for some new fashion options.

“Uh… okay,” His ears were red by now. Are you annoying him? Why did you think he cared about shoes? Get this guy’s number and get out of here. “That’s cool.”

You scratch your neck, running out of things to say. Ugh. Whatever. “I’m kind of new here. I was hoping I could get a friend or two, so, um…” you press your lips together, digging your phone out of your jacket’s pocket. His lips curled faintly upward when he saw your Sonny Angel glued to the back of your stickered phone case, but you handed him the overly decorated phone and pulled up the keypad screen anyway, hoping he got the gist.

Thankfully, he did. Aki snuffed the cigarette out under his shoe and sniffed through his frost-nipped, red nose. “Uh, I’m Aki. Aki Hayakawa.” He finally gave you a lopsided, awkward grin as he turned your phone back to you – with his number typed in it. Score! Cute guy’s number in your phone on just week 2 in Tokyo. Seems the ¥1.7k spent on YesStyle for this new-and-hip lip tint didn’t go to waste.

You nodded, smiling as you stared at the white numbers. By now, passersby were starting to notice your awkward exchange, but when have you ever been able to keep your mouth shut? “Thank you – I’ll text you. Also, why do you order your coffee black?”

—

aki my baby: I’m going to stop by the corner store before I come over to help you pack. Do you want anything?

You roll over on your bed and pick up your phone, checking out the notification. Behind it, a picture of you and your boyfriend, Aki, on a Ferris wheel. Aki is pictured with a downwards smile and a comically large corndog in hand, while you grin ear to ear, holding up a peace sign. It’s a beautiful picture, with all the night city lights in the back and your hair blowing just right in the high wind. You stare at your room, boxes vacant of any item when today is your move-in day. You should probably stop reminiscing and get on that.

You: no ty

aki my baby: ??? Are you sure?

aki my baby: [1 Attachment]

A picture of your favorite gummy bears. Okay, it looks like you forgot that. Aki: 1. You: 0.

You: omg

You: wait

You: yes those ones

You: thank u. i love u… ( ͒ ́ඉ .̫ ඉ ̀ ͒)...

aki my baby: I love you too. See you in a bit.

It’s been maybe two and a half years into your relationship with Aki Hayakawa, and you already have a vision board in your closet for the wedding. Well, no, not really, but now that the idea has come up… you’re seriously considering it.

Aki is like a dream-come-true, rom-com movie kind of boyfriend – that boy next door, best friend’s older brother vibe. He’s almost fake. Your life right now is what 13-year-old you watched through a screen, and you love that – and him. He knows your favorite flowers, favorite TV show, favorite movie, favorite book, all 20 of your favorite songs, which lyrics you like most out of each of them, and how many times you cried over losing your favorite hoodie – which he promptly found 2 hours later because he was there, front and center, to count all of the times you cried – making him the perfect boyfriend. To top off this quintessential boyfriend act, he – reluctantly – offered you a spot at his place, since you got tired of everything breaking down at yours.

However, there is one thing missing.

Aki had previously refused to let you meet his three friends – roommates? Siblings? Children? Whatever. All that you know of them is that they cause a ton of trouble for him.

You just brushed it off. I mean, who are you to request for even more of his personal life than however much you know right now? But… you’ve always been just a little curious. Anyone would want to show off their partner, right?

They sound interesting enough from the tales Aki tells you. He only spoke of them in passing: a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in the bathtub, sleeping on the toilet, roleplaying as a “queen” and her lowly subordinates, and an overwhelming number of dogs. You have to meet them. It’s a risible concept really – how’d he end up with them if he’s so… reserved? Then again, how’d he end up with you?

Di-i-uhh—thunk!

Oh. Right. The doorbell is broken too.

“I’m coming!” Two and a half years ago, the doorbell made the same, ugly “thunk” sound when Aki came to pick you up for the date – or hangout, whatever you wanna call it – that made you official, so you supposed it was alright to leave it broken. For memories.

It was on the rooftop of your apartment building, so you didn’t think anything special of it – until he started dropping indirect, heavy hints like “You’re so pretty… uh, you always have been,” followed up by “You’d be even prettier as my partner.” Well, the latter was mumbled under his breath, and you had to fill in the blanks, so you’re not 100% sure if you’re quoting it verbatim. Regardless, it was cute, he was – is – cute, and his personality is cute – which checks all of your boxes. So, you said yes. And in the end, the doorbell never got fixed. He asked you about it a couple of months ago, and instead of telling him the whole story, you just told him it was important that it was kept that way. He didn’t question you any further, because you started shoving this new recipe you found on Instagram into his mouth.

“Hi, baby,” This long, yet your stomach still flips at his every word.

“Hi,” By now, you’re practically cheesing. He steps aside and invites himself into the apartment he practically shares – well, now shared – with you.

“You haven’t packed?” Oh. Too busy eating chips and watching random re-runs of your favorite TV shows, but you won’t tell him that.

“What?” You look around, feigning innocence, and throw your hands up with a smile. “Sooooorry. I’ll get on it now. With you here, it’ll be super fast.” At this, Aki just smiled and shook his head, putting his house slippers on (I told you, he practically shared this apartment with you) and shuffled into your kitchen, leaning on the island.

“I talked to my, uh, roommates today.” He said, scratching the side of his neck.

Your eyes widen. “You’re just now telling them I’m moving in?”

Aki slid his tongue over his teeth and loosened his grip on the counter behind him, watching you. “Yeah. You know Denji – well, no, you don’t, not yet – but he’s been dying to meet you for a while now, and if I told him too early, he’d never shut up about you moving in until you did.”

You smiled at him, shoving some stuff into the boxes in your living room. “Denji sounds like more fun than you are,” you joked. “Are you gonna come and help me pack, or are you here to watch me do it?”

He sighed, walking over to the empty box adjacent to yours. “This is unpaid labor. Definitely illegal.”

“You came here, willingly.” You pointed out, then leaned over to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “There. I paid you. Totally legal.”

Aki points to his lips. “That’s minimum wage. I deserve a bonus, since I’m working last minute, don’t I?”

—

“That’s the last one.” Aki huffed and smoothed out his incredible slick back and stick-up ponytail, looking over at you in shorts, the huge t-shirt you stole from him, and slippers that are definitely overdue a replacement.

“I told you we should’ve hired movers.” You sneered and rolled your eyes, sweat lining your eyebrows as the hot sun poured onto the two of you. You hopped into the van's passenger seat, immediately pulling down the sunshade and basking in the coolness.

“You have every home decor item from every home decor store in every city in Japan and probably beyond in your house. I wasn’t anticipating that.” Aki reached down to put the car in reverse, backing out of the parking spot. “Plus, I did most of the heavy work.”

You rested your tilted head on your propped arm on the center console of the car, fighting back a giggle – not gonna give him the satisfaction of a joke that actually landed for once. “You’re so sassy.”

“You like it.”

“...Whatever.”

—

Before entering the complex, Aki gave you a stringent set of rules and a rather cohesive oral rundown of how your meeting with Denji and the others is going to go. The former was on a piece of paper, written in oddly legible chicken scratch. On the top, there was a directory of sorts of all 3 of his roommates, paired with rough doodles of their images. It read as follows:

NO screaming with Denji, Power, or Nayuta. Do NOT ask Nayuta about the dog’s personalities, names, ages, or any of the sort. Do NOT ask Power or Denji any questions. NO play-fighting, no sparring, no physical contact with ANY of the idiots roommates. Do NOT talk too much with them.

Yeah, sure. You’ll follow them, but sometimes… rules are suggestions. You’ve known Aki for over 3 years; anyone who keeps him company is your friend. Any friend of yours is treated with wholehearted love. So, it’ll be justified when you break the physical contact rule. A hug should be fine, right?

Walking up the stairs with Aki, he reminds you of the makeshift contract. “You don’t want to deal with Power especially. Trust me. It’s all in your best interest to adhere to it.”

You brushed him off with a wave of the hand. “Sure. I bet they’re the coolest ever and you’re just a huge grump.” He turned the knob for you, pushed the door open, and rolled his eyes, ushering you into the apartment where the three were gathered around the chabudai, playing cards.

“YES!” The red-horned one started screaming, slamming the cards down as the blonde started to grumble in discontent, mumbling something about cheating, fluidly mixed with an impressive string of profanities. It was obvious they had not recognized your presence, but the black-haired child did, neck craned, eyes burning a hole in your skull. Dogs surrounded her figure seated by the chabudai as she fed each one a bone-shaped treat. Surprisingly, they’re oddly well-behaved for such a numerous bunch. Wow. The prophecies are true.

