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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 4 months

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I wanna dance with somebody

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 22

Prompt: Sports

Rated: T

CW: some vague mentions of Eddie’s boner

Tags: No UD AU; Meet cute; Good neighbor Eddie Munson; Dancer Steve Harrington

Notes: @thefreakandthehair, @sourw0lfs, @devondespresso - SPORTS! GO, SPORTS!!!

Wanna see dancer!Steve stretch (and Eddie have a horny meltdown)? Check out the artwork done by @house-of-the-moving-image!!

It’s still half dark and freezing outside as Eddie parks the van in front of the dancing school.

“Shit, we’re running late,” Max curses and bends down to straighten her neon-colored leg warmers for the twentieth time. “Just because you couldn’t find your stupid car keys.”

“That all you gotta say?” Eddie huffs, but all it gets him is that bewildered brow quirk she always does when he’s being dumb. “How about Sorry for waking you at ass o’clock, Eddie? Thank you for driving me, Eddie? You’re the best neighbor in the world, Eddie?”

She scoffs at him. “Ew, are you always that desperate for validation? Pathetic.”

Eddie gawks after her as she opens the passenger door and gets out to retrieve her duffel from the backseat. That little gremlin! He should’ve closed the door in her face, left her standing out in the snow.

Except, it all rang a little too close to home. The way she huddled on his porch, arms wrapped around her too-thin jacket, face set in a disappointed scowl. The way she barked at him to drive her to dance class because her mom had been home late and wouldn’t wake up. He knows she’s been taking odd jobs around the trailer park to pay for the classes, knows it's the one thing during the week she looks forward to. Also knows that her mom is too out of it to care half of the time. Knows how that feels.

There’s no way he could’ve denied her.

The problem is, she’s perfectly aware of that.

“You coming?”

She’s eyeing him expectantly through the open back door of the van. Eddie waves her off, fumbles for his cigarettes in his pocket. Realizes he forgot them. Shit.

“‘s okay, I’ll just wait out here in the car.”

She rolls her eyes so hard her entire head sways with the motion. “Don’t be a moron, they have heating and a lounge inside. C’mon.”

The inside of the dancing school is basically just one long hall with a floor-to-ceiling mirror front at one end. There’s a counter in one corner and two mismatched sofas with a pile of old magazines opposite that. Max makes a dash for the gaggle of girls doing warm-ups on the dance floor, even though there’s no instructor in sight yet.

“Oh hey, can I help you?”

Eddie blinks. A guy has just materialized behind the counter - though the truth probably is that he was crouched out of sight to retrieve the boombox in his hands. He puts it on the countertop, cocks his head at Eddie, which makes a few strands of floofy chestnut hair fall in front of his wireframe glasses, and oh fuck, he’s cute!

“Adult classes don’t start until noon, but-”

Eddie barks a laugh and saunters closer.

“Yeah, no. I’m just here to drop off little Red.”

He jerks his head at the dance floor. Cutie follows the movement and his face breaks into a smile so full of genuine delight, Eddie wants to cuddle him. Or maybe bite him. Maybe both.

“Oh, Max,” says Cutie. “You her brother?”

Eddie snorts. “Nah, just a neighbor. Her mom was … indisposed.”

“Huh,” Cutie says. Quirks an eyebrow. Somehow manages to put an entire unspoken verdict into that little noise and gesture. “She’s real talented, y’know?”

Eddie shuffles in his place, unsure about what to do with that information. “Um, yeah?”

Cutie nods, eyes darting over at Max, who’s dropping into a painful-looking split in front of the mirror, and shit, when did she learn that?

“Yeah. I think she’s got potential. Plus, she’s really come out of her shell these past few weeks. So thanks for driving her.”

“Oh, erm …” Eddie makes, pulls a strand of hair in front of his face to hide his incoming flush. “No problem, dude, not like I had-”

“Steve!” Max hollers, and they flinch apart. Eddie didn’t even notice how they’ve both drifted into each other’s space, Cutie’s elbows bracketed on the counter and himself just swaying ever-so-slightly closer. “You done flirting, or what? We should’ve started three minutes ago!”

Cutie - who’s name is Steve, apparently - takes off his glasses and winks at Eddie. Fucking winks at him. It goes ridiculously well with the pretty pink blush that’s blooming high in his cheekbones.

“Sorry,” he mutters, raising his arms over his head and bending at the hip, does a silly little stretch. “Duty calls.”

Then, he smoothes his hair out of his forehead and steps around the counter, pressing the Play button on the boombox.

“Okay, ladies, here we go! One song for warm-up, just move around the room however you like, feel the music.”

Some atrocious, boppy pop number starts to blare through the room, but Eddie hardly processes it. He’s too preoccupied by the sight in front of him.

Legs.

And an ass.

Legs and an ass in fucking tights. They hug Steve’s form like a second skin, bringing out every muscle, and Christ, there’s a lot to bring out! Guy looks like one of these ancient Greek marble statues - if marble statues wore fucking Tears for Fears shirts and could balance on their tippy toes and do leaps and spins in perfect sync with the music, all with flawless core tension and a seemingly effortless smile.

Eddie thinks he may need to step out. Take a breather. Throw himself crotch-first into the nearest snowdrift, maybe.

Instead, he takes two shaky steps backwards and collapses on top of the nearest sofa, grabs a random magazine from the pile and fans it open in his lap to hide his very unfortunate predicament.

It’s Good Housekeeping.

Steve spins by, catches his eye and winks again.

Eddie turns back to the magazine. Cool, fine, he always wanted to know about the ten best apple pie recipes to delight your loved ones with.

He does hope this magazine is sturdy, or he might just tear through it.

Part 2

All my holiday drabbles

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie holiday drabbles #steddieholidaydrabbles #hype's holiday drabbles

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sonnyaavce · 5 months

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DP x DC prompt # 6

There’s a kid crying, a blue skinned white headed kid that was just sitting there crying his eyes out in a panic as he was covered in a very large and dark cloak that was dwarfing him… that was cute to see but, the thing wouldn’t be an issue if there weren’t for the clusterfuck of dead cultist surrounding a green ominous portal under him while the poor kiddo shed luminescent tears nonstop.

“Why is there a kid?” ‘dumb question to ask Captain but sure let’s go with that yeah?’ scoffed annoyed Constantine after eyeing the magic champion while some of the members of the Justice League finished some of the goons that were still alive and resisting, Constantine just watched in dumbfounded stupor the crying baby eldritch abomination still wailing over there.

“I’ll go check on him first” said Wonder Woman, being the first to react after finishing her part, slowly walking forward with gentle steps and humming tunes to make the small baby calm down a bit and refocus on her. Dianna never went too closer to grab the small kid, but she slowly crouched in front of him, palms out and leveling her face in a calm expression, so the kid wouldn’t freak out while she still hummed songs and cooed calming words.

The poor kid wails gradually subsided and ‘oh my god, why are those eyes way too green!’ His eyes were completely black except his irises being a bright neon green shine, his small body trembled when only small hiccups stayed, in his small crying fit the lad had ended up sucking his thumb in a desperate attempt to calm down while looking for any non-frightening competent adult and after only seeing Dianna in front of him he tried to raise his small arms towards her but immediately cried as his arms wouldn’t move at all.

“I think the little boy is injured…” said Wonder Woman, breaking the silence once all suspects were aprehended and tied down “explain what you can see Wonder Woman” chastised Batman as he tried to walk towards her to check on the small boy only to be stopped by Superman, who had his eyes shinning red as he looked at the kid “For what I can see, the small child seems to have some broken bones and some internal bleeding… also there’s seems to be a sphere in the middle of his chest?”

“The demon baby is hurt?” Constantine blurted out incredulous, Zatanna wacked him furiously for that comment “if you haven’t heard what Superman said, he said he saw a sphere so it’s not a demon John! it’s a tuttelagé you idiot!”

“How the fuck would you know that isn’t a démonos, Z?!” cussed the magician as he moved a bit back while Zatanna then moved towards Wonder Woman, with spells already healing the poor baby body “tuttelagés are known to be protective spirits of kids that died wishing to protect their loved ones, their wish is then concentrated in their chest as a sphere so to see a young one hurt like this…” Wonder Woman looks grimm at the implications while Zatanna finish healing the young spirit and allows Dianna to pick him up once he’s done healing and calmed down bit.

“Someone must have hurt his protegué so bad that his body is getting affected by it” sentenced Batman as he glared with concern at the small baby who now is now resting his head in Wonder Woman arms and falling asleep.

MEANWHILE

Danny is soo scared and hurt all around his tiny body, the wounds he had while being subjected to the examine table makes him tear up in pain while also making his chest feels funny once the weird forced summoning spell stops pulling his being into existing; green stops flooding his vision only to be meet by a dark and open space full of dead people dressed in weird costumes, so the only answer he has to this is to wail.

Because thats all he can do now, cry. He cries and cries after all what had occurred to him; he cries for his parents betrayal and rejection of his being, he cries for the cruelty they subjected him into, the torture he had to endure and almost making his core break, he cries for his friends deaths when they tried to free him from all his pain but failed.

He cries and cries until the pain into his core is unbearable because he just lost his fright, his connection to the living, his reason of being here. He’s still crying when his senses tenses the moment something changed in his surroundings, he hears fighting and grunting and something falling down and he cries harder; because he’s scared and tired and he just wants Jazz to carry him and…

There’s someone humming, nice humming, calm humming, steps coming closer and then he looks up, scared and hurt and just tired only to find a beautiful black headed and blue eyes woman dressed in a nice outfit crouching in front of him, she’s humming something to him and just looking at him with calm and such gentleness that it makes him croon at her because he feels his core sing ‘she’s nice and pretty and safeSAFEsafeSAFE’ he tries to reach out to her but his arms fell numb and ouchie and he looks up to her, in a silent plea for her so she would carry him but she’s not moving, just looking at him gently.

Until he sees another woman coming closer to them and he tenses up again, afraid and cautious, still a bit frightened by her aura but her hands are starting to glow and he immediately feels his body swaying and feeling a lot better, so he relaxes his body and let’s the pretty woman carry him so he can rest his head and nuzzle asleep.

His core sings pleased ‘I’m safe… she’s nice and safeSAFEsafeSAFE’

#danny phantom #dpxdc #dp x dc writing prompt #justice league #danny fenton #baby Danny

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perlelune · 3 months

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Training Wheels | Coriolanus Snow | i.

Your mother's macabre work never appealed to you as you always preferred the comfort of your books, but when her apprentice takes a special interest in you, your safe, quiet world is flipped upside down.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Gaul!Reader, Shy Reader, Manipulation, Parental Neglect, Drinking, Peer Pressure, Hazing, University set, Loss of Virginity, Dumbification, Insecurities, Abusive Relationship, Degradation, Suicide Attempt

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Your hands quake around the bucket of mice as you stand above the terrarium. The bright-skinned creatures inside writhe around, in anticipation of their next meal. You peer inside the metal bucket at the little mice with their cute whiskers and beady eyes. Your heart twinges. They will soon meet their end, courtesy of you. But what else can be done? The snakes need to eat. Because if they were not fed, the colorful reptiles would break through the glass in search of the food they were denied. You used to have nightmares of it as a child. The lab crawling with snakes, their neon scales filling every corner.

Natural order restored as every warm-blooded creature in their vicinity turns into prey.

You suppress a shudder. While that never happened, you can’t erase the slight chill dancing through your bones whenever you approach the terrarium.

Other lab assistants have offered to take on the task, noting your discomfort. You’ve turned each of them down. Mother has given you this job ten years ago. A gift, she called it. More of a challenge quite frankly. A way to test your nerves, that she always deemed too delicate. She never expected you to go through with it. “Hippity, hoppity, little one,” she mockingly sang that day as you fidgeted before the ceiling-high glass case filled with snakes to the brim. Their scales were a deep green back then. Nothing like the pink, yellow and blue shades they don today. A plethora of mutations throughout the years has made them what they are now.

You tip the bucket against the edge of the glass case, abandoning the poor rodents to their fates. The reptiles are quick to dive upon them in a heap. The mice’s helpless squeaks reach a peak, piercing your ears until they’re silenced quickly. You watch, stomach tight while the snakes open their maws and swallow the furred animals whole. The spectacle will never sit well with you.

Still, you school your features and steady your heart. Mother’s voice echoes through your head.

Emotions are a weakness. They must be harnessed, contained.

Harnessing your emotions. A feat you could never achieve. One that makes you a failed experiment in Mother’s eyes. A waste of space. A disappointment.

You start climbing down the ladder to gather more mice from their cages. Your insides clutch at the prospect of gently picking them up only to escort them to a sorrowful fate.

The train of your thoughts is interrupted when voices erupt from the other end of the long hall.

Recognizing them, you freeze. Panic floods your veins. You haste down the ladder, the bucket clattering as you discard it on the floor.

You scurry inside the nearest office and duck beneath a table.

The voices grow in the lab. You eavesdrop, allowing you to catch snippets of the conversation. They’re discussing Mother’s latest experiments with the Avox subjects. One succumbed to a chromosome translocation with a wolf mutt. The finer details of replacing the subject and what can be learned from the results are discussed in cold, clinical fashion. No regard for what was a human life, now lost, is granted. The Avox was nothing more than a slab of meat meant for slaughter. The slow, barbaric kind.

Ice seeps through your veins. You loathe visiting that room, the one displaying Mother’s human experiments on unfortunate Avoxes. Their beseeching gazes. Their warped pleas parroted by the jabberjays above them. You almost passed out every time you were tasked with monitoring their electrolyte status or switching their intravenous tubes.

Head rising from under the desk, you allow yourself a peek.

Mother’s here, of course. You recognized her voice right away. Then, there’s…him.

You let your gaze rest on him, never having the chance to observe him like that. Steal a glance from the back of the lecture hall. Get a glimpse of him amidst his crowd of friends, always in his element of course, owning every room he’s in.

Never before did you get to just look at him.

The first thing that strikes you is how beautiful he is. Handsome in that dazzling way the pretty boys in the sappy books smuggled from the Districts your mother berates you for reading are.

She calls them stupid. For you however, they are your only escape from the dismal humdrum of the Capitol. Fictional worlds that shield you from the harshness of reality. Your saving grace.

Platinum locks combed back from his face. Eyes as blue as the sky. Sharp, angular features.

Coriolanus Snow.

Behind the safety of the glass panel, openly admiring him is easier. In fact, you find it almost hard to peel your eyes away.

