#at least now they're keeping him black back in the day he'd go back and forth

[starpirateee]

Hi!! Could you write one of the Curtwen prompts I made, yet didn’t cut it? I love your writing style!!

Honestly there was a bit of deliberation here because you put some really good ideas out there on the form, but I did say I'd write em myself, and by all means, I'll still do it! So, I decided to go for this prompt:

Would you take a modern au from me? Can I do that?

I mean, I'm going to anyway, because I have a dire need to call Curt and Owen husbands (and also for wider Starkid lore), but i just thought I'd warn you beforehand!

"Agent Carvour, have you found anything yet?"

Owen leaned back away from his research. He'd been looking at the same page now for a while, trying to make some sense of it. Redacted government files were hard to get hold of, but even harder to make ends of. His system had been trying to translate it, but not even he had the software for that.

"Quite possibly, sir. I have a few sources, at least."

"What have you got?"

With an air of something that was almost excitement and almost elation, Owen pulled up a series of documents and started the walk through them. "Well, sir, the easiest source was from a few years ago. There's a company in Michigan that's been trying to conduct various temporal experiments under their parent company— some kind of analyst company, I think. They're surprisingly ordinary. Anyway, apparently the experiments just… Stopped. They never drew a conclusion on whether or not their research was connected to what was on the other side."

This had all started when Chimera had dug up a series of centuries old reports about people claiming to have looked into the eyes of old gods. None of the people had known each other, but all of the reports showed some form of consistency, and all told of great, unknowable power.

So, they had decided to look into it, to see if there had been anyone else who'd dared to brave the process of trying to find an answer. Owen was one of those lucky enough to find himself with the resources to start a thorough investigation.

"They didn't finish?"

"No, I don't know what happened, but the reports just stopped one day."

"Is there anything else?"

"An american government report, but it's as hard as you can imagine to decipher. Most of it is redacted…"

"Anything worth noting?"

Owen nodded, carefully turning back and switching the tabs. This felt a little like he was giving a presentation that he hadn't prepared for, and he hadn't felt like this in quite some time. He took a breath, trying to slow down the rampage that was going on in his head. "They started in the early noughts. 2005, to be precide. That's the earliest I'd gotten without looking at those old reports from the pioneers. A branch of the military tried to build a gateway to the other side, to investigate what existed outside of our plane. I don't know names, only one. The name of the man who performed the experiment."

"They got this gateway open?"

"Yes, sir. And they sent someone through. I think there's a good reason why his is the only name they disclosed."

"Why?"

"Because he was declared dead, sir."

His screen still displayed the document, and the man's name sat among the black markouts, clear enough to see. Cross, W.D. Apparently, he'd ventured into the portal, and nobody heard from him or saw him after the date of the experiment. They gave up the search after a month, and after that, Colonel Cross was indeed declared dead.

"So, another dead end?"

"Maybe not. I'll do what I can to uncover this with what I've got available, but it was scanned, so…. It might take some time." Owen was normally confident in his abilities, and uncovering government documents was a difficult yet necessary part of the job. There was something almost genuinely enthralling about scraping off the parts that the world's governments wanted to keep secret. It felt like giving people a small yet surprisingly effective slice of justice every time.

"Keep looking, Carvour. We need to know if this is viable, or even worth our time…"

If Owen had any kind of normal life— if he and his husband didn't both do the dirty work for secret operation services— he would have a blast trying to decide how to describe the intricacies of what he'd been researching lately. The throws of domestic life confounded him to no end, which was why it was so funny when he and Curt tried to imitate that.

The otherwise simple question of "how was your day" turned into a battle of who could craft the most believable lie that better concealed what they'd actually done. Neither wanted to jeopardise their jobs, and Curt had always been brilliant at crafting stories, so it was never dull.

He started to think about what today's excuse would be. Something about pioneers, or the Oregon trail, or perhaps he could bring up that old, dead colonel somehow, that would be interesting to add to the pile.

--

"You know what I'm gonna ask already…"

By the time he got home, Curt was already waiting for him, and the mid-spring sun was starting to set. For anyone else, it was a day at the office, but the trails he had begun to uncover had really put all other days at the office to shame.

He laughed softly, having prepared this answer a number of hours before, and took up a position on the couch. "No, love, you first. I insist."

"Fine, okay," Curt answered with a chuckle. "It was nothing really, just your standard… But, the bear returned, and in about a month, I'm gonna get really rich and run off to central Europe, with a really pretty lady and a dollar store box of magic tricks."

"The same bear from last month?"

"Yeah. Bastard won't leave me alone."

"Sounds wild. Are you coming back after your plans to run off with this really pretty lady?"

"Plan is to cut myself off after three weeks, but at this rate, I might not make it two."

"Not good enough?"

"Owen, I'm a bit too gay for that." To sell his point, he flashed his wedding band, and Owen laughed harder. "Besides," he added, covering his own bout of laughter. "Who needs a fake wife when I've got my own right here?"

Owen shot him a faux-offended glance. "How dare you!"

"You might fool the guys at work, O, but you couldn't pretend you don't think about it…"

Or that he hadn't been experimenting in that part of himself in little segments since he was seventeen. Turns out he suited long hair better, and he wouldn't hesitate to admit that he both looked and felt rather good with the occasional flourish.

"You know me well..."

"I should hope so! Anyway, what're you keeping from me? How was your day?"

"Office, just like you. I've had a conversation with a pioneer, and tried to erase marker pen over the body of a dead soldier. Oh, and I tried to teach myself statistical analysis."

"Jeez, that was— that was a whole rollercoaster there, huh?"

"Mhm, I've been busy."

"You can say that again, god… So, a pioneer? Like those guys that travelled to Oregon?"

"Yeah. Quite interesting people, if a little paranoid." Something other than their oxen might be watching them would've been a perfect addition to the statement, but Owen felt that was a little too close to the line to pass, so he decided not to add it.

The important part was, apart from the knowledge that Curt was on an assignment in a month's time, both of them were none the wiser. Curt didn't need to know that he had started the deep dive into a pack of eldritch gods and was even slightly nervous about the outcome.

He didn't sleep well that night. He knew that he had right to believe that this was all one great hoax, that there was something in the water that made the pioneers mass hallucinate this supposed watcher. They all travelled on the same trail, it was entirely plausible that all of them found the same hallucinogenic and envisioned a thousand eyes watching them and their familes. It was less of a coincidence when two subsidaries of larger companies started describing details of experiments that led them to discovering other beings beyond just the watcher, of course, but he still wasn't sure whether he was privy to believing any of it.

There was something about redacted government files, though, that were meant to be believed. There was a reason they hid information from the public, and that was often because they had found something worth disclosing in the first place. That meant huge news, large press cover ups… The whole works… And that was the last thing any self-respecting government with something to hide would want. Owen imagined the size of the initial press conferences for dealings like Roswell, how many people must've shown up to that conference, under the impression that they were going to get answers, only for the press to redact the next day and claim that it was no more than a weather balloon.

He felt like he was dealing with a weather balloon of his own right now. This was something that this branch of the military clearly didn't want people knowing. The only reason they'd had to disclose any information at all was because one of their own had died looking for this information, and they had to provide the closure for whatever family he had left. Part of him wondered what they'd said, how they'd tried to cover up this man's imminent demise at the hands of another dimension. What did his family know? Was he ever given a sendoff?

When Owen tried to sleep that night, plagued with the thoughts of how much his research was worth, and what really happened on the other side, he couldn't get his head in the right place to take a suitable rest for long enough. Flashes of colour— brighter than anything he'd ever seen— danced behind his eyelids, chasing each other in sequence. Blue. Purple. Yellow. Pink. Green. White. Blue…. He didn't have much of the capacity to think, not when those colours started consuming his subconscious thought, but he spared a moment to the hope that he may get answers of his own if he stuck around long enough.

"He thinks he's brave… He thinks we don't know about him…"

Whatever dream he had been having was taken over by blurred edges and violent pangs of pain that he was sure he could feel outside of this existence. Everything faded out, leving only ruin in it's wake. Broken pieces, scrambled signals… Owen didn't even try and make sense of it, he already understood the futility of trying. There was nothing left in his mind but those colours and those voices— for he was sure there was more than one. A sickening chorus, holding perfect time with each other.

"He's foolish, if he thinks he can go further without us finding out."

"Owennnn…"

"We know what you're doing, Owen…. It's not going to last."

He'd thought about meeting his maker before. He'd thought about the possibility of death, the idea that he may not live to see another day eventually. It was hard to deliberate something so serious in his early thirties, but his line of work called for it. He knew that he had a dangerous job, and that there were few who would be able to save him if something happened.

But, he'd never considered the possibility of his own demise to this extent before. In the formless remains of his dream, where he was forced into hearing these voices talk about his death and how soon it would be to coming, he had pause for deliberation. And it wasn't good.

He had to strain to take control of his own voice, in this space that was once his own. Once so sacred, now scarce and left entirely to the whim of whatever was taking residence in his mind. This was a bad idea. All of this research was a bad idea, and he was suddenly more aware of that than he was anything else. Never before had he had such a violent urge to overturn everything he'd worked on for the sake of something this seemingly trivial.

"There's nothing you can do. It's already started. This is bigger than me…"

"We know that. You're not the only one we have heard trying to work your way into what is ours… Choose your next step carefully, Owen. I'm sure we would delight in taking you in the same direction as the others…"

Before he could really ask what that meant, he was left entirely alone. The ruin of his dream still stood strong, which was strange enough given that the voices had left him alone, but he had the strangest feeling that there was more to this landscape than just what he was being shown. He started to wander, to look around in an attempt to find the real end to all of this. His mind was a wasteland, taken over by the lack of colour and the apparently deafening absence of those voices that had only appeared a moment before. He felt empty without them, although he knew nothing more than the sequence of colours that paraded through his vision.

Blue… Purple…. Yellow…

The pattern was familiar, like he'd seen it before somewhere. And while he wasn't resting easy, he couldn't force himself to wake up, either. No matter how hard he tried, he was just left stuck, wandering the expanse until he found what he was apparently looking for.

Pink…. Green…. White… Blue…

The expanses of his mind stretched out into a road, occupied by nothing but empty space. He supposed that was mostly his own fault; he had known for years that his imagination was never one to be put on par with anything else. He couldn't so vividly picture that which others could, and he'd never really had much of a capacity to dream, either.

So, this warning was strange. Seeing such vivid, bright colours in the back of his mind, knowing that he couldn't have conjured them himself…

He started to walk the road, curious enough to want to know where it went.

"Owen?"

That voice wasn't like the ones who had left moments before. That voice had a personality, and a person to go with. It was warm, though scared. Human all the same. And Owen knew the shape of it.

"Owen?"

Owen let his instinct lead him down the road, through it's many curves and winds. Eventually, the road gave way to what could only possibly be a stage. There was a set of stairs to one side, that he let himself climb before he could think to wonder where they led, and then the familiar voice gave way to a man in the wings, staring at him with desperate, fear-lined eyes. Of course he knew the voice, and of course he had never tried to doubt himself on the matter.

He tried to advance towards Curt, but he took a hasty step back, shaking his head.

"Curt?"

"Prove you're Owen."

"I'm sorry?"

Curt hesitated, and then slowly emerged from the wings. Even though he stood on the light of the stage, it still looked like he was carefully enveloped in shadow, like the darkness was a comfort to him. Owen looked around, wondering what had made him so cautious, and whether it was still around. Had Curt seen what he'd seen? What had those things whispered to him?

"I'm not falling for it again. Tell me you're actually Owen…"

Owen frowned, not wanting to dwell too much on why Curt was so afraid to reach out to him and realise that all of this was as real as they could get it. "Curt, love, I don't know what you want me to say…" There was a certain desperation about him too. Improvisation had never been his strong suit, but he wass confident that, given the right prompt, he would be able to convince his husband that he was who he said he was, to quell any discrepancy that it may have been otherwise.

"Don't. Show me… What happened on your 25th birthday."

The pieces fit into place, and Owen nodded dutifully. He had been out in the field that day, a strikingly hot day in the middle of June. The two of them had barely ended up with three hours together by the end of it, and they'd gone out drinking to celebrate what little time was left of his birthday. He'd never been particularly big on celebrating, but Curt had insisted. They were newly married then, and getting used to the idea of sharing a life with someone else. That was one of the first nights following their wedding when Owen truly came to realise that he'd made entirely the right decision, and that there was nobody he'd rather share his life with than Curt Mega.

"My 25th… That was a home ground mission. I was in the state."

"What happened to you?"

Owen smiled, somewhere between fondness and a need to hide the melancholic air that hung about that question. He pushed up the sleeve of his jacket, and huffed a weary breath of laughter. "I was trying to make my exit, but the suit jacket caught on a fence. Here…" With his sleeve rolled to just the right length, Owen held out his arm and pointed out a pale flash just below his elbow— a jagged scratch that had never quite healed right. "That's what happened after the fabric tore. Is that enough?"

Curt had known about the scar. He'd also known about the story. He was pretty sure that nobody else knew, though, so in his head, that had always been his fallback option in the event that he was ever sure Owen needed to prove himself. Those stories lined up perfectly, and while Owen had missed out on some of the details, in the grander scheme of things, he'd gotten it exactly right. He shifted, letting a knowing smile cross his face through the fear that still gripped him.

"It's really you…"

"Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

Curt's approach was still careful, premeditated. Even though he knew the truth now, there was still something about him that screamed a lack of trust directly into his ear, and it made actually reaching out for Owen so much harder. "You… You were trying to kill me."

"What now?"

"I know what I saw…"

"I don't doubt you, but I would never… I swear it on my life."

"I know, that's why it was strange… I— What the hell's happening?" This stage was the only thing connecting the two of them to reality. There was nothing beyond it but the end of the road that Owen had travelled down, and nothing behind it but black, empty space.

Owen let his instinct take over. If the two of them were going to face the unknown, whatever and wherever this was, then they were going to do it together. They always had, and they always would. That was the way things worked, especially for the two of them, because their lives were built so heavily on the idea of distrust that any semblance of the opposite they could get, they would cling to. Normally that was exclusively each other, and so the world wasn't usually much larger than the two of them.

Their hands connected in the middle of the emptiness. Owen pulled Curt Closer to him, and the two of them stood side, performers to an unknown audience, marionettes for something larger than themselves. They exchanged a glance, and Owen registered the warm, homely spark residing in Curt's eyes.

"I think we're trapped in a nightmare, crazy as it sounds," he tried to respond, but he wasn't entirely sure where this was going to go. "I can't wake up, but I remember falling asleep last night."

"Me too. I fell asleep before you did, you were still reading."

"Right, and now there's this. Whatever this is. did you, by chance, see those colours too?"

Curt nodded. "They came before you did, before the- other you. Blue, and purple, and yellow…"

"…Pink, and green, and white..?"

"And then blue again."

Owen heaved a sigh. "Curt, there's something I have to confess. It's safe to do so now, there's little that could get in the way of what I have to admit, but this is one of those things I wouldn't be able to tell you awake, you understand?"

There was a moment's pause, in which Curt tried to work around Owen's phrasing. Both of them felt the incredibly revealing sense that they were being watched, so Curt understood that Owen had gone into the professional mindset— switching off his senses for the sake of making as much sense of something as possible. It was always how he rationalised his way through situations, and it hadn't failed him yet.

Eventually, Curt nodded again, as the words started to sink in and he started to get a sense of what was being said. "This about what you told me this evening?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid there's a little more to it than what I told you, but I suppose that was rather obvious."

A nervous breath of laughter left Curt, only partially voluntary. "I thought there'd be a bit more to it than erasing marker pen over the body of a dead soldier…. What the hell kinda explanation was that, anyway?"

"One I spent a good hour crafting, thank you very much. I thought it was clever."

"Better than a pretty lady and a box of tricks?"

"And a bear, yes."

"… And the bear. Right. Well, what's that mean? erasing marker pen over the body of a dead soldier, what're you saying there?"

"I've…" This is not going to get you done for. Those documents were already top secret before you saw them. And if it gets you out of this nightmare prison, then surely it has to be worth it. "I've been uncovering sealed military case files that might explain what's happening to us right now."

Curt's eyes went wide. "Fucking what?!"

"It's all part of the job. I can't… I can't elaborate. Know only what everyone else knows: that the only reason any part of this is disclosed at all is because someone died during one of the experiments."

"What's that got to do with what's happening here?"

"That's what they were researching."

That seemed to click to some degree. At least, Curt seemed to understand a few of the larger pieces, perhaps the more obvious ones. "The colours?" In his head, there was an experiment, someone tried to make sense of whatever that was in their shared mindscape. Someone— a soldier, presumably, had died in the middle of these experiments, and now Owen had gotten tangled in this mess through his agency, and the two of them had been dropped into the same nightmare.

Owen nodded. "The colours."

At the moment he said that, a loud rumble disrupted their moment and forced their attention out into the expanse of nothing. Laughter— multiple sources with varying shrieks and gasps that couldn't be placed to a single source— burst from behind the wings, and from in front of them, and from the endless expanse of black that surrounded them. A loud crack followed, and Curt swore as the stage splintered beneath his feet. For a split second, his grip loosensed, and the next time the ground rumbled, they were torn apart by the growing crack in the stage. He staggered back, and the two of them ended on opposite sides of the stage, the crack between them growing and delving deeper into the unknown.

"Owen!" He called, trying to regain his footing but falling back.

