#almost being at 1k was cool

[ajarofpickledtears]

well this is a saleswoman who's really into it huh

[jamminvroomvroom]

hi babe i’m here from the dms but. speaking of brain rot, thinking abt fwb lando again where u stay the night after and wake up in the morning expecting him to be gone already for smth work related or what not but he’s still in bed absolutely clinging to u. and then more soft sleepy morning sex 🫠🫠

play pretend.

ln x fem!reader

in which it’s time to stop pretending…

just a little blurb to say…. HAPPY BIRTHDAY @lavenderlando !! sorry i made you wait like 6 months for this lmfao i love u girl, u mean the world to me and i hope this hits the spot 💖💖 lemme know what y’all think, more 4k requests will be worked on asap (it’s exam szn ew)

songs to set the mood: denial by james marriott, real love baby by father john misty, can i call you rose? by thee sacred souls

warnings: 18+!! minors go away! smut, morning sex, friends to lovers, best friend!reader, friends with benefits type relationship, fluff, unprotected sex (don’t be silly…)

1k words

cool air casts goosebumps over your bare skin, the open window letting in the morning breeze. you tug at the grey bedsheets, dragging them higher over your frame where you lay. you eyes are cracked open, hazily taking in the sight before you.

he’s still here.

you often expect lando to be gone when you wake up. sometimes it’s because of work, sometimes it’s because you’d promised not to do this again but alcohol had then rendered the both of you irresistible to the other, and it was too awkward to have yet another jarring conversation about how you’re such good friends.

but he’s there. and he’s looking at you.

“hi.” he croaks, soft and low. you revel in his morning voice on the rare occasions you get to hear it.

“hey.” you mumble, leaning in closer to him.

he pushes the duvet up and away, inviting you into his arms, and you wriggle towards him. he’s a human heater, and you’re cold, that’s the only reason you snuggle up, tucked between his arms.

“you’re still here.” you whisper into his chest, purposefully quiet, almost as if you don’t actually want him to hear you.

“couldn’t leave you.” he mutters quietly.

you crane your head to look up at him, eyes blown wide at the admission.

“why?”

“i hate leaving after.”

the ‘after’ hangs heavy in the air between you for a second. he’s eyeing up your lips and you’re returning the gesture, sleepy eyes flitting between his and his plush lips.

this never happens. usually, the night starts with too many drinks too quickly, progresses to his hands dropping dangerously low on your waist, leads to the pair of you mentally scarring an innocent taxi driver, and ends with you underneath him. or, on top of him. and then, he’s gone.

“for the record, i hate it when you go.” you reply, and the space between you dissipates. there are so many unsaid words being traded between you, an intense charge of energy. you’re anxiously sliding your hands up his sides, itching to feel impossibly closer.

“maybe i should stop going then, hm?” two of lando’s fingers grasp your chin, tilting it up to bump his.

“yeah.” you breathe.

it’s like he’s tugged an invisible string, and you’re melting into him, his lips slotting immaculately over yours, as if they were sculpted by god to rest against yours. he tastes familiar, it’s rare you get to kiss him sober and in the light of day. you bask in it, finding the messy, loose curls tickling the back of his neck, threading your fingers through the thick, brown strands. he groans, parting his mouth just enough for you to slide your tongue over his.

“want you. now.” you gasp urgently into the space where your lips part, your body rolling hungrily against his.

“i always want you, drives me crazy.” lando grunts, grabbing a handful of your ass and pulling you even closer.

lando slots his thigh between your legs, and you search for friction, rutting against him. you’re both naked from the blurry night before so you can feel everything, each part of him so ready for you. you’re slick for him already, can feel the way it’s painting your inner thighs. you hate how easy it is to lose yourself in him.

“take me then.” you whine, your forehead collapsing against his shoulder.

lando smirks, flipping you over so that your back is to his chest, like you’re nothing. he hooks your top leg over his, sliding himself closer to where you’re aching for him.

“can’t keep pretending.” lando whispers against the shell of your ear.

he slides deep, then, filling you to the hilt. it knocks the air out of you, your back arching at the sensation of him hitting every single spot that mattered.

“then let’s not pretend anymore.” you choke out, your head rolling back against his shoulder.

“yeah, baby? wanna be all mine?” he teases, thrusting deep and slow, the slide of him shooting pleasure over your body like the slow, satisfying drip of warm honey.

“already am, all yours.” you sigh, totally and utterly content as your nerve endings pulsed with pleasure.

“good girl.” lando praises, his voice fucked out and lovestruck.

as if he’s rewarding you for your admission, the pad of his finger slips down your navel, finding your clit. you’re soaked for him, wet and warm, and he traces circles into the bundle of nerves, each touch sending you keening back into him.

“so close.” you sound like you’re begging, pleading for him to let you finish all over him.

“gotta say please.” he nips the skin of your shoulder and you squirm, toes curling.

“please, lando.” you writhe, canting your hips back against him.

“sound so pretty for me.” he coos, peppering kisses down your neck.

his fingers speed up against your folds, working you perfectly to a sweet release. everything is still blurred by sleep, your body overly sensitive from the cool air pouring in through the window and the slumber still lodged in your bones.

“cum with me.” you slur, your eyes squeezing shut. you almost turn into him, convulsing in his arms to the point where you’d be staring into his stormy eyes if you could manage to pry yours open.

“let me see those eyes.” he commands, your entire body shuddering. you blink, staring up at him, and you both fold, meeting your ends. he looks fierce, starved, completely enamoured with every single way your face moves.

your jaw hangs agape, a choked cry stifled in the back of your throat. it’s all too much, and just about enough, huge, calloused hands roaming your body as your shake, spilling all over him.

“god.” you breathe, flopping limply against him. he stays buried inside of you, his face lost to the damp skin of the crook of your neck.

“i never would of left all those mornings if i knew this is the good morning i’d get.” lando laughs, the sound deep and wholesome. you cosy yourself up even closer to him.

“not letting you leave from now on.” you murmur, smiling to yourself when you feel his lips press against the back of your head.

“you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

-

sorry this is soooo bad lmao i felt the urge to write something short n sweet xoxo

-

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @welld0nebaku @thegirlinthefandoms @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys  @rachstash @infinitebells @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239 @darleneslane @jazzy722 @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @therealone4r @pleasecallmeunhinged @theonlyadrienne @spideylovin @formulaal

[actually-safer-to-kiss]

Dinner Time

Summary: Reader makes Spencer his first homemade dinner after getting out of prison, and they both realize he's got some adjusting to do.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Content warnings: Eating, mentions of weight loss, hurt Spencer, ambiguous ending

Word count: 1k

Spencer sat at the small table in your kitchen. You set it up with funky-patterned napkins, an extra big spoon, and a used candle lit in the middle; the whole shebang. You prepared his serving of your vegetable soup, the meal he requested to celebrate his arrival home. “Are you comfortable?” You ask as you hover over the stove.

He nods and picks up his napkin, observing the pattern and weight. “Where did you get these?”

“Your mom found them when we were shopping. She said they reminded her of your socks. Isn’t that sweet?”

He blew air through his nose before saying “Wow.” He rubbed his thumb along it, following the vivid stripes. You didn’t want to tell him how she teared up when she spotted them. How she held the set close to her chest made you feel sorry that she remembered without help.

“She took it as a sign you were coming home.” Half true. More like you convinced her it was. She asked you to buy them for that reason, to celebrate. “And now here we are.” You beamed as you say the words.

“That’s wonderful.” He looked up at you and smiled. You saw it in your peripheral as you opened a pack of oyster crackers. You knew he wanted to thank you for making time for her. He wanted to, but you insisted the thank yous were enough after he said it the fifth time in 24 hours. You flashed him a brief grin as a muted response, and he appreciated it.

“Alright,” You held the bowl carefully, mistakenly filling it to the brim. Due to the sheer joy of having him home, safe, and innocent (in the eyes of the law), you almost didn’t notice he had lost weight. The first time you saw his spine after getting out of the shower, you didn't even think it was possible for him. “Extra potatoes, per your request, mon amour.” You emphasize your terrible French accent which makes him chuckle.

“Merci, mon amour.” His flawless accent almost ruined the joke.

“Okay, show off, so happy you're home.” You sneered, and his smile was even wider. You grab your own bowl and sit by his side. His elbows somehow naturally find their way to the table, boxing in his soup like he was cornering prey. Spoon in hand, he dipped in the hefty bowl. Then he shoveled in some of those extra potato chunks with some tomato-y broth. Hungry, you thought, as he leaned over the bowl, steam gliding over his rough stubble. He took a second and third bite, despite his mouth being nearly stuffed.

You didn’t say anything at first. You didn’t want to imagine the food he had to eat or meals he might have skipped because of poor quality (or other reasons). As he chewed hastily, for a moment, it gave you hope he'd gain weight quickly.

But then he reached out for his water to drink like he needed to soothe something too spicy.

Or something too hot.

“Honey?”

Bite four, five, and six. He chewed.

“Spencer.”

“Hm?” Bite seven, eight —

You put a hand on his arm and Spencer’s head immediately turned to you. It made you pull back, not touch him. His face was red and his mouth hung open, similar to a dog sticking its tongue out to cool off. “Spencer. You can let it cool.”

He swallowed, not chewing enough, and it pained him. “I can’t. I want to finish before bed.” His tongue barely touched the roof of his mouth as he spoke.

“Are you that tired?”

“No.” His eyebrows furrowed at the question, looking just as confused as you. “We only have 30 minutes for dinn—” And somehow his face of realization was even more upsetting to witness. There's a silence, brief but heavy as his whole face fell and he covered his eyes with one hand. “I’m sorry.” He sniffles.

“It’s not your fault.”

"I'll… take my time." He leans on his elbow and looks down at his meal, staring, waiting for the steam to stop. It was seconds later that his eyes were lined with tears again.

You were afraid to ask the question. “How’s your mouth?”

“It hurts.” He bites his lip as tears trickle.

You drop your spoon and scoot your chair closer to his. You ask him to sit up straight and drink water. Once he’s done that, drinking as much (or as little) as he can tolerate, you gently press his face into your shoulder. Tears collect on your skin, but you keep him close and encourage him to let it out.

And he does. His chest caves with every sob he's locked away for two months. His arms wrap around your waist, the first time he's touched you since he’s been home, apart from the delightfully suffocating hug you trapped each other in when he was released. And for a moment, you’re hit with the reality that the Spencer you’re holding has changed. His survival instincts are still active, you're just now noticing it.

You still hold him as he heaves. You rub his back to let him know you’re still here, but you stare at the blank wall in front of you. Your head is spinning, running through therapists to call and books to read that could help you. To help Spencer. Because that’s what he needs.

Spencer pulls away for a minute to look over his soup.

“It’s still there.” You say, and wipe his tears with your thumbs. “No one’s taking it, I promise.”

“It’s going to get cold.”

“I’ll heat it up again, don’t worry.”

Spencer looks down at you as you hold his face. The dark circles around his reddened eyes were prominent, and you brushed the mess of curls off his forehead. Tiredness isn’t enough. He’s scared. From what he’s seen or become, you don’t know. But his stubble pokes your skin and you realize that you don’t know what to do. As you look at the man you love, you wonder how much you can do to help. You hope you can help.

[illyrianbitch]

Pretty Little Shadowsinger

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: Based off this request: I want something silly, like there’s just no explanation given. Cassian walks in on reader dressing Az in one of her dresses or something and Cassian is just like 👈🧍‍♂️😳😏😍

Warnings: fluff, just them all being a lil silly, az in a dress, mentions of boobies and swearing

Word Count: 1.3k

a/n: me making "drabbles" over 1k, also not fully edited so squint at any mistakes and pretend they arent there <3

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

“Oh my gods,” you gushed, bringing your hands up to your face. “Look at you. Such a pretty little shadowsinger.”

Azriel tried to maintain his usual stone-faced demeanor, but a faint blush crept onto his cheeks despite his best efforts. He was suppressing back a smile, too. Not because he particularly loved the situation he was in, but because of how giddy you had been for the past hour as you shoved him in many of your countless dresses. The one he wore now was itchy and uncomfortably loose, and he felt a draft that he wasn't accustomed to. But he endured it, solely because of the joy it brought you.

Azriel raised an eyebrow skeptically, his lips twitching with the effort not to smile. “Uh huh.”

"Aw, c'mon," you insisted, stepping closer to him. "It really brings out your figure."

You maneuvered yourself between his wings, wrapping your arms around his torso and guiding him to look at the mirror. Balancing yourself on your tiptoes, you peeked over his shoulder to make eye contact with him. His shadows followed the movement, a dark mass now clustered above his other shoulder as if they, too, were watching in amusement.

He glanced at his reflection with a scrunched face. He’d seen this dress on you multiple times, had complimented you on the beautiful blue of it— one that perfectly matched his siphons. Had even ripped it off after events in an attempt to ravage you as soon as he could— that later fact felt slightly strange now considering he was the one wearing it. The dress in front of him, however, was quite frankly the ugliest thing he’d ever seen. Azriel realized now, more than ever, that the female truly did make the dress. But then again, you were the most gorgeous female in Prythian, so why was he so surprised that you made everything else just as beautiful?

