#this brought up an interesting point for me

[spectorgram]

eyes wide open

pairing: theodore nott x f! reader summary: you discover that there is so much more to theodore nott than you thought.  content: gryffindor! reader, semi-nsfw (characters are 18+) word count: 5.46k

You have never spoken to Theodore Nott before. You’ve him around a lot, usually with Mattheo Riddle or Lorenzo Berkshire, and he is a regular on the quidditch team — a chaser — so you’d see him zoom by during matches. He’s also in a majority of your classes for this year, which lets you observe him from afar. But past that, you’ve never really had much to do with him beyond seeing him with Malfoy and witnessing how he stands quietly — with either a small smirk or a look of complete apathy on his face — while Malfoy and your friends argue back and forth. 

Having class with Theodore Nott has let you learn three things about him: he’s quiet, whip-sharp, and unbelievably handsome. You didn’t need classes with him to know the last one is a well-known fact; he’s constantly noted as one of the most attractive of your classmates. “Shame he’s a Slytherin,” Lavender Brown once said to you, which had made you roll your eyes and retort, “And what’s wrong with that?” It had gotten you into a big fight and you don’t think she’s spoken to you since, not that you’ve really wanted her to. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Ron asks you as he, Hermione, Harry, and Ginny stand at the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. “Mum would love to have you. She’s always banging on about what a lovely girl you are and how polite you were.”

“And I’m sure Fred would love to see you,” Ginny adds. 

You snort, “I’m really sure. But please give my regards to your mother and Fred.”

“Will do,” Ginny says with a two-finger salute. 

Your friends say their farewells as they leave through the portrait hall. You flop against the plush velvet of the couch, staring at the roaring fire. Your parents were on a months-long that brought them to see famous wizarding landmarks so you’re stuck at Hogwarts for the holiday. You’re a little disappointed that you won’t be with your family but another part of you is excited to be in the castle when it’s less populated. You’ll finally get to make your way through the massive pile of books you have at your bedside since you’re usually caught up in listening to and gossiping with your roommates. 

You head up to your room, empty except for you and your owl hooting in his cage. You wiggle your fingers inside, Ramses rubbing his feathery head against them. You grab the first book from the top of your pile, turning the leather-bound edition over in your hand. Hermione gifted it to you for your last birthday: William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet. You shimmy into your gold and red striped sweater and tuck the book underneath your arm, walking down to the dining hall for dinner. 

Students are scattered around the Great Hall, some chattering with their friends while others eat silently. The ceiling has shifted to depict a clear night sky, floating candles casting an orange glow. You spot Mattheo Riddle alone at the Slytherin tables but the way he keeps looking to the door makes you assume he’s waiting for a friend. You settle down on a bench all to yourself, piling your plate with the mouthwatering selections available to you. 

You rest your chin on your fist, cracking open the play. You get only a few pages in when you hear a familiar low voice. “All alone, little lion?” His eyes examine you and you suddenly feel too exposed despite your layers. 

You come face-to-face with Theodore Nott and his sea blue eyes. He regards you coolly and you ask, “Can I help you, Nott?”

He points at your copy of Romeo and Juliet. “Where’d you get that?”

You furrow your brow in confusion. Why in Godric’s name is Theodore Nott of all people interested in a Muggle book. You respond, “Hermione gave it to me. Why?”

“It’s hard to find Muggle books here,” he says. His eyes linger on the play. “Think I could borrow it when you’re finished?”

Your brain stalls, questions floating around your head. “Sure,” you finally answer. He nods and neither of you say anything more. The quiet that falls between you two makes you tense and you say, “Is that all, Nott?”

He considers and then says, “I think so.” He heads to the Slytherin tables without another word, sitting beside Mattheo, who’s been watching on keenly. You catch his stare and he smirks, raising a hand in a casual wave. Theodore smacks his shoulder and pulls Mattheo’s hand down. 

You sigh, shake your head in disbelief, and go back to reading the play.

It’s been a few days since your encounter with Theodore, but the interaction sticks with you. Every time you open up the play, you’re reminded of it and your curiosity returns tenfold. 

It’s odd being at school when it’s this empty. You’ve managed to occupy yourself by playing Wizard’s Chess with some fifth years, helping Professor Flitwick organize his classroom and the Frog Choir’s practice room, and working on knitting gifts to give you friends when they return. 

You’re sitting in the Gryffindor common room, working on Harry’s scarf, when you spill a cup of tea one of the house elves had made for you. Cursing, you move your knitting out of the way and survey the damage to your sweatshirt. With a groan, you gather your things and bring them to your dorm, blotting out the growing stain with water and letting it dry over the edge of the bathtub. 

You slip into a forest green sweater and throw a brown corduroy jacket over it. You grab your copy of Romeo and Juliet and head down to the Black Lake. The cold breezes nip at your cheek and carries the scent of pine trees, which you inhale gratefully. You plop yourself underneath a tree on the shore of the lake, reclining against the trunk and cracking open the book.  

You’re not even a page in when you hear a familiar voice call your name. Your hold on your book tightens but you peer up, watching Theodore approach. He’s in a dark wool overcoat and similarly dark trousers, hands tucked into his coat pockets. His strides are leisurely and long, reaching you in only a handful of steps. 

He stands tall in front of you, shadow cast long in the afternoon sun. His gaze roams over you and he says, “Isn’t wearing green considered treacherous for you?”

You’re confused for a second before you follow his line of sight and glance down at your own sweater. Right. You reply, “No more than it would be for you to wear red.”

The corner of his lip twitches up in a small, half-smile and he says, “High treason then.”

You echo your words from earlier in the week: “Can I help you, Nott?”

He ignores your question, instead choosing to tip his chin at your book. “What part are you at?”

“Mercutio’s died in his duel with Tybalt.”

He nods and recites, “‘A plague o’ both your houses. They have made worms’ meat of me: I have it, and soundly too: your houses.’”

You don’t bother to hide your surprise. “You’ve read it?”

“Haven’t most people?”

“Sure, most people know the story but they don’t usually read it. 

“I’ve read it a couple of times,” he admits. He adds, “My mother’s favorite book.”

“I see. Is that why you want to borrow it from me?”

“Yeah.”

Silence falls between the pair of you. Distantly, there’s a cry of crows. Theodore is still standing above you, gazing down, and you squirm a little. He then says, “I always liked Benvolio.”

You’re reminded that Theodore’s half-Italian in the way he says ‘Benvolio,’ accent smooth and lilting. It suddenly feels a little too warm under your coat but you ignore it. You instead blurt out, “Of course you would. You’re kind of like him.” 

Theodore raises one eyebrow and you feel your face heat even more, embarrassed, and you hope he doesn’t take it as a bad thing. He doesn’t seem offended though and asks, “Oh, how so?”

“I mean,” you say, “you are— well, you seem like the most reasonable of your friends. A mediator of some sort.” 

“That sounds about right,” he says. “You remind me of Juliet.”

“Really? Why’s that?” You’re not sure if you should take it as a good thing or not.

“Well, she has a solid set of beliefs and stands up for them. She knows herself; she tells her parents that she doesn’t want to marry Paris, not just because she’s in love with Romeo but also because she knows she’ll be unhappy. What is it she says? ‘Now, by Saint Peter’s Church, and Peter too, he shall not make me there a joyful bride! I wonder at this haste, that I must wed ere he that should be husband comes to woo.’”

Theodore’s mouth lifts in a tiny, lopsided smile again and he says, “Plus, she’s the one most of the guys fawn over, right?”

You’re left to gape at him in shock and awe, processing what he just said as he turns and walks back to the castle along the shore, just outside the gentle lapping of the water. You watch his retreating figure, watch as he grows smaller and smaller and eventually disappears. 

You don’t get much reading done, the book remaining open in your lap and your eyes fixed on the spot where Theodore once stood.

You sit there until the top curve of the sun is just peeking out over the horizon and you stand, still a tad dazed, and make your long walk back to Hogwarts. 

It’s just past one in the morning and you can’t sleep, tossing and turning fitfully. Theodore Nott and his long shadow and his blue eyes keep appearing behind your eyelids, no matter how much you try to shove the thoughts out. You want to bang your head on one of the wooden poles holding up the canopy of your four-poster bed, but you opt for sliding on your slippers and going down to the kitchens to see if the house elves have any leftover brownies from dinner. Maybe they could warm up a mug of hot cocoa for you too.

You shuffle through the hallway, the chill of the castle waking you up. You rub your hands along your arms, wishing you had worn something over your pajamas. Since it’s break, restrictions about when and where students could go are essentially non-existent. You pass Filch, who scowls at you, clearly aggrieved that he can’t punish you for being out of bed, and Nearly-Headless Nick, who greets you cheerfully and questions you as to why you’re up at such a time. “Can’t sleep,” you explain. “I’m checking if the elves have any midnight snacks for me.”

He chuckles, “An excellent reason but don’t stay up too late, or you’ll wind up like me!” He laughs hard at his joke and you can’t help but giggle, bidding him a goodnight as you descend into the basement. 

You nearly run right into Theodore as you approach the kitchens. You jump at least a foot, clasping your hands over your chest. “Merlin’s beard, you scared me!”

“Could say the same for you,” he says. “Nice pajamas.”

You forgot you were in a tank top and shorts. You cross your arms and say, “You seem awfully fixated on my clothes, Nott.” You try to look as threatening as you can but the slight tremble to your body takes away any effect.

Theodore rolls his eyes and slides the robe he donned over his striped pajamas off, holding it out to you. When you don’t take it, he just throws it over your shoulders, the weight comfortable and warm. You say, “You keep popping up out of nowhere. Are you stalking me or something?”

He snorts, “You would never know if I was. But no, Mattheo’s snoring kept me up. I figured I should take advantage of my insomnia and grab some brownies from dessert.”

“Great minds think alike then,” you say. 

You and Theodore walk down the corridor towards the kitchen when he asks, “Have you finished the book?”

“No, didn’t get a lot of reading done after you left.”

“Did I distract you that much?” He looks smug, smirking, and it’s your turn to roll your eyes.

“In your dreams.”

“Yeah,” he says. “When do you think you’ll finish?”

“Bloody hell, you’re impatient,” you groan, rubbing your temples. You’re not sure what possesses you, if it’s your sleep-deprived brain or something else but you suggest, “How about this? You grab brownies and cocoa for us and I’ll get the damn book and we’ll meet in the Clock Tower and read it together.”

Theodore considers it for a moment before he says, “Alright. I’ll meet you there in fifteen.”

“Perfect.” You scurry back to the Gryffindor dorms. Nearly-Headless Nick queries as to where your snacks are but you don’t answer, moving swiftly. You enter your dorm room, only pausing for a moment to catch your breath. Your heart is pounding but you can’t tell if it’s from the journey or from the thought of sitting alone in the Clock Tower with Theodore Nott. You don’t let yourself dwell on it and you pick up Romeo and Juliet and climb the stairs to the Clock Tower. 

Theodore has beaten you there, already sitting up against the glass of the clock. The frost on the glass obstructs some of the moonbeams streaming in but it’s just enough light to read. In the moonlight, Theodore’s hair looks lighter and more burnt golden than brown. He takes a sip of his cocoa and holds out a ceramic mug to you as you settle next to him. You accept it gratefully, plucking a brownie from the plate between you two. 

You flip through the play to find where you left off, the page dog-earred. Theodore makes a sound at the back of his throat. “What?”

“Don’t you have a bookmark or something?”

“No. Leave my marking choices out of it.”

He snickers and leans over you to get a better look at the text. Your shoulders brush and you’re all too aware that he smells of chocolate and sandalwood. His smell is clean and distinct; his robe smells like that too. 

As you two begin to read, Theodore tells you to turn back or move forward. You eventually figure out a rhythm, knowing exactly when to do so. You’re about ten minutes into reading when you feel Theodore’s gaze on you. You remain still, wondering if he’ll stop but when he doesn’t you mumble, “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Staring.” “Does it bother you?”

“It feels like you can see into my soul.”

“You didn’t answer my question. Does it bother you?”

You pause. “I don’t… I don’t know.” A beat. “Why are you?”

“Why am I what?”

“Staring at me.”

His voice drops, somehow deeper than you have ever heard it. “Because I like to.”

Your head whips to him but no words leave your mouth. He regards you carefully and asks again, “Does that bother you?”

You hesitate. Then, “No, it doesn’t.”

He hums and you think he’ll do… something but he just ducks his head back down to read and you let out of the breath you didn’t know you were holding, disappointment pooling in your stomach. You don’t know what you wanted him to do. You don’t know why you’re disappointed. 

You two read until your eyes grow heavy. You struggle to keep your lids open, head jolting up when you realize you’re drifting off. Theodore taps your shoulder and says, “We can stop here. Pick up another time.”

“Yeah,” you murmur, standing and stretching. You stifle a yawn and remember you have his robe on. You begin to take it off but he says, “Keep it. You can give it back tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow. Same time, same place?”

“Okay.”

It doesn’t take you long to finish the play with Theodore only two days later. You noticed that Theodore read slower than before, telling you multiple times per session to go back a couple of pages. 

Your eyes follow the last line: For never was a story of more woe / Than this of Juliet and her Romeo, and you close the book with a dull thump. You sit in silence with Theodore, listening to the clock hand turn to the next minute. You stay like that for a while. You sip on the spiced hot chocolate the house elves prepared for you. You share sugar cookies with Theodore that are shaped like snowflakes. 

“So,” you start, breaking the silence, “this is your mother’s favorite book?”

He nods. “I think she read it a lot when her parents arranged for her to marry my father.”

“Oh.” You don’t know what else to say, adding lamely, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Silence. 

“Can I ask you something?” you ask.

“Yeah.”

“Why did you stay here over break?”

He stiffens, expression unreadable. He glances over at you and finally sighs. “My father’s trial is happening right around now. My family doesn’t want any of the kids around this so…” He motions to the Clock Tower, adding, “My siblings are either at their own schools or with my grandmother.”

Your heart aches at the frown on his face and you bite the inside of your cheek, unsure of how to proceed. You’re thankful when Theodore moves on. “What about you?”

“Oh, my parents are on a sight-seeing cruise so they’re not home. I got a postcard today, though, they’re in Japan now.”

“I’ve never been. How’s it look?”

“Pretty. They said their tour guide told them the best time to come is when the cherry blossoms bloom. I would like to go.”

“We’ll go together then.” 

He says it with a finality that makes you shy. “When?” is all you can ask. 

“Someday.”

You haven’t seen Theodore in a couple of days, an odd thing to try and get used to when you’ve just adjusted to him popping up wherever you are. You assume that he’s done with you now that you finished Romeo and Juliet. 

It all makes your heart sink.

You’re alone in the common room, wrapping up your gifts for your friends. You stack Harry’s scarf on top of Hermione’s mittens, Ron’s socks, and Ginny’s hat, and you lean against the couch with a huff. 

You think about the spare red yarn sitting in your room. You think there’s just enough to make another scarf. 

Theodore’s face flashes in your mind’s eye and you run a hand down your face in frustration. Whatever weird thing you had with Theodore is over. He’s probably out with Mattheo at the Three Broomsticks or something. You’ve seen them there before along with Enzo, Blaise, Draco, and Pansy as well as just with each other, usually flirting with girls there.

You didn’t used to think much of it — just scoffed along with Ron and Hermione — but now the thought makes your stomach churn. 

You think about the extra yarn in your room again and you almost can’t believe that, despite his disappearing act, you’ve decided you’ll knit a scarf for Theodore Nott.

Almost.

You’re greeted with a delicious Sunday roast for dinner on Christmas Eve: tender roasted beef, warm Yorkshire puddings, fluffy mashed potatoes, and a side of jus from the beef. You sit by yourself once again, the loneliness threatening to swallow you whole as you plate your dinner. 

Theodore seats himself right across from you and places a parcel wrapped in brown paper in front of you. You look at it in confusion and he says, “Open it.”

“What is it?”

“Christmas present.”

You raise a brow. “You got me a present?”

“Yes, now open it.”

“Shouldn’t I wait until tom—” The sharp look he gives you makes you set your fork aside and tug on the string of the bow. There are two books inside. The first is a copy of Shakespeare’s Macbeth, similarly leather-bound like Romeo and Juliet, and the second one is an ornately-decorated collector’s edition of Romeo and Juliet. 

Your jaw falls open and you whisper, “Theodore…”

He says, “Figured that we can read Macbeth together. It’s a personal favorite of mine.”

Your fingers trace the golden embossment of Romeo and Juliet, swooping down to follow the curve of the ‘J.’ “Where did you even get this?”

“Sent a lot of letters and had Mattheo help me pull strings at Flourish and Blotts.”

Your face is on fire but you grin at Theodore and say, “Thank you so much.”

“Happy Christmas,” he says and you catch the pink at the tips of his ears.

“I actually have something for you too,” you say and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “I’ll get it to you after dinner.”

“I’ll come with,” he says and you nod. You wonder if he’ll get up but he stays put, taking a plate and serving himself dinner. 

You two talk quietly in between bites and something dawns on you halfway through. “Where’s Mattheo?” You look over your shoulder and can’t find the other Slytherin boy.

Theodore smirks. “Might’ve slipped him a couple of galleons to leave us alone.” Your cheeks heat pleasantly. 

You two finish dinner after that and Theodore walks you to the Fat Lady’s portrait. She eyes him suspiciously, glaring at you. “You know students from other Houses aren’t permitted in the Gryffindor dorm.”

You disregard her and give her the password. Begrudgingly and with one last glower at you and Theodore, the portrait swings open and you step inside. Theodore peers around the common room and says, “Never been in here before.”

“Some Gryffindor girl hasn’t taken you back with her?” you ask but you instantly regret your teasing words. The thought of Theodore with someone else (Lavender Brown comes to mind and you scowl internally) makes you queasy.

“Can’t say that it’s happened,” he says, shooting you a cocky smirk. “You’d be the first.”

“I’m honored. Wait right here.”

Theodore flops on the couch and sighs in satisfaction. “So much more comfortable than Slytherin’s.”

“Yeah?” you ask as you retreat up the stairs. He shouts after you that Slytherin’s couches, while not wholly terrible, are stiff whereas your common room’s are plush and cushy.

Theodore’s scarf, knit in a red cashmere, lays innocuously on your bed. You’re abruptly self-conscious of it; Theodore got you two beautiful and likely expensive books and you knit him a measly scarf in colors that aren’t his House’s. 

Merlin, you think, what if he hates it?  Only one way to find out, you suppose. With a deep breath, you pick it up and hide it behind your back. You peek into the common room, where Theodore lounges on the couch, his figure long and relaxed. His shirt has ridden up a little and you spy a sliver of the toned muscle of his stomach. 

“Close your eyes,” you say. You watch his eyes shut, unfairly long lashes brushing his cheekbone. You creep into the room, halting in front of him. The flames dancing in the fireplace are the only excuse you can come up with for why you’re so warm. “Hold out your hands.”

He sits up straight and does as he’s told. You say, “It’s not wrapped.”

“That’s alright.”

You inhale, exhale, and gingerly place the scarf in his hands. He opens his eyes and inspects the scarf, rubbing the knit yarn in between his fingers. You hold your breath.

His face breaks into the biggest grin you’ve ever seen on him. He looks—

He looks beautiful. He’s always handsome, yes, but he’s beautiful here.

“This is really nice. You make it yourself?”

You hum in affirmation and he loops it around his neck, standing and spinning around playfully. “How do I look?”

“I think red’s definitely your color,” you tell him, your own cheeks hurting from how widely you’re beaming. 

Theodore takes a step closer, his shoes nearly knocking into yours. The glee in his expression morphs slowly into something different. It’s not anything bad, but it’s somehow more intense and softer than before. “Thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome. Thank you again for the books.”

“You’re welcome.”

The fireplace crackles, embers spitting.

You’re not sure who moves first. Your mouths crash against each other like waves against a bluff, all lips and teeth and tongue. Your hands are everywhere, in his hair, clutching his shoulders, cupping his face. His hands are just as frantic, grabbing at your waist and hips, squeezing you tight against him. 

You two come up for air but you don’t surface for long. Despite the way he’s worked up, he’s careful in unwinding the scarf from his neck and draping it over a nearby arm chair. Then, he’s on you again, pulling you flush against him. 

He guides you to his lap as he sits back on the couch, lips never leaving yours. You straddle his thighs, tugging lighty at his curls. He moans into your mouth. Your hips move against his. His fingers, long and cold, creep under your shirt and send a shiver down your spine. 

His mouth only leaves yours to latch onto your neck, sucking and licking and nipping. You whine and push yourself against him harder, your hands clumsily trying to undo the buttons of his shirt. He helps you, flinging it off his shoulders, and pulling your own off your torso. 

“Fuck,” he groans, chest heaving as he takes in the view of you. He’s staring at you like you’re some sort of goddess. “Fuck, you’re beautiful, amorina.”

You melt under his gaze. His ocean blue eyes are a little glazed and his mouth is kiss-swollen and ajar. Godric, he’s one to talk. You lean in closer, tracing his jaw and letting your hand trail down his neck, his chest, down to his stomach. You graze the top of his trousers and lightly scrap your nails over the skin just above. He hisses, hips bucking, and before you can say anything to him, he’s yanking you down for a kiss. 

It’s slower, no less passionate but less frenzied, and you only break apart to whisper, “Bedroom, Nott.” 

He doesn’t say another word, springing from the couch, grabbing the scarf you made him, and dragging you up to your dorm. As soon as he’s inside, he sets the scarf on your bedside table and pushes you down onto the mattress, climbing on after you. 

You squeal as he peppers kisses along your neck. “Theo,” he murmurs against the skin of your collarbone. “Call me Theo.”

“Okay,” you say, testing it out. “Theo.” His hips slot against yours once more and you cant your up. He slips a hand down your pants and when he presses his palm against you, you whine, “Theo!”

