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elryuse · 1 month

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IU smut please

Lavender Flowers

IU X MALE READER

Tags : Iu Smut, Sex, Drama, Younger manager male reader

Jieun inhaled deeply, the calming scent of lavender filling her senses as she approached Y/n's tiny office. It was a feeble attempt to mask the nervous tremor in her hands and the frantic drumbeat of her heart. Today, she had a surprise for him, a gamble on a secret desire that had been simmering for weeks.

Y/n, her younger manager, defied all expectations. With his tousled black hair perpetually falling into his eyes and a smile that could melt glaciers, he was a whirlwind of youthful energy compared to Jieun's composed, mature demeanor. Yet, there was a captivating vulnerability in his eyes that always seemed to draw her gaze.

He was hunched over his laptop when she entered, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Jieun-noona?" he greeted, a flicker of surprise crossing his face as he looked up. "What a nice surprise."

"Just dropping by to see how the king of chaos is handling his kingdom," she teased, forcing a playful smile that felt strained even to her own ears.

Y/n chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down her spine despite the playful banter. "Barely surviving, Noona. The Schedules were a nightmare."

Jieun crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. "Well, that's what you get for taking on a diva like me."

The playful exchange masked the turmoil within her. Jieun had always maintained a professional distance with her managers, but with Y/n, the boundaries had started to blur weeks ago. It began with stolen glances across the recording booth, then late-night discussions that stretched into the early hours, filled with laughter and an unexpected connection that left her breathless.

"Maybe you need more lavender in your life, Manager Y/n," she said, reaching into a small, brown paper bag. "Stress relief, courtesy of your favorite artist."

Y/n's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He looked from the bag to her face, his eyes lingering a beat too long on her lips, sending a jolt through her. "Lavender isn't exactly my go-to scent, Noona."

Jieun's cheeks flushed a warm pink. "Well, you might learn to appreciate it. It's supposed to do wonders for anxiety."

He finally took the bag, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Anything from you, Noona, is a wonder."

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken desire. Jieun felt a boldness she never knew she possessed rise within her. "Tell me, Y/n," she began, her voice barely a whisper. "What about lavender fields under a full moon?"

Y/n's breath hitched. He looked up from the bag, his eyes searching hers. In that moment, the air crackled with unspoken possibilities. "Noona," he started, his voice hoarse. "I…"

Before he could finish, Jieun took a step forward, closing the distance between them. Her heart hammered in her chest as their gazes locked. "Let's find out," she murmured, her voice husky with a desire she hadn't known existed.

With a swift movement, she cupped his face in her hands, her thumb tracing the soft line of his jaw. His eyes widened momentarily before his gaze dropped to her lips. The tension in the air was thick, charged with a potent mix of forbidden desire and a budding connection.

Jieun leaned in, closing the remaining gap. Their first kiss was hesitant, a brush of lips that sent a jolt of electricity through her entire body. Y/n, taller by a head, responded with a surge of raw hunger. He pulled her closer, his body pressing against hers.

The scent of lavender mingled with the sweetness of her perfume as they explored each other's mouths with deepening passion. The kiss was a revelation, a collision of pent-up emotions. Jieun felt a fire ignite within her, a yearning she hadn't known existed.

Y/n's hands roamed her body, sending shivers down her spine. He cupped her face, deepening the kiss, his tongue dancing with hers. Her breath hitched as his touch ignited a flame in the pit of her stomach.

"Jieun," he whispered against her lips, his voice thick with desire. "We shouldn't…"

Jieun, her inhibitions melting away like ice under a summer sun, pressed her finger to his lips. "Shhh," she murmured, leaning into his touch. "Not now."

With a slow, deliberate movement, she unbuttoned his shirt, her fingers trailing across his bare chest, sending a jolt through him. His breath caught in his throat, and she could feel him stiffen in her arms.

The air in the small office was thick with desire as they continued to explore each other. Clothes were shed in a flurry of heated whispers and stolen glances. Jieun reveled in the feeling of his touch, his strong hands sending shivers down her spine as they traced patterns on her skin, igniting goosebumps all over her body. As they moved closer, the scent of lavender mingled with the heat of their bodies, creating a headier aroma that fueled their passion.

The afternoon sun cast long shadows through the office window as they finally pulled apart, breathless and tangled. Shame threatened to bubble up within Jieun, but it was quickly extinguished by the raw need that pulsed through her.

Y/n, his hair a mess and a dazed look in his eyes, mirrored her emotions. He ran a hand through his hair, his chest rising and falling rapidly. "Jieun-noona," he began, his voice hoarse.

"Shh," she cut him off, her finger finding its way to his lips again. "We'll talk later." In that moment, words were unnecessary. All that mattered was the warmth of his body pressed against hers, the feel of his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his chest, a perfect echo of her own.

They spent the rest of the afternoon locked in each other's arms, the small office transformed into a haven of stolen moments and whispered promises. As the world outside faded away, they explored each other's bodies with a newfound tenderness, their initial passion evolving into a deeper intimacy.

When the last rays of sunlight dipped below the horizon, casting the room in a soft golden glow, they finally disentangled themselves. A blush rose to Jieun's cheeks as she realized the precariousness of the situation. "I… I should probably get going," she stammered, gathering her scattered clothes.

Y/n, his eyes filled with a newfound desire, reached out and gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Stay," he pleaded, his voice husky.

Jieun looked into his eyes, seeing a raw vulnerability that tugged at her heartstrings. The professional boundaries that had once separated them had been shattered, replaced by a connection far deeper. With a soft smile, she surrendered to her desires.

"Alright," she conceded, her voice barely a whisper.

The next few weeks continued in a haze of stolen kisses, lingering touches, and nervous glances at the studio door. Every night, entwined in the lavender-scented sheets of Jieun's king-sized bed, the weight of their secret relationship pressed down on them.

"We can't keep doing this, Y/n," Jieun sighed one evening, her voice laced with a bittersweet mix of fear and longing.

Y/n, nestled against her, his eyes closed, held her tighter. "But I don't want anything to change," he mumbled sleepily.

Jieun shifted in his arms, turning to look him in the face. The moonlight painted a soft glow on his features, highlighting the vulnerability in his eyes. "Neither do I," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "But there has to be a way… a way for us to be together."

Y/n's eyes fluttered open, gazing at her with an intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. He cupped her face in his hands, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through her. "Jieun," he began, his voice thick with emotion, "I… I love you."

The words hung in the air, heavy and unexpected. Jieun's heart leaped in her chest. A myriad of emotions flooded her - fear, surprise, and a joy so profound it threatened to overwhelm her.

"Y/n…" she started, her voice choked with emotion.

He silenced her with a finger to her lips. "Don't say anything," he whispered, his eyes searching hers. "Just let me hold you, let me know that you feel even a fraction of what I feel for you."

Tears welled up in Jieun's eyes. In that moment, all her doubts and anxieties melted away. The fear of the unknown, the sting of society's judgment, none of it mattered. Y/n's love was a beacon in the darkness, a lifeline she clung to with all her being.

Without a word, she leaned in, their kiss a silent testament to their forbidden love. When they finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, a sense of calm settled upon them, much like the calming scent of lavender that lingered in the air.

Jieun reached over to the nightstand, her fingers brushing against a small, delicate vase filled with dried lavender. It was the same bag she'd brought Y/n weeks ago, a symbol of hope for something peaceful amidst the chaos of their feelings.

"Maybe," she began, her voice barely a whisper, "maybe our love is like lavender. Unconventional, perhaps, but beautiful nonetheless. It might not fit the traditional mold, but its fragrance can fill a room with a sense of peace, a reminder that even in the most unexpected places, something beautiful can bloom."

Y/n looked from the vase to her eyes, his gaze filled with understanding. "And maybe," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "just maybe, like lavender, our love can survive a little drying out, a little pressure, as long as we have each other."

He pulled her close again, the scent of lavender mingling with the warmth of their bodies. Their future was uncertain, a field of lavender stretching out before them, some blooms vibrant purple and some faded, but all part of the same beautiful landscape. Together, they would navigate it, their love their guiding light, as fragrant and enduring as the fields of lavender they dreamt of one day exploring, hand in hand.

#iu #kpop smut #lee jieun #lee jieun smut #kpop #kpop x reader #kpop x y/n #x male reader #beautiful #sexy content #apreciation post #update

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lilmisssweetdreams · 5 months

Text

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ fingers dimming the lights

mdni, 18+ only

the home office is bathed in warm, ambient light—it always is at this time of the night, familiar and soothing, exactly like the figure sat at the desk, hunched over her laptop. alex knows her work schedule is erratic, she works with people all over the world like he does, different time zones and different countries, and not that she’s a slave to her laptop but she does work a tad too much if you ask him.

still, he lets her be and stays in the corner of the room, flicking through his book. he lets her be that is, until he sees her rubbing her eyes tiredly and stifle another yawn. she reaches for the mug next to her, brings it to her lips, and frowns. it’s empty.

then she stretches like a cat—back arched, arms elongated—before curling into herself. that, evidently, does it for him.

silently, he sets the book aside and walks up behind her. she barely even notices until his hands are on her shoulders, feeling the knots in her muscles, trying to massage the tension away.

“you’re tired,” alex tuts and feels her shrug. “come to bed. it’s almost ten.”

she snorts lightly. “you know i can’t for another two hours at least, besides, i’ll be free tomorrow. then i’m all yours.”

“you’re already all mine,” he teases and kneads the knots again. (he does make a mental note though, to get her a proper warm bath tomorrow; bubbles and salts and candles and all.)

“come on, love,” alex tries again but she only hums a bit. and then she turns to him with a full pout.

“i wish, babe. but i’ve got to have a very grown-up, professional zoom call while trying to hide the fact that i’m wearing pyjama bottoms. two more hours, i promise.”

and just like that she’s back to facing her laptop, back to clacking away on the keyboard, making that soothing sound of her nails against it that he loves so much. right now, alex bends down and kisses her neck gently.

“when does your call start?”

“umm, eleven…”

the suspicion in her voice makes him grin and then he places a few more kisses down her neck and on her shoulders.

“could relax you a little till then,” he murmurs, “put you in a better mood.”

she tilts her head up to him and laughs. “what’s got you in a mood, sweet boy?”

the moniker makes him smile wider. his fingers continue tracing soothing patterns, and his lips leave gentle kisses on the nape of her neck.

“just need you to take a short break, ’s all. your laptop won't run away, baby, the the call is still an hour away.”

the next time alex looks at her, there’s a mischievous glint in her eyes. that, and the way she subtly bites her lower lip… and alex knows he’s won her over

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the first thing he does is lay her down on the bed, then he dims the lights until their bedroom is just as cosy as her workspace—all warm and golden.

the anticipation of it has definitely gotten to her. alex can almost see her trembling on the bed, back slightly arched, her nipples peaking out from her thin t-shirt, hair an effortless mess. the sight of her sends his neurons into overdrive and he feels the familiar tingling as all his blood rushes south.

“let me take care of you, darling,” he whispers, “just relax for me…”

his words effect her immediately, make her toes curl and her mouth part almost as if she’s anticipating the gasp that he will draw out of her.

“there’s my sweet girl,” he trails a hand over her leg—starting from her ankle and up her calf and then up her thigh until his fingers are at her hip. the knot of her pyjama shorts is next.

all he has to do is give it a light tug before he’s sliding it off her legs. she helps by lifting up her hips, then eagerly shimmies out of her underwear.

“look at you now,” alex teases. then he leans down, his lips dangerously close to her stomach. "come on, baby," he purrs, “spread your legs for me.”

something like a whimper and a moan echoes around the room and alex drags a finger through her slit, lazily collecting the wetness, coaxing her and spreading her open while his mouth presses kisses all over. her lower stomach first, then her thighs. meanwhile, his thumb finds her clit and a jolt goes through her body.

“fuck fuck fuck alex…” she moans out loud and a thrill goes down his spine.

fuck, here he is—tasting her and touching her and making her feel this way. his girl, she is his girl. and oh he’s never been one to be primal and possessive but all he can think about at the moment is that she is his.

she is his and he is hers.

and he loves her.

he loves her so fucking much.

she gasps when he sucks on her clit, letting his teeth graze it gently every once in a while. her thighs tremble under his hands, her muscles shifts and alex doesn’t stop her at all when she squeezes her thighs together—the pressure on his head is delicious and spine-tingling anyway. it’s heady and intoxicating, just like her scent, her taste.

“oh god, al,” she moans loudly. “fuck, just like that…” her fingers tangle in his hair, tugging and pulling while she squirms under his touch, grinds herself against his face and alex takes it all.

his tongue laps at her folds, his nose pushing against her clit and her screams are like music to his ears. better than anything he’s ever heard. better than anything he’s ever created.

his cock throbs desperately, twitching and hard, dying to feel her clenching around his now, to feel her squeezing him until his vision goes white and he fills her up. he can practically see the image in front of his eyes—his cum dripping out of her, making a mess on her thighs. mess that he could clean up with his tongue or with his fingers and push all of it back inside her. fill her up completely.

she clenches around nothing then and for a moment alex almost cums in his pants. but he can tell she’s close now. her hips rock against his face and her thighs squeeze his head harder. nails dig into his scalp making him hiss but she’s so close, he can almost taste her release on his tongue.

“so perfect for me,” he urges and lets his teeth drag over her clit again. “let me taste you, darling, yeah? i know you’re close.”

“so, so close…” she trails off and alex can’t resist the urge to place a kiss on her thigh. a soft request maybe or even a way to coax her.

“let go for me then,” he breathes and pushes his thumb against her clit. his tongue thrusts inside her again and she mewls out his name again. louder than before.

“don’t stop, al, don’t—” and he feels it then, feels her drenching his lips and his chin. feels the spasm of her thighs and feels her ragged breaths reverberating through her body.

just like she requested, he doesn’t stop. he laps up every last drop she has to over, fucks her with his tongue till she’s completely done riding out her orgasm. only once he feels her body go slack does he straighten.

and alex is met with the loveliest sight he can imagine.

her hair is sprawled all over the pillow, messy and gorgeous. her face is flushed, lip bitten till it’s raw and red. alex sees a sliver of her underboob from where her t-shirt rode up but it’s when he looks at her thighs does he see all the red marks he’s left behind…

all the kisses and hickeys and slight stubble burn. light bruises on her thighs from holding onto her so tight.

she’s marked and some primal part of him can’t get enough of the sight.

quickly alex moves to her and captures her mouth in his. her tongue slides in his mouth instantly, and alex knows she can taste herself on his tongue. quietly, she moans in his mouth and he feels like he’s going to burst right then.

but there’s the matter of the fucking call…

he has no idea how much time has passed but he knows she needs to leave soon while he tosses and turns restlessly in their bed, surrounded by the scent of her, still tasting her—

“where are you going?” her voice comes out as a breathless rasp and alex realises he’s pulling away.

“well… well, i though you had the call, love…”

she clicks her tongue and her smile turns into her grin.

“oh you’re not leaving this bed,” she declares. “i’m texting them that i don’t feel well.”

slowly, a smile spreads over his face and alex shudders under her touch.

“whatever happened to being adult and professional,” he teases breathlessly but she’s already pulling up his t-shirt, already lifting it over his head.

“oh no,” she tuts, “none of that. not when i have much better things to do…”

#♡: fics #smut #alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #alex turner x y/n #alex turner smut #alex turner fanfic #arctic monkeys #arctic monkeys fanfic #minors do not interact #female reader #no minors allowed

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withleeknow · 2 months

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hi lovely!! first off congrats on 1k that's so so awesome and you deserve all that + more truly :( your writing is so tender and so lovey

i would to join in on your little drabble event!!! could you do something for hanji and the song compass by the neighbourhood? that song reminds me of him so so much so i hope you get the vision!! thank you angel and have a beautiful day!! ✮⋆˙

compass.

pairing: producer!jisung x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, hurt/comfort?, fluff, swearing, arson jokes? lmao word count: 1.4k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

main masterlist / request masterlist / ko-fi

you're always there to help me when i'm down i'm lucky you've been keeping me around you're the star i look for every night when it's dark, you'll stick right by my side

compass - the neighbourhood

"fuck, fuck, fuck!"

the sound of jisung's verbalized frustration draws your attention to his desk and setup in the middle of room, where he's been sitting for the better part of two hours, hunched over the equipment like he often does when he's in the studio.

it's written all over his face just how upset he is that this particular piece he's working on isn't flowing right. the deep furrow between his eyebrows communicates utter displeasure. the clench of his jaw tells you he's angry, and that he's angry at himself for not being able to work through his block.

you abandon your comfortable spot on the couch in favor of pattering over to his side where he's all tensed up like an aggrieved hamster whose body can't contain the annoyance he feels. jisung can be short-tempered sometimes, but you know how to handle him in moments like this.

sliding a hand over his back, you say, "take a little break with me."

he huffs out a breath, eyes still focused on his laptop screen. "i can't afford a break. chan hyung expects this to be done in two days."

"so it's in two whole days. you can leave it for fifteen minutes, it won't kill you."

"but i still have to rework the first verse and figure out what in the fucking hell this second verse is-"

"han jisung," you scold him lightly, to which he instantly shuts up and peers up at you with his big eyes, immediately apologetic when he recognizes his harsh language.

"sorry," he mumbles, "i'm just stressed."

"which is why you need a break. you're not doing anyone any good just sitting here and trying to make your laptop explode with your eyes."

he lets out a pathetic-sounding mewl but he follows you to the couch regardless. jisung knows you're right because you always are. you're the more level headed between the two of you, whereas he's the one who lets his emotions get the better of him sometimes.

before, he would often succumb to his negative feelings. it's hard to keep his cool when nothing seems to go right and there's a deadline on his ass. he'd get so frustrated with his work that sometimes, he would delete whole tracks off his drive only to instantly regret it and spiral even more. he'd take it out on the people around him with his grumpy attitude and misplaced pettiness.

when jisung is overwhelmed, he tends to spin out in all directions. he splinters and drowns in a sea of his own making, constantly being pushed away further and further from shore because he doesn't know how to anchor himself, how to hold on so he wouldn't drift far away. his solution to soothe his anger has always been to give into it, to rip whole pages from notebooks and lock himself in his studio for hours on end until he could plow through the stubborn creative block. it'd often leave him exhausted - emotionally and physically so - and in no better state than he started out with.

jisung accepted this a long time ago - that his way of dealing with his emotions wasn't very healthy, but it was the only way he knew.

that is, until you popped into his world and taught him that people can be lifelines too. falling upon him like a wish that he never realized he was making his whole life.

"what's the matter, baby?" you ask, prompting him to air out his grievances as he lays his head on your chest while you card your fingers through his soft curls. he leans into you instantly, a long sigh escaping his pouty lips. jisung's got a lot of pride, and he would rather die before admitting to anyone that he loves to be babied by you behind closed doors.

he knows the question is just your way of getting him to verbalize all of his pent-up frustration, and not because you're eager to help him traipse through his mind palace and solve whatever dilemma he's having with the track. let's be honest, you never really have a clue what he's talking about, but it helps that you're keen on listening to him even though you can't offer him any valuable insight. more than you could ever know, it does wonders for jisung, just being able to untangle his thoughts and release the mess in his mind.

he could simply just talk to chan, sure, or any of his other friends who work in the industry. but again, his pride is an awful thing sometimes.

you never make him feel like he has prove himself to earn your love and attention, though. around you, jisung feels enough as he is. there's never been any need to toughen up in your presence.

