#nah they just think i’m a fucking idiot who doesn’t know what’s going on in my own body.

[reaumantic]

society if i was taken seriously by anyone when i say i’m in pain

#jesus fucking christ. #i’m just going to cancel my appt idc id rather whatever it is get worse than it be nothing and oh stupid sam overreacting. #& my brother has the nerve to make fun of me for crying abt it when 1 he knows how our dad gets about us going to the dr 2 i just drove his #fucking dumbass home from work cause he doesn’t have a car good fucking luck getting home tomorrow buddy 🖕 #also IT FUCKING HURTS. goddamnit do they think i like to swallow pills??? do they think i like the way antibiotics taste?? #nah they just think i’m a fucking idiot who doesn’t know what’s going on in my own body.

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Futile Devices

Miguel O'Hara x civilian f!reader

Summary: The deal was explicitly no strings attached. You were finding it harder to keep up your end of the bargain. 

Word Count: 8.2k (A behemoth of a fic, I'm so sorry guys)

Warnings: FWB, language, angst, reader is totally in love with Miguel, Miguel being a bit of an ass, probably a tad toxic? SMUT, p in v (no protection), cum play, low-key breeding kink? Like super low-key. Oral (f receiving). Miguel climbing through windows. Idk why I'm obsessed with that thought lmfao I make him climb through windows every chance I get. Idiots in love. Probably a rushed ending, sorry!

Thanks to @whatthefishh for beta-reading. Partly inspired by this.

Also, this is mega ultra cliche, we all know they're gonna end up together, so just enjoy the ride! It's not the destination, it's the journey 😌 Hope you guys enjoy, and if you do, pls let me know what you think! I love reading your comments!

MDNI pls.

...

It was always a mission getting to Miguel's office.

Headquarters wasn't built to accommodate civilians, the winding pathways and corridors a danger if one wasn't too careful.

You had to be extra careful. 

You hurried toward Miguel's office, heels clicking against clean tiled floors as you dodged a fuck ton of spider people and the inescapable attention of one annoying Peter Parker.

"Come on," Peter Parker number two hundred tried his luck again, "just one date. I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go." 

"No." You rolled your eyes, swatting him with the manilla folder in your hands like you would a fly. 

“Look, all I’m saying is you should give me a shot. I’m funny.”

“So is every other Peter Parker I’ve encountered.”

“I’m different.”

“I doubt it.” 

He deflated, keeping up with your quick steps. “Who doesn’t like funny guys?”

“Me.”

“Sure,” he stretched the word out, unconvinced, "so if not funny guys then what? The ones with sticks up their asses, like Miguel?" He snorted with a shake of his head. You knew it was a sort of rhetorical question but you couldn’t help swallowing thickly, your hands gripping the folder a little too tightly. 

Yeah. Something like that.

You felt your heart drop to your stomach when Peter Parker two hundred raised his brows at your silence. So maybe he did want an answer.

"Nah, there's no way. I'll try again tomorrow." He smiled, shooting a web out in some random direction and swinging off toward the floor above. 

Fuck. That was close.

You breathed a sigh of relief, loosening your fingers over the folder before quickly hurrying toward your destination. 

You pressed your watch against the sensor outside of Miguel's office, waiting for the metal door to slide open. It didn't. You tried again. Still nothing. Again. It wouldn't budge.

"Ugh, come on, Miguel!" You banged the door with a tiny fist as if that would make a difference, "open up!" 

Lyla appeared suddenly, her sprite-like form circling your head once before she faced you.

"You probably shouldn't go in there," she warned, "he's in a…mood." 

"He’s always in a mood," your hands were on your hips now, the manilla folder crinkling further in your hand, "I need to report a couple of grievances—"

"Mmmmmm, I'm sure that's the last thing he wants to hear right now, Miss HR." God you hated when they called you that. You rolled your eyes, swatting her away with the folder which did nothing, of course, and pressed your watch against the sensor. 

"That's not gonna work, honey."

"So let me in." 

"Promise to be nice?"

"To who?" You snorted, "You or Miguel?" 

"Me," Lyla grinned, adjusting her heart-shaped glasses, "forget Miguel." 

You sighed, cracking a smile, "Lyla, would you please let me into Miguel's office?" The Ai made a noise of approval, comically saluting you before granting you access.

"Don't say I didn't warn ya." She sang, disappearing from your sight. 

You sighed. Miguel's shifting moods were nothing new to you—not anymore. Back when you both worked at Alchemax, he was passive and less quick to anger. But that seemed a lifetime ago. 

Life progresses. People change.

“Mig?” You called out, peering up toward his solitary platform. You could hear the soft hisses of machinery, the yellow glow of Miguel’s holo screens illuminating the area above like a radiant star.

He didn’t answer. 

“Miguel,” you tried again, “we have some things to discuss.” You slapped the manilla folder against your hand as if he’d recognize the sound of formal complaints filed within the last week. 

The platform began to descend after a moment, and you breathed a sigh of relief as his figure came into view. His shoulders were stiff, his body rigid as he swiped through the yellow screens.

“I told Lyla not to let anyone in.” His voice was cold, frigid even. He didn’t bother to face you, his eyes pinned to his screens as he leaned forward, the muscles of his back flexing through his suit. 

You couldn’t see what he was looking at but you could hear it: the soft giggles of a little girl, the cheers of a soccer game, the chuckles of a man now broken. It wasn’t the first time you’d heard the sounds of Miguel’s past. It probably wouldn’t be the last either.

“I-uh, got some reports to share with you.” You felt foolish. Lyla was right. HR complaints were the last thing on Miguel’s mind. 

“Reports of the anomaly on Earth 9811?” Your brows pinched in irritation. He knew those weren’t the reports you had. You were fucking HR, not on active duty, let alone a spider person. 

"No, you'd have to ask Jess or Gwen about that, but you need to listen—"

“I don’t want to hear it.” He grunted. You saw his hands form fists at his sides, the same hands that’d fisted your sheets in the throes of pleasure just days ago. 

You shook your head. It was not the time for that kind of thought. 

You carefully opened the crinkled folder, pulling out the paperwork you’d printed from your antique printer to read aloud from it.

“Peter Parker of Earth 5431-02 has formally filed a complaint,” you began, your eyes scanning the black text before releasing an exasperated sigh, “he’s saying you threw a chair at him?” Miguel grunted, the holo screens shutting off at his (Lyla’s) command.