Another rumbling moan, “Amorina, you don’t know what you do to me.” Another long, hard kiss. Your hands move to unbutton his trousers. 

You don’t care how sweaty and sticky you are as you lay panting against Theo’s chest, feeling the way it rises and falls in rapid succession. You listen to his racing heartbeat and he places a sweet kiss to the top of your head. 

As you two catch your breath, Theo says, “I think Juliet should have gone with Benvolio.”

You look at him like he’s crazy. “That’s really what you’re thinking about?”

He winks at you. “Of course not. I’ve been thinking about it since we finished the book.”

You slap his chest playfully and ask the obvious question: “Why do you think so?” 

“Well, you said I’m like Benvolio and I told you you remind me of Juliet.”

“Huh?” You think for a couple of seconds and then it clicks. “Oh!” You take in Theo’s half-lidded eyes staring at you. “Oh…” 

He dips down to kiss you again.

Over the break, you’ve expanded on what you know about Theodore Nott. One, he’s quiet because he’s thoughtful, always observing, always analyzing, and storing away information for whatever purpose he’d like to use it for. 

Two, he’s whip-sharp — you see it in the way he can quote Shakespeare plays like second-nature; in how he easily banters with you, always coming back with a swift reply and a cheeky smile. 

Lastly, he’s unbelievably handsome. You knew this before but it’s different now. You admire the way he holds himself with an unflagging confidence, how he has these rare full-bellied laughs that make you crave the sound. But you think he’s most handsome when you sit together, cloistered away in the Clock Tower, reading Romeo and Juliet and now Macbeth together. You’re so close, you can smell the peppermint on his breath from the candy canes the house elves snuck you. You can see all the shades of blue in his eyes. You can count the beauty marks on his face. 

This close, you can lean over and kiss him and delight in the way your heart thrums when he reciprocates, cradling your face and coaxing you into him. 

You spend the majority of the rest of the break wrapped up in Theo’s arms. By the last day, you’re sure you have snuck each other into your dorms more times than either of you can count. You hang out a few times with Mattheo, who turns out to be not as bad as your friends make him out to be. He’s sharp and quick-witted like Theo with a tendency towards the dramatics that makes you laugh. 

You’re sitting at the same spot underneath the tree at the Black Lake, Theo relaxing between your legs. He’s swaddled in the same black overcoat you saw him in before, only this time, the red scarf you knit is starkly bright against the coat. You card your fingers through his soft curls, ducking to peck his forehead. He tilts his head upwards and smiles boyishly at you and it makes you giggle, planting a kiss on his mouth. He brings your hand down to his lips, kissing each fingertip.

You relish the quiet with him, knowing that tomorrow will be a flurry of activity with students and faculty returning from winter holiday. It makes you sigh, the thought of leaving the little world you and Theo have created. Your relationship is only a couple of days old and you can’t deny that you’re anxious about your friends coming back. 

As if sensing your nervousness, Theo sits up and spins around to face you. You attempt to plaster on a reassuring smile but it’s wobbly and uneasy. He cradles your face with one hand, thumb stroking your cheekbone. “What’s wrong, cara mia?”

“I don’t know,” you mumble. He tilts his head, raising an eyebrow with an expression that tells you he knows you’re lying. “What are we going to do when everyone comes back?”

“What do you mean?”

“Theo, our friends all despise each other.”

He replies, “So? Just because they don’t like each other doesn’t mean we can’t.” He kisses the back of your hand. “And I happen to like you very much.”

You smile weakly at him. “I know, and I like you very much as well. It’s just…” You can picture the dawning horror on Ron’s face and the grimaces on Hermione and Harry’s. 

Theo’s mouth turns downward and he asks, “Why do you care what they think?”

“Don’t you care what your friends think?”

“No,” he says firmly, adding, “Plus, Mattheo likes you so who’s to say everyone else won’t?”

“Theo…”

He repeats, “Why do you care?”

“I just don’t want anything to ruin this, ruin us.”

“They can only ruin it if we let them and we won’t.”

“You don’t know that for sure! We’re still in the early stages of our relationship.”

“Do you not have faith that we’ll stay together?” he asks.

“I do! It’s—” You sigh in frustration, brow furrowed. “I just want to preserve what we have without outside influence. Please, can we just wait a little to tell everyone?”

You wish you didn’t see the way Theo’s expression falters, hurt passing across briefly before he wipes it away.  He’s studying your face, eyes dark and unreadable but he nods. “Fine. But you have to promise me that it’s just for a little while.”

“I promise.”

“Alright. I’ll tell Mattheo not to open his big mouth.”

“Thank you, Theo,” you say. This time, you reach for his hand and peck his knuckles. His shoulders lose their tension and he bends towards you, mouth ghosting against your neck. You squeal and giggle and you feel him smile against your skin.

author's note: at long last, the theo nott fic i teased months ago... this fic was supposed to be a lot longer but i when i went back to college and hit a major writer's block, it just languished. i'm proud of what i've written, which is why i want to post it, but please excuse the kind of abrupt end. there is a potential continuation in the future <3

#theodore nott x reader #theo nott x reader #theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott fic #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott scenarios #theo nott imagine #theodore nott x you #✶ nove writes

[nczennie]

angel is the centerfold.

Pairing: Reader x Ateez's Yunho AU: Exes, Nonidol Genre: Smut (18+ only) Preview: "You never would've imagined she'd be doing something like this, right?" Wooyoung asks trying to divert from the fact that he and San had looked at you. Yunho purses his lips and closes the magazine, eyes twitching as he tries his hardest not to glance down at it. "It is very surprising," he mumbles recalling when you both dated. Words: 3.8k *warnings under cut

Warnings: Protected penetrative sex- vaginal and anal, ass play, spitting, cum eating

Yunho stares at the small clock in the corner of his computer, blinking slowly as he waits for it to hit 5:00pm. He usually doesn't mind his office job, but it's Friday evening and his eyes are burning from staring at the bright screen all week.

All he wants now is to get home and order some takeout to enjoy with a cold beer while he hops on a game with Yeosang.

But when he finally enters his home, he frowns at the sight of two of his friends making themselves comfortable on his couch.

"Finally!" Wooyoung calls out throwing his head back causing Yunho to roll his eyes as he sets his stuff down, "There was traffic." He grumbles suddenly regretting his decision to give all his friends keys to his apartment when he was feeling sentimental about moving out after university.

Yunho takes a seat beside his friends on his couch ignoring them in favor of looking at the takeout menu on his phone. But sensing Wooyoung's stare he looks up, feeling uneasy with the smug smile on his face. "What?" He asks blankly causing Wooyoung to laugh so he looks to his other friend, San, who has a bit of a frown on his lips.

"You'll never guess what San stumbled across today." He smirks and Yunho's interest is peaked, placing his phone down to give them his full attention. Wooyoung nods towards San who sighs.

"Look I don't want your judgment, just focus on the main point, okay?" San defends sitting up and Wooyoung only laughs louder. San continues, "I was on my lunch break, and I was intrigued by this magazine-"

Wooyoung laughs louder, San blushes, and Yunho stares confused, waiting for the point. "Anyways I bought the magazine, and I was looking through it and found someone I recognized."

"What kind of magazine was it?" Wooyung teases and San shakes his head, "It was a dirty magazine, alright. Don't act like you don't fucking watch porn every night, I can hear you know." Wooyoung mouth forms a straight, unamused line, "Don't bring me into this."

San ignores him, reaching to grab the magazine and hand it to Yunho, "You should see who's in it, right in the middle."

Yunho grabs the magazine suddenly intrigued, flipping along to find the middle. Who could it be, an old teacher, someone they grew up with?

But as he finds the middle, opening up the magazine to look his heart drops to see it was someone he recognizes very well. It was you.

His face turns red as he takes in the pictures, you were shirtless, your breasts on display for all to see, only a pair of skimpy underwear and some socks covering you up. Your hair and makeup were glowy and flawless as you gave the camera a sultry look, mouth slightly parted.

"Angel is the centerfold," Wooyoung smirks, and Yunho is suddenly brought to the reality that his friends saw you like this.

"You both looked at this?" He glares at them, and they seem stuck. "I bought the magazine, of course, I looked at it!" San defends himself and Wooyoung joins, "And when he saw her, he had to show me to see if it was really her."

Yunho's dark look only stays as he tries to comprehend the fact that his friends saw his ex-once innocent- girlfriend practically naked. He remembers Seonghwa once accidentally walked in on you changing and he tackled him to the ground.

"You never would've imagined she'd be doing something like this, right?" Wooyoung asks trying to divert from the fact that he and San had looked at you. Yunho purses his lips and closes the magazine, eyes twitching as he tries his hardest not to glance down at it. "It is very surprising," he mumbles recalling when you both dated it took months before either of you were comfortable to take your shirts off in front of each other.

There's a beat of silence and Wooyoung sighs feeling the tension in the air after showing Yunho, "Well we best be going, just wanted to show you." He motions towards the magazine as he stands up. San follows as Yunho sighs, "Yeah thanks I guess."

The tall boy looks up confused from the couch as he realizes San still stands in front of him despite Wooyoung walking to the door. "Um, can I have my magazine?" He murmurs shyly and Yunho forgets he has to send this picture of you home with his friends. "Don't worry, he'll skip over her page when he's tugging himself off later." Wooyoung calls from the door and Yunho only glares up at San who turns red.

Yunho stands and shoves the magazine back into San's arms who quickly rushes out the door. He can still hear Wooyoung's loud laugh even after they close the door.

He's had his takeout, his cold beer, and has at this point won several rounds of his game. But now lying in bed there's still a thought nagging in the back of his mind.

With a huff he grabs his phone off the nightstand, squinting at the brightness in his dark room before opening the Instagram app. You had never had social media before, but he figured it was worth checking. Although his heart raced at the possibility that your profile was full of pictures similar to one, he saw earlier.

After searching for a few minutes, he finds you. It's a private profile but he recognizes your smile in the profile picture. You look happy standing on what looks like a beach behind you.

You and Yunho dated for years back in university. The both of you growing and blossoming together. Being shy and inexperienced in the world of dating, you both learned a lot from each other. Romantically, emotionally, sexually...

Therefore, Yunho can't help but be surprised to see you posing in such a way for all to see when he was the first to ever see you in such a way.

After minutes of contemplating, he pushes the follow request button before tossing his phone away from him. It's not like you ended on bad terms. You both just simply grew apart as you grew up. So it couldn't be that strange for him to follow you, right?

But Yunho pushes the thought out of his mind, not allowing himself to look at his phone any longer until morning.

It's late the next morning when the notification he was waiting for finally graces his phone. Not only had you accepted his follow request, but you requested to follow him back. His heart beats expectedly as he pushes to see your profile.

To his relief, or dismay? He isn't quite sure.

There are no such posts that resemble that of the magazine. Most of them are of your travels and he carefully makes his way through each one.

Yunho stays staring at your profile as he contemplates whether or not he should message you. What would he even say? My friends showed me your picture in a dirty magazine and now I can't stop thinking about you and all the things we used to do together. Probably a bit too much, so he settles for letting you follow him back as well.

A week later he sees you post to your story. A picture of you and a friend out to drink at a bar he recognizes being downtown. His thumb hesitates but eventually pushes the like button and focuses on his friend's conversation once more.

Later that night he's comfortably lounging on the couch when he gets a notification from Instagram. He sits up straighter when he sees you've sent him a direct message.

His throat feels dry as he quickly opens it. What if it was a mistake? You had been drinking tonight as he could see from your story. But the message is simple.

Yunho :) how are you?

He can't help but smile and he replies quickly not even thinking how it might seem desperate.

But alas that is how he spent the rest of the night, and the whole weekend talking and catching up with you. It was so nice he even almost forgot about your picture in the magazine. Almost.

It's the next weekend and you and Yunho just got back from a lovely date. He took you for ice cream after work and you thought it was cute he recreated your old first date all those years ago.

However, you are both older now so when Yunho asked if you wanted to come back to his place to...have a drink, you agreed.

"The view is amazing," You state in awe as you walk over to the large windows that overlooks the city. Yunho smiles from where he's lighting some candles, "I guess the office job pays off once in a while."

He moves towards the kitchen to pour you both a drink and you enjoy the view for a moment longer before joining him. "You saw one of my pictures, didn't you?"

Yunho's hand twitches and he accidentally spills the whisky which causes a giggle to grace your lips. He feels his ears start to burn as he grabs a towel to clean his mess. "Um," he starts but falls quiet. "From the magazine." You state again as if you couldn't tell he was just embarrassed rather than unsure.

A smile lingers on your face as you take the glass he hands you and take a sip from his own. "I did, yeah. Actually, it was San and Wooyoung who saw and showed me."

He watches as your mouth parts slightly before you let out a laugh. Bring the glass to your lips, and you clear your throat after taking a sip. "I guess that's pretty awkward." He can't help but smile softly at you, "I mean they were pretty amused." A blush rises to your cheeks as you shake your head with a shy smile.

"How did you know? That I saw, I mean." Yunho states and you look up at him once again. "This wouldn't be the first time someone from my past found me on social media after seeing my pictures." You chuckle, "Guys from high school, university, hell even my physics professor reached out after seeing." He frowns both from hearing about the weird professor and because he feels a bit chummy about doing the same as all these others reaching out to you.

Seeing his reaction you speak again, "But of course I've never replied to their messages and advances. I've blocked almost all of them too." You take another sip and he feels a bit more comfortable.

"So how exactly did you start doing this? I don't exactly recall this being related to your major." He teases slightly and you laugh softly. "When I moved after graduation, my roommate suggested I go for an audition where she worked too. It wasn't supposed to be permanent, just to help with money while I was searching for jobs."

"But the money ended up being amazing. Now a couple years later and I still enjoy it." You shrug, "I won't do it forever, but for now I can live comfortably and travel lots. So it works out." You explain and he nods listening intently.

The sips of whisky are starting to set in, so he speaks again, "And you messaged me. What makes me different than all those other guys searching for you after seeing your pictures?"

You look up at him, eyes dancing over his face before you smile, "Because you're Yunho. We loved each other once."

His tongue comes out to wet his lips as he stares back down at you.

"Fuck, there you go."

Yunho groans letting his eyes close for a moment before he forces them open once more, not wanting to miss the sinful way you take his cock in your mouth. You're on your knees between his legs as he sits on his bed. Wearing nothing but your white panties and a pair of frilly socks that looked cute with your outfit, but now looks identical to your outfit in the magazine.

His mouth parts with a shaky breath as you take him particularly deep. You were never quite able to take in all of his size, but you always worked your hand diligently around what you couldn't fit.

Your glazed eyes looked up at him as if seeking his reactions. His large hand reaches down to move some of the hair falling onto your face, not wanting it to reach the spit and drool leaking from your mouth.

It's with a hollow of your cheeks and a swipe of your tongue that Yunho has to pull you off of him for fear of finishing too early. He pulls you off with a pop and messily connects his mouth with yours, his tongue parting the string of spit that still connected your mouth to his cock.

His large hands reach down to grasp at your waist and pull you to sit beside him on the bed. Yunho still kisses you deeply, tongue reaching every part of your mouth.

Eventually, he breaks to leave wet kisses down your jaw to your neck as you both catch your breath. Goosebumps rise to your skin as his left-hand ghosts over your stomach before reaching into your panties. A small gasp leaves your lips as he immediately connects with your clit, rubbing slow circles to match the pace of his kisses.

"Yunho," you whine, hips twitching up as he lowers his hand, one of his long fingers slipping into your hole with your wetness. He hums against your neck as you clench around him.

He adds another finger to your heat as he nibbles playfully at your jaw, "My baby's so tight." You can only grip his sheets between your fingers as he continues to stretch you out for him slowly.

Without warning he removes his fingers from you and reaches for your panties to take off. Pulling them down your legs as he pushes you further onto the bed. "Turn around for me, baby, wanna taste you." Yunho says in his deep voice and you whimper as you flip yourself.

You get yourself comfortable on your knees, leaning forward to rest on your forearms as Yunho climbs onto the mattress behind you. You can't help but bite your lip and close your eyes as Yunho's warm hands find their place on your ass. Massaging you roughly before you feel the warmth of his breath on you.

Shuddering out a moan as his tongue makes contact with your core, you feel as he hums in response. He uses his hands to spread you for him, taking a second to spit straight on your cunt, adding to your wetness and watching it drip before he goes straight in to slurp it up.

Forgetting just how messy Yunho likes to get while eating you out, you find yourself getting breathless from moaning in this position. The feeling of his tongue and lips moving against you, obviously loving it just as much as you as you feel him push his face against you.

You mull as he lets his tongue wander upwards, circling around your ass, causing you to jerk. He lets his tongue play there before moving to your cunt once more. Yunho has always been into ass play but while the two of dated, you never went farther than his tongue or fingertips gracing over you.

He pulls away with a slap to your ass and you whine causing him to chuckle as he reaches for his nightstand. Grabbing a condom and placing it on himself as quickly as possible.

"C'mon, Yunho, please." You attempt to move your hips backward to meet him as he teases his cock along your folds but never quite pushes himself fully in. He tsks, "Needy baby." He mumbles before finally pushing his tip into your waiting hole.

"Fuck, so big." You whine as he continues to push fully inside of you. A sound of pleasure rumbles in his chest as his pelvis pushes flat against your ass. Both of you take a moment to adjust before he starts moving his hips steadily.

One of Yunho's large hands comes to grab at your hip, helping keep his pace steady as he pounds his cock into you at a more rapid pace. Tiny sounds of pleasure leave your lips as he rocks into, "You feel so good around me baby, I've missed this." Yuhno claims breathlessly.

Suddenly you have a desire that causes you to bite your lip. You reach one of your hands up behind you, keeping your balance as you bring your hand to where you and Yunho meet. "Yeah," He groans breathlessly as he watches two of your fingers spread over where his cock is splitting you open.

Seconds later you move those same fingers upwards towards your less occupied hole, running your fingers over it as you speak up to Yunho. "You can go here." You say the best you can.

His hips stutter before he stills completely, "What?" He asks, not quite sure if the sex is making him hallucinate. A giggle escapes your lips at his reaction. "You can put it in my ass, Yunho." You say bluntly which causes Yunho to blush despite the fact that his cock remains in your cunt.

"Really?" He tries not to sound too excited as you do your best to look at him from your bent-over position. "Yes, but go slow, please. I haven't had something as big as you are yet." A shudder rakes over him at your words and he has to close his eyes for a second before continuing. "Alright," he speaks but starts to move his hips to fuck you once more.

His pace is slower now as he focuses on the new territory in front of him. Using both of his hands to spread you open for him, he spits directly into your unused hole. Taking one of the fingers to spread it diligently before pushing said finger in.

It causes both of your eyes to close, Yunho's heart pounding as he feels the tightness of you. His hips start to move quicker as he moves his finger more comfortably, moving to fit a second one not long after.

Having enough, he pulls his fingers from your ass before spitting twice more onto the hole. Taking his cock out of you, he leans forwards to run his tongue over your ass once more. Licking and spitting in ways that have whining.

With a shaky breath, he brings himself straight, taking his covered cock in his hand, lining the tip up to you. "Fuck," He whispers merely at the sight, breathing in before he pushes into you.

He can feel you tense right away but a moan rips from your throat at the stretch. True to his word, he moves slowly, unable to move his eyes from the sight of his cock entering you in a place he only ever dreamed of.

Once he's finally as far as he can get, he pauses, for you but as well as for him. He has to close his eyes and breathe deeply to stop himself from cumming right then and there.

"So good, so full. Yunho, you're so big," You whine to him which causes him to throw his head back with a groan. You always did know how to stroke his ego.

Yunho licks his lips when he decides it is safe to move, moving his hips slowly to start to fuck you once again. His pace isn't as fast as earlier, but you both enjoy this slower pace in new territory. He lets his hands grip tightly onto your ass, massaging you roughly as he continues.

Eventually a soft, "My neck hurts," breaks from your mouth in between moans which causes him to stop. With a smile, he pulls out and helps you readjust to a more comfortable position on your back.

You pull him close with a smile and your arms around his neck. He smiles smugly above you, one hand holding your thigh around his waist and the other taking his cock to insert himself into your ass once again.

This time you both can see the way each other's mouth drops and eyes flutter at the feeling of being connected. Yunho leans further down, chest brushing yours as his hips regain a rhythm. There's moaning and kissing and licking into each other as he fucks you until you at last let him know you weren't far from cumming.

At your words, Yunho hoists himself up and moves one of his hands to rub at your clit. Your moans become whinier as your stomach tightens. He stops his assault on your clit before taking two of his fingers and pushing them into your empty cunt. He thrusts quickly matching the pace of his hips, your wetness causing the room to fill the room with lewd sounds. Your breath quickens and you bring your hand to his forearm, desperate to grab at anything.

The pleasure he brings you washes over you like a waterfall and leaves you twitching. You whine as he removes his fingers from your now-soaked cunt and slows the paces of his cock.

Blinking your eyes open you see him smirking down at you, "Does my baby feel good, hm?" He asks deeply and you nod.

"I'm gonna cum soon, do you think you can sit up for me?" He speaks and you agree once more. Yunho moves his hips quickly once again, fucking his cock into your ass once last time until he's groaning and breathing deeply.

"Fuck," he finally breaths and pulls out of you, carefully helping you sit up before he removes the condom from his cock. You look up at him, mouth slightly parted, looking at him with a sultry look, breasts on display for him.

Looking suspiciously like the picture he saw of you in San's magazine.

Yunho jerks himself quickly eyes jumping from your face to your body. "My pretty baby." He says breathlessly, "Gonna cum on you, gonna mark you as mine." He mumbles with a groan before his cum starts to spurt. He aims his cock at your breasts and you move to cup them. Fingers running over your hard nipples causing him to groan further as he finishes on you.

