#she'd without a doubt kiss him...

[lightgamble]

DAREDEVIL: BORN AGAIN | 1.09

You know, back at his place, I heard your heartbeats.

[itsmistyeyedbi]

I've finally got the time and energy to carry on with the rewrite and I am... stuck.

I've reached the part where I need to make the kiss obvious now, Zuri can't skirt around it anymore. Not in her own head, at least💀

The problem is, the body language that Zuri and Bobby exhibit is important to the dialogue they exchange and the kiss (especially since I'm writing around the "unwanted kiss" version in the books, I'll go into detail about that a bit in the tags) but a full on flashback isn't going to work with the way I've already written this.

So... do I just keep the dialogue and leave the details out and up to imagination? Or do I keep them by having the memory be in italics and split up between her current thoughts + anything else happening around her?

[eiralunaire]

Here are some headcanons of Damian Wayne deeply in love with a curly brown-haired girl who is completely dense for romance.

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

1. Damian Wayne and his unrequited (or just misunderstood?) love

- Damian is intense in everything, and love is no exception. His love for her is deep, serious, and with absolute devotion. He is not the type to be carried away by whims, but when he chooses someone, it is forever.

- From the first moment he met her, something about her intrigued him. Her curly hair that seemed to have a life of its own, her strong but at the same time absent-minded character, her way of seeing the world without giving importance to other people's glances.

- When he realized that he was in love, it was a hard blow. He did not want to accept that his heart was beating faster for her, that his thoughts revolved around their interactions, no matter how minimal they were.

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

2. She's Dense and He's Frustrated

- Damian tries to seduce her in his own way: protecting her in combat, making sure she eats well, silently walking her home, staring at her intently... but nothing works because she just doesn't notice.

- He invites her to train with him, hoping she'll notice that he only offers that level of closeness to people he cares about. She sees it as just another training session.

- When he gives her gifts—subtle but thoughtful things like a rare book or a weapon with her name engraved on it—she simply thanks him without suspecting the meaning.

- If another person tries to flirt with her and she doesn't notice, Damian nearly explodes in frustration. "How can you be so oblivious?" he thinks every time he sees her interact with someone without picking up on the romantic intent.

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

3. Damian Discovers Her Inexperience

- At some point, he realizes that he's never been in a relationship and has never experienced romance in any form. When he processes it, his arrogant side is flattered: I'll be her first in everything.

- This makes him even more possessive and protective. No one else has the right to teach him what love, desire or affection is.

- It also makes him more patient (albeit with effort). If she's never felt something like this, he can't expect her to understand it right away. So, he changes tactics: he starts getting closer, touching her subtly (a hand on her back, fixing a loose curl), looking at her in a way that even she starts to notice that something is wrong.

- But, inside, his mind is in chaos: How is it possible that someone so intelligent is so blind to this?

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

4. His First Kiss (Or How Damian Has to Take the Initiative)

- In a moment of frustration, when she still doesn't understand his intentions, Damian just does it. He kisses her.

- He does it with determination, with the purpose of making clear what he feels.

- As they pull away, he stares at her and, in his deep, serious tone, says, "Now tell me you don't understand."

- She's shocked. She'd never considered it because, well, she never thought someone like him would be interested in her like that.

- From there, she starts to see him in a different way. Her heart beats faster when he's around, his gazes feel more intense. And for the first time, she understands what Damian has been trying to tell her all along.

✧─── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

5. Damian As A Partner (Because He'll Obviously Win Her Heart)

- Once he's in a relationship with her, he's still intense, but there's a change: he's more patient, softer, but just as protective and jealous.

- He's the kind of partner who watches her like she's his entire universe, who remembers every detail about her, who makes sure she never has any doubts about what she means to him.

- And every time she, with her absent-minded nature, still fails to grasp something obvious, he just sighs and thinks, "How did I ever fall in love with someone so blind..."

- But in the end, he doesn't care. Because she's his, and he'll never let her go.

[mickandmusings]

professionally mrs. floyd

word count: 1.7k

pairing:

robert 'bob' floyd x f! reader

desc:

bob was no stranger when it came to days that were neverending. his job was stressful, his nerves shot by the end of every shift with the navy. so his home became his place of peace, perfect for a moment of solitude, thanks to the one person he always made sure to come home to-his wife.

when his wife has a less than satisfactory day at her own job, he makes sure to return the favor, and perhaps ensure that she never sees a day quite so bad again.

author's note:

none! more of a blurb than an imagine, just something short and sweet to get me back on my feet :)

for @fraaaaankiiiiieee

you know i love you and all your ideas, and your love for this bespectacled wso. thanks for being my forever cheerleader. <3

-

If there was anyone who was well accustomed to long days and short nights, it was Lieutenant Robert "Bob" Floyd. He woke early every morning, long, long before the sun would rise. He'd drearily shuffle into the bathroom and straighten his hair, brush his teeth, and don his khaki uniform. He'd kiss his still sleeping wife's forehead, grab the lunchbox she'd packed the night before off the counter, and be out the door before the first birds chirped in the morning.

His day at work would not be any less laid-back. He'd sweat through his flight suit in the backseat of a multi-million dollar aircraft, putting his trust entirely in the dark-haired pilot in front of him. (Not that he ever doubted Phoenix. Well, at least never to her face.) Bob had never had a weak stomach, it simply wouldn't fair well with the job he had, but sometimes his teammates maneuvers made his heart rate spike with stress. By the time he walked off the tarmac at the end of the day, he'd be thoroughly exhausted.

He'd arrive home in much the same fashion-the sun sinking steadily, soon to be replaced by the moon. He'd be well past worn out, rubbing his eyes as he stumbled in, but he'd still gather enough energy to greet his ever-doting wife, scarf down a warm dinner, scald himself in a hot shower, and fall asleep on the couch while attempting to catch up on the show he watched with his wife. Once she convinced him to finally come to bed, he'd hardly take the time to shove his glasses on his bedside table before crashing against his pillow for the short hours of rest allotted before he'd have to repeat the whole process over again.

It was safe to say that he was no stranger to a day that never seemed to end.

His wife, however, the eternal optimist she was, often found her days less harrowing than her husband's. Today, however, was not one of those days.

The day had started with asinine complaints-the bed had been a little too cold without Bob next to her, lacking the incinerator-level heat her husband's body always radiated. She'd groaned and hid her face back into his pillow, still smelling of his ridiculous 3-in-1 shampoo from the night before. How his hair was so incredibly soft despite the monstrosity that was that hygiene item was beyond her. The smell of his lingering body wash had lulled her back into sleep, the true source and start of her no good, very bad day.

She was so fast asleep she hadn't heard her alarm blaring, not until she was already ten minutes over the time she was supposed to be leaving the house. She'd panicked, racing through their bedroom in a flurry of already tangled nerves. Realizing quickly that Bob had forgotten to start the dryer the night before, all of her work clothes were still damp and unwearable. It was nothing to truly be angry about, they'd both been tired the night before, heading straight to bed without much care about anything else other than hitting the sheets. She'd trudged through with her less comfortable work clothes, the ones that itched if she moved a certain way, but it would be fine. It totally wouldn't become a minute thing that toppled her over the edge later in the day.

Right?

She thought little of it as she grabbed her water bottle and her lunch container off the counter, not even noticing the sweet note Bob had left her on top. In her rush to get out the door, she'd neglected her morning coffee, and, without meaning to, missing the other sweet post-it her husband had left on the machine next to her favorite mug. Bob was always leaving small actions of his love for her, something she adored about him. Unfortunately, her mind was more focused on the passive-aggressive comments her boss would give her for being late.

She'd already hit the rush hour traffic miles before her workplace, already ready to simply pull over on the shoulder and call it quits before she even gave her breakdown a moment to form. Swallowing down her already bubbling emotions, she pushes through and finally pulls into the parking lot of her workplace.

Naively, she had hoped things would start to look up from there.

She had, of course, been wrong.

Her boss' comments had indeed been backstabbingly biting, the coffee machine at work was out of order, her shoes had begun to rub blisters on her heels, her backup work clothes had become grating and her work was monotonous. By the time the clock hit five, she wasted no time in being the first to leave, responsibilities be damned.

She raced through the roads leading back to the home she shared with Bob, caring little about the possibility of a speeding ticket. She needed only one thing-her husband. She knew he likely wouldn't be home for another hour after her, but it would give her ample opportunity to have her dramatic breakdown before he came through the threshold of their front door.

To her surprise, however, her husband was already home. He'd already traded his stiff uniform for an old sweatshirt and some sweatpants, padding around barefoot in the kitchen. He was standing at their stove, the aroma of something savory filling their home.

"Hey, darlin'."

That accented voice she loved met her ears, already causing her bottom lip to wobble. She couldn't even respond with her usual sweet sentiment, too afraid she'd burst into a pile of tears.

"You're home early."

She redirects the conversation. She sees his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"Uh, y-yeah, baby. I told you I was, left a note on the coffee pot this morning."

His wife's shoulders completely slump, bringing a hand to her eyes, furiously trying to avoid the tears that burn. She'd been in such a rush she'd neglected it completely. She felt guilty. He'd woken up early enough in his already incredibly early morning to write her little notes, to fill her water bottle with the fancy pebble ice she loved. Small actions to show he was thinking of her, that he cared.

"Bobby, m'sorry, I just-"

That was it, she was done for. One scalding hot tear falls down her cheek, and suddenly a tsunami of the others follows. Bob's eyes go wide, dropping the mixing spoon in his hand in favor of scooping her up in his arms.

"Hey, hey, shh, s'okay."

This wasn't the first time he'd ever had his wife sobbing into his shirt, and likely wouldn't be the last. Bob was an incredibly patient and understanding man, it wasn't something he'd hold against her. For some time, he just let her get her emotions out, let them fester forward to get that burdening feeling off her chest. He'd learned years ago that the method proved effective, she'd talk when she wanted to talk.

It only took a matter of minutes for her to do just that.

At most it was incoherent babbling over tears, but it was a language Bob had learned after several years of marriage. She just wanted to be held, to be listened to. So he did just that-his calloused hands caressing her sides as he listened to her incredibly distressing day. But Bob was also a man of action, always ready to fix a problem, and he instantly knew how to resolve this one. As his wife carries on about her 'asshole' boss, he stops her. Not meaning to interrupt, simply getting his thoughts out.

"So quit."

She looks up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes, letting out a dry chuckle.

"Very funny, Floyd."

"M'not joking, Floyd," he retorts back, his voice entirely serious. He runs a hand across her cheek, pushing back a strand of hair from her face. "I make plenty for both of us. We've got everything we need on my pay alone. Got the insurance, the house...baby, the only reason you have to keep working is because you want to."

She simply looks at him as if he had sprouted an extra limb. Had it truly always been that simple?

"Plus," he raises an eyebrow under his thick lenses, that all-knowing smirk painted across his face. "If we decide to go through what we've been talking about, 'could work to our advantage, won't have to pay for daycare."

He gives a shrug, as if it was nothing. They'd been discussing the idea of kids for the past few weeks. For the first time in the entire day, his wife gives a genuine smile, a hint of a laugh crawling across her face. Always trust in Bob to see the bright side.

"Trying to get me as your housewife, Floyd?"

Bob feels a faint pink blush paint his cheeks, but grins.

"Is it working, Floyd?"

She can't help but erupt into a genuine laugh, falling against her husband's chest, finally content after a taxing day. She thinks for a moment-as if she even needed a moment to decide-before placing a soft kiss against his jaw.

"I think I can handle that, being professionally Mrs. Floyd."

Her comment makes Bob's own laughter fill the otherwise quiet air.

"Let me finish dinner and we'll write that two weeks notice together. But-"

He cuts himself off, lifting her with ease onto his shoulder and trekking her over to plop her onto the chair of their breakfast bar, pulling off his own hoodie so she can wear it instead of the uncomfortable looking work clothes that adorn her frame.

"-as your new boss, I'm ordering you-,"

He slips the itchy blouse off her arms, sliding the hoodie on in replacement.

"-ordering you to sit there and let me take care of the rest. And look, you're doing great already. Star employee."

He kisses her head, squeezing her side before going back to the stove. She felt her shoulders relax, that heavy weight on her chest eliminated. This she could get used to. No rushed mornings or hectic days, just leisure, soft days with a man who held her above anything else, as if she hung the moon and stars each night.

"I love you, Robert Floyd."

Bob smiles widely, crossing back over to her, hands on either side of her face.

"Going full legal now, are we? I love you more, Mrs. Robert Floyd."

-

[aquitainequeen]

I've always liked the establishing character moments in the BBC version of Pride and Prejudice; e.g. Bingley is jolly and friendly but tends to be a little too reliant on Darcy's advice and approval; Darcy's rich and snobbish while also a good friend to Bingley; Elizabeth is cheerful and independent; Mr. Bennet is scholarly and clearly isn't that fond of his wife and younger daughters, but obviously loves Elizabeth, etc.

But I've only just now realised that Georgiana Darcy has three such moments.

The first is when Caroline is telling Jane via letter that the Bingleys are going to stay in London for a while, and that she's hoping that her brother will marry Georgiana. We've heard her mentioned before by Darcy, Caroline and Wickham; now we see her in person for the first time, standing arm in arm with her brother before confidently going to meet Bingley:

This is a really interesting moment, because it could be what happened in reality - but that's highly doubtful; Georgiana is far too confident here compared with what we see later in the story and it's very unlikely she'd be interested in a new suitor after what happened so recently with Wickham. Thus it's either Caroline playing up their meeting in her own mind, anticipating their courtship and marriage, or it's Elizabeth picturing what happened, fuelled by her own resentment of how Wickham was supposedly treated by the proud, selfish, unfeeling Darcys. So the first time we see Georgiana is deeply influenced by what two other very biased characters think they see.

The next moment is here:

This time around Georgiana doesn't say a word or take the initiative; it's Wickham who takes her hand to kiss it, flirts excessively with her without saying a word, and strides off while she looks after him longingly, the beginnings of her smile fading as Darcy's handwriting takes over the screen. This is a rather biased moment as well; it's Darcy's flashback and he wasn't here for this bit, so he'd inevitably picture Georgiana as a sweet innocent completely swept off her feet by the charming man he so despises - but Darcy also knows his sister far better than Caroline and Elizabeth do, and she confesses everything to him once he discovers them at Ramsgate, so this is very likely how it went down in real life. And thus we get that much closer to the real Georgiana.

Finally, at the beginning of the fifth episode, we meet Georgiana in the flesh,

waiting nervously to be introduced,

smiling as soon as Darcy steps aside,

so nervous but so very pleased to meet Elizabeth,

hesistant and selfconcious but very interested in learning more about Elizabeth, coming further out of her protective shell, full of love and praise for her brother, earnestly saying that she should have liked to have had a sister. And Elizabeth, like the audience, is charmed by the real Georgiana.

[nativegirltapes]

omg can we talk about tp!mom not being able to pay her bills and when drew is taking care of baby he sees the bills scattered across the dining table and him taking care of it

warnings/notes: reader is stubborn, i didn’t expect this to be as long as it is lol

you told drew you picked up a few extra hours of overtime this week, all in hopes of being able to pay the bills this months, although you left that part out. and of course without a doubt, drew cleared his schedule, booked the first plane, and was on his way; all to take care of baby while you worked. you told him that he didn't have to do all that, that baby could go to your mom's for the weekend, but he absolutely insisted.

after your long eventful shift at the bar, you were finally home. seeing baby was always enough to wash away your worries, after all, you were doing it all for her, and the hours of labor always paid off. you'd work 14 hour days for her if it meant she'd have everything she needed.

