#golden g string
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Miley Cyrus - Golden G String, my new drawing
(available, message for details)
#miley cyrus#miley#smilers#golden g string#plastic hearts#fan art#miley ray cyrus#endless summer vacation#bangerz#depop#art for sale#art seller#small business#small artist
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So the mad man's in the big chair
And his heart's an iron vault
He says, "If you can't make ends meet, honey, it must be your fault"
We all focus on the winners
And get blinded by their shine
Maybe caring for each other's just too 1969
But oh, that's just the world that we're livin' in
The old boys hold all the cards and they ain't playin' gin
And you dare to call me crazy, have you looked around this place?
I should walk away
Oh, I should walk away
But I think I'll stay
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I don't know if anyone's said this before but
GOLDEN YEARS BY DAVID BOWIE IS ABOUT SPAMTON
yes it came out in 1976 but I am sure Bowie looked into the future and saw spamton g spamton and made this song about him
listen to it I beg of you it's as if spamton is singing to Noelle and Kris
I could analyse the lyrics but just listen to it
#deltarune spamton#spamton g spamton#spamton#kris deltarune#noelle deltarune#david bowie#golden years#it literally says things like 'opening doors and pulling some strings'#and 'im begging you save her little soul'#and 'theres my baby lost thats all' LOST GIRL???!??!
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book cover - Of G-Strings And Strippers - 1959 (modified version of Dec 1950 Police Detective Cases)
Wil Hulsey

Police Detective Cases Dec 1950
Wil Hulsey
#golden age art#book cover art#pulp art#pulp art 1959#Of G-Strings And Strippers#Wil Hulsey art#byronrimbaud
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hover | j. torres


。𖦹°‧ synopsis: you just want to enjoy one good night out with your friends, your boyfriend, and some dangerously good cocktails—but some guys never learned to take a hint. luckily for you, joaquin’s never been shy when it comes to reminding everyone that you’re completely and utterly spoken for
-> pairings: falcon!joaquin torres x fem!reader
-> disclaimers: fluff, cursing, post cap 4 and thunderbolts (but in my fic, we don’t suffer through a sambucky fallout), no use of y/n, established relationship, slightly suggestive, use of pet names (baby, love, etc), protective joaquin, flirting from unwanted parties, kate and yelena being annoyingly loving bffs, reader lowkey just wants to rip joaquin’s clothes off
-> word count: 4k
-> song rec: jealous by nick jonas
-> a/n: no thoughts, just danny ramirez in the karol g music video, dear god. that, and joaquin’s hands on your waist like they’re permanently branded there
Sam Wilson had outdone himself.
The rooftop venue was stylish and vibrant, perched high above Brooklyn with a view overlooking the New York skyline as the setting sun glowed a soft orange and pink. String lights hang overhead, casting a golden glow over the crowd and mixing with the soft rainbow of colors emitting from the DJ’s strobe lights beside his booth. Mellow beats spilled out into the early party, weaving through the laughter and chatter of the guests.
The bar, which is the “real main attraction” according to Yelena, is polished. Expert bartenders and mixologists reside behind the counter, crafting concoctions that are named after Sam himself and his close inner circle; “Captain’s Courage,” “Redwing’s Glide,” “The Winter Sour,” and the one you’ve been most excited to try, “Falcon’s Flight.”
Nearby, low velvet couches and cocktail tables form islands where heroes, intel, and allies lounge, swapping stories and drinks.
It was Wilson’s idea for an after-mission-party, to recognize the collective effort of merged teams in retrieving an important object overseas. While the party was originally for Avengers, inner operatives, and close friends or family, the guest list extended vastly to people who work behind the scenes and now mingle among Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.
It isn’t a gala or a press event, but a celebration—a rare night to unwind and have some fun after weeks of chaos and work.
Stepping through the glass doors to the rooftop and beneath an intriguingly big archway of balloons, you are engulfed by loud conversations and the hum of music.
At your sides, Yelena and Kate take in the sight with just as much surprise and wonder. Yelena’s eyes sparkle with mischief and Kate’s with disbelief.
“Fancy,” The blonde widow says, scanning the scenery. “I’m already planning on starting a fight near the DJ booth.”
“You gonna want me to break it up?” You mumble, unable to take your attention off of the elegant decorations and deliciously warm scent of drinks in fancy glasses.
“I want you to record it.” She says right back and you both snicker quietly. “Seriously though, don’t wander off far. I need you by me the whole night if I want to survive this thing.”
“Don’t listen to her. You should wander far,” Kate teasingly nudges you with her elbow and nods in the direction of the bar. “Especially wander towards him.”
Your gaze follows hers to the center of the room where Joaquin talks with Bob and Sam, that casual smile plastered on his face as he speaks.
He’s clad in black slacks and a loose white button up sleeve, save for the top few buttons that he’d purposefully left undone for some unknown reason (not that you were complaining). His curls are prominent on his head and a singular gold chain dangles from his neck. You snap your mouth shut at the sight, willing yourself not to drool. He looks incredible and you struggle to understand how he gets more and more handsome everyday.
“Don’t be shy now.” Kate says playfully.
“She is shy. Look, her face is getting warm.” Yelena jokes, raising her eyebrows with a smirk.
“It is not.” You snap.
“Yes, it very much is.”
“Shut up.” With a roll of your eyes, you turn towards your best friends. “How do I look?”
“You look good.” Kate nods confidently and Yelena hums in agreement. “Irresistible, even.”
“Thank you.” You breathe gently before twisting around in your black heels.
Straightening your shoulders, you adjust the straps to your black mini dress that cuts off mid thigh, revealing just enough leg to be considered scandalous. You inhale sharply because you find yourself suddenly nervous to greet your boyfriend even though you’d literally seen him merely hours ago at work. With as much self-encouragement as you can muster, you make your way to him through the crowd.
Joaquin’s gaze finds you immediately, pulling away from the conversation the second his eyes land on you. His smile widens on his cheeks, and he excuses himself from his friends to start off towards you.
“Mi amor,” He hums with a small tilt of his head as his eyes scan your outfit from top to bottom. “You look gorgeous.”
The feeling of his eyes on you—drinking you in like you’re a glass of wine—is enough to make your knees buckle beneath you. You never quite learned how to keep your composure around him. “Quin, you look so handsome.”
“It’s not too much?” He asks, placing his arms on your waist to tug you closer.
You shake your head with a small hum, hands gliding up the front of his shirt to fiddle with the unbuttoned buttons. “Not too much—too little.”
He makes a deep noise of satisfaction at your comment, a smirk curling up at his lips. “You like it?”
“Of course I like it.” Your hands slide up to his shoulders before gently wrapping around the back of his neck to pull him close.
With his lips now hovering against yours, he says, “Did it just for you.”
“Oh.” You tease. Then his lips connect with yours, pressing you into a singular kiss.
Whatever he’s been drinking tastes sweet in your mouth and you hum at the flavor. The kiss, though short, is passionate and you both figure you could stay forever that way. Though, as much as you want to, you can’t kiss in the middle of the crowd all night, so you pull away with a sweet smile.
He groans playfully at the lack of your lips on his.
“Later.” You say, adjusting the collar to his shirt.
“Can’t wait for later.” He mumbles with a sideways smile.
Joaquin always gets painfully soft around you, though he isn’t far from it normally. His clinginess seems to skyrocket whenever he’s in your proximity, needing to keep his hands on you no matter what the two of you are doing. You always joke that he’s like a puppy in that way because he’ll follow you around everywhere, if it means he won’t have to be without you.
“You gotta try,” You smile, gently running your hands through his hair to fix it. “Right now, we’re celebrating you.”
“And you.” He quickly corrects. “We couldn’t have finished the mission without you, baby.”
As Mission Intel Lead, you aren’t necessarily a hero like your friends and boyfriend are—shining under the spotlight and prying cameras of the press—but you’re extremely important in your own way. While everyone else’s boots are on the ground, you’re feeding them information through their earpieces, from tactical layouts to enemy movements. You’ve earned a reputation as the sharpest mind behind the scenes and there’s a chance that if a mission goes smoothly, it’s because you’re two steps ahead of everyone else the whole time.
“Says you, Mr. Falcon,” You smile, dropping your hand to his so you can give it a light squeeze. “I wanna try the drink Sam named after you.”
“Oh, you wanna drink me?” He raises his eyebrow. “Querida, say the word and we can leave right now.”
With a small eye roll and a gentle tilt of your head, you grin, “You wish.”
“I do,” He nods. “I really do wish.”
“Joaquin.” You laugh lightly and he does the same, watching your smile brighten.
The sound of footsteps grows louder in your direction and you both pull apart to watch Sam, looking as fancy as ever in a black and white tux, maneuver towards you with a knowing smile.
“Well, hello,” Sam smiles, tugging you into a side hug the moment he sees you. “Was wondering when you were gonna show up so lover-boy over here would stop looking over his shoulder for you.”
“Was not.” Joaquin sheepishly smiles, the apples on his cheeks turning a bright shade of red.
“You were too,” Sam points. “Which is why I hate to break this up, but we’ve got people asking about you, Falcon.”
“Right now?” He asks.
“No, tomorrow,” Sam sarcastically comments. “Yes right now, man.”
“Okay, okay,” Joaquin quickly turns back to you, his hand squeezing the side of your arm gently. “I’m gonna go take care of this, then I’ll find you. Or you find me. Either one works. You gonna be alright?”
You grin at his soft rambling, nothing out of the ordinary for him. You reach up, adjusting the chain on his neck so it sits flat. “Of course, my love. I’ve got Kate and Lena waiting for me.”
“Tell them I said hi.” He leans down to press a fast but sweet kiss to your forehead. “I’ll see you in a bit.”
You hum, reciprocating his smile before he and Sam take back off into the crowd. Just as you’re turning around to walk back to your friends, they beat you to it, joining you at your side.
“You two are disgusting.” Yelena says.
“Disgustingly adorable.” Kate corrects.
“No, pretty sure I just said disgusting,” Yelena jokes, her voice monotone.
You roll your eyes before grabbing onto both of their hands. “Come on, I need a drink.”
“I second that.” Kate perks up, letting her hand go limp as you drag her and Yelena off into the direction of the free bar.
The three of you do just that—huddled at the bar like self-appointed critics, spending your first hour of the party sampling every custom drink and pretending you have the credentials to back up your reviews.
“I wonder if Bucky actually had any say in what his drink tasted like,” you muse, happily sucking the last of your drink through the straw. “‘The Winter Sour’ is just…so sour.”
“I doubt it,” Yelena replies, swirling the remnants of her own drink. “I overheard him and Sam arguing about the name on the phone the other day. Bucky thought it was a personal attack.”
You and Kate both break into quiet laughter, muffled behind your cups.
“Okay,” you say, placing your empty glass down with conviction. “I know what we’re trying next.”
Kate clocks your determined stare at the drink menu and quickly downs the rest of her cocktail like a dare was issued. When the bartender glides over, you confidently order three “Falcon’s Flight” —no hesitation.
The drinks arrive moments later, a trio of vibrant ombré cocktails glowing like the same sunset just outside the windows. Shades of orange and pink swirl together beneath rims coated in glittering chili sugar, catching the light like something magical.
“Oh, this is good,” Kate murmurs with wide eyes, blinking through the surprise of the spice. “Like, dangerously good.”
Yelena takes a tentative sip and immediately grimaces. “Ugh. It’s too sweet.”
You just grin, cradling the glass. “Well, it is Joaquin’s,” you say, taking a much more enthusiastic sip.
Kate nods thoughtfully, glancing around at the other drinks on nearby trays—neutral tones of yellow, white, and pale gold. The others barely hold a candle to the pink hue glowing in your hands. “Explains the color choice.”
“I think it’s delicious.” You say with a shrug.
“That’s because you think he’s delicious.” Yelena teases, downing her drink anyway.
“Gross.” Kate mumbles.
“I do.” You say without shame.
You’re halfway through the sugary concoction when the empty space on your right grows occupied.
Landon. A tall blonde with blue eyes that have a habit of lingering in places they don’t belong. He works in the tech logistics division of the team, one of the behind the scenes brains who helps coordinate comms. He’s a smart guy, useful too, but he carries himself with far too much confidence for someone whose greatest heroic feat was troubleshooting encrypted routers.
You’ve run into him a few times—in the hallway, during briefings, on awkward elevator rides—but you never spoke to him directly. You did notice, though, the way his gaze focuses too long on the office secretaries as they pass or the way he watches you tie your hair up when it gets too hot. Tonight, he looks painfully aware of his own smug reflection in the mirrored wall behind the bar.
“Ladies,” He says smoothly, sliding beside you with a drink in his hand and a smile that was clearly trying way too hard.
Kate offers him a polite nod, Yelena blinks once in response and you sip your drink slowly, hoping he’ll just greet you all and move on.
Wishful thinking.
Quickly and almost like it was first nature, he launches into some ridiculous joke that claims the three of you are “Earth’s Mightiest Threat,” which earns a pity-laugh from Kate and a blank stare from Yelena. Out of social habit, you give him a sympathetic smile but then you’re already looking past him to determine what drink you’re ordering next.
“You really pull that off,” he says, tone slick with something he drunkenly probably thought was charm. His eyes drag down your body in a slow, deliberate sweep that makes your skin crawl.
You shift uncomfortably, glancing between him and the other girls in the hope that maybe—maybe—he wasn’t talking to you. But then his gaze lands right back where it started: you.
“Me?” You ask, more out of sheer confusion than anything.
“Yeah,” he says and you immediately resist the urge to gag at the smell of alcohol wafting from his breath. “That dress looks good on you.”
You pause, the need to cringe coming naturally in his presence. Far too polite for your own good, you give him a nod that doesn’t even qualify as a thank-you.
“I know.” You reply, already turning your attention back to the bar and reaching for a napkin that you didn’t need.
Anyone in their right mind would have heard your snappy, hostile remark and automatically back off, understanding that you’re so clearly not interested. But, either it’s the drinks or simply a lack of social awareness, Landon is not catching the drift.
“Maybe I’ll see you around?” He asks.
With a few blinks of disbelief at his utter determination, you sass, “We’re at a party with a lot of people so probably not.”
Your sarcastic comment went right in one of Landon’s ears and out the other. He smiles with a confidence that might've made you think he won the lottery. “Right,” He smacks his hand down on the table, standing with pride. “Catch you later, ladies.”
The moment he finally walks away, you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding. “God, he was wasted.”
Yelena and Kate remain silent for a beat before the latter raises her eyebrows with a smirk. “Oh, he wanted you.”
“Told you, you look irresistible.” Kate adds.
“What?” You reply a little too quickly. “No, he was flirting with all of us.”
“Oh, come on,” Yelena scoffs. “He was not, his eyes were on you the whole time.”
“Ew, gross.” Your stomach twists in disgust.
“He’s always like that at parties,” Kate points. “No sense of awareness when it comes to flirting with girls, let alone ones in committed relationships.”
You nearly shudder at the lingering discomfort of his shameless flirting. “Whatever, he won’t come back.”
“Oh, believe me,” Kate arches her brow. “He’ll try.”
You let out a small scoff and shake your head, trying to brush off the feeling. In an effort to shift the energy, you joke, “He’s always so quiet in debriefings. That might’ve been the first time I’ve ever heard him speak.”
Your friends laugh too, Yelena bringing her drink up to her mouth for a sip. “I know right.”
“It’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for.” Kate chuckles.
The night carries on, warm and electric with the kind of celebratory buzz that made every second of that mission feel worth it.
You stand near the bar surrounded by your friends—Kate, Yelena, Sam, Bob, Bucky, and Joaquin—conversation flowing easily between the group, full of laughter, jabs, and the type of energy that only came after completing a mission together. Joaquin has his arm loosely wrapped around your waist while he chats with Bob, the casual touch a quiet but grounding reminder of his presence.
You’re mid-laugh, fully invested in whatever chaotic story Sam and Bucky are trading off telling, when the soft vibration of your phone buzzes from inside your purse. With a curious frown, you pull it out and glance at the screen—your smile falters slightly at the name lighting up the display.
“I’ve gotta take this,” You turn to Joaquin, holding it in front of him. “Work.”
He tilts his head, concern stretching across his features. “I can go with you.”
Quickly, you shake your head, not wanting your small phone call to take away from his celebration. “No, it’s fine, love. Just five minutes. I’ll be back, yeah?”
Without pressing, he nods and gives your hand a soft squeeze before letting you go, despite how much he ached to hold onto you longer.
You weave through the crowd, slipping out of some glass double doors and onto an empty balcony, where the music grows muffled and the night air chills your warm skin. You lean against the balcony ledge, answering the call with a hushed voice as you speak.
A few minutes pass of your boss speaking through the phone about something that could’ve easily been passed on through an email, and you’re wrapping up the conversation when you feel company—unwelcome but, unfortunately, familiar.
“Work calling?” A voice asks, just near your shoulder.
It wasn’t the second time Landon tried to make an advance towards you, again. He’d done so earlier when you and Kate stumbled off to the bathroom, the man opting to wait outside the door for you to come out. Only, you shot an “S.O.S” text to Yelena who distracted him to give you and Kate enough time to sneak back outside, in between heaps of giggles.
You tense, lowering the phone the moment your boss hangs up. “Yeah,” You blink at Landon, taking a small step away to increase the distance that he is so clearly trying to minimize. “Always seems to when I’m having fun.”
“I get that,” He nods, voice slightly more slurred than the last time he spoke to you. “Enjoying the party then?”
“Was.” You say quickly, hostility rolling off your tongue.
“I can keep you company.” He presses, shrugging his shoulders casually.
With a sharp inhale, you glance up at the night sky and hope it’ll give you the strength you need to not kick him in the ankles with your heel. “No thanks. I was just about to head inside anyways.”
“I’ll go with you.” He responds.
He is unbelievably relentless and somehow even more oblivious. Kate had been right; his persistence is quiet, but annoyingly steady. It’s not like you’re trying to entertain him or give him anything to work with either. You just hope he’d be socially aware enough to pick up on the vibe—or complete lack of one, to be correct.
“Landon,” you twist towards him with a shake of your head. “I have a boyfriend.”
And you’d think it would stop there.
Wrong.
“How come I haven’t seen him?” His shoulders drop, bottom lip pushing out from beneath his top one with a look that tells you he really just doesn’t care.
Despite the fact that you’d been with said boyfriend all night, the man in front of you was clearly too drunk to tell the difference between flirting and flat-out disinterest.
You open your mouth, preparing to curse him out, when soft footsteps sound from behind the two of you.
“You’re seeing him now.”
Joaquin.
His voice is calm but cold, a sharp contrast to the warmth it usually carries. You turn, relief washing over you like a wave as he stares down Landon. He looks different, not angry but protective as his eyes narrow and he walks towards you.
With ease, his hand instinctively settles on your waist, his thumb tracing gentle circles as if silently asking, ‘are you okay?’
You nod up at him, and his gaze shifts back to the blonde beside you.
“Oh, Torres,” Landon says, straightening his posture despite the tension radiating off him. “I didn’t realize you two were a thing.”
Joaquin practically scoffs.
Bullshit.
Everyone knows you two are together—he makes sure of that. Your boyfriend treats you like you’re every star in the galaxy wrapped into one, making it hard for him to stay grounded when he’s with you. He isn’t shy about showing it; loud in the best way, and more importantly, proud. There isn’t a single person in that entire building who doesn’t know he’s yours.
So he reads Landon’s lie right through his horribly fake white teeth.
“You need something, man?” Joaquin asks with a faux friendly tilt of his head, as his cheeks grow read with a jealous heat.
Landon blinks, pushing himself off of the balcony with pursed lips. “Just saying hi.”
Joaquin lets out a laugh—one obviously forced and sarcastic, but equally as hostile. “Yeah, you’re the third guy tonight who’s tried to corner her just so he could ‘say hi.’”
A warm flush spreads through your stomach at his words and the way his hand massages your hip protectively. You can’t take your eyes off him, studying the side of his face as his jaw clenches—whether consciously or not. His eyes aren’t dark, but they hold a sternness that warns the blonde while quietly reassuring you.
Landon, who seems to finally catch the hint, raises his hands in mock surrender and begins backing away. “Alright, alright, my bad. I’ll go.”
Joaquin nods once, slow and easy. “Right.”
Taking the hint, Landon retreats quickly, weaving through the crowd to put distance between himself and the two of you.
When he’s finally gone, you allow yourself a deep exhale as your shoulder muscles loosen. Joaquin turns towards you fully, his hand gently brushing your arm.
“You good?” He asks, eyebrows knitting in concern as he scans your face for any sign of discomfort.
You can’t help but smile up at him, the action coming instinctively. You don’t say anything, only nod your head as an answer. Your silence, accompanied by the way you stare up at him with sparkles in your pupils, makes him still.
He tilts his head, the corners of his mouth curling up into a smirk of suspicion as he side-eyes you. “What?”
“Nothin’.” You hum simply, reaching down to tangle your hands in his. “I was trying to get rid of him all night, y’know?”
Joaquin nearly grumbles at the mention of Landon. “I know. It’s not your fault, baby,” He spares a glance in the direction of the door where the other man has disappeared. “He should know better. They all should.”
You watch the way his scowl contorts into something similar to a frown.
“Is it not obvious that I’m your boyfriend?” He asks, his lips puffing out in a pout that makes you want to lean up and capture it between your own lips.