"All yours." You speak to him, keeping eye contact as you swipe a drop of him from your breasts and suck it into your mouth.

"Fuck," his cock twitches as you smirk at him causing his lips to quirk, "You're driving me crazy."

Copyright © 2024 by nczennie. All rights reserved.

🌼 All feedback is appreciated and welcomed 🌼

#mine #yunho fanfic #yunho x reader #yunho smut #yunho imagines #yunho scenarios #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez smut #kpop fanfic rec #kpop au #kpop imagines #kpop smut

[sergeantxrogers]

in the red dark

His eyes trapped yours in their vice-like grip as he stared up at you, fingers brushing against the hem of your jeans, and you swallowed heavily. You felt the rush of alcohol in your head fizzle out into smoke and embers as you sobered up quicker than you ever have in your life.

"Are you sure?"

You swallowed again. Nodded.

There was a small twitch in his eyebrows, and he narrowed his gaze. "It'll hurt."

Despite your heartbeat drowning out all sounds around you, despite the cold sweat on the back of your neck, despite the knowledge that you'll probably regret this - whatever this actually was - in the morning, you smiled.

"Then I guess I'll just have to hold your hand."

Pairing: Tattoo artist!Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 5.8k

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, reader is drunk (i apologise if that's not your thing), swearing, perhaps some sexual tension, mentions of pain, needles, tattoos, lots of love-at-first-prick energy, mentions of smoking/cigarettes

Author's note: You guys it's literally embarrassing how badly i've fallen off... LMAO i missed writing sooo so much but life has really got me by the balls these past few months. I hope y'all enjoy this and let me know if you'd be interested in a part two. Love u <3

__________

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

You didn't know if it was your heartbeat pulsing in your head, or the heavy beat of the music washing over your senses and travelling through your veins. You couldn't tell, but you truly didn't really care. Right now, your hazy, gin-and-tonic drunken eyes focused only on Wanda, her red hair reflecting the neon club lights, your gaze zeroing in on her lips mouthing the words to a song you couldn't even hear at this point.

You saw her smile, and, as if in reply, your lips tugged into a grin of their own. A wave of heat rolled over you as you danced with Natasha, and you brought up your hand that wasn't holding a glass of something that had begun to taste like water to fan yourself.

You felt, more than heard, Natasha yell into your ear, and you furrowed your brows, turning your eyes from Wanda to meet her gaze.

"What?" you yelled back, confusion marring your features. You saw Nat's shoulders rise and fall with the enormous sigh she took in, and you kept in your giggles.

She tugged on your arm, then pointed to the crowd behind you. More specifically, the exit that was on the other side of the club, blocked by hundreds of hot, sweaty, drunk bodies in their own little worlds - much like you were now. It clicked; you had been in the club drinking your asses off the past three hours, you were hot, your heels were killing you, and, quite frankly, you were running out of money for the night.

You nodded deeply and seriously, eyes screwed shut as Nat tugged Wanda's arm with one hand and yours with the other. Quickly, you downed the rest of the contents of your glass, leaving behind only a thin slice of lemon and a lipstick stain on the rim and snatched your bag off the table before the three of you decided to brave the large crowd that only seemed to grow bigger by the minute.

Holding hands and forming a sort of train, you made it through the suffocating crowd step by step, breath by breath, until, finally, you felt the cool late summer air caress your flushed face, the thumping bass of the club now seeming like a whole different dimension as the heavy door shut behind you with a click.

Wanda, perpetually happy, you've come to understand over the years, let out a raspy laugh.

"This place is fucking insane, guys! Holy shit!" she exclaimed, pointing a manicured finger at the door the three of you had just come through.

You hummed in agreement. "Yeah, why haven't we ever gone here before?"

Natasha, almost always the least drunk out of you three, let out a trademark sigh. She gave you a look you could only translate to 'seriously?'.

"What? I'm being for real," you frowned.

Nat rolled her eyes, then winced as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I know you are, it's just that we've never come here before because this was opening night. You know, the whole reason we even came in the first place? Jesus Christ, you two need some water."

All it took was for you and Wanda to share a look before you both burst out laughing. You leaned on her arm for support as your giggles died down, and you let out a big, happy sigh.

"Come on, we'll never grab a cab here - there's way too many people. Let's walk a couple blocks down," Nat said, stepping between the two of you and throwing her arms around your shoulders. "Can't believe I always get babysitting duty."

You and Wanda smiled coyly, seeing the playfulness glimmering in Natasha's eyes, letting you know she wasn't actually upset.

The three of you started your trek, slightly stumbling but keeping in a straight line for the most part. You had only walked about 150 feet when Wanda let out a gasp. You and Natasha both turned your heads to see what she was pointing so happily at, and when you saw what had made her gasp, you cocked your head in amusement.

Red neon light flooded your hazy vision, one word flickering and buzzing above your head in the dark - tattoo.

"It says they're open 24/7. Isn't that weird? Do you guys think we should all get matching tattoos? What should we get? Wait, do you think we even have enough money to get matching tattoos?"

Disappointment flooded Wanda's rambling, and you opened your mouth to reply, but Nat beat you to it.

"Wanda, we are not getting matching tattoos, especially not while drunk."

Staring at the sign above you, the red neon washing over the world, the soft buzz of electricity coming from it drowned out Wanda's complaining and Natasha's replies. They became background noise as you let the waves of alcohol make the decision for you, surprising even yourself when the words came out of your mouth.

"I want one."

Your two friends stopped their bickering and both stared at you, Nat with an incredulous look on her face, and Wanda with something a little more akin to amusement.

"Really?" they said at the same time, their tones matching their faces.

You nodded. "Yeah. I mean, I feel like never do anything fun. Besides, what's the harm in it? It won't kill me," you said with a shrug.

Natasha's weary eyes gave you a once over, and she took a step toward you, putting a hand up to your forehead.

"Are you sure you don't have alcohol poisoning or something?"

You slapped her hand away with a roll of your eyes. "I'm fine, Nat, I just really wanna get a tattoo now. I already know what I want to get."

Even Wanda, whose idea it was in the first place, gave you a suspicious hum. "Nat's only asking because this really doesn't seem like you, Y/N."

The frustration bubbled in your chest before you could stop it, and you quickly shoved it down. They were right, after all - you were the type of person to never make any decision, big or small, without planning for it in advance and double, and then triple, checking you were absolutely certain. Everybody knew this, which was why your friends were doubtful.

Everyone knew this, yet no one knew how draining it was to always be on top of things. Nobody knew how exhausting to always plan everything out in advance to minimize the risk of anything going wrong as much as you could. School, college, dating, the things you ate, the places you went, the clothes you wore - everything was planned ahead, and, quite frankly, you were growing sick of it. Sick of yourself, almost.

With a huff, and a roll of your shoulders, you tugged your jeans up and lifted your chin. Then, without a word or warning, you turned on your high heel and pushed open the heavy glass door of the tattoo parlor, the bell over your head chiming softly as you walked through.

There's no going back now, a voice called in your head. You blocked it out. Good.

___________

Leg crossed over the other, you fidgeted with the rips in your jeans as you sat in the black, plastic chair in the front of the shop. After speaking to a girl who looked like she wanted to be anywhere else but at work, she told the three of you to have a seat and wait a couple minutes while they got everything set up. She popped her gum as she left, and only in the sudden silence, surrounded by dark walls and miscellaneous photographs adorning them, the nervous flutter in your stomach awoke, sending a cold sweat to your palms.

So, here you were, almost two in the morning sitting between your two best friends, mentally preparing yourself to get a tattoo you didn't even know you wanted a couple of hours ago. Yet, no matter how nervous you were, there was still a bigger part of you, a louder voice in your head encouraging you that this was exactly what you wanted and needed. The seconds ticking by on the clock above you only further reassured you.

A warm palm on your ankle startled you out of your thoughts, and you turned to see Nat, holding your gaze.

"Could you please stop jiggling your foot. You're making me nervous and I'm not even getting anything done."

You gave her a slight nod. "Yeah - yeah, sorry."

You hadn't even realized you were doing it, but it was a nervous tick of yours, a habit that you were never going to break. You turned your head to your other side, and Wanda's mischievous glint in her eyes made you shoot her a smile, growing your confidence by a little.

The soft chime of beads being separated made the three of you turn your focus to the doorway set in the left wall, the same unamused girl from before stepping through before gesturing for you to stand up.

"He's ready for you now."

"He? You're not gonna be the one tattooing me?" you asked nervously, your steps faltering slightly across the black-and-white tiled floor, and you hoped it wasn't too noticeable.

The girl shook her head. "Nope, I'm only here on an apprenticeship. I mainly just work the front desk and do other assistant-like bullshit for Barnes."

"Oh." You didn't know who Barnes was, but you could only assume he was the artist waiting for you behind the beaded curtain.

"Also, your girlfriends have to stay here. It's salon policy, sorry."

You turned back just in time to see Nat and Wanda lower themselves back in their seats, the three of you exchanging a look that showed you didn't believe she was sorry in the least.

"Okay. So, I just... walk through here?" you asked, pointing at the doorway.

The girl nodded, bored out of her mind already. "Yeah, there are two rooms. Go for the left one."

And that was apparently all you were getting out of her, because she turned around and walked away, taking a seat behind the large reception desk with a heavy sigh.

Taking one last look at your friends' reassuring smiles, Wanda sending you an enthusiastic thumbs up, you walked through the curtain with a deep breath. The beads drifted over your shoulders and thighs, then quietly fell back into place behind you as you stepped into the small dark hallway. Go for the left one, she said, so you did, forcing your feet to move forward, heels softly clicking against the tiles.

Oddly enough, the doorway on the left was bare, no door on the hinges and no beaded curtain hanging down, so you knocked on the frame and hesitantly stepped through. You were surprised to find the interior design completely different to the front of the salon - even the small hallway you left behind was dark and depressing, while this part of the shop had rich, shiny hardwood floors, a floor lamp standing in every corner washing the room in an orange hue.

You noticed the walls had less pictures than the ones in the front, but the ones that were hanging were big, framed, and beautiful.

"My buddy Steve painted those," a smooth voice called out, startling you, and you ripped your eyes from the paintings on the walls, not realizing how rude you were being just standing there without saying a word.

Your gaze quickly scanned the room until you found the source of the voice standing at the back of the room, leaning back against a table with his arms crossed over his chest. Whatever words you were planning on saying died in your throat as you took him in. Dark hair, cropped shorter on the sides. Blue eyes underneath heavy-set brows, the bridge of his nose leading down to pink lips that were currently morphing into an amused smile. The stubble on his cheeks and jaw moved as he clenched his teeth, and you weren't sure if it was the alcohol in your veins speaking its mind, but you were pretty certain this had to be the most gorgeous man you had ever laid eyes on.

"He - he's good," you managed to reply, and he lifted a brow.

"Your friend, I mean - seems like a great painter," you elaborated, gesturing weakly to the wall of canvases. He nodded in agreement, then pushed himself off the table he was leaning against, taking a few steps forward.

"You can lay down now if you want. It might be more comfortable than just standing there while we talk about what we're doing tonight," he said, nodding toward the black massage chair in the center of the room.

You nodded back, willing your ankles to keep steady in your now frustratingly high shoes, along with the gin still pulsing steadily in your head. You may have been even more nervous than you were now if it hadn't been for all the glasses you drank one after another earlier in the night. Right now, you were actually thankful you weren't completely sober for this, because you didn't know how else you would be able to handle the man's sea-blue stare that tracked your every movement as you lied down with such an intensity it made your cheeks burn.

Evidently, he must have noticed your jitters, because he pulled out a small leather stool on wheels and took a seat next to you. He softened his gaze and crossed his arms again. You couldn't help but noticed how peculiar they were - for no reason other than the fact that the short, tight sleeves allowed you to see they were completely bare, not one tattoo in sight on his perfect skin. Weird. Maybe he had tattoos in places you couldn't see, but before you could think too deeply on that and risk blushing again, you ripped your eyes back up to his.

"I'm Bucky," was all he said, voice now quieter and more laid-back, probably trying to help ease your nerves even more.

"I'm Y/N," you replied, then cleared your throat.

"I'm assuming this is your first ever tattoo?" he asked, and you winced a bit.

"It's that obvious?"

He - Bucky - gave you a small smile. "Kind of. But you also don't seem like the type of person to get a drunk tattoo at-" he checked the watch on his wrist "-1:52 a.m."

Check and mate. You gave a small shrug. "I guess people can be surprising."

He said nothing to that, only regarded you with a faint amusement in his narrowed eyes, before clearing his throat.

"And what did you have in mind? Kate up front told me you wanted a butterfly, but I need to know if you had something specific in mind?"

"Well, I was kind of hoping to leave the details up to you... I just know I want a butterfly, that's all.

"So, you're putting your trust in me completely, I see."

You felt your heartbeat trip over itself and you cleared your throat, nodding meakly.

"You know," he began as he stood and walked over to the table he was leaning on earlier, "butterflies symbolize transformation, and hope. Metamorphosis. Some also say they symbolize resurrection - triumph of soul over body."

Bucky spoke as he walked back, carrying a few papers and a box of gloves with him. He set the box down on the small table beside your chair, then handed you the papers.

"These are just a few sketches I did when Kate told me what you wanted, but I wasn't sure how big or small you wanted it to be, or where you wanted it to go, so there's a few options you could choose from."

You flipped through the pages, sketch after sketch filling your eyesight, and your breath stilled in your chest. These drawings were absolutely beautiful. Apparently, his buddy Steve wasn't the only one who was insanely talented. Your gaze snagged on one of the last sketches, a small monarch butterfly about the size of a silver dollar, gorgeous patterns covering its spread wings.

Bucky noticed you go still, and tilted his head.

"This one?" he asked. You simply nodded.

"Alright," he said softly. "Let me just prep the stencil and we'll be all set."

Focusing on keeping your breathing steady, in and out, you watched him get up and walk back towards the table. You took the time to admire the strong build of his back, shoulder blades visible under the tight material, triceps slightly flexing as he moved his arms, doing what ever he needed to do. The drinks in your system were doing little to help. In fact, they were just making it worse, sending flashes of heat flooding through your stomach and warming your body as you stared at him.

Sooner rather than later, he turned back around and you quickly tore your eyes away, not wanting to be caught staring, and instead focused your gaze on your painted toenails in your black heels. You clicked your shoes together a couple times, maybe out of nerves, maybe just for something to do, and Bucky sat back down on his stool.

"Alright, doll. Where's this bad boy going?"

You tried not to be so obvious with the way the name affected you, but the way it slipped off his tongue so easily, like it belonged there, had your hands sweating and breath quickening. You swallowed.

"M-my hip. I was thinking my hip."

Bucky cocked a dark brow. "Your hip."

The way he said it, not a question, but rather a statement, voice an octave lower than it was a moment ago, had you reminding yourself to keep breathing.

You nodded. His eyes flickered down to the aforementioned body part, then slowly made their way up, over your stomach and across your chest covered in a lacy top, across your neck, then finally met yours. This time, he was the one who swallowed, Adam's apple bobbing as he reciprocated your nod.

"Okay. Okay, that's good. That's a cool spot," he said, and then cleared his throat. "I'm, uh, I'm gonna need you to - to unbutton your jeans. So I can, you know, place the stencil and - and ink you, and stuff."

Your lips quirked up, finding it amusing how flustered he seemed to get now, instead of the other way around. A rush of confidence overtook you, whether it was from his stammered words, or the way his eyes had travelled your torso, or maybe it was simply your inebriation. It could have been all three. Whatever it was, it had you staring into his eyes as your hands found the button of your jeans, undoing it and pulling the zipper down, then pulling one side of them down, folding it over itself so your underwear was on display.

Bucky's eyes tracked the movements, darkening when he lifted them back up to yours, and his jaw visibly clenched. You let out a loose breath through your nose and bit your tongue.

The silence between you two felt stretched taught and thin, palpable and ready to shatter at any moment as you stared at each other. He cleared his throat again.

"Would you mind if I smoke?" he asked, voice rough and resigned. You shook your head.

Pulling out a pack of Marlboro Reds and a lighter from his pocket, you watched, slightly fascinated, as he pulled a cigarette out from the pack, brought it to his pink lips, struck the lighter and lit it, inhaling deeply. The smoke he blew from his mouth surrounded you, filling the air with a new, hazy tension. He kept eye contact as he threw his cigarettes and the lighter onto the small table, and pulled his stool closer.

He leaned down over your hip, then hesitated. Flicking his eyes up to yours, brows raised in question, you nodded.

Bucky's fingers softly, slowly, grabbed the hem of your underwear and pulled it down a couple of inches, and when his fingertips brushed the delicate skin there, you felt a rush of fire burst through you, starting from the place of contact and going straight to your head. You tried focusing on breathing evenly, but that was difficult to do as you watched him reach behind and pull two black, latex gloves from the box he had brought earlier, pulling them on while studying the small expanse of skin he had exposed.

Your head swam, vision going in and out as you watched him carefully place the stencil he had made against your skin, adjusting it with one hand, pulling your underwear and jeans down with the other so they would stay out of the way. The cigarette dangled from his plump lips, and he pulled it out of his mouth, let smoke leave through his nose as he turned and set it against an ash tray.

He nodded toward the stencil. "Is this placement okay?"

You glanced down, seeing the fine, purple outline of the butterfly you chose on your hipbone, and you nodded. You couldn't help the small smile that reached your lips - it looked amazing already.

"Alright, doll," Bucky said, then carefully peeled the paper back, leaving just the drawing and goosebumps on your skin.

He stared at it for a moment, then frowned.

"What's wrong?" you asked, immediately worried.

"Nothing's wrong, exactly, I just don't think I can ink you in this position. The angle is awkward and the skin isn't tight enough so it might not end up the way you want it to."

"Oh," you said, the frowned yourself. "Well, what would work better?"

He gave a short shrug. "It would be best if you were standing, honestly."

Your mouth parted, but no breath escaped, and you nodded slightly. "Yeah. Okay."

The words came out quiet and breathy, and you hoped he couldn't notice the slight tremble in your arms as you lifted yourself out of the chair and to your feet beside him. Your underwear and jeans rode back up as you did, and you frowned, wondering if you chose a place that was too impractical.

Bucky, either noticing your frown, or noticing where your attention was, rolled his stool closer to you. Looking up at you, his hands reached up with slow, deliberate movements, a question in his eyes. You bit your lip, nodding, and turned to face him completely, standing between his legs, thighs enclosing your own.

You held your breath as his fingers pulled the front of your jeans down, exposing both hips and the front of your panties, and he paused, holding your gaze. You gave him no sign to stop, so he reached for the hem of your underwear again, pulling it down even more this time, exposing not only your hip, but your upper pubic area as well.

His eyes flickered to the skin there, quickly, then back up to yours, and you watched his throat bob as he swallowed. The cigarette was burning out in the ash tray, long forgotten but filling the air with wisps of smoke and the smell of ash.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you couldn't help but feel like the way you were exposed in front of him, lips inches from a place you'd like him to be, the way he was staring into your eyes, pupils dilated and intoxicating - it may have all been just a touch unprofessional. You shooed the thought away when his gloved fingers traced the stenciled out butterfly, and goosebumps rose on your skin again, stomach clenching involuntarily at the touch.

His eyes trapped yours in their vice-like grip as he stared up at you, fingers brushing against the hem of your jeans, and you swallowed heavily. You felt the rush of alcohol in your head fizzle out into smoke and embers as you sobered up quicker than you ever have in your life.

"Are you sure?"

You swallowed again. Nodded.

There was a small twitch in his eyebrows, and he narrowed his gaze. "It'll hurt."

Despite your heartbeat drowning out all sounds around you, despite the cold sweat on the back of your neck, despite the knowledge that you'll probably regret this - whatever this actually was - in the morning, you smiled.

"Then I guess I'll just have to hold your hand."

Bucky gave you a sly smile, and shook his head, almost to himself, sucking in a deep breath before rolling back to grab the tattoo gun from the table. He moved the machine slightly closer so it had better reach, and you shifted on your feet nervously. At this point, you were more focused on the incoming pain than the pain already killing your heels and toes in your shoes.

"This is an area that usually doesn't hurt as much as others, but you'll still feel some discomfort," he told you as he fiddled with the machine and the gun, flicking it to life. The quiet buzzing filled the air, and you sucked in a sharp breath even though you nodded at his words.

He lifted his head to look at you, reaching a hand up to grab your other hip steady. "It'll feel like a buzz under your skin, or a slight stinging. If it gets too much for you, just squeeze my hand and I'll stop. I promise."

You made yourself look deep into his eyes and you noted the reassurance in them, so you let out the breath you didn't know you were holding and nodded, screwing your eyes shut.

His grip on you tightened, and it was a mild comfort as he pressed the needle into your skin, inking the first few drops into your hip. The pain wasn't excruciating, nor was it unbearable, but it was surprising, and like nothing you had ever felt before. You let out a soft gasp as he worked, trying to keep still so as not to disturb him, but you couldn't help your hand that shot out to grab his wrist - the one on your hip. He paused and turned his focus up to you, tender worry in his blue eyes.

"Are you okay, sweetheart?"

You clenched your jaw and nodded. "Just keep going, it's not that bad."

After a few more minutes, you seemed to get used to the stinging sensation, and now the area just felt numb. You had asked Bucky about it, but he smiled and reassured you that it was perfectly normal.

Your senses blurred together and you closed your eyes against all the stimulants - the smell of smoke still hanging in the air, the buzzing of the tattoo gun, the numbness in your hip, Bucky's firm hold on you and the strength of his wrist flexing beneath the palm of your hand.

You kept reminding yourself to breath, to focus on something else - anything other than the needle currently piercing your skin.

