#he's gotten very good at ducking

[tommynb]

Woe, Plague be Upon Ye

#pathologic #patho #patho memes #clara the changeling #clara pathologic #rat #she does this every time she sees daniil #he's gotten very good at ducking

[moondirti]

𝐂𝐀𝐁𝐈𝐍 𝐅𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 [18+]

familiar! ghost × witch! reader

you are a witch trapped at home by a devastating blizzard. ghost is the demon that answers your call. ( PART 1 of 2 )

DEAD DOVE. RATED R. HORROR/SMUT. 6k. – AO3

please please please read the warnings under the cut before reading. this is leagues darker than my usual work. it is a dark fic, and you know your limits better than i do.

warnings: discussed cannibalism. graphic depictions of gore. vomiting. killing/butchering animals. violent thoughts. malnutrition. alienation/isolation. manipulation. corruption. mentions of somnophilia. dark!ghost – i.e. simon does not conform to human morality. afab reader using she/her pronouns.

inclusivity note: the reader is described as smaller than simon, but he stands at 250 cm in his true form (8"2), so i assumed everyone – if not, most – would fit that category. she's also malnourished/sick at the start and so there are some references to unhealthy weight loss

Situated between a dense network of ancient oaks, a lesser demon would have mistaken the cottage for a boulder had they spawned further than ten metres away. Save for the warm orange glow illuminating its arched windows, the home married perfectly to its surroundings – disfigured and hideous, walls warped by unevenly stacked stone and a roof bowed under a thick blanket of snow. Overgrown bushes stick out from under its gnarled fence, dead branches desperately reaching, and the ivy he assumes was once adhered to its front has since been ripped out by the storm, whipping in the howling wind. 

But Ghost is no lesser demon; in fact, he’s far above this whole affair. Something of his rank answering the summons of a novice who could offer no more than sheep’s liver buried in their front yard was an occurrence practically unheard of. For good reason, too. He’s dangerous in the right hands, willing to resort to lengths that even the devil wouldn’t dream of so long as he receives proper payment. Most power-hungry neophytes would slaughter, have slaughtered, to have him as their familiar. Even then, he is above their grovelling. 

So, to be lured out of respite by sheep’s liver, of all things… 

He supposes he has no excuse for it, not that he has to explain himself to anyone. Perhaps he’s here only to satisfy his curiosity. The call hadn’t come from the lips of someone who’d been practising – sharp and sure, roused by a brand of audacity special to cocksure practitioners – but from someone softer. More sceptical. It’s unusual that an occultist would have both knowledge and skill to summon a familiar, yet still be suspicious as to whether they even exist at all. He’s not so much offended, then, as he is morbidly interested in what reaction his appearance would incur.

Disgust. Terror. Reverence. 

Warmth pools in his belly, blood oozing in fat globs to fuel the flame that compels him to head into the small home. It’s hard to make out what’s inside merely by looking through the windows; the glass has glazed over from the contesting temperatures on either side of it, painting a bleary picture of a fire silhouetting vague shapes. The doorstep creaks under his heavy foot, but nothing – from what he can see – moves in response to the disturbance. It’s late, he knows. If it weren’t for the thick clouds shrouding the sky, he would see the moon sinking towards the west horizon. Anyone with any sense in this world knows to be asleep during witching hour.

The doorknob is round. Brass. Worn by a hand that’s gotten very good at grasping it in the same manner every time. Ghost takes a moment to digest what that tells him about his new client before turning it and ducking inside. He was right to assume it’d be unlocked. While he’d have been able to find a way in otherwise, the silly little oversight manages to elicit more excitement in him than necessary. Their mistake is added to his quickly growing character evaluation. A routineer. Garden-variety mortal, too naive for their own good. Someone isolated. Someone– 

Small. 

Size has always been relative for something of his stature. At two and a half metres, he’s able to tower over even his own. But it truly hits him, right there, how long it’s been since he last encountered a human. He tries to tally the decades in his head, only to fail and fail again by fault of distraction. It shouldn’t hit him as hard as it does. She fulfils every bit of what he expected, after all; plain, though younger than the typical practitioner of familiar-summoning ability. Fast asleep on a threadbare couch. Drowned in clothing, skin dewy with sweat. A book abandoned, open on her chest, stuffed with spare pieces of parchment and illegible annotations. Ink-stained fingertips.

But his hand could crush her head if he was truly compelled to do so. He could scoop the bare ankles currently peeking out of her quilt and throw her over his shoulder like wild game, skinned and simple to carry back to hell. He remembers the fallow deer he’d feasted on just last week, belly soft as he sunk his teeth into it, and considers letting his appetite get the best of him with the one that’s unwittingly made herself available tonight. Crack open her ribcage to gorge on the gooey insides that no doubt taste like honey to a monster with his appetite. Bury his snout into her sweet-scented neck and get a sense for prey that can fight back, if just barely. 

But the moment passes. In her slumber, she shifts to lay on her side, spooning the grimoire closer. The minor hint of life reawakens another, more primaeval urge in him, last felt aeons ago when he was a younger fiend and the world had been a much more vulnerable place.

(The urge to take, to bend and break to fit his fancy. Chewing on cartilage until it smacks like gum between his maw, flossing the foul curl of his canines. To sink his claws into tender calves and carve an irreversible Ghost-shaped hole in her home, a haunting so stubborn she’ll turn to a fake God to try and expel him.)

And it’s violent. A rather restive longing. But placed next to the patience he’s learnt in the centuries since, he makes his choice. A natural conclusion to a creature who’s always gotten what he’s wanted.

Yes, he’ll stay. Be here when she wakes and revel when those eyes widen at the sight of him, darkening the corner of her room. He’ll stay; trail around and observe as she tries to make sense of her routine in light of the beast looming over her shoulder. He’ll stay, maybe ravage what's between her legs, devastate her sense of preservation and instead make her beg for the damage. Fall short on his duties as a familiar. Stay until he gets bored, when he’s had his fill of the crying and the quaint box she calls home. When playing with his food any more will lay the morsel to waste. Only then will he finally tear into the temptingly delicious meal in front of him.

For now, though, his neck aches from having to stoop under such a low roof. He resorts to a bygone human form instead, one he consumed ages ago – bones snapping, flesh dimpling, folding, morphing into a much smaller thing, a man – and waits.

Morning finds you doubling over the side of your couch to retch up what little food you had scavenged the previous evening. 

The loss is sore. Your stomach protests as the stale bread and water emulsion punches up your throat, emptying out onto the hardwood floor. Acrid. Bitter on the back of your tongue, sharp like the cramps that erupt in your abdomen once you lay back down. Sweat plasters baby hairs to your forehead, crawling down your back and pooling underneath your bandaged breasts. You wipe it off with trembling hands, kicking the suffocating quilt until it slouches off the armrest on which your feet lay. 

Last night’s fire is little more than smouldering ash. Still, the cottage maintains a pervasive heat, the air buzzing with an unnamed vigour. It’s unlikely that the blizzard has ceased long enough for the snow blanketing your home to melt – and given the walls’ remarkable ability to release warmth faster than they absorb it, the current temperature is enough to confound you. 

Likely a fever, you think, pressing knuckles to your temple. The timing is unfortunate enough, though something about your conclusion falls apart when tested against the churning of your gut. You’re clearly unwell, that much is apparent by the bile spoiling your floor, but you’d be a fool to miss the supernatural root of it. Like a perpetual tremor, never waning despite the way your muscles flare. A delirium that unfurls from your nape to slowly embrace your ears. You blink, trying to make sense of the queasiness that continues to wrack you. 

You’d run out of herbs two days after the blizzard snowed you in, the remaining potions lining your pantry ones best left untouched. It couldn’t have been anything you took, then. Nor was it a spell; the last one you’d cast was an ignition charm you’ve performed so often you know its effects like the planes of your cheeks. You cycle through yesterday's happenings with febrile imprecision, sipping long gulps of oxygen to tame the queasiness lapping up your chest. Like bailing water out of a quickly sinking raft. Cupping it in your palms and throwing what you can overboard. You get nowhere, and your nausea only worsens.

You’d gone to sleep with your grimoire in hand. Had you cast something while in a hypnagogic state? Possible, though rather uncharacteristic. Your fingers dig into the cushion gutters, poking for any sign of the thick book. As a migraine begins to tear at your skull, your search borders on unhinged. Pillows fly across the room, cushions following suit. The quilt billows as you air it several times over, providing some fleeting – yet much needed – airflow. 

You’re so focused on finding it that you almost miss the fact that the charred voice behind you is not your panic made material. Not the voice inside your head.

“Under the couch.”

This one is hoarse. Deep. It almost instantaneously shatters the heavy atmosphere cloaked over your shoulders, breaking your pyrexia with a sharp shiver down your spine. Pure ozone injected into the bubble you’ve made for yourself, the one you thought was so secure. Where the knife you taped to the underside of your table has remained untouched in the years since you moved in, unneeded. Hunched the way you are now, you can see it. Glinting as a mocking smile does; all teeth. Too far for you to retrieve without alerting your intruder. Too far for it to be an option. Your instincts rear.

Slowly, you crouch lower, hand skimming under the couch. Your pinkie grazes the well-loved leather of your grimoire’s cover. It manages to ground you to the situation at hand, though the reality is far more horrifying than what you could’ve conjured on your own. Distorted still, rippling with the impact of your fear. Paralysis battles adrenaline – your mind freezes with the shock of drowning, your body championing for survival. It doesn’t give you time to catch up.

Wood splinters under your heel as you twist, springing in the general direction of the voice. Heavy book in both hands. Your shoulders square, steadying as hinges to your attack. The figure is just visible; you barely make out the silhouette of its head before you aim for it.

But it grabs your wrist and flings your grimoire across the room in a fraction of the time, the spine splaying open onto an adjacent wall. Your stomach capsizes. The raft tips, flips, sends you crashing into frothing waves. Migraine blinding you for a brief, horrifying moment; one where you can’t see the thing shackling your wrist, or anticipate the hard kick it gives to your ankles. You buckle with the pain, held up by one heavy paw. A low whine syphons from your chest.

“Enough of tha’, now.”

Your vision comes into focus several seconds later. Still watery, brine spooling over your eyes, readying them for pruning, but clear enough to make out the depth of this ravine you’ve shipwrecked over. And it’s–

Uncanny. Teetering the thread between jarring and inhumane. Nothing about it – you’ve a hard time believing the moniker of ‘man’ – strikes you as superficial. Nothing skin-deep. Like a mountain seen breaking the horizon line from continents away, its rocks humming a song too closely resembling a banshee’s shriek for it to be alluring. Something concealed within its caves; underground, bubbling, molten. An impetus for myths, undiluted by tired parents using it to scare their children into bed. Still crowned by its original savagery, conceptualised centuries ago by a peasant who made the mistake of getting too close.

But it isn’t a concept, you quiver. It’s here – fleshly, corporeal. And it's even made an attempt to look human. As if you wouldn’t feel it itching to burst out of this skin, suffocated by too small constraints. Over six feet and then some, shoulders doubling yours and fingers that stretch a bit too long, a bit too thick. No face: everything but its eyes covered in knitted headwear, framing the pair of pale pupils, shadowed by a heavy brow.

 Some suicidal, hare-brained part of you wonders what would happen if you were to lift the bottom of its mask. (What you would see. How it would react.) But the compulsion is quickly stifled by another wave of gagging, empty stomach looking for anything to regurgitate. The thing masquerading as a man catches on fast, flipping you so your back tucks against its chest. You end up projecting water over the carpet, coughing until your head pounds like a ripe bruise. It’s then that you realise your condition has everything to do with its presence, souring now that you’re practically nestled against its abdomen.

“What…” You question between dry heaves. “What are– What do y-you want with me?”

“Better question ‘s, wha’ do you want?” It murmurs back, rumbling too close to your ear. Rot thickens its breath, potent enough that it draws the tears already dotting your lash line. No doubt a corpse remains stuck somewhere down its gullet, stored away for later. No doubt you’ll join it soon, gnawed on until your flesh falls off the bone. The perfect victim; all alone, the town pariah. A witch by the common man’s standards. Cast out to a dismal forest to die.

“I don- I don’t–”

“Summoned me, didn’ you? Dug a nice little hole and all. Well,” His hand shifts, clasping tighter around your struggling arms. “I’m ‘ere now. ‘Bout wha’ you expected?”

You use your retching as an excuse to play a game of catch up, squeezing the last of your tears out. Your memories bleed into one another, ink on wet parchment. Summoned. Dug a… hole, to call on this thing of supernatural proportions currently occupying your home. Why would you want that? What have you done? The past year has been marked by loneliness of a drastic degree, certainly, yet–

And then it comes flooding back to you.

(Washing the salt off of preserved sheep’s liver. Fastening it to a bouquet garni with twine. Folding the modest sacrifice under layers of earth. Pouring milk onto the upturned dirt.)

“Aren’t you supposed to be an– an animal… Or something.” You choke.

(You never thought it’d work: this magic amateurishly scribbled onto the back of your book by a hand long necrotized. The runes had been difficult to fathom on their own. And the way the spell had sounded on your clumsy tongue made you sure you’d done it wrong. It was purely a pursuit of curiosity. Something to keep you occupied, for lack of anything else to do.)

“Or something.” It answers.

A familiar. Yours, to be precise. In service to you since it took the offering you fashioned. Or, of greater import, one that can’t do anything to you lest you ask for it.

(Foolish to think you can clamp a collar on a feral beast and expect it to heel.)

The girl has a harder time adjusting than his original estimate.

Of course, there’s the illness. The affliction that plagues all mortals who come in contact with a demon for the first time. She’s violently sick for days, verging on the full first week of his arrival. Constantly bent over herself, holding a metal pail close for the inevitable purge of bile, that which her liver overproduces to compensate for a lack of food. Her under eyes blacken five shades darker. Her cheekbones grow more pronounced. Ghost watches it all with a macabre sort of interest, unable to take much satisfaction in the affair as his meal withers away before his very eyes. Wrists thinning into willow branches. Lips flaking like dead bark.

He's almost tempted to do something before she begins to recover herself. Gets more used to his unnatural presence, it seems. Gradually. Slow.

It starts when she wakes up one morning, having slept in later than he’s known her to, hiccupping but otherwise solid. After laying on the couch for an hour, she limps off with dwindling energy to fry a batch of velvet shank for breakfast. The meal is hardly enough for one, yet she plates two-thirds of it for Ghost and places the dish on the table he’s commandeered for his own. It’s a kind gesture; he doesn’t have it in him to be kind about it, though. Yet before he can criticise her efforts, she waddles off to pry a window open. Frigid winds encroach on her sheltered home at once, snow flurrying in, but she braves the cold until a crow lands on the windowsill. 

“Hello.” She croons, smoothing a knuckle across its crown. “Sorry I’ve been away. Here,” Digging into her breast pocket, she pulls out a handful of chokecherries and feeds them to the bird. “make them last. Supply is low.” 

The crow merely picks them off her palm, coos lost in the roaring storm that batters at the door. For the first time since his arrival, Ghost is tempted to bleed into the shadows. The affair he’s made voyeur to is delicate, an understated glimpse into a life entirely foreign to him. It aches when he can’t piece together why she would give up her food for nothing in return, or why she treats him the same way she does a feral bird. He thinks it must be ego, this snarling anger in his chest. 

So when the crow flies off with a final farewell pet down its back, he hardens into a nastier version of himself. Ghost still hasn’t touched the paltry breakfast when she turns her attention back to him, a fact she meets with a gingerly raised eyebrow. 

“’Fraid I won’t eat tha’, pet.”

She takes a moment to process his epithet of choice, eyes narrowing in an almost comical turnaround of her previous gentle expression.

“Wouldn’t it be the other way around?” She scoffs.

The indignation alone should be enough to incense him further, never mind the apathy she adopts when she shucks the contents of his plate onto her own and marches back to the couch. It doesn’t. If anything, he calms a little at her willingness to take away what she so graciously offered. The cat does have claws, then. Albeit petty, piddling little claws – like the runt of a litter who’s learnt to bite back at anything that gets too close – but a fire, nonetheless. He appreciates that, perhaps more than he assumed he would. 

Her sickness, he finds, is not the only issue.

Ghost lacks context for her situation – why she lives alone when the closest towns are just bordering the forest, or why no one ever seeks her out – but it does not escape him that the girl isn’t properly socialised.

In the centuries since they first emerged, he’s absorbed a keen sense for mortal behaviour. Credit to their alarming predictability, pattern recognition has halved the effort needed for his hunts. Not that he pretends to be at one with their psychology, but it’s easy to pin just where exactly she deviates from the norm when his strategy for ravaging her depends on it. More than once, he finds himself inexplicably engrossed in her habits.

Given her home is limited to the living room, kitchen, and washroom, she struggles to find a space where she can escape his oppressive presence. Ghost does not make it easy for her, either. He could choose to blend into the darker corners of her cottage, embodying the moniker he’d been given all those years ago and disappear almost completely – or enough to give her a mental break. But the mood strikes him more often than not, and he’ll loom over her like a spectral shadow, looking to provoke the grave mood swings that seize her like Satan does his miscreants. By far the most entertaining outcome had been when overstimulation trounced her usual level of tolerance and she pulled a knife on him, zeroed in on his jugular. He’d managed to scruff her by the nape until she wore herself out – which isn’t to say she didn’t put up quite a fuss. 

Since then, she has yet to lash out to such an extreme, instead locking herself in the washroom when her temper skyrockets. Ghost is almost disappointed. 

That’s his pet at her worst. At her best, she opts for quiet coexistence, either whispering to the crow who visits daily and appears to be her only friend, or cradling that ugly book in both hands. The back of the couch where she lounges most often obscures his view of her, but he’ll get the occasional vision when she pokes her eyes above the top to check on him. He maintains eye-contact – the heavy, uncomfortable kind that engenders pure humiliation and pummels her back into place, eyebrows furrowed and contentment spoiled – until the boredom gets to him.

The next time she sneaks a peek, then, he effects a gruff “Still ‘ere.”

She keeps to herself after that, nose buried in her grimoire like a chastened fawn. 

It takes three weeks for her to settle into normalcy. By that time, Ghost’s patience has already started to wear thin.  

The girl operates under the impression that he can’t do anything unless she orders it of him. He doesn’t blame her, credulous thing that she is. The notion is generally accepted by most of her grade, propagated by some text meant for beginners, written by a man who lacked the subtlety to discern between rules and good form. It’s true that familiar’s tend to only perform feats their counterparts ask for, but only because to do otherwise is bad practice. What else motivates a symbiotic relationship if not trust? Dependency? 

Of course, that’s if a demon has anything to gain that a human can provide. He’s always found it to be a little more than pathetic. Reared to hunt, formidable in his thaumaturgic ability – Ghost has lasted centuries by remaining self-sufficient, unwilling to lean on the inferior class of rational beings. Unwilling to do their dirty work in exchange for blood he could obtain very well on his own. At least, that had been the conviction when he’d answered her graceless summons, bent on killing both his curiosity and hunger with one stone. 

But something about her had made him glad to abide by the niceties. Had soothed the spring of his haunches as he prepared to pounce, or otherwise convinced him to play passive until golden opportunity struck. He’d wanted her to have as much a hand in her own unravelling, like a frog brought to a boil, entirely oblivious of its impending death until much too late. Her erroneous understanding of their dynamic, then, had paired nicely with his purposes. So he led her on to believe it, wasted most of his days amenable at the dining table as if waiting for instruction. As if she was the one in control, buzzing to shatter the perception when she inevitably asks something of him. 