"Curt! Hold on!" Owen yelled through the growing laughter, scrambling back to reach out for the pulley system backstage. He needed a foothold on something, a way to sturdy himself so he could regroup and think. It was too loud, he couldn't think in this kind of heat, with this kind of mess, and Curt, and-

Another crack. The stage was starting to fall away from itself, split not quite perfectly in two. Owen's breath ran short. In the swirls of colour and mayhem and possibilities, he saw a way out. One chance to get this right, and to make sure that they both survived the fall while they were still stuck here. He gripped the rope tight, levering himself further towards the crack, and looked to Curt. "You're gonna have to jump it!" He called, desperation winning over any attempts to stay sane. "Don't worry! You know I'll never let you down!"

"Are you crazy?!" Curt managed, staring into the gap. "I can't jump that, it's too far!"

"Curt, before the whole place splits in half, you have to get over here!"

"What if I don't make it?"

"Trust me! Please!"

Curt backed off a few paces. Owen stood ready, one hand gripping the rope wrapped around his wrist, and the other reaching out as far as he could, waiting for a move to be made. After a singular preparatory breath, he sprinted for the gap, and pushed off from the splintered wood at the edge.

He reached out.

Owen reached out.

Their fingertips connected briefly in the space, and then Curt slipped away beneath his grasp.

Owen threw himself forward, feeling the rope worming itself free and burning his wrist in the process. He'd promised. He wasn't going to let Curt fall. And he was nothing if not a man of his word.

Curt's eyes squeezed shut, preparing for an endless fall through the ineviatble. Something laced around his wrist and he felt himself stop moving. Exerting all the caution he knew to exert, he looked up, and caught a familiar whiskey brown staring back at him.

"I've got you!" Owen breathed, and Curt fought to angle himself so that he could get a better chance to grab the broken stage floor. When Owen started hauling backwards, Curt managed to get a hold of the edge of the stage, and made it a joint effort to haul him to his feet. "You're alright… You're okay…"

Curt essentially fell into Owen's arms. Owen held on tight, like he could lose his partner at any second to the swirls and the crevice. He stared out into the emptiness, ignoring the very real pain that he could feel at his wrist but cherishing the very reel feeling of Curt's shirt underneath his hands. The very air seemed to shift. Owen wasn't previously aware that colours could get angry, but this green that flooded the space behind his eyes was pissed. He could feel it.

So was he. Pissed, and way more desperate than a man ought to be.

"Alright," he muttered once, and Curt drew back ever so slightly. He noticed Owen was staring off into the greater expanse, and hoped for all it was worth that he couldn't see something out there.

"Alright!" His voice got louder, and he tried to mask his utter despair in an authorative tone. "I get it. You hear me? I get it!"

Everything fell eerily silent. The only sound that remained was the pounding of Owen's heart in his ears. He took a breath, strangely certain of himself. Glanced at Curt. Spared his attention on the void again.

"That soldier… Wilbur Cross? That was your fault, wasn't it? There's a good reason nobody can get very far into digs like these, and it's because you strive to kill them before they do. Nobody ought to know what's on the other side, and that's why nobody does…"

"Owen, what're you doing?" Curt whispered, but to no response and little avail. Owen was lost in whatever he was about to say.

"… But, I've heard talk of bargains being made here, so how about it?"

"Your desperation speaks for itself."

Owen had to pretend that that— the voice from the middle of nowhere or what it had said to him— didn't bother him in the slightest. He steeled himself, not sure where to direct his attention but knowing he'd probably have it right no matter what he chose. "What do you say, am I allowed to make a deal?"

The air shifted. Owen didn't receive a direct answer, but he knew that he'd been allowed to continue. "If I don't continue— if I go back, and tell my people that it's an impossibility, that it can't be done— would you let him go?" Another quick glance at Curt, as if the green something needed clarification, or as if he knew what he was signing himself up for.

Curt was frozen in place, his eyes wide. He'd heard every word as it echoed in the void, and he hated what it was implying. His gaze was fixed on Owen, fear blazing through his face. "No, Owen—" his voice came out weak. As far as literal interpretations go, that was not a good one. He didn't understand what was happening, but it terrified him to know that Owen was being so calm about this, while he could be selling his life away with nothing more than a few choice words.

Owen frowned, and muttered an apology he was sure only Curt would catch. The green grew angrier, setting a violent fire behind his eyes and forcing him onto his knees as the pain flooded his body.

"You better not be fucking with me."

"No! I— I wouldn't! I'm serious! I'll call it off, I swear on my life, just… He has nothing to do with any of this. It's not his fault."

The thing considered, holding Owen firmly in place while he deliberated. Curt couldn't move— he didn't dare, lest something happen to Owen that put him in more danger than he was already in. All he could do was force himself into keeping his breath steady, and not thinking about what a single wrong move could do to either of them. His eyes landed on the friction burn winding neatly around Owen's wrist, and he decided to focus on that for a while; the only other colour in a void of blackness and green.

"Very well."

That was the last thing Owen heard. Some part of his mind just shut down, and he collapsed to the floor of the stage. He didn't hear the way Curt screamed his name, or the return of the chorus of laughter. His eyes closed, and the next thing he knew, he was waking up with a start, underneath the sheets of his own bed, gasping for breath. He sturdied himself out, and once he was sure that he was real, and definitely in a familiar space, he looked over to Curt, and found him still asleep.

"Curt?" His voice was soft, but his mind was a knife point of tension. If that had gone wrong, then why was he the one to live through it ant not Curt? He tried again, biting his lip. "Curt..?"

Curt groaned. His eyes opened slowly. The relief that Owen felt hit him like a tidal wave.

For some reason, Curt was entirely surprised to see that Owen had made it through to the other side. He managed a weary smile, and tried to get his vision into focus. That was one of those decisions that he immediately came to regret. As soon as he brought himself a little more into the real worls, he noticed that the brown in Owen's eyes was stained with something else, and it made him feel sick to his stomach. Dripping down his irises was a flash of toxic, unsettlingly bright green.

#spies are forever #saf #starkid #agent curt mega #owen carvour #star mail #void offering #nova's tags → #wiggly would have an absolute field day with owen and curt huh #bc desires run deep. they want each other. they want to be free... #but curt wants to not be haunted by the ghosts of his past #and owen wants to move on. to get a better future where he doesn't have to devote his life to an agency #might be fun to play around with

[freaky-flawless]

It's still fucked up, but it is a little funny that MGA is keeping up the tradition of changing Dylan's appearance every time he shows up.

[Image Description: Three photos of Dylan from Bratz showcasing the variances in his appearance. The first photo is a close up of his appearance from "Talking Bratz" in which he has dark skin with dark brown hair styled in micro-braids, and light brown eyes, wearing a black sweater with a silver chain. The second shows his appearance in the video Game "Bratz: Flaunt Your Fashion" in which he has light skin, light brown eyes, and black hair styled with a middle part. he's wearing a white t-shirt under a green plaid short sleeved button up. The third photo is a close up from a Bratz Instagram post in which he is sitting next to Sasha. He has light skin, medium brown eyes, and his black hair is styled in short box braids. He's wearing a gray hoodie, and tan cargo shorts with black converse-like sneakers.]

#bratz #bratz dylan #bratz boyz #mga #these are three different dudes #its so frustrating tho because he is literally the only black dude to ever exist in the bratz universe #actually there might have been one other but he was movie only #at least now they're keeping him black back in the day he'd go back and forth #i love his talking bratz design but i will say he's always been light skinned in my eyes #i think i dig the black hair too...all this is to say that i wanna figure out how i wanna draw him #and there's a lot to work with

[luveline]

Hi there! I hope your day’s been going well :)

Could you maybe write something with Spencer where Reader faints? Feel free to ignore this if you’re not up for it!!

thank u for ur request! fem!reader, 1.6k

"It's so hot," you say, startled. The lobby of the hotel had been blissfully air-conditioned. The difference hits you immediately. 

"Don't worry about blazers or professional attire," Hotch says, though he quickly amends, "within reason."

You take off your jacket and follow the herd of the BAU into the black SUVs. The SUVs are even hotter than the outdoors, blistering ovens of heat that have you feeling nauseous instantaneously. Spencer rubs your arm with the back of his hand swiftly —it's a friendly touch to say he's here, but it's quick to prevent any unnecessary added heat. 

It's August in Texas, 107 degrees Fahrenheit. Emily smells distinctly of sunscreen from the front passenger seat. Derek, behind the wheel, looks hot around the collar. Spencer looks as though he wishes he'd had a haircut before he came, chin length curls tucked tight behind his ears. 

Despite this, none of them complain beyond the general whine every now and then. You try very hard to shut up and focus on the case with them, but as the day goes on, bumping you from hot car to hot crime scene (with all inclusive smells of gore!), you feel wobbly on your feet. 

"Spence?" you ask, sitting in a hard-backed chair in the police precinct. 

"Yeah?" He doesn't look away from the geographical profile he's building. You're supposed to be helping, but your notes are half-hearted, likely useless. "What?" 

"Do you have any water?" 

He pushes a pin into the left of the map and grabs a ruler. "No, sorry. There's a staff room by the bullpen, the secretary said to help ourselves. Actually, she said to 'go ham.'"

"Okay. I'll be right back. And I'll be more helpful." 

"You're plenty helpful," he murmurs, leaning down to follow the line of his rules with a pencil. 

You don't feel helpful, you feel awful. Head heavy, eyes aching, every step sends a jolt through your teeth and jaw, your skull like a mashed potato. You know you're a poor sight with sweat wetting your hair and a crawling sensation between your legs and the fabric of your pants. 

Letting yourself into the staff room, you're unsurprised to find a bone dry water cooler and a crate of water bottles with only one remaining. Spencer needs a drink too, and he has a thing about germs. You frown at the water bottle as though that might duplicate it, but when it doesn't, you're forced to take it and put it under your arm. You look around for a mug to at least have some tap water no matter how ill-advised that may be. They're all dirtied in the sink and on tables. Fuck. 

Spencer is super, super lovely to you. You wonder sometimes if he might ask you out, or at least want to, but most of the time you're sure it's just a little extra friendliness because he knows how it feels to be the youngest on the team, how patronised or lonely it gets. And the weight of trying to prove yourself every mission, it's almost as heavy as your head. 

"Hey," Spencer says as you open the conference room door. "I think I've worked something out. Could you call Garcia for me? I've got dry-erase marker on my hands." 

"Got this for you," you say, offering him the bottle. He takes it without looking. 

"Thanks. Are you feeling any better? I know you can be sensitive to the heat." 

"Maybe we can get portable fans on the FBI budget next year," you say wistfully, pushing a chair in at the table. You lean on it to grab the phone in the middle of a sea of papers and cases and jackets, black spots popping up in your vision. "My head's rushing." 

"Hey, guys," Emily says, sounding strangely chipper as she and Hotch trudge in. Her hair is in a tight ponytail away from her face. 

You try to greet them and end up hanging your head. 

"Y/N," Spencer chokes, alarmed.

You slump forward over the chair, desperate to keep your footing and failing. Your shin knocks into the chair and your hands grasp at the top of it, but you can't hold yourself up any longer, knocking your face into the chair as you collapse. A cheap tent in a strong breeze, you fall with little more than a weak sigh. 

You're hurting a lot when you come to, blinking like your lashes have been brushed with glue. The lights have been turned off, and a blissful chill soaks your hairline. Someone presses a water bottle to your lips and lifts your head. You drink half the contents in three gulps and get laid down again with the utmost care. 

"She's coming around," Hotch says. 

Your neck aches propped over a leg. Two deft hands hold your head still. 

"Don't move too much," Spencer says, his voice odd. You blink as his face moves into view upside down. "An EMT is on the way, okay? You passed out." 

You can't find your voice. Spencer strokes your cheek with his thumb, says, "Hey, can you hear me? Let's hear your voice. Talk to me." 

"You don't sound like yourself," you say hoarsely, each word tenuous. You wince at the bruising heat that radiates from your nose with each word. 

"I'm worried about you," Spencer admits. "It makes it hard to stay objective." 

"No, you sound funny." 

"I'm worried," he repeats. His smile is strained. 

"She's okay," Hotch says. 

You realise Emily's got your hand in hers when she squeezes it. "Have you had anything to drink today?" she asks you, fondly incredulous. 

"No, she hasn't, and I didn't say anything about it. I'm an idiot. I'm so sorry, Y/N," Spencer says. 

"Y/N's responsible for her own preservation, Reid. And it's been a tough case, with the heat. Let's not blame anyone for anything." You press your chin to your chest to see Hotch's anxious frown. "We will be having a discussion about this later." 

You turn your face into Spencer's thigh. "Oh." 

"Don't close your eyes," Hotch says. He employs a firm, boss-like tone that has you rushing to follow orders. "You hit your head." 

"I don't feel well," you complain, wanting to close your eyes.

"Considering your behaviour," Spencer says, one of his hands trailing down your face, neck, and collar, where he rests it genially, "you likely have a mild to moderate concussion. And you're dehydrated, so you'll be feeling the effects more severely."

"Why haven't you been drinking?" Emily asks. 

"I just…" You blink sluggishly. "I don't know… We don't take anything that isn't coffee with us places and…" You lean your cheek into Spencer's hand, not quite connecting that it's his hand, or that you're laying on the precinct floor. "They only had one bottle in the staff room." 

"Why didn't you drink it?" Spencer asks softly. 

"I knew you hadn't had anything to drink, either." 

"We could've shared," he says, sounding genuinely confused. 

"You don't like sharing stuff like that. Germs." 

Spencer's voice is barely above a whisper, "I wouldn't care about your germs, Y/N. They're your germs." 

You don't have time to ask him what he means, but you've ample time to think about it on loop when the EMT arrives. He props you up, checking you over thoroughly, shining a light in your eyes and deeming you concussed.

"You don't have to see a doctor," the EMT advises. "But we're happy to take you to the hospital if that's what you want." 

"Yes," Spencer says, as you say, "No." 

Spencer puts a hand on your shoulder blade. It is an extremely forward move on his part, so unlike him that you recognise how odd it is despite your foggy mind. "She should go." 

"She fainted, Spencer," Emily says. 

"Exactly! So she should go to the hospital and–"

"I didn't break anything," you say, waving a shaky hand at the small but concerned crowd of people you've attracted. 

"Luckily," the EMT says. "Drink plenty of water and take it easy. Don't be afraid to call again if you feel worse." 

Hotch walks the EMT out, needing to take a phone call. Emily goes with him, promising to return with a dry shirt for you to wear now that yours has been soaked at the collar by the water they'd been cooling you down with while you were unconscious. 

Spencer settles practically knee to knee with you in two of the uncomfortable chairs, his assessing gaze frankly perturbing. 

"You'd share germs with me?" you ask. 

Spencer's hand leaps across the gap to yours where it rests on your knee. His eyes, brown and sweet, have all the light of a blinding smile as his lips quirk into something more sheepish. "If it stopped you from fainting, yeah. And even if it didn't, I'd be stupid to care about germs when I…" 

You breathe out slowly. "When you what?" 

"Well," he says, looking down at your hands. "I guess I just wouldn't mind your germs, that's all." 

If he's saying what you think he's saying, he's doing it in the most Spencer Reid way possible. Concussed, your charisma fails you. You've no wit to tease him with. 

You fold your hand around his. "Thanks for catching me," you say gently. 

He squeezes your fingers clumsily. "You're welcome. But it was actually mostly Emily." 

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

[moon-rivr]

congratulations

i bet on losing dogs (part two) series masterlist

pairing: college miguel o’hara x fem reader

contents: one year age gap, angst (?), smut, unprotected sex, doggy, and mentions of masturbation (m) pls lmk if i missed anything 🥸

synopsis: after going through a toxic cycle with his ex girlfriend, miguel learns that maybe he does deserve some type of love in his life.

author’s note: DADDY’S HOMEEE 🗣️ anyways so i sorta based this off mac miller’s song ‘congratulations.’ i hope y’all aren’t tired of me posting angst 😪 (i haven’t forgotten ab the poll btw 😭)

word count: 6.3k

The sun don't shine when I'm alone

Miguel was stuck in a cycle of getting together with Dana, spending a couple months of bliss by going on dates with her and exchanging sweet gestures to having a messy breakup over something completely minute. It was toxic, he could admit that much to himself. But he didn't wish to stop it. If his own mother couldn't provide him with love as a child, why should he expect for someone else to love him?

He was an anomaly.

Or at least, that's what he's been led to believe for most of his life. A being that was incapable of being loved properly, of being the odd one out in every situation he was in. From being the tallest one in every single room he stepped in (often having to crouch his head) to being the black sheep of his family.

He stayed with Dana as a method to prove to himself that he was worthy of loved by someone, even if it wasn't expressed in the healthiest of ways. But even he was starting to get at his ending point. "No, I told you about a week ago that robotics was starting back up again and that I'd be busy with the meetings," Miguel explained for what seemed to be the thousandth time this week. Think about the good moments.

"So are those meetings more important than spending time with me now?" Dana's voice was starting to get annoying to his ears, the tiny whine in her voice starting to irritate him. He was sure she was putting up that pout that she thought got him weak at the knees every time he saw it. Really, he only ended up relenting to whatever she said so he couldn't have to see that awful expression on her face for much longer.

"No, they're not. But just try to understand that I have different interests outside of this relationship. We can go out this weekend if you want to do that," he was running out of options to keep her happy. It seemed like the more that he wanted for this relationship to work, the more that she kept slipping away from his fingers. "It's just.. I don't know if I want to be in a relationship where my needs aren't being seen."