“Oh, believe me, they know,” You answer, reaching your hand up to run it gently through the curls on his head. “I just don’t think they care.”
He scoffs but his eyes are on you now, watching your face like he can’t be bothered looking anywhere else. “I’ll kick all of their asses.”
You hum out a noise of satisfaction, raising your eyebrows. “I’d like to watch that.”
“You would?”
“Mhm,” You smile. “You’re pretty hot when you’re jealous.”
His shoulders straighten, like your comment gave him an automatic confidence boost. “I am?”
You nod your head, fingers trailing down the sides of his face to brush over his soft skin gently. “You got all serious and scary. I never see you like that.”
“Cause I’ve got no reason to be,” He says, letting you run your fingers over his face like you’re just desperate to be that close. “Except for when weird guys flirt with my girl all night. I mean, I was right by you for half of them, that’s just ridiculous.”
A small giggle leaves your mouth, hands dropping to find his hands again. You twist one of the rings on his thumb, eyes blinking up at him with such admiration, you thinks you might explode.
Joaquin treats you with a kindness and devotion you once thought existed only in romance novels and movies. He worships the ground you walk on, and in moments like this, when every glance and touch is focused on your comfort and safety, you can’t help but feel like royalty.
“What’re you thinking about?” He asks, watching your gaze flicker across his face.
With a small shrug of your shoulders, you respond simply, “How lucky I am.”
“I see,” He nods, a playful smile stretching across his cheeks. He brings your hands up to his mouth, taking a moment to place a soft kiss on the back of each one. “I’d actually like to argue that I’m the lucky one. Clearly, every other guy thinks he’s got a shot, but I’m the only one who gets to hold you,”
A smirk curls up at your mouth, as you watch him plant kisses on your fingers like you’re a delicately crafted statue that he doesn’t want to risk damaging.
“I’m the only one who gets to kiss you,” His lips against your skin sends a vibration of goosebumps across your body. “To make love to you.”
Warmth pools at the bottom of your stomach, his words igniting a heat that only Joaquin is capable of bringing to life. Your teeth find the corner of your inner cheek to chew on. “Quin,”
“Not much of a competition between me and them, right, mi amor?” His voice is sultry and flirtatious as his eyes flicker up to meet yours. He’s teasing you because he knows exactly what to say to make you squeeze your legs shut and leave you wanting more.
You’d take him right there if you weren’t publicly exposed thanks to the glass doors that revealed the two of you to the party like an open book. Instead, you squeeze his hand and tug him closer, chest lightly bumping against yours. “I’m yours.”
A hum leaves his mouth, his beautiful curls dropping over his forehead as he looks down at you. Completely enamored by the loving haze dancing across your eyes like smoke, he smiles, his arms finding their spot on your waist again. “Good.”
His fingers trail across your back, with a light touch that tells you he was doing it on purpose. It has your breath rattling in the back of your throat, burning with a thirst only he can quench.
“You wanna head back inside?” He asks, casually and composed.
You want to scold him for his blatantly obvious taunting. He knows what he’s doing and he’s doing it well. “You’re gonna get me all riled up and then ask if I wanna go back inside?”
Joaquin raises his eyebrow in an effort to pretend he hadn’t been whispering sweet nothings on purpose. “What do you mean?”
With a roll of your eyes, you nudge him on the arm. “You’re an asshole.”
He laughs, the sound warm as it bounces off of the balcony and through the chill air of the night. His smile nearly reaches his eyes, impossibly gorgeous in a way that makes you smile too. “I’m your asshole.”
“Ew.” You whine, but hold him close to you anyways. “Don’t say it like that.”
“How else am I supposed to say it?” He grins, head dipping to press a gentle kiss to the side of your cheek.
Your eyes flicker shut in satisfaction, just as his small path of kisses trails to your lips. When your mouths press against each other, you’re humming into the kiss, holding him there with a hand behind his neck.
The kiss is sweet—hungry—but sweet, how it always is with Joaquin. You kiss each other like it’s the first time you’ve ever done so. No matter how many moments your lips have met, they move in a unison that makes every shared exchange feel fresh and youthful.
You never get tired of it. It’s a pleasure that comes with a fervent beating of your heart and a bubbling of your stomach, like your insides are made out of the same sparkling champagne you’d long abandoned inside. Kissing him—being with him—makes you feel light on your feet, like you’re floating on Cloud 9.
“My girl.” He mumbles against your lips as the two of you slowly part.
“Always.” You say, leaning back to look at his face.
He licks his lips, playfulness glinting in his eyes. “You taste like sugar.”
You giggle as you grab his hand to begin tugging him back inside the party where all of your friends are waiting—Yelena, who you promised you wouldn’t abandon that night, likely more impatient than the rest.
“You’d know,” You respond. “I’ve been drinking ‘Falcon’s Flight’ all night.”
He lets you drag him, following behind like a puppy. “That’s what I like to hear.”
You laugh. “Shut up.”
#🧸 — writing!#joaquin is such a lover boy#i love him so bad#almost cried writing this#i need him#joaquin torres#marvel#danny ramirez#joaquin torres fanfic#joaquin torres imagine#joaquin torres oneshot#joaquin torres x reader#marvel imagines#marvel fanfic#marvel x reader#marvel oneshot#joaquin torres fluff#mcu imagine#mcu x reader#mcu fanfiction#mcu oneshot#mcu#falcon#falcon imagines#falcon oneshots#falcon fanfic#tfatws#captain america brave new world#peterparkive
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bokuto x f!reader. mutual masturbation.
mewls echoed through the locker bathroom, faint cheering and the sounds of other post-game celebrations still reverberating somewhere down the hall. bokuto's low groans mingled there too, sounds slipping from him, part laugh and part something so incredibly needy as his fist wrapped the lace of your panties around his heated cock.
"did you see that cross?" he asked, breathless, his hand squeezing, "i-in the third set, with the fake-out — did you see it, baby? did you?"
his grin was wonky, carefree expression mingling with the pathetic drawing of his eyebrows together as he didn't know what to focus on — whether to look at your bared throat as you tilted your head back with a throaty moan, or how pretty your ruined underwear looked hugging his throbbing fat dick, or whether he should look down at the way your hips moved, grinding against his thigh, your slick pussy drooling all over the material of his knee pads, the way your puffy clit caught the edge of it, kissing the sliver of his skin peeking out.
he flexed his muscle, ass raising up to meet you halfway when you were too late in answering; his other hand — that wasn't fucking his cock dumb — digging into your flesh to roll your hips down.
"you— you were so, ah, kou, oh god, g-good," your flushed face, wet lips looked so enticing, bokuto's hand stuttered on his dick, tip leaking as his breath caught. a grin widened on his face, heat and sweat and golden-eyed excitement digging into you.
"yeah. i mean— it felt good, like, really, really go..od…" he trailed off with his words when your nails came down to grip his biceps and your hips sped up, continuously rubbing against the edge of the pads, and oh, there were little strings of pearly creamy juice connecting your cunt to the material and heat rushed through him so fast, he bit his own tongue.
"b-but i wanted to know what, hah," a groan escaped him at the sloppy hole his fist formed, the way his swollen head slipped through his fingers, "what you thought. like, did it…look — ah, fuck, fuck — cool?"
from your waist down your hips, he helped guide you, helped keep the pace that made your thighs tense and breathy moans become all high-pitched and loud the way he liked his cheers to sound. his eyes were wide, glassy with awe, mouth continuing to mumble, "i thought about you, y'know, when— when i landed that spike. i was like— 'she's watching, kou, don't, nghh, don't mess it up.'"
"you didn't, you didn't, you didn—"
your orgasm hit you out of nowhere, seizing you from your toes to your thighs, your stomach squeezing, back arching into him, mouth falling open, eyes fluttering, and his knee pads felt so smooth and silky underneath your pussy, drowned in your arousal. bokuto's large hand was splayed all over your ass as he moved your body for you now, tugging you down and down and down, against the bulge of his thigh, kissing the hair on his legs with your pussy lips, until you quivered and pushed against the sweaty jersey hugging his chest tightly to make him stop.
he didn't.
"say it again," he pleaded, voice breaking and you almost didn't hear him through the sloppy fucking of his fist and the rushing of blood through your ears, but he repeated himself anyway, "say it, hah, say it, please."
"y-you didn't mess up, you were soo good— kou, i can't p-please plea-hease—"
a desperate bokuto was dangerous with this hunger glinting his eyes as he continued wrenching every little drop out of you to coat his thigh. he had took your hand from you, too, wrapped it around his panties-clad cock, his bigger hand encasing yours to move. his brows were knit together, wide eyes intense, lips parted and trembling slightly and when he spoke, his voice was a whine now, half-begging, half-stuttering.
"i saw you in the s-stands afterwards, and i wanted a t-time out soooo badly, because—" bucking up, your panties were catching all the hot trickling of his cum spurting out, and he kept talking whilst releasing his spill all over both of your hands, "i was so, ah, so hard and i wanted to, ngh fu-huck— show the entire stadium h-how bad i was throbbing."
"k-kou—"
a hard knock against the door; and slowly, other voices filled out the locker room, low and far away, but bokuto was still fucking up into your hand, head tilted back, eyes focused on you and only you — even when a silky voice cut through.
"oi! what's takin' ya so long in there? bathroom's not a damn love hotel, bokuto!"
hinata's voice, high-pitched and panicked, chimed in, too, breathless as if he was running around, trying to hold it in, "yeah, i really need to pee!!"
TAGLIST | @takes1 ; @classicalelephant ; @pomigranit ; @reignpage ;
special thank you to @sodaneko for holding me on gun point and forcing me to write bokuto and thigh riding
#haikyuu#haikyuu x reader#bokuto kotaro#bokuto x reader#bokuto smut#haikyuu x you#bokuto koutarou x reader#bokuto#bokuto x you#bokuto koutaro x reader#bokuto koutarou#bokuto fluff#haikyuu imagines#hq#hq imagines#hq scenarios#hq x reader#hq x you#haikyuu fluff#haikyuu smut#jelly: low on oxygen#jelly writes
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Back to You
Elizabeth Olsen x G!P Singer Reader
Summary: Y/N is going on a tour for a month and Lizzie has to shoot her next movie during the same time. Being apart for so long for the first time is very hard for both of them. So, Y/N decide to surprise her wife.
Word Count: 10k+
Warnings: fluff, smut, (18+)
Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist
---
The late afternoon sun filtered through the wide windows of their kitchen, casting golden rays on the marble countertops. Y/N, still in her cozy post-shower hoodie and sweats, was leaning against the counter, eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and nerves.
“Okay,” she began, watching Lizzie stir oat milk into her coffee, “I have news. Big news.”
Lizzie smirked as she set the mug down and turned. “You’re pregnant,” she teased, then added with a wink, “Which would be scientifically impressive.”
Y/N laughed, rolling her eyes. “Not quite. But pretty close.”
She crossed the space between them, slipping her arms around Lizzie’s waist and kissing her cheek. “I got confirmed for the European leg of the tour. It’s happening.”
Lizzie froze for a second, then her eyes lit up. “Wait—the tour? The one you didn’t think would happen this year?”
Y/N nodded, smile growing. “We’re talking Paris, Berlin, Amsterdam, Milan… They want me headlining for twelve weeks. It’s the biggest thing I’ve done. Ever.”
Lizzie squealed, pulling her into a full hug. “Baby, that’s incredible! I’m so proud of you.”
They stood there wrapped up in each other, the soft hum of the city outside, the kitchen warm with the smell of cinnamon from the morning’s muffins.
Lizzie pulled back just enough to look at her. “You know I’m coming with you, right? Europe? With my gorgeous, sexy, brilliant wife on stage every night? I wouldn’t miss it.”
Y/N grinned, but her fingers toyed with the hem of Lizzie’s shirt. “It’s gonna be a lot of travel. Not exactly glam.”
Lizzie waved her off. “I’ve been on movie sets in remote deserts. I can handle a five-star hotel in Paris.”
They both laughed—until Lizzie suddenly hopped up onto the kitchen island with a sly smile.
***
“Come here,” she said, curling a finger at Y/N.
Y/N stepped closer, and Lizzie tugged her in by the hoodie strings, settling her wife firmly between her thighs.
“Wanna celebrate?” Lizzie murmured, voice low and wicked as she rolled her hips slowly, deliberately, against the growing heat between them.
Y/N’s breath caught, her hands flying to Lizzie’s bare thighs, gripping them just above the hem of her sleep shorts. “Here?” she asked, voice husky, already leaning in like gravity itself was being rewritten.
Lizzie arched an eyebrow, wrapping her arms loosely around Y/N’s neck. “Kitchen's clean,” she said with a shrug, brushing her lips along Y/N’s jaw. “Mostly.”
Her mouth found the spot just below Y/N’s ear, kissing, then nipping gently as she rocked her hips again—more insistent this time. Y/N groaned softly, grinding back before ducking down to claim Lizzie’s mouth in a kiss that was far from sweet. It was deep, breath-stealing, full of need.
Lizzie moaned into it, legs tightening around Y/N’s waist as her fingers slid beneath the hoodie, skimming over bare skin until they rested on the small of her back, drawing her in closer.
Y/N pulled back just long enough to whisper, “You're dangerous when you're proud of me.”
Lizzie smirked, pupils blown wide. “Then you better keep doing incredible things.”
Y/N’s lips crashed back onto hers, hands slipping under Lizzie’s thighs and lifting her slightly, enough to press even closer. Lizzie gasped, head tipping back, the exposed line of her neck begging to be kissed—and Y/N gladly obliged.
Tongue, teeth, heat.
It was dizzying, desperate, but laced with something soft too. Like even in the middle of their lust, they both knew this was their kind of love: wild, worshipful, and a little unhinged.
Lizzie’s fingers were tugging at the waistband of Y/N’s sweats now, breath shaky. “We have a bed, you know,” she whispered between kisses.
Y/N grinned against her skin. “I thought you wanted here.”
Lizzie's eyes darkened, her legs tightening around Y/N’s hips. “I do,” she whispered. “God, I do.”
Y/N leaned in, kissing her slow and deep, her hands moving under Lizzie’s shirt to trace over soft skin. She took her time, even through the haze of need—because Lizzie deserved to be worshipped.
But then Lizzie rolled her hips up again, grinding against the unmistakable pressure beneath Y/N’s sweats, and it pulled a low, raw sound from Y/N’s throat.
Lizzie gasped. “Fuck, baby…” Her hand slid lower, palming Y/N through the fabric with a confident ease that only came from knowing every inch of her. “You’re so hard for me already.”
Y/N’s breath shuddered. “I can’t help it. You climb up on a counter and start grinding on me—what do you expect?”
Lizzie gave her a wicked smile, fingers slipping under the waistband to wrap gently, lovingly, around her. “I expect my wife to give it to me right here.”
Y/N groaned, hips twitching into her touch. “You really don’t fight fair.”
“I’m not trying to.” Lizzie leaned in, nipping at her bottom lip. “I just want you inside me.”
That undid her.
Y/N pulled Lizzie to the edge of the counter, yanking her own sweats down just enough to free herself, her heart pounding at the sight of Lizzie—flushed, ready, needing.
She held Lizzie’s gaze as she guided herself to her entrance, rubbing teasingly against her folds, both of them trembling with anticipation.
Lizzie whimpered, nails digging into Y/N’s arms. “Please, baby.”
Y/N pushed in slowly, watching Lizzie's lips part in a soft cry as she sank into her inch by inch. The tight heat, the way Lizzie clung to her—it stole the breath from her lungs.
Lizzie wrapped her arms around her wife’s shoulders, anchoring them together. “God, yes—don’t stop.”
Their bodies rocked in rhythm, the marble counter cool under Lizzie’s thighs, the heat between them burning everything else away. Each thrust was met with a gasp, a kiss, a whispered I love you.
Y/N buried her face in Lizzie’s neck, murmuring her name like a prayer, each movement deeper, more desperate. She reached between them, circling her thumb over Lizzie’s clit until Lizzie cried out, head thrown back, body trembling hard around her.
Watching Lizzie fall apart like that, because of her, always felt like magic.
And when Y/N finally let go, spilling deep inside her wife with a groan and a shudder, it was less release and more surrender—like giving everything she had to the one person who knew how to hold it.
They stayed tangled there, chests heaving, lips brushing in soft, messy kisses.
***
Lizzie chuckled against her mouth. “Okay... that was the hottest tour announcement I’ve ever heard.”
Y/N smiled, nose brushing hers. “Guess I’ll have to break big news more often.”
Lizzie grinned, pulling her close again. “Just promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“Don’t leave for Europe without fucking me on every surface in this house.”
Y/N laughed, still breathless. “Challenge accepted.”
---
They made good on that promise—every surface in the house. More than once. The weeks leading up to the tour were a blur of suitcases, setlists, and stolen moments. They counted down the days with sticky notes on the fridge and late-night planning under the covers, falling asleep in each other’s arms like they always had.
But life had its own plans.
A few months before the tour, Lizzie’s shoot got moved up. Her production dates now overlapped with Y/N’s European leg. Neither of them said it out loud at first, but they both felt it—the weight of what it would mean.
It would be their first time apart for more than a week since they got married.
There were tears. There were reassurances. There were phone alarms set across time zones and shared calendars meticulously color-coded to make sure they carved out every possible moment to connect.
Y/N left first.
Lizzie drove her to the airport before sunrise, wearing one of Y/N’s hoodies and clutching her hand until the last possible second. The kiss they shared at the gate was long and silent, full of promises they already intended to keep.
And then she was gone.
Three weeks later, Y/N wrapped the final show in Milan with confetti in her hair, sweat on her brow, and her heart beating a little too fast—not just from the encore, but from the ache to go home. To her.
Lizzie didn’t know yet. As far as she was aware, Y/N still had one more week of press and travel.
But plans could change. And Y/N? She needed to see her wife.
---
Lizzie tugged at the zipper of her jacket, irritation flaring in her chest. Wanda’s costume was heavy, her feet hurt, and she was emotionally drained from a particularly harrowing scene with Paul. She’d just finished take twenty-three and was desperate for a break—physically and mentally.
The director called for a 15-minute pause. Lizzie wandered toward the edge of the set, phone in hand. She had a new message from Y/N:
“Hope today’s going smooth. I miss you like crazy. I know it’s only a few more days, but God, babe, I just want to come home.”
Lizzie smiled, bittersweet. She responded quickly, fingers flying across the screen.
“I miss you more. We’ll survive this. We always do.”
"Hey, Liz," Sebastian’s voice called behind her.
She turned, expecting him to tease her or invite her to coffee. Instead, he was grinning in that over-the-top way of his.
“What?” she asked warily.
“I brought you something,” he said, stepping aside.
And there she was.
Y/N. Dressed in a leather jacket, hair a little messy from the plane, guitar case slung on her back, and that familiar smile that melted Lizzie’s world like it was made of ice.
Lizzie’s heart stopped.
Then her whole body moved.
She didn’t walk—she ran. Through the lot, past crew, past cameras and cables, into Y/N’s arms with a force that nearly knocked them both down. The guitar case hit the floor with a thud, forgotten.
Y/N caught her. Held her like it had been years, not weeks.
Lizzie wrapped her legs around her wife’s waist and buried her face in Y/N’s neck. “You—are the worst—for not telling me,” she whispered, voice shaking with tears.
Y/N smiled into her shoulder. “Surprises work best when you don’t see them coming.”
“I hate surprises,” Lizzie murmured, laughing and crying.
“You love me,” Y/N countered.
Lizzie leaned back just enough to cup her wife’s face and kiss her—slow, hungry, real. A kiss that made the crew collectively forget what professionalism meant for a second.
When they broke apart, Y/N whispered, “God, I missed you, Lizzie.”
Lizzie pressed their foreheads together. “I missed you more. Don’t you ever do three weeks again.”
“Never,” Y/N promised. “Next time, I’m packing myself in your suitcase.”
“Or I’m flying out to your next show. I don’t care where. Antarctica? I’m there.”
They laughed quietly, wrapped in each other. Time paused.
Then Lizzie glanced around, suddenly aware of the dozen people watching.
Y/N grinned. “Guess I stole the scene, huh?”
Lizzie shrugged. “Well, you are my favorite view.”
Lizzie kept her arms looped around Y/N's shoulders, unwilling to let her go just yet. But awareness of their audience finally kicked in as a wave of murmurs and amused chuckles rippled across the set.
“Is that…” someone whispered.
“That’s Y/N,” another confirmed.
“The Y/N?”
“Oh my god, I love her music.”
Y/N chuckled softly against Lizzie’s hair, then gently lowered her back onto her feet. Lizzie adjusted the collar of Y/N’s jacket with an affectionate tug, smoothing down her hair like she was still trying to process that she was actually here, in the flesh, after three painfully long weeks.
Sebastian approached first, clapping Y/N on the back like they’d been friends for years. “And the mission is complete. Welcome to Berlin, Rockstar.”
“Thanks for the assist,” Y/N grinned, bumping fists with him. “I owe you a drink—or five.”
“Hold you to that,” he said, then turned to Lizzie. “You should’ve seen her in the terminal. Girl looked like she was walking into battle.”
Lizzie beamed. “She kinda was. My heart’s been a war zone since she left.”
Scarlett walked over next, arms crossed but a huge smile on her face. “You must be the wife we’ve heard all the love songs about.”
Y/N laughed, shaking her hand. “Guilty. And you must be the legendary Natasha Romanoff.”