"i just... i can't work with this track. nothing is flowing right. i hate everything i come up with." he rambles on about the things that plague his mind; topline this and beats that - they're really just words to you. you weren't blessed with the same genius in music that jisung was, so you just listen until he's done, until he concludes his tangent with a groan as he nuzzles further into the comfort of your warmth.

"you said that the last time, you know?"

"said what?"

"that everything sucks and you hate it."

"because everything sucks," he whines again, his eyebrows knitted together as he adorns a petulant pout. "and i hate it."

as you play with his fluffy hair, you feel him lean into your touch like it's the very thing that will bring him clarity. in a way, it does. your gentle touch may not give him the answer he needs, but it quiets the static in his mind, drowns out the continuous buzzing that muddles his brain.

"you're too hard on yourself," you say, to which jisung just huffs out a breath in disagreement. "i'm serious. you say this every time but it all still works out in the end. you're so smart, and talented. you shouldn't forget that."

his frown only deepens in response to your words. he knows you're right; things have always turned out fine before. trust the process and all that shit, but he's hot-headed and impatient sometimes, and he doesn't want to endure the stress that often comes with the process. he just wants to get to the finish line.

then, you continue, "remember 13?"

"what about 13?"

"you didn't like it at first either. you were so dramatic about it. but you sucked it up and finished it anyway. you made a hit and nobody could stop talking it. i believe in you. you just need to believe in yourself too."

in complete silence except for the sound of your steady heartbeat in his ears, jisung keeps laying on top of you like a weighted blanket, soaking up your words as a flower would in warm sunlight. of course he remembers 13 and the day he let you listen to the song for the first time. you'd nearly burst into tears in the middle of this studio, pressing kisses all over his face while you gushed over how proud you were of him.

"damn you," he mutters after a while. "why do you have to be so rational?"

"someone's gotta be. if i wasn't here, you probably would've ripped all your hair out, set your keyboard on fire and ran off into the woods."

he shoots up instantly, propping himself on two elbows as he glares at you even though you've got a valid point. it's not that far-fetched of a scenario.

"what?" you tilt your head with a coy smile. "am i wrong?"

jisung stares at you for a quick minute, and it's that very smile you're wearing that mitigates his frustrations and dulls his urge to sabotage his work out of self-inflicted anger. he says nothing at all, just leans down quickly to give you a kiss full of appreciation, despite the way there was a frown tugging on his eyebrows only seconds prior.

"you good now?" you ask, the words coming out a little muffled against his mouth.

if it's with you, then he is. you're the anchor that helps him part his stormy seas. you're the compass that always guides him home. he really doesn't know where he'd be without you, or how he'd manage in times like these if you're not by his side to ground him.

"always good with you around."

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #han x reader #han jisung fluff #han jisung scenarios #han jisung x reader #han jisung imagines #han jisung x you #stray kids #han jisung

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outerbankies · 2 months

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“it’s late, come back to bed.”

PROMPT CELLY GO BRRRRRRRRR. thank u for requesting this one (forever ago) bestie!!!! 💓🤩👯‍♀️

—

new light: space and time

rafe x reader, part of the 2k prompt celly for new light (masterlist if ur not up on NL). we’re back in the present!

A stubborn knot about the size of a fist had settled into place at the top of Rafe’s spine slowly over the last few weeks, right in between his often-taught shoulder blades.

He guesses it was during the late nights like these that it began to form, when he’s hunched over his sketching table in the garage lit only by the warm lightbulb in the work lamp over his head—drawing and erasing and scrapping to start over again and again. Or when he’s on his laptop tinkering with his website or any of the platforms he uses for invoicing and processing orders, easily his least favorite part of all of this, until his eyes are irritated and red.

Though it’s certainly not made better by the other half of his day, where he’s hunched over or crouching under his projects as he brings them to life, doubting himself the entire time, twisting himself into weird angles just to make sure everything holds and looks how he pictured it. But at least he likes that part.

A hand, holding a warmth that Rafe can feel through the cotton of his long-sleeve t-shirt, settles directly into place over that knot at the top of his spine, and he feels himself take a deep, steadying breath as he leans back into your touch.

“What’s this, baby, the built-ins?” you ask, your voice softer in these midnight hours.

“Yeah,” Rafe sighs, immediately rubbing his hands into his eyes, his knuckles turning his vision bleary momentarily. “For Beau’s friend.”

“Mmm,” you hum, slightly digging the heel of your palm into his back. Rafe lets out a groan. “There?”

“Right there,” he confirms, letting his head drop back gratefully, accepting a few sleepy kisses once he goes.

You place your other hand on his shoulder for some leverage, leaning over him to peer at his catastrophe of a workstation. “I thought you’d already gone over the sketches with them?”

“I did,” he says. “But they go in tomorrow.”

“Right,” you nod, scrutinizing them again, looking to see if they’d changed at all. “I remember.”

“So I’m just making sure—” Rafe stops momentarily, letting out a hiss. “Careful, baby.”

The pressure on his back eases immediately, and you take to rubbing your hand across the span of his shoulders instead. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

“I’m just making sure I have everything down,” he continues, leaning forward again. “I wanna know my stuff before I head in.”

“What if I quiz you? On measurements and colors and finishes and—”

“I appreciate the enthusiasm,” he interjects, his smile rivaling yours when you finally settle into his lap like he’d been angling for you to since he heard the garage door open and knew he’d be getting that reprieve from the mess inside his head. “But it doesn’t really work like that, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, snaking your arms around his neck anyway, the pads of your fingers rubbing circular motions into his trouble spot again. “Then how else can I get you to come back to bed?”

Guilt settles into Rafe’s stomach like a rock, the soreness in his back momentarily forgotten as he sees the plea in your eyes. “I swear I’ll be up soon.”

“Rafe, it’s late.”

“Coming from you,” he retorts, virtually no bite behind his words. Because as Rafe had left Beau’s company months ago and only since then become more entrenched in his new job, in starting his own business, you’d seamlessly settled in at your job at the publishing house, not overworking yourself nearly as much as the two of you used to argue about. Still more than Rafe would ever prefer, naturally, but he’s not sure he has room to talk anymore.

“We’re turning into perfect little Figure 8 capitalists right on schedule, aren’t we?” you say, wiggling around in his lap in a way he isn’t convinced isn’t a punishment for abandoning his side of the bed a few hours ago.

You lean forward, grabbing one of the pencils Rafe had discarded and tapping it on your chin while he checks his watch, feeling his eyes widen.

“God, I’m turning into my dad.”

“No you’re not,” you laugh, still leaning out of his reach as you seem to start writing something in one the margins. You pause, pointing the pencil at the long-cold cup of coffee next to his pencil cup. “Unless there’s secretly liquor in your decaf over there. You know decaf still has caffeine in it, right?”

At Rafe’s silence, you turn to him with your eyebrows raised, the pencil dropping out of your hand and clattering onto the table.

“Like… trace amounts, right?” he asks sheepishly.

“My sweet, sweet boy,” you sigh, running your fingers through the hair on top of Rafe’s head that’s really beginning to need a cut.

“Probably need it,” he shrugs. “I’ll only be up a little while longer though. Promise.”

“You’re really worried about this one, aren’t you?” you ask him softly, some of the mirth fading in your eyes as you trace a finger around the shell of his ear.

“It’s Beau’s friend, baby, I… these guys could have anyone working on their houses. And Beau was really good to me about quitting. I just wanna nail this one and be done with it,” Rafe admits.

He doesn’t tack on the bit about how this feels like one of his first big tests; his first custom, built-in piece period, outside of the ones he’s made for his most forgiving audience, his sisters and you. Because it’s one thing to make a piece for a friend of a friend of a friend, or even to sell one in a store where someone can see it and touch it and decide that they hate it before they have to commit. But it’s another to have someone counting on him to deliver exactly what they envision, let alone someone who could be Rafe’s foot in the door to a wealth of opportunities. He wants to be done with it at this point, sure, but he doesn’t want it to be the end of this road.

“Exactly,” you say, shrugging. “They could have anyone. And I love you, Rafe, but I mean literally anyone else. But your designs are good. Really good. And your craftsmanship is impeccable. They want you.”

He feels his cheeks heating up, and knows it’s showing based on the twinkle in your eye. “You’re an expert in furniture and carpentry now, are you?”

“I am, because I’ve now lived in two Pinterest-level apartments without ever having to hire a contractor. And I’m a picky bitch,” you say, laughing around the last bit.

“You are not,” Rafe laughs. “And half of that is your decorating. Maybe 70, 75%.”

“Your modestly will never not exhaust me,” you declare, smacking one last kiss onto his lips before standing up. “You’re gonna be fine tomorrow, alright? But you’ve got to get some sleep.”

“Ten minutes?” he pleads.

“I will generously give you ten seconds instead. It’s your lucky day,” you say, shuffling toward the doorway back into the house, where two curious dogs await your return.

“Thanks,” he answers sarcastically, before standing to check everything over one last time. These guys could have anyone, he tells himself. They chose him.

He’s gathering his pencils to deposit back into the cup, just about to reach over his head and turn off his work lamp for the night when he sees it, what you’d been scribbling into the margin on one of his designs: you got this RC. hurry home!

At just the same moment that he’s he’s tracing over your loopy “y” and the heart you’d finished your note off with, you call out his name from the doorway, his family waiting for him.

You give him a saccharine-sweet smile, your arms crossed over your chest. “I wasn’t asking.”

#answered #cognacdelights #frankie so very sorry ur being tagged in rafe x reader fic but u asked for it by being my long distance tumblr mutual #new light hcs #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fanfiction #outer banks imagine #outer banks fanfiction

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luvrrszn · 9 months

Text

pov

MIGUEL O'HARA x FEM READER

summary miguel o'hara is in love with you. so hopelessly in love with you. (spoiler alert: you are, too.)

warnings fluff, pure tooth-rotting fluff, just a bunch of blurbs put together, NOT proofread

a/n feeling peaceful 2day love u all xx (p.s. wrote this listening to "pov" by ariana)

masterlist

mornings with miguel o'hara can only be described using one word: peace.

you'd never think that "peace" would be a word associated with miguel o'hara, but once you've experienced what you have, you wouldn't see it any other way.

miguel is protective of his mornings with you. being such a busy man, mornings with you are sacred.

"can we sleep in a little longer?" you mumble against his chest, almost every morning. his answer is always the same: "of course, my dear."

how could he ever say no to you?

—

you set your phone down on the kitchen island as you go to grab a glass of water. miguel's gaze leaves his laptop as he glances at your phone screen.

your phone was left unlocked, an instagram post of your high school classmate with a gigantic diamond ring displayed on it. miguel asks you, "mi corazón, does it bother you? we have been together for 8 years, and no ring."

"hmm, not really, miggy. does it bother you?" you reply, setting your glass down as you approach miguel.

"no, but if you did, it would be understandable."

you walk closer to him and he wraps an arm around your waist. you settle down on his lap and stroke his hair, saying, "i don't need a ring to prove that i love you. ring or no ring, we both know that i am yours, forever."

—

you wake up to the sound of giggling and a thud of something falling to the floor. you drag yourself out of bed and down the stairs. your daughter is giggling as she runs around the living room, being chased by miguel who's holding a...bottle of pink glitter?

a chair at the dining table has toppled over, the culprit behind the "thud" you heard earlier. the dining table has a piece of A3 drawing paper on it, covered in pink glitter glue, light pink sequins and dark pink and purple fairy dust. you've never seen so much pink in your life.

"the glitter monster is coming for you!" you hear miguel call out. you turn around just in time to see miguel pick up your daughter and carry her over his shoulder. she giggles, "papá, put me down!"

you look at the line of photo frames on top of the fireplace, a mere representation of the time that has passed since you first met miguel o'hara

there's a photo of you and miguel in a dark, crowded bar. the night you two met.

there's also photo of you and miguel in front of the eiffel tower. the night of your 5th anniversary.

there's a photo of you and miguel in a chapel in vegas, both of you grinning, his arm slung over your shoulder. the night the two of you were married by an elvis impersonator.

there's also a photo of you in the hospital, miguel grinning next to you, and the most perfect baby girl bundled in your arms. the night your baby girl entered the world.

last but not least, there's a photo of you and miguel slightly hunched forward, with your daughter in between the two of you, holding a huge bouquet and grinning. the day of her very first dance recital.

by the end of the day, your little angel's pink artwork takes its place above the fireplace, joining the array of photo frames.

#📓—juniwrites #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o'hara fluff #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel o'hara #spiderman atsv #atsv #across the spider-verse #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara x reader

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elliespillowprincess · 5 months

Text

SHES MY DRUG

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pt 1

pt 2

pt 3

a/n: this is my first ever (kinda) fic so it kinda sucks and is all over the place.. rockstar/band ellie has been on my mind too much lately so yk i had to.

c/w: modern au, reader is in college (premed), biker ellie!!! smut next part!! mentions of smoking, drinking and drugs (reader and ellie), fem reader, plus size reader, insecure reader, fluff, abby is readers mean ex (abby lovers im sorry, i still love her) angst, body dysmorphia, fatphobia, race of reader not specified, TERRIBLY WRITTEN, not proofread

WHY YOU SHOULD NOT SUPPORT NEIL DRUCKMANN

✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮ ✮

“hey did you hear about the music festival in town this weekend?” your friend, liliana, asks, making you wake up from the trance your computer put you in. you and liliana had been friends prior to college, meeting in your honors anatomy class in high school. with a similar career goal in mind, you two decided to go to the same college and become roomates. you two had been in your towns coffee shop for hours, trying to finish an assignment your biology professor gave you two.

“there’s a festival here? nobody ever comes out here.” you reply. nobody has ever done any concerts, festivals, or performances in your town. it was so small, they wouldn’t make enough profit so it just didn’t seem worth the trip. the only performances you ever saw were done by drunken men in your college bar.

“yeah! i don’t really know anyone that’s going though. it’d be nice to check out!”. she scrolls to find a post advertising the festival, with a list of who’s going. to nobody’s surprise, the list is small; 3 performers. “the tickets are only $50, we should go!!” she says whilst you’re reading the informative post. “i don’t know, lili, i mean who even are these people? is it even worth our money?” the idea of wasting your weekend at a festival, where you don’t know anyone playing, when you could be studying for finals makes you nervous.

“come onnn y/n, we can’t waste our uni years studying all the time! when we graduate, we’re gonna be swamped with med school work, might as well make the most out of the time we have!” liliana says cheerfully. sure, you could spare the hours, but you had so much on your plate. finals, work, and not even mentioning the fact you just broke up with your girlfriend of 4 years. you look at her face, she’s using puppy-dog eyes to hopefully persuade you into going. “i’ll think about it.”

you’re laying in your dorm room, back hunched over your laptop, with your hands in your hair. liliana was staying at her boyfriends house for the night, leaving you all alone. the amount of studying you’ve done in the past hours giving you a throbbing headache and double vision. you harshly close your laptop, saying “i’ll do it later.” in your head, lazily getting up to grab some advil from your medicine cabinet. you open the familiar bottle and pop a few pills into your mouth. walking to your bed, you plop down, and begin scrolling mindlessly on instagram.

then you remember what your friend was telling you about earlier, and you decide to look at your towns instagram. a new post making you curious as nothing had been posted since the fourth of july fireworks at the towns lake. you click on it, a flashy banner lighting up your screen.

GOLDWHIT GROVES FIRST EVER MUSIC FESTIVAL; FEATURING:

BEHIND THE ANGER

ELLIE WILLIAMS

DRAW MY BLOOD

THIS SATURDAY ONLY

you chuckle, finding the names of the bands amusing. one of them, however, drew your attention. the only one who was seemingly a solo performer, ellie williams. you decide to close your towns page and type the name into your search bar. your eyebrows raise at the amount of fan accounts this “ellie” has. you click on the only account with the blue verification symbol on it, her page filling your screen.

holy shit.

she was hot. like, really hot.

you click on her most recent post and it’s a video of her at one of her concerts. she’s playing an electric guitar furiously with gritted teeth. you hear girls screaming and see their hands reaching out trying to feel her. clearly, she craves all the attention so she pulls off her white wife beater, throwing it into the crowd. the screaming only intensifies as she has a douchey smile on her face. the video cuts of and you scroll through the different videos the post has, all of the same nature. you read the caption, “see you next time, dallas.” with no tags.

you open your messages app and begin typing to liliana.

you: ok maybe we should go to that festival i just stalked one of the performers and FUCKKK she’s hot

the bands have goofy names tho

“behind the anger” boy shaddup

you wait until you see the bubble appear, indicating she’s responding.

lili😦: TOLD U WE SHOULD GO! venmo me the money im buying tickets rn.

you laugh softly at her excitement to go, and open venmo, sending her $50. another message pops up.

lili😦: *photo attachment*

who were you looking at btw?

you open the message seeing the qr code for your ticket.

you: that ellie williams chick she looks like an asshole but a HOT asshole yk

i want her to play me like that guitar

gonna become a groupie😋

your tiredness takes over after texting lili for the past few hours, telling her goodnight and closing your phone.

the brightness of the morning sun wakes you up. it’s saturday, and thank GOD you had no classes today. you stay in your bed, opening tiktok. it kinda creeps you out that the first video is an edit of the girl you were gawking over last night. as the edit plays, you become even more excited for the festival later in the day. you look to the top of your screen for the time, 12:37. you partially curse yourself for letting yourself sleep in that late, getting up to brush your teeth.

lili😦: ARE U EXCITED FOR TN??

andrew is asking if he can come

smh he’s so clingy

kinda cute tho

the pinging of your phone causes you to finish brushing your teeth, spitting out the foam in your mouth and wiping your face.

you: i don’t mind

yall better not be like those concert couples

sitting on his shoulders n shit i’ll knock you off

you didn’t really mind as you’ve known andrew as long as you’ve know liliana. they’ve been together for the past six years, and you guys used to go on double dates with your ex all the time, it was like a little group.

lili😦: LMFAOOO we won’t

can we get ready tg 🥺

you have all the cute body glitter

you: sure come home whenever

you turn on the shower, grabbing a towel from the cabinet before hopping in. while washing your body, you begin thinking about what you’re gonna wear. you start to think about what ellie williams would notice you in, before laughing at yourself for being so delusional. she doesn’t know you, or care about you.

you’re just another girl.

hours had gone by, liliana and her boyfriend were hanging out at your shared apartment, pregaming and getting ready. the festival started at 4, and ended at 10. “hey y/n? where’s the-“ you walk in, and liliana is making a gawking face. “you look SO hot hello?” beaming at you. partially, you feel a little silly. you’re wearing the outfit she picked for you: a lacy cami, short black skirt, and a leather jacket. you have dark smudgey eye makeup, dark red lipstick, and star clips in your hair.

