#I can’t stop laughing at the second one

[nereidprinc3ss]

strange perfections

in which spencer reid and fem!reader meet by accident at a coffee shop. and then they keep meeting there. they've really got to stop meeting like this. (no, seriously. hotch is pissed.) / do you believe me now? bonus chapter!

fluff! warnings/tags: meet cute:) some dark humor, romantically inexperienced reader, spencer reid graduated from caltech, mit, and the derek morgan school of rizz a/n: this can absolutely be read as a standalone BUT it was written as a prologue for my series do you believe me now? to explain how spencer and r met! completely optional, if you're only here for the smut no worries! reading this bonus chapter might make the next chapter better though as it contains discussions of how they met:) anyway, I LOVE YOU!! let me know if you like this silly little random thing! kisses

The café door opens again. A blustery wind raises goosebumps on your arms and makes your bones ache again. You look up at the latest intruder—a hobbling elderly man in a newsboy cap and a knit red scarf. 

Stupid scarf, you think. 

Stupid door. 

Stupid wind. 

Your mug is empty, and the table you’re sitting at is sort of sticky and rickety, and there are so many papers in front of you that you wonder why the hell you thought it’d be a good idea to print the PDF out and annotate it that way instead of just doing it on your laptop like a normal person in the 21st century. Nothing is going right today. It’s the third café you’ve tried in the past few weeks as you attempt to find some place that feels homey, lucky, but this one just feels… inconvenient. 

You look at the stack of papers and sigh. 

Stupid Lord Byron. 

Stupid cafe. 

Usually, cafés are relatively quiet and peaceful—a refuge for the overworked to bask in the luxury of quiet jazz and the smell of dark roast as they continue to overwork themselves. This particular establishment, however, today hosts a group of teenagers—presumably playing hooky—who have commandeered a big booth in the back and keep walking right past your table because apparently they couldn’t have just ordered their drinks at once and they all have to do it separately and loudly. 

One of them has an incredibly irritating, gratingly pubescent laugh, and they think everything is hilarious. This whole situation is unbearable. 

Just as you’re gearing up to go, of course the fucking door opens again. This time, it’s accompanied by a particularly strong gust. 

Strong enough that Lord Byron doesn’t stand a chance. 

Your printed copy of his works blows off the table, at first page by painstakingly annotated page and then before you can even process it, all at once. 

Yeah. This is definitely not your lucky café. 

As you curse and go to stand up, you run into one of those dumb kids. His huge ceramic mug goes flying, careening against the edge of your table and completely splattering you and all your stuff in 16 liquid ounces of scalding espresso and milk. 

It’s silent for a second, save for a few drips from the puddle on your table to the floor, before the kid is apologizing profusely and turning red as a tomato. You can’t even respond—you look down at your ruined favorite sweater, and then around at the pages of Byron littered with color-coded sticky notes, overflowing with angry and purposeful red ink that you spent so much time on, scattered all over the floor. 

Eventually the boy catches on that you’re not going to forgive him and he skitters away, back to his friends, who whisper and giggle profusely. Only a few of them get up to start gathering the fallen pages with you. Several other patrons end up helping as well, so the sheets of paper are gathered and returned into your sticky hands fairly quickly. You thank each person without looking up as they hand you their respective stack. All you want is to get out of here. 

“Here—I’m really sorry about this,” someone says—a tenor-ish male voice, distinctly sympathetic as he holds out a rather larger stack of papers than anyone else had bothered to pick up. 

“I’ll live,” you sigh, straightening up. “But thank… you.”

The man standing in front of you is the kind of man who makes you want to untuck your hair from its usual spot behind your ears, and to stand up straighter, and to try and not stare even though you want his attention. He’s gloriously beautiful in a way that repels and attracts you. He’s the type of man who wouldn’t have given you the time of day in high school and probably wouldn’t now. Instantly you feel both insecure and reduced to a former version of you who would simper and fawn over boys who wanted nothing to do with her. You feel like going to the other side of the café and sitting in the best light and staring out the window poetically and hoping he’s looking at you. 

“On the one hand, I feel bad for being the person who opened the door and let the wind in. On the other… I feel compelled to say at least they’re not covered in coffee like the rest of your table is?”

You laugh vacantly, a second too late, positively coveting the awkward smile on his angular face. Then you make eye contact, and his eyes are so the opposite of angular—they’re huge and inviting and the warmest golden-brown you’ve ever seen, and they’re looking right back at you—and you have to look down. Fuck. You hate when you do that. 

Think of something normal to say!

“Yeah, true. Now I just have to reorder 264 pages. That… that don’t have page numbers.”

You shuffle through the papers. They are hopelessly scrambled. Your heart sinks just a bit.

“Um… I might actually be able to help with that, if you want?”

You frown, glancing up. What kind of sex trafficking ploy is this?

“That’s okay. Might be easier with just one person.”

He laughs—it’s similarly awkward, similarly endearing. 

“Do you mind letting me just… try? It’ll only take a minute.”

Only take a minute? Is this beautiful man deranged? Why are the hot ones always crazy?

But, perhaps because you’re a pushover who can’t stand up to people, much less beautiful people, much less beautiful men who are paying you undue attention, you find yourself giving in. You hold the stack out. 

“Sure. Give it your best shot. I’ll be impressed if you can even figure out what page one is.”

He’s already flipping through the papers with a drawn brow, walking away with them, and barely looking over his shoulder as he mutters, “I have Byron memorized. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

You follow him, because hello, he has all your annotations. He’s definitely insane, you think, as he sits down at a table and starts rapidly sorting the sheets into separate piles. 

All you can do is stand awkwardly behind him as he stacks papers seemingly at random, barely glancing at them before deciding where they go. 

Maybe a minute, maybe a few go by, each of which have you progressively more flabbergasted, before he’s tapping the edges of a stack of paper on the table and standing, handing them to you with his lips pressed into a thin pleasant line. There’s almost a glow about him—like he couldn’t be more in his comfort zone. 

“There you go. Should be in order now.” You sport a frown bordering on a grimace as you take the stack and flip through it a bit. Sure enough, it seems that everything is in order. You keep looking between the man in front of you and the papers, incredulous as you wait for something to be in the wrong spot. 

“How did you do that?” 

His cheeks turn slightly pink. 

“I know Byron really well. I know how each passage ends and begins so I put them together like puzzle pieces.”

“How did you read that fast?”

“Uh. I’m a speed-reader?”

You scoff, taking another look through the stack. 

“I think that may be underselling it.” A thought occurs to you as you’re grazing over one of your longer annotations—full of expletives and strong opinions. “Oh, god. You didn’t… you didn’t read my notes?”

The man’s eyebrows raise as if he was waiting for you to mention that and he smiles like he doesn’t quite know how to break it to you gently. 

“Maybe a few,” he eventually decides, laughing under his breath. “I appreciated the commentary on his relationship with Augusta. It was… colorful.”

Heat rises in your cheeks as you mumble. 

“Yeah, I had a hard time appreciating the romantic poems. They’re less cute when there’s like a fifty percent chance he’s writing about his sister.”

“Half sister,” he corrects. You give him a look. 

“Does that make it better?”

“… no,” he realizes. “Not even a little bit.”

You laugh, relieved that his face looks as warm as yours feels. 

“Well… thank you, for the help,” you say after a silent second. 

“Of course. Sorry, again. I, um—I hope your day gets better?”

“Yeah, well. I feel like statistically it has to, right? It’s kind of a low bar.”

He smiles, a perfect, perfect smile, and gives you a little wave as he leaves. Without coffee. Checking the clock on the wall, you realize it’s approaching one in the afternoon. If he’d been here on his lunch break, he sacrificed it to organize your stupid Byron texts. You smile to yourself. 

He was totally in love with me. 

And he can’t prove me wrong because I’ll probably never see him again. 

All things considered—this coffee shop does seem pretty lucky. Maybe you’ll stick with it for a while. 

The next time you see the mysterious sexy speed reader is four days later—though you’ve been here every day since. He catches your eye right as he walks in, and his brows jump in pleasant recognition. You smile. He smiles back, before going up to the counter and ordering a coffee with a ludicrous amount of sugar in it. 

I should take note for when I make him his coffee in the mornings, you think to yourself, and then you snort at your own delusions, shaking your head at your book. Obviously you’re not that divorced from reality, but you’ll entertain the fantasy forever until one of you stops showing up to this café. 

What you’re absolutely not expecting is for him to walk up to your table with his to-go cup. 

“Hi,” he says. 

“Hi!”

Jesus. Tone it down, girl scout. 

He gestures to your stack of papers: now secured in a three ring binder. The cup says Spencer. 

Spencer. Spencer. 

It feels important. 

“I see you’ve upgraded.”

“Yes! Yes, I did,” you laugh self-consciously, still struggling to meet his eyes. “Thank you for the help the other day. I would still be sorting through all of this if it weren’t for that, so… yeah. Thanks.”

“Of course! I’m glad I could be of use.”

“Spence!” Someone calls from the cafe door. You both look up to see a stunning blonde beckoning him away. 

Ah. Naturally. The girlfriend who is one trillion times prettier than you. 

Spence. 

Reality sets in. 

“Coming!” He replies, with all the eager compliance of a child, before turning back to you. “Um… well… I’ll see you?”

It’s an awkward way to say goodbye to a stranger, but you suddenly don’t care enough to dwell. Instead you nod once, less enthusiastic now that you know he has a 10 waiting for him on the sidewalk. 

“I am a creature of habit.”

Another wave as he walks away. 

The two disappear from the doorway, but the perpetual breeze seems to carry a snatched bit of conversation your way. 

“Who was that?” 

“Uh… I don’t actually know.”

Yeah. Reality definitely sets in. 

Over the next few days, you break your café streak. Life is busy. There’s not always time to artfully ponder Romantic poetry and drink a six dollar coffee while waiting around for certain people to show up. 

Okay, so… maybe it has more to do with him than you’re letting on. But you’re not going to do that thing you do again, where you become limerently obsessed with a man you don’t know and who is way out of your league just because you can’t form an actual attachment to anyone to save your life. Besides, you remind yourself; we probably wouldn’t be compatible anyway. He’s probably a huge loser. Or secretly a douche. Or chews with his mouth open. Obviously nobody that attractive can also have a good personality. 

Not to mention he has a girlfriend. That should put you off, too.

But you hadn’t been lying when you’d proclaimed to be a creature of habit—you return to the café once you feel sufficiently detached from this Spencer character. 

He’s there. Of course he’s there. Why had you been expecting for him to not be there? It’s not like he was a figment of your imagination. 

This time he’s accompanied by a different blonde woman—a bespectacled blonde with a big floral headband and a patterned dress and a red cardigan and tights and heels that look self-injurious. She’s quite eye-catching; you want to keep looking at her, but you seem to draw her attention, too. Her big eyes widen minutely and briefly you wonder if you’re supposed to know her, but certainly you’d remember meeting a person like that. She doesn’t seem easily forgettable. Both of you look to Spencer at the same time, who’s looking between you with an almost panicked expression. 

“Oh! Th—” the woman whispers, cutting herself off when she realizes how loud she’s being in the otherwise silent establishment. “Ah! Okay, right. Never mind.”

 Spencer sighs. You want to laugh, but you’re baffled by the whole thing. So you go back to reading. 

Ten minutes later, they draw your attention once more. 

“Go, go ahead! It’s more problematic for you to be late than me. I’ll be like, thirty seconds tops.”

You don’t look up as Spencer leaves the café—but are you supposed to gather that these two eccentric individuals are coworkers? And what of the first blonde woman, who you’d presumed to be his girlfriend? Where is she?

While you’re wondering all of this, the new blonde teeters her way over to your table. 

“Hi!” She says pleasantly, waving a purple-tipped hand and wearing the biggest grin. 

“Uh… hi?”

“I’m Penelope. You’ve met my friend Spencer. He just left.”

“Oh—sort of,” you smile weakly, closing your book. “Not formally. I didn’t know his name.”

That’s a lie, but maybe feigning non-chalance will make it real. 

“Well, I just wanted to come over and say I love your bag. And your jewelry and your coat. I love your whole look. I bet you’re a really cool person.”

“Um—thank you!” You perk up, smiling genuinely now. The compliment warms you—you didn’t think your look was all that interesting today. “You too. I love your outfit.”

“Great! You’re—you’re great. This is good information. Um… just out of, like, sheer curiosity, could I get your name, age, and occupation? Oh—and your zodiac sign?”

What kind of convoluted sex trafficking ploy—

“Garcia!”

Spencer is at the doorway again, looking adorably miffed. 

Adorable? Get a grip. 

“Wh—I’m just making a new friend! Is friendship illegal, now?”

“This is the kind of friend-making that gets you a restraining order,” he urges. 

You look up at Penelope Garcia, enamored by their whole dynamic. They clearly care for each other, despite the squabbling. What kind of job do they have where they talk to each other like this?

“It’s fine,” you smile, introducing yourself to her.

“That is such a good name!” She says, and you’re getting the sense she’s kind of always this enthusiastic. “So now we know each other’s names—we should probably definitely be friends, right?”

“Yeah! Um, definitely!”

“Yes? Oh my god! I love this! Okay, um—we work at Quantico, so, we’re like, 10 minutes away—but this is better than the coffee shop that’s closest to the building, so we come here all the time. Usually it’s just us and five grouchy old men, which makes this is really exciting.”

“Quantico… that’s the FBI academy, right?”

“Other stuff, too,” she nods, still smiley. 

Oh! Cool. So they’re FBI agents. 

So that’s cool. 

You’re cool with that. 

Her phone starts ringing—she locks eyes with Spencer. 

“Hotch?”

“Ooh, we are in trouble,” Penelope sing-songs, leaning down to write her number on your notebook without asking. Not that you mind, of course. She adds a little heart and a smiley face next to her name before capping your pen and toddling away. “Bye, new friend!” She calls over her shoulder, waving goodbye with just her fingers. 

“Bye,” you manage, though it’s probably too quiet. 

Spencer flattens his mouth into an approximation of a smile and waves again. 

You accidentally find yourself mirroring his goodbye, facial expression and all. Fuck. You hope he doesn’t notice. You hope he doesn’t read into it. 

Nah. Boys are dumb. 

You text Penelope later that afternoon—a simple greeting so that she can save your number—and then you forget about it. 

It’s not until five days go by without sign of any of them—the two blondes, Spencer, this mysterious and foreboding Hotch figure—that you start to seriously question your sanity. Did they drop off the face of the planet, or what?