You stood there awkwardly, looking up at Aki for help; however, he let go of your hand and shrugged, making his way to the kitchen to wash dishes that had a substance burned and caked onto them beyond repair.

“Hello,” your voice, although naturally loud, barely overpowered the even louder atmosphere, courtesy of the red-horned and the blonde – which, by the drawings on the paper, you presume are Power and Denji – prompting the black-haired child – Nayuta? – to roll her eyes and hit her hand on the low table to get their attention, gesturing to you. “They're here.”

The blonde – sorry – Denji’s jaw drops. Aki tugs an apron on, puts something in the oven, and completely ignores the event as if it happens daily. Does it happen every day? Power immediately jumps up from the table and hops over to you. “You’re Aki’s partner?” She says, mildly judgmental.

You nod, beaming. Forget the rules, she’s adorable! “You’re literally so cute! Are your horns real?” You reach to touch them, and she slightly maneuvers her head to make it easier for you.

“Yeah. But don’t get any ideas,” she says, seemingly sizing you up. “Just ‘cause you’re moving in doesn’t mean you get to call the shots. I still do.” Power says, pushing her proud chest out.

You laugh, feeling tears prickle your waterline… from fear, or is she just funny? Okay, this one is the queen in that “queen and her lowly subordinates” game. You hear Aki reprimand her from the kitchen, and she answers with an annoyed “What?”

Denji sighed, pushing Power aside with one arm, prompting a grunt and a sudden dive of her head, mouth open and clearly aimed to snatch off the skin of Denji’s forearm. However, the fiasco is immediately stopped by a stern “Hey!” from Aki.

“Sorry about her,” Denji sighs. “She doesn’t know how to act.” He rolls his eyes and then sticks out a hand for you to shake. What a gentleman! Aki must’ve been exaggerating in those horror stories about him. You take his hand, nodding and saying hello.

It’s sticky.

His hand is… tacky. You blink once, twice, and one more time before tightening all of your facial features and retracting your hand with extraordinary quickness, clenching your hand in your t-shirt. “Your hand,” you breathe out. “It’s, um,”

“Oh. Sticky? No big deal.” Denji laughs from his stomach. “But uhh, I don’t know where from. Probably like, from cleaning up after Nayuta’s dogs.”

You look over at Aki once again. He’s got oven mitts on and sharp flour on the part of his apron that meets the counter.

He shrugs.

—

You flop down on the bed, exhausted with a raw hand – from scrubbing off every trace of … whatever … that could’ve been left on your hand.

“Are you okay?” Aki walks in, wet-haired and with a towel wrapped around his waist. He eyes your figure splayed out across the bed, with a telling look that screams “I told you so”. He gets dressed, climbs into the bed, and lets you rest your head on his chest. “Well,” he starts, but you shoot him an annoyed look, so he pushes his lower lip up in a cartoonish frown and stays silent.

“I like them,” you finally say, after 10 minutes of deafening silence, punctuated by a snore coming from a neighboring room. It seems the others are asleep. “They’re cool. Fun.” Okay – optimistic much? Your cup is half full, not half empty.

Aki laughs at you, kissing you on the head and pulling the covers up. “Okay,” is all he says, but you could tell he still wanted to declare himself right. “You’re staying?” He asks, an eyebrow up under his wet bangs.

Today, you indirectly touched dried dog urine – question mark? –, got threatened by a loud red-horned girl, and walked into what is practically a dog shelter.

You nod, sighing. “Yes, I’m staying.” You look up at him, a smile on his face, one he was very obviously trying to fight earlier. “Quit smiling. It takes a lot to deter me, so I’ll stay. I like them.”

“I’ll stop smiling if you kiss me.”

“Go to sleep.”

[fanficsandcodposts]

Soap X Reader (F)

Why does it take a bullet to get you to confess your feeling for your handsome Sergeant, Johnny? (TW-Blood, War, Violence, Emergency Wound Staples)

The mission took a turn for the worse in the dry, arid, desolate city ruins of Iran. Enemy forces were advancing quickly, and everyone was going to have to survive through a deadly firefight if they were going to make it to the extraction point. You did have one solace, though; you were side by side with your favorite handsome Sergeant, Johnny. It was quite a sight, seeing you two sweep through entire buildings, 'cleaning house' so effortlessly. This is what you two lived for, of course: the thrill of the fight and the satisfaction of the kill. As you both swept through yet another building, successfully clearing it, you stole glances at Johnny. He carried himself with raw confidence and authority. When he rushed into a room, the very walls seemed to expand to accommodate his powerful presence. It was frightening yet incredibly sexy. It's possible you had a love-struck expression, even if you didn't Johnny was always such a tease. Either way, when he caught you staring, he winked at you and flashed his signature cocky grin before he began to advance again. You rolled your eyes and gave an amused huff as you followed closely behind.

You had been pining after him for months, desperate to tell him how much you adored him and his beautiful baby-blue eyes. You loved his silly little mohawk, and God, could you listen to him talk for hours, completely fixated on his thick Scottish accent. Unfortunately, you had not told him yet how much you liked him. You were scared he wouldn't feel the same as you. Now, sadly, you may never get the chance.

As you and Johnny fought through a decently well-preserved building, bee-lining for extraction, a stray bullet struck you on the right side close to your navel. The sheer white-hot, burning pain caused you to fall to your knees with a sharp wail of agony. Once Johnny shot and killed the group of three hostiles, he turned to you, eyes wide with panic.

Johnny dragged you deeper within the building, where he found a spot that somehow had all four walls and a semi-in-tack door that kept hostile eyes from spotting the two of you inside. You tried desperately to muffle your cries so as not to alert any more enemies to your location, but the pain only worsened with every passing second. Johnny laid you down on your back to assess the extent of the bullet wound. "Ah, Christ! Alright, bonnie, stay with me; I need to rip yer shirt to see how bad those bastards gotcha." With a quick jerk and ripping of wet fabric, Johnny was able to examine the bullet wound clearly. Luckily for you, the bullet only grazed your side. It wasn't as bad as Johnny imagined it would be, but still, by all means, it wasn't pretty and bleeding like crazy. Johnny knows if he can't stop the blood loss, he will lose you forever.

Johnny quickly pulled off your med pack and went through the items you kept on you for emergencies. He opened a clean rag and pressed it down hard on the wound. You yelled out in pain at the sudden, intense pressure, but quickly, your cries were muffled by Johnny's now bloodied hand over your mouth.

"Shhh, m'sorry bonnie, please, got to be quiet." Johnny whispered softly; his gaze was pleading, begging you to be strong for him. Johnny called out on the coms, "Ghost, we need backup. Got a lass down; m'doin my best to stabilize the wound." "Fuckin' hell, I'm on my way, but these bastards are everywhere. Stay there and stay alive; that's an order!" Ghost's gravelly voice rang out through the coms. "You got it, LT. Please hurry." Johnny's voice cracked slightly, letting his mask of confidence slip. You knew immediately he was extremely worried.

Even though you were lying still on your back, the ceiling began to sway above you. The sound of bullets ricocheting off nearby buildings started to quiet. You clamped your eyes shut as you suddenly felt cold, unable to stop yourself from shaking. "Ah-Ah, bonnie nun of that aye? Focus on ole Johnny, m'not gonna lose you like this." Johnny took one of his strong hands off your wound to go through your med bag. He let out a soft "Jeysus" when he pulled out your emergency surgical skin stapler. "Alright, bonnie, deep breaths." After four staples were clamped into your side, your wound stopped leaking fresh red blood significantly. Johnny didn't notice, but after the first staple, you had passed out from shock. "No, no, no!" Johnny frantically picked you up to hold you in his arms. He slapped at your face, not violently but with enough force to try to get you to wake up. Finally, your eyes began to move, and you opened them to see Johnny's desperate baby blues peering into your own as relief washed over him. "There ya are, don' fuckin scare me like that." He said with a strained chuckle.

After you took some painkillers from your med pack, you were able to sit up with your back against the dusty concrete wall of the room. The sound of gunfire was now more distant, but at any moment, the situation could take a turn for the worse. Johnny sat in front of you, observing you, seemingly worried if he took his eyes off of you for even a second, you'd vanish.

