#i’m not the most eloquent with my words but i hope you all know how much i appreciate and love you ;-;

[nohoney]

Bakugou would listen to you rant all about work. Even though he’s the one out on the streets with more exciting stories to tell, one of his favorite things is to hear you talk about your own work. He follows and nods along with whatever work story you have for him for the day, always attentive but never telling you what you should do to handle it (as he had learned from a prior relationship).

“I can tell he fuckin’ hates me, you know?” You continue on about your current work events as you sit on the countertop and watch Bakugou cut vegetables, “He keeps on bringing up my old manager as if she has anything to do with it now. Like, no motherfucker! You answer to me now and I’m saying pay your stupid invoice!”

The vegetables for dinner are set aside while the oven is still preheating. Two pieces of pork chop are taken from the fridge and is set aside on a clean plate as Bakugou looks for spices to rub into the meat. “So what happened baby? Did he pay? Y’said you were dealing with this for almost two weeks.” He asks you, genuinely curious if your annoying client is actually complying with you. The thought in his head is wondering how you handled it.

“I have to read you this email that I wrote. I gotta say the professional ways of dissing someone in email is something I finally understand now.” You laugh as you pull up your work email on your phone. Word for word you read out your well thought out response to your difficult client, not backing down and upholding work policy as you are expected to. Bakugou had never really bothered with any type of skill of being professional through communication in his job; it’s what his team is for while he gets the really privilege to cuss as he pleases and have his team handle it for the public. “Here is how I signed off, I think it’s probably my most eloquent and business-like ‘fuck you’ I’ve written so far.”

You clear your throat first before reading aloud, “‘I hope that the explanations of how to navigate your account has cleared up any confusion you may have and that you are able to move forward in compliance with our company policy, if you have any further questions then please let me know.’ God I know he’s going to hate me as soon as he reads it!”

He chuckles, happy that you know how to stand your ground in such a manner that Bakugou knows he struggles in. “You tell him, baby.”

“I fucking did Katsuki!” You boast with a proud little smile as you hop off the countertop and go to his side as he heats oil in a pan. “Sorry, I’ve been going on about this annoying client for a while. I wanna hear about your work today Tsuki.”

Bakugou shakes his head though and urges you to talk about what else happened at your work. The meat sizzles as he presses it into the pan, crackling and sizzling in a way that’s reminiscent of his quirk but to a much lower degree. The oven beeps to indicate that preheating is finished and you move to put all the vegetables into the glass pan and stick it in for him, already setting a timer before he can even ask. “What about that other guy? The one who keeps on saying that he’s getting investors so he wants to make you wait a little longer?” He asks you when he recalls another client you complained of a few days ago.

You excitedly pop off about your work again, unknowing how you calm Bakugou down with your own work stories. Your series of responsibilities that he wouldn’t know the first clue how to handle are interesting to him to hear how you handle yourself. It’s simple compared to what he does but in no way is it easy either. To see you struggle sometimes with your own career wasn’t easy for him but you were also strong enough to handle it all the same.

And he liked to think that he made it easy for you to handle because he wanted to hear anything and everything about your job that’s so different from his. “Tell me about the parking permits, did that get solved yet?” He asks as he starts to set food on the plates.

“No! I’m on week three of dealing with it and it’s ridiculous! I sent everything in so early and they deal with it so late!!”

Bakugou listens with a happy heart to hear you talk, never wanting you to apologize over the things that frustrate you. And by the end of your rants, even he feels a little lighter as he readies to get in bed with you.

And the next day as he’s just about to enter a meeting in his agency, Bakugou gets a text from you.

[1:57 pm] omg i need to tell you what this mofo emailed me when we’re home

He looks forward to it, letting a little smile come onto his face. He can see you all cute and puffed up and mad, and he can’t wait to hear about it.

[1:58 pm] can’t wait baby. love you.

You text him back within seconds.

[1:58 pm] love you!!!

Bakugou can’t wait to be home and listen to you.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou fluff

[metalhoops]

Steve and Eddie: Alternative ‘First’ meeting part 2.

Read Part 1 Here

Eddie Munson never expected Steve to be his friend. He kept waiting for the former king to realise how different their two worlds were. When that day came, he hoped Steve could look back on his time spent with the strange Metalhead with affection.

Several months had passed since the two had their first encounter in the woods outside the trailer park, and he hadn’t scared Steve away yet. Eddie found the boy following at his side every other day when he wasn’t at work. He was loyal as a golden retriever and strangely, almost as happy. When he and Steve run into each other for the first time since Steve’s graduation, one thing was clear: Steve wasn’t happy. 

Now, most days, he appeared more happy than not. Yet, he was still distant. There were things he was keeping close to his chest, but Eddie didn’t feel like he was close enough to push. 

Eddie kept waiting for the moment he’d chase Steve away. He talked the guy’s ear off about Hellfire, now that the school year was back in full swing. They’d both agreed to keep Steve’s flock of wayward children in the dark about their friendship, lest they think Steve was using Eddie to keep an eye on them, ever the babysitter. Steve listened attentively. 

He invited Steve around to watch obscure B-grade, horror schlockfests. There was no way he enjoyed it, but Steve stayed. He jumped at all the right times and laughed at all the wrong ones, just like Eddie. Steve was too good to be true. One day, something had to give. 

When they drove together, Eddie played the music too loud and performed air guitar solos at stoplights. He’d even gone so far as to serenade Steve with KISS songs as the guy helped him put together a dinner that wasn’t from a microwave container. 

He’d expected Steve to roll his eyes and call him a nerd, which admittedly he did. However, right after, he’d equipped himself with a wooden spoon and performed an equally cheesy rendition of a Bob Seger song. 

Hell, once his parents were out of town and they’d stayed the night at Steve’s he’d shown Eddie his best impression of Tom Cruise in Risky Business, complete with high socks, a poorly buttoned button-down, and too-short, shorts. Eddie was so gone for Steve Harrington, and it was horrible because he knew something was going to go wrong.

He was sick of waiting for it to happen. The two had been friends for months, and Eddie was sick of holding his breath, with each passing day knowing that the hurt would be all the greater as his attachment to Steve grew. 

Steve’s parents were out of town, which always made for a more relaxed Steve. He’d invited Eddie to stay the night at his place for the first time. Eddie realised what had to happen next as Steve invited him to crash with him in his bed. 

This was the thing that would finally scare Steve away. This was the thing that would get Steve to finally give up his reformed jock status and call him a freak. He couldn’t share a bed with Steve without him knowing, it wasn’t fair. 

“I kinda like taking the side next to the door. You mind taking the window side?” Steve asked so casually it made Eddie’s heart ache. 

He found it hard to swallow as he bit the bullet and told Steve the thing he’d been dancing around for months. 

“I’m gay, Steve.” He wished he’d been more eloquent, but he hadn’t. He spoke to the shitty plaid wallpaper, his words running together. 

When he finally looked, he found Steve sitting on the bed, his wide eyes looking equal parts alarmed and confused. He wasn’t cursing at Eddie or chasing the guy out of his house, so far, it was going better than he’d expected. 

“Uh... thanks for telling me, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you steal my side of the bed,” Steve finally replied. Eddie was goddamn floored. 

“You heard me, right?” Eddie repeated. There was no way in hell this wasn’t the thing that chased Steve away. 

“Roger Dodger. Loud and clear. You don’t like boobs,” Steve paraphrased as he wriggled under the covers. Eddie let out a sound between a snort and a sob because, holy shit, Steve didn’t care. He was also an absolute idiot, but that was expected.

“And you’re still cool with me sleeping with you?” Eddie asked. 

“I don’t like to sleep alone much, anymore,” Steve spoke with a vague shrug of his shoulders. There it was again, the uneasy sense he got that Steve wasn’t telling him something important. 

Eddie didn’t pry, because Steve hadn’t pushed when he’d just goddamn come out to him. Eddie slipped beneath the covers, closest to the window and lay beside Steve until the man fell asleep. Eddie couldn’t sleep, his head still reeling. 

After an hour, he felt Steve twitch at his side and mumble something incoherent. Eddie stayed still, thinking the moment would pass, quick and painless as a sun shower. Instead, Steve started to thrash. Eddie sat up in bed, flicked on the lights, and gazed down at the former king’s pinched brows. It was hard to believe this was the same boy who’d stalked the halls of Hawkins High, looking seemingly untouchable from Eddie’s ranks amongst the outcasts and common folk. 

“Stevie?” Eddie breathed, placing a hand on Steve’s shoulder in an attempt to wake him. 

The other man’s body stilled beneath his hand, and his face remained contorted. In his sleep, he crept closer to Eddie, curling his body around him. He had no idea what the hell to do. Steve hating to sleep alone made more sense. 

“It’s okay, Harrington. I got you. You’re okay,” Eddie mumbled, taking a risk and leaning down to card his hands through the man’s hair. 

Eddie sat there for another half-hour, muttering quiet nothings until he stilled and slept peacefully. 

When morning finally came and the two found themselves dancing around each other in the Harrington’s oversized kitchen, Eddie decided to broach the subject. Steve kept setting off alarm bells in his head, and he had no idea how to quiet them on his own. 

“Steve, I know I’m a shitty listener because I love to hear the sound of my own voice, but you know, if you ever need to talk about anything, I’m here, right?” 

Steve stepped back from the kitchen cabinet to get a better look at Eddie, his face the picture of conflict. He kept looking as though he were seconds from telling Eddie something before going dead quiet. Finally, he spoke.

“I don’t think I’m entirely straight.” 

That hadn’t been what he was fishing for, but holy shit. 

To make matters worse, Steve was sending him all the right goddamn cues. His eyes flickered to Eddie’s lips, then back to his face. He chewed on his bottom lip and ran his fingers through his carefully styled hair. Screw it. 

Eddie crossed the space between them and smash their lips together, pushing Steve’s back against the cabinet. It was a car crash kind of desperation. Limbs and lips everywhere. Steve ended up on the countertop, his legs wrapped around Eddie’s hips, hands in his hair. Eddie’s head was a chorus of holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. 

Eddie Munson never expected Steve to be his friend, but the one thing he’d never expected to ruin their friendship was a kiss. 

Tags

@rhyswritesreadsandcries @lightwoodbanethings @beeing-stuupid @chaoticvictorianspirit @korixae @ihaveahordingproblem @lyriclight @exyvey @ashwinmeird​ @breealtair @eviltwistedpixie @adelicioustragedy @theoncelee @bubblegum192 @aceflavouredyougurt @pluto-pepsi @occasionallyifailtoart @didntwant2come​ @catboyb​adankrivervalleynearyou

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie drabble #steddie ficlet #ficlet #my ficlet #stranger things #drabble #alternative 'first' meeting #multipost fic #long post #back by popular demand #this wasn't going to be a two parter but people wanted it #now I'm tempted to write a part three #hopefully I got everyone how asked to be tagged #I did my best #angst and fluff #Metalhoops writes

[avastrasposts]

A Baker's Dozen - Five

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stand alone short stories, all set in the same bakery.

Hello!

A surprise early drop of part five! I didn't want this gentleman to be lost among the Christmas cheer on Sunday night so please enjoy him a couple of days early.

This man was the one that most intimidated me to write, and I think that's true for most of us. Luckily my dear friend @morallyinept is an expert on the subject of this particular Pedro boy, and beta read it. Thank you so much Jett, your encouragement makes this a lot less scary!

Please say hello to Pedro boy number five...

Series Master List

It’s not the first time you’ve seen him in your bakery. Sometimes, when you have your extra staffer in over the weekend to handle the crowds, you’ve seen him waiting in line. Somehow he always comes in when you’re not at the counter, or dealing with another customer, but when you glance out through the open kitchen door, you spot him. More than once. And he’s always watching you, dark brown eyes, curious, intelligent, carefully watching. It intrigues you, and it scares you. 

He’s easy to recognise, the bright blonde patch of hair over his forehead makes him memorable, if nothing else. But the way he stands, the weight of his body on one leg, leaning forward onto it while he tilts his head and observes you through the open door with a wry smirk. It makes you think of a trickster, a smooth talker who will smile and charm you with his words while he tries to sell you real estate on the moon. Your eyes meet and he grins, holding up his hand in a nonchalant greeting. You let your eyes glide over him, ignoring his wave as if you didn’t see him, busy looking for a pan or a bowl. 

He comes in the next day again, you catch him from the corner of your eye as he steps up to the counter, just as you come out of the fridge. He doesn’t see you this time you think, so you hurry out of sight and go back to measuring flour into the large mixer. Through the door you can hear him talk to the high schooler you’ve got handling the Saturday afternoon rush. 

“Afternoon, may I ask after the proprietor of this fine bakery?” the man says, and his southern accent is eloquent in a way that reminds you of old films, theatrical and exaggerated, you can hear the smirk in his tone. In your mind he sweeps an old fashioned hat off his head and bows like the ringmaster at the circus. It puts your teeth on edge and you hope to escape his attention. 

“She’s busy right now but I’ll see if she has time,” your highschooler says and you sigh, waving your hand no when they come into the kitchen 

“I’m sorry, she’s right in the middle of something, can I take a message?” 

“No bother, I’ll stop by later, I have a proposal to the lady that’s best delivered in person.” 

You hear him say goodbye and then the door jingles and the hum of the afternoon rush continues as you turn on the big dough mixer, drowning out all else. You wonder what kind of proposal the man could have for you, his response was almost as if he was preparing a sale. The thought calms you and annoys you a little, dealing with insistent sales people was your least favorite activity as a business owner. There was always someone trying to sell you a new mixer or a new oven. You hope he doesn’t come back, but at least you know how to brush off a sales person if needed. 

He doesn’t come back until Tuesday, when you’re alone in the bakery, just before closing. The door jingles and you look up, seeing his smile as he steps across the threshold. 

“Afternoon,” he says, coming up to the counter, giving you a gallant nod in greeting, “I was hoping to catch you at a more quiet time, seeing as the end of the day draws near. I hope my interference doesn’t disrupt your day too greatly and cause you disturbance.” 

His smile sits fixed on his face, as if rehearsed to look polite and genuine, to sell you something. 

It’s hard to press back your customer service persona, so you give him a polite smile, internally you’re gearing up to be courteous but dismissive. 

“How can I help you?” you ask, and his smile widens into a grin as he tilts his head to the side and looks at you. 

“I’m in the market for a special type of treat, one which I hope you’ll indulge me in making,” he holds out his left hand to you, “I’m Ezra, and I really hope you can help me, miss…?” 

You take his hand and awkwardly shake it, ignoring his question, but your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. You’d been so certain he’d try to sell you something, you hadn’t considered that he’d be the one asking you to sell him something special even though special requests weren’t a rare thing. 

“If it’s doable and I know how to make it, I’m sure we can come up with something,” you reply and he nods his head.

“Oh, I’ll pay, handsomely, of course,” 

“What did you have in mind?” you ask, and his smile stretches even further, making his teeth show, and you balk, a tinge of unease shooting up your spine. In the back of your mind you’re reminded of the poem; ‘Will you walk into my parlour, said a spider to a fly.’ There’s a layer of something underneath that smile that unnerves you.

“A sentimental old favorite of mine, chocolate soufflé,” he says, his eyes suddenly slipping into softness as he seems to look past you, “Light, airy, rich and velvety.” 

He waves his hand as if he’s conjuring the dessert out of thin air, a dreamy look on his face that’s quickly replaced by his grin as he turns his attention back to you. 

“It’s an arduous dessert to master, only the most skilled bakers can create it. Are you skilled, sugar?” 

You give him a scowl, you’ve heard every pet name in the book vaguely related to baking by now and none of them sit well with you. 

