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couchlovers · 3 months ago

Note

hiii can i request a one-shot of a daphne bridgerton x male reader because it's so difficult to find any 😞 the reader is from a family rival of the bridgertons—basically romeo and juliet! i love me some angst with a happy ending.

Only If It's You

tbc masterlist masterlist

YN -> your name 3,8k of words!

The air was thick with perfume and pride.

The Bridgertons’ ball was the event of the season, and your family had no business being there. The invitation had arrived by mistake—at least that’s what your father claimed, crumpling it and tossing it into the fire with a sneer.

You retrieved it when he wasn’t looking.

Because somewhere deep in your gut, you wanted to go. And not just to defy him.

You told yourself it was curiosity. Spite, even. You weren’t there to mingle or dance or drink watered-down champagne beneath chandeliers that cost more than your entire townhouse.

You were there to see the enemy.

And that’s when you saw her.

Across the ballroom, poised near a pair of garden doors, was Daphne Bridgerton—eldest daughter of the family your own had been at odds with for decades. You recognized her from portraits, from the vicious gossip your mother delighted in sharing, from warnings that fell like winter rain.

"She’s pretty, but cold." "A Bridgerton smile always hides something." "Don’t look too long, or you’ll fall under their spell."

But none of that prepared you.

Because Daphne wasn’t cold. She was light.

A soft, commanding presence. Not the girl you’d heard about, but a woman so thoroughly herself that the rest of the room blurred in her wake.

She looked at you once.

And that was enough.

It wasn’t flirtation. Not exactly. It was recognition.

You both knew who the other was. You both knew this was dangerous.

And yet.

You found yourself drifting, one slow step at a time, until she was just a breath away. Her scent was jasmine. Her expression was unreadable.

She glanced down at your gloved hand.

“You’re brave,” she said softly. “Coming here.”

“You invited me,” you replied.

She arched a brow. “I doubt that.”

You gave a slow, bitter smile. “Well. I doubt you’re as heartless as your mother claims you are.”

That earned a laugh. “So you believe everything you’re told, then?”

“No,” you said, eyes catching hers. “Just the interesting parts.”

Something shifted in her posture. A flicker of interest. Caution. Fascination.

She glanced around—aware of the dozens of eyes watching, the legacy between you built on resentment and hearsay—and still, she said, “Walk with me.”

You offered your arm.

And just like that, the daughter of a duchess and the son of her family’s sworn enemy disappeared into the garden.

Together.

The night air was cool. The hedges wrapped around you like walls, muting the sound of strings and gossip. For a long moment, you just walked.

Then: “Why did you come?” she asked, breaking the silence.

You hesitated.

“I wanted to see the truth,” you said. “About you. About your family. About this feud we’re meant to uphold like religion.”

“And?” she said.

You turned to face her. “The truth is… you don’t look like someone I could hate.”

Daphne stepped forward, chin high. But her eyes—her eyes—were soft.

“You don’t look like someone I want to like,” she whispered.

“So don’t.”

You were too close now. Too quiet. Too curious.

“I can’t,” she said.

Neither could you.

The first time she touched you, it wasn’t a kiss. It was a hand on yours, just for a moment. Just long enough to feel the warmth through silk. Just long enough to want more.

You parted that night in silence, not daring to look back.

But something inside you shifted.

The kind of shift that doesn’t go away. The kind of shift that starts wars—or ends them.

You didn’t see her for a week.

Not because you didn’t try.

You lingered in places you’d heard she frequented—the modiste, the tea shops, even Hyde Park during the early afternoon promenade—but there was no trace of Daphne Bridgerton. No flash of her blue gowns. No familiar scent of jasmine. No eyes that had burned their way into your thoughts like a brand.

You started to think you’d imagined it. That maybe it had been a shared hallucination under too many chandeliers and too little caution.

And then, one afternoon, a note arrived. No name. Just a place.

The Bridgertons’ west garden. Midnight.

You burned the paper the moment you finished reading it.

The garden was empty when you arrived, the moon silvering the leaves like frost. You paced. Waited. Almost left.

And then she was there.

In a simple cloak, hair pinned back. No jewels. No mask.

Just Daphne.

And that look.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” she said.

You laughed quietly. “You told me to.”

“And if I told you to jump into the river?” she asked, trying not to smile.

“I’d ask how deep it was first,” you murmured.

Something warm sparked between you.

“I shouldn’t have written you,” she said suddenly. “I told myself that I’d imagined it. That it didn’t mean anything. But I was lying. And I don’t like lying.”

You stepped closer, pulse drumming in your ears.

“Then don’t lie,” you said. “Not to me.”

She looked up at you, her voice fragile and low. “Tell me this is foolish. That we’re playing with fire.”

You took her hand, pressed it to your chest. Let her feel the thunder beneath your ribs.

“It is foolish,” you said. “And it is fire. But it’s real.”

Her lips parted.

And finally, finally, she leaned in.

The kiss was soft at first—tentative, unsure. A question asked in silence. But then her hands were in your hair, and yours were at her waist, and the garden vanished.

You kissed her like you’d been waiting your whole life. And she kissed you like she didn’t care who saw.

But someone did.

A branch snapped nearby.

You both broke apart—hearts racing, eyes wild.

Daphne’s voice was barely a breath: “We have to be more careful.”

You nodded, chest tight. “We will.”

But you knew—this was the beginning of the end of pretending.

You were no longer a secret to each other.

And soon, you wouldn’t be a secret to anyone.

It started with a letter.

You should’ve burned it.

You meant to.

But her handwriting—it felt like a piece of her you couldn’t part with. So you folded it carefully, tucked it beneath the drawer lining in your writing desk, and promised yourself you’d hide it better later.

But later came too late.

Your father found it first.

“What is this treachery?” he hissed, throwing the opened page onto your desk.

Your stomach dropped.

The edges were torn, crumpled from how tightly he must’ve held it. But the words—Daphne’s words—still bled across the page, full of sweetness and softness and things no Bridgerton should ever say to someone from your family.

You said nothing.

He struck you.

“You would humiliate me for some chit in silk? You would shame your name—for her?”

Your lip bled. But you didn’t wipe it.

“Don’t you dare speak of her like that.”

He went cold.

“She’s made you weak,” he said. “And I won’t allow it.”

Word spread fast.

Too fast.

By morning, your name was in whispers.

By nightfall, a note arrived. Hand-delivered by one of Anthony Bridgerton’s footmen.

A challenge.

A duel.

Dawn.

You didn’t tell Daphne. You didn’t want her to stop you. Or worse—come to watch.

So you arrived in the freezing morning mist, coat loose, heart heavy. Anthony was already there, jaw tight, gloved hands flexing like he was waiting for this. Like he’d wanted an excuse to hurt you for months.

He didn’t speak as he took his stance.

Neither did you.

The signal came.

The first blow landed hard.

You didn’t fight back.

He hit you again.

And again.

Blood filled your mouth, your vision blurring.

But you didn’t move. Didn’t raise your fists. Didn’t stop him.

You let him.

Because maybe if he saw how far you’d fallen, he’d know how far you were willing to go.

For her.

Daphne found you that afternoon.

You were slumped in a hidden corner of her family’s garden, one eye swollen, ribs cracked, blood on your collar.

She dropped to her knees beside you.

“Oh God—oh God, why—why didn’t you tell me—?”

You looked up at her. Even through the pain, she was everything.

“He had to know,” you whispered. “That I meant it. That I meant you.”

Her breath caught.

She clutched your face like you were slipping away.

“I can’t lose you,” she said, voice breaking. “Not like this. Not to a duel, not to some idiotic feud, not to—”

“I’d do it again,” you said. “If it meant loving you in the open.”

She shook her head, tears spilling.

And then—unexpectedly—her mother appeared.

She didn’t scold. She didn’t shout.

She knelt beside Daphne, wrapped her arms around her daughter, and whispered:

“I was young once too.”

That shattered something in you.

Not just pain—but hope.

But hope doesn’t last long in houses like yours.

Because when you returned home—bruised, half-limping, but alive—your father was waiting.

Silent.

Until:

“If you see her again,” he said, “you are no longer my son.”

And that was the end of it.

He turned his back.

Left the room.

Left you.

Alone.

With nothing but your aching body—and the memory of her hands shaking as she held your face.

The following days were nothing short of a storm.

Your father’s anger had rippled through your family like a tidal wave, and your own mother—soft and gentle as she was—could only offer you silent sympathy. The look she gave you that night, as you limped back home, told you everything you needed to know: you were already being written off.

But your mother, the one who had always been your comfort, was the only one who still believed in you.

Behind your father’s back, she reached out.

She sent a note—small, delicate, written in the slanting script you remembered from childhood. It arrived in your pocket at dinner.

"I’ve spoken to Lady Bridgerton. She has no intention of seeing you suffer over this. You must make your own choice, but know that some things are worth fighting for. And love, dear, is worth everything."

The words were a balm to your broken heart, but the next morning, you found them lying in your bed, untouched by your hands.

Because she—Daphne—had found you first.

You hadn’t seen her for days. You hadn’t dared.

You had kept your distance for her sake—because if there was anything you could offer Daphne, it was safety. You couldn’t let her be dragged into the mess of your life. The blood. The feud. The impossible love.

But Daphne didn’t let you pull away.

She came to you that morning, the same way she had every other time: through the garden, silent as a ghost, eyes full of determination.

Her mother, Lady Bridgerton, had already spoken to Anthony. The duel was not to happen. The feud would not continue. And yet, there you were, standing at the edge of destruction. Daphne knew she was walking a fine line. Her family would never forgive her for this. And her heart—her heart was breaking, piece by piece.

But it wasn’t just her family who was at risk.

“It’s not worth it,” she said softly, voice quivering as her hand brushed yours. “You shouldn’t be doing this for me. Don’t let them take everything from you, please…”

You shook your head.

“You are everything,” you whispered, leaning in close. “Don’t you understand? You’re the only thing that matters now.”

Her face was pale, eyes wide with desperation. She wanted to fight back, wanted to take it all away from you, to push you toward safety. But you knew her. Better than anyone.

“You can’t sacrifice everything for me,” she said, her voice trembling. “You have a life. A future. Your family. I can’t—”

You silenced her.