No wonder half the girls in your cohort can’t stop gushing about him, how there’s an irresistible, slight air of danger hovering around him since his brief time as a peacekeeper. Even Io Jasper noticed it. And Io never notices anything that she can’t wedge between two glass slides and examine under a microscope.

Awe mingles with envy in your chest. This is who your mother chose as her unofficial successor. The worthy, cool-headed apprentice she has yearned for years. She’s been through so many people, each more eager to please and impress than the last. None ever fit. Not even you. Especially not you. Nobody except for him.

No one had ever passed your mother’s crooked tests before Coriolanus Snow came along.

Blue eyes travel upward, the Snow heir seeming to sense the scrutiny upon him.

“Is someone here?” he says, pushing forward.

Your pulse quickens at the sound of Coriolanus Snow’s deep voice, disturbingly close. You crouch to hide from view.

Mother’s exasperated breath reaches you from behind the glass panel.

“Don’t worry. It’s probably my daughter. I’m afraid she’s quite useless,” she says matter-of-factly.

Your heart sinks. Face warm with embarrassment, you shrink beneath the desk. You bring your knees to your chest. Hearing such words shouldn’t affect you. Not after all these years. Yet it does. A pointed reminder that you can never measure up. That you’re a glaring mistake, lucky to even be allowed to wander the halls of the Citadel and be given a semblance of responsibility, however small.

That you’re not enough, will never be enough.

That you should never have been brought into the world.

After getting caught, you file away your embarrassment and make yourself small. Even smaller than usual. It's not too hard. When you aren’t working at the lab, your schedule consists of attending lectures and studying for long hours at the library. It keeps you busy enough to find excuses to skip a few hours at the lab. After all, midterms are only a few weeks away. They require your entire focus. You can’t fail and add more of a shameful stain to Mother’s name.

It’s why you ramped up your studying since the Academy. You were painfully average then, tragically unremarkable, not even ranking high enough to get your own tribute to mentor in the tenth Hunger Games. The shriveling stare she cast upon you the day of the reaping after Dean Highbottom failed to speak your name is burned into your mind forever. That day, you failed Mother again. You swore to yourself to never let it happen again afterwards.

This year, you will study harder, until your eyes fall off if necessary. If you can pass every class with flying colors and perhaps even aim for the valedictorian spot, you can prove Mother that your existence isn’t a complete and utter waste. It might be a lofty goal for you, but you’ve been ranking higher with every test these last few weeks.

For days, your path does not cross Coriolanus Snow’s again. Your peace is maintained. You get to almost forget how piercing his blue eyes were that day, even from behind the glass panel.

Today, you don’t expect things to veer away from your usual routine. You sit in the back of the lecture hall as is your habit. Students pour inside at a sluggish pace while you peruse your notes from the previous class. They barely make sense, even to you. Defense economics has never been your favorite subject, possibly your most hated in fact, and paying attention during Professor Cloudsbane’s class is even more of a challenge. More than once, you dozed off, the complicated concepts struggling to fully sink into your mind.

Keeping up with this class is twice as much work than all the other ones. Even Mother’s bioengineering and military strategy courses do not give you so much grief. Concepts she’s drilled into you since childhood are easier to digest.

Which is why you’re flabbergasted when the results of last week’s test are passed around and you receive yours. In disbelief, you blink at the paper multiple times.

It’s the highest grade you’ve gotten the entire semester. Possibly the highest one in the class. You bask in the private, secret victory. You’re always so behind. You plan on enjoying that tiny moment. You hug the test to your chest, a smile creeping upon your lips.

“So what score did you get?”

Your head whips up, the sudden voice startling you out of your thoughts.

Bright cobalt orbs fill your sight.

You gape in disbelief. Coriolanus Snow.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize he and his group of friends have elected to occupy the seats in the row before yours today. You’re stunned. They’re usually sitting somewhere in the middle of the hall, not quite at the front but close enough so that Clemensia can comfortably harass the professor with a ceaseless string of questions as she’s known to do.

“So?” he asks again. His eyes dart down. “Your grade?”

Your throat knots as you gawk at him. When you don’t reply, he huffs out a laugh and swipes the piece of paper from your hand. You’re too flabbergasted by his actions to even react.

Empty hands hanging before you, you watch him purse his lips as he inspects your paper.

“Hm, top grade. Figured.” His eyes twinkle. “Expected from Dr. Gaul’s daughter, I suppose.”

“You almost had it, Coryo. But she beat you,” Clemensia teases, wiggling her eyebrows. Meanwhile, Ivy Briarose, Clemensia’s close friend, giggles at her comment.

You steal a glance at his test; he’s holding it next to yours. Surprise surges through you. There’s only half a point between your grade and his. Just half a point…but still. Coriolanus always aces Professor Cloudsbane’s tests. Him getting the top grade is often expected. But this time, the Snow heir falls behind…you.

You can hardly believe it. A sliver of pride flutters through you. The fruits of your labor are beginning to show.

“If you don’t watch out, she’ll steal the top student spot from you,” Livia chimes in. You can tell the blonde is reveling in this, that strange animosity between her and Coriolanus on full display.

Coriolanus’ jaw ticks, his tight-lipped smile unfaltering as he studies you.

“I suppose she could,” he utters softly. Despite his tranquil expression and the smile pulling his lips, a peculiar unease settles in your bones. You shift in your chair, goosebumps blooming across your flesh.

He hands you your test back without a word. You’re relieved when he turns and the class starts.

Still, even with his back turned, the weight of his sizzling scrutiny doesn’t part from your skin.

The class proceeds, the words pouring from your professor’s lips a befuddling heap in your ears as usual. You jot everything down, acutely aware you’ll need several hours if not more than that to decipher everything he said. Your mind already throbs at the prospect.

You sneak a glance at the row in front of you. It’s mostly filled with the top students, most of them mentors that last year at the Academy. Some of them aren’t even taking notes. Only Coriolanus sporadically does. He appears to have no issue keeping up with this class, unlike you who drowned in the first few minutes.

You’re relieved when the lecture reaches its end. Your mind is on the cusp of overflow. You desperately need a break.

You pick up your things and rush to the exit. In the hallway, some guy bumps into you from behind, sending the books in your arms flying across the floor. He doesn’t say anything to you and you bend to pick up your books. Tears press behind your eyes. This is nothing. It shouldn’t make you blink back tears. It’s not the first time someone’s treated you like you were invisible.

“Hey, apologize.”

Your eyes drift skyward. Stumped, you watch Coriolanus grip the boy who bumped into you by his shoulder.

“What?” the guy replies, confusion scrunching his features.

“You bumped into her. I said ‘apologize’,” Coriolanus articulates, as if he were addressing a particularly slow child. When the guy tries to leave, rolling his eyes, the blond squeezes him tighter. Tension flickers in the air. They trade looks and doubts creep on the guy’s face, his face blanching.

He clears his throat and whirls to you.

“Sorry,” he blurts out.

You shake your head. “It’s fine.”

He turns, likely hoping to leave again, but Coriolanus tuts him, pointing at your books, still scattered across the floor.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he says, arching his brow.

The guy unleashes a sigh but hunkers down to collect all of your books. He gives them to you in a neat pile as you stare at the spectacle, mouth agape.

“Thank you,” you mumble.

He nods and saunters off, avoiding Coriolanus’ eyes.

Coriolanus grabs your hand, helping you to your feet. The pads of his fingers are rougher than you expect, calluses pressing against your soft skin. Heat rushes to your cheeks as you rise.

You’re not sure what to say, your nerves flaring beneath his stare. But you suppose you should thank him. While you struggle standing up for yourself, he just did it for you. So you mumble the words under your breath and begin heading in the opposite direction.

With his long legs, Coriolanus easily keeps up with your hasty strides. Your heart skips a beat as he falls in step with you.

“I feel strange asking this but…” He leans above your shoulder to whisper, “Are you avoiding me?”

“I-I’m not,” you stammer, your pulse racing with the lie.

The blond chuckles.

“You’re walking awfully fast for someone who’s not avoiding me.”

“I’m just running late to my next class.”

“What about your mom’s lab?” he challenges. “You were hiding from me, weren’t you?”

Your lips tighten. If only he’d drop it. You don’t want to revisit that awkward moment. Everything about it makes your stomach ache.

“I…wasn’t,” you lie, your voice barely above a breath. Your face warms as a smile plays upon Coriolanus’ lips. You halt in your tracks, hugging your books against your chest as you pivot to him. You bashfully meet his gaze. “I was just a little spooked.”

He tilts his head, mirth swimming in his cobalt orbs.

“Spooked? By me? Do I scare you, angel?”

The pet name, uttered like a caress, sets your heart aflutter.

“No,” you mutter. Another lie. And it’s like he’s picked up on it, his soft, pink lips stretching even more.

“It wasn’t nice what she said,” he says abruptly.

You blink in confusion.

“I’m sorry?”

“Dr. Gaul, about you. It wasn’t nice.”

You shrug. “I’m used to it. It’s fine.”

He approaches you. The scent of his pricey cologne engulfs your senses. It’s masculine but the faint scent of roses lingers underneath, as if stubbornly clinging to him.

His voice lowers, his gaze entrapping yours.

“It’s not fine. You work so hard to make her see you. You’re a good daughter.” You don’t realize his hand’s moved to your face until one of his fingers traces the curve of your cheek. Your heart races at the sudden touch. Coriolanus’ thumb drags down to your chin, his attention landing on your bottom lip. He smiles. “Hard work should be praised, rewarded even.”

Disarmed by his closeness and the strange words rolling off his tongue, you retreat.

You readjust the books between your arms.

“I s-should go. My next class is about to start.”

His words interrupt you.

“Hey, why don’t you have lunch with me and the others today?”

Your stomach clutches. You think about Coriolanus’ usual crowd, a bunch of kids from wealthy, influential families, popular and revered. Clemensia Dovecote. Livia Cardew. Ivy Briarose. Hilarius Heavensbee. Festus Creed. Most of them now hold the admiration of their peers for having survived the chaos the Tenth Hunger Games were.

You’d never fit in with them. In fact, you never did. Coriolanus must know that. Is he trying to punish you for eavesdropping on his conversation with your mother the other day?

“I-I never talked to any of them,” you answer, panic swelling in your gut.

His brows crumple. “If you don’t talk to anyone, you’ll never make friends.”

“That’s okay. I don’t need friends,” you retaliate.

“It’s always useful, having friends,” he rasps. “The right connections, they can get you far.”

You anxiously roll your bottom lip between your teeth.

“I’m not good at…making conversation.”

“We’re having a conversation now,” he says, laughing.

As you mull over what he just said, a small smile tugs your lips.

“I guess we are.”

His gaze sharpens. “That’s a pretty smile. I’d love to see it more often.”

His low, soft voice sends chills through your spine.

Coriolanus’ long lashes droop as he gauges your expression.

“I’d be disappointed if I didn't see your face, angel.”

You fidget, your eyes sinking to the floor before rising to meet his again.

“I don’t know if that’s okay… for me to show up like that.”

“I’m inviting you, so of course it’s okay.”

He speaks like it’s a given, like whatever he says goes. His confidence unsettles you.

You fall quiet, weighing your options. There’s something in Coriolanus’ silky voice that makes it hard to say no, but you’d hate being the unwanted guest at the popular kids’ table.

Still, the expectation on his face makes you not want to let him down.

“I’m not hearing a yes.”

“Y-Yes,” you stutter belatedly.

A broad smile spreads on his handsome face.

“Perfect. See you at lunch then, angel.”

As he strolls away, your feet remain glued to the floor, your mind lingering in disbelief of what just occurred.

#coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #tbosas fanfiction #hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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strafepanzer · 15 days

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shoot your shot

k.bakugo | collab intro + m.list

▸ ▸ ▸ warnings: 18+! prohero!bakugo, unprotected sex, creampie, squirting, alcohol, dubcon if you really squint

▸ ▸ ▸ wc: idk dude sorry

▸ ▸ ▸ a/n: hbd king! make sure to check out the other writers on the m.list and enjoy!!!

Among the thousands of replies, your pfp caught his eye.

anyone will do, huh?

Bakugo reads over the words a few times. Sure, his alcohol-induced thirst trap selfie was… out of character, but this from you?

Surely, it's an impossibility. He rubs his eyes and falls back into the black, plush leather of his couch, clicking your profile and scrolling through it. You're the quiet girl with the nice tits from insurance, the only person at the agency that he has anything remotely akin to a crush on.

You were there tonight in electric orange and black, stuffed into a booth with the other agency girls; your group sporadically sent him drinks-- those damn daiquiris-- and judging from the laughter pouring out of your booth, you all enjoyed watching him down them.

The one and only Dynamight downing bitch drinks? Hilarious, apparently.

The night got hazy, but he vaguely remembers getting you one-on-one at some point, remembers flashes of your smile, runs of your laughter, and your birthstone pendant hanging on a gold chain just below your collar bone.

Your delicate fingers on his forearm.

His teeth grind together, nostrils flaring as he reads over your words again, fingers flexing before he gropes his bulge. Your voice, seemingly teasing, rings through his brain melodically, but no matter how hard he closes his eyes, he can't remember the interaction.

What did you two talk about? Were you flirting with him? Fuck, did he miss his chance? If he concentrates, he can see the shimmer of your lipgloss reflecting the neon lights in that shitty bar, but everything else is radio silence.

A ding, then a notification flags across the top of his screen: 1 Photo Attached. He taps it and bites his bottom lip.

You're smiling at the camera, winking and throwing up a peace sign in front of expensive looking double doors. Familliar double doors. He recognises the gold embellishments and black glass tinted so dark, its impossible to see through from the outside.

A selfie in front of his apartment building.

Another sound and,

Typing…

Appears in the chat. He feels stupid just waiting, but if you're really coming onto him, he needs to not scare you away.

gonna buzz me up, mr hero?

He's on his feet at an almost embarrassing speed, unlocking the front door and sending you his floor and room number in the chat.

Then, he paces, pours himself a glass of water, and waits.

Your knock is faint, and he wonders if you've sobered up some, briefly hesitating at the doorknob. He looks through his spyhole and sees you looking this way and that, shifting nervously and fiddling with your hair.

He tugs the door open and leans against it, eyes staring you down. You blink and take a short breath, eyes scanning his naked torso, briefs, muscular thighs--

He clears his throat. "You look nervous."

Your eyes on his leave him a little starstruck. Sure, youre pretty to admire from afar, but up close? He's stupid for getting wasted and forgetting what he said to you.

"Liquid courage has thoroughly worn off." You agree with a nod and a nervous yet dazzling smile.

Fuck, he's so done for.