"Should I be concerned I fit into this?"

You let out a small laugh, tightening your hold around his waist.

"You've always had a dainty ballerina waist, babe," you teased, watching as he rolled his eyes playfully in response, a small smile forming at the edges of his mouth.

Azriel turned his head to look down at you over his shoulder. “Thanks.”

"But don't worry.” You gave him another little squeeze. “It doesn't zip up in the back. Your boobs are too big," you added, your hands moving to jokingly squeeze his pecs.

Azriel scoffed lightly and lifted your hands off him, turning around to face you. He struggled for a moment as the fabric of the dress moved around his heavy boots and you bit your lip to suppress your laughter at the movement.

His eyes met yours as he finally faced you, gently holding your hands in his, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. Shadows curled around where your hands met, cool and light. "Alright, those are muscles," he remarked teasingly. "Pecs."

You nodded, scrunching your nose playfully. "Uh-uh.”

"Real big, tough muscles," he continued, emphasizing his point. He leaned in closer to you.

"Boobs," you interjected with a grin. The face Azriel wore, now, could almost be interpreted as one of unamusement had it not been for the glint in his eyes and the subtle upturn of his lips.

He shook his head with a soft laugh. "What am I going to do with you?"

You pretended to contemplate for a moment, looking away in exaggerated thought. "Hmmm… maybe kiss me?"

Azriel’s eyes softened, a dimpled smile appearing on his face. “I can do that.”

He leaned in to press a tender kiss to your lips, the moment melting away in the warmth of his mouth, in the way that your eyes shuttered closed. You let out a hum of delight.

Too caught up in the moment, you both failed to hear the sound of your door opening until it was far too late.

"Hey guys, have you seen—" Cassian's voice trailed off as he stepped inside, taking in the view before him.

It was Azriel who pulled apart first, neck snapping to face his brother at a speed so fast you barely blinked. You, however, opted to slowly turn to look at him, already preparing yourself for the look on his face.

“What-” Cassian paused, face falling into a confused scowl. He rebalanced himself, putting his weight on his other leg. He moved again as he placed his hands on his hips. Then once more, as he pointed towards Azriel with a lazy finger. “Whats, uh, whats going on here?”

“Get out,” was Azriels only reply.

Cassian pursed his lips, eyes narrowing at his brother. His gaze flickered to you for a moment, taking in your tightly pressed lips, clearly containing a laugh, and then he looked back at Azriel.

"Nice dress, loser, but I don't think you have the right amount of cleavage to pull it off.”

A low growl rumbled in Azriel's chest as he rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

You wondered if the growl was a reaction of embarrassment from your mate or if it was in response to Cassian alluding to your own cleavage. Both answers made you want to laugh.

But Cassian only grinned, a large amused smile— one that said he was just starting his strange, annoying torment. You sighed, mouth falling open into a smile despite your best efforts.

"Cass,” you said, bringing his attention to you. “You can't just barge into my room. What if we were naked? Right in the middle of having sex? Hmm?"

A hint of playful sarcasm laced your words.

Cassian's smirk widened. "Would've been a lot more normal than this," he responded, earning another eye-roll from Azriel and a snort of laughter from you.

"Get out," Azriel ordered again, his tone firm– and exasperated, almost– as he gestured towards the door.

You couldn't help but notice how Azriel's shadows seemed to shift, now positioned strategically at his chest where the fabric of the dress dipped to expose what would normally be your cleavage. You struggled to contain another laugh.

Cassian ignored him, hands gesturing between the two of you.

“So is this like a kink? Or is Azzie just wanting to get some better fashion sense?”

Azriel stared at him with a clenched jaw at the nickname, tossing and tired glance your way. You met your mates gaze with a small shrug and let out a small breath of amusement.

“Okay, c’mon,” you told Cassian, “He just lost a bet, that's all.”

You grimaced the instant the words came from your mouth, watching as Cassian’s eyes lit up. You looked at Azriel, watching as his face fell slightly. Oh no.

“You-” Cassian began to grin wide. “You lost a bet? To Y/n? You lost a bet, and now you're wearing a dress.”

Azriel tilted his head in warning. “Cassian.”

A second passed. And then Cassian was letting out a loud, boisterous laugh, eyes wide and wild. “Oh my gods.”

“Stop it,” Azriel warned.

It didn’t matter. Cassian instantly turned around, his loud voice echoing throughout the halls. “Az lost a bet! Az lost a bet and he’s wearing a dress! Rhys!”

“Cassian!” Azriel moved to chase after him, only to stumble over the excess fabric of the dress, the silk material wrapping awkwardly around his boots. You bursted into laughter, rushing to his side to help him up and bunch up the fabric to prevent any further struggles.

Your mate grumbled under his breath, words cursing the long dress and his brother. With a sheepish smile, Azriel gathered the dress in his hands and bolted down the hallway, cheeks painted in a dusty pink.

You watched him go, still chuckling at the absurdity of it all. As Azriel disappeared around the corner, still yelling a variety of threats at Cassian, his shadows curled around you and your shoulders.

"He kinda works that dress better than I do, huh?" you remarked to them, quietly enough that the words only filled the air near you.

The shadows seemed to ripple in amusement, as if laughing along with you at the scene.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

i added a lil explanation given cause lets be fr... cassian wouldnt bother az about the dress (hed probably wanna try one on too and nesta would be pissed hes ripping all of hers) but az LOSING at something....mans is never letting that go!!!!!

tag lists!

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @nighttimemoonlover

azriel tag list🫶🏻: @thisiskaylin

[justawritterwithideas]

the green dress effect | s.r

summary: skirts were never to your liking and didn't work for you, until penelope convinces you to try one, and wow, do they work.

warnings: absolutely nothing, enjoy spencer with an IQ of 60. this story is spencer x female reader btw.

words: 1,113.

a/n: I'm finally back with a little au/blurb I wrote during my vacation, I've had more revelations of ideas during them so I hope you like it and wait for them. By the way! Thank you so much for almost 1k likes on the little boyband!spencer blurb, you guys are absolutely crazy, thank you so much! ♡

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶

You were never a big fan of skirts.

Any kind of skirt.

They caused irritation between your thighs in summer, the material was itchy, when you walked they lifted up and they were always too small. In addition to the sexist comments from men for wearing them, the whistles in the street and the typical comment of "your skirt is too short, you pretend to seduce someone with it" by men who think it is not their fault, but yours for seducing them.

Under that stigma, the skirt was never an option for everyday wear.

Pants, on the other hand, were more comfortable.

They allowed you to walk around easily, they were easy to match, plus they were always on discount at the supermarket.

And they were much more comfortable to wear when you started working at BAU. In fact, they became your best friend.

You could swear on your family that no one had ever seen you in a skirt or dress. You could count on the fingers of your hand the number of times you wore anything other than your collection of different colored pants.

In winter they were long pants, straight cut, flared leg, tight, all kinds. In summer they were shorts or fisherman cut pants, or they could also be ones with a thinner fabric.

Occasion there was, occasion you had a pair of pants for it, as if it were a Taylor Swift song.

That was until Penelope convinced you to accompany her to a little clothing store, with the excuse that she was looking for some accessories for her new outfit for the arrival of spring.

In front of you was a beautiful green dress fitted to your figure, with a nice loose skirt that allowed you to move without feeling trapped.

It fit you like a glove, in the words of Penelope, your new image consultant. It gave a new touch to your aesthetics without taking away the tranquility that usually surrounded your attire.

You had looked in the mirror a thousand times before you could make up your mind - but Penelope's compliments were the fuel for your confidence and you decided to take it home.

After a long week of work, the day finally came when the only thing that needed to be done was the paperwork.

The case? An unsub in Miami who was looking to regain the attention he had as a child, after being involved in a case where his babysitter at the time was murdered. To make himself relevant again, he decided to imitate these deaths so they could talk about him again as they had done before.

Monday had arrived and you could feel the cool breeze on your legs after getting on the elevator. The dress had been the perfect fit for that cool day at Quantico, plus it lent a cheerful tone to the office filled with shades of black and gray.

The persistent murmur reached the ears of your colleagues, who were already immersed in the reports they had to send at the end of the day. Penelope was the first to see what the distraction was about and was surprised by your new look.

"Look at you! No way, you look beautiful. You look just like a little spring fairy, finally someone who can share my love of cheerful colors." Blondie's arm intertwined with yours and they walked together to the cubicles, hearing Luke's whistle.

"Who are you? Please Garcia, introduce me to your friend" joked Luke looking at Penny, who shook her head.

"In your dreams, Alvez. I saw her first." You laughed at both of their comments, separating from Penny to walk over to your cubicle.

"Nice choice of outfit, you really always have an ace up your sleeve." Rossi commented towards your direction, thanking him for the compliment.

"That was a good play, you left a player more than surprised by your hand." Tara turned in the direction of the kitchen, where Spencer stood dumbfounded looking in your direction.

He was carrying two cups of coffee, actually he was carrying his cup of coffee and your cup of tea. But his usual commute was interrupted by your arrival at the office.

He thought he had seen all the wonders of the world, but he was wrong. He hadn't yet seen you in that green dress, which he was sure was perfect to put you at the top of the wonders of the world.

His cheeks were colored a sweet pink, his pupils had dilated and his heart rate had increased, so much so that his carotid was pounding.

"Hey, Spence." You rose from your seat, approaching the man standing in the middle of the aisle until you were facing him. You brought your hands up to his, taking your cup. "Thanks for the tea, it was just what I needed."

A soft nod was his response.

His eyes scanned from head to toe over your body, feeling it wasn't enough for him to take his eyes off you to observe every detail of you and that green dress.

"What do you think of the dress? I know it's not a usual thing to occupy, but I feel it's a good choice for today's weath- Spence, hello?" your hands passed in front of his eyes, catching his attention. "Earth calling Reid, is anyone there?"

Spencer's intrusive thoughts were interrupted by your sweet voice, who was watching him in search of knowing where his precious brain was at the moment.

"Wait... You don't like me? Geez, that's too bad. I think my choice was bad, I'll see what I'll do with him-"

"You look beautiful."

Your nervous glance went to Spence's face, who was watching you breathlessly.

"Really?"

"Don't put him back, please." Your own words startled him. "I-I mean, i-it wasn't a bad choice, i-it looks spectacular on you, well! You always look spectacular, all the time, every day, that's my opinion! B-but your opinion may be different, I mean.."

A giggle came out of your mouth, stopping Spencer's rambling.

"Thanks for the compliment, maybe for next time you can join me in choosing, I've decided I want to give dresses and skirts another try!”

Spencer nodded, following your lead back to your desks to get back to work. But the last thing Spencer did was work, because his eyes were on you and your cute green dress.

"And that's how the effect of a green dress brings an IQ of 187 down to 60!"

Emily elicited laughter from everyone, but Spencer was so deep in thought from seeing that dress of yours on the floor of his apartment.

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If you like it, don't forget to like and repost it.

a lot of love, alme. ❀

[poeticmystery]

:･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ RAY OF SUNSHINE (p.j.)

summary : in which percy jackson feels attached, in some way, to a girl he just met.

w.c. : about 1k

a/n : part 2! thank you for all the support on the firsg part, there will be more to follow!

this is also on my wattpad: poet1cmystery

warning(s) : none!

| riordanverse masterlist | navigation | part 1 |

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

percy awoke near midnight, having slept for almost seven hours. he had been woken up by a nightmare, just like usual. The stars hanging in the sky painted a serene picture for him as he stared out through the small infirmary window, the view calming him quickly. for once, the camp around him was quiet. no bustling demigods, no chattering kids. just quiet. 

the son of poseidon sat up, looking around more. he was never in here for as long of a time as he had been currently. he never noticed how old the withering wood was, its brown shade falling to a reddish-beige. they were surrounded by magic but still couldn't repair the infirmary. huh. he could definitely see the imprints the apollo children had made, even just in the small room he was in. there was an overall sense of brightness, despite the late hour it was. it felt welcoming, in a way. 

he debated on going back to his cabin now or staying here until morning. the harpies would be out, so that definitely wouldn't be preferable. still, could he really stay for this long? y/n had told him to stay until he felt better...

so, he stayed, in hopes of seeing her again. he was still curious about the connection he felt to her. curious about why her eyes felt so familiar. he tried to rack his brain for answer, yet nothing came to mind. there was a faint image of those eyes on a little girl, their e/c being illuminated by a ray of sunshine. but that was where the memory faded. nothing around the young girl seemed familiar, none of the scenery. he couldn’t even tell if the memory was indoors.

percy noticed the lack of movement, even inside of the infirmary. apollo kids had to sleep too. the only sound he heard was the low chirping of crickets, occasionally seeing one of their tiny bodies hopping by, being illuminated by the fading moonlight.

the lack of light was seamlessly replaced by an orange hue, accompanying the rising sun in the distance. it must’ve been closer to morning than what he had thought. well, that just meant he got to see this mysterious girl sooner.

the stars faded slowly, as if running from the intruding daylight.

y/n walked into the infirmary, smiles and all, the view causing a small grin to even grow to his own face. the optimistic attitude she often boar wasn’t new, but still found a way to draw him in.