But of course, just as you’re sitting at your usual table, Spencer walks in. Alone. 

He sees you immediately, but instead of the wave you’d come to expect, he immediately flushes, looks down at his shoes and hurries into the small lunch-rush line. 

Weird.

You corner him at the coffee bar, where he’s adding more sugar to his coffee. How are his teeth so nice if he does this to himself every single day?

“Hey,” you say, affecting casual confidence as you bus your empty mug. “… Spencer, right?”

It’s comical how you’re pretending you haven’t turned that name over and looked at it from every angle hundreds of times since the first time you heard it. 

He nods, only glancing up at you as he stirs. To your surprise, he knows your name, too. When you give him an odd look, he smiles almost apologetically, finally looking at your face for longer than half a second. 

“I heard you introducing yourself to Penelope. Sorry if that’s…”

“No, no! Is she around, today? I texted her last week, but she never responded...”

“Today is operating system update day, so I don’t even really have a way of knowing if she’s alive in her office.” It’s funny to him, but you just smile, baffled. He notices your silence and catches on, scrambling to explain himself. “She’s our tech analyst. There are 243 computers in our building and she has to update them all remotely, which requires getting every agent to agree to not touch their computer at the same time for an hour or so.”

“Oh… does the FBI not have, like… an IT guy, or something?”

He laughs again—the way his eyes crinkle when he does it makes you a little breathless. 

“You should say that to her. I think you would become her favorite person.”

It’s hard not to smile when he’s smiling because of you—however indirectly that may be. Quickly you realize you’ve both been standing in front of the coffee bar for too long. 

“Alright, well… tell her good luck, for me?”

“I would, but I’ve been kicked out for an hour while she does the updates.”

Your brow furrows and you laugh. 

“From the whole building? You just can’t keep your hands off your computer for an hour?”

“Not if I want to do my job, no. And I am kind of obsessive about my job. I’ve been the reason she had to start the whole process over again before and I’d rather not be that person again.”

You say it before you can think too hard. 

“Well, if you have an hour to kill… there’s an open seat at my table? No pressure, obviously.”

And that was the first of thousands of hours you would come to spend with Spencer Reid. 

After that, it sort of becomes a regular thing. He comes almost every day—except for occasional week or so long stretches, which you have discovered are a part of his absolutely fucking insane job—and sits with you, sometimes with Penelope, once with the other blonde, JJ, who you’ve since deduced is not his girlfriend, most often alone. Usually he can’t spare more than ten minutes, but he begins pushing it, little by little, until thirty minutes go by and you think surely his boss (the great and all-powerful Hotchner) must be beginning to notice. 

One day, during your usual lunchtime rendezvous, his phone rings. He talks right on through it, like it’s not happening.

It ceases. And then it starts again. 

Your head drops to your shoulder, something like pity or regret softening your features. He catches your eye and melts slightly, mid-sentence—like he knows you’re about to tell him to be responsible. 

“Do you think you should…”

His hands drop from where they’d been enthusiastically positioned mid-air. 

“They’ll be fine if I’m late from lunch one time. I’m usually more punctual than any of them.”

You roll your lip between your teeth—it’s not that you want to tell him to go; in fact, those delusions you’ve been harboring about your future life together are only getting worse with each inexplicable minute he entertains your company. 

But his job is important. 

“What if you have a case?”

“Then I would have gotten more calls from more people by now.”

Your head tips back as you laugh lightly at his unwavering insistence.   

“I’m flattered that you so enjoy my company that much. But I can’t with good conscience keep taking up your work hours like this.”

As the laughter fades, he just… watches you, lips slightly parted, eyes intense but not entirely present. 

“You’re probably right,” he finally breathes. “Maybe… you should start taking up my other hours, instead?”

Spencer Reid, you unexpected charmer. 

You balk.

“Like… we would hang out? At a different time of day? Not here?”

“Those are the basic premises, yes,” he chuckles, nodding affably. “I’ve never actually seen you anywhere else. For all I know you could be a ghost eternally tethered to this building.”

“Where would this hanging out take place?”

Fuck, you’re totally being weird. His brow knits. 

“I don’t know. Where else do people hang out?”

He’s not genuinely asking you, he’s gently turning you in the right direction. You charge forward blindly. 

“Restaurants.”

There’s that pretty smile of his again, the one that makes all the thoughts drain from your head like cold bathwater. Though, there’s a sort of mischievous edge to it now that you haven't seen before.

“That’s certainly an option. If I asked you to hang out with me at a restaurant... would you say yes?”

You look down. God, your face feels warm. 

“Would you be asking me out on a date? In this hypothetical scenario that we’ve constructed, I mean.”

Spencer seems to think about it for a moment, which fills you with unexpected panic. When you look back up anxiously, he has the same smile on his face, but his eyes are a little softer now. 

“I would.” 

More panic sets in—just a bit. But you don’t let what is undoubtedly a tidal wave of anxiety break through the emotional guard-dam. Keep it together. This is a good thing. This is what you wanted. 

Unfortunately, you are perhaps more transparent than you’d realized. Spencer begins to look slightly worried, leaning forward in his chair. 

“You don’t have to say yes. I know we don’t know each other very well, I just—”

“No!” You find yourself assuring him, though you curse yourself because you kind of want to know what he was going to say. “I would say yes. I’ve just, um—god,” you laugh gustily, self-consciously. “Sorry I’m being so weird. I’m out of my depth. Nobody’s asked me on a date before. I don’t really know the etiquette.”

Spencer chuckles. 

“You’re doing great. Don’t worry about it.”

Not, what?

Not, you’ve never been on a date before?

Not, that’s crazy, or that’s weird, or how have you gone your whole life without being asked out?

With the implication being, you’re odd. Different. Maybe not in a good way. 

He says none of that. 

“But I should probably actually ask you, huh?” His cheeks turn pink as his laughter is redirected inwards. 

“Sounds like a good first step.”

Spencer is still smiling as he says your name and it sounds so good from his mouth. It makes you sound so real. 

“Will you go on a date with me?”

Butterflies in your stomach doesn't begin to brush what you're experiencing—your entire abdominal cavity is like a Monarch sanctuary.

“I’d love to.”

He seems genuinely relieved as he beams, slumping back in his chair. 

“Oh, thank god. I was so nervous you’d say no. I never do that. Thank you for not saying no. Not that you couldn’t have said no—it would have been completely fine and obviously within your rights to—”

His phone rings again. Both of you are relieved that he was interrupted—but admittedly you thought his rambling was super cute. 

“I should—”

“You definitely need to go.”

“Yeah,” he agrees with a still-breathless smile. “Um—what’s your number?”

You look around fruitlessly for pen and paper. 

“I don’t—”

“Just tell me. I’ll remember.”

He’s so weird. 

A breeze hits your skin as he opens the door. You’re already writing your wedding vows in the back of your mind as you watch him go. 

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic

[seraphicsentences]

hlllo can you pleas do football!ellie ina rush and really needing her sport shirt that reader is wearing, but since reader is so unbothered to change she takes it off right there n it gets ellie thinking if she should even go!!!!!! maybe a little smutty smut ‼️‼️inluv with yur writinggg

hi baby yes i can thank you for the request sweet girl. sorry this took a little while i appreciate your patience. also yes i know i said i was going on a break yesterday and then proceeded to bang out this entire thing, my bipolar ass got bored. enjoy! <3

“BABE?”

“BAAAABE?” ellie calls louder as you hear her stumbling through your shared apartment, clearly in a rush.

“babe, have you seen my-oh there it is,” she swings into the room abruptly, stopping in her tracks when she sees her much needed football jersey, adorned by yours truly.

“hey els, what’s up?” you ask, propping yourself up on the bed, and shooting her a look so sickly sweet, savage starlight comic in hand.

ellie’s existence can be found in all aspects of you at the moment, from the clothes you’ve “borrowed” and your choice of fine literature, to the purpled bruises littering your jaw and collarbone.

ellie can’t help but let her buzzing pre-game thoughts slow at the sight of you, and fester around thinking mine, mine, mine.

“hey pretty girl, i just really need my jersey for practice. do you mind changing, pretty please? i’m late,” she says softly, leaning over the mattress to press a warm kiss against your forehead.

“aw, fine, i’ll just wear nothing then,” you joke, reaching over your head to pull off the top in one swift move, revealing your bare chest with marks to match your neck.

you watch knowingly as ellie quite literally shutters: caught up in the sight of what’s literally a physical manifestation of the guilty pleasure that is her possessiveness.

—and you revel in the power trip that this is. because how is it that mere nakedness, something that’s more you than anything else you could put on your skin, is enough to make ellie fucking williams crumble.

and so all you do is smirk when, without sparing even a glance away, ellie tosses the held-out jersey lazily over one shoulder and leans in to indulge herself with another kiss; this time a proper, messy one on your parted lips.

“on second thought,” she says, in between breaths, before diving down to swirl her tongue around your hardened nipples, greedily sucking and licking at them like your own fucking baby.

you’re nothing but powerless to her hypnotic ministrations, as much of a fool for her as she is for you, letting low moans out freely from the back of your throat.

moving back up to kiss you like she wants to consume your sounds, the aggressiveness of ellie’s actions leave you nowhere to go but fall backwards onto the bed, chest pressing up to brush your pointed nipples lush against ellie’s chest.

“fuck, baby,” she rasps into your mouth, slipping her hand between the two of you to knead at your breast, calloused fingers thumbing over your nipples. she watches in awe as you shudder at the sensation, hooded eyes begging for more.

“fuckin’ tease,” she mumbles with a smile, mouthing over her previously left bruises with a hot, flat-tongued lick. feeling the vibrations on your throat as you laugh at her, she gently nips at your skin, letting out a laugh of her own as she feigns annoyance.

“shut up,” she chuckles, suffocating your laughs with the press of her mouth, continuing to make out with you in the delicious way that it is to make out with her.

ellie pries a knee between your squeezed thighs, nudging it upwards in such kind offerance to your burning heat— to which you take, hips immediately grinding up in desperation.

but just as quickly as it was given to you is it taken away.

ellie sits up with a jolt, mussing with your hair as she replaces her shirt with the jersey hurriedly. she stumbles towards the door with a guilty look in her eyes, pausing only to ramble, “coach is gonna kill me, sorry babe. that’s what you get for being such a tease! i’ll make it up to you, you fuckin’ minx. i love you!" before sprinting out the door, shoelaces undone.

you lay there, frozen and topless with your panties soaked, and you curse ellie out, that little bitch.

#wlw #lesbian #tlou #tlou2 #ellie williams #the last of us #abby anderson #smut #ellie tlou #ellie williams smut #seraphicsentences interacting w her girls #reader x ellie williams #mean reader #ellie williams x reader #reqs open #request #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie smut #ellie x reader #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie x fem reader #lesbian ellie williams #ellie williams the fucking tease #teasing #mean ellie williams #football ellie williams #sporty!ellie williams

[kika-writes]

the right way to do it - l.n

Warnings: Fluff, Lando gets a little heated!

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader

Summary: Y/N helps Lando to p1 in china!

Mentions: @papayadays 😍😍😍

“Y/N, I can’t fucking do shit on this tyre!” Lando cried through the radio as you groaned. He’d been struggling the entire weekend with the hards, and he was less than a second away from Max. “Pit on the next lap for mediums,” his engineer said, making you shake your head. “Listen to me, Lando,” you took the radio from your co-worker, “Max is yet to pit, if you pit now, you’ll undercut him,”. Lando returned a small ‘alright’ to you as the pit team rushed out, elegantly stopping him and letting him out again - 27 seconds behind Max.

“Max is pitting, Lando,” you said, looking as the Red Bull swerved in. They held him for a second longer, yes. “You’re leading the race by 7.2 seconds, Lando,” you grinned as he cheered. “You have 10 laps to hold him off, can you do that for me?” you asked, mindlessly looking through the weather data. “For you? I’d do anything,” he said, you could hear the smirking tone in his voice. Your cheeks filled with red, the fans no doubt going crazy about the message.

“Four more laps, Lando, he’s 7 seconds behind,” you said, looking at the screen. “Y/N? Is he gonna get me?” you could hear the panic in Lando’s voice, but you firmly replied, “At the pace he’s going? Not a chance, papaya boy,”. He chuckled lightly into the radio, his lap times consistently hitting purples. “One more lap, you got this,” you said, smiling radiantly. You were the one who guided Lando to his first win. Wow.

“Yeah baby, P1!” he cried into the radio, his voice full of happiness and joy. “Y/N flipping Y/L/N, you angel sent from goddamn heaven,” he said, addressing you as you burst out laughing. “You better be the one to get the constructors trophy, you amazing person,” he beamed, standing out the car and signalling his win to the fans. “You must, Y/N,” Andrea said, standing behind you as you flushed. “Okay,” you nodded, running down with the team, just outside the cooldown room as you waited for your team to be called.

“And the winner of the race, Lando Norris, with his race engineer who led him to victory, Y/N Y/L/N,” Crofty cried as you walked out, Lando behind you. “Y/N,” Lando said, his hands jumping to your waist as you shrieked. “Lando!” you hissed, brushing his hands off as you stood on your step. The anthems played as you tried your best to ignore Lando grinning stupidly at you. The trophies were handed out, and finally the champagne.

Max and Oscar immediately started spraying you and each other, making you cry out, jumping behind Lando, your hand’s on his shoulders. He chuckled, his hand meeting yours as he picked up your bottle as well, slamming both on the ground and spraying both drivers. “God,” he muttered, turning around to you and hugging you, “you’re and angel, you are,”.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #lando x reader #f1 #lando Norris fluff

[salsasvault]

okay i know for a fact you have drafts your hiding something for us pretty please 🙏🏼

okay fine was debating posting this but

Babysitting

“Shh shh, okay, okay honey I got you.” You sway side to side rocking an almost 5-month-old in your arms. Trying to soothe her proved to be a harder task than you anticipated.

Your sister recently had a baby, and with the recovery and almost no alone time with her husband she all but begged for you to babysit.

You were somewhat reluctant, but with Simon on leave, and a soft spot for your niece, you thought it wouldn’t hurt to take care of her for a couple nights.

So here you were, at four in the morning, a lightly fussing baby in your arms as you heat a bottle in the kitchen. The city surrounding you provides just enough light to illuminate your apartment.

The gentle hum of the microwave proved to help both of you.

Busy with your task you didn’t hear the sound of the door clicking open, or the footsteps that followed.

All Simon saw upon entering was the sight of you with a tiny baby in your arms.

