#i can totally emphatize with him
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I’m in love with everyone that acknowledges that Brelly Ben was shit <3 (said with love)
Brelly Benny, in the first season, does only one thing: he controls Klaus. He feels powerless for being dead and of course he cares for Klaus and is somehow trying to help him with his addiction, but in his powerlessness, he is all the time trying to make Klaus do what he thinks is best.
And, I get it! It must suck to be dead and see the only person who you can talk to living like Klaus used to live. I get how fucking mad he must get when Klaus lies, saying he is against killing his mom or that he was not able to time-travel. Or when he pretends he doesn’t know who your crush is just for you to see she’s not all that.
Klaus & Ben are both pretty shitty to each other. And they only have each other.
Benny is a bossy guy. He likes to tell Klaus what to do, what he’s done wrong, how shitty he is. He fucking forces himself in his body (hello everyone who is hating on Allison this season), Klaus says he feels violated. Later Ben is waiting for him to fall asleep so he can fucking steal his body and Klaus has trouble getting him out.
We see Ben deciding to not help Klaus, but every time Klaus goes against his wishes he fucking bullys him into listening to him os he fucking forces him to do what he wants.
Benny is exacly a pushy guy towards Klaus. He would totally use what he knows about Klaus to make him submit.
Klaus don’t want to share Ben with the others. Ben wants Klaus to obey him.
That’s the way they fucking love each other.
And when we get to Sparrow Ben, all this shit, his shit, is everywhere.
He’s also manipulative, bossy, pushy, bitchy and fucking selfish.
We talk a lot about how he “didn’t care” about his siblings deaths, but we don’t talk about how dead Ben makes Klaus’ panic attack about how he feels trapped. to a guy who’s kidnapped and being tortured lol.
The difference between Sparrow and Brelly Ben is not about how bitchy or selfish or mean they are. It’s about c o n f i d e n c e.
Sparrow Ben is afraid of showing himself. Ben6 is not, because he is fucking dead and has only one person to judge him and this person is Klaus who no one takes seriously. (And who he knows love him no matter what)
Sparrow Ben was once number one and for some reason (that I’m sure we’ll see next season) he was demoted. He has a portrait of him on the wall to remind him of who he could’ve been. He feels like a failure and is trying to show his father, and himself, he actually deserves to be number one, to lead.
He fucking hates himself. He’s full of shame. He probably feels like no one would love him.
You know when someone with rejection issues fucking sabotages their chance of getting close to people for them to not have a chance to be rejected? Yeah, that’s Ben2 dealing with the umbrellas.
Ben2 thinks he needs to earn affection, so of course he freaks out when those strangers seem to love him for nothing. And of course his impostor’s syndrom gets worse when they keep comparing him to some perfect ghost.
And then we have Klaus.
Who tells him all of the shitty things about Ben6. Things that are true about Ben2 as well.
When Ben2 points out that those reasons for him to love Ben6 are all bad things, the point is not really that those are bad things. These are his things. Things that no one loves about him.
And that’s why he opens up to Klaus, because Klaus seems to be able to love not his perfect (and nonexistent) self, but all those flaws that haunt him.
Klaus is looking for belonging, that’s why he feels at peace in the void. He’s always felt out of place. Guess who also longs for belonging and feels out of place? Benny Boy 2.0
I personally see a way healthier potential in Ben2 and Klaus’ relationship than Ben6 and Klaus’ simply because I don’t feel like Ben2 has this much power over Klaus. And Klaus is unable to control his access to the world just as much.
And again, I get how Ben6 could only influence Klaus from all the world and nothing else. And I get why lonely Klaus wouldn’t like to share Ben6 with the world. But I’m dying to see how Ben2 and Klaus will deal with each other sober.
after all I believe they are soulmates and Ben2 and Ben6 have the same soul.
#look at me hiding a#horrance#dynamics analysis#in a#Ben Hargreeves#tua s3 theories#and yes i dont think sparrow ben is that bad at all#i can totally emphatize with him#a lot#sparrow ben#umbrella ben#the umbrella academy#tua#klaus hargreeves#klaus x ben#tua season 3#tua s3 spoilers
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Since we're feeling subby guys tonight: catching best friend!Eddie adjusting himself when he sees you in a cute dress and taking care of him like the good boy he is xoxoxoxo @munson-blurbs
bug I hope this is everything you wanted it to be 🤗
You’re brushing out the wrinkles in your dress with your hands, frowning slightly in the mirror. You don’t think you look bad, but you’re just not sure if it’s the right outfit. Huffing, you swing the bathroom door open, stomping into your best friend’s room to get his opinion. His bare back is to you, and you swallow, getting ahold of yourself before speaking.
“Eddie, what do you think of this dress? I’m just not sure if I love it and I might go back to the other outfit with the skirt-” you ramble, Eddie turning around from where he’s rummaging through his closet.
He stops in his tracks, eyes widening for half of a second as he takes in all of you. His mouth is slightly agape as he stands there, a shirt hanging loosely from his one hand.
“Hello?” you snap your fingers, far too frustrated with the task of selecting an outfit to have patience for his antics. “If you don’t like it you can just tell me, you’re never afraid to be honest any other time,” you rest a hand on your hip now, waiting for him to say anything.
He realizes then that he’s been standing there like an idiot, straightening immediately. “What? No! Sorry, I- uh- you look great,” he says, his voice going higher pitched at the end, and he mentally smacks himself for it.
“Right. That was convincing,” you say sarcastically.
“No nooooo no no, I’m serious,” he says, regaining a bit of composure now. “You look… really good in that.”
You eye him quizzically, looking back down at your body and holding out the fabric at the hem of the dress, deciding. You look back up at him, just barely catching the way he adjusts the awkward bulge that’s formed in his sweatpants.
Your eyes go wide, arms crossing over your chest as you try to fight off a smug little grin.
“W-what?” Eddie asks, scratching the back of his neck, trying desperately to keep his cool. He didn’t think you’d catch him, figured he could rush into the bathroom to change before you clocked his totally obvious boner.
“Are you fucking hard right now?” you ask, your tongue pressing to the inside of your cheek as you chuckle.
“No,” Eddie denies, holding his shirt in front of his crotch. Way to make it discreet, loser.
“You think you can handle it if I wear this dress tonight? Think you can keep your composure?” you tease, throwing caution to the wind in terms of this being your best friend that you’re talking to. It’s about damn time you had an excuse to flirt with him.
“I- I… um,” Eddie’s stammering now, his cheeks growing nearly red with embarrassment.
You walk closer to him, taking the shirt gently from his grip. His dick is straining within the fabric of his pants, and you open your mouth in a gasp when you see it.
“All this just for me?” you purr, pressing a hand to his stomach and trailing down slowly. He swallows, hard.
“Y-you’re so fucking beautiful,” he forces out, blush still evident on his cheeks and now his neck.
“Why don’t you take your pants off for me, pretty boy,” you say, voice dropping an octave as you look up at him.
“What?” Eddie asks, nerves clearly heightened as his hands fidget.
“Did I stutter?” you ask, pouting at him. “Take. These. Off.”
Your hand comes down to pull at the waistband, letting it snap back against his skin. He hisses, his shaky hands coming down to slide his pants down his legs.
“Boxers too,” you add, watching his every movement.
And so the boxers come down too, Eddie’s hands tentatively tugging the fabric down. He’s breathing heavily as his cock springs free, fully exposed to you now. He feels vulnerable, having not expected his best friend to see his dick today. The way your eyes widen when you see it, though, is definitely a confidence boost.
“Can I touch you?” you ask, and he nods emphatically.
Delicate hands come down to his crotch, one of them wrapping around the base of him and the other swiping the pre-cum from his pink, swollen head. He takes a sharp breath in, a strangled whine coming from his throat when you squeeze his shaft.
“Let me take care of you, yeah?” you say, batting your lashes up at him.
“W-we’re gonna be so late to Robin’s party,” he rasps, running a hand through his wild curls.
“She’ll understand,” you murmur, smirking when you cup his balls and he groans. You drop down to your knees and Eddie swears he’s about to ascend to a different universe. His cock stares you right in the face, your fingers squeezing the tip and letting more of that pearly liquid leak out.
“You’re really okay with this?” Eddie asks, tilting your chin up gently so you’re looking at him.
“Eds, I’ve been dying to get my hands on you,” you admit, and he feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest. “Now hush and let me take care of you,” you say, pressing a gentle kiss to his tip.
He curses under his breath when your lips wrap around his cock, one of your hands still gripping the base of him. You let your tongue swirl around him, catching the saltiness of his pre-cum. The sounds he’s making are sinful, pitiful, and relentless, grunts and whines and whimpers tumbling out of him from even the tiniest action on your part. Your knees dig into the carpet, mouth taking as much of him as it can, and your hand pumping the rest of him.
You squeeze his balls, rolling the flesh between your fingers, his hips jolting forward into your mouth.
“Sorry - shit, sorry,” he pants, “-that just feels so fucking good, gonna cum if you keep that up,” he says, his voice strained with all of the effort it’s taking him to not fall apart completely.
You look up at him through your lashes, your tongue licking a long stripe up the underside of his shaft, the tip of your nose brushing it. Your hand squeezes his balls once more, making him twitch and curse. He stares down at you, focused on the way the top of your dress pushes your tits together, thinks about how your chest would look decorated with his cum. Your head bobs on his cock quickly, tongue teasing his slit when it can.
“Fuck, baby, baby,” he moans, fingers tangling in your hair. “I’m gonna fucking cum, please let me cum on your chest baby please,” he begs, the sound of it music to your ears.
“So good when you beg for me,” you say, pulling your mouth away and letting your hand pump him to his release.
A few harsh strokes and his cock is twitching, ropes of sticky cum hitting your neck, your chest, even your chin. Eddie’s breathing is staggered, his chest heaving as you work every last drop out of him. The sight of you covered in his cum is just as glorious as he thought it would be, and he’s sure it could make him hard all over again if he stares for too long.
“Better now?” you ask, rising to your feet.
“Fuck yes,” he says, voice breathy. “You’re fucking unreal.”
“If you’re good, maybe we can sneak off into the bathroom later and have round two,” you say softly, letting his arms pull you close to him.
“In that case, I’ll be so fucking good. Whatever you need is yours, baby,” he replies, heavy-lidded eyes still filled with desire.
“Oh, and I got all the confirmation I needed from you. I’m definitely wearing the dress tonight,” you say, winking at him as you walk back into the bathroom to clean yourself off. “Now get dressed, we have to go.”
#leah’s got mail 💌#bug 🐛#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson smut#eddie munson blurb
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i didn’t realize the riddle brothers were a "buy one get one free" type of deal, but alright — simp! overprotective! yandere! riddle brothers x gn! oblivious! bullied! slytherin! reader
requested by 🎀!
2.5k words, not to brag 😌
i love writing the bros’ interactions with each other as like, actual sibling-core yk? they r just so cutie patootie
the reader's patronus makes an appearance in this, but i tried to make it as accessible to everyone as possible, so it's never explicitly stated what animal it is. it is implied that it’s able-to-fit-under-a-table sized though
also this is totally just pre-slash nothing that interesting happens
warnings: couple mentions of blood, mild descriptions of wounds, implied violence, implied bullying, murder
not edited!! this is my first like, really long fic so constructive criticism is welcome!
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
A well-timed shove to the small of your back sent you tumbling down an entire flight of moving stairs.
You groaned as you hit the bottom, sprawled out on your back on the cold stone floor. You laid there for a moment, winded. You could hear the occupants of a nearby painting titter at your gracefulness (or lack thereof), so you rolled your head to the other side to give them an award winning smile and an unabashed middle finger.
You could hear them all grumble about kids these days and how I never would’ve treated my elders this way. You just rolled your eyes at their pettiness.
“Uh…what are you doing?” A decidedly alive voice interrupted your momentary satisfaction.
“Ah- evening, Riddle!” You said cheerily as soon as you recognized the speaker, scrambling to your feet and dusting off your uniform. “Nothing! Just…tripped. Couldn’t see very well in the dark, that’s all.”
Tom blinked, his lips twisted into a frown. “.....Fine. But don’t let me catch you out of bed past curfew again. You’re a Slytherin, for Salazar’s sake. Act like it.”
And that was it. Tom turned on his heel and continued down the hall without another word. Tom Riddle: prefect, teacher’s pet, and obnoxious hardass extraordinaire—he just...let you go, with no threats of detention or loss of house points.
Huh.
~~~
Tom, having just returned from a full night’s shift of prefect hall duty, flopped face-down onto his bed, his cheeks aflame as he let out a muffled shriek into his pillow.
His brother, in the process of getting dressed for the day, paused at the scene in front of him.
“Dude, what’s your deal?”
“L/n,” Tom said by way of explanation, kicking his feet as he shrieked into his pillow again. “They acknowledged me. And they know my last name.”
“Most people know our last name, Tom,” Mattheo rolled his eyes.
“No- you don’t understand,” Tom said emphatically. “L/n is like…the cutest person to ever exist. And they’re so sweet, and smart, and funny, and-”
“And terrified of us?”
“Well…”
Mattheo rolled his eyes, putting his hands on his hips. “You talk about them too much. It’s getting insufferable.”
Tom just scowled and flicked his fingers to cast a wandless spell that straightened Mattheo’s tie and neatened his uniform. “The way you dress is insufferable. Slob.”
Mattheo stuck out his tongue at his brother before ruffling Tom’s hair to purposely mess it up. “Dick.”