“He’s an idiot.” Miguel snapped, finally turning to face you, his sharp features shadowed by the lack of light. He regarded you carefully, red eyes tracing your figure. You’ve grown used to the way his eyes lingered over you, especially when you were under him, his body pressed against yours, but sometimes you couldn’t help but squirm under his more severe gaze.

“Well, yeah,” you reluctantly agreed with a tilt of your head, “but a chair, Miguel?”

“It’s not like it hurt him...badly.”

“That's not the point."

“The point is that I got my point across.” Miguel snorted. 

"It's the principle. You don't go around throwing fucking chairs at the people who work for you!" 

"Mhm." 

"You're their boss! What kind of behavior is that?"

"Uh-huh." 

You were about ready to strangle him but knew your fingers couldn’t even go around his throat properly. You’ve tried before, under very different circumstances. You settled for pinching the bridge of your nose, as he often did, taking a breath to calm yourself before you completely lost your shit. "Listen to me."

"I'm listening, HR."

"Ugh, look," you pointed a finger up toward him, your brows knitted in obvious irritation, "annoying or not, he's still a member of the Spider Society, therefore, he has every right—”

“—to file a grievance under any circumstance as a result of an injustice, discrimination, or harmful behavior, and is to be given the respect to which every spider person is due as a valued member of the society. I know.” Miguel finished the legal jargon for you, hopping off the platform with an ease that’d always surprised you.

He stepped into your space, his large body casting a long shadow over you as he snatched the crinkled paperwork from your hands. 

“I’ll speak with him.” He grunted. You pursed your lips, watching as his eyes scanned over the page.

"Make it right, Mig. Apologize. Formally. Or informally. It doesn’t matter— there’s nothing normal about this place anyway.” You placed your hands on your hips as you leaned forward, aware of how he was suddenly gazing down at you. “Just be nice, okay? Compensate him with, I dunno, a minor mission. He always wants to get involved, so let him.” 

Miguel rolled his eyes, heaving a great sigh while running his hand through his hair. “Fine.”

“And no more throwing chairs to make a point.”

“Uh-huh, fine, anything else?” God, you wanted to smack him. You opted for snatching back the paperwork from his hand, smoothing out the wrinkles over your skirt-clad thighs before searching for the proper page.

“Yeah," you brought a finger down on the page, "the spiders are getting bored of the cafeteria food.” That was enough for Miguel's face to pinch in displeasure.

“What’s wrong with empanadas and churros?” He scoffed, waving his hand to dismiss the complaint, “And that stupid blue burger with my face on it?” He paused, eyes squinting for a moment, “You know what? That can go. Get rid of it.”

“Fine. Do I have permission to organize a survey?”

“For food?” 

“Yes, for food. They want options.” 

“Aye, por Dios,” Miguel grunted, waving his hand again, “Fine.” 

“Fine.” 

“Anything else?” 

“Nope.” You organized the documents back into the manila folder before handing it over to him.

“You know you could just send this electronically, right?” He looked down at the folder, his eyes tracing your neat cursive in black ink.

“I’m old-fashioned.” You shrugged, turning on your heels. You heard him snort out a laugh, a tiny thing that made you smile. He has a nice laugh.

“One more thing,” Miguel called out, demandingly. You looked over your shoulder at him as he regarded you with heavy eyes.

“What is it?” 

He boarded the platform once again, the machinery coming to life and slowly elevating him back to his preferred height. He tossed the folder somewhere over the desk, to be forgotten. It was the least of his worries at that moment.

You watched Miguel ascend above you like some kind of heavenly being, the yellow light of the holo screens illuminating his tan skin till he glowed molten gold. You waited on him with bated breath, his response sinking straight to your core.

“Keep your window unlocked tonight.” 

…

He loves it when you ride him. 

His large hands were glued to your hips as you bounced on him expertly, your cunt soaking him in your sticky juices. 

Most nights began this way—with Miguel's cock buried deep in your pussy after a long day of enduring his insufferable attitude. You'd fuck the stress out of him—fuck the astronomical weight of the multiverse off his shoulders if only for a few short hours.

"Been thinking about this all day." He groaned under you, throwing his head back over your pillow when he felt your walls grip his length viciously, fighting to keep him in.

"Yeah?" You gasped, your hands firmly planted on his bare chest as you made work of your hips, rotating them in delicious circles—the way he liked—your thighs spread wide to accommodate his massive size. "W-wasn't enough to curb that a-attitude though, huh?" 

Even amid the utmost pleasure—of Miguel's length hitting a spot that had you trembling—you found the strength to taunt him, your hazy eyes catching a glimpse of the twitch in his brow. That meant trouble.

Within seconds Miguel had you on your back, his imposing body trapping you against your mattress. His cock slipped out for a moment but he had no problem finding his way back into your slippery channel, snapping his hips strategically to reach as deep as he could.

You cried out, your hands scrambling to find purchase over his shoulders, your pretty manicured nails digging into his perfectly golden skin.

"F-fuck! Miguel!"

"Wanna say that again?" He growled, his face hovering mere centimeters from yours, "Go ahead, say it again." You did nothing but whimper as he pounded into you mercilessly, his cock stretching you open. 

"That's what I thought." Miguel chuckled smugly, delighting in your little chokes and stutters, egging him to keep pounding you relentlessly. You tried speaking—tried to articulate your words to him, but you couldn't, too cock drunk to focus on anything else but his gorgeous face twisted up in pleasure and his thick cock kissing the secret place within you.

He had you coming soon after, stars exploding behind your lids as you trembled in his arms. Your cunt squeezed him just right and he came, panting in your ear as he filled you to the brim. 

His spend stained your sheets when he pulled out, and as always, he watched it dribble out from your swollen cunt with lidded eyes. He wasted no time in taking his fingers and stuffing the mess back in.

“Keep me in there.” He muttered, swiping through your puffy folds one final time before he ripped himself from you. You immediately soured, keeping your gaze on him as he quickly cleaned himself off with a cloth you left for him on your nightstand. 

You admired his figure: the ripple of his muscles as he moved, the broadness of his shoulders, the glow of his skin in the dim lighting of your bedroom. 

Miguel was gorgeous. You’ve always thought so.

His suit glitched before coming to life, covering his sculpted body in the usual blue and red you've come to know. 

