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roanniom · 5 months ago

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There's Something About You

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, NSFW, handjob, dirty talk, inexperienced!Eddie

If one thing is for certain, it's that Eddie has no idea how he's found himself here. In the bedroom of a cheerleader honor student goddess who shouldn't even know he exists. Yes, you've smiled at him from a distance in class. From time to time he's caught you giving him a little wave from across the cafeteria. But to be quite honest with himself, Eddie always assumed you were fucking with him. Throw a wink at the school freak and watch him get an embarrassingly unprovoked boner.

Yet here you were. Sitting next to him on your bed - disarmingly pink and covered in soft cushions and frills and all things girly and diametrically opposed to all that is Eddie Munson. Dark and crass and bumbling and weird Eddie Munson.

"If you flunk out of Mr. Flout's class one more time, what's going to happen to you?" you had asked him casually earlier in the day as you'd walked by him staring at his test marked with a big red F. Eddie had looked up at you, shock quickly melting into an indifferent smirk.

"There's always trade school, baby," he'd shrugged and thrown up a peace sign.

That was when you suggested he come by your place that evening for tutoring.

Eddie is no fool. He knows what girls like you want. So he'd made sure to come equipped with his trusty lunch pail full of treats that would take the edge off being Miss Perfect / Daddy's Little Girl / Goody Two Shoes - whatever mantle it was that you wished to pluck off your head and cast gently aside for one blissful night. He assumed maybe a downer, maybe an upper, maybe a combo of both. He didn't know you well enough to assume. You seemed happy enough when skipping down the halls with your gaggle of friends, but maybe there was a secret side of you that wanted to disappear. You seemed focused when you were working on papers or quizzes in your shared classes with Eddie, but maybe you needed something that would give you that much more of an edge. Something to help you lock in.

Or maybe you just wanted to be able to turn your brain off for a bit. Eddie knew what that was like.

Sitting in your room now, however, Eddie was less sure. You hadn't closed the door behind him and immediately asked to check out the merchandise. You hadn't proffered up cash in an attempt to speed along a transaction. Instead you'd sat him down with a textbook and a notepad and actually started studying. It was weird. Eddie wasn't used to this kind of drug dealer foreplay. He assumed you were just nervous, though, so after a while, he decided he would have to be the one to make the first move.

"What's your poison, princess?" he asks, after a few moments of silence has settled between the two of you. You look up from your own book and furrow your brow. When you don't speak, Eddie continues. "Upon which journey of medicated oblivion do you wish to depart?"

That doesn't seem to make it any clearer for you.

"Huh?" you ask. The way your nose wrinkles in your confusion is kind of cute, but Eddie does his best to ignore it.

"Drugs. What drugs did you ask me here to sell you?" He speaks plainly because apparently you aren't ready for euphemism. Wow, you must be really new to this space.

Surprise ripples across your face, followed by immediate amusement.

"I didn't ask you here for any drugs. But you're welcome to partake if you like, of course." You gesture to his pail, proving you had known what was inside all along. Eddie shakes his head.

"I don't sample the goods, sweetie. I just sell 'em."

You snort in response, a decidedly unladylike reaction.

"You and I both know that's bullshit, Munson. I've seen you in class. Nine times out of ten you're high as a kite."

Eddie smirks and runs a sheepish hand through his hair. Oh you'd seen him, huh? You were looking?

"Guilty as charged. Then what did you ask me here for?"

"To study," you answer simply. The look on your face, however, implies that isn't all there is to it.

"And...?" Eddie presses. Your smile grows wider and you close your book. You shift on the bed beside him in a way that shifts your skirt, baring your thigh. Eddie's eyes go straight to that exposed swath of skin, right on cue.

"And...if we fool around a bit, that's a nice bonus." You say it as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. Obviously that's an additional thing that would happen on a study night like this. As obvious as a round of flash cards or a homemaker mother coming in with a tray of cookies and juice.

Which reminds him...

"Aren't your parents around?" Eddie asks. He adds a lilt of humor to his voice, though he means the question seriously.

"They're in Indianapolis for the night. I'm here all by my lonesome," you say with a faux coquettishness that causes an ache to begin forming in his throat. "You're here to keep me company."

All of a sudden the closed door to your room emanates with a kind of vibrating anticipation. A rushing begins in Eddie's ears, followed by a high pitched ring. Is he going to pass out?

You take the book from his lap and place it on the floor.

"So what's your poison, Eddie Munson?" you ask.

This is it. Eddie is actually short circuiting. He swallows but the sound resonates as a cartoon gulp.

"We don't have to...that's...we don't need..."

You place a hand on his shoulder and it just about burns through the fabric of his shirt.

"I know we don't need to do anything. What do you want?"

Eddie hesitates, but you read it as him not wanting to push, so you take matters into your own hands. Literally.

'Wait, what are you - oh fuck." Eddie's eyes blow wide as you sink to the floor in front of him, kneeling between his legs with one hand on his thigh and one hand on his crotch.

"I'm narrowing down the options for you, Munson," you say with a grin. "Helping you make a decision. I know it was hard to decide what you wanted. Really hard, it seems." You put more emphasis on your innuendo as you begin to stroke him through his jeans. You're right. He's hard. Just from this fucking teasing conversation he is hard as a rock. His cheeks and ears burn with humiliation.

“That’s…fucking…”

“Well I wouldn’t say it’s fucking. But maybe a version of it,” you chuckle. Before he even understands what’s happening, you’re unbuttoning his jeans and lowering the zipper. If he hadn’t been wearing relatively constrictive boxer briefs he knows he would have all but sprung out the moment you freed him from the denim. You cup him through the fabric of his underwear and slide your hand up and down. “Now what have you been hiding from me, hm?”

Eddie can’t speak. He truly can’t form words. This can’t be happening right now. The amount of times he’d fucked his fist to the thought of you…this was absolutely absurd. He must have smoked too much weed and slipped into a catatonic state, trapped in his own erotic fantasies because what the actual fuck.

Eddie’s continued lack of response does start to unnerve you, though. You slow your hand on his clothed cock and look up at him, trying to keep humor in your voice.

“What’s going on? You’re acting like you’ve never had a girl on her knees before.”

“Um…”

“Stop messing with me,” you snort. But when Eddie continues frowning, you drop your hand from his lap. “You mean to tell me…”

“You can get up for this conversation,” Eddie says quietly, reaching out a hand. He doesn’t like the juxtaposition of the power dynamics. You on your knees in front of him. A situation that should objectively make him feel powerful, and yet all he feels right now is small. You take his proffered hand and allow him to pull you up to your feet. When you take a silent seat beside him on the bed, Eddie knows he’s going to have to explain.

“So…yeah. I’ve never ‘had a girl on her knees’ before.” You nod understandingly, but Eddie knows you can’t possibly fully understand yet. “I’ve never ‘had’ a girl…period.”

A beat passes.

Another beat.

Eddie had been staring down at the leather bracelets encircling his wrists, fiddling with the frayed edges. But at the continued silence he looks up to find you watching him, eyes wide with comprehension.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t realize, I wouldn’t have pressured you -,”

“No!” Eddie says a little too emphatically, making you jump. He grabs your hands to keep you next to him. “You didn’t pressure me at all. I want…this. I want…you. I just…”

“You just…?” you prompt, dipping your head down to force him to meet your eye despite his dropped chin.

“I just don’t know what I’m fucking doing here, babe,” Eddie forces out with a humorless chuckle. You bite your lip to keep from laughing along.

This is uncharted territory for you. Yes you’re experienced, but you’d really only ever been with guys who had way more experience than you. It was kind of where your forced confidence and teasing personality came from - a little bit of a fake it till you make it mentality. It usually kept guys from bowling you over or taking too much if they got the sense that you knew what you were doing. That you knew what you wanted.

This is a completely different situation. You look at the shaggy-haired metal head in front of you and your heart throbs. Before this evening you’d seen him as a fun little roll in the hay. A cheeky little ‘fuck you’ to your overbearing parents and to the pristine nature of your wholesome image. Eddie was brazen at school. A loud-mouthed, swaggering, innuendo-spewing class clown with a guitar and a million things to say. You’d thought he’d be a decent ride, if nothing else. But now you see him, uncertain and shrinking into your bed, and you realize that you don’t know him at all. And based on the way he’s looking at you with fear and shame, he clearly doesn’t know you either.

“That doesn’t matter to me, you know. Especially since I know what I’m doing.”

“Yeah, that I can tell, sweetheart.” Eddie’s laugh is genuine this time. He adjusts himself at the crotch, an action that calls your attention to the bulge still protruding in his boxers through his open jeans. He’s still hard. In spite of all the embarrassment and discomfort. Eddie Munson must really want you.

Well good. Because you’ve decided that in spite of everything, you really want Eddie Munson.

When you reach down and push aside his hand, Eddie recoils only for a second. Your hand closes around his cock and he melts into the touch.

“Jesusfuckingchrist,” he exhales.

“That feel good?” you ask.

“That better be rhetorical. Because this feels better than anything I’ve ever felt in the goddamn world.”

“That’s an exaggeration, Eddie,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“No, it reeeeally fucking isn’t.”

“Well then you’re gonna explode when I do this.” Before Eddie can even realize what’s happening, you’ve peeled down his underwear, exposing his cock to the cool air of your bedroom. Your hand wraps around his length, feeling the velvety skin over his throbbing hardness and Eddie all but yelps.

“Holy FUCK.”

“Yeah?”

“Ok now that is better than anything I’ve ever felt.”

You lick your hand and bring it back down to glide more easily along his shaft. You watch Eddie shudder.

“You do realize it will only escalate from here. You can’t keep saying that.”

Eddie grips at the denim on his own thigh and grits his teeth. Your hand has begun to pick up speed.

“Little newsflash for you, babe. I’m not exactly in control of the words coming out of my - GAH.”

You smooth your thumb over the mushroom head of his cock, pleased by the wetness gathering at the tip.

“You touch yourself, don’t you Munson? This can’t be so revolutionary.” You’re teasing him but you love how responsive he is. Love the way he looks at you like you’re made of shining gold.

“My hands don’t feel anything like this and you know it.”

You lift one of his hands with your free hand and smooth your fingers over his skin.

“Yeah. These calluses from guitar?”

He can’t believe you’re speaking so casually while still continuing to jerk him off into oblivion. He’s the one being stimulated, sure, but how can you remain unphased when it feels like all of the heat in the universe is being concentrated in this room right now. Surely he can’t be the only one whose every molecule is on fire.

When Eddie doesn’t respond to your callus question, you decide to take escalation into your own hands. Or rather…Eddie’s.

When you place his hand on your breast, it has the exact effect you think it will have. Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and his jaw drops to the floor.

“Uhhh….”

Dumbstruck.

You decide that’s how you like him.

“You gonna just sit there?” you ask playfully, dropping your hand and marveling at the fact that Eddie’s remains light and motionless when you left it.

“What…can…how…?”

“Play with them,” you reply with a little shrug. When Eddie hesitates, you nudge him to move back up the bed. Once his back is up against your pillows, you straddle his thighs - just before his knees - and immediately get back to work on his cock.

This time Eddie reaches for both of your breasts, and this time his grip is a little more firm. He begins to squeeze and release. When he finally gets adventurous enough to lightly twist your nipple through the fabric of your top and your unpadded bra you reward him with a moan.

“So that…felt good?” Eddie asks hopefully.

“You watch porn, Eddie. What do you think?”

“I think I want to take these puppies out, let them breathe.” Eddie looks up at you with the biggest shit eating grin you’ve ever seen, clearly finally feeling more comfortable.

“Ah, there’s the little shit I know and love,” you laugh. Your words send a zing through Eddie’s bloodstream but he suppresses it. There are more pressing matters at hand. Like the way your blouse simply falls away after he unbuttons it. And the way your breasts sit up in your bra - plump and ready for him to have his way with them.

And so he does.

When Eddie’s hands engulf your breast this time, their grip is definitive. You inhale sharply with the strength of his squeeze. Finally some stimulation.

“It does feel good,” Eddie smirks. Your pleasure must be clear on your face.

“Don’t get cocky,” you try to admonish him. It’s time to up the ante, so you wrap one hand around the base of his cock and begin moving your other hand faster up and down.

“Holy shit.”

“There we go,” you say, satisfied. You’ve enjoyed being in control. This is such a rare luxury for you and you’ve decided you like it. The wet warmth blooming between your thighs definitely indicates that.

“Hey…slow down…”

“Too much?” you ask, immediately slowing your motions, worried you’d pushed him too far. Eddie’s hands grip your breasts, almost as if to ground himself.

“No it’s fucking amazing I’m just…I’m gonna cum - oh!”

You immediately pick up the pace right back to what it had been a second ago.

“That’s the idea, handsome.”

Eddie is lost in a flurry of sensation. Nobody has ever called him handsome before. But nobody has ever jerked him off before either, so maybe that’s not the most pressing thing for him to ruminate on. There you sit straddling his thighs with your hands moving on his cock, your breasts bouncing in his hands. He feels like he’s going to pass out if you don’t stop immediately.

“Take off your shirt.”

“Huh?” Eddie asks, squinting up at you. Your words make no sense in the haze of his pleasure.

“Take off your shirt,” you repeat, relatively urgently. He does as he’s told, ripping his shirt off by the back of the collar. When the fabric pulls up and over his face, he is greeted by the sight of you now without your bra.

“Holy fucking shit.”

You spit in your palm and begin stroking him again in earnest. With both of your hands focused on his length, your arms push your breasts together. Eddie moans on the verge of agony.

“I’m gonna fucking cum.”

“This your first set of tits, Munson?” you ask, amused. This language is much more crass than you’d usually use, but there is something about Eddie - his lack of experience or maybe his unabashed enjoyment - that makes you feel comfortable speaking this way.

“The first set that I can actually physically touch, yeah,” Eddie replies with full honesty and roguish smile. He surprises you by getting a big handful and pushing them together. His thumbs play with your exposed nipples and your hips begin to move against him.

“You’re so turned on right now, aren’t you,” Eddie says through gritted teeth. His eyes squeeze shut against the divine pleasure of knowing that you’re rocking against him just as much as he’s rocking into your hands.

It’s a glimmer of the dirty talk you might eventually be able to get from him. You like it. Like the teasing quality and the way it matches up to the way you’ve been addressing him. It does things to you and you know it would balloon his ego to know that you’re soaking through your panties right now.

So you say the one thing that you know will throw him over the edge.

“I want you, Eddie Munson. I want you inside of me.”

The sputtering of words catching in his throat matches the way his hips stutter, cum spurting up and over your fists. It splashes hot and wet against his abdomen, which you had thankfully had the foresight to make him bare. Eddie lets out a guttural, shuddering groan.

