#SOMEONE WITH A HISTORY OF SHITTY LEGS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mixtape-racha · 7 months

Text

like a virgin | choi soobin

you'd been together for so long, so why did soobin feel like an overwhelmed virgin every time he fucked you? // 18+, minors dni

words: 1.20k // warnings: dom!soobin, size difference, reader is described as short and petite, reader gets called "bunny", oral (m. receiving), horse cock soobin agenda

a/n: based on this request by 🎡 anon!! i hope you enjoy! ♡

choi soobin was many things, but inexperienced was not one of them. it seemed everyone and their mother - sometimes quite literally - wanted nothing more than to cum on the cock of the nerd of a man down the street, and it truly did wonders for his confidence and abilities in bed.

so by the time he met you, juniors in college, both ancient greek history majors, he was well aware that he could ravish anyone who wanted it in bed. he just wasn’t expecting that anyone to be you. you, with your pretty face, and charming disposition. you, who - despite your protests and detest for the word - was “popular” on campus; friends with almost all cliques, never sticking to one social class or friendship group. you, y/n l/n.

when you approached him at a party, slightly buzzed, face flushed and a beer in hand, he was surprised to say the least. but that was nothing compared to how he felt when you told him you wanted him, wanted him more than you’d ever wanted anything. and not just in bed - oh no - you wanted all of him. the lazy mornings after a party, the impromptu dates because your class got canceled, the late-night coffee runs when you were studying for finals. it took all the alcohol in your system to gain the courage to come up to him and ask him on a date, but he was so, so thankful you did.

soon after, you started officially dating. soobin was over the moon to have bagged someone as perfect as you, and you were just thrilled that he actually liked you back, too. it was just a bonus that the sex was amazing, too. the first time you saw soobin’s cock, you eyes nearly bulged out of your head in shock. he was huge, and you were in absolute disbelief. you even had to take a moment to express your concerns to him that he would fit inside of you, which he just chuckled at - and soon proved you wrong. he had you creaming on his cock, drooling and eyes rolling back within minutes.

it was pretty much from that moment that an innate feeling woke deep within soobin. seeing your struggle to take him had him throbbing, and it even developed to the point that he’d get hard whenever someone mentioned your height difference. being a foot taller than you, and just so much bigger in every way, send him on a complete power trip.

most of all, you loved watching how he fell apart when you sucked him off. something about him towering over you while you were on your knees had you dripping, so you couldn’t even begin to imagine how he felt.

he was sitting on the couch watching a shitty tv show that you didn’t understand how he found funny when you got bored, moving from your spot curled under his arms. he was confused, reaching out for you when you got up, his perfect lips forming a pout that almost had you going straight back to him. but instead you grabbed a cushion, placing it on the floor before nestling yourself between his legs. soobin had a habit of manspreading, so that gave you ample opportunity to seat yourself and rest your head on his plush thigh.

he honestly didn’t even question it, just resting a hand on your head and fussing with your hair occasionally. he was used to you putting yourself in odd positions for comfort, and just assumed the couch was hurting your back or something. of course, that soon changed when you swiveled around, facing him and looking up at him with those big doe eyes he loved.

“you okay down there, pretty?” he asked softly, eyes flitting between you and the tv screen which caused you to whine softly. “oh, you need attention, yeah? got yourself all comfy down there hoping i’d give you what you want?”

you nodded, the fabric of his jeans providing a strange comfort on your skin, and he grinned, eyes crinkling slightly. he thought you were so adorable, his perfect little bunny. and how could he deny you what you so desperately wanted? with a slight nod of his head and a tap of his thigh, you almost became rabid with the way you began clawing at his jeans, desperate to pull them down.

he was already half hard in his boxers just at your enthusiasm, hissing with his lip tucked between his lips as you pulled him out of his confines, too overwhelmed to even pull his jeans or boxers off properly.

you were always surprised by how big soobin really was, even half-hard. maybe caught off guard was better, but nonetheless it always made you wonder if you could fit him in any of your holes - although, clearly you could. you couldn’t help the way you licked your lips, wanting nothing more than for him to stuff himself in your throat, but you knew he’d make you work for that. so you settled for kitten licking the tip while looking up at him to watch his reaction.

he hissed at the contact, hips itching to buck up at the way you looked so at home between his legs. as much as he wanted to tell you to stop, to give you a night purely filled with your pleasure in mind only, he knew that you enjoyed giving head almost as much as - if not more - he enjoyed getting it.

you were quick to take as much of him as you could into your mouth, stretching your jaw as much as you could to fit around his impressive girth. he let out a low groan, head lolling back on the couch as you swallowed around him, wrapping your hands around the second half of his length that you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

you looked so small and delicate below him that soobin couldn’t help but wrap his fingers through your hair, guiding your head up and down his length. it took everything in him to not buck up into your mouth, not wanting to make you choke - even though it would be so fucking hot.

“fuck angel, feel like i’m gonna hit your lungs if im not careful.” he moaned, the idea making your eyes roll to the back of your head as you began grinding on the pillow below you, needing any form of release you could get. it felt like you had no more room in your throat, soobin’s cock taking up any space available. you hummed softly, the vibrations making his hips buck involuntarily, which in turn made you gag around him. he was quick to pull his length from your mouth, looking down at you in concern even when you whimpered and tried to go back.

“oh, come here, pretty,” he cooed, lifting you onto his lap, which you happily accepted. you straddled yourself on his thick thigh, instantly rocking your hips just like how you were on the pillow. he was so enamored with you, and he knew if he didn’t have you creaming on his cock in the next 5 minutes he might go insane.

“let me fuck you dumb, yeah?”

taglist: join taglist here @pretty-racha @demetrisscarf @bangtancultsposts @watariisbestboy

2K notes · View notes

satoruhour · 10 months

Note

the racer toji smut won’t leave me alone so here is my additional brainrot bc my sister in christ we must suffer together <3

what about fem!reader who’s bf is a total ass bc he dragged her to the races but ignores her for the whole night bc he’s too busy showing off to the other guys and makes fun of her for not knowing shit about cars. she went to support him but he’s being so shitty and she goes to sulk alone near some quiet part.

a little boy comes to join her and he introduces himself as megumi, he hates crowds and loud noises so he sits with reader for a while, until his daddy comes along and his daddy is hot. toji introduces himself, asking what a pretty girl is doing alone in these parts and offers to show her his car but out from nowhere comes slimy bf who just embarrases himself trying to kiss toji’s ass and reader is like i need to break up with him

but ofc toji puts him in his place and tells him his gf is way out his league, and a real man would never leave his girl alone the entire night. it shuts him up fr and toji, megumi and reader leave to go check out some cars bc it’s nice to actually have someone tell you all about the cars instead of being made fun of for not knowing

the rest is obvs history bc megumi loves hanging out with reader and toji can’t keep his eyes off her. and vice versa hehe

a/n: jelly ur mind >>>>> also how did i write a whole FIC about this omfg im sick. i claim i dont like toji then write like this 💀💀 + can u tell how much i love making fun of incompetent men by the way i talk about reader’s shitty boyfriend cause youd be right. i hate men. ✶ / 2.2k

the stuffy parking lot had been a routine place for you at this point, taking the familiar route past shibuya 109 and into miyamasu-zaka avenue. you’re not entirely pumped to be in the car beside your boyfriend right now, who’s talking loudly and obnoxiously into his phone, but that isn’t what is irking you right now. you’re more worried when you reach there, sure to come face to face with his equally obnoxious friends who just can’t shut up about their cars.

it would be fine if they were being cocky and could back up their modifications and NOS with proper results from racing, but they were all losers, both figuratively and literally. you sigh for the umpteenth time when daisuke asks if you cancelled the dinner with your friends because he was going to celebrate his ‘sure’ win and you stifle the urge to laugh. sometimes you wonder why you’re still here.

“we’re here babe, c’mon, get out. i’ll go park the car and come back to get you,” as daisuke tells you this, he’s patting your thigh like you’re a dog, smiling his stupid smile and your brows knit together.

“can’t you just drive to wherever you’re parking?”

“ahh… no can do, baby — my parking’s somehow better when you’re not stressin’ me out in the passenger seat.” what were you doing dating a man who couldn’t even park? you groan into your hands, picking up your bag and exiting the vehicle, making sure to slam the door extra hard even if you’ll be getting a lecture later about harming his ‘baby’.

he’s perfectly fine watching your tantrum and doesn’t say anything except for continuing to smile, driving off without a care as he looks for a parking spot. thankfully you could save your face a little, since you were still early to the meet, a minimal amount of people lingering around the abandoned parking lot in their miniskirts and tights and tramp stamps — a look you definitely would’ve loved to try out if not for your boyfriend telling you you can’t show off your legs.

it’s like he has some personal vendetta against you, but really you think it’s just because he saved you from an unfavourable situation before and while at the time you expressed mutual feelings for him, he just might be holding you hostage with that favour he did for you, unconsciously feeling terrible if you were to leave him.

a few minutes pass, and then ten, and you’re waiting for a full fifteen minutes against a wall, all the while the classic crowd of tokyo is trickling into the car park, cars driving in slowly and you’re dreading every time someone enters, sure that you’re being judged for being daisuke’s significant other. and when the waiting time finally hits twenty, you’re taking matters into your own hands and turning the corner where he drove.

just to see him conversing with his loser friends who were already somehow there, showing off their own cars which they spent money on for nothing and laughing up a storm. you lug your body over, because while you were still somehow okay with daisuke, you couldn’t stand his friends.

“babe! ah, my bad, should’ve texted you that the boys were already here and that i was with ’em,” his affection was limited to just a hand on your waist, not wanting to look like a softie in front of them, “we were just talking about our updated NOS, or ‘nitrous oxide system’ for my cute baby who couldn’t remember it the first time.”

all you can do is burn in embarrassment as they laughed, ridiculing you for the mistake you made ages ago about the terminology of street racing that sometimes you couldn’t exactly grasp. you did your best each time, sometimes googling things about racing that you wouldn’t know otherwise, but because it was still pretty illegal in japan, it was difficult to find the specific terms they used. but with how much your boyfriend teaches you (as condescending as it was), you probably could’ve written an essay.

and it wasn’t a one-time thing either, from smacking your hand off the stick shift to pestering you about closing the car door more gently, you’re soon to reach your limit.

“yeah, i know what a NOS is, bitch.” you mumble under your breath, turning away from him as he continued joking with his boys before one of them shouted out someone else’s name, hiroshi, you heard and they all pile over each other like excited dogs, seeing his new and improved Mitsubishi Eclipse, a bright, striking green and your boyfriend follows them easily.

throughout the different races of the evening and the excitement, you’re left chasing after your boyfriend who can’t help but sidle up to different racers and their cars, and the dreaded situation you hoped wouldn’t arise, did. daisuke loved asking you questions with confusing numbers and letters, and then laughed in your face when you picked the wrong option.

so when he asked you whether a L72 or a 327 small-block was better for his sorry excuse of a Camaro from 1981, you answered that you knew they had used 327s for Yenko Camaros, but without the knowledge they had discontinued it since it wasn’t optimal performance for the car. “yeah, no, darlin’, they already stopped it and switched to big-blocks after ’69… i thought i taught you this!”

with lips pressed tightly together, you find that you hardly want to be here any longer, body turning hot with shame and tears prickling at your eyes. you don’t chase after daisuke when he walks off and nudges hiroshi about your limited knowledge about cars, hands clenching and unclenching into fists before you’re tugged gently on your jacket sleeve.

in front of you is a young boy, playing with his fingers shyly with a head full of messy black hair and strong features that scrunch up into an anxious expression and you’re squatting and wondering what business a young boy like him had in scenes like this before he’s explaining how he hates the loud music and noises of metal against metal and the sound of tires.

you frown, understanding him immediately as you ask if you can hold his hand to which he nods, “what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“fushiguro… megumi,” he mumbles, flinching when there’s an erupt of cheers from the concluding race.

