#guys i feel like i got their names wrong...

[maskedbyghost]

Possessive reader getting a body pillow cover of Simon made for when he’s on deployment for long periods of time and can’t communicate. Like a cat seeing a balloon of itself, man is pissy anytime he’s reminded it exists and gets reader’s undivided attention the moment he’s forced away from them.

You didn’t buy it as a joke. That’s the first thing people get wrong. You weren’t drunk or being ironic or trying to be funny about how much you missed him. You were just pissed off. He was gone again, longer this time, and he didn’t say how long exactly—just said he wouldn’t be able to call often, might not even text for a while.

And you just stood there, nodding like you were cool with it, like it didn’t already burn in your chest thinking about sleeping alone again.

So yeah. You searched “custom body pillow” that night with your jaw clenched and your arms crossed and your phone brightness on full blast, like that was gonna make it hurt less.

You found a site that let you upload any photo you wanted, and you picked that one—him shirtless, sweaty from a workout, giving you the kind of half-smile that made your stomach flip. He’d sent it to you months ago, and you’d never deleted it. Now it was going to be six feet of print pressed up against you under the blankets every night.

And you didn’t tell him. Of course not. You just tracked the shipping, yanked it out of the box the second it arrived, and dressed it in one of his old oversized tees—your favorite. The one he always pulled on when he got out of the shower, the one he always told you looked better on you than on him. It smelled like him. And now so did the pillow.

You laid it down on his side of the bed, adjusted the angle like a crazy person, and stared at it for way too long before you finally turned the light off. It wasn’t even that it made you feel better. You were just so mad you couldn’t have the real thing. If you had to sleep without him, then fine—you’d make damn sure there was no space in your bed left for anyone else. Not even empty air.

He got back weeks later. He didn’t even text that he was on his way—just showed up, opened the front door, and called your name like nothing had changed.

You were halfway through the hallway when you heard him go completely silent.

“Uh,” he finally said, and it was coming from the bedroom.

You turned the corner and saw him just standing there. Bag on the floor, keys still in one hand, mouth half open like someone had sucker punched him. The pillow was still there, obviously. Front and center. Still wearing his shirt. His face was printed life-sized on it.

“Oh,” you said, like you’d forgotten. Like it hadn’t been your emotional support sleep aid for two straight weeks. “That.”

“That?” he repeated, turning to look at you with full-blown betrayal in his eyes. “That’s what you’ve been sleepin’ with?”

“I didn’t exactly have options,” you said, walking past him to flop down on the bed. “You were gone. It was either this or cry myself to sleep.”

“You could’ve warned me,” he muttered, still staring at it.

You snorted. “Would you have stopped me?”

“…No.”

“Exactly.”

He finally tore his eyes off it and looked at you instead, arms crossed. “What, so I leave for five minutes and you replace me with a bloody pillow?”

“I wouldn’t need a replacement if you didn’t keep running off to fight bad guys every other month,” you said sweetly, patting the spot beside you. “Come on, it’s your turn. Might as well take your place back.”

He just stood there, unmoving. “You seriously slept next to that thing?”

“I did more than sleep,” you grinned.

He groaned. “Oh for fuck’s sake.”

“You jealous?”

“It’s a pillow,” he said, like the word offended him. “I’m not jealous of a fuckin’—”

“I rubbed my face on it every night. Talked to it too. Called it baby. You know, just regular relationship stuff.”

He stared at you, completely deadpan, then looked at the pillow again. “You’re sick in the head.”

You shrugged. “You love it.”

“I love you,” he snapped. “That’s the problem. You get away with this shit.”

You smiled like you’d won something. “You bet your ass I do. And if you ever get deployed without warning me again, I’m printing one of those full cardboard cutouts next. I’ll sit it at the kitchen table. Put it in the shower, even.”

He dragged a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath, and when he looked at you again his eyes were warmer. “You’re insane.”

“You love it,” you said, reaching for him.

He let you pull him toward the bed, finally dropping down beside you with a sigh. You tossed the pillow off to the side and straddled his lap like it was your rightful seat, hands on his chest, your grin smug.

He blinked, breath stuttering just slightly, and you watched the red creep up the tips of his ears as your fingers dragged down the front of his shirt. “You’re not allowed to be hotter than me and then disappear. That’s not fair.”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, woman.”

“You missed it,” you said, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You missed me.”

“I really did.”

“Good,” you whispered, nose brushing his. “So don’t leave again.”

He kissed you hard, all tongue and teeth. “Make me.”

“Oh, I plan to.”

------------------------------------------

i just can't with these two

@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6 @tessakate @xocandyy @nightfwn @robinfeldt98 @bunnyxiis

[skeltnwrites]

Bob Reynolds x reader ─ Bob learns how to stitch a wound

avenger!reader, fem!r, roommate!bob CW descriptions of injury + gore, non sexual partial nudity | 3k THUNDERBOLTS SPOILERS!!

─── ₊⊹

You shift your weight from foot to foot on the hardwood outside of Bob’s bedroom. It’s late, like, really late. The sun had set and spun its way to the other side of the world when you’d left the tower hours ago. It must be nearly morning by now. 

Bob’s not an early riser exactly, but he is an insomniac. It’s not unusual to hear him roaming around the halls at an hour like this. So maybe your luck has turned a new leaf, and he’ll be awake already. And maybe he’s got some useful medical expertise under that mop of curls. A shot in the dark, sure, but Bob’s a mystery. His mind stopped surprising you months ago. 

The lock clicks, and the door opens a short gap, just enough to highlight a familiar pair of eyes in a sheet of darkness. Bob says your name softly, pulling the handle back until he’s draped fully in the hallway light. “You okay?” He clears his throat, kneading sleep-swollen eyes with a closed fist. 

You feel sort of terrible for waking him then. The poor guy barely sleeps as it is. But your heart can’t sink with enough sympathy to turn you around; not when it’s busy pumping your body’s entire blood supply to the leaky faucet on your back. 

“Mhmm,” you strain. “Do me a favor?” 

He hums, blinking slowly at the arm curled around your waist. He’s fixated on the awkward angle you're keeping it. You’ve got your jacket on, and your boots. You’re decked out in full gear, he realizes. His hand drops from the door frame as he straightens up. “What’s wrong?” 

“Don’t freak out,” you start– which, in hindsight, is not a very good way to start a sentence– “but I’ve been stabbed.” 

His eyes go wide, his gaze slingshotting from your head to your toes. “You what?” 

“Stabbed,” you repeat, clutching your side tighter as you spin. It really hurts to turn, just to move. It’s like someone unplugged all of the organs in your abdomen and shook you up like a snow globe. “Now, will you just, please help me. I can’t reach it.” 

“Reach what?” The quick swish of Bob’s socks is the only other sound apart from his voice. “Hey, wait a second. Where are you going? Can you sit down?” 

You push the bathroom door open and flick on the light. There’s a vacant glaze in the eyes of your reflection that you pretend not to see. “Do you know how to sew?” 

Bob idles in the doorway, mouth faltering like you’re speaking another language. “What?” 

“Sew, you know, needle and thread.” 

He shrugs. “Well, kind of, but it wasn’t– I don’t think it was very good. I’m not very good at it.” 

“But you’ve done it before?” 

“Yeah, but– I mean, it was just a sock, it’s not like– it wasn’t a stab wound.” 

You bend for the cabinet's bottom drawer, a whimper slipping through gritted teeth. “It’s the same thing,” you rasp, swiping the roll of gauze off the top. 

“No, I’m not– I can’t.”

“You can.” You tug at your jacket zipper and shrug out of the heavy sleeves. Your arms are slick with sweat, but stippled with goosebumps. Not a reassuring combination. “I’ll teach you.” 

“No, no, I don’t really–.” 

“It’s not hard. Promise.”

Your focus flutters up to his face. He’s looking at you funny, brows heavy with worry. “You’ve done this before?” 

Even a weak little laugh pinches every nerve in your lower back. You tug the hem of your shirt up, gloating, “Once or twice.”

Bob ogles the graveyard of scars across your stomach, each raised line a farewell from a fight you survived. They’re trophies in a fucked up sort of way. His hands shoot up to yours, bracketing your wrist in one and the roll of gauze you're holding in the other. “I should call an ambulance.” 

“Don’t you know how expensive those are?” 

“Then I’ll drive you.” 

Your snort collapses with a strangled wince. “You don’t even have a license, Bob.”

“I don’t think the cops will care when they see that you’re bleeding out.” 

“Don’t be so dramatic. It’s just a scratch. You’ll see. It’ll be much easier to just stitch it here, trust me.” 

Bob does tend to trust you. You’ve saved his life more times than he can count at this point. But you’ve been stabbed. You must be delirious with blood loss or shock or something. He shakes his head vehemently at you, your wrist and the gauze slipping from his clammy hold. “No, no, no. I can’t. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s easy. I’ll walk you through it.” 

“Wouldn’t Yelena, or Ava, or literally any of the others, be better for this? I’ve never– I don’t know how to do this.” 

“Walker’s the only one home and I’d rather bleed out for real than inflate that asshole’s ego even more. Can you imagine what he’ll say?” You fold your arms and grumble, “Oh, remember that time I saved your life like a real hero.” 

Your impersonation does nothing to fix the pitiful look Bob’s sending you. You even muster up a smile, a pretty damn good one having been stabbed half an hour ago, but his frown only worsens. “Don’t be scared,” you say gently. “I’ll be here the whole time. I’ll tell you what to do.” 

“What if I make it worse?”

“You’re not gonna stab me, too, are you?” Your teasing grin snaps under the weight of a new wave of crushing pain. “I’d really like to just get this over with so I can go lie down.” 

Any last hope of changing your mind trickles out of Bob as you start to pull your shirt off. He looks away, burning up to his ears. 

The fabric sticks to the hot pool on your back, blood oozing like magma from a volcano. Lifting your arms isn’t as simple as you hoped it would be. You shimmy and struggle like a fish in a net before Bob takes you by the wrists and guides your arms free himself. His eyes catch yours for a split second before he snaps them shut, blindly tossing your shirt to the floor. 

“You can’t sew my back shut with your eyes closed, you know. You can look at me.” 

Bob swallows, opening one eyelid at a time. You’re still there in your cargos and bra, busy unrolling a wad of gauze. 

You cork the blood flow with the cotton, pressing and pressing until your eyes sting with tears. Every cell in your body is screaming at you to stop. “Grab that towel.” You exhale sharply, easing onto the toilet lid, your chest facing the tank. “Put it under me. On the floor.” 

Bob packs the towel around the toilet leg, eye to eye with your weeping back. His mouth gapes as you peel the gauze back, stringy webs of it detaching from your skin. 

“Is it still bleeding?” you ask, voice trembling. 

“Fuck, yeah, oh fuck. Put it back.” 

“Okay. Just relax, Bob. Go wash your hands.” 

He’s got lead feet all of a sudden. And his tongue’s stopped working too. Because how the fuck is he supposed to fix that? He’s going to screw it up, he can feel it. You’ll get an infection, end up in the hospital with sepsis, you’ll probably die, and it’ll be his doing, and he’ll never be able to forgive himself. You’re doomed. 

“I will bleed out, like, eventually, by the way.”

Your voice snaps Bob from his thoughts. He rams a hip into the counter as he spins toward the sink. He flips the tap on and pumps enough soap on his hands to disinfect an entire preschool, scrubbing like he’s trying to shave a layer of skin off. 

“Okay,” you grunt as he finishes, “from the drawer. Get a water bottle, and uh, a bandage, one of the bigger ones. Find the needles, should be little white packets, and then thread, there’s a whole roll of it. Oh, and this, um, big orange bottle, it’s called Betadine. 

Bob nods as every item is set on the counter. His lips are cinched shut in fear. The fear of failure, of failing you. He’s hunched over in his nice sweats, a pair you also have, from some brand collaboration, courtesy of the public relations team. Being an Avenger has its perks, including but not limited to the complimentary loungewear and nice-looking roommates. 

“Got it all?” 

His hands are trembling so badly that you can hear the antiseptic solution sloshing around the bottle in his hold. “I really don’t think I should do this.” 

“You got this.” You twist around, eyes reaching only a slice of your achy back. Your fingers curl under the gauze. “Still bleeding?”

Bob wrinkles his nose, looking, but not wanting to. “A little, it’s– it’s slow, like slower, it’s not–”

“Okay, that’s good.” You peel back the rest of the wet gauze, a heavy sponge in your hand. “You’re gonna flush the wound with water. Slowly. You’ll just tip the bottle a little bit. ‘Kay?” 

He kneels on the tile behind you, unscrewing the cap off the water bottle. “You’re sure?”

“Done it a million times.”

His hand inches slowly toward your back. He tips the bottle, and a heavy surge of water slops out. “Sorry,” he cries, straightening the bottle out. 

“It’s okay.” Your heel slides back to bump his knee. As far as encouraging gestures go, it can’t be very high on the list, but it’s the best you can do right now. The wound hurts like hell already, and flushing it is the easiest part. “Try again,” you say. 

He bolsters his wrist with his free hand, tipping the bottle at a snail’s pace, and watching the steady stream run down your back. You shiver as it soaks through your pants, then the thermals, and the underwear underneath. 

“Good?” he asks. 

You flash him a thumbs up, chin down, arms crossed over the tank of the toilet. The porcelain bears your entire weight now, your attention tied solely to your breath. 

Bob sighs as he drains the last bit of the bottle. “Okay.” 

“Get the Betadine�� and pour some on a cotton pad.”

He works quietly behind you. Quiet, even by Bob standards. Or perhaps you’re fading in and out a little, it’s hard to tell. You blink hard. It feels like you’ve got sandbags for eyelashes. But if you pass out, Bob will probably have a panic attack and call an ambulance. You’ll end up neighbors in the hospital, and you’d prefer to just be neighbors in the tower. 

You can’t go to sleep. Not yet. You redirect your focus to your senses. There’s the click of caps and the familiar tear of sterile packaging. The chemical scent of disinfectant. 

Bob calls your name when you don’t answer his question. You didn’t even hear it. “Now what?” he repeats. 

“Wipe around the wound gently. Not in it.” 

Bob crouches behind you. His fingers land on your hip and quickly fly away. “Sorry,” he mumbles. 

In any other circumstance, you’d tell him to touch you however he pleases. But all you can do now is shake your head dismissively. 

“You okay? Ready?” 

You stop nodding when it makes you dizzy. 

Bob presses the cold cotton to your skin. It stings so bad your back muscles visibly clench, but his hands are a nice consolation prize, much kinder than when you do it. 

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” 

“‘S okay,” you hiss. “Keep going.”

He takes a breath. His hands continue in short strokes, apologies falling off his tongue like a reflex. But the pain levels out, his ministrations become more soothing than not. The pads of his fingers dance nicely down your back, his wrist a pleasant weight on your skin. 

“Okay, that’s good,” you huff. “Open up the needle packet.” You listen to him fumble with the plastic. It feels sort of like you’re about to get a tattoo the way you’re sitting. A very botched tattoo from a very unlicensed artist. 

Bob spends what feels like an hour trying to thread the needle before your anticipation boils over. “Let me try,” you finally say. 

