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meangirls-imagines · 19 days

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Hi. A request here (ignore it it's breaking any of your rules).

I was thinking of Regina George being with masc fem!reader that is actually a softie. I like the idea of a relationship with the dynamic of a mean girlboss and a soft nerdy type, especially if Regina is significantly shorter than the reader.

Imagine the shorter Regina pinning reader against a wall. Or Regina calling reader her 'puppy' because of how she always follows her around the school like a lost puppy or how she lets Regina tell her around without complaints.

Possessive power bottom Regina x Service top Reader (with reader managing to get on Regina's nerves by talking back) 👀

Fire and Ice

Description: For as long as anyone can remember, it had always been Regina and Reader. The complete opposite from each other, it worked perfectly. But, what were the school's power couple like behind closed doors?

WARNINGS: smut, fluff, slight dom/sub dynamics, reader being a little shit

Y/N Y/L/N and Regina George.

Best friends to lovers.

The couple had been deemed North Shore's power couple before they even stepped foot in the hallway. The two had gotten together in sixth grade, proudly open ever since.

As they grew up, Y/N grew into more of a masculine person. She loved sports, hockey specifically, baggy clothes, she cut her hair shorter, got more buff. She was a completely different person now than she was in sixth grade.

Regina, on the other hand, hadn't changed a bit. She was still obsessed with the color pink, designer brands, makeup. Still as feminine as ever.

She always made an exception for Y/N, some days opting to wear the girl's hockey sweatshirts (that were too big on her), a custom made pink jersey with Y/N's last name on it. Everyone knew the two were together.

The question that wouldn't leave anyone's minds:

Who was the top?

The students of North Shore were extremely curious. Most of them assumed it was Regina. But, there was that small percentage of people that thought Y/N was the top.

That small percentage was going strictly off of physical attributes. Y/N was more masculine, she was taller, she didn't take shit from her girlfriend. She had to be the top.

The 90% that believed Regina was the top had right to do so. Y/N followed her girlfriend around school as if she was a lost puppy. It was cute, how much Regina had Y/N wrapped around her finger.

The two had the same class schedule, so they always sat together (more like Regina sat on Y/N's lap), they always went to lunch together, walked the halls together. Regina was always watching Y/N at hockey practice and always at her games.

There was also that time Regina and Y/N got into a mini argument in the hall that one day.

Regina was on a mission.

She had heard from Gretchen who heard from Karen who heard from Taylor who heard from Josh that some girl was throwing herself all over Y/N and her girlfriend wasn't trying to stop it.

She spotted Y/N next to her teammate Mark's locker, the two no doubt talking about the upcoming tournament they were going to play in.

The blonde had turned Y/N by her shoulder and fixed her with a glare. "What the fuck, Y/N?" Y/N looked at her girlfriend confused. "What do you mean, Regina?" The blonde glared harder. "You're gonna tell me you don't recall the slut that was throwing herself over you in your last class?"

Y/N rolled her eyes. "Oh my god, how did you even find out about that? Nothing major happened." The blonde got an angry look on her face and pinned Y/n against the locker, glaring at the taller girl.

Y/N just smirked, keeping a mental note for later, letting Regina have her moment. The blonde looked up at her girlfriend. "You better not let anyone touch what's mine. You got that?" They had gained an audience, everyone watching in anticipation for Y/N's next move.

The girl just smirked and allowed Regina to claim her publicly before the blonde stormed off, clearing a path in the hall like the Red Sea.

Regina got a text 15 minutes later from Y/N.

Y/N❤️: I let you have your moment in the hall. But when we get home later, you're not leaving that bed.

Regina's heart raced in anticipation.

"Fuck, Y/N."

"Take it, Regina."

The blonde was on the verge of her third orgasm. When they got home that day, Y/N had decided to show Regina that she was the only girl for her. Her solution? Making Regina feel good.

She had made her cum twice with just her fingers and mouth and was on the verge of making her cum for a third time with her strap. Regina's brain had been turned into mush as all she could focus on was Y/N.

"Fuck, Regina. You take me so well. Can't believe you thought I'd entertain the thought of another girl taking me from you."

Regina couldn't speak. Her senses were overwhelmed with Y/N. The girl was making her feel things that only she could make her feel.

"I'm all yours, Regina. Forever. I don't want anyone else. But, there's one thing I do want. And that's for you to cum on my cock." She reached a hand down in-between Regina's legs and began to rub the bundle of nerves that rested there.

The blonde felt her eyes roll back. Y/N's cock was hitting all of the right places. She felt her climax rapidly approaching as Y/N pounded her.

"Cum for me, Regina. You can do it." Regina felt her entire body tense as she came around Y/N's cock. The girl continued to slowly thrust, allowing Regina to ride through it. The blonde shook from the aftershocks of her climax and the feeling of Y/N's slow thrusts.

Y/N was peppering her face with soft kisses as she came down. "You looked so pretty, Regina. So beautiful. Wanna make you cum again, pretty girl."

Regina gushed around Y/N's cock. With the way her girlfriend was talking to her, she would let her make her cum as much as she wanted, but Regina's body had limits.

Y/N continued the soft kisses. "Will you let me make you cum one more time, sweet angel? Just one more. Then we'll be done. Please." The blonde nodded, pulling Y/N into a more heated kiss. Y/N's thrusts slowly sped up as the blonde moaned into her mouth.

Regina was officially fucked out.

Y/N smirked and sped up her thrusts. "God, Regina, I can't believe you thought I'd go after someone else. Not when you take me so fucking well. Only want you. Only want your pussy." Regina felt heat wash over her body at Y/N's words.

"'M gonna cum. Y/N, please." The blonde's words slurred together as Y/N's cock began to hammer in and out of her. Y/N smirked and began to rub Regina's clit again. "Cum for me, baby. Come on, pretty girl. Cum all over my cock."

Regina saw white as the pleasure bubble burst. Her whole body felt like it was ascending to another dimension as Y/N whispered sweet nothings to her as she came down.

Y/N pulled out and went into Regina's bathroom to grab a wet cloth. She came back and gently cleaned between her legs, whispering praise at Regina's whimpers. She threw the towel to the side, making the blonde drink some water before pulling her into her arms.

"I'm yours, Regina. Forever. No one compares to you, baby girl." Regina sleepily smiled at the girl's words and drifted off.

The next day, when the two walked into the school, everyone's question was answered. Regina walked limped while wearing the pink hockey jersey as Y/N walked next to her, a huge smirk on her face.

That 10% of the school that had guessed Y/N would never let anyone else live it down.

#regina george x reader #regina george imagine #mean girls imagines #mean girls 2024

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chuuyrr · 6 months

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LOWKEY — NAKAHARA CHUUYA

⊹ CW(s): f! reader, pining, falling in love, drunk confessions, kissing, pet names, reader is a pre-med college student

⊹ SYNOPSIS: in which he takes his chance and keeps you as his secret

inspired by: lowkey and urs by niki !

chuuya lifts an eyebrow when he notices you sniffling from the corner of his eye as he sips the burgundy red liquid from his wine glass.

it was late at night, he had just gotten off work and wanted to have a drink or two from a neighboring local bar, but he wasn't alone.

there was also you, another customer sitting near the end of the bar stools by the counter.

he sighs to himself as he takes a sip from his glass and musters the confidence to turn to you and speak to you, as he is really worried as to why a young woman like you was crying in the bar late at night.

chuuya was a port mafia executive, a criminal from an underground organization, but in truth he was far from heartless.

"hey, miss, you okay?" he asks, tapping the wooden surface of the counter near to get your attention.

you gaze up at him, your eyes tearful and somewhat puffy red as you sniffle, and the sight of you made chuuya's throat dry for some reason.

he wasn't expecting someone as breathtaking as you. apart from your tears, the alcohol in the high ball whiskey you were drinking was also contributing to the blood pouring into your cheeks.

"m'fine," you sniffle softly, wiping at your tears which makes chuuya sighs.

"is someone giving you a bad time, doll?" he asks, concernedly blinking at you and scanning the room for any suspicious people, but there were only the two of you in the bar.

you shake your head, giggling a little at this redhead's genuine care for you. it was quite sweet of him to be honest. as you glance up at him again, you take a long breath to calm yourself and wipe away any leftover tears.

"i was just crying over.. exams." you blurt out, little embarrassed because he appeared to be an influential man involved in something bigger, like a corporation of sorts, given his fancy and expensive coat, bolo tie, and suit that were of black and gray colors.

"exams?" chuuya repeats your answer, blinking as he looks down at you, making you feel even more embarrassed because he appears to be judging you in some way for it.

"mhm," you mutter gently with a nod, rubbing your arm as you stare down at your lap, feeling glum about it, "i failed one of my exams, and it was a major subject of mine, too."

"that's it?" chuuya sighs quietly, which causes you to become quiet, but instead of something more judgmental, you perk up when you hear a chuckle rumble from his throat and escape his lips.

your cheeks get heated, as if from the whiskey you were drinking or your tears weren't making them flushed enough, and you narrow your eyes at him, "h-hey, it's not funny!" you cry out.

chuuya snickers as he shakes his head, and you wonder if it's the wine making you hazy and all, or if it's something about him—the way he sounded as he laughed and smiled.

he also appears to be genuine, despite his arrogant looking-exterior, and you could tell there was some sort of mysterious allure behind him, as if he was a part of something bigger that you couldn't quite pin down.

"sorry, doll," he sighs, still grinning at you, "you just had me worried there for a second there, you know? you cry like you're on the big screen."

"it was a major exam," you sigh, turning away from him as you finish the last of your whiskey, "and it might not mean anything to someone like you given your status and appearance, but it is a big deal to me."

"i'm failing quizzes, and now an exam, so yeah, it's all a big deal to someone like me because how else am i gonna be a doctor someday with low grades, you know?" you continue, feeling your eyes become glassy with tears again as you pinch the bridge of your nose.

"hey, now. hey, i didn't mean it like that, sweetheart," chuuya says softly as he realizes he has offended you in some manner, "i just thought you got hurt or something, and you're the one here in the bar drinking apart from me."

"well, thanks for your concern," you say softly, sniffling and fidgeting with the empty glass that was previously full with whiskey to escape his stare, "i just needed a pick me up.."

chuuya feels an unpleasant pause following the end of the conversation. he watches in silence and nibbles the inside of his cheek as you you call the bartender's attention to order another glass of whiskey.

he could still see the melancholic glint in your pretty eyes. it makes him feel bad for laughing about your circumstance. it's a big deal for you, and it was quite strange for chuuya as well.

chuuya was a port mafia executive, and considering his line of work, he shouldn't be distracted, let alone this soft, but he can't stop himself. he's growing soft for someone like you.

"her drink is on me," chuuya says, drawing the bartender's attention just as you were ready to pull out some cash from your wallet, "and i'll order some chocolate-drizzled hazelnut brittle for her."

your eyes widen as the bartender nods to chuuya and serves your beverage beside the chocolate brittle that actually complements the new glass of whiskey he's got you as well.

"why?" you murmur, blinking at him, confused.

"you said you needed a pick-me-up, didn't you? and besides, you seemed like the type to get something sweet with your whiskey." chuuya shrugs as he downs his wine, turning his face away with his gloved hand covering half of his face, just so you wouldn't see the growing blush on his cheeks.

he says in a hushed tone, "just think of it as me making it up to you for earlier, okay?"

with his kindness, you find yourself actually smiling, having forgotten about the exam and how you were crying about it.

maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

it doesn't take long for him to know you were a regular at this bar, and how you frequently come here and drink when you're stressed out as he learns from the bartender.

chuuya isn't even aware of it, yet he's gradually becoming comfortable and used to you, and it was all because of how he just happened to see you crying that evening when you were drinking your sadness away with some whiskey.

it was a pleasant change of pace for once because he wasn't talking about work that included killing or any underground organization businesses like smuggling.

instead, chuuya was conversing with a college student who is more concerned about failing the exams or receiving a low mark from her professor than with being mugged or shot.

instead of being entranced by gunpower and blood, it was the the familiar aroma of your high ball whiskey and his red wine, and the vanilla scent of your perfume clinging on cardigan every time, and he takes solace in that in secret.

and chuuya listens to everything you say, even if he considers the medical jargons and chemistry-related things you talk about puzzling and nonsense as he didn't really quite gets them at all.

but, in fact, these nights became his favorites—something chuuya grew to look forward to like an addiction, and he misses it whenever he can't come to the bar because you're so busy with college.

he was clearly beginning to feel things for you, because why would a port mafia executive like himself have time for an mere college student that was constantly stressed-out, but he resents it in some way.

he despises how sincere and nice you were because it caused him to lose his guard. his stomach was doing flips all the time around you, which was driving him mad.

at the end of the day, or rather evening, it makes him hopeless to think about you and everything, and it's unfortunate.

you and him come from different worlds in the sense that he revels in the darkness and violence as mori's executive, and the fact that he kills makes him a bad person, and you?

you were so good—too good to be true for him, living in the light, going out with your friends and peers, and studying your love-hate pre-med course. you even aspire to be a doctor someday to help others, which contrasted with him having to kill and do such things as a member of an underground organization.

eventually, from his plethora of thoughts and wild emotions, it all comes down to him beginning to wonder what would it be like to be loved by someone like you.

would he wake up to you rushing to get ready in the morning? would he be able to accompany you while you studied and memorized terms? to comfort you and listen to you recite mnemonics he'll never understand?

would he be the one to give you a bouquet as you hold up your college degree someday?

it was all simple domestic notions invading his head now instead of work, but he had never wanted it so badly before, and it was suddenly as important to him as your college course was to you.

it really makes him sad.

still, he was a port mafia executive.

what would your family think? your college friends think? what would you think if you learned the truth about chuuya, from what he does to the kind of person he really was?

would you run away from him if you knew?

it was another of his late evenings with you, and you were drinking whiskey again—a drink to which chuuya had grown accustomed to.

tonight, you were drinking a little too much tjan usual, but to be fair, you had just passed another round of examinations this month, and you were drinking both in joy and in dread.

while you were relieved to have it over with, you are still concerned about the outcome.

your cheeks were red from all the alcohol you had consumed, but you've also been starring at chuuya for quite some time now, blinking in a haze, not realizing you had been staring since half past two.

your gaze travels from his plush cheeks and lips to his ocean eyes. how come you're only recognizing how handsome he was in person after spending so much time with him? was it the alcohol affecting you?

hmm, or maybe it was something else? you do feel your chest warmer and fuzzier than usual.

in any case, you continue to drink your whiskey while giggling to yourself and shaking your head.

chuuya lifts a brow, finding your little giggle as you drink rather endearing, "what's so funny, doll?"

