#luveline's 40k party

[luveline]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 —send me a shy!reader request for any character (with a plot) and I'll write a >1k drabble

sirius/james introducing shy!reader to remus. and shes just like quiet and in awe, but remus loves it.

luveline's 40k party ☆ tysm for requesting! remus x shy fem!reader

James is used to your personality after months of being your lecture neighbour, unperturbed by your quiet. "It's going to be fun," he promises, handing you a cold glass of cranberry vodka. "They're nice, okay? I won't let anyone irritate you." 

He's hosting a party and had the generosity to invite you round early. He's easing you in, so to speak. It took him two weeks of steady Hellos for you to work up the courage to say Hi back, another two weeks for small talk, a month before you felt comfortable speaking to him first. If you're that shy, a party is basically torture.

"It's not about irritating me," you say. 

"I know, I'm messing." James lists his head to the left. A second later, there's a knock at the door. "Aha. Wait here, shortcake, there's someone I want you to meet." 

"James," you say after him, wet from your glass leaking down to your sleeve, "what?" 

"I asked him to come early and say hello! He's quiet and handsome and you'll love him, just don't stare at his nose." 

What's wrong with his nose? you think, alarmed. 

James opens the door. Two new voices emerge, one scratchy and a little high, the other smoother. "I need to pee so bad," the scratchy one declares, followed by bounding footsteps up the stairs. 

"You alright?" the smoother asks.

You think there's patting, a hug, "I'm brilliant! You smell really nice, Remus, like a garden." 

"Lovely."

"In a good way! Come and meet my Y/N, you remember I told you about her nice gel pens?" 

James leads the smooth-voiced Remus into the living room. You hurriedly put down your drink and stand, wiping your wet hands in your shirt. You cringe at the darkening fabric but hide your grimace as they stop in front of you. 

"Remus, Y/N. Y/N, Remus," James introduces you both. 

Remus has a scar across his nose that seems cruelly cut. There's another beside it that starts in his upper lip, both of which end in his eyebrow. You know how self-conscious it feels to be looked at, so you manage to smile and offer your hand without too much of it. He's handsome with his scars, a nice nose with a ridge and brown eyes the colour of caramelised sugar.

"Hello," Remus says, shaking your hand. His is big enough to make yours feel small. 

"I invited her early because she's more fun than the rest of our lot," James says, throwing himself down on the sofa and kicking his legs out on the coffee table. 

Remus taps your elbow very gently as if to usher you to sit and sits down beside you, enough space to be casual but too little to stop the rampant nerves that blossom in your stomach. 

Remus asks about your life. What you're studying, where you're from, if James is being nice to you. While James is touchy in the rough older brother way, scrunching your shoulder and shaking you when you're not expecting it. Remus is touchy in a different way, you find, almost as if he doesn't know he's doing it. His shoe bumps your shoe, his hand falls down between his outer thigh and your own, his knuckles touching your jeans very lightly. He spins in his seat to talk to you. 

You don't notice other people arriving, nor the scratchy-voiced friends return. All you can do is look up at Remus with wide eyes. Your nerves meld to something warmer. 

"And what do you do?" you ask him. 

He smiles like you've wandered into a secret. "I'm trying to write a book." 

"He's being a bit much," Sirius says to James, the two now loitering in the doorway with matching beers. You and Remus chatter on, unaware of their running commentary.

"It's a very strong reaction. I knew she'd like him, but I didn't think she'd like him like that." James takes a sip of his drink. Remus asks you a quiet question. You duck your head, playing with your sleeves, and Remus, the bastard, ducks his head to follow your gaze, smiling at you all the while. 

James almost chokes, pointing his bottle toward you both as though Sirius isn't already looking. "He's eating it up. I forgot how flirty he is."

"She'll be nice to him, won't she?" Sirius asks, like it's a done deal. To be fair, Remus seems enthralled with you. 

"Definitely. She's very nice. Oh, look, that's sick, she's gonna pass out." James winces as Remus takes your arm into his hand. 

Remus wouldn't do anything cruel, but James wasn't joking when he told Remus that you were exceedingly, achingly shy. He's about to step in and rescue you, but you turn into Remus' touch and pull your leg up on the sofa to make yourself comfortable. Your voice is animated, if quieter than the average person's.

"Woah," James says, beaming.  

Remus flirts almost as a defence, like he wants to get the rejection over and done with so he can move on. You've yet to reject; you're looking up at him in moderate awe, your lips quirked into an easy smile. 

"Boo!" James calls, flicking his bottle cap at Remus, who brushes it away. "Took me three weeks to get a smile out of her," he mutters. "What a dick." 

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #marauders era #remus x reader #remus x you #marauders #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin blurb #marauders x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #the marauders #luveline's 40k party

[luveline]

I LOVE YOUR WRITING IT'S SO ASDFJKFTICDHBDIGDGXSJOHCBCFG

so I wanted to request Sirius x reader where the reader is on veritaserum and has a banter/ tongue in cheek sorta relationship with Sirius. And then when she's on the truth serum she has to hold back witty comebacks because when she opens her mouth all she keeps saying is how disgustingly cute Sirius looks when he smiles, and how she just wants to snog his face off PLEASE IF YOU CAN 👉👈 🥺

REMINDER: YOU'RE AMAZING AND I'M HAPPY AND PROUD OF YOUR SERVICE TO THE FANFIC COMMUNITY

thank you ♡ —you can't hide the truth from sirius, and he doesn't want to try. 1.3k

cw spiked drink

"Why would someone put veritaserum in the pimms?" you ask James meekly. 

"Shortcake, I'm really not sure. Don't get upset about it, alright? Remus is going to tear them all a new one." He squeezes you by the shoulders. "Don't worry, Jamie's here." 

"You're very handsome, but I don't fancy you. Much." 

James smiles. "Good to know, lovely. I don't fancy you much either. I'll assume you're saving yourself for our mutual dark-haired friend and I shan't be offended." 

You slap a hand over your mouth and shake your head, but the truth comes out muffled into your palm anyways. "I really like him," you say, eyes wide with terror, "I don't want anyone else. Oh, James! You're such a dick!" 

"Do you mean that, or are you just angry with me?" James asks, helping you out into the garden away from the party and your peers, who can't be trusted to leave you alone when you're set to tell them any secret they want. 

"Both!" 

"What's wrong?" Sirius asks. 

Your neck almost snaps as you look up. James swears, trying to save it as your body instinctively answers. "Someone's spiked our girl," James says extremely loudly to mask your more honest confession, "I'm worried I'm going to tell you I like you," you say. 

Sirius, sitting on a low garden wall with a packet of cigarettes in his hand, is puzzled. "What?" 

"Someone's put veritaserum in her drink. Maybe in the pitcher. I've brought her outside so she doesn't accidentally tell everyone she's in love with me."

Sirius grins. "Don't be daft, Prongs, she's clearly team Black. Aren't you, sweetheart?" 

"You're the prettiest of your trio," you say, sincerity like a blade at the back of your throat, aching, "I'm definitely on your team." 

James squeezes your shoulder and helps you into a garden chair, the metal cool against your back. "I'll forgive you because I know you can't help it, and because I know you're dying of embarrassment," he murmurs. 

"Thank you. I love you." 

"I love you too, shortcake," James says easily, kicking out a chair for Sirius and flopping into his beside you. "Aren't feeling ill, are you?" 

"Just terrified I'll say something too honest," you say, holding your breath between words. 

Sirius sits in the chair that's been kicked out for him with a cigarette held between his lips, unlit. He lift a his hips to pull a lighter from his back pocket and you flush with heat at the motion, wondering if you're a pervert for looking, for thinking, but lately your flirty banter has your heart doing front flips, and every time you see him you're zoning in on his hands, his arms, the slip of skin at his navel when he stretches, the low sound he makes when something pops. 

"Stop ogling me," he says without looking from his cigarette, the end glowing orange in the flame of his clipper. 

"I don't mean to," you say. 

James shifts uncomfortably. Everyone knows you like Sirius, maybe even Sirius, but he hasn't said a thing about it and you've stopped yourself (so far) from telling him. Any truth has been said under the guise of a joke. 

Sirius takes a short drag and holds the cigarette out and away from you, smoke curling in the cold autumnal night. "Shall I go help defend your honour? I assume that's where Remus is. Being spiked isn't funny." 

"I'd like it if you stayed here," you say. 

James laughs. Sirius leans forward a touch. "Then I'll stay here. Do you need something to drink?"

"My mouth is really dry," you say. 

Sirius sends a saccharine smile James' way. It's the look of an older brother used to getting his way, to which James sighs and grumbles, standing from his chair, "Don't ask her anything cruel," he says severely, kissing the top of your head quickly. "I'm serious." 

