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witheringwidgetwrites · 9 months

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MC has a secret admirer!

Request goes; They're already dating but it's new so most of the lesser demons don't know about it. MC then starts getting love letters from an anonymous person and the Dateables/Brothers get the need to show off that MC is theirs?

I'm gonna do the brothers first! Hope that's cool! If yall wanna see more pls request it! (Also pretend that this is near the beginning of yalls relationship)

INTRO

"Wow, look babe, I got a love letter! Guess I'm more popular than I thought, you might have some competition." You chuckle, kissing his cheek. It was a very flattering letter, laying out all your strengths, compliments sprinkled generously throughout the writing. It was... surprising to say the least. But you were excited to tell him about it!

LUCIFER

If he's already on edge, he might just yank it and rip it in half. Today, however, he's in a good mood.

"Let me read it." You hand him the paper, watching him closely as he grimaces and scoffs. He's not nervous, but he is baffled that someone had the nerve to send you such a... bold letter.

A little prideful, in the sense that he has something that no one else can. He know's you wont leave him for some lower demon, but he can't help but feel slightly threatened.

Walks a litter closer to you around town and RAD. He'll hold your hand when the hallways start to filter out and there's less students around.

Puts in the effort to take you on more public dates, Restorante Six, most likely. kissing your hand and giving you roses at the table. He's not flashy, but it's enough for rumors to spread quickly.

MAMMON

He rips it from your hand, immediately turning his back so he can read it. "Is this the kinda lame sappy stuff you're into? Even I'd do better than this! It don't even mention ya eyes!"

He hands it back to you, mumbling something about, "i'll show 'em" before he stomps off, shaking his head.

He struts the RAD halls with his arm around you, glaring unnecessary at anyone who walks by. He's certainly on edge for the first couple days after. He starts passing you small silly notes during class, little drawings and pickup lines. You watch him as he turns away, hand trying to cover his flushed cheeks.

Also takes you out more. Carnivals, amusement parks, more casual things! Posts 1 post, with a few photos of you together, captioned 'almost as good as grimm.' If you get another letter, you might end up having your first kiss in front of the school!

LEVIATHAN

"Wha? Who?" He can feel his heart beating faster, anxiety rising in his chest. "Just kidding Levi, you're the only demon for me!" You giggle at him. "Could I read it?" You hand it to him, watching him plop down in his gaming chair. He gets very expressive while he reads. Before long, his tail is swishing behind him, "they don't even know you! There's no mention o-of any of your favorite videos games in here! You love games." He frowns, throwing his hands up dramatically. "I know Levi, I don't even know who sent it. Don't worry, they don't know me as well as you do." He pretends to lose control of his tail, that pulls you into him for a hug.

He sulks for a few days, but after some reassurance, he has a plan. You're going to the aquarium and he'll hold your hand! That'll really show 'em. Might even go to physical school a few days more than usual to walk with you.

He writes you a little in-game dialog sappy note, telling you a few things he loves about you. Might make a singular Devilgram post with you, hugging his Ruri-chan body pillow, captioned ''my #1 and my #2'

ASMODEUS

"Ohh! Of course you're popular MC! Everyone loves you, and me of course. We're the top power couple! Now let me take a look." He smiles at you, smile faltering slightly as he reads the letter. Eyes blinking a little stiffly, he hands it back to you. "That's so superficial, you're much better off with me." And with that, he walks away.

He shows the world exactly who's you are immediately. You're tagged in maybe 10 posts in a row. Pictures of you and him, some of just you, all captioned things like, 'my love' and 'my number one always' and 'remembering the moment I fell for you' and it's unmistakable.

Becomes even more affectionate in the RAD hallways, snuggling up to you, sitting in your lap/having you sit in his during lunch.

SATAN

He frowns, putting his hand out for the paper. He glances over it, brow furrowing as he reads. "This is amateur writing. You deserve much better." He hands it back to you, walking past you quickly with a scowl on this face. He turns back halfway down the hall, "be ready at 6:30." You decide to leave him be.

First order of business, he writes you a beautiful letter. It's long winded, many poetry references, and references to stories you've read together. Even compares you to a cat, somehow. He does not give it to you yet.

He dresses nice for your date, electing to take you to dinner, and then a stroll through the royal gardens. As you approach the doors to the House of Lamentation, he turns to you, reaching in his pocket and pulling out a wax sealed letter, your name written neatly on the other side.

Sits a little closer to you at lunch time, and in the library. Hoping someones will see and rumors will spread.

BEELZEBUB

He doesn't read the letter. He's a little jealous, but he thinks reading it will upset him, so he stays away.

He makes the small effort to hold your hand more. He's not normally one for PDA, but for you, he can make a small exception. You can see how flushed his face is when you look up at him.

On game days, he lets you wear his jersey until he needs it. Might post a picture on his Devilgram of you in it. Captioned, '#1 fan'

After one of his games, he sees you talking to a lower demon, they seem to be standing awfully close. He sees them throw their arm around you, and so he calls for you, pretending he didn't see them. He waves at you, jogging over and cupping your face with his hands before placing his lips on yours.

BELPHEGOR

He's half asleep when you tell him. Isn't really bothered until you make the comment about competition. Now he's awake, and looking around like there's a present threat. Yanks the letter from you, holding it close to his face while he scowls. He scans the paper, before rolling his eyes and rolling back over onto his side, taking the letter with him.

Pretends he's not bothered. Asmo brings it up at the dinner table, Belphie calls it a "stupid letter" and crosses his arms, slouching.

Doesn't bring it up again, but you notice he's a little more cuddly in public than he was before. One day after class, he finds you in the library studying, he saunters over, kissing you brashly, tongue tracing the edge of your bottom lip,and loudly, before wiping his lip with his thumb, and sitting next to you, "what're you studying today, MC?"

If you like my posts, please feel free to tip me here!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #obey me lucifer #obey me asmodeus #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphagor #mammon x reader #lucifer x reader #asmodeus x reader #leviathan x reader #satan x reader #beelzebub x reader #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #belphegor x reader

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sohya · 5 months

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sweat it out

-> f!reader x aoi todo

-> 3.7k words

-> gym workout talk. spit play. impact play. oral. big dick. size difference. possibly ooc todo. creampie.

-> last attempt. if fuckass tumblr hides it again im gonna p** myself and not in a good way

tagging: @suyacho

“oh, hey, lil cub. what’s on for today?”

there’s only one person in the entire world who calls you ‘lil cub’, and it isn’t even in a demeaning way. everyone is little compared to a giant brute like aoi, but for some reason, he’d adopted you with ‘cub’ after the title.

you look up from your spot by your pigeonhole to see aoi walking over to you. built torso, thick thighs and hair tied up into a bun like it’s his signature look. while the exposed skin on his chest is tantalizing to look at, the real treat comes from the gymshark shorts he wears that does nothing to hide the bulge in between his legs.

“just arms for today,” you look away lest you get caught staring at the most vulnerable part of your gym partner. “something short and quick.”

so you can get you and your ovulating self out of his presence sooner.

“great. i’ll spot you.” he grins as he rests a heavy hand down on your shoulder. like the rest of him, it’s huge and you engage your core to right yourself when his palm tilts you to the side.

you let out a chuckle as you shrug his hand off to slip your hoodie off before stuffing it into your designated box. you’ve stopped feeling bad about taking him away from his workouts, given he’s always been insistent on helping you and to be honest, a man like him doesn’t need to be lifting weights every second of his life anyways. that and you actually appreciate the tips he gives you, at least that’s what you tell yourself.

as you follow after him, his longer legs making him advance in front of you, your eyes fall to his bubble ass that doesn't hide just how he really takes the workouts for every part of his body seriously. you look up to the ceiling, your fingers fumbling with the handle of your water bottle as your womanly instincts kick in.

“actually, aoi,” he looks back at you, a curious eyebrow raised, “i might work on my glutes today. it’s been a while.”

you could’ve sworn his eyes flicked down to your thighs at that very moment but anyone else would probably tell you it was just a blink. “i think that’s a great idea, lil cub.”

you’re stern in telling aoi that you won’t be here for long so he curates a shorter workout for you to do. hip thrusts are first and you attempt to put on a show for your personal spectator, grunting as you exert your strength to push the barbell up into the air, then sighing softly as you lower your hips again. there’s brazen interest in his eyes when you look up at him in between your second and third set but he doesn’t entertain you with anything, taking his role as a personal trainer seriously.

but like it’s some sort of punishment for you, he increases the weights by 10kg in the last set, causing you to struggle with the last rep with clenched teeth and a sound that sounds like too much of a moan than a sound of struggle. as soon as he helps you off the machine he gives you a high five and the image of his hand dwarfing yours has your dizzy mind straightening up immediately.

“good girl.” he completely skips over the unnecessary praise. “that’s the hardest one done. three more to go.”

having aoi as your unofficial personal trainer is truly beneficial, you have to admit. having someone like him encouraging you to increase your weights and praising you has your mentality going haywire, because it feeds into your act of making sounds that should have his resolve cracking by now.

aoi comes back holding two 10kg dumbbells. “you’re doing great, lil cub,” he praises as he hands places the weights down by your feet for you to pick up yourself, following gym safety regulations. “rdls for the last set, 12 reps but i want you to hold the last one for 10 seconds.”

his nose crinkles when he laughs at your glare. “you wanna go a weight lower then?”

you wipe the sweat off the bridge of your nose if only to hide your face from him for a short second before you shake your head, “no, i think i can do it.” you bend down to pick the weights up before standing into the correct posture. shoulders tight, core engaged and your feet shoulder width apart.

a quick scan through the mirror at the rest of the gym makes you realize you two are the only ones left in the premises. which is the only reason you’re confident enough to say what you’re about to say. “it has been a while though. do you mind helping with my form?” you indulge him with a sultry gaze through your lashes.

as if he recognises what you’re doing, aoi steps closer and rests a hand on the small of your back. “‘course, lil cub. that’s what i’m here for, no?”

you barely even finish the second set.

exactly twenty two minutes later, you’re stumbling down the hallway of aoi’s apartment, the faux promise of him giving you your last workout at his place in the back of your mind as your lips clash together in a hungry duel for each other’s taste.

“i have to warn you, though, lil cub.” he says in between desperate kisses before he bursts into his bedroom. “i’m big. like really big.” you pull back to see nothing but pure honesty in his eyes. none of the smugness that would usually come from a guy warning their potential partner about the gigantic size of their dick. “so, if you want to tap out, no hard feelings.”

the warning doesn’t serve as one to you, if anything it only makes you more excited and inclines you to press your stomach up against his crotch. if the weight of it is anything to go by, you can already feel your walls lubricating itself up with your arousal. “that’s not very pt of you,” you taunt, hands grazing down to the hem of his matching gymshark t-shirt. you pull it over his head to rid him of the clothing, “i thought i was here for my last set.”

eager to stump your confidence, aoi picks you up with a strong arm wrapped around your waist. your feet hang in the air as the top of your head hits the ceiling, only possible given his height. “then take these off.” he pinches at your loose t-shirt and you fumble to pull it off your head.

the second the first sliver of your skin is exposed, aoi’s mouth descends onto it, pressing kisses along your skin and warming your entire body through it. his tongue darts out to lick your skin, still salty from your workout, before it travels up to your chest once you remove your sports bra. he groans into you before he closes his lips on your soft stomach, sucking your skin and licking what hasn’t been cleaned off with his spit.

aoi’s eyes, which had been previously closed as he cleaned off the ambrosia left on your skin, flutters open to see you staring down at him, clear desperation in your eyes, your brows furrowed and mouth opened to breathe heavy pants into the air. he groans. “fuck no, i can’t wait anymore.”

you’re quickly dropped down, yelping and grabbing onto whatever body part of his on your way down before your knees land on the floor without the pain and his hands supporting you under your arms. you look up at him, his monstrous height making him feel like he’s triple your size.

but that’s not what you’re focused on. what grabs your attention is his hand disappearing into his shorts, shuffling inside before he grunts out a sound of annoyance and his other fist yanks his shorts down. like a cinematic piece, you watch as his hand draws out his cock, which had been tucked into the right side of his boxers, out of the restriction of his shorts that falls down to pool around his feet.

half-hard, as thick as the circumference of your clenched fist and a generous 10 inches, you almost tear up at the sight. dripping pre-cum from the slit glistens like a crystal chandelier under the light. heavy balls that you want to smother your face into. nothing could compare to this. you’re struck with awe like you’re witnessing the 8th wonder of the world.

you let out a sigh and aoi grins, runs his large thumb down the length of his cock, which droops down due its weight, before it runs off the tip of his head and springs up to slap your chin. “close your mouth before you start to drool.” he says with a loud laugh. “actually, no. keep it open.” he prods the tip of his cock against your slightly parted lips, urging him to slip his cock into your hot mouth.

