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missmonsters2 · 8 months

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Mirror, Mirror | One

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: The thought of something more had never really crossed Wanda's mind when it came to you. Best friends for 10 years and there hasn't even been one instance of accidental sexual tension. You're her best friend, that's all—until someone points out that you obviously have a very specific type when it comes to dating.

Warnings: best friends to lovers. shenanigans. jealousy, jealousy. sexual tension. pining. yearning. sexual thoughts. spicy (tumblr's version). stupid steve. neurotic nat. brat & stinky. bug as in shutterbug.

*explicit version will only be available on Ao3 & will be posted there after series is completed*

Note: i'm back!!! Nothing like coming back and posting a mini series. Enjoy this superior trope. Updates will be on Tuesdays! As you can see, we're trying something new with explicit content lol 😬

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Series Masterlist || Library Blog || AO3

Count: ~4.1k

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It's strange how sometimes a single sentence can change someone's entire life.

Wanda's thought about what sentences could change her life—usually, they're morbid and depressing.

'You have cancer.'

'Someone you love has died horrifically in an accident.'

'Your cat actually finds living with you miserable and would prefer the dangers of living in the streets.'

Never in a million years would Wanda ever think it'd be, 'Hey, have you ever noticed how your best friend exclusively only dates girls who look like you?'

And don't get Wanda wrong. It wasn't a morbid or depressing change; it was just...a change. An irrevocable change because now, Wanda couldn't stop thinking about it or noticing it.

This was all Steve's fault.

Because if someone like Stupid Steve could notice something like that, it had to mean something, right? But as Wanda remembers about the past girls you've hooked up with and brought around, she doesn't know what to make of it.

A part of Wanda wishes she had never talked to Steve that night at the bar.

"Where's Vis?" Steve asked, looking around.

"With Tony playing pool, I think," Wanda shrugged. She doesn't particularly keep track of where her on-and-off boyfriend goes. She thinks they might be on an off-period right now, anyway.

"And where's—oh, nevermind, there she is," Steve started to say but cut off when they both saw you across the bar talking with the bartender, flirting over drinks—which were probably free if Wanda could guess.

Wanda's slightly annoyed because it's been a long week without seeing you, and Wanda's been used to seeing you almost every day for the past several years of her life. But you've been gone on a work trip this week for a wedding shoot and only came home just a little after lunch and needed an immediate long nap before tonight's get-together.

That meant Wanda was sorely missing out on best-friend time, and now you were off flirting shamelessly with the hot bartender. Wanda's rooting for you, make no mistake. The bartender is definitely easy on the eyes, luscious hair, and lips—something Wanda knows you're weak for.

Plus, Wanda's worried you're not anywhere near getting close to settling down. She wants you to be in a happy, fulfilling relationship. But she supposes she's in no position to talk herself.

Wanda loves Vision without a doubt, but their relationship is definitely chaotic, and Vision keeps pushing for something more serious now that they've been dating (sporadically) for a long time. She's been considering it in her downtime and thinks it might make sense as the next step.

Best friends do everything together, right? So, maybe if Wanda decided to take the next step in a serious relationship, you'd find someone to commit to seriously as well.

Then, both of you could get married at the same time. Then, they could buy a house in the same neighborhood right next to each other. There'd be endless double dates and vacations together. Wanda wouldn't have to miss you.

But first, Wanda needed to regain lost best-friend time, one-on-one style.

"Hey, you know what I just noticed?" Steve said, breaking Wanda's drifting thoughts.

"What?"

"Bug—"

Wanda makes a face at your nickname. Granted, it was Wanda's fault you ended up with it back in your first year of university. You never let her forget it, especially now that you're a professional photographer.

"—over there has a very specific type she goes after for girls," Steve mused, sipping his whiskey before continuing. "I mean, they always have green eyes and brunette—wait, that's not true. She had two red-headed girlfriends in our last year of university. They still had green eyes, though."

"Oh," Wanda said, unsure what to say since she's never paid attention to the girls you were dating. On average, they were a brief fling, and only a few lasted longer than half a year. "I guess so?"

Wanda distantly thinks about how she dyed her hair auburn in her last year of university because she was looking for a change that year and Natasha was insistent that she'd look amazing. Wanda recalls you were a fan of the look.

"Yeah," Steve nodded along. "Ironically, they always look like you in some way. Check out that bartender now—long, wavy-haired brunette with green eyes. She's got thick, long lips and even does that dark eye-shadow makeup thingy like you."

Steve just laughed it off, finishing his drink, thinking nothing more of it before he started talking about Bucky.

But it was like something clicked into place in Wanda's brain. A daunting realization that she was wholly unprepared for and not equipped to do anything about.

Wanda watched as the bartender clocked off for the night and dragged you into a corner booth, drinks in hand. It gave Wanda the perfect view that the bartender wore many rings just like she did.

In the poor privacy of the dimly lit corner booth, there was a staunch and needy kiss from the two of you, and Wanda swallowed roughly.

From here, if you were none the wiser, Wanda could be easily mistaken for the girl in the booth with you.

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Sometimes, Wanda believes she's just being absolutely ridiculous. So what if you go after girls who share the same features as her? That didn't have to mean anything. You've always told Wanda she was beautiful, and it was perfect how you said it.

It didn't feel insincere or creepy. It felt good to know her best friend thought she was absolutely gorgeous. But just because you thought she was beautiful doesn't mean you harbored secret feelings for her.

You'd be insulted if you knew Wanda had ever thought that. She'd just be another one of those girls Wanda's seen you humble on multiple occasions when they found out you dated women, and they were worried you might have a crush on them.

But then, Wanda couldn't stop thinking she actually might be one of those girls because then she'd think about if you didn't consider her like that, it wasn't about her looks but something about her personality that wasn't your type.

And what could that be?

Wanda thought long and hard, trying to remember the girls you've introduced her to.

Sometimes they were funny, and Wanda was funny. She made you laugh all the time. She specifically remembered one time in high school when she made you laugh so hard you peed your pants just a little.

Sometimes they were intellectual, and while Wanda didn't have an IQ of 160, she did fairly well academically and was on the right track in her career.

Sometimes they were charming, and Wanda was the type where she got more charming the more you got to know her.

So, Wanda just doesn't understand. She's nowhere further with her thinking ever since this weird information has been bestowed upon her.

Maybe it all just means nothing. You just didn't feel that way about Wanda despite the type of girls you dated suggesting otherwise. You didn't need a reason for it, and maybe the fact you only felt friendship for her was the reason.

"Wanna order pizza in tonight?"

Wanda turns her head from the tv and notices you've put your book down. "Hm, not really. We had pizza last week," Wanda shakes her head.

"How about that Greek place that just opened up on Willington Ave?" You suggest. "Pretty sure I heard you grumbling about wanting Greek food earlier this week."

"I was not grumbling!" Wanda scoffs but smiles when you raise your eyebrow at her. "Okay, I was grumbling a little."

You snicker as you pull out your phone to order delivery. "Oh, sweet golden best friend of mine, whatever shall you do when you get married to Vis, who hates Greek food. Do I foresee a life of Greekless cuisine? Oh, the suffering you'll go through!"

"I don't need him to like it," Wanda slaps your arm, sticking her tongue out before she cuddles you. "I have you to eat it with."

You laugh unabashedly, a sound that Wanda's accustomed to hearing the joyful sound. "Better hope the person I marry also hates Greek cuisine. I don't know if I can live a life of eating double the Greek food. I love tzatziki sauce, but if I grow to hate it from eating it too much, I will make you suffer the consequences of that."

Your voice trails off as you focus on ordering food, unable to see the cogs in Wanda's head turning.

It's all so easy. There's no tension, no electric vibes happening. Just best friends enjoying the banter and making plans to eat.

It was all in Wanda's head, right? You're her best friend, so of course you'd know everything about her.

The right type of friendship is fulfilling and soul-connecting, and that's what Wanda has with you. When you have a one-in-a-million connection like that, the line between friendship and romance is thin, isn't it?

Wanda hates Steve. She'd never think about this if it wasn't for Stupid Steve. She can hear his dumb laugh, blissfully ignorant about the observation bomb he dropped upon her.

"Do you wanna get ice cream after?" You ask, throwing your phone to the side. "I'll even treat you to the gelato despite knowing I'm going to suffer through your crazy farts later."

"Oh my god, I'm going to trap you under the blanket with it just for that!"

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Within two months, Wanda forgets about it. Forgets, as in that she decides to drop it (let it linger in the deep depths of her brain that she refuses to acknowledge), and resolves that Steve has no brain cells and has no idea what he's saying.

"Have you seen my strapless black top?" Wanda shouts from her room with the door open. "The one with the v-shaped front!"

"In your closet!" You yelled back from the living room, not taking your eyes off your phone.

"I can't find it," Wanda whines, and she hears you sigh as you get up. The footsteps approach her room, and she finds you standing at the door with an unimpressed look.

"I don't want to hear it," Wanda sniffs.

"Hear what, brat?" You say with a brow raised before you start rummaging through her closet. The nickname was a joke you started that Wanda was entirely a spoiled person, exhibiting bratty behavior at times. "That I'm not gonna be your roommate forever, so you need to learn to fold it yourself before putting it away?"

Wanda makes grumbling noises that are mostly nonsensical but smiles when you pull out the top she was looking for.

"You are the apple of my eye, stinky," Wanda grabs the top from you before she runs into her washroom to briefly change into it.

"A match made in heaven, yeah, yeah," you roll your eyes with good humor. "Hurry up, Natasha will kill us if we're late for Yelena's birthday. They're on an upwards mend in their relationship, so she's been so unbearably uptight lately to make sure nothing goes wrong."

"I know, I know," Wanda mutters, carefully pulling the top over her head to not ruin her makeup.

"Alright, I'll hail us a cab, meet me outside."

"Wait, wait!" Wanda calls out. "I need help putting on my necklace."

You chuckle, walking back just as Wanda steps out of the bathroom with the delicate necklace she wants to wear.

"Alright, alright, relax," you tell her. "Your accent gets really strong when you're stressed."

"You're stressing me out by rushing me," Wanda scrunches her nose even though you can't see it. "I'm also stressed knowing that you have to rush me, or I'll spend the party getting lectured by Natasha."

Wanda's voice comes out husked with the accent, something she's struggled between hating or loving, but mostly loving since you've expressed how lovely it is.