“oh!” she looked surprised to see him, was that bad? should he have left when we woke up? the wide smile said otherwise, but he was beginning to think it was permanent, regardless of the situation. his mind raced, and he didn’t know why. it wasn’t like this with anyone else that’d help him. why her?

“i didn’t realize you were still here. are you feeling better at least?” she questioned, concern lacing her features.

“uh, yeah,” he swallowed, trying to get the ugly taste out of his mouth, “ ‘m feeling a lot better. thank you.”

“it’s what i’m here for,” she replied cheerily, spinning on her heel and moving away from the open doorway.

 he gave it a few minutes, then slowly sat up. as the blanket fell from his shoulders, a sudden wave of cool air reminded him of the shirt he wasn’t wearing.  his eyes roamed the enclosed area, searching for the familiar orange fabric of his camp-tee. then, he saw it hanging on a plastic hanger, seemingly clean. he took slightly shaky steps towards it, eventually shrugging it over his shoulders, letting it fall past his arms. 

he walked out of the room he was in, slightly zoned out. unfortunately for him, he bumped into the girl he had been trying to figure out.

“ah, shit, sorry y/n,” he said quickly, gently reaching to grab her arm to steady her.

she didn’t seem bothered. “it’s alright, are you going?”

he nodded, releasing his grip from her arm. “i’ll see you around?” he asked, hoping the answer was yes. maybe then he could figure out where he knew her from.

“of course, percy.”

her words made him smile, even if she just meant them half-heartedly. (she definitely did, he could tell.) he stepped out into the now fully-risen sun, its rays beating down on him despite the chill held by the autumn air.

immediately, he was greeted by his short, fast-talking friend. the one and only, leo valdez.

“where have you been?” the boy exclaimed, his head tilting slightly upwards to meet percy’s eyes.

“dude, it’s been like a day,” percy said flatly.

almost on instinct, percy checked his pockets for his trusted pen. no matter how long he had had it, he still wasn’t used to the fact he couldn’t lose it. just like he suspected, it was safely sitting in the back pocket of his jeans.

percy’s gaze wondered back towards the infirmary one last time, before quickly flicking back to leo, trying to listen to what the boy was discussing as they walked further and further away.

he noticed leo looking at him expectantly, and just nodded his head, seemingly agreeing to what had just been said. “yeah, of course.”

“you weren’t listening, were you?” leo groans.

“not at all,” the boy admitted, not wanting to lie to one of his closest friends.

“tell me again?” he offered, smirking sheepishly down at leo, who rolled his eyes. still, the boy repeated what he had said, this time earning a real response from percy.

the two boys conversed, occasionally shoving each other around as they walked over the dirt pathways winding between the camp cabins. eventually, they heard a horn blow, signaling breakfast.

arriving at the pavilion, percy noticed y/n walking towards a table seating annabeth chase, piper mclean, and luke castellan. wait.

luke castellan?

why was she sitting with luke castellan? 

why did percy care? 

he didn’t. right?

no, of course he didn’t. why would he?

taglist : @iamforeverandalwaystired, lmk if you wanna be added!

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

hi baby!! dont worry!! it was about reader getting so stressed and annoyed while building a gingerbread house that they throw it in the garbage because its going all wrong and carmy finds it hilarious lol then he builds one for her hehe<3 love u

Perfectionist.

Your boyfriend being a professional chef has its perks - especially when it comes to gingerbread houses.

pairing - carmen berzatto x female reader warnings - cursing word count - under 1k!! short and sweet author's note - just a little dose of carmy at christmas for you. thanks baby angel for sending this request in (twice!!) <3

masterlist. inbox.

"Fuck this."

Carmy hears your raised voice and immediately comes running, coming to a halt in the doorway of the kitchen.

"You good, baby?"

"No."

The frown on your face is amusing him to no end, fighting to keep his smile from breaking out. He doesn't want to minimise your feelings, but you're cutest when you're mad.

Carmy takes in the scene in front of him, surveying carefully. There's chunks of gingerbread scattered across the table, icing dripping from the tablecloth. Your kitchen looks like a candy store exploded - sweets in red, green and blue littered over every surface. You're caked in frosting, hair falling into your eyes as you take deep breaths to try to keep your anger at bay.

"I knew this wouldn't be easy, but fuck me, Carmy... I'm on the brink of a breakdown here."

He makes his way over, grinning like an idiot. It's not often he gets to help you with things - you're fiercely independent, determined to get stuff done all by yourself. He likes teaching you, getting to feel like he's easing your worries a little.

"You want my help?"

"I said I'd do it," you huff, on the verge of stamping your feet and pushing the table over.

"It won't kill you to ask for what you need, baby."

You roll your eyes, bottom lip caught between your teeth. It's difficult for you to admit defeat, but you might rip your hair out if your gingerbread collapses one more time.

"Can you help me, Carm?" you whisper.

"What was that, honey? Say it again?"

You sigh in exasperation, slumping back into your chair.

"Can you help me, Carmen? Please?"

He beams at you like the cat that got the cream, making his way over to sit next to you at the table.

"Lets start again, hmm?"

"Good idea."

You pick up the remnants of your gingerbread house and throw them so forcefully, the trash can almost tips over. Carmy laughs, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

"I think we've finally found the one thing you're not good at, honey. It's a Christmas miracle."

You can't help but chuckle, leaning your head back to rest against his shoulder. He presses a kiss or four into your neck, nosing at the spot under your ear.

"Okay, Mr Michelin Star. Show me what you got."

You bake, first, Carmy explaining how to get the perfect texture you need for structural soundness. He even gets out a ruler, measuring the rolled out dough so the sides will be even.

He kisses you lazily while your gingerbread is in the oven. You're propped up on the counter as he stands between your legs, arms thrown around his shoulders. He tastes like cinnamon and spice, groaning when you lick the sugar straight from his tongue.

When it's cooled, you begin your assembly, sitting back while Carmy trims and remeasures. He draws out a template with a pencil and cuts accordingly, ensuring each piece has a straight edge. You watch in awe as he works, so careful, so attentive. You're fighting not to jump his bones at any given moment.

It's time to build, and Carmy has the perfect plan. He's made a thickened sugar syrup that acts as a glue, hardening when it dries and keeping everything together. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he concentrates, determined not to mess this up for you.

He steps back, then, to let you decorate. You clearly have a vision, your picturesque idea of what you wanted your original creation to look like. Carmy makes you multiple bags of icing in different colours, and melts down candies so you can make windows and doors. He opens packets of chocolates, and carves into them with a knife to make little trees for the yard.

Hours later, when you're both covered in powdered sugar and melted chocolate, you step back to admire your masterpiece.

"Holy shit, Carm."

"We did good, huh?"

"Is there like, a business in this? Can we do this for a living?"

He laughs, the sound vibrating through you from where his chest his pressed to your back. He's got you tightly in his arms, swaying gently to the soft music that plays from the radio.

"What were you saying about finding the one thing I wasn't good at, Berzatto? Hmm?"

He spins you, pressing his forehead into yours.

"I take it back. I take it all back, baby. You're good at everything."

"Especially gingerbread houses."

"Especially gingerbread houses."

You lean up to kiss him, wiping some frosting off his cheek with your thumb.

"Thanks for not making me feel like an idiot."

"I would never. Life is a learning curve, baby, You taught me that."

"I love you," you whisper. "And just so you know, we're never eating that. It's going to have to be display only."

He laughs, full chested and whole hearted, moving his hands to cradle your face.

"I love you too, baker extraordinaire. We don't need to eat it, anyway. We've got all this candy to get through."

You reach behind him to pick up a chocolate, tossing it into your mouth.

"It isn't as sweet as you," you wink.

A blush rises up his cheeks as he rolls his eyes, pulling you in closer.

"Merry Christmas, baby."

"Merry Christmas, Carmen."

[moonstruckme]

no cause I was thinking…. reckless driving by lizzy is so james coded!!! so I wanted to ask if you could write something inspired by it with reader being a bit insecure about loving him loudly and he’s just like a walking „I love my gf“ sign

ily I hope you are having a great day/night🫶🫶

Thanks for requesting, love you!

modern au

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

It’s beginning to frighten you how often you think of James. One of your friends will make a joke and you’ll catch yourself trying to remember it for him, or you’ll see a cute dog and want to send him a picture, or you’ll overhear a conversation in public and wish he were with you to press in close to your ear and ask Did you hear that? 

It’s sort of pathetic, really, considering you’ve only been dating a few weeks. The last time you’d met up you talked about how much you both loved the thin oreos, and when you saw a pack in the store yesterday you’d almost bought it for him. Only the realization of how much your life has started to revolve around him stopped you. 

You can’t be acting like James’ girlfriend. You’re only dating. It’s not like you love him—though you could, definitely, in time. But if you start doing girlfriend things, he’s going to think you are his girlfriend, and things will spiral out too fast for you to stop them. You have to dole out your affection in measured doses. Careful, controlled. 

You feel James enter before you see him. He holds the door to the coffee shop open wide, letting another woman exit before he steps inside, and the cool air that comes in with him has you turning your head. 

James is smiling as soon as he sees you. It’s a seemingly perpetual thing for him, this expression. You’re tempted to look out the window to the sidewalk and see if he’s left a trail of sunshine in his wake. 

“Hey,” he says, sitting down across from you. “You look really lovely.” 

You look exceedingly normal, but you thank him for the compliment anyway. “So do you.” 

“Thanks,” James says easily, like he gets this all the time (he probably does) but appreciates it nonetheless. He starts to dig in the tote he’s hung on the back of his chair. “I’ve brought you something.” 

You start to protest, but he anticipates you. 

“It’s tiny, don’t worry. Here.” 

He slides something crinkly across the table. It’s a pack of thin oreos. 

“Oh, no way! I almost…” You look up, meeting James’ eyes as your brain catches up to your mouth. Too late, you’ve blurted. You can hardly roll it back now. “I almost got a pack for you the other day, too.” 

He doesn’t seem to take your insensitivity to heart. In fact, his eyes light up. “Really! That’s so funny.” His hand remains still on the table but his fingers stretch towards yours, the barest of touches. “It was nice of you to think of me.” 

Your heart slumps. “I’m sorry I didn’t get them for you, though,” you say. “We should share these ones.” 

“Nope.” James leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Those are all you, love. Say, have you had a look at the menu?” 

You wince. “I’ve already ordered, actually.” 

“That’s alright,” he says breezily. “Back in a sec.” 

He stands and gets in line, leaving you to contend with the semi-awkward silence of being in the same place yet not speaking. Right as he finishes ordering, the barista calls your name. James looks like he might grab your drink for you, but you meet him at the counter, thanking the barista as you take it. 

“No problem,” she says with a smile. “Love your outfit, by the way.” 

You fluster a bit at the compliment, a break from the typical coffee shop dialogue you were prepared for, but James wraps a friendly arm around your waist and beams right back at her. 

“She’s got great taste, doesn’t she?” he asks, and you manage to cast a quick thanks over your shoulder as he steers you back to the table. “See, it’s not just me that thinks you look especially pretty today.” 

“Oh, hush,” you say, taking your seat and looking down to stir your drink bashfully. “What’d you order?” 

“Irish cream latte. Limited edition, apparently.” 

“So, the sweetest thing on the menu.” 

The smile spreads on James’ face. It ebbs and flows like the tide, you think, never really leaving. “You know me so well.” 

The warmth in his voice makes your chest feel hollow and achy. James goes to such lengths to do nice things for you, to show you that he pays attention and thinks about you and cares, and yet when it comes to you he’s left settling for whatever scraps of affection he can get. 

“James…” Your tone reveals your shift in mood instantly, and James’ head straightens the way a dog’s ears perk when it hears something alarming. “You know I want to take things slow, right?” 

He nods, and when he speaks his voice is considerately softer. “Yeah, you’ve said. Do you think we’re—I’m moving things too fast right now?” 

“No, just,” you wet your lips, having some trouble looking at his face, “I don’t know, I feel like I’m not being as good as you deserve. You’re such a sweet person, and I think…sometimes I feel like maybe you’d be happier dating someone who could be more all-in. You know?” 

For a second, the silence is torture. Then: “Someone you’re trying to set me up with, sweetheart?” 

You look up in surprise, but James is smiling again. Softer, now. Almost tentative. You find yourself mirroring him reflexively. 

His knee bumps yours under the table. “I don’t mind moving slowly with you,” he says. 

“Are you sure?” you ask. “Because you seem like you’re ready for more.” And I don’t know if I can manage that yet. 

“Yeah, I’m sure.” He takes your hand in his, and his eyes are soft, sweet caramel. He looks almost like he could love you. “If I’m coming on too strong, you can tell me, but I care about you. It’s hard for me not to be all-in, but that doesn’t mean I’m expecting the same thing from you. You seem like a sane, well-adjusted person.” James nods seriously. “Something I could use, I’ve been told.” He tries to keep the poker face when you grin, but fails in half a second. 