With one kiss.

You stepped forward, cupping her face in your hands, and kissed her with all the longing, all the desperation you had been holding back. A kiss full of promises. A kiss that broke down walls and erased all the “shoulds” and “shouldn’ts.” There were no consequences in that moment—just you, just her, just the truth of it.

When you pulled away, you were both breathless.

“I will sacrifice everything for you,” you murmured, staring into her eyes.

She shook her head, lips parted. She was still trying to find a reason, a way out, but you kissed her again, deeper this time. You kissed her until the world stopped making sense, until there was no more past, no more future—just you and her, in this moment.

When you finally broke away, Daphne’s breath was shaky, her hands clutching your chest, her voice barely a whisper.

“Don’t do this,” she pleaded. “Don’t lose everything for me. Not for someone like me.”

You cupped her chin gently, a tear escaping your own eye as you looked at her.

“I would lose everything again,” you said, “if it meant being with you.”

Daphne closed her eyes, and for a second, the world outside didn’t exist. There were no Bridgertons. No families. No old grudges.

Just the two of you.

But as much as it hurt, she knew.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Those words—so simple, yet so powerful—brought everything into focus. They were everything.

And they were worth fighting for.

“Don’t you see?” you wrote her that night, “If I had a thousand lifetimes, I would spend every single one of them loving you.”

The letter came just hours after the kiss.

Your father had found out.

The betrayal wasn’t just from you. It was from Daphne. From her family. From everything they had promised to protect you from.

You were a fool, he said. A disgrace. A stain on the family name. The words had stung, sharper than any wound, but they weren’t the worst.

No, the worst came when he turned to you, eyes cold and unforgiving.

“You are no longer my son,” he said, his voice devoid of all emotion. “I disown you.”

And just like that, your world shattered.

No more family name. No more inheritance. No more ties to the legacy you had been raised to uphold.

But in that moment—it didn’t matter.

You had her. Daphne. That was all that mattered now.

Your mind raced, but before you could process what had happened, you found yourself at the Bridgerton estate.

You didn’t have a plan.

You didn’t have a future.

But Daphne was there, standing at the door, her eyes wide with concern.

“They know,” you said, your voice tight. “My father… he’s disowned me.”

Her face paled. “No…” Her breath faltered, and she stepped forward, but you caught her wrist before she could move closer. The sadness in her eyes was a reflection of your own.

“It’s done,” you whispered, trying to convince yourself as much as her. “There’s nothing left for me there. I have nothing.”

“You have me,” Daphne replied, tears threatening to spill. “I’ll speak to my family. You’ll have a place here, I swear it.”

Before you could speak, the door opened further, and Daphne’s mother stepped out, her expression tight but not unkind.

“I heard,” she said softly. “Come inside. Both of you.”

It wasn’t as if they welcomed you with open arms. You understood the skepticism that ran deep in the Bridgerton house. They had their own pride to protect, their own rules to uphold. But for Daphne, they would bend. For her, they would try.

The first few hours were heavy with silence. You sat in the parlor with Daphne, her parents exchanging pointed glances but saying little. It was Daphne’s father, Lord Bridgerton, who finally spoke.

“What happened between you two?” he asked, his tone measured but sharp. “Tell me the truth.”

Daphne looked at you, then back at him. “It was never about anything else, Papa,” she said. “I love him. And he loves me. That’s all there is.”

Her words were simple, but they held such weight. You saw it in her eyes. It was a challenge. A declaration. A vow.

Lord Bridgerton looked at you—cold, calculating—and you couldn’t help but brace for the scorn that was surely coming.

But then, after a long silence, he sighed, running a hand over his face. “You may have broken my daughter’s heart if you had gone through with this foolishness,” he said. “But I’m not heartless. You’re here now. And in this house, we don’t abandon family.”

Daphne’s eyes brightened, but she didn’t let herself smile yet.

“However,” Lord Bridgerton continued, “it’s clear that there are consequences. For both of you.”

He looked at his wife, Lady Bridgerton, who was still watching you both carefully. With a nod, she stepped forward.

“You will stay here,” she said softly. “We’ll make sure you are safe. But you understand, there will be eyes on you. Both of you. No more secrets.”

It wasn’t perfect. The Bridgertons weren’t ready to celebrate your arrival. They still treated you as a guest, rather than family. But there was something to be said for their willingness to let you stay. For Daphne.

That night, in the still of the Bridgerton estate, you lay in bed—finally in a room with a roof over your head—and thought about what you had lost. But then you thought about what you had gained.

Daphne.

The next day, Daphne came to you, her eyes red from crying the night before. She didn’t say a word as she sat beside you, just took your hand in hers. Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

But after a moment, Daphne whispered:

“You did the right thing. You gave up everything for me.”

You shook your head, gently squeezing her hand. “I would do it again. A thousand times over.”

She met your gaze, and you could see it in her eyes—the same love that had burned between you since the first time you kissed. The same love that refused to be extinguished by any amount of rejection or family feuds. It was theirs, and it was unbreakable.

“I’ll always choose you,” you said softly.

“And I’ll always choose you,” she replied, her smile breaking through the tears.

The road ahead would be long. The world still had its rules, its expectations. But in this moment, in the warmth of her hand in yours, you both knew one thing: This was worth it.

“And no matter what, we’ll face it together,” you whispered, pulling her close as the world outside carried on with its chaos.

Days passed at the Bridgerton estate, and though you were no longer a stranger, the air still felt thick with tension. Daphne had been the bridge—her unwavering support was the only reason you hadn’t been cast out, as her family’s trust in you was still fragile. There were conversations that would happen in darkened corridors. Eyes that followed you through the house. An acceptance that had not yet bloomed but was just beginning to take root.

For the first time, you felt like you could breathe—but only just.

Still, you were here. With Daphne. And that, in itself, was a miracle.

One evening, several weeks after the fallout, Daphne’s father—Lord Bridgerton—called you to his study. You walked in nervously, the weight of your family’s rejection still a heavy cloak around your shoulders. But when Lord Bridgerton looked up at you, there was no judgment. Only contemplation.

“Sit,” he said gruffly, motioning to the chair across from his desk.

You sat, not sure what to expect.

“I’ve been thinking,” he began. “About this situation. About you and Daphne.”

Your heart began to pound. Had he changed his mind? Were they going to ask you to leave after all?

But then, Lord Bridgerton did something unexpected—he sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“I was a fool,” he said, surprising you. “A fool for thinking I could control her heart. She has always been her own person, and I have come to respect that. If she has chosen you, then that means something.”

You swallowed thickly, unsure of how to respond. Daphne’s father, a man who had once seemed impenetrable, was now offering his understanding.

“You will remain here,” he continued, his voice softer. “But understand this: Daphne is not just my daughter. She’s the heart of this family. If you hurt her, if you break her heart, I will not forgive you.”

You nodded quickly, the weight of his words sinking in.

“I swear to you, I will never hurt her,” you said, your voice firm, without hesitation.

Lord Bridgerton studied you for a moment longer before nodding. “Good. You may go.”

As you left his study, your heart was heavy but hopeful. The Bridgertons were not easily moved, but they had made their choice. For Daphne. And that meant everything to you.

That night, Daphne found you in the garden. She was standing under the moonlight, her face serene but filled with something you couldn’t quite place.

“Are you all right?” you asked, stepping closer to her.

She nodded but didn’t speak. Instead, she took your hand, leading you to a bench beneath a towering tree. There, she sat beside you, still holding your hand.

“I was so scared,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “That everything would fall apart. That we would fall apart. But I think we’ve made it through, haven’t we?”

You smiled softly, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.

“We’re still here,” you said simply. “And that’s all that matters.”

Daphne leaned her head against your shoulder, her hand still clasped tightly in yours.

“I love you,” she murmured.

Your heart swelled. You had heard it before, but hearing it now—in the quiet of the night, with everything weighing heavily on both of you—it felt like a promise, a bond that could never be broken.

“I love you too,” you replied, turning your head to kiss the top of her head.

There were still challenges ahead. Your family had yet to forgive you. The feud wasn’t over, and it wouldn’t be for some time. But you had Daphne now. And she had you.

In the months that followed, your presence in the Bridgerton household became less a source of conflict and more an accepted part of their lives. Slowly, very slowly, you found a place in their world. It wasn’t easy. Your father had made it clear he would never accept this union. And there were still whispers when you entered a room. But none of that mattered anymore.

You had Daphne. She had you.

And that, in the end, was all that truly mattered.

One evening, several months after everything had begun, you and Daphne stood on the balcony overlooking the gardens. The sun was setting, casting a warm golden glow over the house. It was quiet, peaceful.

“I think we’ve made it,” Daphne said softly, her voice full of wonder.

You nodded, smiling as you looked out over the estate.

“We’ve made it,” you agreed.

And in that moment, as your fingers intertwined with hers, you knew that no matter what life threw your way, you would face it together. Because together was all that mattered.

The feud, the rejection, the hardships—they had all led you to this moment. And you had survived. Not just because of luck, but because of love.

The love between you and Daphne Bridgerton was the thing that would carry you through it all.

And as the stars began to twinkle above, you knew one thing with certainty: This was your happy ending.

#netflix #daphne bridgerton x reader #the bridgertons #daphne bridgerton

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couchlovers · 3 months ago

Note

I'd like to request an x reader (GN since I haven't specified) with Gwen Stacy where the reader twirls strands of their hair very very often. Headcanon format, light-hearted and romance, if you will.

Please and thank you in advance.

The Hair-Twirler

mcu masterlist masterlist

sorry its really short

It’s not even conscious—your fingers just find a strand, and suddenly you’re looping it around, again and again. While you're thinking, talking, even when you’re eating cereal sometimes. It’s just your thing

Like, date #1, five minutes in, bam—there you go, twisting your hair while you listened to her talk about drumming. She tried to ignore how cute it was. She failed.

She was lowkey panicking like, “Am I intimidating?? Are they uncomfortable?? Did I say something weird??” Until she saw you doing it while zoning out during a movie and she realized: oh. it’s just a Them Thing.

You’ll be reading something and casually twisting a strand around your finger, and she’ll just stop what she’s doing to stare at you for a second. She's soft for it. Like heart-eyes, butterflies, why are you so cute-levels of soft.