What he’s found, unsurprisingly, is that she’s blossomed under the reassurance. The initial fear that gripped her once she realised he wouldn’t be going away has since watered down to a weak, background agitation. He tastes it in the air; the mild unease as she flits about her cottage, the first thing to go when something else captures her attention. The way she hardly takes note of him anymore, waking up or retiring to sleep with nothing but covert glances to where he monopolises space. 

So that feeling of frothing irritation returns at her docility, only more powerful than it had been when she’d offered her last chokecherries to the crow. No witch or wizard of her acumen has ever been so lacking in spite – and from what little she’s allowed him to see of her outbursts, he knows she isn’t short of it either. Yet she’d given up so quickly. Forfeited her home and comfort to a monster she hasn’t attempted to make any use of. And fuck– if that isn’t what he’d wanted. He needed her secure in him, pretty and soft enough that she’d be tempted to trade him for favours, for little feats of magic or the completion of chores she no longer has to worry about now that she doesn’t live alone. 

Nevermind the detail that she refuses to ask anything of him; it still claws at him the wrong way, razor-sharp and deadly as it tears up his throat. This anger on her behalf. A compensation for the response she should be having. It stirs him when he realises that, for all intents and purposes, what he feels is pity. Perilous, committed sympathy. 

There’s a reason he steers clear of it, too. Quick to snowball. He already feels it growing, avalanching into the hollow recess where he’d suppressed the soul of his first meal. Something shifts, then. He can’t place it. Just knows that the outcome he’d envisioned – where her bones serve to pick his teeth of the soft flesh from her thigh – is no longer a viable option. Just knows that his intentions with her mutate into something perhaps more dangerous, a little more unhinged. To weed out the wickedness he’s only seen in flashes. To see her corrupted into a far worse version of herself. 

It’s late into his twentieth night when Ghost decides to do something about it. 

He wedges back into her cottage when dawn splinters over the virgin snow. If he were a passionate man – not this hellhound trailing blood behind him like breadcrumbs – he’d remark on the way the tepid sunlight stains the forest in shades of peach and lurid blue. But the crow between his teeth hangs limp, and he’s hurried for the best way to present his gift, too absorbed in the task at hand to pay much mind to scenery. 

The house is as tranquil as it always is at this time. Suspended in amber, a fossilised quaintness he’s grown used to. Golden, almost sticky slow. She’s still fast asleep on the couch, soft snores whistling from underneath a patchwork quilt (which smells so much like her that, to his mutt senses, they’re one-in-the-same form.) Despite the precarity of the moment, he makes no effort to keep quiet. His natural disposition isn’t prone to making any unintentional noise though, and so the only thing he disturbs are the dust motes bobbing in suspended animation. 

Ghost places the dead bird on the table. It won’t be long before the blood drains from the punctures in its neck, and he prefers his meat iron-rich and wet, so he makes quick work of morphing back into his human form and washing his muzzle clean. There’s a sick thrill that curls in his gut; something like adrenaline, ozone-rich. Ruthless. He holds a crystalline picture of her reaction to the slaughtered friend he dragged into her home; angry, doe eyes glazed with tears as she yells at him for acting against her best wishes. Bad dog. Perhaps she’ll pull the dagger she keeps taped to the bottom of the table to indulge a sense of security. Perhaps she’ll drive it into his chest. That’s for hoping. 

Standing over her now, he imagines the way her serene face morphs into something foul when she’s pushed to her limits. His cock twitches at the mental picture, aching behind the confines of his pants. A heavy hand moves to adjust it, stilling once it cups his balls to consider whether it’d be overkill to tug it over her face while she remains nice and still like this. It would be – not anything he’s above, granted, but excessive nonetheless. Besides, she’ll have plenty of time to accept the attention. Learn to love it, even.

When she wakes, Ghost has already plucked the crow. The feathers pile in the centre of her round dining table – distinctive even when detached from a body, meant for her to draw parallels to the game he currently masticates. Yet she hardly notes his presence at all. Instead, the unsuspecting thing merely clears the sleep from her bleary eyes, weighed down by a heavy cloak of sloth, more focused on wiping the drool off her chin than him. If she had been, perhaps the pieces would fall that much faster; at least, that’s what the quick-tick rap of his pulse insists upon. 

But he’s no over-eager brute. He can wait. 

Yet he is tense when she shuffles to and from the bathroom, bare feet padding along hardwood. Like a flood, his body grapples against the tidal urge to grab her jaw and force her gaze upon his bloody teeth, sharpened and marred behind the mouth of his true form.  Look at me. Have you no survival instinct? There is a threat in your home and you parade in front of it, blind as a mole. You’ll get eaten like this. You’ll be condemned to hell between the jowls of horrible men.

(More monster than ever, really. Even like this, bound by his approximation of what a mortal man looks like, his face remains stuck to its original construction. The knitted mask he wears is more for her sake than his; he’s never been able to replicate the particulars of humanity. The delicate planes of their lips or the angles their noses protrude at. Better not to try, then. Better to hide it all away.)

It’s as she scrounges for breakfast that she finally heeds the pinpricks of blood dotting the floor. Fat, dark splotches draw a clear line from the doorway to a very calm Ghost, sat with his thighs spread over her too-tiny chair. He’s yet to finish his meagre meal – each bite seasoned with a satisfaction that bloats heavy in his stomach – hence the evidence of his crime still paints the corner red. A violent picture. Distressing, if he were to interpret the way her brows knit tight. 

Crimson meat marbled ivory. Wings pried off a picked apart ribcage, shanks sucked clean of slightly tougher muscle. Still intact are the heart, tongue, liver – their membranes dissolving to soak into the table. The smell of death will be hard to rid of, he’s sure, much like the inedible parts of the bird that scatter carefully in front of him. Its glossy black talons. That tell-tale beak. Feathers on which her eyes linger, like she recognises the sheen but is too upset to connect it to the crow she fed daily. Her only friend. 

She steps closer. Ghost devours every minute expression that flits upon her face. For the expressiveness of her pupils – contracted, small like organic pearls – she doesn’t portray much externally. Her fingers wring her skirt, twisting and twisting until it wrinkles in the impression of her thumb. Her lips purse into a thin line. But as far as his sharp observation goes; no tears. No ugly rage rippling her cheeks. 

“What is this?” She asks in a small voice. 

“Breakfast.” He says. It isn’t the response she’s looking for, and a frown tugs at her mouth. Not necessarily sad. Her hands release to clench at her sides. He smiles behind the mask. He can’t help himself. 

“I didn’t tell you to do this.” 

The smile breaks into a low chuckle. “No?” 

“No.” Shaking her head, emotion surges up her throat. It bubbles thick and forces her to adopt a higher pitch to overpower it. “You brute. I-If you could’ve done whatever… whatever you wanted t-the whole time–”

“C’mere.” His hand snakes around her wrist, using it to wrench her closer. He consciously keeps his grip light – too much force and he could easily shatter bone – but the girl does not share his concern. She pulls and fights and stubbornly protests his direction.

“No! Get the fuck off! Get out!” She heaves. Seethes. Spittle launches from her tirade, her nails digging into his palm. She looks for blood but he won’t give it to her. She’s doing well, but not well enough. Eventually, he is able to pull her onto his lap, locking thick arms around her squirming form. “You bastard. You monster! I’ll fucking kill you. I’ll murder you in your sleep and feed your rotten insides to the maggots. Let me go!” 

He’s blood-filled in his trousers. The hefty bulge knocks the small of her back and of all things, that’s what gets her to suddenly slacken. Though her chin tips to rest between her collarbones, lashes deliberately cast down. Refusing to meet his eye for all she’s worth. Good, he thinks, a warmth blossoming in his chest. 

“You ough’ to know your friend didn’ put up a fight.” He starts, nosing the part in her hair. Despite his knitted mask serving as a direct barrier between them, he can smell the pine and juniper berry soap she uses to wash up. Sharp. Sweet. Particularly potent behind her ear, where he considers her lobes like low-hanging fruit. 

“Shut up.” 

“Need to hear this, pet.” She doesn’t listen, naturally, hips bucking wildly the instant he loosens his hold. His fingers bruise when he readjusts her on his thighs. “Need to know it was your fault as much as i’ was mine. Yeah? Y’let it grow too comfortable. Fed it daily and robbed i’ of its ingrained fear of strangers. In the end, it got much too friendly. Didn’ have the sense to fly away when I approached it.” Her breath pinches into a piercing whine. Ghost likens it to the kettle she keeps over her stove, waiting for steam to burst out of her ears. 

It does not come. Instead, she cries. Beads of brine break her waterline, streaking miserable paths down her cheeks. He’ll grant her this: she does not sob unreasonably. Her hiccups are limited to if and when the air hardens in her lungs. He lets her have a moment before continuing. 

“S’what happens, see. You get complacent, ‘n’ next thing you know, you’re meeting your God. Tell me, pet: do you think the afterlife would be pleasant to a witch?” 

When she doesn’t respond, he bounces a knee to knock some sense back into her. Her weeping starts anew, only this time accompanied by a stuttered acknowledgement. 

“Hm?” 

“N-No.” 

“No. ‘Course I could ‘ave told you that much, but it’s importan’ you come to the moral of the story yourself. Fight, or die.” Ghost strokes the goosepocked flesh of her upper arm, voice softening to deliver the final part of speech. It’s treacherously low, ultimatum like powdered ash cushioning the roughness in his throat. “And believe me when I say, dying ain’ the better option. There are far worse fates than me in Hell.” 

He does not know whether it lands like he wants it to. If it accomplishes anything at all. But she doesn’t attempt to peel herself off him in the aftermath. Instead, she mourns herself dry for the next hour, snivelling wretchedly on his lap. 

When her crying stops, the air is still laden with something. Hesitation rolls off her in waves, dense with the renewal of fear. He supposes it must be hypocritical of him, to both strike her with terror and expect her to overcome it, but he hums anyway, nudging her temple off his shoulder in an appeal to state what’s on her mind.  

What comes instead is a deceptively simple question. 

“What’s your name?” She asks. Doesn’t demand of him to tell her. Doesn’t set up grounds for him to ask for something in return. He can either answer, or not. She leaves the choice up to him. Clever girl. 

He grapples with it a moment too long. A long dead man beats at his ribcage and demands to be heard. A meal he never managed to digest. Hissing. Snarling. S-Si-Si–

“Ghost.”

i do not have a taglist. to be alerted when i update, please follow @moondirti-archive and turn on post notifs.

#simon ‘ghost’ riley #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #ghost #call of duty #fanfiction #fanfic #modern warfare #cod mw2 #simon 'ghost' riley x you #ghost x you #simon riley x you #simon ‘ghost’ riley x female reader #x female reader #xf!reader #dead dove #dark fic #fic ༄ cabin fever

[lovebugism]

Shy!reader who has never had a valentine and Steve who pulls out alllll the stops to make up for this—flowers, chocolate, jewelry, candles, a nice dinner, even stuff like a teddy bear and those cheesy kid valentines

happy love day <3 — steve helps his shy gf celebrate her very first valentine's day (shy!reader, established relationship, cw for brief mentions of anxiety, 1k)

Valentine’s Day afternoon is grey and gloomy, but your beaming makes up for it. You’re smiling wide and sparkling with it the second you see Steve waiting for you in the parking lot outside your work. He’d promised to pick you up, yes, but you’re always giddy at the sight of him.

“Hey, babe,” the boy greets with his own grin, crooked and perfectly pink. 

He looks all cool, leaning against the driver’s side of his car. Pristine sneakers crossed over one another, sweater sleeves pushed up to his elbows, strands of cinnamon hair draping his forehead — how are you supposed to do anything but melt for him?

“Hi,” you respond in a tinier voice, walking closer to him now. You duck your chin to your chest and peer at him through your lashes, always so painfully shy.

“Did you have a good day?”

“It was alright,” you shrug and plant yourself in front of him. The deep scent of cologne staining his shirt combines with the earthy scent of impending rain. The concoction makes you dizzy. “Kept thinking about seeing you the whole time, though.”

Your confession makes the bridge of his chiseled nose scrunch. 

“Well, that makes two of us,” he quips before revealing the bouquet of flowers hidden behind his back. A small thing wrapped in pale pink tissue paper — pastel lavenders and pale baby’s breath — as pretty and delicate as you are.

You light up instantly, eyes glittering as they flit from the bushel of flowers to Steve’s proud grin. “You got me flowers?” you wonder, quiet with disbelief. You take them with a soft, trembling hand.

Steve shrugs. “‘Course I did.”

You bury your nose in the perfumed florals and flash a sheepish look over them. “No boy’s ever gotten me flowers before…”

Steve knows this. He knows you’ve never had a valentine before him — that you’ve never been with anyone the way you’ve been with him. It’s why he’s always so soft and perfectly patient with you.

“‘Cause other boys are stupid,” he says, grinning when it makes you giggle. He takes another step closer to you and smooths his warm palms over your arms. His thumbs rub gently along the outsides of your elbow. “Do you like them?”

“I love them,” you insist, smiling so wide it hurts. “They’re gonna look so pretty in my room.”

“Want me to take you home then? So you can get ready for tonight?”

Your brows pinch at his mischievous tone. “What’s tonight?”

“Dinner. I wanna take you to that fancy, new Italian place in the city.”

“Oh.” Your panic is subtle but still written all over your face. You’re not good at going out — you’re worse at trying new things. Steve’s certainly made you braver, but you’re always a little timid at heart. 

Steve knows this and assures with a soft smile, “But we don’t have to if you don’t want. It was just a suggestion.”

“I want to,” you hear yourself say.

His brows raise, visibly shocked. “You do?”

There’s something about the way he looks at you, with a glimmer in his deep brown eyes, that makes you bold. You nod once, firm and foreignly confident. “Yeah.”

Steve tries not to be too obvious about his smiling, but he wears his love for you all over his face without trying. “Then let’s go.”

—————

Rain beats heavy against the window of the candle-lit restaurant, a wild and delicate cadence. The flickering flame paints Steve’s smile golden while his eyes glow a shining amber. He tries to woo you like you’re not wearing the pretty dress he bought you — like you’re not wearing his initial in a pendant dangling between your breasts.

“You’re the Obi-Wan for me,” he jokes before taking a hearty bite of his steak. He chews through the mouthful and gestures with his fork. “You know. Like only one—”

“I get it,” you assure with a sickly sweet smile.

He’s been doing this for a better part of an hour. The Valentine’s Day crowd rushed in, and your waiter got your order wrong, and the whole thing spun you into a tizzy. Steve’s been trying to distract you from your nerves ever since. And it’s worked. Mostly.

“Well, you’re not laughing!” he retorts, playful in his solemnity. “That one was good— you gotta give me some credit.”

“It was,” you assure with a quiet nod. You don’t say it like you mean it, but more like you’re trying to appease him.

“Are you saying you can come up with a better one?” he teases.

You think for a moment, doe eyes flitting across the droplets sliding down the window beside you. Your glossed lips purse all pretty to the side with the weight of your pondering. A smile tugs slow at your lips when you turn back to him. “Obi-Wan Ke-bone-me.”

A laugh sputters from Steve’s mouth. As pure and innocent as sunshine. He nods with a proud, lopsided smile. “You’re right. That was way better.”

“I Obi-Want you tonight,” you follow, giggling still.

“You are on fire tonight, you know that?”

You laugh again, louder this time. Steve beams at the pretty sound and waits until you’ve scooped a too-big bite of pasta in your mouth to compliment you. “You’re so pretty…” he murmurs in a low, honeyed tone. His eyes sparkle with amber, warm and visibly fond.

You stop mid-chew to scowl. You’re too cute to look threatening — especially when you’ve got spare sauce dotted on the corner of your mouth. “Stop…” you scold after you’ve swallowed down the mouthful.

Steve laughs, loud and boyish. “You are!”

“You’re being too nice…” you grouse with your nose scrunched.

“I’m your boyfriend. I’m supposed to be nice.”

“But not this nice,” you insist, smiling despite yourself. You twirl noodles around your fork to busy your fidgeting hand. Your sheepish gaze flits from the half-empty plate to the beautiful boy in front of you. “I think you’re starting to ruin everyone else for me, Stevie…”

His chest sparkles with a warmer feeling. “Well, yeah,” he shrugs. “That was kinda the plan here, babe.”

“Was it?”

“Uh-huh,” he nods and folds his arms over the white-clothed table. He grins wide and leans in close.  His cinnamon eyes sparkle with a mixture of adoration and mischief. “You fell right into my trap.”

You smile back at him, so happy that you did.

#published by bug #steve harrington x reader #stranger things x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #stranger things imagine #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #st drabbles #stevie drabble

[augustinewrites]

cw: jjk manga spoilers (up to 221), blood, sword fights heh + note: it's finally here, and somehow it's worse than shibuya!

“is he gonna be mad?”

“satoru?” you snort lightly, taking another bite of your frozen yogurt. “he’s just going to ask if you won. he might try to take the sequel of that new book set you got as punishment— but i’ll see what i can do.” 

across the table, megumi huffs, leaning back into the plush booth. you’d picked him up early from school today, the reason being yet another suspension. his second since he’d started the school year. you suppose that’s the reason for his sullen disposition and existential crisis. 

“am i a bad person?”

you glance up at him in acknowledgement, but take a moment before answering. he stirs the frozen yogurt around in its cup, looking rather glum.

there’s a delicate way of going about these types of things. children (especially teenagers) are complicated creatures. they’re still at their most malleable, your words and actions shaping their very future.

“i don’t think you’re a bad person, megumi,” you answer softly, setting your spoon down. 

“but i…i keep doing bad stuff,” he argues dejectedly. “and— and i was mean to tsumiki—”

“hey. no one’s born wanting to do bad things,” you tell him. “and when they do…it’s usually more complicated than we think. there are bad situations where sometimes we have to do bad things. even if we don’t want to. even if we’re not proud of them.” 

“but how do you know that i’m not?” he asks again, and your heart aches. 

“because i know you,” you smile. “i’ve known you for eight years, megumi. yeah, i think you could afford to try using your words instead of your fists once in a while, and be a little nicer to your sister…but i know everything you do comes from a good place.”

megumi doesn’t reply, staring out the window with that pensive frown of his. all you can do is wonder if you and satoru have done right by him. if you’re doing right by him now. (such is the life of a parent, you suppose.)

all you can do is hope. 

“hey,” you grin, holding your hand out to him. “promise me something?”

_____

you stumble backwards, narrowly avoiding being gutted by a sword. gasping, your fingers fumble with the hem of your shirt, the material sliced right above the small, almost imperceptible bump of your stomach. 

your megumi would never hurt you. your megumi, your sweet, gentle boy who still muttered the song about bunny ears as he tied his shoes. who always offered his sister the last bite of cake, even though you knew he wanted it for himself. who cried the first time his shikigami were injured in battle. 

but this isn’t megumi.

you barely dodge the blade again, ducking and sending your demon dogs out to slow him down as you sprint down the alley. your heart shatters at the sound of a high-pitched whine, but you can’t stop, you can’t look back—

“going somewhere?”

you skid to a stop in front of him, staggering back as quickly as you can. 

megumi— no, sukuna stands in front of you now, holding a sword you’d taught his vessel how to make, how to use. 

