#drabble -

[endlessthxxghts]

Just One

DBF!Joel Miller x afab!reader | w/c: 819 (she just a baby!)

Summary: You’re still worked up even though Joel’s tapped out for the night. Maybe you need a kiss to satisfy you—a simple, sweet kiss. Right?

Content/Tags: Reader is able-bodied and has female sex anatomy, but is otherwise undescribed. Pussy pronouns (she)!! 18+ MDNI. Making out. Bulge grinding 😋 let me know if there’s anything I missed!

A/N: @pinkypromisepascal and I had a conversation…and then I said I wanted to write a drabble based on what we talked about, to which she said “DO IT.” So I did. Y’all better thank her brain for this too!🙂‍↕️ and to @strang3lov3, thank you for the extra pair of eyes AND THE MOODBOARD!!!😭 I love you both so much. To everyone, I hope you enjoy, all my love xx

masterlist | update blog

It’s been thirty minutes. 

Thirty minutes since Joel had you folded nearly in half, your legs pressed against your torso, the slam of his hips pushing you higher up his mattress. 

Thirty minutes since he made your eyes roll back, throat burning in pleasure. 

Thirty minutes since he wiped you clean and massaged your hips. 

It’s been thirty minutes. 

And he’s knocked the fuck out. 

You sit up in his bed. You’re not here very often. Ever, really. It was by chance you stayed over tonight. So you study the area. Take his space in. The painting and posters above his bed. The nightstand. The white fan sitting on his dresser, pointing directly at him. He runs hot when he sleeps. Too hot. 

Your eyes trace his figure, then. His broad back on display, hips covered by his sheets. 

His face. God, his face. Salt and pepper scruff around the edges, smile lines and furrowed eyebrow lines adorning his face. They’re not as harsh now as he succumbs deeper into his slumber, but they’re present nonetheless. 

His hooked nose sits prettily, the same nose that had you squirming and gasping for air earlier in the night. Your core flutters at the thought. 

You’re looking at his lips now, and you can’t help the way your own forms a smirk. 

“Joel,” you whisper. 

A rock. Unmoving. Unfazed. 

On your knees now, you shuffle to face him. Leaning forward, hand on his shoulder to nudge him, you try again. 

“Joel.” 

“Hm?” his sleepy voice rasps. 

“I need your help,” you respond. 

One eye peels open. His eyebrows move into their natural habitat, furrowed. “What’s wrong, darlin’?” 

You put on your sweetest face. “Can I have a kiss?” 

You stifle a giggle at the daggers being thrown at you. “Jesus,” he mutters. “Have you been up this whole time?” 

“It’s been thirty minutes,” you retort. 

“No, it ain’t—” you gesture to his clock before he can finish his thought. He faces it immediately, throwing his face back into his pillow with an incoherent grumble. “Sleep,” he finally says. 

“I will, sleeping beauty,” you giggle. “Can I please have a kiss first? Just one,” you ask again, lowering your voice an octave, a tone he can never deny. 

He flips himself over, so he’s more on his back now. “It’s never just one.”

“That’s not true,” you fake pout, leaning closer in, letting the tips of your nose dance.

“You said one kiss months ago. Look where that got us.” His breath fans against your lips.

“I don’t see you complaining,” you whisper, your body on fire with this conversation. 

You let your lips finally meet, soft and sweet, but the heat building in your cheeks keeps you from breaking the seal. Without thinking, you climb on top of him, straddling him as your hands find the base of his neck, the length beneath you already beginning to stir. 

You break away for less than a second before you bring your lips to his again, but he’s quick to stop you, a shit-eating grin between his cheeks. “Thought ya said one?” He breathes. 

“Shut up,” you murmur, smashing your lips against his once more as your tongue coasts the expanse of his bottom lip, the taste of you from earlier still lingering. 

“Shit, sugar,” he groans into your mouth, his hips bucking into you on their own accord. “She’s still so needy, ain’t she? That why ya can’t sleep?”

His bulge catches perfectly where you need him most, pulling a whimper from the back of your throat. “Please, baby,” you pant. 

“Told ya ‘s never jus’ one kiss,” he rasps as his heavy hands grab at your waist, guiding your hips into a more frenzied rhythm.

“You’re right,” you cry, eyes clamping shut, nothing but the sweet sounds of your ecstasy blessing his ears. 

Too blissed out to continue kissing him, you bring your lips to his jaw, nipping and licking the places you can reach. With a few harsh grinds of your hips, you’re moaning out into his ear—his partially deaf one, luckily—with millions of white sparkles flashing beneath your eyelids. Joel’s breathing stops at the same moment your body convulses, strangled grunts leaving his throat as he adds to your mess of his boxers. 

“She satisfied, yet?” He hums as you lay across his sweaty chest.

“Mmm,” you pretend to think it over. “I think it’s her turn for a kiss now.” 

Joel scoffs. You can hear his smile with it. 

You lift your head to look him in the eyes, a faux innocence in the way you jut out your bottom lip. “Just one, baby,” you reason with him.

Joel tosses you to your unspoken side of the bed. “Sleep.” 

“But—”

“She’ll get her kiss in the morning.” 

Your eyes nearly pop out at the realization of his words. “G-Goodnight, baby,” you reply quickly. 

“‘S what I thought. G’night, darlin’.”

I would love to hear what you guys think! I love you all so much, thank you for always sticking by my side and supporting me always. You all are my happy place. Wouldn't be where I am without you.🩶

I cannot get myself to write for Joel or for TLOU without mentioning the horrors occurring in Palestine. Please check out the links in my navigation + bio to learn about the situation in Palestine and also learn about some ways in which you can help🇵🇸. Reading and interacting with those links takes 5 minutes of your time at the bare minimum.

#endless thoughts fics #pedro pascal #pedrohub #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #smut #pedrostories #fic #smut fic #drabble #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller x female reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #tlou smut #joel miller drabble #fic: just one

[wri0thesley]

cw: cunnilingus, not sfw, arranged marriage reader wearing a gown (no pronouns). based on this post from a few days ago. 3.1k

There's a pout on your pretty mouth that Wriothesley is utterly itching to kiss off. 

It’s an expression he’s grown rather used to on the face of his spouse; somebody as properly born and bred to society as you finds themselves a touch adrift when faced with Wriothesley’s own gruff manner, his inability to kowtow to the strictures that Fontainian society attempts to place on those who have ascended to its lofty heights. 

Unfortunately, when his availability had become common knowledge and eager parents had flocked to him in order to hawk their beloved children like so many lovely wares, he had found himself exceedingly drawn to you. To the stiff little way you held yourself and inclined your head, the way your voice had shook - the way that you hadn’t immediately tried to flutter your lashes and laugh at things that were not jokes. 

It had not hurt that your family, though fine of name and lineage, had fallen somewhat into financial difficulty. Some parents had withdrawn their offspring from the game of courtship when it had become clear that though Wriothesley now had the title of ‘Duke’, he was still at heart a former criminal, and not the genteel fawning aristocrat they had expected to find. 

(A title is not enough to take back over half a life spent in the fortress of Meropide, after all; not enough to scrub the memory of noses crunching beneath his fists, of what it feels like to end someone’s life even if it is for the greater good). 

Your family, though, had needed the boost; the Mora and the prestige. And so you had remained achingly polite and maddeningly prim and proper and so very obviously inexperienced that the sweetness of it all made the back of Wriothesley’s teeth ache. 

“Where are you taking me?” You ask him, in a soft whisper, as his hand fastens firmly but not bruisingly about your upper arm; as your husband maneuvers you away from the chatter of the ballroom. “You’ve barely greeted anyone--” 

He knows you are scandalised; that your parents have taught you to be the gracious party guest, to bow and chatter idly and wax poetic about crystal champagne glasses. But Wriothesley has spoken to Chief Justice Neuvillette (just as out of place and adrift here as Wriothesley himself), and he considers that his duty properly done. He has no desire to do the things that are expected of him. 

Not when that pout on your face - the way the light hits the glimmering petals of your lower lip - is begging to be kissed within an inch of its life, and the moonlight streaming through the windows is illuminating the curves of you in your pretty gown, and he knows that you will squirm and squeak and call him a dirty old man in that way he loves, your voice pitching with desire you’re still not sure about, the moment he has you alone at his mercy in one of the shadowed hallways of tonight’s party. 

“Just to get some air,” he says, giving a smile that’s all wolf-bared teeth to the closest gentleman who dares to give you both a briefly disapproving look. “Isn’t it just so horribly stuffy in there?”

Your nose wrinkles, between your brows creasing. Wriothesley thinks about kissing every place the flesh furrows on your face, covering you in them until you’re helpless to do anything but laugh. He always feels like a hero when he has managed a laugh out of you; you seem to give them so rarely, and it’s such a darling little bell of a noise. 

“It’s barely been ten minutes,” you settle on, the faintest hint of reproach in your voice. “It’s really not polite . . .”

What is not polite, he thinks, is the way that the run of his thoughts have turned to your dress, cut low enough to make people think indecent thoughts about you. There are no manners, either, to the fact he is thinking about the perfume he had watched you dab on this evening, and wondering how long he’d have to rut into you until the only thing that people could smell on you would be the musk of his ownership. 

“They’ll live,” Wriothesley says firmly, steering you out into the hallway. “You ought to know nobody here really wants my esteemed company.”

There’s no bitterness in his voice. Wriothesley does not want to be beloved of this particular roiling mass of humanity; the aristocracy, in his experience, is all artifice. He may spend his time with criminals, but at least the criminal underclasses are usually honest about what they want. They’ve been taught that ‘you do not get if you do not ask, do not try, do not work for it’ - these people, this gathering of society schmoozers . . . they get simply by being born. 

Of course, since he married you, there have been more invitations than before. 

