#now that that's off my chest (and sorry if i'm being a bit of a debbie downer) i am!! gonna try and work on some plot asks!!

[karikitdemonrp]

Kari rubbed her eyes with a soft sniffle and took a breath. Hawks words and presences had helped her calm down. Sure the pain still lingered, but it didn't hurt as much. "I... I wanna keep going. No, I need to keep going." She chirped softly after a moment. "I can't just stop now. Not yet." She informed and turned back to look over more hero logs for her father.

Training logs showing his improvement, journals that dated before Kari's birth, interviews, news reports, and so on. Eventually Kari stopped on a journal entry dated a few weeks after Kari's birth.

"August 5, I brought Kari home for the first time. She's gained a bit of weight which is good. She's such an active little girl. Kitearo was immediately so protective despite how he acted before. I guess seeing how small she was and having processed what happened helped him a lot. Therapy has been a huge help for all of them. Shade us still sneaking top shelf books when I'm not looking, last time I saw her reading Moby Dick to Kari and immediately stepped in. We made an agreement that if she didn't read these to Kari then I'd allow her to read certain top shelf books with supervision. She's enjoying spending time with Kari, reading her books while she's is in Shade's lap. Boom and Beats always love to play with Kari, running around happily with toys and including Kati in their games. Flo shows Kari a ton of different plants, mainly flowers. Fino likes to have Kari ride on his back while in a random animal form. I feel like these kids will super close when they're older. Sure they'll get into arguments and maybe even fights, but thats life. I'm just happy it looks like things are gonna be alright. Still waiting for Boom and Beats to get their quirks, I'm not sure what they'll be since Mikomi's quirk is so different. She never explained why, but I have a rough understanding. Either way, I've made up my mind and I'll help with hero work in some other way, but I'll be retiring as a pro hero before Kari's first birthday. I can't risk it right now, there is too much at stake. I'll keep doing my best for them. - Lynx Himura."

Kari gave a soft smile then went to type in her mother's hero name and began looking through the hero logs there. Eventually she came across an interview, roughly around the same time as Lynx, though it was off by a few days.

"Hello, thank you for meeting with us, Angelic."

"Of course, I'm glad I could make it work. Been super busy and all." Mikomi laughed. Her eyes, while a different color, were roughly the same shape as Kari's. Though Kari's were a bit more pointed and Mikomi's slightly more rounded. But it was easy to see the resemblance.

"Yea, you've been very busy it seems. Your already the number six hero and you're still pretty young. Any insight as to why you're working do hard?"

"Ah, going for that question already. Fair enough. Well, it's kinda has to do with my quirk being so easy to... adapt to different situations so I can help out in many areas. So I'm able to be noticed more often and so on. That and I just like helping. It feels right to me. Don't get me wrong the money is nice too but I'm not wanting for anything. I'm actually only using what I need and saving the rest for future emergencies or plans."

"You planning on starting a family?"

"Maybe, maybe not. But I'll never let that information slip. I'm aiming high after all. If I have kids and I'm in the top three, their lives could be in danger so I'm keeping stuff like that close to my chest." Mikomi looked to the camera and smiled knowingly almost, in Kari's direction. Kari shivered a bit.

"Thats fair," the reporter hummed off camera and Mikomi looked back at the reported. "Now, about your quirk--"

"Sorry but I'm not divulging information about my quirk either." Mikomi was quick to interrupt. "I know it is different and rather weird but I'd like to keep that to myself as well."

"Ah, I see. Well, what about your relationship with Redone?"

"Oh, I--" Mikomi blushed a bit with a grin. "Well, it's a long story but after moving back from America, I had to go cuz of my mom's job, we reconnected in highschool and haven't really been apart since. He's really sweet and caring. We've been together for a while actually."

"Can we plan on a hero wedding anytime soon?"

"Ya know, I watched his interview last week and I tried asking him when he came by with the sweet buns. He just laughed and told me he'd propose when the time is right. I'm not sure when but I'm sure everyone will be made aware eventually." Mikomi chuckled softly. The interview went on, more questions, some dodged some answered. But all in all Kari got a good feel for Mikomi's personality. Kind but firm, not willing to take bullshit but not rude either. Stands her ground and proud of it.

Kari smiled and went on to find some missions, training logs, and a family tree. Kari widened her eyes. There she was with her siblings, her mother, her father, even her grandparents. There was Maica, Core, Core's father. Her whole family.

Looks like Lynx had two younger brothers one of which was deceased while the other was still alive but no where in Japan and no contact information listed and he looked to be estranged. Lynx's parents were listed too though his father passed away the same year as one if his brothers while Lynx's mother passed two years before Kari was born. Kari frowned, concluding an accident happened that took Lynx's father and brother. She shook it off and opened up a journal from her mother, taking a breath.

"I'm simply writing this so it is on record in case something happens to me and one of my children develops my quirk-" Kari perked up a bit. "I don't know if it'll come to that but dad said it's better safe than sorry. He probably knows something since we share a quirk and all. Thats besides the point. I plan on having this under heavy lock and key until I die or if one of my children requests it or whatever. I'm not the best with formal stuff but I'll try my best. Either way, I am Mikomi Himura. Mother to Kitearo Himura, wife to Lynx Himura. My quirk is called All of the Above. It is a highly adaptive quirk, able to integrate any other quirk upon seeing it, though it takes time. My DNA is very unstable for lack of a better way of putting it. My son's quirk is vastly different to mine. Well, it's going to be, he hasn't developed it yet but I already know. Sir Nighteye's quirk has been super helpful in calming the nerves of a new mother. For the most part at least, but I'm keeping that close to my chest for now."

Kari shivered a bit, having a feeling she knew what Mikomi was referring to but kept reading.

"As for the specifics of my quirk, I'm able to use a quirk I've copied with in a certain length of time after seeing it, depending on the type. A week or two for emmiter quirks, two to three weeks for transformation and accumulation quirks, and four weeks for mutation quirks. I don't just copy the quirk, but a snap shot of the person as well for lack of a better way of putting it. It can be refreshed if I see that person again but yea. Ugh this is more difficult to explain than I thought. Uh, the reason there is a snap shot is because I can call on it to help learn quirks more effectively, they take over my body and I learn through muscle memory. The quirks I have copied as well as the snap shots of the people will be passed on to which ever of my children inherits my quirk but those quirks will be locked until certain things are met, I'm not sure how that all works. Dad hasn't explained it and I haven't figured it out. It's weird to explain and better to show but I don't plan on dying so ill be able to show my kid when the time comes. Regardless, this is just a precaution and I don't plan on needing it. With that I'm closing this journal."

Kari blinked, moving to look through more journal entries. Some where around the time she was pregnant with her siblings. Then another caught Kari's eye.

"It's July 20th today. I'm feeling pretty weak from this pregnancy. Little Kari is really sapping me, but that's fine. I've had six kids before her so I'll be okay. But I'm not gonna lie this one has been rougher than all the others so I'm a bit worried. My due date isn't for another two month so it's fine."

"July 25th, something isn't right. I asked Lynx to take me to the hospital to have a check up. I might need emergency surgery. Kari might be born sooner than expected."

After that journal entry Kari found an obituary for her mother. "Number 3 hero dies for unspecified reasons." It lists the funeral date as well as other information.

Kari sighed softly, going over to Hawks and clinging to him, shaking and crying in weak sobs. She just needed a moment to process it all. "I... I know it's not my fault... but a part... A part if me still... still hurts." Kari hiccuped, nuzzling into Hawks' leg, just letting it all out. "I wanna know her. Who would she have been? What would be going on right now if she were alive? Why did she have to die cuz of me? It's not fair." The child cried, trying to hold back a bit but still needing to let out some emotions before continuing, if she even wanted to.

Hawks stood beside Kari the whole time, his usual laid-back expression softened into something quiet and pained. He didn’t say much while she clicked through the files—he didn’t need to. His hand gripped hers back just enough to remind her he was there, grounding her, steady and real in a space full of shadows from the past.

When Kari tried to lighten the mood at the end, Hawks crouched down a little to her level and gently brushed a few strands of hair out of her face. His expression didn’t shift into pity—it never did. Instead, it was the expression of someone who understood, who had lived through too many ghosts of his own.

“Two pounds, huh?” he murmured with a gentle smile. “And now look at you. Tough enough to face all this head-on, brave enough to want answers even when you knew they’d hurt. That kind of strength? That’s rare, Kari. That’s hero stuff.”

He let the words settle before continuing, his thumb brushing over her knuckles where their hands were still locked together.

“Your dad loved you. All of you. You can feel it in every word he wrote—even when things were falling apart, his thoughts were on keeping you safe. That’s not something a lot of kids get to grow up knowing. But you? You’ve got that. You’ve got him with you every time you use your quirk, every time you snort like he did.” Hawks grinned a little at that, trying to lift her spirit without pushing her too fast.

He then stood and offered his other hand to steady her.

“We can look for more when you’re ready—your mom’s records, maybe some old hero logs. But we don’t have to do it all today. There’s no rush. What matters is you have this now. It’s a part of you, but it doesn’t have to define you.”

He gave her hand a soft squeeze, his wings flexing slightly behind him.

“You wanna keep going? Or you want a break, maybe get something warm to drink, clear your head?” he asked gently, letting her take the lead again. “Whatever you choose, I’m here, little bird.”

[drewswife]

summary — you and spencer debating on who’s right on the plane and rossi looks it up and spencer was right

pairings — oblivious!spencer x pining!reader

a/n/warnings — fluff, bickering, spencer knowing he’s right but doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, use of y/n sorry

The stale airplane air hummed around me and Spencer, a familiar drone that usually lulled me into a peaceful state. Not today, though. Today, it was the backdrop to an increasingly passionate, if utterly trivial, debate.

"I'm telling you, Spencer, it was the summer of '98! I remember because that's when my aunt Brenda got her first computer, and everyone was talking about it." I gestured emphatically with my hands, nearly elbowing an unsuspecting flight attendant.

Spencer, ever the picture of quiet conviction, adjusted his glasses. "Y/N, with all due respect, the data clearly indicates that the widespread adoption of dial-up internet in suburban households didn't reach its peak until early 2000. While '98 saw a significant increase, it wasn't the 'everyone was talking about it' level you're describing."

"But it felt like everyone!" I insisted, leaning closer. "The internet was this new, magical thing! And Brenda was so proud of her Gateway."

"Your personal anecdotal evidence, while charming," Spencer said, a faint smile playing on his lips, "doesn't supersede statistical trends."

I huffed, crossing my arms. "Oh, so now my memories are just 'charming anecdotes'? Is that it, Dr. Reid?"

He's so pretty when he gets all academic like this, even when he's being a know-it-all.

Before the playful bickering could escalate further, Rossi, who had been patiently listening from across the aisle, cleared his throat. He pulled out his phone, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Alright, kids, let's settle this. What exactly are we looking up?"

"The year dial-up internet really took off in suburban America!" I declared, pointing at Spencer. "And he says it wasn't '98!"

Spencer merely raised an eyebrow, a silent challenge.

Rossi chuckled, typing quickly. A moment later, his eyes scanned the screen. He looked up, a theatrical sigh escaping him. "Well, Y/N, it seems our resident boy genius is, once again, correct. According to multiple sources, while there was growth in '98, the true widespread adoption and peak awareness you're describing did indeed occur closer to 2000."

I groaned, slumping back in my seat. "Unbelievable. My own memories betray me." I shot Spencer a mock glare. "You knew, didn't you? You knew you were right this whole time."

Spencer's faint smile widened, but he quickly reined it in, a flicker of something almost apologetic in his eyes. "I had a strong hypothesis, yes. But I didn't want to prematurely declare victory." He paused, then added softly, "And I didn't want to hurt your feelings."

And he's so sweet too. It's not fair.

My mock glare softened into a genuine smile. "You're a dork, Reid."

"And you're delightfully passionate, Y/N," he replied, a warmth in his gaze that sent a little flutter through my chest. I knew he was right, and a part of me had known all along that he probably would be. But I also knew he’d let me argue, letting me have my moment before gently, almost hesitantly, proving his point. And in that moment, as I looked at him, completely oblivious to the soft fondness in my own eyes, I couldn't help but pine just a little bit more.

🏷️, @sleepysongbirdsings @spencerreid66 @khxna @raysmayhem-72 @multiversefanfics @boopiemadz @starrii-sturns

[littlelovelunette]

could you write some aftercare for filthy troublemaker?

Filthy Troublemaker (3)

Ambessa Medarda x Fem!Reader x Sevika

[Part i] [Part ii]

Aftercare, post smut.

Word count: 1.1k. . .

You were at the verge of passing out when you felt Sevika pull the dildo away from your mouth finally. Your jaw was hurting, slack. Ambessa wiped her hand away carelessly before she gave your thigh a comforting, warm squeeze.

“You're gonna take those provocative pictures down,” Sevika said firmly before she dropped onto the bed beside you.

“You'd think we enjoy doing this to you,” Ambessa kissed your forehead and got up, heading for the bathroom.

“Where are you going?” You slurred out, your words barely coherent from all the mouth fucking. Ambessa didn't answer and disappeared in the bathroom for a bit before she returned with a soft wash cloth and a bowl of warm water.

“Just treating my princess well,” Ambessa said, sitting between your legs and wiping away your juices, her touch so light and so gentle. You smiled.

“You did well, today,” Sevika remarked almost begrudgingly after Ambessa gave her the ‘look’.

“Oh?”

You giggled, your tone teasing as you leaned your head against Sevika's frame. Sevika hummed softly, running her fingers through your sweat-dampened hair. Ambessa finished cleaning you up a bit later and stood up, putting the bowl on the bedside table along with the cloth.

“Get up, the both of you,” she said, “Get in the bath.”

Sevika got up first, grunting and going to the bathroom to run a bath for you. You stayed there, legs almost numb from all the fucking. You managed to sit up, hearing the water running from the bathroom. Ambessa smiled, leaning down, her muscular arm hooking behind your knees easily and picking you up without even breaking a sweat. You felt so small compared to her, you blushed.

“You never skip a moment to show off.” you said playfully.

“Would you rather I dropped you right now?” Ambessa said, matching your energy.

You shook your head, hand resting against her chest as you giggled at the playful banter. “Nuh-uh.”

Ambessa walked to the bathroom with you in her arms, you saw Sevika testing the temperature of the water out with her hand before she stood up straight. “Alright, you can put her in, I'll get the towels and shit.”

Sevika exited the bathroom leaving you and Ambessa in there. You felt your body being lowered in the warm water, a wave of comfort washed over you as you relaxed in the bath.

“It feels nice…”

“Yeah?” Ambessa got in the bath with you, pulling you flush against her own now naked body. Your back was against her chest, you smiled and leaned your head back against her shoulder.

Sevika returned, putting the towels on the bathroom counter before she got in the bath herself.

“We missed you,” you said, pulling her against your body and giggling. You were now sandwiched between the two.

You stroked Sevika's hair, “You've been so incredibly mean to me today, y'know?”

“Oh yeah?”

Sevika smirked a little, grabbing your jaw and pulling you in for a kiss. You squealed a little in the kiss, your cheeks turning rosy. Sevika parted, a thin string of saliva connecting her lips to yours.

“Well, that's how a punishment is supposed to be,” Sevika said before she pulled your face closer and gave you a forehead kiss. “But I'm sorry, sweet angel, I'll take good care of you now. We will take good care of you.”

Ambessa nodded. “Yes, we will.”

You sank further into the warmth, eyes fluttering shut for a second before a lazy smile spread across your lips. “Mm… this is perfect.”

“You better not fall asleep in here,” Sevika muttered, though her hand was already trailing along your thigh underwater in soft, absentminded strokes.

“I’m just… resting my eyes,” you mumbled sleepily, your voice a faint slur. The heat of the bath, their closeness, the comedown from everything, it was too much in the best way. Ambessa shifted behind you, adjusting her arm so it was wrapped snug around your middle.

“Let her rest a bit. She’s been good.”

Sevika raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. Instead, she leaned over and kissed your temple. “You always push it, you know. Those pictures you posted… Did you think we wouldn’t find out?”

“I didn’t think it’d piss you off that much,” you teased softly, cracking one eye open. “You two already have me.”

“That’s not the point,” Ambessa said. Her tone was low, serious, but her fingers were still brushing slow circles over your belly. “You belong to us. And when you forget that, we remind you.”

Your thighs pressed together a little at her words, a heat different from the bath water starting to pool low in your gut again. You didn’t respond right away, just let out a shaky breath.

“I like it when you remind me…” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Sevika chuckled darkly, her hand sliding up your chest, cupping your breast underwater with easy possessiveness.

“Yeah, I figured that out about five orgasms ago.”

You let out a breathless laugh, squirming faintly between them. “Sadists.”

“Only for you,” Ambessa murmured into your neck, planting a kiss just below your ear.

The bath remained quiet for a moment, just the faint sound of water lapping against the sides, your breathing, and their bodies holding yours. Then Sevika reached over and pulled a bottle of shampoo from the shelf, popping it open with a flick of her thumb.

“Lean back, baby,” she said. “Let me wash your hair.”

You obeyed without question, your head cradled in her hands. Warm water poured gently down from a cup Ambessa passed to her. Fingers moved through your hair, massaging your scalp with care that almost made you tear up. It was so different from how they'd treated you hours earlier.

“You always take care of me after,” you whispered, eyes closed, voice soft and thick with affection. “Even when you’re mad.”

“We’re not mad,” Sevika said after a moment. “We were… worried.”

Ambessa spoke next. “People look at you. They want what’s ours. You know that.”

You swallowed and nodded, this time more firmly. “Okay. I'll be more careful.”

Ambessa kissed your wet cheek, and Sevika leaned in too, pressing her lips to your collarbone. You were sandwiched between strength and fire, yet wrapped in so much love

“Let’s get out before the water gets cold,” Ambessa murmured after a few minutes, brushing your shoulder. “Come on, pretty girl.”

She stood first, pulling herself out of the tub with ease, her glistening figure a tower of power and grace. Sevika followed next, then reached down to help you up gently. You stood shakily, both of them instantly bracketing your sides with hands on your waist, keeping you upright. Wrapped in warm towels, they led you back to bed, laying you down in the soft sheets as if you were something sacred.

And maybe to them, you were.

