#on here and in my little New York bubble

[unclewaynemunson]

Yall voted for the sober version of this premise so here ya go:

Steve doesn't know exactly what he had expected kissing Eddie would be like, but it sure as hell wasn't this. He would've expected something rough and raw, bared teeth and maybe fingers pulling at his hair. But what he gets instead is something infinitely soft, something resembling tenderness... It makes it all the more difficult for him to pull back.

“What's wrong, Stevie?” Eddie asks after one look at Steve's face.

“I need to tell you something,” Steve manages to choke out.

And Eddie wraps his arms all around him, pulling him closer until his head is lying right against Eddie's beating heart. That heartbeat, steady and reassuring, is all he focuses on while he talks.

“Remember last summer? The mall fire that wasn't really a mall fire?”

“You finally gonna tell me what happened there?” Eddie says. It doesn't sound accusatory, just curious and a little confused as to where this is headed.

“I don't really like to talk about it,” Steve confesses. He closes his eyes, flashes of what happened back then floating to the surface of his mind again.

“We – Robin and I – we were captured by Russian soldiers. They tied us up and interrogated us for hours. They thought we were spies, so they tried to get us to give up information. They hit me.” He pauses to take a breath. “They hurt me real bad, Eddie. Until I was bleeding all over. Until I lost consciousness and Robin thought I was dead. The only reason we survived is because they thought we would have useful information for them.”

“Jesus Christ, Steve...”

Eddie's grip around him tightens, but Steve lifts his head up and makes a half-hearted attempt to crawl away from him. The hardest part has yet to come.

“I really, really like you, Eddie,” he says. “But I can't do this with you.”

Confusion flashes over Eddie's features: his eyes widen and the lines around his lips become deeper. But he still doesn't loosen his grip.

“What do you mean?”

“It's the –“ Steve clears his throat. “I know what it means, the – your hanky. I got a cousin in New York who knows all about that shit, they send me magazines sometimes when my parents aren't home. I'm sorry, Eddie, but I can't do that, like, ever. It's only gonna make me relive that shit from last year. There's no way I can ever give you what you need, so it wouldn't be fair to...” He trails off, not quite knowing how to finish that sentence.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Eddie still looks as confused as ever.

“Your hanky,” Steve uselessly repeats. “You're flagging, aren't you? You're into, like, hurting people, right?”

Steve watches how Eddie's jaw drops, almost in slow motion.

“This?” he asks, grabbing behind him and taking the black piece of fabric, covered in skulls, out of his back pocket.

Steve nods.

Eddie laughs, but it sounds fake and on edge, quickly dying out again. “Steve. This is a metal thing. It looks badass, y'know. I literally have no idea what you're – flagging?”

A gasp escapes Steve's lips and he feels his heartbeat speed up with something that must be hope.

“Are you serious?”

Eddie nods, his brows still furrowed and that endearingly confused look of I-have-no-clue-what-the-hell-is-going-on not leaving his eyes.

It feels like Steve's heart is starting to run laps in his chest, now. He can barely suppress the laughter that's bubbling up inside of him.

“What the hell are you trying to tell me, Steve?”

He grabs the hanky that's still in Eddie's hand.

“I thought you were flagging,” he weakly explains. “It's like a code. To signal what you like to do, y'know, in the bedroom. The black, it means – I thought you were into, like, BDSM shit. Things I can't do: being tied down, getting hurt...”

“Why the hell would I get off on hurting you, Stevie?”

It sounds so ridiculously innocent and horrified: Eddie the freak, Eddie the scary metalhead – Eddie who is genuinely shocked at the suggestion that he had in any way created an image for himself in which it made sense that he'd be into pain.

“I mean, if you would, I wouldn't wanna judge you or whatever,” Steve is quick to say. “You'd be surprised how many people are into that shit, I'm not here to shame anyone. But if you aren't... I'm really fucking relieved, man.”

He still vividly remembers what happened when he was dating Daphne, who had once taken his wrists in her hands and pinned them down on the mattress above his head while she was on top of him. Or when he was with Melissa, who had half-jokingly slapped his ass one time when things were getting heated between them. Anything restricting his movements, anything unexpected, could make him lose his shit now, as he had had to find out the hard way. It had made him believe that he could never actually have Eddie, that that would be asking too big of a sacrifice of either one of them, an impossible kind of compromise, no matter how much they liked one another. But instead, here he is, with Eddie looking at him with the softest look in his eyes, actually having talked about his shit before they even got up to anything more than kissing.

So he tells him, stumbling his way through the words, about his experiences with Daphne and with Melissa. And Eddie listens to him patiently, his big eyes never once leaving Steve's, nodding as if he's mentally taking notes of what to do and what not to do.

“We can take it as slow as you need to,” Eddie tells him when he's finished, his voice sincere and reassuring.

“It's not about taking it slow,” Steve assures him. “It isn't about not being ready. It's more about...” He pauses to think. “It's about trust. I trust you.”

Eddie's hands, that are still wrapped around Steve's torso, tighten for a moment and he blinks rapidly a few times. He looks overwhelmed by Steve's words.

“Okay,” he finally says, a little bit more hoarse than before. “So if it's about trust, can I trust you to tell me whenever something I do is bringing back unwanted memories?”

Steve nods. “Yeah, I can do that.”

It's always been difficult for him to talk about what happened that day underneath the mall. But he realizes he has already done the difficult part: Eddie already knows about the memories he is carrying with him. That must make it easier to talk about it in case it will ever be necessary.

Soft lips press against his temple and he drops his head back on Eddie's chest.

“Good,” says Eddie. The sound of his voice vibrates through Steve's whole body; he doesn't think there's anything more comforting than being completely wrapped up in Eddie like this.

A hand lands in his hair and starts stroking through it softly.

“Thank you for telling me this,” Eddie mumbles. “That couldn't have been easy.”

In return, Steve wants to thank Eddie for being as sweet and understanding as he has been, but the exhaustion of having this talk is washing over him in big, heavy waves. So he merely hums and lets his eyes fall shut.

“You wanna stay the night?” Eddie asks. “We don't have to do anything right now – we can go straight to sleep, how does that sound?”

Steve nuzzles his head further into Eddie's chest. “Sounds good,” he murmurs. He can't imagine ever wanting to sleep on his own again.

[rollingsins]

Quinn Bailey Must Die

P1 | P2 | P3

summary: Quinn Bailey is yours and Tara's man-eating, sexed up, horn-dog roommate. She's cool at first, you think. Until she sets her sights on Tara. 

warnings: (+18), Tara is Ghostface, language.

word count: 6.6k

a/n: set in the all hers universe, just a lil (big) one shot. love u guys, as always let me know your thoughts, always makes my day :))

Quinn Bailey is - to put it lightly - an absolute pain in your ass. 

New York City is expensive. 

College is expensive. 

And despite your parents' assistance and you and Tara both working part time jobs, it just isn’t feasible for you to get your own place in the city. 

So you’d put an ad in the paper. Found Quinn. She’d seemed fun at first - lively. The type of girl you’d want to be friends with in a new city like this. A tried and true party girl, glimmering like a jewel in a sea of dreary faces. 

But her sparkle had lasted all of three weeks. 

First it was the dishes. 

She left them piled up in the sink, unattended. For days, sometimes weeks. 

A little pet peeve of yours, but it wasn’t anything major. 

It had nothing on the men. 

They were like a revolving door. An entire roster of bodies to keep her warm. 

Short men. Tall men. Thin men, muscular men. Men with beards. Men without. Pretty men, sometimes, even ugly men. 

If he lived in the tri-state area and had a penis - likely he’d seen the inside of your apartment (and your roommate). 

But really, you’re not in the position to complain. 

You and Tara weren’t exactly known for having quiet sex, and of all the people you’d lived with, Quinn seemed to mind it the least. 

Maybe, looking back, that should have been the first warning sign. 

“I don’t know,” Quinn sighs one night over a glass of wine. Tara’s curled up in your arms, nursing her own glass as you play with her hair, “Sometimes I think I should just give them all up.” 

“Men?” You ask, furrowing your brow. You laugh a little at the thought, “I don’t know Quinn, outside of partying, men are your biggest hobby.” 

It’s not intended as a slight, and Quinn doesn’t take it as one. She throws a coy smile your way. 

“I don’t know, you two have just got me thinking lately,” She says, “I’ve never considered girls before. I mean, I like dick. A lot. But maybe dick isn’t everything.” 

“Poetic,” You say, an eyebrow raised. 

Men or women, it didn’t really matter who Quinn bought home. You’d have to wear your noise canceling headphones regardless. 

But Tara’s shifting in your arms, sitting up. Then, she narrows her eyes at Quinn.  

Like she’s scanning her for a potential threat. 

Although therapy had quietened some of Tara’s more jealous tendencies, it hadn’t gotten rid of them completely. Now, instead of stabbing - she chooses staring. 

You rub her arm, your quiet signal there are no threats here. 

“Besides,” Quinn says, throwing her hair back, “A chick can just strap one on, right? And it never goes soft. Maybe that’s an upgrade.” 

Tara’s tense against you. 

Quinn looks over at her, and suddenly notices the death glare she’s receiving. She pinches her eyebrows, a little confused. 

“What’s got you all worked up?” Quinn asks, with another flick of her hair. Her eyes widen, “Oh? You think I’m trying to make a play for your girl?” 

She leans back and lets out a loud laugh. 

“Chill Tara, if I was going to go for either of you, it wouldn’t be her.” 

And then it’s your turn to stare. 

Your hand freezes over Tara’s arm. A hot, familiar feeling of jealousy seeps through you, settles deep within your bones. 

Quinn catches your gaze and rolls her eyes. 

“Girls,” She says, exasperated, “You’re not the only pussy-lickers in town. Relax, okay?”

Tara leans back into you, seemingly placated. 

Quinn tilts her head, and downs the rest of her wine. She picks up her phone to call some other nameless man, no doubt to terrorize the two of you within the next half an hour. 

The conversation is over. 

But the jealousy bubbling under your skin doesn’t simmer down. And suddenly,  it’s the only thing you can think about. 

-

“What did she mean by that?” You agonize to Liv and Chad, a little later. 

You’re in the NYU quad, picking at your salad with a plastic fork. Tara’s in class, giving you more than enough time to stew on the conversation with Quinn. 

Chad slurps on his milkshake, seemingly unbothered. 

“She was just being friendly, YN, I wouldn’t read into it.” Says Chad, mouth open and full of food. 

Liv turns to him. Smacks his arm, a little too hard. 

“Friendly?” She says, voice shrill, “Friendly?” 

Chad blinks back at her, but she’s turning to you.  

“YN, she was not being friendly, don’t listen to him. Boys are so stupid.” 

“Hey-“ Interjects Chad, but Liv ignores him. She takes your arm. 

“She’s making a play for Tara, YN,” She says, a little urgently, “Girls do this. We like to play with our food before we eat it. She was scoping out Tara’s reaction before she put the moves on her for real.” 

You furrow your brow. 

“You think?” 

“I know,” Says Liv, “How do you think I got Chad?” 

Chad looks over to her, a little owlish. 

“Huh?” He says, creasing his forehead, “I asked you out, babe.” 

Liv shoots him a look. 

“You asked me out after I spent two weekends at your house asking for Mario Kart lessons.” 

Chad’s eyes widen. 

“You said that was so you could beat your brother!” 

Liv gives you a look. 

“Women are masterminds, YN. Watch the fuck out.” 

-

Liv’s comments ring in the back of your mind for the rest of the day. 

Now that you think about it, Quinn had been lounging about the house lately in scantily clad outfits. 

Sleep shorts that rose almost up to her hips. Tiny tank tops that were almost see through. She giggled a little too hard at Tara’s jokes, gushed over Tara’s cooking as if Tara was Gordon Ramsey himself. 

You’re starting to see it. 

Quinn liked her conquests. 

Men were easy, women a little harder - but for a girl who liked to conquer, who better than Tara? 

Your sweet, loving, loyal and devoted girlfriend. 

Prying Tara away from you wouldn’t be child’s play. 

Truly the Mount Everest of conquests. 

“What’s wrong baby?” Tara asks you a little later, after you’d spent half the night glaring at Quinn. 

She’d been traipsing around all afternoon in a pair of black panties and an old t-shirt, an outfit that wouldn’t have made you think twice about it a few days ago. 

But it’s different now. 

Liv’s words ring loud in your head, “Women are masterminds, YN.” 

You don’t respond, instead dropping a soapy pot to the countertop and watching as Quinn disappears into her bedroom, her phone pressed to her ear. 

Tara snakes her arms around your waist, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your neck. 

“Babe?” Tara prompts. 

“Nothing,” You mumble. You’re in your own head now, half afraid if you say it out loud it will become true. 

You feel Tara’s pout against your shoulder. 

“Something’s wrong, you barely said anything when I tried to get you to watch Saw III,” She says, turning you in her arms. 

She raises an eyebrow to punctuate her point. 

“And you hate gore movies.” 

“I like movies that make you happy,” You lie. 

Tara furrows her brow. 

“Okay, something is definitely wrong,” She says. She stands on her tip toes and presses the softest kiss to your cheeks, “Tell me babe, what is it?” 

You bite your lip. 

Tara is your girlfriend, you reason after a moment of hesitation, and if anyone were to understand jealousy - it would be her. 

You sigh and loop your arms around Tara’s waist. 

“Is Quinn… do you think she’s acting weird?” 

Tara frowns. 

“No weirder than usual.” 

“It’s just…” you chew your lip, “I think she might.. be into you, babe.” 

Tara shoots you a look. 

“I don’t think so,” She says. She leans up and presses a kiss to your lips, “She has a pretty solid roster of dudes to keep her entertained.” 

She brushes a stand of hair out of your face, “Is that what’s bothering you, baby? You know you have nothing to worry about. I only have eyes for you.” 

It placates you for only a moment. 

Of course you don’t have anything to worry about. Tara adores you. Tara’s killed for you. Tara loves you with every fiber of her being. 

It’s just… 

Quinn is pretty. So pretty. 

Tara had fallen hard and fast for you, who’s to say she couldn’t fall the same way for someone else? 

And then the dread is back. 

“It’s just… Liv said-“ 

Tara groans. 

“Babe, don’t worry about what Liv has said. She barely knows the days of the week.” 

“But she knows how to get guys,” You say, a little pointed. 

Tara tilts her head. Her eyes are warm, the softest smile on her lips. 

“I’m not a guy,” Tara promises. She nuzzles her nose against yours, “Quinn could parade around here naked doing backflips and I wouldn’t look twice at her. You know that, babe.” 

You do know that. 

And so you let Tara press warm kisses into your neck and drag you back to the bedroom. 

Make sure to moan a little louder than usual just to remind Quinn exactly who Tara belongs to. 

-

It doesn’t work. 

Because of course, why would it work? 

The barrage of men flitting in and out of Quinn’s room comes to a screeching halt. She’s celibate for almost a week, focusing all her sexual energy on your girlfriend. 

It’s subtle, in the masterful kind of way Liv described. 

“Man,” She sighs loudly, one morning from her spot at the kitchen counter, “Tara, do you think you could help me on this paper for film class? I have to write a paper on iconic women in horror.” 

Tara springs to action, charging away from you like this is her sole purpose in life: to share her catalog of benign horror knowledge to any pretty girl who looks her way. 

You fold your arms, unhappily. 

“Start with Ellen Ripley,” Tara commands, before she even sits down. Quinn begins typing, madly. Tara pulls up a chair next to Quinn’s, leaning in a respectful distance to peer down at Quinn’s screen.  

“Signorney Weaver’s impact on horror is maybe one of the things that made me interested in horror to begin with.”

“I didn’t know that,” Quinn coos. She touches Tara’s arm, only slightly, leaning in until their shoulders brush, “That’s so cute, Tara.” 

Tara draws back, clearing her throat. 

“When you’re done with Sigourney, maybe touch on Jamie-Lee-Curtis.” 

Quinn blinks over at her, eyes round, like an innocent doe. 

You know better. 

Your eyes narrow as you stand, reaching for your purse. 

“Baby,” You remind Tara, leaning over to touch her back, “We need to get groceries today. Before Sam comes to visit.”

Quinn’s schoolgirl act drops immediately. Her eyes frost over slightly as she looks over at you, only the tiniest twinge of irritation apparent. 

“Maybe you could do that later, YN?” She asks, voice tilted, “I have to get this paper done before tonight.” 

“Sorry,” You flash her the mildest smile, not sorry at all, “Tara’s sister is coming all the way from California. We need to get the place ready, right babe?”

Tara nods, turning to Quinn to shrug.  

“Google should be able to help,” She says, scooting off her chair and grabbing her coat, “Carrie’s a great film too, if you’re in a pinch.”

“Well, maybe you can help me when you get back?” Quinn asks, a slight pout on her lip as she looks at Tara. 

Your eyes narrow, but Tara nods, helpfully. 

“Sure.” 

-

Naively, you’d hoped Quinn would get bored with this little game she’d started. 

Her attention span is short, you’d reasoned, as soon as she’d figured out Tara isn’t returning any of her flirty looks or comments, she’d get bored. 

You’d been wrong. 

If anything, Tara’s lack of interest only seems to spur Quinn on more. 

Most of your classes are in the mornings, Tara’s in the afternoon. Tara walks you to class, leaves you with a soft kiss and an “I love you”, but you know Quinn doesn’t work until the evenings, and it’s just her and Tara alone in that tiny little apartment for hours on end. 

So you toil in your classes. Imagine the worst. 

Tara and Quinn, sitting side by side, watching horror movies. Quinn touches her arm, then her thigh, leaning in to kiss her. 

Tara bats her away, most times you think about it. But sometimes she doesn’t. Sometimes she lets herself be kissed. Sometimes she lets Quinn touch her, undress her. Fuck her. 

And those sometimes become all you can think about. 

This is a new challenge, one that has rarely surfaced in your relationship. 

Tara is so enamored with you, most people don’t even bother attempting to seduce her. But Quinn isn’t most people, she’s persistent and pretty and maybe Tara isn’t a guy, but that doesn’t mean she can’t fall for the same traps a lot of them do. 

A sticky hot, honey-trap by the name of Quinn Bailey. 

“What are you doing?” You ask, a little stern when you walk into the apartment that afternoon. Tara’s curled up onto the couch, blanket wrapped around her. Quinn’s hovering over her, the back of her hand pressed against Tara’s forehead. 

A prickle settles down the back of your spine. Your jaw clenches. 

But Tara doesn’t even look over, just nuzzles herself deeper into her blanket. 

“Tara isn’t feeling well, poor baby.” Quinn coos. 

You drop your bag, ignore the rageful little demon in you that wants to bat Quinn’s hand away and fall to your girlfriend's side. The tip of Tara’s nose is red, and her lips are chapped. As she blinks up at you, you notice her eyes are hazy. 

“Honey,” You say, all thought of Quinn gone as you press your lips to Tara’s cheek, “Why didn’t you call?” 

“It’s nothing, just a cold,” Says Tara, but she curls into your side anyway. You press a gentle kiss to her clammy forehead and rub her arm. Quinn disappears into the kitchen, returning with a small bowl. 

“I made her some tea,” Says Quinn, “And some soup from scratch.” 

You blink up at her. You’ve never seen Quinn cook anything in her life. She’s all Deliveroo and fruit roll ups and toast. But the kitchen sink is awash with stray noodles and dirty pots. The smell of soup lingers. 

“Thanks Quinn,” Tara murmurs, reaching out to take the bowl from her hands, “You didn’t have to do that.” 

The angry, jealous demon is back. Quinn’s smile is unsettling, almost triumphant. 

