#once you figure out what’s going on and learn to stop engaging learn to not give a shit about the intrusive thoughts

[chiwhorei]

I have no idea where this came from I’m all icky sicky today and needed some Nanami comfort. ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა♡

tags: a bit of smut, mostly fluff, domestic king Nanami Kento

➽──────────────❥

Nanami isn’t ever a boyfriend he literally starts acting like a husband from day zero.

Nanami finds out your favorite flowers, because he asks u like a grown ass man, and he is getting you flowers every 2 weeks on the dot as soon as the old ones are needing to be thrown away.

Nanami is making sure he’s got the kind of soap/lotion/toothpaste you like at his place for when you sleep over. Nanami loves watching you do your nightly skincare routine, sitting up in bed barely paying attention to the book in his hands because he’s just so enamored with you.

Nanami is truly addicted to the pussy. He spends hours down on you, lapping and sucking and fucking his thick tongue into you. From the jump, too. He’s eating your pussy the night of your first date. He’s getting you off more than once that night— the first one wasn’t for you, not even the second, those were just for Kento, because he is a greedy man. By the time he’s rolling a condom on to fuck you, you’ve cum more times from just his tongue than any other man has cumulatively.

Nanami’s learning your love language and showing you his own. He’s big on acts of service and quality time. He prefers a quiet night in and cooking a meal together. He likes ordering in on lazy Friday nights. He likes going grocery shopping with you. He likes the way your fingers brush his as he hands you a dish to dry. You dry, he washes. The soapy water would chip your manicure.

Nanami asks your friends to figure out what kind of engagement ring you want. He wants it to be a surprise but he also wants to ensure you get exactly what you want. He proposes on the beach, the same one you walked barefoot on after your first date. He gets down on one knee where you stopped him that night to admire the sunset and pulled him into a kiss. Kento took a mental note as to exactly where you were standing because in that moment he knew he was going to marry you.

Nanami is a wife guy, through and through. He is at his best when you’re beside him. He takes care of you, but never gets in the way of your goals. He dotes on you but knows you are his equal and his partner. He asks you for your opinions when he’s got a big decision to make at work. He is vulnerable with you, he’s patient, he’s so kind.

Nanami ensures that you are dressed to the nines, as a couple, at any work parties, friends wedding, fancy dinners. He always wears something that compliments the dress you pick out. He’s always there to zip you up, moving your hair delicately to the side and putting it back after. He insists to lean down and help you into your heals before walking out the door.

Nanami, of course, opens every door for you, he always has a hand at your back to keep you steady. He always introduces you as his wife with so much pride. And he’s always going to drape his suit jacket over your shoulders before walking outside, even if it’s not really that cold.

Nanami is fucking you deep and raw the second you mention you think it’s a good time to start trying for a baby. He’s got you almost upside down when he’s cumming in you, to make sure you’re pregnant asap. He knocks you up on the first try and is fucking you good throughout your entire pregnancy. One because you swollen and round with his baby makes him feral and two because regular sex and frequent orgasms are important for a healthy pregnancy.

Nanami is committed to his work, but is never home a minute late. Especially after the birth of your first child. As soon as he walks through the door, you’re clocking out and taking a nice luxurious bubble bath while Kento gets some 1:1 time with your infant. He knows how exhausting it is being a new parent, especially when he went back to the 9-5 a few months after your daughter was born and you’re at home with the baby all day. So he leaves work and clocks in for the night shift, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder if you try to get up when the baby’s fussing, telling you that he’s got it. It’s his turn. You’ll cook dinner together while Kento has the baby strapped to his chest. Because the golden rule in Kento’s head is ensuring equitable partnership, making sure that the brunt of childcare doesn’t default to you because of some tired gender-norms, and of course spoiling you and his baby girl every second he can, for the rest of his life. ૮꒰˶ฅ́˘ฅ̀˶꒱ა

[radiance1]

The Ghost Prince does not, under any circumstances, answer a summoning after it was made aware he existed. None know why he doesn't, some are bitter and hateful of it while others are thankful that it's one less bloodthirsty manic to deal with.

The Ghost King meanwhile hasn't been seen in multiple eons, so the magical community who wanted to use his power just, stopped, trying to summon him for a long time.

Most magic users knew that the Ghost Prince never answered a summons, and that the Ghost King just dropped off the radar.

So could you really blame Constantine for not taking it that seriously when some wannabe hotshot cultists try to summon both of them in the middle of a city to wreak havoc?

He'll give them some credit though. Points for doing it in broad daylight and actually being somewhat of a threat with not relying on just summoning the Ghost royalty and figuring out what to do from there.

The area they were in was somewhat destroyed, then the cultists manage to complete the summoning circle to summon both of them and Constantine, well he just light up a smoke.

It isn't going to work anyways so what does it matter?

...

Is that a fucking Ice cream truck he hears? Who the fuck is driving an Ice cream truck while their city is being under attacked with cultists trying to summon eldritch ghost royalty?

He'll give them some points for dedication, though.

Then he looked at the cultists and nearly had a goddamn heart attack to see that the summoning circle is actually fucking lighting up and working.

The Bat is so gonna give him a headache over this.

----

Danny Phantom, crown prince of the Infinite Realms. Does not answer summons.

For one, it is annoying as shit, whenever someone interrupts his day just to ask for infinite power (that he can't give), world domination (that he won't do) or infinite riches (which he also can't do).

It just got annoying being summoned all the time so. One day he just, well, no. And hey, it worked out well enough for him to not continue doing it.

Then he also learned that Pariah Dark is basically the same, after he got out the coffin and stopped trying to take over the world for whatever reason. He was actually a pretty swell guy!

He was just with him too, with him being not so swell at the time for making him go through lessons about Ghost etiquette, rules, stuff that's expected of him as the crown prince.

And don't even get him started on the engagement and marriage proposals.

Overall, he just wanted to find an excuse to leave. Then he felt the familiar suggestive pull of a summoning and, instead of rejection as he usually does in a second. He thought for a bit if he wanted to go with that or crown prince duties.

It was tempting, but dealing with cultists seemed worse than this so he was about to reject.

At least, before he heard an Ice cream truck playing in the background. He doesn't even know how the hell that popped up through the pull but by the gods has it been a while since he's had Ice cream.

So he answers and is gone with a pop.

Pariah Dark just stares for a good second or two, before breathing out and deciding to also answer. Fright Knight is just there, off to side, questioning what he should do now.

Danny wastes no time with the cultists on the other side and in fact, he pushes them out of the way and goes diving for that Ice cream truck he hears. Only to realize he doesn't, have any money on him.

Fuck.

Pariah Dark is less inclined to follow the rules imposed by humans like money, but he does know it can be important. Once in a while. Not that often, but it has its times.

So when he sees his adopted son being sad over being unable to pay for some kind of human delicacy, he digs around in his hair (yes, his hair.) and pulls out some money and puts it on the counter as payment.

The man inside the tiny vehicle had shrieked before getting what they wanted. Which is good. Fear is a good motivator, Pariah thinks.

Unknown to him, it wasn't out of fear (Well, mostly) but because the Ghost King placed down a coin made of pure, solid gold on his counter.

The two then go about their business in the human realm, completely forgetting about the fact that they were summoned here for something.

Constantine is both relieved and about to have an aneurysm at seeing Infinite Realm royalty only answering a summon because of Ice cream.

[rissouu]

+ synopsis: you make the mistake of pissing the wrong fushiguro off in public.

+ note: we’re gonna pretend they’re all fucking friends for the sake of this.. okay?? toji is toxic in this ngl, and baby let me just warn you.. second hand embarrassment at the end.

you and toji hadn’t been exclusive yet, and any chance he got, he’d remind you of it. to him, you were nothing but a toy, nothing but something for him to use and toss away whenever he pleased, yet here he was pissed off at all the attention you were getting.

both of you had been at a dinner gathering with his friends and co workers — of course you were forced to go as usual. he didn’t want to put a label on what you guys had and yet here he was acting like he was your significant other?

“you look so lovely in your dress y/n, sadly you’re here with toji..” gojo spoke, purposely trying to rile his friend up like old times. you wondered if you should thank him or not, but it was a compliment after all. it would be rude not to say thank you.. right?

you reluctantly smiled before replying in such a small tone, gojo almost couldn’t hear you. “thanks so much, i really appreciate it.” you tried to ignore the death glare toji was sending the both of you, but it was hard to do so when his hand crept beneath the table and pinched your thigh.

“gojo, shut up. and please, learn how to be respectful” nanami groaned, grabbing his handkerchief from his back pocket and using it to wipe away any bits of food left on his mouth.

gojo waved him off before looking back in toji’s direction, only to be met with the same scowl as before. “boy you have gots to chill! y’know i’m only fuckin’ around.”

toji rolled his eyes at the man’s cocky way of apologizing — he was clearly still annoyed. annoyed with the way his friend dared to flirt with you— right in front of his face, and you had the audacity to flirt back— right in front of his fucking face. though all you did was say thank you, he still saw it as flirting.

at this point you could tell he was steaming with rage. it wasn’t hard to figure it out with the way his hand was spread flat across your thigh, harshly squeezing your skin.

his grip on you becoming more painful by the second, but surprisingly pleasurable as well. he didn’t miss the small glances you and his other friend— geto, would share with eachother, the slight giggles and side conversations the two of you had while he was forced sat back and watched.

he’d been holding his tongue all fucking night. he allowed you to flirt with gojo, allowed you to have conversations with geto, shit, he even allowed you to wear the most revealing dress in your wardrobe, causing all eyes to be on you.

even nanami glanced at you with lustful eyes here and there, and that wasn’t even in his character. you were just so beautiful, anyone could see that. that’s exactly why he was done fucking around.

a part of him knew his once cold heart was falling for you, and you knew it as well, it’s the reason you never gave up on him. even when there were times he got distant. you just wished he would show some emotion towards you, and stop ignoring the feelings he clearly had.

the black haired man pretended to engage in his friend’s conversations while faking smiles here and there. he needed to make sure no eyes were on him for what he had planned next.

once he was sure his friends were too distracted in their own conversations, he slowly turned his head in the direction of your ear.

you could feel his breath all over your cheekbone and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t turn you on..

“you’ve been playing with me all fuckin’ evening, need i remind you who this belongs to?” he asked, bringing his hand that rested on your thigh up to your— no, his soaking pussy.

the three men in front of you were completely oblivious to what was being displayed right in front of their eyes. they were too caught up in their conversations to give a damn what the two of you had going on.

“i swear, it’s like you love pissin’ me off. fuck.. you’re fuckin’ soaked. you like making daddy upset, mhm?” he whispered softly before pulling your panties to the side, forcing his fingers in circles around your throbbing clit.

you gasped— gripping onto the arm he had resting on your thigh, “t-toji wait, not here, please” you whimpered, using all your strength to push his hand away, little did you know it did nothing but add on to his fire.

“nuh uh, move ya fuckin’ hand baby. you wanted to tuck around, right? let me show you somethin’” he chuckled, glancing up to see his friends still intrigued in their conversation.

“p-please, we’ll get caught” you whined, knowing your body wouldn’t be able to hold out for much longer. sooner or later you were going to start giving in, and you were never one to conceal your moans.

“that’s the plan mama. i want people to watch me finger my girl’s pretty little pussy, maybe then they’ll know you’re mine.” was all he said before slipping his finger past your folds and into your gummy walls.

you leaned your head into his shoulder in an attempt to muffle your moans. his suited jacket soaked them up pretty well thankfully, no one could hear you but him.

“can you take one more for me baby? gonna fill my pussy up good with these fingers.” he asked softly, as your pussy clenched around his finger once more, giving him all the confirmation he needed. with that he added another one of his fingers to join the other inside of your tight walls.

he made sure to curve his fingers at the angle you loved most, knowing how quick it could make you go dumb. that’s why he always aimed for it, he didn’t even need your help finding it anymore.

“t..toji oh my g..gosh. it’s too much, im almost—“ you exclaimed, biting into his suit and clenching your eyes shut as he slipped a third finger in. he made sure to leave a small kiss on your forehead because even though this was technically a punishment, he still wanted to reward you for taking him so well.

“shh it’s okay princess, you’re doing so good for me. just let it out. give daddy all that shit” his mouth was once again towards your ear, ready to talk you through it like always.

as soon as you heard his words and the way his voice boomed through your ear, you couldn’t hold back any longer.

with a slight lift of your hips, you were now cumming around his fingers while his free hand pressed on your lower stomach— something he usually did to make you squirt… but surely he wouldn’t do that here? well, that’s what you thought.

your face scrunched up when you felt something else coming, and it wasn’t like the orgasm you’d just had. this feeling was awfully familiar.. you were about to squirt.

“hell no toji! you better stop doing tha-“ you tried to smack his hand away.. but you were too late. the familiar feeling only got stronger, especially with the way toji wasn’t letting up anytime soon.

a pit formed in your stomach and with one more push, he had you exactly where he wanted you. you couldn’t keep quiet for any longer, and the sound of you squirting echoed throughout the entire table. well, that’s what it felt like to you.

luckily you guys rented the restaurant out, so it was only the five of you. you’d much rather embarrass yourself in front of them than anyone else.

toji let out a low chuckle, still having the audacity to play with your clit after everything he’s done. “bet you’ll stop testing me now, huh?”

bonus. (the trio’s reactions)

gojo snapped his neck over at the sound of liquid spilling, at first he thought it was someone’s drink.. but he put the pieces together as soon as he saw you.

his face was full of disbelief, and he couldn’t help but to comment. “oh my goodness, you two are some nasty little fucks!”

his outburst caught the attention of geto, and he too paused his conversation to see what all the commotion was about. it didn’t take him long to figure it out.. with one look at your facial expression, he already knew what was going on. “and here i was thinking that poor girl was innocent..”

similar to geto, nanami got nosy and wanted to be included into the mix as well. but unlike the others it took him a little longer to figure out what was going on. poor guy was jerking his neck back and forth through out the whole restaurant, trying to find who they were talking about.

but once he finally caught on, he couldn’t suppress the sigh that fell from his lips. in this moment he felt like a disappointed dad, watching you adjust yourself before beating toji’s ass.

“well this is just a damn shame. trust, i won’t be attending a dinner with you dumb asses ever again”

©rissouu 2024

[bonny-kookoo]

I’m obsessed with my princess. I’ll take a late night snack if you have one 🥹👉🏻👈🏻

Since I've been yelled at to make more brat tamer kook content: Here you go, some sweet tension!

Jungkook has come to learn that you know very well how to get under his skin by now.

And you also, not just on occasion, make it a fun game for yourself to see how much you can annoy him before he snaps. Maybe because he's been pretty lenient with you compared to how he would normally like to go at it. He can't really do much about it either- his wolfblood constantly telling him to put you back into your proper place in the pack.

A pack he doesn't have, but that doesn't mean his instincts know that too.

Jungkook doesn't have many canine hybrids as friends, except maybe Yoongi. But since he's bonded to his own partner, Jungkook doesn't really feel any sort of need to care for him like he does with you- though he's not too sure why he's starting to get so attached to you either.

You're just friends- and even that would technically be a stretch to say. He doesn't know you, and you don't know him either.

But he can't deny the fact that he really.. enjoys this game of push and pull you two constantly seem to engage in, every bark sent into your direction only momentarily causing you to follow his word. Maybe you're instinctively able to really figure out if he's being genuinely angry or upset at you, or if he leaves room for you to try and test him on his threats, because otherwise, he'd not be too sure as to why you're just so good at walking that line with him.

And sometimes he has to admit, his fingers are itching.

Just like today, where you're just constantly annoying him by either repeating his words for no reason, or by making his job absolutely impossible. Though, taking care of you at your apartment and making sure you're getting the hang of normal everyday life-tasks wasn't really in his job description, to be fair. He's not even getting paid extra for this.

Why is he doing this again?

He's not sure, but he also can't really think about it for much longer, because right now, you've overstepped the line. There's no way you don't know what you're doing, and no one can blame him for physically acting on this, because how dare you.

You just bit him.

And he's reacting accordingly, at least if someone was to ask his instincts in that moment, a hand on the back of your neck pressing you down into your couch, while you growl to yourself. And the second he realizes what he's doing, he wants to apologize-

when he notices your tail wagging. Even this right now, is still a fucking game to you.

"Don't tell me you're pissed just cause I nipped your arm there." You laugh, probably sensing that he's not serious yet. "Boo-hoo. Now lemme go, I wanna watch TV-" You start to struggle, successfully slipping out of his grip- but he's not done yet.

He can't let this stand.

So just as you're ready to slip off the couch, he grabs you by your waist, just to pull you back, his body entirely covering yours, keeping you in place while he bites your neck.

Scruffs you, like the spoiled, unmannered pup you are.

And the reaction is almost instantaneous- compared to how on other occasions you've simply accepted and reluctantly agreed to his scolding, right now, you're fully submitting, tail between your legs underneath him, a soft whine coming from you. And it's now that he realizes, he's never had the upper hand over you, never had you under control at all.

You've always simply let him win.

Once he lets go of you, ready to apologize for acting so harshly, you instead crawl onto his lap, clinging to him, quietly. Visibly in need for his comfort again, desperate to get back on his good side.

Oddly how he remembers himself acting when he was younger, and scolded by his own parents.

Suddenly, you're not all that bold anymore, not even apologizing, simply leaning into him, rubbing your cheek against his clothes whenever he stops holding you. It all happened so quickly that he doesn't even process it that much right now, but all he knows is that whatever happened definitely got the message across for you.