“it’ll fit,” he promises as if he can see the panic in your eyes, “just let me get the angle right.”

your lips burn as they stretch to accommodate the thick girth of him at the halfway point. at this point is when your eyes start tearing up, another inch and those tears are slipping down your cheeks as your head tilts back for him to descend his hips onto your face. another inch and he’s three quarters of the way while you gag violently around him. a deep inhale through your nose has you recollecting yourself before your source of air is cut off when he hilts himself into your mouth and your nostrils fill up with the soft curls on his pelvis.

your eyes blink open before snapping shut when they catch a glimpse of his pursed lips and the feeling of his warm spit landing at your eyes warms your face.

“ah- just missed it.” aoi tsks before pulling his cock halfway out before thrusting it back in. his head tips back at the glorious sound of you gagging and choking around his intrusion and subjects you to a few minutes of some brutal and honest face fucking. by the time he pulls out, your shorts and thighs are stained with spit and precum, tits dripping with the same mixture and the lower part of your face dampened in filth.

“you always make me so proud, lil cub.” he praises but demeans you at the same time with harsh taps to the side of your face, which probably wasn’t his intention but inevitable given the heaviness of his hands. “so pretty.” he compliments as he examines your state.

you whine as you fidget in your spot, hands moving to spread the wetness all over yourself. “a-aoi. c’mon.”

“you wanna get played with, huh, cub?” he hums, his hands cupping the side of your head and tilting your skull around, marveling at how your eyes follow him no matter which way he turns your head. “need something to sweat out, hm?”

he grunts as he bends down, slots an arm between your thighs and hooks you up from your crotch. you yelp when he spins you around so your head is dangling along with his dick. your tongue peaks out to grace it with a kitten lick before your mouth falls open when aoi’s face smothers itself into your wet shorts.

“you smell so nice, cub.” he huffs. if his dick struggling to fit in your mouth hadn’t made you aware of the drastic size difference between the two of you, then having his face pressed right into your cunt would do it for you. tightening your legs around his head doesn’t sway him from sucking a wet spot into the fabric where your hole would be, instead it just holds him there and doesn’t deter him from your pussy.

with careful hands, because he knows you’re still sane enough to scold him at one wrong move, he places you down on the bed and pulls your shorts and thin panties off. he flings the latter off to the side, making sure it slips between his bedside drawer and the wall so you’ll give up looking for it when you inevitably leave.

with your entire body now bare, he buries himself in between your thighs, your sore muscles granted reprieve by relaxing against his warm shoulders as opposed to floating in the air.

“beautiful fucking pussy,” he groans into your folds, “i could drink you up.”

the words you would have replied with die in your mouth when aoi dips his tongue into your hole, making a show of closing his lips around your opening and slurping the juices that coat his tongue. he’s relentless in the way his entire mouth covers pussy, the heat emanating from him making your toes curl all while your hands fly to the loose bun on his head to hold him still. he’s purposely avoiding your clit and you can tell because his head’s at an awkward position where he’s close enough for his mouth to encompass your heat but the tip of his nose avoids rubbing against your clit, making the warm breaths he’s exhaling into your bud warm your body up even further.

his tongue works in lapping everything you have to offer, dark eyes zoning in on your expression that you don’t hide away from. your head is tilted up to look at him but every flick of his tongue inside you has your eyes rolling back and your mouth opening in a silent scream.

but aoi’s patience only runs for so long and as much as he’d love to die and suffocate himself in your pussy, the ache of his rock hard cock chafing against the fabric of his mattress has him going insane. without a word to disrupt his momentum, he pulls his tongue out and closes his mouth around your clit, sucking on it hard enough for your back to arch and your heels to kick at his back. he holds you down with a heavy hand while the other sinks two fingers into your dripping heat. “ah… wait, aoi, nnh! i c-can’t–” you gasp, words falling out of your mind when your stomach begins to warm up as a hint of your impending orgasm.

he ignores your sounds in favor of each thrust that he drags out, focusing on curling his fingers upwards and running against the roof of your walls. you full on go lightheaded when he pulls his fingers out halfway before ramming it back inside, the tips of his fingers rubbing against your walls in a come hither motion on repeat causing your orgasm to wash over you. your mind blanks in what you can only describe as the best climax from getting head you’ve ever had. only thing you can hear and feel is aoi groaning into you as your juices flood into his mouth.

the loud suckling noises don’t cease your orgasm in any way, if anything it makes it last what feels like an eternity before you come down, twitching and whining into the air. your lungs work in overdrive trying to gather air back into it but you’re not given the chance to properly recover when aoi’s face hovers above yours. only then do you realize the tingling in your pussy was from the aftershocks of your orgasm and not the feeling of his mouth overstimulating you. something in your mind feels disappointed about the fact.

satisfied with how quickly relaxed you become, aoi eases three fingers inside you, watching with a smug grin when you wince at the stretch of the third finger’s addition. “gotta stretch you out some more, cub. as much as it’d be nice to see you cry even more for me,” he pauses to lick the embarrassing streak of tears down your cheeka, “it’s not gonna be good for you in the long run.”

“ahh– i can- i can take it.” you push on, grinding your hips against his knuckles to ease another finger inside.

“i’m sure you can. my little cub knows how to push herself.” he says as he pulls his fingers out. aoi’s eyes grow dark as they encourage your gaze to stay on his, entire attention focused on him that you only realize what he’s distracting you from when the blunt head of his cock pushes into your hole and makes no move in slowing to accommodate you. “but it’s more for my sake, so your tight pussy doesn’t cut my dick off before i even get myself inside.”

and just like that, you’re forced to take it. him pushing his hips further and further down while his huge cock positively splits you open. the silence is disturbed with your pants and moans of his name that flood out in a series of babbles that would’ve been incoherent if aoi wasn’t slipping into the same state of fucked out bliss like you were.

“there we go,” he says after another agonizing few seconds, you can just make out the press of his balls against your ass when he looks down at you. his hands are cupped on the juncture between your neck and shoulders and you don’t get the time to wonder why when he uses his hold on you as leverage to pull his hips back and slam back into you, quickly building a rapid pace that has you screaming with nothing to ground you but the thin bed sheets that are threatening to rip apart in your fists.

“a-aoi. i- n’ver been fuc-fugged this good,” you wail, being forced to take his brutal thrusts with how his hold on you doesn’t allow you to fidget up the mattress.

the compliment doesn’t fly over aoi’s head as he grins and leans down to lick at your open mouth, your tongue immediately flicking out for him to crudely lap at before he purses his lips and hacks a glob of spit onto your awaiting tongue. “yeah i can tell, cub. and you’ll never get anyone to fuck you this good again.” he says like it’s a promise.

like some cringy monologue, he gives a deranged speech with the sound of his hips slapping against yours as background music. “been wanting to fuck you since the very first day.” he releases one hand from your shoulder to decorate your thigh with a hard slap, “wanted to break you since then. didn’t think i’d get there because of how head plap fucking plap strong plap you are, but look at you now.” he sneers in a menacing look but he purses his lips and lands another serving of spit onto your barely open eyes. he chuckles breathlessly when your tongue makes a useless attempt to lick at the added warm puddle on your face. “my broken little fucktoy.” he praises demeaningly.

“aoi.” you breathe his name out like it’s the only sound you can make on top of the pathetic “nnh- don’t stop, please don’t stop. it’s too much… pl-please gimme more–”

in his mind, aoi promises to give you nothing if not more.

“you wan’ more, huh, cub? you think i have more to give you?” he returns his hand by your hip to your face, smothering you and mixing the mess of spit and sweat into your skin, “i’m over here wrecking your precious little cunt and you’re still asking for more? what more could you possibly want?”

“you– your cum… please aoi.” your mind has some semblance to come up with a logical answer quickly which doesn’t satify aoi as much as it should. without warning he pulls out and flips you around and rams his cock back inside you before you even get the chance to whine.

“let this be the arm workout you would’ve done today.” he bites into your earlobe as he speaks, hunching over you and pressing his sweaty chest against your just as sweaty back. “keep yourself up and then i’ll flood your stomach with my cum.” he promises before standing up on his knees, his hands tightly gripping your hips, he leans back and uses that momentum to thrust his hips upwards, cock slamming into you with no reprieve for you whatsoever.

keeping his words in mind, you mindlessly babble your gratefulness to him as your arms wobble but stubbornly force yourself to stay up. it isn’t long until the head of his cock meeting your sensitive spot overwhelms you, your body tightening up and your arms feeling like jelly as you squeeze around his cock in an orgasm that you can’t hold back no matter how hard you try. “cumming, aoi. ‘mgumming!” you groan as your eyes flutter shut, body pretty much going lax at the powerful orgasm.

“keep your head up.” he takes a hand to cup your neck from the front, forcing your head upwards in a dangerous bend. “got so much fucking tighter, fucking sshh-it.” he grunts, granting you one two three more thrusts before his hips ram into you, cock expanding and deflating while warm cum fills up your inside. you almost swear you can feel it filling your womb up, a special place in your stomach that desperately drinks his cum like it has a mind of it’s own.

the room is filled with tired sounds of disbelief as you come down from your high. aoi is stock still, palming your ass as he throbs minutely inside you. he lands a harsh spank on your ass, causing you to yelp and fall to your face when your arms give out underneath you.

grunting his displeasure, he presses a hand down the small of your back as his hips rear back, ready to subject you to another round of his cock damaging your insides. “aoi… gimme a… sec…hah… i can’t–” you hide your face in your hands with a small wail, sanity crumbling with every slap from aoi’s hard hips to your softer in comparison ass cheeks.

his hand cups your throat again, squeezing it as a warning as he pulls you up to your hands again. “no, cub. i told you to keep yourself up. we’re not done for today until we do three more sets of this.” he grins at your whine as his hips pick up even more momentum. “what kind of gym buddy would i be if i didn’t push you to your limits, hm?”

#mon's words #todo smut #todo x reader #aoi todo smut #aoi todo x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader

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kikyo-bnha-imagines · 8 months

Text

"I like you, okay?!"

summary: katsuki struggles to confess to his crush.

tags: fluff, fem!reader

Katsuki is good at a lot of things, but when it comes to romance, he is a hopeless fool.

In his defense, it’s not his fault. He’s spent the vast majority of his life focusing on one goal and one goal only—honing his Quirk so that he can become the Number One Hero. And he always thought that his attention would never sway, free of any unnecessary distractions.

Until he met you.

At the start of the first year at U.A, Katsuki didn’t think much of you. Well, he didn’t think much of any of his classmates, for that matter, but slowly but surely, the days passed, and he found his gaze lingering on you for a lot longer than he would’ve liked to admit.

Katsuki tries to deny it at first. Something about you makes him feel... off. He's not sure why his chest gets uncomfortably tight when you speak to him, and it also doesn’t make any sense why his face heats up like never before. Maybe he’s sick, but if that were really the case, then he’s somehow been sick for the past few months.

It takes someone else’s meddling for Katsuki to finally put the pieces together.

“So, Bakugou, what’s up with you and [Name]?” Kaminari asks. “It feels like you treat her a bit differently than everyone else. Do you have a crush on her or something?”

Kaminari was half-joking, but when Katsuki’s cheeks flush a deep shade of crimson—enough to rival his piercing eyes—everyone around him gasps.

“Dude,” Kirishima chuckles. “No way. You actually like her, huh?”

“The hell I do!” Katsuki immediately snaps back, but his voice cracks, and based on the way everyone smirks at him, he can tell he must not be very convincing.

Kaminari grins. “Wow, I hit the nail right on the head! You’ve gotta confess, man! [Name]’s really popular, so if you wait around too long, someone else might beat you to it!”

“You idiots are out of your damn minds,” Katsuki grits out, and without wasting a beat, he shoves his hands in his pockets and stomps off.

They’re just being stupid like always. Seriously, him, having a crush on someone? The Bakugou Katsuki? As if he has the time or energy to waste on mushy shit like that. It’s so ridiculous he’s almost tempted to laugh.

But then he takes a moment to consider Kaminari’s words.

“If you wait around too long, someone else might beat you to it.”

Katsuki isn’t sure why, but he briefly imagines you being asked out by another person, someone who isn’t him. He imagines you laughing with them, hooking your arm around theirs, and last but certainly not least, leaning forward to meet them in a kiss.

The image evokes a visceral reaction from him, and in that moment, he swears his heart nearly stops beating.

And then comes the realization.

Oh, fuck.

He’s in deep shit.

As much as Katsuki would like to say that he’s made progress since realizing that he likes you, that unfortunately isn’t the case.