He catches on to your scowl and chuckles, “Not ‘sugar’ then,” he grins as you put your smallest customer service smile back on. 

“I can make soufflé but I won’t be able to sell them here,” you explain, shaking your head. “They’re too delicate and need to be served and eaten straight out of the oven. But I’m sure there’s restaurants who have soufflé on the menu.”

Ezra shakes his head with a rueful look,”I’m afraid I’ve tried that route, but none of the restaurants in town have exactly what I desire on the menu, and they won’t make it as a special order. So my hope lies with you, cookie.” 

He chuckles again when he sees the flash of annoyance at the pet name, his eyes crinkling at the corners, his smile suddenly looking genuine, “If you’d told me your name when I introduced myself I would gladly use that instead of causing an umbridge with my embarrassing choices of guesses.” 

You ignore his comment about your name, feeling even less inclined to give it to him, and instead you begin wiping down the counter for the end of the day. 

“I’m sorry none of the restaurants have it, but I’m afraid I can’t help you, I can’t make the soufflé and then wait for you to come in, it would be flat and dull and I couldn’t sell you that.” 

“I’m sure you observed, because I’ve observed you in turn, several times, that I’ve been studying you,” Ezra says, his eyes narrowing as he gives you a charming smile, cocking his head to the side and leaning against the counter on his left side, watching you run the cloth over the display cases. 

“You’re the most talented baker I’ve seen in all my travels, all you sell here, you make with your own gifted hands,” he waves his hand around the bakery, “And I’ve sampled many of your delectable delights, nothing rivals what you can bake, cupcake.” 

His words make your cheeks heat up against your will as you glare at the pet name and he smiles back at you. . 

“It won’t change the physics of the soufflé though,” you point out, “it will still fall flat if it’s out of the oven waiting for the customer.” 

“Well, crumpet, I have a remedy for that, I have thought of it all. You make it for me while I wait, right here, after hours,” he says, leaning forward when he sees your doubtful face. He takes the cloth from your hand, stilling your movement as he wraps his fingers around yours, just tight enough for you not to be able to just yank them away. His eyes closer to yours now, imploring you to hear him out, and you don’t fail to note that his expression shifts into something more innocent, his brown eyes wide open, forehead pulled up as he pleads with you

“Please, truly, it may only be a soufflé to you, but it really does mean an awful lot to me, to be able to have this dessert again, to remind me of better days, happier times.” 

His fingers squeeze yours gently while he talks, “I lost my arm, a while back now, in a mining accident,” he says, looking down to his right hand side where you only now notice that his jacket sleeve hangs limp, “I used to love to bake, but I can’t anymore, on account of my…condition.”  

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you reply politely and Ezra nods again.

“It’s been a while now, I’m getting used to navigating life without it,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, “But I can’t bake, not like I used to, not something that requires two stable hands.”

He lets go of you and stands up, grabbing the empty sleeve of his jacket and lifts it up, “Imagine if this happened to you,” he says, giving the sleeve a frustrated tug as his voice gains an edge of annoyance, “Imagine if you, from one cursed day to the next, not only lost your ability to do your job, but also your ability to perform the most entertaining of tasks.” 

You feel your resolve slipping, he’s turned his eyes back on yours and falls silent, for what feels like for the first time since he stepped into the shop. His hand is on the counter between you, open, like he’s waiting for you to take it and shake on your agreement, and his eyes are imploring, his eyebrows raised. 

Like this he looks less like a trickster, the facade has slipped a bit, or maybe he’s pulled a new one up, you feel like you can’t be sure. You glance down at his empty sleeve and make up your mind, you’d be devastated if you couldn’t bake again. 

“Ok, I’ll make your soufflé, any way you want it,” you say, taking his hand, and Ezra’s face breaks into a wide smile. 

“Thank you, bon bon! Your kind gesture makes me most hopeful for the future, there are still good people in this world, prepared to help a poor, armless, man.” 

“Enough with the names,” you give him a small scowl, but you can’t help but smile at the same time, his own smiling, face seems genuine, honestly happy for your service. 

“Such a sweet baker lady has to have a name that matches the sweetness of her produce, jelly pie,” he chuckles, “I’ll keep trying them out until I find the one that sticks.” 

“If I hear one I like I’ll let you know, just don’t hold your breath,” you reply, but you’re smiling at him now and he seems less wiley with the change of his demeanor, more straightforward, as he runs his hand through his hair and grins at you. 

“So when do you want to do this? And what kind of chocolate soufflé do you want?” you ask, pulling out your notebook. 

“I once went to a small restaurant in France, a tiny little village, somewhere in the mountains north of Cannes,” he says, “and the chef would cover the bottom of the ramekin with caramel, sprinkle it with sal de mer before he poured in the chocolate and then finish with a little bit more just on top.” His hand makes a sprinkling movement over the top of the imaginary soufflé ramekin. “It was inspired, divine,” Ezra smiles at you, an excited gleam in his eyes, that you recognise all too well. “I asked him for the recipe and he was benevolent enough to make a gift of it to me, a small souvenir of a joyous visit and happier times.” 

Something in the way he says the last words, a slight slip in the excitement, a flash of something darker across his face, makes you open your mouth. But you close it again as his eyes brighten, the smile comes back up in place and he looks at you. 

“I had to translate the recipe into English of course, and now I have it memorized, from all the times I made it myself.” 

“Let me make a list then, and I’ll get the ingredients for next week, how about next Tuesday night? Does that work for you?” you ask and Ezra nods. 

“Any day would suit me, shortcake,” he grins and you roll your eyes, “But if it’s not too much trouble, I would prefer an earlier day? Maybe tomorrow even? And I’ll help you make it, as long as you have the ingredients?” 

You glance over at your calendar, you have nothing planned for tomorrow night and you’ll have time to get the ingredients into your usual weekly order tonight.

“It’ll be tight, but I think I can make it work, if I place the order straight away. Unless there’s something special in the recipe I should have all the ingredients already, eggs, cocoa and chocolate,” you list the items on your fingers, thinking out loud, “oh, I should get some extra cream.”  

“This chef used milk instead of cream,” Ezra interjects, “he said it made for a lighter soufflé.” 

“Ok, that’s fine, I’ve made them with milk in the past,” you nod, tapping your pen as you think and Ezra studies you, you can feel his eyes on you as his mouth quirks up in a small smile. 

“I do enjoy seeing you entranced by baking,” he says, “your attention to detail in the kitchen has kept me captivated while watching you work.” 

“I saw you, and I’ve got to say, kinda creepy to be watching people like that,” you reply and his eyebrows immediately pull together in an apologetic frown. 

“My apologies, sweet cannoli, but I was truly enwrapped by your work, your skill, I didn’t mean to be unsettling.” He reaches out and puts his hand on yours again, giving it a light squeeze as he leans forward, finding your eyes and searching them to make sure you accept his apology, “I truly am very sorry.” 

“It’s fine, just come in and say hello next time,” you reply, “and never call me ‘cannoli’ again.” The last thing you say with a roll of your eyes and Ezra laughs. 

“I didn’t think that one would stick, didn’t have much of a ring to it.” 

He gives your hand a last squeeze and lets go of it, raising his own in a wave. 

“Until tomorrow then, jelly,” he says and you give him a mock scowl that makes him grin wide, “Not ‘jelly’ either then,” he chuckles, “I’ll think of some new ones for tomorrow.” 

“No pet names necessary, Ezra,” you tell him, but he shakes his head. 

“No, no, you won’t tell me your name, now I make up my own, I will find the perfect one before we’re done. Until tomorrow, muffin.” 

“Absolutely not,” you call after him, “But I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Ezra gives you a final grin before he exits and you see him walk off down the street. 

He appears again the next day, just before closing like the last time, giving you a polite nod and waiting by the door as you serve your last customer of the day. As the woman leaves, he steps forwards and gives you what feels like a genuine smile, unlike the rehearsed one he’d greeted you with yesterday.

“My sweet cream puff, I have been looking forward to this all day, I’ve been dreaming about finally eating this chocolate soufflé again,” he says, putting his hand on your arm and giving it a light squeeze. His hair looks freshly washed and cut, as does his patchy beard, and he brings a faint smell of cologne into the bakery. With his warm smile and neater appearance, he doesn’t look at all like the unnerving man you’d observed watching you the past few days, and you feel yourself relaxing. 

“Cream puff?” you laugh, “Better, but still not acceptable, Ezra.” 

“I have all evening to get it right,” he grins and holds up a take out bag, “I thought we could perhaps have dinner and not sustain ourselves only on soufflé, delectable as it may be. If that’s not too forward of me?” He says the last thing with his eyebrows raised in question and you shake your head. 

“Not at all, dinner would be nice, I’m getting a little bit hungry already.” 

“Then may I suggest dinner first, and then I get to enjoy the evening’s entertainment; watching you make the soufflé?” 

“Sounds like a plan, let me get some cutlery and glasses and we can eat out here,” you say. As you walk back into the kitchen, you can’t help but smile to yourself. This strange man is growing on you, his smooth southern drawl makes his flowery language work, and you have to admit, he scrubs up well, with his curls and his bright blonde patch. 

When you return with plates and cutlery, Ezra has set the take out on one of the café tables and is struggling with the knot on the plastic bag. You see the annoyance in his face as he tugs at the tight knot, digging his nails into it to get a grip, but failing as the plastic moves under his one hand. The sight fills you with empathy and you’re suddenly very glad you agreed to make him the soufflé. 

He hears your footsteps as you approach and he looks up, “It would seem the plastic bag has me beat,” he sighs, “I wanted to have it all laid out for you as you returned, after all, you’re doing all the baking later, the least I could do is lay the table. But not even that is something I can manage these days with…” He jerks his head in annoyance at the empty sleeve of his jacket and sighs. 

“It’s no bother,” you say, giving him a warm smile to put him at ease, and it seems to work. He smiles back at you, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners and you notice the dimple in his cheek under the patchy beard as he takes a step to the side, letting you put down the plates and cutlery.

“It’s why I agreed to bake the soufflé for you, I’m more than happy to help.” You untie the bag and lift out the containers as Ezra lays the table, taking meticulous care to line up the plates and the cutlery on either side, finding a few napkins and arranging them too. You go behind the counter to get rid of the bag and when you come back, Ezra has pulled out your chair for you and is waiting behind it with a smile. 

“I know this is purely a business transaction, but I have to confess, I’m very happy for the chance to spend an evening in the company of someone who shares my passion for baking”, he says.

“Thank you, Ezra,” you smile as you sit down and he slides the chair in, “I have to admit, I wasn’t sure what you wanted when I first noticed you looking, but this has turned out a lot nicer than just trying to tell another sales rep that I’m not interested in a new oven.” 

Ezra has sat down across from you and now he chuckles, “You thought I was going to sell you a new oven?” 

“A new oven, a new fridge, new baking pans,” you sigh, “you name it, the sales reps have been in here trying to convince me to throw out my working equipment and spend money I don’t have, on their new shiny product.” 

“Well, I’m glad I could surprise you then,” he replies as he begins to open the take out containers, “But I have another confession, I came into your bakery because what you displayed looked incredible, but….” he trails off, glancing up at you with a small smile before he begins scoop rice onto his plate, “I stayed because the woman who runs the bakery is captivating.” 

You feel your cheeks heat up as Ezra looks up at you again and he smiles as he sees your reaction. 

“And I don’t just mean that you’re beautiful, although that is certainly no exaggeration. But your talent…your talent….” he chuckles as you give him a bashful grin, “Sweet twinkie, you kept me captivated with your skill as I watched you through the kitchen door. You have such passion for this,” he waves his hand towards the bakery’s display cases, “so much creative talent and skill, I just…” he gives a small laugh, his hand rubbing his cheek as he drops his eyes down to his plate again, his usual confident manner suddenly replaced by an uncharacteristic shyness, “I wanted a chance to talk to you, if you’d let me.” 

“You’re very sweet, Ezra,” you smile, trying to contain the wide smile that’s threatening to take over your face at his praise. 

“It’s only what you deserve,” he says, smiling back at you and handing you one of the take out boxes, “Please, before it gets cold, I’m letting my mouth run away from me as usual.” 

It turns out Ezra had chosen a number of dishes from a local Indian restaurant down the street and you both groan as you pick your way through the selection. 

“I have to remember this place,” you moan around a mouthful of korma, “it’s incredible.” 

Ezra’s mouth is stuffed full with bhaji and he just nods as he chews, a look of bliss on his face as he swallows. 

“The man who runs it, I spoke with him, was most courteous. He recommended his favorites from the menu and I must say, he sure does know how to make people want to return.” 

“And there will be leftovers for days,” you say, leaning back in your chair, your belly full but there’s still so much food on the table. 

“You keep it, my fridge is out of commission at the moment unfortunately,” Ezra says, “you’ll have the most delicious lunch for the next few days.” 

“I can’t take all this food from you,” you protest but Ezra just shakes his head. 

“I have nowhere to keep it.”

“Then keep it here, and come by and have lunch with me,” you suggest, “we can keep talking about baking and you can spend more time in the bakery, maybe we can figure out some things you can still bake.” 

During the course of the meal Ezra had asked you about every aspect of your baking, your process behind the recipes, the techniques you used, the ingredients and where you sourced them. It had been a rare deep dive into your favorite subject with someone who shared your passion for the trade. You felt your attraction for him steadily grow while he leaned his head into his hand and kept his eyes on you as you went into the details of how to grow and maintain a healthy sourdough starter. 

“You won’t grow bored of my company, moon pie?” he smiled, “And my increasingly desperate names for you?” 

“No, I don’t think I’ll grow bored of you,” you smile back at him, “and your names are getting better.” 

He laughs at that and pushes back his chair, “Then let me be a useful guest and clear this for us, and then we can get to the highlight of the evening perhaps?” 

“Sounds like a plan.” 

You lead him back into the kitchen and the plates and cutlery are soon in your industrial sized dishwasher in the back room. You get the ingredients out onto the workbench as Ezra wanders around the kitchen, looking at your equipment and making approving noises. 

“I was never a professional baker like you, but I’m glad to see you favor the same brands for your pans as I do,” he chuckles, “Makes me feel less like a fraud.” 

“I’m sure you’re just as good as I am,” you reply, “your skill didn’t disappear with your arm.” 

He comes up to stand next to you, and as you look up at him, you see his smile fade as he shakes his head. 

“No, but it might as well have, I held my skill in my right hand, my left just isn’t as steady and sometimes you need two hands.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say, shaking your head, “I didn’t mean that it would be as easy as before, just that your knowledge of baking is still intact.” 

He gives you a small smile, his hand coming up to rest on your shoulder for a brief moment, the warmth of his hand seeping through your t-shirt.

“I know, I just get frustrated as I’m reminded of what I used to be able to do.” 

You lightly bump your hip against his and give him a smile, “Well, we’ve got three hands now, and a lot of skill between us, so this will be the best chocolate soufflé ever made.” 

Ezra chuckles and smiles too, his hand slipping from your shoulder. But he doesn’t lift it, instead it drifts down to the small of your back and he leaves it there, as you lean over the notes you’ve made for the recipe. It sits comfortably against the cotton, a small, intimate touch that signals something else building between you, or at least you hope it does. Ezra is a lot more fun to have around than what you thought when you first saw him, and you’re glad he’s proving you wrong. 

“Alright, I’m putting you on butter duty, I know you can do that one handed,” you say, giving him a wink as you look up at him, you want to involve him in this as much as possible, to make him feel good about baking again.”The ramekins are up on that shelf and the saucepan over there, you know what to do.” 