Messy and fast? You're frustrated. Slow and rhythmic? You're content. Twirling the same strand over and over with a dreamy look in your eye? You’re thinking about something—probably someone. (Hopefully her.)

Like, when you’re lying on her lap, she’ll trace her fingers through your hair and find that same strand you always twirl. Sometimes she’ll do the twirling for you, just for fun. Bonus if you’re half asleep and don’t even notice.

When you asked her what that was for, she just shrugged and said, “You were doing the thing again. I couldn’t not.”

It’s her phone background. You have no idea.

If you ever call her over comms while she’s patrolling and she hears that little distracted pause in your voice? “You’re twirling your hair right now, aren’t you?” “You don’t know that.” “I can hear it. You’ve got your ‘flirt-voice’ on too.” “...Shut up."

And she wouldn’t trade it for the world. (Sometimes she even catches herself doing it too—just a little—when she misses you.)

#mcu x reader #gwen stacy x reader #spidergwen x reader #gwen stacy #spidergwen

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couchlovers · 3 months ago

Note

Heyy if that's okay could i request Eloise and her fem! S/o sneaking out of the ball to make out in secret in the library? Thanks! 💞

Quiet Rebellion

YN -> your name. tbc masterlist masterlist

2,1.k of words

The music swelled behind you, all glittering strings and murmured conversations, but your eyes were locked on hers across the ballroom.

Eloise stood by the edge of the crowd, a glass of champagne untouched in her hand, her eyes flicking toward the hallway just beyond the velvet curtains. She caught your gaze and raised an eyebrow, the ghost of a smirk curling on her lips. That was all the invitation you needed.

Moments later, your fingers brushed beneath the safety of silk skirts as you slipped away from the party, her laugh barely audible as she followed. The hush of the hallway wrapped around you both like a secret, and you felt the thrill build with each hurried step, skirts swishing, shoes barely touching the carpet.

You reached the library first, the heavy door creaking softly as you pushed it open. Moonlight poured through tall windows, silvering the rows of books and dusting the floor with shadows. It was silent—perfect.

Eloise slipped in behind you, locking the door with a soft click.

"You’re terrible at pretending to enjoy these things," you whispered, smiling as you turned to face her.

"And you’re terrible at pretending not to watch me the entire evening," she shot back, stepping in closer, until her bodice brushed against yours. "I kept thinking about this moment. About getting you alone."

Her fingers found yours in the dim light, tugging you gently backward until your back met the cool shelves. Her kiss came fast—urgent and sweet, all at once. She tasted like rebellion and champagne, like everything you weren’t supposed to want in public.

Your hands curled into the fabric at her waist as she deepened the kiss, pressing closer, the scent of old paper and gardenia curling around you both. When she pulled back, breathless and grinning, her forehead rested against yours.

“We’ll be missed,” you murmured.

“Good,” she said, and kissed you again—softly this time, like she wanted to linger there forever.

In the hush of the library, with only the rustle of silk and the pounding of your hearts, the world outside the door ceased to exist. And for a while, it was just the two of you, tangled in whispers and stolen time.

You didn’t care that your hair was coming undone, or that someone might eventually come looking. The only thing that mattered was how Eloise’s lips felt as they pressed against yours again—slower now, savoring. She moved with intention, like she had all the time in the world and still wanted to use every second wisely.

Her fingers slid up your arm, grazing over silk and skin until they found your jaw. She held you there, looking at you in that way that made your knees want to give—like you were the only person who had ever mattered. Then she kissed the corner of your mouth, your cheek, just beneath your ear.

“You’re too pretty in candlelight,” she murmured, voice husky, almost annoyed at how undone she was becoming. “It’s distracting.”

You laughed softly, breath catching as her mouth found your neck. “You’re one to talk.”

Her hand drifted down, slow and reverent, until it settled at your waist—tugging you closer. Your bodies fit together too well, the heat between you blooming, heavy and heady. Her mouth returned to yours, more urgent this time, and you met her with equal hunger, your hands tangling in her soft brown curls.

The library had turned into a cocoon of sighs and heartbeats.

You felt her fingers graze your corset laces and stop.

“May I?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, but her eyes blazing with fire.

You nodded, your throat too tight to speak.

Her hands worked slowly, delicately, slipping beneath layers, grazing your skin with a reverence that made your heart thrum. Each brush of her fingertips left fire in its wake, and she seemed to take pleasure in the way your breath hitched, your back arched.

When her hand finally found the soft skin of your waist beneath your dress, you gasped her name—a breathy plea that had her smiling against your lips.

“I should steal you away from every ball,” she whispered. “Every night. Always.”

You pulled her closer, tilting your head so your lips could meet again, deeper this time. “Then do it,” you whispered. “Steal me.”

And she did.

Right there, between the quiet walls and sleeping books, she kissed you like no one ever had. Like a girl who’d never quite believed in love until it looked her in the eye in the middle of a crowded ballroom—and smirked.

The silence of the library was sacred—almost holy—except for the sounds you made together. Whispers. Gasps. The rustling of fabric as dresses loosened and fell away, slowly, carefully, like petals.

Eloise didn’t rush. Her hands were steady, her lips exploring every inch of exposed skin with awe, like she’d never believed she’d get this close to someone like you. She kissed your collarbone, your shoulder, down the curve of your back, her fingers mapping the lines of you with devotion.

You lay half-wrapped in her arms, the edge of the chaise lounge pressing into the back of your legs, books forgotten all around. Your head tipped back as she kissed a trail down your stomach, her hand sliding beneath the last layer between you.

When her touch finally found you there, your breath caught so sharply she looked up, her eyes wide with adoration—and something deeper, something unspoken.

“You’re sure?” she asked, her voice ragged.

You reached for her hand, guiding it. “Yes,” you breathed. “It’s you. I want you.”

What followed was a blur of sensation—her mouth on yours, her fingers coaxing your pleasure, your name breaking from her lips like a prayer as you came undone beneath her. And then she joined you in that release—pressed tightly to your body, hips rocking against yours as she chased the same kind of sacred surrender.

You held her through it, one hand cradling her cheek, the other pressed to her back. As the storm passed, you lay tangled together, skin against skin, still catching your breath in the quiet aftermath.

Later, wrapped in her arms, with your dress lazily draped across your body, you listened to her heartbeat against your cheek. The candles had nearly burned down. The fire in the hearth was low and golden. Neither of you had moved in ages.

“I don’t want to go back,” she said softly, voice heavy with sleep and want. “I want to stay here with you forever.”

You smiled into her skin. “Then let’s. Let them wonder where we’ve gone.”

She laughed quietly. “Oh, they’ll talk.”

“They already do,” you teased. “Let them say what they will. Let them know I kissed Eloise Bridgerton in a library while the rest of the world danced without us.”

She looked down at you then, her eyes shining. “You didn’t just kiss me,” she said, and her voice cracked just a little. “You made me feel like I was finally allowed to be… me.”

You cupped her cheek again, kissed her slow. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

The knock on the library door hours later was faint—someone looking for her, maybe for you—but neither of you moved. Not right away.

For now, the world could wait.

Sunlight spilled across the floor like spilled cream, warming the tangled sheets and illuminating the half-open window where the early spring breeze whispered through the curtains.

Eloise stirred first.

You were still curled against her, bare legs tangled with hers beneath the soft linen, your cheek resting on her collarbone. She blinked slowly, trying to anchor herself back into the world—still reeling from the night before, the way you'd whispered her name into her neck, the way your hands had held her like a secret and a promise at once.

You shifted slightly, nose nuzzling against her throat.

“Mmm, you’re staring,” you mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

“You’re beautiful,” she said without hesitation, brushing your hair back from your forehead. “I feel like I’ve stolen something divine.”

You looked up at her, smiling. “You didn’t steal anything. I gave it to you.”

A pause. Soft fingers traced idle shapes along your bare shoulder.

“Do you regret it?” she asked, voice barely a breath.

You shook your head, lifting yourself enough to press a kiss just over her heart. “Not even a little.”

Her hand slid down your back, anchoring you closer again. “Good. Because I’m not giving you back.”

The Next Ball

You arrived separately—of course. Appearances. Etiquette. The illusion of distance.

But it didn’t matter.

Because the moment you stepped into the ballroom, Eloise found you. She always did. And when your eyes met across the crowd, it was like lightning in your chest.

You weren’t sure if it was intentional—the way she wore her hair like she knew you liked it, or the slightly bolder line of her dress, a little more daring, a little more hers. But the effect was magnetic. All heads turned when she entered, but she only looked at you.

People whispered. Of course they did. Two disappearances from the last ball. One lingering glance too long. One hand brushing another in the corridor. It didn’t take much for high society to spiral.

This time, though… she didn’t care.

Eloise made her way toward you without hesitation, weaving through dancers and dowagers, the train of her dress sweeping behind her like a statement. She reached you near the back of the room, where you stood pretending to admire the string quartet.

“Miss me?” she asked, a slow smirk playing on her lips.

You gave her a knowing look. “You’ve been here five minutes.”

“Too long,” she whispered, stepping closer, her hand almost brushing yours. “I’ve had nothing but music and champagne and people who are not you. I’m suffering.”

You laughed softly, heart pounding.

“Come with me,” she said.

“To the library again?”

“To anywhere.”

And when she finally did brush her fingers over yours, she didn’t let go.

You went, because she was Eloise Bridgerton, and you were in love with her rebellion, her wild heart, her soft mouth and sharper wit.

And because, scandal or not, you’d follow her anywhere.

“Are you sure about this?” you whispered as the carriage rolled to a gentle stop outside the Bridgerton estate.

“No,” Eloise muttered, straightening her skirts and smoothing her hair. “Which is exactly why you have to come in with me, or I will spontaneously combust on the steps like a tragic heroine.”

You snorted, hiding your nerves in a laugh. “That dramatic?”

“You haven’t met my siblings,” she replied. “Trust me, this is life or death.”

The butler greeted you with the kind of polite surprise that meant a new face, and soon enough you were being led through impossibly grand halls lined with family portraits and lingering piano notes. Eloise held your hand like a lifeline, her thumb stroking soft circles on the back of yours.