“Did…you want to eat before you go?” Dinner was on the stove, cold but still good. You sat up against your headboard, more of his spend leaking out as you fiddled with your fingers over the soiled sheets. 

Miguel shook his head, sighing as he closed his eyes for a moment.

“I have to go.” He said, stepping forward, grabbing your hand, and placing a chaste kiss over your knuckles. It was the only form of affection he’d allowed himself to give you. He’d never kissed you before. Probably never will. It wasn't part of the deal.

Your heart sunk, your skin searing where his lips had lingered. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Most nights ended this way—with your aching cunt full of his seed and your eyes wet with unshed tears as you watched him leave through your window, disappearing into the night.

…

A few days later, Peter B. Parker landed in your office. Quite literally. 

He plopped down on the seat in front of yours from seemingly nowhere, a messily packed diaper bag hanging loosely from his shoulder. He had his daughter snuggly pressed against his chest in her carrier, her chubby arms and legs flailing over his pink robe.

You yelped, dropping the pen in your hand, clutching your chest in freight. 

“Jesus! Where the hell did you just come from?!”

“Up there.” Peter pointed up. You followed his line of vision, noting the door to the air vent busted open, barely hanging from its hinges. “Sorry about the vent.” He offered sheepishly, taking a large bite of a slice of pizza he'd pulled from a greased-up brown paper bag. 

"You could've just taken the elevator!"

"Takes too long to get to the basement.” He said between a mouthful of pizza, “Why'd Miguel give you an office down here anyway?" 

"I'm scared of heights." You reminded him, watching Mayday struggle to release herself from her carrier prison. Peter snorted out a laugh, dropping the diaper bag on the floor while simultaneously taking another bite of his pizza.

“Doesn’t make sense to work in a place like this.”

“It was the deal I made when Miguel asked me to work for him. Chew with your mouth closed.”

“Have you tried the cafeteria pizza?" He asked suddenly, ignoring your demand and speaking with another mouth full of the greasy treat, "It's the new thing. Everyone's going crazy."

You smiled smugly. "I know. You’re welcome."

“Ah, I should've known Miss HR was behind this!” You rolled your eyes at the nickname, rummaging through your drawer before tossing him a few napkins.

“What can I do for you, Peter?” 

Mayday whined, crawling out of the carrier and over her father’s thighs. She hopped on your desk, scattering some of your paperwork. You quickly caught her before she tumbled off the edge, cooing at her before placing her in your lap. You squeezed her in your arms and she let out a scream of delight before squirming, reaching out in wonder at the different knick-knacks on your desk. 

“Right, almost forgot." Peter took the last bite of his pizza, wiping his face and fingers with the napkins you provided before his face morphed into something serious. "Is this guy bothering you?” He pulled out a yellow holo pad, one presumably given to him by Miguel, revealing a video of you and Peter Parker two hundred from the other day. 

You blinked, your eyes tracing the moving image carefully.

”Oh. Not really,” you finally said, ripping your gaze away from the screen, “Nothing I can't handle. Why?” 

“Miguel asked me to investigate the situation discreetly.” 

"Asked?"

"Well, demanded, you know Miguel," Peter shrugged, reaching down into the diaper bag and procuring a lollipop when Mayday began to whine, “he’s concerned. I figured it’d be easier to just ask you about it.” 

You frowned, grasping the sweet when he handed it over to you, pulling off the wrapper and placing it in Mayday's chubby hand, “That’s hardly discreet.”

“I didn’t wanna follow the guy around!” 

“He's making you do that?”

“‘Of course he is. Doesn't like the guy. He barely tolerates me!” 

You snorted. “Why does Miguel even care?”

"You know him better than any of us do. If anyone would know, it’s you." 

Well, that was true.

You knew Miguel before he created the Spider Society, before he was ever Spider-Man. You knew him before his addiction to Rapture, before he experienced fatherhood, before he lost Gabriella. 

Back when, to the world, he was just some guy in a white lab coat. 

But he was never just some guy to you. 

You’ve loved Miguel for years. You’d loved him in your early days at Alchemax, when he was fresh out of college and eager to begin his shaky career, back when you were hanging on to the corporation by a measly thread of an unpaid internship. You were a pair, stuck to each other like glue.

A few years later, when you both decided to take it a step further and mess around, well, that only ignited your feelings further. Miguel was an attentive lover. He knew your needs and fulfilled them, taking you to the heights of pleasure before humbling you just as smoothly with his strict rules about your agreement. 

He didn’t have time to cater to someone's feelings—didn’t have time for a romantic relationship when he had too much on his plate. But his sexual appetite demanded attention—and why not with someone he’s called a friend for years? 

You were just a friend. And that’s all you’d ever be. 

It was just sex. That's all it'd ever be.

“You okay?” Peter ripped you away from your thoughts, his brows furrowed in concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You answered with a sigh, gently resting your chin over Mayday’s soft curls. “Is Miguel worried?” 

“You’re the closest thing he has to a friend, of course he’s worried about you. Those were his words, not mine.” Peter shrugged, putting his holo pad away, “so is there a cause for concern?” The thought alone almost made you smile. Almost. Instead, you scoffed, shaking your head.

“I’m usually the one that handles these situations, you know.”

“And who’s supposed to help you?”

“I don’t need help.” 

“Right.” He didn’t seem convinced. “Miguel doesn't seem to think so. You sure?”

“Very.”

“Alright, I did my part!” He clapped his hands as if he’d successfully completed a mission, “Time to go, Mayday!” He stood, grabbing the babbling baby from you and placing her back in the carrier.

"She's precious." You said, gently pinching Mayday's drool-covered cheek as she teethed over her lollipop.

"Takes after her dad." Peter grinned, snatching up the diaper bag, "Listen, if you ever need any help—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, get outta here, Parker." You shooed him away, quickly organizing your wrinkled paperwork together. You could still feel his eyes on you as you kept your hands busy, and when you finally looked at him he had a silly smile on his face.

"What?"

“You guys are idiots." He was still grinning.

"What?"

"Nothin'," he said, pressing a kiss to Mayday's red curls, "Just do me a favor. Don't mention any of this to Miguel, alright?" 

You crossed your arms, leaning back against your swivel chair. "Sure."

...

"So you think I need help?"

Miguel's hands immediately stilled on your hips as you stirred the boiling pasta over your electric stove. 