Ezra grins back at you and gives you a sloppy, left handed, salute, “Yes, ma’am, I’m on it.”  

While he gets started you set up the double boiler on your stove and start whisking the ingredients together. Ezra comes over with the saucepan and stands next to you while he melts the butter and you set up a third saucepan for the caramel. 

“The whisking is the really hard part,” he says as you begin to combine the ingredients, “And even if I use a stand mixer for most things, whisking while it’s over the double boiler proved too hard, the saucepan just slid all over the place.” 

“I wonder if there’s a way to maybe keep the saucepan stable?” you think out loud as you continue to stream the cream into the bowl, “Maybe a non-conductive ring, a silicone mold maybe? It wouldn’t heat up on an induction stove, would it?.” 

“Maybe, that’s not a bad idea actually…” he says thoughtfully and you smile up at him. 

“I can hear the cogs in your head turning, Ezra,” you laugh and he laughs with you. 

“Yeah, you got me thinking there, I’ve got silicone oven mitts at home, I need to try with them first and then figure out where to get a ring shaped piece of silicone. But it’s a really good idea, thank you!” 

He leans down and gives you a quick kiss on your cheek and it catches you by surprise, looking up at him and he smiles back. 

“I apologize, a good deed deserves a nice gesture in return, and your cheeks look very kissable, sweet cheeks.” 

He laughs at your exaggerated sigh and eye roll, bumping your hip in return as you’d done to him, “C’mon now, sweet cheeks, as far as pet names go, that one’s pretty good from my perspective.” 

“Keep trying, Ezra,” you laugh, you can’t maintain your fake look of exasperation when he’s smiling at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners and looking at you with such a mischievous grin. 

“Oh I’ll keep trying, biscuit,” he winks, “I’ll win you over soon enough.” 

He steps away to grab a pastry brush, and as you whisk the batter you watch him coat the inside of the ramekins with melted butter. He struggles a bit at first when the first ramekin starts sliding across the workbench, but you quickly grab a kitchen towel, wetting it under the tap before spreading it out on the counter for him to put the ramekins on. 

“You’re just full of bright ideas, pumpkin,” he smiles gratefully as you go back to the double boiler. 

“I have my moments,” you chuckle and you feel his eyes on you as you continue to whisk the batter. 

“You have more than a few moments, I think you have everything,” he says after a little while, his voice low and sincere. It’s ladened with something deeper and it makes you take your eyes off the batter and look up at him. He’s looking back at you, smiling, but there’s another layer to his eyes, like he’s smiling through a memory. A strange mix of regret and sadness flashes across his face, gone, as quickly as it appeared, and his smile grows wider, you realize it’s not reaching his eyes this time. But as you open your mouth to say something, he speaks first, turning back to the ramekins. 

“What’s the next step, boss?” he asks, his voice back to the same cheerful tone he had just a few moments ago, and you’re certain you can see the mask come up this time. But you don’t challenge him, he’s hiding something, or at least there’s something he doesn’t want to share. So you consult your notes and point him to the egg whites. 

“Use the Husqvarna and make the meringue while I chop the chocolate.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies and gets to work, the whisking made easy this time with the help of the mixer. 

You continue preparing the chocolate batter and when Ezra is done with the meringue, you fold it into the airy egg whites, bringing them together into a light fluffy mixture. Ezra watches you as you drizzle a layer of caramel into the ramekins he’s prepared, leaving him to sprinkle a few flakes of sea salt before you scoop the soufflé batter on top, finishing with him sprinkling another few flakes on the chocolate. 

“Done,” you say, "we make a good team, Ezra.” 

“We do, and you’ve made this one handed fool very happy, letting him finally get to taste these soufflés again,” he says as you laugh and shake your head. 

“No early victories, please! We still have to bake them and you know how fickle soufflés are.” You take the oven tray you’ve placed the ramekins on and carefully move them into the oven, turning down the heat. 

“With this team?” Ezra chuckles, “I have all the faith in the world, cherry pie.” 

“Better,” you smile at him as you watch him wipe down the workbench and then turn to jump up to sit on it. 

“Better?” His eyebrows quirk up as he grins and holds out his hand for you, “Am I getting warm with my names?” 

You jump up on the workbench and sit next to him, shaking your head, “No, I just find the man using them more agreeable.” 

Ezra smiles, his dark eyes glinting as he turns to you, “You didn’t find me agreeable when I first arrived at your bakery?” 

“Not…un-agreeable,” you say, thinking out loud and studying his face, the bright blonde patch of hair over his forehead curling with the heat in the kitchen, as are the unruly strands of hair around his neck, patchy beard over his jaw and cheeks, his mouth twitching up in a smile as he waits for you to continue. 

“Just…hard for me to place? What you wanted. And why you were always looking at me,” you say and Ezra’s smile softens. 

“I looked, because you’re beautiful.” 

He says it so simply, no flourish, no fanfare or exaggeration. Just a statement as he keeps his eyes locked on yours, no smile, no grin, just his face, quietly scanning yours for a reaction. 

You lift your hand and lightly touch his cheek, fingertips tracing his jaw, the short hairs of his beard, tickling under your caress as he slowly exhales. 

He leans his face into your palm, your thumb soothing over the lines at the corners of his eyes as they close, and he lets a small sigh slip out, his warm breath tickling your wrist. Your thumb caresses his cheek while you study his face, the dark eyelashes casting shadows and his features soft, relaxed in a way you haven’t seen since he first showed up. He looks younger as you gently explore his lines with your fingertips and let them melt into softness under your touch. 

A quiet hum escapes him as he tilts his head and lets your hand slip over his jaw and back to his neck. The curls are soft, wayward, and wrap easily around your fingers as you lean forward. The plush swell of his bottom lip is irresistible and you press your mouth carefully against it. 

Ezra’s eyes fly open as your lips meet, his eyes dark and smiling. His hand comes up and gently mirrors your own, cupping your cheek as he presses his lips against yours in return. As you close your eyes, you feel his warm palm hold you steady and you part your lips, the tip of his tongue meeting yours, tasting him. His touch is soft, both his hand and his lips, making warmth spread through your body as he pulls you closer.  

He kisses you like he’s trying to learn how to read you, studying your reaction to how his lips mold against yours as he tastes your tongue under his. Each moan he pulls from you makes him come back to pull it from you again, running his tongue over the same spot, nipping on your bottom lip with a gentle tug. You realize you started the kissing, but Ezra quickly takes control, his hand cupping your cheek, keeping you steady as your own hands caress his back, feeling the bunched muscles under his thin shirt, the warmth of his body heating your palms. You can feel his heartbeat against you, your own pulse thrumming under his fingertips as he pulls another moan from you when his hand slips into your hair.  

He groans into your mouth and scoots off the workbench, pulling you with him so that he gains extra height on you. The change in angle lets him wrap his arm around your shoulders and pull you in closer, pressing his lips to yours as your hands slide down his back, dipping into the waistband of his pants, finding the warm skin just under the edge.

With a groan, he pulls back, his hand still curled around the back of your neck, your arms still around his waist. You look up at him but his eyes are closed and he leans down, letting his nose run along yours, caressing your cheek, down your jaw, breathing hot over your skin, while he nuzzles your neck, inhaling deeply. 

“Like chocolate,” he mutters, “and caramel. What I wouldn’t give…” 

He falls silent, his lips pressing against your neck in a searing kiss that makes heat rush through your body, before he pulls back and stands up. 

“I’d tell you your kisses are the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted in this bakery, but I don’t think even I could get away with that comment,” he smiles and you roll your eyes with a giggle. 

“Not even you, Ezra,” you say, “although I’d say it’s a nice effort and that your kisses are just as sweet.” 

“We make a good team,” he smiles, letting his thumb caress your cheek again as you nod. His eyes are still on you and you feel him studying you again, but it doesn’t feel awkward this time, just…breathtaking. Your breath hitches as his eyes slip over your lips, his thoughts clear on his face as the tip of his tongue peaks out. He’s the one who leans in this time, watching you close your eyes as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips, his thumb and finger catching your chin. When he pulls away a fraction, you open your eyes again and he’s smiling at you. The oven timer is beeping in the background and you hadn’t even noticed, his soft lips distracting you both from the insistent sound. 

“I’ll get the timer, you get the soufflés,” he whispers and you nod slowly as he smiles and presses another soft kiss to your lips. 

“Now, my sweet cherry pie, or we’ll have a very flat dessert.” 

You smile back at him and grab the oven mitts and follow him to the oven. 

This next step is crucial, carefully you open the door and slide out the tray. They’ve risen perfectly but as soon as they’re out of the oven they start cooling down and soon they’ll sink. You set the tray down on the workbench and Ezra brings over two dessert spoons. His face is beaming at the sight of the soufflés, sniffing as the warm chocolate scent fills the kitchen. 

“They smell even better than the ones I made,” he grins as you slide a ramekin over to him. 

“A team effort, Ezra,” you smile, “your recipe, our skill.” 

“Your hands, luckily,” he replies, holding up his first spoonful of soufflé as if he’s toasting you, and you clink your spoon against his before you both have your first taste. 

The flavor is rich in your mouth but the texture is light and airy, a small hint of sal de mer hitting your tongue as you hum around the taste. Ezra’s eyes are closed, his head tilted back as he sucks on the spoon, a low rumble coming from his chest as he savors the chocolate. 

“My sweet soufflé,” he smiles, looking down at you through half closed eyelids, “this…this…is heaven.” 

He digs his spoon in, and gets some of the caramel too, taking another mouthful as he groans again. You copy him and make sure to get both caramel and soufflé on your spoon for your next bite, and Ezra was right, the combination is flawless. You sigh around your spoon, slowly sucking the caramel off it as the chocolate melts in your mouth. Ezra is watching you with dark eyes and a small smile, his own spoon forgotten in his hand. 

“I’d bake for you every day, no matter how much I’d struggle, if I could hear you make that sound again,” he says and it makes you laugh, giggling as he grins. He takes another spoonful of soufflé, smiling as he eats it, some of it catching on his mustache and you point at it. 

“You got some chocolate on your beard there.”

Ezra removes the spoon from his mouth and gives you a sly smirk, “I’m sure I won’t be able to reach it with my tongue, why don’t you help me?”. 

The tone of his voice, the mischief it promises, makes hot energy shoot through your nerves, your skin tingling as you put down your spoon and step closer to him. He’s looking down at you, his eyes full of mirth as you take his chin between your thumb and finger, tilting his head down towards you. He comes willingly, a small smile still lingering, and he’s so close, his hand finding its way to your waist. 

“Can you reach it,” he asks in a low voice and you nod, locking eyes with him. They’re the same rich brown as the soufflé, just as warm and soft right now, as you lean in and run your tongue over the corner of his mouth, finding the errant smudge of chocolate. Catching the edge of his mouth between your lips, you lap at the sweet taste. His hand bunches up your shirt and as you run your tongue over the seam of his mouth, he parts it easily, letting you in. He tastes of the dessert and you know he can taste the same on you. 

“I think you got it,” he mumbles, grinning, against your lips as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer. 

“I need to make absolutely sure, can’t let you leave with chocolate all over your mouth,” you smile between kisses. 

“You take such good care of me, honey.” 

“That one’s a winner, Ezra,” you mumble, I’ll keep that one.” 

He chuckles, his lips pulling up in a grin under yours as he kisses you again, “But it’s too ordinary, for such an extraordinary woman.” 

“I like it, especially when it comes from you, you’re extraordinary enough for the both of us.” 

Ezra tugs you closer, making you sigh into him as he buries his face against your neck, pressing a kiss against the soft skin before he rests his head on your shoulder. 

“What am I going to do with you,” he says, more a statement than a question, his hand caressing your back, sliding up into your hair, cupping around your neck, “What am I going to do with myself.”

He slowly begins to sway, moving you back and forth in a slow dance without music. 

“I need to leave soon, but I don’t want to,” he mumbles, gently spinning you around as you let your hand rest on his shoulder, the one missing his arm, “I have to leave this warm kitchen, your tender kisses, this sweet nest you’ve built for us.” 

He spins you again, moving your body slowly with his own. 

“This home you’ve created for someone like me.” 

Before you can ask what he means he steps back, taking your hand in his, and with a flourish and bow, he kisses the back of it, making you smile.  

“I am afraid, my sweet baker girl, that it is time for my departure, I will steal no more hours from you,” he says, letting go of your hand and taking his coat from the hook by the kitchen door, shrugging it back on, the empty sleeve hanging limp by his side. The other arm he hooks around your waist and leads you back out to the shop, towards the door. 

“Ezra, it’s pouring outside,” you say, seeing the rain slick street outside, the asphalt shining black under the streetlights, “Let me at least give you a lift home, you’ll get soaked. Where do you live?” 

“No, it’s no trouble, honey pie, my car is parked just a block away. And unlike you, my sweet thing, I am not made of sugar, a little rain won’t melt me,” he grins. 

A twinge of regret hits your heart as you see the mask so clearly come up over his face again, the dark eyes shifting into something less open, the softness fading away even as he smiles at you.

“Do you have to leave?” you ask as he opens the door, and he turns, resting his back against the frame of the door. 

“The illusion has to break,” he says softly, raising his hand and running the back of it over your cheek, giving you a small wink, but the mischief doesn’t reach his eyes this time. 

“What does that mean, Ezra?” you ask but he just shakes his head, leaning forward and pressing his lips to yours. 

“Take care of my soufflé recipe, sweet girl,” he mumbles, pulling back and giving you a crooked smile. Then he turns and hurries across the street, the rain splashing around his shoes as he pulls his collar up and disappears into the darkness between the streetlights. 

…

The bell of the front door jingles just as you’re sweeping the floor, and as you look up, you spot Barbara from the dry cleaner across the street stepping into the shop. 

“Hi, you’re still open this late?” she asks, shaking out her platinum blonde box dye curls and you internally sigh, Barbara is the neighborhood chatterbox and you just want to go home, it’s been a long day. But you put on a smile and continue sweeping.

“I’m just getting ready to leave, what’s up?” 

“I meant to come earlier but I’ve been so busy. I just wanted to warn you in case he comes by here too,” she says, eyes scanning your bakery as if she’s looking for someone.

“Who?” you ask and she turns back to you. 

“There’s a man, you’ve probably seen him, shifty looking guy, he only has one arm, and a weird blonde patch in his hair. He’s been around to all the shops in this neighborhood. I saw him outside your place earlier today.”  

“What about him?” you ask, keeping your voice neutral as you duck down and wipe a shelf that’s already been cleaned, hiding your face. 

“He’s been conning business into giving him free stuff all week, food, clothes, shoes,” Barbara says, wrinkling her nose in disgust at the very nerve of asking for something for free. “Mr. Mason even gave him a haircut and trimmed his beard, how he dared to do that I don’t even know. I wouldn’t even let him into the dry cleaners, you can’t trust people like that.” 

You’re listening, your hand cleaning the same spot over and over as lead settles in your stomach. 

“H-how do you know that?” you ask, moving to the coffee machine, rubbing it down with your back to her. 

“Mrs. Levinson told me that Fanny, you know Fanny, in the flower shop?”

“Yeah, I know here, what did she say?” you ask impatiently, yanking at the milk nozzle, and you hear Barbara scoff behind you. 

“Well, apparently, this man, he told Mr. Olson at the hardware store, that he lost his arm in a construction accident, but Mrs.Saqib’s husband works at the hospital and he said this guy came in last year with a gunshot wound, all infected and nasty. And that’s how he lost his arm,” she snorts, cackling to herself. 

You continue to clean the machine, the heavy weight in your stomach turning to nausea, trying to keep your breathing steady as Ezra’s warm smile floats up inside your mind. 