If anything, the self-awareness has just made things worse. Before, he could at least talk to you like a semi-normal person, but now, your interactions usually go something like this:

“Good morning, Katsuki,” you greet. “How’d you do on yesterday’s assignment? To be honest, I was kind of rushing to finish it on time. It felt like it was harder than usual.”

Katsuki parts his lips to respond, but the longer he stares at you, the faster his heart races.

He ends up walking away out of sheer embarrassment.

“Man,” Kirishima sighs. “That was painful to watch.”

“Shut up!” Katsuki hisses. “What the fuck do you want me to do?!”

“Just be normal. Be yourself.” Kirishima pauses for a few moments. “Actually... maybe that’s not the best advice.”

“Oh, piss off!"

It goes on like this for a while. Every time you engage him in casual, friendly conversation, Katsuki finds himself freezing up completely. It’s ironic, because he has the confidence to take on fearsome villains with ease, and yet this is what has him scared shitless.

Goddammit. Katsuki never realized that liking someone would be such a test of his strength.

Unfortunately, he’s too caught up in his own feelings that he doesn’t stop to consider how all of this looks from your perspective.

“Katsuki,” you approach him one day, and for some reason, you’re frowning. “Hey. Can you please be honest with me? Did I do something to upset you, or what? Because it feels like you’ve been ignoring me lately.”

He blinks. “What? No. If I had a problem with you, I’d tell you.”

“Well, that’s what I thought too. So then... why do you keep avoiding me? Does it just bore you having to listen to me talk?”

Hardly. Katsuki could probably listen to you talk for hours upon hours without getting bored. You have a pretty face, a pretty voice, and whenever you smile or laugh, it makes him want to do the same.

It suddenly dawns on him that this is probably the best chance he’ll get. It’ll be bad news if he lets this misunderstanding drag out any further. He doesn’t want you to think that you don’t like him, because that’s the furthest thing from the truth.

Come on. He can do this. He’s Bakugou Katsuki, for fuck’s sake. It’s time to stop acting like a coward and own up to how he feels.

“I,” Katsuki starts shakily, “I...”

You raise a brow. “You...?”

“I...”

“...?”

Holy shit, this is so much harder than he anticipated. He’ll take a punch to the face over a confession any day of the week.

But no, he can’t give up, goddammit! Again, he’s Bakugou Katsuki! Resident badass! The (self-proclaimed) future Number One Hero!

The words feel like bile rushing up his esophagus, and even though they burn like hell, he finally, finally manages to spit them out.

“I like you, okay?!”

He did it. He’s violently flushed in the face and keeps having to gasp to reclaim his breath, but at long last, the truth is out in the open.

And now for the part that he didn’t even stop to consider. Seeing how you'll react.

“Oh,” you blink in response. You’re visibly taken aback, and you clear your throat, stopping to ponder your next words. “Well, that’s—”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up! I don’t want to hear it!”

Katsuki books it the hell out of there before he can hear what you have to say. He supposes he’s unlocked a new fear: rejection. The way he handled this whole situation is lame, it’s childish as hell, and he knows it, but when it comes to this stuff, it looks like he’s much more of a coward than he first thought.

Meanwhile, you giggle softly as you watch him run off.

“What a dork. He didn’t even wait for me to say I like him back.”

#bnha imagines #my hero academia #bnha #mha #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #katsuki x reader #boku no hero academia #boku no hero imagines #mha imagines #mha headcanons #bnha headcanons #fluff #romance #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha fluff #bnha fluff

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nevadancitizen · 3 months

Note

do you think you could write something where könig and/or ghost (separate) were nearby or watched reader try to participate in a conversation but constantly got ignored or talked over to the point where they just kinda go silent and walk away? they end up comforting the reader and just trying to be a shoulder to cry on while they talk about their frustrations because this is something that always happens to them <\3

it doesn’t have to be too long and you don’t have to worry about getting to this request too quickly!! thank u for reading anyways :3

-> THE SOCIAL WEAK LINK

synopsis: rookies and debriefings are pains in both you and ghost's asses. rich people fail the turing test while interacting with you and könig.

word count: 2.2k (~1.1k each)

characters: ghost, könig, awkward! reader (lol)

notes: (rings dinner bell) hey friend.. this req has been sitting since september.. im so sorry (ಥ﹏ಥ)

-> GHOST:

Debriefings were always boring. Everyone was tired, sweaty, and just wanted a cold shower and a warm bed. But what else encompasses the military so eloquently except unnecessary misery?

And to add to the misery, some rookies had tagged along to the mission. “On-the-job training,” Price had prattled off as he read the mission statement. He had given you and the rest of the 141 an exaggerated look that screamed If these rookies compromise the mission I’m going to tear the Lieutenant Colonel a new one.

The rookies (with callsigns Quest and Cable) were nice enough. They weren’t given the opportunity to burn off their energy on the mission like the 141 – they’d stayed behind as backup while the 141 went in to deal with the bad guys. As a consequence, now they’re in the debriefing room, chattering away like parrots.

Ghost could fall asleep in the chair he was in, if Cable and Quest were a little quieter. He looks at the next spinny chair over, where you’re sitting. You’ve got your knees tucked to your chin and are silently tracing the patterns in the wood table with a fingernail. Every now and again, you glance at the rookies, but ultimately turn your eyes away.

You were always just a bit too awkward to fit in with the rest of the military. Either too quiet or too loud; you rambled too often and your voice cracked when you did. You slipped through the cracks, into the quiet background with Laswell and Shepherd. You’re one of the powerful hands that move the pieces on the chessboard, but not a well-recognized one. Well-recognized within the 141, yes, but not on a wider scale.

Ghost can tell how you’re feeling by the obvious emotion on your face. It’s yearning – an emotion Ghost knows well.

His eyes sweep the rest of the table. Gaz is fucking around on his phone, probably making a new Pinterest board, while Soap leans over his shoulder and watches him. Price is in another room, talking to someone important. Ghost couldn’t really bring himself to care about who.

The entire room is bogged down with an unmistakable tiredness that goes right over Quest and Cable’s heads. Really, the only sound in the room is their voices and, intermittently, yours as you try to inject yourself into their conversation. Each attempt is met with pursed lips that barely count as smiles and something along the lines of “Yeah. Anyway…”

Eventually, Price pops in, leaning his head on the doorframe. The brim of his hat crinkles and his nose wrinkles up in disdain. He sighs. “Everyone out. Lieutenant Colonel wants this meeting room for herself. We’ll debrief later.”

Quest and Cable pop up like excited teenagers and head for the door, continuing to talk. “I’m soooo goddamn hungry. Hopefully the mess hall has something good…”

“Hey!” You practically jump from your chair, your eyes on the rookies. “Um, I heard that they just restocked the vending machines? Do you wanna maybe chick – I mean, check – them out with me? They’re just down the hall.”

They both tense, and Quest looks over their shoulder. They smile awkwardly and exchange a look with Cable. “Uh… maybe another time?”

You visibly deflate and rock back on your heels. “Yeah, totally. See you later.”

They both nod tersely and exit. You take a deep breath and let out a long sigh. You sit back in the spinny chair and it wheels backwards from the force.

Gaz shuts his phone off and groans while Soap sucks air through his teeth.

“Not your best effort,” Gaz says.

“I know,” you say.

“Maybe you’re not just compatible with rookies?” Soap tries.

You roll your head back against the back of the chair and stare at the ceiling. “I know.”

You sink further into the chair, then stand. “Whatever. Let’s clear out. Price will have our heads if we don’t.”

Ghost tails you out the door. You don’t acknowledge him, but you know he’s there (even if his footsteps are extraordinarily light for a man of his stature).

“Pompous pricks, ay?” Ghost says.

You stick your hands in your pockets, hiking your shoulders up by your ears. “Wish they were a little more personable. Wish I was a little more personable.”

“Why, you’re plenty personable.” Ghost laughs gruffly at his own joke as he nudges your shoulder with his.

“Asking to go ‘chick out’ the vending machines is a personable interaction?” You relax your arms and knock your elbow against Ghost’s.

“I thought it was funny,” Ghost says. “Even if it was just a slip-up.”

You sigh, but keep up with Ghost as he walks. “If it was funny, then why didn’t they laugh?”

Ghost thinks for a second. “Maybe they just don’t have a sense of humor?”

“You don’t have a sense of humor,” you jab.

Ghost scoffs. “Of course I do.”

“Then make me laugh,” you say. “Make me laugh right now.”

Ghost breathes in and exhales slowly through the fabric of his mask. “Well… do you know why the Cold War was called the Cold War?”

“The supernations fought using proxy wars,” you say. “America and the USSR never really went head-to-head.”

Ghost sighs pointedly. “Yes,” he says, “but also because of the icy-BMs.”

“The what?”

“The Cold War?” Ghost repeats. “Icy?”

“ICBM stands for Intercontinental Ballistic Missiles.” You stop midstep, looking at Ghost with a disbelieving smile. “Ghost, don’t tell me you don’t know what ICBM stands for?”

“No, it –” Ghost sighs. “Icy sounds like IC? Icy-BMs?”

You burst out laughing, waving Ghost away like he was some form of stupid. “Ghost, seriously? You don’t – oh my God!”

“I’m not a fucking knob, I know what…”

Ghost can’t bring himself to correct you as he watches you laugh like that. It’s a bit too loud and there’s a snort in there somewhere, but it rings true and warms Ghost’s heart. He doesn’t mind being seen as dumb for a minute if you’re able to warm his heart with a sound as nice as that.

-> KöNIG:

König nearly always hates going undercover.

More often than not, the higher-ups stick him in some ill-tailored enemy armor and send him in with nothing but a less-than-encouraging slap on the ass. They know he’ll make it out alive.

On this mission, he feels a little more comfortable. It’s more than obvious you’re not.

You and König are camped out on the edge of a ballroom, sitting together at a small table. You’re dressed in a fancy outfit that just screams decadence, and it fits your role well – the adult child of some rich, cigar-chomping tech baron. König is playing the role of your bodyguard, dressed down from his usual military garb in a plain black suit (with kevlar padding) and a balaclava.

You cross one leg over the other at the knee and look down at your flute of champagne as you swirl it. The bubbles rise to the surface and pop as the pale liquid settles.

“I hate this,” you say under your breath, just loud enough for König to hear.

He nods along, but straightens up when a small group of people approach the table. There’s an older woman, a middle-aged man, and a girl, maybe fifteen.

“Hi, sweetheart!” An older woman croons at you. “You’re Bohumil Silvester’s youngest, right?”

“Oh!” You sit up straighter and put the champagne flute on the table. “Yes, I am. And, um – and who might you be?”

“I’m Laila Matthews.” Laila checks over her shoulder at the people accompanying her. “This is my daughter, Adine, and this is my husband, Keaton.”

“It’s so nice to meet you!” You smile politely, but König can scope out of the corner of his eye that you’re gripping a bit of the fabric of your too-fancy outfit like you’re meaning to rip it off. You spout your fake name to Laila with a cheeky “But you know that already, right, ma’am?”

Laila is utterly delighted with your carefully constructed persona. She throws her head back and laughs, one hand on her chest and the other finding Keaton’s shoulder. “Oh, Lord. Aren’t you just your father’s child?”

You nod and, once again, smile politely while exchanging side-eye glances with König. He’s just as confused as you are.

As soon as Laila recovers, she’s talking again. She gestures vaguely in König’s direction. “And who is this? Security, for this casual meeting?”

“Uh, yes, ma’am,” you say. “You can never be too careful these days, with all the laws about concealed carry and everything.”

“Well, I’m 57, and I’ve only had security for a few occasions,” Laila says.

“You’re 57?” You bark, a little too loud. You can feel a few heads turn your way and Laila’s stare turns withering. König’s shoulders shake as he coughs into his fist.

“I mean, um, you’re 57?” You try again, quieter. “Because you don’t look it. Like, at all. Ma’am.”

Laila’s tone is flat when she speaks. “Right.”

“I meant, um, you look younger? Uh, anyway.” You smile nervously, then pick up your champagne flute and take a sip. “I love your family’s outfits! And the, uh, the way they match.”

Keaton leans in and grabs a hold of Laila’s shoulder. He gets up on his toes to whisper something in Laila’s ear. It’s hard to hear over the ambient noise of the ballroom. Laila nods and Keaton continues to whisper.

“Um, Laila? Mrs. Matthews?” You try to get her attention, to no avail. She keeps nodding to Keaton’s words like you’re not even there.

You stand and turn to Adine. “Adine, right? Tell your mother it was nice speaking to her.”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Adine nods absently, her eyes somewhere else on the ballroom floor.