You grab the necklace from her hand, and Wanda moves her hair out of the way. The routine of it all starts to bleed the tension out of her shoulders.

Then, that horrible Stupid Steve Sentence kicks into her brain.

It's only as you put your arms over, placing the necklace against Wanda's chest, and focusing on trying to get the clasp in. Wanda can feel your warm breath against her neck, summoning goosebumps along her arms. You're so close, and she can feel the heat of your body radiating onto her, your fingers just barely brushing against her.

The tension comes suddenly, squeezing inside her chest as her breathing slows and shakes. Her body warms in an unexpected way.

"Ah, got it," you say, but Wanda can only focus on your voice and breath on the shell of her ear. "Cute necklace but the clasp is so annoying."

You pull away and start walking off. "C'mon, I bet if we tip our taxi driver an extra $20 bucks, they'll speed and we can pray we're on time."

Wanda's left standing there, knowing she probably sounds like she's fresh out of Sokovia with how stressed she is. Her right eye twitches.

Was that...Wanda gulps. Was that sexual tension?

And was she the only one who felt it?

Fuck.

She's going to kill Steve.

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Natasha's absolutely neurotic when they arrive. It's just a simple backyard party, but it almost looks like a wedding venue with all the catering and flowers.

Wanda's pretty sure Natasha's only being like this because she's overthinking about whether to cling to Yelena or give her sister some space to mingle with others. She seems to be sizing up Kate, who Yelena might be seeing, but it hasn't been confirmed.

Yelena looks between exasperated with Natasha and secretly happy about the entire thing. Wanda can sympathize with her. After all, she's also a little sister, and Pietro can also be way too overprotective. Sometimes she's glad he's abroad in Europe for work while she remains in New York, but she misses him more often than she admits.

"Alright, alright, Natasha," you groan, and Wanda's mind slips back into the conversation. "We're 3 minutes late, relax, will you? Damn, are you always gonna be like this until you and Yelena get back into whatever sibling bond you had before? Hope you're just like this with us because otherwise, you're gonna scare away all her friends, and she's going to hate you."

"Oh my god, do you think she'll really hate me?" Natasha bites her bottom lip in worry while looking around at all the people that they can only assume she's nagged about being late or whatever mishap.

"Oh, man," you sigh, putting your hand on her shoulders before pushing her towards the bar. "You need some drinks and maybe some desserts in you."

Wanda's about to follow you when you turn around and nod your head in a different direction. She looks over and sees you're nodding toward Vision.

"You should go say hi to him," you tell her. "You've been complaining about not seeing him all last week, even though I don't know why you guys won't just FaceTime, but I digress. Come find me later, or I'll find you after."

You look over at Natasha, who's peering on her tippy toes to see if she can find Yelena.

"And, hopefully, I'll have ditched this nutjob," you whisper conspiratorially and laugh when Natasha turns around to smack your arm.

"I heard that!"

Wanda chuckles as you walk off with Natasha while she turns and heads toward Vision. Despite how she was complaining about not seeing Vision last week because she did miss him, her expression was sour as she made her way toward him.

Vision spots her immediately and waves at her with a warm smile. Wanda feels herself somewhat loosened at his expression. They'd also been friends a long time before they started on-and-off dating, so at the very least, she does miss his easy friendship.

"Hey," Vision hugs her, slightly rubbing her back before he pulls away but keeps his arm around her. "It's been a while; you look lovely."

"Thanks," Wanda smiles with a shrug. She looks around and sees he's standing with Tony and Pepper. "How are you guys?"

"Could be better," Tony sighs dramatically. "Natasha won't let me do any of my cool party tricks as if I'm going to ruin her little sister's party. If anything, I could make it the party of the century!"

Pepper rolls her eyes good-naturedly. "We were just talking about how we're thinking of going to the Bahamas for vacation in December and escaping the cold. We've invited you and Vision along since it's been awhile since we've all gone together. Of course, we can also invite Bug and Natasha."

"Oh," Wanda says for a lack of anything else to say. She doesn't know how to feel about it, but she peers over at Vision, who's just smiling at her and looking eager about it.

"I need another drink if I'm going to suffer through this party," Tony sighs. "Maybe I can convince Yelena instead!" He grins, dragging Pepper along, and they walk off together.

"So, what do you think?" Vision asks when they're alone. "I didn't want to reply on your behalf since I wasn't sure, but I think it'd be good for us. I've missed you," Vision pauses as if he's about his next words but then says, "a lot."

"Yeah, me too," Wanda starts to say, but then her brain gets all haywire because it feels like a lie. She did miss him, but did she miss him a lot? "I think."

"You think?"

Wanda wants to smack her forehead because she didn't mean to say that out loud. "I mean, I was complaining a lot that I haven't seen you in a while all last week."

"Yeah, work has just been overwhelming. I get so tired after work, I just can't keep up with the texting or calls."

But you can, Wanda thinks. Granted, you're her roommate, so it's easier. But even when you have to go on work trips, you regularly text her no matter what time and squeeze in a quick call, even if it's just to say goodnight.

The entire thing makes Wanda bite her tongue because why was she even thinking about that? That was completely irrelevant to Vision.

Then—because as if just thinking about you wasn't enough—her eyes trail across the room, and the scene before her makes Wanda even more confused about her feelings.

You're standing there with Natasha at the bar, but it looks like Natasha's calling someone over to introduce you to them.

Another brunette with long, wavy hair, like she just had a blowout done. Wanda's not 100% sure from this distance, but she has an inkling that the brunette also has green eyes. She's wearing a white halter top and wide-legged sage green pants. She wears a lot of rings, but her makeup is lighter and more summery compared to Wanda's darker, smokey eye makeup.

In short, this woman was the clean girl aesthetic version of Wanda.

And you look interested.

This was ridiculous, Wanda fumes, feeling her stomach sink and cheeks flare hot in anger. As quick as the anger came, it dissipated.

Why was she so angry?

She feels betrayed, and her thoughts are turning very ugly. Wanda is definitely not being a girl's girl right now with how much she's thinking she's better than the girl in front of you.

But that just makes everything so much more confusing.

"Wanda?"

Wanda turns her head back to Vision. He looks concerned, and even when his eyes trail toward what Wanda's staring at, there's no additional reaction. He's not upset that she's staring at you, and that has to mean something, right?

It must mean there was never a concern about how Wanda might've felt about you. Sure, there were a few things Wanda couldn't be without, and you were one of them, but nobody can't be without their best friend.

No one had ever blinked twice about you and Wanda.

Except now.

And that person was Wanda herself.

The more Wanda thought about the entire thing, the more she became curious. The idea of you dating people who looked like Wanda was intriguing. She wanted to ask questions but didn't know what to ask.

It might mean nothing, but it also might mean something.

And if it does mean something, Wanda wants to know what exactly it is.

Therefore, Wanda needs nothing in her way to find out the truth and exactly what she wants, regardless of the answer.

This was insane, wasn't it? Wanda's always been ambivalent about dating women. She's never gone out of her way to try it since she had Vision. Never mind entertaining thoughts about dating her best (girl)friend. And now, she was giving everything up in the pursuit of finding out what it could mean that her best friend was dating her lookalikes—and why she cared.

Wanda doesn't even know what she'll want to do with that information.

Wanda looks at Vision, peering at his features she's always found handsome. When she thinks back, she's not even sure why she complained to you about how she hasn't seen or heard from him lately. She hadn't even gone out of her own way to do something about it.

"I'm not going on the trip. I don't think I actually missed you like that."

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The girl introduced to you was named Raye, Natasha's coworker that recently moved from Nashville. It was also confirmed she has green eyes, though they had specks of brown in them. She was a southern belle with a bold attitude, witty, and a wicked sense of humor. All in all, undeniably charismatic.

At least, that's what you told her in private because all Wanda could feel was unrestricted aggravation with the other girl. The southern twang made Wanda's eye twitch, mostly because she knew you were head over heels for accents.

"And then before I knew it, I was panicked and more lost than a blindfolded turkey on thanksgiving!"

You burst out laughing while Wanda's expression is stony, but when you look at Wanda, she forces a smile on her lips.

"Hahaha," Wanda dryly let out. "So funny."

But it wasn't. What the fuck did that even mean?

Raye continues to talk while you listen with rapt interest, and Wanda takes the time to observe your features in a way she's done many times before but with a different mindset.

Your lips are curved in a smile, glistening from your chapstick. They're shapely, and they look soft. It rivals her favorite feature of yours, which is your eyes. They've always been so expressive with her, and Wanda's been around long enough that she knows what every expression means. She can tell when they glint with mischievousness or are soft with immense compassion and empathy.

"So, what did you think of Raye?" You ask Wanda as you leave the party.

"She's cool, I guess," Wanda answers nonchalantly.

The rest of the party was excruciating between Raye constantly hanging around you and Wanda also being too nervous to be alone with you.

"Really cool," you sigh with a grin. "Glad I got her number. It's been a while since I've met someone so funny."

Was she funny, though? Wanda wonders.

"Funnier than me?" Wanda finds herself asking.

"No one could be funnier than you, brat," you smirk. "I almost peed myself laughing again when you almost knocked off Yelena's cake. I thought Natasha was about to enter into a coma." You snicker while Wanda rolls her eyes with a smile.

"Glad I can always give you the biggest laughs, stinky."

Wanda glances over at your face, recognizing the excitement by the brightness in them. It's just another reminder that, as your best friend, she knows you like the back of her hand.

But lately, when Wanda watches you pick up girls, she can tell when they're heady with desire. That look hasn't been directed at her, and Wanda wants to know what it'd be like if it were.

Wanda recalls the night you kissed the bartender and imagines if it had been her instead. She pictures your hand sliding across her jaw and cheek while your other pulls her closer at the waist.

It's horrifying when a slow pit of arousal builds in Wanda's gut and...other regions. It feels utterly frightening and wrong like she's betraying the friendship for having and then reacting to such thoughts about you.

But there's another part—the part that tells Wanda there's nobody in this world that she loves more than you. The mere idea of ever being apart from you was unfathomable. Wanda could and has endured so many things, and it would always be okay as long as she had you.

So, knowing that Southern Belle Raye has the potential to be more than a one-night stand to you, Wanda realizes that she has a very small window to not only come to terms with her newfound feelings but also act on them as well.