“He told the police he got shot at a poker game and it was an accident but I reckon he’s lying,” Barbara continues, “men like that, you never know what they get up to, a real nasty piece of work I think.” 

“Thanks Barbara,” you snap, “I really need to close up and get home, thanks for telling me, I’ll be careful if I see him.” 

You usher her to the door as she huffs at the abrupt interruption to her gossip session but you can’t get her out fast enough, slamming the door harder than necessary and giving her a strained smile through the window as she waves. 

You hurry back to the kitchen, the ramekins still on the workbench and Ezra’s spoon next to them, just where he’d put it before he kissed you no more than a little while ago. You can’t even look at it, pulling your coat off the hook, you rush out through the back door and into the rain. 

Early next morning, long before the rest of the world is awake, you’re back at the bakery after a sleepless night. No matter how little rest you got, the bakery has to open, and for it to open, you need to bake. Familiar motions of the early hours, a chance to stop your mind from spinning, it feels like a small relief today. The thoughts of Ezra in your tired mind won’t let your head relax and as you walk up to the back steps you almost miss the envelope pushed under the door. 

You unlock the door and slip out the note inside while you step inside. The piece of paper is folded in an uneven line and as you smooth it out you see the unsteady handwriting of someone who’s writing with the wrong hand. 

I know what they say about me, the gossip, the rumors, and I confess, most of it is true. I’m sorry. I wish I was a different man, I wish I could offer you something, anything, but I have nothing to give to anyone.  

I did tell you the truth in the end though. You captivate me. You will always be my most cherished memory. That will always be true. 

Always yours, 

Ezra 

Part Six

Two links this time, one to the NYT recipe and one to the wonderful Claire Saffitz's making the souffles if you want to attempt them yourselves. I've added the caramel and sea salt though, as an extra layer of Ezra ☺

Tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @vabeachazn

#Youtube

[gay-dorito-dust]

Can i request headcandons of the spiderverse Boys with a shy nurse reader who is constantly tired? Being nurse and spider person is a physically and mentally demanding job and i think that would be nice see more spiderverse content, but if u don't want to make this request i understand

A/n: I’m sorry Most of these are either short cuz I didn’t know what to put for them or come across as a carbon copy of the other in due to me not knowing what to put there instead🤣

Miles sympathises with you wholeheartedly.

Trying to find a healthy balance between being a nurse -an intensive and highly demanding profession- and being a hero was definitely a challenge that had detrimental affects upon one’s mental and physical health.

Miles would affirm you with his words of praises and encouragement all the while holding you tightly, wilfully being your personal pillow/recharging station that often times he’d catch you fall asleep against him because his presence was that warm and comforting to you that it lulled you into a peaceful sleep.

Miles deeply admires your dedication to saving people not only as hero but also within the medical field. But he often does worry that you work yourself to the bone trying to find a way to perform both tasks without having them overlap one another.

There do come days where it all becomes a bit too much as your body grows sick and tired of your constant negligence and choose it’s way of rebelling by refusing you any sort of mobility of your limbs. Your mental state also tanks which only made your want to move even harder as you didn’t even have to willpower to make it so.

Miles would be a major source of comfort during these moments as he would remind you of all the achievements and accomplishments you’ve made during your tenure as both hero and Nurse. He’d probably have his music on as background noise whilst he’s taking the time and effort in making sure you’re as comfortable as possible.

Things he most often says are;

‘You have done so many amazing things and your only just getting started! How cool is that?!’

‘You’re an inspiration to not only the people you save on a daily basis but your also an inspiration to me as well that I even made art about you. Here, take a look!’

‘Don’t beat yourself up over this, you always get back up and hit them twice as hard because that’s what my y/n does, for my y/n ain’t no quitter, they’re a fighter.’

‘Bad days come to pass because the better ones always remain.’

‘Rest, I’ll take over from here.’

‘You’re not alone in this because I’m not going anywhere, I’ll be right here to catch you when you need me to.’

Pavitr would, If you let him, smother you in affection and cuddles but to the right amount so it doesn’t cross the border where it could potentially get annoying.

Which with Pav, it never does because his hugs and cuddles were the best and yet to be topped by anything or anyone because they are superior.

Plus they brought you warmth and comfort that you can’t help but bury yourself into his neck after a shit day in hopes of forgetting all about it as his hand rubs your back soothingly whilst also fighting the urge to just fall asleep then and there.

Also this lad would just spoil you with small gifts as to show his appreciation for you even though he does so quite eloquently enough with his words and his actions that this was merely the cherry on top.

Due to Pavitr being more able to read people then most, he’d notice the indicators within you that told him you weren’t feeling your best and he would make sure to take you to his favourite places within Mumbattan in hopes that it’ll help you by even just a little bit. After all he’s aware of the concept that fresh air and a change of pace were beneficial to a better mental health, and all he wants was for you to feel better, even if it was by a little that would mean a whole lot to him.

Hobie would want you to have a change of scenery from the hustle and bustle you subjugate yourself to on an daily basis to somewhere less noisy and loud within any aspect.

Sure it’s not his kind of scene but for you and how much work you put on yourself just to come home, looking as though any minute you were going to collapse? It was worth seeing you gradually become more relaxed and at peace to the point you fall asleep against his shoulder and he has to carry you back home.

again Hobie didn’t care since he knew how much sleep you missed out on and would not hesitate to get you a few days off if he feels as though you workplace was taking the piss out of you by thinking you were expendable.

He ain’t having none of that shit when it came to you.

Hobie wasn’t about to let you work yourself to the bone and not get a single thanks nor your flowers for busting your ass.

You tell him that it doesn’t bother you as you were doing what your job entails but Hobie more or less your backbone within these sorts of situations because he didn’t want you being taken advantage of just because you were ‘hard working.’ Not to say you aren’t but Hobie was more then well aware that this was often the excuse given when some shit stain wanted to offload their work onto someone else for personal gain.

It was always the ones who worked the least or didn’t work at all that got the appraisal and the promotions.

So Hobie would always and I mean ALWAYS praise you for everything you’ve done for he doesn’t believe you hear it enough for his liking.

Also he’s great with advice so when the days were particularly rough, he’d probably drop a bit of sage advice in regards to any aspect that you were finding hard to cope with like; ‘while the aspiration to save everyone is admirable; it’s unrealistic. For you’re setting yourself up to traverse down a road where instead of pointing out the problem, you are made to believe that you are the problem. Instead of trying to save everyone, focus on saving one person at a time for that one person could be someone else’s everything.’

Being the absolute secret sweetheart that he is, Miguel would try and help take the weight off of your shoulders and make your life a whole lot more easier by performing small acts of service that he knows you’ll greatly appreciate.

Even if it was the minuscule things such as; making you your favourite beverage, setting up a relaxing bath/ shower. fluffing up the pillows, smoothing the creases out of the duvet, cooking your favourite food since you always tell him that one of the things you always loved coming home to was the smell of his cooking. Hell do it all if it made you happy.

Miguel defiantly pampers you on the days where you felt more fatigued from your dual jobs. He doesn’t want you to do anything for you’ve already done enough to warrant yourself some much needed rest.

He lives to serve his beloved and would reject your requests to help him by planting kisses to your lips until you ultimately accept his pampering with little to no complaint.

If you were in the spider society, he’d give you time off because he’s the boss and all and if you were to go against his request for you to take time for yourself, he’d threaten to double it even though he was seriously considering it with how obvious tightroping two jobs was negatively effecting you.

Miguel doesn’t want you to overwork yourself but will overwork himself…what a hypocrite.

Soft Miguel is only soft with you.

#hobie brown atsv #atsv hobie #spiderman atsv x you #spiderman: atsv #atsv x reader #spiderman atsv imagines #spiderman atsv imagine #spiderman atsv x reader #spiderman atsv fic #spiderman atsv #spiderverse x reader #spiderverse imagine #spiderverse x you #spiderverse imagines #miles morales x reader #miles morales x you #miles morales imagines #pavitr prabhakar x you #pavitr prabhakar x reader #pavitr prabhakar imagine #hobie x y/n #hobie brown imagine #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown imagines #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara imagines #hobie brown x you #hobie brown fluff #hobie x reader

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 13, Uncomfortable - Pt. 3

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language,

Word Count: 374

Previously On...: You've realized this situation with Bucky and Jade can not go on. After checking the Tower's systems, the only thing you've found that Jade's been looking through is Bucky's old records.

A/N: Another shortie; sorry! I'm a Hudson River Girl, so I LOVE the Hudson River School, and Church is particularly close to my heart. This is the painting in question.

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

Taglist: (Please let me know if you’d like to be added!) @jmeelee @cazellen @blackhawkfanatic @les-sel @marcswife21 @buckybarnessimpp @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @erelierraceala @hayjat @capswife @itsteambarnes @jupiter-107 @marygoddessofmischief @sebastians-love @learisa @lethallyprotected @rabbitrabbit12321 @buckybarnesandmarvel @fanfictiongirl77 @calwitch @fantasyfootballchampion @selella @jackiehollanderr @wintercrows @sashaisready @missvelvetsstuff @angelbabyyy99 @keylimebeag @maybefoxysouls @vicmc624 @sashaisready @j23r23 @wintercrows @crist1216 @cjand10 @doublejeon @pattiemac1

You made your way back to your room, trying to decide what you wanted to do for dinner, and assuming you’d be on your own for it. By now, you and Bucky were supposed to be dining along the Hudson River, getting ready to drive out into the mountains for your stargazing. Instead, he’d be sitting at Jade’s bedside and you’d be wondering how much longer you were gonna put up with this shit, as Sam so eloquently put it.

When you entered your room, you gasped. Propped up against the foot of your bed was a canvas painting– Frederic Edwin Church’s Moonlight in the Tropics, from his Twilight in the Tropics series– with a red bow stuck to the corner. You’d been a fan of the Hudson River School of painting since the first time Tony took you to see an exhibition years ago, and Church was your favorite by far. 

You slowly approached the canvas, almost afraid to get too near it. The last time it had gone up at auction, you knew it had fetched over $1.2 million. This had to be a reproduction. Tentatively, you reached out a hand and delicately traced a fingertip over the brushstrokes. If it was a reproduction, it was damned good. 

You gently pried off the bow to find a note. In Tony’s messy scraw, you read:

‘I’m so sorry, Pocket. I never should have dragged your personal business in front of the team like that. I hope you can forgive me.

Tony.

PS- Yes, the it’s real deal’

You sighed and shook your head. Tony fucking Stark. You pulled out your phone.

>> You’re a fucking dumbass.

IronBossMan: Apology accepted, I take it?

>> You’re lucky you’re family.

IronBossMan: Yes, I am. Very much so.

>> How’s Rhodey?

IronBossMan: Good. Stable. Hasn’t woken up yet, but Banner’s hopeful for a full recovery.

>> Good. I’m glad.

IronBossMan: Me, too.

>> Goodnight, Boss.

IronBossMan: Goodnight, Kiddo.

You’d have to get the tools necessary to hang it up in the morning. For now, you propped it up on your desktop. Crawling onto your couch, you tucked your knees under your chin and held them to your chest while you stared at the painting. Not his most expensive apology, but far more meaningful to you than the Ferrari. 

<- Previous Part / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

[criminalskies]

rome help i'm gonna be writing a hotch x oc fic and i really don't know how to characterise hotch

how do you and other writers do it so well sob

hi sweetheart!! first of all WOOHOOOOOO that’s so exciting! oc fics are so darn fun. I really hope you first and foremost enjoy the writing, since that’s what all this is really about 😊.

now, for me to characterise hotch. (This is the part where I might sound a little bit unhinged or unhealthy but it works for me) I have spent a LOT of time the last year or two maladaptive daydreaming about hotch and I in all types of scenarios so I basically have this voice for him I can play in my head really clearly 💀 so when I’m writing hotch dialogue I will always read it back to myself in his ‘voice’ in my mind and see if it *feels right* but a few rules Aaron hotchner tends to live by:

- he is grammatically profound. he speaks so eloquently every statement is just so crisp and clear cut and there’s no two ways to slice it. he is the most concise speaker ever!! so I try not to mince his words.

- hotch is so GENUINE. he doesn’t lie unless it’s to protect your wellbeing and he cares so deeply and truly and earnestly. If you’re in with hotch, you’re in forever. No ifs or buts.

- I personally believe he *does* get flustered. In the right situation with the right person he can get stuttery or unsure particularly in romantic settings but he is still as honest and as straightforward as ever.

but the truth is just have fun!! My hotch is different to my friends’ hotch who’s different to your hotch. You’ll find him as your stories progress and you try different emotions and scenes. You’re gonna do great. I’m sure he will be every bit as enamouring and beautiful when you write him. Good luck honey!!

#rome’s got mail! #Rome gives advice #aaron hotchner #rome’s rambles #anon mail!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Snake Eyes 2

Warnings: noncon coercion, manipulation. Proceed with caution.

Note: thanks all for reading and I hope you’re excited for this one. All feedback is more than welcome and loved and appreciated. Reblogs are most helpful.

Part of The Club AU

You go up to the Cobra Lounge, a large bottle of top shelf vodka in hand. It’s one night. You can handle dealing with rich pricks and carrying around liquor. It’s only really demeaning to put your bar training to waste. Worst, you know it won’t make the night easy for Thor.

In the private room, with its full wall of windows looking down onto the dance floor, you find three men. One sits on the leather couch, knees wide as he strokes the hair along his upper lip; another reclines on the armchair, his feet up on the ottoman as he scrolls on his phone, combing his fingers through his short hair over and over; and the third stands by the windows, like a villain at the apex of Gotham, about to unleash his sinister plot.

“Ah, there she is,” the mustachioed one on the couch sits forward and smirks. His shirt is unbuttoned low on his chest, enough to give a generous view of his pecs.

“She’s new,” the one on his phone comments, not even looking up.

“Disappointing,” the third says to the window, “I rather liked Danica.”

“Was that her name?” The second one scoffs.

“What are you even doing here, Drysdale?” The man on the couch clucks, “you can watch porn at home.”

“I’m doing important business,” he second, Drysdale snarls and blackens the screen of his phone, “market doesn’t stop.”

“Not tonight,” the third warns, “Hansen, what do you think?”

Hansen, in his satin shirt, stands and struts over to the window to gaze out with the other man. You find glasses along the private bar and go about your task. Rich men are rarely easy to serve or please. Nor do they bother to return the favour, in your experience.

“Well, Pine, I don’t see any tens. Maybe a few eights…. Eight and a half tops,” Hansen snickers.

You hide your discomfort as you serve the man still sitting. He accepts his drink with a terse point to the coaster at his elbow. You put the glass there and approach the other. The taller of the two, with the lilt in his voice, thanks you, as the other, Hansen, barely looks at you.

“Gentlemen,” Loki enters as you leave the vodka on the bar. The men paid for the bottle. “Shall we begin?”

“You know, you promised us the pick of the lot,” Hansen pivots and crosses an arm over his chest, his other bent as upward as he smooths his mustache, “not much to pick from if you ask me.”

“Don’t pretend you’re so picky,” Drysdale spouts from his seat, lighting up his phone to check the notifications.

You don’t say a word. You’re not there to tell the douchebags to shut up. You move towards the door but Loki stays in your path. He points you backward.

“Darling, stay,” he demands, lowering his voice as he brushes by, “and do put a smile on.”

You turn and remain by the door as he strides inside. He fits easily among the group. He nears the man at the window, Pine, you think, and scans the crowd below.

“It is early,” Loki insists, “be patient. As it were, you did say there were matters of import to discuss.”