You toss the rest of the champagne in the flute down like it’s a shot and stand from the table. You make eye contact with König and nod towards the French doors that lead towards the balcony.

People don’t notice as you and König step out. The sky is clear, yet the night is still young enough to be starless.

“Christ, I hate rich people,” you mutter under your breath.

König moves and leans his back against the wrought iron of the railing. His eyes sweep across the small area, then he nods. “Yes. That interaction was less than pleasant.”

You lean against the railing next to him. “Why was she even talking to me? And what did she mean, ‘Aren’t you just your father’s child?’ Like, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I am… not sure,” König says. “Maybe it’s part of rich people code?”

“Yeah, maybe.” You huff out a laugh, then sigh. “I really wasn’t the best pick for this mission.”

“What do you mean?” König asks. “You are perfectly capable of fighting.”

“No, the, like…” you sigh again. “The talking part? I’m not fit for that. Never been a good conversationalist, never will be.”

“You are conversing with me right now, no?” König gestures between you and him. “This is a conversation. You are doing fine.”

“Yes, but…” you trail off. “You saw me. I shouted her age out in front of everyone.”

König hums. “To be fair, it was a bit of a shock.”

You glance up at him and laugh, a pretty smile gracing your features. “Shut up.”

“But it was!” König insists. The fabric of his balaclava puffs out as he laughs. “I had to cough to cover up my laugh. I nearly had to excuse myself.”

“Yeah, sure.” You shove his shoulder half-heartedly as you turn and look out over the railing, at the courtyard. König follows your gaze.

The courtyard is illuminated by ambient lamps. Paths are laid with bricks, with neatly trimmed grass in between each one. Exotic plants from every corner of the globe line the pathways, some of their flowers closed for the night. A fountain is in the middle, with water spouting out of the trumpet of a cherub statue. A few people surround the fountain, talking quietly with drinks in their hands in the low light.

You lean close to König and point at one of the people – a man in a navy suit. “That’s the target. Mister T. Kilgore.”

“So he is,” König says. He pats under his armpit, checking his sidearm. “We need to get moving. I do not like the way Laila’s husband was talking to her. Suspicious.”

You nod and send König a small smile. “We’re still going with the plan, right? I’m going in and playing drunk?”

“Of course.” König mirrors your smile even though you can’t see it. “Besides, it’ll give you an opportunity to practice your conversation skills.”

You scoff, but you’re still smiling. “Yeah, if I’m planning on interacting with everybody as a drunk idiot for the rest of my life.”

“I’m serious!” König insists. “More likely than not, you’ll never see these people again.”

A beat of silence.

“You’re right.” You knock your elbow against König’s. “Let’s give them a show.”

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daytaker · 2 months

Text

The Gang's Tumblr Pages

Inspired by this and my own reaction to it.

Lucifer

Perfectly curated, perfectly formatted, and whenever there's a major change to the tumblr format, he simply leaves the website altogether in a huff of peacock feathers.

Lots of HD photography of nature getting reblogged.

Has an extremely complicated and specific list of tags he uses for every single post.

He only reblogs text posts that are sufficiently visually appealing. Very few meet his high standards.

You could look through his entire blog and not learn one single thing about him except that he's a perfectionist to the point of neurosis.

He has a lot of professional art blogs following him.

Mammon

Oversharing oversharing oversharing!!!!

He regularly gets himself in trouble by shouting about the shit he's done into the void of the internet.

Tried to have a tagging system but forgets about 7/10 times.

Reblogs himself all the time to say "AND ANOTHER THING!!!"

He hates looking at the actual blog pages. The text is always so tiny and some of them start playing music and changing his mouse into a weird shape? No thank you.

He has very few followers and he doesn't really care. Who goes on tumblr for the social element? Weirdos, that's who.

He's insanely easy to troll with anonymous asks. Everyone has done it. Even Lucifer, though he wouldn't admit it.

Some of his best asks:

"did u just post that you're okay with the idea of ponies and unicorns breeding. like no shade on that conceptually but why."

"If you reblog another 'reblog this for good luck' post, I will personally break down your door and steal your skin."

"ur ugly" "yeah-huh" "ugly" "no i won't 'come off anon and fight u' whhy don't you come ON anon and fight me?" "'i don't know how' sounds like something a chicken would say"

Leviathan

He just makes a blog like one of us. Fandom stuff.

Except he's multifandom to the extreme. It's impossible to keep track of his interests because he always has so many simultaneously.

He has the most followers of the brothers just because he gets so deep into so many fandoms that they come rolling in.

He has blocked all of his brothers except for the twins. They're okay.

His blog is a chaotic mess but there is order within the madness. He has a masterpost of tags that explains everything if you care to look at it. (I don't recommend it.)

Satan

It feels stupid to even put this in writing but...cat pics. Endless cat pics. That's like 90% of his blog.

The other 10% is a mixture of book recommendations and analysis, Lucifer shade, and a comprehensive, ever-expanding list of shit Lucifer has done to make Satan angry. It's a very long list. It's organized by theme.

"Lucifer inflicts unjust punishments." "Lucifer makes unnecessary snide remarks." "Lucifer simping for Diavolo and MC (pathetic)."

His blog itself is very minimalist and clean.

He's another fastidious tagger. He tags the cat pics by color, breed, age, number of cats, setting...

Asmodeus

He's not very into tumblr. It's like Devilgram but more complicated and less popular.

Sometimes he'll post or reblog 'aesthetic' things. Moodboards and the like.

In general though, he doesn't really 'get' tumblr.

People don't post selfies very often. Weird.

Beelzebub

Food blog.

Just food.

Reblogging hot dogs.

Reblogging nachos.

Reblogging ice cream.

Nothing else. Ever.

Belphegor

"This minimalist Tumblr has no posts."

No posts.

Default profile picture.

Sometimes he'll like something.

Usually he just looks at it.

Diavolo

There is no order. Only chaos.

He hardly ever uses it, then he'll come online and reblog a million things that have nothing to do with each other. Then he'll go silent again.

He has no tagging system.

He has no custom theme.

He is very friendly to all anonymous askers though.

Barbatos

Barbatos would never have a tumblr. Don't be ridiculous.

Solomon

He only posts very rarely. He prefers to lurk.

When he does post, it's something weird as fuck, like reblogging statistics about owl pellet contents.

He likes to keep people on their toes.

Simeon

Reblogging inspirational quotes, pictures of nature, and general positivity.

That is, once he figures out how the website works.

That takes a really long time.

What is a queue? What are tags? Why is it called a "reblog"? How does he track activity? How does he navigate the homepage? Why does it post things in such a strange order? What is a "Blaze"? What is a draft? Custom URL? Custom Theme? Sideblogs? Mass Post Editor?

Someone please help him.

Solomon probably does that.

Luke

Baking.

He uses tumblr for recipes and images of baked goods.

But tumblr isn't even the best place to go for that, so he isn't on very often.

He sometimes likes Simeon's posts, just as a show of support since he knows how hard Simeon works to post anything anywhere.

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pralinesims · 5 months

Text

My 23 faves of 2023 in no particular order A.K.A. MY FAVORITE (MOSTLY) AARON EDITS IN DIFFERENT FLAVORS

Tagged by @madeofcc and @agena87, thank you so much! I'm tagging @eljeebee @adelarsims @itsmariejanel @pxltown @mattodore @madebycoffee @non-sims @castawavy @potential-fate @squea @sikoi @gleamer and everyone else who is in mood to do this, please feel free to say I have tagged you ♡

Under the cut follows some unnecessary personal commentary about the edits in case you're interested.

Really like this bc of the pose, also the drawn on freckles make him look extra cute.

Feel like he looks really mean there.

Him sulking in a hotel and almost setting it ablaze is everything to me.

He literally looks insane. Absolutely love it.

The cowboy look suits him so good? The toothpick in his mouth is like a cherry on top of icecream.

Obviously intoxicated Aaron is a look which is near impossible to me to explain how much I adore it? Love how fucked up he looks there.

This was sooo fun to do, I love when I'm able to show off his influencer lifestyle and make it seem a bit lively.

The wolfcut, the long lashes, the slutty top?? OOF

I'M JUST NOW REALIZING HOW GOOD HE LOOKS IN PINK

The sequin jumpsuit?? Do I need to say more

It's really visible there how heavily tattooed he is.

Love how sickly he looks on this pic.

My favourite little hoe. Always extra obsessed with him whenever he wears a beret.

THAT'S MY WIFE RIGHT THERE, seriouslyyy love her pretty face so much.

THIS IS MY OTHER WIFE. My problematic obsessive witch.

Love love love how the vampire look barely alters from his regular one.

Such a whore 😪

Vale in his full goth get-up... oh my god...

Best friends posing for instagram selfies, what's not to love.

I ADORE THE LAUNDROMAT AESTHETIC ANYWAYS, but with these 2 buddies especially, they look sooo freaking cute there imo?

Them posing with matching halloween costumes and sipping blood, ahem, juice...

MY SLAVCORE EDIT. Honestly love that I managed to pull that specific vibe off so well.

Ignore these idiots, whatever they're doing is absolutely legal.

#this was such a good year for edits tbh? I am genuinely proud of the stuff I managed to create #the worst thing is i have a couple of other fave edits but idiot me keeps them in the drafts for no reasons?? whyyy #like dude there is nothing withholding me from posting them #also i should delete this hipster mofo out of my brain or otherwise no one else will get their time to shine 🔫#tag game #my sims #ts4 #behind the scenes/outtakes

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toournextadventure · 1 year

Text

everyone but her pt.9

Summary: winter break is right around the corner and Wednesday needs to work through her own feelings while trying to overcome the sudden distance. Not that she cares, of course.

Word Count: 4.5k Warnings: swearing Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader (Masterlist) Tag List: @extinctspino @basichextechml @cfvgbhndun-new-blog @jinxscatbomb @awolfcsworld @n0p35 @suzhiman @gengen64 @eclipsesmoonshine14 @asters-abditory @alexkolax @thenextdawn @cacciatricediartemide @cozwaenot

“Are you guys ready for finals?”

Wednesday didn’t look up from her book when you sat down beside her. “Here you go,” you mumbled as you placed the coffee in front of her. The mug was one that she had seen in your room a few times - there was no guarantee it was even your mug to begin with - and matched the one you were currently drinking out of. Whatever you were drinking looked far too pale to be of any genuine use to you. Was there even any caffeine in it?

“Because I am most definitely fucked,” you said before anyone else had the chance to answer you.

“I believe I’m set,” Wednesday answered you; she still wasn’t going to look away from her book.

“Okay, smarty pants.” She couldn’t see you, but she could practically hear your eye roll. “How about you, Enid?”

“I think I’ll pass, but no promises,” Enid answered.

“Yoko?” You asked, turning your attention to the vampire.

“I’ll fail lit, but everything else should be fine,” Yoko said with a shrug.

The three of you started talking about finals, something that Wednesday thought was far too trivial. With everything else you all had going on, why were you so focused on finals? Everyone was going to be going home in a few days for the winter break, what did finals even matter? Pass, fail, you were all going to get a break at the end of it, and if you had all just studied like you were supposed to, none of you would even be worried.

Warmth was suddenly introduced to the side of Wednesday’s thigh, and she looked down just enough to see you had scooted ever so slightly closer. Had you meant to let your thigh touch hers? Had that been a conscious decision on your part, or had it been accidental? If it was on purpose then what could have possibly made you do that, someone was bound to see the closeness. A weakness, truthfully, to let anyone see you getting close to someone.

Wednesday would never dream of doing such a thing.

“I’m just too pretty to do math,” you said with a shrug.

Yoko and Enid laughed while you let a smile slowly form on your lips behind your coffee mug. The sight of you sent Wednesday’s heart racing, but the way Yoko and Enid laughed gave her a different feeling. A feeling that made her want to pull you away back to the dorm so it could just be the two of you. They didn’t need to laugh so hard at your joke, it was unnecessary.

The page of her book never changed as you continued to talk with everyone. The worst part? She wouldn’t have even noticed if you hadn’t looked over at her book with a raised brow. Her elbow connected with your side and you let out a hushed “oof” before going back to your conversation with Enid and Yoko. What she did or did not read was none of your business.

Her eyes drifted aimlessly across the page in a desperate attempt to not listen to your voice. Or notice the heat of your thigh transfering to her and leaving her uncomfortable in a way that wasn’t completely miserable. If you were so worried about failing your finals, why weren’t you out there studying-

-your pinky linked with hers under the table, and Wednesday felt icy fingers grip her heart.

You were still talking as if nothing was going on, as if you hadn’t just done something to make Wednesday’s stomach drop. The mug in your other hand moved effortlessly with your gestures, and yet you squeezed her finger just so slightly. Was it supposed to be comforting?

