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achocosun · 3 months

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all I need is the air that I breathe, and to love you ft. lee mark !

𖹭⠀࣭⠀⋆ genre ; non-idol!mark × fem reader. fluff, pure unadulterated fluff. established relationship au. use of pet names (for her: baby, pretty girl / for him: lovie). just a short drabble to get used to posting on tumblr. ugh this turned tooth-rottingly sweet.

𖹭⠀࣭⠀⋆ word count ; 1.4k (this was supposed to be shorter but well, i got carried away haha)

𖹭⠀࣭⠀⋆ warning(s) ; none that i see ^^

𖹭⠀࣭⠀⋆ notes ; divider by @mewryn (it's so pretty oml)

laughter. the sound of laughter had to be your favorite music that drifted leisurely throughout the apartment.

be it hushed chuckles over a movie or a funny tiktok your boyfriend sent over to you, the rambunctious cackling that tailed your group of friends when they'd indulged a little too much in drinks after dinners that often than not happened in the home you shared with mark–you cherished them all the very same.

before you moved into the flat on the tenth floor, the highest any residential building went in the street equidistant to both of your workplaces, you had some doubts. mostly concerning how eerily quiet it tended to get even with the faint honks of traffic in the heart of seoul.

you could owe it to your upbringing in the city, never once truly alone despite how easily it was slipping into a faraway headspace. you still did that sometimes but after meeting mark, the use of your headphones that'd found purchase against your ears got lesser and lesser. until you could go days just listening to his little tangents.

of course, it was more because of the fact that you adored how his whole face brightened as he shared with you something, anything he held dear. the way his soft brown eyes twinkled as he animatedly explained his point made you lose all sense of reality.

once in sophmore year of college, he had stopped for half a minute and then chuckled at you staring at him in awe. it had taken him waving his hand before you and a "hello, earth to _______? do i have something on my face?" for you to realize your embarrassing predicament.

only mark didn't seem to find it odd. no, on the contrary he found the gesture endearing. he had that tendency to ramble, everyone told him as much. but for you to listen to every word and hang onto it infused a swell in his heart, a giddy feeling he honestly did not want to suppress.

with mark, everything came in it's most simple form. relationships were not supposed to be easy, each one had it's own complications as did yours. but with him you knew you would always try to work through every rough patch because your boyfriend was willing just as much.

you had put an official label on your relationship in junior year, and not being strangers to the amount of teasing that would ensue from your rather large circle of friends, you had decided to keep it lowkey, letting them find out on their own and ease into it.

but with your streak of not keeping your hands–or lips for that matter—off each other, it took them two weeks flat to figure it out. but that's on johnny and his inability to knock on doors as he strutted into mark's dorm as if it was his own, oblivious to you both tangled in each other's arms on the small sofa pushed against the wall beside the balcony.

to your surprise, no noticeably grand change came with the reveal. in johnny's words, you and mark had always been sort of touchy with each other even as friends. he told you to keep the make-outs to a minimum and nobody else would know for sure.

after graduation, mark had mustered up the courage to ask you to move in with him. he had put a lot of thought into it—scoured for decently sized apartments, looked for help from his older friends and even went as far as to ask your parents for their opinion.

of course, the one answer that mattered was yours but even the fact that he asked your parents made you feel elated. and it definitely earned him their seal of approval.

the hesitant question had followed a meal of chinese takeout for dinner as you leaned your head on his shoulder, watching the movie playing in the living room of his childhood home, an arm wrapped around his waist. you had noticed his skittishness all night and it all came to a head as he played with the ends of your hair.

"i was thinking", mark started, taking your hum as approval to continue while you lowered the volume of the tv. "and seriously you can take as much time to think or even say no, i won't force you."

this time you turned to face him fully, a frown creeping up to your face. "what is it, markie? is something wrong?"

"i– well..." he took a sharp breath, eyes never once meeting your own. "i was thinking maybe you can move in with me?"

the silence that followed only plummeted his heart further down his stomach. mark moved an inch away from you, grabbing the remote from your grasp while shaking his head. "never mind. it's way too soon to think of that stuff, right? that's was a sudden, stupid ques—"

"don't say that. nothing you said is stupid." regaining your voice, you shifted closer to him, your grip sliding up his arm and towards nape as you rubbed the area. his shoulders slouched visibly, irrate heartbeat slowing just a little.

you smiled up at him, deft fingers smoothing across his across his brow and finally resting against his cheeks. it took a little tug for him to finally face you, mouth opening and closing as he wracked his brain for the appropriate words to find him when you spoke again.

"i would love to move in with you, mark."

as much as you loved mark when he's talking, sometimes you took great pleasure in rendering him speechless.

as quick as lightning he held your wrists with widened eyes, stopping the advances of your hands down his perfectly sculpted face. you brushed his knee softly as his adam's apple bobbed with a dry gulp.

mark found it hard to even formulate a thought, let alone speak. just when he'd started believing all of this was a bad idea, horrendous really, your admission nearly made his brain short-circuit.

"woah, wait— no. what?" he stumbled over the words eliciting a giggle out of you. "run that by me again, baby. i don't think i heard you correctly."

swatting his shoulder playfully, you took liberty to throw a leg over his, straddling his lap. "you heard me just right the first time, lovie. i think we should do it, move in together. i mean, we have somewhat stable jobs and it would stop us from inconveniencing your parents or mine. honestly, i love your mother but i got goosebumps when she winked at me on the way out."

mark managed a chuckle, rubbing up and down the sides on your legs on either side of him. this had been your arrangement after college. date nights in either of your houses meant the parents always had to leave unless they wanted to walk in on their not-so-little-anymore kids doing anything reserved for behind closed doors.

suddenly, you found yourself being pulled forwards into his chest as his ecstasy evolved into child-like laughter–carefree and unbound. his arms tightened around your form as you succumbed to your own joy.

mark whispered against your hair between pressing kisses to the crown of your head, "i love you, you know that?"

you peeked up at him, cheeks starting to hurt from the wide smile that nothing in the world could dampen. "do you?"

"mhmm. and now that we will live together, i'll remind you everyday, pretty girl. over and over."

sometimes, it scared you how dependent you had gotten on this one single person. finding your chest surging with pride in his every minute success, just as it ached when he hurted.

mark looked at you like you had hung the stars in the sky. then again, you were sure you'd visit every length to do just that if he so much as asked.

and that night had brought you to this one, sitting against the armrest of the loveseat surrounded by your friends, legs thrown over your boyfriend's as he held you close. you knew he would never let you fall but every fiber in your being appreciated the closeness regardless.

you smiled at haechan's dramatic recounting of some incident in the pub last night, finding comfort in the fingers thrumming to an unknown beat against your hips.

as your eyes wandered to every occupant of the cozy living room of your apartment—yours and mark's—you couldn't help but thank your lucky stars for this chance.

because until you have this little life, this warm, lived-in home, your friends, family and most importantly him by your side, nothing could make you a stranger to the sense of contentment.

#𝐬𝐨𝐥's menu ᵎ #mark lee x reader #lee mark x reader #nct dream #mark lee #nct dream x reader #mark lee imagines #mark lee fluff #mark lee drabble #nct 127 x reader #nct x reader

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ajortga · 5 months

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always for you

pairing: jenna ortega x fem reader

thank you for your support! honestly i'm so so grateful you guys like my writing<3 this was from a request that i loved making, (especially the texting part.) requests are packed! theres so many more so i won't be checking inboxes till i'm finished with the majority of them! to whomever requested, i hope you like this!

can I request another soft!jenna x r?? I know your requests are closed, and you can do this anytime if your free. I can wait.

Where r's phone is acting up but doesn't want to buy a new phone cause r is broke, jenna sees r struggle with the lag and buys r a new phone

(shes so cute)

Jenna always thought you were too thoughtful and selfless, you always thought of others before yourself, you gave love to every person you possibly could before you could even love yourself.

You gifted Jenna the new black noise canceling headphones for Christmas, you loved music as much as she did. But even with your immense love, you still managed to have wired earphones, though they were tangled almost everyday.

There was a day the brunette noticed the way your phone had been acting up. She won’t mention how you dropped it in the bathtub while trying to give your cat a bath, and she’ll leave out how it somehow didn’t crack the numerous times you dropped it on the table or carpet. But whenever she texted you, you’d take longer to respond, apologizing endlessly.

“goodmorning my love! my phone was glitching again, it keeps bringing me back to this stupid dancing vegetable i put on for nephew cash last week. It took me a while to finally get back to messages! i'm sorry:((.”

“oh my god it did it again, now it’s a piece of radish dancing”

Sometimes you’d respond halfway and then stop there too cause your phone would crash

"y/nnnn, baby, i used the damn salt for our cookies instead of sugar and i put so much and i wanted to make a pickup line for you. i was literally pretending you were there and said "you're as sweet as a cookie" and i bit into it and it tasted so salty and i coughed so much"

“HAHA oh my gosh your like the silliest person i know, you literally remind me of-”"

10 minutes later

“MY PHONE CRASHED AGAIN”

“it did it again, it kept bringing me to different tabs so i had to get back in here. baby i can’t even talk to you properly anymore, i think we should-”

25 minutes later

“THE DANCING VEGETABLE IS ON MY SCREEN AGAIN”

"jenna? are you there?"

"i amm here"

"IT'S FRUIT NOW"

"baby 😭"

She did talk to you about getting a phone, she knew that you wanted to spend your money on others until yourself. You saved a little portion for yourself, so your portion made you a little broke. But you insisted that if it still worked and was helping the way it was supposed to, it would be okay.

It was funny to her, she would try charging both your phones before you snuggled to sleep together, but she always struggled on charging your phone because it wouldn’t charge.

You could hear her grunting as she cursed under her breath, “You have to use the first charging port and twist it at an 80 degree angle to the right, the phone has to be facing up.”

As it finally charged, she made a small sigh and smiled as she looked at you, softly saying, “You’re always too thoughtful Y/N, there’ll be one day where life will give it all back to you.”

You nuzzled into her chest, “As long as I can make others happy, that’s all I need to make myself happy,” you said drowsily as you rested on her chest. She kissed your forehead as you dozed off, cradling you to sleep.

The next day, Jenna got up so early and unattached herself from your grasp, making you make a small noise as you subconsciously looked for her embrace.

The bed creaked as you made a small murmur, looking up at Jenna barely awake.

You yawned, really sleepy, “Where are you going??” You said sadly, a little tired pout forming.

You sounded so drowsy as Jenna giggled, kissing your temple, “I need to pick up some strawberries, we need some pancakes for our breakfast and some other goodies sunshine. It’ll be packed in the afternoon, it’ll be quick, I promise.”

You made a sad noise, your hands reaching up for her and scrunching her arms as she hugged you, taking her giant stuffed animal and letting you hold it.

Soon enough from her scent on the stuffy, you were asleep, snuggling it.

Jenna changed into a sweater, jeans, and wore her headphones you gave her as she was off.

She was going to buy you that phone, no matter what you said.

Her footsteps crunched against the leaves as she listened to her music, getting a new idea as a proud smile sneaked on her lips.

She entered the electronic store, buying you the latest white phone that she had as well. She also went to the head gear section and bought you Sony headphones, a white one that would look so pretty on you. Her fingers signed the signature as she payed with her card, buying you guys two matching phone cases with two black cats on them.

Two hours later she came home, opening your bedroom door as she walked in.

“Y/N, sunshine, I’m here,” she whispered as you made a small murmur again, opening your eyes.

“Mhh…”

A small grin appears on her face as she shows you the new phone and headphones as you stare.

You were so tired you stared at it in disbelief and confusion.

Then you looked at her, your eyes teary as you pouted, “Baby.. Why? You didn’t have to-”

“You deserve it, you always think about me and all your friends hardly before yourself. And you deserve the world. I want you to be able to use your phone and those headphones. I like seeing you happy.”

Your pout turned into a wide smile as you pulled her collar to your level and hugged her tightly.

“Thank you. You really didn’t have to do that for me," you said, your voice happy as you nuzzle into her, not wanting to let go.

“Always.”

“I love you.”

Jenna smiles, her soft lips pressing to your temple, "I love you too."

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x you #tara carpenter x reader #vada cavell x reader #jenna ortega imagine #jenna marie ortega #jenna ortega x y/n #tara carpenter x you #vada cavell x y/n

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nouvxllev · 4 months

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be my baby, t.r.

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Fem!Reader

Summary: in which you show your love for jenna in your own way

Words: 1.2k

Warnings: fluff hooray!

a/n: heard this line from my headphones while i was scanning my notes and immediately went for my drafts. just a drabble if you may

masterlist.

When people think of a sacred place, they'd think of something related to religion of some sort. A place of worship and compassion to another, maybe a deity. Or they'd think of something they cherished, the place that they hope one day see in their life after death and see the wonderful memories they'd have.

You were none of the ordinary.

Your sacred place was Jenna. Her soul was everything you wanted. She was everything you needed.

Everyday, she would see through you. Your pride, your anger, your selfishness, and how she accepts you for who you are even for your flaws. How your happiness often shined so bright whenever you were with her. How the stars would shine just for her to be in the spotlight, be the center of everything. Oh, how you were so devoted to her was something beyond you.

Hence why your favorite time of the day is waking up beside her, sliding your arm in between her body, and hugging her as if she were being taken away from you if not for your arms grounding her.

You shifted your weight towards her, your legs going in between hers as you hugged her even tighter. She always smelled like home and the subtle scent of her favorite perfume with a hint of yours, you noticed.

The faint music from Jenna's headphones filled the air, feeling your eyes slowly getting heavy as you nudged your head onto her nape, closing your eyes in full bliss but never slept.

Ever since you moved to her apartment, you saw how Jenna always slept with headphones on, only for it to be way too tangled and off her ears when she wakes up.