“oh, honey, let’s go,” you squeeze his hand in solidarity, “let’s sit far away from the action, okay? you like music?”

megumi sniffles a little and nods again, calming down the further he is from all the cars, sitting down on the curb in an area where there’s fewer racers, it being a deadend for the route. soon, you’re fishing out your earphones to insert into his ears, playing a few favourites of yours at a softer volume to drown out the noise of the cars. you’re content to find someone as clueless as you in this whole thing, even if the other was a child, and you almost want to chastise his parents for leaving him so vulnerable in a place like this when said parent is looking left and right, jogging while looking for his son.

“that’s my dad…” megumi mumbles with hope in his voice as the man starts to call out for him, expression morphed into worry from the moment he looked down from his car to find megumi gone. the boy’s hands you back your earphones with a slight smile and a ‘thank you’ before running off, and you’re lunging forward just to make sure he’s safe, running a little behind him while he navigates his father’s voice. it seems like he doesn’t have much care for the loud noises when his dad is finally in view because he speeds immediately into his arms before a tall man comes into view, and you’re blessed with seeing this hot-ass dad in a baggy long-sleeved top.

“hey… thank you for lookin’ out for the kid. i’m fushiguro toji,” toji nods towards you in acknowledgement, looking past your face after appreciating it before glancing down to your figure. “what’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?”

megumi who was propped up against his shoulder opts to cling to his father’s neck, hiding from the rest of the world while you walk slowly alongside the man, fingers thumbing the strap of your bag to keep your grounded. you were quick to explain that you were here because of your boyfriend, and you swear a glint of disappointment flashed in his eyes, but you don’t give it much thought because soon the man himself is running up to you with a renewed sense of confidence.

it was probably because toji was here; and sure, you knew about fushiguro toji and how much your boyfriend loved him, but you didn’t know how popular he could get, drawing countless pairs of eyes to your interaction.

“hi! hi, fushiguro toji right?” and you’re already ready for the clownery to start when he opens his mouth, “i’m wakashita daisuke, big fan! any chance you’ll get back into racing?” daisuke is spouting so much shit you can’t even bear to look up but there’s one sentence that has got toji riled up, using just one hand to threaten your boyfriend who looks scared out of his mind. “you’d look so good with a Ford Mustang too, why don’t you sell off that old Corvette you’ve got—”

and soon toji is clutching onto the collar of his shirt, easily pulling him off the ground as the people surrounding you laugh and whoop. seems like you weren’t the only one who hated him.

“that Corvette means something to me, not like that piece of junk you call your Camaro. and at least i treat my car better than how you treat your girlfriend,” he spits the word like it’s venom, “who you can’t even respect as a person.”

daisuke is plopped onto the floor, but toji easily backs him up with a finger to his chest, “laughing like an idiot when she doesn’t know about engines and then saying you taught her — that would reflect your efforts as a teacher, wouldn’t it?” the man smirks when your boyfriend stutters out his answer, the crowd oooh-ing like it’s a free show.

“and then you leave her stranded for the whole night to hang with your boys, in a place where she’s uncomfortable and vulnerable. but you couldn’t give a shit, can’t you? you’re too busy sucking your friends’ cocks to notice.” there’s howls of laughter now (you can’t help but let out a giggle too) with how ruthless toji is being, all the while having a kid on his shoulder, but you imagine megumi is used to these types of altercations by now.

toji leans down to spit in his face, “you disrespect a woman in my eyes, you’re a joke to me.”

he just rolls your eyes, heading off from your stupid boyfriend and toji fully expects you to follow, beckoning you to go with him when you stay rooted. “c’mon, don’t mind him. he didn’t deserve you.” toji mutters, pressing a kiss to megumi’s temple as he leads you away from the scene silently, and you leap at the opportunity to thank him immediately.

“to be fair… i did all the research for my boyfriend,” toji interrupts with ex-, and you laugh, “yeah, ex-. but i’m not entirely opposed to learning about cars. they seem kinda cool.”

“is this your way of telling me you want me to teach you?” what’s a little flirting with a guy, anyway? even the other said it himself, daisuke didn’t deserve you. you nod with a sheepish smile, petting megumi’s head when he rouses from his dad’s shoulder, heart warming at how the young boy shoots you a gleaming smile.

toji shrugs with a little chuckle, “sure.” he’s keen on showing you his Chevrolet Corvette at the other end of the parking lot first, telling you about the specifications and the modifications he made for it to be suitable for drifting. he explains how his Corvette had to be converted to a rear-wheel-drive car, or a RWD to support the heavy stress on the back wheels to make a successful drift turn.

toji tells you the differences between a clutch kick and a shift lock and how to sustain a drift on a sharp turn, excited at finally finding someone who didn’t have a clue about racing. he even offers to show you, but you’re a little too intimidated by being in the passenger seat with him, especially when it’s going at high speeds.

“maybe another day,” you offer and toji picks up on your insinuation, trying to stifle at grin that maybe this attraction wasn’t one-sided. he liked the way you talked to megumi, he liked the way you intently listened about his love for cars, and he couldn’t wait to get you in his car with a hand to your thigh.

“i’ll hold you to your offer, darlin’.” the name sounded so much better coming from his mouth, an attractive smile lining his face before he offered his free arm for you to hang on, gasping silently when you felt how toned his arm was. oh, the late night thoughts you already knew you were gonna have…

“i’ll tell you about the other cars here, let’s go.”

thirsts and drabble requests are open!

2K notes · View notes

abyssruler · 2 years

Text

teyvat academy

pairings: childe, kazuha, albedo, xiao, itto, scaramouche, zhongli x gn!reader

summary: they say high school is the most memorable point in a person’s life, you’re more than inclined to agree. or, genshin men as the different types of people you meet in high school! (all of them can be connected if you squint)

note: gender neutral but implied afab for itto’s part only, no pronouns, mentions of weed and smoking in kazuha’s part, scara’s part is def my favorite

CHILDE

Adrenaline junkie. Gets into fights almost everyday, to the point where everyone wonders how he hasn’t been expelled yet. His family is filthy rich and pays the school hush money disguised as donations.

Seeing him beating someone up is such a common occurrence that most students just walk by whenever it happens. Which is why he’s completely surprised to see you approach him after he lost a fight, sitting by the water fountain and sporting a busted lip and yellow bruises all over his face that’ll turn purple tomorrow.

Turns out it’s not because of some misplaced sympathy that made you approach him that day, you just wanted to ask him if he knows where your friend Yelan went after she beat him in a fight earlier. He tells you he doesn’t know but he heard her mutter something about going to the restroom to clean up the blood on her knuckles, so that’s a good place to start looking. You thank him for his help, eyes lingering on the injuries caused by your friend for a moment before taking your leave.

Maybe it’s guilt at how uncaring you must have seemed in the face of his injuries, at leaving so quickly without even asking him if he’s okay, but the next time you see him after another fight, you give him a box of bandaids with cute heart designs. It was the only box left in the store so you had no choice but to buy them, better something cutesy than nothing. You say it’s for the cuts in his face and split skin of his fingers.

When he opens the box and sees the heart designs, his face lights up like a christmas tree. He thanks you with a grin and says the bandaids remind him of the ones his younger sister always gives him.

The next time you see him is across the cafeteria, wearing the bandaid designed with hearts despite the teasings of his friends. When he catches you looking his way, he sends you a wink and gestures to the bandaid on his cheek before returning his attention to his friends. Yelan asks you what that was about, but you smile and tell her it’s nothing.

KAZUHA

The school’s local weed dealer. Completely unexpected given his friendly and calm demeanor, but in hindsight, that’s probably the reason why he’s never been caught. Word has it that if you’re willing to pay enough money, he can contact a few of his friends and get you some coke.

For some reason though, he never allows you to buy anything from him, nor does he let you take a whiff when he smokes.

You first meet him while walking through the back of one of your school’s buildings to avoid getting detention. It’s there that you see Kazuha leaning on the wall, roll in hand as he blew smoke into the air. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re both going to detention should you get caught, you for cutting classes and him for smoking something that’s probably weed, but you walk right up to him, plop yourself beside his legs, and ask him how shitty his day is for him to be smoking out in broad daylight. He laughed as a response, and the rest is history.

Not once in all your time as friends has he ever let you take a hit, even just for a brief moment. Going so far as to refuse even when you offered to pay double the price. His only explanation was that smoking is a bad habit you should never try. When you called him on his hypocrisy, he only smiled that familiar smile that somehow made him look like a gallant knight and told you he doesn’t want his friends to form an addiction.

Pointing out that his usual customers mostly consist of his friend group, he looks at you with something you can’t quite read. Amusement? Fondness? Or maybe he’s just high. When you ask him why he’d sell weed to Heizou and Yoimiya but not you, his only response was, “Because they aren’t you.”

The next time you meet up with your shared friends and recount the conversation you had with Kazuha, they laugh and clap you consolingly on the back, all while calling you oblivious.

ALBEDO

Top student. Completely effortless in getting the highest marks.

“Oh, the test? No, I didn’t study for it,” he tells you, and you think you finally have a companion in the ‘surely failing because they didn’t study team,’ but then the test results come out and he singlehandedly scores perfect marks.

He offers to tutor you when he sees you lamenting over your failed chemistry test. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity to be taught by the smartest student in your school, so you immediately take him up on that offer. He’s surprisingly good at teaching, doesn’t use complex words and tries to dumb down an explanation without sounding condescending.

It shows in the form of your next test result, showing only two mistakes out of fifty items. In your excitement, you ask him what you can do in exchange for him teaching you. Surprisingly, he asks if he can sketch you. Seeing nothing wrong with the request, you readily agree.

He doesn’t let you see the sketch until after it’s done. It takes bugging him in the middle of class, sitting next to him at lunch, and a lot of canoodling on your part to let you take a peak at his drawing. Still, he remains stubborn, so you’re left to wait until he actually finishes it.

When he does show it to you, it’s during the end of class just as everyone’s leaving their seats after the bell rings. The sketch depicts you with the happiest grin you’ve ever seen on your face. You’ve never once thought of yourself as anything but average in terms of looks, but Albedo seems to have a way of making people more beautiful than they are.

When you say so to him, he blinks at you and says he didn’t modify any features on his sketch, he just drew you exactly how you look in his eyes.

XIAO

The one people think is a delinquent. His aloof nature and the perpetual frown on his face don’t exactly help with his reputation. He’s your classmate, but he always keeps to himself and rarely engages in class activities unless necessary.

Your teacher partners the two of you up for a class project. You notice him looking distinctly uncomfortable at having to work as pairs once the announcement was made, so once you’re able to, you propose the idea of working on your own respective parts and compiling your works at a later date because he seems to prefer working on his own.

To your surprise, he says no to your idea. He tells you it’d be more difficult to complete the project that way and that he doesn’t really mind working with you.

The deadline for it is two months away, but both of you agree on getting an early start. That’s how you find yourself sitting beside him in the library everyday after school, typing away on your laptop and taking notes on your notebook. He’s actually a great partner, always asks for your opinion and gently corrects you whenever you make a mistake.