Because it was. And that was terrifying.

“If I fail this semester, I’m dropping out and becoming a trophy wife,” you said. “What do you think?”

Oh shit. Wednesday’s eyes shot up to surprisingly meet yours; why were you already looking at her? There was a little spark in your eyes, one that Wednesday had started to associate with your desire to fluster her. Because it was clear you knew it worked, otherwise you wouldn’t do it so often. Yet that small smile on your face that you reserved for her and her only…

“You would never survive the first week,” Wednesday answered. Your mouth fell open while Yoko and Enid burst into laughter on the other end of the table.

“Shut up,” you mumbled as you attempted to slap them without getting up from your spot. “You couldn’t do it either.”

Wednesday looked back down at her book; she could feel Enid’s eyes boring into the top of her head. She needed to mind her own business if she knew what was good for her. It was as if Enid could see through her guise of nonchalance, her indifference to you or anything to do with the conversations you were all having. She needed to mind her own business.

You let go of Wednesday’s pinky finger, and she missed the warmth and comfort. But then almost instantly you slid your hand under hers, interlocked your fingers, and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Now Wednesday was on the verge of begging Enid not to pay attention, because she knew the heat on her cheeks would be visible soon. And from the look of it, your own skin was flushed. You were going to give the both of you away.

The conversation continued, but Wednesday couldn’t hear a single word of it. No, all she heard was the blood rushing in her ears, her heart pounding within her ribcage. Sweat coated her palm, but she couldn’t tell if it was from you or her. Surely it was you, right? You had a much higher body temperature than she did, there was no way Wednesday was the one with clammy hands. She didn’t even care enough to be nervous. Subconsciously, she squeezed your hand once in return; your nervous smile grew bigger.

“Shit, I gotta head out,” you said after who-knows how long; your eyes were stuck to your phone. “Weems will kill me if I miss another detention.”

“What did you get detention for this time?” Yoko asked in a teasing voice.

“Someone said I made a homophobic joke,” you huffed as you brought your mug up to your lips. With a frown, you realised it was empty.

“Aren’t you gay?” Enid asked with a barely contained grin.

“Yeah, and?” You reached over and shamelessly grabbed the mug in front of Wednesday, bringing it up to your lips to finish her coffee. Your nose scrunched up at how bitter it was. “Those two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“Quit committing hate crimes and get to detention,” Yoko said as she tried to usher you away from the table.

Wednesday felt you squeeze her hand one more time before letting go and standing up. She gave you a side glance - Enid better not say a single word - and you gave her a toothy grin. Why did you have to get yourself in trouble? Could you not behave for a single week? Now you had to leave, which meant she couldn’t tolerate you holding her hand.

“See you guys later,” you said as you grabbed the two mugs to take back to your room. “Unless I commit another hate crime.”

“Get out!” Enid and Yoko shouted at you.

With hands - and mugs - held up in mock surrender and a stupid grin on your face, you left the group to head to your detention. If Yoko and Enid didn’t stop looking at Wednesday, she was going to pluck their eyes out and feed them to the birds in the woods. They need to mind their own business, she thought as she went back to her book.

She still never focused enough to turn the page.

—---

With finals coming to an end, Wednesday was suddenly faced with the realisation that you would be going home for the break. Of course she knew she would be heading home, but it had never actually occurred to her that you, too, would be leaving. Nearly a whole month of you being gone and no easy way to talk to you.

Not that she cared.

Clearly, though, you were also unaware you would be leaving if your rushed attempts to pack was anything to go by.

“Deconstructing this is an art, Wednesday,” you said as Wednesday gave yet another look of exasperation at your nest. “You can’t just move things, there’s a system.”

The sinewy muscles in your forearms flexed as you raked your lithe fingers through your hair and continued to look down at your nest. Wednesday’s eyes stayed glued to your arms as you moved around. Oh how she would love to dissect you and see what was underneath. To see what made you tick, what made you so very distinct from most others that she knew.

Was your anatomy different from others? With your wings, surely you must be lighter than normal people; unless that meant the muscles near your wings were far stronger than she assumed. Then there were the muscles in your back, did you have extra to accommodate for the foreign limbs? They had to exist, it was only logical. The bones of your fingers were prominent as you picked up a-

“-am I going on this trip?” Wednesday asked.

You froze and stood up straight, turning your head to face her. The skin between your brows wrinkled - why did the word “cute” come to mind? - as you looked around, confusion clear in your eyes. But Wednesday’s eyes were still focused on your hands.

“No?” It came out as a question instead of a statement.

“Then why are my clothes going with you?”

Your eyes darted to the shirt in your hands before going wide. An awkward silence fell over the both of you until you attempted to clear your throat. It was just an attempt to fill the silence, Wednesday could tell, because you suddenly started finding other things around the room to be fascinatingly interested with.

“Are you all packed?” You asked, completely ignoring Wednesday’s question.

“Yes,” Wednesday said simply.

“When is your bunch picking you up?” You asked. “Is the tall man coming?”

Wednesday looked at you for a moment before realisation dawned on her. “You mean Lurch?”

“Yes, Lurch!” You shouted as you snapped your fingers. “I knew it was something cool like that.”

“Why do you care if Lurch is coming?” She walked over to your shelf and started looking at all of your stolen items. I think that scalpel was mine, she thought as she picked up the dull blade.

“I just think he’s neat,” you answered, followed quickly by a *thunk* as you dropped something into your bag. “Do you think I could take him in a fight?”

“He would fold you like a pretzel,” Wednesday answered. Where had you gotten that knife? It certainly hadn’t been hers. Who else did you know that had knives for you to take?

“I think I could take him,” you mumbled.

Wednesday continued facing away from you so you couldn’t see her smile. There was no logic behind your insistence that you could beat Lurch in a fight. What was even going on in that bird brain of yours to make you believe you could beat him? Your illusions of grandeur were endearing, but you would get hurt if you followed through.

“Oh, I wanted to give you this.”

She turned around to see you already holding something out toward her. Your smile remained as she reached out to take it from you. It looked to be a phone; slightly beat up, but functional nonetheless. The screen had a small crack across the top right corner, but the rest was completely intact.

“I know you don’t like technology,” you started, “but just in case there’s an emergency.”

In complete silence, she looked up at you.

“It’s not like Nicky needs it anymore anyway.” Your shrug was impassive but Wednesday could see something else in the way you suddenly avoided her gaze.

She kept her mouth shut as you awkwardly went back to packing your bag; it finally almost looked full. Her eyes scanned your room, finally landing on a piece of paper on your desk. With purpose in her stride, she made her way over to the desk and dug out a pen. The sounds of your movement halted, but she didn’t turn around, just continued writing. Even though she could feel the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

With a signature at the bottom of the page - why had she signed it? You would think she was an imbecile - she finally turned around and handed you the page. She was right; you had finished packing and had just been watching her the whole time. Her fingers grazed yours as she handed you the paper.

“Letters are more reliable,” she said, turning her eyes away from you before she started blushing.

Wait no, she wouldn’t blush, Wednesday Addams never blushed.

“How old school,” you teased. “Romantic, even.”

You needed to quit talking. The words coming out of your mouth needed to stop because everything you were saying was worse than the previous sentence. Writing letters was not romantic, they were practical. What part of it was romantic? Then again, there was something so very personal about someone’s handwriting, like getting to keep a part of them that most didn’t get to see-

-Stop it, Addams. You’re not your father.

“I should get going.” Wednesday hated the way your smile instantly dropped. You really needed to quit with all of this.

“I’ll write you.” You held up the piece of paper. “I… won’t expect a call though.” The audacity you had to tease her. Even though you were absolutely right.

Wednesday gave you one more look before turning around and walking to the door. But her feet moved too slow, they were practically dragging. Why was she not walking her normal pace? There was no logical reason, and she was not trying to get more time with you. It would be four weeks, it wasn’t the end of the world, she would see you again.

“Wait,” you called out, and her feet stuck to the floor. “I forgot to give you something.”

She could hear your bare feet padding across the wooden floor. There was no time for her to turn around before she felt something warm and soft against her cheek; your lips, to be exact. Her eyes went wide and she felt her heart physically freeze in her chest. It felt like an eternity before you removed your lips and stood back up.

Fire engulfed her entire body. You had kissed her cheek. You had walked over, leaned down, and kissed her cheek. No hesitation, no reason behind it, you had just done it. And now Wednesday was frozen in spot, and her whole body felt too hot, and her stomach was in knots, and she felt like she was going to vomit.

“As a goodbye present.” The smallest bit of relief filled her as your voice shook; maybe you were feeling the same way she was. She hoped you were.

“Write soon,” Wednesday said. Her own voice shook and matched yours.

Without giving you any chance to say - or do - another thing, Wednesday rushed out of your room. The door shut behind her with a deeply unsatisfying *click* and she just stood there. Her back fell against the door and she let out a shaky sigh as she looked up at the ceiling.

She was getting in way over her head.

—---

It had been four days since Wednesday had been home for the break, and she found herself missing something, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. There was just something missing from the house. Maybe it was less chaotic than when she had left; Pugsley was, after all, attempting to grow up. He was failing, but he was attempting it.

But when Lurch brought the mail in and Wednesday saw a letter with your name on it, she realised exactly what was pulling at her stiff heartstrings.

“Isn’t that your friend from Nevermore?” Pugsley asked as Wednesday tenderly held the letter in her hands.

Friend. That’s not exactly how Wednesday would put it, though she wasn’t quite sure what you were. You could be called a friend, yes; you both associated with each other in and out of school, and you often came over to her dorm to study or talk. That was what a friend was, was it not?

But sure you were also something more. She couldn’t claim Enid made her feel the same way. None of her other friends set up an autopsy for her, or asked her to the Rave’N, or even held her hand underneath the table. You were a friend, but could you be considered something else as well?

Wednesday didn’t answer Pugsley, instead opting to head to her room without a backward glance. Her fingers gingerly opened the letter, making sure not to tear any part of it. Your handwriting was horrendous; that was the first thing Wednesday noticed, and it was almost the only thing she could focus on as she tried to read it.

Hey Wednesday!

I really hope you got this because I lost the paper with your address on it, so I googled it. If this isn’t Wednesday then fuck off, this isn’t for you.

Hope you made it home safe! I got back the other day and I’m already exhausted. Love my family dearly, but there’s just too many of them. I always forget what it’s like to have to share a room. Does that make me spoiled?

All my siblings wanted to tell you hi, so they’re putting little notes at the bottom of the page. You don’t have to answer them, they just think it’s fun to say hi to people. I’m not even sure if they’ve ever written a letter before, so this whole thing is an adventure for them.

No rush to answer this letter, just hoped you made it home safe and sound. Try not to get into too much trouble over the break so you can come back to school. It’s your turn to plan our next outing.

P.S. Hope you can read my handwriting!

Wednesday’s eyes trailed to the bottom of the page where, yes, there were around half a dozen little notes and names. She had yet to know much about your personal life outside of Nevermore, but this was still a shock. How could you bear to have so many siblings in one house?

She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to write back.

It was nearly a week later that Wednesday got the next letter. Again, your chicken scratch was on the front, and she grabbed it from the pile and quickly made her way up to her room. She did her best to ignore the looks her mother gave her as she rushed off; it was none of her mother’s business what correspondence she was receiving.

It’s me again!

Your letter was very fancy, the black paper was a nice touch and Emily loved the wax seal. I think she cut it off and put it on her desk. You better be careful or they’re all going to start writing you letters too. Never seen them so excited to get mail, it was pretty cute. Don’t spoil them though or I’ll never hear the end of it.

Be nice to your family, they just missed you. Not Thing cause he sees you all the time, but no one else does. How’s Lurch? Is he training for our fight to the death? Cause I still think I can take him. He’s no match for me.

We all went snowboarding on the hill behind the house yesterday. You should’ve seen it, it was so cool, Alex finally landed his first jump. Nearly broke a fang in the process, but he’s fine, little vamps always bounce back. Would’ve been funnier if he turned into a snaggletooth though.

By the way, my abuelita and Auntie C want to know what your family is interested in. I don’t know what they have planned, but I would bet it’s nefarious. Which means you might like it, actually.

It should be getting cold up there soon, so stay safe!

P.S. Tell Pugsley I said hi!

Why would you want her to tell Pugsley hello? You had only met him once, what did it matter if she told him or not. Not to mention, why would your family want to know her family’s interests? You didn’t seem like the type of person to have an abuelita. And your little brother was a vampire?

Every new thing in your letter just increased Wednesday’s curiosity of you. You were certainly an oddity, and Wednesday had a fatal curiosity to know everything she could. Learning about your personal life was quickly turning into one of those things.