“Are you…fuck…jesus…are you fucking kidding me?” His hands fly off your breasts to cover his face. “God DAMN it.”

Surprised by the sudden tone switch, you lift your wet hands from his leaking cock.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s….that was…I didn’t get to…” Eddie sounds confused and frustrated and breathless all at once. When he drops his hands from his face he looks up at you with a crumpled expression. “What about you?”

You have to bite your cheek to keep in the laugh that you know would hurt his feelings.

“You just had your first handjob and you’re worried about me?”

Eddie furrows his brow.

“Well yeah. I want you to cum.”

You shrug and gently dismount him. Reaching for your bedside table you grab a couple tissues, one which you hand over to Eddie.

“That’s a hit or miss kind of thing, so don’t even worry about it.”

Eddie wipes gingerly at the cum on his stomach and around the base of his flagging cock.

“You mean…you don’t always cum?”

“Not always. But that’s normal.” You glide around your room, picking up your discarded clothes and dropping them neatly in your laundry basket. You open the top drawer of your dresser and pull out a gauzy white nightgown that, when pulled on, floats just to the upper middle of your thighs. You drop your skirt off your hips, leaving you in just a pair of panties beneath the delicate fabric.

Eddie watches from his seat on your bed, still bedraggled from your shared sex act, shirtless with his jeans and boxers pulled down and his member now resting on his belly. It twitches with interest, however, at the sight of your nipples peaked through your nightgown.

“I…I’d like to help you with that.”

Your face, and heart, soften at the earnestness in his voice. This poor, sweet, inexperienced weirdo in your bed wants to help you cum. Something that countless jocks and hot guys never even gave a passing thought to. Eddie stumbles to his feet and pulls up his boxer briefs and jeans.

You climb back onto your bed into the space he’s now vacated.

“Yeah? You want to help me cum, Munson?” You tease him as you lay against the pillows, one hand on your breast while you plant one foot on the mattress to bring your knee up. Your nightgown just barely covers your center, meaning Eddie can see a small swatch of your panties. Light pink. He feels his jeans tighten immediately.

“I do.” He’s eager. It’s adorable. Eddie places a knee on the edge of your bed, mesmerized by the way your hands move over your body.

“We’ll get to that,” you say quietly. Your voice breathy and inviting.

“We will?”

“Want to know the first step?” you ask. Eddie nods emphatically, eyes still trained on your hands, one of which has migrated to the apex of your thighs.

“You’re gonna go home -,” You’re interrupted by a disagreeable harumph from Eddie. You smile. “You’re gonna go home and I’m going to touch myself to the thought of your cock.”

You can physically see the way the wind is knocked out of him.

“Okay?” you prompt when he doesn’t reply. Eddie shifts restlessly.

“Or I could help you now.”

“No,” you disagree firmly. “We’ll build up to that.”

Eddie frowns. You know he’s disappointed, but you can feel your heart rate increase as you swirl your fingertip over your clit through your panties. Orgasms are hard for you to come by - pun intended - so you felt the urge to chase this one without additional variables.

“Next time,” you add, hoping Eddie can see the promise in your face. He watches you silently for another moment, committing the image of you laid out and touching yourself to memory, before he nods and takes his knee off the bed.

“Next time.”

When Eddie leaves a few minutes later, the sound of his noisy van shuddering to life and peeling out beyond your window, you finally indulge yourself in the feeling you’ve been waiting for all night.

You enjoy sex, sure. It wasn’t something that you had given much thought to. You’re pretty in a small town. You’re a cheerleader. It came with the territory that you were an object of lust and desire. Other young men enjoyed getting you naked and emptying themselves of their pent up hormonal tension. You found pleasure in the weight of their bodies and the knowledge that you were wanted. But there had never been much more to it than that. They rarely focused on pleasuring you beyond a tepid rub at the general vicinity of your clit. Their cocks sometimes rubbed a long neglected place deep inside of you, but the friction was always short lived. The occasional orgasm was always welcome but always fleeting. Even in the privacy of your own bed you found that they were often more work than they were worth.

But tonight, you’d had a different experience. The man was beneath you, not on top of you. You had helped him reach a peak he’d never known before. And he’d looked at you like you were a goddess.

When your fingers delve deep inside of you, you’re barely able to reach the place that aches with the promise of deeper pleasure. But for once, you have the feeling that somebody might be able to get you there.

When you cum from vigorously pressing on your clit, you cum with the vision of Eddie Munson in your mind’s eye.

Next time, you think as you ascend. Next time.

~*~

---

I really hope you enjoyed this. PLEASE tell me if you did and what you liked about it. I want to see if it is worth doing a part 2 <3

#Eddie Munson smut #Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x fem!reader #Eddie Munson x you #Stranger Things smut #Eddie Munson fanfic #Eddie Munson fanfiction #inexperienced!Eddie Munson

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dcxdpdabbles · 7 months ago

Note

ok but office supplier is even funnier if jason hasn't been declared legally alive again and danny starts dating him thus allowing him to both be and not be part of the wayne family

"I have a date," Danny says one random morning as he refills the office snack bar. Danny, in his own words, is one of the highest-paid employees. He has chosen to create a snack center for all Wayne employees. He has one on every three floors, filling it with fruits, chips, chocolate, pudding, and drinks.

And a cabinet with free samples of stationery supplies he thought more people should know about. Next to the supplies, he wrote the name of the product, where to buy, and even recommendations of

Everyone felt really touched by this and started bringing snacks and drinks to help him. Half the time, Danny only refilled the stationary since everyone was happy to have a community snack bar.

"A what!?" Jack from accounting gasped. Danny didn't pay him any mind; he was too busy picking between the flower and moon mini-planners.

Both were pocket-sized, but one had a workout addition, while the other had a section to track books for readers. He felt like there were more readers than gym goers, but he didn't want either to miss out if he picked one over the other.

"A date," he responded after placing both options inside the basket. He'll have to wait to introduce the amazing erasable pens he found, but he could make it up next month.

"With who?" Demanded Sara. She worked in PR and had been attempting to have him attend at least three parties with the Waynes in the past month alone.

"Peter. I met him a week ago at a street fair. One of the personal pen makers I follow would have a booth, and I was dying to see them." Danny pulls a box from his pocket, showcasing the fancy navy blue pen. "This is the George Washington Battle of Princeton edition. It has the painting of the battle wrapped around it, with careful silver-golden details on the cap to resemble the colonial era and a golden-edged nib; this is one fine fountain pen. It cost me five thousand and nine hundred dollars."

"Danny, please focus- five thousand? You spent five thousand on a pen!?"

Danny puffs out his chest, smiling broadly. "It was worth every penny!"

"That's-never mind. Are you sure Peter is a good person?" Jack pressed, "Because I know a great man. Mr. Drake-Wayne! Wouldn't you rather go on a date with him?"

"But Peter bought me easrsers that were shaped like fried chicken. They came in bucket. See." He ramages through his bag until he pulsl out a palm-szed bucket with chicken shaped earses inside. "Isn't it cool?"

"I'll admit that's pretty cool," Sara conceded but shared a quick glance with her coworkers. Danny wonders why they all look so worried. This wasn't that expensive. Peter only used ten dollars for it. "Do you like Peter?"

"I don't know. It's just a first date." He shrugs. "I don't usually have those. Not many people are willing to listen to me ramble about stationary."

"You know who would love to listen to you?" Jack throws an arm around Danny's shoulder. "Mr. Drake-Wayne!"

"Mr. Grasyon-Wayne!"

"Mis Wayne!"

"Mr. Wayne!" Everyone turns to stare at Gary, who flushes, "Bruce Wayne, not Damian!"

That caused some head nods and a few scattered comments about how the age gap was still alarmingly large, but if both were consenting adults, who were they to oppose it? Danny stared back as everyone debated whether Danny and Mr.Wayne should date.

He glances down at his heart-shaped notepads and figures they are right. It's not like he has any feelings about this date. He just agreed to get the passers.

Taking out his phone, he sends Peter a message to cancel their date. He should go out with someone because he likes them, not because they may allow him to discuss his interests.

Jason despairs somewhere on the other side of town as he reads the text for his second persona- a living citizen Peter Todd- from the guy who he saw at the street market going gaga over pens. The guy was so cute, too.

#dcxdpdabbles #Marriage trap the Office Supplier!#Part 2 #Danny doesn't care much for dating #The WE employees are losing thier minds #Jason will be so mad if he ever founds out they blocked him

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dokoni-mo · 2 months ago

Text

Waiting Drives You Crazy || Springtrap x GN! Reader

summary: you reunite after 30 years

SFW // angsty fluff

word count: 3252

warnings: swearing, canon-typical violence, mental health issues including but not limited to anxiety, depression, and thoughts of unaliving, springtrap is smelly af, established relationship, angst, fluff, will is just a bad person lmao

masterlist

a/n: wow my first fic in more than a year,, i really hope that I've still got it!! This story doesn't really connect to crave toooooo muchhh?? but i've still tagged my normal list for crave anyway!! pls lmk if i missed you or you don't want to be tagged in stuff like this! also, this is based off one of my fav fnaf vhs series!! i'll link it here! enjoy!

When they called you saying that they had found William, you spilt your coffee mug all over the kitchen floor.

"What?" Was the only thing that managed to slip past your trembling lips, breathless as if you had been kicked in the chest full-force. And that's what it felt like, honestly, hearing William's name again. Nobody ever talked about him anymore. After what had happened, all that came up about him after his disappearance, it was taboo to even mention him in passing. Let sleeping dogs lie, they said. Leave the demon to his demons.

But a part of you always wondered.

"Yes, you heard me correct." The agent reassured you, and you could hear how he tapped his pen against his notepad on the other end of the line. "We found him, er, we found William. The DNA samples we collected all matched the ones we had on our database. And Michael gave a positive ID."

You fell silent again, your blood feeling as if it were ice in your veins. The room was fuzzy, with a ringing in your ears that you couldn't pinpoint when it began. You stood motionless for a moment before your legs gave out from under you. Your body stumbled to the side, making you fall against your kitchen counter with an oof.

"(Y/N)?" The agent's voice asked, a note of concern in his otherwise flat, professional tone, "Are you alright? Are you still there?"

You took a few deep breaths to steady yourself, nodding even though the man on the other line couldn't see.

"Y-Yes, yes, I am." You confirmed, gripping on to your phone tighter. In order to make sure you wouldn't stumble again, you slid down your wooden cabinets to sit on the floor, not caring about your shattered coffee mug and the pool of steaming coffee next to you. "Sorry, I just... I..."

"No worries," the agent replied, seeming to understand you despite not saying a word, "I get that this is a lot to take in. Just, take a few deep breaths, yeah?"

You take his advice and take in a few deep breaths, the quiet moment allowing you to feel just how fast your heart was racing in your chest. You swallowed thickly after composing yourself, hugging your knees close to your chest.

"I-I just... Is he okay? Is Michael okay?"

"Oh, yeah, Michael is fine. William, however..."

The man trailed off, an awkward silence hanging over the air between the two of you. Your impatience got the better of you, and you were the first to speak up.

"What? What's wrong with him?"

Silence again, only broken up by a sigh and the faint sounds of whispers to a colleague you didn't make an effort to discern. You were about to ask the same thing again, only firmer, when the agent finally spoke again, calm enough to make you slightly annoyed.

"We think it might be best for you to come and see for yourself. William's situation is... quite complex. And we're it would do him some good to see you again."

The annoyance you felt slowly faded away into the ether at the offer, your lips parting in surprise.

Come and see for yourself.

Could it really be that easy? Thirty years you spent wondering what happened to William. Searching for any little piece of evidence that might have pointed to where he would have gone. All those nights of tossing and turning, rereading the newspaper articles over and over, booking therapy appointments just to cancel the night before, just to be handed a reunion on a silver platter? If it weren't for the ceramic shard digging in to your heel, you would have thought you were dreaming.

"Uh- O-Of course we understand if you would prefer not to--"

"No. Sorry, n-no, no..." You rasped, only just then realizing that you hadn't said anything, "No, I want to. I definitely want to. I just thought... It's been so long..."

"We understand. We thought so as well, but... I-It'll be easier to explain when you get here. We could have a car come and get you as soon as tomorrow afternoon, if that works for you?"

You stood up from your seat on the floor, carrying your phone over to look out the window. You could see the sun setting overtop of the buildings surrounding your shitty little apartment complex. Your left hand absent-mindedly fidgeted by your side, touching the ring on your finger and twirling it over and over again on the digit.

"Yeah, that's fine." You replied, knowing full well you had work in the morning. To hell with it. Fuck it.