Then came the drawing room.

And the chaos.

“Eloise!” Colin’s voice rang out first, followed by an immediate thud—probably him tripping over something again.

“Ah, the elusive Miss Bridgerton returns,” Anthony said, lounging far too dramatically with a drink in hand. “And she’s brought—oh. Ohhh.”

Every sibling turned to look at you. Francesca blinked once. Benedict immediately smiled like this was the best news he’d heard all week. Hyacinth gasped like she’d solved a murder. Gregory just looked confused.

And Lady Bridgerton? She rose gracefully from her seat, smile warm but… insightful.

Eloise cleared her throat, visibly summoning every ounce of defiance she’d ever had.

“This is my… this is her,” she said. “The her I left that ball with. The her everyone keeps whispering about. And yes, we’re together. You may now proceed with your collectively dramatic reactions.”

A beat of silence.

Then Benedict grinned. “You know, I had a bet going that you’d fall in love at a library.”

“I won that bet,” Francesca said smugly.

Anthony raised a brow. “You disappeared during a ball to kiss someone in a library?”

Eloise raised her chin. “Do you want a full reenactment? Because I—”

“—please don’t,” Colin cut in, already laughing.

Lady Bridgerton stepped forward then, all grace and warmth, reaching for your hands. “It’s lovely to meet you, my dear,” she said gently. “I haven’t seen Eloise this happy in… well, ever.”

Your heart softened at that. Eloise blushed furiously beside you, muttering, “Mother, please.”

As the family slowly pulled you into their rhythm—jokes, questions, ridiculous stories—it felt less like an interrogation and more like a very loud welcome. Eloise sat close to you the entire time, her pinky linked with yours, gaze drifting toward you every few minutes like she couldn’t believe you were really there.

And when you were all ushered outside for tea under the blooming vines, she leaned in and whispered, “I told you they were ridiculous.”

You bumped your shoulder against hers. “You forgot to mention how much they already love you.”

Eloise looked at you then—really looked at you—and smiled so softly it felt like spring itself bloomed in your chest.

“They will love you too,” she said. “They already do.”

#netflix #eloise bridgerton x reader #the bridgertons #bridgerton

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couchlovers · 5 months ago

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Can you write a Lily Evans (Harry Potter, Marauders Era) x Male Reader (who is James’ cousin) where Lily tells him that she has a crush on someone but she won’t tell who, so he ends up acting like a detective to figure it out before his cousin finds out. Happy ending, please 🙏 and thank you in advance! 😁

i hope i understand your request if not im sorry!

Bad Detectives

hp masterlist masterlist my rules

k of words

It was a quiet afternoon in the Gryffindor common room, the usual chatter of students echoing through the air. You, as James Potter’s cousin, had spent most of the day dodging his relentless teasing about your lack of romantic interest. He was convinced you were "secretly smitten" with someone, a fact you hadn't confirmed. The truth was, you had your eye on someone—just not someone who would ever guess.

And then there was Lily Evans. Of course, Lily. She was smart, strong-willed, and, frankly, completely out of your league in your opinion. She had always been someone who could hold her own among the Marauders, especially with James' antics. But it wasn't until that afternoon that something unexpected happened.

You were sitting near the fire, flipping through a book on Quidditch strategies (as a proud member of the Gryffindor team), when Lily plopped down next to you. You looked up, surprised to see her, but she was wearing a soft smile. Her eyes were twinkling with mischief.

"Got a minute?" she asked, her voice light.

"Of course. What’s up?" you replied, closing the book. You hadn’t expected her to come over, but you’d always appreciated her company.

Lily hesitated for a moment before speaking, her cheeks tinged pink, which immediately caught your attention. "So… there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you."

You raised an eyebrow. "What’s going on, Evans? You’re acting all mysterious."

She smiled sheepishly, clearly not entirely sure how to say what was on her mind. "Well, it’s about—well, I guess it’s a bit embarrassing… but I think I have a crush on someone."

Your heart skipped a beat, but you tried not to let it show. "A crush? Who is it? Come on, you can tell me."

Lily gave you an exasperated look, her lips curling into a teasing smile. "That’s the thing. I’m not telling you who it is. You’ll just have to figure it out yourself."

"Excuse me?" you said, your eyebrows furrowing in mock disbelief. "You tell me you have a crush and then just leave me hanging? Come on, Lily, you can't do that to me."

She giggled softly, clearly enjoying watching you squirm. "You’ll figure it out eventually, but not until you’ve had a little fun with it. It’s up to you to play detective."

Your eyes narrowed, and you leaned back in your chair with a playful grin. "Oh, I will find out, Evans. You can count on that."

"Good luck," she teased, standing up. "Just don’t make it obvious to James. You know how he is."

With that, she walked off, leaving you to stew in your thoughts. Your mind raced—who could it possibly be? Certainly not James, you thought. He was too much of a pain for her to ever go for him. And yet, she wouldn’t say who it was. That meant it was someone she trusted. Someone she probably spent a lot of time with… but who?

That’s when the detective work began.

For the next few days, you kept an eye on Lily, trying to gauge her interactions with the other boys in your year. You noted every glance, every exchange, looking for signs of affection. Was it Remus, with his quiet, gentle nature? Maybe Sirius, with his charm? Or was it Peter, who often kept to himself but occasionally got lost in conversation with Lily?

______________________________________________________________________

One afternoon, you spotted Lily laughing with Remus near the entrance to the library, her smile wide and genuine. That had to be the answer, right? Remus and Lily, the perfect pair—both calm, collected, and smart. You spent the rest of the day trying to piece things together, growing more and more convinced that you were right.

That evening, after dinner, you sat with your cousin James in the common room, trying to remain casual. James had been in a particularly good mood that day, which meant he was probably up to something. You figured now would be the best time to get his thoughts on the matter.

"So, James," you began, trying to sound nonchalant, "what do you think of Remus and Lily? They’re a pretty good pair, right?"

James furrowed his brows at you, clearly confused. "What are you talking about, mate?"

"You know, them hanging out together so much. You don’t think they make a good couple?" you continued, trying to keep your tone light.

He blinked a couple of times before smirking knowingly. "What are you playing at, huh? Are you trying to figure out who Lily likes?"

Your heart skipped a beat. "No, I’m not playing anything," you said quickly. "I’m just curious. They spend a lot of time together, don’t you think?"

James raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. "Oh, I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to figure out who Lily’s got a crush on. Nice try, but I’m not giving you any hints."

Your suspicions seemed to be on the right track. Remus and Lily, the pair that no one would suspect, but still—something didn’t sit right with you.

______________________________________________________________________

The next day, you decided to confront Lily directly. You weren’t going to leave things up in the air anymore. You had put together the pieces, and now it was time to confirm.

You found her by the Gryffindor tower, standing by the window and looking out over the grounds. She turned when you approached, her usual teasing smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Well, well," she said, raising an eyebrow. "The great detective has come to solve the mystery, I see."

You gave her a grin of your own. "I figured it out, Evans. I know who it is."

Lily crossed her arms, looking impressed. "Really? You figured it out?"

You nodded, confidence bubbling inside you. "Yeah, it’s Remus, right?"

She froze for a moment, eyes wide, before bursting into laughter. "Oh, Merlin, no! It’s not Remus."

Your face fell, and your heart sank. "Wait, really? But you two—"

"No, no. You’re so far off. It’s not Remus." She stepped closer to you, a gentle smile on her face now. "You know what? I’ll tell you who it is."

"Okay, what is it?" you said, still reeling from your wrong guess.

She took a breath before speaking, her voice soft. "It’s you. I’ve had a crush on you for ages, but I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way."

You stood frozen for a moment, trying to process what she just said. Your heart raced, your breath quickening as the realization hit you.

"Wait, me?" you asked, your voice shaking slightly. "You mean… you like me?"

Lily smiled brightly, her eyes gleaming. "Yeah, I like you. But I guess you're not as good at playing detective as you pretend to be."

Without thinking, you pulled her into a tight embrace, lifting her off her feet and spinning her around. "Lily Evans, how could I not notice?" you muttered, feeling the weight lift from your chest.

As soon as you set her down, you cupped her face in your hands, smiling widely. "You have no idea how long I’ve liked you too."

And before either of you could say another word, you leaned down and kissed her, feeling all the tension and excitement between you melt away.

When you finally pulled back, you rested your forehead against hers, both of you grinning like idiots.

"I’m glad you’re not keeping secrets anymore," you whispered, your heart still pounding in your chest.

"Yeah," she replied softly. "Me too."

And just like that, you knew everything would be perfect. The mystery was solved, and now you had all the time in the world to figure out what came next.

______________________________________________________________________

The next few weeks were a blur of late-night study sessions, stolen glances, and moments shared between the two of you that no one else knew about. It was as if the world had opened up in a new way—no longer just a friend you’d shared countless hours of studying with, but someone you truly cared for. And, to your delight, Lily seemed just as invested in this newfound relationship.

It wasn’t as easy as simply being together, of course. You both knew it wouldn’t be. After all, you were James' cousin, and Lily had always been the object of his infatuation. You had to keep things quiet for now, at least until the right moment came.

One night, you found yourself sitting next to Lily by the fire in the Gryffindor common room. It was late, and most of the students had already gone to bed. The crackling of the fire filled the silence as you both sat there, your legs brushing against each other. You couldn’t help but smile at how natural it felt to just be with her.

"Do you think James knows?" Lily asked suddenly, breaking the silence. She turned her head to look at you, her expression a mixture of amusement and concern.

You chuckled, leaning back on your elbows. "Oh, he’s definitely suspicious. He’s not stupid. But I think he’d rather not know. You know how he is."

Lily smiled, her eyes softening as she rested her head on your shoulder. "I don’t want to be the one to cause trouble between you two."

You gently stroked her hair, your thumb brushing against her temple. "Lily, nothing’s going to change between me and James. I’ll deal with him when the time comes. Right now, I just want to focus on us."

Her eyes met yours, her gaze intense but filled with warmth. She seemed to melt at your words, her lips curving into a soft smile. Without a second thought, you leaned in and kissed her gently, feeling the world disappear as her hand cupped your cheek. The kiss was slow, almost tentative at first, but it deepened as she moved closer, your hearts beating in sync.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, faces flushed with the warmth of the moment. You could feel her fingers still lingering on your cheek, and it sent a warmth through your chest that made you feel like you were floating.