It isn’t until you’re working late at the library and he returns with snacks and drinks—your favorite snacks and drinks that he sheepishly admits he remembered from a passing remark you made weeks ago—that you realize that Xiao isn’t the aloof person you initially thought he was. He can actually be very thoughtful, he just doesn’t get much chances to show it to others.

On one particular day, after you spent the day away in the library until the sun came down, he offers to walk you home. He then realizes how presumptuous that must have sounded and mutters a quick ‘never mind.’ But before he can leave, you tell him you won’t mind if he walks you home.

The walk home is quiet, but it’s a nice sort of quiet. Comfortable. The only incident that happened on the way was when you encountered a drunk man, and before he could make a step towards you, Xiao was already looking at him with a cool glare that managed to scare the drunkard off.

He offers to walk you home again the next day, and the day after that, and so on. Even after you’ve submitted your project, he continues to walk you home. One day, when you get the courage, you hope you can finally ask him out for coffee sometime.

ITTO

An actual delinquent. He and his gang can usually be found loitering the hallways or spending time in detention.

You once run into him and his gang when you were out of class for a restroom break, all of them crowding outside the entrance to the girl’s restroom. Apparently, Shinobu, their gang’s second in command, is on her period but they don’t know where to get any tampons and pads ‘cause she forgot to bring some with her. You offer to give her your spare.

Itto thanks you by buying you lunch, saying you saved the Arataki gang from total destruction because they would’ve never survived without Shinobu. You think he’s overreacting a bit, but free food’s free food.

You feel a little bad once you find out he spent all his money on the meal he bought you, so you offer to buy him something in return. He tells you he owes you for it, and the next day he’s right outside your classroom holding a plastic bag full of take-out. The next time you walk past him in the hallways, you give him a muffin from the box you just bought.

It becomes a routine, giving each other food whenever the two of you see each other. Sometimes, you even sneak into detention just to give him some sweets, and sometimes he disrupts your class by barging in just give you a candy bar. He always gets detention afterwards.

When you ask him why he keeps doing it, he said he likes the surprised smile that always brightens your face whenever he shows up at your classroom unannounced.

SCARAMOUCHE

The principal’s son. Incredibly spoiled and thinks he owns the place. Never gets in trouble because his mother’s the principal and everyone is too scared to report him.

Until you did.

You can still remember the shocked look on his face when he turned around after deliberately tripping poor Bennett and saw Miss Yae, your school’s guidance counselor, right behind him. You don’t know the exact details, but you heard he was sent to the principal’s office and given a severe lecture by his own mother. Word has it he came out the office looking like he was ready to murder something.

Somehow, he finds out that you’re the one who reported him. He instantly makes it his goal to make your life a living hell. Unfortunately for him, the faculty has been keeping a close eye on him so he can’t do anything too incriminating. From glares in the hallways to pretending not to see you as he ‘accidentally’ bumps into you on the bustling corridors and making you drop your stack of papers to the floor.

When your friends found out, they immediately urged you to report his behavior directly to the principal, so that’s what you did. You were on your way to the principal’s office when you hear a sniffle coming from the closed door of the nearby stairwell. Concerned, you open the door with the intention of comforting whoever might be crying behind it, only to come face to face with the surprised expression of Scaramouche.

He quickly wipes away his tears and fixes you with a glare that could have killed anyone on the spot. But the damage has been done and you’ve seen what you’ve seen, so his glare barely has any effect on you, not when his eyes are still red and there’s dried tear-tracks on his cheeks. You stare at each other for a few moments before you offer him your handkerchief and tell him you don’t know exactly why he’s crying but that it’ll get better. He tells you to get out but not before accepting the handkerchief you offered.

Needless to say, you don’t go to the principal’s office after.

He stops bothering you after that incident, but you once catch sight of him with his friends outside school. One of them starts talking about you, badmouthing you in front of him in an attempt to cater to the well-known fact that he hates your guts. He doesn’t even get to finish his sentence before Scaramouche snarls at him to shut up.

The next time you pass him by the hallway, you give him a small smile. He hastily turns his head away, but not before you catch sight of the redness at the tips of his ears.

ZHONGLI

The handsome senior everyone’s developed a crush on at least once in their life.

The two of you didn’t exactly meet at school. It was back when you were still a freshman and Zhongli was a sophomore, though even then he was already popular. The coffee shop near your school was packed and the only seat left was the one in front of you, so naturally, that’s when he comes in asking if the seat’s free.

You were still relatively friendless back then, no familiar faces yet since it was only the beginning of the school year, so being approached by a popular sophomore felt like a dream to you. He was kind and patient, even going so far as to help you navigate through school during the first few weeks of adjustment.

You developed a silly crush on him during those weeks that only faded when you became closer to him and realized how much of that popular persona he had were just for show. You’d lost count of the amount of times you had to pay for both your meals just because he forgot his wallet at home, or how many times you almost fell asleep once he went off on a tangent about one such thing or another.

But even so, he’s one of the best friends you made in school.

You’re the one he goes to for help in choosing a university for college, and the two of you spend an entire night at your house brainstorming and writing down the pros and cons of each school. You have differing personalities and opinions, but by the end of it, you’re both satisfied with his decision regarding the school he chose.

And then you pass out on your couch after pulling that all-nighter. When you wake up, there’s lunch laid out on the dining table and a handwritten note from Zhongli.

To my beloved dearest friend, I hope you enjoy the meal and have a great day :)

#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #kazuha x reader #kaedehara kazuha x reader #albedo x reader #xiao x reader #itto x reader #arataki itto x reader #scaramouche x reader #zhongli x reader #gn reader

2K notes · View notes

seren1tyhaze · 10 months

Text

of grocery lists and spilled (oat) milk

PAIRING: mark lee x afab reader

WORD COUNT: 3.2K

SUMMARY: sure, keeping your grocery list in Mark Lee's dms may seem like next level delusional but it can't do any harm, right?

AUTHOR’S NOTE: for my lovely @strwbrysunday who inspired this and for being there always for every step of my delusional writing process <3 In case I don’t pull something together in time, we can count this as a VERY early bday tribute to Markly

WARNINGS: fluff, romantic meet cute, light swearing, rekindling romance, childhood friends to lovers

PLAYLIST: Broken Melodies and Like We Just Met by NCT Dream

Life is but a dream, we got history

Your alarm is blaring in your ear as your cat licks the tip of your nose, jolting you awake to see hot sun streaming in your bedroom window. How bright the room is has you scrambling for your phone, desperately hoping you hadn’t overslept (again).

Your phone screen confirms the worst as you whip back the covers and slide into fluffy slippers next to your bed, knocking a cup over as you reach for your cat’s food in the kitchen and spilling some of it in the process. She happily purrs against your bare legs before starting to eat slowly out of the small tray and you realize you’re going to have to drink the shitty office coffee since you’re both out of espresso pods and oat milk.

You quickly shower and are out the door in record time, thanking yourself that you hadn’t unpacked your work bag when you had gotten home late the night before. Work has been brutal lately, giving you barely any time in the evenings to yourself and you’ve never been one to wake up early in the morning. You know you have to go to the store today so you plan to try to sneak out a bit early to get your essentials.

Once you’re settled in the train car for your twenty seven minute ride, you work through a couple emails to get a head start on work before turning to your grocery list.

You glance to your side to see if anyone is looking over your shoulder at your phone, knowing the unconventional location of said list would seem questionable to a passerby.

Even you can admit that your delusional habit you had started ages ago was a little strange, but it felt comforting at this point and wasn’t hurting anyone. You opened up your Instagram DMs and tapped into the extremely one sided conversation with a charming, smiley rapper with 11.5M followers who did not know you existed.

Yes, you kept your grocery lists (and other important info you needed to find quickly) in Mark Lee’s DMs.

It had started as a joke a few years ago when you had finally admitted to your closest friend in the city that you and Mark had gone to summer camp together when you were kids. It had only been for a couple years but you remembered it like it was yesterday. The early morning kayak trips, knocking bare knees around a late night campfire, and how he used to sing you to sleep accompanied by the soft strumming of his guitar from the steps of your cabin.

You had followed his career ever since, listening to new songs as they were released, watching him on variety shows, and flipping through magazines whenever you saw his stunning face and bold style gracing the covers. You enjoyed seeing the short poems he would post on his stories or read out loud on the rare live he would do after shows.

Your friend had encouraged you to slide into his DMs at the time, purely motivated by her desire to meet his dancer best friend that he was sometimes spotted with at the most exclusive clubs. You had tapped open the message conversation with him and in typing quickly, accidentally pasted your short grocery list into the chat. She had laughed at you and you sent the message anyways, knowing that there was no way he would reply or ever even see it in his message requests.

You had a solid amount of followers for someone who didn’t work in the entertainment industry due to the app you had helped develop rising in popularity in the past few months. You sometimes helped out with filming vlog content for the website or TikToks but mostly kept to yourself and didn’t really have any interest in being internet famous.

Since you had first put your grocery list in Mark’s DMs, you had used the space to put little notes to yourself, including a drunken ramble one night about how 16 Personalities has royally fucked up everyone’s perception of MBTI.

Today, you opened up the message to add in your latest essentials, putting oat milk in all caps since the last few times you went you somehow managed to forget it. You needed food for the week, chicken and veggies, some other basics like mascara and tampons and remembered running low on cat treats.

Sliding your phone back into the front pocket of your bag, you let your eyes flutter shut for the rest of the ride to work, finally feeling the adrenaline of waking up late wear off.

Many hours later you are angrily typing on your computer, finishing up some code review for the development team, eyes flicking repeatedly to the clock in the bottom of your screen.

“I’m sorry you had to stay late, you should head out soon before it starts raining harder,” your coworker messages you, leaning from behind their monitor across the open office space, offering you a small smile.

You send off a couple frustrated emojis before typing up your feedback for the team in an email, feet already sliding into your rain boots you kept under your desk for gloomy days like today.

Checking your watch, you realize you are barely going to make it to the grocery store if you don’t leave now. The only benefit will be that it should be pretty empty this late at night. After a short train ride, you’re pushing a cart through the empty aisles, grabbing what you need and humming lightly to yourself. There are a few fellow late night shoppers milling about alongside the workers stocking the shelves for the next morning.

You grab the last item on your list just as a series of yawns hit you, making your way to the self-checkout area. You are about to scan your first item when you glance down at your cart, noticing you’ve managed to forget the oat milk again.

“Fucking…” you murmur under your breath, dropping your pack of tampons back into the cart and spinning on your heel, heading towards the back of the store to quickly grab the milk.

You’re almost back to your cart when you hit a wet spot on the floor, slipping in a dramatic, banana peel comedy sketch moment, falling hard on your back, managing to catch the back of your head with your hand before it collides with the linoleum floor.

The oat milk cartons in your hands crash to the floor, one of them starting to leak out in a milky puddle next to you.

Suddenly a masked face appears over you, white cloth covering most of his features, dark eyes holding a confused look. You are breathing heavily and blink a couple times to clear your vision.

“Yo…are you okay?” comes a loud and worried voice, holding a hand out in an offer of help.

You feel a little light headed but accept the hand anyways, allowing yourself to sit up and meet the eyes of the young man now crouching next to you on the wet floor.

“Uh yeah…yeah…the floor was we-” your speech is cut off suddenly as he pulls down his mask, shaking dark hair from his eyes and making eye contact with you again.

Kneeling in a puddle of rainwater and oat milk was none other than the man whose DMs you had monopolized for the past few years and the name you had moaned late at night with your hand shoved under your covers. It was the face you had studied countless times in high resolution photos from the airport posted on Twitter, a face that you had memorized down to the prominent mole on his cheek and the curves of his shining white teeth. Mark Lee had just watched you bite it on the floor of the grocery store right before closing.

