#gilded chris | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

venomnyx · 8 months ago

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THE FOOL CARD - Josh Washington x F!Reader AO3 // Spotify Playlist

WORD COUNT - 3.1k SUMMARY - You've been sneaking around with your best friend's older brother since summer. If it's supposed to be easy and casual, why does it feel so foolish? TAGS/WARNINGS - friends with benefits to lovers, female anatomy reader, teasing, alcohol/drinking, cursing, unprotected p in v sex, brief mentions of asphyxiation, creampie, josh has feelings first, dialogue heavy? NOTES - this is a self-indulgent fantasy smutty dialogue pracitce that isn't edited bc who has time for that these days. ignore overuse/repeat words if u love me. fan of josh since '15 only now i have the ability to do something about it

“You don’t really believe in that stuff, do you?” Josh asks, leaning against the doorway, casually sipping a beer.

You glance up from the cards spread out in front of you. Ashley sits opposite you, deer-eyes round with awe from when she held off of your every word, hinting at her friendship with Chris potentially becoming something more. A small smile grows on your face as you gather the silky cards together and slot them back into place.

“You’re not just saying that because you’re scared, are you, Joshy boy?”

With another sip, the corner of his mouth ticks up with intrigue. He shoulders off the doorway and saunters over, eyes never leaving you.

“Alright, I’ll bite,” he says cooly, sliding onto the stool that Ashley scoots out of. She shoots you a knowing look, a glimmer in the ring of her green eyes, a flush to her cheeks as she scurries back into the chatter-filled living room.

“Tell me,” he begins, lounging back in the wooden chair with a low, shadowed look on his face. A long sip of beer, a generous amount of lash-lidded eye contact. “What does my future hold?”

“Your future?” You smirk, skillfully shuffling the cards in your hand, cheeks warm when you lose the competition of holding his confident stare. The tarot cards are glossy and thick, a high-quality deck gilded with gold that you’d nabbed from a crystal shop that stunk of coconut incense and white sage.

A card flies from the deck, landing face-down. You reach and flip it over, revealing The Tower—a crumbling structure, lit with a devastating fire.

“Sudden, eruptive change.”

He leans closer, interest piqued. “What kind of change?”

“Well… let’s ask the cards to clarify,” you continue, reshuffling until another card leaps out. You pick it up, revealing a heart, daggered with three, long swords. “The Three of Swords. Heartache, and pain.”

He scoffs humorously. “The only heartbreaking and painful thing about this week was Chris eating my leftover pizza.”

You hum, unconvinced. Another card.

Ten of Cups reversed. Familial despair.

“It feels like a warning,” you say, trying not to look at the blatant picture. Familial grieving, pain, loss. Clearing your throat, you glance back up at him. “Almost like everything you know is about to change.”

“Hm. Seems ominous,” he replies, entirely not convinced. “What about my near future?” He perks a suggestive brow, licks the dry of his lips. “What are the cards saying about tonight?”

You roll your eyes, feigning indifference, but your hands tremble when you pull two cards. The Moon, and The Lovers.

“Hmm… looks like the cards are saying…” you faux scan the cards, then glance over your shoulder to ensure there aren’t any eavesdroppers. When you’re satisfied they’re distracted, you return with your chin propped on two folded hands and a small, mischievous smile.

“Your room. Midnight?”

His lips stretch into a grin. “Y’know, if the cards keep saying things like this, I might just become a believer.”

You mirror his smile, tucking yourself in tight as you lean closer to the counter.

Hannah walks in, playing with her fingers nervously, and you instinctively lean back. She glances between you, Josh, the cards, and twists her feet against the tile seams.

“You want a go, Han?” You ask. She nods, but appears apprehensive.

“Come on, Josh, client confidentiality. Get outta here. Scram.”

Josh laughs, once. “Alright. I’ll leave you ladies to it.”

Your eyes flicker to him for a moment. He nods with a poker face like steel, raises his beer in acknowledgement of his sister, and leaves the room without a second look.

It’s cruel, how he walks away. Cruel like it’ll never mean more to him.

Ashley, face pink from cocktails, corners you when you return from the readings, hand pawing at your arm.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, Ash. What’s up?”

She leans closer, voice lowering. “Do you have a crush on Josh?”

You’re mid-sip of wine when she asks, and you sputter a cough.

“Excuse me?”

She grins. “You know. Do you like like him?”

Ever the butt of the joke, your defensiveness flares like the prickle of young flames. Is she teasing you? Your fingers tighten around the glass stem.

“No, I know what you meant,” you reply, face warming. “Um, no, Ash. I don’t have a crush on Josh.”

“You know you can tell me anything, right? I could totally set you guys up. I mean, I told you about my crush on…” she glances around, tactically lowering her voice. “…Chris. So, you can trust me!”

“Ash, I think everybody knows about your crush on Chris.”

She blinks like a doe in headlights. “No, they don’t,” her gaze slips away. “Do they?”

You sip from your glass. “Everybody except Chris, apparently.”

She whacks your arm gently. “Shut up! He might hear you!” She scolds, embarrassed. You chuckle to yourself, eyes drawn to your cup as you mindlessly swirl the drink.

“But, seriously, it’s probably good that you don’t have a crush on Josh. Hannah and Beth would kill you!” She laughs.

Your blood turns icy as your mind is suddenly overwhelmed by a flurry of hook-up flashbacks, and you take a healthy, guilt-numbing swig of your drink before replying.

“Haha. Yeah. You’re probably right about that.”

Two glasses of wine later, you excuse yourself for the bathroom and veer off path when the coast is clear to Josh’s room. His door is ajar, feeding through a slim slice of warm lamp lighting onto the dark hallway.

A familiar routine— a scratch for the itch, a hit for the craving. Can’t keep your hands off him, not since the first time. You’d be in so much trouble if the twins knew you were hooking up with their older brother, but the scandal of it all gives you hot flashes between the thighs.

Hands tickle up your sides when you sneak in. A flat palm over your shoulder to click the door shut.

“You’re late,” he teases.

You stifle your giggles. “Yeah, well, unless you want everybody finding out about whatever we’re doing, then you’ll have to be patient for me to find my moment to sneak off.”

He closes the space between you, pressing against your chest to tilt you against the dresser, feeling small beneath his frame. Knees locked around his hips when you hop up.

“Would it be so bad?” He murmurs, immediately kissing along your neck, hands greedy on your waist. “You know… if they knew? About us?”

Us. A word like hot coals, fingers instinctively recoiling from the topic. Excited butterflies turned to anxious wasps in your belly. Casual moments bleeding into lingering stares, “we’re just friends” to eye contact and hand-holding when he makes you cum.

You think Emily knows. She’s quick-witted and perceptive whenever you leave the room, eyes sharp like a bristled cat ready to pounce.

“What’s there to know? We’re just friends,” you say, and he hums sceptically in response. You clutch his shoulders, warm beneath wine-numb fingers. “Besides, Hannah and Beth would kill me—”

“So, that’s it?” He grins, pulling away just enough that you can feel his breath fanning across your clavicle. You smell alcohol and peppermint gum and your head spins from the proximity.

“I’m just your dirty little secret?”

He’s making fun of you.

“Shut up,” you whine, breath laboured from the tingly feeling he produces against your skin with his mouth. Arousal so severe you feel like you’re sixteen again, a hormonal ball of teenage puppy fat and insecurity.

“Fine. How’d Hannah’s reading go? What’d she wanna know?”

You sigh with frustration, trying to nudge your hips closer to his. “Josh, please don’t talk about your sister when I’m trying to fuck you.”

“Oh, just like that, huh? Like I’m a piece of meat?”

“Isn’t that what you signed up for, pretty boy?”

He nips harder. “You think I’m pretty?”

A severe eye roll. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Well, I can be pretty convincing,” he mutters, pushing the hemline of your skirt up your thigh. “Your dress is cute. You wear it for me?”

You had— all butterflies and anticipation at the thought of easy access. A short, black milk-maid thing, as well as enduring an everything shower the night before, sore from vanilla-sugar exfoliation. Soft for him.

The words escape you in a stuttered breath when he thumbs up to your panty line, tipping it to the side.

“You wish.”

He noses against the column of your throat when he slips a finger against you, shuddery breaths when the slick gathers on his palm.