If this didn't go well, Wanda would definitely murder Steve.

PART TWO

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff x y/n #avengers imagine #scarlet witch imagine #scarlet witch x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #modern avengers au #Elizabeth olsen x reader #mm: my fics

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skzcre · 11 months

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12:15 am

idol!minho x nonidol!reader, established relationship.

warnings: breeding kink(!!!), minho calls the reader kitten. a little bit of dacryphilia. overstimulation.

minors dni :)

his room was dark, save from the shadows the moon casted through his curtains. a cacophony of heavy breaths and skin slapping skin filled the heavy air. minho said he needed to go to bed early tonight to prepare for a very busy day preparing for the comeback.

but you had the absolute audacity to be waiting in his room wearing nothing but one of his striped long sleeves, teasing him with the sight of your thighs just barely covered by his comforter. how was he supposed to be any sort of responsible when you looked this delicious?

“shit.” he practically threw the comforter off your sweaty bodies, not caring where it landed. he was back on you immediately, pushing your plush thighs upward to let your legs rest on his shoulders before continuing his descent somehow deeper and deeper into you. you couldn’t help but to cry out for him, gripping the sheets for dear life.

minho often fucked like his life depended on it. like it would be the last time he’d get to feel your warmth or hear you keen his name. like he needed to stamp his name across every section of your body, and you fucking loved it.

there were tears blearing your vision but even in the dark you could see him so clearly. the furrow in his brow, the sheen of sweat covering his face and body. the way his abs constricted with every thrust, how his biceps flexed when he gripped your ass. like a greek god, sculpted from the finest materials known to man, and he was all yours. absolutely whipped for you whether he’d like to admit it or not. the lengths he would go just to see you smile, the effort he put into your relationship even though you naturally couldn’t see each other as often as you’d like due to his profession.

“fuck, i love you so much, min.” you whimpered out, your brain reduced to complete mush by this point. “so fuckin’ good, feels so good.”

“mm, i know, baby.” minho let your legs fall, leaning down to leave his pretty marks over your neck and jawline. his voice was deep in your ear and it made you shiver every single time. “if you keep squeezing my dick this good i might have to marry you.”

he gave you one particularly hard thrust and didn’t move, opting to stay buried deep within you. this time you screamed, back arching off the bed while your nails scraped against his arms.

“nngh…t-too deep..!”

“i wouldn’t stop fucking you, kitten. i’d fill you to the brim every hour of the day, fuck you in every single room of our home.”

you began to whine next, squirming underneath him, trying to pull away to catch a single breath. everything was just too much to handle, he felt so good inside you that it was almost painful. but minho’s strong hands easily kept you right where he wanted you.

“c’mon, pretty, you can take more. i know you can.” he cooed, pressing soft kisses all over your face. your thighs began to tremble, toes curling as your nails dug into the skin of his biceps. “c-can’t…too much—ah!”

somehow his fingers found their way down to your clit, an electric surge crackling through your entire body. it began to move on its own, hips jutting upwards for more. “fuck, fuck, fuck!”

minho drew circles around your clit, watching with adoration as you fell apart around him. “mm, that’s it. that’s my girl,”

“gonna fuck my babies into this pretty cunt.”

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kilobaxis-blog · 9 months

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#teenage mutant ninja turtle imagine #tmnt #mutant mayhem tmnt #mutant mayhem #mm tmnt #mutant mayhem leo #mm leo #teenage mutant ninja turtles #leo hates pigs

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sashimew-the-cat · 28 days

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Concept art Raph my beloved (Click for better quality)

#art #my art #tmnt #tmnt mm #teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtles mutant mayhem #mutant mayhem #mm raph #mm raphael #tmnt raph #I love the consent art for mutant mayhem #it’s all so so good #I like the lighting on this one #also just imagine he’s leaning on a couch I couldn’t bother to draw it

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invisiblestringmm · 2 days

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chapter four

i’ll tell you the truth but never goodbye

a/n: i hope this chapter makes you cry 😂

tw: there’s a bit of angst, and definitely lots of fluff. y/n struggling with being a single mum. mason being a gorgeous mf. lily being the cutest human, lots of lily appreciation too.

3.100k words

It didn’t come as a surprise to see Jaz keeping her promise to support you as best as she could - you got daily FaceTime calls, texts, and Instagram DMs. You got post-ballet dinners and ice cream, the four of you becoming closer each day - Lily and Summer were inseparable now, and you had Jaz not getting tired of telling you she felt like you’d become the sister she never had.

Not being able to control where your thoughts went, your mind made you question a few times how it would’ve been having this extra support when you were pregnant, and you asked yourself if you’d ever stop being hunted by the countless what-ifs of yours and Lily’s life. You had to stop and take a deep breath and just force yourself to focus on all the wonderful things that were happening now, and how much you wanted them to still be this way when it was time to tell Mason, and everyone else.

Despite having Jaz reassure you that things would end up well, Mason was pretty much unknown territory to you, emotionally speaking - yes, you gave birth to his “mini-me”, but that was no guarantee that you were able to predict him. Not knowing what to expect should’ve made you stay as far away as possible from him, but after you had a text message from Jaz sharing the big news that Mason would be at the ballet recital, while you watched your daughter roll her eyes in the delight as she devoured the pancakes and strawberries on her plate, you decided to reply to that message he had sent you weeks ago.

What you didn’t expect was for him to reply within less than a minute.

“Mummy, are you okay?” Lily had her eyebrows frowned at you, she curiously scanned your probably pale face as your heart pounded against your chest. A simple nod was enough for her to focus back on the pancakes, but also give you occasional and quick glares as your shaky hands tightly held the phone.

You barely had any appetite left as you felt your stomach dropping when Mason texted that - so, he wanted to see you. It wasn’t time yet, at least, it didn’t feel like it. But should the ballet recital be the best place to meet him? Would you be able to act surprised and sustain casualty at that meeting that’d be sort of arranged by his sister?

So many questions and insecurity surrounded you whenever Mason was on your mind, and having to look into Lily’s hazel eyes, her smile, and everything else on her that was his copy only made it worse for you - it was nearly suffocating, and you just needed a mother and daughter moment to focus on anyone but Lilian.

“Peanut,” you poked her tummy, making her giggle. “Why don’t we have a girl's afternoon today, huh? Museum, whatever you want for lunch and we can wrap it with skincare and Moana!”

Lily stood on the chair - your instinct making you hold her arm - and made her little celebration dance, still chewing the pancake, her dark brown soft curls bouncing. That vision completely took your breath away, you often couldn’t believe such a precious girl was your daughter.

Not that all of your days weren’t already hers, but dedicating a whole day off to Lily was your favourite thing to do. When she was just a baby, you often imagined how these days would be, with your little best friend and soulmate, on coffee dates and nights where you’d light up a scented candle and read her a book. The way your voice soothed her was Lily’s favourite thing, combined with your smell. It made her feel safe like nothing could ever harm her. In her dreams, her daddy joined the two of you - she couldn’t see his face but could feel the warmth of his hand holding hers and his laugh was the best sound in the world. Lily wondered if she’d ever meet him, the only thing she knew and was happy about was the fact that she looked like him, as you’ve told her countless times.

Careful not to lose Lily from your sight as she walked three steps in front of you, her eyes not sure what she wanted to focus her attention on at the museum, your mind went back to Mason’s last words to you that morning. So, he wanted to apologise for the way he treated you. Part of you felt good about it, that he had finally recognised what a complete twat he had been, but the other part of you just thought how that made no difference now - it was in the past. Not buried, since your past with him had taken the most angelic human form, but it wouldn’t change things. It was all about the future now.

For lunch, Lily insisted on spaghetti, her all-time favourite food. You had to persuade her a bit to eat a bit of protein too because pasta would make her feel hungry again by the afternoon, and you knew how much she hated being hungry right before taking a nap - your persuasion included the word dessert, so not much time was wasted trying to convince her to accept some chicken with her pasta.

Your phone buzzed with a real-time picture of Jaz and Summer by the time you had just bought a gorgeous bouquet of yellow roses, Lily’s favourite. She insisted that a good girls’ night would only be complete if you had fresh roses, that she wanted to carry herself. You quickly snapped a picture of her and sent it to Jaz, asking why they’d have to grow up so fast and that her niece was insufferable.

“Can you please behave like a child and not like an adult, Lilian Maisie?” like a little kid, you pouted, suddenly emotional to see so much wit and wisdom in your tiny human.

Lily giggled, “Mummy!” she held your hand, placing a soft kiss against it and walking according to your pace. “Can we go home now?” You nodded, quickly fetching an Uber to drive you home.

By the time you got there, she was already heavily sleeping in your arms as you clumsily also carried your purse and the flowers, and tried to open the door without troubling her sleep - if it was up to you, you’d find a way for mums to have an extra pair of arms, they’d definitely be useful in times like these.

You knew Lily wouldn’t sleep that much, so the sofa was where you put her before putting the roses in the water and getting rid of your coat. It was almost dark outside, so you also started to prepare the apartment for movie night. Your little girl woke up with a loud yawn that was followed by a wide smile when she noticed the blankets and pillows on the floor, some candies in a bowl, and fruits too, which were her favourite snacks.

“Matching pyjamas?” you winked at her and giggled as Lily nodded repeatedly, stretching her arms at you so you’d carry her to the bedroom.

A few minutes later you were cuddling under the blankets and watching Moana for the millionth time. You fell asleep shortly before the film ended and were quickly followed by Lily as she hummed an “I love you, mummy” and kissed the tip of your nose.

Despite not being the most comfortable place for your back to spend the night, there was no other place you’d rather be right now, holding your daughter's warm and small body - the smell of her strawberry shampoo and the pace of her calm breathing taking you to a place where no nightmares, no worries, would catch you in your sleep. You woke up in the middle of the night when she moved a bit and, after watching her sleep for a few minutes, finally turned off the TV and quickly texted Mason before going back to sleep.

When you woke up, there was a message from Jaz saying that they’d all go out for dinner after the ballet recital, and as hard as it was, you had to politely decline for you’d have a little celebration with your own family in a pre-Christmas party since a few members wouldn’t be joining at Foxwoods this year. And that you wouldn’t be able to be around Mason before telling him all the truth, which led to you telling her that he had reached you and you agreed to talk. She went from upset to hopeful in the blink of an eye.