"I won't. I quite like her, in case you forgot. I've no interest in torturing her." 

You believe him. James departs with a pat, leaving you and Sirius alone at the garden table, still but for the little motion he does every now and then to fleck ash onto the floor. 

"You sure you're okay?" Sirius asks.

"I feel fine. Warm, but that's probably because you're smiling at me." 

He raises his eyebrows. "Maybe we should talk about something else. I really don't want to ask you anything too personal while you can't keep a secret. James gave me veritaserum once, when we were kids." 

"He did?" you ask. 

"Too much of it. I was sick, and I couldn't stop telling him how much I wished we were real brothers. Which he knows now, but at the time it was, you know, very sincere." 

"You and James are real brothers," you say. 

"I'm glad you can say that. It must be true," he says. "I'm lucky, even if he has tried to poison me." 

"James is lucky too. We all are." 

"Yeah?" he asks. He's about to continue, but your mouth does the choosing for you, and you cut him off. 

"I love knowing you, Sirius, I feel lucky to be your friend, and I–" You bite your tongue hard enough for tears to catch in your eyes immediately. 

Sirius' blasé fades, falls away slowly, like a moving cloud unveiling a slice of light, "Don't hurt yourself," he says, alarmed at your wincing. He drops his cigarette and smashes it with his heel, shuffling his chair closer to yours. 

"I just don't want to tell you something," you say, shaking your head. 

Sirius touches your hand. "Okay, I won't ask you any more questions. I'm sorry. Everyone's allowed their secrets, lovely, I didn't mean to make you answer me. I thought it would be easier to skirt around the issue." 

But it's a big feeling, and it's in everything you do. You really, really like him. If you can't be honest about that, maybe you can be honest about something else..

There's no shame in finding a handsome man handsome. And maybe you can convince him that that's all it is. "I just want to kiss you stupid, Black," you say, "like, kiss you until I can't feel my mouth anymore. You look like you know how to really kiss someone." 

Sirius laughs suddenly, startled. "I want to kiss you stupid, doll. You're a fucking dime piece," he says through laughter, "and that's the truth."

"You look really nice when you laugh," you further, wondering if this is the wrong thing to do. 

"You look beautiful when you laugh," he says. 

"Joking with you about stuff is the best part of my week." 

"It's the best part of mine. I wish we saw each other more often," he says. 

"Did you drink the pimms, too?" you ask. 

"No. I'm stone cold sober, sweetheart." Sirius looks behind you and you follow his gaze to the patio doors, where James and Remus are arguing good-naturedly, a tall pint glass filled literally to the rim with water in James' hand.

"Has he left you alone?" Remus asks, quick down the short step to defend you. "I love you, Sirius, but I don't trust you to not ask her embarrassing questions." 

"I'm starting to get offended. No, she hasn't told me anything embarrassing. Only that she wants to snog my lips off, but I knew that already." Sirius smiles at you dopily while his friends seize up. "And that's hardly embarrassing, because I want to do it to her first." 

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius x reader fluff #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fic #marauders era #marauders #sirius black drabble #sirius black scenario #sirius black oneshot #the marauders #sirius orion black #luveline's 40k party

[luveline]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 —send me a shy!reader request for any character (with a plot) and I'll write a >1k drabble

Can I request shy!reader and Derek? Maybe where she's really shy about pda but she finally works up the courage to hold his hand or kiss his cheek in public and he just melts <3

tysm! ♡

"Penelope, I'm not wearing that." 

Penelope waves the custom t-shirt she's made at him threateningly. "Yes, you will, because you love me and you love Hotch and he deserves our support." 

She's created matching garb for their entire team as well as any partner willing to support Hotch. "This is his second triathlon, and he's very much going to remember last year's triathlon and his now ex-girlfriend. Plus, it's for charity!" She slaps his chest with the shirt. "Put it on." 

You smile at his reaction, the fond clench of his jaw, his rolling eyes as he peels out of his t-shirt. The smile quickly stifles, mouth dry as the Sahara in seconds. The tight pack of his abs ripple in the sunlight, dark skin practically glistening. 

"It's too hot for this," he complains. 

Penelope nudges you. "He can say that again." 

Derek squeezes into his shirt and laughs. "This better be the wrong size on accident." 

"Maybe." She leans down to grab another shirt from her tote bag, saying, "This should be the right size, sweetcheeks." 

Yours is big enough to wear over your original blouse easily. Derek glares at you without any real malice and swings an arm around your shoulders, dropping a kiss at your temple. "Looking good." 

Being with Derek has never made any sense to you. Or rather, Derek being with you has never made any sense —you'd be a fool to turn him down and he's a fool to think you're good enough. He's ridiculously attractive, a bombshell of a man, with ambition and a good heart, sweetness and heat alike practically drip from him. You're confused by him often and melted by him more, a melted puddle of a girl as he walks you to the crowd of BAU employees waiting at the finish line to cheer for Hotch.

Jack and Henry stand together, though Henry, JJ's son, is much smaller. Will crouches next to him to make sure he doesn't run anywhere he isn't supposed to, while JJ stands with Emily and Spencer, all already bedecked in their supportive t-shirts. 

There's a chorus of hellos as you join them. Everybody Derek cares about that isn't in Chicago stands in a bubble, and it terrifies you like always. You want to make a good impression. You don't want to let Derek down. 

Not that he cares about any of that. He knew you were shy to aching when you met and he has no intentions of trying to change you. "Sorry we're late," he says. "My fault."

Actually, it's your fault. You got the time wrong. But Derek doesn't embarrass you by telling them —your affection for him swells. 

He keeps a hand behind your back for a while. You sway under the huge sun beating down and on tired feet for a while, Hotch your saviour as he appears across the finish line. Will takes Jack to meet him, and Jack, the poor thing, gets a super sweaty hug.

Hotch isn't first to finish, but he runs a good time. 

"Better than last year's!" Emily cheers. 

Penelope wolf whistles. You clap your hands with Spencer, pleased if feeling a little out of place. 

"Maybe I'll sign up for next year's triathlon," Derek says, grinning. 

You know he's kidding, but Derek could do anything he set his mind to. You go on tiptoes and kiss his cheek. "I'd cheer you on," you say earnestly, stepping back, wiping the tiny balmy kiss print you've left behind. 

Derek looks at you plainly startled. Your heart skips a beat, worried you've overstepped. 

"Can I get another one of those, or are they in limited supply?" he asks, warm and quiet, not an inch of bravado to be seen. 

You turn back the unfolding scene of victory in front of you, "Maybe later." 

Derek is noticeably sweet on you for hours, and declares at dinner that he'll be joining Hotch in next year's triathlon. You reach for his hand under the table and nod along. You'd love to see him at the finish line. 

#derek morgan #derek morgan x reader #derek morgan x you #derek morgan x y/n #derek morgan x fem!reader #derek morgan imagine #derek morgan fluff #derek morgan fanfic #derek morgan oneshot #derek morgan scenario #derek morgan drabble #derek morgan fic #derek morgan fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #luveline's 40k party

[luveline]

𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐨𝐤 —

i'm watching season two of criminal minds and getting very sad and frustrated about how no one is noticing spencer's withdrawals. could you maybe do one where bau!reader notices that he's not okay and confronts him about it? our baby boy deserves all the help he can get at this point 🥲 love you endlessly!

love you!! cw drug use

"What are you doing?" you ask. 

Spencer pushes his book toward you wordlessly, an intimidating tome of Russian literature. 

"No, like, what are you doing?" 

Spencer sits up. His sunken eyes look for your tell, a twitch in your lips like this might be a bluff, but there's no feigned emotion to be found. "I don't know what you're asking me." 

"Is it downers?" 

A spark of life behind tired eyes, his face contorted by anger, Spencer hisses, "What are you talking about?" 

"Oxycontin? Xanax? Half the time you're looking at us like you hate us and the rest of the time you're quiet." 

"I don't– you're being ridiculous," Spencer says. 

"Your hands are shaking, Spence." You cross your arms over your chest and take a step closer to his desk. While you'd asked him somewhere far from private, driven by a need for truth, you care about him —that's why you're asking. You know you've gone about this all wrong. "You're coming down," you whisper, "and it looks painful." 

Spencer just stares at you. 

"Why don't we go to the cafeteria? Get something warm to eat?" you suggest. He's lost weight he didn't have to lose lately. 

"I'm never hungry," he says. 

You take it for a confession, an admittance that he's been doing something he shouldn't be. Withdrawal and drug use alike can cause a lack of appetite. Maybe he's upset you've brought it up, just… 

"I can't watch you being not okay anymore," you say. 

His surprise is obvious. "I didn't think anybody noticed." 