"Just to be clear, you hit me up." Bakugo says, opening the door and giving you space to enter. "I'm not holding you here against your will."

"What? No, yeah, I totally take the blame on this, one million percent." You agree, stepping into his apartment. He watches your ass in that tight dress as you walk past him, savours the scent of your perfumed skin while you're in his vicinity. "I just thought-- oh my gods," you turn to face him, embarrassed. "This is ridiculous, isn't it? I thought you were like... sending me signals at the bar."

He probably was, but he cant fucking remember.

He gestures for you to follow him into the living room. "I was wasted."

"You grabbed my ass and called me sexy." You laugh, kicking off your heels before stepping onto his carpet.

"Fat fuckin chance, sugar tits." He grumbles, embarrassed by his drunken antics, but then you're grabbing his hand and tugging him back half a step. Before he can even gasp, your lips are on his, your hands pulling him down to you, your tongue running along his lips.

"Yeah, you called me that, too." You breathe, nose to nose as you stare into his eyes.

His hands finally find your waist. "I didn't think you'd be this forward."

"This is how forward you were with me at the bar." You frown then, head tilting to the side. "You honestly don't remember? Now I feel like a predator."

He laughs, then, something full bodied and joyous. "Trust me, sweetheart, you're the prey here."

All logical thinking flies out the window the moment his lips meet yours again. Your bag drops to the floor as he devours you, hands bunching up that little orange dress at your waist and lifting you to wrap your legs over his hips.

You moan when he grinds his length up against you. "Oh my god, are we doing this?" You ask, his mouth assaulting your neck, littering it with kisses and nips as he walks you to his bedroom.

"It's my birthday," he rasps, revelling in the taste of you, the feel of you. It's one thing coveting something, but it's another to finally have it in your hands.

"Happy Birthday, Katsuki." You kiss him on the top of his head, wrapping your arms a little tighter around his neck.

"Being cute isn't gonna make me go any easier on you." He promises, dropping you onto his bed. You just laugh and pull your dress over your head, reaching behind your back to unclasp your bra.

"I came prepared to go down on you, but this kinda feels like you want a little more from me." You admit as he tugs off his briefs and covers you with his body.

"What gave you that idea?" He grins, palming your tits and dragging those battle worn hands down your soft torso to rest at your hips. "You sure you're okay with this?"

"What? Yes." You breathe, reaching down to ghost your fingers over his throbbing cock. He hisses before you grip it properly, with purpose, and begin pumping him slowly with your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Fuck," he curses softly, making light work of your panties and kissing you, bucking instinctually up into your hands. "I need to be inside you," he demands huskily, biting down on your lip and looking into your eyes for permission.

"Y-yeah, I want it," you nod feverishly as his fingers test your wet heat, rubbing and probing before sliding in.

"Shit," he huffs as you throw your head back, his fingers exploring you and stretching you out. "Fuck, I can't wait, are you good to go?"

"Stop talking and fuck me, Katsuki," you moan, laying there with your chest heaving and lipstick smudged.

His hands grope your thighs, pushing them up and opening yourself to him. With a curse at the tip of his tongue and his teeth in his bottom lip, he lines himself up and pushes forward.

"Oh--" you moan, before your hand slaps over your mouth.

Bakugo let's you silence yourself while he adjusts to the toe tingling feeling of being inside you. It's heavenly, but it feels like sinning. He pulls back a little before pushing forward, notices your free hand fisting his scarlet sheets beside your head.

After a few more testing thrusts and he stills inside you, his body covers yours, those big, calloused hands drawing up your forearms to interlock your fingers beside your head.

"I wanna hear you cry while I ruin you, pretty girl. You okay with that?" He asks lowly, voice almost a growl.

"Fuck, oh fuck, Katsuki it's so big," you babble, bordering incoherent already.

A feral grin grows on his face. He's gonna fuck you stupid.

"It's okay, baby, you can take it, I know you can," he mumbles condescendingly, kissing your nose gently, then your lips. "As a present, for my birthday."

He can't wait any longer, hips rocking into you, shallowly grinding, searching for that spot deep inside you that makes you moan. You're already gasping, eyes watering as your mouth hangs open, fingers flexing in his grip as your chest starts to heave.

You really are gorgeous like this, panting and wanton beneath him. Ideally, he'd make you cum a few times before he does, but he's been half mast all fucking week, and he really can't wait to fill you up.

"Sorry, baby, I can't hold back anymore." He kisses you deeply, before letting go of your hands and pushing your legs up, hands gripping the backs of your knees, then bruising at your thighs.

He licks his lips, pulls out, and hammers back in. You yelp, but he does it again, setting a pace that wouldn't be sustainable for your average man. It boosts his ego that he's gonna ruin other people for you, but the little breathy ohmygodkatsukifuck that leaves your lips while you scratch at his back is probably going to ruin other women for him.

Shit, your smell, the way you taste and feel-- you're sucking him back in when he tries to pull out, pussy hellbent on milking him before he's done with you. He kisses you while he fucks you, sloppy and messy and wet, and in moments you're a howling mess.

He swallows your cries as your whole body tenses, but he doesn't let himself cum with you, fucking you through it instead.

"Nonononononono..." you mutter, fingernails digging into his traps as you shake your head, pushing him away. "Stop stop, I'm gonna--"

Bakugo's heart flutters, grin feral. "Gonna what? Gonna what?" He grits, continuing to fuck you.

"Gonna-- hnghh!" You tense again, and as he fucks back into you, hot, wet squirt splashes against his groin, dripping all over the both of you and darkening those scarlet sheets maroon.

"Oh shit," he breathes, the feeling of it, the sight of you, the sound of his wet skin slapping against yours sending him over the edge as he fucks his cum into you, filling you up.

You're still mumbling incoherent nonsense when he collapses on top of you, your hands over your face in what he comes to realise is mortification.

"I'm s'sorry, oh my god, what was that? I'm so embarrassed, I--"

"Hey hey hey, are you crying?" He frowns prying your fingers from your face.

"I wet the bed in front of you!" You almost shriek, but he's just glad you're not crying. "Not just any guy, but you!"

"Yeah, and it was the hottest thing ever." He grins, feeling calm for the first time in a long time. "Fuck, I don't even care how the PR team are gonna react; getting you to squirt on me makes it worth it. I'm guessing you don't do that often?"

"Often? I never do that."

"Baby, that was hot as hell." He kisses you, then rolls over, bringing you with him.

"Happy Birthday, I guess?" You smile then, resting on his chest, drawing a finger over one of his more jaggered scars. "You don't remember what you said to me at the bar, do you?"

"I remember your tits?" He shrugs, still riding that post-orgasmic high. You laugh, and when you don't elaborate, he taps your chin so you look up at him. "What did I say?"

You start getting a little shy again. "You asked me on a date, said you were gonna take me somewhere, anywhere I want."

"I did, did I?"

"Mm, then you kissed me and claimed it was your birthday present from me."

"Fuck off," he chuckles then, embarrassed. "What a loser."

"Then I saw your... proposition online..." You mumble, eyes back on that scar.

"If it makes you feel any better, I'm deleting that post, but my offer to you still stands."

"Even though you don't remember making it?"

"Baby, I just filled you with my cum, and I'm feeling like I'd like to do it again real fuckin soon. And maybe even again after that." He pulls you closer, so you're straddling him properly, your lips hovering over his. "If you'll let me."

"I don't know if that's your twisted way of asking me out or if you're looking for a fuck buddy." You pout.

"You wanna be my girlfriend?" He asked, slightly shocked at the thought. Shocked, but not against it.

"Yeah, I do." You smile, that so pretty smile.

"Well shit, when are you moving in?" He asks, half joking.

You laugh, kissing him on the cheek. "Shut up, do you mean it? You really wanna date me?"

"Yeah, I do." He says, heart hammering in his chest.

"Good, thats-- that's good."

"It is, isn't it? Now that we have that outta the way," he sits up, keeping you in his lap. "Round 2 in the shower?"

"You'll have to carry me, I still can't feel my legs." You smile.

"Maybe the bitch drinks weren't such a bad idea, after all." Bakugo grins, pulling you close in a slow, deliberate kiss.

#bakugo x reader #bakugo birthday bash #hbd king

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targaryenluvs · 10 months

Text

— ALL MINE

pairing - prowler!miles morales x reader, miles morales x reader

summary - whilst on the run, your boyfriend miles and yourself were taken home. although your hometown is not as it seems. with a shadow clinging to your every move, will you make it out of this universe? part two - not yours

warnings - possessive!prowler miles, he’s like low key delulu, swearing, violence.

notes - i am absolutely in love with prowler miles. THE BRAIDS HAVE A CHOKEHOLD ON ME. sorry if this seems to resemble other fics but i just wanted to do my lil version since all the others are half way done :P and i’m writing again since i’m in the holidays :) also idk if miles can make people invisible but for the sake of this text yes he can. also big fancy words idk if i used em correctly. comment for p2!!!! also pushing the 42miles calling his girl ma agenda 😘

wordcount: 2.1K

you had to catch your breath.

you’d never been the most athletic person in p.e and it certainly wasn’t going to change then and it certainly won’t now. but as miles eggs you on to keep moving you ignore all the un-athletic bones in your body and push yourself to keep running.

as you reach your destination miles grabs your hand and the two of you creep your way inside. miles begins to mess around with computers as margo tried her hardest with the help of lyla to figure out what on earth was going on.

as miles scanned his eyes he pulled you into his arms, “you okay?” he asked as you nodded, “for now, as long as miguel-”

and to your luck he barrelled through the doors at the exact moment you uttered his name. “bloody mary much?” you muttered under your breath as you took a step back.

and as he clawed and fought his way in your hand tightened its grip on miles’s. “it’s okay, he’s not getting in y/n/n. it’s okay.” and as he reassured you to the best of his abilities you couldn’t help but feel grateful. he always put you first, no matter what.

always made sure you and his family were okay.

and his reassurance managed to calm you down as margo looked up at the two of you, her finger hovering over the reboot button but as she looked between the miles and you, she couldn’t help but aid the two of you. as miles pulled his mask over his face, you saw the pure rage painted over miguel’s face and you couldn’t help your indignation towards the man.

but you didn’t see him for long as the pair of you were sucked out of the room and travelling at the speed of light (or so it seemed) to freedom.

the lights were harsh on your eyes.

as you adjusted to the luminosity of the neon signs you looked to your right to see miles on the floor.

“miles? miles!” you rushed over and rolled his body over as he coughed, “i’m okay, i’m okay. how about you?” you smiled, “i’m fine babe. we made it, we made it home miles.” you cried as you engulfed him in a hug.

he smiled as he reciprocated, “thanks to you y/n. but we needa get goin okay?” you nodded as you stood and helped him up by his arms.

“hold on tight.”

you’d honestly forgotten how nice the cold air felt on your face. the thrill of swinging through the city, passing people by as they stared in wonder, slinging by and grabbing a few treats on the way, yours and miles’s normal routine almost everyday in the past six months. you never knew you could miss a place so much.

but being with the spider society and being at the HQ managed to make you deeply homesick.

as you neared miles’s home you felt a weight being lifted off of your chest.

you were almost there.

you had gotten home in time.

you’d save mr morales, be allowed to call him jeff and his wife rio, miles would have his father, he’d continue being spider-man, the two of you would move to new jersey (fingers crossed), miles would study something new (seeing as the two of you have had your fill of other universes in the past few days), you’d study journalism, you’d get your own place, travel, live and love.

together.

as you got to his rooms window you held on to the ledge as miles opened the window and carefully guided you in. you’d never expected to feel so elated at seeing his single bed, his action figures and posters, everything. but as you entered, the waves of fatigue messed with your head to the point where you managed to overlook the contents of his room.

you were so exhausted you didn’t even manage to make it to the bed and relaxed in-front of it in the corner. as you looked around you couldn’t help but frown. it looked, different.

some things were missing such as all the posters and figurines. you chalked it up to mrs morales packing them away perhaps, or miles moving them to his own place.

as you slowly drifted off you missed the creak of the door opening.

rio walked through the door with her laundry basket clung to her hip.

miles turned around quickly, relieved to see his mother. “ah mom, you don’t know how happy i am to see you.” rio furrowed her eyebrows as her son ran over to smother her in a tight hug. it’d been so long since he’d acted so.

and was his hair out?

he seemed shorter too.

what on earth has this boy been up to?

as he rambled on explaining himself she couldn’t help but smile. he seemed so, innocent. before everything, before the pain, before the loss, before it all happened, before he changed, permanently, before her.

“miles, i think it’s cute your into uh what’s it called cosplay? you one of them comics-con kids?”

“what’s that? i- no, this isn’t cosplay ma.”

as she walks into another room miles stands frozen as his uncle aaron walks into the home. albeit a different version of his uncle aaron but it doesn’t change the way miles’s hands are sweating, his heart threatening to implode.

as aaron rested a pile of cash on the table miles stared in awe. “you ready to go miles? damn you took your braids out? what’s going on man?” he joked as he walked to the door his hand gesturing miles to follow along. “yeah lemme just grab something and i’ll be there.”

miles shook you awake and asked you to follow along but not too closely.

you were perplexed as to why but followed along nonetheless. as you made it to the door you saw aaron in-front of miles. and suddenly something came at miles, knocking him out.

you ran to him, “miles! shit, are you okay?” you felt your chest tighten as he didn’t respond, his finger tips twitched yet he was unresponsive. “fuck what the hell did you do aaron?”

aaron couldn’t believe his eyes.

how- what?

you were there. sitting, cradling miles’s body in your arms as you stared up at him.

alive.

“y/n?”

it was a whisper. but you caught it. “no i’m the fuckin sun. yes it’s y/n.” you said as you continued to inspect miles, looking for any signs of injury.

“you want her too?”

your head snapped up as you heard aaron speak again, he was looking behind you and you honestly didn’t have the energy to see someone else right now but as you looked back you wished this was a bad dream.

the prowler.

he stood tall, not as tall as aaron but at least a few inches more so than miles. his suit was a little different, his claws sharper and his mask. he nodded towards aaron, yes.

it was as frightening as aaron’s. aaron. if he was right infront of you you then who the hell was thi-

your head was throbbing so much, but you were currently being tended to. or, you thought you were. someone was lightly dabbing a wet cloth on your forehead, your head was supported by something, it was nice.

when you built the strength to open your eyes you saw miles. “arriba mi vida.” you squinted. “what?” you saw a slight smile on his face, “try to get up.” miles wrapped his hand around your neck, cradling it as you attempted to get up.

you rested against the cold wall as you took in the environment around you. “where are we?” you asked miles as you tried focusing your eyes, you swore you saw the outline of someone tied to a, was that a boxing bag? the light from the window behind them illuminated their outline, their face left unknown.