"I think I’ve been waiting for that for a while," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

You smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "So have I."

The days that followed were a mix of sweetness and nervous excitement. You managed to keep the relationship under wraps, though it became more and more difficult as you found it harder to hide your smiles when Lily walked into a room or the way you looked at her when no one else was watching. It felt like a secret you couldn’t keep for much longer.

Then came the night when you knew it was time—when you couldn’t hold back anymore. You were sitting in the common room with Lily, the rest of your friends spread out around you. It was nearly midnight, and the fire had burned down to embers. James, Sirius, and Remus were talking about their latest prank ideas, while Peter, as always, was listening intently, adding the occasional nervous chuckle.

Lily nudged you gently, catching your attention. "I think it’s time we tell them, don’t you?"

You looked over at her, your heart racing. The thought of revealing your relationship to everyone made your stomach flutter nervously. But then you saw the calm confidence in her eyes, and it gave you the courage you needed.

"Yeah. Let’s do it," you replied softly, squeezing her hand.

Lily stood up, pulling you up with her. The room quieted as soon as they noticed, all eyes turning to the two of you.

James raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of you with a half-smirk. "What’s going on here?"

Lily smiled, her hand slipping into yours. "Well, we’ve been keeping something a secret for a while now. The truth is…" She paused for dramatic effect, making your heart race a little faster.

You took a deep breath, and then both of you said it at the same time: "We’re together."

There was a long silence.

James' face went from amused to slightly confused, then finally to a soft grin. "I knew something was going on with you two," he said with a teasing laugh. "I just didn’t know what."

Sirius and Remus both nodded, not at all surprised. Remus smiled warmly at you both, while Sirius gave you a thumbs-up. Peter, who had been looking a bit lost, just smiled in confusion but clapped anyway, as if he was happy for you without fully understanding what had just happened.

James, however, leaned back in his chair, a playful glint in his eye. "Well, as long as you two aren’t planning to get all mushy in front of me all the time, I guess I’m fine with it."

Lily and you shared a relieved laugh, and in that moment, you realized that, no matter how much you worried about keeping your relationship a secret, it had all worked out just fine. Your friends had accepted it with open arms, and for the first time in a while, you felt completely at peace.

______________________________________________________________________

The next few weeks were filled with the usual chaos of schoolwork, pranks, and late-night talks. But through it all, there was a constant—Lily Evans by your side. As your relationship grew, so did your confidence. You knew that this, whatever it was, was the beginning of something special.

And when James finally came to you one evening, with a smirk and an exaggerated sigh, you knew it was all going to be okay.

"So, mate," he said, leaning against the doorframe of the common room, "I just want to let you know… I think you and Lily make a pretty decent couple."

You raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Lily, who was sitting next to you. She smiled, her hand slipping into yours under the table.

"Thanks, James," you said with a grin. "Glad to hear it."

James grinned back. "Just don’t expect me to start acting all sappy. You two are on your own for that."

As James walked away, you turned to Lily, smiling as she leaned in for a kiss.

"Guess it’s official now, huh?" you whispered, wrapping your arms around her.

"Yeah," she replied, her voice soft but filled with certainty. "Officially, yours."

And with that, the world felt perfect. The mystery had ended, and your future with Lily was just beginning.

#hp x reader #harry potter #lily evans #lily evans x reader

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couchlovers · 5 months ago

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Hi how are you, I really like your imagines, you've already become one of my favorite authors, I really liked your imagine of Kiara and I wanted to know if you could do one like it but for Isabel Conklin, with a male reader having a cold personality If you can, they already have an established relationship

Hii, I'm great what about you?? sorry for taking so long!!

A Quiet Summer

tsitp masterlist masterlist my rules

3,7k of words

hope that you will like it!

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the beach house as everyone gathered in the living room, chatting and relaxing. It was a typical summer evening at Cousins Beach, where time felt like it slowed down, and everything was easier. Everyone was here: Jeremiah, Steven, Conrad, Lauren, Susannah, and you.

You sat in one of the chairs, leaning back with your arms crossed and your gaze drifting out the window. You weren’t really paying attention to the conversation, letting the chatter wash over you. The noise didn't irritate you, but it didn’t captivate you either. You had always been this way—quiet, detached. It was the way your father had raised you. Feelings weren’t something he encouraged, and over time, you learned to bury them, to keep them locked away.

But there was one person who had managed to slip past those walls—Belly. You and Belly had been secretly dating for a while now. It started with little moments. Stolen glances when no one was looking, quiet conversations in corners. Eventually, it had grown into something more, something you weren’t sure how to navigate, but still, it felt right.

The secret had been carefully guarded, until Steven walked in on you two cuddling in the living room one evening. He’d raised an eyebrow, but instead of making a big deal out of it, he just smirked.

"Well, well, well. Look who’s the little spoon," he’d teased, and you felt the heat rise to your face immediately. Of all the ways he could’ve found out, this was the worst.

"You—shut up, Steven," you’d muttered, embarrassed, but Steven just laughed and winked at you. He’d teased you about it ever since, and it only made you more self-conscious. You didn’t mind the teasing so much, but it still left you with that feeling of vulnerability, something you rarely allowed yourself.

Belly, on the other hand, was a constant source of warmth and comfort. She understood your quietness, and never tried to force you to open up. Sometimes she’d come sit next to you, letting her leg brush against yours, just so you knew she was there.

Tonight was one of those nights.

Belly walked into the room, her presence immediately pulling your attention. She had that effortless grace, and her smile was the kind that always made you feel at ease, even when the world around you felt like it was moving too fast.

You glanced up from where you were sitting. "Hey," you said softly, the word just a murmur in the space between you two.

"Hey," she replied, giving you a sweet smile as she made her way over to the couch next to you. "What’s up? You’re awfully quiet tonight."

"Just... thinking," you said, keeping your voice neutral. You weren’t lying. Your mind was racing with thoughts of your father, the pressure of trying to live up to his expectations. It was a burden you didn’t share with anyone. Not even Belly.

She picked up on your mood, though. She always did. Without a word, she scooted closer to you, leaning her head against your shoulder. You tensed at first, surprised by her sudden closeness, but then, as always, the tension melted away. You didn’t have to say anything. She knew.

"You know, you don’t have to hide anything from me," she whispered, her voice soft and warm. "I’m here, okay?"

You nodded, but you didn’t say anything. Instead, you let yourself feel her presence, let it soothe the quiet ache inside you.

The room was still alive with conversation, but it felt like you were in your own little world. Just the two of you. The air was thick with unspoken understanding, and you allowed yourself to relax, just for a moment.

The silence between you two wasn’t uncomfortable; it was a shared space, a comfortable quiet. You closed your eyes, letting the sound of her breathing and the gentle rise and fall of her chest steady your own.

"Come on," Belly said after a few moments, sitting up and reaching for your hand. "Let’s go outside."

You raised an eyebrow, about to protest the idea of joining the others outside, but she gave you that smile. The one that always melted the walls you built around yourself.

"Just for a little bit," she added. "I’ll make sure no one else bugs you."

You sighed, but you couldn’t resist. "Fine," you muttered, but your lips twitched upward.

The two of you stepped outside into the cool summer evening, the sound of waves crashing on the shore in the distance. You leaned against the porch railing, your gaze shifting to the horizon. Belly stood beside you, quiet for a while, before she turned to face you, her smile playful.

"So, when are you going to stop pretending you don’t want to be the little spoon again?" she teased, nudging your arm lightly.

You shot her a look, your cheeks heating, but this time, instead of feeling embarrassed, you felt a small sense of warmth spread through you. "I don’t know what you’re talking about," you grumbled, trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

"Oh, sure," Belly said with a grin, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop yourself from chuckling.

As the night went on, the teasing and the soft laughter between you two were the only things that filled the space. For the first time that summer, you didn’t feel the weight of your coldness. Not with her beside you.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

The next morning, the sun was already high in the sky by the time you woke up. The familiar sounds of laughter and chatter from the kitchen filtered through the house, but for a moment, everything felt slow and quiet. You stretched, feeling the cool breeze coming through the window and the soft rustle of the curtains.

You rubbed your eyes and glanced over to the side of the bed, where Belly’s pillow was still indented, the soft scent of her lingering in the air. She’d left early to join the others for breakfast, no doubt. She was always the first to get up, ready to be around everyone, while you preferred the comfort of quiet moments alone.

It was strange how at ease she made you feel, how she slipped into your life without pushing too hard, always patient with you. You couldn’t quite explain it, but you knew she was different. She understood the parts of you that you kept hidden from the world, the parts you thought no one would ever understand.

As you got up and made your way downstairs, you spotted her in the kitchen, laughing with Jeremiah and Conrad. You hung back for a moment, just watching the way she smiled at the boys, how she fit so seamlessly into the group.

"Morning," you muttered, grabbing a coffee mug and making your way to the counter. Belly turned, her eyes lighting up when she saw you.

"Hey, sleepyhead," she greeted you with a soft chuckle, walking over to you. "I didn’t think you’d be up this early."

"I wasn’t planning on it," you replied, keeping your tone dry, but the way your lips curled into a small grin made it clear you were in a good mood. "You know I prefer my mornings quiet."

"I know," she said, her voice soft. She reached for your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "But I’m glad you’re here. I missed you."

Her words hit you differently this time. You weren’t sure why, but something about the way she said it felt more genuine, more real. You didn’t know how to respond at first, so you just gave her a small nod.

"Yeah, I missed you too," you muttered, before quickly turning your attention to the coffee machine, hiding the heat rising to your face.

Belly chuckled softly, and you could feel her gaze on you as she returned to the counter, chatting with the others. As the morning passed, everyone gathered around the table, the chatter flowing easily. You found yourself slipping into the rhythm of the group more than usual, your earlier quietness replaced with a soft ease that felt unfamiliar but comforting.

Later that afternoon, when everyone was gathered on the beach, you and Belly ended up walking together, away from the noise and the crowds. The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, the golden light reflecting off the waves in the distance. It was a perfect moment of peace, just the two of you walking in sync, your hands brushing occasionally, but neither of you saying much. It didn’t need to be anything more than this.

