#at this point I think I’ve gone past the point of insanity | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aidemint · 10 months

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To Break A Habit | Routine Doesn’t Get You Kisses Like These

Summary: You kinda-actually find out he wasn’t joking about the spider stuff. Okay. But you’re totally cool about it. Totally.

Word Count: 5.1k

Pairing: Hobie Brown/GN!Reader

Notes: 5 minutes of screentime and i’ve already wrote more about this guy in a week than i usually write about anything in three months jesus christ

Masterpost | AO3 | Part 1 | Part 3

“40081’s got this hoodoo shit goin’ on.” Hobie sighs as he makes his way down the main hall of Spider-HQ, recounting his mission discoveries from days prior. “Some sort of bad luck spell that’s making the world lose its plot.”

Gwen paces beside him, listening intently. “Sinister Six behind it?” she asks with a frown. “Or do you think it’s something else?”

“Not certain,” Hobie responds with a shrug. “But I’m close to catching the anomaly. Things should reset once it’s out of the fabric.”

“Hope it gets resolved soon.” Gwen sucks in a breath from between her teeth. “Miguel’s not looking too happy these days.”

Oddly enough, the mission so far had been almost deceptively easy—three days into the operation Hobie had already located and shut down a multitude of energy pockets emanating from certain parts of the city. A variant of Mysterio or Osborn was bound to show up soon, as the sites were likely siphoning vitality from the dimension. Now he just needed to gather intel about the effects of the magic while playing the waiting game. Luckily for him, he has a direct source.

“Relax Gwendy, it’ll be fine. I even got in touch with one of the locals for—” Hobie starts assuredly, turning to address his drummer, but pauses and swivels around when she’s noticeably no longer keeping up with his stride.

“You what?” Gwen stands frozen in the middle of the walkway, eyes blown as large as dinner plates with her mouth slightly ajar. She readjusts herself with a shake of her head, though her hands and shoulders remain raised and stiff. “Hobie, please tell me you’re not getting to know a civilian. ”

“Then I won’t tell you that I’m ‘getting to know’ a civilian.” A roll of his shoulder and he’s back walking, half-lidded eyes peering at Gwen when she inevitably joins again, bobbing and weaving through a downcurrent flow of Peter Parkers. “And I won’t tell you that it’s strictly for information about the mission.” A coy smile tugs the edges of Hobie’s lips upward. “Probably.”

Gwen looks just about ready to explode at the last quip. “You just told me— Oh my God, you know that, out of everything, is against protocol. Very against protocol,” she hisses, her voice lowering as her lip curls and she leans further into the privacy of only each others’ company. “What will you do when Miguel finds out?”

“You gotta live freely past the propaganda, Gwendy,” Hobie replies nonchalantly, patting a palm on her shoulder as a point of reassurance. “Just think about it.”

The best Gwen can offer him is a wary glance and a moment of hesitation, but he takes it with a grin anyhow. He’s certain she’ll eventually come around—the extent of their friendship isn’t something so miniscule that a few words of indoctrination would ever be enough to turn her.

It’s a nice notion to have, but he unfortunately doesn’t get much time to dwell on it—suddenly, his watch buzzes with an alert.

Hobie checks the device. “Someone’s ringing me, gotta bounce.” A few taps of an orange screen and a twist of a dial, then a portal opens up just shy of his left arm. “Been fun, Gwendy. Don’t blame me if I come back late.”

No matter how hard she rolls her eyes, Gwen can’t help but give into the smile that creeps onto her lips. “Stay safe, loser,” she responds, bumping her fist against his.

“Safe is practically my middle name.” With that, Hobie ducks into the gateway, and disappears.

How the fuck do you accuse someone of having spider powers without sounding like you’ve gone insane? Since morning you’ve been stuck in a cycle of decision-making for a seemingly hopeless situation. You thought the hard part was over after seeing the guy in the costume swing away on white silly string, but the mostly sleepless night and brainstorming the resolution to be had was another beast altogether. What doesn’t help much either is the fact your favorite pair of jeans are now stained to shit because an idiot thought it would be a good idea to trickshot a half-full Starbucks drink into a trashcan you were standing right next to.

Oh, New York, how it surprises you each day. You swear you’ve never had bad luck like this in your life—and now you’re twenty minutes late, punching in your timecard and hurrying to tie on an apron.

Even through your shift the anxiety doesn’t go away, despite how you try to ignore it. Nervous energy bleeds into your work, shaking hands spilling and dropping drinks; your preoccupied mind is nowhere near as focused as you need to be for the rush—you remake a drink three times in a row before being on the receiving end of a tired lecture from an angry customer.

“Something on your mind?” one of your coworkers ends up asking after most of the crowd has dissipated. “Or just tired?”

You’re on the verge of bursting into tears actually, but you manage to stifle it with a deep breath in. “A lot of both,” you mumble in response. You can’t tell her about Hobie, and it’d be too winding to describe the entirety of everything. She’s pretty good at giving looks of pity and she’s already shot you one following the complaining customer. Honestly another one is the last thing you want to deal with right now. “Maybe I should’ve just skipped work today.”

“Don’t worry, we all have bad days,” she offers with a consoling pat on the arm. “How about you just calm down for a bit and take your break? I’ll make you your favorite drink and get a bowl started for you.”

The gesture does ease your nerves, even if only by a little. You sigh, shoulders slumping, and give your coworker a grateful smile. Parting ways then, she returns to her station to honor her word and you make your way to the back to punch in the start of your break.

Exhaustion starts to seep in when you catch yourself staring blankly at the time card machine, watching the hands of the clock tick away second by second. There hasn’t been significant progress in terms of settling the whole “Hobie Brown is a superhero” dilemma, you realize, just a lot of pain and aching on your part. Maybe it’s time to put the matter to rest just for a brief half an hour—you’ll pick it up later. There isn’t even a guarantee Hobie will show up to the shop anyhow.

Yeah, you have time.

The chunk sound of the punch machine brings you back to your senses and you put away your slip before making your way back to the front of the house.

“Drink’s ready and bowl’s on the way. You can enjoy that while you wait,” your coworker chirps, sliding a cup to you when you emerge from the back. You’re just about to voice your thanks before she cuts in again, gesturing to a spot just beyond the counter. “Oh, and someone asked for you. He’s right over there.”

Your eye is already twitching before you even look. But you suppose you hate yourself and the world at this point, because you slowly turn to where her hand points regardless and find the one man you just made a pact with yourself to not think about.

Hobie greets you by name and gives you a friendly wave. Out of courtesy, you force yourself to return in, lips pressed together in a tight smile with the short extension of your hand.

“Heard it was your break,” he says, approaching the glass panel between the two of you. “Mind if I intrude?”

Yes! you scream internally. Yes I do mind very much!

“No, it’s alright,” you end up saying to him, staving off a growing impulse to whack yourself upside the head.

“Sick,” is all Hobie replies with before he retreats to a nearby table. “I’ll be waiting here—don’t rush yourself.”

It’s right about now that you’re wishing he wasn’t so nice and you didn’t like him so much so that this process of confrontation would go about smoother. Your gaze lingers on him and you bite in the inside of your cheek as you think about the validity of what you witnessed yesterday.

The option to not tell him and maintain your chances of still potentially becoming friends like normal exists. Dodging the awry reputation that comes with the manic conspiracy theorist persona is always good. You’ll get over it one day, right? Leave the suspicions behind and assume that the image was just a hallucination brought about by stress; convince yourself that Hobie Brown is just your average British punk-rocker.

But you can’t fight the feeling in your gut, how it burns, and suddenly you’re leaning over the counter, over the glass.

This is a bad idea. “Hobie,” you call in his direction.

He looks up. “Yeah?”

Shit, this is a bad idea. “I have something to tell you.”

“Wah’gawn?”

“It’s… I think it’s a matter best told in just our own company.” You look around apprehensively, a slight crease in your brow. “Mind going somewhere more private?”

Trying your best to ignore the suggestive look your coworker shoots at you from your peripheral, you beckon Hobie to come into the back. Walking through the kitchen, you usher him into the storage pantry and shut the door behind you when you join him.

“I’m guessing we’re not just here to kotch?” Hobie teases with the sideways tilt of his head.

“Unfortunately.” Your gaze lowers to the ground at the admission, fingers finding one another and squeezing. “Been thinking about something for a while.”

Hobie lets the change in the air stew until it thickens before responding. “Ready when you are.” His voice is softer, malleable, lost of all its previous playfulness and replaced with a certain kind of sincerity.

The slightest incline of your chin brings your stare back to him. You wish it served the simple purpose of just admiring the slopes and angles of his face, but your lips part and your curled hand trembles, and it all reminds you of the gnawing insecurity.

“I need you to tell me the truth.” You say it slowly, sincerely, keeping your voice as steady as you can despite the way your heart rate thunders. “Please.”

In your supplication, you aren’t certain how to appraise the extent of your desperation, but Hobie’s gaze does not leave yours. He nods wordlessly, a glint of something in his eye and it looks a lot like deference.

You take it as permission to continue. “When you brought up Parker”—you swallow thickly—“you were talking about something real, weren’t you?”

A beat of silence. There isn’t any external reaction from Hobie, standing as still as he had the moment he stopped in front of you, face lax and hands tucked away in his pockets.

“Ain’t got a Scooby-Doo what you’re talking about,” he says plainly, unfaltering in every word. Even then he doesn’t move, fortress-like in his disposition.

Perhaps he truly doesn’t know what you mean, you think. The chance is present, albeit slim, though present nonetheless—and how tightly you clutch this sliver of hope. But for a moment, in your hesitancy and under Hobie’s untelling stare, doubt creeps in—your palms grow clammy against the material of your pants, sweat assisting the glide of your fingers against one another. Your eyes search those of the man in front of you, wishing his look could change so you could find the courage to ground yourself.

What if you’re wrong? What if it’s all a fallacy, some trick of the light? New York is no stranger to oddities but even this seems too extreme. Coincidental talk of Spider-People leading to an impossible accusation. Fucking Spider-People don’t—shouldn’t—exist. The idea grows more absurd the longer you question it. Peter Parker got the short end of the stick, if there was even a long end in the first place, so what the hell are you doing?

But what if you’re right?

A breath rattles through you. “Hobie.” With a new waver in your voice and a tremble to your hands, you stand unsure of how your conviction bleeds through what you say but you try anyhow. “I know you’re gonna think I’m crazy, but I saw a masked man walking on the side of a building yesterday.” The admission comes quickly, riddled with cracks, but you’re entirely too focused on the followup to care. “After the conversation we had about Spider-People, after the whole thing about superheroes, tell me that it wasn’t you up there. Because I saw your— your fucking pins and I’ve never— God, I don’t even know! I’ve never seen something like this.”

Your fists clench, fingers digging crescent-shaped craters into the flesh of your palms. The marks bite, angry red and stinging—perhaps aching even more the absence of Hobie’s response, the seconds you give him to reply.

“Who are you?” Dry—your throat is so dry. Your voice can’t be anything above a whisper with how hoarse the question comes, flaking away with every shallow breath you take.

Silence blankets the both of you then, soundless space a limbo between comfort and unease. Unsure of what to do with it, what to make of the situation you stand in now, you let it hang listlessly, drawing upon an empty room and an even emptier conversation.

It takes a handful of moments for Hobie to even look like he’s processed all that you’ve said. Under your scrutiny, the smallest movement of his eye is the only discernible change to the testament. Whatever goes on inside his head is a complete mystery to you for the few minutes that elapse before he speaks.

Finally, he shifts in his stance. “You want me to just come out with it, yeah?” he asks, not sounding terribly happy, but not as nonplussed as you expected. He sighs when you nod slowly. “Alright. I’ll start from the top, then.”

He tells you his name is still in fact Hobie Brown, and he was bitten by a radioactive spider three years ago. Formerly a runway model, though not a role model, he’s been protecting the streets of his hometown against the PM. When he’s not playing shows, antagonizing fascists, or staging unpermitted political “action-slash-performance art pieces,” he’s out partying with his friends.

“And don’t call me a hero,” he ends with a frown. “Hate the label. Calling yourself a hero makes you a self-mythologizing, narcissistic autocrat.”

When he stops, you have both hands to your temples, pressing down hard. You can deal with his anti-authority spiel just fine—some part of you even agrees with the sentiment—but there is so much to unpack prior to the statement.

“So you— you have actual spider powers? Oh my God?” you sputter, eyes blown wide in an expression of surprise you’re sure looks exaggeratedly dreadful. “What even— that’s— what even are spider powers?”

“Dunno really.” Hobie gives a shrug. “Enhanced hearing, speed, vision, and sticking to walls are the main perks. Also links up to my—”

“Can you shoot webs out of your butt?” you blurt in a sudden horrible realization.

There’s a few seconds of tense silence before Hobie bursts into laughter, arms crossed around his torso to hold himself, shoulders bunched to his ears. The ring of his joy through the air lifts a weight from it and suddenly the atmosphere doesn’t feel as crushing as before.

Witnessing his state, it doesn’t take long for unease to fade away and for you to start softly chuckling with him.

“You’re so jokes,” Hobie cackles, a hand over his eyes as he leans back. A long, shuddering breath tears through him in his attempt to calm down. “But to answer your question, no I can’t shoot webs out of my arse.”

“Thank God,” you breathe, clutching your heart. “Wouldn’t have looked at you the same if you said you could.”

“I don’t think I can look at you the same after you just asked that.”