"hmm, someone's getting tipsy," he murmurs softly afterwards, extending his hand out subconsciously to cup your face. chuuya bites his lower lip, watching you lean against his palm as his thumb tenderly carresses your cheek.

"and someone's pretty right now," you giggle again, looking up at him with flushed cheeks.

"huh?" chuuya hums in confusion, though he was finding the words you were uttering quite silly.

"you're.. really pretty, you know?" you murmur softly as you place down the now empty glass on the bar table, smiling softly at him.

"don't you mean yourself, sweetheart?" chuuya chuckles and shakes his head as he finds himself booping your nose, making you smile and giggle even more. yeah, you were becoming tipsy, and he thinks it's adorable.

your [color] eyes gradually narrow as you push your body forward towards him. chuuya's eyes widen for a minute as he notices you leaning against his chest, resting your head against the crook of his shoulder from your seat.

"[name]? y-you okay, doll?" chuuya sputters out, blinking as one of his hands gently moves to your back to rub it comfortingly for you while the other remains on your cheek.

"and you smell so nice too.." you murmur softly, continuing to speak and closing your eyes, not really answering his question at this point.

chuuya takes a deep breath, burying his face in your hair, before wrapping his arms around you and pulls you to his chest, as you softly mumble more stuff at him. as his gloved fingers begin to comb through your hair, his chest rumbles a chuckle.

you two continue to sit on your cushioned seats at the bar like this, and right now, it was just you and him, together with the fragrance of whiskey and wine, and the mellow ambiance being provided by the soft and quiet jazz music playing from the bar's radio.

he eventually rises up from his seat and decides to pull you out of the bar not long after, seeing that you need some fresh air and to be taken home right away.

chuuya was a gentleman, and he wouldn't want you arriving home too drunk, let alone late in the evening.

he wraps his arm around you as he gently pulls you outside, but it sinks into his skin again. the dreadful truth.

even if chuuya really wanted to, he can't be with you like this.. at least that's what he thinks.

you open your eyes, lifting your head when you feel chuuya pull his arms away from you all of a sudden.

"chuuya?" you mutter softly, tilting your head.

"sorry, sweetheart," chuuya sighs shakily, attempting a chuckle, but his smile this time held sorrow as he glances at you and curses under his breath, closing his eyes, "it's just... fuck, i don't wanna ruin this night for you."

"huh, w-what are you talking about?" you ask, blinking in confusion and sobering up as you realize just how serious chuuya was right now.

"baby, an angel like you can't fly down hell with me," chuuya says, looking deep into your eyes before leaning in, his lips to your ear as he whispers, "i'm from the port mafia, and an executive at that too."

as he speaks, his eyes are filled with sadness and perhaps shame. it was apparent that chuuya was not as proud of his work or his life as you were. in fact, how could he compare to someone as good as you in the first place?

it was quite pathetic of him. really.

who would have guessed that someone as arrogant and influential as him would be confessing like this outside a local bar in the middle of the night?

if his friends and colleagues were to see him like this, they would probably laugh, and most importantly think he was an entirely different person.

he finds himself holding his breath, already bracing himself for your reaction with a part of him anticipating you to freak out or get angry.

chuuya watches your eyes widen as he confesses, his heart pounding in his chest. he then lowers his eyes, his head bowed in shame, but he manages a shaky response, "but really, it's okay, baby. you don't even have to love me."

chuuya, however, is surprised to just feel your head rest against his chest again instead of a furious reaction.

"doll?" chuuya asks in surprise, blinking at you.

"i don't have to love you, yes," you whisper softly, your hands reaching for his sleeves, reluctant to let him go, "but i do."

"w-what?" chuuya was in disbelief, and now his eyes were wide—the tables turned.

"i don't mind if you're a port mafia executive," you remark, looking up at him, your hands clenched so tightly around the fabric of his coat that it was bunching in your grip, "i don't wanna ever leave this, these nights we have.. chuuya.."

"fuck, c'mere," chuuya curses under his breath in a hushed tone, and before you two even knew it, his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you to the back of the bar with him, being impossibly closer to you than before.

you feel your back press against the brick wall of the place where you and you him had just left. for a brief time, his forehead brushes against yours, and you find yourself leaning in and melting into the warm skin contact.

chuuya cups your face in his hands and talks quietly, his breath and the whiff of wine hitting your face, "guess you're flying down to hell with me then, hmm?"

"then, to hell with it," you say back in hushed tone, looking into his eyes, "i'm already yours."

chuuya then slams his lips to yours.

"m-mmh," you quietly moan into the kiss. it feels so warm, and you can taste the wine on his tongue mingling with the whiskey on yours, as well as the hint of tenderness in the kiss.

the alcohol intoxicated your mind, but in a nice way that all you could think about in the heat of the moment was his lips against yours and his arms holding you so closely to him, as if you were going to run away from him.

"hush now, love," his words came out in whispered yet sweet mumbles, punctuated by every press of his lips on yours as he continued to kiss, and oh, you tasted so heavenly.

chuuya could taste the whiskey on your tongue, combined with the minty flavor of cherry gloss on your lips, and smell your ever familiar yet soothing vanilla perfume lingering on your skin and sweater, and he adores it.

it was something he could become hooked to—something he looked forward to every time.

in between kisses, you see a smile pulling on your lips, and you giggle, and he laughs as well.

you glance up at him, swaying slightly from the glasses of whiskey you've just had, and it makes him chuckle even more since he honestly feels the same way, and his hands grip you even more securely and closely as a result and to steady himself too.

"guess we're a little too fucked up to stay still from the drinks, huh?" chuuya chuckles as you rest your head against his chest, nestling it beneath his chin, his arms still encircling you.

"you know, my apartment is just nearby, and it's vacant," you say softly.

"noted, love," chuuya hums, knowing exactly where he'll be tonight, and honestly, he doesn't mind. his penthouse was just as empty and lonely even, and the thought of being with you tonight in yours was all he needed.

you giggle again, unable to stop smiling at all as you close your eyes and bury your face in the fabric of his clothes, finding comfort in the aroma of wine and cigarettes from him, as well as his cologne.

"wonder what i'll do when the cops come through and the whiskey's run out?" you murmur softly, a random thought arising from the alcohol in your system, but you continued to smile, "or worse.. when my parents find out?"

"well, that's too bad, because i'm already yours, doll," chuuya says into your hair, his nose tracing your forehead and cheek before leaning in for another kiss on your lips, closing the distance between the two of you again.

he then brushes a loose strand of your hair behind your ear and presses his forehead against yours once more, "but that's easy to answer, doll."

"then how?"

"we keep it lowkey."

"lowkey?"

"no one's gotta know, just us and the moon til' the sun starts wakin'"

you like this night. everything was just right and you couldn't care less about anything.

⊹ A.N.: i know what you're thinking, and yes, niki writes a fic that isn't inspired by a taylor swift song for once—i had picked up on niki again while i was listening to lowkey and urs, i couldn't help but imagine chuuya !! ⊹.(⁎˃﹏˂⁎)˚. <3

⊹ P.S.: reader may or may not have been inspired by me, your stressed out biochem college girlie (except i haven't drank in months so FAHEHDJSK pls don't drink if ur underage smh)

#📝⸝⸝﹕misc #bungo stray dogs x reader #chuuya x reader #bsd x reader #bsd x you #chuuya nakahara x you #bsd x y/n #bsd imagines #bsd oneshot #bsd fluff #bsd fanfic #bsd chuuya #nakahara chuuya x reader #nakahara chuuya x you #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya x y/n #chuuya x you #chuuya x fem!reader

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flowershines · 5 months

Text

Say that again

Peeta Mellark x Stripper F. reader

warnings: name calling, smut, dom mike, hard dom, insulting, doggy style, unprotected sex, creampie

Nights usually were not as tense as tonight was, when Peeta had gotten home from his job he got no sleep and of course had to get snotty with you, just because he was tired.

Arguing back and forth to the point of almost screaming just to get their point across, but that wasn’t even the worse part.

Peeta was too tired to argue that he had forgotten what you guys were arguing about making you even more mad, at this point he just kept going to hear his own voice.

But before we get into the arguing currently, the reason the whole argument started was because he insulted your job which of course isn’t that bad but he kept going till he started arguing about the things that you always do wrong.

“Peeta you really should start at least taking a nap before work so that way you dont come home tired.”

“I don’t need your help, Y/n.”

“Oh ok, I was just trying to help, sorry.”

“You should be and I don't want your help just stop being clingy and leave me alone.”

“What is wrong with you, I was just looking out for you.”

“Well don’t it’s not your job, oh speaking of jobs you do yours?”

“I-”

“Exactly what I thought so dont talk to me till you get your priorities straight.”

“You act like I don't have a job.” You said laughing at him

This made him even more pissed, “Oh sorry forgot you get praised by other men by dancing in their face while they put money in your pocket like some filthy piggy bank.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He said inches away from your face then walked away.

“Atleast they fuck better than you.”

“What did you just say.”

“You heard me.” You said mimicking his tone.

Now both of you guys were just arguing about how you started doing your job, defending yourself he just kept coming at you.

When you both first started dating he knew about your job and he was okay with it, because you were helping out the both of you out with the money.

The part that got him riled up was when you said that they fucked better than he does.

You made a deal with him that you wouldn’t have sex with any of the customers.

That’s why he was screaming at you now.

“So do you just go around whoring which every guy you meet or just your customers.”

“I just was saying that to rile you up.”

“No you weren’t, you know what my ex has better pussy than you.”

“Oh for real.”

“Yeah.”

With that you grabbed your jacket and keys then started walking to the door.

“Where you going?”

“Not like you care or anything but i’m going to my job to find a guy that can dick me down, cause you don’t do shit for me.”

“Bull shit, i always make you cum.”

“Oh but apparently you also make your ex cum too, so go fuck her.”

“No Y/n I didn’t mean it.”

“Nah you good, i’m pretty sure there are gonna be cute guys there too. I mean there always is and guess who always gets them, ME.”

Grabbing the door knob you started to put your jacket on and leave to go to your car, you knew that you weren’t going to do any of the things you were taking about.

But you just wanted to see if he actually cared.

He grabbed you hand before you left and threatened you saying.

“If you go fuck some guy i’m fucking my ex and sending a video to you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you too.”

He held the sides of your face and placed a hard and passionate kiss, he kept kissing you and occasionally biting your lip in the process.

“Ow, Peeta what the fuck.”

“Just shut up and enjoy.”

“How can I you can’t even make me cum.”

“Wanna test that out.”

You laughed in his face riling him up even more than he already is, he pins you against the door and humps his hard on, on your thigh.

“This is what is going to be making you beg that you never said that.”

“Yeah… Okay.” You said laughing again

He continued kissing you roughly and biting your lips and sneaking his tongue into your mouth.

Humping his hard cock on your thigh feeling it twitching, you try your hardest not to give in to his needs.

He grabbed your hand and pulled you into your shared bedroom and pushed you onto the bed.

“Hey!”

“What’s wrong I thought you liked being treated like a slut?”

You just rolled your eyes, he stripped your pants off your legs and kissed from your thigh up to your clothed heat, noticing how wet you are.

“See you like it, fucking slut.”

He pulled your underwear to the side and stick his finger into you then going to suck on your clit.

He adds his middle finger as he fingers you and eats you out at the same time, not wanting to give in to him you didn’t encourage him nor play with his hair.

You just brought your nails up to your face and started looking along with picking at them acting like he wasn’t even doing anything.

This pissed him off, he yanked your underwear off and unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants.

Still looking at your nails you tried to ignore what he was doing but your thoughts were interrupted by him entering you.

You softly moaned trying to have him not hear, his breathing was shaking.

“You like being fucked like this?”

He started to slam his cock in you at a vigorous pace, then he pulled out making you clench around nothing.

He put you on your stomach and told you to put your ass up.

Doing so you grabbed your phone and started playing a coloring game, he then started fucking you again.

“I know your just fucking with me, i know you like this dick by the way you clenching around me.” He grunted

“This pussy is mine, not some random customers.”

He then started going as fast and hard as he could at this point you couldn’t hold it in anymore and gave in to him.

“Fuck.”

He was a groaning and moaning mess behind you.

“I’m gonna cum soon.”

“Fuck, me too.”

He was still going in you he usually has pulled out by now.

“What are you doing?”

“Cumming in you.”

“What? Why?”

“So every time you think of us fucking think of my cum still in you and to remind you of what happens when you pull that shit with me.”

With that he moans in your ear and cums in you.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything I said earlier.”

“I know, i’m sorry too.”