You can't speak for the others or their motivations. All you know is that you care about him too much to pretend it isn't happening. You'd hoped Spencer would tell you about it himself, if he needed help. You hadn't realised that might come off as you not paying attention.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to tell me, I shouldn't have– I'm sorry for being sudden."

"I haven't exactly been approachable," Spencer says bitterly. 

"I love you," you say. "Be a dick if you want. But I love you and I want you to eat more than dried fruit, so. Come with me for dinner." 

Spencer stands up quietly, no fuss. He pulls his jacket on and unlucky his hair from the collar, expression like a lost puppy looking down at you. You stare at him, his under eyes dark as wine and the slight hollow of his cheeks, the stubble like a shadow on his jaw. 

You go up on tiptoes and wrap your arms around him. "I just want to know what's wrong so I can be here for you," you say, crushing his hair to his neck with your cheek. You readjust your hands, trying to convey how you feel, the want to hold him together, put his misaligned pieces back in the right place. "I don't want you to be alone." 

Spencer clears his throat, but he hugs you back in his way, making himself smaller and shorter to fit in your embrace. 

"It'll be okay. Yeah?" You speak into his hair, a reassurance for him alone.

Spencer just hugs you harder. 

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #luveline's 40k party

[luveline]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 —send me a shy!reader request for any character (with a plot) and I'll write a >1k drabble

shy reader who really just wants to lie down on the couch with james, but remmy and sirius are over

luveline's 40k party ☆ thank you for requesting ♡ fem!reader

"It's, like, exploding eyeliner or something. Every time I use it I look like I've cried my eyes out," Sirius says. 

You linger behind the doorway, hands curled into your shirt behind your back. James, your boyfriend, is lying down on the sofa. You'd been sitting with him until you needed to use the bathroom, and while you were gone his friends came home. 

You can't complain —it's their house, not yours. But you don't know what to do now.

"I thought you changed to pencil," James says, stretching like a cat in the sun, the firm lines of his chest rippling. You're shy, but you can't lie to yourself. James is a catch.  "Like, the kohl stuff." 

"It's hard to put on."

"And take off," Remus says, having splayed beside Sirius on the single armchair. 

Sirius pulls Remus' thigh further into his lap. "So I decided against it for Remus' sake." He must have a better sixth sense than the other two, turning in the chair to smile at you. "Hey, doll. You okay?" 

"I–" You beg yourself not to stammer. "M'okay. How are you?" 

James beckons for you to come in as Remus answers, "Don't ask him, he'll never stop complaining." 

You obey James' ask and try to sit where you'd been before at his feet, but he catches your waist and pulls you down. Your back across his hips, his arm over your stomach, it isn't intimate in the dirty sense but intimate all the same. Your cheeks catch fire instantaneously. 

"I'm quite good, actually," Sirius says. 

"Yeah?" You sound ridiculous. "What about you, Remus? Did you, um, did you finish your new chapter?" 

Remus grins at your remembering. James' hand squeezes approvingly, clearly pleased as well as Remus delves into an explanation of why his novel seems to have stagnated. Your stiff as a rod despite James' nice handling while you listen. You want to lie down with him, your eyes heavy, the light outside fading as the boys talk, but appearances hold you back, even as Remus dissolves into Sirius side like wet paper and kips. 

"You okay?" James asks, hand climbing up to just below your chest. "Lie down with me." 

"I don't want to be, you know, rude," you whisper.

James doesn't laugh nor tease you. "It's not rude, lovely, this is my house, and you're welcome to do what you like when you're here." He's whispering too, careful not to talk louder than the TV. "If you want to lie down, you can. He won't care, and it's not rude. I'll cover you up like a blanket anyway." 

James sits up a little and pulls you gently to his front. You put your legs up next to his and lay back, giving in to the lul of his warm skin seeping through your shirt, the coiled muscled of his forearm where he squeezes you up tight to his chest. 

Sirius looks over at the movement. "We're just cushions, mate," he says to James, grinning. 

James kisses the side of your head with palpable pride. "That's all I was made to be," he says happily. 

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders #luveline's 40k party

[luveline]

steve or sirius established relationship! just them being flirty and cute and in love! having a wonderful day! maybe reader is shy but also super loud when you get to know her 🌷🌷🌷 CONGRATS ON 40K YOU DESERVE IT

luveline's 40k party ☆ tysm!! boyfriend sirius x shy fem!reader

"I'm not watching that!" 

Sirius flicks through movies, ignoring your protests to offer up another horror. "Why not?" he asks when you shake your head. 

"Because! It'll scare me and you'll just laugh," you say. 

Sirius slides a finger through your belt loop and tries to push you into a spin. You keep your footing and push his chest in retaliation. He doesn't even pretend to feel it. "It'll scare you and I'll get to give you a cwtch to make it better, doesn't that sound nice?" he asks teasingly. 

You sidestep him to poke at the comedy's instead. Sirius follows, sidling up behind you like you're not in the middle of the supermarket. "You know you want to," he says, voice dipping down to a murmur, his lips skimming the side of your neck. 

You squirm but can't escape his hands on your hips, breath catching in your throat as he lays a soft kiss down. 

"Don't, babe, people will see," you say, tickled by the scratch of his stubble. 

"Free show," he says, kissing with more pressure. 

You weasel out of his grasp and point a warning finger at him. His eyebrows jump. You quickly drop the finger, taking small, measured steps backward so as not to bump into anyone. "Don't start." 

"I'm not starting," he says, starting, ditching your trolley to stalk you from the film section to the printer inks. 

"Sirius, don't! You always do this when we're in the shops and it is so embarrassing!" you whisper-shout furiously.

"What's embarrassing about being in love?" he asks loudly. 

You cringe. You hate this sort of thing, despise public displays of affection, and what's worse is that Sirius knows it, so half the time he's not even kissing you because he wants to, he's doing it to wind you up. You check behind you, worried you'll walk into something expensive, and Sirius creeps forward, a delighted smile on his face. 

"Dove, come back!" he says, like he doesn't love the chase. 

Your cheeks glow hot with a shame-faced flush. "Get lost, Siri, please." 

You back all the way into a corner. Defeated, you watch your boyfriend approach one smug step at a time. He doesn't look like the kind of man to corner a young woman such as yourself. He's handsome in an awful way, like he just nipped to Tesco's between shooting an aftershave advert. His hair is freshly cut but still long enough for his curls to glow slick under the fluorescents, and his eyes are grey like heavy clouds. Lips you can still feel on your neck curl into a salacious smile, his hand finally close enough to hold your arm. 

"Just one kiss?" he asks. 

You sigh. "Sure," you say, knowing it's a lie. 

You get one kiss, a second, all warm and sweet but rougher as they go on. A third kiss, a forth, his curious fingers running lines down the sensitive arc of your sides. You laugh against his mouth and forget where you are when he laughs back, the sound smothered as he dips in for more kissing. 

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius x reader fluff #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fic #marauders era #marauders #sirius black drabble #sirius black scenario #sirius black oneshot #the marauders #sirius orion black #luveline's 40k party

[luveline]

hope my boyfriend's okay request.

hi!!! can I request hurt comfort or angst with spencer reid? maybe reader is just an ordinary girl, not that smart, not that pretty, or even a college drop out (like reader from honeybody) so she is kinda insecure when spencer being kind to her or even ask her on a date?

tysm♡

"Do you want to play?" Spencer asks. 

You're flushed before you open your mouth, startled by his sudden appearance and the new haircut he sports, curls locked back behind his neck. "Sorry, I just wanted to sit down." 

"No, I'm just asking if you want to play," he says, shaking the little briefcase he holds between his fingers to emphasise the rattle of the chess pieces inside. 

You've stolen his chess table again at the park. It's how you met, how you continue to meet —you want somewhere to put your book as you read and Spencer hardly ever makes you move, he just sort of sits with you until someone is in need of an opponent. 

"I don't know how. I don't have the smarts." 

Spencer sits down opposite you, placing the briefcase against the white and black chequered tiles. "Playing chess isn't about being smart. Being good at chess takes learned skill, though. It's like learning a language. Most people can say hello and goodbye if they try, but fluency comes with practice." He smiles at you like you're lovely and pretty and someone worth explaining this too, when you're worrying It's filtering out of your head like water through a sieve. Draining, draining, gone. 

"I don't even think I could remember hello and goodbye," you say. Your attempt to smile back at him is pitiful. 

His smile ebbs. "You're sure you don't want to play? I'd go easy for you." 

You curl the cover of your paperback in your hands, deliberating. Chess is one of those games that seems never-ending. It's full of manoeuvres and techniques, openings, closings, all these learned combinations, strategy like nothing you've ever been able to comprehend. You've never wanted to learn because you know you won't be good, even if you try. 

"Okay," you say quietly. "I really won't be any good." 