“shh, está bien y/n.”

“miles you know i cant speak spanish that well.”

“i’m sorry, i forgot. you feelin’ okay ma?”

as you were about to respond the body tied to the bag started to move and mumble, causing you to actually realise that someone was tied up. your eyes were adjusted now and as you looked around and settled on miles’s face you couldn’t help but frown.

“since when do you wear braids miles? and do you honestly think this is the right time to try out a new hair style?” you questioned as he got up, “you don’t like my braids? you use to do em all the time ma.”

your eyebrows furrowed as the body finally came into focus, and you saw-

miles?

you slowly rose from your spot on the floor and looked back and forth from both miles’s. the one in front of you had a certain way to him. his shoulders straightened, taller than usual, hardened face, he seemed so, formal.

whilst your miles was a sloucher most times, not short but he didn’t tower over everyone, usually with a smile donning his face and always easy going.

“i- you.” the words scrambled out and you had no idea what was going on. all you knew was that you needed to get out of here. as you walked towards what you had assumed to be your miles, other miles grabbed your hand and yanked you back.

“whatchu doing?”

“i was seeing my miles. what are you doing? why did you tie him up?”

“can’t exactly have someone running around my streets with my face now can i?”

“okay, i understand that miles but you need to let me go. we need to get back to our universe otherwise mr morales is gonna- and we can’t let that happen you know that. untie him. please.”

“why would i do that shit? what’s so special about him? why does he get to have everything so good? his school, his friends, his family- you.” other miles was getting a little too close for your liking and you found yourself backed up against the wall. not a great position to be in when completely helpless and tired as hell against someone who could probably throw you across the room.

his hand came to your face as he pushed away a stray strand of hair from your eyes. “i- did we- did you date someone like me?”

“not someone like you ma, i dated you.”

“no you dated another version of me. that’s not me, that’s her, wherever she is i’m sure she missed you and if you picked up the phone and called-”

“she’s dead.”

your eyes widened, “i- i’m sorry for you. and for her. i’m sure you loved her a lot but, i’m not her. you’re not my miles, my miles is right there. and i love him. please you have to let us- me go. y/n wouldn’t have wanted this for you i’m sure of it.”

“you gonna tell me she wanted me to be happy?”

“uh i’d assume she wanted that for you. i’m sure you guys were amazing together miles.” you smiled as you tried to suppress your fear. it was hard to, you could feel it slowly creeping in, the miles in front of you was hypnotising, his eyes were warm so warm you could feel them burning into yours. he was absolutely gorgeous, the soft glow from the night life outside highlighting his face. he was so gorgeous it was insane as well as scary. he took your breath away, the same way your miles did.

“we were, and we will be again.”

“i’m not so sure you can bring people back from the dead. i understand you miss her but you need to let her go and move on. speaking of moving on miles and i should be moving on back to our universe so if you would so kindly-”

“i got her right here ma.”

his grip on your hand tightened as he somehow got closer. all the air had apparently hopped out of the room since you felt your chest tighten.

“no me dejarás de nuevo mi vida. your staying with me, here.”

“You won’t leave me again my life.”

“stop it, i understand you’re hurting but please just-” you tried with all your strength to push him away but his feet were planted firmly into the floor, as still as a statue and you couldn’t help but cry.

you’d escaped one place to be potentially imprisoned in another.

“shh, shh y/n/n. i got you right here.” he held you as you sobbed, praying your miles would wake up soon and save the two of you.

as miles held onto you he couldn’t help but feel his tensions and sorrow seep into the floor as he held you again after all this time and as he did he couldn’t help but whisper,

“you’re mine mi amor,

all mine.”

#miles morales x reader #atsv prowler #earth 42 miles morales x reader #prowler miles #Spotify

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luveline · 9 months

Text

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

spencer comforts you with facts and affection alike when you worry you aren't as pretty as the girls on his team. requested here. fem!reader, 1.6k

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Photographs can't accurately capture how beautiful Emily Prentiss is. JJ and Penelope are both gorgeous too, but it's Emily who startles you. Her hair a cool black colour and curled around her demure face, the line of her nose and her deep, dark eyes. Her lips, picture perfect and painted a soft pink.

The prettier you find her, the more your heart sinks.

Spencer squeezes your shoulder. It's bold for him to do so in front of his friends (his family, really), he can barely show you affection in the grocery store without turning rosy. You preen at the touch, but the feeling of insecurity remains like an irksome gnat zipping around your head.

"We didn't think we'd ever get to meet you!" Derek is saying, a casual arm thrown around Penelope's shoulders, a drink in hand.

Rossi couldn't attend and JJ felt too pregnant, bringing your party to a solid six. It still feels like a lot of people to meet at once.

You hold the flute of your glass in a nervous hand, fingers stickied by condensation. You have a feeling that you're in trouble, all these profilers assessing your behaviour, nowhere to hide. "No, I'm," —you raise your voice to hide the funny tremor that's taken hold— "so happy to meet you all, I promise I've been trying!"

"Whenever she gets time off, we're on a case," Spencer says.

Emily smiles widely at your statement. It's such an open, friendly look, it floors you. You look down at your drink and blink.

You don't know it, but the team exchanges glances at your behaviour.

"So, do you enjoy your work?" Emily asks. "Or hate it, like us?"

Hotch laughs and moves his pint glass onto a coaster. "I think it's safe to say that none of us hate our jobs."

"I wouldn't blame you if you did. I can't imagine how hard it is, how hard you all work," you say. Spencer's hand drifts down your back. "But you have each other."

Emily does this thing with her eyes and if you weren't in a happy relationship, you'd probably be a puddle at her feet. "Too much of each other," she says jokingly.

She's gorgeous, and Spencer sees her every single day? You're nothing compared to her. Not smart, not strong, and nowhere near as pretty. You could never measure up.

"Would you, um, excuse me?" you ask, moving your purse from your lap and onto the table.

"You okay?" Spencer asks, looking up as you stand.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just gonna use the bathroom," you say quietly. You aren't, but if you were, you wouldn't really want to broadcast that anyhow.

You try not to wobble on the way to the bathroom. The weight of five pairs of eyes follows you as you leave, four of which are trained in the art of spotting lies. Everything isn't okay, and they know that, and by extension —all the effort you made tonight? Getting your hair done, your nicest clothes, your makeup and your perfume? It might as well be a huge blinking neon sign that says you're trying really hard, and it doesn't make a lick of difference.

You sidle into a stall, pulling the lid of the toilet down with a tissue and sitting on it heavily. Elbows on your knees, you hunch your back and hide your face in your hands, breathing in the smell of bleach through quick breaths. Water drips somewhere near the sinks, the cacophony of the restaurant hushed.

You've never felt naturally pretty. With Spencer, it hasn't ever mattered. He's never given any indication that he cares. But…

"Loser," you mutter to yourself.

"Hey, Y/N?" Spencer asks, his voice bouncing off of the tile.

You freeze. "Two seconds!"

"You're not really using the bathroom," he says incredulously.

"Says who?"

Spencer laughs, his tone wry, "I know you really well, you realise? Like, better than I know anyone else on the planet."

"Then you know I'm having an authentic pee and need my privacy."

"Come on out."

The ringing of the lock slotting free is like an announcement of your embarrassment. Spencer's standing a half a foot from the doorway, keeping his distance from the no man's land that is the ladies room. You're going to use it to your advantage, only he holds out his hand expectantly. When you take it, he pulls you out of the bathroom and firmly into the restaurant hallway.

You can't escape his concern, nor his hands as they cup your face unexpectedly.

They feel as nice as they look, deft fingers pressed to your skin like you're one of his puzzles to decipher.

"What upset you?" he asks.

"Nothing your friends did, I promise."

"But something." He smooths a hand down to your shoulders. He's not quite frenetic but certainly close to it, searching for a problem he won't find on the surface. "You're insecure about something," he deduces.

You cringe bodily. "I'm not."

"What is it? Is it your necklace? It really is nice, the colour goes with your skin. It's understated."

"It's not my necklace, Spence."

"Then what is it?"

"I just…" You pull his hands from your neck and collar to hold them, looking up into his melty brown eyes wishing he weren't so hard to say no to. "Feel like you could do better."

He frowns. It's a pout, and endearing, but not what you want to see.

"I love being with you, I just think, you know, you're so handsome, and you have all these pretty friends," you say.

"You think you're not pretty?" he asks. He sounds gutted, if a little confused.

"Not like her." Your voice quivers.

The first time you got upset in front of Spencer, he wasn't sure what to do. He ended up putting an arm around your shoulder, your brand new boyfriend out of his depth. You've both had some practice at comforting one another now, and any hesitance Spencer held is gone. He wraps his arms around you like he's afraid you'll fall over, the crease of his stressed brow smushing against the side of your face.

"Don't think that. Why would you think that?" he asks quietly.

"I know I'm not pretty like some girls," you say, surprised by the ferocity of his reaction.

"You don't know that, because it's not true. You're beautiful." He squeezes your side between his fingers, something contemplative about the way his thumb curls upward. "Do you know how many books I've read?"

"Thousands."

He hums. A hand grasps at the back of your neck. "Thousands of books. I know so much, especially about the human body. I know that falling in love can make some people feel the same effects as cocaine. Staring into their eyes can synchronise your heartbeats." He encourages your head back. "Butterflies are adrenaline and when I look at you I can't get them to stop, even if I know it's chemical." Spencer's eyes are lit with something you don't often see directed at you, a furious conviction. "What we think we know isn't always fact, so if you think you're not pretty…" He nods his head gently to the left. "There's only really one thing left to do."

Your heart feels like it's being juiced. "What's that?" you ask.

He grabs your hand and puts it on his chest. Fingertips to his breastbone, he holds it flat. Sure enough, even through the thin fabric of his t-shirt, you can feel the rapid capering of his pulse.

"It's like that pretty much any time I look at you."

"Spence…"

"I know it's bad," he says.

"Are you messing with me?"

"Yeah, I did a lap before I came to find you– No!" He laughs, giving you an admonishing look. "Why would I mess with you? How could I?"

"I don't know."

He dips in to kiss your frown. "You're so pretty," he whispers. "So, so pretty. You're the prettiest girl I've ever seen, no matter what you think."

You don't believe that you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen, but you believe that he believes it. He has no reason to lie to you, nothing to gain. He could've said, Hey, you're pretty, and left it at that. He could've been angry with you for leaving the table for something some people would say was superficial. But Spencer's your sweetheart.

"Do you want to go home, angel?" he asks, looking at you worriedly.

"No." You don't even have to think about it —you've done enough thinking. "I don't want to go home. Sorry, Spencer. I feel better." And you'll stay out all night if he's going to call you angel again.

"Well, let me know if you need me to tell you again."

The chances of you surviving such an ardent speech a second time are low. "I won't be doing that."

Spencer shrugs. "You'll let me know, even if you don't think so. You have a tell when you're upset."

You spend the rest of the night making up for your disruption (which Spencer's friends immediately dismiss without questioning), shepherding the crisper curly fries on to Spencer's plate because he likes them that way, and begging him to tell you what your tell is with subtle pleading glances and a hand on his knee. Nothing inappropriate, but affectionate nonetheless.

He doesn't tell you no matter how much you ask, and maybe it's the drinks or the way the scone light kisses his cheeks in a warm buttery light, you can't find it in you to be mad.

"Keep your secrets," you say, chin tilted upward. You're failing to glare at him, too much love in your eyes for it to be believable.

"You're beautiful," he says back, mirroring your expression playfully, before leaning down for a chaste kiss.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!! if you did, please consider reblogging, it makes a big difference to me<3 have a good day!

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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moonstruckme · 3 months

Note

This with player!sirius black

Hi! I assume you meant Sirius was the one sending the first text? So I hope this is okay :)

cw: alcohol, vomit mention (no description)

modern au

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 980 words

You stumble out onto the street and right into a pair of tattooed, surprisingly strong arms.

“Fuck,” two voices say at the same time. One is yours, and the other…you look up, and a piece of dark velvety hair brushes your cheek as you meet slightly widened gray eyes.

“Sirius.” His name comes out nearly without vowels, all strung together like one long s. “What’re you doing here?”

“Hey, gorgeous.” He hoists you up a bit in his arms so you’re more on your feet. You don’t use them, though, content to let your weight rest on him for the moment. “You texted me to come.”

You feel your face screw up. “I did?”

Sirius’ mouth does that thing. He always looks like he has a little smile tucked in the corner, kept secret for now but constantly ready for deployment. It twitches. He grips you tighter against him, freeing one hand to dig in his pocket.

“See?”

You recoil from the bright light of his screen, squinting to read the messages. It takes all of your concentration, and by the time you muddle through it Sirius is looking down at you with a funny mix of humor and concern.

“Oh,” you say. “I forgot.” The corner of Sirius’ mouth kicks up. “I didn’t expect you to come, though.”

You start to slip down his front, and he heaves you up again with a grunt. “Yeah, well my night had started to wind down,” he says, in that disaffected way of his. It doesn’t bother you like it usually does; you’re too busy thinking about how out of all the things he could’ve done tonight, he came to you. “Figured I’d see what you were up to. Where were you running off to when I got here, huh?”

You have to think for a bit. Then it comes to you, and you swallow thickly. “I came out here to be sick,” you admit.

Sirius’ eyes widen and for a second you think he’s going to step away from you, but he doesn’t. “Yeah? You need to find a bin?”

You shake your head, swallowing again. “No, this is good.” You stumble away from him, bending over the gutter at the side of the street.

The club’s bouncer shouts. You hear Sirius say something back to him, and then his hands are in your hair, moving it away from your face.

“Shit,” he mumbles, securing it with a hair tie. “You alright?”

You spit, blinking tears from your eyes. “Mhm. M’fine.”

“You wanna go home?”

You turn your head to see him, vision smearing. “You wanna take me home?”

Some of that smile deploys, just a hint. It’s enough to make you dizzy. “Maybe just in the literal sense tonight, doll. Though I’ll be happy to take you up on that another time.”

You harumph, setting your bum on the curb. Or falling onto it, same thing. “Can we go in a minute?”

“Sure.”

Sirius sits beside you, pulling a cigarette and a lighter out of his pocket. You watch him cup a hand to light it, inhaling quickly before blowing smoke out the corner of his mouth. He sets one hand on the pavement and leans back on it. The cigarette glows magma red between his lips.

“Why did you come?”