“please,” you beg, thinking of tsumiki’s body a few blocks away. thinking of gojo in the prison realm. you can’t lose anyone else today. “please let him go.”

“i don’t think so,” he grins, sick and twisted as he slowly makes his way towards you. “if only he’d unlocked his full potential sooner. if only you had.” 

“he’s just a child.” you say, voice trembling. you look around. there’s no use in running. he’s gotten much too strong.

but you’re not ready to die either.

he wasn’t patient, lunging first and taking the offense. it’s a struggle to meet him at every swing, deflecting blows that send tremors down the sword’s point of impact and reverberate through your arms. 

playing defence is the smart move. you’d wait for an opening or a drop in his own defence. then your goal would be to disarm him and attempt to grant yourself an advantage. 

(in theory, at least.)

when your swords lock once more, he forces them to the side, kicking you square in the chest. the impact knocks you onto your back. before you can get up, he’s on top of you, driving his sword into your shoulder.

the pain is so blinding, so white-hot and tortuous that you almost immediately pass out when he pulls it free and tosses it out of your reach. 

sukuna is in your face now, lips peeled back into a smirk as he laughs, the top of his finger slowly dragging down your face.

“putting you down now would be letting this brat off too easy. doing it slowly, however—”

“get off her.”

your heart skips a beat. that voice. 

there’s a flash of recognition in megumi’s eyes. just a for a second. 

“satoru?” 

“is that any way to treat the person who washed your underwear for almost ten years?” he tsks, hands in his pockets as he steps into the alley, quite literally kicking the king of curses off of you.

he sweeps you off the floor as gently as possible, your stomach flipping at the familiar sensation of being teleported.

you’re not in the alley anymore, you’re up on the roof of a building. as soon as satoru sets you on your feet, you look up, studying his face. the eyes you love so much stare back at you. 

the emotions you’d kept bottled up since he’d been gone pour out at once. proof of your heartache, anger, pain, and loneliness spilling over your lash line.

suddenly there’s too much space between you and you tentatively take a step forward. 

“it’s you,” you breathe. “it’s really you.” 

he says your name softly, and arms you’d longed for envelop you. you feel safe, if only for a moment.

“you need to get to ieiri,” he whispers, a hand cupping your cheek gently. “go. i’ll stop him.”

you both close your eyes, as if the words hurt.

_____

“promise me you’ll always be good.” 

megumi sighs, but places his hand in yours, squeezing it tightly.

“i’ll see what i can do.”

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #keeping up with the fushigojos #jjk manga spoilers #jjk spoilers

[sister-lucifer]

hcs 4 toby giving bj 4 first time :3

Toby’s First Time Giving/Receiving a Blowjob Headcanons 

Ticci Toby x Gender Neutral Reader 

A/N: I know you probably meant Toby giving a blowjob for the first time but I wrote both because i can. enjoy the double feature

Genre: Smut headcanons 

Content/Warnings: Oral sex (obviously), Toby likes praise, face fucking, Toby gets a bit rough in his excitement but he doesn’t mean it, he’s just a feral, excitable horndog, scenarios for both AFAB and AMAB readers are included, use of dick, cock and cunt to describe genitalia

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

Giving 

Oooohhh boy okay, listen 

He’s not exactly experienced 

Most of the people he went to high school with were incredibly put off by him and the like two who weren’t never went past making out 

He has no idea what he’s doing, you’ll have to teach him 

The good news? He’s very eager to learn 

If you have a dick he’ll try to deepthroat it IMMEDIATELY, regardless of the fact that he’ll choke like a fucking idiot, and you’ll have to practically yank him off of you 

If you have a cunt he’ll do the same thing except latching on way too fast and way too rough in a clumsy but genuine effort to pleasure you

Just hold tightly to his hair to keep him from ducking back down and gently instruct him to start slow 

You’ll have to be very detailed with your instructions, and he has no shame, so expect a lot of really specific questions 

“Should I-I keep flicking your clit with my tongue like th-that?” 

“Do you like w-when I circle your tip l-like that?” 

Etc, etc

And he’ll say it with 100% sincerity, because he really does want you to enjoy this

It takes him a minute to get the hang of it, but once he gets his rhythm he won’t stop until you’re begging him to 

It’s fun for him to watch you squirm and moan, it brings him just as much pleasure as it does you 

You can encourage him to keep going by scratching his head, running your fingers through his hair, and giving a little tug when he does something you particularly enjoy

Speaking of which, he responds very well to verbal feedback (re: praise) 

You can see his eyes light up when you call him a good boy or tell him he’s doing well 

And he’s willing to do whatever it takes to get him praise

Basically, he’s easy to train

Just keep telling him how well he’s doing, and be clear about what you enjoy 

He’s more than happy to comply 

Plus, it’s kinda hot to watch the drool and cum leak from the gash in his cheek as he eagerly laps up everything he can get from you

Receiving 

Well your first challenge will be getting him to sit still

He’s a hyperactive bastard and his excitement will manifest as restlessness 

It’s best to have him lying on his back to reduce the risk of possible injury, but he will still shake his legs and fidget with his sleeves as he watches you position yourself between his legs

He’ll try not to touch you at first because he’s not really sure what’s acceptable or not, instead opting to fumble with his fingers and gnaw on his knuckles 

He’ll be breathing heavily and mumbling to himself the whole time, before you’ve even gotten his cock out 

“I-I can’t believe you’re doing this for-for me…Y-You’re so nice to m-me…I-I don’t—fuck!—I don’t k-know what I’d do with-without you…”

And he’ll go on and on like that until you’ve sucked him so good he can’t talk 

He’ll forget his manners the closer he gets to cumming

He’ll get more and more needy and he’ll start to grab at your hair 

Unless you stop him, he’ll get rougher and rougher until he’s practically fucking your mouth, pulling and pushing your head back and forth by your hair and thrusting into your mouth 

He’ll have drool running down his chin and he won’t be able to keep his mouth shut, just completely desperate and messy

The best part is the way he’ll shamelessly beg to cum down your throat 

“Pleeeaaase, please, please, fuck—! I-It’s all I want, just let me—let me cum in your m-mouth, I need it! I-I’ve been a g-good boy, haven’t I?!”

If you don’t say yes he’ll literally cry 

But if you do, the absolute euphoria that’ll cross his face is more than worth it 

He’ll force you down on his cock as he releases down your throat, his back arching in an almost violent manner as he forces you to take everything he has to give

And he won’t let go until he’s completely done 

When you’re finally released from his death grip it’ll be because he’s gone limp, completely spent and barely conscious 

Give him a quick kiss before you go to clean up, he’ll lick your lips clean for you 

He’ll be riding that high for hours 

#creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta smut #smut #smut headcanons #creepypasta headcanon #ticci toby #toby rogers #creepypasta ticci toby #ticci toby creepypasta #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby smut #ticci toby headcanons

[mitsvriii]

“so you just…shift the flour in this?” confusion was evident in his face as aventurine gave the flour shifter’s handle a slight turn, testing it out as if it were a new bicycle’s pedals.

although he had his fair share of sweet treats before, aventurine never had the luxury of making them for himself; or anyone else for that matter. naturally, he jumped at the offer to bake with you despite his slim knowledge about how most desserts were made.

aventurine wasn’t clueless, don’t get him wrong, he simply lacked the necessary time (and some skills) to cook something up as good as you, who had a handful of experience in the cooking ‘business’.

you nodded as you flipped through the cookbook again to make sure you prepared all the necessary ingredients, “makes the flour thinner, takes out clumps.” you glanced up from the book to give him an encouraging look, sliding the bowl of flour over to him. 

aventurine sunk two fingers into the flour, rubbing them together as he took them out as if to test how thick the powder-like substance was. sparing a glance, albeit mischievous, as he tried his best to deal with the flour for you.

feeling something tickle your cheek, you turned and meet aventurine’s gaze as he gave you soft smile, “here.” his left arm wrapped around you to place the flour in front of you.

“thank you-“

a sputter left you as aventurine’s laugh reached your ears as you wiped whatever that was off your face. opening your eyes as you blinked away the excess powder off your eyes, and…

oh my god.

aventurine covered his mouth with his right hand that was tainted white from flour as he tried to cover his laughs with coughs. “i’m-i’m sorry. that wasn’t-“

a sharp gasp was pulled from his lips as you dumped the bowl of flour over his head. “actually, that was very funny”, you finished his sentence off with practiced ease as you dusted your hand off on your apron.

“oh, okay.” the bowl hit the counter as aventurine shook the flour from his hair, creeping up to go snatch up some more of it in his hand from the bag. “i see how it is.”

“if the kitchen gets messy to the point i can’t see the floor, you’re cleaning it up with me”, clutching the countertop’s edge in hand, you moved to try and get on the other side of it as cover.

“of course, love.” a yelp left you as you narrowly ducked the sheet of powder that fell down beside you like a mess of dust that got disturbed. 

as you tried to duck past him to grab flour yourself, he grabbed you up by your waist, holding you in place as he reached over for some himself.

“no-no-“ a shriek released from your throat as aventurine started smothering the flour over your hair, but not close to your hairline so he wouldn’t get any in your eyes.

ignoring the flour-battle you had on, aventurine’s other arm snaked down to grasp your waist, fingers trailing up and down your sides. giggles and short breathed stop’s were piling out of your lips as he continued his onslaught on tickles.

your baking was forgotten as the other ingredients sat out, some of them covered in flour like the two of you. maybe once the two of you had gotten cleaned up you could actually bake something. however, chances of that were about as slim as recovering all of the flour you wasted; although it was for a good cause because desserts or no desserts, you had gotten to see him happy either way.

lazy fic (ew), needed to post something 😓, not proofread

#🍙 - honkai star rail writings #・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗ #cringes #another fic i hate 🤧 #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #hsr x reader #hsr x you #aventurine fluff #aventurine hsr

[doe-eyed-fool]

Lucifer X Reader oneshot where the reader snorts when she laughs. Like between bursts of giggles and cackles there’s a short or drawn snort that follows. And since there’s some peeps that hate fun, reader’s gotten comments about her loud ‘obnoxious’ laugh so she tries to keep a lid on her laughter. Maybe Luci notices that she tends to cover and muffle her laughter when he’s telling her a funny story or joke and he pulls out all the stops to get a laugh out of her. Maybe telling her an embarrassing story or tickling her and when he succeeds she’s so flustered but can’t stop and is just laughing and snorting while turning bright red.

Lovely

Lucifer x Reader

Warning(s): Slight Angst, Fluffy Ending

(Pst! I love your pfp btw! I hope you enjoy~)

Dating Lucifer couldn’t have been more easy. Lucifer had to be the kindest, loving, and sweetest demon in all of Hell. Which, considering he is the literal king of Hell, that was saying quite a bit.

You couldn’t have asked for a better partner. Lucifer was very attentive when it came to you. He always wanted to make sure you were happy. And how else to make someone happy, than to tell some funny terrible jokes?

However, you hated your laugh more than anything. And so did others, at least, the people you’ve met in the past did. Your friends now had never heard you laugh, like, truly laugh.

Sure, you’d giggle every now and then. But never really laugh. And for good reason.

But there was no hiding things from Lucifer.

“Hey sweetie?” Lucifer joins you on the couch, you look up from your phone. “Yes?” You hum. “What has webbed feet and fangs?” He asks. You furrow your brows in confusion. “Uh, what?”

“Count Duck-ula!” Lucifer exclaims as he holds up a vampire themed rubber duck. You blinked before a light chuckle leaves you. “Oh? You like that one?” Lucifer raises an eyebrow. “Then…”

“Where do suck ducks go?” Lucifer pauses. “The duck-tor!”

Turn away from Lucifer and making a shooing motion with your hand as your chuckle turned into a fit of giggles.

“Come on, you never let me hear your laugh.” Lucifer inches closer to you. “Don’t tell me I’ll have to force it out of you?” He says teasingly. “N-No!” You squeak. “It’s awful!”

“Awful? I doubt it. There’s nothing awful about you, my love.” Lucifer says, placing his hand on your shoulder gently. You couldn’t help but smile, but your grin dropped after a second.

His words were kind, but you knew better. Your laugh really was awful. It’s best he didn’t hear it at all.

“And I’ll prove it.”

Wait. What?

Out of nowhere, you felt Lucifer’s fingers at your sides. You yelped in surprise, before laughter followed. You tried to get away, but he kept his hold on you tight.

“Luci! Stop! Ahahaha! No! Sto-Hahaha!!!” Your laughter grew the more he tickled you. Then suddenly, a loud snort left you.

You went dead silent after Lucifer’s tickling came to a halt.

Damn it.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him, as your face became heated. The silence between you two made you want to die.

Then. Lucifer spoke.

“That…was so adorable!”

You quickly turn your head to face him, giving him the most confused look. What did he just say?

“A-Adorable?” You repeat.

“Yes! And here I thought you couldn’t get any cuter!” Lucifer coos. You blinked, unable to comprehend what he was saying. There was no way he could find your laugh adorable.

“But…so many people get annoyed by it. It’s…it’s obnoxious, and loud. I snorted for fucks sake Luci!”

“And?”

And!? And???

“And! It’s terrible!”

Lucifer chuckles before pulling in close. “My love, when I said I love everything about you, I meant it. Including, your cute laugh.”

You felt your face heat up again. But not from embarrassment.

“Y-You mean that?”

“Of course I mean it.” Lucifer says as he kisses your temple. “Don’t hide your laugh from me again, please? It’s lovely.”

You smile warmly before snuggling into Lucifer further. “Thank you Luci.”

“Also. If I hear anyone saying your laugh is annoying or obnoxious, I’ll tear them apart.” Lucifer says with a happy grin.

You laugh before kissing his cheek. “Good to know.”

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer magne x reader #hazbin lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #fluff

[unoislazy]

Hello ! Sorry for my bad English, it's not my first language I do my best

First of all, I love how you write <3

Second, my request would be Hiccup getting jealous and confessing to fem!reader by accident

That's all !

Thanks for writing so well, I send you a little kiss

Hello!

Congrats you’re my first request!

I hope I could do your request justice, enjoy

Just Talk To Me!

Hiccup x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k words

Summary: You and Eret have gotten pretty close due to your constant fighting practice. Of course, a certain chief isn’t too happy about it but he has a bit of trouble trying to tell you why.

————————————————————

“You’re getting better at this!” Eret praised, ducking under your fist as you swung at him. He continued to dodge your strikes as you smiled.

You both had begun sparring together a few months ago, after the whole Dragon War fiasco. You realized that without your dragon, you weren’t as strong or as agile as the other Vikings, so you asked Eret to help you train.

You swept your foot under him, finally taking him down and putting your foot on his chest, signifying that you had one the fight.

“Have I gotten better, or have you just gotten worse?” You asked teasingly, taking your foot off of him as he smiled up at you.

You held out your hand to help him up. He obliged, taking it as he stood up once again, wiping off his clothes from that dust that truly didn’t even seem to be there.

“You’ve certainly made improvements since day one. I can tell you that.” He said, stretching a bit. “You could definitely do well even without your dragon, if you’d ever need to.” He continued, looking back at both of your dragons who were simply chilling off to the side, as they often did when you two fought.

“Hopefully there never comes a time.” You said in a lighthearted tone, but you truly hoped there would never be a time where you’d have to fair without your dragon.

“I second that. It’s funny, I never thought I’d ever change my ways when it came to dragons. Yet here I am, looking after this beast.” Eret joked, patting Skull Crushers head lightly causing the dragon to groan and slightly shake its head in response.

“Well I’m glad you had it in you to change, who knows maybe I would’ve taken you down myself.” You gloated sarcastically, walking towards the pair as Eret smiled back at you, acknowledging your joke.

“Yeah you wouldn’t have made it even close.” He let out a chuckle as he watched your teasing smirk turn to a pout. You knew his teasing was all in good fun but realistically if it had come to it you would’ve taken him out if you needed to.

“Just cause I’ve gotten better doesn’t mean I wasn’t skilled to begin with.” You reminded.

“Fair. Now how about best two out of three?” Eret asked, getting into a fighting stance which you very quickly mimicked. Just as you both were about to start fighting you had heard a very familiar growl come from above. Your head shot up towards the noise and you spotted none other than Hiccup Haddock, the chief of Berk, flying above you.

“Guess not.” You joked, no longer standing in a ready position as you turned to face the aforementioned chief who had landed not too far away from the both of you. Hiccup hopped off of Toothless with ease, slipping his helmet off in the process, and walked over to the two of you with Toothless close behind.

“Morning you two.” Hiccup greated, earning a nod of acknowledgement from the both of you. “What are you guys doing all the way out here?” He asked but you noticed it wasn’t in the sense of his usual curiosity. There was an underlying tone that you could quite put your finger on so you figured you were just simply thinking too much into it.

You hadn’t really thought about it but you suppose you and Eret were more or less in the middle of nowhere in the woods. It was the most quiet place the two of you could find to practice in peace without going to the Arena.

“Eret and I have been sparring, I figured I should eventually learn how, considering most of my strength comes from them.” You said, gesturing to your dragon who was sleeping peacefully only to be startled awake by Toothless patting them on the head. You couldn’t help but laugh a bit, Toothless always reminded you of a cat in a way, you found it adorable.

“Alone?” Hiccup asked, which honestly surprised the both of you. You looked towards hiccup in confusion only to see the shock he had on his own face. Clearly he didn’t mean to let it slip out but it was too late to take it back now.

“Well no… our dragons are here with us?” You stated but you were so confused about the reasoning behind Hiccups question that you couldn’t seem to phrase it as anything other than a question. You all fell silent as Hiccup swayed his arms in an awkward fashion, something he only does when he’s trying to avoid talking about something.

Eret looked between the two of you, realizing he had no part in the conversation he simply cleared his throat.

“I’ll just leave you two be, I have some… things to take care of..” He excused himself, quickly hopping onto Skullcrusher and exiting the awkward situation as quickly as possible. Once Eret had flown away you quickly turned back to Hiccup who was clearly avoiding even looking in your general direction.

“Spill it.” You said bluntly causing Hiccup to finally make eye contact with you. His face held a confused look but you both knew what you were talking about.

“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.” Hiccup said, again clearly avoiding the topic as he walked over to Toothless. “Have you seen the new addition I added to Toothless’s tail?” It was clear he was trying to think of anything to change the subject because obviously there was nothing different about Toothless’s tail and you both knew that.

You crossed your arms as you stared at the brunette before you, your face holding an expression that clearly said ‘seriously?’. He dropped Toothless’s tail with a sigh before getting up and walking towards you. Silence quickly swept over the two of you as you continued to wait for Hiccup to say something. You raised an eyebrow at him before he blurted out,

“Have you seen the new scale armor?”, giving one more quick shot to derail the conversation.

“Hiccup.” You said quite sternly. “Spill it.” You repeated, your arms still crossed over your chest as you watched the man nervously fidget. He may be the chief but he still held some of his nervous quirks. Sure he had the ability to look powerful and calm when his people needed their chief, but when he wasn’t the ‘Chief of Berk’ he was just Hiccup.

Just Hiccup.

And you’d be damned if you said you didn’t love him. Ever since you met hiccup you knew he always tried to meet everyone’s expectations only to have a long history of falling short. Hiccup as he was was always overlooked, everyone looked to him to be ‘the Chiefs son’ the ‘next chief of Berk’ and the one he really struggled with, was ‘Stoick’s son’. No one ever truly looked at him as just Hiccup.