His heart stopped in his chest, he’d only been gone 3 months, sure longer than normal but not long enough to produce-this.

Flabbergasted he did the math, retried it, and thought of every possibility but it all came to a grinding halt at the sound of your voice cooing to an almost smaller version of you.

You looked so perfect, rocking her just right, grabbing the bottle, testing the warmth, so incredibly attentive to her needs.

With you busy it seemed the baby had noticed him.

Wide eyes, the same color as yours looking back at him. Her fussing stopped for a second, entirely enamored with the strange man standing almost in the shadows.

The lack of babbling or crying caught your attention, turning your head toward whatever had encapsulated her-

“Simon! You didn’t tell me you’d be home early.”

Setting the bottle down, baby still in your arms, you made your way over, half hugging him.

It took him a second before he was wrapping his alarms around you and the 5-month-old.

“Didn’t know myself-who…who’s this lovie?” Thumb going to touch her cheek, you turn, looking at him, realization coming to you.

“My sister Si, remember she had a baby a few months ago, this is her.” Your voice slightly goes up in pitch toward the end, directed toward the baby.

“Gave me a scare.” The baby grappled onto his finger.

“I bet.” You snort in laughter.

“Strong grip on this one.” He laughed lightly.

“Oh yeah, you're a strong girl aren’t you.” You redirect your attention, and Simon can’t help but stare.

“Yeah, you are.” You kiss her face and look back toward him. “You like Uncle Simon don’t you, yeah you do look at that smile.”

His heart warmed, he hadn’t been referred to as uncle in a long time. He couldn’t help but think, think about what this would be like. 

He’d never given it much thought, always assumed he’d be a shit father, but the way you were so in your element.

He’d give everything to see you happy, and your niece already resembled so much of you, what would your baby look like? A baby made from the two of you.

His mouth opened before his rational could catch up.

“You want one o’ these?” He almost facepalms right there.

“One of these?” You immediately burst into laughter.

“You know what I mean.”

“I know.” You look back down at the baby in your arms and smile wide.

“I-“ You pause, “I think so.” It sounds unsure, and as you hold her in your arms you can’t help but warm to the idea more.

“You know what, I think I want one of these.” You beam up at him.

“Then let’s go make one of these ‘eh.” 

“Simon! Not in front of the baby!” You jokingly cover her ears, both of you retreating toward the kitchen.

“Wha’ s’not like she knows what I mean.” You smack him, just for good measure, and your niece laughs in response.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #ghost cod #cod x reader #call of duty x reader #fluff #simon riley fluff #selias drables #selias asks

[goldustwomun]

bite the hand (e.m.)

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x girlfriend!reader

summary: things come crashing down around you when you watch eddie from the sidelines of the stage. you know you shouldn't leave but you beg eddie for forgiveness anyway.

warnings: (unedited) more angst folks i think i'm going through something, established relationship, swearing, tears crying sobbing (for eddie but you too babes x), i use face and features too many times but we move

wc: 2.0k+

note: short and (not so?) sweet :) :( i'm really struggling to sustain my writing for very long but oh well xoxo

Here’s the best part distilled for you But you want what I can’t give to you Your hands are gravity while my hands are tied

He should’ve known it’d get to you eventually. The screams and cries of thousands for him and only him, because as much as he stood, awestruck, by the talent of the others, it was always his name the crowd went hysterical for: Eddie. Eddie. Eddie. They’d chant and sway and go all but rabid when his black mop of hair would peak from around the stage, teasing in that very ‘Eddie’ way that you were all too familiar with when he’d feel a little more playful in bed. His mischievous eyes and quirked lips, tattooed skin and leather-clad thighs. He was the embodiment of a devilish smile, dripping, oozing, even, with sex appeal and charisma.

But it wasn’t just you, now, who noticed those things about him. The two of you weren’t perched on a bench outside of Wayne’s trailer anymore, smirking into the other’s mouth after a particularly strong joint he had rolled from his stash, legs resting on top of him as you were all but sat in his lap. Neither were you the sole body in the crowd of the Hideout, the only one out of the tens of patrons to be hanging onto every rasp of Eddie’s voice, every strum of his long fingers against the guitar.

It wasn’t just you, now, who noticed those things about him, and you knew because of the hundreds of letters he got, every other week on mail day, from adoring fans and sycophants and a few stalkers. You knew because of the way the crowd stretched so far into the distance that you couldn’t see where it ended, the countless bodies moving like a singular mass of pure, unaltered adoration for the man who assured you it’s you, it’s only ever going to be you.

“Penny for your thoughts?” And his voice broke you from the road you were beginning to travel down. You tried your best to force the smile on your lips, and really, you think he knew you were faking it but the giddy energy from the show he was soon going to be playing had already begun to fizzle through his bones and so he ignored it. He took it, instead, for something genuine despite the way it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Only a penny, Munson?” you scoffed at an attempt of playfulness. “I know for a fact you could offer me a lot more than a penny.” He laughed and your belly dipped, even all these years later, when he pressed his lips to your cheek. Eddie Munson might have been a kind of lust personified but he was also the sweetest human being you’d ever known.

“Ah, you’re right. My girl deserves much, much more,” and his lips began their slow descent from your face to the crook of your neck, fixated on that one spot that would have you shivering in mere seconds. He stopped for a moment; face still buried into your flushed skin— “Two pennies then?”

You groaned – “Eddie” -- at his pitiful attempts of humour (but really you loved it), shoving him away even if you didn’t really mean it.

“I’m only kidding, sweets, I’m only kidding!” he cooed at you, soothing your pout until it melted into that smile of yours that he loved to be the cause of as his fingers traced meaningless patterns into the exposed skin at your hip. “Forgive me?” he begged, his turn to pout now.

And it was comical, really, the way you gave into him, whatever doubts you had crumbling at the very feel of him against you, his words forcing whatever walls you were beginning to build-up only moments before to crumble into nothing at your interlaced feet.

“Always, Eddie,” you promised, voice leaving you at barely a whisper. And when you continued, heart thrumming as you waited for his answer, your words wavered: “Do you forgive me, too?”

He watched, confused, as the question left your lips, head tilted like a puppy unsure of his surroundings. “What would I ever need to forgive you for?” he asked, soft.

“Just—do you? Would you? Forgive me?”

He stared into your eyes, a penetrating gaze, begging you for an answer and explanation for your behaviour, but when you remained quiet he acquiesced. “Like you said, sweetheart: always.”

You nodded, that same, tight smile appearing on your features. The sound of a knock on his dressing room door pulled the both of you out of whatever daze hung, limp, in the air, and Eddie moved past you to answer.

“Five minutes to go, Eddie. Need to get you mic-ed up.” You couldn’t hear his answer (probably something along the lines of ‘Be right there’) over the roaring in your ears. The door clicked close again as a warm hand traveled to your waist, turning you in-place. Eddie’s hand moved to cradle your face in his palms, touch cautious like he always was when it was just the two of you. Like you were splintered glass, on the verge of breaking.

“Going to come watch outside, yeah?” And how could you say no to him and his big, brown eyes. So you nodded, followed him through the corridor leading towards stage left. People rushed around, gathering wires, plugging amps and checking cables with the kind of frenzy you’d never get used to despite having been there for almost all his shows.

Gareth, Jeff and Doug were already huddled in a corner, cheeks split into nervous grins. They waved Eddie over who gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before joining them, face dipping as someone came in to swipe some powder over his face.

You don’t remember what happened after that because the next thing you knew, the band was rushing onto the stage, the arena blacked-out, and the moments the light switched on, a deafening roar erupted from the crowd, bright lights carving out their bodies from the darkness. You edged closer to the stage, only just visible from behind a curtain, when the crowd came into view.

And you hated it, the way your gut twisted, mind reeled. You know if you had just said something, anything, to Eddie when it had begun, weeks ago on the first night of the tour. Someone had slipped a note into your back pocket as you and Eddie pushed through a crowd, security walling you in. But you had felt it, and you just knew what it was going to say.

It wasn’t the first and it wasn’t the last, but you had to applaud its author for the precision with which their words sliced at your very core, holding a mirror up to every insecurity you had ever had (and more you hadn’t even considered) until your hands were shaking, fierce.

When you stared out into the crowd, when your gaze connected with someone right in the front, and a look of disgust overtook them, you felt that lest tether inside of you snap free. The air knocked from your lungs, that same cold feeling of fear dripping down your back.

Eddie must have seen it, he was watching you the entire time, having tuned into your every move since the two of you had left his dressing room. He knew you were acting odd, skittish, like a petrified cat getting ready to flee. So when you retreated, he motioned to Jeff to keep the crowd busy before running off on in search of you.

He called after you, having bulked up enough since high school to catch up with you with ease. When you moved faster at the sound of his voice, he did too, finding you pacing in the haven of his dressing room. He shut the door, locking it, before approaching you, slow, cautious, like the floor was uneven and you on a precipice.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” he asked, unsure.

You weren’t facing him so when your shoulders began to shake, he wasn’t sure if you were crying or laughing. But when you turned, face splotchy and chest heaving, he rushed forward, gathering you in his arms.

“What is it, my sweet girl. What’s wrong?” he murmured into the top of your head, holding you tight so that the pressure of his embrace might calm you down enough to talk, to explain or clarify or at least quell the rapid thrum of his worried heartbeat.

“I can’t Eddie, I just—” you hiccupped, voice muffled by the sound of his t-shirt— “I can’t do it.”

“It’s alright, love, just try, yeah? Just—whatever comes to mind—”

“No—You don’t get it—” and you pulled away, the distance between the two of you growing with every moment in more ways than one. “I can’t do this. This thing—” you motioned between you, and he froze.

“You can’t do what?” his voice hardening, on the offensive, and his face contorted to prepare him for the worst.

“Eddie. It’s too much. It’s been too much for so long and I know I should’ve—” a sob ripped from your chest and all he wanted to do was reach for you, his body yearned for it, but he knew better. “—I should’ve said something ages ago. Not let it go so far but it’s too late and you can blame me for—”

“—for what! Us? This? Is that all we are? Some vague abstract of now? Just come out and say it.” he was exploding, erupting, Vesuvius and Pompeii. “Go on. Say it.”

And it was your turn to yell and shout and hurl until your lungs seized. “It’s killing me, Eddie! I feel like I’m fucking dying here. I can’t compete with them, not anymore. I’m exhausted and I feel—I feel fucking heavy.” You were panting from the force of your words, the weight they carried, and you had been carrying.

“There’s no competition, sweetheart. There will never be a competition,” he pleaded, stumbling a step closer but you pushed back.

“I know you feel that way, Eds. I know you do—” his heart squeezed at the nickname. “—I know this is irrational in so many ways. It shouldn’t matter that your fans fucking despise me,” and he flinched at the crudeness of your words. “But there’s one of me and millions—holy shit, there’s millions of them, Eddie. They’re suffocating me and I just—I want to breathe, again. I need to breathe.”

The walls were crashing and crumbling and nothing he said would help to rebuild them, not this time. And he must have sensed it because it was like the air was knocked out of his lungs, too, and he fell to his knees in front of you, clinging to you like maybe if he held on tight enough, he could stop you from leaving.

“Please. My love. My sweet girl. You’re it. You’re always it,” and it must have hit him, what you had meant earlier, because he couldn’t stop rambling, stop repeating: “I forgive you. I forgive you, always, my love. It doesn’t matter what you do, you’re mine and I forgive you.”

Your heart cracked open then, your hand cradling his tear-soaked face to where he was burrowing himself into the pillow of your stomach. You couldn’t bear it anymore, to hear him, see him, touch him, whilst you cut away the pieces of your love. You brushed the hair from his forehead, your own tears falling on him and he cursed himself for making you cry.

You still don’t know if what you did was from a place of strength or weakness, if the way you went about it, with thousands still waiting for him mere feet away, was cruel or kind. But you needed to do it, or at least, that’s what you kept repeating to yourself in your head.

That and Eddie, Eddie, Eddie -- your mind chanted.

You were the only audience he ever needed. If only you knew.

As always, reblog + comment if you enjoyed this or want more! Requests are opennnnn :D

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #bite the hand #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n

[starseungs]

take a shot. ksm. (teaser)

kim seungmin x fem!reader — it really shouldn't take a genius to figure out that you and your co-star didn't get along. you knew kim seungmin. you knew how life functioned despite the cameras. and you knew that it was harder to keep a good shot hidden than it was to delete a bad one.

genre/s — drama, angst, fluff, a sprinkle of comedy, actors au, rivals to lovers • teaser: 1.2k words (actual fic: around 10k or more)

warning/s — profanity, main characters aren't on the best terms, implied death taken lightly, more warnings will be added on actual release if necessary.

note — enjoy the product of me and @starlostseungmin's active imagination over chanel seungmin.... how does one look THAT good? 😖💘 : taglist is open!

2024 ⓒ starseungs on tumblr. do not steal, repost, or edit.

“I’m sorry, what?”

The car remained silent despite your words of confusion. You felt as though your world had come to an extreme halt, giving you a whiplash as the buzz of the road outside continued to pierce through your ears. There was nothing else to keep your mind away from the absolute bomb of news that was just given to you; your manager had turned it down before uttering the horrid sentence that brought your untimely demise.

The car may have kept on with its task of moving forward—but you were stuck frozen in place.

“You’re joking.”

Your world fell on seemingly deaf ears. The man up front, steering the wheel, rendered himself mute to your growing distress, finding the busy traffic of city life interesting enough to keep his eyes glued. But the urban chaos didn’t distract you one bit from brewing a storm of gunpowder inside your throat.

And just like that, a ghost of a click was heard.

“No—please tell me you’re joking,” you voiced out, tone betraying your attempts at keeping things respectful. It soon came to your attention that the effort was of no use, as your manager still chose to keep his peace. “Changbin!”

The car swiveled a bit off-lane for a second before returning to its correct course. Normally, such an abrupt action by a vehicle would concern you, as you would argue that you were still much too young to suffer at the hands of a road accident, but no such thoughts even made their way into your brain. Just like how time had stopped for you, there was no time for debating over survival either. One life or death situation was already enough for you.

You wanted answers, and you were going to get them.

Changbin exhaled audibly from the scare he just put both of you through. His hands shook with a slight tremor, and that was all it took for him to decide that pulling over to the nearest parking area was for the best.

“Don’t yell in the car like that!” You scoffed at his scolding, finding the whole situation ironic.

“Oh, so you can do it all the time, but I can’t?” You shot back. Changbin sighed tiredly, finally registering the extent of your agitation. "Plus, I have a perfectly good reason why I’m yelling!”