Bucky's fingers gave you a light squeeze, and you nearly trembled.

"Just a little more, doll, that's it. You're doing so good for me, you know that?" Bucky muttered softly, his breath warm against your bare skin, and you nodded even though he couldn't see.

"Just a few more seconds and we'll be all done, sweetheart, I promise."

"Okay," you whispered breathily and turned your gaze up towards the paneled ceiling.

"All done, doll," Bucky said, voice bringing your focus back to him. He switched the gun off and rolled back in his chair slightly to put it back where it belonged. He plucked a bottle of something off the table and grabbed a paper towel.

"This is just some antibacterial soap I'm gonna use to clean the ink residue off you, okay?"

It was all you could do to nod in response, and you watched him move as he cleaned the tattoo, then wiped it down carefully. You winced, and he frowned.

Bucky put the soap back and grabbed another similar-looking bottle.

"This is just lotion - it'll help soothe any lingering pain."

You stared in mute fascination as he spread the lotion across your hip, rubbing it in gently, then running his thumb across the fresh design. Your breath stuttered, and he tore his eyes away from the butterfly, clearing his throat. Once again, he turned back, putting the lotion in its place, then pulled out a box of large bandages from the lower part of the table, picking one up and peeling it open.

He pressed it softly against your tattoo, then made sure it was stuck on right, giving the area a soft stroke with his thumb again, and then he ripped his gloves off, throwing them in the trash beneath the table.

Bucky's attention finally, finally turned back to you, and he rolled himself into his initial position. His hands skimmed the sides of your thighs softly before they reached your panties, pulling them up and over the fresh tattoo. You held your breath when his knuckles brushed your lower stomach, and you could've sworn you heard him inhale sharply. A muscle in his jaw fluttered and he pulled your jeans back up too, zipping and buttoning them slowly.

He kept his stare straight, eyes on the button right in front of him, an you let out a slow, deep breath when his hands lowered from your hips, to the backs of your thighs, caressing them gently, even giving them a short squeeze.

"Did it hurt?" he asked, voice a raspy whisper.

You shook your head, eyes trained on him. "No."

He looked up then, and you felt your pulse pick up pace. You didn't know what to focus on - his eyes burning holes into yours, his hands gripping the backs of your thighs, or the fact that his face was inches away from your abdomen, breath heating it with every exhale.

"Good," he said simply. Quietly. "It'll heal in about two to three weeks, but you should avoid getting it wet and change the bandage as often as you can."

"M-maybe you could - give me your number," you stammered, and Bucky lifted his brows. "You know, so I can call if I notice something off, or - or if I need help with something."

He smiled, and this smile wasn't like any of the previous smiles. This one was a full-on grin, perfect teeth and dimples on display, making him look younger. You couldn't lie and say it wasn't one of the most beautiful sights you had ever seen.

"Okay," he said quietly. "I'll give you my number, but I want to be updated every day. It is your first tat, after all."

You grinned and nodded. "Alright. Deal."

"You're gonna walk out and pay Kate up front, and then I'll follow, as soon as I clean up here. 'Kay?"

You nodded.

"Good girl," he said, shooting a wave of heat through your body, and he gave your thighs a light slap before he rolled away.

The lack of his presence in your personal space felt jarring, like you had just been ripped away from the world and thrown into another, and you blinked the feeling away, sucking in a deep breath.

"Okay," you said, more to yourself than to him, and he smiled at you.

"Go. I promise I'll be out in a minute."

__________

Kate handed you your card back, and you were still trying to shake the shock of hearing the price off when the beaded curtain shuffled and Bucky came through in all his marvelous glory. Out here, in the open space of the front of the shop, he looked even taller, even wider, and you suppressed the urge to reach out a hand and touch him.

"Hey doll. Can't believe you didn't run away," he said with a half-smile, and you blew some air through your nose.

"Of course I didn't," you replied softly, then cleared your throat.

He held his hand out expectantly, and it took you a moment to realize what he was waiting for. "Oh! Right, sorry."

You tugged your phone out of your purse, unlocking it and handing it to him. You admired the way the screen lit up his face as his fingers flew across it, and before you knew it, he was handing the phone back to you with a smile.

He took a step forward, and you inhaled sharply.

"Remember, daily," he muttered, low enough only for you to hear, inches away from your face, and you could only nod.

"I promise," you whispered, and his smile grew.

Someone cleared their throat behind you, and that made you tear your eyes away from Bucky's. Nat and Wanda were both standing by the exit, hands on their hips, staring between you and Bucky expectantly.

"Right, we'll just be going now," you said, trying to hide the surprising disappointment in your voice as you gestured with your head to the door. "Thank you for everything. I love it."

Bucky slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans and gave you a genuine smile. "The pleasure was all mine, sweetheart."

You held his eyes even as Nat grabbed your arm and dragged you through the door, the bell chiming and tinkling above you, and Wanda called out a goodbye over her shoulder as the three of you left.

The cool night air enveloped you completely, and at this point, you were sober enough to feel a chill trickle through your bones. You shuddered.

"Jeez, what time is it, anyways," you mumbled, rubbing your arms to gather some warmth. You paused your movements when you noticed the looks on your friends' faces.

"What? What happened?"

Nat scoffed. "What happened? What happened with you? In there! With that beefcake of a man!"

Wanda chimed in excitedly. "The way he was looking at you? Phew, it was growing way too hot in there, to be honest."

You blushed, rolling your eyes, and began walking. "C'mon, guys, don't be childish-"

"Are you gonna go out with him?" Nat interrupted, linking an arm through yours.

"He hasn't asked me," you said blankly.

"Well, he definitely will," Wanda said with a matter-of-fact shrug. "I could see it in his eyes."

"Who would've thought - Y/N getting her groove on with the tattoo artist-"

"Ew, groove? Seriously, Natasha, who says things like that-"

"Stop trying to act like we're not totally right here."

You sighed and shook your head, but couldn't help the smile that rose to the surface. "Yeah, he is pretty hot."

The three of you burst into a fit of giggles as you walked, trying to find a taxi to hail before you froze your asses off.

"So... can we see the tat?"

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky barnes #marvel #mcu #marvel fanfic #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fic #bucky barnes au #bucky x reader #the winter soldier #marvel fanfiction #mcu x reader #mcu au #mcu fanfic #tattoo artist #tattoo artist bucky

[munsonsmixtapes]

Truth or Drink

actor!Eddie x actress!reader

summary: you and Eddie play a game of truth or drink for an interview

cw: mention of alcohol

You and Eddie had been hesitant to do an interview as a couple but as soon as you were offered an opportunity to play truth or drink, you knew you had to take it. Answering questions with alcohol would have definitely made it easier. Especially because you were unsure of what was going to be asked.

You sat across from each other at a table on the set where the segment was filmed and you both got comfortable while everything was being set up. You and Eddie had watched a couple of episodes the night before so you knew exactly what to expect. All you had to do was answer the questions truthfully and if you couldn’t, you had to take a shot.

The camera was all set and there was a countdown before the camera started rolling. You and Eddie put on your smiles that you had perfected over the years and turned to face the camera to introduce yourselves. The guy behind it counted down from three then pointed, signaling that it was your time to shine.

“I’m Eddie Munson.”

“And I’m y/n l/n and this is truth or drink.”

The camera cut and they brought in the cards that held the questions. For once, you weren’t nervous. And that was usual for you because you always were when it came to interviews. Eddie looked at you and reached across the table for your hand and you gave it to him to which he gave it a squeeze.

Eddie wasn’t nervous in the slightest. In fact, he was excited. Doing an interview with his girl and getting free booze? It was a win-win in his mind. And he was interested to see what kind of questions were going to be asked. He was an open book. Nothing was off limits.

“Do you want to start or should I?” You asked as you looked down at the card in front of you.

“Ladies first,” he gave your hand another squeeze before letting it go.

“Okay,” you nodded then cleared your throat. “This one’s starting off strong. Out of all of your exes, who’s your favorite?”

“Easy,” he shrugged and you panicked. “None. You’re my favorite, babe.”

“I don’t think that counts,” you shook your head. “I think you’re gonna have to drink.” You looked at the crew behind the camera and they all nodded in agreement. “Drink up, Eds.”

Eddie downed the shot and felt it burn all the way down. He slammed down the glass then picked up his own cards, letting out a laugh at the question he had just read.

“Oh, this one is good,” he laughed. “Fuck, marry, kill my most popular characters: Cal Burns, Mason Brooks, and Theodore Lee.”

“God, that is a good one,” you nodded. “Fuck Cal, obviously.”

“That was quick,” Eddie scoffed, but he did want you to say Cal. He really liked playing that character and the depth that he had to him.

“I like cowboys, sue me.” He didn’t blame you at all. He totally saw the appeal.

“Marry Mason because he was in the movie where we fell in love.” That warmed Eddie’s heart and made him feel like he never had before.

“You’re such a sap,” he teased, but he loved that about you. It was one of his favorite qualities about you.

“And you love it,” you winked, making him go weak in the knees and he was so glad he was sitting.

“I do,” he nodded with a smile.

“And I guess kill Theo. He’s an ass.”

“True,” he shrugged.

“My turn again. Name someone who you didn’t like working with.” Oh, he couldn’t answer that. He was thinking of someone, but even he knew it wasn’t right to say.

“Got me again, angel.” Eddie downed yet another shot and nodded in approval at the question on his card. This one was so good and definitely going to make you drink.

“What’s so funny, Edward?”

“Name someone who has slid into your DMs.” You thought about it, but didn’t think it was a good idea to say. You didn’t think it was right to make something so personal public. So, with that, you downed the shot, making a face as it burned your throat.

The game went on and on until Eddie finished all of his shots and you only had two empty glasses. Even though it wasn’t a competition, Eddie had crowned you the winner. Normally, you were the one who was closed off, but this time, you were an open book and he admired that you had answered almost every single question. There was so much growth from you since you had gotten together and he couldn’t have been more proud of you.

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fluff #actor!eddie #actress!reader #actor!eddie x actress!reader

[twinsfawn]

i get that gore can be fun but the way some of y’all will post/reblog actual corpses on here for “aesthetic” as if that’s not someone’s loved one is fucking disgusting. the internet has rotted some of y’all’s brains so bad that you forget you’re circulating images of an actual fucking dead body, someone who had a life and people who cared about them. imagine if one of your loved ones died tragically and photos of their body were getting passed around the internet. look inward, your humanity is close to gone.

#believe me seeing dead ppl irl is not fucking ‘aesthetic’ it is so so so harrowing #i remember my first time in a cadaver lab and having the surreal experience of uncovering someone’s face #my brain could not compartmentalize at that point and i was temporarily very disturbed by the feelings it brought up #it sickens me that people take that vulnerability and use it to churn out ‘content’ #and believe me i get the general idea!! fake gore in movies is fun!! someone voluntarily posting body mods or stitches or other injuries #can be interesting/cool to look at! #just literally take two seconds and think about what you’re posting/circulating #there is a line

[basset-babe]

five times: the second.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

warnings: unsolicited sexual advances

word count: 3.7k+

a/n: apologies for the late update! i've been sleeping in so bad lately lmao also, please do know that my writing isn't abided by the series' consecutive timeline bcs i just tend take away scenes and themes through s1 to s3 where it would make sense with the fic idea in my head, but all still well within the bridgerton series (S3 SPOILER! also i do not hold any grudge towards lady tilley arnold tho she is the rendezvous love interest of ben in s3, just made sense for me to add her here in this context) but nonetheless, please enjoy the 2nd! ciao belle!

five times series: the first. the one point five. the second. the third . the fourth . at last.

spring divider from @thyming and, again, pattern banner from @cafekitsune thank you!

second time.

As the noon sun cast a bright glow over the sprawling estate gardens, Miss Y/N and Benedict strolled along the cobblestone path lined with vibrant blossoms and verdant foliage. The sweet fragrance of blooming flowers mingled with the earthy scent of freshly turned soil, creating an intoxicating bouquet that filled the air. Birds chirped melodiously from their perches in the ancient oaks, their songs adding a gentle soundtrack to the tranquil scene.

Miss Y/N paused by a bed of delicate gardenias, her fingers brushing lightly over the soft petals as she turned to Benedict with a teasing smile. "Have you no other plans than to spend your time watching me procure my plants, Benedict?" she asked, her tone light but her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

Benedict, standing a few paces away with his hands casually tucked into his pockets, returned her smile with a warm, earnest expression. "Actually, I find great pleasure in keeping you company and wandering through your beautiful gardens," he replied, his gaze taking in the lush greenery and the kaleidoscope of flowers surrounding them. In truth, his heart swelled with affection for her, every moment spent in her presence a cherished gift.

A few steps behind, the chaperone lingered near a stone bench, her attention seemingly focused on the distant horizon. Although out of earshot, her presence was a reminder of propriety and decorum.

Miss Y/N sighed softly, her playful demeanor tinged with a hint of exasperation. "We are chaperoned! I mean, probably out of earshot but still," she said, shaking her head slightly as a wry smile curved her lips. "You and your subtle art of flirting."

Benedict chuckled, the sound low and pleasant. "Ah, but where's the harm in a little harmless flirtation amidst such beauty?" he replied, gesturing to the surrounding garden. "Besides, your company is far more captivating than anything." His words carried the weight of his burgeoning love, though he struggled to fully express the depth of his feelings.

As they continued their leisurely walk, the leaves rustled softly in the gentle breeze, and the world seemed to slow, allowing them a few precious moments of stolen intimacy amidst the natural splendor.

"My subtle art of flirting," he murmured, stepping closer and carefully looming over a bed of blooming roses. "Or perhaps it’s not so subtle after all."

She glanced up at him, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "I would say it’s as subtle as a peacock in a library."

"Ah, so it’s quite effective, then," he said, leaning in just enough to catch the gardenia’s sweet scent.

"You are impossible," she said, shaking her head but unable to hide her smile. "Even when you called on me, you've brought a grafted rose to plant, of all things!" She laughed fondly.

"Well, I thought it suited you," he said as his voice softened, casting her a glance full of admiration. "A growing thing of beauty, requiring patience, care, and attention." His heart pounded in his chest, the metaphor echoing his own feelings for her.

The sun glowed warm through the greenhouse window pane. Peering from the vines, the sunlight dawned and cascaded over Y/N, rendering her breathtaking in Benedict's eyes. The golden light danced on her hair, casting a halo-like aura that made her appear almost ethereal.

Her cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink at his words. "For an artist, you do have a way with words, Benedict," she murmured, a soft smile playing at her lips as she averted her gaze.

Benedict, unable to resist the magnetic pull of the moment, reached out and gently touched a gardenia bloom, his fingers brushing against hers. The brief contact sent a subtle thrill through him, a spark of connection that felt both profound and delicate. "And I mean every one of them, you know," he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of sincerity and unspoken affection as their eyes met.

Y/N's breath caught slightly, her heart quickening in response. Her gloved hand now in his as he gently held it. The intensity of his gaze made her heart flutter, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade away. Her lady's maid, the estate, the very garden itself—all blurred into a distant background against the magnetic pull between them.

A gentle breeze stirred, carrying the intoxicating scent of gardenias and roses. Y/N's eyes widened slightly at the depth of emotion she saw in Benedict's eyes, a mixture of admiration and something deeper, something she dared not name yet. Her fingers, still intertwined with his, felt warm and comforting, a silent promise held in the delicate touch.

Her voice, barely above a whisper, broke the silence. "Benedict, do you ever, um, find yourself feeling, well, the same way I do in moments like these, when we're together?" Her eyes, tinged with vulnerability, flicked up to meet his, silently seeking a connection that transcended mere words.

Benedict's smile softened, his thumb lightly caressing the back of her hand as he leaned nearer to whisper, "Every moment with you, Your Grace," he said, his voice filled with a gentle ardor. "Your presence, Y/N, for if I revere you a dream, then I no longer wish to wake from my slumber."

Y/N's heart raced at his words, her cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of pink. She felt a rush of emotions, a blend of excitement and a tender vulnerability she had never experienced before. Her eyes widening in awe, "You speak as if I am something unattainable, a fragment of your mind," she said, a touch of playful skepticism in her tone.

Benedict's expression softened, nearing her as his gaze full of adoration. "Y/N," he murmured, his voice tender yet earnest, "you are not a fragment of my mind, nor are you unattainable. You are the very essence of my heart's desires, a beacon of light in a world of darkness." He reached out to gently cup her cheek, his touch conveying a depth of emotion beyond words. "To me, you are not just a dream, but the reality I never dared hope for. And I will spend every moment proving that to you, if you'll let me."

Meanwhile, the subtle clearing of her lady's maid's throat, positioned at a respectable distance, acted as a genteel nudge to observe the proprieties of their setting.

"Um, I, uh, apologize, Your Grace," Benedict murmured, his cheeks tinted with a shy flush as he took a small, hesitant step back, seemingly unsure of where to place his hands. "I… erm, it seems I, uh, forgot to, um, maintain my distance. Please forgive me," he added softly, his voice trailing off with a hint of uncertainty. "I, um, really didn't mean to, uh, make you uncomfortable." His eyes, a mix of nervousness and sincerity, briefly met hers before darting away, as if seeking refuge in the nearby foliage. "I'm, um, deeply sorry if I, you know, overstepped," he continued, his tone laced with a sheepish awkwardness as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unable to find a comfortable stance. "I… I suppose I just, er, got a bit carried away in the moment."

Y/N's cheeks flushed deeper as she felt a rush of embarrassment mingled with amusement at Benedict's sheepish apology. She averted her gaze momentarily, suppressing a nervous giggle before meeting his eyes, she reached out to gently place a hand on his arm. "Oh, Benedict," she began, her voice soft with a hint of laughter, "there's no need to apologize. I… I must admit, I too got carried away in the moment." She glanced around, half-panicked that someone might have witnessed their closeness, but finding the situation more humorous than anything. "It seems we both found ourselves swept up in the enchantment of the garden," she added with a playful wink, her laughter bubbling forth despite her attempts to compose herself.

Benedict let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders relaxing as he returned to a more respectable distance from Y/N. He couldn't help but smile at her laughter, finding solace in her lighthearted response. "Indeed, it appears the garden has a way of enchanting us both," he agreed with a soft chuckle, his gaze lingering on her with fondness. "I guess we ought to keep a closer eye on decorum," he mused with a rueful grin, a playful glint dancing in his eyes.

Benedict entered his studio at the esteemed art academy with a purposeful stride, the faint aroma of charcoal and linseed oil pervading his senses as he stepped within. The grand wooden door emitted a gentle creak as he pushed it open, revealing a space that, while seemingly cluttered, held a unique order characteristic of an artist's domain. It's been days since Mr. Bridgerton had paid visit to Miss Y/N; days since his apparent confession unreturned with an answer, hoping of the most favored "yes".

The studio was suffused with the soft, diffused light of late afternoon, filtering through tall, dust-laden windows. Easels stood in solemn ranks, each bearing sketches and paintings in various stages of completion. The floor was a canvas in itself, adorned with a mosaic of paint splatters and crumpled sheets of paper, silent testament to his countless hours of diligent work.

His gaze was inexorably drawn to the central easel, where his latest sketches of Miss Y/N awaited his discerning eye. Countless hours had been devoted to capturing her likeness, her features indelibly etched into his memory and transposed onto the canvas from myriad angles. The delicate curve of her jawline, the subtle arch of her brows, the enigmatic depths of her eyes—each sketch narrated a different story, a moment either observed or conjured from his imagination.

Benedict set down his leather satchel upon a nearby stool, extracting a well-worn sketchbook and a selection of fine graphite pencils. He approached the easel with a sense of reverence, as one might approach a sanctified space. The quietude of the studio enveloped him, disrupted only by the distant murmur of the academy's other activities.

As he perched upon the high stool before the easel, he paused momentarily, allowing his thoughts to drift back to his latest sitting with Miss Y/N. He recalled the play of light upon her hair, the subtle shifts in her expression as her thoughts wandered. With a deep, steadying breath, he took up a pencil, its familiar weight a comfort in his hand, and resumed his sketching. He became immersed once more in the intricate dance of lines and shadows, bringing her presence to vivid life upon the paper.

As he worked, Benedict would lose himself in the intricacies of her likeness, his mind consumed by the challenge of translating her beauty onto paper. Every stroke of his pencil would be deliberate, every line a reflection of his perception of her essence.

In this intimate space, surrounded by the tangible evidence of his devotion, Benedict would pour his heart and soul into each etch, striving to capture the true spirit of Miss Y/N with every stroke of his pencil.

"Someone seems smitten, don't you think, brother?" Anthony's teasing voice broke through Benedict's intent stare as he drew, jolting him out of his reverie. A faint blush tinged Benedict's cheeks as he glanced up, his hand pausing mid-stroke.

Benedict's older brother stood in the doorway, a playful smirk playing on his lips as he observed the tableau before him. Benedict chuckled softly, the sound carrying a hint of embarrassment. "I'm merely capturing her likeness as an artist," he protested, though the affection in his gaze betrayed his true feelings.

Anthony's grin widened, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Of course, dear brother," he replied, his tone dripping with amusement. "But one might argue that your portraits of Miss Y/N are a tad... shall we say, inspired?"

Benedict rolled his eyes good-naturedly, a fond smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Perhaps," he conceded, returning his attention to the paper before him. "But can you blame me? She's quite the muse."

With a knowing laugh, Anthony stepped further into the studio, his presence injecting a sense of levity into the room. "Indeed she is," he agreed, his gaze drifting to the scattered sketches of Miss Y/N that adorned the walls. "But do try not to get too lost in your musings, brother. The real Miss Y/N might start to wonder what's keeping you so occupied."