"You know, I love this," Belly said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Yeah?" you asked, glancing at her with a small smile. "I’m not sure why. It’s just... easier with you, I guess."

She stopped walking, turning to face you. The gentle wind picked up her hair, and for a moment, she just stared at you, her expression soft and thoughtful. You shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, but instead of saying anything, she reached up, brushing her fingers lightly against your cheek.

"I know what you mean," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Being with you feels... right. Like I’ve found a place I belong."

Your heart skipped a beat at her words. You hadn’t expected that, hadn’t expected her to feel the same way, but there was something in the way she looked at you that made you realize that she understood you in ways you hadn’t even let yourself understand.

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so instead, you did something else entirely. You pulled her closer, closing the space between you until there was no room for hesitation, no room for doubt. And then, without saying a word, you kissed her.

It was soft at first, a hesitant meeting of lips, but it quickly deepened, both of you giving into the feeling that had been building between you. The world around you faded away, the sound of the waves and the distant chatter of your friends lost in the background.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. There was nothing to say. Everything that needed to be said had already been understood.

"Guess I’m not the only one who feels like I belong now," you said with a soft chuckle, still holding her close.

Belly smiled, her eyes sparkling. "Guess not."

You stood there for a while, the two of you just holding onto each other, watching the sun dip lower in the sky. And for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe you had found something real. Something that didn’t need to be explained, because it was already there—between the two of you.

The days went by in a blur of summer fun, laughter, and the feeling of warmth that settled between you and Belly. It felt like the world had slowed down, leaving just the two of you to navigate your secret relationship. Every moment with her was perfect, but you both knew that hiding it from everyone else was going to be tricky, especially with the entire group constantly around.

______________________________________________________________________

One afternoon, while the others were off playing a beach volleyball game, you and Belly decided to sneak off for a quiet walk along the shore. The salty air and the sound of the waves crashing against the sand was the perfect backdrop for another one of those moments where you didn’t need to say anything to feel understood.

But, as you were walking back to the house, your plans for a peaceful return were interrupted by two familiar voices.

“Hey, you two!”

You both froze, turning toward the sound. There, standing just a few feet away, were Susannah and Lauren, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. The amused smirks on their faces made it clear they weren’t there by accident.

Belly’s face immediately flushed, and she pulled away from you slightly, her hand instinctively reaching up to push some hair behind her ear. You, on the other hand, sighed and stepped back, not at all surprised by how the situation was unfolding. It wasn’t like you’d been trying to hide it forever, but now that you were caught, you didn’t know what to do.

“Uh, hey” you said, trying to act casual despite the fact that your heart was pounding in your chest.

“We’ve been watching you two all week,” Lauren said with a raised eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “We knew something was up.”

“You two are awful at hiding things,” Susannah added, shaking her head. “You might as well have just told us.”

Belly looked at you, her face still a bit red, before glancing back at the two of them. “I—uh—didn’t want anyone to know, not yet,” she admitted, biting her lip. “I didn’t know how to tell you guys.”

Susannah smiled warmly, her expression softening. “Belly, honey, we’re not upset. We were just waiting for you to be ready. You’re family, and we want you to be happy.”

Lauren gave a small, teasing shrug. “But also, I had a feeling about you two. The way you look at each other? I mean, come on. It’s obvious.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at that, even though your heart was still racing.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you admitted. “We didn’t mean to keep it from you guys, it just… kind of happened, and we weren’t sure how to bring it up.”

“Well, it’s good you’ve finally figured it out,” Susannah said with a wink, “because it’s pretty obvious to everyone else, too.”

Belly turned to look at you, a shy smile forming on her lips. “I didn’t want to make it weird with everyone. But I’m glad you’re not mad.”

“Mad? No, we’re happy for you two,” Lauren said with a grin. “You’ve got a good thing going. But if you want to keep it secret for a little while longer, that’s fine too. We’ll keep our mouths shut.”

“You’re not mad at all?” you asked, still feeling a little uncertain. You were used to people being a bit more… skeptical, especially since your relationship with Belly had been so private up until now.

“We’re happy,” Susannah repeated, “and we’re not going to ruin the fun for you. Just be sure to give us some heads-up if you two plan on sneaking off to kiss somewhere else, alright?”

Belly and you both laughed, and suddenly, the tension in the air faded.

“We can do that” you said, feeling much more at ease now that everything had been put out in the open.

“We’ll keep it to ourselves,” Lauren added with a playful smirk. “But don’t be surprised if we start teasing you a little.”

You sighed and rubbed the back of your neck. “I should’ve known you two would be like this.”

“Oh, we’re harmless,” Susannah said, waving it off. “It’s just that we’re protective of our girl.”

Belly smiled, her face lighting up with appreciation. “I know. Thanks for understanding.”

“Well, we’re here for you,” Lauren said. “Now, go on and enjoy your walk. We won’t tell anyone. Pinky promise.”

After another round of teasing grins, the two of them left, disappearing toward the house. You and Belly stood there for a moment, the warmth of the moment sinking in.

“Guess that wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” you said, nudging Belly playfully.

“Nope,” she agreed, taking your hand and squeezing it. “I’m glad they know. It’s one less thing to hide.”

You smiled softly at her, and for a moment, you both just stood there, feeling the cool breeze in the air, your fingers entwined. The beach was still bustling with activity in the distance, but here, in this quiet corner, it was just you two.

“I’m just glad we’re finally doing this,” you said, leaning down to kiss her forehead. “No more hiding.”

Belly’s face softened, and she gazed up at you, her eyes filled with affection. “Yeah, me too.”

And for the first time in a while, it felt like everything was just falling into place.

______________________________________________________________________

The next few days felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. You and Belly didn’t have to sneak around anymore, and while there were still the occasional teasing comments from Lauren and Susannah, you were both glad to have your relationship out in the open.

However, you knew there was still one hurdle left to jump. Conrad and Jeremiah still didn’t know, and with how close they were, it was only a matter of time before they figured it out. It wasn’t that you were hiding anything from them, but you wanted to make sure it was the right moment.

That moment came unexpectedly.

You and Belly were hanging out on the porch that afternoon when Conrad and Jeremiah walked up. Conrad, as usual, was chill, but Jeremiah seemed a little more… intense than usual. You could feel the tension in the air immediately.

Jeremiah crossed his arms, his expression a mix of suspicion and curiosity. "You two seem pretty cozy these days."

Belly looked up at you, her fingers still intertwined with yours, and nodded slowly. "Yeah, we are."

Jeremiah blinked a few times, his gaze flickering between you and Belly. “So, what? You two have been hiding this from everyone?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but Belly beat you to it. “It wasn’t like that, Jer. We just weren’t sure how to tell you guys, that’s all.”

Jeremiah’s brows furrowed, clearly not buying it. “So you didn’t think it was important to mention it to your own brother?”

“Jeremiah,” Conrad interjected, stepping in front of him. “Chill out. It’s their business. It’s not like they were trying to keep it a secret from you.”

Jeremiah shook his head, clearly frustrated. "I’m just… I don’t get it. Why would you hide this? You’re my brother. You should’ve told me sooner.”

Belly stood up, now facing Jeremiah. “I get it, Jer, I do. But it’s not always easy, especially when things are still new. We didn’t want to make things weird for everyone.”

Conrad, standing by his brother, sighed. "You’re being a little harsh, man. It’s their relationship. They’re both adults. You have to trust them."

Jeremiah opened his mouth, but Belly spoke first. “Jeremiah, this isn’t about you. It’s not your relationship, it’s ours. I love your brother, and we’ve been figuring things out together. Please don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at Belly’s words. She was always so strong, so confident, and the way she defended you made everything seem so much easier.

Jeremiah looked like he was about to protest, but Conrad stepped in again, giving his younger brother a stern look. “Jer, come on. Don’t make it worse. Let them figure this out. We’ve got to support them, not fight them.”

Jeremiah clenched his jaw, but after a moment, he exhaled sharply. “Fine. Whatever. I’m just looking out for my brother. But I don’t like being kept in the dark, that’s all.”

Belly smiled softly at him, her tone much calmer now. “I know you’re just looking out for him, but trust me, he’s fine. We’ve got this. And we’ll tell you when we’re ready for you to know more.”

There was a long pause before Jeremiah finally sighed, his arms uncrossing as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I just want him to be happy. I guess that’s all I care about.”

Conrad, who had been standing quietly by, nodded approvingly at his younger brother. “See? We’re all good here.”

You felt a mix of relief and gratitude flood through you. Having your relationship accepted by your family was a big deal, and it wasn’t lost on you how important that moment was. Still, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit of the tension lingering.

“I didn’t mean to make it complicated,” you said, looking at both of them. “I just didn’t want to make things awkward for everyone.”

Jeremiah huffed, but his eyes softened. “Just don’t make me find out from someone else next time, alright?”

Belly chuckled lightly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Deal.”

With a heavy sigh, Jeremiah finally cracked a small smile. “Alright, alright. I’m still not thrilled about how this went down, but if you’re happy, YN, then I guess I’m happy too. Just don’t hurt her, alright?”

You grinned, giving him a reassuring look. “I won’t, I promise.”

Conrad slapped you on the back. “Good. Now, let’s all stop being dramatic and go grab some drinks, yeah?”

The tension finally broke, and you all made your way toward the house, with Conrad and Belly on either side of you. But before you could fully relax, you caught a glance at Jeremiah, who was still eyeing you with that mix of concern and protectiveness.

“I mean it, YN,” he called, a teasing smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be watching you.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, rolling your eyes at him. “I know, Jer. I know.”

Belly laughed too, squeezing your hand in hers as you both walked ahead of Conrad and Jeremiah.

“That wasn’t so bad” she said, leaning her head on your shoulder as you walked.

You smiled down at her, feeling lighter than you had in days. “Yeah, I guess not.”

As you all made your way back to the house, you realized that maybe the summer was exactly what you needed—awkward family moments and all. And with Belly by your side, nothing else really mattered.