“Matters of import,” Hansen snorts, “this one always sounds like he’s giving a speech from the throne.”

“Ah yes, however I may sound,” Loki spins, “at least I haven’t a broom upon my lip.”

The men sneer at each other. A tension thickens in the air but cracks in an instant as both of the issues manufactured laughter. Ugh, you would much rather be working behind the bar.

“Darling,” Loki gestures to you demandingly. Shit.

You get him a glass of vodka, on the rocks with soda, as you were instructed before you came up. You bring it to him as he lets himself down onto the couch. His eyes meet yours as he does. Hansen rounds the other end of the couch.

“At least she has nice tits,” he picks up his glass, doffing it towards you.

“Mm, always so eloquent,” Loki remarks, but you don’t miss how his eyes drift down before averting completely. You retreat to wait for your next demand.

“Ugh, is this Smirnoff?” Drysdale whines.

“It is on the house,” Loki girds.

“I have money,” he retorts but drinks the vodka without further complaint.

“Otherwise you’d not be here for the big boy talk,” Lloyd retorts, “so let’s get into it. Is this about LA or Miami?”

Loki hums as he sips from his glass. Pine comes to stand behind the couch, tearing his attention from his inspection of the dancers below. Drysdale wiggles his phone between his fingers impatiently.

“Not so far as that,” Loki affirms, “these very walls. An expansion.”

“Which has what to do with us?” Hansen swirls his ice noisily.

“Well, there was some previous talk of investment and I would need a contractor as well,” he looks between the two men sat nearest to him, “and of course, PR.”

The men nod and each sink into a thoughtful lull. You watch dully, unconcerned with the venture, wishing only to be done with listening to their ego stroking.

As you hold back a yawn, your eyes meet a pair of green ones. Loki watches you, tilting his head as you force a smile. He returns his attention to the others.

“This isn’t a funeral,” Loki chides, “it should be a celebration, no?”

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #snake eyes #loki x reader #drabble #au #series #mcu #marvel #avengers

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

'Fit for a King' - WIP - “If you have had me on my back, we can also be on a first name basis” (König POV)

Fit for a King - Masterlist

König is talking to Ridgeback that he doesn’t want fem!sergeant Müller on the next – her first – mission with KorTac, Ridgeback is not having it, so he makes König talk to Müller about it, cue social anxiety meets superiority complex that comes with being this tall and buff, Müller puts him in his place and… what can I say? He’s turned on by that. And it gets them to talk with each other (finally). (2k words)

CW: NSFW, imagining explicit scenes, pervy!König

a/n: I'm still writing scenes whenever I think about them, so there still will be chronological skips and context missing in between, but I'll update the Masterlist in the order that they happen in (also gonna add some general info about the characters to the masterlist soon). This is a scene in his POV as I wanted to give the whole story a dual POV thing in general, I hope you like it! (two chapters are still in the pipeline for today or tomorrow, from Müller's POV again) ((also still working on a way to incorporate the german translations better))

“If you have had me on my back, we can also be on a first name basis”

(NSFW)

“I don’t want her on the mission.”

“She’s going. End of discussion.”

“Fine. But I’ll have to see if she can stand her ground first.”

“Meaning that you’ll actually talk to her?”

Ridgeback can’t see the scowl under my hood.

“Yeah.” What I mean is ‘fuck, no’.

He grins at me.

Ridgeback calls after her in the training room. “Müller, a second of your time?” – “Yes, sir.”, she says stepping away from the weights she was working with. “The Colonel is unsure about your… skills on the battlefield and I was wondering if you could maybe demonstrate something to change his mind.”, he explains. She pulls up her eyebrow and gives me the sideeye. “Didn’t he read my transcript?”, she asks. I don’t say anything, but Ridgeback looks at me, waiting for me to explain myself. I clear my throat. “Uh yeah, I read it, it’s just uh-“ She looks up at me and the words don’t come out my mouth. I feel the heat in my cheeks. “What if like a big guy comes up to you and like… attacks you?” Wow, so eloquent. “You know that I’m a sniper, right? Most of the time I’m not gonna be around any ‘big guys’ except for present company.” God damn it, why did I ever start this topic up? She’s going to make me put my shoe into my mouth or however that saying goes. “Uh yeah, correct, I’m just saying, what IF.” She looks at me like I might be a bit crazy. Maybe I am. She confuses the shit out of me.

Then she shrugs her shoulders. “Okay.” and struts over to the mattresses for combat training and martial arts. I follow her, waiting what she’ll do. “You also read that I’m trained in field combat and Krav Maga?”, she asks again. I totally did not. I laugh it off, not sure if I should take her seriously. She gets in position looking up at me in all her 5’8’’ cuteness. “You ready, big guy?”, she asks me, tauntingly. I cross my arms and shrug. Before I can register her moving, she has gripped me, one hand fisting the fabric of my shirt and the other one latching onto my wrist. Just a moment later I’m in the air.

She flips me. She tosses me over her own back with enough force to move a little Volkswagen. And she actually goddamn flips me. As my body gets slammed into the mattress, my back colliding with the floor, I can feel arousal lick up my spine, making me hard in an instant. “Ah, scheiße1.”, I mutter under my breath. All I want to do is pull her with me – or better even – her trying to hold me down as she gets on top of me. Scenarios flood my brain, smutty and perverted. How she would tie me down, strip me, tease me. Take her seat on my face, make me eat her out. I groan. I would feel her heat on my face, lap at her wetness, take everything she would give me. She would stroke me, edge me with her soft hands and nimble fingers while pressing her pussy into me, maybe she would even try to fit my length into her mouth. She would grind on my lips and tongue, she would let me give her the pleasure she seeks until she comes on my face and I drink up her arousal, her wetness staining my hood.

The imagination alone makes me leak at the tip. Ahja, du kleiner Perversling2. I scold myself in my brain. Has it really been that long since I had a woman? Like, biblically. I guess it has.

She stands over me, setting a foot on my chest, her boot digging into my pecs. “So, can I join you, Colonel?” I’m kind of glad that she didn’t call me by my name just now because I fear that I would have come a bit in my pants. At least a little bit. I raise my hands defensively: “Fine, fine, Müller.” I clear my throat. “You can handle yourself, as you demonstrated just now.” She laughs and the soft and sweet sound taunts me. “I can even handle more than just myself.”, she adds confidently and steps away from me, holding her hand out to help me up.

I resist the urge to pull her down and jump up on my feet again. Now I’m towering over her, a whole foot taller. Oh, to have her run from me as I chase after her, would be so sweet. Hör auf3, the voice in my head fights against the pervy thoughts. Something about her taps into something primal inside me.

Ridgeback’s short clap gets my attention. I almost forgot that he’s still here. “Well, I think this got resolved. See you tomorrow then.” Müller waves goodbye, and I lift my hand too, not able to tear my gaze away from her. She looks back at me and I wish I could’ve just talked normally to her instead of behaving like an ass. I sigh inwardly.

Killing people, turning them to pulp, is easier for me than talking to them. Really talking, not just barking orders. And she makes me feel like for the first time in forever that I wish it was the other way around.

"Would you spot me, Colonel?", she asks me then. I sigh, in- and outwardly this time. "Please, just... call me König.", I tell her. "People who had me on my back already can refer to me on a name basis.", I joke feeling the heat in my cheeks flare up again as I see the confusion on her face. Get a hold of yourself, Mensch4. "Also, I made myself look like a complete ass in front of you, you deserve to let the title slide.", I say further, not stuttering as much as before, and she nods slightly. "So, is that a yes or a no on the spotting, König?", she asks plainly. I swallow down how it makes me feel hearing her say my name in that cute accent of hers and return her nod.

She goes over to the weight rack and starts to fit plates onto a barbell. I help her by lifting the barbell from the ground to give her easier access. She’s satisfied with 50 kilos on each side and then goes to lift it up the squatting rack. Oh, she’s going to do squats. With 120 kilos. I’m so double fucked.

“You ready?” I nod and stand behind her holding out my arms. I’m a head taller than her, so I can look at myself in the mirror in front of us as she is not obstructing my view. My eyes are on her again though. She has wide black training pants on, but her hips don’t leave much to the imagination. Her torso is clad in a compression shirt, with a sports bra underneath. Everything is covered up, tightly packed to not be hindering while working out. Yet in my mind it looks like the sexiest thing anybody could ever wear. And that is before she starts to squat right in front of me. I curse under my breath and push away the pervy thoughts. Just be normal for once. She doesn’t need you lusting over her right now, after you just insulted her like that.

I follow her movements hovering my arms beside her, ready to take off the weight if it’s necessary. But she’s squatting the weight no problem. After a few reps she sets the barbell down on the rack again. “Okay, I think, we can add some more plates.”, she says already hefting another 20 up. “Goddamn, you’re squatting more than half the team here.”, I remark. “Really? I’m a bit rusty to be honest.” Rusty? Heilige Scheiße5. She continues: “I wanted to build up strength again because I’m gonna be more actually in the field, but I don’t wanna squat this kind of weight without somebody to spot me.” I nod behind her and she gets ready for the next set. There she is, squatting my body weight like it’s nothing. It’s so fucking attractive to me, I can’t help it.

“Wouldn’t some of the others help you? Spot you?”, I ask as we set down the weight again. My hands stay on the barbell for a moment longer until she meets my eyes in the mirror. “I mean, I talked to Aksel and Nikto a bit, you know, Scandinavians unite, but eh- I didn’t wanna bother them. I think this is the longest interaction I had with anybody in the base. They’re not really talking.”, she explains with a shrug. I hold back a groan. This might be at least partly my fault because of the way I treated her the first few days. “So, I didn’t really have the guts to ask somebody to help me.” She shrugs again, but I see a hint of sadness and apprehension behind them. “But with what you pulled today, I didn’t have those reservations.” She grins at me a little bit.

“I’m sorry.”, I say then, the words sticking to my tongue, not slipping out my mouth easily. It’s not like I don’t feel sorry, I really do. I’m just not one to apologise easily. “Don’t worry about it.”, she tells me. “You’re not the first superior to doubt my abilities.” I feel a pang in my chest. Yeah, yeah, I can be a bit of an asshole, but it’s just setting in now how the whole situation must make her feel. And I want to take it all back. “Yeah, I… I know how it must look like right now from your point. I’m sorry really. I was an asshole about my doubts and I went about it in the most jerk way.” She turns around, her hands on her waist as she looks up at me like ‘Are we really still talking about this?’. The sass.

“It’s okay, Col- König. I accept your apology.”, she reiterates. She must see the doubt in my eyes because she says, with emphasis: “Really.” – “Okay. Schwamm drüber6.”, I say and extend my hand. She takes it and shakes it. Even through the thin fabric of my gloves I can feel the warmth of her palm and it makes me wish I wasn’t wearing any to feel her skin on mine.

“I’d head to dinner now. You wanna join me?”, she asks. “I get it if you can’t, you know, rank and all.” I scoff. “Nobody is asking for our ranks when we’re knee-deep in mud next week, so forget all about that.” She grins at my answer and jogs to the hallway. I follow her with big strides. “I don’t even know why they made me Colonel.”, I tell her as we walk down to the mess hall. She giggles and the sound makes me feel all floaty. And I kick myself again – in my mind – for not just talking to her. Or maybe just ask her to train with me. Instead of making it seem like I’m out to get her. “Maybe your reputation? And of course, the unique set of skills.”, she suggests. “I have a reputation?”, I’m surprised. “Yeah, kinda.” We enter the mess hall and get in line for a plate of beef stew. “Like what?”, I want to know as I stand just a foot behind her. “I’d rather not say.”, she evades. “Also, I don’t think that that’s who you are.”

“What do you think I am then?”, I ask her as we sit down. Other people are already here and I see a few surprised faces, including Horangi’s. “Really really big.” She laughs and I chuckle with her. “That’s just because you’re so small.”, I counter. “Psh. It’s not about the size.” I can see a hint of mischief sparkling in her eyes as she says that. Was that innuendo? “It’s not?”, I tease her. She leans forward and whispers like we’re sharing a secret: “If I were you, I wouldn’t be so cocky about it. Even a mouse can fell a tree, if she only knows how to.” I laugh at her remark. “Touché.” – "Maybe that could be my callsign: Mouse.", she jokes. "I like that.", I say fully grinning behind my mask.

scheiße: shit

ahja, du kleiner Perversling: uh-huh, you little pervert

hör auf: stop it

mensch: literally 'human being', in this context more of an exesperated 'dude!'

heilige scheiße: holy shit

Schwamm drüber: literally 'sponge over it', meaning let's forget about it

#könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig mw2 #könig x fmc #könig fanfiction #cod mw2 smut #könig smut #konig smut #cod smut #könig pov

[engie-ivy]

(Last day of August, just in time for a @wolfstarmicrofic August prompt!)

Bonus: S'mores

917 words

Happy Camper

“I’m sorry,” Dora says for about the hundredth time.

Remus just glares at her.

Dora tries to look guilty, but she has to bite her lip not to laugh.

Around them, hyperactive and overly excited children are running around, while a surprisingly cheery bus driver is trying to get a whole pile of backpacks into the bus’s luggage compartment.

Remus himself is carrying a bag of his own, rethinking the events that got him in this situation.

Dora and he were attending a meeting hosted by the Parents’ Committee at Teddy’s school, and Molly Weasley had been assigning tasks to all reluctantly volunteering parents. They had both managed not to get any tasks assigned to them, and Remus had been hopeful he was going to dodge the bullet, when they arrived at the last item.

The yearly camping trip.

They needed one more parent to supervise the children while out camping in the woods by the lake for a week. While everyone in the room was hoping that not making eye contact with Molly might prevent her from seeing you, Dora had loudly exclaimed “Remus, didn’t you tell me you used to be in the boy scouts?”

Remus did in fact tell her this, because he was telling her how he quit after two meetings because he had hated it so much, and how he detested the concept of ‘going back to basic’. But before he got a chance to say any of this, Molly had already smiled and said “Excellent”, while noting Remus’ name down on her clipboard. And everyone knows, once you’re on the clipboard, there’s no getting off anymore.

Some boys run past them, one carrying a pocket knife and one somehow already having lost his shoes.

“I can’t believe you did this to me,” Remus says.

Dora grimaces watching the boy run away with the knife. “I truly didn’t mean to,” she says. “I genuinely just remembered you once having said something about the boy scouts, and I spoke before I could think.”

Remus scoffs. “I’m not letting you off the hook that easy! Forcing me into this nightmare. It’ll take more than sorry for me to forgive you.”

Remus hasn’t decided yet how long he’ll wait before forgiving Dora. It’ll probably depend on how disastrous this week is going to be.

Dora is his... Well, she started out as his one night stand, then she got pregnant, and became the mother of his son. Gradually, she also became one of his closest friends. Neither of them ever had feelings for the other beyond friendship, though, save for that one night of blatant sexual attraction.

Dora rolls her eyes. “You’re being awfully dramatic, Remus. But alright. I guess I do owe you a bottle of wine, the good stuff, alright?”

Remus is about to reply, when a voice interrupts.

“Excuse me, are you Teddy’s dad?”

Remus looks up and his jaw drops. A man comes walking towards them.

And what a man.

He’s tall and lean. He has long, dark hair falling elegantly over his piercing silver-grey eyes and a bright smile on his handsome face. He has a duffle bag thrown over one, remarkably broad, shoulder.

“Uh..” Remus says eloquently.

Dora, who was also eyeing the man appreciatively, turns to look at Remus with a knowing smirk.

The man just smiles at Remus. “I believe we’ll be camp counsellors together!”

