#GODDAMN WILL I HAVE TO LEARN HOW TO DRAW HIM WITH EYEBROWS

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Hello! Could you please write a stubborn, jealous hc for Miguel o'hara? Thank you!!

I had the brainworms, so I hope this is what you were looking for! Thanks for the ask <3

Jealous!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons

(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist

pairing: jealous!Miguel O'Hara x reader

summary: stubborn HCs for jealous!Miguel O'Hara. 

a/n: this was meant to be a drabble and i basically wrote a full fic. i have zero self control lmfao

warnings: smut (fingering, f receiving oral, slight brat taming, etc) right at the very end, 18+ from then onwards, the rest is more pg-13

wc: 3.5k ish

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Long story short: he's a stubborn little shit.

Pig-headed as fuck and it shows up in little things. 

Let's say you first met as coworkers, and you were a lab technician at Alchemax. 

Think: unstoppable force meets immovable object. He likes his labs just so, with very specific equipment in a very specific configuration. 

It drives you crazy, regularly having tiffs outside the labs; much to the chagrin of your coworkers. 

"Jesus." Your coworker mutters, wincing at the seemingly heated argument by the water cooler. 

"Ignore it, Maeve." Another coworker rolls their eyes, nudging Mave with a snort. "They're at it again . S'pose they'll tire each other out by the end of the day."

Not that they were wrong. But this time, it wasn't your fault: dealing with O'Hara's bullshit had really taken it's toll. He was insufferable, prone to nitpicking and just plain mean. You could hardly be blamed if you gave him some of your own choice words. 

"My notes were basically paint-by-fucking-numbers!  How could you mess up a simple distillation? When I specify precision glassware , you don't think that's fucking important?" 

"Your notes ," You draw air quotes pointedly at him. "-are illegible, you fucking cretin! Maybe if you didn't write like a goddamn pre-schooler-"

"- preschooler? Oh , fuck you!" 

"Get your nose out of that highschool Chem textbook, O'Hara, this is a fucking job."

"Yeah? Stop using it to wipe your ass and you might learn a thing or two."

"Oh , so that's what we're doing?" You laugh in his face, so angry your hand curls into tight fists. You get close, staring him down as you look upwards through your lashes. His own face is contorted into a grimace; bushy eyebrows furrowed into deep shadows around his eyes. You can feel his steady breathing before he speaks, low and rumbling. 

"I could do this all day, princesa. " 

You scoff, ignoring the way his words weaken your knees. The one time you asked for a break during a long lab and he won't stop calling you a spoilt princess. His laughter then stings in your ears now, the ghost of a smirk on his face as you storm off. Miguel O'Hara: smug bastard. He would be the death of you, you're sure. 

~~~

You spend many a late night with him, unwittingly, and find out he's more than a stubborn little shit. 

You find out he's funny, and shares the same anti-Alchemax tendencies you do: both preyed upon by the company immediately after graduation, young and naive. 

He's kind, even though he'd never admit it, often finishing up the lab notes and doing more than his fair share of work so you can go home at a reasonable time. 

You both still butt heads, but it turns into a tentative friendship - coffees in the morning hidden as blaise convenience, covering for each other at work, and defending the other when office gossip goes too far. 

That's why when he comes back to work after a week-long stint away - something about a blow up with the boss, an issue described as 'miscommunication, promptly smoothed over' by anyone official - you notice… something's different about him. 

You first noticed something was off when he walked in without a snide remark. You left a mug overnight at the counter, something that would usually draw a sarcastic comment at the least , but he gives you… nothing. Blank, glassy eyes as he opens up his workstation - clicking away at the keys without so much as a glance.

"O'Hara?" You call, but he doesn't even look up. You walk to his workstation and knock at the desk. He jumps. God, he looks worse for the wear. Heavy bags under his eyes and a bruise blossoming under his collar. 

"You okay?" 

He rubs his temples, eyes flitting up at you.  "Yeah, just…. just a long week, s'all." 

You put a hand on his shoulder, and you swear he leans into your touch. "We can reschedule, tonight. The calculations can wait, Miguel."

He gives you a weak smile, but a smile nevertheless. "S'okay. Need to make sure you don't fuck it up."

"Don't push your luck, O'Hara."

~~~

As you get closer, you notice just how stubborn he is to admit the growing tension between you two. 

Late nights at the lab turn into takeout at your place, morning coffee turns into a pleasant 20 minutes on the rooftop away from the hustle and bustle - just you and Miguel, talking and joking with a cup of shitty coffee in hand. 

Wholly, he seems more assertive at work, not as quick to roll over. 

It's hot, you have to admit; watching him fight with someone else other than you. 

You're at work drinks with the other technicians and engineers, nursing a watery beer when another colleague makes small talk with you at the bar.

You’ve never been that close to him, and the conversation is amicable enough, but you’re almost bowled over when you see Miguel, in the corner, staring straight at you with a stormy look.

You suppose it's a little pathetic, getting all dressed up for a casual drink. Lips shiny with gloss and gently powdered with makeup, you feel a little out of place. For all your talk at work, actually being here was another thing. Suddenly, your blouse is too tight and your skirt too short. With a manicured finger, you trace the lip of your glass filled with watery beer. You sigh. You don't want to admit it, but you were only here because of Miguel. He said he would come, and now you're sitting on a barstool counting the chips in your glass. 

It was probably for the best. You sink into the absentminded chatter of your colleagues around you, until there's a tap at your shoulder. 

"Is someone-" He clears his throat; a tall man dressed in a sharp suit nodding gracefully towards the empty chair. "-is this seat taken?" 

You shake your head, grateful for the company. He's handsome, sharp features curving into a wry grin as he calls for a drink. 

"...and something other than shitty beer for the pretty girl, too." It makes you laugh, light and lilting in the bustle of the bar. 

He stretches out his hand, and you take it. 

"Eddie Crouch. I work in marketing."

Eddie…. as in… head of the most profitable division of Alchemax? Your eyes widen involuntarily and you try to clamp down your immediate shock, somewhat unsuccessfully. He narrows his eyes as you tumble over your words. 

"Y-Yeah, same! I mean, not same , I just work in the l-labs and I thought it was just for us guys, working behind the curtain, y'know? Not that we're not thrilled to have you here, because we a-are." You spill out, wincing. "....Is this about the performance reviews? Because I know output was down this quarter but our projections are-"

"I'm not here to talk about work." He chuckles. You squint, not convinced. As if to alleviate your concerns, he loosens his tie and undoes his top buttons with a flourish. 

"Can I tell you a secret?" He leans in, and the air becomes thick with expensive perfume. He twirls the signet ring on his finger, a ring probably worth more than your monthly paycheck. 

"Your boss invited me," Discreetly, he stretches a finger at your boss; a man ruddy cheeked and red-faced with alcohol. "Guess he thought it would boost morale. He's a fucking idiot if he thinks having me, the one guy that could fire your entire department without recourse, exchange empty platitudes would boost morale. But, I digress. So here I am, dragging my feet to this bar, thinking I'm gonna get in, read the lines and get out. But then, " He pauses with dramatic effect. "I see the most beautiful person I've ever had the pleasure of laying my eyes on, just sitting by the bar. Like everyone isn't already falling over themselves to talk to you."

The irony is palpable. It's sickly sweet, and a line that wouldn't usually work on you. But usually, you weren't pining over a man so prickly and stubborn, you shouldn't have feelings for. Here you were, bright cocktail in front of you and a moderately attractive man by your side. He wasn't quite Miguel, but in the words of one of the greatest thinkers of the past age: country girls make do. 

And so you make lazy conversation with the man. So lost in a tipsy haze, you barely notice Miguel walk in; dark jacket on his shoulders and deliciously loose slacks. You're drawn to him, his eyes seemingly searching the room, and you sigh into your drink. Technically, he looks like shit: eyes dark-rimmed and sunken, a cut at his brow. You think he is gorgeous, eyes tracing the slope of his nose and plush lips. Like he can sense it, he glances over in your direction and you look away hastily. He's watching , you can feel its burn as you turn, pretending to listen to the man besides you. A little cruelly, you lean into him, not breaking eye contact and curling a hand around his arm to laugh at a stupid joke. Eddie laughs with you, oblivious, as you glance behind him. 

Miguel stands with a drink thrust into his hands, looking straight through him, eyes low and gazing at you. 

~~~

He insists on walking you home, a steady hand on the small of your back as you stumble through the streets of Nueva York.

You make light conversation, tipsy and giggly from the alcohol. Miguel seems a little more put together, but his chest still creaks with rumbling laughter.

He definitely walks on the side of the pavement nearest the street, because he thinks it keeps you safer. 

He walks you up the stairs and by the door of your apartment, like a gentleman. You watch him get nervous suddenly, and he hesitates, stubbornly digging in his heels and pausing you from opening the door and coming in. 

You don't want it to end, opting to take the walk up the stairs as opposed to the lift. It's one of your more questionable decisions as you stumble up the stairs, almost tripping over your own feet. Miguel is quick to catch you even though he was just as drunk. Arm around your waist, he leaves searing touches to your hip. You giggle despite yourself, and he can't help but smile at your clumsiness. 

"If you break your legs I won't carry you, princesa ." A lie and you both know it. He would carry you to the ends of the earth like a blushing bride, if you asked him. 

You both stagger to up the stairs and through the corridor until you reach your front door. You rummage around your bag for your keycard, it's contents click-clacking in the quiet of the hallway. Miguel watches, quieter than he was in the journey. If you looked up now, you would see something else behind his eyes - a storm of apprehension and tension. 

You find your keycard, and look up to find Miguel placing a careful palm on the door. He's surprisingly still, eyes on your lips as he steps closer. You look everywhere but to meet his eyes, tracing the curve of his collarbone, the slope of his exposed forearm, and the tempting juncture of his strong jaw. You watch it tense, as he brings a gentle hand to your chin. His thumb swipes over the fat of your lip. 

"Got somethin' right… there." He mumbles, before tucking his hand away. You can barely breathe. Without thinking you take his hand in yours, lacing your fingers together like a gentle hug. You bring his hand to your waist, and he squeezes, ever so gently. Your hand drops and he moves his slowly, knuckles dragging along the smooth silk of your blouse, and then sending shivers when he reaches your bare neck. 

He has to bite down the plethora of things running through his head - his drunken brain threatening to spill all his thoughts. You are so beautiful and soft it makes him short-circuit, desperate to pull you close. Instead, you do: hand inching up his chest and laying to rest on his shoulders. 

He kisses you, finally ; a little messy and impossibly soft. Like his lips on yours would shatter you both. You deepen the kiss and wrap his arm tighter around you, angling your chin to drink up even more of you. You both come up for air, panting in the heat of one another. Miguel's eyes are full of lust and blown out. 

"Do…do you want to come in?" You whisper. 

Something catches in his throat and his expression changes, like he just woke up from a dream. Do you just want to sleep with him? He's not built for one night stands, can't do just sex, especially if it's you. No matter how much he wants to, he can't, he won't, "....I shouldn't."

The disappointment on your face is palpable. You want to ask why - after he kissed you like that - why doesn't he want you? Instead you nod dejectedly. He gives you a chaste kiss on the forehead, lingering, and a shaky smile. 

You open your door with a buzz, and slam it in his face. 

~~~

It takes Miguel some time to properly put a name to what you two have: not knowing if the kiss was a drunken mistake, animal attraction or something more. 

He's not a grand gestures kind of person, he believes in action rather than words. 

Which is why it takes so long for him to admit just how in love with you he is. 

He steals glances at you all the time at the office, and tries to anticipate  all your needs. 

When you stretch and yawn in the morning, he happens to pass by your favourite coffee place and happens to buy one too many cups of your go-to order. 

So imagine his shock when he arrives from his lunch break, churros and coffee in hand, and there's one of the top brass from the night at the bar perched on your desk - 2 polystyrene cupfuls of something half drunk on the desk. 

He's never been insecure, but he can't help but feel possessive, something tense and tight growing at the base of his stomach. 

"What was it you wanted to talk about?" You step into the equipment cupboard, Miguel close behind you. You rub your temples, anticipating an argument. "O'Hara, if this is about my calibration tests this morning, I swear to God -" 

"No, no , nothing like that." He's quick to say. "They were… okay." He strains. 

You raise an eyebrow. Okay? Since when did Miguel pass up an opportunity for a mindless fight? Your mind races with his actions of the past few days. He has been different since the night at the bar, a little nicer, sure, but nothing this out of the ordinary. 

"That guy you were talking to. I saw him at the bar, and now here. Who is he?" 

Your eyebrows shoot up. "You do not have the right to ask me th-" 

"Are you fucking him?" A pause, and you study his expression, deducing that he is completely fucking serious . 

"Are you insane? You definitely don't have the right to ask me that." You make for the door, and he steps in front of it, blocking it with his body. 

"I need to know. Tell me and then I'll leave you alone, I promise." His voice is low and thick with something. 

You step closer and he wraps his hands around your waist absentmindedly. The pressure feels good, and makes your brain fog up. 

He repeats himself, softer. "Are you fucking him?" 

You look at him for a moment, before shaking your head. His facial expression  is steady, just as unreadable. 

"Do you want to?" 

You hesitate, wanting to be cruel and say yes, just to see his reaction. Perceptive, he sees your hesitance and says something that almost knocks you over. 

"I could fuck you better than he ever could," He kneads your thigh now, lips close to the shell of your ear in the tight space of the cupboard. " Princesa , look at me." 

You look at him, almost whimpering and putty in his hands. He's like a siren and you are lost in the pull of his gaze. It may be the proximity, but you swear you see a tinge of red in his eyes, like deep pools of lust. 

"Will you let me fuck you?" He pulls you closer so the meat of his thigh presses against your clothed cunt. Your stretchy pencil skirt rides up suggestively, and you rock your clit against him, searching for sweet pressure. You nod. 

Miguel titters softly, a hand on your chin pulling your lips to his. You moan into his kiss, body aching. It's hot and heavy like the kiss outside your door, but he swirls his tongue around yours and expertly nips at your lower lip. He guides your hips to rock against his thigh, tensing to make sure it's corded muscle hits the right places. He wants to break you apart, leave you so cock-drunk, you wouldn't think of even glancing at another man. 

You separate and he dips a hand under your skirt. He pulls it up and places a big palm at your pussy, with a well timed slap. You bite into his neck with the pressure. You definitely don't expect it when he rips open your stockings like they were paper. 

"Fuck, Miguel." 

"It's okay, baby, I'll get you new ones." Your eyes roll back as he slips aside the gusset to run a finger through your lower lips. Shamelessly, he slips a finger in, then two, basking in the wet squelch of your heat. You claw at his forearm, as he curls them into that sweet spot. 

You press your forehead to his shoulder, chasing his fingers with your hips. His sharp eyes watch every movement, every stutter and start that his fingers pull from you. He's practical, a man of action, and he is desperate to show you how much he cares. 

"I've thought about you… about this." He hisses as you cover your mouth to dampen your moans. 

"Wanted you for so long, princesa. Want to know how you taste, what this beautiful pussy feels like. What you look like when you cum."

His wrist aches with the back and forth motion but his pace barely faulters. 

" M-Miguel …"

He applies pressure to your clit, and watches in awe as you spasm, nails digging into his forearm. 

" Oh, there it is. Right there, hmm? Does that feel good?" 

You nod frantically with a stifled sob. 

"Not quite, baby. Need to hear you say it. Or I won't let you cum."

"...fuuck you."

" Oh, you'd like that. Still not what I want to hear. Tell me how much you like it when I fuck you with my fingers."

"F-Feels good." You stutter. He stops, wrenching his hand out of your pussy to leave you clenching around nothing.You almost scream.

"You're being a brat, not my princesa , hmm? Only good girls get to cum."

" Miguel , please. I'll do anything." He guides you along his thigh, still lodged between your legs, and licks up your wetness on his other hand. "You m-make me feel so good. So good. And I want you so much it hurts, sometimes. I just want to cum, don't even need your cock. Fuck me with something , please." 

"Miguel? Not asshole? Or fucking idiot, this time?" 

"Please, Miguel ." Your pleas go straight to his cock. He throbs with need, cock rock hard under his slacks. 

He relents, not able to bear your dopey puppy-dog eyes for much longer. He slips three fingers in, without bothering to prep you. He hisses at the tightness of your heat, pounding into you and knuckle deep with his fingers. Shamelessly, you fuck yourself back on them, hips rolling over his thigh. He can't tear himself away from the sight, palming himself through tented trousers. 

You kiss and nip at his neck, as he whispers obscenities at you under his breath. 

"Can you cum for me, princesa? Cum f'me, and I'll take care of you, I promise."

You clamp down on his fingers and moan into a kiss as you ride out your orgasm. It's intense: leg-shaking and leaves you shuddering in the aftermath. You were rusty, sure, hadn't had sex with someone in a while. But Miguel made you cum so hard you saw stars, with only his fingers. Your chest heaves with the thought. 

You thought he would leave you, torn stockings and all, in the little cupboard. But he stays, to sink down to his knees and lap at your folds. You rest a hand on a shelf for purchase, head back in bliss. You cunt is still sensitive, throbbing at the orgasm he's just given you, as you licks you clean. He's taking care of you. You card your hands into his hair, tugging gently as he moans into your pussy. 

He gives your clit a gentle kiss, and swipes up a trailing tear that rolls down your inner thigh. You watch as he pops his fingers into your mouth, cleaning off the cum. Your cum. 

Miguel gives you a lazy grin in the bare bulb of the equipment closet. He seems completely unfazed by the fact his fingers were in you not a moment ago. 

"Are you free after work?" He asks, and it takes a moment for you to process. 

"Uhhh… s-sure. Probably?" 

"Let me take you for dinner, somewhere nice."

All you can do is nod, dumbly, ripped stockings still around your ankles. 

"And then I can fuck you properly, princesa." 

_

_

_

#across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #smut #spiderman 2099 x reader #light angst #kat_writes😼 #miguel o hara x reader #headcanon #miguel o'hara headcanons #jealousy

[munson-blurbs]

Howdy Ho 👋

Pretty please 🙏🏻 could I request:

Snickers

Kit-Kat

Eddie Munson

Could be 18+ if the mood so takes you, but not essential 😁

You: could be 18+ Me: ooh, they're gonna fuck

Forced Proximity/Artist!Reader/Eddie Munson

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), unprotective p in v (wrap it up), kind of enemies-to-lovers but Eddie is basically just a menace,

WC: 832

Divider credit to @saradika

You usually like to do your drawing alone, either in complete silence or the sound of the radio playing lowly in the background. Something soft and melodic that allows you to envelop yourself in your creativity. 

In essence, the exact opposite of the heavy metal blasting throughout the classroom as Eddie Munson sings along.

“Do you have headphones or something?” you ask him, wincing as a guitar riff pierces your ears. 

He shakes his head. “Broken.” One word, and then he’s back to washing paint brushes.

You sigh, trying to maintain your attention on the sketch in front of you. Your pencil glides across the page, while you stay hunched over the table. The face that you’re drawing is starting to take shape, looking less like a blob and more like a–

“TIME MARCHES ON! FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS!” Eddie’s obnoxious voice shatters your concentration, and you look over at him with a glare. He’s using a brush as a makeshift microphone, blissfully unaware of the irritation he’s causing you. Or maybe he simply doesn’t care.

“Okay, seriously?” You slam your pencil down, nearly breaking it in two. “Do you have to be here right now?”

Eddie nods slowly. “Uh, yeah. Apparently, manual labor is going to teach me ‘respect,’ or whatever.” He rolls his eyes, and you can’t blame him. It seems like he’ll never learn how to be a decent human being.

“Well, some of us need to focus,” you snap, hands balled into fists. “So, if you would kindly shut up…”

“I’ve never shut up a day in my life,” he chortles, turning off the faucet and flicking water from his fingers in your direction. “And I’m not gonna start now.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “Oh, really?” One foot in front of the other, making your way to him. 

“Mhm. In fact, now that I know it pisses you off so much, I’m—oomph!”

His retort is cut short by you pressing your lips to his, effectively silencing him. His palm instinctively rests against your cheek, the other gripping your waist as he deepens the kiss. 

Wordlessly, he positions you so you can hoist yourself atop the closest table. Your fingers comb through his tangled curls before dropping down to his belt, fumbling with the buckle. 

“Whoa, whoa,” Eddie breaks the kiss with a laugh. “You shut me up, okay? No need for all of this.”

You shrug. “What if I want to?”

He raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Like, here? Now?” He breaks out into a goofy grin when you nod in response. “Well, shit, yeah!”

He unbuttons your jeans in record time before starting on his own. You wriggle out of your pants, showing off where a wet patch is forming on your cotton panties. Eddie sees this and exhales, smile growing wider. 

“Prettiest girl in the goddamn school, all wet for little old me?”

Your hand grazes the waistband of his boxers. “Doesn’t seem little,” you purr, tongue gliding over your lips. “Mind if I see for myself?”

Eddie swallows thickly, his bravado quickly fading. “Y-Yeah. I mean, no, I don’t mind.” He moans as you tug down his underpants, exposing a full-blown erection. Pre-cum pools at the tip, resting against his wiry pubic hair. 

You spit on it, saliva trickling down the shaft as your hand follows close behind. He twitches in your grasp, throwing his head back in ecstacy. 