"mommy's home!" you heard drew yell as you came through the front door, baby was in drew's arm, a huge grin on her face. "mommy!" she shouted, her little body in a race to get down from drew's arms and run into yours. "how's my baby?" you got down to her level, opening your arms, she immediately ran into them. you gave her a kiss and started unpacking your stuff from work as she sat on your hip.

"busy day?” drew asked while helping you unpack your lunch bag. “yeah, busy and looong.” you replied. “thanks for watching baby.”

after baby was down for bed you did some night cleaning; you realized the bills you left on the table weren’t there anymore. “hey drew!” you yelled, he was laying in your room on your bed, probably napping; taking care of baby all day was fun, but definitely exhausting. “yeah baby. what’s up?” he shot out of bed. “i left some mail on the table before i left, did you see it anywhere?”

“the bills?” he yawned. “i took care of them.” he stretched his arms. he what? “what do you mean you ‘took care of them’” you giggled, really hoping he was joking. “i paid them.”

“what?” you playfully shoved him, but he only pulled you closer. “you better be joking.”

“i took care of them.” he repeated himself again. “i’m serious.” he pulled you close towards his chest, but couldn’t help but pull away. “drew! that was like fifteen hundred dollars in bills!” you yelled. “you can’t just do stuff like that!”

“i’m just trying to help out.” drew’s face flushed with worry when he realized you were actually kind of upset. “i’m sorry.”

after some settling down and a nice warm shower, you sat next to drew on your bed. “i’m sorry.” you whispered, your doe eyes looking over at drew and your hair tied up in a towel. “i really do appreciate your help, but next time can we talk about it?”

drew opened his arm, you nuzzled into his chest. “but if i asked you wouldn’t have let me.” he chuckled. you really had no rebuttal to his point, he was right. you didn’t even like him buying you and baby groceries, so let alone a thousand plus in bills? you were upset. “exactly my point.” you giggled.

“i’ll think about it.”

[lionizingheathen]

HERMIONE GRANGER SMUT BUT MAKE IT LIKE GOOD LUCK BABE…. if you could pretty pretty please consider writing it 🧎‍♀️

Okay you've won me over this request might be my favorite one yet.

Hermione Granger x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Smut, angst, fingering, biting, top!Hermione, bottom!reader, breakup

This is the last time.

You gasped as you stared up at the ceiling, feeling Hermione's fingers deftly working between your thighs, curling to hit the perfect spot each and every time without any instruction as she left deep marks on your neck and shoulders.

This is the last time before I tell him yes.

It's her way of saying goodbye, giving you a mind blowing orgasm... But the two of you had had a thousand last times, and you doubted that this one would be any different. Within a week you had no doubt that your face would be buried between her soft, perfect thighs again, her fingers thrusting so quickly inside you that any coherent thought was far from possible.

"You were made for my fingers." She grunted in your ear, completely animalistic in comparison to how she normally spoke, how pristine her language could be. It made you shiver as you dug your nails into her smooth, warm skin, wrapping your legs around her waist.

You wanted her as close to you as she could be, you wanted to feel her skin on you for as long as humanly possible.

"Ha... Mmm... Harder..." Your voice didn't even sound like it belonged to you - too wanton and needy, but it was how it always sounded when Hermione was fucking ruining you.

"Need more?" You nodded before remembering that she wasn't looking at you.

Speak.

"Mhm! Close, so close... Just... Harder... Please..." You choked, and Hermione let out a dark chuckle, pushing up so that she could get a better angle, her hand roughly squeezing at your breast as she added a third finger, making you gasp as she quickened her movements, a slick sound accompanying each one.

"Perfect..." She leaned in, ghosting a kiss over your lips before she bit down on the lower one, pulling it between her teeth, leaving a pleasant sting behind when she let go. "You're gonna cum for me? Good girl, cum on my fingers... Cum... Please..." That did it, it sent you spiraling over the edge, the heat that had pooled in your stomach spreading over your entire body as you writhed beneath her, digging deep into her back before you bit down on her shoulder, just for a moment.

Nothing could distract from this release, shit...

"Fuckfuckfuck! Hermione! Yes!" The world was still spinning as she slid her fingers out of you carefully, murmuring praises as you laid flat on the bed, breathing heavily... It was criminal how good she was at that. "Merlin's beard..." You breathed, looking over to see her slipping her fingers between her lips.

"Mmm..." You covered your face, feeling it burn as your cunt throbbed... Fuck, you were ready to go all over again just from seeing how she savored you.

"Shit, that's always so hot." You groaned, and she pulled your face away from your hands, leaving slow, hot kisses on your cheek before she pulled back, grinning down at you with a warmth that you knew would be gone in a few minutes.

It never lasted long... Sex softened her, but once it was over she was back to her plans.

"You taste so good." She sighed, leaning down to kiss you once more, gently stroking over your cheekbone before she cleared her throat and turned away. "Merlin, I wish you could stay forever... But it's time for you to go." You nodded, gathering your clothing up but not putting it on right away.

Normally there wasn't this much haste.

"I'll send an owl-." You paused as she did, wanting to hear what she'd say.

"No, don't. We're done. This was the last time, remember?" She said and you frowned, shaking your head before letting out a chuckle and crossing your legs... This wasn't your bed, it was hers, you should start dressing...

But starting to dress felt like accepting that it was possibly really over this time, and you didn't want that.

"Right, I'll see you next time, Hermione." You said, hoping that that would get through to her to remind her that there was never really an over with you two.

Instead, she just sort of looked over her shoulder, not even giving you the courtesy to fully turn around.

"Y/N." Your heart plummeted.

You knew that tone.

"What?" You asked, watching as she got dressed without even facing you, a new habit she'd picked up over the year. Before she'd let you help her, she'd kiss your hands as you straightened out her collars or she'd smile at you as you buttoned her pants... Now there was no warmth.

There was nothing.

You were in love, she wasn't.

"This was actually the end. I hope you know that." Hermione said carefully, and you sighed, pulling your pants back over your hips as your heart twinged in spite of yourself... You knew what she meant by that, she'd always been very clear that she had her life laid out a certain way, and she didn't like when things strayed from her plan.

You were the stray in her plan. This was the run in her previable fabric.

"What do you mean?" You asked, already knowing what she was going to say, but needing to hear it for yourself no matter how painful it was.

"I mean that I'm going to marry a man... I'm going to tell Ron yes on Monday, that I do want to be more than friends, that I'd love to be his wife, and that's just the truth of it." You grimaced, looking away from her as you felt her warm hand on your thigh, like she was trying to comfort you despite speaking to you like you were something that she could simply throw away. "Can you imagine the fuss if the Minister of Magic was married to a woman?" She asked, and the way she said it told you that she found it to be ridiculous, but you didn't.

Being married to Hermione would be heavenly... You dreamed about it quite often.

"I can imagine that we'd make a hot Minister couple... I can't imagine much else." You mumbled, and she sighed, shaking her head like you'd agreed with her despite doing the opposite.

She'd always been good at hearing what she wanted to hear.

"Exactly." No. I'm not on your side in this. "I'm already breaking molds left and right, I don't need to have another thing setting me apart from the lot, love." You frowned, wanting to prove her wrong, wanting to hear her say that she was kidding, that this was a cosmic fucking joke.

How could she make you fall in love and then leave you like it was nothing when you didn't fit her plan?

"But we have fun together." It sounded pitiful leaving your lips, but it was the best you could do right now and it was something that Hermione couldn't explain away.

She nodded, which gave you some comfort - at least you knew that you hadn't imagined that.

"We do." Then why not keep having fun. "But that's all it is. Fun." You raised an eyebrow, shaking your head.

No, because she hated when you talked to other girls, she got nervous when you seemed like you were over her... Why do all that just to leave you now?

"You were jealous when I was talking to Ginny the other day, you-." She cut you off, looking at you like you were crazy... But you weren't crazy, she'd been acting like a jealous girlfriend.

Part of you almost had forgotten that you weren't in love.

"Overreacted." You winced, looking away from her with a heavy heart. You recognized the look in her eyes, she was looking at you like you were a project that she'd completed, something that she could put away and never think of again. This really was her end. "I'm going to be someone's wife someday, but it won't be you." Fuck, did she have to say it like that? Did she have to make it sound like you weren't even human?

Sometimes you admired how well she could move on, and other times, this time, it felt like she was jamming a hot knife into your chest.

"You'll still think of me then." You said, and part of you was hoping that she would admit that she would - it was wishful thinking, if anyone could forget, it would probably be her.

Hermione would cast a spell on herself to forget you if she had to, she'd told you that late one night, tangled in your sheets after a particularly productive session... You'd laughed then, but it was clear now that it was no joke.

"I won't." ouch. "I can compartmentalize quite well." Yeah. Lethally well, you knew that.

You pulled in a shaky breath, looking at her with tears clouding your vision.

If she wanted to be like this, you could be cold right back.

"Trust me, you will." Your tone came out clipped, angry, and you saw the mask slip for a second, and the gentle woman that you'd fallen for all those moons ago was there - for a split second, it wasn't Minister-to-be Hermione Granger, it was Mione, the girl who'd spent days tutoring you in Transfiguration so that you'd pass your final year at Hogwarts, the girl who used to memorize your favorite things from Hogsmeade and surprise you with them just because... The girl who used to pull you down corridors for a quick, secret kiss... And then she was gone. And Hermione Granger remained. "And when you do, don't come crying to me with the time that you've wasted with him... I wish you the best of luck with your plan that I have no part in." You snapped, your eyes brimming with tears as you pulled your jacket over your shoulders, apparating away from her flat as quickly as you could.

[kingkat12]

seven minutes in hell (roman godfrey x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, public sex(??), voyeurism, emotional extortion (Roman is such an ass omg), groping, foul language, smoking, angst, mentions of sex

summary: after you made out with Roman during a game of seven minutes in heaven, he insists that you owe him for not telling Letha about it-- how can someone so beautiful be so evil?

word count: 8,192 (yes I know lol)

← previous chapter | next chapter →

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･seven minutes in heaven masterlist

a/n: after having my inbox flooded w sweethearts asking for a part two, here you go!! I do advise new readers to read the first one before this, because idk how much sense this is going to make without it lol, but enjoy!!<33

Paranoia. That was the only word that could describe the week that followed the party where Roman and I had kissed.

I had spent every waking moment wondering when Roman would show up to cash in his debt or prick me with a goddamn needle. His words lingered in my mind, haunting me; "Fine, I'll be nice. But you owe me," The reminder of those words sent a shiver down my spine, and I couldn't help but wonder how I could've been so stupid as to rope myself into something like this.

Roman knew I liked him. In fact, he knew it very well. I couldn't even mask my feelings with hatred anymore, and everything about that made me want to throw myself off a cliff-- that would probably be more merciful than whatever it was that I had in store. 

After we had made out during seven minutes of heaven, I had to tell my best friend, Letha, that nothing had happened. If she found out that I had made out with her cousin, I doubt she'd want to have me hanging around any longer. And quite frankly, Letha was my favourite person in the whole world, so it was detrimental that she stayed close. She was like a ray of sunshine peeking out through heaps of stormy skies; there was no way in hell I'd lose her without a fight.

Which is why I needed to keep Roman in check, along with my body un-pierced by any incoming needles. 

The first time I saw him after the party, was a few days later in the cafeteria at school. I had stopped in my tracks, completely turning to stone as I watched him with his friends. It was almost as though I was afraid he'd see me if I moved, and to my shock, that's exactly what happened-- as I shifted my weight from one foot to another, harshly gripping my tray of food, his eyes landed on me with a quickness that immediately threw me into a state of panic. I bolted with speed I didn't know I had, not stopping until I reached the other end of the school, panting. 

The second time had been at the library. I had been looking for a specific book that was quite old, meaning I had to do a lot of searching-- the librarian had been of no help, of course. As I scoured the shelves of endless books, crouching down to get a look at the lower sections, I suddenly felt a pair of eyes on me from above.

I looked up to find Roman's green eyes staring at me from the other aisle; his height made it ridiculously easy to lean over, having no visual obstruction of my side of the shelf. Something about the smirk playing across his lips made me freeze up-- it felt like I was prey, about to be eaten whole. I let out a squeak of horror as I grabbed the first book I saw, not letting him get a word in before I dashed towards the exit without a second thought.

The third time was the absolute worst; I had been walking down the stairs with Letha, on our way to our shared history class, as we suddenly encountered Roman on his way up. I felt my heart beat against the books I now pressed tightly against my chest, holding my breath as he neared us with a conniving look on his face-- I was quite sure I had lost all the blood in mine.

As Roman and Letha had a conversation about some sort of family dinner later, I did my best to make myself as small as possible; I wondered whether I should slip away into the crowd or just throw myself down the stairs. 

I was quite sure that it was clear to Roman why I was avoiding him, and I was even more sure that it also was amusing to him. It was rather obvious, with the way he obnoxiously eyed me up with a growing grin. "You okay?" he asked, nudging me. "You look spooked."

Asshole. Just the slightest touch was enough to make me flinch, and my words came out in a breathy mumble; "I'm fine," 

Roman nodded, exchanging a look with Letha. He grew taller when he took a step up, inching closer as he leaned over to check which books I had pressed up against my chest. His long, slender fingers reached forward to tug at one of the books to get a better look, and I would've missed the note he slipped down along the front of my history book if I had blinked. As Roman pulled away, dragging his fingers through his hair as though nothing had happened, I held my books as tight to my chest as I possibly could to not let the note slide down to the floor. 

My heart was beating harder than ever as Roman made his way past me, his familiar cologne lingering in my system as Letha and I made it to class five minutes early. As she left to use the bathroom, I could finally put away my things, inhaling a shaky breath as I checked the note;

meet me behind school in an hour, or I tell Letha everything

I couldn't help the groan that escaped me, ripping the piece of paper to shreds. This was not going to end well.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

Somehow, I had managed to pry myself away from Letha for long enough to make it in time for my meeting with Roman. I was tugging at the sleeves of my jumper, anxiously ripping at the fabric. Wondering whether I should've worn protective gear to shield myself from any needle-kinks he might impose on me, I trembled with fear-- I didn't want to see him. 

Despite my wishes, Roman eventually came around the corner, a rather mischievous smirk spread across his soft, pink lips as he neared me. His hands were tucked into his pockets as he leaned against the wall next to me, his green eyes etching themselves into my skull. His usual cardigan was draped around his shoulders and over his white shirt, tied in the front, as he crossed his long legs in the classic Roman Godfrey stance. "I'm glad to see you came,"

"As if I had a choice," I mumbled, glancing at our surroundings, not wanting to be caught alone with him here. I had to do everything in my power not to look at the casual swoop of his hair, not wanting to think about how handsome he looked right now. "What do you want?"

Roman blinked twice, almost as though he had expected me to say something else. "Isn't it obvious?"

I was afraid my heart was pounding audibly in my chest. "No," My gaze darted down to my shoes, kicking away a nearby rock. "Can't we just forget any of it ever happened?"

"Well, that was sort of the draft of the original plan," Roman said, shrugging. "But you've clearly not been able to forget it, with the way you've been avoiding me for a week now... So it seems we have to resolve this, somehow."