“Always so wet,” he strains, tipsy touches circling your clit, pressing into the honeyed entrance. “You’re insatiable, you know that? Can’t get enough of me?”

No.

“Mm… don’t flatter yourself. Consider it convenient.”

He tilts his head. “Is that supposed to hurt my feelings?”

“Stop— stop being such a dick,” you pant, muscles seizing against the sudden onslaught of building pleasure.

“Thought you liked me a little mean.”

He slides a singular finger into you, all molten and tingly as he knuckle-fucks you.

“Oh God, shut up.”

He sucks pressure onto your neck, affectionate with a hand on the small of your back. Your insides clench, aching with the urge to be filled, a desire his fingers would never be fully be able to satisfy.

You palm the growing mound behind his denim. “Need to feel you.”

He leans back, looking at you boyishly, pausing the work of his wrist.

“Right now?” His voice peaks. “But you’re hardly ready—”

“Gotta be quick.” You tug on his belt buckle and challenge his eye contact with lowered eyelids. “I can take it.”

You’ve rendered him stun-locked, shy.

He blinks. “Fuck— shit, okay,” he reaches for the zipper on his jeans, already steel-hard when he releases himself. He nudges closer, but you’ve never done it like this before. Not without a condom.

“This okay?” He asks hurriedly, the strain to his voice a sobering splash.

The wine blurs the line you promised not to cross. You glance down to where he fists himself, hastily spreading your slick across his length, and your lower belly flips.

You nod, bottom lip captured between your teeth. “Fuck. Please.”

“You sure?”

“Josh—”

“Alright, alright, needy.”

He slips a hand over the curve of your ass, propping you firmly on the dresser and nestling further between your thighs, notching his tip against your wet heat before pushing in. A sharp inhale accompanied by a hand on his chest, urging him to go slower.

It’s a tight stretch as you adjust to the weight of him pressing inside you, nails digging reflexively into the meat of his shoulders.

“Easy, I got you,” he murmurs, hand sliding up from guiding himself inside of you to the wall beside your head. His mouth captures yours as he sinks deeper, a balm to soothe the sting.

You don’t normally kiss. Not often, usually only when you’re drunk. It felt too intimate at first, too weird— because two “just friends” fucking each other’s brains out certainly wasn’t, but you sigh-melt when his tongue slips past the parting of your lips.

He rolls his hips shallowly once, twice— until the burn turns honey-silk, sheathed heavily in your velvet. He’s panting when he leans back, reaching up for purchase, something to ground himself. He instinctively goes for your waist, second-guesses himself, and leans a hand against the wall.

Dark eyes search for yours in the haze. “You alright?”

You slide your hands underneath his plaid shirt. “You trying to be romantic or something?”

He rolls his eyes. “Quit it.”

You bite down on your lower lip, suppressing a grin, and dig the ball of your foot into his ass to pull him closer.

“Get on with it, then.”

He obliges with a groan, pistoning slowly at first. A gentle back-and-forth, slickening himself up all sweet for you, precarious where he tries not to make the dresser rock too much. Helplessly his fingers cling to you, digging into the plush of your thigh, thumbing along the crease where the skin meets your hip.

He reaches to cradle your face and parts your kiss-wet lips with a thumb. You suck him into the cup of your mouth, tongue curling around his skin. You’ve never blowed him before but you’re sure he pictures you pretty on your knees with the way his eyes darken.

His thumb releases with a pop and he presses it against your clit, puffy with need.

The rhythm catches up, and soon you’re panting as you rock against one another. Arms clinging to the broad spread of his shoulders, legs squeezing around his waist. You could stay here forever, you think— drunk on the way he fucks you like he cares what you feel, what you think. Attentive, giving. Better than any exes and you’re sure he knows it— why else would you stick around?

Your best friend’s older brother.

“We should stop doing this,” you concede, words strung high across a moan. “Ashley thinks I’ve got a crush on you.”

A tilt of his head. Something flickers on his face, sparkles in his eye when his lip quirks up. Amusement.

“That right?” He breathes, teeth flashing. “Cute.”

“Jesus, right there—”

Panting breaths melt together between a symphony of curses. A roll of your eyes as your head tilts forward, nails digging into his tense biceps, bracing yourself against the pulse at your centre as his spit-silky thumb circles your clit.

He swallows thickly, throat bobbing against your temple. “Well… do you?”

You pull back from the crook of his neck you’d buried yourself into. “What?”

“Have a crush on me?”

You sock his shoulder. “Don’t make it weird.”

He grins, followed by a roll of his hips. “Oh, right, because that’ll make things weird.”

“Just— just keep doing that, please.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Footsteps and laughter.

Your eyes widen, nerves doused with adrenaline. “Someone’s coming—”

Josh’s hand snaps up and clamps across your mouth, his hips shifting to continue their pace but careful to mind knocking against the dresser. Eyes low and dark as he leans closer, cheeks flushed as he squeezes your face.

From outside the door, “Yo, where’s Josh?”

“He said he was going to get more beer!”

It’s Chris and Mike.

“He’s been gone for a while. Do you think he’s passed out in his room?”

Your brows scrunch, torn between the thrill of fear and pleasure. A moan squeaks behind his palm, every thrust a countdown. Josh mime-shushes you, licking his lips and glancing over at the door as footsteps pass by. Nothing but a piece of wood between you and a secret spilt.

You whimper, pussy turning to liquid heat between your thighs, fizzy with ecstasy, clamping down hard around his hips. Cobra tight around the lava sink and drag of his cock.

“Nah, man. Let’s check the wine cellar.”

The footsteps continue down the hallway, easing your adrenaline with each step as you turn gelatinous in his arms. He releases you at once and the oxygen runs to your head with a dizzying force, eyes wild as they address you.

“Did you…?”

“Mhm.” It pitches high, and his eyes widen with the realisation.

“You liked that. Do you want us to get caught?”

You tremble with the aftershocks of your orgasm. “Maybe I just liked you choking me.”

His brows raise. “Wait. Really?”

You smile wickedly in response, leaving the question unanswered— you aren’t trying to give him any ideas, but you feel that bubbly-wistfulness in your belly at the thought of his hand around your throat the next time he takes you.

You’re not meant to daydream or hope for the next time; this was only supposed to be a one-time thing— just shy of your nineteenth birthdays, fucking yourselves through a dry spell, but you’ve been jumping his bones since the Washington’s invited you to stay with them last summer and he showed you how to smoke your first joint.

You’re a sweet girl, their parents said. Hannah and Beth couldn’t have been more excited that their best friend was coming to stay for six weeks. They hadn’t suspected a thing.

That was last August. Now you’re here with the others for the annual winter getaway— the lodge all to yourselves, and you’d not even lasted a night before you’d tip-toed into his room at 1 AM.

Josh grunts into your neck, cock twitching within you, sliding in and out of your slickened pussy like water.

“Where should I…”

A vulnerable split-second of eye contact. Shivery energy zips between you and something atmospherically shifts, like a moon falling into orbital alignment. The space behind your rib cage becomes soft and malleable, gravity tugging on your heartstrings.

The Fool Card.

A dangerous cliff edge that you’re too wrapped up in the moment to take mind of. You’re already in this deep— might as well fling yourself over it.

You dig your fingers into him. “Inside.”

His eyes flash wide. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, yeah— fuck, Josh, let me feel you.”

“Oh, shit. Okay. So fuckin’ hot.”

He thrusts with more urgency now, brows knit, teeth bared. Sharp when they slide along the skin of your shoulder.

He releases a cute grunt when he comes, nose buried in your neck, cock pulsing strongly inside of you. A sharp little rut of his hips, pushing himself deep, milking dry what remains.

Panting breaths mingle together, misty with post-sex sweat. You stroke the back of his exertion-damp head, cradled gently against your shoulder, his knuckles white as they brace against the dresser.

This is usually the time when you clear your throats and tug your clothes back on, but when he lifts his head to look at you, there’s something soft and sticky-sweet in the post-clarity lax of his features, the seraphic upturn of his brows.

“Can I kiss you?”

You blink at him. “Josh…”

Something visibly deflates on his face. “Sorry, sorry, I overstepped, I forgot the 'rules'—”

You grab him by the neck, thumb affectionately along the line of his jaw, and capture his mouth against yours. When you kiss he’s still sheathed to the hilt, chests pressing together, and you suddenly don’t feel so drunk anymore.