“Hey, in my defense it was just to get to know you better.”

“I’m sure that’s all it was.” Hobie gives you a pointed look, but is quick to smile after. “Speaking of which, I came in to ask you something as well.”

“Oh?” You blink. The sudden shift in conversation is unprecedented, taking you slightly by surprise, but suspicion is quick to replace your wonderment when you notice a change in Hobie’s features. A squint narrows your eyes. “What are you plotting?”

“Nothing, it’s just I have an excuse now that you know me better.” He pauses briefly, staring at you for a moment. “I wanted to ask if I could know you a little better.”

Your lips purse in confusion at the phrase, forehead pinching. “But you already know me?” you ask, brow raised. “Don’t tell me you forgot everything already.”

“I didn’t,” Hobie reassures gently. “I was just thinking instead of talking over a counter we could do it over dinner? Maybe a movie, if you have the time?”

A beat passes and suddenly realization sets in, drawing all the air out of you. The smallest groan escapes you as you bury your face in your palms, the skin of your neck and cheeks burning hot. Every inch of you seems more sensitive in your mortification—were you always this close to Hobie, and was his cologne always that strong?

“I’m an idiot,” you whisper from between the gap in your hands. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

Hobie supplies a soft chuckle to ease your embarrassment. “You’re not. It came out pretty corny anyways.”

“I can’t believe I’m getting asked out by a guy with spider powers.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

You groan again, a tight breath pressed against your fingers. “You are so lucky you’re cute, Hobie Brown.”

It is as endearing as it is exasperating that you can practically hear how big his smile is. “You free tomorrow?”

“Anytime past five,” you reply softly, slowly inching your hands away from your face to peer at him. “Where should I meet you?”

Hobie’s grin tilts sideways at the query, a new sparkle of mischief brightening his eye. “I’ll come pick you up.”

Dates aren’t exactly a new concept to you—you’ve been on a handful, and they all go about the same. The first time, someone shows up with flowers or a small gift to start the evening right, then you’re whisked away for three hours to some place to hang around and have fun. It’s conventional, it’s safe—sometimes you enjoy the company more than the actual activity, leading to a second or third outing, but there’s nothing too special about the dance you do with routine.

Along this line of reasoning, Hobie crash-landing on your balcony with one of the most ridiculous offers of transportation isn’t exactly the way you imagined your date would start.

“You are not web-swinging me to Manhattan,” you tell him, still inside your apartment, arms crossed and shaking your head vigorously. “I don’t care what you have set up, I’m not gonna risk going splat on the damn concrete.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Hobie pushes playfully. “Promise I won’t drop you.”

You frown, brows furrowing and lips pursing as you glare at him. He returns the look as calm as ever, a slight smile edging the corners of his mouth and stance open in invitation. The way he holds himself has uncertainty creeping to you, forcing out your fervent disagreement in favor of consideration in a rather slick way of persuasion.

Perhaps you should’ve known you wouldn’t win, with the sheer difference in your demeanors. Your staredown continues for a couple of minutes before you sigh, breaking eye contact with a reluctant drop of your chin and a gentle moan of diffidence.

“Can I at least close my eyes?” you mumble, walking out and shutting the balcony door behind you.

“You can do whatever you want,” Hobie replies, sliding on his mask and gloves. “Just hold on tight.”

Stifling a breath when his arm wraps around the small of your back and under your thighs, you cling to his shoulders as he lifts you up and climbs on the railing.

“You ready?” His chest rumbles under your touch when he speaks, and you can only give a small nod in your position, heart pounding against your ribs and face buried deep in the nape of his neck.

Hobie laughs—a deep, warm sound—and then launches off your balcony.

There are no words to truly describe the feeling that swallows you while in freefall. Wind blasts past your ears in violent howls, gravity pulls your figure down but your insides up, and the only thing you have to ground yourself is the feel of Hobie as you clutch him with every bit of strength you possess. Adrenaline thrums through every vein, lighting your nerves on fire and prickling your skin with gooseflesh; even your energy to scream depletes into fueling the rush that floods your senses.

Upon the first pull up, Hobie’s web catching a surface to swing from, your gut lurches and a serrated gasp shudders through you. Your arms pull you impossibly closer to him, fingers clawing to dig deeper into the back of his vest.

“Easy now,” he chuckles, sounding miles away with how loud your heart beats in your ears. “I promised I wasn’t gonna drop you, didn’t I?”

“D-Doesn’t make it better,” you gasp, shivering now that the breeze whips against your back.

“Try to relax—we’ll be there soon.” Though he says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world, it proves contrary to the way his grip tightens around you with the next swing.

Despite how comforting the gesture is, you find that you can’t relax much while still flying through New York a hundred feet in the air.

After what seems like days of travel, Hobie finally lands on solid ground, giving you a moment to catch your breath before setting you down gently. His arms are threaded underneath yours as you try to balance on shaky legs, knees bent and feeling all too much like jelly for your own comfort.

“I feel like a newborn deer,” you sigh, voice trembling from the withdrawal of adrenaline. Jitters quiver your fingers, lightly chatter your teeth, and shake the thin chamber of your chest. “My God, how do you even get used to this?”

“Gotta learn to trust yourself,” Hobie hums smoothly. “First time’s always a tad tricky.”

You only nod, gaze now pinned to the ground as he gradually guides you forward, step by step, until you’re stable enough to slowly walk on your own. From there, the slightest incline of your head brings your attention to a small spread of food and flowers laid out nicely on a patterned blanket. A warmth comes to settle in your core at the sight, softening your eyes and easing the tenseness in your limbs—contentment reaches you and the stress gained from the ride here begins to fade, if only by a little.

“Hobie, this is so sweet,” you coo, pleasure lightening the tone of your voice.

His rings just as sweetly through the evening air. “Good to hear—would’ve been gutted if you didn’t like it.”

You laugh at the response, casting an affectionate glance at him that just grows fonder upon meeting his charming reciprocation. The bend of his brow, the part and curve of his lips, the crinkle of his eye—all of it has you transfixed for a generous moment, barely able to notice the way your navel aches with longing in your stupor.

The feeling persists throughout the evening, present in every winding conversation and instance of quiet shared between the two of you. It’s rather freeing to be unconstrained by the formalities usually held by the label of a first date and to sense such endearment for the whole of it. There is no talking to only talk—every sentiment has meaning, every word punctuated by some semblance of tenderness; there is no awkward atmosphere brought about by nervous tension—you rest comfortably, leaning back on your hands, as does Hobie, elbows on crossed legs, positioned towards you.

Hours pass by easily in the space, kissing the sky with hues of orange and gold and violet as they bid a teary farewell, trails of light following in the wake of their departure. Yawning clouds push to the east, unlined shapes dissipating with the fleeting luster. Soon, the New York city skyline is only a bleak, black horizon that cradles a half-yolked sun just shy of its surface.

Golden rays grace your skin, full and temperate and real. You’re just about to gush to Hobie about how this is your favorite time of the day when you’re stopped by the shallow movement of his arm.

He shifts to pick the carnation laid closest to your hand, snaps off the longer part of its stem, then tucks it delicately behind your ear. Wordlessly, he adjusts the petals, and grins when they seem to his liking.

You’re practically bursting at the seams when he retracts his hand, fingers ghosting the curve of your cheek on their path back. Heat rushes to your neck, white-hot on a quick shot up to heat every inch of your face. The sensation catches your breath, widens your eye, tucks the tip of your bottom lip between your teeth, and all you can do is sit and watch Hobie as he admires you.

There’s a look in his eye that you hope is reflected in yours, how beautiful he is. The warm vermillion hue of the sun hits his complexion and it’s like there’s nothing else in the world to behold but him.

Suddenly you find yourself reaching for the flowers on the blanket, clasping multiple in one hand and halving the stems with the other.

Leaning forward, palms stained with sap, you place the carnations in each of Hobie’s wicks, uncaring of the smell of chlorophyll or the tremble of your fingers. You only return to your seat and wipe your hands when you finish, the expanse of his head dotted in small blooms, all that’s left of the original bouquet messily cut stems and loose leaves.

A breathy laugh escapes you at the sight, light and happy and bright. “You are so pretty, Hobie,” you whisper, your heart swelling with adoration. “And I wanna kiss you so bad right now.”

He smiles. “I’m not going to stop you,” he says, then wraps his arms around you when you crush your lips to his.

You feel you must be drunk on something, but are entirely too far gone to care the slightest bit. Hobie is every bit as soft and warm as you imagined, his hold homely, his scent familiar. Breathing him in, bergamot, plum, and sandalwood filling your lungs, a dreamy sigh stutters out of your nose before you start to move.

The kiss takes on a steady rhythm then, perhaps the easiest thing you’ve had to follow. Each press of your lips against his finds just the right amount of resistance, the feel of his piercing snug as it nudges you in every shift. Your hands find purchase in cupping his face, fingertips smoothing the silver studs that line his ears and thumbs stroking his cheeks.

Hobie’s touch rests just shy of your waist, the bend of his elbows against your ribs, palms flat against your scapula. His chest rises and falls with every breath, a slight hitch in the motion when you crawl to his lap, sitting in the space between his legs.

The two of you share your own pocket of heaven for a minute longer, then with one last kiss, you part. As your eyes flutter open, Hobie slides a hand off your back to thumb your lip, swiping a finger across your bottom one.

You make a questioning noise but remain unmoving as he works, sliding his digit across sensitive skin.

“My lipstick got on you,” he explains when he finishes, showing you black makeup smeared on his thumb. “I liked the look of it, but didn’t know if you did.”

A gentle laugh spouts from you at his kindness. “I’m all for you giving me a makeover next time,” you say with a grin.

Hobie gives a small chuckle back, delight sparkling in his eye. “Good.”

The afterbuzz of the date still tingles the back of Hobie’s neck even hours later. It’s ten o’clock, the moon at highrise and not a single star in sight in the muddy violet pool that overhangs New York. He’s in the middle of a stakeout, monitoring an energy station reopened as bait for whatever, whoever, might come out in response. The task of fully focusing proves rather hard in the wake of remembering the warmth of you as you held him, the brush of your lips against his, and your small gasps of breath, but he tries anyhow.

Hobie’s just finished shaking off the image of your face in the light of dusk when his watch buzzes. He looks down with a frown, noting the peculiarity of receiving a call this late.

“Gwendy,” he greets, an orange hologram of Stacy appearing with the twist of a dial. “What are you ringing me for?”

“Hey Hobie,” she returns flatly, not providing much else before quickly casting her gaze askance.

From her projection, Hobie can gather that something seems off—Gwen’s stance is completely closed, arms crossed and feet together. What looks like nervousness twists her features, pinches her forehead, pulls her lips tight together. She’s never been good at hiding her emotions, but even this seems exaggerated.

Sobriety seeps into Hobie then, the high of hours ago eroding. “Something wrong?” he asks, voice dropping low.

Gwen pauses, hesitating. “Miguel wants you back at HQ,” is what comes from her after a few seconds. “Now.”

“What about the mission?”

“He just says to leave. There’s been some new intel. That’s all I know.” Gwen swallows thickly, her eyes flickering back to Hobie. “See you soon.”

“Alright, see ya.” The hologram blinks twice, then disappears. Hobie taps on his watch to open a portal back to Earth-928, dubiety sinking its teeth into his thoughts. Miguel was ever the autocrat, so he was never quite fond of the guy, but the way Gwen had come to him—with a fresh feeling that extended beyond terror etched in her expression—that doesn’t sit well. He doesn’t need a spider-sense to recognize that something is amiss.

Somehow, he can’t elude the feeling of dread that creeps to him when he’s swallowed by the vortex.

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown/reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown/you #hobie brown #across the spiderverse #across the spider-verse #hobie brown imagine #fluff #angst #kissing <3 yeah #miguel o'hara #gwen stacy #i wish this kiss were a canon event i really do #yeah uh hold onto your hats for the last part

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katnissdoesnotfollowback · 1 month

Note

What do you think Katniss and Peeta’s unexpected turn ons are? Like a small innocent thing about the other that drives them wild just because they really love them so much? And makes the other one go “really? ��”

This was way too much fun to answer and got out of hand. I could probably think up a thousand more of these if I had the time.

<3 kdnfb

Canonically, Peeta cannot lie to Katniss and look her in the eyes. When she figures out that he still can’t post-mj, she uses it to her advantage. She can always tell when he’s trying to fib his way out of accidentally revealing an innocuous secret or a surprise he’s planning, like what he’s getting her for her birthday. And it drives her a little insane. Like “either look me in the eyes when you try to lie to me or take me to bed right now, since you won’t give me my present right now.”

Katniss is a consummate caretaker, to an almost annoying degree. Fortunately for her, she husbanded someone with a caretaker kink. That boy was dying of blood poisoning, raging with fever in a deathmatch arena, and he was still laying down the lines and making her laugh. Every time she fusses over him or bosses him around when he’s got a minor injury or just a little sniffling cold, that man is in full on flirt mode and dragging her into bed with him. “I’ve got a surefire way you can make me feel better.” “If we have sex, will you stop whining and get up so I can wash the sheets afterwards?” she sighs in exasperation as she’s stripping off her clothes and crawling under the covers with him.