“Listen, Y/N, it’s really not that bad—”

“Yes, it is that bad!” The words spill out of your mouth in utter disbelief at his attempts at assurance. “I’m working with Kim Seungmin, of all people!”

“And that’s why it’d be fine!” Changbin argued, running a hand through his already tousled hair. You blinked at his reply, baffled by the sheer implication.

“—How?”

Changbin clicked his tongue at the question, finding it hard to digest just why you were so against working with the mentioned actor. With the mere sound of that actor’s name spat out of your mouth, one would think that he had somehow managed to offend your entire bloodline. But that kind of bitterness could only be achieved through a sour history, so you really couldn’t empathize with your manager’s mindset either.

Even you knew that this movie would be enormously successful from the director alone. Director Han Jisung’s influence and presence in the industry were not a laughing matter—in fact, you should already be trembling in anxiety just knowing that you snagged probably the biggest role you’d ever get in your whole career. He was only around the same age as you, but the winding list of his achievements was already one for the records. And yet, here you were rethinking your contract with him even before the project started.

Just because of who you were going to be acting alongside with.

“Seungmin is a nice person,” Changbin explained gently, like he was coaxing a child, intentionally ignoring the way your face scrunched up at what he said. “I did my research, ok? Everyone only has high praises for him, both on and off set. Isn’t that enough to be trusted?”

You bit your tongue to stop yourself from digging a deeper hole to lie in. The answer was no—it wasn’t enough to be trusted. Now, at this point, someone would’ve had half the mind to ask why you were so sure about your vendetta against the man. If a person was so well loved in a world where cameras were pointed at them in every waking minute, then shouldn’t all the dirt be found by now, if there was any?

To that, your answer would be yet another no.

Because you knew Kim Seungmin. You knew how life functioned despite the cameras. And you knew that it was harder to keep a good shot hidden than it was to delete a bad one.

“Turn the car around.”

Changbin’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets at your demand. Surely, he had heard you now. You crossed your arms and leaned back to rest comfortably on the carseat, turning your head to face the window and glare at the world outside, continuing on with their lives like a well-followed routine.

“Y/N, this is a big opportunity—”

“I said, turn the car around. I’m not attending this cursed table reading,” you pinched the bridge of your nose to keep the incoming migraine at bay.

“You really think I’ll willingly step into a room with the devil’s incarnate? I’d rather get shot—”

“—sensing a great shot!”

Director Han Jisung nodded positively at your performance, satisfied with your initial portrayal of the female lead.

“If we keep going like this, then I’m expecting this project to be a big hit. The casting team really did their pay’s worth on this one,” the young director hummed. “Especially you, Actor Kim Seungmin. I don’t know how they managed to get through your company's walls, but I’m glad they did. You’re perfect for the role!”

You felt your eye twitch as the figure bearing the name appeared within your vision. His mouth curled up into an arrogant smirk, hastily covered up by a bashful smile. You cringed at his actions that only you seemed to see. Why was this prick acting all humble?

“Ah, I always wanted to act in one of your films, Director Han. This is more of an amazing opportunity for me than you, honestly.”

That smoothed honey voice wrapped itself around the room’s premise, charming everyone around like it was coming from an alluring siren. All except you.

Your mouth filled with a coating of spite as his next sentence echoed through your ears. His eyes locked you in as a target, a wordless challenge shooting straight at your own.

“Plus, seeing who my co-star is, I’m quite thrilled to see the end product,” Seungmin grinned with a manic glint.

Fuck. You should’ve turned that damned car around yourself.

mastertag 🔖— send in an ask if you want to be added ! 🫶

@fairyki @hysgf @euncsace @comet-falls @starlostseungmin @ameliesaysshoo @hyunverse @djeniryuu @lixxpix

#starseungs-basement #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz #skz x reader #stray kids #stray kids x reader #kim seungmin imagines #seungmin imagines #kim seungmin #seungmin #kim seungmin x reader #seungmin x reader #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #kim seungmin fanfic #seungmin fanfic #skz angst #stray kids angst #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #seungmin angst #seungmin fluff #stray kids fanfiction #seungmin fanfiction #skz fanfiction

[bkglovergirl]

♡𓂃Oversized teddy bear?

Bakugou X Reader

𓏲Things start getting into motion after Bakugou set some ground rules for him to be your husband. Now, Bakugou doesn't retaliate against you in the dorm, but what happens when the couple has to train and battle together? Will Bakugou slowly start breaking down his rules? And you are under mental stress on why Bakugou is acting so weird.

Word count; 3.3k

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃

You groan, stretching. It’s so bright, and this has to be one of the worst nights you've had in ages. You turn and face the TV, forgetting you passed out watching movies. “Why the hell are you out here?”

“Not too loud..” you sit up yawning.

“I wasn't even loud!” you winch giving him a death stare. He’s in the kitchen washing the dishes and he has.. an apron on? You can’t help but stare because he in fact doesn't have a fucking shirt on!

“No fucking way.”

“What!?”

“Are you wearing a fucking apron?!” You laugh at him which seems to be a pattern now.

“HEY I WAS JUST TRYING TO BE NICE AND DO THE DISHES FOR YOU!” The scoreboard goes up a point 

“You just keep surprising me with how much of a big dork you are!” Bakugou quickly wipes off his hands and makes his way to you. You try catching your breath but seeing him in full view makes you laugh even more. He makes a low growl and pushes you down onto the couch, moving himself to sit on you. Not putting so much pressure as his weight would clear your windpipes but enough to make you trap. You stop laughing admittedly and stare right up at him, going quickly from finding everything hilarious a second to go, to now being turned on. “What are you doing dipshit! YOU ARE HEAVY!”

“It made you stop laughing at me, and frankly, I’m getting tired of it being a daily occurrence!”

“It's not my fault; your face is very funny!” Bakugou moves down a bit so that your faces are face to face, giving you a glare, and your face gets hot quickly. You chose to rationalize it that the heat is coming from him and not because you are blushing.

“Is my face funny now?” 

“As a matter of fact, it is.” You quickly glance over his body and look back at his face. You look like a full-on house husband.” Now it’s Bakugou’s turn to blush, and you decide to use this to your advantage. You put your arms around his neck. “Aww, does someone want a reward for doing the dishes?” The scoreboard shows four now.

“No. what your husband wants is for you to stop laughing at him!”

“I think we can achieve that ONLY if you do the dishes all the time.” You smile, “with the same outfit you are wearing now.”

“I thought you said I was a stingy bitch for having rules.” you move one of your hands to trace down his apron.

“Oh you still are.” and you push him off you. Bakugou blushing caught off guard mess falls on his ass and you quickly run to your room and slam the door before he could do anything else. You take a deep breath falling onto your bed, the heat on your face is overwhelming and you curl into a ball.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃

An hour passes and you step back into the living room after changing into fresh school clothes. “I’m going out early for a workout,” Bakugou says putting on his shoes. You quickly grab his training bag and hand it to him. “Ok, you don’t want breakfast?” you're kinda happy he’s leaving and acting like nothing is happening. 

“No it’s fine.” he grabs his bag and gives you a kiss on the cheek before walking out notably quickly. You blush hearing the score go up another point marking you guys at having five. Maybe things didn't go back to normal.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃

You and Midoriya are sitting in the common room, he is sitting extremely close to you as you said you wanted this to be top secret as you put it. “Do you remember how Bakugou gruesomely rejected me in middle school?”

“Yeah and you had sworn to me he was your number one enemy.”

“Well.. you know how he’s my Husband..” Midoriya nods, “He uh... Kissed me on the cheek this morning..”

“WHAT?” It looks like his eyes are about to pop out of his head, “Our Kachan?”

“Don’t call him ours!” You hit his arm, and with an ouch, he held your hand down. Being both your self-proclaimed best friend, he’s had to watch this fake rivalry, and in his words, it’s been physically painful on him. As you both, without knowing, take your tension out on him, he has no complaints. This way, though, he knows more than both of you combined. 

“What caused him to do that?” he lets go of your hand and you put your shoulder on his head.

“Shoto gave me this idea-”

“Shoto?”

“ANWAY! Shoto gave me this idea because Bakugou wanted nothing to do with this whole situation. It was to make this as competitive as possible. I threw you in there, and BAM! He’s in with a few rules, of course. He seemed not interested at all. I was doing things to get us points, and he just went along with it, with the most effort he could put in. I didn't do anything! He just did it.” He hums in agreement and lets you know he's listening and he starts braiding a strip of your hair. Just like when you were kids he lets you rant while he plays with your hair, it makes him think better when trying to come up with solutions for your problems. “He rejected me. I know I asked him just to take this a little bit seriously but that!? What does that mean? You're a boy what does that mean?!”

“What it means in simple boy logic is he likes you.”

“Simple boy logic?! He’s not a simple boy! He’s Bakugou!” He laughs at you.

“True. But Katchan wouldn't just do that.”

 “I wouldn't just do what?” Speak of the devil, Bakugou walks in placing his bag on the table near you and Midoriya. He looks at the both of you. You two cuddled close with your head on his shoulder and Midoriya playing with your hair. This is normal. This has been normal since middle school but for some reason, the itch is back and his face gets hot with anger. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Nope! I was just leaving.” With that Midoriya stands up but you pull him back down.

“No, you weren't!” 

“Yes, I was!” 

“You both are a bunch of children.” Bakugou puts his two cents. Which weren't needed.

“Oh, were children? Let’s just bring up the chair, shall we?” You stand up, trying to intimidate Bakugou. To show that it doesn't work, he crosses his arms, but his shoulders are tense. “Or the fact that Midoriya here is points ahead of you.” Midoriya hearing his name be mentioned scoots away but you and Bakugou both give him a look and he stays still. 

“Why should I care how much he has?!” 

“Because someone can’t handle the fact he’s not number one at something! Clearly, he’s a better husband than you are.” Bakugou drops his arms in defeat. He’s ticked off, and it’s taking everything in him not to blow something up.

“If Deku is so great why don’t you be his wife!”

“I would but our points are so low I can’t!” Rolling his eyes he grabs his bag off the table and stomps off. You fall back down onto the couch and Midoriya itches back over to you.

“Well that could have been worse.” you kick him putting your face into your own hands.

“Shut up.”

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃

Of all the days these training scenarios could have happened, today was the worst day. As All might put it, we had to work out balancing Hero work with your “partner.” The first scenario involves working on a team against another couple, and the second involves fighting a villain with a high risk of a “married couple” losing a partner, and we don’t know who is getting picked as the ‘victim.’ Your quirk and Bakugou’s quirk do NOT get along and the efforts to make them mash together at all are zero to none. Your quirk controls plants, much like Shiozaki but a lot more advanced. You can control all plants and the lighting effects which plants you can use and how effective they will be. If you make the plant prick someone you can give them a negative or positive association with the plant. Now you see why Bakugou and your quirk don’t mesh well together, he can set your pretty plants on fire. You and Bakugou got dropped into a dark area with pipes and wires all around you both. You have no way of knowing where the other team is which is Shoto and Yaoyorozu and that gives you guys a big disadvantage. You start growing cast iron plants and slowly they glide into the pipes and start exploring them meanwhile Bakugou grumbles around stomping trying to find anything that could give him an advantage. He doesn't and it causes him to let off some explosives which causes your plants to shrivel and burn. “What the hell man!”

“What?!”

“Don’t do that I’m trying to find them! And you're making them find us!”

“Can’t you use Mushrooms or something so I don’t gotta fucking tiptoe around your stupid plants?!” You glide the cast iron plants back through the pipes.

“Well, one mushrooms aren't plants they're fungi dumbass and two my plants aren't stupid!” you shiver, “found them.” 

“You did?”

“Yep, and no thanks to you.”

“Shut it.” You start running, and Bakugou follows behind. As you run down the corridor, ice starts forming all around. “STUPID ICYHOT!” Bakugou yells blasting the ice that's made his way towards him and only him. You let out a frustrated sigh and start using Lampranthus to move you around the ice having it attach to your feet and arms. It was going well, You see Shoto and Yaoyorozu and move closer to them but Bakugou blasts toward them and past you causing the plant to shrivel and causing you to fall. You panic not knowing which plant in the moment could handle the intense elements. The fall is big and over huge ice. You close your eyes and hug yourself but you overhear Shoto yell something and Yaoyorozu yell something. Instead of landing on hard cold ice, you land on a... Oversized Teddy bear? You look up and see Shoto smiling at you and Yaoyorozu gives you a thumbs up. Bakugou was right next to you. It looks like Shoto got to saving you before he could and he’s fucking pissed. His shoulder tense and so does his jaw. “DIE!” Bakugou blasts toward them with Shoto making an ice shield but with the blast's heat it doesn't do well and causes the pair to fall back. Shoto quickly incases the room with ice and causes some ice to form around Bakugou’s hands giving them time to escape. “Fuck!” he stands still trying to get enough sweat but it doesn't work, “Mother fucker!”

“Chill out! You are the reason they got away with the stupid impulse attack!” you run up to Bakugou looking at his hands.

“OH, I’M THE REASON?!” he looks at you like you just wished hell on his mother. “You're the one that let the enemy team save you!”