This was far more important.

~~~

Nearly the entire ride to the facility was spent by you fidgeting in the back seat of the van with not a word spoken to the driver. You couldn't find a position to where you could sit comfortably, making you shift around every so often. Looking out the window to the drab, grey sky that stretched out in front of you, you tried to distract yourself to no avail. Your thoughts constantly drifted back to William, thousands of thoughts drifting through your mind.

Where the hell had he been the last thirty years? How was he even still alive? Why didn't he ever try to contact you? What exactly did these people mean when telling you it would be easier to explain in person? And most importantly, what the hell were you even going to say to him?

You didn't know. But you needed to try. Hopefully you could wing it as you go.

Eventually, after passing by some rather sketchy looking buildings on the highway, you scooted forward in your seat to talk to the driver, leaning against the passenger seat as you looked at his reflection in the rear-view mirror.

"Hey," you said, "How much further are we out?"

"Just around five minutes." The driver replied, "Just gotta take the exit and we're there."

The driver put the blinker on and merged out of the highway, taking the exit ramp down closer to some of the buildings. He drove for a few more minutes before pulling in to the parking lot of one of the shorter buildings, a few security guards around the perimeter. The two of you drove up to what appeared to be the front door, where two men in suits were waiting outside for you once you parked.

The driver walked around to the opposite side of the car to open the door for you, letting you walk the short distance up to the door. The two men standing there looked at you as you approached, one of them reaching out to shake your hand. This one had glasses with salt-and-pepper hair, the other one with brown hair and deep wrinkles.

"(Y/N), yes?" The agent shaking your hand greeted, offering you a small, almost sympathetic smile, "We're glad you could make it out. I'm agent Carter, the one you spoke with on the phone. This is my colleague agent Smith."

You glanced to agent Smith, who only gave you a little nod before you looked back to agent Carter. It was clear who was the more friendly of the two.

"I see. Nice to meet you too." You replied, shifting your bag on your shoulder somewhat awkwardly. "Thank you both for inviting me here. It's... This is an opportunity I didn't think I'd ever get."

"Oh, it's no trouble--"

"Let's just get down to business, yes?" Agent Smith interjected with a sigh lacing his voice, turning and walking off in to the facility. Agent Carter followed behind him quickly, and held the door open for you as you followed. You walked behind the two men as they led you deeper into the building, seeing the different people in business-casual attire milling about the area.

"We found Mr. Afton a few weeks ago, but it's only now that we have seen any signs of life from him." The brown haired agent told you, making you pause and raise a brow.

"Signs of... life?" You questioned, earning a sideways glance from both agents.

"You'll see for yourself in due time." Smith replied before ducking inside of a room, Carter holding the door for you again as you stepped inside.

You took a moment to stand in the doorway and take in what you saw inside of the room, your breath catching in your throat. A plethora of large, flat TV screens lined the far wall, some displaying images of bare rooms, and others just showing static. There was a microphone on the desk lining the same wall, along with some computer monitors, keyboards, notebooks, abandoned cups of coffee and three different swivel chairs. Even though none of these were threatening by themselves, the combination of all of them made you shift in your stance and clear your throat.

"Wh... So, where is he?" You asked as you looked to Agent Carter for some answers, who just gave you a small smile.

"He's just behind this door." Smith replied as he gestured over his shoulder, nodding in the same direction. Looking behind him, you saw a reinforced door with barred, reinforced windows and several different locking mechanisms. Your brow furrowed in confusion and you opened your mouth to question it, but Agent Carter had interrupted you before any words could come out. He walked up to you and pressed something long and metal in to your hands, only adding to your confusion.

"We require that you to take this in with you." He said, his eyes flashing with hint of sympathy as you turned the object over in your hands; a shocking prod. "It's for your own protection in the event we can't get the door open in time."

"Wh-What?" You questioned as your eyes widened, turning the shock prod over in your hands again. "Are you serious? Will wouldn't."

"You have one hour to be with him. After that you'll have to sign a form and undergo a medical examination." Smith interrupted, placing a hand on your shoulder and practically pulling you over to the reinforced door.

You tried to protest, but he either didn't hear you or didn't care as he undid the locks to the door. The agent opened the door the bare minimum amount required to get you through the threshold before practically shoving you inside, nearly knocking you off your balance. You clutched on to the shock prod tighter as you flinched at the sound of the heavy door shutting behind you then the clicking of several locks closing shut. You stood in silence for a moment before the lights flickered on in the room, your eyes stinging as they adjusted to the harsh, cool-toned lighting.

Inside of the room was a metal table with two chairs, with scratches, marks, and mystery stains lining every surface. Scanning over the room, your eyes eventually landed on something in the corner, slumped over and sitting on the ground. It took you a moment to decipher what it was, earning a gasp from you when you eventually did. It was the spring-bonnie suit William used to wear, all those years ago. You could recognize that yellow fur and rabbit ears anywhere. Although, it was clear that time had not been kind to old bonnie, his fur matted and full of holes and stains, with obvious chunks missing, not to mention the horrible smell.

You stared at the yellow rabbit for a long moment before your grip on the shock prod tightened again, your brow furrowing. You felt frustration and anger rise inside your chest, feeling the heat in your cheeks. You were promised to see William. And this was all you got? A rotting costume?

"Is this some sort of sick joke?" You sneered as you looked around the room again, your eyes eventually landing on the security camera hanging from the ceiling. You glared in to it before turning and pounding on the iron door, your frustration only growing with each loud bang.

"Are you two serious?! What is this?! Get me out of here! Hello?? HELLO--"

"B... Bun... ny... Bun-ny..."

You freeze, your face growing pale and your motions falling away to a halt. You feel a chill run down your whole body, as if a ghost had passed through you and stole your soul.

No... it wasn't. It couldn't be. It was impossible...

But who else had ever called you bunny before?

Slowly, you turn around, your hands shaking and your bottom lip trembling. Your wide eyes take in the sight before you, sending another chill down your body. Spring bonnie, who was originally sitting down, was now upright, hunched over and twitching every so often in a manner that made your body ache. Two white, glowing eyes were staring right at you, almost as wide as your own. You could feel your body tremble with fear, but your mind felt oddly blank, as if trying to catch up with reality.

It couldn't be. I just couldn't--

"W... Will?" You heard yourself say before you could register it in your mind, your body acting on pure instinct alone.

The decrepit Spring Bonnie seemed to twitch again at this, the rusty joints creaking and popping in an unnatural manner. The animatronic takes a heavy, labored step closer to you making you flinch.

"B-Bun-ny... m-my... bunny..." Spring Bonnie's voice spoke to you again, sounding as if his throat were full of wires and metal. He takes another painful-looking step towards you, and you flinch again, your back pressing against the metal door as the shock prod dropped out of your hand and clattered to the floor. The animatronic seems to take note of this and stops his approach, an almost pained, heartbroken look flashing in his mechanical eyes.

"D-Don't be... scared." Spring Bonnie tells you, even as you felt your lungs rapidly rise and fall in your chest. "It's me... (Y/N). I-It's me..." I would... never... hurt you."

You heard a ringing in your ears as you listened to the animatronic... William's words. No, there was no denying it anymore. You knew in your heart that this was William. Those glowing, robotic eyes; you could still see the remnants of the man you loved behind him. The grey eyes that you used to love with all your heart.

Tears stung in the rims of your eyes as you stared ahead at William, the cold air of the room stinging inside your chest. A pained look flashed in your eyes, and you started to shake your head.

"N-No... i-it... That's not..." You choked out as you felt hot tears slip down your cheeks and dribble down your chin. "How, I... I-I don't understand--"

William shushes you before you could get out any more words, to the best of his ability, at least. He takes a few more labored steps closer to you until he's within arms length, the smell of rot and mold filling your lungs. You ignore it, however, glued in place as you watch his... hand? paw? Reach up to you. A metal finger lifts to your face, and wipes a tear from your cheek with a shocking amount of gentleness.

"You're... s-still as... stunning... as I... remember." William rasped, making your lips part as a warmth flooded your chest. Even now, all these years later, he still remembered you? Made you swoon? It was all you ever hoped for.

You took in a deep breath and let it slip from your lips, feeling how they curved up into the slightest of smiles. You reached up to your face and wiped your eyes as best you could, taking a moment to look William's new body up and down before meeting his gaze again.

"You thought about me?" You asked in a rasp of a voice, feeling the rotted furry palm of William's drop from your face and scrape down your arm.

"C-Constantly." He replied, and you swore you saw the rabbit ears on the top of his head perk up.

Your small smile lingered for a moment as you stared into William's glowing eyes, your gaze eventually trailing down his body once more. You could see the mold and rot on the tattered fur, along with remnants of what was probably blood and other gore you didn't want to think too much about. The more you looked, the more your smile faded, until it was just a frown.

"I just..." You began, shaking your head in disbelief. "I just have so many questions. How are you even alive? What happened to you?"

William's shoulders squared in response to your interrogation, a deep rumbling emanating through his voice box. He looked off to the side, deep in thought and pausing for a long moment, as if the memory was far in the depths of the remnants of his mind. After a beat, I looked back up into your eyes, and you felt his paw grab on to your hand.

"It is... a long... story." He rasped, tugging on your hand as he turned. He took a few heavily labored steps back to the corner of the room, and you followed after him. Slowly, he moved his giant body so that he could sit back on the floor, lifting up his arm for you to join him by his side. You looked at the obvious signs of decay where you were supposed to rest yourself, and pulled your jacket tighter around your body. You knew Will probably wanted some human contact and connection with you after so long, but you really didn't want it to end with having to go to the ER for a tetanus shot.

You knelt down before moving to sit next to William, feeling his heavy, robotic arm wrap around your shoulders. He pulled you in as close as you could go to him and let out a sound akin to a purr, his other paw moving to rest on your knee.

"I-I never meant... to leave you... bunny." William wheezed, his glowing eyes never leaving your face. "I was... chased. Trapped."

"Chased by who?"

The golden rabbit man paused, as if to search for what to say.

"Spirits... after me. Th-They wanted... revenge."

"Spirits? Revenge? Revenge for wha--"

"I-I was... terrified. So I... hid. In the suit. My sweat... made the... sp-springlocks... go off. I-I died slowly... painfully. But... came back later. S-Stuck in pain for... thirty years..."

Your eyes softened as you listened to William's story, feeling an ache in your chest. You couldn't imagine just how scared he must have been; scared, alone, and in pain for thirty years. It sounded like absolute hell. Worse than hell, even. It sounded like agony for him to even talk, let alone just exist inside of the Spring Bonnie suit for so long. Your eyes stung with tears again as you placed your hand over his, careful to avoid any sharp pieces of metal or wires.

"Oh, Will... I'm so sorry. That sounds... Just horrible."

You sniffled back your tears before lifting your hand to his rotted cheek, gently cupping it where you knew it would be safe. He immediately let out another purr, leaning in to your touch as his eyes turned half-lidded.

"Are you in pain right now?" You asked, bracing yourself for the answer.

"Y-Yes..." He responds, closing his eyes for a moment before gazing back at your face.

"B-But having you... makes... the pain... bearable."

~~~

tags: @guinea-pig16 @the-official-memester @randomwriteralan @mrsrogerwaters @laylaaftonshit @cherry-slushee @insert-memical-username @mrssafton @horrorking2000 @artist-anon08 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @jamiethenerdymonster @kimyona-san @purplewolfcoffee @violetlmfaoo @reapersimps @wawuwe @lovinglenore @zoey5252 @000-mika @strawberrysandhim @sopiasleeps @mxstly-melancholy @kinniewhre @myglife @coffeeforthecatgod69 @glitched-out-dusk @bagelbxtch @confiscated-peaches-main @itswolfie @zenhatescats1 @sat10 @dfghfjfjfjfjfj @strawberry-gothic

apologies to blogs tumblr won't let me @ ! If I missed you or you want to be added, please let me know!

#william afton x reader #william afton #springtrap x y/n #springtrap x reader #springtrap x you #william afton x you #steve raglan #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you #fnaf x y/n #fnaf x you #fnaf x reader #fnaf fanfic

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trippinsorrows · 6 months ago

Text

midnight sun

authors note: don't ask. don't ask. don't ask.

words: 1.8k

warnings: angst, domestic violence

song inspo: 'faithfully' by journey

And bein' apart ain't easy on this love affair Two strangers learn to fall in love again I get the joy of rediscovering you

Pressure.

A constant, almost soothing, irreparable thing. A loyal companion that hasn’t escaped nor forsaken him for as long as he can remember. The perpetual weight of responsibility that was assigned to him the day he entered this world, and something that will remain with him until the day he leaves it.

Whenever the fuck that’ll be.

At this rate and with his luck, not for a very long time.

“Did you know that the average person has four bad days per month?” An overheard question. Something Roman has to scoff at. Whatever sample that was used that produced such a statistic had to have been the fucking soccer and yoga moms. The ones who consider Starbucks being out of fucking pumpkin spice the definition of a bad day. “Adults also apparently smile 15 to 20 times per day.”

Another random fact that’s overheard, except it’s something that Roman realizes is much closer than he initially realized. The proximity does not align with something that’s in earshot. More so something that’s right in front of him.

“I don’t know if I—if I really believe all that, but—”

With a heavy sigh, he lifts his head, ready to lay into the poor, unsuspecting soul. “Why are you fucking talking to—”

Two abrupt stops. Two interruptions. Two complete collisions.

A second round.

Years. Almost twenty, and yet the instant his eyes lock with hers, he knows, and judging by the way she drops the notepad in her hand, she knows, too.

It’s been some time since he’s felt so thoroughly shaken, but that’s exactly what he feels in this moment.

“Solana?”

Not that there was any doubt before, but the tiny gasp that leaves her mouth is all the confirmation he needs that this is most definitely her.

Her eyes. So big, brown, and inquisitive. Once filled with an abundance of hurt and pain, an ideal match with his all that time ago, is no longer the same. Something different. There’s some trace of happiness. Yet, there’s something almost disingenuous about it. Like, it’s a poor attempt at camouflaging what was felt so long ago.

What might still be felt.

“Roman….”

His jaw clenches. It’s been so long since he’s heard his name leave the mouth of someone like her. Soft. Innocent. Kind.

None of those non-physical things about her have changed. He can tell that even in this brief, unexpected interaction.

Naturally, his eyes move over her, noticing her hair is no longer long and cascading down her back. It’s short, barely brushing past her shoulders. Lighter. It suits her.

Her body is filled out, shapely, womanly, heavy in the desired areas. And the minute her mouth curls into an almost hesitant smile, he finds himself pleased that that has remained unchanged.

She always had such a soothing, beautiful smile.

“I—what—what are you doing here?”

A good fucking question considering he has a million and other things on his to-do list and not one of them includes sitting in this random coffee shop he drove past on his aimless drive.

“I mean,” she laughs nervously, hand to her face, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, that’s—that’s a silly question. You don’t have to answer—”

“I was driving and saw it. Wanted coffee.” Not necessarily a lie. He does now want coffee but not necessarily when he chose to park his Maserati and enter into the quiet, almost wholesome shop. “You work here.” A statement. Not a question.

Nodding, he’s much more pleased than he should be to see her smile grow. “Well, technically, I—I own it, but—”

“You own this place?” To anyone else, it’s perhaps a silly thing to “ask” given she just said as such, but for him, for them, it's so much more.

Her smile is bright, a light that contrasts the still unhealed bruises on her face as she shares with much more hope and optimism than anyone in their situation should have, “I want to own a coffee shop some day.” Looking over at him, consciously or unconsciously scooting closer, she challenges, “guess what I’m gonna name it?”

A bitter scoff leaves his mouth. He rolls his eyes but still gives it a go. “Sunshine’s place or some shit like that?”

Her giggle is a respite from the heaviness of the past two weeks. The only escape he’s found in this hell hole. And not just the facility.

“No. I’m gonna name it—”

“Dulce’s…..” Roman pulls himself from a memory buried so deep, he doesn’t know how he was able to retrieve it. “You always said…..”

“Yeah…..” she answers in a low voice, pushing back some of her hair, a nervous habit he sees still exists. But, it’s not the habit he’s focused on. It’s the diamond on her finger.

An engagement ring.

“You’re engaged.” Another assessment. One that shouldn’t stir up whatever the fuck is brewing within him.

For a second, she looks like it’s a surprise to her as well. And, he sees it, catches the brief glimpse of an attempted escape.

That sadness. A feeling that doesn’t quite escape a person, not to the extent she felt.

That they both felt.

Still feels, clearly.

For her, at least.

Maybe.

“Y—yes. Ummm—”

“Solana.”

Another voice introduced to the conversation. Male. Gruff. Infuriating. Roman cuts his eyes to the out of shape man who looks like a recovering alcoholic and someone who doesn’t need to be talking or even around her.