[dameronspector]

Challengers: Avengers Edition (Part 3)

Pairings: Joaquin Torres x Fem!Stark!Reader (Established Relationship); Bob Reynolds x Fem!Stark!Reader

Summary: Sam decides to sue, Sam and Bucky are being angsty for no reason, Bob finally talks to Yelena and Bucky, you get invited to a gala and and Joaquin is a lil upset.

Warnings: Fuff, Banter, Angst, Cameos, Joaquin loves Reader a LOT, Joaquin being a cutie, Poor Bob suffers :(,CAUTION: Mentions of Bob’s Addiction, Drugs and Mental Illnesses, Graphic discussion of Bob's withdrawals from drugs and his past, the Void demeans Bob, I am NOT romanticizing pre!serum Bob. He is depicted to have an unhealthy/codependent attachment and that is NOT romantic. Valentina is a piece of shit, SO much Yearning and Longing from Bob, SamBucky are dads and cough best friends, Jealous!Joaquin, Jealous!Bob, Reader is oblivious as hell because she has eyes for Joaquin only, Reader is mentioned to have hair long enough to be let down loose, thats all i think! Let me know if i should add something else!

Also, sorry if the timeline is a lil confusing :(

AN: just watched Ironheart, you guys, PLS WATCH THE SHOW! its sooo good and riri my girl is just amazing! please support dominique! <3

"So...we're definitely suing."

Sam announced as he entered the living area, where all of you were lounging around.

Kamala and Kate were sitting on the bean bags, huddled over a laptop as they watched a show, Scott was scavenging in the pantry for something to eat, Carol had decided to busy herself with digging up some more dirt on Valentina, sitting at the dining table, while Joaquin laid his head on your lap, your soft hand buried in his curls, other hand holding a book. His eyes were closed, hands folded on his chest, light snores leaving his mouth.

All of you, minus Joaquin, looked up in shock.

"What...do you mean?", you asked nervously.

Sam rubbed his eyes.

"Well, they're not ready to expose her themselves. He said their hands are under a rock and that they really cannot do anythin'."

You bit your tongue to avoid blurting out that you and Joaquin knew this already.

"What's next?", Kate asked.

"We'll contact our lawyers right away. I'm not letting that woman think ahead of us for even a second. I've talked to Jennifer already, said she'll meet me tonight. Carol, you're comin' with me", he sighed.

Carol simply nodded her head.

"I feel like I'm getting a deja vu", Scott quipped with his mouth stuffed with Oreos.

"Did Mr. Stark and Steve fight like this, (Name)?", Kamala asked you in curiosity, side eyeing Sam nervously.

You looked at Sam who shook his head in dejection.

"Yes, but worse, because they wouldn't hear each other out", you answered her lowly. Sam sighed.

"Alright, It's nearing 6, so you", he pointed at Kamala, "need to get back, before your mom calls us all."

Kamala’s eyes widened before she pulled up Kate, and they left in a hurry, throwing a quick ‘Bye’ over their shoulders. Carol was staying back because she had to go meet Jennifer with Sam, while Scott left shortly as he had a date with Hope.

Now that the base was empty, you decided to finally have a talk with Sam.

You watched him walk around the sofa and join Carol at the dining table, discussing something with her. Dog-earing your book, you laid it on the couch next to you, gently lifting Joaquin’s head off your lap and putting a pillow under him. His eyebrows scrunched up a little before he curled on his side, crossing his arms sighing sleepily.

You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead before standing up and approaching Sam.

“Guys?”

He turned around, frowning at the nervous look on your face, “Yeah?”

“Um-Carol, I’m so sorry, but I need to talk to Sam about something. Would you mind if I steal him for sometime?”, you requested her, not wanting to make her feel left out.

She smiled, “Yeah, of course. Please, go ahead. I need to read this file anyways.”

Sam and you walked over to his personal office, where he stared at you like he’d already read your mind.

“Spit it out, Stark”, he quipped, a small smirk tugging at his lips. You looked at him and covered your face with your hands.

“You’re gonna hate me”, you groaned.

“What?”, Sam stood up straight.

You removed your hands from your face and put them on your hips instead, chewing on the inside of your cheek before spilling everything.

“Uh-Joaquin and I went to the Tower yesterday.”

Sam paused, his eyes wide in disbelief, “You did what?”

“…yeah”, you grimaced.

And Sam spiralled, just a little, out of worry for you two, his eyes wide and face slack.

“Kid, I told y’all not to do this one thing, specifically. What goes on- why did ya’ll even go there? And did anybody see you? Hold on, did Valen-”

“Hey, relax. Nobody saw us, I promise, Sam. We went through the launch pad, so, no security or media people saw us. And no, Valentina wasn’t there either, so don’t worry”, you consoled him.

Sam rubbed a hand down his face, “That doesn’t make it any better, what if they use this against us? What if they’re all going to provoke Valentina against us? This changes everything about the case and now the two of you are caught in the between-”

“Sam-Sam!”, you called him out loudly, holding his flailing hands in yours to ground him.

“I know, we don’t know the team properly, but I swear, they all want Valentina to fall, just as much as we do.”

Sam frowned, “What?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what Bucky told you but he’s right, they’re all lost. She’s holding them hostage and manipulating the Bob guy, who was responsible for the whole black out thing”, you squeezed his hands earnestly.

“That’s…yeah, he did say that. What else do you know? You talked to all of ‘em?”, he murmured.

You released his hands and tugged your cardigan sleeves over your hands.

“Most of it was just her manipulating and threatening to expose them. She’d reintroduce all the omitted information from their files, that could turn them into convicted criminals again, if they disobeyed her.”

You swallowed thickly before continuing, “And this Bob guy…Sam, he’s got a heavy past. Drug addict along with a long history of mental illness. Which is why he’s been so unstable and she’s been using him as a weapon. That blackout thing? That was due to a depressive episode that Valentina forced onto him”, you solemnly relayed the information to Sam, who just frowned harder.

“Has she lost her damn mind? She should be put behind the bars for abetting someone, add the scammy stuff later”, he muttered in disbelief.

You pursed your lips, “I know. She’s a fucking leech.”

Sam furrowed his brows. He couldn’t believe this woman had the audacity to groom a mentally ill person to be an indestructible weapon and worsen their condition.

“And no, we didn’t get to talk to them properly, but they seemed pretty over it. Bucky said he’ll talk to them. Did he tell you anything about it?”

Sam snorted humourlessly, “It was just a whole lotta ‘I don’t know, man’, ‘I’m sorry, Sam’, ‘I can’t do anything except wait’”.

That tracks. He’d said the same to you.

“Yeah. He said the same to us. Honestly, you guys are worse than my dad and Steve”, you huffed.

“Excuse me?”, Sam quirked an eyebrow.

“At least those two fought and yelled at each other. You guys don’t even do that. It’s just endless pining and yearning”, you quipped, pretending to look at your nails.

Sam sputtered, “Wh-Wait. No. That’s not what’s happening-”

“Okay, okay, Cap. I got you”, you chuckled, choosing to go easy on the man. Sam glared at you, his face could radiate steam if it could, because he was positively flustered.

“Alright, listen. Here’s what we’re doing next. We have to get the team on our side first. Build the rapport and trust, and then, make them testify against Valentina. She’s holding them hostage anyways, so it’s not like we are lying about it”, you suggested.

Sam nodded solemnly, “Yeah. I was thinkin’ of meeting the rest but I dunno how, without raising a few eyebrows.”

You folded your arms across your chest, “Don’t worry about that. We’ll figure something out. Valentina loves the whole parade. She will probably arrange a gala or a party for the team so that all the big shots visit her.”

“You think she’ll invite us?”, he raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, I’m sure she will. She wants you to see all of this, rub it in our faces and all that crap. But before that happens, we need to file this case, Sam.”

He nodded, “Yeah, of course. Gonna insist Jennifer and might even meet up with Murdock. We need all hands on deck.”

“That’s good”, you nodded before perking up, “Would you mind, if I suggested you to meet up with her at a different place?”

Sam frowned, “I mean, no, but why?”

You chewed on your lip, “I don’t trust her. At all. If you’re gonna meet at a bustling place, she’s probably gonna keep an eye on you. You’d have to take a trip but, it’s important.”

“Yeah, okay, go on.”

“So, dad had this hide out kinda thing. In Virginia. It’s fully surveilled with high tech security, I’ll manage it myself and FRIDAY has access, too. It’s better if all the meetings related to this case take place there. I don’t want you, Jennifer or Carol risking your own assets or lives for this.”

“That makes sense, yeah. Sure”, Sam nodded.

“I’ll send a car to pick up Jennifer. You guys will be okay?”, you inquired.

“No no, we’re good. Virginia’s not that far from here and I know a route, so we’ll be fine. Thanks, kid”, Sam patted your shoulder, a soft smile tugging at lips because he couldn’t help but see your father in you. They had their differences, but Tony Stark was always the first in line to help his team.

You flashed him a sincere smile before turning serious again, glossy eyes looking up at him with so much trust.

“Sam, if there’s any two people, in this whole world who can get through this, it’s you and Buck. You’re not like my dad or Steve. What you have is special. You’re each other’s family. It doesn’t matter that you’re the leaders of two different teams, the two of you will always, always find a way. Please remember that. We need you two to come together for this. And it will happen if you guys just..talk.”

Sam tilted his head, eyes shining with longing and something else.

“I asked Bucky the same, and now I’m asking you the same thing. Promise me, that the two of you will fix this, together”, you croaked.

Sam looked at you for a moment before brushing his hand across your back soothingly, a wet smile spreading on his lips.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I promise.”

You exchanged sad smiles, bringing up a hand to wipe your eyes when there was a knock on the door to the office.

“Bet it’s your clingy boyfriend”, Sam teased.

You snorted, wiping your eyes on your sleeves before Sam walked over to the door, revealing a half awake Joaquin, his hair was mussed with sleep and plaid shirt wrinkled from the tossing and turning.

He looked so warm and cosy, it took everything in you to not tackle him in a hug.

“Good morning, sunshine”, Sam boomed, wrapping an arm around Joaquin’s shoulders and hiding you from his view.

You pursed your lips to stop yourself from laughing out loud.

“Hi….where’s-where’s (Name)”, his sleepy voice cracked as he spoke, a hand rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“She went back at her apartment, man. Said she’d let you sleep for sometime”, Sam teased further. He knew exactly how Joaquin would get clingy and snappy after he woke up and how he’d relax only if you were with him.

That seemed to have snapped him out of his sleep, his back suddenly straightened up in attention, a sad little pout tugging his lips down. As if someone stole his candy.

“Wait, she left? Without me? I was supposed to drop her home, bro. We were gonna go on a grocery run and I was gonna help her with dinner, and I—”

You giggled loudly, both of the men whipped their heads behind to look at you.

Sam in amusement, Joaquin in disbelief.

And then Joaquin grumbled, Sam shaking his shoulders while cackling.

“Oh man, you’re so whipped. I’m never letting you live that down, by the way. You should’ve seen your face!”, Sam wheezed, leaning against Joaquin, who was still grumbling, a whine leaving his mouth.

“Stop it. You guys are the worst”, he groaned loudly and rubbed his face with his hands. You pouted.

“Alright. Alright. I gotta go. You guys can stay if you wanna. It’s too late to go back, anyways. (Name), please look into picking up Jennifer, yeah?”, Sam instructed and squeezed Joaquin’s shoulders.

You nodded and Sam murmured a ‘Bye’ to Joaquin, before leaving.

Joaquin scrunched his nose before bee lining towards you, strong arms going around your waist and head buried in your neck. Letting a smile pull at your cheeks, you bring your arms around his back, smoothing your palms over the wide expanse, feeling his muscles move underneath them as your head leaned against his temple.

“Good nap?”, you asked quietly.

His warm breath hit your chest, soft curls tickling your jaw as he nodded in affirmation.

“Missed you though. Why’d you leave me alone”, you could practically hear the pout in his scratchy voice. You sighed.

“Sorry, baby bird. I needed to tell Sam about everything that happened yesterday.”

That got his attention, pulling back from your neck to look at you, arms still caging you in his embrace, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

“Oh, damn. How’d it go?”

You busied yourself with straightening his collar while filling him in.

“Well, Bucky called him. Said the same things he said to us. They must’ve had a disagreement because the first thing Sam said after the call, was that we’re definitely suing. So he’s gone to meet Jennifer Walters right now, with Carol. I decided to tell him everything before he found out from someone else.”

Joaquin’s eyes widened, “Please tell me he’s not grounding us.”

You huffed a laugh, rubbing his chest soothingly, “No, I handled it and told him that we had it in control.”

Joaquin breathed a sigh of relief, before you continued.

“So now we gotta wait till Valentina announces a gala or a party or something, which she will definitely do because-”,

“She’s an attention seeker”, Joaquin deadpanned, squeezing your waist, jaw clenched in annoyance.

You snorted, “Exactly. And she’ll definitely invite us, or Sam, at least. I’ve requested him to keep in contact with Bucky and sort out whatever they’ve got going on. We need all of them on our side, and to testify against that woman. Sam has agreed to all of this, thankfully.”

Joaquin smiled in relief.

“That’s good. You’re good. You’re so smart, baby”, he praised, brown eyes oozing with love and pride.

You blushed, ducking your head to avoid his intense eye contact, “Shut up.”

Joaquin laughed and pulled you closer, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead, enveloping you in a warm hug, both of you unaware of the storm brewing back at the Tower.

-

Yesterday

Bucky and Yelena speed walked towards Bob’s room, the only place where he could be in their absence.

The conference had taken longer than expected, all of them were a cranky and tired mess by the second half. Now they just couldn’t even bear to see each other’s faces or talk to anybody.

But Yelena reminded him of Bob. The events that took place during the day, your arrival, Bucky’s emotional conversation with you and Joaquin, and Bob’s sudden attraction to you, and they immediately got to work, leaving behind the other three to quickly check on the golden boy, who was still in his room, they assumed.

They exchanged a worried look before Yelena opened the door carefully, making sure to make minimal noise so as to not freak the boy out.

The room was dark. The only light that came in, was the moonlight, coating the room in a dark blue hue, highlighting a large lump on the bed, curled up in a fetal position.

For a second, they worried that the Void was out again, both of their hearts thundering against their ribs. Bucky slowly made his way towards the side table, flicking on the lamp that perched on it.

The lamp coated the room in a golden glow, finally shedding some light on the large form resting atop the bed—Bob. Just Bob. No jet black shadow covering him.

Letting out a sigh of relief, Yelena rounded the corner and sat on the opposite side, observing Bob’s sleeping face closely.

“Just asleep”, Yelena murmured, making Bucky unclench his fists.

“Should we wake him up?”, he rasped.

Yelena thought about it for a moment, before nodding hesitantly.

“Yeah. It’s been a while since we left, anyway. If we don’t talk now, we’re gonna keep delaying it and he’ll keep avoiding it.”

Bucky pursed his lips before nodding in approval, letting her do the job of waking Bob up.

Yelena gently placed her hand on his shoulder, shaking him carefully like she was handling a bomb waiting to go off.

“Bob? Wake up, c’mon”, she shook his arm.

A breath left his nose, eyebrows twitching before he suddenly jerked, eyes whipping open in a sudden manner.

Yelena jumped, raising her hands in a surrender manner, Bucky made himself more visible to Bob so as to not scare him further.

“It’s okay, it’s just us. Yelena and Bucky. You’re okay”, Yelena’s raspy voice soothed him.

Bob blinked a few times before sitting up, hands rubbing his eyes to clear his vision of the bleariness. He swallowed thickly, trying to forget the very realistic memory he’d had of you, before clearing his throat.

“H-hey guys. You’re back. That’s..that’s nice. What’s the time?”

“It’s past 9pm, kid. Did you have dinner?”, Bucky asked softly, his voice coated in concern.

Bob furrowed his brows, “9 pm? Damn, I-I don’t know when I dozed off…and no, I didn’t have dinner yet”, he sheepishly admitted, hands playing with the edges of his sleeve.

Honestly, he was still out of it. He wasn’t sure when he’d fallen asleep, half expecting to have an episode but surprisingly his body had fallen into a slumber.

“That’s okay. We’ll order somethin’ for you”, Yelena offered, exchanging a look with Bucky, who was already ordering some burgers and fries for Bob, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Oh. That’s nice of you. Thank you”, Bob gave them one of his crooked smiles, one that was teetering between a frown and a smile.

Yelena gave him a tight lipped smile before deciding to ask away.

“Bob, we need to talk.”

He tensed up, eyebrows shooting up in fear, a few strands of brown curls framing his eyes, “Wait, what-what did I do? Did the-did the other guy show up again? I’m sorry, it’s just, not been a good day and I-”

“Hey, hey, hey. Relax. It’s nothing like that”, Bucky placated, a hand held out to stop Bob’s ramblings.

Bob’s mouth fell open in disbelief, glassy eyes switching between the two figures in front of him.

“So-what is it..?”, he asked hesitantly.

Yelena gave him a sympathetic look, deciding to ask him directly in that straight forward way she does, “Bob…what happened with (Name)? Why were you acting so…weird?”

Bob froze. Blood rushed to his ears as everything came running back to him. Your face. Your voice. His sudden possessiveness. His jealousy towards Joaquin.

You and Joaquin together.

Bob clenched his jaw, leaning away from Yelena and averting his gaze from both of the assassins in shame and anger—towards himself and towards the situation.

“Nothing”, he simply murmured, closing his eyes tightly to get rid of the voices and images of Joaquin’s hands on you.

Yelena frowned, Bucky shook his head.

“It’s not nothing. You were practically staring holes into Joaquin, I saw your eyes glow golden as well. You looked at her like-like she’s some kinda ghost. Or a god. And you’ve been asleep for what? Almost 8-9 hours? Don’t lie, kid”, Bucky conceded firmly, his voice taking the shape of a tired and worried father.

At hearing Joaquin’s name, Bob’s jaw clenched tighter, somehow. That same green monster clawing his way up his throat.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like he wasn’t being a dick to me”, he scoffed, looking at Bucky incredulously, a strange attitude overtaking him.

Bucky quirked an eyebrow while Yelena’s mouth fell open.

“This! You’re being aggressive, again! What’s with this attitude, Reynolds?”, she cried out, folding her hands across her chest.