After you pump his cock a few times, he takes it from you, tapping the head against your clit before running it through your labia. He looks at you with wide, wondering eyes. 

“Please. Need you.” It’s all you can manage, but it’s all Eddie needs to hear. He moves your panties out of the way and pushes into you, gently until he bottoms out. Guiding your hips forward, he begins thrusting, groaning with each snap of his hips. 

Strings of barely coherent words fall from his lios. “Tight—warm—fuck—mmm—s’good.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, biting your lip to muffle your own sounds. Eddie shakes his head and uses his thumb to free your lower lip from under your teeth. 

“Wanna hear you, baby.” 

The same thumb that was just on your mouth is soon on your clit, rubbing fast circles that have you crying out his name. 

“Eddie, r-right there, shit.”

You clench around him as you come, a vice grip on his dick. He spills into you moments later, unable to hold back any longer. 

“Holy Christ, what the fuck was that?” Eddie breathes as he withdraws, tucking his softening length back into his boxers. 

“That was me shutting you up.” You fix your own underwear and re-button your jeans. “And if you can be quiet for the rest of the afternoon, I’ll blow you.”

He says nothing in response, just mimes zipping his lips, and turns back to the remaining dirty paint brushes. 

Now, your only distraction is the thought of how good he’ll taste on your tongue. 

--

#trope or treat #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #fanfic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #smut

[mdr-writings]

Streamer!Eren x reader pt.2

A/n: I'm sorry I took so long to get this part out. I was very busy with my classes, I had relationship problems, family issues, I was a hot mess. But after rewrite after rewrite I can finally put this out. How convenient that its on Final Aot day. Honestly, I'm also glad that I am putting it out today bc I'd rather be hot and bothered rather than sad and sobbing. Btw I am gonna fix the first part because I feel like it lacks a lot of things. If you still want to read it, it’s linked below

wc:4.3k

Part One

Cw: slight teasing of weight, oral ( fem receiving), overstimulation, heavy kissing

” So does Eren behave himself when he talks to you guys,” you ask the chat as you sat down on his lap.

“What? you know I always behave myself,” he cocks his head towards you grinning. “Sure you do,” you said rolling your eyes. You know that he rarely behaves himself when it comes to you. So, you could assume he’s the same in front of an audience. You point your finger towards the camera. “Look, seems like the chat knows you better than yourself.” 

Eren’s attention shifts to the screen to see the chat flooding with comments siding with you. “It’ll be your own people huh?” you let out a quick chuckle while picking at your nails.

“Do you guys have anything you wanna ask her,” he questioned. 

You speak up, “Yeah, you guys can ask me anything “. You didn't know where this sense of comfortability came from. Maybe it was Eren's aura or the way he communicates with his audience. It’s a possible reason as to why he has such a big following.  

Eren has always been transparent about how he feels whether it’s about something or someone. The guy has a hard-on for conflict, but the way he is authentic with himself is admirable. “Anything?” Eren raises his eyebrows in amusement. The sound of a notification alert pops up on the monitor. A monotone robotic voice booms from the computer’s speaker” what is the freakiest thing you've done?” 

 “What do you mean?” you furrowed your eyebrows together. Of course, you were not going to show that side of you. Who do they think they were trying to ask a question like that? Perhaps you do tell them, then what? You become the biggest streamer’s slut? Smart remarks filled your head ready to be spat at the viewers. Though, integrity got the best of you and decided to remain quiet.

 “Aww come on, you can’t let the audience down now” he teases. Eren begins soothingly stroking your thigh. As he strokes, he draws patterns of circles, leaving you to accidentally shudder in his grasp. He then intriguingly raises his eyebrows. 

“Oh my god, I'm literally slipping off of you” you grab on both sides of his thighs to try to push yourself up. “Geez you’re like a fucking slip and slide, what did you do bath in, butter?” you mumbled. Eren looks down to your bottom half and notices your butt touching his knees. “It’s okay, I got you,” he murmured.

“Goddamn, you’re heavy as fuck.” You whipped your head to face him to strike him a glare. He then adjusts himself with you on top, making your bottom rub against his crotch. A low groan escaped his mouth. You felt heat brewing on your face. 

“Uhhh let’s see, is there any more questions?” you ask desperately looking at the screen. “Y/n you didn't even answer the first one” he raised one eyebrow and lowered the other. You stop your internal thoughts as you once again feel a hot sensation on your thigh moving. You try not to acknowledge the hand with clear intentions of riling you up. 

“You gotta toughen it out y/n.”

 “Actually,” you start. Eren eyes shot up in interest. “I can recall, the time I... you know... to a professor in a class,” you stammer over your words. Instantly, a wave of regret crashes into you. Somehow you forgot Eren attends this same college and classes you take. You silently cursed at yourself.

“Oh?” Eren’s lips curled up into a smirk. “And who might that professor be?” he questioned. Learning this fun fact about your sexual deviances aroused Eren's curiosity. In a millisecond, your ear is set ablaze as pressed his Eren's lips against it. “Would that be Professor Erwin or Miche?” His warm breath brazes your ears which ignites a fire in your stomach. “Or maybe Professor Levi?” his hand slithered its way towards your inner thigh. Your legs quickly squeeze together in hopes to stop the throbbing that started between them. Luckily, Eren was just in time to snatch his hand away from the trap. Your face was twisted up in frustration. 

This hasn’t been the first time that Eren has teased you. But this felt different, it’s almost as if you don’t want it to stop. The words he’s throwing at you don’t feel like feathers this time around. His hands on your thighs feel like it’s burning through your skin. The heartbeat in your core seems to pulsate harder and faster. You didn’t want it to stop but you were fighting to not look desperate.

Satisfied in your response, Eren clasped his hands together. “Alright I'm gonna end it right here make sure you share the stream with your friends, follow Y/n on her socials and repent, toodles” he sings. Eren leans over to hit a hotkey on his keyboard which he assumes ends his streams. He then swivels the knobs on the computer’s speaker on mute. He once again lays a hand on your thigh. You let out a short hum clearing your throat. He then leans back to take notice of your stiff position in his lap. Eren lightly squeezes your arm,” You, okay?” 

“I’m fine,” you pull away from his grip. Eren can tell when he goes overboard. He could just make it up to you by buying your favorite food like he always does. But for once in his life, he would rather be mature and talk it through.

“Hey, I know this was your first time on here and I know it was a bit overwhelming,” he breathed. “I do apologize if I made you uncomfortable.” 

“I said I’m fine Eren,” you raised your voice. Eren was taken aback by your sudden attitude towards him. His once loud and lively room was now clouded with silence. “I think we should head down now,” he placed his hands upon your plush waist. Gripping the chair handles, you turn around allowing your legs to lay against Eren’s waist. “I lost my appetite,” you whispered in monotone. 

You couldn’t understand yourself as to why you suddenly opposed his suggestion. Wasn’t your main objection being to take him downstairs? You could just walk away from him and have that same gut-wrenching feeling in your stomach. But your body wouldn’t allow you to move. Something snapped, those times of playful bickering started to build a form of lust and desire. Maybe now was the time to reveal the real reason behind the constant squabbles.

“Y/n, I said I’m s-”

“You know,” you started. “Our little fights always end up leaving me confused,” your gaze pandered between his dark forest green eyes and plump lips.

 From what you could remember, Eren constantly had some girl hooked up on him. Hell, he even got Mikasa wanting to try him out. But for some reason he could never really settle. His mind always seemed to wander to the same person, you. The squabbles could be played off as friendly but the feeling of wanting it to go further lingered. But as a result, it left you reaching for more, wanting him more. 

Eren’s heart pounds loud against his chest. He always felt as if going further wasn’t an option. He had his moments where he just wanted to hold you so close, as if he would die if he let go. Moments where he wanted to make you his. Perhaps if he did the things he thought of doing to you, how would he face the friend group, what about his fans, and Mikasa? He decided that acting upon his true feelings towards you was too risky.

“We’re friends Y/N” he confirms, his eyes soften under your gaze. Your eyes then pondered around his room. “Is that all you want to be?”

He huffs out an air of defeat. The sound of the ventilation buzzing was consuming the room.

“I-I” he stuttered as the pounding of his heart was breaking his sternum. He raises a hand to cover his rose-colored face.” Y/n what’s the point of this,” he audibly muffles. You reach up to pry his hand away from himself and hold it in your palms.

“I’m doing what I feel is right to me,” you reply with reason.

As corny as it felt, you no longer had interest in letting the feeling of desire leave you again.

“So, antagonizing me is what feels right to you? “Yup, that sounds just like you,” he speculated. Your face drops into a frown,” No dumbass.” Your fingers hook in the crevasses of his. Eren scrunches his eyebrows together in uncertainty. “Then what?” You place your intertwined hands over your heart that was protected by your flesh. “Us” you replied in a hush tone. It seems like Eren’s face couldn’t get any redder. Your hands enclosed over his, touching your chest, it felt as if he were in his recurring dream. This time, he was hoping there would be no interruptions to wake him.

“Are you fucking with me,” Eren interrogated in disbelief. Your skin began to spread warmth to your face. “Yes, I mean... no but I want to- if you know what I mean,” you ran over your words frantically. Still not connecting the dots, Eren’s head cranks his head to the side. You inhale a shaky breath” I can’t believe I’m saying this but…”

“Eren, I like you,” you sheepishly state. It was as if you could hear a needle drop on the floor. To make matters worse, the screaming vents were now hushed. “Well?” you quizzed. His eyes darkened as he stared through your soul. Your heart tanked to the lowest part of your stomach. Your confession has left you embarrassed and empty handed with no response.

That same damn feeling.

Your frustration grew as you started to pull your legs away from his waist. A hand jumped out to grasp at your thigh pulling you closer. You jump at the sudden movement. “I want you to say it again.” You could feel your blood pressure rising by the second. He got some nerve to try to humiliate you. “Hey, I finally have the courage to tell you- “

“Y/n, I want you to say it again,” he repeats while his eyes were capturing your psyche. You silence yourself as you can sense his serious demeanor. His eyes were dissecting every part of your face.

“I like you,” you whispered.

Suddenly, you felt your lower half become weightless. Your arms quickly wrapped around his neck for security. Eren’s arms gripped the back of your thighs as he moved towards his bed. It was like time was strolling through Molasses. You begin to study his face. So, tense and stern as if it was in concentration to finish a task. Just minutes ago, you were just stopping by to send a message from your friends. Now you were in his bed waiting for his next move.

Dropping you onto the bed, he stands in front of you, sighing while his eye sweeps over your face. You bite your lips anxiously not wanting to make any other part of your body move. Once again, the room continues its loud humming.  

 “I try so hard to resist, but you always seem to reel me back in.” You remain still as your thoughts race in your head. “Do you not care about what people will say,” He harshly grips his biceps.

“No”

His jaw clenches tightly. Why couldn’t you understand how risky it is for the both of you? The possible backlash of his viewers that was also used to seeing Mikasa on the stream. Mikasa possibly being jealous that the two of best friends are entangled in each other’s arms. He thought of the many outcomes of the situation which were all negative.

“Why can’t we keep it a secret, nobody has to know,” you crossed your arms against your chest. Eren walks towards you, stopping close as your legs almost touched. He leans over, his face nearing to yours. His minted breath tickles your nose.

 “Because Y/n, being around you, I can’t be secretive.” His closeness has you yearning, you crave him. Your eyes frantically search his, you could almost feel your heart jumping out your chest. Not waiting a second more, you crash your lips into his. Releasing years of tension and desire, you melt as your lips mesh together.

 He loses balance as you pull him on top of you. Regaining his composure, he leans in closer to your face. You hastily reach up to grab a hand full of his locks, enclosing his hair in your fingers. Eren groans as your grip tightens. His groan sends millions of nerve shocks to your core. You let out a soft moan into his mouth. A sudden wave of clarity hits you as it feels like you haven’t gotten his full approval. A quick smack could be heard as you pulled away from his lips.

“Are you okay with this, we can stop,” you inquire trying to steady your breathing. Eren chuckles as if your question were nothing but a joke. “I don’t think now is the right time to start asking questions.” You smile brightly leading him back to your lips. He then pushes harder into the kiss making you needlingly whine.

 He begins tugging at your bottom lip with his teeth. He sweeps his tongue in between your lips, exploring your warm mouth.  You lower your hands towards his pants, rubbing his hard print. Eren quickly pulls away from your mouth while pushing you back flat against his bed.

He now feels the temperature of the room increasing by the minute. He pulls the hem of his shirt over his head. Your eyes scan his toned body as he studies yours. He decides he wasn’t going to be the only one shirtless. “Arms up,” he commands you. You lift your arms over your head as he pulls your shift off. Now bare breasted you cover yourself up. “Don’t be shy now, should I cover mine too,” he joked covering his tanned nipples. You let out a short giggle, rolling your eyes revealing your chest. Eren smiles as he trails his lips down towards your breast.

You shiver as you feel his tongue leave hot kisses on its journey down south. He latches on to your hardened nipple, sucking and licking as he flicks the other in his hand. You jolt up panting from his touch. The sounds of you moaning tighten the grip of print in his pants. “Eren” you whimpered; your core was leaking more of your slick.

“Feels good?” he asked with a labored breath. “Mmhm,” you moaned. His fingers began to run up and down the sides of your legs. Your head grew hot and dazed, the warmth of his touch scorched your skin. He then lowers his head to peck your thighs leading down to your heated core. Your heart rate spiked as you knew these course of events officially change everything about your relationship with him. Eren’s eyes reach yours to ask to continue. You harshly swallow the hard ball of saliva stuck in your throat.

You then nod your head while swiping your tongue on your lips as the heat made them chapped. Your legs felt a strong pull as thighs were raised to the sides of your stomach. Swiftly, your panties were snatched away from your body. Then you look down to see his head ducked below your thighs. A wet long stripe swiped across your lower lips. Your legs quickly try to shut but eren’s reaction time was faster, catching them in his hands.

“You want me to stop?” He asks. You shook your head side to side in desperation for him to continue. “Then keep still, ‘kay?”

“Okay,” you responded.

Settling back in between your thighs, you felt another long stripe now on your folds. “Oh fuck,” you cried. Your breath was hitching, you felt air being sucked out of your lungs. Eren could felt his cock get more sensitive as he rubs it against his pants. He towards the top of your pussy and puckered his lips around your needy bud, giving it several pecks.

“Oh my god, “ you moaned loudly. Your hands were clawing at your chest not having another place to settle. The sensation was overwhelming your body, the heat from the room and his mouth set you aflame. You felt a long intrusion prodded at your sopping hole, entering you slowly. You let a high-pitched squeal as you squeeze your eyes shut. Eren gazed up at your face turning in satisfaction. He lets out groan around your hard bud buzzing it into more pleasure.

“Yes, right there,” you screamed out. Eren works his fingers harder and deeper into your hole. Stretching and curling his long digits. The squelching of your dripping core and screams echoed around the room. Eren began to feel the grip of your walls tighten and loosening, letting him know you were close to your speedy climax.

“Eren, more please,” you needily whined pushing yourself closer to his face. He then removed his fingers and plunged his tongue into your hot core, swirling it around. Once again glancing up, he peeks at your pleasured face, lips falling into a perfect “o”. His fingers start to circle around your clit. Your feet curl up and down over his broad shoulders. While soaking and scavenging your hole, he brushed over a small plush button. Your thick arousal dripped on to his black satin sheets leaving a damp puddle underneath you.

You gasp hard as you arched your back off the bed. He smirks as he hits the sensitive spot over and over. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as your stomach clenched.  “I’m gonna cum,” you panted wearily. You felt his pace on your bud and hole quicken faster than before. He presses deep into you, numbing the spot that weakened your senses.

“Ahhh, yess” you hiss in despair. The band in your stomach begins to ripple harshly. He pinches your clit tightly in between his fingers, yanking the nerves upwards. In an instant, your walls clench and stutter profusely.  Panting and crying out, as Eren decides to rub you through your orgasm making you whine in pain.

“Eren, no more, please!”

He shushes you while enthusiastically applying more pressure on your bud. The sensation of you needing to release again ached you. Fluids suddenly began spurting from your overstimulated cunt. You cry out as drool seeping out your gaping mouth.

“goooood girl,” he praises you, slowly drawing circles on your clit. As your breath settles, he slowly removes his fingers from you. Looking over, he presents his dampen fingers to you. “You might wanna get a- “

Eren slipped the wet digits into his mouth, licking and slurping your juices from his hand. Blood drained from your face as you watched him pop his fingers out of his mouth. He smiles at your astonished reaction.

“You taste good,” he smirked. “Shut up!” you angrily yelled. He then began moving closer towards you. 

“Wanna try?”

“Eren, I swear to god, get away from me,” you shouted grabbing the covers from underneath to protect you. “Come here~” he teases. He quickly makes his way to your side while cackling. You shriek, a gasp of wind grazes you as he rips the blankets away from your bare body.

“NO,” you scream out as his face is inches away from yours. Eren halted his body from moving further. “You actually don’t want to try it?” he questions. You slightly turn your head away from his deep green eyes. 

“Well, I- uhm”, you nervously stammer out. Eren softly smiles at your demeanor in enjoyment, “it’s embarrassing,” he finishes for you.

“It’s embarrassing,” you shyly confirm while nodding your head. His fingertips rest at the bottom of your face, tenderly pushing it back to face him. Your eyes attach to his, occasionally shifting to his plump lips. “Listen, I’m not gonna force you,” he assures.” But it was funny watching you scream,” his dimple forms on his cheeks as he breaks out in laughter. You frown in humiliation but soon, bits of giggles spill from your mouth. Your joined laughter filled your bodies with happiness, neither you nor he wanted it to fade into the abyss.

Eren laughter dies out as he focuses once again on your face. His thumb reaches your lips, gently brushing over them. Your eyes saturated with temptation, inching closer to his warm lips. He understood your command, closing the thin gap between the both of you, your mouths gracefully settled on each other. You could feel your chest twist and twirl in excitement.

 Could it be love? No, no, that’s a tad bit heavy to use the L word on the same day of your confession. It felt too light label it as a crush. Whatever it was, bonded the cracks of your heart that formed each day that came before this one.

Letting the kiss linger a second longer, you could taste a reminisce of a sweet and tangy flavor on his mouth.  You pulled back from him allowing a sigh to slip out, “I wanna try it,” you confessed. Eren’s eyebrows slanted in confusion, “You already did”.

“No, I did- OH!” You shouted covering your mouth. You jokingly smacked your lips together to taste yourself again, “you’re right I don’t taste bad”. Eren smiles at your blatant wittiness, it’s one of the things he most admires about you. The quick jabs you throw at him and the rest of the group, it seems he’s the only one who manages to keep up. 

The mention of the group assisted in his daze to drift to the main purpose of you being here. “Y/n, we should probably head down now, it’s been while since you left them”. You slid your shirt over your head as you hummed in agreement. He follows your lead and begins to put his shirt on.

Time seems to pass on fast, in a span of minutes you were introduced and teased on his stream, let out your confession and allowed the man you have been eyeing out on for years to devour you.

“Dammit,” you stoop down to look under his bed. “What are you looking for”, he inquires also tilting his head down. Your hands blindly wander under his bed frame, “I can’t find my underwear”. The constant slapping of your hand against his floor was tiring and the lack of light in his room didn’t help with your searching.

 “Oh, you mean these”, your head turns up towards the brunette boy. His hands hold the panties, balled up and enclosed under his fingers. You stride towards him quickly as he grins, eyeing your exposed lower parts.

 “Eren, give it to me,” you warned sternly. He backs up raising the panties behind his head, “it was so good you’re begging for more huh?” he taunts.

You angrily step closer to him, “Eren!” you gritted your teeth. “I don’t know I think it’ll kind of be exciting to free ball it, don’t you think”, he laughs still steps backwards. 

“Fuck you,” you angrily retort.

“Ah, we’ll get to that another time, don’t wanna be too needy”.

Finally reaching him, you stare with dagger in your pupils. Not a peep could be heard as he stares back with levity, seeing this as nothing but fun. Your eyes shift between the parallel green ones, fury congests your stomach. Eren fights the urge to grab your face and push your soft lips on his. 

“Whatever”, you huffed out in defeat, going to put your shorts back on. He smiles lightly, retreating his prize into his top dresser drawer. You make your way towards his door ready to exit but something still nagged at your thoughts.

“Eren, what is this now”, you questioned in concern. He slides the band out of his hair, making the brown locks frame his face and shoulders. “You mean, what’s going on between us,” he asks with vagueness. “Mmhm” You hummed wanting him to continue. 

“Oh yeah, your mine for sure”, he carelessly raked his fingers through his tresses. You felt heat flash across your cheeks, flustered by the fact that you were now in his possession. 

Eren then bites the band while gathering his hair into one fist in the back of his head. The back side of his biceps strained; veins flexed as his grip tightened on his hair. You stare at the voluptuous muscles that fought against his flesh. The boy finally places the band in his other hand then ties it into a somewhat presentable bun.

“Even in front of them”, you questioned referring to your joined friend group. The door was now ajar, the light of the hallway bled into his room making the luminesce shine on your body. “We’ll talk more later, let’s eat,” he mumbled nodding his head into the lit-up hall. You whispered a quick “okay” as you made your way out and soon, he follows right after.

Darkness had absorbed every spec of light in the room, except one blinking spot of red on Eren’s desktop.

   ⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢୨୧⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢ ⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢୨୧⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢ 

“And I even got the chance to hold one”, Armin boasted proudly. The other remaining friends gathered around the table excited to hear about Armin’s oceanic studies. Food was placed on the counter waiting to be consumed, mainly waiting to be consumed by Sasha as she anxiously stared at the thinning steam that rose from the pot.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit dangerous to only be for a general research assignment”, Jean asks in genuine concern for the blond. “No, not at all”, Armin answers while swiping between photos on his phone of the sea animal he held. Jean sighs in defeat, what a way to be reckless for an extracurricular class.

Mikasa sat in between the 2 blondes, patiently waiting for you and eren’s arrival. She pondered at clock resting against the wall. It’s ticking reminding her every second and minute goes by without the appearance of her 2 friends up the stairs. 

“It’s going on fifteen minutes now”, she informs the group. “I'm sure they’ll be down in a sec”, armin reassured while glancing at the time on his phone. 

“Yeah whatever, who’s idea was to wait for him anyway”, the food fiend groaned.  Armin and Mikasa accusingly pointed their fingers towards Jean. “ I thought it would be a nice way of gathering together”, his face painted in pink.” “Mama’s boy”, Sasha muttered under her breath. 

“ Hey, I heard that! ”

Connie, too consumed by his phone to engage in conversation decided to do a check up on his socials. Twitter was the first choice, he laughed obnoxiously at a couple of tweets from people he followed closely. Afterwards, he viewed the current top 10 trending topics.

 Elon Musk, a copycat.

Megan thee Stallion, she can step on me.

One Piece Live action, mid.

Jaegermeister exposed, about damn time.

 It wouldn’t be surprising if eren did a tip slip, that wouldn’t be the worst thing he could’ve done. Connie, not anticipating the unexpected, lazily pressed the bolded subhead. Automatically, the top video began to play out, his breathing came to a sudden pause; pupils dilated in shock.

  “No way”

Tagged:

@sofamochi​   @bootlegroach   @nafi-2004  

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #aot x reader #mdrwritings #eren jaeger #eren yeager #eren aot

[atvace]

Lady Dior and the Seven Dilfs

Chapter 11: Her Desire

"My sources told me they hosted a drinking party between the elites," He dropped down a few papers consisting of a few highlighted texts scattered around the table. "There will be the VIPs all around Las Almas gathering in." He rolled a map of Las Almas and pointed at a specific manoir.

"La casa de sin nombre?" Soap raised his eyebrow reading the manoir name in the map, "Actually no, it's one of their lugartenientes." Alejandro shrugged. "A cartel lieutenant..." The huge forehead chuckled, "You're learning, hermano." he ruffled some of the papers.

"Some are invited to the meet some are uh..." Alejandro rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, "Volun-told?" Graves raised his eyebrow "Yes-". Soap peered at the map, examining the terrains around the house. "What's the gathering about?" He asked, "Well, apparently they do this every Sunday night but this time there'll be a meeting too." He took a ballpoint and scribbled a few. 

"And maybe about us too." He drops the pen down and tilts to Graves. "Las Almas is burning, and they want to know how lit the fire." Alejandro bit the inside of his cheek.

"Sin Nombre will be there, yeah?" Ghost rests his hand on the table. "No guarantees but this is our best shot. The least we can do is have a little more detail on intels." 

Graves gripped his own vest before clicking his tongue, "So, how do we make it inside? It's a drinking party we can't just violently get in. We need El Sin Nombre alive." Everyone gazes at each other, then slowly shifts at you munching on Mexican ghost pepper chips. 

"What?" You asked with a stuffed mouth.

Alejandro let out a cheeky grin before tilting his head to Ghost, "Don't tell me." The Lt shook his head, "Dior, can you speak basic Spanish?" Ale turned to you. 

"Se espanol basica? si." You raised your eyebrow at his objection. Alejandro smiled, "Rodolfo, Give her something fancy! and a party mask." He walks towards the weapon armory. "Yes, boss." Rodolfo left the room in a swift. "That'll honestly do, I'll have my men on overwatch." Graves shrugged.

"Dior, you will infiltrate inside the mansion as a prostitute," Alejandro stated from afar. "Oh, fuck yeah. my time to shine, bitch." You excitedly put the bag of chips on the table and rubbed your stained finger to the vest, unbuckling it because you're going to change clothes anyway. 

"You go by car with Soap, we'll drop you off by the main entrance. my men will be there to escort you inside," He grabbed something from a compartment. "He has a green suit, yeah?" He threw a set of small earpieces towards you which you caught with your left hand. "Easy does it." You slip it inside your right ear. It was too big for your ear entrance so you just slip it slightly. 

"Don't engage with any mafia, be careful with your words, your fake name is..." Alejandro paused for a moment, "Valentina." You cooed jokingly. "Sure." Your lips parted in shock, you made up that name as a joke. "Pack up, vamos!" Alejandro left to get in the garage to announce the operation.

You pouted your lip trying to think of something, but you felt a presence in your side. "prostitute?" Ghost's deep voice could never fail to startle you now. "Yea, what about it, Casper. you want a piece of my pussy?" You sneered. "Thought it belonged to the cowboy hence he made you quite loud last night." He said whispering to your ear level before leaving.

'AIN'T NO GODDAMN WAY I WAS THAT LOUD LAST NIGHT' You shot his back with a small smile, even though he didn't see it he can feel it. your eyes twitched in embarrassment and your hand turned into a fist irritatedly.

Grave's hand was about to land on you but you uncomfortably dodged him, He turned his palm into a fist and awkwardly rested it to his hips. "So, Dior the sneaky infiltration again?" He chuckles at you, "Yea." Your short remark was enough to make him accept his defeat and leave with Alejandro. 

Soap catches up to you which draws back your mood, "You okay, Dior? What'd Ghost said?" His smile warms your head by little. "Oh, nothing. He's just threatening me to not fuck this up." You lied, rubbing the back of your head awkwardly. 

"I think you're a great lurker," Soap said to you as you two walked together. "Well, this time I'm going undercover. I hope I didn't get carried away." You sneered at the thought of dancing on the floor in front of mafias. "Well, then don't! gather info and flee." He remarkably said. 

"Easier said than done." 

⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹

You smeared your Glossier lipgloss across your lips giggling, kicking your feet, So excited about your mission. this is definitely your type of mission, you love your job, you live for this moment, and you are going to execute this with no hassle. Rodolfo definitely has a taste! he gave you a bodycon red slit dress with a long satin gloves in the same color. You look divine. (You always do)

"Excited, are you?" Soap's claim made you tilt, "Ah- Of course! Who wouldn't be?!" You grinned, "I love lurking in, pretending to be the spy girl in the mansion. I'm going to be the center of attention!" You swayed your hair.

"Yes, but you shouldn't expose your thighs too much, yeah?" Your smile drops and you look at him ferociously, "You've got exactly three seconds to take back what you say before I rip that fucking mohawk." His shoulder flinched a bit, his hand reached his pocket. "I'm so sorry, my lady I did not mean what I said earlier- Captain Price wanted me to give you this." He lends you what seems like a black belt with a knife pocket in it. "For emergency." He smiles as your eyes soften.

"My hands are full. Just put it beside me." You said reapplying a mascara. He paused for a moment before bending down to your side, You stopped whatever you were doing and watched him shift his hand to your knee and then your left thigh. the harsh surface of his gloves sharpens your breath, and the way he adjusted the belt thumps your heart harder. the way his fingers softly contact the soft flesh of your thighs turns you slightly red. He tightens the strap creating two hills between the black belt.

"That'll do." He got up and sat back to the seat.

You were stunned by the action he pulled. regaining consciousness, you pull your dress down so the strap isn't visible. "Very well, Mr. Soap. Very well," You look away at the car window watching the near-dusk scenery of Las Almas until the car stops in front of a cab. 

You watched Soap exit the car and open the car door for you, lending you his hand. As you got up, he slowly held your hand escorted you to the white car, and opened the door for you again. "Stay safe, yeah?" "Thank you, Soap." You got in gracefully and stayed in the car.

As the car drove, you rested your chin on your hand looking out the window. scanning the mansion from your naked eye; there were multiple spots that were exposed to the outside. you figured your team should set up a sniper from. one of the taller buildings. seeing the tall black gate visible from the distance, you pull the party mask to your eye level, enough to give a little anonymity to your face. "I'm green." You coded to the radio. "Good, get back one piece." Ghost tuned into your earpiece.

The green-suited man has a mask covering his face like Ghost's but in grey. his eyes gave you the look before slithering his hand around your waist. As the two of you walked into the mansion and entered the elevator, his hand slipped a piece of paper into your gloves. you tapped twice at his finger as a code that you received it. 

the sound of the elevator ding is heard and you walk outside toward the crowd of people. there was multiple outdoor pool with the green hills you saw when you were outside earlier. "Senora." A waiter handed you a tall drink, "Gracias." You awkwardly accept it and scooted  over to the crowd light dancing.

you swayed your hips a few times and hummed to the unfamiliar lyric music blasting in a not too deafening volume. You rejected a few hands that tried to pull you. but in multiple times you gazed and one specific eyes, but you're not sure whos orbs those belong to.

A few men and woman with mask covering their faces lent you their hand but you dont plan on making any contact with those people. hence you're undercove rwith a knife up in your thighs.

In the left corner of your eye, you saw a glimps of a dark hazel orbs piercing at your shoulders like an eagle observing their prey. You tilt your head to the side slightly to see a woman few olders than you menacingly watching you from afar. 

'Gyatt dayum,' you look away from her again. 

You tilt your head to her again to check her out, 'Ooh she's a short hair.' you mentally giggled to yourself while pretending to look away.

You tried to steal another look of her but you've lost her. sighing in defeat, you decided to walk out of the crowd towards one of the outdoor pools. You expose yourself outside while pressing your bottom lip with the fancy glass, "All stations, I have eyes on Dior." Ghost's voice buzzed into your ear. You raised your glass to the hill where you think Ghost is and went back inside. But as you turned around, you bumped into someone and accidentally knocked your own glass to your chest, pouring the alcohol all over your torso. "Ah-" 

Everyone's eyes pinned on you in an instant. "Dior, report on the situation. Why is everyone stunned?" Grave's voice echoed to your radio. "Ah, Lo siento, senoras." The woman that bumped into you walked towards you. "Dior, do you copy?" Ghost's voice gave a hint of annoyance. 

"Ah, esta bien." You try to pat your soaked chest but nobody can get their eyes off you. The woman seemed irritated at the people staring at you. "Siguema." She grabbed your hand, pulling you into her close. the two of you fast walked toward a different elevator. you saw her tapping a card and pressed floor 2.

'AINT NO GODDAMN WAY SHE'S THE SAME PERSON EARLIER' you thinly smile to yourself as you stare at your arm squashed by her palm. she has a similar combat gloves as Alejandro's. 

you were stunned at everything happening too fast but you tried to picture the woman that is probably helping you right now. She has cold-dark brown eyes with short black hair and a sharp eye. She wore some kind of a black turtleneck with dusty white jeans. in a few moments after staring at her, the elevator revealed the second floor. you followed her to a room with a large sofa and a few wardrobes. 

"Sientate, te lo debo." She walked to one of the wardrobes and slid it open. You sat on the sofa and tried your best to gather your composure. after a few minutes, she turned to you and threw a pair of black sweater. "Pontelo. Mi agradecimiento." She stated with a slightly cold tone. You rest your palm to the folded sweater and looked at her, "que?" She crossed her arm to her chest whilst looking down on you.

"...Gracias, tu eres linda." You softly said, trying to sound convincing. You dug your head inside the sweater and poked your head out of the hole, but you see her face an inch close to yours, "I knew that you're not from around here. Who are you?" She squinted her eyes to see you. You felt caged but you need to improvise. "I'm a prostitute." You blurted out.

"What the fuck," She sneers which made something inside you twitched. "Puta prostituta." She nodded slightly at your stance. "..si?" You gave an obvious guilty smile. Out of the sudden, she slapped and grip your left thigh. You got slightly startled from her sudden action, letting out a soft moan.

She raised her eyebrow at your reaction and laughed, "Oh coño, you poor thing. Did I startled you, conejita?" She sneered at you degradingly. "I mean it's technically MY job," You gulped. "But since you gave me this sweater, maybe I'll let you have me for free?" You shot her an innocent stare. after a slight pause between the two of you, she scoffed and flashed a wicked eye.

"Who do you think am I?" She gripped your jaw to make you look closer at her. "My next." You confidently answered. "es esto lo que esperas de mi?" She poked your groin as you arched your head back. "maldita perre zorra, Es esto lo que quieres?" She knitted her eyebrow and pinched your clit through your dress. "Oh God-" "What tis your name, maldita?" She lets go of your crotch now crawling to you whilst pinning your hands beside you. one of her knee edged your clit.

"Answer me, you imbicile." She placed a pressure to your wrist and sensitive abdomen. "V-Valentina." You gasped for air. "Valentina? que interesante." She snickered. "Me pregunto si Valentina quiere que Valeria la ponga como una, puta." She whispered to your red ear and chuckled at your whinings.

You prayed to God she leave your panties alone because your undercover will be revealed. she thumped her knee multiple times into your sensitive covered sensitive entry while now devouring your neck, whispering unladylike wordd in spanish whilst her sharp long nails with coated red polish bruised your underjaw. 

"Enjoyed checking me out, down there, Hm?" She shift her hand to make you face her. "Didn't expect you to look different from their papers," She smirked. "They didn't joke about sending me the best one." Your eyes widens at her remarks. 

"Cuando bailas ahí atras", she impatiently flung one of your legs onto her shoulder "Me llamaste la atencion." She dug her knee even deeper into you. probably now bruising your entrance. "ahora tengo el tuyo." she smirked at the mess she making you.

The way she draws your body with her hands, shifting from your wrist to your collarbone and teasing the shape of your breasts between her sweater. you felt her hand gliding up and down motioning to memorise your body through her touch.

"tu gusta este?" She smirked in your cheeks while the tip of her thumb circled your cave slowly. you eyes rolled inside your skull, still mentally praying she didn't notice the knife strap Soap wore for you. "Make more noises, puta." Her thumb presses harder making a damp with your wetness.

Your whines turned into a moaning mess, your well-do hair is now a bird nest. She laughs at the side of your neck biting your earlobe, "Me gusta tu voz, let's take thi-"

Her words are cut off by a knocking door. "Boss, tienes una persona." a man spoke from the other side of the door making her groan. "Callate!" she shouted towards the door before grunting in annoyance, "Hey." She places her finger on your chin, "Don't think I'm done with you." She said leaving with a smile. "I'll get your contract extended."

Watching her left, "contract extended?"  you quickly took out the paper that Alejandro's intel slid into your gloves. carefully reading the handwriting, it said 'segunda planta, 02 02 19' You rolled your eyes and crumpled the paper. "Very helpful, thank you."

You sat on the sofa dumbfounded with soggy panties. you looked behind you and saw a dark-tinted glass window, Without thinking twice you tapped the window and gazed around it. From up there, you saw Soap getting checked up by the guards before his head was sunk into a sack and forcefully manhandled into the mansion.

you gasped softly at the sight and tried to get into your radio. "This is Dior from the seco-" Your hand felt empty and your eyes widened after realizing your earpiece was gone. "Oh shit." You dug your whole palm inside your ear just to find it empty.

You quickly shuffled towards the door and turned the knob multiple times. just to have another realization that the door is locked from the outside. "OH SHIT." You breathed heavily and held your forehead to balance out your mind with the situation that happened. "No fucking way I'm trapped here to be a sex slave. fuck!" You walked around the room to think of a solution. "...And she DOES hiring a sex buddy. WHAT IF I GOT CAUGHT," You frustratedly run your mantled fingers across your scalp.

Let's learn how to break through your problem. You lost your earpiece, you have no contact with your teams whatsoever. Your only weapon is your knife but you can't use that yet because we don't want to break the glass with it, it'll be too noisy. You have a ticking time bomb before the REAL prostitute actually comes. 

'Check the wardrobes.' The insides of your head echoed a voice in your mind.

You sprinted to one of the wooden wardrobes and furiously opened every single one of them. just to be disappointed that there are only dark-colored random clothes. 

There was a military vest, few cargo pants, multiple pairs of jeans, and a hat. you took out the jeans and a few sweaters out of the wardrobe and ran back to the window, calculating the height of the building. 

"This is some Rapunzel shit," you muttered whilst trying to tie the jeans and sweaters together.

Flashback

"Dior, Do you copy?" Ghost tuned into the radio watching you unfolding a scene by the pool. "Dior- bloody fucking hell." He gripped his sniper holster in annoyance, "What's wrong, Ghost?" Soap took out a telescope to see you from the distance getting dragged by a woman. "Oh yeah, that's bad." 

"Did the princess drop her earpiece? Her signal seemed disconnected." Graves stared at Soap while staring at his combat tab and munching on a bread he packed himself for. "Well, that's on me. I think I gave her the wrong size." Alejandro rubbed the back of his head. "Fair blame." Ghost scoffed.

"If we decided that she's under hostage situation, I've got enough shadow to take over the whole damn country." Graves threw his wrapper off the building and walked towards the other. "I prefer if you didn't." Alejandro felt a little grudge in his tone.

Graves scoffed, "I'm just sayin, one house and a hostage wouldn't be a problem." He flexes. "We need el sin nombre and Dior alive." Alejandro knitted his eyebrow, "well... what if we meet him in person." The commander tilts to Soap.

"How?" 

"Give them what they want. Dior is out of reach with no coms, but I'm sure she figured something." Graves gripped his vest. "Tell them intel, they wanna know whose here? tell 'em." Grave's expression stayed relaxed.

"In person?" Alejandro sharply stared at Graves. "Correcto." He slightly nodded. "Get one of us inside, find Dior, get to the boss, pack 'em up." He palms his knuckles. The three men paused for a few moments before Soap broke the silence. 

"I'll do it." 

Alejandro's eyes soften to Soap, "You go in there, they'll kill you, Hermano. we're not even sure if Dior is still alive." He slightly shook his head. "That's fine, I'll take my chances. Dior is inside, there's a possibility she's still alive. There's a missile we need to stop." Soap convinced. "I'll get inside, find Dior then offer intel to El Sin Nombre." 

Ghost's sigh is heard as Soap continues. "And if they're there, we pounce." He finishes. Alejandro chuckled like a proud dad before resting his hand on Soap's shoulder. "Demonios si. tienes las pelotas es cabron." 

Alejandro took off his vest, "To make it in, you'll need eyes and ears. I'll go too." He smiles. "I'll stay on overwatch again. Shadow circles the target on a helo." Ghost turns to Graves after Alejandro's decision. "Roger that." 

Graves was about to reach his radio but stopped, "Oh if they want proof." He ripped off a Shadow Company badge from his vest. "Show 'em this." Soap took a good look at the ripped badge before fist-bumping Graves. "Call me when you need me." Graves walked towards the other side of the building. "Alright, let's gear up and get after it."

a little longer than a few minutes later

Soap's face was shoved into the elevator after getting questioned by El Sin Nombre. The female Sicaria leaned herself to the side of the elevator watching Soap stumbled. Diego slaps three of the buttons going from the basement to the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd floor. "Penthouse." He mumbles.

"Los Vaqueros is moving fast," He faced Valeria. "I'll be in the penthouse with sin nombre." She said in a cold tone whilst the sound of the elevator went up. "When do I see el sin nombre?" Soap's question made the two sicarios snickered. "Valeria is going to speak with the boss, you will wait with the others," Diego said with a hint of threat.

"I have a feeling, El Sin Nombre will be... very interested in talking to you." Valeria spat venom through her words. After a minute, the elevator dings. watching the elevator door unraveling, Soap flooded out his overthinking while it was greeted by a guard with a mask. 

Soap walked out of the elevator, "This is where you wait, Soap." The mohawk slowly walks out of the elevator with a guard leaning by the side outside the lift. "Estaré en la ofrenda. No interruptan." Diego spoke coldly as the guard shoved soap against the window. "Si Señor." The guard deepen his voice as he patted Soap's body down.

"You're alive..." Alejandro's familiar voice relieves Soap's tense muscle. "Alejandro? You too mate." He muttered back. "El Sin Nombre's in the penthouse, third floor." "We'll need a keycard." Alejandro replied again.

"Diego has it." Alejandro searched his pocket. "Take this." he handed soap a throwing knife. "Sweet." Soap gladly stored it in his pocket. "This too," He handed Soap a white full head mask. "Why a mask?" Soap wore it anyway. "Some people here can't be seen with the cartel. comms are hooked in." 

"Got it."

"You're good, let's head out." 

Alejandro and Soap tried their best to not be seen too close together as they walked towards what seemed like a kitchen. The people on the floor have either left or somewhere else. it wasn't so crowded like earlier. "What've you got?" Ghost turned into Soap's radio. "El Sin Nombre is in the penthouse. third floor." Soap spoke softly. 

"None of Dior?" Soap paused himself before answering, "Negative." Ghost's sigh is heard faintly through, Alejandro frowns at his concerns. "Don't worry. We'll give a shot on the elevator, we just need Diego's keycard." He looked around the mansion watching a few guards and a backdoor to the garage.