"Do you think everyone else is doing okay out there?" You spoke softly, taking a sip of warm water from your canteen. "Aye, Ghost should be here any minute." "Yeah. That was scary back there. Imagine if I died and I never got to see what Ghost's face looks like." You attempted to chuckle at your joke, but the pain held you back. "Ya, forgive me, but I will not be imagining that, bonnie. Y'now I've seen Ghost's face, and honestly, he's not even close to being as handsome as me." Johnny answered in an amused tone, but you picked up on the hint of jealousy. "I never imagined he would be as handsome as you, Johnny. That would be a tall order to fulfill." You spoke sweetly to him, flashing him a reassuring smile. Johnny looked over at you with a grin of satisfaction. "Yer just saying that because I saved yer bacon." "No, I mean it, truly. I guess I've just been so afraid to tell you how much I like you because I didn't know if you saw me more as a friend." Johnny stared at you as his expression shifted to confusion. After he rewired the part of his brain that short-circuited, he spoke bluntly. "I thought ya had a thing for Ghost?"

"Ghost?" You blurted out, now you were just as confused as Johnny. "Why did you think I had a thing for Ghost?" "Well, it just seems like wherever he is, you follow. You ask me questions abou' him, and I don' know." You let out a soft chuckle of air, staring into Johnny's gorgeous baby blues. "I'm always around Ghost because you are always around him, dummy. He's your best friend, right? I just needed a reason to talk to you." Johnny stared back in awe; your confession hit him like a cold ocean wave. All that time wasted by being jealous of Ghost when it was him you were so desperate to be around. "M' a bloody idiot." Johnny blurted out while gently shrugging his shoulders. "Wish you had told me sooner, bonnie." "Well, I told you now, Johnny." Your voice was clear and sweet.

Johnny still sat dumbstruck, watching your every movement. "Why did you give me the nickname Bonnie, by the way? It's cute, but I never understood it." "Bonnie means beautiful." Johnny grinned as he reached his hand over to caress his thumb over your cheek. "You've always been my bonnie lass."

You peered into Johnny's baby blues and then looked down at his plush lips. "Now I wish I told you sooner if this is the thanks I'd get."

As your heart raced, Johnny chuckled and pulled you closer for a kiss. Your lips found each other in a sweet melding of souls. You could taste the faintest hint of gunpowder and iron. It was slow and needy, but it satisfied the desire for more, if only for a short time. You pulled away from his mouth first, breathing in a soft breath. You held on tightly to his tactical vest, waiting to see if he'd offer you another taste.

Suddenly, loud footsteps were heard racing down the hallway towards your location. Johnny's eyes widened with fear as he turned to see hostiles rush into the room, guns pointed at the two of you. Luckily, Ghost was right behind them, and with two clean headshots, the enemies went down. Ghost immediately got to work to help Johnny partially carry you to the extraction point. Everyone made it safely home on that mission, and you were so thankful the bullet didn't take your life.

Now, as you sat on your med-bay bed with fresh bandages over your healing wound, you opened the note that was attached to a fresh bouquet of red roses and smiled at the message.

"I'm taking ya out on a proper date as soon as you're all better. It's killin me not being able to be with you. Apparently, 'I'm too loud and bothering the other patients.' What a bunch of shite! Ah well, soon there will be plenty of time for us to be together. Hopefully, in more ways than one ;). Get well soon, bonnie lass. Xoxo Johnny."

[zbtving]

⋆｡𖦹°‧ faking it for real | sung hanbin | series |

part 1: the rules of pretending

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⊹ summary: when raising actress y/n, is forced into a fake engagement with A-list star hanbin, it’s meant to be nothing more than a publicity stunt, right??

⊹ pairing: actor!hanbin x actress!reader

⊹ genre: rom-com

⊹ status: ongoing

⊹ word count: 2k words | 15.8k characters

navigation | series masterlist | main masterlist

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I slam the script onto the glossy marble counter, barely resisting the urge to throw it at Hanbin’s stupid, smug face.

“You stole my role.”

Hanbin, leaning lazily against the table, barely glances up from his drink. His lips curl into that infuriating smirk, the one that makes the tabloids call him “charmingly arrogant.” I’d call it “punchable.”

“I didn’t steal anything,” he says, swirling the amber liquid in his cup. “I was offered the role. I accepted. Simple as that.”

My fingers curl into fists. “I auditioned for it! The director said I was perfect! And then you—” I gesture wildly at him, “just waltzed in at the last second and took it!”

Hanbin tilts his head, pretending to think. “Hmm. Maybe they realized they needed someone with more… star power.” His eyes flicker with amusement. “No hard feelings, right?”

Oh, I hate him.

“No hard feelings?” I scoff. “You stole my job, and you expect me to be okay with it?”

He takes a slow sip of his drink, completely unbothered. “I expect you to be professional.”

“Professional?” My voice rises. “You’ve spent half your career coasting on your looks and name recognition, and you have the nerve to talk to me about professionalism?”

Hanbin places his cup down and finally—finally—gives me his full attention. “You really think that, huh?” His voice drops an octave, the teasing edge gone. “That I don’t work hard? That I don’t deserve my success?”

I fold my arms. “I think you’ve never had to fight for anything.”

A slow smirk returns to his lips. “And yet, here I am. The one with the role. Funny how that worked out.”

Before I can hurl an insult, a sudden burst of light flashes in my peripheral vision. I turn sharply—paparazzi. A whole pack of them, cameras clicking, whispering excitedly.

Hanbin notices too, and to my horror, his smirk deepens. “Careful,” he murmurs, lowering his voice so only I can hear. “Wouldn’t want them to think we’re fighting.”

I glare at him. “That’s exactly what we’re doing.”

“Not from their perspective.”

He’s right. From the outside, we probably look like we’re in some kind of intense, intimate moment—my furious expression, his lazy amusement, the way we’re standing too close.

And then, because the universe has a twisted sense of humor, Hanbin does something outrageous. He leans in, just a fraction, just enough for the cameras to go wild.

The headlines will write themselves.

I shove him away. “You are insufferable.”

Hanbin chuckles, completely unbothered. “And yet, you can’t take your eyes off me.”

I grit my teeth. “That’s because I’m imagining setting you on fire.”

He presses a hand to his heart. “Passionate. I like that.”

The cameras keep flashing, and I swear under my breath. This is not how I wanted tonight to go.

“I’m leaving,” I snap.

Hanbin watches me with that same maddening smirk. “See you at the press conference, sweetheart.”

I turn on my heel and storm off, my blood boiling.

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I storm out of the studio, my heels clicking furiously against the pavement. The cold night air does little to cool my temper. Behind me, the paparazzi are still shouting, their cameras flashing like lightning in a storm.

“Are you and Hanbin dating?”

“Was that a lovers’ quarrel?”

“How long have you been together?”

I clench my jaw and pick up my pace, desperate to escape.

My phone vibrates in my purse, and I yank it out, already knowing who it is.

“What the hell was that?” my manager, Saeun, hisses the moment I answer. “I told you to keep a low profile, not start a scandal!”

I rub my temples. “It wasn’t my fault! Hanbin was being—Hanbin.”

“And you fell for it.” She sighs. “The internet is already exploding. Do you know what the top trend is right now?”

I don’t answer, but my silence says enough.

“#HanbinY/NDating.”

I nearly drop my phone. “Are you kidding me?”

“Nope.” I hear furious typing on her end. “There are already fan edits of the two of you. Some people are calling you ‘soulmates,’ and others think you had a secret relationship this entire time.”

I groan. “Unbelievable.”

“What’s unbelievable is that you shoved him. Why would you do that in front of cameras?”

“Because he’s insufferable! And he leaned in on purpose—he wanted this to happen!”

“Of course he did! He thrives on this kind of attention!” saeun sighs again, and I can hear the exhaustion in her voice. “Look, the agency’s calling a meeting first thing tomorrow morning. You and Hanbin need to do damage control.”

Before I can respond, a black car pulls up beside me. The tinted window rolls down, revealing Hanbin, his usual smug expression firmly in place.

“Need a ride, sweetheart?” he drawls.

I glare at him. “I’d rather walk barefoot through broken glass.”

His grin widens. “Suit yourself.” and then he drives away.

I hate him.

I really hate him.

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“Excuse me, what?”

I stare at my manager, waiting for her to take back the absolutely insane thing she just said.

“We need to capitalize on the media buzz,” she says instead, arms crossed like she’s already decided my fate. “The internet thinks you and Hanbin have insane chemistry. We’re turning it into a PR stunt.”