“Idiot.”
~~~
Mattheo glanced up at you as you hovered uncertainly by the corner of his desk.
“Can I sit here…?” You mumbled shyly, your cheeks flushing as the pretty dark-haired boy in your year smiled up at you.
“Course!” He grinned brightly before realizing that might have been too enthusiastic of a reply for eight in the morning and quickly tried to cover up his slip. “Uh…Y/n, right? I’m Mattheo.”
“Yeah, I know who you are.”
Mattheo’s stomach dropped.
Fuck, that’s not good.
“You let me copy your homework in third year for that essay on the properties of wormwood, or whatever.” You said offhandedly, like it wasn’t batshit insane to remember that pointlessly tiny detail. “Thank you for that, by the way. Potions sucks ass.”
Before Mattheo could even think, the words left his mouth. “I could tutor you if you want.”
You looked at him oddly, but grinned after a second. “Yeah, sure. That’d actually be really helpful. Snape hates me, man.”
“Really? Even though you’re in Slytherin?”
“Mhm, his baseless nepotism only extends so far.”
Mattheo barked out a startled laugh as your deadpan humor caught him off guard. You just grinned at him in response, causing the tips of his ears to immediately burn bright red.
He cleared his throat awkwardly, ducking his head in embarrassment. “Um…do you wanna meet in the library after school today? For our tutoring session,” Mattheo hurriedly added.
“Sure, alright.” You shrugged. “See you there.”
He beamed, giving you that stupidly adorable grin once more. “Awesome! Yeah- yeah, cool. Awesome. See you there then.”
~~~
You were still shit at potions.
It had been six weeks of tutoring, and you’d learned pretty much nothing. Although, that wasn’t an issue on Mattheo’s part, but rather on his annoyingly hot older brother’s.
Tom Riddle was surprisingly funny. For someone who gave off almost exclusively stoically austere bastard vibes, he enjoyed cracking jokes and enlisting your help in pulling pranks on his brother a bit too much.
It became your routine. Every Tuesday and Thursday after school, you would meet the two brothers in the library, waste like three hours joking around and getting absolutely no work done, and then going back to your dorm and ranting to your roommate about how fucking cute they are and how you would gladly pay for the opportunity to make out with one- no, both of them.
(Your roommate is so fucking tired of hearing about the Riddles. You’d better buy them a latte and a cake-pop as an apology.)
~~~
You struggled to get up, your legs giving out. You cursed under your breath, putting a hand to your forehead as it throbbed in pain.
It came away sticky with blood.
This wasn’t going to work, you realized belatedly. With what remained of your strength, you were able to reach out and grab your wand, murmuring a quiet, “Expecto Patronum.”
A spectral creature formed in front of your eyes, remaining motionless as it stared at you.
“Go find Riddle,” you mumbled to the Patronus, your eyelids growing heavy.
You barely registered the wispy glowing animal immediately bounding off at your instructions, your vision doubling before your body went completely slack, the wand slipping from your fingers and hitting the tile floor with a clatter.
~~~
Mattheo doodled mindlessly in the margins of his parchment as his brother droned on and on about the properties of willow bark in potions and really, this is important, Mattheo. Pay attention.
“Why isn’t Y/n here yet?” Mattheo asked his brother for the third time.
Tom rolled his eyes. “I don’t know, Matt. Just like how I didn't know when you asked me five minutes ago. Maybe they just don’t want to see your stupid face any more, huh?”
“What if they’re in trouble? Or hurt?” Mattheo worried, chewing on his thumbnail and ignoring his brother’s insult. “They’re never late, Tommy.”
Tom wrinkled his nose at the use of the dumb (albeit endearing) nickname Mattheo gave him when they were children, but the sinking feeling in his gut at hearing his brother’s distressed tone didn’t help to ease the niggling worries at the back of his mind of maybe they are in trouble.
As if on cue, Mattheo shivered as something icy cold brushed against his ankles. He glanced down. A glowing spectral creature nudged his leg, looking up at him expectantly with unnervingly empty eyes.
A Patronus.
Y/n’s Patronus.
~~~
They followed the Patronus down the deserted hall, the animal occasionally pausing to make sure the boys were both still following it before bounding forward again.
The Patronus stopped in front of a bathroom door, giving them both that same unnervingly hollow-eyed stare of expectancy.
Tom gulped and pushed open the door, fearing that he might find the worst.
He did.
~~~
Your eyes cracked open slowly, and you winced at the multitude of stinging and stabbing pains that wracked your body.
You had to blink a couple times for everything to come into focus. You were in a small room with white walls and white flooring, and the gentle dawn illuminated the quiet space with soft rays of light. The steady beep of a vitals monitor faded into the background as you stared down at yourself.
You weren’t wearing a shirt, for one, or even a hospital gown. Pretty much your entire upper torso was wrapped in bloodstained gauze. The jagged edges of a brutal slash across your chest peeked out of the top of the dressings, and you had to close your eyes and hold your breath for a moment to keep from throwing up. Once you’d calmed back down, you opened your eyes, startled to see that you weren’t alone.
Mattheo had pulled up a chair to the side of your hospital bed and crossed his arms on the mattress, using them as a makeshift pillow. His dark lashes fanned across his cheeks, his breaths slow and even. He looked so peaceful and...unguarded in his sleep. You reached down to brush a loose curl away from his forehead.
“Having fun?”
You startled, jerking your hand back.
Tom leaned against the doorframe of your room with an amused expression, quirking an eyebrow and wiggling his fingers in a wave.
“Shut up,” you hissed back in a whisper, your cheeks flaring red.
Tom’s amused grin only grew at your dark blush as he invited himself into your room fully, closing the door behind him.
“Your secret’s safe with me.” He jokingly winked, tapping the side of his nose.
“You’re insufferable.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“What am I doing here?” You quickly changed topics, refusing to even look down in Mattheo’s direction.
Tom sighed, any amusement on his face rapidly vanishing. “You sent us a Patronus, thank Merlin. Pomfrey said you would’ve bled out if you hadn’t.”
You had no memory of casting the Patronus charm at all, but you trusted Tom’s recollection of events better than your own jumbled and spotty one. “Bled out?” You questioned, your heart hammering in your throat as your voice climbed an octave in anxiety.
Tom nodded, his face carefully schooled into a blank and neutral expression. “You were hit with the Sectumsempra spell. You've been out for three days now.”
Your brow furrowed. “Malfoy got hit with that last year though—and was in and out of the infirmary in less than a day.”
“Snape knew the counterspell and found ‘im just in time last year,” Mattheo mumbled sleepily, his eyes still closed as he tuned into the conversation at hand. “But whoever hit you with it just left you there to die.”
“Charming.” You mutter under your breath.
“Regardless of what happened in Malfoy’s instance,” Tom interrupted briskly. “You were on the brink of literal death. So I’ll ask you this one time and one time only. Who did it, Y/n?”
~~~
“I brought you a cookie from the Great Hall,” Mattheo grinned widely, climbing into your hospital bed next to you and unwrapping the napkin in his hand. “And the notes from today’s Charms lesson, but those’re boring and we both know you won’t actually read ‘em.”
“Aww, you know me so well.” You teased, breaking the cookie in half and handing him one of the pieces.
Mattheo cupped the cookie fragment in his hands like it was a priceless treasure, staring down at it in unrestrained awe.
You just shook your head at his antics and brushed the odd reaction off.
~~~
You woke up this morning and just felt like shit. You were nauseous, and dizzy, and felt borderline faint. Tom’s voice, usually soothing and comforting to hear, sounded like nails on a chalkboard right now. He rambled on and on about the delicate process of making the temperamental Felix Felicis potion.
“Tom,” you interrupted, your voice scratchy and quiet. “Can we take a break? Please?”
He blinked, surprised at being interrupted, but nodded slowly. “I suppose…? Why?”
“Don’t feel good,” you mumbled, setting your textbook down and rubbing your eyes.
“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Madame Pomfrey said brusquely as she bustled around your hospital room, shooing Tom out of the way to stand by your bedside.
(Poppy Pomfrey remains the only person who can and has shooed Tom Riddle III and lived to tell the tale—and all without a single ounce of fear.)
“I’ve raised your dosage so that you can be out of here in time for your N.E.W.T.s.” Pomfrey elaborated upon seeing your confused look.
“Fantastic.” You mumbled dryly, grinning sleepily up at Tom as he grabbed onto your hand and interlaced your fingers together. He ignored the way his heart skipped a beat in favor of letting you hold his sweaty palm.
“Go to sleep, L/n,” Tom muttered under his breath. “Potions can wait.”
~~~
Tom lay in your hospital bed beside you, running his thumb over your knuckles. “Please? We promise we won’t do anything.”
“Yeah,” Mattheo chimed in from the other side of your crowded bed, one arm tossed over your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “Or at least, nothing we’ll get caught for.”
You sigh, tired of their ceaseless pleading. “Alright, alright, fine. I’ll tell you who it was.”
Both boys leaned in close.
You sigh again and roll your eyes at their overprotectiveness. “Alright, it was-”
~~~
Tucker Thompson and Devin Dobbs:
Gryffindor Sixth Years Found MURDERED at Hogwarts!
Dumbledore: “No comment at this time.”
You tilted the newspaper so Madame Pomfrey could read the article over your shoulder as she replaced your IV bag.
Pomfrey just sighed and rolled her eyes. “I don’t understand how Skeeter is still employed at the Prophet.”
“Cause shock value will always hold weight in the media?” You answered dryly around a mouthful of depressingly plain infirmary wing toast. “And Skeeter’s good at nothing if not coming up with bullshit shock value titles.”
“That may be true,” she began, snatching the paper from your hands. “But patients shouldn’t be reading about such dark subjects, and certainly not while under my care. And don’t talk while eating. I rather like your company, and would hate to see you choke.”
You rolled your eyes at her suffocatingly motherly behavior. “So are they? Thompson and Dobbs; they’re really dead?”
Madame Pomfrey hesitated.
You let out a relieved breath of air that you tried (and failed) to hide behind a cough. “That’s…terrible.”
She narrowed her eyes and studied you for a long moment, her fingers mindlessly worrying the deckle edge of the newspaper in her hands. “It was them, wasn’t it? Your boys.”
“My boys?”
“Yes, yes, Riddles one and two. Your boys.”
“Oh- we’re not…”
She raised an eyebrow, pursing her lips as she tried to hold back a laugh at the utter obliviousness of teenagers. “Do they know that, dear?”
You spluttered out a half-assed rebuke to her statement, but Pomfrey quickly interrupted you.
“They’ve been staying here for hours every day for the last month. They want more than just your friendship, hon.”
“No way. We’re just friends.” You insisted firmly. “That’s all.”
Madame Pomfrey rolled her eyes. “Uh huh. Friends. Keep telling yourself that.”
You stared after her, open-mouthed in bafflement, as she rolled up the Prophet, tucked it under her arm, and turned around without another word—leaving you with zero reading material and a million questions.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
you have to love how pomfrey could not give less of a fuck that the riddles murdered two students as long as she gets her ot3 absolutely iconic behavior
#harry potter#hp#fuck jkr#x reader#hp x gn reader#hp x male reader#x male reader#gn reader#x gn reader#x gender neutral reader#gender neutral reader#mattheo riddle#mattheo riddle x reader#yandere mattheo riddle#mattheo riddle x male reader#tom riddle#tom riddle x reader#tom riddle x male reader#yandere tom riddle#yandere hp#🎀 anon
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dad!steve eek!!! maybe some for kbd!? no rush, anyway love you!! <3
kisses before dinner au —mom!reader, 1.1k
Bethie squirms uncomfortably in your lap. “I’m sorry, mommy,” she says.
“Well don’t be,” you say, hand to her forehead and holding her back so she can see your face, how you’re not angry. “It’s okay. You don’t like it?”
“I’m not hungry.”
You don’t get it. Bethie hasn’t eaten anything all day. She refused breakfast, snacks, smoothies, and hot chocolate. The plate in front of her repulses her, no matter how gently you plead with her to try it. “Honey, I don’t see how that can be true.”
She’s in your lap because you’d been hoping helping her eat might make it easier for her. She was thrilled to sit in your lap, but not even slightly inclined to eat her mac and cheese, or any sides. You offer her a slim carrot baton shining with honey, wiggling it from side to side.
“Doesn’t that look yummy?” you ask softly.
She looks down at her hands.
You drop the carrot. You’re genuinely perturbed. Not easily panicked, this has thrown you off kilter. Beth has been picky ever since she started school, and you don’t mind, you’ll accommodate and feel sorry that she misses out on Steve’s chicken pot pie, but there’s a difference between being picky and having a total aversion to food she used to enjoy.
Avery tries to pretend she’s not watching. Steve doesn’t bother, frowning deeply despite the baby in the high chair beside him and Dove on his thigh, the two girls giggling about something. The rest of them have cheeks covered in cheese sauce and sticky lips, but your Beth…
Maybe it’s too much to have everyone watching, you think.
“Okay. Okay, let’s leave it for later, yeah? Will you help mommy with something? Is that okay?”
Beth nods emphatically. “Yes!”
You help her down off of your lap and take her little hand. “We’ll be back in a minute.”
Steve shakes his head, at a loss. “Sure,” he says, though his face says something different. What are we going to do? “Take your drink.”
You grab the glass if only to appease your worrier.
You and Beth leave the kitchen and the living room to sit on the stairs. There isn’t much privacy to be made in the house, but this will do. You put her on the step above you to sit eye to eye, and you take her little hand, rubbing circles slowly into the soft palm of it.