"I'll never bite again.." You mumble into his shoulder, hiding away from him, and he laughs, running a hand up and down your back.

"No, it's fine. It just caught me off guard." He explains himself. "I'm a wolfdog mix, so I apologize I reacted like that. I couldn't really help it." He offers you, and you nod.

"No, I was being mean." You defend him. "Can I continue cuddling you? Or do you want to leave?" You ask, giving him the genuine option to go- and he knows, he probably should.

But instead, he shakes his head, and sits a bit more comfortably.

Holding you until you fall asleep, while he watches some random TV channel in your apartment.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Love Me A Little

Character: Secretary!Bucky x Female!Reader

Words: 1,539

Summary: "Love me, even just a little." When she uttered those words, they struck Bucky like a bolt of lightning, leaving him utterly bewildered. After all, he was just a secretary—his world and hers seemed galaxies apart.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

A/N: Check out the male version of this story - Be Mine.

It was already 1:00 a.m., and the streets lay deserted, easing Bucky's drive. The sleek black Bugatti smoothly entered the apartment basement car park. Just one more turn, and he would find his usual parking spot.

"Screech." The sound of tires screeching echoed in the empty basement.

"Huh?" Bucky's foot instinctively hit the brake as he caught sight of the familiar figure standing in front of his car.

"Y/N?"

It's you. The sole daughter of the Rogers family, the heiress to Starlight Enterprises, a conglomerate spanning oil and gas, telecom, retail, and financial services.

You had fled, prompting the company to dispatch security teams in search of you.

And here you were.

Bucky stepped out of the car. "What are you doing? Don't you realize everyone's been searching for you?"

You scoffed, your tone laced with defiance. "So what? At least everyone will learn that I'm serious. I refuse to marry that guy."

Bucky understood the depth of your frustration. Your family was orchestrating an engagement between you and their business partner. But you vehemently opposed it. He comprehended why; the man they wanted you to marry was notorious—a playboy and a drug addict.

Unable to sway your resolve, Bucky carefully chose his words. "You should go home."

He reached out, gently clasping your hand, his touch pleading, wanting to guide you to safety.

But you recoiled, pushing his hand away. "I don't want to."

Bucky's heart sank, his expression pained. "Your family is worried about you."

Your retort was sharp, cutting. "Are they really? Or are they just afraid of losing their golden ticket?"

A tense silence enveloped them as Bucky grappled with the weight of your words. As the secretary to your brother, Steve, the Vice President, he was privy to the inner workings of wealthy families, aware that most marriages were arranged for business purposes.

Like Steve and Peggy, who defied the odds and found happiness together despite the pressures of their world, you refused to succumb to a loveless marriage.

With teary eyes, you gazed at Bucky, desperation etched in every tear. "I'll tell my parents I'll marry you instead."

Bucky sighed, feeling the weight of your request once more. You had asked him this before, seeking refuge from the loveless future awaiting you. Each time, he had declined.

"Not everything will always go your way," he murmured, his words heavy with resignation. "You've been living in a bubble as Princess Rogers." He paused, unable to bring himself to utter the name of your family's empire. "Now you're facing reality."

You fought back the tears, stung by his harshness. It was the first time Bucky had spoken so coldly to you. "Do you think my feelings for you are fake?"

"My whole life has been arranged from A to Z without my opinion," you continued, your voice trembling with suppressed emotion.

"The only thing I have is my dream of us living happily ever after. Can I at least have that?" Your breaths came in ragged gasps as you struggled to contain your emotions.

"Stop dreaming. Go home," Bucky commanded, his voice firm as he pointed behind you.

'Screech.'

With a screech of tires, a white Mercedes arrived to collect you. It dawned on you that Bucky had already informed the security team of your whereabouts.

As you watched Bucky walk away, a surge of determination washed over you. Clenching your fists, you whispered, "I'll show you."

########

A few days later

The entire Rogers family had gathered for tonight's dinner, including your grandparents, Thomas Rogers, the esteemed founder of the company. Bucky joined the dinner as well, having become one of the company's key figures, seated right beside you.

Despite the gravity of your previous conversation, you seemed to have put it aside, acting as if nothing had happened when you saw Bucky.

The dinner unfolded in its usual extravagant manner, with everyone engaging in polite small talk until dessert was served.

Your grandmother, Anna, broke the silence. "It's wonderful that we could all come together like this. We must discuss our youngest's engagement."

Your mother, Sophia, nodded, her smile gentle. "I met with them four days ago, and we've already ironed out all the details, from the church to the wedding."

Bucky's mind raced. Four days ago? That's precisely when you had gone missing.

Anna's excitement bubbled over. "This wedding will be magnificent. I can hardly contain myself."

But only the two women seemed enthused; your grandfather, Thomas, and your father, Benjamin, remained stoic, while your brother Steve stayed silent.

Then, a sudden sound cut through the air—a sharp "clank" as a fork stabbed into a plate.

All eyes turned to you.

"I don't like it," you stated flatly, your voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

Sophia's hand hesitated mid-air, poised to call the waitress, but froze when she heard her daughter's words.

"I don't like anything," you continued, your voice ringing with defiance. "I don't like that person, the wedding, anything."

"Y/N, stop," Sophia interjected, her tone tinged with frustration. "We've discussed this."

"Discuss?" you retorted bitterly. "Do you mean when you ignore my words?"

Anna's patience wore thin. "Y/N, enough with the tantrum. This concerns the entire family."

You crossed your arms defiantly. "I refuse to marry him."

Anna rose from her seat, ready to reprimand you, but a sharp glance from Thomas halted her in her tracks. Without a word, she sank back down, chastened by her husband silent command.

Thomas fixed you with a steady gaze, the same gaze that had once spoiled you as his beloved granddaughter. "Explain to me the reason why."

"I don't love him," you declared, your voice trembling with emotion. "I love someone else."

A sudden palpitation coursed through Bucky's chest. He sensed the situation spiraling out of control.

"Whose the person you love?" Thomas inquired, his voice firm.

You didn't hesitate. "Bucky."

'Ba-dump'

The room fell into stunned silence, broken only by the rapid thudding of Bucky's heart echoing in his ears, his mind racing as he grappled with the revelation unfolding before him.

Bucky rose hastily, his intention to apologize to the Chairman halted as your hand clasped his, the determination in your eyes stopping him in his tracks. It was the first time he had seen you like this, and it sent a shiver down his spine.

As all eyes turned towards you, you swallowed hard before speaking up. "And I'm pregnant. Bucky is the father."

The room erupted in chaos as Sophia and Anna screamed in unison.

"What?" they exclaimed in disbelief.

"Bucky! How dare you touch my daughter!" Sophia lunged forward, her hand reaching for Bucky's hair, but Benjamin intervened, restraining her.

Bucky opened his mouth to protest and deny the accusation, but the words stuck in his throat. He was taken by surprise, too.

"Silence," Thomas, the Chairman's authoritative voice, cut through the commotion, bringing an abrupt end to the chaos.

He rose from his seat, followed by Benjamin and Steve, their expressions a mix of shock and concern.

Fixing Bucky with a steely gaze, Thomas uttered just two words. "A word."

Bucky swallowed hard, his heart pounding as he replied, "Yes, Sir," bracing himself for the inevitable confrontation.

########

In Benjamin's office, Bucky stood before the three men, the weight of their scrutiny heavy upon him as they remained silent. Finally, Thomas broke the tension with a direct question. "Is everything true?"

Bucky knelt before his boss and friend, his voice steady but his heart pounding. "No, sir. None of it is true. I've never laid a hand on her."

Thomas's expression softened, a flicker of relief crossing his features. "Good."

Bucky let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, grateful for Thomas's understanding.

But then Benjamin spoke up, his tone contemplative. "Then why don't you like my daughter?"

Bucky's brow furrowed in confusion as he lifted his head to meet Benjamin's gaze.

"She's better off with you than with that spoiled man," Steve interjected, his voice firm.

Benjamin nodded in agreement, his eyes holding a hint of understanding.

Bucky was taken aback. "What?"

Thomas leaned forward, his voice grave. "The wedding arrangement was orchestrated by my wife and Y/N's mother. I'm relieved my granddaughter took a stand today."

Steve clapped Bucky on the shoulder, a mixture of relief and gratitude in his eyes. "I nearly lost my cool when she said she was pregnant. I almost punched you. Thank goodness it was a lie."

Bucky struggled to find words, overwhelmed by the unexpected turn of events.

Steve's tone softened. "Stay with her. I won't allow my sister to marry that man."

As the men continued their discussion, Bucky's mind raced, unable to fully comprehend the depth of their support.

Excusing himself, Bucky closed the door behind him, only to find you waiting for him outside.

Your worried expression melted his defenses as you approached him.

"What did they say?" you asked, searching his eyes for answers.

Bucky hesitated, then shook his head. "Nothing."

You breathed a sigh of relief and pulled him into a tight hug, his body stiffening like a log. Lifting your head to meet his gaze, determination flashed in your eyes.

"I'll make you love me," you vowed softly. "Even just a little."

Join the taglist? 🩷💙🩷

@bagoffeelings

@darkofimagination

@starsofcloud

@cherrybubblebullet

@winterslove1917

@thezombieprostitute

@xcaptain-winterx

@namoreno

@sagebarness

@tenaciousathleteoperatorgarden

@unaxv

@missvelvetsstuff

@kjah97

@hopeful-daydreaming

@freshlemontea

@eat-limes-bitches

@kandis-mom

@scott-loki-barnes

@winters1917

@differenttyphoonwerewolf

@arunabraganza

@ordelixx

@vicmc624

@blackwood-bodecker-housewife

@mostlymarvelgirl

@musicandbooksaremyhappyplace

@buckybarnessimpp

@charmedbysarge

@almosttoopizza

@sapphirebarnes

@daddysfavoritesexkitten

@rebeccapineapple

@cjand10

@pigeonmama

@almosttoopizza

@thesarcasmqueen-22

@cakesandtom

@ficrecsbyellie

@reblogging-all-i-read

Author Note: Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account.

Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.

Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

[jethrowest]

let me see you stripped down to the bone…

- stripped by depeche mode

congratulations! you’ve been hired as homelander’s entire glam squad! what an opportunity! now let’s try real hard not to let the fumes get to you, okay?

pairing : homelander/afab reader

word count : 5.6k

warnings : homelander in and of himself, toxic workplace environment, something akin to stockholm syndrome, fingering, smut. 18+, mdni

special thanks to @blindmagdalena @sehtoast @homeb0ys and @clockworkzeppelin for letting me scream at you about this!

writing tag

gif credit

divider credit

Homelander is an asshole.

That doesn’t bother you much. You’ve dealt with plenty in this field, which means you’ve learned how to make life easier for all parties. That particular learning curve includes when to stand out and blend in, at times concurrently depending on what variety of asshole they happen to be.

As a whole, the makeup artists and hairstylists at Vought take care of The Seven and go where they’re needed. And as a cosmetologist, you were hired to provide both services for Homelander and Homelander only, which you consider to be one of the most prestigious stamps one could add to their professional passport.

Before you became official, you were colorfully threatened by a Ms. Ashley Barrett, who, after the fact, had no qualms throwing you into the lion’s den to figure your own shit out.

In no uncertain terms were you told that if you fucked any part of this up, your sparkling resume would look best as something to sit her smooth, bare ass on while getting fucked on top of her desk. No lube or protection. It would then be tossed exactly like her salad.

Not an image you could have ever predicted crossing your mind. Honestly, you should have stopped her right there and walked your happy little ass out of her office toward pastures that might have not been greener (you were being handsomely compensated), but certainly not as toxic. While the red flags were a color you couldn’t quite ignore, you were also curious about why they stood out so much more than they did regarding previous employers.

None of this is to say you live under a rock. Anyone who has access to the internet is ambushed daily by these Supes’ personal lives. Homelander’s track record as far as choice in partners went hadn’t been ideal, so you understand that made him less popular at the time. That of course has nothing to do with you or your capabilities.

You opt to wear gray-colored glasses, seeing everything with a neutral blend of black and white. As much as possible anyway.

Nevertheless, curiosity killed the cat. But hopefully not your career.

The first day was awkward to say the least. Immediately, you knew you weren’t going to like your coworkers.

Glints of sympathy changed how they perceived you. A target, whether they intended for this to happen or not, was nailed to your forehead, and it made them buzz around you like avid, greedy wasps keen on seeing how rapidly the honeybee will be brutalized. You didn’t much care for going cross-eyed while staring at that target whenever you crossed paths. They didn’t know you, yet because of who you were working under, deemed you helpless. They didn’t give you a chance to establish yourself before branding you a victim.

Why should you respect them?

Small talk wasn’t entertained either, as their judgment tarnished any future encounters. They ostracized you once you showed no interest in engaging with them. That didn’t disappoint you. You weren’t here to make friends.

You do wonder how those before you fared: if they were jaded when they arrived or if they couldn’t help but succumb to the pressures of being at the top rung of a very unstable albeit sought after ladder.

Ms. Barrett quickly introduced you to Homelander, her parting gift before leaving the two of you alone.

You weren’t completely nervous in his presence. He wasn’t any different to you than the other celebrities you’d worked on, except he could rip you in half like a piece of paper if he was so inclined. But he’s the hero of this country’s story, so really, you should have nothing to worry about.

His demeanor, you noted, suggested arrogance, annoyance, and boredom. All things you’re used to. So you offered your hand to shake, which he eyed with a slightly upturned nose before grabbing, told him it was a pleasure to meet him and got straight to business.

Looking back, he was clearly expecting more out of you. Maybe not a display as excessive as getting on your knees and professing your undying love, but close enough. Somewhere in the middle, perhaps.

Part of you believes he might have also counted on fear. To you, he’s not anything or anyone unknown. Another big name in a fancy suit with impossible demands.

You were given a routine to follow and products to use. You did as you were instructed and found the process to be simple and, as Homelander’s expression revealed, uninspiring.

While you were utilizing a face brush to apply powder, he must have decided he was done enduring your lack of enthusiasm, because he suddenly asked, “What are you wearing?”

You stopped for a split second, no longer than, and continued. “The name of my clothing designer, you mean?”

He scoffed, waving his gloved hand at you, almost knocking the applicator you held to the ground. “No, your perfume. What are the top notes?”

You laughed and that seemed to confuse him. “Why, you want a bottle?”

“I don’t like it.” He sniffed sharply and cleared his throat. “Smells like you should be on the corner selling your used body parts.”

Ding ding ding. Alarm bells and red flags galore. You enjoy a challenge, however, and are a bit of a masochist, so you persevere.

“Well, what doesn’t smell like a cheap hooker to you? I’ll start wearing that instead.”

He cocked a brow, studying you. Trying to figure out if you were being serious or mocking him.

“It’s your first day.” A warning. “Are you on your best behavior, or can you do better?” He leaned forward in his chair, forcing you backward. “You should be working harder to prove yourself. Prove your worth.” He sat back again and shrugged. “Or maybe you really are worth as much as that dumpster juice you doused yourself in.”

At this point, he more than likely envisioned your happy little ass getting offended and storming out of the room. Breaking down, sobbing. Questioning why he was being so rude. One of those or, better yet, a nifty combination.

You’ve heard worse, unfortunately for him. Not always directed at you, but that doesn’t matter. You can handle it.

“You’re absolutely right,” you stated calmly, folding your arms across your chest. He looked at you with pretentious, petulant intrigue. “It is my first day, and I want to make a good impression. Which is why I’m asking you what you would like me to wear so I can continue to keep that good impression intact and, as our professional relationship develops, stay on top of it.”

Homelander’s mouth twitched. He sighed deeply and slouched in his seat, staring at the wall to the left of him. Then he deigned to cast his gaze back at you, resting his cheek on his index and middle finger. He tapped the arm rest with his other hand.

“Ugh, fine. Whatever.” A pause followed that lasted longer than necessary. Were you meant to guess? “Just wear something, I dunno, less. If you would have done your homework like a good little peon, you’d know I have super senses. Highly developed. Can you even imagine what that entails?”

Finally, he freed the canvas you were nearly finished with, and you flicked the soft bristles across the bridge of his nose. You smiled, more to yourself than him.

Felt rather on the nose, as the saying goes.

He didn’t comment on your grin. You didn’t give him time to. But he did huff like you were being obtuse on purpose.

“I can try. And my imagination is giving me some less-than-ideal scenarios,” you replied. Another pause. At least he was letting you do your job again.

You don’t know what compelled you to keep going, but something about his lack of a real answer made you carry on. “Do you have a favorite flower or baked good? Maybe a spice?”

Homelander almost glared up at you. You say almost because, for whatever reason, it didn’t seem like he was directing that harshness at you, though former words and actions proved otherwise. Something inside, perhaps. Or outside of this enclosed space.

“I already told you what to wear. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You took the hint and remained quiet the rest of your session. Soon, you were done.

As you were packing and tidying up your station, he took it upon himself to stand behind you. He lingered over your shoulder, watching the scene play out like he was director and star and you were barely an ant on the sidewalk he acknowledged before squashing.

The heat radiating off of him was impossible to dismiss, a wall of it barricading your backside. He clasped his fingers underneath his cape and inched closer. You thought he was as close to you as he could get without touching you. He was that warm.

When you glanced up, he was staring at you through the mirror. As absurd as it was, you managed to get chills. Goosebumps broke the surface of your skin.