Well everyone except you.

You liked him from the very beginning when he was just a scrawny boy obsessed with earning his fathers approval. Did you have the courage to say anything about the way you felt? No of course not, why would you? As much as you loved to see him as ‘Just Hiccup’ you couldn’t deny the fact that he was still pretty far out of your league, especially given his title of ‘The Dragon Master’. What title did you have? Nothing.

Well you had the title of being one of his closest friends so you stuck with that as being enough for you.

“I just don’t think you and Eret should be so far away while training.” He finally spoke up. It was clear he was still keeping something from you but at least he gave you something to work with.

“Why?” You asked, trying to nudge more out of him. He put his hands on his hips. As he began to pace slowly in a circle.

“I don’t know, I just think it would be safer if you-“ Hiccup began only for you to cut him off.

“Hiccup we have two dragons here, one of them being Skull Crusher. I’d say it’s pretty safe to say nothings going to attack us out here.” You argued, now mimicking his pose with your hands on your hips.

“Well still I just don’t like the idea of you guys being alone.” He said, looking up at you. You rolled your eyes in response,

“Hiccup I already said, we’re here with the dragons. We’re not alone.” You stated as if it wasn’t getting through his head. It hadn’t even occurred to you that he was trying to hint at a different concern and you were missing the point entirely.

Your response only caused Hiccup to groan as his hand shot up to his face. He dragged his hands down his face as he turned around, now facing Toothless who simply looked at his friend in utter confusion. The dragon looked from you, then to Hiccup, then back to you. You simply shook your head with a shrug of your shoulders before Toothless walked away, deeming him your problem.

“Hiccup I don't understand why this is such a big issue to you, we used to be in the woods alone all the time together. You didn’t seem to have a problem with it then.” You stated quite bluntly.

“That was different!” He shouted. His face had ever so slightly turned the faintest hint of red, but it was still enough for you to notice. He seemed almost exasperated as you continued to swim around the very vague point that he was failing to get at.

“How was it any different than what me and Eret are doing? If anything it’s safer now because we’re both adults. Granted we did have a Night Fury with us back then…” You began to mumble to yourself, accidentally going off topic. Hiccup sighed, walking up to you and grabbing you by your shoulders. He was stern but still managed to be gentle as he forced you to look at him.

“I can’t control what you do or who you spend your time with, but I just don’t like that you and Eret spend so much time together, so far outside of the village, alone…” Hiccup said, practically laying it all out for you.

“Hiccup?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re not alone.”

Hiccup merely stared at you, eyes wide in shock as he tried to calculate your intelligence in that split second. He practically spelled it out for you and you still weren’t getting it.

What hadn’t occurred to him however, was that you had already caught on, you were just trying to get him to admit it himself. Granted, you had just caught on maybe seconds before, but you still thought it might be fun to mess with him a little. Besides, who were you to make the assumption that the Chief of Berk himself was jealous that you were spending time with another man. It could be considered a reach… Unless he just said it himself.

“Why don’t you want me to be alone with him so badly?” You asked, figuring you should try and at least break the loop that you two seemed to be stuck in.

“Because…” Hiccup began, trying to think of a way to phrase what he wanted to say. You waited patiently, just looking at him and occasionally switching your gaze over to the dragons who were chasing each other around.

“Because?” You repeated, waiting for his response. His green eyes staring back into yours. They looked almost as if they were trembling as they bounced between the features on your face.

“Why is it so hard to talk to you?” He shouted abruptly, quickly letting go of your shoulders and flung his arms into the air with an exasperated groan.

“If it was easier for you to tell me about the dragon you were keeping hidden from a village filled with bloodthirsty, war hungry Vikings, I’ m almost afraid of whatever this could possibly be.” You joked, trying to lighten his mood.

“It’s not the same thing.” He muttered in response as you laughed.

“How could anything you have to tell me be worse than that?” Hiccup sighed in response as he went back to pacing. Clearly it was his way of thinking about what to do next. It wasn’t a trait he often exhibited but you knew once he started pacing, whatever he was thinking about was pretty serious.

“It’s not about what I have to tell you, it’s about your response.” He finally said, you rolled your eyes lightheartedly. You’ve known this man for years, and in those years you’ve learned countless embarrassing facts about him that he had less of a problem about you knowing than ‘whatever he had to tell you’.

“What does my response have to do with anything? Hiccup, anything you have to tell me won't change anything.” You stated with a laugh as you tried to comfort him. You almost started to second guess what you thought he was going to tell you. If he was truly this worried about what he was going to say maybe it was actually a very serious matter?

“Ha, yeah you say that now.” He laughed sarcastically, quickly looking up at you before returning to his pacing.

“Hiccup, I'm serious.”

“So am I.”

If there’s one thing about Hiccup it was his stubbornness. Anyone would just shrug that off as a Viking thing but you knew if anything, it came from his father. As much as Hiccup would deny being able to compare to his father, he shared many similar traits with him. You knew it, his mother knew it, even Gobber knew it, but he frequently denied it.

Stubborn.

“Why are you so concerned about me and Eret in the first place?” You decided to bring up the last topic, because if he wasn’t going to get to the point, you were.

“Because…” He muttered quietly in response as if he was holding something back.

“Because what hiccup? Seriously, I know you have an issue with communication sometimes but you can't just keep dancing around the issue here-“ You rambled a bit but before you could continue, Hiccup interrupted you.

“Because I have feelings for you!” He blurted out suddenly.

You both froze. He turned away from you as you simply stared at him. He finally said it, he actually really said it.

“Hiccup…” You muttered quietly.

He didn’t move. He didn’t want to move. The last thing he wanted right now was to turn around and have to face the potential of rejection.

“Hiccup.” You called out again, walking towards him and lightly placing your hand on his shoulder. He finally turned towards you slightly, but he still refused to face you all the way. “You’re serious?” You asked, to which he simply looked at you with confusion.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“At least one of us finally admitted to it.” You joked. For some reason Hiccup had registered that you were making a joke, but not necessarily what you were joking about.

“Yeah okay, go on, laugh it out- wait.” Hiccup quickly turned back to you. You nodded with a smile, confirming his suspicion as he clearly thought he had misheard you.

“Wait but- for how long?” He asked excitedly, almost as if he didn’t believe you. “Oh this is great! I thought you were going to hate me for even saying anything about it, but you’re not! You feel the same-“ He cheered, slightly beginning to ramble as all of his previous anxiety seemed to just melt away.

You smiled as you watched him celebrate before quickly planting a quick kiss on his cheek.

The man froze before you, clearly not expecting even such a small act of affection. You never knew him to be entirely bold, you always saw him as a very awkward man, but you watched as the awkwardness practically jumped out a window for a split second or so as Hiccup grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer to him.

He was the last person you’d expect such a smooth act to come from, and honestly you didn’t mind it. His eyes drifted from yours to your lips in a matter of seconds as if he was silently asking for your approval, to which you nodded.

Before you knew it you were kissing the literal man of your dreams.

It was wonderful.

It was a very soft kiss, the perfect kind to be shared for the first time.

Once you pulled away you looked to hiccup before dramatically gasping.

“What? What is it?” Hiccup asked, panicking that he had done something wrong.

“Does that mean… you were jealous of Eret?” You asked with a joking smile.

“Oh come on- really?” Hiccup said, jokingly pushing you away with a laugh.

Safe to say you never let him live this moment down, and much to his dismay you had excitedly told your friends about it not too long after.

#httyd #httyd fanfiction #x reader #httyd fandom #hiccup #hiccup and toothless #hiccup haddock #httyd x reader #httyd fanfics #httyd hiccup #httyd 3 #httyd 2 #x gn reader #jealousy #jealousy fic #fun times for all #hiccup haddock x reader #hiccup x reader #hiccuphorrendoushaddockiii #hiccup how to train your dragon #httyd eret #eret son of eret #eret

[soft-girl-musings]

Salt & Pepper

Moon Knight System x GN!Reader

cross-posted to ao3

tags: rated T for teasing, domestic fluff, author does not condone touching people's hair without permission, no use of Y/N

wc: 1,078

fic summary: Marc, are you familiar with the term "silver fox"?

A/N: i might have a problem lol

_____________________

“Put. It. Down.”

Marc Spector does not startle easily. So when he nearly falls from his perch beside the bathtub, you’re surprised you have to steady him.

“Jesus, where’s the fire?” Marc picks up the towel and small cardboard box he’d dropped because of your outburst.

Shifting your focus, you zero in on the latter: hair dye, just as you’d suspected.

“So this is what you get up to when I’m away?” You tut, cradling his temples and shaking your head. "What happened to you?" 

"What? Nothing, I'm-"

"-I wasn't talking to you," you sigh, resting your forehead against the crown of his head. "How long has he been treating you like this, you poor things?"

“Ha-ha.”

You release his face to study it. "But seriously, how long have you been dying your hair?”

 “... For a couple of years. Started to turn gray from stress a while back, and I guess it never stopped.” He fidgets with the loose edge of the container.. “You really never noticed?”

You take the box and set it beside him. “You hid it well.”

You’re not judging him for dying his hair, it’s just… surprising. Marc’s never been one to fuss over his appearance, as far as you could tell. When you first saw his closet, you’d half expected it to be lined with the same outfit ten times, like in a cartoon. Most days, “dressing up” means adding a jacket or blazer.

 “Since when do you care? About your hair, I mean.” 

He shrugs. “I’m not gettin’ any younger, honey.”

“Neither am I.” You kiss the bridge of his nose. “You got a problem with that?”

“Of course not.”

“Good. Goes double for me, don’t you forget it.” Leaning in, Marc tries for another kiss, but you duck and grab the hair dye before turning away with a mischievous smirk.

“Gotta keep you honest,” you wink and dart out of the room before he can catch you.

_____________________

"Love?"

"Hm?"

"Might fall out if you keep playing with it like that.”

You’d been standing behind Steven for the past couple of minutes, meaning to check in on his preparations for his morning tour but had gotten distracted. Very distracted.

“Sorry,” you sigh, your fingers leaving the wisps of hair at the nape of his neck and trailing down to his shoulder. “It’s just… hm.”

Your conversation with Marc must have taken root: over the past few weeks, you’ve noticed the hair that had been dangerously close to another round of boxed dye abuse steadily turning lighter. A subtle blend of silver strands mix with the darker curls that frame his face, making his hair shine a bit brighter in the light of the desk lamp.

“It’s like starlight,” you finally state, leaning in to rest your head against his.

Steven sputters and puts his book aside. “Starli- that’s a bit much, yeah?” His brow furrows, but there’s no denying the smile tugging at his lips.

“Not if it’s true,” you contend. You adjust the reading glasses that had slid down his face and tuck a stray curl behind his ear. “It’s a good look on you.”

There’s no denying the heat rising to his cheeks when you talk. “This– you don’t–” Steven caves and sets his book down, hopelessly flustered. “Either go away or get over here. Cheeky.”

He makes room for you to settle into his lap, which you giddily accept. Your hands sink back into his curls and he shivers as you scratch his scalp.

“Did I ever tell you I had a thing for my professor, once upon a time?”

“Oh my days–” 

You’re not sure who kisses who, but you’re certainly not complaining. Neither is he.

_____________________

The time apart has been agony.

You check your phone for the fifth time this evening. They’ve been gone for what feels like months (it’s been weeks) handling some business in California, of all places. Marc said he’d call when they were on their way home, meaning no news is sad news.

You’re pulled from your pity party by a knock on the door. It’s late, and you’ve already signed for your dinner delivery. Slowly, you get up and grab the bat you keep by the entrance (with a sock slipped over the end per Jake’s advice).

The knocking continues, getting more urgent. You take a deep breath and look through the peephole. A large brown eye stares back and you yelp, dropping your bat. The unmistakable boom of Jake’s belly laughter mocks you from behind the door.

“You’re hilarious,” you groan, standing the bat back on its head and unlocking the door.

You’re ready to lay into him when you open the door, but you’re stunned into silence. Jake’s smile is highlighted by silvery stubble, dusted with black. He adjusts his cap as his dark eyebrows raise in mock surprise.

“What, no hello?”

You tear your eyes away from his jaw. “Hm? Oh. Hi.” You open the door wider for him to step in. “Marc said you’d call first.”

“No fun in that, is there? Besides, you looked ready to handle some trouble.” he shrugs off his coat as you lock the door behind him.

“Trouble, yes. Nuisance, debatable.” You sidle up to him and drape your arms around his waist. You place a kiss on his cheek; it’d be impossible for him to not notice how you let yours drag along the rough line of his jaw.

“I missed you too,” he laughs again. “But man, is it warm in here…”

He tosses his cap and it takes everything in him to not lose it when your eyes widen at the sight of his hair, now more gray than black and curls longer than you’ve seen them before. You’re too enraptured to be embarrassed at your obvious loss for words.

“Your hair…” You reach up to touch it, but Jake grabs your wrist.

“Tsk, tsk, you threaten and barely say a word to me, then go straight for the goods without so much as a ‘please’? What happened to decorum, hm?”

“You fucking tease,” you huff. “...please?”

“Well, since you asked nicely–” Jake can barely finish his thought before your lips are on his, your hand tangled in his starlit hair as soon as he lets go.

“I take it we should cancel Marc’s haircut?” he murmurs as you catch your breath.

Your free hand grazes the scruff on his cheek and you grin. “I wouldn’t complain if you did.”

_____________________

A/N: marvel you cowards give us gray-haired moon knight

ty for reading <3

event tags:@moonknight-events @spacecowboyhotch @juneknight

addtl tags: @mrs-lockley @lunar-ghoulie @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi @nerdieforpedro @queerponcho (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

#my works #mk spring bingo 2024 #moonknightevents #moon knight #jake lockley #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley/reader #jake lockley x gn!reader #jake lockley/gn!reader #steven grant #steven grant x reader #steven grant/reader #steven grant x gn!reader #steven grant/gn!reader #marc spector #marc spector x reader #marc spector/reader #marc spector x gn!reader #marc spector/gn!reader #never getting this system out of mine

[deadsetobsessions]

Listen, I know it’s not my usual thing, but I just re-read Dark Matter by mysterycyclone (iconic, so good, incredible, I’ve reread this at least ten times) and this newer work, Help Me, I Don’t Feel Like Myself Anymore by Astra_Nova_Kat (it’s off to a really good and fleshed out, very long start- it’s like 20k for the first chapter omg).

I just. Love?? Them??? They’re both, urg, so good. The writing style, the way the story moves, the natural progression of plot and their usage of tropes are so well done that rarely does it feel awkward. Amazing. Anyways, they inspired me to put my two cents into the proverbial offering hat and while this might not ever be a realized fanfic, here it is? This will have multiple parts.

Uh, I’m basing Peter’s personality off of the really tired millennial energy Tobey Maguire gives, the awkward but well meaning disaster vibes of Andrew Garfield, and the sassy acrobatic chaos gremlin of Tom Holland. All kind of mushed together with the hyper competence and maturity of both the PS4 spidey and pretty much most spider people. He’s 22, or something but that doesn’t really matter?? Background doesn’t really matter because I’m basically making my own spider-verse. Spider… past? Eh. New Peter!

Spider in Gotham AU- Pt.1

[Pt.2]

——

Spider-Man swung through the skyscrapers of his city, enjoying the winds and sounds of New York as he kept a sharp eye out for crime.

He remembered doing this without any of the fancy tech his suit had now, when he was dressed in less protective clothing. God, 100% cotton while crime fighting? The spandex was better but god ugly.

His spider-sense blared. Spider-man quickly shot a web to the top of the building, going towards the danger instead of away from it.

He goes in feet first, years of knocking common thugs to legitimate gods to the ground making short work of the people on the roof top. He flips out of the way, dodging a blast of crackling green energy.

“Heyyyy, common robbers! What’s up with shiny lasers, huh? Breaking and entering not doing enough for ya?”

Spider-Man dodges a couple more shots, flipping again to knee a guy in the face, gently. The man goes down in one shot.

“Stay still, you motherfucker!”

“Does that actually work for you guys?? Like I’m down to get killed but, man, I’m not gonna stay still to get downed by some two bit thugs?” Spider-Man kept his words light and mocking, webbing up a laser gun and yanking it out of the woman’s hands. He punches her in the face and knocks her out, using the laser gun like a mildly bulky baton.

“Eat shit, Spider-bitch!”

“Ouch! Oh no, my feelings! You’ve hurt them!” Spider-Man shoots a web at the lady who’d shouted and yanked, before smacking her straight down to the concrete of the rooftop. His hearing picked up two people coming up the stairway and Spider-Man tossed two web bombs, the metal mechanism attached itself to the wall, waiting for their unknowing victims.

Spider-Man ducked and weaved, downing goons as they piled on him while shooting bullets, lasers, and just charging at him with a bat or a crowbar. After eight years of pretty much this exact thing, Spider-Man had gotten the science of breaking up goon dog piles without hurting them too much to an exact measurement. He quipped at them until they got annoyed, which made them sloppy. Spider-Man sighed as another guy came at him with a crow bar and a gun that he was pretty sure was still stuck on safety. He crouched, kicking out their legs and dodging a swipe of a bat where his ribs would have been and webbed the guy to the floor. Yeah, he’ll wrap this up and end patrol. Maybe he still had Mac n’ Cheese at home, or he could stop by Angelo’s for a sub?

Huh. His options for dinner was limited.

“Take this!”

Even without the forewarning of his spidey-sense, Spider-Man would have ducked out of the way regardless.

“Shouting your sneak attacks isn’t actually all that sneaky, you know!” Spider-Man kept his voice cheery and mocking.

“Get him!”

God, why were there so many people trying to break into an insurance company? This definitely doesn’t smell like a regular B&E. With the shit he’s seen in New York, if it smells like a plot, acts like a plot, then it’s probably a villain with a tragic backstory with big, annoying plans.

Great.

Oh, speak of the devil!

“Spider-Man.” His senses blared.

He couldn’t move out of the way fast enough, not without risking the life of the goon he was currently fighting, so Spider-Man took the blast the punched the breath out of his lungs. The wide eyes of the goon made up for some of the pain.

“Ugh!” Spider-Man slammed into an HVAC, denting the metal. His suit, made special polymer blend from Wakanda that he saved for months to get, absorbed some of the shock. Shit, he hoped it didn’t tear. It would be a bitch and a half to dip into the back up stock he had in his hammer space.

The goons left standing quickly rushed him and held him down to face the new boss.

“You’ve been getting on my nerves, Spider.”

“Yeah,” Spider-Man coughed out, letting the two goons think they could hold him down on his knees as he recovered his breath. “I have that effect on people.”

“But you could be an asset, if you’d join me?”

“Uh, I don’t join or sign things without knowing what I’m joining or signing, my guy. My lawyer said so.”

The villain paused, helmeted head cocking to the side.

“You have a lawyer?”

“Yeah. Kind of? He does pro-bono work for the helpless cases. You know, like, a well meaning, crime fighting vigilante?”

“…Does he do cases against insurance companies?”

“Oh man, you too? Dude, this place sucks,” Spider-Man sighed.

“You’ve had trouble too? Then you must see why I’m doing this!”

This was a bit weird, but if there’s anything that brings people together, it’d be corrupt insurance companies. He’s almost tempted to let them break in, just to be extra petty.