His tongue slips back into his mouth as he passes the needle. You bring it eye level, the end of the thread pinched between your thumb and pointer, and the spool balanced on the top of the toilet. You're shaking just as badly as he was. 

Bob wrings out his hands. “I can–”

“No, I got it.” 

You do get it, eventually. You tie it off, and Bob gets all set with the supplies on the floor behind you. 

You might be nervous about his face being two inches from your ass if it weren’t for all of the anxiety coupled with the reason he’s there in the first place. Bob’s a good guy. He has morals, priorities. He’s probably not thinking about it like you are. 

“Start a quarter of an inch from the edge. You’ll press through the skin, but not too deep, just the skin. Go across and then back, like a shoelace. And you’re gonna wanna pull it tight, just not too tight, okay?” 

Bob tries to hum, but his voice dies in his throat. 

“You can do it,” you assure. You’re sort of hyping yourself up at this point, too. This felt like a much better idea when the adrenaline came from being stabbed– less so now that it’s coming from knowing you’re about to be stabbed again.

He exhales hot air through his nose, squaring the side of his hand against your spine. 

You swallow the sound that makes its way up your throat as the needle sinks in. The pain sizzles like a firework, hot and bright and overwhelming. Your eyes well, and you shudder helplessly. 

“Sorry,” he promises. The needle quivers, his fingers slipping as it punches through you once more. He loops the thread back down like a bridge made of fire, the burn coming and going in lapses. Your skin pulls angrily, the string taut in his hand. “Is that too tight?” 

“I dunno,” you groan, “I don’t think so.” 

He groans back. “Shit."

“What?”

He pulls his lip between his teeth. “It’s– you’re bleeding again.” 

“Dab it. Carefully.” He stretches up for the roll of gauze on the counter. “Is it a lot?” 

“Mmm...” He watches a lone line of crimson drip down your back, brow twitching. “No. I don’t think so.” 

Your fist contracts as he swipes at the blood. “Fuck.” 

“Sorry, I’m trying…” He takes the needle and hooks you again. 

You shake your head, squirming against the toilet tank. “Can you– mmm– can you keep talking– please.”  

He hums. “About what?” 

“Anything.”

He pauses to think, voice low as his hand resumes. “I went for a walk today.” 

“Yeah?” you whine. 

“Mhmm. Down to Bryant Park. Saw a cute dog, a Saint Bernard. Thought it was a bear at first,” he chuckles. “What was his name? It was cute, it was… oh, Einstein, yeah.” 

“Einstein?”

“Yeah, Einstein. He was nice. Let me pet ‘em and everything. Big dog.” 

You squeeze your eyes as he tugs the thread. It's a different kind of pain when someone else does it to you. Pain, nonetheless.

“Think Bucky would let me have one? Like, here?” he asks.

“A Saint Bernard?”

“Any kind.” 

“I dunno,” you squeal, “ask for forgiveness, not permission or whatever.”

You hear him smile. It brings half of one to your own lips. He’s good at doing that. 

“I think I’m done,” he says after a while. 

You pick your head up. “Did you knot it?” 

“No.”

“Tie it. Three or four times. Tight.” 

He spends triple the time you would doing it, and his knots are only about half as good as your own when you inspect them in the mirror. The stitches are looser than you’d like, and terribly uneven, but you’re pretty sure they’ll hold. And if you don’t crawl into bed soon, you might just pass out in the tub. 

Bob takes your elbow as you sway on your feet. His worry has waned, but it’s not entirely gone. He still thinks you’ll keel over any second, and realistically, you might. 

He takes the bandage off the counter and unsticks the backing. He’s so gentle, smoothing it over your skin like he’s just glued you back together. He kind of has. 

You pull him off the floor, though it’s more of an excuse to hold his hand. “Thanks. Sorry for making you do surgery in the middle of the night.” 

“Yeah, you know it’s like four AM,” he laughs. His head shakes, his smile softening. “Do you get stabbed, like, a lot?” 

“What? Think I can’t handle myself?”

His brows jump. “No, oh no, I just– I just meant that–”

You squeeze his hand. “I’m teasing you.” 

“Oh,” he breathes, a shaky smile returning. “Well, I’m– I’m glad you came and woke me up. You can again next time– even if you can do it, or if it’s not that bad. I want you to.” 

“Okay,” you nod, grinning up to your ears. “Doctor Bob has a nice ring to it.” 

“No,” he laughs, spinning your finger between his. “I just want to make sure you’re not bleeding out in the tub while I’m asleep.” 

You hum. 

“Oh, Jesus,” Walker spits from the doorway. His hair is spiked with sleep, eyes just as heavy with it. “Is that my towel?”

You tear your hand from Bob's to flip Walker off. “Fuck off, dude.” 

“I have to piss.” 

“There’s, like, five other bathrooms on this floor.” 

He tuts, “Whatever. Better bleach the hell out of this bathroom when you’re done playing Operation or whatever the hell you’re doing.” 

You roll your eyes at Bob as he leaves. “Such a dick.”

“I heard that!” 

“Good!” you shout back. 

Bob's hand returns to yours as you share a laugh. You’re not usually thrilled to be stabbed, but next time, maybe you won’t mind as much. Doctor Bob really does have a nice ring to it, huh? 

[wandanatsgf]

Inappropriate Feelings

Pairing: WandaNat x Reader

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: you have feelings for two married women. When it gets in the way of your work they confront you

Warning this contains: praise kink, mommy kink, daddy kink, bondage, face riding, strap usage, fingering, orgasm control, name calling (just one time)

Part 2

You shouldn’t feel this way about one married woman, let alone two. You know it’s wrong. The way you feel when their hands ghost over yours. When they brush past you in the hallway or when they talk to you.

You get butterflies in your stomach. Your breathing gets short and it gets hard to think. Being around them is hard, your feelings always get in the way. They cloud your judgement until all you can think about is them kissing you, loving you, touching you.

Your feelings didn’t get in the way of your job, at least it didn’t until a few weeks ago.

You were on a mission with the two women, confined in the small space of the quinjet for hours. You struggled to remain calm around them. Your senses were in overdrive as they walked around the jet, talked to you. If you were naive you would even think they were flirting with you. But they’re married and you know better.

You struggle with your feelings, something you normally never do on a mission, until you finally landed at the job site. There you try to stuff your feelings down, trying to compartmentalize in order to complete the mission.

The three of you walked out of the hanger doors and run into the Hydra base you are meant to infiltrate.

It was supposed to be an easy mission. A simple mission. But nothing is ever easy when you’re an avenger.

You got ambushed, it was all a set up. And because you got distracted by how good Natasha looked while she was fighting a bad guy, you got shot.

It was just a bullet to the leg. Everyone gets shot at some point in your line of work. So to you, it was no big deal. But to Wanda and Natasha it was everything.

You had never seen them so upset and pissed off. You’re not sure if they were pissed with you or with the agent who shot you. You didn’t ask, too scared of the answer.

They spent the next couple of weeks taking care of you. Helping you get around the tower, h getting you anything you need, and eventually helping you with physical therapy.

You appreciated their help but all it did was remind you how they’re not yours. No matter how good being helped and babied by them feels, it’s not going to last.

So when you’re better, you push them away. Which is what you’re doing now. It's been weeks since you were healed and you're now able to do things on your own. The only thing left from the injury is a scar that is here to stay.

It's also been two weeks since you have seen them, touched them, interacted with them. But it's for the best this way, at least until you can get your feelings for them under control.

You're about to go train when Natasha puts herself in your path. You move to turn around, but she reaches out a hand to stop you.

“Come on. We need to talk,” Natasha says. Her tone is serious, her words short and to the point. Her words leave no room for arguments so you follow behind her as she walks the two of you to her room and shuts the door.

Wanda is already in there, sitting on the bed.

"You know what I think I'm needed elsewhere," you say, suddenly nervous about what's about to happen.

"No you don't baby," Wanda says. A red glow encases the door before it fades. You try the door and it's locked.

"Wanda," you whine. "Let me out." Your fists bang on the door and you attempt to pull the handle but you have no luck.

"Not until you tell us what's wrong." Concern is written all over her face. You can see it in her eyes. In the way she furrows her eyebrows.

"I can't," is all you say.

"Then I guess we'll be in here for a while." It's Natasha who speaks this time. Her eyes watch you, moving up and down. She's watching you like she's stalking prey, like she's just waiting to attack. And then finally recognition dawns on her face. She says nothing, just looks at Wanda. You think the two are having some sort of telepathic conversation, but you're not really sure.

"If you don't want to tell us we can always guess," Natasha suggests, breaking her eye contact with Wanda to look at you.

Wanda moves in front of you and situates herself so that her front is pressed against your front. You can feel her nipples through her thin t-shirt. You can smell her vanilla perfume and her strawberry shampoo.

You move to back up but Natasha stops you. She stands behind you, one hand on your waist, pinning you in place. You're trapped between the two women. It's like your wet dream come to life, if only they weren't interrogating you about your pesky little feelings for them.

"Now are you going to be a good girl and tell us the problem?" Natasha asks. Her words send a thrill down your spine and a sticky straight to your core.

You nod your head no, too scared that your voice would betray you.

"It's okay baby. We know what the problem is," Wanda says, her tone sickly sweet. Her lips get close to yours. So close that you can feel her breath ghosting over you. If you wanted to you could count the flecks of brown in her eyes.

“We see how you look at us baby,” Natasha says, her lips ghosting over your exposed neck.

"I can hear your dirty little thoughts about us, thoughts you think no one can hear," Wanda whispers. Her words are like a bucket of ice water that has been dumped on you. They're sobering.

"I-um," you stumble out. Even though you're an avenger, you're stumped on what to say. You can't think of a lie that could save your ass right now.

"It's okay baby. You wanna know a secret? We like you too," Wanda says. Once the words leave her mouth her lips capture yours in a heated kiss. You kiss her back, reciprocating her affection.

Natasha, who is still behind you, peppers kisses up your neck. "You have no idea how much we like you detka."

"I think I'm starting to understand," you say against Wanda's lips.

The two woman move you over to their bed and lay you down.

"Is it okay if we tie you up," the red haired woman asks.

"Please," is all you say.

"I told you she'd like it," Wanda quips.

"Mind reader," you say, rolling your eyes.

"What was that baby?" Wanda pins you to the bed with her hand around your throat.

"Nothing mommy I'm sorry."

"There's my good girl. You're catching on quick, huh?" You nod yes and Wanda removes the hand from your throat and steps back to let's Natasha take over.

Natasha reappears in your line of sight with rope in hand, although you never actually noticed her leaving. She makes quick work of tying your hands to the bedpost, leaving you completely at their mercy.

"How's that feel?" Natasha softly asks you.

"Good."

"If it's too much say red and everything stops okay?"

"Okay daddy."

"Good girl." The praise leaves your core aching, but you're sure the two women will fix that soon.

Natasha is on one side of you while Wanda is on the other. The two women are standing over the bed, just admiring you.

"You're so pretty like this, all spread out for us," Wanda says.

"We just need to get these pesky clothes out of the way," Natasha says, looking at Wanda. Wanda nods in understanding because the next thing you know you're naked, bare and exposed before them. Wanda also removes their own clothes, so you can see all of them. It's the most beautiful sight you've ever seen. And based on the looks on their faces they are feeling the same about you.

As if it is a practiced dance Wanda moves to your head while Natasha moves between your legs, sucking and biting your thighs. She's teasing you, ignoring the place you want her most.

While Nat does that Wanda straddles your face, her legs on either side of you, caging you in.

"Come on baby, stick your tongue out. Let mommy ride your face," Wanda encourages. You stick your tongue out and Wanda lowers herself onto your face, grinding back and forth. Her clit bumps into your nose with each thrust, causing her to moan loudly.

"You making mommy feel good baby?" Natasha asks, still pressing teasing kisses to your thighs. You groan in response, which makes Wanda tremble above you.

While Wanda continues to ride your face, Natasha finally stops her teasing. She spreads your legs and positions herself between them.

"Such a cute little wet pussy," Natasha murmurs before she slides a finger up your center, making you gasp.

"Please daddy," you try to say, but it comes out all garbled from Wanda being on your face.

"It's okay baby I'll give it to you." Natasha slides a finger into you, making you moan out. Wanda's movements stutter above you, you can tell she's getting close the longer she rides you.

"Fuck," Wanda moans out. "You look so pretty when I ride you baby." Wanda's movements speed up as she chases her orgasm while you're chasing your own. Natasha's finger pistons inside you and then she adds another. The pleasure intensifies and you can feel the coil in your stomach getting ready to snap.

"Please let me cum," you try to say, although it comes out mumbled. You're thankful that Natasha can understand you.

"Come on baby. Cum on Daddy's fingers." Her words are all it takes for you to let go. Your body spasms and shakes as your release hits you. Your moans vibrate through Wanda's pussy and also send her over the edge. You swallow everything she gives you, licking your lips when she gets off of you. She walks into their closet while Natasha climbs up your body and leaves a gentle kiss on your lips.

"You were such a good girl for us baby," Natasha says. "But we know you can give us more." The glint in her eyes is intoxicating, it makes you want to give her more orgasms until you're completely spent and putty in their arms.

Wanda walks back out with a strap on around her waist. The scarlet colored strap dangling between her legs. It's bigger than anything you've ever taken, and you say so.

"It's okay baby, I'll make it fit." Wanda's words have you getting wet all over again. Wanda positions herself in between your legs, and slowly pushes into you.

"Shh it's okay detka," Natasha says, comforting you. She kisses you softly, distracting you from the burning stretch of the dildo entering you. Natasha slowly pulls back and brings a hand to your clit, rubbing in circles.

Wanda sits there with the strap still for a few minutes, letting you adjust.

"You can move," you finally say.

Wanda fucks up into you. The strap hits places inside of you that you didn't even know exist. It feels amazing, but you're still not quite satisfied.

"Daddy," you moan out. "Wanna please you." You want, no need, to please Natasha. You want her to cum on your face, feel the same kind of pleasure you're experiencing right now.

"You want daddy to sit on your face sweetheart?" Wanda asks, continuing to fuck you.

"Please," you beg.

"Give our little slut what she wants Natalia." Wanda keeps fucking into you. The strap feels amazing inside of you and you can feel your orgasm building.

Natasha lowers herself on to your face, suffocating you with her pussy. If this is how you were to die you would die happy. You stick your tongue out and lap at her pussy, tasting her. She tastes sweet and you can already tell her pussy is a taste you'll be craving for the rest of your life.

"There you go baby," Natasha moans out when you slip her clit into your mouth and suck on it. "Keep on sucking me just like that."

Wanda continues to fuck into you and soon you're close. Your hips are bucking up to meet hers, your moans become more frequent. You're desperate for release.

"You can cum when Nat cums,"" Wanda tells you, invigorating our efforts to make the redhead cum as fast as possible. You suck on her clit harder and soon you have Natasha seeing stars. She smooshes your head between her thighs, her orgasm overtaking her body. She cums in your mouth and you swallow it all.

Once Natasha stops shaking and gets off of you, Wanda gives you permission to cum. Your pussy clenches around her strap and you scream out. The pleasure is too good, it overtakes your body and leaves you spent. Your body turns to jello as Wanda slowly slips out of you.