“Fresh chocolate chip cookies. Straight out of the oven. Like mom used to make.” He flashed an unnerving smile before turning to exit.

From there on out, even after you bent to his will and found a gourmand scent that matched what he described, Homelander tested you. Your work ethic, clothing choice, eating habits, and most of all, patience.

Your parents would ask how you were liking your job, how it was working alongside the Supes- not to mention the most famous of all- and you’d lie through your teeth. You felt you had no choice, Ashley’s threat ringing in your ears.

Resume, bare ass, tossed salad...

Oh yeah, it’s going great! They’re all super flexible. I couldn’t be happier!

At least that pun made you feel a little better about hiding the shame of what you’ve allowed yourself to take on.

This was all in the first few weeks. It started to get a little easier after that, which is surprising considering more was added to your to-do list.

You should have moved on before starting. But, for whatever asinine reason, you didn’t.

Every time you go back to your apartment and assess your appearance in the bathroom mirror, you wonder who’s making who up here. He’s changing your looks more than you are his. You’re like his human doll.

You’ve put up with a lot over the years, but this takes the cake and shoves it in your face. As fucked as it is, the flavor is growing on you. Like a fungus. Growing, nonetheless.

You can’t stop thinking about him.

It’s innocent enough, you try convincing yourself. Making sure you have the right outfit laid out the night before, the right lunch (no onions or fish or anything “freaky”!), etc. He is your superior, after all. You shouldn’t be viewing him in any other light.

He’s the most frustrating aspect of your existence these days, but he’s also the one you’re around the most. His penchant for workplace gossip and how unintentionally funny he is tends to make him palatable, which has regrettably become an understatement.

Months go by. You’ve witnessed how alone he truly is. How he has nothing outside of performing his tricks on Vought’s all-encompassing stage. And when he begins asking for your input, starts doing things for you that are so blatant it’s perplexing, you find your stress and vexation melting into cumbersome fascination.

It’s embarrassing. You don’t have the courtesy of enough time to dwell on your feelings toward the situation either, from beginning to whatever end you might be met with. You suppose that could be beneficial in the long run.

It also hits you when you least expect it; when you really don’t want it to.

Your body doesn’t wait until you finally have a moment alone. It decides, while you’re helping Homelander with his skincare routine that he insisted upon because you know more than these vacuous corporate douche-bags, to heat up without warning and slither from your head to your heart until it grasps you unfairly between your legs.

You try not to step into momentary paralysis. You understand to what extent his powers reach. It’s not like he doesn’t go on and on about them. About himself.

Whatever he notices, it’s not right away. A palpable tension fills the air between the two of you eventually. But it takes a more significant amount of time than you would have anticipated to permeate the natural flow of things.

Fuck, you can’t even be safe inside here, where your thoughts, whatever they may be, are yours. You can’t even have yourself. He has every part of you, and you are willingly relinquishing that control.

Your evening, once you can have it, consists of combing over every decision you’ve made leading up to this strange, disorienting space you find yourself occupying. All it does is leave you exasperated in a much different way than before and with an unsettling observation (or hallucination):

Was that the tail end of the American flag outside your window?

You are unacceptably late.

Rushing around, you throw on the first top and bottoms you see from your closet and spritz some perfume on your neck and wrists. You don’t check your phone. You’re afraid of what will pop up on your screen. And, frankly, you don’t have the time.

Your only option for transportation is the subway, as you’re sure the special vehicle from Vought is long gone. Why would they wait for someone like you, even if you’re practically Homelander’s personal assistant? One of his only friends. You doubt he has more than Black Noir, and that isn’t as perfect as it appears to the casual viewer.

You dread what kind of explosion you’re without a doubt walking into once you show your miserable ass up. You’re going to smell like everyone on this train. He’s going to go ballistic.

The question remains: why are you continuing to put yourself through this? It’s not your circus, yet somehow, the monkeys have become your liability.

You know, deep down, what keeps you going back. It’s simply too ridiculous to admit aloud.

Making your way past security, hurriedly presenting your badge, you realize you forgot to brush your teeth, or at the very least, gargle some mouthwash. You thank your lucky stars when you open your purse to a pack of gum tucked away in one of the compartments.

It will have to do.

When you open the door to Homelander’s dressing room, you see a couple of employees standing near the counter where the bag of supplies has been opened and rifled through, looking like they might soil themselves, a frantic Ashley, and an extremely pissed off Homelander in the middle of it all.

Reflexively, you cringe. You attempt to wipe any trace from your features, but it’s too late. Ashley is glaring daggers at you and Homelander can hardly bring himself to look in your direction. The others don’t matter to you. They never did.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. I know there’s no excuse-”

“You’re goddamned right, there’s no excuse! I don’t give a shit if god and his whole fucking choir of angels came down from heaven and divinely called you to give them a makeover! What were you thinking?!”

You’re about to answer, though you comprehend her query is more or less rhetorical. She interrupts your slightly open mouth while gesturing wildly, proving your point.

“Oh, that’s right! You weren’t thinking at all, were you?! But I do believe you’ve thought long and hard about what’s at stake here. And you know damn well we at Vought don’t tolerate this kind of sloppy behavior. Not to mention the way you’re dressed! It’s adding insult to injury!” Her hand swipes at the air, the length of your outfit, and you glance down, recognizing how comically mismatched you are. Her correct observation affects you more than it would have months prior, stinging your ego- one of the many things that’s been shelved in order to accommodate the person who won’t even grace you with a glance.

A dramatic groan cuts short any further commentary from the redhead, perpetually stretched thin between her absurd duties.

“Jesus Christ, Ashley, why are your big fucking horse gums still flapping?” Homelander’s booming voice slices through your mind like a jarring, dense migraine. He pinches his brow between middle finger and thumb, eyes closed. “I want you and Tweedledee and Tweedledum t’get the fuck out. Now.”

Ashley is plainly dumbfounded, struggling to see where she went wrong (a pattern when it comes to dealing with the volatile leader of The Seven), mouth agape. She shakes her head. “But sir, are you-?”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about or doing. Clearly.”

Ms. Barrett turns a shade paler, staring at Homelander and blinking owlishly before snapping herself out of her stupor. She hurries her lackeys out of the room, shooing them along like a pair of misbehaving toddlers. She doesn’t give a final look, no further warning. She merely shuts the door behind her.

You also hear it lock.

What the hell does she think is going to happen?

You should have stopped this while you had the chance. You should have never taken this job. You should have stood up for yourself and walked out. You should have you should have you should-

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

His caustic tone sends shivers down your spine. It’s unlike anything you’ve heard come out of him. And you’ve heard enough.

Again, you open your mouth. It fills with blood, thick and metallic and more potent than the mint from your gum. You’re silenced by it.

He stalks toward you and grabs you hastily by the shoulders, swiveling you around so you’re face-to-face with the choices you’ve made. Your mirrored image is reflected back at you, exhausted and searching for any last shred of who you might be beneath his heavy palms.

“Look at yourself! Do you even recognize who’s staring back at you?” No.

“What kind of game are you playing, hmmm? Is this… humiliating spectacle you’re putting on for the money? Your pathetic career? Like it’s goddamned rocket science to pick up a can of hairspray and use it. Monkeys have hands.” He makes a noise that’s akin to a snorting horse, exhaling forcefully past his nostrils. “I mean, did you really think you could pull a fast one on me?” He clutches your jaw, squeezing it between middle and thumb. Every muscle in your body tenses, your heart picking up rhythm.

“Spit that fucking gum out. Don’t think I can’t hear you grinding it between your molars like a dumb animal. You aren’t a mama bird, are you? Y’don’t have cute little baby birds t’force-feed your regurgitated leftovers, do you? Eugh, gross.”

You take a deep breath and exhale through your nose. It presents you with a false sense of security. You do as you’re told, and it lands on the floor in front of your shoe, saliva dangling on a thread as withered as your sanity.

Suddenly fresh breath seems like the most insignificant issue, when Homelander himself once made it out to be something earth-shattering.

You’re such a fool.

He leans in and sniffs your throat. Your fingers lengthen and bend.

You’re so many things at once. Confused, angry, nervous, scared. And, to your dismay, warm. God you’re so fucking warm. He’s heating you up from the inside out. You clench your jaw, still held in place by a firm bind.

“Get rid of those ugly clothes. I don’t care what you have to do. I can’t stand the sight or smell of them.”

You shut your eyes. When you open them, all you see is red. The other emotions are smothered in favor of that brand of heat. What happens next is a blur. You temporarily leave yourself.

“Fine. Have it your way, Homelander. You always do.”

Breaking free of his fluctuating hold, you start tearing at what you’re wearing, tossing everything- including your bra and underwear- to the ground. Your shirt winds up with the gum sticking to its loose fabric. You even take your shoes and socks off, not paying any heed to where your belongings go. Just that they’re gone.

You don’t process the glaring fact that you made yourself naked in front of your boss. In front of the most powerful man this country, and possibly world, has known. You don’t care that things have escalated this far. That they shouldn’t have. They shouldn’t have. But guess what? They did. And these are the consequences you both have to deal with.

“You wanna know what game I’m playing?” You turn around, forcing him backward. “It’s funny, I thought you’d be able to answer that for me, considering all the hoops I’ve had to jump through to not only save my ass, but make sure you had someone to talk to at the end of the day! Who on your team can you say goes above and beyond like that for you?!” He blinks at you now, eyes wide. Features fall to the floor where your clothes reside. You have his full and undivided attention.

An impressively dangerous thing to have.

“What more do you want from me, Homelander? I practically live with you without any of the benefits that usually includes! You’re really going to stand here and berate me like I haven’t given you fucking everything you’ve ever asked me for? Because I made one mistake? I gave up my entire world, which I know doesn’t mean shit to you. But it does to me.”

You fold your arms over your chest. Nothing covers it. You have to know before you lose all dignity. So you ask once more, hoping it won’t get lost in this bizarre mess.

“What do you want from me?”

Nothing. He can’t stop staring at you. You aren’t aware enough to be ashamed, but you are aware enough to be upset.

His infuriating silence compels you to bend down and gather what was a barrier between the two of you. You are no longer needed if he can’t do what he does best, which is spout off, leaking bottled words everywhere like a broken faucet. It’s a pretty simple question, you think.

That’s when the glass behind you shatters.

You flinch, pause what you’re doing and slowly stand. Cautious in whatever your next approach will be.

Surveying the aftermath, you’re relieved to find that you’re far enough away from the mirror so no injuries were inflicted.

When you finally lock eyes with the source, you see red. The atmosphere surrounding you heaves like the distended belly of a rotting corpse; hisses like an overflowing tea kettle; pierces you like lightning.

Homelander’s expression is rigid. His jaw quivers. Irises are a bright, shining scarlet. If you try anything rash, you might be next. But, having been around him for so long, you’re more inclined to believe he’s having trouble processing his own emotions. And that might have been one of the only ways to release them.

You drop the top and pants you managed to reclaim. Your brain hasn’t fully recovered from the constant devastating hit it’s taken, so you don’t want to put a name to what’s pushing you forward. You don’t stop until you’re directly in his line of vision.

Swallowing, you carefully extend your hand. The ruby color begins to crumble and give way to the vast ocean you might have drowned in one too many times. You lost track, blocking what you could out. Too real and intimate to accept for a realm that thrives off of inauthenticity and misfortune.

Homelander inhales harshly and you retreat, pupils hooking themselves to his. Searching for any sign you shouldn’t be right where you are.

Of course there are several; unfortunately, you are currently blind to them. Blind to everything but him.

That’s how it’s been for awhile, hasn’t it?

He has a habit of not granting you the luxury of time.

Quickly, he snatches your wrist and brings your palm flat against his cheek. He exhales, eyelids fluttering, nuzzling into you.

It’s so simple, yet it disarms you in ways you aren’t accustomed to.

Homelander basks in this chaste display of affection, and so do you, in awe of how enraptured he appears. Soaking you inside of his pores.

In turn, your cognizance reappears. You nearly topple over, realization infiltrating every part of you.

You’re not wearing a stitch.

A knock at the door startles you both. You glance over in that general direction and hear from the other side, “You’re on in fifteen, Homelander, sir!”

Gazing back up at him, you witness that same fire expand at a rapid rate. You use your other hand to bring him back down to reality, to ground him. It rests against his chest, delving into and cracking his ribs, flaying him open.

What strikes you is how vigorously his heart is beating. How you can feel it through his uniform.

This is how much you affect him. (Can you fathom that you’re only privy to a fraction?) Having evidence of the tiniest reciprocation drains you of any unwanted discomfort.

His fury subsides. You breathe out. He does, too.

“Go sit in your chair. I came here to do my job, after all.” The tenderness with which you speak seems to ease him further, his shoulders deflating with each word.

That aside, you’re playing with a lit match. You’re unsure who’s going to set who ablaze, but you’re willing to go down with this entire building to find out.

He does as he’s told, watching you the whole way like a mutilated mixture of a snarling cornered animal and a man fervently in love. He almost trips into his seat, not an ounce of grace in his gait.

Sacrificing his entire image just to get a glimpse of you.

Whipping his cape to the side, he sinks into the cushion. You get things ready as you typically do, your movements a bit jittery from the adrenaline sending haphazard jolts to your limbs. Despite this, you’re focused. You are more focused than you remember ever being.

You work efficiently, keeping in mind the limit that’s been put on your time.

Homelander bores holes through you. He doesn’t need lasers for that. You’re exposed and vulnerable and he pries what he fostered apart until it’s distinguishable by no one else but him.

You relearn his perfectly manufactured features. Different lights shape shadows you either haven’t seen before or feigned ignorance of. You commit to memory how he looks, smells, feels, the side of your hand grazing his cheek and hanging on.

He’s invigorating, your excitement building to a crescendo you can’t neglect. The heat in your core disperses, most of it congregating low in your belly and behind your expanding rib cage. His pupils drink you in, urgently and violently.

Your arousal is heady. He licks his lips. A hint of a whine caresses your ears and it makes you dizzy.

How could you have ever denied yourself?

You decide to take further control, testing the waters to a greater extent.

It’s your turn to watch him the whole way down. You straddle him, easing yourself atop his taut thighs.

After a few moments of humoring yourself, of pretending to concentrate on your work, dusting his nose with powder, you straighten. Eye contact has not been severed.

You motion toward his hands, balled into tense, repressed fists at his sides.

“Take off your gloves.”

Initially, it feels like maybe you said the wrong thing, or said it the wrong way. He doesn’t budge. You’re patient, however, so you wait like you’ve always done, the warmth from your cunt mingling with the hardness beneath you. Your mouth waters.

At last, Homelander nods and removes his gloves, tugging on the index of each. He places them on the armrests and transfixes himself to you once more.

“Do you want to touch me?” you ask, voice and body staying impossibly still in spite of your nerves.

Immediately, he shakes his head, “Yes,” the first time he’s spoken since your outburst, and without hesitation, reaches for your chest. You close your eyes, falling into his snooping lifts and tugs and squeezes, giving yourself permission to become possessed by the inhibited imaginations of how selfish, how rapacious his touches might be. How smooth his bare hands are, how ardent each digit is.

Leaning into you, he sucks one nipple into his mouth and palms the other, moaning and vibrating against your flesh. He digs his fingers into the pliant softness of your hip, steadying you with disciplined pressure. You squirm, attuned to every minuscule shift.

The lit match is tilted toward you now, swift and stunning. Your fingers release the brush you’ve been holding. It aligns with the slit of the cushion, forgotten and purposeless.

You wrap your digits around the hand on your curves and guide him toward your throbbing center. He doesn’t fight you. Doesn’t stop your movements. Doesn’t scold or challenge you. Instead, he curls his fingers in a way that makes you unabashedly moan, cupping your folds and pinning his thumb to your clit, adapting to your anatomy.

Your wants.

It seems like breaking away from you is a daunting task, but he does for a moment, brow furrowed, more engrossed and invested than you’ve ever witnessed.

“Fuck.” The curse sounds downright edible, your new favorite flavor. Your name tumbles from his lips like he’s been practicing, a sweet, rich icing on top. You gasp, his tongue adhering to you again, swirling around your peak before lightly biting it.

Rocking your hips back and forth, side-to-side, you grind hard into his palm. He strokes you like he’s studied what pace you prefer, how much friction you crave. You’re so wet, even you’re thrown off by it.

Once he’s finished with your chest, he’s back against the seat, unable to peel his gaze from you. Your full, swollen, glistening breasts.

His mouth hangs open, obscene, desperate whimpers slipping from it. Pupils are like whirlpools that drive you under. Drive you mad.

Homelander adeptly slips two, three digits inside your sopping cunt, unrelenting in his intentions to make up for lost time. The voracity of his actions propels you forward, balancing against his chest. He grasps and pulls at your other hip, groaning loudly in your ear, confirming his approval of how close you are to him.

It’s still not enough.

Pulling you even tighter to his blinding sun of a body, he encloses his free arm around you and desperately bucks his waist. “I want… I want… I want…” he chants. Your nails drag up his neck and along his scalp, overwhelmed by his warmth, his scent, him. Your lips ghost the sliver of skin above his collar, making him growl.

You anticipate and dread and yearn for what’s been building for so long. You clench and release, clench and release, clench and release, body chanting with him.

You’re intuitively thankful for the chair’s sturdiness; however, if it would have collapsed, you’re honestly not sure you would have noticed. Or cared.