“Wednesday?”

Her mother’s voice forced Wednesday to hesitantly lift her head out of her book. It was quite good, she was learning a lot more about Outcast anatomy, but she supposed she could take a break. Her mother was standing in the doorway with her arms crossed and an irritating smile on her lips.

“We all seem to have gotten packages from your friend.” There was a ridiculous lilt to her voice when she said the word “friend.” If she knew what was good for her, she wouldn’t pretend to know what you were. “Come into the living room and we can open them.”

Wednesday set her book down and followed her mother, her own thoughts racing. Packages, plural? It must have been part of the nefarious plan you had said your abuelita and Auntie were putting together. A part of her hoped it was a fatal plan; wouldn’t that be exciting? Another part felt like her insides were being dipped in ice cold water at the thought that they had gotten everyone something. What was their game?

The curiosity only grew when she saw that, yes, there was a package for everyone in her family; Lurch and Thing included. They were different sizes and each was wrapped in black paper with a black bow on top. Presents, Wednesday easily deduced, you sent presents.

Wednesday searched for the letter that no doubt accompanied the presents. Her grandmama handed the letter to her without a word, and she instantly opened it. There were more little signatures on the bottom, as well as more professional looking ones. It seemed everyone had signed this one. She started to read it as everyone else opened their presents.

Don’t be mad at me, I didn’t know what their plan was. I don’t even know what they got all of you, the assholes didn’t let me put my name on it. So whatever they got, if it sucks, it’s not my fault.

Anyway, they don’t want anything in return. Abuelita said it was the good thing to do, and Auntie C said if you send ANYTHING back she’s going to find you and make you pay. She’s not as scary as my Momma, but I would still listen to her.

Be careful when you open your package, I think some of the kids tossed stuff in the box too. I know Hailey definitely tossed a bone or two in there, and I think Emily gave you her favourite rock. Just be careful, everything probably shifted around in the mail.

Don’t laugh at me, but I’m kind of excited to get back to school. Weird, I know. I guess I just miss everyone. Not you though, you’re a pain in my ass. But I guess we could get coffee when we get back, you know, as a welcome back treat.

P.S. Check the phone, I sent you a few things.

Wednesday looked around to see what your family had gotten everyone else. Pugsley was holding some new fishing lures and looking at them with furrowed brows, but a smile nonetheless. Her father was marveling at a sword that looked… strikingly new. Dried black flowers in a shadowbox had been her mother’s gift, which she was smiling down at fondly. Then there was what looked to be a personal cookbook for her grandmama, a new black tie for Lurch, and some soap and lotion for Thing.

“Should we have gotten something for her in return?” Pugsley asked, looking around the room.

“No,” Wednesday said as her fingers wrapped around her own present. It stayed unopened. “Her family said there was no need.”

“Then we will at least send a thank you letter,” her mother chimed in. She was still holding the shadowbox close.

Wednesday just nodded once before heading off to her room, ignoring the way her whole family watched her go. It was none of their business what was in the letter or the package. Her fingers peeled the wrapping paper off, being careful not to tear it. It was wrapped beautifully, she would admit, and efficiently; only four pieces of tape were used. She folded the wrapping paper and set it off to the side before finally opening the box.

Her eyes were instantly drawn to the rock and bones that you had mentioned in your letter. The rock was painted black with a small smiley face drawn in white paint; they were accompanied by what appeared to be a finger, a shoulder blade, and what looked to be a fang. Then there was a book on medieval torture techniques, and a dagger with a black hilt and a startingly white blade tucked safely into a black scabbard.

Whatever your family’s play was, they were certainly kissing up for something.

She put everything in their own place in her room. There was a place for everything, even your sister’s favourite rock, although Wednesday had no idea why it had been included. Only once everything was where it should be did she finally dig out the phone you had given her.

It took a few minutes to figure out how to use it, but she quickly noticed that you had sent what looked to be some pictures. She flipped through them slowly, taking note of the amount of people in the pictures. There you were helping your sister - Wednesday would never know who was who - on some skis. Then playing a card game with a group of adults; the moonshine on the table was beyond evident. A family photo, candid photos, a few with you just in the background. And in all of the pictures, every single one, your wings were out and you had the biggest smile on your face.

In the privacy of Wednesday’s room, she looked at the pictures and smiled.

Maybe, just maybe, she was willing to admit to herself that she missed you.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams imagine #everyone but her au

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mimsynims · 6 months

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Fool For Love

part 4

~~~

part 1, part 2, part 3

~~~

Astarion x reader/Tav

Tags: (mild?) angst, pining, pining while fucking, jealousy, eventual happy ending

Summary: You thought you knew what you were doing when you let Astarion into your bed. He doesn’t have feelings for you, and vice versa. Only… now you do.

You’ve finally made a decision on how to handle it, but it turns out it might not be that easy to actually do as planned.

~~~

It’s as if all the gods have come together to conspire against you. Truly, you wonder if you accidentally angered one or several of them, because after dinner, nothing goes as planned.

First it is Shadowheart, seeking your counsel about a scroll in her possession she wants you to take a look at. Next it is Lae’zel, wanting to discuss again your findings about Orpheus and what it might mean.

You almost scream out loud when Karlach calls for you just as you are finally about to approach Astarion.

You definitely do scream, just a little, when you collide with a tipsy Gale and the collision causes red wine to splatter all over your shirt and trousers. Cursing under your breath, you see Astarion glance your way with a chuckle. As tempting as it is to stomp over and drag him into his tent just to have it over with, you decide a change of clothes first is the wisest course of action.

It’s much less conspicuous, for one — everyone would notice and wonder if you decide to talk to him now — and you need a moment to cool down.

You’re quick about it, grabbing the first clean pieces of clothing you can find — but it’s not quick enough.

When you walk out of your tent again, Astarion is nowhere to be seen. Telling yourself that it’s not strange for you to inquire about his whereabouts, you ask Halsin if he has seen him.

“I think he went to find something to eat.”

“Ah.” Dammit. ”I see.”

You stare into the dark forest surrounding the camp, wondering if it will seem odd if you go after him. Probably not, if they even notice you leave.

In the end, you decide to remain where you are, sitting down by the fire with the others. He will be back sooner or later, and until then, you can enjoy the company of your friends. Or try to, at least.

Astarion’s still not back when Gale suddenly stands and announces that it’s time to head out. Watching them all laugh and banter as they gather blankets and wine, you realise that you should do things like this more often. Take the time to just have fun. Especially now, when what you have to face next is the Shadowlands, a place that sounds more terrifying than anything else your party has encountered so far.

Not counting getting tadpoles inside your head.

It’s actually a quite nice spot Gale has found. Wide stretches of soft grass swaying in the night breeze, the surrounding tree line creating a sense of protection and serenity. If your heart wasn’t already attached to another, you think you would’ve enjoyed going here alone with Gale. Maybe.

“Where’s the food? Surely we need something to snack on too?”

“Karlach…”

Shrugging, Shadowheart held up the bottles in her hands. “Sorry, too busy grabbing the wine.”

“I’ll go,” you offer, because it would be a shame to bring the mood down with unnecessary squabbling. The fact that there’s a chance you might find a certain elf back at camp has absolutely nothing to do with it. Well, maybe a little.

“Thanks, soldier, you’re the best!”

You leave before anyone gets the idea of tagging along. If Astarion is back, you wouldn’t want to miss the opportunity to finally talk with him. Even if it ruins the night for one or both of you.

When you get back, you see Withers by his tent. But no Astarion in sight.

“Where is that goddamn man?” You stomp over to his tent. “Astarion? Are you here?”

Nothing.

Muttering to yourself, you take a basket and fill it with bread, cheese, and some fruit. With how everything has gone so far tonight, you grab a bottle of what you presume is wine, because the urge to get blissfully drunk is too hard to resist.

As you trudge back to the others, you wistfully wonder where Astarion has been all night. Was he avoiding you? And if so, why?

“Tav, there you are!” Karlach shoots up from her seat on the blanket and relieves you of the basket. “Look who we found!”

And there he is.

“Astarion.”

Sitting between Halsin and Shadowheart.

“Tav,” Gale pats the spot next to him, “I saved you a seat.”

Of course he did. “Thank you, Gale.”

Even if you had it in you dismiss him, you realise quickly that there’s no other space available. So you sit down, because there’s not much else you can do.

It turns out that the bottle you snagged isn’t wine but rum, but that suits you just fine at this point. You try to listen as Gale talks to you about the constellations he points at, but your focus keeps shifting to Astarion. The way he leans closer to Shadowheart, the way he keeps touching Halsin. You are used to him being a bit of a flirt, but this feels like more. It feels like there’s actual intent behind it and not him just being his usual self.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say that he’s trying to make you jealous. Which is ridiculous, of course.

Unless it isn’t. You take another swig of the rum. “Ridiculous.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Astarion glances your way but quickly turns to Halsin again when he catches you watching. The bastard. Well, two can play that game. “Oh.” You inch just a little bit closer to Gale. “I was just saying to myself how ridiculously beautiful the sky is.” Smooth, Tav, smooth. You almost roll your eyes at yourself.

Gale smiles. “It is, isn’t it?”

For the next half hour, you make yourself focus on Gale, and Gale alone. He is an interesting man — when he’s not talking about Mystra. In the back of your mind, you know you shouldn’t be doing this, but your drunk brain justifies it by telling yourself that Gale deserves an attentive audience. He’s the reason why you’re all here, after all.

He really is nice — too nice for someone like you. You realise that at some point while observing Gale and Karlach talk about… something. You’re not really listening anymore, once again caught up in your own hazy mind.

The bottle in your hand is almost empty — when did that happen? Oh, right. You have been taking a sip every time you hear Astarion laugh or call someone else a pet name. Stupid idea, that.

With a heavy sigh, you flop back to lie down on the blanket. Everyone’s voices turn into background noise as you stare up at the stars. Or try to, because the world is spinning, spinning, and the last thing you hear before you doze off is someone saying your name.

~~~

#astarion #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #bg3 fic #bg3 tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 spoilers #fic wip

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reblogandlikes · 7 days

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Dipped a toe and snooped in the pro IC and Co. tag just for shits and giggles and it's crazy how so many can't seem to comprehend general criticism of the acotar books and will call people or stans of other characters abusive and idiots and whatever else for simply being a stan of (name character) but do not see the total hypocrisy in their own faves. The abusive nature of their faves. The favoritism towards their faves. The manipulation both from and of their faves.

Many resfuse to see how all over the place SJM writing generally is and I find it hilarious how when it's stated that SJM retcon blatantly to fit the 1st person narrative of the book it's bullshit people and antis are hating for no reason, but as soon as it comes to ACOSF it's lies pandering to pro Nesta despite the story being written in 3rd person from both Nesta and Cassian's POV. I'm sorry, your fave Rhysand has always been a dick. They'd take everything in first books as gospel, but the moment it's Nesta's or even Bryce’s, it's not true? It's biased. It doesn't count.

Hmm...odd

I don't like ACOSF. The story wasn't about healing, but beating a character down into submission and as a Nesta stan, I still critique it because...I can and I will. Cassian can go fall down those stairs and give the usefulness of his wings to Emerie.

If they want to read the books blindly, go ahead, but don't get mad when others actually internalise and think about the messages being spoken. Everyone digest media differently, and that's OK. I personally like reading about ambiguous and indepth characters. Not a fan of being told how to feel and what to think. The ability to ready between the lines and pick up things that aren't in big neon writing is preferable. SJM has the capability, generally, which from what I've seen, is why TOG is far better recieved, even with the criticism.

They say if we hate Rhysand or Feyre so much, why keep reading? Well, at this fucking point, we're all too deep in this shit show to stop. Call it morbid curiosity. These books have made me a masochist.

If you're an anti blog, keep doing your thing. If you're a pro blog, same thing. Who cares? We find our communities and have fun talking shit. But the unnecessary harsh name calling over something supposedly "not that deep" is wild.

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luci-luck · 20 days

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Earth “ponies” go first! MASSIVE autism dump comin’ atcha live

TW: ableism , grief , parental death (just in case the tags failed)

This is more so for me but I still wanted to share 🫶

Sandstone (Pinkie):

- b i g puppy energy

- Built for work but prefers to play

- Has crystal pony genes but depression makes them subdued. Can only go full crystal mode in a moment of pure and raw jubilation.

- after constantly being told who she’s supposed to be, they rejected the idea of labels entirely

- no labels for gender or sexuality means loving Pinkie does not impact your sexuality score!

- (intersex is not about gender but biological sex. That being said many intersex people use intergender as their gender as it relates to their experience as an intersex person.)