Did this mean that I had only made things worse for myself? I wanted to hit my head against the wall and bleed out-- that would probably feel better than what I was feeling on the inside right now. "The actual kiss hasn't been on my mind much... Mostly just the needles,"

Roman let out a huff-- was it a laugh? "I'm not going to fucking poke you, could you calm down about that?"

"I can't be sure when it comes to you, Roman!--"

"So you haven't thought about it?" He cut me off, eyes sparkling with the need to know. "The kiss?"

If I'd had something to throw at him, I would've done so in a heartbeat. Why was he so keen on knowing that? "Not much,"

"Only at night?"

I couldn't even hold back my grimace, listening to him snickering like a proud toddler. "Definitely not," I grumbled, now kicking at another rock. "Why does it matter to you?"

Roman shrugged; "I don't think you understand how intriguing it was to find out you've liked me all this time," He watched as I continued to tug at the sleeve of my sweater, looking like a nervous wreck. The image before him made his grin widen. "You've been the biggest bitch ever, do you know that? I was dead sure you hated my guts until you begged me to fucking kiss you!"

"I didn't beg!" I exclaimed, protesting. "In your fucking dreams, Roman!"

He rolled his eyes, taking a step towards me. Feeling his presence inching closer, I stopped kicking the scattered rocks around me, looking up to meet his gaze.

Roman leaned down, matching himself on the level of my widening eyes. He studied me as I froze to my spot like an icicle, holding my breath to not get swept up in thoughts of how good he smelled and how soft his lips looked up close. "You're still running your mouth," he mumbled,  and I felt his eyes fall on my lips as well. "I thought you might get a little nicer if I complied with your little kiss."

His way of thinking had me furrowing my brows, confused. Was that why he kissed me? A tiny piece of my heart broke, the hope I had buried deep in my gut dissolving. Why had I ever hoped that his reasons for kissing me the way he did had been different? "I'll be nice if you agree that I don't owe you anything anymore. It's been driving me nuts,"

With this, Roman broke out into a rather abrupt laugh; "Are you kidding? There's no way in hell I'd absolve you of that, anymore,"

The laugh felt so damning, I couldn't help but shudder. I was two seconds away from kicking him instead of the rocks. "What do you want, then?"

Roman straightened up, the look on his face giving away that he was debating what to choose. "It's probably not something as bad as you expected it to be," he said, nodding to himself as he no longer met my hard gaze. "I'd just like it if you told me why you like me."

What? I stared up at him in disbelief, lips parting in shock. Had I avoided him like the plague over a simple question? Sure, it wasn't the most comfortable one to answer, but my mind had already concluded that he would stick me with needles like a voodoo doll and leave me for dead on a road somewhere.  "Uh... Could I ask why?"

"Nope,"

I nodded; "Okay...?" Clearing my throat, I pondered where to start. I hadn't actually thought about this question, and I had to scour my brain for the answer. "I don't know," I eventually mumbled. "I guess I just think you're handsome." Saying it out loud physically pained me, but I knew I had to get this over with.

Roman blinked twice, meeting my gaze with a rather empty look about him. "That's it?"

"I don't know? I think so," I shrugged, searching through my mind for more. "You're my type, I suppose. Tall, brown hair, green eyes... And unattainable. I guess that a part of me likes that you'll never like me back." Saying this out loud, however, was even worse. I hadn't thought about it like that up until this moment.

Roman seemed even more confused than I did. "So it was nothing that I did?"

Something told me he was searching for something more meaningful, but I had always known that my crush was superficial. "I don't think so..."

What followed would haunt me for days on end; Roman broke out into a rather maniacal laugh, running his hands through his hair in clear denial. "So it's just the same, then," he said in between hiccups of laughter. "It's not about me at all!"

I could only watch as he went into some sort of a mental storm, biting down on his lower lip to suppress the noise. "I don't think you quite understand how it is for no one to like you for you," Roman continued, now pacing back and forth as his trail of words sped up; "You've probably never had that problem, right? Guys probably like you because you're nice to them, I've seen that multiple times. Or that one guy that just hasn't left you alone since you sat together during assembly that one time-- what the fuck was his name?"

I held my breath; what on earth was I witnessing? "Roman, I think you're spiraling, let's just breathe--"

"Daniel, wasn't it?" Roman finally looked back at me, a cramped smile on display along his lips. "He definitely likes you for you, right? Not just because you're cute? That must be fucking nice." 

I had never imagined that I would pity someone for only being liked for their looks. Somehow, I found myself wanting to comfort him, and I had to fight that instinct. "It would probably be easier for you to find something real if you weren't such a prick," I mumbled. "If you didn't tug people's hair, throw stuff at them, or stab them with needles?"

That seemed to be enough for Roman to take a step back from his weird state, his pacing coming to a halt. Something seemed to be dawning on him, a crushing realization that should've come about ten years ago, but instead of taking it like an adult, he retaliated; "Well, you're not exactly doing any better than me! You've liked me for God knows how long, and you've treated me like utter crap!"

"Because you did the same to me!" I said, feeling my voice raise with my emotions. "You've had no interest in me, along with all the bullshit you've pulled all year! Don't you think it would probably be easier for me to like you for who you are if you had been a pleasant person to be around?"

Groaning, Roman turned his back to me, ready to walk away. After taking a few steps, he turned on his heel, facing me once more. Fury was burning in his green, green eyes, fists balling up as he spoke; "This is not over. You tell anyone just a tiny fraction of this conversation, I'll tell Letha I fucked you raw," 

My jaw fell in complete and utter shock as he walked away, cursing myself to the heavens and beyond. How had I managed to make this an even bigger mess than it was before I came? As I went back to kicking rocks, trying to catch my breath, bits of the conversation suddenly came back to me; did he just say that I was cute? That he had seen me with Daniel during assembly, and that he had spotted me talking to my previous flings?

This only made everything furthermore confusing; it was obvious that he didn't like me, either. But what on earth was going on in that brain of his?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

The next time I saw Roman was a few days later in the hallway during rush hour. I had spent several nights tossing and turning, trying to decrypt the conversation that continued to haunt me. The conclusion I arrived at, was that he might be lashing out with the needles and the childish behaviour because he didn't know how else to express interest. 

But then again, that would mean that he was very interested in me. I was sure something was wrong with that conclusion, but I couldn't pinpoint any other possible theory at this moment. I also couldn't shake how upset he looked when he found out my crush was purely superficial; was his need to be seen for who he was so overpowering?

So when I finally flagged him down, Roman was in a rush, and this was rather unfortunate; my legs were much shorter than his, and I had to go into a jog to not lose sight of him. Eventually, I caught up to him, grabbing his wrist and tugging at the sleeve of his shirt to get his attention.

Roman seemed rather confused, glancing down at me with a wild look in his eyes which quickly died out when he saw who it was. "What are you doing?--"

"You smiled at me in class," I confessed, feeling my cheeks redden. "The sun was hitting your eyes in a way that made them extra green, and you smiled at me and handed me a pencil. That's when I knew I liked you." Slowly, I pried my fingers away from his wrist, letting out the breath I didn't know I had been holding. It felt like an enormous weight had lifted off my shoulders, like the anxiety that clung to me had been washed away in a calm stream of water in the mountains.

Why did I feel such a strong need to tell him my crush wasn't purely superficial? That it had stemmed from the simplest act of kindness? I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Did I pity him that much? 

Roman's pupils expanded, and he stood as if glued to his spot. People kept passing us by, but it was as though all the surrounding sound died out. It was clear that his mind was racing, his brows drawing together in confusion-- or was it disgust? I couldn't be sure. Either way, my heart was thumping so hard in my chest that it hurt. 

I cleared my throat; "Have... a nice day," Before he could answer or make fun of me, I turned on my heel and bolted down the hall, knowing my heart wouldn't be able to take it if he shut me down once more. 

I couldn't take any more of this. Clutching my heart as I made it to my locker, I knew I had to get ready for class and that I didn't have time for the crushing feeling taking over my chest. 

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

A big part of me had hoped that our last interaction would be the end of it all. That I wouldn't have to owe Roman anything anymore, that he wouldn't be threatening to tell Letha that we kissed or fucked or whatever-- I should've known that was an unattainable reality. 

I was practically falling asleep at the end of a long day of school. Exhausted, I allowed myself to close my eyes as I leaned my head against my palm, elbow at my table, waiting for class to start. A worrying thought popped into my head as I realized that chemistry was the only class I shared with Roman, which meant that he would probably be showing up any time soon. 

With a yawn, I blinked several times, hoping to wake up as I sat back in my chair. I was about to do some stretches, but as I turned to my right, I let out a yelp, nearly falling off my seat.

And I would've fallen right down to the floor if Roman hadn't grabbed the edge of my chair, holding me back with one hand as though it was nothing. "Careful, there," 

That's exactly what he had said when we were in that damn closet playing seven minutes in heaven. I shivered, getting a severe case of deja vu as I looked back at him in disbelief. "When on earth did you show up?"

"Right around the time you nodded off," Roman's books were already on the table-- had I genuinely slept for a minute or two? How could I have missed this? He let go of my seat with a snicker, shaking his head; "You're quite the case, aren't you?"

I didn't like the sound of that. "What do you want? Why are you sitting here?"

"Could you relax?" Roman rolled his eyes, his mood worsening by the second. "Look around, Sherlock, there's nowhere else to sit."

It pained me to realize he was right. With a huff, I fought the urge to kick him under the table. As the teacher finally entered the classroom, excusing himself for being a few minutes late, I let out a sigh of relief; I hoped to avoid talking to Roman as much as possible from now on. After I had confessed to him and gotten nothing in return again, I was dead tired of seeing his gorgeous face-- it was physically painful, at this point.

As class started, I reached into my bag to find a pencil. A good minute passed by as I rummaged around, which eventually garnered Roman's attention; he immediately knew what I was looking for. He turned to me with a spare pencil which he had lying about on his table, holding it out in front of me.

Someone up there was definitely playing pranks on me-- I was sure of it now. With an embarrassed smile, I watched as the sun hit the green of his eyes, illuminating them further as I reached for the pencil. The tips of our fingers touched, just for a few seconds, but it felt like I had almost burned myself with how my nerves reacted to the nudge of his hand against mine. 

Roman seemed to understand the irony of the situation, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards into a dizzying look of kindness. 

There it was. The root of all my problems-- the simplest act of warmth along with the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. The bullshit that started it all. 

I hummed to myself as I broke eye contact, crouching over my table to start taking notes, desperate to distract myself. Every fibre of my being felt like it was buzzing with electricity, unable to calm down. 

It didn't take long before Roman shoved a small note onto my part of the table. I gave him a look before I opened it, sighing.

we need to talk. meet me by my car after school

Turning to Roman, I couldn't help but glare; this again? But his smirk melted me in more ways than one, and I knew that it could have consequences if I didn't go. 

Fuck.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I waited until there were almost no cars in the parking lot in front of the school, hiding away in the library in the meantime. I didn't exactly want to be seen talking to him. As I finally walked out past the front entrance, I held my breath as I spotted Roman leaning against his red jaguar, typing away on his phone. I wondered who he was texting-- was it Brooke from the cheerleading team? No, it couldn't be; unless she still wanted to be with him after he pricked her with the legendary needle.

It didn't take long for Roman to put away his phone, watching me as I neared him. Something about the way his hair lay in waves over his forehead made him look like even more of a heartbreaker than he already was. "Long time no see, hm?"

I didn't even want to fake being entertained by that-- we both knew that we'd seen each other in class less than twenty minutes ago. "What do you want?"

Roman rolled his eyes; "Can't you at least act like you like me? We both know you do,"

Something about being called out like that didn't sit right with me, but I swallowed my curses. I had to be on his good side, after all, so that he wouldn't turn around and tell Letha what had happened between us. "Did you want me to come skipping down the stairs and run to you?" I asked, getting a good look at him. "Or maybe a blowjob before I bake you a pie?"

A humoured smirk spread across his lips, giving in to a chuckle. "You could at least start by standing a little closer?" Roman put his hands up in the air as though he was surrendering; "Look ma, no needles!"

I huffed, complying. I took a few steps forward, watching the last car leave in my peripheral view. It was definitely not a good idea to be alone with him like this-- I should've known better. 

This didn't seem to be enough for Roman, who proceeded to tap the spot next to him on the hood of his car. 

I groaned; "Roman, come on--"

In a swift motion, he hooked his fingers inside my front pockets, dragging me forward as I yelped. Roman grabbed my hips, forcing me down on the car with a soft thud. With wide eyes, I turned to him, watching his hands disappear back into his pockets. 

"You're infuriating," Roman mumbled under his breath, fishing out a pack of cigarettes from his right pocket. He held it out in front of me; "Want one?"

Honestly, I had only smoked once. It had resulted in me coughing up what felt like half a lung. "No, thanks," 

He shrugged, lighting up a cigarette as he hummed. This little dance around why he had told me to come made me further nervous, once again reaching for the sleeve of my sweater, tugging at the seams that had come loose. The smell of nicotine infiltrated my nose, and I turned to him just in time to watch him exhale a few rings of smoke, eyes transfixed on them as they evaporated into thin air. 

Finally, Roman spoke up; "I'm calling for a truce,"

What? My eyes widened, scanning him for lies. "... What's the catch?"

Roman turned to me, a slight smile splayed across his lips. "You know me too well," he said, chuckling as a light breeze passed us. "I want us to play a game, and then all is forgotten."

"Oh no," I blurted out. "What kind of game, Roman? Can't you take pity on me just once?--"

I immediately shut up as I felt his arm wrap around me, holding out his cigarette in front of my mouth between his fingers. I wasn't about to start fighting him in an empty parking lot, so I parted my lips, accepting the cigarette despite knowing I would cough up everything I had eaten for lunch if I inhaled properly. 

Roman's face was suddenly very close to mine; "Ever heard of this game... Wait, what was it called? Seven minutes in hell?"

For fuck's sake. I watched as he laughed, amused by his joke. Still, my eyes darted down to his bouncing leg, watching as he gave away a sliver of nervousness. I reached for the cigarette, getting it out of my mouth; "Sounds about right," Balancing it between my fingers, holding it out in front of his mouth just as he had done to me, Roman hummed as he wrapped his lips around the cigarette, taking a puff.

Before Roman could take it back into his hand, I pulled the cigarette away from him, putting it back into my mouth. Something about sharing the cigarette was making a familiar ache between my legs throb, which in turn made me cross my legs. I didn't inhale the smoke into my lungs, keeping it in my mouth before breathing it out, knowing it was hard to differentiate between that and the real thing. "Where would we play?" I eventually said, glancing at him.

Now that we were sitting like this, Roman's arm around me, I realized we hadn't been this close since that party where we had kissed. Something about his embrace was comforting, despite me knowing that he was doing it to take the piss out of me. However, my steadfast belief in his reasons became shaky as I met his eyes, watching how unusually big his pupils were as he looked down at me, a certain calmness about him. "My car?"

I couldn't help but giggle as I handed him the cigarette, our fingers meeting in the exchange. "I'm not making out with you in your car,"

"Why not?"

"Every single cheerleader slut at this school has been in the back of that thing," 

Roman shrugged; "Not everyone. Eleven out of fifteen,"

"Ew, you're not making it any better!--"

"Fine!" he huffed, giving me a squeeze with the arm he had around me. Roman put out his cigarette by throwing it to the ground, giving it a proper stomp before he turned to me, a mischievous smirk on display. "No one has been in the front, though."