As if she’s out-girlfriend-ed you. 

You swallow the urge to punch her in the throat. 

“No, you didn’t.” You say, warily, “Tara’s allergic to MSG, you didn’t put any of that in it, did you?” 

Quinn shakes her head, her smile coy. 

“All natural, only the best for our girl.” Quinn says, and then squeezes Tara’s shoulder. 

You glare as she cleans up the dirty plates and contemplate homicide for the rest of the evening. 

-

When Tara’s feeling better, you’ll bring it up, you reason with yourself the next morning. 

Quinn Bailey is becoming a pest, a horned up sex-pest determined to get her claws in your girlfriend. 

It has to stop. 

The solution? 

This is where you’re a little stuck. You don’t know the solution. Strangling Quinn sounds great on paper, but not so much in practice. 

Dead people don’t pay rent, that’s the only thing you know for sure.

You contemplate this over the next couple of days, between wrestling a hot water bottle for Tara out of Quinn’s hands, and almost jogging down to the corner store at the end of your block to beat Quinn for the tylenol. 

Tara’s such a baby when she’s sick, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think she’s starting to enjoy this. Two women fawning over her, competing for who can nurse her the best. 

And the worst part is, Quinn knows exactly what she’s doing and she wants you to know it. 

She doesn’t say it, not outright, too smart to play her hand too quickly. 

She grins as she spoonfeds Tara some leftover soup, flashes you a look as she dabs Tara’s sweaty forehead with a damp cloth. 

She raises an eyebrow at you as Tara croaks out to her, asking for more tissues. 

It makes you stew. 

It makes you want to grab the kitchen knife out of the top draw and slam it through her stupid neck.

It makes you want to grab her by the hair and throw her out of the window of your seventh story apartment. 

But you resist. 

Let her think she’s winning. 

It’ll make the victory you claw from her hands all the more sweet. 

Tara’s feeling better a few days later, and with her recovery comes the first taste of victory. 

Quinn’s making dinner in the kitchen - her newfound passion being culinary for your girlfriend. She hums a little, flitting between batting her eyelashes at Tara and shooting knowing glances in your direction. 

“Tara,” She says, just as she’s about to pour the tomato paste into the pasta “I can’t get this jar open. Can you help me?” 

Tara’s busy with her laptop, but she moves over regardless. She touches your shoulder lightly as she passes, and reaches out to take the jar from Quinn’s hand. 

It pops open immediately. You roll your eyes. 

Quinn beams, and as you look up, she’s running her hand over your girlfriend’s bicep. 

“You’re so strong,” She flirts, brazenly, “Thanks Tara.” 

Tara moves back to her laptop, unperturbed. 

When it comes to attention towards her she has always been oblivious. You let out a growl so low, no-one but you hears it. 

“Dinner’s up, Tara,” Quinn says, a few moments later, pulling out a couple of plates. 

You peer down at your book, suddenly very interested in the words. When Quinn had asked you your plans for the evening - grocery bags in hand - you’d neglected to tell her Tara had asked you out to dinner. 

Tara blinks over at her, a little confused. 

“Dinner?” She asks, closing the lid of her laptop. 

“Yeah,” Says Quinn with a sickly smile, “I made your favorite.” 

Tara tilts her head, “Oh. Sorry, Quinn, we’re going out tonight. I didn’t realize you were cooking for us.” 

Quinn stares a moment. 

“That’s fine,” She says, voice a little clipped, “Only, I asked YN and she said you guys were around.” 

You close your book and stand, grabbing your coat. 

“Oh yeah,” You say, smacking your hand to your head, as if you’d suddenly forgotten, “Dinner. I am so sorry, Quinn. Gosh, I am so forgetful sometimes.” 

Tara peers over at you, a little confused. 

Oblivious idiot when it comes to girls, yes, but not with you. You see the question in her eyes and neglect to answer it. 

Quinn’s eyes harden, but she doesn’t dare give up the jig. Not in front of Tara.

“It’s fine,” She says, “Maybe you can have it for lunch.” 

“Yeah, maybe,” Tara says, a little absent minded as you wrap her jacket around her shoulders. 

You can tell she feels bad by the way she lingers. 

“We haven’t had a date night in a while, that’s all,” Tara explains. She wraps an arm around your waist and squeezes your hip, “Besides, I owe this one a dinner for taking such good care of me these last couple of days.” 

She presses a soft kiss to your lips, her brown eyes warm and shimmering. 

You can’t help the smile that snakes across your lips. 

Quinn crosses her arms, looking unhappy. 

“I seem to remember taking pretty good care of you,” She says, drawing Tara’s gaze, “Maybe you should be taking me out to dinner, too.” 

Tara’s eyebrows knit in confusion. She looks at you, a little helpless, like she’s suddenly aware she’s caught in a chess match she wasn’t aware she was playing. 

Bless her. 

Your poor, sweet, unsuspecting girlfriend. 

You squeeze her hand, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. 

“

“Did you get the feeling Quinn’s mad at me?” She asks, “Maybe we should have invited her to dinner. She did make me a lot of soup.” 

You tilt your wine glass to your lips, needing the rush of the alcohol to get you through this conversation. 

When you set it down, Tara’s blinking back at you, with wide, brown eyes. 

“Remember what we talked about a couple of weeks ago, babe?” You say, “About my conversation with Liv.” 

Tara nods. 

“And have you noticed it, this past couple of weeks?” You prompt, “Quinn flirting with you?” 

Tara tilts her head. 

“No.” 

“Tara, she touched your arm and called you strong,” You say, pinching the bridge of your nose. Quinn had gone to work earlier that day, blown a kiss goodbye to Tara as she’d left. 

Made sure you’d seen it. 

Tara shrugs, “I’ve been in the gym, babe, I’m getting stronger.”

She flexes her bicep. 

“Look, babe, that’s all muscle.” She says, proudly. 

“That’s not the point, Tara,” You say, “She’s flirting with you. She’s been flirting with you all week.” 

Tara frowns. 

“She has?” She asks, looking a little perplexed. 

Then, she pouts. 

“So she was just complimenting my lasagne because she wanted to sleep with me?” She says, looking put out, “I thought she really liked my new recipe.” 

“Forget about the lasagne, Tara, this is not okay.” You say, “How would you feel if she were hitting on me?”

Tara frowns. 

“Not good,” She admits, “Bad. Really, really bad.” 

You sigh, dropping your fork onto your plate. 

“She’s going to have to go,” You tell Tara, “If she can’t respect our relationship, she can get the fuck out.” 

Tara bites her lip. 

“Okay, babe,” She says, a little wary, “It’s just… rent is due next month and I don’t know how easy it’s going to be to replace her.”

She squeezes your hand, a little hasty as she sees the look on your face. 

“I’ll talk to her,” Tara says, leaning up to kiss you, “I’ll remind her I’m taken and not interested. And if she still tries it after that, she goes. How’s that, babe?” 

-

Tara’s talk with Quinn happens a little later. 

You climb into bed, head tilted as you hear the quiet murmur of their voices down the hall. It doesn’t sound heated, and you hear Quinn giggling as she tells Tara goodnight. 

You frown as Tara enters the room. 

“It’s just a misunderstanding, baby,” She says as she climbs into bed, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, “She doesn’t like me. She told me she’s just been a little clingier than usual because we’re her only friends.” 

“Babe-“ You start with a huff, ready to climb out of bed but Tara’s hands grip around your waist. 

“I know, I know, babe.” She assures, pressing another quick kiss to your neck, “I know you think it’s all bullshit so I told her straight up. I told her I’m in love with you and if she tries anything we’ll kick her straight out.” 

You frown, turning in her arms, “Really?” 

“Really.” Tara says, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips, “And I promise to keep my distance, okay babe? She can flirt until the cows come home, it’s going to fall on deaf ears.” 

She snuggles into your chest, soothing your hammering heartbeat with a kiss. 

“I love you. Only you.” 

-

True to her word, Tara goes out of her way to avoid Quinn. 

Gone are their cozy little sessions on the couch watching horror movies. Tara refuses Quinn’s cooking, turns down each of Quinn’s requests to hang out, or help her with homework, or whatever other brainless task Quinn can think of to get them to spend time together. 

The rental market is fucked, you discover in the interim. 

No way can you and Tara afford to move out, and even if Quinn did leave, it could take months to replace her. 

“No,” Mindy says, point blank when you ask her, “Not unless you and Tara swear to a vow of celibacy.” 

You sigh, unhappily. 

“Great,” You say, slumping back into your seat, “We’re going to be stuck with her forever.” 

Mindy looks over at you, taking a little pity on you. 

“Why don’t you ask Chad and Liv?” She suggests, “They won’t be able to hear you fuck over Liv’s soap operas anyway.” 

“I already asked,” You say, voice gloomy, “They’re in a two year contract.” 

Mindy shoots you a sympathetic smile. 

“You’ll find someone,” She says, “You just need to put some feelers out there.” 

And so you do. 

You spend the morning in class writing up the ad. You’ll put in the paper tomorrow, you figure. 

When you get home, ready to avoid Quinn and spend a night snuggling in bed with Tara, Tara’s already at the door. 

“Hey babe,” Tara says, bouncing up to greet you with a kiss. She smiles, lowering her voice, “Missed you. Wanna shower with me?” 

You smile and kiss her. 

“You know we can’t,” You say, regretfully, “Last time we used up all the hot water.” 

“So let’s have a cold shower,” She suggests, her smile turning into a leer, “I’ve got other ways to warm you up.” 

“Izzie, how are you? It’s been ages!” Quinn sounds from the living room. Your smile drops - you didn’t realize she was home. Tara notices your face shift, and rubs your hip, comfortingly. 

“She’s been good, babe, I promise,” Tara says, “Are you sure you don’t want to shower with me?” 

“I’ll start dinner,” You say, leaning in to kiss her quickly, “You go, baby.” 

Quinn’s in the living room, lounging across the couch when you enter. 

“Yeah, I’ve never done it before,” Says Quinn. If she’s noticed you in the kitchen, she doesn’t acknowledge you. She kicks her shoes off and lays back into the couch, twirling her hair between her fingers. 

“I just can’t stop thinking about it. You know? I really want to try it.” 

You pull a few potatoes from the bag and pull out a knife. 

Just a little while longer, you think, trying to stop yourself from glancing over. Just a few more weeks of her and then you’d never have to see her again. 

Quinn looks over, catching your eye. 

As if she can tell you’re thinking about her. 

And then, she smiles. 

“I met a guy last night, took him home because he looked a little bit like her. Dark hair, dark eyes, short.” She says, her voice dropping to a quiet murmur, “Fucked his brains out imaging it was her on top of me. Inside me. And she will be. Soon.” 

She’s looking right at you. Her voice is a low taunt, daring you to take the bait. 

And you fall for it. 

Hook, line and sinker. 

You slam the knife to the kitchen counter, cheeks flushing red. 

“That’s it,” You growl as you launch at her, “You’re fucking dead, do you hear me?” 

Quinn stares a moment, her jaw slacking. 

As if she hadn’t realized her taunting would finally come to fruition. 

In the form of you launching to grab at the end of her hair. 

You tug at it, hard, determined to make the end of your fist meet the slant of her chin. She squeals, dropping her phone as you tug her towards you. 

“YN,” She cries, “Stop it, you’re fucking crazy-” 

“You think this is funny?” You growl, letting go of her hair to shove her back against the couch. You swing at her - and miss - and you know you must look crazed. All wild eyes, red-faced, three weeks of taunting finally setting you over the edge, “ You think trying to sleep with my girlfriend is a game?” 

“Tara!” Quin screams as you launch at her once more, “Tara, help!” 

Tara’s name on Quinn’s lips - if possible, just makes you angrier. You lunge over the couch, but she stands, squealing as she ducks your advances. 

You hear the bathroom door slam, and a flash of dark hair before you turn to see Tara, soaking wet, towel pressed around her torso. Her hair is soapy with shampoo and she looks dismayed as she looks at the sight in front of her. 

Quinn screaming like a child and you feral. Grabbing for her with all your might. 

“Baby?” She says, sounding scandalized, “What are you doing?” 

Quinn lets out a sob. Teary-eyed, she barrels over to Tara and stands behind her, grabbing at Tara’s arms as if she’s her knight in shining armor. 

“She’s attacking me, Tara,” Quinn blubbers out through her crocodile tears, “Make her stop, please.” 

“Oh, give it a rest, would you?” You say, voice harsh, “Tears? Really? Why don’t you tell Tara what you were saying about her on the phone, huh? Why don’t you be honest for once in your fucking life and tell her what you’ve been trying to do this entire time.” 

“I was talking about a girl from my Chemistry class,” Quinn says, as if you’re crazy, “Her name is Charlotte, I wasn’t talking about Tara.” 

“Oh, bullshit,” You scoff, “Just admit it. You’ve been all over Tara from day one.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, you crazy bitch,” Quinn says, “Look, just because you’re insecure, doesn’t mean I’m trying to sleep with your girlfriend.” 

“Enough,” Growls Tara. She wrenches her hand away from Quinn, turning to round on her. The anger within you dissipates slightly. You swallow as you’ve realized Quinn has inadvertently awoken The Rage. 

“Don’t you dare talk to her like that,” Tara says, her voice hot, “Don’t you fucking dare.” 

Quinn blinks at her. 

“Tara, it’s fine,” You say, hurriedly, “Babe, leave it.” 

And as much as you want to see Quinn get punched in the face, you don’t want The Rage to be the one to do it. 

You’d paid for too much therapy to see that fucker unleashed again. 

“Apologize,” Tara demands, her eyes flashing, “Apologize to her now.” 

You reach for Tara’s hand, tug her back towards you, out of Quinn’s reach. Her heart is racing,  her shoulders tight. You press your lips to her shoulder in an effort to soothe her. 

Quinn’s face contorts. You half think she’s about to spit right in your face. Maybe take a swing at you of her own. But then her face softens. 

“I’m sorry, YN,” She says, voice silky sweet, “It really was a misunderstanding. I think we’ve got off on the wrong foot. I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like I was trying to take your girlfriend from you. I’m not, I promise.” 

She sounds sincere, but you see right through her. 

“Alright,” Tara says, though her shoulders are still tight, “Good. Now I’m going to finish my shower, and the two of you are not going to kill each other. Right?” 

Quinn nods, solemnly. 

“Bedroom,” You tell Tara, “Now.” 

-

“She’s going,” Is the first thing you say as Tara shuts the door. You’re pacing back and forth, your skin burning hot and red, “She’s fucking gone, Tara. I mean it this time. I don’t care if we have to sleep on Mindy’s couch for the next three years, I am not spending another second with her-” 

Tara rubs her eyes. They’re a little red, stained with unwashed shampoo. 

“Baby, why don’t you sit down for a bit?” She suggests, “Look at you, you’re all worked up.” 

You turn to stare her down, anger flashing through your features. 

“She was talking about fucking you, Tara,” You hiss, “Right in front of me. She was talking about how she wanted you inside her.” 

Tara moves a little closer, trying to touch your arm. You shake her off to continue your pacing. 

“You’re mine,” You seethe, “I don’t know what part of that is so hard for her to understand.” 

“Baby-” Tara starts. 

“You’re not talking me out of this, Tara,” You snap, “I want her gone. Tonight.” 

Tara catches your arm. She draws you in for a long kiss. 

She’s trying to settle you down. 

It works.  

“I’m yours,” She says, softly, “Like I already told you, you don’t have to worry about her.” 

“You promised, Tara,” You say, voice agonized, “You promised if she tried anything else she’d be gone. And I swear to god, Tara - if you try to take her side-“  

Tara shushes you with another kiss. 

Then she draws back, her voice soft. 

“Of course I’m not going to take her side, sweetheart,” Tara says, “I’m your girlfriend. I’m always on your side. She’s going. You don’t have to ask twice.” 

This relaxes you a little. Tara presses another lingering kiss to your lips. 

“Like hell we’re sleeping on Mindy’s couch, though,” Tara says, crinkling her brow, “Sam can lend us the money. She won’t mind.” 

Sam might mind. 

But it’s really the least of your worries. 

“Thank you,” You say, sighing as you lean into Tara’s chest. 

Tara squeezes your shoulders. 

“Let me finish my shower,” She says, “And then I’ll talk to her.” 

She eyes you, warily. 

“Maybe you should take a walk or something, babe,” She says, after a moment of hesitation. She brushes your cheek, “You’re all red in the face.” 

You frown. 

“If you think I’m leaving you here with that sexed-up-piranha-” You start with a growl, and Tara draws her arms back around your shoulders. 

“Alright, alright,” She concedes, “It’s okay, babe, we’ll do it together.” 

But by the time Tara’s out of the shower, Quinn is long gone. 

You spend the night seething, not even Tara’s gentle kisses enough to coax you out of your mood.

In the morning, you hunt through the apartment like a lion hungry for its prey but she’s nowhere in sight. 

She’s stupid enough to try you, but not so stupid enough to hang around for the fallout. 

When you head off to class, Tara reassures you with a gentle squeeze of your hand.

“She’ll be back here at some point,” Tara says, “As soon as I see her I’ll tell her to pack her bags.”

Economics flashes by in a rage-filled trance. You don’t even bother with your marketing paper. You’re worked up. 

You just want her gone. 

And so you skip the rest of your morning classes and head home.

You don’t bother smiling at the doorman, fish your keys out of your pocket in a grump. 

When you get to the door, you tilt your key in the lock, fiddling around to pry the door open. 

And then you hear it. 

A cry - it’s Tara, and then you hear Quinn. She’s squealing again. You blink. Your mind runs rampant with the possibilities. 

Tara with her knife, plowing through Quinn with the kind of ire only The Rage can bring. 

Tara grunts, and it’s familiar. Your stomach lurches. You might be sick. 

You know that grunt. 

The indicator Tara might be plowing Quinn in a much different fashion. 

Betrayal sinks deep within your veins. You fumble with the door, almost pry it off its hinges in your effort to barge through it. 

It swings open, and the lump in your throat grows with the thought of what you might find on the other side of the door. 

But what you see isn’t what you expect. 

You blink. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the sight in front of you. 

“Tara,” You hiss as your jaw drops, “What are you doing?” 

Tara has Quinn in a firm grip. Her legs are wrapped tight around Quinn’s waist, she has Quinn’s head between her arms in a chokehold. Quinn’s eyes are wide. She struggles desperately against Tara’s grip, eyes bulging as she tries to wrangle her way out. 

The scene in front of you would be comical, if it weren’t real. 

But it’s very real. 

Quinn looks over to you the moment Tara does. 

The sound of your voice is her escape. 

Tara turns to you, grip lessening only slightly as she realizes your presence. Her brown eyes widen, the way they do when she knows she’s in trouble. 

Quinn pulls herself out of Tara’s grip with a heavy gasp, almost shoving Tara to the floor. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Quinn says, voice high as she stands, “Are you actually serious right now?” 

“Explain, Tara,” You say, voice flat, “Now.” 

Tara looks over to you, eyes wide. She splutters as she speaks. 

“She tried to kiss me, babe,” Tara says, voice aghast, “She tried to kiss me and I didn’t know what else to do.” 

Quinn’s breathing heavily. 

She’s scary like this. Thundering over Tara’s tiny frame like she might snap her in two. 

“I throw myself at you and your first reaction is karate?” Quinn says to Tara. Her eyes are wild. She’s pissed, “What the hell is wrong with you?” 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Tara fires back, “I have a girlfriend.” 

You throw your bag to the ground. The heavy, unsettled feeling that’s stayed with you for the last three weeks is boiling. If Quinn doesn’t leave now, there’s no telling what you’ll do next. 