Scarlett gave Lizzie a teasing look. “She’s got charm, Olsen. I like her.”
One by one, the cast and some of the crew trickled over—curious, kind, and in awe. Anthony Mackie gave Y/N a bear hug and immediately launched into a full review of her latest album, asking about the production on track three. Paul Bettany was all warm politeness and British humor, asking if Y/N would ever consider scoring a film. Even the director stopped by to greet her, joking that if she ever wanted to try acting, she could contact him.
Y/N took it all in stride—humble, funny, endlessly gracious—but her hand never left Lizzie’s. Their fingers stayed twined like gravity couldn’t pull them apart again.
At one point, a young crew member shyly approached with a folded piece of paper and a pen.
“Um… Miss Y/N? Could I… maybe get your autograph? My sister’s a huge fan.”
Y/N smiled gently. “Of course. What’s her name?”
“Isla.”
“To Isla,” Y/N wrote, “your sister’s amazing, and so are you. Stay loud. Love, Y/N.”
Lizzie leaned her head on Y/N’s shoulder, watching with pride so visible it might’ve been neon. She whispered, “You’re kind of amazing, you know that?”
Y/N looked down at her. “Takes one to marry one.”
Lizzie laughed, light and bright. “You’re seriously staying the rest of the week?”
Y/N nodded. “I rearranged everything. I’ll fly back when you do. I didn’t want to miss another night without you.”
Lizzie’s eyes glossed with emotion, but she blinked it back quickly.
“Lunch break’s in twenty,” someone called out from across set.
Y/N raised a brow. “Wanna sneak away for twenty-one?”
Lizzie grabbed her hand. “Let’s go before Mackie tries to third-wheel our reunion.”
They laughed as they jogged off hand-in-hand, slipping into Lizzie’s trailer. The cast watched them go with soft smiles, and someone muttered, “They’re disgustingly perfect.”
Sebastian just smirked. “Yeah. And totally in love.”
---
The door slammed shut behind them, and before Y/N could even drop her guitar case to the floor, Lizzie was on her.
She pushed Y/N gently but firmly against the door, hands tangled in her jacket, eyes wide and full of fire and longing. Y/N barely had time to gasp before Lizzie crashed her lips into hers—no hesitation, no room for words, just raw, hungry need.
It wasn’t a soft reunion kiss. It wasn’t careful or choreographed. It was messy, overwhelming, desperate—like Lizzie was trying to make up for every missed second, every lonely night, every phantom touch that hadn’t been enough.
Y/N groaned into the kiss, arms wrapping tightly around Lizzie’s waist as their mouths moved like they’d never been apart. Lizzie’s fingers gripped at Y/N’s collar, pulling her closer, closer, like she needed her inside her skin.
When they finally broke apart for air, both were panting.
“Three weeks,” Lizzie whispered, her forehead resting against Y/N’s. “Three goddamn weeks without you. Do you know what that did to me?”
Y/N cupped her cheek gently, brushing her thumb across Lizzie’s flushed skin. “Felt like I was missing oxygen, Liz. Every show, every night—I couldn’t sleep without your heartbeat next to mine.”
Lizzie let out a shaky breath, eyes already tearing up as she stared at her wife. “I kept reaching for you in bed. Waking up to nothing. I’d just… lie there. Hoping your voice would show up in my dreams.”
Y/N pressed her lips to Lizzie’s temple. “I’m here now. For as long as you want me.”
Lizzie pulled back, just far enough to see her face. “Always. I always want you.”
Then she kissed her again.
This time slower, but still just as full of heat. Her hands slid under Y/N’s jacket, palms mapping the familiar shape of her wife’s body, needing to *feel* her, not just see her. Y/N’s hands roamed too, holding Lizzie like she was fragile and precious and everything that ever mattered.
Clothes stayed on—for now—but the emotion between them was utterly naked.
Lizzie guided them toward the tiny couch without breaking the kiss. They collapsed onto it, tangled limbs and soft laughter as they settled in. Lizzie curled up half in Y/N’s lap, fingers now laced gently with hers.
“Promise me something,” Lizzie whispered, kissing the inside of Y/N’s wrist where her pulse still raced.
“Anything,” Y/N breathed.
“No more three weeks. Ever.”
Y/N nodded. “Never again. We’ll figure it out next time. If I have to sing to you from the back of a set or sleep on tour buses parked outside your trailer, I will.”
Lizzie smiled, heart too full, eyes glassy again. “You’re insane.”
“I’m in love,” Y/N corrected, brushing her nose against Lizzie’s. “Deeply. Stupidly. Helplessly.”
Lizzie kissed her again—gentler now, like she finally felt safe again. Whole.
Outside, the world kept moving. But in that trailer, time bent just for them.
The kiss had settled into something slower now—softer presses of lips, lingering touches, and the kind of silence that only came when hearts were beating in sync again. Lizzie was curled into Y/N’s side on the tiny couch, one leg draped over her lap, fingers lazily tracing circles on the singer’s thigh.
Y/N’s eyes, though, kept wandering to the corner of the trailer… to the rack of wardrobe pieces hanging near the vanity.
And more specifically—to one bold, dark red corset with leather details and a plunging neckline that practically screamed chaos magic dominatrix.
She raised a brow. “Is that Wanda’s new costume?”
Lizzie followed her gaze and immediately groaned, dropping her forehead to Y/N’s shoulder.
“Oh God. Don’t even start.”
But it was too late. Y/N was already smirking.
“No, I’m not judging—” she began, clearly judging just a little, “—but that thing has more cleavage than an awards show after-party.”
Lizzie looked up, mock-serious. “Marvel’s idea of ‘tactical gear,’ apparently.”
Y/N snorted. “What’s it meant to protect? The power of boobs?”
“Exactly. I weaponized them.”
Y/N gave her a slow, dramatic once-over. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure if Wanda looked at me in that thing, I’d forget how to breathe. She wouldn’t even need powers.”
Lizzie grinned and leaned in close, her voice dropping. “Is it because I’m the one wearing?”
Y/N licked her lips, eyes darkening just slightly. “Exactly!”
“Wanna help me out of it tonight?” Lizzie teased.
Y/N leaned in until their lips were a breath apart. “Only if I get to help you into it first.”
Lizzie laughed, loud and warm, then kissed her again—short and sweet this time.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“You married ridiculous,” Y/N reminded her.
“And I’d do it again tomorrow.”
They both smiled, their foreheads pressed together. The weight of weeks apart had finally lifted, replaced by flirty banter and the quiet hum of love rekindled.
After a moment, Y/N glanced toward the corset again and muttered, “Still, though. That thing’s basically lingerie with a cape.”
Lizzie smirked. “Funny. I said the exact same thing at my fitting.”
“And they kept it?”
“They said, and I quote, ‘Wanda’s evolving.’”
Y/N blinked. “Into a Victoria’s Secret model?”
Lizzie giggled, burying her face in Y/N’s neck. “God, I missed you so much.”
“I missed you too, my magical lingerie-wearing wife.”
Lizzie smacked her lightly on the chest. “Shut up.”
“Never,” Y/N said, wrapping her tighter in her arms. “You’re stuck with me.”
“Good.”
---
***
Back at the Hotel
The suite door slammed shut behind them, but they barely made it two steps in.
Lizzie crashed into Y/N with a kiss so fierce it knocked the breath from her lungs.
Fingers tangled in hair. Teeth caught on lips. Hands gripped, pulled, clutched like they were afraid the other might vanish again if they let go for even a second.
Three weeks apart had left them starving.
Y/N dropped her bag blindly to the floor as Lizzie shoved her backwards, lips locked, until they hit the nearest wall. Y/N groaned, gripping her waist, pulling her closer, like there was any space left between them.
“I’m gonna lose my mind if you don’t fuck me,” Lizzie whispered, panting between kisses. “I’ve needed you so bad.”
Y/N’s voice was wrecked. “You have no idea what you’ve done to me these past weeks.”
She grabbed Lizzie’s ass and lifted her off the ground—legs wrapping around her instinctively, mouths crashing again as they stumbled toward the bedroom, knocking into the doorframe, laughing and moaning at the same time.
They fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and need.
Lizzie rolled them over, straddling Y/N with her hair wild and eyes dark with hunger. She ripped her own shirt off, tossing it blindly, then reached for Y/N’s. “Off. Now.”
Y/N sat up, yanking it over her head as Lizzie attacked her neck with kisses and bites that would definitely leave marks.
Lizzie pulls up the sports bra Y/N was wearing throwing it away behind her. And soon her lips were back to Y/N neck, going down to her breasts.
When her lips wrap around Y/N nipple, she grinds down on the hardness under her at the same time, making Y/N moan. “Fuck…”
The singer flipped them without warning, pinning Lizzie down with her hands and hips, their breaths hot against each other’s mouths.
Lizzie moaned, arching up. “God, I missed your weight on me.”
“You’re gonna feel all of me tonight,” Y/N growled, her hand slipping down between Lizzie’s thighs, fingers finding her already wet and throbbing.
Lizzie gasped, hips bucking. “Please—please, just—fuck—”
They kissed like it was killing them not to. Like the space between their bodies was a war they refused to lose.
Y/N shoved Lizzie’s leggings down with shaking hands while Lizzie tore at her wife’s jeans like she couldn’t get them off fast enough.
“Need you,” Lizzie gasped, desperate, flushed. “Need you inside me. Now.”
Y/N finally kicked the last of her clothes off and knelt between her wife’s thighs, her breath catching at the sight of her laid out—panting, legs open, eyes wild with want.
She slid inside her slowly—deliberately—watching Lizzie come undone instantly, head thrown back, back arching off the bed.
“Fuck—yes, baby, yes—” Lizzie clutched her tighter, wrapping her legs around Y/N’s waist and dragging her in deeper, hips moving in frantic rhythm.
Y/N buried her face in Lizzie’s neck, her thrusts growing fast, rough, needy. They couldn’t stop kissing—between moans, between groans, between every ragged breath. Hands were everywhere—gripping, scratching, holding like they couldn’t get close enough.
The bed creaked beneath them, the air thick with sweat and sex and the sound of skin meeting skin.
Lizzie clawed at Y/N’s back, dragging her nails down hard. “Harder—don’t stop—please don’t stop—”
Y/N growled against her skin and obeyed, slamming into her deeper, harder, until Lizzie was shaking, crying out, clinging to her like she’d fall apart without her.
“Come with me,” Y/N gasped, her voice low and desperate. “Please, baby—come with me—”
Their hands found each other, fingers laced tight. Lizzie locked eyes with her—wide, wet, full of so much love it burned.
And then they came—together, hard, loud, overwhelmed by everything they’d held back for twenty-one aching days.
They collapsed, a tangled mess of limbs and trembling bodies, breathless and soaked in each other’s sweat and pleasure.
But even then, Y/N didn’t pull out. Lizzie didn’t let go.
“Again,” Lizzie whispered after a beat, kissing her jaw, her shoulder. “Please.”
Y/N groaned, already hardening again inside her. “As many times as you want.”
“Good,” Lizzie said with a smirk, rolling them over. “Because I’m not done with you either.”
Y/N barely had time to catch her breath before Lizzie was on top of her again—straddling her hips, nails trailing down her chest, lips swollen, eyes wild with hunger. Her thighs pressed tight around Y/N, grounding her, claiming her.
“You really thought you could show up after three weeks and not be ruined by me?” Lizzie whispered, her voice low, rough, devastating.
Y/N’s eyes fluttered shut as Lizzie grinded down against her, slow and purposeful. “I came here hoping everything.”
“Good.”
Lizzie leaned down and kissed her—sloppy and deep, tongues tangling, teeth scraping. She sucked a mark into Y/N’s neck, groaning when she felt her twitch underneath her.
Then she reached between them, guiding Y/N back inside her—slow, deliberate, both of them moaning at the contact like it physically reset their hearts.
Lizzie moved her hips slowly at first, teasing, savoring the stretch, the pressure, the way Y/N looked up at her like she was the only thing in the universe.
“You feel so good,” she gasped, her hands pressed to Y/N’s chest for balance. “I forgot how full you make me feel…”
“Fuck, Lizzie,” Y/N growled, gripping her hips, trying to hold on, but Lizzie batted her hands away.
“No. Let me ride you.”
Y/N’s mouth parted, her voice caught in her throat.
She obeyed.
Lizzie started moving faster—messy, desperate, riding her hard and deep, head thrown back, breasts bouncing with every thrust. The room was thick with moans, the slap of skin, the bed creaking beneath their rhythm.
Y/N’s hands hovered at her sides, twitching to touch her, but she held back.
Until Lizzie looked down at her, hair a halo of chaos, and moaned, “Touch me. Please.”
That was all she needed.
Y/N sat up, arms wrapping tight around Lizzie as she started thrusting up into her, matching her rhythm, their chests pressed together, sweat-slicked skin sliding, gasps turning into cries.
Lizzie buried her face in Y/N’s neck, her voice a broken whisper, “I’m so close… don’t stop… please—don’t stop—”
“I’ve got you, baby,” Y/N murmured, kissing her shoulder, her jaw, her mouth. “Let go for me.”
Lizzie shattered in her arms—shaking, crying out her name, clinging to her like her body was the only thing holding her together.
And Y/N let go with her, falling hard, deep inside her, breath caught in her throat as she came with a shuddering groan against her skin.
They collapsed together, still joined, still pulsing with aftershocks, hearts pounding like war drums in their chests.
Minutes passed in silence except for their breathing.
Lizzie finally lifted her head and kissed her softly—slow, lazy, full of love. “I missed you.”
Y/N smiled sleepily. “I don’t think I’ve ever missed someone the way I miss you when you’re not there.”
Lizzie laid her head on Y/N’s chest, still catching her breath. “I’m going to be sore tomorrow.”
Y/N chuckled, brushing her fingers through her damp hair. “That’s okay. I’ll kiss it better.”
“Mm. Deal.”
They stayed like that—tangled, satisfied, quiet—for a long time.
And for the first time in weeks… they both finally slept.
***
---
The sun was out, birds chirped somewhere behind the trailers, and Lizzie Olsen looked like she hadn’t just spent half the night being thoroughly and repeatedly ruined by her wife.
Correction—she looked exactly like someone who’d spent the night being thoroughly and repeatedly ruined by her wife.
And everyone could see it.
“Morning,” one of the makeup artists said as Lizzie walked into the trailer.
“Morning,” Lizzie replied, voice a little raspy and warm, her oversized coffee in hand. She smiled dreamily, then winced the slightest bit as she sat down in the chair.
“You okay?” the artist asked, pulling her hair back gently.
“Totally,” Lizzie said, a bit too fast. “Just… stretched weird in my sleep.”
A beat.
“You sure it wasn’t your wife doing the stretching?” came Scarlett’s voice from behind them, with a classic grin on her face as she leaned against the doorway.
Lizzie gave her a flat look in the mirror. “You know, it’s weird how obsessed you are with my sex life.”
“I’m just saying,” he gestured loosely, “you came in like you were walking on clouds. Which is wild considering how much you were complaining about your back yesterday.”
Lizzie muttered under her breath, cheeks pink. “Mind your business.”
The makeup artist tried—and failed—not to laugh.
Just then, the trailer door opened again, and Y/N stepped in. Black jeans, boots, her vintage band tee barely hiding the bite mark at the base of her throat. Aviators perched on her nose. Calm. Cool. Gorgeous. Effortlessly rockstar.
Scarlett blinked. “Oh. Wow.”
Y/N smiled, slipping her arm around Lizzie’s chair and pressing a kiss to her temple.
“Morning, love.”
Lizzie reached up to touch her wife’s hand, soft and subtle, like a reflex. “Hey. You sleep okay?”
Y/N gave a lazy grin. “Eventually.”
The makeup artist had completely stopped moving.
Scarlett leaned sideways, whispering to no one in particular, “She’s way hotter in person. No offense.”
“None taken,” Y/N deadpanned, then looked at him over her glasses. “You’re just saying that because you haven’t seen her in bed.”
Lizzie choked on her coffee. “Babe.”
Scarlett looked like she’d just been spiritually ejected from the trailer.
As Y/N leaned down to whisper something in Lizzie’s ear, the red on her cheeks bloomed deeper. She bit her lip and shot her a look that was half affection, half don’t you dare make me walk funny on set.
Y/N only smirked and backed away, walking out like she hadn’t just made a professional crew question their career choices.
The moment the door shut behind her, the trailer burst into chatter.
“Oh my God,” the hairstylist whispered.
“I thought she was gonna be cool,” one of the costume girls mumbled. “She’s dangerous.”
“I’m suddenly rethinking every romantic decision I’ve ever made,” Scarlett said, still staring at the door.
Lizzie just sighed, hiding her smirk behind her coffee. “That’s my wife.”
---
The sun beat down on the lot, but no one noticed—not with Elizabeth Olsen in costume, hurling imaginary debris like a goddess of chaos.
The camera crew stayed focused. Anthony Mackie was mid-line. The stunt doubles were prepped and waiting.
But Y/N?
Y/N didn’t even pretend to be subtle.
She stood off to the side, arms crossed, sunglasses on, watching her wife work like it was a private show. She’d seen Lizzie in movies. Watched her dominate red carpets. But something about seeing her in action—in full Wanda mode, confidence radiating with every move—made something low in Y/N's chest curl hot.
Lizzie tried to focus.
Really.
But every time she turned her head, Y/N’s smirk was right there. And God help her, it made her spine tingle.
“Cut!” the director called. “Take five!”
Lizzie walked off set, grabbing a water. “You trying to distract me?” she asked under her breath, brushing past Y/N.
“I don’t have to try,” Y/N murmured, lips near her ear. “You keep looking at me like you’re starved.”
Lizzie shot her a glare that was half threat, half plea. “You know what last night did to me.”
“I remember. Vividly.”
---
A half hour later, the entire crew stared in stunned silence as two food trucks pulled in—one serving gourmet Mediterranean bowls, the other dishing out fresh flatbreads, grilled skewers, and handmade desserts.
“Is this a mistake?” someone asked.
“Nope,” a PA called out, waving a hand. “It’s from Y/N. For everyone.”
A murmur rippled through the lot.
Lizzie walked over mid-bite of fruit, stopping short when she saw the setup. “You didn’t.”
Y/N, sitting on a folding chair with a bottle of lemonade and her feet kicked up, gave her a lazy grin. “You’ve been living off sad wraps and burnt coffee. I couldn’t let that stand.”
Lizzie lowered her sunglasses, giving her wife a look that said you're ridiculous, and I love you.
“Plus,” Y/N added, standing to meet her, “I wanted to thank the people who put you in tight leather and threw fake buildings at you. That’s love.”
“You’re going to cause problems,” Lizzie muttered, stepping close. “Half this crew already has a crush on you.”
“Let them,” Y/N whispered, brushing her hand along the small of Lizzie’s back. “I’m taking you home.”
---
Everyone ate like it was their last meal on earth. Mackie was three plates in. The grips were in heaven. Someone shouted, “She’s a legend!” as they dipped warm pita into house-made hummus.
But Y/N?
She didn’t eat much.
She was too busy watching Lizzie—face flushed from the heat, hair pinned back, lips curved into that soft little smile she only gave when she felt safe.
They locked eyes across the lot.
Y/N mouthed, Later.
Lizzie smiled.
And mouthed back, Can’t wait.
---
The city outside hummed with distant traffic, but inside their room, it was quiet—lamplight golden, sheets slightly rumpled from the morning’s rush, and the lingering scent of Y/N’s cologne still clinging to the pillows.
Lizzie stood by the window, freshly showered, damp hair tucked behind her ears. One of Y/N’s band tees hung loose on her frame, swallowing her curves, sleeves brushing past her elbows.
Y/N watched her from the bed—still in jeans and sports bra, half-sprawled across the comforter, one hand resting on her stomach. She looked tired but happy. Content. Her gaze hadn’t left Lizzie since they walked in.
“You’re staring,” Lizzie murmured.
“I missed staring at you,” Y/N said softly.
Lizzie turned, slow, eyes warm. “You missed more than that.”
Y/N sat up, shifting toward the edge of the bed. “I did.”
A beat passed between them. And then Lizzie walked over, climbing into Y/N’s lap like she belonged there—because she did.
Y/N exhaled against her temple as their bodies melted together.
“I kept waking up in the middle of the night,” Lizzie whispered, arms around her neck. “My hands would reach out for you. And when I realized you weren’t there, it felt like I forgot how to breathe.”
Y/N closed her eyes, forehead pressed to hers. “I know the feeling.”
Fingers ran along jawlines. Palms found familiar places on skin. There was no urgency now—just the ache of having gone too long without this. Without them.
“I hated being apart,” Lizzie said, voice cracking just a little. “I hated all of it.”
Y/N nodded, thumbs brushing tears that never quite fell. “We won’t do three weeks again.”
“Promise?”
“Swear it.” A pause. “I’ll move mountains next time if I have to.”
Lizzie settled over Y/N like she belonged there, thighs straddling her hips, hands never still—roaming over the face she’d ached for, down the chest she’d dreamed of curling against again.
Their mouths didn’t part for long. When they did, it was just to whisper breathless things like “God, I missed you,” and “You feel like home.”
Y/N’s hands found Lizzie’s waist under the oversized tee, fingertips spreading against warm skin like she needed to memorize every inch all over again. “Three weeks,” she breathed. “How did we survive it?”