You didn't hear him come in, but you had a feeling he’d show up. It had been a couple of days since he’d fucked you, and there were many stressful days between then and now.

So you’d left your window unlocked just in case.

"What are you talking about?" He muttered, his fingers lightly dancing on your waist before pulling away completely.  

"Nothing." You huffed to yourself, cutting off the heat and getting on your toes to reach for the pasta strainer on the shelf above. After a second of watching you struggle, Miguel put a hand on your shoulder to stop you, reaching forward to grab it for you.

"Doesn’t sound like ‘nothing’.” He finally said, observing you strain the pasta over the sink, the steam from the hot water engulfing you both in what felt like a thick cloud of tension. You peered over your shoulder at him, your eyes raking over his solid form.

“You know, Peter Parker two hundred?” You asked, witnessing his face contort from passive to extreme annoyance.

He sucked his teeth, pinching the bridge of his nose. He leaned back against your counter, looking so out of place in your tiny kitchen, his broad shoulders almost the entire width of your cupboard. “I told Peter to be discreet.”

“He said you’re worried about your only friend.” You continued to tease him, emphasizing the word as you lifted the lid to a pot where a homemade Pomodoro sauce was bubbling. 

“I said that?” Miguel muttered, feigning innocence, watching you take a spoon and scoop some of the red sauce for a quick taste. You could feel his gaze on you, his eyes tracing the way your tongue licked off the remnants of sauce. 

You hummed in approval before scooping up some more and turning to offer Miguel a taste. You lifted the spoon toward him, and after a moment of contemplation, he hunched forward with arms crossed over his toned chest, mouth opening slightly to allow you to press the spoon past his lips. 

His eyes fluttered as he savored the rich taste, humming his own tune of approval. 

"Is it good?" 

“Mhm.”

You beamed, eyeing how he licked his lips like a satisfied cat, his fangs protruding slightly when he ran his tongue over them. The same fangs you’ve felt over your delicate skin from time to time. 

Miguel was a biter. You didn’t mind.

Miguel grunted, using his thumb to wipe off a bit of sauce that lingered near the corner of your lips. You inhaled a shaky breath, your eyes fluttering from the heat of his touch.

"What else did he say?" He murmured, looming over you, his hand now gently cradling the back of your neck, thumb caressing your skin. 

"T-that you're worried about me?" You breathed. Miguel pulled you closer suddenly, the faintest noise of surprise escaping you. His suit always felt strange under your fingers, the digitized fabric almost slippery, like fine silk. It was ridiculous how perfect you felt wrapped up in his arms. You sometimes wished he'd show up in civilian clothes. You missed his lazy outfits when he'd throw on an old t-shirt and a pair of sweats. 

You couldn't remember the last time you'd seen him in anything other than his suit (and his naked form, of course). It meant he was always on the clock, devoting all his precious time to the multiverse. 

It meant that whenever he was alone with you, he considered it work.

And yet, the suit made you feel secure and safe—like nothing in the world could harm you. And there was truth to that, though the only thing harming you these days was Miguel himself. But that was your fault too.

The deal was explicitly no strings attached. You were finding it harder to keep up your end of the bargain. 

You gazed at his full lips. You desperately wanted to taste them, to know how soft and warm they would feel molded against yours. If you were brave enough you might have stolen a taste, might have felt those sharp canines for yourself on your tongue.

Miguel’s thick fingers trailed into your hair, gripping the roots with just a hint of pressure, his lidded eyes taking in every part of your face: your brows, your eyes, the bridge of your nose, and your supple lips—wet and swollen from biting them so damn much.

"Maybe just a little," he finally answered, his shoulders shifting in a slight shrug. You could feel his length press against your hip, hot and throbbing, demanding attention. 

It filled you with pride knowing your proximity was enough to get him excited. It shouldn't though. It was only arousal. Basic primal instincts. 

You shouldn’t be feeling pride for any of this. You had to remind yourself of that.

You closed your eyes, willing your heartbeat to slow down just a bit. Could you really be this love-sick? So hung up on a man who was emotionally unavailable? If you hadn’t fallen before, then you knew you were plummeting now, so far gone that you’d let Miguel do anything to you.

So when he whisked you away to your bedroom, dinner long forgotten, you didn’t put up a fight.

He fucked you from behind. 

It was a tight stretch, your wet cunt fighting him as he tried pressing his swollen tip in with little luck. 

"Gotta let me in," he grunted, spreading your cheeks wide to gaze down at your twitching holes, "you're too tight. Let me in." 

"I'm trying," you panted, tears in your eyes as you buried your face into the sheets, "i-it's been a while." 

"It's okay," his large hands caressed the globes of your ass in comfort, "it's my fault. Haven't been fucking you enough, hm? S'my fault." Miguel rubbed his cock through your soaked folds a few times, the obscene noises of your sopping cunt causing him to grunt. 

"Goddamn, so fuckin' wet." He muttered before lining himself up and carefully pushing in again. You cried out, fisting the sheets when he successfully got the tip in. He groaned, the guttural sound masking your tiny mewls as he pushed on, your wet cunt coating him entirely in your sticky essence, easing his entry just a bit.

"Fuck, Miguel, it h-hurts." You whined, the stretch of him both painful and pleasurable as he bullied his way in, his girthy cock plunging through your fluttering walls. 

"Shh, I know." He rarely cooed as he did now, reassuring you with gentle noises and tender touches as he eased into you, balls deep in your core, “Look how good you’re doing for me. S’good.” A fresh wave of arousal dripped from you at his praise, your fluttering cunt allowing him to push and pull as he pleased.

He began a steady rhythm, holding your hips tightly to work you over his length, muttering to himself all the while as he watched how your creamy juices clung to his cock and covered his skin.

The pain quickly subsided into blinding pleasure. Miguel had you mewling into your mattress, your eyes rolling and drool slipping past your lips, your back impossibly arched, and your swollen cunt wetter than it’s ever been. The slapslapslap of his hips against your ass was loud in the quiet of your bedroom, your moans even louder when he skillfully hit something inside you that made you see stars every single time. 

You loved the feel of him, loved the stretch of his cock, loved how your cunt would ache for days after as if to remember him. 