- deals with internalized ableism due to conservative fillyhood environment. Feels bad when they need to ask for help/support. Got herself an unofficial certificate in psychology so he can be his own therapist (it doesn’t work out)

- Parents would totally support the pony version of Autism Speaks just saying. Pinkie’s dad thinks neurodivergency is curable with hard work and the right attitude whilst her mom mourns the loss of her son after the diagnosis.

- ADHD makes xeir rejection sensitivity off the charts

- Internal battery runs on the company of others so can’t ever live alone.

- Had problems with food insecurity

- Relies on sugar as a steady supply of dopamine

- Can have moments of poor motor control. Clumsy

- Eyesight is bad but doesn’t wear glasses. Afraid that ponies will start thinking he is smart and they will expect even more from him. (In human world she wears contacts)

- Feels embarrassed being high support needs and just wants to be treated like everybody else. Hates when xer parents call her “special”

- Also hates being infantilized but is not confident in their decision making

- Xe is a sensory seeker unlike the rest of their family who are all sensory avoiders. Sisters compromise and try to meet his needs. Pinkie in turn tries to be mindful of their touch aversion but finds it hard sometimes. “Everypony’s just so scoop-able!”

- Trained Gummy to “stay”. Is very proud of his emotional support gator

Applejack:

- Is incredibly strong for her size

- feels like she has to constantly prove herself worthy of taking over the farm. Has gotten into arguments with Big Mac about overexerting herself

- Is a hinny (donkey mom and stallion dad) (ofc hinnies are supposed to have tails more like horse but I love the lion tail on AJ so 💁‍♀️) (I said mule in ALT text because most people don’t know what a hinny is)

- Because of this, she is more calm under pressure and thinks more logically

- has major depression from grief and ptsd (duh)

- Isn’t used to being in a stress free environment so she creates the stress

- Likes running the apple stand but certain families trigger her

- Obsessed with anything from the past generation. A time when her parents were young and happy

- Can be a bit insensitive to other’s problems and wants them to “put on their big girl pants” like she had to.

- Feels like she has to fill in the roles her parents used to do. Especially so Applebloom and Granny don’t have to stress over as many things.

- Was in the process of cutting her mane when she remembered that AB liked to braid it so she stopped half way.

- Is the mom of the friend group. Makes sure everyone’s needs are met before tending to her own. (Which is bad btw)

- Has problems with insomnia but getting better.

- Struggles with OCD and will repeat unnecessary tasks if she believes it will help protect her family

- Has an emotional support dog named Winona who also reminds AJ to take breaks 🐕‍🦺

- Sees no point in getting her chronic pain checked out. Will hopefully change her mind in the future. Wears leg braces to ease the soreness.

- Got diagnosed later on. Grief masked her autistic traits.

- Also has a hard time asking for help but has gotten better after she found out that Applebloom has been internalizing that mindset. She must lead by example

- Stick around long enough and she’ll happily invite you over with a hot cup of cider 🍺

- (Other people tend to fall in love while getting to know someone. Demiromantics however need to get to know the person first and then develop romantic feelings later)

- Thought she wasn’t capable of developing crushes until she got to know Coloratura.

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blasphemecel · 4 months

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Shidou Ryuusei — Like Teeth

PAIRING: Shidou Ryuusei/Reader WORD COUNT: 3.6k TYPE: Humor, Feelings realization, idfk what this even is but i threw in some surprise fluff at the end WARNING(S): Nsfw jokes but cmon it's shidou you gotta forgive me for finding sex funny this once, play-fighting that doesn't seem very playful, canon-typical mental illness, canon-typical unnecessary dramatics, canon-typical overly intense soccer rivalry NOTE: Reader is a part of the blue lock project but no concrete gender identity or pronouns are specified

It starts like this:

After the freaky nerd from the ceremony whose name you hadn’t bothered remembering finishes with his instructions about this game of tag you’re supposed to be playing, the biggest asshole in the room immediately targets you once he realizes you’re the one with the highest number on your jersey. You trap the ball with ease and then kick it straight into his face with as much power as you can muster, knocking him out, the force sending him reeling.

While the timer continues ticking, no one dares to make a move or even exhale too loudly in your presence, scared you might take their bodily functions as a challenge to your authority. Like every opponent before, they’ve submitted to you.

You stare at the ceiling, your lips set in a tight line, the despair settling in. Just this once, you want to meet someone who can excite you, and you’d hoped this ridiculous place could help.

___

As the top scorer of your pathetic excuse for a team — though behind your back they call you ‘the top red card holder,’ but considering how far up your own ass your head is, you’re yet to pay attention to this remark — by the second qualifying match they already know to pass the ball to you no matter what. In your defense, you’re not any more tyrannical than the average douche in this competition. It’s not your fault they’re too worthless to do what you can.

Two of the opponents are blocking your path, and you shuffle the ball between your feet trying to get the positioning right while they attempt to steal it. Everyone is making noises, but they never mean anything to you. You back up once you’ve felt that the stars have aligned and strike the ball through the tight opening between their bodies, taking the first goal of the match.

“You’re good!”

You blink, the words bringing you out of your perpetual trance to look at the guy in front of you. He starts rambling some nonsense about explosions and how he’s going to beat the ass of anyone who can’t give a good show and you think at some point he has started finding new roundabout ways of saying that he basically wants to bust a nut on the field. It is absurd. You understand it down to your bones, except maybe the last thing. For the first time, everything is coming into view. You can make out his face and you can hear his words and you see your teammates in your peripheral vision. How you didn’t notice him before, what with the hairstyle and his cartoonishly beautiful eyelashes, you’re not sure, but you’ve never been more present during a game before.

“Alright, gyaru,” you say. “Show me how you explode.”

“Gyaru?” he tilts his head, grin wide like a demon’s. “You think I’m pretty?”

Though Jinpachi Ego officially writes down what ensues as a round-robin tourney in his notes, the spectators (meaning literally anyone else who was in your physical proximity) would describe it as ‘The Longest Dick Measuring Contest They’ve Ever Seen.’

The way he moves fascinates you like nothing else. Just like you, he is a creature of instinct. You both circle around while trying to score or steal the ball, only to find that stopping the other is impossible.

After this match, two monsters glance at each other and think, ‘Maybe there is someone out here who understands me.’

___

There are still jitters in your veins. You can’t sleep. Is it ridiculous and maybe parasocial that the thought of ‘I want to see this guy again’ is keeping you up at night? Yeah, probably. You also feel like a creep lying down in the dark with your eyes wide open, yearning to bulldoze through something like you do when you want to calm down.

Frustrated, you slip out of the futon and leave the room while the rest of them are sleeping. The hallways let out ominous flickers, trailing after you while your steps echo and bounce off the walls. This building looks like a prison, you think, though you hadn’t noticed before.

You hate to think that your desperation is so strong you’ve developed the power of manifestation overnight, but when you step inside of the training room, he’s already there. He doesn’t have the decency to seem surprised at your entrance when you close in on him. His arms are crossed and he has a smug aura about him, but for the love of everything you cannot comprehend why he’s standing there doing nothing. At least you planned on being productive when you headed here with your plan to obliterate whatever you could get your hands on. Just so happens it’s him that you found.

The weird silence stretches, but it doesn’t bother either of you because as it turns out you have the same kind of social incompetence. You realize you don’t even know the guy’s name, but he declares, “You really came.”

You don’t really know what he means by this considering you didn’t arrange to meet here beforehand, but he’s saying it as if this was some unanimous agreement you came to earlier. “Waiting for me in the middle of the night all by yourself, handsome?”

“Every cell in my body was calling out to yours,” he says as if it explains anything. His expression is bordering on maniacal. Anyone else might’ve realized this was a bad idea, read the warning signs, but to someone like you who has lived their entire life sleepwalking, the excitement of such a strange encounter is addictive. “We’re the same… That’s why you felt it.”

“In that case, please avoid summoning me so late,” you say. “I value good sleep.”

He cannot tell if you’re just taking the piss or if you’re on the same page, but it’s rare that anyone entertains him when he says anything of that nature. To him, this is an amusing turn of events. “They say you’re some kinda unhinged delinquent. ‘s that true?”

“Sure, if that’s what you call putting a few sorry bums down in their place after they crossed me.”

“So you know how to scrap too, right?”

Right now, Shidou Ryuusei is like a kid at the candy store. You can’t discern any reason for him to swing at you, but he does, smiling all the while. After you respond to his provocation with a duck and a kick of your own — you avoid using your hands for anything if you can avoid it, finding it beneath you — you decide to consider this your friendly introduction to each other.

If he wants to coax the crazy out of you with his punches, then you’re trying to get him to settle down every time you retaliate, daring him to pipe down and turn boring just like everyone else. You’re not sure for how long you duke it out, but at some point you grow sloppy, and the last you remember of it before succumbing to your exhaustion is the last round of boneless slaps you offered each other.

___

Two of your teammates hatefully watch you and Shidou from across the cafeteria. You’re a selfish and insensitive person, of course, they know that. Before this, you’d always eat alone, but ever since the match where they were forced to watch you two flex on them, you’d hang out with him. Still, “I can’t believe [L/n] would rather have a romantic dinner with the only goddamn bastard in this goddamn building who gets better meals than share with us! I’m sick of this natto.”

“You’re telling me,” the other boy says, sadly eating a radish.

This must be an advanced form of psychological torture administered by Ego himself. Even if you don’t notice the audience, Shidou seems to be reveling in the negative attention. They can only watch and drool while you two push at each other and try to steal ingredients. At some point, you put Shidou in a suplex, making him cough out something. Then he wrestles his way out of your maneuver and shoves your head into your plate, forces you up again, and licks the food off your face while you scowl at him.

“I’d hardly call that a romantic dinner, though.”

“A guy from blondie’s team said he caught them asleep on top of each other in the training facility once.”

“Do you think they’re-?!”

“Oh my god, they’re…!”

They scream and point at each other and then hug as if traumatized. To add insult to injury, your voice rings from afar, “Are your eyes really pink? There’s no way that’s natural,” while some of the sauce still sticks to your skin.

“What? You think I’m some kinda fake?” asks Shidou, apparently offended.

“I’m gonna expose you, trust.”

How are you blowing everyone in your cell out of the water in terms of performance? You have to be the dumbest person in this entire wing.

___

“I want you,” he says.

Granted, this is out of context, but you still find that the words have some effect on you. But this won’t do no matter how hard you want to give in. With the first stage of the second selection cleared, you can’t continue as you are. You’ve been complacent in your talent. To expand your abilities, you need to observe whatever other powerful players there are in here instead of still chasing after him. Even the wet wipes on your old team have started catching up.

Besides, you’d always thought your appeal to him is as an opponent, someone who he wants on the other side of the field to face off against, and now Shidou is demanding to work together with you.

“I was in a coma before I met you,” you say. He pinches his eyebrows together, which is probably the first time you’ve seen him pull such an expression. To think you have the ability to utter something so strange, it weirds out even Shidou. “You pulled me out of it, but now I need to see other things, too.”

“If you tell me you wanna go watch other guys, I might get jealous.” Despite the initial waver, he sticks his tongue out at you, trying to be playful like always.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

Shidou grabs you by the collar of your jersey and pushes you against the wall. You blink at him, finding this an inappropriate time for a spar seeing as this is regular enough for him, but then he invades your personal space in a way which doesn’t feel particularly combative, your noses brushing against each other, and he blatantly glances at your lips before closing his eyes. You don’t think about it when you pull him in by the neck, your body reacting to his cues.

It’s not even that great, he’s not really being effective at what he’s doing, mashing your mouth against his almost pointlessly, teeth clashing and all before moving far too quickly onto the tonguing part of making out. Your nails are digging into his neck and his hold against your waist is tight enough to bother you. There’s a latent aggression in it like there is in any other interaction between you two.

And you don’t enjoy this for the surface-level sensations but rather for the strange tightness in your chest, the headrush, the closeness where somehow he’s enveloping you and you’re enveloping him at the same time and it feels like you’re about to fuse. You don’t want to let go yet, maybe under the assumption that if you keep kissing him, he’s going to be polite and return your breath to you.

Steps come near the entrance of the hallway and then, “Ah! Uhhh…”

You snap out of it and push Shidou off of you. He has the gall to look offended, glaring.

There’s some puny kid with a buzz cut, standing there with his confusion clear on his face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, uh… whatever it was you were doing!” he says in a panic, waving his hands back and forth.

Yeah, that’s a good point. What the fuck were you doing? You just jumped at each other on instinct, ruled by some bizarre, mysterious need.