You hear him come first. Feel the temperature rise temporarily. It’s so sudden and all-consuming that you naturally follow, his name an instinct you can’t help but divulge. You haven’t come down from the turbulent emotions rushing through you earlier, and that combination catapults you over the edge.

Your orgasm draws more deliberate, vehement grunts and sighs of satisfaction from him, as if your pleasure is inexplicably the same or worth more than his.

You can’t crumple into a boneless heap like you want to. You just can’t. You have to look at him. Look at his bliss; the glazed, barren-yet-so-full-of-you expression, of what these months of working in close quarters have done to him.

What you uncover is not what you were picturing. There’s a mixture of that haze with something almost apologetic below the teeming surface. Clouds of red to skies of blue. Destructive in and of themselves.

Sliding his fingers from your wetness, he wraps his lips around each one that was inside of you and spreads them apart. Your slick sticks to his glossy skin and stretches between digits, a generous amount. You whimper at the loss- the emptying, hollow feeling- and watch, mesmerized and delirious as he savors you.

Swallowing you whole, Homelander sweeps his knuckles across the apple of your cheek and presses his lips hard against yours. He wastes no time inhaling your gasps and moans, licking your mouth and the faint taste of mint, stealing it from you. You ingest what you can of him as well, exploring what was open to you longer than you realized.

He then seizes your wrists. It’s a rough gesture that evaporates into gentle circles along your pulse points. Still, you know you’re going to bruise where he turned the key and locked you into place: wherever he is.

A visible sheen coats his lips.

“I want you to tell me I’m good. Great. The best.”

His breathing is labored. So is yours.

He kisses the inside of the wrist smeared with perfume, your fluids, his saliva; ends with your hand and rests his cheek against the slope of it.

“I want you to be mine. All mine. Mine alone.”

You’re shaking. He moves forward and pets your hair, twirls it; grabs your nape and holds his thumb to the front of your throat. Securing you. Keeping you there.

“You have to stay. Be mine and stay.”

You thrum with an ache he forced upon you. He’ll claim you were starving and he was the only one who could satiate.

You nod. You were never going to leave to begin with.

Homelander made you his. And you thanked him for it.

[tc-doherty]

TC's Practical Writing Tips

Like I said before, I'm not gonna sit here and pretend that I can teach anyone how to write – that's a level of hubris even I'm not capable of –but in honor of my rapidly approaching ~quarter century of writing original fiction anniversary~, I did figure I would share the tips that I live by when it comes to the act of writing.

So without further ado:

Write it now, fix it later

2. It is always permissible – and usually enjoyable – to write the stupidest possible version

3. "Inspiration" is great for poets, but poison for people who write prose

3.1: if you want to write often, you need to write often, and then you will find that you don't need to be "inspired" because you will have made a habit of it and it will come naturally 3.2: even one sentence a day is still one sentence a day. And even one sentence a week is still one sentence a week. It does not matter how slowly you go as long as you do not stop 3.3: believing in the concept that you need to be inspired to write will trap you into believing in the concept of writer's block 3.4: if you are having difficulty getting out words that satisfy you, lower your standards and keep writing (see point one)

4. A few months down the line you will not remember which words came easily and which words did not

5. It is always permissible to set a project aside for now, or forever, if you need a break

6. Read widely and often, both in your favorite genres and outside of them

6.1: pay special attention to both things that you love and things that you hate - study them, engage with them, learn what makes yourself tick and your writing can only get stronger

7. Never write for the lowest common denominator, via wise words I once heard: "if you open the window and make love to the world, your story will get pneumonia", have an audience in mind and the people who like what you write will find it

8. Never write for the bad faith critic, those people will always exist and you will need to deal with them at some point if you put your writing in the world, but they don't matter and you cannot live in fear of them

9. It's fine and normal to want engagement and praise, however you must find a way to make the act of writing joyful in and of itself – make the praise the cherry on top, not the entire sunday

9.1: writing is hard work, and it's a lot of work, if you lose the ability to enjoy the journey and are proceeding only for external rewards from others, you will gradually write less and less if the ratio of work to rewards is unsatisfying

10. For anything other than final copy editing, always write a new draft into a new document, or else the words you have already written will trap you from being able to make large, sweeping changes

10.1: any change you make will invariably snowball, and you must give space for that snowball to roll

11. If someone tells you that something doesn't work for them, believe them, because people know what they like. But if people try to tell you what to do to fix it, take that with an entire serving of salt because you are the author, not them

12. It is always morally correct to look at a critique that you received, even if you asked for opinions via beta reading, and decide that it's bullshit and doesn't apply to you

13. "write what you know" means "write what you're interested in"

14. "Show don't tell" applies to screenwriting, not novels. This is the thing that drives me the most insane every time I see it. Novels are words on a page, not images on a screen. They require a lot of telling. Not all telling, but a lot of telling. Become comfortable with that.

15. It is always, ALWAYS acceptable to use "said", do not listen to the lies of others

16. Have fun, do it out of love and you will never go astray

17. Become comfortable with who you are. Your work is always going to be yours and it is always going to sound like you wrote it, and this is a good thing! No one else is ever going to write exactly like you, and you should be proud of that

17.1: the concept of "originality" is vastly overrated, every culture has some version of Cinderella and we still love it. Your writing is yours because you wrote it, and it will always be unique because of that

[mignonricciardo]

holidaze | mv33

i am being delusional and manifesting an alternate world where max is not with kelly... ANYWHO please enjoy holiday max bc carefree maxie is my favorite and this is an entirely self-indulgent fic to play on that

summary: after one night in the club, max has some ideas on the yacht. family vacation? that won't stop him. (4.3k words) warnings: p in v, straight smut, unprotected sex, some plot, mention of max as brother's best friend, cursing, hook position and potential mating press (oops)

With waves of the Adriatic Sea lapping against the yacht, I’ve never been more grateful for my parents’ friendships to influence my own growing up. As a kid, my mum would take my brother and I to races where my dad worked and Max’s dad raced. Max and my brother raced karts together, traveling constantly back and forth between Belgium and the Netherlands, and I tagged along as much as I could with Victoria. The family had long been close friends with our mothers being best friends, and even as life threw constant change at us, we always managed to stay close. Even now, after 25 years, I lay sprawled out on the plush benches on the bow of Max’s yacht soaking up the Croatian sun. Max’s yacht has always been one of my favorite places, and invites to the floating dollar sign picked up after his most recent break up. 

Beyond the confines of the yacht, Max and my brother Dion zip around on jet skis. I can hear their laughing and hollering as they send water flying at each other as they race. Despite Max’s successful racing career and Dion’s pivot into finance, they were still competitive over who was quicker at everything. Hanna, Dion’s fiance and my soon-to-be-sister-in-law, sighs as the pair of boys are particularly loud as they zip by. 

“You’ve got to learn to tune them out,” Victoria, Max’s sister, grins from her spot on the bow. “It becomes a lot easier once you do.”

“You've both got it figured out,” she says, sitting up from her spot tanning. 

I turn to her, lowering my sunglasses just enough, “We have years of practice. You’ll get there.”

“I’ll need to,” she smirks, wiggling her brows. “At this rate, it looks like Max will be around even more.”

I groan loudly, throwing an arm over my face so Victoria can’t see the blush lighting up my cheeks. Hanna laughs as Victoria looks at both of us with a confused expression.

“Alright, what the hell did I miss?” 

She’s fully seated now, and any intentions of her dropping the conversation are gone along with my hopes of continuing my tan in peace. I drop my arm away from my face, craning my neck to look at her before Hanna can get any of her conspiracies out.

“As you know, we went to some clubs the other night. Hanna here thinks Max and I were a little close for being family friends, but we were both drunk. That was literally it.”

Hanna gasps, flying up from her seat, “It was more than that! Victoria, you should have seen it. Max could not stop staring at her ass, and she was totally checking him out all night. Her arm was looped through his anytime we walked to another club, and he was constantly helping her up from seats with hands on the waist. Dion and I felt like we were interrupting something, and we’re the engaged ones.”

“Finally!” Victoria cheers, causing my jaw to drop and Hanna to bust into laughter. “You’ve only been thirsting after him for years. It’s foul because that’s my brother, but you can finally act out whatever perverted fantasies you’ve had since we were teenagers.”

“Why am I just finding this out?” Hanna calls.

“Oh, there are years of history here. Just wait until I-”

“Hi! It’s my life, so can we please stop here?!” I snap at the two women who just snicker at me. 

Victoria lets a moment of silence pass before turning to me, “Can I at least find out what I missed the other night?”

I pinch my brows but eventually nod, giving Hanna the go ahead to tell the entire story to Victoria. She starts with her typical theatrics, using her hands and animated expressions as she talks about the club. 

“... Next thing you know, Dion and I are looking for them to let them know we’re good to go whenever they want to leave, and we can’t find them anywhere. After making our way around the bar, Dion sees them and nearly keels over. They’re on the dance floor, and she’s fully shaking ass on a more than happy Max.”

“Hanna, gross, that’s my brother,” Victoria cringes at the image Hanna is painting. 

She continues nonetheless, “I mean, it was filthy. Dion’s head nearly explodes, but I stop him from storming over there with the reminder that they’re both adults and both so drunk they had no clue what they were doing. To avoid an incident, I go over to tell them we’re ready to go while Dion tries to look anywhere else. Thankfully, the two of them lose some of the haze and sober up and follow us out. No one said a word in the cab back to the villa.”

My cheeks are bright red at the hazy memory, remembering how I melted into his touch and the weight of his hands on my hips. The feeling of my ass pressed against him still crept up when I least expected it in the days since the incident, so I’ve been doing my best to avoid Max. Victoria looks at me, jaw agape and eyes knowing.

“It didn’t stop there, did it?” she says, and Hanna turns to me with eyes wide. 

“What?!”

I pinch my brows, muttering quietly and avoiding the gazes of both women, “Yes and no. He came to my room at the villa while you and Dion were in the shower. I was drunk, so nothing happened, but he stayed the night.”

The two women have abandoned any sense of our previous sunbathing, with sunglasses discarded and sitting at full attention now as I reveal the end of the night. The two chatter to one another, gossiping about Max and I right in front of me. Once they;ve said anything there is to say, they turn back to me with expectant ears.

“Promise me you won’t say anything and you’ll drop it?” I ask with a defeated sigh. 

“Fine,” Hanna says, settling back into the lounger.

Victoria echoes her sentiment, “Since it’s my brother, I’m disgusted, but I do approve, babe. You’re good for each other, even if it's just sex.”

My cheeks burn from more than the sun, no matter how much time has passed since the conversation with the girls ended. Rehashing the incident causes all of the fragmented memories to resurface, and I can’t shake the memory of his hands on my waist or the unshared detail of his lips on my neck. The sun feels a few degrees too hot, and my skin is itching with heat. I try to ignore it and mimic the zen of Hanna and Victoria, but I cave and secure the bikini straps over my shoulders before diving into the blue water. It’s refreshing — the cool waves lapping against my skin and evaporating the prickling heat. When I resurface, pushing wet hair back over my shoulders, I bob in the wake of Max who zips by on a jet ski. He kills the engine, grinning at me as he quirks his eyebrows.

“Want some company?”

I try desperately not to stare, a weak attempt at ignoring the water dripping down his neck from his hair or hands wrapped tightly around the handles of the jet ski. His biceps flex ever so subtly as he leans forward on the handle bars, and he smiles softly as he catches me staring. I run my hands over my hair, pushing the soaking strands back from my face. I grin as he watches my movements, eyes dipping to the water hitting right at my shoulders. 

“Are you trying to get us in more trouble?”

He laughs, eyes squinting, “I’m just trying to swim with one of my lifelong friends. Or take her for a ride on the jet ski.”

I stare at him for a moment, running my hands over my hair to push the wet strands back from my face. All it takes from Max is a quirk of his eyebrow and hint of a grin, and I give in to his request. 

“Got a life vest for me?” I ask, taking his outstretched hand as I hoist myself on to the lip of the jet ski.

I can feel Max’s eyes on my ass as I haul my legs up onto the lip, hand gripping his knee as I rise precariously. The jet ski bobs in the water at the unbalanced movement, and Max’s hands steady my waist as I pitch forward. I dangle over the blue sea briefly, acutely aware of his hands on me keeping me from tumbling over. When it feels steady enough, I throw a leg over the seat, sliding in toward Max. 

He looks over his shoulder at me, “You’ve got to hang on, liefje. I don’t bite.”

I roll my eyes, sliding my arms around his waist as the velcro of the life vest presses into my forearms, “Do you want Dion to kill us?”

“He’d have my head if I let you fly off the jet ski, so we’re in trouble either way, aren’t we?”

“Hanna told Victoria about the club,” I admit to him, unable to keep from telling him as he slowly steers us toward the yacht. “I told them you stayed the night, but that nothing happened.”

“But that’s not entirely true, is it?” he says, and I just stare at the back of his head as he comes to a stall near the yacht. 

He grabs my hand again, steadying me as I step onto the yacht to grab a life vest of my own. He watches me secure it across my chest, and I catch his eyes firmly planted on my chest being squeezed by the neoprene. I roll my eyes at him, muttering how he’s lucky Dion can’t see us, and he grins as he helps me back onto the jet ski. My arms wrap around his waist again, fingers brushing the exposed skin of his stomach, and he inhales sharply at the contact. 

“You alright there?” I grin, my index finger doing another pass over his skin. 

He breathes in again, “Hold on, liefje. I’d hate to have to dive in after you.”

“In your dreams,” I start, turning into squealing laughter as Max sends us flying away from the yacht. 

My arms tighten around him, squeezing around his waist as my hips slip toward him on the soaked seat. My knees hug the outside of his thighs as we zip through the water, and my skin slides against his as the waves jostle us. My chest presses to his back, and I can’t help but become hyper aware of the lack of space between us and the warmth spreading through my limbs. Once he’s had his go at showing off, he slows the jet ski to a steady pace thats farther from the yacht. One of his hands releases his grip on the handle bars, resting over mine wrapped tightly around his waist. 

He laughs airily as his fingers rest on mine, “If you wanted to touch me like this, all you had to do was ask, liefje. You’ve got a death grip.”

A surge of confidence flows through my veins at the rasp in his voice, “Touch you like what, Max?”

My hand not covered by his runs across the elastic at the top of his shorts, skimming across skin and through the scattering of hair around his navel. I smirk as his breath catches and stomach clenched at my touch. 

I lean toward his ear, “Touch you like this?”

He takes a steadying breath, voice raspy as he speaks, “Please, don’t start something we can’t finish. It’s not your fault, but I can’t take it again.”

“That was nice of you, Maxie,” I say sweetly, leaning my chin on his shoulder. “Saying no because I was drunk even though I was begging for you.”

“It was the right thing,” he shrugs gently, breathing in sharply as my index finger continues its slow journey across his skin. “You were nearly impossible, though. Begging to suck me off like a good girl.”

“And if I still want to?” I hum, stopping my hands. 

“Then we need to figure out a way to be discreet,” he answers, craning his neck to look at me over his shoulder. “They’re probably wondering where we’ve gone now, and I don’t need your brother mad at me again in regard to you.”

“Then, let me drive,” I say to him, taking in his side profile beneath the beating sun. “We’ll say you were teaching me. Discreet, right?”

Surprisingly, it doesn’t take much convincing for Max to agree to letting me pilot the Red Bull branded jet ski. I reluctantly let go of his waist, fingers falling away from his waistband, and I notice his breath return to normal when I do. Max throws his arm out again, gripping my hand tightly to help me balance as I shimmy along the lip of the jet ski and over him to switch spots. He slides in behind me when I settle in front of the handlebars, and I notice the gap of space he leaves on purpose between us. His knees press against the outside of my thighs, and his arms wrap over mine to touch the handles. He does a crash course on piloting the jet ski, and while I pay some attention, I’m more focused on his voice in my ear and the closing gap between us. 

“You want to give it a go?” he asks, hands dropping from mine to settle at my waist instead. I nod, and he continues, “Ease onto the throttle, and hold tight to the handles.”

I follow his instructions, sending us gliding across the water in a crawl much slower than Max’s turn. As our speed picks up some, I let out a laugh as the waves batter against the hull of the jet ski. Max’s chest bumps into my back with the force of the waves, and his hips slide closer to mine. I feel him bump into my ass, and his breath hitches as it does. To test my theory, I arch my back ever so slightly, smirking when his hands tighten on my hips enough to leave soft bruises in their wake. He’s straining against his board shorts, nestled against my ass with every bump from the waves, and he groans when I look at him over my shoulder. 

“You’re such a tease,” his voice is strained. “You’re going to get us into trouble.”

“Us or you?” I hum, arching my back again as he sucks in air through his teeth. “I can control myself, Maxie.”

One of his hands slides to my inner thigh, fingers ghosting across the skin and skimming the seam of my red swimsuit bottoms. I gasp as he grins, white knuckling the handlebars, and the nickname I’ve used for him hangs heavy in the air. He leans forward, fingers stilling but resting heavy on my skin, and mutters lowly, “Do I need to remind you how you were begging?”

I arch my back into him, feeling his hardness press into me and his hand press into my leg, “Do I need to again?”

His fingers climb my inner thigh, rubbing circles across the supple skin, and I slump back into him at the sensation. Hands ease off the handlebars as the jet ski comes to a stall. Max’s laugh is quiet in my ear, his breath fanning across my neck, “It sounds like you don’t need any convincing.”

“Max,” I gasp, his fingers setting fire across my skin in their wake. “Max, please. I don’t care that they’re all here. I’ll make up an excuse.”