#the summer i turned pretty #tsitp x reader #belly conklin #belly conklin x reader

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couchlovers · 5 months ago

Note

Can I get a Gwen Stacy (spiderverse) x male reader who's ginger? Pretty please?

Red Strings & Web

mcu masterlist masterlist my rules

2,5k of words

hope that you will like it!!

New York never really sleeps, but it definitely drags its feet at 8 AM. You, however, had been wide awake for the past hour, waiting outside your favorite coffee shop, hands shoved in the pockets of your jacket to keep warm.

Gwen was late. Again.

You sighed, rocking back on your heels, your ginger hair ruffled by the morning breeze. It wasn’t even surprising at this point. She was always running off to do Spider-Gwen stuff. Saving people. Fighting villains. Webbing herself in awkward situations.

Did that mean you worried every time she was late? Yes.

Did you love her anyway? Absolutely.

Still, a text wouldn’t hurt.

Right as you pulled out your phone, a blur of white and pink swooped overhead, and before you could react—

Lips.

Soft, warm, and upside-down.

You barely had time to register what was happening before Gwen pulled back slightly, her face still half-covered by her mask, blonde strands spilling out from under her hood.

“Morning, handsome” she murmured against your lips.

You blinked. “Did you just Spider-Man kiss me?”

She grinned. “Nah. That was a *Spider-Gwen kiss. Exclusive, limited edition.”

Your freckled face turned a shade that almost matched your hair. “You’re such a dork.”

“Mm, and yet, you’re the one dating me.”

She flipped down, landing gracefully beside you before stealing your coffee straight from your hands. You didn’t even fight it.

You handed her the second coffee you’d bought—because you knew she’d steal yours. “Alright, what was it this time?”

Gwen took a sip, humming happily. “Well, hypothetically, let’s say there was a runaway subway train and a guy with way too many robotic arms—”

“Oh my God.”

“—and if I totally saved the day, but then the cops tried to arrest me again—”

“Gwen.”

“—and if I may or may not have lost track of time while webbing up bad guys…” She smiled at you, all innocent. “…Would you still be mad?”

You sighed. “How could I be mad? My amazing girlfriend just saved New York. Again.”

“Damn right I did.” She nudged you with her shoulder, a teasing glint in her eyes. “Must feel pretty cool to be dating a hero, huh?”

You deadpanned. “Yeah, super cool. Love worrying about you constantly while you swing around getting into fights.”

Her smirk faltered just a little. “Hey.”

She reached for your hand, lacing her fingers through yours, her thumb brushing against your knuckles.

“I always come back, don’t I?” she murmured.

You looked at her, taking in the soft sincerity beneath the bravado. Gwen could joke all she wanted, but you knew the truth—she knew there was always a risk.

Still, she tried.

“…Yeah,” you said softly. “You do.”

She squeezed your hand once before her usual smirk returned. “So, since I saved the city before breakfast, what do you say I take you on an actual date?”

Your eyes narrowed. “…You’re gonna try to swing me through the city again, aren’t you?”

“What? No!” She paused. “Okay, maybe.”

“Gwen. I black out when you do that.”

“Okay, that one time doesn’t count—”

“I almost died.”

“You were completely fine.”

“I threw up on a taxi.”

Gwen laughed, stepping closer and resting her chin on your shoulder, peering up at you with those bright, mischievous blue eyes. “C’mon. Normal is boring. And you? You were born to have fun, Red.”

Your face burned again at the nickname. She always found a way to fluster you.

“…Fine,” you grumbled. “But if I throw up on a taxi again, you’re the one explaining it.”

She grinned before tugging you in for another quick kiss. “Deal.”

And with that, she scooped you up before you could protest, webbing into the sky, your startled yell echoing through the streets as she laughed.

New York could wait.

For now, it was just you, Gwen, and the skyline.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

The world tilted sideways as Gwen swung through the city, her grip firm around your waist. The skyline blurred past you, and for the briefest moment, you considered whether falling to your death was a viable option.

“I’m going to throw up!” you shouted, the wind rushing past your face.

“Not today, you’re not,” Gwen teased, squeezing you tighter. “I’m a professional.”

“Yeah, a professional at almost killing me!” you yelled, barely able to hold onto her.

Her laughter was like music to your ears. “Oh, come on, Red, you’re so dramatic. It’s just a little adrenaline.”

“A little adrenaline?”

The webbing whipped around you like a tornado, pulling you upward again. Your stomach flipped. You clutched onto her as if your life depended on it—which, you were starting to think, it actually did.

“I swear to God, Gwen, if I throw up, I’m going to make you explain it to every taxi driver we pass!”

“I can’t be held responsible for your weak stomach,” she teased, slowing down just enough for you to catch your breath. “Look! Isn’t the city beautiful up here?”

You took one shaky glance around. Okay, fine. The view was kind of amazing. New York sprawled below you, the morning sun casting a warm glow across the buildings. You weren’t sure if you were about to pass out from fear or awe, but it was breathtaking all the same.

Gwen grinned, sensing your change in mood. “You see? This is why I do it. The world’s too big to just stay on the ground, you know?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, trying not to make eye contact with the giant drop below. “Too big, alright. Maybe not this big, though.”

Before you could say anything else, she spun around, throwing you into a smooth dive toward an open rooftop. Your stomach did three flips before you both landed lightly on the edge of a building.

You gasped for air. “I hate you.”

She grinned, letting out a carefree laugh. “Nah, you love me.”

The wind died down, and your heart rate finally returned to something almost resembling normal. You straightened your hoodie and cleared your throat.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered under your breath.

“Excuse me?” Gwen raised an eyebrow, hands on her hips. “Who are you calling cute?”

You turned to face her, a grin tugging at the corner of your lips. “I’m calling you cute. But only when you’re not swinging me to my death.”

She was silent for a moment, and you thought maybe you’d crossed the line until her mouth curved into a mischievous smile.

“Okay, I deserve that. But hey, at least I didn’t actually drop you.”

“You’re right,” you replied, crossing your arms. “I should be thanking you for not sending me plummeting down to my doom.”

“Oh, stop. You love the adventure.” She leaned in, brushing a lock of hair out of your face.

“Adventure?” you scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “I think you mean ‘death-defying stunts that make me question my life choices.’”

She gave you a playful shove. “Oh, shut up. I didn’t hear you complaining when I gave you that Spider-Gwen kiss earlier.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you looked away. “That was a fluke.”

“Oh really?” Gwen whispered, moving in closer, her breath tickling your ear. “I could have sworn you liked it.”

You couldn’t hold back the laugh anymore. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you keep dating me.”

Before you could reply, she tilted your chin up and kissed you again, this time with a tenderness that made your heart race.

When she pulled back, you found yourself almost too breathless to speak. “…Alright, you win. I love you.”

“Mm, I know,” she teased, grinning. “I’m just that good.”

______________________________________________________________________

Later that evening, as the two of you walked through the streets of New York after her death-defying stunt (that was still giving you heart palpitations), you couldn’t help but plot your sweet revenge.

Spider-Gwen, meet... revenge.

“Hey, Gwen” you started, casually.

“Yeah?”

You paused, waiting for the perfect moment. “Wanna know what’s worse than swinging around at insane heights?”

She shot you a glance, clearly intrigued. “What?”

“Taking you to a haunted house.”

She froze. “Wait—no. No.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, I do.” You grinned, your voice dripping with mischief. “I know exactly where we’re going this weekend. And trust me, you’ll be screaming.”

Gwen shot you a playful glare, but you could see the excitement behind her eyes. “You’re not serious, are you?”

“Oh, I’m dead serious,” you said with a wicked grin. “You’re going to love it.”

She groaned, rolling her eyes but clearly not upset. “You’re impossible.”

“Couldn’t be dating anyone else, though,” you said softly.

She smiled, that signature, cocky grin spreading across her face. “Yeah, well, good luck surviving the haunted house, Red.”

And just like that, New York faded away again—just you, Gwen, and the future mischief awaiting the two of you.

You were totally in love, and she was your wild ride.

The day had finally arrived. The moment of revenge for all of Gwen's daredevil antics that had you clutching your stomach and praying for mercy. You had spent the last few days hyping up the haunted house experience, convinced that she would be the one shaking in her boots by the end of it.

It was a cool evening when you picked her up, trying to hide the smirk that was slowly creeping onto your face. Gwen stood in front of you, dressed in casual clothes with a hoodie and her ever-present sneakers. She raised an eyebrow when she saw the look in your eyes.

"Okay, now you’re acting like a supervillain,” she said, half-joking. "What’s the plan, Red?"

"You’ll see," you said with a grin, grabbing her hand. "The haunted house is just down the street. You’re going to love it."

She frowned, the realization finally dawning on her. "Wait a second… What kind of haunted house are we talking about? I swear if it's one of those cheesy places with fake chainsaws—"

"Nope," you interrupted, eyes sparkling. "This one is legit haunted. People have been talking about it for weeks."

She raised both eyebrows. "Legit? Oh boy."

______________________________________________________________________

You walked up to the dilapidated building, its old brick walls and rusted iron gates creaking in the wind. The outside looked like something straight out of a horror movie, complete with fog curling around the edges.

"Tell me again why I agreed to this?" Gwen whispered, her hand tightening around yours.

"Because you love me," you teased. "And this is your revenge for all the flying and swinging through the city like a human slingshot."

She shot you a playful glare but didn’t pull away. "You're going to regret this."

With a grin, you pushed open the creaky door and stepped inside.

The first thing you noticed was the temperature drop. The musty smell of the old house filled the air as you walked down the dimly lit hallway. The walls were covered in peeling wallpaper, and shadows stretched unnaturally from the corners of the rooms.

"You feel that?" you said softly, eyeing Gwen’s nervous but excited expression. "This place has good vibes... spooky vibes."

Gwen squeezed your hand. "You're a terrible influence."

The two of you ventured deeper into the house, stepping carefully over creaky floorboards. Every now and then, there were loud noises—doors slamming, low growls, whispers in the dark. Gwen’s eyes darted around, clearly on edge.

"Is that… blood?" she asked, pointing to the floor where dark stains seemed to lead into a nearby room.

You turned to her, holding back your laughter. "You know, you might just be the one who’s scared. I thought the mighty Spider-Gwen was fearless."