Part of it is curiosity - what kind of spouse will the Duke of the Fortress take? One like him, who does not conform? Some of them want nothing more than to ogle at you and find out your secrets, poke you in your softest parts so they know if you will be a weakness that they can later exploit. Wriothesley finds these people distasteful - at least some of the invitations come from those who have already met you, who have been charmed by your pretty manners and sweet way of speaking, who are hoping that perhaps you will be some calming influence on your uncivilised brute of a husband. He still doesn’t like these invitations, of course (any event in which he is forced to put on a stiffly starched shirt and button it to his throat, to fuss with cravats and tailcoats when he’d rather stick to his own clothes, are not generally met with much pleasure for him), but at least you always seem thrilled to get them. 

It’s because of you he had accepted this one. When you had brought the invitation to him all bright-eyed and chirping, like a pretty magpie with a shiny coin, he had not been able to think of an excuse faced with you looking so utterly thrilled . . . and so he’d helped you choose a dress (he does so love you in black and red, and if he had chosen something cut low in the chest for reasons of his own, who is going to blame him when they see you?), and had travelled out of the Fortress in order to please you. 

He’d only lasted ten minutes, but perhaps after he’s pleased himself the two of you can go back out into the throes and he will have the memory of what you’ve just done to dwell on as he pretends to care about the difference between the fish fork and the dessert fork. 

“That’s just because you don’t let them see the real you,” you begin, but Wriothesley has seen what looks like a likely little hallway - secluded and dark, only one or two doorways leading off of it. He tugs at you, and though you offer a token resistance, you allow yourself after a moment to be pulled into the little alcove, and for your husband to cage you against a wall. Your breath catches, your lashes fluttering as your eyes flit to take in the breadth of him, the muscles, the way you are inescapably caught by him - and Wriothesley does not miss the desire that dances over your gaze. “Your Grace--”

“Mmm?” He asks, raising an eyebrow, lowering his face closer to yours so that he can see himself reflected in your eyes. His cock twitches at the way you bite your lip unconsciously, and he knows from the little gasp that you do not miss the sensation of it against you. “Am I doing something untoward again, sweetheart?”

He lets his voice roughen a touch on the word; the patois of the criminal flavouring it in a way that reminds you he is dangerous, and you pout so sweetly and let out the quietest little whine that he doesn’t know how he stops himself from having his way with you right then and there. There are many untoward things he would like to do to you; many untoward things he is planning on doing to you, right here, in public. 

“It’s indecent . . .” You gasp - but you still wrap your arms around his neck, and still pull him in to let him kiss you hot and hungry and fierce as a wolf. He cannot get enough of the way you taste beneath him; there is sugar that lingers on your lips even when he hasn’t seen you imbibe anything but a single glass of champagne when offered. He wants to devour you; to taste every part of you, until his mouth only remembers the lingering remnants of your own. 

You gasp, pressing your body - soft and impossibly pliable - against his wherever you can reach him, hard planes of muscle meeting the softer give of your flesh beneath your gown. 

“You seem to like it well enough,” he murmurs, pulling back just enough to whisper it into the delicate shell of your ear, delighting in the way the words make you shiver. You try to school your face to sternness, but your own desire betrays you even as you try and pull your dignity around you like a cloak. 

“B-But, Your Grace, in public--”

“Mm . . . doesn’t the thrill of being caught make it seem all the sweeter?” He gives you a grin that shines like the sharks that sometimes float past the Fortress, serenely serrated. You squeak in a cross between dismay and longing as he sinks to the floor, and his big, scarred hands find the hem of your gown to begin pushing it up your ankles. 

The frills and fripperies of lace and ribbons look almost wicked, in those hands; fine, delicate concoctions of fabric and satin that were not made to be man-handled. You shiver at the thought of his grip ripping through them; of fine fabrics being rent asunder in his hands as you know he is capable of. 

“We shouldn’t--” You whisper, in that pitching whine of ‘don’t’ that is only a step away from ‘please don’t stop’.

His palms - he will not even grudgingly wear full gloves - feel cool, even through your stockings, as he slides them up your calf. His chuckle is a rough-spurred thing, and before you can say anything further he has disappeared beneath your skirts entirely, and you find yourself clinging to the moulding on the wall behind you to try and get some semblance of purchase. 

He tugs at one of the ribbons that keeps your stockings held up, and from the hot puff of air against your bare thigh, you know he has done so with his teeth. Your pulse flutters in your throat, your vision fair spotting with the mixture of feelings that Wriothesley’s actions are drawing forth from you - desire and shame and wanting and need and unsurety, all mixing together inside of you in a cocktail of arousal so potent you barely know how you stand it. 

A wet, open-mouthed kiss is pressed to the spot above your stocking, on your bare thigh. You feel the graze of his teeth against the soft skin, unseen by anyone aside from him. Unmarked by anyone aside from him (you have learnt that the Duke is very fond of using his teeth, during his bed-chamber escapades; you have learnt more at his mouth and his fingers and his mercy than you had ever thought that you would have cause to know). 

Wriothesley’s cock is so hard in his too-tight formal trousers that he can barely think of anything but the pulse between his thighs, but the moment he has his head beneath your skirts and he can scent your arousal on the air, all thoughts of tending to his own almost-painful erection instead turn to tasting you, smelling you, burying himself inside of you until you are a helpless mess. 

He knows that logically you taste, probably, of the oils and the powders and the lotions you use, on your skin and in your bath. Perhaps a touch of your own sweat - but to Wriothesley, the taste that lingers on the tip of his tongue as he takes his time kissing up your thigh, working towards the apex between them, is nothing short of ambrosial. He can hear his own breaths, hard and panting, but he has never been the kind of man who lets himself feel shamed for doing what he wants. 

“You’re dripping,” he grunts, and the muscles in your thighs jump, tensing, as if you’re cringing at what he has said - and though he cannot see you from his place beneath the skirts of your gown, he can gladly imagine the expression on your face. You’re darling. He wants to kiss you until you can’t breathe and fuck you until you can’t walk; but for now . . .

He settles by kissing over the softness of your mound, letting his hot breath once more fan out over that most intimate part of you. He hears you whine again from somewhere above him;

“Wriothesley, you’re being obscene . . .”

He lets his mouth fully envelope your cunt; lets his tongue lathe out across your folds, flickering against your clit in a way that makes you violently jerk. The moan that you let out is muffled - one of your own (gloved, as is right and proper in society) hands has flown up to your mouth. Though he will miss the sound of your enjoyment unencumbered, he supposes it is better for privacy if you at least make an attempt.

“So you want me to stop?” He growls, the taste of your slick lingering on his tongue, honey-thick and just as sweet. To drive in the point of what you would be missing, he lets himself give your clit - the swollen nub standing to attention, as if begging him for more - a kitten lick. 

“Don’t even think about it, you scoundrel,” you say, whisper-soft and gasping, and Wriothesley knows you cannot possibly fail to sense the curve of his lips against your cunt. 

“As you wish,” he says. “Never let it be said that I don’t take my duties as a Duke and a gentleman seriously.”

And he returns to his task with voracious excitement. 

He has done this to you before, but never in public - never with you standing, never with the threat of discovery looming over his head . . . he finds he does indeed quite enjoy the thrill, so he takes his sweet time exploring your folds with his tongue, letting himself be even wetter and messier than he’d normally be. 

The sound is indeed obscene, as he delves the tip of his tongue between your folds - as he finds your pulsing entrance and toys with it, slipping just a little of the flexible muscle inside of the channel until he feels you try and clamp down on it, before he returns to the wet circling of your fluttering hole. 

His nose presses directly into the softness of your mound, grinding against your clit with every slight adjustment of his head. Normally, you’d at least be able to tug on his hair as he did this (and he’s rather fond of that too - the way you do even that so neatly, so apologetically), but now you are entirely at his mercy and it is obvious from the tremble in your thigh, as if you are going to swoon to the floor at any moment. 

You shift to rest more against the wall and Wriothesley takes that as an excuse to manhandle you - he takes one of your thighs and slings it over his shoulder, unbalancing you but for a moment - but giving him far better access to the spot between your legs. 

Far easier, like this, for him to use thumb and forefinger to tease the lips of your labia apart and to settle his mouth around the pearl of your clit. 

You jerk in surprise again, more soft muffled whimpering coming from above. He can make out a few of the words - ‘scoundrel, rake, you filthy pervert, Wriothesley Your Grace please don’t stop--’

He is not a cruel husband, so he does not. 

Your clit, pulsing with need, is drawn into his mouth - and Wriothesley takes great pleasure in suckling upon it the way that one might a particularly delicious candy, his tongue lathing over and over and over. You squirm in his grip, and he imagines your face as it always is when you are close to the edge. You tremble and sweat and shake for him and Wriothesley needs you to fall apart like he needs air. 

He redoubles his efforts; his other hand clenches on your inner thigh, his forefinger finding the pulsing, clenching hole of your sex. As he sucks, he gently inserts just the tip of it inside of you, and oh, you are greedy for more than his mouth--

You come with a strangled cry that is not quite caught by your glove - a clamping of your thighs around Wriothesley’s ears, and a gush of wetness that Wriothesley is more than happy to let flow into his open mouth and down his chin, to stain the collar of his starched white shirt.

When your aftershocks are over - when you are trembling not so violently, and he trusts you to stand on your own two feet, he presses a kiss to your cunt before he returns your leg to the ground.

He disentangles himself from your skirts, his knees only aching a little - nothing, really, compared to the inescapable pulse of his cock where it’s longing to be pressed hot and deep inside of you. He does not bother wiping his mouth of your release - and when you see him, his face shiny and wet with the proof of your enjoyment, you huff in embarrassment and avoid his gaze. 

You’re the sweetest little thing, he thinks again fondly. Even though you had moments ago been rutting against his mouth like the most brazen and desperate creature in Teyvat . . . now, faced with the proof of what you’ve done, you’ve gone over all proper again. 