Lizzie shook her head, eyes glassy but hungry. “I didn’t. I—I couldn’t sleep right. Eat right. Breathe right.” She rocked into Y/N with slow, needy pressure, their bodies syncing like muscle memory. “I needed you.”
“You have me,” Y/N said, voice low, reverent. “You always have me.”
***
Their kisses turned messy again—urgent, deep, full of longing. Lizzie tugged Y/N’s bra up, revealing skin she hadn't touched in too long, her hands sliding across familiar dips and lines with a desperation that made her gasp.
Y/N groaned softly. “You’re shaking.”
Lizzie nodded, not embarrassed. “I’ve wanted this every night since you left.”
They undressed each other slowly—but not gently. Fabric hit the floor with a little too much eagerness. Fingernails scratched down spines. Teeth grazed skin. Every inch they uncovered came with kisses that turned into sighs that turned into gasps.
When Lizzie sank down onto Y/N at last, they both stilled—just for a breath, foreheads pressed together, the weight of all those lonely nights suddenly dissolving in the heat between them.
Lizzie whimpered, her lips brushing Y/N’s. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Y/N promised, hips moving in time with her, hands gripping her thighs, her waist, her heart. “I’m right here. I’ve got you.”
They moved like they were trying to make up for every lost second—rocking, clutching, gasping each other’s names like mantras. Lizzie’s moans turned ragged as she arched above Y/N, riding wave after wave of everything they’d been holding in.
“I love you,” she sobbed when she came, collapsing into Y/N’s chest, arms tight around her, body trembling. “I love you so much it hurts.”
Y/N held her, kissed her hair, whispered her name like a prayer. “I love you more. Always.”
They stayed tangled together, catching their breath, skin damp, hearts pounding in sync again.
No distance. No silence. Just the sound of love rediscovered in the dark.
***
---
Next Morning
Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft gold across the tangled sheets. The bed was half-empty, Lizzie’s side slightly cold, but her scent lingered—lavender and warm skin, like a dream Y/N didn’t want to wake from.
She stirred slowly, stretching with a quiet groan. Muscles still sore from the last leg of her tour. Sore from last night, too—though that ache was the kind she didn’t mind carrying.
Her hand reached instinctively for Lizzie, only to find a note on the pillow.
Y/N blinked and smiled.
“Didn’t want to wake you—you looked too peaceful. I miss you already. Come find me when you’re up? I need a kiss. — L”
She sat up, running a hand through her hair. Her body felt heavy but content. Soul full.
A few minutes later, after a long shower and throwing on a hoodie, loose jeans, and her favorite cap, she headed out. But not to set—not just yet.
She had a different stop in mind first.
---
The bakery smelled like heaven. Warm butter. Vanilla. Espresso.
Y/N scanned the case with a small grin. She knew Lizzie’s favorites: those lemon-glazed scones, that tiny, rich chocolate tart she always claimed she “only wanted a bite of” and finished in two. And of course—extra hot coffee with oat milk and two pumps of honey syrup. No more, no less.
The girl behind the counter blinked when she recognized her. Y/N smiled politely but didn’t stop. She was on a mission.
Boxes in hand, coffees secure, she texted Lizzie.
“Guess who’s bringing lunch, Mrs. Maximoff? 😉”
The reply was almost instant.
“You’re evil. I’m starving. Trailer or set?”
“Your trailer. Knock twice.”
---
Crew buzzed in every direction. There were wires, green screens, and the low hum of tech and camera gear. Y/N passed unnoticed at first— hoodie up, coffee carrier in one hand, pastry bag in the other.
She got to Lizzie’s trailer just as they were resetting for the next scene.
She knocked—twice.
The door flew open a second later.
Lizzie stood there still in costume—corset, leather, hair curled and pinned back—eyes wide, smile wide and hungry.
“You’re insane,” she said, dragging Y/N inside before anyone could blink. “I’ve been thinking about food—and you—all day.”
Y/N held up the bag like an offering. “Scones. Tart. And the coffee you love enough to marry me for.”
Lizzie took the coffee and kissed her instead. “Still would’ve married you without it.”
They settled on the small couch in the trailer, Lizzie curled up beside her wife in full Scarlet Witch gear, munching on a lemon scone with visible bliss.
“You spoil me,” she mumbled through a bite.
Y/N grinned, brushing a crumb from Lizzie’s lip. “I was gone too long. Gotta make up for it.”
“You’re doing a damn good job.”
Outside, they called for setup. Lizzie sighed.
Y/N nudged her gently. “Go save the world, Mrs. Olsen. I’ll be right here when you’re done.”
Lizzie kissed her cheek, then her lips. “Promise?”
“Swear it.”
---
Later
The hum of air conditioning and soft tapping of Y/N’s laptop keys filled the space. She sat cross-legged on the little couch, Lizzie’s scent still lingering on the pillows beside her. A few half-eaten pastries sat on the coffee table. Her phone was on speaker.
“…yes, move the London radio interview to next week. No, I don’t want to zoom in from here. I’m here to rest—and be with my wife. Let’s keep my calendar light.”
On the other end of the line, her PA laughed. “Got it, boss. So, no surprise promos?”
“Not unless someone’s dying”
They hung up just as the trailer door creaked open and Lizzie stepped in, tired but glowing.
Y/N looked up and immediately smiled. “There’s my superstar.”
Lizzie let out a breath and leaned against the door. “There’s my entire world.” She walked over and dropped into Y/N’s lap with a groan. “I missed you.”
“You saw me three hours ago.”
“I still missed you.”
They kissed, lazy and soft, foreheads resting together after.
“Wrapped up your empire?” Lizzie murmured, nodding toward the laptop.
“Mostly. Just told them I’m not working while I’m here. I’m officially your groupie until you wrap this movie.”
Lizzie laughed, full and warm. “I like the sound of that.”
Then she sat up a little straighter, eyes sparkling.
“So—Paul’s throwing something tonight. Small club. Most of the cast and crew are going. He said you’re totally invited.”
Y/N raised a brow. “Me? At a club full of Marvel stars? Will the world survive?”
“I guess we’ll find out,” Lizzie said, grinning. “Come with me?”
“You even have to ask?”
---
Sunset spilled honey-gold light into the room, casting long shadows across the bed. The playlist Y/N had picked pulsed low, velvet beats vibrating softly through the air. She stood in front of the mirror, straightening her black button-up shirt. It clung perfectly to her frame—broad shoulders, narrow waist, sleek lines—and the black pants hugged her hips and thighs with just the right amount of tension. She knew she looked good, but she wasn't thinking about herself.
Not when her wife was still in the bathroom.
The door creaked open behind her—and Y/N turned.
Lizzie stepped out barefoot, hair slightly damp, slipping earrings into place with a glance toward her wife.
She wore a deep burgundy dress—barely-there straps, low neckline, silk that caressed every curve like it was made to be touched. Her skin glowed golden in the dying light. She didn’t even look at Y/N at first—until she felt her gaze.
Y/N’s breath caught. “Fuck,” she whispered, eyes raking down Lizzie’s body. “You’re unreal.”
Lizzie looked up and froze. Her lips parted. Her eyes dipped—slowly, deliberately—to take in the way Y/N’s shirt stretched across her chest, the way the pants outlined her hips and the growing tension between her thighs.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Lizzie said quietly, but there was a wicked smirk tugging at her mouth. “We have to leave in twenty.”
Y/N crossed the room in two strides, hands sliding around her waist. “Then let’s make it fifteen,” she murmured, already hard, already burning for her.
Her mouth found Lizzie’s neck, kisses quickening, hips pressing forward, trying to grind against her.
Lizzie let out a soft sound—but she pulled back, laughing breathlessly. “Nope.”
“What?” Y/N stared at her in disbelief. “Seriously?”
Lizzie bit her lip and smoothed down her dress, still looking her wife up and down like she was barely holding back. “We’ll be late. You know how Mackie gets when people show up after he’s drunk.”
“I don’t care if Feige gets mad,” Y/N growled, trying to grab her again.
Lizzie dodged her touch with a playful grin. “I said no, baby.”
Y/N narrowed her eyes, the ache between her legs sharp and urgent now. “You’re evil.”
“I know.” Lizzie leaned in, brushing her lips just barely against Y/N’s jaw. “I want you to spend all night watching me. Wanting me. Thinking about what you could’ve had before we left this room.”
Y/N groaned low, jaw tight.
Lizzie stepped back, grabbed her clutch, and winked. “Now come on, rockstar. Let’s go make everyone at that club jealous.”
Y/N adjusted herself with a frustrated sigh, already plotting revenge.
“Fine,” she muttered, grabbing her wallet. “But the second we get back…”
“You won’t even make it to the bed,” Lizzie promised over her shoulder.
And God, Y/N believed her.
---
At the Club
The private section of the club was buzzing with energy. Music thumped low and sexy, lights pulsing gently, and laughter rang through the room as the Marvel cast loosened up after a long shoot week. Drinks flowed, stories were shared, and the vibe was effortless—like a reunion of friends who genuinely liked each other.
Y/N had drifted away from Lizzie’s side for the first time that night, pulled into conversation by Robert Downey Jr. and Scarlett Johansson, who immediately took to her with warmth and curiosity.
“So you’re the Y/N,” Scarlett said with a knowing grin, nursing a drink and leaning in. “I’ve had your song stuck in my head for weeks.”
Y/N chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck. “Hopefully one of the good ones.”
“It’s the one that sounds like sex,” RDJ chimed in. “The one with the heavy bass and that line about—what is it? Midnight bruises and silk?”
“Yup,” Y/N said, trying not to grin too wide. “That one’s about Lizzie.”
Robert raised his brows. “Good lord. You’re a menace.”
Y/N smirked. “I try.”
Not far off, Lizzie stood with Anthony Mackie and Sebastian Stan, watching her wife with sly intent. Her drink dangled lazily in her hand, her eyes locked on Y/N’s frame as she laughed with her co-stars.
Her gaze was dark. Possessive. Dangerous.
She moved slowly through the room, hips swaying in that burgundy dress, every step deliberate. She didn’t go to Y/N. No—she circled her. She’d let her wife feel her from a distance, catch glimpses of her while pretending to be immersed in conversation.
Y/N noticed. Of course she did.
While Chris Evans pulled her into a warm hug and joked about something, Y/N’s eyes kept flicking toward Lizzie.
And Lizzie? She was whispering something to Sebastian, hand on his arm as she laughed—just a little too close, a little too playful.
Y/N’s jaw ticked.
Scarlett nudged her. “You’re being hunted.”
Y/N tore her eyes away from her wife. “Yeah,” she muttered. “And she knows exactly what she’s doing.”
“She’s driving you crazy on purpose,” Chris added with a laugh. “Can’t say I blame her. You two are…” He gestured vaguely between them. “Kinda intense.”
Lizzie finally approached, slipping between conversations like silk. She didn’t touch Y/N right away—no, she let her fingers graze the small of her back as she passed by, just enough to make her flinch.
Y/N’s breath caught. Her pants were already tighter than comfort allowed.
“Having fun, baby?” Lizzie asked sweetly, now standing beside her and taking a sip of her drink.
Y/N looked down at her, eyes hungry. “I swear to God, if you touch me like that one more time—”
Lizzie leaned up on tiptoe and kissed her cheek. Just her cheek.
“Behave,” she whispered. “I want you squirming until we get back.”
Y/N exhaled harshly, barely keeping it together.
---
Nearby, Sebastian leaned over to Mackie and whispered, “They’re either about to go home… or start something in the damn hallway.”
“Place your bets,” Mackie grinned.
But Y/N didn’t move yet.
No. She stayed. Sat right back down with the rest of the crew—because if Lizzie wanted to tease, Y/N could play that game too. Two could set fire to a room without lifting a finger.
So she let Lizzie sit beside her on the low velvet couch, one leg crossed over the other like nothing was wrong. Like she hadn’t just spent the last hour driving her famous, desperate wife insane with every glance, every touch, every graze of her fingers along skin that had gone far too long without being touched.
The cast kept talking—Sebastian teasing Chris, Scarlett recounting a moment on set that had everyone laughing—but Y/N’s focus narrowed. Lizzie leaned in, laughing at something Mackie said, and her hand settled on Y/N’s thigh again. Innocent. Casual.
Except it wasn’t.
Y/N's leg tensed. Her jaw clenched. Lizzie’s thumb traced slow circles over the fabric of her black pants—right where she knew it would do the most damage.
Y/N reached for her drink and downed the rest of it in one go.
“Hey,” Chris said, leaning closer, “how’s the tour going?”
Y/N blinked. “Hm?”
“The shows,” Chris laughed. “Your tour. You just wrapped, right?”
“Oh. Yeah.” Y/N rubbed a hand over the back of her neck, willing herself not to look down at Lizzie’s hand. “They were great. Exhausting, but great.”
Robert leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Still writing while you’re out there?”
Lizzie’s hand inched higher.
“Yeah,” Y/N muttered, voice going hoarse. “Always.”
Lizzie smiled to herself—pleased at the strain in her wife’s voice, the twitch in her thigh, the way she sat perfectly still while her body screamed to move.
“You look warm,” Lizzie murmured under her breath.
Y/N turned to her with a dangerous glare. “You think this is funny?”
Lizzie’s lips brushed her ear. “I think I want you so desperate you forget how to speak.”
Y/N bit her cheek, hard. Her arousal was a live wire now. She couldn’t even shift in her seat without drawing attention to just how tightly her pants clung to her.
Sebastian caught the tension—smirked. “You good, Y/N?”
“Peachy,” she gritted out.
“I think we should go,” Lizzie said sweetly, rising from the couch with one last little squeeze to Y/N’s thigh. “It’s late.”
Y/N stood fast—too fast—mumbling goodbyes while Lizzie hugged the others like she wasn’t dragging her wife to the edge of sanity.
As they walked out, RDJ called after them, “Try not to break anything expensive!”
Lizzie waved, utterly unbothered. “No promises!”
Y/N didn’t speak until they hit the car.
Then she turned, grabbing Lizzie by the waist and pressing her up against the inside of the door before it even closed. “You think teasing me in front of all your friends is a game?”
Lizzie laughed breathlessly, lips brushing hers. “No. I think it’s foreplay.”
Y/N’s growl was low, dangerous. “You’re not gonna walk tomorrow.”
Lizzie’s grin spread slowly, eyes gleaming. “Good.”
---
***
The second the door clicked shut, Y/N spun Lizzie around and pressed her up against it, mouths crashing together in a kiss that was pure need.
No words.
Just heat. Tongues. Teeth. Hands already tugging at fabric.
“You think it’s funny?” Y/N growled against Lizzie’s lips. “Spending the whole night turning me on like that?”
Lizzie gasped, breath hitching as Y/N’s hands gripped her hips tight. “I wanted you like this.”
“You got what you wanted.”
She was already working open the buttons of Lizzie’s dress, lips dragging hotly along her neck. Lizzie’s hands slipped under Y/N’s shirt, nails raking across her stomach.
Y/N hissed. “Bed. Now.”
“No,” Lizzie whispered with a smirk, dragging Y/N back by the collar. “Here.”
She dropped to her knees in front of her wife like she’d been waiting all damn night to do it. And she had.
Y/N's breath caught, one hand bracing against the door as Lizzie undid her belt, slow but purposeful. Her tongue flicked at the corner of her mouth, eyes dark with hunger.
“Fuck—Lizzie—”
“Shh,” she smirked. “You were such a good girl all night. Just let me.”
Y/N’s head hit the door with a soft thud, a broken moan leaving her lips as Lizzie took her into her mouth, slow and deep. Her hands found Y/N’s thighs, gripping tightly, guiding the rhythm, relishing every shaky breath and curse.
It was messy. Desperate. All heat and noise and need.
Y/N couldn’t last. Not with the way Lizzie moaned around her. Not after hours of Lizzie brushing against her, whispering filth in her ear, staring at her across the club with eyes that promised exactly this.
She pulled Lizzie up before she lost her mind entirely, cupped her jaw, and kissed her hard, tasting herself on her wife’s lips.
“You like making me lose control?” Y/N whispered against her mouth.
Lizzie nodded, breathless. “I want you to.”
She didn’t even make it to the bed. Y/N pushed Lizzie onto the chaise near the window, slid her dress up in one swift motion, and stepped in behind her — pressing close, chest to her back, one hand flat against her stomach to hold her there.
Lizzie gasped, eyes fluttering shut as her hands gripped the arms of the chaise. The city lights spilled in from the window, throwing gold across her skin. Her breath fogged the glass in front of her as Y/N’s body molded to hers, firm and shaking with restraint.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” Y/N whispered into her ear, voice thick with need.
Lizzie arched into her. “Then take me. Please.”
Y/N groaned softly and slid a hand down, over her hips, in between her thighs — fingers trailing over her with a kind of reverent hunger. Lizzie whimpered, her head falling back onto Y/N’s shoulder.
“You’re soaked,” Y/N breathed, teeth grazing her neck. “All night you’ve been teasing me, looking like that… and you’re this desperate already?”
Lizzie moaned in response, shifting back against her wife’s hips with purpose. “I’ve been waiting. Just like you.”
The moment cracked like thunder. Y/N guided herself inside Lizzie, holding her steady with one arm around her waist. The first slow push made both of them gasp — not just from the sensation, but from the sheer intimacy of it, the pressure of finally being joined after a night full of tease.
Lizzie trembled, one hand reaching back to clutch at Y/N’s thigh. “Don’t hold back. I can take it.”
Y/N didn’t. She moved with purpose, with hunger, hips driving forward as Lizzie cried out into the night. The sound of skin against skin echoed softly in the room, paired with whispered curses, desperate moans, and the occasional break of Y/N’s name from Lizzie’s lips like a sacred word.
They moved together like they were trying to erase the weeks of absence — like they could memorize each other’s bodies all over again in one night. Every thrust, every gasp, every grind of hips was soaked in longing and love and wild, reckless desire.
Y/N slipped a hand down again, rubbing slow circles against Lizzie’s clit that made her fall apart, gasping, trembling, shuddering. The climax hit her hard — her body arching as she let go with a cry, clutching the edge of the chaise, legs unsteady.
Y/N held her close through it, her own breath ragged, forehead pressed to Lizzie’s back. Her cock still fully hard inside Lizzie.
Lizzie, chest rising and falling, let out a soft breath. “Wait,” she murmured after a moment, looking back at her wife with glassy eyes and a flushed face. “You didn’t finish…”
Y/N shook her head, her voice a little hoarse. “Didn’t want to yet.”
That made Lizzie smile — slow, dazed, but hungry again. “Come to bed.”
Y/N didn’t hesitate. She pulls out and followed Lizzie across the room, hands never quite leaving her skin, eyes locked on her like she still couldn’t believe she was real again.
Lizzie dropped onto the bed, lying back with arms open, hair wild against the sheets. “Come back inside me.”
Y/N climbed over her, settling between her legs, her body hovering just slightly above.
Then, she push slow, deliberate — a deep, aching slide that pulled a soft gasp from both of them. Lizzie’s hands flew to Y/N’s back, pulling her closer, deeper.
The intensity hit them both hard.
No teasing now. No games. Just the desperate rhythm of two people who had waited too long — who knew every curve, every sound, every tremble of the other’s body.
Lizzie clung to Y/N, panting against her ear. “Harder. I want all of you.”
Y/N groaned low in her throat and gave in — hips rolling harder, lips seeking out every inch of exposed skin, breath mingling in heat and sweat and whispered curses.
It wasn’t slow for long.
The tension built fast — the kind of hunger born from three weeks apart, too many late-night calls, and dreams that ended too soon. Lizzie cried out again, her body trembling from oversensitivity but refusing to stop. She needed this. Needed all of it.
“Y/N,” she gasped. “Don’t stop—please—”
She didn’t. Y/N drove into her until her own release tore through her with a sound that was more raw than controlled — a sharp gasp against Lizzie’s neck, her body shuddering as she came deep inside her wife.
They stayed like that for a long moment — skin on skin, hearts pounding, breath syncing slowly back to normal.
Lizzie eventually let out a shaky laugh. “So… still not done?”
Y/N kissed her shoulder, then her jaw, then her lips. “Not even close.”
Lizzie smirked lazily. “Then get some water. I want you again… but this time, I’m on top.”
Y/N chuckled softly against Lizzie’s skin, still trying to catch her breath. “You’re insatiable.”
Lizzie grinned, running a hand down her wife’s back, fingers tracing the dip of her spine. “You were gone for three weeks. That’s 21 nights without you. You do the math.”
She rolled them over smoothly, straddling Y/N’s waist, and sat up, hair tousled and falling in soft waves around her flushed face. The moonlight framed her like a painting, and Y/N could do nothing but look up at her in awe.
“God, you’re beautiful,” Y/N murmured, hands settling on Lizzie’s thighs.
“And you,” Lizzie whispered as she leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her lips, “are mine.”
Her mouth trailed lower — over Y/N’s jaw, her neck, her collarbone — leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses that made Y/N shiver. She rocked her hips just enough to remind them both that Y/N hadn’t softened yet, and Lizzie smiled against her skin.
Y/N’s hands gripped her hips. “You’re playing a dangerous game, babe.”
“I know,” Lizzie whispered as she rose up again, guiding her wife inside her with practiced ease.