Your hands found Jenna's, intertwining them as you looked over her shoulder, the action being reciprocated when you felt her fingers close around your hand. Even when she was asleep, she always held you back as if you were a distant star coming to earth.

The morning sun always complimented Jenna so well, the warmth of the sun casting a gentle glow on her features, how her brown eyes are all what you wish to see, showing you everything there is to true beauty. It is as if she was another celestial object far from a mere mortal with how your world orbited around her very being, how effortlessly she could make every living and dying poet forever ink her name in their pages.

You were about to fall asleep until you heard a quiet groan and her body stirring awake. As Jenna shifted beside you, your arms were still wrapped around her body, loosening as she turned to face you.

"Hey." She whispered. Her fingers tracing patterns across your own hand as she blinked away her drowsiness, a loopy smile gracing her lips. "I thought you'd be up by now."

"I am." You gave her a soft smile while she gave you an unimpressed look, but her smile never wavered.

"I meant off the bed and do whatever you normally do."

"You know I'll always wait for you," you replied in a hushed tone, your hand coming close to her face as you brushed a stray strand of hair away, your thumb gently caressing her freckles.

"I know," she whispered as she nodded, her morning voice always something so familiar to you. "Just thought you'd have a change of heart."

"I'd be a fool to." You met Jenna's eyes with a smile, your gaze going back and forth from her eyes to her lips. Your hand resting on her face traveled to her back, pulling her in closer.

Jenna let out a soft sigh, "Aren't you the smooth talker," she murmured. Her hand finding its way to your cheek, her touch gentle and reassuring as your heart swelled with the sight and love that was Jenna.

You raised your eyebrow, "I'm serious about it."

Jenna laughed. She laughed. Oh, how it made your heart instantly recognize the pattern of her laughter.

"I can tell, don't worry." She said, looking into your eyes with the same expression you had. It was a small gesture, waiting for your lover to wake up in the morning, but it was everything to you. And maybe even to Jenna if not a lot more. She leaned in, pecking you on the lips, "And I love you for it."

You can feel your eyes soften, the subtle rise and fall of Jenna's chest against yours as the warmth of her hand rests on your cheek.

You allowed your eyes to drop down to her lips before leaning in and planting a gentle kiss to her soft lips. The very faint scent of her chapstick from yesterday still lingered as you held Jenna's hand on your face, tracing her knuckles with your thumb.

You pulled away before leaning in and placing another kiss to her lips. "I love you too."

Your hand pulled hers away from your face, intertwining them before kissing her yet again. "I love you more."

"I love you most." You whispered softly as your mind captured the look on Jenna's face that was adorned with pure love. Both of your hands reached to cup her face, kissing her once more, feeling the warmth of her breath against yours.

You can feel Jenna smile against your lips, the gesture driving you to insanity with devotion for this girl.

The both of you pulled away from the kiss, your eyes meeting Jenna's as your heart raptured with laughter as she laughed alongside it. The sound itself making you want to record it deep inside your soul forever.

"What was that about?" She chuckled.

"For every kiss you give me, I'll give you three. The Ronettes." You quoted, a smirk gracing your lips as the faint sounds of her playlist started to play all over again.

Ever since Jenna introduced you to her music taste, you were blasting it non-stop. Though it wasn't exactly the music Jenna would listen to, it was like the one of the many music that you found in her taste in genre and you loved it as much as you loved her presence.

"You liked it?" She mumbled, a hopeful tune in her voice. Another thing you noticed about Jenna is that she loved recommending her own interests to other people and you came to adore that so much.

"Who am I to deny my talented girlfriend with her music taste?"

She chuckled, sitting up straight as she pulled you up towards her, wrapping her arms around your body. "Flattery gets you nowhere."

"Then how come I'm right here in your arms?" You looked up at her, a small smile playing on your lips that seemed to never go away whenever you were with her.

"I don't know," she shrugged nonchalantly, "you tell me."

Jenna's arms around you felt like home, a sacred place you'd always come here after a day or even a decade. It was a place where you belonged to, the embrace that would last along with the faint music that was still playing in the background. In her arms, peace is never a fleeting moment but rather something that'll always keep your heart warm.

Another thing is for sure: you were her one and only, and you'd adore her till eternity.

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a/n: feel like im slowly getting the motivation to write more

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x female reader #jenna ortega #jenna marie ortega

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dominicfikue · 27 days

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— bambi!reader. ft. chris, matt & nate! ⠀ׁ⠀ㅤ © ㅤ dominicfikue.

peach by kevin abstract & dominic fike. thin lacy cami tops. drawn to anything nature. salted caramel ice cream. pearly pink lipgloss tucked into her purse. funky but simple nail designs. big brown eyes with the thick lashes to match. vanilla, cinnamon & sandalwood as her scent. flats or kitten-heels, no in between. low rise jeans with a cutsie black ribbon for her ‘belt’. goes to the library to study but always finds herself slumped against the keyboard. her aura warm and inviting, not a soul dare say anything opposite.

˚˖𓍢ִ໋ 🦌

w/ christopher sturniolo! — the both of you staying up till 2 and 3AM, yapping about whatever comes to your tired brains. not to mention, the poorly rolled joints ( thanks a lot, chris -_-! ) passed back and forth between you two. you soon fall asleep, your cheek smushed against his chest with his beefy arm holding you close. he’s the king of getting you all riled up with his lingering touches or his constant groping. chris is stern— easily able to steer you back in your lane with just a glance. on the days where listening isn’t really on your agenda, he knows just how to break through. ass-up, face down as he plows into you from behind, ignoring all the pathetic mewls & pleas coming from your throat.

w/ matthew sturniolo! — baby goes all out for his girl! spoiling you with new books or a new pair of wired headphones after you got your last pair tangled and shred beyond repair. even virtually, making long playlists featuring any songs that reminds him of you. putting him on to all of your deep & psychological movies that make you think and him calling them confusing and slightly concerning. bratty behavior really doesn’t bother him, only fueling the boner confined in his baggy blue jeans. sex is always vanilla, both of you too sleepy to take charge. the slow and sensual kisses as his fingers reach lower and lower make up for it though!

w/ nathan doe! — my dominant boy ughhhhhh :(. even though he’s a inch or two shorter than you, him being in charge never changes. casual dominance on 100%! grabbing things out of the oven for you after you told him you’re perfectly capable of doing yourself. giving the back of your neck a squeeze as a warning when you bad mouth him in public. don’t even get me started on how he acts in bed! hickeys of all colors & sizes littered across your body as his tongue pushes you towards your 3rd orgasm of the night, white specs filling up your vision. just know, it’s far from over.

a/n: heavily and deeply inspired by the lovely loveebot & donatellawritings, their work absolutely amazes me every time and i just had to write my own! if they find this too similar, it will be taken down immediately! <3 + do you guys fw my new theme/layout? she’s so cute omg. enjoy!

taglist. @fawnchives @prettyvyll @trickywritters @breeloveschris @lorarri @vickyzloserz @gnxosblog @firexovni @tylerstacobell @ivonchetooo1239 @bernardsgf @dracoflaco @strniolo @paibey @hearts4chriss @sturniololol @rootbeerworshiper @tillies33ssss @katluckybear @realuvrrr @junnniiieee07 @imsosillygoofylol @dazednmatthews

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haikyu-mp4 · 19 days

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The sun and his flower

word count; 2133 – f!reader

Hinata never really got into driving. He took his driver's licence, but never got around to buying a car after returning to Japan. So when the snow fell overnight and he overslept for practice with the Black Jackals, he had no other choice but to leave his bike and hop on a bus.

And he would forever be thankful that he did. Because that morning was the first time he saw you. You sat closer to the front of the bus, in one of those unfortunate seats turned the other way, so Hinata could watch as you bopped your head carefully to whatever music you listened to and stared out the window. Your movements didn’t quite match up with his own music, which he found annoying so he turned his off. Who still uses earbuds with a cord? he thought as he watched how the cord was tangled in with your scarf.

Even though he didn’t know the names of any particular flowers, he started comparing you to them.

So he kept catching the bus, often running briskly to the bus stop just to make sure he could get on the right one, even if it was a bit early or a bit late.

Sometimes he got a seat where he could see your face, sometimes he had to pretend to adjust something to turn and catch glances at you, and sometimes he could only pout at the top of your head over the seat. Nonetheless, he started imagining what you did after stepping off the bus. Were you a student? A florist? A musician? Or maybe you worked in some office, like Kuroo.

You always got off before him, the same stop every time, and his eyes would follow you until you were blurry because the bus moved and then you were out of sight. He would then slump back in his seat, putting his headphones on for two more stops until he could get off, jogging to make up for the warm-up time he missed.

“You ever considered getting a car?” Sakusa asked him one day as Hinata shuffled into place beside them where they were finishing warm-ups while he started them, beginning with his thighs while Sakusa rolled his shoulders back into place.

“No,” Hinata answered sharply before chuckling, struggling a bit to keep his balance in the pose he used. “I mean, the bus is cheaper.”

Atsumu scoffed. “As if money for a car should be a problem, ya can get a little golf or something if yer so worried,” he said, jumping in place to loosen up his muscles.

“I could get a car, but I don’t really need it. Think of the environment, Tsumu.” Hinata teased back, switching legs as Bokuto came from the bathroom.

“Sho!” he cheered, not minding any conversation they might have had before. Hinata kept on with his warmup beside the net while they started with Atsumu setting for their spikes. Sakusa made little comments and quickly, everyone forgot about the previous conversation. Finally, Hinata was ready to spike. Atsumu set up a few for him before they were told to get ready for team practice, everyone taking a break to fill up on water.

As Hinata dried off his forehead with the bottom of his shirt, he sighed. “Actually, there’s this girl,” he said, stopping when he heard someone gasp dramatically, not sure which of his team members it was as he continued. “On the bus, she’s really pretty.”

“Don’t be shy, tell us about ‘er,” Atsumu encouraged, leaning his arm uncomfortably on Sakusa’s shoulder, a motion that was quickly denied.

So Hinata did, he got up from the bench and with unnecessary gestures, he told them about which stop you get off at and detailed the colour of your hair. He had a small discussion with himself about what word to use for the colour of your eyes, and then when he finished he looked at his friends with the sweetest smile.

Bokuto, ever the optimist, nodded encouragingly. “And?”

Hinata’s nose scrunched. “That’s it. We haven’t talked yet.”

“You take the bus every day just to stare at her? That’s not creepy at all,” Sakusa said sarcastically, ending the conversation on that note as they were called back to the court.

You didn’t mean to. Your eyes usually stayed on the scenery passing by, making up scenes in your head based on whatever music your shuffled playlist handed you, so you didn’t mean to make eye contact with the orange-haired guy when you were on your way off the bus. He sat in the seat closest to the door, and when your eyes met his, he smiled. You could have sworn it was cloudy outside, so why was the sun sitting on the bus with you this whole time? And why didn’t you notice it before?

The moment was cut short as more people were getting off, some burly man bumping your shoulder to get off and naturally pushing you along as you realised it was indeed drizzling outside. By the time you turned around to seek his warmth again, the bus doors were closing and the bus carried your sunshine away.

The day after, the volume on your earbuds was a bit lower as you stepped on the bus, looking around uncharacteristically and deflating when you realised there was no orange hair in sight. So you sat down in the seat behind where he sat yesterday and got back to looking out the window.

It wasn’t until four stops later that someone sat down beside you, and you frowned when you looked forward and saw that the bus wasn’t that full, so then you turned to whoever sat beside you. And there he was, warm just like the last time you saw him.

“Sorry, is it okay if I sit here?” he asked, loudly enough to disturb other commuters, but you couldn’t hear while your earbuds were still in. Your eyes zeroed in on his cheeks where there were tiny freckles kissed by a soft red flush, probably from running to the bus stop or something. Then you looked down, noticing how his lips were moving before his tongue ran between them, oh.

You picked your earbud out before tucking some hair behind your ear so you could see him properly, taking in a quick breath. “Sorry! What did you say?” you asked, corners of your lips tilted up.

Hinata chuckled, skipping the question of whether or not he could sit there. “What are you listening to?” he asked instead, pointing to the earbud you were rolling between your fingers.

You hesitated for a second before simply handing the earbud over, an inviting glint in your eyes as you silently let him indulge in your privacy. He smiled even brighter, making you squint slightly before he took the earbud and put it in his ear, subconsciously leaning a bit closer so he wouldn’t pull yours out.

And as he started slightly moving his head, you wondered what he was so happy about so early in the morning. If the sun’s brightest time is midday, why does it feel like it’s right here at 06.47? You chuckled silently under your breath, wondering if everyone else on the bus felt his warmth too. “I like your smile,” you said before you could stop yourself.

Hinata really liked your music, it suited you and at the same time, it was nothing like what he imagined. He didn’t listen to music that often, preferring to listen to his breathing and nature while jogging, but he could get used to this if he could share it with someone. With you.

When you took the initiative to talk more, he almost felt shy about it, lifting a hand to the back of his neck. “Thank you. I like your music,” he said, wanting to compliment you back but feeling like he couldn’t just say I like you. Because he did, he knew so little about you that it wasn’t easy to pinpoint anything, but he just liked you.

Eventually, you had to get off, so Hinata scrambled out of his seat, making your earbud fall out. Now he stood beside the seat, the two of you still connected as you held your phone and he had the earbud in. Quickly, he took it out and apologised, to which you told him not to worry before walking past him and in the heat of your fluster, you didn’t even say goodbye. You didn’t even catch his name.

The next time you sat down on the bus, you were determined to do better, exactly how Hinata was yesterday as he braced himself to talk to you. When Hinata once again stepped on the bus at his usual stop, you lifted your hand and waved at him, making him smile and come over to sit beside you. “Hey!” he greeted cheerfully.