Meanwhile, Katniss goes feral whenever Peeta gets a little protective of her. Some whackadoo from the Capitol comes out to Twelve to check on the progress of the new medicine factory and brings a limousine with him on the train, but the roads in Twelve are not made for cars like that and the idiot almost runs people over. So of course, Peeta wraps his arm around his wife and bodily lifts her out of the path. One second she’s walking through town, reciting her shopping list, the next she’s pressed up against a storefront with Peeta’s body caging her in and some idiot driver is careening past, honking his horn. And if you think Katniss doesn’t almost climb him right there and he has to toss her over his shoulder to drag her home before she tears his clothes off, I cannot help you.

Both of them become unhinged morons whenever the other one is a complete mess.

By this I mean Katniss comes in from tending the garden, her shirt all sweaty and clinging to her. Her hair’s a mess and she’s got a little sunburn on her nose and cheeks and Peeta’s already naked, demanding she take him on the spot.

Similar response when she comes home a little disheveled from a hunt. “At least let me put the meat in the freezer first, Peeta.” Nope. She gets railed up against said freezer and can’t keep a straight face when they have to invite Haymitch over to eat all this meat because they had to cook it immediately after or it would’ve gone bad.

Peeta starts coming home from the bakery deliberately a little messy. Flour in his hair, sugar stuck to his neck. A random smear of frosting on his arm. Why? Because Katniss starts squirming the instant she sees him and honestly, he really likes it when she mounts him in the hallway because she couldn’t make it the five extra feet to the bedroom.

He’s lost count of how many times they’ve had sex because he didn’t get all the paint washed off his hands before a meal or before bed. And he almost never notices the smear of paint or pencil dust that winds up on his left temple because he brushed back his hair at some point while he was painting/drawing and why is that so hot? She has no clue, all she knows is that she wants to bathe in him. Usually, she manages to wait a little while for that one, mainly because she wants to see what he was painting before she jumps him. What he was painting often dictates the flavor of their sex.

He doesn’t paint the Games as much, after the first time she tells him “Real,” but when he does, the sex is tender and usually happens in the art studio itself, on a paint splattered sofa or on the floor, rolling around on his floor tarps so that both of them are smeared with paint afterwards.

If he’s painting her or other people that they love, they’ll make it up to the bedroom before clothes start flying, laughing and teasing each other the entire way. Katniss will be laughing so hard she snorts while she’s moaning and coming at the same time. Peeta lives to make her snort laughing while she’s coming, btw. Huge turn on, switch flipped to feral mode as soon as she's done coming, and Katniss feels like she won’t be able to walk straight for a day after he finishes inside her.

He uses her as a canvas? Well eventually he's gonna wind up covered in paint too. They go until the paint starts to dry and by then, they're sleepy and content and can barely move anymore.

Painting landscapes and nature scenes? Absolutely feral pig sex where the neighbors worry about them and ask each other if they should… knock? Make sure everyone is still alive in there? Katniss really can’t walk straight for a day after that, but she’s not complaining. Instead she’s demanding her husband carry her around, because he did that to her, after all.

Sadly for Katniss, Peeta carrying her around is something she absolutely loves for the tenderness and silliness of it, but also at times it turns her into a raving madwoman "take me to bed and throw me on it then fuck me this instant before I pull out all my hair, husband!"

And ho buddy, when the two of them come home all sweaty and gross from rebuilding the district? Round one on the floor in the entryway. Round two with skin squealing on shower walls and borderline screaming moans echoing off the bathroom walls. Hair pulling, biting, clawing sex. Let me inside your skin, ten minutes later we’re still actively sweating well damn it that shower was fucking pointless in terms of getting clean sex.

Katniss eats her pie backwards, crust first and Peeta doesn’t know why, but for some reason, he thinks it’s adorable and needs to have her instantly. Haymitch wonders why he no longer gets pie on nights when he eats dinner with them. There’s always dessert… but no pie. So Peeta starts baking Haymitch his own pies and dropping them off, because he’s not giving up his absolute need to toss Katniss on the table and eat her out like he’s a dying man whenever she eats her pie like that.

Peeta looks like he’s solving all of the world’s problems when he’s brushing his teeth. So serious. Sometimes, Katniss will throw small objects at his prosthetic until he notices and giggles when he does, looking at her like she’s an annoying brat. Sometimes, she sneaks up behind him and makes faces at him over his shoulder until he laughs and spits out the toothpaste. Other times, her hands on him are incredibly naughty and the next thing he knows, he looks like a rabid animal in the mirror while he’s bent over the sink, holding on for dear life with her hands on his dick, unraveling him one caress and stroke at a time. But whatever she does, it ends with their sheets an absolute wreck and both of them naked and sweaty and staring at the ceiling going “Wow. So that… happened…”

Katniss bites her nails when she’s nervous and Peeta fixes it by snatching her hand and kissing her from her fingertips up her arms to her neck… where he blows a raspberry until she’s laughing. Do smutty things happen after that? Depends on the setting.

Peeta still flirts with her. Like blatantly, let's see how red I can get my wife’s face flirting with her over the bakery counter or in the town square, in front of literally everyone’s salad. And Katniss just melts like a loon but is secretly plotting how to get him naked asap. She’s not against throwing him against the nearest tree if only there weren’t so many people in the district. Oh but she’s absolutely savaged him against several trees in the woods because he was flirting.

Peeta whistles when he’s working in the bakery. Katniss thinks it’s adorable and sexy as hell. She sings in the shower and Peeta never misses the show, sitting on the toilet or just standing against the sink just to hear her sing. It’s the only time he manages to move silently.

Katniss cannot keep her hands out of Peeta’s hair. Girl is obsessed. And Peeta finds it at turns, adorable, adorably annoying, a mild turn on, or holy hell hot. Like “pull my hair again when I make you come” hot. Conversely, she absolutely loves it when Peeta brushes and braids her hair for her. He’s trying to have a tender, loving moment, and she’s often “are you done yet because as soon as that hair tie is on, i’m gonna be all over you.”

Both of them absolutely love it when the other one laughs. It’s not always a turn on, per se, but when it is… lord have mercy they broke a whole ass bed one time because Peeta laughed at something Katniss said.

Peeta wearing loose, soft pajama pants or the like. Katniss is all hot and bothered and “i’m not that big you can definitely fit me in there with you…” Peeta looks at her like she’s lost it, but they actually do try it once or twice. Numerous pairs of pants have been ripped and sewn back together in this pursuit, and not because she couldn’t fit in there with him.

He’s long since accepted that if they’re dressing up for some occasion, he has to get dressed two hours early. To give Katniss enough time to rip it all off and have her way with him and still have time for them to shower and get dressed again so they’re not late.

Anytime Katniss wears one of his shirts, sweaters, etc, he’s pretty sure he’s going to die unless he gets his mouth or hands on her and then his cock inside her because half the time, she’s not wearing a bra or pants with them, just panties, and he just… has to have her. NOW. While said garment is still on her body. Especially a particular red sweater he was wearing the day they had sex the first time and she wore it the morning after.

She absolutely has a sunset orange nightie that nearly gets removed (or not removed) every time she wears it, but removed or not… either way, Katniss can’t feel her toes after Peeta makes her come as many times as he can whenever she wears it.

#well aren't you a spicy anon #post mockingjay #everlark #anonymous #look at that ask

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gtgbabie0 · 1 year

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hi! you’re one of my favorites writers i was wondering if you could write reader and Leon going furniture shopping for their first house they bought together thank you and have a great day! 😁

- Leon Kennedy x reader

This is so cute!! Thank you for requesting me love!! 💕💕💕

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You knew Leon could be so insanely stubborn at times, but you would’ve never expected him to go this far, every time you even begin to suggest decorating the house Leon only ever responds with, ‘Decorate however you want angel’ and you’re starting to doubt wether or not he even wants to move into a house together.

So you decide to wait until tonight, just as Leon climbed into bed with you to bring up the situation. He could tell something was bothering you by the way you pick at your nails, and the almost nervous look that settles in your eyes, his hand reaches for yours with reassurance.

“You alright sweetness?” He asks, his thumb smoothing over your knuckles as you give him a weak smile.

You nod as you start to play with his slightly gun-calloused fingers, and you take a mental note to pick up more of that hand cream he uses.

“Yeah, yeah I’m alright- I just- can I ask you something?” You tiptoe, really not wanting to jump to any insane conclusions that might hurt him, but you knew from past experience that it’s best to air out your feelings instead of bottling them up.

“Of course, you can,” he tells you shifting to sit closer to you.

You take a deep breath, preparing yourself, “Do you even want to move in together? I mean I just- I don’t know- it feels like you don’t really want this” You sigh, not looking at him scared of the pain that might stain his features.

He frowns a little, “What? Of course I want to move in together, I’ve wanted this for so long” he tells you with a promising tone, “Why did you ask?” It comes out much quieter than he wanted, his voice quivering ever so slightly.

“Whenever I bring up decorating you always seem to just brush it off,” you tell him playing with his fingers.

He goes quiet for a moment, trying to find the right way to say this, “I’m sorry angel— it’s just I want you to decorate it however you like, I mean you’re going to be here more than I am, you know with my job and everything” he confesses, guilt pinching at his heart.

His worries are soon gone as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, “Oh Leon, but this is still your house, our house” you remind him as you pull away slightly pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “I want you to help me decorate our house” you smile, watching the way his eyes glisten with excitement.

“Okay, I think we can do something about that tomorrow,” he says, relishing the way you let out a string of excited squeals.

You press another kiss to his cheek, “Well then, It’s a date Kennedy” you giggle snuggling down next to him, your head resting on his chest as he traces small patterns against your back.

Leon would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t having a good time looking through all the fake furniture displays, the way you ‘Ooh’ and ‘Aww’ at all the different shapes and colours similar to a child in a sweet shop.

You both agreed to take it one room at a time, it would be much easier that way and you both settled on deciding the living room first.

“Ooo, We should get that one” you laugh pointing to the sofa that was an awful shade of green that was displayed.

He looks at you with unpleased eyes, “Absolutely not” he deadpans pulling you away from the ugly velvet cushioned sofa, as you ramble on about how a green sofa would be ‘cool’ but he has none of it.

Leon can hardly believe it, he’s always wanted to move in with you ever since you started to stay over at his apartment, he loves coming home to you, waking up and falling asleep together, and now he gets to do it every day, he couldn't be happier.

“How about this one?” He says, it was a beautiful cream colour with the softest fabric he’s ever felt, and he imagines being curled up on it together watching trash tv, “All snuggled up together, what do you think?” He asks, his hand soothes your hip.

“Mhm, does it come in a darker colour? You spill almost everything” you tease and he scoffs at you playfully.

“When have I ever spelt anything?” He asks with a slight frown.

“Hmm let me see, the one time you spelt my wine and left a stain, then the pasta incident when you were drunk, the pizza you dropped- oh! And-“ he doesn’t let you finish the rest of your rambling, his finger pushes against your lips.

“Okay okay yeah, so we’ll get it in dark grey” he chuckles, accepting defeat as he presses a kiss to your temple, you continue to walk through the aisle and he watches as you jog over to something that clearly has caught your attention and Leon knows that this might be a long day but there’s no one else he’d rather spend it with.

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tothepointofinsanity · 2 months

Text

Today is the blog’s official anniversary. One full year of Sayaka posting and etc. Some blog fun facts:

[1] The most interesting thing about this blog is that its name was ironed down by a friend of mine, who at the time kept parroting the “I’ve gone past the point of insanity” cat meme to himself. When I asked for naming suggestions he misquoted it as “to the point of insanity” instead, which was what I stuck with.

[2] I shortened the name to “ttpoi” for conventional referral purposes, but also because I was thinking about turtles [?] and bubbles at the time of doing so. It’s supposed to be pronounced like “te-te-poi” instead of “tee-tee-poi”. It’s still a mouthful all around in any case.

Thank you to everyone that viewed my gallery. I am grateful for the support and kindness that everyone has shown towards me and my works.

#ttpoilog

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vallanoux · 3 months

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𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐚 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐚. - 𝐀𝐂𝐓 𝟏, 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝟒

ps: chapter 4! it's nearly 12 pages <3

The very next day, (name) walks out of her room, feeling groggy, but well-rested enough for another day. Similar to the night prior, she doesn’t let herself think too much about her situation, and rather focuses on the present. What she wished to be nothing more than just a made up dream was real. (name) (surname) really did get transmigrated into Hazbin Hotel after being killed by an insane fan.

A shiver crawls down her spine. (name) wraps her hands around herself and squeezes her forearms tight, “you can do this… just like always. You’re known to make the best improvisations when things go wrong on stage. This is- This is nothing different from a stage gone wrong, yeah?”

(name) forces herself to believe in what little confidence she has left, and knocks on Lucifer’s bedroom door. It takes him a while to respond.

“(name), is that you?” He calls, then, in a more hushed voice meant for only him to hear, he continues, “of course it would be… Who else would it be, you idiot?”

After turning into a.. bat human? Bat demon? Eh, not too sure, and not that it matters.. But.. all of (name)’s senses had improved far beyond that of an average human. What she normally wouldn’t have heard as a human, she could hear as clear as day.

“Yes, it’s me! You promised that you’d teach me more about my powers? Is it too early? I’ll go if you still want to be alone.”

“Teaching..? Powers..?” He confusedly mutters to himself. It takes him a while to realize what (name) was talking about. The brain fog that clogged his mind constantly deteriorated his memories, barely ever letting anything sit right and firm in his mind.

Then, the door bursts open, revealing the King of Hell bearing a bright grin on his face, “I remember!”