Everything narrows down, vision tunnelling. You’re suddenly not in a lodge with all of your friends, not propped up on his dresser, not just friends with benefits. You can pretend in the safety of his bedroom, making out like lovers, because when it’s this dark it’s just him, him, him, an utter mind-reeling consumption, so warm and soft and tender you feel shame trickle down your spine.

It’s not supposed to feel this good.

Spit strings between your mouths when you pull back.

“We should… go back to the others. Probably wondering where we are.”

He pants, gazing down at your lips. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. We should do that.”

It’s cruel, the way he looks at you. Cruel like this means more to him, too.

dividers credit @saradika-graphics // mdni graphics credit @arcielee

#josh washington x reader #josh washington #until dawn #until dawn x reader #x reader #x you #rami malek

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hummingbird-games · 6 months ago

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2024 in Review (Indie Games)

2023 | 2022 | 2021

Helloooo gamer friends!!!

I'm so tired.

Lol.

Anyhoo, y'all don't care about that!!! Y'all are here to see what games I played and what the heck I have to say about them! Reminders: I don't bash games I didn't like, and I try to post more in-depth thoughts and reviews and general yapping to Gem's Game Gems.

DEMOS

When Stars Collide - I am by no means a sci-fi girlie. I need a HEAPING dose of fantasy or fantasy elements to help me out. That said, y'all might remember how I went feral for Gilded Shadows, so I am locked in for this journey with WSC. It's just as mysterious and lore intense as GS, but also just as intriguing and engaging!

Love Me, Love Me Not - I looooove when a game charms me to pieces??? Our MC Addie, the introduced LIs, the story, the art??? Where do I begin?? Anyway, please check this one out y'all! I'm impatient for the full game (shocker, I know).

Threads of You: Beyond the Bay - So my thoughts and reactions for this one are on the side blog, but I really enjoyed the demo and I have eyes for Chris, Vince, and Alex hehehe.

Lost in Limbo - While I'd been keeping tabs on this game for what seems forever because of the character art that originally caught my attention, I almost didn't finish the demo because it was lowkey disturbing (I'm a wimp and not all horror is made equal). But!!! BUT!!!! I push through to the end, had a good time, noted that I need to play the full game in the daylight with the music turned down low. And I absolutely adore Ara and Xal so, so much.

A Simple Twist of Fae - Absolutely no one cares, but I read a lot of manga this year. Like, a lot-a lot. Like, ~180 books and 1/3 of that was manga. Anyhoo, When JMB announced she was cooking up this game, I was impatient to get my grubby hands on it. AND THEN I PLAYED IT AND IT WAS THE SHOJO INSPIRED GAME OF MY DREAMS?!?! Like.....I wish I could both have it on my computer and also on my bookshelf. Final build dropping when??? (Also the UI design is utterly delightful, I cry.)

The Summit Library (FULL DEMO) - The last time I reviewed this game, we got chapter 1 as a taste, and I was. Locked! In!! The full demo gives us the first 2 chapters as well as the previews for all the romance routes and while giving everyone a whirl I'm *still* undecided on who to go for in the future, I must mention this: TSL is so aspec friendly???? I do love a game with smut, don't get me wrong looks at College Craze but sometimes I have my moments of being overwhelmed/sliiiiiiightly repulsed and the variety of options you have to choose how you react and interact with the various LIs in this game is amazing. (I have more thoughts on this, so I'll try to remember to post to the sideblog, but please understand that this game is totally worth your attention and time imo!!!)

Fully Released & Played (at least 1 playthrough)

Rabbit Trail - This. Game. Is. SO. Cute. *punches the air* 😭🥹(Copy + paste of my review on the itch.io page -> This was so charming, so fluffy, so cozy, just delightful all around??? I've only reached one ending so far, but René is just the cutest protag to play as, and his interactions as he delivers his mail made me cheese so dang hard! (Also, I wanted to fight his parents for not properly appreciating their kid LOL))

Stuck by Design - I checked this game out because I was looking into games that fellow programmers had worked on, and this cozy game stumbled onto my lap. The music was perfect, the UI is beautiful and clean, and I thoroughly enjoyed the performance of the VA for the LI, Yuki.

Wake Me Up If You Need Me - I called this game older!HSDJY MC x Ryan coded and I'm still right. The voice actor MAKES this game, and the interactions the player has with Reed is so flippin' delightful?? All my love and adoration to the game developer. May they make more beautiful games.

CTRL FREAK - The developer team brought us The Faithfulness of the Universe which is a banger in its own right, and CTRL FREAK is the team's commercial, finished project that I also found delightful. The soundtrack and the animations are chef's kiss 💛

Breathless Winds - Ooo, baby, ooo. So. If there is only one game you play from this list and you have some spare cash to spend (at the time of writing, the game is on sale!!!) please, please, check this one out. It left me absolutely spellbound, both the orginal demo, and then the full game. While I didn't get to blog fully about this one, and I only tackled 2 of the 4 routes, this game is absolutely everything. This is my indie game of the year. Poppy and her journey resonated with me, and between the music and the art, everything just came together so perfectly.

Wake Up Magical Girl - Listen TF up, if miseri creates it, I'm gonna play it, idc, idc. That being said...this game had a kick to it that when I finished my first playthrough, I had to stare off into space and gather myself. It takes the concept of magical girls and heroism and gave me a teeny tiny existential crisis, but other than that, I'm fine, it's fine, play this game, thank you.

Sleeping Under Spells - God, I love me a game where I get to argue with a LI. I love it. Bonus points if it's lowkey stupid stuff we're bickering over LOL!!

Our Wonderland - Yeah, uh huh, you thought you'd escape me talking about this game this year, didn't yah???? Too bad. The fifth and final arc dropped this year and I played it and I cried and felt for the briefest moments that life was okay. To say something different than my review of last year, I love that this seems to be the game that helps fellow ace devs find and flock to each other, I'm not kidding 🤣 so thank you Carrot for helping us fellow aspec peeps feel seen and validated and understood!

I Watched a Full Game Playthrough and Highly Recommend

Replay Boys - Okay so technically at the time of posting, there's still one more video I'm waiting to watch (Naja of BlerdyOtome uploaded her stream to YouTube) but my Godddddd. I've had my eye on this game for FOREVER but I was lowkey waiting for it to move to itch.io (I'm still a lowkey Steam hater 🥹) anyhoo, watching this absolutely wild game made me go ahead and buy a copy for myself to replay at a later time, but it's just great. The summary only scratches this surface of what the game entails 🤣

Gemi’s Gushies

(a list within a list of games that have devs trucking along in the background and I want to spotlight for y’all)

Save the Villainess - Life got away with me and unfortunately I never finished my play of the demo BUT what I have played was fun and I hope to return to this in the new year!

Woman of Xal 2 - Plot Twist Studios is on that Sequel Train with the next installment of WoX!!! Which I'm VERY excited for!!! I've unfortunately only completed one playthrough of this game, but the first game is definitely a masterclass in replayability, and I hope next year I'll be able to do a second playthough as I wait for game 2's Kickstarter!

...

And that's 2024! Any shared favorites?

- Gemini 🫶🏾

#happy holidays!!#gaming year in review #yay!! shorter list!!!#(also because...I didn't game that much this year 🥸)#here's to whatever goodies 2025 brings!

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sick-puppy-island · 3 months ago

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Raid The Radio

#featuring the remote control cloud ofc #free them #total drama island #my art #tdi #fanart #chris mclean #mine #art #total drama #painting #plant chris #robot chris #gilded chris #frankenchris

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jt1674 · 8 months ago

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#the flying burrito brothers #the gilded palace of sin #hot burrito number 2 #gram parsons #chris hillman #sneaky pete kleinow #chris ethridge

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spaceshipkat · 15 days ago

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wip [day of the week]

tagged by the everlasting joy that is @redrosydiaz! i literally just threw these words down so i wouldn't forget them, but now i've gotta vanish to copyedit a massive work project. but yay! some words!!