Deftly and firmly, he takes your chin in his hand and presses a kiss against your mouth, making sure your own taste lingers on the soft petals of your lips. He makes sure he takes full control of it; that it is a press of his ownership of you like his seal pressing into wax on the missives he writes down in the depths of the Fortress. If only you knew just how much of him you owned in turn. 

“I think,” he says, his voice thick, “I feel much improved. And you were right, sweetheart, about it being rude to leave a party so quickly. Should we return back to the ballroom?”

#writing #genshin impact posting #not sfw text #wriothesley x reader #drabble #genshin impact x reader #wriothesley smut #genshin impact smut

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Machinist 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as possible bullying, misogyny, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your new boss sets his sights on you. (short!reader)

Characters: August Walker

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

Your forehead pinches and your eyes singe. Your brows dip as you focus on your tasks, your hands firm on the small cylinder as you smooth the edge. Your work is tedious and precise, but you work off muscle memory. It all comes naturally. 

You lean in as you finish off the small piece, slowly pulling it away from the spinning wheel. You hit the stop and admire your handiwork briefly and label it before putting the piece aside in its coordinated container. You keep your space as tidy as you can, as organized as possible to avoid anything missing or overlooked. 

You lean on the tall stool you never use; it’s too high and this job isn’t really made for sitting. You take off your safety glasses and pull the bandana down from over your hairline to sop up your sweat. Your shoulders are tight and sore and your lower back tugs from your half-bent posture. 

You fix your bandana and near the work table again. Your old station was too high and now this one somehow is too low. It’s like a cruel trick. 

You pull the next blueprint up on the screen, clacking on the keys to zoom. It’s simple. You’re sent the schematics and you make whatever’s needed. It is a less than exciting job but it pays the bills. 

As you put your materials out in front of you and ready the borer, the noise of the factory forms a calamitous wall around you. You’ve learned to tune it out, you hardly notice when Bill swears at his lathe or Joe and Sakir argue over one thing or another. You keep to your work. You keep to yourself. 

Before you can start your next job, you sense a shift in the air. Voices quiet, machines slow and some stop. You peer over but can’t see much from your vantage in the corner. You claimed the station even though the air flow is crap. You prefer that you’re not center among the chaos. 

You begin by shaping the steel into a flat circle, then bore a hole in the middle. You’re going to have to be careful with how thin the sheet is but any thicker and it will impinge the hinge in the blueprint. You’ll have to make that too. 

The odd lull seems to flow across the factory floor like a tide. You peer up only as the air seems to stagnate. You see a man approaching. You don’t recognise him but he’s not very much different than most men you work with; ball cap, plaid shirt, that overly macho stance. 

Unlike most factory men, he isn’t built like a noodle or with an extra pouch around his middle. He’s tall and lumbering and his shoulders broad. Across his upper lip, he sports a dark mustache, and his blue are somehow bright and dark at once. 

“Hello,” he approaches as his bold tone rolls like thunder, “machinist?” 

Your brows knot together curiously as you shut off the borer and set aside the parts. You turn to him completely, “yes.” 

“Ah,” he reaches into the bin and takes out the cylinder you just finished, “fine work. Detailed. The labeling is clever.” 

You’re wary. You’re used to the men talking down to you. It’s not that unusual but something about him is loftier than you’re used too. 

“Engineer?” You wonder. He has to be. Their degrees seem to overload their egos in a certain kind of way. 

“Supervisor,” he puts the part back in the green container, “first day. Did you not receive the notice?” 

“I did,” you assure him. You read the notice on the lunchroom wall but it didn’t matter much to you. He isn’t the first replacement to pass through the position, especially since the buyout. 

“August Walker,” he offers his large hand. 

You eye it and reach with your glove, mindless of the darkened fabric, and dully recite your name. He squeezes, in the way that men do, trying to prove their strength. You simply allow him his little display before rescinding your hand. 

“How long have you worked here?” He asks. 

You look around. You notice Bill watching and a few others trying to act like they aren’t. You know what they’re thinking. If fat needs to be trimmed, naturally it should be the girl. 

“Three years,” you answer. 

“Really? Work like this, I’d have guessed longer,” he muses, “by looking at you, though, I might have guessed you just started.” 

“Mm,” you grumble and turn back to your parts. 

“Compliment,” he says bluntly. 

“Right,” you utter. “Got work orders.” 

“So, you do,” he agrees, “but I’m your boss.” 

You hesitate and pull your hands back from the table. You face him again as he stands on the other side of the table’s arm. You step up to your side and look up at him. 

“Is there something I missed? A task I should focus on first, sir?” You ask. 

He snorts and one side of his mouth lifts up in amusement, “not much for water cooler talk, huh?” 

“With due respect, I’m on the clock.” 

"Due respect," he echoes.

His eyes flick up and down and you withhold your discomfort. It isn’t unusual. Your coworkers are more often in miserable marriages or eternally single. They all can’t help but ogle you now and again, even if you dress exactly like them. Nothing special. Not the girls at the bar or the wives they once loved. 

“Well then, maybe I’ll run into in the lunchroom and you can tell me all about yourself,” he plants his hands on the table and leans over just slightly, “I’m dying to know how someone like you ended up in a place like this.” 

You tweak a brow and cross your arms. Right. He’s one of those. Just like the rest of them. This isn’t your place, you’re an intruder. 

“I mean, why would you come here and sweat over all this dirty work when you could be put up in a kitchen, huh?” He wonders with a smirk, “but I’ve seen the men around here, none of them got the guts to put you where you belong.” 

Your chest rises and falls as a swell of anger comes over you. You know the best way to react is not to. So, you don’t. 

“Sir, I’m right at home right here,” you assure him and turn back to your station. 

You ignore him as you adjust your glasses and adjust a setting on the lather. What you wouldn’t do to put his face to the grinder. He isn’t worth the damage his thick skull would do to the wheel. 

#august walker #dark august walker #dark!august walker #august walker x reader #drabble #series #the machinist #au #factory au #mission impossible: fallout

[lemonwrap]

Thinking about how if you use 09 Ghost’s backstory with 22 Ghost, Ghost likely hasn’t trusted anyone since Roba. He retreated into himself and became a husk, because it was clear that trusting anybody in pretty much any capacity was just asking to get fucked over.

The only thing he seemed to have left was his job. He didn’t let a single soul close to him, barely tolerating even Price and Gaz, and spent too much time contemplating pulling the trigger.

And then Soap waltzes into his life.

Soap is energetic, flirty, and seems to think he’s the funniest person in the whole damn world—the only good thing about him is that he’s excellent at his job. Ghost kind of hates him. He keeps all communication short and professional, and avoids Soap outside of missions whenever possible.

But Soap was instantly drawn to his new lieutenant, and despite the man’s rebuffs and typically cold demeanor, Soap has never been one to give up easily. He makes an effort to get to know the elusive Ghost. It happens slowly—very slowly—but Ghost begins to warm up to Soap. He tolerates the sergeant’s jokes better (and even occasionally likes them), speaks more than a few words to him at a time, and Soap’s bright personality no longer makes him want to push the man out of a window. Usually. Ghost starts to look forward to spending time with Soap, and they work together better than ever before. Even Price notices the change.

And then Las Almas happens. Ghost hears Soap’s voice over the comms, and realizes with a startling clarity that he’s relieved that Soap is alive, and not for tactical reasons—he’s relieved Soap is alive because he likes him.

Ghost could’ve left Soap behind, but he didn’t. He coached Soap with jokes, advice, and encouragement as he made his way through the city. He waited in that church with bated breath until Soap arrived, bleeding and exhausted but managing a smile.

After that, they’re practically joined at the hip. Ghost gains something he hasn’t had in a long, long time: someone to trust.

#Sad ending: Soap dies in the tunnel and Ghost completely withdraws and goes back to being a shell of himself #Happy ending: they retire or something and Ghost continues to have someone he can truly trust #I prefer the happy ending lol #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghoap #soapghost #ghostsoap #call of duty #cod #lemonwrap writes #drabble

[cute-sucker]

note: this is an unofficial part 2 of this boxer!rafe and his sweetheart <3

˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.

boxer!rafe can't stop thinking about you pregnant, and some would say he got more protective when you did get pregnant.

you weren't showing yet, but he was always keeping a watchful eye on you, protective hand wandering to your midsection.

after the scare you gave him at the games, he watched you all the time, willfully bringing home more food than was needed, feeling willing to come back home when he heard your whines through the phone, and buying you the most beautiful sundresses ever.

sometimes the two of you would spend more time together, looking out the balcony as he smoked a cigarette, and you looked outside with a dazed expression, hand stroking your stomach. he watched the way your nose wrinkled when a trendil of smoke reached your nose.

you made a screwed face, and then looked back at rafe with a pointed look, "i don't like that."

the next day all the cigarettes in your house were gone, and he went back to boxing. it was sweet the way your small proclamation could command him to do anything. sometimes you couldn't help but test it. test how much he loved you, and how willing he was go to. you knew it was bad the way you were acting, but you ached for the attention.

so it was all to plan when you woke up craving a burger.

not just any burger. it needed to be homemade, or even one of the burgers that Rafe had made you during your first date. you remember it so clearly, the way his hand scimmed past your back as he helped you chop the cucumbers, a soft hand twirling a tendril of your hair.

it was all in your head, and suddenly you needed the burger with your life. you were pawing at his chest, soft whines leaving your mouth. he woke suddenly, taking a deep inhale of air.

"what's wrong?" he muttered, words slurred with sleep. you couldn't feel but feel bad as you pouted at him. you were wearing a pretty nightgown with a bow at the top. you watched him scan your swollen body.

you were pulling all the routes as you lowered your voice, "i need a burger."

he looked at you incredulously, eyebrows raised putting his rough hand on your shoulder, "right now?"

you frowned, before rubbing your stomach, "yes."

he groaned, falling back to head head first. you bit your tongue to stop giggles from spilling out of your mouth. he was so soft with you now, and you knew that months ago he would never act like this. but you couldn't help but tug at his arm as a grunt fell from his mouth.