The moan that escaped them both was quiet but wrecked — full of need and the kind of relief that came from being home in each other’s bodies. Lizzie moved slowly at first, rolling her hips in a steady rhythm, her hands resting on Y/N’s chest for balance.
Y/N watched her, completely lost in the sight. “You feel like heaven.”
Lizzie leaned down, brushing her lips over Y/N’s again. “Then don’t stop worshipping me.”
Her movements quickened, a rhythm that grew more desperate as their bodies synced — gasps and soft curses filling the room. Y/N met her every motion with a thrust of her hips, hands now gripping Lizzie’s waist like she’d come undone without her.
It didn’t take long. The intensity built fast, the second round shorter, sharper. Lizzie cried out Y/N’s name as she came again, her body trembling as she collapsed against her wife.
Y/N followed seconds later, groaning into her shoulder, arms wrapped tight around her as she spilled inside her again.
They lay there in the aftermath, tangled together and breathless, skin slick with sweat and kisses.
Lizzie smiled lazily, cheek pressed to Y/N’s chest. “Okay… now I’m done.”
Y/N laughed softly and pulled the covers over them both. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”
And in the quiet of their hotel suite — city lights flickering in the distance — they finally slept, tangled in each other, fully at peace.
***
---
Sunlight filtered gently through the sheer curtains, casting a soft golden hue over the room. The quiet hum of the city outside barely reached them, muffled by the luxury hotel’s thick windows. Inside, all was calm — the only movement was the slow rise and fall of two bodies curled together under the covers.
Y/N stirred first, blinking open sleepy eyes to find herself wrapped in a familiar warmth. Lizzie was tucked tightly against her, head resting on her chest, one arm splayed possessively across Y/N’s stomach. Their legs were tangled, her bare skin pressed to Y/N’s in that effortless, intimate way that came only from years of loving someone deeply.
Y/N didn’t move at first — didn’t want to disturb the peace. She let herself feel: the warmth of Lizzie’s breath against her skin, the occasional twitch of her fingers as she dreamed, the scent of her still clinging to the sheets. She was home.
Lizzie murmured something incoherent and nuzzled in closer, her lips brushing the side of Y/N’s breast before she finally cracked open one eye. “Morning.”
Y/N smiled down at her. “Hey, sleepyhead.”
Lizzie blinked up at her with a slow, lazy grin. “What time is it?”
“Does it matter?”
That got a soft laugh. Lizzie stretched, the movement making the sheets shift and reminding both of them just how little they were wearing. She didn’t move away though — just looked up at Y/N like she was the sun itself. “You always wake up this pretty?”
“Only when I’ve got you in my arms,” Y/N teased, brushing a bit of hair off Lizzie’s face.
Lizzie rolled her eyes fondly and kissed her collarbone. “Cheesy.”
“True,” Y/N murmured, dipping down to kiss her forehead, her nose, and finally her lips — soft, slow, and unhurried.
They stayed like that for a while, kissing in the gentle stillness, hands roaming in that sleepy, affectionate way — not with hunger this time, but comfort. Familiar. Needed.
Eventually, Lizzie pulled back just enough to whisper, “Let’s stay like this all morning.”
“No arguments here,” Y/N murmured, arms tightening around her. “Room service later?”
Lizzie smiled against her skin. “Later. Much later.”
She nestled back down, eyes fluttering shut again, and Y/N followed suit — not caring about alarms or plans or anything beyond the warmth of her wife, safe in her arms.
---
Leave your comments everybody!
#elizabeth olsen x female reader#elizabeth olsen x reader#elizabeth olsen oneshots#elizabeth olsen x y/n#elizabeth olsen x you#lizzie olsen#lizzie olsen x reader#g!p reader
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🖤 lists. mattheo riddle 🖤 oral. studying. fem!reader self insert. tongue in cheek. thank you to @nottscherry for reading this & confirming my idea was sane and @voidofsunlight for her bot that inspired the idea. mdni. raspberry vodka recommended (2.1k)
It was painstakingly obvious that Mattheo's curiosity had clearly gotten the best of him. Slipping down into a seat beside you in the back of the library, he smirked; honey tinted eyes washing over you with a trail of unspoken questions he’d stop at nothing to get answers for. Reaching out, with careful fingers, Mattheo tucked some loose hair which had fallen down in front of your face behind your ear, using the gesture as an excuse to let his fingertips linger beneath your chin and turn your head to face him.
“You know, you really should be more discreet with what you keep in your dorm..”
For a few moments, an array of impulsive thoughts and taunting images raced through your mind. When he had asked earlier in the day about borrowing a textbook you had on ancient runes for a class he wasn't all that committed to, you hadn't thought much about lending it to him. He just wanted to pass - you were nice enough to extend the offer to a friend - end of story. Right? Nope.
That little shit had taken it upon himself to snoop around your dorm as if he owned the place rather than just walking in and walking out the way you'd expected, like a thief in the middle of the night. You'd told him exactly where the book he was after was - top shelf in the bookcase beside your bed in between a stack of parchments you vaguely could refer to as homework and the novelty coffee mug of a dog he'd brought you years ago in Hogsmeade after you mentioned you thought it was cute.
Mind racing; you wondered what he'd stumbled on. Ever so surely, you began to flicker through the mental catalogue of everything you kept in your dorm. Perhaps the lucky red lace bra you always wore on first dates? The novelty candy G-string Pansy bought for your birthday last month? The handcuffs your ex had far too many ideas for? The bullet vibrator you kept in your bedside top drawer shaped like a golden snitch? No, let's be real - all these things were far too safe for someone with the last name Riddle; far too vanilla. Yet whilst you tried so desperately hard to think, your mind just couldn't quite pinpoint what he was hinting at.
“I’m sorry”, you murmured out with a raised brow, half tilting your head to the side to act partially naive and yet to also shift away from his touch. “You'll have to be more specific, Mattheo. I don't quite have the gift of legilimency like you do..”
“The list, sweetheart.”
For a moment you froze as time seemed to stop still. A single blink is what it took for your brain to kick-start back into motion after going offline oh so temporarily at his simple statement. The list. The god forsaken list. A stupid piece of parchment you'd hidden well, you initially thought, between ties and mismatched socks in your trunk which he'd had to have gone digging through to find. What a little shit –
“So you've been snooping?”, you sigh, hands raking through your hair roughly as the breath that escapes you burns raw against your lips. “Mattheo, we're friends - I trusted you to walk into my dorm, get what you needed and get out. Something that really, should not have been that difficult of a task for a wizard like yourself..”
He cuts you off by placing a finger firmly against your lips and scoots the seat he's on a few inches closer towards yours; wooden legs of the chair scraping harshly like nails on a chalkboard against the floor. With his free hand, he plucks the folded parchment out from his robe pocket and sets it out in front of you; his eyes dancing towards it, daring you to open it. You do - with shy, trembling hands; trying so, so hard to keep yourself afloat in this sudden drowning chaos you're finding yourself trapped within. It's okay, the waters only ankle deep - you can still get yourself out of this without needing to swim.
At the top of the list in handwriting which is clearly your own - that perfect cursive that has witches jealous of your quill skills, is Mattheo's name. Beneath it; listed in no particular order, a few dozen reasons girls think he'd be a decent fuck along with their signatures beside the comment. You swallow; the feeling rather uncomfortable and intense which hurts your throat as you listen to him begin to read it.
“Would definitely let me call him Daddy - A. Greengrass. Has 99 problems but that cock sure ain't one - L. Brown. Hands that could choke me into place with ease - H. Abbott. Are you girls bloody mental? Who writes shit like this?”
Would you answer him? Eh… The whole idea of lists had started out as a joke a few weeks ago at a party. Sober thoughts meeting drunken confidence when you'd suggested a list be written about all the boys you knew. Not necessarily sexual in nature but at least suggestive to some degree Somehow, rather unexpectedly; someone brought up Mattheo's name in conversation after commenting on how damn good he looked wearing all black, sipping on firewhiskey like it was nobodies business and bang - the ‘I would fuck him’ list was born.
“Riddle, it was just a little harmless fun. Like you can honestly tell me that you and your mates don't talk about or rank girls you'd like to hook up with or date or –.”
“Your name’s not on it.”
The sound of the library fell into a deep and unexpected silence you could hear a feather drop within. Your posture straightened upright; both brows rising as the faintest shade of rosy peach colouring skimmed across your cheeks. Coughing to clear your throat, you let out a semi-soulless chuckle.
“Yeah, because we're friends and I don't exactly see you in that way Mattheo.”
“But what would you write?”
“Nothing”, you confirmed with a confused stare at him, “We're friends.”
“But if you had to..”
Oh, he was getting desperate for an answer. How interesting. Had the names and comments already listed not been enough to stroke his rather expansive ego. You glance at the list before looking back at him; licking your tongue over your bottom lip to buy a little time to further think.
“You're not being serious?”
“Dead right I am.”
“Matt - almost three quarters of the bloody castle have signed a parchment that declares they'd willingly want to fuck you, and you're caught up on the fact that I, one of your best friends, hasn't signed it?”
The puppy dog look he shot you without warning made it feel like you'd just kicked him. You were well aware that there'd be only one way to suffice him, so picking up your quill you scribbled the first thing that came to mind and signed the bottom of the list. Mattheo had shifted to be staring over your shoulder intently as you scribbled away neatly; the gasp that from deep within his chest sounding like he may or may not have just experienced a minor heart attack.
“Might know how to use that tongue? Might? What the fuck? You think I'd suck at eating a girl out? Are you insane? I'm the best—.”
“Mattheo, seriously - shut up! We're in a library and I'm trying to study and yeah, as a matter of fact, you seem like a guy who wouldn't want to get messy and doesn't have the patience to go down on a girl long enough to please her, so yes. Might - know - how to use that tongue. Take it or leave it.”
Your heart is racing at this point. It was a joke. This whole thing. The list, your comment, the fact the two of you were even having this conversation. He slaps a hand down hard against the desk causing your ink bottle to shake and lets out a gruff sounding growl making your thighs tremble and quake. No. No. No…
“You're a wicked little witch.”
The sentence comes out with a hiss and a little sprinkle of threat and before you know it, Mattheo has slid his chair back, not caring to glance around and see if the two of you have company before dropping to the floor and crawling beneath the desk. Your brain short circuits again, this time; involuntarily as you feel his hands spread your knees apart; lips pressing hot, slow kisses that burn up the inside of your thighs deliciously. God it had been so fucking long since you'd been touched.
“W-what are you doing?”
*Proving that statement of yours fucking wrong.”
His curls tickling against your skin, your hands grasped at the edge of the desk you sat at, knuckles whitening as his teeth sank in to nip sultry at your skin. Your body tensed for a split second before sinking into the seat, his lips continuing to pepper kisses up your thighs before planting a final teasing kiss over your panties against your core that had you seeing stars.
“Hell.. Mattheo - we need to sto-...”
Like he was about to listen. Honestly. Tugging your panties to one side, you felt him chuckle against your clit before pressing the softest of kisses against it; your nerves endings bursting into an electric craze. Tip of his tongue sliding neatly in between your folds, you bit a knuckle painfully between your teeth to stifle a moan and felt your body grow warm.
“Oh my god..”
The words are nothing more than an uttered whisper of submission as Mattheo's tongue flickered teasingly over your entrance, slipping in shallow to torment you as his hands wrap around your thighs in an attempt at keeping you still. Your head tilts back; eyes clamped shut, your own hands tearing your skirt up to find his curls and knot through them, keeping Mattheo's head and mouth exactly where you need it.
“Mhmm.. you taste so fucking good.”
Compliments? Ugh. Your toes curl as his tongue continues to slide between your wet folds, sucking at your clit before diving back into you again. Your hips rock to help fuck yourself against his tongue to which he doesn't object to; devouring you like a feral animal who hasn't had a feed in weeks. You can feel your thighs becoming wet; your arousal evident as it paints his chin, the seat, your legs slick. You try to control it; the coil of heat burning in the pit of your stomach but when he shakes his head, tongue flickering over every inch of you on offer, your mind loses it.
Clamping your thighs tightly around him, Mattheo continues to let his tongue work magic; sucking at your folds before one final hit at your clit that has you not only seeing stars but almost seeing the whites and sparkle of what you can only guess are the pearly gates of heaven. Breathing heavily, you feel your legs lose tension as you unknown your fingers from his curls; face flushed and body quivering as you struggle to regain your breath.
“Holy fuck that was -..”
“Amazing?”, Mattheo asks, picking himself up off the floor to take the seat beside you again.
You blush a little harder; struggling to pick up your quill, yet you manage to, crossing out on the list what you wrote to reconfirm what you'd doubted. Mattheo's gaze turns from hungry to soft as you correct your admittance.
A tongue that belongs to me.
He can't help but gloat; chest puffed out, chin still glistening as he smirks your way. Leaning across, Mattheo presses a kiss to your temple, slinking an arm around your shoulders almost possessively.
“I'll admit baby girl, I'm kind of impressed I was able to change your mind so quickly. Tell me though - are there other lists or am I the only boy oh so fortunate?”
“Oh”, you chuckle, shifting your tie around your neck to adjust it for some breathing room, “There's another list.”
“Another?”, Mattheo spits out immediately. The way you've suggested it and he's said it, making it clear that apart from his laying on the desk in front of you, there's only one other in existence.
“Mhmm”, you mumble in confirmation.
“So who's the guy?”
Oh this is fun - he got to tease you, and now the tables have turned in your favour for you to tease him. Twirling your quill between your fingertips, you reach out to dip the tip into your ink pot and smirk.
“Theodore”, you explain with nothing more than his best friend's name.
“...and is his ‘list’ as extensive as mine?”
“Oh it's longer..”, you giggle, trying to focus back on your studies, “..and before you ask, yeah - I've signed it.”
#hogwarts#slytherin#hogwarts universe#moscatosin#slytherin boys#mattheo riddle imagine#mattheo riddle x reader#mattheo riddle smut#mattheo riddle#mattheo x you#mattheo riddle x y/n#mattheo riddle x self insert#mattheo riddle x you#mattheoxreader
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on the first day of christmas, my true love gave to me, a partridge in a pear tree. on the second day of christmas, my true love gave to me, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree. on the third day of christmas, my true love gave to me, three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree. on the fourth day of christmas, my true love gave to me, four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree. on the fifth day of christmas, my true love gave to me, five golden rings, four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree. on the sixth day of christmas, my true love gave to me, six geese-a-laying, five golden rings, four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree. on the seventh day of christmas, my true love gave to me, seven swans-a-swimming, six geese-a-laying, five golden rings, four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree. on the eighth day of christmas, my true love gave to me, eight maids-a-milking, seven swans-a-swimming, six geese-a-laying, five golden rings, four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree. on the ninth day of christmas, my true love gave to me, nine ladies dancing, eight maids-a-milking, seven swans-a-swimming, six geese-a-laying, five golden rings, four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree. on the tenth day of christmas, my true love gave to me, ten lords-a-leaping, nine ladies dancing, eight maids-a-milking, seven swans-a-swimming, six geese-a-laying, five golden rings, four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree. on the eleventh day of christmas, my true love gave to me, eleven pipers piping, ten lords-a-leaping, nine ladies dancing, eight maids-a-milking, seven swans-a-swimming, six geese-a-laying, five golden rings, four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves, and a partridge in a pear tree. on the twelfth day of christmas, my true love gave to me, twelve drummers drumming, eleven pipers piping, ten lords-a-leaping, nine ladies dancing, eight maids-a-milking, seven swans-a-swimming, six geese-a-laying, five golden rings, four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves, and A PARTRIDGE IN A PEAR TREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
String identified: t t a cta, t ga t , a atg a a t. t c a cta, t ga t , t tt , a a atg a a t. t t a cta, t ga t , t c , t tt , a a atg a a t. t t a cta, t ga t , cag , t c , t tt , a a atg a a t. t t a cta, t ga t , g g, cag , t c , t tt , a a atg a a t. t t a cta, t ga t , g-a-ag, g g, cag , t c , t tt , a a atg a a t. t t a cta, t ga t , a-a-g, g-a-ag, g g, cag , t c , t tt , a a atg a a t. t gt a cta, t ga t , gt a-a-g, a-a-g, g-a-ag, g g, cag , t c , t tt , a a atg a a t. t t a cta, t ga t , a acg, gt a-a-g, a-a-g, g-a-ag, g g, cag , t c , t tt , a a atg a a t. t tt a cta, t ga t , t -a-ag, a acg, gt a-a-g, a-a-g, g-a-ag, g g, cag , t c , t tt , a a atg a a t. t t a cta, t ga t , g, t -a-ag, a acg, gt a-a-g, a-a-g, g-a-ag, g g, cag , t c , t tt , a a atg a a t. t tt a cta, t ga t , t g, g, t -a-ag, a acg, gt a-a-g, a-a-g, g-a-ag, g g, cag , t c , t tt , a A ATG A A T
Closest match: Limenitis camilla genome assembly, chromosome: 25 Common name: White Admiral

(image source)
#tumblr genetics#genetics#biology#science#long post#christmas#12 days of christmas#holidays#bugs#insects#butterflies#white admiral
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chapter one, spin the lie
pairing: peter parker x f. reader
midtown's decathlon team is back together—all thanks to liz allan. but what starts as a harmless party game takes an unexpected turn when peter spins the bottle... and it lands on you.
warnings: alcohol usage, suggestive, swearing
genres: college au, fake-dating, friends w benefits
word count: 6.2k
series masterlist! next.
You hadn’t planned on getting drunk with Midtown people again in college. But then again, you were never one to say no to Liz Allan.
The sky was already bruising deep blue by the time you and Betty arrived. Your breath fogged the air, fingers numbed despite gloves, and the wind bit through your coat like it had something to prove. Most of the Decathlon team had scattered: some stuck around for ESU, others fled the city entirely, and a few just fell off the map like loose pins on a board no one bothered to update.
Liz had gone west to USC. Sunshine, palm trees, golden-hour selfies and sorority formals that looked like movie sets. Her Instagram grid was all curated chaos and beachy light, which made Queens seem like a fever dream. But now she was back for winter break—and naturally, she wanted to “reunite Midtown’s finest,” as her group text read.
You had promised Betty an hour. Two max. Just long enough to drink some alcoholic trash, nod at people who once dissected Shakespeare with you, and prove to yourself that Flash Thompson’s voice no longer triggered your fight-or-flight response.
Liz’s place hadn’t changed. Sleek modern house, sharp lines and too many windows—like it had nothing to hide. You could see almost everything from the doorstep: the warm blur of people moving through the living room, the gleam of curated furniture that looked like it had a skincare routine, the soft pulse of string lights casting everything in jewel-toned color—amethyst, garnet, citrine. Inside, a throwback playlist thumped through the speakers, just audible through the glass. Early Rihanna, naturally. The kind of music engineered to make people scream lyrics into solo cups and pretend high school never ended.
You leaned close to the window and raised your brows. “I’m way too sober for this.”
“Should’ve pre-gamed,” Betty said, squinting through the window. “But hey—looks like there’s a couple bottles on the counter, so we’re not totally doomed.”
You gave Betty an unsure smile, the kind that tried to telepathically communicate we could still bail. But your knuckles were already rapping against the door—and unfortunately, you weren’t very good at telepathy. Inside, a burst of laughter exploded—loud and unfiltered, the kind that came from too much sugar, too much vodka, or both. Something clattered to the floor with a dramatic crash, followed by a chorus of “oh my god”s and someone yelling “it was already broken!”
And then the door swung open like it had been waiting—like Liz had been standing just behind it the whole time, grinning before she even saw your face.
“Oh my God, finally. My babies!” Liz grinned, pulling you and Betty into a hug that smelled like cinnamon gum and something vaguely expensive.
“You look amazing,” Betty said into her shoulder. “Seriously. Maybe I need to move to California, because you’re glowing.”
Liz laughed, brushing it off. “It’s the sun. And the fact that I’m three thousand miles away from anyone who knew me in braces.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Except for tonight.”
She shrugged, already heading toward the kitchen. “Had to make an exception for my favorite girls.” As you followed her in, she nodded toward the fridge. “Come on, let’s get you a drink. I’ve got permission to raid the alcohol stash, so we’re set.”
Leaning back against the counter, Liz grabbed two glasses and started mixing—definitely too much vodka compared to the Sprite, but the overabundance of maraschino cherries probably balanced things out.
“Is that—” Betty squinted over your shoulder. “Oh wow, is that Brad Davis?”
“Yep,” Liz said with a smirk as she stirred. “I wasn’t going to invite him since he wasn’t on Decathlon, but I heard about whatever he and MJ had, so figured why not stir the pot.”
Betty cocked her head. “He’s kinda cute now.”
Liz rolled her eyes, pushing the two pink drinks your way. “Honestly, can’t believe it’s him. He looks like he models in a Gap ad or something.”
You grabbed your drink gratefully and lifted it to your lips. Way too much vodka, but necessary—the flight-or-fight response was definitely still triggered every time Flash wandered by, voice still grating as ever.
“Hesitated on Brad but not Flash?” you muttered, eyes tracking Flash’s sloppy, drunk parade through the living room. Gross. “I swear, I’m getting goosebumps just being in the vicinity as him.”
Liz shrugged and leaned on the counter. “Felt wrong not to invite him, you know? If I’m going to drag us all back into the vortex, might as well go all in.”