“Cody’s waiting.”

Cody?

But, Roman doesn’t have time to think too much about that ugly ass name. His focus is back on Solana, Solana who has suddenly shifted from slightly timid to downright terrified. She’s grasping at the material of her apron. “But, I—I thought he said I could work all day tod—”

“Plans changed.” A rude, coarse interruption that has Roman’s jaw ticking. Just who the fuck is this man and why does he think he can talk to Solana like that?

“Don’t you see we’re in the middle of a fucking conversation?” A much too late entrance into whatever this is, but an arrival nonetheless. “Leave.”

For some reason, it seems the man only now decided to pay attention to just who she was speaking to, a recognition that has his eyes widened as he turns back to Solana, poorly whispering, “do you know who the fuck this is?”

“Kevin, please. I’ll—I’ll be out in a minute.” It ticks him the fuck off that she’s practically begging this motherfucker, a man who Roman doesn’t even know but would love to put a bullet in.

Just might after today.

Kevin scoffs and shakes his head. “Your mistake.”

He says nothing else, turning to walk away, Roman standing to possibly commit murder when Solana moves her hand in front of him, as if trying to stop him.

“It’s—it’s fine. My—my fiancé is here.”

Roman looks down at her, still completely unnerved by her complete shift in demeanor. Her fear is practically palpable.

“Solana….” He sees her eyes shut as her name leaves his mouth. “What’s going o—”

“It—it was good to see you, Roman,” she cuts him off, forcing a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. “But, I—I have to go.” And it’s as she turns to walk away, he makes the mistake of grabbing her wrist. Instant regret fills him when she jumps but something else as well.

Suspicion.

Solana has always been jumpy. He’s known that from the day they met at that god-awful place so many years ago. But something about the fear that courses through her, is stamped on her voice, feels….different.

He drops his hand, stating in a low voice. “Give me your phone.”

Her eyes widen. “Roman—”

“Please.” A word no one on this goddamn earth could torture out of him, but something that so easily rolls off his tongue for her.

Obviously confused, her expression remains torn even as she reaches in the pocket of her apron, pulling out and unlocking her phone. He takes it from her, ignoring that strange feeling when their hands touch.

Moving fast and thinking quick, he programs his number, choosing an unsuspecting name, one he knows she and only she will recognize.

Handing it back to her, he instructs, “you need anything, you call me.” It’s not preferred. What he’d prefer is to walk outside and snap that Kevin and this Cody person, if he’s outside too, necks. Would prefer to tell her to just stay with him. But, it’s too much. Much too much given how long it’s been.

And yet, they seem so easily falling back into routine.

She’s still visibly nervous, holding her phone in her hand instead of placing it back in the apron. Another pained smile followed up with, “goodbye, Roman.”

He doesn’t say it back, almost refuses to. Just watches as she moves to the back of the shop, coming out a few minutes later, apron discarded, purse on her shoulder, nearly rushing out without sparing him a glance even if his gaze never leaves her.

Solana is only able to barely slide into the back of the SUV, the door held open by an irritated Kevin when she’s yanked by her hair.

Piercing blue eyes stare down at her, his other hand wrapped around her neck, squeezing tightly but not enough to completely restrict speech.

“Where the fuck were you?!”

His voice is harsh and angry, as is the look in his eyes. She opens her mouth to try to respond when he instead smashes her head into the window. She winces but refuses to cry out in pain even when his fist collides with her jaw. Her eyes clench shut, Solana already tasting the blood forming in her mouth.

“When I tell you to come, you fucking come, you understand me?!” He shouts, once again grabbing a fistful of her hair.

Nodding helplessly, she forces out an answer, ignoring the blood leaking out the corner of her mouth. “Y—yes, sir.”

He scoffs, a cruel, wicked smile on his face as he takes pride in his work. In her terror. “Pathetic,” he hisses, shoving her away. Solana moves as far into the corner as she can, forever grateful when he pulls out his phone and initiates a phone call like nothing happened.

It’s stupid and risky and something she most definitely shouldn't be doing, but Solana can’t stop herself from also pulling out her phone and scrolling through her contacts, moving to the R’s only to find nothing there.

There’s an emptiness that accompanies that realization that makes no sense. A sadness that fills her at the thought that he didn’t, but…..the look on his face, so handsome and strong, the fact that he even asked….he had to.

So, she continues to scroll, carefully assessing for each stored contact, stopping when she sees it. Emotion fills her for a completely different reason, reading the single word that carries such weight and meaning.

Journey

#roman reigns fic #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns fanfiction #arisnotebook

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milksuu · 2 years ago

Note

…the poly sett/reader/aphelios… ur insane for that one… i need a follow up🤭

-🎧

❥ prompt: Sharing is caring. And so is getting along. When it comes to you, Sett and Aphelios are working on it. ❥ content/warnings: mild suggestive themes, fluff, teasing, cuddling, possessive boyfriend behavior ❥ characters/pairings: poly!heartsteel!settphel x f!reader

"This one is so cute, Sett. Your mama really knows which ones to get you," you smiled, rubbing your face against a PoroKing plushie.

"Oh, yeah. When it comes to Ma', I got lucky and ended up with the best," Sett said with a grin, "but, let's be honest here. You're the cutest thing on my bed right now."

Aphelios narrowed his eyes against his computer screen. Clicking and typing away. He was working on a sample Yone had sent him to dabble with for their next song. He would need to ensemble some lyrics to go along with it at some point. Except...he slapped his hands against his desk, turning a sharp chin towards you and Sett.

"Uh-oh," you said, wrapping your arms around Sett's neck. "I don't think Phelly likes us being all lovey-dovey without him."

"Looks like it," Sett agreed with a snaggle tooth smile. "I mean, he's free to come on over when he's done being glued to his computer. He's been ignoring us for hours. What did he expect?"

Aphelios popped the cap off a marker, took up his notepad, and scribbled:

I'm actually working. Unlike someone I know. I wOndEr wHo?

You gasped, covering your mouth. "Phelly's extra sassy today."

"Extra? Nah, he can be worse than this. Believe it or not, he's in one of his better moods today." Sett chuckled, lowering his head and planting a kiss to your collarbone. "Probably because you're here. But it's got me thinkin'. Wonder how his mood will change when I take you all for myself. Right in front of him."

You shuddered at the tingling feeling. "Don't you think you're being a little mean?"

"The boss can't be nice all the time. Sometimes, he's gotta play the big bad wolf," he grumbled a purr, carefully nipping at your chest with his canines. You couldn't help the fluttering of your eyelids and hitched moans.

Aphelios almost snapped the marker in half. He jumped out of his desk chair. And launched a calculated attack while Sett had his arms filled with you.

"Woah! Buddy. What're you doing—?" Aphelios snatched Sett's chin, and planted the black marker against his nose and cheeks. With quick strokes, he painted the look of an actual dog on his face. Whiskers, snout and all. "Wait, isn't this permanent marker!?" Sett released you from his hold, jumping out of the bed and making a beeline for the bathroom.

Aphelios released a 'hmph' with a satisfied glean in his eyes. He sat down next to you, laced his arms around you, and plopped you both against the bed.

"Maybe Phelly's the real villain," you commented, snuggling his bed of hair. "But you two need to play nice. Okay? That was a mean thing to do to Setty. You should both apologize."

There was a twitch in his brow. He was the mean one!? He needed to apologize!? He brought you closer, placing his face between your neck and shoulder. He shook his head back and forth.

"Yes. Phelly. It's the nice thing to do," you said softly. "I know you two won't always get along. But I know you both love each other very much. And I love you both very much, too. And we can show that when we apologize after we hurt one another. Right?"

Aphelios buried himself deeper into the crook of your neck. Muffling his whines and groans into the heat of your skin. He didn't like admitting fault. He'd rather throw a written apology into the nearest burning trash can than give it to the actual person. It wasn't his fault he tended to hold onto grudges. It was always the other person's fault for not taking his personality into consideration. If they cared enough, they would know that about him. And in that case, they were making the conscious decision to be put on his shit list. He was the reasonable one. As far as he could tell.

"Please, Phelly," you asked sweetly, planting a kiss to the top of his head.

He exhaled one last breath of resistance. Somehow, you always had an unfair advantage over him. Slowly, he left the warmth of your body. That was a painful in itself. He almost cowered back into your arms. Needing a bit more strength, he slipped his mask down, and took your lips. Applying just enough pressure to make you both moan. Alright. That's all he needed. He could do this. He took up his notebook and marker.

Just as Aphelios was about to leave the room, Sett appeared from the door. His cheeks bruised red from all the scrubbing he had to do. Aphelios shifted his gaze away. A silent grip ensnared the two. Sett rubbed the guilty knot at the back of his neck. After a moment of silence, he grumbled under his breath. "Listen, Phel—"

Aphelios flipped his notebook around:

Sorry.

Sett stumbled against his words. He hadn't expected Aphelios to be the one to apologize first. Or honestly, apologize in the first place. Technically, it was Sett's own fault for egging him on the way he did. Sett's trouble was evident in the frown lines against his face.

"Yeah. I'm sorry too, Phel." Sett sighed, ears drooped. "I shouldn't have teased ya'h like that. But I couldn't help it. I just wanted you to take a break and cuddle with us. That's all. Hope you can forgive me."

Aphelios paused. The marker squeaked against the paper. He tossed his chin away, cheeks stained pink. He flipped the notepad:

I'll forgive you. On one condition. I'm middle.

Sett's ears perked-up. Grinning like a panting pup, he swooped Aphelio's into his love-crushing arms. You laughed when Sett dove onto the bed, causing you to bounce from the weight. Unraveling Aphelios like a long awaited package, you and Sett planted kisses against his flushed cheeks. The both of you then secured your legs across him, took up his upper-body, and rubbed against his figure in every way possible. Aphelios whined and groaned. He wanted to be cuddled—not suffocated. Of course, with his luck, things had to turn out this way.

an: poly!settphel x reader is my new crack. give me all the fics pls. also, maybe the next part will be nsfw. hmmmm! thank you for the follow req. anon!

#heartsteel #heartsteel x reader #aphelios x reader #sett x reader #settphel #settphel x reader #league of legends #league x reader #poly!settphel x reader

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mamisfavmosher · 2 years ago

Note

Can I request poly! Judgement Day with a s/o who's a stationary enthusiastic? Never leave me alone in the stationary section at the drugstore because I will buy the entire world

thanks for the request!

stationary sweetheart // poly!judgment day x fem!reader

Readers POV

My eyes widened as I spotted the stationary section. All the bright colors, the pretty gels and inks, the various patterns printed onto sticky notes, the different textures of paper, the abundance of notebooks and notepads. All of it drew me in and I couldn't stop myself when my feet started moving closer and closer.

I slowly walked down the aisle, stopping multiple times to admire something. Coming to a halt, I looked around and realized that my four partners were no where to be seen. Furrowing my brows for a second, I shrugged and carried on browsing.

I gasped when I saw it. The prettiest pen I had ever laid my eyes on. The stick of the pen was wrapped in purple ribbon and purple feathers sprouted from the top. I carefully grabbed the pen and observed it in my grasp. Removing the cap, I scribbled lightly on a piece of sampling paper and immediately grinned. The ink was a beautiful purple gel.

Meanwhile, the other four members of the Judgment Day had been on one mission: get cough medicine. That was until they noticed their fifth member and beloved girlfriend was no longer following behind them. Rhea immediately started to panic, thinking of the worst. The four of them made quick work of spreading out through the store to search.

Back in the stationary section, I happily smirked as my eyes landed on the marker display. These were some of my favorites as my partners would usually let me color on their tattoos to waste time, so I'm always on the look out for new colors. I spotted a packet of pastel markers and another packet that had an 'under the sea' color palette. Holding both packets in my arms along with my purple pen, the various shades and patterns of sticky notes caught my eye. Wandering over to them, I inspected all the different prints and picked up a few packs. I knew we needed some more at the house, so my partners should understand.

A dark blur crossed the aisle opening in front of me before stopping and quickly backing up. "Sweetheart, we've been looking all over for you!" It was Dom. He walked over to me and chuckled at the sight of my arms filled with stationary goodies.

"Sorry, Dom Dom. I couldn't help myself! But, look!" I held out the pretty purple pen and moved it around so the feathers would tickle him.

"That's a real nice pen, chica, but you had Mami worried sick." Dom lectured, but gently smiled at me before I could defend myself. "Let me tell her I found you real quick." He pulled out his phone and sent her a text.

Before either of us had time to leave the aisle, Mami came barreling around the corner and swiftly walked over to us. "Baby, you can't just walk away from us like that! We had no idea where you went!" She said in an exasperated manner, her brows furrowed.

"Mami, I'm sorry, but I just wanted to look at all the pretty stuff... Plus, we're out of sticky notes at home." I held up one of the multiple packs of sticky notes in my arms and watched with a small smile as her resolve faded.

She sighed and shook her head before grabbing all of the items from my arms and putting them in her basket. "Well, thanks for getting the sticky notes, babe. Just let one of us know when you want to go down a specific aisle next time. You scared the hell out of me... thought something happened to you." She held out her hand for me to grab, which I did before proceeding to kiss her cheek. Rhea smirked down at me, then switched her attention to the two men jogging into the aisle. Damian and Finn were out of breath as they looked at me with pointed gazes.

"Don't worry, guys. Rhea and I already gave her the lecture." Dom chimed in, picking up a pack of Halloween stickers behind him and holding it up for me to see. "You want more stickers, too, baby?"

I gasped, "Yes!", snatching the stickers and throwing them in the basket.

"Lass, what do you need that many sticky notes for?" Finn eyed the contents of the basket and looked to me. I pulled the three packs out and held them up to him.

"This one's for whatever anyone wants, this one's for dates on the calendar, and this one's for me to leave little notes around the house for you all." I shyly smiled and gently put them back in the basket.

"You're too sweet, babygirl." Damian pulled me into him and kissed the top of my head. "I better get the most lovey-dovey shit in those little notes." He said with raised eyebrows.

"Of course! The most lovey-dovey shit for all of you." I giggled and Damian attacked the side of my head with soft kisses.

He nuzzled my face into his chest. "Our sweet little angel. But, don't ever scare us like that again." His voice became stern.

"I won't, promise." They all gave me a quick kiss before we checked out and headed home to make good use of my new stationary goodies.

#wwe #rhea ripley #the judgement day #dominik mysterio #finn balor #damian priest #wwe superstars #fanfiction #rhea ripley x reader #dominik mysterio x reader #finn balor x reader #damian priest x reader #the judgment day x reader #poly!judgment day #monday night raw #friday night smackdown #wwe x reader #judgment day fluff

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vertrauensieihremarztm · 2 months ago

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Minutes have passed since Sniper last said he would arrive. It doesn't help that he fell silent for a little while, too- the clock ticking idly in the background as the seconds blend together, until, and rather abruptly, the doors to the infirmary swing open.