Wanda takes off the harness and throws it off to the side. The two women collapse beside you, one on either side. Wanda uses her magic to untie you and the ropes disappear. The only sign that they were ever there are the faint rope marks around your wrists, which Wanda notices.

"Give me your wrists." You give Wanda your wrists and she magics some ointment beside her. She opens the jar and rubs the cream on one wrist while Natasha does the other.

"Anywhere else hurt?" Natasha asks.

"No," you say.

"You sure honey?" Wanda's use of the nickname honey has you melting against her.

"mhm I'm sure."

"Good girl," Natasha says, proud of you for speaking up. Her words have the flame in your core reigniting. The praise goes right to your pussy.

"Daddy," you whine, wanting the two of them to use you again. Wanda notices your excitement and puts a stop to it.

"Natalia!" Wanda exclaims. "Stop teasing her. She needs to rest before we use her again."

"But she likes it when I tease her, don't you baby?"

"Yes daddy," you agree.

"Shhh baby your mommy's right. You need to rest so we can have some fun later okay?" Natasha says, like she wasn't just instigating and teasing you.

"Okay," you pout, not truly happy about this decision, but you know you need the rest. Your muscles ache, your body spent in ways it hasn't been in a while.

The two women choose to ignore your pouting, this time.

"Rest baby. Then we'll make you feel good later," Wanda says. You nod in agreement and situate yourself in between the two women. Natasha wraps an arm around you while Wanda tangles her legs with yours. The quiet, calm atmosphere lulls you to sleep. You fall asleep excited for what's to come, knowing round two will await you when you wake up.

[rafes-honey]

𝐈 𝐁𝐞𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐨𝐠𝐬’ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

(Tell your ‘baby’ that I’m your baby.)

You’d never meant for it to become serious. Not at first.

The first time you let Rafe Cameron kiss you, you told yourself it was just that: a kiss. Nothing behind it. Just heat. Just a bad idea on a humid night when your friends had left the party early and you stayed behind with a Red Stripe in one hand and curiosity sitting heavy in your gut.

But it didn’t stop there.

Four months later, you had a drawer in his house. Actual space in the Cameron estate a place where people like you didn’t belong. You had a toothbrush on his bathroom sink, hoodies that smelled like his cologne, lingerie he’d bought you tucked into folded clothes. He called you baby when no one was listening. My girl when he kissed your throat. And in the quiet, private corners of his life, Rafe treated you like something he didn’t know how to live without.

He made you feel wanted. Not just wanted needed.

So yeah, you kept it a secret. You didn’t tell JJ, or John B, or Kie, or Pope. You didn’t want the lecture. The betrayal in their eyes. You didn’t want to hear about how he was dangerous or sick or how “he’s a fucking kook, y/n, what the hell are you doing?”

You told yourself it was yours. Just yours. Something soft in a world that always felt like broken glass.

Which is why the party hurt so much.

You hadn’t planned on going. Rafe told you he had “some event thing” casual and you figured you’d see him later. But when Sarah dropped the location in the groupchat (by accident or not, you’d never know), curiosity pulled you there.

You didn’t text him. Didn’t tell him you were coming. You thought maybe he’d be happy to see you.

You thought wrong.

The backyard was packed guys in Vineyard Vines polos, girls in bikinis even though the water was freezing, trap music rattling out of Bluetooth speakers, and the smell of weed heavy in the air. You saw Topper by the fire pit, Kelce near the cooler, and Rafe leaning against the railing of the upper deck, drink in hand, talking to a girl you didn’t know.

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop. You were just walking up. Just about to call his name.

Until you heard his voice — clear, sharp, with that edge he used when he was trying to sound cool around his friends.

“Listen,” he said, with a short laugh. “Just ‘cause we hook up doesn’t mean she’s my girlfriend. Okay?” “I would never live with a pogue- let alone date one.”

You stopped dead on the stairs.

The girl giggled, leaning closer. “God, I hope not I mean atleast she’s pretty considering she lives in the cut.”

And Rafe — Rafe laughed. Like it was funny. Like you were funny. Like the whole thing was a joke and he was just going along with it for fun. Like he wasn’t rubbing your back last night telling you how beuatiful you are and how uh he cares for you.

He didn’t see you.

You didn’t wait for him to.

You turned and left, walking fast through the crowd, swallowing the burn in your throat like it wasn’t happening, like you weren’t about to fall apart in front of a bunch of drunk rich kids. You made it to your bike. You got on. You rode through the dark without music, without streetlights, just the rush of cold air and the ache in your chest spreading like bruises under your skin.

You didn’t cry until you got home.

You collapsed on your bed in the tiny rental you shared with your cousin, fingers shaking, lips bitten red. You cried until your chest hurt and your stomach turned. You pulled his hoodie off your body like it was toxic, like it might burn through your skin. You threw it across the room. You wanted to scream. You wanted to hit something. You wanted to ask him why—why he told you you mattered when it was clearly just a lie.

You thought he liked you… maybe even loved.

(Pt 2? Yes? No? Maybe so…?)

[hadleysmis]

Yayy I love games, I say for the second time! This time, however, I decided to make it about Les Mis :D

I'm wordy as usual, so I'll explain my choices, if you will.

Long post. (Sorry! Les Misérables somehow has hijacked this Bob's burgers post!)

Reasonings for my choices:

The best protagonist is Jean Valjean: I didn't realise how attached to him I got until his death at the end of the book. I cried, and that's when I thought, 'I must've really liked the character.'

It's a strange feeling, but with my other favourite characters, namely Fantine and Cosette, I just knew that I liked them. For Valjean, he snuck up on me, I think.

The most beloved character is Cosette: In a way that makes me feel paternal, Cosette is absolutely great, especially Young Cosette growing up with Jean Valjean.

I remember flicking through the book and finding a passage where a fourteen year old Cosette tired herself in the garden from chasing butterflies. And from that moment, I looked back at her childhood with JvJ in a reminiscent light. How wonderful is she?

The most attractive character is Javert: He's just a cool guy. He's unexpectedly sexy in a very self-hating, sub way of the character that he is. He's so broiled in hatred of himself that you know if you crack him open, he'll break (and he did).

Would hate him if he was real, though lmao

Most overrated character is Enjolras: After having read the book, and finding it awhile to figure out how internet discussions worked, I thought of him as a character that could've been one of the main roster, but ended up falling short.

Then soon I discovered the fandom, and it made me think I understood Enjolras as a character for many years and think of him as one of the main characters.

Now that I think about it, I don't understand him at all, and I don't know what to do with him in my head most of the time I'm gonna be honest with you lmao

He's a fan favourite, so there's so many talks and debates that I feel like I'm walking on eggshells with him half the time just in case I got an opinion embarrassingly wrong.

Most iconic character is Enjolras: If you know Les Misérables from the book, of course it would be Cosette, but for many, Les Misérables is a musical. When you bring up the musical, a lot of people can mistake it to be about the French Revolution;

More than anything, the theme of active revolution with the red flag, the barricades, and the shots firing, is the most recognisable aspect of the story. And who's at the the front and centre for it all? Enjolras. He's iconic.

Most baby character is Éponine: A little unconventional, I know. I feel a little paternal for her now, but when I read the book, she was slightly older than me, and I thought she was great and funny.

She's funny at times because of the things she does or says that are from the most depressive state a teenager unnaturally could be in. Most of it is just straight up sad, but the moments where she's a menace makes me feel somehow connected to her.

Most tragic character is either Azelma or Jean Valjean: In the tales of child abuse, I often find sympathy in the children who stay with their abusers even after entering adulthood. Although Azelma doesn't enter adulthood (I don't think), it's heavily implied she'll stay with her father as they move to the United States of America.

I remember feeling quite sad towards Azelma because I saw my family members in her. Even though my situation wasn't as dramatic or miserable, I felt as though there would be a tear in the family as I planned to cut off my family during my angsty teenagehood.

I do want to say, without giving away my past and lore too much, it was a semi-reasonable thing to mull about. However, surprisingly the person who ended up semi-doing it was my sister. Ironic, sin ce I was afraid my sister would end up like Azelma, and me Éponine.

It seemed to have been the other way around.

For Jean Valjean, I have critiqued his character on my Instagram account years back, explaining that his Christian guilt was a curse as he over-focused on it. As much as Christianity and his God changed him, it also gave him permanent depression (along with his prison time of course).

Perhaps if he could've not been so rigid with morals for himself and less holistic in judging souls on others (two opposites), maybe he could've had a happier life then.

Most boring character is Claquesous: I'M SORRY. I know some of my close mutuals love to talk about the Patron-Minette, and I've learned much more than I once knew thanks to their hard effort.

I just had to pick a character that I found boring in Les Misérables, and there were barely any!

I thought it would've been amusing to pick Claquesous just so I could say: 'If he didn't want to be perceived, then he shouldn't be in the book' or something like that.

My favourite ship is Valvert: It used to be Enjoltaire, and I used to write them a lot, but I stopped for the same reason I've stated in the 'Enjolras' sections above: I don't think I understand Enjolras and Grantaire the more I read other people's mini-essays and think pieces on the two.

The other contender therefore Marius/Courfeyrac, but it's not canon so it wasn't as impactful as the very much canon indeed pairing of Valvert.

At first I was shaking, afraid that I was going to be j'accused for being Davies as I am admittedly British but hopefully not Davies' level of lusty (the joke here is that I'm asexual), but then I realised I was just hanging around in the enjoltaire section of the fandom. Lol, so many people ship valvert of course XD

The gayest character is Javert: I don't think I need to elaborate on this. He is the face of repressed gays.

The funniest character is Marius: If it wasn't for the tragedy in Éponine's life, I would've chosen her. Marius is so out of touch, and the idea that Courfeyrac is so nice to him for no reason is an extra level of hilarity.

The most trash character is Félix or M. Thénardier: I think the book does a better job in sympathising with Mme. Thénardier in certain aspects than most of the adaptations I've seen, if not all.

I like the fact that Mme. Thénardier is almost all-evil but not quite. So, that only leaves M. Thénardier to hate; and what's there to love about him? He's all hate. But he's influential to the plot and he keeps the plot going, so I don't hate seeing him in the book.

Félix is just objectively a bad person. Because he's not elaborated on like M. Thénardier, it's just easier to see him as trash without any nuance.

The most underrated character is Fantine: I don't think she gets much love from the fandom to be honest, but I think that's because everyone loves her. I think it's just too sad to think about her and because of that we don't actively talk about her as much.

But sometimes I feel like it's too much of a void and too much of the silence. I miss it when I used to talk about her all the time, but it's too sad to bring her up so many times now. She'll always be my mother, though.

The best antagonists are the Thénardier parents: They're evil, irredeemable, and they should get what they deserve, but M. Thénardier ends up quite well with money (although most likely he'll just blow it all away as usual).

They're hatable, but they have nuance, and they bring conversation to the themes and social class critiques. They serve their jobs as characters very well.

The nuttiest character is Marius: He's just a crazy little goof. He's a goofy guy. The amount of dissonance with reality and politics he has with the rest of the normal folks is absolutely hilarious to me. He goes into a trance, repeating the colonial mindset and an array of bad political takes, and everyone's just going 'uhhhh' at it. It's so funny, he's crazy.

Best side character is Bishop Myriel: It's so strange to call him a side character since he feels like a main. He's so influential in the course of life for Jean Valjean, and he's referenced and thought of throughout the novel.

He lives on through his good deeds, and is remembered so fondly until Jean Valjean's death. He truly was the best guy around.

The most fightable character is M. Thénardier: Enough said, I don't think I really need to elaborate on this one.

Although I would love an American!Marius throwing coins and paper notes as bullets in his shotgun and repeatedly aiming it at M. Thénardier for their last meeting rather than it being the awkward little throws and Thénardier animalistically and pathetically picking the money up.

The most familial character is Fauchelevant: The more I think about it, the more he was fatherly, husbandly, and familial, and all around a great guy.

I did think a little that it was low key sus for Cosette to have kept the name Fauchelevant, but I suppose something bros just do those bros things like sharing a surname together.

He raised Cosette at the same time as Jean Valjean and the Convent did, at least in my head. I wish I could see more storylines about her time with the two and the Convent and see how chaotic and energetic and goblin-like laughing Cosette must've looked and sounded like; and how much love Fauchelevant must've had for his made up family. Maybe he might've forgotten Jean Valjean wasn't really his brother and Cosette his niece.

Character Superlatives ⭐️💕

Guess who made another thing! Like the ship chart, my only “rule” when reblogging or reposting is to be respectful of other people’s opinions (even if they throw your favorite baby in the trash). You’re more than welcome to use this for your other fandoms! And hopefully if you click on it you’ll get better quality 😭

[luvyeni]

[ req? yes / no ]

𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗘 ─── wonbin and shotaro both being obsessed with you …

( 対 ) wonbin and shotaro + fem. reader wc. genre smut · contains! yandere!wontaro. bully!wonbin. threesome. filming. name calling. oral ( m ) mature content. / back to library

wonbin and shotaro being best friends , but also being unhealthily obsessed with you , their roommate. and i mean so obsessed with you that even though they’re best friends they both often have the thought of getting rid of the other just to have you to themselves — but they can’t because in a way they’re sort of obsessed with each other.

you just live through the days so oblivious to the way the boy’s subtly prey on you. wonbin is definitely more meaner than shotaro, almost bullies you in a way , taking your food , putting cups on top of the cabinet and taunting you when you cry for him to stop. “don’t be such a baby , just ask and i’ll get it for you.” he says , arms folded. “go ahead, ask.” shotaro is much nicer, taking your side when wonbin is mean , just to piss the younger boy off when you cling to him more. “he’s scary isn’t he? don’t worry i’ll protect you.” holding you so tightly that you don’t see the boy smirking.

wonbin can’t help it though, he loves being mean to you , watching you pout when he pinched your side , laughing at you when you whined — he doesn’t understand what’s wrong with him , he loves seeing you in pain , seeing the tiny red bruises on your skin done by him. sometimes he goes as far as to pulling at your hair just to hear you moan in pain , his cock jumping in his pants. “you moaning for me?” you feel so embarrassed so you go running to shotaro and he’s already there waiting for you , even though he’s jealous because he wished he could’ve heard you.

you don’t go on dates anymore; because the guys normally run away when they see you living with two guys — at least that’s what the shotaro and wonbin tell you ; they don’t tell you that they threaten the boy to stay away from you , intimidating them and send them running away, both of them waiting with open arms as you cry to them. “oh well you were too good for him anyway.” shotaro hugs you. “he was no good , look how you changed the way you dress for him.” wonbin spat. “skirt so short i can see your panties , what did you expect him to fuck you? is that what you wanted? to be fucked?” he said. “because we can do that for you and you don’t have to dress like a slut to be fucked.”

it wasn’t until you found yourself in bed , legs spread open as shotaro fucked you open , wonbin forcing his cock down your throat that all those times you thought wonbin had gotten too close when he came up from behind you to purposely put the cup on the high shelf — or when shotaros got lower and lower when he would hug you that you weren’t going crazy , or just thinking dirty. “fuck such a tight throat , squeezing my fucking dick.” wonbin hissed , abusing your throat. “fu-fucking knew you weren’t dumb , you wanted to be fucked by us.”

shotaro definitely wasnt nice when it came to fucking you , his thrust brutal; holding your legs open to keep you from closing them like you’d been trying. “do-don’t fucking run.” he grunted. “be a good slut and take this dick.” pressing down on your stomach making you scream around wonbin cock as you came , coating his cock with your slick , he groaned , cumming inside you. “fuck , you’re mi-milking my fucking dick , ngh!” you were a mess , gagging around wonbins length. “that’s it suck my cock.”

both of them switching off , wonbin holding your phone in his hand. “wh-what are you doing.” he hit record , just as he pushed inside you. “just recording a little video.” he groaned. “fu-fuck , next time you want to go on a date with a fucking loser i’m gonna show you this.” shotaro filled your mouth. “show how much of a slut you are for your roommates -fuck- send it to the man who thinks he can take you from us.” your eyes widened, shotaro pushing himself further down your throat. “fuuuck im gonna cum.”

they were mean , but you loved it. the way they kept you filled to the brim , using your body. they weren’t fighting for your attention like normally , claiming you as theirs , by time they were done , you were nearly unconscious. “look at that.” wonbin pulled out , slapping your abused cunt. “fucked her so dumb.” he smirked , shotaro becoming that nice person once again to help you clean up. “you did such a good job.” he washed your clean body. “no need to worry about anything , not school , not work , not those good for nothing dudes.” he rubbed your back.