“You know what I miss?” Eddie says one night on the couch in his living room, the half-dozen beers he drank numbing his tongue, the soft rumble of the movie playing on the TV—some black and white movie, Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis playing best friends with little respect for personal space in a way that feels a little too pointed—soothing like a white noise machine, the low light of the solitary lamp on the side table dousing him in that ethereal mind-bending golden glow that makes it easy to be honest. It’s like three AM on a sleepover with your friends: the words come easy when eyelids are heavy and lips are loose and each touch is so freely given. Buck slouches beside him on the sofa, long legs splayed across the cushions, one foot resting heavy in Eddie’s lap. At some point, Eddie wrapped his hand around it—maybe when Buck complained his toes were cold, and Eddie suggested getting socks, to which Buck whined he was too comfortable to move, so Eddie simply . . . reached for his feet. Held onto them. It’s easy. Everything is always so easy with Buck, and it’s never been clearer while they’re living together in 4995 South Bedford Street. The house that’s been his home and Chris’s home and Buck’s home for so many years now that it feels empty without all of them in it. And it’s cozy here, limbs loose and joy a gentle thrum in his veins. “What?” Buck asks, head lolling on the backrest of the couch. The light from the TV plays across his cheekbones, gilds each strand of his stubble. When he wets his lips, Marilyn Monroe croons onscreen and Buck mouths along to her song: “I wanna be loved by you, just you, nobody else but you.” “Kissing,” Eddie says. “I miss kissing.”

no pressure tagging @hyruling @canondiaz @juicebuck @eddiegettingshot @lookforanewangle @happydiaz @semperama @lover-of-mine @livingincolorsagain @livesbetweenpages

#bonus points if you know what movie they're watching (it's one of my all time favorites)#911 #911 fic #buddie #buddie fic #my writing #my fic #911 abc #evan buckley #eddie diaz #tag games

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wouldyourecognizethisperson-poll · 3 months ago

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Top 50 Most Recognized

(As of April 9)

Dwayne (The Rock) Johnson - 99.4% of poll respondents recognized

Gordon Ramsay - 98.9

Ellen Degeneres - 97.9

Will Smith - 97.4

Daniel Radcliffe - 96.1

Benedict Cumberbatch - 96

Bob Ross - 95.9

Snoop Dogg - 94.4

Ed Sheeran - 94.3

Leonardo DiCaprio - 94

Misha Collins [TIED] Rowan Atkinson - 93.4

Guy Fieri - 93.2

Danny Devito - 93.1

Taylor Swift - 93

Ryan Gosling - 92.8

Robert Downey Jr [TIED] Zendaya - 92.7

Morgan Freeman [TIED] Bill Nye - 92.4

Steve Harvey - 92.2

Robin Williams - 91.8

Elliot Page - 91.7

Emma Watson [TIED] Bernie Sanders - 91.6

Dolly Parton - 91.5

Kanye West (Ye) - 91.3

Jojo Siwa - 91.2

Robert Pattinson - 90.9

Nicolas Cage - 90.8

Simon Cowell - 90.6

Adam Driver - 90.2

Greta Thunberg - 89.9

Jeff Goldblum - 89.8

Prince Harry - 89.7

Billie Eilish - 89.6

Tom Holland [TIED] Lin Manuel Miranda - 89.5

Chris Hemsworth - 89.3

Jimmy Fallon - 89.1

Pedro Pascal - 88.9

Neil Patrick Harris [TIED] Jason Momoa - 88.8

David Tennant - 88.5

Peter Dinklage [TIED] Mads Mikkelson - 88

Will Ferrell - 87.9

Patrick Stewart - 87.8

Oprah Winfrey - 87.7

Lil Nas X - 87.6

Taika Waititi - 87.5

John Cena [TIED] Meryl Streep [TIED] Dan Howell - 87.4

Weird Al Yankovic - 87.3

Ariana Grande - 86.9

Matt Smith - 86.7

Tom Hiddleston - 86.5

Amy Winehouse - 86.3

25 Least Recognized

Steve Gonsalves (Ghost Hunters) - 0.3% of voters recognized, [TIED] Jackson Browne (Musician) - 0.3

Forrest Wheeler (Fresh Off the Boat) - 0.4

Tara Lipinski (Olympic ice skater) [TIED] Yanni (Greek musician) [TIED] George Lazenby (On Her Majesty's Secret Service, Becoming Bond) [TIED] Génesis Rodríguez (The Umbrella Academy, Special Ops: Lioness) - 0.5

Ted Leo (Musician, Ted Leo & the Pharmacists) - 0.6

Eric Burdon (Musician, The Animals) [TIED] Christine Lakin (Step by Step) [TIED] Peter Frampton (Musician, Humble Pie) [TIED] Boz Scaggs (Musician) [TIED] Ian Chen (Fresh Off the Boat) - 0.8

Isaiah Thomas (basketball player) [TIED], Tippi Hedren (The Birds) - 0.9

Brian Eno (Musician) [TIED] Lauren Daigle (Musician) [TIED] Jeremy Sumpter (Peter Pan), Scout Taylor Compton (Halloween remake) [TIED] Eve Plumb (The Brady Bunch) [TIED] Dale Earnhardt Jr (Racecar driver) - 1

Kate Maberly (The Secret Garden) [TIED] Blu Cantrell (Musician) - 1.1

Joss Stone (Musician) [TIED] Chuck Lorre (TV producer) [TIED] Amy Shark (Musician) - 1.3

Patricia Quinn (Rocky Horror Picture Show) [TIED] Joshua Bell (Musician) [TIED] Michelle Phillips (Musician, The Mamas and the Papas) [TIED] Patti Hansen (Model) - 1.4

Kaori Sakamoto (Olympic figure skater) - 1.5

Lance Armstrong (Disgraced bicyclist) [TIED] Thalia (Musician) [TIED] Louisa Jacobson (The Gilded Age) [TIED] Lupe Fiasco (Rapper) [TIED] Tommy Hilfiger (fashion designer) - 1.6

Grace Slick (Musician, Jefferson Airplane) [TIED] Gloria Gaynor (Musician) [TIED] Michelle Kwan (Olympic figure skater) [TIED] Rachel Platten (Musician) - 1.7

Sean Paul (Musician) - 1.8

Taio Cruz (Musician) - 1.9

Andrew VanWyngarden (Musician, MGMT) [TIED] Julie Christie (Doctor Zhivago) [TIED] Nancy Wilson (Musician, Heart) [TIED] Steve Miller (Musician, Steve Miller Band) [TIED] Criss Angel (Magician) [TIED] Wolfgang Puck (Chef) - 2

Jennifer Grey (Ferris Bueller's Day Off, Dirty Dancing) [TIED] Dave Davies (Musician, the Kinks) [TIED] Sarah Polley (Women Talking) - 2.1

Ava Russo (Avengers: Endgame) [TIED] Mia Hamm (soccer player) [TIED] Richard Grieco (21 Jump Street) [TIED] Chris Columbus (film director) [TIED] Neil Diamond (Musician) - 2.2

Anita Baker (Musician) [TIED] Nicholle Tom (The Nanny) [TIED] Elle King (Musician) [TIED] Melissa Gilbert (Little House on the Prairie) [TIED] Paul Weller (Musician) - 2.3

Salman Khan () [TIED] Ray Davies (Musician, the Kinks) [TIED] Barry Gibb (Musician, the Bee Gees) [TIED] Eva Marie Saint (North by Northwest) [TIED] Trisha Yearwood (Musician) [TIED] Taj Mahal (Musician) [TIED] Kenny Loggins (Musician) - 2.4

Staci Keanan (Step by Step) [TIED] Sue Bird (basketball player) - 2.5

Charlotte Church (Musician) [TIED] Lexi Rabe (The Avengers: Endgame) [TIED] Steve Marriott (Musician, The Small Faces & Humble Pie) [TIED] Elisha Cuthbert (The Ranch) [TIED] Jason Hawes (Ghost Hunters) [TIED] K Michelle (Musician) [TIED] Elizabeth Smart (kidnapping survivor & child safety advocate) [TIED] Dilma Rousseff (former Brazilian president) [TIED] Kiara Pichardo (School Spirits) - 2.6

John Frusciante (Musician, Red Hot Chili Peppers) [TIED] Stephanie Corneliussen (Mr. Robot) [TIED] Elle Macpherson (Model) [TIED] Susan Olsen (The Brady Bunch) [TIED] Jared Gilmore (Once Upon a Time) [TIED] Sarah Alexander (Coupling) - 2.7