"do you really need it, mama?"

now you couldn't stop your smile. you loved it when he called you 'mama,' and you loved the gentle tilt of his mouth when he called you that. and you rested your head back, nodding. finally, he gave an annoyed sigh before getting out of bed.

"goddamn it," he groaned, pulling a cleaner shirt up his head. you rested at his feet watching him put on his clothes. there was something so domestic about the whole scenario. tanyhilll was full of pictures of the two of you, small pieces of the two of you.

finally, as if he realised you were watching him, he scowled looking at you. still in your nightgown with a frenzied look on your face, he seemed to sigh again.

"ah, don't you think you should change?" he murmured, hands skimming over your top. you melted at his touch, practically hopping into his lap with eagerness. he let out a laugh before gently pushing you away, "listen. you gotta change out of that. can't have you looking like that."

you gave him a cheeky smile as if it was the middle of the day instead of three in the morning. somehow you found increasing amounts of energy and rafe was always confused about how you did it all.

"look like what?"

he shook his head, eyes flashing with slight annoyance, "nah. 'm not doing that today. get up bun, 'n go change."

although he sounded demanding you couldn't help but feel your heart drum harder at his words, biting your lip as you pulled on one of his old sweatshirts.

that night you got your burger, and he got you.

please let me know if you'd like to added to the boxer!rafe taglist!!

#boxer!rafe #rafe cameron x you #rafe imagine #rafe outer banks #obx fic #rafe x you #fluff #rafe x reader #rafe cameron #rafe obx #drabble #rafe concepts #boxer!au #shy!reader #bunny!reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #obx rafe cameron #dad!rafe au #dad!rafe #husband!rafe #tw pregancy #rafe cameron x pregnant!reader

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

I had a thought…

What if Bucky got a sleeve tattoo on his flesh arm. His bulging muscles and all of that ink glistening with sweat after a workout. Imagine his controlled panting breaths when the needle punctures his skin. The way he kind of likes the pain and his lids drop lower, his eyes heavily on you as the tattoo artist marks his skin. It’s definitely a turn-on for him.

You enjoy sitting on the couch with him and absentmindedly tracing your nails over all of the lines on the tattoos, until you get transfixed on the art and just stare at his arm all night, tracing shapes. And he just watches you – he’s always just watching you.

But you’ve been having a particularly tough week and Bucky, to surprise you, comes home with a little present. You bite back a smile when he hands it to you and spot the faintest blush on his freckled cheeks. He seems nervous to give you the present, a bit sheepish.

You peel off the wrapping paper, already enamoured that he thought to give you something on a bad day, and you reveal a set of tattoo gel pens. A giggle spurts out of you and you look up at him with amusement dancing in your eyes. Bucky scratches the back on his neck with uncertainty in his eyes.

“It’s for my tattoos,” he starts and decides he should elaborate when you raise your brows at him. “You always like touching them and maybe you’d like to colour them in…”

Another laugh makes it past your lips and Bucky is satisfied enough at the sound. “They have glitter in them,” you tell him like he isn’t aware of the fact.

He shrugs, “I know. It’s… prettier.”

Your heart swells about thousand times its original size and you throw your arms around his neck. He hugs you back tightly, one hand moving to stroke your hair. The excitement alone is enough to settle something inside of him – the part of him that just wants to make sure you’re alright.

Later that evening, you’re watching a movie and whip out the pens. Bucky watches you with amusement as you pick out your colours and settle on your knees next to him. All focused and content, you colour each and every piece of his tattoos with beautiful, glittery colours. It’s a therapeutic activity, tracing the lines and watching the glitter shimmer. Bucky enjoys the gentle touches and the light tickling of the pens on his skin.

Both your knees press into the couch cushions, settled on each side of his arm and Bucky notices just how convenient his hand placement is. He watches your face and can’t help but inch his hand up against your thigh. He notices a small twitch in your face at the touch and the briefest of pauses in your movements, and Bucky has to bite back his smirk when you continue what you’re doing like nothing’s going on at all.

His thumb strokes up your thigh and his fingers toy with the thin fabric of your pyjama shorts. He knows for a fact you aren’t wearing any underwear underneath and he slips past the fabric to brush his fingers over your pussy. He’s delighted to find you wet and excited and explores you luxuriously, stroking and teasing as you continue to decorate him. Your breaths turn heavier and your hips twitch at his teasing. Bucky notices the frown on your face, your neediness visibly growing.

He leans closer and nuzzles his nose up your neck, smiling at the soft breath you let out. “You’re wet, baby,” he murmurs and you let out a soft noise. “Is the glitter turning you on?” he teases.

Just as you try to scoff at his teasing, his thumb presses into your clit and you clutch onto his bicep for something to keep you from sinking yourself down onto his hand. You roll your hips and Bucky takes it as his sign to keep going, steadily rolling his thumb over your clit until your thighs tremble.

His middle finger glides over your core and you clench tightly, gel pens completely forgotten when his mouth attaches itself to the sensitive skin in your neck. You whine softly and his finger pushes into you.

Bucky groans needily at the feel of you and his metal arm wraps around your waist to pull you closer. You climb over him until you’re fully straddling his lap and Bucky’s metal hand slides up your spine, into your hair. He pulls you down onto his lips and slips another finger into you, swallowing your moans greedily.

“Bucky,” you breathe against his mouth and he hums reassuringly.

His fingers curl into your spot and you find it hard to keep kissing him. But he presses you closer, his tongue delving into your mouth as his flesh hand continues to pump into you, the friction as he glides in and out driving you crazy.

“Feels good, huh?” His voice sounds cocky and a bit breathless as he presses your forehead to his, eyes piercing into yours. You’re fighting to keep your eyes open, your lips parted in pleasure. “Now who would I be if I didn’t use my hand for good when you make it look so pretty?” He smirks and slows his hand, the action somehow driving you that much closer to the edge. “And what better use for me than to make you feel good… There’s no better feeling than your cunt around my fingers, you know that?” Your hips stutter their movement at his filthy words and you give him pleading eyes.

Your belly tightens and your moans grow more frequent. Bucky doesn’t give you any chance to look away from him, his fingers steadily tangled into your hair and his mouth occasionally nipping at your lips. His eyes are glazed with sex and it turns you on that much more. His low brows, his full mouth, his flexing muscles.

“You going to come for me?” he asks and you nod your head desperately. He laughs and presses a kiss to your mouth. “Come for me, baby. Give me what I want.”

And you do. And he eats it up.

And then, Bucky finds a lot of creative way to incorporate those glittery gel pens. Like marking every spot he likes to kiss you. Every spot he likes to be kissed. And licked. Every place on him that you can use as a seat.

The dork has enough pride to walk around with a glittery arm, too. He’ll take all of Sam’s relentless teasing, that view of you innocently decorating his arm with gel pens and the view of you not-so-innocently decorating his hand with your come steadily on his mind.

#god this was driving me nuts #i really hope you enjoy this mental picture as much as I did #lets hope this inspiration sticks around!! #lyguys #bucky barnes smut #writing #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #drabble #drabbles

[plussizefantasia]

Don't Cry Over Spilled Lemonade

Anthony Bridgerton x f!reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: None that I can think of, this is kinda angsty tho

A/N: Surprise post IG I wrote this in my notes app because I couldn't sleep so if there are spelling or grammar issues I'm sorry. let me know if you want a part two because I wouldn't mind continuing this.

Anthony adored how close you were to his siblings. You had become a close family friend ever since you defended Daphne against some creep at her first-ever ball out in society, it was your second season and you had taken it upon yourself to keep an eye on the diamond, looking out for her quietly in the background.

You weren’t going to intervene at all, just offer her some advice woman to woman if the need arose but when you saw Baron Taylor grab the redhead by the wrist you couldn’t hold back.

Anthony himself was only seconds away from coming to his sister's aid when you ‘accidently’ tripped into the man spilling your glass of lemonade down the front of his vest. 

“Perhaps my Lord if we kept our hands to ourselves certain… interventions might’ve not had to happen. Don’t you think?” When Anthony had seen your raised eyebrow and defensive posture all aimed at the scumbag who dared lay a hand on his baby sister he couldn’t help but fall a little bit in love right then and there. Not that he’d ever admit it to himself or anyone else for that matter.

A day later Daphne had invited you to tea at their family house in order to thank you for the rescue and potentially make a new friend and ally within the marriage mart.

Ever since that day, you’d been a regular in his home, but you were never there for him as much as he’d have liked you to be. No, you were always there for one of his siblings. You were there to talk with Daphne, first about her counting of the duke and then slowly transitioning into how she felt about being a married woman and then a mother. He could also find you sketching in silence next to Benedict, the two of you after attending to draw the same scene and then critiquing each other's work when you were done. You would trade books and ideas with Eloise, listen to Fran play the piano while working on your embroidery, and the scenes which would warm his heart the most, you’d come around to chase after Greg and Hyancith playing with them in the gardens and keeping a watchful eye to make sure they stayed safe. 

Anthony adored how close you were to his siblings, and he loathed how much of a distance there seemed to be between the two of you. 

You were cold to the Viscount, you had been since the evening you came to Daphne’s rescue, he had attempted to give you his thanks and you had simply excused yourself, “My apologies my Lord but I seem to be down a glass of lemonade presently and I find myself to be quite parched, excuse me.” Your tone was cold and Anthony spent the rest of that night and the next two years trying to figure out what he possibly couldn’t done to make you so icy towards him.

“I do not understand it Ben, she is so kind and lovely to the rest of you but is like a stone wall when it comes to me, what could I be missing?”

“Perhaps she just doesn’t like you brother have you ever thought of that?” Benedict was too preoccupied with this still life to deal with his older brothers pining at the moment. 