He shrugs, watching traffic pass on the street. “Like I said, my night was winding down. I thought you might be a good time.”

You press your lips together. The smell of vomit is still sharp in your nostrils. “And I disappointed you.”

“Not necessarily.” He exhales smoke, hair gleaming red under the neon sign of the club. “Where are your friends?”

“Inside.”

“Think they’re worried about you?”

“When I left they were…distracted.” You smile wryly. You think you catch Sirius watching you out of the corner of his eye. “S’how nights out go, you know? Anyway, they’re used to me leaving early.”

“Yeah?” Sirius’ voice is disinterested, like he’s just keeping up his end of small talk at a family gathering. “Why’s that?”

You shrug, laying back on the sidewalk. Whatever’s getting in your hair is tomorrow’s problem. “I’m a lightweight.”

He looks down at you, humming as he brings the cigarette to his lips again. “You’re a walking red flag, aren’t you?”

You roll your head to the side. Grin up at him playfully. “And what about it?”

Sirius shrugs. “Nothing,” he says. “It’s hot.” He exhales a long stream of smoke, watching it dissipate into the night air. “My friend says I always like things that are bad for me the best.”

You’re not quite done wrapping your head around that when he stubs out the cigarette and slips a hand beneath your neck. “C’mon, this is no place for a nap.”

He gets you sitting up, then stands, taking your hands to bring you up there with him. You start out on the half of the sidewalk closer to the curb, but Sirius steps around you, hand skimming across the small of your back as he takes your place.

“Where’re we going?”

“Your place.”

You start to drift away, and Sirius gives your waist a slight tug. It’s the tiniest bit of pressure, but you stumble closer like he’s yanked you towards him. You may be swooning.

“I can get home on my own,” you tell him. “I have a great sense of direction, I do it all the time.”

“I don’t mind,” he says simply.

And well, you don’t if he doesn’t. For a while you walk in silence, Sirius guiding you with his hand at the small of your back, not seeming to care that you called him out here for nothing or that you smell like vomit or that you keep stumbling in your heels.

“Sirius?” you ask after a while.

“Hm?”

“Do you think I’m bad for you?”

He’s quiet for a second. “I haven’t decided yet, doll. I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

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neocitycafe · 3 months

Text

Home After the Holidays (Mark)

♡ genre: hot cocoa - fluff, sweet and steamy hehe; a bit smutty with too many thoughts; i guess "new year’s time pensive cheese" is a theme for me (here’s haechan’s version from last year) ✎ words: 2.1k ✓ summary/notes: busy idol husband Mark finally returns home :’) and you’ve missed each other. a trope that i love lots. @d-nghy-ck to bronwyn, here’s a slice of pensive cheese(cake), especially for you! this cafe would probably not be here if not for this first customer who came by and said hi! wishing you all the love in the world~

──────── °∘❉∘° ────────

It’s that awkward time in late January when you’re not sure whether it’s still socially appropriate to include “Happy New Year” in your greetings. Mark had told you not to come to the airport. The weather was frigid all week and it’d be way past midnight by the time he got out of customs, and then there was the long cab ride home.

But he missed you.

Closing the front door gently, he looks down to find his old lace-ups where he usually left them, as if he were home this whole time. Your favorite pair is set neatly next to his, and a smaller set of shoes next to those. Ones with velcro and lights that he bought a couple months back, but it felt much longer ago so quickly. You’d replaced the original laces with neon green ones, and all of Mark’s teammates cooed at how cute that was.

The lights are dimmed and Mark finds you on the couch in a pile of blankets, where you cozied up while waiting. His heart suddenly aches thinking of you with only a little cup of chamomile tea to warm yourself and get to bed.

He had been so busy working lately, loving what he did, creating music, making crazy new connections, show after show, press conferences, collaborations. Had he done anything for you lately? His mind races.

From where you’d dozed off, you find Mark frozen by the door. After years of knowing him, you could see his raised brows and the running thoughts behind them. His lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes shifting to the side meant self-doubt. You want to erase those worries and pour love into all the spaces where he thought he was not enough.

“I wanted to get you flowers.” His voice cracks and you get up to close the distance between you.

“Oh Mark... I have you now.” The cold from outside has clung on to his coat, but you ignore it and wrap your arms around him more tightly. “It’s the middle of the night, silly. I don’t need flowers.”

You feel him shake his head against you, “And I wanted to be home for the holidays,” he says with a bit of a whine.

“You’re here now.”

Looking into his eyes, you brush the hair away from his forehead and peck him on the nose. The end of the year meant holiday tour stops, special shows, concerts, and awards nights. The holidays meant the opposite of holidays for entertainers like Mark. It meant he couldn’t really be with family until afterwards. He follows you into the kitchen where you set your mug in the sink.

“Did you miss me?” You turn when he wraps his arms around you from behind.

You’re momentarily caught off guard by his boyish smile and a pang of longing wells up, an emptiness in your chest that had been there behind your smiles when he had video called. The answer is a thousand times yes, but you bite back the truth in favor of not worrying him. You shake your head playfully. “I don’t have to. I get to see your features in our son’s face every day.”

Mark breaks into a grin that you can’t help but match. “Is he asleep?”

“Yeah, but he sure begged to stay up! He can be a little headstrong sometimes. Like someone.” You give Mark a long look and he pouts in response. “But he finally fell asleep a couple of hours ago.”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For being my home.”

“You’re sappy, Mark Lee.” Nonetheless, you’re more than willing when he tilts your head for a deeper kiss. He runs the tip of his tongue along the seam of your lips and you part them to let him taste you. A familiar heat stirs in your belly, and you reach your hands up to tangle them in his hair and pull him closer. He groans into your mouth and presses you back into the kitchen counter. From this position, he places pressure where your bodies are connected, where you want it. He rocks against you once, twice, slowly, fluidly, and you pull him even closer.

Mark’s hands knock into the stacked pots and pans behind you on the drying rack, and you’re grateful for your husband’s quick reflexes. He steadies a pan, preventing what would’ve been a huge clatter. You both freeze for a moment.

“Easy, tiger,” you tease while throwing him a wink. “Or baby lion or cheetah or whatever small big cat you are.”

He responds with a playful growl that is both adorable and sexy, his nose scrunching up.

A delicious thrill runs through you as his gaze locks on you again. Knocking your legs apart and then lifting you onto the counter, Mark reminds you of how he wanted you everywhere when you were newlyweds. A tender bite between your neck and shoulder reminds you of how he wants you now. You make a mental note to call Jaemin for some babysitting this coming weekend, because you wouldn’t mind some more alone time like this.

You tug on Mark’s hand and he knows what you mean. You slip off the counter and try not to trip over each other as you eagerly make your way to the bedroom. It’s a familiar but exhilarating path, like a choreography that your bodies move to automatically once the music starts playing.

When he finds a towel already laid out on the bed, he raises a seagull of a brow, and you can’t help but laugh. He teases, “Oooh, so you were prepared!”

You lean in to whisper in his ear, feeling cheeky and bold, “Well, my husband gets messy.”

The look in his eyes and how he kisses you next is the response you were hoping for. When you fall back into bed, it’s easy and slow. You take your time wriggling out of your clothes, and you laugh at his cute shimmy while pulling his jeans off. The both of you sigh in content when his body is above yours, skin to skin.

Mark’s fingertips trail patterns along your sides, his left hand’s calluses from guitar playing are a little rough, but soothingly so. You map out the constellation connecting the mole on his neck, on his cheek, the tiny one on the corner of his mouth. He spends his time with his lips on your neck where you crave them, wet kisses with a slight bite that have you feeling hot all over and in want, and then you’re grateful they’re chasing paths over the crests and valleys of your body.

Mark travels down until his face is settled between your thighs, his warm breath causing you to shiver in anticipation. He takes your hand and kisses your wrist, your palm, your fingertips, slowly and thoughtfully. He moves to do the same with your other hand. The love in his gaze staring up at you is too much for you to handle, so you close your eyes and lay your head back. And then he’s lacing your fingers together, holding your hands as his perfect mouth dives in eagerly.

Mark isn’t shy about playing with your wetness and giving you what you crave. He laps at you with the intent of pushing you to the edge, like there’s nothing else he wants but for you to feel good, and you can’t help but arch up towards him.

When he tires, he keeps stroking your clit with his fingers, keeping the contact consistent and insistent, and then switches back to working you with his tongue. He keeps going even when you cry out his name, your thighs close around his head, and your hips lift off the mattress as you succumb to the overwhelming pleasure.

When he comes back up to face you, he’s surprised to find the tears falling down your cheeks and into your hair. You don’t notice it yourself until he starts worrying.

“You okay? Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head. “No, that was amazing.”

He rolls to his side and pulls you into his chest carefully. His eyes search your face.

The words are tumbling out before you can stop them: “I missed you. Mark… I missed you.”

You finally let yourself go.

Going to your son’s first winter concert at his school alone. You’d even saved a seat for Mark, but his filming schedule got delayed that evening. Opening holiday presents with Mark’s parents at their home, without him there. Counting down to the new year by yourself while his team celebrated their album of the year win. How you never wanted to burden him. How you understood his career and wanted to be his steady support, and yet... “I missed you so much.”

“You know you can tell me that. I’m not afraid of how you feel.” He pauses to dry your tears with gentle hands and a kiss on your cheek. “I want to know. I want to love you better.” He holds you tighter, as if capturing every bit of the emotion pouring out of you. It’s like Mark knew the exact words you needed to hear. While being laid bare and vulnerable, you feel safe and known, and now, ever grateful that your relationship is one you are both committed to growing and working out together. “Let’s talk more in the morning after some rest, yeah?”

“Thank you, Mark.” You gaze up into his shining eyes.

“For what?”

“For being home.”

“Look who’s being cheesy now,” he teases back.

You tug on him beneath the covers in response and Mark lets out a surprised moan.

“Mmm, in the morning’s okay too… ah, babe. I mean, do you still want to make love now?”

You nod against his chest and laugh at his insistence on calling it lovemaking rather than sex or anything else. “Do you?”

He nods too and the boyish grin you love so much is back. You push at his shoulders and move so you’re seated above him, your thighs settled over his.

I love you, I love you, I love you. He seems to say, and you feel it in your soul.

When you sink down onto him, you fill his presence with your closeness, as he fills yours with his. And it’s like the time and space between you disappears. All you hear is Mark, whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he loses himself in loving you, and you him. He aids with your rhythm with his hands holding your hips, and then makes the switch so you’re under him.

There’s the softness of the sheets, his lips, your fingertips, the moonlight shining in, the sound of rustling and sighs pulled from deep within. The flush of his cheeks, your parted lips, the thrum of beating hearts, and later, the patterns slowing steadily into dreams together.

──────── °∘❉∘° ────────

You’re gladly surprised by the warmth in your bed when you wake up in the morning. Mark kicked off his side of the covers in the middle of the night as usual, leaving a mountain of blankets on top of you, so you pull them up to cover his bare chest. You probably should have showered after last night, but it was too comfortable being cuddled up. Mark’s discarded shirt is closest, so you pull it on, mind reveling in everything for a moment: his scent, his return, his closeness, your shared love.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the bedroom door swinging open. Little hands, messy morning bed head, and eyes shining as they peer in. (You’d have to remind your son about knocking on the door again.)

He’s quick to spot the lump next to you under the blankets. “Dada!”

You smile and hold a finger to your lips.

“Mm-hmm, yes dear, come here.” You sit up better and he clambers into your lap. “Shhh. He’s sleeping.”

His eyes are wide and he whispers rather loudly, “He’s snoring.” You cast a wistful gaze over the relaxed expression on Mark’s face, not knowing when the last time it was that he slept well.

“Let’s let him sleep more.” You ready yourself to sneak out of bed. Your son was really getting too heavy to carry. He’s squirmy and ticklish, and of course he starts giggling almost immediately when you try to lift him, the sound bubbling out uncontrollably. Someone else you knew laughed just like that. You’re trying to get up quickly when you feel Mark’s arms wrap around you from behind.

“Come back....”

The way he holds you tickles, and the added weight of your son makes you lose balance, so you fall back onto Mark’s chest, effectively making your family a little sandwich. Mark lets out a small grunt from the weight but he doesn’t really mind. His heart is as light as can be. His eyes are bright and his smile mischievous. He wriggles around and declares, “Love attack!!!”

There are lots of kisses and shared silliness, and you laugh until there are tears in the corners of your eyes, little crystals breathlessly kissed away too in the moment.

—

"And at last, I open my arms wide again to give you warmth. I'll do anything to make it right. Those stars are shining on us. I'll cherish this moment, all of it, my baby. I’m gonna love you… Love doesn't come easy, girl, but loving you is easy. Every day without you feels hollow. Because our memories refine even our imperfect moments into treasured times, I reflect, calling love a beauty."

#mark lee x reader #mark lee smut #mark lee fluff #mark lee scenarios #mark lee imagines #mark lee fanfic #nct smut #nct fluff #nct imagines #nct fanfic #nct scenarios #nct 127 smut #nct 127 fluff #nct dream fluff #nct dream smut #happy new year~ and…“I’ll be your home” 💗#wishing you love even when it doesn’t come easy #hot cocoa w/ sea salt foam top--the kind where you get cream on your upper lip when you take a sip and reenact the scene from secret garden

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dilatorywriting · 1 year

Text

Pity Party

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: 'I'm going to do it,' you thought triumphantly. 'I'm going to invite Malleus Draconia to the next Unbirthday Party as my date.' And naturally, the Universe in all its infinite omnipotence, went 'lol bet.'

A/N: A very fun commission for the lovely @toast-tales

“Heartslaybul is having another one of their Unbirthday Parties this Friday,” you said, a bit stilted but enthusiastic nevertheless. “And I was thinking—well, it was just a thought! But! Maybe it’d be nice if we, y’know, went together?” You finished, looking up from beneath your lashes at the looming figure before you.

The Gargoyle, naturally, did not respond. A sound rejection if ever there was one.

But! That attempt had sounded really good, hadn’t it? Totally natural and everything! Not a single stutter, fainting episode, or bought of nervous vomiting to be seen!

“Okay,” you muttered, pacing back and forth as you diligently fought the urge to ring your hands. “Okay, okay, okay. I can do this. It’s just, like, two sentences—Three? Was that three?—Doesn’t matter! Focus! It’s not that hard!”

You circled and circled around the alcove. It was a familiar little corner, for all that you’d only ever seen it in the dark of the evening. This was where you’d meet up with Malleus for your nighttime rendezvous. Normally you didn’t bother popping by for at least another hour, but you needed all the practice you could get. And while, yes, the stone carvings overhead were hardly the best conversational partners, it was easier to practice your totally smooth pickup skills on their emotionless faces than, like, Grim. Or God forbid, Ace and Deuce.