It was hard to say no when he looked at me like this; how was it possible for someone so conniving to be so beautiful? I had to look away from Roman-- it was getting impossible to breathe. Tugging at my sleeves once more, I realized I had ripped out a new seam. "Look, I have to say I'm a little confused... You're not even into me, so I don't get why you'd want to kiss me again," I let go of my sweater, realizing I would probably manage to rip it all apart if I didn't calm down. "It really is a power thing for you, isn't it?"

Roman hummed, rubbing my arm in a soothing manner as he stared out at the parking lot with a rather hollow look in his eyes. "Yeah... That's definitely what it is,"

I didn't have time to wonder why he didn't sound so convinced. As I dared to look at him again, I watched him lost in thought, pondering something. I took that as my cue to get out of playing his game; "Making out would probably be fun and all, but don't you think it is more beneficial for you if we maybe got to... I don't know, know each other?"

Confused, Roman's gaze darted back to me. "Why?"

"You seemed to be a little upset that I didn't like you because of you, remember?" I gave him a playful nudge, drawing forth a smile. "Instead of imposing your weird dominance kink or whatever it is on me, wouldn't you want to prove that there's more to you?"

This seemed to strike a chord with Roman, who slowly started to nod in approval. "That... doesn't sound so bad,"

I damn right hoped so-- I let out a shaky breath, relieved to not become the twelfth girl to end up in Roman's car.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

I couldn't believe that I had managed to fix myself up with a date with the Roman Godfrey. He was practically known for never going out on dates with anyone, but here I was, running around my room trying to find something nice to wear.

However, there was one tiny hoop I had to get through-- Letha was on speaker phone as I rummaged through my drawers, and my heart was racing as I tried to avoid her questions."I still don't get why you can't hang out today!" Letha whined, clearly upset with me. "I thought you were going to help me pick out some shoes down at the sale!"

I grimaced, feeling like the biggest prick on the planet. "I'm sorry, Letha, I'm just not feeling too good..." With a heavy heart, I could hear her sulk on the other end as I finally found the perfect bag. 

"I've barely seen you this week... You've been so jumpy, I just feel like you're avoiding me. Did I do something?"

No, no! I was about to protest until I heard a sound coming from my driveway; I made my way to my window, glancing down at Roman's red car, watching as he parked. Clearing my throat, I rushed to my phone; "Letha, I'm so fucking nauseous, I think I need to throw up... I'm so sorry, could I call you back later?"

I heard her sigh; "Get better soon, okay?--"

As Roman started honking outside, clearly impatient, I had to leave the call without even saying goodbye. Groaning, I gathered my stuff, making my way down the stairs and outside with hurried steps. "Stop that!" I said, trying to steady my breathing as I approached the car. "My parents are inside!"

"So what?" Roman's cocky smirk was on display as always, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. "Whatever dumb fuck told you I'm a patient man, is a dumb fuck." Roman got out of his car to open my door on the other side. It was nice to see that he had a gentleman bone in him-- it gave me hope that this date wouldn't crash and burn. 

And weirdly enough, it actually went quite well. I had been worried that he'd take me out shooting or whatever it was that he did in his free time, but Roman settled for something simple-- we were currently sat in my favourite café in the city, having the most normal conversation we'd ever had. 

"You're kidding me?" Roman said, putting down his coffee with a look of shock on his face. "You've never seen The Godfather?"

I couldn't help but huff-- this was a solid reminder that he still was a guy at the end of the day. "I haven't gotten to it, I guess,"

"Well, you have to!" He ran his fingers through his styled hair, shaking his head in disapproval. Roman was wearing a different shirt today that I hadn't seen before, and I was getting the feeling that he had actually dressed up a bit despite how casual this date was. "What else haven't you seen?" 

"Uh, I don't know?--"

"What else haven't you done, is probably a better question," Roman was grinning from ear to ear now, eyes sparkling in anticipation. "First kiss?"

"David Parker, eighth grade," I put down my milkshake with a smirk, happy to be sizing him up. "You?"

Roman seemed beyond amused; "Amanda Reiley, sixth," He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table, intrigued that I wasn't backing down from his intrusive questions. "First time?"

I had to suppress a cough, feeling as though I was choking on air. There was no way in hell I'd tell him I hadn't had sex yet. "... Some guy I met on vacation last year in Greece, don't remember his name,"

"Really, now?" Roman hummed, leaning back against his chair. "Not buying it. You squirm like a virgin every time I look at you."

My breath caught in my throat-- "Pardon?"

It seemed that my reaction only amused him, but he still spared me by brushing over it. "My first time was with Denise Campbell, ninth grade. Was really sweet, actually,"

I tried to shake off the fact that Roman had been right in his deductions. The story of his first time was unexpected, and he had been quite young-- concerningly young. "Roman Godfrey and sweet don't usually go together, in my book. Did you light candles or something?" I took a sip of my milkshake, watching him break out into a smile. 

"Honestly? I think she lit one," he said, a soft chuckle following.

 I had forgotten how beautiful his laugh was. Flustered, I put away my milkshake, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear as I met his gorgeous, green eyes. There was a calmness about him now, something I had trouble getting used to. It was a big contrast to the way he had looked at me while we played seven minutes in heaven, or the way he had been looking at me the whole week I had avoided him. The usual feeling of unease that crept up my system whenever he was around was long gone-- it was almost as though we were friends. 

Nervous about my next question, I started picking at my nails; "So where did it go wrong?"

"Pardon?"

I didn't meet his gaze anymore. "When did it become casual to you?"

"Sex?"

"Sex,"

Roman hummed, taking a rather long sip of coffee. I wondered whether I had gone too far with the question, but he didn't seem fazed. "Didn't get too far with being sweet, I suppose,"

This was definitely a chapter in Roman's life that I hadn't expected to hear about-- who had broken his heart? And why was it comforting to know that he'd had that experience? Something about it made him more human. "That's sad," I mumbled, forcing myself to leave my nails alone. "Sweet usually gets you quite far."

Something about that seemed to intrigue him; he moved to the edge of his chair, closer. "Don't you girls usually like the bad guys? That seems to work well, in my experience,"

I shrugged; "It can be fun for a week or two. Any longer than that, and your heart starts to tire,"

"Ah," was all Roman said, tapping his fingers against the table in an impatient manner. "Would you want to get ice cream? It's on me."

This conversation was starting to give me whiplash. "I'm sold," I eventually answered, shooting him a smile. It was nice to know that he wanted to continue the date despite my intrusive questions-- I couldn't lie; I was rather enjoying myself. And my ego was getting the biggest inflation it'd had in a while, remembering he didn't usually go out on dates at all.

About half an hour later, we were now walking down the street with our ice cream, once again debating why I hadn't watched The Godfather-- boys really love that movie, don't they? I took the liberty of looking up at him as he explained the plot to me in excessive detail, watching his hands flail around in excitement as he spoke, eyes round and green, and the way a single strand of hair lay in front of his eyes, straying from his stylings.

The man I had hated this whole year suddenly became a person to me. A person with interests, quirks, and feelings-- weirdly enough. Roman didn't come off as a spoiled brat right now, and I could barely remember a time when I would run away from him and his needles. Like this, I could imagine sweet moments with Roman, possibly even holding his hand as we walked down this street, doing normal stuff together. 

In another lifetime, I would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with you.

However, I was quickly yanked out of my daydreams when I spotted a familiar figure leaving the shoe store across the street. With a panicked yelp, I grabbed Roman, dragging him down the nearest alleyway as I felt my blood run cold. 

Roman looked beyond confused; "What are you?--"

"Letha!" 

His mouth formed an 'o', watching me press myself up against the wall. "She doesn't know?"

I shook my head, letting out a shaky breath. This was definitely not what I needed right now. If she found out I was here with Roman and that I had lied to her, I was sure she'd have my head. Why couldn't I just melt into the wall and become immaterial? 

With ease and calm, Roman grabbed my finished ice cream, putting it down on the ground along with his own before nearing me. "We'll wait it out,"

What? "Thought you were ready to rat me out?" I leaned forward, glancing past the corner of the alley, making sure Letha hadn't seen us. 

"Well..." Roman put his hand on my shoulder, guiding my back to the wall once more. "I know she'd kill you, and you can't die before watching The Godfather."

Had I not been preoccupied with being quiet, I would've groaned right in his cocky face. The hand he had on my shoulder burned against my skin, and I was getting flashbacks to our time in the closet at the party where we had kissed. "I've repaid my debt to you now, anyway," I mumbled, warily glancing past the edge of the corner where we were standing, watching Letha from afar. 

Roman's hand on my shoulder quickly made its way into my hair, fingers twisting themselves into the nape of my neck, forcing me to face him. I let my breath escape me as my lips parted, watching him with big, wide eyes; what was happening? It was at this moment that I realized how close he was standing, how he was practically pressed up against me.

There was something sinister about the look on Roman's face-- it suddenly dawned on me that he was still the same person, even though he had buried this side of him for a few hours. He would always thrive when seeing someone in an anxious state, feel joy at any visible conflict or misery, and it dawned on me how bad of a situation this was when his next words came out in a dangerous whisper; "I could just call her over here, do you know that?" Roman's grip on my hair tightened, almost enough to make me wince. "You've made quite a mess of yourself, sneaking behind her back. I could ruin you in a second."

"You won't, though," Fucker.

Intrigued, Roman's green eyes sparkled; "And why are you so sure of that?"

My chest was heaving against him, hating every second, every minute of this encounter. When had he turned into such a sadist? Was it after Denise Campbell in ninth grade? I wanted to make sure I asked him that next time. "Because this gets you high," I hissed. "This feeling that you get from watching me get scared? You're addicted. You're a fucking junkie." 

I felt Roman breathe out against my lips, leaning closer, eyes burning into mine. I could see the flickering flames in them, and I knew that I had set them alight-- I was quite literally playing with fire at this point. "Well, this is who I am," he said through gritted teeth. "Do you get it now?"

"Get what?"

"Why no one likes me," Now, the fire died out, turning into an unintelligible emotion swimming in the green of his eyes. I didn't need to be a specialist to understand that he was baring his coping mechanism for me to see. "Why no one ever will. And why you will go back to hating me once we're done here."

It felt as though I had finally finished a puzzle with five thousand pieces. This was it. Had Roman made himself so unlovable to protect his feelings? Were all his stupid quirks just means to scare away girls so that they would stop liking him? I couldn't help but pity him-- beneath his harsh exterior, I could sense who he was beneath all of it. In a flash of emotions, I reached out to touch his face with a wary, gentle touch. 

Roman's eyes widened, confused, as I moved away the strand of hair that strayed from the rest.

"I know you said this wouldn't be easy," I said, voice soft. "Whatever would ensue between us. And I spent a lot of time thinking about that, actually, and I think the answer is that you just make it hard for yourself." Sighing, I let my hands rest against his shoulders, watching his every move and reaction. It was obvious that he was caught off guard. "I pity you, Roman. But I thank you for making me realize how much guts one must have to feel... Why are you so scared?"

Roman just stared at me, his breathing coming out in shallow breaths through his nose. He stood as if frozen to his spot, and his hand left my hair, falling to his side as his eyes never left mine. "I'm not scared," he eventually said.

"You're terrified,"

"No,"

"There's no point denying, it's really fucking obvious--"

"No, it isn't!" Roman snarled, grabbing my hands, and prying them off of him. "Maybe I just don't like you in that way, have you ever considered that?"

I shrugged; "I have. But it still doesn't change the fact that I can read the fear on your face like an open fucking book,"

Groaning, Roman let out an exasperated sigh. He let go of my hands, the fury apparent in his unsteady breathing. It was obvious that he had never confronted his issues head-on, and that he didn't like the process one bit. "You need to watch your mouth,"

"Or what?" It was as though my fear had escaped me, staring him down with challenge burning its way through my veins. "You're going to tell Letha we fucked or whatever? Go ahead, see what I care! Just know that I will be telling the whole school that your dick is smaller than my pinky if you do."

Roman's eye twitched as he let out a guttural growl, body tensing up as he balled his fists, one of them returning to my hair. It was clear that I had angered him; he grabbed a fistful, yanking my head upward with a force that made me wince, pulling me flush against him. It was at this moment that I felt something press up against my stomach-- my eyes widened with the realization that he was hard. "Do you still like me?" he asked, his breath tickling the underside of my nose. 

When I refused to answer, Roman took my silence as a yes. "You're going to hurt yourself if you continue to,"

"Wasn't it you who proclaimed me a masochist?" I answered, a smirk forming on my lips. Something told me that I had him cornered. 

And I was right-- it was Roman's turn to go silent, staring into my eyes as multiple emotions flashed before him. Standing like this with him was almost comforting; I had finally deciphered him. I knew that he had practically built himself a fortress of hate and fired the canons at any signs of intrusions. He was so desperately human right now-- it was making me dizzy. Or was that just his harsh grip on my hair? 

"Roman?"

A hum.

"You can kiss me now if you want to,"

The hand in my hair loosened its grip, and I watched as Roman inhaled a long breath, no longer conflicted.

And so our lips came together in the alley, a rather hungry kiss ensuing. My hands went up into Roman's hair, letting out soft gasps against him as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me closer to him with a burning need. I could taste the remnants of the chocolate flavoured ice-cream on his tongue, the sweetness mixing in with the roughness of our kiss. I wondered whether he could taste the vanilla on mine-- chocolate and vanilla were my favourite mix, anyway.

I knew there was a possibility of Letha spotting us if she walked our way, but it only made me more desperate for Roman. I had missed him dearly, the memories of our last kiss having haunted me through every hour of every day. There was no doubt in it now-- he wanted me too. It gave me such an immense rush, along with the satisfaction of feeling how hard he was against me, the throbbing of his cock continuing against my stomach as he pressed me further into the wall behind me. Something felt wrong about him being aroused after our fight, especially now that we were practically in public, but I knew I didn't want to push him away just yet. 

I was completely breathless by the time Roman shifted, his thigh now pressing up against the apex of my own. Caught off guard, I whimpered as he grabbed my hips, moving my hips against him as the kiss deepened, growing further needy. I could feel it in my bones; not only did he want me, he needed me. This was just about the biggest high I had ever had. Roman Godfrey-- all mine in this moment.

The friction between my legs, feeling his cock continuously brush up against my stomach through our clothes, had me gripping his shoulder, disconnecting our kiss to catch my breath. My head rolled back against the wall behind me as I pondered how I had allowed this to happen, not used to pleasure caused by others. 

Roman's fingers wrapped around my throat, holding me in place as we rocked against each other, lips hovering above one another before they came crashing together once more, unable to keep away. I let out a broken whimper, my hands flying back up into his hair, pulling him closer as pleasure coursed through my veins in a way I hadn't ever felt before. I couldn't quite put my finger on what this was, but I had never been this certain that I liked it.

I let out a broken moan as my head rolled back once more, which in turn had Roman connecting our lips, muffling any sounds. This was where I was reminded that we were in public, wondering if I had gone absolutely mad-- I blamed it all on him. His beautiful eyes, his strong arms, and his addicting, soft lips. As Roman continued to grind me up against his thigh, pulling away to watch my lips part and my body squirm in pleasure, I gazed up at the way the corners of his mouth turned up into his signature smirk. He knew exactly what he was doing-- messing with me like this, practically in public. 