Bob narrowed his eyes, those golden tendrils shimmering behind his irises again, “So I shouldn’t defend myself when someone’s being an asshole to me?”

Her eyes widened, looking at Bucky for help, who just scoffed in disbelief.

“Not when you’re ogling said person’s girlfriend like he wasn’t standing in front of you. Not when you’re poking at him for simply standing next to his girlfriend, Bob.”

That struck Bob straight, wincing as if the jab had hit him directly in the chest, shrinking into his skin once again, blue eyes focused onto his fingers picking the skin around his nails in nervousness.

He knew he was acting strange. He knew he was provoking Joaquin for no reason. And he knew he had no right to feel so possessive over you. All of it was wrong and shameful.

But he just couldn’t help it.

Not when you were no less than a god, as Bucky had mentioned, to him.

As damaged as he was, he had feelings too. Real, raw, human feelings.

“S-sorry. I just…I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry. Really sorry”, he whispered with his eyes shut tightly, making him see stars behind his lids as his hands kept picking at each other.

“See? You’ve once again managed to ruin everything….”

That voice was back again. Bob shook his head in denial.

Concerned, Yelena put her hands on his fidgeting ones, separating them before holding them tightly to ground him.

“It’s okay, Bob. We want to help you. But we can’t if you don’t tell us what’s happening. Is there something you’d like to share?”, she gently prodded, bending slightly to look at him.

He still wouldn’t meet her eyes, lips quivering with the sob he was holding in.

Bucky sighed sadly, “Bob…do you like (Name)? If that’s the case, then, I’m sorry to tell you but, she’s already-”

A few tears escaped Bob’s eyes, face scrunched up in pain before he decided to correct Bucky, unable to hold it in any longer.

"You don't get it", he whispered, cutting off Bucky, who paused.

"What do you mean?", Yelena asked from his right, a hand coming up to rest on his shoulder.

They were going to find out someday. It’s not like he wasn’t obvious or anything.

“…I love her”, he finally answered, his voice a weak and tired variant of itself.

The room was suddenly too quiet. Bob swore he could hear the rustle of the mattress and the traffic below. Bucky's mouth hung open as he stared at Bob blankly and Yelena decided to break the silence by blurting out, "What?"

Bob winced again, removing his hands from Yelena's grip.

"That's-you don't even know her, Bob. You just met her. That's not possible", Bucky reasoned, a frown tugging at his already stressed face, the lines next to his eyes more prominent due to the low light in the room.

Bob's jaw ticked, a bitter taste lingering in his mouth as he mulled over Bucky's words. Even though he was right, he didn't know how you were an anchor for Bob. How he'd decided to get his shit together after learning about you. How Angela would convince him to get better by talking about you and your philanthropy. How he'd seen all of your speeches and talks on his friend's borrowed computer and on Angela's TV, who purposefully set it to your interviews when he would stumble into her shop.

Did he know you personally? No.

Had you changed his life? Yeah. In more than one way.

When he had nobody who stuck around in his life, your face and voice was a constant. You were The (Name) Stark, with a face as radiant as the sun, who was incredibly resilient and courageous and with a heart made of gold, and yeah, you didn't even deserve someone like him. But he was sure that if he ever tried to talk to you, just as a friend, you'd never disappoint him like the others did. The others who left him when it got tougher.

Maybe he was being parasocial. But how would he know the answers to his questions, if nobody gave him a chance to even talk to you? Even a 'thank you' would suffice, he thought. But he couldn't deny the pull he felt towards you any longer. Even being in your orbit was nothing short of an honor for him.

"You don't get it, Bucky. She's-she's saved me. When I had no one, I had her voice to keep me grounded. Even before reaching the lab, I had borrowed a phone, from someone. I used to listen to her speeches every day. On repeat. I'd throw it aside when the withdrawals would start. But I'd feel this...this hole in my chest, craving her voice just as badly as the drugs. And sometimes...sometimes I'd cry my eyes out while I withered on the ground. But my earphones would always play her voice", Bob's voice cracked as he confessed.

Bucky and Yelena were stunned into silence.

The fact that Bob was aware of you before coming here. And unknowingly, you'd played a vital part in his life and where he was today, was so shocking that Bucky stared at Bob's tearful face dumbly while Yelena felt her own eyes water, head turned towards the side to hide her tears.

"I told myself, if I get to meet her, I'm thanking her. For just…being there, even if she wasn’t there physically. For her speeches and work. But...when I saw her, in person today...I realised that...it wasn't just a stupid crush or-or some weird codependent attachment. Her entire energy, the way she holds herself, it's so powerful. I-I haven't been with someone in a long time", he scoffed humourlessly, "Not that anybody wanted a fuckin' mess like me. But, maybe that's why I sort of, fell hard for her. She's been the only constant in my life for the past 5 years."

Bob wiped his tears with his sleeves, nose tinged red and eyes swollen.

"That's why I was also being an asshole to...to Joaquin. The whole 'I know her longer than he does' shit. Even though, as Bucky said, I don't know her, technically", he croaked shamefully, red dusting his cheeks.

Yelena sniffled and Bucky opened and closed his mouth like a fish, unable to take in all of this.

It was a lot. He's getting too old for a love triangle in his own family. And his heart also breaks for Bob. If you and Joaquin weren't, quite literally, each other's soulmates, then maybe it would've worked out. You'd get along with Bob just fine.

But that wasn't the case, and now there were two separate teams as well, so Bucky wasn't sure how to handle this without further breaking Bob's heart.

Because Bucky was sure that Joaquin, being as stubborn and steadfast he was, was absolutely not going to let Bob try anything. Let alone talk to you. Especially not after the intense show down between the two men. Bucky almost groaned at the fact that this was just going to worsen the situation between the teams even more.

Letting out a big sigh, he sat down in front of Bob, elbows braced against his knees as he carefully chose his words.

"Look, Bob...I understand. You knowingly or unknowingly imprinted on her, and you were so used to being the only one who listened to her, that you feel a little disoriented now that your bubble is burst. I get that. But...", he sighed again, "Kid, it's just, not gonna be easy, I'm not gonna lie to you. At least, not as peacefully as you're hoping for it to go. Joaquin is...he's very protective of her and vice versa. And they're literally made for each other."

Bob clenched his jaw harder, the lump in his throat making it harder to swallow. Why was Bucky cutting a deeper wound into his already broken heart?

"So, whatever you do, don't go around picking a fight with him unnecessarily. We're already in a sensitive situation, yeah?", Bucky softly added, trying to be as gentle as he could be.

Bob's vision blurred with tears before he nodded tersely, bringing a hand up to wipe at his eyes and push back his curls.

"Bob", Yelena's scratchy voice brought his attention back to her. He looked up at her hesitantly. Her eyes were bloodshot.

"We know this will be difficult for you. Maybe in ways that is beyond our understanding. But, please, for your sake, talk to me or Bucky next time. Or...maybe we can start your therapy sessions soon? If that's okay with you?", she offered carefully, eyes trained on his every move.

Bob bit his lip, mulling over her words. Therapy didn't sound that bad, honestly. At least, he'd use all the free time to work on himself instead of withering away.

"Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good. I-I can go to therapy", he admitted, nodding in agreement.

Yelena let out a sigh of relief and Bucky gave him a rare, kind smile, one that Bob had only ever seen on the super soldier's face when he was with you.

The thought almost made him smile. You had a way around making people comfortable.

"I'll talk to my therapist. She might recommend someone fit for you. You can take a trial session and the rest is your decision. That okay?", Bucky suggested.

"Yes. That's okay. Thanks, guys", Bob finally gave them a weak smile, cheeks glistening with tear tracks under the yellow light of the lamp.

Maybe, Bob could get over this. And he prayed he wouldn't see you anytime sooner, either.

-

Minutes after he'd finished his meal, Valentina had called for an emergency meeting. At 11 pm.

Why? Because that attention seeker had decided that she wanted to throw a Gala for the team. 'For the team' was just an excuse, she just wanted to show off. Show off her wealth, show off her so called team and her nonexistent efforts and how she's the new 'saviour' of the American people.

It was all a load of crap, honestly.

But she wanted to host a Gala and she was going to host it by the end of this week. And guess whom she wanted needed to attend this gala?

Sam Wilson. And you.

"We're not doing this", Bucky seethed, fists clenched tightly in anger. He still hadn't talked to Sam, like he'd promised you. And now, Valentina wanted to do this?

He couldn't imagine how betrayed Sam would feel, if he found out that Bucky had purposefully kept information from him. As if he wasn't on thin fucking ice already.

Valentina smirked, "Listen up, Barnes. I don't remember asking for your permission. It's my money. My team. I can do whatever the hell I want to."

Bucky clenched his jaw, the rest of the team glared at Valentina, except Bob, who had a faraway look in his eyes.

"Anyways, there's gonna be investors, shareholders, some of the richest people in attendance, including a real Captain America and our resident billionaire Stark heir. You guys better behave and keep up my reputation, hm?", she announced absently while flicking through her Ipad, Mel looking at her in confusion.

John scowled at the Captain America jab, Alexei's eyes kept jumping between Bucky's tensed body and Valentina's unbothered one like he was at a tennis match, Ava and Yelena exchanged glances before Yelena looked at Bob, who was restlessly moving around in his seat, itching to correct Valentina on her comment on you.

Yelena grabbed his arm firmly, tersely shaking her head 'no'. Bob bit the inside of his cheek to keep quiet.

"And oh, don't you dare invite them on my behalf, Bucky. We will be drafting a sweet and sophisticated invite, okay?", she gave him a sickly sweet smile. Bucky sneered.

"I'm not listenin' to-"

"You want me to release that footage from 10 years ago? Where you almost killed your best friend, who was also Captain America, on that helicarrier?", she narrowed her eyes.

Bucky froze, his vibranium arm whirring from how tightly he was clenching his fists, a mist covering his eyes.

Valentina smiled in victory.

"That's what I thought. Anyways! We'll keep you updated on the group chat. You'll get a phone soon, Robert, do stay active on the chat. Don't miss any texts and we'll have stylists over to give you all a makeover. I don't trust you all to turn up decently", she grimaced.

John yawned while Alexei was already napping on the desk, burly body leaned over his arms entirely, snores leaving his mouth. Valentina rolled her eyes at this.

"Yeah, fine, Jesus. You're dismissed", she waved them off, walking out of the room with Mel in tow.

"It would take one swipe. That's all. Then she'll be gone", Ava casually mentioned.

"Count me in on that. Anyways, I'm heading to bed. I don't have the energy for this", John announced before yawning loudly, trudging away to his room.

Bucky, Yelena and Bob didn't move from their spots, at all. A strange silence and tension seizing their body as they exchanged worrying looks.

Ava noticed, quirking an eyebrow, "What's going on with the three of you?"

Bucky cleared his throat, "Nothin'. Just...fed up with her", he referred to Valentina.

"Yeah, I mean, I don't really like social interactions, so", Bob laughed nervously.

Yelena simply hummed in thought. Ava narrowed her eyes in doubt.

"Uh- I'm going to sleep. Yep. I'm really tired. Yelena, you should wake up Alexei", Bucky coughed, quickly making his way outside, Bob following closely, while Yelena shook Alexei awake and walked out of the room hastily, leaving behind a perplexed Ava, who was not going to live peacefully until she finds out what's up with these three.

So, basically, Bob was not getting over this anytime soon.

Because you would definitely attend the event. And you'd be with The Captain America this time. Just the thought of being around you, dressed in fancy clothes, with the Cap next to you, was enough to make him hyperventilate.

All he could do was pray for a miracle. And that he didn't have one of his extremely high episodes.

But, god, he'd lying if he said that he wasn't excited to see you again.

-

It was the weekend, Sam had surprisingly decided to take a day off, you and Joaquin joining him for lunch at a staple restaurant, catching up with the recruitment process and other life updates over some pasta and drinks.

Sam, was currently telling you all about Riri Williams and her suits, how she'd worked under Princess Shuri and how she just needed some exposure to update her suit.

"I'd love to meet her", you admitted while taking a sip of your cola. The fact that she had benefitted from your dad's grant at MIT and hearing about her potential and intelligence was enough to encourage you to meet her.

Sam gave you a smile, exchanging a look with Joaquin, who was sitting on your right with his shoulder nudging you every now and then.

"I knew you'd say that. Great, I'll ask her to-", he cut himself off as your phones went off at the same time with a text notification.

Furrowing your brows, you looked down at your screen, an unknown number flashed on top of the chat bubble. Joaquin spared a glance at you phone before leaning over to look at Sam's.

"Wait. Is that the same number?", he murmured, cross checking once more.

Frowning, you opened the message and read it out loud for the two of them:

Valentina Allegra De Fontaine and OXE Group invites you for a Gala night to celebrate the New Avengers! Saturday, 7:00 pm, The Watchtower, Manhattan, New York Dress code: Formal PS: Please do not carry any suits or weapons. Invitation limited to you and Sam, exclusively. - Mel Vishwanathan, Secretary to Miss De Fontaine.

"Holy shit", Joaquin cursed.

"Did you get the same text?", you foolishly asked Sam. Sam quickly opened the message and sighed.

"Yep. Copy and paste."

You scoffed, "Knew this was gonna happen. She's too smart for her own good", fiddling with your phone for a moment, furiously typing away.

"How do we know this isn't a trap?", Joaquin asked in curiosity.

You turned your phone to show it to him, "Because it's up on LinkedIn. This is basically an investment and sponsorship event, alright."

Joaquin read the post, which had over 130k likes already, his eyebrows raised in surprise before he passed it to Sam, who whistled lowly.

"Damn. Look at all these people glazin' her up. There's gonna be media and shit too, it'll be a pain in the ass. We'll never get to talk to any of 'em", he shook his head.

You pursed your lips in thought, "Maybe. Not if we separate, though. You take three, I'll take three", you continued before he cut you off, "And you're taking Bucky. I don't care how, but the two of you are talking. That's it."

Sam narrowed his eyes, "You bossin' me around, Stark?"

"That's right, Wilson. This is the only way how a Stark and Captain America team up can work out, remember?", you teased him.

The two of you stared each other down before erupting in giggles.

"Alright, alright, I will. But the moment he's being immature, I'm callin' you in", he proposes.

"I got you, I promise. But he loves you too much to brood for longer, Sammy", you gave him a knowing smile. Sam coughed to hide his.

Next to you, Joaquin was way too quiet. Silently observing the entire conversation with a distant look in his eyes. You quieted down, nudging him to get his attention.

"You good, babe?", your voice took on a soft lilt that it did, whenever you talked to Joaquin. Sam watched him closely.

"Yeah. Just, I'm not invited", Joaquin muttered with thinly veiled irritation, his brows creased, brown eyes looking like pitiful pools of honey as he looked at you knowingly.

You paused, a flash clip of the events that transpired at the Tower playing in your mind, causing you to close your eyes in realisation.

Of course he was apprehensive about this. This meant you'd be around Bob again, and you'd be alone this time, since Sam would be busy with the task at hand.

Sam raised an eyebrow, "I didn't know you wanted to attend Valentina's gala so bad, Joaquin", he joked lightly. He observed your tensed body and Joaquin's clenched jaw, neither of you responding to his joke and that's when he knew there was more to it.

"Okay, one of you better tell me what's goin' on? I feel like I missed a few chapters?", he asked with narrowed eyes.

You glanced at Joaquin, who was still brooding, before letting out a sigh, "Well. Y'know, the Bob guy in their team?"

Sam furrowed his brows in confusion, "Blackout guy? Yeah, Why?"

Joaquin let out a humourless chuckle, "Yeah, he has a damn crush on my girlfriend. That's what happened."

"Joaquin..", you pinched the bridge of your nose.

"Oh, and, he was trying to challenge me or some shit, bro. His eyes were all golden and stuff, as if I was being a hindrance for touching my girlfriend, like, have some class, Jesus", he seethed, getting worked up again.

"And you know what, Sam? He was lookin' at her like I do. Fuckin' stars in his eyes and shit. I can't-"

"Okay, okay. Relax, bird boy. Drink some water", Sam cut him off, an amused smile on his face.

Joaquin almost pouted, leaning back into the seat like a grumpy toddler. You pursed your lips. This was going to be really difficult.

"Guys, c'mon, it can't be that serious. We're not in high school! It's just stupid crush, I bet. And Joaquin, you can stop pouting, it's not exactly her fault that she's a star!", Sam laughed, trying to reason with him. You gave a wary smile at his joke before turning serious again.

"I truly hope it's just a crush. It's going to be a mess to deal with, otherwise..."

Sam gave you a close lipped smile, "Nothing's gonna happen. We'll figure somethin' out if it escalates, yeah?"

"Not before I handle him myself", Joaquin grumbled his breath.

Your eyes widened and you whipped your head around, "Jay, what the hell?"

Sam scoffed, "Easy, tiger. No need to go guns ablazin'. Unless you want another timeout", he warned Joaquin, arms folded across his chest, like a father scolding his son.

That sobered him up. Joaquin sat up straight, glancing at you and Sam briefly, feet scuffing against the floor in embarassment.

"Okay. I'm sorry", he murmured in shame, turning to the side to press a kiss to your shoulder, a soft "'M sorry, baby", spoken into the fabric of your shirt.

You softened up, rubbing a hand down his back. A smile tugged at Sam's lips.

"We'll put you in our comms so that you don't freak out, okay?", Sam suggested. Joaquin nodded in agreement, a hand coming up to rest on your thigh, free hand absently twirling the pasta around his fork.

"Alright, we should inform the team as well. And...maybe I'll call Buck. Let him know beforehand about our plan. That okay?", he asked you.

"Yeah, sounds good. I'll gather some discreet comms that'll stay concealed", you agreed.

"Good", he lowered his voice before continuing, "Also, Shulkie has suggested not to tell them about the entire case just yet. Just to request them to testify. If they ask anything further, we've to ask them to meet personally."

Shulkie was a code name for Jennifer Walters in public, you'd decided.

"Yep, got it, Cap", you affirmed.

"Alright, I need to bounce. I have a meeting with Leila. You guys will be okay?", he glanced at Joaquin, before looking at you knowingly.

Joaquin and you gave him close lipped smiles, Sam taking his leave before clearing the tab. He always treated you two like you were kids on a summer vacation.

You stared at Joaquin's sulking face, hyperfocused on his plate. He did look cute when he was jealous.