Spencer shrugs and begins to retrieve the small wooden chess pieces. "I usually win anyways."

"Have you ever, um, competed? Like the grandmaster things?" 

"No, but I had a friend I competed against for a long time. We played a lot of games. He was better at winning, despite my advantage." Spencer arranges your pieces with care. "Do you need me to teach you the opening moves?" 

He explains slowly. When you need help, he gives it, and he doesn't lord it over your head. It's a little shameful seeing the difference in your intellectual capabilities displayed so clearly, and the longer the game goes on the worse you feel, even though Spencer lets you win. 

"You'll get better every game," he says, returning taken pieces to the board.  

"You want to play again?" you ask. "Come on, Spencer, that can't have been fun for you." 

"Why wouldn't it be?" 

"Because I'm a useless opponent? And I don't really have anything else going for me, either, so it must be boring." It's an awkward thing to say, self-deprecating and stilted considering you and Spencer aren't more than acquaintances. You regret it as soon as you've said it but the frustration of the situation sticks around. "I don't understand why you waste your time with me." 

"It's not wasted if it's with you." Spencer looks genuinely confused, shapely eyebrows pinching. "Is that what you really think? I like spending time with you, I don't need you to be a chess expert to find you interesting." 

"But there's nothing interesting,," you insist. 

"Of course there is…" He straightens a chess piece, gaze split between you and the board. "You don't have to say something from a journal for it to be worth saying. You know, I've had a thousand conversations this year, some of them with professors or academic experts, but," —he puts his hand, now finished with the chess pieces, over his elbow, meeting your eyes shamelessly— "the one I replay the most is from a few weeks ago, when you told me why you like to read in the park." 

"That was just small talk," you say weakly, though it hadn't felt small to you, and now you know it wasn't small for him either. 

"Then I guess I love small talk," Spencer says. "Do you want to play again? I'll teach you some good opening moves if you tell me more about you. Deal?" 

You nod hurriedly, and fail to hide a beaming smile. "Teach me the best one." 

"That's what I meant," he says. 

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fic #luveline's 40k party

[luveline]

𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐰𝐞𝐛 —send me an established relationship request for any reader and any character and I'll write a ficlet, 1k or less

reader pulling Hotch in by his belt loops trying to break the ice after they get into a disagreement

luveline's 40k party ☆ tysm for requesting! vaguely suggestive. fem!reader

You know why you argued, but you kinda wish he'd stop being mad. You're not mad anymore, and he's the one who started it so he should be the one to raise the white flag. Maybe. It was only a little fight! 

You sigh dramatically. Hotch doesn't budge, wiping down dishes with a cloth one by one. 

"I'm sorry," you say, your third apology overall. 

"It's fine." He smiles from over his shoulder. You believe him, but he's still put out. You understand not everyone can move from an argumentative mood into a happy one quickly and try not to worry about it much longer, though the urge to kiss his scratchy jaw has its hooks in you. 

You put away the plates after he's dried them and figure you'll just have to go for it. While he's not paying attention, you slip your finger into the snug of his belt loop and pull him toward you. He wraps his arm around your shoulder rather than elbow you, looking down at you with a mixture of nearly hidden surprise and pleasure. He tries very hard to keep a straight face. 

"Hey, baby," you say, "you come here often?" 

"I'm still annoyed," he says, warmth creeping into his voice.

"Yes, well. Me too. But I like you more than I'm annoyed at you and I'd really like to kiss you, so… can I?" 

Hotch looks down at your hand in his belt loop and does that thing older guys do, a sound between a scoff and a laugh with a nod to seal the deal. "I suppose." 

"Oh, you suppose," you say, leaning up to kiss his chin, your following words smothered in his skin, "you would suppose, Hotchner, you're such a supposer."

He laughs again and you glow, sure it had been a weak joke. His smile twitches under your lips as you kiss him, and his hand cups the back of your neck. Forgiven. 

"Sorry," he says between kisses. It's low but impossible to miss, and his tone is sincere. "I'm not trying to be unreasonable." 

"You're very reasonable. And you can make it up to me, if you like." You blink your eyes open to meet his dark gaze, smiling as his hand slinks down the curve of your back.

"Should I pull at your jeans?" he asks. His finger curves into your belt loop, his hand angled further down. 

You lean in for another kiss. "Yes, please." 

#luveline's 40k party #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

[luveline]

Sooo maybe you got this already but how about modern day remus hurt/comfort featuring the blue moon we just got?

tysm♡

You can't lie on top of Remus like you want to, but you can curl up by his side. The saying once in a blue moon has lost all of its charm —your poor boyfriend gets to suffer twice in one month. Not cool.

"You," you say, as though this is your entire sentence, distracted by the need to kiss his stubbly cheek, "are so handsome." 

"Stop buttering me up." 

"But I like to," you whine, laughing as he turns his head up to encourage another kiss on top of the first. You kiss him pink, his pale cheeks finally flushing with a little colour after days a peaky grey. 

Remus curls onto his side to match you, two halves of the same heart, chocolatey brown eyes a little darker in the morning light. He winces as he does, some newly stitched cut or bandaged bruise giving him trouble. 

"'Nother cup of tea?" you ask. 

"I think I'm full of tea, my love." 

He's much nicer after a full moon than before it. He tells you of teenage years spent screaming at the people who loved him to leave him alone, to do something, to put him out of his misery. You're thankful that these days he just get moody, like a bad case of premenstrual agitation, and then afterwards he's very sorry. You don't want anymore apologies from him today and you think he might be finished offering them, content to lie in the warm mess of his bed with you as you rub his sallow skin. 

"Shall we have a snog?" you ask. 

"Don't," he says, "don't even joke about it." 

You laugh softly at his upset and poke his cheek. "How terrible it must be for you to ache too much for a kiss. What if I do all the work?" you ask. 

"Maybe one," he says, murmuring as you lean down, "or two." 

You kiss his chapped lips gently. The room silent but for the brush of your palm against his face, he pulls in a breath at your touch through his nose, his lips parting a millimetre, maybe less. You use your elbow for leverage, careful not to lean on his sore shoulder as you pull away, turn your head, and dive back in, your noses bumping. 

You forget yourself when he touches your back. A shorter, startled sound bubbles at the back of his throat and you immediately recede. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," you say, eyes wide and checking him over. 

"It's just my arm, sweetheart. My fault." 

You take his hand resting at your back and put it back where it was on the bed. "This is why we don't kiss after a full moon," you say, more to yourself than him. You feel like you've dangled a carrot on a stick in front of him. "I'll make you more tea." 

He catches your arm before you can climb off the bed. "I'm fine! Stop worrying. And I really couldn't manage another if I wanted to. But if you want to make yourself one, please, do, and write it down on the chart." 

"I'm not writing a cup of tea down on the chore chart," you say. "How is that fair?" 

"Why wouldn't it be fair? I've made you zero cups of tea these last few days and you've made me twenty. I think I'll be making you tea all month to make up for it." 

You smile at him fondly. "Can I trade some tea in for less turns doing the dishes?" 

"We're not currently accepting trades, at the moment." Remus expends energy he doesn't have kissing your elbow. "...But I can make an exception. For you." 

You lay back down to give him ease of access. "You can just kiss my arm again and we'll call it square." 

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #marauders era #remus x reader #remus x you #marauders #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin blurb #marauders x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #the marauders #luveline's 40k party

[luveline]

Hello! Can I request cornflower blue with Aaron, where he's just really into chubby!reader and she's so sweet to him and acts kind of similar to bombshell!reader, but is surprised and ecstatic when she finally notices that he's been flirting back?

tysm♡

You walk into Hotch's office feeling pretty and ridiculous. You know you look cute today, hair done pristine, skin dewy, your outfit one that accentuates the slopes of you (and this is all without mentioning the frankly gorgeous pair of shoes you're wearing). 

"Hello," you say. Something about Hotch makes you feel prettier. You couldn't put your finger on it, maybe it's the way he doesn't seem bemused at your flirting ('cos, oh, there's the flirty fat girl, how funny! like being sweet on people is weird when you do it). "How are you today, handsome?" 

"I'm good," he says, with a real, authentic, sticker of approval smile. "How are you?" 

"Better now I'm seeing you," you say, neatening the edges of your papers on his desk before offering them to a big hand. 

"I could say the same thing," he murmurs, looking down at the papers you've passed him with that boss look about him. He has to check your paperwork before it's submitted, of course, and this batch is a little late, so that's probably why he's happy to see you.

"Charmer. Do you need my help with anything while I'm here? I'm free." 

"You, free?" he says, still looking at the papers, one held above the pile, grabbing for a pen blindly. "In what world?" 