“Nah, my neighbor? Sweet old lady. They’re screwing her out of her entire place. I totally get it, man. Hey, if you need a referral, you can tell my lawyer that Spider sent you. He’s real good.”

“How good?” The goons release him and Spider-Man stood up, stretching his limbs.

“Like, Dare Devil good.”

“You know Matt Murdock??”

“Sure do.”

“He… he’ll take on our cases?”

“Dang, all of you?”

“Yes. We can pool enough money to pay him for one or two.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure he’ll take you guys on for free. But it wouldn’t hurt if you all went to meet him, just so he can decide which one of you has a higher chance to win in court?”

“We will. Uh.” The villain paused sheepishly. Well, not a villain, more like an unfortunately angry and poor decision making citizen. “Sorry about… you know, the blast.”

“It’s cool. I mean,” Spider-Man gestured to the rooftop, the bodies of unconscious people kind of laying around where he knocked them down. “You guys might wanna check on them, yeah? I’ll let you go for now, but if you commit a B&E again, I’ll leave you webbed up for GCPD to find.”

“Got it. Sorry.”

Feeling good about himself, and plotting corporate espionage, Spider-Man went to help pry some people from his webs.

And of course, because Parker Luck kicks in only when Spider-Man felt like life was looking up for himself, Spider-Man’s senses blared once more as he knelt down to pull at some webbing.

“Oh, shit!” He heard, right before a cold blast of something slammed right into his head, knocking him out.

And Spider-Man

F

E

L

L.

——

Larry looked at the the empty space where Spider-Man, the guy who took a hit from his boss’ blaster so he wouldn’t get hurt, used to be.

He twisted.

“Boss, what the fuck?!”

“Shit! That was accident!” Boss pulled herself up from the concrete, where she just ate dirt.

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know, Larry! That was the experimental warped mode! Crap!” His boss scrambled with the controls, desperately trying to see if the magic gun her magician friend had handed her years ago had a reverse button. It didn’t.

“Why would you bring a test weapon into the field?!”

“I gave you all of my other ones!” She threw up her hands. “Fuck, I feel so bad.”

Larry paled. “Dude, Dare Devil’s gonna kill us.”

“He doesn’t kill!” His boss hesitated. “I think.”

Larry pointed to the empty space. “Yeah? He might start with us. Spidey was a cool guy and you just disappeared him!”

“I know!”

Larry buried his head into his hands and tried not to hate himself for the entire situation.

——

Spider-man woke up, laid flat on the grimy ground of an alleyway.

“Ugh. Just my luck.” He kept his eyes closed for just a beat longer to allow himself time before having to pull his shit together. Why was his voice high? And a bit squeaky? He pulled himself together.

“Okay.” He whispered to himself, before sitting up and taking stock of the situation.

First thing that hit him was that it stunk to high heavens. Gagging, Spider-Man looked to the right and- yeah, that’ll do it. He stood up on wobbly legs to try to move away from the overflowing dumpster.

That’s when the second, more important and decidedly more troublesome, observation hit him.

He’s short. Shorter. And his suit was hanging off of him.

He could tell he still had his normal by now physiology, with the speeding heartbeat and the feeling of super strength. But he’s shorter. With a mounting sense of equal parts dread and resignation, he pulled at the hidden seam by his nape, relying on his both his enhanced senses and spidey-sense to tell if anyone was nearby or looking at him. He pulled the Spider-Man suit off, blankly folding it neatly as he stared dumbly at his hands. They’re small too. Shit. He stumbled to a nearby mud puddle and stared down, seeing his younger face in the contaminated water. Double shit.

He’s starting to loose his composure. He’d gone through a lot of bizarre things over the last eight years. But getting accidentally Detective Conan’ed by a person he just helped was a new low.

The black under layer of his suit, a slash proof and fire resistant polymer Peter had designed himself in MIT’s lab, was in a similar state.

With one hand, Peter Parker numbly rolled up his sleeves and pant hems. Great. Okay. Now what?

Ah. Shoes. He did not want to walk around in his too-big Spider-Man boots. He looked around. Well, there’s the laces of what looked to be like a pair of dumpster shoes. “Yeah, no.”

Shit. Does he still have access to his hammer space?

Peter reached into his pocket, and tried to reach for a pair of normal sneakers. His shoulder slumped as he produced a pair. Fuck yes. He still has access! And shoes! They’re ones he took off of a power line for a well off kid who didn’t want it anymore. He was going to donate them to F. E. A. S. T. but he’s thanking the stars he procrastinated a bit on swinging by the center. He put them on. They’re a bit big, but it’s better than the giant-in-comparison ones he normally wears. You know, as an adult.

He hesitated with his mask. He should at least figure out where he is. He hoped it was still in the states. His mask blinked, the HUD in his lenses informing him that it was trying to find a connection. “That’s weird.” He paused, grimacing at the sound of his voice. But it is weird, because he had his mask automatically connected to the world wide satellites Tony Stark had sent circling the globe for citizens without internet access as a back up option. So either he was somewhere even the Stark Satellites couldn’t reach or…

Peter swallowed, his mask pinging as it found a connection to piggy back on. He clicked his tongue twice to activate the voice controls.

“Connect to the local maps. Where am I?”

His masked followed the order. [Gotham. New Jersey.]

Peter stared at the words, gut churning.

Good news, he was still in the States. Bad news? He’s shrunk, in a totally different state, and possibly in a different world because he’s not connected to the Stark Satellites he knew operated in New Jersey.

Peter Parker tilted his head back and allowed himself one verbal, panic level six and up, curse word.

“Fuck.”

He took off his mask and leaned against a slightly cleaner part of the wall before hyperventilating.

——

Half an hour later, Peter smacked himself on the cheeks and pulled himself together.

“You’re Spider-Man,” he hissed to himself. “Have a mental breakdown somewhere warm, you dumbass.”

Peter Parker was a champion, world class expert at compartmentalization.

He slipped his mask back on, and pulled up his “So You’re Stuck in an Alternate Universe” list he had made with Ned so many years ago when they were high school kids and going through comic books to make contingencies because Peter was a little idiot vigilante hero.

“I didn’t think I’d actually ever need this kind of thing.” Peter muttered. He slipped his black back up gloves on to connect to his mask’s display in order to type.

“Okay,” he glanced at the side by side screens in his lenses. “Money.”

Five things.

1) The emergency cash he’d stashed on him thankfull matched the pictures of cash he’d found on this world’s internet. Yay!

2) He had $1000 tucked away. Not yay. Not if this might be a long term stay before he got back to his own dimension. Not if he wanted a place to sleep.

3) Luckily, thanks to his earlier search of where the hell he was, Peter figured out that due to the high crime rates- “Dang, that’s worse than New York on New Year’s Eve,” he had marveled- Gotham was dirt cheap and that that meant 1k dollars could actually last him a while and he could afford a room for a month on $250. A whole ass apartment for $550. Peter seriously considered staying in this universe just for the rent prices. So what if there’s rampant crimes? He’d deal with it if the rent was that cheap.

4) Problem? He’s fucking tiny. Who would rent to a person that looked like child? Not anyone upstanding, that’s for sure. He’s more likely to get mugged. Counterpoint: he’s in a city where apparently shady people are all around. Also? He doesn’t have an identity.

5) If the fact that he couldn’t connect to the Stark Satellites didn’t convince him he was either in another universe or an alternate dimension, the visual graphics of the websites he visited would. It was like looking at Windows in the early way before Stark Co. bought them out and improved the design. Nauseating.

Okay, so, money’s not too urgent of an issue. Next on Ned’s list: Places of Interest.

Namely, libraries, homeless shelters, crime hotspots, and the like.

Peter snorted when he came across an opinions article talking about how Park Row became Crime Alley. And then he frowned, because that story was not painting this place to be even remotely nice. Then again, considering the crime rates and the various Rogues this place seemed to have in spades, that wasn’t much of a surprise. Peter marks the place in his new mental map of Gotham as a potential area he could either disappear to or get a new identity at. He then marked the libraries, Gotham City Public Library and its many branches all funded by generous donations from a Bruce Wayne, the Martha Wayne foundations’ shelters and charities, two supermarkets near the library, and a coffee shop he thought looked warm and cozy from the shitty pictures they have uploaded online. He needed coffee, dammit, and he needed it hours ago. Alas, he probably wouldn’t get to go to one until he secured his finances.

Well, it’s not like he doesn’t have practice being poor.

3) Which brings him up to Ned’s next, surprisingly reasonable for a teenager hoped up on a mountain load of sugar, point. Level of Tech.

Peter hid next to the dumpster, melding in with the shadows, as he continued his research.

Tech here was… well, he probably wouldn’t have to worry. The thought of not having a Starkphone, even his older model, was painful considering the new versions of these WaynePhones were really… behind. Peter doesn’t remember the last time he had buttons on his phone or let alone a touch screen that didn’t use facial tracking and biometrics or even have a holographic display mode.

“Ugh. Okay. Not the end of the world, Parker.” Peter muttered.

Now… People of Interest.

This was underlined three times with Ned’s red pens, with extensive subcategories.

Subcategory A? Villains, because “what if they put out a warning for a known villain and you get your butt kicked because you didn’t know about them, Peter? Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?”

He had replied, half focused on the list and the other on savoring the Millennium Falcon Lego set May had saved up for months to get him for his birthday, “I feel like if I was getting my butt kicked by a villain, I’d probably have better things to worry about than my utter humiliation, Ned.”

“True that,” Ned had snicked and jotted it down anyways.

And… well, Gotham had a lot of villains. The Joker (ew, that’s a crusty man in crustier face paint. This guy could learn so much from the cool mimes busking in Central Park. Like, how to do face paint. Or how not to be a massive murderous jerk. There’s Clayface, Two-Face, a bald guy in “Metropolis” (a name Peter couldn’t help but snort at because a city named city? That’s like na’an bread being bread bread. Or chai tea being tea tea) named Lex Luthor, and Scarecrow. He tabbed all of them and marked them for further perusal at a later date. From experience, he knew villains with a prominent M.O. and themes usually did more damage. Case in point: Rhino, and the million dollars of property damage the guy did everytime he escaped the Raft. Peter was seriously considering petitioning for the Raft to be placed further out just so he could have more warning the next time some assholes decided to free the prisoners and helped them escape.

He narrowed his eyes at the screen, his mask’s lenses following the movement. He’ll have to pick up a gas mask. Apparently bio-weapons are just a regular thing here and he really didn’t want to get dosed with this “fear toxin.” It’d be dangerous for everyone involved. Maybe if he gets his hands on a sample, he could build up tolerance and see how his immune system and metabolic rates affected the normal progression of the toxin. Ah, off topic. He’s gotta focus.

Subcategory B: Local celebrities.

“Why would I need to know local celebrities?” He’d asked.

“If someone came up to you and asked “Who’s Tony Stark?”, wouldn’t you clock that as super weird? You gotta blend in, Peter. Plus, you gotta keep up with the pop culture, dude. It’s important.”

“You just want alternate universe memes,” Peter grinned.

“That too. If you ever go to an alternate universe and come back, you’d better bring me a truckload of memes or I’ll never forgive you.”

Yeah. So. Wayne? Super important. Like Tony Stark levels of important. He found threads about them and the local vigilantes and their charity works. Peter’s brain instantly catalogued the info, all but memorizing the deluge of pictures he found of Bruce Wayne and his kids. Maybe the man had an adoption problem? Conspiracy threads and memes popped up alongside his research. He tabbed one on secret societies, because as Spiderman, he had fought a disturbing amount of secret societies that, on hindsight, had been theorized about on threads he’s read on his free time. Somehow, somewhere, somewhen, a conspiracy theorist could be right. Peter’s not about to dismiss that. He also saved like thirty different memes to send to Ned when he got back. If he got back.

Peter smacked that thought away. He’ll get back to his city or die trying.

Subcategory C, underlined and starred: Other Superheroes and Vigilantes.

Yeah, Peter’s excited about this one too. After Matt stopped being Dare Devil (but did he actually ever stop?) and Wade dipping in and out of NY, Peter’s gotten lonely as Spider-Man. He missed training with them. Of course, the fantastic four were still operating, but he doesn’t actually interact with them or the Avengers at all. Miles hasn’t been cleared (by his mom) to go out as Spiderman with near as many hours as Peter cleared a night. Peter stood behind that because he remembered how horrible it was to work as Spiderman and try to balance school on top of it. Also, he was terrified of Mrs. Morales and would never endanger her son more than he already does. He did wave to Black Widow from a rooftop once, spider to spider, and that was pretty much the coolest moment of his life.

So. Uh. The amount of vigilantes and heroes in this world? Amazing. In Gotham? There’s like, a whole team of them.

Batman, Nightwing (who, Username: Draken Draken had theorized, was the first iteration of Batman’s sidekick Robin), Red Hood, Black Canary, Huntress, Red Robin, Spoiler, the “day vigilante” Signal, the current Robin, and whispers of a “Black Bat.”

And their unfortunate “No Meta” rule with the singular exception of Signal. Peter figured their term of Meta was essentially the same thing as his world’s mutants. He’s not sure which term he liked more. Eh, he’ll worry about that later.

And there’s a Justice League! Which, to Peter, is just a bigger Avengers. There’s aliens on this world too. Superman. Martian Manhunter.

Peter grinned from his place crouched next to the dumpster. Yeah, this is awesome. He quickly memorized everything he could find, cross referencing posts and picking out the nuggets of truth or at least popular truth from the posts he viewed. Like, Red Hood operated in Crime Alley and was a crime boss with morals. Cool.

He’ll go down the spiral later. He mentally thanked Ned who was the best guy in the chair a teenage vigilante could ask for. He should really text his friend when he got back.

For now, he’ll head to the library and see if he could use their computers. He might need a card though… Peter quickly pulled up the search engine and found an Internet cafe. Ah, 24 hour internet cafes, the savior of his college days. There first, and then library, Peter decided. He memorized the instructions and pulled his mask off, tucking it away in the hammer space.

He walked out the alley and turned left, only to double take at his reflection in a shop window that was partially boarded up. Holy shit, he’s a baby. He’s like. 10!

Oh my god.

Peter twitched, tearing himself away from the window before the shop owner decided he was less curious and more potential mugger before promptly remembering that he looked less of a threat than ever. Mixed feelings.

Peter hurried his way to the internet cafe, paying the guy at the front a little extra so he’d ignore the obvious minor without a guardian thing Peter hasn’t gotten used to. Ugh. That was going to be annoying. He only paid for two hours and pulled up as many listings for a room as possible. By the end of it, he came out with $1 worth of fliers printed out and having funneled some billionaire’s offshore accounts into a new bank account he’d made by hacking into the bank servers. Does he feel bad about stealing? Yeah. But Peter’s a vigilante. He’s done worse than nabbing a monthly sum of a couple of hundreds from Lex Luthor’s off shore accounts. He’s not gonna get caught, and considering the guy’s rants on meta humans, Peter’s not feeling particularly guilty about it. He’ll do something good later to make up for it. Once he gets his footholds and can prepare his way back, he’ll even return to the rest of the money. Probably.

Peter left the cafe with his sheaf of flyers, stopping by an informational stand with free tourist maps and plucked one quickly from its plastic holder. He’ll pick something up from the food vendors on his way to the apartments. Peter began walking, taking in the sights of the gargoyles and-

“Nope!” He caught the wrist of a pickpocket. It’s a kid and he immediately felt bad.

“Lemme go. I ain’t done nothing to ya, ya Yorker tourist.”

“Okay,” Peter shrugged. “Don’t get caught the next time?”

The kid gaped at him. “Shi’, you must be really good at it. I’ve never been caught before.”

Peter wisely refrained from telling the kid it was due to his spidey-sense. He let go of the kid’s wrist and let a bit more of his accent out. “Why’d you need money anyways?”

“Food, duh.”

“Dude, I’m starving. Tell you what. You show me the best sub shop nearby and I’ll pay for your food. Deal?”

The kid stared at him, wide eyed. “You’re fuckin’ nuts. Why’re you being nice?”

“I’m hungry? Do we have a deal, kid?”

“… Fuck it. Fine. And don’t call me kid, shrimp. You’re like what, eight?”

Oh. Yeah. Peter’s a kid now. He shrugged.

“I’m older than you. I’m twelve.”

Peter blinked, frowning at how thin the kid’s wrists were.

“I’m Peter!”

“… Frank.”

He let Frank lead the way. Stranger danger doesn’t apply to him, he’s a grown ass man. In the body of a ten year old him, but still. A couple of minutes, four sandwiches and a load of chips later, Frank was watching wide eyed as he demolished three four dollar subs.

“Holy shit. Where are you packing that away? You’re a stick!”

Peter took a big bite of the sandwich as an answer. Frank looked down at his meal.

“Uh. Hey.”

Peter made a muffled noise of question, mouth stuffed full of steak and cheese.

“Sorry about. Uh. Trynna nick from ya.”

Peter chewed faster.

Frank continued, looking like he hated himself. “I wouldn’t… normally steal from shrimps like you but I was desperate and… really hungry, so. My bad.”

Peter finished chewing. “All good, dude. Eat your sandwich.”

Peter had the sudden urge to adopt Frank. Unlike Wayne, he’s not a billionaire, so he smacked that urge down. He could use a friend though. Now… how to be friends with a literal child!

“If you feel that bad about it, you could… be my friend?”

Peter took in the wide eyed gaze from the twelve year old in front of him. Abort! Abort! That was too direct!

“You’re fucking weird. But… okay.”

“That was easy.”

Frank scowled, kicking Peter’s shin.

“Ow!”

“Whatever, shrimp.”

Peter scowled. On his baby face, it came out as a pout.

Do not start beef with a twelve year old, Peter. You’re a grown ass adult.

“Hey, you know I’m new here, right?”

“Duh.” Frank took a bite of his food.

“Can you tell me which one of these are legit?” Peter handed Frank the flyers. He took them, an odd look passing his face.

“You’re looking for a place?”

“Yeah? Why?”

Frank stared at him. Looked back down. He instantly got rid of four listings out of the ten. “These are too close to the Alley. They’re probably traffickers.”

Peter hummed in agreement. Frank paused.

“You’re just gonna trust me on that?”

“Yeah? I can tell when people are lying.” Well, his spidey sense could, when he cared enough about the subject.

“What the fuck.” Frank shoved the rest the papers at him and guiltily munched on his food. “Are Yorkers all just like you?”

“Dunno? Probably not.”

“… Whatever. The rest of the places should work. They probably won’t ask questions.” Frank flapped a hand at Peter’s new situation. Yeah, the shortness was getting to him too.

Peter nodded. Obviously, they were the more expensive places, but considering the new found resources he’d… acquired during his time at the cafe, it doesn’t really matter.

“Cool! Wanna go see it with me?”

Frank immediately took on a suspicious glare. “Why?”

“I dunno? You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought since you know your way around…”

“Ugh. Fine. But if there’s anything shady, I’m fucking dipping out.”

“Okay!” Peter grinned for the first time the couple of hours he’d been trapped in this new world.

——

They’d found an apartment with a landlord that got a weird, sad face when she was talking to them about the apartment. After like, an hour of walking around and Peter’s spidey sense screaming at him not to even go near the places Frank had left in the pile of maybe’s.

“We walked all the way here. Ya not even gonna go in?”

“The vibes are off. It’s a no.”

And because Peter’s a genius idiot with no self preservation, he’d marked the places to investigate later.