You can barely keep eye contact with Mark as you stand up, looking down to see damp pants and your shirt rumpled. Embarrassed, you thank him under your breath, reaching down to pick up the milk cartons and tossing them in a nearby trash can. You quickly begin scanning the items from your cart with shaky hands, placing them in your tote bag, hoping to get out of there as soon as possible.

“Did you remember the cat treats?” he asks quietly, pushing the black hood off his head and stepping closer to you, handing you a carton of strawberries from your basket.

You lift up your gaze to meet his, mouth falling open at his question. His eyes are big and kind and he has a shy but warm expression on his face, plump pink lips settling into a pout as he finishes his question.

“You…read those messages? I’m uh…Mark…Lee…Mark Lee. I’m so sorry…” you ramble, brain scrambled and swimming with all other reasons why he could have asked that, praying that he somehow hadn’t been reading your messages all these years.

“How could I not when the cute girl from summer camp kept me informed on every little detail of her life,” he replied, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, smiling bashfully as his fingertips made contact with your now flushed cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Mark, I didn’t think there was any way you would remember me and it just kind of became a habit,” you stuttered out, scanning your last item and reaching for your wallet. You were acutely aware of how close he had gotten and silently hoped your makeup still looked good and that your hair had stayed lightly curled from yesterday’s styling. Every inch of your skin felt like it was on fire and you knew how red your neck had to be getting.

“I got it, but don’t forget the oat milk,” he offers as he scans a carton of the same brand from his own cart before swiping his card on the reader to pay for your groceries. You are once again stunned but tip your head down in a silent thanks.

“But for real, thank you for recommending this brand, it’s the best!” he laughs, scratching the back of his head awkwardly and grabbing your bags for you.

“I can’t believe you remember me,” you say quietly, a grin settling across your face as the two of you walk out of the store. His hand is brushing up against the back of yours as he keeps close to your side, popping open an umbrella to shield you from the light rain that hasn’t quite cleared yet.

“I’ve thought about you a lot over the years, but also know our lives took us in different directions. But I always hoped you were supporting me from a distance,” he replies candidly, tapping into his phone before handing it to you with an open contact card screen.

“Now, can you please give me your number so I can call you and we can go on a real date that doesn’t involve you laying a puddle of milk?”

“Hey, maybe that’s my idea of a perfect first date!” you laugh out, quickly adding yourself as a contact in his phone before handing it back to him. Your heart is pounding as your fingers brush against his, unable to believe that this is happening. You half expect to sit up in your bed any moment, thinking that all the videos you studied about lucid dreaming must have finally paid off.

He chuckles, closing the umbrella as the rain comes to a stop at the most picture perfect moment. The air smelled fresh in the post storm haze, fog settling lightly around you amongst flickering streetlights and the hum of city sounds. He reaches back to pull his hood up, covering dark and piecey short hair, hanging perfectly at the sides of his forehead. Whenever he turns his head, you catch a glimpse of an intricate pattern buzzed into the shorter sides, exposing flashes of his scalp in contrast to his dark hair.

Your eyes trail down his face and take in his full frame for the first moment since you first encountered him in the store. He’s broader than you had imagined, your height difference the same as when you had known him as a kid, but his arms look strong and tight jeans leaving little to the imagination. His face is bare but immaculate, brows perfectly coiffed and lips plump and moisturized.

He clears his throat lightly at you ogling him and you meet his sparkling eyes again as he sits your bags gently on the ground next to him, placing a tentative hand on your lower back.

“Yes?” you ask teasingly, batting your eyelashes a little for good measure, suddenly feeling confidence bloom within you. He sighs before speaking again and you feel the tension and nervousness between the two of you start to melt away.

“Ever since you sent me those videos on Halloween, I’ve been having to stop myself from sliding into your DMs like some sleazy asshole,” he mutters, voice suddenly lower and strained as his pinky finger brushes up against yours, linking with it and swinging lightly.

You knit your eyebrows together in confusion, trying to think back to what videos he could be talking about. Hazy memories of your drunken night out to multiple bars and house parties start flooding in as you begin to remember what you wore that night.

Golden fabric and black strappy laces from below your navel up to your neck flash in your mind and you suddenly remember your cheetah costume that was less than safe for work. Those heels went straight in the trash when you got home because while they made your legs look amazing, they gave you the worst blisters of your entire life.

“...I did not send you videos that night,” you start cautiously, placing a hand on his chest to ground yourself. You are trying to force the memories forward but all you can think of is the countless shots you took with your friend and some sloppy make out sessions on the dance floor.

He chuckles, nodding silently and letting his forehead fall towards yours, pressing against yours tenderly. It did bring you comfort but also made your heart skip a beat.

“I am…mortified,” you sigh, blinking up at him from the awkward angle.

“Don’t be, you looked fucking hot,” he breathes out, warm breath minty and fanning out across your lips.

His lips are on yours seconds later, hand sliding down towards your ass and pulling you closer into him. He breaks away from you, inches from your lips, checking your face for any sign of discomfort, only to find lust laden, hooded eyes blinking rapidly.

You surge forward to capture his lips again, bringing your hand up to his neck and digging your nails into the skin there. His tongue presses against your lips eagerly and you give him access instantly, a soft whine buzzing against his mouth. You lose all concept of time and space, forgetting you are standing on the empty downtown streets in front of the market, in the arms of one of the most famous musicians in the world.

You break away first, having to calm your breathing pattern and releasing the material you were gripping on his chest.

He chuckles and slides his hand up your back, massaging your shoulder lightly through your raincoat. He’s so much more gentle and tender than you could have ever imagined and you struggle to maintain eye contact with him.

“I can’t believe all I had to do was buy a carton of oat milk to finally kiss my first crush after all these years,” he laughs out, leaning in to gently nuzzle at your hair.

“Do you need me to add anything to our grocery list? You know, it’s almost been two years since we started it, I think,” Mark laughed out a little loudly, despite being close to your ear in Taeyong’s crowded apartment.

“Wait, I thought you two just moved in together recently?” Jaemin cackles, taking a long sip of beer. You didn’t realize he was eavesdropping on your conversation, assuming he had been too focused on Jeno’s karaoke performance happening in the center of the room.

You dip your head down, embarrassed by the fact that Mark’s closest friends still didn’t know the full details of your reunion and start of your relationship. You had sworn him to secrecy, telling him he could fill them in on the past camp days and make up some story about how the two of you had met at an art gallery opening.

“Oh Jaem, haven’t you heard of our adorable meet cute?” Mark asks mischievously, nudging your knee with his and dragging his lips over your ear. His eyes tell you everything, just as they always had, just like when you first met.

“Oh do tell,” he gushed, letting his chin drop into his hand with his elbow propped up on his crossed legs. He tapped his cheek with his fingers, wiggling his eyebrows at the two of you.

While you refused to let Mark share the story of years of grocery lists and your fall at the market check out, you did let him share how he asked you to move in with him a few months prior.

On a normal Friday morning you had pulled open the fridge, reaching in without looking, and feeling your hand brush against an unfamiliar piece of paper on the oat milk.

A watermelon shaped post-it note (that had seemingly been “borrowed” from your desk) was taped to the front of the carton with hurried handwriting in a statement that made your heart flutter.

I hate this distance and I hate singing broken melodies. Move in with me <3

The carton almost slips from your fingers but you manage to catch it and pour some with a shaky hand into your waiting tumbler.

Pulling your phone from your jeans pocket, you lean your back against the counter, petting your cat’s head as she emerges from her favorite spot behind the toaster oven.

Opening Instagram, you tap into your conversation, adding a to do list in the same format you usually used for your grocery lists.

To Do List: Help my new roommate pick out more comfortable pillows for the bed -.-

Typing bubbles appear almost immediately, and a string of sappy emojis and voice notes start flooding in from Mark.

It’s still surreal to see replies from the message thread that had been one-sided for so long. You still message in Instagram from time to time, finding comfort in the space, despite spending hours on the phone each day and being in almost constant contact via other messaging apps.

A knock at your door pulls your attention and you have to dab your eyes with the back of your hand where tears have pricked up. A couple large boxes are waiting outside your door and you drag them inside before snapping a picture to send to Mark. You had planned a camping trip for later in the summer, looking forward to reliving those muggy summer nights spent chasing fireflies, spending your days reading in a hammock and falling even deeper in love with the boy who first made you feel special all those years ago.

#nct x reader #mark lee fanfic #mark lee x reader #mark lee #nct dream x reader #nct dream fanfic #serenity wrote something nice and angst free for once #are you proud #serenity’s love letter to markfs

259 notes · View notes

whitedemon-ladydeath · 5 months

Text

it's really frustrating to be held for something i said well over 5 years ago from someone that has me blocked in the first place to the point posts im making *now* are getting tone policed by a third party. granted, it was something out of line and ableist and thoughtless towards papa archeron and its absolutely fair to be mad about it!! I completely understand and I wouldn't be caught dead saying something like that now as I have done a lot of self educating and growing and reflecting

but what makes it so frustrating is I make a post about being frustrated about Feyre not painting Nesta, but still painting their father. I believe I said something about him being useless and believe it or not, he *was* useless and it had absolutely nothing to do with him being disabled. He was a useless parent long before then. He neglected and abandoned Nesta well before he was hurt or they lost their wealth and the moment they got it back he was miraculously healed up enough to go right back to ignoring his daughters and traversing the world

his character is so hollow and flat that there's very little for me, personally, to find sympathetic. *He* lost their wealth and their fortune and in doing so he lost money to debt collectors. it's absolutely horrific that Feyre was made to bare witness to that and beg for them to stop hurting him. I identify so much with Feyre in that regard. That still does not remove the fact it was his own actions that led to that in the first place. if he got beaten within an inch of his life for losing that much money who the hell was he WORKING with in the first place (we don't know bec SJM is a shitty writer)

He is directly responsible for their loss of wealth and I am not personally holding him responsible for the last of it being used to partially heal his leg. however he IS still responsible for the loss of it in the FIRST place. his disability is a result of poor financial decisions and ofc there is no excuse to be ableist towards him for it

quite frankly he's written so poorly that there's nothing I personally can latch onto to give him much benefit of the doubt. I'm still going to hold him more responsible for not trying to find SOME WAY to take care of his daughters. NESTA reached out to relatives, FEYRE stepped up to hunt for them and he... makes wood carvings that don't even sell

Nesta being more vilified for the cabin years compared to their father, who is directly responsible for the loss of their wealth, has made me heartless towards him

he was useless before they lost their wealth and he was useless well after. He was, quite frankly, a deadbeat father, who threw Nesta to the wolves (his wife and her mother), who favored Feyre and Elain over her time and time again and I'm sorry but me saying he's useless is exactly what he was

he's a useless parent who let his children be neglected and/or further abused by his wife. maybe if SJM wrote him better, with more nuance, actually building on the dynamics between his wife and himself, instead of saying he was afraid of NESTA, a fourteen year old girl, I might have a different opinion but right now he doesn't have a whole lot of sympathy from me considering my own history with my disabled, terminally ill mother doing her best and killing herself taking care of us while also in an abusive, violent marriage

SJM didn't write it well enough for me to offer any kind of grace bec quite frankly, I am also really, really sick of father figure characters getting off the hook while the female characters are burned at the stake for being flawed and/or unperfect caretakers, which, to be clear, Nesta WAS NOT in the first place

#a court of thorns and roses #acotar #nesta archeron #sjm critical #anti sjm #papa archeron

56 notes · View notes

dailydegurechaff · 9 months

Note

What is Marry like in this AU of yours?