Remus blinks. “I thought I was paired with Harry’s dad?”

“Ah, yes.” The man runs a hand through his hair. “James has fallen ill, I’m afraid. He asked me to cover for him. I’m Harry’s godfather!” He holds out his hand. “I’m Sirius. The star.” He pauses for a moment, before quickly adding “I mean written as the star! God, can you imagine?” He chuckles. “One Calvin Klein photoshoot and I’d go around introducing myself as ‘the star’. No, I promise it hasn’t inflated my ego that much!”

“I’m Remus,” Remus replies, making a mental note to do a Google search for the most recent Calvin Klein add the moment he gets home.

“Nice to meet you, Remus!” Sirius replies. “James told me you were supposed to share a tent? I hope you won’t mind sharing with me?”

Remus swallows, his throat suddenly a little dry. “No, I don’t mind. Not at all.”

“Great!” Sirius beams at him. “Then we’ll be getting go know each other pretty well the coming week.” He gives Remus a wink, and it should probably be cheesy, but when Sirius does it, it’s just damn attractive.

“Oh!” Sirius exclaims. “And I hope you like S’mores!” He pats his bag. “This is almost completely filled with just chocolate and marshmallows. I hardly brought any clothes,” he admits. “So it’s a good thing I’m probably going to be walking around in my swimming trunks all week anyway!”

“Yeah,” Remus manages to say. “Good thing indeed.”

“Well, if you’ll excuse me,” Sirius says. “I promised James I’d embarrass Harry by loudly telling him his father sends him lots of love and kisses in front of all his friends. See you in the bus?”

“Uh-huh,” Remus says. He watches Sirius walk away, trying to wrap his head around the sudden appearance of a gorgeous Calvin Klein model who will be around him in only his swimming trunks all week and also share a tent with him, while bringing loads of chocolate.

“Well,” Dora says, pulling him from his thoughts. “On second thought, I’d say you owe me that bottle of wine!”

#my tumblr writing #wolfstar microfic #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #nymphadora tonks #devilishly handsome sirius black

[asimmutableasgravity]

paper rings part 2!!!(teacher!spiderdads)

oh my god. hi. this fic has pushed me to 100 followers (after 6 years on tumblr 😭😭) and is my most liked post ever. OHMYGOD

THANK YOU SO MUCH THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE LOVE AND SUPPORT FOR MY SPIDERDADS ENDEAVOURS AND SHGSDFHKGHAKGFHA IM SO GRATEFUL

yes i will be writing the teacher one!! it'll be multi-chapter lelelel but the first chapter shld be out by this week!! pls stick with me *pray hand emoji*

alright so. the first 500 words of the chapter for u guys. bc i love u

thank u all sm

-

Brooklyn Visions Academy is a good school. 

It pays well, there’s a clear path to promotion for him and it’s close enough to his house that he won’t be late when Gabriella forgets her water bottle for school. 

Their gyms are nice too. There's air-conditioning when they do assemblies, and the floors aren't horrendously squeaky. Miguel waits by the side for the principal to finish his announcements and introduce all the new teachers. There are at least seven of them here and pessimistically, he wonders how many of them will make it through the year. 

He wears the blue polo (Read: The one Gabriel hated the least) and he tries to go through what he’s going to do today. After this assembly is his first class. Ask them for their names, go through expectations and start work properly. He’s here to do his job and to do it well. 

“Hi,” The guy beside him speaks. He has brown eyes and brown hair, and he looks like he should be tall, but Miguel has to angle his head down to look at him. He’s wearing an ironed maroon shirt. He smells like hot chocolate. “I’m Peter Parker, you’re one of the new guys too, right?” 

Miguel nods. He has to pick up Gabriella today because her piano lesson got pushed to the weekend. So, he has to make sure that he brings home any materials he wants to look over for the next lesson. Then, he’ll probably pick up pizza, the four-cheese one for Gabriella and a small meat lovers fo him. 

“Are you the other Humanities guy? I teach Literature, so it’s nice to know someone, I guess.” Peter Parker has a face that looks like it should always be smiling. There’s a strand of hair falling onto his forehead. Miguel doesn’t think he would care. “I mean, I hope you are, as long as you don’t teach Economics, 'cause only blood-suckers would teach something that bad.”

Peter Parker apparently doesn’t know how to shut up. 

"I teach Economics." 

The principal gestures for them to get on the stage, and Miguel walks past the shell-shocked Peter Parker. Peter quickly follows, and as the Principal introduces them, he leans in to whisper. 

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you, uh, sorry." Eloquent, for a literature teacher. Miguel fears for the poor literary geniuses who have to be taught by Peter. 

Miguel's name is read out on the screen, and Peter turns around to look at the projection. "So, Miguel, sorry about that, let's start over, get this right." 

The bell rings and the teachers get off the stage, loafers and heels clicking on the veneered wood. Miguel could just walk out of the hall right now and get to his first class, but a tap on his shoulder stops him. 

"I'm Peter Benjamin Parker," He introduces again, a hand outstretched. "I love every subject ever and I am excited to work with you." He lets out a breath after like this was an effort to say. 

Miguel shakes his hand. "I'm Miguel." The sun is streaming into the high windows, and the room is being painted in bright yellows. "I have to go, can't risk getting hit by the sunlight."

Confusion quickly gives way to joy on Peter's face, and Miguel lets himself stand still for an extra second to see Peter's smile before he stalks off.

-

<3

#snippet #can i start tagging this as paper rings #uhhh #not yet . #atsv #itsv #across the spiderverse #into the spiderverse #spiderdads #spiderbite #petermiguel #peter b parker #miguel o hara #spiderman 2099 #spiderman #spiderman fic #teacher!spiderdads

[sprout-fics]

Good morning beautiful friend! Let me tell you, I went through and read every. single. thing. on your master list over the last week or so, and holy guacamole am I obsessed! You write so eloquently ❤️ All of these amazing writers (your lovely self included of course) inspired me to start posting my own writing. I wanted to ask if you had any tips on getting started? Where do I start? What's the best way to get my work viewed, what's the best way to tag stuff? Any other tips? I have some projects I've been working on, but I wanted to ask a few people for some tips before I posted anything. I'll appreciate anything you have to offer. Hope you're having the most amazing day. You deserve someone bringing you surprise flowers, no traffic on your way home, and a lovely breeze to keep you cool 😘

Hello dear! Thank you so much for your lovely ask! I’m so glad you’re enjoying my works, and thank you for reaching out! I’ve written a few posts on writing advice so far, but I’m happy to share more. Here’s some stuff I’ve written already:

Characterization for Characters

General Fandom Writing Advice

How To Conquer Writer’s Block

And here’s a few other posts by some other folks I’ve found helpful:

Writing Inclusively

Writing for Fun

In terms of getting started, here’s some general advice:

Write the stories you want to write. I’ve said this before but I cannot emphasize it enough. I’ve seen so many writer’s get burnt out by chasing trends and changing tastes of their followers, and as a result neglect the stories that are important to them. The best works are the ones that come straight from your heart, and your own personal passions. Ignore fandom trends and stay true to your own inspirations.

Curate your own space. This means creating a blog for your writing, figuring out what you do and do not want on it, who you do and do not want to engage with, and making sure these boundaries are clear to others. A great way to do this is through an FAQ or about post. I have mine linked in my masterlist if you’d like to take a look.

Additionally- find other authors and writers you enjoy, and try to make friends! It helps to have someone to share hobbies and ideas with. Whenever I’m running short of inspiration, I often approach my other writer friends to run an idea by them, and it is extremely helpful. Finding your own community is key.

Tag appropriately. Know common triggers, and be open to folks asking you to tag stuff you perhaps forgot to mention. Some common stuff includes sexual assault, noncon, major character death, specific traumas, self harm, etc. This helps folks filter the stuff they do not wish to see from you.

Use readmore/keep reading. I try to keep my posts pretty short, giving the tags, warnings, summary, header, and a brief intro to the piece. It’s common courtesy to shorten long posts to avoid making others scroll past over 500 words. (I often dismiss fics if they break this rule, and I’m certain others do the same)

Know what to tag and not tag to get your works seen. One thing I’ve noticed about he x reader side of fandoms is that they will spam the main tags, when a lot of folks are not looking for x reader fics. I’ve stopped posting any x reader content in the mw2/cod mw2/modern warfare/mwII tags, or if I do I always include an ‘x reader’ disclaimer so folks can filter it out

Also, in terms of tags, tag only the characters included in your writing. It doesn’t happen often, but I do see folks making a fic and then tagging it as every character under the sun to get it seen. Do not do this. It is spam.

That being said, there’s a bunch of ways to get your works seen. Taking up ideas from other folks (with permission) about headcanons, participating in writing challenges (@glitterypirateduck has a FANTASTIC few writing challenges, and more to come from what I can tell) and simply tagging your works so folks can find them is a great way to get started. Also, feel free to open requests as well. I find a lot of inspiration in folks coming to me with ideas they’d like to see written.

It helps to make your works visually attractive. I spend a lot of time on headers and creating banners for my works. It’s a lot of fun! It also helps you develop a good eye for visual design, which is a useful skill in general. If you are making banners, remember to request permission from artists if you are to use their art in your designs, and respect their wishes if they say no. Also, don’t just find art from Pinterest and include it. Try to find the source and ask there.

Finally, have fun! Writing fic shouldn’t be an obligation, it should be a joy and a gift. If you aren’t having fun, what’s the point?

I know this set of advice is a little scattered, but I hope you found it helpful! Feel free to ask more questions if you’d like. I might come out with some writing tips I’ve found helpful for my own particular style, as well as a guide to some common writing tools/programs/resources I currently use, and have used in the past. I hope this helped!

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing help #Always happy to share advice! Thank you dear! #faq

[elentarial]

Written for @whiteoliphaunt 2023.

Characters: Idril, Turgon, Glorfindel

Words: 1118

Warnings: None

Giftee: @sallysavestheday

Synopsis: Turgon plays a game with Idril to help her adjust to life in Beleriand, but Glorfindel is much better at it than he is.

“And I’ll be the princess, and you can be my knight. But you can’t have serve any  Ladies other than me because Ammë wouldn’t like that. But you can be my protector, you know, so nothing evil will get to me. But they’ll probably have to eventually so you can rescue me.” Idril nodded firmly, bouncing up and down on her toes.

Turgon gave his daughter a wry smile. Occasionally Idril seemed to understand the severity and weight of their flight across the Ice. But other times, such as now, his daughter acted as if her mother was simply visiting a relative for afternoon tea. She was just so young to have experienced everything she had. If playing this silly game gave Idril even a measure of normalcy, Turgon was more than willing.

“Why can’t I be the princess and you be the knight?”

Idril considered this. “Well, I suppose you could be, but I don’t want to be a warrior, and I don’t think you’d make a very good princess, anyway.” She paused and added, “Sorry, Atya.”

“Aww,” he said but grinned to ensure she knew he was jesting. “All right. What are you the princess of, then?”

Idril gave him a look that only a few small elflings could have managed, the one that eloquently expressed just how completely dense she thought grown-ups were. “Nevarast, of course. What a silly question.”

“Well, you could be the princess of all of Beleriand if you wanted, my dear. Like – whatever her name is. The maia’s daughter.”

“Luthien,” Idril supplied promptly. “I hope I get to meet her someday. A real princess. I think we could be very good friends.”

“Who said that you aren’t a real princess?”

“Of course, I’m not a real princess, silly. I’d have to marry a prince, or you would have to be a king.” Idril nearly rolled her eyes, a gesture that she had to have learned from Aredhel. “I just like to pretend to be a princess.”

“But you are a princess,” Turgon said almost enthusiastically. “Your great grandfather was High King of the Ñoldor in Aman.”

“Atar,” said Idril, surprisingly high-handed for her tender years, “This doesn’t have anything to do with our game.”

“I beg my lady’s pardon,” Turgon said and dropped his head in wounded supplication. 

“We’re starting,” Idril announced and struck a pose. “Lord-“ another pause. “Would I call you Lord Turukáno or Lord Atya?”

“Lord Turukáno is fine.”

“All right. Lord Turukáno, then, approach the throne? ---this is the throne,” she said, pointing at the chest she perched on top of. “So that you know.”

“Of course,” Turgon said and approached the throne and knelt – even if he was still several heads taller than his daughter this way. “My lady.” he adopted his most officious voice, something similar to his father’s or grandfather’s, and Idril giggled – “What is your pleasure this day?”

“Good,” she said, pleased, “You’re good at this – I mean. You are meant to report back on the success of your quest.”

“My quest? What was my quest?” Turgon looked up briefly with a perplexed smile. Idril frowned at him.

“I don’t know, you make it up! I shouldn’t have to do everything.”

“Oh,” he said. “I only thought you might have had something in mind-“

“You’re breaking up the story!”

“Sorry.” Turgon ducked his dark head down again. “My – quest, my lady. Of course. The quest – succeeded admirably, though our brave comrade Lord – Lord Laurefindil has-“

“What about me?”

Idril squeaked, then jumped, then beamed. “Glorfindel! I mean – Lord Laurefindil, you may approach the throne – I’m sitting on it. You can be a knight, too! I’ll knight you. Queens can do that, right?”

“I thought you were a princess,” Turgon murmured, offering Glorfindel a glance that said please play along. 

“Well, princesses probably can, too,” Glorfindel allowed. “And what happened to me? What’s this quest?”

“You were mortally wounded,” Turgon said humorlessly, “And I’m getting to the quest's purpose. Try to look a little more mortally wounded, Laure.” Glorfindel promptly flopped to the floor. Idril giggled again. “Now. Our brave comrade Lord Laurefindil has been gravely wounded, but we have brought back the – the rare wild kittens, even though the savage Laiquendi did their best to stop us. Their weapons were no match for our speed and skill.”

“And modesty, too,” Glorfindel murmured, Turgon scowled at him.

“A kitten?” Idril asked. “Why would I want a kitten?”

“Because you like them, Itarildë ” Turgon exclaimed sheepishly and more than a little exasperated. “It was the first thing I could think of. You still like kittens, don’t you?”

“Oh,” Idril said, “All right,” and promptly readjusted to her role. “Say not so, brave Lord Turukáno! Never should our knights have to pay for their bravery with their lives.” She snuck a look sideways. “But he’ll be okay, right?”

“My lady,” Glorfindel announced from his place on the floor- wiggling away from Turgon’s boot when he huffed at Glorfindel’s actions– “The balm of your tears would heal any wound.” Idril stared at him blankly for a few moments and then brightened.

“Oh – oh! Of course, Lord Turukáno-“

“Very formal,” Glorfindel offered, sounding amused.

“Be quiet. You’re supposed to be at death’s door.”

“Does death have a door?”

“Lord Turukáno, I thank you for the wisdom of your council. Now, if only the Valar will help me save this worthy knight!” Idril hopped off the chest and hurried over to Glorfindel, where she sat cross-legged and pretended to cry.

She stopped a few moments later and poked Glorfindel’s shoulder. “Fin? –I mean, Lord Laurefindil?”

Turgon didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he let it out when one of Glorfindel’s blue eyes opened slowly, then the other, and then he was blinking and lifting one hand to his brow as though he were horribly faint. “—my lady,” he said in a voice that was nearly a perfect facsimile of their cousin Canafinwë. Idril jumped to her feet, clapping her hands.

“It worked! It worked!” She pranced over to where Turgon was still kneeling and kissed his cheek. “My brave, brave lords! You are the best knights ever, and if I do marry a prince, then you’ll be my guard all the time.”

“Of course, my love, Turgon said patiently. “That’s just how it’ll always go.”