#josh hutcherson smut #peeta mellark smut #peeta mellark #josh hutcherson #smut #fluff

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suzukiblu · 6 months

Note

For wip Wednesday Love the vibes of “weird Kryptonian bonding rituals” especially if it’s superfam

. . . I am just gonna blame the fact that I haven't really worked on this WIP in a minute for how "write you three sentences" turned into "write you 1k", cough cough.

Clark gets into Superman's suit and leaves the Daily Planet building at inadvisable speed, probably, but manages not to break the sound barrier anywhere too obvious, he thinks. He follows the sound of that thrumming heartbeat and voice, and finds himself blocks and blocks away, hovering in the air a few hundred feet above a food truck being operated by a woman with dark skin and bright pink hair in her mid-twenties, and the single customer standing on the sidewalk in front of it as assorted civilians pass by in one's and two's.

The single customer is the thrumming heartbeat's owner, and he's about fifteen or sixteen, with pale skin and dark curly hair and bright and eager and inhumanly blue eyes behind a pair of round sunglasses. He's wearing a loose-fitting black leather jacket and heavy black boots and a tight bodysuit, all blue and black and red and yellow and with the exact same "S" on its chest as the one Clark's wearing himself.

The kid looks up, takes one look at Clark, and absolutely lights up.

Clark feels several very new and strange feelings, then charges straight down into the kid and sends them both skidding into the empty street. Hitting him, touching him, is like . . .

Clark barely even remembers to be careful, but the instinct is ingrained too deep to ignore even as they crash into the pavement together.

And then the kid laughs delightedly and throws him off.

Actually throws him.

Clark comes to a stop twenty feet up in the air, blinks down at the kid still beaming up at him, and then bolts back down and smashes him into the pavement again.

"Shit!" the food truck worker shrieks in alarm. "Don't hurt him, Superman, he's just a kid!"

Clark . . . pauses, then looks up from said kid that he is currently pinning into the street as he struggles underneath him.

"'Hurt him'?" he asks in reflexive confusion, and then realizes how batting a teenager around like a person-shaped cat toy and pinning him to the street hard enough to crack it probably actually looks to an outside observer.

. . . um.

Whoops.

"Um," he starts awkwardly, and then the kid slips his pin while he's distracted and throws his arms around his neck with a gleeful laugh and a bright grin.

"Dad!" he crows triumphantly, and hugs Clark harder than literally anyone has ever hugged him before, except maybe, like, Ivo in the fullest and most vicious version of his Parasite suit while trying to crush him to death. It's . . . kind of adorable. Although also Clark can't really breathe very well now. "I found you! Hi, hi, I totally found you!"

"You did," Clark agrees reflexively and slightly out-of-breath-ly, patting the kid's back as he shoots the food truck worker and the several other staring civilians back on the sidewalk all an apologetic smile. "Sorry, ma'am, didn't mean to worry you. We're just playing."

"Oh my god so there was this lab and these doctors and they were all such jerks so I maybe kinda just broke everything and I guess maybe that was bad but they all sucked and they deserved it, I promise, I hope they all lost all their data and their personal files and their customization settings when I smashed up their stupid computers and stuff," the kid half-rants, hanging off Clark like a super-strong but also undeniably floating koala, and Clark straightens up and pats his back again as he listens to his excited and also-adorable ramblings. The way the kid talks actually reminds him of a much younger kid, oddly–even younger than Flip and the rest of the newskids, despite his appearance–but that doesn't exactly hurt the "adorable" impression. "Also there were some really annoying guys who were bothering the way cool chick in the truck over there so I threw them in a dumpster but did you know chili fries were a thing because they are so good, seriously, you should get some!"

"Are you asking me to buy you more chili fries, kid?" Clark asks wryly, and the kid somehow finds a way to perk up even more.

"I mean, no, but if you wanna . . ." he mentions, grinning hopefully.

"Two orders of chili fries please, ma'am?" Clark requests, sparing the food truck worker another smile. "If it's not too much trouble."

"Yesssss," the kid cackles delightedly, hanging heavier off his neck again as he somehow actually manages to hug him tighter. The food truck worker stares at them both for a moment, then reaches for an empty fry basket.

"Uh, sure," she says slowly. "No problem. Uh. Sorry, Superman, but do you . . . have a kid? Is that, like . . . what's happening here?"

"Yes," Clark replies reflexively, patting the kid's head.

. . . wait, that's not–

Then the kid beams at him again and nope, never mind, apparently that is right, he guesses he's just a dad now. Oh no, he and Jimmy are gonna need a bigger apartment, and Clark really hates apartment-hunting and doesn't even know how he's gonna afford his half of a bigger apartment, though at least he knows Jimmy can after selling Flamebird so he guesses that's something, and besides, what, is he gonna make his kid sleep on the couch? No way. The kid can have his bunk, heck, he'll sleep on the couch 'til they can sign a new lease or something. At least he's not an intern anymore, that's been a bit of a financial improvement, so that'll help.

". . . well okay then," the food truck worker says. "How do you even age, are you–um. I'm just . . . gonna make those both double orders, then. No charge. Congrats on, uh . . . congrats? Like, fifteen years late, apparently, but congrats."

"Thank you," Clark replies politely, smiling at her again as he walks over to her truck, the kid still happily hanging/floating off him. "We can pay, though, that's really not necessary."

"Dude. My dad would literally fire me if I ever made Superman pay for freaking chili fries," she says feelingly. "Like. Fire me so hard. Unto our family's next three generations, would he fire me."

"Thank you," Clark repeats, still smiling at her, then pulls a couple of twenties out of his belt and tucks them into her tip jar. Only seems decent, he thinks.

"Oh my god how are you even real," the food truck worker mumbles under her breath as she drops both double-orders of fries into the fryer.

#clark kent #kon el #superman #superboy #my adventures with superman #merryrogue #rinfic #wip: weird kryptonian bonding rituals

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wannaeatramyeon · 8 months

Text

Adventures of YOUR part time job in the Lookismverse: Part 2

Part 1 here. G/N. You still work the graveyard shift in a convenience store. Some bizarre characters return.

Your first day on the job, your boss had told you to greet everyone that comes through the door in a cheery voice and with a customer service smile. All you could think was fuck that.

He told you it was so people could approach you for help, as if your uniform wasn't a huge flashing sign, and so potential shoplifters would be deterred. Again you think, fuck that, because at the first whiff of any danger you're going to go hide somewhere secure and out of sight. There ain't no way you're risking your life for a minimum wage part time job.

Except now you're on your own and sure it comes with a little bit of danger and wariness but you don't have to and don't plan on greeting any people again.

So you thought.

You spot him a fucking mile away. DG strides through the doors and you're not sure to ignore him completely or to say anything.

It's like he wants you to acknowledge him from the furtive glances he keeps giving you but something about his shifty behaviour makes you keep your mouth shut.

Heavens, hasn't this guy ever heard of subtle. He's in an all white get up once again, hat on, mask on and the most eye-catching blinging Chanel necklace known to man. You think you might go blind if you stare too much at it.

So does he want attention or not?

"Hi," he says, standing in front of the counter. He's empty handed.

You want to say 'Hi DG, going for discreet tonight huh?' or 'Sorry your last album sale sucked' or 'I heard they're cancelling you for bad mouthing BTS'. None of them feel right. You settle on "Welcome. How can I help?"

He asks if you recognise him this time and from the way your eyes bug out to say obviously, he then proceeds to ask how.

You pause because you don't know whether this guy is serious or whether there's a hidden camera somewhere.

After what feels like ten minutes, but in reality is probably ten seconds, you gesture at him. At everything. His hair, his white outfit, his necklace. It’s not exactly like he’s going to blend in with the crowd, is it?

He gives you a nod and leaves.

You watch him exit and proceed to climb into the flashiest car you have ever seen, parked right in front and across three (one, two, THREE!) handicap bays.

You think he's most definitely an attention seeking narcissist.

The guy that bleeds all over your floor comes in again.

You know it's him because he apologises for bleeding all over your floor and that he scared you so much you called the police. In all honesty, you completely forgot about it but even the mere mention of that pisses you off.

"It's fine," you tell him even though it's not, not really, but at least this time he's not bleeding and he has apologised twice already so as long as he's not gonna be weird, you'll accept his apology.

Except he does turn out to be a weirdo because he gives you a grin and you think he looks pretty cute even with his lip and nose scar, then he makes it weird with a wink and you think what even is this, who winks at people anymore.

He must have mistaken your cringe for encouragement though, as he continues to ask if you need any help with your shift and he can call the boys to help you out tonight as an apology for the other week.

You're not sure if this is a pick up line or if it's a threat. Either way, you decide it's the latter as you make up your mind that he must be a psychopath because only a psychopath would wink at strangers.

You tell him no. He doesn't seem deterred and tells you his name is Jake. Your first thought is to cover the name badge pinned to your chest but he's too quick. He says your name, and that he hopes to see you again.

You give him a nod and hope he leaves.

This oddball in sunglasses is unbearably smug as he slides his ID over to you.

You check out the date of birth and it's fine.

"It checks out," you give his ID back and ask him to pay for his cigarettes.

"Don't you have anything else to say?"

You frown at him because what does he want you to say? Like oh I knew you were a Capricorn (or is it Aries or Cancer. You don't know, you don't really know your signs). Or does he want you to comment that it's a flattering picture of him on the card because in all honesty, it's not.

Still, he obviously expects something because he's standing there not doing anything.

"We take cash, card or you can pay through your phone."

That isn't what he's looking for. He tenses up, and you think he rolls his eyes at you but he's got sunglasses on-

Oh. This black eyed bastard. Does he expect an apology for the last time? Well you're not apologising for shit, you're just doing your job. It doesn't matter if he's of age. Rules are rules. No ID, no sale.

You stare at him instead with your polite customer service smile that actually means leave me alone. He stares back.

You stare. He stares back.

You stare - and you think that you must look like an idiot just standing there with a vacant smile but it's worth it in the end because the guy sighs, pays for his cigarettes and leaves.

Good. You hope he chokes on the smoke.

When your temper has cooled, you also feel a pang of sympathy as you wonder what sort of hard life he has had to look like that at 20. Poor guy, he really should quit smoking.

You're sitting outside on the curb on your break. It's technically loitering, your manager told you the first time he saw you and you consider hitting him because not only do you have to stand under terribly unflattering lights and deal with the goddamn general public for hours - now you can't even sit outside and breathe some fresh air?

Somehow you manage not to, which means you never got arrested for assault and that's pretty good, you suppose. It's nice to not be arrested.

Anyway, he's not here now, and he's not here most shifts so you loiter to your heart's content. You make sure to loiter extra hard tonight.

"What about this? So much better than fucking Duke Pyeon, right?" Someone comes up to you with music blaring out of tinny speakers. You consider sprinting back and locking yourself in the store. It's 4am and nothing good comes from speaking to strangers at 4am who like to blare shitty music.

Except he's not a stranger because you recognise the music style. It's so bad that you know that there is no way two different people on Earth would come up with the same sound. In fact, it actually gives you such a visceral reaction that you look for anything close by to jam in your ears.

There's nothing and you want to cry. For a brief moment you consider bashing your head into the ground.

You hold back, contemplate saying it's fine except you can't bring yourself to lie when it’s so clearly not. It’s not fine at all. You think it might be what the military or covert agencies play to torture people.

You don't look at him, keeping your eyes glued to anywhere but his face and mumble your break is over and rush back in.

He doesn't follow you and you give a brief thanks to whatever great overlord is looking over you and protecting your sense of hearing.

You wonder if that guy is actually part of an elaborate plan from your boss as punishment for loitering, or if he somehow knew you took an extra seven minutes on your break yesterday and he’s now taking extra precautions so you’re not stealing any more company time.

The hair dye guy is back, this time buying another colour.

You recognise him from the H on his forehead and you know that he has unsuccessfully dyed his hair because if his hair looked like that last time then there's no way you would have even noticed the H.

It's awful. Blotchy and patchy and you're certain that you don't stock that colour. How on earth...

He tells you he's studying to be a hairdresser.

You never used to think hair could feel pain, but you distinctly hear millions of tiny screams from your own head when it realised this butcher might one day get his hands on innocent people's locks.

Just when you're on your way home, one foot out the door, you hear someone call you.

"It's me, Y/N!"

Maybe the voice should be familiar but you don't place it at all. You look at the guy towering in front of you with a blank face.

"Daniel." he says, as if that should jog your memory.

Who?? You say nothing.

"Daniel Park." You look him up and down and think what the fuck, this isn't right.

"Daniel. Park." he stresses as if you're the insane one and it's perfectly acceptable for apparently some guy you haven't seen for a year to say hi but look completely different and sound completely different.

You're not an idiot. You know puberty is a thing but jesus christ. It can't be him. Even the bone structure is completely different.

"Ok." you say because you're still not sure if this guy is Daniel or whether he's just crazy. You're 99% sure it's the latter and keep one hand in your pocket, ready to attack with pepper spray.

Although if this is Daniel Park, you wonder how good the plastic surgery technology is these days because you wouldn't mind adding an extra inch or two to your height.

"I'm just in the middle of working out," he says, "in a junkyard." he adds and you wonder what is happening in the world. This guy is definitely insane.

You're a second away from pulling out the spray but then he tells you he's gotta go or else he's going to get beat up (Again. What the fuck.). He says it's good to see you and you tell him likewise because that's the correct thing to say.

You hope you never see this crazy person again but most importantly you think about resigning because this store just seems like a magnet for freaks.

Maybe you can get a job at your boyfriend's Taekwondo studio. Surely the fact you know nothing about Taekwondo wouldn't be an issue.