It broke (name)’s heart to see him happy over such a small thing as remembering. Under the stress of mental fatigue, day-to-day tasks that should have come by easily no longer did. The body, because of the mind, loses its innate ability to care for itself. With a hopeless overseer, what would push its dependents to work? Nothing. Nonetheless, she musters up an encouraging expression for Lucifer, “yes, you remembered. Thank you, Lucifer.”

Pleasantly surprised that (name) hadn’t questioned his poor memory, he excitedly grabs her hand and pulls her close. He uses his powers to teleport the both of them to the rooftop of his castle.

And, there it was again. Pressed up against him and so close to the crook of his neck, she smells it. The deliciously sweet scent of musk and cinnamon apple pie that would make anyone ravenous. Heat prods at the shell of her ears, painting them rosy in color.

When they arrived, the Broadway talent hurriedly got out of Lucifer’s grasp, “and here we are!”

“That must've been too close, sorry. I got a little too excited.” He dorkily rubs the back of his head. “It’s just been a while since I’ve gone flying––or taken anyone flying!”

“It happens.” (name) stares at the vast expanse of nothingness that stretches endlessly right outside of pentagram city. There was nothing but hard, sharp, rocky stones. “Is there really nothing out there?”

“Save for a few demons who try to find peace and quiet out there, not really. It’s not livable.” Lucifer explains. “Why, you want to go there?”

“Just curious, and... would you mind using some more of your magic? I’m only wearing a nightgown and it’s very, very chilly up here.” She shivers as a gust of wind blows past her. “And not to mention, a nightgown is very unideal for flight. I might flash people.”

Lucifer looked so disappointed in himself when (name) pointed both things out. He slumps and waves his apple scepter to change her outfit into something much more comfortable. “How could I forget again? There you go.”

“What matters is that you’ve actually done it when I asked,” she tilts her head and gives Lucifer a concerned expression. “You're giving yourself standards you’re bound to fail, and that’s healthy for no one. Not everyone can notice everything.”

“You’re right. It’s just that I used to be a lot more observant, is all.” He allows himself to remain downcast for a couple more seconds, then he lets himself brighten up if only just a bit. “It's because you're that much of an important guest to me. The first guest I’ve had in ages.”

“You’re already plenty good to me.” (name) lets her wings stretch out in the wind, enjoying the feeling of air slipping and gliding across her outstretched wings. “I’m satisfied, so you don’t have to worry about it in the future.”

The Broadway talent turns around and offers him a hand, “for now, teach me how to fly!”

Eagerly, he takes her hand and brings her right to the very edge of the castle’s pointed roof––it’s highest point. “The winds are a bit strong today. Maybe we shouldn’t learn this now? We can wait until the wind is steadier. What about we learn about your other powers instead?”

(name) lifts a hand and feels the strong breeze, “I’m new to this, so I have no clue what you’re talking about. But don’t they say it’s best to learn from difficulty? Pressure either makes or breaks you, and so far, I'd say it's made me.”

“You... have a point, but still, I'm worried. Though, you sound confident in yourself, so I'll trust you. You don’t mind if I touch your wings, right?” Lucifer maneuvers to her back.

“Nope, go ahead.” (name) shrugged.

“Well, these things tend to be very sensitive. Especially on the base.” His hands glide to the tips of (name)’s wings. He pats them down, keeping them neatly folded. “Don’t leave them open when you’re walking around, you’ll bump into things easily, and air resistance will make them feel heavier.”

She shivers at the sensation of his cool fingers tracing across her wings, fixing her posture. A purr rises up her throat, but she stops it right where it starts. She wouldn't allow herself to put on such an embarrassing display. I shouldn’t let anyone touch them freely in the future. That’s dangerous.

Unaware of the Broadway talent’s inner struggles, Lucifer continues on. “There are two ways to take off depending on where you need to fly from. Ground take offs require more effort, which is why we’ll learn them later. Taking off from higher grounds is easier since the winds are stronger. Stronger winds means you can catch them easily, and glide with them. It's common to start by jumping with your wings tucked, then when you feel enough wind pushing against you, you spread your wings wide to catch the wind. Since my wings are different from yours, I don’t know much about what happens after in the air. According to the texture of your wings, I'm sure to keep yourself flying, you'll have to flap them a lot more than me. My wings are good for gliding and long flights while yours are very agile and good for sharp turns."

“Woah, Professor Lucifer~” (name) teased him. “Getting into the zone, aren’t you? You're certainly very knowledgeable.”

Lucifer’s cheeks flush at her teasing. He giggles softly and averts his gaze, “well.. I used to teach the young ones how to fly way back when. They were very cute and fuzzy little things, like ducklings!”

“That’s very sweet of you,” (name) compliments. “Now I’m very confident that you won’t let anything bad happen to me. I’m in good hands.”

For some reason, at (name)'s bold statement, Lucifer’s disposition straightens, and his lighthearted tone irons to firmness, “trust me. Nothing will happen to you when I’m here.”

He falls into silence, so she takes the time to earnestly look into his eyes, and she sees that there’s something terribly wrong. A spark of a storm whirling in his eyes, that shined and for a brief moment, looked past (name) and everything behind her.

Before she could speak up on her concerns, he broke out of his inward dilemma and held out both hands for her to take, “take my hands, (name). I’ll show you how to fly.”

She takes his hands and looks at him, waiting for more instructions, “and?”

Lucifer lets his wings show, spreading from their furled state. “I’m going to create a gust of wind for you, and you try to catch it, okay?”

He flaps his wings and a strong gust of wind blows past her. (name) stretches her wings out, attempting to catch the wind as he said she would. It came by naturally to her, as if it was second nature. A bright grin breaks onto her lips, curling up and wide onto her features. Her eyes glinted with light, the brightest Lucifer had ever seen from her–– and dear, oh dear was it an addicting expression he wishes to see more often. Wishes to be the reason of.

“I’m doing it! I’m really doing it!” She cheers brightly, her now rounded, almost childlike (e/c) eyes held at attention with Lucifer's own yellow ones.

“Yes, yes you are.” He says with such tender endearment it makes (name) freeze.

She knew well enough to know that the endearment in his voice wasn’t directly addressed to her. Rather, to someone else he used to hold so dearly. Yet, to know that she made him feel such a glimpse of such a strong, positive emotion was enough to cause the small twinge of guilt in her chest to eat her alive.

As her focus was averted away from her wings, they were left open wide, blowing her back onto the roof and pulling Lucifer down along with her. Lucifer reacts quickly. He uses his wings and wraps them around (name) and himself tightly, securing her in a protective embrace. He also places his hand behind her head and presses her head to his chest to prevent any whiplash. Lucifer, bless his sweet soul, had secured her so well as that when impact hit, it felt completely painless to (name).

Still, from all the movement and spinning, her head spun in circles and made it so that it was hard to respond properly to Lucifer, whom immediately hoisted her up and began fussing over her, checking for injuries. He looked so frightened when he was checking her, as if he’d done something terribly, criminally wrong.

His eyes shift to the Broadway talent’s. His worry dies down, replaced by a little hint of anger and a lot of exasperation. He reaches to pinch her cheek and scolds her, “(name)? Why did you stop? That was a very dangerous thing for you to do! You don’t get distracted when you’re flying unless you want to fall and die, or at least experienced enough to recover from a nasty incident.”

He locks her gaze. (name), to her own regret, quips back before she could stop herself, “well, I wasn’t the only one who was distracted.”

Her eyes widen and she immediately apologizes, “sorry, I didn’t mean that at all.”

Rather than the angered response she was expecting, Lucifer looks downcast and forlorn. “You’re right. I was stuck reliving some memories I should’ve let go by now. You’re not––you’re not who I wished you were, and it’s wrong for me to treat you like someone else just because you’re similar. It must’ve been off-putting to have someone you hardly know stare at you like that.”

His gaze meets (name)’s again, “but that still doesn’t change that you almost hurt yourself, you know?”

“I know, Lucifer. I let it get to me a bit too much.” (name) admits. “I”m sorry, for the person you lost.. Whoever it was.”

Although I already know who and why... Heaven, Lilith, Eve... how could you do this to him?

��Thank you,” he mutters. “I appreciate it. More than you know.”

“Are you this nice to me because I remind you of that person? Because if that’s the case... It’d be hard accepting what isn’t mine.” Although (name) knew her words could completely stop all the good will she would be receiving from Lucifer, it was the right thing to do. She couldn’t bear the guilt of fooling someone so extraordinarily kind like Lucifer. Like I did before…

“No, I genuinely care for you, (name).” He shakes his head. “I care for you since you’re my… first friend in decades. We’re friends, right..?”

(name) couldn’t deny the hopeful shine in his eyes, “yes, my very first friend in Hell.”

Lucifer, at that point, was nothing but sparkles and rainbows. He gives a cheer and squishes her in a very, very tight hug whilst rubbing his cheek against (name)’s. So soft.. And so very squishy.

Taking her chance, she whispered into Lucifer’s ear, "as someone with issues letting go of the past, I get you. But don’t let it eat you alive. Don’t make that mistake. Because that's what.. Landed me here. At least, I’d assume so.”

For the first time in years, (name) lets the mask fall if only for a moment; the thin veil gone, and the performance was put on break. (name) never wanted to admit it, but her career as one of the most prestigious Broadway talents had devoured her whole. Took her heart, ate it on a silver platter, shit it out and forced it right back into her mouth for her to swallow and choke on in one endless, insufferable cycle. Most her life had been nothing but a comfortable lie.

The very next second, she finds herself laughing, because really, how ironic was it that the first time she chose to be honest wasn’t when she was alive, but rather dead in Hell, and to the King of Hell himself? Who, like her, was burdened far more by his past than he would ever show.

“I’m not laughing because it’s funny. More so that I haven’t been this honest in ages.” (name)'s laugh mellows down. “It’s a nice feeling.”

“I’m glad you feel as if I’m someone you can be honest around,” Lucifer mumbles gently as he pats her back. “I try not to think about it, but it ends up being a double-edged sword since I hardly remember anything.”

“I’m sorry,” (name) whispers back. There was nothing she herself could do to change the situation, or make it any better. All she can give is a well-natured, earnest wish. “I hope it gets better.”

“It just might,” he pulls away and steals a glance at (name). “Why don’t we move on and try flying practice again? Or are you feeling unwell after the fall?”

“No, you’re right. Let’s not sour the mood.” (name) tries to get up, but right before she does lift herself, she realizes that she was in a rather precarious position with Lucifer. “Um.. Lucifer?”

She steals a glance at his wings that were still tightly wrapped around her to give him a hint. It takes a while for Lucifer to realize, but once he does... the poor man combusts. His entire face was now a similar color to his natural red circular accents on his cheek. In (name)’s fair opinion, it was absolutely adorable to see him turn all red and blushy. Really, the cutest, most adorable sight.

(name) laughs at Lucifer, who looks like he’s on the verge of fainting from embarrassment. Her laughter probes him to unwrap his wings and scramble off of her. However, still a true gentleman by nature, he offers her a hand with his gaze turned away, too flustered to look directly at into her eyes.

She takes his hand with a grin as he helps her up, “let’s practice flying, shall we?”

She only holds his hand for a brief moment before letting go. She then rushes to the top of the roof, leaving Lucifer behind, and before he could stop her, she jumps off with a large, taunting grin on her face.

“Catch me if you can!” The Broadway talent calls as she dives off the tallest point of the castle, with her wings tucked in to increase the speed of her fall.

“(name)!” Lucifer was quick on his feet, immediatley rushing off the tower and jumping after her.

His wings furl around him, and he holds an outstretched hand to catch her. His eyes narrowed, brows knitted together and his smile pressed into a thin, almost downward line, solely focussed on saving (name). And, right before she would be pierced by a large, pointed rock that would have definitely made a skewer out of her, Lucifer swoops her into his arms.

“You’re seriously the most reckless person I know! Why would you do that?” Lucifer was reasonably extremely angered.

“Because no matter what, I knew you’d catch me.” She holds his gaze with more certainty and confidence than she’s ever worn her entire life.

What looked to Lucifer as a purely reckless decision on (name)’s part was instead a purely calculated move performed by the Broadway talent meant to create this very scene––meant to reinvigorate Lucifer’s faith in himself that he could indeed protect what was important.

Struggling to find it in himself to stay angry, the corners of his lips twitch upward, “I’ll catch you, always. No matter how many times you fall.”

The fruits of both Lucifer and (name)’s labor proved to be fruitful. After (name)’s “reckless” trust fall, as Lucifer called it, she was able to properly learn how to fly.

“I’m so proud of you! You’re a natural flier for sure,” Lucifer had a cute, dopey smile on his face that egged (name)’s urges to pinch his cheeks. She looks away to refrain herself from doing as such.

“What can I say? It must be my bat instincts kicking in.” She bites into the food plated right in front of her.

The pair, noticing that it had gotten quite late, returned to the castle for dinner. That day, from morning until late, had been filled with nothing but flying, obviously tiring out (name). On the other hand, Lucifer claimed to be completely full and surprisingly, energized.

“Demons don’t need to eat. I’m curious why you’re hungry, actually.” He gazes at her plate with interest. “But what you cooked definitely looks delicious.”

“Because it is delicious.” (name) proudly grins. “A recipe my friend shared with me back from Earth.”

“Ah, how wonderful,” he rests his chin on his hands, keeping his attention on me. “Do you also want to learn about your other powers today? Or another?”