Karen O (Musician, The Yeah Yeah Yeahs) [TIED] Laura Fraser (Patience) [TIED] Patrick Fugit (Almost Famous) [TIED] Colin Greenwood (Musician, Radiohead) [TIED] Michelle Branch (Musician) [TIED] Amanda Gorman (Poet) [TIED] Alaqua Cox (Echo) [TIED] Bo Horvat (Hockey player) - 2.8

Tom Waits (Musician) [TIED] Sienna Miller (Anatomy of a Scandal) [TIED] Maria Sharapova (tennis player) [TIED] Tonya Harding (Olympic figure skater) [TIED] Barry Bonds (Baseball player) - 2.9

#most recognized

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spilladabalia · 1 year ago

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The Obsessed - Stoned Back to the Bomb Age (Official Music Video)

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#the obsessed #stoned back to the bomb age #scott wino weinrich #jason taylor #chris angleberger #brian costantino #doom metal #heavy psych #stoner metal #gilded age #2024 #Youtube

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kisskissbanggang · 6 months ago

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All Through the House

[5k Words/20 Min. Read - Husband!Chris x Housewife!Reader - NSFW/Smut - 1960s AU, Safe Space to Exercise Housewife Fantasies, Christmas Decor, New Cars, Homeowner Woes, Breaking Dry Spells, Arbitrary Beef with the Neighbors, Workplace Drama, Unfounded Financial Stress, Surprising Amounts of Holiday Spirit, Being Ridiculously in Love With Your Husband, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Light Bondage, Cowgirl, Strategically Withholding Sex, We Stan Service Top! Chan in This House]

[a/n: okay, now Christmas can be over]

[Masterlist | Feedback]

If you had to look at Katie Lee’s gorgeous house one more time, you were going to break something.

The wine glass you were scrubbing squeaked in concern within your grip. At first you thought it was your rubber cleaning gloves sliding disconcertingly over the crystal, and the subsequent realization tempered your burst of emotions. You knew Katie Lee wasn’t to blame, obviously, but the momentary contempt was at least safe inside your own head. Maybe you were just upset that the damn dishwasher wasn’t working. Then again, if the only thing wrong was that you had to wash the dishes by hand, maybe you wouldn’t be so on edge in the first place. The fact of the matter was that Katie’s husband, Minho, took incredibly good care of her. His job afforded her their gorgeous home, with its picture windows and sharp silhouette, and she obviously was able to conduct her home with auspicious jurisdiction. And it wasn’t like Chris didn’t take care of you, either. Your home was just as beautiful. Chris fought you on its modern design, its chic lines making it almost futuristic and fashionable, but you’d won out in the end. No, you had a beautiful home and were cared for decently enough.

But Katie Lee had a working dishwasher.

And worse yet, Katie Lee had just finished decorating for Christmas.

You were on the verge of snapping.

It was perfect, to put it lightly. There was still a whole month until Christmas was upon you, Thanksgiving barely passed, and her house already looked stunning. Strings of multi-colored lights wove around the trunks of the trees in the yard, and perfectly criss-crossed over Katie Lee’s immaculately trimmed hedges. Shining aluminum tinsel outlined those smudgeless portrait windows, reflecting the twinkling lights that were also strung along the sleek roof. Rows of little silver stars penned in the pristine concrete driveway. You’d never seen a house done up like hers. The last straw was the damn Christmas tree. Katie Lee hired a couple local boys to deliver her a picture perfect Douglas Fir from only-god-knows-where, and you steamed in your kitchen while you watched her hang pretty glass baubles and gilded tinsel all over it. The damn shrub made her house look like it was plucked straight out of a Redbook advertisement.

It was at that moment the garage creaked open, right when you considered calming down. Chris was home.

If anyone asked you, you would swear up and down that you loved your husband.

He was just… you know… going through something. Chris was afflicted with some unsaid condition, you could generously say. Your friends had once warned you that many young husbands hit some sort of speed bump when they reached a certain peak in their professional lives, and maybe this was that. Maybe he was worried about money. Maybe there was another woman.

No, you decided, it wasn’t that. Chris simply didn’t have the stones.

Regardless.

Whatever it was, it was driving you mad.

Chris didn’t even greet you when he grumbled through the doorway; he hung up his coat and stowed his briefcase by the entry table before simply walking back to your bedroom. He didn’t so much as look at you. The fragile stem of the wine glass you’d absently been scrubbing for the past five minutes finally snapped in your hand, much to your utter mortification. This wouldn’t have happened if Chris would let you call the damn repairman. You were convinced of it.

Only twenty minutes later did Chris finally see you in the kitchen, finishing the dishes. He’d slipped off his suit jacket in lieu of his favorite sweater. Setting his newspaper on the countertop beside you, he poured himself a glass of iced tea.

“I see Katie Lee’s been busy, judging by the lights,” he absently noted. His attention tipped in the direction of the sink, likely drawn by the bright color of your rubber gloves. “I wish I could feel that festive. Goodness, darling, you’re still washing by hand?”

You stared at him, agog. “Why are you surprised? You won’t let me call the repairman, dear.”

The tips of Chris’ ears blushed. “I won’t?... Well, I suppose that makes sense; we can hardly afford it.”

Your poor husband backed up a step with how abruptly you turned to face him. “Hardly afford it?” you repeated. “What on earth makes you think we can’t afford to fix the dishwasher?”

Chris babbled, silently gesturing as he tried to force out some reasonable defense. There was none, you both knew. You were in a far better place financially than you were when you first moved into the house. “Look, our nest egg–”

“Our nest egg,” you firmly echoed, “is fine, Chan.”

Your husband’s statuesque nose wrinkled. “You know better than to call me that. It’s Chris in this house, at my office, and everywhere else.”

The tension was heating up the whole kitchen. This normally wasn’t an issue, and it never had been, not since Chris first made the change. All you knew was you were sore as hell with your husband, and you wanted your words to cut him deep. “Minho didn’t change his name for the office,” you shrugged.

Chris’ eyes lit aflare and he audibly scoffed before snatching his newspaper off of the counter. “What the hell has gotten into you?! All this over the damn dishwasher?”

Something inside of you finally snapped, just like that wine glass earlier. Your short high heels clicked on the kitchen floor as you stepped right into Chris’ face and slipped your rubber gloves off. “The dishwasher and so much more, dear. Maybe you’d feel festive with some electric lights on the house but I’m sure we can’t even get any if my husband is too concerned with finances that he supposedly trusts me with to even pay for the goddamn dishwasher to get repaired.”

Your husband gazed deep into you, like he was trying to suss out just where you got off talking to him like this. Admittedly, it’d never even crossed your mind before…

But it felt good.

And you had Chris’ enraptured, uninterrupted attention.

This was the longest you two had been this close in months.

Chris’ brow furrowed, trying to decipher you before you decided to become more forward yourself. You took another step forward, making breathing room in between you impossible and causing him to back up against the kitchen counter. His eyes flicked to the side where you reached and your rubber gloves could be heard slapping down onto the counter. Next, his gaze widened when he found himself chest to chest with you. Brazenly, forwardly, and almost nervously, you reached one hand up to cup his cheek. The other, however, first rested on his chest… before caressing lower… and lower… Chris swallowed a breath when your hand closed over the firmness in his trousers.

“Darling…”

Half-excited, halfway warning, his voice was barely above a murmur.

“Don’t darling me,” you admonished. Your voice was polished sterling, smooth and sharp. The zipper on his trousers was relatively loud given the stark silence in the kitchen. “I think we need to re-establish the little pecking order that exists in our home for a reason.”

“Oh? Is that so?” Chris was trying his best to look aloof but was failing spectacularly, considering his hands gripping the kitchen counter on either side of him while you slowly began to stroke his length.

You nodded demurely in response, contrasting with your quickening pace. “I think you forget how this works. You make all the money. I manage the house. When I say that the dishwasher is broken, I expect that you’ll let me call a goddamn repairman to get it fixed. Just as well, when you lament that you’d like to feel a little more festive for the holidays, I start making a list of decorations to buy.”

Chris shuddered, suffering from the dry spell that preceded this. “I think–oh god–I understand what you’re getting at. If I keep you happy–”

“Then I’ll keep you happy, dear.” You grinned, almost condescendingly, and let your husband climax into your hand. Breathless and blindsided from the whole encounter, Chris practically collapsed against the counter while you nonchalantly stepped over to the sink, using cold water to get the mess off your fingers before using warm water and soap.