#lookism #lookism x reader #lookism fic #lookism dg #jake kim #gun park #vin jin #eli jang #daniel park #wannaeatramyeon #feels less cracky than pt 1. still cracky tho

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melodygatesauthor · 9 months

Text

Always Yours, Never Mine

Yandere Miguel O'Hara X f!Reader

Universe Two - The Barista

Series Masterlist - Beta Read by @campingwiththecharmings

Summary

I didn’t even test the DNA analysis module on the watch before I left my universe. Idiotic? Definitely, but I was so excited by the thought of seeing you again that I didn’t care. So I tested it when I got to the new universe, using the watch to scan one of your hairs and then using that data to track you down…I can't believe I found you again.

Tags/Warnings

NSFW, dub-con due to identity issues, non-con, rape, More tags on the masterlist.

Word Count: 5.4k

It was a morning like every other.

You opened your eyes to the sound of your alarm blaring next to you. You hit the snooze button, probably too harshly, before promptly burying your face in your palms. Sometimes you thought that if you just laid there long enough, all your responsibilities would disappear. A moment later, the alarm went off again, reminding you that it was time to get up, for real this time. After fantasizing about ripping it from the wall and breaking it into a thousand pieces, you turned it off and rolled out of bed.

You stepped out into the living room, smelling the coffee brewing in the pot already. Your step-sister, and roommate, Emily, was flipping through the channels on the tv in the living room.

“Mornin’,” you mumbled, grabbing the hot cup she’d left for you on the breakfast bar.

“Morning!” She turned around to face you while you sipped from your mug. “The ‘rents wanted to go out for dinner tonight, you in?”

You groaned, trudging over to the armchair in the living room and sitting down, taking another sip of your coffee. You stared at the television idly, not really taking any of it in. You thought about your impending workday. You sighed heavily, the idea of ending your long day by having dinner with your parents exhausting.

“I don’t really want to, I’m gonna be tired after work but…I guess I can pull myself together for a couple hours.”

“Thanks, I don’t really wanna go alone.” She sniffed out a laugh, “you should bring that guy you’ve been seeing, might be a good time for them to meet him.”

You gave her the look. The look that said, ‘no way in hell am I introducing him to our parents’.

“I’m not ready to subject him to that just yet.”

“Fair,” she said with a shrug, turning the volume up on the tv and thus ending the conversation.

You finished your coffee before getting yourself ready for the day. You looked in the mirror on your bedroom door, adjusting your nametag pinned through your apron next to the Moonbean Coffee logo. The company aprons felt so frumpy on your frame and you hated the shade of brown the owner had picked out, but you supposed it was better than not having a job to begin with.

“See ya later!” You said on your way out.

You arrived just before seven for your shift. Your co-workers, Stacy and Mira, were there already, baking sweets and brewing coffee for the morning rush. You flipped the “open” sign around and went behind the counter in preparation for the under-caffeinated stampede. Stacy always made some comment to you about ‘opening the floodgates’ whenever you came in, since that was always the moment customers started pouring in.

You were sweaty by the end of the rush. It felt to you like that was often the time that he seemed to make his appearance. You’d talked to him about it before, telling him to come in first thing with the other customers if he wanted you to look your best. ‘You always look your best, hermosa’, he’d say, suave as ever.

Miguel walked in. The smell of coffee hit him like a ton of bricks, but then so did your face.

It had been a year and a half since he’d seen you. A fucking year and a half. His breath caught in his chest and his lips parted slightly. He felt like he was seeing you for the first time. In some weird way, he was seeing you for the first time. This version of you anyway.

“Are you just going to stand there or are you gonna come get your coffee?” You giggled and started making his usual cup.

There was that sound again.

He thought he’d never hear your laugh for the rest of his days. In his universe, he’d replayed videos of when you were alive over and over to take the edge off, but nothing compared to the real thing when it hit his ears. He watched you make his coffee. You’d made it wrong, but he’d expected that when traveling to another dimension things wouldn’t always be quite right. He didn’t care, as long as he found the universe where you lived; that’s all that mattered to him.

“Are you gonna say something or just stare at me?” You laughed at him nervously.

“I’m sorry I’m just…having a rough morning,” he held up his cup, “haven’t had my coffee yet,” he said jokingly.

You’d thought about Emily’s suggestion to have him join you and your parents for dinner, and figured she was right. You liked this guy. This impossibly tall, broad, and handsome physicist who seemed to be smitten with you no matter how gross you looked after a long shift at the coffee shop.

“I’ve been thinking, and no obligation if you don’t want to, I understand, but…my parents invited my step-sister and me out for dinner tonight and…” You trailed off, feeling nervous, “do you…would you wanna–”

“Yes, I’d love to,” he blurted out.

He felt like such an idiot. It wasn’t like him to get flustered like this, but something about you made him feel like the space between his ears was filled with nothing but hot air. He saw you press your lips together bashfully, and noticed the way your eyes seemed to sparkle when you looked at him. You’d always told him that he was special to you; that he was different from other guys you’d dated, he’d just never paid attention to the small details like this back then.

“Great, it’s at the new steak place up the road from here. Six pm, please don’t be late,” you said in a pleading tone.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, honey.”

There were customers coming in and he decided it was time for him to go. He had a dinner date to get ready for afterall. The fluttering in his stomach from seeing you wasn’t something he’d felt in a long time, and he’d missed it. It was hard to break away, but he kissed the back of your hand and started to leave anyway.

“Hey!” You shouted.

He turned back around, “Hm?”

“No kiss?” You put your hands on your hips.

You…you wanted a…

He gulped. “S-sorry, thinking about work,” he lied.

He walked up to you and leaned over the counter and you took his face in your hands.

You touched him. It had been so long since you’d touched him.

You pressed your lips to his softly, and for a moment, he tensed. Once he relaxed, he leaned in, parting his lips and melting them against yours. He never thought he’d kiss you again. Miguel sighed with joyous relief when the kiss broke, choking back the tears that threatened to fall.

“See you later,” you said, patting his wide chest before watching him walk away.

As Miguel stepped outside and started down the sidewalk, he passed someone on his left. It didn’t hit him right away until he realized that the man was as unnaturally tall as himself. Miguel stopped dead in his tracks, looking back at the man as he headed toward the coffee shop he’d just walked out of. It was…oh no…

You looked up from the coffee cup you were putting someone’s name on to see Miguel come back inside. You smirked and let out a chuckle.

“Forget something?” You raised an eyebrow at him, unsure why he’d returned. He had a huge smile as he walked up to you and leaned against the counter.

“Hola, hermosa,” he said, “I’ll take my usual, if you don’t mind.”

“What…?” you felt uneasy.

Lots of people had memory problems right? You and Miguel had only been dating for a couple months, so you didn’t know all there was to know about him. Maybe he suffered from short term memory loss or something. Not to mention, you knew he was a scientist. It was possible he’d suffered some brain injury in the lab or something…right? You couldn’t be sure, but your intuition was telling you that something was off; stupidly, you ignored it.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asked, looking at you with concern.

You cleared your throat, “Yeah, yes I’m fine.”

You faked a smile and made his coffee…again. When you handed it to him he smiled and sipped it. That’s when you realized he wasn’t wearing the same outfit he was wearing when he’d walked out of there just a moment earlier. Something wasn’t right. Were you losing your mind? Maybe he wasn’t the one with memory issues.

Miguel was a genius on paper. He could make a device that allowed him to travel the multiverse with only one minor flaw, but that didn’t mean he was immune to idiocy. He’d just watched that universe’s version of himself walk by and go right into the coffee shop where you worked. How could he be so stupid? If there was a version of you in every universe, then it was reasonable to assume that there would be a version of himself in every universe as well.

He had to do something about the doppelganger. Miguel couldn’t let him get in the way. He couldn’t let someone else, even if it was just an alternate version of himself, take you from him.

Later that evening, you were dressed and ready for dinner. You’d managed to shrug off the weird encounter you’d had with Miguel earlier, and decided that you would wait to bring it up after dinner with your parents, if at all. You really liked him, and didn’t want to mess it up over something as silly as his, or your own, forgetfulness.

You shook your head free of the thoughts that plagued you. It was just Miguel. Normal, loving, caring Miguel that you’d known and enjoyed spending time with over the last couple of months. With a sigh, you left, heading to the restaurant where your parents were already sitting with your step-sister. You decided to wait outside for him to arrive, having texted Emily earlier to let her know that you’d changed your mind about inviting Miguel after all.

God you looked beautiful.

Miguel felt a swell in his chest as he walked toward you on the sidewalk. You hadn’t noticed him yet. You were wearing a simple black dress that hugged your body nicely. You looked like you again. This was how you’d dressed in his universe when he would take you out somewhere nice. So fucking pretty.

When you finally noticed Miguel’s lingering gaze, you felt flustered. You tried to compose yourself as he approached, calming your fluttering stomach. You didn’t want to look like a bumbling idiot, not only in front of him, but in front of your parents too.

You cleared your throat when he got closer, “Ready?”

He nodded, looking down at you, “Oh you bet.”

“Oh! You’ve got something on your…” you furrowed your brow, eyes catching on a small red smear just below his ridiculously sharp cheek bone. “I’ll get it.”

You licked your thumb and wiped the mark off his face. He smirked until he saw your thumb covered in crimson. His mind flashed back to the events that had taken place over the last couple of hours…

Miguel was waiting silently behind a wall in the kitchen, having snuck into his alternate’s apartment, watching Miguel trying to decide what tie he was going to wear to dinner with your parents in a few hours. He felt bad for a second, knowing that if this man loved you even a fraction of the amount that he did, this would be disheartening when he realized he was going to die before he got to truly love you.

For someone normally so meticulous, Miguel hadn’t really thought this through. He’d rushed to follow the man home after his meeting with you at the coffee shop, and kept an eye on him throughout the day to get a feeling for his lifestyle so he could attempt to mimic it once he eliminated this universe’s version of himself.

The time had come for Miguel to kill his other self, and nothing could stop him now that he’d come this far. There was one perk to killing his alternate: even if someone discovered the body, or some poorly disposed of evidence, all the DNA would lead back to one person…himself. So it didn’t matter if he slit his own throat, snapped his own neck, or shot himself in the head. No one would ever know.

Miguel had never killed anyone before, but the more he thought about this other man - despite that ‘other man’ being himself - touching you, the angrier he got. He couldn’t bear the idea that you, his precious girl, might be giving someone else attention, and those thoughts alone were enough to fuel the fire that brought him to the brink of murder.

Miguel must’ve been so confused. For him it probably seemed like a normal evening at first. He probably had no idea he was about to die. He was going to shower, probably stress a little bit about how to impress your parents, and then start getting ready for the dinner date. It was all normal, until the shower curtain opened and he was greeted by his doppelganger who delivered several stab wounds to the man’s chest.

Miguel wondered what his other self was thinking in those last moments as the life faded from his eyes.

Cleanup took a while, but not so long that he couldn’t make it in time for dinner. Now he was in a predicament. You were standing there with blood on your thumb and a curious look on your face.

“Must’ve nicked myself shaving,” he chucked, rubbing his hand over his jaw, “Thank you, mi vida.”

He leaned in and kissed you, and despite him calling you ‘mi vida’, something he’d never called you before, you kissed him back. Regardless of the red flags flying in your face, you took his hand, smiled and walked into the restaurant with him to meet your parents.

Charming as always, Miguel impressed them with ease. It was like he knew them. He acted as though he were meeting up with old friends rather than meeting his girlfriend’s parents for the first time. It was so hard to find someone they actually liked so you threw every red flag of the day out the window and decided to move on. It was that simple.

When you asked Miguel to go back to his place that evening, instead of going to your own apartment, he was thrilled. He didn’t even wait for you to get your shoes off before he had you lifted off the ground, legs around his thick torso and pinned against the wall. He hadn’t felt the wet heat of your cunt in well over a year and he was desperate.

You’d never heard him like this, so primal and hungry. His heaving breathing was almost like a low growl. He lifted up the skirt of your dress, large hands grabbing onto your hips while his mouth left heavy kisses on your neck. You didn’t care if he was acting strangely, it felt so good that it didn’t matter.

He brought you to the bedroom and fell onto the mattress with you, hovering over your body while his hands continued their exploration. He was reveling in the delicious feeling of your soft skin; the skin he hadn’t touched in too long. He was loving the taste of you, it was almost the same…close enough anyway. He wanted to taste more of you.

He pulled down the strap of your dress and bra in one motion, exposing your breast. Miguel bit his lip and looked up at you, eyes full of a dark lust. You gasped when he brought his lips over the peak, rolling his tongue around the hardened, sensitive skin there. You brought both of your hands to his shoulders, squeezing them tightly, though you knew it probably felt like nothing to the overly muscular man. He flicked his tongue over you one more time before looking up again.

Miguel wanted to taste something else he hadn’t tasted in far too long, so he kept working his way down, lifting your skirt and hooking a finger under your delicate lace panties.

“You wore these just for me, didn’t you, hermosa?”

He used both hands to rip the thin fabric covering your already glistening, slick folds. He used one thick finger, sliding it through your slit and up, brushing over your clit gently. You gasped, throwing your head back. Miguel smirked, letting a dark chuckle escape. The other Miguel hadn’t been so giving with you, had he?

He hadn’t, and you noticed right away that Miguel was acting more focused on your body than before. But when you felt his mouth come down over your mound, warm and soft, you didn’t care. Whatever it was that made him act differently, you were living for it now. Red flags be damned.

“So sweet, mi vida,” he cooed, going back in for more like he hadn’t eaten in weeks.