“Get out,” You tell Quinn, “You don’t live here anymore. Get your shit and go.” 

Quinn doesn’t move. 

“Get out,” You insist, “Before I kill you myself.” 

Quinn shoots an angry look at Tara, before redirecting it at you. 

“Fine,” She says, “You two deserve each other. Fucking Jackie Chan and Princess Prissy-”

“Out.” You snap as she grabs her purse. 

She shoots you an angry glare. 

“You can forget about rent,” She sneers, “And good luck finding someone else to live in this shitty apartment.” 

Your palms are sweating as she slams the front door shut. 

Tara looks up at you, eyes still wide, a little sheepish as you close in on her. 

“I didn’t kiss her babe, I swear,” Tara promises, leaning up to grab your hands, “She leaned in and I grabbed her before she could get close.” 

“I know you didn’t, babe,” You say after a long moment. Your voice softens. You brush her dark hair out of her eyes, “I know.” 

She’s quiet a moment. 

“I’m sorry that we didn’t kick her out sooner,” She says, “I really did just think she was trying to be my friend.” 

You sigh. Tilt your face to hers. 

“I know, babe,” You say, then you snort, “I can’t believe you put her in a headlock. Sam’s going to love that.” 

Tara pouts.

“She deserved it,” She says, “And speaking of Sam…” 

She looks up at her, eyes shimmering. 

“I talked to her about the rent,” Tara murmurs after a moment, “She agreed to help us out.” 

“Oh?” You say. A spark of hope sears deep within your chest. 

Tara bites her lip, “There’s a catch, though. She’s going to come live with us until we find a new roommate.” 

“Oh.” You say with a frown. 

“You’re not mad, are you?” Tara asks, a little hesitant, “I’d tell her no, but we’re really in a pinch, babe.” 

“It’s fine,” You say, after a moment, “I don’t mind living with Sam.” 

Tara hums. She leans in close against you. 

“And hey,” You nudge her, trying to keep the mood light, “At least I don’t have to worry about Sam trying to get into your pants.” 

Tara wrinkles her nose. 

You laugh. 

Lean down to kiss her, deep. 

Fuck you Quinn Bailey, you can’t help but think. 

You hope she enjoyed her little game.

Because when it comes to Tara, you never lose.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Mad Season 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, social anxiety, chronic illness, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Bucky Barnes, Peter Parker

Summary: a class project gets messy. (short!reader)

Note: yes I'm being irresponsible.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

‘So sorry I’m running behind. May forgot her wallet’. You reread Peter’s message for the fifth time and check the time under the bubble. More than forty minutes ago. He has to be close. 

You thought of checking but you don’t want to pressure him. Besides, he is doing a favour by bringing you to Stark Tower to let you use the space with him. You turn and pace along the wall, out of the way of the New York pedestrians who wouldn’t even notice if you got underfoot. 

You thought of waiting in the lobby but that’s too much. You focus on breathing. You feel alright for the moment, but a few times, you’ve reached for your inhaler just out of habit.  

“Hey,” a voice draws you out of your mounting anxiety, bringing you back down to just above neutral. “Door’s open, you know?” 

You face Bucky as he holds open of the many glass doors. 

You nod and teeter on your heels. “I know, sir. Just waiting.” 

“Bucky,” he corrects you. Like last time. Oops. “Waiting on the kid?” You gesture affirmatively again. He waves you over casually with a gloved hand, “come on. I can get ya into the lab.” 

“Mm, ahem,” you clear your throat, it’s getting tight. You get closer as the noise of the street makes it hard to hear your own thoughts. “That’s nice but I said I’d wait here.” 

“Busy,” he comments and his eyes roll around derisively. “Should be out here on the street. Let the kid know you’ll be upstairs.” 

There’s no arguing with him, not that you would ever dare. You’re not afraid of him. Maybe intimidated but who doesn’t make you feel small. No, he’s Bucky Barnes, an Avenger. You have no ground to tell him no. Besides, he’s being nice even if his tone remains mostly indifferent. 

“Thanks, s—Bucky,” you muster a tight-lipped smile. 

He holds the door and you flit in ahead of him, your wool jacket flapping and brushing against him. He follows. You hurry ahead then stop short as you realise you don’t know where you going. As you do, a man in a suit huffs and nearly knocks you over with his arm. 

“Watch it, little girl.” He sneers. 

“Hey,” Bucky catches him by his tie, “what’d you say to the lady?” 

You spin around in shock, rubbing your arm at the suddenness of it all. 

“N-nothing, I--” the man blinks in fear. “Nothing, she just got in my way.” 

“You knocked into her and you can’t say sorry?” Bucky pulls him closer, glaring at him with a furrow of his nose. 

“N-no,” the man shows his palms, “no.” 

“Look at her. She’s half your size, pal. You think she could hurt you?” 

“No, no, look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” The man sputters. 

“Not to me,” Bucky slides his hand down the man’s tie and pulls him like a dog on a leash toward you, “her.” 

The man blanches and gulp, “look, miss, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you. I shouldn’t have... I should look where I’m going.” 

“Good boy,” Bucky’s snarl comes close to a smirk as he lets the man go and taps his cheek lightly. “Go.” 

He shoves the man by the shoulder and you bat your eyes dumbly. You watch him go as Bucky looms close. You look at him and reach for your bag. You unzip the pouch at the end of the thin strap and pull out your inhaler. You take a puff. 

His expression softens, “oh, is that me?” 

You shake your head, “too many people.” 

“Ah, right,” he points toward the elevators. 

You follow him as he bulldozes through the bodies and pushes the button. You stop beside him and fidget with your inhaler. You peek over at him again. He looks down at you and you wince. 

“Sorry... I...” 

“People usually only stare when I got the arm out,” he shrugs. “I got something on my face? Damn beard catches.”  

Brushes his fingers over the thicket of hair across his jaw. You shake your head again. 

“S-sorry. I... I...” you sniff as the doors open and he beckons you ahead of him. You scurry on and he follows as a slow pace. He spins and jabs the buttons.  

“Thanks for... for helping.” 

“Not at all,” he says. Silence rises with the elevator. He coughs. “You know, I had a buddy with ashthma. Still my buddy but he don’t got the asthma no more.”  

He snorts. You mull his words. You think know who he means.  

“The stuff or whatever... got rid of it?” You ask meekly. 

“Yeah, the stuff. Serum. Poison,” he scoffs. 

“Oh,” you hum. 

“Guess I take it for granted. Never had to worry about much of the being sick part. Sister did. Yeah, she used to always have something,” he clicks his tongue. “Tell me when to shut up.” 

“No, no, I wouldn’t... wouldn’t ever,” you stutter. 

Another lulls fills the elevator as it opens, but the tension remains trapped inside. He points you out first and waits to trail after you. You come out onto the floor. You vaguely recognise some of the acrylic decor and the stiff looking chairs but you don’t know where to go. 

“Left,” he directs you with a gentle caress down your sleeve. “Easy to get lost when you don’t waste your life here." 

You let him guide you. You’d lose yourself without him. It’s exactly why you’d been out on the street.  

That reminds you of Peter. You reach for your bag again and pull out your phone. You check for a message. 

“Kid standing a nice gal like you up?” He asks. 

You flinch, “uh, no, his aunt... there was an emergency.” 

“More important than you, huh?” He pivots and presses his finger to the keypad. The door opens. 

“I don’t... I don’t know. It’s not a big deal.” 

He looks at you, his eyes narrowing, “you’re not a big deal?” 

“No, waiting isn’t... isn’t that bad,” you stammer. “Uh, thanks, again.” 

“Well, you know, in my day, we treated ladies with respect. Let me know if the kid needs a lesson or two,” he taps the doorframe. “I’ll check in, just in case.” 

“You don’t have to.” 

“I know I don’t,” he says. “Go on,” he nods through the door. 

You don’t hesitate. You enter the lab with another thanks, eager to have some time to yourself. You go to the table and untangle your knapsack. You look back just as the door starts to slide shut. You only get a glimpse of his eyes before he’s blocked out by the metal barrier. You can feel his gaze staining you. 

You know it must be all in your head but he is so intense. Not as angry as last time but still... a lot. 

[wolverigrl]

Request for Hugh story.

The reader gets a little jealous when Hugh has to spend some time with his ex wife and kids, so to show his girlfriend just how much he loves her. Hugh makes her romantic dinner just for them.

Jelousy

Hugh Jackman x reader

!A/N! I hope you like this requested story! <3

Warnings: jealousy, cheesy, nothing more!

Enjoy!

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

It had been a year and a half since Hugh and I had started dating. The first year had been incredible - dream-like, really. But things had changed. It started slowly, creeping in like an unwanted shadow. His work, the endless promotion for his new movie, had taken over our lives. We barely saw each other anymore. And when he wasn’t jetting across the globe for press junkets, he was here in New York - spending time with his ex-wife and their kids.

I knew it was important for him to be there for them, to maintain that family bond. And I understood that. I tried to understand it. But lately, it felt like I was always waiting. Waiting for him to come home. Waiting for some kind of sign that I still mattered.

And today? Today was the final straw.

I had seen the photos online—Hugh and Deborra-Lee with their kids, laughing, looking so perfect together. Like nothing had ever changed between them. It wasn’t rational, I knew that. He had been married to her for years, and they shared a lot of history. But no matter how hard I tried to suppress it, the jealousy kept bubbling up inside me, threatening to spill over.

So when Hugh finally walked through the door that evening, his face lit up with a tired but warm smile, I couldn’t hold back anymore.

"Had a good day?" I asked, my tone far too sharp for what was supposed to be a casual question.

He dropped his keys on the counter and looked at me, confused by the edge in my voice. "Yeah... spent the day with the kids. It was nice. What about you?"

"Great." I replied, unable to mask the bitterness. "Saw the pictures. You all looked... happy."

Hugh's brows furrowed. "What do you mean? Of course, we were happy. I was spending time with the kids- "

"And your ex-wife." I cut him off, my arms crossing defensively. "You’ve been spending a lot of time with her, haven’t you?"

He stared at me, his confusion deepening. "Y/n, she's the mother of my kids. We’re not together, you know that. You have nothing to worry about."

"I don’t?" I scoffed, shaking my head. "Because it feels like I’m the last thing on your mind these days. I’m starting to forget what it’s like to even have you around."

Hugh stepped toward me, his voice soft but firm. "That’s not fair, y/n. You know how crazy things have been with the movie, and I’m trying to be there for the kids. It’s complicated."

"Yeah, it is complicated!" I snapped, my frustration boiling over. I could feel the words tumbling out of me, unstoppable now. "I would never ask you to choose between me and them, Hugh, but I’m not asking for much. I just want to feel like I matter too."

He ran a hand through his hair, clearly exasperated but trying to stay calm. "You do matter. You know you do."

"Do I?" I shot back, my voice cracking despite my best efforts to stay composed. "Because lately, it feels like I’m just here. Waiting for you to remember I exist!"

Hugh’s expression softened, his frustration giving way to something more vulnerable. "Love, come on... it’s not like that."

But I couldn’t listen anymore. The flood of emotions was too much, and I needed space. "I need to get out of here." I muttered, grabbing my coat and heading for the door.

"Y/n, wait!" Hugh called after me, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I just needed air, space - anything to clear my head. The door clicked shut behind me, and I found myself walking aimlessly through the streets of New York, my emotions swirling in my chest like a storm.

The crisp night air hit my face as I wandered through the city. My mind raced as I replayed the argument over and over. Why had I let it get this far? Why hadn’t I talked to him sooner, before it all exploded like this? I knew he wasn’t intentionally pushing me away, but lately, it felt like I was invisible.

After an hour of walking and stewing in my own thoughts, I realized I needed to head back. I couldn’t avoid this forever. We needed to talk - really talk. And maybe I needed to apologize for being... well, dramatic. I sighed, turning back toward the apartment, my steps slower, more thoughtful.

When I finally reached the door, I took a deep breath, expecting tension. But as I stepped inside, I was met with something completely unexpected.

The lights were dim, and there was soft music playing in the background. I slipped off my shoes and walked towards the kitchen. The smell of something delicious - my favorite dish - wafted through the air. Candles flickered gently on the dining table, which had been set for two. The entire room felt warm and inviting, a strong contrast to the storm that had been brewing between us earlier.

I stood frozen in the corridor, blinking in disbelief. Hugh emerged from the kitchen, his eyes soft and apologetic as he wiped his hands on a towel.

"Hey." he said gently, his voice carrying a tenderness that tugged at my heart. "I, uh... I made dinner. I figured we could use some time, just the two of us."

I stared at him, the earlier frustration slowly melting away. "Hugh... you didn’t have to do all this."

"Yes, I did." he said, stepping closer. His eyes searched mine, and the sincerity in them made my chest tighten. "I’ve been so caught up in everything - work, the kids - that I forgot to make time for us. And that’s not okay. You’re right."

I bit my lip, guilt washing over me. "I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I just... I was feeling- "

"I know." he interrupted softly, his hands reaching out to gently hold mine. "And I get it. I should’ve been more present with you. I never meant to make you feel like you didn’t matter because you do, more than anything."

I swallowed hard, my heart swelling as I looked up at him. The anger, the jealousy - it all felt so small now. He had always been the man who showed up, who cared, even when life got overwhelming. And right now, he was standing here, showing me exactly how much I meant to him.

"I’m sorry." I whispered, my voice trembling as I squeezed his hands.

Hugh shook his head, his thumbs brushing over my knuckles gently. "I’m sorry too. I love you, y/n. I never want you to feel like you’re anything less than my priority."

The weight of his words settled over me, soothing the ache I’d been carrying for days. I let out a shaky breath, feeling the tension between us dissolve. "I love you too." I said softly, my heart swelling with the truth of it.

He smiled, that familiar, warm smile that made me feel like everything was going to be okay. "So... how about we start over? No more fighting. Just... dinner."

I nodded, smiling despite myself. "Yeah. I’d like that."

We sat down at the table, and the moment was so simple, so intimate. Hugh had made my favorite dish - pasta with that special sauce he always made when we had date nights at home. The food was incredible, but what made it even better was the way we kept stealing glances at each other, the quiet joy in the air as we ate.

By the time we were done, my heart felt lighter. We moved to the couch, and I leaned into him as his arms wrapped around me, pulling me close. I could feel the warmth of his chest, his heartbeat steady and reassuring.

"I missed this." I whispered, resting my head against him.

Hugh pressed a kiss to the top of my head, his lips lingering there for a moment. "I missed you. I hate that I made you feel like I wasn’t here. I’ll do better, I promise."

I tilted my head up to look at him, my eyes meeting his. The tenderness in his gaze made my heart skip a beat. "You always show up when it matters, Hugh. I just... I need to know you’ll keep doing that."

"I will," he murmured, his voice low and earnest. "You’re not an afterthought, Y/N. You’re my home."

Those words wrapped around me, filling the cracks that had formed over the past few weeks. I reached up, cupping his face as I kissed him softly, pouring every bit of love and gratitude I felt into that kiss.

When we pulled away, I couldn’t help but smile. "You really went all out, huh? Cooking, candles... the whole deal."

Hugh grinned, his eyes twinkling. "Well, I figured you deserved a little romance after putting up with me."

I laughed softly, leaning in closer. "I think we both deserved it."

He tilted his head down, kissing the top of mine softly. "I don’t ever want you to doubt how much I love you. I know I’ve been distracted, but I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere."

My heart swelled at his words, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around me like a promise. I looked up at him, meeting his gaze. "I know." I whispered, reaching up to cup his cheek. "And I love you. I just... needed to hear it."

He smiled, a lazy, boyish grin that made my stomach flutter. "Then I’ll make sure you hear it more often."

He leaned down, brushing his lips against mine, slow and sweet, like he had all the time in the world just to kiss me. It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was full of everything - love, reassurance, and that deep, quiet connection we shared. When we finally pulled away, our foreheads rested against each other, and I could feel his breath against my lips.

We stayed wrapped up together on the couch, the warmth of his body melting away any lingering tension. His arm was draped protectively around my shoulders, pulling me close, while I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was comforting, grounding. Every time I shifted, he pulled me in just a little tighter, like he couldn’t stand the thought of even an inch between us.

"You know." he murmured, his fingers lazily tracing circles on my arm, "I’ve missed this. Just being here with you. No noise, no schedules. Just... us."

I smiled into his chest, feeling the softness of his words settle over me like a warm blanket. "I’ve missed it too. More than I realized."

We sat there for a while longer, the quiet of the apartment settling around us. Hugh shifted slightly, pulling a blanket over us and tucking it in around my shoulders. He kissed my forehead again, lingering as though he couldn’t help himself.

"And you know." he whispered softly, his voice like velvet against the night air, "you’re my favorite part of everything. Of coming home, of my whole day. You’re it."

My heart melted. I snuggled deeper into his embrace, closing my eyes as I felt the warmth of his love surround me. "You’re my favorite too." I whispered back, feeling safe, cherished, and so completely loved.

We stayed that way, wrapped up in each other, letting the world fade away. No more jealousy, no more distance. Just us, together. And in that moment, everything felt perfect - like this was exactly where we were supposed to be.

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

I'd appreciate feedback! <3

xoxo

[ghoststyles]

Missed Connections

Harry X YN WC: 6K

No smut in this one. Didn't feel right! Hopefully you like this as much as I do :)

______________________________________________________________

New York City, 1998

This dive bar is abysmal. 

Your Coach shoulder bag is sticking to the bar top while a ZZ Top-esque biker gang member chain smokes in the corner, blowing the smoke straight into your face, as One Headlight by the Wallflowers plays at a volume far too loud for your liking. 

The bartender places a poorly laminated menu, riddled with ring stains from the thousands of beers and simple cocktails poured over them. You’d be shocked if the vinyl seats don’t carry some sort of venereal disease, making you pull your jean skirt down, minimizing the direct contact with your skin. 

It’s a Thursday, your long days in the office, and the start of your best friend, Marcie’s, bachelorette party weekend. When did bachelorette parties turn into a weekend affair, anyway?

You suppose it’s because you’re the only single girl in the group; the only one to actually leave your suburban, central New Jersey upbringing to attend college and build a career in New York City. 

This is how you found yourself hosting 4 girls in your 550 square foot apartment for 3 days. Chickie’s the one with the fabulous life in Manhattan, why don’t we visit her! And who are you to say no? If it weren’t for her sister, you’d be Marcie’s Maid of Honor, so an unmitigated amount of guilt fell on your shoulders as the long distance bridesmaid. 

“Smile, Chickie, you look miserable. That’s not gonna get you a boyfriend any time soon,” Jenny teases you as she sits on the stool between you and the biker, her nose crinkling as she smells the vapor of the Marlboro reds. 

Jenny is the powerhouse of the group; the loud mouthed, opinionated friend who takes pleasure in picking on the other girls. You never pay her any mind. You thought for sure she’d eventually phase out after high school, but here she is nagging you, as usual. Even worse, she used your childhood nickname.

“I’m good, Jen. It’s not looking like my husband is going to walk through the door, anyway,” you laugh exasperatedly, looking around at the empty bar room illuminated by red lights and tons of novelty beer branded mirrors. The biker man leans back on his stool, furrowing his brows at you.

Jen laughs, lighting up her own cigarette and taking a long inhale. “You know, Andrew and I can set you up with any of his colleagues. Most of them are divorced once or twice, but, still good looking.”

Your lips purse out in preparation of a smart comeback, but your eyes divert to the door, where a group of late twenty and thirty something men walk through the door, taking seats at the corner of the bar. They huddle around one another, blocking your view of their faces. 