“Liefje, you and I both know it’s not a good idea,” he whispers quietly, fingers continuing their slow crawl on my skin. “No matter how bad I want to.”

“What happened to no teasing?” my chest heaves, fingers wrapping around his wrist. 

The waves lap against the jet ski, and Max chuckles quietly at my labored breathing. I arch my back again, pressing myself against Max, and he curses quietly at the pressure. One of his hands slides around my thigh, gripping the skin firmly as I gasp.

“You really want to do this now?” his voice is rough in my ear, clawing for any sense of clarity with my ass pressed against him. I nod my head against his shoulder, fingers gripping at his wrist tightly. He continues against my ear, “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to take us back to the yacht. You’re going to act like you’re going to be sick, and I’m just a helpful friend. If anyone asks later, I was helping you clean up after you got sick, got it?”

I nod my head, “And what is actually going to happen?”

“We find out how good of a listener you are,” he says, and I let out a whine at his words. 

Making it back to the yacht happens in a blur as I’m too consumed with images of what's to come, and lying to them on the bow is easy as Victoria asks where we’re headed. My distracted state helps sell the story, and I stumble into one of the bedrooms on the massive yacht. Max shuts the door behind him, making sure to click the lock on it, before facing me. I stand dumbly near the bed, watching his every move and ripple of his muscle as he takes steadying breaths. When our eyes meet, it’s like telepathy. 

We simultaneously launch at one another, lips clashing in a familiar dance with a ferocious pace. The club had been hazy, distant memories of his hands on my hips and in my hair and his lips on my skin, but this — this is the feeling of my skin being lit from within. His hands are in my hair, tugging at the strands with a force that makes me weak, and my fingers curl into his hair as he walks us toward the bed in the middle of the room. My knees hit the duvet, and we break apart long enough to scramble onto the bed before resuming our desperate dance. 

“Max, please,” I breathe as his lips work down my neck.

My hips press into his as his hands skim down my hips, “So impatient, liefje.”

“Need you to fuck me,” I say, and he groans as I do. 

Max looks up from stomach, his eyes hooded and grin on his face. The image of him between my legs and my hands in his hair nearly causes me to combust, but I could care less about how desperate I look. 

“You’re lucky we don’t have much time,” he answers, fingers reaching behind my back to tug at the bikini strings. 

The red top falls away from me, and Max’s fingers pull the damp material away to expose my chest. His hands palm my breasts, fingers gripping at peaked nipples as I moan into his touch. Desperate pleas fall from my lips at his ministrations, and my nails scrape lightly along his back. 

He groans quietly, lips brushing against my chest as he continues his tortuous touches, “Next time, when we have more time, I want to taste you.”

“Next time?” I grin, turning to a moan as his fingers dip into my swimsuit bottoms.

He nods, humming as he pulls the red bottoms down my legs, “You know there will be a next time, liefje. There’s too many things we want to do.”

I kick the bottoms off my legs in assistance, watching as he tosses them carelessly to the side before his hands tug at the waistband of his board shorts. My hands settle over his, and he slows his movements as he watches my every move. 

“Let me,” I whisper, hands replacing his as I tug slowly at the elastic band. 

He lets me, dropping one of his hands to his side and letting the other settle in my hair. I look up at him, biting back a grin and relishing in the power he holds over me. My fingers tug his board shorts down his thighs, hands stuttering as his cock leaps to attention when the barrier is gone. The board shorts are discarded along with my bikini in record time, and I take a moment to admire him towering over me. Fingers wrap around his shaft, and he watches with a sigh as my lips find him, wrapping around the head slowly before returning to my spot admiring him. 

“You’ll get to, liefje,” he grunts quietly, nudging me back toward the bed. “When we have more time. Right now, fucking you is all I can think about.”

I curse at his words, letting him maneuver me among the pillows as he crawls over top of me. Our lips meet again, swollen lips clashing as his hips press against mine. I moan into the kiss, feeling the weight of him on my body and desperate for me. One of his hands slips between us, finding my clit to rub slow circles while his other hand slides down my leg, gently wrapping around my calf. He lifts my leg, fingers pressing into my calf, and lets it rest against his arm hooked at my hip. With another plea and minimal thought, he hoists my other leg before sliding into me. The press of him against me is mind-altering, causing my eyes to squeeze shut as my nails sink into his shoulders. The moan that falls from my lips as he slides all the way into me should be embarrassing, but I can’t think about anything else but Max.

“I know, babe,” he groans, stilling as he heaves for air. “God, you’re perfect.”

“Max, I-” I start, eyes opening to meet his. “You feel so good.”

“Fuck, we’re doing this again,” he mutters, hands pressing into my hips as he moves slowly. 

My eyes flutter shut at the sensation, another moan as he begins a slow pace into me, “I never want it to end.”

“We never have to,” he answers, sweat beginning to bead at his hairline. 

The pace he picks up is relentless, and the slap of his skin against mine is obscene. I can’t bring myself to care, too focused on the way Max fills me and his hands leave bruises on my skin. He hoists my legs higher to rest on his shoulders, and he hits a spot so deep within me that my eyes screw shit as I let out a pathetic whimper. 

“There you go, baby,” he grunts, keeping his relentless pace. “Let me hear it, doll. I feel it, too.”

“Max, fuck,” I choke, eyes beginning to roll into the back of my head. “I’m going to-”

“I know, liefje,” he groans, voice a rasp in my ear. “I’m nearly there. Tell me where you want me.”

“Want you in me,” I answer, fingers gripping his shoulders tightly as a desperate attempt to keep from spiraling over the edge. “Please.”

“Fuck, I can’t say no to you,” he mutters, hips stuttering at a crushing pace against me. 

I try to tell him — to warn him that I’m too far gone — but I can’t get any words out as the sensation overwhelms me. My eyes screw shut as I slump against the pillows, and Max isn’t far behind as I clench around him. I’m filled with warmth, and in the haze of what we’d just done, I find comfort in his body pressed to mine and our intimate connection. He lingers for a moment as he regains his senses, pulling out gently to which I protest, but he returns with tissues to clean me up as best as he can before reaching for my bathing suit for me. He props my still shaking body up, tying my bikini straps for me and sliding straps up my shoulders. 

“C’mon, up you go,” he whispers, helping to pull my red bottoms up my legs and tugging at the waistband to cover my bruised hips. “There you go, pretty girl.”

He tugs his board shorts on himself, and I watch as he tucks himself into the waistband. Red scratches and indents adorn the milky skin of his back, and my cheeks burn red at the damage I’ve done.

“You’ll need a shirt to go back down, I’m sorry,” I whisper. 

He laughs as he leans forward, kissing my lips gently, “I’ll tell them its from the jet ski if they ask. You got scared when I went too fast, but you were good and took it, didn’t you?”

“Fuck you,” I groan. “How am I supposed to go down there and pretend I didn’t have the best sex of my life?”

He grabs my hand to help pull me up from the mattress, “I’d agree with that statement.”

As we head to the end of the hallway, lingering at the top of the stairs to take us back to the bow, I turn to Max, hand resting on his chest as our eyes meet. We both grin when we meet eyes, and I laugh quietly as he wiggles his eyes.

“The rest of holiday, can we do this?” I ask gently, rubbing gentle circles into his skin.

“More than just holiday,” he answers, caressing my ass as we walk down the steps. I swat at him as we near the steps, but he continues, “Tonight after dinner. My room. We have no schedule.”

I watch as he heads toward Dion, leaving me to go back to the girls. God, I’m screwed.

[lovelybrooke]

IT IS I!! Now that I’ve written about Vox Val and Carmilla I will finally attempt my interpretation of ALASTOR. So just letting you know I was about to send this multiple times within the week but was never satisfied, and so this is an attempt :), I might send in more stuff if I feel this isn’t detailed enough/ incomplete.

Alastor see’s the reader as a fun little puzzle at first, putting them on the stop and trying to figure out what was going on in that little head of theirs, to him this was just entertainment, he really couldn’t care less about the reader, he just saw them as something to keep him entertained if he’s free or bored.

He only really starts to actually like the reader once their a little more comfortable, at least comfortable enough to engage in conversation with Alastor himself or the group, their views on the world, the hotel and whatever is insightful, he finds he actually likes conversing with them even if they don’t agree on most things, the fact that they’re so kind and helpful to everyone, even those who wronged them, intrigues and confuses him, but that isn’t a bad thing, it must just mean that they’re naive and ignorant, he reckons they haven’t actually seen the bad In people. Except he’s wrong, and he learns this during one of their small conversations (with or without the group), the reader spoke about it so casually, their neglect and abuse, it was completely fine to them, they still insist on being kind and helpful to the people who’ve wronged them. Suddenly it isn’t that they’re ignorant, or that they have just been surrounded by good, in a way they’re like him in a way, treated unjustly. (His backstory has yet to be explored but I’m going off of what Vivziepop shared relating to his mother’s death and his weird moral code).

Not to say reader is determined but in Alastor’s mind the reader’s perspective of life is a reflection on their own motivations, and he’s impressed, he might see parts of the reader in charlie but still thinks the reader is distinct in a way Charlie isn’t, they want to help but they aren’t out there, they help in ways that people don’t notice. (I have some examples but I’m shit at explaining so I’ll leave this somewhat up to interpretation) and now that he’s realized this he reflects back to old conversations and realizes how careful they are, not just because they’re anxious but they’re always paying attention, doing little actions that Alastor hadn’t realized is supposed to cater to him.

And now Alastor is really paying attention, is the reader naive? Yes, but they’re so thoughtful in everything they do that he just can’t help but keep watching them, he feels like he’s the only one who’s able to properly guide them, without taking advantage of them. He talks to Rosie about how insightful and clever the reader is, how lovely their company is and so on.

Then he finally notices the Vees watching, as it is he was obsessed but that amplified the second there was competition, suddenly he realizes that someone else could take someone he cares for away from him, and although he always knew there were people out to get him, he didn’t think those same people would want to snatch you.

And me personally I think, every time he feels his relationship with the reader is threatened he’ll become more and more obsessed, more possessive.

ANYWAY IM DONE! I decided to look at some stuff In the canon au master list which helped me a lot :) :), you are free to disagree with anything I wrote thank you for listening!!! (Please pardon any typos)

Omg more stuff I love it.

This was exactly how I viewed Alastor's obsession with reader. Like he views them as a puzzle and wants figure out how/why they're in hell, why they're so nice, what exactly is going on in their head.

And as time goes on this obsession grows and grows, so when he learns that no, reader isn't naive, they've gone through so shit and try their hardest to see the good in people, he's like, genuinely surprised, which is a first for him.

And you're right, Alastor has this idea that he's readers favorite person so when the Vee's and the other overlords start showing interest in reader he becomes way, way more obsessed.

I hope you're writing your own stuff because you're genuinely such an amazing writer, please keep sending stuff in I love it.

[chvoswxtch]

hello! I hope ur having a good day! I have a request if you’re up to it! we’ve always had Professor matt so to spice things up can we have a college!matt x professor!reader? he’s actively trying to gain the pretty professor’s attention and she’s slowly falling for it. you can make it fluffy or spicy or smutty. its all up to you!

hi nonnie!

I hope you're having a good day as well! I genuinely loved this idea bc we all know matty is a flirt but I feel like college!matty is a HUGE flirt and would totally go after the pretty professor. and honestly, she would eat that shit up, let's be real. but who wouldn't???

thank you so much for the request! ❤️

warning: contains mentions of sexual content (minors please dni), swearing word count: 3k

office hours.

When Matt was reminded by his advisor that he needed to take a literature course to satisfy his degree plan, his eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head. He had been continuously putting it off, but with one final semester left of undergrad, he couldn’t graduate without it. It wasn’t that Matt didn’t enjoy reading, he simply just wasn’t interested in taking anything that didn’t have to do with his program. He’d read enough “classic literature” and written enough analysis essays in high school, and he wasn’t looking forward to going through that agonizing process again. Reluctantly, he signed up for the last course available.

Taking a seat in the very back of the small classroom, Matt set up his laptop and plugged an earbud into his ear, prepared to appear engaged while he got started on a project for another class. All around him seats filled up with other students, but it wasn’t until he caught the sweet scent of pink grapefruit and blue wisteria that his fingers stilled over his keyboard. He turned his head slightly to the side towards the wall as the scent rushed down the hall, accompanied by a racing heartbeat. Matt’s head snapped towards the front when you walked through the classroom door slightly out of breath, heat in your cheeks from the run, and also a twinge of embarrassment. 

“Probably not the best first impression to be late on the first day of class, but in my defense, I’m still learning how to navigate New York. I can’t promise I won’t be late again, so we won’t be counting tardies in this class, to a reasonable limit.”

An anxious giggle left your lips, and luckily everyone seemed to find the humor in your admission. Matt’s lips parted slightly at the sound, and he quickly ripped the earbud out of his ear as you introduced yourself.

“Hi everyone. My name is Y/N Y/L/N, please call me Y/N. This is my first year teaching, and you guys are my second class, so we’re figuring this all out together.”

Another timid giggle left your lips, and Matt clenched his fist tightly as the sound settled in his ears. 

“I don’t expect perfection, I just want you guys to do your best. We aren’t reading things some arrogant ‘expert’ decided was a classic, or writing mind numbing papers identifying every literary device to prove you know what they are. I want to show you works that move you and make you think…make you feel. And I want to know what they make you think, and how they make you feel. The only way to fail this class is to not try.”

God your voice. It was as sweet as your perfume and had a velvet cadence that stuck to Matt’s ears like honey. He wanted to listen to you talk for hours, about anything. Your heart continued to beat wildly in your chest throughout the duration of class, and you fiddled with the rings on your fingers as you paced slowly around. You were incredibly nervous. Matt could feel it in the tremble of your fingers, hear it in the slight shake of your voice, and feel it in the rush of blood that never left your cheeks. He found it endearing that you were so anxious, and could hear how passionate you were in the way you spoke. Everything about you drew him in, and before he could stop himself, he was marching up to your desk once everyone filed out of the room to introduce himself.

“Excuse me? Hi, my name is-”

“Matthew Murdock, right?”

Matt abruptly paused, and he swallowed the sound that threatened to come out of his mouth at the way you said his name.

“J-just Matt, uh…yeah.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Matt. I’m Y/N.”

Your hand was so soft and small clasped in his own, and he could faintly smell the scent of blackberry from a lotion you’d smoothed over your body the previous evening. 

“It’s nice to meet you as well.”

“You have perfect timing, I was actually just about to come to you.”

Matt’s ears perked up at that, and he stood up a little straighter, already missing your touch as you slowly let go of his hand.

“You were?”

“Yeah, this is for you.”

You lightly wrapped your fingers around his wrist, carefully guiding his hand to a folder that you had outstretched in your hand. Matt cocked his head to the side slightly as he let his fingers glide over the folder, pausing as they ran over a braille label that had his name on it. Taking the folder into his hands, he opened it to find stacks of paper in braille on the inside.

“It’s the syllabus, a list of the works we’re studying, and the first section of notes we’re going to go over. I wasn’t sure if you were able to access the digital copies. I’m still trying to figure out how the portal works, honestly.”

There was a timid smile that stretched across your mouth, and Matt could hear a slight bit of nerves in your confession. For a moment he was stunned silent by the kind gesture, swallowing thickly as he closed the folder and offered you a small smile in return.

“I-uh…yeah, I was able to. But um…I-thank you. For this, I uh…I appreciate it.”

“Of course. I like to have tangible copies of things, myself. Helps keep me organized. Or, at least I think it does. Maybe it’s a sensory thing and I’m just tricking myself into thinking it’s making me more productive.”

Matt couldn’t help but chuckle as you giggled softly, nodding his head in agreement.

“I can understand that.”

“Well if there’s ever anything you need, any help or accommodations at all, please don’t hesitate to tell me. All my information is on the syllabus, and I practically live here since I never go home, so my office is always open.”

“Good to know.”

From that day forward, Matt sat in the front row for every single class. He blitzed through every single text on the syllabus, always prepared to participate in the discussions, and approached every assignment early. He wanted so badly to impress you, and his chest swelled with pride every time you complimented one of his thoughts or ideas, or stayed behind after class to offer your positive verbal feedback on one of his assignments. 

Matt knew he wasn’t the only one that wanted the pretty, young professor’s attention. He could hear the way the other students in class talked about you, which caused a tide of possessiveness to rise in his chest. Matt could also feel your affect on them as you smiled in their direction, or offered a compliment to one of their remarks, and it made jealousy simmer in his bloodstream. He was determined to be your favorite.

He found himself constantly stopping by your office hours to feign needing help or a second opinion on his approach to a paper, mainly as an excuse to talk to you alone, but also to scratch that itch of praise when you confirmed he was on the right track. Matt knew he was smart, and he knew he wrote incredible papers, but he liked hearing that come from you. 

He loved when you complimented his intelligence. Was it wrong to fake being unsure just to hear you say, “That’s exactly right, Matt” or “I hadn’t even thought of it that way, but I love that idea”? Probably. But it didn’t feel wrong. It felt good.

Matt had to be careful playing dumb. You both knew he was smart, so he had to switch his tactics up. He found himself asking for other recommendations for reading material from you, wanting to know what your favorite works were, going out to buy them and consume them just to get a glimpse into your head, and then listen to the passion in your voice as you explained why they meant so much to you. He liked that you asked him questions too, questions he didn’t hear you ask any of the others when they stopped by. You asked him about how his other classes were going, how his day had been, about himself and his friends, and he could tell you genuinely cared about the answers. Every second he spent with you, he felt the crush he had on you getting stronger and stronger. He knew the way he felt about you was wrong. You were his professor, and he shouldn’t be having the thoughts about you that he did.