“Okay.” You give his hand a little squeeze. “Let me know if you change your mind, okay?”

“I won’t,” he says certainly. “I always go for the sweetest thing on the menu, remember?” 

You take your hand back to cover your face, and James’ laughter echoes off the walls. 

[joelscruff]

feelings on fire (joel miller x f!reader) 18+ PART ONE

"trying to play it coy, trying to make it disappear"

⚠️ new series alert! ⚠️ and also my 1k follower celebration!!! (altho it might as well be the 2k celebration now considering how fast my following has grown. thank you ;-;) i polled my followers a little while ago to choose between 3 different fic premises and this one was the winner! it was originally meant to be a stand alone but i'm actually more interested in making it a brand new series, so i hope you guys enjoy! i'm not exactly sure how many parts this will be yet, i'll let you know when i do. title and lyrics are from 'bad liar' by selena gomez.

summary: you're back from college for the summer, staying with your devout catholic parents in your childhood home while they order you around and try to keep authority over you. as an act of rebellion you ask your new neighbor mr. miller to teach you how to play guitar, but it turns out there's a lot more he wants to teach you. (no outbreak, no use of y/n) rating: 18+ explicit (minors, do not interact) warnings: (for this fic in general) age difference (reader is in her 20s, joel in his 50s), innocent/inexperienced reader, dirty old man joel, corruption (but it's consensual), praise kink, dirty talk, general smut, mentions of religion (reader's family are very catholic) -- (for this chapter) wet dreams, mentions of masturbation. word count: 5k ao3

The sun is warm and pleasant on your bare skin as you lay out in the freshly mown grass of your backyard, absorbing the heat and smiling languidly despite the humidity. You're grateful for your family's wealth on days like today, knowing that at any moment you could take a few steps and dive headfirst into the cool water of your pool, fresh and inviting. It's been about a month since you returned and you've spent almost every day outside among the green grass, the chlorinated water, the burning Texas sun. It's been heaven.

The backdoor suddenly swings open and your father's voice booms out into the backyard, "Family meeting," he states, loud and serious, "Five minutes."

Or hell.

With a groan you slowly sit up, hands digging into the thin towel laid out beneath you. You know better than to ignore an order like that. Being back from college for the summer has certainly had it's perks; no annoying roommates, no loud parties, a large backyard and pool to yourself, but having to deal with your parents again certainly isn't one of them. You'd thought coming back after three years might have softened them a bit, lowered their guard, made them less strict. Instead, it's almost had the opposite effect.

You slide into your flip flops and walk begrudgingly inside the house, making note of your mother standing anxiously by the stove with her arms crossed. What's the issue now? At least once a week your father calls these "family meetings", which always pertain to you and only you, seeing as you're their only child. Last week they'd spent half an hour berating you about forgetting to put the garbage out, the week before they'd tried to explain the importance of an early bed time to you, like you were seven.

You're a grown woman, a full fledged adult. Sure, you're only twenty one, you're unemployed, you're currently in the process of obtaining an arts degree that probably won't secure you anything tangible in the real world, but you're an adult nonetheless. You only have one year left of school before you can leave all this behind and start fresh somewhere else. You'd thought coming back home for one more summer would bring nostalgia and happiness, a few months of normality before life exploded in front of you.

Turns out your parents had pictured something different.

Your father gestures toward the kitchen table, urging for you to sit. You hate when they do this, make you feel small and childish while they both stand above you and reiterate rules they've had your whole life, rules that apparently you'll never grow out of. You wonder what rule you've broken now.

"We've noticed that you barely leave the house," your father begins, voice deep and authoritative, "We were under the impression that when you came home you'd be spending time with old friends, doing some volunteering again."

"Going to church," your mother adds beside him, a frown permanently etched on her face, "You've only gone twice since you've been here."

Call the cops, you think to yourself, forcibly holding back an eyeroll. Ironically your father is a police officer, and you highly doubt he'd ever come if you called.

"Instead, you just spend all your time in that backyard," he continues, nodding along with your mother, "We didn't invite you back to simply laze around all summer, there have been clear expectations you're not meeting."

You take a deep breath, feeling a hint of anger and stubbornness burning in the pit of your stomach. You shove it down, back to that secret hiding place you've cultivated throughout all these years of having to deal with them.

"I'm sorry, dad," you say, trying to sound as earnest as possible as you look to him and then your mother, "Sorry, mom."

"Sorry doesn't cut it, we need to see action," your father replies quickly, brow furrowed, "No more lounging around in the backyard on weekdays, that's a weekend activity from now on, we clear?"

You nod, "Clear."

"We want you to get involved in something," your mom takes a step forward, places her hand awkwardly on your shoulder, "Why don't you call Bethany? She's always looking for more helpers at Sunday School, or maybe Alice? I hear she's been volunteering at the soup kitchen for the summer."

You haven't spoken to either Bethany or Alice since you left for university three years ago. The thought of calling them, let alone having to work with them in either setting, makes you feel ill. You nod again, pretending to agree.

"That sounds good, I'll call them tomorrow morning," Both of your parents smile, appeased, "I think I'll go for a walk now, if that's okay. Clear my head, think about things I can do to improve."

"That's the spirit," your dad says, wrapping an arm around your mother, "Remember, be back before dinner or the door will be locked."

"I know," you nod, forcing a smile, "I won't forget."

--

Well, that's it, then. You'll have to leave.

It sounds dramatic to say that your parents telling you to get off your ass is enough to send you packing, but it goes so much deeper than that. You've spent your entire life doing everything these people say, nodding and smiling when you're meant to, apologizing for everything, doing anything you can to appease and impress them. You'd spent your high school years in youth choir, church group, organizing fundraisers, studying your ass off, tutoring, joining as many extracurriculars as possible until you had no free time. And even then, nothing ever seemed to be enough for them.

When you'd left for college they'd both cried at the airport, held you in their arms and told you with sincerity that they'd miss you so much. Your mother had kissed your face and held your hands and your father had hugged you for the first time since you were eleven years old. And because of their sudden burst of emotions, of affection, you'd actually missed them once you left. You remember you'd cried on the plane, scrolling through pictures of them on your phone until the battery died, thinking to yourself that maybe they weren't the horrible, authoritarian people you thought they were.

They called you once a week while you were at college, asking for updates, telling you they missed you, giving you neighborhood gossip that made you laugh and feel nostalgic for home. Being away from them, it was like they suddenly became two entirely new people, bonded together by their suddenly empty nest and seemingly trying to do right by you now, even if it felt a little too late. You'd thought about coming home a few times for a visit, but the memories that triggered the anger in the pit of your stomach kept you from doing so. You'd kept them at arm's length until you felt ready to come back.

And now you're back, and nothing has changed. They're the same people they always were, expecting too much of you, thinking they can control you, never quite believing that you're trying your best. You'd told them before you came that you just wanted to relax this summer, spend some time at home, maybe meet up with some old friends - keyword being maybe - and they'd seemed totally on board with the idea. There had been no mentions of keeping busy, no mentions of Sunday School or soup kitchens or rules. Then you'd arrived and realized how stupid you'd been to believe that they could ever change.

Your entire life you've been their perfect girl, their A+ student who volunteered and read bible verses and tutored the neighborhood kids, sacrificed your happiness more times than you can count for the sake of keeping them satisfied. But that's the thing: they're not satisfied, and they never will be.

Your flip flops smack against the concrete of your suburban street, sun beginning to set in the distance as you think about how exactly you're going to escape this hell. Yeah, you could just walk out the front door without a word, but it's not like you have anywhere to go or the money to do it. You have your plane ticket for your return flight back to school, but it's not 'til September and it's under your father's name. Your family might be wealthy but none of that wealth has ever gone directly into your pocket, and you doubt it ever will if you just bail on them in the middle of the night with no warning.

Your thoughts scatter when you hear someone call out your name nearby. Your head swivels and you see one of your neighbors, Mrs. Lillard, waving from her front porch. You wave back, give her a small smile.

"How's college treatin' ya?" she calls to you, taking a sip from a bottle of beer, "Got a boyfriend?"

Your cheeks warm immediately and shake your head, "Not yet!" you call back.

"I bet you're battin' 'em all away," her voice is slurred and you're sure that's probably not her first beer of the day, "Nobody's good enough for ya, huh?"

"I guess," you say awkwardly, continuing to walk and hoping she won't ask you to join her for a beer, "How's your husband?"

"Pain in my ass," she responds with a grunt and takes another swig, "Bet you can't wait to have your own white picket fence, perfect as you are."

Her words make you uncomfortable but you just give her your signature fake laugh and flip your hair, waving again, "Bye, Mrs. Lillard."

Your face falls as soon as you turn around, anger burning again. You've spent so much of your life being the picture perfect little suburban girl, doing everything your parents say, saying your prayers and reading to the elderly, killing yourself to get straight A's and only speaking when spoken to. Your reputation is widely known around the neighborhood; the sweet little girl, the pure and innocent God fearing angel. You've portrayed yourself as that girl for so long that you almost don't know which part of you is real anymore.

You keep walking down the street, eyeing the sunset as you go and wondering what would happen if you just didn't go back home tonight. As your father had said, he locks the door every night after dinner; you don't have a key, you've never had a key. You're only allowed into your house on the basis of trust and good merit. If you just refused to go back tonight, how would they react? The thought of doing something like that sends a warm flush of rebellion across your skin, eyes bright with intrigue. But where would you go?

You turn the corner and your nose is suddenly hit with the delectable scent of a barbecue, smokey and delicious. You slow a bit, closing your eyes and breathing in the warm air, stomach growling. You suddenly realize that if you don't go home tonight you'll also miss dinner. Another rule broken. You keep walking, trying to follow the scent like some kind of bloodhound. Maybe you know whoever's cooking and they'll invite you to eat with them.

A few houses down you start to hear the sound of music. There must be a party going on, a birthday or some other special occasion. It's only as you get closer to the sound that you realize it's not being played from a speaker or stereo, but from someone's front porch; a real guitar, live and acoustic.

You approach the house in question and see a man sitting on his front step, guitar in hand as he strums a steady tune. He's looking down, watching his fingers, monitoring his movements, but you see dark brown curls with hints of grey peppered throughout, a stubbled jaw line and curved nose. You slow your speed, furrowing your brow as you try to place him. You're not sure you've ever seen him before.

His music is calm and inviting, a plucky sounding tune that seems vaguely familiar. You're suddenly filled with intrigue, trying to place the song and slowing to a complete stop in front of the house without meaning to. You watch the man's callused fingers pick away at the strings, fast and professional, like he's been doing this for years. He probably has.

You're still trying to place the song, biting your lip and swiping through songs in your mind like an invisible rolodex. Johnny Cash? Bob Dylan? It sounds like one of those songs your parents would forbid you to listen to as a kid, the ones with devil worship in their lyrics, sung by bad men who didn't believe in God. You'd always questioned this logic, wondered how songs about living out in the country or falling in love could be inherently against your religion. They didn't even listen to it, just blindly told you it was against the rules.

Suddenly the man stops playing and you realize the song has come to an end. He looks up then, notices you standing there at the end of his walk with your furrowed brow and flip flops. His eyes are brown, expression startled at first but then fading into something softer as he gives you a small smile.

"Been there long?" he asks, voice crackling slightly, like he hasn't spoken much today.

You shake your head quickly, "I'm sorry, I heard you playing and I-"

"S'alright," he replies strumming his guitar absentmindedly and giving you a shrug, "I don't mind an audience."

He's southern, definitely a Texan, but you're sure you've never met him before. His face and voice are unfamiliar to you, but certainly not unwelcome. He's older, probably in his 40s or even 50s, but he's handsome and slightly boyish in a way despite his greying hair and freckled skin. He reminds you of one of those men on album covers your father had slammed down one day in the record store when you were nine, yelled at you in front of everyone that the men who made that music were filthy sinners. It hadn't stopped you from listening to them, though, curiosity getting the better of you.

Is that who you're looking at now? A filthy sinner?

"You okay?" he asks slowly, tilting his head. You realize you're just staring at him, gathering your thoughts.

You shake your head again quickly, feeling yourself blush under his gaze, "Sorry," you repeat, "I'm uh, I was just passing by and I heard you playing that song. It sounded really familiar."

He gives you a crooked smile and a nod, "Tangled Up in Blue, Bob Dylan."

"I knew it was Bob Dylan," you say, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. That song was from one of the albums you'd listened to in secret, one of the only times you'd had to delete your browser history. You feel pride swell in your chest at the smile you elicit from the man in response, like he's recognizing a fellow music lover.

"Good ear," he continues to lightly pluck at the strings of his guitar, "You play?"

"Um, not really." It's a half truth but mainly a lie, you've never played in your life. You feel slightly disappointed in yourself and you're not sure why; it's not like you've ever felt any kind of urge to learn, especially considering your parents would've made sure you only learned appropriate songs. When would you have even found the time between all your extracurriculars?