“No, today is good. It’d be nice to get everything out of the way first. But.. How are we going to do that? Aren’t my powers just something I figure out along the way? I heard experiencing mentally stressful situations would urge someone to figure out their powers. That’s what the book said in the library!”

“The book isn’t wrong,” Lucifer nervously chuckles. “But it is oddly a very scary way to find out your own powers. Instead, I can just do it for you with my magic.”

“Wait, really? You can do that?” She looks at Lucifer with big eyes.

“(name), you seem to forget that it’s the King of Hell you’re talking to. Of course I can do it!” He crosses his arms and puffs his chest proudly.

You literally can’t blame me. You’re so dorky, so cute, so squishy, so mushy, so AAAA- (name) takes a deep breath to stop her inner dialogue and to mask her rather questionable thoughts, she stuffs her face with more of her own cooking.

“Well, you don’t exactly radiate that energy, do you? You’re very cute.”

“M- Me? I’m cute?”

“Totally.”

Lucifer takes off his hat and buries his face in it, letting out muffled whines, “you can’t say that to me!”

“But I can.” (name) leans in closer. “Cause you’re my friend now.”

“I regret it already.” He groans.

“Aww, no you love me.” She coos in return, which causes Lucifer to bury his head further into his hat. The poor snake that was wrapped around his hat slithered off, questioningly booping Lucifer to see if he was alright. “See? My point stands both here and in court.”

“Aghhh!” Lucifer slumps and completely goes still.

(name) looked at him with a raised brow, “you good?”

“Fine..” He manages to get out. He straightens his back and wears his hat again, finished recollecting himself. “Just give me your hand and I can already tell what type of magic you have.”

Thinking nothing of it, the Broadway talent reaches her hand over the table. What she least expected to happen, happened. Lucifer takes her hand and intertwined his fingers in between hers, pressed his palm against her own and gently squeezed her hand. He proceeds to pull her closer to himself.

“Two can play at this game.” He looks at me with a half lidded gaze, the edges of his lips curled up into a devious, taunting smirk.

“Oh, you devil.” (name) lifts up her other hand to hide her face and casts her glance aside.

“I quite literally am, amicus meus,” he giggles and he gives my hand another squeeze, which he proceeds to let go seconds after. “Okay, I know your powers now.”

“Really? You weren’t.. completely messing around?” (name) lifts her gaze cautiously, afraid she’d be duped again.

“Really. And by the looks of it, you have interesting powers! Much like that of a demon.. So it almost makes me wonder more than anything else how you even have divinity in you in the first place. And it’s even more curious that you don’t know the answer-”

(name) finds Lucifer’s tendency to ramble extremely endearing. She waits until he finishes before she says her piece, “I know, it’s a little weird. Though, could you tell me about my powers, please? I’m curious”

“Oh, right! That! So, to sum it up, you should have all the powers of a bat. Like echo-location, night vision and the like. I’m also quite surprised to see this since most demons don’t have magic, but you do. Get well acquainted with shadows, (name). I’m certain you won’t regret it.”

“Shadows?” (name) curiously tilts her head.

“It seems to me that you can hide in them and communicate? I’m not quite sure how the latter half works since shadows aren’t sentient, but I’m sure you’ll figure that bit out by yourself. You’re a smart person.” Lucifer gives an expectant smile. “Yeah, I’ll figure it out. Thanks Lucifer.” (name) nods her head in understanding.

She finishes the last bits of food and takes the emptied plate. Lucifer gives her a questioning look, “what are you doing?”

“Cleaning the plate..?”

“I can just do that with magic.”

“Oh.” She sets the place down. “Then could you please..?”

“Sure thing.” With a wave of his adorable apple scepter, the plate is now out of sight. He taps the table and he straightens up as a new thought pops up in his head, “we should get you some clothes, (name)! Let’s go shopping tomorrow?”

“And with what money?” The Broadway talent raises a brow, giving Lucifer an odd look.

“My money! Again, being friends with the King of Hell has its benefits~” he says in a sing-song tone of voice as he flashes me another charming smirk. “I have wealth and connections.”

“If you say so,” (name) returns an exasperated but grateful glance. “I’ll go test out my powers now, so I’ll see you next thing in the morning?”

“Yep, I’ll just jot it down so I remember.” Lucifer approaches her and looks at her expectantly.

“Yes?” (name) raises a brow.

“A goodnight hug.” Lucifer goes on his tiptoes and pulls (name) into a tight, warm hug. “From a friend, to a friend.”

She buries her face in the crook of his neck and gives him a quick tight squeeze before pulling away. I could never get used to your warmth, Lucifer. But it means more to me than you’ll ever know.

“Yes, from a friend to a friend.”

11.7 pages

4,094 words

status: edited

Notes:

i don't know why, but i sort of headcannon luci speaking latin? also GUYSSS LUCI KNOWS HE'S HOTTTT!!! LOOK AT THIS SHOT FROM EP. 8!!!

next chapter is luci's pov

#lucifer magne x reader #hazbin x reader #alastor x reader #alastor x reader x lucifer #hazbin hotel #lucifer magne #alastor #radio demon #lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x reader

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syeren · 4 months

Text

NEW YEAR, NEW ME.

His finger shakily tapped along his knee as he braced himself for the nth time. A call. A stupid. Fucking. Call. Geto gulped down a lump in his throat as he heard a voice on the other end.

“… Hello?”

“Is this… I mean— I’ve been trying to reach you, haven’t you received my calls?”

“Oh, no sorry. I think you have the wrong number.”

“I… See, yeah… Yeah, I should’ve judged by the voice.”

“No worries! I think I’ve seen your number floating around frequently during the past week, I didn’t pick up though. Genuinely, I thought it was another spam call—“

“Ah, I’m sorry for troubling you. I’ll end the call now, have a nice day.”

“You too—“

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A clammy hand dragged down his dehydrated skin, his long lashes poking out through the gaps left open by lazy fingers. A deep rumble from a sigh vibrated in his throat, then echoed around his humid studio apartment… Drenched in nauseating vanilla musk cologne, and thick smoke billowed from a half-lit cigarette. In the corner of his apartment was a Vinyl player, playing Chet Baker softly as he thought.

“… Fuckin’ hell.”

He slowly got up from his hunched position against the wall, pushing some weight off of the surface to compensate the weakened muscles he had left. He had no courage or stamina to even reach the front door if anyone wanted to check up on him, perhaps he had been too optimistic about that mere thought.

He stumbled in his apartment, toppling over heaps of garbage and empty liquor bottles, a loud statement of his pain. As he neared his unkept bed, he plopped onto his flat, tear-stained mattress. The quiet rumble of traffic outside his apartment window was his alarm clock, while the occasional chatter from his next-door neighbours were his source of entertainment. Amongst those were the occasional pops of fireworks going off in the distance, ahh yes, the welcoming of the new year.

Another year, he thought, to wake up and go through his schedule on autopilot. It was rinse and repeat, at this point. His body clock already stopped working after countless nights of insomnia, and he spent that time thinking… Again. Another day, another year.

The record continued to play, aiding the descent into his brain once more. It had been a long time since he last seen you, heard your voice, felt you in his arms— Hell, the fact he couldn’t reach you anymore was already driving him insane. What drove you away? Perhaps it was his lack of understanding towards you, maybe it was the fact he stuck his nose into his own stuff and never had the light of day just to talk— Properly, that time. However, it may be the certain situation that he was burying himself into, the over-thinking. Did you get tired of it? Were you too exhausted to put up with it?

He wanted to understand. Those countless nights he spent just pondering over his own pessimism and confusion, it was enough for him already. He turned his dreary body around, planting his face against the pillow and shutting his eyes. He nestled into the illusion of comfort, but the true beauty of peace is long gone.

The intoxicating vanilla and musk clung to his bedsheets, doused in the saltiness of tears and a hint of fresh pine. He hadn’t taken a shower yet, a proper bath didn’t even pop into one of his hundreds of thoughts running in his brain until now; thus, he opted to submerge himself in his racks of cologne and perfume for the meantime. His eyes darted sideways, tilting his head to the darkness the night sky blanketed him with. Another sigh left his lips.

“… Did I not love them enough?” his voice broke through like a scratchy record, hoarse and unpleasant. A broken record of anxiety and negativity. “Did I love them too much?”

He laid there on top of his bed, drifting off into a dreamless sleep. Sleep sounds good, real good. To simply release those relaxing chemicals into your brain, signalling it to shut down. He wished he could that to his thoughts all day but, he holds on to something he can’t achieve— The notion to meet you once more. As the time passed, he felt his body sinking deeper into his mattress and—

Ring. Ring. Ring.

A groan bursted out as he lazily reached over to his bedside table, grabbing his phone and putting it to his ear. He knew that he would get another mouthful of false-positive comments from his buds, and he sucked in a breath once pressing ‘answer.’

“Satoru, I already—”

“Geto?”

The familiar chime sound, it was the type of bell that twinkles and flutters; much like a Furin in a soft Summer breeze. It wasn’t anything like the Church bell noise that Satoru’s voice gave off, resounding, rich, yet clanging to his ears. His eyes shot open as he clambered to sit up in his bed, crossing his legs as he tried to gather his scatterplot of thoughts.

“Hey,” he managed to croak out, albeit with a loud voice crack. “I didn’t… Expect you to call me.”

“Satoru told me I should check in with you, so that’s why,” your voice sounded like you were smiling through your words. He swore he could picture you smiling. “This is my new number, you can save it if you would like.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t want to disturb you, however.”

“No, no! You wouldn’t. Well, I just wanted to check in.”

“Okay, okay… No promises on being convinced,” he added, chuckling awkwardly as he cleared his throat into his fist.

“Alright. Well, I’m gonna hang up now, okay? Stay safe, Geto.”

“Mhm, you too. Thanks— For checking in, I mean.”

“No worries, bye!”

“Goodbye.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

He immediately threw his phone down to his side as cold sweat profusely beaded around his temples. Black, messy locks draped over his eyes, and his gaze shot down at the mattress beneath him. Slowly, he leaned back against the wall once more, staring at the phone that connected you and him together. Even if it were brief.

All the times he called you, wanted to talk to you, hear that voice… Yet he wussed out, only managing to blurt out a quick ‘thanks for checking in.’ He wanted to profess his adoration, his emotions he held deep within his heart but once he finally got the chance to tell you, it didn’t meet to his expectations. Strings of profanities left his lips, muttering out into the silence of his own home.

Just as the clock renewed itself on that plastic display, he too, decided for that change. The unfamiliarity of the numbers twinkled in his eyes, and surely this would be a sign of hope. To pick himself up and just start anew— Well, once he figures out how to fix up his living quarters, that is.

The distant popping and cheers echoed from his complex and outside, and once Geto looked over at the clock, it was 12:00 AM sharp. A painful chuckle left his lips as his head craned back to rest against the surface. A new year, huh? It was ironic, how cheerful and abundant the atmosphere was throughout the building and the city, yet here he was wallowing in nothing but the repetitive Chet Baker record he had on. He reached in his pocket, grabbing the same pack of Camel he had and popping a cigarette up. Pressing the stick between his lips and lighting the butt, he inhaled deeply and blew out a thick cloud of smoke. The Turkish blend scattered through the air, filling the room with hazy puffs.

Another day, another year. Maybe this one will treat him better.

_______________

an; happy new year! :3 LOL i didn’t think i would make an angst for the new year, but i’ll infuse all my good energy into this post so it won’t affect ur upcoming blessings <3

#jjk #geto suguru #jjk geto #geto x reader #geto angst #jjk angst

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twistnet · 1 year

Text

family gatherings [ bradley bradshaw ]

⋯ SUMMARY ; it’s the first time in years that bradley’s actually had family to celebrate the holidays with

⋯ WARNINGS ; female!reader, general fluff [ mention of icemav, found family love, hugs + sweet kisses ]

“are you ready to head inside?” you question, a tupperware dish still warm and seated in your lap as you look over at your fiancé. he seats in the drivers seat, a white knuckled grip still on the steering wheel of his beloved bronco -- the same grip he had the minute the two of you have backed out of the driveway.

your question, however, seems to break him from his thoughts and his head turns to find your curious eyes, “yeah, just thinking...” he mutters before quickly trying to reach around to exit the vehicle to avoid a confrontation, but he should really know better than to try and hide what he’s feeling from you.

as you reach over to grab his hand, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles, “about what?” you ask, trying to be as gentle as possible -- knowing the holidays can be a time of sadness depending on the situation with ones family.

bradley thighs heavily, “just... it’s been years since i’ve been at their house. all the holidays i missed because i was so upset with them. i don’t know... just feel like i’ve got so much to make up for. all cause i wasn’t here.” bradley vents, twirling his thumbs together as he struggles to get the words out. honestly, he was feeling so many things and the thought of coming over for the holidays had driven him almost insane since mav had extended the invite.

he had worked to make everything perfect -- like he had to impress them all over again. to get back into there good graces. even thought mav and ice had already welcomed him back into their little family with open arms the minute bradley had been told the truth and forgave them both.

the reflection of light swaying back and forth had caught your eye, and you managed to catch a small glimpse of man’s head peaking through the shut curtains to where bradley had parked the bronco -- almost as if he was waiting to see if the two of you were actually going to come in.

“well, if it makes you feel any better, i’m about ninety-five percent sure man’s having the same dilemma as you.” you don’t miss the smile that comes across his smile as he finally looks up at you, “and what makes you say that?”