“you’re ours now.”

©️LUVYENI

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Too Good (John Walker)

Description: Y/N is the only one that’s nice to John.

Word Count: 665

Everyone was mean to John on the team, made comments towards him, called him a piece of trash except for one person. John bit back everytime and was a huge asshole in general but they all got along regardless. Y/N was the only one who didn’t call him names and be shitty to him since the beginning. It’s what made them best friends and he felt like he had his right hand man again except it was Y/N.

“What about your helmet?” Yelena asked him as they talked about the weapons they carried. “What you like it?” He asked, excited that someone was complimenting it. Except Yelena wasn’t and she didn’t think it looked cool, “Do you think it looks cool?” She asked and he shrugged. “Yeah I like it.” He lied and Y/N looked over at him, “I like it too.” He wasn’t sure exactly if that was the moment he fell in love with her or not. She never put him down and never planned too. Even when Century bent his shield, she didn’t make fun of him.

“Hey don’t worry, it still looks cool.” All her nice comments made him smile and feel like he wasn’t a piece of shit. Like right now, the others weren’t being super nice to him after he made a sarcastic comment. Y/N was in her room when she heard yelling, she sighed and got up from her bed to see what it was about when she opened her door and John was there, “Hey.” She said softly, seeing the anger in his eyes. It died down after he saw her, “Hey can we take a walk?” He asked her, she nodded and left her room.

The others watched them leave without a word, Bucky looking at Yelena. “Everything okay?” She asked as they walked around the city. “They’re so rude to me sometimes.” He said as they sat down on a bench. “I’m sorry.” She said as she looked over at him. He would never admit this out loud but he hated the way that made him feel.

“You’re the only one that’s not rude to me.” He points out and she shrugs, “I don’t think anyone deserves to be treated like shit.” She said and he looked at her, “Is that all?” He asked her. “What do you mean?” She asked and he got up. She got up as well and chased after him, “John.” She said and grabbed his arm, he turned towards her looking more pissed than before. “What?” He nearly growled. “What’s the matter? Did I say something wrong?” She asked.

He shook his head, “I just thought that you were nice to me because you liked me.” Her eyes widened, “Oh well-“ He started walking away again. “John, I love you.” She yelled causing him to stop. “I just didn’t want you to think that was the only reason I was being nice.” She told him and he walked back to her.

“You really mean that?” He asked, softly. She nodded, “Yes.” He took a second to look at her before kissing her. Her hands immediately went to his face as she kissed back. She felt water dripping on her and pulled away, it was raining. “How romantic.” She joked and pulled him closer. His hair was sticking to his forehead, “I think it’s perfect.” He said and she nodded. 

They were gone for a few hours before returning to the tower covered in rain and holding hands. The others started clapping and cheering, causing them to stop walking and look at them, “Told ya it would work.” Bucky said. They planned this. “Wait, you guys bullied him into coming to me so this would happen?” She asked, not exactly pleased with them. “Yes, that was the plan.” Ava said and before Y/N could scowl them John laughed and pulled her to his side. “I guess I should thank you guys.” He said. “You owe me $20.” “You bet on us?” 

[not-delusional-at-all]

Wrong Name pt 3.

MDNI 18+

CW: cheating, mentions of sex, stalking?, catfishing

Ghost x femreader

Simon is cooking up plans.

Here's the links to pt.1 and pt.2

I'll more than likely post a pt.4 tomorrow or friday

It had been roughly a year since you and Simon broke up, since he had been caught cheating. You've been with your new boyfriend for roughly seven or eight months now. You're happier than ever. That night where Simon said the wrong name and it felt like your world was falling apart is a distant memory now. You don't even hardly think of Simon anymore.

He hasn't bothered you since you blocked him on everything months ago. You've been at peace and thriving.

Simon on the other hand, has been a mess. He's still watching you from afar on his burner profiles. His blood boils anytime he sees a picture of you with your new boyfriend.

He practically saw red when he saw that your new boyfriend took you on a vacation for your birthday. To a place that you and him always talked about going one day when he had the time. That was supposed to be him with you not your new boytoy.

That was when he decided enough time had passed and he needed to somehow get between you and this new guy before you got too attached.

Before you forget about him.

He decided to start small. He made a couple fake profiles pretending to be women and added your boyfriend. He liked all of your boyfriend's posts and commented on them posing as these women.

Seems innocent enough.

But you started to notice these women always commenting on his posts, so you asked your boyfriend about it. His response was "I don't know who they are". Which fair. He doesn't know who they are, but why is letting them flirt with him?

You pushed those thoughts to the back of your head. "He's not like Simon" you tell yourself over and over.

From then on, Simon learned where your boyfriend works and figured out what car he drives. Simon took this as an opportunity to plant fake evidence of cheating and broke into the car quietly- leaving no sign of a breakin. He left a tube of lipgloss in the door, a couple bright colored hair ties on the floor and even a fake nail under the passenger seat.

But he didn't stop at leaving random objects in your boyfriend's car. He even messed with the passenger seat to make it seem like someone else had been in the car.

If he had any of your shoes, he would have pressed them to the back windshield to make it look like your boyfriend had sex with another girl back there but he figured he planted enough fake evidence.

Now he just sits back and waits for the fallout and prays that it goes his way. He needs you like he needs oxygen and he feels like he's slowly suffocating the longer he's without you.

[leviruthan]

they find out your yaoi

characters : idia shroud, kalim al asim, malleus draconia, riddle rosehearts, leona kingscholar, lilia vanrogue

note : I've never played the game (unfortunately) feel free to point out mistakes, also first post

IDIA SHROUD

idia hacked into your computer to help you fix a technical issue and accidentally opened a folder labeled with a vague name, or obvious name

you can imagine his hair turns pink as soon as he processes the contents

what is wrong with you?! he can't believe you're into...that kind of stuff! it's so...lewd!

if he told you that you'd say "yeah like you haven't watched any hent-" don't say anymore he's dying

he needs to cleanse his eyeballs with holy water

he'd be mortified and probably avoid eye contact with you for weeks

KALIM AL ASIM

in his usual boundless enthusiasm, kalim was helping you decorate your room for a party

he accidentally pulled down a shelf, and several of your books tumbled out, revealing their covers

kalim would blink, his eyes wide with innocent curiosity

"woah! [Name], these stories look amazing! all these guys are so close! are they, like, best friends? is this a story about really strong friendships? can we read them together sometime? it looks super fun!"

he'd be completely oblivious to the romantic/erotic subtext and just see it as a tale of close camaraderie

he might not immediately grasp the romantic implications, seeing it more as a story about close bonds

he's too innocent for this please be careful and keep the 18+ ones away

MALLEUS DRACONIA

malleus found a volume of your manga that had fallen out of your bag while you were walking in the gardens

he picked it up, curious about the artwork

malleus would tilt his head, his expression unreadable

"...fascinating. these...bonds between individuals are quite...intense. is this a common form of...human connection? it seems to inspire great passion. i must admit, i find myself...intrigued. perhaps you could enlighten me further on the nuances of this...genre, y/n?"

he'd be genuinely curious and surprisingly open-minded, though maybe a little clueless

I fear you'll have to teach him about something lilia didn't either

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

he was tidying your desk because you weren't doing it properly, of course

and a manga slipped out from under a textbook. the cover had two rather handsome gentlemen looking… quite close

he picked it up, brow furrowed, and flipped through a few pages before his cheeks flushed crimson like his hair

a very quiet and scandalized "good heavens" can be heard

he'd quickly place the manga back exactly where he found it, pretending he never saw it

later he might subtly inquire about your reading preferences, perhaps suggesting some "proper" literature

he'd be internally conflicted – on one hand, it's probably against the rules for a student to be reading.... such things

but on the other, it's your personal interest, if it brings you happiness then...

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

he was napping in his usual spot, happened to lean against your backpack and a book with suspicious cover slipped out

a low chuckle would escape him, he'd raise an eyebrow, a smirk spreading across his face

"herbivore's got some interesting tastes"

he wouldn't be particularly surprised or bothered. in fact, he might find it slightly amusing

will definitely tease you about it later though

LILIA VANROUGE

he was simply being his usual mischievous self, scaring you with his presence out of the blue

and well you were reading, you would try to hide it

being the curious creature (and nosy) he is, of course he wouldn't let you!

after taking it from you, he decided to take a closer look. the content made his eyes twinkle with amusement

a soft, delighted chuckle

"oh my"

a wide, knowing smile would be gracing his lips

he'd find it rather endearing and perhaps even a little bit funny

he'd see it as another interesting facet of your personality

might share some real stories too who knows

[baigepueckers]

Caitlin Clark X Reader

Out of Frame Part 3

The morning creeps in soft and gray. Rain patters against Caitlin’s apartment window like it’s trying to lull her back to sleep, but it’s too late for that. She’s already up, already sitting on the edge of her bed with her phone in her hands staring at a blank screen and pretending she isn’t waiting for your name to light it up.

It doesn’t.

She scrolls through your old messages instead. Most are work related…shoot schedules, post approvals, quick jokes about captions or emoji choices…but there are a few that linger. Ones where you sent her photos just because the lighting hit her right. A few where she made you laugh so hard you forgot to hit send on the final edit. One where you told her she looked calm. She had stared at that one for a few minutes.

Calm.

She doesn’t feel calm now.

Practice is still hours away, but she heads in early…hoping muscle memory will drown the static in her head. The gym lights are dimmed when she gets there, the air still cool and untouched. She dribbles alone for a while, letting the sound echo, until it becomes rhythm instead of noise.

She almost misses you.

You’re sitting cross legged on the floor near the sideline, camera in your lap, scrolling through preview frames. You’re wearing that oversized crewneck you always throw on when you’re editing…navy blue, sleeves baggy on your arms, thumb absently toying the drawstring as you hum under your breath.

She freezes mid dribble.

You haven’t seen her yet. And for a second, she’s tempted to leave. Pretend she wasn’t here first. Pretend she didn’t spend last night writing and deleting a confession she still doesn’t have the guts to say aloud.

But then your name slips from her mouth.

You glance up immediately, that warm look spreading across your face before your eyes fully focus on her.

“Didn’t think anyone else would be here yet” you say, your voice still rough from the early hour. “You okay?”

Her pulse stutters.

She drops her shoulders and nods. “Yeah. Just needed to shoot. Clear my head.”

You pat the floor beside you like it’s reserved. “Stay a bit. You’ve got time.”

She doesn’t even hesitate.

The ball rolls to a stop near your feet. You pick it up, spinning it idly between your palms like you’ve done it a thousand times. Your fingers brush the seams with a kind of familiarity that makes her chest ache.

“I’ve been going through some B roll,” you murmur. “I think I caught one of your assists from yesterday in a perfect tracking shot.”

“You didn’t even look at me yesterday” Caitlin says before she can stop herself.

The words come out softer than she intended…half hurt, half sarcastic, fully vulnerable.

You blink.

“I…what?”

She tries to shrug, but it lands wrong…stiff and too casual. “You were busy with the new guy. I didn’t think you saw.”

You frown, setting the ball down carefully.

“Caitlin…”

She doesn’t let you say anything else. The words inside her are too close to the surface now, pulsing with every beat of her heart.

“I hate that he made you laugh.”

Silence.

It drops between you like a pin in an empty room.

You straighten, eyes searching hers. “What?”

“I saw you two. You were laughing. Smiling. Standing close.”

Your brows draw together, confusion laced with something else. “He was asking about shutter speed.”

“You touched his wrist.”

“I was adjusting the lens….”

“You’ve never done that for me,” she says quietly.

Your mouth opens, then closes. She watches you cycle through thoughts you’re not sure how to voice.

She knows she’s not making sense. Or maybe she’s making too much sense. Either way, she can’t stop.

“I just….” she runs a hand through her hair, voice cracking. “I know it’s dumb. I know we’re just… this. But I liked thinking maybe it was more. Even if you didn’t know it.”

She finally looks at you. And it nearly guts her.

Because you don’t look mad. You don’t even look confused anymore. You look gentle. Guarded, but soft.

“Caitlin” you say again, slower this time. “Why would it matter if I laughed at him?”

Her breath catches.

She wants to tell you everything…that you’re all she thinks about, that your smile is the only thing keeping her anchored most days. That she’s rewritten every interaction with you a hundred different ways in her head just to see how they might end.

Instead, she says, “Because I want to be the one who makes you laugh like that.”

You go quiet.

She sees your throat bob as you swallow, something unreadable flashing in your eyes.

And for a second, she thinks maybe she’s ruined everything.

Then.

“I didn’t laugh at him” you murmur.

Her brows pull together.

“Not really,” you continue. “I was being polite. I thought you were ignoring me. You didn’t even say hi at shootaround.”

Caitlin looks away, shame flooding her chest. “I couldn’t. I was… I didn’t trust myself to sound normal.”

You shift closer. Just barely. Your knees touch.

“I always notice you,” you say softly. “Even when I shouldn’t.”

She lifts her gaze again.

Your smile is small. Real.

“Maybe we’re both terrible at saying things,” you add.

Something tight in her chest loosens, just enough for air.

She laughs, breathless. “We should probably work on that.”

You bump her knee. “Probably.”

Neither of you moves. The silence between you now is warmer, not thick with tension, but pulsing with something else.

Promise.

Still unspoken. Still fragile.

But real.

[cap-trio]

No Grave Can Hold My Body Down (I'll Crawl Home to Her)

Summary: After a bad fight, Matt ends up in a coma. Unsure if he's going to make it or not, you decide to finally get something off your chest. It feels safer to confess assuming he most likely can't hear you, but when Matt wakes up, you find out you were wrong.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Tags: Angst, fluff, friends to lovers, love confessions

TW: Mention of a coma and hospitals

Word count: 4.5K | Read on AO3

You get the phone call on a Tuesday night.