You were delicious, but wasn’t quite the same. There was something a little more sweet about this version of you, but it was alright. He could live with it. You still sounded the same, and you still looked the same, more or less. You grabbed onto the back of his head which made him smile against your folds. The feeling of you touching him made Miguel all the more eager to please you.

Miguel brought one of his thick fingers to your entrance, sliding it in with ease and feeling your cunt flutter around him in response. You whined, arching your hips to take him deeper. One perk to finding this new version of you, was showing himself up in the bedroom. He loved that you were coming undone under him like never before. The original you had been so used to his catering in the bedroom, but this one seemed impressed, and he liked that.

“Mm, hermosa, think you can take another one?” He asked, sliding in another finger to meet the first.

As he started pumping his fingers in and out of you, he noticed how much your body twitched and writhed. So sensitive, this one. He flicked his tongue rapidly over your swollen, needy clit. You were crying out words of affirmation repetitively, grabbing a fistful of his hair as you did. Your legs were shaking against his cheeks.

“Tres?”

He added another finger, and you were a gasping mess at his mercy. Your hole ached with the sweet stretch as he pumped his digits in and out faster. You’ve never known Miguel to do anything like this, but you weren’t complaining. This was the best sex of your life and he was still just playing with you. He curled his fingers, and you cried out, throwing your head back.

“F-fuck! Miguel…!”

He kept going, feeling the way your legs tensed and hearing the way your breathing got even heavier. His eyes trailed over your mound, up your beautiful torso to meet with your heartstopping eyes. You grabbed his hair so tight that he winced, but he didn’t stop lapping over your folds, knowing that you were about to come for him for the first time in a long time.

You’d never had an orgasm so intense it made you go cross-eyed before before, but there you were, shaking so hard you rattled the headboard. Your cunt was gushing and clenching around his fingers while he curled and dragged them over your walls through your climax. You fell back, breathing heavily, but Miguel wasn’t done with you yet.

“Come here honey,” he said in a husky tone, grabbing your hips and pulling you toward him.

Your body was still shaking from your release, and now he was running his length along your folds, collecting your arousal to make it slick. You looked up and saw him biting his lip through your tear blurred vision. You felt his tip prodding at your entrance. He so fucking big.

“Oh baby f-fuck—“

Miguel’s voice was like gravel as he pushed into you slowly, feeling your walls shift to accommodate his size. It had been so long - too long - since he’d felt the vice grip your soft pussy had around his throbbing cock, milking it for every drop you could. You cried out again, the sound hitting his ears like a symphony. He grabbed around your throat, fingers almost touching around the back, pulling you up to sit on him.

“Mm, mi vida,” he mumbled into your sternum.

He spread your ass cheeks, with both large hands, fucking you over his cock with ease. He could hardly get the whole thing inside. Your poor legs were still shaking, struggling to stay up, but he was happy to do the work. Miguel was satisfied enough to just have you in his arms again, in any way he could.

“T-too much Miguel I–”

“Shh honey, sh, I’ve got you,” he cooed, lifting and lowering you with the movement of his hips.

You grabbed onto his shoulders tightly. Miguel had never been so commanding and attentive to you before. He was sliding in so fucking deep that you felt your brain short circuit with every pass. He felt bigger than before, but you knew that was impossible. Your nails dug into the muscle of shoulders, he groaned, voice rough with arousal. He looked up at you.

“Kiss me hermosa.”

You complied, grabbing the back of his head and tangling your fingers in his hair while melting your mouth into his. You started to feel the strength come back to the muscles in your legs so you took over, riding his cock while continuing to kiss him deeply. This wasn’t the first time you and Miguel had been intimate, but you wondered why he’d held back this passion for lovemaking for so long. This was not the same sex you’d had with him just a few nights ago.

Now that his hands were free, he could feel over your entire body, letting the pads of his fingers take in every detail of your skin. It felt so soft, like it always had, smooth and warm. You started moving your hips faster, taking his cock deeper. He could feel your walls fluttering around him again.

“Gonna give me another one already, baby? Hm?” He started nipping at your neck, making you whimper and whine louder.

“Yes, oh yes Miguel!”

He wrapped his arms around you, leaning forward so that you were underneath him. He held you down with his weight, fucking you harder than you could possibly have done if you were still on top. His teeth still continued marking your neck, forcing sharp cries from your perfect lips.

“Yes, that’s my girl, oh god…honey-I-f-fuck…ah!”

Miguel’s hips came to a stuttering halt, cock pumping his hot spend into your tightly clenched cunt. Your walls were crashing over him, squeezing his cum out around the sides of his length and letting it spill onto the bedding. He didn’t want to let go of you just yet, so he held you there while you both lay in your blissed out high for a while.

It wasn’t the same…it would never be the same…but it was close enough.

That was how Miguel had managed to slide - almost seamlessly - into your life. He noticed that this version of you was more different than he’d originally thought, right down to the way you liked to do your makeup. Still, he felt that as long as he could keep you alive, and keep you safe, he could overlook some of those things. You were similar enough that he felt happy again.

He still missed you sometimes though; the real you that he’d lost, and he still mourned for that version of you. But when he looked at you now, a few months into dating this you, in your little brown barista apron with a big grin on your face, kissing him on the cheeks like he was the most precious thing in the world to you, he felt warm. It was like putting a bandaid on the wound. It would never fully heal, but this made it better.

Everything was as perfect as it could be, until one morning felt unfortunately familiar. He woke up fast, realizing he’d been sleeping with his mouth wide open on your chest.

“Good morning, handsome,” you said, laughing and wiping a bit of spit from his stubbled cheek, “You were out. Having a good dream?”

He hadn’t forgotten a single detail about that day.

He looked up at you, brow furrowed in confusion and concern. In the last couple of months he’d learned a few things about this universe. Time still worked the same as it did in his universe, but the year was 2016. It was possible that time wasn’t even a relevant factor concerning your death, but he thought that perhaps if it was relevant, he might have a chance to save you before this day would be upon him.

He had also considered that perhaps his universe had an anomaly that the others didn’t, and that was why you’d died and perhaps you’d live in this one. Maybe it wasn’t canon for you to die every time, and he’d just been extremely unlucky to be born in the one dimension that he would lose you.

But if this universe did work exactly the same, he thought he would get to prepare for this. He thought he’d get more than a couple months with you before he lost you again. He gave you a soft smile and brought the back of your hand to his lips.

“What do you say you skip work today and we stay in bed, hm?” He asked, calm on the surface but screaming on the inside for you to agree.

“Well I have to go in, my rent isn’t going to pay itself.” You slid out of bed and headed for the bathroom, leaving Miguel lying there, staring at you with desperation as you walked away into the bathroom.

“I have a good job, mi vida, I can pay your rent, you don’t need to go to work,” he insisted, getting out of bed and standing in front of the bathroom doorway.

“Not a chance,” you said, undressing and closing the door in his face.

Maybe this morning would be different. If he recalled correctly, and he did recall correctly, this wasn’t how that morning had started originally. The fact that you weren’t married was already so different, it was just that…something felt so uncanny, so similar but so…not at the same time. He opened the door.

“Have to pee,” he grumbled, walking over to the toilet.

“Oh! I almost forgot to tell you,” you said, turning knobs on the shower, “I know we said we would do dinner tonight but a couple girls from work wanted to go out for drinks tonight so I think I’ll join them, that okay?” You stepped into the warm water and closed the curtain.

Miguel pulled his pants back up and froze.

“W-Who’s going?” He couldn’t stop his shaking hands from clenching into fists.

“Stacy and Mira.” You peeked your head out of the shower curtain, “I’m really sorry, I forgot all about–”

“No,” he said coldly.

Your heart caught in your chest at his words. All this time, Miguel had surprised you by proving to be the best guy you’d ever been with and suddenly, his firm tone sent a chill down your spine. He’d never spoken so bluntly to you before, and he’d certainly never looked at you with such a dark glare as he was in that moment.

“Baby, we can go out another night, it’s not often that Stacy can find a sitter and–”

“I said no,” he repeated harshly, “I won’t say it again.”

You turned off the shower and got out, grabbing your towel and covering yourself. He was so much taller than you, but you weren’t going to let someone talk to you like that, especially someone who was supposed to be your partner. You held up a scolding finger.

“Miguel, why the hell are you acting like this? You’re not my fucking dad, you’re my boyfriend. You don’t get to–”

He pulled you in, pressing his lips to yours. He didn’t know what else to do. You were angry, and you had every right to be. For all you knew, your normally loving and considerate boyfriend had taken a controlling and dark turn, and you were upset. He thought if he could just shut you up then you might forget about it and agree. Instead, you slapped him, forcing him to step back in shock, holding his cheek where the sting remained.

“Out,” you said firmly, “you’ve been acting like a weirdo ever since the day you met my parents. I looked past it because you still seemed like a nice guy, and those are hard to find, but you freak me out.”

Miguel’s heart fell into a million pieces all around him. He held his breath, trying to keep himself from losing his temper. His chest was heaving.

“Mi vida, I–”

“Stop calling me that! I’m not your life. I’m just some girl you’ve been dating for a few months and sometimes things don’t work out. This…” you gestured between the two of you, “isn’t working out.”

Miguel would never hurt you. He would never hurt you, but in that moment he fantasized about breaking your fucking neck. It was delicate enough, he could hold it tight and make it snap with only one hand. He might even enjoy watching you writhe when he grabbed you. How dare you think you could just leave him like that.

But he didn’t have to do a thing, because he knew that you would die that day, and he wasn’t going to stop you. Not this time. Fuck this version of you.

“Fine,” he said with a malicious smirk.

After he left, you cried, but only for a short while as you finished getting ready for work. He wasn’t the first weirdo you’d dated, and you were certain he wouldn’t be the last. You were glad that Emily had stayed at her own boyfriend’s house the night before so she wouldn’t hear you and Miguel arguing that morning. The last thing you wanted to do was go to your older sibling with your tail between your legs in defeat over another loser.

Miguel watched you leave your apartment and start walking to work. He thought he might have to wait until 10:53pm to see you die, but it would seem his theory that time was completely irrelevant when it came to your canonical death was correct.

The car seemed to come out of nowhere, flying down the street without a care for who might be in its path. Some idiot was behind the wheel, texting and driving, not paying attention while you crossed. The interesting thing was, that the other two girls died too, like they had in the original universe. After hitting you, the car swerved into the storefront of the coffee shop, killing the two employees who were standing near the front door; looks like those stupid friends of yours were meant to die in every universe too.

Miguel shook his head in frustration. Of course a part of him felt sad seeing you choking on your own blood in the middle of the street while people surrounded you, as if there was anything they could do. He didn’t feel sad for you though, he felt sorrow only for himself, having wasted so much time trying to find out if you were the one he could replace you with. It would seem you were a faulty substitute, flawed in so many ways that he’d chosen to overlook, and it was time to find a new one, a better one.

And he wouldn’t stop looking until he found a sufficient replacement, the perfect one.

Thank you for reading! You can support your favorite writers by the simple act of reblogging and liking! Thank you again!

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Miguel O'Hara Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara smut #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara headcanons #miguel o'hara imagine #yandere miguel o'hara #spiderman 2099 smut #spiderman 2099 #miguel ohara noncon #miguel o'hara noncon #miguel o'hara non-con #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara fan fiction

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helpimstuckposting · 9 months

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I couldn’t get my earlier post out of my head, and then this happened so… I hope you enjoy a little famous!Eddie and dingus!Steve ficlet (ft platonic soulmate Stobin)

Part one | part two | part three

—

Steve and Robin had lived in Indy all of their lives. They shared the same schools, same teachers, same jobs, it would never end. They were platonic soulmates in a way they understood but couldn’t explain to anyone else, and that was okay. It worked for them.

Since they graduated, they’d been ice cream scoopers, movie rental employees, pizza makers, delivery drivers, movie theater security, bartenders, and now - surprisingly - musicians.

They had originally started messing around with song covers during their bartending era. Every Thursday was karaoke night, and they were both too competitive to see it as anything other than a chance to win, both trying to upstage the other. After a while, Steve started writing songs in his free time and Robin wouldn’t let anyone but her sing them. She posted their songs on Tiktok and Instagram just to see what would happen, and eventually they made their way onto Spotify and other streaming services.

A few of their songs went viral enough that they had a steady stream of listeners, and spent their free time putting more and more songs together. Their boss even let them play live at the bar on Wednesdays (and of course they’re still just as passionate about karaoke night).

It was a few months into their Wednesday shows when he showed up. Eddie Munson. It was just another bar in Indy, just a stop on their tour, just a coincidence that he happened to choose Robin and Steve’s bar. Steve noticed him during their set, and he was so glad in that moment that Robin was the lead singer because he was absolutely sure his voice would have cracked. Corroded Coffin was one of Dustin’s favorite bands, the kid wouldn’t shut up about them any time a new album or single was released.

Steve knew they were in Indy on tour, he’d witnessed Dustin’s spiral about not being able to afford a ticket, but he couldn’t believe they stopped in this bar. Dustin was gonna freak.

Once Robin and Steve finished their set, they went back to the bar to resume their actual jobs and Steve was once again stunned when Eddie Munson walked right up to him for a drink. Obviously Steve should have expected that, what else was someone going to do at a bar? But seeing someone he knows from the multiple posters plastered over Dustin’s bedroom wall, right in front of him - in the flesh, was beyond anything he could have predicted. Internally, he was absolutely freaking out.

Externally, he tried to keep his professional mask on. Munson was a regular customer, just a guy buying a drink, Steve could handle it without a meltdown. But man was the guy attractive. His band tee was ripped at the hem, jean vest with all its pins and buttons catching the light, and Steve could see the tendon in his neck pull as he laughed at something his band mate next to him said. Steve wanted to bite it.