"Stop lookin' at me", he grumbled, the natural light filtering through the window making his skin glow, his curls were loose today, falling in ringlets on his forehead and his arms flexed in that gray t shirt he was wearing.

Although his pouting made him look like a chipmunk who had stuffed too many nuts into his cheeks. The thought made you giggle. His nose scrunched up in embarassment.

"Whaaaat, babe, stop", he whined, closing his eyes.

You wordlessly shifted closer, a hand cradling his chin, lips pressed to his cheek lovingly and free arm slinked around his neck.

"You're too cute when you're jealous", you mumbled into his skin and he finally hugged you back, leaning his head into your touch.

He hummed, "I love you, you know that right?", his lips moved against your hair as he spoke.

"Yeah. I know", you reassured, rubbing his shoulder gently, a frown tugging at your lips as you tried your best to hide the sense of dread filling your stomach at the thought of going to the Tower again.

-

Part 4

AN: please let me know if it's still making sense and like and reblog!❤️

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Sorry if I forgot anyone or reply if u wanna be removed from/added to the taglist!

[allthingsfangirl101]

Not Impressed – Tyler Owens

"Explain to me why we drove forty minutes to see a group of storm chasers?" I asked as we finally got out of the car. I instantly stretched, trying to get any relief for my back.

"Only because they are the best!" My friend, Lily, giggled.

"You mean, the hottest," I corrected, sending her a knowing look.

"Tyler Owens is GORGEOUS!" Mandy sighed dramatically.

"Yeah," I scoffed. "And will most likely die, chasing a damn weather report."

"I know how you feel about. . ."

"Don't," I cut off Jess. "You pestered me for days to come here. I'm here. That doesn't mean I have to hop on the same hopeless bandwagon and goo and gaw over these guys."

"You can at least enjoy how sexy Tyler looks," Mandy smirked.

"For the time being," I mumbled under my breath.

Luckily, I was saved by the over-the-top truck and RV pulling into the rest stop/gas station. I honestly had no idea how my friends knew that the YouTube-famous Tornado Wranglers would stop here. These guys may be good at tracking national disasters, but my friends were good at tracking people.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes as my friends started screaming and excitedly jumping up and down. I could only handle their fangirling for so long. To save myself from second-hand embarrassment, I turned on my heel and headed into the gas station.

I absent-mindedly roamed around, grabbing a few snacks and drinks. I checked out and let out a disappointed sigh when I saw my friends still shamelessly flirting with the Tornado Wranglers.

I walked over to the picnic tables and slowly ate some of the snacks. A lot more time passed. I finished the snacks, but stayed at the picnic table. I knew my friends would come and find me when they were ready to leave.

"Hiya, darling."

I looked up from my phone to see the head storm chaser smirking at me. I smiled politely at him before turning my attention back to my phone.

"I'm Tyler," he introduced himself.

"I know," I shrugged, not looking up from my phone.

"Would you like a picture?" He asked, clearly fishing. "Or a signature? Or a shirt?"

I looked up at him with no amusement on my face. "What makes you think I'm here for you?"

"Well. . . You're here and. . ."

"My friends wanted to see you," I clarified as I stood up and threw my trash away in a nearby trash can. "I, unfortunately, was dragged along."

"Unfortunately," he repeated, clearly surprised. "So you're not. . ."

"Impressed that you chase after tornadoes instead of doing something worthwhile with your life?" I taunted. "No, not at all."

* * * * *

I walked out of the motel office and sighed when I saw that tornado chaser and his friends talking in the parking lot. I quickened my step, hoping to go unnoticed.

It didn't work.

"Well, if it isn't Ms. Not Impressed."

"If it isn't Mr. Trying To Kill Himself," I shot back as I kept walking.

"Whoa," he stuttered. "That seems a bit harsh."

I was hoping he'd give up as I jogged up the stairs, but he didn't. "At least tell me your name!" He called after me.

I stopped walking and crossed my arms over my chest. "Why?"

"So I don't have to keep calling you boring nicknames," he tried to flirt. He tried to pout to get me to give in, but it didn't work. What did work was me realizing that he would probably follow me to my room if I didn't tell him.

"Y/N," I said before walking away.

"Now, was that so hard?" He asked as he chased after me.

"It was painful," I mumbled. He started walking with me and kept looking at me as he got closer.

"I'm Tyler," he reminded me.

"Congratulations," I scoffed.

"What's with you?"

I stopped walking and turned toward him. He cleared his throat as he apologized. "I'm sorry. I just. . . I'm not used to women not fawning all over me."

"Hopefully, you've learned something from it."

"Why aren't you swooning?" He asked.

"Seriously?" I scoffed. "Does it matter?"

"Actually," he said, slightly clearing his throat, "it does."

"It's simple," I sighed. "I'm not into your type."

"My type?"

"Adreneline junkies."

"I wouldn't consider myself an adrenenline junkie," he stuttered.

"Adreneline junkies only care about one thing," I scoffed. "The next big chase or jump or whatever. They don't care about the people in their lives. They would happily die chasing the next big thing, not giving a damn about the person they leave behind."

I turned around and started to walk away.

"Wait!" He yelled, chasing after me.

"No," I spun toward him, catching him by surprise. "I will not wait. You know something, Tornado Wrangler, I've been here before. I used to be in love with an adrenaline junkie just like you. And guess what? The adrenaline won. And I had to bury him."

"Oh," he said under his breath. "Y/N. . . I'm sorry. Maybe we could. . ."

"No," I cut him off. "You seem like a decent guy, but I am not getting my heart broken by another adrenaline junkie."

Part 2 Coming Soon

[jut-and-dae-enthusiast]

Calling Them “Oppa” Just to See Their Reaction

(8/8) Jeongin

Warnings: slight angst, Jeongin feels insecure, argument

Note: Thanks for all the love on this series! Excited for the next one :) (also this is my first time writing innie so pls be nice thanks)

Being the maknae had its perks. Jeongin would be the first to admit it. His hyungs doted on him often and he'd be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the attention. But when it came to you, it irked him. He hated when you babied him, even if it was just in a loving way. He would sigh and roll his eyes any time your voice would get high and squeaky.

On those weekends where Jeongin was basically living in the recording studio, you would try to make time to go out with your friends. This particular weekend, your friend group decided to go to your favorite bar. Everything had started out fine- the music was good, the drinks even better. You all were laughing and dancing and having a generally good time until a group of extremely drunk gentlemen wandered in your direction. They were creepy from the start, a little too handsy for any of your liking. You and your friends were trying to leave, but these guys somehow would cut you off and every attempt. Overwhelmed, you pulled out your phone and called the first number in your recent calls.

"Hello?" The Aussie accent rasped over the line, his voice sounding exhausted.

"Hey, Chris. I'm sorry to bother you, but there are some guys who won't let us leave the bar. Can you come help?" Your voice wobbles a bit at the end.

"Of course. I'll be there soon." He agreed and hung up.

Within 20 minutes, you see Chris enter the bar with Changbin and Jeongin following close behind. They scan the room, eyes landing on you as they make their way over. Chris and Changbin are clearly putting on their "tough guy" act, chests puffing out ever so slightly. But Jeongin seems like he's not acting. Like he's truly angry, his jaw ticking as he makes his way over to you. His arm goes around your waist immediately, pulling you close to his side as the two of you follow everyone else out. His eyes shoot daggers at the drunk guys who are now slumped against a table. They yell out something, but you can't hear them over the sound of the music. When you get to the sidewalk, you lean your head into your boyfriend and sigh.

"Thanks for coming, Baby." You smile up at him, but when he looks down at you, his eyes are narrow.

"We'll uh, make sure everyone else gets home safe, yeah? Seems like you two need to talk." Chris looks between the two of you and nods. You agree, sighing softly as you watch them all walk away. The walk to Jeongin's car was quiet, his irritation radiating off of him. Once inside the car, you reached for his hand.

"Are you upset, love...?" You ask softly, and he scoffs, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, you noticed? Yeah- I'm more than upset; I'm pissed." His grip tightens on your hand ever so slightly. "Why didn't you call me?" He inhales deeply through his nose, his eyes trained on something far away.

"I was just panicking and-"

"And you called the manliest person you could think of?"

"Baby, that's not-"

"Even though I'm your boyfriend, I wasn't the first person you thought of when you needed help. You always do this, Y/N. You treat me like I'm some little baby- do you know how awful that feels?" He sighs deeply and shakes his head, looking down. "I want you to see me as a man. I want you to know you can rely on me in situations like this. God I just... You make me feel so insecure. Like, I'm not enough just because you're a little older." Even though he's upset, his hand never leaves yours. His emotions are raw, straight from the heart. You give his hand an assuring squeeze and nod.

"I'm so sorry, honey. I had no idea you were feeling like this. I'll be more mindful going forward, okay?" You speak softly, wanting to honor his vulnerability. He turns his head ever so slightly to look at you and nods, the smallest smile starting to grow on his face.

About a week later, the two of you were out to dinner. Coordinated outfits, fancy meal, soft candle light. It was a dream, honestly. You were fixing your hair, looking at it scrutinizingly in your pocket mirror as you waited for your food. Jeongin quietly watched you from across the table, smiling softly to himself.

"Oppa, does my hair look okay?" You asked, glancing over at him. He blinked once. Then again. After the third blink, pink began to bloom on his cheeks.

"What?" Was all he could muster. You chuckle; his reaction is amusing enough for you to say it again.

"I asked if my hair looked okay. Oppa, are you even listening?" You smirk, giving his hand a squeeze. He breathes out a laugh and nods heartily.

"Your hair looks perfect, baby. Always does." Something about the way he speaks shows how pleased he is. His chest puffs out a little, his entire posture changing ever so slightly. A level of confidence that you've only seen from him on stage suddenly emanates from him. If something as simple as calling him "oppa" makes him feel this way, you would gladly call him such every single day.

Thanks so much for reading! Be sure to like and reblog if you enjoyed :)

[anastasiareadsnwrites]

Hi hi! Can I request something with anthony bridgerton x top male reader? Things getting heated between him and reader and him being a little tiny bit scared/hesitant bc of reader's size (I mean in both height and u know what...)

Eat Your Young ( Anthony Bridgerton x Top! Male! Reader)

Author's note: Very McSteamy, honestly I'm so sorry for the delay. And everything I'm really trying to get my requests down and most certainly a good idea

Summary:Anthony Bridgerton finds himself drawn to a taller, more dominant male reader. What starts as tension turns into something deeper as they share an intimate night together—full of hesitation, trust, and slow-burning passion.

Warning(s):Explicit sexual content, size kink, light size difference anxiety, emotional vulnerability, consensual intimacy, male x male.

The MAIN Masterlist

The Bridgerton Masterlist

It started with a glance.

Not just any glance-one that lingered just a second too long, one that was laced with the unspoken. One that should have been forgotten, ignored, brushed off like the hundred others that passed between lords and ladies at any given ball. But this? This was different.

Anthony Bridgerton, Viscount and head of his family, prided himself on control. Poise. Measured reactions. He was not one to be caught staring.

And yet, there he was-shoulders tight beneath his fine waistcoat, jaw subtly flexing, dark eyes trailing the towering figure across the room. You. Taller than most, confident in the way you carried yourself, and with a voice smooth enough to slip under skin and settle deep in the marrow.

You had noticed him, of course. Everyone did. But unlike everyone else, you didn't fawn. You didn't flirt. You didn't try to corner him with flattery or conversation. You simply looked at him.

Like you knew him. Like you knew what he needed.

And that unsettled him.

The tension build over weeks. Subtle touched, fleeting glances, the occasional brush of fingers at the card table, or a barely-there press of your palm at the small of his back during a passing moment. It was enough to drive anyone mad. Enough to drive him mad.

And one evening, after too many drinks and too little resistance, he found himself alone with you.

The drawing room door clicked shut behind him, sealing him in with the weight of everything unspoken. The air was heavy-thick with expectation. He stood near the fireplace, hands clasped tightly behind his back, trying desperately not to show the way his breath had quickened.

You approached slowly, your height casting a shadow across him as you stepped into his space. He looked up at you-eyes sharp but flickering, uncertain. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quieter than you expected.

"You know this is... foolish," he said, though he didn't move away.

You didn't respond right away. You didn't need it. Your gaze alone was enough to make him shift-his fingers flexing at his sides, his breath hitching slightly as you stepped even closer.

"Is it?" you finally asked, voice low and calm, dipping into something darker.

Anthony's lips parted, but whatever retort he had planned died on his tongue as your hand lifted-slow, deliberate-and brushed along his jawline. His eyes fluttered shut for half a second, then opened, wide and uncertain.

He could feel the difference in you. The strength behind your touch. The ease in which you loomed over him. There as no malice in it-only power. Confidence. It was intoxicating.

And terrifying.

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, eyes darting between your mouth and your gaze. He hated how small he felt. How his body betrayed him with every breath, every beat of his heart pounding in his chest like a war drum.

You noticed his hesitation.

You leaned in close, your voice a whisper against the shell of his ear.

"I'd never hurt you," you said. "Unless you wanted me to."

That made him shudder.

His breath came shakier now, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're so-...big."

The confession hung between you, thick and vulnerable. He hadn't meant to say it. Not like that. Not so honest.

You smiled.

"I know," you murmured.

And with that, your hands came to rest on his waist-not forceful, not demanding. Just present. Your touch grounded him. Held him in place when everything inside of him felt like it was spiraling out of control.

He looked up at you again. This time, there was heat behind the fear. A spark. Curiosity. Longing.

And then?

He nodded.

Just once.

The kind of permission that says: I'm scared. But I want this.

And you... you planned to give him everything.

You didn’t rush him.

You never did.

Your hands stayed steady on his waist, not tightening, not pushing. Just there. Grounding. Inviting. Like a silent promise: You lead. I follow.

But Anthony’s breath was ragged, and his eyes were still locked on yours—uncertain, hungry, terrified of that hunger. His hands trembled slightly at his sides until he finally moved one to rest on your chest. His palm was splayed over your heart, and he could feel the steady beat beneath—calm, patient, in sharp contrast to his own.

“You’re dangerous,” he whispered, half a breath, like a confession. “I think you know it.”

“I do,” you murmured, leaning in just enough that your lips brushed the shell of his ear. “But I’d never be dangerous to you, Anthony.”

The sound of his name, spoken so reverently—so intimately—sent something fluttering low in his stomach.

Then your hand slipped into his, fingers weaving together, warm and sure.

“Come with me,” you said, your tone gentle. “We don’t have to do anything. But I want you to feel safe with me. That’s all.”

He hesitated for only a heartbeat.

And then… he followed.

—

The bedroom was quiet. The kind of quiet that thickens the air and makes every breath feel like a weight.

Candles glowed softly, casting amber light over the plush furnishings. The bed was large, and the moment Anthony saw it, he tensed.

You noticed.

“I’m not expecting anything,” you said, voice calm. “We can sit. Talk. Or not.”

But he didn’t let go of your hand.

Instead, he walked to the edge of the bed with you, lowering himself slowly until he sat—his posture still guarded, but his eyes finding yours again. “I’ve never felt… like this before. Like I might come undone just from someone looking at me.”

You stepped in between his knees, gently brushing his hair back with your fingers. He leaned into it instinctively. “That’s not weakness,” you murmured. “That’s trust trying to be born.”

He looked up at you, cheeks flushed. “And if I’m… not ready for all of it?”

“Then I’ll kiss you,” you said softly. “And that’s all I’ll do. Until you ask for more.”

Anthony’s breath caught.

Your words were so simple. So easy. But they cracked something open in him.

“Please,” he whispered.

You leaned down slowly, your lips brushing his. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t ravenous. It was gentle. Soft enough to tremble against. And when he kissed you back, his fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt like he was holding on for dear life.

You took your time. Let the kiss deepen gradually—letting him explore, letting him set the pace. Your hands rested on either side of his thighs, never straying, never rushing. And every time he gasped or tensed, you pulled back just slightly, grounding him with your touch and your voice.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered against his mouth.

His forehead dropped to your shoulder, breath ragged.

“I want you,” he admitted, almost brokenly. “But I’m scared of how much I do.”

You lifted his chin and kissed him again—this time firmer, more possessive, just enough to make him whimper into your mouth. “Then we go slow. Until you’re not scared anymore. And even then, I’ll ask. Every time.”

He shivered.

And that night, in the warmth of your bed, with the world outside forgotten, Anthony Bridgerton didn’t need to be Viscount. Didn’t need to lead. He only needed to feel.

And you made sure he did—every tender stroke, every whispered reassurance, every press of your lips to his skin. You showed him that surrender wasn’t weakness.

It was freedom.

Anthony’s breath was hot against your throat, his hands now clinging to your shirt like a lifeline. The kiss had deepened, grown heavier with want, but there was still that hesitation—an edge of nervousness that lingered in the way he trembled beneath your touch.

You pulled back just enough to look at him.

“Still okay?” you asked, voice husky but gentle.

Anthony nodded, then whispered, “Yes… I just—God, you make me feel so small.”

You smirked faintly and brushed your thumb across his cheek. “That’s not a bad thing. Not when you trust the one holding you.”

He swallowed thickly, eyes dipping downward, unable to meet your gaze for a moment. “It’s not just the height,” he admitted quietly. “It’s all of you. You’re—” he stopped himself, cheeks flushed.

But you understood. Every inch of him was betraying the truth.

“I’ll take my time,” you promised, voice low and commanding, “but I want you to feel it. Every second.”

Then you kissed him again, deeper this time—your tongue sliding into his mouth, claiming, tasting. His lips parted so willingly for you, and the noise he made—half-whimper, half-moan—sent a rush of heat straight through you.

You gently pushed him down onto the bed, watching as his arms gave in and his back met the plush sheets. He looked up at you, wide-eyed, chest rising and falling fast beneath his linen shirt.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmured, fingers undoing the first few buttons.

Anthony flushed deeper. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are,” you cut him off firmly. “And I’m going to show you.”

You took your time undressing him, layer by layer. The way his body shifted under your touch—the soft gasp when your hands brushed along his ribs, the slight arch of his back when your mouth found the skin over his collarbone—made your own restraint waver.

When he was bare beneath you, skin flushed and breathless, you could see the tension in his limbs. The way his thighs tensed, the nervous clench in his hands as he fidgeted with the bedding.

You leaned down, lips brushing just beneath his ear. “Tell me what you want.”