"This one, if you can believe it! Hotch, you understand me like nobody else does." You put on a saccharine, movie star tone, silky and smooth as you sit in the slippery leather chair in front of his desk. Elbows on the desk, you place your chin in your hand and watch him correct things you've written with a dreamy expression that isn't even really fake.

You quite like turning Hotch's innocuous comments into flirtation, if only to see his smile, but today the smile seems different. Almost like he knows something you don't know. You press your pinky finger over your lips and try to work it out. 

… Is Hotch flirting back? There's nothing to do but test it. 

"How do you make paperwork look good?" you ask. And it's important to note that you mean what you say, even if your compliments are said in a teasing, sunny manner. "Is there anything you can't do?" 

"Careful," he says, turning a page. Well, maybe he isn't flirting– "You might get something you aren't looking for." 

Your heart is a bat out of hell, leaping from your chest. "I'm always looking for something as long as you're the one giving it, Hotch... I've been thinking I'd quite like a new moniker, if you're up to it." 

He places the paperwork down into a tidy tray and leans back just a touch in his chair (what the fuck). "What would you have me call you?" he asks quietly. 

"Any Sweetheart will do." Is this real? Is he really giving it back to you? "Puppy love, angel, valentine. You could take your pick."

"Why don't you choose one for me?" 

You stand up from your chair and shake your head at him, fizzy energy with nowhere to go. "Handsome, you're in a mood. I'm going to do a lap, okay? Before I combust. Think you can get this," —you gesture to his chest in a big circle— "under wraps, or shall I start picking out colours for our engagement party invitations?" you ask. 

Hotch laughs and opens one of his desk drawers. You consider the joking over, and while you're disappointed, you're not surprised. That is, until he says, "I like eggshell white over cream, but I'm sure you'll make the right decision, angel." 

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #luveline's 40k party

[luveline]

Congrats on 40k Jade! Also hi, I hope you're having a great day (I'm really nervous this is my first time sending in a request I'm so sorry if I sound weird)

𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐨𝐤 —send me a hurt/comfort request for any reader and any character and I'll write a ficlet, 2k or less

Can I request a reader that has a bit of a temper and got told that no one would like her because of it so she's a bit insecure about herself? My favourite character is James so maybe with him or with Remus whichever you prefer (and they reassure her and it's awesome because your writing is just so awesome)

Congrats again <3

luveline's 40k party ☆ thank you so much, you didn't sound weird at all dw ♡ fem!reader

The day has been long, your feet dragging up the steps to Remus' flat. His door sticks and the only radiator that doesn't need bleeding is the one in his bedroom, so it's cold, and you're irked. You kick out of your pinching shoes and hang your jacket up, which falls on the floor. You pick it up and it falls again. Huffing, you put it on the sideboard and trudge down the hallway to Remus bedroom. 

"Hello, my lovely," he says without looking up. 

There's a notebook in his lap. He's wearing his reading glasses. If you were in a better mood you'd try to distract him by laying across his thighs. As it stands, you're fucking exhausted. You flop down in his bed and curl towards him where he's sitting against the headboard. 

"Tired?" he asks. 

"Mm." Tired isn't the right word, but the right word makes people cringe at you. 

Today has been awful and you hate the part of you that wants to rail about it. You can't help how you feel; this anger glows molten. It makes you hate yourself, which irks you worse. You grab one of his pillows and pull it against your chest to squeeze it until your arms hurt. 

"Bad day?" he asks, pen scratching.

You exhale. "A bit," you say into the pillowcase. 

"Sorry, dovey," he says. There's the sound of paper leaves catching against one another and the clink of a pen put away. "What did you say? I needed to finish writing that edit down before I forgot."

You're not mad at him in particular but your voice comes out tightly strung anyhow, "I said it was a bit of a bad day."

Remus hears your tone and refuses to skirt around the issue. Not from a want to be confrontational, but a direct way of going about things. "What, are you mad at me?" 

"No," you say, turning away from him. 

"You seem mad." 

"I think I am." 

"Well, now you don't sound mad," he says, dipping down to talk into the back of your neck. "Now you sound upset. Have I upset you?" 

"No, Remus," you say. Mad to sad to mad again, your shoulder and spine ache with rigidity. 

All his questions didn't make you mad, but you were mad to begin with, and so what might usually be very normal turns to irritating. In the moment, you've no hope of controlling it, and, not wanting to further subject Remus to any misdirected annoyance, you shuffle out of his reach. "I just need a minute," you say. 

Remus is used to your temper, though you often worry he'll grow tired of you and your big moods and throw in the towel. You count useless numbers in your head and curl your fists into balls until your bones feel like they're too big for your skin, wanting to deal with it alone. 

A minute or two later and Remus reaches for your side. "I was trying to lighten the mood, and it wasn't my best work," he says, tip of his thumb drawing semi circles into your shirt. 

Remus taking the blame for your emotions has you frowning, rabbit-holing into twisting thoughts. He's always been good for you and good to you, accepting of your short fuse. He's not always sunshine and lollipops himself. But, he's not angry half as often as you are. Does that bother him? People have said to you before that your temper will be the ruining of a good thing, that Remus won't want to deal with it. And it makes sense. 

You don't want to deal with it either. You don't really feel like you have much choice when it comes to being mad. 

"Sorry," you mumble. 

Mattress springs groan as he leverages himself closer to you. Familiar, his hand sneaks under your shirt to tickle the soft roll of your stomach. He draws a slow and winding line with no end nor goal in mind, uncaring of the pouch you get laying down. Remus doesn't really care about anything that could be marked superficial. It's one of the many reasons that he's markedly the best person you know; he loves everything that you hate about yourself without hesitation. Like your anger. 

"Do you want to set a rule?" he asks. 

"Pardon?"

"Humour me. Let's make a condition before we have this conversation." Remus stops drawing to slide his hand between your hip and the mattress, hugging you to him. "I'll assume you're not mad at me even if you sound angry, and you can assume I don't mind." 

"Do you mind?" you ask. 

"Well, I don't love when you're angry, but I know it isn't at me so it won't matter." 

Reassured enough to face him, you meet his eyes. 

"I know I have a tendency to make it sound like I'm angry at you when I'm really mad at someone else," you say. 

"That's not true. And I ask, don't I? If I think you're mad at me?" Remus' already dulcet voice drops to a murmur, words said slowly and with as much care as a person can put into words alone, "I don't know why you feel like you're such a bad person for being angry." 

"Because it's all the time," you say. Your throat burns with the effort that it takes to stay intelligible. 

"It's not all the time." 

"It's often, and it's not fair to you." 

"It's not fair to take it out on other people, and I promise you I'd let you know if you were doing that. So… could you just tell me why you're mad? Without worrying I'll take it personally." 

"It's not about taking it personally, I don't want you to take it personally, but it's just– it's just ugly, isn't it?" 

Remus frowns. "Honestly? I don't think so. You have to be angry sometimes. Everyone gets angry and those feelings need somewhere to go, or it'll eat you up inside and make you bitter instead. Like… okay, he'll forgive me for telling you this, but Sirius used to get into these awful angry tirades where he'd shout at nothing, you know? And I hated seeing him do it, but I wasn't sitting there thinking he was ugly for it. I just kind of hated that something was able to occupy him so heavily. And that's how I feel about it when it happens to you, dove." 

"He used to?" you ask, the bridge of your nose flat to his knee. 

"Yeah, he did." Remus pushes your shoulder flat to the bed beneath you and leans in to give you a kiss. The corner of your mouth takes the brunt of it. 

"Did you kiss him like this, or–" 

Remus laughs and hugs you, "A discussion for another day," he murmurs. He gives you a last kiss and squeeze and then sits up. "So shout at me." 

"I don't want to shout at you." 

"You know what I mean. Tell me what pissed you off today." 

"Are you sure?" you ask. 

"Yeah, I'm sure, I like the way your eyes look anyways, when you get riled up." Remus finds your hand to hold. "Tell me, dove. I'll be angry with you."

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #marauders era #remus x reader #remus x you #marauders #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin blurb #marauders x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #the marauders #luveline's 40k party

[luveline]

Jade Congrats !!!!! Just yesterday I was thinking about how much I miss vampire Eddie, can I request something w him and shy reader? Maybe when he's feeling like he's dangerous for reader and she has to reassure him that she trust him and adores him <3

tysm lovely! ♡ 1.2k

It physically pains you to call the same person multiple times. Each loop of the trill makes you antsy, eager to shove down the receiver and curl into a sorry, sad ball. You let it ring. When it goes to answer phone, you type in Eddie's number and call again. 

It picks up. Breathless, a little surprised, you ask, "Eddie?" 

"Hey, sweetheart." 

He sounds defeated. You're not perfect with tone but the subtleties of his stick stark like a neon sign. Your boyfriend has bouts of depression that often manifest in a lethargic voice like this. 