He finished a customer’s drink, collected their card, and braced himself as Munson stepped up to the bar, a dimpled smile on his face that made Steve’s heart flutter like a dying butterfly in his chest.

“Nice set, man, your friend’s voice is gorgeous,” he said. “Can I get three rum and cokes?”

Grabbing three glasses from the bar, Steve began on the drinks. “Absolutely,” he said, his smile probably nowhere near Eddie’s level. “Are you here often, or just visiting?” Steve asked, attempting to play it cool, like Eddie was just any other person. This is ridiculous, Steve’s gonna throw up. Keep calm.

Eddie looked him up and down and smirked, “Just visiting for the weekend,” he said. A growing lump in Steve’s throat made him want to scream ‘I know!!! I know why you’re here!!! I know who you are!!! Hi!!!’ but he shoved that down as far as it could go, ready to choke on it if need be.

Steve set the finished drinks on the bar in front of Eddie, the musician handing over his card in exchange. “Open or closed?” He asked.

“Open. So, are those songs originals?” Eddie leaned into the bar, putting his face just a bit closer to Steve’s. He was gonna have a heart attack before the night was over, for sure, if Eddie kept this up.

“Oh, yeah, I uh… I wrote them,” Steve stuttered out. This was insane, he could pinch himself, there was no way this situation was happening. Eddie was gorgeous, dimples firmly in place because he wouldn’t stop smiling or smirking, his curls just begging for Steve to bury his hands in them and bring their faces closer. If Steve hadn’t been on the receiving end of hundreds of Dustin’s rants about Corroded Coffin, he knows he’d still want to drag Eddie out back and see what those lips tasted like, if they felt as much like sunshine as they looked.

Eddie nodded appreciatively and looked Steve up and down once again. “I’d love to hear more some time,” he said as he turned to leave, three glasses balanced in his hands.

“Well there’s karaoke here tomorrow night,” Steve blurted out, all attempts at remaining calm flying out the window because was that Eddie flirting with him? How did we get here? “You could stop by if you’ve got any free time.”

Eddie laughed, amusement flickering in his eyes and suddenly Steve remembered chasing fireflies in Robin’s backyard when they were kids. He started walking backwards towards his friends, “I’ll see what I can do!” he said with a raised voice, flashing one more smile that made that butterfly in Steve’s chest absolutely flip out. He was frozen in place, the shock of the whole situation settling deep in his bones. Honestly, Steve wasn’t sure he was still alive. Did he choke somewhere between the stage and the bar? Did he even make it to work in the first place? What day was it?

“Earth to Dingus!” Robin shouted at the other end of the bar. “A little help here?” she frantically gestured around her to the rising number of patrons.

A pretty decently sized mob was forming around the bar, snapping Steve out of his rock-star-induced-coma. He could freak out later in the privacy of his own home, right now he had work to do. And if his brain short circuited every time Eddie ordered drinks, that was nobody’s business but his own (and Robin’s).

—

Thank you so much for the encouragement !

#these dingi have somehow snapped me out of my writers block #help I can’t stop thinking about them #I’ve never successfully flirted with a bartender but I’m sure rock stars have a different score sheet #steve harington #eddie munson #steddie #famous eddie munson #platonic soulmates stobin #stobin #steddie ficlet #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #robin buckley #helpimstuckwriting

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 5 months

Text

Between the Lines 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, Lee is rude, customer service triggers. and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Lee Bodecker

Part of the Bookstore AU

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

‘So no one told you life was gonna be this way…’

You nearly clap to the theme song stuck in your head. You resist and continue your patrol of the aisle. The lyrics are oddly poignant as you traverse the bookstore. Two degrees and this is what you’re left with. This is far from what you expected.

You don’t hate the job, only the customers. Sometimes. You love books and when you got the call, you were all too happy to trade in your Starbucks apron for collared shirts and dark slacks. As much as you miss the free drinks, you’re more confident around literature.

You come down the main aisle of the store, around the tables in the middle with stacks of best-sellers and promotions, as a woman enters. She’s striking in her pencil skirt and sleek cinched trench coat. Her hair is immaculately highlighted blonde and gold and highlights her beauty. She doesn’t see you in her hurry, surpassing you for the Biography section.

Another customer follows her in the door. He looks after her as he stops just inside. Your curiosity stitches in your forehead. He’s rather intent on trailing her. His jacket has a star pinned on its chest; a cop.

Oh, shoot. Not another thief. You go to greet the officer, “hello, sir, can I help you?”

“Nah, thanks,” he waves you off, his knuckles nearly hit you in the cheek.

You back up and let him pass. You could be wrong but you can’t risk shrink on your shift. Not again. You casually head in the same direction, pretending to fix some book spines as you peer down the aisle where the woman looks back and forth elusively. Hmmm.

You stride towards her and put on your best smile, “hello, miss, is there something I can help you with?”

She looks at you, almost breathless, “um, do you have a bathroom?”

She cranes to peek over her shoulder again. She shudders as if disgusted. You hear the cop down the next row, slowly pacing. You point her towards the back. You don’t see how she could be hiding anything, her jacket is open and her purse isn’t that big.

She hurries off, heels tapping, as she escapes towards the bathrooms. You shrug and continue on, rounding the end and continuing towards the officer. He sees you and frowns, turning his interest to the graphic novels. Your favourite.

“Anything I can help you find?” You ask in your most chipper tone.

“No,” he grumbles, glancing over the shelves towards the fading click of the woman’s heels.

“Um, is something wrong?” You wonder.

“Can you mind your business?” He asks as he turns on you, “I’m a man of the law, I don’t needa explain myself to you.”

“Of course, sir,” you swallow, taken aback by his tone, “I didn’t mean too. I just thought… if you need help. I’m sorry. I’ll be around if you change your mind.”

You show your palms, meekly excusing yourself as you back away. You turn and take a step, skin blazing in embarrassment. You feel as if you’ve been slapped across the face.

“Now, wait a minute, sweetheart,” the officer calls after you, “I should be sayin’ sorry. I wasn’t meanin’ to be so rude. I’m just… long day, ya know?”

You stop and slowly face him. You do your best to shake away the tension. It’s work and it’s not often you get an apology from a customer.

“Yeah, I know,” you give a rocky half-chuckle, “um, so… what did you come in for?”

“Ah, you know, lookin’ around, uh, these comic books,” he points beside him, “they got lots of pictures?”

“Uh, yeah,” you answer as you face the shelf, “do you have a specific genre in mind? Superheroes? Apocalyptic? Mystery? Anime?”

“Well, I got this nephew, he’s real into this stuff. Nerd type things,” he scoffs, “that Batman guy and his car.”

“Oh, looking for a gift? Birthday?” You prompt.

“I ain’t seen my sister in some years and she asked me over. Long story, don’t matter, but I don’t wanna show up empty handed.”

“That’s sweet. A family reunion,” you turn and peruse the shelf, “well, you could get a couple of issues, we’re having buy two get the third free, but an anthology would go a lot further. A bit pricier though.”

“Hmm,” he peruses thoughtfully as he leans in, “you probably don’t know too much either, being a lady and all. But you could help me with my sister. I heard about some writer, Hooter or something?”

“Colleen Hoover? Uh, sure, most people like those and they’re an easy read,” you explain, “but if you’re looking for comics about Batman, I have many suggestions. The Dark Knight is a good read, way better than the movie–”

“I got it figured,” he reaches to slide out Batman: Year One. Not a bad choice, actually. “Now you show me this Hoover whatever. Sounds like a dang vacuum.”

He’s demanding but you’ve dealt with worse. Besides, it’s easier at least when they know what they want. You take him around to the table of popular authors.

“A lot of people like It Ends With Us,” you point to the pink cover, “Maybe Someday also tends to be a hit.”

“You talk a lot, don’t ya?” He grumbles as he puts his hand on his hip, his stomach straining inside his jacket.

“Oh, I’m s-sorry, sir,” you take a breath, neck prickling as you feel your nerves spike, “I’m only doing my job. If you don’t need my help–”

“Did I say that? You ever let a man sit in silence?”

You blink at him and your smile evaporates. What a jackass. You could blame it on the badge but you suspect he’s just a completely intolerable person. No wonder his sister didn’t talk to him for so long.

“Sir, you can pay at the front counter. You can also ask any questions you have up there.” You lean back on your heel, “I have stocking to do.”

“Now, don’t you give me that look. Customer’s always right, ain’t they?” You press your lips in a firm line. You glare at him as he snickers, “you got no respect. Ladies these days seem to forget what that means.” He grabs a book from the table without checking the cover, “I’ll be certain to tell the manager how helpful you were, sweetheart.”

He nears and you stand your ground, taking measured breaths as your wits threaten to crack. He looks you up and down and snorts. He winks as he cradles the books in one arm, reaching to boop your nose with his index. You pull away as your chagrin ripples across your face.

“Some ladies just needa learn their place,” he drops his hand and continues on, swaggering in his victory. Pathetic, it’s not that hard to demean someone who can’t talk back.

#lee bodecker #dark lee bodecker #dark!lee bodecker #lee bodecker x reader #bookstore au #au #series #between the line #the devil all the time #drabble

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valeriianz · 1 year

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i was ready to leave this be but then @designtheendless made this gorgeous art so of course i had to write a bit more The Devil Wears Prada AU:

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Dream invites Hob as a plus-one to a fashion event. Hob is ecstatic to get a glimpse into the fast-paced, cut-throat industry that Dream has nudged his way into. He warns Hob that Morningstar might drag him away at any given moment and he’d be left alone, is that alright? Hob shrugs and can’t say he minds. If he gets free food and booze out of it, he’ll gladly wander around for a bit.

And for the first time in Hob’s life, he gets dolled up. Really dressing the part of a fashion mogul’s partner. Dream takes him out, using the money from a bonus in his salary to surprise Hob by taking him to a tailor. Hob wonders why none of his usual blazer and pants combo wouldn’t work and tries not to get offended at the way Dream scrunches up his nose and refuses to answer him.

“Every man should have a tailored suit in their wardrobe,” Dream explains while Hob stands on the short platform and the seamstress takes his measurements. “A perfect fit is the raison d’être of custom suits.”

Hob swallows at the perfect French slipping past Dream’s lips. He had only been in Paris for a couple weeks yet he was already name-dropping influential French designers, recalling conversations he’d had with them in stories he’d recant to Hob in an accent that Hob never knew Dream could pull off. Or that he’d be so enticed by.

“I’ll never get the chance to wear this again, you know,” Hob smiled, a little self-deprecating. Working as a chef hardly afforded Hob time to dress up. And it wasn’t like he ever went anywhere fancy enough for such effort. “After the party, it’s just gonna sit in my closet forever.”

“We’ll make use of it…” Dream says softly, standing up as the seamstress steps away to grab something.

Dream takes up Hob’s arm, fingers trailing down the length of it, covered in a deep blue fabric that probably costs more than their monthly rent and Hob’s eyes never leave Dream as he inspects the pins and cuffs.

“A custom suit,” Dream starts again, dropping Hob’s arm and moving on to the front of the jacket, caressing the lapels. “Is designed to highlight the best features of its wearer. Bespoke tailoring is an art form, and you are the perfect canvas.”

Hob looks down at Dream, standing on the platform gives the illusion of added height, and Dream raises his eyes to look upon him. Hob tries very hard not to dive too deep into Dream’s blue eyes, tries not to get lost in the crystal clear sea of emotions, the way he could drown in them.

“And what are my best features?” Hob grins, raising an eyebrow, challenging.

Dream chuckles, tugging at the jacket. His eyes never leave Hob’s, even as the tailor returns.

“I’ll tell you later.”

There are a lot of big names and top designers at the event and Hob hasn’t a clue who any of them are, but he listens and nods when Dream points them out. He shakes hands with professional photographers and runway models and designers that Hob kind of recognizes but not really. He’s too busy marveling at the immaculate decor, the flowy dresses, and the free champagne.

Dream, as warned, leaves his side constantly. But Hob has perfected the art of fake-it-til-you-make-it and smiles cheerily and engages in simple chit chat where he lets the other person do all the talking and nods along enthusiastically. He tugs on the sleeves on his jacket, amazed how a well-fitted suit can feel like wearing nothing at all. The fabric is also high quality, buttery soft to the touch and moving along his skin with every step like a gentle hug. He feels a little like a poser, but after a few drinks in him, settles more into the mindset of a party crasher.

After about an hour of missing Dream, Hob goes looking for him. Weaving and winding through the crowd, finding Morningstar on a few occasions and blatantly ignoring her, especially as he doesn’t see Dream with her.

Hob finds a back entrance that’s all glass and slips through into the cool evening air and hears Dream’s unmistakable deep tenor, talking with someone privately.

And as Hob approaches, he notes the distinct agitation in Dream’s tone.

“... truly tired of finding you everywhere I go, Christian.” Dream sighs disdainfully.

“You should be in print,” another voice– Christian, speaks quickly, laying on the charm heavily. “I see the way Morningstar treats you.”

“They treat me fine. You, on the other hand–”

“I’d treat you so well, Dream.”

Hob finally rounds a corner and finds Dream leaning back against a wall of the mansion, holding a champagne flute that no longer has anything in it between them, as if using it as a barrier. Christian is leaning just a hair too close in Dream’s space and at the sight of it, Hob nearly sees red.

“Hey, Dream. I’ve been looking for you.”

Dream turns his head and at the sight of Hob, his face relaxes immediately. The impatient, frustrated look in his eyes, the furrowed brow, vanishing in relief.