It was only Malleus, you reassured yourself yet again—your kindly, awkward, fey friend with the social awareness of a two-centuries-old potato. It was one thing to know, or at least assume, that he’d be sweet enough to take your offer in stride. It was another entirely to imagine the Briar Prince’s blank ass face saying something genuinely well-intentioned but harsh like ‘that doesn’t sound like a particularly riveting way to spend my afternoon,’ and immediately crushing your soul into itty bitty bite-sized pieces. It was an all too easy scene to picture, as you’d done at least a hundred times since your heart had set itself on its intentions.

You just—maybe just a bit more time. Yes. One more round of practice (perhaps two), and then you’d be ready. Like the Overblots, or whatever. Those hardly phased you at all anymore! It only took repetitive, mind rending, exposure therapy. That would do it. You just needed the teeniest bit more time to—

“Ah—Child of Man. I wasn’t expecting to see you here so earl—”

You jolted back with a truly heinous squawk and wheeled gracelessly into the stone pillar at your rear. You weren’t exactly a force of nature or anything, but the column hadn’t looked all that stable to begin with. So your frantic flailing took its toll, and the great, rock, beam creaked and fell. The Gargoyle perched atop it (the very one you’d been propositioning for the past half hour or so) crashed to the ground with an echoing BOOM and a cloud of debris fit to choke an elephant.

The poor thing lay in the dirt in pieces, its regal countenance split right down the middle. And Malleus Draconia, noted aficionado of all things carved from stone, looked two steps away from having an actual aneurism. So you hurriedly buried your invitation back in the depths of your brain and quickly went about carrying out the inanimate-object-equivalent of CPR.

“I think I have some super glue back in Ramshackle,” you offered. Even though you knew well enough that he could probably wave his hand and undo the entire thing. But it was the thought that counted, right?

“Supered Glue?” Malleus parroted, his neon eyes darting back and forth between you and the shattered gargoyle like you’d just offered him some mystical panacea. You nodded along and scuttled off in the direction of your dilapidated dorm.

‘Tomorrow,’ you promised yourself, as you rifled through your miscellaneous utilities drawer, tossing around rolls of tape and wads of too-thin elastic bands. ‘Tomorrow I’ll ask him.’

The next morning, you sat in Potion’s Class with the tacky remnants of last night’s nonsense dried along your fingertips. You sneezed and something ground unpleasantly behind your ear. You reached up to pluck a stray bit of gravel from your hair and flicked it aside.

Normally you tried to give Crewel’s lectures the entirety of your focus, primarily because you respected the man and wanted him to like you. And also, y’know, from the very rational standpoint of not wanting to lose your eyebrows or dignity when an incorrectly brewed potion exploded in your face. But today you were stuck in the clouds, replaying scenario after scenario and wondering what your next step in the whole ‘Ask The Crowned Prince of An Entire Nation Out to Lunch’ situation should be.

Your neck was itching again, and you scrubbed around mindlessly before pulling out another bit of gargoyle debris and tossing it. It bounced harmlessly off Jack’s shoulder.

“Did you get all that?” Your beastman friend asked, beginning the tedious process of organizing your group workstation for the day.

“Oh? Yes. Of course,” you nodded, not having heard a single word of what was going on. You grabbed your little instructions pamphlet for the day and made your way towards your own stool.

Jack turned and narrowed his yellow eyes at you in a way that clearly let you know that that superhuman schnoz of his had sniffed out your bullshit a mile away, but you generally had a better track record than the rest of the first years, so thankfully he let it slide.

Without further ado, you went about heating, and mixing, and tempering. And by the end, the pair of you had a lovely, silver, concoction that popped and fizzled like cola. Professor Crewel paused in his rounds of the rows to stare into your cauldron with an impassive sort of look that could have meant anything from ‘Content’ to ‘Outright Murder.’ Your eyes hastily flickered around the room, but everyone else’s potions looked liked Mercury Sprite too, so you couldn’t have been in too much trouble. You dipped the testing spoon into one of the bubbliest bits and brought it to your mouth to take a teeny sip. It tasted alright, and you smacked your lips as you tried to identify the flavor.

“Well?” The professor droned, crossing his arms over his chest in a fashion that looked entirely unimpressed. “How is it?”

You opened your mouth to reply and nothing came out but static. Literal static. Like you were some overloaded, old, plug—spitting sparks and whiny, high-pitched, nonsense that was most definitely an indication of some sort of fire risk.

Crewel hummed in that self-satisfied sort of way of his—the sort that was only mastered by those who were in the habit of being proven right during every, single, catastrophe.

“The Tickled Tongue recipe is fairly straightforward, you see,” he explained, stepping closer with a languid swishswish of his large overcoat. “It’s difficult to alter without any remarkable change or err. However,” he droned, “it is incredibly similar to the Stone Tongued Elixir. Do you know what the one, unique, ingredient in that brew is in comparison to our assigned project today, Prefect?”

You sighed fuzz.

“Stone,” he said, reaching out to pluck another bit of gravel from your hair.

Crewel brushed his hands against his vest and you debated if it’d be worth it to try jumping out of the window and escape while you still had at least some face.

“I’ve been kind enough to look the other way when you break curfew so that you may continue your… nightly excursions with a certain upperclassman,” he droned, and that open window was looking even more tempting. “But please at least give me the courtesy of cleaning up the evidence before attending my class in the mornings, yes?”

“Yes, sir,” you tried to say, but it just sounded like a busted landline.

“Hello, Child of Man,” Malleus beamed, his lips curling pleasantly at the corners. His usual trio were flanking his hind, all watching with varying degrees of interest that ranged from sharp curiosity (Lilia) to outright hostility (Sebek). “Would you care to accompany me for lunch?”

You opened your mouth and all that came out was the fucking AOL dial tone.

Lilia doubled over laughing and Malleus tilted his head at you like a dog listening to a whistle tone.

“Pardon?” He blinked.

“BZZZZZZ,” you said, miserable, and Lilia just laughed harder.

‘Two days left,’ you reminded yourself miserably. You had just under forty-eight wretched hours to not only complete your initial Date Objective, but also somehow do that whole thing while making up for the ego-crushing failures of your first two failures.

There was a Spelldrive match after classes today—another attempt for Leona to try and get one up on Malleus’s ‘Hall of Fame Worthy’ record before the pair of them aged out of the competition. And maybe that would be perfect! That was always sort of a Thing in teen movies, right? The big, heart wrenching, confession delivered on the field of whatever sport was in season. The fated couple lit all prettily beneath the glaring overhead lights and artfully drenched in a very timely shower of rain. This whole situation was practically writing itself.

So you tucked yourself into a warm, cozy, sweater fit for the breezy day and inevitable aesthetic downpour, and went to sit out in the stands. Which was your first mistake, because the match was being held on Savanaclaw’s practice field. So immediately you could feel sweat pooling along your lower back and along your brow as the magical, overhead, sunshine did its best to seer the flesh right off your bones. Malleus moved to step out onto the field and you went to wave at him enthusiastically, only to catch sight of the giant pit stains steeped into your stupid sweater. The dark spots opened up like the gaping maw on a beast, determined to derive its entire sustenance from your embarrassment alone. You clamped your arms back down to your sides and immediately began questioning the universe at large. Were you a murderer in a past life? Someone who scammed old ladies out of their pensions? What other reason could there be for the entire fucking cosmos to just perpetually go ‘hey, how about we make things worse.’

The game was probably going well or something, but you were swimming in so much swampy body heat at this point that you were starting to get dizzy.

With a sigh, you pulled the cute, wool, deathtrap over your head and tossed it aside—ruffling your sweat sticky hair for good measure to try and get some airflow going. It wasn’t the most dignified look or whatever, sitting there in only the thin cotton undershirt of your uniform and half drowned in your own secretions, but at least you weren’t in imminent danger of dying of heat stroke anymore. You leaned back on your elbows with another much more contented sigh and gave yourself a moment to let the last of that hot nausea settle.

“Oi! You horned bastard! Watch where you’re—”

There was a swirl of spitting green sparks and you looked back out onto the field just in time to get absolutely decimated by a Spelldrive disc to the face.

“He really didn’t mean it,” Lilia said, but he was laughing so hard into his fist that it was hard to make out anything beyond merry gurgling. “In fact, he’s really very upset about the whole thing.”

You stared blankly at the off-white walls of the infirmary, wondering how it was possible for one person’s luck to be this bad.

“Where is he?” you asked. Your tongue felt thick and sluggish.

“I don’t think he would appreciate me saying that he was off hiding—pouting, even,” the fey tutted, floating up to sit cross-legged at your eyelevel. “But I don’t believe there’s a much more accurate way of putting it.”

“Why would he be hiding?” you trudged forward again, mouth still entirely uncooperative. “I wanted to ask him something,” you admitted, chronically dejected and acutely brain damaged.

“Did you now?” Lilia grinned, something mischievous and far too knowing lighting his wine-red eyes.

You nodded. You could feel the tug of the bandages around your forehead.

“Well, I’ll ask that you be patient with him,” he sighed fondly, reaching out to pat your cheek. “For all his years, our Prince is still a bit stunted.”

“Oh, please! He’s six and a half feet tall!” you complained.

Lilia laughed again, doubling over in the air and doing a full roll about—like a pill bug.

“Oh, dear,” he snickered, wiping a tear from his eye as he straightened back out to lounge upside down by one of the rafters. “You do deserve each other.”

This was it. The final countdown. Friday.

The Unbirthday Party was this afternoon, and with God and the Heavens as your witness, you would be dragging Malleus Draconia there with you if it was the last thing you did.

‘The hardest part is supposed to be the rejection,’ you thought bitterly. ‘Not that crap leading up to it. This is bullshit. I want a refund.’

But no, if the Universe was going to be so cruel to you, then you were just going to have to be needlessly paranoid and prepared in advance. You set aside two spare sets of clothing and an umbrella. You packed an entire feast’s worth of provisions in case a fucking hole decided to open up in the ground or something and trap you in a cave for a week. You scribbled a little ‘Would you please go with me to the Unbirthday Party today’ on not one, or two, but three separate notes. Each in a different pocket. And laminated. And, perhaps most daring of all, you walked up to Ace and Deuce that morning with a stiff upper lip and an even stiffer spine.

“I’m going to ask Tsunotarou to come to the Unbirthday Party today,” you told them, fighting the urge to twist your hands into your jacket sleeves.

“What?” Ace choked, just as Deuce stepped in to clobber him over the back of the head and tell you very sweetly that he was sure that the House Warden would appreciate that very much.

“You must like him a lot,” your blue haired friend said, polite but clearly also at least a little unnerved.

“Yeah,” you sighed miserably, thinking of each and every horrible failure as the world at large fought your stupid affections at every turn. “I guess I do.”

So you went about your day like a soldier trudging through a warzone—always at the ready for something unknowable to fuck you over yet again. You looked twice around every corner, always let someone else walk through a doorway first, immediately spritzed Azul in the face with a spray bottle when he tried to start a conversation. It wasn’t paranoia when you knew the universe was out to get you.

The school day was coming to an end and so far you’d managed to avoid any catastrophes. When you caught sight Malleus off in the distance, you had to fight down the sudden swell of dueling panic and hope that blocked off your throat. You made eye contact with the fey prince from across the near empty corridor and he seemed to straighten. You took a deep breath and took one step forward, then another.

“Tsunotarou!” you called cheerfully. “I was wondering if you—”

“FIRE!” Crowley wailed, careening around the corner with all the urgency of someone who very much genuinely cared about the safety of their school and all its inhabitants. Which was outright ridiculous. His glowing, golden, eyes locked on you like you’d been the target of this caterwauling all along, and you wanted to scream. “Ah! My most darling and favorite of Prefects! You have to help! There’s a fire in—”

“No,” you snarled, like some great monster of old. And you watched the Headmaster pale beneath his bird mask. You reached out to pat his shoulder with a pleasantly threatening thump. thump. thump. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to sort it out on your own, sir. Have a lovely afternoon!”

And before you could chicken out, or something else could happen—like a tornado ripping the entire school up at its base and flinging you into Oz—you rushed forward and latched onto Malleus’s sleeve with a wide, panicked, sort of look in your eyes. Hisown eyes went round and wide, but he didn’t pull away, so step one complete.

“Please come to Heartslaybul’s Unbirthday Party with me!” You entreated. “As my date! With me! Together!” you word vomited, clutching at his sleeve even tighter.

“Oh,” Malleus breathed—those sharp, reptilian, pupils of his jumping into something soft and huge that swallowed the green of his irises in a sea of black. A pale, rose, pink crept along the tips of his pointed ears and you could feel your own cheeks blazing like a bonfire.

“Yup,” you nodded lamely, realizing you were still clutching his hand like a starving leper.

“Lilia had mentioned that you might…” he trailed off, gaze sliding to your fingers tangled beside his. “I hadn’t thought that—well…” He cleared his throat and stood to his full height with a puff that almost looked prideful. “Nevertheless,” he grinned, almost shy, and offered you his arm. “Shall we?”

You were going to die. Keel over. That would be the cosmos’s final strike against you. But though your heart beat like a rapid drum in your chest, you didn’t actually collapse in cardiac arrest. Your blood felt warm, but not with fever. It was… You’d actually done it!

You fought the urge to squeal and instead ducked excitedly against Malleus’s side with a secret little fist bump. His arm wound snuggly through yours and you were still too high on the thrill of victory to even consider being embarrassed about it.

“It may surprise you to know,” he said as you walked together towards the Queen of Heart’s Dormitory. “That I actually was attempting to ask something similar of you for this past week as well.”

“Really?” you gaped.

He nodded. “But it seemed as though fate itself was conspiring against me. The first evening went poorly, and then the next day you’d been cursed into silence. And you even ended up injured during one of my attempts.”

“The Spelldrive disc?” you blinked.

“Unfortunately,” Malleus sighed, leading you towards the familiar rose gardens. Which were lovely as always, and perfectly well painted for the afternoon’s festivities, and—

And… also on fire.

“Well what do you know…” you mumbled as you watched a furious Riddle chase a screeching Ace through the flaming fields. Trey had his head in his hands. Cater was filming the whole thing with an artful smear of ash drawn across his cheek.

Malleus made a low rumble of discontentment and you immediately swung the pair of you around to start heading back towards the Mirror Chamber.