Your husband didn’t thank you, he didn’t kiss you; he simply zipped up, grabbed his newspaper, and stormed off into his study. This wasn’t offensive, of course–you understood that Chris simply hated being bested. An excited giggle almost escaped you when you heard him talking to the repairman on the telephone down the hallway. It seemed you’d succeeded.

🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄

A small but noticeable change came about almost instantly. Something unlocked in your husband, something that’d been missing for some time. First there was the flowers he brought you the next day, but then there was also the way that Chris came home shortly after the repairman finished with the dishwasher on Friday. You’d been beside yourself, almost seething as the repairman began adding on cost after cost to the bill. Chris had come home, staunchly shooed him out of the house, and valiantly haggled with him in the driveway until you were writing a check for precisely the amount he’d originally been quoted. Sure enough, your husband was mindfully picking up after himself, helping you wash up after dinner, and even spending time with you.

However, you couldn’t deny that he still seemed down about something.

You observed him on Sunday, precariously perched on a ladder while he hung the new Christmas lights along the eaves of the roof while you sat out on the porch, paging through a magazine. Every so often, Chris glanced across the street to where Minho was washing the Studebaker. Eventually, Mr. Lee offered a wave, which Chris easily returned, but he put his head back down in his work instead of going over there and saying hello as was expected. Even when Chris rejoined you in the living room after a hot shower, he wasn’t reading his newspaper. He was just quietly looking across the street at the damn car.

This had been something you’d been aware of for some time now, obviously. Chris adored his Chevy, but it was currently surviving more than thriving. He’d worked on it and worked on it, but it was never the same since he had to replace a couple of the pistons. And that was to say nothing for the humble convertible you still ran errands in. It was still pretty, sure, but it was on its last legs. Chris was so quietly embarrassed by it that he politely refused to even let you park it outside. Myriad thoughts rushed through your head, trying to make sense of what could be going on. Although you had to admit, you were a bit turned off by the idea of reliving the mess of bringing the whole dishwasher issue to a head with Chris. You weren’t interested in talking things out and growing frustrated. If you wanted to cut right to a resolution, you had to be a little more creative.

It took a bit for your plan to fully coalesce in your mind, but once it did, you were quietly confident that this would help. Chris stood out in the living room after work on Tuesday, his daily paper tucked under his arm while he sipped on a cup of coffee. He was gazing at the damn Studebaker across the street once again, but you knew this would be likely and–if you were being honest–betting on it. You were quiet in your approach, softly walking up behind him. Chris tensed, the muscles in his back and shoulders firming up, but he seemed curious. You were gentle, perhaps a little sensual when your lips brushed his ear. Your lipstick left a faint smudge, almost getting a giggle out of you. Still, you remained focused.

“Sure is a pretty Christmas tree in the Lee house,” you lilted.

Chris’ broad shoulders rounded, a sigh slipping out of him. “Right. The tree. Yeah, it’s really grand.”

You coolly stepped around to his front, your chests pressing together. Chris raised an eyebrow at you, trying to predict what was coming. This felt familiar, but he couldn’t place why just yet.

“Feeling festive yet, dear?” you sweetly implored him. “The lights you hung up are swell.”

“Hmm?” Chris hummed, his mind absent. “The lights turned out terrific, yeah. I suppose I could feel a little more festive, though.”

“I could pick out a tree, maybe,” you suggested. “The gal at the flower shop told me she knew someone that’d give me a great price.”

“A Christmas tree?” parroted your husband. “I suppose you could, darling, but how on earth would you get it home? I’m no betting man, but I’d pay good money to see someone try to lash a whole pine tree to the soft-top.”

“Maybe it’s time for a new car, then,” you shrugged.

Chris nearly imploded, but you knew he would. He stopped himself the moment he realized your hands were on his belt. Now there were far more pressing issues to deal with, as you smoothly slid down to your knees on the living room rug. His zipper was down before he could even process what was happening.

“Darling!” he babbled. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?! Right in front of the window–”

“The hedges are in the way, dear,” you placated. Your eyes met, your lipstick leaving a dot of crimson on the soft tip of his rigid member. Chris exhaled hard, his gaze darting to the cup of coffee quivering in his hand. His grip forcibly steadied while he swallowed a breath.

“What’s this nonsense about a car? The convertible–”

“Is a disaster,” you interrupted. Chris shuddered the first time you fully teased him with your lips. “Besides, I have my eyes on a certain… Chevy.”

“You’re not insinuating…” your husband gawked. “A new car for me? No way. We absolutely can not afford–”

“There you go again,” you rolled your eyes after you released him from your mouth. “The man who doesn’t touch the checkbook thinks he knows what we can afford.”

“Jesus Christ,” Chris groaned when you pulled his length back between your lips, massaging it with your tongue. “First the dishwasher, now a goddamn car–”

“Such a colorful vocabulary,” you smirked. “You kiss your wife with that mouth?”

“You suck cock with yours,” he grumbled under his breath. “Besides. Excuse me for being concerned that something might go wrong someday–”

“Wrong? With what, your job? That you’ve worked for five years already?”

“Darling, wait, why’d you stop–”

It was true. You’d stopped fully, simply enjoying Chris’ squirming. “You want me to start again? You want me to keep you happy?”

Chris bit at his lip as he gazed down at you. His erection was blushing underneath the smudges of your lipstick. There was truly conflict occurring inside him, enough that you could see it. You’d confirmed the fallacy: as long as he let you control the finances, he could blissfully insist that the two of you were still on the doorstep of the poorhouse.

“... Fine,” your husband relented. He nearly cursed out loud when you began working him over again. “But I need a budget.”

“No you don’t,” you casually rebuked. “Because you’re too stubborn to want anything actually extravagant.”

The scowl on Chris’ face was audible. “Fine,” he repeated. “We’ll get the fucking car. We’ll get the fucking tree. Now come on, let’s go to bed.”

“Bed?” you grinned mischievously. “I thought we’d take it all the way to the end right here.”

“But we didn’t get to last time!” he whined. “And besides, you never–”

“Never? Well, maybe now I do.”

Chris’ eyes widened for a moment before squeezing shut while you worked him over with a fervor. He teetered on his heels, trying to remain steady as you brought him closer and closer to the edge. You cheekily took the cup of coffee out of his hand and set it on the side table before he could drop it. Above you, you could hear your husband’s breathing growing more ragged, his gentle grip on your shoulder becoming more desperate. Finally yet suddenly, almost surprising both of you, Chris’ hips seized once he reached his climax. He collapsed into his easy chair shortly after, boneless and breathless while you chipperly blotted the edges of your lips clean and refreshed his coffee.

🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄🎁🎄

Across the street, Katie Lee waved at you as she flipped through a magazine on her porch. Proudly, you waved back before setting the star on top of your beautiful Noble Fir. Chris’ new Buick pulled into the driveway shortly after Minho’s Stubebaker also parked across the street. Your husband came in, set his suitcase by the door, and kissed you on the cheek. He offered a nice, passing compliment on the Christmas tree, and set down a box of pastries for you from your favorite bakery.

But then he blithely skulked down the hall to his study. No questions about your day. No report on the minutiae going on at the office. No polite requests for dinner.

This was a concerning new pattern. Although Chris had been becoming more affectionate and doting, and even seemed to perk up more generally, he was still a sullen mess following his return from the office each day. The silver lining seemed to be, however, that you might not have figured out that specific element if you hadn’t made so much progress otherwise. You flipped through possible causes for Chris’ malaise like a Rolodex, before you finally came to the worst–but most prudent–solution. With a parting glance at Chris’ study door, you scooped up the box of pastries and headed out the front door to cross the street.

Katie Lee beamed at the sight of you trotting over to her porch with your offering of baked goods, and she promptly stood up after she set down her magazine.

“Sweetheart,” she gushed. “It’s been forever. Do come in, I have a fresh pitcher of iced tea.”

You tried not to ogle the decorations inside Katie Lee’s house, but this was a difficult task. For all the impressive opulence of the Christmas decorations outside, the interior was somehow even more so. Your neighbor waltzed into her gorgeous kitchen and produced a glass of iced tea for you with an impressive swiftness.

“Minho is tending to the gardenias in the backyard,” she explained whilst inspecting the box of pastries you brought. She took a bite of a madeline and swooned. “He’s seemed so stressed since the department learned about the promotion. I suppose Chris is feeling it as well?”