“Coño,” Miguel growled, keeping a large hand on your lower back to keep you steady in your arched position, “you sound so pretty when I fuck you.” He suddenly gripped your hair, pulling you up as he curved over you, continuing to spill filth into your ears.

It was too much. 

“M-Miguel, I’m g-gonna—”

“Cum for me.” 

That was it. The dam burst within you, your eyes rolling back as you cried out, cunt spasming and gushing all over him.

“That’s it,” he muttered, sloppily thrusting into your tightening core, “good girl.”

“Miguel,” you continued to whine, grinding against him, “Fuuuck, I love you.” 

You didn’t even realize what you said until it was too late, so wrapped up in the bliss of it all that your mouth worked faster than your brain could think.

You froze when you felt him still above you. He released your hair, bringing his hand back to your hips before gripping them viciously, chasing his own release. He rammed into you faster, slamming his hips against your ass one final time before letting out a guttural groan deep from within the confines of his chest. You could only imagine how he looked: tan skin glistening, chocolate hair plastered against his brow and head tossed back in pleasure. 

Miguel said nothing as he gently removed his cock from your aching sex, letting his seed dribble out from you and soak into the sheets.

As soon as you turned around he was already in his suit, pushing a few buttons on his watch before he brought his wine-colored eyes to you. 

"I have to go."

“Mig?” You whispered his name softly, your naked body burning with embarrassment, “I-I’m sorry I—”

"I’ll see you tomorrow.” It was the same thing he always said, but it hurt twice as much. It was as if he were on autopilot, disconnected from what just happened. 

You felt your heart plummet into your stomach as you watched Miguel leave through your window with a speed he usually reserved for missions.

His spend caked your thighs. There was so much of it coming out of you, more so than usual, his cum ruining your sheets enough that you’d need to change them before bed. 

You sniffled, eyes watering, tears threatening to fall. He didn’t even kiss your hand goodbye.

You ripped yourself away from the soiled sheets, stomping over to your window as his cum leaked down your inner thighs before slamming it closed, locking it for good.

...

“You made this?” Miles exclaimed with a mouth full of spaghetti, clumsily twirling another forkful over his paper plate. You were handing out some of the spiders' leftover Pomodoro pasta from the previous night. You’d lost your appetite. It’d be a shame if you let it all go to waste.

“Yeah, eat up, there’s enough for everyone.” You scooped out more pasta from a Tupperware and onto a paper plate for Gwen. The younger girl’s eyes sparkled as she grabbed the plate, immediately slurping up a bite.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, lips covered in red sauce, “why are you working at the Spider Society when you could be a chef?”

“It’s because Miguel begged her to work here,” Miles quipped, a lone spaghetti hanging from his mouth.

“And who told you that?” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Uhh,” his eyes flew over to Peter B., who was waiting patiently for his own plate of pasta to be served. You turned and narrowed your eyes at Peter, who chuckled nervously. 

“Listen,” he began, hands thrown up in surrender, “the kid got curious, okay? He was convincing, I mean, look at those eyes.” You huffed, snatching Peter’s plate and loading it up with pasta.

“You guys are annoying,” you muttered with no bite, shifting your gaze toward Hobie, who sat quietly with his legs thrown up on the table, “Hobie, fuck the government and all that, but you need to get your dirty boots off the table if you want some food.” 

Hobie sighed dramatically, letting his boots drop to the ground.

“Fine, boss lady.” 

Satisfied, you handed him a plate.

“So, let’s talk about you being a chef?” Gwen tried again, scrapping the remaining bits off her plate. 

“It’s just pasta,” you shrugged, pulling out a chair and taking a seat, “anyone can make a Pomodoro.”

“My dad can’t.”

“…why?”

“He’s Irish.”

“And a bloody cop,” Hobie interjected, twirling his pasta with a plastic fork, “hate those.”

“Here we go,” Gwen huffed, the beginnings of an argument forming. You chose to ignore them, letting Gwen, Miles, and Hobie bicker between themselves.

You squirmed in your seat, crossing your legs to cure the throbbing within. You could still feel Miguel, the stretch of his cock, and the inevitable ache that lingered afterward. You were still full of him, your cunt wet even hours later, plaguing you with the thought of never feeling him again. 

You drummed your fingers over the messy table littered with paper plates and napkins, your body hunched forward, lost in thought.

“So…” Peter began, adjusting the collar of his pink robe, “you gonna tell me what’s going on or am I gonna have to force it outta you?” You whipped your head to look at him, brows furrowed as you regarded him.

“What makes you think something’s going on?” You whispered, hoping the cafeteria was loud enough so the rest of the table wouldn’t hear.

“Something’s going on or you wouldn’t be whispering,” Peter whispered back, his blue eyes pinned to yours as he searched for answers. 

“It’s nothing.” You answered quickly, continuing to squirm in your seat, fighting to ignore your achy cunt. 

“Did you guys finally smooch?” You froze, your hands gripping the edge of the table with a force that made your knuckles go white. 

“Peter, what the fuck are you talking about?” You hissed, watching him happily eat his Pomodoro.

“You think I don’t know?” He challenged, “It might not be obvious to everyone else but I know what’s going on.” He winked at you, dabbing a napkin messily over his mouth.

Your heart was pounding, ready to beat out your chest, but you schooled your features as best you could. You swallowed thickly, crossing your arms over your chest as if to make yourself smaller. 

“Okay, fine, you know. What of it?” 

“Miguel’s being mopey.”

“Mopey?” You snorted, shaking your head, “He’s always mopey, isn’t he?”

“This is a different kind of mopey,” Peter raised a brow, “it’s actually kind of… frightening.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s got nothing to do with us, for once. Usually one of us pisses him off enough to throw things but he’s on a mission. Said he needed to clear his head. So what happened?” You sighed, shoulders sagging.

“I might have said something I wasn’t supposed to last night.”

“What?”

“We made a deal,” you explained in a whisper, “no feelings, just…you know,” you wiggled your fingers, hoping it would be enough of an explanation. Peter nodded, urging you to continue, “Well, I messed up.”

“How?”

“ItoldhimIlovehim.” You blurted out, your hands flying over your mouth. Peter blinked with a subtle tilt of his head, before a grin stretched over his lips. You groaned, now covering your eyes, “W-what is that, why are you smiling? Stop it.”

“I mean, one of you had to say it first.”

“Peter, you’re killing me here.” He rolled his eyes, inching close enough till your knees brushed against his.