“because him and ice have been not-so subtly glancing out of the living room window for the past few minutes -- i think mav’s waiting to see if you’re going to change your mind and leave.” for a brief moment, bradley glances towards the window to confirm and chuckles lightly at the sight ice attempting to remove the smaller man from the curtains.

“then we better get inside before he worries himself to death. and i’m sure ice isn’t helping.” and with a nod, the two of you exit the bronco and bradley gently guides you up the steps towards the kazansky-mitchell residence -- a place that hadn’t changed much since he left.

you nearly giggle to yourself when the door lurches open before a firm knock can be laid against the wood, mav and ice’s bright smiles greeting you both, “we were starting to think you weren’t going to show!” mav exclaims, pointedly ignoring the cold glare from his husband as he ushers the both of you in.

“i’ll take that from you.” ice states, pointing to the dish in your hands before whisking it away to the kitchen. bradley helps you get your things settled before following mav in the direction ice had gone -- chatting excitingly the entire way about all the stuff they had prepared for the rest of the guests.

said guests, stood chatting idly in the kitchen before greeting you both with a bright smile. bradley recognized the lot of them -- having been ice and mav’s top gun graduating class and basically family at that point. bradley introduced you to each one, making a point to use their titles before giving them a smile and hug.

a man, slider, had dropped a drink into your hand with an old smile, “glad to have you both here. we’re all just happy to have baby goose back home.” and a round of cheers follow as you turn to face your fiancé.

“baby goose?” you smile, teasing him slightly as a blush creeps up towards his cheeks and his head ducks down in embarrassment, “i had to have a callsign before actually joining the navy, babe. and i was a baby goose back then.”

“you still are a baby goose.” another utters, causing a round of laughter before mav nods, “and he always will be. nothing going to change that.” the sentiment is sweet, and you nuzzle into bradley’s side as conversation flows around the room.

at some point, the two of you separate, and you end up in a conversation with one of the wives, who tells you all about the different things to expect -- more so after seeing the ring on your finger.

at the call of dinner, most of the room rushes into the kitchen to fill their plates. you and bradley linger back, reconnecting for the first time in about an hour. a sweet kiss is pressed to your lips as an arm tugs you in at the shoulders to lean against him. “are you glad you came?” you question quietly, overlooking the room with a bright smile. bradley nods, “i wouldn’t have missed this for the world.”

blog navigation ⇢ [ top gun masterlist ]

#top gun #top gun x reader #top gun imagine #top gun maverick #top gun maverick x reader #top gun maverick imagine #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #female!reader #twistnet #twistnet works 2022

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the1975attheirverybest · 1 year

Text

Real Love, Baby

A/N: based on this request. Think this’ll be it for tonight cuz I’m exhausted.

Warnings: none.

—-

“Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t keep having this conversation, darling!” Matty fiddled with his hair to give his hands something to do. He turned to look at her. “What do I have to do to prove it to you? How many times do I have to say ‘I’m in this. I’m serious. I want to be with you.’? At some point, I’ve gotta think…maybe you just don’t trust me.”

“It would be a lot easier to believe your declarations of you acted like it. You can’t just tell me you love me, but then shut me out every time I try to get close.” She felt defeated, repeating the same words that she had said to him countless times before, knowing that they’d fall on deaf ears again. as they always did.

“Oh for fucks sakes” Matty mumbled under his breath before she was even finished speaking. “Not this again.”

“Yes, this again! Matty, you’re not listening to me. I respect the work that you do. I’m your biggest fan, you know that. But, there’s no room in our relationship for your tricks and sleights of hand. You can’t perform for me, pull the rug out from under me. Leave that at work! Please, I’m begging you!”

The words she spoke broke her own heart. It baffled her that Matty could remain stoic in the face of her ardent pleas. The whole situation scared her. She never thought she would ever find herself in a position where she had to beg a man to love her, or let her love him. Even worse, she never thought that person would be Matty. When they first met, things seemed to come naturally and effortlessly between them. She should’ve known it was too good to last forever. The things is, she was far from a hopeless romantic. In fact, before she’d met Matty and was consumed by him, she used to say that love could hardly be worth the trouble. She thought she respected herself too much to allow herself to hand over her heart like that. She had no idea when that changed, or how she ended up here…the very thing that her past self despised. Love-sick, strung out on him, addicted to his love. Even an idiot would’ve told her the honeymoon phase never lasts.

She didn’t know what hurt more, the fact that Matty didn’t seem to love her anymore, or the fact that she didn’t see it coming.

“I can’t believe this.” Matty shook his head in disbelief. “Are you really using my own work against me? Is that what it’s come to? Why would you do that?”

“You left me no choice!”

“You don’t seem to understand: love isn’t a tangible thing. Love isn’t an object. You can’t prove it or disprove it! You just have to trust me. Why can’t you trust me?”

Hot tears ran down her cheeks like a stream. How could he ever think that she didn’t trust him. “Things are different.” She whimpered. “I used to be able to feel your love. In your touch, your looks, your words….in your eyes. It’s not there anymore.”

“Do you- you can’t be serious.” She scuffed, dismissively. “Are you joking? Do you hear yourself right now? I mean- how am I meant to control my eyes? This is insane.”

“That’s not what I said-“

“You’re asking for the impossible, here. You understand that, right? I can’t prove love. If I could, it wouldn’t be-“ he stopped himself, looking at her with blank eyes, as if he was seeing right through her. As if she wasn’t even there. “why am I arguing with you? You’ve gone insane.” The words hung in the air, echoing in her mind.

She wiped her own tears, watching him as his chest rose and fell. She didn’t know what to say to him. She didn’t know how to talk to him because she felt like she couldn’t even recognize him anymore. He took a deep breath. “I need a smoke, a zoot, something- I need to get the fuck out of here. I can’t deal with this, right now.”

He headed straight for the door without looking back once. Not even to say goodbye.

***

Matty took off his leather jacket, placing it gently back on the hanger by the door. He wiggled his feet out of his loafers, sighing loudly. He was a bit stoned. But nothing too serious. The long walk, and the joint he’d smoked, helped him to unwind and think about the fight they’d gotten into. To weighed on him, heavily, that she’s been feeling unappreciated and neglected lately. It bothered him even more that this wasn’t the first time in recent memory, that they’ve had this exact same fight. They keep trying to discuss it, only to arrive at the same dead-end. He knew something needed to change, but he didn’t know what it is. All he knew for sure was that he loved her. Wanted her. Needed her. Nothing else mattered to him.

He walked through their home, looking around for her. Maybe they didn’t need to resolve this once and for all, tonight. It’s been a long day for both of them. And he was tired of arguments. Besides, he missed her. He just wanted to hold her, kiss her, and tell her that she’s the love of his life. Tomorrow, once they’d slept on it and had a chance to think things through, they’d discuss it calmly and carefully. As a team. Not as sparring partners, not as debate opponents. They needed to be on the same side again.

Matty rushed into to kitchen, thinking that, perhaps, she was stress baking again, but she wasn’t there.

She wasn’t stress-cleaning either because the laundry room was empty. He ran up the stairs into the bedroom, and the bed hadn’t been touched since he’d made it this morning. She wasn’t in his home studio, or in her office. Her purse and phone were gone. She wasn’t home.

***

“Pick up, pick up, pick up…c’mon, baby.” He muttered.

In the car, Matty connected his phone to the car stereo system, dialing her over and over, but he kept getting sent straight to voicemail. He’s already left her three messages, and she wasn’t picking up his calls. His heart sank as he drove through the streets, thinking about her leaving their home. It was her home. It’s where she belongs. He’d forced her out of it. There was only one place she could be.

***

“Thanks so much, Carl.” Matty thanked the library security man for pointing him in the direction that his girlfriend had gone. He excused himself and walked down the hallway, speeding up the stairs to the fourth floor, skipping two steps at a time.

“There you are! Fuckin’ hell, babe! You scared the shit out of me.” He called out as soon as he saw her sitting at the table, reading in silence. The entire fourth floor was empty. It was only her and the front desk lady.

“Sir, this is the quiet reading floor, no speaking allowed.” The front desk worker cautioned him.

“Give me a fuckin break, there’s literally no one in here.”

The lady simply pointed to the “silence please” sign, making him roll his eyes.

He ignored the librarian’s warnings and rushed right over to his girlfriend. “I know you want proof. I know you want to be sure that I love you. You don’t think I’ve given you enough-“

“You’re not really allowed to be speaking up here.” She attempted to shut him up, but she knew Matty well enough to know it wouldn’t work.

“I don’t know how I can show you that I love you. I trust you. I’m as open with you as I have ever been with anyone. Including myself.”

She brought finger to her own lips, hushing and pretending to read.

“You want to know for a fact that I’m serious about you, but the only way to do that would be literally read my mind. And that’s impossible. Which is why I always say that you can’t know. You can only trust.”

She slapped both ends of the book together, shutting it dramatically as her heart raced. She slid the book onto the table in front of her, looking up at Matty questioningly. He was nothing if not dramatic. She appreciated his enthusiasm, but she wasn’t necessarily asking for some outlandish speech, she was just asking for a bit of his heart.

“I just want you to trust me. If you want proof, I’d that’s what it takes, then I’ll prove it to you: will you marry me? I love you, I want you, will you be my wife?”

#matty healy fanfiction #matty concepts #matty healy fanfic #matty healy x you #matty healy x reader #matty healy x y/n #matty healy fluff #matty healy x oc #matty healy oneshot #matty healy angst

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messrsbyler · 1 year

Text

the letter mike never sent to will

dear will

will,

what’s up, will?

hi, will.

this is mike. though you probably know it’s me since you saw my name in the envelo-

how are you? it’s been a while since we last talked. i’ve been trying to get you on the phone but the line is always busy. how are things over there? here in hawkins nothing much has happened since you guys left. school is still there. high school sucks, by the way. it would’ve sucked a lot less if you were here with me. or maybe it’s this town that sucks, you know? all of hawkins. maybe it’s always sucked and i am just now realizing just how badly it sucks. well, you get the point. hawkins sucks. and i think… i think it’s because you aren’t here

i hope lenora is better than this shit hole. yeah.

so, what do you

how has school

do you have any new friends?

okay, you know what? fuck this. fuck this letter because i know i’m never going to send it to you because it’s fucking weird and i just… i won’t do it. so, i might as well just get this shit done with and say whatever i want to say.

i miss you, will. i miss you like crazy. and yes, it sucks. all of hawkin sucks because you aren’t here and damn it you were supposed to be here with me. we were supposed to leave this place together, that was the plan, remember? but now you are gone and i’m still stuck here and i hate it. and you know… dustin and lucas and max… they are good, they are. i would’ve gone insane without them these past months. but fuck will, they aren’t you. no one can be you, not to me. i need you, okay? i need my best friend back i don’t care how selfish that makes me.

it’s just… for the first time it feels like you are completely out of reach, and i hate it. when did that happen? how did that happen? it’s always been us against the world so when the hell did the world get in between us?

i wished you would pick up the phone. i wished we could talk and that your line wasn’t busy all the damn time. i wished you would call me back because writing you a letter is just… it’s not us. i don’t know what to write. i guess i could tell you about my week, about what it’s been like since you are gone, but what’s the point? it just feels wrong to tell you about such small things because i… i’ve never had to because you’ve always been there to know how my week has been. so i don’t know what to say anymore.

i don’t know. i don’t… this doesn’t feel good. this distance. when you were here everything was just… simpler and easier. everything was always easy with you. being with you, playing with you, talking to you, listening to you. it just came natural to me. but now? writing this letter must be one of the hardest things i’ve ever done and yeah, that’s up there with all the upside down bullshit we’ve had to deal with. and i don’t like it. things aren’t… supposed to be hard with you. i hate it. and i… maybe i hate myself a little because maybe this was my fault too.

the past year i was an asshole to you and honestly i’m not surprised you aren’t calling me back. what i said… what i said that night of the rain… that was messed up. and i’m sorry. i… i would never want to hurt you, will. i’m sorry i was so busy with el that i left you aside. and i’m sorry i realized too late what an idiot i was being. if… if that pushed you away, if that’s why you are okay with this distance between us then… i can only say that i’m sorry and promise you i mean it from the bottom of my heart. please… just please don’t hate me, will. i… i don’t think i could take that.

because… because i

no, no, you know what? fuck it. you’ll never see this so what the hell.

i don’t want you to hate me because i love you, will. and that scares the shit out of me. i love you in a way that i… i’m not supposed to. i love you in a way i can’t stop fucking thinking about you, day and night. i can’t stop replaying our last hug when we said goodbye thinking that maybe… fuck i don’t know maybe if i had hugged you tighter you wouldn’t have left which is stupid but just… i don’t know. i don’t know many things, will. my head is a mess and you are all over it and i don’t know what to do without you.

and i’m sorry but i don’t hope things are good there in lenora. because i’m selfish and i suck and whatever but i need you back. i need you to want to come back. for… for me. for us.

anyway. there’s more i want to say but my hand is cramping and there’s no point to it. you won’t ever read this because i won’t let you, because i’m a coward.

but i miss you, and i love you, like crazy.

crazy together, remember?

love, mike

[this turned into a short story. here is part 2]

#i’m proud of this one to the point i would post it on ao3 but also not bc there’s no story just this letter #byler #byler tumblr #mike wheeler #will byers #stranger things #byler endgame #byler ao3 #cleradin #mike x will #byler fic #will x mike #byler ficlet #byler canon #byler letter #messrs writes #love mike #my ficlets

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nightgoodomens · 3 months

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I’ve see your post about that deactivated blog and I think I get who you're referring to, because she was one of my favorite people here. Yesterday she wrote a funny post about Aziraphale being a damsel in distress and someone added to her post a take about Crowley being Aziraphale's devoted dog. She replied that she was very tired of things like that. Someone else accused her of treating Aziraphale like an idiotic teenager and told her there was no need for people like her here. Then she wrote that the last 15 minutes might not have any secret code and people started being mean to her for no reason. She asked them to stop. In her last post that I saw she said that wasn’t feeling well because of something she was told and now her blog is deactivated. I don't know if anything else happened. I hope she’s okay, because her last post was concerning. I've been following her since her first meta and she wrote some of my favorite aziracrow posts. When I asked her a question, she wrote a long answer and she was very kind. I have a multifandom blog and I will now stop posting about GO because the fandom has become toxic and it has made my love for the show fade.