“Yes, because did you hear me say, Hey Shoto, save me? NO!” You open up your palm and grow a Deadly nightshade. “When I say now, you take this and eat it,” you grow the cast iron plants, and from your feet, they sprout, moving around trying to find the other team. “Got them.” Ignoring Bakugou’s grumbling, you start running, which he follows admittedly. You stop putting your hand out to stop Bakugou and before he can say anything you put a finger to your lips shutting him up. He’ll get you back for it later. Bakugou looks down at you, the purple plant wrapped around your hand and fingers like it’s home. He finally takes a look at your hero outfit. So engrossed in the fight he doesn't even realize that the new one you have been designing has finally arrived and don't ask why he knows you've been working on one. The dark green shirt is tight onto your skin and the sleeves go down enough to make gloves. The cut of the shirt shows off your chest and all over the shirt is little lines the plants could hold onto. You went from pants to a black shirt which is now really noticeable to Bakugou. The skirt's top and bottom also has attachments for your plants. You’ve always complained about your shoes and how they don't support your quirk and if you ask Bakugou why he knows this little fact he’ll say you complained about it so much it’s bolted into his brain but the truth is you only complained once. You have heel boots now and a normal person wouldn't want heels on your costume but you made sure you had them. The heels of the boots have a hole at the bottom, so one of your plants could slitter down and into the ground instead of having holes on a flat shoe which has always made you and your plants uncomfortable. You also changed your hair, it's half up from its normal ponytail. Bakugou knows why you made this change and it’s all for your plants. “I’ll distract them. Now eat this and when you feel the sweat break free and attack.” You hand him the flower and by hand, you bring it up to his mouth and he bites down. “Don’t eat it yet.” and you run out. You start spreading out Caladium, or heart-to-heart. You make the plant swarm around Shoto and hold down Yaoyorozu. Which works for a minute before Shoto shoots ice around your feet not causing you to get stuck but causing your plant to wither and even wither underground which was holding down Yaoyorozu. “NOW BAKUGOU.” And Bakugou trusts you. Bakugou trusts you so he eats the plant. Bakugou trusts you so he starts getting hot and sweaty but he also starts getting dizzy. Either way, Bakugou runs out and with the fever running through him, he’s able to break free from the ice and because Bakugou trusts you he sends his quirk full force which knocks out Yaoyorozu completely and causes Todoroki to stumble You take advantage of the heat caused by his quirk and send out the plant again, the heart to heart plant wraps Yaoyorozu and Shoto capturing them. A ding goes off and an announcement is heard claiming you and Bakugou as the winners. You celebrate smiling and run up to Bakugou, and in his confused dazz he smiles back before passing out.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃

Bakugou groans the pain in his head is unbearable. He turns his body and suddenly he smells… lavender? He slowly opens his eyes. He squints just seeing bright white and slowly his eyes adjust and see you. Your head is resting on your hand and your eyes are closed. Lavender is growing out of your hair and it's looped around like the flowers were meant to be there. He smiles taking a deep breath before, “Hey!” You open your eyes and his smile is gone, He regrets yelling as his head hurts right away. 

“I am so sorry.”

“What are you on about?”

“I’m sorry! Aizawa chewed me out, and he’s right. I totally should have told you the repercussions of the flower you ate, and you wouldn't have taken it if I had. He took all our points as punishment, and if it wasn't for me, you wouldn't be here, and we would be on to the next scenario training!” Bakugou stares at you, dazed.

“The fuck are you talking about? I trusted you so I ate it. Stop tweaking out, I wouldn't have done it if I didn't wanna. Simple.”

“But our points… and you won't get to train.” You grab your hair, causing some lavender petals to get all in it. Bakugou slowly sits up and starts picking the petals out of your hair.

“I said it’s fine, and we won anyway, so it's no big deal.” You smile at him.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃

Never mind it was a big fucking deal because why the fuck is that stupid fucking Teddy bear in your dorm? Bakugou feels like the bear is staring at him tauntingly. “Why the fuck is that here?” he points at the teddy bear. You were in the kitchen cooking dinner and you peek your head out to see what he was talking about.

“After the battle, Shoto gave me it.” So while he was dead weight, Shoto comforted you and gave you the bear that saved you when he should have. That was the cherry on top.

“Shoto, Shoto, Shoto.” He mocks sitting on the couch, huffing like a child. That’s all I ever hear!” You let him pout like a baby and finish cooking dinner. You bring the plates out and sit in front of the couch, placing them on the table in front of you both. A point goes up on the board and you are back to one. 

“And your problem is?” You look at Bakugou as he quickly starts eating. He shakes his head and he keeps eating so you reach over and grab the remote. Or you try and grab the remote. Bakugou catches your hand and gives you a glare.

“No remote until you get rid of that stupid teddy bear!” You roll your eyes and laugh. Standing up, you grab the bear and walk into your bedroom. Bakugou watches you intently. You throw the bear on your bed, and with its size, it takes up a lot of space. “Not on your bed!” You look at him quickly.

“Why!?”

“Because I said so!” 

“You are crazy!” You shut your bedroom door and walked back over to the couch. “What is the issue?” He ignored you, and his hand was tense around the remote. “So protective of the remote,” you mocked, eating your food. You heard a grumble from him, and you two sat quietly, watching one of his shows and eating. After you two finished, you got up and grabbed the plates, suspecting that he’d keep being protective over the remote.

“What are you doing?” 

“Cleaning up?”

“Why?”

“Because you wanna hold onto the remote like it's life or death.”

“I’ll clean up, that’s my job.” He stands up with the remote. He goes to take the plates out of your hands but struggles with one of his hands being occupied. So he puts the remote to his mouth and he bites down and grabs the plates. You look at him funny.

“Are you for real right now?” Bakugou ignores you and walks into the kitchen. He starts cleaning. “You are so stubborn; it’s annoying.” You sit back on the couch and notice the point board showing two. You smile. Once Bakugou is done he comes and sits back down, he left the remote in the kitchen so you both are stuck watching the News. “I’m getting the remote. I don’t wanna watch this.” Before you can stand up Bakugou lays on on, you blush with your hands hovering over him. “Get up.” he ignores you. “Bakugou get up.”

“Katsuki.”

“What?”

“Call me Katsuki!” You stare at him before slowly placing a hand on his back.

“Why? I thought you didn’t care for the first-name bullshit.”

“Well, I’m tired of Todoroki getting the special privilege! I’m your husband, not him!” He sits up a bit, and your faces are close together. Your hand falls onto his.

“Alright, Katsuki.” He blushes and looks at the kitchen.

“Yeah, whatever Y/N.” You smile. He has had enough and gets up, walking into the kitchen. He comes back out and throws the remote at you before going into his room. The scoreboard shows five.

Tags and notes;

@andysdrafts @eyesforbkg @kukikoooo

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader #bnha bakugou #bnha x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha bakugou #bnha #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugo katuski #mha x reader #mha

[heartlyrins]

sorry for the second ask lord Sunday is seeping into my brain like a parasite rn but 😭😭😭 imagine being the second sister of Sunday. After the passing of robin he slowly started getting more obsessive and controlling over poor sister readers life due to his paranoia growing.

Oh you want to go out? Too bad. You can’t. It’s too dangerous for you he’ll insist. At first it was reasonable as you both harbored your grief together. You were scared for him too but it slowly started growing worse as the days dragged on. Your friends grew concerned as you started being distant; not answering their messages and calls and always excusing yourself from hangouts.

But since Sunday is usually admired and respected, none of your friends questioned him when he stated you were having mental issues due to your sisters passing.

Slowly his feelings of obsession lead into dangerous territory, suddenly talking about having a family with you. He insisted it would save you both and eventually poor reader fell to his demands, being brainwashed into thinking he was right.

(Also aaa if you don’t mind could I be 🪽 anon? :3 I’m the one that sent sensitive reader with Sunday)

HELLOOO, of course you can be the 🪽 Anon! Sorry this took awhile to respond.. Also I love the idea of possessive!Sunday.. I want this man to obliterate me.

Tw:Incest, Incest, Incest, suggestive, obsessive behavior, possessiveness, brainwashing, implied noncon at the end, DLDR under the keep reading

After the death of Robin, you noticeably notice the change in your big brother.. As the head of the family, he's always been calm, calculating yet after her death you can slightly see the twitch in his eyes. Nowadays, it's becoming more recent.

Especially when you're in his sights.

At first, it starts slow. He starts limiting you from going out or into the dream world without a guard or him. You still could accept the reason that it's dangerous outside, it's understandable that he's worried since what happened to Robin.

But then he starts going further, he doesn't let you visit your friends or talk with your friends under the reason that it could be an impostor or something.. It makes you laugh the first time he said it, but then you realize he was serious.

At that point you were already fed up with his antics, but the final strings were him not allowing you to go out of his room or go into the dream world.. Like at all. You're forced to stay inside his room which you couldn't understand, why can't you stay in your own room?

You would go and meet him up yourself.. But the problem is that you're too scared, scared of your big brother and how much more terrifying he could be.

So you kept silent the first few days and you can see that he's pleased with that, he starts to let you out of his room and inside the dream world once again.

But then— you notice that your friends started to distance yourself from you, they didn't want to reply to your messages or when they coincidentally meet with you in the dream world they seem scared out of their wits and excused themselves of being busy.

You pinpointed it all to him—who else could it be? He would be the only one terrifyingly powerful enough to scare your friends away—or even threaten them!

And that's where you snap, you stormed into wherever he's at and yell at him to stop messing with your life! He mostly kept a calm composure but you can the little twitch in his eye that he does once again—

Suddenly your head feels dizzy and you feel like everything around you is warping.. There's strange purple trails in your vision, your inner being is telling you—no, commanding you to follow his every saying.

You don't remember how you ended up in this position;in his bed, naked while he's stroking your back, whispering sweet nothings in your ear and how he wants a family with you.

You can't move—you can't think for yourself, but somehow your mind deluded yourself into thinking that this is where you belong.

And right here is where you'll stay, beside your big brother.

#tw.dark content #tw.noncon #tw.incest #sunday #hsr sunday #yandere honkai star rail #honkai star rail smut #hsr noncon #hsr smut #yandere sunday #sunday smut #honkai star rail #hsr #yandere hsr #Sunday noncon

[pradaax]

Lies & Mistakes

Bada lee x Reader 18+

"Do you trust me?"

"Not even the tiniest bit."

5 < previous / next >

The sun shining through the curtains made you let out a small groan and slowly opening your eyes.

A frown over your face as you became aware that this wasn’t your room. A shocked expression pasted across your face later seeing the shirtless back next to you.

“Who did I do it with? Oh my god.” You whispered to yourself freaking out. You slowly leaned over trying to get a look at the person who slowly flipped and your face was only inches apart from hers.

You quickly shot back holding onto the blanket to cover yourself. “Why are you so surprised?” Her morning raspy voice broke the minute of silence.

“No, this can’t be real, I’m surely dreaming.” You blinked a couple of times but it was indeed a reality.

Bada sat up putting her bra on, she took her phone turning it on then throwing it on the bed. Your breath hitched at the sinful moans and words playing.

“Isn’t that your voice begging me to do stuff to you?” She raised a brow. You reached out to grab her phone but she was quicker than you. “Not so fast.”

“Delete it.” You glared at her, you stood up with the blanket wrapped around your body and stomped to the taller girl. “Bada, delete it.”

“That wouldn't be fun though.” She put her top on then tied her hair up.

“You better delete that. You took advantage of me when I was drunk that’s literally a crime.” Your irritated glare didn’t leave the Korean girl. She clicked her tongue and placed her hands in her pockets.

“We were both drunk... maybe you took advantage of me.” She calmly said as she sat down on the bed putting her shoes on.

“I know myself more than you know me and I know even if you were the last person on Earth I wouldn’t plan on getting near you.”

“Right but did you forget how you begged me last night.” She started to mock the sounds you were making.

“Just get out.” You pushed the laughing girl towards the door. “This never happened and you better delete that before I tell your boyfriend what a cheater his girlfriend is.”

“You wouldn’t.” She stared down at you, her hand on the door handle.

“Try me.”

“I already did.” She licked her plump lips, chuckling before rushing out the door.

“That little shit.”

-

After losing to Ladybounce you were a little bummed out but you shook it off. You went to the bathroom to dry yourself up since Emma poured water on you for the dance. Your attention went on one of the stalls opening up revealing Bada.

“Gosh, you’re everywhere I go.” You mumbled when you stole a glance at her reflection. You kept patting your chest with the towel ignoring the girl who was washing her hands.

“I told Howl.” She suddenly informed closing the water tap. “What?”

“I told my boyfriend I hooked up with you and he said it’s fine as long as I don’t do it again.” She began moving closer and you were quick to back away. “But the truth is…”

It took 5 seconds before you were slammed against the wall. “I wanna do it again.” You shook your head not accepting the words coming out from the older girl's mouth. “No, that was a mistake and it’s not going to happen again.”

“Why are you acting like you didn’t enjoy it?” The taller girl moved a few strands of hair away from your face which made you slap her hand away. “I literally can’t even remember and don’t want to remember so step aside, Bada.”

“Let me help you remember.” She lifted your chin smashing her lips against yours. You pushed her away. “You need serious help.”

That didn’t stop her from coming back onto you. She grabbed your throat pulling you closer. “Remember how you told me only time your ex satisfied you was when he went rough.”

Your eyes widen and you felt your face heating up not expecting her to randomly blurt that out. “Come on, don’t be so shocked.” She whispered biting your earlobe.

“Let go you crazy bitch.” You wrapped your hand around his wrist trying to push her hand off your neck but her grip only tightened.

“We might not be into each other but I know I make you feel good.” The strap of your top was pulled down by her. She pulled your top down from one side.

Her grip around your neck only tightened when she leaned down to place her tongue on your hard nipple. Her other hand grabbing it and squeezing your breast with no hint of gentleness.

“S-Stop! Someone will walk in.”

Bada didn’t stop, she pushed you to the sink spinning you around to see yourself in the mirror with her behind you. Her hand back on your throat. “Now, you can see what a mess you become when I’m touching you.” Her hand went in your panties and she wasted no time rubbing your clit the second she found it. You bit your lip trying not to moan.

She smirked letting out a light scoff noticing what you were doing. “I guess I’ll just force it out of you.” Bada's long fingers went down finding your hole before they were slipped inside you, a loud moan escaping your lips.

“Feels good, right?” She grinned, her fingers curling inside you. The sudden pleasure taking over your body. Bada grabbed your chin turning your head to the side a bit. Both of your eyes meeting.

“Enjoying it, aren’t you?” She kept that grin on her face and you wanted to cuss her out but nothing left your lips besides moans making her lowly chuckle.

Her soft lips pressed against yours and her tongue inside within seconds, it almost felt like she was searching for your soul as if it it’s inside your mouth. You didn’t hesitate to kiss her back.

She added the third finger which made your legs feel like jelly. Bada pulled away from your lips with a string of saliva connected. She bent you over the sink your face almost hitting the mirror and she yanked your pants down. “Hey, someone’s gonna walk in!”

You tried to turn around but the taller girl placed your hands behind your back your head hitting the mirror. “Don’t move.” She crouched down and spread your legs out with her free hand.

The older girl spat on your wet cunt, she started to flick her tongue over it before placing it inside your warm insides going in and out. Bada smacked your ass with her free hand making sure that there will be a hand print on it later.

The mirror started to fog up as your breathing against it began to quicken. Your moans filled the rooms.

Bada pulled away, she span you around placing your legs on her shoulders while you leaned on the sink. Bada started to suck on your clit and it was getting too much, she knew you were close.

“B-Bada I’m gonna- mhmm fuck.” She didn’t stop sucking on your sensitive clit, Bada inserted 2 fingers pumping in and out. She curled them hitting your spot.