“You don’t think the big guy feels the same way?”

“No!” You squeaked incredulously, “There’s no way. You should’ve seen him yesterday. He could barely look at me!” 

“You caught him off guard.”

“I know that, but he still could’ve said something. Anything.”

“He’s a guy. Guys are stupid.” You groaned, pushing your hair out of your face. You turned to look at the other spiders. You knew they’d been listening given the way they all turned away immediately.

“Someone is stupid,” you muttered to Peter, feeling dejected, “and it’s definitely not him.”

...

You took a deep breath before placing your watch over the sensor.

The door to Miguel’s office didn’t budge, not to your surprise. Lyla must have blocked the systems again.

What were you even doing there? 

You hadn’t seen Miguel in about a week. That was ample time to inform you he wanted nothing to do with you. You couldn't blame him but still, it was…unprofessional. He was your boss at the end of the day. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have started fucking the head of the Spider Society. Your weak heart wouldn’t be in shambles if you didn’t.

It was a stupid move, you knew, telling someone you love them in the throes of passion when they clearly weren’t on the same page, unprovoked or not. He probably hates you. He must. 

You’d given yourself enough time to think it through and given yourself so many pep talks before deciding a professional relationship with Miguel was for the best. No more friends with benefits. 

No more keeping your window unlocked.

You took a breath and tried again. No luck. 

Did he fire you? That couldn’t be right. You were still in the system and able to enter HQ with your keycard just fine. 

“You’re always catching him at a bad time,” Lyla sighed beside you, whipping out her tiny little holographic phone, “he didn’t even want to take a photo! Unbelievable!” The small image on her screen revealed a snarling Miguel, clearly unamused by the bunny filter plastered over his face. It was cute, even if he looked a bit terrifying baring his fangs. 

Lyla shifted to face you, hands on her little hips as she looked you up and down.

“You look niiice,” she quickly snapped a photo of you, “no cute filter needed.”

“Uhh, thanks?”

“Now it’s your turn to say something nice to me.” The Ai grinned when you rolled your eyes. 

“You look…extra yellow today, Lyla.” 

“Thank you! I’m in default mode.”

“Okay, so I’ll just come back later then?” You rushed to leave but Lyla stopped you, zapping in front of you suddenly.

“Nah, I’ll let you in.” You could hear the door to Miguel’s office opening, “Fix him.” 

“What? How am I supposed to do that?” 

Lyla shrugged, “I dunno, I just know you’re the only one that can.” She waved farewell, disappearing in a glimmer of gold. 

You groaned, dropping your head in your hands for a moment to collect your thoughts. Your palms began to sweat—they always did when you were nervous—so you quickly wiped them over your black pencil skirt before facing the office entryway. 

It was dark as usual, the only light illuminating the area was Miguel’s bright yellow screens. They hung above him as he sat slouched in his chair, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His head turned lazily to regard you. 

“I heard you’ve been mopey.” You began, cracking a smile when he snorted. He shook his head, watching you slowly approach him like one would a wounded animal.  He didn’t confirm nor deny the accusation.

“What do you need?” 

“To talk to you.” You said, finding the courage to step into his space, leaning back against his desk and blocking one of the yellow screens.

“About?” 

“Us.” Miguel hummed, running a hand through his messy hair. He sat up in his chair but said nothing else, allowing you the space to speak freely.

“I-I wanted to apologize if I made you feel uncomfortable,” you began to fumble with your fingers, unable to keep eye contact with him for very long, “I know that what I said was…crossing the line—”

“Did you mean it?” He asked abruptly, the question forcing your eyes away from your fingernails and toward his chiseled face. He looked exhausted, eyes heavy but swimming with curiosity.

“W-well, I mean, it was a moment of—”

“Did you mean it?” He repeated, his tone stern as he awaited a proper answer from you. You bit your lip, slowly nodding your head.

“Yeah. I did. Still do.” 

The silence that stretched wasn’t very long but it felt like an eternity. Miguel only stared at you, his jaw tight as he sat forward, his elbows resting on his toned thighs.

You wished you could read his thoughts, take a peek at what ran through his mind. He was always so good at hiding his emotions, never showing an ounce of what he felt. That wasn’t always the case but after Gabriella, he didn’t show much of anything. 

“I think it’s best we don’t see each other anymore,” you finally concluded, crossing your arms, “we should stop.”

“What?” Miguel’s eyes narrowed, “What do you mean stop?” He was towering over you in a matter of seconds, forcing you to crane your neck to look up at him. Your heart was pounding, your hands flying to grip the edge of his desk.

“Mig, we can’t keep doing this.”

“Yes, we can.” He caged you in his arms, bringing his face just a few inches away from yours. He never had much of a problem with eye contact, but you did. You chose to look at his collarbones and the large swoop of his shoulders. It was intimidating and arousing all at once and you weren’t getting anywhere with this speech, were you?

“We can’t. Not when we’re not on the same page.” 

“Who says we’re not?” You felt his fingers graze the side of your face, pushing a lock of your hair behind your ear. You turned away, squeezing your eyes shut, feeling the familiar prick of tears behind your lids.

“Stop playing with me.” You said, pushing him away with little luck. Miguel shifted slightly at your touch, watching you rub at your eyes. 

“I’m not.” 

“Then why have you not said anything for a week?” You hissed, the frustration threatening to boil over, “You’ve left me agonizing over this for a week, Miguel!” You wiped furiously at your cheeks, catching a few stray tears. “I’m such an idiot.” 

Miguel grabbed your wrists in his hands, yanking them away from your face. His concerned eyes met your wet ones, a frown tugging at his lips.

“Stop.” He demanded, taking your flushed face in his hands and wiping the wet streaks away with his thumbs. “Don’t say that about yourself.” You glared, cheeks puffed and swollen from the pressure of fighting away tears.

“Fine,” you snapped, ignoring the way he stroked your cheeks, “you’re the fucking idiot.” 

“I am,” Miguel agreed with a sigh, refusing to release you, “I didn’t know what to say. Thought you might have been lying—don’t look at me like that.” 

“You’re pissing me off.”

“I know, beba.” The endearment startled you for a moment, your glossy eyes peering up at him as a rush of excitement settled in your stomach. He’d never used endearing words with you before. It had you stumped for a second before you remembered yourself, your brows furrowing in irritation

“Why would you think I was lying? Mig, I’ve loved you for years, you buffoon!” Miguel loomed closer with every word before he kissed you, silencing you effectively. Your eyes fluttered, your lips unresponsive at first until he coaxed you into a gentle rhythm. 