Benedict nodded, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Point taken," he said, his focus returning to his work. But as he etched his pencil into the paper once more, his thoughts inevitably drifted back to the enigmatic woman who had captured his imagination—and his heart.

"Oh, and a letter arrived. It's for you," Anthony handed as sealed letter, "from a Lady Tilley Arnold. Seems urgent." Benedict stopped as he looked at his older brother whose held a knowing look. "I am not one to pry for I am one with your contentment, brother, but it seems you have unfinished business?"

"It is not what you are implying, brother. We are done. Lady Arnold had bid me done then. It is probably purely audience." Benedict replied focusing back to his work.

"Then I shall leave you to it, brother." Anthony left the letter on the stool and stepped out the studio closing the door, leaving his brother with his thoughts.

After his brother's departure, Benedict found himself unable to shake the lingering thoughts about why Lady Arnold had sought his audience. Their relationship had long evolved beyond the realms of a passionate love affair, and any such intimacies had faded into the past. Instead, he now saw himself as a respectable bachelor, poised to fulfill his societal obligations and perhaps find a suitable wife.

Despite this unexpected shift in their dynamics, the unexpected summons from Lady Arnold had stirred a curious blend of nostalgia and apprehension within him, prompting him to ponder the nature of their current connection.

As Benedict retired to his townhouse for the evening, his mind buzzed with conflicting thoughts about the impending meeting with Lady Arnold. While he harbored no romantic, nor amorous, feelings for her, the prospect of their encounter tomorrow left him feeling decidedly uneasy. After all, he had been actively courting Miss Y/N, and the mere notion of being seen with Lady Arnold had the potential to ignite scandalous gossip.

But then a knock sounded. In the dimly lit parlor of Benedict's townhouse, a cloaked woman stood before him, an air of melancholy clinging to the elegant form. "Lady Arnold, good evening! Do come in." He moved aside as the women entered. "To what do I owe--" He was cut off as Lady Tilley spoke, her expression tinged with a mix of determination and vulnerability. "Benedict, I sought you out because I'm leaving London soon. I wanted to bid you farewell before I go."

Benedict nodded politely, though a flicker of curiosity danced in his eyes. "Of course, Lady Arnold. It's kind of you to say goodbye."

But as their conversation unfolded, Benedict couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Lady Arnold's visit than a simple farewell. Her demeanor seemed to betray an underlying tension, a sense of urgency that belied the pleasantries of their exchange.

"Lady Arnold," Benedict began, his voice laced with a hint of concern, "is everything alright? You seem... troubled."

Lady Arnold hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering uncertainly before she squared her shoulders, as if steeling herself for what was to come. "Benedict, there's something I need to tell you," she confessed, her tone serious. "Something I've been meaning to say for quite some time." Taking a deep breath, she forged ahead, her words measured yet tinged with emotion. "I... I've realized that I can't bear the thought of leaving without expressing how I truly feel."

Benedict's eyes widened in surprise, his mind racing to comprehend the implications of her confession. "How you feel?" he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lady Arnold nodded, her gaze unwavering as she held his gaze. "Yes, Benedict. I know the risks of me being seen here in your residence but it seems that you have not responded to my correspondence... I have come here to say that I've been thinking about us, about our past, and... I can't deny that I still feel something between us."

Benedict's mind flew to the letter he placed on his desk earlier the night he reached his townhouse. He didn't even want to open it knowing what it could contain. A rakish past he, quite possibly, no longer wants to open. Benedict, then, felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him, memories of their shared history flooding back with startling clarity. Yet, beneath the surface, a sense of unease gnawed at him, a silent reminder of the boundaries he had vowed to uphold.

"Lady Arnold," he began tentatively, his words hesitant as he struggled to find the right response. "I… I'm not sure what you mean. Our past is just that, the past."

But Lady Arnold was undeterred, her resolve unwavering as she leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But what if it doesn't have to be? What if we could recapture the passion we once shared?"

Benedict's heart quickened at her words, torn between the allure of nostalgia and the reality of his present circumstances. "I... I don't know, Lady Arnold," he admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "Things have changed. I've changed."

Undeterred, Lady Arnold reached out to touch his hand, her touch soft and pleading. "Benedict, please. Don't you remember how good it used to be? Just one last time, before I leave."

Benedict felt a surge of conflicting emotions welling up inside him, his mind spinning with indecision. "I… I can't," he finally answered removing his hand from hers, his voice heavy with his conscience. "It wouldn't be right, just like you decided."

Lady Arnold's eyes gleamed with a mixture of longing and sorrow as she looked at Benedict. "Do you remember, Benedict," she began, her voice soft yet laden with emotion, "those nights we shared? How the world seemed to disappear when we were together? Every stolen moment, every secret touch… it was as if time stood still just for us." She took a step closer, her gaze never wavering. "The way we used to laugh, our whispers filling the darkness with promises only we understood. We explored each other's souls and bodies with such intensity, such reckless abandon. Every touch was a symphony, every kiss a sonnet. Our passion burned so bright, like a flame that could never be extinguished."

Her voice faltered slightly, a wistful smile playing on her lips. "We were invincible then, weren’t we? Bound by nothing but our own desires. It was a love that consumed us, left us breathless and wanting more. Even now, I can feel the echoes of those nights, the way your touch could ignite something deep within me, a fire that no one else could ever hope to spark."

She spoke of memories shared, of passion ignited long ago, and hinted at desires yet unfulfilled. Despite his best efforts to maintain composure, Benedict found himself ensnared by her magnetic presence, a faint echo of their past intimacy stirring within him as she caressed his jaw.

As the tension between them reached its zenith, Lady Arnold's advances became bolder, her fingers trailing lightly along the curve of Benedict's jawline as she leaned in for a kiss. For a fleeting moment, their lips met in a passionate embrace, igniting a spark of longing that threatened to engulf them both.

But as quickly as it began, Benedict pulled away, a confused expression clouding his features. "I am afraid it has ended," he murmured, his voice thick with regret. "This... it no longer feels right." His words hung heavy in the air.

Lady Arnold's expression softened, a hint of sadness clouding her eyes. "I know things have changed, Benedict. We have changed. But those memories... they still linger. A testament to what we once shared, a rendezvous that defied everything and everyone."

She reached out, her fingers grazing his hand. "Tell me you remember, Benedict. Tell me that those moments meant as much to you as they did to me."

Benedict felt a lump form in his throat as Lady Arnold's words washed over him. Her memories mirrored his own, a testament to the bond they had once shared. He swallowed hard, trying to find the right words to respond.

"Of course I remember," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. "Those moments were among the most exhilarating experiences of my life. We had an affair, some rendezvous that was."

Lady Arnold's eyes softened at his confession, a flicker of hope igniting within them. "Then why can't we have it again, Benedict? Just one last time, before I leave. Let me carry that memory with me."

Benedict sighed, "Because things are different now," he said gently. "Our lives have moved on. What we had was rousing, but it's part of a past that no longer exists."

Lady Arnold's expression crumpled slightly, her hope waning. "But why?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Why can't we hold onto it, just for a little while longer?"

Benedict took her hand in his, his touch both firm and tender. "Because it wouldn't be fair to either of us," he replied softly. "I can't give you whatever temporary high you want, not when my heart belongs to someone else now. It would be a lie, a betrayal of what we both deserve."

Tears shimmered in Lady Arnold's eyes as she listened to his words. "I understand," she said finally, her voice barely audible. "I just... I had to try."

Benedict squeezed her hand gently before letting go. "I know," he said. "And I'm grateful for what we shared, truly. But we both need to move forward, to find happiness in the lives we've chosen. You know it, this cannot be."

Lady Arnold nodded, her shoulders sagging with resignation. "I suppose this is goodbye then," she murmured, a wistful smile tugging at her lips.

"Yes," Benedict agreed, his voice tender. "Goodbye, Lady Arnold. I wish you all the best."

With a final, lingering glance, Lady Arnold turned and walked away, leaving Benedict standing alone in the dimly lit parlor. As the door closed behind her, he felt a profound sense of closure, mingled with the bittersweet pang of lost love. He knew he had made the right decision, but the echoes of their past would remain with him, a poignant reminder of a passion that had once burned so brightly.

taglist: @novausstuff // @pussyslayerhd // @amoosarte // @jupitervenusearthmars

again, please do send me a message or comment down if you would like to be added on the succeeding taglists for the five times series!

#benedict bridgerton x you #bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #x reader #fem reader #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton fic #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton/reader #fic #bridgerton fic #benedict bridgerton oneshot #fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x y/n

[melonteee]

I've seen many people complain that Oda in Post Time skip One Piece spends a lot of time worldbuilding and making up side characters on every island that distract from the main ones and the plot. While I can see where some people are coming from, as someone who reads comics from Marvel, I WISH the wordbuilding and side characters were that developed because most of the time, unless it's about space or magic or directly related to the plot, the world feels genuinely dead. Even the main setting of a story sometimes feels so dead, like for comparison

Around 2 years ago, they had an event where, at some point, an inhabited island got pretty much nuked. We spent 3 real life years on that island and the writers really couldn't make any readers care less about all the civilians (men, women, children and babies) dying as they wrote them as a single minded entity who didn't mind that fate if their government told them to do it so they used two of the "main characters" (the most selfish pricks imaginable who never even cared about the island and the people there as they are long-established villains + due to plot, were made part of the people who rule over the place and get the most privilege and best life there compared to everyone else), to pull the heartstrings of fans on how terrible it is for them to die this way and how tragic that these two had to die in this event... All because the plot hyperfocused on the island's government (not even interesting to read and full of what felt like highschool drama) instead of the people the government looks after and who would be the greatest casualty here. All of this didn't matter either because everyone on that island was brought back to life (that plot device was present even before the event so caring about anything was going to be hard from the get go) including the "main characters" that died.. Guess who got to come back to life first while many others were on a waiting list years down the line still ?

Now compare this to Oda and what he did with Lulusia. All things related to this island were mostly cover stories, many cuts back and forth in a "meanwhile in...", ... But once Chapter 1060 hits, we feel the tragedy and horror, we are at awe at how much destruction was unleashed on these people. That scene was made even more horrifying and sad when it was animated in Episode 1089...and then we learn the reason the island was obliterated had nothing to do with Sabo being there. Any island we knew who partook in a revolution could have been a target. We find out that even that was an excuse because the main goal was to test a weapon and nothing more. Oda is using a tool here called "less is more" for this island and it was sincerely enough for me to care A WHOLE LOT about Lulusia even if the main characters never set a single foot there and it wasn't part of the main plot. There wasn't even a main character who "died" there either to pull on our heart strings. We just saw these people triumphantly come out of a political crisis and enjoy their first hours of freedom after lord knows how long and then

They were all gone. Erased. And even if they didn't all see what was about to happen to them, they felt it. They died in fear

Oda is very very good at his world building, because he makes sure these islands are LIVED in, not just that they EXIST. It's all well and good to wipe out an island to show the political and immoral powers that be, but we don't feel the impact unless we SEE the people and culture existing on the island.

It's why now, with Vegapunk explaining the state of the world, we are getting reactions from EVERY corner of the globe. We are being reminded how big this world is, how lived in this world is, and how many people are suffering under the world gov. We CARE about this world, we care about the PEOPLE in this world, and Oda's spent years building his world up for THIS moment. It's really spectacular.

#ask #melonask #egghead spoilers #op spoilers

[plussizefantasia]

It's Always the Wife

Bucky Barnes x BlackCat!Reader

Chapter 4/6

<Prev / Next>

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: It's the danger part of the story so we've got guns and threats, talks of murder, alcohol, and language.

A/N Not a huge fan of this part but I got to the point where if I kept tweaking it I would go insane so.... here ya go. Part 5 coming this week!

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

How the hell had you missed this? How had you not realized that the lynchpin behind all of this was the wife? It’s always the wife, how could you miss that? 

Fuck Bucky Barnes. You’d bet your whole life savings on this somehow being his fault. If he hadn’t made you go to bed early you could’ve done some more digging and you probably wouldn’t have missed it. It was his fault. It was his stupid worrying and caring about your well-being that got you into this mess. 

“Ms. Longborne, I have to admit, you’re not exactly the first person that comes to mind when I think of a potential investor in our little… business. Didn’t you say that money should be used to help others, why are you interested in making more if you have all you need?” Mrs. Bowman looks you up and down, far more critically than she had when you two had first met when Bucky was at your side. He’s not here now, you’ll have to cover your own ass. 

“Mrs. Bowman I’m sure you’re well aware of the more theatrical part of society, playing the role of the wholesome heiress is good for business that's all.” 

“Dear, I’ve been playing my part for longer than you have and I never once had to lie to people to boost myself up in the world.” She takes a sip from her glass and sends you an all too condescending smile.

Thats bullshit shes not a natural blonde first of all you can see her roots growing out, and secondly, your pretty sure backroom and under-the-table dealing while keeping the facade of a happy and wholesome nuclear family to the American people counts as lying.

“Mrs. Bowman, lying is a bit of a harsh word I don’t think I ever lied to you. I find that when my money goes to charities and the like it makes people less likely to look into the way that I make that money. A small contribution to the commissioner’s wife’s favorite cause and suddenly he’s all the more willing to loom the other way. It's strategic, that’s all.”

“So, that’s what the sizable donation to my charity was, a red herring?” 

“Yes and no,” You take a sip of the whiskey in your glass, and resist the urge to make a face, you have no idea how Bucky drinks this stuff it tastes like disinfectant. “I needed to make sure that I got an invitation and I knew that such a large sum would draw some eyes, it cost a pretty penny but it got me this far didn’t it.”

“That it did, but I have to ask, why did you want to meet my husband so bad?” Mrs. Bowman placed her drink on the table next to her and began sauntering towards me. “I wouldn’t normally feel the need to step in when it comes to deals like this, I prefer to stay in the background I’m sure you understand. But you… Your very presence sends off alarm bells so tell me. Deborah, why shouldn’t I just kill you now and be done with this.”

The gun cocking behind you makes the hair on your neck stand up, you slowly turn and make eye contact with Hunter, a Smith, and Wesson leveled at you. He doesn’t make eye contact.

If you get out of this you’re going to slap the shit out of that metal-armed bastard. Didn’t he say he’d be right behind you?

You take a deep breath, if you show any weakness any hesitence you’ll get a bullet between the eyes. And you aren’t planning on dying today.

“Other than the fact that if I just suddenly go missing it’ll only raise questions? I think you’re bluffing. If you didn’t trust me even if a little bit you wouldn’t have brought me back here and you definitely wouldn’t have let me get a glimpse behind the curtain. If I didn’t know any better I’d say this was a test. And judging by the smirk spreading across Mr. Bowman’s face I think I just passed.” You cock your hip out to the side and rest the arm holding your glass on it. “Am I right? Or can Hunter get on with it and pull the damn trigger already.” 

“I wasn’t sure about you Ms. Longborne but anyone who can look a pistol in the eye and come out on top is someone I want on my side. So… let’s talk business.”

Holy Shit, that was too close, for a moment there you had a glimpse into an entirely different end, one where Bucky hears a gunshot and runs into the room only to see you bleeding out on the carpet, unable to do anything but hold you as life slips between your fingers. You can’t die, not until you tell a lot of people a lot of things. 

You shake your head to pull yourself back into the moment. 

“That’s the thing, Mrs. Bowman-”

“Julie, if we’re going to be partners we have to do away with the formalities now, I don’t deal with kiss-asses.”

“Alright, Julie, I need to know more about this business before I decide on anything. I may not have the most strict of morals but there are some things that even I won’t be involved in.” 

“Smart girl, alright what do you want to know.”

“Hunter let me in on a little bit of the financial aspect, said that you were looking for investors. Is that as far as I’ll go, I give you money and you give me back my returns or will this partnership be a more… involved one.” 

“Investor is a fun word, it implies that you have power. That won’t be the case. See unlike the shareholders of the corporate world I won’t be bowing to your whims, trying to satisfy whatever hold you think you have over me. I’ve worked far too hard to have someone think they can wave a couple thousand dollars around and control me.”

“I'm not in the controlling business Julie, I just want to be sure that my money isn’t going to be going to waste.” 

“So you want to know what’ll happen with your buy-in is that it?”

“Precisely, I don’t need to know all the gory details after all, I’ll need some plausible deniability if this whole thing falls apart after all.”

“Dear, why don’t I explain this part after all, it was my idea.” The governor cuts in, and you almost jump. You had forgotten he was even there, to be honest. 

“Sure, dear.” Julie pats her husband on the arm, her tone that of a mother speaking to a child. 

“Did you know that 8.8% of people in Alabama didn’t have health care as of two years ago? When I was elected I quickly and quietly ran a bill through the Senate and the House that mandated health insurance coverage. It’s now illegal to not have coverage which made a lot of people mad but created a big opening for opportunity. So I came up with an idea, and the best part is that It’s just on the right side of legal, legal enough that is. NexCare LLC; an insurance company entirely on paper, runs through several shell companies, and all the profits are shuffled into offshore accounts but it's mostly legit. And it insures over 25% of Alamaba’s citizens. They pay 24 Dollars a month for ‘complete coverage’,” he puts air quotes around the words and you start to feel the urge to punch his teeth out, “The coverage is just enough to make sure that people are following the law, but just convoluted enough that we don’t actually have to pay out for anything. We have the right to deny all claims yada yada. Essentially, we’ve created a way for the fine people of Alabama to essentially deposit their money right into our pockets.” 

Now you really want to knock this guy the fuck out. If he’s right and this is all on the right side of legal then there really is fuck all that you can do. You can’t arrest the man for owning an insurance company and if he’s crafted the contracts just right so that he doesn’t actually have to shell out for anything then there really isn’t anything you can do.

“Well Mr. Governor, that really is a spark of genius. And it’s all legal?” 

“It’s legal enough, we paid a lot of lawyers a lot of money to make sure of that.” Julie pipes in.

“And nobody knows that you own NexCare? How’d you work that out?” You bat your eyelashes at the man, hoping, praying for him to spill anything that you can use. 

“More legal mambo jumbo, I’m not too sure. Like you said, plausible deniability.”

“So why do you need my money, seems like you're pretty set up?”

“Expansion is expensive and the lawyers are demanding a higher cut in order to keep their mouths shut, this way everyone stays quiet and happy and we get to get more money from more people.”

“I don’t know, if you’ve already got people on the verge of spilling the beans then why would I want to be anywhere near that.” 

“Trust me Ms. Longborne we have ways of keeping people quiet.” 

“I’m going to need a little bit more than that Mr. Governor, I’m too pretty for prison.”

“God, Charles stop beating around the bush, Debrah here can handle some dirty work, can’t you darling?” Julie stepped in. “Being in power has its privilege and with an extra 3,000 a month into the hands of some police captains, we ensure that specific deaths don’t get investigated. That’s all, it’s a small percentage that reaches that point but it has happened.”

You can sure as shit arrest them for that though, bribery and accessory to murder at the very least. With enough digging, you could probably get the captains being bribed too. That wasn’t your job though, leave the digging to the team at Shield and they could do their arrest too for all you care. You just want to get the hell out of here as soon as possible.

“Let me get all this straight, you have a little arrangement with some shady as hell lawyers who are constantly on the verge of turning you in or extorting you and you need my money to keep them quiet so we can all keep charging the good people of Alabama for insurance that they’re legally required to have but will never see a single dime from?” 

Hunter sorts from his position lounging on the old couch behind you, “Pretty much nailed it, I told you guys she was smart.” He nods to his parents.

Julie purses her lips and looks back at you, “She may be smart but she still hasn’t given us an answer.”

“No, I haven’t, and I don’t plan to. At least not tonight. I’ve got some thinking to do but you’ve certainly piqued my interest.”

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what might happen should I hear that you’ve been a little loose-lipped about what we’ve told you.” Julie raises her eyebrows at you. God, you really hate these people.

“No, you don’t. I can assure you word getting out that I was even meeting with you about this would ruin my reputation as much as yours, my lips are sealed.” You sink back the rest of your drink. “But if you’ll excuse me, I’ve been away from my date for a little too long and I’m sure he’s wondering where I am. He’s a worrywart.”

“Well, I look forward to hearing from you.” The governor grabs your hand and shakes it, his grip just a tad too tight to be comfortable.

You don’t say anything after that, just push your way through the doors and sag against the wall once they’re closed. 

“Bucky? Can you still hear me?” 

“Loud and clear Kitty.”

The nickname makes you smile, leave it to Barnes to lift the mood after one of the most tense moments of your life.

“Did we get enough?” 

“The comms recorded the confession and the fact that all three of them are in on it, yeah we got plenty. You did good work.” You nod your head.

“James?”

He just hums.

“I’m ready to go home.”

“Two steps ahead of you.” The voice is all of a sudden much closer, you look up and see him standing over you, holding your coat in one arm and offering the other to help you off the floor. You don’t even remember getting down there.

He pulls you up effortlessly and you stop yourself from crashing into his chest by putting your hand out, it lands on his chest.

He practically pushes you off of him and shoves your coat into your arms. 

“Let’s go.” He doesn’t look to see if you’re following him, he just begins to stride away. 

What the fuck is wrong with him? One moment he’s complimenting you on a job well done and helping you off the floor and the next he’s acting like being too close to you will set him on fire or some shit.

You follow after him nevertheless, you weren’t lying when you said you wanted to go home, and you aren’t going to let Barne’s shitty attitude keep you from doing just that.

Bucky is handing some bills to the valet when you finally catch up to him, the car that the two of you drove here pulls up to the curb you’re standing at. You move to open the door to the passenger side, but before you can get there Bucky already has the handle in his hand and he swings it open for you. He gestures for you to go ahead and you don’t even try to stop the scoff that bubbles up your throat.

You get comfortable in your seat as Bucky walks around the trunk of the car and gets in on his own. He doesn’t buckle just pulls away from the curb quickly.