Thank you for writing in!

Oh I am so done with the fucking idiots in this fandom. So done!

The past few months we’ve seen an influx of idiotic trolls who don’t know shit about the show and have problems they should take to a psychologist instead of bullying loving fans off the fandom. They really should find shows made for them instead of being toxic in a fandom that has nothing to do with what they’re insisting on.

Seriously? Someone asks to please not add such things to their posts because it clearly bothers them and they do that in spite? What’s wrong with you people.

I remember I made a funny post about my OC & Crowley/Aziraphale and someone added such extremely sexual content to it that I literally stared in disbelief and blocked them after a minute because I could not even find the words to respond to that.

It really stops you from posting more. I had so many theories and scenarios to post everyday and now I barely bother anymore.

It really has been nice here for a couple of months but now I barely scroll my dash because within a few gorgeous fan arts it’s just a shit take after shit take and that kind of insanity with how Crowley is treated. I’ve never seen a fandom so badly ignore what a show said about a character, or both actually, and then decided he needs the opposite that actually in canon would just kill him. Sickening. It makes me shudder how people think he needs to be put in a situation that would mentally ruin him and that kind of thing is everything he’s against and people dare to say he needs that. That it would be good for him that it’s affection. Fucking hell. No wonder so many people are starting to deactivate and say they’re moving on. At this point it’s to not lose their minds and to keep their mental health stable because some takes are horrifying at this point.

The amount of trolls jumping on people’s posts to ruin them only to upset them and stupid anons has increased too.

What a shame. Honestly what a shame. I can’t believe they did it to one of the best people here. I am so sad she’s gone but I understand - there is so much you can take before the show you love begins to only be associated with everything you dislike. There are some scenes I can’t even look at anymore because people fetishised everything to the extreme. And I know she was struggling with trying to keep on loving the show too.

Fuck, how fucking sad. I hope she’s doing okay 😞

#NightGoodOmens answers #I’m so mad and sad fucks sake #I’ve never seen a fandom hit the ground so quickly before #no love left in this fandom for both fictional character and real people

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sisterdivinium · 3 months

Text

It’s the questions that keep us going, that taunt us so we’ll come back again and again, whether we’re given any “definitive” answers which we might each interpret differently or left to wonder and imagine possibilities all on our own.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this, warrior nun.” Doesn’t this line invite us to ask who Adriel might be talking to, exactly?

Of course Ava currently occupies the rank of warrior nun that gives the show its name… But we also know Ava is not a nun and that her qualification as a warrior is recent (setting aside the psychological fortitude she surely possesses as a survivor of the traumas that have shaped her past, to be sure). Even from his prison, Adriel was aware of the happenings in the outside world, be it from his connection to the divinium once used in his armour, be it thanks to informants such as Vincent in whatever modes of communication they might have had between them — so Adriel knows this, he knows of how unconventional it is for Ava to be the warrior nun. Isn’t it possible that, in this moment, he’s not talking to her, at least not as Ava Silva, the individual?

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this, warrior nun.” Only a couple of months have elapsed since Adriel has been freed of his tomb and made Ava’s direct acquaintance. Why would he make a reference to the millennium spent beneath the Vatican to her while calling her by her title rather than her name? It certainly cannot be a mention of those two months, as those are negligible in the conscience of an immortal being who has already waited a thousand years for reckoning.

He isn’t hinting at a vengeance against Ava Silva, as herself, even if she is the one standing in front of him in flesh and blood; he’s orchestrating a vengeance against “the warrior nun”, the abstract class of those responsible for his captivity in the first place.

It’s hard to say he necessarily sees Areala in Ava when he says “warrior nun”. Perhaps so, perhaps not. But he does seem to see in the current halo bearer an avatar of someone (or multiple “someones”) he intends to defeat, the echoes of the past embodied in a single woman, a vessel through which their voices may yet ring after they are long gone. Perhaps he can see more than any of us can — just as he sees the wraith demons and passes the ability on to Lilith, might it not be possible for him to see something else when he looks at Ava or, at least, in the direction of the halo?

Could the halo, as once suggested to me by @ghostofcatscradle, carry some of its previous bearers’ “essence” — providing one explanation to Ava’s “meetings” with Shannon or Areala in season one — preserving some portion of them even as it inhabits another woman’s flesh? Could that be readily visible to a being of Adriel’s species and provenance, as the wraiths are?

Or could he think he saw something? Adriel is posed as a much more powerful creature than a human, with much more knowledge at his disposal. He mentions how no human can carry the halo for long before becoming somehow twisted — but what if there is truth in the reversed idea as well and his own long stay on Earth has warped him? Sometimes we find that those deemed “mad” are the most lucid, but would it be such a strange inversion to consider that this amazing being who boasts of his greater lucidity might be the greatest madman himself? He barely attempts to solve the contradictions so clear to Ava when she points out how his discourse of wanting to save the world from Reya's oppression is unaligned with his own forceful, violent methods of combat which cause suffering to the same creatures he claims to champion. Perhaps he comes from a pre- or post- logic realm. Perhaps he is insane. Maybe he is just a power-hungry sophist who will use whatever justification is at hand to legitimate his own selfish cause.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this, warrior nun.” Vindication, yes, but in what form? At the end of season one, Adriel sought to seize the halo, yank it out of Ava and be done with it. In season two, he wants a fight instead of just trying to reach for it and accomplish his goals. Yes, his plans concerning Reya had just been spoiled… But if he had been “waiting a long time”, then this battle is not about what just happened in regards to Reya and the ark. It’s ancient, it’s personal. It’s not just the halo anymore — was it ever?

When Ava resurrects, is that the halo’s doing? When Mother Superion is brought back to life, is that the halo’s handiwork? Could it be sentient as some like to hypothesise it is? Or, as an object said to have been stolen from Reya, is it accomplishing her mysterious will by manifesting such powers? Or could it be that the equivalence between Reya and God made by Michael after a lifetime under the former’s spell is not as true as he was led to believe and there might be another, grander, perhaps even will-less entity pulling the strings?

Or could it be that the miracle is not divine, but Ava’s? Perhaps not even just hers, but something available only to humans, that Suzanne might carry as well, something that recognised her as it recognised Ava while she was brought back. There are no records of the halo resurrecting people…

… But it is said to give different bearers different powers. How or when does a bearer develop a new ability? Is there a limit to how many she can find and use? Might they not overlap sometimes?

Moreover, in an environment that firmly believes the halo is a weapon against its enemies, did anyone ever bother to ask whether it could do the opposite of slaughter, if it could be used for purposes unrelated to war against so-called Hell? It takes Jillian, an outsider to the Order, to voice that curiosity.

For each possibility listed above as far as who is behind performing miracles, what accompanying conclusions might there be?

The halo as a sentient object seems to open less interesting consequences than a world where a higher force has confusing aims or is truly neutral and both favours and hampers the living; or one where even common people, even “freaks”, as Ava calls herself more than once, are capable of miracles, of changing their world given the right support and tools.

We don’t actually need hard, official answers.

It’s the suggestions, the maybes, the could bes that really hook us in — is it any wonder that the more dedicated avatrice shippers are so focused on the potential for that time period spent in Switzerland, off-camera, which we did not witness?

The questions are inexhaustible — even with just eighteen total episodes, even when there was yet so much to see. If we can keep asking questions, if we see the beauty in them and how much more enticing they can be compared to a creator’s answers or incomplete plans (Mary taking vows and replacing Superion, really?!), we’ll have perhaps even more on our plates than another season would have given us. Which isn’t to say we shouldn’t mourn the loss of a continuation but merely to duly cherish what we have effectively received and give it its due attention.

It’s what’s left unsaid or unexplained, it’s what even creators might say isn’t set in stone and still open for debate (such as the halo being sentient or not); the blanks, the doubts and possibilities are where we come in with our understanding or our own stories. Why? How? What if?

Keep finding questions to ask... And Warrior Nun lives on.

#warrior nun #this has been sitting here for weeks on end lol time to post it #my plea so that you don't move on i guess #exercises in observation #sometimes when i express surprise at the amount of aus i see floating around it's because i think the show has enough questions #to warrant fics that hover a bit more close to home. not necessarily canon-compliant but just more in tune with it #if that makes sense. i'd give an example of something i myself have written but #my big au that changes One Detail is yet to be written. it's all in my head just not on paper.#i also express surprise at how little we talk about all of these things and more -- the worldbuilding the lore the what ifs #but anyway. if you follow me you probably knew that already #i suppose this also classifies for that other tag of mine #meta fandom talk i guess

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marmotish · 2 days

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OK so the line of dialogue turned into a kind of rushed almost-900-word fic….

Never forgive, never forget

(1991 Lockdown of Azkaban)

It took a moment to recognise the prisoner hunched by the hurriedly-closed door. It wasn’t until the woman raised her head - sunken eyes glaring from beneath matted dirty red hair - that Freyja realised who it was. Gone was the proud and arrogant Professor Rakepick, here now was merely a vengeful shell of what that woman had once been.

“Well well well…” a ghost of Rakepick’s old sneer flickered across worn features. “If it isn’t the source of all my problems.”

She began circling the room, eyes locked on her former student - no, her former pawn. Here now, wandless - just like her. And best of all, the scales were definitely tipped in her favour. Her skill and speed in wandless magic far exceeded that of Freyja’s. At that, she straightened her posture slightly, in some semblance of her old stance.

Freyja swallowed hard but remained silent, slowly moving around the interrogation room’s perimeter, maintaining the distance between them. Her heart was beating so hard she swore it could be heard across the room.

“Now I know why I’m hiding in here…” Rakepick began, narrowing her eyes in what looked like amusement . “But why are you? I thought you’d be out there getting yourself into another mess you can’t handle…”

Mad-Eye locked me in here. Getting a student killed or even hurt under his watch wouldn’t be great for his career. He’s mad, not stupid.

Rakepick flexed her fingers. “By the way, I never got the chance to thank you for sending me to this hellhole.”

Freyja managed to push past the lump in her throat and finally spoke. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

“Oh no?” That old sneer again. “Did you ask the authorities to exercise a little leniency? Let me off with a slap on the wrist?”

“No. I just hoped you’d die in the Sunken Vault.”

Rakepick let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Small mercy that would have been! If I had stayed down there, I would have been swept into Death’s merciful embrace in a matter of days! Days!” She moved a little closer now, her voice dropping to a hiss. “But now, because you had to tell the Professors where you left me, I get to relive my worst memories day after day after week after month, and there’s NO end in sight, you know why?? Because they don’t want you to die here! Oh no! They keep you alive, just strong enough to keep the jailers satisfied! JUST ENOUGH FOOD AND WATER TO MAKE SURE YOU CAN KEEP ON SUPPLYING THOSE FUCKING DEMENTORS WITH ANYTHING RESEMBLING A POSITIVE EMOTION UNTIL YOU’RE DRAINED OF EVERYTHING THAT MAKES YOU A HUMAN BEING!!!”

Freyja was sliding her hand on the wall behind her trying to find the hidden panic panel, trying her best to keep her breathing calm. “Well that makes me feel a little better then. I’d hate to think a traitorous bitch like you got off easy.”

“You should be begging for my forgiveness, you selfish little shit.” Rakepick moved within a few feet of Freyja now, positively snarling at this point. “Whatever wrongs you think I’ve done, I’ve paid for at least a hundred times over. This never-ending sea of torment you’ve doomed me to is more than any human is meant to endure, and damned if you think I’m going to stay here - ”

“Then leave. I’m not stopping you.”

“Oh don’t worry.” Rakepick curled her lip into a mirthless smile. “I fully intend on escaping from this place. And you’re going to help me.”

“You’re even more insane than I thought if you think I’d willingly help you.”

“I wasn’t thinking anything so voluntary.”

Feeling the slightly warmer panel underneath her hand, Freyja pushed down. It didn’t budge. Freyja stubbornly kept her gaze locked onto Rakepick’s crazed, glazed over eyes. The woman was angry and desperate, which made her all the more dangerous. “A hostage? Dementors won’t give a shit about a hostage’s safety if it’s in the way of getting a prisoner back.”

“Actually I was thinking less of a hostage and more… a distraction.”

The panic panel still wasn’t depressing into the wall. Come on, come on! Fuck! Freyja frowned in exertion, hoping it would be mistaken for wondering how Rakepick intended to use her as a distraction. “I don’t get it.”