"Where Diego?" Ghost's shifting his sniper is heard on the radio. "Ofrenda, second floor." Soap said. "I think I know how to get to him." Soap stared at an unoccupied ladder with a few vines beside it and a vertical window. "Vamos, we'll get our hands dirty,"  Alejandro smirked beneath his mask.

end of flashback

You sat by the window, ripping and tying some of the clothings. you felt bad for doing this but you need to get out of there. It's been around 45 minutes since you realized your earpiece is gone. the sky has turned dark and surprisingly the music is fading. You could only hear people on a phone call or just chatting with one and another.

After finally finishing the last piece, you tied the end of the long handmade rope to the sova and walked towards the window. 'It is what it is' You pulled out your knife and broke the window by the butt side and threw the rest of the rope out of the window. As you jumped out, you were flabbergasted to see someone climbing up right beside you. he had a grey shirt, dark pants with a white robbery mask. the two of you stare at each other for a good few minutes.

"Soap?!" 

"Dior?!"

'PSSAT' a bullet pierced close to the two of you. Soap drew out his gun and shot the guard right in the head. "Holy shit, what did you do?!" You gripped on your rope tighter. "No time to explain! Quick, take my hand." He lent out his hand as you grab him back. He lifted you over his shoulder and threw you to the 2nd-floor balcony on the other side of your window. "Go get cover, I'll explain later." He said grunting whilst climbing. "Solid copy." 

You sprinted into the building facing guard, "Hold this!" You slashed their throat by throwing your knife through their jugular vein as they dropped to the ground with a seizure. You slide on your knees to take your knife back, "Ay, 'm takin this back. thank you!" You got on your feet and ran again. the sound of alarm blaring through the hallways eeried your ears. 

You stumbled across a closet and pulled it open to see a medium-sized safebox, "Let's see what you're worth." You put in the code from Alejandro's intel, As it clicks open, a few papers fly out and you grit your teeth in annoyance.

"A fucking shotgun..." 

"A fucking shotgun." 

You jerked your head back to see Soap leaning into the content and cluck the close-range weapon to himself. "Dior, you want my USP instead?" He offered his gun. You took it and checked the mag to see it's barely used. "Fair offer." 

The two of you walked towards another balcony to get on top of the rooftop. But unfortunately, there were several guards on watchout. You peeked and threw the knife at one of the guards, jumping over to get inside and shoot the remaining guards. Soap struggled to hop inside the top with his shotgun which resulted in you getting harmed fighting alone.

"Argh-" You shot a guard's knee before kicking him down with your heels. Another guard aimed their gun at you but their head explodes from a sniper. You looked up towards another building a few miles away to see a reflection of a light showing Ghost on overwatch. "Fuck, I'm sorry. You okay?" Soap got to your side. "Just a gash, let's go." You ignored your bleeding arm and quickly caught up to Alejandro.

"Dior." 

"Ale-" 

"Soap!"

The three of you looked at each other before Alejandro pointed at a certain chimney. "Elevator this way, we have no time left." Soap and Alejandro sprinted towards the ladder as you tried to catch up. You grunted in pain holding your left arm that spilled out blood. 

Soap jumps inside to get on the top of the elevator as Alejandro realizes you're not there. He looked down to see you holding your arm in pain, "Cariño, estás bien?" He shouted from the top. You waved your hand away at him "Go without me!" 

He furrows his eyebrow and tries to lend his hand to you, "It's too dangerous!" You shook your head, "Go get El Sin Nombre, I'll be fine I promise you!" He paused for a moment looking through your eyes before deciding to leave with Soap. you sighed in relief and went the other way. 

You swore you saw something when you opened that safe. The papers that flew out weren't just ordinary papers, You tried to navigate yourself back to the 2nd floor. You saw multiple guards coming but you hid and shot them from behind counters. 

outruning them from the hallways, you hid yourself inside the same closet earlier. You sat and took all of the papers trying to read it in thin light. But out of a sudden, you feel a breeze from your side from the guards opening your closet door with a rifle in his hand. you screamed in fear but he dropped to the ground in an instant. Your pupils dilate at the sight of one of the words in those papers as it flutters in the air shifting away from you.

'duties signed under Ma-'

Your gaze was locked on a shadow with a handgun in his hand as he lent you his hand again, "Dior, right? we caught El Sin Nombre. Let's go!" You tried to get up but the pain in your arm stopped you and made you drop the papers down. "Shit okay-" 

He picked you up by the waist and carried you, "I'm sorry," he mutters softly.

#mw2 #modern warfare 2 #task force 141 #captain price x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #call of duty mwii #alejandro vargas x reader #valeria garza #valeria mw2 #cod fanfic

[corrodedcoffinkid]

could you do a fic about eddie dealing with teachers refusing to accommodate him?

“Edward Munson, I said put them away.”

“But I-”

“Put them away!”

Eddie sighs sadly as he takes off his headphones. The class is really loud today, and he couldn’t concentrate. Too bad Mrs. O’Donnell didn’t really care about his ability to pay attention.

Eddie’s eyes look anxiously around the room as he hears what has to be thousands of sounds. The chalk on the chalkboard, the buzzing of the fluorescent lights, the whispers about his pleading with the teacher… it all comes crashing down on his senses.

So, he doodles. He takes out a piece of paper and begins doodling instead of jotting down notes. It didn’t matter- he’s taken this class twice already. He’s halfway into his drawing of ‘Eddie the Brave’ before the paper is snatched off of his desk.

Mrs. O’Donnell balls up the paper before tossing it into the trash. “What did I tell you about paying attention in my class?” she asks rudely, eyes wide with rage.

Eddie breaks eye contact, choosing to look at his feet instead. “My Uncle told Principal Higgins that drawing helps me concentrate. Higgins was supposed to tell you.”

“I can’t possibly see how doodling away useless nonsense about fairytales helps you concentrate! Whatever you’re doing isn’t working, and I’m positive I’ll be seeing you in my class again next year!”

Eddie’s hands clench, and his eyebrows knit together. “Well maybe if I could sit in this fucking class for longer than five goddamn minutes before you start targeting me, I could actually fucking pay attention.”

“Edward Munson, Principal’s Higgins’ office now!”

Eddie grabs his book bag and slings it over his shoulder. “Thank God! Maybe they’ll fucking suspend me and I won’t have to see your wrinkly, fucked up face for a week or two.”

Eddie pushes open the door to the Higgins’ office, and slings his back into the floor. “You know the number by now, Higgins. Please, humor my uncle and tell him that he needs to come all the way down here because I cussed out a teacher.”

Half an hour later, Eddie finds himself sitting next to his uncle in the principal’s office.

“Suspended for four days… won’t tolerate this type of behavior… unacceptable attitude…” is all Eddie really retains. Uncle Wayne sits in silence until the principal is done with his spiel. Then, he says, “None of you at this school know nothing about autism, do ya?”

“Sir, autistic or not-”

“My boy needs those headphones and those drawings to even think about learning, and you’re rippin’ ‘em out of his hands and expecting him to learn? You’ve lost your goddamn minds! I had to take off work to listen to a grown ass adult bully my nephew! This is ridiculous!”

Wayne grabs Eddie, and leaves, ignoring whatever Principal Higgins is saying in response. Eddie grabs his headphones, and pulls them over his ears. “So…” he says quietly, buckling his seatbelt, “Ice cream?”

“Son,” Wayne sighs sadly, “I’m sorry. I’d pull you out of this school in a heartbeat if I could.”

Eddie shrugs. “I’m survived this long. It’s okay, old man, really.”

“Well, you’re not in trouble in my book. I think you deserve some damn ice cream. What do you say?”

Eddie smiles, looking at his uncle in admiration. “Chocolate?

“If you insist, boy, if you insist.”

#eddie munson #stranger things #autistic eddie munson #eddie munson autism #wayne munson #fluff #angst #adamwrites

[theargopriestess]

I Can’t Stop Wanting You- Part 3

(A/N: Warning! ⛔️ - this is quite graphic and NOT intended for anyone under 18 years!)

Carly’s lying on her on front, she’s fast asleep, the white coverlet and sheets pooled near her waist. Freddie braces his weight on his arms, his fingers run gently up and down the length of her spine, tracing small circles into the small of the back under the coverlet. He brushes her hair gently from her face and out from her neck, leaning down to brush his lips over her cheek, the hinge of her jaw and then lower, nuzzling sweetly into the crook of her neck, nipping softly at the warm and flowery scented flesh. As ever, she smells like daisies and other wild flowers. He kisses her flesh again and she lets out a small noise, a cross between a giggle and a gasp.

He pulls away enough to see her eyes open, she starts shift, moving into her side, he settles his hand gently at the small of her back. She she smiles lightly at him, holding her head up with her hand. He kisses her and she leans in to him. He feels her hand against his ribs.

“Hey”, she smiles sweetly as she pulls away, laying back against the pillows. He shifts his onto his side, holding his weight up with his arm. “Hey”. He leans over her and kisses her cheek. She lifts a hand, rubbing gently at her eye. “What time is it?”, she asks through a yawn. He glances at the alarm clock stood on her nightstand. “A little after midnight”.

“At night?”

“Last time I checked”, he chuckles. He looks down at her, wondering in all his goddamn lucky stars how he got so lucky! Her skin glows a soft gold in the lamplight. He starts tracing his fingertips over her collarbone moving slow down towards her chest, she raises an eyebrow at him. “What are you after?”, he grins leaning in to kiss her and her hand curls around the back of his neck, “who says I’m after anything?”. She rolls up onto her side and he moves his hand underneath her arm to her back, tracing his fingers down the length of her spine. His fingers drift over her ass and her breath hitches, she suddenly lets out a sharp gasp, tail ended with a moan when he suddenly grips her thigh and hikes it up and over his hip.

“Fuck!” she mutters, pulling away and he starts grazing his lips down the side of neck, biting gently at the flesh over her pulse point. His hand migrates back up the underside of her thigh, grazing her skin teasingly, before settling on the small of her back, arm tightening around her and holding her close against him.

He kisses her again using other the push his weight up and roll her gently over to her back, bracing his weight on his forearm while his other hand travels up to her waist, and then to her chest. He picks up her hand and laces his fingers through hers, pressing down onto the mattress. She covers his hand with her own, lifting her legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in.

They both gasp simultaneously. He smirks against her lips when she starts to move her hand with his own over her breast in rhythm with each rock of their hips.

God only knows how much he wants her.

Being with her, with Carly, is like a dream. It’s easier too, they know each other so well.

It, at the very least means they didn’t have to go on the awkward few first dates where they had get to know each other and decide whether it they actually had a spark, Freddie knows that he and Carly already have the answer to that one.

But it does mean that they need to get to know each other in a different way. He knows her well, knows her heart, her likes and dislike, her interests and all the things that anger or irritate her. He knows her fears. Just as well she knows him on each equal count.

It was a slow and careful process, getting to know her on the physical side. But he loved every second of it, learning how to touch her in away that puts her into overdrive and that draws certain noises out of her that makes his heart summersault amongst other things. He’s sure it’s the same for her.

Learning how to be with her like that, learning how to play an instrument. Curiosity of finding out of what happens when you place your fingers in a certain place, what note or chord will be made, something melodic and beautiful.

Not that he sees her, Carly, his Carly, (and although he is not remotely religious, by God above is it euphoric and the best feeling to be able to say that she is his, just as much as he is hers), as an object or something to posses.

He’s fallen hard and fast, and by God does he want her.

Waking up with her weight on his chest is possibly the best moment of his life, especially for a man who has been married twice over in the past. This, this, is surely heaven.

The sheets are pooled around their hips, she’s curled on her side, body pressed to his, half resting on his chest one hand resting in the dip of her waist, the other is gripping hers where it lays over his heart. He turns his head to hers, nuzzling his nose into her hair and pressing his lips to her forehead. Their legs are tangled together and he has no desire of moving from her bed today any time soon. He just wants to savour this. Being with her like this. If this, if she went away, or was taken from him, he’s not sure his heart could take it. He’s almost certainly that it would shatter into a million pieces.

He holds her tighter, as if she is suddenly about to disappear, arm still strong around her. She stirs in his hold, tilting her head up to his. “Morning”, she smiles sleepily at him. He returns her smile. “Good morning sweetheart”. He watches in delight as she blushes at the endearment.

God, I’ve got it bad for her! He thinks, and for good measure he leans in to kiss her, letting go of her hand to cup her cheek. He feels her hand slid up his chest to his neck in a returning gesture, enjoying the alluring feeling of her fingers caressing the skin there.

She surprises him when she suddenly straddles his hips. He’s aware he must look a bit like a goldfish, eyes wide, mouth ajar. She leans over to kiss him, one hand braced on his chest, the other still against his neck. He pushes up on his hands to sit up properly, holding onto her hips as she kisses him. She begins to rock her hips gently, forehead leaning against his and bottom lip caught between her teeth. He starts to match her tempo, but it’s awkward and she suddenly pushes him onto his back again.

He holds onto her hips, sliding them down to her thighs as she starts readjusting her position over him.

She looks into his eyes, never breaking eye contact.

“Oh God!”

“Fuck!”

They both exclaim at the same time. She leans over him again, lips brushing over his neck to his jaw, then his lips and he threads his fingers into her hair, already slightly wild from sex and sleep. Her movements start to become erratic and desperate and she’s letting out soft moans against his ear. He groans.

He flips them suddenly, pulling her thigh over his hip and reaching between them. Reaching for that place that makes her wild.

She tips back her head and lets out a gasp, and he kisses her this time, swallowing her sounds of ecstasy. He follows moments later, dropping down beside her, hiding his face in her neck to muffle his groans.

For a while longer, the both lay there trying to get their breath back. Then he sighs contentedly as her arm curls over his back, he settles his hand gently over her waist.

He feels her hand on his back. Fingers tracing soft circles between his shoulder blades.

“I love you”, she speaks into the quiet. He kisses her neck. “I love you too”.

Love her he always has, want her, he always will.

#carly x freddie #creddieedit #carly shay #freddie benson #icarly revival #icarlyedit #carly shay x freddie benson #creddie #icarly #icarly reboot

[x-fantasy-is-my-reality-x]

Not Really Katsumi

Retsu hasn’t really met many other Kaioh’s in his lifetime, as most of them remained in China while he bounced back and forth between Bailin Temple and the ShinShinKai in Japan. Therefore he was more than surprised when he saw Katsumi standing in the hallway with the famous Poison Hand User, Li Kaioh.

When did he fly to China? And how did he lose that much weight?

“Katsumi?”

He halted in his tracks, staring confusedly at the back of his head from the distance until Li Kaioh awkwardly cleared his throat and whispered something in Chinese to the other man.

Strange. When did Katsumi learn Chinese?

“Retsu! There you are, I had something to discuss with you!” Baki sprinted up to him with a tired smile on his face, effectively drawing his attention away from the pair. “Oh, hey Katsumi. Talk to you later!” The scrawny teenager waved and pulled Retsu away, missing the moment when “Katsumi” turned around.

“Who were they talking to?” Han Kaioh asked his brother, who could only shake his head with a puzzled look on his face. “Does ‘Katsumi’ mean something in Japanese?”

“No idea. Perhaps they were calling you ugly.”

“Mm, unlikely unless it was directed at you dear brother. Even if you are the younger one you still look a decade older,” he laughed lightly at the expression on Li’s face as a tick popped out on his forehead. It would be quite unfortunate if he got poisoned tonight, wouldn’t it?

“Oh don’t look at me like that brother, I was just kidding. Kind of. Hm, not really. Seriously though, what is a ‘Katsumi’?”

***

It wasn’t until later that they were in the same room did Retsu finally get a good look at who he had originally assumed was the thick-set karate practitioner from the ShinShinKai, though the only distinguishing features were probably his thinner eyebrows and leaner body. Everything about Katsumi Orochi was large, from his boulder of a fist to his non-existent waist, courtesy of a heavily muscled and wide torso. The man was honestly built like a goddamn tree trunk.

Even with all the differences (all two differences), he still heavily resembled Katsumi, and Retsu was subtly wondering how to get a picture of him to show his friend when he got back.

“Brother, Retsu Kaioh is staring at you again,” Li Kaioh glanced over shoulder, catching his eye and quickly looking away. It began to dawn on Retsu that he may be looking like a creep with his constant staring, and it didn’t help that when he first tried to talk to him the first words out of his mouth were in Japanese. All because he looked so much like goddamn Katsumi.

“Just don’t make eye contact Li,” Han sighed. “I hope I don’t have to fight him later. Mixing crazy with genius never ends up well.”

#retsu kaioh #han kaioh #li kaioh #baki hanma #raitai tournament

[timeskip]

I keep wanting to like... genuinely write down my thoughts on AINI but like. suffice to say I’m conflicted. (This post contains no spoilers.)

I can’t decide if I liked it despite it’s glaring flaws or if I was too disappointed to justify even that. I had a lot of fun with it, I loved parts of it, I ENJOYED IT!!! But I ended the game (excluding the secret ending) with this feeling in my chest like... this was so disconnected from my emotions. A deep hole in me where love SHOULD have been, and it was absent.

I actually really loved the game up to a certain point--after I finished my first side Mizuki ending I have to say it kind of went downhill? But a story is not only it’s beginning, but also it’s ending. It’s not as if it turned HORRIBLE after that point, either--this is no Zero Time Dilemma. I felt like it was building and building and building, and then the twists came in and explained it all and it just... didn’t fit. Some of the characters they focused on are so good, but it’s still not the same as the first game’s interconnection. The main twist was SO COOL for a minute, as I processed it, and then I thought about it and it fell apart. I wish they hadn’t done that. It’s the MAIN TWIST, and I wish they hadn’t done it.

This game is flawed. The central mystery is VERY solid despite the twist’s flaws, and though I don’t think most returning characters were necessary (a lot of them fell to the wayside) I do genuinely adore Ryuki, and I’m glad Mizuki got some spotlight regardless of how it was her side that let me down.

If anything, I wish they had tightened their story. I wish they had committed to it either being a new story with fewer ties to the first game, or committed to it being a direct sequel. I wish they’d fixed the issues, but genuinely based on things I’ve seen, a lot of reviewers GENUINELY LOVED IT!!! And that’s valid!!! There’s a lot of things to love, but if you’re going into the game with love for these characters, with wanting to see them grow and change and progress and be important, you WILL be let down.

And yet... there were so many moments that genuinely made me feel things. I wanted the characters they DID focus on to be happy (...except that I don’t care for Kizuna and Lien, goddamn they missed the mark with that by making Ota 2.0 and giving him so much screen time) and unravelling the mystery was so genuinely cool. Even if I wish the characters had been more interconnected, I can’t deny that I’m having SO much fun drawing them. I just feel like when I talk about the game, there’s a big asterisk. I loved the creepiness of some scenes as you learn more about what exactly is happening, BUT there’s not as great a follow up to it. I loved the mystery and I loved the backstories of so many characters connecting together, BUT there was something related to that which made me raise my eyebrows and that I still don’t care for. I care about these characters BUT I wish they’d used them differently.

I could write essays upon essays on my thoughts. I haven’t looked around the whole fandom, but I think I agree with a lot of people that it’s a VERY flawed game, that it doesn’t deliver everything I wanted even if I enjoyed it overall.

If you care about the plot and the twists, I’ve seen people love them enough to make the game one of their favorite Uchikoshi games. I’ve also seen people make all sorts of complaints, and a lot of what people find not good enough from this game vary wildly. Some people hate things I liked, some people love things that I think weakened the story. I don’t think it’s a BAD GAME by any means, but you just... might have a better time if you’re not looking for a continuation to the first game’s character writing.

#this is so long and a lot of it is complaining #i keep complaining about this game but i really did like it...

[writingspacetrash]

Spare Parts

2,353 words

The sigh emerging from the mechanic‘s throat was long, and tired, and not one bit ironic. He was staring at the hole in Zoe‘s space-boat and contemplating all his life choices. At least that was what it looked like to Zoe. She had often seen that look on people‘s faces when trying to argue with her. She prided herself on it.

“That… thing is so old,” the mechanic finally said. Zoe crossed her arms.

“It‘s a goddamn cooler. You‘ll be able to replace it.”

The mechanic had his hands propped up on his hips. He looked completely out of his depth. His partner patted him on the shoulder sympathetically. They both had spent about an hour trying to find out what part was broken, how that could even have happened, what the hell the ship even was. Zoe‘s explanations had only been semi-helpful. The moment they‘d realised what kind of ship they had on their hands, one of them had laughed and shaken his head, calling one of his mechanic friends, it seemed. Zoe had enough of the gloomy workshop.

“Tonners have been out of production for centuries,” said the other mechanic in a thick Kryxian accent. He was clearly getting annoyed. “It‘s not compatible with any other models.”

“Bullshit. You can make something work.“ They had to. She could maybe steal another ship to get out of here, but Martyn was really fond of the Tonner. He would kill her if she‘d leave it behind. 

The mechanics both shook their heads. 

“Ma‘am, this ship is way too complicated to fix,” said the first mechanic. Zoe started searching her pockets. “I know it doesn‘t look that way, but- what are you doing?” Zoe‘s face brightened as she felt the cool metal of her gun. 

“The way I see it is easy,” she said, pulled out the gun and pointed it at the mechanics‘ mortified faces. They slowly raised their hands. “This is a broken ship. You two fix broken ships for a living. Make it work.”

The polite one started shaking his head, along with his entire body, which didn‘t seem to be his intention. The one with the accent pulled a face, his purple skin revealing sharp teeth covered in slime. Zoe didn‘t blink and cocked her gun. “Fix the ship, or I‘ll kill you both.”