“i feel dumb.” you say, looking down and laughing at yourself. you never wore revealing clothes, being wayyyy too insecure to show yourself off this this. i mean, your boobs were spilling out of your shirt, your ass visible under your skirt, and your stomach uncovered. “shut the fuck up, you look good. we gotta leave soon- shit wait do you have pasties?”

as andrew drives the three of you to the concert, liliana in the front and you in the back, you become nervous. what if someone’s mean? what if something bad happens? what if it gets too cold? what if you start your period?

“y/n?” the calling of your name makes your head perk up. “we’re putting on that ellie chick, gotta know some of the music if you’re gonna SMASH her tonight!!” she says with a giggle. you roll your eyes as lili goes to her music app and selects her top song.

she’s my drug

the title pops up along with a photo of ellie lighting what looks like a joint. the song starts and it eases your nerves, her raspy voice over the melodic electric guitar makes a perfect combination. the excitement for the festival grows once again as the three of you near the festival.

you were kinda surprised at the amount of people that came. it looked like the entire town was there. there were a lot of unfamiliar faces wearing the bands merch. you saw a lot of girls wearing shirts with ellie williams’ tour dates on the back. “i hope the bands aren’t shit.” andrew says, laughing and getting out of the car. “at least we know one of the performers isn’t.” the three of you, out of the car, walk to the entrance. there were old-looking metal detectors that look like they were borrowed from the local police department. you all go through and have your bags checked and tickets scanned, walking towards the one and only stage.

the first band, behind the anger, got on stage. not many people were going crazy, but there were a few drunken men screaming their songs. liliana and andrew were enjoying them, but you were dying for something to drink, craving a shitty festival cocktail and a cigarette. tapping liliana on the shoulder, “hey, guys? i’ll be right back, i’m gonna grab something to drink.” you shout over the music. “alright, don’t take too long! your girlfriend should be out soon!” you roll your eyes laughing and shuffle your way out of the crowd.

walking up to the one and only vendor, you gaze on the menu. different beers, seltzers, cocktails, and liquors. “can i just cut infront of you? i gotta get up there soon.” you hear a voice behind you say. you turn around, partially offended and, holy shit.

it felt like a movie, a book, a fanfiction. what are the chances that she’s infront of you right now? you blink your eyes, not really believing what you’re seeing. nobody’s around you two besides the vendor, shocking as you’d expect girls flocking around her. it’s her. it’s ellie williams.

“excuse me?” you blurt out, not realizing how rude you sounded. i mean, you were just standing there, the only one in line, not moving. was it rude for her to ask. she kind of laughs at you, kissing her teeth. you got a good chance to look at her. she’s wearing cargo pants with a black wifebeater shirt that lifted slightly, allowing you to see what looks like abs, her tattoo covering her forearm, and her hair tied messily in a half-bun.

“i said,” she says, taking a half step towards you, “can i just cut infront of you?” you look around, dumbfounded. “no, you can’t. i’m ordering right now.” you say, matter-of-factly. you spin on your heels and order whatever shitty cocktail your eyes first land on and she chuckles at your behavior. the vendor types it into his tablet. “that’ll be $9.24. cash or card?” you open your purse, looking for the $10 bill you stuck in your purse for this exact reason. of course, like a fucking movie, it’s gone. “sorry just give me one sec.” you say, furiously looking through your purse, embarrassed.

“i got it, put it with mine. lemme get a rum coke.” the girl says flatly, slightly pushing you aside. you roll your eyes at the push and step aside, very embarrassed at the entire interaction. you grab a cigarette from your purse and attempt to light it, but the fluid is all out.

of course. how much more cliché could this get? ellie puts her card away in her wallet and shoves it into her front pocket as the vendor goes to make the two drinks. “need help?” she says, reaching her hand into her pocket and getting out a lighter, it was black and very scratched up. “these are bad for you, y’know?” she says in a cocky tone before grabbing her own and lighting it. the two of you were so far away from the rest of the crowd it that it was almost quiet.

“i’m studying to be a doctor, i know.” you say, the cigarette hanging limply between your lips still attempting to light it. “what’s a smart girl like you doing smoking and drinking then huh? you’re the one who’s supposed to tell people not to.” she says, bringing the lighter to the stick in your mouth and lighting it for you, the closeness of your face to her hands making you nervous. “pineapple cocktail and a rum coke?” you hear the vendor shout; the moment breaks and ellie pushes the lighter into her pocket before grabbing the two drinks, handing you yours before turning around and waving slightly, with the cigarette in her mouth.

“see you up there, doll.”

“bitch you will not believe what just happened” you say, finally making it back to where andrew and liliana were after having to shove through the crowd, almost spilling your drink all over yourself. “i just spoke t-“ the sound of screams interrupts your sentence and people push you and your friends forward, trying to get closer to the stage. you look up to see what is making people so eager, and see her. and holy shit, does she look good on stage. “how are we doing tonight, goldwhit grove?” she says into the mic, making the squeals of the girls around you erupt even louder, some drunkenly trying to take their shirts off before their more sober friends stop them.

after speaking into the mic for a bit about god knows what, you could barely hear her, she strums her guitar making people scream even louder. “what should we start out with?” she slurs into the mic. she looks like she’s on something, but what musician isn’t. you hear people screaming different names you haven’t heard of, before she says “she’s my drug? that’s all yall wanna hear.” she laughs before starting the song. it is her top song for a reason, it sounds phenomenal. you’re trying to enjoy your time, but the amount of people pushing you and stepping on your feet is annoying you.

after a few songs you hear her voice echo, “guys, let’s back it up a bit, you’re crushing people.” part of you wants to think she said that because she was looking at you, but you reality check yourself quickly. nobody listened, and you feel someone step on your heel for the hundredth time, finally deciding to say something.

“did you not hear her? i can barely breathe dude chill out.” you say to the drunken girl behind you. she looks angry, angry that you had the balls to speak up. she shoves you aggressively, making you bump into the person in front of you. now they’re mad at you too, for bumping into them so harshly. you try defending yourself when you feel a cold drink splashed on your chest. your final straw.

you shove your way out of the crowd, leaving behind your friends and deciding you’ll wait until ellie’s performance is over to join them again. once youre out, you make eye contact with the girl on stage. she has her head low and it almost looked like she was looking at you. you get lost on her, she’s playing so aggressively but strategically. before your imagination goes too far, you see her look around to the rest of the crowd, girls screaming when they look her direction.

you walk away, deciding to take a seat on the grass and light a cigarette while you wait. there were a lot of other people sitting around you, assuming they left for the same reason. you’re scrolling mindlessly on your phone until you hear a familiar voice.

“y/n?”

you look up, and it’s her. why the fuck did she have to be here? you were actually enjoying yourself, besides the few rude people, and she had to show up and ruin it all.

“what the fuck are you doing here abby?” you spit out. you’re furious. you haven’t spoken to her in a few weeks, and there were actually days you didn’t think about her at all. “hey, i was just trying to be nice. what are you all butt hurt about?” she says, towering over you sitting on the grass. she always made you feel small, not just physically, but mentally too. you sigh, not wanting to let her control your emotions any longer. the partially-distant sound of ellie’s guitar stopped, making it seem so much more quiet.

“you here with ava?” you spit out at her. she looks like she took that offensively, even though she was the one who cheated on you. “what’s that supposed to mean?” she says back, her tone becoming more aggressive. you push your cigarette into the grass, putting it out and standing up. “what are you wearing?” now that you’re closer, you notice her cheeks are red, and so are her eyes. she’s crossed. you know how she acts when she’s drunk, so you simply gather your things, trying to ignore the entire situation and join your friends. the people who were previously around you had gotten up to go back to the stage as ellie had gotten off.

“where are you going?” it sounds like she expects you to stay. to come running back. to cling to her. “to my friends.” you flatly state while walking away. you feel a hand grab your wrist. “i’m talking to you, y/n. it’s rude to walk away from people when they’re talking to you, y’know?” her tone is that of mockery. like you’re a child and she’s trying to teach you a lesson. “did the breakup make you gain that much weight? god i really ruined you huh?” you try to yank your hand away, “let go of me abby, seriously it’s not funny.” her grip doesn’t subside and only grows stronger, making you wince.

“she said no dude, can you not take a hint?”

you turn around and see ellie walking towards the conflict. this is so cliche. “are you a groupie now?” abby laughs at you, and as soon as she says that ellie shoves her off. as attractive as ellie was, abby was stronger. she was built, and she could take down almost anyone. “stop, this is dumb.” you say as they get close to each other. “yeah, yeah it is. don’t know why i’m getting all mad over a groupie slut. you can have her.” she says, walking out of the venue. you see a ditsy blonde girl following after her asking if she’s okay as she furiously walks, not responding to her. you try not to cry at her words, why does she still have such an effect on you?

“you okay?” you hear ellie asking you, almost forgetting she was there. “yeah- yeah. sorry about that. and thank you.” you say, extremely embarrassed while wiping your tears. she’s just looking at you. not saying anything. she didn’t know what to say.

“wanna go get a drink to cheer you up?”

that’s how you ended up in a random bar, with ellie fucking williams. after she asked you to drinks, she took you to the back stage, careful not to be spotted by any fans, where she grabbed her bags and headed for the exit. she was able to sober up before the ride home. while walking out, girls spotted her, running up and asking for her auto graph. she obliged for a few until one asked to sign her boobs, “i gotta go, girls.” her bodyguards following behind the two of you making them back off. you were expecting a van or a car, but no.

she rides a motorcycle.

she just got hotter.

lifting the seat, she tosses her bag into the large compartment, replacing the extra helmet which she handed to you. your heart was racing, you’ve never ridden on a motorcycle before. you nervously put the helmet on your head. “here, lemme help.” she says, pulling the band tightening the helmet ensuring it’s on tight, before tapping it lightly and swinging a leg over her motorcycle. she reached her bent elbow out, waiting for you to use her to help you get on. you grab onto her arm and swing your leg over, getting more comfortable.

“hold on.”

“so where’d you hear my music?” she says, babysitting another rum and coke looking at you intently. she was careful not to drink too much knowing she had to drive home. the two of you had been at the bar for two hours, just talking. a few people coming up every so often to get her autograph. “i actually just only heard about it the other day, through the festival.” you say shyly, hoping she won’t take offense. she laughs softly looking down. “i guess it’s a good thing for me huh? got another monthly listener and a pretty girl talking to me.” everything she says is so blunt, so easy.

you start to wonder how many other girls she’s charmed with the same line.

“wanna head out?” she says. “you can come back to mine- fuck, i can take you to yours. sorry, that sounded desperate.” she laughs, picking up the two helmets and your purse, handing it to you. with the bill paid, the two of you walked to her bike. she opens the door and waits for you to walk through.

“why don’t we go back to yours?” you say boldly. she looks surprised, and sets her helmet on her bike, placing yours gently on your head. she puts hers on, hops on the bike, and helps you get on.

“alrighty.”

you didn’t know how much you’d actually like being on a motorcycle. there’s so much adrenaline, she’s speeding through cars and air is whipping around the helmet. your chest is pushed tightly to her back, your hands wrapped around her waist. luckily, her wearing her helmet made it impossible for people to spot her, making it an easy ride back to her hotel, the only hotel in town. parking her bike in a designated spot, she holds her arm out allowing you to slide off easily, her following behind you. she opens up the bikes seat, grabbing her backpack, and locks it.

“we should hurry before someone spots you!” you giggle. the alcohol making you feel so light and ditsy, following her to her room like a lost puppy. she pulls the key out and unlocks it, holding the door for you and locking it after you. she tosses her things on the hotels desk as you lay down on her bed. smiling to yourself.

“what’cha smiling about pretty girl?”

you giggle, tapping the bed indicating her to lay next to you. “this doesn’t feel real” you laugh out as she crawls on the bed, “i mean, im living every gay girls dream right now, hello? i’m in a hotel with ellie *hic* williams!!” she laughs at your drunken state, reaching to the bedside mini fridge to grab a seltzer. “you’re cute, y/n”. your ears kinda perk up, not remembering when you told her your name.

“how do you know my name?” you say, squinting your eyes at her. she cracks open the can. “calm down, princess, i heard it when that dick was talking to you earlier.” you notice she becomes a little annoyed. “i’m glad i took money out of her pocket but fuck, i got douches at my show.” she takes a long drink from her can. your rose-colored glasses didn’t even care about abby right now, or how much ellie hated her from their first interaction, you just wanted more of her.

you snuggle closer to her, wanting to breathe her in. you’re on the left side of her, laying on your side as she’s on her back. the level of intimacy between the two of you makes your head spin. you guys just met. part of you feels bad that she, a fucking rockstar, probably wants more than a simple conversation and cuddling. you sit up slightly, trying to remove your shirt, “hey, what are you doing?” she says, looking confused. you’re struggling to take your shirt off, it being tight and you being drunk. “feel bad. you probably get girls eeeeveryday doin this.. know why you’s wanted m’here so- so i’ll do it.” your works are slurring and hardly making sense and you’re starting to get frustrated. partially from not being able to take off the uncomfortable shirt, and part from not wanted anything sexual now, not in this state and not when you hardly know her.

she grabs your hands and stops you, making you look at her. “hey, i don’t wanna do anything, ‘kay? we can watch a movie after i get you some clothes to change into.” you put your arms down watching her get up and get an oversized band tee. “don’know if it’ll fit, els.” you say, sadly. she turns around, waiting for you to try it on. “just try it, princess.” you try taking the shirt off again, but just can’t. you get so frustrated you start tearing up, making her turn around and help you. “m’gonna take it off okay?” you nod, lifting your arms as she helps you take your shirt off. “don’t look!!” you say, laughing and pushing her away. she turns around, laughing, “okay, okay” allowing you to put the shirt on and take your bra off from under the shirt. finally, you slip your skirt off.

“done!” you say, smiling watching her turn around as she makes eye contact with you, her face turning pink. she walks towards you, smiling down at you on the bed. “wanna watch a movie?” she asks, picking up a remote and a bag of what looks like joints, pulling one out along with the lighter in her pocket. you nod, asking “can i have one?” she closes the bag, replying “you’re way too drunk, sweetheart.” she flicks on the tv, putting on whatever shitty movie was playing on the hotel tv at the time. you both crawl under the bed, cuddling up into her. you hear a familiar click of the lighter, and the sound of the paper and weed burning. she plays with your hair, making you more and more sleepy, drifting off into a deep sleep state.

the next morning, you wake up unsure of where you are. you look around the room, its messy and there’s clothes, food, and drinks everywhere. you lift your head and look to the right and see none other, than ellie williams.

what the fuck happened last night?

#ellie williams #ellie x fem reader #ellie williams fluff #eillie williams x reader #rockstar ellie #rockstar gf #ellie williams smut

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xiaosorbet · 11 months

Text

unreachable (kaveh x reader)

he's with you day by day, but as each one passes, you feel him growing distant. unreachable. you're not quite sure what changed.

content: angst, established relationship, gender neutral reader

warnings: might be ooc ?? also drinking (it's kaveh)

word count: 3.9k

author's note: HI TUMBLR this is my very first post here!!! hello!!!! also my first time writing in a hot minute so apologies if it's rusty. enjoy :)

sunday

you wake up drowsy and cold. the window is open, letting in a cool breeze. the space next to you on the bed is empty. the bedroom door is closed, though from the other side you can hear the sound of sizzling oil on a pan. kaveh cooks breakfast for you on the weekends, since his schedule doesn't allow him to on weekdays. you don't mind.

you go through the usual weekend morning routine. wash your face, slowly wake your body. the weather today isn't unpleasant; the sun hides behind the clouds, but you sense no sign of upcoming rain. kaveh greets you in the kitchen, wearing his pajamas and a smile. you give him a kiss on the cheek, and you chat about the weather while he flips strips of bacon on the stove.

it's just another sunday. unremarkable, but cozy. you spend time together over breakfast, laughing over the slightly burnt bits of bacon. he isn't used to cooking, since he rarely gets the chance, but he always tries his best. diffident apologies are never excluded from his dishes. seeing his shy smile makes you warm and appreciative.

later, you lay on the couch with him, entangled legs but separate worlds. he hunches over his laptop and a sketchbook, working on a project. the same kind he works on during the weekdays, and late into the nights. you tell him he should rest, he needs a break. he could watch a movie with you. you two could go out somewhere. you haven't gone on a proper date in a while, you tell him. it's sunday, he should be free of his work for once.

he waves you off. he's almost done. just a bit more, he claims, just like he always does. his eyes remain glued to the drafts and the blueprints. they don't catch how your lips straighten into a line, too focused on the ones on his screen.

you've been with him for almost a year. there was a time you could draw him away from his work. in the earlier days, all it took were a kiss and a soft plea, and you would have all of him on you, his hands, his gaze, his attention. nowadays you're not sure if he even hears you sometimes.

the rest of the day is uneventful. you do what you can to pass the time. you read a book as his keyboard clacks, his pencil scratches against the paper. he asks if the sounds bother you, suggests that you could read in the bedroom instead, it'd be more comfortable. they do bother you, just the slightest bit, but you shake your head and say you want to stay.

that night, you get ready for bed together. you brush your teeth together, smile at each other in the mirror. you kiss each other goodnight, and sleep with your backs to one another.

monday

kaveh's alarm wakes you. it trills in your ears, long and loud. you aren't accustomed to the sound lately. usually, you wake to your own alarm. this is the first time in a while you've heard his.

the alarm rings on and on, yet kaveh remains still, deeply asleep, lying on his back. you don't want him to wake up. you stare at his face, peaceful in his sleep, not burdened with stress or frustration from his work. those two emotions seemed to be all he would take home with him during the weekdays. something tells you this was the first good sleep he's had in a while.

all too soon, he stirs and wakes. he turns off the noise and plants a kiss to your head, apologizes for waking you, then moves around the room and around your little apartment, getting ready for work.

he leaves early. every day, he must be in his office at 8:00 a.m. to talk to clients, manage whatever building of his is being constructed at the moment, the works. he used to tell you all about it, and you would listen regardless of how much or how little you understood of his work. these days he just doesn't have the time or energy.

on the other hand, you work from home. your job is one that requires only your computer and half of your day, more or less. your own alarm goes off not long after kaveh has left. your days without him are routine and simple. you make the bed, make yourself breakfast, get to work for a bit. some days you clean the house, other days you get the groceries. it's mundane, and today is no different.

you set up your laptop and do your work on the small dining table near the kitchen. your little shared apartment doesn't have enough space for a study, so you and kaveh make do with the rooms you have.

later in the afternoon, after you've finished your work tasks, you decide to cook something for kaveh once he gets home. upon inspecting the cupboards, you discover that you have all the ingredients needed for a simple cream of mushroom soup. it's his favorite. when you finish, you let the pot sit on the stove.

the rest of the day is uneventful. you're used to the boredom. you send kaveh a text, saying you made him his favorite soup. he responds a couple hours later with a thank you.

his job is supposed to end at 5 p.m., but you count yourself lucky if he makes it home before 7. more often than not, he stays at his office overtime, sometimes because clients and contractors hold him up, though mostly because he throws himself into his work and loses track of time. you never saw the point in that, since he always ended up bringing his work home and doing it here anyway.

when he arrives home, he carries not only his suitcase but also an air of dejectedness you've come to be well acquainted with.

you try to comfort him as best you can, but as the months have gone by, your company seems to have less and less of an effect as a distraction from his woes. you sit with him on the couch and ask him what's wrong, but he brushes you off. the usual, he says. that's what he tends to reply with these days, and it's been so long since he's elaborated further that you can hardly recall what "the usual" is anymore.

you miss the way he would talk your ear off about all of his problems, the way he would pass them all onto you for you to dispel them with sweet, comforting words and gestures. you were his rock.

silence stretches between you and him. you aren't quite sure how to break it and even less sure that he wants you to.

tentatively, you tell him a little about your day. there isn't much to tell, and you feel somewhat bad telling him about your job that is less taxing than his. he seems to be listening, but he doesn't have much to say in response. only a few hums and nods. he must be exhausted.

you remember the soup you made him, and you tell him. his lips twitch up into a small smile in acknowledgement, though his ruby red eyes, weighed down by eyebags, hold only his tiredness.

when you set down two bowls of soup on the dining table, soft snores emanate from kaveh's body, now haphazardly draped across the couch. you think to wake him for dinner, but something inside you makes you stop. you don't know what it is, but there's this feeling, a voice in your head saying he'd probably just prefer to sleep there undisturbed. it's not a new occurrence.

so you eat alone. the second bowl goes into the fridge.

tuesday

this time, your own alarm is what wakes you. when you get up, you find that kaveh has already left for work. you guess he slept on the couch all night, because you didn't feel him climb into bed with you, and the sheets on his side of the bed remain unwrinkled.

you go through the usual cycle of work and boredom. nothing noteworthy happens with your work or around the house. you start pondering many things in your free time. you think about how you should probably clean the house one of these days. there's been a bit of dust on the counters, the shelves.

you think about kaveh, who must be working himself to the bone. you know he loves his job. no matter the obstacles he would have to face, all the issues and complications, he would always express to you that there isn't anything else he'd rather be doing.

nowadays… he doesn't tell you much of anything. it's like he closed off. you know he still loves his job. it's been his passion to be an architect his whole life. you don't sense that that has changed, but… something else has. his job has always been a demanding one. you're used to seeing him come home exhausted, stressed. but he confides in you about it less and less. you don't know why.

the question of why isn't a particularly new one. it's been there in the back of your mind, occasionally surfacing on days like this. you never had an answer, so you would usually push it away and pretend like there's nothing to question at all. that's what you intend to do today, just like the countless times before. you don't want to bother him with it anyway.

when he gets home, it's the same, but he seems less tired than the day before. he brought home takeout for dinner, and the two of you make small talk as you eat. you bring out the soup from yesterday too, and he thanks you for it. he apologizes that he didn't eat it yesterday. you wave him off, it's not a big deal.

the conversation doesn't get detailed or personal. any spectator that would happen upon the two of you might not realize that you've been together for over a year. the words that flow between you and him are friendly but not intimate. an unfamiliar feeling seems to tug at your heart, something that feels like sadness or confusion or dread, but you ignore it as you exchange idle chatter.

kaveh offers to do the dishes, but you stop him and do them yourself. he gives you a smile, and you see the tinge of gratitude in his tired eyes.

later, when you're about to head to bed, you bid kaveh goodnight while he hunches over a sketchbook on the couch, and you know he'll probably fall asleep there again.

before you go, you watch him from the hall; he's right there, yet somehow he feels… unreachable. your chest twinges again with that strange feeling. your lips part and you feel like you want to say something, but there's really nothing to be said.

you face kaveh's side of the bed when you lay. you feel a little cold, and the soft light peeking from beneath the door feels so far away.

wednesday

when you wake up, his side of the bed is empty and seemingly undisturbed once again. part of you thinks that maybe he just fixes and straightens out the sheets before he leaves, but you know that isn't something he'd do.

the rest of the house isn't as empty, though. as you make your morning coffee, you idly look around your place. it feels like it's been a while since you've really seen it.

most of it just screams kaveh. he decorated the place when you first moved in. you helped choose some of the furniture, but ultimately, you let him have the creative freedon to do with them as he pleased. some stray sketches are scattered on the coffee table in the living room. next to them, a couple of pencils. you pick up one of the sheets of paper and see a gorgeous landscape drawn on it. a garden with winding pathways and dreamlike flora and a romantic gazebo right at the center.

something seems to gnaw at the inside of your chest. a feeling of yearning. you're not sure why, but this drawing has made you feel like you're missing something.

you miss kaveh. the realization strikes you so overwhelmingly that your grip on the sketch tightens, your frown deepens. you miss him.

so what now?

you sift through a few more of his drawings, most of which are unfinished. as your eyes skim over his messy handwriting on each piece of paper, next to each grand building and humble house, the urge to call him, to hear his voice, to feel him with you becomes too much to bear.

where is this coming from? why are you feeling this? he was with you last night, wasn't he?

no, not really.

…but in the end, you decide to keep your feelings to yourself, and you decide not to call and disturb him while he's at work. though, to at least satiate the gnawing and pulling and dragging in your chest, you shoot him a text saying you hope his work is going smoothly. he responds a little bit later with a thank you, saying he hopes the same for you. and that's enough.

thursday

you're surprised when the first thing you see upon waking up is kaveh's back. the clock on your nightstand reads 3:08 a.m. and everything else is dark, but you can just make out his silhouette lying next to you.

the aching in your heart comes back. you will yourself to push it down and go back to sleep, but it demands to be felt. you feel it stronger than ever, the urge to reach out to him and pull his body to yours and feel him against you. nothing should be stopping you, but you hesitate nonetheless. you prop yourself onto your elbow and gaze at him for a while. even here, mere inches away, he is unreachable. you lean down and ghost your lips on his shoulder and whisper i miss you before laying back down and drifting back to sleep.

when you wake up again, the morning sun colors the bedroom, and you see that kaveh no longer occupies the space next to you. the rumpled sheets in his place tell you that you didn't just dream of his presence there last night.

the day passes by in a blur. it feels like the only thing you're fully conscious of is the dull sadness in your heart. you miss kaveh overwhelmingly. it confuses you how far away he feels even when he's right next to you. it's as if some invisible barrier has grown between you and him. you just miss being close with him.

when he gets home, you expect your heart to lighten, but it only seems to weigh down on you more. you can't help but envelop him in a soft hug when he walks through the door. you hope he can feel some of the yearning in your embrace. he returns the hug halfheartedly. he's just tired from work.

as you have dinner together in the low light of the dining room, you can't help but watch everything kaveh does. he's the same as he'd been since you met him. the way he holds his fork is the same as it was when you first went out to dinner together. all his little mannerisms, the way his body moves with everything he does, it's all so familiar to you. his whole being is chronicled in your mind. you liked to think that there wasn't anything you didn't know about him, but lately, you aren't so sure anymore.

and so it's back once more, the urge to reach out, the urge to ask him so many things and feel him with you again. the feeling that he's so distant despite being right in front of you. unconsciously, your grip on your fork tightens. you watch him some more out of the corner of your eye, unsure. his eyes focus only on his food.

your thoughts and wants whirl around you until you can no longer bear the silence between you and him.

finally, you manage to open up and ask him. why are you so distant lately? why don't you tell me things anymore?

you intended to sound stronger, gentle but still confrontational, but you felt like a little kid as you spoke. like you doubted your own words, that your questions might be unreasonable.

he doesn't give you an answer. for a long time, he stays silent. he stops eating and refuses to meet your eyes. his name leaves your lips, so soft and so small that you think he didn't hear. so you repeat it, more insistently. your mind floods with pleas that lodge in your throat. please. answer. tell me.

seemingly sensing your growing desperation, kaveh looks into your hopeful and pleading eyes, and simply says: i don't know. i'm sorry.

in his ever-familiar scarlet eyes, in that face you know like the back of your hand, you feel like you see a stranger in the windows of his soul.

that night, you toss and turn alone in your bed. the emptiness of it used to be so easily excused as kaveh simply accidentally falling asleep with his work. only now did it occur to you that he might have been doing it intentionally.

your mind feels like a storm of confusion and frustration and sadness. you wish you had the strength and reason to scream at him. instead, hot tears fall onto his pillow where you lay your head.

friday

the day feels dull and empty. you aren't entirely sure what to do. you go through the motions of a normal work day, but it's obvious that you're lost and helpless. you feel weak, being so uncertain of where kaveh stands. you're certain that he still loves you... that maybe he's just going through something within the confines of his own mind. he needs only to let you in so you can repair the rift between you two, so you can heal whatever's broken inside him.

throughout the day, you subconsciously make a vague script of things you want to say to kaveh when he arrives home.

please tell me what's wrong, kaveh.

i'm here for you, kaveh.

please come back to me, kaveh.

every sentence formed is laced with desperation. it feels like you're screaming into an empty cave, no response besides the echo of your distress.

all you want is for things to go back to how they used to be. you yearn for kaveh's eyes to shine with all the love and adoration in his heart like they used to whenever he looked at you. you miss feeling his warm gaze, his strong arms around your body, conveying every ounce of affection he couldn't express with words.

you just miss his love.

strangely, the day feels excruciatingly long, but also as if it passed in the blink of an eye. you're entrapped within the haze of your own longing.

you don't realize how late it is when kaveh gets home. you intend to greet him casually, so that you don't overwhelm him. you intend to communicate your feelings to him over dinner. though you're overflowing with things to say, you don't wish to go overboard.

but you soon forget all of that, because one look at him slightly swaying by the entrance immediately tells you that he's drunk. all your thoughts are instantly replaced by concern. you rush to his side while he holds a hand against his head. instinctually, you begin fussing over him, asking him why he drank, how much he had. you know he's not good at handling his liquor. the redness taking over his face and neck indicate that he drank a lot.

you don't remember exactly when, but there was a time he promised you he'd stop drinking to this extent. one late night, he came home drunk after work, in a state similar to his current one. you fussed and worried about him. you lectured him too. so he promised he would stop, because he didn't want to cause you more distress.

now, you ask him why he's broken his promise. maybe you were right in thinking something was wrong with his work, enough to drive him to drinking again. in your flurry of emotions, you barely give him room to breathe. you seem to briefly forget yourself as you reach up and cradle his face in your hands. gently, you plead, tell me what's wrong.

he takes your wrists and sighs before stepping away from you. your name leaves his lips in a broken whisper. he looks at you, and you see every bit of your desperation and chaos in your reflection in his eyes. his eyes, which are pained, bloodshot, defeated. he apologizes.

you step towards him. you don't want an apology. you want an explanation. he starts by saying that he cares about you. that you still mean something to him, that you'll always be someone important. it sounds like he's rambling.

everything else blurs. the only things you fully perceive in the next moments are the words that leave his mouth and the look in his eyes as he says them, resolute, mournful, regretful.

i just don't love you anymore.

saturday

they say drunk words are sober thoughts. deep down, you knew he'd say those words eventually. you've been in denial for the longest time. always trying to push away the notion that he no longer loved you. you always thought it was impossible, but part of you knew this was inevitable. it didn't matter that he was drunk. you both knew the words have been sitting on his tongue for a while now.

maybe that's why you didn't cry that night. when you went into the bedroom and lied down, yes you were sad, but there was also a sort of relief there. a burden was lifted from your shoulders and his. you no longer have to pretend. as you drifted off to sleep, you felt somewhat weightless.

it's midday now. the gravity of what happened starts to settle in. you lay on the couch, which smells like him, and your tears fall onto the cushions. kaveh is nowhere in the house. he left you with a note, saying he'll be staying at a friend's place. in the note, he promised he'd come back and you two could talk. the tiny naive part of you felt hope that he meant to work things out with you. but you know it's hopeless.

the silence of your home stabs into your ears. you cocoon yourself in memories of him, in sheets with his scent, in his drawings and once endless musings. your heart won't stop reaching for what isn't there. you still don't fully understand how someone could just fall out of love. but there's nothing else you can do about it now.

all you can do is let him go.

sunday

you wake up drowsy and cold. you stare at the ceiling for a very long time. no sounds of sizzling or pleasant humming make their way to where you lie. birds chirp their morning song, car engines phase past.

his world rotates without you.

#help this ended up being so much longer than what i had in mind #genshin impact #kaveh x reader #kaveh genshin impact #genshin kaveh #genshin x reader #genshin angst #kaveh angst #genshin fanfic #genshin impact fanfic #my works #ps i swear i have nothing against proper dialog i just wanted to try smth different akjdhgfakj

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mushyblushyredhead · 10 months

Text

Cure For a Bad Day—MCU

No thots. Just a silly fluffy Irondad thought I had to turn into a story. :3 If you don’t like, don’t read. But if you’re here for Irondad fluff or just fluffy Marvel tickles, then come on in! OvO

Word Count: 5,000

Summary: After a rough week of school mishaps, Peter starts to doubt his future at being a good student and even being Spider-Man. It’s up to Tony Stark to remind Peter he’s still worth it, and bring back his mentor’s favorite smile. (This is a tickle fic duh, purely platonic)

Lee! Peter

Ler! Tony

If there was one thing Peter Parker was good at, was multitasking. How many other teens could juggle the responsibilities of high school while fighting crime almost every night in the not-so-friendly-neighborhood, and still manage to finish their homework on time for the next day?

Somehow he was able to do both.

But like any other student, he had his challenges. Like today, for example. Peter was in the middle of trying to finish a lab report essay for chemistry class. He was pretty stressed out, as he hadn’t had so much time to work on it for the past three weeks stopping midnight crimes and shenanigans almost four nights a week.

Now, here he was, hunched over at his desk, typing away at his laptop attempting to finish his lab report that was due tomorrow. He was mid-paragraph, stuck on page three out of the required five.

Normally, Peter would rack his science loving brain and throw something together quick, but tonight was different. He was having trouble figuring out more words and what to say in the report.

His eyes were starting to hurt from staring at his computer screen so long. His spine ached from being hunched over like a shrimp in his chair for hours. And his stomach growled; he had skipped dinner and was insistent with himself that he could have time to eat after he got his report done.

He looked at his bedside clock. 10:37pm. Oh come on! I’ll have to go to bed soon and I’m not even close to being done.

Peter sighed. Sometimes, his full time job being Spider-Man could really put a dent into his student life.

There was a knock at his door. “Peter? You alright?” the soft voice of his Aunt asked.

“I’m okay, Aunt May,” Peter stifled a yawn. “Just finishing up homework.”

“You said you were finishing up two hours ago.”

“Well this time, I mean it. I am almost done.”

“Alright if I come in?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

The sight of her tired, stressed, hunched over nephew saddened May. “Oh, Peter, you’ve been at that science report of yours all afternoon. Why not call it a night and get some rest?”

“I can’t,” Peter’s eyes stayed glued to his screen. The blinking curser that sat there unmoving for hours seemed to mock him. “I have to finish this tonight. This thing is worth a lot of my grade this semester.”

“Hmm, okay how about this?” May offered. “I’ll let you knock off school tomorrow, and send a note to your teachers that you’re out sick. It’ll give you an extra day to finish your report.” Her lips ruled into a soft grin. “Maybe after that, you and I can head off to the mall and buy you some more of those Squishables things you secretly like.”

Normally, Peter would laugh and jokingly say what a bad influence she was letting him cut school like that. But tonight, he didn’t even crack a smile. “No thanks. I’ll get this done before I go to sleep. Shouldn’t be much longer.”

Aunt May saw that tonight would be one of those nights where Peter wouldn’t budge out of his zombie induced state. So she decided to let him be. “Alright then,” she sighed. “Just please don’t stay up past midnight. I don’t want to get another phone call saying you slept through class and other kids decided to draw on your face.”

“Yeah, will do.”

And with that, she shut the door.

Peter rubbed his eyes with a sigh. “C’mon…c’mon…gotta finish. Ugh! Why can’t I finish?” The teen was just about to give up and call it quits when the hairs on the back of his neck and arms stood out on end. His Spidey tingle was going off!

Despite feeling achy and sluggish, he quickly stood up and tore off his clothes, slipping into his Spider-Man costume. He pulled his mask over his face and was about to jump out the window when he stopped himself.

Aunt May might come back to check if I really did go to sleep. Dang it! Ok uhh…oh wait! That’ll work!

Peter grabbed some day old clothes off the floor and shoved them under his blanket, pushing them into a sort of Peter-shaped lump. Hopefully, if his aunt came to check on him she wouldn’t look too closely.

Grabbing his phone, he hopped off the windowsill and swung out into the night.

By the time Peter managed to sneak back into his room through the window, he was exhausted. He felt like he was about to pass out as soon as he stepped into his bedroom.

He flopped onto his bed, lifting his Spidey mask off his sweaty face. He didn’t have the energy to take off his costume just yet. He was so tired.

He had stopped a home break-in coordinated by three criminals. Normally, a crime like a break-in was child’s play to Peter. But after spending the whole week fighting off crime and running on four hours of sleep, and topped with the stress of his recent assignment, Spider-Man suddenly didn’t have the energy to do a lot of fighting tonight.

His web-shooting was uncoordinated, one punch nearly knocked him out, and he appeared to be wobbly when he landed.

Even the criminals seemed to noticed how he wasn’t putting much of a fight, and taunted him while having their weapons pointed at the sleepy hero.

Peter barely managed to stop those three criminals, and earned himself a bruise on his jaw and knee. So by the time the boy made it home, the clock read 1:55am.

Peter wanted to scream in frustration. Well there goes another sleepless night, he thought as he quietly stripped himself out of his Spidey suit and grabbed a T-shirt from his floor pile.

He cringed as his brain calculated the few hours of sleep he would be getting again.

The next day at school turned out to be so much worse. First, Peter was late to his first class due to him sleeping through his many alarms he set for that morning. Next, he ended up forgetting his lunch—and even emergency lunch money—from rushing to get ready earlier. And then, as if that wasn’t enough to put him in a bad mood, he completely forgot about his lab report.

His stomach churned as he heard the teacher announce for everyone to hand in their reports to the front.

“Peter?” The voice of his best friend made him whip around.

“What is it, Ned?”

“What’s up with you?” Ned asked in a hushed whisper. “You look like you haven’t slept in a month, and you’re acting way jittery than normal.” Ned’s eyes widened. “Is it the spider sense?! Is there danger somewhere right now? Do you need me to come up with an excuse so you can get out of here?”

Peter could barely register his friend’s overlapping questions. “No, Ned, I don’t need anything. And it’s not that. I just…” he sighed, burying his face into his sweater covered arms. “Trouble in the neighborhood late at night, and I completely forgot to finish my lab report.”

“What?!” Ned whisper-shouted. “Y’know normally I’d scold you like your aunt does, but you look like you’ve been through enough already.” He put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Need me to make up some excuse? Save your skin at least a little?”

Peter shook his head miserably. “No point. I’m screwed enough as is here. Total failure.”

“Are you su—“

Their conversation was interrupted by the teacher snapping at them. “Parker? Your report, please.”

Uneasiness filled Peter’s stomach again. It felt borderline nauseous. He slowly walked up to the front desk. “I uh…don’t really have it physically with me right now.” He pointed towards his lab table. “I-It’s on my laptop.”

“Trouble printing it out?” The teacher asked.

“Something like that.” Peter could feel his cheeks growing warm.

The teacher sighed with a head shake. “Well then if you email it to me in the next three minutes, I’ll still give you credit. But next time, Peter, make sure you are able to find a reliable printing source ahead of time when you’re printing your reports. Don’t just try to print them last minute, that’s when these incidents happen.”

“Yes, of course.” Peter swallowed dryly as he shuffled back to his table. His fingers trembled as he opened his laptop, the unfinished pages of his lab report staring back at him. It felt like a punch to the gut. Well…something is better than nothing, right?

After school, the poor exhausted teen wanted nothing more than to go home, face plant onto his bed, and hope his mattress would swallow him up.

He was surprised to see a text message from Happy on his phone screen. Meet at the Avenger’s facility right after school. Your ride is waiting for you out front. New missions are heading your way. :) -Happy

New mission? That perked Peter up a little. At least he could forget about school for the weekend. Sulking in his room would have to wait. Right now, he was curious as to what sort of new mission awaited him at the Avengers’ headquarters!

The car trip didn’t take so much time. It did, however, leave the boy to replay the events that had just happened prior. He slumped in his seat. Suddenly, a new mission with the Avengers didn’t seem to excite him anymore.

Why can’t I just be more responsible? Peter bitterly asked himself. The other Avengers are able to juggle their normal lives and jobs and still manage to fight bad guys all without breaking a sweat. Heck, even Mr. Stark can do it. So why can’t I? *sigh* Am I really that bad of a student? What’s my future going to look like if I can’t even make it through high school?

Ugh! Why is your entire self worth and future determined by one stupid grade?!

Upon arrival, Peter didn’t seem as starry-eyed or ecstatic anymore. At least, that was the noticeable vibe Tony Stark noticed with his young mentee. He, in fact, looked in bad shape. Dark rings circled under his eyes, he looked disheveled like he had been sleeping under a bridge the whole week, and he seemed very anxious. Not the typical anxious-excitement Peter normally projected whenever he heard any mention of a potential new mission.

Tony wrapped an arm around the silently depressed teen. “So how goes it, kid? Survived another week of school?”

Peter scoffed. “Just barely.”

“I hear ya. But hey, cheer up. It looks like a certain web-slinging hero will be tagging along on more serious world-saving missions with the rest of us. Now how’s that upgrade for your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man?”

The boy merely shrugged. “I guess it could be good for my rep. So long as I don’t screw anything up again.”

“Hey, look. You just made a couple mistakes, underoos. It happens to all of us when we’re starting out as heroes. But this a fresh start; a chance to really show the others and the world that your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man protects more than just the neighborhood and supermarkets. He protects the world, too.” He gave Peter’s shoulder a shake.

“Okay,” Peter said with a small sigh. Oh how he wished he could get back to sulking in his room right about now.

Tony started to grow more worried about his mentee that afternoon. He assumed the kid had a bad day at school or was simply tired after a long week, but this seemed much worse.

Peter didn’t go on mini gush-rants about random things. He didn’t spit out any science jokes or puns. He didn’t even quote any old movies. Peter Parker always quoted his vintage iconic quips and lines. It was like his second vocabulary—first vocabulary being talking in only Star Wars lines.

Something was really wrong. And Stark was not going to wait around any longer to find out.

When Tony finally found Peter, he was sitting upside down from the corner of the ceiling, the hood of his sweater almost covering his face, earbuds in and mindlessly scrolling through his phone.

“Peter?”

Said teen took his earbuds out. His gaze softened when he met eyes with his mentor. “Oh, hey Mr. Stark. What brings you here?”

“That’s just what I want to ask you, kid. What are you doing up there by yourself?”

Peter shrugged. “Bored.”

“Bored?! In the freakin’ Avengers’ facility?”

“Well, sorry. Guess I’m just a little too tired today.”

He’s trying to avoid my question, Tony thought. “A better question would be, why have you been moping around since you got here? Happy even said that you were so quiet in the car ride here. No offense, kid, but you’re never the quiet type. Especially around Happy. So what gives?”

The boy averted his game. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Just tired like I said. Y’know, keeping the neighborhood safe almost every night really drains your energy.”

“Cut the charades, kid,” Tony said firmly. “I wanna know what’s up with you. I’ve known you long enough to know that even with your nighttime gig as Spider-Man, you somehow always have enough energy to set Happy’s blood pressure spiraling, and annoy the rest of the Avengers with your weird vine refreshes and those picture things you call memes.”

Peter averted his gaze. How could he tell his mentor and biggest idol all the crappy events that took place that week? It wasn’t like it was a serious topic. It was just his own failure to be responsible.

“I don’t know,” he answered quietly.”

“Hmm…let me guess. Trouble at school?”

Peter looked up.” Maybe?”

“Alright, give me names here. A description of the punk. Who’s organs do I have to obliterate?”

“What? No, no, no, it’s not like that, Mr. Stark,” Peter quickly objected. “It’s just…rough days at school is all. And my student life.”

“I see. Want to come down from there and talk about it? I’ll have Happy make us some hot chocolate.”

“Alright.”

The warm hot chocolate was very comforting. After the long harsh week of events, a hot comforting drink was just what Peter needed. And it helped ease the hesitance he had earlier so he was able to come clean about what had happened.

“Wow,” Tony said, finally breaking the silence. “It sounds like the week really treated you terribly.”

“Tell me about it.” Peter fixed his gaze on his cup.

“Hey, listen, kid. You just had a bad week. Things will get better. You gotta believe that.”

The teen hero frowned. “How do you know I won’t keep failing? I’ve been screwing up nonstop this entire week. And even when I try to do better, everything always turns out worse. It’s like the universe hates me because I’m Spider-Man.”

Before Tony could respond, Peter kept talking. “And its so dumb, too. This whole situation. I’m sitting here whining about something that could’ve been avoidable if I had been a more responsible student. There’s no one to blame but me. And look at you, Mr. Stark. If you were in my shoes, you wouldn’t be a failing student just because you’re Ironman. I just want to do better, but I don’t feel like I can. And I know the school system doesn’t believe I can either.”

“Hey now, don’t say that,” Tony protested. “You’re a brilliant kid, Peter. Yes, you’re going to hit roadblocks along the way with your full time gig as Spider-Man and as a full time student, but you’re going to be fine. You just need a little encouragement. When you’re out there saving the neighborhood and face-to-face with an enemy that makes you feel like it’s hopeless, I’ve noticed that you never back down. No matter how difficult it is. This right here isn’t any different.

And if the crappy school system that’s been putting too much pressure on their students and treating them like garbage doesn’t believe in you, I do. I believe you can do it, Peter. You’re so much stronger than you think you are.”

Peter almost wanted to tear up at the words his mentor was telling him. Damn, he really was good at this inspirational uplifting speech thing. Maybe even better than Captain America.

He couldn’t stop the tears, though. He had been feeling so emotional this entire week and after hearing Tony freakin’ Stark rant about how he was worth it despite everything he was feeling, Peter really needed to let some tears out.

Seeing the boy’s eyes fill with tears made Tony panic. Had he made the kid feel worse with his words? “Oh god, are you alright? Did i go too far with that?”

Peter let out a breathy laugh. “No, no, you’re good.” He sniffed, and wiped his tears with his sweater sleeve. “Sorry I got emotional back there. Your uplifting speech just got me teary-eyed. Thanks, Mr. Stark. I guess I really needed to hear that.”

Tony gave the teen’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Anytime, kiddo. Glad I could help. Now, I do want to help out with your school problem a little so you’re not feeling traumatized Monday morning.”

The boy tilted his head like a curious puppy. “Huh? What do you mean help out?”

“Well I sort of did a little research on what your next assignments for the week are going to be on for your classes. And I took the liberty to have FRIDAY complete next week’s assignments so you’ll have the entire week off to not worry about your homework.”

“You…wait, are you saying that you had FRIDAY hack into my teachers’ lesson plans and did all my homework for me?!”

Tony nodded, stirring his half drunk mug with a spoon. “Yup. Your homework’s done with all the right answers so it’ll guarantee to bring your grades back up to an A+.” He paused. “Well, an A- to make it seem like you did it.”

Peter didn’t know if he should feel grateful or disbelief. “I-I…thank you? I guess?”

Tony smirked. “What, that’s it? I do you a favor here so you can have the week off. You can have more time to focus on your web-slinging career, or use the extra time to take a nap in home room, or stare at girls more between classes.”

Peter blushed at that last comment. “Okay, fine. Thank you, Mr. Stark. I really appreciate it.” For the first time that week, Peter smiled. A genuine warm smile. Then his face melted to concern. “Wait…do you think that it’s cheating?”

“Uhh….nah,” Tony assured him with a wave of his hand. “Hey, as long as it gets you the grades you deserve. Besides, you aren’t even going to use 90% of the crap they teach you in school. You’re gonna forget it immediately anyways.”

Peter giggled, covering his mouth with his sleeve. “Oh my god, Mr. Stark. You’re just as a bad influence as May.”

“Good! Maybe you can learn something here about all the shortcuts and loopholes to high school.”

“There are noho loopholes or shortcuhuhuts to high school!”

“Hell yeah there are! How do you think I got to where I am today?” Tony gestured to himself. “You think all of this happened by being a full time student? No way. High school did nothing to help me be who I am today. All it did was give me anxiety, student debt, and unrealistic expectations on what I needed to thrive in the real world. Oh yeah, high school teaches you nothing on how to adult or pay your bills. But hey, at least they teach you that the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell, right?”

Peter could not stop his giggles anymore. His giggles turned to laughter, and even while trying to muffle them through his sleeves, Tony could see the corner of his smile and the blush that dusted his cheeks.

It was always so easy to make the kid laugh, and Tony always liked to take advantage of it every time.

“Y-You’re terrihihible, Mr. Stark!” Peter said through his bright laughter. “A bahahad influence! Y-You’re even worse thahahn Loki!”

“Excuuuuse me?!” Tony pretended to be offended. He sat up, scraping the chair back, which made Peter’s eyes widen in alarm.

“Wait, no!” Peter surprised Tony by flipping onto the ceiling. “Don’t—Don’t tickle me, Mr. Stark!” Peter had had enough recent experience knowing what that look meant every time Tony got up from his seat. Having his own mentor know of his one dreaded weakness—the fact that he was insanely ticklish—and using that to mess with him anytime he got depressed or a little too snarky always flustered him to bits.

Tony grinned up at the spider teen on the ceiling. “Huh? Tickle you? Now why on earth would I do that? Oh right, because your ticklishness got dialed up to eleven from the spider bite. Isn’t that what you told me?”

Peter’s blush darkened. “S-Stop saying that so casually! I now what you’re up to!”

“Hey, I’m not up to anything. And honestly, I wasn’t going to tickle you.” A sinister smirk spread across his mentor’s face. “But since that was the first thought that crossed your mind…”

Peter’s tummy did fluttery flip flops. “Oh c’mon!! Mr. Stark nohoho! Dohohon’t you dare!”

“Too late. FRIDAY, a little help?”

“Yep. On it.”

The poor flustered teen squealed in alarm as one of Tony’s Ironman suits came flying over to him, trying to pry him off the ceiling. It was surprisingly easy, as Peter was already too giggly and flustered to concentrate on his sticking to the ceiling.

With Peter off the ceiling, he was dumped ungracefully onto the floor in front of Tony where the Iron suit immediately grabbed and pinned the kid’s wrists above his head.

“What the—FRIDAY you traitohohor!” Peter squawked. He pulled on his wrists, internally pouting that his spider strength wasn’t working in that moment.

“Hey now, don’t you insult FRIDAY,” Tony playfully scolded with a poke to the boy’s stomach. Peter squeaked at the touch. “We’re just here to help you out. I know how rough it’s been with school lately, and I don’t want to lose my underoos just because of that. You’ve been real upset ever since you got here and I know you’ve been upset all week. So no more of that now. You should know the Avengers’ facility is a no-sadness zone!”

And with that said, Tony right away scribbled both hands into his kid’s belly, making Peter screech.

“EeeAAAHAAaahahaaa! HeHEHE—Heyyyy! No faHAHAhahair!” Peter thrashed and kicked, instinctively trying to pull his arms down to no avail. “Mr. Stahahark! Nohoho pleasHEEAheeheehease!”

“Sorry, no can do, kiddo,” Tony casually answered over his mentee’s squeaky laughter. “I haven’t seen my underoos’ favorite smile in forever so I’m making up for lost time!”

“B-But nohohot like tha—HAAAHA! Heheheyyy!” Peter arched his back as Tony’s fingers crept up to his ribs. His blush now spread to the tips of his ears. He was cursing internally at how his Spidey strength was suddenly no longer there as he was laughing like a maniac.

Any other intense situation, Spider-Man would be able to easily get himself out of, but this was different. The ticklish sensations buzzing throughout his nervous system plus all his laughing was sapping any strength he had left, including his spider strength.

As Tony let his fingers inch closer to the teen’s underarms, he was playfully shocked when Peter tried to bite him. He pulled his hands back with a gasp.

“Whoa! What the heck was that?! What are you, a biting tarantula now?”

“You were getting too close to my armpits!” Peter shot back.

“Ohhhh I see.” Tony flashed him an evil grin that reminded Peter of that creepy, murderous knife-hiding doll from that 80s movie that always came back from the dead. “That’s your death spot, isn’t it?”

Peter shifted uncomfortably, his blush darkening. “N-No..?”

“Wrong answer.”

“AAAAAAHHERRHWHRHFEAAHAAAAAHAAAHA!! No Mr. Stahahahark!! NAAAHAHAHAO!!” Peter squirmed like a fish out of water, his body instinctively trying to twist away from Tony’s evil scribbling fingers. But no matter which way he turned, it didn’t help much. Tony’s fingers seemed glued to his hollows.

“EEEEAAAAHEHEEHHAAAA!! M-MR STAHAHARK!! IT…IHIHIT REALLY TIHIHAHAHA TIHIHICKLES BAAAAHAHAHD!!”

“That’s the point, kiddo! It’s more—whoa! You are just extra kicky today, aren’t you? FRIDAY, a little help here?”

“NOOOHOHOHO!”

Tony and FRIDAY had switched places; FRIDAY grabbing ahold of Peter’s flailing legs while Tony grabbed the boy’s wrists in one hand. Even as the two switched places, Tony couldn’t help but notice how Peter wasn’t putting up a fight to get away. He could’ve easily gotten up and bolted the second they let go of his limbs, or curl up with his arms wrapped around his torso so they couldn’t bring his arms up anymore, but he just laid there with a silly smile and blushy cheeks. Almost as if he secretly wanted this to keep going.

Tony had to ask the billion dollar question. “Y’know Pete, despite all your complaints, you’re not even putting up a fight to stop me or FRIDAY. Could it be because…you actually like this? You like getting tickled?”

Peter fell silent. He looked anywhere but his mentor’s eyes. He opened his mouth to answer but all that came out was stutters and keyboard smashes.

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Really? Look, I’m barely holding down your arms here and you’re not even trying to get away!” Peter’s face felt like was on fire now. “You know you can easily break out of my grip—even FRIDAY’s—and hightail it outta here, buuuut…I’m starting to think you don’t want to. Am I right or what?”

“I-I…” was all that came out of Peter’s mouth. Finally, he sighed and locked eyes with his mentor. His flustered, trembling lip suddenly curled into a crap-eating grin. With a defiant smirk, Peter stuck his tongue out. “Bite me, old man!”

Tony’s mouth formed a perfect O. Oh the kid was so asking for it! Recovering in a millisecond, Tony cracked his knuckled for dramatic effect. “That’s it! You’re finished, kid! You know I’m sensitive about my age!”

Peter actually had the nerve to stick his tongue out at him again.

Okay, so maybe truthfully he didn’t want this playful attack to cease. It was a great stress reliever after the rough week he endured. And if Peter wanted to dig a little deeper into it, while he was being tickled to pieces and screeching at frequencies only dogs should hear, he couldn’t think of all the bad things that had happened—his lab report incident, academic pressure, or even any general insecurities he had as Peter Parker and Spider-Man.

All he could think about in the heat of the moment was the playful ticklish feeling, the waves of dopamine, and the pure fun bonding vibe. So despite all the squealing and squirming, Peter was genuinely having fun. He’d be bummed if Tony stopped so soon. So he had to provoke his mentor some more to keep the fun going.

And that’s just what he did.

Oh, but if only FRIDAY hadn’t been traitorous enough to actually look up other sorts of tickling methods and suggest them to Tony to use against Peter.

“W-Wait! Wahahahit!! NonononoAAAAAAHAHAHEEHEHAHAAAA!! EEEEEHHAAAHAEHE!! THAT FEEHEEHEEHEELS AHAHA—AWFUFUFUL!! *snort* NAAAAAAHEHEAAHAAAAHAHAAA!!”

“Did you just snort, kid?!”

“N-Nohoho!! Shuhuhut uhuhup!! AAAAH! Waitwaitwait!! I tahahahake it baHAAAAAAHAHAAAAA!!”

Better hope that none of the Avengers nor his enemies finds out about Spider-Man’s adorable little weakness.

#sfw tickling community #tickle fic #tickle fluff #spiderman tickle #spiderman #marvel tickle #marvel #peter parker #tony stark #lee!peter #ler!tony #this was so much fun #eeeee <3 #mushy writes stuff

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abbyromanoff · 1 year

Text

Your precious baby

Pairings: g!p step daughter Nat x reader

Warnings: step-cest, bottom Nat, nat has a penis, face sitting, handjob, mommy kink, nat being a bit of a perv, small angst

Me and @daddynattt couldn’t help ourselves and had to write some innocent Nat. Go check out their step daughter Nat story as well!

Word count: 1445

Summary: When catching your step daughter going through her moms phone and jerking off to you, you just had to help

Nat paced around the house looking for her laptop, everywhere she went she couldn’t find it. She walked into the kitchen for the third time although this time you were stood in front of the stove, probably making dinner for her and your wife. Your wife. Her mom. Oh how she hated the fact that you were married to her mother. When you moved in next door she was too afraid to talk to you, assuming you wouldn’t want to be with someone as young as her. When she finally started talking to you her mom introduced you as her girlfriend, oh how she despised that day. Not long after then you and the woman got married.

You turned around when you heard someone rush in and abruptly stopped. “Oh hey Natty, is something wrong?” She was always shy around you, something you picked up on over the past year.

Rubbing the back of her neck and playing with her fingers as she didn’t make eye contact with you. “Uhm, yeah.Yeah, I can’t find my laptop anywhere, everywhere I look I don’t see it.” You gave a warm smile and walked up to her, grabbing the slightly shaking hands in your own, drawing small circles on the backs of them with your thumbs. She looked down at you, finally making eye contact.

“I think your mother was using it last night, I told her to return it but she must’ve forgotten. It’s probably in our room.” She nodded and quickly removed her hands from yours, being too nervous around you. She ran up the stairs while you were left in the kitchen with a small smirk on your face knowing the effect you had on her.

When entering the room she searched all around, hearing multiple buzzes repeatedly. Getting fed up with the sounds she went looking for what it was, trying to turn it off as she was starting to get pissed off. She found her moms phone that was blowing up with texts, multiple from friends or coworkers and two from you. No matter how much self control she had she couldn’t stop herself from opening up the texts sent by your contact, already memorizing her moms password by heart.

Upon unlocking she read the text ‘don’t open at work ;)’ attached with two photos and a video. The first one was your hands covering your nipples in a mirror, the camera being angled so it wouldn’t quite yet show your pussy. The next was you sitting down with your breasts and pussy being on display, it made her cock unbelievably hard. She nervously tapped on the video, looking around to make sure no one was nearby.

Your moans filled the empty room as you sat naked, rubbing your clit with you thumb as your finger was sliding in and out of you. Her hand trailed down to her pants and cupped herself through it, lightly palming the bulge as she pictured it was you doing it.

“Mommy.” Came her out of breath voice. She unbuttoned her pants and slid down her boxers to finally touch herself. The guilt of jerking off to her step mom immediatly left when she started stroking her cock. The moment the video ended she pressed the replay button, desperate to hear your moans again as she imagined she was the one causing you to moan and whimper.

You were heading upstairs when you heard noises coming from your bedroom, knowing your wife wasn’t home it had to be your stepdaughter. Slowly opening the door a bit to make sure it wouldn’t make any sound you looked into the room only to see Nat with her back hunched and a phone in her hand. You knew exactly what she was watching, when Melina left her phone at home you purposely sent a teasing photoshoot knowing that Nat would see it. Tiptoeing into the room you went behind the girl and wrapped your arms around her shoulders from behind, making her jump and throw the phone.

“Y/N! I-I’m so sorry! You weren’t supposed to see that!” Shushing her by resting a finger on her lip you pushed her down onto the bed, the same bed you shared with your wife.

“Shh, it’s okay baby. You were just so needy for mommy weren’t you? Was my sweet little puppy jerking off to my video that was meant for your mom's eyes only?” Her shameful nod made you chuckle as you leaned your face down to her own, silently begging for her to kiss you.

“Come on princess, kiss me. Do you not want to kiss mommy?” You fake pouted to make her feel bad, admiring the way her eyes almost popped out of her face. She brought her face up slightly and her lips brushed against yours until she gained enough confidence to kiss you. You used your tongue to lick against her lips, using it to your advantage when she gasped and let your tongue slide into her mouth.

Reaching down you took her cock in your hands and started a small rhythm while she froze beneath you. She let go of your lips to speak for a moment, “Mo-Y/N, this is wrong. What if my mom sees us?” You bit your lip at the title she almost gave you and shook your head above her, continuing your slow pace on her length even after she tried prying your hands away.

“Natty, no one will catch us, your mom isn’t even home right now. This will be between us, just some nice mommy daughter play time, there’s nothing wrong about it.” “A-are you sure? I thought we c-couldn’t be together because you’re with my mom.” Her sentence was hard to get out, the feeling of your hands making it difficult to speak a full sentence. Her moans and whimpers from earlier returned, this time it wasn’t just because of a video. She never heard her friends tell her anything about play times with their step-mom, in fact, most of her friends hated their step-parents.

“Oh no sweetheart, as long as you don’t tell anyone we can have all the fun we want. But if you tell someone mommy will have to stop, and you don’t want that, now do you?” Her head shook faster than ever, the fear that this feeling would go away over taking her.

“No mommy, I won’t tell anyone I promise! Don’t wanna lose you.” The last sentenced was whispered but you could still hear it, a smile growing on your face as you realized just how much she loves you.

“Yeah? You love mommy? You love me just as much as I love you?” Her head was thrown back while she tried her best to nod, your hand now picking up speed.

“Please mommy, I’ll do anything! It hurts so bad, need to cum.” You faked pittiness as you so desperately wanted to torture her pretty little cock.

“You’ll do anything? Hm, maybe I will let you cum, but first, I want you to make me feel good.” You climbed up onto her body and sat on her flushed face, removing your hand from her length leaving her needy as ever. The minute your wet cunt met her mouth she started licking you all over, trying her best to make you cum as soon as possible. Her tongue awkwardly entered your hole as she made eye contact with you, it was amusing how inexperienced she really was.

“Keep your tongue out baby, let me ride you.” She complied and you desperately slid your pussy against her, moaning whenever your clit hit her nose. Grabbing your thighs hesitantly you noticed how she stilled beneath you, her noises vibrating against you. You couldn’t even care what was happening, only worrying about finishing all over the girls face.

“Mommy’s gonna cum for you, mommy’s gonna cum all over your beautiful fucking face.” The coil in your lower stomach finally snapped as you rode her face faster than ever.

“You make me feel so much better than your mom, she could never compare to you.” The praises made her smile, but that nagging fear that you were lying made it go away.

Calming down, you finally lowered yourself and brought your face to her own, licking off the juices and inserting your tongue into her mouth. She savored the taste once again until you brought your hand back to her throbbing length, noticing that cum trickled down it. Leaning back you looked at her with a disappointing gaze before muttering,

“Oh Natty, was my precious baby too horny to realize she can’t cum without mommy’s permission?”

#natahsa romanoff #natasha smut #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #natasha x fem!reader #natasha angst #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff smut #natasha fluff #stepsis nat>>>>#stepdaughter x stepmom

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hannahssimblr · 3 months

Text

And so, begins an intense drive for work like I have never experienced. Perhaps work is the wrong word, as not much about creating art feels that way. Never before with ordinary, academically focussed work have I adopted this kind of extraordinary discipline to the point that I simply get through the motions of the ins and outs of my ordinary days, looking forward to the moment that I can lock myself away in my bedroom and draw for the evenings and into the night.

I draw everything in sight. I study fabric; the crinkle of the duvet, the crease in my pillows and the piles of discarded clothing on my bedroom floor. I draw the curtains from ten positions, then ten more. I study the exacting edges of man made objects. The hard, smooth ceramic of the mugs I should have brought back to the kitchen days ago, the individual keys of my laptop, a tastefully arranged stack of books from dad’s library that he surely won’t notice are missing unless he has a sudden urge to read about the battle of the bulge or Haguenau for the thousandth time.

Mostly I study myself, my own anatomy, feet, legs, arms and fingers and all of the weird little bits of me that move about beneath the skin. I fill pages and pages this way, so many that I run out of paper and start drawing in between all of the drawings I’ve already done, overlapping like the work of an obsessed madman. Maybe I am.

Have I eaten today?

Often I pull up a mirror and study my own face in different ways. I pull different expressions or control the lighting so that I can create soft, diffused light in the early morning, or cast angular shadows over my cheek with the artificial glow of a desk light when the sun sets and the room around me is black like spilled ink.

At school when I lay my work on the table for Miss O’Reilly I’m embarrassed by how many drawings of my own likeness cram the bursting pages of my sketchbooks. They look like the journals of a raving egomaniac to me, but to her it resembles art. She tells me that I show a lot of real promise, and that I have more to learn. I agree with her, and spend lunchtime in the library.

Art and science, it seems, go hand in hand. Hunched in a dark corner where nobody can see how uncool I have become, I pore over anatomy diagrams and look at muscles and tendons and bones. I learn what everything is called and the shape it makes when the skin is pulled taut over it.

When it is curved on one side, it’s straight on the other, I observe, as I draw my finger down the length of an illustrated thigh on page sixty four of Biology Plus for Leaving Cert, trying not to think about how this is probably the closest I’ve come to intimacy with another human being in months, and as someone as uncontrollably and constantly horny as I am it’s becoming difficult to ignore. Maybe I should text Tara Neary and ask if she’ll help me study biology…

No.

I hastily skip over the pages about reproduction and start reading about something called the Cephalic vein instead. Sexy.

I even log into the library computers and watch disgusting medical videos of dissections which make me feel so ill that I think I might lose my lunch, but they are informative as much as they make me feel like I am displaying psychopathic behaviour and worry that I am on a slippery slope towards becoming one of those people that murders cats and rabbits just so that he can cut them up and peer at their insides. What’s next? Robbing graves?

“Look up blue waffle next.”

I jump, and spin around to Jen who is leaning over my shoulder, and I quickly close all windows from the Video Atlas of Human Anatomy website. “And that’s fucking sick, whatever that is.”

“Jesus, Jen, you scared me.”

“Only because I caught you looking at something you shouldn’t.”

“It’s just biology,” I grumble, and she pinches my arm before pulling up a seat and slumping into it, “I didn’t think I’d find you here of all places. The elusive Jude Turner.”

“Is that what they call me now?”

“I’m afraid so. But honestly I thought you were doing something way more interesting with all your alone time these days.”

“I’m studying.”

“Do you know how to study?”

“Clearly.”

She sighs, “Well can you give it a rest? I miss you. We don’t hang out enough lately.”

“It’s not because I hate you or something…”

“I know, you’re busy, busy, busy, drawing all the time. Ugh. I get it. Is this how you’re going to be all summer too? Down on the beach in Wexford drawing scabby seagulls?”

“If you wanted to hang out you could always come over to my house and let me draw you again, as long as you won’t move around so much this time.”

“I can’t not move!” She says in outrage, and as the librarian promptly shushes her she lowers the volume, “It’s so boring just to sit there and do nothing, I can’t think of anything worse. Oh no wait, I can, it’s hanging out with Michelle and Evan without you there to laugh at them with me. And now that it’s getting warmer and the days are longer I just want to be outside, but my only options are to sit in the park and watch them kiss or go for a sad walk all on my own, Judie,” she takes my hands, “Please, give it a rest. Down the pencils, I’m begging you.”

“I just really like learning about this.”

“Yes, but can you like it six days a week instead of seven? Can you give me a day? A measly day for old Jenny?”

“I see you Tuesdays still,” I point out, though I know that grilling her with maths questions while she groans in despair into her pillow isn’t exactly her definition of fun, but can’t she see that this is important to me? I can’t forgo my Ivy duties or rugby, so I must forgo my social evenings instead. Something's got to give, and now it has, and for the good of my future I have stopped texting everyone back.

“We’re having a bonfire night at the weekend, will you come?”

“Who is?”

“Me and my friends.”

“The emos.”

“Yeah, the emos. What other friends do I have? Now that it’s finally semi-warm-ish we thought we’d have a fun night up by the beach and just sit around and chat by the fire. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“Well, yeah,” I admit reluctantly. “I do like a bonfire.”

“Of course you do, my little arsonist. So come. It’ll be good for you to get out and do something. You’re an extrovert, you’re not meant to be so cooped up.”

I begin to protest that I don’t feel cooped up, even, astoundingly, when I’m at home with my family. I feel alive and free in my artistic pursuits since I’ve unlocked this new exciting part of myself. I’m capable of focussing on something, doesn’t Jen understand how significant that is? But then again, maybe she’s right. Maybe it’s abnormal not to socialise with other teenagers for three weeks in a row.

“Alright, I’ll come then.”

“That’s more like it,” Jen ruffles my hair, no doubt getting it all out of place, but it’s fine, I’ll fix it later in the mirror when I’m back drawing my nose or my chin for the umpteenth time. “We’ll have a lovely time! I’m excited now!”

“Yeah, don’t get too excited, I feel like the librarian might have something to say about that.”

Jen peers around to see the daggers being shot her way, “Okay, fine. I’ll leave you alone.”

“You promise?”

“Yes! Look, I’m going!” She untangles her legs from the chair and does a whole show of sneaking away as quietly as humanly possible while watching the librarian with performative caution, “Hey,” She hisses from the door, just when I had started to believe she was truly gone, “Don't forget to look up blue waffle. Trust me.”

“Get out of here!”

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky boy 2009 #if you don't know what blue waffle is istg do NOT look it up #kids of the 00s will know <3 #and have never forgotten the horrors #we used to send it around during computer class and we would SCREAM #tw: sex mention

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naffeclipse · 1 year

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I have the honor of being @arty-angel-things's secret Santa for the DCASS2022 event! I went a bit over the word minimum, but I had so much fun with this fic. It was a wonderful challenge to craft the prompt from your list of likes such as Mermaid AUs and Sun taking care of Y/N and helping them improve as a person! I did my best to incorporate several elements together and include Moon scaring Reader, of course, but nonetheless helping Y/N to become better as well!

I hope you like it!

Mayday In Paradise

FNAF Mermaid!Sun/Moon x Reader (SFW)

You can also read this fic on AO3!

Word Count: ~5,700 Warnings: Light Angst

You have no idea what you’re doing here, but you’re supposed to have fun. At least, that’s what Vanessa expects you to do. In truth, you’re growing wearier by the second.

The beach house is flawless, and it’s all yours for 14 days. You just flew in yesterday. As gorgeous as the tropical island, white-sand shore is, which is only a hop, skip, and a jump from the back porch of the rental you’re staying in, you’re getting trapped in your thoughts.

There’s a reason you never used your vacation days.

The company you worked for, Fazbear Entertainment, mandated that you use your vacation time by the end of the year or disciplinary action was going to be taken, as apparently, the government was breathing down their necks about their employee health and safety. When you bemoaned to Vanessa, your coworker, that you were going to be forced out of work for two weeks, she agreed, much to your dismay, that you needed the time off. She’s the one who suggested spending your Christmas somewhere down south where the weather is always warm and mild and the crystal clear, salt water is a mere stroll away.

“You need to do something nice for yourself,” she had said, smiling as you both hunched over her laptop during your lunch break, staring at house rentals and exotic locations.

You kneel on the edge of the wet sand, just where the tide laps up gently and brushes against your knees. The late morning sun is already blazing down on your shoulders where you had rubbed a great deal of sunscreen on as you really haven’t spent a great deal of time outside and fear how sensitive your skin will be. A tank top and shorts are proper beach attire, you think. You wear a nice little sunhat, too. Gazing out over the ocean, you touch the small canoe sitting on the shore. The boat was in the small shed tucked beside the garage of the rental, and the renter said everything was for your use, at your pleasure. Paddling around in the water is something fun, right?

It should be, but the longer you stay still, the more you drop into darker thoughts of leaving this beautiful place where time doesn’t grit between your teeth and the air is light and salty and you think you might enjoy yourself here.

You don’t want to get attached. You can’t. This isn’t your life. You have to go back to your empty apartment and wake up early in the cold to make it to work on time so you can talk to your only friend, Vanessa, and rinse and repeat until…

Until you die.

What a life you lead.

You groan quietly and bow your head, covering your face and incidentally brushing wet sand on your forehead. You don’t like to think and ponder about how pathetic your existence is. If you disappeared, only Vanessa would notice, but even then, you suspect she’ll move on because she has friends and family, and you are hardly a second thought, if that, in people’s lives.

This is why you keep up with the daily grind. This is why you work yourself to the bone so that when you go to bed at night, you have no choice but to sleep and not dwell on what is hopeless.

A bird chirps somewhere off in the palm trees, drawing you out of your internal collapse and allowing you to breathe in deeply. The waves gently wash up on shore. The horizon is endless and blue. What are you doing? You need to try to make the most of this before it ends and you’ve wasted it like you tend to waste other things.

Taking a hold of the canoe, you push it into the water, grunting with effort until it buoys. Your feet slip into the ocean. The warm, even temperature soaks your legs. Oh. You should probably get a life jacket on, but when you look back to shore and the empty beach house you’re going to sleep in for 13 more nights, you decide that you know how to swim. Not well, but you know how to. Climbing inside the little boat and setting off, you pick up the paddle laying at the bottom and begin heavy, slow strokes to sail through the small, peaceful slice of this paradise you’re intruding upon.

A peaceful rhythm begins as you paddle. The ocean is surreal—a rich teal color, sometimes cyan blue where it’s really shallow. You do your best to stay clear of a sandbar.

Something flashes just underneath the surface a little ways off from your canoe, a fin of some kind of fish. You can hardly see through the glare of the light reflecting off of the still surface, but then there’s another small splash—something frilled and yellow—but gone the next moment. Leaning forward, almost over the edge of the boat, you strain to pick up whatever was just underneath the surface.

A small bump and a loud scrap hit below the canoe. Your paddle hits something hard, not sand, but something unforgiving. Quickly, you push back and free the boat from whatever it hit, hoping with a cringe that it didn't scratch the paint on the canoe. You should have paid attention to where you’re going. The sandbar stretches a little longer than you had thought and you push around it to head further out to sea.

You paddle farther away, until the shore and the beach house blur into a thin line in the distance. Isolation is easy to find when the surface is calm. You inhale, and your chest feels much lighter than it had been earlier. The gloom that had clouded over your head slowly breaks apart and dissipates.

For a wild, frantic moment, you want to sail over the horizon and never come back. That mystical, other side would take you far away from the mundane and the trite, where you don’t feel so empty and worthless. You paddle harder. The minutes slip by, the heat soaks into your skin as you sweat slightly, and the shade offered by your sunhat barely keeps you cool.

Breathlessly, you stop. You’re farther away from shore, but no closer to where the sky meets the water. Laying the paddle down over your legs, you look across the ocean, as if it cares you're here, as if you’re even one ripple in its vastness. Your heart aches.

You wiggle your toes against the sensation of water. Though it’s warm, it’s cooler than the sun beating down on you.

Wait a minute.

You jerk your head down to find a steadily rising level of ocean seeping into the bottom of the canoe. Freezing in place, you stare as it slips higher, reaching your ankle. Then reality hits you as the canoe sinks deeper into the ocean, far more than it should.

Slowly, knowing that you’re not going to like what you see, you turn back to find shore a very, very long distance away. You’re far. Way too far for someone in just a canoe, not to mention one taking on water.

Uh oh.

You jump to your feet but almost fall overboard as the canoe titters dangerously. The paddle slips from your lap and lands into the wet bottom. Searching frantically, you drag your hands through the leaking canoe and rake your palms over every side, hoping for something, anything, to aid in dealing with this mess. You come up empty, though you do find a small, worn hole in the front of the canoe. Flashing back to that horrible scrap on the sandbar, you realize that this is your fault.

You didn’t bring anything with you—not a life vest, and your mouth grows drier by the second as you stand helplessly in the unstable boat as the surface level climbs up your shins.

You idiot. You stupid idiot.

In a last-ditch effort, you rip the paddle out of the water as the canoe begins to tip in the back, sinking dangerously further into the ocean, and paddle frantically. The boat is slow, struggling to move with the added load. Every shove you give is heavier than the last. There is no more buoyancy.

You drop the paddle and it slips overboard while you scramble forward, away from the devouring wave that’s starting to rush against your thighs. Panic sends your pulse upwards as you cling to the tip of the canoe as it angles slightly higher and the end sinks deeper. In the corner of your vision, something flashes through the water, red and swift.

Oh no. No, no, no. Was that a shark? They’re in these waters, you know they are, and you grow sick at the thought of being torn apart by layers of sharp teeth. Fear bleeds into you, sending your heart racing as you hold tight to the bow of your quickly sinking vessel.

Somehow, you didn’t see yourself becoming food for whatever native animals roam the waters around your vacation getaway. That’s so sad, honestly. You make a strangled noise, like a laugh that wants to be sob, but you can’t help it as terror takes hold. Vanessa might feel bad about suggesting you go here, but it’s not her fault. It’s your fault. If you weren’t so pathetic and lonely and just, not you, you wouldn’t be here, sinking.

The water crashes against your hips. Half of the canoe is submerged, tilting to a sharper degree as you whimper and look back to the thin line on the horizon that’s supposed to be land. You mentally balk. You have to swim. You don’t know how but you have to try and make it back to shore with whatever you just saw in the water.

The sinking feeling in your middle matches the finality of the canoe.

You close your eyes and inhale sharply, internally bracing yourself. Before you can unhook your hands from around the bow, something splashes close beside you.

When you open your eyes, looking over the end of the canoe, you’re met with an aqua-blue gaze, the color almost disappearing into the liquid hue lapping at the creature’s face. Bright yellow frills adorn his head in a way that reminds you of the rays that beam off of the sun.

You gasp as he blinks, then rises higher above the surface, revealing a grinning jaw full of razor-sharp teeth. The strange fish’s round and flat face tilt, the pale yellow color of its scales running down a slender neck adorned with red fins like a ruffle collar. Your arms lock around the canoe as you stare back. He slowly opens his deadly mouth; your mind screams at you to get away.

“You look like you’re in trouble, friend,” the fish cheerfully remarks.

You sputter, blinking rapidly, before registering that the water is overtaking the last of your precious floatation device. Scrambling, you furiously crawl on top of the very edge of the canoe before it, too, sinks.

“Get away!” you shriek, wishing you still had your paddle. You could have used it to wack that, that—whatever it is, back!

The fish-man thing slips away slightly, concerned but cringing at your piercing volume. He levels a soft gaze on you amid your fumbling panic.

Officially, the boat falls entirely underwater. You’re standing up, but your platform is taking you deeper. With no other choice, you kick off of it as much as you can to get a small leap through the water and away from that thing that’s smiling with way too many teeth.

You sputter as salt and liquid hit your face. Struggling, you kick and push your arms, splashing wildly. The fact that you’re a weak swimmer only pushes your frantic movements harder, and then something snags your foot, sharp points digging into your skin. You barely have a moment to inhale before something drags you under.

Through the burn of salt, you look down as your heart climbs into your throat. Glowing red eyes stare up at you from where the depth darkens the water and reveals another fish-man. A dark blue hand is wrapped around your ankle. This one is silvery and dark in the face, like a crescent moon hanging in the night sky. He bears a smile no less wide than the other one, and somehow, even sharper as he holds you in place just below the surface. Instead of frills, it has a thick, midnight blue appendage that reminds you of a nightcap trailing off of the back of his head, ending with a small, glowing bulb, much like an angler fish’s lure. His body is long and sleek, a darker color but his tail is dotted with designs in his scales, like stars. The sharp tips of his fins remind you of a shark.

A breath escapes you in a scream, swallowed by the sea in a burst of bubbles. You start thrashing wildly. The creature hisses and snatches your other ankle before pulling you deeper. You’re whipped downwards, forced to confront his terrifying grin. You freeze. The fish man looms in the water above you as his grip shifts to grab you tightly by the waist, reminding you how incredibly small and useless you are in the water. Red eyes paralyze you.

“Stop it,” he warns in a low, whispery voice, carried seamlessly through the water. “Be good, or else.”

Your wide gaze stings from the salt but you can’t look away, waiting for the creature to decide that it’s already reached ‘or else’ and take a bite out of you. A fire begins eating up your lungs. There is no more air left in you and the ocean is becoming darker by the moment.

Arms wrap around you, underneath your armpits, from behind. You jolt as your back is pulled flushed against a solid chest. The moon face creature narrows his eyes, irritated as if the fun was cut short.

“Moon, the poor thing needs air,” reminds a buoyant, chasting voice behind you before the other one releases your waist. In one flip of a tail, the yellow fish man lifts you to the surface.

Your head breaks through the water and you inhale sharply, choking several times before settling enough to register that a mysterious sea monster is still, very much, holding you tightly around your chest. Large hands, pale yellow, and arms lined with small red flowing fins on the outside that stop at the elbow, lower to your waist. Claws dig slightly into the fabric of your tank top.

Deeply breathing, you press your hands over the arms holding you in place above the water and sputter, “Don’t eat me!”

“Oh, we’re not going to eat you!” the voice behind you chimes pleasantly. “We’re not hungry.”

You tense. Panic flows once more through your veins but you’re distracted by the other fish man—merman, that’s the word you’ve been looking for—sliding up in front of you. He doesn’t break entirely through the surface, his mouth hidden beneath the slow ripples you’ve thrown out in your half-halted squirming. His red eyes bore into you, predator-like. You stiffen.

“Let me go,” you say quietly as you attempt to pry the sunny merman’s arms off of you, “Right now.”

“And let you sink again?” the merman behind you clicks his tongue disapprovingly. The dark blue one grabs your wrists with a small splash, forcing you to stop. Not that you actually got the yellow, scaly arms to budge. “Friend, you don’t seem to understand the danger you’re in.”

No, you’re well aware of the fact that two mystical and terrifying mermen are holding you captive right now, and that at their leisure, they could drag you under to drown or start tearing you apart. The water is dangerous because you are in it with them.

The blue merman rises higher out of the water, and immediately, you’re trapped in his shadow. His teeth flash in the light. When he tilts his face, the thing at the back of his head drapes over his shoulder.

“You think you can make it that far?” amusement fills his rasp.

You whimper as he slowly flexes his grip around your wrists before easing up slightly. You kick out once and hit something solid that you can barely make out in the water, something yellow and red striped that then jerks slightly. You’re pretty sure you hit the one holding you. Your thought is confirmed when the arms around your waist tighten.

“Be nice,” the yellow one’s voice lowers, becoming slightly darker, and you don’t miss the warning. His tone alone freezes you in place. “You need to mind your manners so we can keep helping you.”

“Help… me?” you breathe out. You tug on the silver and dark face merman’s grip, but he doesn’t budge.

“Get back to shore,” he says, his starry ‘hat’ glistening wet.

You glance momentarily around, back at the sun-like merman and back to the more moon-esque one.

“Why?” The word slips out of your mouth before you consider, maybe, not questioning the two sea creatures holding your life in their hands, and thus causing them to change their minds.

Two pairs of eyes, one red, one blue, fall on you. It’s very hard to swallow suddenly.

“You looked like you were having a bad day, friend,” the sunny one says simply. “There’s no need to let it get any worse!”

“We’re not hungry,” the moon fish says, echoing the sunny one’s words from earlier. Your face falls in horror before he snickers. You grow still as he turns over your hands and works your fingers open, unfurling your fists. Is he messing with you? Does he find it funny to scare you? You can only stare and wonder as he slides his hands over your palm to loosen the tension in the lines.

“O-okay.” Your fingers tremble until he finally releases your hands. In a smooth descent, he sinks below the water, red eyes still watching, ominously close.

“That’s much better, sunshine. Hold on, it’s a long way for you,” the one behind you says, very closely, and you glance over your shoulder to see his ever-sharp smile grow in excitement.

“Wait!” A spark of anxiety hits your chest, fearing the merman holding you is about to go under, too, but your outburst is silenced as he hikes you up, pulling you tighter against his chest as he falls onto his back. Water splashes over your arms and your legs. A small noise of fright escapes your throat before you inhale sharply, holding the precious air in your lungs. You flail for half a moment before registering the stern but gentle reprimand from the yellow merman. Holding still, you’re acutely aware of the water lapping at the edges of your body as he swims steadily with flicks of his tail, keeping you above the surface. The sky overhead is a perfect, crystal blue.

Tentatively, you exhale. A blazing heat not due to the sun setting over your face. It’s strange and almost intimate how he holds you so securely to him, and it immediately reminds you of those cute videos of mother otters holding their young on their bellies. Except, it’s you, and you’re clutched by a merman.

You’re lying on top of his body. When you glance down, you realize his tail is brightly striped in scarlet and yellow, with flowing, translucent red fins outlining his sides and expanding into a beautiful, full tailfin of the same colors.

“Stay right there. Don’t move, friend! It’s so much easier when you listen to us, isn’t it?” he hums encouragingly.

Slowly, slowly, you give in to this wild turn of events with a stark air of incredulousness. Your head reclines against a bony ridge on the merman—a slender collarbone, you think. Underneath your feet, the rhythmic motions of a tail working through the water become a familiar motion.

“You’re really taking me back to shore?” you ask dumbly. You're not even sure if you’re still alive or maybe this is an odd dream, something your sun-fried brain cooked up to give you a boost of serotonin, but that doesn’t fit right either. You can’t remember the last time you had a pleasant dream.

The merman’s short chuckle rumbles underneath your back.

“Yes,” the arms around you press a little tighter, “and I must insist that whatever destination you had in mind out on the ocean wait until you learn to not sink your boat.”

“I didn’t have a destination,” you mumble, embarrassed at his slight jab at your obvious mistake. Quietly, you berate yourself for your foolishness.

“You looked very determined to get somewhere , friend,” he says, voice lowering slightly as if pondering the idea of you lying to him.

Were he and the other one watching you from underneath the water? You guess that’s possible, but that doesn’t explain why he’d care to. You’re nothing special. The only eye-catching skill you’ve flaunted so far is being hilariously bad at being aware of your surroundings until it’s too late.

His claws dig deeper into your sides and you realize he’s expecting an answer, one you scramble for before blurting out, “I was getting away!”

“Away?” You can hear the frown in his voice, but you can’t picture his grinning maw turning upside down, so you try to peek up at him. “Away from what?”

You only manage to get a look past his shoulder into the water. The glimpse reveals a dark shape keeping up with the sunny merman’s steady swim, glowing faintly with a yellow hue in small patches. Looking back to the sky, you desperately hope the moon merman doesn’t get hungry anytime soon. You cling a little tighter to the arms holding you above water.

“I don’t know,” you confess. It’s a pathetic answer, and you know it wouldn’t be accepted by anyone, much less a merman who’s the only thing keeping you from a watery grave. You feel a small brush of something wet and solid on the top of your head—one of the yellow frills, maybe, framing his head.

The small motion unlocks your mouth with a watery key of fear, and you gush, “I don’t want to be here! But I don’t want to go back to my empty apartment and I don’t want to go back to work but it doesn’t matter where I go because it’s always me. I can’t get away from me and my stupid face and the stupid things I do!”

You exhale and your chest is tight, crushing your lungs. One hand lifts from around your middle, and you start. The claw digits take a hold of your chin and push your head up, up, until your eyes are tilting all the way back and you behold the merman sitting up slightly from the water, his face upside down in your vision.

“Be nice,” he warns softly. Water drips off of his fins as his aqua-blue eyes emphasize his point.

You can’t gulp at the angle you're pushed in, but when he lets go of your jaw, resuming his hold on your torso, you swallow dryly.

“I… I wasn’t being mean to you,” you give meekly. You immediately cringe, and desperately wish you would have just left it be.

“Be nice to yourself,” he soothes. Another brush of something wet and slippery against your hair gives you pause like he’s pressing his cheek against the crown of your head. This time, salt water trails down the side of your face before the touch lifts away. The merman flicks his tail once more with you in his arms.

Oh.

You turn your head to the side. Gazing out across the teal ocean, you pretend to not notice the dark shadow following just below you and the merman. You’re not sure what all of this means—if there’s some grand point, but it feels better. Not great, not peachy, but you’re definitely not thinking about what you were thinking about this morning.

That's a slight improvement. If only you could confirm whether or not the scary sea creatures were going to eat you or not. That would be the final factor in determining how well you’re doing right about now.

By the time your skin starts to burn since the sunscreen has long since washed away, the merman, who you’ve started mentally referring to as Sun, if only because he called the other one Moon, slows down gradually. You tense. The water is shallow here, the sand just a few feet below the crystal teal water, but you’re not ready to believe that it’s as simple as the merman said.

Claws around your middle flex as he gently says, “The shore is right here, sunshine.”

You’re not sure why he’s calling you that, or how it can cause so many flutters in your stomach, but slowly, he slides you off of him. You start to scramble for a handhold, fearing that even at this depth, which you’re not even sure you can touch the bottom, the mermen could drown you or easily enjoy a human meal. Quickly, before your panic can increase tenfold, you’re eased into another pair of arms. These are deep blue and silver, and you immediately cling to the wet shoulders of the other merman. Moon.

You look up and immediately suck in a quick breath at his sharp smile. He cranks his neck down, eyeing you closely before his red gaze narrows. Half a sensible thought reminds you to not struggle despite how hard your heart pounds. He might still eat you.

“Land,” he says in his low, whispery tone. Turning your head slowly, you find the white-sand shore and your beach house, sitting patiently. It’s only a few strokes away. Gradually, you turn to face him again, hyper-aware of his intense grip on your waist. The water laps at your neck but he’s all that keeps you afloat, and you still hold desperately to his frame.

The other one, Sun, sweeps around you. The smooth sensation of flourishing fins brushes against your calf as he eases to your side. Moon shifts slightly, angling you enough that they both face you. Your eyes dart between the mermen. Parched, and struggling with a dry mouth, you swallow roughly. Two pairs of magical and impossible eyes watch you. The ocean ripples with all three of you floating close together.

“Thank you,” you speak carefully as Sun had warned you before to mind your manners. “Thank you both for helping me.”

“You're welcome,” they speak in unison, one chipper and one low but not so spooky. Softer, even.

“Can I…” you hesitate as Moon’s hands dig slightly into your hips, but you’re not sure what else can be done. Either they eat you, or they let you go. Your heart skips a beat. “Can I swim to shore, now?”

The sea creatures share a glance, teeth always bared in a sharp grin, but the yellow one looks a tad discontent, unsatisfied. Nodding his head silently, the blue merman seems to be answering an unspoken question between them, but you’re not sure what. Are they agreeing to take a bite out of you? Your hands clench on Moon’s slick shoulders. Anxiety spikes in your pulse.

“Of course,” Sun says, tilting his head and dripping salt water off of his frills, “but first, what’s your name?”

You stare for a few moments too long. It would be considered rude if you weren’t certain your jaw was slack and your eyes wide in disbelief. At least, they appear to believe your genuineness. Sun’s eyes crinkle with worry and Moon parts his jaws slightly, revealing just how deadly the entirety of his mouth is.

“Your name,” Moon repeats tersely.

It sputters out of your mouth. The fact that it’s yours and they want to know it causes you to flinch internally. It’s nothing. It’s just your name.

The flow of water being pushed below gives away how Sun flicks his fins, pleased. Moon tilts his head as if chewing on the letters before deciding it’s good enough. You look to Sun, still wondering if the heat has baked your brain or if maybe this is a weird version of heaven or hell. His aqua-blue gaze softens.

He lifts a hand, claws dripping wet. You start to lean back but Moon’s grip tightens and you’re held in place as the yellow merman brushes a wet strand of hair away from your face, over your forehead.

“Let’s not repeat this little accident,” he says, the rebuke clear in his tone but he chuckles lightly.

“A-alright.” You nod once.

Moon pulls you close and your foot brushes against a sleek fin far below. His tail. He bares his teeth but mirth glows in the crimson of his gaze.

“Be good.” His hands rise from your side and cup your face. Firmly confined, you quickly grab tight to his wrists as he stares directly into you, not through you, but straight into your core. As if he refuses to let you not be aware of his intensity.

“I-I will,” you promise weakly.

“No,” he murmurs and taps a claw against your bottom lip. “ Be good .”

You glance down reflectively, but you can’t see much but the sensation of wet, sleek palms holding you above water.

“To you?” you try in your confusion.

“To you .” He emphasizes and taps once more, this time dropping to your chin. You resist the urge to lick your lips, well aware of how salty and dry they will taste.

Oh. Oh.

Maybe the world has gone mad. Maybe you’ve finally snapped and this is what fantasy your mind has driven you to.

You still don’t have an answer as Moon starts to push you backward. The water flows gently around you as Sun easily keeps with the leisure speed as if they’re both dragging out this time. You flick your eyes between them, then the first brush of sand hits the back of your heel, and you jerk slightly. Moon begins to release you, but you panic.

This—whatever this is, is about to end. This bizarre and mystical encounter with creatures that should not exist. How can you return to the mundane now? It’s as if you’ve been kept in the dark and have finally emerged into the world, only to be blinded by the light.

You don’t even know what they call themselves!

You let go of one of Moon’s wrists to snag Sun’s arm, touching the red fins floating off of his limb, who startles. Moon eyes flash in surprise and then something unreadable as you cling to him tightly.

“What are your names?” you gasp, barely standing on your tiptoes and keeping your mouth and nose from falling under. Without Moon’s support, you’re only just keeping your head above the surface.

They both stare at you. It would be all too easy for them to break your grip or even drag you under and back out to sea to drown, but they stay, watching your desperate attempts to keep them long enough to give them proper names.

“Moon,” he says, just as the yellow merman called him. He twists out of your grasp but snatches your wrist before your mouth falls under, relieving you of your pathetic struggle as he easily supports you.

“I’m Sun,” the other one gives gently—just as you thought! He, too, frees himself of your distress-fueled hold and instead pulls you closer, cupping your elbow so that you’re lifted on both sides, floating between the two. “You should rest away from the water for a while, sunshine”

“Okay, okay,” you breathe out. There are a million more things you want to ask but they push you backward until your feet scrap against the sand. They slip back, fins flicking underneath the surface. Their touch leaves you, and quickly, you become cold.

Moon ducks slightly, his mouth sinking below the waterline but his glowing red eyes stay on you as you quickly work your way backward. Until, finally, you’re standing in waist-deep water. Floating higher in the water, Sun watches you. He tilts his head, eyes upturned with quiet amusement as you trip over your own feet. Splashing, you catch yourself, surprisingly. You look back and the pair have drifted deeper, though you stay in the shallows, fingers clenching and grasping.

Moon sinks under first, then Sun, but you swear you can feel eyes on you as you stare out over the ocean. The heat of the day tilts. Orange begins burning at the edge of the horizon. You’re in desperate need of a drink and need to lie down.

Be good.

You pull yourself out of the ocean and stumble onto the shore, dragging your feet. Exhaustion slams into you as adrenaline and the need to survive wane. Something cold is left in its wake.

What did you stumble upon? Or rather, what did you sink into? You’re not that lucky to suddenly be confronted by magical creatures, much less helpful ones—even if they are very, very intimidating. Why your name? Why did they ask about your name? Why do they care to know? You’re no one. You don’t think anyone would have noticed you had drowned except for Vanessa, and even then—

Be nice.

You look back out over the water. A chill rolls over your skin and you hug yourself, realizing your sunhat is long gone. It must have gone under with the boat amid your panic.

Okay. Okay.

You slowly take yourself to the back porch of your beach house and wonder, how exactly, you’re meant to exist with the knowledge that mermen exist. Maybe if you could see them again, you could discover a way to cope with this new reality.

A soft blossom of warmth fills your chest.

Be good. Be nice.

You’ll do just that.

#DCASS2022 #arty-angel-things #sun x reader #sun x y/n #moon x reader #moon x y/n #mermaid au #mermaid!sun #mermaid!moon #ao3 link #Mayday In Paradise

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knackfandomarchive · 1 year

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Top 18 of my favorite full-body poses of Little Knack, from the first game.

He still glows brightly from manifesting, here, but I like this expression because it reminds me of a kitten somehow lol.

I'm not sure why I like this one so much. He is far quicker at climbing the giant relic than this image describes, but there's something like, I like the shape and there is an energy there.

The composition? Is so pretty? You might notice that my avatar is a sketch of this (as of early June 2023. I know I will change it again).

This one, I really like: the color and shadows of the night, the grey stone, and drama of the pose. It's not really representative of the scene since he gets back up quickly and seems no worse for wear, but I still like it.

Knack has such long arms in the first game, that when he isn't running and is more casually walking, he sometimes holds his hands out just a bit while he swings them to avoid dragging. It produces an interesting effect.

More below; Thought it would be nice to cut off after 5 images to avoid long posts.

Trying to decide whether this one will make the cut. I like the hunched over crouch look, not sure why. Also did anyone notice they straightened his posture in the second game? I'll have to check again.

The sunset does a pretty good job of putting those carvings in stark relief. Literally! Look up "define in relief". Anyway I just love the colors, texture, and detail here.

Put that boy on a skateboard. Need I say more?

I'm mainly just putting this here because it can be hard to notice, although I think even the animators play pretty loose with it, but Knack's pupils may still be pupils when he small; there's a radial pattern that could define his eye region, and the pupils tend to move within that pattern, except for when they don't.

Once again I like the colors, the energy. You know he's going to hop off that rock. He is so Shaped.

The contrast here is perfect! You can see Knack and the relics lit up against the shadowed cliff. There is pleasing visual interest drawing the eye from the little sprinkle to the relics more up close and visually larger, you can tell the relics are falling away as Knack plummets. Interestingly, they seem to come off in layers.

Might remove this since I can't brain. Something like, the poses are nice and the lighting. There's somewhat the arm-swing I pointed out earlier.

Oh my goodness this one! Hi! I want to also include the smile he does, but that's a close-up.

And the high-five! YEAH!

I love Knack's expression in this one hehehe. Kind of wish I could combine it with another one where the Doctor and Ryder aren't awkwardly mid-stride.

BEAST BEAST BEAST

I just love that impish grin.

And the kinetics of this one are so nice I think. You can tell which direction he's going based on where his ears flap around.

That's basically it. I wanted to share screenies of the second game also, but my mama's laptop can't handle all the Knack.

#video game screenshots #knack 1 #knack #discoknack (me)#character appreciation #< is that the right tag?#drawing reference #knack knack #little knack #doctor vargas knack #lucas knack #ryder knack #katrina knack #viktor knack

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justtryingtolosesomeweight · 1 year

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I have been trying to vent the past two days but my laptop crashed and my arm hurt so fucking bad last night I had to stop. I have chalked it up to that I spend too much time writing and I should cut it down to half an hour. Sounds like a lot but it really isn’t for me since all I have is time to waste complaining. I’m sure those thoughts I wanted to express will show up again another time.

I have pushed off my homework again... I’m acting like a fool. He even offered half credit if I did it yesterday and I thought about it until 3 a.m. where I had to give up to go to bed. But that was a conscious decision because it was just too addicting to listen to music and think all day. There must be something wrong with me. I’m always like this regardless of whether I eat enough so maybe it’s my best interest to talk to someone. Ah, but I don’t want to talk to anyone unless I’m thinner than this. Maybe at 145 I’ll reward myself by making an appointment with a counselor. Or whenever I gain the confidence.

I want to talk forever but my wrist is fucking flimsy. That I should really see someone for. It just hurts, I’m sure it’s some preventable thing but every time I want to write or draw it acts up. Maybe it wouldn’t be so if I learned to shut up once in a while. I see other vent blogs and most posts are a sentence or two. Mine are quite the opposite. I hope that I learn to quiet down soon because that means I’m spending less time just writing instead of doing something useful. Not that I do anything useful though. At any rate, I have such long posts. It makes me wonder what’s going through the head of someone who has a vent blog but often just posts “I want to die.” or “I ate this. I feel awful.” Come on, everyone, be like me and overshare on the internet. Lol. That’s not really safe all of the time so keep your brevity. Me, I never talk much of anything that’s important.

Ah, my head is aching a little, had an awful time sleeping. I didn’t even take my magnesium even though I keep it right next to my bed. Last night’s thinking session was intense. I couldn’t focus on anything else. It’s not good, it’s really just a waste of time but I think if I spin it as “if I don’t lose weight fast, none of this will happen” I’ll feel a lot better. Sorry, school, under eating takes priority as my one passion. Anyone else daydream but only imagine themselves as skinny? I mean, I know what I look like but it doesn’t show up. Although I see myself through my own eyes so when I look down I see flatness. Definitely not my reality.

Only fifteen more minutes of talking remain. What did I want to say? I guess not much. Limiting myself seems to be saving my wrist. Will I have the energy to do my homework. Probably not. I want to say maybe if I lose like twenty pounds in this month and the next they might catch on but who knows? Most people tend to be kind when grading me since I do kind of be a mess every day. I wonder what it feels like to wear one layer and be confident. I wonder what it’s like to not hunch over and feel ashamed for existing in public. So maybe my head hurts but it’s not like it won’t be worth it. Let’s see about that though. Approaching the end of week 1. I feel alright about proceeding. Must not give into the same temptations I face every day. Honestly, I’m overthinking this. It’s easy if you don’t think about it.

I want to apologize for being long but instead I think I’ll just add a note in my pinned that I will never not write a long ass post. Forgive me if you came to suffer in a moderate amount of words. Or I could make a personal tag... something unique so it doesn’t show up when you look up vent or something. One minute left... what’s a good tag? Hmm. Well, you’ll see when I figure one out. You know, I’ve really been into Neru’s Abstract Nonsense and I think it would be very funny of me to have a long ass tag.

#it'sgoingtoraintomorrowforsure

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juicegremlin · 2 years

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Hugs (5+1)

~ 2 ~

TW: discussions of touch aversion, angst.

The second time it happens, the circumstances are less dire. Andrew is lounging on the couch while Nicky demolishes Aaron in Mario Kart, and Kevin busies himself with homework on the cushion chair. Andrew is half reading, half watching his brother get his ass handed to him. He can’t decide which is more entertaining.

“Jesus fuck,” Aaron exclaims, all but throwing his controller down.

Nicky grins and whoops. He reaches a fist behind one shoulder and Kevin absently bumps it, muttering about one of the French revolutions. Nicky folds his arms and levels a fake pout at Aaron.

“Aww,” he croons. “Are you gonna cry, Aaron? Is widdle baby a sore loser?”

“This is some bullshit,” Aaron spits. “There’s no way you won five games in a row. You have to be cheating.”

“Cousin of mine, do explain to me how one cheats at Mario Kart.”

“Think how many games we’d win if you put that much effort into exy,” Kevin mutters, but nobody’s paying him any attention.

Neil chooses that moment to come in through the front door. Andrew’s eyes lift, but only just barely. He’ll be damned if he lets the sudden rush of warmth show—not even if Neil is looking especially windswept today, or if his lips split into a wide grin at the sight of Andrew on the couch.

“Neil!” Nicky beams. “You’re just in time to watch me beat Aaron a sixth time.”

“No way in hell.” Aaron pushes angrily to his feet, brushing Dorito dust from his pants. “I’m done.”

Nicky sighs. “That’s on me. I let him win too many board games as a kid. You wanna play, Neil?”

Neil shakes his head, drawing Andrew’s attention back up. Neil’s grin has slipped a bit. His shoulders are hunched, weighed down by the straps of his backpack. His hair is mussed and there are circles beneath his eyes. Andrew knows for a fact Neil didn’t get much sleep last night; it seems the day’s classes did little to energize him.

“I’m okay,” Neil says.

Nicky shrugs. “No biggie, I should get on my homework anyway. Kevin, can I have you proofread an essay for me?”

Kevin tears his eyes away from his laptop. “What for?”

“Gov.”

“Yeah.”

Nicky drags Kevin into the kitchen so that they can collaborate over the counter. This leaves only Neil and Andrew in the living room, acres of carpet apart. Neil traverses them easily, letting his bag flop unceremoniously to the floor. Andrew looks up from his book.

“You look terrible,” he comments, blandly.

Neil grunts in response. He makes a vague gesture that Andrew interprets as scoot, so Andrew lifts his book and shifts to the far edge of the couch. Neil flops into the vacated space.

“I could sleep forever,” he muses, closing his eyes.

Andrew hums. “That would shut you up.”

“I can think of other ways to accomplish that.”

Andrew looks up just in time to catch Neil’s tired wink, and it sends a jolt of something hot through his chest. He turns the next page in his book with a little more force than it warrants.

A few more seconds pass before Neil speaks again. “Hey, Drew?”

“What?”

“Yes or no?”

Andrew looks up again, raising an eyebrow. He flicks a meaningful glance over the back of the couch, to where Nicky and Kevin are still clearly in eyeshot.

Neil smiles, shaking his head. “Not like that, I just want to put my head in your lap. Can I?”

Andrew blinks at him. It’s happened once or twice before, but never in front of the others. They try to avoid PDA on the general. And Andrew supposes Nicky and Aaron are preoccupied, but… still.

Neil recognizes his hesitance. His smile softens a bit.

“A no is fine, Drew,” he assures. “I can lie down somewhere else.”

“I know it’s fine,” Andrew snaps. He lifts his book, creating a perfectly Neil-sized gap between the spine and his thighs.

Neil doesn’t move immediately, though. Even exhausted, he’s always on the lookout for lines in the sand.

Andrew rolls his eyes. “It’s a yes, Junkie. Get over here before I change my mind.”

Neil’s smile returns with a vengeance. He crawls across the brown leather to pillow his head on Andrew’s left thigh, turning his nose towards Andrew’s stomach. He takes a moment to look up with those bleary, Atlantic eyes of his, red lashes curling up to meet his browbones. Andrew looks away before his own expression can give anything up.

“Can I put my arms around your waist?” Neil asks.

Andrew nods, and Neil’s hands gently encircle his torso. He lets one rest just below Andrew’s ribs, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over the fabric of his shirt with a thumb.

It’s even less of a hug than before, but it leaves Andrew feeling the same way: utterly exposed, yet securely so. Like he could dangle himself from a rooftop and Neil would be there to reel him back in.

The thought rips through him like it has something to prove—and perhaps it does. His jaw clenches, but he manages to keep the rest of his body from tensing. The last thing he needs is for Neil to think he’s done something wrong (even thought the battered part of Andrew is convinced that he should—that Neil should be punished for dismantling Andrew’s defenses so thoroughly), so he forces himself into stillness. He can adjust to this. It doesn’t have to be a big deal.

But it does—always. When it comes to touch, for Andrew, every step forward is a trudge through molasses. Every line budged is a battle ceded. He wonders when Neil decided to fight for him, when anyone else would have taken up arms on the other side. He wonders what makes Neil different.

Or, maybe it isn’t that he’s different—maybe its that he and Andrew are very much the same. They were both brought up to be tortured, violated things. Their combined understanding of human cruelty could blow anyone else’s out of the water.

There is intimacy in pain, Andrew supposes, and perhaps there is closeness in the way Neil knows, like Andrew, the way it feels to be scraped raw from the inside out—to be left so empty only mildew and memories can settle in the hollows.

That, or Neil feels the same way Andrew does when they touch. When they look at each other.

That truth is a little harder to swallow.

But when Neil breathes a soft “thank you” into the fabric of Andrew’s sweatpants, Andrew thinks he could learn to choke it down.

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | +1

I don’t have part 3 written. When will it be up? Who knows?? Not me!!! Check out my current long-term project over on Ao3 tho, I’m consistent there, at least: Skin Comes Apart (Angel In Lothian).

#aftg #aftg fic #aftg fanfic #all for the game #the foxhole court #tfc #andreil #andrew minyard #neil josten #aftg hc #JuiceGremlin

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kthynes · 3 years

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baby me

pairing: chris evans x female reader

request: Can you pls write something about Chris sick with some kind of stomach bug and fever and doesn’t want the reader to help him because he’s embarrassed but then he throw up and almost faint so the reader comes to the rescue and help him, and then cuddles? Thank you!!❤️ - anon

warnings: none, this is pretty pg

a/n: I wrote this one shot a little differently, it’s way less wordy and descriptive (imo). I’m trying to be more ‘to the point’ with my writing ahh we shall see how it goes. Otherwise please enjoy this little gem, thanks for the request, anon!

“What do you mean you can’t have it done? Oh, c’mon Tony that’s not what I— Alright okay, you know what, sure, whatever, do that then.”

You’re annoyed. You’re frustrated. You rummage through your oversized purse for the house keys that Chris has graciously lent you yet you somehow manage to misplace in the silk sheath of lining, receipts and a whole slew of miscellany.

Your one track life becomes an undisputed conundrum of work which never fails to follow you home even on a somewhat good day. Tony, the wrought-up site manager, says something the minute you tune out which allows to spiral right back in. Sometimes you bark. And sometimes you bite.

“Right but the unit division budget doesn’t have anything going forward in respect to that notion! You know this!” You boisterously tell your colleague after jiggling the door open and tossing the keys on top of the nearby console. The house is quiet, and your voice is the loudest carrying tremor that pulls Chris out of his lulling state. “No, no you are not fucking negotiating with Kingsley alright. That isn’t apart of the deal, Tone! Jesus.”

Your call consumes you just until you see your deadbeat partner sprawled up on the couch, sallow and sick. His dry lips are agape, breathing is staggered, little to no life is present in his form. His beautiful mutt looks to you from his side, tail slightly wagging and that is enough to have your heart torn out.

“Hey, hey Tony, can I call you back later? O-Oh sure, okay yeah that’s fine. Okay, alright buh-bye.” You frantically end the call, furrowing your brows as you take long, leaping strides towards Chris who is finally relieved to see you in all of your concerned beauty.

“Everything okay baby?” He croaks like a dying horse, eyes closing as his stomach lurches some more.

“You’re asking me? Goodness Chris, you look terrible.” You cradle the side of his balmy face while crouched in front of him. You are frightened with worry as he kisses the inside of your palm in return. The sweet action itself makes you wince as you scan his sunken and unpropitious features.

Chris is at his worst. You knew he was feeling a bit under the weather but didn't think once that it'd be this bad. He's severely impaled, sweating up a storm yet swathed in his favorite velour duvet. The TV is fuzzily broadcasting C-Span while Chris’s laptop is flipped open with a flood of emails that he wasn’t able to get around to. There’s a half eaten loaf bread and an open sleeve of crackers that doesn’t pass his appetite. While looking around, you casually pet Dodger with one free hand who also seems to be happy to see his momma around and readily waiting for you to do something.

“I don’t know what it is that I had last night at the launch party but it’s rocking my insides honey.” Chris groans after feeling another ripple go through his abdominal cavity.

“Aw baby you should’ve called me. I would’ve picked up some Pedialyte and left work early.” You reach over to turn off the TV and close the laptop.

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

"Too late for that, hon." You fearfully laugh while getting back to him and running a hand through the top of his head down to the nape of his neck. "Now c'mon lets get you in bed first and then I can make you some light dinner."

"I'm fine." Chris hums, loving the way your hands felt against the shaft of his scalp. "You just came home from work, you're probably really tired — go shower and get changed. I'm good right here."

"Don't be stupid, Evans. I can do all that later, now up." After some reluctant attempts you manage to get Chris up who for the most part can stand on his own two feet. Dodger barks his cautionary welcome as you and Chris trudge across the threshold of the single storey home together. You both enter his unmade room and that’s when Chris freezes in mid-stride. He has an uneasy feeling wash over him and everything becomes a jolting sprint of madness.

"Oh no babe I think I might—“ Upchuck. Chunks of indistinguishable remnants of undigested food and bile all came down on your frame as you stood in the line of fire. It’s fleeting and there wasn’t much you could do as you wore his vomit, letting it weigh down the front of your seersucker blouse and skirt.

"Fuuuuck." He panics and you exhale shakily with your arms spread apart, studying the wet projectile painting that amasses your body.

"It's fine. It’s okay." You say while trying to remain sympathetic and undeterred by throwing up yourself because the smell was impalpable. You imprudently gag while guiding Chris back to the bed. "How about you lie down and I’ll just —Chris? Chris!"

Chris's eyes gradually roll back, his body swings forward the minute he sits on the edge of the mattress and with your fast reflexes you manage to catch him against you. He's practically deadweight, passed out and that scares you.

"Oh god Chris babe? Baby, hey, hey..." You shake him a little as his face is caught in the crook of your neck, body rigidly leaned up against yours. He moans a little, regaining consciousness in a matter of seconds and calming your increased heart-rate that still continues to thunder. He was truly going through the motions.

"You alright?" You breathe, placing a hand on his cheek and forcing him to look at you.

"Yeah, yeah I'm okay. I'm so sorry, baby I...I..." He's a bit frazzled as you hush, pacify and hold him close to your form. He breathes you in as you strip off your soiled blouse and skirt. He’s hunched over when you start to peel off the black tee he has on that is smeared with vomit as well, leaving him bare chested in your embrace. You are crouching in front of him, his forehead against you shoulder while your hands were rubbing his back and soothing him. You could hear the low indigestible rumbles coming from his belly knowing how bad he’s been having it on both ends. “Oh I feel terrible Y/N.”

“I know. How about you get in the shower with me." You whisper in a non-sexual way as his body is burning up and the sour smell of regurgitation still lingered around your bodies. He softly nods and with some consuming seconds later, you walk him into the ensuite.

After you both wash up in the shower, you pass Chris some fresh clothes to change into while you travelled across the room in nothing but a towel for the past 10 minutes or so, making sure Chris was able to get himself sorted out first before you stepped away to get changed.

With dinner on your mind, you start thinking to yourself how you can't leave Chris alone in this state. You have an idea and that’s when you text Scott to bring up some dinner so that way you could spend some time holding Chris and making sure that he was okay.

Scott at 7:45 pm:

'On it baby cakes. Ma knows, she's making his favorite chicken noodle with lots of cayenne, ginger and all the good stuff. So you just stay put alright?’

You smile after reading the immediate response from Chris’s sweet brother. While you continue lathering yourself up in lotion you could hear Chris dozing off on the bed. You turn off the bathroom lights and leave to start up a load of laundry before sneaking back into bed with him. Chris stirs a bit before he wraps his arms around you, pulling you in closer.

“I promise I won’t throw up on you again.”

“Only if you don’t have to.” You whisper jokingly while pressing your lips against the underside of his chin. He hums at this with his eyes closed, his hands graze your exposed skin as he’s trying to hold you as inhumanely close to him as possible. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.”

“Scott’s going to be dropping off food so don’t go to sleep yet.” You state, drifting in apprehensive thought. Soon Dodger whimpers into the room and you pat the spot next to you for him to jump on. Chris has always been weary of having Dodger on the bed but because of extenuating circumstances you felt like his presence was also needed as well.

“That’s fine. Thanks again for everything.” He shuffles over after he sees Dodger crawling up and wedging himself in between the both of you. “Mmm hi bubba.”

“Anything for you mio amore.” You say, rubbing his soft belly and soothing the ache to the best of your ability.

“You know, you’re going to be an amazing mother some day Y/N.” Chris muses.

“I hope so.”

“I know so.” Chris rebuts, drawing in a deep breath with his eyes closed. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You say in return, spending the rest of the evening in his wake before the entire Evans clan shows up at the front door, each worried silly about their pride and joy, leaving Chris to be theirs and having you watch from afar while they enforced their own tender love and care.

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans fluff

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