“That is not possible, I’ve done nothing but be the perfect gentleman to her.” 

“Anthony I have no idea why dear Y/N does not like you but what exactly will you whining in my studio do about that?” 

“I resent that. I am not whining I am simply asking my dearest brother for his advice on a matter I care very much about. I thought that was what brothers were for.”

“You want my advice, Anthony? Think. Think long and hard about what you want and how you’ll get it because Y/N has no patience for wishy-washy men.”

“That is horrible advice, Ben.”

“When then perhaps you can find better advice from your other brothers. Which will it be Anthony, the one who has been blindly in love with his best friend for years, or the ten-year-old?” 

“I hate it when you’re right.”

“I know. Now leave, that storm cloud above your head is casting shadows on my fruit.” Ben pointed his paintbrush at the bowl of fruit balanced atop a stool. Anthony huffed and knowing that it would bother his brother, he grabbed the apple off the top of the pile and took a bite of it as he strode out of the room

Ben had told him to think, but Anthony didn’t know what to think about. He knew that he craved your attention. He knew that he enjoyed seeing you around his house, interacting with the people whom he loves. He enjoyed hearing your witty comebacks and the way that even if you were not doing anything in particular you still fill the space you’re in.

He wanted her in his life, and if he was being completely honest with himself he wanted more than that. 

It’s during his musing that he runs into her in the hallway, you have a book clutched within your hand, and your head is held high. You don’t stop your stride even though he knows that you saw him. He bites his lip and tampers down a smirk. Add another thing to that list of things he likes about you, you have fire, he just wished that it wasn’t always aimed at him.

“Lady, L/N which one of my dear siblings are you spending your day with today?” He attempts to match his pace with yours catching up to you so that the two of you walk shoulder and shoulder.

“Actually, Lord Bridgerton, I was having tea with your mother this afternoon she invited me over so we could discuss what to do about Frannie’s debut next season.”

This was not something that normal family friends do, you know that and he knows that. His sibling’s entrances into society are a matter which the viscountess must handle, something his mother has had to continue to do because of his lack of a wife. 

“That was very kind of you to help her with.”

“Well, she doesn’t have anyone else to help her.” Your words cut him down, not for the first time. 

“Lady L/N may I be frank?”

“It is your home, you may do as you please.” You turn to face him, your face a mask of indifference. 

“What have I done to cross you, for the longest time I have known you you have been cold to me and I do not understand why?” 

“I had figured that you did not remember, either that or you had purposely forgone trying to speak with me about it.”

“About what?” 

“Our first meeting My Lord.” 

“I remember our first meeting very clearly, it is one of my fondest memories seeing you stand up for Daphne and ruin Lord Taylor’s vest.” He tilts his head to the side and smiles at the memory.

“That was not the first time we met My Lord, the first time we met you snubbed me in front of the entire ton and sparked rumors that did not leave me until two seasons later.” She was harsh in her words and the tightness in her shoulder’s belayed her desire to flee.

Anthony was speechless, surely he had not? He would’ve remembered her, would’ve remembered turning down one of the most beautiful women he had ever met, intentionally or otherwise. 

“I- I beg your deepest forgiveness Y/N I do not remember and if I had I would’ve tried to make it up to you tenfold by now.”

Your eyes began to gloss over and you looked at the wall beside his head, “It was my first season out, Lady Danbury’s ball, and I had seen you standing there surrounded by other gentleman. I had thought you a very fine figure and despite the rumor mill telling me you were nothing but a rake I had tried to begin a conversation. All you did was turn to me and laugh. I wasn’t asked to dance for the entire rest of that season and it was only until my Mother forced the son of one of her garden party friends to dance with me was that streak broken. You were the first and only man I had ever attempted to pursue and you laughed in my face. Were it not for my deep need to help those I see in need I would never have talked to you or any member of the Bridgerton family for the rest of my life.”

“You must know that I regret that, I regret everything I have ever done to hurt you and I will spend the rest of my days working for your forgiveness.” If Anthony was a weaker man he would’ve fallen to his knees and begged for your forgiveness until his last breath, right there in the hallways of his family’s home.

“I appreciate your words Anthony, but that’s all they are… words. I am unmarried, one year from becoming a spinster in the eyes of the entire ton, and you, you are the only one I can blame.” You don’t wait for his reply, just stalking off and wiping the tears from your eyes.

Anthony resolved himself in that moment. He would do whatever it took to make it up to you, to bring a smile to your face, and to cast away the hurt he had caused.

#anthony bridgerton x plus size reader #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagine #x reader #fanfic #bridgerton fanfiction #plus size reader #plus size!reader #drabble #requests open #requests wanted #bridgerton

[lanabuckybarnes]

BABYGIRL, Challenge for you:

Slutty little Drabble, kinky and the first character you think about.🤭🤭

| CottageCore | 18+ MINORS DNI

Everyone Knows to steer clear of the small cottage in the woods. Everyone except the Princess. Now she must deal with the consequences of her own actions — not that she’s complaining.

✧ Pairing ✧ Beast!Ari Levinson x Princess!Reader

✧ Warnings ✧ Size Kink, Dom!Ari, Rough PinV sex, Unprotected Sex, Dacryphilia, Breeding, Dirty talk, Squirting, Dumbification, Overstimulation, Belly bulge, Cum swelling, Knotting, A little Aftercare but definitely not enough for what you’ve been through - Any more lemme know!!

✧ Author Note ✧ Ohhh bbg thank you for the request, I’ve got a lil something for ya ~ ALSO my first time writing for someone that isn’t a Sebby character but @buckys-wintersoldier will tell you I have been OBSESSED with this man, I’ve written so many little drabbles about him and annoyed her with them 🤭🤭

✧ Word Count ✧ 799

Skirting about the palace halls unseen is virtually impossible when you’re 7ft tall. Yet Ari does it effortlessly. Each night since you invaded his cottage some time ago, professing your name and title he’s come for a piece of you. And every time he’s left you writhing underneath him.

You slipped on the silk sleep gown, sighing satisfyingly at the feeling of it draping down over your bare ass before slipping under your heavy sheets. Your eyes tugged downwards with sleep when the soft nocking has them snapping open again.

You should’ve been more embarrassed at the feeling of your slick arousal coating the tiny gusset of your thin panties. Behind the door, in all his glory was The Beast. Or as you’d come to find he preferred, Ari.

You’d heard stories of Ari from when you were a wee one “Don’t go into the cottage in the woods” this and “there is a hideous creature who calls that place home, people who have gone seeking it have not returned” that. You didn’t think the man eyeing you like prized venison was ugly at all, he was huge; his thin shirt ripped and ragged, barely covering his corded muscles each time he moved a little, the coarse hair over his chest and arms making your mouth dry.

Then there was that thing between his legs. You didn’t think you could ever go back to another man after Ari had plunged himself into you the first time, almost splitting your hungry snatch in two. That definitely wasn’t ugly.

✧ ✧

“Ari! Ari Ari” you moaned like a madman, hips pushing back to meet every one of the beast’s delightfully hard thrusts, tears flowing down your cheeks. His huge hand clapped over your mouth, thumb running up and down the bridge of your nose soothingly.

“Gotta be quiet little queen, don’t want the king to hear you” he snarled, sharp canines nicking the stretched skin of your neck as he pulled your face back.

For someone so concerned about your father hearing you both he certainly didn’t care about the loud squeaking of your thick mahogany bed, the headboard thumping dents into the wall it rested on. No, it was his beastly nature to have full control over you, that meant subduing your noises when he saw it fit.

Every time his thick, heavy cock pulled out a stream of your juices squirted onto the steadily soaking sheets, your walls singing at the small reprieve before squealing again when he speared it back in. Your cervix was most definitely bruised, the pain was almost too much for you to bear each time his plush tip kissed it.

“Aughh little queen, nothing but a village whore for your beast’s cock. What would your kingdom say when I pumped that belly full of cum, giving you my cubs…mmm shit squeezing me, you want your belly swollen because of me?” He groaned animalistically, his free hand pressing down into your tummy. His pace slowed for a second, a whimpering sound falling from his lips before he pulled you up into his chest, his paw for a hand grabbing your clenched one and pressing it to where he just had.

When you felt it you came undone, his head poking against your belly each time he sunk in; it was too much, far too much to hold back.

“Mmm flower you’re milking me, you like the feeling of me in there? So deep in that little body…fuck…oh little Queen beg for my come, beg for it inside that little womb” Ari’s voice wavered, his thrusts increasing to an almost impossibly fast pace and leaving you almost completely dumb with overstimulation.

“Want you cum Ari…fuckfuckfuck! Please Ari need you to swell me up please please ahhhh” you screamed, uncaring of volume as you came again with Ari, your vision going white as he held your body still, strumming your little clit as he filled you.

His hand moved with yours, running it over your now swollen tummy. His knot sitting thick and heavy at your entrance stopping any of his thick cream from slipping out.

He lay you on your side, his heavy body plastered on your back, his lips kissing up your neck before licking at your ear.

“Good little queen, all swollen with beast’s essence, make adorable babies…keep you to myself and make sure my queen is happy for the rest of her life” Ari mumbled, his settling finally and his arms holding you tighter.

You weren’t sure how much of it Ari meant, was it just talk from his high or was he planning on giving you everything he proclaimed? You weren’t sure and you were too dumb to think right now, but the thought of living in his small cottage away from the limelight, having his babies. It made you safe.

✧ ✧

I DO NOT give permission to have my work copied, translated or reposted. If you see my work anywhere else except on this page I have not given consent for it to be used.