It took a lot of willpower for me to push him away, whimpering slightly at the loss of contact. "We-- We can't," I said, catching my breath. 

Like this, I could see how disheveled Roman's hair was, how his lips looked swollen with kisses, and it made my stomach flip-- how was it possible for someone to be so beautiful, even when completely unraveled? 

Roman shrugged, grinning from ear to ear. It was clear that he was scanning my look of arousal; "My car is right around the corner,"

"Okay...?"

Leaning forward, Roman captured my lips in a short kiss. "I can park it somewhere desolate," he said, nipping at my lower lip. 

I couldn't help but shiver-- that sounded really fucking nice at the moment, but I knew I had to control myself. And I wasn't about to lose my virginity in a car? "Another time," I mumbled, struggling to catch my breath. Who would've known that arousal could cloud the mind like this? 

Roman nodded, accepting my words as a promise. "I'll hold you to that,"

Oh no-- This again? Great.

Just great.

(a/n: thank you for reading!! MWAH)

← previous chapter | next chapter →

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･seven minutes in heaven masterlist

[lemon-berri]

Perfume (pt 2)

Satoru has been quiet today. Gone is the usual chatter, the jokes about how his day went. He watches you silently, eyes swimming with a well of emotions.

Every so often, he opens his mouth like he's going to say something. Only to pause, and retreat back into himself.

Life without you for this long has left him broken. He is tired, a husk of a man just going through the motions of daily life. Every day that he wakes without you by his side, he feels a deep, agonising pain in his chest. Like someone has taken out a vital organ and he's fighting to survive.

But he puts on a brave face, for his students, for his friends. For you. He talks to you in a happy tone whenever he visits, just in case you can hear him. Because he doesn't want you to worry unnecessarily.

Though, knowing you, you'd see right through his act.

His eyes trail across the room to the window, he can't tell you this. At least not while he looks at you.

"I had another meeting with the higher ups today.."

Again, hes met with silence. The only response is the gentle sound of your breathing. He has no idea if you're listening but he goes on.

"It's been three months without you now. In case you haven't been keeping track." There's a chuckle, but there's no humour behind it. Rather it's a dark, hopeless sound. "I've been refusing all overseas missions, how can I go anywhere knowing you're...." he can't find the right words. You're not exactly hurt, there's no physical injuries on you. Sleeping seems too simple. Coma too medical -and saying it out loud would make this nightmare too real.

His crystal eyes flit back towards you, only to move down to the floor.

"The pressure built up. They've ordered me to go. I'll be leaving tomorrow, and I'll be gone a week."

"But don't worry. You won't be alone. Everyone promised they'd come to visit you, I made sure of it. I wouldn't want my angel to get lonely without me, yeah?" Satoru tries another chuckle, but this one comes out more like a sob, and he quickly covers his mouth.

He's torn up. He doesn't want to leave your bedside, he'd rather watch the world burn than leave your side. But duty calls, and your friends promised they'd be here. Shoko promised she'd keep him updated too, in case there were any changes.

Satoru is quiet for a little longer, looking at you now, the way your pretty lashes brush against your skin, the way your lips part ever so gently. You're so beautiful it hurts, and the guilt in his stomach is making him feel sick. But he has to go.

Finally, he gets up, brushing a soft kiss against your forehead. He refuses to say goodbye. In his mind, he'll be right back. Instead, he says.

"I love you."

Its not enough to describe the way he feels.

There are so many stairs. Too many stairs. You've gone up at least five thousand steps so far- in a winding tower that seems to stretch for eternity. But you're not tired. Because your physical form isn't here.

You've managed to figure out that this endless tower must be your consciousness. Every time you open a door, a different memory plays out in front of you like a scene in a play, and you quickly close it. The stones are strong, rough and cold. They've been through a lot, but will no doubt last for years to come.

Though you can't figure out where that floral smell is coming from.

You're not here to relive your memories though. You're not here by choice at all. By now you've figured out you're a prisoner in your own mind. And your captor..?

You hear it every so often, a distant growl, followed by a crack.

Tick.

Tick.

BANG.

The sound is one of a wall being broken, and your head pounds, like you've lost some vital part of your very being.

The cursed spirit has somehow managed to trap you within your own consciousness. And it actively seems to be attempting to destroy your mind, your memories.

A weaker person would've succumbed by now, faded into nothing. But you're fighting it. For each mental brick knocked down you put up another. This will not be your end. You will survive. You have to.

You have too much to lose.

If only you could find the wretched creature and finally exorcise it.

You pause to listen, leaning your back against the cold stone wall of the tower. Time passes weirdly in here and you're sure by now people in the real world must be getting worried about you. Your guess is that you must've been in here for at least an entire day.

Tick.

Tick.

Crack.

BANG.

Its not use. No matter how far you ascend it always sounds like it's coming from above you. Yet when you look up you're only met with more stairs, fading away into unknown darkness. Your gaze falls downwards instead, into the void from which you came- the stairs you've already climbed. It would be so easy to give in.. to just go back down.

The darkness beckons you. It's warm arms wrap around your limbs, it's peaceful silence calling out to you. And you feel yourself stepping towards it. But then something catches your eye.

An elaborate ring on your left hand, glimmering in the darkness. Aquamarine, like a certain pair of eyes as familiar to you as the sky, a sight like an endless ocean, your favourite sight in the world. A smile. A voice.

"I love you"

His voice. It rings out across the empty space. You stop moving.

Satoru... You can't give up. Not when he's waiting for you.

Youre sprinting across the stairs now, faster and faster. Weightless with your new found determination. Theres no pain, no fear. You'll survive because you have to.

Finally there's a light, the tower opens at the top into a rotunda- nothing but an endless, cloudless sky stretching beyond. This must be it, the very core of your soul.

A hiss sounds behind you, and you whip around, already ready to attack.

You will survive.

Satoru gets back from a long day of trying to track down a special grade. So out of it that he doesn't even remember what country he's in.

Singapore? Sri Lanka? It was something with an "S" anyway.

He flops his full weight down onto the hotel bed, letting out a deep exhale. His limbs stretch out, and his heavy eyelids start to close, when he hears a buzz.

The man groans, long limbs turning lethargically. He reaches for his phone, cracking one eye open lazily to look. Who could be contacting him at this time anyway-

He almost drops the phone on his face.

23 missed calls from Shoko.

His tiredness evaporates, and he sits up instantly, fumbling with his phone to quickly call her back. As soon as Shoko picks up he starts talking.

"Shoko. Hi. What is it? Is everything alright? Is she okay-"

"Satoru." Shoko interrupts him. "She's awake."

I wasn't originally planning a part 2 to this, but I was so moved by the amount of people who enjoyed part 1 that I had a burst of inspiration to write this! So thank you all 🩵

Pt1 Pt 3

I might do a part 3 where they reunite finally. I just like cliffhanger endings and I didn't want this to get too long.

I had a skim through to check for spelling but as usual if anyone points out my mistakes I'll crash out. 🩵

🩵Thank you for reading 🩵

Dividers by @bunnysrph

🌟Tag list🌟 @seternic @hel1nn

[landossnorriss]

i see you - pt.2 | ln x she.

Pairing: lando x she. Summary: lando and his lady make it through media day in spa. series links. Word Count: 1.4ishk Warning: some angst, some hurt, some healing, just the love and support i hope lando is getting tbh.

there were very few times that she was free to attend back to back races with lando. it was more often than not she tried to line up her time off so they could spend his breaks together but following hungary a few well placed phone calls had switched things around. anything that needed to be done critically was done so over zoom and the rest was simply put on pause.

she knew that lando felt bad about it, but the sure sign that he needed her was the way he had simply accepted her moving everything around without much of a fight. she had tried it before, after austria and a few other races and insisted that he would be fine on his own. when it had come down to it this week though and he tried to find the words to send her on her way and actually let her go and do her own thing the words he knew he should stay had stuck in his throat and instead he had found himself infinitely grateful to have her in his life.

things had been okay, bearable at least, whilst they had been in france with p and max. with his love around he hadn't needed to be on his phone too much and the noise had been easy to block out but when it had come to wednesday night and he had finally braved the storm his stomach had been left rolling.

the team orders that he had managed to silence were suddenly back and in full swing, the calls with andrea ever since the face had been loud and clear in his mind. he had been in calls for hours at this point, as they covered what he would and wouldn't say and in each of them lando had found himself wishing zak was around, someone in his corner but the message had been understood - you race for mclaren or you don't race at all.

lando had looked at her then, and that was when she had known she made the right call as he ended his meeting and she wrapped herself around him as tightly as she could. would she be able to kiss away the self doubt she could see creeping into the back of his mind? did they really think he had such a little shot at winning the wdc that they wouldn't give him that extra push to help him get there?

the real guilt had hit lando when he'd checked the news around oscars win and the headlines had painted him a villan. that much she knew he could have stomached on a normal day had it not been a dark cloud of sweet oscars first win. she'd reassured him as they laid in their bed trying to sleep before press day that it was going to be okay, that oscar understood but each time he managed to pull apart the differences in their wins. the atmosphere, the celebrations, the team spirit, each pieces he managed to pick at another blow to the carefully crafted shell he wore for the rest of the world.

as media day rolled around and the boarded their flight she stuck close to him, her fingers linked with his constantly as she questioned just how well he was going to wear that persona today. how much damage would each story he was forced to tell today do to him?

lando for the most part did what he needed to do, he wore the team name with a smile she knew didn't reach his eyes but the rest of the world would find beautiful anyway. "how are you holding up?" the question was loaded as she wrapped herself around him in a tight embrace, offering a beaming smile at the kiss he pressed to her nose, the driver determined to do everything he could to recharge in the small break he got for the day.

lando knew they were all waiting to tare him apart, he could see the doubt in each reporter's face when he had given his well rehearsed answers. but the guilt of clouding oscars win was genuine and he would do everything he could to back pedal that part at least. the team... well he didn't know how he felt about the team right now. "i'm tired, but eternally grateful that you're here you know?" he sighed as he lent on her with more of his body weight than he likely should be everything else was just so heavy he needed a minute to just, lean on her.

"want me to go into the next round of interviews? give me that cap and let me at em?"

lando could only raise a brow at her offer because he had been swiping her phone off her for the past two days to stop her from reaching out to post any of her thoughts and feelings on the weekend that had just gone. "no love, i think we're safer if you stick to being the best girl a guy could ask for." would he have been able to get through this weekend? he really wasn't sure. "is it mad i almost wish i could just say i didn't want to race this weekend?" he asked quietly, his thoughts just for her as his hands moved up and down her back a little.

she couldn't help the way her frown formed at the thought, she wasn't sure she had never known lando not want to race. ever. "don't let them win lando." not stella, not the media, not anyone that was doubting him at this point could undo what they were doing to him. how could they not see that? "you're p2 lan, you did that, not your team no one gifted you a damn fucking thing, you'd be much closer to p1 if you had a team that worked with you and this weekend was shitty but it doesn't define who you are as a racer ok?" that much she would not budge on.

letting his face soften lando nodded as he buried his head in her neck for a moment, taking in everything about her that kept him grounded. he truly didn't know what he would do without her here this weekend, press day was bad enough without the thought of having to do it all alone and the results this weekend. god if he won it was going to cause more harm for the team, more shit for osc, if he lost it was only going to validate everything that people had been saying to him about miami. "you're right i just...tell me you see me?" so much of this week already felt so perfectly crafted he needed to know, there was one person that still saw everything.

she felt her heart break all over again at the request and whilst it had been a long standing mission to make this man feel so loved, the desire to do so only increased as her eyes locked onto his ocean green ones. "lando norris, i see you, i adore every single part of you and i will protect you with every part of me do you understand, not a single thing that happens this weekend defines anything about you if it's outside of your control. do you see you too my love?" pressing to her toes she let her lips capture his softly, her nose scrunching at him slightly with a face that usually set him off into giggles.

today the slight chuckle he could muster for her was enough. "i'm working on it." seeing himself the way she did, was the hardest part of it all. "just a few more bits and we're out of here love." all he wanted was more time to sleep and wrap himself in her.

"i'm going to head to the hotel, get us pizza, get notting hill set up, text me when you're ten minutes away and i'll meet you in the shower?" she offered lightly as he reluctantly pulled away from her. "i'm going to kiss every single inch of you i love." and she'd do it on repeat all night till he believed her too.

giving a low groan lando nodded, the description of their evening his very definition of perfection when he was feeling like this. "i still do know what i did to deserve you, i shouldn't be too much longer and we'll all be being driven back." he nodded as he straightened himself out, making sure his hat was back in place as he looked out to where people were milling. "wish me luck baby?" he hesitated, fingers drumming on the door as he lingered to keep sight of her.

"you don't need luck baby, you're lando fucking norris."

*pics from landoupdates <3

[rafescolors]

❝you don't have to go home.❞

𖹭 pairing: rafe cameron x reader.

𖹭 summary: a visit to your parents house shows rafe something you've never told him about.

𖹭 tags: angst, hurt/comfort.

! warnings: allusions to past abuse, non-consensual touch (not from rafe). this one's sad and- well, heavy. be careful reading it pls<3

𖹭 other: she/her reader.

for the sake of the plot rafe has way better control on his violent impulses. this is 100% self indulgent.

Rafe has always known that your relationship with your father was strained at best.

But he had never seen how bad it was.

Your mom had insisted on inviting him to dinner, and at first you refused, and refused, and refused, because you didn't want your father anywhere near Rafe. Rafe was your safe place, your comfort, and you felt breathless just thinking of them in the same room. You didn't want your light anywhere near the darkness that consumed your life.

But eventually, you gave up, because your mom really wanted to get to know your boyfriend, and there was no way she'd agree to have dinner without your father.

So there you are, in Rafe's room, looking at him dress up for the occasion while you had one of his hoodies on and a pair of jeans. He had questioned you before, but the moment you shrugged him off, expression closed off and distant, he frowned and tried to distract you.

"Hey, baby," he says softly. You look up, startled. With a simple raise of your eyebrows, you encourage him to keep going. "Are you okay?"

He knows you aren't. But he still asks.

You shrug.

"Just don't feel like talking, sorry, Rafe."

He walks toward you and kneels before you, his hands gently laying on your thighs. You jump a bit but quickly relax.

"You've been like this since you came here. Do you wanna talk about it?"

His voice, soft and low and all sorts of comforting, makes your heart clench.

You shake your head.

"No, I don't want to."

You scratch his head, the feeling of the buzzcut still a bit foreign to you. He smiles, eyes doubtful.

"Okay. Well, I need your help looking good. I see you're not trying to impress anyone," he pinches the fabric of his hoodie, "but I am. You did say your brother was kind of overprotective for a little guy."

You giggle.

"Yeah, he is." The smile on your lips is the first you had since you woke up. "He thinks that 'cause he's a boy, he has to approve of my boyfriend." Tapping his nose gently, you snicker.

Rafe grabs your offending finger, giving a chaste kiss to the pad of it. You blush.

"Hmm, kinda like Wheez. You're lucky she adores you, baby, because if she didn't? She'd try to run you off."

With a snort, you roll your eyes.

"Oh, I know. She's told me all sort of stories about girls your dad tried to set you up with."

Rafe laughs, soft and rough.

"Yeah, they never came back here. Good for me, though, because I didn't like any of them."

You hum, eyes going a little distant, like you're lost in a memory. You straighten up before he can worry.