“Not to worry!” you beamed, pointedly jostling the full picnic lunch in your bag. Sure, it hadn’t ended up being a gaping hole that had dragged you straight into the bowels of the abyss, but hey. Hellfire was hellfire. “I came prepared.”

“So did I,” Malleus smirked, the points of his canines peaking out of his lower lip. He twisted his fingers and the pair of you were surrounded in puffs of floating, sparkling, green lights.

And despite the Universe technically, yet again, having come out on top and flipped you and your date the proverbial middle finger, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be too upset at all.

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Malleus x Reader #Malleus Draconia #Malleus x Yuu #My Writing #Commission #Pity Party

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quicksilverownsmysoul · 2 years

Text

Dustin’s Hot Sister

It’s been a minute hasn’t it 😂 I’m trying to get back into writing so here’s this little blurb that kinda sucks but I hope y’all like it. I’m currently in my Eddie Munson Brain Rot era so you know I had to write something for him. Feel free to send in request for Eddie Munson!

Pairing: Eddie Munson x female Reader

“There’s no way you have a hot sister that works here.” Eddie leaned on the wheel, gesturing with a tilt of his head to the neon sign that read Family Video. Dustin wrinkled his nose at Eddie in response, arms crossed over his chest.

“I do too have a sister that works here. And I never said she was hot and it’s weird that you’re saying it.” Dustin countered, getting out of the van and slamming the door before he could respond.

Eddie shrugged, turning off his van and jumping out. He did a little jog around the front of the van to keep up with the quick pace that the younger boy had set. “All I’m saying is Mike told me she was hot and I normally wouldn’t take his word for it but Harrington confirmed it when Mike mentioned her. And the Harrington Hottest scale is the one thing I trust about him.”

Dustin rolled his eyes. “Yeah whatever, she graduated when you were supposed to graduate two years ago, so if you look in your yearbook you could find her instead of dragging me here to prove it to you.”

“First off you know I don’t buy yearbooks, waste of money and paper.” Eddie pulled open the door the the video store, doing a slight bow and muttering a m’lord as he gestured for Dustin to enter first. Who in turn gave Eddie the finger as he pushed past him. “Second this seems like more fun.” Although Dustin’s comment had him thinking about it he had met his sister before without realizing it.

Sure enough there was a girl who wasn’t Robin talking to Harrington behind the counter, she was laughing at something he had said. Her back was to them but it seemed that Dustin recognized her anyway, he sauntered up to the counter and hoped over despite the chiding from Steve not to do so durning store hours.

You raised an eyebrow at Dustin who rummaged through your return bin, looking yet again for the vhs copy of Never Ending Story, which for the past three weeks had been unreturned. “Motherfucker.” Dustin cursed, kicking the box.

“Hey dude watch your fucking language.” Steve scolded. “This is called Family video.”

Dustin stood back up pointing an accusatory finger at Steve. “When are you going to use your Family Store Employee privilege to find the guy who had rented Never Ending Story way past the store policy time. Me and Suzy need it for movie night! I’ve had to cancel twice!”

Steve raised in hands up in defense. “Hey man I’m not the only one who works here, get your sister to do it.”

“She won’t do it. I’ve already asked her.”

“So what makes you think pestering me into doing it will make me do it?” Steve scoffed, arms crossed.

“Cause you’re soft, and if I annoy you enough you’ll give me your password to the computer so I can do it myself.” Steve began to argue with Dustin, and you laughed watching their amusing interaction until Dustin paused and turned to you. “By the way that’s Eddie.” That was all he said before continuing his argument with Steve.

Your turned around to see who Dustin was referencing and when he caught your gaze Eddie’s heart nearly gave out. He couldn’t believe that Dustin’s hot sister had been his four year high school crush. You had been in the journalist club and had done a story in the hellfire club for the school newspaper your freshman year. You had sat in on one of his campaigns, his hands were shaking so much that he knocked over the screen and scattered his notes on the floor. Thank goodness that was before Henderson and Mike had joined, they never would have let him live it down.

But ever since then he had had the biggest crush on you, although he never had much interaction with you after that, it wasn’t like you ignored him you still said hi in the halls but he never had the guts to ask you out or to join his campaign. And it seemed after all these years he was still as nervous as he was when you interviewed him freshman year.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” You beamed, recognizing Eddie at once. “If it isn’t Eddie Munson, the leader of Hellfire.”

He swallowed thickly and tried his best to play it cool, giving a little bow and a wink. “At your service.” He looked up to still see you smiling at him, he was pretty sure his face was red and sweaty. You continued to smile him and he gathered a little courage to get closer to the counter.

“What can I help you with today.” You asked. “Are you looking to check something out today.”

“I think he already is.” Dustin mumbled, earning a loud laugh from Steve and a glare from Eddie.

Eddie turned back to you. “No I’m just here driving this kid around, he wanted to go to Family Video and who am I to deny a fellow club member a ride-“

“Ha!” Dustin interrupted. “He made me come here to prove to him that I had a hot sister.” Dustin paused rethinking his phrasing. “His words not mine.”

“Why you little-“ Eddie cussed, hands reaching up ready to stranger Dustin before he though better of it, setting instead for a your dead signal.

You laughed, feeling your face get warm. “Is that so?”

Eddie looked down at his hands, fiddling with the rings that decorated them. “And what if it was?” He asked, looking up at you through his bangs.

“Then I’d ask you if you’d be taking me out this Friday or Saturday.”

“I’d say Saturday, we could go see The Lost Boys at the movies.” Eddie gained some of his confidence back, looking you in the eyes now but hiding the bottom half of his face with a piece of his hair, an action you found quite cute

“Then it’s a date.” You smiled, hugging yourself with your arms. Eddie smiled widely, his nose wrinkling up, and you could feel yourself getting giddy, finally landing a date with Eddie. One you had been dreaming about since high school.

Dustin watched your two from the sidelines with Steve, face scrunched up. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #Eddie Munson fanfiction #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #joseph quinn #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson headcanons #stranger things eddie munson

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yenqa · 5 months

Text

night secrets

sypnosis — in which the two of you reveal your deepest secrets to the other in the middle of the night.

warnings — profanity, hurt/comfort, angst, crying, mentions of bruises/injuries, lmk if theres more!

pairing — spiderman!niki x gn!reader

wordcount — 1590

a/n — happy bday niki!! sunghoon work coming soon guys i swear

The shine of the moon peers through your window, lightly illuminating Riki’s soft expression looking at you. You two are tangled together on your bed, facing each other.

His hair is slightly ruffled, and you can tell he’s tired just by his eyes. The room is silent, the only noise being the infinite white noise of the fan tucked onto your bedside table.

You can feel a chunk of your hair lifted, being felt by Riki’s gentle hand, he softly combs through it—untangling each knot that you had made while laying down.

He treats each strand as if he’s strumming a guitar, replaying the same chord over and over again until moving to the next.

It almost feels surreal, you’ve been hopelessly in love with this man for years and now you’re lying next to him. You lift your hand to his cheek, brushing it slightly—making sure that he isn’t some illusion your mind made up.

You let out a breathy smile on your face, admiring his sharp features that make your boyfriend.

Fate had a play in your lives. If that attack hadn’t happened during your first year of highschool you wouldn’t have been next to Niki right now, three or four years later.

Though fate had also made you trip over yourself in the hallway yesterday, fate has also placed Niki beside you to catch you. Fate was a scary thing to think of, how is it that everything happens for a reason? As crazy as it is, you would have wished for your life to go any other way.

It’s quiet in your room, but not an awkward silence. In Fact you enjoy it—but something inside you compels you to voice your thoughts to him.

Staring at his face, you try to imagine how he’d react to your thoughts, a few hours ago—when you were both wide awake he would’ve laughed and made some corny joke about it. But it’s different now. The moon’s out and the darkened sky makes you more vulnerable than ever.

“Is there something on your mind?” He asks, pausing his hair combing.

You’re not even sure your voice works after keeping silent for what felt like a couple centuries, but you answer anyways, “It’s nothing, keep brushing my hair, please?”

He chuckles quietly and you can feel the slight vibration in his chest, “Nothing? You’ve been staring at me weird for the past minute.”

“Promise you won’t judge me?” You hold up your pinky finger, though you can barely see it, you feel his arm shuffle to interlock with yours.

“Okay um—this sounds really corny but I’ve liked you since forever. I know I told you I started liking you last year because of that one time that villain came to our school and you protected me then went to help others but—I’ve liked you since seventh grade, and It feels so—so crazy that I’m laying in bed next to you right now, y’know?”

Everything you say sounds so rushed out in your world, but in Riki’s it feels like time is slowed, seventh grade? Even when he was a total loser who wore neon shorts to school? Even though he comes to school—or even to your home with bruises and injuries everywhere that taint his reflection in the mirror?

“You’re being so quiet—Why are you being so quiet?” Your voice is barely above a whisper, and Niki can’t help but showcase a big grin.

“I didn’t know you were so in love with me” His hand moves to teasingly pinch your cheek, ignoring the scowl on your face.

Ah. This was the reaction you should’ve expected.

Annoyed, you turn your body around to face the wall, but he grabs your waist, turning you around to face him once again.

“I love you too, Y/n. Sometimes I feel as if I don’t deserve you with everything I’ve done.”

You squint at him, trying to make out whatever flaw he thinks he has, “What do you mean “everything I’ve done”? If being the perfect boyfriend is everything then I think that you’re perfectly up to standard?”

His mouth opens slightly, as if he has a secret that’s dying to come out, one that seems to fight his way to his thoughts.

“Y/n, I have a secret for you too.”

Shuffling in your position, you look up at him with curious eyes. “What is it? I won’t laugh or tease you I promise.”

He sits up, and you follow. He ruffles his hair slightly, as if trying to get rid of his nerves. You grab his hand softly, playing with it to calm whatever nerves he has.

A sigh leaves his mouth, “I am uh—I’m Spiderman.”

His voice is shaky, as if it was caught in his throat and he had just forced it out. But—you can’t tell if he’s being serious, I mean it’s not like you knew Spiderman personally so you couldn’t really compare and contrast.

Though Niki was always a jokester, you decided that not believing him was the safer option. “Ki—that’s not funny. I thought we were being serious.” You furrow your brows, unable to read his face.

“I’m not joking! Look—”

White webs emerge from Niki’s wrist, shooting straight into your wall. You let out a gasp, tightening your grip on his wrist to find any evidence of a prank. You look at him with your mouth still as he patiently lets you search his arm for any evidence of silly string or something.

“Niki, if you’re joking I swear I’m going to fucking kill you.”

His hands raised in surrender, “I just showed you my webs! I also have my suit in my bag, I carry it everywhere with me.” He points to his duffle bag in the corner of your room which conveniently has a glimpse of red sticking out of it, squinting, you swear you can see the black design.

“And that night when that super villain came!” He frantically adds, “I left not to go help other people—but change into my suit so I could get rid of him!”

Your body is frozen, internally clicking the pieces together. All of the sudden, you know why he randomly appears with bruises or injuries or if he leaves in the middle of something important and comes back out of breath.

“Are you serious?”

“I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

Your mind scrapes through everything you thought of him ever, unable to even comprehend that your friendly neighborhood spider man was just a teenage boy. Specifically the one standing right in front of you.

More importantly, you’ve seen the things people have done to spiderman. Publicly shaming him or even just getting tossed around by villains. And instead of getting a thanks from the city and some kind of prize, he’s judged for making a mess while saving your city.

Your mouth lays open slightly, unable to even think of the mistreatment he’s been getting, the amount of help he needs but can’t get without hurting anyone, the amount—

“Can you say something other than are you joking? Or are you serious, please?” His words are similar to yours just a minute ago, there are words you’d want to hear, and words you wouldn’t. There's an obvious decision you make.

Ignoring his plea, you envelope him in a hug, tucking his head in between your head and your shoulder. Letting him sit comfortably for a few seconds. The words barely come out of you, “I’m so proud of you.”

“What?” His words are muffled, he’s confused. But it comes out in a soft tone, almost fragile. You lean back, cupping his face in your hands.

“You’ve gone through so much with no help at all. I mean—you’re just a boy. And you’ve saved the city what—at least five times and you don’t get any credit for it at all. You come home with injuries every day because you’re busy saving everybody's asses—”

He leans back into you, dampness fills your shoulder as his body starts to tremble. You panic, lightly rubbing his back. “Fuck—I’m sorry, please don’t cry. I love you and I’m proud of you—please don’t cry.”

Your words only evoke more cries, until he’s full on sobbing on your shoulder. Every few seconds he sniffles.

Unsure of what to do, you whisper sweet words into his ears, letting him cry out all his worries as you continue to do your best to console him. Though your shirt will surely have a huge wet spot on your shoulder, you have hundreds of more to wear.

You couldn’t ever imagine what it would be like to be Spiderman. Having to be responsible for saving the city at least every week, having to come home limping and not being able to tell anyone why or even getting the appropriate help. Having to lie to your loved ones to protect them.

You couldn’t imagine ever having to go through the suffering he goes through, just to have to do it again the next week.

So, you continue to stay still. He cries until he runs out of tears, you softly lift his face to face yours, placing a soft kiss on his lips before tucking him into bed, whispering a soft “I love you, and I’m so proud of you, Niki.” you lay down next to him, intertwining your fingers and succumbing to your own drowsiness.

perm taglist : @jwnghyuns @ja4hyvn @trsrina @redm4ri @badmuni @yeokii @enhastolemyheart @softpia @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick @boyfhee @hanniluvi @teddywonss

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miedvma · 6 months

Text

MEDDLE ABOUT

l. williamson x awfc!r

summary: jealous leah but she’s just a softie really

sharing hotel rooms with daan has always meant being up for anything she would come up with at half-past eleven at night, including painting her nails orange— and, of course, she’d have to paint yours too.

“yeah, for the netherlands!” danielle immediately reasons, her choice of colour still causing a disappointed frown on your face. “cause, you know, oranje leeuwinnen—”

you scoff. “i know, daan! it’s just.. orange is, uh, too much, no? plus, we’re like mid-season now— we should paint it red, for arsenal.”

danielle’s speech is followed by her expressing nothing but displeasure towards your suggestion, arguing that she’s constantly repressed by both her girlfriend beth and your girlfriend leah’s patriotism, insisting that you should stand by your roomie and best friend, getting your nails painted orange to rebel against the proud englishwomen’s system.

there is very little to discuss: dedonk can be particularly persuasive when she wants to win an argument, and so you find yourself with no other option than to settle your hands over her crossed legs and hope that neon bright orange suits you.