“Is there something mommy can get you?” you whisper. “Anything at all. Because you’re so big now, you know you need to keep yourself nice and strong with dinner. Yeah? You need to eat so you can have lots of energy. I know,” —you smile at her startled frown— “you said you’re not hungry, but it’s okay. We don’t have to eat all of something. Me and you could go have McDonald’s, or pizza! We could have something special. We could go get donuts. Anything you want, even if it’s only one bite.”
“I don’t know, mom…”
“Anything you want, baby. Even if we get there and you don’t want it anymore, or it’s not what you thought.”
Bethie decides in whispers that she’d like McDonald’s ice cream. You could cry. You almost do when you con her into eating half of ‘your’ cheeseburger on the drive home, her little feet swinging in the footwell as she licks ketchup off of her fingers.
You show Steve the wrapper when you get home proudly.
“Good job, mom,” Steve says, reaching for you in the doorway.
Bethie brandishes the cup tray of ice creams to her sisters in delight. They scramble in screeches to get there first.
“Wren!” Bethie cheers, wiggling an ice cream at her baby sister where she lays in a bouncer. “Mom, can I feed Wren?”
“Only the plain one, baby.”
“Yeah, I know. Wren, look! I have ice cream. You want ice cream?”
“Little spoonfuls,” Avery says, reaching for her own ice cream, big sister instincts quelled by excitement. “Oh my gosh, there’s fudge.”
Steve nudges your hip with his hand. “Hey, you okay?”
“That was a bit scary.”
“It’s just a bad day for her. She’s okay. Did you eat anything?” he asks, curling an arm behind your back.
“No. I got you a strawberry-kiwi smoothie, though.”
“Anything for yourself?”
You shake your head. “I knew Beth would only eat if I was eating it, so I had a bite.”
“You’re a genius,” he says, hugging you to his side. His shirt smells like detergent under your nose. “I kept your dinner in the oven. Only take a minute to heat back up.”
“Did you eat yours?”
He puts his lips to your cheek and doesn’t answer.
“This is nice,” you murmur.
“I know.” He rubs your back. You’ve never had to ask him to do it, he just grabs you up and sets about soothing an ache you don’t have. He’s always been like this.
“I can’t believe I had to sweet talk my six year old into eating fast food,” you say, watching Beth over the curve of his shoulder. She swallows a spoonful of ice cream and crinkles her eyes at the cold. “I never could’ve imagined this.”
“Thank god. You never would’ve let me date you if you did.”
You laugh and angle your head up for a kiss. “That’s not true,” you murmur.
He kisses you but seems more eager for a hug, hooking his arm higher up behind your back and cuddling you into his neck. “I’m not sure what we’re going to do,” he confesses, “but if you keep being that gentle? She’s going to be fine.”
You brim with a weird pride. Steve knows intimately the kind of parent that you are, and how hard you try, so if he thinks you’re doing a good job, you must be. “Dinner was great,” you promise.
Steve laughs. “I know. It was fucking bomb. Honey roasted broccoli? These kids don’t get how good I am. I could go pro.”
Dove wanders over with clumsy footsteps but better pronunciation. “Smoothie, daddy,” she says, holding his pink smoothie up to him with an urgent look.
“Oh, thank you.” He pats your arm and breaks away to bend down. “Thank you, gorgeous,” he says, taking the drink and smiling huge at her. She says something in garbled kid talk and leans in to give him a hug, and then she runs back to her ice cream.
Steve looks at you adoringly.
“How’d you give me four perfect girls?” he asks, knowing he’s cheesy, his smile turning teasing.
“A lot of hard work.”
“I can tell.”
#kisses before dinner universe#stranger things x reader#stranger things fic#stranger things#steve harrington x y/n#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x fem!reader#dad!steve harrington#dad!steve harrington x reader#dad!steve harrington x mom!reader#steve harrington x afab!reader#afab!reader#mom!reader#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fandom#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fic#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction#steve harrington fluff
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alien life form
you spend the night at Eddie's for the first time.
Contains: Eddie x Reader, shy!fem!reader, first relationship, Eddie is a sweetheart with the inexperienced girlies because I said so, pizza, movies, cuddling, ALF. No mention of reader's physical appearance, no use of y/n.
Warnings: None!
Word Count: 1,400-ish
I started writing this because I've not seen like anyone talk about the ALF costume in the Munson trailer, can we please talk about the ALF costume? I need to talk about the ALF costume. this is my first fanfiction in like 10 years that's how badly i needed to address this
You and Eddie haven't been together very long. Officially, that is.
In truth, he'd been yours from the moment he saw you. But it had taken some time to work up the courage to actually say hello to you, and then, well, some more time to ask you if you wanted to study together for the class you shared, and then just a little bit more time to ask you, bashfully, if you wanted to get dinner with him at Benny's.
"Like...as a date? If you want to, I mean. If not that's totally fine, I underst-"
You'd cut him off with an equally shy, but emphatic, yes.
Eddie was sweet, and silly, and you grew to hate being apart from him. You suspected he felt the same.
You walked side by side through the halls at school, your knuckles brushing against his, both of you hoping that the other would be brave enough to finally take hold. You spent nights huddled around your kitchen table, patiently guiding him through chapters of his biology textbook. There were arcade dates where he kicked your ass at Pac-Man and you kicked his ass at Centipede. You met him for milkshakes at Benny's after Hellfire...and there was that one rollerskating venture that left his elbows and knees black and blue for a week. (You have not been back to the roller rink since.)
But tonight you were entering uncharted territory.
You told your parents that you were having a girls night at the Wheelers' house. As far as they knew, you were ordering takeout and watching Sixteen Candles with Nancy and Robin. But when you arrived at the school parking lot that morning, it had been Eddie's van that you tossed your overnight bag into.
He'd greeted and kissed you enthusiastically, cheerful at the prospect of getting to spend an entire night with you uninterrupted. Wayne wouldn't be home from work til next morning and your parents were none the wiser. No curfew to be home by, no keep-that-door-open-three-inches-please-young-lady, just you. All to himself.
You, on the other hand, were nervous. You'd never dated anyone before, and you wanted to take things slow. You trusted Eddie to respect your boundaries, but a small part of you couldn't help but worry. What if he was expecting something of you that you weren't ready to give him?
When school ended that afternoon, he opened the passenger door of his van for you to climb in. "Change your mind yet?" he teased.
You flushed a little, but you were determined not to let your hesitation show. "Nope!"
He seated himself and began the drive to Forest Hills, throwing glances your way the whole time. You were quieter than usual. When you slowed to a stop in front of the Munson trailer, he turned to you.
"Hey," he said gently, "it's okay." He reached over and placed a calloused hand on your knee. "I can tell that you're nervous, but you don't have to be. I'm not gonna pressure you into anything. I'm just really excited to spend time with you." He cringed inwardly. Be cool, Munson. "I mean, without having Wayne or your dad breathing down my neck, y'know?" No need to mention that the thought of merely sleeping next to you was making him weak at the knees.
Your lips curved upwards in a smile. He wondered if you could see right through him.
Of course, Eddie stayed true to his word.
Amusingly, the evening he had planned wasn't all that different from many of your actual girls' nights. You'd talked and laughed about anything and everything. You'd changed into comfortable clothes. There was pizza and a movie, except you'd watched The Shining instead of the latest John Hughes flick, and you'd watched it while bundled up in your favorite boy's arms.
Eddie was very warm, and his skin smelled like soap, laced with a bite of cheap cologne. An air of tobacco still clung faintly to his worn Hellfire shirt, even though he'd promised himself he wouldn't smoke any cigarettes before seeing you tonight, and he hadn't. And he was very proud of himself for that, thank you very much.
You were cuddled up together on Wayne's little couch. He kept his arms wrapped around your middle and rested his chin on your shoulder, cheek pressed against yours. Every so often he would turn his head to give you soft kisses, to hide his face in your hair, to breathe you in, content like he's never, ever been before.
You wondered at your earlier fear. His adoration was tangible. As you settled back against him, you felt that yours must be too.
As Jack Nicholson wandered through a snowy maze on the television screen, you started to drift off. Eddie lovingly stroked your hair while your eyelids grew heavier and heavier. When the credits started to roll, he roused you as gently as he could, and lead you to the bathroom to wash up. He all but carried you to his bed.
Which is how you ended up here.
Eddie's asleep and he's sleeping heavily - deep, REM sleep, with his cheek mashed into the pillow and a thin stream of saliva creeping out of his mouth. Even like this, he looks precious. You can't even be mad at him for letting out the guttural snore that just yanked you from your own slumber. Aren't you only supposed to snore like that when you're on your back?
You glance blearily around the room from underneath his arm. You're taking in the posters on the walls, the piled-up trinkets, his beloved guitar ("I used to call her Sweetheart, but not anymore. Since I'm a one-woman man an' all," he'd said, flashing you a cheesy grin). You're taking in all these little pieces of Eddie scattered around the room, when your eyes wander to his closet, and your heart nearly stops.
Maybe it's nothing, maybe it's your tired brain swirling the shadows around the room into shapes that aren't there, but you're almost positive someone is standing in Eddie's closet. A misshapen, vaguely human figure pushed up against his clothing, right next to the ratty Metallica and Megadeth t-shirts.
There's a beat of silence, and then -
"Eddie!" it comes out in a dry whisper, and you struggle to turn under the the combined weight of him and the blanket. You wrench your arm free to poke him frantically in the cheek with your finger, startling him awake.
"Huh?" His voice is groggy. "S'mthing wrong, sweetheart? What's the matter?" He forces himself to sit up and squints, peering down at you in concern. He cups your face in his hand. "Bad dream?"
"There's something - I mean, I think - there's somebody, s-something in your closet! W-what is that?" You stumble through the sentence, too frightened to be embarrassed.
Eddie turns his head to where you're pointing, unsure. He drags himself away from you and walks to his closet, fumbling blindly for the little chain, while you clutch at the blanket and cower from the safety of his bed.
When the light switches on, he lets out a loud laugh - the only kind of laugh Eddie has. He turns back to you, grinning now, and gestures to the object in question with a little flourish of his arms. "This what you were looking at?"
In the dim light, you can see that it's a costume. A fuzzy, zip-up body suit with a shapeless sort of mask hanging limply over the front. You flood with relief, feeling silly.
You sit up in bed, eyeing the brown fur at the top. "Is that supposed to be a lion?"
"No!" He almost sounds offended. "It's ALF," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
You look at him dumbly. "ALF? Like from the TV show, ALF?"
"Of course. It's my Halloween costume."
"...why?"
"I like him. He's funny."
You gawp at him, and he looks right back at you. His eyes are red and puffy, his hair's a total mess, but he's smiling lightly and sweetly as ever.
A few seconds go by and you can't help it. A burst of giggles escape from behind your pursed lips.
Eddie cocks his head to the side, and places a hand on his hip, his expression that of mock-outrage.
"Now, just why is that so funny?"
You continue to laugh, positively overwhelmed with affection for him. It occurs to you that maybe you don't want to take things as slowly with Eddie as you previously thought...
#eddie munson#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x shy!reader#stranger things fanfiction#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson drabble
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Role Reversal
Summary: NSFW, 18+! Gale has enjoyed being the dominant one when you role play in the bedroom, but wants to try out reversing the roles for a change. Gale x F!Reader. 3,660 words because I couldn't stop.
Genre: Smut, smut, and more smut. Light bondage with F dom and M sub, masturbation, teasing, cunnilingus, PIV sex.
A/N: This is the first time I've ever written a smut fic. Positive or constructive feedback is very appreciated! :)
After watching the sunset together over Deepwater Harbor, Gale suggests the two of you enjoy a nightcap in your bedroom. He balances a tray with food and glasses of wine on one hand and opens the door for you with the other.
“There is something I have wanted to try with you in the bedroom for some time, and I am quite eager to hear what you think of my idea,” Gale says to you as he sets the tray down on the table between your reading chairs.
“Oh?” you ask, grabbing a small slice of cheese from the tray and placing it on a cracker. “You know I tend to love your ideas, what do you have in mind?”
He watches affectionately as you enjoy the food with a slight smile on your face. “Well,” he begins, “I have rather enjoyed some of the role play we have done in the bedroom lately, haven't you?”
“Oh yeah,” you say, nodding emphatically.
“I was thinking we try reversing the roles, and I be the submissive one this time.” A playful look crosses his face as he reviews your reaction.
Your heart pounds with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. “I like the idea, but I'm not sure how well I will perform. You know I am so weak for you, Gale.”
He chuckles and smiles at you warmly. “You should not doubt your acting abilities! I know I don't. If you find you're not enjoying it and you want to stop at any time, please say so.”
“We should probably just use the same rules and the same safe word we do with me. Do you remember the safe word?”
“Yes, it's mindflayer. The least sexy word we could think of.”
“Okay, let me change into something more suitable for the occasion, and we can get started.” You walk out of the bedroom, closing the door behind you. You make your way towards a hallway closet, searching for clothing with a very specific look in mind.
From a small jar on a shelf inside the closet, you pull out a pair of hair pins and pin all of your hair up in a tight bun on the back of your head. You find a truly naughty sort of outfit in your trunk, one Gale has yet to see you wear. It's a strapless number with strips of black leather that cross over the breasts and around the back, leaving your midriff and arms exposed. Another pair of straps cross along the sides of each hip, leaving you totally exposed below the waist. You don the absolute skimpiest underwear you own, a silk black G-string. To complete the look, you pull on a pair of thigh-high black leather boots with heels high enough to make you Gale's height, if not a bit taller.