You don’t like this sense of deja vu, being trapped in a car with James Barnes, neither one of you speaking it’s all too familiar. Except this time, you aren’t uncomfortable, you’re angry, more than angry actually you kinda want to rip off this asshole's metal arm and beat him with it for being a dick. 

Minutes tick by. You don’t speak but you silently fume from the passenger seat. You look over at him a couple of times, you can’t read him. You’ve never really been able to read him and this time is no different. What you wouldn’t get for a glimpse inside his head though.

The car pulls up to a red light, the two of you are bathed in the deep color.

“What the fuck is your problem this time Barnes?”

“I don’t have a problem.” He shrugs.

“Obviously you do or you wouldn’t have acted like my very presence is annoying to you and you wouldn’t be giving me the silent treatment right now.”

“I don’t have a problem.” He insists again.

“Fine. Whatever, when you’re ready to talk to me like a goddamn adult then I’ll be here to listen but if all you’re going to do is ignore me then you can let me out of the car right the fuck now.”

“What?” 

“You heard me, let me out of the goddamn car.”

“I’m not letting you out of the car Y/N! You’re insane.”

“Let me out of the car, or tell me what’s wrong.”

He doesn’t speak, he looks into your eyes and all across your face but he doesn’t say a word.

You nod a solitary nod and reach for the door handle.

“I love you.”

 That stops you cold in your tracks.

#plus size reader #plus size!reader #fanfic #x reader #marvel fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #james bucky buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x plus size!reader #bucky barnes x plus size reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #requests open #requests wanted

[deanwritings]

The Guest House - Chapter 10

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Series Summary: Dean Winchester is going through a nasty divorce. He doesn't have much left to his name, but what he does have is his house. Leave it to his soon-to-be ex wife to find a way to even ruin that for him. Enter Y/N, who is looking to get away from life for a bit, and stumbles right into the middle of it all.

The Guest House Master List

Word Count: 3,180

A/N: Know it's been a while and appreciate everyone's patience!

It takes a little over an hour for Dean to finish up the two cars. Having been taught your lesson, you handed Dean the correct tools he requested, though he did remember to say “please” each time he asked. 

From time to time he would explain what he was working on, not that it meant much to you, but you were starting to pick up on a few things, which you were hoping to take home with you so you wouldn’t feel so helpless the next time you went to get an oil change.

“So how did you even meet Rick?” You lean against a pillar as Dean rolls out from the Stingray, shutting off his head lamp as he stands. He lets out a chuckle at your question. 

“I’ve actually known him most of my life.” Dean gently rests against the hood, crossing his arms. 

You just raise your eyebrows, hoping he’ll elaborate. 

“My dad used to come here all the time growing up, and so did Rick.” He continues. “They were around the same age and they kept in touch as they got older. My dad used to bring us up here when we were kids. I loved it, but Sam and my mom would spend our visits up here swimming at the lake, but my dad and I would be sitting in those bleachers.” He points out the windowed garage door to the grand stands.

“It would be July and it could be 120 degrees between the heat and the cars, but there was nowhere else we’d rather be.” He reminisces with a smile but he keeps his eyes on his oil-stained boots. 

“Rick is cut from the same cloth. He stopped coming around as I got older, got busy with his fancy life in the city, but when he ended up buying this place, he reached out to my dad and I, would get us in the ‘VIP’ suite, which were just his seats. He was excited when he found out I started working in Bobby’s shop, and then a couple years later he called me up to take a look at a vintage car he was going to buy. Said he had hired a guy but didn’t trust his report, so needed someone he could count on. I was just twenty-one, but he trusted every word I said, and I’ve been working for him ever since.”

You smile across at Dean, not that he sees it. Whether intentionally or not, Dean was opening up to you, more of him becoming unraveled. And there’s one question you’ve been wanting to ask him for weeks now, and you finally felt comfortable enough with him to post it.

“And what’s the deal with you and Nick?” You ask quietly, nervous that you may be overstepping, but hell, he brought you to a weekend away at his mom’s house. You were well past acquaintance status. 

You think back to that night at Max’s, your first week here, when you had gotten cozy with the blonde-haired beau before Dean had stepped in. Before Dean gave a shit about you, he did that night. And you always wondered why.

Dean takes in a deep breath, keeping his eyes downcast. 

“It started back in high school. It was just teenage stuff; he was the football star, I played basketball. We were both really competitive and it was just a lot of stupid ego stuff. But when Sammy started high school my senior year, Nick took an interest in him, and decided to make Sam’s life hell because of me. He bullied the poor kid almost every day. So I took it upon myself to make sure he never bothered Sam again.” A smirk slowly begins to rise. “Got suspended for a week because of it and almost wasn’t allowed to walk graduation, but it was worth it.”

“And what exactly did you do?” His eyes flash up to you, a devilish gleam in them. 

“I may or may not have rigged his airbags to go off when he turned the radio on one day after school.”

You blanch.

“You can do that?” Dean nods.

“But how did they know that was you? Even if he suspected you, there would have been no way to prove it.”

“Because I was waiting for him in the parking lot and after they went off, I pulled him out of the car and told him if he ever bothered Sammy again I would cut his brakes and make it look like an accident.” Dean doesn’t flinch at the threat, and neither do you. You had two younger siblings, both brothers. You understood. Being the older sibling also meant being the protector, and you had stepped in from time to time when your brothers needed it. 

Dean looks back to you.

“That was the end of it though. Never bothered me or Sam again.” He wipes his hands against each other before shoving them in the pockets of his coveralls. 

“Well I guess I really do owe you for saving me from ‘the town’s biggest asshole’ then.” You smile at him, using his own words from that night. Words you had thrown back at him in rash rage. 

“I would say so.” He agrees, pushing off the car and closing the gap between you. Your eyes stalk the movement, not missing a step until he stops an arm’s length from you. His eyes have that devilish sparkle that twists your stomach in the best way.

“And what exactly do you have in mind?” You challenge, standing up straighter even though your knees feel weak. 

“How about dinner?” His voice is low, shared only between the two of you even though there’s no one else around. 

Your eyes widen.

“You’re asking me out?” You gawk, practically breathless. His lips slowly curve up and he doesn’t break your gaze.

“I’m saying you can make it up to me by taking me out to dinner.” Your face and stomach drop, irritation rising like bile up your throat.

“Are you serious?” You cross your arm and drop your hip. 

“Sure am, sweetheart.” He purrs. You respond with a heavy breath out of your nose.

“I literally just bought you lunch the other day.” You snap. “Explain to me why it’s my responsibility to keep feeding you?” You bite, ignoring the fact that you had bought him lunch the other day as a thank you for taking you hiking. But he didn’t need to be reminded of that. 

Instead of waiting for an answer, you side step from him and walk towards the exit.

“Where are you going?” Dean calls from behind you. You turn on your heel and stare him down.

“Aren’t you done?” You huff, crossing your arms again. “I was headed back to the car.” You throw your thumb over your shoulder.

Dean just annoyingly smiles back at you.

“We’re not taking the truck.” You raise your eyebrows.

“What are we going to walk back?” You retort. 

Dean turns on his heel in response and walks further into the garage.

You wait a second, then two, to see if he’s going to turn around, but he doesn’t. You tap your foot, but Dean still doesn’t turn back.

You drop your arms with a heavy breath and start after him, following him a few stalls down until you see him leaning into the open door of a shining black car, the body sleek and clearly not from this century.

“Is this another one of Rick’s?” You step up to the hood, tempted to reach out and run your fingers down the polished onyx. 

“Nope,” Dean’s voice is muffled through the windshield as he rummages around inside.

“Can you answer a question that doesn’t require me to continue asking you questions?” You scowl, starting to have enough of this little game of his. 

His laugh just echoes as he pushes out of the car and rests on the open door.

“Remember I told you about my baby?” You squint your eyes, the conversation ringing a vague bell. 

You suck in a breath. 

“Your car.” You snap your finger then point it at him and it comes back to you, remembering how absurd you thought it was when Dean shared he called his prized car “baby.” 

Dean raises his eyebrows with a smile, opening his arms wide.

“Y/N, meet Baby. Baby, meet Y/N.” You frown at his exaggerated antics.

“Please don’t make me say “hi” to the car.” You groan, wondering exactly how much Dean loves this car. 

Dean pats the hood and leans in.

“Don’t worry, Baby. She can be nice when she wants to be.” He coos. Your eyes bulge and mouth gapes. 

“Should I be concerned about you? Is this what happens when you spend your life around car fumes?” You cross your arms, half kidding. 

Dean just looks back at you with a grin. 

“Get in the car will ya?” He orders before he dips down and plops into the driver’s seat and closes his car.

You stare at him for a moment through the windshield as he fiddles with something. 

Aunt Rose, help me. You say up a silent prayer before you walk around the car and take a seat onto the white leather bench. 

The inside is immaculate; conditioned, tan upholstery, a shining steering wheel, and a dashboard expertly restored to its former glory.

You run a hand along the felt ceiling, the fibers tickling your fingertips. 

“You really built this car?” You ask in awe as you continue to take in the refurbished wonder. 

Dean presses a button on a clicker attached to his visor, and the garage door in front of you begins to rise, sun chasing in through the windshield. 

“Sure did,” Dean turns the key in the engine, the car roaring to life before Dean flicks down the gear shift into drive. “Got her in a scrap yard for a couple hundred bucks, then would use my paychecks from the shop to buy her new parts. Took me over three years. Which is why I keep her here.” Dean slowly pulls out of the garage, waiting for the car to clear before he hits the clicker again, shutting the door behind us.  

You smile out the window as you slowly make your way down the empty race track towards the exit.

“If you love her that much why not just drive her all the time?” You play with the leather armrest that connects to the door. “Seems like a waste to just leave it in a garage all the time.” You muse.

You don't have many mantras in life, but one you strongly believed in not waiting to enjoy something. Your parents had saved an expensive bottle of champagne for you as a graduation present. They had won it in an auction years before and never had a good reason to open it and figured celebrating your matriculation would be the right time to finally pop it open. By the time they did, it had gone bad and your dad shook his head as he poured it down the drain. 

“Cause I ain’t risking a dent or scratch in her after all the time I put into fixing her up.” Dean waves at the gate agent as you pass through the exit, and you give him a smile as well.

“I’m just saying. What’s the point of having a beautiful car like this if you’re just going to keep her hidden away? You’re like an overprotective father.” You chuckle as you look back out the window at the passing scenery of bare trees and dead grass. March truly was an ugly month. 

You look over to Dean, catching his gaze for a moment before it returns to the road, a smirk his only answer. 

Without a word, Dean leans his foot heavily onto the gas pedal, the needle on the speedometer quickly climbing as the outdoor world begins to blur by.  

His heart jumps into his throat and his smile grows as the car continues to pick up speed. He wants to glance at Y/N, see her reaction, but he’s not reckless, not enough to take his eyes off the straightaway as the Impala ticks past 80 MPH.

He hears you take in a breath, but it’s not a gasp, doesn't sound scared or shocked, and he’s hoping you’re feeling the same excitement that he is as he shoots down the street, the engine rumbling through the front seat as he darts down his own personal racetrack that he’s driven down more times than he can count. 

Which is why he takes his foot off the gas, letting the needle fall before they come up to the bend that takes them back into town. 

It was only a few seconds, mere heartbeats, but it always makes Dean feel alive. 

Once the car is at a manageable speed, he peeks over to you – your hand is braced against the door, but your smile is wide in a silent laugh. He swallows at the sight, a lump growing in his throat before he looks back to the road, taking the turn at an easy speed.

“I know it doesn’t quite compare after Rick took you through the racetrack today, but every time I take Baby out of the garage, I’ve gotta run her.” He beams, triumph heavy in his chest as he shows off his pride and joy, feeling a pure sense of excitement that he truly hasn’t felt in years. 

Dean looks back over to you, your hair swishing as you shake your head. 

“No,” you breathe out with a smile. “That was great.” 

Dean releases a deep breath through his nose he didn’t realize he was holding. Almost like he was worried about your answer.

“Still think you should take her out more.” 

Dean just smirks, revving the engine again and letting the car fly. 

After Dean brings them to a roadside burger stand for lunch, they’re back at Mary’s house. Y/N had excused herself for a shower, and Mary and Dean lounge in the living room, the sun setting behind the windows, while Dean scrolls through social media on his phone. 

“Nice day out?” Mary asks from the couch across from him, a book in her lap.

Dean takes a breath and puts his phone down, hearing her tone. The same tone she had in the kitchen this morning when she was inquiring more about the woman he brought home.

Not taking the bait, he simply replies, “Good. Managed to get all of Rick’s cars done in just about two hours. He’s all ready for tomorrow.” Mary just rolls her chartreuse eyes. 

“And Y/N?” She asks bluntly. “How was your day with her?” 

He knows what his mother is fishing for. Outside of the odd high school fling, Lisa was the only woman he had ever brought home. And here he was, with Y/N, some random girl he met only a few weeks ago, brought here by his ex, showering just upstairs.

The thought lights something in his eyes as his gaze leaves the living room, thinking of the blue and white bathroom he was so familiar with, the lengthy standup shower, enough room for two, where Y/N was probably lathering soap all over —-

“Dean.” Mary chirps, almost like she can see her son’s thoughts on his face. 

“What?” He snaps, heat flushing his neck and cheeks, feeling like a caught child. 

Mary just sighs and moves her book aside, leaning forward and resting her arms on her jean-clad knees. 

“Don’t even start, mom.” He can see the conversation she wants to have. 

“You’re the one who brought her here.” She counters. He rubs a hand down his face and leans back against the cushion.

“Look, I’m just trying to be friendly. She and I started off on a really bad foot, and I’m stuck with her for the month. Also, when I invited her, I never thought she’d actually say yes. I was more being polite.” Which was true, but doesn’t change the fact that when he got her text that she was going to join him for the weekend, his stomach flipped. 

“She just quit her job and lost her aunt.” He continues on thoughtlessly. “She’s spending a month in a place where she knows no one. I’m just trying to be nice.” He sighs, crossing his arms across his chest. 

A soft, but sad smile graces Mary’s lips, and she leans back.

“Well then, I’m very proud of you.” Dean starts to smile, but it doesn’t fully form. He looks across at his mother. “What?” She offers him back a similar smile.

“Just sounds like the two of you may have come together at the right time is all.” Dean frowns as he hears the telltale creak of pipes as the water upstairs shuts off.  

“What does that mean?” He huffs. 

“Well it sounds like she’s going through some big life changes, and so are you.” She offers gently. 

“Oh here we go.” Dean rolls his eyes, his fists tightening.

“Huff and pout all you want, Dean.” Mary chastises her oldest son, who was always the most stubborn of her two boys. “But I think it’s nice that you two found each other when you're both going through a difficult time.” Dean fights the urge to roll his eyes again, knowing if he does, it will draw another chide from his mother. 

“Fine,” he concedes. “It’s nice.” He placates his mother, hoping to end the conversation.

He’s not a charity case. He’s going through a divorce, just like 50% of married people. He’s not the first and he’s certainly not the last. He doesn’t need her pity. Or yours. Not that you’ve offered it. 

Soft footsteps echo overhead, Y/N likely padding down the hallway back to her room. Probably in nothing but a towel. 

“It’s just nice to see you happy again, Dean. Been a while since I’ve seen it.” Dean unfurls at her words, his body slumping with a sigh. 

He’s being a dick. To his mother. 

What an asshole.

He runs his hand down his face again. 

Mary stands and steps around the coffee table, stopping in front of her sullen son. She rests a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Don’t fight something nice just because you don’t think you deserve it.” She gives him a squeeze. After a moment, she steps away with a pat to his shoulder before she goes.

“I’m going to run to the store and pick up dinner. Any requests?” Dean opens his mouth. “Besides pie.” Mary beats him to it. 

“All good.” Mary nods her head.

“I’ll be back in a little bit.” This time, Dean nods, quietly listening as Mary grabs her keys from the kitchen before stepping out the front door. 

He hears Y/N move about upstairs again as Mary’s car comes to life in the driveway.

But Dean just relaxes on the couch, rests his head back, and closes his eyes.

Forever Tags

@iprobablyshipit91�� @likesiriusly @kittyque @findingfitnessforme @wonderange @captainemwinchester @xtina2191 @smoothdogsgirl @mogaruke @chin-up-love @tsunadesenjuuchiha @lyarr24 @globetrotter28 @krazykelly @roseblue373 @k-slla @stephv213 @kaydallas21 @nerdymuffinbonkcloud @magssteenkamp 

#dean x reader #dean winchester #dean imagine #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #dean x y/n #dean winchester fanfiction #the guest house

[beebopboom]

Acrostic ✨Clues ✨

(ok I’m just going to be upfront and say I don’t know if I understand this concept fully and if I’m using it correctly- so like if this like wildly wrong pls tell me and then we can both forget this happened lol)

So a neat little thing Good Omens did for the promo for s2 was create some character playlist.

Very quickly though it was discovered that each and every one of them contained a hidden clue word. By taking the first letter of the first word of the song a word related to the character would emerge. For the two examples below the words were “Ineffable” and “Tempting”.

Now this technique is called Acrostic,

Acrostic - a composition usually in verse in which sets of letters (such as the initial or final letters of the lines) taken in order form a word or phrase or a regular sequence of letters of the alphabet

it’s a technique mostly seen in poems to contain hidden words, often the authors name.

but I wouldn’t be bringing this back up if it wasn’t for nothing and that’s because we see this technique in the show as well.

When Jim is really embodying his role as Assistant Bookseller he takes it upon himself to reorganize the books by the first letter of the first word of the first sentence - sounds familiar.

Except he’s doing alphabetically not to contain a hidden word you say? 

Well hold on to that real quick while I point out another clue Jimbriel says,

“There will come a tempest, and darkness, and great storms. And the dead will leave their graves and walk the earth once more. And there will be great lamentations."

Well now that I brought that quote back to your attention we are just going to focus on one particular word, Lamentations.

because what if I told you that the first four poems in the Book of Lamentations are written in an acrostic style.

Not just any style either but where each poetic verse begins with a letter of the Hebrew Alphabet. 

Now the Book of Lamentations is separated into five poems from different pov’s about the destruction of Jerusalem in 587 B.C. by the Babylonians.

The organization and rigid structure to the first four poems was really meant to contrast from the grief and disorder the people were going through. Structure that the last poem loses. Hm Interesting.

(we are not going to be looking into what this book is about I am just pointing out structure similarities here)

Expect this not the only way this structure can be used.

Acrostic structure’s are also often used as a mnemonic device. This is a learning technique that helps with memory retrieval or retention by associating things with something easier to remember, like say trigger words.

So then is it really a surprise that Jim, our Amnesiac Archangel, keeps using this structure subconsciously?

#god i really hope i am using this right #most of this is already known I just (personally) discovered a new word and got excited #acrostic #good omens #good omens 2 #aziraphale #crowley #archangel fucking gabriel #archangel gabriel #good omens gabriel #jimbriel #good omens playlist #good omens clues #good omens meta #good omens speculation #good omens analysis #book of lamentations

[ell-arts]

I wanna theorise the Ghost Gang's ages

I think it's widely accepted that the Ghost Gang are believed to be kids, or at least the same age as the Pac trio. Their exact ages are never mentioned of course, but it has never really been brought into questioning either.

It's often a point of interest when fans talk about the Pacworld Wars or the Repository - either that Betrayus was cruel enough to enrol children to fight in his army, or that Stratos/The Freedom Fighters were cruel for supposedly allowing children to be sent to the Nether.

I've thought about this a few times, also as someone who saw the Ghost Gang as teens, but recently I've looked a bit more closely at the semantics of it all, and it's led me to this one big question:

Why are we assuming that the Ghost Gang ARE children?

Don't get me wrong, we have good reasons to believe they are.

They sound young

They often display childish or immature behaviour

They're familiar enough with the Pac trio to get along in ways that teenage friends would

Pinky has a crush on Pac, so we assume that they are both at least the same age...unless Pinky is a closet cougar.

But when you think about it, these traits can sometimes carry over into adulthood and do not always indicate child-like or teenage behaviour.

I've thought more on the matter, and I've come to realise that we also have a few reasons to believe that the Ghost Gang are in fact adults, or at least young adults.

Blinky is a Pac-Fu Master. The art of Pac-Fu is considered a powerful form of martial arts, supposedly more powerful than Kung Fu, and thus would take years to master. I highly doubt that a child would be able to reach Pac-Fu Mastery before becoming an adult, unless its a child prodigy. I think its safe to assume that Blinky spent several years mastering the art in order for him to reach Master level, so it makes more sense for him to be an adult. A young adult, at the very least.

Clyde speaks 9 languages. For a person to learn new languages, they have to reach an age of proficient academic understanding and dedicate some years to be able to speak multiple languages. According to google, it takes 2-3 years to become fluent in a new language. Multiply that with Clyde's languages, and he must be at least 27 years old. A loophole to this theory would be if Clyde learned all of his new languages in the Netherworld after he became a ghost.

Perhaps a gray area, but Pinky did allude to having a very busy social life. This could mean many things; either she's a teen who just likes to socialise or she's a young adult that likes to socialise. Leaning a bit more towards the latter, it could be that she's independent/old enough to make her own choices regarding dating and maintaining her busy social life (even though she spends most of her time with the boys).

A bit of a messy point, but it doesn't make a lot of sense for the Freedom Fighters to deliberately allow children to be turned into ghosts. These guys fought for freedom against Betrayus' war and tyranny, and good people like Zac, Sunny, Sir C, Spheria, etc were all part of the side that fought against Betrayus. Compare the Freedom Fighters with Betrayus and his army, and it's more likely that the Freedom Fighters would've opposed sending children to the Nether. So how did the Ghost Gang end up bodystripped? Probably because they weren't children, but were old enough to join Betrayus' army and thus face the consequences of such a choice. This makes it all the more likely that the Ghost Gang are young adults, between the ages of 18-30.