She'd be back within the week. Maybe even less if she got up to that point of loneliness. She'd come back over to him with an apologetic smile on her face, expressing how she was willing to forgive him for his past transgression. "It's okay, I know you get busy sometimes but as long as you're willing to change, I want to give this another shot," she'd whisper in his ear, the two making up in an empty janitorial closet. An exchange of empty promises slipping from Dana easily forgotten with the heat of the moment.

He came back home from a robotics meeting that had run late, a small sigh escaping his lips as he stepped inside. There was no one to welcome him as he stepped in through the door, no one to ask him how his day had gone at school today. "How'd your day go?" he asked out loud, pretending that it was his mother's voice instead of his own echoing through the living room. "It was good, thanks for asking," he felt like a fool for talking to himself, rolling his eyes as he set down his bag on the couch.

Or at least, he'd thought he was alone. He heard two voices coming from the basement, his brother's and someone else's. He made his way downstairs, his eyes widening slightly upon the sight. The spaceship model that he'd spent every available second of last week building was now crumbled by a basketball. Gabriel's eyebrows shot up to his hairline, moving closer to Miguel as you stood in the corner.

"Look, we're sorry. The game got out of hand," Gabriel started off but he released that all his attempts to apologize would be futile upon seeing the glare Miguel was shooting in his general direction. "So if you knew, why'd you come downstairs to come play?" Miguel answered back quickly, seeming to have his comebacks ready at any moment. Part of you started to feel guilty, needing to take some kind of responsibility for this as well.

"Hey, it's not his fault. I'm the one who suggested that we play down here," you could sense the tension from a mile away, deciding to ease the situation a bit. Even if that meant you had to take the fall for Gabriel's mistake. You could see the gratitude in Gabriel's expression upon seeing you walk over to them. "So? That doesn't change the fact that my project's still in shambles."

And almost as if on cue, one of the pieces that was barely hanging on fell to the ground with a dramatic thud. You could see the vein on Miguel's forehead get closer and closer to popping the more he looked at the remnants of what was otherwise, a perfect model rocket. The only reason the two of you had even come down here in the first place was because Gabriel wanted to show you the design that his brother was working on.

You'd expressed some interest in wanting to join the stem club at school, but you eventually decided against it after seeing that it was majorly ran by guys. Guys that had a reputation for being overwhelmingly misogynistic. You decided it'd be better not to join and just wait until next year, if you even wanted a chance of getting your ideas being heard out.

Most of them didn't even bother to listen to you outside of school so you didn't delude yourself into thinking that being in a club would magically change that. As much as you really wanted to join.

So you settled for observing from the outside, walking into the robotics classroom when it was deserted to look through the different parts modeled and the different things that were presented. And occasionally, Gabriel would let you sneak a peek at what the club president, Miguel, was up to.

"I can help you with the project if you want," you suggested, hoping that it would detonate the situation. The two brothers had been on thin ice since Miguel managed to get with Dana, leaving you to comfort Gabriel as he cried about the loss of his girlfriend. Miguel's face relaxed instantly, his gaze flickering over to you instead. "I'll do it myself. You'd probably just end up messing it up," his tone came out cold, dismissing the two of you out of the basement.

The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to slice with a blade. You stepped away from the table where the model rocket had once been set up, choosing to go stand by Gabriel instead. You would've figured that was the last of the discussion but you heard Gabriel mumbling underneath his breath as he headed out. Miguel's ears instantly perked up, his teeth gritting against one another. "You have something you wanna say to me?"

Miguel had practically given Gabriel a loaded weapon now. The two of you collectively knew that Gabriel wasn't one to keep his mouth shut. But maybe Miguel just wanted to keep the argument going? You weren't completely sure how this family dynamic worked at all. "Pinche amargado," Gabriel spoke up, a scoff escaping from Miguel's lips. (fucking bitter)

"Amargado porque tu no puedes dejar mis putas cosas en paz." (bitter because you can’t leave my stuff alone)

"Igualito a ti, cabron. Tu con Dana y yo con tus cosas." (just like you. you with dana and i with your stuff)

"Vete a la puta v-"

Their voices rose with each retort that they gave one another, the two almost at a brink of yelling at each other. You looked around to try to create a diversion, opting to just flicker the lights on to see if they'd calm down. You didn't have much hope in your strategy but Miguel fell silent after the lights had been turned off. Two pairs of eyes were directed towards you when you turned the lights back on, both expressing some form of disdain.

"Look, it was my fault for ruining your project so allow me to take some kind of responsibility and help you rebuild it. It's not going to be done on time tomorrow if you do it all by yourself," you spoke up after they both had a couple seconds to calm down, reluctance visible all over Miguel's face. Though, he seemed to be actually considering the possibility now. His brows furrowed as he stayed quiet for a couple seconds, eventually huffing out what sounded like a 'fine.'

"Just call me when you're done here," Gabriel relented as he walked over to the basement door, paying once last glance to you over his shoulder. You nodded to his words, looking back over at Miguel. He was already hunched over his desk, starting to take out the pieces of the rocket that had been affected. Maybe you'd get lucky and he wouldn't continue with his angry rant?

I see your eyes look through my soul

The two of you worked in silence for the most part, a couple mutters escaping from Miguel as he worked on taping the pieces back in their correct order. "Irresponsables," he muttered to himself, gluing one of the small pieces together. He wasn't too keen on having you around, his body turned away from you as he worked. But yet, you also had some kind of urge to help him out after you'd aided in the destruction of his project.

"How'd you get into aerospace?" You decided to break the ice and ask a question, looking up from the piece that you were assembling back together. His expression seemed to lose the original intensity that it once held, his body relaxing in the rolling chair he was in. "I didn't. I pursued robotics at first and then there was this competition to build rockets. I started to learn about them, about the different space missions from the past and eventually my interest grew from there."

You nodded along to his answer, going back to working on the piece you were reconstructing. His gaze travelled over to where you were working, a bit surprised by how well you were doing. He'd expected for you to make an even bigger mess of the situation and excuse it with 'just trying to help.' "Are you into aerospace as well?" You hadn't expected for him to actually engage in the conversation but it was a question that you liked getting asked about. While most of the conversation revolves around aerospace, you couldn't deny that he was fun to talk to.

"If you like it that much, you should join. A couple members apart from myself are graduating this year and a couple chairs are going to open," he noted, handing you a wrench to tighten a bolt. You tightened the bolt, grabbing one of the nuts that scattered through the floor when the wing fell off. "I'll think about it," you told him, though your voice held no conviction towards it. He wouldn't push the topic further but he could see just how excited you were to be working on the project.

So much that you didn't even demand to be credited as one of his partners for the project.

Much as he hated to admit to himself, he found that it was quite nice to spend some time with you. Especially when it came to do something that he enjoyed doing. It was a sharp contrast from his time with Dana, going from having surface level conversations about each other's day. Maybe a relationship shouldn't have to involve so much work? Maybe every conversation didn't have to end in a fight after all.

Instead of trying to fix things over with Dana by following her like a lost puppy, he decided to fix things up with Gabriel. Because a part of him secretly wanted to see you again. The modified rocket ship had gotten a couple compliments from the other members, some of them even claiming that it could go to nationals. He wasn't completely sure if they were sucking up to him for a recommendation, but he knew that you'd appreciate the feedback.

So, he decided he'd stop being so strict with Gabriel and lend his stuff over whenever he asked. To which he got a couple of surprised looks and hesitation at first. The next step in the process was for him to work out an apology. But how does one exactly go about apologizing for stealing a partner? Especially when said person had brought up concerns to feeling inferior in every shape and form to himself? He'd dug himself into a hole he had no idea how to get out of.

Miguel awkwardly stood in front of Gabriel's room as he heard the thud of a couple tools inside, his younger brother being more into mechanics than robotics. He decided to swallow the last bit of pride that he had, stepping inside the threshold. He could sense the surprise seeping out of Gabriel as he sat down next to him, grabbing one of the screwdrivers. The two worked in silence for a while, working in perfect synchrony as they focused on building an engine.

"I'm sorry for what happened with Dana, by the way. I know it's not worth much but I am. I shouldn't have taken your trust for granted and I shouldn't have done that considering how you feel about me," Miguel spoke up after they were getting close to finishing, looking over at Gabriel. He saw a frustrated expression all over his brother's face, something that he wasn't particularly used to seeing. "You know, you keep saying what you shouldn't have done but the fact remains that you still did it. But thank you for that apology, I guess."

Miguel started offering to take the both of you to places, choosing to tag along just to hear your laugh whenever Gabriel would make a joke. Even if he wanted to be the one telling you these jokes. "Hey, what do you call a Drosophila who likes to drink?" he decided to break the silence as he drove you two to the movie theater, looking over at you through their rear view window. "What do you call it?" You decided to indulge in his 'joke,' if his attempt could even classify as that. "A bar fly."

You let out a laugh more so out of how bad it was, your eyes crinkling as you did. The look on Gabriel's face made the laughter escape from your lips much louder. "Can't believe you're actually laughing at those bad jokes," Gabriel muttered, staring at you like you were a creature from outer space. "Shut up before I leave you on the side of the freeway," Miguel called out from the front seat, biting back a smile of his own upon seeing that he'd managed to make you laugh. Maybe it was worth it looking for those corny science jokes last night.

Miguel had quickly forgotten about the void he was trying to fill with Dana, only reminded of it when he saw her leaning against his car. Her glossy lips were wrapped around a lollipop, her brown hair combed back into a bob. All he could think about was all the dirt she was probably getting on his car now. "You haven't answered any of my calls," Dana whined as he approached, getting off his car to go over to him. "For good reason," Miguel grumbled, opening his car door to toss his backpack inside. He could see Dana trying to scramble for some kind of logical answer, a slew of curses thrown his away once she realized what'd he meant.

The cycle was done. They were done this time, for good.

"How come you're not out at those graduation parties and stuff?" Gabriel mused as he took a bite out his burger. "You think he's type of person to get invited to parties?" You decided to tease Miguel a bit, taking some of his fries before dipping them into ranch. No he wasn't. Not that he'd ever admit that to you though. "The scent of weed just irks my nose, man," Miguel responded, a small scoff coming from the younger brother in response.

Empty cans of beer and articles of clothing washed up to the surface of the bay, the sight making you grimace in disgust. But this was where Miguel had decided he wanted to go after graduation. "I'm gonna head to the car, it smells like ass out here," Gabriel told the both of you, tossing the final rock he had in his hand out into the water before walking off.  To be fair, it really did smell like ass. The contamination from the water and the ships around mixed in together, overall just providing an unpleasant scent.

"I'm gonna head back too," you told Miguel, starting to get up from your spot. Before you had the chance to dust yourself off properly, Miguel had stood up and placed a hand on your shoulder. "Just wait a second, please. There's something that I have to ask you," he seemed fidgety, looking everywhere else but you as he talked. You stayed silent, giving him the chance to speak whenever he was comfortable enough to. "Do you want to go out on a date with me?"

He was starting to prepare himself for the upcoming rejection, making a mental list of all the songs he'd add to his breakup playlist later on. He'd probably end up blasting those at full volume in the basement while taking out his anger on a model robot, bracing himself to ignore the yells from Gabriel coming up the stairs. "Yes," the words didn't register in his mind at first, his eyes drifting over to your mouth as he made out the syllables.

Wait, what?

"You're actually being serious?" he had to ask. Had to double check that this wasn't a prank or something that Gabriel had set you up to as some kind of revenge for what he did with Dana. Then again, Gabriel hadn't exactly mentioned anything about you towards him. Not that they talked a lot nowadays, but he figured that Gabriel would've at least expressed some kind of concern if he knew. So.. there was really only one possibility left.

You actually wanted to go out with him.

The time that the two of you spent together that summer was much more than the time you actually spent apart, from going out to exploring different museums to different science conventions. Your main concern had been how Gabriel would take it, not wanting to overstep your boundaries as his best friend. "Be careful, okay?" was all that he said when he saw you walking out of Miguel's room with a borrowed shirt on. Gabriel was more concerned about you than Miguel throughout this exchange.

The transition to when the school year started was difficult, given that the two of you had somewhat conflicting schedules. Despite all this, Miguel was sure to schedule a minimum of two dates for each month. Miguel was determined to put the effort into making this relationship work now that he managed to get with you. He'd make sure to pull all nighters the day before he had a date with you to get his assignments done on time, wanting nothing more but dedicate the time designated to you fully.

You didn't know who else to call when college decisions went out, choosing instead to call Miguel. You knew he'd been swamped with lectures and research essays as of late, but you didn't want to share this moment with anyone else. Not when he was the one to calm you down with each mini panic attack you got after hitting the 'submit' button on your applications. "Hola princesa, what's up?" his voice drawled out like the sweetest honey, your breathing slowly starting to calm down.

"Hey, I hope I'm not bothering you too much but I was wondering if you could come over. College decisions came out and I can't get myself to click through the messages alone," you told him, your leg bouncing as you awaited for an answer. "I'll be right over. I'll bring some burritos," he answered, the line clicking to an end shortly after. You waited with anticipation for the doorbell to ring, practically jumping off your bed when you did hear it thirty minutes later.

"Just open it, I'm sure they accepted you. They'd be dumb not to," he sat down next to you as you scrolled to the last one you had left to open. The one you'd saved as an attempt to keep your hopes up from being too high. You had four acceptances, two from out of state and two in Nueva York. "I can't. What if I just have my hopes up?" you had your face hidden behind your hands, your words coming out muffled. "Even if they did reject you, it's not the end of the world. Just look for yourself."

UC Berkeley had been more of a reach school for you, the other four being your safety nets. Your grades hadn't exactly been up to perfection but you held out the hope that the extracurriculars you got involved with and the volunteer service you did was enough. As well as the robotics credential that Miguel encouraged to go after. You let out a sigh, trying to calm yourself down before clicking on the letter. The words blurred together as you read through it, a bunch of gibberish registering in your brain. Miguel had his hand on your thigh, gently rubbing small circles on it.

The touch was slowly bringing you back to earth, your breathing starting to calm down. You didn't have to say anything, he just knew what you needed before you even had the chance to realize that you even needed it. You directed your attention back to the monitor upon calming down, reading over the letter. "I got in!" you exclaimed as you look over at Miguel, his hands immediately wrapped around you. "I told you so. They'd be stupid not to have you in their school."

They'd even offered you a scholarship! The only downside was that it was in California.

The thought hadn't even registered in your head when you were applying for a spot, the only thought in your head being that of fulfilling what you wanted. You looked over at him, the same look of realization upon him as he saw 'Berkeley, CA' almost taunting him through the screen. The idea of doing long distance wasn't something you were quite fond of, given the fact that it just seemed like a slow way to prolong the fact that the end of the relationship. And yet, you didn't really want to break up with him.

"Would you stay in Nueva York if I asked you to?" Miguel knew he was being selfish by asking this, he knew that he had to let you go and pursue what you wanted to do. But he didn't want to. He wanted you to stick by his side and pursue your dream here. "I would stay if you did. But I think a part of me would also end up resenting you for asking that of me," you responded, your hand tightening its grip slightly around him. It was a gesture meant to comfort him but your words carried more weight than that simple squeeze did.

He knew how much you wanted to go, he'd been there when you filled out the application. From the process of setting your information in the system to reassuring you that you were qualified enough to get in, despite how much his heart ached at the thought of having to be without you. "It was just a hypothetical. I wouldn't ask you to do that for me," he quickly told you, taking a bite from his burrito to busy himself with doing something. Your happiness was much more of a priority than his own.

You were inclined on just leaving without saying goodbye but the thought of him thinking you abandoned him was almost too much for you to handle. You ran over to his house after you'd finished packing, hoping that he hadn't gone back to campus yet. "He's upstairs," Gabriel told you upon taking note of your sweat covered forehead, his nose scrunching up. "Thanks!" you called out as you made your way inside, almost tripping your two feet when you rushed up the stairs.

Baby, you were everything I ever wanted

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Miguel asked you, his lips barely grazing above your earlobe. Your breath hitched in your throat as you felt his lips move down to your neck, his lips parting as he kissed the side. "Yeah, I'm sure," you responded after you managed to regain your composure, your head lolling back to give him more access to your neck. He took that invitation eagerly, his lips pressed on every inch of your neck that he could access.

His teeth sunk down just hard enough to leave a mark on your skin, his way of making sure that you'd remember him. At least for the following week that the hickey lasted. He'd settle for that much. The night never progressed from a couple heated kisses exchanged between the two of you, a wanton need keeping your bodies pressed against one another. For a moment, it was as if nothing else in the world really mattered. You were just two people, not college students that would inevitably have to talk about what their future would be.

"I don't think I could ever just be friends with you. It's better if we just end things here," Miguel spoke up in the middle of the movie the two of you were watching, a boring scene from a movie about how robots took over the world. As if you weren't living through that now in the year 2079.

"Yeah, I guess so. Thank you for the time together," The breakup had been amicable, easy. There were no harsh feelings between the two of you, only simple understanding that the relationship wouldn't work out if the two of you dragged this on. However, as friendly as it had been, that didn't stop you from shedding a couple tears when you got home to finish packing. You almost wished he had given you a reason to hate him so that it would replace the sense of yearning you felt at the notion of leaving him behind.