At the sight of you entering the room in this outfit, Gale's jaw involuntary slackens, his mouth going dry in an instant. You don't entertain his reaction, though mentally you relish it. You're already in character, a hardened and serious look on your face.
“Strip,” you command, pointing at him.
He dutifully complies, removing every article of clothing and leaving them in a pile at his feet. He stands naked before you, the tip of his hard member already glistening with pre-cum.
You point to a spot on the floor in front of your reading chair. “Get on all fours, here.” Gale follows your order in silent obedience. You walk around him to sit in the chair. Using him as a footstool, you prop both of your feet up on his back as you settle in and open the book on the table beside you. Unfortunately it happens to be one of Gale's wizard tomes, the margin details in tiny handwriting severely straining to the eyes, the content both overwhelming and impossible to comprehend as a comparatively novice user of magic. 'Unlettered,' as he once called you.
He notices what book you are attempting to read, and can't seem to help himself. From his position, he comments, “Perhaps you should find a book more suited to your tastes. I believe you will enjoy literally any other book in existence more than that one.”
“Not only are you speaking out of turn, you deign to tell me what I should read?” you raise your voice slightly to bring authority to your words. “You just bought yourself 15 minutes on the hook.” You remove your feet from his back and stand up. “Get up,” you tell him sternly. He obeys without another word, and standing before you he realizes your eyes are parallel for once thanks to those heels. He backs up towards the iron hook bolted to the ceiling, and raises his arms above his head. Using mage hand, you bind his hands with rope and settle the strands between his hands into the hook as you settle back into the chair.
You fully intend to make him watch you 'read' this dense wizard text for 15 minutes, knowing how much it will both pain and tease him to see you do so. Even if this were a book you could enjoy, you're not really able to concentrate at all. By this point there is too much blood flowing away from your brain and pooling between your legs.
He notices this and smirks at you, remarking, “It seems you've been staring at that page for quite a while. Perhaps I could read it to you.”
You look up from the book to glare at him. “Your insolence is what distracts me. Once I punish you, I will be able to read in peace.”
“Punish me if you must, my queen.”
“I don't want to hear another word from you.” You use mage hand to pick up his shirt from the floor and gag him with it, tying the sleeves around the back of his head.
Getting up from your chair, you move to pull a peacock feather from a decorative vase by the door. Keeping it at arm's length, you leisurely trail the feather up in a straight line from his navel to his chin. You see goosebumps forming on his skin in the wake of the feather as you circle it back down his neck, along his side, and around the base of his cock. You relish teasing him with these feather-light touches, watching him squirm and shiver as you move around the tops of his thighs, circle around to his lower back, and trace up the back of his neck. You move closer to him now, heightening the tease by bringing your body close to his while still tracing the contours of his body with the feather. You let your breath fall on his neck as he sighs at the pleasure of it. You bring your face closer to his in order to move your lips towards his. Nearly close enough to kiss, but not quite. He pants with desire, but remains still.
You take a step back, dragging the feather along his skin lazily once more before letting it drop to the floor. “You took that punishment very well. So well, in fact, that perhaps you've earned a small reward.”
His eyes widen and his expression grows eager as you move your body close to him again, merely a hair's breadth away. He does not dare press into you or pull away, instead remaining perfectly motionless, lest you withdraw your offer.
“Should I... let you touch me?” you ask in a breathy voice, allowing your strong exhalations to be felt on his skin. “Should I... kiss you? Or... perhaps...” You take your time and remove your clothing piece by piece. Then you take several steps backward, allowing him to fully admire your naked form.
“Yes, perhaps this is your reward.”
He is visibly salivating through the shirt that's gagging him, his eyes moving slowly as though using them to trace every inch of your nude body.
You lie back on the bed and prop yourself up on your elbows, still in full view of him. You watch his face intently as you open your legs and allow him to see all of you, so wet you've been dripping out onto your inner thighs. You settle back into the bed and begin to pleasure yourself as though Gale weren't in the room at all, though of course he is the one on your mind. Making sure to put on a good show for your audience, you use both hands to touch yourself in all the right ways. In no time at all you have yourself moaning and writhing with pleasure. You dare not even whisper his name aloud as you do so, though you have to resist crying it out as you reach your climax.
When you finish, you saunter confidently over to him and bring your fingers, wet with your arousal, to his nose, allowing him to take in your scent. He closes his eyes as he breathes you in.
“Remember how generous I have been to you. Obey me, and your rewards will multiply.” You use mage hand once again to remove the gag from his mouth. Immediately afterwards you insert your slick fingers into his mouth. He greedily licks every bit of your wetness, taking in a deep breath through his nose and moaning on his exhale.
You move back to your reading chair and sit, opening the book once more.
“I'm hungry,” you tell Gale as you use mage hand to untie his binds and unhook him from the ceiling without looking up from the tome. “Feed me while I read.”
He walks over to you and picks up the silver tray of charcuterie on the end table beside you. He bends over to place a slice of blood orange in front of your mouth. You look up at him and raise your eyebrows in contempt.
“You dare stand over me?”
“Apologies, your grace,” he says quickly as he gets down on his knees. He tries once again to bring the orange slice to your mouth, and you take it with your fingers instead, savoring it in your mouth slowly.
You allow him to bring the next bite of food to your mouth. He silently and diligently feeds you each of the types of foods from the tray while you attempt to focus your attention on the book. Once again, you are obviously unable to do so. As your arousal continues to grow, you begin shifting uncomfortably in your chair.
“May I speak?” Gale asks.
“You do not speak unless spoken to, and as I recall I did not speak to you,” you tell him firmly. “That's 5 minutes on the hook for you.”
Without a word, he stands up and sets the tray down, allowing your mage hand to bind his hands once more. He places them above his head and back on the hook.
“If you can manage 5 minutes of complete silence without me having to gag you or use a spell, you may please me enough that I will reward you.”
You set the hourglass, ensuring he can see it just as well as you can. Instead of pretending to read that awful book, you decide to really tease him, stretching every muscle of your fit body in the most gratuitous ways. You bend over in front of him to stretch your hands all the way to the floor. You stretch each leg vertically against a nearby wall, then get down on the floor in a full split, allowing him to view every inch of you as you do so.
As the final grains of sand run out of the hourglass, you walk over to Gale and bring your body close to him, pressing your skin and your heat against his. He shudders at the feeling. You kiss him passionately and lustfully while your bodies press together. You feel his tongue enter your mouth and as it does so he spasms against you, groaning and releasing a stream of hot ejaculate onto you.
“Do you have any idea how many rules you just violated?” Your voice comes out strong and firm, though you're not sure how because the way he just came all over you was such a turn-on.
“I lost control of myself, forgive me my queen. You are just so--”
You cut him off, using mage hand to bring the shirt used to gag him before up threateningly towards his mouth. “Do not make me gag you again. Now answer my question. How many rules did you violate?”
“Two, I believe.”
“And what were the rules you violated?”
“I came without permission, and I put my tongue in your mouth without permission.”
“That's 5 minutes on the hook for each infraction. You just bought yourself 10 more minutes up there. And here I was going to let you down so you could touch me... Never mind. You will remain here alone in total silence while I wash your spunk off my gorgeous skin.”
As you back away, you notice he is already hard again. After you've fully turned away from him to leave the room you allow a smirk to cross your face.
You quickly rinse off in the bath, cleaning up your own mess between your legs as well. Instead of re-entering the room completely naked, you decide to wear a sheer white robe. You stand outside the bedroom door and wait, knowing the sight of him naked and hard will compromise your performance if you're left in there with him for too long.
Hoping your sense of timing is good after several minutes, you decide to reenter the room. He can't help but smile at the sight of you, as you struggle to maintain your composure for the sake of your role at the sight of him. His skin shines with sweat, every taut muscle of his body visible in the warm light of the room.
“Your obedience pleases me, Gale.” You give him a satisfied smile as your mage hand unbinds him once again. “I want you to please me further. Do you think you can manage that?”
“I do believe so,” he replies.
“I will leave your hands unbound for now, but you know you mustn't touch me without permission. Understood?”
“I understand.”
“I am going to lie down on the edge of the bed, and I want you to get on your knees between my legs and use your mouth to pleasure me. Is that something you are capable of?”
“Oh yes,” he replies breathlessly.
You assume the position on the bed and he follows, his eyes hungry as they track up and down your body. You can tell he is aching to feel every bit of your skin with his hands. He moistens his lips as he sinks to his knees between your legs.
“You may begin,” you say to him.
True to your demands, he begins working you over expertly with only his mouth, keeping his hands behind his back. He starts with slow, deliberate movements of his tongue, probing your sensitive areas and savoring your wetness with each stroke. You let out soft sighs and moans, letting him know just how well he is pleasing you. He begins moving his tongue more deliberately along the most pleasurable areas of your clitoris, bringing you closer and closer to your peak. You know you really shouldn't touch him at this point in your performance, but as you near orgasm you can't resist. You take either side of his head in your hands and begin running your fingers through his hair. He moans into you at the unexpected pleasure of your touch, and the heat and vibration of his mouth send you over the edge. You feel yourself twitch and pulse against his mouth as he slows his pace to calm you down. He pulls his head back and stares at you with such lust it nearly makes you break character again.
You give him a sensual smile. “I am quite pleased with your performance, Gale. Clean up your face and come lie down on the bed with me.”
You're not sure you've ever seen Gale move so quickly as he stands up and crosses the room. He grabs a towel from a drawer and wipes down his face as he moves towards you, tossing it aside carelessly as he climbs into bed. He lies down beside you, careful to not brush against any part of you while being as close to you as possible.
You turn on your side to face him, tracing your fingers along the small amount of bed space between your bodies. “I want you to do something else for me now, would you like to hear what it is?”
“Please,” he responds, his breath quickening.
“I want to feel your hot cum inside of me.”
Gale's eyes open wider in a brief moment of surprise before narrowing as he smiles cunningly at you, knowing surely you won't make things that easy for him.
“But,” you continue, “You have a limited time to do so, you cannot allow me to come before you, and you must produce an amount sufficient enough to satisfy me. Can you fulfill these conditions?”
“Yes, I will give you your desire.”
Without another word, you straddle him and push him inside of you. Your breath hitches as he twitches and moans at the feeling of you. You place both hands on either side of his body, and he places his behind his head. Knowing him, he does this so he's not tempted to touch you. The last thing he wants is for this to be over because he violated your rules. His eyelids flutter and his eyes roll back in his head as he thrusts up to meet the rolling of your hips. You find a rhythm that suits you well, and you can tell you won't last very long at all. As can Gale, his eyes now open and fixed on you, watching your pleasure build as you ride him. He allows his mind to wander to having the privilege of touching you, kissing you again, or perhaps you even touching him, and it's enough to bring him to climax before you do. You feel a gush of hot liquid pouring into you as his hips buck into yours. He spends every drop inside of you, hoping for your satisfaction.
“Mm,” you hum sweetly, still straddling him. “I believe that was sufficient.” You look down at him and smile benevolently. “You can touch me now.”
Wordlessly, he pulls your robe off your shoulders in one lithe movement. He grabs the pins in your hair in each hand and pulls, letting your hair fall down as he sets them aside. He takes a moment to admire your beauty in the soft light before gripping your hips in his hands and sitting up. He pulls your body close as he caresses your back. You feel him grow hard inside of you. He moves one hand up to tenderly stroke your neck as the other moves downwards to squeeze your buttocks. He explores all of you with his hands in such a firm yet tender way you start to moan and grind your hips into him before you realize what you're doing.
He presses his face to your neck, and you can feel him smiling as he does so. He knows were the roles reversed you would be begging him to kiss your body, to put that practiced tongue of his to use once again. He takes one of your breasts in each hand and begins moving his thumb across your nipples with slow, deliberate circles.
You lie on your back and tell him, “You can kiss my body now.”
Gale takes a deep breath and begins at the base of your jaw, tracing your jawline with his lips. He begins to slowly pump inside of you as he moves down your neck, changing sensations by alternating licking, kissing, nibbling, and sucking. Shuddering and moaning with the pleasure of it, you bring your hands up to stroke the back of his neck. He pauses, arching his back and moaning at the sensation of your touch before resuming the slow thrusting of his hips. He takes your hands and kisses them, trailing kisses up one of your wrists and arms before settling back at your neck. You run your hands up and down his back, squeezing to let him know when he finds that blissful spot inside of you. You can feel that he is growing increasingly desperate to kiss your lips, as his kisses move from your neck to your face. At the same time, he quickens his pace, angling his hips and grabbing yours for more powerful thrusts into you. As you feel yourself getting closer, you can't resist anymore. You kiss him so hard you nearly bloody the inside of your lip from your teeth smashing into them, and he meets your passion with his, his tongue gliding over and under and past yours to enter your mouth. The delayed gratification of such a kiss sends you both over the edge. He thrusts sloppily into you, groaning your name into your neck as he finishes inside you, you arching your back in climax as you scream his name.
For several moments, you both pant and sigh, unable to speak.
Gale breaks the silence after a minute. “That was, single-handedly, the most erotic experience of my life. Your performance was truly phenomenal. We must do that again. Assuming you enjoyed it too, of course. Which I do assume so.” He gives you a sly smile.