Hob isn’t a jealous guy, and he knows it isn’t jealousy that he feels rushing through his veins. It’s possession. It’s some kind of embarrassing animal instinct to claim and parade about how that’s mine, back off.

So the way he slips next to Dream, getting an arm around his waist and pulling him into a kiss that absolutely doesn’t need to be as lascivious and biting as it is, feels both appropriate and completely unnecessary.

But the way Dream melts at the slip of Hob’s tongue, the way he’s kissing back, using his free hand to knot into the expensive fabric of his button down and pull, keeping him close, wipes Hob’s brain clean and nearly forgets why he’s doing this… until Christian clearing his throat makes its way past Hob’s ears.

They detach with a wet gasp and the way Dream chuckles, a low rumble that shoots straight through Hob’s chest and down to his crotch, makes Hob go back for another, and another. Lips only and chaste, but Dream still leans back respectably, turning his head to address the man before them with a sly grin as Hob nuzzles his way instead up his jaw and behind his ear.

“Christian, this is my fiance, Robert Gadling.”

“Uh, hi.” Christian bites out and Hob turns his head just enough to stare him down. “Didn’t know you were engaged.”

“You did.” Dream insists, extending his arm and pushing the empty glass into Christian’s fumbling hand. “You can leave, now.”

With a barely restrained sigh of “whatever,” Christian goes, shaking his head as he does and Dream takes Hob’s face in both his hands, bringing his attention forward.

“Sorry,” Hob cracks a grin. “I know you’re trying to network and he might’ve been some hotshot guy–”

“He was no one,” Dream interjects, his fingers getting in Hob’s gelled and combed back hair and pulling it. “And that was very hot. Thank you for saving me.”

“Anytime,” Hob laughs and Dream pulls him in to taste it.

#dreamling #hob x dream #devil wears prada au #featuring possessive Hob #as a treat #my writing #still not turning this into a real fic #but maybe i'll continue doing lil snippets like this hahha

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ventiij · 7 months

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clothes shop employee!scara x customer!reader

enstablished relationship | romantic | lemon | genshin au but kinda modern? since I implied existence of technology.

I just had this idea while shopping so like thank me later

of course you knew. he was always around you, save when he had to work. why get a job, though? wasn’t what you financially provided enough? did he trust you’d leave him, one day? no, nothing like that. he talked it out with you, he took the first good-paying job that didn’t take all of your time toghether, he just wanted to not depend on you too much and be a “burden”, thing you reassured him on multiple times, but still.

you decided to let him do his thing and keep his freedom, so to not to bother during his shift.

one time though, on a festive day, you decided to go on a shopping spree by yourself, since the shop your s/o worked at was a full time one (luckily he took care of everything during the morning) and you decided to pay him a visit.

there he was, carrying boxes around a deserted area of the huge building, you had to wander around for a bit to find him. “there you are, love..” you said, he jumped and turned around just to find you with three bags full of brand new clothing.

he sighed and laid the boxes on the ground, looking embarassed: “what.” you took a good look at him before thinking out loud: “that uniform looks good on you…” you litterally had heart-shaped pupils. “perhaps I should become a regular here.” he facepalmed and replied: “is it even possible to become a regular at a clothes shop?” while looking at you in disbelief. “for you, pookie, anything is possible.”

he facepalms again. “alright, love you and all. now go before someone catches me slacking off - I think I might even get a raise pretty soon.” your face shifts to a surprised one. “already? you must be the best employee, then… are you already part of your boss’ graces?” you got closer to him as you formed the question.

“yes, and I don’t want that to change.” you pouted as you finally hugged him from behind, then grabbing his chin and bringing it closer to you, making him face you. looking straight into his eyes, you demanded: “you’re so good for them, why not be even better for me?” he blushed and tried to squirm out of your embrace, as he refused to with all his will, just before you assured “no one’s around. are there any cameras?”

he though about it for a second and brought you along with him behind a couple of big boxes. “we should be out of reach here. make it quick though, whatever it is you want to do.” you smirked and pulled him in closer, dropping alm yout bags on the floor, just to start peppering his lips and cheeks with kisses, feeling the need to do so on such a happy day, on such a soft and cute thing like him.

But was that enough? HAHA not even close. So, sliding down to mark him, you made him shiver in a need for your attention he hid didn’t know he had. not today, at least.

“s-stop, you’re gonna get us caught, you imbecile!” he whined, kinda in an undertone. you kissed his lips once more, one hand up on his head, grabbing his hair just enough to keep him in position, sliding the other hand on his butt, squeezing it.

he didn’t have the chance to moan, but he did let out some pretty whimpers while making out with you.

he was a blushing mess. he pulled away to breathe and pushed you off of him.

“alright, you got what you wanted. now let me work in peace, you idiot.” he returned to his normal expression, but still tinted of red. “fine, fine.” scara turned to the opposite direction as you finished talking, forcing you to stop torturing him (and to leave asap unless you wanted to buy something).

hope you enjoyed lolololololol have a good day

(requests are open - check the pinned post - i’m new so any req/idea/anything is much appreciated love u all xoxo)

#scara #scaramouche #scara lemon #scaramouche lemon #scara x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche oneshot #scaramouche ff #bf scaramouche #bf scara

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ckret2 · 1 year

Note

👀 I want to hear more about this Bill AU

You were the very first person to send me an ask about the Bill AU, and it was an open-ended question, so I've been saving your ask special for... a fanfic. IDK how often or how much I'm gonna write actual full fic for this AU but for now, here: the first half of Bill's reunion with the Pines family. (Attempted murder included.)

####

February 25, 2013

The vengeful demon standing in the door of the Mystery Shack possessed only four items in the universe:

Two safety pins.

A time tape tied around his waist like a belt.

And a tunic he'd fashioned himself in the style of an ancient Greek Ionic chiton, folded and pinned so perfectly that the wearer must have seen them thousands of years ago when they were at the height of fashion.

Soos couldn't identify an authentic Ionic chiton. All he could tell was that the lady at the door was wearing a toga made out of a bright purple Pony Heist children's bedsheet.

Soos laughed, flashing the tourist a double thumbs up. "Hey! Awesome toga. That should really be like a thing. Imagine if we all wore togas. We could just wake up, roll our bedsheets around us like a burrito, and go out!"

Distractedly, the tourist answered, "Careful, you can't tell when Big Fashion is listening in."

"Haha. Who?"

The tourist didn't reply, and she hadn't looked at Soos once; instead, her gaze was darting around the shop searchingly.

"Are you shopping for something specific?" Soos asked with his best customer service voice. "Post cards? Snow globes? Weird taxidermy thingamajigs? Pants?"

"Where are the Pines?" the tourist asked, casting a sharp look at the "employees only" door, then the vending machine.

"Oh, Mr. Pines! The original Mr. Mystery! Heh—he actually retired a few months ago. The Mystery Shack's under new management!" Soos planted his fists on his hips and puffed up his chest. "It's me, I'm the new management."

"But where are they?" the tourist pressed.

"Uhh, he and his bro are somewhere in South America, I think? Some place called... Redacted. But hey, if you really wanna meet him in person, in his last letter he said they might visit for like spring break if the kids can make it up. First week in April!"

"First week in April," the tourist muttered, glancing away from Soos, thoughtfully fiddling with the time tape wrapped around her waist.

"Oh, dude! I've tried to use a tape measure as a belt too! Haha! It worked great, until I bumped the button and it retracted. Yeesh. Hey, do you want a fur belt? We sell fur belts now." Soos turned away, rummaging through the new display next to the t-shirts. "They're all ethically sourced from recycled materials! I bought a bunch of old rugs from the Northwest Mansion to slice up."

Soos grabbed up a fuzzy pink belt. "Check it, I think this is unicorn hide or something. Bet it'd go so good with that Pony Heist toga..."

The tourist had vanished in thin air.

Soos looked around. "Huh." He stuck the belt on a shelf beneath the cash register, in case she decided she wanted it later.

Once all the other visitors had left for the day, and Soos was left alone to clean up, he glanced around the shop nervously. "Is anyone there?" He lifted his broom like a samurai sword. "Hello? Big Fashion?"

Nothing answered. He shrugged and kept sweeping.

###

April 1, 2013

A vengeful demon who possessed nothing but two safety pins, a time tape belt, and a purple Pony Heist bedsheet tunic stood in the center of the Mystery Shack gift shop.

Which was weird, because Soos hadn't heard the door and she totally hadn't been there a moment ago.

"Oh hey! Toga Lady!" Soos turned to Wendy, who was picking up a few bucks as a temp worker handing the spring break tourists. "It's Toga Lady. She came in like a month ago. The toga's cool, right? I think it's cool."

Wendy glanced up, choked back a laugh, and scrambled to grab her phone for a picture.

"So, where are the Pines?" Toga Lady asked, with an edge of impatience.

"Oh, dude, did you come all they way back here to meet them? I'm sorry, the Mr. Pineses didn't make it. They couldn't get a flight out of Atlanta." Soos stopped, frowned, and pulled a water-stained letter from his pocket to double check. "Sorry, Atlantis. Something about a siege of sirens?"

"They would pick now to invade," Toga Lady muttered. "I suppose the children aren't here."

How did she know about the children? Maybe she'd visited last summer and remembered them? Like, early summer, before Pony Heist came out. Soos would have remembered the toga. "Naw, heh. They went to Roswell."

"Oh, cool," Wendy said distractedly, busy texting Toga Lady to everyone she knew. "Checking out the competition."

"Yeah, Dipper's sending me like a billion pictures of the alien museum."

"Well," Toga Lady snapped, "when are they showing up?"

Soos was beginning to get the impression that Toga Lady was less an admiring fan, and more one of those customers. All the same, he said, "June first, for sure. That's when the kids get here for summer break so the Mr. Pineses are coming too. Definitely. Promise."

She rolled her eyes—one of them twitched, like she'd gotten something in it and was struggling to keep it open—but said, "All right, fine! June. What's the difference?" She trudged to the door and leaned next to it by the snow globe shelves, fiddling with her belt, as if she was settling in to wait right there for the next two months.

Soos frowned—she might drive off tourists, blocking the door like that—but said, "Oh! While you're here, I thought you might be interested in this belt." He reached past Wendy to grab it from beneath the cash register. "I didn't get a chance to show you last time before—"

He looked toward the door. She was gone. "Huh. Did you see Toga Lady leave?"

Wendy shrugged. "Wasn't looking."

"Huh." Soos replaced the belt. At least he knew when he'd see her next.

###

June 1, 2013

"What's with the belt?" Stan asked.

"Oh! It's for a regular." Soos pointed with both hands down at the fuzzy pink belt peeking beneath his suit jacket. "I think she's comin' today. She wanted to meet the original Mr. Mystery."

"Hey, an admirer!" Stan mysteriously grew two inches as his posture spontaneously improved. "Is she cute?"

"Uh... if you like bedsheet togas?"

"Ooh, a party girl."

Over by the shop's glass display case, Ford said, "These are new," and lifted a jar with an alien fetus suspended in green goo.

"Oh, yeah!" Soos said. "Dipper sent me like, a billion keychains of these little alien guys from Roswell. So I started filling Abuelita's empty spice jars with aliens and lime jello. Cool, huh? It looks like we stole them from a secret government lab or something."

Stan laughed, slinging an arm around Soos. "Listen to this! Brilliant! I knew I put the right guy in charge."

Soos grinned goofily. "Aw, gee, Mr. Pines..." A flash of purple caught the corner of his eye. Toga Lady was leaning next to the door by the snow globe shelves, fiddling with her belt.

Here was a chance to show off his great business instincts with Stan watching. Time to make a sale. "Oh, hey, Toga Lady! I didn't hear you come in! Still rockin' Pony Heist, huh? Hey, I've been trying to show you this belt I think you'll like..."

But she wasn't listening to him. Her gaze was fixed on the Pines twins' backs. As Soos watched, her expression darkened, and her grin widened.

The vengeful demon reached past the snow globes, snatched up a heavy "mysterious green crystal cluster ($250)" made of glued-together broken glass, and heaved it up over his head. "Hey, Sixer!" Face contorted in a snarl of a smile, he turned the cluster over, sharp broken shards pointing downward. "Welcome home!"

Bill Cipher swung the glass weight down toward Ford's head.

(If you wanna keep reading, all chapters are right here!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #soos ramirez #(I'm not gonna tag every character that shows up but Soos gets the honor of being the viewpoint character here. please enjoy him.)#gravity falls #gravity falls fanart #gravity falls fic #fanfic #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #opatoes #ask

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goatcheesecak3 · 5 months

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Hcs for Rodrick w/ an artistic s/o? who makes their own custom loded diper shirts? Who does small paintings or doodles on his van when allowed? Who has a sketchbook full of little drawings of him???

This is such a cute idea omg😭 yes I can definitely do that

He begs you to design tattoos for him, so you make him a little flash sheet of doodles to give him ideas. His favourite one is a sketch of a snake, someday he wants to get it as a sleeve, winding all the way down his arm.

Before a show, you surprised the band with custom löded diper shirts you'd made by bleach painting them. They all had the band's logo and a cool picture that you'd designed (Rodrick's was the grim reaper playing the drums). Needless to say, the entire band freaked out over this, congratulating a very smug Rodrick on getting himself a real keeper.

He loves it when he catches you sketching him, you always get embarrassed, as if he's not literally your boyfriend. He teases you for being so shy, and reassures you that he finds it flattering.

For Christmas you painted one of the heffley family portraits and gifted it to Susan, who absolutely ADORED it, and you.

Rodrick is quite artistic too, so sometimes you work together on pictures for fun. One of you will draw the outline and the other has to add colour. The pictures usually come out looking.... contemporary is the nice way to put it.