It started as a typical day; you got up at 6:00 on the dot to get ready for work. Matt met you at your door at 7:30 to walk with you, despite your numerous protests you could make it to work fine on your own. Not to mention your apartment was out of his way by ten minutes. But he knew about the danger that lurked around every corner of Hell’s Kitchen and when it came to you, he wasn’t going to take any chances.

Foggy’s name lights up your phone. Nothing out of the ordinary, but things go south as soon as you accept the call. “Hey, what’s -”

“Matt’s in the hospital,” he interrupts. “He’s in a coma.”

The phone falls to the ground, and you ignore Foggy’s voice calling your name. You don’t care that the screen is definitely cracked. You have tunnel vision and can only focus on Matt. You hear Foggy repeatedly asking if you’re okay and that you’re still on the line.

Sinking to the ground, you pick the phone back up. “Sorry, I’m here. What hospital?”

After getting the address, you make it there in record time. You don’t even bother waiting for the elevator, instead climbing the stairs two at a time to floor five. The ICU.

Foggy and Karen greet you in the lobby. Both look disheveled, with fresh tears on their cheeks, dark circles under their eyes, and hair askew from constantly running their hands through it. “What happened? Is he…” going to make it? You can’t bring yourself to finish the question. If you don’t say it, you won’t accidentally speak it into existence. You don’t want to let your thoughts go down that path, but how can you not?

“Fisk got to him,” Karen’s voice is low. “We don’t know what Matt told them happened, or if he said anything at all.”

“He called me, and I knew this was worse than the other times. He could barely breathe and then he passed out. I called 911, then you guys. It’s just been a waiting game.” Foggy takes a deep breath. “All I could make out was something about Fisk and how he got the upper hand this time.”

It takes every last ounce of strength not to collapse to the floor. Karen notices and leads you over to the seating area. “When can I see him?”

“We aren’t sure; they haven’t left his room. No updates yet, ” Foggy replies. 

You were on a mission to get to the hospital as fast as you could. Now that you’re here, everything hits you like a truck. It’s a pain you’ve never felt before, like someone carved a hole in your chest, ripping out your heart like they were pulling weeds out of a garden, leaving you hollow. So hollow you can’t even cry. Everything is just numb like the switch controlling your emotions was flipped off. It’s like an out-of-body nightmare; you’re aware it’s not real, but you’re stuck anyway, forced to live in it. What you wouldn’t give for this to only be a fucked up dream. 

The three of you sit in the lobby, hands interlocked, waiting in silence. Between the fluorescent lighting beating down like the sun, the faint sound of heart monitors, and the receptionists carrying on conversations like you weren’t at risk of losing your friend, you knew you couldn’t handle it for much longer before going crazy.  

Maybe that would be okay though. It would prove you could still feel something other than the shell of who you were an hour ago. 

“Am I broken?” Your voice is just above a whisper. “Why am I not breaking down in tears? Or having a panic attack?”

“It’s a stressful situation. Your body doesn’t know how to respond, so it’s pretty much just…not. It’s normal to shut down, so I promise you aren’t broken,” Karen assures you.

“I’m at the same level. I don’t want this to be real, so my body is responding like it’s not. Like this is all some fucked up dream,” Foggy adds.

For some reason, Foggy’s words are what bring on the tears. Not a gut-wrenching sob like you had expected, but still something. “Shit, was it something I said?” He asks.

“No. Yes,” you let out a small laugh. “I was just thinking how grateful I am that you two are here with me. If I were alone…” You don’t finish the thought, and you don’t need to. They know exactly what you mean.

Karen pulls you in for a hug, shedding a few tears herself. Foggy tries to brush off how he’s doing the same. The receptionist notices and quietly brings over an extra box of tissues and gives an apologetic smile. The sound of the door opening separates you three in hopes it’s any sort of update, but they go to the other family waiting.

An hour passes. You don’t move from your seat.

Another hour. Foggy goes to the vending machine for snacks. You don’t eat.

The third hour is when the panic really starts to seep in. You don’t want to be one of those people, but you’re about to go to the desk and demand some sort of update. Instead, you pace around the lobby to try and release the nervous energy.

The sound of the doors opening again freezes you in your tracks. Finally, a doctor appears. “Murdock crew?” She calls out. The three of you race over, but she says, “It’s best if we sit down.” Nervous glances are shared. That’s a telltale sign things are most definitely not good.

“So, I’ll start by saying Matthew has improved since he first arrived. Vitals are almost where we want them, but he needs to stay in a medically induced coma while we continue working on him. I don’t want to make any guarantees as he’s still in bad shape. Matthew is suffering from a concussion, several broken ribs, and internal bleeding. The coma could last up to a month, depending on whether or not he shows signs of recovery.”

Whether or not. Her words ring in your ears. Or not. Or not. Or not. 

“But he’ll live, right? People have survived worse. He’ll be fine. Right?” Foggy sounds delirious, not that you can blame him. It’s not the update you guys were hoping for.

“Like I said, I don’t want to make any promises. I’m sorry I can’t give any definitive answers. Just know we’re working our absolute hardest.”

“Can we at least see him?” You beg.

“Not tonight, unfortunately. We’re hoping he’ll be ready for visitors in the next few days. We’ll keep you guys updated. For now, I recommend getting some rest and making sure you’re fed and hydrated. In stressful times, we tend to shut down and not take care of ourselves. We’ll call if anything changes, good or bad.”

Good or bad. Or bad. Or bad. Or bad. 

“Thank you,” Karen says with a small smile.

She leaves the three of you alone again. “I don’t want to go home,” you admit. If something happens and you aren’t here, you’ll never forgive yourself. 

“They don’t let people stay overnight,” Foggy sighs. “My apartment is the closest, why don’t we all head there and at least try to sleep?”

You’re all too exhausted to walk, so Karen hails a taxi. No one speaks, not even the driver. He takes one look at your group, mumbles a “sheesh” to himself, and starts the drive to Foggy’s apartment. 

He provides some pajamas for you and Karen while you all set up camp in the living room. Phones charging and on the loudest setting, you all settle into your positions for the night. Karen on the couch, you on an air mattress, Foggy on the loveseat. It would almost be a fun sleepover if not given the circumstances. Not to mention how empty it feels without Matt.

You weren’t sure you’d be able to sleep, but the fatigue kicks in and you can’t resist it any longer. Hoping to get an escape from this hell, you close your eyes and slip into an escape.

“We’re sorry. We tried everything, but Matthew wasn’t able to pull through. You’re welcome to come in and say your goodbyes. Again, our condolences. He was a fighter.” A painful sob comes from deep within you. You don’t even recognize yourself, everything feels raw and cracked. Grief fills you to the brim, like a thick smoke clouding your lungs, enough to leave you choking and gasping for air. You follow behind Foggy and Karen to say your goodbyes to Matt. The sight of him lying lifeless in the hospital bed sends you collapsing to the floor.

You wake with a scream. Foggy and Karen shoot up, immediately asking what happened. You can’t answer yet; your body takes a second to come back to reality and recognize it was just an awful dream. But it could happen, a twisted voice reminds you. 

“I’m so sorry. I was having a nightmare, and it felt so real,” you sigh. 

“It’s okay, we’re here,” Karen squeezes your hands. “I think we all had the same dream.”

Foggy nods in agreement. “Just wanted to get some rest, but here we are.” He chuckles humorlessly. 

No one knows what to say next. Nothing can be said to make anyone feel better; trying would be pointless. It would all just feel like one person is saying what everyone wants to hear when really, no one has a clue how this will play out.

“Maybe we watch a movie? It doesn’t seem like sleep is an option, and it might be somewhat of a distraction,” Karen suggests. 

It’s better than sitting in silence, especially when that silence invites dark thoughts to creep in, so Foggy fires up the TV and finds the most absurd comedy he can find.

Eventually, the three of you are able to doze off again by the time a second movie plays. No bad dreams happen this time, but the sound of someone's ringtone jostles everyone awake. The small amount of light peaking in lets you know it's sometime the next day, but everything feels disorienting.

Foggy answers and puts the phone on speaker. “Hello, we’d like to let you know Matt is ready for visitors. Our visiting hours are from 9:00 a.m to 9:00 p.m every day. If anything about that changes, we’ll reach out.” 

“Thank you so much,” Foggy says before hanging up. Everyone takes a few minutes to freshen up before catching a cab back to the hospital. Anxiety courses through you, though it's different from last night. You’re not sure what you're going to say to Matt, or how he’ll look; you feel entirely unprepared. Having Karen and Foggy with you makes it a little less scary at least.

Karen checks in with the receptionist, and five minutes later a nurse comes to let the three of you in. She pauses outside his door. “I want to warn you that he looks pretty beaten up. It won't be easy seeing him in this state, but having someone with him might be good for his recovery.”

She has everyone take a deep breath before opening the door. Matt looks similar to how he did in your nightmare, all bloody and bruised, hooked up to various machines with tubes. You’ve seen him after a fight before, even helped clean him up, but it was never like this. Not even what the nurse said could’ve prepared you. 

“What should we say to him? Anything that could make him wake up?” You ask.

“Hearing familiar voices is good no matter what. We recommend just telling him about your day, or maybe reading him a book he likes. Anything that feels right for you.”

None of this feels right, you want to scream. Instead you thank her for the tips. 

“I’ll leave you guys alone, but feel free to press that button if you need anything at all.” She gestures to a CALL button near Matt’s bed before slipping out the door.

It's silent at first while everyone takes in the sight of him. 

“Maybe tell him a story from college?” You suggest to Foggy. “It might be good to hear something familiar.”

He launches into the avocados at law story which has you and Karen laughing. You would’ve loved to have known them back then.

“I don’t think anything I say will top that,” Karen says. “I don’t even know what to say, anyway.”

Foggy assures her anything will be better than nothing, so she tearfully tells Matt how grateful she is for her and Foggy’s help during her trial. It moves you and Foggy to tears too, and everyone ends up a blubbery mess.

“Sorry to kill the mood,” she chuckles. “What’ve you got?” She asks you.

You decide to tell him about the first day he showed up at your apartment to walk you to work. How you weren’t expecting him at all, given that you’d only been friends for a few weeks at that point and he never mentioned he would be there. How even though you poked fun at him for it at first, he makes you feel safer and you’re lucky to have him.

“I didn’t even know he does that,” Karen says.

“I always thought it was weird when he’d be late for work when it wasn’t related to his…activities,” Foggy adds, not knowing if anyone outside the room could hear. “He really loves us all, huh?”

That brings on more tears. How grateful are you all to have someone like Matt in your lives?

“Alright, I think I’ve had enough crying for the rest of my life,” Karen laughs.

“I think it’d be good to talk about our day like the nurse suggested,” you say. “Not after we found out what happened, but before that.”

And that’s what the three of you do for the next week and a half, once a day and always together. Foggy brings up the idea of doing separate visits, suggesting it might be good for some alone time with him. 

Your first visit alone is awkward. Without Karen and Foggy to describe your days together, you aren’t sure what to say. It’s like trying therapy for the first time, knowing you have things to talk about, but being too scared to bring anything up, making it feel too real.

His progress has been up and down, worrying you that it might stay like that for months. Or years. And there is one thing that Matt doesn’t know about you, a secret you’ve acknowledged and thrown into a locked box, refusing to open it. The sick, dark voice from before warns you this may be the only chance you get to tell him.

“Hi, Matt. It’s just me today; we decided it might be good to spend some alone time with you. Uh, today was alright. We went to Josie’s, played some pool, and had a few beers. Felt empty without you though. I’m trying to stall here because I want to tell you something. Something big. But I’m terrified, and a wuss, so I have to do it while you probably can’t hear me or respond at all.” You laugh at yourself for being so ridiculous. 

“Well, here goes nothing,” you pause. “So uh, I’m kind of in love with you? Not sure why I phrased it like a question. I know I’m in love with you, and it scares the shit out of me. We’ve known each other for years, and I don’t know if telling you is worth the risk. I care about you too much to let some feelings get in the way. So yeah, that’s my secret.”

You’re not sure if you feel better or worse now that it’s out there. It feels good to get it off your chest, but nothing has really changed by admitting it. Matt will continue to be oblivious to your feelings while you have to continue carrying them around.

Exhaustion kicks in and you slump back in the chair. Just as your eyes begin to drift shut, you hear a groan and shoot awake. Matt starts stirring, mumbling to himself, and you watch helplessly before adrenaline kicks in.

“Nurse! I need a nurse!” You shout into the hallway. They instruct you to wait in the hall; on your way out, you see Matt’s eyes open and you let out a gasp. You swear you see him reach for you, but you’re also feeling a bit delirious so it could be your mind playing tricks on you.

You call Karen and Foggy with the news. Less than ten minutes later, the three of you are standing outside of his room, playing another round of the dreaded waiting game. You fill them in on the moments leading up to Matt waking up, purposefully leaving out details of the conversation.

Thirty minutes go by until one of the nurses comes into the hallway. “He’s awake and stable. You can come in and see him, but I’ll warn he may be slightly out of it.” 

Matt gives a weak smile as the three of you enter. “How do I look?” 

“Out of it, my ass,” Foggy laughs. “You look like shit.”

“Ouch. Aren’t you supposed to be nice to someone in a hospital bed? A blind man I might add.”

“Little too late to be playing the blind card,” Karen adds.

He turns in your general direction. “What’s your verdict?”

“I’m with these two. You’ve looked better.”

It feels good to be joking around like this again. Things certainly aren’t back to normal, but this is a step in the right direction.

“Even though you hurt my feelings, could we talk alone for a second?” 

Foggy and Karen exchange a look and turn to raise their eyebrows at you. You shrug, indicating you’re not sure what this is about.

“I better get some alone time too,” Foggy pouts.

“There’s plenty of me to go around.”

Your friends leave, and as soon as the door shuts you feel like you’re suffocating with anxiety. What could he want to talk about that he couldn’t say in front of his best friends?

“Can I ask you about something?”

“Of course. Anything.” Your voice shakes when you answer. 

“Earlier, right before I woke up, I thought I heard you say you’re in love with me.” 

Panic settles in hard and fast, like being taken under by a cold ocean wave when your back is facing the water, unexpected and unpleasant. 

Fuck. 

“That’s not a question.” Stupid. It's the only thing your brain can think of to say, trying to delay the shitstorm that’s brewing. 

“Okay,” his mouth quirks up into a small smile, trying to cover a laugh. He knows you well enough to know what you're doing. “Let me rephrase - are you in love with me?”

“I uh, no. I’m not. Must've been a crazy coma dream or something!” Your laugh that follows is too loud and brash to sound even remotely convincing.

“You’re lying.” There isn’t any uncertainty in his voice. He says it like it’s a known fact and not an educated guess. 

“Wow, I feel like I should be offended,” you huff. You’re not sure why you’re angry at him when he’s right. Or maybe you’re angry that this conversation is even happening when you vowed to take these feelings to the grave. “I promise I’m not.”

“You are.” The way he emphasizes the word sucks all the air out of the room. That one word makes everything feel different. It’s confirmation you can’t brush this conversation off. Matt isn’t going to let it go.

“Jesus Matt, can we just drop it? I told you, I never said it. I don’t know why you can’t believe me. And is this really the most important thing to be focusing on right now?”