But

Everything stopped. The second you were almost done she pulled her fingers out and stopped everything.

She stood up wiping her mouth staring at you with hungry eyes. “Put your pants back on.” She coldly said turning the tap on washing her face and fingers.

“W-What?” You frowned unsure of what had just happened and why she suddenly stopped. “Asshole.” You snarled pulling your pants up and fixing your top.

“You can’t always get what you want sometimes you have to work for it… maybe beg for it too.”

“Go to hell.” You walked out the bathroom, letting out a breath you didn’t know how long you were holding in for.

Lies & Mistakes

#bada lee #bada lee imagine #bada lee swf #bada lee x reader #bada lee x y/n #swf2 #swf2 x reader #bada x reader #fanfic #street woman fighter 2 #street woman fighter x reader #kpop

[everybodyshusband]

teaching a skill

mushy may ; day twenty two !! (approx. 860 words)

read under the cut or on ao3 :)

Aeon flops down dramatically onto the couch, only narrowly avoiding clocking his head on Mountain’s blanket-covered hip bone. “I’m so bored.”

Mountain hums. “Want to sit with me and read, bug? You can come under the blanket with me,” he sing-songs.

“Nooo,” Aeon moans. “I’m so hungry I can’t focus on anything which makes me bored but I can’t do anything because I’m hungry.” He glances up at Mountain and whacks his shoulder when he sees the earth ghoul smirking. “Don’t laugh at me, Mounty, I’m dying.”

Mountain sighs and puts his book down. “You wanna help me cook something then? I was going to make brownies later but I can make them now to give you something to snack on.”

“Please!” Aeon practically yells. “I’m gonna starve to death…”

“Come on. Up you get, buggy.” Mountain stands up and holds his hands out, pulling Aeon to his feet and leading him over to the kitchen. Aeon stands and watches as Mountain opens up drawers and cupboards, pulling out bowls, measuring cups, assorted ingredients and his old beat-up recipe book. “Alright, all we have to do is follow this recipe and then in about an hour, we’ll have some delicious brownies for you to eat. Are you ready?”

Aeon nods but… “I’ve never baked anything before, I– I don’t really know how to do it.”

“Hey, that’s alright,” Mountain assures him. “I’ll help you. I’ll set up the scales for you while you have a flick through the book and find the brownie recipe. I’ll be under the sweets category.”

Aeon shoots him a thumbs up and picks up the book. It’s one that Mountain has compiled himself from magazine cutouts and handwritten recipes, some passed down from the ghouls that came before him and some new creations from the earth ghoul’s own mind. By the time he’s located the brownie recipe, Mountain has set up the scales and is already beginning to measure out the flour; it’s no surprise to Aeon that Mountain remembers the measurements by heart, brownies are a once a week occurrence at least in their pack.

“Ah, perfect, thanks, Ae. Do you want to take over from here? I’ll be here helping the whole time.”

Aeon nods. “Yeah, sure. Thank you, Mounty.”

He gets a pat on the back and a kiss on the top of his head in response. “You’re welcome, bug. Now c’mon, Dew messaged and asked if I could make him something to eat. Lazy bastard doesn’t want to lift a finger and bake them himself even after I told him he could do it himself if he wanted them that badly.” Aeon turns to Mountain, eyebrow raised. “Fine,” the earth ghoul relents. “I said I’d be happy to and that I love him very much and did he want sprinkles and melted chocolate on his brownies?”

Aeon snorts. “That’s more like it,” he laughs. “I was getting worried for a second there, Mount.”

From there, the time passes quickly. Mountain jumps in to help or give advice whenever the quintessence ghoul asks for it, but for the most part, Aeon is doing well without too much guidance. The only real trouble comes when it’s time to decorate them; Aeon has no idea how to do that without messing up all his hard work by making them look atrocious.

“That’s half the fun,” Mountain argues. “Plus it’s endearing if they look a bit shit, and personally I think they taste better if they don’t look all fancy,” he confesses. “We’re only dripping on melted chocolate, you’ll be fine, I promise. Here, watch me do the first tray and you can copy that for the second, yeah?”

“Yeah, sounds good. Thanks, Mount.” Aeon watches intently as Mountain dips his spoon in the melted chocolate and picks up a decent amount of tempered chocolate on the end of it. The earth ghoul spins it around to stop the chocolate from dripping and Aeon is surprised that when Mountain reaches the tray of brownies he just… goes for it. The chocolate drips every which way and covers the brownies in a messy drizzle that Aeon can’t deny looks absolutely delicious. When it’s his turn, he does the same, opting for a slightly more uniform pattern than Mountain’s but the earth ghoul assures him the slab still looks more than edible. The two of them take it in turns with the container of sprinkles, covering their squares in the colourful blobs.

They cut the trays into brownie-sized pieces and compile both batches into one big container, making sure to set some aside for the two of them—and Dew. At a nod from Mountain, Aeon grabs one out of the container and takes a big bite, eyes widening in delight at the flavour. “I made that,” he says with his mouth still full. “I made that and it tastes so good!”

Mountain grins taking a bite of his own brownie “Yeah you did! It’s really good, well done!”

Aeon smiles widely, stuffing the rest of the brownie into his mouth gleefully. “We gotta go find Dew,” he urges. “I wanna go brag that I can cook and he can’t!”

#mushy may #day twenty two !! #aeon ghoul #mountain ghoul #nameless ghouls #the band ghost #husband ficlets

[silvrash-797]

Glassbound

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Chapter 4: The Escape

Summary: Four makes a plan!

“Four?”

A soft voice pricked at his consciousness, and the Smithy grimaced as he woke, light pain flaring across his body. He cracked open bleary eyes just enough to see the concern radiating from Hyrule's features.

“You were right,” he murmured, closing his eyes again as he tried to reorient himself. “They’re not very gentle, are they?”

He heard Hyrule's relieved laugh and cracked a smile of his own before trying to shift to an upright position. He scowled at the rattle of chains, the cool metal keeping his wrists pinned behind his back. “Well, that’s inconvenient.”

“I’m so sorry, Four,” Hyrule's voice was dejected. “It’s my fault you got hurt, that you’re stuck here, I –”

Four huffed as he made it to his knees, fingers questing at the top of his boots for the lockpick set he kept there. “I’m the one who came looking for you. If anyone's at fault, it’s those soldiers.” He finally found the rolled packet and deftly pulled out the tools he’d need, grateful for his organizational tendencies any time he channeled Blue.

“But still, I –”

“Rulie, stop.” Four glanced up from his place on the floor, making sure he had the Traveler's attention. “This is nothing, okay? I’ve been hurt worse than this sparring with Warriors.”

He felt the locking mechanism give and grinned, wide and smug. “Besides,” he added, pulling his wrists to the front, “I’m already free!”

He wished he had Wind's pictobox so he could capture the look on Hyrule's face.

“How did you…?” Hyrule stared as Four got up, stretching out stiff muscles. “How many of those do you have?”

Four retrieved his box, making short work of Hyrule's chains once again. “Picking locks is a hobby,” he stated, tsking at the new bruises around Hyrule’s ankles and thumb. “Have to keep my mind sharp. And I have as many as I need – as long as I can reach the locks, I have a set that can get me out. They’d have to lock me up like you to actually keep me trapped.”

He helped Hyrule down, then carefully rerolled and replaced the lockpick set. He gathered his things from the front of the room, then returned to Hyrule's side.

He shuffled through his pack, double-checking that the soldiers hadn’t taken anything. “How's your magic?” he asked as he sorted. “I don’t have any more potions, so I can’t help your hand, sorry. Do you have enough to get small so we can escape unseen?”

“…I’d need another day or two of food and rest before I can use the Fairy Spell.”

Four pulled out some trail rations and handed them to Hyrule before closing up his pack. “And how long d'you think we have before they come back?”

Hyrule hesitated, carefully swallowing his mouthful before responding. “If they stick to the current timing? Two days.”

Four stared, seeing nothing, locked in an intense internal debate. He needed to split, to let Vio speak his mind without Blue's interruption or Red's worry, he needed to work out how he was feeling, but he couldn’t, yet. Not here, in front of Hyrule, who may have been on the brink of death mere hours ago. Not now, when Hyrule was staring back at him like he’d grown an extra head.

His reasoning finally managed a single coherent thought. “Well then,” he stated. “We’d better set your thumb and get some rest, shouldn’t we?”

Setting Hyrule's thumb was child's play, and finding his Roc's cape for the Traveler to use as a blanket took a matter of seconds. Within minutes, Hyrule’s exhaustion won out, and the Traveler slept peacefully, comfortable for the first time in days.

Four took up his sword and crept through the main cellar, making sure they were truly alone. He found an easily defensible spot between some barrels that kept him out of sight from the stairwell and the room Hyrule was in, then drew his sword and pointed it towards the ceiling.

A familiar flash of light, a familiar pulling sensation, and Green opened his eyes, surrounded by the other Colors.

Red immediately scampered on quiet feet back to the room where Hyrule lay sleeping, to make sure the Traveler was alright and soothe his worry. Blue and Vio squared off, but the atmosphere was significantly less charged than it would have been if they’d split an hour ago.

“Alright, Brainiac, what've you got?” Blue demanded.

“Hyrule said he needs a day or two to recover enough magic to transform into a fairy.” Vio paced in a tight circle as he spoke. “We didn’t smell any food here in these barrels, so all we have is what’s in our pack. With that and conditions as they are, it will likely take most of the two days we have, especially if we want him to be able to function after using that much magic.”

“So, whaddowe do then?” Blue stood stiffly, opening and closing his fists in an attempt to release some of his impatience and aggression.

Maybe I should spar with him, Green thought. It would help both of them expend the anxious energy Four had been feeling since finding Hyrule.

Vio sighed, coming to a stop. “All we can do for now is make sure he rests and eats,” he finally admitted. “We shouldn’t leave him alone, so we can’t even go tell anyone where we are.”

“We could tell the Minish,” Red said, startling everyone as he crept back into their circle, snuggling himself under Green's arm. “They aren’t too far from here, and Wind at least can still see them – they could find the others and let them know for us.”

“But Wind can’t speak Picori,” Blue protested, “and our written Hylian is ancient by his time, so we can’t write a note either!”

Red pouted, and Green drew him closer. “It was a good idea,” he whispered.

Red wasn’t done, though. “Then why not just draw a picture?”

“I –” Vio cut himself off, then began pacing again. “That could work…but what would we…how to…” he descended into mumbled half-words as he thought.

Green smiled at Vio's distraction, then turned to Red. “Feel better now? Is Hyrule still sleeping?”

Red sighed happily, a small grin lighting his face. “I do! And he is.” The grin faded. “He’s been through so much, and he felt so guilty about getting us trapped here…I’m glad we found him.”

Green hugged him tightly. “Me, too. He’ll be strong enough we can get out soon, then we can rejoin the others.”

He released Red to peer out and check the rest of the room, ears twitching as he listened for anything coming. Satisfied, he turned to Blue.

“Wanna spar?” he asked. “We can make sure the soldiers are gone then find an empty room upstairs.”

Blue visibly sagged in relief, gratitude glimmering in his eyes. He gave a firm nod and left for the base of the stairs.

Green turned back to Red. “Will you stay here, keep an eye on Vio and Hyrule, please? Maybe help Vio with his note once he comes back to earth?”

“Of course!” Red chirped, pulling him close for another hug before perching on a barrel, making himself comfortable as he watched Vio pace.

Green followed Blue up the stairs, ears pricked for any disturbances. It didn’t take long to make their way through the keep. They kept an eye out for kitchens, larders, or any other place food might be kept, but came up empty. The place truly was abandoned.

Satisfied that they were alone, they went back to an indoor training area they’d found during their search. Taking up his stance opposite Blue, Green held his brother's gaze. With a grin and a nod, both Colors acknowledged their readiness, and they crossed swords with a harmonious clang that echoed like a symphony through Green's soul.

He lost himself to the easy give and take of the spar, relaxing into the familiar movements. He wasn’t Vio, but he was still a good planner and leader. He tried to pull together what he knew.

The giant Boss had mentioned Warriors owing them something, and that was why they’d taken Hyrule. So, probably a ransom situation, although he couldn’t figure out why there hadn’t been any demands made in the four days Hyrule had been missing.

The Minish were in the forest bordering the abandoned keep, and the rest of the Chain were staying in a town a few miles away. If these Minish could ride birds like his could, they could make it to the town in a few hours.

If he gave the rest of the Chain time to understand the note Vio and Red would write, arm themselves, and make their way to the keep, best case scenario they’d be here one more day, waiting for Hyrule to regain enough strength.

If the Minish couldn’t fly, it would take them most of a day to make it to town. If it came to that, it would be a toss-up of whether or not the Chain or the soldiers would arrive first.

Sparks from the clashing swords brought Green from his thoughts as he again locked blades with Blue. Both Colors were breathing hard; at his core he knew they’d both expended the anxious energy that had been plaguing them.

With one last grin and nod, both Colors disengaged, sheathing their swords with a flourish. They walked a slow loop around the room to cool down, then simultaneously flopped to the floor.

Green sighed, then gave a slight chuckle. “Do you think Vio that note figured out yet?”

“If he doesn’t I’ll have to punch some sense into him,” Blue immediately responded, deep exasperation in every word. “Seriously, how hard can it be to draw a picture?!”

Green leveraged himself to his feet, helping Blue do the same. “Guess we’ll find out.”

Back in the cellar, they found Red alone, sitting on the box under Hyrule's old chains. His face lit up when he saw them peeking around the corner, and he jumped up to meet them.

“Vio's taken the note to the Minish already,” Red told them quietly. “I talked him out of anything too complex – just a picture of a fairy and our sword inside a big building, plus the town and the path through the forest they’d need to take.”

Blue hummed his approval while Green asked, “Did he say how long he was going to be?”

Red shook his head. “He figured Hyrule would sleep for a pretty long time, so he wanted to forage for anything edible and refill our water skin on his way back.”

“Good call,” Blue commented, snatching up their pack to organize it again.

The three Colors set up a modified watch shift to while away the hours until Vio returned, allowing two of the Colors to clean and organize their pack or sleep while the third kept watch.

It was Green's watch when Vio arrived. He looked on silently as Vio dumped a bag full of mushrooms, berries, and nuts out on top of a barrel, along with some of the peculiar little cakes the Minish liked to make.

“Its not a lot,” Vio said quietly as he sorted, “but it’ll have to do. The Minish took the note, all we can do now is wait.”