That was supposed to be the end. You'd go on about your life without having to be around Miguel again, Without feeling his beefy arms wrap around you in the mornings as an attempt to keep you in bed for a little longer, or having his lips pressed against your forehead whenever you needed a bit of reassurance. That was until you found yourself in his bed when you came back to Nueva York to celebrate Gabriel’s birthday. It was the only time you allowed yourself to come back.

How Miguel allowed himself to fall into another cycle, he wasn't sure. Maybe because this one wasn't beaming with red flags. Or maybe because this one didn't leave him feeling like an unlovable mess the next day. Despite how many times he told himself that he wouldn't repeat what he'd done with Dana, he still found himself picking you up from every trip at the airport. Then again, this wasn't anything like the situation with Dana. Your relationship with him was healthy, you were good for him.

You'd usually end up at Miguel's apartment rather than your hotel room for most of the nights. The pent up frustration that had accumulated throughout the past year was unleashed on another, the sex all just that much more intense. "Couldn't stop thinking about seeing you again," he whispered against your skin, the words turning you into putty in his grasp. His kisses could follow soon after, his touch almost burning with how much desire he'd pent up. "Oh? And what were you planning on doing when you did see me again?" he would spend all night giving you the answer to that question.

On most occasions, you'd end up with your face buried in a pillow while he fucked you from behind. Your muffled moans would fill up the room, combined with the sound of rustling sheets underneath you as your grip tightened. "I missed you, princesa," he bent down to whisper in your ear, his lips trailing down your shoulder blade. The action in itself was sweet enough, but you couldn't focus on that with the way that his cock was stretching you out. "Missed you too," you barely managed to babble, your voice coming out hoarse.

Your hips rocked back into his, your ass jiggling with every thrust that he made. The grip he had on your hips would tighten, his balls slapping obscenely against your wet cunt. Your walls would clench around his cock, milking him for all the cum that he had in his balls while simultaneously coating his length with every drop of your slick that you could offer. "Fuck, right there!" he could make out a couple words of what you were saying from time to time, but he couldn't help but want to tease you about it. "Yeah, right here?" he mocked, his rhythm never faltering.

You were so drunk off his dick that you didn't realize he was mocking you half the time, simply nodding in response to whatever he told you. "Yeah, right there!" He loved the way your voice rose whenever his finger came down to play with your clit, the way the nub throbbed beneath his fingers for some kind of stimulation. These little breathy moans that you were letting out, the whispers of his name, they'd all remain imprinted in his memory as material whenever he needed some kind of release. That is, until the following year when he would have new material to work off of.

Miguel loved the way you looked whenever you were excited to share something with him or the way your eyes lit up whenever you saw him at the airport waiting for you with a bag from your favorite fast food place. But the way that you looked whenever you unraveled underneath him was something that just simply couldn't be topped. Your legs shook violently as your orgasm approached, your walls tightening all that much more around him before unclenching to coat his cock in your release. His orgasm would follow suit, his cum filling up your cunt up to the brim.

Despite the fact that the two of you were completely able to and sometimes were even encouraged to, the two of you stayed loyal to one another even if this arrangement had no need to. As much as you wanted to try dating someone else, you knew that in the back of your head you'd just try to find Miguel in another person. And that you'd ultimately end up disappointed by the end of the affair. The two of you provided a sense of comfort in one another that wasn't easily replicated by another person. Or at least, you hoped that he felt the same way about you.

And as much as he tried, he couldn't get his hand to simulate the same pleasure that he felt while fucking you. It felt like a cheap replacement if he was being completely honest. His fist couldn't clench around his cock the way that your walls did, pulsing as your cunt milked him for all it could. His spit couldn't compare to the way your slick coated his shaft completely, the loud squelch that bounced off his walls whenever he pulled out. As pathetic as he felt for being looking forward to your yearly appearance, nothing could give him the same satisfaction you did.

You came back to Nueva York with a mission this time around. The office that you'd been working at after getting your degree had expanded throughout most of the east coast, a shiny job opportunity appearing right at your doorstep. You were going to tell Miguel that you planned on staying this time around, that you wanted to rekindle the old feelings you'd both been trying to suppress. You'd even resorted to practicing what you were going to say to him while you were on the airplane instead of clicking on one of the stupid Hallmark movies available on the flight.

Bought a wedding ring, it's in my pocket

You'd practically been bubbling with anticipation for the entire plane ride, different thoughts of how Miguel would react rummaging through your mind. Would he be excited? Would he leave the party to be with you? You felt all the breath leave your lungs as you stepped inside the party hall, your attention immediately going to Miguel. He wasn't wearing something too fancy, a white button down shirt and a pair of black slacks. Even then, you couldn't lie to yourself that he looked like sex on legs.

You set down the small gift bag you'd brought over for Gabriel, a new set of tools you heard him mention he needed on a FaceTime call last week. You made your way over to Miguel, a small smile appearing on your face as a look of recognition flashed across his features. "Hey," you greeted him once you were close, your hand up in a wave. Before he got the chance to say something, a woman came over to the two of you and handed him a drink before remaining by his side.

"Are you one of Miguel's friends from around here?" you asked the woman, given the fact that you hadn't heard any mention of her from Gabriel.

"Uh, no. This is actually my fiancée, Tempest," Miguel spoke up for the first time this night, your eyes widening as you did a double take on the pair standing in front of you. They'd even color coordinated their outfits tonight.

You could've sworn your heart dropped to your chest at the word fiancée. You forced your face to remain neutral despite the conflicting emotions rummaging inside of you. Your gaze flickered over to the woman, her ring finger accentuated with a pretty silver band, an expensive-looking diamond plastered right in the middle of it. Your throat constricted the longer that you stared at the ring, the sight eventually blurring into nothing until you forced yourself to look away when she pulled her hand back.

Your mind began to swarm with different thoughts, wondering when exactly did Miguel find the time to get engaged. Last year when you saw him, he hadn't even mentioned having any sort of commitment towards anyone. It was funny, thinking about it now. He'd taken you to the airport, his head tilting down to give you a small kiss on the cheek as he bid you goodbye. "I'll see you next year," he told you before you went through airport security. Now you wish you would've went back to his apartment instead of back home.

"Nice to meet you," you forced the words to roll out of your mouth, an unnatural smile taking place on your face. The type of smile that had your cheeks hurting from how hard you were forcing it. you shook her hand with just a little too much force before reminding yourself that it wasn't exactly her fault. If anything, this situation had been your fault. your fault for being so used to this comfortability, of the knowledge that he'd always be here waiting for you.

You'd gotten so used to coming to Nueva York to find Miguel at your beck and call that it didn't even cross your mind he would find someone. Someone who prioritized his happiness as much as he prioritized theirs. "Nice to meet you as well, Miggy here's told me a lot about you," she responded with a warm smile, unbeknownst to the internal struggles that rummaged through your head. Miggy? He'd gotten so pissed off when you called him that, but now he was acting casual about it?

"You mentioned that there was something you wanted to talk to me about?" Miguel's voice broke you out of your train of thought, making you realize you'd just been standing there awkwardly for a couple seconds. You looked away, the sight of him too painful to bear. Just the fact that the woman's arm was wrapped around his, the intimacy of the situation reminding you of what you'd never have again.

"Never mind, just forget it. I hope the two of you have a good time at this party. Congratulations once more," despite the fact that you had a million questions regarding the situation, you decided that it would be better not to ask them. At the end of the day, a couple questions wouldn't change the fact that he was still engaged. You forced yourself to remain polite before excusing yourself to go to the drinks table. You really needed to get fucked up right now.

You felt pathetic as you stood alone in the corner of the room, your fingers gripping the glass of beer as if it was your lifeline. All you could do was look out into the people smiling and having fun, a part of you wishing that it would be you instead. You tried your hardest to pretend when Gabriel came around, trying to dance with you, but the ploy fell through as soon as he dragged you to the dance floor. Your eyes met Miguel's for the first time that night, a flash of concern across his features after seeing your attempts to hide your pain.

But maybe, if you would've looked hard enough, you would've been able to see the same sense of longing lingering behind his eyes.

tag list 🫶🏼: @yougavemeyourheartyouknow @lazyjellyfish300 @pxtched @nympholove @ifiwasaguybrickedup @yournextbimbogf @nixinluv02 @lizaistewdelulu @swiftiegirliepop

#moon-rivr #Spotify #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara angst #miguel o’hara au #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara fanfic #miguel o’hara fanfiction #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 smut #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #miguel ohara fic #miguel ohara fanfiction #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara angst #miguel o’hara spiderman 2099 #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara across the spider verse #miguel across the spiderverse #spiderman smut #spiderman fanfiction #atsv miguel #miguel spiderman

[envy-of-the-apple]

Dark!Naga!Gojo Satoru x reader x Dark!Naga!Geto Suguru

Top of the Food Chain

I've always wanted to continue my naga!mha fic but considering i dont write for deku+co anymore, i decided to move my au a couple fandoms over:D 1.8k wc

Part two

(Warnings: animal deaths, blood, obsession, dark content, slight gun threat but not rlly, polyamory, gender ambigious!reader) 

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Despite being here for nearly a week, you still don't think Satoru understood how delicate you are. 

He's overbearing, in that sense. Constantly poking and prodding and squeezing until your lungs give and you're forced to squeak. You can't blame him for not understanding. He's an animal, after all. Inhuman. Despite his skin and hair, the scales coating his tail give away just how different he is. He was probably born fighting, kicking, and screeching his way through the foliage, hunting, chewing, and biting. 

He's not like you when all you knew when you were younger was coddling and softness. You can see it in his scars, and bruises, and marks. 

Luckily, for you, Suguru had an inkling that you weren't made for sharp claws. 

It's not a fight, you can tell when they're fighting, it's more like a warning? A minor disagreement. Suguru hisses at the other naga, scrunching up his face, showing his teeth. Satoru is quick to respond, but a little more playful. Fortunately for you, the black-haired male seems to win the argument. Satoru's coils loosen around you. Air stops fighting its way to get into your lungs. 

You finally go lax in his hold. Satoru seems to enjoy that, dipping his head to bury his face into the base of his neck. The first few times he did that, you were afraid he was trying to bite off your jugular. Now, you think it's just another way he can soak up your body heat. 

Maybe you've been here for longer than a week. At this point, you couldn't really tell. Hope that you'd be found was starting to slowly fizzle away. The explosion had been massive. The ship had sunk in a matter of minutes. With a disaster that huge, you doubt anyone would still be looking for survivors. Especially on an uncharted island, where myth had turned into reality. 

 Satoru had been the one you'd woken up to. Washed ashore, barely conscious. You were half-certain he was planning on eating you with the way he held your leg, watching your muscles bend and turn. In his defense, he must have thought you were dead. Your shrill scream quickly convinced him otherwise. 

It was barely a fight. More or less, a pathetic kidnapping as he grabbed your body, slinging it over his shoulder. You've never remembered screaming and crying so loudly before, convinced you were about to be eaten. Suguru probably heard you before he saw you. 

Satoru's mate was a little less impressed with you. Back then, they didn't bother learning your tongue, speaking in hisses and snarls, unaware of your misery. Suguru's frown was glued on his face, but the naga never let you run away, always keeping a hand or a tail on you at all times. It was a rough first day; you didn't know they weren't interested in eating you until they tried to feed you. 

Things were much different back then Nowadays, they are a lot more considerate of yourself and your soft body. You think you've come to an understanding with these strange creatures. 

Suguru was the nicest out of the two. In that, you mean the least rough. Compared to his counterpart, he's a bit smaller, but that's not saying there's any real difference. If it comes down to it, you are more than certain he'd be able to kill you off as quickly as his mate. You thought he hated you, at first. Now, you think he has a hard time showing blatant affection. His touches typically come in the dead of night, when you're barely conscious. A clawed finger gently raking over your soft skin. Large hands sculpting your face. 

Satoru's eyes were the first thing you noticed about him. Glittering like blue sapphires. You had a feeling they weren't just for show. Time and time again he's proven that he can see better than Suguru could. He smiles a lot more, but you're starting to wonder if that expression translates across species. He can speak your tongue slightly better than Suguru could. It most likely has to do with his insistence on staying with you. The more time you spend with him, the more you have to say 'No' 'Don't touch there' 'Stop'. 

In the rare times you manage to escape their hold, you like watching them interact with each other. They often sunbathe for hours, lazing around hot rocks to soak in the heat. They like touching each other. Sometimes it's aggressive, like when Satoru chomps on Suguru's neck and you're suddenly much more aware of how careful he is with you. Other times it's: soft, unintentional, meaningless. Languid cuddling when you are finally able to braid Suguru's hair. 

At this point, you've surmised they won't eat you. At least, not for the moment. You don't exactly know what they think of you. Do they have the concept of pets in their worldview? Maybe that's the closest thing you can place yourself as, at least in their eyes. They must think you're helpless. To them, you have no claws, no fangs, no venom. They probably don't know you come from a species that's hunted others to extinction and currently burning down the planet. You must be the first time they've ever seen your kind, stripped away from your weapons, when you're the least dangerous. 

"You should be more scared of me, you know," you once whispered to Suguru in the dead of night.

He was dozing off, blearily keeping his eyes open to stare at your moving lips. There was a grunt behind you, and Satoru tightened his arms across your waist. Greedy for affection, even in his sleep.

"Humans are terrifying," you said, reaching out to touch, "top of the food chain."

Suguru had smiled at that. You found yourself smiling back.

"You're lucky I didn't have a gun on me. You probably don't even know what that is." It's dark humor to press two fingers into his forehead. Your way of coping maybe.

Or perhaps your actions prove that humans will always desire to be violent, no matter how perilous their fight may be.

"Bang." He leans into your touch, unafraid. Oblivious to the threat that you are.

You're guessing Satoru only let you go because of the food Suguru brought.

You're able to feel the ground again as he glides over to Suguru having just come back from a successful hunt. The carcass of the largest deer you've ever seen is slung across his back. The smell of blood already makes you nauseous. 

You think Suguru had been the most panicked when you refused to eat, clicking and cooing while he tried to force-feed you the bloody leg of a bear. Back then, your communication was even worse than it was now. You were smeared in crimson by the time he relented. Practically dripping in it. 

Now, Suguru knows you have different tastes than them. You're not a big fan of raw. The fish and the handful of berries are more than enough to sate you as you gather the items he's given in your hands. 

"Thank you," you say. You reach out, touching his face with warm fingers. He purrs into your touch. You smile. It's the least gratitude you can give him. After all, he's not asking for much. If they hadn't found you, you would have been dead long ago, or at least, significantly less weaker. It's the least you can do. 

For a moment, you delude yourself into thinking they were your pets. It'd certainly be easy too. They have little to no regard for personal boundaries, much like dogs. They're more animalistic than they are human. 

It's funny to think of these monsters as lovable pets.

"Thank you," Suguru repeats. You giggle. It's not like they actually understand you. It's simple mimicry. Like talking to a parrot. 

"Thank you!" Satoru chirps, never one to be left out. He pushes his mate out of the way, eager for your pets as well. Suguru hisses, but doesn't argue. You've learned they like to be scratched right there on the bottoms of their chins. 

Suguru's less obvious, but Satoru has no desire to pretend. He melts into you, practically slumping his weight into your weak hold. It's a little adorable actually. You give a little laugh. He seems even more pleased at that. 

They're fun to be around, but this can't last. You belong with other humans, far far away from this island. So far, you hadn't seen any boats in the horizon, but you hope one would come by soon. A plane would be even better. Close enough to give you hope. Maybe if you built a big enough fire, it'd reach someone eye. 

Hopefully, in just a few weeks, these creatures will be a very cherished memory. 

You frown when Satoru reaches over to grasp at your food, the meat specifically. You glare, moving away from his hold. He titters in clear disappointment. You hate seeing him sad but you already have so few food sources. It's best to conserve whatever you get. 

"No," you pointedly tell him, "It's mine. Mine." 

His frown deepens, and he opens his jaws to let his fangs pop out. 

"Mine," you repeat. 

He leans back, huffing. You laugh because you know his expression is more out of frustration than any actual anger. Again, animals. You pet his head in apology, before turning away. You'd have to start a tiny fire to start cooking. Raw fish is edible, but it's hardly desirable. 

A hand grabs yours, clawed, the grip is tight around your frail skin. When you look back, Satoru is staring at you. Eyes wide. Eager. 

"Mine," he says, but it's more like he's testing the word. Tasting it on his lips. 

You scoff, unamused. "That's my arm. Not yours." 

Satoru smiles. Sharp teeth. You suddenly remember he's a carnivore. 

He's slow when he draws you in, practically dragging you into his arms. You're used to his spontaneous hugs, tight and suffocating. You can't fight him off, so you typically wait until Suguru has enough of his behavior and drags him off you. 

"Mine," Satoru repeats. Alarm bells ring in your head but it's easy to brush them off. It's mimicry. They can't understand. It's like talking to a parrot. 

You feel the weight of the other naga at your back. His arms wrap around your waist, pushing you against Satoru's chest. You stiffen when Suguru's fangs lightly graze up your neck. Never quite punctures, but is terrifyingly close.

"Mine," Suguru says into your skin. 

You laugh again, but it comes out less hesitant. More airy. Amid their hold, a sudden thought comes to you.

If you weren't at the top of the food chain anymore, then who was?

#yandere #dark content #yandere jjk #non con touching #yandere gojo satoru #yandere geto suguru #dark gojo satoru #dark geto suguru #naga au #naga gojo satoru #naga geto suguru #animal death #language barriers #polygamous relationship #Top of the Food Chain

[oatsmeall]

You and I?