Comments, Reblogs & Likes are always appreciated. They let me know that you are enjoying what you read and give me motivation to write more

Thank you for reading~

#ari levinson #ari levison x reader #ari levinson fic #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson imagine #ari levinson smut #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson x you #ari levinson x y/n #ari levinson x reader #beast!Ari #princess reader #chris evans #chris evans imagine #chris evans character fanfiction #chris evans characters #chris evans smut #drabble #ari levinson drabble #ari levinson one shot

[honeipie]

THE WIFE

izuku midoryia x reader

synopsis: you’ve been asked to do an interview after your husbands cute little story blew up. now it’s your turn to express your love for him

authors note: to the anon who did the ask i am SO SORRY. i posted it by accident then fucking deleted it in a panic.. don’t worry though i got the gist of it! for the people who don't know it was getting the reader's POV of how they fell in love with izuku as well. also sorry if i went a little off track. i js wanted to give reader a lil opinion and personality ☺️

you can find part one here

this was out of your comfort zone.

you sat in a plush chair across from a woman who was currently fiddling with the microphones. your husband izuku had done an interview with a popular podcast about a month ago. it wasn’t only popular because he was the number one hero. there was a charm to the episode that others couldn’t fake. the way he talked about you as if you showed him colors for the first time. everyone loved it.

now people really wanted to get into the lives of the midoryia’s, which included you. about a week ago you had gotten an offer to be on another podcast. you made sure to check out some of her work before you leaped into it.

the host's name was aiya, and she was absolutely amazing. not only were you laughing with the one episode you did listen to, but so did izuku since he was kind enough to watch with you.

"are you ready mrs. midoryia?" aiya asked going to put on the headphones. taking your own set of headphones, you placed them on as well.

"i am! plus you can just call me y/n. i really don't mind"

"thanks for letting me know," she clicked a button on her computer which started the camera up "hello everyone! it's aiya here! on this special episode we have the wonderful, and very lovely y/n midoryia in the building"

you gave a shy smile and waved to the camera "hello everyone!" you faced the aiya letting her smile ease your tensions "i just wanted to say thank you before we start. not only for inviting me on your podcast, but just being so respectful and kind as well"

aiya nodded placing both hands over her heart "you're just too kind! but girl you don't have to thank me for doing the bare minimum"

"no i really do have to. because there are a lot of other people out here that i've talked to and are not as professional and sweet like you. it's really crazy" you shook your head when you heard yourself start to get off topic "i'm sorry i don't want to control this whole interview. i think i got the rambling from my husband through the years"

both you and aiya laughed at your statement.

"don't worry about it! this is not a place where i will every cut you off from rambling, seriously. plus i want to get into some of that as well. what is your experience with the whole ‘being a wife of the number one hero’ thing? like you said before people can be unusually cruel to you for absolutely no reason"

you scoffed dramatically making aiya laugh.

"so when people ask me this in person, which has never happened ever" you made direct eye contact with the camera before turning back. this had aiya laughing more now than before "being married to izuku is great, but being married to deku can be.. iffy on my end. does that make sense?”

"yes and no"

"okay so what i mean is that being deku's wife is stressful. not only because of the major backlash that i get from the internet, tabloids, and gossip shows, but also because of my safety. the backlash is something that doesn't go away but gets easier as time goes on. for me it was easier to just laugh at how stupid they are. like one article called me fat, cool, but then another one from the same company called me pile of bones skinny" you tilted you head slapping one hand down on your thigh "now you just look fucking stupid because you can't pick one and clearly can't run a business. cause like how didn't you know that both of these articles were coming out?" you shook your head "they piss me off more than make me upset"

aiya listened carefully letting you go on with your rant.

"but when i say i love being izuku’s wife i really mean it. i love that man more than i love anyone else. i love the way he looks when he wakes up in the morning. i love the way he gets excited every time we see cows when we're driving. he is who i was meant to be with and i believe that with my whole heart. i see deku and izuku as two totally different people because i get to see it from both perspectives. i can understand how some people might not understand where i’m coming from with this and that’s okay. this is just how i’ve been able to express the way i feel about the whole situation”

“wow.. thank you so much for sharing your point of view on things. i hope this really opens the eyes to some of the haters out there”

“ugh me too” you played with the ring on your finger “i feel bad now. when this episode airs i can just imagine what he’s gonna say, ‘oh so my episode was me spewing my undying love for you and all i get is i hate my husband?’”

the two of you laughed thinking about it.

“no, but we’ve seriously talked about it before and he understands where i’m coming from. i love that he’s so understanding about everything”

“speaking of love,” aiya pulled out a piece of paper coming from her lap “we’ve got questions”

you clapped your hands together excitedly.

“oh! hit me”

“okay so of course deku did a podcast episode where he made all of us singles jealous by describing the moment he fell in love with you. so now people are wondering what was the moment you fell in love with him?”

you had been preparing for this question ever since you read the email.

“i actually fell in love with izuku pretty early in our relationship. maybe like a month in? i’ve honestly had a crush on him since year one, but we never got the chance to interact.”

it was early off in your third year when you had come down with a bad fever. the only reason you could assume the sickness took over you was because everyone had just moved back into the dorms. bringing whatever kind of diseases they wanted back.

“hi izuku”

the phone was placed on the pillow beside your head. you didn’t have enough energy to hold it up. hell, you’re surprised you even had enough energy to accept the call. everything on your body was just hot. they only thing you felt you needed was a cold compress on your forehead, but getting up just wasn’t an option at the moment.

“y/n you’re making me worried. are you sure you don’t need recovery girl?”

“i should be okay,” you stopped in the middle of your sentence to take in a long breath “plus i don’t think she could help with what i have anyway”

izuku was slipping on his training uniform as he was talking to you. he didn’t know if you could hear yourself, or if you even cared, but he could probably picture what you looked like. comforter thrown to the floor. medicine bottles scattered on your dresser and not knowing which one to choose.

“are you sure you don’t need anything?”

“i should be fine izu. just focus on- on training for the festival. bye now”

izuku had wanted to get a couple more sentences in to ease his anxiety, but you quickly hung up the phone without a second thought.

once you found yourself a semi-comfortable position you took the chance of drifting off to sleep.

the nap lasted about thirty minutes before you woke up to the feeling of a cold compress being laid onto your forehead. slowly, your eyes opened to reveal your boyfriend making sure it was in the right spot.

“izu” you mumbled going to sit up but he placed his hands on your shoulders laying you back down.

“nope, you’re resting”

he still had his training uniform on from the time you had called him.

“but you shouldn’t be here. you should be training”

the newfound coolness on your forehead felt amazing, and part of you wished he had came sooner.

“i can take a day or two off. it’s fine”

you shook your head gently.

“i don’t want you to miss it because of me”

“y/n are you me?”

“no”

“are you my teacher?”

“no, but-“

“then don’t worry about it. your health means more to me than training. i’ve been working hard for the past two years, so if i have to take a day or two off to take care of my girlfriend then i’m jumping at the opportunity”

it was right then and there you felt some of the weight lift of your shoulders. this felt like confirmation of what you had assumed you were feeling from the moment you first saw him.

you loved him.

you loved him so, so much.

taglist! @sagejin 🫶🏾

lmk if you’d like to be added

#honeipie #anime #bnha x reader #mha #writing #x reader #drabble #izuku x reader #izuku midoriya #mha izuku #bnha izuku #deku x reader #mha deku #bnha deku #my hero academia #bnha #izuku midoryia x you

[iivyiivory]

All the sweet stuff !!!

Your Husband Jason Todd, getting you your favorite food

On special nights when Jason isn’t on patrol or working with Dick and Bruce, he loves to get takeout, he knows you love this one Italian restaurant that’s very well known in Gotham.

He orders two takeout dishes of carbonara pasta knowing it’s your personal favorite, he would have gotten a reservation to eat inside the restaurant, but the restaurant was having a very busy night with so many people coming in and out so he just decided to order out.

He loves doing small gestures for you knowing that they mean so much to you… by the time you get home you see a small candlelight and 2 plates of pasta on the glass table in your apartment; he walks out of the kitchen walks toward you, you hug him and whisper in his ear “Thank you so much I love you you're the best husband in the world”....

#jason todd #drabble #oneshot #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #fluff #red hood #jason todd fluff #batboys #batfamily

[cumulo-stratus]

request- hanging out with your two best buds spencer and penelope and watching lady and the tramp

or could be just with spencer

i just love seeing them together and need to hang out with both of them. and i know they are both fans of Disney movies like c’mon it just makes sense

BEST BUDS [S.R]

Penelope, spencer, and you share a nice night at penelope’s watching Disney classics with spaghetti

spencer reid x gn!reader ][ fluff drabble ][ 0.6k ][ masterlist!!

a/n- MAY ILYSM FOR THIS REQUEST!! its a drabble not a full fic but oh well lol

“Spencer pass the cheese!” Penelope's many bracelets jingling on her wrist could be heard as she reached out for Spencer to hand the cheese to her. 

When Spencer placed the bag in her hand she shook it onto her bowl of spaghetti. There was now a little pile of white parmesan cheese on top of her spaghetti. 

Penelope leaned against one end of the couch wearing her Mickey headband while you and Spencer cuddled up on the other end for best buds night as Penelope so lovingly called it. The name hadn’t changed even when you and Spencer got together a few months ago.

They usually happened whenever there was the time for one, which wasn’t often. This made them special. Special meant Penelope often got very excited at the prospect of a best buds night. 

Tonight she had decided to make spaghetti to go with their viewing of The Lady And The Tramp. Ever since you had discovered Spencer's secret love of old disney movies, both you and penelope insisted on watching his old favorites.

Penelope had heard about this from Spencer when she saw him blushing at texts, and being the guy who never normally even takes a second glance at his phone unless it's work related. Of course, Penelope being the lover of matchmaking insisted on knowing what Spencer was looking at.

Said previous events led to the three being cozied up on the couch with the light of the movie illuminating Penelope's otherwise dark apartment. The old style music and animations brought back memories from Spencer's childhood. 