Green nodded before resting a hand on his brother's shoulder, a small smile playing around his lips. “You’ve done plenty, Vio,” he declared. “Let’s get the others and rejoin. Hyrule doesn’t need the confusion of having four of us around, and the food will last longer if we’re all together.”

Green woke Red and Blue from their naps, then all three joined Vio in their circle of barrels. Four sword tips met in the circle’s center, and each Color smiled as the light flashed around them.

Four opened his eyes, taking a deep breath as his emotions settled. Every part of himself had been assured that they were doing all they could. They had food, they had water, and they had a time frame.

This time, he would keep his brother safe.

#SilvrAsh writes #glassbound #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu four #lu hyrule #lu colors #this chapter got away from me LOL #it's literally 110% the length of the first three chapters put together 🙃😮‍💨 #i loved Four's grin when he gives Wild his new sword in the comic so much that i included it at the beginning of the chapter LOL

[nico-di-genova]

Late Night Talks - Strollonso

Written for the prompt: [Lance and Fernando] dead-tired in bed, curled up to each other and they keep making dumb jokes and laughing at them

Warnings: NSFW, not super explicit, but mentioned.

@raapija hopefully this is sort of what you were looking for, I started with answering your prompt and then it just sort of got away from me.

Post Singapore is quickly becoming Lance’s least favorite post-race kind of feel, second only to Qatar which exists in a league of its own. He doesn’t do well in the heat, his body acclimated to colder climates and snow that comes up to his knees. Miami is about the closest he’ll come to acceptable humidity, and only when he can couple it with the lukewarm temperature of the ocean and the salty spray that comes from zipping through the waves on the back of a boat’s tow. But Singapore is the sort of wet heat that clings to you until you can’t breathe around it, it makes driving a car for two hours in on-the-limit conditions near impossible.

“I feel disgusting,” he complains to Fernando, drying the back of his wet hair with a hotel towel and grimacing. He still feels like he has sweat clogging his pores, embedded in his hair follicles, couldn’t seem to get himself clean no matter how hard he scrubbed at his skin.

Fernando, who had taken a shower in his own room because if they had shared it wouldn’t have resulted in attempting to get clean at all, wears a matching expression of discomfort. He’s sprawled across Lance’s bed, in nothing but his boxers and normally that would inspire something in Lance. But sex, especially with Fernando, is a sweaty endeavor and he would like to avoid adding to his already uncomfortable state.

Doesn’t stop him from getting hard anyway, noticeably tenting the towel low on his hips.

Fernando arches an eyebrow, peaks down at Lance through heavy-lidded eyes.

“No, ignore that.”

“Hard to ignore,” Fernando quips, but he’s just as exhausted as Lance and it shows when he doesn’t make an effort to sit up and pull Lance closer. Instead he closes his eyes and readjusts his arm where it’s resting under his head, lets out a sigh that Lance knows is a prelude to quiet snores.

“Don’t fall asleep there,” he complains, shucking off the towel long enough to slide on his own underwear, “You’re taking up the whole bed, asshole.”

He still needs to brush his teeth, probably make an attempt at skincare before the grime of the day sets in and breakouts quickly follow. But standing is beginning to take a lot of effort. It’s like he can feel the weight of the heat bearing down on his shoulders, even though they’re inside, can still feel it pressing on his chest. It’s a good thing they have a late flight tomorrow because Lance’s future plans include nothing more but sleeping until the bone deep exhaustion makes its way out of him.

Fernando hasn’t moved, still lays with his knees hanging off the bed, one arm flung out beside him, legs spread just as wide, like he’s intentionally trying to take up as much space as possible. He nudges Fernando’s knee with his own and it’s the only warning the man gets before Lance is collapsing down beside him, the full weight of him landing on Fernando’s outstretched arm and half on top of his body. They’re laying sideways on the bed, and Lance is too tall for this, immediately finds it uncomfortable. But Fernando smells nice, and he’s warm where Lance presses up against him, so he allows it for the time being. Even if Fernando’s arm is bony and uncomfortable where it’s digging into Lance’s side.

“You are still wet,” Fernando grumbles, still with his eyes closed, still half-asleep, “Off.”

“It’s my bed, old man,”

They share a hotel room most nights now, the separate bookings nothing more than a charade, but they are still technically in Lance’s room. Ignoring Fernando’s griping, he presses closer, throws a leg over the man’s body, finds the crook of Fernando’s neck and nuzzles his nose there, lets his wet hair brush against Fernando’s cheek, until Fernando is wriggling away in discomfort. Annoyance is not a tactic he employs frequently, nor is it one that typically works on Fernando, but it works tonight.

“Like a soggy cat,” Fernando chastises, and then sits up, taking his comforting scent and presence with him.

Lance smiles, satisfied, shifts until he’s right way up on the bed and can let his damp hair soak into the pillows. Fernando lets him get comfortable and then he lays back down, this time with his head resting on Lance’s chest, an area devoid of the moisture from the shower. His breathing evens out pretty quickly, tells Lance he’s quickly drifting back toward unconsciousness. One of his hands splays across Lance’s bare stomach, low enough that his fingers brush along the hair there.

And now it’s his turn to be annoying, because Fernando knows he’s sensitive, uses it to his advantage when he lets his pinkie inch down further.

“This is a dangerous game,” he warns, feels himself grow harder in his underwear.

He can feel when Fernando smiles against him, prickly beard rubbing against the raw skin of his chest with the curl of his lips, “You don’t want to play?”

“Too tired. It would be pretty boring, anyway. I don’t wanna move,” Lance lying flat on his back, Fernando half asleep, both of them pawing at each other’s dicks with flagging interest until the exhaustion won out and the draining adrenaline finally took the last bit of energy they had left. He doubts he could even cum, as tired as he is. And if he did he’d have to trudge back to the shower because no way is he waking up in the morning with cum dried tacky on his stomach alongside the inevitable sweat from being pressed next to Fernando, the human furnace, during the night.

Fernando laughs, quiet, rumbling, “You are a pillow princess anyway.”

“Hey.”

“Is true.”

“It is n-“ he thinks of last night, how Fernando had tried to goad Lance into riding him and he’d made himself more at home on his back. He liked looking up at Fernando, liked burying his head in the crook of his neck and scratching desperately at his back. All things that were pretty hard to do if he was sitting in the air having to dictate the rhythm himself. Lance wasn’t lazy, he just knew what he liked, so sue him.

Fernando knows he’s won when Lance changes the subject. “How do you even know that word?” he’s absentmindedly threading his fingers through Fernando’s hair, the strands mostly dry where Lance’s was still soaking into the pillow. His hair is soft, always well-maintained, soothes something inside Lance because the texture is familiar.

Fernando hums, pleased. Lance tries not to preen at the sound. Pillow princess his ass, he likes to make Fernando feel good too. He can put in the work. If the work is done easily on the comfort of his back.

“I am only forty-two, Lance. Not so old I do not know things.”

“One foot in the grave practically.”

Fernando scoffs, pinches Lance’s stomach in retaliation, “Yes. We go shopping for my headstone tomorrow, pick out flowers.”

Age used to be a thing between them. Back when this started a year ago. When Lance was twenty-four and Fernando still looked at him like he was seeing that kid standing in the Ferrari garage. It had been a thing approximately until the moment Lance took matters into his own hands, took Fernando’s cock in his mouth with practiced ease and any internalized war Fernando was fighting went right out the window. And then it had resurfaced with force the first time Fernando fucked him so hard he was sobbing into the sheets, the sex quickly aborted when Fernando got scared he’d done something wrong, no matter how many times Lance tried to promise it was only that he’d been doing everything right. So they’d had to have a serious discussion, establish boundaries, ensure Lance was in the right headspace to be in a relationship with a man he’d known since he was nine. Now they could joke about it, had put in the work so that the gap in their ages no longer mattered.

“A suit too?” Lance teases, accompanying the press of his words with the pads of his fingers against the base of Fernando’s skull, a pressure he knows helps because of all the times Fernando has done it for him.

Fernando laughs again, more gravely, barely there, “We are planning a funeral or a wedding?”

Lance thinks, stares up at the ceiling and tries to think of a reply that won’t leave him sounding strangled. Wedding. He is startled to find he likes that word, likes it coming from Fernando’s mouth with the concept of Fernando being the person waiting for him at the altar.

“Both. Two birds with one stone,” and then the image of a funeral wedding, both of them standing in a half-dug grave, an arch being replaced with a gravestone, becomes suddenly so funny he can’t stop giggling at the thought of it. “We could leave the reception in a hearse.”

It maybe speaks to his level of exhaustion that he can’t seem to stop laughing at the nonsensical turn in the conversation.

Fernando is still smiling, Lance can still feel it, “You are weird.” He says, and Lance can hear the alternate meaning in the statement, how fond it sounds.

“Been called worse,” Lance jokes, makes sure it stays that, because they both know there’s an element of truth to it. “You almost podium and you are talking about funeral weddings. Strange.”

Oh, yeah, P4. Singapore maybe had taken so much out of him because he’d pushed himself to nearly P3 with nothing but pure spite to fuel him. .3 of a second back from Sergio, chasing the unfamiliar sight of a Red Bull to the finish. He’d felt the desperate need to make up for last year, shut up a certain faction of people that couldn’t seem to keep his name out of their mouths. It wasn’t a podium though, only nearly one, so he still wasn’t particularly satisfied. Fernando had carried most of the excitement for him, praising him in post-race interviews and hugging him as soon as they climbed out of their cars. Lance had already seen pictures of the moment caught from his still active onboard, Fernando’s hand drifting to its natural place at his waist, the other on the back of his helmet. There was of course no sound, so no one had heard the praise Fernando showered him with before they went to be weighed.

‘So proud, cariño. So proud.’

“Almost a podium, Nano. It was P4,” Lance says now, stifling a yawn with the back of his hand, slinking down further into the pillows. Fernando shuffles with the movement, until he’s beside Lance and then they’re both on their sides, parallel to each other. Fernando’s arm wraps around his waist, pulls him closer.

Lance studies the wrinkles forming at the corners of Fernando’s eyes, reaches out to trail the pad of his thumb along them. It is probably one of his favorite features, the mark of years’ worth of laughter. Lance likes to think of Fernando happy, likes when he can make Fernando smile enough that the lines deepen. He doesn’t like when Fernando presses his lips together as he’s doing now, a thin line of dissatisfaction.

“Still a good result.”

Lance concedes, “Yeah, it wasn’t bad.” Could have been better, would have been if he’d been able to manage his tires better on the entry to turn seven like his engineer had requested.

He yawns again, curls closer to Fernando so now he’s the one with his head tucked under Fernando’s chin. If they were still outside, still in their cars, the warmth rolling off Fernando would be unbearable. But the temperature of the hotel has been set to freezing, so his body is beginning to return to a stable level of self-regulation.

“Next time you will get around Perez.”

“He’s in a rocket ship, man. You want me to teleport to P3?” He mumbles against Fernando’s neck, eyes drifting shut, weight of his body sinking further into the mattress.

“Lawrence can hire people. Make that possible. He would invent this for you, I think.”

They both laugh, and then Fernando is rambling something about holding Sergio back next race, letting Lance take P3, and then P2 and then, impossibly, they both know, P1. It’s half in French, half in the bits of Spanish Lance is picking up but is too tired to follow, and then it trails off into nothing because Fernando finally lets the exhaustion win. Lance follows behind not long after.

When they wake in the morning it is to the ringing of Fernando’s phone, to the frantic texts buzzing through on Lance’s. They missed their flight, which means the morning sex isn’t rushed. It means that Lance gets to lay on his back, lazy and selfish, while Fernando teases him but continues to thrust with measured accuracy above him. He lets Fernando mark the skin at the nape of his neck as compensation for doing all the work, lets him suck at the soft skin there until Lance is sure the hickey will take a while to fade.

And maybe Singapore isn’t that bad after all. Despite the heat. Lance thinks he could justify the humidity like he does for Miami, if P4, senseless late night talks, and Fernando’s smile when Lance pants his name are the reward for enduring the climate. It all feels worth it in the end.

#strollonso #strollonso fic #my fic #I once again ask #is this even anything? #at this point I think I write about them just to senselessly ramble #idk if this is even good tbh

[autumn816]

gewis in 48 +70

I don’t know if you are still gonna see this, anon, but I had to pause with the requests to study for my exams. But I can finally continue with the ones left. Hope you do see it :)

—

Fake Dating + Locked in a room

George types furiously on his phone.

George [1:48 pm] walk slower. No seriously walk slower I don’t think you are walking slow enough Alex [1:50 pm] 🙄🙄calm down you arse I haven’t even begun walking yet George [1:50 pm] ALEX!!! Alex [1:51 pm] maybe you and the mistress can take this time to talk George [1:51 pm] don’t call him that, prick can you hurry up? Alex [1:53 pm] no😊

George swears, cursing Alex to the next life.

“People would normally take advantage of being locked in a room with their boyfriend, you know.”

Lewis rocks his legs, leaning on his elbows to look at George.

George pockets his phone. “No one’s here. We don’t have to pretend.”

Lewis drops down to lay flat on the bed, his lower legs resting against the frame. “Yeah. Pretend.”

George ignores the way Lewis says the last word. “Alex will be here soon. I messaged him.”

“Maybe we can finally talk and you can tell me why you are ignoring me.”

“I’m not ignoring you,” George lies through his teeth.

“Yes, you have.”

“I haven’t.”

“George.” Lewis stands up from the bed. “I have had people come up to me to ask if we are having problems in our relationship and give me some very unwanted advice.”

“Why would you want it? We are not in an actual relationship. This is all just pretend,” George bites.

“Trust me,” Lewis chuckles hollowly. “I know. You don’t have to keep reminding me.”

“Then why are we having this discussion? Let’s just wait for Alex to come unlock the door.”

“Tell me why you’re avoiding me.”

“No, I’m not.”

“No, you’re not avoiding me or no, you won’t tell me?” Lewis tilts his head.

“I’m not avoiding you.”

Lewis clenches his jaw. “Cut the crap, man. Tell me why.”

“I can’t tell you something I’m not doing, Lewis.” George is starting to get frustrated.

“Tell me.” Lewis takes a step forward.

“No.” George turns around, planning to go lock himself in the bathroom until Alex comes.

“Don’t even think about locking yourself in the bathroom.”

The intensity in Lewis’ voice makes George pause.

“Tell me why you’re avoiding me.”

“Because I told you I love you and you didn’t say anything!” George bursts out. He finds Lewis a lot closer to him than he was before.

Lewis’ eyebrows furrow. “What’re you talking about?”