"Hi, Eddie. I was just calling to make sure you're home before I come over." Usually, you'd ask, but you don't want him to say no. It feels rude and weird and overbearing, but you know what he's thinking. Leaving your comfort zone for his sake isn't easy, and you do it anyway. "I made you something." 

"Okay. I can't wait to see it… can't wait to see you. Sorry I didn't answer this morning, I was sleeping." 

"That's fine. I'm just happy you're okay, I was worrying about you." 

You pack his gift into a bag with a tupperware of cookies and a thermos of hot chocolate. Eddie's home is close to yours. Within ten minutes you're knocking on his door with wind-bitten cheeks, the September cold nipping your heels. Leaves from the trees in the surrounding woodlands dance crispy at your feet, orange and brown mulch that sticks to your treads. 

Eddie unlocks the door to let you in. You see his hand first, deathly pale, black obsidian rings crowding his fingers where they curl around the door. For a second it's like he's going to turn you away, but he widens the gap and you squeeze inside. 

He forgets whatever's wrong to touch your face. "Hey," he says, his hand slipping to cup under your jaw. 

"Hi. You okay? You look pale." 

"Am I usually more tan?" he asks, dropping his hand. "Fine. Blood sate in a few days. For now I'm eating rare steak and wishing I was dead." 

He's kidding around, but you take his hand and squeeze his cold fingers. 

"You're as cold as me," he says. 

"It's nearly October outside. You'd know if you left the house." 

He hums at your telling off, the two of you toe to toe just behind the front door. He sounds vaguely admonished and more curious, kneading your fingers in his with an unmissable amount of love. "Come on," he says, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss your knuckles, "you need a blanket." 

You take off your shoes and coat, following Eddie through his living room, past the bathroom and into his bedroom. It's immaculately clean for once, but when you left the day before yesterday it was chaos. Something tells you he hasn't been sleeping as much as he claims. 

"What have you been doing in here?" you ask, putting your backpack on the bed. Eddie moves behind you, taller, a sweetheart through and through as he gets his hands on your shoulders and digs his thumbs in lightly. 

"I need to apologise to you," he says. 

"That's a big word." 

"I lied to you earlier, I wasn't sleeping, but I've been thinking… I needed to think." 

Well, what he's saying is nerve-wracking, but his hands aren't telling the same story. He's doing it on purpose for sure. "You don't have to say sorry for wanting time to think. Uh–" 

"Relax," he says. "Please. I just want to talk to you about something. Don't be nervous." 

"I'm constantly nervous." 

"I know." Eddie's hands pause at the space below your shoulder blades. It's strange not to be looking at him. He takes a deep breath. "Is that because of me?" 

You take your thermos out of your bag and turn. His pupils are small as they tend to be before a blood sate, his lips chapped. He starts to look poorly when he's hungry. The cookies and hot drink should help. 

"If it was because of you, how come I was like this before we met?" you ask gently, offering him the thermos.

"Do I make it worse?" 

"Of course you don't." How do you describe it to him? He's handsome and sweet and he makes you feel like you're something special. He's smart. He's fucking funny. Nothing about his demeanour or who he is has ever made you nervous, you've only ever worried you wouldn't measure up. 

It's hard to say out loud. Tentative, you put your hands on his waist. When he lifts his chin, you hug him close, strangely close to tears at the smell of him under your nose. 

"Eds, why would you think that? Have I made you think that?" you murmur.

"You know what I am." He tosses your thermos on the bed to cover your shoulders. 

"Yeah, I do."

"You wouldn't tell me if I scared you–" 

You flinch backward. "You think you scare me?" 

The starts of his eyebrows rise, his little box of wrinkles pinched, and his pupils slowly widening. When he speaks, it's with the practised cadence of a well-worn worry, "I'm not normal. You don't have to pretend that this is normal." 

"It doesn't feel normal to me," you say, placing your hand on his chest, fingertips against his shirt but palm hovering a half inch above. "It just feels like love. I love you, and I trust you. Is that what's worrying you?" 

"No," he says, winded. "I'm worried I'll hurt you. I know you trust me too much, you're," —he takes your face into big hands, kissing you very softly between words— "not the problem." 

You hug again. Cheek to cheek, an arm slung over his shoulder protectively. 

You miss your happy, weirdo boyfriend when he gets like this, but you understand why it happens. You don't resent him, don't mind, really, that he needs to be told these things. You'll be cheesy and soft as long as he needs it. 

"You're not the problem, either. You're a really good guy with a big heart and a propensity for catastrophizing," you say, your voice tipping into a teasing ire that borders theatrical.

He laughs like he was supposed to and steps back. Face I'm his hands, you turn your cheek into his left palm and smile into his syrupy brown eyes. 

"I haven't given you your gift." 

"I love you," he says. Licking his lips, "What gift?" 

You made him a coaster out of air dry clay, black and lacquered with a glaze that gleams like mother of pearl. He reads it and snorts, his top lip peeling back to expose the barest hint of a sharp tooth. "I heart my paranormal boyfriend," he reads, his voice gritty with humour. "Bit on the nose." 

You get a kiss for your efforts, firmer than the one he'd given you minutes before. Eddie's gonna be just fine in a couple of days, but for now you'll stick close. You don't want him getting the wrong idea —he doesn't scare you even slightly. 

#luveline's 40k party #vampire!eddie #vampire!eddie munson #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

[luveline]

Hi Jade, congratulations on 40k! Absolutely amazing!!!

For the celebration, may I request '𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝'𝐬 𝐨𝐤' — with Eddie & the phrase"I don't feel good", either Eddie or Reader didn't eat much throughout the day?

Thanks so much!! 💜

luveline's 40k party ☆ thank you! —eddie feels suddenly unwell after a long day with little to eat. you step in when he almost faints to take diligent care of him. fem!reader, 1.8k

"Hello, gorgeous." 

Eddie flinches at your appearance but quickly softens, pushing his book aside to open his arms to you. "I should be saying that to you!" he says, standing and squeezing you tight enough to force the breath from your chest in a rough laugh. 

"Wayne let me in, I swear." 

"I forgot you were coming," he says. Apologetic, he stops hugging you so tight and ends the embrace with your face in his hands. "Lucky me. It's like going to sleep December first and waking up on Christmas Eve, babe." 

He puts a piece of scrap paper between the pages of his book and hides it away on the nightstand. "Help me make this bed," he says. 

You're smiling just looking at him, rounding the bed to stand at the end while he moves near the top. You help him shake out the unmade comforter, straightening his blanket with a flourish. He beats the pillows into submission. When he's leaning forward you creep back behind him and wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your face to his spine. You can feel the notches. 

Eddie smells different. Like himself, you're not sure what it is, probably a mixture of skin and detergent and nothing special, but today there's a trace of cigarette smoke.

"You've been smoking in bed?" you ask, surprised. 

"How do you do that?" he asks, covering your arms with his and bending further forward under your weight. 

"Are you okay?" you ask instead of answering. 

"I'm fine. I've been dreadfully, woefully lazy today, babe. Like, totally sedentary, that book is kind of amazing." 

You curl around his waist to look at the cover. "The Shining," you read, trading the faces of the family stacked on the front. "By the guy who wrote Carrie? You love that one." 

"It's amazing." Eddie puts his arm behind your shoulders to usher you forward, holding you under his arm instead. Half-hugging, he kisses your cheek. 

You kiss him properly.

He receives gladly, though he steals the lead and leaves you reeling for a split-second. Funny how he can kiss you stupid in sloppy pyjamas, chipped nails digging into your hips. You don't care that he forgot you were coming over when he's this happy to see you.

"I think we should get takeout to celebrate you being so cute," you say, to his delight. "You can shower while I go find out what Wayne wants, and you can read your book after dinner." 

Eddie smiles, hides it, says, "No, I wanna see you, that's why you're here." 

"I'll still be here." You shrug. "I'll borrow your copy of Carrie and we can read together. I don't mind, I just wanted to be in the same room as you." 

He grabs you for stupid kisses smushed up into your neck until you're warm from being held. Fierce, you usher him away to the bathroom and make your way to the kitchen. You and Wayne are good at talking now and things are blissfully comfortable, a yellow menu for the Three Dragons spread out over the table as you make a list. Wayne orders, and upon seeing the mess of takeout menus they keep in one of the drawers under the cutlery drawer, you make it your mission to help him recover some space until Eddie's out of the shower. 

Eddie's quick. He appears dressed and dark-haired, scrubbing a towel over his face. Wet, his hair twists but doesn't coil. 

"That's better, dracula," Wayne says, dragging a lighter off of the edge of the window sill. "You look human. I'm going out back to smoke." 