Kissing Miguel was so much softer than you imagined. 

You thought he’d be all tongue and teeth, desperate to devour his victim. His kisses were syrupy and deliberate, steady and reassuring. He was taking his time learning the shape of your lips, the plumpness, how perfect they felt molded against his. 

“I’m sorry, beba,” he said between kisses, letting you snake your arms around his neck to pull him closer, “perdoname. I’m an idiot.” You hummed in agreement, continuing to assault his lips sweetly. You couldn’t stop kissing him if you wanted to, sneaking your tongue past the seam of his lips to taste more of him. 

He growled, tightening his hold on you, allowing you to taste at your leisure. He tasted fresh, like the spearmint gum he always had on hand.

“Perdoname,” he repeated, wanting so desperately for you to forgive his transgressions, slotting himself between your legs.

“Yeah? You’re sorry?” you teased, feeling the familiar ache of arousal blooming in your core, “show me how sorry you are.” Another growl ripped from him, animalistic and provoked. He wasted no time, pushing you down so that your back was flat against his desk and your legs were wrapped around his hips. 

He pressed a button beside you and suddenly, the platform began to elevate. 

“Mig,” you sat up in a panic, but Miguel only pushed you back down, lifting your skirt up till it pooled over your waist, “w-why are we moving up?”

“Privacy,” he grunted, spreading your legs, running his thumb over the soaked patch of your panties. Your hands scrambled to find purchase on something over the desk, your heart hammering in your chest as the ceiling seemed to loom closer.

“Y-you know I’m scared of heights!” You squealed when the platform came to a jutting halt, squeezing your eyes shut. You didn��t even want to think about how high up you were.

“It’s okay,” Miguel purred, gently rubbing your clit through the fabric, “you’re safe, you’re with me, beba, no tengas miedo.” 

“M-Mig, please,” you didn’t even know what you were begging for at that point, you just needed something, and whatever that was, he gave to you. You felt him push aside your panties, and you finally spared him a glance, almost choking at the sight of him mesmerized by the sweetness between your legs.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he muttered, slipping a finger through your folds, “you dripping all over my desk.”

“Y-yeah?” 

“Mhm,” he hummed, easily ripping your panties apart before getting on his knees, “smell s’good.” He muttered, licking a stripe up with his fat tongue, scooping whatever mess you made. He moaned at the taste before completely diving in, eyes closed and large hands keeping your trembling thighs spread for him.

As always, you were a whimpering mess for him, mewling with every precise stroke of his tongue. It was the first time he’d done something like this, and god, it was nothing you could have ever dreamed of.  

He moaned into your cunt, the gentle vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. You trembled and whined with every loud slurp of his mouth over your clit, his tongue swiping over your precious bud before working his way down to dip inside your hole. 

“Fuck, Miguel,” your hands flew to his hair, your fingers weaving through the thick strands to keep his head in place. He skillfully nipped and licked the surface, lifting his face away slightly to spit into your cunt, watching it run through your puffy folds with lidded eyes before devouring you again.

“You taste fucking amazing,” he groaned, sucking your clit between his lips.

You threw your head back, letting out the prettiest moans for him. You forgot about everything, about where you were and how high up you were from the ground. You couldn’t care less as long as Miguel continued to eat from you like a madman. 

You could feel the tension in your abdomen, the clear sign that you were close. Miguel continued to drink from you, slurping obscenely at the fresh arousal that dripped into his mouth.

“Close?” He asked, giving you kitten licks, his hands squeezing your thighs encouragingly. 

“God y-yes, so close.” You could feel him smiling against your folds before starting up a vicious rhythm again with his eyes closed. 

With a loud cry, you came into his waiting mouth, your back arching and body withering over the table from the overstimulation. Miguel licked and sucked every inch of you, determined to catch every drop of your orgasm. 

“Oh my god,” you moaned, releasing your grip from his hair and draping an arm over your eyes. Miguel stood, removing your arm and leaning over your fatigued body. He looked down at you with intense red eyes, his mouth and chin completely covered in your slick. You bit your lip when a smile curved at the edges of his lips before he swooped down to kiss you.

You moaned, completely aroused all over again from your own musky taste on his lips. He slipped his tongue in your mouth, allowing you a proper taste. 

“Perdoname.” He begged again over your lips before gently brushing the tip of his nose against yours. You giggled, pushing him away slightly so that you could sit up on your elbows. 

“Mm, I don’t know,” you teased, “you’re gonna have to try again.” Miguel shook his head, tapping a button on his watch, and allowing his suit to vanish. You gasped at his sudden nakedness, your eyes glued to his throbbing erection. Miguel grinned, fangs bared, tapping his cock over your sensitive cunt.

You closed your eyes as he immediately pushed in, moaning as he worked himself into your tight channel. 

In your euphoric state, you barely registered him grabbing your hand and placing a chaste kiss over your knuckles, whispering over your skin. Your ears picked up a few words, some naughty and some sweet, but your heart fluttered and your chest tightened when you caught the last two words before he began pounding into you.

“Te amo.”

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #spider man 2099 #atsv #across the spiderverse #spider verse #spiderman across the spiderverse

[steddieas-shegoes]

Hi!! I love your writing! Submitting a request for fluff where famous/ rockstar Eddie is at an event where Steve is very clearly ogling him. People suggest they flirt (thinking it won't go anywhere bc Eddie is notoriously hard to get) until they end up seen together, completely smitten (they've been together for eons at this point, no one seems to add up their matching scars or rings)

I will admit some of this was written when I was on some heavy dose pain meds so if it’s completely incoherent or something doesn’t have continuity it’s because I forgot I started this and then just picked it back up without really reading most of it. I always love reading rockstar Eddie, especially when Steve has to be like his assistant or bodyguard instead of his date to things. They say write what you know so this is what I know! - Mickala ❤️

———————————————————————

Eddie Munson was nominated for a Grammy.

It almost didn’t seem possible that he was sitting in the same room as musicians he’d looked up to his whole life.

And Steve was here, too.

Technically, Steve was his plus one, but since he couldn’t exactly have a boyfriend in public, he was disguised as his assistant.