“Hi,” you responded, very aware of your upper arm pressed against his even if there was space enough not to. You handed over one earbud for him, taking in a deep breath of courage. “You never told me your name.”

Hinata took the earbud but didn’t put it in his ear. “Shoyo. Hinata Shoyo.” He mentally cursed at how he sounded like James Bond, but every other thought dissipated when you responded with your name. He liked it. He looked at you, noticing how prettily your eyelashes swung out at the edge and how he could finally decide on your eye colour now that he saw you up close. “Pretty,” he whispered, not sure if he was talking about your name or just you.

You blushed, turning away for a moment and then looking back at him, wondering the same thing as he did. “What do you do, Shoyo?” you asked, letting his name roll off your tongue like a sour candy you weren’t sure you could handle but still felt tempted to eat up.

“I’m a professional volleyball player,” he answered, looking proud. Your eyes widened, lips parting in surprise.

“Really? That’s so cool!” you said, making sure you didn’t talk too loudly and disturb others on the bus. You were amazed and naturally let your eyes browse down to get a glimpse of his physique. Professional athlete. “I don’t know why I thought professional athletes didn’t use public transport.”

If you asked his teammates, they don't, he thought. Hinata nodded, mindlessly twirling the earbud in his hand, which made you take yours out and tug on the cord to put it away. “And you? What do you do?” He bit his lip lightly in anticipation, every one of his theories flashing by in his mind. He checked the screen to find it wasn’t that long until you had to get off.

“It’s boring, I work in a cafe,” you said, nose scrunching at how lame your job was compared to his.

“You don’t like it?” he asked curiously. You hummed a short tone, thinking about it.

“I kinda love it. It’s just not as cool as being a volleyball player,” you said, emphasis on the last words, which made Hinata huff out a short laugh. “I’m not sure what I want to do yet.”

“If you like it, it’s cool,” he said like there was no use arguing. And you suppose it wasn’t, because you should in fact enjoy these years of your life where you’re still figuring things out. “Can I come with you?”

You blinked at him, looking from the front of the bus and back to him. “Yes? But weren’t you going somewhere?”

“I don’t even have work today, I just got on the bus to see you,” he admitted, and you hoped your gleeful laughter covered the sound of your heartbeat.

Now you’re together all the time, but you’re not always on the bus. You’re at the cafe, taking a break and sharing a piece of cake, you’re in the park either talking and laughing or having him show you how to play volleyball and laughing even more, you’re at his place and kissing on his couch after not seeing each other all day while your music plays softly on the speakers, you’re at his game to cheer for him and then meet all his friends and perhaps even family, and you’re in a restaurant when he gives you a little silver ring to promise you two stick together even while figuring things out. Things like how to open a brand new cafe in Brazil after he airs the idea of moving back there.

Because the two of you just wanted to be together, like how flowers always seem to reach for the sun and the sun does its best to keep them warm in the limited time it has.

masterlist

/tags @hotvinimon @makkir0ll

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sashi-ya · 8 months

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𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟑 DAY 17: SOMNO Portgas D. Ace 𝘹 F! 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Requested by: anon ➡ Hi! How have you been? I would like to ask for a day in the kinktober event 💞 Day 17 with Ace from One piece with a fem!reader, please 🙏🏻 Have a great day! And take small breaks, I know these events are tiring but I hope you have fun! 💞 tw: mdni. SOMNOPHILIA. very triggering to some, please stay away if is not ok with you. it is, however, CONSENTED and ASKED by reader. Though, I know is a very sensitive topic so please proceed with caution, it is written so that reader gets "surprised" by Ace after having a talk about her having such fantasy. thigh fucking. vag sex. wc: 1k masterlist

“Is there anything you like… you know… during sex that you haven’t told me yet?” Ace asked, during breakfast. You choke with a donut and then looked at him. You weren’t surprised nor scandalized, but it was weird to listen to your boyfriend ask such question at seven in the morning.

“Why you ask?” you inquire him, after taking a sip of your coffee.

“Because I am your boyfriend and… because you forgot to clean your browsing history of my laptop…” he scoffs, remembering you that he lend you his laptop because yours died a few days ago.

Your eyes widen… “What did you see?” you ask, flustered. How could you forget?

“Well… if it was normal that you want your boyfriend to fuck you while asleep…”

“Oh Jesus, Ace… I... ”

That day passed quickly enough for you to wish it didn’t. Work was over, and while you drove home, you definitely tried to convince yourself that Ace had forgotten. “I just pray he is just like his brother Sabo and indulge in that sweet amnesia of his”

But Ace could forget to clean the dishes, to buy toilet paper or even his own head if it was detachable… yet, never, ever the things that have to do with your pleasure.

He didn’t say much during dinner. It was like a normal night, and no “somnophilia” matters were mentioned. So, you breathed alleviated.

“Babe I am going to bed before you. I am tired…” you murmured, kissing his head while he played LoL with Luffy and Sabo

“Sure love, sleep well… I’ll be there after I beat their asses a couple of times” he laughed, and while you walked away you could hear the insults of his brothers on his headphones.

Soon, and after your head hit the pillow, your eyes closed. The world of dreams engulfed in their magical arms and drifted away through its lands.

And then, something warm felt in between your thighs…

Ace slipped in bed; your ass looked way more interesting that it always did to him. Your body half covered by the sheets that promised to be tangled yet another night.

He came closer to you, grazing your buttocks with his crotch and nuzzling on your nape with total delicacy. His hand slid from your waist to your lower belly, enjoying the rhythm of your breathing cycles.

He usually wakes you up when he is hard, but tonight he wished to indulge in your dreams… your hotter and wetter dreams.

The idea of fucking you without permission floated around Ace’s mind before too. He didn’t want to keep thinking about it, he felt it by far illegal and gross… but still, his instincts, the precum sprouting from his tip and dampening his boxers, the way his hips moved on their own were screaming loudly “fuck her while asleep… use her body until you are satisfied… she wants it”

Ace’s lips reached for the crook of your neck, placing the softest peck on your skin. Perhaps his intention was to wake you up, but not really… after all, he knew that would happen sooner or later, as he lowered his sport shorts down and let his sex free.

When his tip grazed the back part of your thighs, he squirmed. Your skin felt warm enough, like fire engulfing his sex and then all of his body. His freckled cheeks become red, and his teeth began to chatter… should he touch you? Or should he slide his dick in between your thighs?

He did then, both. Slowly, softly, measuring everything with your asleep sighs… Ace needed to play it safe, for you to feel pleasure but not enough to wake up.

His fingers trespassed the boundaries of your shorts and then your panties, encountering in between your slit a sticky mess. You were clearly turned on, thinking that maybe such lewd actions were taking place only in your dreams.

Ace growled loudly when his hand came out completely dampened, and he enjoyed the way invisible strings formed in between his fingers. So much he liked it, he took it to his lips and swallowed the salty delight your core produced for him.

Soon, he realized his dick was forcefully slipping in between your thighs and simply let it happen. It was more than warm now; it was also tight as you moved and squeezed his hardness with your legs.

By now, you were sure -even if still asleep- that the dream you were having was more than just a dream… it was him, only him… the man you chose to spend your life with who had succumbed to your inert body and your “twisted” fantasies.

And just like Ace let it happen, you did too… perhaps moving your ass up with such delicacy he didn’t notice, but still provided a better access for when he got tired of your thighs and wanted your pussy.

Ace, whose trembling limbs he needed to calm down, began moving slowly, fucking himself with your thighs, coating your skin and shorts with the product of his horniness.

And by the time he couldn’t stop himself your senses came back… and still, you kept your eyes closed… and right there you understand the bases of how attractive this kink seemed to you; Ace praised your body even while asleep, he wanted you the whole time, asleep or not. Ace needed you, Ace’s body was obsessed by the touch of your skin.

You mumbled sounds, not even words. You wanted to keep him going, you wanted Ace to keep indulging in the lowest and most impure instincts… instincts that led him to unstoppably move your panties to the side to penetrate you deeply and hard.

You couldn’t help it but moan, louder. Ace didn’t stopped, he simply lifted your leg up to come even closer to your sex. His lips grazed your neck and then your mandible line, and whispering he moaned “shh babe, keep dreaming. I just want to use that sweet hole of yours … it’s ok… good night ~ ”

taglist: @stephisokay @henrioo @shuzuiikoii @bullbonez @fengxinwifutobecalled @i-started-reading-fanfics-at12 @crimsonlikeshellsing @weebare808 @thestarwasborn @bookandyarndragon @cyberdazetragedy @uzxotic @fushiguroshotwife💖🙆‍♀️

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joszns · 6 months

Note

HIII JO!!

do u think you can write smth about like reader surprising ellie with a tattoo of ellies name on her thigh and then ellie goes absolutely ham wit it😋

HIII thank u sm for this request anon!!! it was fun to write :) dreaming about ellie fucking me silly all cuz of some ink in my skin…it does things fr.

warnings: cunnilingus (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), accidental sex tape kinda, reader takes a pic during sex

“ellie! ellie! babe, look!” you say excitedly, rushing inside your girlfriends room.

she smiles when she sees you, taking off her headphones and opening her arms for a hug.

“what is it baby?” ellie coos, welcoming you into her lap.

you grin mischievously and lift your skirt up, revealing a tattoo on your inner thigh. small and delicate, it reads: ‘ellie ❤︎’.

“do you like it? i got it done earlier, i’ve been dying to show you!”

ellie stares at the tattoo, feeling heat pool between her legs. her strong hands grip your thighs, causing you to jump a bit at the sudden pressure.

“it’s cute…” she says, staring at it.

“you hate it.” you pout, looking away.

“i love it. i love it so much.”

“prove it.” you say.

ellie brings your face to hers and kisses you deeply, pulling you into her by your jaw.

you moan into the kiss, arching forward as your tongues sloppily slide against eachother. her hands wander, dropping from your neck, then your chest, and finally your thighs. she caressed the area near the tattoo, gently rubbing her thumb over the ink. whimpering, you pull her impossibly closer and tug on her hair lightly.

ellie picks you up and walks to her bed, putting you down and immediately kissing down your body. she stops at your thighs, pulling up your skirt and kissing the skin around your tattoo while looking up at you.

“telling everyone you’re mine, hm? my name, on display..” ellie said, leaving a hickey on your thigh.

“yeah, love showin’ you off baby..” you sighed, spreading your legs open more as ellie’s mouth slowly inched upwards.

she breathed out over your cunt, making you shiver. you feel yourself throb expectantly, embarrassed at the fact ellie could see just how wet she made you.

“so pretty, my love..” ellie says, placing a soft kiss on your soaking clit. she looks up at you as she does this, watching your expression falter slightly.

she breathes you in one last time before pressing her tongue on you, slowly pulling the wet muscle through your sloppy folds.

“elie…” you whine, pushing your hips into her face. “stop teasing.”

she complied with your request, happily eating you like you were her last meal on death row.

you moaned, fingers tangling in her hair, hips bucking up into ellie’s smothered face. her expert lips clung to your clit, sucking softly as her tongue flicked the cherry bud. her right hand lingered by the tattoo, gripping and kneading the fat below it.

“so good baby, who’s pussy’s this?” ellie asked, her other hand moving up to slide one of her long fingers inside of you.

“yours baby fuck—s’yours, my pussy’s yours—” you cried, chest rapidly rising and falling with each shallow breath you took, orgasm nearing quickly.

“take a picture baby..so you always know who you belong to.” ellie commanded, watching herself slide another finger into your sloppy cunt.

you happily obliged, taking your phone as ellie continued to eat you out. you moaned, back arching.

struggling to keep your arms straight, you positioned the phone at a good angle and snapped a photo, accidentally starting a video as you fumbled with the device.

“ellie..fuck…don’t stop—god don’t stop!” you whimpered, the phone falling onto the mattress as you moaned your girlfriends name over and over.

her fingers were relentlessly perfect, arching and thrusting in just the right way ellie knew hit all the spots you loved the most.

“m’gunna cum! please-don’t—stooop!” you cried, extending your last word as you climaxed hard on ellie’s face and fingers.

ellie rode you through it, slowing her pace on licking and thrusting into you. aftershocks rolled through your body, causing you to twitch every now and then as she departed from your puffy clit with a ‘pop’ and retracted her fingers.

“you alright, baby?” she asked, getting up to grab a towel for her hands.

you stopped her, looking into her beautiful green eyes as you licked her hand clean. ellie swallowed hard, the feeling of your wet tongue dragging on her fingers creating new sensations.

“i’m so fucking glad i don’t gotta share you.”

#ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams smut #ellie x reader #ellie x you #tlou ellie x reader #tlou2 #ellie williams #Ellie tlou #ellie x fem reader

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nataliasquote · 3 months

Text

Can’t You See This Is Breaking Me? | n romanoff

Summary: Natasha isn’t quite ready to give her entire life for the woman she loves

Warnings: injuries, blood, stitches, no happy ending

wc: 5.2k

note: this idea was given to me by @katyaromanoffpetrova (love you 🤍) and she’s fuelling my love hate relationship with angst. Also, this was so hard to condense, so I’m sorry if it’s lacking detail. I tried to cram three years of a relationship into 5k words :)

-⧗-

It was no secret to anyone how little regard Natasha had for her own life. Even since her very first Shield mission, she’d been a force to be reckoned with, partly down to her pure destructive nature. She didn’t care if taking down Hydra agents meant coming away with a bullet wound or two. Or if destroying an enemy testing laboratory meant four broken ribs and a cracked collar bone. As long as the job was done, that was all she cared about.

Nick Fury was getting tired of how many lectures he had given a young, 25 year old Natasha in his office when he’d read her completed mission report. He knew why she had such a blatant disregard for her life but it didn’t make it any easier seeing one of his best agents beaten and bruised each week. The redhead barely flinched when her wounds were inspected, but to be honest she didn’t really react to anything.