As you prepared for the recital, you had to deal with an impatient and bossy Lily - combined with stress from work, that you had to forcefully turn into home office for the Holidays, the exhaustion that took over your body grew by the minute. It resulted in calling your mum for help, who showed up with your dad on her side by your door.

“You know she’d ask for me anyway, kid!” Your always cheerful father rubbed his hands together as he went straight for his granddaughter, who waited for him with her arms up, waiting to be spun around like a doll. You loved how your dad, a serious and famous lawyer, turned so soft whenever Lily was around - and now, how he’d cope with having to eventually “share” her with her other grandfather.

“Where do you need me to begin, amor?” Your mother’s heavy Colombian accent woke you up, and a sigh of relief parted your lips as you pulled her into a hug. “What is wrong, bebe? Tell your mamá,” Her hands softly stroked your back as you just closed your eyes and enjoyed being the daughter instead of being the mum.

“It’s nothing, I’m just exhausted. I thought that being one of the bosses would give me more free time but it’s just more work, and Lily is insufferable with this recital thing,” you sniffed. “I’m so glad it’s finally tomorrow.”

But you also weren’t, because it meant you’d see Mason after five years.

If anyone told you that your daughter’s ballet recital would be the place you’d almost certainly meet her father again, especially without him being the father of another kid there, you’d just roll your eyes and leave - as you stood in front of your closet, not sure about what to wear, your mind played tricks on you creating different scenarios on how that meeting would go. There was so much expectation from you, so much anxiety to see how Mason would react. He thought you’d meet for coffee sometime soon, not at a ballet recital where you were the mother of one of the kids.

Much to your relief, Willow arrived at your place right on time to save you from a breakdown over “what to wear to meet the father of my daughter after five years without looking like an exhausted mother, but also drop-dead gorgeous, and respectful”.

“Lord, that’s specific!” Willow screeched, not really helping you, in the end. “Why do you want to impress him anyway?”

“Willie, I know you’re smarter than this,” you replied as she just shrugged, still waiting for an answer. You got a positive reaction when you picked a knit burgundy dress, so you tried it on and what you saw in the mirror made you satisfied. “The next time I see him it’ll be to tell him the truth, so he needs a good first second impression.”

“His first impression of you was good enough,” she teased, watching your cheeks blush as she helped to remove the dress tag. “But you’re wearing a brand new dress for him tonight, so I’m sure the second impression will be just as good.”

“Stop it, silly. You know it’s not like this, and he doesn’t know it’s a new dress.”

Willow kept teasing you with her glares and smirks as the five of you drove to the small theatre rented for the night by the ballet studio, it was already a bit crowded when you got there and you rushed to take Lily to the backstage, where all her ballet friends greeted her in excitement. It truly was the cutest thing in the world, those little humans in their tutus, giggling and chatting like they were grown-ups.

With a quick and wet kiss on your daughter’s cheek - that made her adorably embarrassed - and a hug on Summer, you told the girls how wonderful they were and left to find your family. You quickly spotted Willow and Jaz laughing about something that made you curious, and although you were happy to see Jasmine, you also hoped it’d take a little longer to meet her and, potentially, the rest of her family. And Mason, to be more specific.

“He’s not here yet,” like she could read your mind, Jaz’s words caused you to sigh in relief. “You look gorgeous, by the way!”

Smiling at her, you softly stroked her bump. “You too, pretty mumma.”

As the lights dimmed down, announcing that the recital would begin soon, you and Willow parted ways from Jaz to meet your family. Your dad held your hand and gently squeezed it, his eyes already sparkling with tears - the truth was you couldn’t have done it without your parents, but your dad was something else. It was expected that being showered with affection would be something you’d get from your mum, who was a Latina, but you got it all from your dad because, according to him, you were the result of how much he adored your mum and Lily was an extension of that. His legacy, as he’d say. He never questioned your choices, the way you raised your daughter, nor why you never talked about who Lily’s father was. The respect your parents had for you was overwhelming, and that’s why you’d tell the whole truth tonight as soon as Lily was peacefully asleep.

When the five-year-olds act began, you were the one ready to let some tears roll down your cheeks. There she was, your Lilian Maisie, as beautiful as ever on her first ballet performance - something you never truly expected, since she had always been the adventurous type of kid. But you watched her balance it so perfectly that you often questioned if she was just five years old, and also how she’d be as a grown woman. As she danced, you had a clear vision of Lily in her early twenties. She was tall, her hair was a bit darker now but the soft curls were still there and so was the natural flush on her cheeks. She was beautiful and finally looked a bit more like you, but Mason’s smile was still there. She was kind, full of hope, funny, gracious and so smart. She was loved by everyone around her and made their lives better by simply existing.

When her act ended, you proudly stood up and clapped your hands as if your life relied on it. Her eyes scanned the audience, looking for you, and when she finally found you her face lit up and that smile you loved so much was there, making your heart melt. “I love you,” you mumbled, and she just winked at you.

Gosh, there was no way Mason wouldn’t love this girl to the point his heart would nearly explode. You wanted him to have it too.

Excusing yourself as the older girls got on stage, you went to the bathroom to fix your makeup. As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you searched for your phone and, with a courage you hadn’t felt in the longest time, you typed a quick message to Mason asking if he’d be willing to meet the next day, in the afternoon.

What you didn’t expect was to find him right outside, holding his phone with a wide smile on his lips.

Mason Mount looked as gorgeous as he’d ever been - you could smell his cologne even if you were at least ten steps away from him. Wearing black jeans, and a Dior sweater that made him look breathtakingly gorgeous, Mason ended the distance between you as you felt your heart beating faster each second. He was still holding his phone when he stopped in front of you.

“I literally just texted you back saying yes,” he ran his fingers through his hair and that was as sexy as you remembered. Mason had a beard now, and although he was still young, the wrinkles on the corners of his eyes were more evident now. “You’re the last person I thought I’d meet here.”

You nodded, forcing your brain to put some words together. “You too.” Lie. But you had to make it look like it was just a coincidence.

“You look incredible, Y/n,” Mason said under his breath, his eyes shamelessly scanning your outfit. That same pair of eyes was your favourite thing to look at every morning. Now you knew what Willow meant when she said that Lily and Mason were identical - how could he not notice when they met? “There’s so much I wanna say to you,” he continued.

“Save it for tomorrow.” You interrupted, not wanting to sound rude, and Mason nodded in agreement.

“Can I pick you up around 3?”

“I think we should meet there.” You said, thinking of how suffocating and awkward it’d be being inside a car with him after all these years. “There’s a nice place I usually go with my dau-,” you coughed, watching his brows frown. “With my best friend. I’ll text you the address and we’ll meet there.”

Then, all of a sudden, Mason pulled you into a hug. His warmth against your body melted your heart, and you could feel how his breath deepened as his arms tightened around your figure. “I’ll meet you there, so I can decently apologise for being a complete idiot to someone incredible like you.”

His words were all you needed to know for sure that this wouldn’t be easy.

Was he being genuine, or was he just trying to get into your pants like he did back then? Either way, things were immensely different now, for this wasn’t just about you and Mason anymore.

This was about her - Lily. It was about her future, her happiness, how his presence in her life would have a tremendous impact on how she’d develop and what kind of adult she’d be. Nothing would ever be the same, and there was nowhere to run.

This was going to be tough.

————

BONUS - SOCIAL MEDIA

#mason mount fanfic #mason mount imagine #mason mount x reader #mason mount x y/n #mason mount series #invisible string mm | chapter four

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venusrising91 · 3 months

Text

Noise Complaint

Pairing: Wonho x Male reader

Genre: Smut, enemies to lovers/hate to love (no plot just vibezzzz)

Summary: Your new nextdoor neighbor, Wonho (Lee-ho) is a loud, inconsiderate gym rat. He keeps you up all hours of the night with his seedy escapades and you're sick of it.

Word count: 2,014 (2 pages)

T/W: aggression, physical violence

It was 4am and you had work at 8, yet rest was as far from your reach as the sun would be once it rose.

Short hours.

You had short hours to get some much needed sleep. But no matter how hard you’d tried, you hadn’t been able to reach the REM state and it was all thanks to your obnoxious, ridiculously muscular neighbor, Lee-ho.

For the third time this week, giggling voices and blaring music, followed by high-pitched moans had kept you wide awake. Usually, after one or two rounds with whatever girl he’d picked up scouring city night clubs, the mewls and slaps and yes daddys would subside, and you could finally drift. But tonight, he seemed to have endless energy. You heard his date come four times. Back to back.

It was almost 6:30 by the time they wore themselves out.

You’d barely slept. At the office, you struggled to keep your eyes open, staring through slits at the charts on your computer. The project manager noticed you nodding and called you into her office after the meeting. As head graphic designer, you were expected to oversee and execute this assignment—because securing this client would ensure you a raise next quarter, but the arrival of your new neighbor had thrown a wrench in your performance.

She threatened to take you off the project and her disappointment was all you could think about on your commute back home.

In the apartment lobby, you pressed the button on the elevator console so hard it nearly jammed.

“Sup bruh.” You whipped your head around and there was Lee-ho, all 6 feet of him, donned in gym wear and sipping on some colorful drink. You clenched your teeth.

“Hey,” you mumbled back with listless regard.

The elevator doors opened and Lee-ho walked gingerly ahead of you. Before he could step inside however, his cell slipped from his pocket. As he bent you couldn’t help but notice his butt: firm, round, muscled. You tore your eyes away and carded your hair. Inside, the music was soft and unobtrusive. The exact opposite of Lee-ho.

“How you feeling?” he asked, plunging his hands into his pockets.

“Tired.”

He snorted. “Oh yeah, me too.”

“I’m sure you are.” You glared at him, slightly envious of the angle of his jaw, of how much sharper it was than yours. And envious also of the broad span of his chest, his neat features, his lips, his hair. He was by all accounts, an objectively better looking man than you and this only added to your irritation.

“What d’you mean by that?” asked Lee-ho, quirking his brow. He must have sensed your frustration because now he was folding his arms, closing up. You didn’t care.

“You know the walls that separate us are paper thin, right?”

“Yeah, and?”

The doors slid open on your floor. “I can hear everything. All the time.” You stepped out before him, stalking down the hallway.