I let out a sharp laugh. “No. Absolutely not.”

Saeun gives me a pointed look. “It’s already been arranged. The studio wants you two to fake date until the movie’s premiere.”

I groan, dragging my hands down my face. “Why me?”

“Because,” she says, as if it’s obvious, “your name is trending for the first time, and this could skyrocket your career.”

I hate that she has a point.

Before I can argue, the door swings open, and he walks in.

Hanbin.

Looking annoyingly perfect as always, dressed in a fitted black sweater that’s way too flattering for his own good. His confidence fills the room before he even speaks, and I instantly know he’s enjoying this way too much.

His gaze sweeps over me, and then he smirks. “Guess you heard the good news.”

I shoot him a glare. “This is your fault.”

He places a hand over his chest in mock offense. “My fault? I didn’t tell the media to fall in love with us.”

“Us?” I scoff. “There is no us.”

Hanbin shrugs. “Not according to the internet.”

I grit my teeth. “I hate you.”

“Aw.” He leans against the desk beside me, tilting his head. “That’s not a very romantic thing to say to your boyfriend.”

Saeun clears her throat. “Let’s focus, please. We have a lot to discuss.”

I throw up my hands. “There’s nothing to discuss! I’m not doing it.”

Saeun pinches the bridge of her nose. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal, but this kind of attention is golden. You’re getting more press than ever, and the studio loves it.”

I cross my arms. “So? I’d rather succeed because of my talent, not some ridiculous fake relationship.”

Hanbin chuckles under his breath. “Well, I think it’s a great idea.”

I whip my head toward him. “Of course you do.”

He grins. “It’s a win-win. More attention for the movie, more fans for you, and I get to spend time with my favorite co-star.”

I glare at him. “I’d rather eat glass.”

Saeun sighs. “Too bad. You’re doing it.”

I gape at her. “You can’t force me.”

She gives me a knowing look. “Oh, really? Should I remind you about your contract? The one that has a promotional obligations clause?”

I freeze.

Crap.

Hanbin whistles lowly. “Oof. You didn’t read the fine print, did you?”

I clench my fists. “Shut up.”

Saeun pats my shoulder. “It’s only for a few months. Smile, hold hands, pretend you don’t hate each other. Simple.”

I shoot Hanbin a death glare. “If you so much as breathe near me, I swear—”

Hanbin smirks, leaning in just enough to make my pulse spike. “Careful, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want the fans to think we’re faking it.”

And somehow, this is only the beginning.

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Our first date is a disaster.

Not that I expected anything else.

The moment we step out of the sleek black car, cameras flash from every direction. Hanbin, ever the professional, slides an arm around my waist like it’s second nature. I stiffen. His touch is light, almost casual, but the way his fingers linger sends an unexpected shiver up my spine.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his voice smooth and calm, as if this is all perfectly normal. “Try to at least look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

I grit my teeth. “Try to at least pretend you’re not an arrogant ass.”

Hanbin chuckles, the low sound vibrating against my skin. “This is going to be so fun.”

“Only for you,” I mutter under my breath.

I don’t get the chance to tell him just how not fun this is before we’re swept into the restaurant—a five-star, ultra-exclusive spot reserved for A-listers and the ridiculously wealthy. The kind of place that probably charges extra for breathing its air. Hanbin, naturally, acts like he owns it.

“Sir, your usual table is ready,” the man says, leading us to a candlelit table by the window—a perfect view for the paparazzi waiting outside.

I scowl as Hanbin picks up his menu, completely at ease. “You could at least pretend to be interested,” he says without looking up.

“I could say the same to you.”

He smirks. “Oh, but I am interested. Just not in the food.” He finally looks up, eyes gleaming with amusement. “You’re much more entertaining.”

I resist the urge to throw my menu at him. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I plan to.”

I ignore him and focus on the menu, which—of course—is filled with dishes that sound more like riddles than actual food.

“What the hell is a ‘deconstructed truffle-infused foam risotto’?” I whisper, horrified.

Hanbin snickers. “Want me to order for you?”

I narrow my eyes. “No. I am perfectly capable of ordering my own food, thank you very much.”

Two minutes later, I point at a random item and try to pronounce it. I fail.

Hanbin grins as the waiter turns to him. “She’ll have the filet mignon, medium rare,” he says smoothly. “And an extra side of truffle fries.”

The waiter nods and disappears. I gape at Hanbin. “Did you just—”

He leans back in his chair, looking way too pleased with himself. “You’ll thank me later.”

I cross my arms. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“I have to say, watching you struggle with fine dining has been a highlight of my week.”

I glare at him. “You know what would be the highlight of my week? Watching you trip and fall on your stupidly perfect face.”

Hanbin smirks. “Careful, sweetheart. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

I groan and drop my head into my hands.

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The night drags on, filled with him teasing me at every opportunity. But the worst part? The cameras love us together.

I can already imagine the headlines:

“Hanbin and Rising Star Caught on Romantic Dinner Date!”

“The Chemistry is Unreal!”

“Are They Really Just Acting?”

I scowl at my plate, stabbing my fork into my filet mignon like it personally offended me. Hanbin watches with open amusement.

“Why do you look like you’re plotting a murder?” he asks.

“Because I am.”

His lips twitch. “Should I be worried?”

“No, you’re not the target.” I glance at the window, where a cluster of paparazzi are snapping photos. “I’m thinking of assassinating a few photographers first.”

Hanbin chuckles. “That’s one way to make headlines.”

I sigh. “This is exhausting.”

He takes a sip of his wine, still looking infuriatingly relaxed. “That’s because you’re trying too hard to fight it.”

I glare at him. “Unlike some people, I don’t have a lifetime of experience pretending to be charming.”

Hanbin gasps dramatically. “Are you saying my charm isn’t natural?”

“I’m saying it’s a carefully manufactured scam, and I see right through it.”

He grins. “And yet, here you are. Fake dating me.”

“Trust me, it wasn’t my idea.”

Hanbin shrugs. “Could be worse. I could be some talentless hack with no social skills.”

“You are a talentless hack with no social skills.”

He laughs, and to my horror, it sounds genuine.

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I feel like I’ve just run a marathon. My face hurts from all the fake smiling.

As we step outside, the paparazzi swarm again.

Just when I think I’m finally free—

Hanbin tugs me close, his lips brushing against my ear. “Smile,” he murmurs. “This is the moment they’ll put on the front page.”

And before I can protest, he kisses my cheek.

The world explodes in camera flashes.

My breath catches, and for a split second, I forget how to function.

Then he pulls back, looking way too pleased with himself.

I narrow my eyes. “I hate you.”

Hanbin grins. “Sure you do.”

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The internet loses its mind overnight.

By the next morning, my phone is flooded with notifications. Twitter is covered in clips of Hanbin’s cheek kiss, slowed down to an infuriating degree.

“Hanbin and (Y/N): Are They Faking It?”

“The Chemistry is Unreal!”

“Forget Their Movie—We Need a Rom-Com Starring Them IRL!”

I groan and throw my phone across the bed.

This is my nightmare.

A sharp knock at my door startles me. I groan again, dragging myself out of bed to answer it.

Standing in my doorway, looking as infuriatingly perfect as ever, is Hanbin.

I blink. “No. Absolutely not.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I haven’t even said anything yet.”

“You don’t have to. Your existence is already annoying enough.”

Hanbin smirks like he takes that as a compliment. “Charming as ever, sweetheart.”

I cross my arms. “Why are you here?”

He holds up two iced coffees. “Figured you’d need caffeine after last night.”

I eye the coffee suspiciously. “What’s in it?”

Hanbin scoffs. “Do you really think I’d poison you?”

“Honestly? I wouldn’t put it past you.”

He rolls his eyes and takes a dramatic sip of one of the cups. “See? No poison. Just good old-fashioned caffeine to fuel your daily dose of hating me.”

I narrow my eyes but take the coffee anyway. “Fine. But I still don’t trust you.”

“That’s the foundation of every great fake relationship.” He leans against the doorframe, looking way too pleased with himself. “Speaking of which, we should… rehearse.”

I nearly choke on my coffee. “Rehearse? For what?”

Hanbin gestures vaguely. “If we’re going to keep this up, we should make sure our stories match. You know, in case we get asked about our relationship.”

I scowl. “Fine. But no unnecessary touching.”