"Well, it ain't difficult," he starts playing the song again, slower this time, "Pretty repetitive chord progression, room for some adlibbin' here and there once you get the hang of it."

You nod like you understand what he's talking about, suddenly lost in the way his fingers pull at the strings, make the music come to life out of nothing. His hands are big, fingers long and thick as they curve back and forth, up and down. It's hypnotic to watch. He stops again and looks up, catches you staring.

"How old are you?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You swallow, unsure what exactly the right answer is. Part of you wants to lie, tell him you're older than you actually are so he doesn't just see you as some bright eyed kid. This is the first person you've encountered since coming back who doesn't know who you are, doesn't know about your reputation. You could tell him anything, be anyone, and he'd take it at face value.

"I'm twenty five," you lie, but it sounds unnatural in your mouth.

He looks you up and down, eyes raking your body in a way you're unfamiliar with. Like a man. Like the way your roommates back in college get looked at, sensually and flirtatiously, being eyed up by drunk guys at the bar who only have one thing on their mind. You feel your heart begin to thrum quicker in your chest; is that really how this man is looking at you? This grown man, not a high school crush or a college fratboy, a real man?

"Sweetheart, we both know that's a lie," he says with a chuckle, eyes coming back to rest on your face, "I'd guess twenty."

You make a face, "I'm twenty one, actually."

He laughs again, putting his hands up in surrender, "My bad, twenty one."

You watch as he starts to strum once again, something new and unfamiliar. You listen for a few moments, eyes trained back on his fingers, watching him play.

"You wanna come in for a bit?" he asks, voice nonchalant, like he's asking you something completely casual.

And maybe he is, but the words make your eyes widen, your breath catching in your throat. The way he'd looked at you just then, laughed at your words, wanted to know your age... now he's inviting you into his house? You've never actually been flirted with before, not when it mattered, and you're not entirely sure if that's what's happening. But it feels like it, even though you can't imagine how someone like him could see anything sexy about a girl like you.

"...Why?" you ask quietly.

He looks up at you with another smile, still plucking the strings, "If you need to ask then maybe I read you wrong," he chuckles again, eyes trailing down your legs and taking in your short dress, the way it stops at your knees, "Now that I really look at you, maybe I'm talkin' to a good Christian girl."

"You're not," you say it too quickly, "I mean, I'm not. I'm not a good Christian girl."

"No?" he smirks, "Don't have a good southern daddy waitin' for you to come home? Momma waitin' with a pie in the oven?" he's not being serious but you feel your skin flush at the accuracy of his words.

"Maybe," you mutter, hand going down to touch your dress nervously, "But maybe I don't wanna go home."

He nods and stops plucking, licking his lips and thinking to himself. You have to admit, there's something about him that draws you to him, something masculine and new. He's much, much older than you but not in a way that creeps you out or makes you want to run away. You find yourself hoping he'll ask you to come inside again so this time you can give him the right answer, the one he wants to hear.

"You probably should," he finally says, then stands up on his porch steps and slips his guitar onto his back. The strap digs into his broad shoulders, accentuating his size as he suddenly towers over you on the step.

"Sh-should what?" you ask breathlessly, and you wonder if he can tell your heart race has picked up, see the thumping of your pulse in your exposed neck.

"Go back home," he says with a shrug, "I mean, if they're waitin' for you..."

"They're not," you say it with firm finality, shaking your head, "I'm twenty one, I do what I like."

He walks down the steps then, getting closer and closer to you until he's suddenly standing directly in front of you. His eyes cast downward, assessing your expression; you swear he looks at your lips and licks his own again.

"So would you like to come inside?" he asks again, peering down at you with a dark sense of desire that makes you swallow roughly, feel a light and steady thrum between your legs, "Let me teach you how to play that song?"

Here's your chance. Just say yes.

"N-no," you gasp, taking a step back from him, "Um, n-not today."

He smirks, almost like he knew that would be your response. He hitches his guitar up his shoulder and gives you one last smile before turning around and walking back up his steps.

"Well, I'm here if you change your mind," he calls back to you, reaching for the doorknob on his front door and peering at you with another side glance, still assessing you, "Would love to teach a pretty thing like you how to use her fingers."

You feel your lips part in surprise, an unfamiliar tingling sensation flooding your body as he gives you a wink and walks into his house, shutting the door behind him. You've still got that steady throbbing feeling in your underwear, something you've only felt a handful of times. You know what it is, you're not completely clueless, but you can't remember the last time it happened.

You take another step back slowly, heart still pounding in your chest as you stare at his closed door. Then you turn on your heel and speed walk back the way you came, flip flops slapping against the ground aggressively. You revel in the way your thighs rub together as you walk, soothing that ache.

Any thoughts of not going home have gone from your mind. You need to ask your parents who this man is. As soon as possible.

-

You get home right before dinner, giving yourself just enough time to formulate exactly how to ask your parents about the man with the guitar. You're slightly afraid that you might seem too eager, too curious, and that they'll see right through you; you can't imagine how they'd react to knowing their perfect little girl is getting butterflies over a middle aged man.

But that's what you have: butterflies. In your tummy, all over your skin, between your legs. Being talked to the way he did, being looked at the way he did, it's making you feel hot all over, itchy and uncomfortable but in a good way.

The last time you felt this way was during your first week of college, at a party you'd gone to with your roommate. You'd seen him across the room, tall and blonde, watched as he licked his lips and looked you up and down. He was gorgeous, an angel you were convinced God had placed at this party just for you. You felt that tingle between your legs, swallowed down the nervous lump in your throat and imagined what it would be like to be kissed by him.

Then he'd approached and you realized he'd been looking at your roommate the entire time.

Your mother is just beginning to plate the meal when you slip into the kitchen, taking a seat at the table beside your father. She serves you both with a smile and sits, then extends her hands to both of you.

"Bless us, O Lord, for these, Thy gifts," she begins quietly, and you quickly hang your head and close your eyes as she continues, "which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord. Amen."

"Amen," you and your dad echo, then begin your meal. Just the same as always.

"How was your walk?" your father asks.

Here goes nothing.

"It was nice," you say, nodding thoughtfully to yourself and hoping you sound nonchalant, "I said hi to Mrs. Lillard."

"We've been praying for her," your mom interjects immediately, "She's an alcoholic, you know."

Your mom stays on top of all the neighborhood gossip, part of the reason you feel she might know something about the mysterious man. With a nod of your head you continue, "And then I saw someone else, a man playing guitar on his front porch, but I've never seen him before."

"Oh, him" your mom rolls her eyes, "Mr. Miller. Piece of work."

Bingo.

Your eyebrows raise, intrigued, "How so?"

"Kindness, dear," your father says with a disapproving nod to your mother, "He's done nothing to us."

She sighs and shakes her head, "You're right, I'm sorry."

The conversation is definitely going somewhere but it's already taking a turn into dangerous territory; you're not one to question, to interfere or interject. Pressing them further might make them suspicious, but you have to know.

"What did he do?" you ask, trying your best to sound casual, "If you don't mind me asking?"

Your mother is about to speak but your father gives her a look, almost a warning. She closes her mouth and sits back in her chair, waiting for him to answer you instead.

"He didn't do anything," your father explains, "Your mother invited him for dinner and he declined, that's all."

"It's the way he declined," your mother sits forward again, voice curt and irritated, "He was very rude."

"Rude?" You can tell your mom wants to talk about it, dredge up something she hasn't been able to discuss for a while; you're surprised she hadn't already told you over the phone while you were at college.

"This isn't appropriate conversation for the dinner table," your father says sternly, and you're not sure if he's talking more-so to you or your mother, "End of discussion." As usual your mother folds in on herself, picking up her fork and starting to eat again.

"Your father's right," she says, though you know she doesn't really believe that, "Let's just eat."

You wonder what the man - Mr. Miller - could have said to make your mother react this way. It's not unusual for her to get stiff and bothered by people - it's pretty easy to push her buttons, actually, but the list of things that offend her is long and detailed. He could have said pretty much anything to set her off. The specifics are lost on you.

You resign yourself to defeat and eat your dinner, sincerely glad that the tingling sensations in your body have subsided. You do not need to be feeling like that with your parents in the room.

-

You dream about him.

It's muddled and confusing, taking place simultaneously back at college and in your childhood bedroom, but he's there. In both places, somehow. You're back at that first week of college party, but instead of the blonde boy it's him standing across the room, eyeing you up and down. But this time he doesn't go for your roommate, he walks over to you and looks deeply into your eyes, gives you that delicious smirk and brings his hands down to touch your waist. He's so big compared to you, so much older. He pulls you in with a strong grasp and holds you to his broad chest, runs his hands down your back.

Then you're both transported from the college party to your parent's house. You're on your bed, sitting next to him atop the covers and watching him play guitar. You watch his fingers, long and thick, hypnotizing you with their movements. He stops playing and brings one to your chin, tilts your head up to look into your eyes again.

"You're not a good Christian girl," he whispers in that southern drawl, breath ghosting across your face, inching closer and closer, "You're all mine, aren't you?"

You wake up with a start and immediately feel the dampness in your underwear, the butterflies back again with a vengeance as your pussy throbs and pulses. You've never felt anything like this before, grasping your chest and reaching for your bedside lamp in the darkness. You sit there in bed for a few moments, catching your breath and waiting for the feelings to vanish again, for your aching core to stop reminding you that it's never been touched, not once, even though you know it's absolutely begging for it.

With shaky hands you reach down and run a finger through your wet folds, shivering at the soft touch. You've never masturbated before, never had sex or anything else you've learned about from your friends at college. They'd looked at you with disbelief when you'd told them you'd never even had an orgasm; one of them had gone so far as to ask if she could give you one.

"No," you'd said curtly, "No thank you."

Now you sit on your childhood bed with your legs open and a finger pressed lightly against you within your underwear. You're not even sure what to do, where exactly to touch, how to bring yourself to completion. You're twenty one years old but you've spent your entire life being the good, pure, God fearing girl waiting for marriage like her parents taught her.

"Enough," you whisper into the darkness, "I'm done waiting."

You yank your finger out of your panties and lay back on the bed, switching off the lamp and closing your eyes again. You've already decided before you drift off that you'll be paying Mr. Miller another visit tomorrow, as soon as possible.

He told you he wanted to teach you how to use your fingers; you intend to make sure he does.

[httpsghostie]

Under one Roof pt 1

pt 2

OK finally IT'S HERE

smh I'm down bad for roommate ghost I am sobbing

my hand is literally burning I wrote this aT COLLEGE

and YES my love language is food pls dont come for me

Summary: you never knew you needed a military roommate until you've got one.

Word Count: 1k (sorry it's short

Warnings: roommate!ghost x female!reader, slightly suggestive (if you squint), mentions of trauma, fluff/comfort, no use of y/n

masterlist

Ghost was an old friend of a friend of yours, and he happened to be needing a place to stay for a while, that ended up being a few more months, and now it's currently been a year since he moved in. He doesn't plan on leaving, you know it, you know that despite the independent man that he is, he likes having someone to come home to.

He was cold at first, so cold. And for many nights you cursed yourself for letting that rock of a heart get into your sweet home. He wouldn't talk much when he was there, you'd almost forget he was around if it wasn't for random coughs or sneezes.

That man smoked like a chimney in the first days he's spent around, he was anxious and that wasn't very cute, he was always smelling like cigarettes, but thankfully he didn't smoke inside.

He appreciated your effort on cooking for the two of you, but you couldn't help it. How could he survive when he wasn't eating properly? Yes, frozen pizza is cool… until it's the third day in a row that you're eating frozen and instant food and you can barely stand.

He also had a fucked up sleeping schedule that you just went along with it, you once got scared when you walked in the kitchen and found him just laying on the wall, eyes closed and snoring slightly. That day you scolded him to go back to his room and made him lay down on the bed.

"You're gonna lay down on this bed and you're gonna have some nice hours of sleep, alright? I'm gonna leave the door open, if I see you awake I'm punching you." You sounded like a mother, almost, and he was so tired he couldn't fight back.

And the days went by, he'd go away, he'd come back as tired as he left. But at least he was slowly opening up to be a really cool guy. You two started to bond, and the more he talked, the more you wanted to spend time with him.

Oh and don't even get started on dad jokes, he's cracking them up whenever he's helping with house chores, or when you two are eating peacefully.

He became a friend, a very good friend, one that wouldn't mind you venting out to, plus he was a good listener. He'd just sit there listening to whatever haze your brain was going through, and slowly he learned that he shouldn't be giving you reasonable ways to solve your problems, he should just tell you it would be ok.

And you found yourself slowly falling for him. Of course destiny had to put you together. Only if it wasn't for the way he handled things around the house.

"Oh, the living room lamp broke? Let me fix it."

"Those boxes are heavy, hand them to me."

"Go find a movie for us to watch, I'll do the dishes. Find a good one, though."