“My bad, dude. I’ll keep it down,” he shouted after you. There was a smug air about his tone and you ignored him as you shoved your key into the lock. It was only 7pm but you were exhausted. After a quick dinner of leftover pasta, and an even quicker shower, you went to bed, desperate to get back the hours you’d lost. You drifted in minutes, sleeping soundly, until loud music and moans yanked you from your dreams at 2am.

You leapt from the bed, pulling on a robe, not bothering to tie it. It took less than two minutes for you to reach Lee-ho’s door. You pounded on it furiously, on and on, until he swung it open. For a moment, each of you stood silently observing one another. He was fully nude, sweating and cupping his genitals as his eyes swept over you. They lingered on your chest, you noted, then trailed up to meet your gaze. Despite your robe, you felt suddenly bare, and exposed. Quickly you tied it, covering yourself from him.

“What the fuck, dude?” said Lee-ho.

“Keep it down.”

“Yeah and what if I don’t?”

“I’ll write a formal complaint. You're violating code of conduct with this shit. Some of us have actual jobs, you know?”

“I have a job.”

“Gym bro influencer and fuckboy does not an occupation make.” This was rude, and uncalled for. But you were sleep deprived. Lee-ho's shoulders slumped down a measure—he appeared somewhat diminished in the face of the insult and you almost felt bad for him. Your eyes fell on his abs however, and then, without meaning to, dipped even lower, catching a glimpse of what was too large to be completely covered by his palm. Even his cock was better than yours—he didn’t need your pity. Without waiting for a retort, you turned and stormed down the hall.

Back in your bedroom, the beginnings of an erection tugged at the tender flesh between your legs. And by the time you lay back in bed, you were rock-hard, and aching.

In the morning you shaved and contemplated calling out, but you really couldn’t afford to. At work, you tried to concentrate but all you could think of was Lee-ho, of his throbbing head, peeking up from behind his hand in the middle of the doorway. You didn’t like men. At least you thought you didn’t. You’d had a few girlfriends in the past and once or twice thought about experimenting with a guy back in college but no one ever drew you in. No one ever attracted you the way—

Enough, you weren’t doing this. What were you thinking? You weren’t into dudes and especially not ones you despised as much as Lee-ho. He probably never had to work for anything a day in his life. Just had to show up and collect everyone's praise and adulation.

Prick.

Back at the apartment, you took the stairs to avoid crossing paths with him. Thankfully it was Friday, and you could catch up on your shows without feeling guilty for missing the sleep that was so hard to come by lately.

After dinner and a shower, you binged a season of a new show on Netflix, and dozed off halfway through. But a short while later, a sharp knock on the door jolted you awake.

You shuffled to it, half-dazed. Waiting on the other side was Lee-ho, glaring a hole through your forehead.

“You know, you’re a real asshole?” he declared.

“Could say the same about you.”

“What you said the other night—you don’t talk to people like that. I want an apology.”

You scoffed and made to shut the door. But he stopped it, forcing it open. “Get off the door and fuck off,” you clipped.

“Or what?”

Impulse and anger drove you to shove him, which was stupid. His arms alone were twice the size of yours. He shoved you back and you stumbled into your apartment. Lee-ho stepped over the threshold, letting the door slam behind him. Then his hands were on you again, crashing into your chest. It knocked the air from your lungs. Enraged, you swung and missed. He caught it and wrapped his hand around your throat, pinning you against a wall. His face was inches from yours as he strangled you, but slowly, his grip loosened. Each of you were panting. He smelled expensive, like Tom Ford—the scent filled you, clouded your head and senses. His breath on you was warm, his lips resting short inches from yours. He brought them even closer, until the tips of your noses were grazing.

“What are you doing?” you whispered.

“I—I’m not—I’m straight but…your…” he trailed off, hand sliding across your chest.

“You wanna fuck me, that it?” Neither of you said a word, only stood there, gazing, panting. Then your hand traveled down, until it landed on his crotch. You palmed his cock, and found it was already hard for you. After the other night, you couldn’t get it out of your mind. Once it was in your mouth, he made the most helpless sounds, cupping your head and guiding you as you swallowed it again and again.

“Fuck, your throat feels s-so good,” mewled Lee-ho. You fought against your gag reflex, getting harder each time he shoved it in, down to the hilt. Your eyes watered. You never thought the taste of cock could turn you on this much. Women were lovely and all but this was something else entirely. It was like satisfying some primal urge you never knew existed until now. You squeezed his balls gently, sucking him all the while. He came in minutes and stood over you shivering as the orgasm rippled through him.

You rose, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Lee-ho dropped to his knees, pulling down your boxers. He took you in his mouth and it felt like the world stopped spinning. His tongue swirled around the tip, one hand cradling your heavy balls, the other gripping your ass, a finger seeking the rosebud. He tried to slip it in but you panicked, bucking away like a spooked horse.

“I thought you said you were straight?” you whispered.

He popped your cock from his warm mouth. You twitched as he smirked up at you. “Chicks like it sometimes. I figured you might wanna give it a try. Feels tight though, got any lube?”

You hesitated, wondering what it would be like to have his finger circling inside you. There was nothing but heat and silence as you stared down at him. “In the bedroom,” you said, breathlessly.

As you lay on your back watching his chiseled body shift in the dim light, he slathered the lube you kept in your bedside drawer onto his middle finger. Then he drizzled some over your erection, spreading it with long strokes.

“Fuuuuuck,” you whined, arching at the pleasure, at the way he gripped you.

“You like that?” With this, he slid a finger inside you, taking it slow. The pressure had you arching even more. Once he eased you past the initial pain, all you could do was moan and claw and look down at your rock-hard cock as he pumped you in two places, at different paces. In the front he squeezed tight, giving you fast, steady strokes, but in that pulsing spot between your cheeks he worked you soft and deep, taking his time as his finger explored your depths. The pressure was glorious, and you felt your entrance contracting around him. “You’re dripping for me,” he cooed. You looked down at yourself as he gripped the base, a long rope dangling from the tip onto your stomach. He licked it, dragging the pad of his tongue along your abs, then swallowed you whole. After a few hard sucks he pulled back, finger still buried in you, coaxing out spasms you couldn't control. Fuck he was so attractive, you never thought a man could make you feel this good.

The next moment, you were shooting ropes in the air, convulsing under him and fisting the sheets as he drained you. He let you pant there, chest heaving, before taking your length back into his mouth. He sucked and finger-fucked you through your sensitivity, ignoring your loud moans and cries. You asked him to stop but you didn’t mean it. You wanted more and he gave it to you. All night. After your third orgasm you could barely stay conscious.

Lee-ho crept beside you, watching as you shivered your way through the leavings of your latest high.

“I’m s-sorry,” you muttered between waves of it, “about the other day. You’re right, I shouldn't have spoken to you like that.”

He chuckled. “It’s fine. I’ll be quiet from now on, promise.”

You couldn’t quite keep your eyes open, and drifted then, still tingling from what he'd done to you. Your rest went uninterrupted for the first time in weeks. But when you woke, Lee-ho was gone.

From then on, the noise had stopped, just like he'd promised. But a few times a week, just before bed, there came a knock at your door, and a smirking, half-naked Lee-ho waiting on the other side of it.

#wonho imagines #lee wonho #lee hoseok #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #shin wonho #lee hoseok smut #monstax smut #monsta x wonho #kpop x you #kpop x y/n #wonho x reader #wonho x you #yaoi #bl manhwa #mm romance #male reader

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geminiwritten · 1 year

Text

i’m yours ; billy butcher

fandom: the boys

pairing: billy x reader

summary: you find out that butcher slept with maeve, and attempt to ignore your feelings by going m.i.a. and going home with a complete stranger, only to awake the green-eyed monster living inside of butcher

preface: this isn’t set in canon timeline, it’s basically just using the bit where butcher sleeps with maeve as a bit of a jealousy catalyst

notes: this man has a hold on me... and i feel like this got a little rushed at the end but i still kind of like it, please let me know what y’all think! (also, i’m sorry all my stuff has the same formula, i promise i’m trying to mix it up!)

warnings: a lot of swearing, the ‘sewer-slide’ word, google-translated french, sexual content, and some soft smut

word count: 5315

Things are good, too good, but you’re doing your best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Hughie and Annie are happy, MM is content, and Frenchie is excitedly creating new methods of blowing up Supes almost daily. Butcher is… well, Butcher. He’s grumpy and brash, but seems to be feeling a little more positive lately, focusing more on recon and intel rather than running in with guns blazing.

For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, you had managed to go grocery shopping without anyone stumbling home bloody and bruised. Frenchie is humming along to the song that had been playing on the radio, carrying most of the plastic bags while MM carries one with you on his back. You were all in such high spirits that he had let you jump on his back at the bottom of the apartment stairs, carrying you up four flights as if you weighed no more than a hiking backpack.

Frenchie chuckles at the two of you as he unlocks the apartment door, entering first and pushing it open all the way. You have to duck a little, giggling and holding on to MM for dear life as he starts jogging toward the couch. He drops the bag on the floor before falling into the sofa, and you squeal as he squashes you.

“Hey,” you exclaim, still laughing, “what the fuck? Steeds don’t sit on their riders!”

“You want to ride me next, petit ange?” Frenchie calls from the kitchen.

You writhe until MM moves, standing up with a satisfied grin across his lips. You flip him your middle finger as he turns away, ushering Frenchie out of the kitchen so he can put the groceries away. You find the TV remote buried in the couch cushions, and just as the old screen flickers to life, Kimiko emerges from the hallway. She looks at Frenchie with a small smile, signing hello before her nose crinkles, and she signs another sentence you struggle to catch as your attention is called toward the master bedroom doors.

Frenchie frowns curiously, “She says that it smells in here.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you lot are stinkin’ up my fuckin’ apartment,” Butcher says, running a hand through his hair.

He looks like shit. His shirt is wrinkled and the buttons are fastened crookedly, his hair is standing up in all directions, and the circles beneath his eyes are several shades darker than usual.

“It is our apartment, Butcher,” Frenchie states, “it is the least you can after making me blow up my last two places, eh?”

Butcher rolls his eyes before dropping into one of the dining room chairs, holding his face in his hands as he takes several deep breaths.

Frenchie looks to Kimiko again before translating, “She says it smells like alcohol and sweat, and a perfume that she has not smelt before.”

“I don’t wear perfume,” you note, “every time we have to haul ass and run, the bottles end up broken or missing, so I gave up.”