Frank had blinked at him, mildly offended and nonplussed. After a while of spluttering, he just gave up. Eventually, they got here.

“I don’t normally rent to kids,” the landlord lady said. Peter immediately liked her. “But I’ll make an exception if you’ve got the cash.”

“I’d like to see the unit first, please” Peter said. He’s not stupid, and Gotham’s renting scene is both easier and harder than New York.

They toured it. Peter? He’d seen worse. He’d lived worse. Also, it had two bedroom and was $620. Yeah, Peter was really considering just staying here full time and commuting to his New York when he wanted to be a vigilante.

“I’ll take it, ma’am.” The landlord and Frank both snorted, sharing a Gothamite look.

“It’s Georgie, to you, brat. You just need the first month’s rent, since I’ll wave the deposit for you shrimps. Utilities included. Your friend stayin’?”

“No-” Frank had started.

“Yep!” Peter beamed, interrupting his new friend.

“What?” Frank turned, gaping again at this weird little kid who had enough money to rent a place and then invited a whole ass street kid he just met to live with him. “Are you stupid?! What if I rob you? Huh? I don’t need charity!”

Peter slowly looked around the empty unit.

“Uh.”

“No, that’s not the point!” Frank pointed a finger at Peter. “That’s how you get yourself killed!”

“But that’s why you should stay! I don’t know my way around Gotham so…”

Peter looked up at Frank, using his shortness for maximum devastation. “Please?”

Georgie leaned back on the heels of her feet, silently laughing. It’s not every day she sees a Gothamite street kid get out stubborned by an outsider, but she knows better than anyone that Gotham is weak to genuine kindness. And this Peter kid, the one that reminds her so much of her own? He’s practically filled with it.

“Yeah, kid,” she said to Frank, snickering. “Look at him. He’s gonna get mugged two steps into the Alley. Or anywhere.”

Frank flailed, but eventually, Peter handed over the money to an amused Georgie who gave them two keys in return and a move in gift of a pot pie.

“I gotta. Uh. Go get my stuff.” Frank had mumbled, dazed at whatever the hell just happened.

“Okay! I’ll see if I can go get furniture!”

“And lift them with your shrimpy arm? You wish.”

“I can use a cart.”

And really, he could, because Gotham had a lot of abandoned carts laying around. Like a concerning amount.

“Can you even reach the handle?”

“I’m not that short!”

Frank snorted, Georgie’s own chuckles following a beat after. Peter scowled at them.

“Be right back,” Frank promised, holding the key like it was treasure. He had been homeless for two and a half years now, so in his eyes, that key was as good as gold. He had somewhere warm to stay. Trying to pickpocket Peter was the best mistake he’s ever made in his short life. But he didn’t want to take advantage of that, well, no, he did want to, but he doesn’t want to take the genuine kindness for granted so he’ll see if there’s any street furniture he could haul back on his way.

“Okay!”

Georgie watched him go and turned to Peter.

“If you need stuff, there’s a thrift store and a grocery store that way.” She gave him the directions.

——

As soon as Frank and Georgie left, Peter immediately left his new place (and holy shit, he really didn’t expect things to be this easy. In New York, he had to spend at least a week checking out places because he had to figure out whether the problem that cause subtle twinges with his spider sense was worth living with. Here? It’s too obvious.) to buy supplies. He had $400. Until his new card came in, at least. He’d put his new address into that bank account addressed to a “Anthony Benjamin” before ordering a “replacement card.”

Peter ran to the thrift store, hurrying before the last traces of the sun dipped below the smog of Gotham. A frankly absurd amount of blankets, towels, pillows, clothes, packaged boxers, socks and shoes around his size went into the cart. To his chagrin, Peter couldn’t actually see much over the cart. Why the hell was he such a short ten year old? He blasted through the store, also guesstimating Frank’s sizes. He tossed in curtains, a used set of glow in the dark stars, and a lamp.

He also grabbed mismatched mugs, bowls, a bundle of cutlery, and a dented microwave he casually pretended to struggle getting onto the bottom part of the cart. It’s like lifting grapes for him, but he looks like a ten year old so…

He, guiltily, bought a mildly fancy camera in a set, with two separate lenses, even if one was cracked.

Not bad, for $150 total. Peter is going to definitely seriously consider commuting to New York. They didn’t even care when he walked out with the cart! Well, that might be because of the cashier who gave him a pitying glance.

He stopped by a general store on the way back, parking his cart in a rapidly shadowy alleyway. He swung by the new section of the store that reminded him of a Dollar Tree and got cleaning supplies, toiletries, and two pans and a pot. He grabbed some canned food and a couple of frozen meals in the back. Seasonings, ramen, general pantry staples went in. A role of paper towel. Nice. Venom would have loved this store. With half of his budget blown for essentials, Peter quickly cut his spending off and

He quickly gathered his stuff and went back to the apartment, using his strength a bit to lift the full cart up the stairs at the front doors and into the elevator. It creaked like the first time they used it to go see the apartment, but it worked. Peter set everything up in the living room, pillow and blanket wise, and put everything in its proper place. The lamp was put up, giving more light than the old bulb in the ceiling light.

All Peter wanted to do was pass out, but since his dumbass took in a child, he couldn’t sleep until this place was relatively fit for a kid to live in. He also wanted to wait for

So, that’s what he did. Taking a sponge and the cleaning supplies he’d picked up earlier, Peter tackled the living room, scrubbing away at old stains and spraying mildew. He marked trouble spots- like that splinter worthy piece of floor next to the doorway leading to the hall between the bedrooms. Then the kitchen. By the time Frank cautiously peeked his head in from the front door, Peter had already finished scrubbing the over.

“Hey.”

Peter turned, grime on his face but grinning. “Hey!” I bought some stuff!”

Frank snorted at his face before glancing around the living room, eyeing the cart parked neatly on the side.

“So you did. Didn’t get mugged, did ya?”

“Rude. No, of course not.”

Frank gave him a… frankly… unimpressed look and dumped his bag next to the pile of blankets and pillows Peter had piled onto the floor. Sue hi’, they didn’t have beds yet.

“Got somethin’ for ya,” Frank said neutrally before dragging in…

“A coffee table!” Peter bounced towards Frank, hugging him before lugging in the heavy wooden table in. “You’re the best! Where’d you find it?!”

The tension, anxiety about Peter’s reaction, in Frank’s shoulders relaxed and the kid grinned. “Alley. Some asshole just left it there for anyone to hit with their car so I took it.”

“Nice! We can eat on this!”

——

When they were getting ready for bed, Peter insisting on showers for both of them, Frank had reared up at the clothes Peter bought for him. Peter pretended like he didn’t see anything and shove a whole tube of toothpaste and a new toothbrush at him.

“Ew. Do I have to?” Frank asked, wrinkling his nose but taking the items anyways.

“Yeah.” Peter said seriously. Frank gave a moment to wonder why he was taking orders from an eight year old before shrugging. He could brush his teeth in exchange for a roof over his head, food, and clothes. It’s not even a fair trade, for Peter, anyways. Frank was enough of an alley rat to take advantage of that.

——

When Frank passed out, Peter couldn’t sleep. He’s exhausted, but he couldn’t sleep.

So he took his new camera and climbed the fire escape to the roof top.

An hour later, he met his first vigilante.

“Hey, kiddo. I’m gonna need you to back away from the edge.”

“Woah!” Peter startled, jolting slightly off of the ledge he was balanced on. He twisted around to see Red Robin, hand outstretched and panicked look in his eyes.

“Dude. Warn a guy!” Peter said, even though his spider sense warned him of an approaching person that was actively watching him.

Red Robin held his hands up. “My bad. Would you- uh, not be on that ledge?”

“Yeah, sure. My bad, bro.” Peter obligingly stood up and stepped away from the ledge. Red Robin relaxed then did a double take. Peter frowned. Is there something on his face?

“What are you doing up here, kiddo? It’s late.”

Peter decided to scope out the vigilante. “Couldn’t sleep,” he held up his camera. “I’m taking pictures.”

“Oh. That’s cool! Can I see?” Red Robin approached warily, but relaxed when Peter didn’t spook and try to take a shortcut to ground floor.

“Sure! It’s a new, well, not new but new to me, camera so I haven’t had all that time to mess with the specs but the pictures turned out pretty good-”

“Oh, woah. This one’s great. That composition? Amazing. You caught the light perfectly,” Red Robin complimented. Peter brightened, knowing a photography fan when he hears one.

“Photography buddy!” He cheered.

They talked for an hour after that, but Red Robin quickly sent him to bed once he remembered the time.

“Ah, shi- crap. It’s like 2AM. You’ve gotta go to bed.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry if I interrupted your patrol, Mr. Red Robin!”

“No problem, kid.” Peter slipped back down the fire escape, not caring if the vigilante saw where he lived.

——

Up on the rooftop, Red Robin pressed a hand to his comm.

“Red Robin to Nightwing.”

“What’s up, Red?”

“Do you have a kid you don’t know about?” Tim said, bluntly.

“… What?”

“Oracle, can you share my cowl footage?”

“Copy. Oh, that kid…”

“Looks exactly like Wing?” Tim said, peering down at the empty fire escape. “Yeah. Talked like him too.”

“Oh my god, he’s adorable.” Oracle said. Tim agreed. That curly hair? Baby face? Adorable. A bean. “Did you get DNA?”

“Ah, shit, I knew I forgot something.”

“Do not break into his place and nab a hair,” Nightwing reprimanded, but his voice sounded distracted.

“Holy shit, you guys nerded out about camera placement and lighting for an hour?” Hood piped up.

“Get some rest, Red Robin. You’ve been working too hard,” Batman grunted through the comms. Awkward… but he’s been getting better at communicating his worry for his kids.

“Sure thing, B. Heading back to the main cave. Red Robin out.

——

Peter: lay low and get home

Also Peter: talks to a vigilante

None of them think Peter’s Nightwing’s yet. Peter will know before them… eventually. Once this world’s version of him gives up his memories to be absorbed by AU Peter.

#batman #peter parker #dc x marvel #Peter Parker gets yeeted into Gotham #spiderman #oc #red robin #dark matter #inspidered by the fic dark matter #yes that’s a pun #dick Grayson #nightwing #dick grayson is Richard Parker #richard parker #Oracle #Jason Todd #red hood #tfw you get conan’ed #Peter: making friends one roof top at a time #Spider in Gotham AU

[femoso-seben]

Livestock AU

Where Cod characters are hybrids living on a farm -------------------

Price and Alejandro were raised together, as guardian livestock animals they were raised together. Alejandro is a Llama hybrid and is trained to attack dog-like creatures he guards over the sheep. When Gaz the young border collie Hybrid was introduced he had to work with a very aggressive Llama that didn’t like his dog shape.

Ghost is a Kangal, like Price but much bigger. Ghost comes from a puppy mill and has to fight to get food. Very quiet dog unless intimidating the coyotes and wolves. Ghost learns quickly and tends to be the most independent but always comes back to check in with his fellow livestock dogs.

Soap is a Great Pyrenees who generally do anything required of him, mostly looking after the ducks, ducks, and goose. Very playful and young still learning the ropes but very good at his job does sleep during the day since he needs to be active at night. If he sees an unattended egg left over night will eat it.

Lastly is Gaz a border collie and very good at his job if he finds anyone miss behaving (most Soap sometimes Roach) he will bite them near the next to correct that behavior.

Laswell and Roach are both Barn cat hybrids. Laswell usually does all the recon missions and gets the boys to then check things out if she finds something suspicious. Roach is a rescue dumpster cat who survives being poisoned a few times. Very rambunctious and follows the guardian dogs around. Ghost is very fond of the silent cat, you will find Roach sneaking bites of Ghost dog food.

Lastly only recently added is an Alpaca. Rudy is situated with the Goats and as their alarm system acts like a less aggressive Alejandro. Alejandro and Rudy do see each other as packmates as well as their individual herd.

Nik is an old police dog who retired as a family dog, and will help out once in awhile when the urge to work hits him.

The livestock guardians’ main rival is a pack of wolves led by Graves. His shadow is a large pack of wolves that tries the farm every once in a while.

Another group is a group of Coyotes led by Valeria. She has gotten a few Birds from Soap which really upsets him.

The farm is currently being invaded by rats Led by Makarov and Laswell is trying her damnest to hunt him down, he and his Konni group are aggravating the farmer.

The farmer decided to get a few more barn cats.

Reader is a small kitten from another farm with too many cats they and their two friends, Farah a brownish cat hybrid, and Alex a big sandy color cat are added. Turns out Alex is the son of Laswell one of her litters.

Reader is treated like an eyesore by the older guardians until they are old enough to train, learn, and join the workforce. Reader mostly wonders around seeing each group and how they work, and finding their spot to rest in. Makarov once scared them and got scolded by Price. -------

It stupid idea idk was inspired a little by @tacticalanklebiter3000 and @frogchiro and the Hybrid side of Cod community

#141 #call of duty #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #captain price #john soap mactavish #cod #kyle gaz garrick #modern warfare 2 #cod mw2 #alejandro vargas #rudy parra #gary roach sanderson #kate laswell #philip graves #valeria garza #vladimir makarov #cod nikolai #hybrid au #Livestock Guardian au #farm au #impulsive idea I wanted to write because my main fic is getting into a dullish moment

[eddiesbug]

eddie munson x reader where the reader hasn’t had their first kiss yet and during one of the nights the two of them are high in his trailer, the reader blurts it out and eddie’s just like “you wanna try?” 🫣

i’m actually pretty proud of this so idk i might extend it at some point!!

warnings: fem!reader, steamy but no smut, literally just making out lol

“Ha-have you ever kissed anyone?” you hiccup, hanging off of Eddie’s bed. Your eyes are red and Eddie’s gentle fingers reach out to stroke your head. His technique resembles the way in which one would pet a dog - a little rough with short movements, constantly changing in direction and speed - but you seem to enjoy the affection regardless. He’s right side up on the floor to your upside down, and your fingers grasp his chin, pinching, squeezing and then travelling away and tracing his features in bewilderment.

“Yeah,” he says, the upward intonation at the end of his word making him sound like he’s asking a question rather than answering one. He ducks his head forward to rest in the juncture of your neck. His breath is hot on your skin and you squirm.

“I haven’t.”

“Ever?” His eyebrows raise, or lower from your perspective, and you giggle. He cocks his head curiously at your amused expression.

“You’re upside down.”

“No, sweetheart, you’re upside down.”

“Oh yeah,” you laugh, twirling a strand of his hair round your finger. “You’re pretty.”

“Thanks, princess.” He grabs your shoulders, hauling you upright and into his lap on the scratchy carpet. “So… you’ve never kissed anyone?”

“Nope.”

“You wanna try kissing me?” Your hand freezes on its journey to Eddie’s soft locks and you tilt your head, lips pursed.

“Are you fucking with me? ‘Cos that’s not very funny, Eds.”

“I’m not, honest.” He crosses his heart with a finger. “Jus’ figured… if you wanna get your first kiss out of the way, you could do it with me.”

“Okay.” His eyes widen comically, surprised though he himself brought the suggestion up. “I trust you. And I like you. A lot.”

“You like me?” His voice drips with bemusement.

“Yeah,” your singsong voice chimes, “Like you like you.”

His lips are on yours after that confession alone. He’s hungry, lips mashing against your own in a way that lacks technique but not enthusiasm. He cups your cheeks and jaw in his hands, the bite of his cold rings on your skin pushing a gasp out of your mouth and into his. He pauses his assault only to mutter praises and sweet words against your swollen lips.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful. So good, sweetheart. So fucking pretty. Gonna keep you all to myself.”

Once he’s gotten over the initial fervour of kissing you, his movements slow and deepen, pulling a groan from your chest. He takes a mental note of everything you like and things you like less.

“Eddie,” you murmur, forcing yourself closer to him although there’s limited room. He shushes softly, threading skilled fingers through your hair before surprising you and tugging ever so slightly. You whimper, practically mauling him with tongue and teeth and ravenous hands. He smiles into your mouth, your hair firmly wrapped around his hand.

“Goooood girl,” he mumbles over and over, kissing the corner of your mouth and then moving to your neck. He sucks bruises into the untouched skin, searching for the spot that makes you keen. You buckle against him, gasping. “There y’are. Couldn’t’ve told me you liked me sooner, hm? Shit, I’ve liked you since the second grade.”

“Fuck, Eddie!”

He straightens again to take your lips in his, a series of gentle pecks before he peels himself away from you. You whine.

“How was that?” he asks cheekily, taking great pride and enjoyment in your disheveled appearance. You surprise him by worming your way into his arms.

“Can we do it again?”

#fanfic #writers on tumblr #imagines #writing #fiction #fem!reader #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie x y/n #eddie x you #eddie x reader #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things masterlist #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson concept

[steddiehyperfixation]

don't you forget about me (part five)

(part one)(part two)(part three)(part four)

No nightmares make their way into Eddie’s mind that night, no bad memories stir in his subconscious. That night, instead, he dreams of Steve:

Steve sat in the back of Eddie’s van, lounging against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him, perpendicular to Eddie who sat against the back of the seats, legs also kicked out and propped up on top of Steve’s as they passed a joint back and forth, talking and laughing about everything and nothing. The windows and doors were closed to keep the night’s cool summer breeze out and the smoke in, the air in the van pleasantly warm and thick and hazy; their minds so too. 

Steve took a hit of the joint and attempted to blow smoke rings when he exhaled, making funny shapes with his lips and failing so spectacularly it made Eddie burst into a fit of raucous laughter. He threw his head back with it, hysterical and giggly in his high. Steve shoved at Eddie’s legs in mock offense at being laughed at, but it lacked heat, and he’d already caught the giggles from him too. 

“You’re really beautiful, you know,” Steve said, dopey smile on his face as he watched Eddie laugh. 

Eddie snorted. “And you’re really high.” He plucked the joint out of Steve’s hands, not giving the compliment much weight at all. People just say things sometimes when they’re too high, and he knew Steve’s tolerance for any sort of substance had gone way down since he’d gotten caught in that mall fire a couple weeks ago. Something to do with trauma or whatever. 

“Yeah, I’m gone,” Steve agreed, blowing a raspberry at him. “But I meant it, though,” he said. His dazed eyes drifted lazily over Eddie’s face. “I think it all the time sober too, every time you laugh or smile or the light hits you just right. You have pretty lips and pretty eyes and pretty hair.” 

“Yeah, it’s the long hair, man.” Eddie laughed, genuine but dismissive, taking a hit of the joint and saying on the exhale, “Got the wires all crossed in that lovely little head of yours. Your high brain’s just got me confused for a girl or something.” 

“No.” Steve frowned at him, bottom lip jutted out in a pretty pout as he shook his head. “I’m not confused. I don’t think you’re a girl. I think you’re a gorgeous, gorgeous boy.” 

“Hm.” Eddie took another hit, felt the weed float through his veins, cloud his mind even further. “In that case…” The smoke escaped past lips stretched into an unsuppressable grin. “You wanna know a secret?”

Steve angled his body towards him and leaned forward in interest. “Uh huh.” 

Eddie snuffed out the joint, pushed away from the back of the seats, and pulled his legs off of Steve, sitting back on his heels instead as he shifted to face Steve better and move closer. Inches apart now, Eddie brought a hand up to Steve’s cheek and said in a conspiratorial whisper, “I think you’re a gorgeous, gorgeous boy too.”