"Get this off, then." You grab his pastel pink polo shirt. "The jeans look good. But he'll think you're a snobby rich asshole if you use this."

He raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah, you kinda are, but you don't wanna look it with him." You scrunch your nose and giggle.

He kisses the tip of your nose.

"What should I wear then?"

"Hm... That linen white button up, not snobby, a bit formal, but casual enough. And put on that brown leather jacket, mkay?"

He smirks.

"Oh, the one you made me buy?"

Blushing, you shove him lightly. "Shut up."

He grabs you by the jaw and gives you a soft, chaste kiss before standing up and changing his shirt. You simply look at him, all the love you feel shining through your eyes.

He smiles softly at you.

"You sure you wanna keep the hoodie?"

"Yeah, 's warm, and comfy and makes me feel safe." You don't say why you need to feel safe.

He doesn't question it, and as soon as he's done, he grabs your hand and you both walk out of his house, climbing on his truck.

The ride to your house is quiet, soft music playing lowly through the speakers, but you don't pay attention to it. You twist your hands and play with the string of Rafe's hoodie, looking out the window.

He's concerned. He really is. But he won't say a thing, not wanting to make you feel worse.

You swallow the moment you're in front of your parents house, a look in your eyes that makes you seem far away.

Rafe gently grabs your hand.

"We can still back out, go home. Get take out. Snuggle and watch one of those cheesy romcoms you love."

A small smile appears at his words, but it's still distant, still not completely honest. You squeeze his hand.

"We can't."

Opening your door, you jump out of his truck, tugging the sleeves of his hoodie down, until they cover both your hands. He sneaks one of his inside a sleeve, wrapping his hand around yours, once you're both side by side.

When you're in front of your door, he knocks.

In a few seconds, your mom appears, hands straightening her button down, smile bright and eager.

Rafe looks at you, and it's like a switch has been flipped off –because it has. You have a bright, seemingly sincere smile on your face, and you let your mom hug you, a soft hi leaving your lips.

Once you both separate, she looks at him. You reach out and take his hand, tugging him closer to both of you.

"Mom, this is Rafe. Rafe, this is my mom."

He smiles, all charm, and shakes your mom's hand.

"Good evening, ma'am. Thank you for having me."

You face palm, trying to hide your laugh. He's never been so polite, gosh.

Your mom, though, seems charmed.

"Hi, Rafe. I've been dying to meet the boy my daughter is practically living with."

Your face falls.

It's a not so subtle jab at the fact you've been avoiding going home.

Rafe, though, doesn't seem fazed. He either is being a pro at faking or didn't notice. You bet it's the first.

"Ah, so sorry, that's on me," he smiles apologetically. He slides his arm over your shoulder, pulling you closer, and you let yourself fall on him. "It's just that, well, community college is close to the university I attend. And I live closer to her job. I offered her to stay with me since it'd take her less time all those trips."

Your mom's smile softens.

"What a nice boy," she coos a bit.

You make a face. Rafe tugs softly on a strand of your hair, chuckling lowly. You pinch his arm over your shoulder.

Your mom's eyes catch it all, and she gives you a look. You try to ignore it, focusing on Rafe.

Your kind of peace doesn't last long, heavy footsteps making you stiffen and tense under Rafe's embrace, trying to hide in his hold.

He gives you a confused, concerned look. You ignore him.

Then he appears.

Your father is by no means a big man, barely taller than you are, way shorter and smaller than Rafe, yet you can't help but feel like vulnerable prey, his eyes zeroing on you with their usual intensity, making you shiver and your pulse quicken in fear.

Rafe's hand brushes gently against your arm, comfortingly, his eyes and mouth downturned in worry.

Your father's eyebrows furrow when he sees you two, a hardness and anger in his gaze that makes you swallow and make yourself smaller in Rafe's hold.

He pastes a fake small on his face, loudly saying something, but your ears buzz and you feel like you're underwater, not able to hear a thing, only seeing as if from out of your body how he grabs Rafe and harshly slaps his back before he turns to you, now Rafe a small distance away, not within touching distance anymore, your father between you two.

Frozen, you see him approach you with eyes open, and you clench your jaw when he wraps them around you, stiff and unmoving. He hugs you way too tightly, his hands brush way too intimately against your back, and you can already feel your eyes glaze over while you go somewhere far away inside your mind. Your arms are crossed tightly over your chest and you hunch your shoulders, trying to push away from him, but he only tightens his arms, making you feel as if trapped by a boa, with no way out until it crushes the life out of you.

Your breath's shallow, panicked, and you can only hear your heartbeat loud in your ears.

Suddenly, you feel someone pull you out of his constricting hold, as if being pulled from underwater, and you breathe in relief, tears pickling your eyes. You lean into Rafe, his hands on both your arms, gently holding them, and his chest against your back. Instinctively, he seems to know you need space.

You look up at him, trying to ignore everything else. His eyes are cold, pinched at the corners, mouth a thin, serious line, and you can feel the way he's two seconds away from springing forward, muscles tense and ready to jump.

You feel dread fill your lungs and struggle to breathe.

He notices, his eyes lowering to you and softening, his body relaxing, and he slowly wraps his arms around your crossed ones, giving you the chance to break free, but you only hug yourself tighter and lean more into him.

You see the hurt in them, the way they're burning with the need to protect you. He's always been a bit protective over you, but you know this is nowhere near all the times before.

You don't hear a thing, only see the way he glares at your father, not glancing yourself in his direction for your own good, but when his eyes look a bit more apologetic, you see his gaze drifting towards your mother, who's completely oblivious to everything that just happened, her eyes only confused. Your eyes meet, but you quickly glance away from her, down at Rafe's hands wrapped around your elbows.

You know to the outside world, you're just serious, quiet, as you've always been, only Rafe noticing the subtle, hidden changes. So you don't worry about her noticing.

You've never done.

You catch Rafe looking at his phone, feigning surprise, and you start paying attention at the words leaving his moving lips. You catch the end.

"-so sorry, ma'am. My baby sister- she needs me, we really have to go. Oh, no, she can't stay. My sister adores her, asked specifically for her, you see."

He keeps talking, fake apologetic, making some excuse to get you out of diner. You look over your mom's shoulder and see your younger brother, a genuine smile appearing on your face, and you wave at him.

He waves back.

Rafe sees it all, and smiles at him, genuine too, before he turns around with you in his arms, his body a wall around you, protecting you from your father's touch and his gaze.

You've never been so fucking grateful for his height and broadness.

Without wasting a second, he slowly unwraps his arms from around you and grabs your upper arms, thumbs brushing against you, softly pushing you forward and guiding you towards his truck, all the way hiding you with his body.

He opens the passenger door, letting you climb before he shuts the door as gently as he can, careful to not startle you.

He waves at your house, climbing to the driver seat and quickly starting the truck, driving for a few streets before he parks, his arms and hands tense on the steering wheel, veins showing from how hard he's holding back.

You're quiet, still a bit out of it, arms crossed and body as small as you can make it, hiding underneath his hoodie.

He exhales, harshly, hands twitching over the wheel, before he relaxes with a huff, harshly rubbing his hands over his face.

His voice is soft when he speaks.

"You never said it. Why didn't you tell me?" The hurt is evident in his voice, but you know it's not about being hurt because you didn't tell him.

It's another kind of hurt.

You shrug.

"Nothing ever happened," you say, voice monotone, emotionless.

He turns to you sharply, brows furrowed in concern and confusion.

"What do you mean?"

Another shrug.

"Exactly what it means. I've never been alone with him since I can remember. I can't say anything about any year before I was twelve, though. I can't remember most of my childhood."

His jaw clenches, nostrils flaring in what seems to be restraint.

"That doesn't make me feel better." His tone is serious, one second away from enraged. But you know it's not at you.

You shrug.

You know you'll shrug a lot during this conversation.

You're closed off. You're distant. Like everything happened to someone else.

It's not on purpose.

You know he knows it.

"It's the truth. I didn't say anything because nothing ever happened that I remember."

"Baby, the fact you keep saying remember makes me think there's more," he whispers, voice strained but soft.

You gulp.

"What's the point of saying stuff I suspect but I'm not sure it's real?," you ask in a small, broken voice.

His hands cup your cheeks, guiding you to look at him, his eyes so sad and hurt.

"What do you mean?," he asks, afraid.

Lips trembling, you blink rapidly to not cry.

"He's always looked at me weird. I've- I've seen him look at girls weird. He dated someone close to my age when him and my mom were broken up for a while. When he touches me, I want to fucking tear my skin off. After, I can't even look at myself in a mirror." Your voice breaks, tears escaping your eyes and trailing down your cheeks. He swiftly brushes his thumbs against them, but they just keep coming.

He looks at you, a hurricane of emotions going through his mind. But he has to keep it together. For you.

"Why are you so sure it's not real?"

Shrugging, you sniffle.

"'Cause I don't remember anything actually happening. They always tell me a lot of stuff is in my head. What would make this different?"

There's storms in his eyes.

"They?," he whispers lowly.

"They say I exaggerate. He's not so mean. He's not so violent. He's not this villain I made him in my head."

His nostrils flare.

"Who?"

"Him. My mom. My brother used to too."

He grits his teeth, hissing.

"Fuck them, baby. Fuck them," he growls. "You've never behaved like that. I've never seen you like that. That's not nothing." His voice is softer by the end. Full of tenderness and hurt for you.

You sniffle, tears making your vision blurry.

Scrambling, you jump into him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck and face hidden on his shoulder. You sob quietly, all those years of silence and feeling crazy falling over you. He shushes you gently, hugging you and tucking his nose in your hair, whispering comforting nonsense, sweet nothings that make you cry harder but feel better too.

It feels like hours passed before you slowly calm down, soft sniffles and hiccups the only thing left for you to give, face sticky with dried tears and nose runny.

He softly parts from you, cupping your face before grabbing your bag, taking a tissue and gently cleaning your face. You grab another one and blow your nose, cleaning afterwards.

"You're moving in with me," he says with finality.

You blink at him, shocked.

"What?"

"You're moving in with me. When the house's empty, we're taking all your shit. You'll never go back there. You'll never see him again."

You feel your heart flutter in your chest, hope flaring like crazy, unable to tame it down.

But for the first time in your life, you don't feel like you have to tame it down.

Swallowing, you nod. "Okay," you whisper in a small, hopeful voice.

He smiles gently at you, his hand reaching for your cheek and his thumb brushing against your skin.

"Good."

He kisses you softly, as if sealing the deal, and you sigh against his lips, relaxing for what feels like the first time in all your years lived.

You feel free.

[luvlyycy]

In some serious need of Black Widow smut man PLEASE MAN HAWKEYE TOO I need to feel something 😩😩😩😩

# a / n : HOW BOUT BOTH HUUUHHHHH!!!!!! sex hcs for u cus i know u luv em. also for nat fem n male bodied reader are there for clint its only fem bodied

NATASHA / / BLACK WIDOW .

● i know missy lives to give head, she's a giver not a reciever.

● whether its eating pussy or sucking dick she loves it. she's also like, really good at it.

● she LOVES ass bruh, thats her favorite part of you male or female (besides pussy and cock)

● i feel like she'd put her girlfriend in such a mean mating press or have her suck on her strap. shes such a mommy fr

● threesomes or foursomes are hard to avoid with her, she loves having so many people around her to love on YOU , specifically cus she knows all her friends have a crush on you. i mean, would you say no to bucky or clint joining? i doubt it.

● hickey giver . all the time. she'll mark you up in the most obvious places and when people ask shes like, "yeah? who did that, babe?"

● give her backshots please.

● she prefers dominating you but won't mind if you wanna take the lead.

● she enjoys make up sex a little too much.

● VOYEURRR !! shes always sending you some sort of nude when shes on a mission, its to the point where you always expect one.

● she likes risky sex, it comes with an adrenaline rush and she loves that.

● will randomly grab your cheeks.

● loves to scratch your back, thighs, chest— anything she can get her hands on tbh!

● although even tho she enjoys having multiple partners during sex, she is very faithful to you. will never sleep with someone else without you.

● calls you pet names during sex and some of them may be in russian.

● leaves lipstick marks on you after she gives you head. (base of your cock, your inner thighs, pussy lips, stomach, etc.)

CLINT / / HAWKEYE .

● oh honey this man makes LOVE TO YOU.

● he has you in missionary, kissing you and telling you how much he wants to knock you up.

● breeding kink is out of control.

● you suck his dick and hes like, "fuck baby, gonna breed your throat." like sir, can you relax

● wants to eat you out 24/7

● he says he's hungry and youre like , "what do you wanna eat" next thing you know its been three hours and you've came seven times on his face

● he LOVES face fucking so much. loves ruining a pretty set of makeup, or cumming all over your face when you tell him not to...

● hes getting on your nerves just to ask, "you still mad at me?" when hes deep in your guts.

● he has a very subtle daddy kink, likes to hide it from you then randomly be like "daddy's pussy, right? this belongs to daddy, yeah?" like yes sir. it does.

● hes so nasty??? like, constantly grabbing your ass and whispering the filthiest shit in your ear.

● god at dirty talk.

● also god at sleepy and morning sex. carefully sliding his cock into your cunt with a grunt, hands running up and down your body as the sun either is rising or the moon is set. that sort of thing

● gets jealous easily so jealous sex is something yall cannot avoid.

● this man is always telling you that your pussy is his, your throat is his, pretty ass is yours— homie is possesive.

● umm. pull his hair! he'll probably moan, bottom, or fuck the shit outta you.

● ceo of creampies and throatpies

● loves when you makeout with his balls. (they smell vv good btw)

● also hes a grower and a shower, mans dick is thick and long with prominent veins.

● has a habit of making you jealous just so u get possesive n mark him. 🤷🏽‍♀️

# a / n : bucky hcs next perhaps??? rubs chin.

[hard-core-super-star]

OWN MY MIND [wandanat]

pairing: top!wanda maximoff x bottom!natasha romanoff

summary: wanda's crush on natasha has grown to nearly unbearable levels. instead of pining after her, she decides to do something about it during a party.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! -> porn with plot; wanda has a crush and she's about to make it EVERYONE'S problem; semi-public sex; slightly obsessive wanda go brr; so much teasing; the clothes stay on because i say so; thigh-grinding; fingering [nat receiving]; neck kisses; i got hooked on the idea so there's a lot of expostion; shitty dirty talk; so much bickering

wordcount: 3.8k

a/n: I'M ALIVE! i did not mean to disappear again but life had other plans 😅that being said, I'M OKAY! i survived a very stressful january and my writer's block seems to be easing somewhat. every year i say i'll be more active on here and it doesn't always work very well BUT i'm trying! anyway, i hope you guys are doing well, my askbox is always open for you all. that being said, i hope you enjoy <3

[part two | part three]

* * * * * * *

There wasn't much Wanda was sure of anymore.

At some point, she'd been sure her and her family were going to be safe. She'd been proven wrong the day a Stark Industries missile crashed into her living room, sending all her childish hopes of safety with it.

After that, she'd been sure she'd never leave her brother's side, even agreeing to become an experiment for HYDRA to guarantee their safety. Their powers had helped and even when Ultron appeared, she was sure they'd figure things out together.

That dream had instantly been shot down, along with Pietro and the remnants of her home, after Ultron's attack.

She hated thinking about it. About everything she lost. About the dreams she'd held onto for most of her life that were meaningless now. That didn't serve any purpose other than reminding her she was alone.