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hello, welcome and i hope you like it here! ♡
can i request jungwon teasing his older gf by calling her "noona" to fluster her??? it's such a cute concept and i don't think anyone's done it yet :(( thank you !!
ok but !! i feel like jungwon would totally do this - if he ever has an older girlfriend he one hundred percent calls her noona every time without exception, even if she’s not quite a whole year older than him ! he’s always so polite all the time so i think it’d honestly just come naturally to him ..’) tysm for this request i hope u like how it turned out ! <33
📄🖇️ reaction to him calling you noona ~ y.jw
pairing yang jungwon x older female reader
genre fluff, fluff, and more fluff !! drabble
warnings sfw intimacy
wc 476
leaning back into your headboard, you wished more than anything that you didn’t have places to be today. you looked down at the sweet-looking boy who lay with his arms wrapped firmly around your waist, head resting on your stomach with closed eyes. you let out a small sigh. what you wanted was to stay just like this, in bed, cuddled up with him for the rest of the day. you ran your fingers through his soft hair gently, and the boy’s eyes fluttered open.
‘is something wrong?’ he mumbled into the blanket sleepily, taking in your troubled features.
‘i’ve got to go won,’ you admitted. ‘i said to jake i’d meet him for coffee this morning, and i promised i wouldn’t flake on him this time.’
he groaned, shaking his head emphatically. ‘no, you’re staying here with me today. i need you more than jake does,’ his grip around your middle tightened. ‘’m not letting you go, sorry. no can do.’
you smiled ruefully. you knew he wasn’t going to make this easy for you. ‘won, i wish i could just stay here with you but i really do have to go,’ you said, attempting to gently slide his arm out from underneath you so you could sit up.
‘please stay noona. just ten more minutes?’
you froze, feeling the effect of the name he’d just called you taking hold instantly, your cheeks reddening. ‘i- jeez won, you’re literally making me sound so old, don’t, call me that,’ you stumbled over your words a little, still rather taken aback by what just happened. he was grinning up at you mischievously now, seeing how embarrassed you’d suddenly gotten.
‘why? it’s true though, isn’t it? you’re my noona,’ he gave your midriff a playful squeeze as he hugged you tighter still. your blush depended.
‘i’m only like a year older than you won you don’t get to call me that,’ you mumbled quietly, avoiding his eyes. he, on the other hand, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying his newfound ability to make you squirm.
‘you know who doesn’t get to call you noona? jake.’ he kept on teasing you. ‘you’re mine, noona,’
you hid your burning face from him by burying it in a pillow. ‘oh my god jungwon if you don’t cut it out right now, then…’ your muffled voice was only just about audible behind the cushion. ‘then i’m not calling you won anymore. you got that, Mr. Yang Jungwon? it’s gonna be full names only.’
jungwon pouted up at you sulkily. ‘meanie,’ he shot half-heartedly. ‘okay okay, fine n-,’ he caught himself just in time. ‘fine,’ he said, flashing you a cheeky smile, before adding ‘just stay ten more minutes though, please,’ he rested his head back down on your chest.
‘okay wonnie, for you.’ you replied, wrapping your arms around him and hugged him close.
pls don’t hesitate to send me requests ! i love writing these sm ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡
©jaywonjuice | do not copy or re-upload my work on any platform
#enhypen#enha#enha fluff#enha x reader#enhypen reactions#enha drabble#enha scenarios#enhypen fluff#enhypen scenarios#enha imagines#enhypen imagines#enhypen drabbles#yang jungwon#enha jungwon#enhypen soft hours#enhypen soft thoughts#enha soft thoughts#enha soft hours#jungwon fluff#enhypen jungwon#astrid answers ☆
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at your earliest convenience
✩ haechan x reader | fluff | 1.3k
SUMMARY | in which haechan is always your one (and annoying) late-night customer at the 24/7 convenience store you work at and one evening, he forgets his wallet. in lieu of payment, he asks if he can take you out on a date instead. // part of the connection series
WARNINGS | slightly insecure reader, none really!
RATING | teen+
AUTHOR'S NOTE | please check out (and maybe send in some prompt requests) @nctpromptmeme!
You ring him up, like clockwork.
The scanner picks up a bag of the Korean brand onion rings, two Red Bulls, and an instant noodle cup.
He’s the only consistent man in your life, ignoring the fact that the sole reason why he’s in your life is because he always comes into the 24/7 convenience store you work at during late, sometimes ungodly, hours. Tonight, it’s not that bad: 1:53am.
Rarely, no one else strolls in during your shift (and you’re grateful it’s a safe neighbourhood).
However, this young man lives to make your shift a painful one.
Usually with ruffled hair, transparent-framed glasses, and a simple t-shirt and sweatpants, he saunters in as if he owns the store, often swinging his keys or obnoxiously whistling along to the song playing in the background. From the moment he steps into the store, his existence alone irks you.
Unsurprisingly, he then takes a solid ten minutes on average (yes, you’ve timed it) to buy his items. Whistling evolves into screeches or emphatic oohs and aahs. Sometimes, he even narrates the entire process, as if he's the main character in a show. And yet, despite it all, he ends up buying the same rotation of his favourite items.
If not the onion rings, the shrimp crackers. If not the Red Bulls, the bottles of Monster instead. He may be grabbing one cup of noodles tonight, but other times it’s three. Potentially even a completely different brand, if he’s feeling adventurous.
On that note, predictability is in his nature. You plead internally for him to live a little, to maybe even spice up his night with a little change, for crying out loud. Heck, maybe even change the grey or black t-shirt he always wears to a shade that’s not a neutral tone or to put on a jacket for once.
And the cherry on top is the constant annoying smirk he flashes when you tell him his total.
You want to punch it off his face, smear it across the shiny floors with the dirty mop water you use at the beginning and end of shift.
“How are you doing tonight, gorgeous?” he asks. Sometimes gorgeous is replaced with beautiful or cutie. It only adds to his annoyance of regularity and you have an itch he does this all the time with others, making you not take his typical endearing terms seriously.
You can’t help but roll your eyes. “I’m not gorgeous, but, as always, thank you for the compliment.”
His smirk melts, and you catch yourself feeling a tinge of something as his features soften.
“You are, though,” your regular says. You quickly glance up, wondering if that pout and look in his eyes are genuine. “You know that I call you gorgeous because I mean it, right?”
You’re unsure how to react, so you give a small nod and repeat the total, softly this time.
There’s a beat when the man gets lost in thought, but the moment quickly fades. He reaches into his sweatpants. However, he stops abruptly, before he reaches in again and pats the outside of his other pockets.
“Fuck,” he hisses. You realize two things: one, you’ve never heard him curse; and two, he doesn’t have his wallet.
Well, that surely is different than usual.
Instinctively, you pull the snacks toward you.
“Don’t you dare think I’m letting you walk away with everything for free,” you say, half-jokingly. Even though you’re 80% certain you can trust him, you still don’t know what he’s like.
He smiles sweetly, quite differently than his smirks, forcing you to admit he’s handsome (just a little). “How could you expect me to stoop that low?” he whine-asks, clutching his chest in pain.
After a moment of staring up at the ceiling in thought with his tongue running against his lower teeth, a Cheshire grin spreads over his face and he raises an eyebrow.
You don’t like it one bit and regret the moment earlier, mentally punching yourself for finding him a tiny bit attractive.
“How about…”—he pauses as he rhythmically taps his fingers onto the counter—“...you let me take you out on a date in exchange for these items?”
A scoff releases into the air. “Are you really telling me I’m only worth $11.87?”
“What—no! Of course not,” he flicks a wrist upward in annoyance, then gestures to himself. “A date with me is worth way more in value, so you’ll be getting a better bargain.”
You could not believe this guy. “Is a date with you really going to be worth it?”
“Look,” he leans in over the counter and you catch a whiff of a light, woody scent. You fight off the desire to deeply inhale it. “No matter where we go or what happens, I’ll make sure you’ll be happy by the end of it. Isn’t that worth taking the risk of losing $11.87?”
Squinting your eyes at him, while still clutching the goods he wants, you start to warm-up to the idea since you don’t have anything to lose (but maybe that’s due to the influence of his slightly intoxicating aura).
“Will you choose the date location?” you ask, guarded.
He shakes his head. “Everything will be up to you and I’ll try to accommodate my schedule as best as I can.”
You raise an eyebrow, challenging him. “And what if I want to go to the most expensive restaurant in town?”
Without hesitation, he nods. “Then we’ll go to the most expensive restaurant in town.”
“If I wanted to order the $130 steak?”
“$130 steak it is.”
“If I—”
The cute (you can’t deny it at this point) stranger cuts you off with a raise of his hand. God, you hate how cocky he is.
Suddenly, he holds out a hand, sticking his pinky finger up. He waggles it, and you realize he’s waiting for you to do the same. You curl a pinky around his.
“There. I promise you—cross my heart and swear on my mother’s life—that I’ll uphold and adhere to whatever date conditions you ask of me.” He straightens, stepping away from the counter. “Now, can I please have my snacks and drinks?”
The events of tonight took quite a turn. Never in a million years would you think Mr. Predictability would ask you out on a date, let alone be pretty sweet about it.
Perhaps there’s more to him than you thought.
You hand him your phone, and he does the same.
When he gives it back, you shake your head at the text he sent and the name he gave himself.
“Hyuck?” you ask, unfamiliar with the name.
“Short for Donghyuck, but yes, beautiful?”
You turn your phone towards him in disbelief. “What’s with the heart next to your name?”
He shrugs, flashing you another smug smile. “What about it?”
Glancing down at his phone, he beams. You wonder if it’s because you wrote the following in brackets after your name: You Owe Me a Date Worth More than $11.87.
“And your name is just as beautiful as you are.”
Again, another eye roll. You wonder if the date will be filled with more of it. You shove the stuff towards him.
“I have to know: do those lines really work?”
“Well, I have a date lined up with you, so you tell me.”
Before you have a chance to retort, he grabs something out from his pocket.
A wallet.
His motherfucking wallet, and he has the audacity to toss a $20 bill onto the counter with the same grin that you still want to wipe the floor with. Your jaw hangs.
“Keep the change,” he says, along with your name and grants you a wink as he grabs his items.
“I’ll be seeing you on our date soon, gorgeous.”
AUTHOR'S ENDING NOTE
thank you for reading! i've been getting so much love for this - y'all are amazing. if you would like to read an informal continuation, see here!
#yn brainrot#haechan fluff#haechan x reader#haechan scenarios#haechan imagines#haechan fanfic#nct fluff#nct x reader#nct fanfic#nct scenarios#nct imagines#nct 127 imagines#nct 127 fluff#nct 127 scenarios#nct 127 fanfic#nct dream fluff#nct dream fanfic#nct dream imagines#nct dream scenarios
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Kissing, lighting and sleepy sex for Hideout Steve and Reader?
I am not prepared. My feels...they shall be too deep and endless.
I shall try anyway.
From this dirty ask game for this AU series where Nomad Steve lets motel-employee!Reader soothe his touch-starved body. Lawd, halp me, this is about to get crunk in a tooth-rotting, put-some-pillows-beneath-you you're-gonna-faint type o' way. [y'all can't tell I drank during the eclipse today, right? I'm subtle? Cool.] MINORS DNI.
K - Kissing
ACK My heart! Or rather, there is something deeply adoring for Steve when you kiss his chest, over his heart. It makes him feel just that much more like a person who lives in this world, who belongs in this world, who will return one day to this world...
His hands are also a big one--no, not just actually big hands, but important to show love to because he uses them for such violence. Each kiss is like a little touch of forgiveness for what he's done or had to do with those hands. He appreciates the trust it takes, too, to kiss his palms, when he could easily stop you breathing (sorry, that sounds dark, but Nomad was in a dark place, okay, bad things occur to him now).
Steve loves to kiss your stomach, and it might be somewhat taboo to say, but he has a touch of that crawl-back-home-for-safety comfort thing going on when he presses close and holds your center to him. It's not a mommy kink or roleplay, per se; he relishes the connectedness of being one and curling up against you is the only non-sexual way he knows how to achieve that--like in Chapter 3 when he falls asleep in that position.
As far as leaving marks though? Steve can emphatically say 'hell no,' not on purpose. Pain is a bit, meh, weird for him because he heals so quickly. He might not even notice if you did bite or bruise him. He certainly wouldn't see it in the morning. He does not in any way associate marks with love or affection since he only ever saw them on himself after fights or on women (including his Ma) after being abused.
That is not love to Steve.
It's control, it's dominance, it's inequality, and he fucking hates it.
L - Lighting
Steve entirely defers to you on whether there are actual lights on or off. He likes to use his senses to explore and enjoy you, so without light is fine. He's just here for you.
Steve does, however,--no spoilers for Chapter 5--like ambiance such as candles or something dim and colorful. He thinks you'd look unbelievably perfect beside a sparkling Christmas Tree. He hopes to celebrate (all holidays and birthdays and everything) openly with you some day. The sooner the better.
(Except, no audience for him making love to you under those twinkling lights, please. He's staunchly opposed to that sort of thing.)
S - Sleepy Sex
So, again, no spoilers for Chapter 5, but once Steve gets comfortable with oral sex he is comfortable with oral sex, if you catch my drift.
If he wakes up first, he's on you in some way, arms and legs draped over you, kissing any place he can get to, man-handling you just enough to start something he 100% will finish. He's just...uh god, so attentive.