She was more of a ghost really, a pale figure soundlessly walking the halls at night. If her injuries didn’t let keep her awake at night, then the nightmares gladly took their turn, drenching her entire body in a cold sweat and leaving her shivering in her tangled sheets. But if the dark circles under her eyes looked worse, her friend and mentor Clint didn’t utter a word.

The structure and routine that manifested week by week kept her grounded and focused. Wake up, train, eat, surveillance, sleep. Missions were a welcome break from the otherwise monotonous rhythm Natasha had found herself in. She much preferred working solo as opposed to in a team, but Shield was all about team work so she had to suck it up.

A lot of the time she found herself alongside Clint Barton who weirdly offered her a feeling of comfort. She liked how he never pried too much into how she was feeling, or her past, but kept a look out for her whenever they were together. Her icy demeanour slowly melted away thanks to his warmth that he never failed to show her.

He showed her how to let people in, how to not keep her heart so tightly guarded in fear of actually feeling something about someone. And as much as she would hate to admit it, he was right. It did feel better knowing people cared about her. But it also terrified her at the same time. Vulnerability wasn’t her strong suit.

Yet somehow she had managed to let her tough exterior be pushed aside just long enough for a certain someone to wiggle her way in and take up permanent residence inside the redhead’s mind.

Y/n Y/l/n wasn’t really anyone compared to Natasha. Sure, she was a shield agent, and a high ranking one at that, but that was nothing compared to an Avenger. She’d spend years in their shadow, always looking up to Natasha Romanoff. I mean, who wouldn’t? She’s pretty badass.

But the young agent thought her relationship with said Avenger would end at idolisation and daydreaming. She never expected to suddenly be living amongst them in the compound. But when an empty training room was suddenly disrupted at three in the morning, it was a sign things were to change forever.

Y/n relished the silence that the training room at night brought. Most of her colleagues preferred to train in a group at 7am, but insomnia often brought her into the gym a lot earlier. She loved it though; a way to clear her head and exhaust her body whilst maintaining peak physical fitness required in case of a last second mission.

Lost in a world of music playing through her headphones, Y/n failed to notice the door slowly open, caught up in her boxing routine on the punch bag. She should have been more aware of her surroundings, like she’d been trained, so that she didn’t nearly jump out of her skin as a voice cut through her music.

“You’re gonna get a sore back if you keep using the wrong form.”

Without having ever met in person, Y/n would recognise that voice anywhere. She whipped around and quickly pulled her headphones off around her neck, cheeks flushing as she took in the woman in front of her.

A black sports bra and navy sweatpants was all that adorned Natasha’s toned body. She stood there with a hand on her hip, the other holding a small towel, a water bottle and her own pair of headphones. Y/n desperately tore her eyes away from the widow’s toned abs, feeling her own insecurities creep upwards. She itched for her sweatshirt that lay discarded on the bench just out of reach. That was the last time she ever trained in a sports bra.

“You keep twisting your back as you punch. You need to move from your hips.” Y/n just looked at her with surprise, not fully processing that they were having a conversation at all. “Do you want me to show you?”

“Yeah, sure.” That snapped her out of her trance. Y/n took a step back and allowed Nat to place her things down before she packed a swift punch to the bag, sending it swinging slightly on its stand. Y/n couldn’t lie, she looked really good, arm muscles tensed as she threw a few more punches. Her form was impeccable, but of course it was.

“When you swing round you have to rotate your hips for momentum. Just turning from your back will cause injury.” Y/n nodded, mirroring her stance on the punching bag beside Natasha. “Unless you’re doing lots of smaller ones, then you need to keep your hips still. That just comes from your shoulders.”

Nat threw a few more punches before Y/n copied, missing the small smile that broke out on the Russian’s lips as she observed. Fast learner, she noted, nodding in approval as Y/n turned back to her.

“Very good.” She bent down to grab her things, back muscles on full show to Y/n who just could not stop staring. You’d think she was used to the sight of toned bodies after working out everyday, but there was something different about Natasha and she couldn’t quite work it out.

“Thank you. I’m Y/n, by the way. I work in-“

“I know who you are,” Natasha said casually, looking the woman up and down. “You work with Hill. She talks about you.”

Y/n’s eyes went wide. “She does?”

Nat smirked. “Yeah, why? Does she not talk about me?”

“No, she does- we do-“ what happened to calm and collected shield agent she once was? Reduced to a stuttering mess of words in front of a pretty redhead. God, Y/n cursed herself for not being able to talk to women.

“I’m joking, don’t worry.” Natasha gave her a soft smile before walking off to the weights section, her headphones shutting out the world so she could focus.

Y/n however, could not focus on anything except that brief interaction. It was probably so small in Natasha’s life, yet it would consume Y/n for at least a week, if not more. Maria was going to have a field day with this.

Except it wasn’t small in Natasha’s life. The flustered agent had left quite a mark and Natasha found herself creeping down to the gym at 3am most mornings, hoping to see the woman she’d grown to love so much. And, more often than not, Y/n was there, punching away at the bag and pausing when Nat came in.

Over a course of many weeks, both had changed their training plans to match each other. It felt nice working out with another, Natasha had to admit, and Y/n was so easy to talk to she set the redhead right at ease. They talked and laughed and Y/n noticed how the usually uptight Russian had come out of her shell a lot more since that very first night.

However, one night didn’t go so smoothly. Y/n was in the training room first, of course. She sat on the bench and adjusted her socks, keeping herself busy until Natasha arrived. The past couple of nights had been just her as the redhead had been on a mission, but Maria informed her that she would return tonight, so Y/n anxiously awaited her return. She was more worried about Natasha than she let on, but they had no relationship outside of those four walls so she bounced her knee, willing her new friend to walk through the doors.

And she did. Except this wasn’t the confident Natasha she usually knew. No, this Natasha was walking stiffly, almost as if she was in pain.

“Nat?” Y/n asked, standing hesitantly at the sight of her. Small cuts and bruises littered her face and what skin was exposed under the neck of her tactical suit. Agents always had to report to medical following their return from a mission, but by the looks of Natasha, she hadn’t done that. “Why- what are you doing here?”

“Can’t miss training with my favourite girl, now can I?” She tried to sound upbeat but it fell flat, her pain evident even in her voice.

Y/n pushed aside the butterflies that erupted in her chest at those words and sprung up to help her, guiding Natasha to the nearest bench and forcing her to sit. She took note of how Natasha’s hand tightly clutched her side and she feared the worst.

She thought for a second, feeling Natasha’s eyes all over her face. “May I…?” She gestured to the zip on Natasha’s suit and the redhead nodded, stiffly manoeuvring her arms out of her sleeves as Y/n tugged it down to her waist. The agent had switched to processional mode and ignored how close Natasha’s bra clad chest was to her face as she inspected her side.

“What happened?” She asked, crouching down with a hand gently resting on the redhead’s knee as she gently felt the skin around the wound.

“Some stupid agent snuck up on me and threw his knife. Shit aim though.” Of course she tried to make a joke, but Y/n wasn’t laughing as she looked into her eyes. The redhead almost wanted to roll her eyes, and she would have done if anyone else looked at her with pity like that, but Y/n was different. Safer.

“Why didn’t you go to medical?”

Nat looked down, averting her eyes. “I didn’t want to. I hate it there.”

Y/n knew not to push. She didn’t know much about Natasha’s past but knew enough to know that it must have been horrific to endure. She sat back on her heels and bit her lip in thought.

“Will you let me sort it? I keep a suture kit and supplies in my bathroom.” She caught Natasha’s eye and gently squeezed her knee, trying to establish enough trust between them to let her accept the help. But Natasha was stubborn, so there was truly no way of knowing which way she’d swing.

“Ok.” That was not the expected answer but Y/n was happy to hear it. She knew not to help Natasha up, the redhead probably would have punched her, so she collected her things and led them both back to her apartment, walking a bit slower than normal to help Natasha keep up.

Her room was nothing special and probably looked identical to Natasha’s as they both had Shield issued rooms. Although Natasha’s would be fancier thanks to Tony Stark and his upgrades.

There were no personal items on any of the surfaces, not even in the bedroom. Natasha looked around with a frown, not liking how bare everything seemed. Not homely, that’s for sure. Even the bedside cabinets were empty, not even a picture frame for decoration.

“Take a seat anywhere, I’ll be right out.” Natasha chose the couch by the small coffee table and sank down onto it. The couch wasn’t anything special and neither was the table, ring marks displaying its age and use on the surface. The overhead light was dim but brightened up as Y/n stepped back into the room, a medical kit tucked under her arm.

She worked in silence, only broken by a hiss of pain from Natasha as the alcohol stung her wound. Y/n muttered an apology under her breath but kept working, fingers brushing gently over the soft skin as she made light work of stitching it closed. They weren’t the neatest but they’d do the job just fine.

“Thank you for this,” Natasha spoke into the silence, her eyes fixed on her fingers that rested on her lap. “You didn’t have to.”

“Maybe not, but I wanted to. I don’t like seeing you hurt.”

Natasha stayed silent for a moment, trying to organise her thoughts. She had people who cared about her, the Avengers, but not quite like Y/n had. She didn’t care who Natasha was, or how well she could take down enemies. She just enjoyed her presence and cared for her as a human being, something she rarely felt like she was.

“Can I make this up to you?” She tentatively asked, the strong Black Widow now a weird mess of nerves. What even was this?

“No, you don’t have to-“

“Come out with me on Saturday, into the city. Can I buy you lunch?”

Y/n stifled her smile and hid her face whilst packing up her equipment. She knew Natasha was asking her out on a date, albeit in a very roundabout way. It warmed her heart though, seeing her so soft. It was a side very few people ever got to see.

“Ok, sure. I’d really like that.”

Natasha smiled. “Now I know where you sleep, I’ll come pick you up.”

Y/n scrunched her nose at the odd phrasing. “You had to make it weird.”