Promotion?! The overwhelming urge to interrogate Katie Lee right then and there was going to kill you. Instead, you did your best to swallow down your stunned expression.

“Promotion?” you demurely wondered. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Katie Lee blushed while trying to remain nonchalant. “I figured you, if anyone, would know! Apparently, the boys are all bickering and sprucing up their portfolios to become assistant director for the whole department. I’m shocked, seeing as Minho tells me that Chris is the one everyone’s terrified of.”

You felt as though you could explode, truth be told. There was some fancy promotion at work, one that would make Chris not worry about money for the rest of his life, and instead he was sulking at home?!

Your visit with Katie Lee was much shorter than expected, but only because your plotting resumed with a quiet ferocity.

It wasn’t until Friday afternoon that you felt that the pieces were in place to finally spring on your husband. The front door opened and closed, announcing his arrival home from the office, but you knew that next would come the momentary confusion that you were nowhere to be seen. Doors could be heard opening and closing, signaling that Chris was checking the backyard, your room, the bathrooms, the garage… until he finally opened his study.

You were tiptoeing on a stepladder, serenely hanging some colorful Christmas lights over his desk. The glittering string of electric decorations pooled haphazardly around your high heels.

Chris looked you up and down, trying to figure out what the hell you were up to. “... Darling?”

You smiled warmly. “I figured you could use some more holiday spirit.”

“Oh,” he blushed. “Thank you; I didn’t realize I seem so glum.”

“Incredibly glum,” you nodded in agreement. Chris came nearer and held your leg steady while he unwound the string of lights from your ankles. You couldn’t help but let a small smile pull at the corner of your mouth; Chris was always so protective of you. His hand was warm on your calf. Once you were free, you stepped down onto the hardwood. “Chris,” you pouted. “Let’s cheer you up. I bet we could throw a magnificent Christmas party.”

“A Christmas party?” he repeated. You cutely took the string of Christmas lights out of his hands and draped them around his shoulders.

“Yes,” you nodded, playfully wrapping him up with another round of lights. “We could invite the neighbors, all our friends, the boys at the office… your boss.”

“Wait,” Chris halted, staunchly pausing you. He was effectively trussed up in blinking Christmas lights. “My boss? Why my boss?”

“Be-cause,” you answered, sing-song. When you stepped forward, he took a step back. “It might help you get that promotion.”

The way you crooned the word brought out a sparkle in Chris’ eye, not helped by the twinkling of the lights strung around him. He was terrified, affronted, and intrigued, all at once. “Darling… Who told you about that?”

He took a step back, so you took another step closer. Chris stumbled back against his desk. “So you were keeping it from me?” you scoffed. His ears burned red.

“No, I–”

“Chris,” you softly scolded. He shut up right away. “All this about the dishwasher and the car… Despairing that something could go wrong some day? You’re melancholic whenever you come in through that front door. What on earth is going on at that office that’s got you so stressed?”

Chris refused to meet your eye. “Look, that’s enough. I'm the man in this house–”

With a twitch of your wrist, you pulled taut the lights strung around his chest. Your husband gasped; you’d earned his full attention. He understood he was grasping at any control he had left. Never in your whole relationship had he pulled any of that macho nonsense on you, so it clearly never held any jurisdiction over his values. You had him on the ropes and he didn’t want to admit it.

“The man in this house?” you sardonically repeated. “Well, I'm the woman of this house. Last I checked, that might even hold some weight.”

Chris’ Adam’s Apple bobbed when you pulled at his belt. You paused then, more than enough time for him to signal if he was distressed about your advances, and he seemed to anticipate more when you guided him to lay back on the sturdy desk.

“I just don’t think I have what they’re looking for, darling,” he said. “I’m sure you understand.”

“Like hell I do,” you stubbornly shook your head. “You're reliable, you’re a self-starter, and you’re a natural leader. What wouldn’t you have?”

“Well, you see–I mean, what I would–I mean, what I wouldn’t have–” Chris was a mess already. You’d apparently snubbed him twice by now, considering what he said during the last encounter. He gawked at you when you climbed onto the desk yourself. When you lifted the hem of your dress, your petticoat underneath raised just enough for him to confirm that you weren’t wearing any panties, something heretofore entirely out of character for you. “I just don’t think I have what they’re looking for…”

“You said that already, dear,” you sighed, clucking your tongue at him in mock admonishment. “And like I already said, I think you’re more than capable.”

“Well I’m glad you think so,” your husband rasped, “but you’re not the one in that office every business day. It’s not like inviting my boss will help. The pressure is–”

“I’m sure that pressure is big,” you grinned, and caressed his abdomen before you unclasped his belt. Chris stared as you busied yourself with slowly exposing his handsome erection.

A sharp gasp coincided with his head helplessly thunking back on the desk. “Oh god, finally… Wait, wait, what’re you waiting for?”

Another astute observation. Chris weakly lifted his head, only to see you brazenly, nearly sitting astride his hips, his painfully hard member just barely brushing against your entrance. “So we agree,” you teased. “We’re throwing a Christmas party.”

Chris initially responded with a subtle thrust of his hips, trying to get as much of you as he could. “Yes, you witch, whatever you want!”

“And you’ll invite your boss?” you purred, dipping him inside you for a single second. Chris winced with the pleasure, but also the sudden loss of it.

“Yes!” he croaked. “I’ll invite my boss!”

“Glad to hear it,” you giggled. “You can do it after you tell him you’re interested in the promotion.”

“I told you,” Chris wheezed, “I’m not going to bother, because I’m not going to get it–oh fuck!”

Your husband’s stiff curse was appropriate, given that you took him fully inside you, finally and suddenly, at that exact moment. However, you just as quickly lifted off of his lap. Chris fought at his impromptu restraints, the Christmas lights preventing him from grabbing onto you whatsoever. “I like to think, dear,” you pretended to frown, “that I have some standards.”

“You do!” he easily agreed.

“Then I’m puzzled as to why you think I suddenly allow myself to fuck men who are willing to settle.”

“Don’t play games with me,” he growled. “You know fully well that–hey!” Chris jolted when you started to torturously stroke him.

“You want me to stop?” you teased.

Your husband’s eyes bore into you, wild with arousal. “I want you to finally fuck me.”

Seeing you shrug nearly sent him into a frenzy. “Simple,” you said. “Say you’ll go for the promotion. Admit you’re worth it and can get it.”

The two of you stubbornly stared each other down. Somewhere deep inside you, buried under all that frustration and adrenaline, you were a little sentimental. This was a part of your dynamic you sorely missed.

“You brat!” Chris spat, his head falling back onto the desk, “you always get what you want. Fine.”

“Say it,” you taunted. Between your legs, your husband’s length pulsed in your grip.

“I’ll go for the goddamn promotion,” he panted. A proud smile spread across your lips.

“The boys are going to be so sore with me,” Chris added under his breath.

“And why’s that?” you implored.

“Because I’m gonna be the one that gets the goddamn offer letter. I’ve put in the time and I’ve had it coming.”

“Good. Let ‘em be sore. They’ll get over it.”

Chris very clearly had another retort in the chamber, but he didn’t have a chance to say it, not when you began to ride him. The string of Christmas lights were clenched in your hand like a set of reins. Instead of anything coherent, Chris was a babbling mess of groaned curses and swears. His brow was furrowed cutely, concentrating on the pleasure coursing through him. The tempo was so frantic, you rolling your hips against his and him thrusting up into you, that the desk rocked and creaked under you both. At the rate you were going, you were liable to climax at any second, your dry spell quickly coming to an abrupt end.

“Oh god,” your husband keened, his breath ragged. His hands uselessly scrambled and settled to simply clutch at the desk under him. “Darling,” he weakly pleaded, “you got me too worked up, I don’t know how long I can hold out!”

You did your best to mask the fact that you were right there with him. “That doesn’t sound very fair, now does it?” you giggled. “I’ve been so patient and you haven’t even gotten me there. You don’t think I’m frigid, do you?”

“No, not at all!” he blustered. “Come on, baby, please, get there with me–”

You grinned, benevolent. “You want me to get there with you?”

“Yes!” he ranted. “Yes, please, darling, baby, what happened to that pecking order?! To keeping each other happy–”

Good god, this really was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

“Fine,” you simpered. “Push me right over the edge, Chris.”