With the super senses and being a fugitive though, it's not often that you can wake up before him, truly, which limits or completely removes the ability to surprise him with a blowjob, but he will dreamily let you roam wherever your mouth and hands take you. As long as there's lots of contact. As much as possible really. Like lay your arms across his thighs and abs while playing with him. Maybe put your body over one of his legs and ride his foot if you need to. He must feel attached in some way. Cold, distant, or separated does not do it for him.
Here's my absolute, I-will-die, favorite thing about Hideout Steve though: when he's tired/fatigued/worn out/sleepy, he gets louder.
Much. Much. Louder, babes.
No cursing, mostly, but all the moans and groans and whining are totally dialed up. And I don't know about y'all, but I can't really think of anything fucking sexier than Nomad Steve screaming that he's gonna come.
🥵
Thank you for asking!
A/N: Here lies Ro in a puddle. She made up a man she wants and will never have.
[Main Masterlist; Hideout Masterlist; Ko-Fi]
#ro answers#steve rogers x reader#steve rogers fanfiction#hideout series#steve rogers fanfic#steve rogers imagine#steve rogers fic#steve rogers fluff#steve rogers smut#steve rogers x reader smut#dirty asks#ask game
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What would the canon batfam (or your version of the batfam, since the canon version is… questionable, at times) would think of Fae Dick?
Just imagine someone from the fae world, probably Tim, ends up in a world where Dick is human, and either 1) does not immediately realize that this Dick is human bc every version of Dick Grayson is at least a little unhinged, or 2) takes one long look at him and is like ‘wait you’re HUMAN?’
(Also, Jason learning that Fae Dick killed the Joker/or Fae Dick murdering the joker of the other world bc if other him wouldn’t do it, he sure as hell will)
Honestly if it’s Tim I’d give him exactly one convo to clock canon!Dick as human. There’s just this distinct lack of—- something, about this version of him. Yeah, he’s still his exuberant and uplifting self but??? Where are all the teeth??? (“Excuse me, what?”) And what happened to your feathers?????? (“My what now??”) And why are your eyes so weird?????? (“Excuse you, my eyes are perfectly alright!”)
And of course, there’s the distinct lack of plant- and wildlife in the manor. The doors don’t open and close on their own to let the family members pass, the deer Tim sees on the outskirts of the manor grounds all look depressingly normal and shy away from them, and the trees don’t try to trip him up in a bout of mischief. And, worst of all? Tim now can’t just go through any door in the manor and have it bring him directly to his intended destination. He accidentally walks into a closet many times and just— stands there, in the dark, for several minutes before he realizes that, nope, this really is just a closet and will not magically open up into the kitchens. Damn it.
The canon batfamily all think that Tim is a tragically deranged alternate universe version of their Tim and all discreetly try to “play along” with his delusions (even though canon!dick is totally weirded out about the random tidbits of information Tim drops on them). Not to mention that they’re all very concerned about the mentions of Dick having people eaten by deer and stuff. Or collecting teeth.
All that gets resolved rather quickly tho when Fae!Dick barges into this universe to retrieve his Tim and pops by with his usual many-toothed smile and the Joker’s severed head hanging from one hand, chirping a happy little “you’re welcome!” At Jason, and then promptly hugging the living daylights out of his Tim.
Tim just grins happily and says “teeth!” Very emphatically.
(Jason totally doesn’t cry that another version of his big bro just showed up and killed the Joker for him, nope, not at all.)
(“Timmy, can we-“
“Absolutely not!”
“But he’s sad” :((
“He’s HAPPY, dumbass. You killed the joker for him.”
“Exactly! Other Dick didn’t do it, I did! That means he’s mine now!”
“Dick- NO-“
“Dick, yes!” :)))) )
#fae dick grayson#dick adopting alternate selves of his brothers like it’s going out of style#‘If I murder for them they’re mine’ mentality lmao#obviously other Jason needs a better family#fae world Tim doesn’t entirely disagree#but he can also see their Bruce Dick Tim Alfred Steph Case Damian and Duke arming themselves discreetly and shoving Jason to the back#he doesn’t think they’ll willingly part with him#fae dick is not intimidated#TRY HIM#in the end there’s a compromise where other Jason has to keep in contact with fae dick#lol#possessive fae#jason todd#batfamily#dick grayson#batfam#bruce wayne#robin#red hood#tim drake#batman
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“Pass me the — thing.”
“The thing.”
“Yes. The one.”
Hunk’s amusement is evident. “Here’s the thing about capital-T Things, Pidge Podge.”
She makes a face. Ugh, not him too. The annoying nicknames Lance comes up with always seem to end up in other people’s vocabularies. It’s the worst. (They don’t even make sense, either. Her name comes from Pascha, her Hebrew name, because she was tiny even when she was a baby. And Matt is ridiculous. But Lance’s names come from nowhere!)
(…She supposes she’ll allow it, though. Occasionally. Because she’s the best ever, basically, and endlessly benevolent.)
“Things in concept are referential,” Hunk continues, snickering to himself as he dodged her blind kick. “Ergo, you need to reference them. Specifically. Outside of your own brain.”
She makes a noise of frustration, tilting her head in the direction of the scrap pile on Hunk’s work table. “The thing! Shiny! With the— blegh!” She is Focused right now, alright. There are Processes happening in her brain. Words are secondary.
“I’m just going to ignore you now.”
“No! The thing! The thing that looks like a dreidel!”
“There we go,” he says emphatically. She scowls at him. He grins brightly. She holds her glare for a whopping three seconds, which is frankly record-breaking, so. Point to her. “That’s a referential Thing.”
He scoops up the piece and tosses it at her. She catches it without looking (which is wicked cool and something she will subtly mention next time she watches Allura drop something) and sets it on the table top beside her, finishing up a tricky solder. Leaning back to admire her handiwork, which is, indeed, quite handy, her gaze keeps getting pulled to the little part.
“You know, it really does look like a dreidel.” She picks it up by the stem, flicking the little acorn-shaped object and watching it spin. It works like one, too.
Hunk hums. After a few moments, curious at the air newly lacking the sounds of her tinkering, he looks over at her. He purses his lips thoughtfully.
“…What day is it on Earth, do you think?”
Pidge shrugs. “We left in late May. Been a few months, at least.”
“Lance has a watch.”
“Course he does. ‘Cause he’s a big ol’ nerd geek loser.”
Hunk snorts. “Indeed.”
At the same time, without either of them having to say a word, they scramble to their feet, abandoning their projects and rushing out the workroom door.
“Pool?” Hunk asks.
“Nah, training room. He was in the pool this morning.”
Neither of them is particularly fast, but after months of Shiro’s training they can handle their own. They don’t, sprint, per se, because that would be embarrassing and Lance would be all dorky and pleased about it (can’t have that), but they…hustle. Hustle would be the right word. There’s some hastiness about, some purpose to their step.
As they run past the kitchen and finally turn down the corridor to get to the training room, a door opens on the left and someone walks out. Hunk grabs the back of Pidge’s sweater (totally not Keith’s grey hoodie that she stole) to keep her from crashing straight into them.
“Hey, Lance,” Hunk says, smiling brightly. “We were just looking for you!”
Lance, predictably, gets all dorky and pleased about it.
“Well, Lancey-Lance is at your service,” he preens, brushing fake dust off his shoulders. “Of course I am happy to offer my services to such —”
“Why’d you come outta Keith’s room?” Pidge interrupts, squinting.
She’s pretty sure that’s Keith’s room, anyway. The door on the left has a dent on it from when Lance tripped and brained himself on it in their first week of space.
Curiously — oh so curiously — Lance turns a violent shade of red and cringes with his whole entire body.
“Whaaat,” he says, voice cracking so many times she actually winces in reflective sympathy. He laughs nervously. “That’s not — I’m not — Keith isn’t —”
He opens his mouth, then closes it, then coughs, then doesn’t bother. Pidge can actually feel the heat pouring off of him, which is so humiliating that she almost decides to be merciful.
“Is Keith also in there?” she says instead, because fuck that.
Lance looks at the floor like he’s considering swan diving onto it. “What did you guys need me for again?” he asks, loudly.
Hunk, too soft from years of close proximity to Lance, takes pity. “We need your watch, dude. What day is it on Earth?”
Lance’s dark eyes go a bit sad, like they always do when someone mentions the E-word. But it’s gone before Pidge can so much as register it, really, and then he’s glancing down at his dork ass bright blue Moana watch and saying, “One twenty-six on December 7th.”
Pidge cheers. Hunk grins.
“Clear your schedule!” Pidge shouts, pumping her fists. “Hanukkah starts in a few hours!”
———
“An…oil…feast?”
“Yeah!” Pidge says enthusiastically. Allura leans forward, intrigued — she loves stories from Earth. Anything from Earth fascinates her, really. “Thousands of years ago, Jews — my people culturally and religiously — had just freed themselves from the cruel rule of a kingdom that resided over them. They wanted to purify the Temple — that’s where practicing Jews go to pray — so they were burning holy oil. But there was only one bottle of sacred oil, which was upsetting, since that would only burn for one night. But miraculously, the oil kept burning for eight nights!”
Allura gasps. “But how?”
Pidge shrugs. “Religious Jews believe it was a miracle from God, who is our holy deity. Whether or not you’re religious though, Hanukkah is celebrated at the end of every year to commemorate Jewish resilience and hope. The oil is our physical way of celebrating, ‘cause it burned for eight days exactly — as long as it takes to make more oil.”
“And so we get to celebrate by eating delicious fried food,” Lance adds, fist-pumping. He grins at Pidge’s raised eyebrows. “My sister-in-law is Jewish, so my neice and nephew are too. We celebrate Hanukkah every year and it rocks.”
Pidge can feel her smile lighting up her body. There are bigger celebrations, and more religiously important ones, but Hanukkah is so much fun. She hasn’t celebrated in too long — it came and went last year before she even noticed, too wrapped up in finding her brother. And the year before that, her and Mom couldn’t…not without Dad and Matt. They couldn’t celebrate with just the two of them, they spent most evenings in their own rooms.
Shiro’s steady hand comes to rest on her shoulder, squeezing gently. She glances up to find him smiling sadly at her, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head.
“We’ll light a candle for each of them,” he murmurs into her hair. “Colleen, too.”
“Is that what’s done?” Coran inquires softly. “Candles lit, in remembrance?”
Pidge hums, leaning back into Shiro. He holds steady, hand staying fast on her shoulder. Keith flashes her one of his quick smiles, small and comforting.
“Yeah. Eight candles, in something called a menorah. One for each night, one for each intention.” She meets Coran’s eyes first, then Allura’s, her own expression determined. “We’ll light a candle for Altea, too.”
“I would like that,” whispers Allura, swallowing.
“I can make the menorah,” Hunk offers, “if you and Lance want to help. Lance has a good eye for design.”
Pidge takes a couple more moments in Shiro’s embrace, soaking up some of his strength. No one interrupts her. Once she feels like she can stand straight again, like her family is tucked neatly where they usually are in the centre of her heart rather than spilling out all over the place, she stands, patting Shiro’s hand as it falls away, and steps towards her friends.
“Yes, let’s do. We’ll need a few things, actually, to get ready. Keith, you think you can paint the right symbols on the dreidel if I describe them to you?”
He nods. “Yep. I’ll draw ‘em out first, it shouldn’t take long. I think I’ve seen them before, anyway.”
“Cool. Allura, Coran, you wanna put up some decorations? Lance can help you out.”
All three enthusiastically agree, rushing off to make do.
“Shiro —” She falters. “Uh, dude, maybe steer clear of the kitchen. Wanna help with the menorah since Lance is on decorations? Then Hunk’ll have more time to cook.”
Shiro pouts, as he always does when he’s teased about his cursed kitchen tendencies, but the twitch of his smile gives him away.
“I guess,” he laments. “I’m sure I could fry latkes without burning the castle down.”
Keith, Pidge, and Hunk shudder in unison.
“Yeah, right,” Keith says. “You remember when you set a pot of water on fire, Hazard Boy? Because I do.”
———
For people who have no idea what they’re doing, the decorations end up looking really nice.
Everything does, actually. By the time Lance’s watch hits six — the time they have all collectively decided will be sundown based on absolutely nothing — everything is prepped and ready to go. Keith got the characters down after a couple tries, and the dreidel looks like any other one Pidge has used before. Lance had, from what Pidge picked up from Allura’s grumbling, channeled his inner festivity dictator to ensure all decorations were as lovely as possible with their limited materials. Of course the menorah Hunk and Pidge created looks beautifully intricate, one of the more gorgeous things Pidge has ever seen even with all the wonky mismatched candles.
“Okay,” Hunk says, clapping his hands together. “If you guys want to set up the table, Lance and I will be finished plating the food shortly. I dunno about you guys, but I’ve been smelling fried food for a couple hours now, and I need to eat.”
“Please,” Pidge groans, because she’s been smelling it too and boy is Hunk ever a head chef.
Everyone rushes to get the table set as quickly as possible. Pidge makes sure to put Lance’s favourite cup (that he has a hissy fit if anyone else so much as looks at, even though it is practically identical to ever other cup except one tiny chip one the bottom that he loves for some reason) next to the chair closest to the door, where Keith always sits, because she has not forgotten the Earlier Incident. If all goes well then something embarrassing will happen for her to witness, which is all she can ask for, really.
“Can someone who is not Allura come help me bring food over?” Hunk calls from the kitchen as Pidge places the last fork. “No offense, Princess, but I watched you and Lance walk into the same door this morning and I’d rather our hard work not end up splatted and inedible on the floor.”
“Offense taken,” says Allura darkly, and Lance’ whining echoes all the way to where they’re standing.