“You know me,” she replied with a wink.

~~~

That date was a catalyst for many more to follow, and many midnight training sessions too. It took six more months of flirting and secret meet ups before Natasha pulled her heart out and wore it on her sleeve, asking Y/n to be her girlfriend.

The agent wasn’t stupid, of course she said yes. And at first their relationship was purely in the honeymoon stages; sneaking kisses in the hallway, comforting touches underneath the table, more midnight training and also moving in together. Natasha’s apartment was bigger than Y/n could ever have imagined and she adored the bed, starfishing face down on the mattress the first time she saw it.

But that was two years ago. Sure, they were still very much in love but something had shifted between them, creating a rift that Y/n had started to notice more and more. She knew what was causing it too.

Natasha was going on missions every other week, for days at a time. And she’d fallen back into her old habits, putting the job and the result over the safety of herself. More times than not did she come battered and bruised, open wounds bleeding as she walked into the bedroom. Y/n begged her to stop, to stay home more, to reduce the amount she went on even just to one a month, but her desperate attempts were met with a slammed door and a wall in Natasha’s mind. But she still persisted, trying again the next time Natasha came home. But it was useless.

Y/n always waited up for her though, the nerves of what state Natasha would be in when she returned making sleep pretty much impossible. Whatever she imagined, somehow it was always worse. She used to quiz Natasha as she led her into the bathroom and patched her up, placing kisses on each bruise that she found.

But now they barely said a word, Y/n almost running on autopilot as she cleaned cuts on Natasha’s back for what felt like the millionth time. It was draining her, anyone could see that, and being on edge all the time had made Maria notice.

“Take a week off to clear your head,” her supervisor had ordered, not taking any protests into consideration. “I don’t want to see you in this office before next Thursday, Y/l/n.”

A week off would have been great for anyone else but her. Natasha was away, again, which left Y/n with no ways to fully distract herself like she usually did to cope. She spent the first day in bed, holding onto Natasha’s pillow as her tears soaked the pillowcase. She hated how out of control she felt when Natasha was gone. It was her job, yet Y/n often wished Nat would retire, or at least pull back from constantly being in the field. But that’s what her girlfriend loved, so she had no choice but to respect it.

But on the third day of very little sleep and increasing stress levels, Y/n hit breaking point. She stared at her ghostly reflection as she splashed her face with some water, trying desperately to snap herself out of the lie she was feeling. But under the glaring lights all she could focus on were the heavy bags under her eyes and her discoloured skin, pink blotches littering her cheeks and forehead. She’d been picking at her skin to cope, but it did nothing but make her look worse.

She remained a zombie all day, curling back under the covers at 7pm to shut out the world. There was no telling when Natasha would return but part of her didn’t want it to be yet. She didn’t want to see the state she was in, the mess that she’d have to clean up. She loved Natasha, she really did, but with no contact allowed on her missions and no updates from the team, Y/n was starting to question if their relationship was even working.

She flicked off the light and turned to face the wall, images flashing in front of her as she worried herself stupid about her girlfriend. What if she wasn’t coming home? What if she’d been kidnapped? What if-

The apartment door opened.

Y/n held her breath, pulling the covers tightly under her chin as she waited. She knew the sound of Natasha’s footsteps based on her different moods, but the assassin stepped so lightly it was hard to tell. She felt footsteps getting closer and closer and she squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to face the horrors to come. She wanted one more blissful moment, but her heart was racing in her chest and her throat was getting tight.

The bedroom door opened.

Light from the living room flooded in through the small gap as Natasha stepped through, brows furrowed at the darkness. It wasn’t that late, but maybe she’d missed something. Wasn’t like she was around much.

“Y/n?” She whispered, not wanting to turn the light on. But she didn’t need to worry about that when suddenly the room was bathed in light. Her girlfriend was sat up in bed, eyes blotchy as she stared at her with a hand on the light switch. “What happened?”

“What hurts?” Y/n asked, sliding off her side of the bed and padding over to the bathroom. “Stitches? Probably bruising too.” She was talking to herself more than Natasha, hands working to gather her supplies. But she was stopped when a pair of rough hands gathered hers inside them, tugging her away from the sink. “What are you doing?”

“I’m ok,” Natasha said, removing one of her hands to gently cup Y/n’s chin, tilting her eyes to meet her own. “Just a couple of bruised ribs, but that’s nothing.”

“At least let me look at them.” Natasha knew she wasn’t going to take no for an answer so she unzipped her suit and pulled it to her waist, revealing the nasty colourful sight. It was swollen and tender and Y/n cursed under her breath. She grabbed the tiger balm and gently applied it, trying to steady her shaking fingers as they touched Natasha’s skin.

“How have you been? How’s work?”

“Its fine, thanks.” Y/n wasn’t going to admit that Maria made her take a week off. She avoided Natasha’s gaze as she worked, even though there wasn’t much she could do for bruised ribs. “I’ll get you an ice pack when you’re dressed.” That was Natasha’s dismissal cue and she took it, but not without lingering in the doorway to watch Y/n for a moment.

By the time Natasha was dressed in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, Y/n had wrapped the ice pack in a towel and handed it to her. There was an uneasy tension between them and Natasha could see something was on Y/n’s mind, just waiting to be said.

“Y/n-“

“This is your last one, right?” She couldn’t help herself but blurt out. Somehow she found the confidence with her back to Nat, sitting on her side of the bed. “Please tell me it’s your last one.”

“Of what?”

“Your missions, Natasha.” She bent one knee and tucked it beside her as she turned her body to face Natasha who was still standing in the middle of the room, ice pack pressed to her ribs. “How many times are you going to keep doing this? Coming home in a state! I never know if one day you’re just not going to come home at all.”

Natasha bit her bottom lip. She knew this was going to happen, it always did. And shutting Y/n down didn’t exactly get easier with practice. “Don’t do this again Y/n, please. You know what my answer is.”

“No, Natasha. I’m not gonna accept that anymore. I’m not asking you to quit all together. I just mean reduce the number you go on, take up desk work or surveillance, just something, anything, to get you out of the firing line.” Y/n ran her hands over her face, trying to keep herself together. But the more she spoke, the stronger her emotions got. “I can’t live like this anymore!”

Natasha had placed her ice pack on the bed, not feeling the need to hold it up right now. She couldn’t move, even though she wanted to run to Y/n. “I know you don’t like it-“

“I hate it.”

“Ok fine, you hate it,” she held her hands up in defense. “But that doesn’t mean I suddenly have to stop.”

Y/n stood up from her position, not wanting an ache in her back from turning so much. She and Natasha were now at eye level although the redhead’s stoic face was a lot more composed than her own.

“You’re not listening to anything I say. I never said you had to stop. Ever. Because that would be hypocritical coming from me.” Natasha pulled a ‘sounds about right’ face which Y/n just ignored. “I’m just asking you to reduce the amount you go on. Once a month, maybe? You can still be in the action, still do everything you love, but that way you’re safer and you’re here more. I hardly see you.”

Natasha shook her head. “Our line of work isn’t safe Y/n, even you know that surely.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She was getting defensive, having reached her limit of Natasha trying to shut her down.

Natasha was too stubborn to give up, even when she knew she fucked up. She just couldn’t let it go. “You rarely leave this place! Always stuck in the same office, the same four walls going insane every day! I don’t know how you do it! I’d rather quit than do that.”

“I do that because I can still contribute to the missions without the risk of getting blown to hell,” Y/n spat, taking full offense to Natasha talking down about her job. Sure, she didn’t go into the field as much as the other agents but she preferred to be in the chair, handling everything from above. “And you know damn well those missions you love don’t work without someone like me.”

“And that’s great, for someone like you. But I can’t do that, you have to understand me. I can’t be behind the fight, I have to be in it.”

“No one else goes on as many as you do, Natasha. Don’t you think that just once, someone else can take a mission-“

“I don’t care Y/n!” Natasha may be a passionate person but she never raised her voice. So her elevated tone made Y/n’s jaw clench, her innate response whenever someone shouted at her. “You don’t get to dictate my life! That wasn’t our agreement-“

“Agreement? What, so this is, are we some kind of, I don’t know, contract that you’re obliged to?”

Natasha scoffed, her eyes rolling back at the pure ridiculousness of her statement. This whole argument was pointless really but she entertained it, too stubborn to give in or let Y/n win. “Oh come on, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I’m just sick of lying here in fear every week wondering if you’re actually going to come home or not! I can’t keep doing this Nat.” Y/n was having a hard time keeping Natasha in her vision as tears blurred in her eyes. But she wouldn’t let them spill. Crying meant Natasha won and she was done with backing down.

“We can’t keep having this conversation, Y/n,” Natasha grunted, running her fingers through her hair and tugging out the messy braid. “You know I can’t stop. This is my life, it’s what I was made to do. I can’t live without this job!”

“And I can’t live without you!” Her voice cracked and a tear slipped down but she fought the urge to wipe it, praying Natasha didn’t see. But she did see. Of course she did. The Russian noticed everything.

Natasha went silent. That was the last thing she wanted to hear. In this line of work, relying so heavily on someone wasn’t a good idea. She knew that, it had been drilled into her since she was a child. But Y/n didn’t, and that’s where she slipped up.

“Don’t say that.” Heavy emotions and Natasha Romanoff didn’t really mix well. “You have to, one way or another. You can’t just rely on me Y/n.”

“Nat, I am in love with you but lately it feels like all you care about is your job. When is it going to feel like you actually want to be here? With me?”

“I do Y/n, I do-“

Y/n dropped her head. “I know there’s a but coming.”

Natasha looked at the defeated form of her girlfriend and winced. She never thought she’d ever be in the position where she had to choose between family and her job. But she knew what her choice would be, what it always had been. Long before she even had a family.

“This job means everything to me. I didn’t choose this life, like you did, I was forced into it. It’s part of who I am, and I can’t just stop doing that to be with you.” The second those words fell from her lips Natasha knew that was the wrong thing to say.

Y/n adjusted the collar of her shirt and started to pace. If she was sitting down her leg would have been bouncing all over the place.

“What, that’s it? You’re just gonna call this whole thing off because you can’t take a break from your job?”

“What ‘whole thing’?”

“Us, Natasha! Us!” Y/n stopped in her tracks, gesturing between them both. They were on opposite sides of the room, a clear divide in space and opinion. “Unless there isn’t an ‘us’ anymore. Maybe I’m just the girl who keeps your bed warm and stitches you up in the middle of the night, no questions asked. Occasionally gives you head if you are really in the mood-“

“Stop it Y/n.”

“Stop what? It’s the truth, isn’t it? That’s all I am to you.”

“‘No, you’re so much more.” Natasha’s fingers were fidgeting with each other and they’d stumbled across a small cut on her palm that they were now playing with, the pain trying to keep her grounded. “But you have to understand that I can’t just take a step back. I love this job more than anything because I actually get to do something good with my skills that have been used for the opposite my whole life. I just need you to understand that, please!”

“You’re not gonna stop, are you?” Natasha just stared at her, chewing on her bottom lip. “No matter what, you will keep coming back here in a mess and I will keep fixing you up and we will keep having this conversation. Is there an end to this?”

“I won’t come here then.” Natasha stated simply, eyes darting momentarily to the bathroom door. “I’ll go to medical, where I should be.”

“You hate it there.”

“You hate me here.”

Y/n sighed, her breath shaky. This was the longest they’d ever fought for, and fighting Natasha was mentally exhausting. She had an answer to everything.

“I don’t hate you here, I just wish you’d fucking listen to me for one goddamn second!” Natasha nodded, almost challenging her to speak.

“I am.”

“I didn’t want to say this, but you haven’t exactly given me much of a choice. It’s me or the job, Nat. You choose. And you know what? If you choose me, you still keep half your job! But if you choose the job, you don’t get to keep half of me.” The last part sounded stupid but Natasha knew what she meant. She only had half of Y/n right now. The half that slept in her bed and fixed her wounds. If she chose her, she’d get the other half she fell in love with back.

But she couldn’t, could she? Natasha looked down, not wanting to watch Y/n’s face respond. “I’m sorry…”

“Get out.” It was barely a whisper but Natasha heard it. “Get. Out.” Y/n didn’t want Natasha to see her cry but when their eyes met again, Y/n’s were flooded with tears. She didn’t care, how could she when the green ones staring back at her were so cold. Natasha didn’t say a word, only grabbing her sweatshirt and slipping out of the room. The faint jangle of her keys sounded as the door slammed shut and only then did Y/n allow her walls to come crumbling down.

She collapsed onto the bed, only this time hugging her own pillow close as she choked out her sobs. They echoed around the room and her gag reflex kicked in from how hard she was crying. But all she could see was Natasha’s emotionless face staring back at her, not a hint of remorse visible in her eyes.

Reaching to flick off the light, Y/n caught sight of something that made her cry harder. Her bedside table hadn’t been empty for two and a half years. A single picture frame now sat there. And it was in that moment that Y/n wished it had just stayed empty.

#natasha romanoff #fanfic #marvel #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #natasha romanoff x female #natasha romanoff oneshot #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x female reader

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clemissleepy · 2 months

Text

Autumn Sadness

seungmin's rival for the title of 'jeongin's best friend' collapses in his doorway.

wc : 1.7k

tw // implied sh , implied ed , fluff , angst , seungmin and reader are both very sensory-sensitive , seungmin is kinda rude at first , enemies to lovers but it doesn't actually go anywhere, this is just a lil drabble

seungmin hated that stupid face that was always glowing on jeongin's phone when he thought he wasn't looking. it enraged him to hear her obnoxious laugh through the walls and the way jeongin nearly completely ignored seungmin's existence.

when she came around to their shared apartment, it was like seungmin was a blanket. just used to everyone's benefit while he laid there and gained nothing. he didn't get to pick the show they watched, or the food they ordered, or what games they played. he just had to sit there and watch his best friend treat her like a princess.

the leaves were warm oranges and yellows. the sky was nearly gray and dead, wind chilly enough to dust pink on ones cheeks and nose, but not enough to numb their joints. seungmin had his headphones in, reading on his balcony bundled up in blankets and sweaters. he hummed to himself as he flipped through the familiar pages of his favorite book.

out of the corner of his eye, he could see something rushing. he could faintly hear the leaves crushing beneath someone's panicked steps and the creaking of the apartment's lobby door being opened. he caught a glimpse of the striped scarf the person worse and was now annoyingly aware of her presence.

just minutes later, he could hear keys shuffling around in the halls and the locks of his door clicking. the metal door slowly slammed shut and he rolled his eyes while closing his book to investigate. he unwrapped himself, throwing his blanket and story onto his plush comforter, and trotted out to the living space.