Finally, he's arrived, although somehow a little more disheveled than normal, a scowl on his face as he glares at Medic from behind his aviators, panting like he's just run a marathon.

[ @gunners-and-feathers ]

// SORRY THIS TOOK ME AWHILE anyway hes been grumped

Medic turned from the notes he’d been writing, a broad smile on his face— not necessarily a fond smile, but rather his naturally wide toothed grin. Taking a moment to observe your disheveled state, his eyes trailed up and down quickly before settling back on your own pair, not paying much care to how you looked but rather your untimely manner.

Ah! Sniper, finally here. Where were you? I’ve been waiting a good… hmm… He put his finger to his chin as he kind of bobbed his head in a thoughtful manner, looking up to the clock. 20 minutes? A half hour? Something of those sorts.

Medic was setting a few things away, a notepad and pen, some sort of sample in a Petri dish you probably are better off not knowing about, and a small microscope. As he moved around the room, reaching up to put the microscope in a top cabinet he turned towards you, tilting his head curiously.

Where’s Misha?

#medicmumbles #team fortress 2 #tf2 medic #tf2 rp blog #team fortress 2 roleplay #tf2 #medic team fortress 2 #tf2 roleplay blog #//Guys idk how to roleplay. This is my first roleplay account i fear. 🥹😭😭 just be patient with me I’ll get there eventually… maybe.

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collegetennisoriginstory · 8 days ago

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hi I just wanted to ask like. When you write your code or well just the if overall where do you put it actually like in Google docs????? I'm asking bc I want to make an IF as well but I have no idea what I'm doing........

Hi!! I usually write and code using this programme called visual studio code, but you can also do it directly in notepad (you just need to be able to create .txt files. Download the cog forum sample code files and you can edit it directly from notepad/programmes visual studio code!)

Lemme know if you need more help :)

#not ct:os related #writing #coding

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amethystarachnid · 5 months ago

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Hi! Could I please request part 2 of CHRISTMAS PROPOSAL? First of all, thank you so much for the first part—I absolutely loved it! I adore pure fluff Tony, and I’d love to see how he and the reader prepare for the wedding. The ceremony is full of love and warmth😍 And maybe a honeymoon too? 👀 Totally up to you!

Also, I’m obsessed with your HAPPY TEARS with Steve, so I’m super curious to see how Tony spends his wedding day! 😘 Thank you!

CHRISTMAS PROPOSAL - part II

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Word count: 7k

ᯓ★ Part I | Part III

ᯓ★ Summary: what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): fluff fluff fluff

ᯓ★Uhm guys??? 422 followers??? I can't even explain how happy I am, and it's all thanks to you guys <3 so I wanted to do something special (like the holiday special kind of stuff) but I have absolutely no idea lmao, so if you have any suggestion feel free to comment or send an ask <3

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

It starts with a cozy night in, the two of you curled up on the couch again, laptops open, surrounded by a chaotic array of wedding magazines, fabric swatches, and a notepad filled with Tony’s increasingly absurd ideas.

“Alright,” you say, balancing your laptop on your knees as you scroll through potential wedding venues. “If we’re doing this Stark-style, it’s gotta be epic. But not so over-the-top that people think we’re filming a movie instead of getting married.”

Tony doesn’t even look up from his own screen. “Epic but not over-the-top? That’s literally my whole brand. Relax, I’ve got this.”

You glance at him over the rim of your glasses, one brow arched. “Do you? Because the last time you ‘got this,’ you suggested the moon as a venue.”

He looks up, feigning offense. “And what’s wrong with the moon? It’s exclusive, it’s got amazing views, and we wouldn’t have to worry about gate crashers.”

“We’d also have to worry about oxygen,” you counter, biting back a smile. “I love you, but I’m not wearing a spacesuit to my own wedding.”

“Fair point,” he concedes, leaning back against the couch and smirking. “Alright, no moon. But hear me out—what about Lake Como? Gorgeous scenery, plenty of luxury villas, and no space helmets required.”

You pause, considering it. “Lake Como… that’s actually not a bad idea.”

Tony snaps his fingers, looking smug. “Of course it’s not. I’m a genius.”

The planning spirals from there. Within hours, you’ve gone from casually browsing venues to booking a private villa overlooking the lake, complete with sprawling gardens, a dock for sunset photos, and enough rooms to house your closest friends and family.

The next day, you find yourself sitting at the kitchen counter, poring over catering options while Tony insists on researching cake flavors. By “researching,” of course, he means ordering samples from every bakery within a hundred-mile radius.

“You realize we could just taste the cakes when we fly to Lake Como,” you point out as he sets yet another box of cupcakes in front of you.

“And you realize this is me we’re talking about, right?” he replies, already peeling the wrapper off a red velvet cupcake. “I’m not leaving anything to chance. Besides, I need to know what’s out there before we start narrowing down the options.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling as you take a bite of the cupcake he hands you. “Okay, fine. But if I gain ten pounds before the wedding, you’re footing the bill for my dress alterations.”

“Deal,” he says with a grin, licking frosting off his finger.

Things escalate quickly after that. Tony throws himself into wedding planning with the same enthusiasm he brings to building a new suit, and while his ideas often verge on ridiculous, you can’t deny that he’s genuinely trying to make this day as perfect as possible. By the end of the week, you’ve picked out invitations (“Minimalist and classy,” you insist, vetoing Tony’s idea of holographic ones), narrowed down a guest list, and even debated the merits of having an ice sculpture at the reception.

The moment that really seals it, though, is when Tony insists on flying to Lake Como to finalize everything in person. “I’m not trusting some random event planner with this,” he declares, scrolling through flights on his tablet. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

Which is how you end up on a private jet a few days later, sipping champagne at 30,000 feet while Tony leans over a stack of cake photos, ranking them on a scale from “delicious” to “life-changing.”

“I still think we should’ve gone with the tiramisu-inspired one,” you say, nibbling on a chocolate-covered strawberry from the platter on the table.

Tony looks up, his expression mock-serious. “Tiramisu is great, but have you considered the social impact of a six-tier chocolate hazelnut masterpiece? It’ll change lives.”

You snort, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he counters, grinning as he reaches over to steal your strawberry.

When you finally land in Italy, the villa takes your breath away. The lake stretches out before you, its surface shimmering in the sunlight, and the gardens are bursting with flowers in every color imaginable. Tony looks around, nodding approvingly. “Not bad,” he says, slipping his sunglasses on. “It’ll do.”

“It’s perfect,” you breathe, spinning slowly to take it all in. “Tony, this is… wow.”

He smirks, clearly pleased with himself. “Told you. Epic but not over-the-top.”

The next few days are a whirlwind of meetings with caterers, florists, and decorators. You try on dresses at a boutique in the charming village nearby while Tony spends an alarming amount of time debating the merits of different napkin folds with the wedding planner. (“They’ll notice,” he insists when you tease him about it. “Trust me.”)

The cake tasting is an event in itself. You’re seated at a long table overlooking the lake, a parade of beautifully decorated cakes laid out before you. Tony, of course, takes this as seriously as he does everything else, meticulously tasting each one and jotting down notes like a food critic.

“This one,” he says, pointing to a slice of lemon raspberry. “It’s light, it’s fresh, it’s got that ‘wow’ factor.”

You nod, trying it yourself. “I like it. But what about the hazelnut one?”

Tony sighs, clearly torn. “They’re both amazing. Maybe we do two cakes?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Of course you’d suggest two cakes.”

“Hey, it’s our wedding,” he says, grinning. “Why not go all out?”

By the time you’ve settled on a menu, chosen floral arrangements, and finalized the seating chart, you’re both exhausted but exhilarated. One night, after a particularly long day of planning, you collapse onto the couch in the villa’s living room, your feet propped up on Tony’s lap.

“This is a lot of work,” you say, letting out a dramatic sigh. “How do people do this without a billionaire fiancé?”

Tony chuckles, massaging your feet as he leans back. “They probably don’t argue over napkin folds for three hours.”

“You started it,” you remind him, grinning.

“And I stand by it,” he replies, smirking. “But seriously, we’re killing it. This is going to be the wedding of the century.”

You smile, reaching out to take his hand. “As long as I’m marrying you, it’ll be perfect.”

He squeezes your hand, his expression softening. “Ditto.”

The days fly by, and before you know it, you’re boarding the jet back to New York, your heads buzzing with ideas and plans. The wedding is shaping up to be everything you dreamed of and more, and as you settle into your seat, Tony leans over to kiss your temple.

“Ready to make this official?” he murmurs.

You turn to him, your heart swelling with love and excitement. “I’ve been ready since the day you asked me.”

The announcement of your engagement predictably sets off a media firestorm. After all, Tony Stark isn’t just any billionaire—he’s the billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist who swore he’d never settle down. And now he’s planning a wedding? It’s enough to send every tabloid, gossip site, and high-end magazine into overdrive.

Your phones are bombarded with calls from reporters, PR teams, and acquaintances who haven’t spoken to either of you in years. Headlines splash across screens with phrases like “Iron Man Off the Market!” and “Tony Stark’s Bride-to-Be: Who Is She, and What Will She Wear?”

Tony, of course, thrives in the chaos. He’s always loved being the center of attention, and the fact that everyone’s buzzing about the wedding seems to amuse him endlessly.

“Look at this,” he says one morning, lounging on the couch with a tablet in hand. He’s still in his pajama pants, his hair sticking out in every direction, but his grin is pure Tony Stark. “Page Six thinks we’re hosting the wedding on a private island. They’re speculating if we’ll helicopter the guests in or just use a fleet of yachts.”

You glance over your coffee cup at him, unimpressed. “And they’re wrong. Again. Are you keeping track of how many ridiculous rumors they’ve printed so far?”

“Seventeen,” he says cheerfully. “And counting.”

You roll your eyes, shaking your head. “I still can’t believe people care this much. It’s just a wedding.”

“Our wedding,” Tony corrects, setting the tablet aside. “The Stark name alone guarantees headlines, but throw in the mystery of you and the fact that we’re not doing some flashy billionaire extravaganza? It’s like catnip for the press.”

He’s not wrong. The media frenzy reaches new heights when it leaks that you’re not wearing a designer wedding gown. For days, every major fashion house seems to issue statements claiming they would have been honored to dress you. Some are downright offended, their outrage thinly veiled in press releases about how they “support individuality in brides” while clearly implying they can’t believe you’d snub them.

You, however, couldn’t care less. Months ago, during one of your trips to Lake Como to finalize wedding plans, you stumbled upon a small boutique in a quiet village just off the beaten path. The seamstress, an older woman with a warm smile and a sharp eye, had insisted on making your dress after hearing you talk about your love for simple elegance. She’d shown you sketches, swatches of delicate fabrics, and handmade lace, and by the end of the meeting, you’d been sold.

“It’s perfect,” you’d told her, running your fingers over the soft fabric she’d shown you. “Exactly what I want.”

And now, even as the world speculates about your decision, you stand by it. You can’t imagine wearing anything else.

Tony, though, is another story. He’s been obsessively trying to sneak a peek at the dress ever since you mentioned it, and he’s not exactly subtle about it.

“Come on,” he says one afternoon, sidling up to you in the kitchen where you’re scrolling through your email. He leans against the counter, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just show me a picture. One tiny little photo. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

You don’t even look up. “Nope.”

He groans dramatically, flopping down onto a barstool like you’ve just broken his heart. “You’re killing me, you know that?”

“You’ll survive,” you reply, smirking.

“Will I, though?” he counters, leaning forward. “I’m a very visual person. How am I supposed to mentally prepare for this wedding if I don’t know what you’ll look like walking down the aisle?”

“Use your imagination,” you suggest, scrolling past an ad for floral arrangements.

“I am,” he says, grinning. “But it would be way easier if you’d just give me a hint. Is it white? Off-white? Does it have lace? Beading? A cape?”

You laugh, finally glancing up at him. “A cape? Seriously?”

“Hey, I’ve seen stranger things,” he says, holding up his hands defensively. “You never know.”

“Nice try,” you say, patting his cheek before turning back to your laptop. “But you’re not seeing it until the wedding.”

Tony doesn’t give up easily, of course. Over the next few days, he tries everything from bribing you with your favorite snacks to kissing you senseless in an attempt to distract you long enough to sneak a glance at your phone.

One evening, you’re curled up on the couch when he tries a new tactic. “What if I guess?” he asks, turning to face you with a mischievous glint in his eye. “If I get it right, you have to show me.”

“Good luck with that,” you say, smirking.

He narrows his eyes, studying you like you’re a puzzle he’s determined to solve. “Okay. Is it strapless?”

“Not telling.”

“Long train?”

“Still not telling.”

“Some kind of vintage vibe?” he asks, leaning closer like he’s about to crack the code.

You just smile innocently, refusing to give anything away.

Tony groans, throwing his head back dramatically. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” you reply, grinning as you lean in to kiss him.

Meanwhile, the media isn’t taking the news about the no-press rule any better than Tony’s taking your refusal to show him the dress. The announcement is met with everything from outrage to confusion, with some outlets even speculating that the wedding isn’t happening at all.

“It’s hilarious,” Tony says one morning, reading a headline aloud. “‘Stark Wedding Cloaked in Secrecy: Is This All Just a Publicity Stunt?’ They’re acting like we’re planning a covert operation.”

“Well, you are Iron Man,” you point out, sipping your coffee. “Maybe they think we’re staging the wedding in a bunker.”

“Now there’s an idea,” Tony says, grinning. “Really throw them off the scent.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “No bunkers. And no reporters. This is our day, Tony. Not theirs.”

He reaches across the table, taking your hand. “I know. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The days leading up to the wedding are chaotic but exhilarating. Between finalizing last-minute details and fielding questions from your friends and family, you barely have time to breathe. But through it all, Tony keeps things light, his humor and unwavering support reminding you why you fell in love with him in the first place.

And even though he’s still dying to see the dress, he respects your decision to keep it a secret. Mostly.

One night, as you’re lying in bed, he wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. “You know,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, “I could just hack your email and find the picture myself.”

You laugh, swatting his chest. “Don’t you dare.”

He grins, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Fine. I’ll wait. But just so you know, the suspense is killing me.”

“It’ll be worth it,” you promise, snuggling into his side. “I promise.”

As you drift off to sleep, you can’t help but smile, knowing that no matter what the media says or how many absurd rumors they print, the only thing that really matters is that you’re marrying the man you love. And on your wedding day, when Tony finally sees you in that dress, you know it’ll all be worth it.