MM raises his hands in defence, “Don’t look at me, I haven’t seen anyone but you lot in the past twelve hours.”

“Perhaps it is something we picked up at the shops,” Frenchie shrugs.

Kimiko signs again, and you watch her to listen.

“You can smell a stranger?” you ask with a frown.

“To reiterate,” MM says, “I stayed at a motel alone last night, I was too tired to drive all the way here after visiting Janine.”

“I stayed with Annie,” you point out, “is that who you can smell?”

Kimiko shakes her head, and your heart begins to race anxiously. Neither she nor Frenchie stayed here last night either, opting for one of his old hideouts after scouring the city for any possible missed traces that Vought could use to find you all.

MM turns to Butcher, “Was there someone here last night?”

“Why would you not tell us that there was a break in?” Frenchie demands, his face a mixture of irritation and concern.

Butcher sighs, “There wasn’t a fuckin’ break in, calm down.”

Kimiko pads quietly around the room, subtly sniffing the air around MM and then Frenchie before moving toward you. She inhales above your head and grimaces, before moving to the side and taking a deep breath over the couch.

You shoot up from your seat and stumble toward the kitchen, “Me or the couch?”

She points at the sofa.

“Butcher,” MM says, his voice demanding, “explain before I slap your hungover ass.”

Its only then that you notice the two empty bottles of whiskey, one on the coffee table and one laying on the floor. You back up slowly toward the kitchen, a fresh wave of panic washing over you.

“Someone stopped by,” Butcher mutters into his hands, “that’s all.”

You reach the kitchen bench at the same time Kimiko does, still sniffing like a police dog, and her face twists into a disgusted frown. You startle again, jumping back from the bench as if it had burnt you.

“Care to elaborate?” MM presses.

Butcher sighs, and you can feel a lump growing in your throat.

“We all sleep here too, Butcher,” Frenchie states, “and we deserve to know if it is still safe to do so.”

“‘Course it’s fuckin’ safe,” Butcher says, finally turning his head to face the room. “Maeve came by, alrigh’? Just her, ‘n’ she had some information, so we had a chat and a drink. Is that alrigh’ with you nosey bastards?”

A weight drops in your stomach, anchoring you to the floor as moisture begins to blur your vision.

Kimiko stops sniffing when she reaches Butcher, cringing and stumbling several paces back until she is beside Frenchie.

“You slept with a Supe?” MM gasps.

Butcher huffs and pushes himself up from the chair, “No fuckin’ privacy with you lot, is there?”

MM raises his hands again, “Hey, I’m not judging, just shocked.”

Frenchie’s concern melts into taunting smirk, “No need to be defensive, Monsieur Charcutier, we all have our needs, and I am surprised that you managed to woo such a beautiful woman.”

“Fuck off, Frenchie,” Butcher sighs, dragging his feet toward the fridge.

Their voices blur into white noise as you focus on the slow inhale and exhale of your breath. You wriggle your toes in your boots, forcing yourself to feel your physical body instead of the whirlwind of emotions swirling through your head. It feels like your skull is fracturing with the effort that it takes to contain the storm, but you refuse to let your feelings win. You find a bottle and push them inside, jamming the cork in just as Frenchie snaps his fingers in front of your nose.

You blink, “What?”

“Are you okay?” he asks, a soft crease between his brows.

“Yeah, sorry,” you blink again to quell your watery eyes, “what’s up?”

“Are you hungry?”

You glance over his shoulder at Butcher, his head in the fridge as he ignores MM’s demands to get out of the way.

“Not really,” you reply, “I was actually thinking about going back over to Annie’s, I think I forgot my… my socks.”

The concern between Frenchie’s brows deepens, “You forgot your socks?”

You nod, “My favourite socks.”

“Didn’t know you had favourite socks,” Butcher mumbles as he steps out of the kitchen.

“You don’t know a lot of things,” you state, plastering on a smile that you know doesn’t reach your eyes.

You can feel their curious gazes on you as you turn, retrieving your wallet and keys from the couch before striding out of the apartment door without a second glance. You pull your phone out of your pocket and text Annie to let her know that you’re on your way before switching it to ‘do not disturb’ and zipping it inside your jacket pocket, determined to forget about it until you’ve got a handle on your emotions.

The sun is setting by the time you reach the familiar street on which Hughie and Annie’s apartment is located, and you’re rather proud of the fact that you managed to focus on nothing but your steady steps the whole way here. You look up at the brick building on your left, but instead of turning toward the front steps, your feet carrying you across the street toward the park, not stopping until you’re standing in front of an empty bench.

“Something wrong with that one?” a voice asks, and you startle toward the source of it.

A young man is standing beside you, clad in running shorts and a tight exercise jacket. He doesn’t look menacing, but your whole body tenses as your fight or flight instincts battle for dominance.

“I’m sorry?”

He chuckles, “The bench, I mean. You’re frowning at it as if it’s diseased or something.”

“Oh,” you look back at the moss-ridden seat, “no, I just- I don’t know.”

“Are you alright?”

He buries his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and you let yourself relax, deciding that he isn’t a threat, just an overly friendly stranger.

“I’m fine, sorry,” you sigh, “just had a weird day.”

“That’s nothing to apologise for,” he says, sitting on the bench and looking up at you. “I know the feeling.”

You sit beside him, watching his side profile and slowly realising how attractive he is. His hair is cropped short, shorter than you usually liked, but his eyes are a stunning green and the faint shadow of stubble across his jaw is definitely something you can appreciate.

“Do you often approach strangers in the park?” you ask.

He laughs again, his eyes sparkling under the orange sky, “No, not really, especially not strangers as gorgeous as you.”

You blush at the ground, deciding to focus on your fraying shoelaces rather than the handsome stranger.

“But I figured,” he goes on, “that if I didn’t ask this pretty girl if she was okay, I might not be able to stop thinking about her for the rest of my life.”

You actually giggle, immediately cursing yourself for being so easy, “That’s a long time.”

“I know, right? I didn’t fancy the risk, and hey,” he smiles at you, “looks like it might have been worth it.”

“Maybe,” you smile back, “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Nate.”

You’re not sure if you’re an idiot or if you’ve just given up on your own personal safety, but you sit and talk to Nate until the sun is well below the horizon. You learn that he’s a journalist and a dog person, and lately he’s been more afraid of Supes than comforted by their presence. You tell him you’re a freelancer, because it isn’t technically a lie, and that you’re in between gigs at the moment but questioning whether you’re really doing what you want to be doing. Also, not a lie.

“I know that this is probably very forward,” he says, his knee bouncing nervously, “but did you want to come back to my place for a drink? I would suggest a bar, but I’m not really dressed for it, and I just get this feeling that as soon as we say goodbye, you’re going to disappear forever.”

You frown, “You’re a real long-term guy, aren’t you?”

His cheeks flush pink, “I don’t have to be.”

As you walk alongside the man you met mere hours ago, you come to the conclusion that you must be suicidal. In the current state that the world is in, who in their right mind goes home with a complete stranger? You, apparently.

His apartment isn’t far from the park, which is a little comforting, knowing that you will have a speedy escape to Annie’s place if this guy does end up being a psycho serial killer. The buildings all look the same as you approach a row of tall brick blocks, climbing the few concrete steps up to the lobby doors before scaling three flights to reach his apartment door.

It’s surprisingly well decorated inside, and you can eye a few expensive items that make you wonder if he really is a struggling journalist, or perhaps a shady underground arts dealer. You take a seat at the kitchen bench as he babbles about how crappy his landlord is and how much money he’s had to spend on the place to make it liveable. The glass of wine he places in front of you is gone within two gulps, and he happily pours you another.

“I feel like I probably should have asked this a few hours ago,” he says with a sheepish smile, “but you aren’t with anyone, are you? Engaged or married, or anything like that.”

You choke on your mouthful of cheap wine, coughing the burn away while he hurries to get you a glass of water.

“No,” you finally reply, “I’m not, at all.”

“Good,” he replies, his earnest grin returning, “I mean, it’s surprising because you’re incredible, but I’m glad.”

You offer him a smile that you hope appears coy and not at all forced before drinking down the rest of your second glass of wine. He moves into the lounge room, and you take the opportunity to pour yourself another generous glass, quickly swallowing the two mouthfuls left in the bottle while his back is still turned. You gingerly place the empty bottle in the sink before following him, dropping onto the soft leather couch as he turns on the television.

A news broadcast lights up the screen, and fiery images of a truck collision flash behind the breaking news banner that reads: ‘QUEEN MAEVE SAVES THE DAY’. Your stomach twists into a knot as the bottle of emotions you had managed to almost forget about begins to break, the glass fracturing and threatening to send you into a full-blown mental breakdown.

“Damn,” Nate sighs, “I know the Supes are pretty sketchy these days, but Queen Maeve is just gorgeous.”

With one last burning gulp of wine, you turn to the man beside you and take his head between your hands, crushing your lips against his. He gasps, but responds quickly, his hands finding your hips and guiding you onto his lap.

The rest of the night is a blur as you attempt to give all of your attention to this stranger that you barely know instead of confronting the green-eyed monster roaring in your belly. He finishes once on the couch, pretty quickly, but you’re not one to judge, before you drag him into the bedroom and away from the incessant news broadcasts of Queen Maeve’s heroic act.

It isn’t your alarm that wakes you, or the sound of Frenchie and MM arguing about how to cook eggs, but rather the unfamiliar scent that douses your breath. Your body trembles with anxiety and your eyes snap open, darting around the strange room as your thoughts scramble to remember how you got here.

“Fuck,” you sigh at the sound of someone snoring beside you.

You gently roll over and slip out of the sheets, cold air immediately nipping at your naked body. You find the nearest item of clothing and slip it over your head before tiptoeing out of the bedroom and into the lounge room. Nerves and hunger mingle inside of your stomach, making you overwhelmingly nauseous by the time you find your jacket thrown over the back of the couch.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you mutter as you retrieve your phone from the pocket.

Dozens of missed calls and text messages fill your lock screen, several from Annie and Frenchie, a couple from Hughie and MM, but the majority of them listed under Butcher’s contact name, ‘Big Willy’. You thought it was funny a few days ago.