Socially awkward!Jk! X f!reader | college AU

Warnings: Socially awkward jk, very awkward jk, suggestive themes, possible smut.

(人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+(人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+(人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+(人*´∀｀)

For as long as you've been coming to this course you've always seen this quiet guy, he always come in 5 minutes exactly before class starts, he brings the same black metal water bottle with one singular sticker, and he's always quiet but always raises his hand to answer questions. You didn't really pay much attention to him untill today specifically though, of course you noticed his usual quirks but today? Man, it's like he became a new man. You never thought the awkward nerdy guy would pull up to class late with new piercings. On his eyebrow and his lip. You were stunned to say the least, he's... Hot? This totally normal thing called being 'tardy' suddenly seamed like a sense of rebellion, especially for this guy, Jeon Jungkook. Wow, such a bad boy.

Throughout the week he'd show up less covered, usually he'd wear sweater vests with a neatly tucked shirt and black or brown slacks or occasionally jeans. Now he's been wearing oversized shirts and baggy sweats and jeans. And not to mention his entirely detailed sleeve on his arm, which has very much been in the works for quite the while you bet. Where was the cute nerdy boy you knew? This was a whole new man. Even the girls that never bat an eye started noticing. You weren't going to lie and say you weren't a little jealous. I mean come on? These girls were ignoring him just 2 weeks ago, now they're fawning over him and his new look.....

"STUDENT SETTLE DOWN PLEASE. today we'll be writing an essay about what we've learned this month. Please be sure to turn the essay in by Friday night." The professor was making y'all write an essay. This is so boring, you were just thinking about that comfortable bed of yours.

While digging in your backpack for your laptop and some paper, you couldn't find any sort of writing utensils. This was so annoying, how is it that Suddenly when you ACTUALLY need a pen or pencil you couldn't find one. Jesus Christ, what a unlucky way to start on homework.

"pssst, hey.. hey, ppsssst" you were trying to whisper call on Jungkook, he was not budging. "Jeon, hey" you were not getting anywhere. Suddenly he side eye looked at you. Okay?...

"what do you want, were supposed to get busy." He said monotoned, he really is still nerdy sounding.

"well I won't get anywhere near busy if you'd just hear me out for a bit. Do you have a pen or pencil I can borrow, please?" You're regretting asking. He's probably gonna decline and say 'you should've brought your own".

"hmm.. I do, but you have to give it back, I always keep 4 pencils exactly." Close to the response you thought.. kinda.

"ugh okay, thanks" ou! Fancy mechanical pencil! And it had a cool retractable eraser!

This essay was gonna kill you. come to think of it what did you even learn this month?....

You and Jungkook had became friends, this past month you slowly would talk to him or try to talk big conversations, you really found him interesting. He was like a new subject you were trying to learn about. You've learned he's quite....odd? He didn't get your jokes sometimes, he was unaware of social cues at times, and he was too straight up. You thought he didn't like you, he was so blunt. on a random day when you guys went to the library he commented on how messy your notes were, how your hair was messy and looked unprofessional for school, and even on how wearing Birkenstocks with socks was strange. He was nitpicking random things, things you wouldn't even pay attention to. This gave you a feeling of self awareness, you felt like he didn't like you, he was making you realize a lot of things you hadn't.

"Jungkook, I really like you but you've got to stop nitpicking things I don't even notice, I'm sure you can keep it to yourself? You don't hear me saying how the way you styled your hair today looks off from yesterday, or how you're wearing two different shades of black and I don't like that."

"why wouldn't you like it? I like it." He said confused and somewhat agitated.

You gave him a knowing look of "do you see now?"

He sat silently before asking

"do you really not like my two different shades of black?" There was a pause before you started giggling. He looked so confused, you couldn't help but giggle.

"alright. Wanna come by my dorm tonight? Study a little and maybe order takeout and watch a movie? Shrek perhaps?" You tried changing the conversation hoping he'd forget the little conflict.

This would be the first time you invite him to your dorm, you were too shy to ask, he was also shy though, more than you probably. You didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

"uhm..sure.. just send me you dorm number." He seemed shy just asking that, you were excited though. He was such a cute and smart guy, he was very helpful when studying. He taught you new things too, the other day he taught you about why pigeons don't know how to build nests.

Around 6:30 he texted you saying he's on his way to your dorm. You were SO nervous for no reason, you tried to tidy up around your room, and by tidy you mean deep cleaned. You've never seen such a clean room, you loved it though.

*Knock, knock, knock*

"Comiingggg" you walked to your door and opened it to Jungkook. In a black tee shirt and grey sweat pants.. you felt your hear beat faster. He looked so.. FINE.

"Hello Y/n, I didn't know what kind of drink you liked so I bought Gatorade, orange juice, and water. I hope you like.. these." He looked so genuine, you appreciate him for trying.

"oh wow! I like all. I wouldn't have minded your pick. Thanks though, come in. Make yourself comfortable." He came in and sat himself on your bed, he was looking around curiously. He was looking attentively, like he was gather information.

"sorry if you might not like the scent in my room, Im trying this mango air freshener out-"

"I like it. It's okay. So where are your notes and stuff, we can get started right now if you'd like, that way we can have more time to hangout..if you want."

This genuinely surprised you? He wanted to spend time with you? Your heart had a sudden rush.

"oh? O-okay, yeah. Uhm let me get my laptop." You hurriedly grabbed your bag, you bent down you're oblivious but your ass caught Jungkook's attention by accident. He stared.. he felt his blood rush down his pants.

"okay I've got my laptop!" You walked to your bed and plopped next to him.

His face was red. Visibly red actually.

"you okay?"

"y-yeah.." he looked away from you in embarrassment. Immediately onto his notes.

After a long hour and a half, you guys were done, you decided to order for delivery instead, Jungkook didn't want to go out anymore, you were tidying around your room, who new studying was messy.

"can't wait for that pasta, I'm hungry. Also hot, this hoodie is too warm" Jungkook look slightly, seeing you take your hoodie off made HIM hot.. his body tensed up. Your black halter top made your boobs look so good, he caught a glimpse of them before you turned to him.

"freeeee!" you said in a giggle.

He was respectful, of course.. but he still IS a man.... with male... tendencies.

"can I use your restroom, please? I need to wash my hands"

"why the restroom? I've got a small sink by the dresser." You pointed to the hidden sink.

"I have to use the restroom too." He said straight faced. He was trying to get away from you as fast as possible or else his print would be visible VERY quickly, maybe he shouldn't have worn grey sweats. Maybe two different shades of black wasn't bad after all like you said.

"okay, yea. It's that door right there." You're not sure why but you have a feeling you made Jungkook uncomfortable, what could you have possibly done.

*knock, knock, knock*

"ouuu pasta must be here. JUNGKOOK! PASTAS' HERE!" you got out of your bed and quickly answered the door. You're excited.

After some very awkward moments of eating and small talk you put on Shrek the movie, you guys were on your bed now. But you felt a sudden rush, you've been avoiding thinking about him but he's so fine. He's hot in this little ensemble he put together, the grey sweats made his print noticable. Your mouth felt dry all of the sudden. You felt and decided to lay down and drape your legs on his thighs. You felt his body tense up. This made you feel butterflies. It's almost like you had an ad advantage.

"uhm.. Y/n.. I- " you cut him off and looked up at him directly into his eyes. Oh those siren eyes of yours.. they're killing him. His eyes began to widen when he realized that you're now turned around facing his lap. More so his crotch.

"Kook.." you start innocently. "Have you ever been... Touched?" You said softly and quietly. You scared him. He can't comprehend how you'd gone from fun from "fun and nice, sweet and understandable" to "horny seduction demon" he's also never had physical Intimacy, only cute kisses and hugs. This was odd, he liked how he felt though. You gave him butterflies.

"N-no" you looked at him straight in his eyes again. This time you say up slightly and palmed his dick through his sweats. He let out an lewd quiet moan. Your pussy was pulsating from excitement.

"mm poor boy. Do you like when I touch you like this?" You say quietly. You began stroking the outline of his dick, then you pulled his sweats down following after, his boxers. His hard Dick sprung up. You were in awe at the largeness before your eyes. You didn't know what you expected.. but surely not this monster. The sayings are true. It's always the quiet and shy ones.

"auh.. fuck" he whispered lewdly. What a turn on.

"mhm? You like that kookie?"

Precum began to slowly ooze from out the tip. Red and sore from the friction being created from your hands. You started pacing faster, stokes becoming gradually faster.

"augh, f-fuck. I don't wanna c-"

You sunk you whole mouth on his cock. Filling your mouth with only half of his cock. You started deep thoating, harder and faster, the lewd noises becoming louder and messier. Chocking on his dick you took him like a champ.

"I'm not done with you babe." You say with saliva and cum dripping from your mouth. You're Cock drunk.

"Y-you're not?!" He seemed genuinely shocked.

You got up and sat on his lap, legs sitting on either side of his thighs. Your booty shorts rode more up your thighs.

You began to ride him. Fully clothed, you began riding, Jungkook instinctively grabbed your ass and pressed you down to create harder friction.

"mm- F-fuck. Oh my, Jungkook augh- you moaned loudly, your pussy was so wet and it was throbbing. Suddenly. Jungkook's switched. He became the lewd one. You never expected to hear something like this come out of his mouth..

"Yeah? You like that you fucking slut? You like seducing quite guys?" He said through his teeth in a hiss. Gripping your ass. Your so turned on at his sudden switch.

"mhm baby" you mewed.

"take the shorts off. Now" yes sir. Anything for Me. Jeon.

You got up off him and you did a little strip tease. It was better that what Jungkook visioned.

You slowly hopped back on him and you grabbed his cock and slowly sat on him. Man was he stretching you out. Nice and good.

"augh fuck Kook. You're so big" you said in a gasp. He just looked at you with a smirk. Man you loved every minute of this.

"that's right baby take me like a fucking champ" you sat on him completely but suddenly.. when you began riding, his speed increased, he began slamming into you.

"fuck, fuck, fuck, augh babe, you're hitting the spot" your moans were something straight out of a porn video.

"yeah? You like that? Look at me when I fuck you Y/n look at me." He said grabbing your face. Who is this man?! This isn't shy little Jungkook with the cute boba eyes?! This was Jeon Jungkook. The fucking man.

After what felt forever, you and Jungkook did some after care. He went and fetched you an after pill at the nearest pharmacy. Yes at 1 am.

You were beat. Inside and out. Literally. You felt numb, could hardly walk. Your pussy was sore. You can't count how many times he made you cum and squirt but he really overstimulated you. You're so ready for a part 2 of this.

The next day you went to class and sat with Jungkook. Suddenly he became shy again?! Two faced much?

Guys... Let me know if you want a part 2 lol, this is my first time writing a fanfic lol🥹

#jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook #bts

[just-j-really]

Snow White-adjacent Dreamling AU?

Dream is the prince of Time and Night's kingdom (with skin as pale as snow, and hair as black as ebony). Hob has some sort of huntsman-ish role in the palace. Dream goes out hunting fairly often, not for the sake of hunting itself but to have some space from the weight of his responsibilities (and from other people) and the ability to be alone with his thoughts. Maybe to mope a little.

Hob has liked Dream from the moment he set eyes on him, half-despite-half-because he was acting like an arrogant little snot at the time. And although Hob's initial infatuation was mostly just that, infatuation, he really did want to get to know Dream better. So when Death told Dream that he should get out among the people more, which led to Dream, grudgingly, attempting to make conversation with Hob the next time they were alone together, Hob genuinely made an effort to keep the conversation going and get to know him. They meet up every month or so, Hob talks about what he's been up to, a beautiful friendship blossoms, etc.

But they're in a weird space, with each other. Hob thinks of Dream as a friend, and Dream... wants to do the same, but he's too aware of the difference in their stations and the politics of the court, the way it would be so easy for Hob to just be- pretending to like Dream, in order to get something from him. He wouldn't even have to try very hard. Dream's lonely.

And maybe, given enough time, they could have reached an understanding. But the problem is, everyone is aware of Dream's tendency to be alone, in the dangerous forest, with only his huntsman for company, and someone (Night? Time? Desire?) gets Hob alone and asks/bribes/orders him to kill Dream next time they go out hunting.

Hob does not want to do this. Obviously. But the person who ordered him to do it is literally royalty and could have him painfully executed if he doesn't. Not to mention that he has no idea how deep the conspiracy against Dream goes, if there's anyone else in the palace he can trust to help, who'd go running straight to Dream's enemies if they caught him making plans. But he can at least warn Dream, right? Maybe come up with some sort of plan to fake Dream's death and get him to safety.

So the next time Dream goes hunting, as soon as they're far enough from the palace, Hob tells Dream that his father ordered him to ensure that Dream didn't come home from this little excursion.

Dream, obviously, assumes that this is the prelude to Hob stabbing him, punches him in the face, and runs. Hob is left going "Wait! Come back! I said that really badly! I meant it as a warning, I want to help you!"

He chases after Dream, but between the punch and the fact that Dream has some level of magic powers over his namesake- either he made Hob hallucinate or put him to sleep for a bit- Hob isn't able to catch him. He panics for a bit, but he figures at this point the only thing he can do is feed Dream's enemies as much misinformation as possible. So he goes back to the palace and tells Time-or-whoever that he killed Dream and left the body in the woods, giving the completely wrong direction so that when/if someone goes searching for Dream's body they don't find him.

Now, obviously Time doesn't fully believe that Hob went through with it and killed Dream, especially since there's no body. But the fact that Hob's nose is fully broken helps sell the story, at least for a couple of days. Hob spends those days trying to figure out a way to sneak out of the palace- he doesn't want to be executed, but also, if it's at all possible, he wants to make sure Dream got away. (And as long as he's daydreaming, he'd like a chance to apologize.)

He gets his chance when Death tries to kill him for killing her little brother. Unlike Dream, she actually gives Hob the chance to explain, and when he does, she helps him sneak out (under strict orders that he find Dream).

Hob is much happier to obey those.

Meanwhile, Dream has found shelter with a group of raven shapeshifters living in the woods (definitely Matthew, Jessamy, and Lucienne, maybe include other Dreaming residents to make seven). He is much happier being Dream, who lives in the woods and writes stories, than he was being Dream, prince who is hated to the point of assassination attempts. He's maybe making a little money granting people restful sleep and good dreams using his powers. He misses Hob, though. With some distance from the utter betrayal and terror of the moment Hob said he'd been sent to kill him, he's beginning to wonder if he hadn't overreacted, maybe just a smidge. But that's all tied up in and complicated by the fact that he's also beginning to realize he was probably in love with Hob, and he's not sure he can trust any of what he feels about him.

Unfortunately, the king of the neighboring kingdom, Roderick Burgess, hears about a powerful magic user living in the woods and decides to take that power for himself.

Double-unfortunately, Time realizes Dream is alive and sends one of Dream's former bodyguards, the Corinthian, to kill him. Dream's able to fight him off, but he's exhausted to the point of his powers turning on him and putting him into a coma, and that's when Burgess swoops in and captures him.

Dream is caught in a strange, deathlike sleep, making him mostly useless to Burgess. But having him nearby means that everyone around him sleeps peacefully, and occasionally has prophetic dreams, and Burgess is doing the same 'I'll force him to work for me' thing he does in canon except the logic is 'one day I'll figure out how to wake him up (and force him to work for me), and/or how to actively use his powers while he's still asleep.'

So Burgess has a glass coffin built for Dream, and seals him inside.

Back with Hob, he's spent most of this time on the run from Dream's enemies, unable to actively look for Dream, and slowly going mad with worry over what might have happened to him. He's also slowly, painfully come to realize that the feelings he'd felt for Dream were a little closer to 'love' than 'friendship'. It is a bad time. But eventually he hears rumors about Roderick Burgess, who 'rescued' a comatose prince from the woods and is offering a reward to anyone who can wake him up.

Hob goes chasing after these rumors- Dream showing up alive took a lot of the heat off him- eventually ends up in Burgess' kingdom, and decides to try his hand at waking up Coma Prince. Worst case scenario, it's not Dream. Best case scenario, it's Dream, he's able to rescue him and explain, and- well. Dream will go off and do whatever it is he wants to do, and maybe he and Hob can be friends.

(Hob doesn't let himself hope for anything more, any sort of soft little happily-ever-after.)

But for all that Roderick is pretending to have rescued Dream out of the goodness of his heart, Hob steps one foot into the room with the glass coffin and is immediately aware that isn't the case. He doesn't know much about magic, aside from the couple of times Dream showed off his powers for him. But it's not exactly difficult to spot that the glass coffin, and all the magic circles surrounding it, are somehow vampirically feeding off of Dream, and even though he only understands every third word of the larger explanation he's given, it's more than enough to confirm his suspicions. Burgess' fellow mages give Hob the tour of the apparatus, snickering among themselves because clearly this idiot won't be able to do anything magical that they couldn't. Hob nods along and plays up the 'idiot peasant with delusions of grandeur' vibe right up until everyone has stepped back to see what he'll do.

And then he drags his heel straight down the middle of the largest circle of runes, sending the spell completely haywire.

The backlash of the spell collapsing causes Roderick and his mages to pass out, and gives Hob time to smash open the glass coffin and get Dream away from all the spell circles.

But Dream doesn't wake up, even as the spell collapses. Just remains in Hob's arms, cool and lifeless.