She gave you a look. “Oh, and he’s calling himself Eugene now. Says he’s ‘rebranding’ or whatever, and can’t be ‘acting like a kid’ because, quote, ‘I’ve got a business to run.’”
You rolled your eyes. Flash was mid-story, one hand flailing dramatically while the other clutched a highball glass. The two poor souls hanging on his every word looked like they’d just realized they signed up for a TED Talk and had no idea how to escape. He wore skinny jeans that looked a size too small and a blazer way too formal for this party—definitely an attempt to seem sophisticated, but honestly, it just made him look like someone allergic to humility (which, spoiler alert, he was).
“Wow,” you said. “Even time can’t fix everything.”
You all laughed, picking apart Flash’s ridiculousness until Liz waved you toward the back patio. “Everyone’s out there. I lit the fire earlier. Come say hi.”
The backyard was draped in more string lights, warm halos looping over the fence and beneath a canvas awning. The cold hit harder out there, despite the fire pit crackling nearby—brisk and biting, the kind that made your cheeks sting and your drink go down faster. MJ sat curled in a patio chair, hood up, legs tucked under her like a cat on a windowsill.
“Didn’t expect to see you here, especially considering who RSVP’d,” you said, sliding onto the chair beside her. Liz followed Betty off to catch up with some girls they knew better from high school.
MJ shrugged, leaning back. “Yeah, I’m trying exposure therapy. Haven’t ripped any hairs out because of Flash yet, so I’m counting that as progress.”
“I think some hairs are to come,” you said. “He’s just back inside with other victims for now. We might be next—don’t think he saw me and Betts come in.”
“Well, if that happens, I’m hiding in the bathroom,” MJ said.
“And leaving me to fend for myself? What a friend,” you teased.
She snickered, sipping her drink. “I don’t think she put any orange juice in this like I asked.”
Liz passed by and caught the comment, grinning mischievously. “I pour heavy—what can I say?”
She settled into the chair across the fire pit, hands held out to the warmth.
MJ smiled faintly, which in her language meant delighted. The three of you slipped into an easy rhythm—updates, petty roommate drama, class gossip, and MJ’s work-study gig at Barnard’s art museum, where she may or may not have knocked over a replica statue by “casually existing too close to it.” Betty eventually wandered back over and plopped down a little too close to the firepit for your comfort.
You were mid-story about how your Calculus professor almost ran you over one afternoon near the High Line—and then, embarrassed, gave you extra credit without even asking—when the sliding glass door behind you slid open. Instinctively, you turned.
“Whoa,” someone said, stepping in. “It’s like we went through a time machine or something.”
Betty’s face lit up immediately. She sprang away from the fire pit like it owed her money. “Ned!”
Ned nearly dropped the snacks in his hands—because he was way too sweet to show up empty-handed—as Betty hugged him tightly. “Betts—my ribs!”
“Hey guys!” Liz called from her seat, waving them over. “Glad you showed.”
You glanced over and sure enough, just behind Ned stood Peter Parker—chestnut locks mussed under his hoodie—rocking slightly on his feet like he wasn’t quite sure where to plant himself. He blinked when he saw you and gave a small wave, that familiar soft smile tugging at his lips. You waved back, finger half-frozen.
“Hey,” he said, breathless and a little shy. “This place has, like, five too many string lights.”
“Visual overstimulation is great for your brain activity,” you joked, eliciting a soft chuckle from him.
“Did you guys walk from campus?” MJ asked.
“Yeah,” Ned said. “It was this, or try to parallel park here.”
“And he’s not good at parallel parking. This one time he almost—”
“Shut up!” Ned shushed him as Betty returned to her seat. He followed and flopped down beside her, carefully setting the snacks on the table.
“I got you some stuff. Didn’t wanna show up empty-handed.”
“Aw, thank you, Ned! You didn’t have to,” Liz smiled, hopping up to grab the snacks. “I’ll put these away and get you guys a drink. What do you want?”
“I’m good with anything,” Ned said.
“Peter?”
“Uh, whatever Ned gets. Less hassle for you,” Peter answered, eyes still taking in the chilly night.
“Got it! I’ll be right back,” Liz said, disappearing inside where it was definitely warmer.
You weren’t sure why you were still outside either—should’ve gone in the second your ears stopped feeling—but now it was too late, so you stayed put.
“Come sit, Pete,” you said, motioning to the empty chair. “I was just telling them about Professor Harding almost hitting me on the street by the High Line.”
Peter eased down beside you, rubbing his hands together against the cold. “Wait, was that the time you were on your way to study with me at the library?”
You nodded. “Yep. The guy’s like a blur whenever he hits the crosswalk. Honestly, I’m more afraid of getting run over by him than failing his class.”
Peter chuckled. “No joke cause he almost took me out twice this semester. Pretty sure he’s got a personal vendetta against pedestrians.”
You smirked. “And the extra credit? Totally unprompted. Like, ‘Oops, almost killed a student—here’s a pass.’”
He smirked. “Calculus class or near-death experiences? Which one’s the real final exam?”
You giggle. “If the midterm is surviving a crosswalk, I’m definitely failing.”
MJ snorted softly from her chair. “You two should probably focus on the derivatives instead of dodging cars.”
You were about to respond with something snarky when the sliding door creaked again. Liz reappeared like clockwork, the amber firelight catching in her hair as she stepped back onto the patio, balancing two drinks in both hands like she’d just placed top three in a bartending speed round. Her entrance cut through the cold like static. She had a mischievous glint in her eye and condensation running down the sides of the glasses like they were sweating in anticipation.
“Okay,” she said, holding them out. “One Vodka Cran, one Vodka Lemonade. You two can arm wrestle over who gets what.”
The drinks were suspiciously vibrant—liquid candy with a kick. It was obvious Liz had ignored every standard pour recommendation and gone entirely by instinct—or maybe by beat drop. Whichever came first. Judging by the way the liquor clung to the rim and threatened to spill with each step, it looked like the spill beat the chorus to it.
Ned leaned in, squinting suspiciously at the pink and yellow liquids. “I’ll take the one on the right. Less scary.” He cradled the glass carefully, took a tentative sip, and immediately scrunched his face like he’d been hit with a surprise punch. “Whoa. That’s strong.”
MJ’s grin was knowing, almost conspiratorial. “Because Liz made it. It’s basically a chemistry experiment in a glass—proportions determined by whimsy.”
Ned held up his drink like a trophy, flashing a playful smile at Betty. “Hey, you want this? I’ll stay sober for you tonight, babe.”
Betty’s eyes lit up, her grin so wide it threatened to split her face as she snagged the glass and settled closer to him. The way they leaned into each other, their laughter mingling in the cold air, was so sweet it bordered on nauseating—but also kind of impossible not to smile at.
Peter rolled his eyes, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement. “You two are relentless.”
You laughed, nudging him lightly. “College romance is an Olympic sport. They’re gold medalists.”
The conversation blurred in that warm, tipsy way where everything felt funnier than it had any right to be—bad professors, worse dining hall food, a group project that ended in a passive-aggressive group chat implosion, and Ned accidentally getting locked inside an escape room because he thought a prop bookshelf was a real exit.
"Wait, wait," Betty said at one point, already wheezing, “remember when Mr. Vargas fell off that stool during morning announcements?”
“Oh my God,” Ned groaned. “And Flash tried to catch him but just made it worse?”
“He tried to body block him,” Cindy added, wide-eyed. “Like he thought he could intercept gravity.”
Laughter rippled across the patio like no time had passed at all—easy and familiar, like slipping back into an old song. But slowly, the cold started to creep in, not all at once but in little fingers—nipping at ankles, slipping beneath jackets, teasing the tips of your ears. The group slowly unraveled. Liz wandered inside to rescue the playlist from a rogue Doja Cat remix. Ned and Betty disappeared toward the hallway under the guise of “charging their phones,” which no one believed. MJ took one look at Flash stepping outside for a breath of fresh air and, true to her word, bolted directly for the bathroom.
Before long, it was just you and Peter lingering under the string lights, the backyard now quieter than it had been all night. The fire pit crackled between you, casting a warm flicker that danced across his face and softened the sharp edges of the cold. From inside, you could hear the pulse of the music shift—something bass-heavy and familiar, making the windows thrum like a low heartbeat.
You both sank deeper into the chairs beside the fire pit, settling into the warmth as your eyes drifted to the steamed-over sliding glass door. Through the misted pane, the living room had shifted into a softer mood—lights dipped low, casting a haze of warm orange and bruised violet that pulsed gently in time with a house remix of Rihanna’s Only Girl. It looked like a music video viewed through a fogged lens, or maybe found footage.
You’d finished your drink ages ago, but Peter had let you steal sips from his—a fizzy pink concoction Liz made that hit way harder than any vodka cranberry you’d ever had. It wasn’t sweet or smooth, more like a sharp punch wrapped in bubbles, the kind that made your throat burn and your head spin just a little faster. You wrinkled your nose at the first sip but kept sneaking more anyway.
Inside, Betty and Cindy were dancing like no one was watching—hair everywhere, cheeks flushed, laughing breathlessly between lyrics. Ned was slouched on the couch with a paper plate and the fondest look on his face, like he’d stumbled into a memory he didn’t know he missed.
Peter glanced at the scene, then back at you, voice low. “She’s definitely drunk.”
“She hugged me earlier and called me ‘mama,’ so… yeah. Probably.”
He laughed quietly, leaning a little closer. “Well, are you?”
You playfully swatted his arm. “I think you’d know.”
You bumped your shoulder lightly against his, and his smile lingered—soft around the edges, quiet in that way only Peter could be. The two of you stood there for a while, watching the chaos unfold behind the glass like anthropologists observing the rituals of a lost civilization. Someone had brought out a bottle of whipped cream and vodka, and someone else was wearing a cowboy hat that hadn’t been in the room earlier.
“I never thought I’d willingly hang out with these people again,” Peter said, almost to himself.
“Same. I almost bailed, but Betty was relentless.”
“Ned basically guilt-tripped me into coming. I told him my social battery was shot and he just said, ‘Recharge it at the party.’ Like it’s an iPhone.”
You smirked, lips pulling up despite the cold. “Well, I’m glad you’re here. I think I’d be wallowing in a corner if you weren’t.”
“I thought you loved parties,” Peter teased, giving you a side glance.
“I do. This just isn’t a party. It’s a high school reunion in a fancy house. I’m getting PTSD but it just smells like Liz’s expensive candles now.”
He laughed, low and soft. “Fair.”
There was a beat of silence between you, not awkward, just weightless.
“I miss high school sometimes,” Peter said after a pause. “It felt smaller. College is just... bigger. Like everyone’s already so far ahead.”
You nodded slowly. “Yeah, I get that. I still see a lot of people from high school, so sometimes it feels like nothing’s changed. But then I blink, and realize everything really has. Still, it helps that you, Ned, and Betty are there. Makes it feel less like I’m faking adulthood.”
Peter gave you that quiet, crooked smile, thanking you without words. Just then, Liz burst through the sliding door like a comet, breaking the moment.
“Alright!” she grinned, lopsided and flushed. “Get your asses inside, we’re playing Seven Minutes in Heaven!”
You stared at her, arms crossed but already smirking. “Elizabeth Allan, how old are we again?”
“Old enough to have better alcohol,” she said, undeterred. “Come on. I’m leaving for USC again in, like, five minutes—indulge me.”
Peter hesitated beside you, brows lifting. “Do we have to?”
“I mean… we could sneak out and ghost everyone,” you offered.
A beat passed.
“But we won’t,” he said, already sighing as he stood and held his hand out to help you up.
“Nope,” you muttered, taking it, your fingers cold in his warm palm.
Liz practically buzzed as she ushered you both back in, shivering dramatically. “How are you guys not freezing? I feel like my bones are made of popsicles.”
You shrugged as she grabbed your wrist and pulled you into the crowd gathering around the coffee table, which had been unceremoniously shoved aside to make room for a messy circle of half-sober twenty-somethings. Everyone sat cross-legged on the floor, knees bumped awkwardly together, eyes already half-dreading whatever was about to happen.
Peter sat across from you, folding his long legs and giving you a look—equal parts amused and mildly terrified. His hoodie had slipped slightly off one shoulder, and the firelight from the candles made his face glow soft and gold.
Liz clapped her hands for attention. “Okay, here’s how it works. You spin the bottle—if it lands on someone, you go in the closet for seven minutes. If you chicken out, you take a shot and answer a truth.”
MJ groaned, already standing. “This is how we never speak to each other ever again.”
“We’re adults now,” Liz declared, very unseriously. “It’s fine.”
You glanced around the circle and grimaced. Flash—or “Eugene”—had definitely swiped a fancy rocks glass without asking, cradling it like a trophy. His blazer was buttoned all the way to the top, like he’d just stepped off a Fashion Week runway. Jason was here too, along with Brad, and a few other vaguely familiar faces you couldn’t quite name but vaguely remembered cheating off in sophomore bio.
“To ease the tension…” Liz grinned, already spinning the bottle. “I’ll go first.”
The bottle clattered dramatically before landing on Betty. A chorus of oooohs followed. Liz waggled her brows at her, and Betty looked at Ned, who gave her a supportive thumbs-up like he was sending her into battle.
“Alright, alright,” Liz said, hands raised. “I’ll take the shot—out of respect for you two.”
Betty placed a hand over her heart, mock-touched. Liz grabbed the red plastic shot glass waiting on the table and knocked it back like a pro. “Okay, truth time. Hit me.”
Betty didn’t hesitate. “So… is it true you hooked up with Ryan Callahan at your prom after-party?”
Liz grinned through the burn. “Oh, yeah. Not only true—we got kicked out of the Airbnb for it.”
Laughter rippled around the circle. MJ shook her head, a sly smirk tugging at her lips. “I fucking knew it. Nobody ever trusts my gut.”
You rolled your eyes, grinning. “Because your gut’s usually full of conspiracy theories.”
The bottle spun again, a slow, teasing whirl that had everyone leaning in. It was MJ’s turn, and the room collectively braced itself. Liz even started to reach for a shot glass, expecting that she would take the shot and truth instead of going into the closet.
But as the bottle head slowed, it landed squarely on Brad.
A stunned silence fell. Brad blinked, swallowed, and before anyone could react, MJ rose—calm, unreadable—and slipped her hand into his without a word. No eye rolls, no nervous laughter. Just quiet confidence as they vanished into the closet together.
Liz raised her eyebrows, half amused, half impressed. “It’s like the universe is rewarding me for inviting him,” she murmured with a grin, sipping her drink.
The room hummed with a mix of anticipation and awkward laughter. Conversations paused, and eyes stayed fixed on the closet door. Seven minutes stretched long enough for everyone’s imaginations to run wild.
Then, the door creaked open.
Brad stepped out first, looking like someone had just handed him a riddle he wasn’t quite ready to solve—dazed, disoriented, maybe questioning his life choices. Behind him, MJ appeared completely unreadable, her expression neutral, blink-and-you-miss-it casual. She didn’t smile, didn’t flinch, just blinked once, then slid back into her seat like nothing had happened.
A few people exchanged glances. The spell was broken, and the room exhaled collectively, the tension folding into a new, quieter buzz.
You caught Liz’s eye, who shrugged with a smirk. “Well. That was unexpected.”
MJ glanced over at you, eyebrow slightly raised, clearly daring anyone to ask questions. But no one did.
And then it was Peter’s turn.
He hesitated a moment, eyes flicking around the room, then slowly reached for the bottle without saying a word.
It spun.
It spun.
It landed on you.
Silence. Or, rather, a sudden collective intake of breath from the circle like they’d just witnessed a rare solar event.
You blinked. Peter blinked. He opened his mouth like he might say something, but then just… laughed nervously.
“Well,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “That’s, uh—”
“Well, well, well,” Liz cut in, already shoving the shot glass toward him. “Closet or confession, Parker?”
You bit the inside of your cheek, staring at the bottle like it had just pulled a cosmic prank on you. The tip of it pointed directly at you—clean, sharp, like a red bullseye stamped onto the hardwood by fate and how drunk Liz was. Peter shifted, rubbing the heel of his palm against his knee. You looked up to meet his eyes, and offered him a small, steadying smile and a small nod.
He swallowed and gave a nervous laugh, glancing at the circle like maybe someone else would volunteer as tribute. No one did.
“Um... closet?” he said, like he wasn’t even sure it was a word. More question than declaration.
Everyone looked to you. Waiting.
“Mhm,” you hummed, cool and unbothered—but your stomach did a little cartwheel anyway. The second your agreement hit the air, the room exploded into cheers and teasing groans.
“Okay, Penis Parker!” Flash called from somewhere to your left, like he was fifteen again and had just discovered the letter P and alliteration. Some people do not change with time, in fact.
Peter’s face flushed a deep, almost impossibly dark red—the kind of red you hadn’t seen since that time he accidentally walked in on you changing junior year. The color only deepened as he reached the closet and opened the door cautiously, like it might snap at him. You slipped inside first—cramped and dim, with a faint scent of sandalwood and jacket lint—and made room as he eased in behind you, gently closing the door. The only light came from the thin strip beneath the door, slashing across the floor.
“Time starts... now!” Liz called from the other side, dramatic as ever. You could hear people shuffle closer, their laughter muffled but present, crowding in like sharks waiting for blood in the water.
You leaned in, your voice low and near his ear, careful. “We don’t have to do anything, Peter. Not unless you want to.”
His silhouette was just barely visible—broad shoulders tucked in awkwardly, eyes wide like he wasn’t entirely sure how he got here. You watched his lips press into a tight line before he bent in, leaning so close you could feel his breath against your cheek, warm and sweet with whatever Liz had poured him.
“That’s not it,” he whispered, his voice uneven. “It’s not that I, um, don’t want to.”
You tilted your head. Waited. The air between you felt warm despite the chill everywhere else, thick and buzzing with the kind of nervous electricity that didn’t quite have a name yet.
“Then?” you whispered back, your heart thudding.
Peter pulled back just enough that you could see the flicker of hesitation across his face. He rubbed the back of his neck, then rested his arms over his knees.
“I’ve, uh, never… kissed anyone. Before,” he admitted finally, almost too fast. Like he needed to say it before he chickened out. “Ever.”
You blinked. “Wait, really?”
He winced. “Yeah. I mean—not for lack of trying. But I’m… me. Awkward. Busy. You know how things were with the Stark internship and school and just… life stuff.”
Your eyebrows lifted. You weren’t judging him. Just surprised. Peter Parker, with his crooked smile and warm hands and heart-on-sleeve earnestness, seemed like someone who should have been kissed by now. Multiple times. Preferably by people who didn’t take that for granted.
“Honestly?” you said softly. “I figured you had. You’re cute and smart. Girls love a ditsy little sweet dork.”
Peter chuckled, a little nervous. “Ditsy sweet dork beats ‘Penis Parker,’ so I’ll take it.”
You smiled. “Way better branding.”
He groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Please don’t remind me.”
From the other side of the door, you could hear muffled voices and see shadows moving as people lingered nearby.
Peter exhaled. “Can you, uh… not tell anyone?”
You met his eyes. “Of course, Pete. Secret’s safe with me.”
He nodded, looking visibly relieved—but then your brain kicked in again, faster than your mouth.
“Or…” you said, and winced at yourself. “Or we could pretend.”
Peter glanced at you. “Pretend?”
You shrugged. “Like we’re making out. Give ‘em a show. I mean—Flash’s face alone would be worth it.”
Peter let out a breathy laugh, rubbing his palms on his jeans. “That’s very tempting.”
“You in?”
He hesitated, then nodded once, decisive. “Yeah. Okay. Let’s do it. But like… how do we even fake that? I’ve never practiced fake-making out.”
You leaned in close again, your grin blooming with mischief, nose almost brushing his cheek.
“Smack your lips. Move around a bit. Shuffle your feet like you’re shifting positions. I’ll throw in a dramatic moan for flair.”
Peter looked at you with the kind of wide-eyed panic that said he had no idea if you were kidding.
“It’s just for theatrics, Parker,” you whispered, laughing. “Just enough to sell it.”
Peter blinked slowly, like his brain was buffering, then nodded. “Right. Yeah. Acting. Got it.”
You both sat in a bubble of dark warmth and nerves, the kind that made your fingers tingle and your mouth feel too aware of itself. The closet creaked slightly when you shifted toward him—knees bumping his thigh, your arm brushing his as you leaned close enough that your breath stirred the curls falling onto his forehead.
“Okay,” you murmured near his ear, voice low and steady. “Ready?”
Peter nodded, silent, breath barely catching.
You shifted slightly on the floor, careful not to touch, but the closet was small—too small for much space between you. Your knee accidentally brushed his leg as you adjusted your seat, and he flinched just a bit. You smiled to yourself, reading the tension.
Then, leaning in just a little closer—close enough that your breath brushed the shell of his ear—you let out a soft, breathy sound. A quiet moan, more tease than anything, just enough to make him shiver.
Peter’s fingers twitched on the floor.
“Jesus,” he muttered, voice hushed.
Outside, you heard a frustrated curse, the floor creaking as someone leaned in. You shuffled again, slow and steady, brushing your knee along Peter’s leg like you were adjusting your seat in someone else’s bed. Another soft, closed-mouth sigh slipped from you—just for effect—but the flush across Peter’s cheeks was very real.
He turned his head toward you, and for a second, your faces were close. Closer than they probably needed to be. His eyes flicked down to your mouth and back up. You weren’t touching, but you might as well have been.