By this point, your girlfriends have changed the music and begin to dance on the tiny checkerboard dance floor, garnering the looks of everyone in the crowded space. Marcie is sloshing her drink around, the miniature veil in her hair slipping down as she moves. 

The biker man, your only ally for the evening, is now on a stool by the dartboard, dozing off as he nurses his umpteenth Budweiser. The bartender has refilled your gin & tonic a few times already, to which you place a few bills in his jar to your left. 

Marcie and Grace are now twirling around to You’re Still the One by Shania Twain, narrowly bumping into the group of men who walked in earlier. Marcie’s veil is barely grappling onto the top of her head, sending the two into a laughing fit.

You smile gently, still feeling the wave of exhaustion from your day in the office. In your own little bubble, your pocket of peace is disturbed when the stool next to you scrapes across the cement floors, sending an unstoppable shiver up your spine. 

“I’ll have a Budweiser, and whatever she’s having,” the new character quietly says to the bartender. Your head whips around to the gentle, but domineering tone, to find he’s not even looking at you. He fishes a twenty dollar bill from his wallet, sliding it in the direction of the barman. His brown, curly hair is unkempt, slightly hanging in his eyes as he looks down at you. 

“Thanks, but I can take care of it myself,” you brush him off, immediately turned off by the lack of eye contact.

“You’re the only one in here matching my energy tonight,” he chuckles, before turning his head to the biker in the corner. “Well, except for that guy.”

“I’m sure he’d love a drink,” you smirk, thumb picking at the laminated drink menu in front of you.

The stranger takes a swig of his beer, before placing it gently on the coaster. He finally turns to look at you, and you have to stop yourself from gawking. His striking eyes and perfectly chiseled jaw is the first thing to stand out. Looking down, his sleeves are rolled up to reveal a few sparse tattoos around his wrist and forearm.

“You’re the most miserable bridesmaid, and I’m the most miserable Best Man.”

You scoff, taking a sip of your cocktail before meeting his eyes over the rim of your glass. You place the cup down, jiggling the ice with it. 

“Bold of you to make any assumptions about me. I’m just here minding my own business.”

He purses his lips, now fully turning to face you on the stool next to him. “I’ve been here 30 minutes. You’ve only given blank stares to everyone in here, and exchanged glances with the motorcycle guy over there in whatever morse code you two have developed.”

About ready to hop off the stool and storm out, you’re intrigued at the next sentence out of his mouth. 

“I’m serious. We might as well get through this night together," he leans on the bar top, fist now supporting his chin. "How about we play 20 questions while your girls take shots and my boys stand there awkwardly watching.”

You scoff indignantly, unbelieving whether or not this twenty-something (thirty something?) man really wants to play 20 questions in the middle of a dive bar on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. Laughing to yourself, you turn to face him.

“I’ll go first. Break the ice a little,” he licks his lips, placing his bottle down on the disintegrating coaster on the worn bar top. “Most traumatic childhood memory?”

As the question pours out of his mouth, you take a sip of your watery G&T, eyes bulging at the blatant bold question. 

“That—That, is what you start with? What about the name of my first pet? Name of my elementary school?”

“Who am I, your bank?” 

A smile finally— finally, makes its way to your lips. The tattooed stranger you met 35 minutes ago doesn’t seem so scary anymore.

From the dance floor, Marcie shoots you a knowing smile before pursing her lips and gyrating, taunting you, since you’re the notoriously modest friend.

You roll your eyes before meeting his — Blue? Green? You can’t really tell in the dim lighting. The Rolling Rocks neon sign is casting a hue over the left side of his face, a smile makes its way onto his face while he awaits your answer.

“My mom left me at a Walmart and didn’t realize for about thirty minutes. I stood with the old man who greets everyone at the door until she came back. Then he bought me a bouncy ball out of the machine in the vestibule so I’d stop hyperventilating.”

He sucks his lip in, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. Hesitating, he speaks again. Reaching for your hands folded neatly in your lap, he places his grotesquely large ones over them, staring into your eyes earnestly. 

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” his voice dripping with sarcasm and mirth. 

Balling up your fists, you shake his hands off of yours. “You asked! I was only 7. It took me months to go back to Walmart, let alone look that poor 75-year old greeter in the eye.” 

He chuckles, taking another swig of his beer. “Okay, next question—” he starts, before you interrupt.

“Wait, I don’t get to ask a question?”

He hums, pretending to ponder it. 

“Mmmm, nope. I got some good ones,” he replies, gently tapping his temple with his middle finger. He sighs, taking another drink of his beer.

“Is the hokey pokey really what it’s all about?” He slightly tilts his head in your direction, shrugging. 

You don’t know if you want to laugh or cry. What higher power above sent this creature over to talk to you? Your lip juts out into a pout as your eye contact cuts over to your safe haven — biker man. He seems to have more to worry about, like not falling asleep in the bar. 

Recognizing the shock that washes over your face, the man recoups, “Shit, I know — I know, that was so bad.”

It’s the gin. The giggles pour out of you, sending a sharp pain to your stomach. You grab his bicep so you don’t fall off the stool, squeezing the solid muscle there. He snorts, tilting his head back. Your kitten heels scrape the metal bar at the foot of the counter, barely giving you anything to grip on to.

“I’m gonna pee my pants,” tears are fully flowing from your eyes at this point. “I can’t, I can’t.” 

The man cackles, placing a hand on your lower back. Now, your group of girls gravitate to your corner of the bar, bumping into one another and spilling their cosmos. His boys have now gained their liquid courage to morph the two groups together. You’re the only single one, but you won’t ruin anyone’s fun.

“And I don’t wanna miss a thing! Even when I dream of you…” Marcie belts out Aerosmith into her pretend microphone. “The sweetest dream will never do, cause I miss you, babe, and I don’t wanna miss a thing!”

In that moment, Christina strides over to the two of you with her disposable camera, ushering you to get in frame with him. He smiles down at you — how tall is this guy? Even sitting down he has at least a foot on you. You smile gently, leaning into him as the disposable’s flash goes off.

“So cute!”

You break the tension by latching onto his built body. He’s standing now, making sure not to block you from view of your friends. With just a few minutes from midnight, you finally feel loose and that you could actually have a good time with this guy. His hand hasn’t left your lower back, so he presses you into him before staring down at you. 

“Chickie! Come to the bathroom with me,” Grace slurs, grabbing your hand. “It’s upstairs and I don’t think my legs will carry me.”

You inhale through your nose, trying to find a moment of patience for your friend and her unpleasant interruption to the moment you’re sharing with this stranger. You glance up at him, unsure if you should go. The comfort his large frame is intoxicating on its own. 

“It’s okay, Chickie. I’ll be here,” he gently touches your lower back. 

You nod, smiling up at him gently, allowing Grace to pull you toward the small staircase leading to the bathrooms. The walls of the corridor are riddled with graffiti, old dollar bills and questionable amounts of gum.

Grace pulls you past and inconspicuous second bar (what kind of dive bar has a second floor? Who do they think they are, Le Cirque?) and through the crowd to the bathroom. 

The alcohol never feels like it hits until you come face to face with yourself in the dingy bathroom mirror. Despite your long history with drinking, (hellloooo football games in 10th grade drinking Burnett’s from the bottle) every heavy drinking night feels like the first time. You wait for Grace to finish up before hovering yourself over the toilet, unwilling to touch skin to porcelain. 

You both wash up, taking a moment to sniff each other’s pits, fluff each other’s hair and dab a damp paper towel on the backs of your necks to cool you off.

The burst of hot air upon opening the bathroom door is enough to knock you out, but, nevertheless, the two of you persist through the throng of bodies that appeared out of nowhere. You’re the blind leading the blind at this point, but you drag Grace’s half-limp body to the top of the steps, peering out over the crowd in hopes of spotting your guy.

You trudge down the stairs, the pounding of the wood reverberating straight to your brain, heartbeat picking up when you don’t spot him towering over the group anymore. You situate Grace on a stool next to biker man, silently nodding at him to watch over your friend before finding Jen, Christina and Marcie. 

“Jen, where did that group of guys go?” You tried to keep cool, not wanting to fall victim to her taunting, even if she’s inebriated. 

“Mmmm, who? OH! The bachelor party. They left.”

Your heart drops, cursing yourself for letting your guard down. Of course it was only a love connection on your end. As a last ditch effort, you look over the crowd, only to find biker man exiting the bar into the night.

“O-oh, um, did the — did the taller guy say anything before they went?”

“No, the groom was pretty fucked up. They basically carried him out. Sorry, Chickie.” 

Marcie suddenly bursts between the two of them, placing her arms around their shoulders.

“I’m ready for some McDonald’s!”

~

Why the fuck are you at the internet cafe? 

It’s 1:30 PM on a Wednesday, and your boss thinks you’re on a lunch break. After being talked off the ledge by your girlfriends while flipping through the Sunday Times after draining a bottle of cabernet, you decided to take matters into your own hands. 

Your mystery man from the bar hasn’t left your mind all week. Replaying the initial interaction — a bit cold, on both of your parts. But, the way he so easily opened you up and turned your night around kept you hooked. 

In a city of 7 million, the odds of finding him again were slim to none, so you assessed your options:

Going back to Mick’s.

Recruiting biker man to scour the city with you Ghostbusters style. He gave you his business card for exactly that purpose. 

Or writing a missed connections ad on Craigslist.

So, here you are, sat between a high schooler instant messaging on AOL and an old man using Ask Jeeves to diagnose a very personal medical issue. Taking a deep breath, you start the ad.

Every stroke of the keyboard was painful. This is so insanely out of your comfort zone, but the longing in your chest is too strong to ignore. The ad is the perfect mixture of nondescript and casual, but gives enough context that even if he were as dense as his friend group, he’d know it was him. 

Pressing post, you immediately exit the window, paying your $0.75 for internet time and a print out and fly out the door, a bell jingling in the path of your haste. You shove the ad in in the book in your purse and stomp down the street. The old man makes eye contact with you through the window, snarling a bit at your startling movement. It makes you want to yell at him through the window to go see a fucking doctor!

The heels you have on were not made for walking; exactly the opposite of what that insufferable Carrie Bradshaw promotes on that new show. It’ll be off the air soon enough. Reluctantly, you call a cab and head back to the office in hopes of taking your mind off the possibilities — a happy ending, or heartbreak.

~

The nervous tapping of your foot echos across the marble floor of Effie’s Café. Arriving 20 minutes early, you rotated back and forth between the wicker chairs at this clearly 4 person table. Should you face the door? He’ll see you in the daylight and make a run for it. How about your back to the door? No, he could actually be a murderer and attack you from behind. From the side? No, these are standing jeans only. 

Sigh. You decide to push your anxieties aside and order a glass of white wine, sitting with your back to the door to play up the mystery a bit more. One glass turns into two, and now you’re slightly sloshed for a Thursday at lunch time, hoping and praying you unlock the sweet, cool-girl personality you left him a taste of. 

The café starts to pick up for the lunch rush, so you don’t immediately recognize the familiar deep voice of someone is trying to get your attention from behind you. 

“Ladybug, is that you?”

Ladybug?

Slowly shifting your head to look over your right shoulder, your heart flutters at the tattooed forearm attached to the hand gripping the back of your chair. Only this time, the arm is attached to a tall, clean-shaven, blonde man. 

You look up, making contact with his blue eyes. Now you’re certain that mystery man had green eyes. The man in front of you smiles down at you as he pulls his chair out to sit. It’s like he’s not even recognizing everything wrong about this situation. 

He’s the wrong guy. You’re the wrong girl. Ladybug is the wrong nickname. 

“Um, hi. I’m no—

“It’s nice to meet you, officially. I’m Garrett,” he extends his hand to shake yours. You stare at it, dumbfounded and scheming your next move. 

“I think there may be a misunderstanding. I was trying to contact someone —.” 

“No misunderstanding. You sounded like a sweet girl in the ad. I’m just lucky my impression matches you physically. You’re stunning” 

No. Nope. Absolutely not. It’s not an honest mistake. He didn’t happen to speak to a girl in a dive bar with a silly nickname and tell stupid jokes just to get them to smile. This is the epitome of all of the warnings your parents gave you on computer safety. Sucking in a sharp breath, you locate the nearest exit, and look around in the most subtle way possible to flag down an employee. 

“So, tell me about yourself. What do you do for work?”

“I think I need to leave, this was a mistake —.”

“Mm, I don’t think so,” Garrett fakes interest in your unsettled body language. “You asked for this.”

You finally spot your server, grabbing crumpled bills from your purse to give to her on your way out. Garrett grabs your wrist firmly, preventing you from reaching your wallet. “I’d like to get to know you. We just got here.”

Panic. A feeling you’ve felt everyday since you could remember. Whether it’s being forgotten at a superstore, or sending an incorrect document, destroying the contract for your largest client, panic claws its way out of your central nervous system at any opportunity. 

You look down at your shaking hands, trying to conjure up a plan. Do you run? Scream? Throw your wine at him as a distraction? This man, while he hasn’t intimidated you physically, he’s loud and clear with his intentions. 

“Hi! Welcome to Effie’s. I’m Alannah. Can I start you off with any drinks?”

Garrett smiles up at the young girl sweetly, opening his mouth to speak. You decide to play it cool for another few minutes to minimize the risk of retaliation.

“I’ll have an iced coffee — black. and the lady will have a green tea with lemon.”

You scowl, as if you’re more concerned about what he ordered for you than the fact that you feel threatened by his presence all together. Luckily, you still had your glass of wine from when you thought you would find mystery man. 

“Great, I’ll be right back. Let me know if you have any questions about the menu,” Alannah smiles at both of you before spinning on her heel, ponytail flinging over her shoulder. 

Your jaw is tight, unwilling to make eye contact with your dining partner. Your heartbeat has steadies out tremendously as more people filter into the café. Remaining casual, you begin to unroll the silverware placed neatly on the teal plate. You place the napkin on your lap, lining up the two forks and knife on the table. 

Garrett has been talking this entire time, unbeknownst to you as you gather the courage to carry out your plan. You smile tightly, nodding to give some semblance that everything this okay. Glancing at your fork, you lock your eyes on his left hand sitting limply on the table, moving every so often as he drones on. 

You send him one last sickeningly sweet smile before grabbing the fork nonchalantly. Twisting it around in your fingers, you inhale deeply and swiftly sink the salad fork into the flesh of his hand and shoot out of your chair, purse in hand. The chair scoots across the floor and ultimately tumbles to the side of you bringing on some stares from other diners. Alannah screams, dropping the drinks and covering her mouth, staring at the fork sticking out of his forehand. Adrenaline pumping through your blood stream, you waste no time taking your platform sandals off and making a run for it. Disgusting New York City streets be damned.

Garrett is red in the face, gritting his teeth as he screams after you, a death grip on his now injured hand. Diners and workers of the café gather around him, giving you an extra few seconds to escape. 

Flying down 96th street, you expertly weave through the Upper West Side lunch crowd, feeling every wad of gum and broken beer bottle under your feet. Eventually, as your adrenaline-induced track meet is quickly dying out, so you stop on the corner between the flower shop and laundromat. 

The street looks familiar. The bodega with the yellow awning illuminated by the red ‘Bar’ sign to its right.  The sounds of the city are drowned out by your heavy breathing, but you’re certain your heart stops beating for a moment.

Mick’s Bar.

Look at it this way — a full circle moment. You can wash away the utter shit show of a day and raise one last glass to close the chapter of pining over the mystery man. Somber mood and slightly sweating, you bow your head and head down the clump of 3 steps to the street-level establishment. 

The smell of stale beer and popcorn infiltrate your senses, sending you straight back to that night. Retracing your steps to the end stool, you sigh, pulling it toward you with your still bare feet. You’ll find a way to soak them in acid later.

The same bartender acknowledges you, most likely not even remembering your previous interactions. You're glad he doesn’t think you’re some pathetic woman trying to chase after a man. You are, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

The barman places a coaster in front of you, silently waiting for your order. 

“Gin and tonic, please. A double. With lime.” 

He nods, ducking down to tend to his well, filling up a pint glass with ice and heavy-pouring the gin. You sigh again, gently grabbing the back of your neck and rubbing the muscle, willing away the inevitable tension headache coming later. 

There aren’t many people in here; Just a few couriers and other non-office workers. You’re slightly envious of them being able to spend their days outside of a beige and cold office building. Quiet chatter amongst them stops when the bell chimes above the door. 

Like straight out of a movie, Biker man stumbles through the door, his leather vest swiping the handle of the door. The bartender snickers and shakes his head as he pushes your drink towards you, indicating he wants your credit card. You nod, handing over your MasterCard, expecting no other interactions in return. 

He looks at Biker man. Then you. Then back to Biker man, nodding his head knowingly. You’re not sure what this means, but you're trying to erase the last 2 hours from your memory.

Biker man’s thick, heavy boots thunder across the wood plank floors, sending the rickety stools into a rattling chorus of squeaks. He coughs up what sounds like a lung and waits for his beer, not even acknowledging the bartender. He’s now a stool over from you, staring at the screen portraying some sort of horse race. 

Taking one long gulp of your drink, you turn to face him, the liquid courage hitting you immediately. 

“Sir? Hi, I’m so sorry to interrupt. I’m not sure if you remember me—” you trail off when he doesn’t even face you, his salt and pepper beard making it hard to read his face.

Waving slightly, you confirm you’re in fact talking to him, so now his bloodshot eyes make contact with yours over the frame of his sunglasses. 

“I, um, I was here with a few of my girlfriends, um, the other night. A-and I met a man—”

“Tall fella? Came in with a group of guys and they drug one out of here like a corpse?”

“Yes! Yes, oh my goodness, I can’t believe you remember.”

“My bar sweetie, I need to remember who comes in.”

“You’re Mick?” you choke out in disbelief. You want to laugh, because the imaginary life you made up for biker man did not live up to reality.

For your whole life, you tended to grasp onto little moments with strangers that others wouldn’t think twice about.

You still remember the Walmart greeter that waited with you until your mom came back to get you. You remember your sixth grade bus driver who pulled you aside to give you a pep talk when the older girls picked on you. You remember the woman next to you on a plane who held your hand during turbulence. You grow attached, dreaming up scenarios that are probably so far from the truth. It's harmless fun for you.

It’s why you’re clinging onto your mystery man. There are alarm bells going off in your brain you've never felt before, refusing to let it be a fleeting moment. 

“I’ve owned this place for 35 years. Seen everything you can imagine happen here. Celebrations of life, death, marriage. Lots of heartbreak.”

You’re not sure if you’re too tipsy, but his words make you want to cry. What is he trying to say?

“Teddy, two rounds here, please,” Mick signals the barman who promptly whips up four… lemon drop shots? Biker man — Mick— didn’t strike you as the type to take shots like a sorority girl.

He shrugs, pushing two shots over to you. You clink your tiny shot glasses together, tossing your head back and licking the sugar on the rim. 

Both of you push your glasses toward Teddy and reach for the second, as the bell jingles above the door. With the bar being street level, the sun reflects off the cars outside, slightly blinding you as someone walks in, footsteps thumping.

You and Mick continue on, throwing back your next shot. You wince, this one slightly more lemony than the previous. Mick exhales loudly, shaking his head.

“Careful, Chickie. It’s too early to be having this much fun.”

You freeze, unwilling to believe this is happening. It has to be an alcohol induced hallucination.

“Uhm, ah, hi,” you stutter, looking between the three men staring at you. You feel like you’re on an episode of Maury. 