When the countdown to the wedding day dwindles to single digits, the two of you make your way back to Lake Como. The villa looks even more beautiful than you remembered, draped in flowers and golden sunlight as preparations kick into full swing. You can hardly believe it’s all happening so soon.

The day before the wedding, your dress finally arrives. It’s carefully packaged and transported from the little boutique in the village, the seamstress herself bringing it to the villa. She fusses over you like a proud grandmother as she helps you slip into it for the very first time.

In the mirror, you catch your breath.

The dress is everything you dreamed it would be. Soft, elegant lace hugs your body in all the right places, cascading into a flowing skirt that feels like it was made from clouds. Delicate beading glimmers subtly in the light, and the handcrafted details are so intricate, they could bring you to tears. You touch the fabric reverently, as if you can’t quite believe it’s real.

“You look stunning,” the seamstress says, her voice warm and pleased. She adjusts a pin here, a hem there, her skilled hands making sure everything is perfect. “Tony will not know what to do with himself.”

At the mention of Tony, you smile, imagining the way his jaw will drop when he sees you in this. But then your smile turns mischievous because you can also picture how frustrated he’d be if he knew you were trying the dress on without him.

True to your “no peeking” rule, Tony is relegated to the other end of the villa. You’d been firm about it—he wasn’t allowed anywhere near you or the dress until the ceremony.

That doesn’t stop him from trying.

A little while later, as you’re standing in the room where you’ve been hiding the dress, you hear a soft knock on the door. You frown, glancing at the seamstress, who gives you a knowing look before slipping out the side door to give you some privacy.

You crack the door open cautiously, already suspecting who it is.

“Tony,” you say, narrowing your eyes when you find him leaning casually against the doorframe. He’s dressed in a fitted suit—dark slacks and a crisp button-down shirt—but there’s nothing formal about the way he’s smirking at you.

“Just checking in,” he says, holding up his hands in mock innocence. “I wanted to make sure you haven’t run off.”

You snort, crossing your arms. “I’m not going anywhere. But you’re not supposed to be here.”

“I’m not in the room,” he points out, tilting his head. “I’m just near it. Totally different.”

“Not different enough.” You start to close the door, but he stops you with a hand on the edge, his grin widening.

“Come on,” he says, his voice dropping into that smooth, coaxing tone he knows you have a hard time resisting. “Just a little peek. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“Absolutely not.” You try to sound firm, but you can’t help laughing at how persistent he is. “You’ll see the dress tomorrow. Until then, you’re staying out of this room.”

“Alright, fine,” he relents, stepping back with a sigh. But then he winks. “Just know that the suspense is killing me.”

As he walks away, you shake your head, still smiling. You’ve known Tony long enough to expect this kind of behavior, but it only makes you love him more.

The next morning, the villa is alive with activity. The air buzzes with excitement as everyone prepares for the big day. Florists scurry around, perfecting the arrangements, while the catering team sets up tables under the canopy of twinkling lights. Somewhere in the distance, you can hear the faint strains of music as the band rehearses.

In the bridal suite, you’re surrounded by your closest friends and family as you get ready. The room is a flurry of makeup brushes, champagne glasses, and heartfelt laughter. Your dress hangs nearby, carefully draped on a mannequin, waiting for the final moment when you’ll put it on.

You glance at your phone, where a series of texts from Tony light up the screen:

Tony: How’s it going over there? Tony: Are you wearing the dress yet? Tony: I’m starving. Can I come steal some snacks? Tony: Okay, fine. I miss you. This no-seeing-you thing is stupid.

You laugh, typing out a quick response:

You: No, you can’t come over. It’s tradition. Suck it up.

A reply comes almost instantly:

Tony: Traditions are overrated. I’m breaking in and stealing you.

Shaking your head, you put your phone down and focus on getting ready. A stylist adjusts the loose waves in your hair, pinning them back just enough to keep them off your face while leaving the rest to cascade over your shoulders. Your makeup is soft and natural, just enough to highlight your features without overpowering them.

When the moment finally comes to put on the dress, everyone falls silent. Your heart races as the seamstress—who’s been invited to attend the wedding as a guest—helps you into it, her hands steady and confident. The fabric feels as weightless as a dream, and when you turn to look in the mirror, your breath catches all over again.

The room erupts in gasps and whispers of awe. Your best friend wipes away a tear, and your mother clasps her hands to her mouth, her eyes shining with emotion.

“You look incredible,” someone says, but their voice is distant, almost drowned out by the pounding of your heart.

It’s real. This is happening. You’re getting married.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the villa, Tony is pacing in his own suite, clearly struggling with the whole “no seeing each other before the ceremony” rule. Happy sits in the corner, shaking his head as Tony mutters under his breath.

“This is ridiculous,” Tony says, tugging at the collar of his suit jacket. “Why can’t I just go see her? It’s not like we’re superstitious.”

“It’s tradition,” Happy reminds him for what feels like the hundredth time. “And you agreed to it, remember?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think it would be this hard,” Tony grumbles. “What if she’s freaking out? What if she needs me?”

Happy raises an eyebrow. “Do you really think she’s freaking out? She’s probably fine. You, on the other hand…”

Tony stops pacing, running a hand through his hair. “I just— I don’t know. I hate not knowing what’s going on. And I hate waiting.”

Happy chuckles. “Welcome to marriage.”

The ceremony takes place under a golden sunset that casts the shores of Lake Como in warm, radiant hues. The guests are seated in an intimate garden surrounded by flowers and soft candlelight. A gentle breeze carries the scent of jasmine and roses through the air, mingling with the faint strains of the string quartet playing softly in the background.

Tony stands at the end of the aisle, uncharacteristically still. For a man who thrives on control and confidence, he looks both out of place and exactly where he’s meant to be. His suit fits him perfectly—because, of course, it’s custom-made—but it’s his expression that stands out. His usual cocky smirk is nowhere to be found, replaced by something softer, almost vulnerable. His eyes are locked on the end of the aisle, where he knows you’ll appear any second now.

When the music shifts, signaling your arrival, everyone turns. You step into view, your dress catching the light in a way that seems almost otherworldly. Your heart is pounding so loudly you’re sure everyone can hear it, but the second you meet Tony’s gaze, the world narrows to just the two of you. His mouth falls open slightly, and he visibly swallows, blinking as though he’s trying to commit every detail to memory.

The aisle feels impossibly long and yet too short at the same time. Your steps are measured, your arm looped through your father’s, but all you can focus on is Tony. When you finally reach him, your father gently squeezes your hand before stepping back, leaving the two of you standing together.

“You look…” Tony starts, but he trails off, shaking his head as though words fail him. His hands twitch at his sides, like he’s barely restraining himself from pulling you into his arms right then and there. Finally, he settles for whispering, “You’re breathtaking.”

“Back at you, Stark,” you reply, grinning as you squeeze his hands.

The officiant begins the ceremony, but it’s hard to focus on anything except Tony’s gaze, which never leaves yours. There are laughs when the officiant makes a joke about how unexpected it is to see Tony Stark—the man who swore off commitment—standing here, and a few sniffles when he talks about the journey that brought the two of you together.

When it’s time for the vows, Tony goes first. He clears his throat, looking unusually nervous, which only makes you smile.

“Okay,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck before taking both of your hands in his. “So, I’m not exactly the best at this whole heartfelt speech thing. I usually rely on charm and wit to get me through emotional situations. But… I guess that won’t work here, huh?”

The guests laugh softly, and Tony takes a deep breath before continuing. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and that’s coming from a guy who’s built flying suits and saved the world a few times. You make everything better—me, my life, the world. And I don’t know how I got so lucky, but I do know I’m not letting you go. Ever. You’re my everything, and I promise to keep proving that to you every single day.”

There’s a collective “aww” from the crowd, and you have to blink back tears as you smile at him.

When it’s your turn, you take a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. “Tony, you are the most infuriating, brilliant, and wonderful person I’ve ever met. You challenge me, you support me, and you love me in ways I never thought possible. You’ve shown me that love isn’t about perfection—it’s about choosing each other, every single day, even when things get messy. I choose you, Tony. I’ll always choose you.”

Tony’s eyes shine with unshed tears as you finish, and you hear a few sniffles from the audience. The officiant smiles, asking for the rings, which Pepper hands over with a wink.

When the vows are complete, the officiant pronounces you husband and wife. Tony doesn’t wait for permission; he pulls you into a kiss that’s so tender, so full of love, that it feels like time stops. The guests cheer, but all you can hear is the pounding of your heart and the soft, warm press of his lips against yours.

At the reception, the energy is electric. The villa’s gardens have been transformed into a magical setting, with fairy lights strung through the trees and tables adorned with elegant floral arrangements. The food is exquisite, as expected, and the champagne flows freely.

Tony is in his element, mingling with guests, cracking jokes, and stealing kisses from you whenever he gets the chance. You’ve just finished an amazing meal—one that includes truffle pasta and a heavenly risotto—when the band announces a special performance.

Tony stands, dramatically clinking his glass to get everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, smirking as he loosens his tie, “it’s time for a little entertainment. And no, I don’t mean another Stark tech demonstration. This one’s just for my wife.”

Your eyes narrow suspiciously, but you can’t hide your grin. “What are you up to, Stark?”

“You’ll see,” he says, winking before heading to the center of the dance floor.

The music shifts to something sultry yet playful, and Tony begins to dance. At first, it’s surprisingly smooth—he’s clearly put some effort into this—but then it starts getting ridiculous. He throws in dramatic spins, over-the-top gestures, and even a few hip thrusts that make you laugh so hard you have to wipe tears from your eyes.

By the time he finishes with a ridiculous flourish, the guests are on their feet, clapping and cheering. Tony returns to your side, grinning like a kid who’s just pulled off the prank of the century.

“That was… something,” you say, still laughing as you pull him into a hug.

“Only the best for you, Mrs. Stark,” he replies, pressing a kiss to your temple.

After the dance, it’s time for the cake. It’s a towering masterpiece of chocolate, caramel, and gold leaf, and when you and Tony cut into it together, the crowd erupts in cheers. Tony, of course, can’t resist smearing a little frosting on your nose, and you retaliate by smearing some on his cheek. The photos are sure to be priceless.

As the night winds down, the guests begin to trickle away, leaving just the two of you. You stand on the edge of the garden, looking out over the lake, the lights reflecting off the water like a scene from a dream.

“Well, Mrs. Stark,” Tony says, wrapping his arms around you from behind, “how does it feel to be officially stuck with me?”

You laugh, leaning back against him. “It feels perfect.”

“Good,” he says, nuzzling your neck. “Because this is just the beginning.”

When you finally retreat to the villa for the night, the excitement of the day lingers in the air. The room is dimly lit with candles, and the soft scent of roses fills the space. Tony takes your hand, pulling you close as he whispers, “Ready to start forever?”

You nod, smiling up at him. “Ready.”

Preparing for your honeymoon with Tony is an adventure in itself. The idea of spending weeks together on a luxury cruise, hopping between breathtaking destinations, sounds like a dream. But with Tony Stark involved, even the most straightforward plans take on a chaotic, hilarious, and deeply charming twist.

It starts with the packing. Tony has promised—on his honor, no less—that he won’t talk about work or tinker with his suits during the entire honeymoon. You’re skeptical, of course, but he insists he’s serious.

“You think I can’t relax?” he asks, dramatically throwing a shirt into his suitcase. “I’ll show you relaxing. I’m going to be so relaxed, people will worry about me.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning against the doorway to his closet. “Uh-huh. And how many suits have you snuck onto the ship already?”

“None!” he exclaims, looking genuinely offended. “Zero suits. Nada. Zilch. Just me, my charming personality, and an array of tasteful resort wear.”

You can’t help laughing at that. “You? Tasteful resort wear? I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Tony smirks, crossing the room to pull you into his arms. “Keep doubting me, sweetheart. It just makes it more fun to prove you wrong.”

When it comes time to pack your own bags, Tony is—predictably—less than helpful. He hovers as you fold clothes, offering unhelpful suggestions like, “Do you really need that many shoes? You only have two feet,” and, “If we’re on a ship, do you think swimwear counts as acceptable dinner attire?”

Finally, you shoo him out of the room, promising to meet him downstairs once you’re finished. True to form, he makes an exit that involves exaggerated sighs and complaints about being “a misunderstood husband.”

The morning of your departure arrives, and the energy is palpable. The cruise Tony booked isn’t just any cruise—it’s a floating paradise with every imaginable luxury. There’s a private suite, gourmet dining, world-class spa treatments, and an itinerary that includes stops at some of the most beautiful places in the world.

“Did you see the pictures of the suite?” Tony asks as the two of you board the ship. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, which is both adorable and mildly concerning. “It’s got a hot tub on the balcony. A hot tub, Y/N! On a boat! It’s like science and luxury had a baby.”

You laugh, squeezing his hand. “I saw the pictures. It looks amazing.”

“And wait until you see the restaurant menus,” he continues. “They’ve got a chef who does molecular gastronomy. I mean, it’s a cruise, but they’re serving food that looks like it came out of a lab. That’s my kind of vacation.”

Despite his excitement, you catch him sneaking a glance at his phone more than once during check-in. It’s clear he’s tempted to check his emails or fiddle with something Stark-related, but you don’t call him out on it. Yet.

The first day on the ship is nothing short of magical. The suite is even more impressive in person, with floor-to-ceiling windows that offer sweeping views of the ocean. True to Tony’s word, there’s a hot tub on the balcony, as well as a plush lounge area where the two of you immediately collapse after unpacking.

“Alright,” Tony says, lying back with his hands behind his head. “First order of business: relaxation. What’s next?”

“Relaxation doesn’t have orders,” you tease, sitting beside him. “You just… relax.”

He makes a skeptical face. “Seems inefficient. But okay.”

To your surprise, Tony takes to cruise life remarkably well. The first couple of days are spent indulging in everything the ship has to offer—long, lazy breakfasts on your private balcony, couples’ massages at the spa, and afternoon naps in the sun. He keeps his promise about work, too, although there are a few close calls.

One evening, as the two of you are sitting in a lounge enjoying cocktails, he starts rambling about some new tech idea.

“So, I was thinking,” he says, gesturing with his drink. “What if we—”

You cut him off with a raised eyebrow. “What was the promise, Tony?”

He pauses mid-sentence, then groans dramatically. “Fine. No work talk. But just so you know, I’m going to forget this genius idea by the time we get home.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive,” you reply, grinning.

As the ship makes its way to its first port of call, you fall into an easy rhythm. Days are spent exploring the destinations—wandering through charming coastal towns, lounging on pristine beaches, and taking in breathtaking views. Tony insists on treating you to the best of everything, whether it’s a private wine tasting at a hillside vineyard or a helicopter tour of the islands.