“Did I walk into something I shouldn’t have?” Glorfindel murmured from the floor, and Turgon shot him a look while Idril scrambled back onto the cedar chest.

“Just go with it,” Turgon mouthed, and Idril knocked her knuckles on the chest.

“Are you listening, Atya- Lords Turukáno and Laurefindil?”

“Yes, milady,” they chimed dutifully and bowed their heads to receive their orders.

#silm fic #turgon #idril celebrindal #glorfindel #White oliphaunt 2023

[insanitysilver]

(Hi, sorry to be awkward and barge into your inbox, but if you’re still giving writing advice, I’m hoping to get an opinion on how to let of my anxiety about writing. But if not, please feel free to ignore.)

A while back, I tried to write my own take on a character backstory for my fandom. The fandom already had a well-known and beloved backstory fic that was recced all the time for the character and that also established much of the standard fanon. So I was very insecure about my version that didn’t use the known canon and instead uses my own ideas. Still, I managed to push through my self-doubt, complete my fic, and post it. But my fic utterly bombed, no one remembers or cares about it, and even though I like the fic, I frequently think about deleting it because of how everyone ignored it and preferred the astronomically more popular fanon-fueled version. (I don’t believe kudos are a measure of quality, but I do believe they’re a measure of how much fandom wants your writing.)

The problem is that whenever I get a fic idea for any fandom at all, if my plotting/brainstorming produces ideas I know go against popular fanon, I feel like I can’t use them, or else my fic will suffer via stats. I constantly worry about if I’m writing the most popular and accepted version of the character, but it’s so frustrating that I can’t include any of my own ideas. This conflict of writing for the audience vs. writing my own ideas constantly paralyzes me, and I generally feel that if I write, the characters will just be cardboard boxes of the standard fanon. Because if I diverge from what’s popular, I might end up with another humiliating flop of a fic that most readers didn’t want or notice, and I’m not sure if I can stand the 2nd realization that I’ve been screaming into void the entire time.

What do I do here? How do I let go of past failures and start concentrating on what I can do, instead of constantly angsting about if I’m wasting my time by writing an idea that doesn’t align with what the fandom itself values?

Firstly, congratulations on publishing your backstory fic! Sounds like you had to fight your anxiety to do so, and that’s always a worthwhile victory!

Let me challenge this: “I do believe [kudos are] a measure of how much fandom wants your writing”. For this to be Good and Proper Science™, we’d need everyone in the fandom do a blind taste test with both usernames redacted and then keep a record of which everyone preferred.

But, that’s not how fics are experienced in the “wild”. Lots of Ao3 users sort by popularity metrics to find fics. Kudos accumulate so older fics have an advantage, and popularity compounds on itself. Readers aren’t making value judgements about you and your work. They just have five minutes to wait at the bus stop, so they whip out their phones and grab from the top of the metrics bag.  It’s really nothing personal.

The median number of kudos on AO3 is 12 (and that’s counting works that have been around forever). I’ve been posting various forms of art on the internet for 10+ years.  Most never found an audience. 1 note, 5 notes, 0 notes, a 200k word fic that I worked on for four years that approximately 3 people have read per year since (if that). And yeah, that can sting. I get it.

So, what’s the solution? My advice is two-pronged:

1.) On Wanting Fandom Recognition

A desire for internet metrics is actually a specific need in disguise. These excellent posts go into this far more eloquently:

@ao3commentoftheday's 'People Don't Actually Want Comments, They Want Community '

@sinigangsta-ao3's 'On Fandom and a Sense of Belonging Part 1' & 'Part 2'

What do you want from that fandom interaction? Prestige & respect? Encouragement? A creative peer group to bounce around ideas? The more specific you can get, the easier it will be for you to work on a solution that fills that need that isn’t reliant on the capricious whims of the greater internet.

Prestige? – These authors write a lot. Relentlessly. Also typically involved in the fandom somewhere offsite and tend to build things. Events, rec lists, secret santas.

Encouragement? – Voice this need in your relationships. Don’t have writer friends? Drag irl friends in or look out for positive fandom subgroups. If there’s a discord server, maybe ask about making a channel just to celebrate wins? If not, invite fandom ppl you’ve interacted with in and make a server of your own.

Idea Sharing? – Nearly the same as above. Groups, in my experience, thrive with something to do. I wanted to practice fundamentals more, so I dragged a group of friends in and made a writing circle where we followed a prompt to write a short story every month. At the end, we shared and critiqued each other’s work. Massively nourishing. (I can post the “curriculum” if there’s an interest.)

2.) On Writing for You

Two practices have helped me on this front. First, I put the watcher away. I make work I never intend to share. I see that blank page and say “whatever happens here is for me only, and I’m going to stick to that”. I also advise hiding your ao3 stats. [This site skin will replace your personal stats page with an image of choice]. [This site skin will hide every stat on every work except word and chapter count]. (I use both together when my brain gets naughty on me). [How to Use AO3 Site Skins]

Second, digging into what excites me. I made huge list of my favorite characters, tropes, themes, narrative tricks, everything. Found patterns. After that, you just cram as many as you can into one story until you’re obsessed with it. Until it haunts you and you simply can’t stop yourself from writing it regardless if anyone reads it.

All-in-all though, noticing your brain is pulling a fast one on you and wanting to make a change is much further then a lot of people get, so I am very serious when I say you should congratulate yourself and celebrate that. You’ve already done the hardest part. What comes next won’t be effortless, but it will be worthwhile. 🌱☀️

But, I’ve rambled enough, and I’ll open the floor up. Anyone else want to weigh in? If you have a writing buddy, how did you meet with them and how do you stay in touch?

#asks #building community

[indiaalphawhiskey]

Hi India!

I wanted to pop by and say hi! You're very cool and I find myself hardly ever disagreeing with you, but when I do, I walk away with having read a differing but interesting perspective on several topics. It also helps that you're super duper eloquent and articulate, and there have been several instances where I have a thought and no way to put it into words and find that you have done that very effectively. You're also SO KIND??? I can't.

You're a gem, a badass and most importantly (to me, at least) one of my favourite authors of all time. I love you! I hope you have the best day/night ahead!

I genuinely don’t know what sort of magic you have in your heart that you knew I needed something like this today, but thank you. 🩵

I’ll let you in on a little secret: I’m rarely (if ever) called cool. I guess in a traditional sense, I’m not (I’m super basic, and I’ve learned to embrace it) but I’ve always wanted to be. It’s a trait that’s always felt elusive to me; I just have never “had” it (although many people in my life do, in spades) and I’ve always wondered what it would take to get there.

It’s funny, because when Harry’s House first came out, a lot of people dissed the lyrics of Cinema, saying it was juvenile; meanwhile I was sitting here thinking it perfectly captured Louis Tomlinson because I totally know what it feels like to get all sparkled out by someone, and to look at them and think “Fuck, they’re so cool.”

So thank you for what I will now refer to as my Cinema moment. 🥰 and, I’m really glad hearing my opinions feel beneficial in some way, whether it’s because they voice some thoughts you have or because they give you a different perspective. What I like most about tumblr is that the format encourages that level of exchange if you pick and choose what conversations to have and how to have them. Sure, it doesn’t spare you from people determined to misunderstand you, but messages like these make me feel like I’m at least not screaming into the void.

As for every other compliment you peppered in there, dude. My heart is glowing. Seriously, thank you. I’m not always kind, but I try to be, and I feel like I’ve been made infinitely kinder by Larry and by being a larrie.

Forgive the 100k word count thank you, I just really really really needed this today. 😘✨

#iaw ask #iaw anonymous

[forget-you-morelike-fuck-you]

With This Ring- E.M. Pt. 2

THE TEARS I SHED WRITING THIS... NONSTOP. Thank you so much for the love on pt. 1. If you like what you read here, check out my masterlist!

Pt. 1 <;> Pt. 3 Honeymooners (Sequel)

Eddie and Y/N are getting married. (This part begins when the wedding is 10 months away and ends the night before the wedding.

TW- 18+ MINORS DNI, Smut, protected sex, edging, a little bit of angst, cursing, mentions of drugs, drinking, Eddie cuts his hair (I KNOW BUT I NEEDED IT OKAY,) pet names

Word Count- 4,039

Pairings- Eddie x Reader, Friend!Steve, Robin, and Nancy x Reader

(Gif not mine, credit to owner!)

Ten Months Until the Wedding

Your mom was thrilled when you came to family dinner with Eddie the Sunday after the show. You showed her the ring and mentioned it was one of Eddie’s that he changed for you. Your dad was a little less than excited at your choice of groom, but he still clapped Eddie on the shoulder, happy his baby is happy. Your mom went full throttle on your wedding plans. She had been putting a binder together for years for you to go over when the time came. A lot of the fashion was outdated at this point, but it was still so sweet of her to go through the trouble, so you looked through it anyway, finding some things you liked here and there. “Oh, we need to go dress shopping!” She cried, clapping her hands together. You didn’t know how to break it to her that you didn’t want to wear white, but you let it go for now, just glad that she’s happy for you.

Your dad didn’t say much, he just hugged you tight and whispered “Are you sure this is what you want, peanut?” You looked up at him with glistening eyes, nodding with all the surety in your heart, and he smiled. “Okay then. I’m happy if you’re happy.” He didn’t appreciate Eddie and his metal-head, stud-wearing, “Satan-worshipping” habits, but he knew that to Eddie, you were his sun, moon, and stars. That was enough for him.

Eight Months Until the Wedding

Wedding planning is… hard. There are so many tiny details to consider. You had already booked the venue, the catering, and the band, but the flowers were still up for debate, and you had yet to find the dress, and the invitation list is sort of a sore subject.

Eddie kept going back and forth on inviting his dad. He wanted to shove it in his dad’s face that he was doing well, getting married to “The most stunning being in all the universe!!” As he so eloquently put it, making you giggle with glee as he kissed your face, but he was also afraid that if he did show up, he’d ruin everything. You tried to rationalize both options to him so he could try to make better sense of it for himself, but it was still hard. You didn’t want him to be let down by his dad again, but you also didn’t have much of a desire to see him yourself. You tried to put yourself in his shoes, weigh the pros and cons of inviting him.

“We have to send these out soon, Eddie.” You say, the stack of invitations littering your dining table had been sitting there for weeks, ready to send out. He rubs his hand over his face, picking up the envelope with his dad’s name on it.

“I know, princess, I know.” His dad was still troubling him, even after thinking about it for so long. You let out a breath.

“Well, baby, if it helps, I don’t think you have to prove to your dad that you’re doing well without him. Even if he did know, would he even… care?” You try to put it delicately. You know it hurts him to think about, but you’d rather be honest than let Eddie continue to plague himself with the thought.

He flops down next to you on the couch, letting out an exasperated breath, staring at the envelope in his hands. “No,” He says quietly.

You touch his face, guiding him to look at you. “Then don’t let him haunt you like this. We don’t need him. You don’t need him, Eds.” He draws his eyes down to the envelope again.

“You’re right,” He says, almost sadly, then he rips it in two. He looks back up at you with a hopeful smile. “He doesn’t deserve to meet you anyway.” He throws the ripped halves onto the coffee table and grabs you, pulling you onto him as you burst into a fit of giggles.

Seven Months Until the Wedding

You walk out of the dressing room, your heart beating fast in your chest as you let your hands run over the soft satin and lace. Is this the one?

It took a good long while to find a blue dress, and the one you found hidden in the very back of the store, long forgotten about for its nonconformity. You step around the corner, looking expectantly at your party for their reactions, and the first thing you hear is gasp from your mom. “Oh, Y/N!” She cries. You glance over at Robin, whose jaw is dropped, and Nancy, her smile wider than you think you’ve ever seen it. You look into the mirror, stepping up on the pedestal. The attendant helping you straightens out the train, and you get to gaze at someone you don’t even recognize.

She looks kind of like you, sure, but there’s no way you could ever look this elegant. Even with the ill fit of the sample size, the girl staring back at you is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. You don’t notice you’re beginning to cry until you let out a light sob.

“Mama, I feel so pretty.” You cry, and she rushes to hug you, her eyes misty with tears as well.

“Y/N, you are so pretty. You look like a bride. Even if it is, well, blue.” She was being supportive of what you want, but if she had her way, you’d look like a frosted vanilla cupcake.

“Y/N, Eddie’s gonna die when he sees you in this!” Robin gushes. The mental image of the growing reality of your wedding, meeting Eddie at the end of the aisle, is enough to make you want to melt into the floor.

“Wait, I have the final touch!” Your mom exclaims, going back over to the couch your entourage is sitting at, pulling a mess of white netting from her bag. It’s the veil she wore at her wedding. It’s about 5 feet long and adorned with pearls, and you can’t help the gasp that comes from your mouth as your mom clips it into your hair. “It can be your ‘something old.’” She muses. You nod enthusiastically, going to hug her as fresh tears fall.

“Thank you, mom.” You sob. There’s not a dry eye in the room as you let yourself look into the angled mirror again. All of the pieces are coming together. You don’t know how you’ll be able to wait seven long months for Eddie and you to start your life together.

Four Months Until the Wedding

Today is cake tasting day. You sit at the bakery with Eddie poring over the options for the cake, icing, and filling. It’ll have two tiers, so two flavors. You and Eddie are both partial to the chocolate cake and raspberry filling with the vanilla buttercream, but the other flavor is a tough one. He likes the carrot cake, which you find appalling, favoring the strawberry. Cream cheese icing seems the obvious choice for both, and you agree on a custard filling, but you banter back and forth over the merits of each of your chosen flavors.

“More people like strawberry than carrot, Eddie!” You say defensively.

“Who doesn’t like carrot cake? You can’t even taste the carrot! It’s just, like, cinnamon!” He says. You roll your eyes with a laugh.

“Alright, fine. You can have your carrot cake if I can pick the centerpieces.” That had been another point of debate between the two of you. Eddie preferred lilies and roses, It’s the most metal choice of them all, princess! And you preferred peonies and lavender. He mulls it over in his mind, pressing his lips together as he thinks.

“I guess that’s a pretty good compromise.” He agrees, and you let out a little sound of glee. You can just stick to the chocolate cake at the wedding, anyway. You reach over and give him a kiss.

“Thank you, love.” You say as you pull away.

“No,” Eddie says, taking another big bite of cake. “Thank you!” You reach over and wipe a bit of icing away from his cheek before licking it off. His eyes widen playfully. “Oh, you want some more? Come here!” He takes a piece of cake between his fingers and starts to shove it in your face, causing you to laugh as he smears it across your lips. You lick some of it off your face.

“Okay, maybe carrot cake isn’t that bad.” You admit. Eddie scoops some of the cake from your face this time, cleaning off his fingers with his tongue.

“Damn straight, baby!”

One Month Until the Wedding

You let out an exasperated sigh as you crumpled up another piece of paper, throwing it into the garbage can. Eddie was out doing Hellfire stuff with the guys, so it was an opportunity to sit and write your vows. Both you and Eddie were too much of romantics to just repeat something some officiant had written.

Eddie, the moment I met you, I knew you’d be the most important person of my life. You make me feel like I’m the only person in the world. You looked into me and you didn’t see who I was, but who I would be. I love that I can be myself I love the way we grow and change together, and I promise that no matter how much we change, I’ll still find my home in you. I love you more than books and stars and lightning. I love you more than music. I love you more than fairy tales, because you’re my fairytale. And I can’t wait for us to continue writing it, chapter to chapter, for the rest of our lives. I promise to be here when you’re angry, and when you’re sad, and I promise to be here when you’re so happy you could fly. I promise to always I can’t promise to always be my best self, because everyone has bad days, but I can promise that you’ll always bring out the best in me that I can give you. I promise to always remind you that you deserve everything you want, even when you don’t think you do. And above all, I promise to love you, body and soul, forever.