"Goddamnit, I told you not to be climbing on that fucking balcony, you're not a cat, you're gonna hurt yourself one day." Said as he picked you up when you were trying to reach the top of the cabinet. "Just ask me, I can reach it without putting myself in danger."

Or maybe if it wasn't for the fact that he'd purposefully get out of the shower with that pretty little towel wrapped around his body, that made you clench your fists. The way he was still a bit wet, a few drops running down his abs. He was surprisingly cool with his scars around you, maybe because you didn't make a big deal out of it.

That's because it wasn't. You expected that when Gaz, your friend, told you that the friend he was sending to you was his 'work buddy'. And he phrased it exactly like that. 

"Don't mind him, he's big and scary, but he'll be a good roommate, I promise, he's my work buddy." You chuckled when you read the text.

And yet Ghost didn't mind the stare of admiration coming from your burning gaze across the living room, when you thought the most ungodly things a brain has seen.

He started to become more and more warm, he found safe with you, like you could actually be his home. One night, he found a deep conection with you when you were casually drinking together, sat by the coffee table, playing video games. 

She should know the truth about me.

He thought. And that was the night he dropped his heavy armor. He told you the bare surface of his past, even though most of it had been blocked from his memory, like a dark spot he couldn't remember, and would die without trying to take a peak at it.

You cried, and he couldn't understand why you were crying until you said it wasn't his fault.

"It's not your fault, you didn't deserve any of this." You sobbed, hugging him close.

He broke down. Like he needed someone to reassure him that he wasn't the villain from his past. He realized what you meant to him, and he swore to God he would try his best to come home to you when he had to work.

Some days were strange after that, like he regretted telling you about his story. He had that feeling in his gut that you weren't looking at him the same way, like you were pity. He didn't want your pity, he hated that look on your face.

But that changed.

He had come home one day, texting you while he was at the airport waiting for a ride. You ran to get groceries and make him a good meal, but the only thing that came to your mind was the old recipe of lasagna you kept from your grannie.

That old lady, always saving your life.

[aether-starlight]

Auscultation- Zayne

Pairing: Zayne x Reader

Warnings: None. Brief mention of poor eating habits.

Summary: You come to the hospital for a check-up regarding a past shoulder dislocation. 

Word Count: 1k

Note: This is a continuation of Mending, but can be read as a stand-alone.

Zayne was talking. Or at least, his mouth was moving. 

Instead of paying attention, you were being haunted, once again, by the memory of him. The ghost of his hand over your cheek, his perfume, and the tension of his proximity. 

You wondered if he could tell you were distracted, or if he noticed the entranced stare you gave his lips every once in a while. They reminded you of his breath brushing your ear, of his palm pressed over your eyes, cool and steady.

Until an unexpected statement broke through your fixation.

“I will need you to remove your jacket.” 

If you hadn’t known him for such a long time, the tense set of his jaw may have slipped your notice, just like the slight clearing of his throat. 

Was he angry you were distracted?

“Oh,” you breathed out. “Okay.”

It was a quick removal. After all, one of your arms was in a sling, so the leather jacket was only wrapped around your shoulder.

Having supposed something like this would be necessary —this wasn’t your first dislocation, unfortunately—, you had brought a top, which meant the only barrier between your joint and his hands was a menial string. 

And you were not nervous about that. Nope. Not at all.

You stifled a shiver at the low temperature of the room and sat on the stretcher in a swift motion—being a hunter had its perks, it made you agile, even with an injured arm.

“I’m going to examine the area,” Zayne’s voice was soft, almost breathless as his hands hovered over the space where your shoulder met your neck.

You smacked your lips together and felt yourself relax just a little. 

“Okay.” 

His fingers were as cold as the room, startling you when they gently pulled the string of your top out of the way. 

You gasped.

“Forgive me,” he said, avoiding your gaze at all costs. 

His hand hovered over your skin, giving you a second to adjust. 

“It’s fine, Doctor Zayne.” 

You quite liked calling him that, liked the nervous edge to his voice when you did.

“Does this hurt?” He pressed down the pads of his fingers with moderate force.

“Not really,” you hummed. If anything, it felt kind of nice.

Zayne cleared his throat once more, shifting his grip to your forearm. 

Your heart rushed at the slide of his skin over yours, goosebumps rising in its wake.  It reminded you of holding his hand, the way the scars on his knuckles had felt as you brushed your thumb over them.

“Your iron levels were below average in your last check-up. Have you been eating well?” He asked.

Now it was time for you to be nervous.

“Of course,” you lied, lowering your gaze to his tie. 

Like everything concerning him, it was freakishly neat, with an understated geometric pattern in shades of gray. 

He probably measured it with a ruler before buying it. You pictured it: his unforgiving focus, the concentrated tilt of his mouth as he gripped it between lithe fingers. 

Unfortunately, said focus was now drilling a hole into your head.

“Fine, I may have skipped meals, you know I forget to eat sometimes.” 

“I suppose I should be grateful you don’t forget to breathe,” he quipped. 

“You are so prickly, you know that?” 

You played with his stethoscope with your free hand, following the bob of his Adam’s apple with a satisfied smirk. 

“I’m not prickly,” he denied. “I’m serious. Does this hurt?”

He gently rotated your arm, slow in his movement.

“And I’m not? Doesn’t hurt.” 

He gave you a loaded look, resting your hand back on your lap.

You mercilessly stifled the disappointment that rose at the pit of your stomach when he let go.

“Wouldn’t be the first word I used to describe you, no.”

You pressed the stethoscope’s bell to his chest, earpieces already in place. 

“Wow, your heart is beating pretty fast, are you sure you’re not the one with the heart pro—“

“Would you quit that?” He interrupted, sounding somewhere between amused and irritated as he unwrapped your fingers from around the bell. “It’s not a toy.”

“Sorry,” you fidgeted with the tubing before passing it to him.

“What’s with you today?” 

“Can’t help it,” you beamed. “Too much coffee.” 

Zayne tucked a strand of your hair back, stifling a groan of frustration. He was a weak, weak man.

When his palm curled around the shell of your ear, cradling it like something precious, he surely knew abstaining from temptation was a lost cause.

It was now warm, absorbing the heat of your skin. As soon as you left, his hands would probably run back cold. 

Somehow, that thought made something unpleasant unfurl within your chest. It felt malleable and elastic, it wanted to stretch itself and pull him close.

“What am I going to do with you, hm?” He asked, voice low. 

The whole world could be crashing down outside, Wanderers running rampant, and you wouldn’t know.

You let out a stuttered breath.

“What do you want to do with me?” 

It was meant to come across as teasing but crumbled halfway into something nearly hopeful.

The heat in your eyes snapped Zayne out of it, clearing the cloudiness from the hematite and amber in his gaze.

He stepped back, returning to the haven of his desk, where he closed your file with finality.

“Your shoulder seems to be healing well. I recommend you watch it closely and let me know if any discomfort appears.” You had never heard his voice so close to shaking.

“Zayne.” You stood from the examination table, feeling on edge.

“That was unprofessional of me. I’m sorry.” 

“What is it?” You insisted.

There was something between you, a wall that he carefully built. 

It became eroded with every interaction, shortened into something almost letting you peek into the other side, but never quite enough.

Your chest ached and it was ironic because nowadays you couldn’t always tell if it was from emotion or the Protocore fragments in it.

Zayne sunk into his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose. The room’s temperature dropped, ice spreading against the glass of the window behind him.

“Zayne—” 

Your hand hovered by him, eager to provide any comfort you could offer, but his body language made you doubt. 

He was still hunched over himself, face turned away from you. The hand that wasn’t covering his face was closed in a fist, frost forming over his knuckles.

“Please…” he breathed out your name. “I need time.”

Your mind drifted back to when you fought that wanderer together, the way the whole room had frozen over afterward, his urgent insistence for you to leave.

“Okay,” you gave in, stumbling back. “Whatever it is, you know I’ll wait for you.”

[mcu-coworkers]

Where do broken hearts go?

Miguel O’Hara x reader

Summary: You decide to do Miguel a favor and give him what he wants. or so you thought you did.

Word count:1k+

A/n: I came up with this at 1am:0 pt.2 is in the works

Parts: I^ II  III

Ever since the multiverse was disrupted he changed.

Little by little, day by day, you began to see it worsen. You began to see him worsen.

And there was nothing you could do to help him, he made that very clear.

You loved Miguel with every fiber of your being. It was almost embarrassing considering he barely did so much as look your way when he came home.

It wasn't always like this, and those were the moments you clung to when your thoughts were at their darkest.

Before all of this he was happy, we were happy.

The man   I   loved kissed me almost every second we were together and never went a day without telling me a cheesy punch line to get a laugh out of me.

When he proposed to you it was the happiest day of your life, you thought it could only get better from here.

You were marrying the love of your life. What could go wrong?

You understood him, or at least you tried but it was hard at times when the closest you could get to him lately was standing on the other side of the door to his office where he’d just ignore you some more.

The furthest you got was when you urged him to talk to you but all he said was “ You? What could you possibly do to help me? You don't even know what a cannon event is let alone an anomaly! Por dios.” and straight into his office he went.

As much as you loved your husband you knew that a minute more of this would kill you.

You were two strangers living under the safe roof at this point, he wouldn't even notice if you left.

So you did.

First you called your lawyer to prepare the divorce papers, next you found a place to stay, packed your bags and now you were ready.

You wanted to tell him face to face but as soon as you looked his way he shrugged you off once again.

“Not now Y/n  I   have reports to write for the spider society.”  and like always you were just another fly on the wall.

Sighing with tears brimming your eyes you grabbed a notebook and a pen.

You began writing a goodbye that he probably wouldn't even bother to read.

Dear Miguel,

Things haven't been the same for sometime now. It feels like the man  I   once fell in love with doesn't love me anymore and I've been hurting ever since.   I   feel like I'm holding you back from achieving your goal with all of these canon events and things  I   don't understand. I   can't live like this anymore and I'm sorry it took me so long to realize.   I   guess what I'm trying  to tell you is that I'm leaving. Next to this note that you might not even read is an envelope with divorce papers that I've already signed and left ready for you to give to my lawyer to finalize the divorce. Lastly,  I   want to thank you for giving me what will always be the best years of my life. I'll cherish them with everything  I   am and always smile at the beautiful memories we made together. I'm sorry things didn't work out the way we thought they would.

With love always,

Y/n L/n

You didn't realize at what moment you began to cry but you’d managed to stain the letter. At that point you had no energy to write the damn thing all over again so you just folded it up and left it on top of the envelope.

Taking off your ring and wedding bang you set them next to it and walked out the door.

Giving what was once your home one last look, you turned your back to it and let the cool air hit your face as you got in your car and made your way to the airport.

No more going back Y/n, no more Miguel O’hara.

Little did you know as soon as you’d closed that front door Miguel's head poked out of his office, you never went out this late at night.

“Y/n? What did  I   tell you about taking out the trash?  I  ‘ll do it.” he said as he came out of his office annoyed by your lack of communication.

“Y/n? Y/n! Donde estas mujer?” (where are you woman?) he spoke out as he walked around the house.

No response.

After checking all the rooms and coming up empty handed Miguel started to feel a tightness in his chest.

“Boss, you should see these reports.” Lyla said over his shoulder.

“Not now Lyla  I  ‘m looking for my wife.” he said, shrugging the AI off.

“You think that stuff on the counter will give some clues?” she said pointing towards the letters in the kitchen.

Stopping in his tracks he turned towards the kitchen.

There was no fucking way, he thought to himself.

You’d never do this to him.

But you did.

Opening the letter he read it and quickly that tightness in his chest got tighter and his body began to shake as he felt panic consume him.

“Miguel… that envelope.” Lyla said quietly hoping it wasn't what she thought. But it was and she could just see her boss begin to break.

Ripping the envelope open he realized this isn't some kind of sick joke from your part.

Seeing your signature at the end of the page broke Miguel to pieces.

He read over the letter over and over hoping to find some clue as to where you went so he could bring you back home to him.

He knew he'd been distant for some time now but he didnt know it had affected you this badly, if he did he would've changed.

He would do anything to keep you by his side. He thought that by coming home at a decent hour you'd be happy even if he was just in his office.

Well fuck was he so wrong about that.

Picking up your rings Miguel finally let go of the tears he’d been trying so hard to hold back.

The feeling of the cold silver in the palm of his hands was like a slap in the face forcing him to accept that you’d left him.

You left thinking he hated you and for that he’d never be able to forgive himself, not for that or any of this.

Taking a deep breath he tried to focus.

“Lyla, call Jess, tell her she's in charge of the spider society until  I find my wife and bring her home.” he ordered as he stood up walking towards your shared bedroom.

“Yes boss. Go get your girl back!.” she replied wishing him the best of luck before heading off to find his sub in.

Miguel had all the resources in the world, finding you would only take him seconds.

It was convincing you to come back that would be his biggest challenge.

But first he was paying a visit to your lawyer.

[fangirl-dot-com]

Is That Subway Surfers? - 1k Special

GUYS WE ARE OVER 1K FOLLOWERS! I NEVER EXPECTED THIS TO HAPPEN OH MY WORD

It's only been, what, two months since I started "To Do is to Dare"? That's crazy!!