“You know my mom used to play this for me a lot” Spencer spoke with a fond smile, and you could almost see the memories flickering like old film behind his eyes. You smiled up at your boyfriend from his shoulder. You placed a small kiss on his growing stubble. 

ever so often, either penelope, you, or Spencer would make a comment (though most of them were spencers). Spencer usually said something about how the animation was done, or a historical inaccuracy. “You know that architecture is quite unrealistic for supposedly the early 1900s- are you guys seeing this brickwork?” he would call out, only earning a giggle from the others. 

When Penelope made a comment it was usually along the lines of “ahhhh!!! look at these two cutie pies!!” and other phrases in the same vein. Her excitement was at its peak in the classic spaghetti sharing scene. there had been lots of penelope screams/yelps of joy. 

You preferred to stay quiet, leaving a sentence hanging in the air every once in a while. But you found more pleasure in listening to your two best friends.

The more the night wore on, the more the warm bowl of spaghetti in your stomach and the soft sound of Spencer's heartbeat lulled you into a drowsy state against his chest. His warmth radiated into your soul, allowing a blanket of peace to roll over you as the movie's credits started to play. ‘’

Spencer looked down to find you asleep on his chest, and his second thought after how adorable you were- was how was he going to bring himself to wake you up and go home for the night. 

Then again, Spencer noticed someone asleep. Penelope had her head rested against the couch and an empty bowl still in her hands. She also sported a small squishmallow of a unicorn at her side. with her eyes closed you could see the eyeshadow she hadn’t had the thought to take off yet.

And as spencer looked at his two best friends, and then back to the tv with the credits still rolling, he wondered how he got so lucky.

spare a reblog?

#Criminal minds #cm #bau #bau team #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x gn reader #bau team x reader #Mgg #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #drabble #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid #Penelope Garcia #penelope Garcia x gn reader #platonic reader

[irondad-defensesquad]

"please don't tell mr. stark?"

"this is tony stark we're talking about, he's gonna find out somehow."

"but you won't tell him, right?"

...

rhodey sighs. "no, kid."

yeah, now he gets why tony goes through hell and back for those puppy eyes.

#lotus speaks #ironfam #irondad #(sorta) #i mean #is rhodey an irondad too???? #i know we all call him uncle but. #fics #my fics #drabble

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Candy Girl 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, age gap, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: as you’re about to take the next step with your boyfriend, doubts begin to arise. (short!plus!reader)

Characters: Thor (boyfriend’s dad/silverfox)

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself. <3

Your alarm startles you from a heavy slumber. All those carbs have your stomach roaring. Magni too. You can hear his rumbling snoring coming from his bedroom. You sit up and try to shake off the cobwebs. Ugh, you should know better by now that you should have that brownie cake. 

You roll your shoulders as a crick tweaks in your neck. You groan and look down at yourself. Oh yeah. You stand, sifting through consciousness as it slowly blooms, eyes squinting as your head remains foggy. You pull of the borrowed shirt and search for your own, holding it across your front to hid your chest. 

As you reach for your bra, you hear a yawn that settles to a ‘morning.’ 

You gasp, thinking you were the only one awake, and glance over at Mr. Odinson as he reaches to grip the doorframe, leaning inside it. His own eyes go wide as he sees you and you hug his shirt close across your chest, only pushing your cleavage higher in your effort to hide. 

“I’m sorry,” you spin your back to him and snatch up your bra and shirt, “did my alarm wake you?” 

You hurry across the room, bouncing too much for comfort. You try not to notice that he's still shirtless himself. He's your boyfriend's father! Neither of you should be looking at each other. 

“Uh... no, no, I was making coffee and thought to offer some...” he takes a breath, “it’s a Norwegian blend.” 

“Sorry, I...” you scramble down the hall and quickly hide in the bathroom. 

Oh god. You can’t believe you did that. You should’ve known better than to just strip down out in the front room. You just assumed you would hear a man that big prowling around. Prowling? It is his home. 

You glance at yourself in the mirror. Oh, you really hope he didn’t see all that. Surely the shirt must have shifted in your flight. You cringe and toss the shirt, quickly hooking your bra in place and squeezing back into your uniform. 

You rinse out your mouth and splash water over your face, preparing to face your shame. You fold Mr. Odinson’s shirt and emerge quietly. Maybe he’ll be kind enough to have retreated somewhere else with his coffee. He’s standing by the couch, looking at your phone as it lights up on the arm of the couch. 

“Oh, shoot,” you rush over, “that better not be Karl.” 

“Mom,” Mr. Odinson reads and backs away. 

“Uh, oh, okay,” you frown and hold out his shirt, “here, I should answer.” 

“Thank you,” he accepts the shirt and bows his head, backing away as he shows his palm.  

He turns and marches into the kitchen as you untether the phone from the charging cord and answer it tentatively. As you put the speaker to your ear, your father’s holler sounds in the background of your mother’s clucking. 

“I’ve been calling all night!” She chirps, “where are you?” 

“Mom, I told you...” 

“You told me nothing,” she accuses, as always. “Your father is livid.” 

“What? Why?” 

“Don’t act so innocent,” she snaps then the phone jostles and she squawks again before a snarlish snort sounds into it. 

“Listen here, you little whore,” your father barks, “I won’t have this under my roof. I won’t.” 

“I don’t understand, dad,” you squeak, “I didn’t do anything. I left money on the fridge. Didn’t you get it?” 

“SheVibe,” he sneers and you hear something clatter. No. He opened your package. It said discreet packaging but that doesn’t matter with them. “Fucking slut.” 

“Dad, I--” your voice piques and catches in your throat. 

You were only curious. Magni’s been so eager and you still feel so unready so you thought if you figure yourself out first, it might not be so bad. You sniffle, barely holding back tears as your father descends into a tirade, working in every slur he can think of. 

You listen silently, your eyes fixated on the wall paint. Not like that at home, no holes or scuffs, and the air doesn’t smell of cigarettes and garbage. Your father’s hateful ramble turns to a dull drone in your ears as you just stare, fighting back the hot gloss in your eyes. 

Finally, he finishes. He’s breathless from his anger. You don’t have a chance to apologise again before you hear the phone fly and the call ends. He must have thrown it. You lower your arm and just stand there. 

You move cautiously and look over the tidy room. You put your phone on the small table and go to the couch to tidy up the pillows and blanket. You live in a mess but you don’t want to leave one in someone else’s home. Especially one as nice as this.

It always hurts a little to see how nicely Magni lives. It fills you with doubt. Would he be with you if he saw your home? 

“Everything okay? Bit early to be calling?” Mr. Odinson surprises you as the scent of coffee wafts in with him. 

You flinch, stung by the snap back to reality. You nod and sniff, forcing a smile. You’ve honed the mask since childhood. And when the teachers noticed the way you winced at the grazing of a bruise, you just shrugged it off and kept your smile beaming. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you assure him with a rocky chuckle. You won’t mention your parents are on a bender. “My mom couldn’t find something. Turns out I borrowed it and left it in my locker at work.” 

“Ah,” he nods though there is a hint of cynicism in the single syllable, “I’m sure it’s nothing. So, coffee before you go?” 

“Oh, thanks, Mr. Odinson--” 

“Thor,” he corrects you. 

“Thor,” you echo, “but I should go. I’ve stayed too long as it is. I’m just going to go say goodbye to Magni.” 

“Right, yes, well, you know you’ll never overstay your welcome, not after brownie cake,” he grins. 

Your smile is a bit more genuine as his cheeks dimple back at you. You nod and shrug and grab your purse and reach behind the table awkwardly to unplug your charger. You tuck everything into your bag and head down the hall to Magni’s room. 

You tap on the door but all you hear from within is his constant rumble. You’ll just kiss his forehead and be on your way. You can text him to let him know what’s up later. He probably won’t wake up until noon at earliest. 

You near his bed as he sleeps with no shirt, one long leg hanging over the edge. You ignore the lotion and kleenex close by. It makes you feel bad. You knew what he’d planned but it’s not your fault the night was spoiled. Who are you kidding? You would’ve just chickened out again. 

You sit on the side of the bed and steady yourself on his bicep, leaning over him as you whisper, “hey, Mag, I’m just heading out.” You bend and kiss his forehead and feel him squirm, “love y--” 

“Ugh! You know I hate being woke up!” He throws his arm out and his elbow hits your boob, nothing too painful but it hurts all the same, “Get out!” 

His holler has you on your feet. Your heart is once more pounding as you hear the echo of your father’s voice in his. You blink as your eyes tingle again.  

“Sorry, Mag, I was just saying goodbye,” you squeak. 

He doesn’t respond as he pulls his pillow over his head and rolls back over. You can’t help the spring of tears that bursts forth. You didn’t do anything, you just wanted to give him a kiss. 

You squeal in surprise as someone nudges your shoulder and Thor moves you from behind. Gently as he guides you out of his way before barreling towards the bed. He rips the pillow from Magni’s arm and brings it back down to give him a fluffy blow. 

“Oi, I didn’t raise you to yell at a lady like that so you get up and apologise right now, Magni,” he demands and smacks him again with the pillow. It can hardly be much of a punishment.  

“Dad, I’m sleep--” 

“I do not care. You have all day to lay around. Like every day. So you sit up and say sorry.” 

Magni grumbles and pushes himself onto his back. He sits up and scowls between you and his dad. He shows his teeth and huffs, “I’m sorry, okay? I was sleeping and you scared me.” 

Thor sighs, “really? I’ve a mind to tell her not to come back. She shouldn’t waste her time.” 

“Mr. Odinson, really, I snuck up on him," you say. 

“No more excuses. Not for him,” he growls and turns to you, his snarl softening in an instant, “I’ve made you a cup to go. You’ll take it with you and drive safe, won’t you?” 

“Uh,” you peer between him and his son. “Sure?” 

“A good coffee to get your head straight,” he waves you to the door, “and think about if my son is worth your energy, eh? I often ask myself the same.” 