With a tight breath sucked between his teeth, your husband hissed out another string of swears as his hips canted right up into your spot, sending you both over the precipice. Your peak zipped up into you straight from your hips. It flooded your vision with spots of sheer bliss, getting you heady and reeling. Chris wasn’t better off, that vein in his neck pulsing from the way he clenched his jaw. His bucking hips toppled you over, punching a groan out of him when you collapsed into his firm chest.

Slowly, warmly, the two of you melted into each other, coalescing in a heap on his desk in the study. You breathed him in, the faint smell of perspiration outlining his cologne.

“We’ll need a caterer for the Christmas party,” Chris murmured against you. He seemed content to still be strung up in the length of Christmas lights, at least as long as you wanted him to be.

“A caterer?” you scoffed in disbelief. “Luxurious. You sure you don't mean a potluck with the gals?”

“What? No,” your husband argued. “The Lees would hire a caterer. We’re hiring a caterer.”

You both caught your breath as you helped Chris to sit upright and finally unwrap him from his unorthodox binds. “Chris Bang,” you laughed, “insisting on a caterer. What’s gotten into you?”

“I suppose it’s a Christmas miracle, Mrs. Bang,” he said with a humble shrug. However, he waited a beat and winked at you. “Got some sense knocked into me,” he explained. “I’ve got to keep you happy, after all.”

#supernovanetwork #straykidsland #neverendingdreams #bang chan x reader #bang chan smut

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pankowcrumbs · 2 months ago

Text

Twirling Home X Chris Evans (Requested)

MasterList

Marvel MasterList

The roar of applause thundered through the grand old theatre, bouncing off the high ceilings and swirling around the gilded balconies like a living thing. My chest heaved as I held my final pose, arms aloft, the spotlights dazzling and warm against my sweat-slicked skin.

The curtain fell.

I dropped my arms, the adrenaline buzzing through me like static. Around me, the other dancers grinned and panted, exchanging wide-eyed looks. We'd done it. Opening night was finished and it had been flawless.

"Beautiful, Y/N," murmured Élodie, my dance partner, as we hurried offstage, ribbons trailing from our costumes.

"Thanks," I breathed, pushing damp hair from my forehead. My body ached in that delicious way only a dancer could understand a symphony of exhaustion and triumph.

Still, something tugged at me.

Chris.

And Zaylee.

They were supposed to be in Boston tonight, visiting Chris’s mum. They’d sent flowers to the theatre earlier, a gorgeous arrangement of peonies and wildflowers, but part of me had wished selfishly, foolishly that they were here.

God, I missed them.

Backstage was chaos, a beautiful kind of mess: dancers laughing, slipping into dressing gowns, hugging each other tight. I slipped through the crowd towards my dressing room, eager to change and maybe FaceTime Chris before the evening got too late.

As I pushed open the door, something caught my eye.

A small pair of pink Converse trainers, swinging back and forth beneath the vanity table.

I blinked.

"Surprise!"

Zaylee launched herself at me, a tiny comet of curls and glittery lip gloss, and I barely caught her before we both toppled over.

"Zaylee! Baby!" I gasped, squeezing her tight. Tears instantly pricked at my eyes.

She giggled, nestling her face into my shoulder. "Daddy said we could come! We saw everything! You were like a princess!"

Behind her, Chris leaned casually against the doorframe, a crooked smile lighting up his ridiculously handsome face. He held a massive bouquet of roses and lilies, wrapped in silver paper.

"Hey, superstar," he said, his voice rough with pride.

I was still clutching Zaylee as I crossed the room and crashed into him, bouquet and all. Chris chuckled, wrapping one strong arm around both of us, pressing his lips to my forehead.

"You absolute menace," I whispered against his chest. "You were supposed to be in Boston."

"We were," Chris said, pulling back just enough to look at me. "But Zaylee had other plans."

Zaylee beamed. "I needed to see Mummy dance."

"You little plotter," I teased, nuzzling her nose with mine. She shrieked with laughter.

Chris brushed my hair back gently, his thumb tracing the curve of my jaw. His eyes, those beautiful blue eyes, were shining.

"You were incredible," he said simply. "I’ve never seen anything like it."

The lump in my throat grew painfully large.

"I missed you," I croaked.

"We missed you more," Chris murmured, kissing the tip of my nose.

Zaylee tugged on my sleeve. "Daddy said you were the best dancer in the whole world, and he was right!"

I laughed, blinking back tears. "Well, I don't know about that."

"You are," Chris insisted, squeezing my hand.

I turned and perched Zaylee on the edge of the vanity table, taking the bouquet properly from Chris and inhaling the sweet, heady scent.

"They're beautiful," I said.

"So’s the girl holding them," Chris said easily.

I felt myself flush. Even after all these years, he could still make me feel like a giggling teenager.

Behind me, Zaylee swung her legs and studied her reflection, tugging at her little dress.

"Did you like the part where I did the pirouettes?" I asked, smoothing her hair.

"I liked all the parts!" she said earnestly. "But the twirly bits were super cool."

Chris laughed, ruffling her hair.

The dressing room was starting to buzz again, dancers filtering past, some sneaking glances at Chris not that I blamed them. He was still the fantasy of half the world, even with greying temples and a few more laughter lines around his eyes. To me, he was just Chris my anchor, my safe place.

I started changing out of my costume while Zaylee chattered non-stop about the show, telling me in great, six-year-old detail about how she’d clapped so hard her hands hurt, and how she'd almost fallen asleep before the final scene because it was so late.

Chris helped untie the ribbons from my slippers, his fingers gentle, his touch reverent.

"You were born to do this," he murmured, not for the first time.

I smiled at him as I shrugged into my hoodie and leggings, feeling more like myself.

"You always say that."

"Because it’s true."

Zaylee hopped down from the vanity. "Can we have pizza now?"

Chris laughed. "I think Mummy deserves anything she wants tonight."

I scooped Zaylee up and spun her around, making her squeal.

"I want pizza and ice cream," I declared grandly. "And maybe a big fat nap tomorrow."

Chris mock-saluted. "Yes, ma’am."

As we made our way out into the cool night air, the street was still buzzing with theatre-goers, some recognising Chris and whispering excitedly. But he just pulled his baseball cap down lower and kept one hand firmly clasped in mine, the other carrying a now very sleepy Zaylee.

It felt... perfect.

Not the flashing cameras. Not the screaming crowds. Just this.

Our little family, bundled up together under the streetlights, hearts full to bursting.

We got back to the hotel just after midnight.

Zaylee had fallen asleep in the car, clutching a miniature teddy bear that Chris had bought her from the theatre gift shop. Chris carried her upstairs, settling her into the big bed carefully, brushing a stray curl from her forehead.

I watched from the doorway, heart aching with love.

He caught my eye and smiled.

"Come here," he mouthed.

I tiptoed across the room and slid into his arms. He wrapped me up tight, kissing the crown of my head.

"Best night ever," I whispered.

He squeezed me tighter. "She’s gonna remember this forever."

"So will I."

He pulled back slightly, cradling my face in his hands.

"I’m so proud of you," he said, voice thick.

"I couldn't do any of this without you," I admitted, blinking fast.

"You don't have to," he said simply. "We’re a team, remember?"

I nodded, pressing my forehead to his.

A team.

Always.

Later, when Zaylee was sound asleep, tucked under the heavy hotel duvet, Chris and I sat out on the tiny balcony, a bottle of wine between us, the city lights twinkling below.

"You know," he said lazily, his arm draped around my shoulders, "you could totally teach me ballet."

I snorted into my glass. "You? In tights?"

"Hey," he protested, pretending to be offended. "I’ve got good calves."

I laughed so hard I nearly spilled my drink.

He grinned at me, wide and boyish.

"I love you, you know," he said.

"I know," I whispered.

"And I love watching you do what you love. I love seeing Zaylee’s face light up when she talks about you."

I bit my lip, overwhelmed.

"I’m so lucky," I whispered.

"We both are," Chris said, kissing me slow and sweet.

In that moment, under the stars, with the man I loved and our daughter sleeping safely inside, I knew deep down in my bones that this was all I ever needed.

#fanfiction #reader #x reader #one shot #requested #chris evans one shot #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfic #chris #evans #marvel cast #marvel #captain america

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