“To me? Yes, it is that important. And I can tell you’re lying.”

You roll your eyes. He knows even though he can’t see it, because he knows you. “Because of what, my laugh? I admit I sounded weird, but -”

He cuts you off. “It was your heartbeat.” He’s frustrated that you can’t understand, as if this is some normal thing people can do, or like he’s mentioned it before and it’s something you just casually forgot. Like you would ever forget something like that. 

You snort at how unbelievable this situation has gotten. “My heartbeat? What the hell are you talking about?” 

Surely this is a weird side effect of the concussion. Maybe he’s hearing things now? Or he’s playing some weird prank on you? You should probably call the nurse back in.

“I can hear people’s heartbeat. When they lie, it changes rhythms. When you said you aren’t in love with me it got faster. So I’m asking you again, are you in love with me?”

“Matt, you can’t just brush that off like it isn’t the most insane thing I’ve ever heard! You expect me to believe you, especially when you can’t prove it? Look, I’m gonna call in the nurse and have her check your head because clearly, the concussion isn’t any better.” 

You reach for the call button but he grabs your wrist before you can press it. Warmth spreads across the spots where his fingers are touching you. Now is not the time you try to relay that message to your body. It doesn’t listen.

He lets go of your wrist and sighs. “Have I ever lied to you?”

“Yes. You constantly made up excuses when you’d show up to work with mysterious bruises or cuts. Not gonna work in this argument.”

“I didn’t realize we were arguing,” he raises an eyebrow. “But to be fair, that was only to keep you safe. Have I ever lied about anything else?”

“I don’t know, I can’t hear your heartbeat.”

Now he rolls his eyes. “I know you’re trying to avoid talking about it. But please know I wouldn’t make something like this up. After the accident, my senses got heightened more than what would happen to the average person. I know it seems like I’m an asshole for keeping something like this private, like I use it to take advantage of people, but I don’t. Even when someone lies, I don’t force them into telling the truth. It’s a blessing and a curse.”

He sounds exhausted, and can you blame him? Having to live with this gift, but knowing he can’t really do anything with it, would take a toll on anyone. 

But he’s also putting you in an uncomfortable position, despite claiming he doesn’t use it against people. “So why are you doing it to me now?”

“I’m sorry. We can drop it, but don’t you want to know why I’m so hung up on this? Why I’m seconds away from getting on my knees and begging you to tell the truth?”

Yes. No. Because admitting that makes this all too real. Too scary. It opens up a door you want to bolt shut because it allows too many what-ifs into the mix. What if things don’t work out? What if you work better as friends and break up, making everything complicated? You could write a whole book full of different scenarios.

But there is another possibility: what if Matt loves you too? 

It’s enough to make you want to unlock the door and throw it open. “I do.”

Time seems to stand still. You both know what’s coming, and it scares the hell out of you, but it’s worth it. He’s worth it.

“Tell the truth. Please, I want to hear you say it.”

You already did, you want to point out. But now isn’t the time to be a smart ass, not with the way his gaze is piercing you and the tension rising with every second unspoken. 

“I’m in love with you, Matt.”

Thump. Thump. Thump. The sound is music to his ears, better than any song he’s heard. If he wasn’t ruined by you before, he sure is now.

“I’m in love with you too.”

“Good, or else that would’ve been really embarrassing.”

He laughs. “Now was that so hard to admit?”

“Oh please! You didn’t give me much of an option.” You deepen your voice in a terrible attempt to mock him, “I’m Matt and I can hear people’s heartbeats, so I know when they lie. I’m in love with you too, but instead of saving time and saying that, I’m gonna make you do it first. Even though I clearly heard you before.” 

You both erupt into laughter; you can physically feel yourself getting lighter as the crushing weight of tension leaves your body. 

“I’m never going to get over hearing you say that,” he admits.

“I won’t either.” You pause, feeling a shift in the conversation tone. “I honestly never wanted you to know. I only said it because I was scared of losing you, and it was a cowardly way of getting it off my chest. I tried convincing myself maybe you also felt that there was always something more between us, but then I’d get in my head and decide you didn’t. Decided it wouldn’t be worth losing you if I said something and you turned me down, but then I thought I’d lose you in a different way.” Your voice cracks at the end, and you force the tears back in, hating that you’re making things serious again. 

“I’ve always felt it,” Matt confesses. “I never wanted to pressure you or make things weird if I misread the signs. Am I happy this is what it took for us to be together? Of course not, I pictured this moment a million different ways, and not one involved a hospital. But I am happy it happened. So unbelievably happy.”

“I am too. I’ve wanted this for years.”

“I really want to kiss you, but…” he gestures to his current state. 

“We can make it work. We’ll just be careful.”

“I’ll make it up to you when I’m healed,” he smirks. He gets a little cocky from how he can make your heartbeat quicken, and how intimate it is that only the two of you can experience it together.

“Such a tease,” you roll your eyes, leaning down inches from his mouth.

“You’re one to talk.”

And then his mouth is on yours.

His hands cup your chin while yours rests on his hip, careful not to apply any pressure. You can both feel the other holding back; his lips are just grazing yours, but it’s enough to feel like hot lava is coursing through you. If his lingering touches over the years left sparks in their wake, kissing him is like being electrocuted. It’s delicate and sweet and you’re overwhelmed with how right it feels. The only thing on Matt’s mind are you and more, but he knows this is just the beginning. 

So instead he focuses on the now, mentally adding this moment to a scrapbook of memories filled with you.

[sturniolo04]

could you write this fic a wedding fic about Chris and i want everything, i want absolute tooth-rotting fluff i want love and emotions, i want Chris being stressed before the wedding and Matt and Nick calming him down, i want his reaction to seeing her in the dress, the kiss, the oath, EVERYTHING

A/n:  wait I am in love with thiss!! I absolutely love these requests I have coming in, you guys are amazing!! I hope you love it! And remember to leave requests in my inbox! If you don’t like the pre added name in my works you can simply put in your own or don’t read it, it up to you :)-Charli

dividers: @issysh3ll

You always thought when the big day finally happened you wouldn't be nervous or be overwhelmed at all which was the furthest from the truth ever.

Leading up to this very day has been a journey nonetheless and now it was finally here. You stood in front of the floor length mirror in your wedding dress your childhood best friend and mom helped you pick out. You softly sigh admiring the detail in the dress feeling a little well.

"nervous"

you mom questions watching you admire yourself in the mirror as you let your head softly nod 'yes'.

"dont be what make this day any different"

your mom trails off coming up behind you and fixing your hair over your shoulders to lay perfectly just they way Chris likes it. Also being care not to disturb up the array of flowers within the style.

"only everything this is forever mom"

you softly reply to her looking at her through the mirror with a nervous expression painted on your face.

"sweetie you look gorgeous you will be just fine i promise"

she softly chuckles out giving you a slight hug resting her chin on your bare shoulder you comfortingly place your hands on her arms letting out a soft sigh.

"plus not to mention i bet your not the only one that is nervous"

she chuckles out giving you a lovingly squeeze of reassurance as you let out a light giggle.

Your mom definitely was right about you not being the only one with the big day scaries. Chris couldn't help but spiral into a series of thoughts of how everything could go wrong out of all days despite you two being in an extremely good place before this day arrived.

"chris calm down everything is going to be fine"

matt mutters out trying to get him to calm down and not stress out minutes before the wedding was going to start. Chris didn't mean any harm he was nervous.

"but what if everything isnt fine what if she changes her mind"

chris rambles out fidgeting with every piece of his suit he was wearing. Matt rolls his eyes at him.

"she wont you two were made for each other the last thing she would do is change her mind chris"

nick reasons with him.

"you dont know that nick"

chris mumbles out as nick hold his hands up in defense looking at marylou who finally made her way into the room.

"hey"

marylous trails off grabbing chris softly by his hands to get him to take a deep breath and face her.

"its going to be fine why do you think she would change her mine and seriously give me a valid reason"

marylou asks her youngest firmly and lovingly holding his hands as he lets out a deep sigh not coming up with a one because there wasn't one.

"exactly youre just nervous"

marylous giggles out a little trailing her hands to grab his shoulders to turn him to look in the mirror that was a few feet away from the pair.

"you got this i know you do because you are ready for this next chapter"

marylou sighs out looking at them in the reflection of the mirror.

"but how mom how do i know im ready how do i know i wont mess this up"

chris asks worried out of his mind.

"you wont mess it up my love im not saying everything is going to be easy but I know you will figure it out and you two will be okay you just have to trust in your relationship, trust in your fiancee and trust in yourself"

marylous replies softly rubbing chris' arm comfortingly. Chris lets out a shaky sigh of course he trusts his mom she is never wrong.

It was finally time, time. foryou to be escorted down the aisle to your soon-to-be husband. you nervous blow out a quick breath shaking her hands.

"its okay"

your dad mumbles out reaching his arm out for you to link on to hearing the soft cue of the music that is was time.

Chris couldnt help but let a soft smile play on his lips as he watches you come down the aisle. You looked breath taking. you looked unreal and he couldn't believe that your were his and only his.

You didn't realize you were holding a breath in until you were finally in front of him. Chris takes a hold of your hands as you let out a soft sigh letting out a nervous giggle in the process as well.

"Welcome family and friends. We are gathered here today to witness and celebrate the marriage of Christopher and Sophia. This is not the beginning of a new relationship but an acknowledgment of the next chapter in their lives together. Christopher and Sophia have spent years getting to know each other, and we now bear witness to what their relationship has become. Today, they will affirm this bond formally and publicly"

the officiant states welcoming everyone to the ceremony. You couldn't help but exchange glances with chris to see if he was just as nervous as you were in this moment.

"Christopher and Sophia will mark their transition as a couple not only by celebrating the love between themselves, but by also celebrating the love between all of us—including the love of their parents, siblings, extended family, and best friends. Without that love, today would be far less joyous"

He continues as he approaches the part that you could say you both were extremely nervous about. Reading each other your personal vows.

"Okay i promised myself i wasnt going to cry but hear I am um Chris from the moment I met you I knew you were my person. Its not hard for me to believe that we made it to this day because I knew you were it for me."

you trails off trying to keep the tears from falling and ruining your makeup catching a small smile from chris. You let out a nervous chuckle looking back down at your paper.

"and i promise that as your wife I will nothing but be your partner in crime. I promise to be lpove you unconditionally, to rock with you through thick and thin. I promise I will always be your best friend and biggest supporter first because that is what you have always been for me and I love you genuinely for that"

you sob out finishing the last sentence.

"okay um tough act to follow huh"

chris jokes through his nerves as the audience chuckles a little. chris lets out a deep breath beginning to scan the piece of paper in his hand of the vows he had written down for this day.

"Soph you will always be the light at the end of every tunnel I am in and I promise to be that light for you in your darkest moments and as your husband I vow to always help you walk through life even on the days were you dont think you can or have the strength to"

chris chokes out. Your hearts softens reaching a delicate hand up to his face wiping the tears away from his face chuckling a little at the simple action.

"i am truly the luckiest person alive to be able to call you my partner in life and my best friend and I am honored that I get to do life with you"

chris states through a shaky breath.

"By the power vested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may now kiss the bride!"

the officiant announces as yout let out a giggle as chris trails his hands to grab your face pulling your lips into his. The audience cheering.

"hi"

you softly speak up over the music at the reception as you rest your head on chris' shoulder.

"hi"

he chuckles out.

"sooo"

you trail off dragging out the 'o' still kind of in shock that you two are married.

"hm"

chris hums out his reply looking down at you placing a sweet kiss on top of your head.

"we are married now huh"

you giggle out feeling chris free hand trail underneath your chin to bring your face him to his.

"yeah we are"

chris chuckles out as he leaves a quick kiss on your raw lips with you smiling into the kiss.

Taglist🗂️

@mintsturniolo @spicymuffins03 @dirtylittleheart333

@stayingstromboli @wh0resstuff @ksturnz @chaoswithus @emely9274 @ivysturnss @sturniolo-szn2 @lezleeferguson-120 @courta13 @chrepsi @lyingonchris

@tezzzzzzzz @babytomatoes21 @sturniolosymphony @zenithsturniolo @bernardsbendystraws @sturnioloslut101

[cher111s]

Attention 

kuroo x reader

cw: f!reader,insults,suggestive? 

wc:1,5k

Kuroo Tetsurou. Oh, how you hate that name. He always had to be better than you. What started as innocent banter is now a full-blown rivalry. You were also selected as volleyball captain? Well, his team is better and more popular than your team. You got a 10 in your exam? He got an 11 because he did some extra activity. And it was ALWAYS like that, and it was infuriating. You just wanted to do your thing, but at the same time, there was something really exciting about rubbing in that you did better than him. Seeing his frustrated face gives you a feeling of joy no other thing could—well, maybe volleyball, but that's beside the point.

  

It's Monday again, so back to the routine it is. You got ready, uniform in check, picked up your bags, and started walking towards the school, scanning the streets for your best friend when you spotted her.

“Hey, good morning,” you smiled at your friend, waving as you approached her.

“Heyyy,” she said, looking at you as she shoved her phone into her pocket. “Looking fine today. Is this for your boyfriend?”

You looked at her like she was crazy. “What boyfriend?”

“You know who,” your friend replied as she laughed.

You furrowed your brows as you realized who she was talking about. “Haha, really funny,” you hissed as you pushed your friend.

 

Walking into class, you sat in your seat and got ready for class. You were hoping for a peaceful day, but no. The moment the teacher asked a question to the class, you felt confident to answer. As you were finishing your first word, that awful waste of a human interrupted you.

“Are you slow?” you snapped, looking at him slowly.

“No, but you are,” he said, mocking you as he gave that slick smile.

You looked at him in disbelief. Before you could even process what was going on, anger had already clouded your mind, because who in their right mind would get up and grab Kuroo by the shirt?

“Say that again, you dickhead. I dare you,” you shouted at him.

He was just as amused as everyone else in the class. What was wrong with you today? As he went back to reality, he yelled back at you,

“Get off me, you crazy psycho. You just want my attention, you whore!”

The teacher was screaming at you both to stop as your friends held you back from each other’s throats. The principal was called, and because Kuroo couldn't miss his volleyball practices, it was decided that you both had to do a month of extra cleaning as detention so, hopefully, you two start to get along.

The first week was horrible. You blamed each other for having to be there.

“This is all you. You could’ve just shut up, but no, you needed that attention moment. Main character vibes,” you said, mocking him as you cleaned a window.

“I can say the same to you, tough guy. All you want is to get noticed,” he replied spitefully.

You didn’t respond. You were too focused on trying to clean up a spot that was obviously too high for you. You looked at Kuroo from the side of your eye as he sighed and stretched his arm to clean the spot. You noticed just how toned they were, and you caught yourself looking too long.

The next two weeks were almost the same, but this time you just cleaned in silence most of the time instead of fighting or insulting each other. Small talk was added at the end of the third week—things like how the volleyball teams were doing or your favorite players.

The punishment ended just in time for the inter-school tournaments, and you two went back to normal. But you noticed how you saw him more often than before—how the teams had more meetups than usual, how you two took the same way back home for a short time, how almost every time you went out, he was there: running, with Kenma, or just doing anything. So you started paying more attention to him—the way he laughs, how he rests his hands against his hips when he seems proud of something, the way he cheers for others…

Ew. What was going on?