You nod and keep silent. You just need to get out of there, go somewhere you can be alone. Just a few minutes before you face the inevitable. You go ahead of Thor and he follows, slamming the door at his back in a final reprimand to Magni. 

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #series #drabble #candy girl #mcu #marvel #avengers #au #silverfox au

[underratedgrapeju1ce]

i wonder if sonic ever talked to shadow about what happened with other shadow...

sonics not a huge "talking about feelings" guy, but i imagine seeing shadow---even a fake version version of him---begging him for help as he deteriorates, would mess him up a bit

when the others ask where sonics been for the past few days, he brushes it off. free as the wind, remember! he does his own thing! but i dont think shadow would buy it.

he probably brashly interrogates sonic, assuming he was off being irresponsible. when sonic snaps that no one would believe him if he told them, that catches shadows attention.

he probably softens, just by a hair, and demands to know what REALLY kept him away. when sonic describes the Other world, shadow doesnt laugh, or tell him off for making up lies like sonic expected him to. and when he brings up the other maria, any trace of irritation in shadows demeanor is replaced with quiet shock.

little blurb under the cut. (i lied its like a whole ass chapter)

"...Told ya you wouldn't believe me," Sonic huffed a humorless laugh. "Chaos, it sounds even more insane when I say it out-"

"I believe you."

Sonic's hand paused where it was exasperatedly wiping down his face. Emerald eyes blinked up at Shadow, the gloved hand now hovering aimlessly in midair.

"...Huh?"

"Don't give me that idiotic look, hedgehog," Shadow seemed to snap, but his voice lacked any sharp, incriminating edge, "You're not remotely creative enough to come up with a lie that elaborate."

"There's a compliment hidden in there somewhere, I can feel it."

Shadow's round ear flicked in irritation, his eyes rolling and his shoulders heaving as he sighed. Ruby eyes closed, brows furrowed, carefully planning his next words.

"I know how you behave when you lie. This is not one of those instances."

There was silence, save for the far-off twittering of Flickies, muffled by the canopy of the forest. The sun was sinking now, casting orange flares in both hedgehogs' eyes. Sonic sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Well, nothing to do about it now," he mumbled, "I'm sorry I said anything. Doesn't have anything to do with you guys-"

"You said this world seemed to be some exaggerated form of paradise for you, to some extent?"

The blue hedgehog was a bit taken aback by how calmly and objectively Shadow was going about this, but... hey, it was Shadow. He balked for a moment, stammering his explanation.

"I... I mean, I-I guess? I'm not sure how creepy button eyes is an ideal lifestyle but-"

"I'm serious, hedgehog."

Sonic sighed again, averting his eyes to the ground.

"I..." Sonic laughed shortly, devoid of warmth, and threw his hand up in surrender, "Sure, yeah. I guess that's what the thing was going for, but obviously that creepy doll hellscape thing is not my idea of paradise. But Shadow, why is this-"

"Do you think I would be happier if Maria was here?"

Sonic's heart dropped to his feet, and he felt his veins run cold. His body was still for a moment, then he shrugged. Then he started to speak. Then he cut himself off. Then he put a hand to his face and stared at the grass through his fingers. The hedgehog noted how close the toe of his shoe was to crushing a small pink flower. He took a step backwards, then looked up.

"I-I don't know, would you?"

"I'm asking you, Sonic."

The blue hedgehog gave a huff through his nose, shoulders slumping in defeat.

"I mean," he spoke quietly, digging a fang into his lip, "I guess so? I feel like it's pretty natural to wish we didn't have to lose people we care about."

Sonic's thoughts flitted to his parents. He brushed it away for now.

Shadow looked thoughtful, deadpan, brows furrowed and eyes staring vaguely at the grass in front of him. Sonic didn't know why he felt like he was poking a grizzly bear. He knew he and Shadow had a tendency to compete rather than talk, so he supposed he expected the black hedgehog to dart off or hurl a Chaos Spear at his skull.

"I don't think I would be."

Sonic blinked in surprise, the tension dropping from his shoulders from when he'd braced himself for an attack. Shadow seemed surprised at his own answer.

"As dear as Maria is to me," the hybrid continued slowly, as if his words were an elaborate chess strategy, "As much as she would've loved this planet, and you---" Sonic felt a pang in his chest. "--what's done is done. If I could speak to her one last time, I would do so in an instant. But..."

Shadow looked solemn. He sighed again.

"It would be selfish of me, to undo the permanence of death. This planet is as dangerous and ruthless as it is beautiful. If people did not have mercy on the ARK, it would be no different here. Her illness would be expedited, and there would be nothing for me to do."

"But what if--"

"The best thing that I can do for Maria is keep this planet safe in her name. That is all."

Twilight now stained the sky softly purple, the faintest glimpse of stars beginning to flicker into existence, and the sinking light cast sunken shadows on the black hedgehog's tired face. Sonic figured talking like this was a fairly herculean effort. The chilled wind softly ruffled their quills. Instinctively, Sonic wanted to lighten the mood by making a jab about Doctor Frankenstein, or Night of the Living Dead, but taking one look at Shadow's exhausted face, he knew it wasn't the time.

The silence was tenuous, both hedgehogs unsure what to do with their feelings out in the open.

Sonic thought about how wrong the Other world had been, how uncanny and fundamentally terrifying it all was. He knew that thing, the puppet made of string and buttons and false fur...it wasn't really Shadow. But it still tried to help him. It was still Shadow's voice begging him not to leave, not to do this to him, not again. He knew the pain in its expression as the little girl in the blue dress unraveled was far from fake. As much as that fake world tried to create happiness, the only real, raw thing? Had been that pain.

Deep down, Sonic thought Shadow deserved to be a bit selfish, at least in this hypothetical, fantastic situation they'd created. And Sonic had the feeling that Shadow really, really wants to be as well. But, ever the realist, he doesn't even allow himself the fantasy. At least that's Sonic's guess. Maybe he's just projecting his savior complex again.

"Race ya home, faker?"

But Sonic also knows that living in a past as painful as Shadow's can be dangerous.

"You mean my home, or the fox's lab you sleep on the floor of?" Shadow smirks challengingly.

He's watched it consume Shadow before.

"That's a low blow!"

It's probably better off for both of them to just live in the present.

"Last one to Rouge's buys drinks?"

Shadow may not have his sister with him anymore, but, maybe the new normal isn't horrible.

"Oh, you're so on! I can taste my victory Shirley Temple already!"

"A Shirley Temple, are you a child?"

Maybe this freedom is what Maria wanted for him all along.

"You're gonna be crying like one when you lose!"

Shadow hmph's with a grin as his skates spark to life, glowing even brighter beneath the now inky black sky. With no warning, he darts off, leaving billowing ripples in the grass behind him. Sonic gapes for a moment, before his mind catches up and he peels away with an eager smile.

The blue hedgehog slows up near the end of their race, if only to see Shadow's victorious expression as Rouge opens the club door.

#holy fuck this got long #sonics savior complex goes crazy #shadows resolve to move on from his past goes crazy #hits the griddy #racing as therapy #dumb boys talking about feelings and stuff ewww #answered asks #writing #drabble #sonic #sonic au #coraline au #shadow the hedgehog #sonic the hedgehog #sonic fanfiction #text #sonadow #?? #i guess #i love writing oughfhf i forgot

[tiethenott]

Bestfriend theo!whos absolutely pissed when you excitedly announce that you have a boyfriend,a pathetic excuse of a man really,Fred Weasley.Theo always makes sure that he always hugs you longer,his hands wrapped around your waist,pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek while Fred glares daggers at him.Theo also gets more involved with you,making sure he doesn't lose you to pathetic Weasley.After every fight you have with Freddy,Theos always there with open arms,drawing circles on your back as you lay on top him,head buried in the crook of neck as you rant about Fred.Your teddy was always there for you! Theo was waiting.Waiting for your boyfriend to fuck up.At parties he would pay girls to flirt with an unsuspecting,drunk Fred and would alert you to when this happened since he was attached to your hip.One day,Fred had enough of the slytherin's nonsense and stopped him in the courtyard "Nott.Back off my girl." "Your girl huh?"

#harry potter #fred weasley #theodore nott #fredandtheo #i need them #drabble

[blueironywrites]

Title: More than a Dream

Rating: M

Word count: 295

Summary: Remus and Sirius wake up in bed together.

Only one bed prompt by @wolfstarmicrofic

This was so much fun to write! It's been hanging out in my head for the last few days and I wrote it while waiting for baked eggs to cook. Baked eggs and Wolfstar, what a combination <3

------------

Remus woke slowly. Smiling happily, he burrowed closer into the warm body next to him and sighed as he inhaled a familiar scent that never ceased to drive him wild.

He lay still for a moment, enjoying the quietness of the morning, before running a hand up the smooth lines of the man next to him. His fingers trailed up and rested on the soft skin of the man's neck. Lifting himself up slightly, Remus brought his face close to the man's, pausing for a moment before bringing their mouths together.

Remus sank into the kiss, a small sound escaping his mouth, but pulled away after a few seconds in confusion.

In this part of his dream, Sirius would usually be kissing him back, his long body twisting against Remus's. However, this morning, Sirius lay unresponsive under him.

Remus's skin went cold.

Oh, my God.

Remus's flew open and met the shocked eyes of Sirius.

Sirius. His best friend. His best friend who had cheerfully told Remus they had nothing to worry about the night before when they had realised the hotel they had booked for James's buck party had put them in the same room, rather than seperate ones.

The same room. With one bed. The bed they were both currently in where Remus had just humiliated himself.

"Oh, my God," he muttered, flinging himself out of the bed and not pausing to look behind him as he raced out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

***

Sirius stared at the door as it shut, his heart thudding in his chest.

Making a split second decision, he also leapt out of bed and ran out the door. He didn't know what had just happened but all he knew was he wanted more.

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