“We can‘t-” began the Accent.

“We- we‘ve- I think we‘ve got a construction manual,” stuttered Polite. Zoe raised her eyebrows. She flicked her gun towards him. “Get it.” Polite scurried away into the back of the workshop with a quiet mumbling. Zoe kept her eyes on the Accent. He kept his eye on her.

Polite returned with a beige, almost brown roll of paper. He handed it to her with trembling fingers. She let it unroll by itself, keeping the gun pointed at the mechanics. Cryptic symbols in faded ink crowded the paper, along with swirly drawings of God knew what. She looked back up at the mechanics.

“Are you fucking with me?” Polite shook his head.

“We told you it‘s old,” said the Accent. 

“Martyn will fucking kill me, do you know that?” Polite shrugged. He looked like he was about to cry. The Accent only glared at her. She scanned the paper roll again. Something about the symbols looked familiar. “Is that… Xarwn?”

“Bless you,” said the Accent.

“Don‘t get cheeky. This is Xarwn!” Sure, the ink was faded, and the runes pretty small, but she was certain this was the ancient language of Rwdh. Unfortunately, she didn‘t have a ship to get her there. She scanned the workshop and noticed a sleek skipper hanging off some wires. She gestured towards it with the gun. “That working?” Polite threw a quick glance and then nodded. 

“‘Kay. I‘ll borrow that, then. I‘ll bring it back, don‘t worry.”

“Oh, we won‘t,” snarled the Accent. Zoe ignored him and went over to the skipper. Polite removed the wires and closed up its hull. The control panel looked a bit different to the skipper she‘d learned to fly a few years back, but she‘d manage. A few buttons pressed and she was hovering out of the workshop, to the lift off portal in front of it, where other repaired ships were parked. Her eyes wandered over the panel and found the microphone. She grinned.

“I‘ll be back,” sounded her voice from the skipper, distorted. “God that’s so cool.“ She giggled. The Accent was still pulling a face. Once a Kryxian did that, it took some time for their skin to slid back over their teeth again. So maybe he didn‘t mean to. 

Zoe pulled a lever and kicked a pedal, and the skipper was in the air, then in the atmosphere, and then outside it. She typed in the commands for a hyper-jump, leaned back and closed her eyes. Not because she was relaxed. Hyper-jumps always made her sick. But maybe the skipper would think she was cool.

~

Rwdh was, in many ways, not a very important planet. Lying at the very edge of the Wheel of Fortune (#2 on the Stargazer‘s Magazine List of Foreseeable, Yet Kind of Nice Galaxy Names, right behind God‘s Eye on #1) it was too far off other solar systems to be a decent holiday destination, it had no valuable exports, and was of very little political or military interest, which in these times seemed to blur.

The only people that took interest in the little planet were archeologists with too much time on their hands, because of Rwdh‘s ancient history. Lots of planets had an ancient history, and Rwdh was neither an exception nor special. Ruins covered its greatest continent like chocolate sprinkles a cake, and while most of the Rwdhians had learned to build houses between them, there were still some monasteries keeping the ancient knowledge of their culture alive, but mostly in dusty books and scrolls. The monks in those monasteries were the only people in the universe who knew Xarwn, the root of many other languages which had died out when Rwdh had come in touch with its celestial neighbours.

Zoe had lived in one of the monasteries for a while. They granted shelter to travellers, and she had been more than eager to accept after someone really funny had teleported her across the universe. She hoped to get help from one of the friends she‘d made, although the circumstances of her departure hadn‘t been… optimal.

She landed the skipper on a universal parking lot in one of Rwdh‘s many towns. The monastery wasn‘t very hard to find, since it floated twenty metres up in the air. A circular arcade hovered in the middle of the complex, surrounded by the living quarters and little chapels. All were connected with wooden bridges, and through the arcade rose a silvery spire, its tip hidden in thick clouds. Zoe had never quite understood the purpose of the spire. The monks had told her it was secret, not meant to be understood or even known by outsiders. Zoe had finally decided that it was art.

Below the floating complex there was a little hut occupied by a tired looking guard. He took his chin out of his hand when she approached him and stood up with a groan. 

“Welcome traveller, Xareth blesses you, what do you seek from the monks of Ancient Rwdh, yada yada yada…” Zoe straightened up. What did she want? A translation of a construction manual. Yeah, right, she couldn‘t say that.

“Uh, I have this… ancient text written in Xarwn, I need help translating it.”

The guard held out his hand and Zoe gave him the manual.

“Yep. That‘s Xarwn.” He handed it back to her. “Name?” She told him. “Alright then. I‘ll get someone.” He stood upright and closed his eyes. A second later, glowing green light surrounded him, indicating amateur telepathy. He stayed that way for a minute, then his chin dropped to his chest and the green glow faded. With a sniff he looked up again, his eyes reddened.

“Fuckin‘ hate that. They say you can come up. Seemed to know you.” He fished a teleportation bracelet from his pocket, closed it around Zoe‘s wrist and pressed the blue button. Zoe felt like her body was being disassembled atom by atom and then reassembled again inside a dimly lit room, because that was literally what was happening.

“Urgh,” she made and shook the tingling from her limbs. She looked up and saw a very familiar figure standing in front of her, arms crossed.

“You have some incredible nerve turning up here again,” said Inyo. She was just as beautiful as Zoe remembered her, the yellow monk‘s robe complementing her purple hair, tied up in intricate braids. Painted white dots lined her soft cheekbones and drew attention to her brown, of course very angry, eyes.

“Inyo!” said Zoe, trying to be cheerful, “How nice to see you again!” Inyo glared at her. Zoe felt very small. “Look, I‘m sorry. I‘m really sorry. You can‘t imagine how sorry I am. For leaving you. But I really need some help with this constru-”

“What the fuck, Zoe?” Inyo uncrossed her arms. “You leave the monastery one night, without telling me, without telling anyone, and then you show up six months later expecting help?” She started gesturing wildly. “Have you got anything in your brain?” Zoe fumbled with her sleeves.

“Inyo, I don‘t know how to-”

“You told me you loved me!” Inyo‘s eyes were wide open, hands raised in a silent question. Zoe looked at the floor.

“Truth is, Inyo,” she said, “I didn‘t really feel the way you did. Have never felt that way. Towards anyone.” Zoe glanced carefully at Inyo, whose mouth was still slightly open. Her hands sunk to her sides.

“You could‘ve told me that,” she said, her accusatory tone fading. “Nothing wrong with that. But why didn‘t you tell me?” Zoe shrugged. She wished she could‘ve shrugged her skin off. Telling Martyn hadn‘t been so uncomfortable.

“See, that was the first time I ever realised. I mean, I had suspected it before… I‘d never had a crush, not really. But I liked you, very, very much. Maybe I loved you. But it wasn‘t romantic. I think to you it was, and that made me just… so uncomfortable. I‘m sorry I just left one night. I was dealing with a lot of shit back then, and I know I should‘ve told you, I owed you that. But I didn‘t. And I‘m sorry. I hope I can make up for it.” Inyo‘s expression softened. She seemed to think for a while, then sighed.

“It‘s okay. I got over it.” Zoe smiled carefully at her, and Inyo smiled back. She lifted her hands slightly, but as Zoe pursed her lips, she let them fall again.

“Still not a hugger, I see.” Zoe chuckled and shook her head.

“I owe you a favour now.”

“Oh, at least three, don‘t be ridiculous. What do you need help with, then?” Zoe pulled the scroll out of her bag and handed it to Inyo.

“This is a construction manual for my ship‘s model, written in Xarwn. I managed to get the cooler… disabled, and the mechanics wouldn‘t repair it, said it‘s too old. But that ship is only lent and belongs to a friend of mine who‘s very attached to it. I really need those spare parts.” Inyo studied the scroll, her eyebrows knitting together.

“How in Xar‘s name-” she muttered.

“What is it?” Inyo looked up at Zoe, confusion set in her face.

“That‘s a Sychken. They‘re little transporters we produce to, well, go up.”

“Up where?”

“Up up.” She nodded to the window, where Zoe could see the arcade and the silvery spire in some distance. Her eyes widened.

“People actually go up there?” Inyo nodded.

“Not that I‘ve ever seen it happen. But that hut complex over there is a workshop just for the Sychken. I‘ve had a couple of shifts there before. Weird. How did your friend even get that ship?” Zoe shrugged.

“No idea.” She studied the five floating huts, steam rising from three of them.

“I bet they have a cooler there,” she said. 

“They should. I could go have a look. Of course, stealing from the workshops would be sacrilege.” Zoe looked at her, alarmed, but Inyo winked.

“But we have had our experiences with sacrilege, haven‘t we?” Zoe grinned.

“Are you willing to go against Xar‘s Plan for me one more time?”

“Any time,” Inyo whispered and blew her a kiss. They laughed.

“I‘ll have to leave you down with Greg, though, sorry.”

“Oh, the guard.” Zoe sighed. “Okay.” Inyo patted her shoulder.

“I believe in you. See you in a minute.”

~

Down at the hut was not Greg, but a different guard, hunched over so much he was only half his supposed height. He watched her with his one good eye, his bushy eyebrows knitted together. Zoe tried to grin at him, but he only grunted. His eye glimmered red. Zoe decided to study the ground instead.

Inyo returned after a few minutes, something round and shiny in her hand. Zoe stashed it in her bag, praying to whatever god was listening that it would fit the Tonner. Inyo kissed her cheek for goodbyes.

“You should visit some time.” Zoe assured her she would.

The skipper took her back to Kryx, where she showed her new cooler to the bewildered mechanics. They installed it without speaking a word. When Zoe left, the Accent‘s facial skin had finally slid back over his dreadful teeth.

~

The guard that was not Greg frowned as he checked the visitor‘s security scan. There seemed to be a tiny black void inside her pocket, which crashed his computer whenever he tried to analyse it. He reported this telepathically to the High Priestess, who called him Up.

The High Priestess‘ eyes were of a black so deep it was almost purple, filled with glittering stars and planets and moons. And amidst all that beautiful chaos, something shining, of a colour no one had ever seen before.

#my own writing #original writing #scifi #oc #long post #2 #creative writing #writblr #beginner writer #again. sorry for the inconsistent punctuation i'll write this all in one program from now on

[nim-lock]

lol they gave him eyebrows

#tbobf spoilers #loool #GODDAMN WILL I HAVE TO LEARN HOW TO DRAW HIM WITH EYEBROWS #me: uhHHHHH you know what we're just gonna pick and choose what we like out of fiction #he'll have eyebrows some days; as a treat #>_>

[redrobin-detective]

Half of

Danny Fenton was half ghost. Or something.

No one was quite sure what that meant exactly or if it was even true. A ghost in a pure white suit had announced it during an attack on the town until he was beaten and silenced by Phantom. It’s been three days since then and the nerd hasn’t been at school. Not that Dash was looking for him or anything.

Dash worried, for just a second, that something bad happened to him. The Guys in White creeps had been asking questions around school the last few days. There’d been a noticeable lack in ghost attacks around town, maybe another ghost got to him? What about his ghost obsessed parents? Surely they wouldn’t have done anything to their own kid...

“Think Danny will be in school today?” Kwan whispered nervously, leaning in close to Dash’s side. Talking too loudly about the elephant, or ghost he guesses, in the room got people very forcefully interviewed by the government. 

“Why the hell would I know?” Dash grumbled, shaking his friend off to shove his hands deep into the pockets of his letterman jacket. “No one knows what’s going on, Manson and Foley haven’t shown up either.”

“I hope they’re ok,” Kwan said quietly, looking down at the floor. 

“Why do you care?” Dash grumbled, harsher than he meant to.

“You and everyone ditched me for Danny when Paulina was dating him, remember? Sam and Tucker were real pals and Danny, well he’s weird but not really that bad.” Kwan said bitterly before his eyebrows twisted in confusion. “That was actually pretty out of character for Paulina to date him now that I think about it, maybe he was, like, using ghost magic to control her?”

“That’s stu-” Dash was interrupted by the usually noise of Casper High going dead silent. He and Kwan shrugged at each other. He saw Star down the hallway, staring at something. He caught her eye and mouthed What is it at her. Her eyes slid back over to the hall before mouthing Fenton back. 

“Shit,” Dash couldn’t help but mutter under his breath, “Fenton’s here.” He glanced over at Kwan, trying to hide his nervousness. “Guess we’ll find out if he’s some sort of ghost freak after all.”

Kwan eyed him for a second, “you know if Danny really is half of a ghost then maybe you’ll want to quit it with the names.” The warning bell rang for first period. “You guys have homeroom together with Lancer, right? Just, I don’t know, don’t make him mad or anything.”

“Man, don’t even joke,” Dash said with a strained smile. “It’s Fenton, what’s the nerd gonna do?”

XxX

Fenton always sat in the back right of the class so seeing him there wasn’t that strange. What was strange was that he was there before the bell rang, not looking sweaty or exhausted or beaten up. Seeing him sitting there with an almost bored expression, casually leaning one arm over the back of his chair. It was eerie, seeing Fenton try to act normal. Dash felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on his head as he stiffly walked by the nerd he usually smacked when he walked by. He thought he felt Fenton’s icy eyes following him as he passed. Dash made sure he didn’t scurry like a wimp to his seat but it was a close thing.

“Class, please stop staring at Mr. Fenton and let us begin,” Lancer sighed, unsuccessfully trying to start the class.

“Do you know the ghost boy?” Paulina asked, slamming her palms on her desk and ignoring their teacher. “Because if you’ve been holding out on me-”

“I mean everyone in Amity Park knows him,” Fenton shrugged. He’d been so chill this morning, like the whole thing wasn’t bothering him. It only made Dash more antsy. He bounced his leg under the desk.

“Can you do anything cool? Like fly or shoot lasers from your eyes?” Mikey asked, leaning forward with curiosity.

“I can do lots of cool things,” Fenton sniffed. “I know a lot about the space program and local astronomy. I draw sometimes and I’m think I’m pretty good. I also have super flexible joints so I can do this.” He grinned a little as everyone squealed when he bent his thumb back so far it nearly touched his wrist. “Of course,” his grin turned into an eye roll, “no one really cares about that only my supposed superpowers.”

“What is a half of, exactly? What that ghost called you?” Dash found himself asking. He almost didn’t want to be heard but Fenton turned to look at him anyways. 

“What do you think it means?” Fenton questioned back. Though he had a teasing smirk, his eyes looked dull and dead. Dash couldn’t look at them and ducked his head. 

“Alright, alright, enough with the questions. The Fenton’s gave Danny a clean bill of health and allowed him to rejoin class so that’s all you kids need to know. Now, back to what we were actually talking about.” Class continued as expected but everyone still snuck glances at Fenton. He’s not sure what they were all waiting for, him to suddenly turn green or sprout horn or whatever. But Fenton just sat there, still as anything, trying to act normal and it just didn’t fit him right and it was all just. Wrong.

XxX

Dash was relieved Fenton wasn’t in his second or third period classes but they did have the same lunchtime. For the first time since he was skinny, bucktoothed 6th grader, Dash wanted to hide away and eat his lunch in private. But Fenton wasn’t the only one trying to keep up appearances.

“Alright, what has everyone got,” Paulina was whispering to the table by the time Dash was sitting down. “The day is halfway over, someone had to have seen him doing something ghostly.”

“I mean we don’t know how long he’s been like this,” Star commented, flipping her hair as pretense to sneak a glance at the loser trio near the back entrance of the cafeteria. “He could’ve been hiding his for a while.”

“Fenton’s always been weird,” Dale commented with a sneer, stabbing at his beefaroni. “Since day one, he’s been jumpy and clumsy and goes through weird mood swings.”

“Maybe he’s never been normal,” Kwan said with a little frown. Now Dash knows this wasn’t true. He was the only one at the table who’d gone to the same middle school as Fenton. The nerd had talked too much about space and was always tripping over something but he’d been like all the other annoying brats in middle school. Dale was onto something, Fenton had changed once high school hit which means whatever is up with him as been going on for a while. Years. 

He suddenly felt eyes on him, a cold, crawling feeling that made his breath catch in his throat. Dash squeezed his eyes shut and breathed a silent sigh of relief as the eyes turned from him. They didn’t return but Dash found he couldn’t eat after that.

XxX

“Dude, did you hear about Fenton?” Victor said in an excited but still hushed whisper as Dash was leaving fifth period. 

“No, what did he do?” Dash asked with dread.

“He had gym last period and apparently he’s been faking his loser weakness. He crawled up the rope climb like a goddamned spider monkey and then slid himself back down. Don’t know how he didn’t have intense rope burn from that. He also beat Charlie, Katie and Veronica on the sprinting portion. Must be those ghosty genes.”

“Fenton did all that?” Dash asked, he bit the inside of his cheek. Hard.

“Yeah it was crazy, I thought Tetslaf was gonna pass out,” Victor laughed. “Maybe we should get him to try out for the football team, he’d be a great running back or-”

“Come on, Vic,” Dash laughed but the sound came out wrong. “Why would we want Fenton on our team? He’s, he’s Fenton! Just a skinny, weird little wimp.” Vic side-eyed him a bit before clapping Dash on the back.

“World’s changing, Dash. First ghosts, now half ghosts, it’s all wrong but you just gotta roll with it. All I know is I have 2 years left in this hell hole before I leave this miserable place for Chicago and never look back. I recommend you do the same, after all,” Vic grinned again but it was sharper. “Fenton’s always been your personal punching bag, not every day you learn your victim has superpowers.”

“We don’t know what the hell is up with Fenton,” Dash defended. Vic just shrugged.

“Yeah but he’s always been a freak now we know he ain’t human. Who knows what else he’s hiding?” Vic said with a smug smile before wandering off, giving a halfhearted wave over his shoulder as he left.

Dash stood in the hallway, trying to get himself under control until the warning and late bell rang. Only then, when he was certain he wouldn’t run into Fenton, did he head to class. 

XxX

“Should we follow him, see where he goes?” Paulina said, biting onto one of her nails in nervous excitement. Paulie was gorgeous and overall pretty cool but her thing with ghosts sometimes tired Dash out. Now more than ever. 

“Come on, that’s like stalking,” Kwan scolded. “Even if that wasn’t illegal or whatever it’s just not cool. They had a rough day today, leave ‘em alone.” That icy chill returned and Dash looked out of the corner of his eye to see Fenton and his cronies walking out of the school. 

Truthfully, Dash didn’t think Fenton had that bad of a day. Yeah people were asking questions but he’d side stepped them all, gave non-answers. Other people talked about Fenton’s supposed strength in gym but there’d been conflicting reports, some said he flew up the rope climb, others said he levitated doing his push ups. Dash really didn’t know what to believe. Fenton was just acting, well, like Fenton. He paused for a second, stopped walking before catching up with the group.

Maybe... maybe Dash was getting caught up over nothing. There really was no proof Fenton was this ‘half of’ other than what one dumb ghost said. He thought back to Fenton’s grin during first period; stupid nerd was probably milking his 15 minutes of fame and bully free time. His earlier fear and uncertainty burst into flames until a familiar anger was burning in his gut. Now this he knew what to do with.

“Yeah, well his day is about to get rougher,” Dash heard himself say as he stomped off to where Fenton was smiling tiredly at something Manson was saying. “Hey Fentonio! Think you’re pretty cool with every paying attention to you but I-”

Fenton gasped suddenly, like a hiccup only his breath misted out in front of him cold as a winter’s day. Dash stopped midsentence watching as Fenton’s whole face twisted. His earlier weary but tolerant annoyance that he’d been projecting all day was stripped away. He glared at Dash with an expression that was hard as ice and full of an exhaustion and bitterness he couldn’t begin to understand.

“As payment for being forcibly outed,” Fenton spoke up loudly enough that most of the school yard could hear him. “I was promised a week.” His eyes slowly but methodically scanned the crowd who had frozen in place at his authoritative tone. “Where I didn’t have to deal with ghosts, so I want to know... Who is trespassing on my haunt.”

Fenton’s mouth opened impossibly wide revealing what seemed like rows of sharped teeth. He curled his fingers into claws and, looking closer, his fingernails had indeed become real claws, as sharp and deadly as his teeth. His eyes blazed an impossible, ectoplasmic green and his dark hair developed streaks of white. He was terrifying, monstrous, but he was still Fenton. That feeling that had been eating at dash all day came back full force. Not the realization that Fenton had powers or whatever but that he had been hiding it in plain sight through ghost attacks and bullies and failing grades. This had always been Fenton, they just hadn’t seen. Until now that is.

And now the script had flipped and Dash didn’t know how this Ghost Fenton, who still was the same Fenton Dash had wedgied last Wednesday, fit. A green blob ghost materialized over by stairs, quivering and wailing in some ghost language. It turned and fled, presumably in the direction of the Fenton Portal to escape Fenton’s wrath. Fenton’s glowing eyes tracked it for a moment before he straightened up from his hunched posture and... was human again.

He brushed his hands through his black hair, lazily blinked blue eyes and, when he smiled, his teeth were normal. But Dash had seen, they all had. He’d let them see but to what end, he had no idea. Fenton turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow and another small smirk, just as tired as earlier.

“Sorry about that Dash, I take my vacation time very seriously. You were saying?” Fenton said with a smug lilt but his eyes were still dead and there was a bit of fear in them now. Despite his powers, he still gripped his backpack tightly.