God I fucking hate Tanya von Degurechaff so fucking much holy shit. Holy shit, every piece of propaganda she's in, every photo, every parade, every video, she's got this painfully serious, annoying as shit, fuckass blank look on her stupid fucking face. Absolutely no part of her ugly as sin piece of shit appearance is endearing. Her stumpy fucking legs? How the hell is someone that fucking short. Her dumb little silver wings medal? Her shitty, round bastard face? The three thousand percent unnecessary dumbass shitass fucking ANTENNAE that no person in her company has EVER FUCKING TRIED TO FIX FOR HER IN tHE HISTORY OF GOD'S GREEN FUCKING EARTH? God, I hate her. I hate her so much. So FUCKING much. Every time I see a White Silver toy or a propaganda poster or a shitty goddamn commercial, it ignites my primal rage response and I'm overcome by the need to punt this shitty little war criminal into the fucking sun. "tee-hee! I'm Tanya, the White Fucking Silver, I like war crimes". Fuck you. Fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you fuck you. You look like a shithead little brat. Your dumb fucking antenna hair makes your whole shitty head look like an unkempt street cat. I hate your dumb fucking little button nose and your stupid, stern blue eyes and your over-the-top no-nonsense hardass asshole personality. Any time she smiles it invokes all the wrath and fury of a spoiled child having a meltdown over a chocolate bar in a w*lmart checkout line. And I know its irrational. That's the worst part. I know she's just a single fucking child soldier in a giant fucking empire’s army, I know it doesn't matter, I know I shouldn't care. But that's part of the problem. The part where no matter the might and fury of my hatred, the locus of my homicidal intent is alltogether a tiny piece of a greater evil. I find myself laying awake in the dark in the early hours of the morning consumed by the spirit of Wrath itself, all the force and might of a flaming hurricane directed at a bottle of piss in a ditch by the highway. The absurdity of it all burns me to my core. What better things could this energy be directed towards? And yet my disdain for this stupid, useless, insubstantial failure of endearing propaganda utterly eclipses the intrigue of all other pursuits. I hate her. I hate her on a level of my mind reserved for the worst of the world's array of sinners, and I can't even begin to justify it. Tanya the Evil is, for all intents and purposes, a single facet of the army subjugating the world- a propagandized pawn distilled into the single, hateable form of a shining ideal soldier for every other imperial scumbag to emulate. The fucking. Fuck. I have no words. There is no cuss or epithet in any language that can encapsulate the height of the emotions I am experiencing. God, I hate her so much. I hate her so, so fucking much. I want to light her ugly little dumpster body on fire. I want to graphically beat her to death with the butt of the gun she stole off my father. I want to punch her to death. You know that weird feeling you get, when you see a picture of something so cute you find yourself overcome with the bizarre, inexplicable urge to squeeze it? It's EXACTLY like that, except instead of cuteness it's disgust. The wordless knowledge that her existence as a war hero is evidence of all the failures of mankind. I find myself possessed by the will of a Holy Angel gone rogue with the belief that God has made a mistake, and I alone must correct it. This is the trial by which Samael himself fell from grace. This wild, meaningless rage. A thousand blades of shining steel cast with inhuman force in the direction of a plastic grocery bag floating on a breeze. What horrors must I have committed in a past life to be plagued by this torment now? I must Unmake this sinful child

(x)

#i know its tanyas birthday but here i am posting abt mary's seething hatred #you can read this as genuine rage or angry gay pining either characterization is acceptable to me #to answer your question: still hates tanya #tbh you can answer just about any question regarding the “canon” of dailydegu by asking urself this one question #“what is the funniest possible outcome to any situation?”#dailydegu is basically a comedy at this point #mary sue #mary sioux #mary #youjo senki #the saga of tanya the evil #ask #joshtr2000 #bonus doodle

96 notes · View notes

storiesbyrhi · 2 years

Text

Angel of the First Degree - Chapter 1: Valium

Eddie Munson x Chubby & Inexperienced!Reader 2359 words

Warnings: Anxiety/panic attack; misuse of prescription medication; fatphobia including internalised; cigarettess; bullying; body issues; no beta; warnings updated each chapter

Synopsis: When Eddie Munson finds you in the midst of a panic attack, it is the beginning of something. A fic featuring body and sex positivity, Eddie in a dress, soft small moments, scary big truths, and all the usual special feelings you'd expect from one of my stories.

Chapter 1: Valium

Eddie rounded the corner, hands in his pocket already pulling out his pack of cigarettes. He’d moved too swiftly, unable to stop and slink backwards without being seen.

“Sorry,” he said, hands up defensively. “Didn’t know it was, ah, occupied. I’ll-” Eddie was about to say ‘go,’ when he saw the look on your face.

Your skin was blotchy, tears streaming down your cheeks. Bloodshot eyes, mouth open, gasping for air. He knew a panic attack when he saw one, even if he didn’t know they were a thing with a name.

“Are you okay?” Eddie asked.

You said nothing as you stared at him like an animal caught in the headlights. He thought you might speak, but it was clear you were chasing your breath.

“You… need to breathe. Keep going like that and you’re gonna pass out. And, you know, I’ve got a bit of a reputation already. Don’t want to add ‘seen with unconscious girl behind the woodwork shed’ to it,” he joked.

Nothing. No reaction from you. It was like he wasn’t even there. Eddie was almost going to give up, but there was a memory of you in his mind. Vivid. Formative. So, instead of leaving you he said your name once, firmly, loudly. It made you jump a little, startled.

“Come on. Sit,” Eddie said, moving to sit at your feet, cross legged on the shitty high school grass.

Complying, you sat, legs folded under you on an angle in front of Eddie.

He looked you dead in the eyes and said, “In through the nose, out through the mouth.” He demonstrated. You tried to copy it, but it took a couple of tries. Slowly though, it worked.

“There she is,” Eddie said, his voice back to being soft. “You’re okay.”

Eddie watched you avoid eye contact, pulling a drink bottle from your bag and gulp down water. It was quiet, the distant sounds of power towels and teenage laughter providing the only relief for any awkwardness. To kill time, wait for you, he got out the cigarette he had come to that hidden away spot for in the first place. He leaned back, the heel of his hands digging into the ground behind him for support.

“Thank you,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

“No problem… So, ah, what class is so awful that someone like you is skipping?”

Sniffling, you replied, “I’ve got a free period,”

“Ah. Of course…” Eddie took another drag of his cigarette. “Do… you wanna talk about it?”

God, when was the last time you had just… talked about it? Talked about anything? Months. Months and months. But what were you going to do? Spill your guts out to Eddie Munson?

“I’m okay,” you replied.

“You sure? I am an excellent listener.”

You looked at him, saw how casual and honest he was. He maintained eye contact while he lifted his face to exhale smoke up and away from you.

“I have to give a speech next period. In History,” you told him.

Eddie was confused. “I don’t know if you remember, but we were in the same English class last year,” he recalled.

“Yeah, I took a Senior class,” you replied.

“Yeah. Even though you were the only Junior in the class, you never got nervous. Always seemed real confident to me.”

He was right. The school counsellor had told you picking up an extra Senior class would look great on college applications, so you chose English. Eddie was repeating his Senior year for the first time then and spent the whole time sitting in the back corner not participating. Unlike you. You would speak first in class discussions. Joke with the other students, your friends. Eddie remembered, you were eloquent and sure.

“Yeah, well, that was before,” you mumbled.

“Before what?” Eddie asked.

Was he fucking joking?

“Seriously?”

Eddie shrugged, made a face that clearly meant he had no idea what you were referring to.

“You don’t… know?” you asked.

“I’m not exactly part of the Hawkins High popular crowd phone tree,” he joked.

“Yeah, well, neither am I anymore.” You didn’t say it with venom, but with sadness. Eddie saw the pain in your face. You pulled at blades of grass before braving eye contact again. “You really don’t know anything?”

“I mean… I don’t see you in the cafeteria with the rest of the pom pom party, but I figured, you know, Senior year. Smart girl. Probably spends her time studying.”

He really didn’t know about the… About any of it.

However, at some point, he noticed your absence during lunch.

“I’m… not friends with them anymore,” you told him, leaving it at that, a little thrown that you were telling him anything at all.

“Oh… Well, good riddance? Right?” The joke slipped out and he was sitting up straight, stubbing his smoke out into the grass. “Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t mean- I’m sure they’re-” He couldn’t think of a lie. He was sure they were all assholes.

“It’s okay,” you said with a weak smile. “But, yeah, I’m not on… Good terms with them,”

“And now you gotta give a talk in front of them, kind of thing?” Eddie guessed.

You nodded, thinking about it. The tightness returned to your chest and you were aware of how dry your mouth was again.

“No, no, no, you’re fine. You’re gonna do fine,” Eddie told you, reaching out and taking a hand. “Don’t freak out on me again.” He might have been able to coach you out of panic, but as soon as you stepped foot in that History class you were going to lose it. He knew it. You knew it. “Alright, fuck. Here,” he said, pulling a tiny plastic bag from his pocket. “You on anything?”

“What?”

Eddie smiled at the way you were innocently watching him. “Like, medications. Anything?” You shook your head. “Alright, well, I’m giving you half of one of these bad boys. It will just… take the edge off. Like, barely. Just enough.”

You watched him snap a small pill in half using a loose coin he found in his pocket. He held it out to you and nodded.

“What is it?” you asked, looking at it sitting in the palm of your hand.

“Just valium. Half the school is on ‘em. I promise it’s safe.”

There were reasons to not trust Eddie Munson, drug dealer, in that moment. Maybe he was just trying to get you hooked on his drugs so he could make lots of money off you. That’s what drug dealers did, right? Or maybe he was like all the other boys, only thinking of one thing.

There were reasons to trust him, though. His kindness, for one. It was a warm feeling you weren’t used to anymore. Secondly, you had very little to lose.

You swallowed the cut valium with the last of the water in your bottle.

“Thank you,”

“Again – no problem,” he replied. “You should probably just sit here for another five minutes. Make sure you don’t have a reaction or anything,”

“Does that happen?” you asked, the pitch in your voice indicating worry.

“No. No. I just… Ya know. Looking for an excuse to keep talking to you,” Eddie said, his delivery perfect. Flirty. Kind. A little bit of danger.

His smile stretched ear to ear and his teeth were whiter than you would have expected for someone who did… drugs. Do drug dealers do drugs all the time?

You blushed, looked down and busied yourself with looking for your compact mirror.

“What class are you skipping?” you asked him, suddenly aware you had no idea what he was doing out there, besides having a smoke.

“Ah, that would be English. Same class, third year in a row,” Eddie told you, exaggerating a wince. He caught the micro expression flash across your face. “I know, I know. Going for a fourth at this rate. It’s just… I didn’t do the homework, so…”

“What’s the homework? Of Mice and Men still?”

“Yep. I could recite that book front to back…. ‘What the hell do you suppose is eatin’ them guys,’” Eddie quoted.

“Why haven’t you done the work then?” you asked. Eddie shrugged. “Is it an essay? What’s the question?”

Eddie was just happy to have gotten you talking, distracted from your own perceived impending doom.

“Uhhh… It’s like… Discuss the ways… the book is… similar to a play? And… does that make the book better or worse?” he recalled, doing a pretty good job at remembering the essay question. To be fair to Eddie, he had planned on doing it. He really wasn’t trying to fail again. But Wayne had to cover an extra shift, so Eddie had to do the laundry and grocery shopping. He would have time to do it all too, but he was shitty at time management.