Hob is not about to let it end like that. Sure, none of the most talented mages in the land had been able to wake Dream, but none of them tried getting him out of the stupid coffin, first, so Hob's clearly a step ahead of them already.

He sneaks out of Roderick's palace, carrying Dream, while Roderick and his servants are asleep. Gets him to relative safety (with the help of Jessamy, who'd been waiting for a chance to break Dream out and jumped in to help the moment Hob started breaking things).

And Dream's still in the weird death-trance but he isn't dead. Hob's sure of it. It might be wishful thinking but he swears Dream looks a little better now that they're away from Roderick's palace- a little more color in his cheeks, the faintest, threadiest suggestion of a pulse when Hob feels for one.

So Hob keeps a vigil at Dream's bedside that night, but eventually exhaustion causes him to drift off to sleep.

When he does, Dream is waiting for him.

"You need not have come to my defense," he says, staring at Hob suspiciously.

"Yes, I did," Hob tells him. "You're my friend. Of course I did."

Dream sizes him up for a long while. He's powerful enough, in this dreamscape, to tell that Hob genuinely means what he's saying. It takes a long time for him to decide it might be worth it to tell Hob how to shock him out of the dream he's trapped in (by fulfilling one of his most treasured dreams), but finally, he says, "You might be able to wake me up."

Hob's immediately like "Yes of course how whatever you need."

"Kiss me," Dream says, and then, while Hob is still trying to process that, "This dream is over."

And Hob wakes up.

And yeah, a good part of him dismisses the dream as some extremely strange wish-fulfillment fantasy. But it had seemed so real.

So, with the extremely romantic thought, alright it's worth a shot, Hob leans forward and kisses Dream.

Almost immediately, there's a little shiver of breath against his lips, and when he pulls away, Dream is blinking sleepily up at him.

Hob immediately pulls Dream into a hug, and by the time Dream is actually, fully conscious, Hob is sitting in the bed with him, supporting him with an arm around his shoulders, fussing over him just the tiniest bit frantically.

And Dream, eventually, manages to explain why Hob kissing him awake worked, which means that OBVIOUSLY Hob needs to kiss him some more.

(And they both get a soft little happily-ever-after)

#dreamling #my fic #yes i thought of this after seeing that one art that the artist said had snow white vibes #but i can no longer find it to link

[annab-nana]

“Did you buy us cheesy matching pjs?” With Eddie because he would thinks it’s so cheesy but love it entirely because it’s with you🥺💕

omg yes! he'd act like he didn't want to do it, but he'd eat it up

warnings: not proofread, christmas, one use of y/n, use of pet names (angel)

❀ masterlist ❀

from the outside, eddie munson did not look like the christmas kind of guy. his vibe was much more in line with halloween. however, under all that dark clothing and tough exterior was a boy with a soft heart and a love for family time and holiday traditions.

you and eddie had started dating toward the end of january this year, so the pair of you haven't experienced a christmas together. you aren't sure how big of a deal christmas is to him, but based on the decorations up at his trailer, he seems at least a little bit into the holiday. it's either him or wayne.

eddie had been waiting for you to come over all day and he knew you'd be here in mere minutes based on the phone call he got from you a little bit ago. as soon as he heard your car pull up, he was out of his bed and rushing to open the door.

"wait," you called when you shut the car door, "close your eyes. it's a surprise."

"oooo, i wonder what it is," eddie said teasingly as he listened to your footsteps approach until he felt your hand in his. "hmm, this feels familiar," he joked while feeling your hand as if that was the surprise you'd given him.

"eddie, stop," you spoke with a laugh, "that tickles."

he held your hand like he normally would and let you lead him to the couch after you shut the front door behind you both. then, he felt something land in his lap. "can i touch it?"

"yes, eddie. you can open your eyes too."

"it's a bag! i love bags!"

you swatted his arm playfully. "eddie," you whined, "look inside the bag."

"you're too easy to mess with," he commented before finally taking a look inside the bag. you watch him pull out the top of one set before looking in and seeing another one just like it. it's hard to keep your smile at bay.

"did you buy us cheesy matching pjs?" you can't tell by his tone if he was making fun of you or not.

"you don't like it," you stated more than asked before mentally cursing yourself. "i'm sorry. i can take them back. i've still got the recei-"

while you were talking, your eyes weren't on eddie. you were too embarrassed to look at him, so you didn't see how quickly he moved the bag off his lap and stood in front of you. he placed his hands on either side of your face to ensure your focus was on him.

"y/n, i love it. this is the sweetest, cutest thing in the world. i say we change into them right now," eddie told you honestly.

"really?" you inquired to double-check.

"yeah."

"i actually tried to find the darkest ones because i know how much you like your dark ominous clothes to match your dark ominous vibe, so i got those black ones with the tiny christmas trees on them," you explained, going over to the couch to grab the top he held earlier and hold it up for his examination.

"they're perfect, angel, and they're really soft too. i definitely won't be able to stop touching you when you've got these on."

you giggled. "you can't stop touching me anyway."

eddie scoffed dramatically. "can you blame me? you're smokin' hot."

remember to support writers & reblog :)

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tag list: @fiction-is-life @jellyfishbeansontoast @daisyridleyss

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson blurbs #blurbs #rebelemilu #❀ emily ❀ #winter wonderland sleepover ✧*:･ﾟ

[purelyfiction]

miami vice || rhett abbott

Rhett Abbott x F!Reader

Word Count: 3,015 words

Summary: tailgates and trucker hats and drinky decisions. that's all.

Content Warning:  HEY!! THIS HAS SMUT!! So if you’re under 18 pleaseeee go away. (brother's best friend, f fingering, choking, oral f receiving, missionary, safe sex, CNC because drunk, strangers to lovers, possession kink if you squint?)

Author Note: hey bitches i'm not dead - jk ily all sorry. if you can't tell i'm self indulgent and needed to put this horny energy somewhere other than my head. enjoy.

"HEADS UP!" You barely register the sound before a sand filled bag clocks you right across the top of your eye, making you curse and drop your beer, hand flying up to your eye. The voice has traveled from the other side of the tent to land in front of you, a large hand taking your shoulder. "shit, i'm so sorry 'bout that."

Finally blinking away the pain in your eyelid, you can open both of your eyes to reveal the jackass who'd struck you - a jackass in a black sleeveless tank with a backward trucker hat. Your chin drops as you look him in very blue eyes, which are flooded with clouded concern. "You good? C'mere," his hand moves from your shoulder to behind your back as he moves to your side, carefully tucking under the tailgate tent. The male moves to one of what had to be a dozen blue coolers tucked under folding tables, pulling it open and carefully pushing the cold can to the affected eye. You've not said a damn word as he carefully settles the drink to your forehead, eyes still trained on him. "Real sorry, again I- my buddy's got shit aim."

"It's fine, I'll just go back to my place looking like I got jumped. " Your quick retort has him chuckling as he guides your hand to take the can and hold it. After he's sure you won't drop it, he's grabbing another two cans, large hands able to handle them with ease, extending one to you as he polishes off the other he'd carried over with him.

"You can actually drink that one." This time, its you laughing at you watch him crush the now empty can and toss it in a nearby hanging trash bag, clicking the tab to open it, foam coming to the top. Instinctually, you're dropping down to catch it with your lips before it can overflow onto his hand, the aluminum still in his grip. Withdrawing, you carefully navigate it from his hands.

"Thanks. You always treat the victims your sloppy shooter assaults?"

"Nah, only if they're stupidly hot." The forwardness leaves your eyebrows to pop up, the pain dully reminding you how you got here in the first place. The nameless cornhole vigilante reaches up to the tent frame, gripping to the accordion metal and leaning in. "I don't think I recognize you? Are you bummin' booze off these guys?"

"First you hit me with a sandbag and then have the nerve to question if I'm crashing a tailgate that isn't mine?" No Name points to your with an index finger while the remaining fingers keep curled around his Miller Lite.

"Good point. Name's Rhett." Nodding in response, you're carefully moving back to the cooler to toss a somewhat warm can back to the cooler, and return to your spot. Sorta. The brunette somehow seems closer - at least his face seems that way. You introduce yourself in response, and he laughs. "Dane's sister?"

"That's the one. This is all him. The RV, the parking pass - the booze I'm 'bumming' from him." Another sip of his beer blocks the view of his devilish grin. It almost matches the flames of the shirt he's wearing. "Where's the accent from? Definitely doesn't sound like it's from here."

He would proceed to explain that he's originally from Wyoming, and had come down to compete in the National Rodeo Circuit finalist events. That made him a cowboy cornhole viglinate. Rhett had insane stories from his events - like how he fucked up his shoulder on one of his best runs and rode again the very next day. When he ran out of stories - two beers later - he was happy to attempt to get revenge on his former cornhole partner for smacking you across the face.

"You're absolutely ass at this!" He laughs, watching the bag splat against the concrete. Bouncing along to a nearby speaker you turn to him when the other two start collecting bags.

"I gotta admit - I've never played."

"You-" His face fills with surprise and disdain, shaking his head, "How have you never- damn it, we're teaching you."

On the next turn, Rhett keeps the bags to himself, and feeds one into your hand. Before you can throw it however, his larger hand comes under yours, fingers skating along your forearm before getting comfortable under your grip. His chest is flush against your back, his scruff brushing against your ear as he leans in. Thick drawl gives you instructions about the power you want to put behind the throw, moving your arm along with it. Guiding your toss, the orange bag goes flying through the air, lands on the board and slides right into the hole. "Atta girl."

You end up losing the game, mainly because Rhett's cheating by continuing to tug you backward by the belt loop every time you take a shot to the board. Each time you looked over at him with a scowl, he would sip at his drink, mumbling 'don't look at me'.

The closer and closer to game time that you got, the thinner and thinner the tailgate group got. Dane had started cleaning up, his friends helping him put things inside the RV and his friend's pickups. Rhett still clings to you like tipsy velcro, his hand stuck in your back pocket as you try to help pack things away.

"Here, I'll dump out the cooler."

"Rhett there's still-"

"Oh there's still beer in here. Would be a shame to let it go to waste." Tossing one to you - which you somehow catch - he's snagging Dane's keys from a nearby table, pushing the first key blade he can find into the bottom of the can, duplicating the hole in your can that he's guided to the horizontal position. Dropping the keys to his feet, he looks at you. "Do I gotta teach this shit to you too?"

"You gonna cheat at this too?"

"Who said this was a race?" He asks.

"This is always a race. Three, two-" Both tabs crack open as you push the cans to your mouths, shotgunning commencing without a final count. As you tilt the can properly, you realize that Rhett has already finished his can, dropping it to the pavement. How the fuck- you obviously can't ask as you continue to chug, your throat working as you keep downing the liquid. Rhett's hand, coated in beer, carefully tucks under your chin, pushing your head further back, back and back.

"You can take it." If you weren't so determined to show him up - you would've sputtered foamy wheat water everywhere. You nearly choke thanks to the new pace, but make a smooth recovery. Dropping the can, you gasp for air, throwing your head back as you let the beverage settle in your stomach. Looking at Rhett, he's got a stupidly large grin on his face, upper lip covered in beer foam. You're about to say something when Dane comes out of the RV, calling your name.

"You don't have tickets right?" Nodding, the cowboy looks at Dane and then at you.

"You're not going?"

"Unless you're tucking me into your purse, Rhett - no." Dane slaps the taller male's shoulder before reaching down for the keys on the ground and pushing them into your hand.

"These are yours 'til we get back," Turning to Rhett, he nods toward the stadium. "Ready to start walking?" The mid-west male starts patting at his jeans, all the way down to his boots. Popping up to his full height, he grips your brother's shoulder much like he had yours earlier.

"I can't find my phone or my wallet. Let me go check the RV - I'll just meet you at the seats." Dane nods, and moves to the rest of the group, starting the trek to the metal building. When they're out of earshot, Rhett's hand tucks back into your pocket again. "You wanna give me the tour?"

In the most hasty fashion, you clamber into your brother's RV, showing off the kitchenette/living area, before leading him to the bunk areas, where you'd be sleeping tonight. Rhett's hand hasn't left your pocket at this point. As you show off the tiny space, he laughs. "What's so funny?"

"It's cute y'think both of us are gonna fit in there." Like a tipsy cocker spaniel, your head tilts at him. Fingers move to grip your ass through your jeans, before he spots the pocket door to the owner's bedroom of the mobile home. He's easily pushing the door open, a larger queen sized bed waiting on the other side of the door. "That's more like it." Before you can argue with him, his lips are latching to yours, hands gripping your hips enough to tug you flush against his own.

Rhett is efficient in pulling the jersey you were roasting in off your shoulders. The cowboy is about to let it hit the floor when you pull back. “Be smart about this.” You warn. Before you can blink, he’s thrown it to a side table and you back onto the bed.

“Or. You be smart and leave the commands to me.” A hand slides up from your lower back, up along your spine, soft finger tips electrifying the skin under them as he finds the strap of your bra. His lips busy themselves along your neck, wet and sloppy open mouthed kisses are soft and smooth compared to the sharp and coarseness of his stubble. The clasps are disengaged in quick time, and he pulls away from your skin to switch to the other side of your neck. Your bra- unlike the jersey- is discarded to the floor, leaving you in jeans that hugged you well, and sweat slick bare skin.

He carefully cups your breast, gripping onto it, a thumb rolling over the peak as your head cranes back. His kisses are getting shorter and closer and closer to your chest, until the warm and wet feeling blooms along your other boob, his tongue forming many shapes in the process. Your hands are eager to tug the backwards hat off his head, fingers carding through his hair, tugging with teeth teasingly scraping your skin a moan lifts from you. “Oh did my girl like that?” He taunts, moving to switch sides.

As he keeps mouthing at your tits, his hands busy themselves with your belt and button of your pants. It’s damn near expert execution, jeans swiftly thudding to the floor, no awkward entanglement to be found. His maneuvers leave you with only your panties left to hide yourself from him, but even then, a curious index finger runs along your pussy lips through the skimpy material. Slowly, he pulls the elastic free from your skin, running along it in a pacing line, smirking up at you as he moves to the edge of the bed. "This is such a treat, cause I know that stadium doesn't serve tacos." Adjusting to sit on your forearms, you stare him down as his lips start leaving wet spots along your inner thighs, a slight sound leaving you. "Did you just call my pussy a taco?"

An idiotic and drunken smirk floods his face as rough hands slide under the sides of your underwear. "Depends. Am I gonna starve, or are you gonna let me eat it?"

The surprise on your face speaks for itself as his hands free the material from your hips. His hands come to your calves, guiding your legs to prop up and spread apart. "Let me just set my plate here- that's just perfect." It takes mere seconds for his tongue to slide between your folds, the sensation making you somewhat melt along the duvet under you. He doesn't continue in his stripe patterns but in zig-zags, waves - patterns that tease you and just barely hit your clit. Rhett keeps this behaviour up until you're grinding up against him, his hands grabbing your hips. The hold is tight, and sharp blue eyes glare up at you, darkening as you whine.

"You're gonna stay right where I put ya. Y'hear?"

"But-" He snaps up back onto his feet, hovering over you again, his finger tips gliding along your skin and delicately wrapping around your throat.

"Wanna try that again?" It's punctuated with the slightest squeeze, the revelation that he was truly in control. You shake your head, and he smirks, his eyes locking you and your attention in as he catches you off guard, his other hand pushing a finger into you, thoroughly soaked from his toying. "Good girl. You just sit there and look all pretty while I take care'a you." His hand at your lower half begin to pump in and out, his other hand still decorating your body in the form of a necklace. "You are just the damndest thing I ever did see, know that baby?"

Rhett's thumb comes from the side of your neck, tracing along your jawline and chin before it taps your bottom lip. "Open up, my girl." You do as you're told as he dips his thumb past your lips, instinctively closing around him. Your cheeks hollow out as you suck intently - the digit stifling the moan that vibrates through you as he gets another finger into you. "God you are so fuckin' beautiful." It's muttered as his hand picks up a pace, your body relaxing and holding onto him tightly in two separate places. The faster his hand rocks into you, the more distracted your tongue becomes, he can tell. Which is why his hand pulls back, using the slick from your lips to begin rubbing circles against your clit, the feeling making you sigh in contentment. His lips trap yours momentarily, his tongue running along your teeth as his hands blindly work against you.

"Fuck, you are so wet for me, aren't you?" Rhett pulls back, the both of you catching your breath as pushes - in, out, in out. Your jaw slacks, trying to get an answer out. A particularly rough thrust of his hand drives his question again. "Aren't you?"

Eagerly, you nod, a gasping answer sneaking out. "Yes, god, I'm so wet, so wet for you, Rhett."

His hands retreat, moments from letting you finish with just his fingers. The male is rapidly undoing his belt buckle, slithering a hand into his back pocket, fishing out a condom from it. He sticks it between his teeth as he barely manages to get his hard on free from his boxers.

Part of you wants to ask him to let you put it on, let you admire the length that has sprung free from his jeans, but you know he's working against a running clock. Someone is going to notice he's taking too long. He didn't want to run that risk it seems.

The wrapper disappears somewhere. You're sure it remains somewhere in the RV floorboards, but as he's entering you, there's no fucking way you care where the evidence went.

Rhett presses into you, inch by inch, his lips playing with a spot on your neck. He stretches you so well, a hiss coming from you that times well with how he sucks a bite mark onto your skin. "My girl's so tight for me. Fuckin' so goddamn tight." His voice is low, gruff and right in your ear.