"Shut up, I’m not scared," Gwen snapped, though you could see the nervous tension in her shoulders. "I just don’t like the smell of suspiciously fake blood."

You gave her a sly grin. "I bet I can get you to scream before we leave. No way you can beat me in this haunted house."

"Challenge accepted," she muttered, stepping ahead of you.

And then it happened.

A creaking sound echoed behind her, followed by a loud bang from one of the rooms. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, and before you could react, a tall, dark figure appeared at the end of the hallway, moving toward you both.

Gwen's hand shot up to grab your arm, her body rigid. "Okay, I didn’t sign up for this kind of real terror."

You took a step forward, trying to hide your grin, watching her every reaction. She was pretending to be tough, but you could tell she was just as freaked out as you.

The figure moved closer, its face hidden under a dark hood, and a low moan escaped its lips. Without thinking, Gwen flung herself toward you, wrapping her arms around your waist and burying her face in your chest.

Your heart raced in your chest, but you couldn’t help laughing. "You okay, babe?" you asked, trying to suppress your amusement.

"I’m so not okay," Gwen whispered against you, her voice shaking. "I swear, I thought it was a real ghost!"

You wrapped your arms around her, trying to keep it together. "I told you it was legit," you teased.

Before you could even react, the ghost-like figure reached out, touching your shoulder. Gwen let out a startled shriek, pushing herself away from you and nearly tackling the figure to the ground.

"Oh my God, Gwen!" you laughed, unable to contain yourself. "You just pushed a worker! That wasn’t even a ghost!"

She blinked, completely shocked at herself, and then laughed too. "I totally didn’t mean to do that," she gasped between giggles. "I guess you could say I’m just a little jumpy."

You wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "It’s okay, babe. You’re still my fearless Spider-Gwen."

She smirked, poking your chest. "That’s because I’m the one who saves you all the time."

Before you could retort, Gwen leaned in and kissed you, the taste of adrenaline still lingering on her lips. The kiss was soft but full of warmth, the kind of comfort that you didn’t expect to find in a haunted house but needed anyway.

When she pulled away, she gave you a wicked grin. “Your revenge is so worth it.”

You nodded. “For now. But we’ve still got more of this house to go through, and I’m definitely going to make you scream again.”

She raised an eyebrow, her confidence returning. “Oh, we’ll see about that. I’ll make you scream first.”

The haunted house chaos slowly died down as the two of you navigated the rooms. The thrill of the fear, combined with the growing closeness between you, left you both breathless and full of adrenaline.

At the end of the night, as you finally made your way out of the eerie house, Gwen turned to you, a soft expression on her face.

“Red?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah?”

She gently cupped your cheek, leaning in close. “You’re a lot braver than I give you credit for.”

You smiled. "Maybe you’re just as brave as me, huh?"

“Maybe” she said, her lips brushing against yours for another lingering kiss.

As you both stepped back into the night air, the sky above you was calm, the chaos of the haunted house still fresh in your memories.

“I think this was worth it,” Gwen mused as she slid her fingers through yours. “But next time, you’re going down the haunted house slide first.”

You grinned. “Oh, it’s on.”

And for the first time in a while, you felt like everything was perfectly in place. Spider-Gwen had stolen your heart, and with her, you’d never be bored again.

#mcu x reader #mcu #marvel x reader #marvel #gwen stacy #gwen stacy x reader #spider gwen #spidergwen x reader

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couchlovers · 5 months ago

Note

hello!! could i request an abby (ginny and gerogia) x fem!reader hcs? the reader is goth and is recovered from bulimia and notices that her best-friend-now-turned-girlfriend (friends to lovers my beloved <33) has an eating disorder!! have a good year :3

Sorry for taking so long !! hope that you have a good year so far!!

Healing Together

g&g masterlist masterlist my rules

1,3k of words

hope this is what you wanted!!

You and Abby have been close for a while—she was drawn to your unapologetic style and confidence, and you loved her sharp wit and hidden soft side. Your friendship was built on late-night talks, movie marathons, and always having each other’s backs.

You start picking up on even more things—how Abby always finds an excuse to skip meals, how she changes in the bathroom after gym class to avoid looking at herself in the mirror, how she smiles but it never quite reaches her eyes when someone comments on her weight.

One day, you’re at her place, watching a movie, and you notice she hasn’t eaten all day. You don’t push, but you gently ask, “Are you hungry?” She shakes her head, brushing it off, but you don’t let it drop. “Abby, you don’t have to pretend with me.” She tenses, but when she meets your eyes, something cracks.

“I don’t know how to stop,” she whispers, barely audible. “I don’t even know if I want to.” You don’t try to fix her, don’t tell her what she should do. Instead, you just hold her. “It’s okay,” you murmur, rubbing her back. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

After that day, something shifts. Abby starts leaning on you more, texting when she’s feeling low, letting you distract her with music and horror movies. One evening, after an especially hard day, she looks at you and whispers, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” The words come out before she can stop them: “I think I love you.”

You don’t hesitate. You cup her face gently, making sure she knows she’s wanted, that she’s enough, and kiss her like she’s the most precious thing in the world. She melts into it, holding onto you as if you’re her anchor.

You don’t expect her to recover overnight, and she doesn’t expect you to have all the answers. But you’re there for her, just like she’s there for you. Whether it’s holding her hand at dinner, leaving little affirmations in her locker, or just reminding her that she’s more than what she sees in the mirror—she’s Abby, and that’s more than enough.

You start doing little things—bringing her her favorite snacks when she’s studying, making breakfast at your place and inviting her over (“You have to try these pancakes. They’re basically goth-approved.”), and letting her set the pace.

Abby struggles with body image, so you start leaving little notes in her locker—“You look stupidly cute today,” “Your smile is my favorite thing,” “Your body is yours, not theirs.” At first, she rolls her eyes, but you catch her keeping them in her bag.

One night, you two are curled up in your room, and you offer her some fries. She hesitates but takes one. Then another. For the first time, she doesn’t overthink it, doesn’t punish herself for it. You don’t say anything, just squeeze her hand and keep watching the movie, letting her exist without expectation.

When she has bad days, when she falls into old habits, you don’t get mad. You hold her close, press a kiss to her forehead, and remind her, “It’s okay. You’re not alone.” And every time, she clings to you a little tighter, as if you’re the only steady thing in her world.

Recovery isn’t linear, and you both know that. Some days, Abby eats without hesitation, laughs without guilt, and lets herself enjoy things. Other days, she pulls away, lost in her head, unable to silence the cruel voice telling her she isn’t enough. On those days, you don’t force her to talk—you just exist with her, whether it’s lying in bed together, playing music, or holding her hand while she stares at the ceiling.

The nights are always the hardest. That’s when the doubts creep in, when the urge to fall back into old habits is the strongest. You notice her slipping away sometimes, retreating to the bathroom or hugging herself too tightly. So you start distracting her—pulling her into spontaneous midnight drives, making her try on your oversized band tees (which she secretly loves), or simply wrapping your arms around her and pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

Instead of making meals feel like a task, you turn it into something fun. You start baking together—“If these cookies turn out ugly, we’re blaming capitalism”—and let her steal bites of your food without making a big deal out of it. No pressure. Just soft, natural moments.

One day, she breaks down in front of the mirror, picking apart her reflection, voice shaking. You step behind her, wrap your arms around her waist, and whisper, “You’re allowed to take up space. You deserve to.” She doesn’t say anything, but she leans into you, gripping your hands like a lifeline.

Abby has always been stubborn, refusing to let people see her as weak. So the first time she texts you—Can we talk?—you drop everything to be there. She doesn’t say much, just curls up beside you and rests her head on your shoulder. “I don’t want to do this alone anymore,” she murmurs. You press a kiss to her hair. “You never have to.”

Every kiss is a reassurance. A slow press of lips when she’s feeling overwhelmed. A lingering touch when she doubts herself. A quiet, wordless I love you when she doesn’t feel lovable. And every time, she melts into it, as if holding onto you is the only thing keeping her from slipping.

There’s no dramatic fix, no sudden recovery. But there’s you, standing beside her. There’s her, slowly learning to believe she’s worth more than her reflection. And that’s enough.

You never liked Matt. The guy was an ass—always making snide comments, always looking at Abby like she was something to be picked apart. But when he smirks and lets out a low, casual “Looks like you finally started eating again, Abby. Must be nice not looking like a skeleton anymore.”— Oh. Oh, he messed up.

You feel Abby stiffen beside you. Her shoulders go rigid, and you know that comment just cut through every ounce of progress she’s made. Her breathing hitches, her eyes dart downward, and her arms instinctively wrap around herself like she’s trying to disappear.

One second, Matt is standing there, looking smug. The next, your fist is crashing into his face. The impact is loud, and the sheer force sends him stumbling back, his hand flying to his busted lip.

The entire room goes silent. Matt stares at you, wide-eyed, blood dripping from his lip, but you? You don’t care. You’re fuming, your chest rising and falling with pure rage. “What the fuck did you just say?” you growl, stepping forward. “Say that shit again, Matt. See what happens.”

He doesn’t say a damn word. Just glares, mutters something about you being "crazy," and walks off, wiping his mouth. You roll your eyes. Coward.

Meanwhile, Abby is still frozen, eyes flicking between you and Matt’s retreating form. She’s shocked. No one’s ever stood up for her like that. And you—her goth, badass, soft-for-her girlfriend—just punched a guy for her without a second thought.

Your voice is softer now, all the rage melting into concern as you gently touch Abby’s arm. She blinks, still processing, then slowly nods. “…You just hit him.” You snort. “Yeah. And I’d do it again.”

She’s trying so hard not to smile, but you can see the way her lips twitch, the way her face heats up. Instead of answering, she just throws her arms around you, burying her face in your shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispers. And it’s not just about Matt. It’s for everything.

Later, when you’re nursing your bruised knuckles, Abby is sitting way too close, her fingers lightly tracing over your hand. “I can’t believe you punched him,” she mumbles, shaking her head. You smirk. “I told you I don’t let anyone talk shit about my girl.” She leans in, kissing your bruised knuckles first—then your lips, slow and deep. “I love you,” she whispers against your mouth. And suddenly? A sore hand feels so worth it.

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