You laughed. “That’s the same question from last year. It’s about how each section starts with these long, descriptive paragraphs. They set the scene the same way it would in a script for a play,” you told him as you fished out a notepad and pen from your bag.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asked.

“I can’t get you an A, not without the book and more time, but I can probably get you a pass?”

Eddie was stunned for a second, watched you begin to madly scribble out sentences, trying to use your thick thighs as a table, your legs still folded under you.

“Why?”

“As a thank you,” you said. “Now shush. Let me do this,”

“Well fuck, alright. Here, let me be useful, at least,” Eddie said, laying down on the grass. He took the notepad and put it on his chest, gestured for you to continue, then put his arms behind his head.

“You have to close your eyes if you’re gonna lay like that,” you told him, leaning down and letting his ribcage keep the notepad mostly steady.

“Like what?” Eddie asked, looking up at you. He didn’t like the frown you shot him, so he did what he was told and closed his eyes.

Relieved that he didn’t press the subject, you could focus on the homework without feeling the heat of embarrassment. You were sure that you looked horrible from his angle. Fat.

There were ten short minutes left until the next period when you finished. “Done!”

Eddie’s eyes opened and he sat up. “She’s gonna know I didn’t write this,” he said, flicking through the pages.

“It’s not against school rules to have someone else scribe your work,” you said.

“Look at you. Loopholes, huh? How do you know that one?” Eddie asked. When you hesitated, he smirked. “You’ve done this before,”

“Yeah,”

“You really are different. To how you were last year, I mean,”

“Is that… good?” you ventured.

“Yeah. I think so. You don’t?”

Jesus. That was a can of worms you did not want to open. You shrugged and went back to looking for your compact mirror. When you found it and saw your reflection you almost gasped.

“I look like a raccoon!” you squealed involuntary, furiously rubbing under your eyes trying to shift the mascara.

“A cute raccoon,” Eddie clarified. You shot him an angry look that he just chuckled at. “Here, lemme,” he said, pulling the bandana that hung from his back pocket out and picking up your water bottle. Empty. “Spit,”

“What?”

“No water. Spit. Unless you want my spit on your face?”

You hesitated, realising you didn’t know how to just… spit. The next best thing was taking the bandana and sucking on the tip of it, handing it back to Eddie despite knowing what it was for. You could have done it yourself, but he had said to let him, and there was something in that tone that made you want to comply again.

Eddie held your chin with one hand and wiped at your messy makeup with the other.

“There. Pretty as a picture,” he told you, letting go.

Checking his work in your mirror, you nodded. “Thank you. Again,”

“Think I might need to thank you for that one. Come on,” he said, standing up and offering you a hand. “You better get a head start.”

You brushed the grass off your knees and picked up your bag, slinging it onto your back. “What do you mean?”

“Can’t go out there together. You, seen with me, behind the shed? Social suicide,” Eddie said not sad but neutrally, which was way worse.

You’d already survived social suicide. Something Eddie had no idea about. When he found out what had happened, you were sure he would be disgusted by you too. He’d feel like the people who used to be your friends did. It would be the only thing Eddie Munson, the basketball team, and the cheer squad had in common, but it would unite them in their shared revulsion.

Until then, you could pretend.

“So, you won’t walk me to class?” you asked looking up at him.

That goddamn smile was solar power. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” you confirmed.

Eddie nodded once and began to walk with you in the direction of the main buildings. The bell rang as you approached, and soon enough you were surrounded by students. Most of them had their own shit going on and paid no mind to you or Eddie. Some of them were interested in your fall from grace.

The walk was void of conversation, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. At the door of your classroom, Eddie spoke. “Feeling okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I think the valium worked,"

“Good. That’s good… Well… knock ‘em dead, kid,” Eddie said, punching you in the shoulder so gently you hardly felt it.

“Thank you, for everything. I…”

“S’okay. Just… Remember. You’ve only got a year left here. Then you’re okay. Whatever else is going on, it doesn’t matter,” Eddie said, his gaze falling on your classmates as they approached. You nodded. “See ya around.” All you could do was nod, because how you felt as he stepped away from you was beyond your capacity for words in the moment.

CHAPTER 2

End Note: Future chapters will likely be longer; the overall word count is at 12,000 and I am nowhere near done. Let me know your early thoughts and feelings!

Find me on AO3 here. Want an Eddie Munson zine? Check it on on my Insta.

Eddie Taglist (Open): @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit

#Mine #Eddie Munson #Eddie Munson Fanfic #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson x You #Eddie Munson/Reader #Eddie Munson/You #Stranger Things

459 notes · View notes

3d-wifey · 2 years

Note

CAN I GET MIKE WHEELER BEING A CUTE BOYFRIEND????? LIKE A CUTE LITTLE DRABBLE OF HIM BEING MEAN TO SOMEONE ELSE AND BEING NICE TO US, HIS GIRLFRIEND

I didn't make him mean to anyone specific, but I did include his general hatred for the world at large. Shout out to the number 1 Mike fan @unsheath

It must have been the hottest day in Hawkins's history by far, and it definitely didn't help that everyone and their mom seemed to unanimously decide to go to Forever 21 at the same damn time.

It was stupidly humid and Mike could feel the sweat making his shirt stick to his back as his gangly body hunched over uncomfortably in the shitty backless dressing room chairs.

His leg bounced up and down as dozens upon dozens of people milled around at a glacial pace, definitely not in any hurry to leave anytime soon, making it ten times hotter. To make matters worse, the store was located in a part of the mall that didn't have a functioning AC. It would cut on randomly before sputtering out and Mike really hoped the jackasses that constructed this building burned in hell.

He leaned forward before deciding to lean back against the cool wall and cross his arms over his chest. He didn't have to look in one of the many mirrors to know his face was twisted into something petulant. Face flushed and scowl heavy.

Despite the mall being relatively new, the speakers still crackled and squeaked as they played some kind of shitty bubblegum pop at an obnoxious volume.

Shitty; it was all shitty and Mike would love to be literally anywhere else, but...

The dressing room door in front of him swung open as you walked out. The lighting in this area was far from flattering, but it seemed to shine on you perfectly.

"So," his back straightened and his arms dropped to his sides as you did a cute little spin, "How do I look?"

You wore a plain, white shirt and black suspenders attached to a black pleated skirt with funky symbols all over it. From what he could see, there were yellow circles, green squares, and pink squiggles. The only thing this outfit had in common with the other ones you tried on today was how pretty you looked in it, which made it an automatic win in Mike's books.

"Good. It looks good," he had to consciously make sure his jaw hadn't dropped, "You look good."

"You said that about the last three outfits." You huffed, going to look at yourself in the mirror.

"Because it's true." He shrugged, feeling weirdly defensive, "You make them all...good."

He was sure he wasn't much help shopping-wise, considering he thought you looked pretty in everything you wore. That probably explained the three other shopping bags next to him full to the brim with new clothes, clothes he insisted on buying. And by the looks of it, he was buying this one too. He could kiss this month's allowance goodbye.

"You've got a real way with words, Wheeler."

"I managed to get you to date me, didn't I?" He reminded you with a self-satisfied smirk, but it was kind of hard to feel smug with sweat gathering on his lip.

"Sure, but it was only because it was embarrassing how hard you tried to get my attention." His smirk would have faltered if he hadn't caught your shit-eating grin.

"Oh, har har. Hurry up so we can get in line. I wanna get to Scoops Ahoy before Steve's shift ends." Mike couldn't wait for the two of you to escape the heat while gorging yourselves on the free ice cream you'd both guilt trip Steve into giving you. You more than him, since it was hard for anyone to deny you anything. It was the main reason he came with you when he could have been at the arcade with the rest of the Party.

"Okay." You leaned down to kiss the corner of his mouth and if anyone asked, the blush traveling down his neck would be blamed on the heat.

#stranger things 4 #stranger things #mike wheeler #mike wheeler x reader #mike wheeler x you #fluff

710 notes · View notes

rreskk · 11 months

Text

TREVOR PHILIPS EXTENDED ANALYSIS

Trevor Philips…

Drug dealer, “international CEO”, son, brother, friend.

TW: -Self harm -Implied drug use -Childhood abuse

I’ve made a longer analysis of Trevor as a character (THIS ISN’T A FANFICTION).

ENJOY!

Growing up in the Canadian region border of America, it has been portrayed that he has a complicated history surrounding family and mental illness. While it isn’t exactly proven (unless Trevor stated himself), his childhood had been the possible causes of his later behaviour and long-term issues. As for now, we see it as psychopathy, or as wiki would say “Intermittent Explosive Disorder” (impulsive behaviour and explosive temper that could lead to physical aggression). Others would argue that he suffers from borderline personality disorder, considering his struggle to contain stable relationships and is seen experiencing the main symptoms of what a person of BPD can have.

His childhood consisted of instability, financial stress, emotional damage, and physical abuse. Trevor mentioned his mothers constant absence to Lamar and Franklin during a friendly hangout. -“She came back, she left again, came back, left again…” The repeated cycle of his mother leaving, whether this was earlier or later in his teens, it would show the great affect it had on him, personally. Trevor made it clear about his abandonment issues during the storyline and dialogue. His whole idea of finding Michael was to fulfil the years of being abandoned and alone. Having experienced this instability for his childhood had took a toll on his emotional availability. The cravenness of reassurance, respect, presence, or just staying with him. However, his anger issues would make it harder for him to keep people around.

Trevor has also stated his anger management being poor since the beginning of his time. After having a conversation with Jimmy De Santa, he was asked when he knew what he wanted in life. It’s safe to say he had this psychotic mindset since birth, theoretically the result of his mother’s drug addict and poor lifestyle. -“I was pulling the legs off spiders, and I wanted more. I wanted to kill all the way up to the food chain until I hit top, the human being.” However, when being antagonised about this behaviour, he swiftly blames it on his childhood as Amanda would say: -“God, he is such a turd! That wounded childhood bullshit – we all had had shitty childhoods, you balding lump!” This same coping mechanism from Trevor is seen when being asked about his mother. We all know he has been through some verbal/emotional abuse as for his fear of talking about her. Trevor has never said anything negative about his mother despite complaining about his childhood… If someone dares speak her name, he’ll throw a fit, a rageful rant about respecting his mother, almost protecting the fact that she may be the reason for his tormented soul. The “Mrs Philips” mission towards the end of the game, we can see the emotional abuse he receives without doing anything wrong to deserve her bitterness. The constant insults and belittlement, Betty even demands Trevor to seek her medication and would not let him inside the trailer until it was finished. If this is bad enough during his adulthood, we can’t even imagine the mess he had to deal with during childhood. Nevertheless, his mother issues has inserted a particular taste in women throughout the years. -“Old women are to be cherished!” He'd say during a strangers and freaks mission. His calm behaviour towards Patricia and any lady in general would suggest his utter respect (or secret fear). He craves female attention and a maternal dependence. If we look at this closely, we may understand how the lack of maternal attachment between the first few years of his life (0-5 years) would influence his later decision to grow attachments to the wrong people, and the wrong things. (This is called attachment theory- psychological theory). Trevor’s mother may have missed most of his early childhood for financial gain (her stripping, prostitution, etc), and therefore left Trevor with whoever she had at home, his brother and some of his step-dads. Occasionally he was left alone.