You quickly text Annie that you’re okay, you’re incredibly sorry, and that you’ll fill her in as soon as you see her. You find your jeans and wriggle into them before finding your panties and tucking them into your back pocket. You scoop your bra and your shirt off the floor on your way to the kitchen, and check your phone again for a reply from Annie. Nothing yet.

You drink the glass of untouched water from the kitchen bench before splashing your face and trying to calm the vibration of nerves coursing through your body.

“Hey.”

You startle at the sudden voice, turning to find Nate in nothing but sweatpants as he emerges from the bedroom.

“Hey,” you murmur.

He frowns, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I-I’m fine, just- uh, my friends have been calling me,” you gesture to your phone, “and they’re pretty worried.”

“Oh,” he lets out a long breath, “I didn’t even hear it ringing last night.”

You smile weakly, not bothering to explain that you were intentionally avoiding your phone all afternoon.

He steps forward, “So, did you-”

The apartment door bursts open, splinters of wood scattering across the floor as you squeal and Nate jumps away from the blow. Your heart is racing, but your body reacts as it was trained to do, and you dive for a knife from the block beside the stove before freezing as you recognise the figure stalking through the broken door.

“Butcher,” you say, “what the fuck?”

His head snaps toward you, the crease between his brows softening and his eyes looking almost vulnerable as realises that it’s you.

“I’m sorry, but who the fuck are you and why did you just break my door?” Nate speaks up.

Your stomach sinks as Butcher’s attention is turned toward the shirtless man, murderous intent returning to his face.

“Who the fuck am I?” he spits, “Who the fuck are you?”

Nate looks tiny compared to Butcher, his narrow frame absolutely dwarfed by Butcher’s broad height and intimidating stance.

“I-I’m Nate,” the smaller man says, “and this is my apartment, that’s my door that you just destroyed.”

“Yeah?” Butcher taunts, stalking forward, “An’ what’re you gon’a do ‘bout it?”

Nate looks at you, his eyes frantic and begging for help.

“Butcher, calm down, he’s-”

“Calm down?” he whirls toward you, “You want me to fuckin’ calm down?!”

“Hey, man,” Nate says, “we can talk, you don’t have to-”

“Nate,” you put your hand up, “I’m sorry, but please shut up.”

“Nate,” Butcher repeats mockingly, “if you value your life, I’d listen to ‘er.”

You drop the knife on the bench, “Butcher, can we just leave, please?”

“You don’t get to make any requests right now, sweethear’,” he says, taking a heavy step toward you, “not after the shit you put me through for the past twelve fuckin’ hours.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawls sarcastically, “maybe ‘bout the fact that you fuckin’ disappeared! You didn’t answer your damn phone, didn’t tell anyone where you fuckin’ were! I got a call from Hughie askin’ if you were back home, ‘cause you texted Annie ‘n’ told her you were comin’, but didn’t fuckin’ show up!”

A pebble of guilt drops into your stomach, but you ignore it, squaring up to him with a scowl.

“So?” you shrug, “I’m an adult, I can do as I fucking please.”

“Not without tellin’ me!” he exclaims, “Not if I don’t know where you fuckin’ are or if you’re even fuckin’ alive!”

“You’re not my fucking father, Butcher!” you shout back, feeling another fissure in the bottle of emotions. “I don’t belong to you, I don’t have to ask you for permission to live my own fucking life!”

His jaw twitches, a tidal wave of emotion crashing through his eyes all too quickly for you to try and discern any of them.

“A-Are you Y/N’s boyfriend?” Nate asks timidly.

You and Butcher turn to him in unison, exclaiming at the same time, “No!”

A beat of silence passes, and Butcher’s glare doesn’t falter. You take a deep breath to try and sooth the storm of frustration threatening to consume you.

“Butcher,” you say softly, “can we please leave?”

His head snaps back toward you, his eyes scanning your body as they fill with realisation.

“Did you fuck her?” he asks, turning back to Nate.

He doesn’t respond, his mouth hanging open as he takes several steps back.

“You gon’a answer me?”

“Butcher,” you say again, “cut it out.”

He takes another menacing step toward Nate, “I asked you a question.”

“W-We slept together, yes,” Nate stammers.

The laugh that leaves Butcher’s lips is chilling, sounding almost mad.

“Oh, pardon my French,” he says, “perhaps I should’a asked if you made sweet fuckin’ love to this gorgeous woman right ‘ere.”

“For fuck’s sake!” you shout, “Stop it, stop whatever the fuck this is, and let’s just fucking go!”

“You’re tellin’ me that you fuckin’ disappeared so you could hide out with this fuckin’ twat?” Butcher exclaims, “You let me worry myself fuckin’ sick so you could get a lousy fuck?”

The bottle explodes, shards of glass cutting you from the inside and sending white hot waves of frustration and anger, and despair rolling through your body.

“I can fuck whoever I want, Butcher!” you scream, startled by the volume of your own voice.

His eyes narrow, but his lips don’t move.

“And you can fuck whoever the fuck you want,” you spit, “obviously.”

You snatch your phone off the bench and stomp toward the door, turning to Nate with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, about… this.”

You continue down the hall and the three flights of stairs, not bothering to check if Butcher is following until you’re outside. The temperature is significantly lower than it was yesterday, but your stubbornness doesn’t let you show it as Butcher strides past you toward the car haphazardly parked at the curb.

You climb into the passenger’s seat, sitting as close as you can to the door and hugging your clothes against your chest as you stare out the window. Tears fill your eyes, your nose growing hot and your cheeks undoubtedly red as you use every ounce of self-control you still have to stave of the inevitable. All you need to do is make it home and make it to your bedroom, and then you can cry. You can curl up with your face in your pillow and sob, and admit that you’re jealous, that you’re hurt, and that you love a man who doesn’t even understand the meaning of that word anymore.

“You look like shit,” he grunts.

You sniffle, keeping your face turned away from him, “So do you.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get much fuckin’ sleep,” he says as the car comes to a halt, “I was up all night worryin’ ‘bout whether or not you were fuckin’ alive.”

“Well, I didn’t get much sleep either,” you retort, before pushing the passenger door open and stumbling out.

You hear the car door slam as you hurry up the stairs and into the building, taking the steps two at a time until you reach the apartment door. To your great relief, it’s unlocked, and you let yourself in before Butcher has even made it into the hallway.

“Oh, my goodness, mon amour,” Frenchie gasps, “you’re alive! You’re okay… are you okay?”

You don’t realise your crying until you try to look at him, your vision blurred by heavy tears as they fall in fat droplets down your cheeks.

MM steps forward, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, “I’m fine, I was with a-a friend.”

“A friend?” Butcher echoes, the door slamming behind him.

Your blood sizzles in your veins, heated by the overwhelming frustration coiling in your chest.

“How the fuck did you know where I was?” you demand, spinning around to face him.

He doesn’t answer.

“Do you have my fucking phone bugged?”

Butcher blows a long breath out of his nose, the thick vein in his neck throbbing under his red skin. “Look,” he says, “I know that whatever the fuck just happened wasn’t ideal, but why can’t you fuckin’ see this from my point of view?”

“Our point of view,” MM corrects, “we were all worried.”

“I get that!” you exclaim, “I fucking understand that, but what I don’t understand is why Butcher is still acting like such a fucking cunt. You can see that I’m fine! I’m alive, so what’s your problem?”

“What’s your problem?” he snaps, “Why didn’t you answer your fuckin’ phone? Why didn’t you tell anyone where you fuckin’ were? And why the fuck did you go home with a complete fuckin’ stranger?”

“Oh, shit,” Frenchie murmurs.

“Maybe I just needed a fucking break.”

The room falls quiet, the only sound being Frenchie’s soft footsteps as he backs away. You use the clothes in your arms to wipe the fresh fall of tears from your cheeks and try to ease your shaky breaths as you wait for another onslaught of reprimands.

Butcher sighs, “Go shower.”

“What?”

“You need to shower,” he says, stepping forward.

You frown, “Why?”

“You look like shit, and you sm-” he stops himself, pausing when you take a small step back.

“I look like shit and I smell,” you finish for him, “thanks, Butcher.”

You drag your feet toward the bathroom, dropping your clothes on the floor and staring at your wrecked face in the mirror. Your hair is a mess and your face is blotchy and red, with streaks of black painting your cheeks. The shirt hanging loosely from your shoulders is unfamiliar, and something akin to disgust settles in the pit of your stomach.

“Give me your clothes,” Butcher says as he appears in the reflection behind you.

“Why can’t you just fucking leave me alone?”

He sighs, “I’m tryin’ to help.”

“I don’t want your fucking help,” you turn to him and lean against the vanity, “go offer it to someone else. I’m sure Maeve would love to see your fucking name pop up on her phone.”

His frown disappears, and you can feel the air shift. Fuck. Now you’ve done it. The shards of glass sticking you from the inside have cut right through your chest, slicing it open as your ribcage cracks and unfolds, presenting your pathetic heart to the man who already held it in his hands.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

Tears sting your eyes, but you blink them back with determination.

“I-Is that what this is-” he struggles for words, running his hands through his hair, “for fuck’s sake, Y/N.”

Your breath comes and goes in short gasps, the lump in your throat crushing your windpipe as it demands to be felt.

“For fuck’s sake!” he exclaims, before taking one step forward and slamming the bathroom door shut.

Fear sparks through you, and you whimper, “Butcher, please don’t-”

Before you can finish, he pulls you against his chest, his arms wrapping around you in a vice hold as he rests his chin on the top of your head. You sob into his shirt, tremors wracking your exhausted body as every bit of fear and frustration tears you apart from the inside. You’re not sure how you let yourself get this emotional. Maybe it’s the fact that the world is falling apart, and you’re supposed to act like you’re ready to save it? Or maybe it’s because you’re fucking tired of having everything you love ripped away from you, every chance you think you might have at happiness taken from you by the cunts in the sky who call themselves ‘Superheroes’.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

The turbulence inside of you quells simply because you finally acknowledged it, and you manage to swallow the lump in your throat.

“Butcher,” you croak, looking up at him through tear laced lashes, “kiss me?”

He hooks a finger beneath your chin and tilts it up, leaning in to meet you the rest of the way before his lips brush yours. It’s hesitant and soft, barely a touch, and he pulls away too soon.

“You need to shower.”

“Oh,” you try to wriggle out of his arms, but they’re too strong.

“I can smell that fuckin’ twat all over you,” he growls, “an’ it’s makin’ me fuckin’ sick.”