“When your dumb little vacation’s up, Fentionail,” Dash said with a shaky voice. “It’s-it’s back to business, okay? Punches and wedgies and locker shoving. You,” he voice cracked a bit and he fought it down. “It’ll ramp up now that I know you can take it.” Fenton blinked, once then twice before he smiled. This time it wasn’t annoyed or scary or fearful but like the dumb grins he usually gave his dumb friends. 

“Yeah okay, we’ll start back up next week. The usual time?” Dash nodded, not knowing what else to say. “Alright, see you around.” He turned to walk away before pausing and turning back. “Actually you should be careful on who you shove into lockers, it can get hard to breathe in there and not everyone can phase out of them. You never know who’ll turn up dead,” he grinned and his eyes flashed green again, “if only half.”

That said, he and his friends walked away, ignoring the stares of the entire school on them. “Oh and it’s halfa, not half of,” Fenton called out over his shoulder. “I’m not half of anything, I’m just a whole me even if the details get a bit complicated.”

“Bye Danny, see you tomorrow,” Kwan called after with a grimace. No one else said anything for a minute until Dash found the strength to move his legs from where they’d been planted. He clenched his fists to hide his shaking and continued his walk home. Everyone else slowly did the same, talking quietly among themselves.

“What the hell was that?” Dale asked in a nervous high pitched voice. “What the hell did I just see?”

“Fenton being a weirdo but that’s nothing new,” Dash shrugged with a confidence he didn’t have yet. But if Fenton could show up to school after being outed and then willingly show them his inhumanity, then Dash needed to up his game. Couldn’t let the nerd be cool or anything. “So what if he glows or whatever, he’s still Fenton. Look I gotta get home, it’s Pookie’s feeding time and he is NOT going to believe the day I had.

#danny phantom #*presses fingers to lips* this is not the story I intended to write #not entirely sure what I did intend but it wasnt this #it started out with danny being outed as half ghost with no other context and ended up like this #i'll clean and edit in the morning but for now #here's whatever the hell this is #I'll fix it in the mornign

[scuttling]

(Not So) Casual Friday

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 4,456 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Dad Bod Hotch (it's not a main component but he very much has the tummy here), Pining, Accidentally admitting attraction, Embarrassment, A little angst, Oral sex, Protected sex Summary: Your best friend Derek finds out about your feelings for Hotch and teases you mercilessly. You can manage it, though, until the first ever Casual Friday, when Hotch shows up to work in a black polo and jeans and you kind of ruin everything. Or maybe you don't? *Requested by anon Link to A03 or read below! “Okay, girlie, today’s the day,” Derek says when you set your bag and coffee cup on your desk on Monday morning. You shoot your best friend a tired smile and wonder for the—you’ve worked at the BAU for almost two years, so it’s probably the 500th time—for the 500th time why he has to be such a morning person when you would prefer not to have a conversation until at least 10 AM.

“Today’s the day for what?” you sigh, asking out of obligation, because it’s obvious that’s what he’s waiting for; he smiles, picks up your coffee and hands it to you, which must mean you sound bitchy. You take a grateful sip, close your eyes and exhale through your nose.

“For you to admit to me that you’re in love with Hotch.”

You spit out your coffee—only all over yourself, which is great, wouldn’t want to inconvenience Derek at all—and then cough so hard he has to thump on your back to help clear your airway.

It draws some attention; Hotch comes out of his office, takes a look at the two of you and probably regrets hiring the both of you, then walks down the stairs to make sure you’re okay.

“What happened? You’re wet,” he says a bit gruffly, looking at the coffee all over your chest and sleeves. You glare over at Derek, who’s clearly trying not to laugh.

“Derek made me spill my coffee.” You grab a handful of tissues off your desk and pat at the wet spot, trying to soak up the worst of it, but it’s not salvageable. You’ll have to change your shirt.

“And then you… choked on it?” Hotch asks, to clarify. Derek does laugh at that; the things Hotch is saying happen to have dual meanings, slightly sexual, and now that Derek knows—thinks he knows—about your thing for Hotch, it’s clear he finds it all so hilarious. He’s a twelve year old boy in a grown man’s body.

“Okay, I didn’t spill, I spit,” you correct, looking up at them, and Derek makes an exaggerated face of disapproval.

“Should have swallowed,” he says, trying to sound serious, and you shoot him an irritated look and reach out to slap him in the chest. Asshole.

“Do you need help getting cleaned up?” Hotch’s expression is kind, sweet, but you’d sooner die than have him blot coffee off of your boobs. It would be mortifying, especially in front of Derek.

“No, no, I think I’m okay. Thanks,” you add with a soft smile, and then you reach up and pull your sweater over your head, unzip your go bag, and search for another top.

For some reason, Hotch has a coughing fit scarily similar to the one you just had, and you turn to pat his back like Derek did for you.

“Are you alright?” you ask, looking up into his face, and he nods despite his watering eyes.

“Fine,” he croaks, and he leaves as quickly as he came. You sigh, because it’s not even nine and your day has already been so weird.

You’re wearing a tank top, and thankfully the coffee didn’t get through to that layer, so it’s quick and easy to throw another lightweight sweater over top of it; you ball up the wet one, shove it in the dirty clothes portion of your bag, zip it up and stash it under your desk. Derek looks like he’s having the best day of his life.

“You realize you just undressed in front of Hotch,” he says with a tone you don’t appreciate. You roll your eyes.

“I did not. I had a tank top on underneath.” You almost always wear an undershirt, because you’ve been a cop long enough to know that sometimes your clothes get torn or messed up in the line of duty, and you’re not trying to offer a free show while taking down an unsub. Derek wiggles his eyebrows, points at your chest.

“Yeah, one that put those little boobies on display. His eyes bulged out of his head like a cartoon character.” This time, you punch him in the arm, hard. It’s too goddamn early for this.

“Can you please shut up already? I don’t have a thing for Hotch.”

“Ah, I didn’t say you had a thing, I said you’re in love with him. And I have evidence; lots of it.” You tip your head back, groan, wondering what you did to deserve a best friend who is also such a pain in the ass, and it’s that moment that Hotch chooses to rejoin you; he looks a little flushed, probably from the coughing earlier.

“Uh. We have a case; I know not everyone is here yet, but you can head up to the briefing room, I’ll grab the others when they arrive.”

“Sure thing, sir,” you say easily, grabbing your tablet and what’s left of your coffee; you gesture for Derek and he follows, laughing and shaking his head. “Okay, what is it now? I’m so glad you find me entertaining today.”

“‘Sure thing, sir,’” he says with a high, breathy voice you assume is supposed to mimic yours. “You want his dick so bad.” You narrow your eyes at him as you head upstairs.

“Uh, because I was being respectful? I know that’s a foreign concept for you, the world’s biggest asshole, but you don’t have to read anything into it.” You take your usual seats at the table, pull up the note-taking app on your tablet, and Derek sits back, crosses his arms behind his head.

“Well you’re not calling me ‘sir’, and I’m the sexiest piece in the office, so it’s hard not to read into it.” You look over at him, elbow on the table, chin in the palm of your hand.

“Sexy is subjective, and you don’t do it for me, sorry to break it to you.” He scoffs, laughs, and you laugh too because you both know you see each other as brother and sister, buddies, and fellow former cops, and absolutely nothing else.

“Yeah, I get it, only Hotch does it for you; he’s not my type, but I can see how a young lady like yourself could be drawn to his brooding exterior.”

“I’m not drawn to his exterior!” you practically growl, and then you’re joined by Spencer and JJ.

“Good morning. What’s going on with you two?” JJ asks, loading up the monitors for the debriefing, her eyebrows raised.

“She’s in love with Hotch,” Derek says completely nonchalantly, and you rest your head on the table, on top of your forearms, and sigh.

“She’s what?” JJ’s whole face lights up, and you seriously regret everything.

“I’m not in love with anybody!” you mumble against your arms, and then you sit up, because you’re clearly going to have to defend yourself. “And I’d appreciate it if you quit saying that I am.”

“I told you I have evidence,” Derek reminds you, leaning back in his chair a little. One swift kick would have him toppling ass over tea kettle, but you’re too nice, even when he’s actively trying to ruin your life. “Shall I go over it while we wait?”

“I’ll be an objective third party,” Spencer says with a brief smile, and you sigh, wave your hand toward Derek.

“Alright, let’s hear it. I’m sure I have a perfectly reasonable explanation for whatever evidence you might think you have.” He grins like this is the moment he’s been waiting for, and you feel a little stupid for encouraging this.

“For one, you always look at him. When I’m delivering a profile, I notice you watching the locals, making sure they understand what we’re going over, since you're the queen of analyzing the micro expressions. But when Hotch is delivering a profile, your eyes are on him the whole time. Same goes for discussing theories on the jet; anyone else, and you’ve got your face in your tablet, scribbling notes, but you always look at him when he speaks.”

Your cheeks get hot. He’s a captivating speaker, is all, with that deep, velvety voice, and you can learn a lot from him, so you pay attention. That’s just being smart.

“Second, you tense when he gets close to you: not like you don’t want him to touch you, but like you’re halfway to jumping him already and trying to control it. I could probably put my hand in your pocket and you wouldn't even flinch, but if he leans over you to point at something you look like you’re about to cream your pants.”

“I have seen that, actually,” JJ offers, and you look over at her, betrayed. Sure, you get a whiff of his clean, crisp cologne, or feel the heat of him at your back, and your body reacts, reminds you that this is your boss and you’re at work and you can’t get turned on by the way he smells, but that’s actually a good thing, not an indicator of feelings or anything.

“Third, there’s something up with you and the gray suits. I can literally tell that he’s wearing one before I even see him, all because of the look on your face. It’s like you’re drunk on the gray suit.”

“Okay, that’s not true,” you say with a roll of your eyes—the gray suits are god tier, but there’s no way you’re that obvious—but it’s Spencer who speaks up, this time.

“You know, I have noticed that. Your pupils tend to be more dilated when his suit is gray or blue than when it’s black.” Fuck. You sigh.

“He barely ever wears the blue. It looks so good on him,” you murmur, and then you snap your eyes shut, cover your face with your hands. “Fuck. This is so embarrassing.”

“To be fair, we are profilers,” Derek says, leaning in to pat your back. “But also to be fair, he’s been a profiler longer than any of us, so if we know, he definitely knows.”

“Not helping, Derek,” you grind out, and then you’re joined by the rest of the team. Penelope takes the seat next to you, leans in with a worried tone of voice.

“Is everything okay?”

“She’s having a small crisis, but she’ll be fine,” JJ says with a smile, and you don’t miss the way Hotch looks you over when she says it, concern in his eyes. “Alright, so we’re headed to Arkansas…”

Later that morning, when you’ve been given your instructions—yours are heading to the crime scene with Emily and Derek—Hotch pulls you out into the hall, rests a gentle hand on your arm.

“Are you alright? JJ mentioned you were having a crisis earlier. This is the first time I’ve been able to get you alone, and I wanted to check on you.” You take a deep breath, look up at him, so handsome in a black suit, white shirt, green tie—he almost never wears a green tie, and you absently think it brings out the more golden tones of his eyes—and smile softly.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s really nothing. Personal stuff, and I’m dealing with it.” If by ‘dealing with it’ you mean you’ve been repressing it, shoving it down day in and day out until your feelings are choking you, then yeah, you’re dealing with it. “Thanks for checking, though, that’s kind of you.”

“Of course. I’m here to help in any way I can, if you need me.” Good god, do you need him, emotionally, physically, but that’s fantasy, and this, what he’s offering, is rooted in reality. Good things do happen, but not to you.

“Thanks.” Your voice is weak to your own ears, and he swallows, nods; you see Derek hovering by the door, waiting for you, and you pull away to join him, plastering a smile on your face. You don’t talk about it again until Friday, and at that point it’s extremely unavoidable.

It’s Casual Friday, newly implemented by the bureau as a way to boost morale, and while it doesn’t really excite you, because you’re fairly casual anyway, others take full advantage of it. Others, including Hotch.

He shows up to work wearing a black polo and dark jeans, his usual watch. It’s easily the most simplistic, basic outfit a man could decide to wear on Casual Friday, but this isn’t just a man, it’s Aaron fucking Hotchner, and so naturally, you lose your damn mind.

It wouldn’t be so bad if the damn polo didn’t fit him perfectly, tight across his shoulders and chest and the little tummy he has that makes you want to be under him so badly, your stomachs pressed together while he thrusts inside you, holding you tightly, his strong thighs working against yours…

“Hello, are you alive in there?” Emily asks, waving her hand in front of your face; the two of you, along with Derek, are in Penelope’s office for lunch while Rossi, Reid, and JJ are out of the office for a seminar. You blink, shake away your thoughts and hope and pray they don’t come back—but they’ll come back, they always do.

“She’s just short circuiting because of Hotch’s Casual Friday look,” Morgan says with a wink, sitting backward in his seat. “She’s been drooling so much I’ve had to follow her around with a mop to clean up after her.” You push your wheeled chair away from them with a groan, needing space and air and, potentially, a brain transplant. You’ve gotten nothing done all day long.

“Can you blame me? The man comes in here everyday, buttoned up tight, looking incredible in a suit and tie, and then he shows up in that black polo, all snug and hot and delicious, and you expect me not to freak out? You guys are lucky I didn’t pass out.” You’re met with silence, and you blink, confused, at your friends, but they’re all just kind of staring with looks of barely concealed humor. “What? It’s not like it’s a secret that I want to climb him like a tree.”

“Pretty sure it was a secret to him,” Penelope says, looking shocked, and you whip around in your chair to see Hotch standing in the doorway, wide-eyed and a little flushed.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I, uh—” He raises a hand, waves you off.

“It’s okay. No harm done; thank you, for the, uh. Compliment.” He steps forward, hands a manila folder to Penelope. “Thanks for taking care of these,” he says softly, and then, unsurprisingly, he gets the hell out of there. You wish you could disappear off the face of the Earth.

“Fuck, holy fuck,” you mutter when he’s gone, leaning forward with your head in your hands. “That’s it, I’m quitting. It’s been nice knowing you guys.”

“Okay, don’t be dramatic,” Derek says, and you look up to glare at him; he’s the one that started all this in the first place. You were fine, feelings tamped down and suppressed, until he brought it up and then told everyone you know.

“Don’t tell me not to be dramatic, Derek! This is all your fault. You never respect my boundaries, you never know when to just let me be, you always have to pick and pick until you wear me down. Maybe I had a reason for wanting to keep my feelings private, did you ever think of that?”

“I know you're upset,” Emily begins softly, because there’s some pretty thick tension between you and Derek now, but you stand up, push your chair across the room, and shake your head.

“I’m not upset, I’m fucking humiliated. I’m going home; let him know I’m sick, will you?” You exhale deeply, storm upstairs and grab your stuff and drive home with tears in your eyes. You’ve never been so embarrassed in your life, and add that to the absolute heartbreak you’re feeling? You’re just happy you make it to your apartment, so you can break down with cheesecake and a sappy, romantic comedy with a happy ending: those perfect, fictional worlds are pretty much the only place one is guaranteed. You are, as planned, hunkered down on the sofa in your softest pajamas, watching You’ve Got Mail and eating the center out of an entire cheesecake with a spoon when there’s a knock at your door. You groan, pick up your cheesecake tin, and walk over to it, fully expecting it to be Derek come to beg for forgiveness for ruining your life, so it’s no surprise you drop your dessert on the floor when it’s actually Hotch on the other side.

He looks down at the tin, then up at your face, cracks the barest hint of a smile.

“I thought you were sick; I brought soup,” he says, holding up a paper bag, and your heart thumps in your chest. You wipe a hand over your face, because you haven’t been exactly neat in your heartache cheesecake consumption, and then you kick the tin across the floor and invite him in, closing the door behind him.

“I thought it was obvious that I wasn’t actually sick, just… really embarrassed,” you say when he turns back to look at you. “I can’t believe you heard all that stuff I said… I’m really sorry I made you uncomfortable.” You take the bag from his hand and invite him to follow you into the kitchen, where you set it on the counter, lean against it. He comes close, but not so close you can’t function, which is good; your comfy pajamas are shorts and a loose tank top, so you feel a little exposed already.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” he says softly, and you frown, must have heard him wrong. He presses his fingertips against the counter, as if for support. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable. It was… unexpected,” he explains, “very unexpected, but I’m not uncomfortable.”

You flush hot, and you can feel the bad decision part of your brain switching on, warning bells ringing in your head.

Whatever you do next has the potential to be extremely stupid, and you would like to avoid that at all costs; you love your job, after all, despite how physically and emotionally exhausting it can be, and you love your team. Time to think with your upstairs brain only.

“That makes me feel a little better,” you say truthfully, and despite the pep talk you just gave yourself, you move closer to him like there’s an invisible magnetic force between you; you would imagine a guy like Hotch would step back, keep his distance, but he only cranes his neck a little so he can look down at you more easily.

God, he’s tall. And he smells good, and his face is perfect, and that goddamn polo...

“Good, I’m glad. I don’t want you to feel bad about this. I’m not uncomfortable, it’s not… it’s not unwanted.” You swallow audibly, looking up at him, wondering if he knows what he’s saying, what it sounds like.

“It’s not?” you ask, and it comes out breathy; he takes a small step closer to you, brushes his fingers over your arm, peers into your eyes.

“No, it’s not. I’ve been thinking of you, too; I know you know you’re beautiful, but you’re also so smart, and strong-willed, and a force to be reckoned with. I’m proud to have you on my team, and I’d be proud… to have you climb me like a tree.” He smiles again, just the barest hint of one, and you put your arms around him and pull him closer for a kiss.

One long, slow, perfect kiss turns into another, then another, and he presses your back against the counter, his hands on your face and your hands on his thick waist; you hum into the kiss, revel in the feel of his lips on yours, his tongue sweeping past them, and when you pull back for air it feels like there’s only one question that needs to be asked.

“Bedroom?” you breathe, and he nods, and you take his hand and pull him in that direction, pausing to kiss him several times before you get there. “You don’t happen to have a condom, do you?” you ask, breathless, guiding him to the bed, and he frowns, shakes his head.

“I didn’t want to seem presumptuous.” You grin at that, lean forward and kiss him, your fingers in his hair.

“I find it so hot that you even say presumptuous. I might have one here somewhere.” You open your nightstand, move around books and toys until you find a couple; you flip them over, checking to see if they’re expired, and offer him a couple options. “They’re still good, surprisingly. You can, uh. Choose the one that would work best.”

He looks them over, picks one and hands back the rest, and you throw them back in the drawer and slide into his lap, wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he says, holding your waist as you look down at him, completely in awe that this is happening. “But I want to clarify: if you’re looking for something casual, I don’t think we should go any further.” You inhale softly, surprised by his straightforwardness, and you lean in, kiss him slowly.

“I don’t want casual. I want to be with you.” His eyes are so brilliant, dark in the dim light of your bedroom, and he nods, presses his lips to yours and slides his hands beneath your top, guides it over your head. Then they move to your shorts, slipping them gently off your hips, and you stand so he can push them to the ground.

You’re both breathing heavily, a little rough, and you step between his legs, kiss him again, run your hands down his chest, closing your eyes with a sigh because you finally get to feel him after a year of just imagining what it would be like. After a beat, you open your eyes, look into his, smile.

“Really grateful for Casual Friday,” you whisper. “Otherwise you might never have found out I’m kind of in love with you.” You ease the polo over his head, drop it on the ground and encourage him to stand so you can take off his pants; he does, but before you can drop to your knees as planned, he takes your face in his hands, presses one soft kiss against your mouth.

“I’m more than kind of in love with you.” Oh, if that isn’t the greatest sentence your ears have ever heard… You wrap your arms around his neck, kiss a little more, forgetting that you planned to finish undressing him; when you remember, you make quick work of it, then have him lay back against the bed and settle between his legs.

You put your mouth on him because you want to, more than anything, and his hand drops to your hair, caressing you while you suck slowly, deeply, holding him with one hand and pressing against his stomach with the other. His moans are soft and gorgeous, his body tense beneath your hand, and you’d do this all night, but he murmurs your name, coaxes you up, puts his hands on your back as you settle against him.

“You’re so incredible. I never would have imagined I’d get this, get you,” he breathes, skimming his hands over your sides and hips, and you kiss softly, steamy and sweet.

“Me neither.” You lean up, make space for him to roll on the condom, and then press him inside; your breath hitches, and so does his, and you lay on top of him, chest to chest, stomach to stomach, arms around each other tightly while you move. “Hmm. Aaron,” you sigh, hair falling around him, and he groans, digs his fingertips into your hips.

“Sounds so perfect coming out of your mouth.” You smile, but it slips away when he surges up to kiss you, leans up so he’s sitting with you in his lap. He slides a broad hand up your back, wraps it around the nape of your neck, and pumps his hips up as you sink down, eliciting a series of soft, eager moans from the both of you.

“Feels like I’ve waited so long; I’ve never wanted someone as badly as I wanted you,” you tell him, chest heaving, and he brings you to him for a kiss, something a little rougher, less refined. He’s getting close.

“Never. You make me feel so much.” You reach back against his leg for support, work harder to bring him off, and when he comes he crushes his mouth against yours, delicious and more uncontrolled than you’ve ever seen him. He chants your name, so soft and sweet rolling off of his tongue, and then gets you on your back so he can press deeply inside.