“Only the best for Mrs. Stark,” he says with a wink, handing you a glass of champagne at one point.

“You do realize I’d be happy with just a quiet walk on the beach, right?” you tease, but he shakes his head.

“Nope. Not on my watch. You’re getting the full Stark experience.”

Despite his penchant for extravagance, Tony seems genuinely happy just being with you. He holds your hand as you stroll through markets, points out landmarks with boyish enthusiasm, and makes you laugh until your sides hurt.

At night, the two of you return to the ship, where you share intimate dinners, dance under the stars, and curl up on the balcony to watch the waves.

One of the highlights of the trip is a stop at a secluded island, where Tony has arranged for a private day just for the two of you. There’s a cabana set up on the beach, complete with comfortable lounge chairs, a table for two, and a chilled bottle of champagne waiting.

“This is ridiculous,” you say, laughing as Tony leads you to the cabana. “In the best way.”

“Ridiculously romantic,” he corrects, pulling you into a hug. “Admit it—you love it.”

You do, of course, but you pretend to think about it for a moment before replying. “It’s alright, I guess.”

Tony scoffs, shaking his head. “Unbelievable. I marry you, whisk you away to paradise, and this is the thanks I get?”

You laugh, standing on tiptoe to kiss him. “Thank you, Mr. Stark. It’s perfect.”

The day is spent swimming in the crystal-clear water, lounging in the cabana, and sharing a delicious meal prepared by a private chef. By the time the sun sets, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you feel completely at peace.

Tony wraps an arm around you as you sit on the beach together, watching the waves lap at the shore. “You know,” he says, his voice soft, “I could get used to this.”

“Used to what?” you ask, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“Not thinking about work. Just… being here. With you.” He pauses, then adds with a smirk, “But don’t tell anyone I said that. I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you reply, smiling.

As the cruise continues, the two of you grow even closer, sharing moments that range from hilariously ridiculous (like Tony attempting to teach you how to play poker in the ship’s casino) to deeply romantic (like dancing barefoot on your balcony under a blanket of stars). By the time the honeymoon comes to an end, it feels like the two of you have created a lifetime’s worth of memories.

“You know,” Tony says as the ship pulls into its final port, “I think I could actually do this whole ‘relaxation’ thing more often.”

“Really?” you tease. “No suits? No gadgets? Just us?”

He grins, pulling you into a kiss. “Just us.”

Returning to the hustle and bustle of life after the honeymoon feels surreal. The warm glow of relaxation clings to you both, and even Tony seems slower to dive back into work. You’ve settled into the penthouse, unpacking and sifting through souvenirs from the cruise—a little sunburnt but completely content.

The first morning back, Tony’s sprawled on the couch in sweatpants, eating leftover pizza with a sort of smug satisfaction. He looks at you from over the crust of his slice as you sort through a pile of mail on the coffee table. “So, Mrs. Stark,” he says, voice full of mischief. “Back to reality or another vacation?”

You smirk at him, tying your hair into a messy bun. “You’ve been spoiled enough for one honeymoon. Time to work, billionaire.”

“Cruel,” he murmurs dramatically, though his eyes are warm as he watches you. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s going to be to focus on work now? Every time I look at my desk, I’ll remember that sunset in Santorini and think, ‘Why am I not with her instead?’”

You toss a throw pillow at him, laughing. “Well, if you need extra motivation to stay home, there’s plenty of laundry that needs folding.”

“Tempting,” he deadpans. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Later that afternoon, Pepper stops by with a stack of folders and updates from Stark Industries. She and Tony disappear into his office for what’s supposed to be a quick briefing, leaving you to scroll through your phone on the couch. You’re mid-yawn when a ping from a group chat grabs your attention.

Your best friend: OMG Y/N LOOK AT THIS. A second later, there’s a link attached to the message. Frowning, you click it—and your stomach drops.

It’s an article from a celebrity gossip site. The headline screams: “Tony Stark and New Bride’s Honeymoon Pics Will Make You Believe in Love Again!” Below it is a slideshow of photos from your honeymoon, clearly taken by a very determined paparazzo. The images range from shots of you and Tony laughing during a candlelit dinner to more intimate moments: Tony resting his head on your shoulder during a sunset cruise, your hand resting lightly on his chest while you both lounge by the pool.

But the most infuriating ones are the beach pictures. There you are in your swimsuit—smiling, carefree, and utterly oblivious to the fact that someone was pointing a camera at you. The comments beneath the article are already flooded with reactions, mostly admiring your figure and gushing over how “down-to-earth and gorgeous” you look.

You’re still scrolling when Tony emerges from his office, arms full of files. “Hey, sweetheart, what’s—” He stops mid-sentence when he sees the expression on your face. “Uh-oh. What happened?”

Wordlessly, you hold up your phone, and Tony squints at the screen. His jaw tightens as he processes the headline and the pictures.

“Son of a—” He cuts himself off, his free hand curling into a fist. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Paparazzi on a cruise? What, did they sneak onboard as stowaways?”

“I don’t know,” you mutter, setting the phone down. “But it’s… weird, right? I didn’t even see anyone with cameras.”

Tony drops the files on the coffee table, sitting down beside you with a frown. “They’re like cockroaches,” he says darkly. “Show up where you least expect them, and then they won’t leave you alone.”

You glance at him, chewing your lip. “I don’t mind people seeing us happy, but… the beach photos? It’s invasive.”

Tony’s arm snakes around your shoulders, pulling you close. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this crap. I’m calling legal.”

You stop him before he can grab his phone. “No, Tony. Let’s not make this bigger than it already is. It’ll blow over.”

He looks at you skeptically. “Blow over? Do you know the internet? This isn��t going away until people have analyzed every grain of sand in those pictures.”

You laugh despite yourself, leaning into him. “I’m serious. Let’s just ignore it. It’s not like they caught us doing anything embarrassing.”

Tony snorts. “Says you. I look like a smug beach towel in half of these pictures.”

“Smug beach towel?” you repeat, grinning.

“Don’t laugh. It’s a serious concern.” He tilts his head to give you a mock-serious look, but the teasing glint in his eyes betrays him. “Also, for the record, I don’t love the way half the internet is swooning over my wife.”

You blink at him, surprised. “Are you jealous?”

“Jealous?” He huffs, though the faint pink tint on his cheeks gives him away. “Of course not. I’m just… territorial. There’s a difference.”

“Uh-huh.” You grin, reaching up to ruffle his hair. “Don’t worry, Stark. I only have eyes for you.”

Tony pulls you closer, kissing the side of your head. “Damn right, you do.”

The next few days are a whirlwind of media buzz, but you stick to your plan to ignore it. That doesn’t stop the headlines from escalating, though. Every outlet has something to say, from praising your swimsuit to speculating about how you and Tony stay so “down-to-earth” despite his wealth.

“‘Down-to-earth,’” Tony mutters one evening, scrolling through an article with a raised eyebrow. “Do they know I own a jet with gold seatbelts?”

You laugh from where you’re sprawled across the couch, a bowl of popcorn in your lap. “Maybe they mean me. I’m the relatable one in this relationship.”

Tony looks over at you, pretending to be offended. “You? Relatable? What about me? I’m incredibly relatable.”

“You spent an entire morning arguing with JARVIS about the ideal temperature for orange juice,” you remind him.

“That’s called having standards,” he retorts, tossing a piece of popcorn into his mouth. “Besides, you married me. That makes you complicit in my ridiculousness.”

“Fair point,” you admit, smirking.

Despite the initial annoyance of the leaked photos, you both manage to laugh about it. Tony even uses the situation as an excuse to post a cheeky comment on one of the gossip sites: “Whoever took these pictures owes me royalties. Also, my wife looks stunning—don’t argue.”

Eventually, the buzz dies down, replaced by the next celebrity scandal. Life begins to return to normal—or as normal as it can be when you’re married to Tony Stark. He dives back into work, though he still makes an effort to carve out time for the two of you. Whether it’s impromptu date nights, lazy mornings in bed, or just sitting together on the couch watching movies, he’s determined to keep the honeymoon phase alive.

One evening, as the two of you are curled up in the penthouse living room, you catch him staring at you with a soft smile.

“What?” you ask, setting down your glass of wine.

“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “Just… thinking about how lucky I am.”

You roll your eyes, though your cheeks flush with warmth. “You’re such a sap.”

“For you? Always,” he says, pulling you closer.

The world outside may always have an opinion, but within the walls of your home, it’s just the two of you—and that’s all that matters.

a part 3 with baby Starks?

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rafeysvenicebitch · 2 months ago

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🦢007 masterlist

CW: cussing, old lady gossip, fluff

a/n: FUCK. It has been so long since I’ve updated this story. I’ll try posting more of this!!

Rafe was right. The country club ladies had a field day with your scandal.

They clutched their pearls and tightened their tennis visors as you walked through the doors of Figure Eight Country Club, this time not on Rafe’s arm, but alone. The usual whispers felt louder, bolder. Some didn’t even pretend anymore. The way their heads turned, how their sunglasses dropped just enough to shoot you a glance of judgment—it was something else.

You kept your chin up, strutting in a pair of Miu Miu slingbacks, a pale pink Chanel tweed dress, and your hair ribboned in satin. If they wanted to look, let them look.

You weren’t there to gossip or tan by the pool. You were there to work.

The club manager, a woman named Doreen who always smelled like lemon pledge and backhanded compliments, walked you through the details of the upcoming charity gala Rafe was hosting. You’d be performing—your first major public performance since everything blew up—and you were going to look the part.

You had your notepad open, scribbling lyrics and humming melody ideas under your breath, when one of the older men, Mr. Jennings, slid into the chair beside you with his drink sloshing.

“You gonna sing for us the way you sing for Rafe?” he smirked.

You stared at him. “Only if you match his donation.”

He chuckled, embarrassed, before retreating, and you caught Kayden across the room watching the whole thing. He came over, dropping off a hibiscus spritz without being asked. “You good?”

“Always.”

Meanwhile, Lottie and Nora were by the pool with paint swatches and linen samples, arguing over ivory versus eggshell and whether blush pink was too cliché for the gala. You joined them, sipping your drink and pointing to champagne tones instead. They agreed. The three of you talked about candle centerpieces, Rafe’s reputation, and which color made you look like money.

You tried texting Rafe a photo of one of the setups. Looks okay?

He didn’t answer.

You tried again. Miss you.

Still nothing. Then your phone rang.

“Where are you?” you asked softly.

“I’m working,” he said, clipped.

“I know, but like… where?”

You could almost hear the cigarette drag through the phone before he said, coldly, “Don’t ask me that again.” Then, a pause. A thump. The sound of a card being slapped onto something.

The line went dead. But when you looked down, you saw a photo from your concierge app. Rafe had given you his black Amex. Again.

—

Later that week, you went dress shopping.

It was Lottie who suggested the boutique in Charleston. You didn’t want subtle. You didn’t want sweet. You wanted to command the room.

And you found it.

A custom Versace gown—blush pink satin that clung to you like liquid. Corseted bodice with a sweetheart neckline. Thigh-high slit. The train shimmered with crystals that caught the light like champagne bubbles. Paired with Manolo Blahnik stilettos, diamond drop earrings, and elbow-length La Perla opera gloves, you were a walking headline.

The night of the gala, Rafe finally showed.

He was in a crisp black Tom Ford tux, his hair slicked back, and his watch was a vintage Cartier. You caught him watching you from across the room with that cold, unreadable look he always wore before doing something unhinged.

The lights dimmed.

And then you were on stage.

A band behind you. Velvet curtains. The crowd’s breath caught as you stepped into the spotlight.

You sang:

Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend.

Chick Habit.

Be My Baby.

Each song more flirtatious, more decadent than the last. You twirled, you winked, you sang like your life depended on it—and every man in the room watched you like you were a fantasy come to life.

When the final notes of Be My Baby faded, you held the mic up, smiling.

And then, from the edge of the stage, Rafe walked out.

He didn’t look at the crowd. Just you. He took the mic from your hand—and kissed you.

Right there, under the lights, in front of socialites and donors and every woman who thought you didn’t belong.

Gasps. Flashbulbs. A few champagne glasses breaking.

He finally turned to the crowd and spoke about the cause—funding addiction recovery centers in the Outer Banks, something deeply personal to him, though he never said why.

But it wasn’t what he said that mattered. It was how he looked at you.

—

Afterward, he took you to dinner. Somewhere quiet and candlelit on the water. You barely tasted the lobster ravioli. You just kept looking at him like he might disappear again.

But he didn’t.

Because the next thing you knew, you were half-asleep on a private plane, your head resting on his shoulder.

“Where are we going?” you murmured.

“Texas,” he said, without looking up from his phone.

“Why?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Then finally, “I bought a ranch outside Dallas. Wanted you to see it.”

You blinked. “Why Dallas?”

Rafe turned to you slowly, then nodded toward the window where dawn was starting to break.

“It’s called the Y/N Rose Ranch,” he said. “Had the sign custom made. You’ll see it when we land.”

And he said it like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like naming property after you was a Tuesday afternoon decision.

Like he owned the whole world—and now, you.

Taglist: @strawberries-and-lots-of-kisses @vogueprincess @faistingmymike @greengoblinswifey @whinyangel @blackynsupremacy @rafesbabygirlx @memoirofasparklemuff1n @cameronsbabydoll @rafeyscumangel @rafeyscumangel-recs

#michelle writes ✎#older!rafe -‘๑’-#younger!reader *ೃ༄#rafe fluff #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #rafe x reader #rafecore #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe #obx rafe cameron #outerbanks rafe #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #outer banks rafe

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redstarcat · 2 months ago

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Guess who thought of another merch product!

I've already bought samples to see how it looks and will probably show off pictures once it arrives. So I'm releasing an interest check to see if anyone wants it in the future.

So please, like, share, and/or comment if you guys are interested in a Molly Sticky Notepad :3

#star canvas #critical role #critical role fanart #criticalrolefanart #mollymauk tealeaf

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fuckyeahpaperco · 1 year ago

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May collection: Pedro to-do list ✨restocked✨

✨ SURPRISE Y'ALL! ✨ I've kept very quiet about this secret project, and I'm unbelievably proud of it! This tear-off to-do list notepad measures 14x21cm, and features some of our favourite no-nonsense Pedro boys to make sure you do your shit, or else 🔫

Since this was the first batch, there are some notepads that didn't pass my perfectionist standards QC, so I am selling them at a discount as samples. Feedback will be very welcome in terms of the size of the notepad and utility since I plan on designing more.