“Sweetheart, he’s been in here every day at the same time to ask Teddy if you’ve stopped in to try and find him, too. The shots were just to ease your anxiety since I knew he’d be in on his lunch hour.”

Due to a short circuit in your brain, you can’t decide who you’re more mad at — Mick, or Teddy. They could’ve told you mystery man has been searching for you, too.

The mystery man blushes, sticking his hands in the pockets of his pleated khakis, staring down at his worn Dockers loafers. His striped rugby shirt reminds you of Steve from Blue’s Clues, but you're willing to over look that.

“We’ll leave you to it,” Teddy smiles gently, ushering Mick to the office. 

The man sits on the stool previously occupied by Mick, and as he sits, he uses his ankle to pull your stool closer to him.

“I’m Harry. Nice to officially meet you,” he smiles, making two dimples you didn’t previously notice appear. 

“Chick—Y/N. I’m Y/N,” you giddily grab his massive hand, shaking it gently.

He sighs, taking a swig of his Budweiser, “So, let’s get this out in the open. How pathetic am I for coming back here every day for a week straight to ask about you?” 

Cackling softly, you shake your head, ducking down to retrieve your bag from the hook under the bar. You pull out your copy of A Beautiful Mind, pulling the slip of paper out from the slightly worn pages. 

“Not as pathetic as this,” You hand it to him, waiting for him to open it. “You ever read the Missed Connections ads on Craigslist?”

Harry smiles, reading the ad. He’s glad you remember the small details of that night like he does. He’s not making it up in his head. 

“I don’t have a computer. But, they usually print these in the Times on Sundays. I would’ve seen it, but about a week late,” he giggles, his green eyes meeting yours when he looks up. 

“Well, I’m glad this nightmare has a happy ending. I went to the café, and a random man showed up pretending he was you! I ran out of there so fast. I’m scared to think about what would’ve happened if I stayed.”

Harry grabs your lower back, the light touch comforting you as you recount the horrors.

“Chickie, I’m so sorry that happened. The internet is scary. I’m honestly terrified of what it’ll be like in 30 years.”

“And to make it worse, he called me Ladybug. Ladybug! I’m clearly a Chickie,” you giggle. “I’ve been dying to hear another one of your terrible jokes.”

Instead of opening his mouth, he leans in to place a chaste kiss on your dried lips. 

The alcohol is hitting you much harder than it should be, so you kiss back, forgetting about the entire audience in the bar. You can’t even begin to care that you’ll be two hours late returning to work, drunk as a skunk.

You’ll blame it on fate.

~ New York City, 2000

“I wish I could travel back in time to prevent us from signing a lease on a 5th floor walk-up,” you sigh, plopping down with your boyfriend on the red bean bag he got from Sears. He’s out of breath, having just carried up 3 boxes while you followed behind him clutching lamps, hangers and basically anything you could get your small hands on.

Harry kisses your slightly sweaty hair, petting any of the strays out of your eyes.

“You’ll have a really toned butt by Christmas. Not a bad investment on my end,” Harry laughs as he dodges your sharp elbow digging into his side.

“I can’t even fathom getting groceries and making dinner. Okay if we order in?”

“You don’t want to meet our new bodega guy?”

“He’ll see me at my worst soon enough. Let’s leave him wondering a little longer. I do love a bacon, egg and cheese on a bagel when I’m hungover,” you giggle, inhaling Harry’s natural scent. If you weren’t so exhausted, you’d hop into bed (your bare mattress on the floor of your 800 square foot apartment) right now. 

“Sure, baby. We can order in,” he pats your thigh, signaling you to let him stand up. He stretches, examining the room.

His heart swells at the perfect mix of the two of of you in your first apartment together. Your excessive shoe collection. His beloved Gibson guitar that he serenaded you with your favorite song on one of your early dates. He sang Lady by the Styx, not realizing you meant Lady by the Commodores. But, you didn’t have the heart to tell him until your first anniversary. 

Now you’re here, two years later and stronger than ever. He spots a film strip hanging on the fridge from Marcie’s wedding. You hogged the booth for well over 15 minutes, kissing, touching, exploring.

You begged for a plus one at the last second, forcing her to tell her uncle he can’t bring a date. Neither of you feel bad. Next to that film strip is the photo Christina took of the two of you the night you met, held up by a Mick's Bar magnet. She didn't get the film developed until weeks after the bachelorette.

The photo would've helped your search efforts!

The empty walls are begging to be filled with canvases, knick knacks and music posters. You learned Harry works at a music recording studio as a fill-in guitarist and a part-time artist. His art style itches something in your brain you can’t describe — falling in love with every piece he comes home with. 

The boxes will consume you for a few weeks, but he’s excited to be taking this next step with you. 

Harry tosses the Sunday Times at you, “Why don’t you read me the missed connections from this week while I put some stuff away. You did a lot to organize the closet this morning, so I don’t want you to move for the rest of the night.”

Harry putters with the dishes, praying they’re clean enough to go in the cupboard. He's haphazardly putting things away, trying to calm his nerves.

“Ooh, yes. I missed last week,” you flip to the section, adjusting the paper in your hands so you can see better. Clearing your throat, you read aloud.

“I was reading a book on the Q train, you were the cute woman sitting next to whom I assume was your mom, but you get kept sending glances my way when she wasn’t looking. I get it, no matter what your age, it’s weird to flirt with your mom next to you. I got off at Atlantic and you shot me a smile. Dunno why I’m even posting here lol almost zero chance of you seeing this. Oh well, gotta try at least.”

Harry smiles, glancing at you as you peruse the page. He can’t pretend to be busy for much longer. You giggle before starting the next one.

“Did you lose an entire ham? It's a bone-in ham, not sure it's obvious from the photo. It's been eaten on some parts, but there's definitely some serious meat left on it. Looks like it was pretty tasty in its day.”

He laughs, his leg anxiously bouncing against the lower cabinet. He leans on the counter for support, gently swiping over his sweat pant pocket. Closing his eyes, he waits.

Scanning the page, you gasp.

You drop the paper in your lap, watching your boyfriend leave your tiny kitchen with the black and white checker floor tile to kneel in front of you on your ratty bean bag chair. Your hands cover your mouth as some tears threaten to spill over your eyes. It’s like everything is in slow motion. 

Harry’s tearing up, too, as he pulls a velvet box from his pocket, opening it slowly to reveal an emerald cut diamond ring on a simple gold band. Elegant and timeless, like you.

He swallows thickly, finding the courage to speak.

“I could’ve gone on and on in the ad, but I figured I’d save it for now,” he laughs nervously. You still have your hands in front of your face, scared to move them in case this is a dream.

“Since the night we met, I knew we were meant for each other. I haven’t had many moments in life where I’ve made the right decision, but I can say with my whole heart that I love you and want you to be my wife.”

You sob slightly, still donning a wide grin. You let him finish.

“I would’ve married you the day we found each other again at Mick’s. But, I didn’t want to scare you,” he laughs again, a small tear escaping.

“Chickie, will you marry me?”

“Oh, Harry,” you blubber, jumping to your knees to wrap your arms around his neck. “Of course! Yes, yes, please.”

Pushing him to the ground, you lay across him, peppering kisses on his face and neck.

When you’ve both calmed down, you’re laying in between his legs, leaned back against the bean bag, basking in the moment. You haven’t even called any friends or family, yet. There’s an uncorked bottle of wine on the floor that you’ve been taking swigs of, absolutely over the moon and tipsy.

"Why did you let me read the one about a ham before asking me the most important question of your life?"

He kisses you to shut you up. You sigh contently, thinking about your future.

After some silence, Harry quietly asks, “Do you think we can force Mick to become an ordained minister?”

You cackle, turning your head to look back at him.

“That was the first thing that came to my mind.”

________________

EEEEEE! I HOPE YOU LIKED IT :))))))) IT WAS SO FUN TO WRITE ABOUT OLD REFERENCES EVEN THO I WAS A BB DURING THAT TIME

Pls let me know what you think <3

ALSO BIKER MAN IS THE REAL MVP I WAS SO HYPE TO KEEP REFERENCING HIM LOL

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

What about Peter having a crush on reader but he can never properly talk to her, until reader gets saved by spider man like twice and in the third time she kisses him and Peter's all happy and excited at first until he realises she only like spiderman not Peter Parker and he's all sad and he visits her place as spidey and they talk and he tries kiss her and she's like no it was a mistake and I didn't mean it and I already like this other guy and he's like who??? And she's like oh this boy with me at school and Peter being Peter apologises and decides to help her ask the boy out while being a the sweet sad puppy he is and the next day he's all mopey at school and avoids reader until she corners and asks him out and he's like omg she was talking about me

.....can I please have chocolate now? 🥺🥺🥺

- yours truly

a/n: okay, i hope you don’t mind, i tweaked it a little so that he doesn’t find out the truth at school but at her apartment when he visits him

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist 

“Wait,” you pressed a palm to the hero’s chest and pushed him back slightly. He’d pulled up his mask just enough for his soft lips to be unobscured before he’d locked them with your own, “this–, uhm…” you averted your gaze and shook your head lightly as to rid yourself of the hazy sensation the taste of his kisses bloomed, “I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

“What?” he leaned back a bit next to you on your bed.

“It’s not you, I promise, you’re so–… I mean, you’re you. Most of New York would probably kill to get to do, well, this with you. I just–, as good as that felt, it can’t happen again,” sucking in a shaky breath, you revealed, “I kinda like someone else, like really like them. So, this just–, I’m sorry… I can’t…”

As a slow, sombre exhale flowed out past his lips, “oh…” he leaned further away from you, “who–, uhm… who is it?”

“A guy at my school. We have biology together, though I’ve never actually had the courage to talk to him. Every time I try, I just chicken out at the very last second and walk away…”

“What’s his name? Maybe, I don’t know… maybe your friendly neighbourhood Spiderman could play matchmaker or something?”

Blinking back at him, you breathed, “you’d really do that? You’ve already done so much for me.” 

“It’s fine, I wanna help,” he offered you a weak smile, “I just want you to be happy. So, what’s the guy’s name?”

“Peter,” you said wistfully, “Peter Parker.”

Mouth parting slightly in surprise, he looked as if you’d just slapped him clean across his face. 

“He’s got brown hair,” you went on, “and is like probably the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

“Peter Parker?” he repeated, “y-you have a crush on m–, on him?”

“Pretty much since the day I first met him,” you sighed longingly, “I know, you must think I’m pathetic. You throw yourself into danger every day and here I am, too scared to talk to the guy I’m in love with.”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[nobrashfestivity]

24 Hour Red Sauce

Since I am making this right now as I type, I thought I would share one of my sauce recipes. The long cooking time may seem daunting but that's also what makes it difficult to mess up. There are probably typos and I never before have written this down but here it is.

24 hour red sauce

People ask me sometimes “How did you make this sauce?” and I usually say something like, “Well, I cook it a really long time.” But now I will share, roughly, how I do make that sauce.

In spite of my part-Italian family, This is my recipe not a family one. My mother and Italian grandmother showed me how to make sauce but frankly, theirs was not that great. Okay, serviceable, not amazing. Perhaps, like many people I learned to cook at an early age because I didn’t like other people’s food. I went to one of those terrible schools where they would make you eat what they gave you. I’m stubborn and refused their overtures, and as I went forth in life I said no to many things. and thus never developed a taste for them. I’m basically the opposite of Anthony Bourdain.

Because I am a vegetarian, I would bring Lasagna or the like to holiday meals for friends and family and over time I endeavored to make a sauce that would stand up in lasagna, stuffed shells or other sauce killers. I make other sauces but this is the favorite of my friends because, I think, the long cooking time makes for a complex flavor.

I’m not the New York times, so this is a little rough in terms of measurements but the beauty of red sauce is that you taste as you go.

-7 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil (I use Tuscan olive oil such as Vetrice for critical stuff but it can be waste of money in long cooking sauce. Any good olive oil with a little bite will work)

-2 28 oz cans of Bianco DiNapoli crushed tomatoes. (you can also use San merican, Mutti or what have you, but I like these best)

- 14 ounce Bianco DiNapoli whole tomatoes (opinions differ on crushed vs whole, I use a mix)

-25-35 cloves fresh garlic, finely chopped

-½ to 3/4 oz fresh basil leaves, chopped (this depends on how many stems you get and how pungent the basil is)

-Vegetable broth (this will add salt, if you want less salt use low sodium broth. If you’re not a vegetarian, you can use beef or chicken broth too).

-Full bodied red wine, like Cabernet, Merlot or Rojas. Don’t break the bank but don’t use something disgusting, you’re eating this.

-1 dried bay leaf (yes you have to)

-¾ teaspoon crushed red pepper (I use a whole teaspoon actually)

-½ teaspoon coarse ground black pepper

-1 medium to large sweet onion

Get a big sauce pan because red sauce will splatter as cook it and it's easier if that doesn’t end up on your stove.

Chop the whole tomatoes (I do this by hand but you can use a food processor) set aside in a bowl.

Under low heat, put the olive oil in and add the garlic and the red pepper, saute a little until the garlic becomes a little glassy.

Add the crushed and chopped whole tomatoes, increase the heat to medium. Set aside the cans.

Peel your onion (you can use two if they are small) and chop it in half. Now look where the sauce comes up to in your cooking pot. Make a little mark (obviously on the outside) of your pot or just wing it.

Fill one empty can half way (14 oz) with vegetable broth and slosh it around to get the remaining tomatoes out of it. Add the black pepper and bay leaf and pour into the sauce.

Fill the other empty can half way with red wine (also 14 oz), a Cabernet is good here, slosh it around and add to the sauce. Now you have wasted nothing except your life cooking this sauce.

Add the two halves of your onion to the sauce. Stir in about half the chopped basil.

Cover the sauce with a lid with a hole in it or half cover it allowing some steam out and turn the stove way down below a simmer. You should even being seeing regular bubbles I the sauce at first and they shouldn’t be appearing rapidly ever.

Every hour tell Michael to stir the sauce (or do it yourself)

Pour a glass of wine and drink it.

Cook it half covered for 4-6 hours on as low heat as possible. You should see occasional bubbles. If the cooked sauce falls below the line you made on your cooking pot, you’re cooking it too fast, but no matter, if that happens, add a cup of 1/3 wine, 1/3 water and 1/3 broth and stir it in. Taste the sauce, it should be pretty good.

Go to bed and out the sauce in the ice box (My grandmother said Ice Box, refrigerator is what it means).

When you get back up in the afternoon (if you get up early, who even are you) uncover the sauce and put it back on low heat simmering or below. Add another two cups of the wine-broth-water mixture and cook for another 5-8 hours. Remember to stir.

When the sauce tastes amazing and you can’t stop tasting it, remove the onions and bay leaf and throw them away. Turn the stove off. Add the rest of your fresh basil and stir it in. You don’t have to use all the basil but basil is not a bad thing. Let the sauce cool for at least an hour. Serve or store. Drink the remaining wine.

It’s actually difficult to ruin this sauce if you follow these guiding principles-

1- You want roughly the same amount of sauce you started with before you added the liquids (wine, water and broth). So you want to see about 50-65 oz of finished sauce depending on how thick you like it.

2- Cooking the onions provides the sweetness to take the acidity out of the sauce, if it’s not sweet enough to can add another onion but it should all even out with more cooking. More sugar will be released from the onions over time. The sauce should be spicy and somewhat strong and acidic but also smooth and flavorful. Add more of your liquids if the sauce is too thick, cook more if it’s too thin. Don’t use sugar.

3- The red wine is a big flavor in this, the alcohol will cook off but flavor is part of the dynamic. Sicilians will tell you to use paste, but that’s a different sauce.

4- I cook this sauce for as long as 24 hours but you don’t have to to make it good. It depends a lot on how high your heat is, how much liquid you use etc. but I would recommend no less than 7 hours of cooking. Otherwise the magic doesn’t happen.

5- Make this often, tweak to your taste, you will return to it each time affirming its power to sustain you in a harsh and unkind world.

[mirouie]

୨ৎ 'i'm here.'

tasm!peter parker x fem reader. | wc: 0.9k

↳ warnings: none

↳ tags: fluff, slight hurt/comfort, soft peter, he's just so lovely </3

↳ a/n: just a little blurby blurb i wrote on the spot for my lovely pete! i've been in such a brainrot for him lately and i've been feeling pretty lonely myself so this is totally just something i wrote for my own comfort :3 hope you enjoy!

you feel lonely. you don't like it.

you've spent the better half of the day doing nothing, cycling through lying in bed to lying on the couch to lying on your carpeted floor and back again. you stare at the small heap of laundered clothes sitting in your armchair, your mind telling you that you should definitely fold them up and put them away—the same goes for the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, but you make no move to do either. if anything, you sink deeper into the plush of the carpet, if it were even possible, wishing for nothing more than the ground to open up and swallow you whole. the off-white ceiling and the steady running ceiling fan were friends welcome at first, but now you're beginning to get sick of it.

a chime somewhere off to your left takes you out of your hazy stupor, your fingers clamber mindlessly behind you till they wrap around your phone. the bright light is almost glaring when you bring it to your face.

peter :PP : hey bug, you doin ok? haven't heard from you all day

y/n : hey y/n : m alright, havent been doing much y/n : just feeling kinda lonely rn :// y/n : wish u were here

you see bubbles in the corner where peter's typing, but then it disappears and doesn't come back. you stare at the screen for a few more minutes but peter doesn't respond anymore. a little odd; you let it linger in your thoughts for a moment but then you let it go. your best friend's not the one-liner type neither the left-on-read over text, but you know him well enough to know he means nothing ill about it. maybe he's just a little busy, he'll reply when he's able to and you won't hold anything against it.

you're back to brooding and sulking for a little while until you hear a quick but soft sequence of knocks on your door. you're not expecting any visitors soon, so you groan when you force yourself to get off the floor, sluggish in the way you pad over with your head hanging low.

you've barely opened the door a few inches when something peter-shaped comes barreling through it. messy brown hair, soft eyes, and a warm, cozy scent; all heart-achingly familiar to you as he stands in front of you. your boy. peter.

"hi," he greets you, arms wide open for you to step into. you take account of the two full plastic bags hanging from both his hands and the over-stuffed backpack slung across his shoulders; they must've been heavy, whatever the contents were, but he hugs you with ease as if they weighed nothing.

"hello, peter," you mumble into his shirt, rubbing your cheek against the soft material. his appearance was a surprise, but you're more than happy to welcome it. suddenly, your apartment doesn't seem as dull or as cold, and you realize quickly that it was his presence you were yearning for all day. of course it was, you've always felt a different kind of lonely whenever he wasn't in your space. "what're you doing here?"

peter shuffles the both of you further inside and nudges the door shut with his toe. he doesn't let you unwind your arms from around him as he puts his luggage down, shrugging off his coat and toeing off his shoes and hugging you right back. he's so warm you feel your cheeks starting to burn.

"you said you were lonely. i couldn't have that, so i came."

"but i thought you had work. and you were going to do some spidering right after."

"i did have work. i came after i clocked out and ran to the store to get some things, and i think new york can handle a night without me for now," peter's backed you both into your living room now, your leg bumps against the arm of your couch. he sits you down and wraps himself around you a little tighter, head finding home in the crook of your neck. a pleasant feeling bursts in your chest and spreads all the way down to your fingers and toes when you feel him relaxing, practically melting into you. his position couldn't have been comfortable—he’s near kneeling down on the floor, lanky legs awkwardly supporting half of the weight he isn’t leaning on you—but he doesn't seem to mind and it makes you miss him all over again.

"i missed you, bug," he beats you to saying it first, and you're glad it feels like he's read your mind. you've told him you were lonely over text, but he didn't exactly know how lonely. you'd been aching all day, aching for him, and having him near you like this now is almost enough to make you cry.