You shifted again, your knee briefly pressing against his leg. This time, you wrapped your arms lightly around him—not fully pressing, but enough to steady yourself—and whispered, “Hold my hips.”
Peter’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t pull away.
Before you could say more, Liz called, “Time!”
The door swung open with a sudden crash of light and stares.
You jumped up, breaking away from Peter, laughing softly as you smoothed your jeans and hair like it was nothing. Peter followed, cheeks flushed, his hair tousled, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. The room held its breath—no cheers, no whoops. Just the wide, confused eyes of everyone watching like they weren’t sure if they’d just hallucinated that whole seven minutes.
MJ blinked. “Did you guys... actually—?”
You gave her your sweetest smile.
“Use your imagination,” you said, breezing past like an angel with a criminal record.
Behind you, Peter let out a helpless snort. The second your eyes met, it was over—barely-suppressed laughter bubbling up between you, his face turned away like he was trying not to choke on it. Everyone’s expressions were as you expected—wide-eyed, slack-jawed, somewhere between horrified and impressed. Even Liz looked scandalized, which only made it better.
It was delicious. Possibly your favorite party trick of all time.
By the time the circle dissolved and people filtered into smaller groups—some back to the dance floor, some to the kitchen, a few to the bathroom to gossip—you were curled on the couch with a second drink in your hand, the warmth of the fire pit a ghost on your skin. Peter had claimed the floor by your feet, sipping slowly from a plastic cup as you both watched Flash try and fail to dance to house music.
Eventually, Betty let out a dramatic yawn, tugging Ned toward the door by the hand.
“G’night,” she mumbled, swaying slightly. She leaned in to squeeze your shoulder, voice syrupy and slurred. “See you at hooome… don’t dooo anythin’ I wouldn’t dooo.”
“Then I’m very limited,” you called after her. She flipped you off lovingly as she and Ned vanished into the cold.
You helped Liz gather cups from the windowsills and sink rims, the kitchen sticky with sugar and artificial lime. The playlist had been reduced to a soft thump in the background, the crowd thinned. You wiped a ring of condensation from the counter with your sleeve.
“Thanks for staying,” Liz said, nudging an empty cup into a trash bag with her foot. “You really didn’t have to.”
You shrugged, closing a half-empty pizza box with one finger. “Didn’t want to leave you to face the post-party apocalypse alone. Plus... I realized I wasn’t exactly as subtle or quiet in the closet as I thought. Figured I owed you some decorum.”
Liz snorted. “Please. That was a gift to the community. Flash is still trying to do the math.”
You laughed, quietly, the warmth of it still humming low in your chest as you reached for your coat.
Across the room, Peter was standing by the door—hoodie zipped, hands in his sleeves, that soft familiar look on his face like he hadn’t moved since you said you’d help clean. Still there. Still waiting. For you.
“You headed out?” Peter asked as you approached, his voice low and a little sleep-soft, the way people talk when the night is winding down and everything feels quieter, more honest.
You nodded. “Yeah. Betty already left with Ned, but I didn’t wanna leave Liz to clean everything up by herself. Felt wrong.”
He smiled, small and warm. “What a gentleman.”
You tugged your sleeves down with a dramatic little flourish. “Chivalry’s not dead. I expect you to take notes from me.”
Peter hesitated—just for a second—then peeled off his hoodie in one smooth, easy motion. He held it out to you like it wasn’t even a question, stepping forward as if he’d decided hours ago that he would.
“Here,” he said. “You’re shivering.”
You blinked at him. “Pete—”
“Take it,” he murmured, already helping guide your arms through the sleeves like he’d done it before. The hoodie was soft and oversized, still warm from his body. It smelled like clean cotton and something else—something distinctly him. Familiar in a way that made your chest tighten just slightly.
You exhaled slowly as you pulled it tighter around yourself. “Thanks. Are you trying to out-gentleman me right now?”
He grinned. “What can I say? I operate on a higher plane.”
“Wow. Not very humble. Pretty sure the judges would deduct points for cockiness.”
“Eh. Still walking away with gold,” he said, tapping a finger against his temple like it was strategy.
The walk back to campus stretched out like the night wanted to last just a little longer. Not because you didn’t know the way—but because neither of you hurried. The cold didn’t bite so much with the hoodie on, and the silence between you wasn’t awkward, just... comfortable. Familiar. Full of things unsaid but understood.
The city was half-asleep around you. Streetlights spilled in soft pools across the pavement. A gust of wind stirred an empty cup down the gutter like it had somewhere to be. Your breath fogged gently in the air. You felt the hoodie shift around you with each step—warm and cocooning, like carrying a secret.
Peter stayed close. Not touching, but close enough that your arms brushed whenever the sidewalk narrowed. Once, his hand lifted a few inches like he might offer it to you—but then he dropped it into his pocket instead. You noticed. Of course you did.
When you reached the steps of your dorm, you stopped, turning to face him. Your boots scuffed softly against the concrete. Campus was quiet—just vending machine glow from inside, and the faint hum of pipes, and the kind of hush that came with three a.m. honesty.
“Thanks again,” you said. And you meant the hoodie, sure. But also the walk. The company.
Peter rubbed the back of his neck, his hair a little messy from the wind. “Yeah. Of course.”
Neither of you moved.
“I had fun,” you added, glancing up at him. “Their faces? When we came out of the closet? Totally worth it.”
He laughed, that soft, shy kind of laugh that crinkled at the corners. “Me too. And… thanks for that. For saving me. You didn’t have to.”
“Of course I did,” you said, voice quiet now. “I’ve got your back, Pete.”
He looked at you for a moment like he didn’t quite know what to say. His smile softened, just slightly. “I know.”
You tugged the hoodie around you like armor. “And your secret? Safe with me.”
His eyes lit up a little, but he didn’t push anything. He just looked at you—like this moment was something he didn’t want to forget.
You stepped back, fingers curling around the door handle behind you.
“I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” he said, the word already warm on his smile. “Tomorrow.”
And then you slipped inside, hoodie still snug around your shoulders, Peter Parker’s laugh still echoing faintly in your head, and your heart thudding steady beneath the fleece like it had finally remembered how to beat a little louder.
#peter parker x reader#peter parker x y/n#peter parker x you#peter parker series#peter parker smut#spiderman x you#spiderman x reader#spiderman smut#spiderman fanfiction#marvel x reader#tom holland smut#marvel#peter parker#spiderman#x reader#— mdni! ☆
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“not your fault.”
logan howlett x g/n reader
rating: pg
tags: angst, hurt/comfort, sad logan, scott being an ass, explicit language, comforting reader, logan’s soft hair.
a/n: this is after a req i did, and i couldn’t wait. sorry ts is booty. here’s the request.
update!! i made an edited/better version here.


it’s not your fault.
another failed mission.
you and the x-men had gotten back from the 6th failed mission in a row.
people? dead. mutants? dead.
too many people- dead.
the x-men (mostly scott) was blaming it on logan for ‘charging in head first’. but you could tell that he was at least trying. you always had loved him for not really having a thought in his head while saving people. he was just doing his job.
it was late, you were about to go to bed. anger boiling over. it was about midnight, the kids were in bed, and you could hear scott pacing the hall way. you were about to stick your head out and yell at him to shut the fuck up. you stood up, and padded towards the door. you reached your hand to the doorknob- but then got interrupted by logan’s footsteps walking around the corner and scott screaming at him.
“YOU KILLED PEOPLE LOGAN, YOU COULD HAVE KILLED US?!”
“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! THIS IS YOUR FAULT- IF YOU HADENT JUST CHARGED IN-” logan cut him off.
“DO YOU THINK I PURPOSELY LET THEM DIE?!”
you could hear his voice wabble.
you heard footsteps thunder into the distance . then a thump at the door. logan’s voice came through again.
“can i talk to you… please?” he said, you could hear his voice waver slightly.
you cracked open the door door to reveal logan. he was in his classic tank and sweatpants.
logan seemed ashamed. his eyes directed at his feet. when his eyes finally came up and met yours, there were tears trailing down his face. his eyes scrunched closed, you stepped forward wrapping your arms around him. one hand finding a place on the back of his neck. you pulled him into the room, kicking the door closed behind you.
you both plopped down onto the edge of the bed. logan was now weeping.
“i-it’s my fault- i -i killed them.” logan’s arms wrapped around you as he sobbed into your neck.
“shh- no it’s not. it’s not your fault.”
you started to rub slow circles on his back. he leaned into you, the cloth on your shoulder now wet from his tears. him crying made you want to cry with him. to see the toughest person you know this vulnerable… it’s… scary.
logan’s breath slowly began to go back to normal, and he shifted- then laid his head onto your lap, his face pointing away from you. one arm around your back, and the other hand was resting on your thigh. his breathing smoothed over as he began to play with the fabric that loosely covered your thigh.
“it’s not your fault logan. it never is.”
you say softly, almost like your comforting yourself as well as him.
he turned, his hands now resting on his tummy. you looked into his golden green eyes. they were shiny, a stray tear still running down the side of his face.
“i’m sorry.” he said weakly.
you nodded in response. his eyes scanned your face, then landed on your lips. his hand reached up and tucked a string of hair that had fallen into your face.
“you always have time to be romantic huh?”
he chuckled, “someone’s gotta”
he sat up. your hands falling out of his thick brown hair. the dim light making the ends glow slightly. then he leaned in slowly, his lips catching yours in a kiss. you kissed back. your hands snaking their way back to his silky hair that you were dangerously addicted to.
the kiss ended when you pulled away for oxygen. but you wanted more.
“thank you” he whispered against your lips. his forehead now resting on yours. his calloused hands came up to either side of your face before he planted one last kiss on your lips. when you pulled away this time, you hugged him. you both fell against the bed, falling asleep in each others arms.
•••
the next morning you woke up to logan’s arms around you. this time his shirt was nowhere to be seen. you smiled. content. he was still knocked out, so you used this time to just admire him, and the fact that ‘the wolverine’ is currently in your bed right now. his eyes fluttered open- eyelashes catching the golden sunlight being filtered through the blinds. your reached up, your hand caressing the stubble on his chin, then pulling him into another kiss.
“it’s never your fault.”
#logan howlett x reader#wolverine x reader#logan howlett fanfiction#logan xmen#logan howlett#james logan howlett#logan howlett fic#logan howlett fluff#logan wolverine#logan howlett x you#logan x reader#x men#gender neutral reader#no y/n#request
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Caffeine, chemistry and Caleb V
Synopsis: The café was supposed to be just another coffee shop. For a law student who enjoys her morning coffee and a shy newbie still learning the ropes, it should have been nothing more than part of the daily routine… But then there’s Caleb.
Details: 2000ish words. Non-MC!Reader as the law student. Expect flirting, a twist on jealousy, and—as always—plenty of banter and all those good vibes with the newbiedoobie. God, this has officially crossed the line into romcom territory
Parts: intial one shot, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12
Tags: @gavin3469 @unstablemiss @i-messed-up-big-time @mipov101 @zukini-01
Getaway car | Pt. 5

It’s early.
Too early for your brain to be doing anything beyond standing upright and not missing the bus.
You’re at the stop, earbuds in, clutching your travel mug like it’s life support, the morning chill threading its way through your jacket. Class isn’t for another hour, but study hall opens early, and you’ve convinced yourself that being proactive will keep you from spiraling.
Because you’re supposed to be thinking about contract clauses and international trade standards. Instead, your brain keeps looping back to apples. To charms. To the quiet ache of “when u come back” etched into metal and meaning.
You shake it off. Law first. Feelings… later. Probably. Maybe.
But then.
The scent hits first—aggressively expensive cologne that suggests he either bathed in it or lost a bet at Sephora.
“Morning,” Harv says, dropping in beside you like the sidewalk personally invited him.
Harv’s tall, clean-cut in that pre-law catalog kind of way—messenger bag slung across his chest, coat perfectly tailored, nut-brown hair slicked back like he definitely uses product and probably reads his textbooks for fun. Charming. The kind of handsome that gets approving glances from professors and moms.
You blink. “Hey, Harv.”
With a quick adjustment of his strap, he flashes an easy smile. “Didn’t think I’d catch you this early. Headed to campus?”
“Yeah. Trying to pretend I’m someone with discipline and structure.”
Harv laughs. “Faking it till finals, huh?”
“Something like that.”
The two of you get off the bus together and start walking from the campus stop toward the law building—light conversation, easy pace. The sidewalks are still damp, the morning quiet in that soft, almost-forgiving kind of way.
Harv says something about a practice quiz later this week, and you nod along, half-listening, half-focused on trying to stay awake.
It’s normal. Predictable.
Fine.
Until it isn’t.
Because there—up ahead—someone rounds the corner.
Caleb.
AirPods in, white hoodie layered under his black leather jacket, one strap of his backpack slung over his shoulder, hands shoved in his pockets. That familiar walk—loose, confident, like he always knows exactly where he’s going… and that you’ll be watching him get there.
And you spot him before he spots you.
But the second he looks up, his steps slow—just a little.
His eyes land on you.
Then Harv.
Then back to you.
He pulls one earbud loose. “Didn’t know you were a morning person.”
You smile, adjusting your bag. “I contain multitudes.”
Caleb’s gaze flicks to Harv again, sharp but brief. “Heading to campus?”
The strap of his backpack shifts as he hikes it higher on his shoulder, like he’s about to keep walking—but then he pauses. Looks at you again. Lingers.
You wrap your hands around your travel mug, suddenly very aware of how lukewarm it’s gotten.
And then, smoothly—like it’s a reflex—he steps closer and leans in.
“Is that travel mug betrayal I see?”
You blink. “Excuse me?”
He plucks the mug right from your hands with an exaggerated frown, turning it in his palm like he’s inspecting evidence.
“You brought other tea onto my turf,” he says, feigning deep offense.
Caleb gives the string of your sad little store-bought tea bag a flick, the label fluttering like it’s personally offended him. “I’m wounded, Golden Girl.”
“I didn’t know I signed an exclusivity contract,” you say, trying to keep a straight face as you reach out to take the mug back.
Just a fraction closer now, Caleb leans in—fingers brushing a playful tug at your braid as he murmurs, “You didn’t read the fine print?”
You open your mouth—absolutely no thoughts, just spiraling—but Harv laughs lightly beside you, missing the edge.
“She’s got options,” he says, nudging your arm before glancing at Caleb. Then, without missing a beat, he snatches the mug right out of Caleb’s hands. “I’ve seen you at the coffee shop, right? Can’t expect her to stick to just one supplier forever.”
Caleb looks down at his now-empty hand, then back up—smile still there, but it’s taken on a razor-thin edge.
“Oh, I’m not worried,” Caleb says, plucking the mug from Harv’s hand. He hands it back to you, casual as ever, like it weighs nothing. “I’ve got the cookies.”
You squint. “The what?”
“The bribes,” Caleb replies. “You remember. Cinnamon chip? Still undefeated.”
You’re about to make a snarky reply when Harv chuckles again, looking between the two of you.
“Man baking for someone? That’s dangerously close to being whipped.”
The air shifts.
Caleb’s smile freezes. Not dramatically. Just enough for you to notice. “Oh, right,” he says smoothly, voice cool and even. “Because effort is embarrassing.”
Harv blinks. “Didn’t mean anything by it.”
Caleb shrugs, but it’s sharp. “Of course not.”
Harv shifts beside you, clearly picking up on the tension but choosing confidence over retreat. “Well,” he says with a light laugh, “this got a little intense for a sidewalk meetup.”
Caleb doesn’t respond—just watches him, unreadable.
But Harv presses on. “Let’s start over, hm? I’m Harv,” he adds, stretching out a hand like it’s a peace offering. “From class. Future litigator. Occasional morning person.”
Caleb looks at the hand. Doesn’t take it.
Instead, his eyes lift to yours again—no teasing now, no flirt.
Just something quiet. Real.
And then Caleb clicks his tongue, almost like he’s made a decision.
“You deserve better tea,” Caleb says softly. “I’ll see you later, Golden Girl.”
Then he walks away.
You watch his back retreat into the morning light, one shoulder rolling as he pockets his hands—like your body hasn’t caught up to what your heart just did.
Then Harv—oblivious, unfortunately—pipes up:
“So, uh…” He nods toward Caleb’s retreating form. “Is that your boyfriend, or just your very intense barista-slash-personal baker?”
You blink. The answer is so obviously neither, but your brain short-circuits under this kind pressure.
So you do what you do best:
Lie.
“Oh, I don’t know,” you say lightly, offering a shrug instead of a full answer. “Maybe he’s just having a weird morning.”
It’s just a stupid joke. A reflex. A weak shield. A small lie.
But Caleb stops.
Way down the block, already near the café entrance, he turns—just slightly—shoulders tight.
He doesn’t say anything.
Just glances back.
And you know he heard.
Harv keeps walking, launching into something about a mock trial and obligation like nothing happened.
But you feel it.
Still.
Behind your ribs.
The look he gave you.
The one that said: “Really?”
Your travel mug suddenly feels heavy in your hands. And for the rest of the walk, your tea tastes like regret.
——————————————————————————
Midday hits, and you’re still off.
You’ve been rereading the same paragraph of your contract law notes for ten minutes—something about standards and WTO frameworks that Professor Litt delivered like a dramatic monologue—and your tea still tastes like guilt. So you do the only thing that makes sense:
You text the newbie.
You: okay. so. caleb accused me of travel mug betrayal this morning. AND flirted. AND walked off like i ran him over with a civic… harv (guy from school) made a whipped joke and caleb left like… dramatically left
The typing bubble pops up instantly.
newbie: okay. first of all. i KNEW he was acting weird!! he’s been reorganizing the bakery shelf in alphabetical order … alphabetically… like a stressed librarian with biceps
You snort. Your heart still isn’t steady, but at least you’ve got the newbie to spiral with—by rapid-fire texting them like it’s a group project.
Until your phone starts ringing.
The newbie. Calling you.
They never call.
You don’t even think—you grab your phone, shoot a whispered “sorry!” toward Professor Litt, and duck out of the lecture hall like it’s on fire.
And you hit answer mid-stride.
“Everything okay—?”
But it’s not the newbie’s voice on the line.
“Hey,” Caleb says.
You freeze.
Outside. Hallway. Cold air. NOW.
“Uh. Hi?”
A pause.
“I didn’t mean to make things weird this morning,” he says, voice low. “But, uh… I have to ask.”
You lean against the wall, trying not to slide down it.
“Ask what?”
“That guy,” he says. “The one you were with. Harvey or Harvest or… something dumb.”
“Harv,” you correct automatically, then regret it immediately.
Caleb doesn’t laugh.
Another pause.
“I just… is that a thing?”
The silence stretches between you like a closing argument waiting for a verdict. But before your brain can spiral any further, your pre-lawyer instincts kick in.
“Wait,” you say, narrowing your eyes even though he can’t see it. “Why are you calling me from the newbie’s phone? Did you steal it?”
There’s a short laugh—low and slightly smug.
“Saw them texting you. Don’t worry, tho. I asked nicely.”
“So theft,” you say. “With a smile. Classic barista distraction tactic.”
“I prefer strategic borrowing,” he replies. “And technically, they handed it over. Under mild protest.”
“TELL HER I SAID YOU’RE A MENACE—” you hear the newbie yelling in the background.
Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh. “Okay, so you hijacked the phone. For what, exactly?”
Caleb’s voice dips again, back to that careful, unreadable quiet.
“I had to ask,” he says. “About Harv.”
You pause.
Then your voice sharpens.
“Oh, you get to ask now?”
He goes quiet.
“Because last I checked,” you continue, heat creeping into your voice, “you never answered my question. About the charm. The necklace. The thing you wear every damn day. But I’m supposed to explain a guy who walked me to class?”
Another pause. Then—
“Well,” Caleb says dryly, “my necklace isn’t a six-foot-tall law student with cheekbones and a dick.”
You blink. Stare at a vending machine like it’s responsible for this conversation.
“That’s your defense?” you deadpan.
“I’m just saying,” he mutters. “He looked like a threat.”
“To what?”
“To… the chaos balance we’ve got going.”
You press a hand to your forehead. “Caleb.”
He sighs. “I know.”
And just like that—he sounds softer again.
Like he gets it.
Like he knows he messed up.
Like he’s been spiraling too.
“I just didn’t like seeing you with him,” he says quietly. “Okay?”
You press your back to the wall, head tipped up toward the ceiling like you’re negotiating with the fluorescent lights.
“Caleb,” you murmur, “I can’t promise you anything.”
He’s quiet for a moment. Then: “I know.”
“All we’ve got right now is…” You trail off, trying to find something solid in the emotional soup of your life. “Vibes. Mildly reckless flirting. And maybe a new latte order with zero apple juice involved.”
There’s a beat.
Then—
“I have to give up the juice for you?” he teases, voice low and warm.
“Let’s not get sentimental about it,” you say. “It was a weird drink.”
On the other end, his laugh curls through the line—quiet, wrecking, unfairly good.
“I’m off in like ten minutes,” he says casually. “Was supposed to have… a… a date.”
Your stomach does a little tight twist. “Oh.”
“But…” his voice lowers again, almost sheepish, “I could be around. You know. If you stopped by.”
A pause.
“For the flirting. And the… non-apple-juice latte.”
You exhale slowly, a smile pulling at your mouth despite every warning your brain is flashing.
“I’ll see what I can do,” you say.
Which is law student code for:
I’ll be there.