He shouldn’t feel like his heart was going to beat out of his chest every time you smiled in his direction and showered his mind in praise. He shouldn’t feel the spark of something more when you let him hold your arm as you guided him towards your office, reveling in the feeling of your soft skin beneath his fingertips. He shouldn’t stroke his cock to the sound of your voice from a recorded lecture, waiting to let himself come until it got to the part of the recording where you said his name so sweetly. He shouldn’t be waking up with a wet patch on his sweats after yet another wet dream about fucking you over your desk. All of this was wrong, and the good Catholic boy in him knew that.

But he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

Because every time he started to feel guilty about what he was doing, he reminded himself of the way your body reacted to him.

Matt was careful with his flirting, crafting his sentences in a way that could be played off as casual conversation or banter, but riddled with undertones that could only be understood by the person given the cipher. The blood that rushed into your cheeks when Matt complimented you back or said something teasing that made you giggle only fueled his confidence to get bolder and bolder as the weeks went by. 

He heard the uptick in your heart rate when he mentioned how soothing he found your voice, and the way it pounded beneath your ribs when he “accidentally” brushed his hand over your exposed thigh to reach for his backpack. He felt the warmth that pooled in your cheeks when he stopped by with your favorite coffee, and when he confessed that you were one of the best professor’s he’d ever had; definitely “his favorite”, he had said. He should’ve felt bad that he could possibly ruin a career that you were clearly very passionate about, but the selfish part of his brain was screaming that you felt it too. 

With spring break approaching soon, and the thought of going a whole week without being around you, Matt devised a plan to finally make you his.

The building was empty considering most professors and students had left the previous day to get a head start on vacation plans, but Matt smiled to himself hearing your familiar heartbeat coming from your office. You had made class today optional, in case anyone was traveling or needed the break, and Matt had hoped that he would’ve been the only one to show up. To his disappointment, about half the class was there, but he knew he would get you alone soon enough. Matt waited until your office hours were just about to end, in case any other student had some last minute question, and when he was certain that it was just the two of you alone, he raised his knuckles to knock softly on the worn wood of your open door.

A quiet gasp left your lips, clearly surprised by the company, and Matt had to stop the cocky smirk that threatened to take over his mouth at the way your heart started to beat faster noticing his presence.

“Matt, hey.”

“Hey. I didn’t miss your office hours, did I?”

“Uh…nope. You have exactly a minute.”

Matt’s mouth split into a wide toothy grin at the playful tone in your voice, chuckling as he followed the familiar path from the door to the chair that was directly in front of your desk.

“Well, I’ll make this quick then. I know you have very important spring break plans to get to.”

“Oh yeah. Super important. I mean, my takeout isn’t gonna order itself.”

Matt dropped his backpack on the right side of the chair, folding up his cane as he sank back into the plush cushion and tossed it down by his feet. He pulled off his glasses and set them on your desk, a habit he had gotten into since you’d let it slip that you preferred it when he didn’t wear them.

I feel like you hide behind those, sometimes. It’s nice to get to see all of you, Matt.

His tongue darted out to quickly wet his lips as he fixed his gaze in your direction, a timid smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“I actually need to ask a favor of you.”

“Of course, Matt. Whatever you need. What can I do?”

Matt gripped onto his own thigh to steady himself, your immediate response and sweet voice hitting his cock before they even reached his ears. His lips parted slightly when you sat up a little straighter in your chair, leaning in closer over your desk with a warm smile on your lips.

“I need a letter of recommendation for the law program.”

“And you’re asking me?”

Matt couldn’t help but laugh at the surprised tone of your voice, shaking his head slowly as he leaned in closer to your desk and rested his elbows on the surface.

“I already have a few from my other professors, but my advisor mentioned having one from a professor outside of my main area of study would make me seem more…well rounded.”

Matt should’ve felt horrible about lying. He didn’t actually need a letter of recommendation from you. He’d applied to the law program months ago, and had already gotten in, but he would confess that later.

“Mm, so I’m next in line to make you look good?”

“Well, you are my favorite, and you have a way of making everything sound beautiful. If I’d taken your class a long time ago like I was supposed to, I probably would’ve asked you first before anyone else.”

Matt didn’t miss the sharp intake of breath you took, or the way your face instantly became a few degrees warmer.

“You wouldn’t have been able to take my class earlier, Matt. This is my first year, remember? You would’ve been stuck with someone else.”

“I guess I forget sometimes because you’re so good at this. But, that’s true. I don’t think I would’ve liked who I got stuck with as much as I like you. I’m glad I waited for you.”

Matt did his best to stay calm as he heard you swallow thickly, your breathing becoming a little more shallow as your heart rate drummed loudly in his ears.

“That’s…really nice of you to say, Matt-”

“I mean it.”

A blanket of tension suddenly surrounded the two of you, and his lips parted slightly as he caught a faint shudder course through you. Your fingers clutched the hem of your dress where it settled high on your thighs, digging your nails lightly into your palms through the fabric. Matt was waiting for your body to give him a signal, indisputable proof that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you, before he crossed that line the two of you had been dancing around.

“Um…when do you need it by?”

“The earlier the better, I’m a little behind. But, take your time. I’d like this to be as…real and honest as possible.”

“I…um…I can have it ready for you by the time we come back from spring break.”

“That’s perfect, thank you. I really appreciate you doing this for me. I appreciate everything that you do for me, truly.”

“O-of course. It’s my job, Matt.”

Matt’s voice dropped an octave lower as he cocked his head to the side slightly, running his tongue along his bottom lip before the corner of his mouth curled upwards into a devilish smirk. 

“No. I think it’s more than that.”

Bingo.

The second he felt you press your thighs together under the desk and the enticing scent of your arousal hit his nose, Matt knew he had you. He rose from the chair steadily, gliding around the side of your desk slowly like a predator circling in on its prey, grabbing onto the sides of your chair as he bent over so that your faces were merely an inch apart.

“I think you know that too, sweetheart.”

“Matt-”

“I think if I put my hand between these pretty thighs, you’d be just as wet for me as I am hard for you.”

A shocked gasp flew past your lips as you sank back further into your chair, fighting the urge to spread your thighs to let Matt test his own theory, and averting your gaze from the prominent bulge in his jeans. 

“We can’t-”

Matt lightly grasped your chin in his hand as he forced you to look at him. He delicately traced his thumb along your bottom lip, leaning in ever so slightly to bump his nose against yours as he inhaled your scent deeply.

“You’ve done so much for me. Been so good to me, sweetheart. Shown me so much kindness. I’d like to repay that kindness, and show you how much I appreciate you. You gonna let me do that?”

A soft whine of desperation sounded in your throat, and a huge grin split across Matt’s mouth as you leaned further into his touch. He had you exactly where he wanted you.

“Yes you are. Because you’re my girl. My good girl.”

tags: @yarrystyleeza @little-miss-dilf-lover @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042

[writeroutoftime]

speak now

pairing: peter parker x reader

summary: when peter is getting married, you just want to go and make sure he's happy. but what happens when the officiant asks a very pertinent question?

warnings: none

words: 1.8k

a/n: this is an idea I've had forever, but in honor of taylor's version of the 'speak now' album, I finally finished it! please enjoy!

oOoOo

Leaning against Michelle’s kitchen counter, you glanced down at her pile of mail and noticed a thick, glossy card sticking out. “What’s this?” you asked curiously, moving forward to pull the card out from the pile.

Before you could, Michelle’s hand reached out and snatched the card. “It’s nothing.” she told you, rather unconvincingly.

“Alright.” you conceded, looking the other way before darting your hand out to grab the card from MJ’s unsuspecting hands. “Let go!” you shouted, wrestling the paper into your grasp, letting out a triumphant shout when you won the struggle.

Looking down at the card, your eyes scanned the cursive lettering, quickly noticing it was an invitation, suddenly freezing in your spot. The longer you stared at the invitation, the more you thought your heart was going to break out of your chest with how erratically it was beating. Tears welled in your eyes, yet you did nothing to keep them at bay.

You are cordially invited to the wedding of Peter Benjamin Parker and Regina Ann Thompson on August 15, 2023

“y/n.” MJ began, approaching you cautiously, arms open and eyes cast down in pity.

“He’s getting married.” you whispered, more so to yourself than anyone else. “When did you get this?” you asked, spinning around to face your friend. “When did you get this?” you repeated, waving the invitation franticly.

“Three weeks ago.”

Three weeks ago. Definitely too long to blame the postal office for a late invitation. “So, he doesn’t want me there.” you spoke aloud, falling down into a nearby chair.

It wasn’t that you felt you deserved to be at Peter’s wedding or that it was the greatest sin of all times you weren’t invited; but you thought that after everything the two of you had been through he would have at least had the decency to call you – hell even a text would be great – to let you know he was engaged. Once upon a time, the two of you were a couple, and there was a time in your life you imagined that you would be the one to marry Peter. You were so young and in love, oblivious to the world around you and the challenges that threatened your relationship.

As one of Peter’s oldest friends, of course, you knew that he was Spider-Man. In fact, you supported him through it all, never letting it get in the way of your friendship or the feelings you had for him. Eventually, Peter wised up and asked you out, and the rest was supposed to be history. While everything was fine at first, down the road you learned how difficult it was being the significant other of a superhero.

The sweet nothings and soft gazes eventually morphed into harsh words thrown at each other in the middle of the night after long patrols for Peter and constant worrying for you. Secrets built up like skyscrapers and the trust that once existed between the two of you for so long dissolved. Eventually, you figured it was better to stop now before either of you said things you would regret, no matter how much it hurt.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you, y/n. You were just starting to live again, and I don’t want you to hole yourself back up.” MJ explained, wrapping her arms around your frame.

You let her hug you, keeping your own arms limp against your side, the gears in your mind turning and turning. “Take me as your plus one.” you finally said, pulling away to look MJ in the eyes.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Please MJ.” you begged. “Let me have, let this be my closure.” you continued, your mouth seemingly working faster than your mind. “I won’t even talk to him or let him know that I’m there. Please, I just want to see that he’s happy.” you cried, voice breaking at the end.

At the end of the day, even if Peter had left you with a broken heart, you just wanted to know that everything worked out for him. Even if you couldn’t be the one to give it to him, Peter deserved his happily ever after. Silently, you pleaded with MJ, your eyes glassy and desperate as she mulled the thought over.

“Fine.” she yielded. “But then that’s it, you have to get back out there and live your life.” she compromised.

“Promise.” you agreed. “He won’t even know that I’m there.”

oOoOo

Weeks later, you found yourself outside a church watching as friends and families eagerly filed in. Your eyes watched as MJ continued inside to her seat up front. She had offered to sit in the back with you, but you urged her to be there to support Peter. Besides, she would find you after the whole ceremony was over and you could make your escape.  

As you waited, your leg bounced, nerves continually rolling through your body. All you wanted was a glance of Peter before the ceremony. Looking both ways with determination, you snuck into the back rooms of the church, searching for where Peter would be waiting. Before you could find him, however, you heard voices coming your way, so you slipped into the nearest empty room, pressing yourself against the wall. Sucking in a breath, you willed yourself to become invisible. But what you heard had you slowly poking your head around the corner.

“What the hell?” a voice shrieked out. “Are you able to do this, or do I need to get someone else to do your job?”

Once glance and you saw the shouts came from Peter’s bride to be – Regina- who stood in front of a trembling bridesmaid, pointing fingers widely. The dress she wore looked as though it came straight out of a bakery, and you had to hold in your laugh. The bridal party walked by the room you were hidden in, and you pushed yourself further against the wall.

A breath of relief escaped your lips, but your heart clenched immediately after. Was this who Peter was marrying? Was this who was going to make him happy for the rest of his life?

Knowing you didn’t have much time left, you hurried into the church and slipped into a pew in the very last row. It wasn’t long before the officiant came out, shortly followed by Peter.

It was like time stopped the moment your eyes landed on his figure, His dark hair gelled back for the occasion, fiddling with his sleeves as he waited. You tried to gauge his emotion – was it a happy-nervous tick or a ‘dear god someone get me out of this’ nervous tick. Before you could think on it anymore, the organ music changed and the bridal procession began as the bridesmaids walked down the aisle before everyone stood as Regina walked out.

While all heads turned towards her, yours stayed on Peter the whole time, analyzing the way he reacted to his almost wife walking towards him. A smile graced his features, but even from far away you could tell the smile didn’t reach his eyes. Was all of this a joke? Was he settling? Looking for a way out?

Your mind raced with all these thoughts as officiant droned on. But something in your heart kept calling to you. Telling you that this wasn’t the way things were supposed to be. Telling you that you had to do something. Even if it was a mistake, you couldn’t live with the ‘what ifs’ that would plague your mind if you stayed quiet. And so, when the officiant called out “…speak out or forever hold your peace” you knew it was your moment.

As if possessed by some unknown force, you peeled yourself off the cold pew and stood among the sea of viewers. A collective gasp rang out through the church at your action, MJ being one of the first to look at you with a ‘are you kidding me’ look on her face. But, more importantly, you caught Peter’s gaze for the first time in months.

His jaw went slack as he stared at you. It had been months since Peter allowed himself to look at you. He had tried to shove everything that happened between you both into the furthest corners of his mind, but it seemed like fate had other plans.  

“What is going on?” Regina demanded, recognition in her eyes as she started you down.

Sweaty palms rested against your thighs, and you knew this was your last chance. With a deep breath, you let it all pour out. “Look, Peter, I am not the type of person who should be interrupting a wedding of all events. But I also know you. And I know that you are not the type of guy who should be marrying the wrong girl.  

“This is selfish of me, I’ll admit that. And if I am completelywrong then say the word and I will walk out of those doors with a smile on my face knowing that you’re happy. Because that’s all I want for you. But if there is even a small part of you that doesn’t want to go through with this marriage, then don’t.” you practically begged, not yet finished.

“You deserve all the happiness in the world, Peter. I know we had our challenges, but we were also something amazing together. So, please, don’t be noble Peter Parker always wanting to do the right thing. Do what you want to do.” you told him, fighting back the tears. “And, again, I know this was awful time, but I was told to speak now, right?” you asked through a watery giggle, staring down the man you loved as if your life depended on it.

There was a heavy silence that blanketed the church over the next few moments. With each second that passed, your heart grew heavier and heavier fearing you made a terrible mistake. Finally, you accepted defeat and began to walk out of the hall. You held yourself tightly, trying not to cry until you made it outside. However, before you could reach the doors, you felt a hand grasp your wrist, spinning you around.

You let out a breathy gasp as you stood face to face with Peter, his lips only inches from yours. It was as if time stood still in that moment, and you had to bite your lip to convince yourself it wasn’t all a dream. Any words you wanted to speak got stuck in your throat, but Peter leaned close to you, his warm breath against your ear caused you to shiver.

“I'll meet you when I'm out of my tux at the back door.” he whispered, nodding ever so slightly in confirmation.

Stumbling back, you left the church and found your way to the backdoor outside, waiting nervously. Nearly 10 minutes passed when the door floor opened, and Peter stood, his tie undone, and his tuxedo jacket abandoned. His hair looked mussed as though he had been anxiously running his fingers through just as you knew he had the habit of.

“Peter.” you breathed out, reaching towards him, nervous he might disappear.

“Did you mean it?” he questioned, grasping you against him tightly.

“What?”

“Did you mean everything you said in there? Are we going to make this work? Tell me I didn’t just walk out of my wedding for nothing.” he begged, also just as scared and vulnerable as you felt.

When words were lost on you, you instead closed the distance between the two of you until your lips met his for the first time in months. Though, it was like no time had passed as you and Peter fell into a familiar rhythm, saying all the apologies and confessions you couldn’t speak aloud. Yes, there was still a lot to work through, but you were together again and that’s all that mattered.

Thank god you were around when they said speak now.

[cheeriecherrymain]

hii can you do a Viktor x reader where he has a crush on reader and everytime they enter a room hes in he gets all nervous and reader can tell so she asks why he is and Viktor just confesses to her and they end up kissing maybe?? Thank you, take your time <3

I am so full of writers block you guys have no idea OOF

---

Viktor x Reader

---

-You’ve been coming to the lab on and off for months now. You’d been invited over many times by one of your best friends, Jayce - multiple times now, in fact. He’d gone so far as to give you directions, telling you on several occasions to ‘just come by whenever you have time’.

-You hadn’t wanted to intrude, at first, knowing that he had important work he was doing: knowing that if you came to say hello that you’d spend the entire afternoon talking.

-But you’d recently found yourself free from the confines of your crappy old job, and you’d figured you might as well take the time to drop in. You hadn’t wanted to go emptyhanded, though, and had packed up a couple boxes of lunch you knew you’d both enjoy.

-And then you’d set out for the location written on a little scrap of paper.

-Jayce, as expected, had welcomed you with open arms the moment you’d knocked and poked your head in. He’d been even more enthused when you revealed you’d brought food.

-He had, of course, given you the grand tour of everything; explaining where everything was, and what certain tools did. He’d even explained a couple of the little gadgets that were laying about, letting you hold them and turn them over in your hands.

- “And this,” he declared loudly, stopping at the last part of the lab, “Is Viktor!”