Eddie sits on the couch and you slink from the kitchenette to be closer to him, sitting on the arm next to him. You can't deny the temptation of his curls, separating them with your fingers and brushing down. They're cold and long, kissing the space between his shoulder blades. 

Eddie doesn't say much. You're unnerved quickly; it's not like him to brood, especially after such a good hug before his shower.

"You okay?" you ask gently, fingertips trailing through his hair lazily. 

He curls inward. Not away from your touch but into a ball, of sorts, his back curved. "I don't feel good," he confesses, his voice brittle as sugar paper.

You lean forward with him as you had earlier, following him into his defensive position. "Baby?" 

"I feel sick," he says. 

Eddie loves complaining and you love to hear it, but not when his voice wobbles. Concerned but keeping your cool, you slide off of the arm to kneel in front of him, carding the damp sheet of his hair where it hands like ivy behind his ear. 

"You look pale." You stroke his hair, though there's nothing left to tuck. "How sick do you feel, Eddie? Like you could throw up?" 

"It's not like that." 

"Have you eaten anything today?" you ask. 

You know the answer before he shakes his head. 

Telling him off is instinctive, but it won't help, and you realise you're not interested in scolding him. You turn his face to yours. "Sitting forward will make you feel sicker. Sit back, and I'll get you something. Don't look so worried, baby, I'm sure it's just low blood sugar. Cool?" 

He smiles weakly. "You're right." 

Eddie sits back into the couch cushions and pulls one over his stomach, holding it there. The heat of his shower wouldn't have helped, and if he hasn't eaten it's possible he could faint. Luckily he'd seemed alert if miserable, so you step over his feet to try and fix him before he feels worse. It's weird rooting through their cabinets, but it's for Eddie's sake. You'll be forgiven.

You return with a sleeve of saltines, a couple of dark chocolate chip cookies, and a glass of apple juice. It's the concentrated kind from the grocery store full of bad bad things, but he needs sugar, and it's chock full of it. 

"Here you go," you say, sitting on the couch next to him. He's grey like dirty snow, eyes a touch glassy. "Do I need to call Wayne in?"

"No," he says, sitting up to accept your offered juice. "I'm okay, just felt real shitty real sudden." He skulls the juice to the sounds of your protesting and accepts a cookie, crumbs trickling down his lap as he snaps it in half. 

You wipe them away. 

"We got your usual from the Three Dragons, it'll be here soon, but I can make you something else? Or, you had eggs in the fridge, I bet Wayne would make you one of his nice omelettes." 

Eddie swallows his mouthful, head shaking. "I'm okay." 

You're not sure if you should believe him, your hand on his thigh rubbing up and down and up again, waiting for his skin to flush. He hadn't looked so sallow when you first arrived. 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you to shower on an empty stomach."

Eddie rubs at his head. There's agitation in the action, but none of which is directed at you, proven by the soft cadence of his voice when he says, "What are you sorry for, dummy? You didn't know. I'm sorry for being dramatic." He again leans back against the couch, his face parallel to the ceiling but his eyes watching your face. He's handsome even when he's poorly, the subtle bob of his Adam's apple accompanying a rough confession, "I didn't mean to scare you, I just don't think I've felt like that before." 

You reach up to draw a line along the cliff of his jaw, straight across and then down his neck. "Did you eat much yesterday? Maybe you're running low." He closes his eyes. You're still worried about him, clearing your throat. "You don't feel faint, do you? Does your head hurt?" 

"A little bit." 

You rush back to the kitchen for a glass of water. Wayne wars with the back door as you're filling it up, and his eyebrows hike when he sees the look on your face. "Everything okay, kid?" he asks. 

"Eddie's feeling freaky." 

"D'you eat?" Wayne calls. 

Eddie groans. You give Wayne a grim frown. 

"I'll make him a sandwich," Wayne decides, heading for the fridge. 

"Don't!" Eddie whines. "The food's coming any minute, I'm good! I was having a moment, just want attention." 

You laugh and loop back to him, tucking your legs under you as you sit and press the glass of cold water into his hand. 

"There are much better ways to get some attention," you tease. 

"But this way was so much fun," he drawls, monotone. 

You pet his hair as he drinks the water, appreciation mixed with a reverent, aching love in the way he tilts his head to your touch. 

"I feel better already," he says, holding the glass to his neck. 

You lift up to kiss the skin adjacent to his eye. "Good. Take it easy, Eds. You can't finish your book if you pass out." 

Wayne makes Eddie a sandwich and insists Eddie eat it, though your boyfriend argues that it'll ruin his takeout. "Should've thought about that when you skipped breakfast and lunch, then, idiot," Wayne says, putting an end to it swiftly. 

Eddie perks up halfway through his sandwich, and when the takeout comes, Wayne doesn't make him suffer through the second half. You eat, watch TV, and everyone survives the night. After cleaning up some, you and Eddie curl up in pyjamas together while he reads and you pretend, staring at the side of his face. 

His cheeks turn rosy the longer your gaze lingers. "I'm fine," he says quietly. "Just stupid." 

You squeeze his arm. "As long as you're okay. Tell me if you feel sick again, okay?" 

He closes his book around his fingers. 

"I'll tell you," he says, still quiet. Then, with a breezier tone, he reaches back with his hand to tangle your fingers and says, "I gotta thank you for being you. I didn't freak out 'cos I knew you were there, and, like, I know how lucky I am that I felt that way." 

You drop your jaw. "Woah, that is so sincere!" 

Eddie rolls his eyes and pushes your hand away. "Dork." 

You crawl into his lap and hug him. He deserves a hug, for being sick and for being honest. If you're heavy he doesn't say a word, hugging you for a handful of minutes that stretch long and slow. "I'll get off you," you say, making little efforts to move. Eddie doesn't bother either. 

"I need you there, you stop me from getting sick," he says. 

You don't believe it for a second, but it's nice. Eddie reads around you, his arms looped through yours, his book perched on your shoulder as you nestle into the curve of his neck. 

#luveline's 40k party #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader

[luveline]

okay this is so specific but!! 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 with remus and shy!r who has bad hand eczema? mine’s flared up today cos I’ve been washing my hands too much and it’s so awful </3 maybe r is shy about it and doesn’t want to tell remus but he notices anyway and then insists on looking after her 🤍🤍🤍

weirdly enough, I also get eczema on my hands so this was really fun for me! tysm ♡ 

"Could we share? I've forgotten mine," Remus asks, nodding to your textbook. 

You push it in the middle of your desk. Remus was a friend before he became a lecture mate, but something about sitting next to him in such close proximity sets your nerves on end. He can see every line and wrinkle, all the details. Like your sore hands. 

You tuck them between your legs. You and Remus follow along as the lecturer reads from the textbook, glancing up when she shows a diagram in more detail on her huge projector screen. 

"I've been meaning to ask you, are you okay? You're quiet today," Remus whispers, his gaze on the screen. 

You sneak a look at his nice jaw and the triangles of his eyelashes. "I'm okay," you whisper. 

He meets your eyes. "You sure?" 

"Fine. Sorry for being quiet," you say, turning a page of your textbook. Eczema, especially on your hands and fingers, feels raw sometimes, itchy, a platter of bad feelings, and even something as simple as turning a page hurts. 

"Oh, is this why you're unhappy?" Remus asks, sliding his hand under yours. He holds your pink with his thumb to display your palm. "It's getting sore again?" 

You hate for him to see, but you're too shy to take your hand back. "It's not that bad." 

"It looks painful," he says sympathetically. 

Remus doesn't touch the disturbed skin lining your palms, the pad of his thumb running carefully down the side of it. 

"It's disgusting, I know," you mumble. 

"It's not disgusting." He puts your hand down gently, reaching under the desk for his bag. You freeze as his face ducks down. "Your hands are tired, that's all." 

You bring your hand back to your chest. Remus digs for something, and when he sits back up, he asks, "Sorry, can I see?" 

"There's nothing you can do," you say. 

"I brought you something." Remus pushes you're textbook and notepad back to place a round object on the table. It looks like stick deodorant. "That's what I use when the scars on my stomach get dry. It's a new one, though. Didn't think you'd want to share." He smiles at you tentatively. "It really helps me, it might help. There's no harsh chemicals I promise." 

You don't know what to say. In silence, you read the label for irritants (just in case) before you uncap the balm and rub it over your palm, dabbing so as not to drag the skin. It doesn't feel nice to touch but the balm helps soothe the itch, which is enough to ease the pinch from between your brows. 

"That's for you to keep," he says, giving your elbow a friendly shake. "If you hate it, chuck it away. But I can get you another one if it works, angel. Okay? Let me know." 

You swallow around a lump. It's nice to have someone care so much. "Thank you very much, Remus," you say quietly. 

"Don't, 'cos I'll want to give you a cwtch," he admonishes in a whisper. "I'll owe you one after. Shit, don't have a pencil, do you?" 