Hanbin raises an eyebrow, that damn smirk creeping back. “Unnecessary? So you admit some of it is necessary?”

I slam the door in his face.

From the other side, I hear him laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

I begrudgingly let him in (after making him swear to keep his hands to himself), and we sit across from each other on my couch.

He pulls out his phone, scrolling through something. “Alright, let’s start with the basics. Where did we ‘meet’?”

I frown. “We met at the audition.”

Hanbin snorts. “Right, because nothing says ‘romance’ like you accusing me of stealing your role.”

“Because you did steal it.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “Let’s go with something cuter. Maybe we met at a coffee shop.”

I give him a flat look. “That is literally the most cliché fake dating backstory ever.”

He grins. “Exactly. The media eats that stuff up.”

I groan. “Fine. We met at a coffee shop. You spilled your drink on me.”

“You ran into me,” Hanbin corrects.

“Why would I be the one running into you?”

“Because it’s more believable. You, flustered and embarrassed, me, charming and forgiving—”

I throw a pillow at him. “Forgiving? Please. You’d find a way to make me apologize.”

Hanbin dodges the pillow, laughing. “You’re learning.”

I sigh, rubbing my temples. “Fine. We met at a coffee shop, and somehow, despite my better judgment, I agreed to go on a date with you.”

Hanbin nods. “Perfect. Now, favorite things about each other?”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“If people ask us, we need to have answers.” He smirks. “So, what do you love most about me?”

I stare at him. “Your ability to survive despite having zero redeeming qualities.”

Hanbin presses a hand to his heart. “Ouch. That was almost mean.”

I shrug. “I’m just being honest.”

“Alright, then. My favorite thing about you?” He taps his chin, pretending to think. “Probably the way you get all flustered when I—”

“Nope!” I grab a second pillow and hurl it at his face.

Hanbin laughs, catching it effortlessly. “You’re so fun to mess with.”

I groan. “This is going to be the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

He grins. “No, sweetheart. This is going to be the performance of a lifetime.”

And for some reason, that makes me even more nervous.

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[miniwheat77]

Pure Sin. (Professor!Graves x Reader.)

!NSFW, professor x student relationship, smut, sex toys, unprotected p in v sex, NO MINORS YOU’VE BEEN WARNED!

This was a request, you can find that here!

You’re sitting in a lecture, waiting.

Professor Graves’ class is next, and you can’t wait.

There’s been a sense of tension between the both of you since you started in his class at the beginning of the semester. When you made eye contact, it always seemed intense. When you had to go over something with him, or stay after class. He was always friendly. His hand was always on your thigh, sometimes he’d toy with your hair around your face and a couple times, he’d called your pretty.

When you offered to help him set up his room, he told you “nonsense. Pretty girls like you shouldn’t do any heavy lifting. I’ve got it.”

That’s probably what motivated you to start doing what you did.

You typically wore skirts, but always the kind attached to a pair of shorts. But you’d come across a couple of pleated skirts during a shopping trip that had nothing to hide you. It’s what made you decide to do it in the first place. You started showing off your panties underneath your skirts, making sure that only he can see when you’re bending down.

The first time you bent over in front of him, his eyes widened. Coughing and clearing his throat. Looking away quickly. But the more you showed yourself off, the more he looked. The longer he stared.

But he stayed away. He’s a professor, he couldn’t have a relationship like that with you. It was wrong. So he kept to himself.

When you figured out it wasn’t working, you took your panties off.

The first time he got a good view of you, bent over with nothing on underneath. He sputtered and choked on his coffee, eyes going wide immediately and he turned away from his class. You’d caught him completely off guard and he had to sit down immediately. Feeling himself growing hard beneath his slacks. How on earth were you just walking around like that?

But than he started to catch on.

You were shy around the other boys. Barely moved from your seat. When you dropped something and had to pick it up in front of them, you’d crouch all of the way down so that they couldn’t see you. You only wanted him to see you. He knew it now.

One particular day, you’d showed yourself off to him a little bit and he just couldn’t take it anymore. You clearly wanted him, and he wasn’t going to make you suffer. “Y/N. Will you stay after class?” He asks. Raising up your paperwork. You nod your head nervously.

“Teachers pet.” A boy mumbles, making you roll your eyes. They always called you that.

At the end of the lecture, when everyone made their way out, you packed up your items and made your way over to his desk. Tugging your backpack on. “W-what did you want to talk about Professor?” You ask. “I wanted to talk about this with you.” He raises up your essay that you had written.

He’d given out a rubric, assigning you to write about the 7 deadly sins. And which sin affected you the most.

“I wanted to say that you did a great job. It’s well written, you have good sources and good stories.” He smiles. “And.. you’re a brave girl.” He smirks. “What?”

“You’re the only student in here that was brave enough to write about Lust.” Your cheeks burn and you look down at your feet. “I wanted to show you something before my next lecture but it starts in a few minutes. Stop by before class tomorrow?” He asks. You nod your head. “Good girl.” He breathes. Watching you as you walk toward the door. Once that door is closed he’s palming himself through his pants. Trying to calm the raging fire inside of himself.

———

The next day, you did as he said. You showed up thirty minutes early and knocked before you came in, hearing him call that you could come in. He was waiting at his desk. You walk in, and he stands up. “Go ahead and sit down, I’ve got to get something.” He smiles. You sit down, unaware that he’s going to lock the door. You’re inside with him, completely alone. You’re still standing when he comes back to his desk. “I wanted to ask you something.” He sits down in his chair, moving himself closer to you with his feet. “Do you show yourself off to anyone else, or is it just me?” He smiles, leaning back and crossing his arms. Your heart starts to race. “What?” You ask. “It’s okay. Cmere darling.” He reaches out, grasping your hand and tugging you closer. “Let’s take this off, yeah?” He tugs your backpack straps down, laying it on the ground by your feet.

“I know what you’re doing.” He breathes. Pulling you closer until you’re standing between his thighs. He toys with the edge of your skirt, fingers gliding over your exposed thighs. “You’re showing yourself to me. And.. I just want you to know that it’s working.” He can hear your heart pounding in your chest. You’re so nervous. “I see you, pretty girl. And I’ll give you what you want. You just have to make it through one lesson, you can do that. Can’t you?” His fingers glide up your skirt on the top of your thigh and he can hear you take in a sharp breath. “Y-yes sir.”

“But.. I’ve got something. Picked it up last night. Something that’ll make you feel better about everything.” He smiles.

He stands up, and your eyes follow him as he does, he towers over you and you gasp as he pushes you back into his desk. Raising your skirt up. “Deep breath darling, your heart is gonna beat right out of your chest.” He laughs. He grasps your thighs, lifting you up until you’re sitting on his desk. He returns to his chair, opening up his drawer. He pulls out the toy he’d prepared for this. You swallow hard when you see it. “I want you to keep it in for my lecture today.” He breathes. You’re nervous and he can tell. “Nothing to be nervous about. It’s just a plain toy. I want to see you squirm sweetheart.” He stands up, moving closer to you. Letting his hand slide between your legs. His fingers gliding over your opening. “You deserve to squirm for a little bit. After all, you’ve made me wait a long, long time.” He laughs.

He circles your clit with his fingers.

You stiffen up when he slides a finger into you. Moaning as he begins to pump it in and out of you.

“Fuck… You sound… amazing.” He breathes. He adds another finger, hearing you whine out. Just when you’re feeling the knot start to form in your stomach, he draws his fingers back. You breathe out. Your cheeks are flushed and he smiles. He slides the toy into you, seeing your eyes widen. Once he’s got it completely in, he pulls away from you. “You make it through today.. and I’ll let you have what you’ve been waiting for.” He rests his hand on his cock through his jeans, seeing you swallow hard. “Go take your seat darling.”

You nod your head, going to sit down. He watches you walk awkwardly to your seat. Laughing to himself.

You wait patiently, and when people come in, he starts talking, and you’re lost in your assignment. You’re watching him write something on the board behind his desk. It’s fairly quiet aside from small talk from the others in the room.

You see his hand dip down into his pocket. What you don’t see, is his hand grip the tiny remote.

He presses it, turning to look at you just as it starts to vibrate. You stiffen up immediately. Hands clutching hard at the table. He conceals a smile, turning back to the board and turning the vibration setting up higher. You clench your eyes closed, and your body stays stiff as you start to squirm in your seat. It was going to be a long lecture.