“Of course you don’t. But I’ll tell you - those soul-suckers out there are starved. They’ve only been able to feed off whatever remnants of humanity are left in this cesspit of human souls, but you - ” Rakepick stared intently at Freyja. “You are fresh from the outside. You’ve still got plenty of good thoughts and memories in that little head of yours. A veritable feast for any Dementor in here. Think of yourself as my own little living Patronus, Miss Young.”

“I’d much rather think of you rotting in here for the rest of your life.” Freyja said through gritted teeth, thinking finally she may be feeling the panic panel start to budge.

“Save your happy thoughts for the Dementors, sweetheart.” Rakepick moved forward , creating an even more uncomfortable closeness. The acrid smell of body odour wafted up Freyja’s nostrils. “You better hope there’s enough to satisfy the Dementors before you’re left with nothing but your own worst memories. And well, if that happens…. at least it’ll make me happy.”

#hogwarts mystery #hphm mc #freyja young #patricia rakepick #ask #drinkyoursoupbitch #worldbuilding wednesday #not quite what the soup fairy asked but uhh you can kinda guess what freyja thinks of reconciliation and forgiveness….

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antiwhores · 2 years

Note

I really loved ur short story ‘Bakugou’s game’ I would love to see a part 2 of it. Maybe a few months later or something reader is trying to get over bakugou and is really cold to him when he tries to fix their relationship and he sees her at a party with a date and he gets super jealous and possessive after seeing them together. Which leads to make up sex and hopefully reader giving bakugou a chance to make it up to her. Or be totally angsty and make reader pull a uno reverse of him.

Bakugou’s Game: Part 2.

Requested by: @jasmixs @ooftrain-12 @tsukikoxo @coffeeginie

Part one: https://antiwhores.tumblr.com/post/693877274172440576/bakugous-game

Sorry this shit took so long frfr. Ive been SO busy lately to the point its actually insane. Havent had time to even write a sliver of this. Yall probably lost interest but ill post it anyone out of respect for the og request

Warnings: Jealousy, minor violence (reader slaps bakugou again LOL L bozo), rough sex, creampie, happy ending and shit, make up sex, NOT EDITED - BARE WITH ME HERE.

Bakugou was misreable without you, the break up eats him away until he forced himself to go out to speak to you.

Bakugou never understood the idea of someone being so sorrowful about a break up that they forget their pride and beg for the person back. That is, until now. He’s starting to understand why people take break ups so badly. Cause he’s taking it badly.

Everyday is a new thing to notice. Everyday is a new thing he didn’t even know he was used to after dating you so long gone.

When he came home to his apartment you weren’t there to welcome him. When he walked past the bathroom you wernt there to sing horrible on purpose in the shower to annoy him. When he ate at the table you wernt there to tell him about your day in an exaggerated tone. When he sat down on the bed without changing you wernt there to yell at him for his outside clothes touching the clean mattress. When he spiced his food to hot you wernt there to dramatically cough and pretend to fall over. When he woke up in the middle of the night you weren’t there to tell him to “close them damn eyes again”.

Everything was different. He hasn’t moved a single bit of his furniture yet the house changed drastically.

He started to lack on his chores, throwing himself into his hero work. He exhausted his body to the point of throwing up. That and the combination of the lack of sleep and the lack of rest.

He had nightmares of how he acted. It would usually play out with you doing what he did to you. It was insufferable. Every single thing in his dream was something that he’s done before.

He looked down at his phone with his newly founder insomniac eyes.

Doll, Im so sorry. It will NEVER happen again. Im a fucking idiot and I’d do anything to make it up to you. Please just respond back.

Read 34 days ago

Y/n, I see you reading my texts. Just please let me apologize.

Read 33 days ago

Do you still want that car? I know you told me to not buy it but I’ll order it without a second thought if you talk to me. Please.

Read 32 days ago

Okay, Im sorry about the car thing. That was weird. I don’t think you’re a prize to be won with money. I just want you back.

Seen 31 days ago

Stopping by your house today, I need to see you.

Seen 29 days ago

Im sorry. I can’t loose you y/n. I cant.

Seen 27 days ago

My mom is so mad at me. I dont blame her, loosing you is like loosing half of my heart.

Seen 25 days ago

Its been so long since I’ve lived without you I dont know how to do its

Seen 23 days ago

Please love me again.

Seen 22 days ago

I know you see these. Do you enjoy seeing me like this?

Seen 19 days ago

I love you.

Seen 16 days ago

No other person will ever count to me. That stupid bitch at the bar is nothing compared to you. None of them are.

Seen 15 days ago

I left a letter under your mattress. Please read it.

Seen 12 days ago

Coming to your house tomorrow, I really need to see you. I’ll do anything.

Seen 9 days ago

The notes still here, you really break my heart. You know that?

Seen 8 days ago.

I still love you.

Seen 5 days ago

Ill fucking never look at another girl again. Swear.

Seen 4 days ago

I love you even more today

Seen 2 days ago

Whenever you’re ready.

Sent just now.

It was true, you read every single text. You read them almost 10 times over. You weren’t ready to respond.

At first, Bakugou’s texts confused you. This was against his pride. He would never suck up to you like this. So you laid it down to drunk, sad, sleepy, and/or desperate texts. It wasn’t his character so naturally you went looking for answers.

The last month has been terrible for you too. You were staying at your bestfriends house, who was GLAD to have you.

You avoided everything that mentioned him. News, certain social media platforms, public areas, etc. if it wasnt for your friend, you wouldve never gone out.

After that last text he stopped reaching out for the coming months. Things were peaceful, you were okay.

You hadn’t gone back to any club/parties since the incident. But your friend, being a party person, forced you out to a nearby club. They also made you agree to going with this guy, whatever his name was, to have a little blind date. Your friend figured it’d been a couple months and you needed to touch some bitches. You were against it, still getting over Bakugou, but they used the favor you owed them to seal the deal.

So now you found yourself at the club, chatting with a guy at one of the booths. He was actually tolerable, not your type romantically, but someone you’d be friends with. You supposed that the first step to a relationship was being friends so you continued to persue.

He was rather handsome too, not godly handsome like your ex- you needed to stop doing that. Comparing everyone to Bakugou is whats gonna make you single for life. Bakugou was not an easy man to pass.

You laughed at his joke as he continued to tell it. “Yeah man, she was crazy! She ended up calling my mom and telling her that I had set the house on fire! My mom was worried to death! Then she hit me after she found out the house was okay like I told her!”

You shook your head, “Exes man, I swear!” He leaned down towards you, “You got any exes that make you want to start a war?” You immediately nodded, “My last ex was a handful.” “Did he tell your mom you set the house on fire too?” You laughed, “Nahh, thatd be so much easier to manage. My ex, well, he-“

Prying red eyes watched you from the corner of the room. Bakugou didn’t even wanna come to this club tonight. He was, like you, forced to come out of pity of his friends. To think he could’ve missed the chance to see you and this guy flirting and laughing together.

It could be a close friend, maybe a relative, he didnt know. He wasnt close enough to make oht a single word. There was some part of him that aas glad for that nad another part that was incredibly annoyed.

No matter who it was, Bakugou’s hands started to smoke up. His teeth gritted hard against eachother. While he was moaping and suffering you were over here on what looks like a date?

It took everything in him to not just stomp over there and drag you away from the piece of shit. He was glad he hadn’t enough alcohol in him to follow those urges… to a degree.

So he waited. He waited for an opportunity. And he sure as hell got one.

“Oh!” You gasp at the ringing of your phone. You tilt the screen towards you before looking back up at your date with apologetic eyes. “Sorry, I absolutely need to take this!” He laugh, “its okay!” His back cracks when he lifts his arms to stretch. “I needa go to the restroom anyway!”

You smiled that smile that he loved. The smile that should only be directed at him. Not at some random guy you just met.

He stalked carefully behind the guy until he was walking into the back hallway with him. The guy barely had a chance to comprehend a single thought before he was slammed up against the wall with his shirt fisted by the blonde.

The man looked startled and freightened. Who wouldnt be? Bakugou’s stare was one to rival Medusa’s. He felt frozen by the pure hatred glazed over.

“What the hell are you doing with y/n.” The sentence came out between his teeth. The man put his hands up defensively, “Aye man, we’re just on a blind date!”

Bakugou’s palms sparkled threateningly, “Im gonna give yoh one chance,” He leaned down to be exactly in the guys face, “Fuck. Off.”

That was all the guy needed before he was out of the door and on his way home. An immediate wave of relief washed over him at the thought of the date finally ending. The positive emotions quickly disappeared at the sound of a famiiar voice, his favorite voice. “Seriously?”

He snapped his head over to look at you. You were even more heavenly up close, just as he remmebered but better. Your arms were folded and you looked at him with such disapproval that he wanted to immediately crawl to his knees and apologize.

“We’re not even fucking dating anymore. You just chased off my date.” He winced, “Fuck.” You scoffed at his curse to whomever. “I should be saying that not you. Leave me alone, asshat.”

Before he could stop himself he had grabbed your arm and pulled you into the closest vacant guest room. He pinned you against the doorway. You were wide eyed and your mouth slightly open. It had happened in an instant, so fast your brain was still trying to comprehend him grabbing your wrist.

Bakugou bit his lip so hard you thought it would bleed. He didn’t know were to start. This day had been rehearsed in his mind over and over again. Yet the words, the speeches, and the numerous i love you’s were gone.

“Im sorry.” Was all he could get out. Your eyebrows furrowed when he mumbled the words. He snaked his hand around your waist as he whispered in your ear. “Im sorry. Im sorry, swear on it y/n. Talk to me again. I miss you. I’m sorry.”

His head dove into your neck, kissing and sucking on every sensitive spot he gained access too. You didnt even have time to gasp before his thigh pried both your legs open. He grinded the muscle against you.

It took everything in your being to not just give in and let him pleasure you. The resolve in your head, the one that told you that him acting like this is conmmunication is what ended the relationship in the first place, slapped the hell out of you though.

His face broke as you roughly pushed him away. He whimpered while trying to trail his hands on his belt to unbuckle it.

The skin of your palm met his face quickly. He completely stopped this time. The sound of the slap reverbing in his head along with the sting. Not just the sting of the slap, but the sting of knowing he fucked up again.

“Have you learnt anything?!” You yelled, tears brimming in your eyes. “This is the reason we broke up! You can’t resolve everything with sex!” You jammed your finger into his chest, “Start thinking with your head instead of your dick! After all this time, I thought you changed. Im so ignorant.”

You turned to leave out the door. Bakugou saw everything flash before his eyes. He saw the relationship you and him had before. He saw the relationship you could have now. And he saw the relationship that fucked up and now has fucked up his life.

“I dont know HOW!” He didn’t mean to yell, really. But something just snapped in him. You stopped to listen so he continued. “I’ve spent the last several weeks missing you. I never even realized how much I fucking… damn it!”

The knot in his throat was getting tighter. You hadn’t turned around yet. “But I just dont know how…” His voice broke halfway through the sentence. He wrapped his arms around you. You felt no lustful intent, only the desire to hold his #1. “I only know how to show my love through fucking. I can be more open! I just dont know how!”

He started to shake, squeezing you even tighter. After a long while, you finally spoke.

“Then I’ll teach you how.” He looks up in bewilderment, is this you forgiving him? In one swift movement you pushed yourself towards him. You grabbed his worried face, tilting him up to look you in the eyes. He was panicked, a panick you’ve only seen a few times since knowing him. “But for now, tell me how you feel in the ways you understand.”

He seemed confused when your hands encircled around his belt and snagged it off. “What? Wait-“ you cut him off with a hefty palm on his clothed cock. His breath caught into his throat. He barely chocked back the moan that you attempted to tear from him as you dove your hands under his pants. He was puzzled, yet his arousal and the feels of your hands encircle around his throbbing cock hypnotized him.

Instinctively, he reached between your legs to rub you in return. He whined when your hand gently pulled his away. “I’m okay, you just focus.”

Easy for you to say, he thought, or atleast tried to. It wasn’t easy to focus on the situation when you began to pull his cock out and rub it against your entrance. It felt too good. It had been too long. Too long having to rub himself out to a picture of you. The real deal felt euphoric.

His hips bucked into yours, starting at a brutal pace. He picked up your legs to give himself more range. The sounds of skin on skin were loud, not as loud as the combined sound of the moans and groans you both chocked out, but loud.

He tilted his head back, his whole chest was flushed a deep red. He cursed into your neck where he had begun to lick and suck. “Damn it, I-I missed you.” Your whole body tensed when he angled himself to hit that spot deep inside of you. It was your turn to curse.

“I just- these past couple of weeks- nghhh… ive been- I cant live without you alright!” His thrusts picked up, “I regret everything I have ever done to make you upset- hhhnnm…”

Tears well up in your eyes when you start to reach your orgasm. You weren’t gonna last long either. Like him, the sensation was a lot after being away from eachother so long. He had forgotten his strength as he thrusted into you so hard you wouldn’t doubt if angry bruises were already forming.

“Katsuki… I love you,” You whined desperately. He started to unwind, tensing and untenseing, when you came around his cock while moans spilled through your mouth. It almost hurt how stong the orgasm was. Almost.

He bite into his lips so hard it began to draw blood. “Fuck, I love you too y/n! So fucking much!” With that he exploded inside you. His hot seed painted your walls without missing a single spot.

He slowly lifts you down to your feet, only to stabalize you when your knees buckle. He wrapped his arms around you, “I fucking missed you.” You breathed in deeply when he kissed at your temple, “I missed you too Katsuki.”

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