Only later do you realise that, despite how ill-organised Remus was that morning, he remembered to bring you the balm he bought especially for you. When he offers you the owed hug, you wrap your arms around him and melt. 

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #marauders era #remus x reader #remus x you #marauders #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin blurb #marauders x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #the marauders #luveline's 40k party

[luveline]

you did this one drabble about remus seeing readers scars for the first time almost a year ago and i was wondering if you could so the same or similar with sirius seeing readers love your work so much

ty babe!

cw past self harm implied (no graphic details)

Sirius has really nice hair. Like, really nice. It's fine but he has a lot of it, a dark brown that looks glossy in the sun. Soft between your fingers. Sirius tilts his head to the side to allow you a better angle. 

You're hip to hip at the bottom of the decking in his garden. It overlooks the end of their garden where Remus plants his flowerbeds and James' failing (but looked after) greenhouse soaks up the sun. Sirius isn't as outdoorsy as the other two, but he likes to tan, so you've agreed to come and bask in the heat with him for an hour. 

"Do you think I should water his flowers? He's been sleeping all day," Sirius says.

"I'm not sure about that one, my love," you say softly. "Doesn't he do it every other day?" 

Sirius takes your hand and holds it in his lap. "Yeah, but it's very hot out, I'm not sure the flowers are used to this, they've been growing slowly in the British summer, which is to say, they haven't been growing…" He transfers your hand from his right to his left, turning your arm in the sun. 

You've had them for so long that you genuinely forget that they're there. If you'd remembered, maybe you could have warned him. 

"Sweetheart, what are these?" he asks, rubbing his thumb over the lightened lines of your scars. They aren't glaringly obvious but the sun has made them easier to see, as does his pushing up your skin. "Lovely…" 

You're not sure what to say. It's embarrassing, it isn't. They're ugly and they're not. "They're really old," you settle on. 

He looks up from your arm. Sirius often seems like he knows everything in that smug but subtle way, grey eyes unbothered, almost impassive; seeing him now with a frown that borders on scared is unsettling. 

"How old were you?" he asks. 

"Don't worry about it. I forget that I have them, most of the time. I wish you hadn't seen them, I know it's awkward." 

"I don't think awkward is the word I'd choose." Sirius wraps an arm behind your back, his skin warm to the touch, the mild smell of his aftershave tickling your nose as he pulls you close. "Well, you know every bit of you is my favourite–" 

"Sirius," you chide fondly.

"–no matter what happened before. Do I– uh, do I have to worry? Because I'll worry, I don't mind worrying," he says, forcing your shoulder into his chest. 

It feels nice, if bittersweet, to have someone care about it after it's already been done. "You don't have to worry," you promise. 

"I'm sorry–" 

"Please don't, Sirius. It was just something I did, it was hard," you say, your heart like a twist in your chest, "you know how it feels, right? You're just trapped, and I didn't know how to deal with it." You say it in a rush, the shame of your admission mixed with a desperate want to be seen. 

Sirius understands what it's like to feel trapped. "I get it." You turn your face toward his shoulder as a cloud moves and the sun burns your eyes. Sirius ducks down with you, his voice a murmur, "I know things are new between us, but this doesn't change anything? Okay? Just makes me wish I'd met you sooner." 

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius x reader fluff #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black fanfic #sirius black fic #marauders era #marauders #sirius black drabble #sirius black scenario #sirius black oneshot #the marauders #sirius orion black #luveline's 40k party

[luveline]

Hii I adore your writing and am in desperate need of more single dad Spencer <333

many thanks, Anon in love :)

tysm!!

Spencer named his daughter Amanda because it means worthy of love. He told Emily he wanted there to be no confusion, that Amanda was loved from the very second she was born. You've been hopeless since you found out. 

"Amy, please stop," Spencer says, looking down between the picnic table and the white and red tablecloths, where Amanda sits in the grass beneath tying his shoelaces together. 

"Don't know what you're saying," Amy mumbles, frustrated as her fingers get caught in another knot. 

Spencer gives you a look you're all too thrilled to receive, like Amanda's cuteness has something to do with you. "Can you make her stop?" he asks. 

"I don't want to," you say, not whining but maybe close, "she's so sweet, who am I to stop her?" 

"You know, I'll fall if I stand up. She wants to see me in pain. Amy, you're exhibiting signs of a budding psychopath." He smiles at her lovingly. "I'm gonna fall when I stand up!" 

"You won't!" 

"I will! I will, and then Y/N's gonna be embarrassed to be seen with me, and you're gonna have a dad covered in bruises." Spencer pouts at her. You love how he winds her up, how he talks to her like she's a little grown up and the charming way she responds, big words in little tones. 

"You're beautiful no matter what, dad," Amy says. 

It's too practised to be natural. Spencer must say it to Amy often for her to know it off by heart. You swoon like a cheap tent in a hurricane, casting your gaze around Rossi's huge garden for saving. Everyone has purposefully left you to suffer here in paradise, uncaring when Spencer torments you with all his loveliness.

His daughter is worse, climbing up onto the bench between you and Spencer before widening her eyes at you. She looks sort of like Spencer but perhaps more like her mother. Whoever that is must be pretty, and good at giving puppy dog eyes. 

"Do you want something?" you ask her, attempting to sound like JJ does when she talks to her. You're wobbly but getting there, evidenced by the honey-thick smile you've earned. 

"Can I sit on your lap?" she asks. 

You open your arms obediently. She's slight like her dad and doesn't feel like she weighs much as she sits on your thighs, her face smushed into your cardigan. 

"Is everything okay?" you ask, bringing your hand up behind her back automatically. You're not sure if you should be hugging her but Spencer doesn't protest. 

"Can I asked you something?" 

"Sure, you can ask me." You turn your head to expose your ear. 

Amy grins and leans up, whispering, "Can we go get– can we get jelly, please? Pink jelly." 

"Does Uncle Rossi have jelly?" Spencer asks. 

"Yeah, daddy, I saw it in the kitchen." 

"I can't come, I'll fall. Will you take her, please?" Spencer asks with a frown. "It's a lot of knots." 

"Yeah, I can take her. I don't mind. Come on, honey, let's go look."

Amy jumps down off of your lap but waits for you, holding out her hand. You take it and she leads you past your coworkers crowding a hot grill to Rossi's patio doors. It's cooler inside, and you've no need for your sunglasses. You put them on the table next to covered bowls of pasta and salad, poking at lids and tin foil curiously. "Which one did you see the jelly in?" 

"I don't think there's jelly. I want to ask you a secret question." 

You look down at Any with wide eyes. "What question is that, honey?" 

"Are you and my dad in love?"

You laugh sudden enough to make you cough, looking down at Spencer's little girl totally speechless. Smarts are genetic for sure. She asks huge questions. 

"Why do you think that?" you ask, trying for gentle and sounding strangled.

"Because you're really nice to dad and he told me that you're pretty and funny and you'd definitely play Cracker Cards with me." 

"He said that?" 

"Yes!" she says, looking up at you with a smile. "Are you going to get married?" 

You rub your face. Ten minutes later and you're carrying Amy on your hip as she carries a big bowl of pasta, a metal fork in her hands. Spencer has opted to take his shoes off completely and untie the knots, but he seems to have made little progress. "That's not jelly," he says. 

"We couldn't find it." 

"Are you okay?" Spencer asks, abandoning his shoes to put his hand behind your arm and shoulder. 

"I'm okay. Are you okay, Amy?" you ask. 

Amy stabs a piece of pasta with her fork with a big smile on her little face. "I think I said the wrong thing, dad." 

"What did you say?" he asks, looking between you both in concern. "I'm sorry, we're working on context clues." 

"It's okay. It wasn't wrong, it's just, I wasn't expecting it," you say. 

"Well, what did she say?" 

You shrug, "It wasn't really–" 

"I asked her if she'd want marry you, dad, and about the photo of you at the christmas party. It was nice!" Amy insists. 

Spencer flushes with a bright red blush instantaneously. It's shocking how fast his cheeks blossom considering the sun's been out for hours now. He laughs nervously. "I see." 

"Amy!" Hotch calls. "Sweetheart, do you want a hotdog?" 

Amy pushes the bowl of cold pasta you'd made her onto Spencer's lap. "Yes, please," she says, hopping off of the bench. 

You and Spencer meet eyes and swiftly look away. There's something between you both, longing and long looks, too much affection, excuses to be near one another. You really do like him, and maybe he likes you, but you aren't ready to deal with it now. 

"Do you want to go get a hotdog too?" Spencer asks. 

"Yep." You jump up. "Good idea." 

Maybe you can confess your feelings at the next family barbecue. (Probably not.) 

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #luveline's 40k party