—

“hi love” leah peeps as she places a lovingly peck on the side of your neck, sitting down next to you for breakfast.

despite your strict no pda at work rule, the defender can’t really bring herself to be any less affectionate towards the girl she loves the most— and you eventually gave in on that once mutual agreement.

“hi love” you mock her tone, earning a roll of eyes and a shoulder nudge. “hi babe.” you quickly correct yourself, a satisfied smile taking place on your girlfriend’s lips.

as the defender devours her characteristic ham sandwich, her curious sparkly eyes watch closely as you sink a silver spoon on your berries bowl— most noticeably, your hands; more accurately, the weird coloration your fingernails are washed in.

“did you get your nails done?” asks a pouty leah, instantly shoving you out of the conversation you’ve gotten in.

you leave viv and her remarks about the game you’re about to attend on hold and turn your girlfriend, “mmh, do you like them?”

she doesn’t seem to like it. in fact, leah hates it when you get your nails done by yourself and don’t do hers as well— but as this had never happened before, you don’t really have any way of knowing it.

“you got them done without me.” she pouts again, her voice bathing in gloom. “oh, i’m so sorry babes, i’ll get yours done soon as we get home, yeah?” you use your nose to caress her cheek, then her own nose, and then manage to place a millisecond long kiss to her lips— causing the blonde to run out of words, cheeks blushing at the sudden interaction.

nonetheless the flushed older girl’s emotions, it doesn’t take too long before she’s back at cherishing her thoughts on the game ahead of you, herself quite really excited to attend to her favourite london derby.

as the morning progresses and you finally step into the pitch, leah’s excitement seems to fade away. which is a little strange, since you are well aware that beating spurs is still one of her greatest pleasures— so it does turn out weird for her to start acting a bit off out of nowhere, right?

well, not exactly. unbeknownst to you, leah’s got a pretty good reason to keep her distance from you (or at least that’s what she tells herself)—

“leah come on, you’re warming up with me” beth chimed in, causing the other blonde to furrow her eyebrows. “thought you’d team up with daan?”

“yeah no she’s taking the piss cause i said her nails look weird” beth’s eyes rolled as the defender worked the situation out on her head.

unable to settle for the other girls’ silly argument, leah’s gaze perked around the pitch just until she could evidence danielle’s neon orange nail polish.

it hit her harder. you getting your nails done without her? bad. you getting your nails done without her, with daan instead? worse. way worse.

—

“i literally scored a winner and you’re not even going to gimme a kiss?” you pout to your girlfriend, the both of you about to head home in her still parked car.

leah isn’t one to play differently or give any less of herself to win, but as soon as the whistle blew, there was no way of hiding it: the green monster inside her hadn’t really gone away.

“there’s um.. people here,” your girlfriend replies, nonchalant. indeed, there are people around the parking lot— teammates and staffers, all of them knowing about your relationship. besides, it’s not like she had ever cared about being seen anyway.

“right.” you mock her tone, leah giving you a stern stare until she realizes she had done the exact same thing before.

leah drives surprisingly slow, contradicting her clenched jaw and bitten lips. her lack of physical and verbal interaction, particularly in such moments, is highly unusual— especially considering arsenal’s victory, largely because of you. it’s easy for you to sense her irritation, and that is why you don’t exchange any more words the whole way home.

as soon as your girlfriend pulls up to your house you swiftly jump out of the car, hastening your steps to leave the girl alone, hoping some time apart might heal whatever conflict she’s found herself in.

it doesn’t. long after you’ve completed your extended skincare routine (usually a joint activity but not a good idea at the minute) and changed into comfortable clothes (opting not to wear leah’s, just in case), the house remains terribly silent.

your bed is empty when you leave the ensuite bathroom. the corridors are silent, and a peek into the guest bedroom reveals it to be just as empty. stepping into the dining room, you finally spot leah’s still-intact ponytail.

her head hangs down, probably slouched on the sofa; the tv is off, hinting that she’s mindlessly scrolling on her phone. you allow yourself to swallow your pride and prepare sandwiches for both of you before walking towards her.

as you hand her a plate, a mumbled “thank you” is all you get— her eyes still avoid meeting yours, or even your hand.

your girlfriend lets out a sigh before picking up the telly remote and switching on some rubbish reality show in an attempt to dispel the palpable silence— prudent, but ultimately ineffective.

“is something wrong?” you ask, your voice soft as always. leah usually finds your natural tone charming, but this evening even that doesn’t seem to be enough for her to open up about her troubled emotions.

she replies with a simple “nah,” but the distance between you speaks volumes to the contrary: even though the sofa can easily accommodate up to five people, your girlfriend always ensures there’s not a single atom between the two of you.

frustrated by the girl’s nonchalance, you decide to test how far her grumpiness can go. you remove both your plates and place them on the coffee table, hoping she’d take the hint— but she doesn’t. not at all.

the blonde remains in her original position, spread out on the sofa, elbow on the armrest, supporting her head against her fist, eyes glued to the screen, oblivious to your approach.

it is normally up to her to initiate closeness, drawing you in or melding you both together— so the fact that you’re moving closer on your own should prompt her to react, but nothing really happens, so you audibly huff as you stand up to leave the room in nothing but defeat.

“you’re sleeping on that sofa tonight.”

her head shoots up to look at you in disbelief. “no i’m not!”

“oh yes, you are.”

the blonde’s eyes roll back almost instinctively, and you shoot her a sharp look. “hey, no fair! you get other girl’s nails done, and i’m the one who’s supposed to sleep on the sofa?” her voice sounds genuine, yet tinged with frustration— and here she is, leah, in her purest and most absolute form, feeling nothing but betrayed by not having her nails done by her girlfriend.

“oh my god lee, is that why you’re all grumpy?” leah’s eyes dart around the walls, as if pretending you hadn’t just guessed it right. “danielle is my friend, our friend, you know that..” you chuckle, settling down next to her again.

“i know but— it’s our thing! and i mean, you’re pretty and all but that orange is just not it.” the defender glances at you with that one nonchalant expression that always reveals her disappointment, and you can only look back in amusement. how could you ever tire of how adorable she sounds when she’s jealous?

“just so you know, i’m really offended by you saying i don’t suit orange. and i do forgive you for being an asshole today.”

leah folds her arms, her look at you not good— but you had guessed earlier that calling her an asshole might irk her more (she kind of deserves it anyway). “you should be the one apologizing for breaking our rules!” the blonde hisses, though she couldn’t seem more harmless.

either way, you’re never willing to argue with your loving girlfriend. especially when you’re seeking a reward for your hard work after a tough game.

“okay, i’m sorry. i’m so sorry i let danielle do my nails, and i’m sorry i did hers. can i get a kiss now?”

a wide smile brightens the older girl’s face as her hand reaches for your hip, guiding you to lie down on the sofa with her on top of you. as she leans in and you blindly reach for her shoulders, a breathy laugh tickles your face, causing your eyes to widen.

“soon as you take that ugly-ass colour off your pretty nails, babe,” the blonde suggests, thinking she’s hilarious as she pulls herself off the mess she’s already made of you.

you scowl and toss a pillow her way, but she simply shrugs it off, fixed on watching the trashiest show imaginable.

realizing you won’t get any favours from her unless you get rid of the questionable colour on your nails, you rise from the sofa and set off to find some nail polish remover. “want me to bring the red one so i can do yours?”

you spot a smirk forming on the lips of the girl lazily lounging on the sofa. “no need love, gonna save my hands for other kinds of activities now.”

#leah williamson x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #leah williamson #awfc #engwnt

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abibliophobiaa · 1 year

Note

prompt word - bikini!

18+ (800 words); p in v smut ahead.

It’s a black number with neon green accents. Tantalizing lines that hit high on the curve of your hips, along the plushest part of you. The place Eddie’s fingers curl around when he beckons you forward for a kiss.

Now you’re only standing before him on Steve’s diving board, stretching your arms upward in the air, back arching, head thrown back as you soak up the sun.

Stretching.

You’re stretching and he’s hard as a fucking rock.

And you know it, too.

Have that wild glint in your eye when you lower your head and glance his way. The look that’s a mere dare, a curl of your fingers beckoning him forth, a ‘come hither.’

It’s how he ends up with you scrambling across his center console in the van. How his fingers hook your bikini bottom to the side and part your center with his fingers, rasping a moan that mingles with yours when he feels how deliciously wet you are—how you’ve likely been all day.

“I love this bikini. But I think it needs to come off,” he murmurs against hot flesh, fingers palming the dough of your ass as you rock against him. “Fuck, baby—”

“Want you, Eddie.”

It’s a whisper against his lips. Cut off with a low moan from the man as your fingers move to unbutton his jeans. His zipper follows suit, a quick glide of metal cutting the silence, hips moving upward just enough to allow him to push jeans and boxers down around his thighs, freeing himself.

You palm his cock once, twice, before pushing your bikini bottom to the side and aligning himself at your center.

“Slow down, baby—holyfuckinshit.”

A curse rounds his lips as you sink down inch by glorious inch, head lolling back and hitting the headrest of his seat when your hips rest flush against his.

He loves you in all phases.

Has for a while now.

Hair a mess, first thing in the morning when you wake. On the days where you don’t feel like yourself. The days you doll yourself up because you simply want to go all out. On the days where you wear his clothes, because you like the way they smell like him.

Like this, right now in this moment, with your bottom lip pinching between your teeth, hips rolling against his, thighs on either side of his waist, chasing your own pleasure. Mouth parted. Eyes blown out in lust.

It’s a frantic glide.

The sounds of your slick, your quiet moans mingling with his, and the breathy hitch in your throat fill the air.

Your fingers splay over his sternum, clutching at the fabric of his shirt, as you fuck yourself down on him, meeting him thrust for thrust, chasing your peaks, drawing yourselves closer and closer to completion.

“That’s it, baby. Take what you need. Just like that. Come on.”

His palm glides up along your shoulders. Curls around the back of your neck to ground you as your pace quickens, bouncing on his cock, breaking off into a high keen as you shatter around him.

His other arm curls around the back of your waist, hips jerking up from the bottom of you once, twice, three times as you clench down on him until he’s coming with a low groan, gasping into the hollow of your throat, whispering he loves you into sweat-slick skin.

Giggling, eyes still rounded in your lusty haze, you curl your fingers around his chin. Brush a soft kiss against his lips as your skin starts to cool once more. “Think the food is done yet?”

And it is.

There’s a whole table full of hotdogs and burgers, condiments strewn about, macaroni and potato salad galore, bowls full of chips, and more drink options than you can count on one hand.

Eddie grins to himself as he watches you chat with Robin across the table, knowing full well he’d slid your bathing suit bottom back into place after fucking you full so you could keep him inside, knowing your legs had trembled as you hopped out of his van, knowing he’d promised to bend you over the hood of it later and do it all over again when you simpered against his mouth that you needed him once more.

So maybe he asks, “Want another hotdog, baby?” when he knows you only had a burger.

Just to mess with you a little.

Rile you up.

And maybe you narrow your eyes at him when he laughs to himself.

Whisper for him to shut up.

But he makes it up to you later just like he told you he would.

Chest over the hood of his car, bikini bottom pushed to the side, fingers around your hips, stretching you open in the way you like until you cry out his name, love a mantra on your lips.

#lunaloveseddie #eddie munson smut #eddie munson blurbs #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x f!reader

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bakubunny · 5 months

Text

bad days & insecurities | katsuki x f!reader

a/n: here’s another untouched excerpt i had sitting in my drafts that i don’t think i’ll finish. enjoy.

tw: f!reader, chubby reader, insecurities, comfort fluff

“Just - just don’t fucking touch me,” you said angrily.

“The fuck? What do you mean, don’t touch you?”

You chanced a glance his way and saw the hurt in Katsuki’s eyes. Maybe it was better this way. Maybe-

“Huh?”

“I mean don’t touch me. I don’t want to talk about it,” you replied. “And I know you hate it when I tell you that, but that’s the answer you’re getting.”

“No, it’s not. What the fuck is going on?” he asked, his voice raising.

“It doesn’t fucking matter, Katsuki,” you shouted. “Just drop it.”

You walked to the bathroom hoping to secure some privacy, but Katsuki wasn’t having it.

You reached for he handle as he slammed the door away from your hand into the wall, wide open. You knew him enough to know it took all of his effort not to force you to look his way. But right now you didn’t care. Everything inside hurt, it hurt too much. All you wanted was the hot water on your back and the lights off so you didn’t have to see what parts of you didn’t deserve him.

“If you don’t get the hell out of this bathroom and let me shower-”

“Look at me.”

“No,” you said.

He wouldn’t let it go.

“Please, baby. I - I won’t yell, I promise,” Katsuki said, pain evident in his voice.

It felt like hot daggers in your stomach. A lump grew in your throat.

“It’s not that. Not you. I’m sorry for being so childish,” you said. “I’m having a really tough day, that’s all.”

“Then let me-”

“No,” you said firmly. “I need to be alone.”

Katsuki stood quietly.

“Please, Kats.” Tears threatened to fall down your cheeks.

“Was it that fucking bitch again? She getting into your head?” he asked.

‘That bitch’ was a shitty coworker who never seemed to shut up about you. What you ate, what you wore, how your body looked, your job performance. Someone who had the gall to tell you to your face that you weren’t good enough for the hero standing in the room. Who said that he could do so much better.

“No, I just…”

“What is it?” he said.

“You don’t want the truth.” Your voice was quiet and pleading.

“The fuck are you on about, babe? Yes, I do.”

You took a deep breath. “You deserve better. I don’t want to elaborate. And I don’t want you to console me or tell me I’m wrong right now. My body feels gross, and I want to process it on my own.”

The crushing hug he pulled you into knocked the air out of your chest. “Kats-”

“Shut it. I want to hold you, n you’re gonna let me,” he said grumpily. Katsuki kissed you on the head. “Fuckin’ tellin’ me I can’t touch you. ‘S bullshit.”

You cracked a little grin, your face pressed into his chest. He held you in silence for what felt like ages, but eventually a calmness soothed the tightness in your stomach.

“I love you. Can I shower now?” you asked.

He sighed. “Fine. But I’m not done with you, little miss. You owe me a damn kiss or ten after that.”

You laughed and met his scowling gaze.

“That’s fair.” You leaned in and stood on your toes. “How about one for the road to start with?”

“‘S more like it.” Katsuki lifted your chin, pressing his soft lips to yours.

if you’d like to be added to my tag list, let me know. ♡

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#bakugou katsuki #bakugo katuski #bakugou fluff #bakugou x reader #bnha #mha #bnha fluff #x reader #f!reader #chubby reader #plus size!reader #bakubunny

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