It must be because the air is so charged between you. Shidou is always in overdrive and he has a penchant for pulling you into his madness. You’re always doing something when you’re together — trading blows, trying to show the other up in soccer, saying heavy-handed things for no reason — and now a moment of stagnancy happened and you both turned into even bigger morons than usual.

He didn’t think about it either, you’re sure. Besides, even if you’re a crazy bastard on the field, you’re not like him. Shidou will meet even stronger players once he advances and he’ll move onto his next obsession. This doesn’t mean anything, at least not to him, you’re convinced.

You untangle yourself from him and ram your shoulder into his as goodbye before lamely saying, “I’m going now,” and offering a nonchalant wave.

He frowns before kicking imaginary dust off the floor. “Sure, fine. Be this way!”

Igaguri isn’t super puritanical or anything. Yeah, he grew up in a temple and all, but seeing two people kiss doesn’t offend his sensibilities. What freaked him out was how you managed to make it look like a fight while you were going at it, and like, he knows the hallway was deserted before he came out of thin air, but this is still a public place. Whatever happened to shame?

And now he has to be in the same vicinity as this scary guy who’s glaring daggers at the spot you were standing in, vein bursting out of his forehead and all, as if you ruined his life by walking out of here. He looks like a manchild who’s sulking because his mom forgot to make him chicken nuggies. A bead of nervous sweat rolls down his forehead.

___

Ever since the beginning, Isagi has been honing his technique, always hungry to add another skill to his repertoire. Rin and Shidou have no synergy; fine, he thinks, it’s not like he really even wants to set up a goal using them. It’s not enough to satisfy him anymore, not after the last match. He’d much rather score himself.

But the problem with the spatial awareness he has developed is that he can’t turn it off at will, or say ‘la-la-la’ and ignore something to focus on what’s important.

Well, being on the same stage as you and Shidou has to be the worst thing of all time. He wants to smell a goal for himself, but the most likely chemical reaction he can predict is one between you two, and you’re not even on the same team. It’s like a ticking time bomb, like those explosions Shidou has been vaguely rambling about, and it permeates the air.

You’ve started adapting his bodily control and precision, almost coming close to scoring with your back on the net. And Shidou has managed to pull off one of ridiculously tight angled shots to break through a two-on-one, passing the ball to Rin. If the phenomenon Isagi observed and achieved before is ‘consumption,’ then he has a first row seat to watch you two cannibalize each other.

The most unfortunate thing is the chase. The ball will come to you, but Shidou will steal it. He’ll be in the air ready to strike, but you’ll sabotage him from below. Isagi recognizes this as an unconscious prediction — on a molecular level, you know where the other one will be, and you’ll race there. It’s like he’s watching both of you swing neon signs and desperately scream ‘Please look at me!’ and overall beg for attention while also stubbornly refusing to make eye contact in fear of rejection.

It is revolting. He wants to gag.

Sure, Ego talked about how luck is a skill and how a pro takes advantage of it, but he never mentioned what to do when someone on his team is living through a low-rated soap opera episode with an opponent. With all of the emotional constipation among the participants of this godforsaken project, he’s sure this won’t be the last time he’ll need it.

___

Sitting down in the middle of practice isn’t productive, but you’re ‘taking a break,’ by which you mean you want to snap someone’s neck. It’s been boring again, ever since Shidou started disregarding your presence. You’re even on the same team now and it’s like you’re no better than air to him.

Of course, you’d predicted he’d find someone new to excite him. You just hadn’t anticipated it’d hurt your feelings. Why do you care, anyway? You should be used to this. The soccer you’ve played has always been selfish and lonely, and moping and jealousy are below you.

But during the match against U-20, you saw him look at Itoshi Sae the same way he first looked at you on the day you met, spouting nonsense with his unique expert-level yappery. And you don’t like that. You don’t like it at all.

He’s off doing his own thing again when you search for him with your eyes. You stand up.

And then you don’t think at all, breaking out into a sprint at full speed.

You’re behind him in the matter of a minute or so, slipping your foot between his and kicking the ball overhead so it lands behind him. He bristles, perhaps at your unwanted company, but you’ve already turned on your heel to run in the other direction.

You’re dribbling the ball when you glance over your shoulder. He’s onto you, trademark grin on his face. You’re not even sure what you’re trying to accomplish here, but all that comes to mind is, It doesn’t matter if it’s going way too fast or way too hard anymore. Just chase after me one more time.

You’re almost all the way over to the other goal, maintaining your lead, when Shidou kicks the ball after lunging around your side. It slips off half-assedly, but you don’t have much time to mock him for his technique because he grabs you by the wrists and pins you down, straddling you to the ground.

“That’s a foul,” you say, displeased.

“I don’t care.” His smile is so big you feel like he’s going to need to visit an orthodontist after you’re done here. The annoying strands of hair he keeps loose are hovering near your face, taunting you.

Your eyes dart again with your head in the fake grass and you see it straying off. “And the ball didn’t make it. To be honest, you were sloppy.”

“I don’t care.”

“You… don’t?”

There’s that sick fluttering feeling in your stomach again and your heart kicks against your chest painfully. Your cheeks are growing warm and you feel uncomfortable by the heat with Shidou so close to you. What the hell is wrong with you? Seriously, he didn’t even tell you a line or anything. He just said ‘I don’t care’ twice. That’s not game! You need to get a grip.

“Yeah, why should I? I’ve got you right where I want you now.”

You raise an unimpressed eyebrow. If making you look like an idiot is his revenge to you for making him mad, then fine, you’re going to pretend you can’t make your way out of his grip with ease.

“You can’t give me a big dopamine hit like that and pull away,” he says, leaning closer. By this point you really can’t see much apart from his big ass head right in your face. Does he even know what he’s implying to you while looking at you straight-on? Does he realize you know his weird euphemisms are all figures of speech for whatever makes him horny?

“What do you mean?”

“Tellin’ me all that romantic stuff and running away…” Shidou narrows his eyes as if the memory is enough to annoy him.

You blink. Oh. You thought he was throwing a temper tantrum because you refused to team up with him. But once again, you’re unimpressed. “So did that turn you on or what? I don’t get it.”

“Well, I’d put it in other words, like, let’s say, hypothetically, maybe you made me explode because you’re an oxidizer and I’m an organic-”

“Ok, I know, but I’m trying to figure out what’s going on here-”

He retreats and rolls away from you, allowing you to sit up again, so you cease talking without reaching the point you were trying to make. It flies out of your head anyway when he links his hand with yours, staring at you, seemingly subdued now. You’re not sure why you’re both acting like shy middle schoolers now while indulging in something so chaste considering you’ve done way more indecent things together, but you intertwine your fingers and offer him a smile. The sight catches him off-guard.

Before he can bask in another achievement (this time being the first person to make you express any kind of joy when everyone knows you’re one distant asshole), a ball hits him straight on the forehead.

Without any preamble, Rin deems it fit to announce his presence by saying, “Your lukewarm displays are appalling. You should both just die.”

You stare at him and then at each other and burst out in laughter, pointing at him. Though you finish your laughing fits at about the same time, you spur on another one by asking, “Do you think he even knows what lukewarm means?”

“No, I seriously doubt it!”

Rin thinks to ask you how come you think it’s chill when your shitty boyfriend or whatever he is says the grossest things imaginable, but suddenly it’s a problem when he wants to say his favorite word, though he doesn’t want to seem too offended or otherwise invested.

___

Im sorry if this is in any way contradictory or shitty or sucks balls I havent slept in 4 days except for a one-off 3 hour nap and wrote this while possessed. Maybe ill sleep again at some point and this will be the worst thing ive ever seen and ill have to delete it. God forbid.

#shidou x reader #shidou ryuusei x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x you

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whatwouldsylwrite · 1 year

Text

hockey!Abby x dancer!reader pt3.5

Tags: modern au, fluff, fem!reader, shy reader, reader is into sexy/girly dances, Abby is a sweetheart, switching pov

pt3

Notes: swearing, drinking. It's a small blurb about Abby and reader talking at the party, and I'm not really happy with it, but I feel like I can't leave it in the drafts. Also spoilers for Kafka's Metamorphosis?

-/-/-/-/-/-

The song changed to a faster one, and even though you wanted to continue dancing, Abby didn't look too comfortable with the idea, all rigid against you, her eyes flicking around as if she was looking for an escape.

So you smiled, took her hand and walked her away from the dance floor back to the kitchen - you left your drink there and you wanted to finish it. Abby’s hand was warm and soft; she was holding your hand firmly but not painfully, just to show she was there and she wasn’t going anywhere. She held your hand as if it was a promise.

You entered the kitchen and Abby stopped you from drinking from your old glass, and you got cautious too - the first rule of drinking: don't leave your glass unattended.

"Let's make you a new one." Abby said. "I can mix it for you."

"I like to do it myself." You smiled and accepted the vodka bottle and the orange juice carton. Abby shrugged and washed your glass before giving it to you.

You felt relieved - after Finn's aggression you expected Abby to act the same and not respect your wish, but she didn't. You knew it was irrational to think so, but it happened before, so you got tense without even registering it after you heard Abby's words.

You stood in silence while you were making your screwdriver and Abby just watched you as you checked if you poured enough.

"You make strong screwdrivers." Abby noted. "That's why you do it yourself?"

"It's not that strong, and it's easy to make it taste bad. I'm not a lightweight, but if I drink too many of these without my proportions, I'll be out of this world in two hours." You shrugged. "Are you a lightweight?"

"Fuck no." Abby huffed and again, filled her glass with whiskey. Again, unnecessary hot. "I think I won more drinking games than I had to."

You giggled and moved closer to Abby because you wanted to feel her warmth again. Abby noticed and turned to you, her eyes on your red lips again, but as she leaned in to kiss you, Ellie entered the kitchen. You moved away, embarrassed and disappointed you didn't get your kiss.

"Anderson." Ellie smiled and shook hands with her.

"Williams."

Ellie looked between you, curious, and in a second she had a shit eating grin on her face.

"Didn't know you were a red lipstick kind of girl, Abby."

Fuck. You looked at Abby's face in panic - your lipstick didn't leave any strains, and you'd have noticed already-

"Fuck you." You said after Ellie started laughing. There were no marks on Abby's face, but your face was sure as red as your lips.

"I knew you'd buy it."

Ellie took a bottle of beer and saluted you.

"You're not drinking, are you?"

"That's for Dina." Ellie rolled her eyes and left the kitchen.

"Asshole." You said affectionately.

Abby looked at you again, trying to memorise your face, your eyes, your lips. You were so pretty it actually hurt but in the best way possible. And the dress, the way it opened the view of your cleavage but not really: a sharp long triangle in the middle, not showing anything but teasing the imagination. Abby felt like this was the most you thing she's ever seen.

She drank her whiskey and came a little closer, taking your free hand in hers.

"Let's move." Abby said.

If she was with any other girl, she'd just tug her along, not really giving her a choice, but right now she felt like she couldn't make any stupider mistake than to tug you, so she waited until you moved too, and then she gently guided you through the crowd to more private place in the house.

Abby sat you on the sofa, shielding you from everyone else - she really didn't want anyone to interrupt you, especially some kind of guy who won't take the fucking hint. She wanted you all to herself.

She watched as you flattened your dress and got more comfortable, moving closer to her. Abby liked it - the way your shyness didn't stop you from reciprocating, and even if you didn't actually initiate anything, you left an invitation for her. So Abby moved closer to you, putting her arm on the sofa behind you in a protective manner, hugging but not really, always giving you a back out.

"What's your Instagram?" She wasn't going to miss her chance to talk to you after this party. Abby already stalked your (private) account, but she didn't want to come across as creepy and follow you right away. People kept their accounts private for a reason.

"It's ifiwasabug." You took your phone out of your purse, waiting for the notification.

"Why this name?" Abby asked, curious, as she sent her request.

"It's after Kafka's Metamorphosis. You know, how he turns into a bug and you find out his family doesn't love him? So the question of if someone will love me if I was a bug became very real very quick after this."

Abby laughed at this.

"Well, I'm not into Kafka that much, but I like your take."

"What are you into?" You asked, clueless of the fact it could come across as flirting, more eager to find out what Abby liked to read.

Abby noticed it, and even if she really wanted to be cheesy and say "you", she wanted to just talk to you even more, especially since you triggered her book nerd brain.

You'd have never guessed what a bookworm your hockey girl was, but Abby talked about books with such passion you couldn't take your eyes off her. You found a book you both read, and now you were sitting discussing it like you were two scholars who wrote 20 page essays on the topic, with arguments and points and genuine, deep critique, learning from each other and about each other. It definitely toned down your previous, much more flirtier mood, but you felt like at this moment you were falling in love with her.

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson #abby tlou #hockey!abby

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