And I might even stay.
You hang up.
And you swear under your breath.
What.
The.
Hell.
Cheeks burning as you slide down the wall, spine giving out like your body’s just as overwhelmed as your brain.
The tile is cold against your back, Professor Litt’s voice still echoing faintly through the door about GATS and international trade agreements, but it barely registers. You take a breath. Then another. Then—out of nowhere—you laugh. Quiet, disbelieving.
Because after all that? You still don’t even have Caleb’s number.
Eventually, you stand. Wipe your palms on your pants. Pull your expression back into something resembling composure.
Then you open the door and slip back into the lecture hall like nothing happened—like you didn’t just experience a full emotional mistrial in the hallway over a boy who smells like cinnamon and terrible decisions.
You slide into your seat. Professor Litt doesn’t even glance up as he drones on about WTO dispute settlements. And you do what any sane, responsible law student would do.
Pretend your heart isn’t still beating just a little too loud.
Your phone is still in your hand when the buzz comes through.
newbie: caleb is literally humming.
newbie: he just sang a taylor swift song to the steam wand. in falsetto. i don’t know if he’s okay. should i call a priest or just let him finish
You slam your forehead lightly against your laptop case.
From the front of the room, Professor Litt doesn’t even look up from his notes. “Careful with the dramatics,” he says, dry as ever. “Some of us are still pretending this material matters.”
A few students snort quietly. You sit up fast, mutter a half-hearted apology, and open your notes again.
Your phone buzzes. Again.
Time to spiral discreetly.
newbie: he’s got the soft apron fold today. you know the one. you’re doomed
You stare at the screen, cheeks still so warm, and text back with the last shred of dignity you have:
you: shut up i hate everything. i’ll be there in 20. tell the espresso machine to brace itself
Then you slide your phone into your pocket.
… And try very hard not to smile like an idiot the rest of the class.
——————————————————————————
Part 6
——————————————————————————
Writer’s note: Okey so confession time: This whole AU is basically built around one very specific arc that’s been itching my brain like a mosquito bite I refuse to stop scratching. I’ll get to it eventually, promise. TS’s Getaway Car is basically the gospel of Caleb’s brain until a certain point… and then—heh—there’s another song that’s like the final boss of inspiration for his arc. That one? That one comes later. And the law student? She might have picked the wrong barista to flirt with. I’ll shut up now lol.
You absolutely lovely, amazing people commenting, reblogging with the funniest tags (@blessdunrest, you crack me up every time), and liking the silly things I write. I appreciate you so much. Truly. You make sharing this chaos feel extra special. Okey then, thank you for reading 🫶🏻
#i absolutely added harvey and louis litt into this iykyk#you’re welcome#based on a true story lol#caleb only has apple stuff. no android for this boyo#oke time to have a glass of wine because it’s saturday and my dog is still recovering from sea urchin drama#going for le cedre de beyrouth 2022 and my hc sylus would approve#fanfic love and deepspace#love and deepspace#caleb love and deepspace#lnds caleb#lads caleb#you x caleb#reader x caleb#non mc x caleb#barista caleb#fanfic caleb#fanfiction caleb
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𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 .
s. gojo x f!reader ✧ fluff ; not proofread ahaha ; christmas special !
この 物語 で ⇢ he proposes to you on christmas eve .
soft moonlight gleams upon the snow-laden streets, blanketing them with a quiet stillness that only comes at the height of winter. each breath you take is visible in the cold december air, and your boots crunch lightly through the powdered frost beneath as you hurry to keep up. neon reds and greens reflect faintly off shop windows, a kaleidoscope of christmas lights blurring in your peripheral vision as the wind teases at your scarf. somewhere in the distance, the faint bell chime of a salvation army volunteer jingles like far-off sleigh bells, joining the distant hum of christmas songs spilling out of café doors and dim-lit storefronts.
"would you stop running off?" you whisper-yell, just as a puff of breath escapes your lips. satoru’s always like this — taller than anyone else, obliviously confident, and a streak of childlike mischief wrapped around an impenetrable core of too much power for one man to hold. his platinum hair is bright beneath the holiday lights, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat as he turns his head back toward you, grinning like a satisfied fox.
"i’m not running," he replies with a breezy shrug, placing extra emphasis on his long strides. “i’m leading. big difference.”
you mutter his name beneath your breath in semi-annoyance, and he slows down just enough for you to hobble at his side, cheeks flushed from exertion and the nip of the winter wind. he dips his head closer, amusement glittering unmistakably in those electric blue eyes of his, glowing even brighter than the string lights hanging up above.
“y’know, if your legs were just a little longer…” he starts, the corner of his mouth twitching.
you elbow him through his thick wool coat, immediately greeted with the unmistakable sound of his laughter, sharp and just a little too loud for this sleepy christmas eve. if it weren’t for the fact his face was sculpted like some modern michelangelo piece, you might have actually slugged him.
“i have the ticket home,” you remind him pointedly, fingers shoved into the warm depths of your coat pockets. “you really wanna miss our train back to tokyo? you’d sulk the whole ride tomorrow.”
“nah, i’m good,” he assures you, mock solemn as he ducks his head against another onslaught of wind. “in fact… this is me slowing down! such a considerate boyfriend, right?”
the streets have emptied; most people are home now, wrapped in blankets by crackling fires or sipping holiday drinks among friends and family. the two of you are outliers — wandering the quieter streets, half-aimless now. it’s not so cold that you mind. honestly, the world feels a little softer tonight, like every hard edge has been dulled beneath a layer of frost and good cheer.
"where are we even going, satoru?" you sigh finally, stopping in your tracks and crossing your arms against your chest. the streetlight above flickers faintly, casting warm golden hues against plates of unbroken snow and two long shadows stretching towards each other on the asphalt. it’s hard to look away from him — as always, he seems completely at home in the chaos he creates, dressed neatly but somehow slightly disheveled. snowflakes linger on his lashes, an annoying but endearing imperfection against the surreal sharpness of his face. it’s like he belongs to the winter itself, something untouchably beautiful yet cold enough to bite.
“wait,” you realize, groaning. “you don’t even have a plan, do you?”
satoru grins again, a little boyish now as he rubs the back of his neck. “do i ever?”
“you’re hopeless.”
“i do have… something in mind,” he insists, drawing out the pause dramatically. “c’mon, we’re almost there! well, sort of. we’re getting warmer.”
you squint at him suspiciously, but there’s only so much of that you can do when he’s peering at you like he knows all the world’s secrets, like he expects you to give up because he already knows how this scene is going to play out. you unfold your arms just to stuff your cold fingers deeper into the warmth of your coat. sighing, you follow him through the streets because you always do — no matter what antics gather like snowflakes around his heels, you’ve never been very good at walking away.
the city opens up after another stretch of blocks, the quiet streets falling into the sprawling expanse of frozen parks and the faint reflection of city skyscrapers off the inky black river just ahead. the snow by the riverbank crunches loud beneath your steps as the two of you veer slightly from the path, your breath hitching when you see the skyline faintly mirrored in the thin layer of ice atop the surface.
the stars, brighter here than in the heart of the city, twinkle faintly as orange and hazy blue lights stretch out row by row against the backdrop of the otherwise dark, glassy water.
“here we are,” satoru announces, raising his arms out like the proud ringmaster of an empty circus.
you glance around skeptically, brow raised.
“a frozen river in the middle of nowhere?”
“it’s called ambiance,” he corrects you with a playful tap to your nose. “you don’t get it.”
but then he’s pulling something from his pocket, his scarf slipping slightly as you watch him drop down to one knee. it's so unlike him to be still and steady like this, hands no longer performing flourished, over-the-top gestures. he looks up, the whiteness of snow alighting against his lashes and the tips of his impossibly pale hair. his gaze is raw now, utterly open, and the real weight of the moment presses itself against you like the chill in the wind. nothing about it feels real.
"i know," he starts, exhaling laughter out into the open air between you. it fogs up faintly, a fleeting blur of warmth in the barren cold. “it would make more sense to wait until christmas day, right? but it’s midnight somewhere, so technically…”
he’s babbling, you realize, watching the sheepish grin slowly tug at his lips — a rare thing for someone who prances through life as though he owns it.
“satoru,” you breathe, the waver in your voice making his grin deepen.
“i know,” he says again, this time softer. "but listen, you're kind of stuck with me, so i figured we should make it official."
your heart thuds painfully in your chest, and the moment he pulls a small velvet box from his pocket, your throat tightens. the ring shines faintly, reflecting flecks of orange the same way ice reflects firelight, but your eyes are on his face — on the steadiness of his words, of his gaze, of the unusual quiet awe there as he says your name and speaks plainly for once in his life.
"marry me," satoru says, light but not carelessly. "marry me so no one else can steal you away — as if they could — but, uh, let’s just make sure.” his words falter under the weight of a chuckle he doesn’t quite know what to do with, and despite the stillness of him, his fingers tighten over the box, like it might flutter away if he isn’t careful.
you feel your lungs collapse when you nod without speaking, your hands trembling slightly as you extend them towards him.
for once, satoru doesn’t bother to tease or gloat. he just blinks up at you, his smile gentler than you’ve ever seen it, and when he rises, smoothing the ring onto your trembling finger with the care he reserves for only the most fragile and precious things, you don’t bother hiding the bloom of tears against your cheeks.
he notices, of course. he always notices everything.
“crying already?” he murmurs, his voice soft but confident again, full of the easy dominance that makes satoru who he is.
in place of a response, you loop your arms around his neck and feel the hum of his laughter in his chest before his hands find your waist. he pulls you just close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body, somehow thawing away even the bitterest part of winter.
the world belongs to you two tonight, snow dancing gently all around as you kiss him, his fingers coming to rest on the back of your neck with the tenderness of a moth’s wings.
© kxttqi — do not repost, copy, translate or steal my works without permission.
#✧; kat's journal#jjk x reader#jjk#jjk x y/n#jjk x you#gojo x y/n#gojo x you#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#jjk fluff#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojo satoru#gojo fluff#jujutsu kaisen
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Kinktober Day 1: Dirty Talk - Rolan


a/n: yippee first time actually doing a kinktober!! this kinda turned into praise but f it we ball
pairing: rolan x gn! reader
word count: 0.8k
warnings: MINORS/AGELESS DNI I BLOCK ON SIGHT!!!!!! unedited, a hint of breeding towards the end, unprotected, not specific genitalia for reader, dom reader, rolan cries but it doesn't hurt, bites, someone tell this tiefling I'm obsessed with him, reader calls rolan baby btw

One of Rolan’s favorite aspects about you is your voice.
Ever since meeting you at the grove, your voice has been playing in his head- repeating a constant harmonious tune. The way words rolled off your tongue was enchanting, he was sure you must’ve permanently charmed him. Despite his hurtful beratement in the shadowlands, you’ve continued to be a friend to him and his family. Including saving his siblings and helping defeat his previous master. When you approached him shortly after saving Baldur’s Gate asking for a place to stay, he was thrilled to welcome you as the newest addition to the tower. Not only was he excited for your presence but also to hear your music daily.
Some of his prized memories of your voice have been your first meeting where you cut into his and his siblings’ argument conversation, questioning his plans for the tower, and agreeing to have him be yours.
However, His most beloved melody from your voice is here and now. “You like it when I fuck you like that, Master?”
The wizard would answer obediently whilst on his knees, feeling you up from below and thanking you for indulging him tonight. Alas, you’ve ridden him so long to the point of overstimulation that he can say little but moan in response.
Suddenly, you grip his jaw and force him to look at you, minding the bruises and bites littered around his neck. He’s pulled into a kiss while you shift your weight for support. He can feel your teeth pulling at his lip, and he’d almost feel worthy of an apology if his nails weren’t digging into the plush of your thighs. You pull away with a thin string of spit.
“This is what you’ve needed, right baby? To be taken care of?” You ask him between your groans. A particularly hard thrust against him knocks a sense of clarity into your Rolan, if only for a second.
“G-Gods, yes!” He manages to reply. It’s been stressful as of late, dealing with the intricacies of the tower. There’s no where else he’d want to be, especially with you, but it’s been a heavy weight to carry nonetheless. When you agreed to let him do nothing but lay back and listen to you, he just about came then and there. Thank the Gods he didn’t, this moment is perfection.
Your hands snake their way back against his chest, helping you push yourself off and on against him.
“You are so handsome, you know that? I love it when you look like this, debauched.” His ears burn until they’re numb, on nights when you bed him you’ve made it clear how attractive you find him. He didn’t think that tonight would’ve been one of those nights as well. Obviously, he was mistaken.
“Answer me.” You purr, slowing your pace to a stop, his throbbing cock nestled deep inside you.
“Y-yes, yes gods- please!” He sputters out, tears threatening to spill from the sudden lack of vigorous movement. You lean down again and kiss the cusp of his ear, biting gently as your speed returns, but not to the same as before. He moans as chills spread against his skin; bringing his nipples to a peak.
“Say it. Say you’re handsome. I’ve seen how you’ve looked at yourself today, looked at what’s mine.” You roll your hips against him with the last word falling from your lips, drawing emphasis. You were not going to accept your love thinking of himself however low he was today, not with the beautiful sight under you currently. His hair stuck to his forehead and horns from sweat, purple blooming on his neck and collarbone, and golden eyes that can barely hold your loving stare.
“I’m handsome..” “Louder.”
“I-I’m,” the tears from earlier have began to fall.”I’m handsome.”
You move your hips to the pace matching his volume. Rolan’s jaw drops with a whine as he realizes what you’re up to.
“You’re what, baby?” “Handsome! Zurgan- I’m handsome just p-please..”
“That’s right, and all mine.” With your grace, you return to your previous pace- if not more unrelenting.
Rolan shakes, and you know exactly what it means. A sob from his lips confirm your suspicions.
“Are you going to cum in me, Master? Fill me, claim me as yours?” Rolan can only whimper in agreement, his hands moving to rest on your waist as you brutally fuck yourself on him- chasing after his orgasm.
The wizard shakes, a degenerate moan filling the room as well as skin slapping skin. Warmth floods your senses as you ride out the last few twitches of his cock, your own pleasured noises accompaning his.
“That’s it, there you go, baby.” You mutter. His head falls back on the pillows, his throat stretched as he cries throughout the rest of his orgasm.
After plenty of deep breaths from you both, you shift your weight off of your love and curl up next to him. You invite him into a conversation about his current state of mind before sharing “I love yous” and falling into a satisfying sleep.

© BXTTXRFLYBXDDIE
#kinktober#starsandskieskinktober#day 1#dirty talk#rolan#rolan x reader#rolan x you#rolan x tav#rolan bg3#holy rolan empire#rolan nation#bg3 rolan#im not in love with the ending but i havent written smut in years lol#HE DESREVES SOMEONE WHO WILL RUIN HIM FR (and its me)#baldurs gate#baldurs gate 3#baldurs gate iii#baldur's gate#baldur's gate 3#baldur's gate iii#smut#lemon#mmmm wizard :3
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"Fuck me hard."
Note: this is literally my first smut, pls don't kill me y'all 🙏🙏


Tags: sub! g!p yujin x dom! reader, Yujin and you haven't had sex in a while and you couldn't take it anymore.
It was a nice morning with your girlfriend, Yujin. The short haired girl woke up early today and cooked you breakfast, how nice is that!! She made fluffy souffle pancakes that were the perfect golden brown colour, topped off with whipped cream, blueberries, strawberry and some chocolate syrup.
While you picked up the fork to take a bite out of the scrumptious looking pancakes your girlfriend made, you didn't realize that said girl was staring at you, wondering what you'd think about the taste of the pancakes.
Just as you were about to eat a small piece of your breakfast, Yujin asks, "how does it taste?" Her hands fiddling with the end of her shirt. You look over and chuckle softly, "I haven't taken a bite out of it yet." Yujin blushes and nods in embarrassment from being too eager to know how you felt about her cooking. Once you did eat that small piece of pancake, you give her a thumbs up and Yujin grins adorably, feeling happy that she did well.
After finishing your breakfast, the both of you were on the couch, watching Netflix on the TV in the living room. You sat on her lap, while Yujin had her hands wrapped around your waist to keep you from falling off somehow.
You tried to, but you just couldn't help but think about Yujin's bulge in your ass, how could you? You've been really horny and the two of you haven't done it in a long time. So, to relieve yourself a little you decide to move a little, making sure to grind your cunt on Yujin's tent in her pants.
Yujin whines when you suddenly shift your position in her lap, but she didn't think much of it, thinking you were just uncomfortable, not knowing you were so desperate to get filled by her thick cock. She holds you closer to make you feel comfortable and you just couldn't take it anymore.
You suddenly got off her lap, making Yujin confused. But when you go to pull down her pants she immediately stops you, feeling embarrassed and still confused. She whimpers softly, her face and ears turning into a hue of red. "W-what are you doing, y/n-nie..?" You immediately took off her hands, your voice coming out more husky than you thought. "I'm so horny, puppy. I wanna suck your big cock and feel you fucking me hard.." And of course, Yujin folded because who was she to reject you?? You were her girlfriend and she didn't want to disappoint you. Besides, she's been horny too.
Yujin's hands go to hold onto the armrest of the couch. You pulled down her boxers until it was hanging around her ankles. You eagerly leaned down to take her length in your mouth, bobbing your head up and down, your tongue licking the underside of her tip. Yujin had to hold back a moan when you accidentally grazed her tip with your teeth. She whines soon after when you pull away to breathe, a string of saliva and precum connecting from Yujin's cock head to your lips. Your right hand goes to stroke her girth, meanwhile your left plays with her balls. You get in between her legs and suck on her balls, sucking the skin in between your teeth before pulling away. Yujin was a whimpering mess at this point, everything you were doing was sending shivers down her spine.
"Y-y/n-nie.. No more teasing.. P-please.." Yujin manages to whine out, feeling so horny that she could literally cum if you licked the tip of her cock. You decide to not tease any further and pull back a little, standing in front of her now. You grab the hem of your shirt and pull it upwards, tossing it somewhere in the living room. Your shorts and panties follow along, being thrown on the floor somewhere without care.
You eagerly go back to sit in Yujin's lap, your legs on either side of her thighs. You hold onto her shoulders as you slowly lower yourself into Yujin's thick 10 inch cock, biting your lip to stifle a whine that was about to come out. Yujin's hands immediately reached out to hold your waist, keeping you in place. But that didn't stop you as you started to move your hips up and down Yujin juicy fat cock, she watched as your tits bounced and the way your tight cunt took her when you rode her dick with such eagerness. You look down and see your girlfriend just staring at your breasts. "Go on, baby. I know you want to." Yujin's eyes light up and she immediately leans forward to suck on your nipple, licking and nibbling on the sensitive nub. "A-ahh.. Shit.. Y-es.. Just like that, puppy.. Hngh- fuck, just keep sucking like that..!" You whine out, feeling so sensitive with your nipples sucked and your tight pussy getting filled by your girlfriend's length.
Yujin's tongue circles around your nipples, leaving a trail of saliva across your chest as she moves from your right nipple to the left, she does the same with your left nub, leaving hickeys and bite marks all over your chest, marking you as hers.
"Shit.. Ngh- g-gonna cum, Yujinnie..!" You help as you reach your high, clenching around Yujin and coming on her dick. Your back arching and your head thrown back. When she felt you clenching hard around her cock, Yujin's climax followed yours, filling your cunt. You could feel the way ropes of cum were shot into your hole, filling you to the brim with Yujin's seed. If you weren't on the pill, you were sure you'd be pregnant with how much she usually cums.
The two of you were left breathless, you held onto Yujin's shoulders as you rested your forehead on her left shoulder. You were about to get off Yujin's lap when suddenly she pinned you onto the couch.
You whimpers at the sudden action, Yujin's cock still buried deep inside you. "W-wait, Yujin! I'm still sen-" Yujin didn't waste any time as she just started to pound into your cunt. Her cum spilling out of your pussy and onto the leather of the couch. You wrapped your arms around Yujin's neck, pulling her close to your neck. You were a literal whining and moaning mess with the way Yujin abused your pussy with her cock. The couch freaked against the floorboards in rhythm with Yujin's hard thrusts.
"Hah.. Y-y/n-nnie.. Gonna cum again.." Yujin whines into your neck as she gripped your waist, her nails digging deliciously into your soft skin. She kisses and bites your neck, leaving hickeys and bite marks along the way. Her movements became more sloppier the closer she was to coming.
Yujin pulled her cock out until only the tip remained and slammed her girthy dick back into you, prompting you to moan loudly. She spills her cum into you, filling you with her seed once more. Yujin's body slumped over yours, her cock still buried in you, keeping her cum inside.
The two of you stay like for a while, not speaking or even making a sound. Until Yujin broke the silence, "Was I too rough, y/n-nnie..?" You chuckle and pat her head. "No, puppy. That was amazing." Yujin smiles contentedly at your praise and she quiets down, taking in your scent. Soon, both of you were feeling tired and slept on the couch, not bothering to go to bed. The Netflix movie you were watching earlier was completely forgotten.
Note: I'M FINALLY DONE!! I'm honestly scared of what ppl would think cus this is my first smut 😭😭 it's probably bad but at least I finished also do u like my divider or should I change 😔
Tags ୨୧
#ahn yujin#ahn yujin x reader#ahn yujin smut#yujin x reader#ahn yujin x fem reader#ive smut#girl group smut
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