Throughout the entire lecture, he’s toying with you. He’ll turn it off, turn it on full speed. Turning it on really low and watching you grind down into your chair. Your eyes water and you’re frustrated. Ready to explode by the time his painful lecture ends at last. You’re sitting at the end of the first table with your teeth gritted, waiting for everyone to leave the room. “Waiting to talk to him again teachers pet? You’ve probably done enough extra credit for the whole class.” One of the guys says to you as he’s leaving. You roll your eyes which is more than a reaction you’ve given him all year. Professor Graves finds it amusing. The moment the door is closed, he’s making his way over to lock it behind the others. “Thank god, please take it out.” You breathe. Making your way up to him.

“Not yet, Doll. We haven’t even started.” He laughs. Hearing you huff. “Please I can’t take anymore.” You want to cry.

He lifts you back up into his desk, tugging the remote from his pocket. “I want to watch you cum.” He smirks. “I know you’ve been waiting for it, sweet girl.” He chews at his lip. You lean back onto your hands as he presses the button, seeing you jump and tense up as it starts to vibrate. “Do you think you’ve earned it?”

You nod your head. He turns up the speed. “Do you? Because.. I don’t think you have.” He turns it up even higher and you’re practically squirming on his desk. Clutching at the edges of it until your knuckles turn white. “Please.” You cry. “I don’t think you’ve earned it baby. You’ve been such a bad girl. Teasing me. I think.. I should stop it.”

“No! Please-“ you cry out. “Please don’t- don’t stop it. Please!” You let out a sob, thighs shaking from the intensity of the vibrations. “Beg for it than. Tell me how bad you want to cum.”

“Please- I won’t tease you anymore, I’ll be good. I swear- please don’t stop. Please let me cum Professor Graves.”

Please leaves your lips in chants and he watches you shake and sob as your climax approaches. He moves between your legs.

“It’s not good enough.”

He stops it all together and a sob leaves your lips, body relaxing. Actual tears start to stream down your face and your thighs shake violently. He laughs at you, how pathetic you are. He pulls you off of his desk, spinning you around until your back is to him before pushing you over it. “Don’t cry. I’m not finished yet.” He taunts. He laughs as he lifts up your skirt, pushing it up and over your hips, exposing you to him once more. His tongue glides over his bottom lip as he unzips his slacks, pulling his cock through the hole and lining up with your entrance.

When he slides into you, a choked gasp leaves your lips.

He feels better than any vibrator.

“There we go… that’s what you’ve been waiting for isn’t it?” He laughs. “Yes- yes!” You cry. “Good girl. Poor thing.. can feel you throbbing around me. So desperate to cum.”

He taunts you, drawing his hips back and burying himself back into you. You lurch forward with every bruising thrust he takes. “Poor thing.. so needy. Now you know how it feels. How I’ve felt these past few weeks.” He chuckles. “If you wanted me… all you had to do was ask.”

“I’m sorry-“ you whine. He wraps his arms around you, forcing you to stand upright. Your back pressed into his chest and he forces your face to the left to look at him. “I forgive you. I think you’ve learned your lesson.” He smirks. He forces your face back to kiss him, he kisses you hard, teeth knocking into yours with his forcefulness. He keeps his hard thrusts, cock nestled up inside of you. Hips moving with yours. “Fuck-“ you cry, laying back over the desk. He holds onto your hips, fucking into you. “You’re so wet. So fucking tight on me baby.” He groans, letting his eyes screw shut. The muscles in his neck tighten and tense up with how hard he grits his teeth, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt this good. “Professor Graves- please.”

He laughs, biting at his lip. “You gonna cum honey?” He licks his lips, tilting his head back. He’s getting close himself. He pulls out of you abruptly, spinning you around before you can protest, lifting you up onto the desk once more. He slides you to the edge of it, sliding back into you. You cry out as he fills you back up again. “Oh fuck!” You whine. “I’m so close.” You cry. “That’s it. That’s a good girl Y/N. You’re doing so good.” He breathes. “Keeping up with me too… god you’re amazing.” He laughs. He holds onto your thighs, so tightly it feels like he might bruise you. “I feel so full.” You gasp. He chews at his lip, fighting his climax back. He needs to feel you cum around him. “Look at me.” He moves himself closer. “I think you’ve finally earned it.” He breathes. “You think so honey?” He keeps his lips pursed. “Yes- yes Professor Graves.” You whine. “Please let me cum.”

“Such a good girl. Go on.” He moves closer, lips right by your ear. His warm breath sends chills down your spine. “Cum on my cock baby.” He breathes. One final thrust into you and you’re crying out. Chills covering your body with how hard he sends you right into your climax. Your body shakes and you squirm as he keeps fucking you, sobbing as he keeps his brutal pace. “Just… oh fuck- a minute more.” He hisses out. Just a couple more thrusts and he’s falling apart, the feeling of you throbbing around him sends him over the edge. He doesn’t pull out. He buries himself right into you to the hilt and fills you full. Dragging you off of his desk and sitting down in his chair with you in his lap. He’s breathing hard and you’re a blushing mess above him as he comes down from his high.

He rests his head back against his chair, breathing out. “Fuck..” he sighs. His heart thumps hard in his chest and you can listen to it as it starts to settle down. “Damn baby.” He wipes mouth, laughing. “M’too old for this.” He laughs. Seeing you blush above him, squirming around because he’s still inside you. You can feel his filth seeping out of you, around his shaft. “All worn out honey.” He smiles. “It’s okay.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. “I can do all of the work.” You bite your lip, seeing his smirk. He can’t help but laugh. “Fuck… you’re a bad girl.” He laughs. You rest your hands on his chest, adjusting yourself on him. The way you brace yourself has him hardening again. “Fuck. You’re a temptress you know that? Gonna get me into trouble.” He breathes. “We’ve been in here for too long already, besides. I think you deserve a comfy bed rather than a desk. How about you come home with me?” He looks up at you.

“Uh.. yeah. Sure.” Your cheeks are pink, you didn’t know how far he wanted to take this.

“Funny. I just came inside you and you’re still so bashful.” He laughs. “Meek little thing. Cmon.” He helps you off him, hearing you gasp out as he slides out of you. He can’t help but laugh. You tug your skirt down, eyes widening as you feel his filth seeping back out of you. He watches with a grin as it starts to drip down your thighs. “Fuck.. I could get used to that.”

“Is.. there a bathroom or something?” You blush. “Yeah but you can’t use it. Deal with it until we get to mine. It’s your punishment for teasing me for so long.” He winks. Hearing you protest as he pushes you along. “Get your backpack, brat.” His hand clapping against your ass has you jumping forward.

You pick it up and following him to the door. “Good girl.”

“Now act like you don’t have my cum dripping between your thighs or you’ll get us in trouble.”

[garagesesh]

when we are together

pairing(s): obi wan kenobi x (f!) reader

summary: a glimpse in the life of anakin’s best friends three years after mustafar

warning(s): angst lol

a/n: this is kind of a part two to my anakin story. i have been absent apologies i started school again and a part time job :,) plus the holidays was a horror. idk if this is good or not it’s just been on my mind. title is from the 1975. 

␛ to masterlist

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Tatooine

16 ABY

The binoculars clicked as you scanned the barren wastelands of Tatooine. The binary suns already beginning to dip beyond the horizon and the desert chill billowed through your sand colored robes.

Where was he?

You couldn’t help the overwhelming feeling that he had been found.

By him.

By Vader.

Goosebumps spread across your skin, your hair standing at attention in fear. This couldn’t be the end, you wanted to reach for the force, for comfort, for calm.

Three standard years had passed somewhat quietly and without much incident. The child was doing well, growing steadily in the peaceful home just over the mountains.

The anticipation of danger without knowing where Obi-Wan was and the looming threat of him and his Empire had washed any sort of safety.

Through the binoculars, a spot that was moving at rapid pace rose just above the horizon

A speeder, not of your own came across the desolate sand and rock.

Faster and faster it sped towards you. Glimpsing one last time into the binoculars before completely discarding them in your robes, your breathing hitched and your hand reached for the blaster hidden in your belt.

You didn’t raise to aim but you waited with a finger on the trigger. The speeder got louder and closer. Barreling towards you at unprecedented speed.

A figure with a dark hood and a heavy pack was now identifiable. Sighing you slipped the blaster back into the hidden holster, crossing your arms over your chest. Waiting.

“You scared the living stars out of me!” You huffed. “You know that?!” 