He hesitated, but then, voice tight, he breathed out, “I want to feel you. All of you.”

You kissed the side of his neck, then murmured against his skin, “Then relax for me, sweetheart.”

You let your hand trail lower, slow and measured, down his chest, past his navel, until it ghosted over the hard heat between his thighs. He whimpered—God, that sound—and spread his legs a little wider without even realizing it.

You wrapped your hand around him, firm but teasing, stroking slow. His head tipped back into the pillows, lips parted in a silent cry, chest rising with sharp, shaky breaths.

“That’s it,” you whispered. “Let me hear you.”

He did. Every touch, every stroke had him gasping. When you finally pushed his legs back, opening him up gently, you could see the mix of need and fear in his eyes.

“You’re big,” he whispered again, voice barely there.

You kissed his knee, soothing. “And I’ll go slow.”

You reached for the oil, slicked your fingers, and began with feather-light touches. Teasing first, then pressing just enough to make him moan. You watched his face the entire time—every twitch of his brows, every flutter of his lashes, every breathless gasp.

“You’re doing so well for me,” you said, curling your fingers just enough to have him sobbing your name.

He was already shaking when you pulled back, lined yourself up, and paused.

“I need you to tell me you’re ready,” you murmured, voice tight with restraint.

“I’m ready,” he whispered, gripping your wrists. “Please.”

You pressed in slowly—inch by inch, letting him feel the stretch, the weight, the way your body claimed him. His back arched, legs trembling, mouth falling open in a strangled moan.

“F-Fuck—” he gasped, eyes shut tight.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered again. “Breathe. You’re taking me so well.”

Once you were fully sheathed inside him, you stilled, letting him adjust. He was gripping the sheets now, knuckles white, breath stuttering. You leaned down and kissed his temple, then his mouth, deep and slow, until his breathing evened out again.

And when you moved—slow at first, shallow thrusts—his voice broke around your name.

The rhythm built gradually. He clung to you, wrapped his legs around your waist, moaning into your mouth, gasping with every slow, deep thrust. You could feel the way he trembled beneath you, overwhelmed, split open, undone.

“You feel so good,” you groaned against his neck. “Tight. Perfect. Mine.”

He cried out at that—mine—and it pushed him closer to the edge.

The pace increased, just a little, just enough to make him sob. His body writhed under yours, pleasure and pressure building with every thrust, every whispered word, every kiss you gave him between moans.

When he came, it was with a shattered cry of your name—eyes glassy, mouth open, body clenching so hard around you that it nearly undid you.

You chased your own release with a few more thrusts, burying your face into his neck as you groaned low and deep, letting go with a raw intensity you hadn’t expected.

Afterward, the silence was thick with breath and heat. You didn’t pull away. You stayed wrapped around him, still inside, holding him as his body trembled through the aftershocks.

“Still with me?” you asked, voice hoarse.

He nodded slowly, dazed and flushed, eyes barely open. “Yes. Still… here.”

You kissed his forehead. “That was everything.”

Anthony hummed, nuzzling into your shoulder, weak and boneless and blissfully ruined. “You weren’t lying.”

“About what?”

“You took your time. And made me feel everything.”

[tvrningout-a]

i know that bc i'm tired and hurting, what i'm feeling is amplified, but i just want y'all to know that i'm not trying to avoid talking to anyone ooc. i really wanted today to focus on messages and plots, if i'm honest! but there's certain things going on right now that are kinda taking everything out of me, and it's just so much easier to make a post and maybe reply to a comment -- even those i haven't been great about. but i promise it's not intentional, and more than likely, i'm excited to talk!! i also just feel very exhausted and funky mentally atm. reaching out or replying to messages seems so daunting when i feel like this.

if you're currently waiting on me, thank you for being patient with me, and i'm sorry to make you wait. these moments always pass, so this one will, too! but i'm sorry if it at all feels like i'm ignoring you in the meantime or like i'm hard to connect with.

[umbracirrus]

God some people are just miserable. Can't people just enjoy something for the sake of enjoying it?

[blackbirdffxiv]

(non-XIV, kinda personal venting below I apologize, nothing serious)

So I have a love-hate relationship with social media; I don't mind using it, but I hate how some arbitrary posts that I find come across my feed somehow, whether its tumblr or twitter, but there's one in particular that has bugged me since I saw it.

So I use Ao3 to post my fics from other fandoms, I don't show it on tumblr because I'm not confident enough in my writing to post it in a way where people can put a "face" (digital or otherwise) to my writing because it makes it easier for trolls and rude people to find me. Not the point.

I use Ao3 a lot these days; I read a lot on there. I always give kudos to things I like cuz I like it when someone leaves one on my writings. It gives the happy brain chemicals, and makes all the headaches I had while writing worth it, and makes me happy that despite my lackluster style, people enjoy it.

But a few months ago, I saw this arbitrary tweet about how someone believed that a fic is only considered "adequate" (not their words from the best of my memory, this is based on what I remember) or good to them if there was at least 1 kudos for every 10 views. And for a lot of my more recent works, especially the SFW things, I'm lucky to get double digits with 300 views on the fic.

And now I can't help but think my writing may be bad because its not getting the reception I thought it would. I know, "write for you not for others" but you can't deny it sucks when people don't enjoy your work, or the ones who do don't show they liked it in some way shape or form.

[deepspace-scenarios]

[scenario/drabble] You = me?

LIs react to you/MC showing up to a date dressed exactly like them.

(Genre: Fluff; tw: mild suggestiveness)

SYLUS 

You stroll in with a suit jacket worn exactly the way he does- draped like a cape, the crow brooch glinting under the dim ambient light of the restaurant. Sylus raises a brow as he takes in your appearance.

"Kitten," he purrs, standing to pull out a chair for you. "Are you mocking me… or tempting me?" His fingers brush the brooch. "Because if it’s the latter, this game ends with that outfit on my floor." 

It sends an electrifying heat coiling deep within you, but you refuse to let your composure slip just yet.

You mimic his posture, chin lifted. "I just wanted to see if I could pull off power better than you." 

He laughs, low and indulgent. "Oh, you do."  

___

XAVIER 

Xavier freezes mid-sip when he sees you in his signature hoodie-and-tee combo, the tea hovering in front of his face as he looks, or rather, stares. His cup clinks when he sets it down.

 "You're… me."  

You wink, copying his serene smile and slipping into the seat opposite him. "Do I look like a fallen star now?"  

He reaches out, fingertips grazing the fabric. "No. You look like everything… everything I love,"  

Then- rare mischief flashes. “You'd look even better with me. At my place, in my be-”

“Xavier!” You yelp, stopping him from finishing what he had to say.

He beams at you. “I meant, napping in a hoodie is very comfortable. So we should try it together,”

___

ZAYNE 

Zayne’s chopsticks pause over his plate when you slide into the booth, dressed in his go-to all-black attire.

His stare lingers on you.

 "…You even got the correct height for the rolled sleeves."  

You adjust imaginary glasses. "Based on observational data, this was the optimal outfit for unconventional seduction."  

A beat. Then- he leans in, his voice a whisper. "Your confidence interval is 100%."  

Your heart flutters in your chest at the way a hint of a smirk grazes his lips.

"Let's eat now, otherwise the soup dumplings will get cold." He says lightly to remind you to sit, picking one up with practiced ease and placing it into your bowl.

His gaze for the rest of the evening is weighted with a certain intensity, one that promises more to come, once you return home with him.

___

RAFAYEL

“Hey Rafayel,” you greet, your hand brushing his shoulder lightly as you walk in from behind him. “Sorry I'm late,”

There's a short beat of silence.

Rafayel's butter knife clatters onto the plate. "Is that-? Are you? ME?!"  

You do a spin, the white fabric flowing around you. "Who else?"  

He springs up, hands fluttering over your hair and outfit. "Oh, Miss Bodyguard you look absolutely stunning- wait, do a pose! Pose like I do!"  

You flick your hair and angle your shoulder to pose. His jaw drops.

 "I’m OBSESSED! This is art!"  He declares.

Then, suddenly, he takes your hands into his. His tone turns serious as he asks you softly. "But you have to tell me. Am I also art to you, Miss Bodyguard?”  

You grin at him. “Of course, you're the true embodiment of art itself,”

He preens, bringing your hand up and pressing a soft kiss to the back of your hand. Then another, and another, until you almost have to physically sit him back down on his chair and remind him to stop the PDA and eat.

--- 

CALEB 

Caleb chokes on his water when he sees your handmade sweater. He turns away quickly, coughing and spluttering into his elbow before he spews water all over the fancy steak frites on the table.

You make it to the corner table, a small little alcove that has an L-shaped sofa bench against the wall. With him being closer now, you can see that pink tinges the tips of his ears as he clears his throat. "You- you made this? For our date? For me?"  

You mimic his shy grin, sliding your bag off your shoulder as you slide into the plush bench, knees touching his. You stretch out your arm so that he can admire your handiwork. "Just a bit of stitching with ready-made items. Had to match my favorite person."  

His hands hover, like he’s afraid to wrinkle it. "I… I love it.. And the sweater paws- pipsqueak, that should be illegal,”

“Too cute to handle?” You tease.

He pinches your cheek, then squishes you in a tight hug. “Never, pipsqueak.”

His heartbeat says otherwise.

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Prima Nocta

Marcus Acacius x Virgin!F!Reader oneshot

{ Main Masterlist }

Rating: E (18+ only)

Summary: Tomorrow, you will marry your husband-to-be. But tonight - it belongs to his father.

Word count: 6k

Warnings: DUB CON only due to nature of prima nocta, both parties enthusiastically consent, twist on prima nocta, unspecified age gap, loss of virginity, dirty talk, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, dry humping, unprotected sex, unrealistic descriptions of first sexual experience, all manners of historical inaccuracies and linguistic anachronisms sorry not sorry, ignores the events of the movie so you can consider this an AU, Marcus is widowed and has a son, shall we call this bfd: Ancient Rome version lmao

Notes: I'm a bit rusty for sure, but I had the absolute best time writing this oneshot. It's a departure from my usual themes to say the least, but once this idea took hold of me it never let go. I know prima nocta is meant to be invoked on the wedding night, but I like the idea of it being the night before so I made it so 🤷🏻‍♀️ Gorgeous dividers by @firefly-graphics as always.

He thought he had gotten away with it. Having lived more than fifty winters in the capital and outlasting eight emperors, he regrets to confess that he is still none the wiser. 

It would have been such a clever manoeuvre. Palming off a generous but very much unwanted gift from the emperors, and marrying off his son in one fell swoop. 

He should have been suspicious of their swift assent to his proposal. In his eagerness to bow out of their audience, it had been convenient to dismiss the flash of malice in their eyes.

And in the snake pits of Roman court, no misstep goes unexploited.

He is not proud that he is caught off guard by the emperor’s closest advisor who intercepts his walk home from the armoury, even less so of his ineloquent response to the missive handed to him.

‘What is this?’

‘Urgent word from the emperors, sir.’

Cold sweat prickles the back of his neck as he stares unseeingly at what is scrawled on the parchment.

‘I cannot,’ he blurts out, indignance rising fast and hot in his chest. ‘I will not.’

‘You think it wise to twice refuse the emperors’ generosity, general?’

General. To him, the culmination of a lifetime of service and sacrifice. To them, an instrument of bloodshed in war, a plaything in peacetime.

Desperate, he tries a different tact. ‘The right of the first night belongs to the emperors. I dare not commit sacrilege.’

‘It is not sacrilege if it is freely bequeathed upon you, general.’

There is no mistaking the warning lilt in the last word, and he has no answer.

‘The hour grows late. You had better not keep the bride waiting,’ says the advisor with an air of finality before retreating into the shadows.

Marcus shudders at the cold that settles into the empty space, fingers stained with ink from the now crumpled dispatch. 

He remembers nothing of the remainder of his short journey to his quarters. As the front door swings open, he realises there is something in the night air that is out of place.

Sea salt.

You are here. 

Would you be demure? Frightened? You are of royal lineage, a lady of the small but proud coastal kingdom strong-armed by Rome into an unequal treaty for its profitable trading posts, in return for the mercy of not being razed to its fertile grounds.

And now, you are lowered to marry a general’s son. 

Worse, lowered to have your virginity taken by his father.

Candlelight spills from the crack underneath the door to his bedchamber. Marcus takes a deep breath, and pushes it open.

You hear him. The swish of fabric, the slide of leather soles on marble.

The general is here.

Your hand in marriage is part of the terms of the treaty, and the missive that sent for you announced your match as the widowed hero general. You had him cast on the wretched journey from your home as one of the domineering, brutish soldiers now garrisoned at your family’s kingdom - only to be told on your arrival that you will be marrying his son instead.

Relief at the news that your future husband would not be decades older than you is instantly snatched away by furtive whispers of prima nocta.

Your future father-in-law will take you first.

The humiliation is bitter on your tongue. You are Rome’s to marry off, hers to give to whomever she pleases -

But she won’t break you.

The door creaks. You stand tall and hold your ground.

He sweeps into the room with an air of well-worn authority, the cloak on his back dark as the shadows that nip at his heels.

The candles flicker when he sheds the heavy robes with a smooth sweep of his arm.

You stare, in a manner that would have had your lady-in-waiting tutting. But you are alone, very much so, with this man not ten paces from you.

General Marcus Acacius. 

He is older, certainly old enough to have a son your age. But you had not imagined him so - strong, for the lack of a more imaginative word. His shoulders are broad under his wine red tunic, and you can see the muscles in his arms flex as he clenches and unclenches his fists at his sides. From where you stand, you can hardly see any silver in his dark curls.

Marcus unflinchingly assesses you right back. 

No, you are decidedly not demure. Or frightened. Far from it. 

You are defiant, even as you observe him with evident curiosity. Your head held high, a telltale sign of your noble breeding, mouth set in a stern line while your eyes burn bright with a proud fire. 

Judging the silence has gone on long enough, he breaks it with a formal, ‘My lady.’

‘General,’ you answer steadily.

The door slams shut belatedly behind him, and you flinch - the first glimpse of weakness you concede. 

Marcus breathes in, delivering his next sentence with as much composure as he can muster. ‘I expect you have been informed of the - formalities that we are to perform tonight.’

You grind your teeth so hard you are astonished that your jaw doesn’t crack.

Your virtue is just a formality.

Refusing to dignify his question with an answer, you nod once. 

He watches you wordlessly, and you meet his gaze. You thought you would find something else there, not the regret that you see.

Turning away from you, he reaches for the amphora on the table. 

‘Wine?’

‘Yes, please.’

The wine is drunk in silence and moderation. Him at his desk, you perched on the end of the bed.

As you sip, pacing yourself, you observe the general discreetly from across the small distance between you. 

To say that you are disconcerted by his behaviour would be an understatement.

You assumed that he asked for this - for the perverse pursuit of deflowering his son’s bride-to-be while eschewing the unwanted responsibility of a wife. 

Yet, watching him stare pensively into his goblet, lips pursed in a pout that is almost sullen, you are not so certain anymore. 

When you bring your drink to your mouth to find it empty, you clear your throat. ‘I have to wake up early tomorrow morning - for the wedding.’

The general starts before collecting himself, drawing himself up to his full height as he sets down his cup with a heavy clunk. ‘Understandably, my lady.’

Then he moves, charting a course across the room, licking his thumb and index finger to douse the candles dotted around the space.

The thought comes to you unbidden - he has thick fingers. And big hands. 

Your cheeks tingle with heat.

Soon the chamber is cloaked in darkness, save for the candles next to the bed, the warm light pooling in the most inviting manner on the soft surface despite your trepidation. You long to rest your aching feet. 

He comes to a standstill on the other side of the bed, as if waiting for you to take the lead. You cannot decide whether you are thankful for him not imposing on you, or frustrated at him for not taking the lead in what is very much unfamiliar territory.

In the end, the desire to get off your feet wins out, and you gesture at the bed. ‘Shall we…?’

‘Certainly.’ He bends down, you assume to take off his sandals. You do the same, toeing off the soft leather slides the maids had you change into when they dressed you.

Once barefoot, you climb in with as much grace as you can summon, acutely aware that you have an audience. Your knees sink into the mattress, and you’re relieved that it is stuffed with feathers, luxuriously giving under your weight. Shifting primly, you find your back against the headboard, cushioned by equally soft pillows.

The general follows suit, the frame creaking as he eases onto the suddenly too small bed, strong shoulders brushing yours as he settles next to you.

You stare hard at the back of your hands, the only way to stop your gaze from wandering to the span of his fingers splayed wide on sturdy thighs, or lower to the bony ridge of his knees - gods, you must be unwell, since when have you been drawn to knees?

You are still questioning the state of your sanity when the general, who has been nothing but unperturbed and composed since he stepped into the room, stumbles over his words in a manner that is neither, as if he had held the question behind his teeth for too long.

‘Are you - are you absolutely certain - in no doubt - that you are… untouched?’

His question stings like salt in a festering wound. Indignant doesn’t even begin to describe the retort you spit at him. ‘Yes, I am. Are you?’

Peering at you sideways, his eyes widen at your outburst, and fear briefly flits across your heart that you have overstepped.

 But then, he surprises you with a smile. ‘You bite, don’t you?’ 

You let your shoulders sag, too far gone to hold onto your facade. 

‘It’s been a long day, sir,’ you admit. ‘To be frank, I just want to get this over with and forget it ever happened.’

He pauses at your confession, as if weighing his options. Then he shifts, and says, ‘The reason I ask if you were untouched is because, if you were not - we could have just pretended we did this.’

You frown. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I did not invoke prima nocta, it was imposed upon me. The emperors are displeased that I turned down the betrothal, this is their way of punishing me for my ungratefulness.’ 

Oh.

As much as you didn’t want this either, your pride suffers to hear him describe it as a punishment.

‘I know…’ you stumble, halting to steel yourself. ‘I know I am nothing like the women here in Rome. I spend too much time in the sun, and my hands are rough from working with horses -’

‘Why do you say that?’ he interrupts you.

You look away. ‘That is why you do not wish to marry me, is it not? And why you do not want this - why you do not want me.’

The general sits up, palms on the mattress to support his weight, the lines on his forehead deepening with a frown. ‘No, that is not the reason. You are young, you deserve a husband who can build a life with you in the years to come. Not a washed-up widower.’