Moving on to his difficult relationship with fathers in general, we can understand that the physical abuse he gets from the men in his past would influence his behaviour to men in the future and present. Trevor had grew up being physically abused and dominated, almost tricking his mind into exacting himself into the repeated cycle, turning into the abuse he got and aims the intensions to weaker men (Ron, Floyd, Wade) to fill in that insecurities he got from his biological and step-fathers. Although a father figure isn’t as important to a maternal figure, it did affect his perspectives and made his anger issues worse, especially (I can’t exactly remember the source) when Trevor’s biological father abandoned him in a shopping mall (that he later burnt down in retaliation). Being let down by many older figures had made him dependent on people in the future, people who have a stand in power with Trevor, someone who is able to balance and handle his anger (Michael and Franklin).

It has also been stated that his brother, Ryan, had died of unnatural causes. Elements of Trevor’s words would convince us that he had something to do with it considering they hadn’t of gotten along well enough… To live. However, there is not much information surrounding his brother during this time.

His education is flawed (dropping out before graduating) and being expelled due to the aggressive nature. Trevor had moved all over Canada and had been switched between care homes, trailers, schools, prisons all throughout growing up. However, he has surprising gains in mathematics and can workout sums within a second, and with full accuracy. Trevor is able to process mathematical problems fast, as Wade would say: -“He’s very good with numbers.” Furthermore, the lack of grammar and overall English makes him improvise during speeches and messages. Trevor always speaks metaphorically, he hyperbolises a lot, uses imaginative scenarios to engage the people around him. (Sometimes manipulating – extremely, to get his point across… even if it doesn’t make sense).

“I was a drifter up by the border, wandering from truck stop to truck stop, recently out of the military… Huffing gas, fucking people over, killing, eating, whatever.” Trevor’s discharge from the military was caused by the detached and restrained relationship with his mother. Psychologically, maternal dependence and relationships determines someone’s emotional strengths and depth… Trevor mentioned during an online heist that the therapist who was determining his worth would constantly try and talk about his mother, resulting in an episode which… Eventually led to his discharge (thanks to his anger issues). His dreams to fly planes would crush and Trevor would be left drifting around the Midwest, utterly defused and emotionally damaged. That’s until he meets Michael, and then Brad.

2004, the prologue. We can consider Trevor’s experience to be titled as “survivors guilt”. His loyalty and partnership with both Michael and Brad was cut off after they both unexpectedly got shot. Trevor lived with the guilt of seeing his best friends die, thinking he could of done something… But Michael had obviously told him to save himself, resulting in the 9 years of isolation and depression. He was unknown of Michael’s plan to escape the criminal aspects, feasting the money for himself, the money Trevor couldn’t access as his identity was blown. Imagining that Trevor had to shave his hair and beard just to pass the radar of his North Yankton wanted posters, he had to skip towns without money, and impressively invested a meth business, earning a good load to make him… Well, wealthy. His mother had been absent for years after being imprisoned (as it was mentioned through story-mode), leaving Trevor to be living in Sandy Shores with a successful rising drug business, but with the shame of his past abandonment and lawful struggles to keep his morality clean… Obviously his modesty being destroyed by the abuse of drugs and alcohol (his damaging coping mechanisms).

Unsuspecting Michael being alive, it was a total shock for him to see the news, a potential copycat… Yet Trevor knew. Trevor’s intuition was strong, always have been strong. Throughout the gameplay, Trevor has odd intelligence and senses. He can tell when something doesn’t fit and he’ll suddenly click. He can understand situations faster than most people. He caught eyes with Davey and he knew him. He first saw Michael after 9 years and knew he was lying. After some convincing… Michael’s denials had led Trevor to realise that Brad’s imprisonment was also a lie. It seems that although Trevor takes on the worse from his experiences, he also earns himself the skill to predict and understand unfolding events. He can attack and approach situations, while impulsively, but effectively.

Further notes: Trevor’s coping mechanisms would include niche drugs, alcohol, sex, pornography, aggression, self-harm, and isolation. He finds himself deeply attached to women in general, often exploiting himself by seeing many prostitutes and masturbating to pornography daily. This would be the result of his mother’s absence and abuse… Nevertheless, he engulfs in self-harm (hitting his head, biting, scratching, etc) as a way to defuse his self-hatred (as he always saw himself as the problem… Thanks to his childhood again). His suicidal tendencies is pretty obvious throughout the gameplay.

#trevor philips #trevor gta #trevor philips headcanons #gta trevor #grand theft auto #grand theft auto 5 #grand theft auto v #grand theft 5 #grand theft v #anaylsis #pyschology #michael townley #michael de santa #franklin clinton #bradley sniper #north yankton #gta

66 notes · View notes

omgeveryusernameistakenicanteven · 1 year

Text

Totally Awesome (pt 2 to Monotony)

Deadpool x Y/n

It’s smexy time B). Reader is gender neutral in this! No particular bits mentioned, only some (hopefully) good smut. Also idk if I should mention but reader is penetrated in this, so if that’s not your thing you’ve been warned! Not sponsored by Tylenol. Pls enjoy :)

Also I’ve decided to start mentioning that requests are open before my stories, so, requests are open!

Deadpool squealed and ran off to Y/n’s bedroom. Y/n had responded by rolling their eyes and going to pop a Tylenol. This Deadpool guy is a headache, especially after a particularly shitty day at work. Still, Y/n thought, maybe he’s good in bed. It always seems to be the odd ones that are.

As soon as Y/n enters the room Deadpool calls, “Like what you see?” He’d stretched himself out on his side, doing his very best impression of the “paint me like one of your french girls” pose, still fully spandex clad.

Y/n raises an eyebrow, but lets their eyes wander. They had to give it to him, he is hot. Even fully clothed Y/n can tell he’s built. Their eyes rest a little longer than necessary on his thighs. Turns out crime fighting on a diet consisting solely of Mexican food is a pretty good muscle-building regime.

“Wellllll?” Deadpool waggles his eyebrows again, and repositions himself slightly.

It strikes Y/n then that he’s trying to be sexy for them. That shouldn’t come as a shock, but it definitely does. They’ve had a history of not all that great boyfriends. To have a man want to please them is almost intoxicating. It’s that more than anything that starts a fire in them. There’s only one little problem though, “You still have your suit on. Take it off.”

“Sorry, babe, no can do. The suit stays on during sex.”

“How are we going to get to having sex if you’re fully clothed?”

“Glad you asked!” He reaches down to his waist band.

“Aht. We don’t need your dick out right now anyways. Lay on your back.” He flops onto his back as Y/n approaches the bed, eyes watching his body hungrily. They wonder briefly if he knew how attractive he is, then figure it wouldn’t hurt to tell him, “There we go, good” they smile. “Handsome boy.”

Y/n straddles his hips, “Pull your mask up.”

“Sor-”

“I’ve already seen the bottom of your face, pull your mask up.”

Deadpool swallows hard but obeys, pulling his mask so it’s caught on the bridge of his nose. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips. Even with his eyes covered Y/n can tell he’s watching them intently.

When they lean down to kiss him Y/n smiles again. For a while they’re content like that, bracing themself above him and admiring how desperate he is for more. Then Y/n moves one of their legs between his thighs. Almost immediately he bucks his hips up into them, desperate for some sort of friction.

“Aww, handsome, you like that?”

“Yess,” he moans, trying to grind up into them and arch his back at the same time.

They chuckle watching him. He gives up trying to press his chest up into them. Y/n watches his face for a while and admires his gasps and moans. They wonder how long it’d been since someone fucked him. He whines out a plea, and Y/n obliges capturing his lips again in a kiss. This time they nip at his bottom lip. Immediately he opens his mouth, more than happy to do what they like.

They’re a bit put out still, not being able to see the rest of his face. Instead they content themself with feeling his body through his suit. Running their fingers over where his nipples should be and marveling at how sensitive he is, even with the added layer. It only makes them want him naked more. Y/n smirks into his mouth and reaches down to palm his now straining dick. “Look at you, baby, are you gonna cum already?”

Without thinking he nods frantically, pushing up into their hand.

Y/n gives a thoughtful hum and pulls their hand away, “Can’t have that, can we?”

He opens his eyes again, hips still trying to find friction against the air. Y/n gets up from the bed and watches him, almost daring him to try to get up. When he lays still they smile again, “Good boy.” Then they grab the hem of their shirt and pull it up halfway, feeling more than seeing his eyes boring into them. Deciding not to torture the poor man too much Y/n doesn’t drag it out. They pull the shirt over their head and toss it into the corner of the bedroom. The rest of their clothes follow shortly after and then they’re back on the bed.

They straddle him again, this time setting more of their weight on him and letting him rock his hips against them. Deadpool’s hands are twisting in the blankets, clearly trying to restrain from touching until he’s given permission. Such a polite boy, “You can touch me, good boy.” Immediately his hands shoot to their hips, pulling them more firmly onto his bulge and whining in frustration that his cock was still trapped in his suit. Y/n lets him pull their hips more firmly on his dick and smiles when he reaches up instead to fondle their chest, clumsily trying to play with their nipples.

When they were satisfied with that they swat his hands away and ignore his affronted look. “Ready to put that mouth to better use, handsome boy?”

A wicked grin spreads across his face, tongue flicking out to run over his teeth. Y/n is again pleasantly surprised that he’s apparently so eager to please. Large hands had gone to knead at their ass in hopes they’d just move forwards already. Y/n raised themselves on their knees before shuffling forwards a bit and hovering over his face. They laugh a bit when he pulls at their hips, trying to get them to sit.

As soon as Y/n sits down Deadpool wraps his arms up over their thighs to hold them in place. Immediately Y/n realizes that they’re not going to last long like this. ‘Pool’ is eating them out like a man starved. Y/n leans back for better leverage to grind down on his face. Their head drops back onto their shoulders, “Fuck, don’t stop. Handsome boy.”

Y/n reaches back again to palm at his cock. This only encourages Deadpool more. He releases one of their thighs to sink a finger into them, crooking it slightly. Y/n bears down on the finger, desperately wanting more. Deadpool is only happy to oblige, pushing another finger in and fucking Y/n harder. It’s too much and not enough all at once. Until Y/n suddenly tenses and grinds down hard on his fingers as their orgasm tears through them. Deadpool keeps fingering them through their orgasm.

When they’re done Deadpool pulls his fingers out and traps their thighs again. He keeps on licking and sucking and nipping until Y/n is twitching from overstimulation. They try to kneel up from his onslaught. He keeps them there for one last broad lick that makes their whole body lurch. When he does release them they fall against the headboard to catch their breath while he gets up from under them and kneels up.

“I want you on your back.”

Y/n lets out a laugh, but falls onto their back anyways and spreads their legs. “Fuck me.”

“Don’t need to tell me twice,” He grins and immediately covers them. For a moment Deadpool debates teasing himself for a while, but seeing Y/n on their back spreading their legs for him makes him push forwards into them right away. If this ends up being a dream he’d be pissed at himself for not getting to the point. Seeing his head push into their entrance almost immediately confirms his choice. It also confirms that he isn’t going to last long at all. Still he tries to ease into it at first. Slowly thrusting alll the way in then dragging back out. He loves their little sounds, loves even more that he chose to have them on their back so he could watch their face. They very quickly drive him to wanting more. So he leans down to prop himself above them on his forearms then lays into it. Right away he feels his orgasm start to build and it only spurs him to go faster. Y/n wraps their legs around his waist and angles their hips up, seemingly recovered from their earlier orgasm.