Steve giggled, smile wide and cheeks pink. He hooked an arm around Eddie’s waist and swept him onto his lap, making Eddie giggle too as he was pulled in close. Their foreheads rested against each other. Steve’s heavy-lidded eyes settled on Eddie’s lips, and Eddie thought he got the hint. He leaned in, and for a second Steve leaned in too, only for him to duck away at the very last second, the would-be kiss amounting only to the barest brush of their lips. A small whine, confused and wanting, escaped involuntarily from the back of Eddie’s throat. 

“Waitwaitwait-” Steve said, one hand pressed lightly against Eddie’s chest to hold him back. “We should be sober first.” 

Eddie huffed, but agreed, “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea.” His hand still cupped Steve’s face though, thumb running over his cheekbone as he asked, “Will you even still want to kiss me when you’re not high?” 

“Of course I will.” Steve leaned into his touch. “Will you?” 

“Of course I will. Have you seen you?” Eddie said with a light laugh. “How could I not?” 

Steve grinned, bumped his forehead against Eddie’s again. “I’m gonna kiss you breathless when we’re sober, I promise.” 

“You better.” Eddie pressed a kiss to Steve’s cheek instead, for now. “I’m holding you to that, pretty boy.” 

He was rewarded with another giggle and both of Steve’s arms wrapping around him now to pull him closer to his chest. Eddie slipped an arm around Steve’s waist too and settled against him, curled up so that he could rest his head on Steve’s shoulder. His other hand dropped from Steve’s face and drifted instead to land on the bicep of the strong arms that cradled him. 

The giggly elation of their high was beginning to give way to a stoned sleepiness, the weed-soaked air draped around them like a blanket. They probably could’ve fallen asleep like that - it wouldn’t have been the first time they’d passed out back there after a smoke sesh - but the air would soon grow stale, not to mention every breath inside the hotboxed van only maintained their intoxication and Eddie kind of really wanted to be sober as soon as possible. 

“It’s getting late,” he mumbled, reluctantly pushing himself away from Steve. “We should head inside.”

“Yeah, alright.” Steve, equally reluctantly, let go of Eddie and let him leave his lap. 

They separated to climb out of the van and make their way to the trailer and back to Eddie’s room to get ready for bed, but they gravitated towards each other again, drawn together like magnets once they laid side by side under Eddie’s sheets. It was almost unconscious, really, the way they both reached out and pulled each other close. 

By the time morning came, they were completely intertwined: both of them had both arms wrapped tight around the other, their legs entangled, Steve’s head tucked beneath Eddie’s chin and face buried in his chest. Eddie idly ran his fingers through Steve’s hair; Steve stirred at the touch and muttered a muffled, “‘Morning,” which Eddie softly echoed. 

Steve pulled his head back from Eddie’s chest then and shifted himself up so that they were face to face - or, more accurately, nose to nose. “Oh.” He smiled a little. “Hi.” And Eddie echoed that too, with a matching small smile. 

“About last-” Steve started to say, at the same time Eddie began to ask, “Did you-?” They both broke off into a light chuckle. Steve shook his head and said, “Sorry, you go.” 

“Did you mean what you said last night?” Eddie asked, voice quiet and careful and hopeful. 

“Every word,” Steve replied, his gaze soft as his eyes met Eddie’s. “Did you?” 

“Every word,” Eddie confirmed. A slow grin spread across his face, and he slid his hand from Steve’s hair to trace his fingers along Steve’s jaw. “You have a promise to keep now, big boy.” 

“That I do,” Steve agreed with a smirk of his own, pulling Eddie closer.

Their lips met, properly this time. Steve kissed him gentle and sweet and slow, and Eddie all but melted into it, a syrupy warmth flooding his veins. He kissed back, matched the pace. Steve flipped them over, pressing Eddie’s back into the mattress as he deepened the kiss and settled his weight on top of him with a languid, full body roll. Eddie moaned softly beneath him, his lips parting to accept the caress of Steve’s tongue which licked into his mouth in easy, tender strokes. His hands curled in Steve’s hair again and in the fabric of his shirt, back arched in an attempt to press himself even closer as Steve continued to kiss him like he was drinking Eddie in, like Eddie was something precious and Steve was determined to savor every taste. It was dizzying, hypnotizing, thoroughly fucking intoxicating. 

When Steve finally pulled away, Eddie was pretty sure he’d forgotten how to breathe, how to speak. He stared up at him, dazed, eyes wide and mouth still open soundlessly. 

“Told you,” Steve said, a smugness in his smile, “breathless.” 

“Man of your word.” Eddie found his voice again, remembered how to pull air back into his lungs. “An attractive quality,” he murmured before tugging Steve down into another kiss. 

This one got a little more heated. It was Eddie who took control this time, and he kissed Steve with fervor. He switched their positions, rolling over so that Steve was the one lying beneath him now, Eddie’s body grinding down as he landed on top of Steve. It was not soft and neither was the sound Steve let out in response: a guttural groan that rumbled against Eddie’s lips. Eddie swallowed that sound, bit down on it, devoured it; craved more of it. He left Steve’s mouth to kiss down his neck, scraping his teeth against those stupidly biteable moles and sucking a bruise onto the skin. Steve’s breath stuttered; as Eddie paired the lovebite with another harsh grind, Steve’s hips bucked up to meet him, pulling another deep groan from them both. 

“Eddie,” Steve gasped out then. “Eddie, we should slow down.” 

Eddie immediately clambered off of him. “Right, yeah. Too much. Sorry.” He put some distance between them, sitting more towards the edge of the bed and looking away awkwardly.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Steve said as he sat up and shifted closer, placing a hand over Eddie’s. “I just- I don’t want this to be just that.” His other hand reached up to turn Eddie’s face back towards him. “I want something real with you. I want to do things right.” 

“Oh. Yeah, I wouldn’t just-” Eddie shook his head and smiled softly instead, taking Steve’s hand from his face and holding it. “I want something real with you too.” 

Steve sighed, smiled with visible relief. He squeezed Eddie’s hands. “Okay, good.” 

Eddie’s stomach grumbled audibly then, and he said with a grin, “So, how about you take me out to breakfast, sweetheart, and we can go from there?”

Steve laughed. “Sounds good to me,” he said, leaning in to give Eddie one more lingering kiss first. 

Eddie wakes up wanting, a deep ache in his heart like there’s something missing now that he’s awake. Steve is still holding his hand, and Eddie looks over to see the guy passed out in the bedside chair, head lolled to one side, mouth open, a line of drool crusted down his chin. It’s disgusting. It’s fucking adorable. The ache in his heart twinges.

“Goddamnit,” Eddie groans to himself. He knows what this is. He’s got a fucking crush. On Steve fucking Harrington. Of all people. Of course he does. 

For all his anti-jock rhetoric, even for all his protests yesterday about not being obsessed, Eddie always did have a sort of fascination with Steve Harrington in high school. More of a passing fancy, really. He thought Steve was attractive, sure, but in the way a celebrity is attractive - unobtainable and unreal - so it was always more like Steve was just his favorite reality TV show rather than an actual crush. But now Steve is real, and worst of all, he’s kind. King Steve Intangible Hot Asshole Jock Harrington is now Sweet Lovely Gorgeous Goofy Perfect Steve who holds Eddie’s hand when he’s scared and tells stupid jokes to make him laugh and always seems to know exactly what he needs, so of course Eddie never stood a single goddamn chance. Of course Eddie only had to spend one fucking day with this man for his old teenage fascination to trip and start falling for him, for Eddie to start having stupid, sappy dreams about him. 

Because Eddie’s sure that’s all it was. No way was that dream a memory; his brain was just taking bits and pieces of what Steve had said yesterday and filling in the blanks with fantasy. Dumb, sweet, soft, romantic fantasy. Complete with fucking yearning and shit. 

Eddie groans again. Why couldn’t it have just been a sex dream? He knows how to handle sex dreams. Sex dreams don’t come with actual feelings. 

Steve begins to rouse then, probably stirred awake by all Eddie’s grumbling. 

“Morning, sunshine,” Eddie says as Steve lifts his head and wipes the crusted drool from his mouth. 

“Eddie?” Steve rubs his eyes with one hand, then blinks and squeezes Eddie’s hand with his other as his face breaks into a smile. “Hey, you slept through the night!”

Eddie snorts. “You don’t have to make it sound like I’m your infant child reaching a milestone.” He puts on a slight character voice, pitching up his inflection, “‘Baby Eddie slept through the night for the very first time! Mommy Steve was finally able to get some rest!’” 

“Ew.” Steve wrinkles his nose and shakes his head, even as he scoffs out a laugh. “Do not call me mommy.” 

“Oh, sorry, would you prefer daddy?” Eddie asks with a smirk and raised eyebrows. Because he’s stupid and has no fucking filter. 

“Uh-” That startles a nervous chuckle out of Steve, pretty pink blush blooming in his cheeks. Then he closes his eyes for a moment, shakes his head again, and takes a breath to regain his composure. “Yeah, no, that’s not my thing either.” 

“Noted,” Eddie says, and then physically bites his own tongue to stop himself from asking something even more stupid like so what is your thing then? 

“Anyways-” Steve seems a little desperate to change the subject. “No nightmares last night?” 

“Nah.” Eddie taps his fingers against Steve’s hand. “You’ve got some sort of magic touch, man. I never have nightmares when I fall asleep with your hands on me.” 

Steve smiles at that, a small thing. “Told you I’d fight them off.” 

“Man of your word,” Eddie mutters. His heart gives a little lurch as he echoes his dream, a reaction which is consequently made clear and apparent for anyone to see by the immediate uptick of beeping from his heart monitor. So that’s going to be a problem. 

“Yeah-” Steve glances at the monitor, then back at Eddie, a concerned pinch between his brows (Eddie wants to reach up and smooth it away; his heart only beats faster). “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Eddie glares accusingly at the heart monitor, like it’s betrayed him on purpose. “I don’t know why it’s doing that.” 

Steve doesn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? I can go get someone to check on you-” He starts to stand like he means to leave, but Eddie tightens his grip on his hand so he can’t get too far. 

“I said I’m fine, Steve,” Eddie insists, a little sharper than he meant to. He takes a breath, smooths the edge off his voice. “A slightly increased heart rate is not gonna kill me, alright? You don’t have to worry about me so much.” 

“I always worry about you,” Steve mutters. Though he does settle back into his chair, he keeps eyeing the heart monitor and worriedly chewing on his lip - as if that’s going to help Eddie’s racing heart situation. 

“Okay, you gotta stop doing that, man.” 

“What?” 

“Acting all nervous like I’m about to drop dead,” Eddie says. “You’re stressing me out. No wonder my heart’s beating faster.” 

“Right, sorry.” Steve looks away from the monitor and releases his lip from between his teeth, bitten red and plump now. Jesus. 

Eddie breathes in slowly. He can be calm, he can be cool. He takes another few breaths until his heart rate finally starts to chill the fuck out and the monitor stops beeping so incessantly. “See, I’m totally fine.” 

“Yeah.” Steve relaxes visibly. He squeezes Eddie’s hand, gives an apologetic smile. “Of course you are. Sorry I stressed you out.” 

“That’s alright.” Eddie smiles back with a shrug, brushing it off. “Means you care, Stevie. I appreciate it.”

Steve’s expression turns warm then, and about 95% of Eddie’s higher brain functioning is now completely focused on trying to keep his heartbeat steady under the glow of Steve’s smile and the warmth of his hand. He doesn’t even hear whatever it is Steve says in response, just lets the timbre of his voice wash over him. It sounds like something soft, something kind, but not something that requires a reply, so Eddie stays quiet and continues to count each beat of his heart in the easy silence that settles over them. 

~ 

Steve can’t decide if he wants to stay right here forever, holding Eddie’s hand and making sure he’s alright, or if he still wants to run so far from the ache it leaves in his chest. 

Hanging out with Eddie yesterday had been overwhelmingly bittersweet. It felt so good to laugh with him again, to talk with him the way they used to, to see his face all lit up and happy. It felt so good to know that Eddie wanted him there, that he enjoyed spending time with him. There were moments that set Steve’s heart aglow, moments so effortless, so simple, so them, that he could forget, just for a second, all that was still missing between them. But each good feeling came with a stinging aftertaste of grief as Steve would remember and he felt the difference in the depth of their affection like a great gaping chasm, vast and black and bleak. 

His emotions are frayed, all stretched and pulled in so many different directions at the same time. He wants and he worries and he aches and he loves; desire and despair.

Time makes his decision for him, though, as he catches sight of the clock on the wall and suddenly remembers, “Shit- I have to go, sorry. I promised Robin I’d finally come back to work today so she’d stop having to be stuck on shifts with Keith,” Steve says, starting to stand. 

“Oh.” Eddie blinks like he’s been startled out of a trance. A brief disappointment flashes across his face. “Okay.” 

“I’ll be back tonight, though,” Steve promises with a reassuring squeeze of his hand. “Soon as I can.” 

The corners of Eddie’s mouth tug up into a small smile then. “Yeah, I know you will.” He lifts Steve’s hand to press a kiss to the back of it before letting go. “You’re my good luck charm.”

It’s such a small, innocent thing, but it wrenches Steve’s heart. The feeling of Eddie’s lips lingers on his skin like it’s haunting him, taunting him; the barest trace of something that once was, a ghost of what he’s lost. It’s almost cruel. Steve hates it, and he aches for it. 

He’s quick to leave the room before Eddie can see the tears in his eyes. Steve knows Eddie doesn’t like to see him sad.

(part six) taglist (CLOSED): @romanticdestruction @daydreamsandcrashingwaves @paintsplatteredandimperfect @hallucinatedjosten @mugloversonly @estrellami-1 @alongcomesaspider @thatonebadideapanda @tell-me-a-secret-a-nice-one @dragonmama76 @wxrmland @nuggies4life @sirsnacksalot @myguiltyartpleasure @lolawonsstuff @marklee-blackmore @vinteraltus @sebastiansstanswhore @0happyeverafter0 @scarlet-malfoy @hotluncheddie @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @emsgoodthinkin @alyelf @warlordess @stevesbipanic @lil-gremlin-things @rockandrolodex @badcaseofcasey @bat-outta-hel @fandomcartographer @manda-panda-monium @littlewildflowerkitten @giopandaonice @mightbeasleep @queenie-ofthe-void @krazyperson @worldofshea @marvel-ous-m @tartarusknight @a-little-unsteddie @xenon-demon @goodolefashionedloverboi @xxsky-shockxx @mc-i-r @bookbinderbitch @aspenshade88 @slowandsteddie @thedragonsaunt @daydreaming-mood @space-invading-pigeon @irregular-child @a-lovely-craziness (taglist continued in replies; please lmk if you'd like to be removed from this list. if you didn't make the taglist but still wanna follow along, you can follow the tag #dyfamsteddiefic to keep up with new updates!)

#fun and interesting new developments #i am dragging this shit out sorry lmao. not too much longer tho #i'm thinking this'll probably have maybe 3 more parts to it? we'll see. #steddie #steddie angst #steddie fic #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic #eddie munson #steve harrington #fanfic #mine #dyfamsteddiefic

[kitkatscabinet]

Whumptober - 07: Drugged

John Mactavish x f! reader

A/N: For @bunnyreaper here's the whump version, sorry it took so long, hope you like it &lt;3

Soap knows that something’s wrong the moment you call him. You drunk calling him wasn’t exactly out of the norm, in fact, it was weird if you didn’t spam him with texts and tik toks letting him know how much you loved him. 

His team often sledged him jokingly for how whipped he was for you, but it was that adoration and care that let him know within seconds that you weren’t okay. There was no excited shout of his name, no blaring music that you were drunkenly singing along to and none of your friends were yelling at him for interrupting girl's night. 

There’s just silence, a terribly concerning silence only accentuated by the shuffling of clothes and shuddering breaths. He’s on his feet and crashing into the wall on his quest for the keys in three seconds flat. His shoes aren’t even on properly and he’s already in the car when he finally gets a response to his barrage of questions. 

“Johnny?” Your voice is slurred and confused in a way that has his blood freezing. You very rarely got so sloshed you couldn’t function anymore but Soap knew what you were like even then, and this was not it. 

When the phone connects to the car's Bluetooth he’s throwing his phone into the passenger seat and reversing so quickly the tyres screech in protest. He knows where you are, you were always good at updating him if you moved venues but it doesn’t stop him from double-checking. 

He has to ask the question three times before you eventually confirm that you haven’t gone anywhere, his heart rate increasing frantically with each second that passes and he’s not by your side yet. 

“Johnny? Wh’re you? I think somethin’s wrong. Don’t feel so good.” Your whimpers fill the car and Soap starts to drive even faster, blowing through two red lights and a stop sign with little concern over the inevitable tickets and demerits he’ll get. 

“I know baby. Am almost there, just hold on a little longer.” He commanded as firmly and gently as possible. “Ye in the bathroom? Locked the door?” 

Once again it takes a while for you to understand and respond to his question but when you do he allows himself to relax a little. He tries to ascertain where your friend has gone and not for the first time he wants to kill her when you tell him you have no idea where she’s gone. 

“Johnny?” you call for him a few more times as if forgetting you’ve already gotten on the line.

He throws the car into park when he arrives, not bothering with the handbrake and not caring that he’s just stopped in the middle of the road. Cars are honking and people are yelling but he doesn’t give a single fuck, his mind is on a one-track mission. 

He’s even left his phone on the seat in his haste and the door open. Undoubtedly, you’ll yell at him when he relays the details later but he’s willing to cop all of your anger if it means he gets to you in time. 

He runs past the bouncer, outpacing the shouting man and ducking past various security members as he beelines towards the bathroom. Vaguely he recognises that he’s being chased but it doesn’t matter because he makes it to the ladies' bathroom well before they catch up.

It doesn’t even register that the bathroom door isn’t locked like you’d said it was when he bursts into the grimy space because his attention and fury are quickly dragged elsewhere. Namely to the motherfucker that was sticking his hand down your pants as you sobbed and tried to get away with your body’s sluggish movement. 

He’s letting out a furious roar and when the man turns with wide eyes at the commotion behind him Johnny’s fist smacks into his nose with a sickening crack that sends him stumbling backwards bleeding and onto the tile floor. 

It’s only the fact that your legs give out without someone supporting you that stops him from beating the man to death as he grabs you and pulls you against him. 

You’re so out of it that you protest, pushing against his chest as you cry because you don’t recognise him straight away. 

It takes a bit of cajoling and pressing soft kisses into your hairline before you recognise him but when you do you completely devolve into a crying, sobbing mess, collapsing against him even further as you finally allow yourself to feel all of the overwhelming panic you’d been trying to hold off. 

Security’s caught up and the commotion they make as they barge into the bathroom sets you off even further and Soap simply shoots them a heated glare before shouldering past them with you safe in his arms. 

Perhaps miraculously, both the car and his phone are still where he’d left him and Johnny gently deposits you in the passenger seat, clipping your seatbelt in. His heart shatters a little further when you start to beg him not to leave you. 

“M not leaving ye bonnie, just need to get myself strapped in.”

“Promise?” you sound so small and Soap is now certain that once you’re safe and looked after he’d going to hunt down the scumbag that dared lay a finger on you. For now though, 

“I promise love.” When he slips into the driver's seat you’re reaching blearily for his hand immediately and he takes it just as quickly, pulling away and driving far slower than he’d gone to get to you. 