In the real world, some countries allow citizens to become part of the army as early as the age of 16. If we apply this to Pacworld, then we can stretch the perimeters a bit and speculate that the Ghost Gang are between the ages of 16-30. It would definitely make more sense in Inky and Pinky's case, who seem to act the youngest/least mature out of the four.

The Pacworld Wars and the politics surrounding who got bodystripped, and the bodystripping/soul-extraction matter itself, is quite the can of worms. For me, knowing all that we know, it would make more sense for the Ghost Gang to be young adults. They would be within the age of enforced enrollment in Betrayus' military, and that subsequently puts them in the same category of soldiers to be bodystripped.

What do you guys think? Am I reaching too far with this theory? xD

With all that being said, here is a ROUGH estimate on how I hc the Ghost Gang's ages to be, slightly tweaked from my previous guesses:

Blinky - 23

Pinky - 16

Inky - 18

Clyde - 27

Again, this is just a theory! If the Ghost Gang are legit teens, then they're teens I guess. This is just me trying to plug in the holes in the story for why children were fighting in the war in the first place - and send to the Nether in the first place.

#pmatga #pacman and the ghostly adventures #pmatga headcanon #ghost gang #pinky #inky #blinky #clyde #inky pinky blinky clyde #betrayus

[power-handmaiden]

Day 149: Not Pounded At The Last Second Because Consent Can Be Given And Revoked At Any Moment And This Is A Wonderful Thing That’s Important To Understand

Here's a romance story that's just as sweet as you'd expect from the title. This one really drives the point across by following the structure of the sexual tinglers that make up most of Dr. Tingle's catalogue. There's the set-up and introduction of the love interest, the spark of attraction, and even some very explicit description of physical arousal- and I think it's smart that this story didn't shy away from that just because it's in the "no-sex" category. (Not that I would expect any different- but, if it were a different author than Dr. Tingle...)

As a big tingler reader I was very interested in how it played with the device that's come up in meta tinglers before, where the main character realizes that he has to have sex at some point because he's in an erotic novel. This may sound strange coming from me- I took on this project so obviously I'm someone who loves reading stories with sex in them- but in light of how it has played out in the past when this "inevitability" of sex in a tingler was brought up, it was really uplifting to see the protagonist of this one stay true to his own feelings and prove love in his own way.

Also, we've got a Tingleverse Connection again; the rafting in this story takes place on the very same river as Saturday Pounds Me In The Butt! (Reading this one, I patted myself on the back for seeing the reference coming from the beginning of the story, not gonna lie.)

#2024 tingles my butt #chuck tingle

[tapedeckshoard]

Hello there lovely! I know you said mostly human centered so I'll leave a human alternative beneath this one if you don't feel up to it ^^

But the basic concept goes like this, Decepticon Reader (GN) is captured by the Autobots for intel. They refuse to spill which leads to interrogations, after which Ratchet typically patches them up. I'm thinking good old enemies to lovers, and as a bonus I think its more fun if reader is on the "crazy" side. As in, the smiley-type with a unnerving tiny amount of sadism.

If your not feeling up to it then simple headcanons revolving around a Human Decepticon reader with Kleptomania is also fine. Take your time with these darling <3

-🩹

Oooo, interesting idea! I tried my best! It's more enemies than enemies to lovers but oh well! This was fun to write! I kind of ran out of steam near the end. . .

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Patching Up

Ratchet x GN!Cybertronian!Reader

SFW

1852 Words

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You never pegged the Autobots as the sort to do interrogations. Violent ones, at least. But you supposed war brings out the worst in everyone, including those like the bots standing before you. How long had this been going on? You hadn’t bothered to keep track. It’s not like it mattered. You were trapped here until you either managed to escape, died, or by some miracle, Megatron decided to save you. You sincerely doubted the third option was happening. So that left two.

The first option was preferred. Escaping would allow you to get away with your spark still intact. But the Autobots were deceptively good at keeping you contained. When you weren’t getting scolded for information, they kept you locked in a warehouse storage unit of sorts, something you noticed they had a lot of in their base of operations. Normally, you’d be able to bust out with no problems, but they reinforced the thing, making the door nearly impossible to break. Not that your servos were free to break them. Cuffs kept them firmly together. You were just thankful cuffs were all they put on you.

Of course, there was always the second option. Dying wasn’t the ideal solution, but at least it would get you out of this situation. And who knows? Maybe Primus would be a better conversationalist than these Autobots. 

You slumped against the wall, helm clicking against the hard concrete behind you. Above all, being a prisoner was boring. You supposed that was the point. Keeping you locked alone for long periods of time, only to drag you out and interrogate you until they got bored of you. 

They were no strangers to violence, either. They tried to keep up their calm facade. But when push came to shove, they were no different than your faction. You had the gashes to prove it. 

Energon stained your exterior, metal bent and faded, wires shoved out of place.

It was a miracle you hadn’t fully shut down. Well, you supposed you shouldn’t call it a miracle. The Autobot medic kept you well enough to continue the interrogations. He barely spoke to you, optics staring at whatever injury he was working on at the moment.

You tried to get under his skin, tease him a bit, but that only led to him cutting his operations short and leaving you to leak energon. So you learned to keep your mouth shut.

After months of this nonsense, you knew Megatron was never going to save you. He probably thought you had already perished. And you also knew that the Autobots were not going to stop their interrogations, either. And with Ratchet constantly patching you up, you weren’t dying anytime soon. 

All of these thoughts led you to come to one conclusion. You either had to give up the information, or die. 

You stood up, pushing yourself off the wall. You banged your cuffs against the door of your makeshift cell.

“Hey!” you called out, loud enough that you knew they could hear. “I’ll talk! Just let me out of here!”

It didn’t take long for you to be dragged out of your cell, Bulkhead pushing your back any time you paused or lost pace with the others. They kept your cuffs on, all optics on you as you were brought to the main silo.

“You wish to disclose what you know?” Optimus questioned you, optics narrowed skeptically. 

“Do I really have a choice here?” you spat back, leading Bulkhead to nudge your back none-too-gently. You growled, shooting him a glare. “Push me again, and I’ll bite your arm off,” you threatened.

Bulkhead reared his servo back, ready to strike, before Ratchet intervened.

“Can we focus here?” he snapped out, looking between you and Bulkhead angrily. He focused on you. “We’ve been at this for cycles. Why change your mind now?” 

“I’m not allowed to change my mind?” you questioned almost teasingly, barely stifling a smirk.

“I don’t believe you,” Ratchet replied, crossing his arms stubbornly. 

“What? You don’t trust me?” 

“You know I don’t,” Ratchet sneered. 

You faked a frown. “You’ve been patching me up for cycles. And not once have I tried to end your life. And you know I could if I wanted to.” 

“You’re not stupid enough to make an attempt on my life, you’d have nowhere to run.”

“You think I’m smart?” you cooed out. “D’aww, thanks.”

“Enough,” Optimus demanded, and the room fell silent. You weren’t crazy enough to interrupt a Prime. “Will you reveal the information we seek?”

You scoffed. “Fine. What do you want to know?” 

“The location of the Decepticon warship,” Ratchet told you. You shot him a look. 

“The sky, probably,” you snarked out. 

“We know you have the ability to find the Decepticon warship. You’re the best tracker the Decepticons have,” Ratchet pointed out. 

“I used to have the ability,” you replied with a huff. “Now? Who knows. It’s not like I’ve had the time to brush up on my tracking skills.”

“Will you make the attempt or not?” Ratchet snapped at you, clearly growing tired of your snark. 

You rolled your optics. “Fine,” you told him. You looked around, spotting the Autobots’ pathetic excuse for a computer system. “I’ll need access to that piece of scrap. Give me a few cycles, and I’ll have the location pinpointed, at least temporarily.” 

It was hard to work with an Autobot constantly hovering around you. You knew they didn’t trust you. They wanted to make sure you weren’t sending some sort of signal to the Decepticons. Not that you would. At least not now. Maybe back when you first got captured, but you grew to realize that your fellow Decepticons did not care about you. You were another cog in the machine. 

You let your annoyance fuel you, your desire for revenge against those who had led you rot in this silo.

Most of the time, the bot watching you was Ratchet. The others still had duties to attend to. They came and went, but Ratchet stayed. You grew used to his presence. He didn’t talk much, which was a relief. The only time he spoke was if he suspected you were up to something. But that became less and less frequent.

It was quiet, save for the sound of your digits tapping against the digital keyboard. The others were not present, so it left just you and Ratchet. He hovered behind you, as always.

“I’ve found it,” you spoke up, breaking the silence, watching the blinking dot on the screen coast lazily across the sky. 

Ratchet looked past you, optics scanning the information. “Hmph,” he finally said after a moment of silence. “Took you long enough.”

You turned, scowling at him. “I did it, didn’t I?” you snapped.

He looked at you skeptically. “Yes, I suppose you did,” he murmured.

You huffed, walking away from the screens you’d been stationed at for the longest time. “I’ve done my job,” you told him. “Am I free to go?”

“Free to go where?” Ratchet replied. “You’ve betrayed the Decepticons. You’ll be melted down for scrap if you return.”

“Anywhere but here,” you spat.

Ratchet huffed incredulously. “You think we’re going to just let you leave?”

Your steps were hard against the silo floor as you marched up to him, close enough to reach out and strangle him. “Who is going to stop me?” you questioned.

Ratchet didn’t back down, meeting your heated gaze. You watched his servos ball into fists at his sides. “You will remain here until Optimus and the others return.”

Before you realized what you were doing, you raced forward, using your body weight to throw him onto the floor. You stumbled atop him, quickly caging him underneath you. Your weapon activated, and you pointed it directly at his spark.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you snarled.

Ratchet was stunned for a few moments before attempting to push you off of him. You didn’t budge.

His optics narrowed, and you felt a burning sensation on your side, realizing he’d activated his welder. You could smell burning metal. 

You scurried off of him, clutching your side, feeling the residual heat still lingering. 

He stumbled, regaining his footing, and you two stared at each other, nobody making the next move. You walked slowly around him.

“You’re injured,” he pointed out, making you scowl.

“And whose fault is that?” 

“You attacked me first.”

You scoffed. “I may not be a Decepticon anymore, but I am not an Autobot. And I refuse to stay in this silo any longer.” 

“That decision is not yours to make,” he replied.

You wanted to tackle him again, but you didn’t. This entire fight was stupid. Even if you managed to fight your way outside the silo, you couldn’t get far without the Autobots on your tail. They’d just drag you back here.

You huffed, turning your back. You stormed over to a medical berth, sitting down stubbornly. “Fine.”

He followed behind you, optics trained on the burn he’d given you during your fight. 

You noticed and shot him a dirty look. “Admiring your handiwork?” you spat.

“Let me take a look,” he said.

You kept your servos firmly covering most of the melted metal. “Why?”

“I should make sure you aren’t permanently injured.”

You wanted to tell him to leave you alone, but you also knew that he was a medic, and that you shouldn’t let your anger get in the way of him looking at an injury. You knew he was skilled at patching you up. He’d shown that before.

You begrudgingly moved your servos, optics trained on the burnt and melted metal staining your side.

He crouched down, looking over the injury. “Does it hurt?” 

You fought back a humorless laugh. “Yes, it hurts.”

“It’s still burning, then,” he concludes. “I need to cool down the injury.”

“Then quit talking and do it,” you told him, annoyed. 

He pulls a metal tin from his subspace, opening the cap and pouring some of the clear salve onto his servo. “Are you going to kill me if I apply this?” he asked you.

You huffed, making sure your servos were fully clear of your injury as you shot him a glare. “I’m still deciding,” you hissed.

The paste was cold, but it did get rid of the burning sensation that plagued your exterior. You let out a quiet sigh. “Thanks,” you murmured out, almost inaudible. “I guess.” 

He scoffed. “I’m a medic, it’s my job.” 

“Yeah, well, you’d be surprised at the amount of ‘cons who don’t do their job,” you quipped, rolling your optics. 

“No, I wouldn’t,” he replied. 

You shot him a glare. Just because you weren’t a Decepticon doesn’t mean you’d stand for him slandering your former allies. Even when you brought it up in the first place.

“Anyway,” you said. “Does this mean you’re going to shove me back in that cell now that I’ve pinpointed the warship for you?” 

“I don’t think I could even if I wanted to.”

You hummed, a small smirk appearing on your lips. “You got that right.” 

#macaddam #transformers #writing #fanfiction #transformers x reader #writers on tumblr #tfp x reader #tfp #ratchet #ratchet transformers #ratchet tfp #ratchet x reader #maccadam #tfp ratchet #transformers prime #cybertronian!reader #gn!reader #i also made the gif

[therealcocoshady]

Recovery - Chapter 37

Eminem x Female Reader Fanfiction

Synopsis : Em starts therapy. Reader is organizing Jamal and Talia's wedding. A track gets leaked., causing Jamal to be angry at Em.

MARSHALL’S POV

Marshall was rather nervous when he sat in the chair in his therapist’s office. In the past decade, he had made a point to avoid therapy as much as he could, only committing to the bare minimum. Technically, he was seeing a therapist but, from the very beginning of their session, he had made it clear that he did not really want to go over his whole life story, over-analyzing his relationship with his mother or whatever therapists were usually interested in. So, for more than fifteen years, the sessions focused solely on his addiction management and potential triggers. Anything that was not related, he deemed irrelevant and, at some point, his therapist gave up on trying to get him to talk about his childhood or going in depth on his feelings. And so far, it had worked out pretty well for him. He was sober for more than sixteen years now and, if it were not for fear of losing the woman he loved, he would gladly stick to the usual agenda. But it was Y/N, and the thought of losing her over something as stupid as his trauma was making him sick to his stomach, so when she asked if he would consider therapy, he reluctantly accepted. As painful as a two hour session talking about the neglect he experienced in his youth seemed, he knew It wouldn’t compare to the pain of having the woman he loved leaving him. And even if if didn’t come to that, he didn’t want to hurt her, in any way, shape of form. He had fucked up big time and he knew it. 

When he called his therapist’s office to request an emergency session, he was greeted with urgency and the secretary immediately put him through with Dr Hanson, who immediately asked if there was a relapse. And why wouldn’t she ? When a patient’s been refractory for years, there can only be so many reasons why they’d be so eager to have a session. He said he hadn’t relapsed, just « relationship stuff » he needed to figure out and it was enough for the therapist to open her practice earlier on a Monday morning after Thanksgiving. Dr Hanson had been trying to get him to open up for years but he had always refused, considering his music to be his best form of therapy. When he walked in and sat in the chair, he was greeted with a smile. 

Good morning Marshall, Dr Hanson said. 

‘Morning, Doc. Thanks for the quick appointment, he replied with genuine gratefulness. 

Well it’s not every day that one of your oldest patient decides to open up out of the blue, is it ? She grinned. 

Well, it took fifteen years but you finally get what you wanted, he shrugged. 

So, Marshall, what brings you in today ? She asked. 

He took a second to respond. He knew what brought him in but filling her in with so many details about his personal life felt foreign. He had a great working relationship with Dr Hanson, but it had always been on a need to know basis. Now, though, he knew the whole thing would need dissecting. He hummed and chose his words carefully. 

I, uh… Snapped at my partner, he explained. We managed to talk it out but she said something about unresolved trauma I shouldn’t take on her, so… Here I am. Trying to make things right. I don’t want it to happen again. 

Dr Hanson stayed silent for a split second and looked at him from behind her glasses. She brought her hand to her mouth, noted something on her notepad and smiled. 

Looks like Christmas came early, this year, she said with a smirk. Can you go over the events for me ? 

______

TWO WEEKS LATER 

Y/N’s POV 

The weeks following Thanksgiving were nothing short of heavenly. You were feeling at home in the house, you adopted the cutest cat, Talia and Jamal’s wedding was coming together and Marshall was more attentive than ever. You knew he went to see his therapist a couple times a week, though you didn’t pry and ask for much details about their sessions. However, from what you gathered, it seemed to work well for him. In his conversations with you, he seemed more analytical about his own feelings, even talking to you about how he felt about certain things. The two of you had always had good talks, but he was opening up more than ever. And on top of that, he was extremely vocal about how much he appreciated you, lavishing you with praises, telling you how thankful he was whenever you did the smallest thing for him. You had no idea who his therapist was but, if you could, you’d send them gifts. Seeing your boyfriend at peace with his feelings was satisfying, and it didn’t hurt that he was consciously trying to make it up to you. In his own words, he wanted to be « the man you deserve ». Every night, when he was coming home, you were excited to see him and share your progress on the wedding. You knew he didn’t really like all that stuff, but he was supportive of your endeavors. He was even the one who came up with an idea for the venue. One night, he took you on a drive to a lovely place, near the area where you lived. He pointed to a gorgeous house. Well, actually, it was more of a manor. It had an English vibes, rustic yet elegant. 

What do you think ? He asked. 

That’s gorgeous ! You said. It fits right within the wedding theme ! It looks just like the one on the mood board Talia made the other week ! 

I know, he grinned. I was driving in the area with Paul for an appointment the other day and I saw it was for sale. I called the real estate agency and they might be able to convince the seller to lease it for the event, if Talia and Jamal like it. 

They’re going to love it, you assured him. It’s exactly what they want for the ceremony. Cosy, small, intimate… Do you think we can plan a visit ?

Realtor’s inside, he said with a smile. That’s why I brought you here. 

You’re the best ! 

I know you’ve been working your ass off for the wedding and struggled to find a venue, so I thought I’d help, he shrugged.

You placed a kiss on your cheek and exited the car. The place was stunning, big enough and ticked all the boxes. You were under the spell of the house, that resembled the one you always dreamed of living in when you were a little girl. It had a big, beautiful flower garden in the back, ivy was climbing around the big widows and there was a beautiful fireplace. Marshall could tell you liked the place a bit too much and teased you. 

Don’t get too excited, it’s for Jamal and Talia’s wedding, not for us to move in, he chuckled. 

I know, you said with a smile. I like your house just fine, you know ? I just really like the vibe of this one. Besides, I know you could never live here. 

Why is that ? He asked with a raised eyebrow. 

You like your own house too much, you pointed out. Plus, this one is not located in an area that’s secure enough. 

It’s your house too, you know ? He said. You keep on saying it’s my house but… You live there too.

I know, you said. I’m starting to feel more and more at home. It just takes a minute.

You know, if there are any features you like in this house, we can also make some changes to our house. I want you to be happy, he commented. 

No need, you assured him. As long as I have you, I’m good. 

It was the truth. You were incredibly thankful for the house you lived in and you knew how attached Marshall was to this place. He’d been living there for so long, you didn’t want to intrude. Plus, as long as you had him, you knew you could feel at home everywhere, eventually. Besides, who would complain about living in a literal mansion ? No one. You did not give it a second thought but, the next day, Marshall surprised you by handing you the card of an interior designer. 

What’s that ? You asked. 

I’ve been thinking, he said. I saw how excited you were about the house we visited yesterday, how you kept saying you dreamt of living in that kind of place when you were younger… I want you to feel at home, here, I really do. And my therapist says I need to… How did she say it ? Make actual space for you. So, I was thinking that, if you want, you could redecorate a little ? 

Are you sure ? 

Babe, I’ve owned this place for almost two decades and a lot of the rooms could use a little update, he chuckled. I don’t really care about the whole home decor thing, honestly. I could go another twenty years without changing much. But this is your home and I want you to enjoy the space, not only feel content with it, you know what I’m saying ? If I recall, we agreed that you’d have your own room, like home office or whatever, when I asked you to move in. Why don’t you start here ? 

Could I make it a reading room ? You asked with excitement. With big bookshelves ? And a big chair ? 

Whatever you want, he said with a genuine smile. The interior designer will make your dreams happen. 

I love you ! Thank you thank you thank you ! 

You hugged him tightly and he whispered sweet words in your ear, like how grateful he was for you and your presence in his life, and how he wanted nothing but to make you happy. You were over the moon, impressed by his generosity and commitment to you. You were on cloud nine, imagining your very own reading room in which you could simply curl up with a good book and a blanket while sipping tea, living your introvert life to the fullest. 

In the following days, you took Talia to see the house Marshall had taken you to and she absolutely loved it. Thanks to your amazing boyfriend, they finally had a venue. The two of you also went dress shopping. Your best friend found the right dress very easily. To be fair, the two of you had spent enough time imagining the perfect wedding dress so she had a good idea of what she wanted. The whole thing was almost disappointing : the two of you had imagined that she would have to try on at least fifteen different dresses to find the right one, but it took only two. It was absolutely gorgeous and Talia looked regal in it. The dress was definitely over the top but it was more than fitting with her personality. The two of you had made a lengthy appointment with the store consultant and it seemed like your best friend had not had her fill of wedding dresses fittings, yet. 

How about you try one, Y/N ? She suggested. 

No way, you said. This is your day. You try another one. 

Any other dress would look pale in comparison, she said. I found the one. I feel it in my bones. Just… Indulge me, will you ? 

I’m not getting married, you reminded her. 