So for celebration, here is a little backstory on how Arthur and Reader met and a little look into her early Dams days with him and Ollie!

TAG LIST IS CLOSED!

Thanks for all the love!!

December 2022

You hung your head as Vito went over the details one more time. 

“Ok, kid. Dams wants to sign you for your last year. And you’ll be partnering with Arthur Leclerc. You know him?” You manager questioned as he held his iPad. 

You only rolled your eyes. “I know of him. Isn’t his brother the Ferrari driver? Uh, Charles?” 

Vito nodded at your limited knowledge. “Bingo. Dams thinks that the two of you have similar driving styles and that he’ll push you to win the championship.” 

You looked down at your iPad that was in your hands. Arthur’s smiley face stared back at you. A list of his credentials were to the left of the picture. You looked back up at your manager. You were thankful for another chance, but you were skeptical. 

“Prema didn’t want to keep me for one more year?” You let out a scoff at the end for a good measure. The team that helped you through Formula 3 and your first two years of Formula 2 suddenly dropped you after a few mistakes: mistakes that honestly shouldn’t have happened. 

Vito’s hand dropped on your shoulder and he crouched down to eyelevel. He gave you a sympathetic smile. He knew you were nervous of the unknown and he wished Lorenzo could have been here for you. But, he was trying his best. 

“Kid.” You locked eyes with him, tears in your lash line. “I know it’s scary, but give the team a chance. This could be it.” 

It meaning your last chance to win the championship and maybe get a foot in the door for a future Formula 1 seat. Your next best bet would be to get a test driver seat for McLaren or even Red Bull. But your chances were slim as most of the top teams already had who they wanted with several year contracts in place. 

You put the iPad down and took multiple breaths. If you were to give the ok, you’d be meeting your future teammate very quickly. 

A trying smile formed on your face. “I think I’ll miss Ollie though. He was a cool kid.”

Vito granted you with another eyeroll. “You speak as if you’re like 5 years older than him.”

Realistically speaking, you were almost two years older than the British driver. But, his “childish” antics made you feel as though you really had to watch out for him. 

Vito continued, “And that kid loves you to death. You just need to get over your thoughts of you being unlovable.” 

Your head swayed back and forth and nodded. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Let’s go meet this, uh, French dude?”

“He’s Monégasque.”

You clicked your tongue. “Ah.” 

Vito packed up his bag and the iPads and led you out of your small Nice apartment. The drive to the headquarters wasn’t a long one. You just spent the majority of it watching small raindrops fall down your window, hoping that the smaller one would win the imaginary race that was going on in your head. 

“Kid, we her-…” 

“DANG IT YOU SHOULD HAVE WON!” Your fist hit the door. You suddenly froze and turned to look at Vito, who was already staring at you. The two of you then suddenly burst into laughter. It took you two a while to calm down, but you eventually made your way into the large building. 

The hallways were a bit confusing, but you and Vito finally made it to the conference room. Sadly though, the two of you were the last ones there. A blond boy was sitting in one of the plush chairs, looking intently at his phone. 

You guessed he didn’t hear you come in, as you were able to take a seat right next to him. Your eyes barely glanced over, before you saw him playing your favorite mobile game. 

“Is that Subway Surfers?” you whispered as you watched Vito introduce himself to the other adults in the room. 

Arthur practically jumped out of his chair at the new voice right in his ear. His wide green eyes were met with you, trying not to laugh too hard. 

He stuttered out in broken French, “Je – je suis vraiment desole. Je ne savais pas que tu etais la et j’aurais du faire attention, et oh mon dieu, tu es vraiment jolie et maintenant je divague...” 

(I – I am so sorry. I didn’t know you were there and I should have been paying attention, and oh my gosh you’re really pretty and now I’m rambling…)

You only stared as he was falling over his words. You put a hand on his leg and he shut up quickly. 

“First off, I legit didn’t understand a word you said. And second, whatever it is, it’s fine! I shouldn’t have snuck up on you like that.” You flashed a bright smile at him.

Arthur tried once again, in English with a heavy accent, “I, uh, am sorry. I should have been paying attention. I’m Arthur.” 

He held out his hand for you to take. Your hand grasped his and you shook it. 

“Hi Arthur, I’m Y/n. It’s nice to meet my teammate for this season.” 

He flashed you an even larger smile. In your mind, you thought he was adorable. He let out a small laugh as he turned off his phone. 

“It was Subway Surfers. I love the game.” 

“So do I! It’s so much fun.” 

“Are you two done flirting already or can we begin to talk contracts?” Vito’s voice pulled the two of you from your little bubble. With sheepish smiles from both of you, you turned your attention to the CEO. 

The meeting was a few hours long, and by the end of it, you were starving. As you were leaving, Arthur grasped your hand, which made you stop. Vito just calmly said that he’d be waiting in the car. 

“Yes?” You cocked your head as you looked up at the taller boy. 

He had a shy smile as he looked down at you. “Would you like to join me and my friend for dinner? We’re just going to a local restaurant and it’s not too far.” 

As your brain was trying to come up with an excuse, Vito yelled from where he was standing by the vehicle. “She would love to! Just have her give you her address. Have fun kid!” 

And with that, he got into the car and drove away. All while you were standing next to Arthur with your mouth open. You quickly closed it to not look like a loser. 

“Uh, I guess I’ll come with?” It came out more like a question, but Arthur just went with it. He led you to his car and you were surprised it wasn’t a decked out Ferrari. 

You only smirked. “Not a Ferrari guy?” 

Arthur rolled his eyes as he got in the driver side. “That would unfortunately be my brother. I might be part of the academy, but we don’t get any fancy treatment.”

You snorted at that. “Yeah, I’ve never actually been a test driver for any team. I have my own management and everything.” 

Arthur raised his eyebrows but didn’t ask anything else. 

The ride to the restaurant was fairly quiet and not awkward. Around halfway through, he had finally turned on the radio. 

And although Arthur didn’t drive a fancy car, he was not above valet parking. 

“Hold on,” he told you as he quickly got out and skirted around the front to open your door. You looked up at him with a shy smile. 

“What a gentleman.” He hand firmly but gently grasped yours as he led you through the doorway. 

“My maman would have my head. Ah, there’s my friend.” Arthur pointed to a table near the back. 

But to your surprise, you definitely recognized the brunet that looked bored to death.

“Ollie!” you called out. 

The Brit’s head whipped up at the sound of your voice. A giant smile formed on his face as he stood up. You quickly brought him into a hug. 

“I didn’t know you knew Arthur?” He questioned as the three of you sat down. Arthur called the waiter over so that you could get a drink. 

You looked over at the green-eyed driver. “Hmmm, just met today actually.” 

Arthur sipped his water. “We’re teammates for this year.” 

Ollie looked back and forth, ideas forming in his mind. But, he wouldn’t be telling the ideas to you any time soon. 

“What is that smirk for,” you questioned. 

“You totally scared him when you met him. Didn’t you?” 

“You scared him too?” 

Oh, boy were you screwed for the next years. 

(What you didn’t know was that these boys would become two of you very best friends. And maybe one of them would become something more.)  

y/n.89 has posted

y/n.89 am I interrupting something? tagged: olliebearman and arthur_leclerc

liked by y/n_nation, y/n-fan, y/n_is_on_top, and 10,839 others

olliebearman no comment?

prema_y/n ahaha prema racers back together

y/n_fan well, until prema dropped her... y/nxarthur well, now we get ollie AND arthur content so I'm not complaining

arthur_leclerc btw I wiped it right off

olliebearman YOU TAKE THAT BACK y/n.89 girls, girls, girls, let's not fight

prema_trio your honor, I love them

best_rookie_y/n anyone else here from 2024 and is here to see how little y/n was

olliebearman has posted

olliebearman who's the third-wheel now hmmmm? tagged: y/n.89 and arthur_leclerc

liked by premaracing, olliebear2, y/n_lover29, and 15,983 others

y/n.89 still you?

y/n&friends they are so hot

ollie_is_my_guy I could take them (but not in a fight)

olliebearman he is not THAT funny

arthur_leclerc yes I am y/n.89 ollie is a certified Arthur haterrrrr olliebearman then you'd be a certified Arthur loverrrrrr y/n.89 shut UP

y/n_nation our girl and her boys :D

arthur_leclerc has posted

arthur_leclerc why are we always at restaurants? tagged: y/n.89 and olliebearman

liked by y/n.89, olliebearman, charles_leclerc, and 58,284 others

y/n.89 because we like food (and none of us can actually cook)

charles_leclerc felt arthur_leclerc go away

thur_thur_92 I wonder who won

olliebearman me arthur_leclerc me y/n.89 wrong, it was me

best_trio_2023 they all give chaotic gen z energy and I am here for it!

y/n_loves_ME its the fact that Arthur is technically the oldest cause he's 22 right now while y/n is 19 and Ollie just turned 18

y/n.89 yet he still acts like a child

rb_y/n we need this trio to get back together in 2024 ASAP

y/n.89 has posted

y/n.89 they watch kung-fu panda ONCE tagged: olliebearman and arthur_leclerc

liked by y/n_nation, f2_fanatic, prema_trio22, and 19,274 others

y/n_updates BAHAHAHAHA cause this is so true for everyone

arthur_leclerc I am the Dragon Warrior

olliebearman um, no, you're more of a Master Oogway y/n.89 I am definitely the dragon warrior, ollie you can be the goose y/n's-favorite HELLO?

f2-fanatic I'm going to miss this group in a few months since y/n has to leave after the championship, and I don't know if Arthur is confirmed for next year :(

f2-trio SHHHHHH WE DON'T SPEAK OF THAT

y/n.89 I look amazing for once

y/n_nation ONE MORE RACE AND YOU GET THAT CHAMPIONSHIP GIRL!!

y/n.89 with olliebearman and arthur_leclerc has posted

y/n.89 wherever we go, we'll somehow end up back together

liked by damsracing, fredderikvasti, y/n_nation and 11,783 others

y.n_ON-TOP I'm going to miss this

olliebearman this was actually sweet?

arthur_lecerlc yeah, weird. are you feeling ok? y/n.89 no, this is more like I feel threatened? you both follow me everywhere

rookie_y/n I know she's done in f2, but where will she go after?

y/n'sfavperson as of right now, we don't know. basically all doors for f1 are closed y/n_updates well, she was wanting to possibly be a testing driver for McLaren but rumor has it that they just side Bianca Bustemante

vito_official can't say that I'll 100 percent miss the three of you annoying me all the time, but I will miss the three of you

olliebearman I KNEW YOU LIKED US arthur_leclerc LETS GO vito_official I take it back? y/n.89 no

y/n4f1 we just need a miracle right now - for her to somehow get into f1

f1_news GUYS DID YOU JUST SEE??? CHECO JUST ANNOUNCED HIS RETIREMENT

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @glitterquadricorn @laura-naruto-fan1998 @treehouse-mouse @sam-is-lost @kagatinkita @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @myxticmoon @angsthology @cmleitora @agent-curt-mega @graciewrote @ashy-kit @slutofmultifandom @aexitizen @sugarvibez @vellicora @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @cashtons-wife @aeh2 @hoetel-manager @xcharlottemikaelsonx @jayda12 @cassie0sstuff @ilove-tswizzle @justme2042 @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @stopeatread @cha-hot @sadg3 @iloveyou3000morgan @s4turnsl0ver @alessioayla @torchbearerkyle @leptitlu @awekbachira @shreks-sugar-daddy @v1naco @stan-josie @mellowarcadefun @badassturtle13 @beskardroids @callisposts @poppyalice2001 @juniper-july19

[cow-smells]

Decisions | you chose: Roronoa Zoro x reader

Summary: After a misunderstanding makes the crew think you and Zoro are sleeping together, you're forced to face your feelings towards him.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: none

BEFORE reading this, make sure you read the prequel (Sanji's ending here)

Read on AO3

You definitely did not see this coming when you woke up that morning.

Zoro stood before you, looking more than ready to yank you away from Sanji’s hold. He asked what you wanted – a simple question on its own, but right now, so hard to answer seeing you didn’t know if he felt the way you did.

Zoro was sweet to you, sure. Maybe sweeter to you than he ever was to Nami, or, to anyone else for that matter. But seeing him fight with Sanji over every little thing, you took into consideration that his tenderness towards you might just be to rub the cook the wrong way. But then you thought of the way he pulled you in earlier that morning. Knowing Zoro, it was unlikely that came naturally to him. And it had just been the two of you – there was nothing performative about that gesture.

Not to mention, the way he looked at you now – it was almost pleading.

It wasn’t even a conscious decision when you finally replied, “You”.

That was it. You had taken the plunge, a leap of faith.

The crew fell silent in anticipation; Sanji’s arms froze around you.

“Cook, it’s time you took your hands off my woman.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks hearing Zoro call you his woman. Sanji, seemingly in shock, complied wordlessly. The rest of the crew watched the interaction, expressions varying from wide eyes to slacked jaws.