-You watch, utterly perplexed, as he lays a hand on the shoulder of a man hunched over a desk. Hard enough that said man -Viktor- winces slightly, and sighs. You certainly feel for him; you, too, have been on the receiving end of Jayce’s strength.

- “I would’ve thought you’d start with the fact that you have a partner,” you gently chastise, before turning your attention towards the stranger. “If I’d known you were here, I would have kept my voice down so you could work. Sorry.”

-Viktor relaxes a little bit, some of the tension easing from his body. “It is no issue,” he says quietly, swiveling in his chair so he can partially face you. “You’re not the first guest that Jayce has brought around unannounced - even if you were, he likes to talk while we work. I’m used to background noise.”

-You poorly hide a snort of laughter at the behest of your friend. 

-He’s quite pretty, you think, subtly looking Viktor up and down. Sharp features and warm eyes, not to mention an intriguing accent and a possible sense of humour? You’ve only met him seconds ago, but you’re inclined to believe you’d like to befriend him.

- “Does he still have entire conversations with himself?” you ask, knowing full well you’re going to get complaints about your friendly bullying. “He used to get in trouble for it when we were in class, you know? Anyone who sat near him during exams would be privy to the answers, so everyone was always fighting over who got to be his desk buddy.”

-You lower your voice slightly, barely containing a mischievous grin. “Of course, he usually only got like half the answers right. Smartest person I know - terrible at tests.”

-Jayce groans at the memories, and Viktor looks up at you with amusement. “I feel like there’s more to this story,” he observes, and before you know it, you’ve pulled up a chair beside him to recount as many tales as you can about your school days and the kind of nonsense you’d gotten into.

-Very little gets accomplished that afternoon, thanks to your incessant chattering. But in your defense, Viktor never makes an attempt to dissuade you from talking, whether directly or indirectly. He remains engaged the entire time you’re talking, asking questions and making little quips.

-You still feel bad, though, for keeping them away from their work. Especially once you learn that they’re definitely going to have to stay late in order to catch up.

-As such, you decide to lend them a hand. You don’t know much about their experiments, but you can write well enough. You can run through the more menial and boring tasks, refining their notes and transferring them over into a more tidy format - leaving time for them to work on the things you’re not so versed in.

—

-It ends up becoming a regular thing. You’ll bother the two of them a couple times a week, talk their ears off throughout the day, and then help them through the annoying paperwork that neither of them like. You’re kind of like an unpaid intern, in your opinion, despite their best efforts to compensate you for your time.

-Over the months, your friendship with Viktor develops. You find yourself really looking forward to your days at the lab: of course, you enjoyed spending time with Jayce, but now?

-Now you’re excited about seeing Viktor.

-There’s something about him that just makes him an enjoyable person to be around. He’s engaged in your conversations, and he makes you feel listened to. Not to mention the fact that he’s immeasurably kind, good-natured, funny, smart, and has a mischievous streak that marvels your own.

-You find yourself confiding in him about more personal things: thoughts and feelings you wouldn’t even tell Jayce. Your fears about not being good enough after being sacked from your dead-end job, your unsureness about where you want to go with your life, the doubt you have of your skills and useful qualities.

-And he’s nothing but sweet throughout all your ranting, offering you comfort when your voice cracks, or a gentle hand on your shoulder when you get too riled up.

-He’s become such a welcome and constant presence in your life - you can’t fathom how you’d ever survived without him! Jayce is your dearest friend, but Viktor?

-You consider Viktor your soulmate.

-Which is why you’re so confused when he suddenly…starts brushing you off. Pulling away from your conversations, and canceling the plans you’d made weeks ago.

-You brush it off at first, thinking that he’s probably just busy, or having an off sort of day. Everything will be back to normal tomorrow, you tell yourself, as you pack up your things to head home for the night.

-But then the next day comes, and Viktor is still…cool.

-He barely even acknowledges you when you traipse into the lab, sending your cheerful greetings off. He keeps his head low while he works on his current project, not even bothering to look up and give you the smallest good morning.

-And then, when you try to ask him about what he’s doing? You know that he loves to talk about his theories and what he’s been making, and you’re so ready to ask him questions and get excited along with him!

-But he brushes you off. Again.

- “It’s not anything particularly interesting,” he says, not sparing you a glance. “I’m sure it would only bore you, if you could even understand it.”

-You don’t know how to describe the way his words hurt. The passiveness, the coldness, the implication that you’re not smart enough? Where had Viktor gone, and who was this stranger wearing his face? Saying something so mean to you, knowing that it’s been such a sore spot in the past?

- “Are…you okay?” you ask hesitantly, fiddling with the edges of your sleeves. “You’re acting kind of…I dunno. Weird. If something is bothering you-”

- “I’m perfectly fine,” he cuts you off, keeping his gaze trained on the little machine in his hands while he picks at the wires spilling out of it. “But if you don’t mind, I’m trying to finish this.”

-You nod wordlessly, turning on your heel to go back to your own workspace. 

—

-You have no idea what you’ve done to upset him. 

-At first you thought maybe he was annoyed by something - some event in his life that was bearing down on him and causing him excess stress. You’d thought that Jayce would have surely picked up on it too, on the days you weren’t with them. But…

- “He’s acting the same as usual,” your friend says, around a mouthful of food. The two of you are sat together in the lab, on one of the rare days that Viktor has taken time off (though you’re fairly certain he was forced to). “Why? Did something happen between you guys?”

-You deflate into your chair, hopeless and defeated. “I don’t know,” you admit, sadness creeping into your voice. “One day everything was fine - we were talking and laughing like we usually do, we hugged each other goodnight, went our separate ways, and…the next day it was like I was suddenly the biggest nuisance in his life.”

-You kind of hate how easily tears are brought to your eyes. You’ve only known Viktor for a couple of months - you’d had great conversations, and you’d come to care about him dearly, but…but maybe…

- “Maybe I came on too strong,” you sniffle, swiping your sleeve across your face while Jayce lays a hand on your shoulder. “I know I can be…a lot, sometimes. I’m chatty, and I’m emotional, and I…I get attached so quickly, I just-”

-You sigh.

- “I dunno.”

-Your friend draws you closer then, wrapping you tightly in a hug. It wasn’t often that you found yourselves having a serious enough moment to display your care for one another in such a manner, but at the moment, it’s needed. You sink into his grasp with a hiccup, allowing yourself to be squished.

- “Do you…like him?” Jayce asks then, breaking the comfortable silence between the two of you.

- “And I don’t mean as just a friend,” he clarifies. “You like him like him, don’t you? I see the way you look at him, and how you act around him - the way he acts around you.”

-You freeze.

- “What are you talking about?” you ask, squirming until he releases you. “Viktor doesn’t have feelings for me! He’s mad at me, remember?”

-Jayce finds his seat again, shrugging as he picks up what’s left of his lunch. “I dunno,” he replies, “I’ve never seen him act so soft with anyone else. Like, ever. His eyes get all big when you’re around, and he’s always talking about you when you’re away. He stares after you like a lost puppy, whenever you’re going on about something.”

-Your mind is swimming, with thoughts and anxieties. Going back over every interaction you’ve had since you met him, trying to remember any kind of sign that he’d been flustered, of all things.

-And yes, maybe he had looked at you with the utmost gentleness.

-Maybe he had hung off your every word, and craved your touch. Maybe he did consider you a close friend, as close a friend as you considered him - maybe you were the one who was indifferent to his feelings-

-Oh god, had he been dropping hints the whole time?

-Had you really been so oblivious?

- “Jayce-” you begin, but the man in question holds a hand up to quiet you, grabbing your bag from in between your chairs to hand it to you.

- “Go and talk to him.”

—

-Forty minutes later, you find yourself standing outside an unfamiliar door, at an unfamiliar apartment complex. You’re cold, and soaked to the bone, and your hands are shaking where you tightly grip at the strap of your bag. Even tucked under the awning while you wait for the door to be answered, the wind is still able to send a chill through you.

-You wait a couple dozen seconds before raising your hand to knock again. He’d taken the day off, and with the weather being so miserable, he had to be at home, right?

-Thankfully, right before you bring your fist down, the door clicks as it’s unlocked, and creaks open.

-A beat of silence.

-And then, “Hi.”

-It’s the most awkward word you’ve ever spoken, made even worse when Viktor doesn’t reply right away. He looks you up and down a couple times, his expression going from bored, to surprised, to concerned, all in the span of about three seconds.

- “What are you…” he begins, but shakes his head quickly, brushing the thought away as he steps aside to let you in. “Never mind. Come on, you look like you’re about to freeze to death.”

-You gratefully step into the narrow hallway that is the front of his home, sighing blissfully as the warmth from within immediately begins to soak into your body. 

-It’s awkward again, as you stand there, between him and the door - and him, with a hand hovering over you, as if he’s suddenly not sure if he should touch you. Despite the fact that he’d never had any qualms about casual affection before.

-You track his movements, watching as his fingers flex for an indecisive moment before he balls them into a fist, and shoves his hand down to his side. Your gaze flicking up to his face, where he’s most definitely caught you watching him. 

-The light dust of pink that begins to appear over his cheeks.

- “Viktor,” you say, softly, almost breathless after your trek through the city. “What’s been going on between us, lately?”

-His throat bobs when he swallows, remaining silent.

- “We were so open with each other, so happy, and you…you’re my person,” you explain. “And I’ve been going over and over every interaction we’ve had, trying to figure out what I did to make you not want to be around me - and I can’t figure it out. I don’t know what kind of mistake I’ve made, but…but can we please talk about it?”

-You hate the way your eyes well up with tears. “I don’t want to lose you. If there’s something I can do - anything, to fix whatever it is I’ve done…”

-Something in his posture changes, then.

-The stiffness that’s been in his shoulders for the past couple days, held rigid and curt in an attempt to keep you at a distance; it fades. He visibly droops, almost curling in on himself as his expression falls.

-And his hand, previously clenched into a ball, relaxes.

-Raises.

-Finds a tender home against your face.

- “I’m sorry,” he sighs, stroking the pad of his thumb over the curve of your cheek. “You’ve done nothing wrong - that, I promise. I’ve been- I realized- I-”

-He cuts himself off with a frustrated sigh, casting his gaze downwards.

-Oh, you think, watching as his face continually darkens to a rosy hue. So Jayce was right.

- “Jayce was right,” you murmur, catching Viktor’s face in your hands the moment his attention snaps back to you.

-You stay like that for what feels like forever, staring, quietly, holding each other steady while all the little pieces click into place. While his eyes go from sad and guilty, to curious, to hopeful, to content.

-A smile, spreading slowly across your features.

-The two of you, giggling airily at the absurdity of the situation, all former feelings of hurt now beginning to fade. Leaning closer.

-The softness of his lips against your own, miraculously warm on your rain-chilled flesh. Pressing so gently you can barely feel him, his hand slipping to the back of your head to cradle you most precious. It’s innocent, almost sickeningly sweet, and yet you can’t find a single reason to not be entirely elated, your heart nearly beating out of your chest.

-And then he pulls back, both of you grinning at each other like idiots.

- “You’re freezing,” he quips, pulling you closer so he can wrap his arms around you.

-You laugh.

[n3xii]

Hey! This is a continuation of my icon series. This is the second installment. This pick a card explores HOW you're forgetting your icon status at the moment. I really like this reading because it addresses the ways you may be dismissing your self worth and value in the world. Check my pinned post for personal readings , I do not do free personal readings or free exchanges.

Pile one

I feel like people who chose this pile have facilitated a major transformation in their lifes for self improvement. You're ambitious and know that willpower is how you're gonna reach the end goal you have in mind. But spirit is showing me that you want everything to go your way, you feel that if you even embody who you were in the past even in the slightest then you're completely derailed off your path. This is not true. The goal isn't to hate who you once were and pretend it never existed. Change is an act of self love, don't use it as an act of self resentment. You can still be you and change, you can still have habits you don't like and still be on your path to success. The advice spirit has for you is that you're not alone, acknowledge the people who came before you in your ancestors and honor them. There may be a small quantity of people here who feel ashamed of where they came from and feel the need to change themselves in order to blend in. Your ancestory is beautiful, your culture is beautiful. Don't ignore or try to push this part of you away for the comfort of others

Pile two

Vulnerability scares this pile. Keeping things inside and letting others try to guess and figure you out is how you cope with a fear of vulnerability. But spirit is showing me that you may end up hiding yourself and your light because of this. Opening up can be scary, and reverting back to your innerworld is what feels safe, but no one has the power to dim your light. You've been hurt in the past, you've seen others hurt. Keeping to yourself and not letting people figure you out is a response to this idea that the more people who see who you really are, the more likely you are gonna be hurt or have your light dimmed. You may feel like you have to dim your light in order to be fully accepted. You gatekeep yourself because you don't know who is accessing your energy and what implications that has. youre releasing soul patterns and past life's, in a past life I'm feeling you had many close connections but one in particular that scared you. In this life youre healing from that and learning to extend yourself to others fully. there's nothing wrong with gatekeeping yourself from people who may not deserve you, that actually aligns with the patterns your releasing on a soul level. But don't avoid connection so much that you never let you light be seen. You're forgetting your icon status by letting past hurtful experiences inform how you engage with vulnerability

Pile three

Youre always waiting for the right moment, the right push and the right feeling. You're waiting for your calling. You wait and preserve your energy when you could be using it to set your purpose into action. spirit is letting you know that you don't need permission to act. Stop reserving momentum for the "right moment" THERE IS ALWAYS A RIGHT MOMENT TO SET SOMETHING INTO ACTION. You're gonna feel in your soul when something is right and when it's not, and you are constantly waiting to receive that feeling of "ok now is the right time" you don't need to do that. You will know in your spirit, you don't need outside permission or an external signal. It's all within you. Your forgetting your icon status by always handing off permission to act and initiate a desire to spirit. You are guided in spiritual relams. You may feel lost and like you don't belong but you're actually here for an important purpose. Everyone is. You are always waiting for that purpose to be extended to you but it's up to you to go out there and experience the world. You don't receive purpose by sitting there and waiting for it.

[bl00dst41ned]

*.·:·.✦ lost and found ✦.·:·.*

pairing: jude bellingham x female oc (named Ryan)

summary: in which Jude makes an awesome discovery

author's note: watched Paddington yesterday and it inspired me this. Jude lives in my mind rent free yet, I'm never writing him.

word count: 1085

The night felt refreshing in the streets of Madrid. Spain was known for its suffocating temperature. To get some air, you had to wait until after sunset. Which is what Jude and his girlfriend, Ryan decided to do. They wandered, hand in hand, observing their new place of residence.

“We should try that” Ryan pointed to the small restaurant selling empanadas.

They entered with no hesitation, greeted in Spanish by the worker. Once they debated on which one to choose, Ryan ordered, in broken Spanish, two different flavours for them to try. The two sat on a bench nearby, to enjoy their little snack, engaging in a small conversation about the new life they were beginning.

Following Jude’s signing to Real Madrid, he asked his longtime partner if she was willing to live with him. Ryan and he had been together since they were 15. She supported him through every big step in his career. Except, for this new one, Jude wanted her to physically be with him every day. Three months later, Ryan had packed her bags to join him.

The couple were now picking up new habits and trying to accustom to the Madrid life.

“So….How’s your Duolingo lessons going?”

Ryan basically forced Jude to learn basic Spanish. For now, he relied on her for every social interaction even though she was not fluent. And she could tell he was comfortable like that and didn’t want it to change.

“Alright I guess” Jude shrugged, rubbing his right eye, something he always did when he was lying to her. Which she knew, too well.

“Jude” Ryan sighed, Jude instantly chuckling, knowing she had caught him. “This green owl has been asking me where you at for the past week”

Somehow Jude had forgotten that the app was on her iPad and connected to her email.

He tried as hard as he could to contain his laugh but failed miserably.

“Don’t laugh” She playfully hit his shoulder, smiling. “You hurt her so much, she stopped texting me”

He stopped and laughed pulling his head down.

“Yeah I went too far, I’ll do it tomorrow”

Once they finished eating, they got up and continued walking. As Ryan observed the architecture around, Jude had come to a halt. She felt her arm being pulled and looked back in confusion.

“What are y- Shhhhh” Jude shushed her with his index finger.

He seemed to be trying to hear something so Ryan just did the same. He let go of her hand now walking towards the sound. He looked behind a flower pot finding what he looked for. He crouched down, Ryan’s curiosity rising. She came behind him checking what had his attention.

There lay a tiny kitten, letting out small meows anybody could barely hear. He seemed to be born recently since his eyes were closed. Jude took him in his hand, slowly petting him.

“Can we bring it home?”

“Jude, he surely has a mother somewhere”

“But…look at him” He looked at her with a pout showing her the kitten on his palm.

“We need to make sure he doesn’t have an owner”

Ryan tried to be rational despite wanting it as much as he did. Obviously, she didn’t want to leave him to die there. They looked around the area, looking for his mother or other kittens somewhere, before being interrupted by a voice.

“El dueño se alejó y los dejó’ An elder woman spoke lowly in Spanish, trying to mimic what she meant, hearing them speak English. “Este debe haber escapado”

With the few words she understood, Ryan figured this kitten had been abandoned. She let Jude know what she said, making him smile since he got to take it home.

They walked back to their home, Jude covering the kitten with both hands, checking on him every now and then. Ryan, on the other side, searched the internet for what they should do to take care of it.

They arrived back home and instantly went to keep the kitten warm. They grabbed a shoe box putting an old shirt inside it. Jude, who had not put down the small animal any time, carefully dropped him off.