there she was, panting, in complete disarray. her scarf was tangled in her unusually disheveled hair. her eyes were uncomfortably pink and the way she darted around looking for something was getting on seungmin's nerves.

"jeongin's not here," he glares, hoping she'll take his hint to leave. but she just stares at him, eyes glossy as fat tears roll down her cheeks. a sob racks her body and she collapses onto her knees in the foyer.

"oh... um... okay," seungmin mutters while she wraps her arms around her and shivers. "what the fuck is wrong with you?"

she does not reply. rather, she curls over herself and chokes on her spit, groaning out and watching her tears puddle on the chill tile beneath her. her hands shake and run through her hair, tugging at it by the roots.

"okay, enough of that," seungmin comments, standing just in front of her and pulling her hands away from herself. 'they're soft,' he thinks. he notices how the white nail polish she always had on was chipped away, her usually clean and well kept nails were bitten far too short and the skin was picked at and fresh.

"what's wrong with you?" he continues to pry, looking down at her judgmentally. her head stays low as she pants and mumbles, rocking back and forth just enough for seungmin to notice. he supposes he needs to try a new approach.

he slowly kneels down, groaning at the ache in his back as he does. he reaches eye level with her and is very slow and gentle as he lifts her chin up to look at him. his eyes soften at the way her eyes just slightly turn inwards, making her look like a lost puppy. however, there is an obvious lack of color in her appearance, more like a homeless abandoned dog than one simply away from its home.

"i know i'm no jeongin and i know we're not friends by any means, but..." seungmin rests his hand onto her shoulder and slowly starts to untangle her from her scarf and jackets. "i'm here for you, if you need someone to talk to."

she chokes out her sickening laugh. "you just asked what the fuck is wrong with me!" she giggles while the tears drench her chin and neck. seungmin rests her scarf and jacket on the floor, now taking a close look at the way she's cradled into herself.

there was gauze wrapped tightly around her arms, suffocating her hands and turning them purple.

"you're cutting off blood," he states while starting to unwrap the bandages. he does not fail to notice the blood seeping through them, but he does not care. he is gentle and reassuring as he rewraps the gauze. "did you make a tourniquet anywhere else?"

she stares blankly for a moment, dissociating in front of the man she claimed did not have a soul. she catches his eyes and is lost in the way they are not as dead as she always perceived. they are small, half closed, but they are alive.

she points at her leg. beneath her jeans there is a lump where the gauze is and she hisses at the tension in her muscles.

"take your pants off."

"what?!" she yells, immediately regretting it from the scratch of her throat.

"well, unless you're gonna fix it yourself," seungmin rolls his eyes and stands up, offering one of his hands to her. she scrutinizes every inch of his face in an attempt to read his expressions just as she does jeongin. but she cannot see what lies behind his eyes or his foul mouth. she can only see the faint light of hope in the pit of darkness she's found herself in.

she adjusts the gauze on her thigh in the bathroom and seungmin insists she changes into some of jeongin's comfy clothes. specifically, his dinosaur pajamas. she is buried in the soft material, but comfortable nonetheless as seungmin leads her to the familiar couch and rests his own weighted blanket on top of her.

"beef or chicken?" he asks while tucking the edges of the blankets into her sides and ensuring she is mostly confined into a small roll of blankets and sadness.

"beef... for what?"

"ramen. you lost weight," he pads away into the kitchen and starts to boil water up in a pot. "i'm guessing you've been bottling everything up because jeongin has been having the time of his life with his girlfriend, yes?"

seungmin noticed the lack of his rival's voice through the walls the past few weeks. he was now hearing a much more trained voice coming from his speakers. it almost irked seungmin how jeongin seemed to shuffle away into a new world without his two best friends.

"how-,"

"i know everything. i know your coworkers have been talking shit about you behind your back and blaming you for things you didn't do. you're on your last warning before you get fired. i know your sister just started her tour in america so you're alone at home. i know your cat was diagnosed with cancer and you had to put her down last week. on top of that, you have exams next week, you can't get a hang of your calculus, and you're worried you'll never succeed, find love, or even make it out of college alive."

seungmin does not notice that he rambles. he knows there's an obvious annoyance in his tone, but he choosss not to acknowledge how odd it is that he knows so much about her.

the water is boiling, but the room is quiet. seungmin knows she can hear the buzzing of the lights, and the fridge, and the stove. so, out of the kindness of his heart, he turns the lights off and grabs an old pair of fluffy earmuffs from the foyer that he stuffs onto her head. 'her hair is so soft,' he thinks.

"well, you know my whole life story... you'd already know everything even if i wanted to tell you what's wrong," she grumbles.

"you talk pretty loud," seungmin shrugs and pours the noodles into the boiling water. "but i don't know why today was your breaking point. jeongin's at a photoshoot, not like it's a date that he abandoned you for."

"someone leaked my face and information. they got pictures of jeongin and i at a cafe and now... he's under fire for dating rumors and my sister is getting hate because of me and i'm so- they know where i live! i had to come here, i have to apologize to jeongin and ask if i can hide here."

"of course you can hide here, dumbass," seungmin chuckles. "and you should be more worried about your safety than jeongin or your sister's public appearance. they leaked your address?"

she nods silently and more tears stream down her cheeks. he finishes the ramen, letting it simmer in the pot with the seasoning. he then finds himself tensely beside her, hands anxious and trained to his sides while she starts to bresthe heavily again.

"you like pressure, right? lay down," seungmin commands, pushing her and watching her fall clumsily onto her side from being rolled inside blankets. she gasps and her eyes bug out, but she watches how seungmin crawls on top of her like a dog that doesn't know his own size and rests his dead weight onto her. she feels like she's floating on a cloud while simultaneously being grounded by the most wonderful weight imaginable.

it does not take either of them long to fall into an autumn nap, snores and drool falling from both their lips. seungmin shuffles in his sleep while she mumbles and hiccups quietly. the rain outside patters against the window rhythmically and their legs intertwine slowly as they adjust for comfort.

jeongin enters the apartment with grocery bags and his keys twirling on his finger. "seung-," he nearly yells, but he sees his roommates feet dangling off the arm of their couch. he notices the discarded jackets and scarf and feminine boots in the entryway, and deduces that his other best friend is here.

he does not, however, expect to see the both of them in a little cuddle pile. the ramen is still full on the stove at a simmer, the lights dim and the tv stuck on the netflix 'who's watching?' screen.

jeongin kneels down and whispers into seungmin's ear, "i knew you liked her."

"shut up, sushi roll needs peace and quiet," the older whines with a lisp and drag to his words. his hand lifts to the her cheeks and cups them oh so gently.

"she's sad... 'm gonna make her happy again."

thank you for reading! <3 ~clem

#skz #fanfic #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #writing #stray kids #seungmin #kim seungmin #skz seungmin #skz fluff #skz angst #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fluff #skz fanfic #clem writes

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astranva · 2 years

Text

Andrew Garfield talking about his girlfriend for 8 minutes video

Word Count: 1.2k

Category: Fluff

Warning: None

Summary: A fan makes a YouTube video of Andrew Garfield talking about you for 8 minutes straight.

When the news of you and Andrew dating got out three years ago, fans and the media had a field day.

It wasn’t because you were anyone famous—quite the opposite. Being someone with a normal job, you and Andrew had basked in finally going outside as a couple, and it was how adorable the pictures looked that had everyone freaking out.

One picture was of you laughing, Andrew’s arms around you from behind as he wrapped his coat around you as he wore it, a grin on his face.

Another picture was of you looking at him, eyes set on one another with his hands tangled in your hair, while the other was of him kissing you and despite the photo not being one in high quality, everyone could still see the small smirk he had as you kissed.

It was no surprise when fans posted edits of you together, and although the content they got was minimal, considering your lack of presence in interviews and public press, it was always a field day when you appeared beside him on a red carpet or when you both did as little as grab yourselves some coffee.

Andrew Garfield talking about his girlfriend y/n for 8 minutes straight

The 8-minute and 29-second video started with lofi music over an advertisement for marvel hoodies that everyone seemed to promote, before a sound of glitching television sounded and the video started.

The video started with Andrew and Zendaya’s Actor on Actor interview when they first started talking about Zendaya’s performance on Euphoria.

“Makes me want to cry. I didn’t feel like there was any acting. It felt like you were living through something in such an authentic way,” Andrew said, “And I remember I watched episode 5 with Y/N—with my girlfriend, and she was just like, ‘Andy, can you check up on Zendaya?’”

Zendaya smiled, being her usual self who got flustered at any compliment or praise, “She did text me that night, I remember.”

“She did,” he nodded, “She was so heartbroken over the episode.”

The video then moved to show Andrew during his Wired Autocomplete interview, the foam board in his hand as he took off the sticker that hid the question.

“Does Andrew Garfield sing in Tick, Tick…Boom?” He read, “So, Andrew Garfield does sing in Tick, Tick…Boom, yes. Thank you,” he answered, “I worked very, very closely with an amazing vocal coach, Liz Caplan, and all of Lin Manuel Miranda’s amazing musical direction team. They enabled me to open my voice up to the point where I could honor Jon’s songs and feel confident enough to belt them out as he always did when he was doing his one-man show,” he nodded slight, “It was a privilege to be able to learn a skill that I’ve always wanted to attain but my girlfriend wouldn’t really agree,” he chuckled, looking at the camera, “Y/N’s had enough of my singing, because every time I’d learn something new, it’d be the only thing I’d be doing around our home and she’s incredible, she has a job that she needs to focus on and rest from, but I was always there singing and annoying her,” he laughed, “She’s a gem for putting up with me.”

Another clip then played as Andrew read Buzzfeed’s thirst tweets, headphones on his ears.

“Andrew Garfield if you see this on your secret Twitter account, I’m free this weekend if you want to get lunch or drinks or something, just let me know. If you want to do it earlier, I can do dinner during the week,” he chuckled as he read the tweet, “But I’m usually busy before six,” he finished with a laugh, leaning back in his seat, “I love that. That’s very, very—I like hyper-vigilance. I like specificity of plans,” he said, “But I’m going to have to give you a rain check on that because I’m actually busy on the weekend, unless you want to join in on my girlfriend and I’s date, then it’s fine by me,” he laughed, “I can do lunch during the week though, but we’re going to have to have that at Y/N’s office because that’s where you’ll usually find me having my lunch.”

The clip then moved to Andrew on the Ellen show, getting asked about Spider-Man: No Way Home, and having to lie to people.

“Who knew? Beside your agent, who knew that you were doing this? I mean, how hard is that? To keep it to—I mean, your family knew?” Ellen asked him.

“Yeah, my dad, my brother, and my mother at the time,” he answered with a smile, “Yeah, just kind of us. It was fun to keep it secret,” he grinned, “Because you know when you’re planning a surprise birthday party for someone, and then you’re like, tell me, you know I hate surprises, but I can see it on your face that you’re just like ‘I’m not gonna tell you’,” he shook his head with his wide grin, “So it felt like I was part of organizing a surprise birthday party for a bunch of people whom I knew would appreciate it.”

“Did your girlfriend know?”

Beaming even more, “Y/N had no idea,” he said, laughing, “And—lying to the media, to the fans, that was easy and fun, but lying to my girlfriend has got to be—it was one of the most agonizing and terrible things I have ever done.”

“You lied to her for what? Two years?”

“Technically, it was a year and a few months,” Andrew pointed.

“And how—how did she take that? I’d be pretty offended.”

He laughed, shaking his head, “She wasn’t, she wasn’t. I knew she’d appreciate it because she knows how I feel about my experience with the character, and it was—I’ll tell you something,” he sat up, smiling, “It was worth every single moment where I had to tell her I was shooting for another movie when I saw her reaction when we went to watch it together,” he said, “We had to watch it again because she couldn’t really focus after I was on screen,” he laughed, “But yeah, it—it was definitely hard having to lie to her, and it definitely made her tease me about trust for a while, but she supported me throughout without even knowing.”

The clip then moved to the last one, being from a recent interview with GQ of 10 things Andrew can’t live without.

In a t-shirt and sporting a full beard, he held a silver necklace with a compass on it.

“This is a necklace with a compass on it,” he said, holding the necklace in his hands before the camera zoomed on it before it showed him again, “My girlfriend Y/N gave this to me in a period where I needed to trust the direction I was going, even if I didn’t know where I was going,” he chuckled, looking at it, “It’s become such a symbol of our relationship because in a way, to me, it feels like it navigates us both back to where we have always met, toward our common interests and our differences that initially made us attracted to each other. But she’s always been very persistent on her support for me and my journey in my career, and my journey as a person, so this necklace is just a reminder from her that the direction I’m headed in is always one I can find value in,” he smiled, “My relationship with Y/N is very essential to me. She’s just—She’s truly my person, and this necklace is a symbol of the deep connection we have with each other.”

#andrew garfield #andrew garfield imagine #andrew garfield blurb #andrew garfield x reader #andrew garfield fanfiction #andrew garfield fluff #andrew garfield interview

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sweetsweetjellybean · 8 months

Text

In a city the size of Chicago, Eddie should be easy to avoid. Or maybe the city isn't as big as you thought?

Masterlist Listen to Sour Girl Here

What to expect: Second Chance Romance set in 2012 Chicago. Eddie and Steve are in their 30s. Fem!Reader is given a pet name from each of the guys. No other name mentioned. No use of Y/N. No physical description. Reader does have a bit of personality, as I find it nearly impossible to keep her blank for such a long fic. You may find yourself at times making choices that you wouldn't normally make, but I hope you can put that aside and enjoy the ride. Sensitive Content. 18+ Mentions of DV. Smut Guaranteed happy ending. This is my love letter to Eddie Munson.

WC:6558 beta'd by @superblysubpar

Plink.

Plink. Plink. Plink.

The old wooden frame of your window groans against the track, burdened with too many layers of paint to make the slide smooth. The swirls of creamy pinks and oranges have faded hours ago into the star-lit summer sky. The boy is below, standing in your backyard, fist full of pea gravel taken from a neighbor's garden. A smile twisting his lips lifts his cheeks, putting dimples on full display as he looks up at you from the darkness below. You raise a finger, signaling for him to wait before you turn away. Tossing a few things in your empty backpack, you take a pillow from your bed, and your comforter is wrestled free from the mattress. With careful footsteps, you creep down the stairs, stopping in the kitchen. The light from the fridge casts a triangle across the floor as you take a few Capri Suns to add to your bag. Leaving through the slider, the end of your blanket trails behind you through the grass that was trimmed that morning. You slip off your flip-flops, leaving them beside a pair of larger, well-worn sneakers with a chain wallet tucked inside the right shoe. Eddie bounces on the trampoline, his sock-covered feet launching him into the air, arms stretched for balance. You toss everything on before climbing on with him. With a final bounce, he lands on his butt beside you, grinning.