Nekoma’s boys team matches had ended for the day, so they decided to go see the girls play. Kenma and Kuroo sat together. As Kenma was playing, Kuroo observed the players. He usually focused more on the middle blockers, but his eyes drifted somewhere else—well, to someone else. He usually didn’t look at you much, only doing so to comment on the things you weren’t doing right, like how you did not set to the middle enough or how you weren’t too good at—

“You are really focused on her today,” Kenma commented without looking up from his game.

“You’re always so observant,” Kuroo laughed. “I guess you are right. I don’t know what’s going on with me.”

Kenma gave Kuroo the nastiest side-eye ever. “Is he stupid?” he thought.

Back at school, he couldn’t help but notice how you played with your hair when you were focused, or how you seemed to be everywhere now—everywhere he enjoyed going. One day he found himself looking at his report. Something didn’t seem right. He looked your way. He didn’t feel like making fun of you. He wanted to talk?

That was so out of character for him. But he didn’t have the balls—at least not in class.

You were getting ready to go to bed when your phone rang.

**/@tetsuku1_ wants to send you a message/**

You looked incredulously at the screen. “What??...”

You were confused to say the least. A few months ago you would have been annoyed and probably wouldn’t have responded. But now, it was different, and you didn’t know why. What changed in that month?

@tetsuku1_:hey it’s kuroo, nekomata told me to tell you that we have a captain meeting tomorrow

@sugarcane:sure, what time?

@tetsuku1_: at 21:30, after training basically

@sugarcane:okayy, see you there

@tetsuku1_:byee

Why did you respond that way? WHAT? You used to be so disgusted by him and now you feel butterflies just from the thought of being alone with him.

He felt almost the same way. He ran his fingers through his hair. It’s only been 2 months since that fight and he can’t figure out what changed. Being alone for some hours one month straight? Or was it the volleyball talks? Maybe being able to see you past the rivalry was not the best idea.

The next day in the meeting, the two of you were discussing team statistics as asked by Nekomata, who had to step out for a moment to take a call. You could cut the tension with a knife, but it wasn’t that hateful atmosphere of before. This was weird—the kind that made you look at him and feel your stomach do weird things. You were too focused on looking at the reflection of the court in his brown eyes when suddenly—

“Yeah, but I know you are not that bright,” he commented like it was nothing.

Your face fell. You tightened your fists as you looked incredulously at him. He just fucked up everything that happened in those 2 months.

“FUCKFUCKFUCK,”Kuroo thought.

 “I’m not what,” you said with a monotone tone.

 “I–I didn’t mean it that way,” Kuroo said in a panic.

But there was no use. You were already walking away. Kuroo looked at Nekomata, who was just walking in. He nodded for Kuroo to follow you.

“Wait! Come on, wait!” he yelled, catching up to you.

Finally, he reached you. He gripped your wrist, cornering you against a wall near the gym.

“Stop. Let me talk,” he said, looking down at you.

You were too in shock to answer, so you looked straight into his eyes and waited.

“It slipped. I didn’t mean it in a bad way—not this time. I just… sorry.”

You were looking straight into each other's eyes, completely out of the real world around.

“It’s okay, I guess. It’s just been so weird lately,” you said without breaking eye contact.

“What’s been weird?” he said, coming closer to you.

“You, me, us. I used to gag every time you were around, and since then I—”

You were interrupted by a firm hand caressing your face and stopping at your chin to make you look up at him.

“You can’t get enough of me,” he chuckled. “I know, because it’s the same for me. Need you, and I don’t know why,” he said as he closed the distance between the both of you.

[cressidagrey]

Galahad! Arthur!! Alex!!! So much development for everyone!!

First, I feel like you gave us a sneak peak of how Max will feel during the birth of his child 👀 the unshakable Max Verstappen, brought down by a baby? A likely story!

Second, Arthur putting in the work in silence by showing up? These are the actions of a man who knows he’s wrong and is going to learn from his mistakes!! Big progress from the guy who got dumped by his girlfriend because he didn’t notice her anymore.

Finally Alex, joining the WAG’s at McLaren? A BOLD MOVE! Especially with Emilie there 🫣 She better not try to use the little progress she has made with Belle to give Charles a chance to open his big mouth!!! (I say this like this is a real situation that may happen in real life 🤣🤣🤣 Although if that is what you have planned, I will eat it up 🥣)

Thank you for another amazing chapter queen 👸

-🐀

THE EVOLUTION!! Arthur, Alex, Galahad the Emotional Support Horse™ — everyone’s putting in work (except, you know, some people whose names rhyme with Barles Leclerc).

You clocked everything:

Max being undone by a baby? Yes. King of "I’m fine" until Belle squeezes his hand during labor and he breaks.

Arthur = quiet effort. Redemption arc activated.

Alex entering WAG territory at McLaren like it’s neutral ground? BOLD, possibly foolhardy, definitely delicious for plot.

[stoobfoobnoob]

let me do this for you

You're having a bad week, and Carmy notices.

5k words

Carmy x female reader, the beef era, I have no real knowledge of how a restaurant works lol, original character towards the middle ish with Jensen Ackles in mind, Richie being Richie, Carmy gets jealous and over thinks.

Walking into The Beef with noise-canceling headphones and the usual scowl on your face wasn’t what alarmed Carmy. It wasn’t the lack of greetings or eye contact. That was normal. You usually only spoke to the others when you got to your station and got situated for service. It was the look in your eyes. It was blank. Almost empty. 

“Ay-yo, Sebastian! You owe me five bucks!” Richie yelled from the front of the house. You two were friends. Great friends. Carmy always wondered how that started, and why you guys call each other different names almost daily. Today, you were Sebastian. What are you going to call Richie today? Yesterday, he was Vanessa. 

Carmy could hear Fak from the dining area warn Richie. 

“Dude? Didn’t you learn from last time?” He said, peeking through the window.

You came in last week, and Fak and Richie started bombarding you with questions about which one of them would win Survivor. Carmy could still picture the look on your face as they yelled in your ears. Deadpan and irritated, you said, 

“If the both of you don’t get out of my fucking face in two seconds, I’m shoving my knife so far up your asses you’re gonna taste the metal in your fucking mouths.” 

Carmy laughed to himself but quickly stopped when you turned to him and glared. Tina had to come in and set everybody straight.

“For what?” You were putting things into your locker. 

Richie gave Fak one of those looks, 

“The game! Your fucking loser Giants lost!” 

Carmy found out that you were from San Francisco when you got a notification on your phone from the SF Chronicles. 

He was impressed that you had a subscription to a newspaper.

He stalked your Instagram when he came back from New York after Mikey.

“You know what, Rebecca? I’m gonna keep my five dollars 'cause I never agreed to that fuckin' bet in the first place.”

Rebecca. Richie laughed, stormed into the kitchen, leaned on the counter, and started yapping. 

“Okay, Chef’s! We’re opening in 15. Syd- Brigade, remember? Tina, I need you on vegetable prep. Ebra, you’re on meat. Marcus, I can’t have dry bread again, please. Cousin, get back to your station. Jesus. Umm, Y/N, can you come to my office real quick?”

The cooks made it feel like you were headed to the principal's office. Carmy sits in his stained office chair and runs a hand through his hair. 

“I noticed you’ve been a bit slower on dinner service.” He’s fidgeting with the cord on the phone. You’re standing in front of him, all your weight on your left hip. 

“Sorry, Chef. Won’t happen again.” You said. There was a slight tone he picked up. Tired or annoyed. He couldn’t tell. 

“You okay?” He cares for all his employees. Carmy knows late nights and early mornings in a restaurant better than anyone. 

“I’m good, Chef. Thanks. I’ll pick up the pace.” You say as you’re already out of the office. 

Richie was outside eavesdropping the whole time, 

“Cousin, you never personally ask me if I’m okay.” He pouts.

“Shut up, get back to work,” he said, walking past him.

Syd’s station was already prepped and was doing rounds. You sighed, already knowing what she was gonna say. 

“Y/N, your sauce was good yesterday, but had too much salt.” 

Technically, you’re not in charge of sauce. At your last job, you were just a regular line cook. Ever since Carmy started running things, he’s been on everyone’s asses on stations and positions. Syd is enforcing that even harder now that she’s sous chef.

“Heard, Chef.” You’d fight it like any other cook in the business most of the time, defending your cooking like it was your dying breath, but today, you didn’t. Something was wrong. 

If Richie and Carmy weren’t yelling across the room, you and Richie would be going at it. If it wasn’t Richie you were fighting, it was Ebra (most of the time, it's you making fun of him for being old). Sometimes, when Fak was there, you gave him shit. You being this quiet was worrisome for everyone.

“Mama, you been gettin’ enough sleep?” Tina worried. 

You took a deep breath, trying not to burst into flames at her asking you. 

“Yeah, I’m good. Tina, I promise.” You smiled. 

Breakfast service wasn’t typically bad or hard to get through. Unless it was busier than usual, you just couldn’t get it together. Bumping into Ebra twice, almost knocking one of the pans off the stove. 

“Sebastian! I needed those fries for #12 like yesterday!” Richie yelled. 

“Y/N, fire two more beefs.” 

“I need the sauce for #9.” 

“Behind!”

Working in a restaurant is chaotic. Everyone knew that. 

“Y/N! These aren’t cooked, what the fuck are you doing?!” Richie’s voice was starting to get on your nerves. 

You open the door to the walk-in, not listening to the noise and the constant calling of your name.

A clash vibrated through the building, and Carmy was trying to take a backseat, preparing deliveries and orders for the week. 

The stock spilled all over the walk-in, and you were soaked. 

“Jesus fucking christ.” You said defeated. 

You’re standing there covered in beef stock and pieces of onion skin stuck to your cheek. Richie was laughing and trying to get a picture when Syd yelled for everyone to return to work and scrambled to get their orders done. Marcus was trying to help you out of the walk-in without slipping, and Tina was getting paper towels, 

“Y/N, you good?” Everyone is asking you, laughing, and making jokes. 

“SHUT THE FUCK UP PLEASE! I CAN CLEAN IT UP MYSELF.” 

“Get back to work, Chefs,” Carmy intervened. 

“I got it, Chef, get yourself cleaned up.”

You just walked straight out to the back and crouched with your hands over your face, trying to keep yourself from crying. Smelling like onions and celery, you pulled a half-soaked cigarette from your pocket. 

“Y/N. If you need a day off- take it,” He crouches beside you, offering a fresh cig from his pack.

“I don’t need a day off,” you said, taking the nasty habit you picked up from Mikey to your lips. Carmy lighting it up for you.

“You’re struggling today, we can see it. We all have bad days, chef.”

“Try bad week,” You laugh. 

Carmy knows bad weeks. Bad months. Bad years. He starts getting flashbacks to his French Laundry days. The late nights and overbearing white kitchen haunt him at this very moment.

“Talk to me,” Carmy said softly.

You take a deep breath and chuckle, 

“My car is in the shop and won’t be fixed until two weeks from now. My apartment is infested with roaches, my shower isn’t draining correctly, my plants are dying, I haven’t had a meal that has any nutritional value in days, I can’t sleep, I’m overstimulated and annoyed all the time, and the only thing getting me through the day is just being here at The Beef. Still, I can’t even get anything right here either. I literally smell like beef, and I’m yapping to my boss like a baby.” 

Carmy is staring at his shoe, taking in all the information you dumped on him. There’s an uncomfortable silence. 

“How are you?” You asked, gazing up at the clear Chicago sky, desperately trying to get rid of the awkwardness.

Carmy doesn’t remember the last time he’s been asked that with a genuine intention of knowing how he’s doing. You knew exactly what he was going through; everybody did. It’s hard not to know. 

“Well, service just started, and we’re already behind. N-not because of you or anything.” He nervously tried to backtrack.

“Our shipment of meat was delayed, so the beef we have is all we have for two days-” “Not about The Beef. How are you doing?” You’re looking at him now—same tired, sad look as when you came in. 

“Me?” Why'd he say that, he thought to himself.

“Mhmm,” taking a drag from your cigarette. “I’m hanging on. Sugar wants me to go to this AA thing.”

“I miss Nat,”

He forgot that you’ve been at The Beef longer than he has. He forgets that you knew Mikey better than he did. 

“We should get back,” he said, wiping his hands on his pants as he got up. 

The rest of your shift went as smoothly as it could. Mr. Bishop (your favorite regular) came in looking for you, got his usual number 6 and coffee, and sat in his favorite booth. There was no more knocking over pots, and you managed to get all your prep done for tomorrow, too. 

Syd and Tina gave you a pep talk afterward, saying that tomorrow will be better. Ebra gave you one of those hugs only a loving father can give. Richie offered to give you a ride home despite his license being suspended, and Marcus gave you a brownie. 

Before you left for the day, Carmy walked out of the office and leaned on the door frame. 

“Let me give you a ride.” It wasn’t even 10 pm, and trains were still running. 

“I’m not taking no for an answer,” Carmy said seriously. “Heard.” You whispered.

You waited for him to get his jacket and lock up. Then, you followed him to his car a block away from the restaurant. His car was old, like, no leather seats, and old-school console type of old. You quickly typed in your address into his beat-up phone and just coasted in the silence.

“This isn’t the way to my place, Carm.” You frantically shift in the passenger seat. You’re at a Target parking lot.

“I know, I just need to get a few things.”

The fluorescent lights were blinding you. He took a shopping cart, and you reluctantly followed him around the store. 

The cart squeaked through the relatively quiet store, and when you reached the aisle where they sell shower drains, the radio played 2000s pop songs. 

He picks one up without a word, and you don’t question it. Exhausted and dissociating. He aimlessly walks to the pest aisle and grabs a bottle of roach spray. 

He grabs laundry detergent and a pack of boxers for himself. You wander into the frozen pizza aisle and grab one for yourself, and he gets a pack of beer. It feels so domestic, like you’ve both done this together before. You pay for the pizza, and he pays for everything else.

“I wanna fix your apartment, if that’s okay with you?” he says, putting the stuff into the trunk. 

“You really don’t have to, Carmy.” Protesting in exhaustion.

“I want to.” He wants to fix your apartment for you.

The drive to your apartment wasn’t awkward. It was peaceful. You’ve never been alone with him for more than five minutes, so this should be weird. 

You take the elevator to your floor and walk a short distance to your door. A welcome mat is in front of the unit, and the dead plants are just sitting out. 

“Make yourself at home, I guess,” you said, taking off your jacket and shoes. Carmy did the same and left his Birkenstocks by the door. 

“This is a great place.” You had a red thrifted couch and a big fluffy rug. Pictures of you and your friends were on the wall. A shelf covered with books and more pictures. He noticed you didn’t have a suspicious number of cookbooks like he does. Instead, it’s Penguin Classics with Post-it notes tagged throughout. Sci-fi books, fantasy, romance, and non-fiction were also on your shelf. Anthony Bourdain had his dedicated shelf (I guess those count as cookbooks). 

You had a record player and stacks of vinyl records on the floor. Your kitchen was a lot nicer than his. You had a good coffee maker but an old toaster. 