“I promise.” The words are so soft that they’re more for himself than you. They’re an oath that he’ll keep even if it kills him.

#x reader #cod mw x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish #cod john mactavish #cod soap #cod mw

[actuallysaiyan]

Heart To Heart(Emo!Nanami Kento x Fem!Bimbo!Reader)

warnings: smut, unprotected sex, college AU, Emo!Nanami, Bimbo!Reader, reader is actually a sweetheart and smart, blowjobs, making out, alcohol mentions, Kento is a bit of an asshole in this one, fluff, mentions of trauma word count: 3k! pairings: Emo!College!Kento Nanami x Fem!Bimbo!Reader summary: you and Nanami have classes together in university, and he just thinks you screwed your way into these classes. he makes it known one day what he thinks of you, and you snap. but when you meet up at a party, things get spicy.

Nanami had himself convinced that you were bad news. Something about the way you were always applying that sticky lipgloss while looking at yourself in your cute Hello Kitty compact mirror just drove him insane. He had finally gotten himself into a very good university after leaving the sorcerer world behind, and here you were ruining his experience.

You were in quite a few of his classes, which surprises him. You don’t look like you know anything about finances or business, let alone simple arithmetic. You with your eyes so big and expressive, your lips just so juicy and pouty. How could you possibly know anything that he was working so hard on learning? How could a single thought run through that dumb head of yours?

And yet, you were so kind to him. Even when he brushed you off and gave you the cold shoulder, you were always there to lend a hand when you could. You were someone who would come to class with a box of baked goods to offer to everyone. You always had a spare pencil for someone, or an extra notepad to share. And you never ever said no to someone’s request to copy your notes whenever they had missed a class. In reality, despite your appearance, you were someone who just genuinely cared.

Still, Kento was often left fuming whenever he spotted you. He knew about the archetypes and stereotypes of those around him and even himself. He knew that people thought he was a freak for his appearance, and yet they would never know the horrors and trauma he had gone through. He keeps his hair long in the front, his hoodie is always pulled up whenever he gets the chance. He’s even wearing black nail polish and hardly ever washes off the leftover eyeliner and mascara.

The others look at him like he’s some sort of plague, and yet you don’t even glance at him like that. Your looks towards him are soft and sweet, but he just knows there is no way you wouldn’t trick a guy like him. Nanami has to remind himself that you’re just as bad as the others, and all the kind things you do for anyone, it’s all just a plot to have everyone under the spiked heel of your cute stilettos. You were a sweet girl, but underneath it all, Nanami was convinced you could scratch out his eyes with a swipe of your perfectly manicured nails.

Yet he could never really pull himself away from you completely. You always smell so good, and your lips look so plump and juicy. Kento swears he can smell your lip gloss from a mile away. You’re almost too good to be true, he thinks to himself often. You must have a trail of guys following you around, simping and moaning just for you. So Nanami figures it’s just easier to hate you and deem you unworthy of his presence or his words.

Things change one day when you’re partnered up with him for a finance class project. You sit at your desk, doodling something in your cute pink notebook. There’s a feathery pom pom on the end of your pen. Nanami rolls his eyes and scoffs as he sits down near you, not daring to even be that close to you. He keeps his distance, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Hiya Ken~” you coo at him, making his heart skip a beat at the softness of your voice.

Kento scowls, “It’s Kento. Not Ken.”

You pout softly, “Oh, yeah okay. Kento it is.”

You duck your head down a little, somehow feeling so self-conscious. Nobody has made you feel this way before. You’re dejected because you’ve always thought he was so cute, and now that you get the chance to shoot your shot, he’s rejecting you already. So you begin looking at the page explaining the project and you discuss things with him quietly. He seems so disinterested in what you have to say, his eyes flickering towards other people in the classroom. He wishes he could be partnered up with anyone else but you. He’d rather do the project alone if he’s being completely honest. You start to feel like you aren’t wanted at all.

“Listen, we don’t even really need to do any of this together. We can just work on our own parts and submit them together.” You suggest, your cheeks a little pink from not being able to do a simple project with the guy you like.

Nanami watches you carefully, “Hmph, I doubt you can even complete your side of things.”

Your heart aches at this. You know you don’t have the appearance of a scholarly type, but you do well in your studies. You worked so hard to get this spot in the university. You come from a small town, and you never really had much growing up. So for you to finally get this shot and to be able to treat yourself to cute things you’ve always longed for, it means the world to you. But you were growing a bit more upset with every passing moment.

You thrust the pen in his direction, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kento smirks, “Come on, there’s no way you really understand this material. Just admit that you got here by using your good looks and charm.”

This made you recoil. Your stomach was in knots from the thought of him implying that you fucked your way into this school. You frown and your big eyes fill up with tears. Suddenly, Nanami doesn’t feel so confident about what he’s saying anymore. He’s got guilt and regret rising up in his chest like acid.

“Is that truly what you think? You see a girl wearing pink and liking cute things and you think she’s fucked her way into university? Well screw you, Nanami Kento!”

You rise up from your seat and gather all your things. You excuse yourself to the teacher and make your way into the hallway. Tears slide down your cheeks, ruining the makeup you so meticulously put on this morning. You feel your stomach turning in knots, not sure how to even process all of this. You know you can prove him wrong, and you will.

ONE WEEK LATER

Despite the issues with Kento, you were still able to complete your side of the project and hand it in early. When you attended your classes, you ignored him. Your heart longed for him, but you were beginning to think maybe people were right about him. He’s just a freak. He’s mean and will probably cast a hex on you. Still, you think that people were always being too harsh. Just the way that Nanami had been with you. Judging people before getting to know them was always a bad habit that most people had, but you were someone who tried not to pass the judgement.

The weekend was fast approaching and the big party at the local frat house was what was on everyone’s mind. Everyone was going, and you knew that even Kento had been invited. Despite still feeling so sour after what had happened, you decide that you’re going to attend that party. And you were going to show him what he was missing out on. Just because you like cute things and wore makeup didn’t mean you weren’t someone smart and fun.

The night of the party arrives and you show up dressed in a sexy, tight pink dress. It’s strapless and hugs your curves in all the right ways. You talk to a few people, mingling as you get a few drinks into you. You’re not even really sure that he was going to show up, you were just feeling a little hopeful. The more drinks you had, the more you wanted him to be there so you could apologize about your outburst.

The moment he walks in the door, your heart stops and your breath hitches in your throat. He’s cleaned up, but he still carries himself the same way as usual. The hoodie up over his head, his bangs cascading down over one eye. You see that he’s cleaned up his peeling nail polish, and it seems like he’s applied a clean coat of mascara and eyeliner. You don’t know if you’ve ever seen him put this much effort into his appearance. This makes you wonder if he’s hoping to meet someone here. You look away, your eyes darting down to the drink in your hands.

The music is loud and you try to drown all your insecurities in this drink. You wish he’d come talk to you considering you were much too shy now to approach him. He looks so good tonight too, and you were feeling drunk enough to try to shoot your shot again even if he had made it clear what he truly thought of you. So you just go snag another mixed drink and go to the dancefloor.

It’s not long before you bump into him as you’re on your way to the kitchen for a cup of water. Both of you are a little shy about this at first, and Kento can barely look you in the eyes. He’s mortified that he would bump into you after all the shit he’s said to you.

“Hey,” you say shyly. You drink some of the water.

He smiles sheepishly, “Hi…”

Neither of you really know how to proceed. But eventually it’s all bubbling up inside of each other. Kento fiddles with the guitar pick necklace that sits on his collarbone. You really look so cute tonight—no, you look so sexy. He’s never seen anyone look this good in his entire life.

“Hey Ken…erm, Kento…about the other day,” you begin but he stops you.

He smirks, “I kind of like it when you call me Ken.”

You blush at his words. You have always loved giving people nicknames. It’s just a way of showing you care. You take another sip of your water and giggle gently. Kento reaches up and brushes stray hair from your face.

“So what were you going to say?” He asks, leaning in a little closer.

You smile, “I wanted to apologize for the way I snapped. I guess it wasn’t right of me to tell you to screw yourself.”

It’s Kento’s turn to blush. He begins to explain himself, saying how he completely misunderstood you and judged you even before he got to know you better. He’s profusely apologizing and all of this is going straight to your heart. Before either of you can say anything else, you grab him by the wrist and you lead him to the nearest room with the lock on the door. This happens to be the bathroom.

Once the door is locked, you push him against the wall and kiss him hungrily. This is the moment you can truly feel his body against yours, and you realize that he is quite muscular. Kento groans as your tongue slides into his mouth, rubbing against his in the most sensual way. He’s had sex before, but never has it been this hungry and passionate. 

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging slightly to pull him even closer to you. You are so desperate to melt into every aspect of him. You want him, you need him more than anything else. You would forgo anything else in this world just to be forever in this moment with him.

“Ken, I think I’ve liked you since the moment I met you,”

Your confession hangs in the air, making his heart race. He didn’t even think someone like you could think twice about him. You’re so pretty and soft and you make him so tongue tied most of the time. Despite his anger and rude treatment towards you, he’s been in denial about his own feelings for you.

“Shit, I’ve been feeling the same. I guess I just couldn’t come to terms with it.”

You don’t let him say anything else, you just capture his lips with yours once more. He pulls you in closer, his large hands caressing your curves through that tight little dress. You moan into his mouth when his hands cup your breasts and squeeze gently. When you pull away to breathe, a string of saliva keeps you connected.

Without another word, you kneel in front of him. Kento cannot believe his eyes as you undo his studded belt and unzip his pants. Regardless of his own feelings of resentment, he’s always thought you had the prettiest lips. The perfect pair to give the kind of blowjobs you only see in the premium porn videos.

Your eyes widen when you pull out his length from the confines of his boxers. He’s not only lengthy, but he’s got the kind of girth that ruins sex with anyone else. You know now that you really don’t want to let him go at all. With a soft giggle, you lean in to kiss the dribbling tip. Kento grunts as he feels your slick lips on his cock. He reaches down to tangle his fingers in your pretty, soft tresses. You spend a long time just pressing sloppy kisses to his cock. Then you lick all the way down the base, your tongue licking at his balls now. He shudders under your ministrations, knowing it’s going to be hard to hold on if he lets you continue for too much longer.

The moment you wrap your lips around the head of his cock and begin taking him into your mouth, Kento knows he’s hooked to this treatment. He knows he’s going to have to fuck you so good to show you how sorry he is about the shit he said about you the other day. You begin bobbing your head up and down, swallowing around him. He lets you suck him with expertise for a little while before he tugs on your hair and pulls you back up to kiss him.

“Get that pretty ass on the counter,” he says as he picks you up. You barely have to do anything as he sets you on the bathroom counter. He leans into another fierce kiss, this time he’s really taking the lead.

Kento doesn’t even bother undressing either of you. He just shoves your dress up over your hips, his other hand busy playing with your soaked pussy. He smirks when he realizes that you’re this aroused just from a little kissing and sucking his cock. He loves that he has this effect on you.

“You this wet just from blowing me?” he teases as his fingers push your panties to the side. Your eyes roll back as he rubs your clit in slow circles.

“Ken…” you breathe. You’re already so needy for him.

He spreads your thighs and spits into his hand. The saliva gets mixed with your own juices to coat his cock before he slides into you with one long thrust. You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he begins to pump into you. You’ve never ever felt this full in your life. All you can do is hold onto him and have him fuck you stupid.

“Please please…” you beg as the tip of his cock brushes against the sweet spot deep inside you. “Fuck me, Ken.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He picks up his pace, and you wrap your legs around him to pull him closer. You lock your ankles, keeping him in place. He hammers himself into you over and over, his breath hot on your face and neck as he grunts and groans.

“You gonna be my pretty girl?” he asks, locking eyes with you.

You feel so shy all of a sudden, “Y-yours?” You let out a moan when he thrusts into you particularly hard. 

“Yeah, mine. You gonna be my pretty girl?”

Your mind is reeling from all this pleasure. The coil in your stomach is tightening fast, and the thought of being exclusively Kento’s girl seems to be pushing you further and further towards your peak. You gasp as one of his hands slips between you, rubbing your clit slowly and with precision. You can barely think straight at this point. The room is filled with the lewd, wet sounds of your skin slapping together with every harsh thrust.

“Gotta answer me, baby. Or else I won’t let you cum.”

You whine, “Ken, please. I just…I can’t…”

He chuckles darkly. He’s never had this much power during sex before and it’s turning him on. He knows that you’re already such a little cutie and a sweetie, but he could easily turn you into his perfect little spoiled princess. He begins to pull away, making your orgasm slowly subside.

“I’ll be yours! ‘Wanna be only yours!” you squeal, trying to pull him back in.

Kento smirks and then he nips at your lower lip, “That’s what I like to hear.”

He gets back into the rhythm you need to cum. His thumb rubs your clit, making your thighs shudder and shake around him. As the pleasure builds, you feel tears streaming down your cheeks. Your back arches as stars dance in your vision. A shaky breath falls from your plump lips before you cry out his name. Your silky walls begin to pulse and clench around his already throbbing cock, pushing him over the edge just behind you. Shots of his thick, hot cum fill your waiting womb.

Slowly, you both grind against one another to prolong the pleasure. Then you both still, just basking in the afterglow of the pleasure. Kento kisses you softly, using both his hands to wipe away your tears.

“I’m really sorry for that bullshit I said the other day. You’re a good girl,” He says, pecking your lips.

“It’s okay, Ken. I forgive you.”

You’re both interrupted by a loud knock, followed by a series of giggles and cackles. Your cover is blown, but neither of you really care. The only thing that matters is that you have each other.

Kento helps you freshen up and dress once more, and you help him tuck his softening cock back into his pants. Then, hand in hand, you both exit the bathroom. You’re all smiles as you leave the party, walking on cloud nine as you lead him back to your dorm for round two.

#bacon.writes #nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami x y/n #nanami smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x y/n #jjk #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #nanami fluff #nanami imagine #nanami kento smut #nanami kento fluff #nanami kento imagine #kento nanami smut #kento nanami fluff #kento nanami imagine #jjk kento nanami #jjk nanami x reader #jjk namami #emo nanami

[uluvjay]

Plum- J. Drysdale

Jamie Drysdale x fem! Reader

In which the ducks anniversary jerseys are looking very good on your boyfriend.

Warnings?; SMUT, breeding kink, p in v, unprotected sex(Wear protection!), pet names, cursing, kissing, those fucking plum jerseys, talks of starting a family, I can’t think of more

Part of my 1kcelly:)

You hadn’t been able to sit still since he left the house dressed in the plum colored Jersey. The way it complimented his pale skin and dark hair had his eyes appearing brighter and jaw sharper.

You had always found the jerseys appealing ever since he told you that was what the team would be going with for their 30th anniversary.

But what you weren’t expecting was just how good he looked in said jersey. When he walked out of your shared bedroom wearing the jersey over a hoodie and a pair of joggers for the Ducks community event, you had just about dropped to your knees for him right then and there.

"Baby I'm home" you heard his voice call from the entry way of your new home, finally getting somewhat rid of Trevor allowing some more privacy.

"Living room!" you shouted back, acknowledging the boy of your whereabouts.

Strutting in still clad in the plum jersey he leaned down to give you a kiss in greeting, "Hi baby" he smiled when you two separated.

“Hi” you muttered out before hastily pulling the boy back down to your lips.

Jamie groaned as he felt you attempting to deepen the kiss, your nails had slipped into his hair and tugged at his dark roots causing Him to open his mouth in a gasp, allowing your tongue to enter his mouth.

“Mm, baby. What’s all this for?” He asked as he pulled away for air.

“Missed you” you whined as he pulled back when you tried to bring him down again.

“Missed me? Baby we’ve been together al-“ the boy cut himself off as he finally took a full look at you. Your thighs were clenched, lip slightly pouted and red, and your eyes were darkening with blown out pupils.

“Ohh, I get it. You just want some attention huh baby? Tell me what got you all worked up” he teased as he sat next to you and pulled you onto his lap.

“S embarrassing” you mumbled, face buried in his neck.

“How so?” He laughed, his hands running up and down your thighs smirking at the shiver that ran down your spine.

Playing with the strings of his hoodie you finally admitted just what had gotten you so turned on, “The damn jersey was the first thing and then I kept seeing videos of you all over Twitter playing with kids and holding babies, and god do you look good with a baby in your arms. It was quite unfair really” you grumbled into his chest.

Jamie smirked at your words, the two of you had been talking about kids for a long time but you knew it wasn’t the right time. But that didn’t stop the two of you from fucking like bunnies every time one of your breeding kinks kicked in.

Jamie tangled a hand in your hair to pull you head away from his chest, causing a whine to escape your throat at the pain. “You just want me to fuck you full huh baby?” He mocked as he felt you grind against him.

You let out a pathetic whimper in response, hips rolling against his in attempt to settle the ache between your legs.

“Please Jamie..” you breathed

“Take your pants off for me” he spoke before lifting his own hips to pull down his pants and boxers.

His hard cock springing out from the restricting material he wrapped his hand around it and slowly jerked himself while he waited for you to take your place on his lap.

“Come here baby” he called a hand reaching for one of you own to pull you on top of him.

He pulled you into a heated kiss, one that had your breath hitching and yearning for more when he pulled away for air.

“Jamie..” you breathed but he cut you off with soft shushes as he angled you over his cock.

“It’s okay baby, just breathe for me-there you go, good girl” he worked you through the stretch of your cunt from his cock.

“Shit Jamie, you’re so big” you cried at the feeling of him bottoming out inside of you.

A shiver ran down Jamie’s back as he slowly started to guide you up and down his cock by your hips, a slow and sweet pace.

He placed his head in your neck, lips sucking and nipping along your warm skin. He loved the way your body reacted to him, his cock coaxing whines from your throat while your manicured nails dug into the fabric of his plum jersey.

“Doing so good for me baby, such a good girl” he praised.

He loved fucking you slow but he couldn’t hold off much longer, he was getting close and he needed something more.

Pinning you against his chest with his arms locked behind your back, he positioned his feet against your coffee table before thrusting his hips into you at an unforgivable pace.

“Oh! Shi-Jamie” you mindlessly babbled at the new pace. His cock hit all the right places, his tip brushing right against your g-spot.

Your toes curled as you could feel the tightness forming in your lower stomach, cried becoming louder and louder.

“Shit I’m getting close baby” he groaned into your hair.

“Me to Jamie-fuck! Come for me please baby.” You encouraged the man beneath you, fingers slipping into his dark locks.

He brushed wet kisses along the skin of your bare shoulder before he sucked in a deep breath at the euphoric feeling washing over him.

“I’m coming” he shivered, spilling his seed deep inside your clenching core.

He could tell you were almost there by the way your walls were clenching around him tighter and tighter as he continued to thrust up into you, sharp breaths and whines coming from your throat.

“I’m coming Jamie!” You cried into his neck as you felt the shiver run down your spine and shaking of your thighs be unbearable.

You two sat like that for a moment, his hands running along your back while he placed loving kisses to the side of your head.

“I guess I should wear the plum jersey more often eh?” He teased.

“Shut up” you laughed placing a light slap to his arm.

-

#jamie drysdale imagine #jamie drysdale x reader #jamie drysdale #jamie drysdale blurb #jamie drysdale smut #nhl #nhl fanfiction #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #nhl smut #anahiem ducks #anaheim ducks #jays1kcelly