“I got it,” you tell him, tossing the pillow behind you.

“Nah-uh.”

"My dad took me to Tower this afternoon." Rummaging in your pack, you pull out a Discman and over-the-ear headphones with the cord in a tangled mess. "I could only get two. I had to choose between Rage," you begin, ticking off album titles on your fingers, “Soundgarden, STP, and Pearl Jam.”

“And?”

Taking out the CDs, you press them against his chest, letting go as soon as his fingers go around them. His brown eyes widen as he examines what’s in his hands as you pick apart the knotted cord.

“Songs from the Vatican Gift Shop AND Down on the Upside? You haven’t even opened this one.” He holds up the Soundgarden CD before using his teeth to rip open the cellophane covering the plastic case.

“I waited for you.” You smile.

His face softens. “You’re a doll.”

He lies back, his head nestling into your pillow, hands clasped behind his head, gazing up at the sky. After putting the CD into the player, you follow him, pulling the comforter over you both and resting your head on his bicep. The headphone speakers are flipped out, tucked between you, as Chris Cornell's melancholic voice begins to seep into your ears, velvety and dark like the night itself.

"Listen to this transition," he insists, his voice filled with the same awe that it always does when he talks about music, "The shift from acoustic to electric guitar is seamless."

“I wish I could hear it the way you do.”

As you gaze skyward, a slender branch sways in perfect rhythm with the chords, green leaves fluttering with the bass. The stars multiply and shimmer as if they’re caught up in the flow of the song.

“You do,” he says, his head turning toward you, “You’re the only one I know who loves it as much as I do.” He studies your face, his eyes locking with yours. The music building until it’s too intense, and he looks away. “It’s lyrics that hook you. You’ve always got so many words floating around in that big brain of yours.”

The disc spins, and you both listen, the scent of lilacs wafting in on the breeze, and fireflies painting the sky with their gentle glow. Time passes in the slow way it only does for kids on a cool summer night.

“Eddie?”

“Hmm?” He answers, eyes closed.

“Are they fighting again?”

He doesn’t talk about it, but everyone knows—an ugly secret festering on an otherwise picture-perfect street. No one wants to get their hands dirty by getting involved.

“Why won’t she leave him?” A simple question in a world of black and white.

“I want her to,” his adams apple bobs as he swallows, “She says she loves him.”

“Just stay here with me tonight, okay?” Rolling to your side, you wrap your hand across his chest, offering him the only protection that you can.

“Yeah, okay.”

When you wake the following morning, the songs and memories you were reacquainted with last night have faded to a dull throb–much like the martinis. But remnants of their lyrics persist, crawling under your skin, irritating like an itch, a tune hummed without the words to accompany it. Your phone’s screen lights up with an incoming text, the short burst of vibration sending it skittering across the surface of your nightstand. It takes a moment for your bleary eyes to focus on the notification on your lock screen.

Unknown: I admit last night could have gone better. Let me make it up to you. Coffee?

After tapping in your passcode, you open the message app to reply.

You: Wrong number

Darkening your screen, you let your phone slip from your hand onto the bed beside you. With a sigh, you lean back, staring at the ceiling, seeking answers that remain elusive. The scent of brewing dark roast and toasting bagels rises up the stairs with the sounds of Steve moving around the kitchen. A cup of coffee (or five) and a shower is what you need to wash away the past and leave it firmly where it belongs– in your rearview.

It's the bottom of your second cup when Steve walks into your massive walk-in closet with a towel wrapped around his waist, fresh from the shower, his hair still damp, the freckled skin of his chest looking golden in the soft glow of the elegant pendant lights.

“Is that what you're wearing to work?” He asks.

“Um, yeah.” You finish buckling the strap of your chunky mary-janes. “Something wrong with it?” you ask, catching sight of yourself in the mirror, dark distressed jeans and a band tee recut into a fitted v-neck.

“Of course not,” he sighs, running his hand through his hair before sitting down heavily on the leather bench. His shoulders slump as he looks across to the cherry built-in shelves holding the rows of tailored suits hung by progression of color. “You always look beautiful.”

Taking your watch from the marble top of the large center island, you wander over to where he’s seated. He hooks a finger into one of the large holes in your jeans, tugging you over to stand between his legs, his big hands wrapping around the backs of your thighs.

“Guess I’m just missing the days of wearing jeans and a jersey to work,” he says, his smile not smoothing the faint crease in his brows.

“You traded that in for a car service and a big fat paycheck,” you point out, kissing the top of his head and moving back to your side of the closet to select a blazer.

“How else am I going to keep spoiling you?” He stands, dropping the towel and picking up the black Tom Ford boxer briefs he set out before his shower.

“Steve, I don’t need all of this,” your hand sweeps in the air, gesturing to the lit shelves holding more clothes and shoes than you could ever need. “Just take me to a concert every once in a while.” Your voice trails off as notification chimes on your phone.

Unknown: Nice try, doll. Robin gave me your number.

“Can you imagine if we were still in that cramped apartment in Lincoln Park?” He scoffs, pulling on a light gray pair of suit pants. “We were tripping over all our stuff.”

Steve found the three-bedroom, three-bath brownstone on a tree-lined street in the ritzy Gold Coast neighborhood just after he got promoted from Metro, marking the beginning of his rise up the ranks in Second City Media. He spent a year and a chunk of his trust fund on a meticulous renovation before the two of you moved in. It is beautiful—large air rooms with lofty ceilings adorned with pristine white crown molding and wainscotting throughout, giving a modern but classic feel. Living with so much space is lavish in a city of this size. But you would be just as happy back on that ratty couch in Lincoln Park, drinking beer straight from the bottle and eating pizza without the fuss of plates, working on your laptop while he watched a Cubs game. Steve is driven–determined to be a success, and he is, but with the money came the stress. And it’s taking a toll.

Your finger hovers over the block button, but you press add to contacts instead. “Hey,” you change the subject, slipping your phone into your jacket pocket, “Did you ever look into that sailing charter you wanted to book out at the lake? We could do that this weekend?”

“I wish I could, Ace. I’ve got those weekend meetings about the streaming radio we're trying to launch. Pick out a tie for me?” He asks, pulling off a starched black button-up from its hanger.

“Sure.” You walk over and spin the rack holding up dozens of ties on shiny brass hooks.

“What do you have going on today?” The well-defined muscles of his sculpted shoulders, earned from never skipping a day at the gym, flex before disappearing into his shirt sleeves.

“Not a lot.” You pull the silky slip of deep maroon fabric off its hanger. “Lola is put to bed for this year. I just have an album review to finish up and a meeting with my editor today. Maybe a series on the Fall tours?” You propose, mostly to yourself, as you bring him his tie.

“Maroon, huh?” One brow raises with the question, “I would have picked black.”

“I know.” The corner of your lips turn up in a sly smile before you rise to your toes and place a kiss on his mouth, “I’m gonna go.”

“You want my driver to drop you off?” He asks, looking in the mirror and adjusting his tie.

“Nah, I’ll drive myself. Argyle and I are going to the Subterranean for drinks. Santigold is performing. Do you want to come?” You throw out, picking up your ancient army green messenger bag you can’t bear to part with, straining with the fullness of your laptop and notes.

“I’ll pass. Not really my scene.” As he fastens his gold cufflinks, they catch the gleaming light.

“You never come to shows with me,” you sigh.

“I know, I know. I’ll try and catch the next one,” he says, sliding his feet into shiny Italian leather shoes. “I’m meeting Robin for lunch. You want to join us?”

“No. I’ll let you have your girl time.” You blow him a kiss before heading out the door.

“See you tonight, okay?”

“Love you. See you tonight,” he calls after you.

Passing through rooms decorated with rich creams and calming moss greens, you yell over your shoulder, “Tell Robin I said we don’t have any more room for paintings of flowers that look like vaginas.”

“They’re a good investment,” his voice fades as you jog down your stairs, grabbing your keys from the stained-glass bowl on the table beside the door, ignoring the buzz coming from your pocket.

The world is full of cliches. Many become so ingrained that we accept them as unwavering truths. Every cloud has a silver lining. Don’t judge a book by its cover. Actions speak louder than words. A rotten apple will spoil the bunch. Don’t spit into the wind. Well, that last one is just good advice, but there is one that has stuck with you. Love what you do, and you’ll never work a day in your life. Music is your deity, and working at Stax is where you worship at its altar, spreading the Gospel of John, Paul, George, and Ringo. It’s a place where your lifelong obsession is not only validated, it’s celebrated. Your journey leading up to this point feels like destiny, like the universe conspired to harmonize your two greatest loves—the lyrical power of words and the soul-stirring magic of music. Each day within these walls is a new chord, a different tempo, and you revel in the ever-changing rhythm of your life. One spent intertwined with the music and the people that create it. The magazine's pages are your stage, your canvas, and with every keystroke, you paint the stories of the music, offering them to those who care to listen.

Without taking your eyes off your laptop screen, you reach for your coffee mug only to knock over the tittering tower of CDs that you had stacked on the corner of your cluttered desk. The plastic jewel cases meet the cement floor with a shattering crash, the noise echoing off the walls of the open industrial space that houses the offices for Stax Magazine in the heart of Fulton Market District. Clapping comes from other desks as you chase the discs rolling on their sides in all directions. Pausing, you bend into a dramatic curtsey, earning chuckles as the applause dies out. The perpetual chaos of your desk has become an ongoing punchline in the office banter. Your phone begins to ring at the same time an IM pops on your screen - both from your editor, the enigmatic J. Hopper.

“Art Garfunkel’s house of pizza,” you say by way of greeting, trying to get the CDs back in their cases and toppling a pile of mail in the process.

“Where are you? Why aren’t you here? We had a meeting at 2,” comes the gruff voice of a man who's clearly not amused.

“It’s only one forty,” you reply.

“Get your ass in here now,” he yells, disconnecting.

Hopper's bark has always been more bluster than bite. The towering, older man has been a fixture in this building since its days as a "hard-hitting" newspaper. While the city has evolved and transformed, Hopper and this old brick building have remained resolute, like an immovable rock in the ever-shifting stream of time. He possesses zero patience, holds a disdain for people, and dismisses any music created after 1978. You love him as much as your own father. He offered you a position fresh out of college when other magazines wouldn’t take a chance. He's pulled out your best work, often sending you back to your desk like a pouting child, making you the writer you are today. The wisdom he’s imparted is beyond the reach of any professor or workshop, and for that, you’ll always be grateful.

With a gentle rap of your knuckles against the frosted glass, you step into Hopper's office. He's seated behind a substantial oak desk, buried beneath a mountain of paperwork. A hint of cigar lingers in the air, though you've never been able to catch him smoking. He remains engrossed, squinting at his desktop screen with a furrowed brow. Settling into one of the vintage leather club chairs, you wait for his acknowledgment, your gaze drifting across the framed magazine covers and photographs lining the walls. One of a much younger Hopper clad in a tattered flak jacket catches your eyes. His face smeared with dirt and grit, standing amidst the ruins of a war-torn Kosovo street, a city reduced to chaos.

"Where’s my album write-up?" He asks without looking up.

"I emailed it to you before lunch," you reply, confirming on your phone.

He pushes back from his desk, propping up his feet on the edge, and offers you a soft smile from under the bushy mustache covering his lip, "How are you, kid? Everything okay? Harrington treating you, right?"

"Of course, Hop. He knows he'd have to answer to you otherwise. What about you?" You ask, leaning forward, "Is Joyce looking after you? Making sure you're watching that cholesterol?"

"Yup, she's got me eating all these organic vegetables, no booze, no smokes. Kinda takes all the fun outta life." He laces his hands behind his head, stretching out his back.

"Oh yeah, does that include that bottle hootch you got stowed in your bottom drawer?"

He sits up with a quick move, pointing his finger in your direction. "You don't know anything about that. Are we clear?"

The only one who can scare Hopper is Hopper's wife.

"I don't know. What are you going to do if I give Joyce a call? Seems to me that's something she'd want to know," you tease, crossing your arms over your chest.

"You'd be out on that sidewalk before you hung up the call. Don't test me." He shakes a finger at you, "Now, what are you pitching me?"

"Well, I'm going to a club tonight, so I'll have a live performance review. And I was thinking of a piece on the bands touring this Fall. Kind of like a road map that the readership could follow and hit all the good shows."

"Those sound good, kid, but I got a feature for you to cover." He leans forward, narrowing his eyes, "You know this Eddie Munson character?"

The blood drains from your face. "No. Not-not really," you stammer, "we're from the same town, but I haven't seen him in years."

"Well, it's time to get reacquainted. I want a series chronicling the opening of CursedSound Recordings, and I want you to write it."

A featured series is something that other journalists fight over, and usually, you'd jump at the chance, but not this time. Not this series. Not Eddie Muson.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you say, looking down at your lap.

“You don’t think–”

“Give it to Miles.”

“I’m giving it to you. Morales is busy with–”

“I don’t want it,” the words burst out of your mouth before you think better of it. Less than twenty-four hours after seeing Eddie, your world is spinning out of control.

Hopper's face turns to steel as he plucks the pen from behind his ear and throws it down on the desk. “I think that you’ve forgotten how this works. I give you an assignment. You write it.”

Your lips part before the protest in your brain is fully formed.

“If you’re about to tell me no again, it better be followed by a damn good reason.”

His eyes are locked on yours while he waits for a response, one brow raised in challenge.

“Listen, kid,” he picks up a stack of papers, shuffling through them as he talks, “I’ve looked into this Munson character. He has a good reputation in L.A. His name is in the credits for over half the multi-platinum releases in the last five years. And word is, his studio is booked out with big names for a year in advance.” He pauses for a moment to be sure his words sink in. “Establishing a good relationship with him is in the magazine's best interests. And what's good for the magazine is good for you. Are you hearing me?”

“Yes, Hop,” he answers for you when you remain quiet.

“Yes, Hop,” you repeat.

“Good,” he says, lacing his fingers together. "The printed word isn’t worth what it used to be. Everything's gone digital, the never-ending twenty-four-hour news cycle. The competition's cut-throat out there. Trust me, our friends over at Spectrum would eat this up for Chicago Lifestyles. Frankly, I’m surprised at you. I thought you’d be all over this. Especially since it was proposed by corporate. I figured you went around me and pitched it to Harrington directly.”

The mention of Steve’s name sets your teeth on edge. He hadn't breathed a word about this assignment earlier, and now he's reaching out to Hopper, painting a picture as if you're disrespecting your editor and exploiting your personal connections to secure a story.

“I would never do that,” you shake your head.

"Alright then. Call Byers at Metro," Hopper instructs, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. "Bring him with you. His assignment is just wrapping up."

You nod, your blood boiling and your mind racing. Taking a deep breath to compose yourself, you finally reply with an outward calm, "Okay."