Together with Pedro bookmarks vol II, the to-do list is now listed on my Etsy shop. Use the links below to support a small business as I will save on Etsy fees:

🗒️ Shop Pedro to-do list here

🔖 Shop Pedro bookmarks vol II here

🛒 Etsy shop front

#fuckyeahpaperco #pedro pascal merch #pedro pascal gifts #pedro pascal stationery #pedro pascal office supplies #pedro pascal #pedro bookmarks #pedro to-do list

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lynnieverse · 5 months ago

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undertow // fracture

masterlist

✰ eighth chapter!

✰ 2.8k words

✰ chapter song -> in my veins by andrew belle

✰ tags: morally grey, one-sided rivalry, mystery, mutual pining, tension, redemption

✰ a/n: flashback to when Rafe told Ward he wasn't okay...now someone believes him.

Shoupe met them at the marina the next morning, pulling in and parking his cruiser next to Lennox. The early morning fog clung to the air, creating an unsettling feeling in the pit of Lennox’s stomach. She’d been there for hours, just pacing in front of the sign, the soles of her sneakers scraping the pavement. Rafe commented on the irony, seeing as she stopped his pacing last night, and she almost strangled him. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her chest as Shoupe approached them. His eyes scanned the property and he adjusted the hat on his head.

“Alright, what do we have here?” He stopped in front of the sign, thumbs in his belt as he read the words.

Lennox threw a hand up at the sign, voice shaking. “This isn’t some prank. He’s targeting Rafe, Shoupe.”

His face hardened as he pulled on some gloves, snapping them around his wrists. “You sure this is recent?”

Rafe scoffed. “I’m pretty sure paint doesn’t drip for weeks, Shoupe.” The sheriff ignored Rafe’s sarcasm, sharp eyes shifting between the two of them.

“Do you have any enemies? Anyone who would pull something like this?”

Rafe rubbed the back of his neck. “Take your pick,” he said flatly. “You knew my dad, could be anyone.”

“But they specifically called out Rafe, and Sarah. It seems like a whole Cameron vendetta, not just about Ward.” Lennox shot Rafe a pointed look. He rolled his eyes at her and turned his attention back to Shoupe, who was writing everything down on a small notepad.

“Anything else you might know, Rafe?” Shoupe asked, raising an eyebrow. Lennox shook her head in confusion, but Rafe’s eyes blazed.

“I had nothing to do with this.” Lennox finally understood.

“Oh, we’re questioning Rafe now? Seriously, Shoupe?” The man held up his hands in defense.

“Alright, I’m just checking. I’ll take some pictures, get a sample of the paint, and we’ll patrol the area for anything suspicious…but you know how it is. Without sufficient evidence it’s hard to track down who did this.”

“So what? We just wait around for the next message?” Lennox asked, her voice rising.

“Alright calm down,” Shoupe said, tone even. “I didn’t say we’re doing nothing. I’ll keep you posted, just…watch yourselves. I don’t know what this is, but you don’t need to go digging into anything that could get you hurt. Leave it to the police.” He gave them both a stern look. “If anything else happens you call me, okay?” They both nodded and thanked him, even though Lennox felt nothing had been accomplished.

As Shoupe returned to his car, Lennox turned to Rafe. “This cannot be it. We need to figure out who’s behind this.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “And do what? Play detective? I don’t think so, Lennox, you’re not getting into all this.”

“First of all,” she stepped closer, “you don’t tell me what I will and won’t do.” Rafe glared at her. “Second, you seriously want to wait around until they make another move? What if they go after Sarah? She’s pregnant, Rafe.”

The mention of Sarah seemed to touch a nerve, his fists clenching. He exhaled a harsh breath, looking at her. “Fine, but you’re not doing anything—and I mean anything—on your own.”

Lennox held his gaze, pursing her lips. “I wasn’t planning to.”

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Later that afternoon, Lennox was once again hunched over her laptop in the living room, trying to find any information at all to help the investigation. She’d only been Googling for about half an hour when a knock sounded at the door. She opened it to find Sarah standing there, a worried expression donning her face.

“Hey,” Sarah said as Lennox ushered her inside. “Rafe told me what’s going on…how can I help?” They both sat on the couch and Lennox turned towards the girl.

“I figured he’d tell you. I just want to make sure you’re safe; that’s all I care about right now. Shoupe said he’s on it, but you know how they are…”

“No drugs or bodies and they’re pretty much useless.” Sarah finished for her, nodding her head.

Lennox chuckled. “Exactly. I just don’t know where to start.”

“Rafe’s worried,” Sarah pressed her lips into a thin line, wrapping an arm around her stomach protectively. She wasn’t really showing yet but it seemed her maternal instincts had kicked in.

“He tries not to show it, but yeah, he is. Whoever this person is, they’re playing a game. Toying with you and your brother.” Lennox played with the gold band on her middle finger, a gift from her mom a couple birthdays back.

“You really care about him, don’t you?” she asked, smiling slightly.

“I don’t know, everything’s just gotten way more complicated. I’m not really focusing on that right now, just keeping you two,” Lennox glanced down at Sarah’s belly, “three, safe.” Sarah nodded, a grateful smile on her lips.

“He needs someone like you.”

Before Lennox could respond, Sarah’s phone buzzed on the table. She glanced at the screen and rolled her eyes.

“John B needs me back, JJ got himself stuck somewhere again. But seriously,” she grabbed Lennox’s arm, “Call me if you need anything, I’ll be right over.” Lennox covered her hand with her own.

“Thanks, Sarah, and please be safe—John B too. Until we catch this guy I don't want either of you taking any chances.” Sarah nodded and left Lennox sitting on the couch, a bad feeling settling in her chest.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

The next morning, Lennox and Rafe were back at the construction site, overseeing everything and talking with the crew. Things were progressing wonderfully, and Rafe was finally happy with the timeline. They didn’t talk much, most things going unsaid. What do you say to someone who just had their life threatened?

Midway through their inspection, a loud crash echoed around them. Lennox jumped, the sound of breaking glass jolting her.

“What was that?!” she cried, a hand over her heart.

“It’s a construction site, Princess, things break all the time.” Lennox glared at Rafe, not liking his tone.

“Um, actually, Mr. Cameron,” their construction manager said tentatively, looking nervous to interrupt. “We’re not moving any glass panes today. I’m not sure what that was.” Lennox and Rafe share a worried glance before taking off towards the source of the noise.

They found a pile of glass on the ground in front of one of the trailers, and a hole where a window should have been. Lennox noticed the door was slightly ajar and pointed silently, Rafe acknowledging her with a nod.

“Stay here,” he said, stepping inside cautiously.

“Like hell I will,” she shot back, following him in.

Inside it looked like a tornado had blown through; papers were everywhere, drawers rifled through—even the chairs were flipped. Rafe picked up a piece of glass from the floor, examining it carefully.

“Whoever did this was obviously looking for something,” he said, dropping the shard to the floor and walking towards Lennox. She scanned the room carefully, eyes catching on a paper stuck to the wall…with a knife.

“Oh my God,” she said, staring at it wide-eyed.

Rafe scrunched his eyebrows. “What?” he asked, turning his head in that direction. “What the fuck?”

They stepped closer, Lennox’s stomach dropping at the words on the page.

You can’t hide forever.

Rafe slammed his hand on the wall, cursing under his breath. “That’s it, we’re calling Shoupe.”

Lennox nodded, whipping out her phone at lightning speed. “Already on it.”

Whoever was behind this wasn’t messing around, and they were escalating—fast.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

Shoupe ended up clearing the scene, taping off the trailer as he got a forensics team inside. Lennox never strayed far, always watching in absolute terror. Rafe had taken to warning Sarah, letting her know not to leave their house. He even called Rose, although she didn’t pick up.

He was scared, she could tell. Anyone would be. This person was stalking them, breaking into their buildings and leaving ominous messages. Lennox wasn’t sure what to do about it, either.

Eventually they had to go home. Rafe didn’t feel comfortable leaving her alone, so he offered to crash on her couch again. Her parents were still out of town and Topper was spending the weekend at Kelce’s, leaving the house conveniently vacant except for her. Now, she was stuck here, with a potentially dangerous and definitely criminal person out to get her.

They sat on the couch, much like the night before, in heavy silence. Rafe’s gaze was fixed on the floor, like it had been the past half hour they’d been here.

“You okay?” she decided to ask. He didn’t respond at first, hands clasped tightly in his lap. Finally, he turned his head, looking at her sadly.

“I just feel like everything I touch breaks. Everything I’m involved with ends in a crime scene.” Lennox’s heart broke for him. She reached out and touched his arm.

“That’s not true, Rafe.” He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head back and forth quickly.

“No, no…it is. I fuck everything up. Now you’re being dragged down with me,” his voice wobbled, and his breathing picked up. He started hyperventilating as tears fell from his eyes. Lennox rubbed his back in circles, hoping to soothe him in some way. She quickly racked her brain, trying to think of all the ways to stop a panic attack, then remembered—the five senses.

“Rafe, listen, you’re okay. Everything is okay,” she soothed, crouching on the floor in front of him. “Tell me five things you can see right now.” He looked up at her, shaking as he rocked back and forth.

“I–I don’t know. Uh…” he trailed off, losing his train of thought.

“Think Rafe, come on. You’ve got this,” she spoke firmly over his whimpers, stroking his arm.

“The…the clock!” his eyes scattered across the room, landing on the old grandfather clock by the window.

“Good, good. What else?” she pressed.

“Um. TV, rug, chair, and table,” he rushed out, furiously wiping his face. His eyebrows were scrunched and he gripped his chest tightly with one hand.

“Alright, now four things you can feel. This is easy, come on.” He had stopped rocking, but was still shaking and hyperventilating.

“I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know!” he shouted through sobs. Lennox took his hand into hers, pressing it flat against her cheek.

“What about me? Can you feel me, Rafe? I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” He looked into her eyes, fingers curling around the back of her neck.

“I feel you,” he breathed deeply, gulping down another sob.

“See? Easy. What else can you feel? Give me three more.” He squeezed his eyes shut again, trying to slow down his breathing.

“The couch,” he managed, running his other hand over the blue fabric of her sofa. “And…and skin; I feel your skin—hair too.” he brushed the curls at the nape of her neck, making her shiver. Lennox nodded, smiling up at him.

“Yes, they do. You’re doing so good, Rafe. Three things you can hear.” His tremors were slowing. He kept his hand on her, using it to ground him.

“Your voice, the air conditioner, and the crickets outside.” He was starting to sound more like himself, breathing deeply through his nose, and out his mouth.

“Two things you can smell,” she whispered, wiping the tears from his face.

“Your shampoo, the kind you use when you want to look nice. Not the regular lavender one, it’s more like…jasmine or something.” Lennox’s mouth gaped, unaware he’d been paying that much attention. He stared at her, almost entirely calmed down.

“Um, one more,” she cleared her throat, staring into his eyes.

“Febreeze?” he smiled. Lennox let out a small laugh, leaning back on her heels.

“Joking is good, very good. You feel better?” His smile dropped, as did his gaze. He was obviously exhausted from the emotional toll alone.

“I, uh…yeah. Thank you, Lennox. I’m sorry you had to see that.” He wiped his nose on his sleeve, running his hands down his face. His cheeks were red from crying, eyelashes still damp as well.

“Don’t ever apologize for that. I’m glad I could help, okay?” She took his hand, threading their fingers together. He stared at them for a moment, nodding his head.

“Yeah, okay.” Lennox smiled, squeezing one time.

“How about we go to bed? I think sleep is a good idea.” He nodded in agreement, already trying to grab a throw pillow to lay on. “I was thinking,” she interrupted him, making him freeze. “What if you stayed with me tonight?” His eyes widened and he looked at her with such confusion.

“What?”

“I don’t want to be alone, and I’m sure you don’t either…just stay with me. Please?” He searched her eyes for something. He seemed to find it because he let her drag him off the couch and up the stairs. She left him sitting on her bed as she grabbed some clothes from Topper’s room for him to wear.

Tossing him shorts and a T-shirt, she went into her bathroom to change as well. When she emerged she almost burst out laughing. The shirt she gave him was cropped slightly, and tight enough she could see the veins in his biceps. He turned to face her with a deadpan stare, and she covered her mouth to stop from giggling.

“This isn’t going to work,” he rolled his eyes, suddenly tugging the fabric over his head. Lennox’s eyes traveled down his exposed torso, taking in the view. Rafe’s smirk was back, and he sauntered towards her, using his thumb to wipe the corner of her mouth.

“You’ve got a little drool there, Princess.” Lennox glared and pushed him away, earning a loud laugh from him.

“Just get in bed,” she grumbled, pulling her duvet back. They slipped under the covers, resting their heads on the pillows and faced each other.

Rafe had a weird look on his face, like he was lost in thought.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” she asked, wiping at her mouth immediately.

“No, I was just thinking…” he looked at her, trailing off.

“Thinking?”

“You forgot something downstairs.”

“And what’s that?” Rafe reached out and held her chin between his thumb and pointer finger, leaning in until their faces were an inch apart.

“One thing I can taste,” he whispered, hovering over her lips. A breath passed between them, her eyes never leaving his. They stayed like that for a moment, like a rubber band stretched as far as it could go. And with too much tension, it snapped and Lennox covered his lips with hers.

He kissed her slowly, much differently than their first time, more deliberate. She placed her hands on either side of his head, holding him in place. He rolled on top of her, arms caging her in. She felt him grind against her and gasped, giving him the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue in her mouth.

They both fought for the upper hand, Lennox obviously losing by a landslide. He gripped both her wrists in one hand and pinned her arms above her head. As he kissed down her neck, traveling all the way to the valley between her breasts, she arched her back.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered between kisses, capturing her lips again. She moaned as he moved against her, eager for as much friction as possible. His free hand toyed with the bottom of her tank top. As his hand started to creep up under the fabric she reluctantly pulled away.

“Maybe we should slow down for tonight,” she said breathlessly. He pecked her chest a couple more times, causing the butterflies in her stomach to frenzy.

“Why?” he groaned, nudging her nose with his. Lennox fought the urge to laugh, not used to him being so needy.

“Because,” he kissed her lips again, making her giggle and press a finger to his lips. “Because.” she chastised, wishing she could take a picture of his cute smooshed face. “It’s been a long night, a long day even, and we need to rest.” Rafe sighed, rolling back over onto his back.

“I guess you’re right,” he pouted, staring at the ceiling. Lennox turned to face him, hand supporting her head. Rafe caught her eye and smiled, reaching over to brush her hair back over her shoulder.

“Goodnight,”she whispered.

“Night, Princess,” he said, pressing his lips to hers slowly, one more time. When they broke apart he pulled her into him, twisting her so her back was against his chest. He wrapped his arm around her, and she’d never felt more secure in her life. She easily drifted off to sleep, dreams taken over by enchanting blue eyes.

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