You feel so incredibly full, panting beneath him, your hands on his waist and your feet on the backs of his thighs; his perfect face is inches from yours, all shallow breaths and decadent, passionate kisses, and when you climax you pull him closer, sigh, unravel completely in his embrace.

Maybe good things do happen after all. You hold each other and talk for a while, after a quick pitstop to the restroom, and then your stomach growls—understandably, since the only thing to fill it since lunch was that stupid cheesecake—and Hotch orders takeout on his phone from bed; god bless technology.

There’s a knock at the door twenty minutes later, and you know that’s quick for your favorite Thai place, but you’re not complaining because you’re officially starving. He offers to grab it, throws on his boxers and heads for the living room; after a few minutes, you wonder what’s taking so long, pull on your robe and go to check on him.

Hotch is talking to Derek, who is standing in your living room with a piece of cheesecake and a shit eating grin.

“I came with a peace offering, but now I think I’ll wait for a, ‘Thank you, Derek,’” he says, and you roll your eyes, stalk over and take the cheesecake out of his hands. You give it to Hotch, lean up to kiss Derek on the cheek, and push him toward the door.

“Thank you, Derek. Go away, Derek,” you say with a smile of your own, and he raises his palms and retreats down the hall, laughing as he goes.

This is just one more thing he’ll tease you mercilessly about, but this time the benefits outweigh the costs. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt #dad bod hotch

[th0tfairy]

Deku x tutor! Reader

📚✏️📖

You sigh as Koda pushes his sheet of paper away for the fiftieth time that night. He hates math. That’s understandable, you don’t like math either but you’re getting paid good money to put up with his tantrums for two hours a night.

“Cmon,” You say, “twelve divided by two. You know this.”

He crosses his arms.

You sigh as you try to explain to him in a different way. “If I have a dozen water balloons and give you half, how many do you have?”

He shakes his head.

“Koda,” you sigh, drawing out twelve circles. “Come on, let’s count it out.”

He looks at the two rows of six circles that you’ve scribbled. “Count each one.”

He counts to twelve.

“Circle the top half.” You tell him, manually putting the pencil in his hand. He does.

“Now count how many you have in the circle.”

“Six.”

“So twelve divide by two is...”

He grumbles and writes a 6 on his paper just as the door opens. Koda’s... brother? Walks in.

His red sneakers squeak on the tile as he makes his way towards the dining table where you’re tutoring Koda.

“Hi,” he says kindly, extending a hand to you. “We haven’t met. I’m Deku, Koda’s brother.”

“Not my real brother!” Koda snaps.

Deku’s hand is warm and sweaty. You take a look at his wet hair and face and workout clothes and figure he must’ve been at the gym. There’s a small spark when your hands pull away.

“Sorry,” he tells him, ruffling his hair. Koda shoves his hand away. “I meant his adoptive brother.”

“Go away!” Koda says, threatening him with a pencil.

“Okay! Sheesh,” Deku replies, gently sliding away. His lap slides against your ass when he tries to leave. You hear a tiny gasp escape from his lips as you jump and accidentally grind against him.

It only lasted a short second, but you could feel how big he was through his shorts. You clear your throat and go back to the worksheet.

“Fourteen divided by seven?” You ask as Deku walks away.

💦💧💦

As usual, Koda stretches the tutoring session to three hours. Their... dad? Invites you to stay for dinner and doesn’t take no for an answer.

So now you’re sitting with a plate of curry in front of you while Deku sits across the table. Neither of you look at each other.

“So, what did you learn today, Koda?”

Koda shrugs.

Their dad nods. “Nothing, huh? How exciting.”

You feel like this is a shot at you. “We did some division tonight. By twos.”

“Ah,” he says, “okay. Koda what is six divided by two.”

Koda shrugs.

You feel like you just wasted your time and his dad’s money. You eat your curry and stay silent.

“Go on Koda,” Deku encourages.

“Six...” he counts on his fingers, putting away half of them. “Three.”

His dad nods. “Alright. That was easy though. What’s twenty four divided by eight?”

Koda chokes on his food.

“You know it,” Deku says.

“I don’t know.”

“Just guess.”

“I don’t know!”

“You just said it.”

Koda frowns. You feel like you’ve failed him as a tutor.

“Three?” Koda mumbles.

And you all celebrate his lucky guess with a slice of cake for dessert. After you’re done eating, their dad gets Koda ready for bed as Deku walks you out.

“You live nearby?”

“Yeah. It’s just a short walk.”

He squints at the time. “It’s kinda late. I wouldn’t feel right letting you walk by yourself.”

“I walk all the time. And it’s not that late.” You insist.

“Come on, I need a little exercise.” He says before closing the door behind both of you.

You both walk on silence for a couple seconds. “More exercise?” You ask.

“Yeah,” he laughs. “I’ve actually been slacking off lately. I only did arms and back today.”

“Walking counts as leg day?”

He shrugs, freckled smile beaming in the dark. He has a great smile but all you can think about is his hard dick still ghosting on your back pocket.

You wonder if he’d taken a cold shower. He keeps looking back at you. “What?” You ask.

He shakes his head and looks away.

“What?” You repeat.

“Nothing,” he rubs his eyebrow, “just didn’t think you’d be this cute.”

You blush. “I didn’t think Koda’s adoptive brother would be this cute either...”

He licks his lips. “Yeah, I... the last thing I was expecting to see when I got home was a pretty thing like you at my dining table.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t trust your voice not to crack.

“Good enough to eat,” he blurts before smacking a palm over his mouth. “Sorry! I— I mean—“ you grab his veiny wrist and pull him aside.

“You wanna eat me?” You murmur.

He looks down at you with his brilliant green eyes before scooping you right up his strong hands. He slams your back against the wall of a nearby apartment complex and tugs your pants down.

You breathe into his hair as he leans his face into your neck. He uses green apple shampoo. His hairs still damp.

He grinds his dick into your panties. “You pitch a tent on our walk ?”

He laughs into your collarbone. “I’ve been hard since i left the gym. Usually goes down after I shower, but your ass kept me up.”

“My ass?”

He ticks his hands into your back pockets and squeezes your ass through them. “Thats right.”

He keeps you pinned to the wall with just his hips. You grind against his hard dick.

He groans, and the sound of his voice soaks you.

“Deku,” you moan.

He slips his finger into your panties and starts rubbing your clit. “More,” You mewl.

He grabs you and flips you so that your palms are pressed against the wall. He slips your pants down before spanking your ass a few times.

“I can’t get enough of this gorgeous ass.” He says, giving you a couple more slaps. You squeal as he starts squeezing his fingers into your flesh.

You reach behind you to feel his boner still standing up high. “Put it in,” you whine.

He takes your wrist and gently guides under his waistband. Feels you stroke his dick until you line him up against your slit. “Come on,” you mutter, pushing back.

It only just occurs to you that you’re in public, crying for his dick with your ass out. But he pushes the head in and you don’t care anymore.

“Ughhhhhnnn,” he groans, sliding deeper into your hot cunt.

He’s even bigger than you thought. You feel him stretching you with a pleasurable burn. “Baby,” you whine.

“I got you, baby,” he mumbles against your neck. He shifts out for a second before pushing back in, easier this time. Deku’s warm palms hold onto your back as he starts his deep, strong strokes.

“Fuck,” You mutter in the crack of the wall. He chuckles behind you.

“Hope you aren’t teaching Koda that.”

“He’s teaching me.” You respond, smiling. Your skins starting to get clammy and hot all over. Like a vague itch you can quite reach. You’re close.

“Ugh, goddamn,” he groans again. You wished you could see what he’s doing to you. How he’s slapping against your creamy lips.

You reach a hand down to rub your clit. He moves your hand away and starts rolling your clit himself. Even his fingertips are strong.

You clench around him and start screaming out as you hit your high. It must’ve set something off in him because a moment later he’s following, moaning and grunting through his release.

His hot come shoots inside of you before slipping out with him. You feel his rugged breath on your back as he comes down.

Your own breath is dense in the cold night air. You lean back to rest on his shoulder. You lay there until you both get fixed up and he finishes walking you home.

“See you tomorrow?” He asks, leaning down for a kiss.

You lick his lips and smile into the kiss. “After class.”

😚🌙🥰

#deku x you #deku x y/n #Deku x reader #Deku smut #izuku midoriya smut headcannons #izuku smut #izuku x you #izuku x y/n #izuku x reader #izuku midoriya smut #Deku x reader smut #deku x fem!reader #Deku x tutor!reader #Deku x you smut #Deku x y/n smut

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Into The Unknown, Part 20

First

Previous

The parenting books that they had read said that there was no exact age where babies are supposed to learn how to potty train. And that was fine, it meant that there was a tiny chance that he would be ready early (or late, but they didn’t want to consider that, thanks).

Marinette had thought that she would be relieved when Damian showed signs that it was time to start potty training him. After all, changing diapers was a pain. It was even worse for Tim, she was pretty sure. Tim didn’t complain or try to pawn the kid off on her, but their water bill was through the roof from all the handwashing he did after he changed Damian.

Overall, it was definitely for the best that the kid was showing signs at the earlier end of the spectrum, being only 18 months old (or at least that was their best approximation for his age).

But… ew.

They had settled to just… ignore it. That was a problem for Future Them.

Eventually, though, Future Them became Present Them. They had to have the conversation.

Tim practically fell into bed, the baby in his arms. Damian beamed up at him. He reached his little hands up for him and Tim allowed the kid to pull him down to kiss his nose. Damian hadn’t really learned how to give kisses, it was more like sucking on their skin really quickly, but they appreciated the gesture nonetheless.

Marinette smiled, gently tugging on one of the fake bear ears attached to the hood of the kids’ onesie. “Cutie. Ready for beddy-bye?”

Damian wasn’t. He never was. But he was tired after a long day of… doing whatever it was that babies do, and was asleep within the hour.

Tim sighed and sunk into the bed, resting a hand over his eyes.

She glanced over, raising her eyebrows. “You going to say something or are you going to just angst over there?”

“I am not –.”

Damian shifted a little between them. The two adults tensed up and went silent, not willing to risk waking him up.

When the kid went back to sucking on his thumb and the corner of his koala blanket/toy without waking up, they relaxed.

He gave a helpless little shrug. “He’s officially reached the last qualification for starting potty training.”

“... no way.”

“He went three hours without ‘going’. That’s an hour higher than the recommended amount. I think… I think we have to give up and be good pseudo-parents.”

She groaned quietly. “Great.”

They mourned their happiness.

But then Marinette realized something. “... but, really, this is kinda your problem.”

His head jerked over. “I’m sorry?”

“I mean, I’m not the one with the…” She resisted the urge to point at it.

“So? I’m pretty sure moms are usually the ones that do this kind of stuff.”

“Sexist.”

“You cannot pull the sexism card here.”

“Can and did. Besides, the book suggested modeling behavior for him.”

“I helped change him but I am drawing the line in the goddamn sand right now. I am not showing the kid my – my – you know.”

“Oh? And what am I supposed to do? Mime it?”

He threw the hand that wasn’t cradling Damian’s head in the air frustratedly. “I don’t know! Figure it out!”

She would have crossed her arms but, alas, Damian had wrapped his arms and legs around one of them and only crossing one arm would have been weird. She settled for sinking back into the mattress and glaring at the ceiling.

She wasn’t going to lose this but it seemed like they were getting nowhere. They were already overdue. What to do what to do what to do…?

She turned back to Tim.

“Fine. I’m weaponizing my fucking incompetence. Dicks. How do they work?”

Tim gave her a slightly confused look. “What do you mean?”

“Do they float in water?”

“You’ve bathed him before.”

“That was literally not where I was looking. I was trying to avoid it, actually.”

He opened his mouth as if he was going to answer, then he shook his head. “This isn’t important.”

“It could be. What do you do if it touches the water while you’re going ‘number 2’?”

His eyebrows were slowly creeping to hide behind his bangs. “That… that doesn’t…”

“How do you aim? I remember seeing a sign in a gender neutral bathroom once that said to clean up if you have bad aim, so clearly that’s a problem. How. Do. You. Aim?”

“Uh –?”

“Where does it even tuck into your pants? It goes in your leg, right? Which side? Is it just whichever way or is there, like, one that feels right? Is it the same for everyone –?”

He covered her mouth, his lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes squeezed shut to keep himself from cringing too hard. “Okay. I’ll figure out how to do it without showing him. Just… stop asking questions.”

She settled back in the bed, grinning victoriously.

~

Tim raised his eyebrows when Marinette walked into his work with Damian on her hip. This wasn’t particularly uncommon, his Wednesdays always ran late thanks to the kid who had private lessons and she sometimes stopped by, the weird part was that she was walking with two other women and chatting with them in a way that seemed far more friendly than how she talked to strangers.

He barely dodged the kick thrown at him by the kid he was supposed to be sparring with and backed up, changing his slightly limp defensive guard into palms facing outward placatingly. “Can we end five minutes early today? My wife and kid are here with some strangers, for some reason.”

The girl dropped her guard almost instantly and nodded. She said a quick ‘goodbye!’ and started to run off.

“Hey! You still need to cool down!” He said before she could disappear into the bathrooms and pretend like she hadn’t heard him. “Bear crawls, four laps, and three minutes of light stretching. Then you can go home.”

The girl groaned a little but reluctantly started doing what she was told.

Tim smiled as he accepted the cash that the girl’s mother gave him, offering a slight discount since he was ending early, and then headed over.

“-- but, while I was practicing the sacred art of the popcorn dance, I suddenly stumble and fall down the styrofoam stairs of the playplace and I swear I can still hear the –,” one of them was saying, only to cut herself off when she realized that Tim was nearing them. “Oh, hi. I’m Paige.”

“Tim,” he said awkwardly. Tim gave his ‘wife’ a grateful kiss on the cheek when she handed him her water bottle. They gave him a few moments to drink but he wasn’t all that fond of awkward silences, so… “Sorry, but what’s going on?” He asked.

(He was so confused, he didn’t even know where to start. That was the only safe bet he could think of.)

“It’s Ava’s birthday,” Marinette explained, nodding to the one he hadn’t yet learned the name of. “She wants me to come out with her, I said that I needed to go visit you at work, and both she and Paige wanted to see what you look like.”

Ava smiled. “I mean, I’ve seen a picture of your ID for my job, but it’s nice to actually meet you.”

Was it even worth asking?

“She’s the daycare attendant.”

One question answered. Several hundred to go.

He took Damian in his arms and ignored the kid whining and squirming in his grip because he was sweaty from work.

“I guess that means I’ll need a new sparring partner?” He joked quietly.

Marinette rolled her eyes. “I don’t think our muscles will deflate after one day.”

“‘Don’t think’ means you’re not completely sure,” he pointed out.

“I –,” she started, but was quickly cut off.

“You didn’t get a present for me, right? Can I watch you guys spar as a present?” Asked Ava, beaming.

“No one told me…” She mumbled. Then, louder, she answered: “Sure, as long as Tim’s alright with it.”

Tim shrugged and pawned Damian off on the daycare attendant with ease. “I don’t see any problems with it.”

They started heading toward the mats. Marinette started to pull her hair back into a ponytail, only to remember that it was too short. He pretended not to notice.

She started to unbutton her work shirt, then paused. “Is anyone here?”

“Just David, I think. You should be fine. You got a sports bra on?”

“Obviously. Do you know how many stairs I have to take at work because the elevator is always full?”

… and that was how he ended up flat on his back. Marinette grinned from where she was sitting on his chest, his wrists pinned beneath her knees.

He huffed a little, glaring up at her.

She rolled off of him and they both glanced over at their audience. David had shown up at some point and was clapping politely even though he was holding a spray bottle and clearly just waiting for them to get off so he could start cleaning the mats. Paige had been given Damian at some point and was pretty distracted trying to keep the kid from eating her hair. Ava, however, looked rather pleased.

Tim gave a sarcastic bow, Marinette blew a kiss.

Tim walked over to help David clean since they were both closing that night. They started scrubbing down the mats.

Marinette set a water bottle down next to him before heading off to her friends. He glanced over at David.

“You know, we don’t talk much outside of normal work stuff,” Tim said between sips.

David shrugged awkwardly. “Don’t know what to talk about. Women are off-limits. What else is there?”

Tim had no clue what to say to that. He decided to not really address the problem because how could he and instead said: “I can talk about women.”

“Dude. You’re married. Your wife is literally right there.”

He sighed and tipped his head back to look at her. Even while she was talking with her friends, she bounced Damian on her leg to keep him entertained.

He smiled a little. “Hey! Mari!”

She looked up.

“Which of your friends would you date given the chance?”

“Paige,” she said instantly. “But she has a boyfriend, so.”

“Fair enough.” He looked over at David. “She’s bi.”

“Oh. Dude. Nice.”

“... I’m… also bi.”

“Oh… nice?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “How about we stick to talking about clients?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Sounds good...”

~

Marinette felt someone come to a stop behind her while she worked and absently looked up, expecting Paige or her boss or even Ava.

And, well, it was her boss. The boss.

Bruce Wayne stood over her, an unreadable expression on his face.

She fought the urge to hide under her desk or start begging for forgiveness. He had to know. He shouldn’t know anything about the multiverse, but somehow he must have. This was Batman we’re talking about here!

But then he continued on to go loom over the poor bastard in the cubicle next to her.

She breathed a sigh of relief.

She checked to make sure that he wasn’t coming back before sending Tim a quick text.

Hey, just met your dad. He’s fucking terrifying. How’s he so intimidating and you’re so… you?