Hopper's eyes remained fixed on you, his brow furrowing slightly. "Now, why are you still here wasting my time? Get out."

You don’t need any more prompting. Swiftly, you rise from your seat and make your way out of Hopper's office, formulating plans to murder your fiancé.

With a heavy sigh, you sit back down at your desk. The Stax logo bounces off the edges of your laptop screen. Your phone lights up with a photo of Steve. You let it ring a few times before sending it to voicemail. A few colleagues linger nearby, mugs in hand, their idle chatter blending with the hum of printers and the rhythmic clacking of keyboards. Your to-do list sits on your desk with strike-throughs on only half the tasks, but the priority of the ones remaining isn’t enough to capture your attention.

Reaching down, you tug at the handle of your tightly packed bottom desk drawer. It sticks, protesting the overload. The bright yellow color of the Sony Sports Walkman stands out from among the other clutter. You hesitate when reaching for it, the beginnings of the ache already tightening your chest. But you can’t resist, your hand closes around it, pulling it and the headphones coiled around out from under a pile of old concert passes attached to lanyards.

Swiveling your chair away from the desk, you face the windows and slip the headphones onto your ears. A gentle press of your thumb produces a satisfying click, and a soft crackling sound fills your ears as the capstans start to whir.

The crystal blue of the cassette is dulled behind the transparent black window, but you can still make out the handwriting on the yellowed label.

For when you miss me.

“Did you ever listen?”

Everyday.

A bird's eye view of the stage is perfectly spaced in your viewfinder, with Santi downstage dominating the mic, her other arm outstretched to the fervent crowd. Your finger clicks the shutter as a text pops on the screen.

Eddie: Seems this city isn’t so big after all.

With a huff, you close the screen, pocketing your phone.

“What’s going on with you?” Argyle shouts over the crowd, handing you back your drink as you both lean over the black-painted railing on the balcony at The Subterranean.

"Nothing," you reply, your gaze returning to the stage where Santigold is Chasing Shadows.

“You’re moody,” he accuses, leaning closer to your ear to be heard over music.

“No, I’m not.”

“It’s true,” he shakes his head. “You’re moody. Moody dick.”

The corners of your lips lift as you roll your eyes.

“This wouldn't have anything to do with mister dark and handsome sound engineer guy from last night, would it?” He probes as someone bumps into you from behind, throwing you off balance.

Your eyes narrow as he steadies you with a hand on your elbow.

“Hey, I know things,” he says, sipping his drink and looking back out over the crowd.

“Oh, yeah?” You ask, turning and leaning on the banister to face him, “What do you know?”

He turns his head toward you, his thoughtful brown eyes connecting with yours. “I know you looked freaked the fuck out when he showed up for drinks and even more so when he said he was staying. And I’ve seen you tell off enough people to know that’s what was going on at the bar when you walked away from him last night,” he says, looking back toward the stage, gesturing with his hands, “Now we're here, with my future baby mama killing it on stage, and you’re sucking all the energy out of the room.”

The song ends with the crowd erupting in applause. “I love you!” Argyle shouts toward the stage with his hands cupped around his mouth as the bass starts back up with the opening of High Priestess. Santi looks up, throwing him a wink, her voice low and fast as the reverb vibrates under your feet.

“Future baby mama?” You laugh.

“Yeah. Do you think you could use your press pass to get us backstage?”

“No. I don’t think you need to add to the population tonight.”

"See, you're no fun,” he complains, sticking out his lower lip, “So you really used to crush on that guy?

Chewing on your lip, you throw him a sideways glance.

“Yeah, you did. You crushed hard,” he laughs, “So, tell me, what happened?”

“I don’t like talking about it,” you say, scrubbing your face.

“Keeping everything all bottled up ain’t good for you, little mama,” he pokes your arm, letting you know he’s not going to drop this, “I’m your boy. If you can’t tell me, who can you tell?”

“Circle of trust,” he says, stirring the air between you with two fingers when you don’t respond.

You lean against the rail, considering. “Alright, but this stays between us,” you threaten him with a pointed finger. His head nods as his fingers slide across his mouth like a zipper.

“There’s not much to tell,” you say, looking down at the sticky floor. “I had a crush, and he didn’t feel the same way.”

“I get it. The fury of a woman scorned. What did you do, go full bunny boiler?”

“No,” you chuckle, “Nothing like that. That part didn’t even really bother me. He was my best friend, my only friend for a long time. I thought there was something between us, that he cared about me. Maybe not the same way I cared about him, but you know, I thought we were close. I must have built it all up in my head because one day, he just takes off.” You swallow the sharp pain pressing into your chest, “He never even said goodbye.”

“Nooo,” Argyle’s eyes widen.

“It broke me,” you admit.

“Harsh,” he agrees, “And he never called you? Or gave you an explanation?”

“Not until yesterday. He asked me to lunch. You know, he actually had the nerve to say that Steve has me on a tight leash.”

“Typical.” He shakes his head, swallowing the last of his drink.

“What do you mean?” You ask, swirling the last of your ice into your watered-down drink.

His face turns serious as he explains, “It’s like surfing. We all want that wave that’s just out of reach. Especially if someone else is riding it.”

“How did you get so wise?” You ask.

“I don’t know. Must be all the weed,” he says with a hand on your shoulder, turning you toward the bar. “Let’s go get another drink.”

“You never told Steve any of this?” He asks as you join the crowd of people that constitutes the line.

“No,” you sigh.

“No?” He repeats in surprise, “This is bad news, man. Why wouldn’t you tell him? What are you going to do, just going to keep it a secret forever?”

“I guess. It doesn’t really have anything to do with him.”

“This is going to get messy.” He shakes his head as you move up in line.

“Well, I’m not real happy with him either right now. He went behind my back to Hopper, deciding that I’m going to cover Eddie’s recording studio's opening. He completely humiliated me in front of my boss. I look totally unprofessional.”

“Well, that's not cool,” Argyle sympathizes as he takes the plastic cup from your hand and tosses it into a trashcan tucked beside the bar.

“No, it was very not cool,” you agree, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Wait," he looks at you with sudden revelation, “Technically, isn't Steve your boss?"

“That’s not the point–”

“And isn’t your job to write about major happenings in the city, like when fancy L.A. sound guys open up studios?”

“You're not helping, Argyle.”

His hand lands on your head, offering a comforting pat like you're a child before the line begins moving again. "Cheer up, Bernstein," he quips with a grin, "I'll buy the next round."

Your anger hasn’t abated when you walk through the front door of the brownstone. Steve is already in bed, shirtless with the taupe velvet coverlet pulled up to his waist, glasses perched on his nose, not looking up from his laptop as you enter the room.

“Hey, Ace, how was your day? Did you write me–”

“Anything you want to tell me about, Steve?” You ask, your voice already coming out more heated than you intended.

He looks up at you, brows pulling together. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” you say, dropping your bag onto the blue slipper chair in the corner of the room, “Maybe about how you went behind my back?”

"What?” He questions, slamming his laptop shut.

“The story, Steve,” you huff, leaving the room through your closet. You’ve just put your shoes away when he appears in the doorway, padding across the carpet in his bare feet, wearing just his boxers.

“Munson’s opening, that’s what you’re mad about?” He demands.

“You totally blindsided me,” you complain, pulling a hanger off the rod and hanging up your blazer with enough force to have the other clothes swinging. “Why didn’t you say anything this morning?”

“Because I hadn’t thought of it this morning.” His hands run through his hair, tugging in frustration.

“So what, it just came to you in a flash of brilliance?” Popping the button on your jeans, you tug them down your hips, kicking them into the corner instead of putting them in the basket.

“No, it didn’t, and I hate it when you’re sarcastic. Robin wanted to stop by and see his studio. We had lunch nearby,” he informs you, crossing his arms over his broad chest, the gold chain he wears glinting in the low light.

“So the two of you just decided what I was going to be writing? Maybe that’s something you should be discussing with me.” You lay a hand on your chest before pulling your shirt over your head and giving it the same treatment as your jeans. “You know, your fiancée, not some old buddy that sold you weed a few times back in Hawkins.”

“The content Stax puts out is directly under my approval, just like Metro and the Newsdesk and every other division.” His voice, which has been steady and even until now, begins to rise, “I’m not going to call you and ask for permission every time I make a decision. Eddie and I have kept in touch. How do you think we landed that interview with Radiohead last year when they wouldn’t even sit down with Rolling Stone?”

“That’s another thing you kept from me. I had no idea Eddie was your best friend.” Your eyes narrow as your fingers yank at the delicate clasps of your jewelry and watch.

Steve's eyes roll in frustration as he shakes his head. "He's not my best friend. He’s a business contact. I know him through Robin. They were is band together, you know this."

"That feels like a lifetime ago, Steve," you remark, the clinking of your jewelry against the marble island adding a discordant scrape.

"Well, some people aren't embarrassed about where they came from," he accuses.

"I'm not embarrassed," you scoff and begin to pace as if you can outrun his words.

"Oh, please," he says, taking a seat on the bench, his knuckles turning white as he grips the edge, his gaze tracking your restless movements. "You cut off anybody we still know living there. You won't even go to visit your parents. They always come here."

“You never listen to what I’m saying. This has nothing to do with Hawkins or my parents.” You halt your steps, your hand slices through the air, punctuating your statements. “It's about you making me look like a fool in front of Hopper. Like I’m trying to go around him to corporate to get assigned the big stories. Like I’m sleeping with the boss. I’m not ruining my reputation so you can give free advertising to your friends.”

“You're being crazy right now,” he yells, wincing with regret as soon as the words leave his mouth. He stands, moving closer, making an effort to control the tone of his voice, “I gave you this assignment because you know Eddie, and it will make for a better story, not because I’m fucking you. We’ve been together since the day you started at Stax. We’ve been engaged for two years. If anyone was going to think that, they already would’ve.”

Your head shakes, rejecting his rationale. He throws up his hands in frustration. “I can't have a conversation with you when you’re like this.” He starts to walk back toward the bedroom but stops abruptly, spinning on his heel and pointing his finger in your direction. “But I'll tell you one more thing—you are going to write this story.” He waves a hand toward the bathroom. “Now, go wash your face.”

Your teeth cut into your bottom lip as you walk into the bathroom, slamming the door behind you.

A sliver of gold from the streetlights outside pierces the tiny gap in the curtains. You’ve been lying on your side staring so long that you can see its warm hue behind closed lids whenever you start to drift. You burrow your arm deeper beneath your pillows while your feet shuffle, searching for a cool spot on the sheets. Steve’s breathing hasn’t changed behind you. He’s having the same trouble falling asleep. He turns over, his weight rocking the mattress. He’s much closer now. You can feel the comforting warmth from his chest, filling the space between him and your back.

“Baby.” His breath caresses the spot just behind your ear before the wet press of his lips traces a path along your neck, latching on to the apex when it meets your shoulder. A gentle bite follows the swirl of his tongue as he moves even closer. The rough pads of his fingers glide over your shoulder and down your arm, coaxing the thin strap of your tank with them.

“Please,” he whispers between kisses, his fingers finding their way under the bottom edge of your tank top, the light scrape of his blunt nails against your ribs sending shivers across your skin. Your breathing is picking up, the fire from your argument morphing into a new kind of heat. His hips flex against your ass, his cock hard and ready. When you turn your head, his lips are there, a wet slide over your mouth until they pull back, floating just above you, lingering with a question. And when his hand cups your shoulder, urging your body to turn towards him-–you answer.

The sultry feminine voice drifts from the speakers in your bedroom, her smoky timber weaving through the air like dark tendrils intertwining with the high piano notes. Your hips rise with the flow, a slow, unchanging cadence, the stretch of his cock creating delicious friction against your velvet walls. You move higher until he almost leaves you before you start your descent, the angle finding all the hidden places that light you up beneath your skin.

"M' sorry," he murmurs.

Your eyes flutter open at his words as they carry you away from the depths.

"Hate telling you no." He gazes up at you with heavy-lidded eyes, his hair pushed back from his face, and a flush across his skin.

"I don't wanna talk about it." Your hands cover the ones wrapped around your thighs, guiding them up your body. His warm, rough fingers are eager to map out every contour. Your head falls back when they find their destination, cupping your breasts with a possessive grip.

The song shifts, the new baseline a drawn-out pulse lining up with your movements. The lyrics are raw and a little filthy, fueling the urgency of your rolling hips, your clit grazing the short hairs at his base.

"Don't like telling you what to do," he mumbles even as his hands drop to your hips, attempting to hold you still as he bucks up from underneath. "Just wanna take care of you."

"Steve," his name passes your lips in a low moan as you lean forward, taking his hand from your hips and pressing them into the pillow, "Stop talking."

Sitting up, you shift your position, leaning back, bracing your hands behind yourself on his hairy thighs. You set a new pace, bouncing harder, driving him deeper, taking what you want.

“Jesus, fuck, baby,” he groans, eyes hitting the back of his head while his hands slide across the sheets seeking any purchase as you ride him. The music surges, its tempo rising in perfect sync with the wet intimate sounds of your bodies coming together, the rhythm repeating over and over.

"So close…please," his fingers slip between you, adding pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves that he finds there, "Need you to cum."

"No," you rasp out breathless, pushing his hand aside, your eyes locked on his as you bring your own fingers to your mouth. With a swirl of your tongue, you coat them with wetness before sliding them down to touch yourself, controlling your own pleasure.

The muscles in his neck strain with effort, his gaze darkening, fixated on you. “Goddam, so sexy like this,” he murmurs.

Your body tightens, taut like a bow-string, the tension building until the crescendo crashes over you. The music washes over your senses as you reach your peak, your legs trembling with the intensity. You push your body further over the edge, succumbing to the euphoria lost in the wave of sensations.

Floating back down, your eyes open to the sight of your ceiling, your body still arched, catching your breath. His fingers tighten on your ribs, reminding you he's there. Sticky wetness dripping between you is evidence that he reached his own climax. His hands gently urge your forward to collapse into his chest.

"Wow, that was…" He strokes the sweat-slicked skin of your back. "I’ve never seen you like that before. What got into you?"

"I think you did," you say, placing a kiss over his heart as your fingers smooth through the hair covering his chest. He chuckles, holding you closer.

The gentle croon of the music fills the quiet space between you as you lie entwined, drawing closer to sleep's embrace. With a fumbling hand, Steve reaches for the remote on his nightstand, silencing the stereo, returning the room to a restful hush. He places a final tender kiss on your temple, his eyes closing as his features turn peaceful. But for you, even in this stillness, another song lingers in your mind, its lyrics echoing like a secret.

AN: Thank you for reading and rebloging. Your comments are what keep me at my keyboard plugging away at this story. Please keep sending me your songs and asks! They have inspired so much of what's to come. xoxo- Jelly

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