Keith meets Pidge’s eye and snickers.
“I got it, Hunk,” he calls, jogging over to them.
“Absolutely not!” Lance screeches. “There is no way I will allow Mullet to be entrusted with something I am not allowed to —”
He cuts himself off with a loud shriek. Whether Keith finally pinched him quiet or Lance is just shrieking for drama’s sake Pidge will never know, but moments later the red paladin is striding out of the kitchen, heaping bowl in one hand, batting Lance away with the other.
“If you drop that I’ll kill you both,” Hunk promises, setting the heaping plate he’s holding down on the table.
Thankfully, nothing gets dropped (although does it ever come close). Everyone is accounted for and seated and nothing has gone to waste, and Pidge’s stomach is growling.
“Got a little bit of everything,” Hunk says. “Classic latkes, kugel, and sufganiyot. And you mentioned the zippoli and arancini your Nonna used to make, Pidge, so I made some of that too. And Lance made lots of masitas and plátanos.”
“Hope that’s okay,” Lance says, face kind of scrunched. “I know it’s not traditional, but we had it on Hanukkah, and I thought —”
Pidge grins at him. “Looks great, man.”
Everyone takes turns passing food around and loading up their plate. Pidge takes four zippoli. She regrets nothing. She has had none in several years and this looks perfect.
Before anyone starts, all eyes turn to Pidge, so she squeezes her eyes shut and remembers her mother’s blessing: “Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha’olam shehakol niyah bidvaro.” She opens her eyes again. “Dig in, everybody.”
No one needs to be told twice. For a while the castle is even shockingly silent, everyone too busy shoving their faces. Keith chokes on latke. Shiro laughs at him until the red on his face is from more than a lack of oxygen.
“I love human food,” gushes Allura, inhaling more plátanos. “You guys got to eat like this every day?”
“Unless you lived with someone who regular fucks up ramen noodles,” Keith says pointedly, dodging Shiro’s under-the-table-kick.
“I think Numbers Two and Three might just be talented in the kitchen,” Coran responds. Both Hunk and Lance beam at the praise.
After dinner — and lordy it does not take long to polish it off — they clear the plates away, tidying up the table, as Pidge sets out the menorah. She carefully sets out the candles they have gathered, arranging and re-arranging the order. When she’s satisfied, she picks up the smallest candle, thin green stripes running up its sides, and places it in the space at the far right. She picks up the shamash — choosing the thickest and tallest one — and accepts the lighter Keith offers her. Once it is flaming, she holds it outwards, and begins to softly recite the blessings she memorized so long ago:
“Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tsivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah. Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, she-asah nisim laavoteinu v’imoteinu bayamim hahaeim baz’man hazeh. Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, shehecheyanu v'kiy'manu v'higiyanu laz'man hazeh.”
She says the words slowly, carefully, allowing herself to feel the shape of them on her tongue. They are familiar. They are heavy. They get caught in her throat, tangled, and stay there until tears begin to trickle down her cheeks, softening the way out. Her voice shakes, but she feels her own strength spreading through her like the heat of the shamesh candle.
“Make it home to me, Matt,” she whispers, as she lights the first candle.
———
“Okay, there is no fucking way.”
Pidge cackles at Keith’s indignant protest, accepting Lance’s sharp high-five and dragging in the entire pot of tokens again.
The two of them are absolutely fucking killing it. Their token piles are high. Keith has had to begrudgingly ask Lance for a loan no less than six times. Everyone else is dangerously low, except for Coran, who’s doing alright.
Pidge thinks this is righteous. As the two youngest, she and Lance should be winning by birthright, basically.
“Suck it, Kogane,” she says gleefully. She flicks a token at him. “Take some charity.”
Keith scowls at her, but takes the token because he is too broke not to. It is greatly amusing.
Ha! Loser.
The game shouldn’t last as long as it does, but somehow it keeps going for hours. Pidge suspects Shiro has several dozen tokens up his sleeve and is cheating. Allura may also be using alchemy to make more tokens appear. Either way, Pidge and Lance’s hordes are steadily increasing, and the menorah has long since been blown out, and the food has settled in everyone’s stomach, and Pidge’s head keeps drooping.
“Think it’s just you and me, Pidge-Podge,” Lance says softly. Someone tucks her hair behind her ear, she’s not sure who. Her eyes might be closed. “What say you we call it a tie, huh?”
“There’s no tie in dreidel,” she argues. “We gotta finish.”
“I’m thinking we play again tomorrow,” Coran suggests. “I’m sure when you’re fully awake you can destroy Number Four much more efficiently.”
“Hey,” says Number Four in question, indignantly.
Pidge manages a smile. Keith sticks his tongue out back at her, and the next thing she knows there are arms around her waist and she’s airborne. She buries her face in a strong shoulder and pretends, secretly, it’s her father, even though she knows it’s not.
“Say goodnight, dork,” whispers Shiro. He pauses, adjusting slightly. “Oof.”
“You’re getting old,” says Keith gleefully.
“Respect your elders,” hisses Lance, accompanied by a swift punch to Keith’s shoulder.
“Ow!” Keith complains, but interestingly he only pouts at Lance instead of maiming him. “It’s Shiro! He’s not even an elder, he’s six! You —”
“Goodnight, Pidge,” say Hunk and Allura, loudly.
Pidge smiles. Her voice is half-buried in Shiro’s shirt. “Night.”
She doesn’t remember the walk to her room, but she feels it when she’s laid down, when blankets are fluffed over her and a kiss is pressed to her forehead.
“Sleep well, Katie,” whispers a voice, and the cool metal of the fingers brushing her hair are soothing. “Love you, kiddo. Happy Hanukkah.”
She falls asleep the the click of her door closing and a warmth burning hot in her heart.
#HAPPY SUPER BELATED HANUKKAH EVERYONE I HOPE I DID IT JUSTICE#LEMME KNOW IF THERES ANYTHING I NEED TO FIX!!!!!#vld#voltron#pidge#pidge holt#hunk#hunk garrett#lance#lance mcclain#keith#keith kogane#klance#shiro#takashi shirogane#allura#princess allura#coran#team as family#jewish pidge#hanukkah#pidge & lance#pidge & hunk#pidge & keith#pidge & shiro#pidge & allura#pidge & coran#pidge angst#my writing#longpost
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I just realized that there is literally zero fanfics with Danny Fenton/M'gann M'orzz pairing and idk, am I the only one who see nearly endless potential in it?
I don't know how they met but they're probably pretty fast friends.
With Danny being space nerd, he would ask M'gann all the questions about Mars. At the same time, from what little I know about Miss Martian, she is "Earth nerd" and would ask him all the questions about Earth and what normal teenage life is like, because YL team is not the best study case. Like, only Wally and maybe Artemis (I don't know a thing about her other than 'snarky/blunt archer') had normal human life. He is happy to answer, introducing her to his semi normal life before accident.
They exchanged stories about stars from their respective homes.
Just imagine, Danny binge watching "Hello Megan" just to know what she is talking about and it's not his thing, really, but he learnt to enjoy it because he associated it with M'gann (we can have Jazz being fan too and feeling 'betrayed' because she tried to strongarm her brother to watch it for years and all it took was to cute alien girl to mention it and he is pulling all nighters).
Just imagine, M'gann asking one of her teammates (probably Robin) to teach her to play Doomed, so she can play with her halfa friend and his friends and not ask about every controller. They don't really mind her being newbie but sudden progress doesn't go unnoticed or unpraised.
Everlasting trio inviting her to Nasty Burger every once in a while to talk about random, not hero related things.
Rest of the YJ may not even know about Phantom. They just know about this Danny, M'gann's totally civilian friend, who likes milkshakes and video games.
They share their stories and tips about heroing and powers they have similar. Mostly M'gann shares things she learnt from her uncle or in Mountain because let's be honest, self taught is rarely better than someone with proper mentoring. She for sure helps with ghosts if they attack during her visit, even if Danny tries to shield her from it. "I'm supposed to be your civilian friend, am I not?"
She definitely does what she can to help with his hero PR. She may or may not accidentally convinced rest of the Team she has celebrity crush on underappreciated ghost hero from the middle of the nowhere. They help her, spamming all negative news reports with praises for Phantom from both hero and civilian accounts. It caused some mess, Justice League had questions but Danny was happy so it doesn't matter.
If we go with ghost being super emphatic we can have Danny overwhelmed by everyone's feelings (honest hate his parents have towards his hero persona, confliction of towns people, concern of his friends, excitement of Casper students idk, EVERYTHING) and M'gann helps him overcome it. Later both of them being there for eachother when everything was just too much. Y'know just this mutual understanding that nobody else can really give them.
Maybe some communication troubles because M'gann prefers telepathy and Danny does not like it in a slightest (Freakshow flashbacks or something) but tries to accommodate. Or M'gann doesn't even try because idk, one of telepathy rules is "don't read thoughts of dying person unless they project it to you" and she feels it goes for dead (even if only halfway) too.
They're just vibing with eachother.
Then there is ghost attack outside Amity and Team is send to deal with it. M'gann is surprisingly competent at dealing with everything ghost does while evacuating civilians while someone magic competent is called. Suddenly she stops, gets her phone and makes a call:
"Hey Danny, do you have a moment?" whole team is too shocked to react, because in the love of whatever they believe in, why is Megan calling her civilian friend in the middle of the battle with unknown entity. "It's [insert whatever ghost you want] wrecking havoc. Can you come by at take them to the zone? I don't have thermos on me right now. Thank you."
WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?
Que Danny flying top speed to wherever she is, fights a ghost and contains them. Que someone (maybe Wally) being like:
"When did you wanted to tell us that your civilian friend is a hero?"
M'gann honest to god forgot that Team thought Danny was a civilian.
"I worked quite hard to drag her into as little of my Phantom bullshit as I could. I am proud of being a civilian friend, thank you very much"
They all came in contact together after that.
Martian Manhunter tried to give Fenton a shovel talk but boy was too excited to meet his favourite hero and to focused on not making fool of himself to be actually scared or something. He deals with Skulker on a regular basis anyway, there are very few threats that could actually scare him.
Team members also tried to shovel talk him, just in case. They all failed for one reason or another
Or maybe Danny is already YJ member. Everything above can still happen just without ghost attack. Danny can have issues with Zeta Tubes though. That's a good stuff.
There can be a drama of "I'm your friend only because I'm alien/semi normal, am I not?"
Or we can go with space obsessed Danny going full Vlad on cute alien girl. Y'know, because "that's a halfa thing to do". M'gann is not into that. I'm not really excited about this take but that's a possibility too.
Use it as you will. Just please someone write it
#dp x dc#dpxdc#dcxdp#dc x dp#no other fandom tags to not iritate people in either fandom who aren't into dp x dc stuff#just let them vibe#danny fenton/m'gann m'orzz#they could be so cute together#danny's reveal to yj could be something like:#M'gann: shapeshifts into her civilian disguise#Danny: oh I can do that too#and then shifts into his human form#que everyone is shocked#everyone other than m'gann#she knew#Wally: Why are ghosts Martians on steroids?#i definitely don't have around 1000 if no more words of Danny comforting M'gann after she saw civilian die in car crash she couldn't prevent#he found a ghost and dragged them and all that jazz just give his friend a closure#but he was really sus about it so uncle J'onn does not approve#“M'gann what are martian funeral traditions?”#that's the question that started this whole mess#I know nearly nothing about dc martians so it probably doesn't make to much sense canon wise#that's the reason why i won't post it#probably#maybe I'll get myself to do research and edit what I have to fit#who knows#do i tag correctly?#idk how to tag
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Reading through @badaziraphaletakes inspired me to make a post about reasons:
Why people tend to choose Crowley of Aziraphale, and, consequently, think Aziraphale is bad
This might be a long post, i'll cover some topics and i might get all over the place at some point! But please be patient! Can i get into it?
Inversion of values
When first watching Good Omens, you might expect a strong inversion of values, that Heaven is bad and Hell is good, angels are the oppresors and demons the victims
It is mostly religiously (religious trauma) motivated, aka "christianity is a fucking bullshit" motivated, to expect seeing the ones who calls themselfs good (Heaven, who we interpret as Christian religious figures) be actually bad (wich, in real life, they tend to be) and, the ones they cast out as evil and sinful (Hell, wich we interpret in this case as anyone the church calls sinful, like the queer comunity) to be good and innocent and just different, it makes us feel emphatic for them, even seeing that they are, indeed, bad
I believe some people just dont want to accept it, they want to believe the angels are inherently bad and the demons just questioned their bad ways
But they arent, if anything ALL angels and demons are naturally good and innocent, "oh but Gabriel!" He was naturally good, we saw it, the same with Michael and Uriel too, they're all just tainted by the strong grip Heaven demands for them to have; in episode 1 season 2, we see both Crowley (as starmaker) and Aziraphale being totally innocent and adorable, they're good by nature, no one in the story is actually evil
When this inversion of values we wish for isnt fulfilled, it might cause an annoyance, i know a lot of people who dont accept it, and just make it up because... well is expected!
Queerness
This was originally taken from a post of "Bad Aziraphale Takes"
Crowley is "more queer" than Aziraphale, at least thats how people see it as, in fics too, how many times Crowley gender is explored, with pronouns and labels and identities? While the more i saw for Aziraphale was a vulva or they/them pronouns, and never in a human au! Aziraphale is depicted and seem as a cisgender male
I have seem even people saying Aziraphale have internalized homophobia! I- how??