There. That’s it. That’s what you’ve been trying to say. You bite your lip as you read it over and over again, making sure it’s just right. When you hear Eddie at the door, you quickly fold up the paper and stick it in a book laying nearby so he won’t find it. As you walk to greet him, he opens his arms. You run and jump into them, attacking him with kisses.

“Hey baby?” He says, both of your laughter subsiding.

“What’s up, gorgeous?” He presses a warm kiss to your forehead.

“How would you feel… if I cut my hair for the wedding?” Your eyes go wide in surprise.

“Well,” You run your fingers through his curls. “I love your hair how it is, but I also love you how you are all the time. So if you want to cut your hair I’m not gonna be mad at you. It’s just another version of you for me to love.” He gives you a smile and another few kisses to your forehead. “Why are you thinking about it?” You ask him. He gives a bit of a shrug.

“I don’t know, this has been my hair since I was like, 16, and I feel like I need something fresh. Something… ‘husband-y.’” He explains.

“We’ll you’re gonna be ‘husband-y’ no matter what in a few weeks.” You remind him, and he smiles wide, his beautiful eyes shining down at you.

“That’s true.” He nods, and then he picks you up and spins you, both of you laughing again. “And you, my love, are gonna be ‘wife-y.’” He says playfully, grabbing at your ass.

“Oh, getting a little handsy, are we?” You giggle, hands threading through his hair.

“I’m just excited,” He whispers into your ear. “I can’t wait for you to be my wife.” It sends a shiver down your spine, and you begin feeling that dizzying electricity shooting through your veins.

“Mm, it sounds so nice when you say it like that.” You say against his skin, pressing wet kisses over his neck.

“Hm, how?” He leans to your other ear, nipping at your earlobe lightly. “My wife?” You melt into him, and you can’t even make it to the bedroom before collapsing together, both of you burning with desire.

Two Weeks Until the Wedding

You give Eddie one more kiss before you separate for your respective parties. Eddie’s been coming up with a wedding-based D&D campaign for weeks in preparation and he’s bringing all of the guys to your apartment to play it while you go out with your friends to do some karaoke.

Robin honks her horn as she, Nancy, and Steve yell out the windows in excitement when you make it to the parking lot. You hop in with them, sitting in the back next to Nancy and she pulls out a flimsy little veil attached to a plastic tiara. “I saw this at the party store the other day, and I thought it would make a great addition to the night!” She laughs, handing it to you. You clip it to your hair, laughing at how ridiculous you must look.

“Do I look like a bride?” You ask, theatrically posing for her. She nods at you, fully satisfied with her purchase.

“For sure, Y/N. You look great!” She says, making you laugh more. The four of you jam out in the car as you go to pick up your cousin, the last addition to your bridal party.

When you make your way into the bar, Steve goes to order drinks as you and Robin pour over the karaoke list. You make your choice and take your slip of paper up to the DJ, Robin following shortly. When you return, Steve’s brough beers for everyone, and as Robin makes her way back to the table, you all pick up your drinks. “To Y/N! May she never forget that even though she’s settling down, there’s no excuse to miss out on getting wild every once in a while!” Steve toasts, and the five of you let out a whoop and take a drink.

“You gonna sing something, Steve?” You ask over the loud music. He shakes his head like he was just asked to hold a porcupine.

“Oh, come on! It’s my bachelorette!” You plead, giving him puppy dog eyes.

“No way, Y/N! I am here as an observer only! Trust me, you don’t want me getting up there anyway.” He promises. You just roll your eyes with a smile, but Robin comes up next to you.

“We’ll get him up there, we’ve just gotta get a few drinks into him first. He’s a sucker for the Beach Boys.” She says, and you both laugh.

Your name gets called after about 20 minutes of laughing and drinking with your friends, and you go up and grab the microphone, getting ready to have some real fun. The familiar chords blast over the speakers, and you start jamming out. It’s one of yours and Eddie’s favorite songs to jam to together.

It’s early morning, the sun comes out. Last night was shaking and pretty loud. My cat is purring, it scratches my skin. So what is wrong with another sin? The bitch is hungry, she need to tell. So give her inches and feed her well. More day to come, new places to go. I’ve got to leave it’s time for the show!

You jump and dance as the chorus comes, your friends cheering you on from the back of the bar.

Here I am! Rock you like a hurricane! Here I am! Rock you like a Hurricane!

By the time you finish the song, you’re breathless, laughing like a crazy person as you go back to your party.

“That was awesome!” Steve shouts. He’s on his second drink now, and you’re counting the minutes until he’s loose enough to get up to sing himself.

Robin’s up next, and she dedicates Girls Just Wanna Have Fun by Cyndi Lauper to you. She’s terrible, but it doesn’t matter. Who’s really good at karaoke anyway? It’s just about the fun of it Nancy follows that with Walking on Sunshine and you’ve had a couple of people give you drinks in congratulations of your big day. Once you really start feeling the effects, you start handing them to your friends, needing to keep your head if you wanna be able to remember this in the morning. Robin declines, having the keys to the car. You promise her next time you go out together, you’ll be the DD.

By the time Steve’s gone through 4 or 5 drinks, he’s ready to sing. He gets up there and sings Kokomo by the Beach Boys. He’s right, he’s terrible, but it’s nice to see him let loose.

When you get home in the early hours of the morning, you’re stumbling up the steps, drunk and hungry. You knock on the door, hoping Eddie is awake to let you in. You know your keys are in your purse but it’s too dark and your eyes are too blurry to find them.

When Eddie opens the door, you give him a sloppy kiss, so happy to be home. “Heyyy baby!” You slur. He chuckles, pulling the plastic tiara out of your hair.

“Did you have a good time?” He asks. You nod into his chest. He smells so good. You take a deep breath, taking it in.

“Yeah, lo’s of nice people gave me drinks cause I’m gettin’ married.” You give a sleepy laugh. “I’m soooo excited to get married, Eddie!” As he ushers you inside, closing the door behind you.

“Me too, princess.” He whispers into your hair. You go to put your fingers in his hair but it’s not where it usually is. You forgot he cut it off. You look up at him, smiling.

“Yer so pretty with your new hair, baby.” You tell him. He’s just so pretty. So so so pretty.

“Well thank you. I like it too.” He says.

“Eddie?” You ask.

“Hmm?”

“Can I have a snack?” He laughs again, guiding you to the couch.

“Yeah, pretty, then we’ll get you to bed, okay?” He says, walking to the kitchen.

“Okie dokie.” You lean your head against the arm of the couch. “Eddie.” You call.

“Yes?” He responds, the amused tone evident even in your drunken state.

“I luh you!” You hear him chuckle as he opens the fridge.

“I love you too, Y/N.”

The Day Before The Wedding

“The next time I’ve got my hands on you, you’re gonna be my wife.” Eddie mutters into your hair, his movements slow and deliberate as you moan beneath him.

“Fuck baby, you’re gonna be my husband.” You still can’t believe it, even when it’s less than 24 hours away. This is your goodbye before you go to your parent’s house for the night. Can’t have the bride and groom see each other before the wedding!

Eddie leaves tantalizing nips down your neck, careful not to leave any marks before tomorrow. As he moves in and out of you, you scratch down his back in delight. “Shit, princess, you feel so good.” He moans, one of his hands squeezing at your hip. “I won’t be able to last much longer like this baby.” He strokes your g-spot on every thrust and he’s getting you closer as seconds go by. You don’t want it to be over too soon though. You want to savor every last moment you can before leaving.

“Mm, let me get on top, Eddie.” You whisper, and he groans at the thought.

“Fuck Y/N, I just said I won’t be able to last much longer. What are you trying to do to me?” He gives a little laugh, but you roll together, him still seated inside you, and you run your hands up his chest, up to his face.

“Don’t worry, baby, I know what I’m doing.” Eddie’s hands attach to your hips as you begin to ride him, moving at a pace just a bit faster than what he set before.

“God, fuck, are you sure? Cause it seems like you’re trying to fuck the cum out of me right now.” He lets his head roll back with a deep moan. It’s evil what you’re about to do, but God, is it fun. As you both chase your highs, you pay attention to the way he breathes, the way he feels inside of you. Just as you feel him reach the breaking point, you stop moving, whimpering as you deny yourself an orgasm as well.

Eddie realizes what you’re doing and laughs incredulously, his pupils blown with lust “You sneaky little minx,” He says, but he’s not complaining. You let out a giggle before moving again, grinding your hips into his, both of you letting wanton sounds fall from your mouths as you make love.

But again, when you feel yourself nearing the edge, you stop. Eddie groans this time, and you can’t help but smile. “What am I gonna do with you?” He’s smiling too, enjoying this little game you’re playing with him. You shrug innocently.

“Marry me?” You offer. He bites his lip at that, and he reaches up to play with your breasts. You let out a whine at the feeling of his fingers brushing over your nipples.

“Fuck yeah, I am.” He grunts, his hands sliding down your body to return to your hips. Suddenly, he fucks up into you, making you let out a harsh whine. “And I’m gonna have you any. Way. I. Want!” He punctuates each word with a thrust, making your eyes roll back. He pulls your body to his chest and rolls you both back over, wanting to finish what you started.

“And right now, I want to cum with you, pretty. Is that okay with you?” He growls into your ear. This isn’t a game anymore. This just you surrendering to him, no other option. You bite your lip.

“Fuck, yes please!” You cry. He starts snapping his hips into you hard and fast, one hand on the back of your head, holding your foreheads together, the other on the mattress holding you both up.

“Keep those pretty eyes open for me sweetheart.” He demands between kisses. “I want you looking at me when we cum.” The sounds that fall from your lips are downright sinful, and Eddie is sure he’s died and gone to heaven, thanking every deity he can think of that decided he deserves this. That he deserves you.

He whimpers as he nears his release, knowing you’re close too as your walls begin to tighten around him. ��Fuck Y/N,” He whines. “Fucking cum with me, baby.” His eyes bore into yours as you spasm around him, and it’s too much, he has to screw his eyes shut as he releases into you. You’re both breathing heavily, coming down from your intense orgasms. When he slides out of you, he takes the condom he wears off and ties it up, wrapping it in a tissue and placing it on the nightstand to throw away in a few minutes.

“I guess you’ve gotta get ready to go now?” He pouts, pressing kisses to your chest as he lays in the crook of your arm. You look down at him and rub your cheek against the top of his head.

“Yeah, probably. It’s getting late. We need to get some sleep. Big day tomorrow!” You try to ease the sting of having to leave him.

“Alright, alright.” He concedes, pressing more, warm kisses to your electrified skin. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He reaches up and you card your fingers through his hair as you kiss him deeply. As you pull away, you give him a little smile.

“That’s right. I’ll be the one in blue.”

@stormseyes

#eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie stranger things #eddie #munson #eddie the freak munson #stranger thing s4 #stranger things fic #stranger things 4 #stranger things #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #robin buckley #nancy wheeler

[i-dor-u]

001: enter the black swan blues...

NOTE: initially, this was an inside joke between me and my sibling. it’s innocent and unpolished, but nevertheless a cute thought. it’s different from what i usually make, but being overly-virtuous with my blog feels restrictive and a little self-sabotaging. maybe i will become more open, who knows? i hope this is a fun read, i certainly had fun thinking it up! please keep in mind that these are personal thoughts on the matter at hand.

❲ ⌕ ❳︙piece contents: twisted wonderland. dancing. quick and undetailed. possible spelling errors. nothing very explicit, but let me know if you spot anything! ❲ ⌕ ❳︙word count: 700-800. ❲ ⌕ ❳︙song recommendation: smiley — vals. ❲ ⌕ ❳︙pinned blog post.

HOW LIKELY ARE THE HOUSEWARDENS TO SLOW DANCE, FROM FIRST TO LAST, IN MY OPINION? A QUICK-N-SILLY ANALYSIS.

for the first, i would probably say vil, because everything about him screams in tongues of elegance and courtesy. well, maybe the latter not as much, it depends on his mood, and on the degree of interest he has towards his companion. however, even if he doesn't necessarily like someone enough to invite them to dance out of the affection he has for them or the appeal they have, maybe he'll do it just because he's a show-off. even so, if he picks the scent of ballroom struggle from you... oh, he’ll make you a fantastic dancer. i’m being unkind, but so is he.

next, i'd say malleus. fae customs and courtesy, right? he appears to be way more tolerable and way less promptitudinal than vil. you would actually enjoy dancing with him, and he'll enjoy it even more so. it's not every day he musters up the motivation to do this, you know. nor does he really get the opportunity, all things considered. but he's a pleasant companion. doesn't say too much, nor too little; doesn't do too much, nor too little. but he's eloquent, and has everything in his pocket. he likes to think that the great seven smile upon him, having found such a worthwhile companion; you.

riddle... he's well-mannered, he's traditional, and maybe he wouldn't pass an opportunity to slow-dance. but that's it, i don't see him as someone who indulges in any other sort of dancing. he's good at it, almost too good, and if you don't live up to his skills, well... off with your head, perhaps. but if he likes you, he'll overlook missteps and enjoy himself to the fullest either way. because he likes you! he also sees it as a minimal form of celebration that he’s not externally observed as a victim of helicopter parenting. he can break some rules when he’s beside you.

azul is probably not as benevolent as malleus, nor as strict as riddle. but hopeful in his own right. he probably won't ask for a dance unless you do, which he sort of hopes you would. then he probably becomes a show-off, but not enough for you to be unable to keep up, because two can play this game. until you two become a bit too playful, which results into lots of spinning, twirling, embracing, laughing and not being normal. and thus, you unintentionally capture a handful of curious gazes, wondering, who could this fellow be, and why does the housewarden indulge with them so much?

as for kalim, he isn't one for seriousness, so slow-dancing is probably not his forte. but he'll do his best for his beloved! you see, there isn't room for strictness, so if you trip over each other's feet, it's all laughter, all in good fun. if it doesn't work out, he'll suggest you two mess around however you like, which will probably result in the two of you screwing adequacy and standing out with your unusual dance moves. consoled by the thought that you’re the most eye-catching pair of the night. ballroom manners are out the window, but you're having the best time of your life.

would you wait on a slacker? because leona will be no less than dead meat. that is, unless he's infatuated with you, or something. he would be reluctant, i daresay embarrassed, he'll oppose it with all of his might. but that's all stage play for him to see just how insistent you can get. it worked out until you insinuated that he doesn't actually know how to slow dance. that's how all of his instincts kicked in, making you eat your words in ecstasy as he twists, turns and twirls you, pushed from behind by unseen air currents. you’re a feisty one, and he looks forward to seeing you all worn out.

initially, idia won't even want to hear of it. try to make inhumane efforts to even get him out of his room, and you still won’t. guilt pokes at his throat and the disappointment in your eyes drives him to the brink of self-deprecation. but the lowlights in his room and the reflection of his gaming screen make quite the scenery, and he realized he won't dissolve if he tried (though he wishes he could). your orbs drown in fulfillment, yet he refuses to make eye contact. with his face nuzzled on the crook of your neck, he thinks of how you should initiate these seemingly impossible quests with him more often.

©: writing belongs to i-dor-u & the characters used for creative purposes belong to their respective owners.

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #vil schoenheit #vil x reader #malleus draconia #malleus x reader #riddle rosehearts #riddle x reader #azul ashengrotto #azul x reader #kalim al asim #kalim x reader #leona kingscholar #leona x reader #idia shroud #idia x reader #❲⌕❳ mazedotcom.