Obi-Wan Kenobi didn’t say anything as he powered the speeder down.

“You could’ve commed!” Your hands found your hips. Disappointed and mostly anxious. “Where were you and what is this?”

“Mos Eisley.” Obi-Wan sighed as he gracefully slid off the speeder. He nodded towards the faded-brown speeder. It wasn’t by any means a brand new speeder, it had blaster marks and sand erosion but it was nicer than the old piece of junk you two had salvaged from the Jundland wastes.

“We had a perfectly good one.”

“This one is faster and actually a two seater.” He countered

“We don’t have the credits Obi-Wan!”

“I’ll pick up a second job.”

Always the negotiator.

Huffing you left the older man with the speeder, vanishing into the hut to continue the dinner that was boiling on the stove. Rations again.

Stirring the pot of rice, you lost yourself into the swirls of brown and white. Letting the steam envelope your fear. Only did a warm hand on your waist, trying to squeeze by in the small surroundings pull you out.

“Excuse me.” You hummed as his hand dragged off your waist.

The hut was small, enough space for the two of you but none for a third. The entrance of the home opened to the living room, where in one corner was a makeshift bedroom that was concealed by a blanket you had found. You shared the bed. He had tried for the first cycle on Tatooine to sleep on the small, uncomfortable couch before you finally offered the other side of the bed.

The other corner was a small dining table with two chairs. The kitchen was a step up and had a window into the living space and only one bathroom that was old and needed work.

But it was home.

You ate in silence, feeling guilty of your outburst from earlier.

“I’m sorry for my reaction earlier. I was harsh.”

“It’s alright.” He gracefully spooned the soup into his mouth without another word. Obi-Wan cleared the plates and cleaned the dishes, humming a soft tune.

It wasn’t until you had both showered, hair still damp and covered in the blankets of your shared bed, you finally broke the silence.

“I checked on him while you were gone.” Your finger delicately traced the small constellations of freckles on his warm shoulder. “I wasn’t sure if you had or not.”

Obi-Wan shifted. “Thank you.”

“He’s so big now.”

“Yes, he is.”

“I can feel him in the force.” You could feel the buzz of the young boys force. Powerful and strong. You didn’t have to reach in to feel him.

“He’s very strong.” Obi-Wan shifted once more, his entire body now facing your own. His large, calloused hand reached into your hair, his thumb wiping away tears you hadn’t know had fallen.

“You feel it too?” You whispered.

“Yes.” He smiled bitterly. “I can feel his presence even now. I’m worried about his strength and what would happen if…”

Obi-Wan trailed off, unable to say the name out loud. Afraid to bring forth the man in existence right then and there in your shared bed.

“Vader.” You whispered for him.

He nodded, his hand still entwined.

Silence enveloped you once more. The blue light of the moon shining through the slotted windows and onto your faces.

“I’m scared.” You admitted, holding his gaze. “Lonely.”

He said nothing in return. His deep blue eyes scanned your face.

After three years, you had shared a last name. Paraded as a married couple to neighbors. Held hands through the market. Light touches as he brushed by. Held you sometimes at night.

But nothing more.

Obi-Wan’s hand untangled from your hair and down the slope of your neck. His thumb caressing the contour of your collarbone.

You thought he was going to kiss you. Finally slot his lips onto your own and maybe even take you right then.

But his hand completely withdrew from you, leaving the warm skin now bitter cold.

“Goodnight, y/n.” He turned over, his bare back now facing you.

“Goodnight, Ben.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

␛ to masterlist | can I interest you in pt. 2?

[clairdelunelove]

sole recognition

könig x reader

genre: fluff! (sticker drabble!)

warnings: slightly suggestive, cursing, brief mentions of violence/blood, smug!könig

synopsis: the rumors that könig is a menace on the battlefield are all seemingly true but could the same be said behind closed doors?

a.n. luv reading all the reblogs! so I knew I had to write one about this man since the idea was so cute to me! I mayhaps over-indulged in aggressive and cocky könig in battle. I couldn't help it! (｡･･｡)

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currently thinking about the absolute mad lad that könig is on the battlefield but when he’s got you gently pressing stickers onto his makeshift sniper hood– it’s a completely different story.  

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an upcoming mission, without exception, has the ability of striking fear in even the most veteran of soldiers. the ones that have raged on in countless operations. whether that was being assigned to tasks such as bombing or reconnaissance; there was the potential for mistakes to happen. didn’t matter if it was a simple rescue operation. life on the front lines is ambiguous. the awareness of the unknown– the uncertainty– served to be the greatest fear factor for all. humans dread what they’re unfamiliar with. most sought comfort in recognizing their six is covered by their fellow squadmates. grasping onto the ideal that one’s miscommunication through coms isn’t entirely a single person’s fault. others take it upon themselves to be hyper-vigilant and prepared to avoid any misunderstandings. properly cleaning their weapons, packing extra rations, or ensuring the coast was clear before moving in the environment. prior planning to combat the uncharted. not könig, however. the man that conceals his identity with a sniper hood and layers of darkened clothing. a mystery, really. blends into the background when he’s not equipped with a weapon. the scariest part is that he’s unsuspecting. a mountain of a man that towers amongst the largest soldiers from the opposing side. resembling a jostling, clamorous silhouette that raced onto the battlefield before anyone else did. an enthusiast for violence. a fanatic for the chaos.

könig who isn’t typically found conversing with the others before a mission. jitters were pretty common prior to jumping off the aircraft and small talk was habitual to take the edge off. collective mutters of the appalling food ration that was eaten earlier or teasing remarks on who’ll heave up the aforementioned meal filtered through the air. light jabs alleviated some of the nervousness. he, however, sits tucked in the farthest corner of the space. his head is lowered while his gloved fingers rhythmically thrum against his khaki canvas pants. he’s talking too– just not with the others. prefers to murmur insensible comments to himself. if one listens carefully then it’s apparent that he’s hyping himself up. intensifying his need to have strength. to do well in battle. though, the consonants in his words reverberate and shake like broken chalk against a chalkboard. his mumblings bordering eerie by how expressive he is. how heated he’s become at the mere idea that he’ll be fighting. there’s not enough time to dwell on it because he’s hopping off the platform and plunging into where his expertise lies at. 

könig who brazenly shouts, “that’s our fucking juggernaut!” the holler is arrogant, presumptuous and entirely too eccentric to merge with the agonizing cries on the battlefield. his eyes skip to the soldier that hurls themself into the crowd with the sole purpose of massacre. it’s an insane sight. debris littering the place, bullets fizzing through the air, and medics dropping in to tend to the wounded. but he’s undeterred by the free-for-all. thrives in it. a pitched laugh leaves his lips at the familiarity before he’s bounding up the steps of an abandoned building. higher ground could be an advantage. he slips in, strangely quiet despite his size, before ambushing an off-guard sniper that was holed up in the room. throws his massive weight onto the rival’s back, before delivering a series of frenzied stabs with his pocket knife. splatters of blood coat his covered face and he uses the back of his arm to wipe it. smears the maroon liquid to mix with the red paint adorning his sniper hood. “got that bastard,” he huffs, victorious. 

könig who shines in close combat. granted, the title of colonel gets into his head sometimes. his uncontrolled, rabid, and quick movements are deranged. makes it impossible to counter him. the opposing side definitely attempts to but they’re instantly mauled by his attacks. his blue eyes are electric when he’s in control of being the hunter- not the prey. gaze darted to every crevice and corner to swiftly spot any spare weapons he could use. he picks up a riot shield. “the big fella is mine!” he bellows and races over to his acquired target. there’s a heavy thud as könig rams into the soldier. a curse spews out of his lips due to the strain, “scheiße!” yet, his arm whips around so his combat knife finds itself in the side of the other soldier. the fact that his body consists of long limbs and a toned physique aids in his skill. unbeknownst to others, a triumphant grin spreads across his face as he brags, “they are no match for me.” whispers of his ruthlessness follow him when his team secures the mission’s objective. he’s not listening though. his chest shakily rises to compensate for the hollow breaths he’s taking and his gloved hand grips at his chestplate. the objective was complete. gulps mouthfuls of air to keep him from becoming lightheaded at the adrenaline that fuels him– the rush unnecessary now. the back of his head smacks against the wall, a sensation he doesn’t feel, as he awaits landing back on base. 