“Don’t pretend. I know I was drunk but I remember telling you I love you.”

“George.”

“Then I woke up the next morning—“

“George.”

“and you didn’t say anything about it. You just continued as if—“

“George.”

He stops rambling and looks at Lewis.

“You told Alex you love him,” Lewis says.

“What?”

“It was Alex that you were talking to.”

“No,” George denies, “it was you. I remember you being there.”

Lewis nods. “Yeah, I was there. I was right next to Alex but you were talking to him.”

“Why would I tell Alex I love him?” George throws his hands in the air.

“When have you ever not drunkenly confessed your love for Alex. It’s literally the first sign of your drunken arse. You start telling Alex how much you love him.”

George crosses his arms. “I don’t do it that often.”

“I don't know what to tell you, man, but you do it every single time you are drunk.”

“Well, this is great then. I just confessed my feelings to you.” George laughs deliriously. “Can we forget this happened and move on?”

“No, I’m done pretending.”

George has barely registered the words when he is tugged forwards strongly and suddenly, Lewis’ hands are on his nape and his lips are clashing over his. An electric jolt passes through George’s body. It takes him a few seconds to respond. George snakes his arms around Lewis’ neck, kissing the older man back with the same passion.

Lewis breaks their kiss. “I love you, too, if that wasn’t obvious.”

“It’s obvious now.” George pulls Lewis in for another kiss.

Somewhere along the way, George remembers being picked up by Lewis and wrapping his legs around Lewis’ waist, his hands cupping Lewis’ cheeks, jokes being exchanged at the most random times before the other shut them up. They lose track of time until…

“There’s a bed right there—”

George and Lewis startle and pull apart.

“—but of course you two are wall people.” Alex leans against the door.

George pats Lewis on the chest, silently asking him to put him down.

“Took you long enough.” George runs his hand through his hair.

“You’re welcome.” Alex grins. “You and the mistress wouldn’t have talked otherwise.”

“Excuse me?”

The grin wipes off Alex’s face. “Oh, oops, did I just say that out loud?”

“Did you just call me the mistress?”

“No.

A beat of silence.

“It’s a joke. Don’t kill me!”

—

Mash-up trope

#thank you for sending <3 #ask games #george lewis and alex trio is one of my favourite things to write

[wonik1ss]

౨ৎ Stay Until 2 ? — kim minji

001. age changer + written | masterlist

taglist : @technicallyimportantsweets @juhyunsthirdwife @jjkills @kimakento @fluffyji @somedaydream @emphobics @zey1ltn @lovepjohootoa @takpayahtahu @nwjsenthusiast @baewonlove @aeriniee @mygfiswonyoung @heekkicr @jinsoulinator @addorations @ssoursss @klvarchives @yerimbrit @gayforalll @haerinsloverr @slowlydifferentbluebird @yawnzlvr @technicallyimportantsweets @juhyunsthirdwife @kimakento @deersteel @hannibangggg @popasi @rianosis @jkwsel @eternalgayshits @dearyujimin

you took a deep breath before you turned on your stream. after a few minutes the comments started to roll in and your giggled did too. minju being one of them made your smile burn brighter.

“hay bun buns ! today we are going to be doing something a little different.. one of you will get to play fortnite with me..”. as you sighed your rolled your eyes at the comments.

@juju.beat — LET ME JOIN AND WHOP YOUR ASS !

@fan2821 — YAHH

@fan3826 — I miss haerin :(

“your so funny minju !”. you rolled your eyes as you looked to see minju donated 0.33 cents.

@juju.beat — suck it ;D <3

you made a heart to the camera then flipped it off, and more and more comments came.

“if you want to join me just check my newest tweet and put down your Fortnite user and discord so we can chat why’ll we play !”. after posting the tweet for a few minutes you just talked to your fan. while a couple miles away sixteen year old hyein was ecstatic to join her favorite youtuber. hurriedly hyein responded the the tweet her favorite bts playlist playing in the background.

then after a few minutes of geeking out hyein stationed herself at her computer loading Fortnite and discord in her pink pajama’s.

“hyein-ah get to sleep now !”

“yes mom !”. hyein ran to turn of her lights and after a few minutes turned on her leds. meanwhile you finally stopped drowning on about your new cat. opening up twitter for your stream your scrolled and waited a few minutes.

“and…. hye_iup on Fortnite and discord won ! pls accept my friend requests and we will finally start some gameplay !”. hyein eyes half opened jumped. did you actaully say her name?

just to be sure hyein checked and you were requesting to follower her. after some breathing exercises hyein accepted voice and joined your discord call.

“hi.. how are you?”

“42”. you paused. surely your hearing things..

“ok.. do you want to just jump-“

“ofcourse can’t wait to beat you this will be soooo easy”. you sat stunned for a minute before your competitiveness kicked in.

“I’ve been practicing !”. hyein pretend to yawn.

“we’re you practicing that one time haerin snipped you on her first game..”. your chat erupted and your jaw dropped.

“stop trash talking me and join the game!”. hyein giggled and then game began. a few fans snuck there way into your game and tried to help you. mean while hyein was dancing with a chicken.

“you have been quiet for a while.. um..”

“hyein ! and I’m dancing with a chicken ! remind me of my own..”. it took you a second to digest everything the girl had said.

“I’m grinding my ass off and you’re dancing withs chicken?”. for the discord called you heard two shots.

“she pulled a gun on me.. how disrespectful ! chicky would never do that to me..”

“your chickens named.. chicky..”

“Im.. se-twenty I’m not that creative sorry !”. after a few more minutes your both got into a flow. hyein would be doing some thing weird like dancing with the whole avatar crew.

“kinda wish kora was here though-“. you hummed and then heard two guns go off.

“she killed everyone”. you burst out laughing while hyein held a funeral for the gang.

or even meet you face to face but not know because you changed your skin.

“ugh.. idk why people choose bright skins there just asking to be killed..”. hyein went off for a good ten minutes before someone donated to you telling her that was you and she burst out laughing. two hours in hyein was complaining about her work when the game started to come to an end.

“like why did this old as teacher yell at me for not knowing geometry ! like- girl I learned that two years ago calm down”

“so your 17..?”

“totally”. as soon as that word left hyein’s mouth her character evaporated into thin air.

“WHAT THE- omg what !”. you giggled as Hyein went off.

“unfair !”. you could here her pout through the screen so you tried to brighten her mood.

“hay is it ok if I get your number so we can play more..? everyone seems to love your yelling..!”. hyein scoffed, but you were right. you usually had 50-200k people watching but you broke your highest record and had 3million people watching.

“uh— sure give me a sec..”. as you tapped your fingers on your desk hyein ran to her phone on her bed. after texting her bestfriend wonhak thirty times with no response she sighed and went back to her chair.

hyein was a troubled teen. with mostly b’s and some c’s and a f in phys ed. so when she asked for a phone for her sixteenth birthday she got a fat no. but you were y/n y/l/n ! so when hyein got back on the call she gave the only number she knew.

“sorry but I have school tomorrow bye ! can’t wait to beat you later !”. you giggled as after hyein left you ended your stream too. but as hyein brushed her teeth and finally went to sleep at twelve you texted ‘her’ at 12:15. the thing was the only number hyein knew that wasn’t a parents or cousins was minji her favorite cousins bestfriend.

#kpop fanfic #kpop #kpop idol x reader #kpop imagines #kpopidol #kpop gg #kpop smau #kpop girls #reader x idol #reader insert

[frankenjoly]

so many fun prompts!! hope you dont mind im just throwing a bunch at you skdjdj

- "I hate you." "Aw, that's sweet. You can't even lie to my face." + chuuran

- "Are you really that pissed off? It's just a little love bite." "I have stitches." + dazai and any other person

- Put a flower in the other’s hair. + siglai

- "You're my priority." + kunikida and any other person

up to you what you wanna do! no pressure 🫶

i love these all of these!!! and here we go, part 2093485 of me not having patience to wait to have all to post and splitting instead (and i chose kunichuuzai for the 2nd bcs: it seemed funny lkajsdlfkj)

chuuran + “i hate you” “aw, that’s sweet. you can’t even lie to my face.”

“I hate you.”

“Aw, that’s sweet. You can’t even lie to my face.”

“You--” Chûya, instead of trying to come up with something else, simply sighed in defeat. Trying to deflect or convince someone as smart and shameless as Edogawa Ranpo was a lost cause. “Is it lyin’ when you’re already aware it’s not true? And I don’t really count on you bein’ fooled anyway?”

“Mhm. What would you call that, then?” Was Ranpo’s amused answer.

“An exaggeration? ‘Cause I’m indeed a lil pissed, y’know.”

“As if you could stay mad at me anyway.” No, Ranpo wasn’t stopping. “You or a ton of people, by that matter. This face does wonders, you can’t deny that.” Exactly, Chûya couldn’t, and so he resorted to simply sighing again.

“Man, you’ve already won. Are you also gonna still kick me while I’m in the metaphorical ground? C’mon.”

kunichuuzai + “are you really that pissed off? it’s just a little love bite.” “i have stitches.”

“Are you really that pissed off? It’s just a little love bite.” Dazai said, smug as one could be.

“... I have stitches.” Kunikida instantly answered, arms crossed and frowning deeply, then let out a deep sigh. “And if Chûya hadn’t been able to sew the wound, I’d have needed to go see Yosano-sensei and–” He turned to Chûya for a second. “Thanks, by the way.”

“No problem, babe.”

“See? You could enjoy both the bite and having Chûya’s hands all over your thigh when patching you up, I’d call that a double win.”

“It’s not a full win ‘cause Yosano-sensei is gonna find out when you tell her, then you two are gonna laugh our asses off at my expense.” Kunikida sighed again. “And that’s the best case scenario, the worst is her insisting on treating me anyway.”

“Y’know, Kunikida-kun… you didn’t deny having enjoyed… not at all…” Right after saying, or rather sing-songing that, a gigantic smile appeared on Dazai’s face. Or it would be more accurate to say his initial smug expression had only gotten worse. To Chûya’s credit, at least he was trying to hide his own amusement in order to not encourage Dazai further, but still.

“Alright, it wasn’t that bad. Happy now?”

“Very.” And yes, it was quite endearing, seeing him so satisfied. Even if Kunikida wasn’t going to admit it in that particular case.

(Also on ao3.)

#chuuran #kunichuuzai #kunikida doppo #nakahara chūya #dazai osamu #edogawa ranpo #bsd kunikida #bsd chuya #bsd dazai #bsd ranpo #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #my stuff #clau stuff #ficlet #tyyy lena <3

[lazerswordweilder]

I wanna see Danny absolutely insane. Not like. We got too silly insane. Like, pushed past his breaking point, desperately trying to hold on, for the fifth time this week, and it’s Monday.

I wanna see him smile when Dash shoves him into his locker, because he’s not sure what to do. On one hand he’s so done with this, and he knows he could end Dash in a fraction of a second. On the other hand, it was almost reassuring, nostalgic, he remembers when this used to hurt.

I wanna see ghosts and humans alike, go to hurt or bother Danny Fenton Phantom. And have them stop when he turns around, because the look in his eyes is not something they understand nor want to mess with. Lancer saw a weight he thought only characters in books could possibly have to carry, Paulina saw tears and when has anyone ever seen him cry, Vlad saw exhaustion that cuts into your very core but you have to keep going because that’s what’s expected of you, Ember saw grief and pain over something that never happened but could’ve been, Dash saw pain a hundred times worse than anything he’s ever felt, Jazz saw protectiveness of a kingdom who hates him, Wes swears he looked insane.

And Danny? Danny is done with their shit. And he doesn’t swear. He’s so tired of everything, he’s so close to giving up, he is very much not feeling phantastic right now. He’s got more scar tissue than skin, he’s pretty sure everything he owns has at least a little of his blood on it by now, he’s forgotten what feeling okay is like, and he can’t even begin to describe everything else, and he means everything. He’s got half the mind to track down who ever said death was peaceful and make them deal with his life. But he’s a hero. Right?

He knows he’s got duties, the Realms needs a king, Amity needs a protector (both the humans and the ghosts), Danny Fenton needs to go to school. Oh and he’s pretty sure Frostbite is having a panic attack after looking at him which is ridiculous. But still, the stars seem real inviting right now, he wonders if Clockwork would turn back time for him and just let him sleep on the moon for 200 or so years. Probably not. (Clockwork absolutely would’ve). He might just do it anyways. It’s kind of ridiculous how much somethings just look like comfy beds to sleep in for a trillion years to him now, he fell asleep in a snow bank earlier which wasn’t nearly cold enough. But it’s kind of fair Danny supposes, he can’t remember the last time his home really felt like home, and Amity in general is his haunt, but eh, whatever.

Still though, having your enemy worried for you is really something. Like Vlad should comment, Vlad’s the source of a small fraction of his problems! Which is a lot! First of all having to worry about another source of constant attacks, having to try and convince his parents that Vlad is so clearly evil, having to check up on Dani and also make sure Vlad isn’t trying anything like that again, and not to mention the whole mayor of the town he lives in thing.

Okay this kind of got off track. But my point is, I want it to be too much, instead of somehow managing to survive it all and getting help, Danny gets pushed off the edge (and can’t get out) and he just goes crazy, he breaks down right in the middle of school over a minor inconvenience, laughing then sobbing then screaming then wailing for ancients knows how long. Then he flies off somewhere and continues to breakdown for a while, then he returns to his life like nothing happens, but it did.

That was it.

He can’t be pulled back now. You had your chance. You all had so many chances. And now he’s lost it for good. And you all deserve it.

He’s not going to apologise for punching Dash through a wall, he’s not going to apologise for whatever he did in that little blacked out period of time, he’s not going to apologise for taking a nap in the observatory and hissing and attacking all the tourists and everyone else, he’s not going to apologise for dissecting his parents, he’s not going to apologise for making Vlad regret it, he’s not going to apologise for making the ghost writer eat a book, he’s not going to apologise at all.

You let him get like this. He doesn’t want to shift the blame. But what was he supposed to do? No. Oh no. Don’t try to explain. This is all your fault. And he’s tired of pretending he’s fine. And he’s tired of helping. Because you lost that a while back.

You all don’t even know how dead you are to him, he had a little regret when it came to Sam and Tucker and Jazz, and that’s why they’re alive right now. Because they did all they could, well, not all they could, but that was because he asked them not to tell. Maybe he shouldn’t off.

-

All hail the high king Danny Fenton Phantom. The king who never stopped crying.

#danny phantom #lazerswordweilder writes