Found them! @theelastword made an ask on the "bad Aziraphale takes" blog that inspired this bit <3 thank you love
Need for a villain and favorites
As we saw, people that hate Aziraphale choose to see Heaven as evil, as the villain, and that is also followed by many people who dont hate Aziraphale! Well, might i say that... we dont have a real villain in Good Omens? The angels arent evil for wishing to follow what they believe to be God's plan, nor for deminishing humanity- but i'm getting ahead of myself here!
The need to see Heaven as inhetently bad, the big bad villain, makes people see Aziraphale, going back there "freely", hurting Crowley's feelings, saying Hell/demons are the bad guys (wich they ARE?? There is not an inversion of values!) As him being evil, as him going to the side of the villain instesd of choosing Crowley, going back to CROWLEY'S abusers, not his, not theirs, Crowley
I do believe humans have a natural need to have favorites, when you're a kid is always "wich caracther of this cartoon am i?" and later is always "wich do i relate to more? Wich do i like more?", and people choose Crowley for all those reasons above and probally some personal ones too
So! As a small conclusion:
People choose to prefer Crowley, they choose to see Crowley as better because he's a "good demon", he's the victim that fell from Heaven and hates Hell, he's the queer caracther, he's kind and genuine and helps Aziraphale and have a car he loves
Because of the idea that Aziraphale is: A) opposite to Crowley; B) an Angel! (The abusers! The bad guys! The evil!); C) a BAD angel for that matter, he's selfish and mundane and comes across as rude to Crowley (because he acts so fucking autistic too!); people tend to DISLIKE Aziraphale, small simple minded people, but people nonetheless
I know the whole post is a bit over the place, it might sound confusing here and there, but i really wanted to put all this together to try and understand why people hate Aziraphale
I though maybe this can give a small input on why people think like that, it sures helps me to understand how they think that and what they mean by their terrible takes! I guess is mostly them being naive
Oh! You know how in the 2000's the media was demonizing femininity by having blond, pink, feminine villains in their high school romances? How we, to this day, tend to see feminine girls as fake, vulgar, naive, etc? How most teen girls go through a "not like other girls phase" because of that?
Same principle! Is the same reason for why they see Heaven and Aziraphale as evil
I hope someone can appreciate this lil silly thoughs put together <3
#good omens#aziraphale#crowley#innefable husbands#good omens 2#badaziraphaletakes#good aziraphale takes#for once
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1.
“You think you’re the only one who can find a date?” Geto paused his inspection of himself to meet Gojo's gaze in the mirror. “Ah, no, sorry. You don't go on dates. You have to know the other person's name for it to count as a date.”
Behind the near black of his sunglasses, Gojo’s eyes widened with exaggerated offense.
“You can’t slut shame anymore, Suguru. It’s 2010,” Gojo teased, as he flopped back on Geto’s bed.
“I’m not slut shaming you. I’m saying you’re not in a position to act like me going on a first date is a scandal."
Gojo tipped his head backwards and leveled Geto with an over-dramatic eye roll.
He does that to make people notice how pretty his eyes are.
“It’s not a scandal. It’s…”
Whatever Gojo thought it was was a mystery, because he was uncharacteristically lost for words.
Despite what Gojo might accuse him of, Geto was not a sex negative person or a prude.
He was just madly in love with his best-friend-slash-roommate, and every time Satoru stumbled home with his clothes rumpled and his hair fingered through, Geto felt like burning Tokyo to the ground.
It was all the unhinged, unrealistic pining that led Geto to make this plan in the first place.
The Plan: Geto was going to get over his straight, no-strings-sex-only, relationship-phobic best friend.
Step One of The Plan: Find literally anyone else in the entire world that he could think about kissing without wanting to die.
- - - - Read more cut - - - -
A month earlier, he’d gone so far as to get a guy’s phone number. He’d popped into a café after a particularly foul curse he’d absorbed – hoping to wash the taste out of his mouth with tea and a pastry – and the barista had such a stark white shock of messy hair that Geto had done a doubletake to make sure Gojo wasn’t fucking around in a coffee shop on some bizarre mission objective.
The barista had been, admittedly, extremely attractive. His hair was bleached, but it suited him, and he had pleasing, well-proportioned features. Working on pure adrenaline and determination, Geto had asked him for his number. The guy had turned beet red but managed to stutter out his info to Geto.
Almost as soon as Geto left the café, though, the little nits and snags started to pop up in his mind.
Obviously, the eyes were all wrong. The shyness wasn’t right. The smile. His voice. He wasn’t tall enough, and his hands didn’t have that same graceful strength.
It was a laundry list of how fake-Satoru was emphatically not Satoru.
Geto wasn’t even all the way down the block before he deleted the barista’s info from his phone.
Now Geto was on attempt number two: a first date with a man who in absolutely no way resembled Satoru Gojo.
His non-Gojo-ness was exactly what prompted Geto to ask the man at the train station for his number. Shota was short, burly, square-faced, and serious. Geto had only clocked the man’s interest by the overly long looks he’d shot him.
At least I'm good at reading people…
“Hey, you should bring her back here,” Gojo said – pulling Geto’s attention back to the present. “We can watch that new horror movie. Human Earthworm.”
…unlike my oblivious best friend.
“Are you seriously asking to be the third wheel on my date?”
Gojo’s face was upside down - his head practically hanging off the end of Geto’s bed. The odd angle must have been what made Gojo’s smile look off.
“You worried she’ll be more interested in your hot roommate?”
Geto shot him an unamused look.
“I don’t know why anyone agrees to sleep with you,” Geto lied. “Your head’s so big, it seems like a crush risk.”
“They can tell I’m killer in bed,” Gojo smirked. “The risk is worth the reward.”
Geto turned away and pulled at the shirt he was wearing. He didn’t totally love it, but he also didn’t care as much as he should about impressing Shota.
It wasn’t as if Geto was about to fall in love with this train station stranger, but if he at least went through the motions, maybe his brain would get with the program and start considering non-Satoru people as potential romantic interests.
“But, seriously, Suguru,” Gojo said as he folded his hands under his head – making the hem of his shirt ride up. “What’s up with this date? I thought you weren’t into that sort of thing.”
Geto’s eyes drew immediately to the sliver of skin above the waistband of Gojo’s slim-fit black joggers.
The peek of skin couldn’t have been more than an inch wide, but Geto could see twin ridges of definition. The visual set Geto’s mind racing, thinking about the rest of Gojo’s skin.
Damn him for having a nice body.
“I’m trying to make myself get into it,” Geto said, wholly distracted by seeing Gojo’s abs and trying to not let his body get worked up, as if he were still a horny highschooler.
“Ohhh,” Gojo replied, his tone brightening. “I get it.”
Geto’s stomach flopped over as Satoru sprang up.
Did I just out myself?
“What do you get?”
“Nothing,” Geto said with a toothy grin that implied otherwise. “But - just so you know - I like you the way you are, Suguru.”
The idiot part of Geto’s heart – i.e., the whole of it – thumped hopefully.
“If you don’t want to date anyone, don’t date anyone,” Gojo added, cheerily. “I won’t let anyone talk shit about my best friend. I mean, who cares if you’re a virgin?”
Geto’s idiot heart plopped down into his stomach.
Gojo thought he was a crotchety prude who’d rather spend his whole life celibate than have any fun, and he still definitely had Geto squarely in the friend zone.
Obviously you’re in the friendzone, you idiot. He’s straight.
(Complete fic on AO3)
#satosugu#stsg#satosugu fanfic#gojo x geto#satosugu fic#happy ending#mutual pining#slow burn#eventual smut#idiots in love#canon divergent au#fix it fic#alternating pov#roommates#stsg fic#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#gojo satoru#geto suguru#my writing#my fic
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Micro-Story Prompt - Silent Fury
This is for @orangekittyenergy, whose request was lost in the void for some reason! Thanks Tumblr.
Also this one is longer than the others because I got carried away.
I'm not sorry.
He’s silenced you?!
Fury boils your blood. As soon as his spell is cast, Rolan turns to continue sorting through scrolls and stacking books. You can’t see his face, but you just know he is wearing that smug, arrogant little half-smile that always flushes your skin with heat. You want to throw something at him.
All you did was ask him a question! Ok, a couple of questions...
Fourteen. You asked him fourteen questions about the specific requirements for some of the more complex scrolls you came across in your seemingly endless organisation—and now a spell of enforced, total silence envelops the cramped study of Ramazith’s tower.
Not a page flutters, not a breath whispers. You have no way of letting him know what an arse he is.
He can’t hear you call him an arrogant bastard, or catch the slam of your book in outrage as all the words you wish to say to him lay dead on your tongue.
Furious, you stride over to him and turn him to face you, searing all the heated words he has stripped from you into the fire of your gaze. Standing inches from him, you tell him soundlessly exactly how much he infuriates you, how he should be grateful you’ve offered to help organise the tower and how consistently he has frustrated and inflamed you ever since your first meeting.
The effort of trying to vocalise your mute rage causes your chest to heave. His eyes roam over you as you berate him silently, and settle golden and lidded upon the emphatic movement of your mouth. It doesn’t matter that he can’t hear your words; it is satisfying to watch his clever mind try and decipher your increasingly imaginative insults.
He leans closer, as though trying to hear what isn’t there. You’re now looking up at him, and you can feel the heat from his body mingling with your own. His breath ghosts over your face, and you see a flicker in his eyes—Amusement, challenge? Or something else?
His look burns out your tirade, and all you are left with are heavy breaths and electric skin.
Flustered, you give him a final glare before turning to storm out the study. Why should you bother helping him? Arrogant, vexing wizard.
He reaches out before you can move away from him, his fingers wrapping around your arm. The simple touch feels like a spark igniting a wildfire, and you are suddenly grateful for the magic which swallows your gasp.
You stumble with surprise, and his tail wraps around your waist to steady you as you topple into him and lay a hand against his chest to balance yourself. Your pressed palm detects a rumbling sensation, rhythmic and deep. Is he… purring?
His tail tightens against you, the tip pushed under your loose shirt to lay flat and heavy against the soft skin above your hip. His composure is rattled, and all that arrogance seems to have melted away into uncertainty. His pointed teeth now rest against the beautiful, soft skin of his bottom lip. You tell him how much you want to bite it, but his spell swallows your desire.
His focus on the magic drops, and Rolan’s heated voice cracks the shell of silence.
“Say that again”
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Ko-fi thank-you sentences for @bleutwocents; weird Kryptonian bonding.
"I think that's fair," Clark says, mouth quirking in amusement again. Superboy's own mouth is stuffed with chili fries, but he makes an emphatic noise of agreement, nodding firmly. Clark feels an overwhelming urge to knock him ass over teakettle, pin him down, and comb his wild-looking hair into order for him, but should really let him eat first. Also, playing high-altitude tag will probably just make a mess of it again anyway, so maybe after that too.
His kid is so cute. Really. Clark has never seen a kid this cute. Even the kids in ads and commercials and anime aren't this cute.
"You're adorable," he says fondly, and Superboy swallows his mostly-chewed mouthful of chili fries and grins at him.
"Daaaaad!" he laughs protestingly. "I'm not a baby, geez!"
"You're my baby," Clark hums contentedly, ruffling Superboy's unruly curls a bit closer into order after all, which–yeah, okay, he's just immediately become his parents, hasn't he.
At least they're good examples.
Superboy laughs again and ducks away with his share of the chili fries, still grinning.
"Am not!" he says, then sticks out his tongue at him.
"Are so," Clark hums, then clotheslines him into a hug. Superboy elbows him in the gut and attempts to wriggle free for about two seconds, then melts into him completely with a happy purring sound that somehow makes him seem about six times cuter than he already did, which is saying something.
God, he's actually just absolutely precious, isn't he. Clark needs to find such a good place to raise him and introduce him to Ma and Pa and Lois and Jimmy and–
"Are you gonna finish that?" Superboy asks with clear malicious intent, unsubtly attempting to steal his chili fries. Clark lets him but hugs him harder for it in vengeance, and Superboy laughs yet again before dissolving into happy purring as he decimates his way through both of their fry baskets with a very teenage appetite. Clark makes a low rumbling noise he's never made in his life and nuzzles his hair before dropping a kiss into it. Superboy purrs louder in response.
So cute. Clark is going to buy him all the chili fries in the world. Every single one. They're all for his baby now.
"Tag now?" Superboy asks eagerly before Clark can follow through on clearing out this food truck of all its chili fries for him, and Clark hums and kisses his head again, giving him an affectionate crushing as he does.
"Throw out your trash and thank the service worker again first," he says.
"I can't do that when you're hugging me this hard, Dad," Superboy says with a snicker. Clark huffs at that total nonsense and hugs him harder.
"I believe in you, kiddo," he says firmly, and Superboy laughs again. Clark is never going to get sick of hearing him do that, much less of making him do that. Suddenly everything about the existence of dad jokes makes sense.
Superboy balls up their emptied cardboard fry baskets together and tosses them both towards the trashcan, making a triumphant noise when they land directly in it in a perfect arc. Clark smiles helplessly and gives him another affectionate crushing. His kid is so talented. And cute. And strong. And smart. And good.
"Thanks again," Superboy says, grinning sheepishly at the food truck worker as he gives her a little wave. "The fries really were super-good."
"Any time," she says a little faintly, waving back at him.
#clark kent#kon el#conner kent#superman#superboy#my adventures with superman#bleutwocents#rinfic#wip: weird kryptonian bonding rituals
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