The bitterness in his voice turns your head. 

‘You’re not washed up, from what I hear.’ Somehow, you find the courage to add boldly, ‘Or from what I see.’

Letting your eyes trail unabashedly over his broad frame, a thrill chases through your blood when you notice his Adam’s apple bob with a tight swallow. He’s so close that you know you’re not imagining the heat seeping into your bones.

Silence stretches between you, charged with a consciousness that creeps in and spreads. Two souls from different worlds and stations put in a situation in which neither of you had a hand. This may not be how you imagined giving away your virtue - far from it - yet your stomach twists in anticipation.

You glance upwards, only to find him already watching you.

Something has shifted when you so bravely reached out and tipped the balance with your words. He can tell that you are not one for flippant flattery, and it takes him a moment to collect himself, harder said than done with the blood roaring in his ears.

When he speaks, it comes out in a much lower register than he intends, so much so it sounds like a secret. 

‘You say you just want to get this over with. But I can - I can make it good for you. It doesn’t have to be something you want to forget.’

Your eyes widen and your lips part, and heat blooms almost uncomfortably in his chest. ‘You would do that for me?’

‘I will serve you in whatever way you ask of me tonight, my lady.’

Never have mere words, albeit delivered in such a delicious baritone, moved you so. You came in expecting to have your virtue stripped from you, the same way Rome callously stole you away. Where you thought humiliation and dishonour awaited, this man is offering deliverance and devotion - if only for one night.

Your throat tight with emotion, you nod in lieu of a spoken answer.

Marcus is deliberately slow in his movements, wanting you to feel safe in his presence. ‘How much do you know? So I know what I need to teach you.’

Despite yourself, shyness rears its head and you mumble, ‘I’ve - I’ve heard stories. I know what… happens… between a man and a woman in the bed chamber.’

He nods reassuringly, making you feel less of a fool for the juvenile answer you gave. ‘And has anyone touched you before?’

There’s no mistaking the lurch in your stomach as your heart hammers violently. ‘No. No one. Never.’

The protector in him stirs, summoned to duty, warring with the desire that seethes under his skin like the unholy flames of Vesuvius. He fears it is a quickly losing battle. 

Reading the desire in your endearingly open face, Marcus reaches over you to settle one hand on your hip as he leans close, his breath warm on your cheek.

‘Have you ever kissed a man?’ he rasps. 

You shake your head, eyes fixated on his mouth, framed by a tidy moustache. He is so close that you can see his beard is flecked with silver.

You swear the general is leaning into you, and every inch of you is on tenterhooks, enraptured by his proximity -

‘You should save it for your husband.’

You barely forestall the whine of protest that teeters on the tip of your tongue, pinching your lips together, but his lopsided smile tells you that he knows. 

‘I can kiss you elsewhere though.’

‘Oh,’ you inhale shakily when he dips to mouth at the side of your neck, landing on your pulse point in a suckle. Your whole body arches off the bed, hands gripping the sheets, head spinning at all the sensations that are new to you - the burn of his stubble, the cool trail his lips leave behind -

Then the palm on your hip pulls you into him, sprawling you against the wide cage of his body, your breasts pressed against his broad chest. The dress they put you in is thin, and the fabric rubs against your pebbling nipples as his kisses travel daringly low.

‘Am I going too fast?’ he pauses, voice strained.

Breathlessly, you shake your head.

‘If you want me to stop, or wait, you say the word. Understood?’

‘Yes, general.’

Two words he hears daily from his men, and yet from your lips, they unleash a dangerously feral side of him.

More. Is the only coherent thought that remains. 

Impatient hands reposition you so that you are astride him, and he groans when you slot flush in his lap. He watches your eyes widen at what you feel between your legs. Your dress rides up, and his blood rushes south at the bare expanse of your inner thighs on his skin. 

‘I want to see you,’ he speaks plainly, palms squeezing the dip of your waist. ‘May I undress you? Please?’

All decorum flees you, and you might have chanted yes, yes, yes to his question.

Dropping your chin, you watch his thick fingers nimbly undo the knot holding the front of your dress together. The silk capitulates like water, tumbling down in delicate drapes around your waist, baring you to his heated gaze.

‘You are beautiful,’ he declares with a solemnity that steals your breath.

And it is easy to believe him, the way his dazed eyes trail over your breasts, before his hands follow. Calloused palms, which you are sure have held many a sword in triumph, now cup your tender flesh in reverence. 

Your head lolls to the side as he teases you, but when he rolls his hips upwards, your eyes snap to the pained expression on his face. You’ve heard ladies in court whispering over wine about length and girth, but nothing could prepare you for the thrill of feeling a man’s undeniable desire for you.

Instinct guides you, moving your hips so that you are grinding against his length, seeking relief from what is building deep within you.

‘Do what feels good,’ the general murmurs encouragingly, palms on the small of your back to let you take control.

And just like that, you are thrown back to one summer’s day in your youth. You were bathing in a rock pool, under the spray of a waterfall in perfect solitude when you accidentally slipped forwards on the smooth stone surface. The unexpected sensation between your legs ripped through you like lightning on a clear day. And you chased that feeling, hips undulating until you shuddered and cried out. Knees trembling in the aftermath, you never dared to seek it out again, but neither did you forget.

And now, years later, you finally know what had transpired. Pleasure. And this time, under the general’s hooded gaze, you pursue it with single-minded determination.

Marcus wishes you knew how beautiful you are in this very moment. Breasts swaying in tandem while you rock back and forth on his clothed length, eyes glazed, every whimper from your swollen lips making him throb harder for you.

‘Good girl,’ he rasps, throat tight. ‘Take your pleasure. Take what you need.’

And when he sucks your nipple into his mouth, you wail, tipping forward at an angle that unexpectedly takes you apart.

The waves that wash over you are more intense than you remember, and you are sure that has to do with the man holding your hips to his as you buck, and the warm swirl of his tongue against your breasts, sucking and nipping as you come down from your high.

‘That was not your first time,’ he states as a matter of fact when the white noise in your ears finally fades.

‘It happened once, a long time ago, and I didn’t understand then -’

‘And now you do.’

‘Yes, general.’

This time, he lets loose a moan at your words. ‘I can feel your wetness through your dress.’

Confused, you look down, and your cheeks burn when you spot the dark patch on the delicate fabric. ‘Oh, I -’

‘It’s natural,’ he assures you. ‘The wetness makes it easier for -’

It dawns on you when you feel his hardness twitch under you. Oh. 

‘It - you feel -’ you stutter, struggling to comprehend how the girth of what you are sitting on could possibly fit inside you.

Taking your hand, Marcus presses a chaste kiss to your palm, eyes warm and open. 

‘We will take it slow. I will use my fingers first, to prepare you for me,’ he explains patiently. ‘I promised I would make it good for you, did I not?’

‘You did.’ 

And you have complete faith in him.

Your knees knock into each other hopelessly when he slides you off his lap, and he has to bodily prop you up against the pillows. Sinking into the soft feathers, you watch him kneel between your parted legs, and you feel so safe even as he towers over you. 

‘May I disrobe you?’

You bite your bottom lip, and nod. 

Except it’s not a disrobing, it’s nothing near as civil as that. The general rips the rest of your dress clean down the middle, rendering you completely bare beneath him.

Marcus knows should be ashamed of his brash behaviour. But how could he when you react so viscerally, jaw slack as your chest heaves in unmitigated desire? 

His gaze shamelessly trail over every curve and dimple, from the breasts he has tasted to where your knees are demurely closed, and knowing that he is the first - the only - to have laid eyes on you makes him impossibly hard. 

It matters not that you are not his to keep. This will always be his. 

‘You are exquisite,’ he professes, voice tight. 

You duck your head, more shy of his compliments than being nude before him. ‘You don’t have to.’

Sliding a finger under your chin and tilting your head until you meet his gaze, he assures you, ‘I mean every word.’

Then he moves down the bed until he can rest his weight on his elbows, and you startle when rough palms glide over the outside of your thighs, stopping at your knees. 

He pauses to give you time. ‘Are you certain you wish to continue?’

Your answer is a confident yes.

Then, as if opening the shell of Venus, he delicately pries your knees apart, and his breath hitches as you are revealed to him.

He is aware that he’s staring like an imbecile, words failing him. As the silence stretches on, you become self-conscious.

‘General,’ you demur, moving to cover yourself.

Shaking his head, he finally says, ‘Forgive me, but you are perfect.’

Then he looks up at you with such intensity that has you struggling to catch your breath, and without breaking eye contact, he bows his head - 

And closes his lips over you there. 

You are wholly unprepared - no one has ever gossiped about this in court. Your hips buck violently off the bed, but Marcus holds you down with reassuring hands, suckling on the pearl between your thighs with gentle laps of his tongue.

‘Oh, oh, oh,’ you stuttter, torn between watching the man wreak the most devastating pleasure on you and averting your gaze.

You’ve only ever known worship to be pious, and yet, this most vulgar adulation is the closest you’ve been to the gods.

His beautiful curls brush the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, catching the candle light as he moves, and the crook of his nose - so proud even with the scar on its bridge - draws patterns on your skin as he stakes his claim where no one has ever touched you. 

You quickly realise that what you felt just now in the general’s lap was insignificant and thin in comparison. This pleasure is all-consuming, something divine that has you weak and trembling all over. All you hear are slick, wet sounds of tongues and lips, and your own whimpers between garbled groans.

Marcus feasts on you, unapologetically. Flattening his tongue, he tastes you in broad sweeps, moaning into your sweet cunt as you writhe above him, your needy mewls driving him to the edge of madness. You taste like fig - the earthiness of the purple peel, ripe sweetness of the pink flesh.

Then your hands wind into his hair, pulling him closer, ankles hooking over his shoulders. He groans harder, the sound rattling in his ribs as you soak his beard. Surrendering any last vestiges of shyness, you rock against his tongue, nails scratching his scalp as you whine louder into the night air. 

Moans that will echo long after you’re gone.

The thought alone hardens his resolve to mark you unequivocally. You’re close, your pliant body quivering and breaths coming in shallow gasps now. He peers up at you, but your eyes are sealed shut and upturned at the gods, your breasts heaving.

Gently, he eases one finger inside you, and he grunts at how easily he slides in. You barely react, and so he pushes back in with two, coaxing a cry from you. Your cunt clenches as he gently thrusts his digits in and out, stretching your tight walls. 

‘Oh gods. Oh gods,’ you pant violently.

You’re close, so close. He wants to warn you of what is to come, but it feels like sacrilege to tarnish the moment with words. When he feels you begin to quiver, he laves at your clit harder, burying his fingers inside you to the knuckle, until he feels you crest and break. 

‘Gods, oh gods - Marcus!’

The cry of his name catches him off guard. He nearly loses control right there and then, as you ride out your high on his fingers, but by some miracle he holds out through gritted teeth. He devotes his attention to kissing his way up your body, from the slick inside of your thighs, to the side of your hip, making you jump when he sucks on your sensitive breasts.

You stare at his mouth with wild, dark eyes, and him at yours, but he vowed to leave your first kiss to your husband. Girding his self-restraint, he asks, ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yes, Marcus.’

His cock twitches at the sound of his name on your lips. He wants to hear you say it in all manners of ways - whisper it, gasp it, scream it. And by the cheekiness in your smile, it’s clear that you know what he’s thinking.

Your eyes drop to where his hardness is pressed against you. ‘Will you teach me how to please you, general?’

He swallows a groan, the animal in him rattling the bars of its cage. He replies diplomatically, ‘I will teach you how to teach your husband.’

In one smooth tug, he shucks off his tunic, then his loincloth, and he tries not to be self-conscious under your watchful gaze. Pulling you against him, skin on naked skin, he smears kisses along the side of your neck, smiling at your answering shudder. In return, you run your lips and scrape your teeth over his collarbone. 

Taking your hand and pressing a kiss to your palm, he slides it all the way down his chest and wraps your fingers firmly around his throbbing cock, his pained moan in your ear.

Eyes wide, you marvel at the size of him in your grip. ‘You are so big.’

Marcus curses through clenched teeth. ‘You are an insolent girl.’

With a wicked glint in your eyes, you correct yourself, ‘You are so big, general.’

If he wasn’t so aroused, he would have chuckled at your cheek. Instead, he growls, ‘Such insubordination.’

Tilting your head to one side, you grin. ‘And how would you discipline me, sir?’

He lets the silence linger for a beat, allowing anticipation to build as one big hand splays over your ass, hot lips brushing the shell of your ear. ‘I would deny you my cock, my lady. Let your sweet cunt weep for me, empty, not knowing how good it would feel to have me deep inside you.’

You are unsure if you are more shocked at the explicitness of his words, or at the gush of wetness that has you pressing your thighs together. If you had to wager a guess, he is just as affected as you by the way his length pulses in your grasp.

Marcus smiles as he takes in the way your body reacts to him. ‘But how can I deny such a lovely, desperate creature such as yourself?’

A sob escapes you. ‘Please, Marcus - I’m yours to take.’

With that, all self-restraint abandons him, and his lips crash into yours. At the back of his mind, he knows you deserve a better first kiss, something gentle and sweet. But to your credit, you seem to take it in stride, winding your arms around his neck with a deep groan as he deepens the kiss. Opening up your mouth, he sweeps his tongue against yours, making sure you taste yourself and the pleasure that he had wrung from you.

When he reluctantly pulls back for air, you hum, ‘I thought you said I should save that for my husband.’

He all but snarls, ‘Damn your husband.’

The possessiveness in his tone sends you reeling, and his resolve wears even thinner when your cunt brushes against him, so wet and soft, begging for him. 

‘I cannot wait any longer,’ he declares.

You bite your lip beseechingly. ‘Please, Marcus, I cannot either.’

He braces himself above you on strong arms, until all you can see is him, backlit by the soft candlelight. Beholding his beauty - the wisps of gray at his temples, the scar lining his cheekbone - your breath catches at the tenderness in his eyes as he stares down at you.

Holding the base of his cock, Marcus notches himself at the entrance of your cunt, trembling as he holds himself back. 

‘I will go slow,’ he assures you. ‘If it hurts, you tell me to stop. Understood?’

Your mouth dry, you can only nod. 

Holding your gaze, Marcus rolls his hips ever so slowly, jaw slack when he breaches you, inch by tortuous inch.

He is barely inside you and you already feel so unfathomably full.

‘Marcus,’ you gasp when it gets impossibly tight, nails digging into his broad shoulders.

He stops, and whispers encouragingly, ‘You are doing so well for me, taking me so beautifully. Just breathe.’

In between his patient, languid kisses, you unfurl, and Marcus gently pulls back, before pushing into you, deeper this time.

When you cry out, he shushes you, brushing the wet corners of your eyes with his lips. ‘Does it hurt?’

You shake your head. ‘No, it’s just - so much.’ 

‘I know, I can feel how tight you are gripping me,’ he mumbles into your neck, throbbing inside you while he holds himself still as you adjust. ‘Brave, sweet girl.’

When you find your voice again, you give him cheek. ‘I am a woman now, general.’

He smiles at you - a warm curl that crinkles the corners of his eyes endearingly - and claims your lips again. Feeling the tension seep out of your body, he thrusts shallowly so you can learn the movement of his hips. When he hits a spot that makes your jaw drop and your hips buck, he pulls all the way back, and drives himself to the hilt in one smooth motion.

And with that, you become a part of his soul, and his yours. His chest swells with the fiercest possessiveness and the greatest honour all at once, despite knowing that the circumstances that brought you together will inevitably tear you asunder at the break of dawn.

‘Marcus!’ you choke on a sob, throwing your head back, your walls clutching his cock in a merciless grip.

‘There she is,’ he grunts, mouth scraping the shell of your ear. ‘Say my name like that.’

And you do, over and over again, as he fucks into you. His pants land harshly in the crook of your neck with every thrust, hands greedily squeezing all the skin he can find - the curve of your ass, the dimple in your waist, your thigh to hitch it over his hip.

Looking down at you, eyes drunk and unfocused as you stare back at him, each squeeze of your wet cunt around him, every breath from your lips feels sacred.

He is seized by a sudden need to know. ‘How does it feel?’

Your eyes soften, and he shudders when you cup the side of his face to bring his nose to yours. ‘Divine.’

Marcus loses himself in you, in the wet squelch of your cunt around his length, the way your tightness takes every thrust. Words of praise that he doesn’t even hear tumble from his lips and onto every inch of skin he can reach as you cling to him, scraping your nails down his back and digging into the meat of his ass.

Pitching forward to press a hard kiss to you, he says, ‘I want you to fall apart for me again.’

‘Please, Marcus, please.’

Pushing himself up to his knees, still buried deep inside you, he spreads your thighs obscenely wide over his hips, and he moans at the sight of your cunt so full of him. With hooded eyes, he sucks on two of his thick fingers and brings them between your legs, carefully drawing circles on your clit, knowing that you are already sensitive from cumming twice for him before.

Your face twists in agony as he builds you towards another climax, patiently weaving the web of pleasure that wounds you tighter and tighter until your spine feels like it will snap in two. ‘Marcus, oh - don’t stop, don’t stop, oh gods -’

He bares his teeth as he feels you start to clench around him. ‘That’s it, that’s it. Cum on my cock, let me feel you, give it to me.’ 

Your peak crashes into you relentlessly, and as you are swept away, you can only wail and thrash, while Marcus curses and stutters unintelligibly above you as he spins out of control.

He had every intention to pull out, but it is as if some higher power is determined to foil his plans. With a guttural roar, his hips snap flush against yours, big palms grasp you so hard by the waist that you squeal, and he spills into you in hot gushes, once - twice - and again until he is spent.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

He doesn’t know if he said that aloud or if it was a trick of the mind. All he knows is that he eventually collapses bonelessly onto you, skin fused together with sweat and cum as your breaths become one in the crisp night air.

It is him who breaks the stillness, his old bones creaking when he stirs to relieve an ache in his back. His softened cock slides out of you, prompting you to whine in protest. He grunts when he looks down to see his cum dribble out of your cunt, leaving a pearly trail on the inside of your thighs.

When he meets your eyes, there is no awkwardness in the silence. ‘Forgive me, I didn’t mean to spill my seed inside you. That was reckless.’

Your heart skips a beat at his admission, and you can’t hide the pride in your voice. ‘Do I make you reckless, general?’