“What?” Zoro asked the group, sitting himself back down and reaching for the orange juice. “It’s not like you didn’t see this coming.” He poured himself a glass, ignoring the current state of his peers. Deciding to follow his lead, you recompose yourself. You squeeze Sanji’s hand apologetically before returning to your own place, Sanji following your lead in defeat.

“I mean,” Luffy started, “I didn’t see this coming. How did I not see this coming?”

Usopp put on a proud-but-totally casual smirk. “I don’t blame you. They were pretty discreet. It takes a keen eye to notice these things.”

You had to stifle your laugh. “Either way,” continued Luffy, “I’m happy for you guys. The Straw hat’s first romance!”

Sanji leaned forward in his chair, raising a brow at Nami. “You wanna be the second?”

Later, the crew dispersed to their regular activities; this meaning you hadn’t had a chance to speak to Zoro since breakfast. You had a lot of unanswered questions that begged for his attention.

You stood to the side of the deck, watching the sun set after a hard day’s work. You watched the sun blend into the sea as you tried to quiet your rambling mind, trying to make sense of everything that was going on before you saw Zoro at dinner.

You were not prepared for him to approach you first.

You felt his hand on your back before you heard Zoro greet “Hey”, coming up beside you.

“Hi!” you replied, far too enthusiastically. Zoro smiled at your obvious nervousness.

“Are you done for the day?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, forcing the tension to leave your body. It was just Zoro. Zoro, who had referred to you as his woman. Cool. Casual. “How was training?”

“Good. You should join me tomorrow. There’s a couple of things I want to teach you.”

You loved training with Zoro; he had a knack for guiding you so cooly, and yet not giving you any slack for being a girl. “I’d love that.”

Zoro shifted to face the sea. Was he… nervous, too? “Listen. About this morning.”

Oh no. This was it. He was going to tell you it was all a show to annoy Sanji and you’d have to throw yourself off the ship in humiliation.

“I was thinking, and I don’t think I made it clear before.” You swallowed hard. Zoro turned to face you once more. “Can I be straight with you?”

“Always.” Your voice came out too small for comfort.

“Y/n, I’m in love with you.”

Oh.

“I’m not the best at this kind of stuff, so I reckoned I’d just say it so you knew. Hope that doesn’t creep you out or anything.”

“Creep me out!” you laughed. “Zoro, I’ve near crawled in to your bed for like, every morning for weeks now.”

Zoro’s lip quirked in to a little half-smile. “I nearly pulled you in a thousand times.” You had to smile at that, too, your heart feeling full enough to burst. “You think it takes me an hour to get out of bed? I just liked being alone with you.”

“Zoro!” you playfully smack his chest, and his hand comes up to hold yours in place where it fell atop his heart. His other hand finds its place on your neck, anchoring you in place. His eyes drop to your lips, and you stop breathing altogether. Zoro’s thumb brushes lightly over your bottom lip, before he leans down and his lips meet yours.

The passion you had been holding down for so long bubbled up to the surface in an instant; soon your modest kisses turned ravenous, with you pulling Zoro closer to you by his shirt. Zoro angled you so that he could sneak his tongue to meet yours. The idea that the entire display may be inappropriate out in the open where anyone might see you two came across your mind, but the hunger you were feeling for Zoro shut down the concern.

It wasn’t long until you heard a familiar “Oi!” that broke you two apart. Sanji was standing at the door to the accomodations, kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder. “Hands off, she’s an honest woman!” Sanji scolded Zoro who, for the first time, didn’t seem bothered by Sanji’s pestering. “Come on,” Sanji continued. “Dinner’s served.” With that, he was gone.

“We should go,” you told Zoro. Sighing heavily, reluctant to leave your current state, Zoro agreed. The two of you began walking towards the accomodations when Zoro casually slipped his hand to grip yours. Yeah… You could get used to this.

[flordeamatista]

THE DEVIL

pairing: dbf!andy barber x reader

concept: The lure of temptation, seduction, and lust he offered filled your head ecstatically.

word count: 1k

warnings: sex tape + corruption kink + pussy slapping, nicknames: (Angel)

a/n: The devil card depicts intense sexual desire and physical attraction.The Devil is the gateway into the future kinks.

THE WITCHING HOUR ──── KINKTOBER'23

masterlist

The lure of temptation, seduction, and lust he offered filled your head ecstatically.

Your wings were scattered at your feet as you stood rigidly in his home office.

His radiant blue eyes met yours with a languid gaze, making you feel heat prickling beneath your skin. He swept his eyes up and down your body, and his hands slowly moved over your curves. “I wonder if your parents are looking for you,” lifting you onto his lap with one arm while the other braces against your chest.

A hand slapped your pussy as it dug through your naked form, exploring every inch of it.

"The party gets drunk downstairs, but my touch will make your pussy drunk here." When your head fell back against him, his hot breath heated up in your ear. He grinned into your neck while biting your skin. “So desperate to be touched, aren’t you?”

You closed your eyes and wondered if it was all a dream or if reality had tricked you. The Halloween party had already begun earlier that evening, and you’re almost naked on his lap, wearing only your angelic halo. 

Your body vibrates in anticipation as you sit on the devil’s lap, with your once pure angel wings lying on the ground.

An inferno looms to consume you whole when the spark within you ignites.

Your heart surrenders to his touch, allowing yourself to be influenced by the promise of pleasure and the unknown.

There is an electrifying quality of being around him, but it is also terrifying; you know it is dangerous territory, but you can’t help feeling drawn in by his dark charisma. His midnight blue eyes promise a night of sensuality and debauchery beyond your wildest dreams.

You’re helpless as he whispers softly and tastefully, and you’re beckoned into the unknown by his sinful dirge. 

A tingling sensation runs down your spine when you catch sight of his gaze.

There is something dangerous about your attraction to him, and what will happen if you comply with him?

While you appear angelic, his aura is testing you into darkness.

A knowing smirk curls his lips as he stares at you as if he knows exactly who you are and what you want.

He pulled out his phone from his pocket and swiped it until the camera was on.

His right hand was poised over the phone while his left touched your body. He spoke low and velvet-smooth, saying, “I want this recorded proof that even angels can moan for devils.” Taking your lips in a passionate kiss, he traced circles across your skin, generating sweltering heat.

With a smile, he roars like a devouring demon, and his firm contours blend perfectly with my angelic features.

When you both pulled apart, you saw his eyes blazing with desire. With each slap of his palm, a fire ignited within you, threatening to burn out of control.

“Show me how the devil can make pretty angels moan. Aren't you my pretty angel?.”

Deep, slow breaths push warmth into the air.

“You like that, don’t you?” His warm slaps glide across your clitoris, and he holds the phone close to your pussy.

As he taps your clit each time, pain and pleasure wash over you simultaneously. You need his fingers in your clit for him to release the orgasm and touch, so a slap does not suffice.

It feels like he might slip his fingers inside, but he slaps it away, leaving the breeze to cool the air.

In a warm embrace, his finger traces shapes around your pussy. A gentle tickle alternates with a firm slap that makes your hips jerk. Every time you shudder, you are slapped harder. 

You muffle a small moan against your palm as your body burns and your eyes tighten. 

His dark and menacing voice whispers in your ear. The phone moves closer to your face. You feel your body quiver as he punctuates the words with more intense pussy slaps. “Such a good angel.” 

There were no words between you as you walked forward and kissed the fiery.

Every step brought profound relief that swallowed light and sound.

The only force you could understand was a burning desire to be with him, but you could neither understand nor resist it.

There is no escaping the devil when the night is dark and your heart is led by him.

[the-kr8tor]

Hobie catches you wearing his mask

Pairing: Hobie Brown x GN! reader/ Spider-Punk x GN! Reader

Word count: 1k

Tags: No use of Y/N, No specific physical description of the reader (reader is mentioned to be smaller than Hobie though). Fluff, established relationship. Smut Implied

* I don't consent to having my work translated/ published on other platforms*

Hobie just got home from patrolling around the city, thankfully it was an easy day compared to the other days where he comes home beaten and injured. A few robberies here and there. A small-time villain tried going toe to toe with Hobie, the fight didn't even last five minutes.

It was truly an easy day for Spider-Punk.

Even though the day was fairly laid back, no one can deny that web-slinging and crime fighting all over the city is quite tiring.

You know immediately when Hobie comes home, with the sound of the window sliding open, followed by the thunk of his heavy boots against wooden floors, the sound basically trained you to go towards him with a first aid kit and a greeting.

With a quick kiss and a tired "m' okay, love" Hobie heads towards the bathroom, shedding parts of his suit on the way.

With a concerned look towards the bathroom door, you sigh and wish that you could take some of his responsibilities. You hate seeing him so tired. With an entire city to look out for, he's stretched himself too thin.

As much as you love him being Spider-Punk, you miss your Hobie.

You head towards the bathroom door, almost tripping over his large combat boots. Bending down to grab the shoes off the floor, you follow a trail of clothing heading towards the bathroom like breadcrumbs.

You grab each piece with care, knowing that his suit and other pieces of it, means a lot to him. You fold it and place them on top of the bed, but it looks like there's a piece missing, you look down to look for it.

Behind your dresser, you see one of the spikes poking out.

Grabbing the mask off the floor, you admire its craftsmanship - every stitch he made, the eyes of the mask with its painted drooping 'eyeliner' painted with such care.

He truly made the suit uniquely him.

Hearing the sound of the shower still running, you admire the roughness of the cloth, asking yourself how can he even properly breathe in it while fighting? Can he see fine while wearing it? So curiosity got the best of you, before you could change your mind, you carefully put it on.

"Woah" you laugh with how comfortable the mask is, "it's like a second skin" you run towards the mirror to check yourself out.

Giddy with excitement you move side to side watching the spikes on top move with you. "So cool," you whisper.

In your excitement you didn't notice him watching you.

"Right, what's all this then?" Hobie raises a pierced brow, a sneaking smile on his lips. The scene in front of him helps in grounding him back to the present.

Startled, you turn away from the mirror. "Nothing!" quickly taking the mask off, you hide the cloth behind you.

"Nothing huh, What's in your hand then?" Hobie struts towards you, a towel wrapped on his hips. " Y'know, I can see it in the mirror" he points out.

You shyly look at his still glistening torso, avoiding his eyes, quickly turning away, you slowly hand him the mask. "Sorry, just wanted to see if you can actually fight in it" embarrassment prominent on your face.

"No apologies necessary, love. Just teasin' you" Hobie lifts your downturned head to face him.

"You look better in it anyway" he swiftly puts the mask back on you. Hobie grabs your shoulders and turns you back around in front of the mirror.

"Fuckin' adorable" Hugging your neck, he says with his head fitting perfectly on your shoulder.

The whites of his mask turn into slits, "m' not adorable, Hobart" you tilt your head to the side feigning annoyance.

"Right, sorry you look very punk rock, sweets" he kisses the side of your head.

"You're missing something though" he pushes off you. You miss his warmth, albeit your neck is now slightly damp.

"You're still wet" you turn behind you, rubbing your neck dry as you watch him grab something from the pile on the bed.

"Only for you, lovey" he teasingly said with a wink. Hobie walks back to you.

"Hobie!" You let out a small screech, "that's not- Hobie!" You fumble your words.

He laughs at your embarrassment. "Arms up" Hobie instructs while holding a dark piece of clothing.

You huff, but obey nonetheless. Hobie puts the leather vest on you, the spiked clothing looks big on your form. Hobie whistles, he turns you back in front of the mirror.

"Look at you" fondness dripping from Hobie's lips. "I've got my very own spider-person, huh"

You admire your appearance as Hobie tiredly rubs his face on your neck. You hold his neck in place, massaging the tense muscle.

"I wish I could help you" you whisper, he peeks at your face in the mirror.

"You are," he hugs you tightly, "as long as you're by my side. You're helping me. Never think for a second that you aren't"

Hobie turns you towards him, his own mask facing him.

He carefully tugs the mask up to see your face, cupping your face lovingly, "Coming home to you, makes everything I do worth it"

You stand on your tippy-toes to kiss him. "I love you too" you whisper on his lips.

You reluctantly pull away "You're tired, let's go to bed, yeah?"

Hobie still holding on to your leather clad waist. In one swift movement he grabs your thighs and lifts you up. Gasping at the sudden movement, You instinctively wrap your legs on his waist, the towel threateningly low on his hips.

"Look what you've made me into, I've gone soft. I have a reputation to uphold y'know" he carries you to the bed.

You giggle knowing what he's planning. Before he could throw you down on the bed, like he always does, you cling on to his neck, a pensive look on your face. He raises his brow in a question.

"One question though, how in the world can you fit your hair in the mask?" You ask.

"Spidey powers" He says with a straight face and a shrug of his shoulders.

"What? Are you – mmph!" Hobie cuts you off by kissing you abruptly. Preventing you from asking more questions.

A/N: Hope you enjoyed reading! Comments, likes and reblogs are always appreciated ❤️

*image above is from pinterest*