Sure, she had the Avengers now but...they didn't understand her. Not the way her brother had.

Clint tried his hardest to be there for her before he left to be with his family, do doubt feeling guilty over something that wasn't his fault. He wasn't to blame for Pietro's sacrifice and they both knew blaming him wouldn't bring the speedster back anyway.

In a weird way, though, the archer was the only one who truly understood her grief so when he left...Wanda did what she had always done. She retreated into herself, ignoring the looks of the rest of the team and Vision's borderline annoying insistence that she talk to someone.

She didn't need to talk about anything. There was nothing to talk about. Nothing that could change the pain she carried every day.

Nothing...except Natasha Romanoff.

Their friendship hadn't come out of nowhere despite how hard the older woman liked to act otherwise. Even without her powers, she knew Clint had been the one to push Natasha in her direction. It was also obvious that the Widow had no idea what to do.

It was weirdly charming.

Despite how hard she tried to act like she cold and heartless, Natasha cared. She cared a lot more than she wanted to. Especially about Wanda.

So, when the older woman started appearing outside her door at ungodly hours of the night, seemingly unaware of the tear that stained the witch's cheeks, and inviting her to train with her...Wanda decided trusting her wouldn't do any harm.

That much was true. No real harm came from getting close to Natasha. If anything, she helped more than anyone at the Tower had even tried. She didn't care that Wanda didn't want to talk about what happened in Sokovia, that her inner demons showed their face every night and left her with nightmares too intense to ignore, that her powers grew stronger every day.

The Widow didn't seem to care about the details. She simply cared enough to be there. Sometimes she showed up earlier, before any nightmares could haunt her dreams, other times she showed up later and with a tea in hand that she quickly offered to her. There were no words exchanged but she knew.

And that meant more to Wanda than she could even put into words.

Those feelings, though, quickly grew out of her control. It happened almost on accident, practically without thinking. All she knew is that one day she felt...drawn to Natasha in a way she hadn't noticed before.

To the curve of her neck, the flex of her biceps, the tension in her jaw when she throws a punch. All the little details came together and left her feeling far too confused for her liking.

Confused and yet far too in control.

And to say Wanda was slowly becoming obsessed with control would be an understatement.

This flurry of thoughts is what leads her to do something too far out of her comfort zone. It's a shitty idea, she knows that, but when Vision off-handedly tells her of the party Tony will be throwing later that day, a plan slowly starts forming in her head.

A plan that involves a certain redhead and the confusing feelings that settle low in her stomach when they're alone together. Of course, she's not a stranger to desire, she knows what her feelings really are, but that doesn't mean she's exactly okay with them. With the suddenness and the intensity of her thoughts. Of the fantasies she longs to make a reality.

She's just as patient as she is stubborn, though, so she waits. Waits until the party is in full swing, until she's all dolled up in her favorite dress, paired with the leather jacket she never gave back to redhead, and then she strikes.

It must look weird. It certainly feels weird, stepping out into the crowd instead of avoiding everyone in her room. She has to step out of her comfort zone if she wants to go after what she wants, though, and she's determined to sink her teeth into Natasha before the end of the night.

Thankfully, she doesn't have to wait long for her opportunity.

As soon as she makes her way into the bustle of the party, she scans the room for the Widow. She finds her by the bar, chatting with Tony and Rhodey with a drink in hand.

Even though she wants to waste no time, she decides to linger. To let the anticipation build and see how long it'll take Natasha to bite. It's both torturous and enticing. A borderline perverted mix of longing that makes her heart threaten to burst out of her chest.

When Natasha's eyes finally meet her gaze, she sends a soft smile her way before pretending to be incredibly interested in her drink. It's a cheap strategy, she knows that, and yet it's one that works in her favor.

She only has to wait a few more minutes before the Widow untangles herself from Tony's drawn-out (although probably annoyingly entertaining) story and makes her way over to her.

"I didn't take you for a beer girl," she says, raising a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at her.

"There is a lot you don't know about me," Wanda replies, her accent coming out strong. It's half on purpose and half on accident. It tends to slip out easier when she's around people she's genuinely comfortable with.

And Natasha is right at the top of that list. Even if she doesn't fully know it.

The Widow lets out a soft huffing sound in response. It's not quite a laugh, but there's an edge of fondness to it that neither of them can fully ignore. It's not every day she allows herself to be so unguarded.

"You're pretty and witchy, what else is there to know?"

The teasing remark only makes the younger woman's smile grow wider. "Does that mean you think I'm pretty?"

Wanda accompanies her question with an alluring tilt of her head, watching in amusement as Natasha takes a long sip of her drink to avoid answering. Even if she doesn't say the words, she's been caught red-handed and the witch couldn't be happier about it. Maybe her sudden desire for the woman isn't as one-sided as she'd allowed herself to believe.

"What are you even doing here?" Natasha asks, her tone far too casual for the intensity in her gaze. "You hate Tony and you hate parties."

The witch in question simply shrugs. "I was tired of sitting on my ass."

This time, the Widow actually laughs. "Clint should have never taught you that phrase."

"I don't know, I think it's quite fitting." She pauses for a moment, letting the air between crackle with a hard to define energy. One just as powerful and unpredictable as her own powers. "You seem to like looking at my ass."

The older woman's eyes widen before quickly darting around them. Sure, they're leaning up against the ridiculously placed bar but no one around them is paying attention. Tony and Rhodey left to find someone else to bore with their competitive stories and everyone else is scattered around the room, too engrossed in their conversations or their drinks to pay them any mind.

Not to mention, Wanda would never allow them to notice them. It's not mind control, not really, which means she feels no guilt at manipulating reality for a few moments.

"Since when are you so bold, Maximoff?"

"Since I decided to start going after what I want." 

This time, she pairs her words with a subtle step forward. It's not enough for their bodies to press together, but the intention is more than clear. It's a hint and a warning all wrapped up in one. One the Widow could easily ignore if she wanted to.

Wanda almost expects her to, considering how shifty her eyes are. How her attention seems to bounce around the room more and more. She's sure she's never seen the older woman so nervous before. It's as cute as it is enticing.

Finally, Natasha relents. She lets out a long sigh, her gaze shifting back to Wanda's. "You couldn't find a more appropriate time for that?"

The younger woman's smile turns into a smirk. Her free hand reaches out, manicured fingers running down the length of the redhead's arm. "We could always...sneak away, just the two of us..."

Natasha lets out a soft chuckle at that, her resistance clearly wavering, even as she tries to hold strong. "I don't think that's a smart idea, princess."

Wanda's pout is almost enough to make her melt. Almost.

"Why not? Aren't we on the same page about this?"

"It's not that simple."

The witch knows she should at least ask why. That she should pretend to care about the hesitations she knows are swimming around in Natasha's head. She doesn't need to read her mind to know what they are, why they matter. But it's hard to think straight when her advances aren't being rejected. When she's so close to getting what she wants.

So, instead of doing any of the rational things the Widow seems to be struggling with, she wordlessly grabs her hand and leads her away from prying eyes. They're a few ways away but still near the hustle and bustle of the party. Far away to fully hear each other but close enough to be caught if someone decided to wander around.

She's not fully thinking about that possibilty, though. All her focus is on Natasha and getting her to admit how much she wants her. How much she needs this too.

Without thinking about the consequences, she pushes the older woman up against the wall, their eyes meeting once more. The bright green flecks of Natasha's eyes seem to sparkle almost dangerously. Unfortunately, Wanda is too far gone to heed the warnings.

"Wanda, we can't." There's no real discomfort in the Widow's voice. No real attempt at getting the younger woman to stop.

So, she doesn't.

Wanda merely lets out a soft hum but makes no attempt to step away or fully listen to the older woman's complaints. Instead, she leans in more insistently, her lips trailing up Natasha's neck and leaving heated kisses on her skin.

The redhead wants to pull away. To tell Wanda to stop and let her walk away before they do something they'll regret. It's impossible to fight against her, though. Especially when her hands join the slow exploration.

"Why can't we?" The witch asks, her hands settling on Natasha's hips. "Why do you want to pretend like you don't want me?"

The sound the redhead makes is somewhere between a huff and a groan. "That's not what I'm doing. I'm just trying to be smart about this." 

"There's nothing smart about this," she replies. "But I want you and you want me. What more do we need?"

Natasha opens her mouth to answer but Wanda doesn't give her a chance. In one swift move, she hooks the redhead's leg around her waist before pressing herself against her, drawing a soft gasp from her parted lips.

"You were saying?"

"You're so annoying, little witch."

The teasing nickname makes Wanda huff. Sure, it also makes her heart skip a beat but mostly, it annoys her. "Then tell me to stop, 'Tasha."

"Just shut up and kiss me already."

There it is. The permission she'd been waiting for. The clear admittance that their feelings were the same. That the sparks of desire she'd been feeling during training weren't one-sided delusions.

The witch wastes no time in connecting their lips once the realization hits her. Despite the intensity of their desires, the kiss is surprisingly soft. 

It's still more than a little desperate and yet there's an edge of affection that makes them melt. That leaves them craving more.

Thankfully, they both have more than enough ideas on how to fix that craving. The youngest of the two takes the leap first, though, not one bit embarrased of showing how desperate she is for more.

 Wanda grinds her hips up against Natasha's, slowly hiking her dress up to reveal the smooth skin underneath the fabric. There's something about both the setting and their outfits that drives them both mad. Something about being so exposed and yet so composed at the same time. Something about the matching black fabric of their dresses that turns them on more.

Her lips leave the Widow's just to trail down her jaw, her hands moving down her body with purpose. She grips her hips hard enough to move the older woman against her as she easily slots one of her thighs between her legs, giving her the perfect surface to grind against.

"You're so quiet, 'Tasha," the witch teases, unable to stop her flourishing dominant side for rearing its head.

Natasha knows she's allowing herself to slip. That she shouldn't be letting her guard down like this. Shouldn't be giving Wanda this much control over her.

It's not like she can help it, though. There's an intensity behind the younger woman's movements that she doesn't want to fight against. She wants to let it consume her until there's nothing left. No trace of her fears or hesitations.

She's not about to admit that any time soon, though. Even as her bucking hips give her away.

"That's because we're in public," she replies, keeping her voice as even as she can. "I can actually control myself unlike some people."

Wanda chuckles, keeping up her slow movements. "That's not what your hips are telling me."

"You're the one moving them," she shoots back.

The witch leans back slightly, a smirk forming on her face and pairing beautifully with her dialated pupils. "Is that so? If I move my hands away, you'll stop trying to hump my leg?"

Without waiting for an answer, she moves her hands away from the redhead's hips, allowing her fingers to trail up her torso toward her chest. She keeps her touch light and teasing, using it to further draw out the other woman's desires.

"That's not fair," Natasha huffs, her cheeks flushing a light shade of pink as the attention piles on. "You're the one that started this, you have to finish it."

"But we haven't even started yet, have we? You still have too many clothes on."

Wanda's fingers linger on the strap of Natasha's dress, sliding it down just enough to allow her lips to connect to the exposed skin. She focuses her attention on that spot just enough to make the older woman's hips buck against her.

"Fuck," she groans. "This is so unfair."

"I think it's more than fair. I can feel how much you want me. You're soaked, aren't you?"

Her question is met with another groan, this one in a sightly higher, more desperate, pitch. The witch is right, of course. She's already drenched and all she's done is lazily grind against her thigh.

It's practically impossible to stop her body from responding to her, though. Even without reading her mind, she knows her cues all too well after spending so much sparring with her.

Then again, she's pretty sure she wouldn't mind allowing her to invade her thoughts. Something about the lack of control makes her gush.

The low chuckle Natasha's thought is met with makes her eyes widen in response, her hands coming up to grip the younger woman’s shoulders. “Are you seriously reading my mind right now?”

Wanda knows the redhead is trying to sound intimidating but she’s far too breathless, far too wet against her thigh, for her to feel anything but satisfaction. “I couldn’t help it, your thoughts are so loud.”

The response is exactly what she had been expecting and all she can do is huff. “Don’t make it a habit.”

Her words only make Wanda bolder. With her words, her touch, her unbearable need to make the other woman fall apart just for her. “I thought you wanted me in your mind, ‘Tasha?”

The Widow knows she's been caught. That even if the witch didn't spend much time in her head, she knows how much she loves this. How much she wants this. This back and forth dance that will no doubt end with her on her knees.

And still, she's far too stubborn to admit it.

"Shut up." It's a weak remark but it's the only one she has. The only two words she can coherently form as her hips roll against the hard muscle pressing so insistently against her heat. "If you wanted to talk so much, you should have taken me on a date."

"If you don't like me talking so much, why are you so wet?"

It's infuriating. For every snarky response she can form, Wanda has two more waiting for her. It's like she knows exactly how to work her up, exactly how to meet her where she's at instead of trying to change her. It's more than infuriating, it's...it's sweet. In its own complicated, slightly fucked up way, the witch is being sweet.

Maybe it's that realization that makes her melt. Or maybe she's just too pent up to care anymore. She knows what the answer is, but she ignores it in favor of gripping Wanda's wrist and guiding it between her legs.

"I'd prefer it if you stopped talking and started doing, princess."

The witch's body tenses for a second, almost like her brain is struggling to catch up to reality, but then her fingers are working their way into Natasha's underwear and they both let out twin moans at the feeling.

Instead of taking a moment to tease her, Wanda dives right in, her patience fading with every buck of the older woman's hips. She sinks two fingers into Natasha's aching cunt, barely reminding herself to take it easy. To draw her pleasure out until she's writhing and groaning.

"Is this better for you, 'Tasha?" She asks, her lips making their way to Natasha's neck once more. She knows better than to leave too many marks behind, but she can't help her urges and she sinks her teeth into the side of the older woman's neck.

Natasha's walls clench around her fingers, nails digging into the witch's jacket as sparks of pleasure shoot up her spine. She arches her back into her touch, her hips bucking a little too wildly for her taste. It's not like she can help her movements. Not when it feels so good.

"Wanda," she moans, her cheeks heating up as she realizes how desperate she sounds. "Fuck, don't stop."

If Wanda was slightly more sadistic she would push her to beg. As enticing as that sounds, she'd much prefer to show her how good she can make her feel instead.

"I won't," she says as her thumb finds its way onto Natasha's swollen clit. "Not until you fall apart for me. Until you admit how good I make you feel."

Her pride seems like a small price to pay for the pleasure that's turning her brain to mush. She opens her mouth to stroke Wanda's ego some more when the younger woman speeds up her movements, her fingers curling just enough to leave her gasping.

She pushes her hips into her fingers with every thrust, looking far more needy than she ever allows herself to be. "Right there, fuck, feels so good."

Natasha's never really been one for talking during sex, far too accustomed to selfish lovers who don't need her approval to feel like they're doing things right. It's different this time, though. Not just because she genuinly feels good, but because it's so clear that Wanda feels good. That this is what she wants. Touching her, pleasing her, driving her to the brink of madness. The witch has never looked more comfortable, more in her element, than she does right now.

"You gonna cum for me already?" The witch teases, pretending she's not doing everything in her power to make the older woman fall apart. "Here? Where anyone could see you? See how desperate you are for my fingers?"

The slight degradation shouldn't turn her on more, but it does. It makes her head fall back as an incoherent string of curses leave her lips. She knows she should at least feel a little emberrased but she can't. Can't think about anything except Wanda's fingers pistoning in and out of her wet pussy.