He’s sitting at the island counter while you’re in your room. He can see the posters from where he’s sitting and the mirror in the corner of your room reflecting you taking off your chef's coat. He reminds himself that he’s being a creep. 

“I appreciate you doing this, Carm. Saved me a phone call with my landlord.” 

“You’d do the same for me,” he replied.

You pop your head through the door and furrow your eyebrows, 

“Really?” you laugh. It's the first time you laughed, he notes.

You grab him a cup of water, tie your hair in a bun, and beeline to the record player. 

“Guests can pick the music,” you gesture to the albums, and he runs a hand over his face nervously. Carmy gets up from his seat and over to you, sits on the floor, and looks through your collection. 

“Why do I feel like this is a test?” He chuckles.

“Because it is,” You said while putting the previous record away.

His calloused fingers run through the aged vinyl slips and pick out Fleetwood Mac.

“Good choice.” 

Carmy silently watched as you, put the plaque on the turntable and gently put the needle onto the grooves. The song began to play. 

“I didn’t know you collected.” He said. 

“Yeah, I started when I was in middle school. It was a pain in the ass getting them here.”

Right. You’re from California. 

“Why’d you move out here?” He asks.

“Umm. I’m not really close with my family anymore, and I have friends that go to school here. I mean, I love San Francisco, but I felt like I had some growing up to do. You know,” You said getting up from the floor.

You’re rummaging through the Target bag, grabbing the frozen pizza, and prepping the oven. 

It’s funny, you’re chefs but don’t always eat the most extraordinary things. 

Carmy is just watching you, watching you in your home. He starts to second-guess why he’s there in the first place. He’s beginning to wonder why you haven’t been mean to him. 

“I’ll get started on that drain,” he said, getting up from the rug. 

You nod your head and just scramble a few plates together. 

Your bathroom had candles and orange shower curtains. There was a pumpkin-shaped bath mat, and it smelled exactly like how he imagined it to smell. Your shampoo—the one he’d been smelling for the past few months, but he couldn’t quite place what it was. Apple and Honey. He took mental note of it. 

He pulled back the curtain to see the shower, which had dried eucalyptus leaves hanging from the head. Your body wash was on the floor, and there was a pool of water. 

He knelt on the floor, put the drain tool down the drain, and started moving it. It was a lot harder than he thought. 

You stood by the door frame, watching him try to unclog your shower. You could have done it yourself, but you wouldn’t have refused free service. 

You never noticed how long Carmy’s hair was getting or how his tattoos shifted when he moved his arms. His white signature T-shirt was riding up a little bit. 

“You doin’ alright?” You finally asked. 

“Yup- I think I got most of it.” He grunted. 

He could hear you laughing at him. Now that he thinks about it, this is weird. He’s your boss. This is something a boyfriend should do, or a boy-friend—aka Richie or Fak or even Marcus. The two of you aren’t friends. 

The two of you can hear the water finally slosh its way through the drain, 

“I think it should be good now.” He wipes sweat off his face onto his shoulder. 

“Good, great! Thank you, Carm.” You pat his back hesitantly. 

It was nearing midnight. You and Carm are sitting on the red couch. You decided to open a bottle of wine, and an album that Carmy had never heard of was on. 

“You’ve been working for The Beef for four years now?” He asked, glancing over at you.

You sip your wine and nod your head, 

“Yeah, I moved here right after I graduated college. Saw a help wanted sign and applied.” 

He gave you a look like he was trying to imagine you four years ago. He wanted to ask you what it was like working with Mikey. There was something in him that he didn’t want to know. 

“How’d you and Richie become friends?” 

“You think me and Richie are friends?” you laugh. Not thinking that Carmy was serious,

“Ummm, I don’t know. He’s funny, and he makes me laugh. I used to babysit when he and Tiff were still together.” Carmy nods twice. 

You wanted to ask him to stay over, but it was almost one in the morning. You didn’t.

“Shit, I should go.” Carmy looked at his phone. Realizing he’s overstayed his welcome. 

He put his glass and plate in the sink. (That was very considerate of him.) He then slipped his jacket on, and as he was putting on his shoes, you gave him a hug. 

Carmen is frozen. His breathing stops, and without even knowing, he puts his arms around your waist. He doesn’t even remember the last time he hugged someone. Your breathing syncs, and you can feel his heartbeat, 

“Thank you, Carmen. I mean it.” You whisper. 

What is going on? His head isn’t even thinking anymore; he’s only focusing on that you’re hugging him right now. It feels like a lifetime. He’s engulfed in your scent and the warmth of your hands, making him dizzy.

“Anytime, Chef.” 

He leaves. 

When Carmy got to his apartment, it was cold—unlike yours. It was bare and colorless. He plops onto his bed and replays the night over and over again until he falls asleep at the thought of you. 

〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰〰

The next morning, he woke up later than he would’ve wanted. Quickly hopping into the shower, got dressed and jogged to his car. He got a whiff of your shampoo on his jacket and in his car. 

What the fuck, Carmy? She’s your employee. He thought.

When he got to The Beef, you were already there. Headphones on, tapping your foot to whatever you were listening to. 

“Carmy! I was able to get hold of another shipment; it should be here in an hour.” Syd cheerily said.

The chef quickly nods as he washes his hands, 

“Yeah, that’s great, Syd. Umm, breakfast service starts in 30 is everyone good?” 

Syd tells him that Marcus’s bread mixer isn’t working again, and Ebra will be late. Angel and Manny will also be late, and Tina has to redo her onion prep because Richie knocked it over in the walk-in. 

Carmy can feel his blood pressure rising, 

“What about Y/N?” He unconsciously asks.

Syd’s eyes grow wide, kind of shocked even to hear your name come out of his mouth, 

“Yeah, she’s good. She has everything ready to go. She can take over Ebra’s station till he gets back.”

“No, I’ll do it.” Carmy insisted.

Syd’s following him around the kitchen like a sick puppy, 

“I’ll do family, too.” He added.

A million thoughts are running through Sydney’s mind, but she doesn’t question it. 

You were feeling a hundred times better than you did yesterday. You could finally shower without having a pool of cloudy, murky water up to your calves, and you haven’t seen roaches crawl up your sink. The car shop called to say they could get your car done on the weekend, and you had a good breakfast. Your bad week is officially looking up. All because your boss came over and sorted it out for you. 

“Hey-” Carmy tapped your shoulders and pointed to your headphones. 

“Oh- right! Sorry.” You could swear there was a smile on his face just then. 

“Uh, whatcha listen’ to?” Small talk- great, Carmy was making small talk. This was basically flirting to him. Small talk with anyone who had nothing to do with food was his horrible attempt at flirting. 

“Beyonce.” Carmy was expecting some obscure band he’s never heard of, hoping he could ask you about it and talk more. Ask you if you want to go to the local record store and browse. Ask you if he could come over again. 

Shut the fuck up, Carmen.

“Cousin! Get this- so I was driving, right?” Richie bursts through the kitchen doors. 

“Isn’t your license like expired?” You question.

“Suspended, but that’s not the point. I fuckin’ saw -fuckin’ Cousin Stanley! He was walking, and I rolled down my window, called him while I was fuckin’ floorin’ it. Heh- he finally saw me, he’s fuckin’ bald as shit now, Carm.” Richie rambled.

Carmy doesn’t remember cousin Stanley. He doesn’t know why Richie is even telling this story. He’s looking at him through his brows. 

“Ew! Cousin Stanley’s bald?!” You exclaimed. 

Of course, you know who fucking Cousin Stanley is, and he doesn’t. Carmy walks away as the two of you continue talking shit about this cousin he can’t place. It doesn’t sit right with him now; you know so much of his life because of Mikey. 

The ballbreaker game is broken, and it keeps repeating the same thing over and over again. Frustrated, he pushes the front house door.

“NO!” Everyone said simultaneously.

He knows what everyone is going to say next, 

You unplug it; it won’t work again. 

Carmy pulls his phone out of his pocket to call Fak to come in and fix it for the millionth time when he feels a hand on his shoulder. 

“I know someone who can actually fix it,” You said softly.

The stressed-out, red-faced chef just nods. 

You make the call, and in 20 minutes or so, someone comes in, calling out your real name. Not the countless nicknames they call you. He is tall and has a full beard and a mullet. He wears dark double denim; it’s vintage, Carmy notes in his head, is tailored and straight cut, and he wears cowboy boots. 

“Raphy!” You practically screamed. (Raphy is Jensen Ackles)

Who the fuck is Raphy? What the fuck is a Raphy? What kind of name is Raphy? How the hell do you know this guy? He’s like 45! He’s good-looking and wearing good-quality denim. Carmy’s unexplainably jealous. 

“Carm- this is my, umm, my friend Raphael. He owns a repair business,” You’re smiling from ear to ear.

“Hi. I usually do motorcycle restorations. She’s exaggerating.” Fuck, his voice is exactly what he thought it would sound like. 

“Raphael?! My guy! Where the hell have you been?” Great- Richie knows him, too.

“Richie- good to see you, man.” Carmy hates this guy already. 

You and Raphael met through Mikey. He had a phase where he wanted to buy this old BMW R 18. Raphael helped you move into your apartment, gave you rides whenever you needed them, and introduced you to some good music. 

For some reason, he was also a perfect handyman. You fell out of touch for a bit when Mikey died. 

“Chef, I’ve done most of my prep. Is it cool if I stay out here for a bit?” You're asking him if you could be here with this Raphy guy instead of in his kitchen, where he can awkwardly stand beside you while you both work. He wants to say no, but he says yes. 

“Yeah just make sure he fixes this shit.”

“Not much of a talker?” Raphael asks. You pat his shoulder and shake your head. 

“That’s Mikey’s little brother? Doesn’t really look like him-” Richie then starts laughing. 

Carmen can hear you laugh from his office, and he can listens to that guy in his restaurant tell you how good you’ve been looking. About how you should’ve called him about your shower. Fuck him! I fixed it. I did that. Carmy thought.

“Chef, are you okay?” Sydney’s holding her clipboard to her chest, not wanting to know the answer to her question. 

“Yeah. I’m good, Chef.” He’s lying straight through his teeth. 

He really shouldn’t be bothered by this. You’re not friends. He spent one night over at your apartment to help. That’s it. He is your boss, nothing more. 

Finally, the ballbreaker song is back to normal. The clinking of Raphael’s tools stops, and you no longer giggle like a schoolgirl. Richie is back on the register. A sigh of relief washes over him when he hears the bell and the door shut. 

You walk back into the kitchen with a grin and rosier cheeks than when he saw you last. 

“Raphy was here?” Tina said, disappointed. Cool, so everyone knows this guy. 

You smile and mouth an excited ‘yeah.’

“If I wasn’t married- ooh the things I would do,” Tina says in a sing-songy way. 

Which garners a look from a very disturbed Marcus and Ebra. Syd is now curious and disappointed she didn’t look when she could. Carmy looks at you and sees you cheesing from ear to ear. 

“Me too. ME TOO.” Tina laughs at your comment. “Yo, David! Keep it in your pants, wouldya?” Richie said.

“Oh, please! Like you wouldn’t do him too if you were a girl??!” You replied.

Carmy leaves and takes a much-needed smoke break. Does Sugar know him? He wants to ask Tina who this guy is and why everyone but him knows him. He doesn't. He takes one last drag, throws it on the floor, and stomps on it.

The commotion over the hot motorcycle restorer has died down. The normal ebb and flow of a Chicago kitchen is back in motion, and everyone gets back to work.

Nothing shitty or unusual happens for the rest of service and Carmy is making everyone scrub the interior with toothbrushes and sponges.

Some random playlist is on, and you can feel everyone's exhaustion radiating off them like sweat.

Sweeps breaks the ice.

"It was good seeing Raphael again, huh?" Awesome. Carmy had temporarily forgotten about him while scrubbing the buildup on the stove's vent.

"He looks good. Healthy." Ebra adds.

"Who is he?" Carmy finally asks.

"Me and Mikey's other best friend. We were like two peas in a pod!" Richie snorts.

"Shouldn't it be the three musketeers?" Syd's eyeballs him.

Best friend? Mikey has other best friends who didn't always linger around the family?

"Yeah?" he replies.

"They met at this thing- a flea market?" Tina inquires.

"Estate sale." You say without missing a beat.

"I went with Mikey. He was obsessed with finding vintage shirts. Raphy was there looking for umm, what was it? Boots! Cowboy boots." You remember.

"You have a crush on em?" His intrusive thoughts got the better of him. Richie purses his lips together and does a lock and key motion.

"No! I mean, he's hot, but dude, come on?" Carmy hates that—the word hot coming out of your mouth in any other context than pots and stoves.

"I think you have a crush on him, or at least had a crush on him," Syd said.

"I remember the next day Mikey came in and started making fun of you cause you were basically drooling over him." Marcus laughs from across the room.

"I remember that too!" Sweeps adds.

"Wouldn't stop talking about him," Manny replies from the back.

You didn't mind everyone making fun of you; it was a silly moment in your life. It would have been even worse if Mikey had been there in person to reenact everything.

"He's not married?" Syd asks.

Please be married. Please be married with 4 kids. Please be in a loving happy marriage with his high school sweetheart. Carmen begged.

"He is uh- widowed." You said emphasizing the widow.

Fuck.

The rest of the night consisted of anecdotes of Mikey's life that Carmy would never have heard of otherwise. Tina's the first one to clock out, then the dishwashers, then Sweeps, and Marcus, Richie says his goodbyes, Syd punches out, and so does Ebra.

You stayed back. Sweeping the floor one last time, Carmy walked into the office. His head was hurting. Maybe it was from dehydration? Hunger? The chemicals he poured over the entire kitchen in an attempt to get the gunk off the tile?

"I'm gonna head out." You yell out from the lockers. Carmy walks out and leans against the doorframe.

"Do you have anything in your apartment I could fix?" You're joking, but not really.

He bobs his head down and gives you a tight smile, he didn't have anything to share. Everything in his apartment worked, he didn't have relics of his past to showcase and tell stories about.

The chef shook his head, crossed his arms, and stood stoically.

"That's a shame: goodnight, Carmen. See you tomorrow," you punch your card.

"Wait!" He doesn't know what he's doing. He has nothing to talk about. There's a sour taste in his mouth still from learning about Raphael. A bitter one because evidently, you knew his brother better than him.

You look at him, anticipating,

"Are you free?" He asks.

“Right now?” You reply.

He runs a hand through his hair.

"Carm, we have work tomorrow." You remind him.

"Yeah- right. No, umm, this Saturday. Are you free?" He's shaking inside.

"I should be. Why? Did you want us to come in or?" "There's this record store downtown. I was wondering if you wanted to go, " he blurted.

You kind of just stand there for a little bit. Shunned. Carmy's asking you to hang out outside of a work day? What's happening?

"Sure! I've been dying to do something other than cook, clean, repeat." You smile, which makes him smile.

"See you tomorrow, Chef." He says and lets you leave for the night.

Carmy couldn't stop thinking about all the things he wanted to do on your unofficial date on Saturday. His mind was reeling, and his stomach filled with butterflies he hadn't felt in so long. This consumed his every waking moment to the point that he had to force himself to sleep.

Saturday couldn't have come any slower.

[naggascradle]