Sometimes Rodrick likes to take you on dates to art galleries or museums to help inspire you, constantly telling you "someday all these walls will be covered in your work, baby"

He gets you to draw all over everything he owns, you painted little nuclear waste symbols on his docs which he LOVED (a/n, fun fact: my mum was a punk in the 80s and she painted that symbol on her boots, so shoutout to me mum for the inspo ig lol)

You're planning to move in together soon, so as a surprise Rodrick took you to a paint your own pottery place, where you each painted bowls for eachother to have your morning cereal out of.

Rodrick wants to hang up every single piece of art you make, like EVERYTHING. Whether it's a huge canvas or a doodle on a napkin, he thinks it all deserves to be shown off.

He constantly jokes "I can't throw this doodle away! It's a y/n original, this is gonna be worth a lot of money someday!"

A/n this was such a cute idea thsnk u so much for the request :^)

Replies and reblogs are very much appreciated because I thrive off of your validation

Requests are open and very much encouraged! Check my pinned post for Request rules and my masterlist <3

#rodrick #rodrick rules #rodrick heffley #doawk #diary of a wimpy kid #rodrick hefflei #devon bostick #rodrick headcanon #rodrick x reader #diary of a wimpy kid rodrick #rodrick hcs #hcs #rodrick heffley headcanon #headcanon #rodrick fluff #fluff #not my rodrick

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a-magpie-in-gravesfield · 1 year

Text

Since I made the font of Philip’s handwriting, I decided to practice doing it by hand too 😆 I’m gonna practice some more but I’m fairly happy with it now. I’be also been working hard on manually tinting, scenting (castle paper doesn’t smell like printer paper !) and damaging paper to make it look ancient so I can mail a custom notes in Belos’s handwriting with every single pin/sticker order when I open my Etsy store next month :) (I was also asked by people if I would be willing to write letters in Belos’s handwriting, and if people are really interested in that, I’d be more than happy to do that for commissions too !)

If you want to know how I aged up the paper : dip the paper in coffee, dry it off the best you can gently with a cloth, then dry it with a hair dryer. Did the edges, you can get this tool called a paper distresser, and just rub it on the edges like shown in the video :) then I go back with a brush and watered down coffee on the edges to give an old damaged border to the paper. I’m super excited to show all the merch I came up with next month !! :D

EDIT : I’ve also ordered Belos’s wax seal, so each note will be manually wax sealed with his stamp the old fashioned way as well :) I will provide pictures when it’s ready !

#belos #philip wittebane #emperor belos

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bellysoupset · 4 days

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For the 🏳️ anon, who asked for Airsick Bella.... Here we go, with LOADS of fluff and sexy talk.

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

"Have you seen my bikinis?" Bella asked, rummaging through her messy side of their wardrobe. Luke was sprawled on the bed watching the replay of last Sunday’s football game, having already finished packing, since his side was neatly folded and he could get a bag done in under 30 minutes.

"You really don't need those," he smirked and Bella rolled her eyes, crouching down to open a drawer.

"Oh yeah, you're gonna be real happy when I'm flashing strangers- Aha!" She held up a bunch of bikinis strung together and didn't bother untangling them, throwing the items on her side of their suitcase, "now I need a hat."

Lucas smiled fondly at her, Bella wasn't even bothering to hide just how excited she was with them finally leaving for a honeymoon. After nearly ten months since they had gotten married, Luke had been over the moon to slip her the tickets, three weeks before.

She had even requested time off work, something Bella never did, normally insisting she could work from anywhere. Luke had seen her work from the hospital waiting room far too many times to count.

Their flight was Friday morning and it was only Wednesday night, but Lucas had everything ready already, from his suitcase, to their documentation, to their travel guide, hotel... Everything he could think of, he had managed and micromanaged, except for Bell.

Just glancing at her messy process of packing made his skin crawl, so he opted for not saying anything and waited until she finally zipped it up, taking far more shoes than he even thought possible for her to wear.

"You know we're going to a tropical island, right?" Lucas grabbed Bella's waist when she circled the bed in order to grab her jewelry, "I don't think you're gonna get any use out of the combat boots."

"You never know, it rains a lot in tropical places," Bella shrugged, falling against him on the bed, but keeping to the task at hand, sorting through the bunch of silver rings she had, "I'm taking it."

"Okay," Luke rolled his eyes, closing her jewelry box, "I want attention-"

"You're gonna have tons of attention, once we're there," Bella scoffed, squirming when he rolled them on the bed and pinned her down, "skull or snakes?" she raised the rings in front of him.

"Skulls, they're cuter," Luke pushed her hand away from his face, busying himself with kissing her neck, "so we’re taking a chastity vow until we land in Malé?"

Bella snorted at that, picking her earrings, moving her head slightly so he could continue to kiss her, "chastity is a strong word, I've always wanted to be a part of the mile high club."

Lucas laughed, pressing his mouth to her collarbone, "oh yeah, so we can get barred at the customs," he nibbled on her earlobe, "my wife the genius."

"Tonto," Bella scoffed, finally putting away all the items and planting a hand in the middle of his face, pushing him off of her, “help me pack, Luke.”

By the time Friday finally rolled on, Luke was feeling nearly sick with nerves. They had driven to Portland the night before, in order to avoid the maximum amount of fatigue possible, given the trip ahead of them was stupidly long. Their flight went to Philadelphia, where they caught a 10 hours long flight to London, stayed over the night and then in the morning caught another flight, this one 20 hours long, to the Maldives.

Luke had genuinely considered talking with Kit about the private jet, but just the off hand mention of his father’s name had Bella shutting down in a way he didn’t like. It didn’t used to be like that before Christmas and he wasn’t entirely sure what had changed since Bell promptly shut down any attempt of bringing up the topic.

Besides, as Jonah had pointed out to him while they chatted in gym, the private jet would need to do all the stops for fuel too, it’d only cut about five hours of their schedule.

“What’s in your mind?” Bell asked, as they strapped in for the first, shorter flight. Only two hours for Philly.

“Control freak bs,” Luke scoffed, leaning in to plant a kiss on her cheek, “my brain won’t stop.”

“I thought therapy was helping,” she teased him, turning her face for a proper kiss, “nothing is going to go wrong, it’s just plane trips. Very long, very tiring, but just plane trips.”

“Uhum,” Luke leaned in to plant his lips on her temple.

Since they’d be bored out of their minds, Bella had brought an old ipad, filled with movies. Luke leaned back his chair, frowning as he recognized the opening shot of the movie.

“Jaws? We’re going to a tropical island and you want to watch Jaws?”

“I like to be prepared,” Bella grinned, snuggling against his shoulder, “you did say we could swim in the ocean and that there’s a shark dive.”

“And you want to watch Jaws before swimming with the sharks?” He raised his eyebrows, clicking on the screen and then going back to the list of movies, “you only brought deadly animals movies… Tsunami movie… Isabella, what the fuck!”

Bell slapped his hand away, putting the movie back on, “it's good for you, builds character.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it does,” he said sourly, focusing on the movie.

The connection to the London flight was uneventful, Luke spending it updating their friends about their current location and taking his own paparazzi pictures of Bell, as she sprawled on the first class lounge, not a thought given to the dirty looks thrown her way.

He loved her.

“This is bigger than our house,” Bella snorted as they got in the plane and to their seats. For this flight Luke had splurged with first class tickets instead of regular ones and a private suite, since it was 10 hours long. Bell dropped her carry on in the large space between their seats, which were large like single beds, “really. Honest to God, bigger than my childhood room.”

Lucas knew for a fact this was pretty much true. He rolled his eyes, kissing the top of her head, “and private too, didn’t you want to be a part of the mile high club?”

“Now where’s the fun if it’s all private?” Bella teased him, falling sit and letting out a sigh, “I bet they have cameras everywhere here… Oh man, champagne? I feel like a princess.”

He couldn’t help but smile at her antics, sitting down as well and indulging Bell as she sat criss crossed next to him and continued to talk non stop.

Three hours into the trip and at least three glasses of champagne each, the instructions of “stay in your seats” were out of the window. Bella had climbed on his lap and she had her arms wrapped around his neck, kissing him and letting out a happy sigh as Luke squeezed her ass over the jeans, when suddenly the plane lurched.

It was so sudden that Bella bit on his lip with force enough to draw blood and Luke pulled back with a shout.

“Bell!”

“Oh my God-” Bella whined, grabbing his shoulders, big blue eyes wide in her face, “what the fuck was that!?”

“Just a drop, Bella,” Luke glared at her, wiping the blood with his thumb, “it’s fine, relax…”

“Don’t tell me to relax,” she scoffed, but leaned in to kiss him again, bumping her nose with his, “sorry about your lip…”

“Uhm, kiss it better?” Lucas grinned, leaning further into his seat and planting a hand on her nape, pulling her in. He felt her smile against his lips and Luke was starting to feel suffocatingly warm, face tingling with how horny he was, when the plane lurched once more, this time around continuing to shake violently.

Bella let out a sound he wasn’t sure he had ever heard her do before, a whimper-cry, and hid her face on his neck, “Luke!”

“It’s okay, baby, it’s just turbulence…” He hugged her close and Bella squeezed him with all her force as the plane shook again.

“We’re getting nerfed down from the sky because of these stupid, expensive, gigantic cabins,” Bella whined, getting out of his lap and putting the seat belt on, a couple seconds before the red sign popped on the opposite wall.

The plane lowered once more, before going up, and even with the private cabin, they could hear the other passengers squeal. Bella’s face had gone from healthy tan to olive white and she was clutching the arm rests of her seat.

“I don’t wanna die on my honeymoon,” she whimpered, closing her eyes, “Luke-”

“It’s just turbulence,” Lucas planted his hand over hers, “I promise you we’ll not fall from the sky, this is fine…”

“It doesn’t feel fine!” Bella squealed as the plane kept shaking. She moved their hands, so she could squeeze his fingers and Luke cringed, Bell had quite the strong grip.

He leaned in, completely ignoring the shaking and going up and down that was causing his stomach to freeze, “talk with me, baby.”

“I- I can’t, we’re going to di-die…” Her voice shook under the weight of tears and Lucas scoffed, planting a kiss on her temple and squeezing Bella to him with his free hand. Over their heads, the lights went out.

“No, we’re not. Have I ever told you about our flight to Hong Kong when I was fifteen?” he leaned in and Bell shook her head, staying quiet to indicate she was listening, but still not opening her eyes.

“Dad was touring there and it was my birthday, so mom packed us both to Hong Kong,” Luke smoothed over the important stuff, leaving out the details. He hadn’t wanted to go to Hong Kong and his mom was actually going there for a business trip, not for his birthday. In fact, he wasn’t sure they had remembered it was his birthday until two days had passed, “and the flight was terrible, let me tell you. But we landed without any trouble, it was just clouds-” without any trouble because his mom had been knocked the fuck out by the wine, “we all got there in one piece. We’re gonna get to London perfectly safe too.”

“And- and your birthday?” Bella asked in a small voice. Luke wiped the tears off her face.

“I got to watch dad play, it was great,” he lied smoothly. He had spent it in the hotel room just outside the stadium his father was playing, puking his guts up after such a horrid flight, while his mother bossed her entire staff around.

Bella nodded, letting out a shuddery breath and the plane eased up the shaking. She sat up straight, leaning back on her seat and wiped at her face, while the overhead lights turned back on.

Lucas smiled at her, “see?”

“I’m gonna puke,” Bella groaned, ignoring his soft smile and Luke snorted, before realizing her lips had gone a terrible shade of white.

“Oh, you’re serious?”

“Yeah-” Bella cupped her mouth, “Lu-”

Luke scrambled to find an airsickness bag, but in first class these were hidden somewhere – it was not pleasing to imply rich people puked – so he settled for the champagne bucket, removing the bottle and holding it under Bell’s chin just in time to catch the first mouthful of sickly champagne vomit.

She hugged the bucket like a pro, so Lucas abandoned it, in order to hold her hair back with a hand, planting the other one on her forehead to help her support it. Bella let out a loud moan, echoing in the metal bucket, and he kissed the top of her head.

“You’re fine, it’s a lot of ups and downs…”

Bella sighed, pulling back and resting her forehead to the rim of the bucket, while Luke waited a second to pull back, “you good?”

“Think so…” she rasped, so he got her a water bottle from the huge dispenser under their seats. She took it with shaky hands, sniffling once more and took a small gulp, as Luke ignored the sign to stay with their seat belts and got up, to reach for his own carry on.

“Wendy told me to bring these-” he went through the contents in order to find the sea wristbands and Bella frowned, seeming exhausted as she turned to look at him… Only for the plane to drop once more.

“Fuck,” Bell groaned, lurching for the bucket, while Luke fell flat on his back on the ground, his backpack hitting his chest. He hugged it tightly, waiting until the plane stopped shaking in order to get back to his seat, and once he did he realized Bella was fully crying.

“Stay-” she let out a little burp, forcing up a pathetic gush of liquid, “in your fucking seat, Lucas.”

“Sorry,” he rubbed her back, “sorry. You don’t have to worry, I’m fine.”

Bella raised her head from the bucket in order to send him a bleary glare, her blue eyes even more blue due to the tears and the fact they were red rimmed, “I fucking hate flying,” she declared, turning back to the bucket once more and Luke cringed in sympathy.

“I know, I know, next time we travel we’ll go somewhere closer,” he promised, pushing the curls away from her mouth and rubbing back.

#mywriting #isabella martinez #isabella martinez-atwood #airsickness #sickfic #emeto #motion sickness #🏳️ anon

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