He tries and fails to be stern in his answer, the tenderness with which he brushes his nose on your cheek giving him away. ‘I know better than to encourage your insolence with an answer.’

You are far from discouraged though, quite the opposite. Knowing you have this man - who commands armies of thousands - at your mercy is a siren’s call.

Peering at him from under your eyelashes, you curl one leg around his waist. ‘Do you want to be reckless again?’

He huffs, but a smile breaks through. ‘Have you ever been told that you are a cocktease?’

You hum teasingly. ‘I have never heard that word before, but I like it.’

‘You do?’ he breathes against your lips. ‘You like being my cocktease?’

‘Yours, general.’

Marcus is astounded when he feels himself harden again, and he moans as you press open-mouthed kisses down his neck. ‘What spell have you cast on this old man, my little cocktease?’

You grin, letting him ease you onto your back so he can settle between your thighs again. ‘The kind that lasts until dawn.’

Eventually, morning must break, sure as the moon turns and the sun rises. In the golden rays of day, you will wed his son in ironic, virginal white, showered in rose petals. He will look on from the side in his finest ceremonial robes of red, as you walk away from him and into your new life as someone else’s wife.

But in the velvety folds of this night and many more to come, safely ensconced in the deepest corners of his memories, in lands far away, in war and in peace, there he keeps you - where you are not.

More notes: Thank you for reading! As usual, comments/reblogs/asks would be very much appreciated 🥰 I hope you enjoyed this fic as much as I loved writing it!

[eraserbread]

midnight messes are no match for your husband, nanami ✧

→ afab!reader, period sex, oral f!receiving, nsfw

he wakes you up with a kiss to the shoulder, golden hair strewn about his head and a tired look in his eye. the bedroom is overwhelmingly dark, you're lying on your side, stirred from sleep.

"my dear," he mutters into your naked shoulder, closing his hand around your arm. under the blankets, your legs are tangled together. you smile into the touch.

"mm,"

"i know," he reassures, kissing you once more. "but, we're a bit bloody under here."

your eyes fly open, staring off into dead space at the realization. now that he's mentioning it, your stomach is tighter–back ringing with the most delicate of aches. you rush to sit up, pushing him away as you pull your knees to your loosely covered chest.

"holy shit kento, i'm so sorry.. i don't know what to do." you can't see much in the darkness, but you can feel. it's warm on your thighs–thick, crimson, and sticky. "I'm usually so good about... a-about avoiding this, I'm so sorry."

if you could see him through the darkness, you would see the confused sort of half-dead stare he gives you when he sits up. "it's just blood, baby. you didn't shit the bed."

if you could get any more flustered you would, but you're already burning hot and aching at his side. aching everywhere. sizzling like a vampire when he reaches to flick the bedside lamp on.

then the murder scene is shrouded in light and you're staring at him like a guilty puppy. he thinks it's so damn endearing, you're so pitiful and pretty tangled in your bloody sheets that when he goes in to kiss you, it doesn't stop.

and when he starts to dip his head between your thighs, you don't stop him. not even when he's peeling your soiled panties from your skin, inhaling the pure scent of you when he finally comes face-to-face.

blood is soaked into the mattress, past the sheets and blankets, so kento doesn't care anymore. he'll drag you to the couch after a shower anyway and coddle you to sleep, but right now, this was too tempting a situation to pass up. he licks his lips.

"god, you're such a freak. it's always the quiet ones." you're holding your breath as he situates between your thighs, laying on his stomach, trapping your thighs between his big arms.

kento's in his element, breathing in your essence like a perfume. "are you insulting me?"

"what normal man goes down on his wife during her period? mmf- it's unheard of." you bite your lip, rustling against the soaked sheets as kento's soft lips trail over your leg.

"men who are obsessed with their wives and worship the ground they walk on," he pauses, sinking his teeth into the fleshy, sensitive inside of your thigh. "and everything that comes with being so close to a woman." he's making his way up to your warm, pulsing cunt, nose digging between your slit as his tongue makes its way to your hole.

he breathes you in, then licks you clean in one thick stroke.

and you immediately reach to tangle your hands in his hair, pulling him closer, your breath sucked from your lungs. "m'god, it's so sensitive."

"focus on me, baby." kento breathes, lapping sloppy streaks through your cunt. his face is covered in it, the dull light paints his red-tinged face in holy hues, casting shadows against his most prominent features.

his fingers dig in your thighs like he'd die if you moved, so you don't. you arch your back, moaning his name into the damp midnight air.

kento does a better job at cleaning you up than you ever could in the shower, especially because he just doesn't stop. his eyes drift shut like that, red lips sucking at your sweet cunt, moaning into it when a fresh wave of bloody arousal passes his lips.

[katsu2ji]

personal heating pad — k. bakugou

a/n: i need him (what’s new)

"my uterus feels like it's destroying itself from the inside out."

katsuki looked up from his desk and turned around to face you. you were lying on the bed, curled into a fetal position. your head was buried into his pillow, making your words come out muffled.

"...is this you asking me to do something or are you just stating a fact?" he blinked at you, trying to gauge how to respond.

you had come into the bedroom fifteen minutes earlier. he heard you come in, turned around to face you just as you flopped on the bed silently. he was tempted to ask what was wrong, but he figured you'd speak when you were ready.

you were ready now, he guessed.

you turned slightly, and he saw you wince with the action. adding to the fact that you were clutching your lower stomach, he made an educated guess.

"period?"

"unfortunately."

sighing, he shut his laptop and pushed out of his chair. he made his way over to the bed, sitting down and moving up to lay against the headboard.

"come here."

you didn't move from your curled up spot. his brows furrowed at the look on your face, the way your eyes bored into his. like you were trying to read his emotions.

"what? why are you looking at me like that?" he mentally cursed himself, his words coming out rougher than he intended them to.

you didn't say anything for a moment, arms still wrapped around your body. when you spoke, he was admittedly a bit taken aback by how soft your voice sounded. his arms, which were still open to you, faltered slightly.

"i'm sorry."

he was quiet, staring at you. finally, his arms dropped completely. "huh? what are you apologizing for?"

he thought over the last minute of the conversation, doing mental hoops to try and figure out what the hell he did wrong, what you were apologizing for.

did he say something without realizing it? he knew his words came out a little harder than he intended, but did they sound worse to you? was his body language off?

your words broke his thinking. "i just...you sighed when you got up, so i thought you were annoyed or something." he watched you put your head in your hands. "god, i feel like a mess right now. i'm sorry."

when he realized he'd just been staring at you for a bit longer than he meant to, he snapped himself out of it. reaching out, careful not hold you too tight or move you too fast, and he pulled you into him. he arranged you so that you laid against his chest.

katsuki felt your body sag almost immediately against the heat of him. he was grateful you didn't protest or show any sign of being in pain, but when he looked down and saw you were still hiding your face, something inside him broke a little

"baby, look at me. please?"

he didn't move his hands from your sides, letting you decide if and when you wanted to look at him. he was relieved when you did, your hands falling from your eyes slowly.

when you opened your mouth to speak, he could already feel another apology ready to slip out like a desperate plea. he hummed sharply, shaking his head.

"no more apologies. you didn't do anything." he hoisted you further up against him, sighing.

"but....i just...." he couldn't see your face anymore as your head came to fall back against his chest, but he could easily imagine the conflicted look on your face.

"you just what, baby?"

you were silent for a moment, before speaking up again in that soft tone that was much too shy and so much unlike you that it made katsuki worry even more than he was trying to show.

"i feel like i'm being a lot. like...too much." he watched you cover your face with your hands again, and he could tell from the shakiness in your voice that you were about to cry. "this is a lot. i'm sorry."

he wrapped his arms around you tighter before gingerly turning you in his lap so that you were facing him. your hands were still covering your face and, this time, he did uncover them with his own.

"what did i say about apologizing?" he attempted to keep his tone teasing, letting out a little tsk. "and you're not being 'too much,' whatever the fuck that means. you're okay. we're okay."

katsuki had never been very good at comforting, but for you, he'd always try. he'd like to think he's gotten better over the years.

he wiped a tear falling down your cheek with a calloused finger, eyes boring into yours. "stop thinking like that, yeah?" he caught you as you leaned forward, his arms wrapping around your waist.

"need me to get a heating pad or somethin'?"he felt you shake your head, sniffling against his shoulder.

"no. just wanna stay like this." your face turned into the curve where his neck met his shoulder, and he could feel your breathing fanning out across his skin. "you're so warm."

his lips quirked up ever so slightly, his arms tightening around you. "good. just rest, alright? you'll feel better when you wake up."

he heard you hum before your breath evened out completely, your body going limp against his. he didn't realize when, but at some point his hand had started rubbing up and down your back, soft and slow. he kissed the top of your head before sighing and closing his own eyes.

he would stay like this as long as you needed him too, whether your period was still causing you discomfort or otherwise, just as he did every month. work could wait. hell, the world could wait. right now, you needed him. and deep down, something in him needed you, too. he wasn't ashamed to admit that.

katsu2ji © 2025. please don't copy, modify, or do anything of the sort with my work! i work very hard and you simply do not have my permission.

[damselneedssaving]

BATBOYS BUT THEY SEE SOMEONE THEY RECOGNISE ON F!STREAMER!READER'S IRL STREAM. FT. WALLY WEST!

★ TAGS: older!damian wayne, older!duke thomas, absolute crack energy, the boys are still majorly obsessed with you, jealousy, death threats, wally—sorry, the flash—flirts with you like there's no tomorrow, your username is just your name

★ A/N: more batboys being super fans of you since you all asked so nicely <3333 you don't need to have read the first part to read this btw!!

★ F!STREAMER!READER MASTERLIST ★

The day starts off normal.

Dick is sifting through the fridge for a snack. Jason is sat at the kitchen island with his elbows propped up and a book in his hands. Both Duke and Tim are sat on the couch, scrolling through their phones with seemingly no thought behind their eyes. And Damian is stabbing into his freshly made pancakes like they've personally wronged him just by existing.

So yeah, a normal day at Wayne Manor.

That is, until, all of their phones chime at once.

Dick, Jason, and Damian all exchange a glance, each with one brow quirked up and the other furrowed down.

Duke and Tim, on the other hand, shoot up from their seats like lightning, hands burning with the answer to the question in their brothers' eyes.

Duke is the first to speak.

"[Name]'s streaming," he says, slow and in a bit of disbelief.

"[Name]'s streaming?" Dick echoes, "But today isn't Friday."

"You would know, wouldn't you, Dickhead?" snorts Jason, the memory of the last time his older brother mixed up the days still fresh on his mind.

"Shut up."

"An IRL stream," Tim cuts through the two eldest's bickering. "Look who I ran into," he quotes slowly and with furrowed brows.

Then he clicks onto the stream, and immediately, all of his brothers rush to his side.

Tim's screen is black—not a hint of colour, or even a speck of your pretty smile, displayed upon its surface. Just the reflection of all the boys staring back at themselves.

The sight makes Tim's jaw tick.

"Why the fuck are you all crowding me?"

Dick shrugs. "You're the first one to click on the stream."

The detective narrows his gaze, lips parting to retort, when he's interrupted by the phone in his hands.

"Is this thing working?" your voice breaks through the screen, and in an instant, all the boys' chests flutter. "Sorry guys, still not used to the whole IRL streaming thing. Can y'all see me?"

Tim's hands move before he can even think.

@/greatestdetective donated $1,000! nope, just a black screen

"Shit. Okay, hang on a second."

A shuffling sound then follows your voice, moments passing by before the screen alights like a flame, and the warmth of your face travels through Tim's phone to bless everyone's eyes.

"How about now?"

@/therealdamianwayne donated $10,000! Perfect, Habibti.

"Huh?" Duke mutters in confusion, turning to the left along with all his brothers.

Damian stands there, phone shamelessly situated in his hands as he stares back at them all with a quirked brow.

"What?" he scoffs. "Did you just expect me to watch my beloved's stream without donating to her? What type of future husband do you take me for?"

"The non-existent type." Tim deadpans, turning back to his phone screen and ignoring the demon head's electric glare.

"—and I'm rambling again, aren't I?" You nervously laugh on the other side of the screen. "Anyway, sorry about the sudden stream, guys. I know I'm not much of an IRL streamer, even less one that doesn't stick to a schedule, but I think today is a special exception."

You grin wide after your words, eyes sparkling with an excitement that has the bats' breaths hitching in their throats, hearts swelling with such love and adoration that it seeps into their eyes and blinds them all for just a split second.

Then you turn the camera, and their vision clears up again.

"Look who I ran into!"

On the other side of the screen, holding a red-gloved-hand up in a peace sign, stands a man.

Red hair exposed at the top of his head, lightning bolts strapped to the sides of his mask, freckles peeking out from just underneath his cowl—to anyone else, the civilian identity of the hero would be unknown. But to the bats, it can't be more obvious.

Dick snatches the phone out of Tim's hands.

"Hey—!"

"Is that Wally?!" shrieks the eldest like a teen girl who just found out her best friend attended a party without her through someone else's Snap story.

Duke squints, lips pulling into a frown. "Seems like it."

Dick lets out another shriek.

"I was in Keystone," your voice sounds from the phone, "and just so happened to come across my favourite Flash!"

Dick stops breathing, despair choking him as his siblings peer over his shoulders just in time to see the way Wally's lips quirk up into a smirk.

"Your favourite Flash, huh?" He winks. Dick chokes. "I'm honoured, doll."

"Doll?" Jason's hair casts a shadow over his eyes. "I'm gonna kill him."

"Thank you for agreeing to be on my stream, Flash," you say, and your voice carries warmth, gratitude, that big smile they can't see because of the camera angle but know is still there anyway. "It really means a lot."

Wally's smirk softens a bit at the edges, and he regards you with the same warmth. "Anything for a beautiful lady such as yourself."

"Grayson," Damian growls through gritted teeth, "Tell West to use that super speed of his and run a hundred thousand miles away from my beloved before I slit his throat."

But he didn't even have to say anything, really, because as soon as Wally started talking to you in that tone, Dick handed the phone back to Tim and pulled his own out, furiously typing on it before hitting that big send button.

On the stream, a phone buzzes in Wally's pocket.

The camera lowers, and your form peeks from the corner of it, a step closer to Wally as you ask in a quiet voice, "Do you need to get that?"

Wally pulls his phone out, glances at it for a brief moment, then stuffs it back in his pocket. "Nah, it's nothin'."

Dick's veins bulge, his own phone starting to shake in his grip. "Did that little shit just leave me on read in front of eighty thousand people?"

As if to further Dick's swelling rage, Wally's smirk broadens.

Boiling beneath his skin, the oldest of all the siblings starts typing again, and Wally's phone buzzes once more.

"Are you sure?" you ask, tone a little wobbly with uncertainty.

Then, Wally West, the little shit, fucking turns his phone off, right then and there. "Yup."

"I'm gonna kill him," Dick mutters.

"Oh okay." You adjust the camera back to its previous position.

"Now, where were we?" Wally grins, and all the boys see the way he looks at the camera, that knowing glance—the piece of crap knows exactly what he's doing. "Something about me being your favourite Flash?"

"How fucking dare he?" Tim mutters, already planning on burying his oldest brother's best friend's reputation in the dirt. Maybe he'll conjure up a scandal, or start a rumor—people usually mindlessly believe those, right?

"Oh yeah!" You perk up, beaming. "Y'know, super speed is actually my favourite super power."

"Favourite super power..." It's Duke's turn to mutter in despair, heart shattering in his eardrums as he all but hugs his sides. "Super speed..."

He's broken out of his little trance, however, at the sound of a new voice coming from the hallway. A new voice that catches everyone's attention.

"Master Damian, where are you heading off to?"

Alfred. And he seems to be looking straight towards the door of the manor.

Everyone's heads whip in the same direction.

There, somehow fully suited up in his Robin armour—hood pulled over his head and all—strides the demon head, one hand curled firmly around the handle of his katana, the other already on the knob of the door.

"To take out the trash."

No one stops him.

Later that day, Dick's phone lights up with a message notification.

'GET YOUR LITTLE DEMON BROTHER AWAY FROM ME'.

Dick leaves it on read.

COMING NEXT -> BATBOYS BUT THEY SEE F!STREAMER!READER PLAYING SMASH OR PASS WITH THEIR HERO PERSONAS WHILE COSPLAYING AS THEM ON STREAM.

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤSURPRISE PARTY TOUR: CHICAGO DISS TRACK * CHRIS STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　Where at the Chicago show of the Surprise Party Tour, Chris is not only surprised by the diss track made by his brothers against him, but especially by his girlfriend being part of it.

FEATURING　Chris Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　none.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

A/N²: I'm not a song writer by no means, so I apologize in advance if Y/N's part of the song sucks 😭✋🏻

A/N³: Stream LIKE ME right now!

The orange glow of the stage lights bathed everything in warmth, catching little glints in the shelves to the left of the stage, bouncing off the glossy top of the coffee table sitting between the two orange couches.

Y/N, standing just off-stage behind the curtain with the crew, had that weird ache in her chest she always got right before the surprise segment. She could practically feel the excitement coming from the fans, like static electricity tingling across her skin.

She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling too hard. She already knew what the surprise was. I mean, how couldn’t she? She was in it.

She leaned forward a little, peeking past the thick curtain, watching the boys from her hidden little corner.

Nick was lounging - well, more like bouncing - in his seat on the left couch, leg jittering, fingers tapping on the cushion, clearly vibrating with excitement. Matt and Chris were sharing the right couch, the former sitting up straight with a smile. Chris, meanwhile, was leaned back with one arm stretched along the back of the couch, his head tilted in curiosity, eyes glued to the giant screen in front of them.

And then, it started.

The big screen flicked to life with a massive countdown in bold white numbers against a glitching screen.

5... 4... 3... 2... 1...

Everyone in the theater screamed. It was instant.

Echoing. Like someone had thrown gasoline on a fire and let it explode.

Y/N laughed under her breath, clutching her jacket at the chest. She swore her heart jumped with that countdown. It always did.

The screen flickered, and there they were.

Matt and Nick. Edited to be side by side, both in suits and ties, serious expressions. Nick was adjusting his already-too-tight tie, and Matt was patting down his shirt collar, eyes locked with the camera lens.

The crowd absolutely lost it.