"i missed you too," you sigh, planting your face into his rumpled curls.

"'m sorry you were feeling lonely. i would've taken the day off and spent it with you if i knew." oh, how sweet. you shake your head, but you're smiling at the thought.

"it's okay, petey. i'm just glad you're here now." peter peels his face from your neck to stare at you. his gaze is sticky with affection. you don't think he's ever looked at you in a different way.

"i'm here now," he echoes, fingers squeezing at your waist. "so what'd you wanna do, sweet girl? dinner, movie marathon, board games? i could swing us if you wanna get some air. or do you just wanna lie and rot on your bed and cuddle all night?"

your cheeks pull as wide as his does. "cuddles sound nice."

he nods, serious and solemn like it’s his one sworn duty. "cuddles it is."

© mirouie ; do not copy, edit, or repost my works. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[jmdbjk]

Mental gymnastics...

I am flipping out. That's all. Just my brain doing cartwheels and whatever those things are called where you flip between those high bars and let go for a breathless second and then grab onto reality again. Or this...

Too much Olympics these past few weeks I guess... anyway.

WARNING: POSSIBLE SPOILER ALERT! I may or may not mention scenes in detail and their outcomes during these long rambling messy posts beginning with the next sentence.

Before I get into it... kudos to the staff for keeping up with these two and for suffering many extremely anxious moments as Jimin and Jungkook drove themselves through NYC, as Jungkook and then both Jimin and Jungkook rode the motorcycle through traffic, and the few heart stopping moments when JK flipped his kayak over and then they took off down the river alone before staff caught up with them. Not to mention probably looking up the nearest ER/urgent care facility in case Jimin got too dehydrated from his bout with the stomach bug.

Seriously though, their lives and global headlines had to flash before their eyes when JK disappeared underwater under that kayak... so big applause for the staff/production crew for not shitting THEIR pants thirteen times too.

So here are some of my thoughts. I'll begin with the first episode...

Episode 1:

In the opening scene, I'm assuming this is Antoya Korean BBQ restaurant. They were talking about JK's sore throat and that he had to visit a medical facility. Jimin kept on about it. It seemed like JK's "stop babying me" attitude bubbled up a little bit. Let them be them. As you can see, JK adjusted Jimin's beanie so he could see his eyes. They were fine.

Pause and reflect: they didn't know what to expect with this idea of a travel show. The moment above happened on Thursday evening, July 13. Both of them were working. Jimin was still working on his concepts, photos, MV and whatnot, planning to finish everything for Muse in the coming months. Jungkook had a full schedule for promoting Seven which was dropping the next day. He had to get up early for Good Morning America concert in the park.

I'm stating all this for point of reference. Nothing is static. JK was in work mode: he had a performance the next day and also not feeling well himself. Jimin had been on a plane for 14 hours. Just keep these things in mind before jumping to conclusions.

In the next scene (the next day) back at the hotel after JK's done with his performance and when he's packing to go on this trip he's all in and ready to go. Hurry up Jimin!

Jimin asked him how the live performance went. As we know, the GMA live performance was mostly rained out. Before the storm came through, they quickly pre-recorded the performances before it would have been time for the live broadcast and then shut it down. Jungkook had to be driven quickly to the studio to be interviewed to fill the leftover time in the program that more of his live performance would have taken up.

Hearing Jungkook say "this isn't my first rodeo" was never going to be on any bingo card in my lifetime.

I don't know what he was scribbling on that iPad but it looked geometric. He was focused. Maybe it was something for the next week's performance, maybe it was a sketch for music show staging, trying to recreate that flower archway they saw at Antoya the night before? maybe he was doodling in Canva... we don't know.

Me either, Jimin... (this was the first of all the hilarious gems that begin to shower down on us).

They are both known to be perfectionists when it comes to their work. And we know they've also both performed when feeling less than 100% on that stage. Jungkook realized there were circumstances beyond his control and he took it in stride.

FYI, in New York City, they stayed at the Loews Regency on E. 61st Street in Manhattan. It is between Madison Ave. and Park Avenue and not far from Central Park. Swanky. The suite looks like the 2-bedroom "Park Avenue Suite" and runs $2100 a night... gasp. Yes, its the same suite where JK did his live after his rained upon GMA appearance. During this live he mentioned being poked with needles, IV's and shots in the butt as well as teasing us with what would become Are You Sure:

No, I don't think Jimin stayed in this suite with JK. Jimin's room had a smaller bathroom and a shower curtain instead of a glass shower door. Staff with camera woke him up.

To be that beautiful when rolling out of bed... anyway, I digress...

It truly was unplanned and spontaneous as if they were doing this with the idea of "let's try it and see if it can be viable." Even Jimin wasn't sure if any of this could be aired.

Once they got in the Jeep they started to find their groove. Being alone, just them, was what they needed. They could focus on what was ahead of them. The driving moments were some of the best for me.

We eventually learn that Jimin wasn't feeling well and I'm certain this is what Jungkook was telling Yoongi during that episode of Suchwita, along with the elbowing in the nose.

Seems like Jimin's stomach trouble started when they were at the first restaurant, the burger place. The bathroom visits continued at the brewery and into the evening at the campsite.

Jimin had some sort of stomach bug that kept him on the toilet a lot and he ran a little bit of a temp. I am sad that he wasn't feeling 100% when they were on the yacht the next day but he still seemed to enjoy it enough to find the humor in his situation. He was a real trooper.

It sure didn't stop him from eating. My man was very brave in that regard. Me... no way I'd be stuffing my face with a big greasy burger when at any moment I might need to make a run for the toilet.

They get back on the road and these are the moments that I wait for:

After arguing in satoori about who is the worst driver between them, they start shopping at Dick's.

And get recognized...

After shopping excursion at Dick's, they finally head to High Nine Brewery...

Jimin's first sample wasn't to his taste (again). His taste buds were probably a little off since he had the stomach thing going on... but JK's eyebrows say that his sample was pretty good.

They finally settle on a hard seltzer and a pale ale and relax for a little bit. Jungkook is still wondering what would make good subject matter to film. They are truly making it up as they go...

Jimin proceeds to explain and an interaction happens and I am not sure what to think about it:

I am going to end this post here because they are now on their way to the kayaks and that segment deserves its own post and I have too many screen shots of it to fit in this post.

[These are all my own opinions about what I am seeing and hearing them say and from what I am observing from the video. It's ok if your opinion is different from mine.]

[atomicami]

the perfect fit

model!abby anderson x fashion designer!reader

- summary: it’s the start of your new job working for armani as a fashion designer, and your first assignment is to design and create a suit for an upcoming runway event. despite the fact that you can’t stand your chosen model, you also can’t help but find her very attractive too.

- content: smut MDNI, no outbreak/modern au, nyc living, reader has a degree in fashion design, reader is a bit of a perfectionist, model!abby, abby’s a little cocky, work sex, fingering & strap usage (r!receiving), abby refers to her strap as her cock, size kink, and i think that’s it but lmk if i missed anything

- author’s note: so i was highly inspired by this abby x model!reader fic that i decided to try to write out a fic of my own with this new pairing!! i hope y’all like it :)

also dedicating this one to my girl @whore4abby ily darling 🤍

New York City was always known to be the place where one’s dreams were meant to fly as high as the skyscrapers that rose in its urban atmosphere. It was known to be the perfect capital city for all professions, including fashion.

Living in New York had always been the dream for you, and although you were now residing there for school, you weren’t exactly fulfilling your dreams just yet. So when you had called your parents one day to break the bad news to them, you knew that they weren’t going to be on board with your sudden change of plans.

“You’re switching majors? But why?” your dad asked through the phone. “I thought you wanted to study law.”

No, you didn’t. Your parents had been telling everyone they knew in your small town that you were going to major in law after high school and become the best lawyer to walk the streets of New York, and as a result, you couldn’t help but select that major just to please them.

“I don’t, Dad…If you had listened to me in the first place, you would know that I never wanted to do that,” you tell him.

“Well, that’s alright, law school isn’t for everyone now.” your dad told you before continuing. “What are you going to study instead? Medicine? Psychology? Business?”

You took a deep breath before continuing. “Fashion design…” you mutter back to him.

You can already imagine the outburst he was going to have. It was almost as if you could feel the anger bubbling within him through the phone.

“Fashion?! Are you seriously out of your mind?!” your dad exclaimed back at you. His reaction was so uncalled for that you had to take him off of speakerphone.

And after a long lecture from him later, he simply told you that he wasn’t going to pay for your tuition anymore before hanging up the phone.

Even though you were expecting that kind of reaction from your parents, your father more specifically, you still couldn’t help but feel so…discouraged. You’ve been wanting to be a fashion designer ever since you were little, and your parents’ lack of support did nothing but steal your happiness in fulfilling your dreams.

But at the same time…you felt determined to prove them wrong. You wanted to show them that you weren’t making this change just take the easy way out, you were doing it because you’ve been wanting to pursue this career your whole life. You wanted to show them that you were meant to be working in a fashion studio, not a courtroom.

Fast forward to now, and you’ve graduated from Parsons at the top of your class with a fashion degree, only to soon land a job working as a fashion designer at one of Giorgio Armani’s establishments right here in New York City.

Once the first day of your new job came around, you needed to give the best impression there, making sure to arrive before your boss did. After all, if it weren’t for Tess selecting you as one of the potential candidates as a fashion designer for that establishment, you’d probably still be job hunting by now.

You sat at your desk, eyeing the surroundings of the large studio you were in at this moment. All of the fabrics, mannequins, tools, and machines just waiting to be used. It still felt like a fever dream to you.

The sound of the opening doors of the warehouse startles you, causing you to and some of the designers in the studio to turn around, while the others are still chattering.

Tess walks into the studio and stands in the middle of the room before bringing everyone’s attention. “Alright everyone,” she shouts with a loud clap of her hands, causing the rest of the room to quiet down. “I have decided to put you all in charge of creating the looks for Armani’s upcoming winter fashion show. Each of you will be given a model to work on, and you are welcome to create whatever you’d like, as long as it meets the requirements for the show.”

“But, isn’t the winter fashion show only a month from now?” one of the designers asked.

“Yes, Yes it is, actually,” Tess replies with a nod. “So I expect to see the best work done by you all within the time being. I’d like to see how well my designers can work under pressure.”

You let out a sigh in frustration and held your face in your hands. How the hell were you going to have a look ready in just a month?

Tess checks the time on her watch before looking up at the clock for reassurance. “The models should be arriving any minute now, once they get here I’ll be assigning them out to everyone, and we’ll start today off by taking their measurements and sketching out designs. When you are finished, I—“ Her words are cut off by the sound of the warehouse doors opening again.

You look over again with the rest of the designers to see another staff member enter the room with a variety of models trailing behind her in a single file line. She then approaches Tess to talk to her for a brief moment before soon exiting the warehouse by herself. “Alright everyone,” Tess shouts out again, looking down at the clipboard that was in her hands. “When I call out your name to your assigned model, I would like you to stand up from your desk so they know who you are.”

As Tess begins to assign the models, the sound of a chair swiveling over to your left makes you turn your head, and you see that it was Dina scooching closer to you. “See anyone you might like?” she whispers over to you, her eyes still fixed on the line of models in the room.

“I honestly could care less about who Tess puts me with,” you whisper back to her, leaning back against your chair and crossing one of your legs over the other. “As long as they don’t give me a hard time, I should be good.”

Dina nods in response, she opens her mouth to respond but is cut off by the sound of Tess calling out your name. As a result, you rise from your seat and stand behind your desk.

“You’ll be working with Anderson as your model,” she tells you, and you watch as Tess looks over to your model and points at you, indicating her to walk over to where you were.

Intimidation strikes through you as she approaches your desk. You can’t really put your finger on it, but from the first impression, you’re quite convinced it's because of her broad figure that stood out from everyone else. You look over to Dina, to which she looks back at you and simply mouths a ‘good luck’ on your end.

Tess soon does a quick check around the room, making sure each designer has a model to work with. “Alright, now that everyone has an assigned model, you can all get started. Remember now, the winter show is a month from today, so I hope you can all make the best use of your time.” and with that, she exits the studio, leaving you and the rest of the designers to be.

Abby has her side resting against your desk, watching you draw out some looks on your sketchbook. “Just so you know…” she starts, leaning in closer to your right side. “I’m like, the biggest model here, so don’t be surprised when you run out of fabric for that pretty outfit you’ve planned out for me.”

You look over to Abby and roll your eyes before setting your pencil down and opening the side drawer of your desk. “Yeah, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” you tell her as you take out the soft tape measure from your drawer and stand up from your seat. “Come on, let me take your measurements now.”

Based on that first interaction alone, you knew that Abby was going to be a distraction for your project, and boy you were right.

This past month has felt like hell for you, and Abby’s cocky, conceited persona wasn’t making it any better for you.

Things were fine at first, at least enough for you to manage. But it wasn’t until the second fitting that she’s been starting to really get on your nerves.

The fitting room in the Armani establishment was spacious, each designer/model pair had their spot to do the fittings and make any adjustments if needed.

Abby walks over to your side of the fitting room fully dressed in her runway outfit. You had beautifully created a navy blue suit that complimented her freckled skin and blue eyes perfectly, and the entire outfit had Swarovski crystals sewn all over the place. It was a timeless and classic look for the show.

It’s a shame that your model has to be so arrogant for the time being.

You look over to her and snap your fingers. “Stand over there,” you tell her, pointing over to the small, round altar that was next to you. Abby simply obliges and stands up on the altar to face you, both of her hands crossed at her front.

You notice this and walk over to her, grabbing at her hands. “I need your hands at your sides, you’re a model, not a security guard.” you tell her sternly, separating her hands so each one is at her side. You then sit down on the stool behind you, bringing yourself down to face her lower half so you can check the fitting of her suit pants.

Starting at the bottom of her pants and making your way up, the pants seem to fit well on her so far. Given Abby’s large build, the fit is as snug as can be, but not too tight to where it would make her uncomfortable when walking. If you had made it any tighter, you’re convinced that the fabric might rip.

However, it wasn’t until you look at the waistline of the pants. For some reason, that area looked unusually tighter than it was compared to the last fitting. The zipper on her pants looked like it was going to burst. It’s almost as if she was hiding something underneath…

You tap the side of her thigh to get her attention, causing her to tilt her head down. ”What’s this?” you ask, pointing at the slight bulge that was sticking out of her pants.

She simply smirks back at you and shakes her head. “Wouldn’t you like to know…” she mumbles out, looking back up.

Your eyes were still fixed on her face, and you grabbed at her crotch, causing her to slightly jerk back. You knew damn well what it was that she had in those pants.

“Jesus,” she says, looking back down at you. “Chill out, will you?”

“Take it off,” you tell her sternly, standing back up from the stool. “I’m not going to have my look completely ruined as a result from one of your little games.”

You were close to having an outburst in the middle of the fitting room since you were starting to get some looks from some of the other designers and models in the room, including Dina. It was a good thing that Tess wasn’t there to see it though.

Abby simply rolls her eyes at you and clears her throat before stepping off of the altar and exiting the fitting room to go change. The two of you were being quite immature about this, but you were seriously in need of your look to be perfect for the show, and Abby was keeping you from doing so.

A couple more weeks pass by and before you know it, the day of the show is just right around the corner from now.

Your shift at the studio had just ended, and people were starting to gather their things to leave, while you still sat by your large mannequin, making adjustments and adding touches to your look.

Dina walks up behind you and taps your shoulder, causing you to pull out one of your headphones from your ear and turn around.

“Hey,” she says. “Some of us are going to head out to Dalton’s for drinks. Wanna come with?”

You shake your head in response. “I can’t, I really have to finish this look in time for the show, I have to make sure everything’s perfect.”

You hear her let out a sigh and nod. “Alright well, just don’t stress yourself out, okay?” she asks, gently squeezing your shoulder. “I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” she says, and you nod back at her as you watch her put her bag over her shoulder and exit the studio.

Once she leaves, you notice Tess at walking towards you at the corner of your eye. “Hey kid,” she says leaning against your desk with her arms crossed, keys jingling in one of her hands. “You plan on leaving soon?”

You let out a sigh and turned your head to face her. “Just let me stay a little longer, Tess…I promise I’ll be out of here soon.”

She sighs back and hesitates for a moment while rubbing the back of her neck. “Alright, I’ll give you an hour, but that’s it. I don’t want you spending the night here.” She then gets off your desk. “I’ll see you tomorrow, the doors will lock automatically once you leave.”

You nod in response and thank her before watching her walk away from the dim lighting that shined on your side of the studio. You were instantly relieved to be able to have some time for yourself to work on the suit.

However, that doesn’t last long when another set of footsteps enter the studio and begin to approach you from behind once again.

A large hand grabs at your shoulder, this time causing you to jump up and turn around in fear for a moment before realizing who it is. “Jesus, Anderson…you scared the hell out of me,” you say, trying to catch your breath. “What are you even doing here? Your final fitting isn’t until Friday.”

Abby lets out a chuckle at your frightened reaction and shakes her head. “I just came here to get my car keys,” she says, grabbing them off the shelf where she had left them. “I left them last time I was here.”

You rolled your eyes and stood back up to face your desk and away from her. “Well, now that you have your keys, can you go now? I need to keep working.”

As you were about to put your headphones back on, Abby began to speak once again. “What’s your deal?” she asks you.

You let out a huff and set your phone down before looking back at her. “My deal is that I’ve had to deal with your arrogance this past month and it’s been driving me insane. All I want right now is to have this time to myself so I can finish this suit in time for the show.”

The smirk that was growing on Abby’s face right now was so big you could practically see it from your peripheral vision. She then begins to walk around until she’s behind you on your desk. “It seems like you could loosen up a bit, you know…” she tells you as she slightly leans in closer to your ear, trapping you between your desk and her chest. You could already feel a familiar bulge poking at your lower back. It was that same bulge that you were just grabbing at in the fitting room not too long ago.

You roll your eyes at her in response. “Is that so?” you whisper back to her, just enough so she can hear you. “And what might that be, exactly?”

Her hands make their way down to your waist, grabbing you and turning you around so you are now face-to-face with her. “How about I show you, yeah?” she whispers to you, to which you nod desperately.

Despite how much you couldn’t stand her, you really couldn’t help but be into her at the same time, and not only has she also been aware of it, but she felt the same way with you too.

You feel her hands move from your waist down to the buttons of your pants, and you look down at your lap as a result. “Let’s see what we have here now…” she murmurs, slowly undoing your pants and sliding them off your legs and to the ground. Once your pants were fully removed, she helped give you a boost so you could sit up on your desk.

Abby instantly opens your legs the second your ass hits your desk, immediately eyeing the visible wet patch that was seeping through your black underwear. “Well well well, what do we have here…” she mutters out, hooking a finger underneath your underwear and shifting it to the side, causing your wet pussy to be exposed to her and the cold air of the studio. “This all for me?” she asks, looking back up at you.

All you can simply do is bite your lip and nod as you try to resist the cold air hitting against your pussy. “Fuck, yes, Abs…it’s all for you…” you whine out to her.

“That’s what I thought,” she mutters back. Two of her fingers make their way into your cunt without warning, causing you to jerk back and involuntarily close your thighs shut. However, her other hand makes her way into the middle just in time before you do so. “Nuh-uh, don’t get shy on me now, princess,” she says, forcing your legs back open to stand in the middle. “You’ve been so bold with me this past month, so you’re not backing out of this now.”