The smell of his body wash hovers over you, mixing with the newly formed scent of sex in the air as he pulls back, only to move forward again. "Sweetheart, you want me to move?"

"Yes, yes I want you to move-"

"Ask me nicely, baby." He freezes above you, staring you down, piercing blue eyes drinking you in like this. Sweat slick from the stale air of an RV and the Miami heat, tucked under him, captive.

"Please move, baby. Please, I just wanna come." The expression he makes strokes your ego in ways it likely shouldn't.

"Oh you're gonna come, I'll promise you that- you're gonna come." His hips begin rutting into you as he stands up a little further, hands coming up under your knees. Propping your legs up slightly, not fully extended but providing an angle to get even deeper into you, a sound escapes you, pinpointing exactly when he does. As his thrusts move quicker and quicker, your legs seem to slip from his hands, leaving him to reach up on the bed, snagging the nearest pillow.

"Hips up, sweetheart." A pant leaves him as he aids you to pop up, sliding the cushion under you. Upon the next thrust, and each one after, Rhett continues to hit the exact same spot, earning himself a rhythm of moans that time with his hips. "Oh honey, if they didn't know, they sure do now."

His hand drops between where the two of you meet, his thumb returning to do paces, sending you careening off the edge and into a blazing white haze, your body shuddering from the sensation.

Your cowboy continues his pace, no faster, no slower - continuing to ride out until you're nodding, encouraging him along. His pace picks up, his lips snagging onto yours as the sound of a cell phone comes from the floor. It only serves as encouragement for him, until he's finishing, his upper body hovering over yours as sloppy kisses and whimpers from him fill the soundscape.

His phone stops ringing, and when he pulls out, you remain trapped under him. Rhett gives you one more slow kiss before he moves to pull off the condom, cleaning himself up. "I think that big brother of yours is lookin' for me." He charms, pulling his pants back up, zipping himself up.

"Seems like it does." You offer, squirming on the bed, not ready to get up yet. Rhett pulls his phone from his pocket, nodding and confirming that's who'd called.

This time, your phone starts going off.

Simultaneously, his does too.

Then there's a pounding coming from the RV door.

#rhett abbot x reader #rhett abbott smut #rhett abbott fanfiction #rhett abbott x reader smut #rhett abbott outerrange #outer range #lewis pullman #lewis pullman characters

[happyk44]

Thinking about Frank telling Percy that after the war he had to ask Pluto's permission to date Hazel. The war gave him some leeway and reason for not doing so, but after it ended, Pluto showed up after a few days and asked Frank why he had not requested permission.

Percy is kinda surprised Hazel doesn't look annoyed. Sure she's from the 40's but he thought permission to marry was the common request. Wasn't permission to date outdated, even by 40's standards?

And Hazel shakes her head and explains that historically a lot of children of Pluto/Hades would be courted by other demigods as a trick or a trap. If a child of the Underworld asked her out, permission would be implicitly granted. If a mortal asked her out, permission would be implicitly granted.

But a non-Chthonic demigod, especially an Olympian one and one of such high rank like Mars, requires permission so Pluto or one of her siblings, or even Proserpina, may assess that this person is someone safe. Even friends can betray you in the end, she notes and Percy hates every single word of what she's said.

Years later when he comes to terms with his feelings for Nico, he agonizes about it. He knows Nico likely won't give a shit if he doesn't have permission, and Hades won't do anything to Percy besides maybe yell at him if he refuses to ask because killing him would upset Nico, but if he's going to date Nico he'd like to be on somewhat good terms with Hades for once. Neutral terms, even.

Frank may have lucked out with near immediate acceptance - why, wouldn't he? Hazel was his world. He would rather die than hurt her - but Percy was a thorn in Hades' side from the moment they met, and he was well aware getting permission would be a long process to go through. Probably some more stupid quests to prove himself.

And he'd do them. He hate it but Nico was worth it.

But part of the reason of living at the Nome these days was to stop having to do quests. To stop have gods interfering in his life to the point of standing on the ledge of the apartment roof and staring down at black asphalt and garbage bags shoved into a corner.

But Nico is worth it. And Percy - well, he'd like to think he's safe for him now. That he won't hurt him accidentally anymore. That they're good. And he's pretty sure Nico likes him back. When he visits, he always gravitates towards him. Sits by him when he's finished training with Walt. Takes him outside with Carter or Zia so he doesn't develop agoraphobia, and holds his hand the whole time so he "can't run away". He strokes the back of Percy's hand every time they're standing still.

He blushed when that one lady thought they were a couple. Didn't correct her either. Didn't ask why Percy didn't correct her. Didn't let go of his hand.

He hasn't interacted with a Greek god in the last four years. At least not in person. His dad and step-mom send letters every few months through Hermes, who hands them off to Nico to deliver. They're nice letters. Hoping he's doing well. Updating him on how the castle repairs are doing. Telling him about quiet spots in the ocean he can visit at a certain time if wherever he is doesn't have access. He's used a couple of them, with Sadie lazing about on a shitty rowboat far above his head.

It's nice to just lay there on the sand. The first time he'd been worried it was a trap. That some sea god would whisk him away for some adventure that would leave him more torn than he already was. But Phillip had sat with him, wand at the ready, his penguins casually swimming above them and it had been fine. No sea gods, no sea monsters, no animals other than the penguins.

So Hades will be the first Greek god he sees in person. It reminds him too much of his first quest. While Ares has been the first, Hades had been the second and Percy had stood in front of him, feeling too small, everything at risk, and someone he loved dearly on the line. If he failed then, he might never get her back.

If he failed now, Hades might enforce ways to keep them apart. To make sure Percy couldn't ignore his lack of permission and date Nico anyway.

What terrified him the most about not earning permission was the implication he was still dangerous to other people, to Nico. He was sure he was safe now. He didn't freak out at the little kids. He didn't wake up screaming. His gut instinct wasn't to pull Riptide out at every single loud noise. He didn't dissociate as much as he used to. He wasn't on edge all the time. He trusted the other people around him.

He didn't want to die nearly as much as he used to.

But what if it meant nothing? Therapy, medication, avoiding the things that caused him stress - what if it wasn't enough? Yeah, he has attacked Nico once but that was years ago, Percy had been extremely stressed out, and Nico hadn't even cared about it when he apologized. It took him a few seconds to even remember what Percy was talking about.

Aside from that one instance, Percy liked to think he'd always been safe for Nico. But then he remembered Bianca and his gut churned viciously.

Still, Nico was worth it. Nico was something he wanted. He'd do it for him. He'd do a lot of things for him.

Grover stood with him at the entrance of the Underworld. Mrs. O'Leary was splayed out, catching the rays of sunlight and rumbling happily as Annabeth gave her a couple treats and belly rubs. She joined Percy's other side and pinched his arm.

He still loved her. He always would. Their relationship to each other wasn't something that could be killed off, even with the distance and Percy running away. Same with Grover. Either one of them could vanish for years at a time, and when they came back, it would be like no time passed at all. They were clicked into one another like a necklace with interlocking friendship charms.

"You got this," Grover said with a clap to Percy's back. His hand drew up to Percy's shoulder and squeeze. "And we'll be right there with you."

"Or just outside the door," Annabeth adds. She flashes her wrist, a shiny watch on it. "And I have a battering ram if needed."

Grover's face went pinched. "That's not helpful."

"It's realistic!" Annabeth argued. "When has he ever come out here peacefully?"

"He's only been here twice!" Grover said in a gritted whispered shout. "You need at least three times to indicate a pattern."

The two of them stepped back ever so slightly so they weren't shouting through Percy, and continued their bickering on what constituted a pattern indication and whether or not it was helpful or supportive to indicate a fight might break out.

The noise helped clear the sound of his own voice in his head. He zeroed in on Grover's words clashing against Annabeth's opposing side, and breathed steadily. The two of them knew him so well. Hopeful realism.

"Guys," he said as clear as he could.

They went silent immediately and drew back to his side. Grover looped his arm around Percy's, pulling him close in by the elbow. Annabeth squeezed his hand once before letting go.

"You ready?" she said.

He nodded and reached for the doorknob. "Let's do this."

#percico #percy jackson #annabeth chase #frazel #grover underwood #happy talks pjo #my writing #my fanfic

[bonny-kookoo]

Yoongi

Lock Me Up | Lost

What's he supposed to do now?

Tags/Warnings: Detective Agust D my friends, Criminal Kitty!Reader, hybrid Yoongi, mentions of violence, kidnapping, major angst

Length: short

There is no taglist for this fic

A/N: you've all been up my ass about angst for the lock Me Up couple, so here you go.

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You're finally free.

Everything's concluded some weeks ago, you're no longer officially under witness protection, and yet, you still occupy Yoongi's home nonetheless. He couldn't be happier- after all, his life had truly turned around with you now in it, brightening his day and giving him something to actually finish work on time to go home as soon as he can. He still loves his job- but he wouldn't mind actually working from home again.

You make it pretty hard to leave the house in the mornings, that's for sure.

When he walks inside his apartment, and you're not there, he's not alarmed. You're a free spirit after all, you like to roam around, you're not someone who enjoys staying inside all too much. You cherish your freedom, and now that you've gained it back, he'd never deny you any of it. He knew what he'd get with you from the start of developing feelings, after all.

Though, he has to admit- when the sun starts to set, and you're still not home, he does begin to get a little nervous.

You're always back by the time he usually prepares dinner- and even on the rare occasion you're not, you at least come back when it's dark. But by now, it's pitch black outside, cicadas chirping loudly, but no sight of you.

Maybe you got caught up in something? Could be the case, you are a little bit of a scatterbrain when it comes to time sometimes. But what if something happened? There's no reason to run after you anymore though, since everyone got properly prosecuted. The game is over, even if they hurt you- it wouldn't change a thing about the outcome of this case.

But what if that's not what they're after?

What if they just want revenge?

Yoongi growls to himself as he gets up and grabs his keys, before he walks down the streets of the entire town in search for any hint of you. He can't just go to bed like this, no matter what. He's gonna definitely give you an earful for making him worry like that, that's for sure- he's got a meeting at seven tomorrow morning after all, and it's already way too late for his liking. You're gonna be horribly cranky tomorrow morning after just getting barely three hours of sleep until he has to get up again- and he doesn't like dealing with you whining about him having to stay with you.

Not because it's annoying- but because every single time you do that, it makes him want to stay in as well.

He's walking around, past all the shops that are long closed by now, cursing himself internally for not getting you a phone yet. He's gonna do that as soon as you're back home, that's for sure-

"There's five people, it's a basement at-" He can only make out when suddenly he hears something crash and you crying out, someone cursing at you, before the man is back on the phone.

Suddenly, he gets a call. The voice on the other end is unfamiliar.

"Come on now sweetheart, just how we practiced." Someone says, making Yoongi furrow his brows, until he hears your voice.

"Well, that didn't work." The voice laughs a bit out of breath. "What a menace! How do you deal with a bitch like that, detective?" He's asked, and Yoongi has by now stopped walking entirely, looking around.

"What do you want?" He asks, trying to keep his voice calm despite his inner bubbling anger about the situation. He should've known you'd never be safe here. He should've kept you close instead of letting you run around again.

"Oh, nothing much." The man answers, while Yoongi can still hear sounds in the background. "Say, what part of her do you like most? I'm thinking of sending you her tail maybe- just so you two lovebirds can match up, so to speak." He laughs about his own sick joke, while Yoongi himself has to control himself to not break the phone in his hand. "Or maybe her ears? She doesn't listen to a word you say to her anyways, after all." He says, before Yoongi can hear you groan out in pain for a split second.

"And neither do you listen, otherwise you would've answered my question already." Yoongi bites back, only earning laughter.

"I can see why you both get along." The man comments, before he sighs. "Listen, you know how this goes. I get the money, you get the girl. The more you try and fuck with me, the.. less you'll get back." He chuckles darkly, amking Yoongi nervous. "Ah, just one second.." the man mumbles, before Yoongi has to listen to the next seconds in horror.

The man is yelling something, before a shot rings out- the phone audibly being picked back up. "Sorry for that. I'll give you a.. discount for.. Damaged goods, if you understand." He makes a joke, before Yoongi can hear your voice in the distance. "Shut the fuck up or I'm shooting your other knee too!" The man yells back, and Yoongi starts to grow increasingly restless. "Man, what a cunt. Are you sure you want her back?"

"I recommend she's back by tomorrow morning or you'll be facing consequences." Yoongi growls.

"Oooh, bold words!" The stranger laughs. "I can do that. What part of her would you like?" He wonders.

"All of her." Yoongi responds, earning only a click of the tongue.

"Hm that's a bit much. There's nothing in it for me, after all." He answers back.

"I'll let you off the hook." Yoongi says.

"You don't even believe that yourself, Detective, let's be real here." The man sighs. "Listen, I'm tired. How about we have a chat tomorrow morning? I'll make sure to keep her alive until then." The man says.

"Absolutely not-" yoongi starts, but is cut off.

"That wasn't a question, Detective." The man chuckles. "And neither was it an offer. Say goodbye to your friend, kitty." The man says, before Yoongi can hear your voice again, out of breath.

"265." You say, nothing else, and Yoongi doesn't know what you're trying to tell him, when the line cuts off.

And he's left in the middle of the night without you, and without any clue as to how he's gonna get you back.

Or if he's going to get you back.

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#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #hybrid imagine #yoongi imagine #min yoongi imagines #yoongi imagines #min yoongi imagine #bts yoongi imagine

[arliedraws]

Why Sirius ran away at sixteen...

Still avoiding responsibilities so I'm back with more headcanons (trust me, this account will go quiet in a few days when I'm back in the swing of school).

I'm entertaining the idea that Sirius didn't run away during the summer holidays before sixth year. Instead, it was during the winter holidays of his fifth year.

Personally, I think the Blacks would have been annoyed that Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor but I don't think they would consider him tainted at this point. "He's young, he's rebellious, but maybe it's just a phase. We hate the Potters but at least he's associating with a pureblood." Remember, he isn't blasted off the family tree when he's eleven; it takes until he's estranged himself for his mother to do it. Don't get me wrong -- they're not kind to him, and he's just as aggressive back. Yet I think the final straw for him comes that Christmas after he's turned sixteen.

So I imagine he's dragged to the extended Black family Christmas as usual, but now the family includes Bellatrix's husband's family and the Malfoys.

While the older adults at the family Christmas party are together and talking or starting to wind down, Bellatrix invites Sirius to hang with the young adults like Roldolphus, Rabastan, Narcissa, and Lucius (and Regulus can't come) in a private room or something. Everyone is at least five years older than Sirius so this should be a great honor for a sixteen-year-old. They invite him to drink, and they treat him like an adult. I think he'd be suspicious about it all, but they would include him in conversations that reeeeeally haven't veered towards blood supremacy yet, so he gets comfortable and even finds himself enjoying his time. Part of him is wary, but it's actually nice to be amongst intellectual equals.

When Sirius is comfortable, Bellatrix mentions she's bored, and they should have a dueling tournament. This is all fun and games at first. Sirius beats his opponent--maybe Rodolphus--while Bellatrix helps him by giving him pointers as he goes. When Sirius wins, Bellatrix and the others praise him. And all of this feels so good even though he doesn't want it to. He sinks into the feeling of acceptance from his family--something he's denied even to himself that he's wanted since he was sorted into Gryffindor.

Then, he duels Bellatrix. She is still giving him pointers as they duel, and Sirius, in the end, wins (did she let him win?). Bellatrix, proud, tells him to use the Cruciatus Curse on her. He refuses, and Bellatrix is, at first, kind and encouraging. "You're the strong one, Sirius. You can do this." When Sirius still refuses, she tries another tactic and starts to goad him, and she's taunting him with all of the things he hates about her, about the family, how his mother thinks he's a bloodtraitor, etc. This gets him, and he caves into his anger, the hurt he's felt for years, the rejection. He puts the Cruciatus on her, and he finds that it's satisfying, that her screams echo in the hole in his heart. He holds the curse for too long, and the others have to force him to stop.

Then Bellatrix laughs and says he's still a Black--he's just like her. Or maybe she says something (mirroring the dialogue in OotP) that suggests the Cruciatus only works if you mean it, if you want to cause pain. Anyway, she helps him understand that at his core, he is able to hurt people.

Terrified at his own capacity for extreme cruelty, Sirius runs away that night. He could be just like her; he can be as cruel as Bellatrix. This horrible truth disgusts and scares him. So he flees to the one person who can keep him from becoming the worst version of himself.

Anyway, if this has been pulled from a fic that I read years ago, I apologize. If not, someone who is better writing at trauma than I am should take a stab at this :)

#sirius black #headcanons

[oflights]

allie i've been trying to gather the courage to reread close behind honestly ever since i first read it in march last year but i've been too. emotionally distraught to actually do so but! i've literally thought about it probably twice each week. and now i'm finally actually almost over my ex so i should just bite the bullet but im SCARED bc the last time i cried for 5 hours

like i literally remember 2 am on a weekday in literally -2 C weather and i sat on my balcony, wrapped in a blanket, chain smoking and reading at the same time, tears streaming down my face. all this to say i long for that catharsis but i'm. scared

omg. anon!! first of all it's probably weird how happy this kind of message makes me lol, like yay, i left you emotionally ravaged!!! mission accomplished!!

second of all: just remember the happy ending! read the last chapter first, and keep it in your mind as you read the rest!! think about everything that could come after it, too, like:

harry and draco's first awkward af date in hogsmeade. ron, daphne, their kids, and scorpius all follow them in various disguises courtesy of george and they are very obvious but harry and draco are too into each other to notice.

draco never wears black again. for every date with harry, he wears a different set of brightly-colored, over-the-top robes.

he steals harry's colorful fair isle sweaters all the time, too.

oh and he gets a weasley sweater like, day one of his renewed relationship with harry. molly had actually been knitting him a bunch over the years but held them back because she didn't want to make things weird or upset harry, so there's a backlog to get through. some have a little dragon stitched on them and ron is super jealous.

their first holiday at the burrow? emotional, life-changing, beautiful, cathartic. harry weeps at least five times. ginny punches him for old time's sake.

speaking of, headmaster harry who holds regular office hours for all hogwarts students in case they ever need to talk to him about something. even if they just want to talk about socks.