Realisation slaps you across the face, giving you the strength to remember how to hold yourself up as he pulls away. His fingers curl into the material at the neck of your shirt, ripping it apart right down the middle before pushing it off your shoulders and tossing it on the floor.

Another growl rumbles through his chest and the air in the room shifts again, now thick with a tension that has your heart throbbing in anticipation. Your mind races, your thoughts riding rollercoasters as you struggle to catch up with his fast hands. Your jeans are unbuttoned and pooled around your ankles in less than a second, and he takes another moment to devour your naked body before moving to turn on the shower.

You stumble out of your jeans as he quickly sheds his own clothes before wrapping an arm around your waist. He pulls you under the warm stream of water and holds your body against his, the feeling of his bare skin making your head spin. He takes the bottle of bodywash from the small shelf and pops the cap with one hand, turning it upside down and squirting a ridiculous amount all over your chest and his.

You giggle and he grins, returning the bottle to the shelf before crushing his lips against yours. The soap makes your skin slide against his in the most delicious way and you can feel your core clench, eliciting a wanton moan from your open mouth. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip before pushing into your mouth and claiming you with hungry, sloppy kisses.

“Didn’t think you’d be jealous,” he murmurs against your mouth, “didn’t think you fuckin’ cared about me.”

You slide your hands across his bare shoulders and behind his neck, finding purchase in his wet hair and tugging gently as you kiss him with every ounce of passion that you have.

“I do care,” you sigh when his lips leave yours to lap at your neck, “I am fucking jealous.”

“Sweethear’,” he whispers, his hands moving to your breasts, “you’ve got nothin’ to be fuckin’ jealous ‘bout.”

His mouth leaves your skin as he turns you to face the wall, pressing his body against your back before pushing you into the tiled wall. You gasp first at the sudden cold, and then at the feeling of him grinding himself against your ass.

“I’m yours,” he growls, his lips against your shoulder, “always fuckin’ have been.”

You still manage to speak despite the pleasure of him threatening to overwhelm you. “Then why?”

One hand wraps gently around your throat while the other splays across your lower belly, teasing the place just below that aches for his touch.

“‘Cause I never fuckin’ dreamed that I’d have you,” he says, his lips at your ear now.

You reach back with one hand, holding the nape of his neck as you turn so that your mouth can meet his in a messy kiss.

“You’ve always had me,” you murmur, “I belonged to you the day I met you.”

His hips buck against your ass, pressing you against the wall and making you whimper.

“You’re mine,” he says, moving back just enough for you to turn around.

You nod as you lean down to kiss his neck. Your tongue laving at his wet skin before your teeth sink in and he hisses, one hand squeezing your hip as the other smacks against the tiled wall.

“All yours.”

You place your hands against his chest, pushing him back enough for you to drop to your knees, your hands trailing down his body until they reach his hips. You dig your fingers in and look up at him through your wet lashes.

“Show me who I belong to.”

END.

#billy butcher #billy butcher x reader #butcher x reader #the boys #karl urban #frenchie #mm #mothers milk #hughie campbell #starlight #queen maeve #homelander #oneshot #one shot #imagine #fanfic

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luvskywxlker · 2 months

Text

I need him to use me until I am too exhausted to move, run me a nice bubble bath and tuck me in cuddle with me and kiss me goodnight and hold me all through the night and play with my hair

hhhh to be treated like a princessssss🫶🎀

#insomnia thoughts #insomia #anakin skywalker #hayden christensen #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin imagine #anakin x reader #skywxlkerconvo #please sedate me #someone knock me out #mwah #I wanna be kissed Mm #KISSMEKISSMEKISSMEEEEE

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undercoverpena · 1 year

Note

hi love! Can I use the prompt

“Visiting them at work, either with lunch, or just to spend the afternoon with them as they try to get things done. Whether they actually get things done, or thing devolve into flirting/romantic gestures is up to you.”

With Javier Peña?? I truly believe a women showing him love/affection would make him throw up lmao but still I crave it. thank you ❤️❤️

#mmvalentinesevent

lunch break.

javi peña x f!reader

an: i hope you don’t mind i changed it a smudge, thought this would be more him, and his counterpart. season one/two ish. i’ve been loose with details.

You don’t even need to let the door slam, his eyes find yours as soon as you're standing in the doorway.

The realisation dawning, spreading, making creases appear in his brow before they smooth out, eyes softening and filling with apologies. Ones that make the air—in the loud, busy room he works in—all the more thick and heavy.

His jawline is more prominent, jutting out. You've committed it to memory with both your fingers and mouth. The feel of it is still able to conjure on your lips—if you need them to.

Instead, you watch his eyes. How the beginning of an apology begins to form as they sweep over your frame. Not that you'll accept it.

Hastily lifting the brown bag, you move closer to his desk. You're quick to notice the new deeper shade of the circles under his eyes. How they're worse under the sepia lighting—even more so as he leans back, arms stretching behind his skull as he rolls his lips.

All you're focused on is how his top two buttons are undone. The thinnest spread of sweat blotting over his skin, making your mind summon memories that'll make you weak, when you want to make him pay.

“I… fuck. I was meant to meet you for lunch?”

Your brows rise playfully, walking closer to his desk, dumping the bag down on the edge as you shift your denim jacket from your shoulders. “You were meant to meet me for lunch.”

With one hand, you wheel Murphy’s free chair to his desk, plonking yourself down next to him. Letting the thin fabric of your sundress settle above your thighs—landing higher on your skin than it did when you’d been standing.

Perfect.

“I’m so—“

“Save it, Peña. I ordered for you, which don't thank me—I added everything you hate to it.”

He pulls your chair closer to him, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Thank you, cariño.”

You almost crack.

His name for you, the one which rolls from his lips like honey, the one he's scorched over and over again against your rib cage, lips and thighs.

“The only reason I’m here is because I want to embarrass you as much as you embarrassed me by standing me up?”

Swiping his tongue across his bottom lip, he follows it by sliding his thumb in the same pattern. Dark eyes studying, traipsing over your face—desperately trying not to let them descend to your bare collarbone.

“How badly am I going to pay for this?”

You smirk, pulling out one of the trays from the bag, shrugging lightly as you place one in front of him. Cautiously avoiding his files, papers and lit cigarette.

You feel it then, his palm on your leg. Heavy, tight—warm. It takes everything not to inhale. To let your skin go several degrees higher from the implications, from the knowledge of what it can do.

Nothing was innocent with Javi Peña. But then, he didn’t come round at all hours of the night because you were innocent either. It hadn't begun between you to begin with because you were irreproachable.

Smirking silently to yourself, you allow his fingers to dance up your thigh. Having already put a plan in motion.

It's why you don't demand his eyes back to you when they move back on the papers in front of him. You don't argue when he mutters that you’ll have all his attention in a minute. You already know you will when he realises.

Instead, you pop open your tray, silently watching the smoke from his cigarette swirl up into the lights, blending with the cloud that's likely been forming since the sun rose.

And you wait.

“Where’s Murphy?”

“Fuck if I know.”

You bite the corners of your cheek, watching him flip a page over, his hand rising a little more north on your leg.

It’s torture, waiting. Needing him to rise up, feel the crease of your thigh. To run his index finger over the place where cotton or lace should be—finding nothing but bare, beautiful skin.

You almost forget how to breathe as you wait.

The underwear you’d slid off in the car, sitting dormant in your jacket pocket. Knowing there’s nothing greater in this world than food, sex, wine and torturing him; than making him wait, and watching a man who is rarely ever told no, to be patient.

You bite into your food, spices exploding as you fight a groan. Not wanting to give yourself away—to showcase that you’re up to something as he draws patterns on your skin.

You just want him a little higher, wanting him to brush over the empty expanse where he’d only last night slid your underwear down with his teeth.

It’s tense. Almost unsure how you can swallow from the way your pulse thundered in your throat. It’s making you sweat. Your skin prickling with adrenaline, eyes fixated on his side profile—his handsome, fucking face.

For a second, you hold your breath as his fingers fan over your skin. You’re rendered useless when he pauses, head lifting half an inch, dark eyes staring at you from the corners.

“Cariño…”

You lick the sauce from your finger, dropping the remainder of your food into the tray, blanking your face as you hum.

“Did you… Did you forget something?”

Frowning, you lick your lips as you tilt your head, meeting his gaze. Skin warming under it—thighs desperate to push together under his burning gaze.

“Don't think so? I mean, there’s more sauce in the bag—“

He turns his chair quickly, wheels working with him as he pulls you close—yours almost colliding with his. But he's good, so good. Already having his leg slotting between yours as you’re pulled to face him.

“Not the sauce. Where are they?”

You bite your lip, letting the smirk show, the angelic facade falling as quickly as your dress would have done—if he had shown up. “Pocket.”

“Give them to me.”

Frowning, you trace your teeth with your tongue. Slowly shaking your head, smirk broadening, telling him enough without as much as speaking.

He grits his jaw, staring at you, not even caring for how brazen he’s being with letting his eyes roll over you. How they take you in, undressing you, reminding your muscles and bones how he feels when he’s against you.

It takes all of you not to brush the strands of hair that have fallen over his forehead. But if you do, he’ll kiss your pulse. He’ll coax you in, make you forget that he had you waiting for an hour.

You didn’t come here because you want to forgive him, you want him to repent. Want him on his knees, hands on the back of your thighs whispering prayers into the space between your thighs.

He must know. Must be able to tell. His eyes shifting, lips curling.

“I’m a fucking idiot.”

Leaning closer, your eyes flick to his lips. His perfect, parting lips. “Oh, I know." Your fingers press against them, pushing his head back gently. "Eat ya damn food, Peña.”

He drops his chin, staring up at you through his lashes, whispering, “There's something else I’d rather eat.”

You hum, smiling sweetly. “Oh, Javi, I know. But, that was dessert and you didn’t bother fucking showing up for the main. So.”

He eyes you, prodding his tongue into his cheek. "Alright, cariño."

Smirking, your eyes fall to his lap, noticing the prominent bulge, the one you'd caused as you, moved closer to his ear, lips ghosting over his skin. "Let this be a lesson to not stand me up again, Javi."

He tenses from head to toe, watching you as you lean forward to grab your tray. "You're a horrible woman."

Licking the sauce from your finger, you smile. "Oh, I know, querido."

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