Her ‘husband’ spammed her with angry emojis. Marinette was not any more intimidated by this.

~~~~~

Next

@unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff @toodaloo-kangaroo @queenz-z @imarivers8 @jeminiikrystal @adrestar @twsssmlmaa

#got a knife got a knife got a knifeknifeknife #also a couple of books #but KNIFE #:D #all of my irl friends immediately were like 'FUCK WHO GAVE THAT WHY' #and then relaxed because they all think the knife looks cool #i can make it even cooler tho~ #all i need are just a few teensy weensy sacrifices~ #maribat #into the unknown #timari #timmari #shutterbug #timinette #red robin #tim drake #ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #for the maybe two people that pay attention to my tags #prepare for angst #you have a week

[dr3amofagame]

originally i just wanted dream to recover, preferably in the syndicate. but after today's quackity lore? he deserves to fuck shit up for a bit. let him get his revenge. tommy got his revenge on dream, techno got his revenge on l'manberg, dream deserves to get revenge on quackity and sam! then he can recover after that lol

(context: ask was sent on march 16th and i am very. very late.)

but YEAH !! logic brain says revenge bad and cycle of violence will continue BUT emotion brain wants c!dream to go crazy go stupid !! go beat them up honey we’ll be here with juice boxes and fruit snacks when you’re done <3 

i wrote this while looping casino royale by derivakat for (checks time) something like 12 hours straight so uhh,,, yeah LMAO have some of c!dream going apeshit bc honestly he deserves it (/hj)

tw: implied torture, abuse, mentioned injuries, suicide, murder, explosions, death, violence, dark portrayals of c!dream, c!quackity, and c!sam, emotional distress, prison arc, pandora’s vault

Sam is uneasy long before he enters Las Nevadas - Quackity’s terse, serious-sounding string of texts he’d woken up to had sent his heart racing before the country even came into sight, and he’s pretty sure the pit in the middle of his gut since Dream escaped a week ago won’t disappear until the prisoner is either jailed or dead at his feet. Still, the city hardly does his anxiety any favors - each step within its limits feels a bit more like walking to his own death, the silent storefronts and looming, boarded up casino seeming to watch his every move, making him pick up his pace to move a little faster and avoid their judging gazes.

Stuck in his head as he is, it’s not until he’s halfway to the meeting place that he realizes how eerily quiet the place is - Las Nevadas has yet to be a particularly busy country with the casino yet to open and their recruits usually doing their own thing in the meantime, but still there’s usually at least one of them lingering on the city grounds, between Fundy’s work on his yacht and Foolish’s construction and whatever Slime does, usually involving an immense amount of following Quackity’s every move. The city as it right now feels much more like when it had been no more than a secret of his and Quackity, months spent with just the two of them working to make Big Q’s vision a reality. There’s something uniquely unnerving about it, like stepping into a ghost town, and Sam’s unease only grows.

“Sam!” Quackity calls from the base of the casino - Sam shades his eyes from the sun as he jogs over. Even from this far, it’s clear Q is displeased - his lips are flat in a small frown, skin taut from where the corner of his mouth is pulling at his scar. His tie is slightly askew and shirt rumpled - he looks disheveled, eyebrows narrowed irritatedly as he taps at something on his communicator. Sam smiles slightly, hollow.

“Hello Quackity,” he responds simply, drawing his trident and bringing it to his side. “You said we needed to meet?”

“Yeah,” Quackity’s voice is distracted, and he mumbles a curse as he jams his finger particularly hard against the communicator screen. “What is up with everyone today? They sent me these- weird fucking messages  and then we get here and nobody’s here-”

“Who?” Sam’s lips press together. “You mean like- Fundy? Or Foolish?” They seem to be the ones that Quackity got messages from most frequently, if he remembers right. He doesn’t know for sure - usually, Quackity handles the social side of managing Las Nevadas.

“Fundy, Purpled, Foolish, Slime-” Quackity makes a vague, affronted noise. “All of them! Where the hell are they?”

Sam pauses.

“Q, when did Slime learn to use a communicator?”

“That’s the green one, right?” Both of them freeze, whirling around to the voice behind them, seeing nothing but the empty, arched doorway of the still-locked casino. “Naïve. Easy to fool.” The voice pauses, barks a sharp, quiet laugh. “Made my job easy, at least.”

The voice is familiar- too familiar. Sam doesn’t think he’ll ever get that cadence out of his head, not after months after months spent in the prison, hearing it in every possible tone and form. Quackity’s shoulders are hunched up to his ears, teeth bared in a snarl.

“Dream- I fucking swear- where the hell are you?”

“Aw, not so brave when the other person can actually fight back, are we?” Dream’s voice is lilting, mocking, and Sam’s hands tighten on the trident. “Fine, I’ll show myself. I’m not like you- no need to extend this game any longer than necessary.”

Dream slinks out from the shadows, wearing all black and covered in netherite armor, seeming fiddling with a small, grey thing in one hand. HIs stance is wide, torso pulled close to the ground - instead of a mask, his outfit includes a hooded black cloak that pulls down over his face, barely offering a glimpse of his eye glaring from underneath it.

“I’m giving you three seconds to tell me why the hell you’re in my country,” Quackity growls, sword forming in his hand, blade still crusted over with old blood, “And I’ll make your death half as painful as it’ll be otherwise.”

Dream laughs, high-pitched and unstable. “Please- what are you gonna do with that thing?” Quackity stalks forward with a low, wordless yell and Sam only barely manages to snag him back by the wrist.

“Watch it, Q,” Sam mutters, looking closer. Sure enough, there’s a faint, reddish haze rising from Dream’s body, only barely visible, interspersed with some lighter blue wisps. Strength and Speed. “He’s got potions.”

“Outmatched, aren’t we?” Dream cocks his head to the side, a tight-lipped smile visible under the hood’s shadow. “What a shame. I was hoping for a good fight.”

Quackity curses at him, loudly, but mullishly stays in place instead of lashing out like earlier, and Sam hisses a small sigh of relief. He looks back over at Dream - under the sun, he looks worse than ever, armor doing little to hide the gaunt edge of his face, limbs skinny and shaking. His hands tremble, wrists kept close together, as he continues to move the thing within them from hand to hand, small and grey and smooth from what he can tell in flashes between scarred and calloused fingers. He’s still favoring his left side slightly, but his eyes are cold and clear as they follow his every movement, clearly lucid and intelligent. Unfortunately for them, Dream is the best of fighters at the worst of times, and he has no doubt that with potions on his side and themselves relatively unprepared for battle, any fight with him won’t go particularly well.

Negotiation it is, then. “Why are you here, Dream?” If they stall long enough, then the rest of the server can come to back them up, and then even Dream won’t be able to fight back for long. He and Quackity can figure out what to do with him once he’s safely back under their control - for now, they have to play things safe. He pulls out his communicator carefully with one hand, trying to avoid drawing attention to his movements. “I doubt you’re here for a housewarming visit.”

Dream waves his hand slightly. “Something like that-” he bares his teeth in a small smile. “How about a housewarming gift, instead?”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Quackity bites, aggressive in a way that speaks of how threatened he feels, and the pit in Sam’s stomach only grows. Dream’s eye seems to glow as he turns and presses his hands to the nearby wall; when he pulls them back, there’s a stone button fastened on the quartz.

“Say, Quackity,” Dream’s voice is too light to be anything but forced levity, rolling his shoulders back to try and hide the way his entire body has begun to shake even more violently than before. “How much TNT do you suppose it took for Wilbur to blow up L’manburg?”

Sam gasps, low and harsh through his teeth, a quiet, breathless no falling from his lips. Quackity’s head shakes, eyes widening in fury and denial.

“No- no what the fuck did you do- Dream what the absolute fuck did you do-”

“Eleven stacks of TNT, to blow up that country to kingdom come.” Dream laughs, directing his wild, manic expression to look them in the eye. “The amount of TNT hooked up to this thing is ten times that.”

“You’re a liar-” Quackity rushes forward, sword raised, “I’m going to fucking kill you-”

Sam grabs him, again, ignoring his yells to look at Dream, who’s still standing, seemingly unruffled, one hand hovering over the button that’ll spell doom for them all.

“That’ll kill all of us,” he tries to reason, panic clawing up his lungs, “You’re on your last life. You can’t-”

“And what, Warden, makes you think I give a single goddamn fuck about that?” Dream’s voice cracks, slightly, and for a moment Sam almost thinks he’ll break, that he can press the point until the other backs down - but Dream is nothing if not stubborn, and within seconds he’s composed himself again, looking at them with a determined set to his jaw that Sam recognizes well enough from Quackity’s visits to know that he won’t back down. “Everyone else is far away from here. I made sure of that. It’s just you, and Quackity, and me, and I’m pressing this button if it’s the last thing I do. Call it a parting shot, will you?”

Sam pulls at Quackity, wrist still locked in his grip. “Q, we have to leave.”

“I’m not letting him destroy this place Sam, are you out of your fucking mind? This- Las Nevadas- it’s everything- I’m not letting him take this place from me not again-”

“He’s going to kill us all, Quackity,” he throws a water bucket at his feet, charging up his trident. The sign taunts him at the edges of the city borders, far too far away for any of them to even hope to reach. “We have to go now-”

“Say your goodbyes,” Dream taunts, and there’s a quiet click. Sam smells the faint, smoky smell of redstone being activated, hears a hum growing in volume from the ground beneath him. He looks over to Dream, who has a hand pressing the button to the wall, fever-bright eyes wide and wet as he stares at his own hand before shutting them with a soft, almost serene smile. “And see you in hell.”

The world goes white.

[Dream was blown up by Dream.]

[Quackity was blown up by Dream.]

[awesamdude was blown up by Dream.]

#-> my writing #my writing :D #my asks !! #-> my asks #tw torture #tw abuse #tw injuries #tw suicide #tw murder #tw explosion #tw death #tw violence #tw emotional distress #prison arc #pandora's vault

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

A Deafened Bard (Stephen Strange x Female!Reader) pt. 2

Doctor Strange and y/n confide their tragic backstories in one another. Y/n struggles with her feelings for him.

Trigger warnings: abusive parenting, use of firearms, discussion of death and grief, mention of alcoholism

"On the outside, always looking in

Will I ever be more than I've always been?

Cause I'm tap, tap, tapping on the glass-"

You stopped yourself before you could indulgently belt out the titular lyric.

"Ew, why was I singing that?" You muttered to yourself. "I don't even like that song." 

You knew, subconsciously, that it was because you were trying to avoid what you really wanted to sing. For the first time ever, you had an audience. Someone was paying attention. 

"Love of my life, you've hurt me-"

"Oh, come on, butterfingers." He interrupted. "Love of my Life by Freddie Mercury. Give me something hard." 

"I wasn't aware it was classic rock trivia night." 

"Then why were you staring straight at me while singing?" He smirked. 

"Was I?" You cocked your head, expertly deflecting his implication. "I'm so spaced out I don't even know where I'm looking." 

"It's Freddie Mercury." He insisted.

"Uh, yes and no." You corrected, drawing on your encyclopedic knowledge of Queen from one particularly weird summer in high school. "While Freddie Mercury wrote the song, it was recorded on a Night at the Opera. Which was accredited to the whole band." 

"That's a nitpick," he shook his head. "I'm still right." 

You couldn't wear your heart on your sleeve anymore. You could only distract him with 70s glam rock trivia for so long before he started to notice a pattern. Although a sappy love song was in your heart, you sang the anthem of the depressed theater kid. 

You were staring straight at him, though. But who wouldn't? You studied his features only for artistic inspiration. His sharp jaw and high, high cheekbones were… inspiring. 

You couldn't lie to yourself. You fell and fell hard.

"Butterfingers!" Master Strange called out from the other side of the sanctum. "I need you!" 

You dropped your pencil and pushed yourself out from the chair. "Coming!" 

You followed the voice into his chambers. This was a new development, you thought. Out of respect for his privacy, you'd never dared to snoop around in his bedroom. But this was practically a written invitation. 

The room was spotless. Not a book or a scrap of paper out of place. Nor was there much to look at at all. A handful of picture frames, some magazines from when he was a surgeon, all featuring himself on the cover. 

"Butterfingers!" He called again, as if he knew you were about to snoop.

"I'm here!" You yelled back, eyes wandering around the room. "What do you need?" 

"I left my watch somewhere in the library!" He sounded disproportionately panicked for what was just a minor inconvenience. "I need you to go get it for me." 

"What does it look like?" You asked. 

"It's a $27,000 watch." He snapped impatiently. "It looks like one." 

"Jesus." You cursed.

"Don't give me that shit, [F/N]." He ordered, slamming his fist down against the sink. "Just do what you're goddamn told." 

"Alright, alright!" You put your hands up. "Fine, I'll get it." 

You hurried down the stairs and into the library. On the floor between his favorite chair and a stack of musty old books was a slim, silvery watch with a plain black band.

You picked it up and examined it. Apart from the price tag, was there really any reason for him to be so worried about it? He knew exactly where he left it. Did he have reason to believe it wouldn't be there when he returned? 

All you needed to do was flip it over to get your answer. You read the inscription on the back. 

Time will tell how much I love you -- Christine 

You should have known that his massive ego wouldn’t keep the women away forever. Hell, it certainly didn’t deter you. Much uglier douchebags have gotten far prettier girlfriends than they deserved.

You closed your fingers around the watch and sighed. The fantasy you created for yourself, of slowly, deliberately earning his love was shattered. Christine already beat you to it, it seemed. You tried to smother the part of you that resented this person for her exclusive right to Master Strange's affections. You didn't know her, but you loathed her. And you felt filthy for it.

With a heavy heart, you brought the stupid, criminally expensive little timepiece back to its rightful owner. 

"Here's your all-important watch, master." You mumbled, placing it on the bedside table. 

"I know I told you I would give you space to question things," He said, swiping it from the table and expertly affixing it around his wrist. "But I'd really appreciate it if you didn't question this." 

You tried to sound as non-passive-aggressive as you could. You attempted a more forgiving tone, but you couldn't hide your hurt. "It's fine. I don't care." 

"I didn't mean to get short with you, [F/N]." His voice softened. "I'm sorry. But this watch-" 

"It's fine." You cut him off, peering at the floor. 

"It was a gift." He finished anyway. 

You felt the lump in your throat rising. You knew what the watch represented and you wanted to smash it to pieces. Along with the sting of rejection, you felt the sting of tears in your eyes. "I know. I saw the engraving."

"She died two years ago." He lowered his head. 

Suddenly, all your ill will towards this woman turned into guilt. 

"I'm sorry to hear that." You said. "I can't imagine what it's like to lose someone who loved you so much." 

"She had agreed to come to a speaking engagement with me. As a second chance, and-" Pain wrapped his voice. He closed his hand tightly around the watch and held it close to his chest. "Have you ever been in love before, [F/N]?"

From the way your heart ached, and how easily the thought of never being with him made you cry, you knew the answer. You'd been avoiding speaking it into being thus far, but you couldn't lie to yourself anymore.

"Yes." You whispered. 

"You'll learn soon enough." He muttered. "It only brings more suffering." 

The tears finally breached and you tried to blink them away. You didn't know what emotion was causing them: guilt, shame, contempt, anger, sadness-- they were all present.

"Master Strange, I-" you stuttered, tripping over your breath. "I respect what you've gone through, I really do, but it's not fair to take it out on me." 

"You're right." He conceded. "I'm sorry. Please, go get some sleep.”

You nodded. “Right.” 

You slept as late as you could get away with the next morning. In apprentice terms, that only meant sleeping until eight thirty. Your dailies could wait an extra hour while you laid in bed, feeling like garbage. 

You stumbled down the spiral staircase in your pajamas. No bra, no makeup and no effort. You didn’t even run a brush through your hair. Why try, you thought. Why make an effort for the man who would never see you as anything but the help? 

When you saw the piano, though, you did a full 180.

In the living area was a French cherry baby grand piano that definitely was not there before. You certainly would have noticed it before. You placed your phone on the counter and approached the new addition. 

As if the memories were woven into the very muscles and ligaments of your fingers, you ran down a few octaves of C Major. The keys were smooth as porcelain and the sound that emanated from the instrument was next to heavenly. 

A bright orange post-it note was stuck to the music rack. 

“Love of my Life”, Queen, A Night at the Opera. 1975 

Was this a request, or an admission of wrong? Whatever the case, it made you smile. 

"You weren't being entirely honest with me, Butterfingers." He said, randomly materializing behind you. 

You turned around on the piano bench and looked up at him. "What was I not honest about?" 

"I'm so glad you asked." He sat down on the bench next to you, phone in hand. "Because when you said you used to play piano, you didn't specify you were actually a student prodigy." 

Sure enough, on his phone, he was scrolling through your Instagram. Dozens of videos of a much younger [F/N] playing hundreds of different songs, singing with too many vocal runs and doing so with the entire content of her soul behind the music. 

"Student prodigy is a bit strong." You turned your head to hide your blush. 

He scrolled up and found a picture of a young, zit-faced teenage [F/N] holding an acceptance letter. "Last I checked, Juilliard doesn't give full-ride scholarships to just anyone." 

You covered your face with your hands, smothering an embarrassed smile. "God, please. I'd rather you'd found my OnlyFans." 

He raised his eyebrows. "As tempting as that sounds, I'd still rather hear your explanation on this. Why did you give up on something you loved?"

You looked at him in surprise. "You really want to know?" 

"Well, I told you mine." He playfully nudged you in the side. 

You took a deep breath in. "Well, it was about two years ago, now-”

"Cheers to you, [F/N]!" Your best friend Holly raised her glass of champagne in your direction. "Juilliard ain't gonna know what hit ‘em."

"I'll drink to that." You said, bring your own flute up to your lips and taking a swig. You wretched in disgust as the vile liquid ran down your throat. "Or maybe I won't."

"You're gonna have to get used to it." Holly nudged you with her elbow. "I think most professional musicians are alcoholics."

You narrowed your eyes at her. "I don't think that's right."

"Is too." She smirked. "Conductors are mad strict. Abusive even. Drive musicians to drink all the time."

You laughed. "Is everything you know about the world of music from Whiplash?"

"And The Perfection." She added.

"Thank you, Holly." You said, attempting to take another sip of champagne, purely for dramatic effect. "Very cool."

You felt a pair of hands on your shoulders. "Hi, Holly. Enjoying the party?"

Holly took a step back. "Hey, Mrs. [L/N]. Yeah, it's great."

"I hope you don't mind," Your mom said, her fake nice voice eeking through her clenched teeth. "I need to borrow [F/N] for a few minutes."

Holly's face fell. "Sure. I'll catch up with you later, [F/N]."

Your mother tugged you off to the side. With a stressed huff, she began. "Jason is out in the fields with his ROTC friends."

"And what do you want me to do about that?" You asked, knowing her drunk self couldn't read your sarcastic tone.

"Could you go get him and bring him home?" She said, squeezing your upper arm.

"Are you kidding?" You spat.

"[F/N], he's drunk." She scolded. "Do you want him to get another strike on his record?"

"I don't care." You mumbled under your breath. "Have him call an uber. Hell, let him sleep it off in the field. Not my problem."

"You know what he's like when he's drunk." She rationalized. "He gets rowdy. It had better be you."

You tensed up. "No. Holly and I are going to the French Quarter. I don't have time to babysit Jason."

"Just pick him up on your way there?" She pleaded. "It won't take long."

You knew this wasn't going to stop. "Fine, but this is the last time."

You were both dressed far too well to be trekking through the swampy ass nowhere when you should have been fucking your way through the French Quarter. Luckily for your evening plans, all you needed to do was follow the sound of gunshots.

You slammed the car door shut and Holly followed suit. Finding him was the easy part. The hard part was hauling his drunk ass back home.

"Fun's over, shithead." You announced, heels sinking into the sod as you spoke. You didn't have much trouble projecting over the gunfire and getting their attention.

"Shit, [F/N]?" Jason sputtered, so drunk he could barely keep his head straight.

"Holy shit, I didn't even recognize you in that dress." One of his dumb fuck friends added. He jabbed Jason in the side. "Why didn't you tell me your sister's hot?"

"Buster, I-'' You clenched your teeth. "I don't care if you live or die, but my mom needs me to bring Jason home."

"If you get in the car now, we won't have to use the chloroform." Holly added.

Jason scratched the back of his head with the barrel of his gun, then pointed it at you. "You're gonna have to make me."

"Jesus fucking Christ!" You exclaimed, hitting the deck. "What the fuck, Jason!?"

Jason and his dumbass friends laughed. "You should have seen the look on your face, [F/N]!"

"Put down the fucking gun-" You seethed. "And get in the fucking car."

He lowered the gun and looked like he was going to concede. Just when you thought he would cooperate, he stuck it up again. He keeled over in a fit of laughter when you and Holly panicked again.

"Look at them!" He shouted. "They're so fucking scared!"

You knew out in the middle of the swamp, nobody could hear you scream. So you used it to your advantage.

"Jason, you're going in the car, or under it." You raised your voice. "I will mow your drunk ass down like eight day old roadkill right here in this field and you will be LUCKY if anyone finds your bloated, shit-covered remains before the crocodiles get a whiff of you."

That seemed to get his attention.

"Sorry, boys." He pouted. "You heard her."

He had to 'get you' one final time, though. Only that time, the gun went off. Just centimeters from your ear. You clutched the side of your head, trying to drown out the deafening ringing with your screams.

You vaguely remembered Holly pistol-whipping Jason before loading you into the car to drive you to the hospital, leaving him desolate and drunk in the field.

"It was a one-in-a-million shot." The otolaryngologist tried not to sound impressed at what was clearly some kind of anomaly very few got to witness in a medical career. "When the bullet fired, the gunpowder traveled down your ear canal, burning the cells of your auditory nervous system and... singing your eardrum... clean off."

Your eyes widened. "Off?!"

The doctor lowered her head. "I'm sorry, Miss [L/N]. I'm afraid you'll never return to full hearing again."

You didn't want to kill the messenger. You knew she was only doing her job. "Are you fucking kidding me?!"

"If we could do a tympanoplasty, which, given the condition of the drum, is unlikely-" she began. "There would still be no way to fully repair the hair cells along the ear canal."

You took deep breaths to try and quell your simmering rage. "I'm leaving for Juilliard in three months."

"Hearing aid technology has improved significantly over the last decade." She said, a somewhat hopeful upturn in her voice.

That was when your mother decided to join in on the conversation. "Oh, we can't afford that."

You thought you were going to crush your teeth into bits from how tightly your jaw was clenched in fury. "Take it out of Jason's college fund, then."

"Oh, [F/N]." She said as if you had just told the funniest joke imaginable. "Please. That wouldn't be fair to Jason."

"You can afford to send that blithering idiot to the Citadel." You hissed. "You can afford to buy me a hearing aid so I can play piano."

"Beethoven was entirely deaf." Your mom pointed out. "And he became the greatest composer of all time. It's really just mind over matter, sweetie-"

"Sure, that makes perfect sense!" You plastered on a deranged smile, feeling driven to the brink of madness. "I can repair my destroyed eardrum with the power of positive thinking! Jason gets thirty-five thousand dollars a year to play soldier, but I have to just use my imagination."

She covered her face with her hands as if she was being attacked and went into kicked-puppy mode. "Don't be mad at Jason, [F/N]. He didn't mean to hurt you-"

"Fuck this." You said, releasing all your tension in those two words. "Fuck all of this. I'm tired of you defending that chauvinist asshole. The next time you see me will be when one of us is dead."

"Where are you going?!" She wailed.

You snatched your purse from the table and threw it over your shoulder. "I'm moving out."

“Disgraced at age nineteen?" Master Strange said, leaning back on the piano. "Let me guess, you turned to alcohol to cope?"

"You'd think, but actually no." You shook your head. The tone of the conversation had taken a sharp left turn from sadness to dry, apathetic amusement. "I probably would have if I could have afforded it."

"You missed out." He said. "Drinking a whole bottle of eighty year old scotch was definitely the highlight of my grieving period."

You'd never joined the clauses 'Master Strange' and 'drunk off his ass' in the same sentence before then. It was an odd mental picture for sure. One you needed to see to believe.

"I got desperate." You admitted. "Luckily, New Orleans had a lot to offer someone like me, so I didn't have to go far to find people claiming to have answers. But it was all essential oils, incense, binaural beats-"

"I'm sorry," he cut in. "What kind of dickhead suggests binaural beats to someone with only one functioning ear?"

You threw up your hands. "Right? Doesn't make sense. Anyway, I came across a woman named Mistress Fantina and she pointed me in the right direction. How to heal my body through control of my spirit."

He looked at you with that fascination of the human body characteristic of those in the medical field. "It worked, I assume?"

"I figured it out." You shrugged. "But I got so invested in the Mystic Arts that I forgot all about Juilliard. Became a full-time student. Ever since, I never once thought about returning to my old life."

"I suppose if I'd discovered this world because I had lost, say, my ability to perform surgery, it would be hard to leave it behind and return to the operating room." He thought out loud. Sighing, he closed his hand over his watch. "But no matter how medical science evolves, you can't reverse death."

You let the quiet linger for a moment.

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