Her fingers successfully go into your pussy the second time around, causing a moan to escape from your mouth as a result. Abby’s fingers were huge, to say the least, but they managed to stretch your pussy out so well. There’s no way that your pussy can’t take anything bigger than this.

But what Abby was about to pull out next was going to prove you wrong.

As Abby’s fingers continue to pump inside you, she begins to undo her jeans with her free hand, effortlessly getting them open and slightly pushing them down to her thighs. She then digs that same hand into her boxers and pulls out her black strap-on, causing your eyes to widen at the immense size. She was fucking huge.

“A-Abby…” you stammer out to her, quickly shaking your head. “That—That’s not gonna fit…It’s too—“

“Yes it will,” she says, cutting off your words. “My cock’s gonna fit. You’ll see.”

Her fingers quickly slide out of your cunt, leading you to whimper at the loss. With both of her hands now, she rubs her cock against your folds, collecting some of your wetness before sliding it into your tight hole. The stretch of the strap was a bit uncomfortable at first, but after a moment, you were shocked to see how well your pussy was easily taking it from the tip down to the base. It really was the perfect fit.

Abby smirks as she looks down at the piece of silicone that connected your bodies. “See? I told you it’ll fit,” she mutters out, bottoming out completely inside you. “This fucking pussy was made to take my cock.”

You were already starting to feel dizzy over Abby’s cock nestling inside your pussy. You were desperate for some movement.

“A-Abby…” you whine out to her, squeezing her bicep. “N-Need you t-to move…”

“What’s that, princess? You want me to move my cock?” she asks, to which you nod in response. “Need me to thrust my big cock in that desperate little pussy of yours? Don’t worry, baby, I’ll do just that for you.”

And with that, she begins to slowly thrust inside you. You could practically feel it all within her movements, the girth, the veins, hell, even the tip would kiss at your cervix every time she bottomed out into you.

Abby grabs at both of your thighs, slowly starting to speed up her pace. “I think I can go a little faster now, don’t you think? Your pretty pussy’s already doing so well for me, angel…”

“Fuck, y-yes, Abby…f-faster…” you slur out as you throw your head back in pleasure, gripping both of your hands onto your desk while she continues to thrust inside of you.

One of her hands leaves your thigh and grabs at your jaw, tilting it down to face her. “Look at that now, my girl’s getting so cockdrunk for me…I bet it feels good, doesn’t it?”

Abby’s gaze soon brings down to your chest, smirking once she notices your hard nipples poking through your shirt. She then lets go of your jaw and pulls your shirt up to your tits, watching in awe at the mere sight of them. “No bra?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t take you to be such a slut like that…It’s almost as if you were waiting for this to happen.”

At this point, your brain was losing focus, and you couldn’t figure out what Abby was saying to you right now. Once she sped up her pace again, all you could think about now was getting to your release.

Abby now has her gaze focused on the sight of your pussy, watching as it squeezes and contracts around the strap with every thrust. “Looks like you’re getting close, princess. Are you gonna come for me? Gonna be a good girl and cum on my cock?”

“Y-yes, f-fuck! I-I’m getting close…” you whine back to her, leading her to thrust even faster inside of you, your moans soon getting loud enough for them to practically echo inside the whole studio.

It didn’t take long for you to reach your peak. Your cunt pulsed a few more times around Abby’s strap before cumming completely with a loud moan of her name, causing a white ring to form around it.

As you began to catch your breath, Abby slowly pulled herself out of you, groaning as she saw a thick white string of your cum connecting between your pussy and the tip of her strap before soon breaking. She then ran her fingers through her length, collecting all of your release before soon sticking them inside of your mouth while it was still agape.

After sucking her fingers clean, she pulls them out of your mouth and tucks her strap back into her boxers before putting her jeans back on. You watch as she briefly gets down onto her knees and brings her face into your fucked out pussy, gently licking and sucking it clean, savoring each bit of it as she did so.

Once you were all clean, Abby rose back to her feet, helping you with your underwear and with the rest of your clothes as well. Her hands then moved from the button of your pants back down to your hips, guiding you off of your desk and back on your feet. You stumble a little bit into her at the sudden movement.

“Hey, you okay?” she asks softly, catching you in her arms.

“Y-yeah, yeah I’m okay…just a little worn out.” you pant out to her as you gain back your composure to turn around towards your desk and gather up your things to leave.

“Well, at least let me give you a ride back to your place,” she insists, grabbing her keys off your desk. “It’s already late outside, and I don’t think it’s quite safe for you to be walking around out there at this time.”

You hesitate for a moment at first. You’d honestly hate to inconvenience Abby to give you a ride home, but given that she was the one offering, you didn’t seem to mind too much about it. In all fairness, it was already late hours in the city, and given the damage she’d done to your legs, there was no way you were going to last walking for five minutes down the street. So you end up accepting her offer.

“Yeah, sure…I’m not stopping you, honestly…” you tell her with a chuckle as you put your bag over your shoulder, ready to head out.

You then follow along beside Abby as the two of you exit the establishment and make your way to wherever her car is situated. Abby opens the passenger door to let you in first before letting herself in on the other side. She then starts up her car before merging into the city’s busy roads.

The ten-minute drive flew by surprisingly fast, and before you knew it, she was now parked in front of your apartment complex. She leans in to give you a quick kiss before soon pulling away. “So, I’ll see you on Friday, then?” she asks.

You can’t help but smirk back at her, even though you were biting your lip to hide it. “I’ll see you on Friday, Anderson.” you tell her with a nod before opening the door to let yourself out.

But Abby doesn’t leave just yet. Instead, she makes sure that you get into your apartment safe and sound. Once your lights were on, that was her cue to go.

You watch from your apartment window as she drives back into the busy roads, soon disappearing from your view.

And for the first time this month, you have to admit that you’re now actually looking forward to seeing her again.

a/n: i hope you guys liked this fic!! i might make another part if this goes well?? but aside from that my next fic will be bfm!abby for those who are waiting, i promise 🤞🏼 lmk if you’d like to be tagged for when i post it!!

(also ty for 700, i love you guys 🫶🏻)

2023 © atomicami | all rights reserved. do not copy, modify, or translate any of my works.

[leatherandlacerry]

for our eyes only

Prompt: Harry takes Mia with him on a work trip in New York City and all she asks is to take a couple photos in the hotel lobby photobooth

Word count: less than 1K

Authors note: this one’s short and sweet, I always have those Photo Booth aesthetics on my Pinterest so I get inspired. I imagine Harry like ceo/boss of pleasing and richrry but will do anything for Mia LOL(if you guys like this I’ll definitely do some more of them, its also 1 am so I'm sorry if the editing sucks)

***

“Baby, can we?” Mia points to the vintage photobooth tucked away in the corner of the hotel Harry and her were staying at. It’s been the best weekend she could ask for surrounded by the towering views of New York City.

Harry had a work emergency out here so he decided to bring Mia for a get away. It’s been room service and bubble baths every night and she couldn’t ask for anything more.

Except making the man who hates having his photo taken do this one little thing.

Harry gives her a serious look before smirking at the pouty lips she give him.

“It’ll be quick and for our eyes only,” She grins, giving him puppy dog eyes before placing a kiss on his cheek.

Mia watches him have the argument in his head before ultimately he rolls his eyes and drags her to the booth.

“Itll be fun, I promise”

“This is only because I love you,” Harry mumbles before pushing the bright red curtain open to let her in. With a little bounce in her step she follows him in.

A squeal leaves Mia’s lips as Harry practically man handles you onto his lap and shuts the curtain for some privacy. They both take a second to get situated, making they know what poses they want to do.

“$10 for this rusty thing?!” Harry’s eyes practically bulge out of his eyes at the price of a small strip of paper.

Even the CEO for a multimillionaire dollar company has a budget I guess, it’s adorable.

“I got it!” Mia giggles, reaching into her small shoulder bag to grab some cash. By the time she pulls it out the countdown is starting on the small screen.

“I said I got-“

“Hush love, sit still and look pretty for the camera,” He scolded jokingly before grabbing her face in his hand placing a big kiss on her cheek. Mia scrunches up her face as the flash goes off.

“Easy enough,” She smirks at his last comment before he pinches your thigh. “I’m always pretty,”

“Mhm my pretty girl” He hums, looking over to Mia with biggest smile on his face. It had been a long time since Harry found someone like her. He’d be damned if he were to ever let this one go.

The two don’t even notice that the count down starts as mia leans down to place her lips on his.

In the heat of the moment Harry slides his tongue between her lips to deepen the kiss and the flash goes off. Mia pull back, slightly out of breath from the intensity of it all.

“A proper porno,” He jokes, making Mia’s head fall back in laughter. She could feel her heart practically pound out of her chest at the dimples on his cheeks.

“Not our first rodeo,” Mia smirks, nipping at his lip. That toothy grin of his appears into the kissed they shared before they get ready for the next one.

Mia never thought she could feel so deeply for someone like this. Everytime he was around she found it hard to function properly.

“What’s next?” He asks, getting ready for the next one.

On the high of him, Mia wraps her hands around his head, sticking her tongue out for a silly one. At the last second she decide to tussle up Harry's hair, making his face drop.

“Oh that’s the winner,” She laughs, watching him glare at her as he trys to fight a smile.

“That’s all you get now,” he mumbles, standing up to exit the booth as the last photo counts down.

“You looked hot!” Mia squeals, wrapping her arms sounded his toned waist to pull him back. Harry stops and turns back to grab a hold of her chin.

“Yeah?” He asks as Mia looks up at him, feeling a swarm of butterflies in her stomach. “How hot?”

Her mouth slightly opens to say something as the flash goes off and there’s now a photo of her in full submission. This is something Harry would cherish forever.

“That’s a keeper,” He chuckles as she pushes him off.

“Asshole”

[screechingsandwichtriumph]

Platonic yandere avengers x reader x romantic yandere peter parker

Idek how to begin this so beware unlucky readers

Summary: you are an idol ,you are an avenger. How can they not be slightly a little bit protective of you

Warnings: yandere themes , stalking, obsession, fighting, blood , I think this is it

Also this will include(I'm sorry I didn't exactly do the like main six or whatever) Tony , Steve , Bucky , Clint , Natasha , Wanda , Peter

This is longer than I expected and I kinda don't like it but here it is in its full glory<3

When you joined the team , they blamed their protectiveness over you to your personality

I mean you are so cute and look so innocent , how can they not want to protect you ?

Tony had totally not hacked into every single account that you own / have owned in your life and he absolutely hasn't researcher your dad's Facebook to find childhood pictures of you. And he surely didn't print those out and handed then around in the team. Also expect to be spoilt rotten. Complained once about a stain on your favorite jacket? Have three more of the exact same just in case

Steve claimed to need specifically your help to understand how to operate anything mechanical ad expect to have a lot of movie marathons. He will read you before you sleep even though you are not a child anymore because ' he just liked when he is reading out loud'

Bucky would be the type of person to dig in deep in your life. He wouldn't stalk you specifically. That is tasked to someone else. No . He would stalk Al your friends and all your exes and highschool teachers.ad if he had to he would accidentally make some of them he consider bad influences disappear

Clint along with Natasha are your stalkers

Clint will always be hidden close by in case you need help with something (like , idk someone dead?) and my man could literally enter your home , casually look around a bit , stare at your decorations , and be out without you even realizing he was never there

Natasha on the other hand isn't so subtle. You could easily spot her on the other end of the street wearing sunglasses and staring at you intensely. Once you were in a bookstore admiring some books and stationary that you did not buy and the next day they were at your door with a little note that said ' saw them and they reminded me of you - Natasha ' as if you hadn't seen her looking at you. It isn't even that she is stupid . She just doesn't care

Wanda practically lived at your head at this point knowing things about you , you were barely aware of. Like , what do you mean you can't remember that one time you went snowboarding and fell? What do you mean how she knows that story and that you never told her? Of course you did silly!

Peter now was clearly in live with you and the first to meet you and get obsessed over you. When after some time he went to Tony and told him about his feelings , Tony supported his feelings to the max since this could be beneficial for all of them. Peter would never leave , they trusted him and he could keep you close.

Now you seem like a soft baby that needs protection from everyone ands that's mainly due to the way you present yourself and act. You have the most bubbly soft personality and everyone loves that

Being an idol , and an avenger was a dream come true for you , so when you had a big show and gave to them tickets to come see you they of course came( Tony almost bought all tha tickets so it could be only you but Steve stopped him)

Heating a music so fitting to your aesthetic it was like they fell in love (platonically and romantically for Peter) all over again. You are just so sweet and cute

Then a day came where an attack happened in new York and all of you jumped to action. They had no time to stop you from going to battle or even think about doing it really. The only think they could do was act.

Now , your powers were so incredibly powerful that they never thought you would have to fight face to face with someone. But they were terrible wrong

Once the fight was over they all spotted you on the corner of a building with bloody fists and a small trail of blood staining your pretty pink costume. A fan of yours was there asking you to take a picture . You kindly smiled at the camera revealing a set of bloody teeth.

Your fan seemed super excited at that and almost yelled out in joy. You bid her goodbye and went towards the group of your shocked friends

They all just stared at you in an unusually bloody shape , that somehow seemed fitting (?)

Later on they were shown a video of you with a bunch of people , that you were brutally fighting with . They were all left to shreds when you left your head held high.( Peter was even more into you after that)

Asks are always open<3

[xuchiya]

j.yunho {espresso for two?}

cafe love m.list || k.hongjoong || p.seonghwa || j.yunho || k.yeosang || c.san || s.mingi || j.wooyoung || c.jongho

I change the location from New York to Japan. hehehe

Jeong Yunho.

Just the name sent a fresh wave of nausea crashing over you. Two weeks. Two measly weeks since he'd so casually declared, "We need some space," his voice as smooth and forgettable as the lukewarm latte he always ordered.

Space? What for?

It wasn't supposed to end this way. You and Yunho have been together for three years, a whirlwind romance that blossomed during your college days. He is your everything: the man who is charming, funny, with a smile that could melt glaciers. Spent hours lost in conversation, future plans whispered over steaming mugs of chamomile tea at your apartment after a long day of class or even workloads, the very one you now toiled in, perpetually surrounded by the bittersweet aroma of love and heartbreak.

The cracks started appearing subtly. Late-night texts unanswered, cancelled dates for "work emergencies," a growing distance that chilled you to the bone. You tried, you did— clinging to the remnants of what you both had, showering him with affection that felt increasingly one-sided. Then came the bombshell – a text, impersonal and cold, informing you of his "need for space."

Your world had tilted on its axis. The vibrant cafe, once a haven of shared laughter and stolen glances, now felt suffocating. Your co-workers, bless their oblivious souls, tried their best. Your senior head took notice of your distant and pale face–offering you to take a quick break which you deny saying that you just haven’t retouched yet after the morning rush, Wooyoung the ever-optimistic barista, bombarded you with motivational quotes. And Seonghwa, the stoic manager, offered gruff words of support (his way of showing he cared). But nothing could mend the gaping hole in your chest.

A particularly demanding customer snapped you out of your reverie. Her shrill voice, laced with entitlement, taking a deep breath, you plastered on a customer service smile, channelling your internal turmoil into forced cheer. Maybe, just maybe, a day spent slinging coffee and feigning happiness would numb the ache a little.

But as you steamed milk softly, the bell above the cafe door chimed, a jarring note in the morning lull. Your gaze flicked up, drawn by a sudden prickle of unease. There, by the counter, stood Jeong Yunho. His usual carefree demeanour was replaced by a shadowed weariness. Your breath hitched, a thousand unspoken words churning in your stomach.

He hadn't changed much. The same tousled hair, the same charming smile – a smile that now felt like a stranger's. He scanned the menu, a flicker of surprise crossing his features when your eyes met. Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating.

"I—," he finally said, his voice strained. "Hi …"

Your heart pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs. A million questions bubbled up, but professionalism reigned supreme. You plastered on a neutral smile, "Did you find anything you like, sir?" You managed, your voice surprisingly steady. Adam's apple bob before a small slick smirk creeps on the corner of his lips, “Yeah … you.”You rose an eyebrow, finally showing your emotions that went from ‘Fuck! my ex is here!’ to ‘Let me punch him, the audacity!’. He saw your reaction, his eyes darted on the menu before crawling his throat, “J-Just espresso ..” “Take out or dine in?” “Dine .. in”

You look down to punch his order, “Do you want to add anything, sir?” He shakes his head but his lips move again, stuttering, “M-Make it two .. please.”

You breathe sharply before giving him the receipt after he pays for the two espresso, telling him to sit for a while. He nodded before mumbling a ‘thank you’. As you pulled the shot, stolen glances confirmed the changes you sensed. Dark circles marred Yunho's eyes, etching lines of fatigue onto his previously youthful face. The weight of the world seemed to press down on his broad shoulders. A pang of sympathy warred with the anger still simmering within you.Just why? Where did it all go wrong?

When your barista announces Yunho’s name, you watch in the corner of your eye as he places himself on the window side of the cafe with the two espresso in his hand. As you punch the order of the customer in front of you, a tap on the shoulder interrupts your work, you look over to see Seonghwa with an anticipated look over his usual stoic look, “Yes manager-nim?”He breathes sharply, eyes flicking towards somewhere before looking back at you, “You can take a break … someone needs to see you and let them explain themself.”

You immediately knew who he was talking about. You know Yunho never goes unprepared and certainly, he comes with a fixed mindset.

You sigh, removing your apron as Seonghwa rubs your back soothingly before he places the apron on him to take care of your position. You look at the side to see your senior head, giving you an encouraging smile along with the others cheering on you. You felt grateful as they have been supportive of your relationship with Yunho for a short while of announcing about your boyfriend with minimal information about him yet they never ask you questions about it until you do so.You approached his table, sat down opposite of him. He had an awkward look on his face, “Yunho please get to the point, rush hour will be an hour—”

“I’m sorry.” Those simple words were so easy to say yet the words he wanted to say were stuck in his throat. The air hung heavy with unspoken words. Yunho's apology, though sincere, seemed like the tip of a much larger iceberg. The man across the table fidgeted, hesitant to dismiss an apology so abruptly. The tension crackled between them, amplified by the approaching rush hour Yunho himself had mentioned.

"My excuse won’t do justice to the pain you went through and my sorry can not heal all those pain .The pain you feel is a constant reminder of my failings. I have doubted myself so much that I have neglected you and become selfish for my own emotions and at the end, I have regret all of those things, I have regret ever hurting you, rejecting your small offerings or even your love— I am sorry.” Yunho spoke with sincerity in every word he said, his hands were clinging on the cup of his espresso—controlling himself to not take your hands—while his eyes were glued to you the whole time.

You were slightly taken back, his words were piercing through your head. Your heart soars to the extent that, maybe just maybe, he did regret what he had done. You have known Yunho for as long as you both were before in the stage of dating, you have seen him grow to be a man and you have seen how he came to learn from who he was and what he is today.

Yet there goes the mind from letting you decide from your emotions. Your thoughts run through the painful days you have cried, doubted or even questioned your worth— you were also afraid to go on your days without thinking of your looks that had you wearing a mask to cover yourself— you were a complete and shattered person inside your apartment. The battle between your head and your heart, it is hard to listen.

Yunho, being the observant he is, took notice of your shaking eyes and contemplated heart. He knows what’s going through your head, every thought and he cannot blame you. Even he would be in a complicated mess if your ex suddenly came into your life after months of disappearing after a text so shitty.

“You do not have to talk or anything, I just came by to explain and maybe … have a closure before I go.” Your eyes that were fixed on the table slowly, trails towards his glassy eyes.