All the more reason, she pleaded. If you don’t try one now, you’ll never see yourself in a wedding dress ! Please ?! It’s my big day, you said it. And as my best friend, I think you should oblige me… 

You have a weird way of being a bridezilla, you commented. But sure, whatever… 

You didn’t really see the point. To you, it was weird. A lot of brides would have found it disrespectful if their friend decided to randomly try on wedding dresses on the day of their fitting but Talia was pushing for you to do it. Eventually, you caved in and obliged her. She immediately called the sales assistant, to whom you had to describe your ideal dress. It occurred to you that it was a good thing you weren’t getting married, because you were incredibly specific. You wanted a dress that was simple, elegant and understated, but not plain. You didn’t want it to be revealing but you didn’t want to look like a nun either. You thought it would be impossible to find but the woman came with three dresses for you to try on. As soon as you tried the first one, you felt like it was a costume you put on. It felt too much and wholly unnatural, though the dress was gorgeous. The second dress was nice but not « you » at all. You were practically begging to stop but Talia was having too much fun, claiming this was the moment you were always supposed to share so you happily indulged her by trying on the last dress. And, much to your surprise, magic happened. It was the ultimate dress, the one that you would have chosen, if you had been meant to get married. You were feeling like a princess and Talia even teared up a little. 

Why are you crying ? You asked. 

You-you’re just so beautiful, she said. That’s your forever dress. Right here. 

I’m not having a forever dress, remember ? You said with a small smile. Marshall…

…Is an idiot, that’s what he is, she said as she kept on crying. I can’t bear the idea of you doing all these nice things for my wedding and knowing I will never be your maid of honor and return the favor  because Em is too stubborn to give you what you deserve ! 

I should be the one crying about it, not you, you pointed out with a chuckle. I’m fine, I swear. He is amazing and I have all that I want. 

I’m pregnant and hormonal, that’s all, she said reassuringly. But you’re so beautiful. You should buy it ! 

Tay, this dress is way too expensive and… It’s not like I’m going to wear it around the house, right ? You giggled. 

Ok, but at least let me take pictures ? Because I want to remember the day I finally got to try on wedding dresses with my best friend ! She begged. 

Sure, you giggled. 

You didn’t mind wearing the dress a little longer. It was kind of fun. A voice in the back of your mind was telling you to savor the moment, because it was, indeed, your only chance to wear a wedding dress. You were incredibly thankful to have such a thoughtful best friend to give you this experience. 

Remind me to slap Em, she said. 

Why ? You giggled. 

Because he’s not only robbing you of your dream wedding, he is also robbing me of the greatest day as maid of honor ! 

I’m having just as much fun planning your wedding, you assured her. 

Quit it, she almost groaned. It’s not a pageant speech, you don’t have to play the Disney princess. And he’s not here to hear you, we can bitch about him ! 

I’ll admit I would have loved getting married, you said. Not right now, it’s too early, but knowing it could happen… 

You see, it’s good to hate a little, she grinned. 

But, I don’t know, I guess he has his own trauma, you shrugged. Two failed marriages with the same person must have been tough. I understand not wanting a third one. God, his therapist must have fun… 

You managed to send that man to therapy ? She asked with a raised eyebrow. 

Yeah, we had a little argument, you said. No big deal. But it sparked a conversation about therapy and he agreed to give it a try. 

Well, maybe he will work on his fear of commitment then, she pointed out. 

I don’t think it’s about commitment, you said earnestly. I think he’s very committed to me. He says so himself. 

I’ll circle back to what I said : Em is the most stupid man I have ever met. God, I always knew men were stupid but this one… 

You giggled. Talia was your ultimate ride or die and you knew that if you told her more about the argument you had with him, she would have his head. But to you, it was in the past and Marshall had been so amazing, so attentive and romantic lately that you didn’t feel like bringing it up. After you were done trying on dresses, you joined the guys at the studio. It was your first time going back since you moved back to the US and you were really excited. You found the guys talking in the lobby, happy to see you. 

Look who’s here, Porter said with a smile. Hi boss ! 

Are you really calling me boss ? You asked with a giggle. 

Well, Marshall is our boss and you’re his boss, so technically…

She’s not my boss, Marshall chuckled. 

Right, Royce chuckled. You can lie to yourself but not to us, man. 

I like the sound of that, Talia grinned. 

How was the wedding dress appointment ? Jamal asked. Did you find something ? 

I did ! Your best friend said with excitement. Y/N found her dream dress too ! 

Talia, you scolded with a laugh. 

What ?! Talia asked. It’s true. And you looked perfect in it ! Didn’t she, Em ? 

Marshall simply sighed at her and rolled his eyes with a smile. 

Don’t tell me you sent a pic ?! You asked her. 

What ? She replied innocently. Merely showing that man what he’s missing… 

You did look incredible, Marshall said as he kissed your temple. 

Sorry about her, you said apologetically. She’s the one who convinced me… 

Don’t you dare apologize, Talia said. Someone has to show him how stupid he’s being. 

Talia, please don’t start, Marshall groaned. 

Oh, I will start, she warned. I don’t understand how stubborn you’re being about this ! 

Jamal, please reason your wife to be, your boyfriend groaned. 

Man, Y/N is your boss and Talia is mine, Jamal chuckled. I’m not dumb enough to argue… 

I’m just saying Y/N’s finger could use a diamond on it, Talia argued with a smile. She’s worth it, isn’t she ? 

If that’s about the diamonds, she’s got nine other fingers, Marshall said with a smirk. And I fully intend on putting a ring on each and every one of them. Now, I appreciate the pictures of my girl looking absolutely stunning in a white dress, but you should worry about your own wedding, Talia. 

Men are dumb, Talia sighed. 

What the hell did we do ? Porter asked. He’s being dumb, leave the rest of us alone ! 

Don’t start either, your boyfriend warned him. 

You giggled and let your head roll on your boyfriend’s shoulder, enjoying his presence. You loved being home with him, but the studio had a vibe you particularly enjoyed, probably because it was where you met Marshall. You had fun for the rest of the afternoon, hanging out with everyone. Talia seemed a bit moody about Marshall not caving in on the topic of marriage and you were not so sure why. You assumed she was just moody in general, which you could probably blame on pregnancy. She had a knack for being dramatic and hormones probably didn’t help too much in that department. If memory served, you’d been an emotional mess in your first trimester so you weren’t going to judge… In the car ride home, Marshall brought it up. 

So… Talia was a handful, he chuckled. 

I’m sorry about her, you said. I think she’s stressed out about the wedding and a bit disappointed that she won’t be able to reciprocate the whole maid of honor thing. And, you know, hormones… 

Right, he said. But… Are you alright ? 

I am, you said with a genuine smile. I had fun today. Probably enjoyed trying on this dress more than I should have, I’ll admit. 

Look… Maybe we need to talk about the whole marriage thing, he said nervously. I… The reason why I can’t get married is because-

Marshall, you don’t owe me any type of explanation, you said reassuringly. You’ve been married to Kim twice, you have your own trauma and I know it has nothing to do with me. 

You do ? He asked. 

Look… I see all the efforts you’ve made for me, you said. We got the cat I wanted. You’re letting me redecorate a room in your house. You started therapy. You’re even helping me with Talia and Jamal’s wedding. I know you love me. 

I do, he said with a smile. I’m in love with you. 

And don’t think I didn’t hear what you said about me having nine other fingers you could put a ring on, you grinned. I do enjoy a good piece of jewelry. 

Noted, he chuckled. Thank you for understanding, baby. 

He seemed relieved about the fact that you didn’t press him to talk about the topic. As far as you were concerned, you were trying not to think about it too much. And everything you said was true : you were truly grateful for his efforts during the past weeks and wanted to respect his choices as much as possible. The two of you enjoyed your evening, cuddling with your cat, who seemed to despise Marshall. The next morning, you were awaken by the doorbell. Someone was putting all their energy into ringing, way too early in the morning. 

Mind getting the door while I’m getting dressed ? Marshall asked with a groan. I swear, if it’s the damn neighbor about her stupid bake sale again… 

I’ll get it, you said with a yawn. She’s been annoying me too, you know ? And it’s not even 7AM… Who does that ?! 

That woman is crazy, he sighed. Met her twenty years ago and she was already a nightmare. She was convinced I’d bring drugs and crime into her precious neighborhood. Even warned me that she’d call the cops if she saw prostitutes around… 

You giggled and went to open the door, ready to tell Mrs Davis to leave you alone. But much to your surprise, you were greeted my Jamal’s face. He was not smiling as usual, immediately telling you that something was wrong. 

What’s up, Jamal ? You asked. What are you doing here so early ? Its there anything wrong ? Is it about Talia ? The baby…?

Em here ? He asked dryly. 

Yeah he’s getting dressed…, you replied. Oh, there he is.

What’s up, man ? Marshall asked as he came to greet Jamal. 

YOU BETTER HAVE A GOOD FUCKING EXPLANATION, your friend immediately yelled at him. 

For what, man ?! Marshall asked confused. What the fuck are you going on about ? 

For the fucking track that got leaked last night ! Jamal yelled. Are you fucking serious ?! 

Wait…, Marshall began. 

Before Marshall could finish his sentence, Jamal hit him in the face. Your friend had an impressive stature and was usually a big teddy bear but, when he was furious, he was rather scary. Next thing you knew, the both of them were fighting, though, to be fair, Marshall was not putting up much of a fight. Jamal was much taller, much bigger than him. You had no choice but to get in there and try and separate them. 

Jamal, let go of him ! You pleaded. 

I’M GOING TO KILL YOU, YOU MOTHERFUCKER, Jamal screamed. 

What the fuck, man ?! Marshall asked as he was panting. 

Y/N, take your bags, Jamal directed. 

What the hell ?! You asked. It’s not even 7AM, Jamal ! You don’t get to barge in her-

I’m not leaving you with that psycho, Jamal spat. 

What the fuck ?! Marshall yelled. Babe, I have no idea what he’s talking about. 

YOU FUCKING NAME DROPPED HER IN A TRACK, YOU PIECE OF SHIT, Jamal yelled. YOU FUCKING RAPPED ABOUT TORTURING HER ! 

You looked at Marshall with a confused face. His face was bruised and scraped, definitely not a pretty sight. What was most shocking, though, was the look of terror on his face. 

Oh fuck, Marshall said under his breath. 

#eminem #marshall mathers #slim shady #eminem fanfiction #recovery fanfiction #eminem x reader #eminem fluff #marshall mathers x reader #marshall mathers imagine #eminem imagine

[itskattkm]

The air in my lungs

Chapter 8

Cairo Sweet x Fem Reader

Summary: A stroke of fate changes you and leads you into the arms of Cairo Sweet. Will she be your downfall or save you?

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, Grief, Injuries, Smoking, Trauma, anxiety, sexual content, student x teacher mentioned, harm, blackmailing, bad grammar

A/N: for my Cairo lovers. I’m sorry for not updating so long. Much is planned and the fic will be long! I wanted this chapter to be longer but since a few asked for new updates her it is my dears🧡 I’m having some days off now and hope to get some new chapters done. Have fun.

Masterlist | previous chapter | Next chapter

The pressure of the dash was massaging your back when you sat in the whirlpool with closed eyes and your head leaned back resting on the edge. When you entered the pool house you didn’t saw the whirlpool immediately, only when Cairo showed it to you. It was actually right beside the pool, in a corner and covered by many of plants. “You like plants and the color green right?” You asked. They were so beautiful and you wished you would now what they all were called.

Cairo was right by your side and watched you inspecting the plants “I do… I also like bugs, beetles and spiders” you laughed and sighed looking at her “spiders?” Cairo nodded and shrugged her shoulders saying “yeah…”. You grinned wide and shook your head. This made Cairo curious “are you afraid of spiders?” She asked teasing. You looked serious at her but your eyes were still showing the joy you felt “I hate them… but somehow they love me. I could call myself spider man… or well spider woman” this made Cairo laugh.

You sat up and turned towards her “I’m serious! They follow me everywhere and I find them in the craziest places without even trying. It’s like an instinct. I look into a direction? Boom there’s a spider… the house is empty? My bedroom is their hotspot… even my car. I once jumped out of my car while trying to drive, because of a spider”

Cairos eyes widened and she tried to hold her laugh back “seriously?” You smirked and nodded “I was about to shift the gear to start driving. But a spider was sitting on the gear lever and then I just jumped out… making the car choke off” Cairo looked at you speechless wich made yourself giggle when you leaned back beside her.

“I already found three different spiders on those leafs” you said and pointed out with your finger into one direction. Cairo furrowed her brows and turned to look into that direction. And there she was. A Yellow garden ball weaver spider. Cairo was impressed. “Well… I love them” she said teasing and looked at you. You grinned “so my instinct maybe brought me right into your arms then? Or your attracted by my presence like the spiders”

She smiled wide and watched the spider crawling away “but why do you like them? And what’s about the color green? I see it everywhere. I know you have a green bag pack… headphones but this mansion? It’s like you’re living that color out…” you said curious and looked softly at her.

“Well green stands for things like harmony, stability, hope and nature in general… It always makes me feel relaxed and calm. Green is a color that is often underestimated. A lot of people always go for the colors red and blue when it comes to things like logos or colors of clothes. But green is a color that people don't think about much, and I like that. It's a nice and relaxing color. It just makes me feel so calm when I see it now. It's just that simple!"

Y/n nodded and said in a calm tone “it really is underestimated. Did you know that our human eyes see 50% green, blue 25% and red 25%?”

This made Cairo smile and chuckle slight. She nodded and appreciated the fact that you showed interest and tried to have a conversation about her interests.

“And the spiders?” You asked again while putting your hand on her thigh.

“They make me feel safe. They make me feel like I can relate to them. When people see spiders.. they are always scared and they always try to kill them or stay away from them. But when I see a spider I feel like I can trust it. Because I am the same way. I am a mysterious type of creature that people want to destroy." You looked at her with pure admiration and smiled about that comparison.

“I won’t kill you… I promise” you said a bit joking while moving your thumb in circles on her knee. The corners of her mouth quirked up, leaning in slowly “I really appreciate that”. Turning towards each other. The warmth of the water making your body feel so relaxed and comfortable in the moment.

Cairos body came closer and closer, you could feel her presence getting intensive. Her eyes were switching between your eyes and lips till they just remained at your lips. You were moistening your lips unintentionally, felling the heat coming from her body when she sat down in your lap. Her hands moving slowly and smooth on your shoulders just to hold your neck. Stunned. that was your reaction to that. You couldn’t even react properly cause in the next moment you felt Cairo pulling your hair so you would lean your head back, you did and her lips met yours. Fierce she made you almost gasp for air with the amount of passion she was using. It didn’t took her long to explore your mouth with her tongue and a soft moan escaped you.

Your hands rested on her hips. Pulling her closer, feeling a pulsing between your legs. Your body’s merged and you could smell the scent of vanilla, coffee and burned wood wich hit your nerves.

Lips found their place on Cairos pulse. You inhaled deeply, brushing her cold and soft skin with them. You were trembling. Her scent making you fall into a haze where nothing else mattered anymore. Just her.

Cairo felt your wet lips on her pulse, a shiver went down her spine, making her grind on your lap slowly. Breathing heavy you felt like something was missing. She reached out for your jaw and held it tight in her hand. You could see a flicker in her dark eyes, showing you the lust she was feeling. You felt so intimidated by her that you almost felt dysfunctional.

Still holding your jaw in her hand, she kissed you hard. Her saliva moistening both your lips before she bit into your lower lip. Quite sounds were leaving you, making you feel like you could explode by every touch. Her hand moving down your chest, going their way through your breast and resting on your stomach. She was caressing your body, moving herself as close to you as possible while her hips kept moving into your lap.

Your face was still held by her with the other hand. It was interesting how she was taking out all the air of your lungs but also managed to keep you breathing. Cairo was holding the band of your underwear and pulled slight on it wich made you twitch. She smiled seductive, feeling good about the fact how she made you react. “Relax…” she whispered into your ear before placing her lips onto your pulse, feeling your heart rate going up. Your head fell into the back of your neck and Cairo began to move her lips along your throat.

Soon both your bikinis were lying on the floor somewhere near the whirlpool. Cairos body rocking into your thigh while her hand began to explore you in a more private place. You were breathing heavy, feeling so much pleasure that your mind couldn’t handle it. It kept shutting down just to come back with a need of more.

“Cairo…” you whispered heavy when she bit slight into your neck. Satisfied Cairo licked along your pulse before penetrating you with the full length of her two fingers. It made you tremble slightly, you felt your walls get tight around her fingers wich made it hard for you to stay quiet. “I Wanne hear you say my name…” she whispered luring and moved her fingers slowly out “again…” they moved back in “and again” then she angled her fingers which made you moan.

She smirked satisfied and gave your lips a light bite before going deeper wich made your jaw turn stiff and you only manage to say her name with a breaking voice. Cairos grin turned wider and she kissed you hard, her tongue getting lost in your mouth before she whispered teasing “what? Can’t you handle me?”. Your head fell back again and a brief “fuck…” escaped the back of your throat. Cairo making you curse already. Then her movements became faster and you could feel her eyes watching every reaction she could get from you while placing open mouth kisses along your jaw and neck. Tasting your skin with her tongue.

Like this wasn’t already killing you, she kept grinding on your tight. You couldn’t really feel her wetness due the water but you felt her clit moving over your skin again and again which made you even more turned on.

“You’re killing… me…my dear” you panted which made her smile almost evil before she moved her fingers even deeper. Her knuckles touching your cunt. You arched your back, craving for more. Cairo felt you getting tighter around her fingers, she began to move in a slow pace now, turning her fingers while doing so. You felt your clit throbbing, getting so tight it was almost too much. Sitting up you pulled your hand around Cairos neck kissing her deeper almost in a starving way. You were breathing heavy like you were taking a long run. Your heart was pumping so much blood through your body you felt like you couldn’t breathe. That’s what she made you feel like. You moistened your lips brushing them over the skin you could reach above the water. The effect Cairo Sweet had on you was crashing down on you like hard rain. No matter how hard you tried to keep your defenses up, keep those feelings deep inside of you away and hidden… she managed to get them all out. You had no control. One moment you felt nervous and shy, the next you forgot about it all and became a pool of desire and longing. This woman was your weakness and you were sure she could bring out things of you… you wouldn’t recognize yourself.

#jenna ortega #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #vada cavell #wednesday #fanfiction #jenna ortega x reader #wednesday addams x reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x you #cairo sweet x reader #cairo sweet #cairo sweet millers girl #millers girl #wednesday addams x you #wednesday x reader #vada cavell x y/n #vada cavell x you #vada cavell x reader #mabel finestkind #tara carpenter x y/n #tara carpenter x female reader

[youreorangeyoumoron]

✨ WIP Wednesday ✨

I was tagged by @allatariel last week! thank you :)

So I have a couple Margo x Sergei WIPs in store. None of them are particularly polished, though there's always the Brazil one but atm I find it so cringe that I can't bear to look at it.

But! I chose a few paragraphs from this AU that I've been cooking up (letting it stew would be more accurate) about Margo and Sergei babysitting baby Javi.

Now Javi was born in 1988, 89, give or take, which places this fic after Margo and Sergei discuss sushi, and before Sergei successfully goes for the Hand Touch ™. I was curious to write a Margo who's gained a lot of confidence since S2 but still remains a little awkward at times, there's potential for a lot of fun, and for her to reflect on her relationship with Sergei with her newfound confidence. Just what exactly happens in those twelve months in between elevator rides that makes her ready to accept more intimacy with him? Let's rotate her thought process for a bit.

(his divorce helps, lbr, but I'm looking for her "...oh". moment. Which knowing her may take several moments and a severe barrelling through her mental defenses but that's what fanfic is for)

Javi stared intently at the new guy, clenching Margo’s jacket in his little fist. Sergei removed his own jacket and hung it on the hook by the door. His tie came off next, leaving him in his white shirt. He pointed at Javi’s fist. “It’s a very nice jacket. Kids are messy.” Margo glanced down at the kid, saw the death grip he had on her lapel – and a small drool stain from earlier. She sighed. It was a very nice jacket. “Yeah, I should change, I brought a change of clothes. Can you…” She handed Javi to Sergei with fumbling gestures; he pulled the kid into a much more assured embrace, which reassured her. She slowly backtracked into the hallway. Suddenly held by unfamiliar arms, Javi began to whine. Margo winced, gestured towards the kid. “Or he could go on his playmat. Do you want me to…” “No, no, it’s alright.” Sergei began to rock Javi, with a lot more ease than she had. His entire attention was captivated by the baby in his arms. As the whines turned into full-blown cries, Sergei caught the pacifier just in time and set it on the side table. “It’s okay, Tia Margo will be in the next room for a few minutes,” he told Javi in a singsong voice that she could never muster. It shouldn’t surprise her. After all, he was the man who had her playing pretend with him in the Apollo-Soyuz docking module prototype. (For a while this experience had embarrassed her; as of late it had become a fond memory.) Seemed like he had everything under control, Margo mused as she picked up her overnight bag and escaped to Aleida’s room, where she changed out of her work clothes and into the NASA-branded T-shirt and sweatpants that she kept in her office just in case. She had made the right choice calling him over; she loved Javi, but she could use his expertise. When she made her way back to the living room, she was surprised to hear, well… nothing. She found them settled on the couch, Javi held in Sergei’s arms, clutching his bunny with one hand and intently exploring Sergei’s beard with the other. She took a minute to bask in the curious sight of Sergei sharing a special moment with an infant, smiling, sleeves rolled up, slightly dishevelled. Seeing him outside of engineering and in a domestic setting was strange, but also interesting; it was a whole other side of him, that she would otherwise have never gotten to witness. For a reason she couldn’t explain, she found herself unable to look away. Sergei eventually noticed her, and grinned up at her. “He likes the beard.” She nodded. “Me, too.” The phone ringing in the kitchen gave her the perfect opportunity to flee after this slightly too spontaneous compliment. Christ. What was she thinking?

I wish to tag @sparkleplatypuswriter @gabolange @tiltedsyllogism @gordopickett @katesofheaven @caffeinatedcrab

and anybody who would like to do it (if you're reading this but you don't watch FAM it includes you! Join the fun!) (if you do watch FAM consider yourself tagged to the moon and BACK)

#wip wednesday #for all mankind #margo x sergei #fanfic #tag you're it