könig who overlooks fully shutting the door to his office and will possibly (surely) regret it. he enters the room to gather paperwork. he stays for you. there’s a tiny crack that unveils the truth of how the colonel is utterly enamored by you. and if his comrades caught him in the position he was currently in– his superiority over them would be nonexistent. he’d just gotten back from the mission when you breathlessly threw your arms around him. “koni! how was it?” you ask as he steps into the small secluded room. there’s a giddy bounce in your step and a glimpse at his desk indicates that you’ve spent the time cleaning his office. his gloved hands instinctively find purchase on your waist as he mumbles that it went well. sweet touches reserved only for you. “maus,” he gestures to what you’ve done and his voice is so tender that you inwardly swoon, “there was no need to.” he wishes to chide you, in hopes of deterring your need to help him, but then your lower lip juts out into a pout, “I wanted to though. plus, look what I found!” and he ultimately abandons his initial thought because your glossy lips curl into a delighted smile when you present him with a sticker sheet. “found it in your desk while I was cleaning. how come you never told me they gave you stuff like this?” 

könig who breathily inquires, “did I do good?” while you’re seated on his lap. the contact serves to ground him but it only causes his heart to thrum faster against his ribcage. he recalls the events of his previous mission (albeit in a sputter of strung together words). doesn’t even know what’s happening before you’re crawling on his lap and whispering compliments. he startles, initially, because it’s virtually impossible to properly function around you. your beauty is almost blinding when he’s this close. his palms are sweaty underneath his tactical gloves. ears tinged red when you drag an experimental hand on his chest. the gaze he fixates on you is magnetic and his heady eyes regard you with clear devotion. you smell so delightful too. a sugary, delectable scent that has him preening for you. it’s quiet within the room, his jittery mannerisms and rapid inhales are the only audible noises. you don’t seem bothered by it, however. your tongue darts out in concentration as your fingers pry at the selection of stickers. “tell me I did good,” he essentially pleads and shuffles to push his face closer to yours, “please.” his eyes are so blue that you’re afraid of drowning in them. you let out a honeyed coo while placing a glittery star on his cheek, “you always do, koni.” a prize. for him. the colonel. the silly sticker blatantly contrasts with his disguise but it doesn’t trouble him because you’re moving to cup the side of his face in order to litter his face in colorful adhesives. light lashes fluttering, he presses himself into your touch and fondly confesses, “did it all for you, mein engel.” 

könig who barely heeds your playful scolding when you hum, “patience, koni,” but he’s anything but calm. you can’t apprise him when your plush lips are on his forehead. he stills. like a deer caught in the blaring headlights coming down a highway. such an affectionate kiss for a monstrous man. his stomach flips, a sensation he assumed only happened out on the battlefield, and an objection escapes his mouth. requests for another. his eagerness knocks a soft laugh out of you but the pretty noise is interrupted by könig chasing after your lips. a grumble of wanting– no– needing more. one would conclude that he was deprived of you. “I am, maus,” the giant male reasons as his forehead gently bumps against yours, “I’ll be patient for you.” and goodness do you reward him; sharp nails prodding underneath the piece of cloth that hangs from his head. upon uncovering the enticing stretch of skin, you press an open-mouthed kiss to the juncture of his neck. the pressure causes his head to abruptly jerk back as he hoarsely groans, “oh, süßi.” voice sticky and edging into desperation. his bony knees knock against your thighs as he readjusts himself in his seat which inadvertently drives you closer. his wandering hands settle on the curve of your hips, unintentionally shoving your hips to his. he mumbles quick apologies for his roughness. is unashamed about it, though. the disparity in his personality is alarming. but he can’t help it. not when he’s with you. puffs hot, needy breaths into your ear when you softly croon, “you’re so sweet to me, koni. the sweetest ever.” 

[apollodeath]

Fairgrounds.

König x Reader

SFW

A/n: just a cute fair date with König SFW there’s some suggestiveness? But just cute. I made it really fast so hopefully it’s not bad.

When the two of you finally arrive you can’t hide your excitement you’ve been looking forwards to the fair all year long. Before König left on deployment he pinky promised you he’d take you when he got back, he got back two weeks before the fair opened and you had completely forgotten about it by just being so excited to have König home, he had remembered all along.

“Bist du aufgeregt, meine Liebe?” He smiled a little looking down at you while you two waited in line. It was a cold day and that wasn’t stoping the fun. His hand was warm enough to warm your cold hands plus you both had remembered to dress warm.

“Oh yes!” You smiled nodding. König admired your childlike excitement over the simple fair day. The cold brought out your rose tinted cheeks and nose, which he just adored.

“What’re you going to ride first?” He asked passing the time in the long line.

“I think the carousel!” You thought for a second “all I know is the ferris wheel will be last.” You smiled holding his warm hand close, tucking both of your hands in and around it, even though it was freezing König still burned hot. Which was a plus these kinds of days.

“Why’s that Liebe?” He tilted his head a little.

“Once the sunsets we’ll be able to see all the fair and town lights plus the stars” you explained already thinking how great the view is gonna be.

Once getting to the front and making your way in the fairgrounds it looked massive and full of side shops, games, food trucks and rides bigger than expected. You saw your first ride, the carousel.

—

Time passed and you two were done with rides and finishing up your carnival snacks, searching for fun games to play. König throws his empty drink away and looks around at all the quirky games and flashing lights.

You spotted the classic hammer game in all the cheesy rom-com movies. Whoever hits it hard enough gets a cute plush. Or a small ugly one if you’re ‘weak’ you laugh to yourself thinking about it.

“What?” He notices your smile and little laugh.

“Oh it’s just ‘The Strong Man’ game over there” you pointed “I think I would like to play” you laugh.

“Feel like testing your strength, meine liebe?” he smiles, you notice his cheeks and nose have a little pink sheen on them from the cold air. His breath fog lets you know it’s pretty cold out tonight. And maybe your frozen finger tips.

You walk up and look at the small ‘rewards’ they’re a pack of glow sticks and the other is a plastic beaded necklace.

“Those are… fun…” you joke looking up at König he laughs with you.

“Ja, I could glow in dark” he chuckles you laugh into your hand then look at the big ‘rewards’ that hang up on a display wall. They have surprisingly good quality plushes.

“Whoa those are actually cute” you point at them all.

“I think so too. ” he looked them over.

“Are you playing?!” The carnival worker shouted towards you making you look at him.

“Oh! Yeah I am.” You look back at König smiling and he gives you a little thumbs up as encouragement.

Getting closer to the game and taking the cartoonish big hammer you realized the machine was actually pretty tall. A red bell that sat at the top was meant to be rung, that’s if you were a ‘the strong man’ or whatever. You looked at the other rankings on the machine and they were silly little titles. The one right below the top was ‘regular man’ and 2 feet off the grounds title read ‘baby muscles’ and that got you to laugh. Before slinging the big hammer over your shoulder you realizing it was actually pretty heavy, brought it up and you got a better grip and swung down hitting the little pressure plate, making the little puck go up, but less then half way up. No bell ring. You read your little silly title. It’s not as iconic as ‘baby muscles’

‘Princess power’ you read and look at the worker he points at the bucket of small rewards.

“Thank you.” You say with a smile and grab your glow sticks on the way over to König. König smiles and laughs a little.

“Princess power is fitting” he says with a laugh grabbing the glow sticks and putting them in his coat pocket for safe keeping. You laugh and shrug “I wanted glow sticks anyway” you joke.

“My turn.” He says with a slight smirk, he takes his coat off handing it to you to hold, he adjusts his shirt sleeves and walks over getting the hammer, in his hands it looks smaller and also easier for him to pick up. For some reason König being in the cold without a jacket and even though the game was cheesy, you couldn’t help but admire König’s arm muscles as he lifted the hammer up and over his head then with a huff of his foggy breath in the cold he brought it down hard and fast. The puck shot straight to the top, ringing the bell. Flashing lights displayed his won title ‘The Strong Man’ and the people waiting to play start to clap and you smile brightly joining in on the short applause.

König points to the plushies and says something to the worker you can’t hear but he hands him a little white bunny plush and König takes it; walking back to you.

“For you mein Schatz” he smiles with pride in his walk and smirk. You blush taking the bunny and handing him his coat. You wrap the new plush in a hug then tippy toe kissing König. He softly cups your blushing cheek and then leans in whispering “it reminds me of you mein kleiner Hase”

You blush a deep red and look at him, his toothy grin is wolf-ish and once more he leans in and whispers “you’ll give me my real prize tonight…”

I just love him.