"Yes," she replies breathlessly. "I need- need to cum."

Wanda doubles her efforts as soon as she hears Natasha admit how close she is. Her thumb presses down on her twitching clit, rubbing fast circles against it until the Widow's walls are spasming around her fingers. 

"That's it, let go for me, 'Tasha. Make a mess on my fingers."

She doesn't have to be told twice.

The coil in Natasha's stomach snaps almost instantly, leaving her clinging to the witch as the pleasure crashes into her all at once.

Wanda watches her with wide eyes, greedily drinking in every twitch of her face, every desperate sound she can't hold back. She's sure she's never seen anything so breathtaking in her life.

All it does, though, is make her realize how much more she wants. How badly she needs Natasha. How her mind has filled up with fantasies she's not sure she can live without.

After losing everything she's ever had, she has to have the older woman.

That will come later, though, right now, she has more important things to focus on. Like making sure Natasha can walk long enough for them to retire to her room for the night.

* * * * * * *

taglist: @boredandneedfanfics

[luveline]

hiiii not sure if your requests are open but if they aren’t just ignore this😭

imagine getting into an argument with james, sirius, and remus because you brought a stray kitten or something home and you really don’t have the room for a kitten

“but look at him🥺”

“no”

“🥺”

“… no” *less convincingly*

You hold the kitten in your hand. Remus strokes her head, her little damp ears. “It's not about that, Remus, I just couldn't leave her there, the box was falling apart and… I thought that only happened in movies.” 

Sirius leans forward on his knees to give the kitten a stroke of his own. “She's lovely,” he murmurs, scratching under her chin and grinning when she moves into it for more. “It's too bad the flat's so small. Otherwise we could keep her.” 

She's tortoise shell with a white half circle around her mouth, eyes squinted closed as she shivers. You've wrapped her in a tea towel like a blanket. She is, without a doubt, that cutest and saddest creature you've ever seen. “Where is she supposed to go, Siri?” you ask gently. 

“People love cats.” Sirius puts his hand on Remus' thigh casually, giving it a loving squeeze as he settles in. “Everybody wants a kitten.” 

But not everyone will be nice to a kitten. She feels like your responsibility now; how can you leave her? She's burrowed into you from the moment you picked her up, shushing and murmuring, your knees sodden in the puddle of rainwater beneath you both. 

“We have to keep her, please,” you say. 

There's a mutual surprise. “Dove, we can't,” Remus says. “The bathroom barely fits the toilet, shower, and sink, we'd never be able to have a litter box.” 

“It wouldn't be fair,” Sirius agrees, “on us or the kitten, she'd have no room once she turns into a cat.” 

You bring the kitten close to your chest and show them her helpless face. “But look at her,” you say softly, widening your eyes gently, your brows bunched together in the beginnings of heartbreak. 

“No,” Remus says, shaking his head sympathetically. 

You frown at him and Sirius in turn, your bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly. 

“No,” he says again, sounding unsure. 

Sirius rubs his leg. “Stay strong, my love.” 

“There's just not enough room.” 

You fear you may be losing this battle, and if they really don't want a cat, maybe you shouldn't force them. But then your trump card comes out of the bathroom with a towel around his neck, shirtless, grey joggers low on his hips, and you know you still have a chance. 

“Wow, Jamie,” you say, not having to act very much to give your voice a hoarse rasp, “you might need to shower again.” 

His smile is magnetic. “Yeah?” he asks, immediately delighted by such a brazen comment. “How's the little sweetheart? Reckon we can leave her alone?” 

“She's cold still,” you say.

James visibly melts at your sad tone, while Remus rolls his eyes. “She's just trying to get you on her side, James. I've said we can't keep the cat and she's–” 

“Taking advantage of her feminine wiles?” Sirius suggests. 

“Cheating,” Remus finishes. 

James leans over the back of the sofa between your head and Remus to kiss behind your ear, a brief press of the lips. “Why should I care? Doesn't she deserve her own way?” 

“It's not as though I'm lying,” you say guiltily. 

James laughs and kisses your jaw. You bring your shoulder up to your chin and flush with heat at such a simple thing, trying your hardest not to jostle the kitten in your hand as he wraps an arm around your front, resting his face against yours. The wet curls of his hair are cold on your skin, and the straight line of his jaw digs in. “I know,” he says. 

“Catch on, Jamie,” Remus says. 

“Shan't, won't.” Another kiss to your cheek. 

“Please, Remus, I promise if you don't want her then I won't make you, but if it's about room, of course there's enough. The four of us manage to squeeze in, don't we?” You lean into James’ embrace, eyes melty-soft. You're practically batting your eyelashes at him. 

Sirius flops into Remus’ lap with a resigned sigh. “If you don't say yes, I will anyway. Look at her.” 

You don't know if he means the kitten or you, but you choose to believe it's you he's complimenting, and you react accordingly, your little smile pushing Remus completely over the edge. 

He sighs. “Yes, alright. Fine.” 

You pass James the little warm parcel of fur and use your freshly emptied hands to grab Remus by both arms. “Thank you! Aw, thank you, Remus. Sirius. I'll be so absolutely clean and if it does seem too small I promise, I won't make anyone suffer.” 

“I never thought you would,” he says. “If you really want to keep her, I can't stop you. I'm your boyfriend, not a prison warden.” 

“Well, we share a home–” 

“I know,” he says warmly, “it's alright. Keep your kitten, dove. Looks like you've found her for a reason.” 

You laugh happily and gather him up for a hug. “Oh, I love you.” 

“What shall we name her?” Sirius asks around you. 

“I'm not fussed. What do you like?” James asks. 

Sirius meets your eyes as you and Remus pull apart. “You always get your way, hmm? Why don't you name her?” 

Oh, you could hug him to death too. He looks comfortable where he is, his face on Remus thigh, hair fanned out over his joggers, and you don't want to disturb him (he's not quite as tactile as the others), so you stroke a curl from his cheek and offer him a cheeky smile. “Don't you have any ideas?” you ask. 

“About you, or the cat?” 

You laugh at his teasing. “Which one do you think?” 

Remus nudges you in the ribs. “Don't start. If we're keeping your cat, we need to go out, don't we? You'll have to go get dressed again.”

You give them all a glowing smile and clamber off of the sofa to find your shoes. 

[wandascrush]

Breath of fresh air

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Pregnancy, kissing, small hurt, mention of injuries

It was so nice to finally get outside and have some fresh air. The last few days you were stuck looking out the bay window as it poured and poured. Natasha, your wife and soon to be mother of your child, was extremely overprotective and made sure while she was gone that Laura watched over you from time to time.

The Barton’s only lived less than one acre over, on a small but beautiful farm of their own with their 3 mini Barton’s. They had actually given you and Natasha the idea to live off the grid, and who better to have as neighbors than the people who had become your guys’ family.

Especially Laura, she was one of your closest confidants and you loved causing chaos with her. Being a recent agent-out-of-commission due to your pregnancy was different, especially not training as hard and sleeping in, but as your symptoms really kicked up, you were grateful for the break. Recently entering the second trimester had not been easy. It was nice having someone like Laura to talk to, who really understood.

Natasha was scheduled to come back next Wednesday, and God were you ready for her to be home. It was hard to sleep without her soft touch, the Russian lullabies she sang you and the baby every night, and the way she'd gently rest her hand on your back throughout the day as a reminder she's there for you. Sometimes she'd come home with baby clothes or an extra teddy bear she'd seen for the baby's nursery, and in those moments there was no doubt in your mind that she’d make the most beautiful mother.

As you were drinking your tea and reading your favorite piece of poetry, an extremely loud whirring sound caught your attention. Using your book as a shield from the sun, you looked up to the sky to find the Quinjet making a rocky landing in your field, swaying the grass in waves. Almost immediately, Laura came out of her house with her kids trailing behind, worry and confusion written all over their faces. You went to each others sides, "What's going on Laur? Are they okay?"

"I'm sure their fine, relax, it's gonna be okay," but you heard the breathlessness in her voice as she held you close and away from the unpredictable helicopter in the middle of your flower field.

The door to the jet slid open and revealed a group of ruffed up, exhausted Avengers. The whole pack was there from first glance: Tony, Steve, Clint, Fury, Maria, Thor, Bruce, but no- oh there's Natasha. You and Laura exhaled at the same time, half walking and half skipping to Natasha and Clint. Finally, landing in her arms again. Her hold was tender but tight, tighter than ever as she closed her tired eyes and breathed in your scent and held the back of your head. The team gawked at you and Laura like alien specimens in your lovers arms.

"I'm just gonna say it- who the hell are you two?" Of course, Tony was the one to break the sweet moment.

Natasha let out a mix of a sigh and a chuckle, before sharing a glance with Clint. "This, Tony, is my wife Y/N. Y/N  - the Avengers, Avengers - Y/N. There, the formalities are over."  Clint soon did the same with Laura.

The sound of leather could be heard crunching as Fury walked toward you and Laura, embracing you two too hard, nearly making you cough. You gently reached up to give him a hug, "Nice to see you too Nick." 

"HOW DO THESE TWO KNOW NICK?" Poor Bruce, he looked like he was trying to solve a math problem.

"We're agents with Shield, dipshit. I'm just on leave due to-," you gestured down to your visible pregnant belly, "and the fact that Nick is my boss so technically I have to listen to him. But Laura and I have actually known all of you for years, which is how we met Clint and Natasha...unfortunately."  You chuckled when Nat lightly shoved your arm.

Good ol' Steve Rogers was the first to stick out his arm, "It’s a pleasure, Miss." His grip was firm, but not too hard. You smiled up at him kindly, "Nice to meet you too, Rogers. And call me Y/N, are you boys hungry?"

A few hours later you were in the kitchen, freshly showered and bandaged Avengers sitting at your dining room table, causing a ruckus and playing poker. You loved the sound of a full house and conversations mixing together to make one babble of laughing, foul mouthed heroes. It was music to your ears.

A gentle figure hugged you from behind while you were over the sink, placing their soft hands on your belly, you closed your eyes for a second and sighed happily.

“Missed me much sweetheart?” 

“You know I did,” you craned your neck to give her a gentle kiss on the temple.

That night, as the worlds mightiest slept in your spare bunks and sleeping bags, you fell asleep safe and sound with Natasha’s arm around you and your baby-to-be.

[deathmetalangel]

HARDLY SEEMS FAIR

robby keene x fem! reader

warnings: "casual" relationship", swearing, arguments, crying, heavily ldr coded, implied hookups, slut shaming, cheating, angsty

“in what world is that fair robby?"

oke so this is kinda a retconnned chapter from my wattpad book that i'm just extending and making more ambigious instead of clearly x oc. i hope y'all like it tho. i am sorry i have been gone for so long :(

Y/n plays with the ends of Robby's hair. He was laying with his head in her lap while they just relaxed in her room. It was calm, domestic. A small and very rare moment for just the two of them. No outside force would intrude and break their safe haven. There was no what if's that lingered in the air. Nor past resentments that hung over them like an ominous cloud determined to damper their moods. 

It was just Y/n and Robby. And that's all they'll ever be. No labels. She figured that much after the last time she'd brought it up. But she's become so full of him she can't even bring herself to care. She'd rather have what they have now, whatever it may be with him. Rather than risking losing him, and the routine she's started to build around him. 

She hums softly. Her mind far off. "Y/n?" She hymns in acknowledgement without turning her head. "Something happened this weekend."

He was lying. This had been going on for weeks. He had been having doubts for weeks. He'd been seeing her for weeks. "What happened? Another karate fight?" She wasn't the girl who got heartbroken. She was never the second choice. She got what she wanted. And she wanted him, however she could have him.

"I kissed Sam Larusso."

Y/n freezes. Her body betraying her as she tenses up. She has no right, she knows that. They were 'casual'. Just her and Robby. Non-commital.

"I mean big deal right? We were drunk anyways. Just felt bad not telling you. I know were not dating so it's really not your business, but don't worry about it. I mean we've fucked so often what does a kiss even mean?"

A kiss. To her it meant everything. An act of intimacy that they rarley ever shared. So innocent, so pure.

"Get out of my room Robby." Y/n mumbles, her voice above a whisper. The teen sits up from her lap and looks at her incredalously. He was only telling her to keep her in the loop. She didnt have the right to be mad. So why was she making a big deal about this?

"What?"

"You heard me. Get the fuck out of my room Keene."

He furrows his brows in a toxic coctail of anger and confusion. "Why? You can't get pissed at me for this Y/n. We aren't fucking dating. Don't get all aggro on me like you're some psycho girlfriend when you're a friend with benefits at best."

Y/n stands up and pushes the boy out of her room. "Get the fuck out of here Robby! If it didn't mean anything why don't you go fuck her then? Go whine about your mommy issues and daddy issues to her and leave me the hell alone."

"You have some nerve you know that right? Don't act all high and mighty now. You're a whore. Why the hell would I ever actually take you seriously when I can get everything I want without the label or work. You're easy, I could never do that shit with Sam."

Her breath was stuck in her throat as the boy she truly thought cared began to berate her as if she was a random person on the street. The boy she suffered for. The boy that was really never her's to keep. Y/n forces herself to wipe her anrgy tears and push Robby once again.

Y/n's hands were shaky, she desprately wanted to cry. To scream. To give in and give him the satisfaction of getting to her. "Oh so you can come over whenever you want, make me listen to your shitty life, and basically force yourself into my own life, but all that means nothing right? Well guess what Kenne. You kissed her, and she still doesn't want you!" She presses her finger into his chest while her voice level rises. "That same girl is still with Miguel. So just because you wanna jump ship and 'upgrade' doesn't mean she wants anything to do with you. Face it babe, you're just white trash."

"Shut the fuck up Y/n." Robby practically spits back.

"Oh, so you can disrespect me and belittle me in my own fucking room, but when its you its a problem? Grow up Robby. You're a man baby and a hypocrite. In what world is that fair Robby? Maybe in your little made up fantasy where Sam picks you and you leave me for dead. So go stay there. Cause you're sure as hell not welcome here."

Y/n throws everything he's given her at him. Every last peice a memory they shared together. Posters, drawings, braclets, anything that adorned her room. All of it thrown to him and crashing down like victims of a violent storm. Tears streamed down her face as he backed up to her door.

She opens the door for him and grabs his sweater and keys before shoving it in his chest. The boy watches her dumbfounded.

"Stay away from me Robby. Go back to some other slut that can put up with your baggage and shitty attitude for one night stand status. Because I'm done."

He looks at her, but there wasn't the girl he knew looking back at him. Not with how she glared, not with how she stood, and not with how she felt. Her eyes, the e/c irises reflected love, now they were dark. Harbors for her contempt. The grimace on her face was unforgettable. Especially as the last thing he seen before she slammed her door on his face.

Robby swallows the spit in his mouth, a hard lump of guilt not wanting to go down. He didn't think any of this would happen. He wanted her to care, but he didn't want to fight. His temper, his father's god forsaken temper, and his own damned ego.

He wanted what he had with her, with Sam. The girl next door with a rich family and big house. Like something out of a book. Not the girl that did whatever he said for the sake of making him happy. He really did want to just abandon her, didn't he? After everything.

Choking back his frustrations the boy marches down her stairs and lets himself out. He liked what he had with her, but he wouldn't fight for her. Guys only did that for the girl they want.