Jude took the responsibility to feed him. He poured a bit of water on a spoon carefully as the kitten drank as well as he could. It seemed like Ryan and Jude were mesmerized by it. Their eyes were glued on it, not wanting to miss any moment.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” Ryan asked, tired of calling him an “it”.

“Don’t know, we should go to the vet, tomorrow”

There was no doubt about keeping the kitten or not. Jude picked a cloth using it as a blanket for their new pet. 

“You good, Nugget ?” He cooed to the kitten, calling it the first word that came to mind.

That reminded Ryan how Jude would automatically call animals ‘chicken’ or ‘nugget’ just because. He always gave names to beings when he didn’t know theirs. It felt like he didn’t want to offend them even though they did not understand him one bit.

Both of them catered to the tiny animal for an hour, never taking their eyes off it. Once they decided to go to sleep, Jude placed the shoe box between the cushions, a water bottle and a spoon on his nightstand. Ryan came to the room looking at the homemade pet bed.

“Really Jude?” She straight-faced him as he gave an innocent smile. “We don’t need to be glued to it,”

“But we can”

He ignored her pulling the covers over his body and glancing at the box. She decided to just give up and get in the bed too, admiring her boyfriend. Within two hours, Jude had grown so much love for this little being, already obsessed with it.

“Good night, cutie” He spoke in a sleepy voice, his eyes already closed.

“Goodnight, babe” Ryan replied.

“I was talking to Nugget, but goodnight too, love”

Ryan’s mouth fell open for a few until she decided to accept her fate: Nugget had stolen her boyfriend. She could forget about these Duolingo lessons.

like, repost and suggest if you want (requests are closing tomorrow) (hope you enjoyed it)

masterlist for more

[avatar-anna]

someone requested some Harry and professor angst, but i accidentally deleted it, so here you go!

The Professor Series

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“What I do matters, Y/n!”

“I never said that it didn’t, H.”

“You practically implied it!” Harry said, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

You had no idea how you ended up here. One minute you were coming in to check on Harry in his at-home studio, and the next you were arguing. Well, he was, you still weren’t really sure what the issue was.

Now that he was back from touring, Harry had jumped right into writing songs for what would be his next album. You’d never really been around Harry when he was laser focused on a project. Before, he’d come to see you when he needed to get away, and most of the time you had his undivided attention.

You weren’t bothered by Harry’s dedication to his work, in reality it just meant the two of you had even more in common before. Whenever you were teaching or working on a particularly difficult case, you tended to get lost in your own little world, and it seemed Harry did too when he worked on new music.

What was perhaps different about tonight was that you were consulting on a rather gruesome case. That wasn’t necessarily out of the ordinary, given your line of work, but for some reason this one was just getting to you.

On a normal night, you and Harry usually reconvened rather late after either one of you finally decided it was time for bed. Tonight, though, you just needed Harry, fear and anxiousness creeping inside and settling into your skin.

Harry rebuffed you once, and then a second time, not even looking at you as he said, “Just a couple minutes, Y/n, please?” And in your agitation, you couldn’t understand why Harry couldn’t just stop what he was doing and be with you for a moment.

So you muttered, “Right, I’ll leave you to your music,” and he must’ve been having a bad writing day, because that set him off, and now you were here. Fighting.

It wasn’t really in your nature to fight, however. You’d never been the type to raise your voice or speak irrationally, and your reluctance to engage in an argument seemed to piss Harry off even more.

“I get that I’m not as smart or as you or that I don’t have as important of a job as you, but that doesn’t mean what I do isn’t important,” he said, his cheeks flushed and mouth turned down.

You couldn’t believe he thought that was how you felt. You’d never said anything remotely close to that. All you wanted was for Harry to take a break and help you take your mind off of things, and with how hard he’d been working, you figured he would want the same. Yet somehow you offended him so much he thought you didn’t appreciate or admire his work.

Somehow you’d caused him pain. You’d been a little annoyed that he didn’t want to take a break, but you didn’t mean to hurt his feelings like that.

“Harry, I—”

“Can you just leave me alone, please? I need to just be alone and focus on this. Not that you care,” he said, adding the last part bitterly.

He’s just stressed, he has to be, you thought as you left without another word, closing the door to the studio behind you. He would never talk to me this way unless he was under a lot of stress or pressure.

Not wanting to anger him further, you went up to bed early, hoping falling asleep would rid your mind of not just the argument, but all the things waiting for you in the case file you’d left on Harry’s kitchen counter haunted you the second sleep came and dreams appeared.

::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

One thing Harry learned about you was that you hardly moved in your sleep. You were so still, there were a couple times where he felt compelled to check if you were breathing.

So when he came upstairs after working until his eyes were blurry and he noticed you were fidgeting, he knew something was amiss.

As Harry came closer to his bed, he noticed a small frown on your face, accompanied by your eyes moving rapidly beneath your eyelids. You were murmuring incoherently too, each mutter more distressed than the last.

That’s when Harry knew you were having a nightmare. With a frown of his own, he gently placed his fingertips on your shoulder and shook it, hoping the movement would be enough to wake you up.

You jolted awake, heart beating rapidly in your chest and eyes bleary and red rimmed. You and Harry had had something of an argument earlier, and he’d come upstairs to apologize for being a dick, but now he just wanted to hold you and make whatever was causing you pain go away.

“I’m fine,” you said before Harry could ask, wiping your cheek hastily and turning on your side to try and fall back asleep.

The truth was you weren’t fine. Not only did the words on the pages of your case file come to life in your dreams, but everyone blamed you for not being able to put a stop to all the violence. Your unconscious mind preyed on your insecurities, faceless men with ill intentions chasing you and other victims around while you ran in slow motion, fear suffocating you as you tried and failed to get away. It was terrifying, and you definitely would’ve benefitted from Harry’s embrace, but after what happened earlier, you didn’t want to burden him with your problems when he was clearly so busy.

“Don’t hide from me, Y/n,” he said softly, lightly brushing strands of your hair away from your face. “I’m sorry about before. I was in a bad mood before you came in, and I took it out on you.”

You’d guessed as much, but that didn’t make how he spoke to you hurt any less.

“I’ve never belittled you or your work before,” you said, still not looking at him. “I would never do that.”

“I know you wouldn’t, darling. Of course I know that,” he said.

He hated himself for putting that thought in your mind, for ever saying anything that wasn’t kind of affectionate. He knew you couldn’t forget anything, that any negative comment or hurtful word would stick with you forever. It was why he was so careful about what he said to and around you. Not that Harry ever had anything bad to say about you, he just knew he had to be extra cautious when it came to arguments. You were a little sensitive, but for good reason.

He’d been disappointed with how things were going with writing today, but now that was the least of his worries. He’d hurt his love, and all you’d wanted was a little comfort.

Squeezing your shoulder, he said, “Would you look at me? Please?”

Slowly, you turned back over. Harry seemed less visibly stressed than when you saw him in his studio, and for that at least you were thankful. You didn’t like seeing him upset.

Carefully, he rested a hand on your cheek. “I’m sorry. Truly. I wish I could take it all back.”

There were moments where Harry thought he could read your mind so clearly, and there were others where Harry knew you were thinking things he would barely understand. Right now, he was having a hard time making sense of your expression as he waited for you to kick him out or let him under the bed sheet.

“I just needed you. Just for a moment.”

Harry’s heart melted at your response. You always claimed that you didn’t have a way with words, but Harry disagreed. You spoke simply, and sometimes a little bluntly, but your honesty was as comforting to him as when you hugged him from behind or kissed a spot on his jaw that never failed to make him blush. You were perfect for him, and he only hoped you knew that.

“I know, love. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you for apologizing,” you said quietly. Harry noticed that you did that a lot: thanking someone for their apology before accepting it. It was something he learned to do in his own life, knowing that sometimes all you could do was acknowledge someone else’s wrongdoing.

A moment passed as you thought. You were always thinking. Harry again found himself wondering what about.

“I—I don’t really want to talk about it, but I have a case that’s...scaring more than it normally would.”

Harry took that as his cue to inch closer to you, to slowly wrap his arms around your waist and rest his chin on top of your head. “I’m sorry, darling. Is there anything I can do?”

“This is pretty nice,” you said, your hand finding one of his and immediately beginning to play with his rings.

“I could talk to you about my day, or anything really. That might make you sleep easier.”

You didn’t say anything, but Harry knew that a squeeze of your hand in his was your way of saying to continue.

So Harry started from the beginning, right after he left you in the kitchen to meet with a couple people from his team. He kept his voice low and gentle, hoping it would ease you into a peaceful sleep.

When your breaths finally started to even out, Harry kissed the top of your head, promising to himself and your sleeping frame that he would always be the one to scare the demons away, no matter how big and scary they were.

And when you eventually woke up the next morning, you were there in his arms, no recollection of dreams plaguing your mind save for the fuzzy line between consciousness and unconsciousness where you could hear Harry promising to keep you safe.

[pretending-ican-write]

Cowboy Up - Pt.11

A/N: Hey guys just letting you know what the situation in terms of updates going forwards. I am making no guarantees as to updates from now until June because I am at the end of my final year of uni and gonna be v busy with assignments. This won't be going anywhere though and I will have plenty time in the summer to work on it.

As always feel free to send in any requests for this pairing, I likely won't get round to them for a few months but know that I see them and I love you all for engaging with this story which is now nearly 15,000 words! Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list.

Pairing: Ryan (Yellowstone) x Dutton!reader

Previous part - Next part

---

Once all the morning jobs had been seen to, everyone had congregated in the corral for some fun roping the dummy on the back of the quad.  They’d invited hands from a neighbouring ranch for a bit of friendly competition, although it stopped being friendly the moment bets had started flying.  Most of the hands were betting on themselves, obviously confident in their own abilities, but a few from the Yellowstone had put money on y/n who had partnered with the other ranch’s female hand, despite the shouts of ‘traitor’ coming from her co-workers.  The only response she’d dignified them with was a middle finger and a guarantee to wipe the floor with them all.  Ryan and Lloyd had just had their turn when she lined up to take their shot.

Y/n exchanged a look with the other hand, getting a determined nod in return before she looked at Ethan on the quad and gave him the signal.  The quad didn’t go as fast as a steer so the horses could comfortably lope after it as opposed to going flat out like they normally would.  Their horses followed it easily and she held steady as the other hand swung her rope over the horns quickly off the mark.  Once the horns were done, y/n took her turn swinging the loose rope over head before aiming it at the back legs and hitting her mark.  As soon as the loop had tightened, she shifted her weight in the saddle back to which Comanche responded instantly by sliding to a halt in the sand.

Cheers came up from the onlookers at their speed, Rip turning to rib those who’d just gone, “y’all just got beat by some women.”

Lloyd turned to Ryan, “you rope like shit.”

“You’re the one that missed!” He defended

Rip rode up to them, “y’all rope like shit.  I’m gonna take those women with me today and y’all can just go fucking pack it in.”

Y/n loped down the arena to stop in front of them, “you should really learn to never bet against me.  Jake and Colby made smart choices, I expect my share of your winnings boys!”

“Ladies think you can go two for two?” Rip asked to which they both nodded, “get your ass in there let’s go.”

They watched as the girls reset and ran behind the quad to catch the plastic steer again with practised ease.  Lloyd rolled his eyes at the ever present fond look Ryan had in his eyes whenever he watched his girlfriend.  At this point everyone in the bunkhouse had figured out they were together, it was just a matter of time until Rip worked it out and he did not envy Ryan when that happened.  The foreman’s approval likely meant more to her than any of her family’s did (except maybe what Lee had given her with his gentle teasing in the trailer).  Next to him said foreman was looking at the girl with a similarly affectionate smile.

“You’re a soft touch when it comes to her aren’t you,” Lloyd said to him.

He kept his eyes trained ahead, “I don’t know what you’re suggestin’ Lloyd.”

“Bulllshit.  I know you put this together today so her mind wasn’t stuck on her mom all day,” he pointed out.

Rip chuckled, “don’t act like you ain’t the softest on her.”

-/-/-

For the first time in a while, y/n had denied joining the hands in the bunkhouse and instead chose to have dinner in the main house.  Part of her had hoped that her family might be able to have one normal dinner on the anniversary of their mother’s death but she should have remembered that the Dutton’s were never capable of normal, especially when it came to the dinner table.  When she’d reached the house, the living room was full of men in suits surrounding Beth and her father, clearly some political play that she’d made clear not to involve her in.  Jamie was sulking on the porch listening to the chatter so she decided to ignore him, in no mood to deal with her older brother acting like a child.

Instead she sought out Gator for dinner, which he was happy to accommodate considering she’d brushed off pancakes that morning, before having a shower and settling on the opposite side of the porch to Jamie where the talking didn’t reach her ears.  As she listened to the noises of the mountains surrounding her and the comforting whickers from the horses, she indulged in the only alcohol she ever did.  One beer, on the evening of the anniversary of her mother’s death.  Evelyn’s favourite beer.  It wasn’t even something she particularly liked the taste of but it made her feel a little bit connected to her mom as she imagined all the gossip they might have been exchanging if the horse never crushed her.  Y/n refused to believe John would have done what he did to Kayce if their mom had been around to talk sense into him.

“I thought you didn’t drink sweetheart,” a familiar voice came out of the darkness to interrupt her ‘what ifs’.

Y/n opened her eyes to see her boyfriend in front of her, “just the one for mom each year.  Ain’t even that good but it's hers.”

She watched as he came across the grass in front of the porch to lean on the railing in front of her.  Ryan tipped his hat at her teasingly which made y/n giggle.

“What’s got you so close to the house cowboy?  Aren’t they missing you in poker,” she joked.

He stuck his tongue out at her, “you ain’t much better at it than me sweetheart.  Something told me I shouldn’t let you be alone tonight.”

“The house is full of fools tryna get into bed with my father and Jamie’s out here somewhere sulking like a child!” Y/n said the last bit louder in hopes that her brother would get the message and go inside.

Ryan laughed at her lack of subtlety, “Jamie can stay out here for all I care.  If everyone in the house is busy suckin’ dick I doubt they’ll notice us sneaking up to your room.”

“Ry are you suggesting I sneak my boyfriend up to my bedroom like a teenager,” she giggled.

He smirked, “well you did say you never got to sneak around when you were a teenager it seemed only fair that I give you the chance to do it now.  We’ll both be at the barn in the morning before anyone here is even considering waking up.  You know you want to say yes sweetheart.”

“You make a convincing argument.  Come on then cowboy.”

Ryan climbed over the porch railing to take the hand y/n was offering before letting her lead him into the house.  He made a joke about it being the first time he’d be going through the front door which prompted his girlfriend to elbow him in the ribs.  When they entered, she closed the door as quietly as the wood would allow before gesturing for Ryan to take his boots off.  Jamie must have heard his sister because he’d moved his sulking to the kitchen where he was sat at the counter burning a hole into his laptop screen.  Y/n turned, putting her finger to her lips, before darting past the kitchen entryway and to the stairs.  Both of them made it up to her bedroom, making sure the door was shut before bursting into laughter.  Y/n felt lighter than she had all day, the weight of the day finally off her shoulders.

She swiped the hat off of his head, putting it on her damp hair with a smirk.  Ryan watched her carefully as she moved around the room to put her boots away.  When she turned back around he was still by the door, leant against the wall with his arms crossed, eyes trained on his hat still on her head.

“You know what you’re doing there sweetheart?” He asked.

Y/n shrugged, “you askin’ if I know the cowboy hat rule, Ry?”

“Do you?” He pushed off the wall to stand in front of her and placed his hands on her hips gently.

She slid her hands up to rest on his shoulders, “I been around buckle bunnies since I was 15 Ry, course I know the cowboy hat rule.”

-/-/-

The next morning, y/n was awoken to the loud noise of her alarm blaring from her bedside table.  When she tried to turn it off she found herself too far away to reach her phone.  Pulling herself further into consciousness, y/n became aware of an arm around her waist and the feeling of Ryan’s lips against her shoulder.

“That’s so fuckin’ loud,” he complained.

She laughed as he let her go to turn the alarm off, “how else do you expect me to wake up before the sun rises?”

“Can’t remember the last time I used an alarm, normally just get woken up by the others getting up,” he explained.

They stayed wrapped up in the warmth of the bed for a few minutes before forcing themselves out of the comfort to get ready for work.  Ryan watched as his girlfriend got dressed before putting her hat on his head, not his this time, and followed her down the stairs.  Y/n slipped into the kitchen to get two apples, brushing off Gator’s questioning as to why she was taking more than one.  After grabbing her jacket from the peg, they walked down the drive to the barn in comfortable silence.

Y/n stopped part way there when she saw the cattle trucks and her dad stood outside, “shit he should still be asleep.”

“Don’t stress I’ll go round the corral and go in the back to the bunkhouse,” Ryan reassured her, dropping a kiss to her cheek, “in a bit sweetheart.”

She watched him go with a smile before taking a breath and steeling herself to speak to John without caffeine.

“Fell asleep in a stall?” She greeted him outside the barn, noting the shavings stuck to the back of his jacket.

John looked over at his daughter, “what you doing down here so early?  The hands won’t be out for a bit.”

“I’ll go get Comanche and ride up to meet these at the pasture,” Lucy tactfully ignored her dad’s question, “tell Rip to bring me coffee when they come up.”

Taglist: @child-of-of-the-sunshine @kendallroydefender @qardasngan @thecobraghost @little-diable