(headmaster harry who gets all embarrassed whenever anyone calls him "the youngest hogwarts headmaster in a century")

terrifying new DADA professor hermione granger, who is distressingly unpopular amongst the students because they're all too intimidated by her and it takes her a while to learn how to deal with kids.

until she skips out on a hogsmeade weekend to scandalously elope with a much younger former department of mysteries intern and then she's just incredibly cool to them.

and listen. scorpius locks himself in his room when he finds out about harry and draco's past. he asks draco if he'd ever loved astoria and makes draco cry. draco teaches him that the heart is a universe and he doesn't have any regrets and a wonderful future doesn't invalidate a past he was truly happy in.

and then!! there's stepdad harry. my favorite thing. scorpius asks harry how he knew he was gay. harry gives scorpius the invisibility cloak and asks him to help perfect his disillusionment charm in return. scorpius asks harry to rig the house cup for slytherin as his birthday gift. harry refuses, even though draco thinks it's only fair.

harry and draco date, get engaged, get married in their 40s. they go back and forth between hogwarts and the hogsmeade cottage (which includes ron and daphne's fam like 70% of the time too; harry loves summers spent as part of the extended weasley-greengrass-malfoy-potter family). draco eventually retires from curse-breaking and becomes a nepo hire charms professor after scorpius graduates.

they really do live happily ever after, after all that. promise. 😌

#asks #anonymous #close behind #oflights #how will you remember? #that i love you? #yes. #that's easy. i can't help it.

[joka13]

FANFICTION: Weasley Twins x Reader (Slytherin Girl - Part 20

WARNINGS: none

Throughout the day, even when they're not around, all you can think about are the twins. Memories of your most recent times spent with them cloud your mind. This is the first time you've ever struggled to focus in your classes and on your work. You really do try, but your thoughts always eventually drift off toward Fred and George.

While in his class, Snape notices that you are distracted. You startle when his voice sounds from right behind you.

"Miss y/l/n."

You slowly turn in your seat to face him with a smile. "Greetings, Professor," you chuckle gingerly. The corner of Snape's permanent frown twitches. You can't tell if he's amused or irritated.

"Staring at the cauldron isn't going to do you any good," he sniffs. A couple desks to your right, Malfoy snickers. Snape shoots him a glare, and Malfoy goes silent. Now you want to laugh, but control yourself as Snape turns to face you once again. "I want this potion finished by the end of class. I know you can do it."

You sigh quietly after Snape walks away. You make eye contact with Malfoy, who gives you a smug grin and nods at his own cauldron that has blue mist wafting out of it. He's halfway done with the potion. Though you haven't even started yours, you take it as a challenge and quickly get to work. Malfoy realizes what you're doing and also begins to rush, trying to be the one to finish first.

It isn't long before you easily beat Malfoy in the race, despite his head start on you. Before you can start celebrating, Professor Umbridge enters the room. The entire class, including Snape, freezes.

Snape's eyes dart down to the clipboard in Umbridge's hand. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asks her, though he appears far from pleased.

"Oh, don't worry about me! I'll only be a few minutes," she replies too happily. "I'm here for a class inspection." Before Snape can react, Umbridge starts to walk around the room.

She gives her attention to the students' potion brewing. She walks between the rows of desks, peering into cauldrons as she passes by. She comes to a halt by Malfoy's desk.

Malfoy had not only failed to beat you in your unspoken race, but also, in his hurry, destroyed his potion entirely. Even from where you're sitting, you can see a strange, black concoction threatening to bubble over the brim of Malfoy's cauldron. Umbridge leans over it, then grimaces and plugs her nose, hastily taking a step back. Once she's a safe distance away, she scribbles something down on her clipboard.

You look over at Snape. He's staring down Malfoy with a murderous rage in his eyes. Malfoy shamefully sinks low in his chair. You start to smile, but stop when Umbridge approaches your desk. She seems to admire the shimmering, purple liquid in your cauldron.

"Professor, what have you instructed these children to brew?" Umbridge asks without looking up from your cauldron. You don't appreciate being called a child, but manage to keep your mouth shut.

"Common cold serum," Snape answers, still standing in the same place he was when Umbridge walked in. "Madam Pomfrey requested that we prepare more before the winter."

Umbridge nods and writes again on her clipboard. "Well, you've got at least one batch," she says. She gives Snape a sappy smile. "Good day to you, Professor."

Snape merely nods once in response. And with that, Umbridge exits the room.

The whole class immediately seems to relax. Even Snape exhales sharply as if he'd been holding his breath. He shuffles toward the front of the room.

"Malfoy," he says, sitting down behind his desk. Malfoy stiffens fearfully. "Detention in my classroom tonight. You will be packaging y/l/n's serum for the infirmary, and attempting to scrub the mess you made out of my cauldron. If you do not succeed, you will buy me a new cauldron."

Malfoy's shoulders slump forward in dismay, and you cup your hand over your mouth to keep yourself from laughing out loud. Your smile disappears when Snape looks at you, but he's not upset. If anything, his expression is almost thankful. Almost. He's frowning just a little bit less, his brow less furrowed.

"And ten points to Slytherin," Snape finishes. He doesn't have to say why.

Malfoy scowls at you, and you return the smug grin he'd given you earlier.

After Snape's class, you're in a good mood. It's lunch time, so you head on up to the Great Hall. You are the first of your friend group to arrive, so you sit down by yourself and start eating.

Students file in through the Great Hall's large doors, but none of them are Fred or George. You notice Harry, Ron, and Hermione are also absent, and you begin to wonder if your missing out on something when Fred and George stumble into the room.

"Y/n!" they both pant, rushing over to you.

"Yes?" you reply in concern through a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

"We've got to go!" says George. He lifts your bag and swiftly swings it over his shoulder.

You swallow thickly. "What? Why?"

Fred grabs your arm. "They'll be starting soon," says Fred.

"Who... What's starting?"

George grabs your other arm, and together the twins hoist you up out of your seat. You land unsteadily on your feet, but Fred and George hold you up. They start walking, practically carrying you along.

You squirm in their grasp. "Hey! You know I don't like being manhandled!"

Once you're outside of the Great Hall doors, the twins set you down. You notice a new educational decree on the wall, but don't get a chance to read it. Fred and George each take one of your hands into their own and gently encourage you to walk with them.

"Sorry about that," Fred apologizes.

"Yeah," says George. "Your size just makes it so easy." He chuckles.

You laugh. "No, I'm not small. You two are big."

"We used to do that sort of thing with Ginny... until she bit George on the arm for trying to pick her up," says Fred.

You gasp.

"She did warn me," George chuckles guiltily.

"She's like a feisty little dog!" you laugh.

"That's what we always say!" the twins exclaim together. The three of you laugh.

Fred and George pull you along through three hallways, two doors, and up one flight of stairs. It feels so nice to walk hand in hand with them both that you forgot you don't know where you're going.

"So, um, what is it that I'm sacrificing my lunchtime for?"

George laughs. "Oh, yeah..."

Fred leans in close to your ear. "The D.A.," he whispers. You look around for whomever he's trying to keep this information from, but the current hallway you're in is empty.

"D..." Realization hits you. "Oh...!" Dumbledore's Army. "Why didn't anyone tell me this was happening?"

"We didn't know about it either," says George. "Until Neville told us during our last class."

"Well, where is our first session being held?"

"In the Room of Requirement," Fred answers.

There's a moment of pause as you wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. "And... What is that?"

"It's a magically hidden room that changes according to whatever it is you may require," says Fred.

"This better not be like your 'I-Miss-You' box," you snort.

"No, no. This is for real," George assures you.

"So was the box!" Fred chuckles.

Before you can react, the twins come to a halt at the same time in front of a blank wall. You expected something similar to the common room entrances with a painting guarding the room, but there's nothing but cold, hard stone.

Then, right before your unbelieving eyes, a black, metallic door materializes inside the wall. You gasp in astonishment, and the twins smile.

Fred opens the door with one hand, still holding onto yours with the other, and guides you through the doorway with George following close behind you.

#fred and george weasley #fred weasley x reader #george weasley #wizarding world #fred and george #fred weasley #george weasley x reader #george weasley fic #weasley twins #fred weasley fic #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley fanfiction #george weasley fanfic #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley x y/n #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #slytherin girl #slytherdor #gryfferin #slytherin x gryffindor #gryffindor x slytherin #fred and george x y/n #fred and george weasley x y/n #fred and george x reader

[ddejavvu]

hey mei!!!!! do you by any chance have thoughts on perv!eddie???? he makes me so 🥴

send me some blurb requests!

wc: 890

contents/warnings: perv!eddie, dark/sexual themes (18+, minors dni.), fem!reader, reader wears eddie's clothes

You knew your plan would work. You'd seen Eddie eye your dirty laundry before, and placing your pretty pink panties right on top of the pile on the floor was sure to get his attention. The shower curtain he had obstructed your view of him and his view of you, but that worked to your advantage here. He could sneak in, get your underwear, and sneak back out again without you noticing. Or at least, thinking that you wouldn't notice.

You noticed every time. Your panties were usually shifted from where you'd set them down after getting out of the shower at his place, clearly having been picked up and put back down. He tried his hardest to cover his tracks, but you'd caught him in the act once, and he hadn't noticed.

You'd poked your head over the shower wall one day to check that you'd brought an extra towel to lay on the ground, and almost screamed when you saw Eddie standing in the cramped bathroom. Not only that, but he'd been pawing through your dirty laundry, your panties clutched tight to his face as he breathed in your scent. It had taken all of your willpower at the time not to make your discovery known, so that now you could finally put it to good use.

He'd be completely clueless that you knew.

You turned on the shower, making the water extra hot to fog up the room. You'd seen his eyes travel down your neck once, a bead of sweat dripping into the cleavage that was forced by your tight towel. Sweat got him going, or at least your sweat did.

Stepping into the shower, you'd never felt hotter. Having Eddie fawn over you so intensely that he was stealing your dirty laundry was exhilarating, even if you knew it was wrong. You went about your normal routine, but you showered as slow as possible, giving Eddie plenty of time to unknowingly complete your plan.

Nearly two minutes in you heard the soft creak of the door opening. If you hadn't been listening for it, you wouldn't have heard it, and the sound made your heart leap in your chest.

Eddie worked silently, but fast. You cheered silently at the realization that he must have stolen your panties, because he usually spent as long as possible in the bathroom with your clothes, and he'd rushed out immediately now. He had to have taken them with him.

You shut off the shower a few minutes after he'd left, stepping out and glancing down at the pile of laundry you'd left. Lo and behold, your panties were nowhere in sight.

You slid on one of Eddie's old t-shirts, the hem falling just below your bare butt. You opened the door of the bathroom, spotting Eddie looking far too casual on his bed, pretending to be buried in a magazine.

"Eddie," You got his attention with a pitiful pout on your face, watching his eyes widen and his cheeks flush at how you were almost flashing him, "I can't find my underwear."

He gulped, and you watched his Adam's apple bob in his throat, "You can't find them?"

"No," You pouted, "They're just gone."

"I'm sorry, baby." He feigned sympathy, "That's weird. Do you want me to head over to your place and pick up another pair? You can come with, if you want."

"No." You shook your head, biting your bottom lip in thought, "Can I just borrow yours?"

Your question stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Wh.. What?"

"Can I borrow a pair of your underwear?" You asked again, keeping your voice as casual as possible.

He seemed to finally break out of his stupor, scrambling off of his bed and rushing for his drawers. "Yeah," He breathed, "Yeah, lemme just-"

He stood with his back to you as he rifled through his clothes, and you let your eyes travel down to his back pocket. There, peeking out from the black fabric of his jeans, was a spot of pink, the lace lining the hem of your panties.

You smirked triumphantly, your stomach doing backflips and nearly springing out of your throat. You had to school your expression into normalcy before he turned around, and when he did, he was clutching what you were sure was the tightest pair of briefs he owned.

"Haven't really worn these in a while." He explained, though you wouldn't have asked for clarification, "'More of a boxers guy, really. You can have these."

You weren't sure if he meant for the night or forever, but you wouldn't be complaining at the last option. You took them from him with a sweet smile, thanking him and wasting no time in pulling them on.

You ducked your head down to step into the briefs, but you felt his eyes on you nonetheless. You kept the hem of the shirt hovering tantalizingly over your lower half, only raising it to snap the hem of the briefs against your stomach.

"Thanks Eddie." He blinked dazedly at your words, his mouth held slightly ajar as pink dusted his cheeks. His eyes flitted to your own, not even bothering to hide how they had been locked on the soft outline of your cunt in his briefs. You smiled jovially at him, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek, "You're the best."

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson one-shot #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson headcanon #eddie munson hc #eddie munson hcs #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson dialogue #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader fanfiction #blurb day !!

[mamawasatesttube]

timkon for “Please don’t do this.”?? :))))

It's a scene from Tim's worst nightmares, come to life.

The Time Trapper. Superboy-Prime. Back in their dimension, hell-bent on exacting his revenge on everyone who "scorned him" for being misunderstood. The havoc and destruction he wreaks everywhere he goes are bad enough, but they're not the thing striking true terror, frigid and fierce, into Tim's bones.

"How much time do we have?" Kon asks, watching the red smear in the clouds grow larger. His arms are folded across his chest; his jacket shimmers with starlight, his eyes aglow against the inky black of the night sky.

Dread roots Tim to the spot.

"About three minutes," Cyborg reports, his voice taut even over comms. "We need at least ten."

Kon nods, more to himself than anything. Tim can see the determination in the set of his jaw, knows exactly what he's going to say before he can even open his mouth.

He knows innocent lives are at stake, so very many. He knows it's bigger than just the two of them. He knows, and yet—

His hand moves on its own, grabs a desperate fistful of Kon's jacket. "Please don't do this," he begs, and hates himself for it, because they both already know it's the only way. He needs to be a cape right now, a strategist, a hero, but the terror clawing up the inside of his chest belongs merely to Tim, a man who can't bear the idea of losing his beloved. Not again.

Kon looks down at him so tenderly Tim's heart hurts. He can't do this again, he thinks; it broke him before and it'll shatter him now. But Kon smiles at him—the sky is growing redder and the air already smells of smoke and Cyborg and Oracle need another ten minutes before the motherbox trap can be sprung, and Kon smiles anyway.

"You're not losing me this time, Rob," he says. The leather of his glove is smooth against Tim's cheek as Kon's thumb caresses along the lower edge of his mask. "Promise. It's just ten minutes—this chump won't know what hit him."

He leans in, presses a gentle kiss to Tim's forehead; his lips are warm and soft against Tim's skin. Tim's eyes are wide behind his mask. He has to get a grip, he knows; he's normally so much more levelheaded than this, he needs to keep his head screwed on straight if he's going to be useful at all out here, he... he can't be a distraction, he can't get Kon hurt—

"I'll give you a proper kiss when I get back," Kon tells him, and somehow even flashes a grin. "See? Now I have to come back to you safe 'n' sound."

Distantly, some horrible part of Tim is already packaging and processing that into the grief he doesn't want to drown in again. He can just picture himself falling to his knees by Kon's broken body, again, shaking him and demanding he wake up, that he promised he'd kiss him when they saw each other again—he can already feel the shards of that broken promise cutting into his heart and he hates himself for that, too.

"You'd better," he tells Kon. His voice, at least, comes out steady this time. "I—"

He can't even bring himself to joke. To tease and tell Kon or else I'll find someone else to cosplay Star Trek with next summer, or anything stupid like that. On any other day, in any other battle, with any other opponent, sure.

But today?

He cups Kon's face in his hands, draws him in, presses their foreheads together. Tries to convince himself he isn't saying goodbye. "Be careful, clone boy."

"I will." Kon gives his shoulders a quick squeeze, still smiling at him. Tim doesn't know how he does it. It's one of the many things he'll never be able to stop admiring about him; the thought makes his heart lurch.

And then Kon is tapping a finger to his comm again, as that blood-red streak in the sky draws nearer, and Tim desperately tries to find his usual levelheadedness somewhere deep beneath all the panic, all the instincts clamoring at him to keep Kon safe. He has to make himself useful.

"I can buy you that time," Kon tells Cyborg. "I'll hold him off until you're ready."

The comm crackles again as Vic answers, but Tim hardly registers it. He's too busy watching Kon shoot up into the night sky, his silhouette dark against the stars.

♥ angst/fluff prompts ♥

#hmmm i dont know that i like how this one turned out but ah well #its kinda melodramatic but i mean....... if any situation calls for that i guess this is one huh #i DONT like wooby tim i just like putting him in situations i hope the distinction is evident skjdhfkjds #timkon #tim #kon #rimi writes #nightmareinfloral