Nick leapt up from his couch like someone had shocked him and started doing these little bouncy jumps toward Matt, his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. His feet barely touched the ground, boots thudding heavily against the stage floor.

"Oh, Nick." Y/N whispered to herself, soft smile decorating her face, watching Nick’s expression explode into a wide grin as he reached Matt and wrapped him up in a huge hug.

Matt hugged him back with one arm and held the mic to his mouth with the other.

"I’m so excited."

Nick pulled back from the hug, mic now in his hand.

"We've been talking about this all day." He said, turning to the audience. "And I'm so excited that we're about to show this to you guys. I feel like me and Matt don't have many duo moments, right?"

The theater roared with approval, stomping and clapping and shrieking. Chris raised an eyebrow from the right couch, side-eyeing them both with an amused but skeptical expression.

"Oh, here we go." He muttered into his mic, finally standing up.

Y/N bit her lip, stifling her laugh as Chris casually strolled over to the left couch Nick had just vacated, flopping onto it in one fluid motion, stretching out like he owned the place. Which, well, he kind of did.

"Alright, I’m curious." He said, grabbing a throw pillow and hugging it. "I’m suspicious, but I’m curious."

Nick, still standing, grinned mischievously, and held up a single finger.

"Okay." He started, pacing a little as he spoke. "Before we play this video, I know you’re excited. I know you’re screaming. I know you’re probably on the edge of your seat."

People in the front row giggled, phones held up and already recording.

"But this surprise?" Nick continued, voice dropping dramatically. "It’s a little dramatic. It’s a little drama. And it’s gonna be amazing. But I need y’all to listen while you watch it. ‘Cause we only get to watch this once, alright? And I want to make sure that you have the best experience watching it. So, be excited, laugh, but listen, and let's get into it."

The crowd erupted in cheers.

Matt gave Nick a quick shoulder bump before the two of them made their way back to the right couch, both of them trying to suppress the stupid, excited grins tugging at their mouths.

Y/N clutched her chest.

The screen flickered again.

And the video began.

Matt and Nick sat on the edge of Matt's bed, both in crisp white long sleeves, shoulders brushing, Matt with his backward baby pink cap on.

"Me and Matt have some major plans today." Video-Nick said, not even waiting a single second to properly greet the camera. "And it all kinda involves shitting on Chris... Basically, Chris hasn’t done his fair share of shit on us, and going to the studio with his friends and making a diss track seemed just fair."

And that was when the place went feral.

People screamed. Hands flew over mouths.

On the right couch, Chris’s head whipped toward his brothers so fast it was a miracle he didn’t pull a muscle. His face was this perfect blend of betrayal and disbelief, pinkish lips parted in a dropped-jaw expression, blinking like he’d just been slapped.

And before he could even grab his mic to react verbally, Matt’s voice echoed again from the screen.

"Besides Chris’s friends, there’s gonna be another very important person in there with us to help create this diss track about Chris." He turned his head on the video to Nick beside him and added. "Also, Nick has never sung in a studio before. Not even once."

Video-Nick gave a little 'yeah, true' shrug and nodded.

"Never touched a mic for singing, actually. Either way, I feel like I’m more of a singer than a rapper, though."

"Chris needs a rap, not a pop song." Matt replied immediately, barely holding back a grin.

The crowd laughed.

Chris, still holding onto his mic like a lifeline, shook his head with this baffled little smile like he genuinely didn’t know how to react yet.

Then, cut.

The video jumped to a dimly lit studio room, those iconic blue neon lights casting this soft futuristic glow over everything. Matt stood in front of a mic setup, black headphones pushed over his ears, phone in one hand, looking relaxed but focused. He was glancing at someone off-screen.

"... If I have a visual cue of when the beat is gonna drop, it’s gonna be easier for me." He said, pointing slightly with the hand holding his phone.

And then, from somewhere just beside the camera, a familiar voice called out.

"Oh, you wanna see it drop?"

The second that voice hit, the entire crowd lost it.

Chris straight up jolted on the couch, body shooting forward like someone had zapped him. His cap almost flew off. His mic dropped from his hands to his lap - almost fleeing to the ground, and his whole expression screamed 'is that who I think it is?'

Because it was.

Video-Y/N's body walked into the frame. She had a big pair of headphones hanging around her neck, layered gold jewelry below it, catching the blue light.

She looked at whoever Matt had been talking to and nodded, her voice smooth and easy.

"Yeah, that would actually be very helpful."

That was it.

That tiny moment was enough to send the crowd into full-blown chaos. People jumped on their seats, screamed, you could barely hear over the shrieking.

Chris was still frozen with his mouth wide open, jaw starting to hurt, blue eyes staring at the screen, like his brain hadn’t caught up with what just happened.

And then he finally managed to react, dragging his mic to his lips like a man possessed.

"WHAT?!" He practically screeched, his voice cracking with disbelief.

Nick stood up, cracking up as he grabbed his own mic. He turned to where Y/N was obviously hidden behind the stage, grinning.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a very special guest for this surprise..." Then he pointed his free hand toward the side of the stage. "Y/N, come out here, queen!"

And right on cue, Y/N appeared, that same smug little smile on her lips like she knew she just turned the theater upside down.

She walked to the center of the stage, waving sweetly to the audience, blowing a kiss toward Matt and Nick’s couch, then heading over to Chris’s one, her movements chill and confident, already used to being on a stage after standing on its side for six shows in a row.

Chris hadn’t taken his eyes off her. He stared at her the entire walk to the couch, his expression a mixture of love and betray.

Y/N plopped down beside him, letting her shoulder bump his casually as she laughed at the chaos around them, thighs touching his jeans covered ones, feeling instantly his body heat penetrating her skin.

Chris dragged his mic back up dramatically, his eyes following hers.

"Did you really make a diss track about your own very good boyfriend?"

The tone was so wounded, so fake-offended, the crowd roared.

Y/N just rolled her eyes, leaning in more - as if it was even possible with how close they already were -, plump lips covered in pink gloss pressing a quick kiss on his milky cheek, leaving glitter behind, and leaned back with a shrug, turning her head to the screen.

"Gotta keep you humble."

Chris stared at her like she’d just invented fire, completely smitten, then dropped his head back with a groan into the couch.

"Unreal..." He muttered into the mic. Though he was smiling so wide, it nearly broke his face.

On screen, Y/N turned to Matt, pressing just one side of her headphones against her ear, listening to what Matt and Nick had sung until now while waiting for the producer to do what Matt had proposed.

"'I’m the favorite child, you can go and ask your father' is literally the best thing you could think of, Matt." She said, eyebrows raised, half-laughing in this low, amused tone that came straight from her chest.

From behind the camera, Nick cackled.

Matt just nodded super fast, his whole face smug, a crooked smile already spreading.

"No, exactly! If he comes with that shit of 'Oh, I have the best tour surprise', dude, I’m getting my gay brother who watches RuPaul’s Drag Race four times a week and his girlfriend who’s obsessed with him to come to this studio and diss rap him for hours."

Y/N snorted.

"Guilty." She muttered, tossing her free hand up dramatically, one foot tapping the ground to the beat that was still echoing from her headphones directly to her ears.

The crowd was still going wild as everyone’s attention kept glued to the screen, the video now slowly fading into what looked like the start of a music video.

The screen lit up with Nick.

Back to the camera, hood up, shoulders squared, and standing in front of a closed elevator.

The hoodie was pitch black and decked out in silver spikes that looked like they could kill someone if he turned too fast, catching the dim light of the scene and gleaming like daggers.

The second his figure appeared, there was a wave of gasps.

"Oh my God." Chris's voice echoed from his mic to the speakers, his eyes darting from the screen to Nick and back again.

DING

The elevator doors slid open, and Nick stepped in without hesitation.

Inside the elevator, the vibe somehow got even cooler.

Matt was standing on the left, looking like he had just gotten out of an important meeting, body covered in an all-black suit. He gave Nick the quickest up-and-down look, raising his eyebrows before turning back to face the closed elevator door again.

The crowd was already going crazy again. People clapping, some laughing with his reaction.

But then the camera moved again, and there she was.

Right side of the elevator.

Leaning back on the wall like this was the most boring situation in the world.

Her body was covered in a black faux leather pleated mini skirt that sat low on her waist, a wide belt looped around it, thick and grommeted, fastened with a large silver buckle that sat slightly tilted.

The skirt was paired with a long-sleeved black mesh top, fitted close to her body, dotted with tiny, scattered rhinestones. Her sleeves extended into fingerless gloves that wrapped around her hands decorated with silver rings.

Black shiny boots to her knees. Choker on.

She had her arms crossed, one knee bent, chewing gum like she could not care less about the world.

She didn’t even look at Nick.

Didn’t acknowledge anyone.

Just chewed her gum with this bored expression.

And that’s when the entire room collectively combusted. Someone yelled 'HOT' so loud it echoed above the screams.

Meanwhile, Chris went through five stages of falling in love all over again in two seconds.

His eyes lit up like a fucking Christmas tree, and this huge smile just took over his face. The kind of smile you try to hide but it’s too late, it’s already there and it’s so obvious you’re whipped.

His body acted almost on instinct, reaching for Y/N and just gently wrapping his arm around her shoulders. His fingers pressed into her upper arm like he was making sure she was real, and he tugged her softly until she leaned into him.

Her laugh was caught in the mic, soft and warm, tilting her head to look at him, but Chris, still staring at the screen, shook his head with the most insane look of awe.

"That's my girl right there, everyone." He said into the mic, taking more screams out of everyone.

Y/N didn’t even try to hide her grin. She leaned fully into him, nuzzling her head briefly on his covered shoulder before turning to look at the big screen like everyone else, her cheeks a little pink from the screaming crowd and the way Chris was looking at her like she hung the moon.

[When you get dressed, you should think a little longer]

On screen, the elevator dinged once more. The doors opening.

Only Nick stepped out, walking to the corridor that stretched in front of him. Neon purple lights on the ceiling. He walked forward, still not looking at the camera.

[First verse + Chorus]

[... Yeah, he wanna be just like me]

The space was bathed in neon purples and soft violets that kissed the black, curved walls. One big circle light glowed from above, dead center, like a spotlight from another planet.

And then, Y/N stepped into frame.

She moved with this crazy mix of confidence and chill, her steps slow and controlled as she slid into the middle of the frame like she owned the place. Half-lidded eyes decorated with shiny gems just below her lower eyelid locked with the camera in that way that made it impossible to look anywhere else.

"You talk big, babe, but you're softer than my skincare. Actin’ like a player, but your game’s just not there..."

Y/N’s voice wasn’t sweet. It was smooth, sultry, sharp as glass wrapped in silk.

The crowd gasped.

Literal gasps. Audible whispers.

"Holy fucking shit." Chris's voice sounded choked against his mic, his tongue poking out to wet his lips in a hypnotized manner, pupils intensely widening.

"You say you run the house, can’t find clean underwear. Yeah, I date you, it’s a choice, but let’s not go there."

She bounced gently with the beat, arms moving effortlessly, shoulder dips, slow turns causing her skirt to dance around plump thighs, little half-smirks on the beat drops.

[Middle verse]

[... I'm the favorite child, you can go and ask Mary Lou]

The music video jumped into the next part. Purple. Neon. Glowy and deliciously moody.

"Your brothers roast you, I just add the spice. Lucky that I love you, boy, I’m way too nice."

There she was.

Y/N on the screen, in that dim, vibey room, with a glowing purple haze washing over everything. She was standing front and center, with Nick and Matt behind her, each on each side of her.

Nick was bobbing his head from his place in the left back of the dark room, smirking.

Matt had this calm confidence on his face, nodding along in the right back, his arms moving to the beat while his eyes locked onto the camera, blue bandana moving with each movement.

A smug smirk stretched across her face, exposing the two tooth gems glued to her pearly canine teeth's.

Two silver stars, shining below the camera flash.

"The gems!" Chris yelled on the mic before pointing it to the big screen, blue eyes widening. "Oh, you're gonna have to use those every day now."

Y/N laughed, her body shaking against his.

"It looks amazing, doesn't it? I was the one who told her to use them." Nick nodded from his place on the couch, a smug look taking over his features.

"And we all say 'thank you, Nick'." Matt muttered against his mic, snorting.

Then the video flickered.

Now it was all white neon light. Their dark silhouettes danced and vibed in perfect sync. Just their outlines, glowing in white and shifting around with the beats.

"So sip your soda, flex that 'Rizz God' fame. But let’s be honest, you'd forget your own name."

Every word, she looked straight into the lens like she was talking to someone specific.

Back on stage, Chris turned slowly to her and narrowed his eyes.

"You’re lucky I love you."

"Aw." She said into his mic, pouting her lower lip with the fakest sweetness ever. "You’d forget your own name without me anyway."

[Last verse + last chorus]

[... Yeah, he wanna be just like me]

When everyone thought the music video was over with how the beat got lower, the final scene started.

The crowd screamed, gasping in surprise.

"Wait, what the fuck?" Matt's voice yelled from his place, echoing from the speakers and bouncing against the theater walls. "There wasn't-"

"The song ended... it ended with that chorus! Wha-" Nick picked up from where Matt abruptly stopped, body sitting a little more straight on the orange couch, frowning.

Dark neon purple again. But this time, deeper. Intense.

Y/N was back, alone in that glowing room.

She was staring straight into the camera, half-lidded eyes, lips already curled into that smug, almost daring little smirk. Her head purposefully tilted just slightly to the side.

She had a Fresh Love unreleased black cap pulled low over her forehead, the brim shadowing her eyes a bit. But not enough to hide them. Not even close.

They were sharp. Locked in.

Her lips were red now, glossy and full, a little too perfect.

And then, she rapped.

"Okay, but listen, he’s mine, so tread light. Y’all can joke, but I swing when it doesn't sit right."

And holy shit.

Chris audibly choked on stage.

Nick had to grab Matt’s arm, jaw dropping so hard that anyone who paid close attention knew it hurt.

Matt let out the longest "AYOOOOOOOOO" into his mic like he couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

And the crowd?

Feral. Hands in the air. People screaming.

On the screen, Y/N's hands moved as she spoke, smooth and expressive. Her long black nails with silver glitter caught the light and sparkled as she pointed to herself on 'he’s mine'.

She looked down for just a split second, then licked her lips casually as the next line dropped.

"You call him the worst? Nah, he’s my favorite view."

She dragged that line with the softest rasp, just enough flirt in her tone to make the entire crowd go still for half a second like they needed to process it.

Chris's hand flexed around Y/N's shoulder, discreetly adjusting his hips and legs in a manspread position to try and hide how turned on he actually was, jaw flexing and adam's apple bobbing as he gulped, watching the screen like he could devour her video version with his eyes.

"Say what you want, but he’s better than the two of you."

The screen paused on her face for one last beat. Her smirk still there. Her eyes still locked into the camera like she was daring anyone to come for her man. Like she was saying, 'go ahead, try me'.

And then it all fades to black.

The music stopped.

And for a second, the theater was pure silence.

Until the crowd exploded.

Screams. Claps. Cheers. Laughter. Chaos. Literal hysteria.

Nick had his eyes still locked on the big screen, mic frozen halfway his mouth, while Matt glared at Y/N with a playful hard gaze.

"Oops?" Y/N pressed her lips in a fine line.

"How did you even record this part without us knowing?"

Y/N just sat there all smug, doing a little shoulder shrug.

"I just went back to the studio a week later. Me and the producer had it all planned since day one." Her eyes darted from Matt to Nick. "And then, I talked to the crew that helped us record the music video and asked them if we could film the last part and add it to the already edited MV. The one you both received didn't have this part."

"I'm shocked. This is actually insane, Y/N." Nick shook his head, looking at the crowd with raised eyebrows. "I guess we all were surprised tonight, guys."

Y/N jokingly rolled her eyes at him before turning to look at Chris with this soft little smile, one that was completely different from the cocky on-screen version of her. One from the girl who loved him too hard, who wrote verses like that not to roast him but to make him laugh.

Her fingers were affectionately tapping against the inside of his thigh, her arm resting comfortably above his legs, cheeks glowing with the most genuine happiness.

Meanwhile, Chris was just staring at her with this look, like she was the only person in the room before turning to the crowd.

"Y’all heard that, right? That was a threat." His eyes moved to his brothers. "I would watch my back now if I were you two."

Y/N giggled and grabbed the mic from him, casually resting her free hand on his chest.

"It was a love letter, babe. Relax."

The crowd screamed again.

Matt shook his head, fixing his cap before looking at her again.

"You’re so scary sometimes."

Chris snorted, pressing his mouth to the side of her head before turning to the mic again.

"I don’t care what anyone says... you’re better than all of us."

Nick nodded.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen, the protector of Chris’s dignity, the queen herself, give it up for Y/N."

The cheers were deafening.

Y/N peeked down to the crowd, eyes wide, lips bitten back into a shy smile, shaking her head.

Under all the lights, with all the noise, the chaos, the screaming, Chris leaned in, whispering in her ear just for her.

"So just to confirm... I’m your favorite view, yeah?"

She turned to look up at him, eyes shining.

And without even thinking, she kissed him.

Just a peck. Quick, sweet. Pure instinct. Pure them.

Everyone screamed as loud as the whole crew thought it was possible, the stage shaking with it.

"Oh for fuck's sake- Chris!" Matt yelled, throwing his free arm up.

"CUT THE CAMERAS." Nick followed right after, standing up and waving his hand in a frenetic way, holding back his laugh.

Chris just held her tighter, his own laugh echoing like music around the speakers.

RECORD BREAKING FIRST RELEASED SONG - IS THERE ANYTHING THE STURNIOLO TRIPLETS CAN’T DO?

By E! News Staff

The Sturniolo Triplets have officially made their mark in the music world. Nicolas and Matthew's debut single, LIKE ME, has climbed into the Top 20 Most Streamed Songs on Spotify less than 24 hours after release, garnering over 1 million streams. The track, which features Chris Sturniolo’s girlfriend, Y/N, has taken the internet by storm.

Alongside the single, Chris’s fashion brand Fresh Love released a limited-edition black cap that Y/N wears in the music video. The drop sold out in just six minutes, reportedly bringing in over $100,000 in merchandise revenue within the first day.

With viral success, chart-topping numbers, and a fast-growing presence in both music and fashion, the Sturniolo Triplets are proving they’re more than internet personalities. They’re building an empire.

© vanteguccir