“Cl-Closure? Yunho what–” Why does he need closure? You were confused, your heart was expecting something more from what he had mentioned even though your mind had concluded that he will ask for a second chance but this? A closure? That is something you weren least expecting!

Yunho’s head nodded, a small smile on his lips, “Yeah– I have .. thought about it that you deserve an apology… “ He looks around the small cafe, eyes twinkling in admiration before his eyes settle back to you. The softness never left and it made your heart hurt, “I may have not talked to you for weeks but I have come across you a few times and I have seen you grow day by day. You slowly regain back that smile, your contagious laugh and your glow. You deserve so much more than the pain I cause you.” Both of your eyes were turning glossy, his nose was clogging making his voice slightly muffled yet no tears were evident.

Finally, he lets go of the cup and reaches for your hand which you let him hold on to. He squeezes them like he used to, “And you deserve those, you deserve a better chapter … without me.”

There, the water in your eyes had finally streamed down your cheeks when he gave you the smile that you have adored. A smile that reassures you that things will be okay, eventually. You’re gonna be okay and that he will be there to support you.

“Yu-Yunho …” Yunho shakes his head, giving your hand a final squeeze before letting them go. You jerk slightly, wanting to hold him again, “I’m off to Japan with my mom. Seoul will always hold a piece of my heart, but Japan has pushed me in ways I never imagined. I've grown here, found a strength and independence I never knew I had. As much as it pains me, returning feels like something I have wanted. Our paths have diverged, and forcing them together wouldn't be fair to either of us.”

Yunho reaches over, wiping a stray tear, you shamelessly lean into his touch. Yunho’s breath hitches, itching to hold you back in his arms but he has to do it, he has made up his mind that things have reason to happen, “Maybe someday, our paths will realign. Until then, I'll cherish the memories we made.” He stood up, giving you the other cup of espresso while the other tight in his hand.

He looks at you one last time before leaving the cafe. As the door chime hits close, your body shakes as silent sobs echo the, now deserted cafe. The tears blinded yet love never does it, it wounded you to make you wake up in reality that things were over and the questions of him leaving you were answered.

You look at the cup of espresso in front of you, and more tears fall on your cheeks as you read the letters, ‘Espresso for two?’ the inscription seemed to scream, each word a fresh tear on your heart.

You traced the lettering with a trembling finger, the memory flooding back. It was his idea, a silly spur-of-the-moment purchase during a weekend, he had to pull you out from your shift and drag you out to have the rest of the day with him. You'd laughed, teasing him about his overenthusiasm for a simple coffee cup. "What if you never have someone to share it with?" you'd joke, never truly believing it.

He'd squeezed your hand, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Then it'll be a reminder of me sharing this espresso with you so i could espresso my love for you," he'd promised, his voice laced with a confidence you envied now. You laugh at his joke, making him chuckle as your enthusiastic laugh echoes down the street.

A sob escaped your lips, the sound harsh in the sudden silence of the cafe— despite your co-workers glancing at you once in a while to check up on you. The espresso remained untouched, a cold, bitter echo of a love that had turned as quickly as burnt milk. But even through the fog of grief, a flicker of defiance sparked. Wiping your tears, you straightened your spine. Maybe it wasn't meant for two today, but that didn't mean it couldn't be filled someday.

You finish the cup in a go, eyebrow furrowed. You have made up your mind a little to late, but there are things were meant on a perfect time.

You look outside by the cafe windows, "I'll share the espresso with you again."

part 2? another ending? idk 😭😅

[atruththatyoudeny]

Happy 28th! Here are all the amazing fics I read this month:

Have Love, Will Travel | kingsofeverything | [97k] Rather than spend the summer working at their desks, Louis and Harry are given the opportunity to crisscross the country together in a tiny camper, filming their adventures for a YouTube series. It soon becomes obvious to their viewers that there’s something more than friendship between them. Eventually, they figure it out.

everything of mine is yours | blueskiesrry | [33k] "Did you two have a good time?” Harry in his bathroom, brushing his teeth with frizzy hair and tired eyes. Harry on the couch cuddled up with Posy, cradling her in the crook of his elbow, humming a soft song. Harry laughing with his friends in a pub on a Friday night, a flower field in his eyes. Harry in his bed tucked under the covers, naked against fresh sheets like a shock of moonlight cutting through a storm. “Yeah,” he says. “We did.” or: With Harry in New York finishing up his PhD and Louis in London working as a solicitor, they try to navigate their eight year situationship including almost-daily phone calls, the occasional indulgence of casual phone sex, and endless gossip sessions as the feelings they have for each other get harder to ignore.

Sweeter Than I Ever Knew | mandylynn4 | [32k] Harry has spent his heats alone since he's presented, but his roommate, Niall, is convinced that he needs to try out The Agency - an app that lets alphas and omegas partner for heats. Unsure, he signs up and goes through 5 heats with different alphas. Some are good experiences, others are awful. But, in the end, he finds that his heats with the right alpha can be sweeter than he ever knew. TRIGGER WARNING FOR CHAPTER 2 - READ TAGS!!!

Cuddlebug | sun_flowr | [19k] When the call from the adoption agency finally calls, Harry and Louis are surprised to discover that they have been tentatively paired with a young pup named Rami, who suffers from a multitude of issues stemming from the abandonment he’s suffered. But no matter the challenges, they know they will do everything they can to care for and love this pup as if he was their own.

My Lungs Don't Breathe (don't want any kind of life without you, dear) | red_panda28 | [5.6k] Suddenly a cough bubbled up in his lungs and he froze. Laying in his palm was a single flower petal, pastel pink, and velvet soft. The first thought that struck him was well, guess I am in love with Louis. Then another realisation hit. It also meant that Louis didn’t love him back. OR Harry falls victim to the Hanahaki Disease after meeting Louis, Louis has his own secret, and Zayn is a good friend

Yesterday’s gone (it’ll be better than before) | red_panda28 | [3.5k] Leo’s frown. His attempt to call after Louis. Ed saying he was surprised to see Louis here. All those little moments fell into place the moment he spotted Harry Styles. Harry Styles, his former bandmate. Harry Styles, who he hadn’t seen face to face in over three years. Harry Styles, who was technically still Harry Tomlinson-Styles. OR Louis and Harry run into each other at the Euros, there's a mix up at the hotel and they have a past

It's written all over your... (or: the Red Carpet fic) | BlueNeptuune | [11k] The star-studded cast of Steal My Girl graced the red carpet on Saturday night ahead of the premiere screening, sparking an internet sensation like no other. The film itself received an average of 4-and-a-half stars from early reviews, launching it into the spotlight as a contender for the up-and-coming awards season, but the real news came from the carpet itself. Oscar-winner Louis Tomlinson (Kill My Mind, Back For You) made his first public appearance following the badly-hidden split from his management in early 2020, and he wasn’t exactly keen to talk about it. It was also the first time since his earliest work (Still The One is featured on our summer-vibes throwback list) that he’s attended the carpet by himself – rumours swirled that he’d split with his long-time girlfriend, but are the two things related? Tomlinson himself wasn’t spilling any tea, but it looks like one journalist in particular might have coaxed a little more out of him than anyone else...

Sweet Mondays | sweetkalachuchi | [3.5k] Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson have ended their marriage; neither of them knew the other would be at the Euros. Niall was there too. And there was only one bed.

Get Him Back | softfonds | [17k] After finding out his husband was unfaithful, Harry does one thing that makes him feel good again. But it's up in the air if that one thing will stay.

Wild at Heart | She_bear | [50k] Louis is a lost soul, sailing around a remote archipelago in the Philippines when he makes a surprising discovery. A castaway fic ___________ "Like the island itself, he was a quite bewildering and ever changing landscape of beauty. Nothing was the same now Louis was here. The placid solitude to which Harry had grown accustomed had been replaced by fun and exquisite physical pleasure. By conversation, affection and connection. And with that all his peace was lost."

Sugar, Sugar | parmahamlarrie | [25k] Meeting your soulmate was the most joyous event of one’s life… or at least, it’s supposed to be. Harry, in all of his 25 year old wisdom, was suspicious of the role fate plays in everyone's lives. He'd rather focus his time dating older men he meets off of a sugar baby website. Louis isn’t waiting with bated breath for his soulmate either. He has more important things to worry about than love. Mainly, his career as a writer, publishing under a pseudonym. He spends most of the year buried under research and manuscripts, taking as much time as he would like, much to his publishers' chagrin. After receiving many millions after the death of his Aunt Ethel when he was young, he technically never has to work again. As far as soulmates go, he figures if it happens, he will be so old that he’ll be stuck in his ways. Or he’ll have grey eyes forever, he doesn’t fucking care. He can get his needs met through a sugar baby website. Or… The Sugar baby soulmate AU

The Cottage | HoldingOnToChaos | [70k] Louis hates alphas and he has good reason to, but when his beloved omega grandmother dies, and he inherits her cottage, he meets Harry, an alpha hazelnut farmer who sneaks his way into Louis’ life. While Louis struggles with his severe touch deprivation, he forms a friendship with Harry that turns out to be exactly what he needed. -- Or Louis has severe touch deprivation and Harry has a hazelnut farm.

The Capillaries In My Eyes Are Bursting | 5secsoflarry | [14k] Two armoured palace guards stand there, speaking with the old, widowed beta. Harry watches curiously from the space in the back, ducking down a little in an attempt to hide. There have been whispers through the town of omegas being gathered and forced to the castle all week long - something about the King being ill - but Harry had thought they were only rumours….. OR Medieval times where King Louis is in a near death accident and enters a coma. The royal doctor says they have two weeks to find Louis’ true soulmate (omega) or he dies.

[alloftheimaginesblog]

breakfast {peter parker}

been going through my inbox to see what old messages/requests inspire me

prompt: “I can't get over how a few months ago I wanted to learn your name and now you're having breakfast with me in my sweater.”

character: peter parker tasm x reader

The sun warmed your bare leg which had escaped from under the duvet early that morning as you gradually began to wake up. You could hear the muffled noise of the usual New York traffic from the open window, a sound you'd learned to drone out, and as you began to stir, you snuggled in closer to the warmth which was that of Peter Parker.

Upon you snuggling into him, he himself began to stir and wake up, eyes struggling to adjust to the brightness as he opened them, peering down at you confused before he realised the events of the previous night. He smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead as he mumbled a sleepy greeting to you.

"G'morning," you said back through a yawn. Nerves and excitement bubbled together in your stomach as you fully woke up. It had been the first time you'd stayed at Peter's apartment. The two of you had been dating for the last few weeks and last night, you... well, sealed the deal.

He let you shower first as he prepared breakfast. Eggs, toast, beans, bacon and mushrooms. You'd been in his apartment before, he'd made you dinner here, but not like this. You'd never got to use his vanilla body wash; never got to feel his soft towels on your skin, never got to use his toothpaste. It was all rather intimate.

Peter had thought of the issue at hand before you did. When you walked out of the en-suite to his bedroom, you realised that you didn't have a fresh set of clothes to wear but Peter had sorted you something. On the bed lay a large ESU hoodie and a pair of boxer shorts.

I've put your clothes in the washing, they'll be ready in an hour or so, in the mean time here's some of mine to keep you warm. Making breakfast - P :)

You smiled widely as you pocketed the note, you liked to have little keepsakes like that, and you changed into his clothes. They were too big for you but you loved the comfort of them. They smelled like your favourite cologne he owned.

When you walked out, Peter brandished two plates full of food, "Just in time." You sat at the breakfast bar, tucking into your food. You hadn't realised how hungry you were until you smelled the food in front of you and then all of a sudden, you were ravenous. Peter watched you with a smile, "I can't get over how a few months ago I wanted to learn your name and now you're having breakfast with me in my sweater."

You looked up at him, mouth full and smiling, and Peter's heart grew three sizes. He loved that even though this was your first official sleepover, you were already comfortable with him, you didn't mind sitting wearing his jumper, hair messy and eyes tired. He loved that you didn't mind eating in front of him and you didn't mind to show that you liked to eat. You swallowed your mouthful and said, "Remember how nervous you were to ask me out?" Your voice was teasing and Peter rolled his eyes with a laugh as he sipped at his coffee.

"Best decision I ever made though," he told you truthfully, "now I have a pretty girlfriend."

You spluttered at the word, "Girlfriend?" As far as you knew, it wasn't official yet. He hadn't asked and you didn't want to just assume. You were shocked that he'd said it but not because you didn't want it, you did. You wanted to be his girlfriend, you wanted to be exclusive and hear he was just throwing the word around without you knowing.

Peter's face blanched, "Shit, sorry, I- I didn't - it's too soon, isn't it? I just- shit."

Realising he'd taken you the wrong way, you shook your head, "No, no, Pete!" You had to yell over him for him to stop the quick excuses, "I didn't mean that to be bad, I was shocked, that's all."

He released a breath, "Oh, good." There was a pregnant pause before he spoke again, "So... you want to be my girlfriend?" Here he was, at the ripe old age of twenty-seven, and he was bloody nervous over asking you to be his girlfriend.

You grinned, "Of course I do, Pete," you nodded, "I have a boyfriend." The giggle that you let out was the most adorable thing that Peter had ever heard before and all of a sudden, he was taken over by a rather animal urge. He pushed your plate away, pulling you off of the stool you sat on, "What are you-"

He kissed you hard and you knew exactly where this was going, "Last night, we weren't together. Now, you're my girlfriend. I say we need to celebrate that," he murmured against your lips as he navigated the two of you backwards and back to the bedroom.

So far being Peter Parker's girlfriend was a phenomenal experience.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the epiphany

lilac, chapter twenty

a/n: I cannot believe that this series is done! thank you, everyone, for coming along for the ride, hope you enjoyed it as much as i did writing it ♡

summary: “…you don’t have to stay here anymore… you could go live anywhere you’d like.”

warnings: lumberjack!frank castle x reader, lumberjack AU, past domestic violence, crazy ex trope, kissing, love confession, swimming in a lake, frolicking in nature and shit, piggybacks

word count: 1227

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Staring up at the twisted metal of the headboard, lazily tangled in the soft linen of the sheets, Frank’s arm was curled around your neck, his bicep in a way becoming your pillow as his fingertips stretched down to draw feathery patterns across the softness of your breast. 

The morning sunlight softly streamed in through the sheer curtains, a gentle bird song sounding from just the other side of the glass as you tilted up your head to look at Frank as he spoke. 

“…you don’t have to stay here anymore…” his gaze was directed at the ceiling as he said, “you could go live anywhere you’d like. You could go back to New York now if that’s what you want. Nothing’s stopping you anymore, you could go home.”

Nodding gently at his words, you uttered, “I know I could, but I don’t want to anymore,” sitting up in bed, Frank’s palm lingered at your waist as you found his eyes, “things have changed, I’ve changed, Frank,” a roiling furnace suddenly ignited and crackled within you, “I don’t wanna go back to New York anymore. I wanna stay here, with everyone, with you,” your words now left your lips with an air of desperation as your tone grew sharper, “I don’t wanna leave Dunbrook and I especially don’t wanna leave you, I love you, I–…” your babbling came to a screeching halt as you realised what truth you’d just uttered. Feeling breathless a moment, your eyes grew as you retraced your steps, “I–… I–… I love you,” a bubble of airy laughter then tumbled out of your lungs as your eyes once again locked with his, “I love you.”

Raising himself up to a seat as well, the sheets tumbled down his bare chest as he seized the sides of your face and pulled you in, pressing his lips to yours. 

He had kissed you plenty of times before, but this somehow felt different. Maybe it was the overwhelming high of love chemicals coursing through your veins just doing its trick and making you feel as if he was kissing every nerve ending on your body, perhaps it was something else entirely. 

But as he eventually withdrew only to stare back at you in complete and utter awe, you couldn’t stop yourself from pleading, “oh, please say something. You can’t just kiss me like that and then go silent. You gotta say something–”

“Y/n,” his molten timbre washed over you and warmed you to your very core, “I love you too.”

Feeling tears begin to blur up your vision, you sniffled, “yeah?”

Sweeping his thumb across your misty cheekbone, his own gaze swiftly grew glossy as he echoed, “yeah.” 

“You sure you don’t wanna tell me where we’re going?” you leaned in and pressed your cheek against the side of his head as he continued to stride forth around the lake with you clutched to his back like a sleepy child at an amusement park. 

“Nope,” he suddenly stopped, “because we’re here,” and gently sat you back down onto your feet. 

It took you a second you figure out where you were, but when you followed his eyeline, the pieces slowly began to fall into place. 

Exhaling slowly, “Frank…” you blinked up at the recognisable wide tree with hearts and initials scratched in and marked all along the thick trunk.

“You remember when you told me about this? How you always wanted to carve into it yourself?”

“Yeah, but Frank, we don’t have to,” you glanced back at him with a soft smile, “I mean, that was just a silly little childhood fantasy, like wanting to go to space or slay a dragon or something,” but when he didn’t offer you a reply and instead just conjured a small pocketknife, folding it out and extending it for you to grasp, a tender chuckle bubbled out of you, “wow… you really do love me,” accepting the small blade, you stepped up over the protruding roots and searched for a blank spot of bark. When you found a small area on the trunk just above your head, you then began to scratch the first letters of both of your names in, joined them with a small plus sign as well a slightly wonky heart encasing it all. When you were halfway through, you felt Frank’s presence come up behind you as his palms closed in around your waist and soft pecks began to bloom all along your shoulder. With the chicken scratches complete, you admired them a second, folding the pocketknife back up before you leaned back into Frank’s weight and giggled, “so what’s next?” you slid the knife back into his pants, “are you gonna take me to a playground and help me heal my inner child even more?” 

Letting out a short laugh, “yeah, you never know,” he placed one last kiss just below your earlobe before his warmth suddenly disappeared.

Turning around to face him, you saw as he suddenly began to shed his clothes with a playful smirk on his lips. Chuckling lightly in amused confusion, you halted yourself from enquiring what exactly he was getting at when he slowly began to wander closer to the shiny lake, letting his clothing drop to the forest floor as he neared. 

Your mouth blissfully dropped open a second before you too began to mirror his actions, undoing your buttons and peeling off your garb, stripping till nothing covered you at all. 

He was already knee-deep in the water when you dipped a toe in. Swiftly sucking in a sharp breath, only your feet managed to get wet before you exclaimed, “oh my god, it’s freezing!” and ran back onto shore. 

Reacting quickly, Frank whooshed after you, “oh, no you don’t,” caught you with one of his long arms and dragged you back, “get in here.”

“No! No!” you giggled as he threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, marching with you deeper into the lake, “Frank! It’s too cold!”

When the water finally reached his ribs, he swung your fluttering form back down and held you close to his chest. As you sucked in bubbly breaths, you tangled your legs around his hips and your arms behind his neck. 

So, perhaps freezing was a bit of an overstatement. It wasn’t that cold. Now that you were in it completely, it actually wasn’t that bad and became more and more pleasant the longer you soaked. 

Feeling him shift his grip on you, supporting your floating weight with a wide palm on each side of your bottom, your laughter slowly faded away as you gazed back into Frank’s eye, letting yourself get swallowed by the deep coffee irises sparkling back at you before your lips promptly crashed against his, kissing him, nay, devouring him, your teeth briefly caught his plump bottom lip and made him groan lowly. 

Tightening your locked limbs around his burly frame, your boobs smooshed up against his chest as his tongue danced across yours. His fingers flexed and dug into the curve of your ass just before you eventually parted ways, leaving just a sliver of hot air for you to share. 

Breathlessly, you rested your forehead against his and uttered, “you and me…”

“Yeah,” his sturdy nose tenderly nudged against yours as he vowed, “you and me…”

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble