🇷🇺🇪🇸 :: call me davina or davi! I love marvel more than anything. I'm 18 and I like bananas, monkeys, lana del rey and older men. English is not my first language so there may be grammatical errors and as well as some typos. Thank you for your understanding.
What I will write ✍️
got (GAME OF THRONES), akotsk (A NIGHT OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS), hotd (HOUSE OF THE DRAGON), twd (THE WALKING DEAD), tvd, marvel, dc, twisters etc., reader-inserts, fluff, angsty, romance and whatever else comes to mind.
What I won't write 😑
any crap like male x male, pedophilia, stories about minors, or weird, crappy pretend family tropes. strictly safe adult stuff here. I write when I feel like it as well but feel free to request anything, as long as it's not weird!
Note: My blog is strictly for bxg and female reader-insert stories. I don't write male x male pairing simply because I am not into it and have zero interest in writing it.
am I the only one who doesn't find attractive when dicks in smuts are super long? I just read a fic where the male character's dick was 11 inches (which is around 30 cm)… like- how is that even possible and how on earth am I supposed to even DEAL with something like that? do I use it as a baseball bat?
"Don't worry baby, I'll make it fit" THE HELL YOU WILL?! STAY AWAY
(I'm not trying to offend any author here, I think we all have the right to write every kink and preferences we have so don't take this too seriously, you're doing great 🩷🙏🏻)
hate aerion targaryen, you said. kill him on sight, you said. what happens now when you get officially wedded to him, see the one who happens to be interested in one another secretly while one dodge the bullets yet failed to do so because of how he was slowly opening up to you. And by opening up, he means well. You think that was not Aerion. Is it? Is it not?
"Not so off limits, eh?" "Respectfully, shut up, Prince Valarr."
WIP PAUSED >
Valarr Targaryen
Oneshots: TBA
Series: Damned | two
on his knees, for a northern girl. pleading for forgiveness with his charming, blue, yearningly warm eyes. but first... how does one end up to be like this?
Daeron Targaryen
nothing to see here yet...
Marvel
Winter Soldier (Bucky Barnes)
Oneshots: TBA
Series: Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Reader Just a bodyguard | Not just a bodyguard
Captain America (Steve Rogers)
Oneshots: Off the grid
Multi-chapter: Colors – one | two 💛🥀☁️🧸 COMPLETED >
tags: office romance, secret dating, established relationship, a kinda pouty clark
warnings: makeout sesh with clark, intimate, pure fluff
wc: 1015
Summary: working in the same building meant self control and being professional. and that's the problem. clark completely drops the polite act with a make out session, hands roaming on your bodies and clearly a risky idea. despite how you both agreed to keeping your relationship a secret, clark just can't resist begging for five more minutes behind closed doors before heading back out to the bullpen! (but you ended up refusing to do that and decided to wait at home..)
Masterlist 🐒 • Request a fic ✍️
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
The door of the Daily Planet archive room clicked shut, instantly cutting off the aggressive clatter of typewriters, ringing phones and editors shouting across the bull pen.
Inside, it was darkly illuminated with only the gray Metropolis rain washing over the high, narrow window and the faint light slipping under the door.
Then soft grunts and breathless quiet moans had echoed faintly through the narrow aisles where decades of old files and heavy boxes were stored. A sudden shift in weight caused a soft rattle of the metal shelves, followed immediately by the desperate, messy, wet sound of a makeout session that had been building up for weeks.
Clark had you pressed back against the sturdiest shelf in the room, his massive frame completely shielding you from view if anyone were to suddenly open the door. His hands, usually so careful and tentative when he adjusted his glasses at his desk, were buried deep in your clothes, mapping the curve of your waist with a sudden, possessive urgency.
"Clark," you gasped out his name, your hands roaming blindly under his suit jacket, feeling the incredible, solid warmth of his chest through his dress shirt. You needed to stop. You needed to breathe.
"Mmm?" He hums against your lips, completely refusing to break the contact. He angled his head, deep and heavy, dragging his lips from your mouth down to the sensitive skin of your jawline. His breath was hot, his stubble scraping pleasantly against your skin, a low, rumbling vibration in his chest that you could feel right through your own ribs.
You both were trying so hard not to risk it. Dating a coworker was already a line the editors hated crossing, but dating Clark meant keeping a secret far heavier than just a workplace romance. You had promised each other to be professional, to keep a strict distance, to not show an ounce of intimacy toward each other while on the clock.
But looking at each other across a busy newsroom all morning? Sharing quiet, lingering glances over coffee mugs? Clark found it entirely impossible to resist you. And you'd be lying if you said you found it any easier to resist him.
He pulled back just a fraction of an inch, his thick tortoiseshell glasses slightly askew on his face. Behind the lenses, his blue eyes were dark, blown out with an intensity that belonged entirely to the man behind the reporter persona. His large hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, which was flushed and swollen from his kisses.
"Five more minutes," he murmured, his voice dropping into that incredibly low, soft, rumbly tone he only used when it was just the two of you. He leaned back in, his forehead resting against yours, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. "Just five more minutes, please."
He pleaded, "Clark— Clark!" Your voice in a frantic, breathy whisper as you forced your hands up between his chest. "
We have to not get caught, remember?"
You then held his face in your hands, your fingers framing his strong jawline, tilting his head up so his dark blue eyes had to meet yours. The heat radiating off his skin was incredible and you could feel the rapid thudding of his heart right through his dress shirt.
Clark then blinked behind his crooked glasses, looking briefly like a man waking up from a trance. The raw, heavy intensity in his gaze softened just a fraction as he looked down at you, his large hands settling firmly but gently on your hips to anchor you both.
"I remember," he murmured, his voice incredibly thick and low, vibrating right against your palms. He leaned into your touch, tilting his head just enough to press a soft, lingering kiss right into the center of your right palm. It was a completely gentlemanly, sweet contrast to the desperate way he had been kissing you just a second ago. "I know. Perry is already breathing down our necks about the front-page layout."
But as he said the words, his eyes dropped back down to your lips, flushed and darkened from his mouth. His thumbs made slow, mesmerizing circles against your hips, his broad shoulders shifting slightly as he leaned just a fraction closer, completely erasing the space between you again.
"But you smell like rain and vanilla," he whispered, a helpless, self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He let out a low, shaky sigh that fanned across your cheeks. "And I've been sitting across from you for four hours just listening to the sound of your heartbeat. It’s a miracle I lasted until lunch."
You raised your brow, a teasing smile playing on your lips despite the adrenaline rushing through your veins. "Well baby, I know."
The pet name worked like a charm. Clark let out a soft, defeated chuckle, finally stepping back to give you some space, though his hands lingered on your waist for one last, reluctant second.
Then, the frantic scramble began. You both quickly fixed yourselves, the atmosphere shifting from heavy romance to breathless teamwork. You smoothed down your wrinkled clothes, desperately patting down your hair while Clark used the dark reflection of a glass-framed archive photo to straighten his tie. He adjusted his thick tortoiseshell glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose until the fierce, intense look in his eyes was hidden once again behind his gentle, clumsy reporter persona.
"How do I look, baby?" he whispered, giving himself a quick shake to shake off the nerves, looking every bit the polite country boy from Kansas again.
"Perfect." you whispered back, giving his tie one final nudge. "Let's both go back one by one. I'll go first. Cive it two minutes, then you follow."
He nodded. Then with a deep breath, you smoothed your skirt and kissed his lips one last time before slipping out of the storage roomand merged seamlessly back into the loud, chaotic hum of the Daily Planet bullpen—leaving a very flustered, very smitten Clark Kent waiting.
Warnings: friends to lovers, angst, fluff, dirty jokes, implied insecurity of reader, jealousy, horrible typos and grammar, kind of not readproof, steve is horrible at noticing
Summary: For years, you’ve managed to deny the throbbing ache in your chest whenever your friends teased you about Steve. You insisted and convinced yourself that he belongs in the sky saving the world, while you belong behind the counter of your famous city bar. But when a sudden late-night visit from an upset Steve forces you to lie your way out of a bad date, the guilt becomes a suffocating weight. Desperate to fix the broken look on his face, you drive up. The gray walls you’ve built around are slowly cracking and neither of you can pretend the world is just black and white anymore whether you both like it or not.Both of you have no choice but to open up your hearts and just let it begin to be truly free from what's holding you back.
Masterlist | one – two
Sam was still coughing, wiping his chin with a napkin while glaring at Stark. "Man, you need a filter. Seriously."
"I am a man of science, Samuel. I ask the hard questions," Tony said, gesturing with his coffee mug toward you. "And my hypothesis was that Cap’s intense pining had finally altered the weather patterns around the lake. But a squirrel? Classic."
"Tony, drop it," Steve growled, but it lacked any real bite because he was currently preoccupied with trying to find a way to melt into the floorboards. The crimson flush had spread from his ears all the way down his neck. He stepped in front of you slightly, his massive frame shielding you from Tony’s line of sight. "She needs to get out of those wet clothes before she catches a cold."
Pepper stepped past Tony, giving him one last warning look before she walked over to you. Her expression was entirely warm. "Come on. Let's get you upstairs. FRIDAY, override the guest wing thermostats. Crank up the heat in room four."
"Already on it, Boss," the AI's smooth voice chimed through the ceiling speakers.
You offered a grateful smile to Pepper, gladly letting her lead you away from the kitchen and toward the elevator. But before the glass doors closed, you looked back over your shoulder. Steve was still standing exactly where you’d left him, his hands shoved back into his pockets, his deep blue eyes incredibly soft and fixed entirely on your face.
The elevator ride to the guest wing was quiet, the hum of the compound a stark contrast to the loud banter downstairs. Pepper was a saint; she didn't pry. She just escorted you to a massive, beautifully minimalist guest room where the air was already radiating a comforting, artificial warmth.
"Here," Pepper said, handing you a neat stack of clothes she'd grabbed from a nearby linen closet. "A pair of my old sweatpants and a clean grey t-shirt. They might be a little loose, but they're dry." She offered a soft, knowing smile, her eyes flicking to the massive navy sweatshirt still swallowing your frame. "I'll leave you to change. Take your time."
"Thanks, Pep," you murmured.
Once the door clicked shut, you finally let out the breath you felt like you’d been holding since you left the city at five in the morning. You peeled off the damp, clinging jeans, the relief of the warm air hitting your skin making you shiver. But when your hands reached the hem of Steve’s sweatshirt, you hesitated.
You brought the collar up to your nose, inhaling deeply. Cedarwood, clean sweat, and crisp autumn air. It was overwhelmingly him. You reluctantly pulled it over your head, leaving it carefully draped over the back of a chair, and changed into Pepper's dry clothes.
Just as you finished towel-drying your damp hair, a soft, heavy knock rattled the wooden door.
Your heart skipped a beat. "Come in?"
The door pushed open slowly, revealing Steve. He had changed out of his damp running clothes, now wearing a simple, dark grey thermal shirt that clung tightly to his chest and a pair of dark jeans. He looked cleaner, but his hair was still slightly damp at the ends, and he carried a steaming ceramic mug in his large hands.
"Hey," he said softly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him with a quiet click. The sudden privacy of the enclosed space made the air between you feel thick, instantly charged with that same electric tension from the lake. "I... brought you some tea. With honey."
"Steve, you don't have to play nursemaid," you smiled, taking a seat on the edge of the large bed.
"I know," he murmured, walking over and handing you the mug. His fingers brushed against yours during the handoff, and even though you were dry and warm now, a violent shiver rushed up your spine. Steve noticed, his eyes darkening slightly as he stood over you. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Tony and Sam... they don't know when to shut up."
"It's fine. Tony's right, though," you said quietly, taking a sip of the hot tea, the liquid warming your chest. "I probably looked ridiculous."
"You didn't," Steve said instantly. The fierce, protective tone in his voice made you look up. He was staring down at you, his jaw tight, his blue eyes entirely consuming. He took a slow breath, adjusting his posture. "You could never look ridiculous to me."
There it was again. That heavy, unreadable gravity. He was standing close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, blocking out the light of the guest room. You were safe inside the compound, but looking up at him, you felt more exposed than you had when your shirt was completely see-through.
"Steve..." your voice was barely a whisper, your fingers tightening around the warm ceramic mug.
"You know.. I meant what I said at the lake," he interrupted softly, taking a half-step closer until his knees were almost brushing against your shins where you sat on the bed. He looked down at you, his chest rising and falling heavily. "I'm not upset. Really. But when you left last night, I thought you were rushing off to someone else..." He swallowed hard, his vocal cords straining.
"It made me realize how much time I've wasted pretending. After all these yearsbeing friends or whatever you call it, I'm done pretending," He softly said your name, making your breath hitch as your brain screamed at you to put up the walls, to remind him that you were just friends, to protect yourself from the inevitable crash.
But as you looked at the sharp angle of his jaw and the sheer honesty that wasbleeding out of his eyes, the word coward echoed in your head.
"Pretending what?" you asked, your heart hammering so loudly against your ribs you were certain he could hear it with his enhanced hearing.
"That—"
Click.
The heavy wooden door swung open with an obnoxiously loud creak.
Steve tore his hand back so fast it practically created a gust of wind in the room, stepping away from the bed in a single, fluid motion. He scrambled to look casual, but his chest was heaving, his broad shoulders practically vibrating with the sudden spike of adrenaline.
"Hey, lovebirds— oh, whew,okay, keeping the hands to yourself, good job Rogers."Sam’s voice boomed as he strolled right into the room, entirely unbothered by the thick, suffocating cloud of romantic tension he had just shattered into a million pieces.
He was holding a large white first-aid kit under his arm. "I'm proud," Sam added.
You sat frozen on the edge of the mattress, your knuckles turning white around the ceramic mug. Your face was burning a furious shade of red, and you desperately stared down at the tea leaves swirling in your cup just to avoid looking at either of them.
"Sam," Steve choked out, his voice a full octave lower than normal, thick and raspy with a terrifying amount of restrained frustration. "What are you doing?"
Sam sets down the first-aid kit down on the desk with a loud thud. He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "Pepper sent me. Said the kid got taken out by wildlife and might have scratches on her knees after tripping over. I brought the antiseptic."
"Thank you but I don't have scratches, Sam," you muttered into your tea, your voice sounding breathless and tight.
"Well look at that, a miraculous recovery," Sam replied, his eyes flicking between your flushed face and Steve’s rigid, towering posture. A slow, deeply wicked smirk spread across Sam's face. He knew exactly what he had just interrupted. "You know what?" Sam swuinted before eyeing the two of you "Am I interrupting something? Because Cap, you look like you want to throw me out of a closed window."
"I am considering it," Steve replied flatly.
Sam let out a loud, booming laugh, raising his hands in mock surrender as he backed toward the door. "Alright, alright! I'm leaving. Just checking in. Oh, by the way, Stark wants everyone in the lounge in ten minutes. Apparently, he ordered a ridiculous amount of greasy takeout from the city to celebrate the fact that Steve isn't brooding anymore. See you downstairs."
With a wink that made you want to crawl under the bedsheets and never come out, Sam stepped backward into the hallway and clicked the door shut.
Silence descended on the guest room again, but the magic of the moment before was completely broken. The heavy, electric pull had been replaced by a sharp, awkward static.
Steve didn't move for a long moment. He kept his back to you, his chest rising and falling in deep, controlled breaths as he forced his heart rate back down to normal. When he finally turned around, the intense, raw vulnerability from before was carefully tucked away behind his polite "Captain" mask, though his ears were still tipped with a lingering flush.
"You should... drink your tea before it gets cold," he said softly, offering a small, tight smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at your lips. "I'll let you get settled. I'll see you in the lounge?"
"Yeah," you murmured, clearing your throat to find your voice. "Yeah, I'll be down in a minute." Actually, you didou thanked Steve for hospitality and soon went down to meet them downstairs.
Later on, "Hey guys," you greet as you walk towards them, "you feeling good now?" " Pepper asked, her eyes scanning you with a warm, maternal sort of relief now that you were in dry clothes. "Yeah. Thank you, really."you replied, offering a genuine smile as you took a seat on the edge of one of the massive leather couches. Then Tony looks up from his food with an.. unexplainable reaction.
"Alright. I know that look. Leave her alone Tony, she just got here," Sam chimed in as he slid a box of noodles across the sleek coffee table toward you. "Eat up. You drove all this way on an empty stomach."
Just as you reached for a pair of chopsticks, the heavy glass doors of the lounge slid open, and Steve stepped inside.
The entire room seemed to shift under the weight of his presence. He had combed his hair, the damp blonde strands swept back neatly, and he had completely recovered his composure—at least on the surface. But the second he crossed the threshold, his blue eyes didn't look at the food, they didn't look at Tony, and they didn't look at Sam.
They locked straight onto you.
Your heart did that familiar, violent thud against your ribs. The memory of his large hand touching your neck over your pulse flooded your mind so fast your face immediately began to heat up all over again.
Steve paused for a fraction of a second when he noticed your flush, his jaw clenching slightly before he forced himself to look away, stepping up to the kitchen island to grab a plate.
Look who decided to join civilization," Tony remarked, tossing a crumpled napkin at Steve's chest which Steve caught effortlessly without even looking.
"We saved you the carbs, Cap. Lord knows your metabolic rate demands it after the workout you put those leather bags through last night."
"Right.. thanks Tony," Steve said quietly, his voice smooth and steady, completely slipping back into his polite, disciplined rhythm. He filled a plate and walked over to the seating area, deliberately choosing the single armchair directly opposite your spot on the couch.
Every time your eyes met, the air grew thick. It was a silent, frustrating waiting game.
The words he had started to say upstairs—"I'm done pretending" were still hanging in the space between you, loud and completely unresolved.
Later on after thechaotic energy of the takeout feast finally wound down as the clock crawled past midnight. One by one, the team turned in their 'quarters' or so, bed rooms..
Meanwhile inside the guest room, you couldn't sleep. You had spent the last two hours staring at the ceiling, the unfinished weight of your conversation with Steve pressing heavily against your chest.
Taking a deep breath, you threw off the covers. Slipping out of bed in Pepper’s oversized sweatpants, you decided to go find him—whether he was brooding in the gym or staring out at the dark lake. You needed to clear things out.
You padded quietly across the room and gripped the handle, pulling the heavy wooden door open.
You froze.
Standing right there in the dim hallway, his hand hovering mid-air in a half-formed knock, was Steve.
He hadn't expected the door to fly open. For a fraction of a second, the legendary Captain America completely vanished, replaced entirely by a mortified, starry-eyed boy from Brooklyn. His jaw dropped slightly, his blue eyes widening in absolute shock as his hand awkwardly dropped back to his side. A massive, roaring crimson flush rushed up his neck, staining his cheeks and the tips of his ears a vibrant pink. He looked exactly like a little boy who had just been caught red-handed with his hand in the cookie jar.
"Steve?" you breathed, your heart doing a violent, erratic flip against your ribs.
"I— uh. Hey," he stammered, his deep voice cracking slightly. He scrambled to find his footing, nervously clearing his throat and shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his dark jeans. He looked down at his socks, then up at your face, the embarrassment practically radiating off him in waves. "I didn't think you'd... I mean, I was just... I didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't wake me. I was actually coming out to look for you," you confessed quietly, stepping back just an inch to give him space, though your eyes never left his flustered face. "What are you doing out here?"
Steve swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he tried to reel in his runaway nerves. The boyish embarrassment began to melt into something much deeper, something raw and heavy with years of unspoken truth. He took a slow, deep breath, stepping over the threshold into the warmth of your guest room and quietly closing the door behind him, sealing the two of you away from the rest of the world.
"I couldn't sleep," he said softly, his voice dropping into that low, rumbling register that always made your knees weak. He stopped just a foot away from you, towering over you in the shadows of the room, lit only by the pale moonlight filtering through the window. "I kept thinking about what happened before Sam walked in. What I was trying to say to you."
Your breath hitched, your fingers curling into the hem of Pepper’s oversized grey shirt. "Steve..."
"No, let me say it. Please. If I don't say it now, I'm going to go back to the gym and destroy every bag Stark owns," he murmured, a small, breathless smile touching his lips before his expression turned entirely serious. He stepped closer, eliminating the final boundary of space between you until you could feel the steady heat radiating from his chest.
"You asked me what I was pretending," Steve whispered, looking down at you with an intensity that made the rest of the world entirely gray. "I've been pretending that I'm fine just being the friend you call when you're lonely. I've been pretending that it doesn't tear me apart every time someone asks if you're seeing someone. And last night, when that phone rang... when I thought I’d finally run out of time and lost my chance..."
He stopped, his throat working as he reached out. His large, warm hand hovered for a fraction of a second before gently cupping the side of your face. His thumb brushed over your cheekbone, so tenderly it made tears prick the corners of your eyes.
"I drove an hour into the city just to see your face because my world is completely gray without you in it," Steve confessed, his blue eyes burning bright in the darkness, entirely focused on yours. "I don't care about the bar or the cityor how much space is between us. I love you. I've loved you for years. I'm completely yours, if you'll have me."
A breathless, tearful laugh escaped your lips and you reached up, your hands resting against his chest, feeling the rapid, heavy thumping of his heart beneath his shirt.
"You're an idiot, Steve Rogers," you whispered softly.
Steve blinked, a flash of that boyish worry returning to his eyes with pure confusion pooling over him. "I am?"
"Yes," you murmured, pulling yourself up on your tiptoes, your fingers curling tightly into his shirt to drag him down that final, agonizing inch. "Because I've been in love with you the entire time."
a/n: FINALLY! I'm so sorry for the long wait guys... I forgot my password to my account and I did NOT have my laptop with me these past few weeks. Hopefully, you all enjoy! Stay tuned for upcoming series and one shots! 👀
alright, i'll be the one to say it. ao3 and tumblr becoming "mainstream" did so much damage to the community and the writers. i have seen loads of videos and posts about:
1. people hating on writers and fics. writing is something we do for free and for fun. if you stumble upon a fanfic that isn't necessarily your cup of tea or you just don't like, scroll. dont read it. literally leave their page. you don't know if this could be the author's first work that they're so excited about, you dont know if the language they're writing in isn't their first language, you dont know that the writer could be a literal teen and loads of other reasons. fanfictions don't HAVE to be perfect. you write what you want to write because we do it for fun and enjoyment and we want to share that to the world. seriously, what is the wrong with that?..
2. x reader consumers getting WAY too entitled. the number of tiktoks i've seen that say "i run a strict program when it comes to reading fanfics." girl you aint running shit. this is FAN FICTION you're reading. F A N F I C T I O N. there is no denying that most fanfiction writes are beyond talented but just because you read one fanfic that exceeds your expectations doesn't give you the right to talk down on others that don't. people have their own personal writing style, their way of doing things and you talking shit on that isn't right.
at the end of the day, we are all humans, reading and writing is what we do and what we're meant to do. and for you to talk shit about a person WRITING is so insane. we are humans. not some robots that you can tell what to do so you can consume it.
i've seen so so many authors take down their fanfics and losing all motivation to write because of a hate comment. DONT LIKE DONT READ‼️
and to every author reading this, this community values your work and your contribution. we love u and, please, never let anyone's negative words have an effect on you.
Almost done.. 😴 sorry everyone! I had to go to the beach with my family for 4 days and didn't have my laptop with me these past few days (not broken!) so I am currently using my phone to write 😭 thank you for your understanding! I will also be posting a form for everyone to fill out to be added to the taglist.
I am once again begging people to realize that AI checker doesn’t work. it’s never worked. it’s notoriously known to have flagged human-made works as AI and AI-generated works as human-made. and by feeding it people’s works, you are feeding more works to AI, because apparently the machine itself is AI.
the only thing AI checker does is harm genuine artists and people in general too.