Deadpool loses his rhythm as his orgasm builds. Y/n had wrapped an arm around his neck and pulled him down into a kiss. That along with their walls clenching around him draws out his orgasm. He can’t help coming. Vaguely he wonders if he’ll be punished for it, somehow he doesn’t think he’d mind. He pushes as far into them as he can get, then pushes some more. They’d broken the kiss and Deadpool is panting to regain his breath, dick still in them. He lets his weight rest on them for a bit before pulling out and rolling over beside them.

“See? I told you the sex would be totally awesome.”

#deadpool #deadpool x reader #deadpool x y/n #deadpool x nonbinary reader #deadpool x male reader #deadpool x female reader #deadpool/reader #deadpool/y/n #deadpool/nonbinary reader #deadpool/male reader #deadpool/female reader #wade wilson #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson/reader #wade wilson/y/n #wade wilson x y/n #deadpool smut #smut

181 notes · View notes

nofoxalive · 10 hours

Text

I'm just yapping about this but like, it's so stupid that I even have to explain that I'm disabled for people to even slightly accept that I CAN'T do certain things. If I have to take the lift instead of walking the stairs or sitting down in the bus/train it's not because I'm lazy, it's because I'm in pain. And I just wish people would understand that it's not for attention either, I fucking wish I was "normal" and didn't have to rely on support. I deliberately don't ask people for help because 1. I'd feel like a burden, 2. I'd get shamed either way and 3. I hate asking for help.

It's debilitating to not get taken seriously and be asked about my medical history and for proof every time I talk about not being able to do things. Do you think I like being the way I am? It just adds to all my current problems.

I don't usually talk about this because speaking up has never helped me in the past, I'm used to being ignored and getting told I'm dramatic, even more so since my BPD diagnosis.

Nowadays medical professionals look into my file and see that I'm diagnosed with BPD and suddenly my symptoms don't get taken seriously anymore. It's like all people see is that I have a disorder that is (wrongly) known for causing people to be "manipulative" and boom, no matter what you say, you're the bad guy and you're trying to gaslight them while YOU'RE THE ONE BEING ACTIVELY GASLIT.

I just wanted to talk about my experience of not being taken seriously as someone with a disability but it goes hand in hand with people with mental health problems and especially personality disorders like BPD not being taken seriously.

I am so sick and tired of being treated like an attention seeker and like I want pain medication because I'm a dr0g addict, like.. have y'all completely lost your minds? Would you tell someone with a broken leg that they're being dramatic and faking symptoms? It's fucking ridiculous at this point and I'm sick of it.

my thoughts are kind of all over the place and I'm really shitty at expressing myself so this is the best I can do honestly, but like.. please tell me that I'm not alone with this.

#foxytalks #actually bpd #chronic pain

8 notes · View notes

ineffably-human · 8 months

Text

[cracks knuckles]

Okay, the bones of a decent episode were there inside Hybrid Creatures. They were. I saw them and I believe in them. Let's fix this shit.

(Hearts to @abc-mulan @yougoadedme @drowningparty @de-ciphered and anyone else I forgot who helped make this even better when I was rambling about it.)

First off: Nadja!

Nadja is not teaching the class, because she disappeared from the teaching plot into a completely different plot and that's a first draft problem. She should just meet Helen and start from there.

Here's a problem with Nadja this whole season: does this hex even exist? It's the motivation for everything she does, but we've never seen it do anything to impact her. Everything she cited as evidence of the hex were things she brought on herself last year, and nothing bad has happened to her specifically this year. I'd think it was something she made up/the Guide encouraged, but the Guide had infinitely regenerating props when they found that portrait, and she doesn't know anything about Antipaxos, so it'd be a lot for her to fake. The show should have made clear from episode 1 this season: either the hex is fake and being set up by the Guide/the doll/whoever else to teach Nadja a lesson, OR the hex is real and is visibly impacting Nadja the whole time.

So: Nadja meets Helen in Little Antipaxos. No one wants to talk about her and Nadja assumes it's because she's a super-powerful witch. Whatever stupid errands Helen has her do are a lot more fake-mystical and actually raise the question of whether she has powers.

Also, the Guide is actually there at some point! And either the Nadja-Helen parallels are clear from Nadja ignoring the Guide/taking her for granted, or the Guide is basically trying to tell Nadja that this lady is conning her because there is no curse, the Guide/the doll/whoever made the curse up, but Nadja isn't listening to her.

Helen is as difficult and demanding as Nadja can be on her worst days, and Helen also has a lot of Nadja's insecurities about being an outsider and not taken seriously. Let the twist be that Helen was previously banned/shunned at the diner, as the black sheep of that family or group of friends. Nadja ultimately gets Helen back into the diner and into everyone's good graces. Basically Nadja restores Helen in a way that actually matters and it's a much clearer parallel, from much earlier on, that she sees a lot of Helen in herself.

This will tie thematically into: Guillermo!

Guillermo's shitty little children are horrifying! I love-hate them! What the fuck is the point of them? Most people wanted them to die because they feel like gags, and if they talk then they should feel at least a little bit like characters, they come from Guillermo.

They should each represent a different piece of him. His loyalty, his determination, how he's a secret freak, it doesn't even all have to be appealing or a perfect Guillermo match - just let me see their personalities. Let Guillermo move from horror to getting attached to them by relating to them. The general theme should be something about surprising yourself/finding out new pieces of yourself.

Also the little rat thing should try and hump Nandor's leg.

When Guillermo gets rid of them by making them companion animals in a retirement home, there should be a gag about how now they're all emotional support creatures for cranky out-of-touch people, something something vampires. (Also, we do not need the fish. Let the animal that stays around be one of the frogs, you already made us all in love with the frogs last week, ffs.)

Finally: Colin and Nandor are actually pretty great a lot of the time, but it also needs a focus shift. Have Nandor puttering around the house aimlessly, missing Guillermo as usual. He trails Colin Robinson to his new job teaching night classes. He tries to take over the class to have someone to boss around, they do their at-odds things, maybe Nandor is trying to teach military history in general instead of just his home country because that seems a little on the nose?

Then you extend the museum scene, because goddamnit I want more Nandor lore, and maybe make it so Nadja and Laszlo's shit is in the museum too (since the three of them crossed together) but Nandor focuses on his own. Either way, Colin does what he does for Nandor, and the emotional payoff is that over the last two episodes, Nandor and Colin have started a legitimate friendship and Nandor doesn't have to feel as alone anymore.

(But it's not quite the same, of course, and at some point in the episode Nandor notices one of the Guillermo frogs with the hair or something - and comments that he must be losing it because he's seeing Guillermo all over the place.)

Also all the jokes needed a punch-up, some of them were amazing and some of them were just weak and whatever.

Tl;dr not every subplot in the shit and fart show needs to have meaning or progress the will-they-won't-they or whatever. But there should at least be a reason the characters are doing what they're doing, and a reason we the people watching should actually give a shit.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk, and I hope post-strike everyone can have writers' rooms again where they can actually get to draft 3 or 4, and not make everyone watching the episode confused about what they just watched. The end!

#wwdits #what we do in the shadows #fandom: wwdits #i am a meta gremlin

36 notes · View notes

likecastle · 1 year

Text

Ronance Femslash February - “number”

Thank you, @annieofhearts, for today’s prompt: “number”. I have to admit, I kind of don’t know where this one came from--it’s only vaguely a response to this prompt, and it’s kind of blink-and-you’ll-miss-it Ronance, but once the idea got hold of me, I couldn’t do anything else. Sorry it’s probably not quite what you were expecting, but please know I still really appreciate the prompt and had fun with this! (And you can always send in another prompt to give me a chance to redeem myself!)

I’m accepting Ronance prompts all month for Femslash February. Don’t be shy! You can find previous prompts I’ve filled here.

Putting part of this behind a cut because it got a long.

“I can’t do it,” Robin whines, sprawling hopelessly onto Steve’s couch. “I can’t go on another terrible blind date with some weirdo who insists on talking about her raw foot diet the entire night.”

“Maybe this time it’ll be different,” Steve says from the kitchen, as he sprinkles salt onto the popcorn he’s making.

Robin raises her head from the couch cushions to give him a baleful stare across the living room. “D’you remember the last one?”

Steve gives a whole-body flinch. “Nadya.”

“Nadya,” Robin agrees morosely. “And, like, sure, the sex was good, but she also stole multiple appliances from my kitchen.”

“I mean,” Steve says thoughtfully, “from what you told me, the sex was better than good.”

“I need a toaster, Steve! Bread is one of my primary food groups! And more importantly, I need to not wonder where my belongings have wandered off to after I hook up with someone. Like, what was she even doing with them? It’s not like my shitty microwave I’ve had since college was worth anything on the open market.”

“OK, OK,” Steve concedes, obviously trying to forestall a rant he’s heard plenty of times already. “So you’ve struck out a few times.”

“I know I’m not exactly a whiz with numbers, but I think it’s fair to say my recent dating history constitutes a unilateral failure by any metric. I don’t know.” She pulls one of the couch cushions over her head with a groan. “Maybe I just need to give up on the idea of meeting the perfect person and try being on my own for a while. Maybe I already had my shot at the one big love of my life and I blew it without even realizing it. Maybe it’s stupid to think there’s anybody out there who could possibly put up with me, or—”

“Hey,” Steve cuts in sternly, nudging Robin’s legs so he can sit down beside her on the couch. He lets her stretch out on top of him once he’s settled, giving her shin a reassuring pat. “You’re smart as hell and you have good taste in movies and you’re the only person I know who can always make me laugh, no matter how bad a mood I’m in. You’re gonna find someone who can see how great you are, and anyone who acts like they’re putting up with you can fuck right off, because you’re cool as shit, OK?”

“Yeah, I know,” Robin mutters.

“Look,” Steve says, “you don’t have to go on this date if you don’t want to. It’s totally fine it you want to take some time to just be by yourself. But, if you ask me—”

“Which I didn’t,” Robin points out.

“If you ask me,” Steve continues, louder this time, as if volume alone gives him the moral high ground, “you’re gonna start psyching yourself out if you don’t pick yourself up and get back out there. Like, yeah, maybe this date will suck, but if you start going into every date assuming that you’re doomed to fail, it’s gonna become a self-sufficient prophecy.”

Robin groans again, shoving at Steve with her foot hard enough that he sways onto the arm of the couch. “Ugh, I hate it when you’re right.”

“So what do you know about the girl this time?”

Robin sighs, heaving herself up so she can get at the popcorn Steve set down on the coffee table. “Not much. She works with Lois at the Reader, just moved here from somewhere back east a few months ago. Lo said she’s never really dated women—apparently she was in a relationship with this guy for, like, ever, but she’s known she wasn’t straight since high school, and now that she’s single again, she wants to, you know, test the waters.”

“You do have a weakness for emotionally unavailable bi girls,” Steve says, almost apologetically, but Robin can’t even contest it, since this is an observation she’s made herself many times before.

“The Curse of Vickie,” Robin admits with a sigh, though privately it’s not Vickie she regrets the most, but another one who got away. “Fuck it, why not? Who knows, maybe it’ll even be fun.”

“That’s the spirit!” Steve says, reaching over to steal the popcorn bowl from her.

A week later, when Robin walks into the bar and sees Nancy Wheeler, of all people, waiting anxiously in a booth, her first thought is that Steve isn’t going to believe her when she tells him how her blind date turned out. Her second thought, as Nancy spots her and breaks into a bewildered grin, is that maybe she’s finally going to break her streak.

#ronance #robin x nancy #robin/nancy #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #steve harrington #a wild steve appears!#ronance femslash february

77 notes · View notes