He didn’t necessarily mind as long as it meant having Steve by his side for the biggest night of his life.

But then the band’s manager told him that he couldn’t sit next to Steve, that it would look weird that he sat next to his assistant instead of the band members or a date. So Steve was across the table, looking sadly down at his plate of disgusting fancy food.

Eddie couldn’t really blame him; He felt pretty upset too.

But then he was expected to mingle for a bit, and Steve was instructed to stay at the table. It wasn’t that they expected to be able to do everything together tonight, but it was quickly turning into Eddie being unable to spend any time with him.

He mingled.

He felt Steve’s eyes on him the entire time.

But he resisted looking back.

Instead, he played with the ring Steve got him the year before on his ring finger. It was a plain silver band, the most plain thing Eddie wore.

Right before the actual awards ceremony started, Steve snuck up behind him, placed a hand on his lower back, and whispered in his ear.

“Can’t wait for my Grammy winning fiancé to fuck me on every surface of our hotel room tonight.”

And then he walked away.

He walked away like he hadn’t just broken Eddie’s brain.

Eddie called it after that, unable to focus on any conversation that didn’t involve any of Steve’s plans for the night.

By the time he got back to the table, Steve was smiling at him in a way that told him he was in trouble. He loved that smile.

Eddie felt a nudge and turned to see the guitarist for a band in a different category smirking at him from the next table over.

“Man, that guy has been staring at you all night. Isn’t he your assistant?”

Eddie did what he practiced: he lied.

“Oh, yeah! That’s Steve. He’s more security than anything, but he’s playing assistant tonight. Can’t really break him of bodyguard habits though,” Eddie shrugged as if to say ‘what are ya gonna do?’

“I dunno, dude. Seems like he might be into you.”

“Nah, I think you’re reading into it,” Eddie shook his head.

But when he turned back to his plate and glanced at Steve, Steve was practically glaring at him.

“Gareth,” Eddie whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

“What?” Gareth said at a normal volume, like the fucking oblivious idiot he was.

Eddie rolled his eyes and leaned in to try to get the point across that they needed to be quiet.

“I think I’m gonna skip the after party tonight. Steve’s not having a good time and I’m kinda not interested in another two hours of having to pretend he’s just my assistance. Think you guys can handle it without me?”

“Yeah, man. No problem.”

Gareth quickly turned back to his date, who probably had never even listened to their music before, but was hand chosen by their manager when Gareth admitted he didn’t have a date.

The rest of the guys had actual dates, girls they’d been with for months, or in Jeff’s case, years.

But none of them had what he and Steve had.

And it sucked that he was stuck having to pretend that he wasn’t completely in love with him.

So he made an executive decision that when the awards were over, he’d feign a headache and claim his assistant could ride with him back to the hotel so the rest of the guys could enjoy the night.

He gave Steve a look that begged patience, begged him to just enjoy the night as it was the best he could.

And because Steve was a good fiancé, a good person, he smiled and took a sip of his wine before involving the person next to him in a conversation.

But the awards started up shortly after, and they didn’t have to pretend to want to talk to anyone else. Eddie managed to find Steve’s foot under the table, started running his foot up Steve’s leg until it was just above his knee, until Gareth nudged him and whispered that he was sinking down in his chair and it was almost their category.

Eddie sat back up, smirking at the way Steve was trying so hard to focus on the stage, but his eyes were glassy and his cheeks were red.

When they announced “Best Rock Album”, and all the nominees, everyone at the table sat up straight, nerves thrumming through their veins.

Corroded Coffin had worked their asses off to be here. Broke bar tours in the Midwest, trying to slip in original songs when they could but still keep people entertained. Broke bar tours on the west coast when Steve bought an RV that he let them use from September to November and February to May. Then a record label signing them only to find out they expected them to change their entire sound and tour the entire east coast for four months, right when the kids were graduating high school. The band agreed they had to find a way out. Luckily, Steve’s mom was one of the best lawyers around and kind of owed him for just being a shitty mom, and she managed to find a loophole in their contract that got them out without having to pay anything except a small studio fee for when they recorded a song.

But things turned around quickly for them after that.

A record company saw them perform in Indy, said they loved that they were a “listener friendly heavy metal”, wanted them to make an album and tour all summer.

They agreed.

The first album took off in ways no one could’ve expected. They were in magazines and newspapers, on late night shows, and performing in places Eddie could’ve only dreamed of.

The second album went even better.

This third album, though. It was different.

The guys called it his love letter to Steve, so they had every right to say they didn’t want to record it or perform it, but they did. It was still their sound, still rock, but the lyrics were about yearning for the person who wanted you most, and being proud of the people you were together, and loving someone who’d never been loved right.

It was disgustingly romantic, but because there were amazing guitar solos and drums, they maintained their street cred in the rock family.

Steve cried for hours the first time he listened to it, and when it was done, he proposed to Eddie.

But Eddie’s plan all along was to propose to Steve after he listened to the album, so while Steve was down on one knee, tears still falling from his eyes, Eddie dropped to one knee too.

They’ve worn matching silver bands on their ring fingers since, but no one seems to have noticed.

In all fairness, Eddie wears a lot of rings, a lot of jewelry. It’s not immediately obvious unless you see his hands every day.

So this album meant a lot to him and to Steve. When they got news of the nomination, they cried and then Eddie fucked Steve for six hours straight, which shouldn’t have been possible, but through the adrenaline of being nominated for a Grammy, all things are possible.

Now they were here, being forced to keep some distance because they’d all agreed he couldn’t be out yet, couldn’t say who this album was about even though they get asked in every interview.

He maintains the mystery and it kills him.

He knows it kills Steve too.

“Corroded Coffin with their album, ‘Into Battle With You’!”

Everyone at their table was jumping up and yelling excitedly, and Eddie could barely breathe. He desperately wanted to kiss Steve, but he knew he had to wait.

He felt Steve’s eyes on him the entire walk to the stage with his boys, the whole speech he gave, and the whole walk backstage.

The post-interview process was annoying, especially when they all just wanted to get back to their dates, but it had to be done.

Pictures were taken, hugs were given, and they were finally given the chance to go back to their table.

“Dude, how did we beat Metallica? This feels like a dream,” Jeff asked, eyes still a bit wide in disbelief.

“Don’t question it, they might reconsider,” Gareth threw in.

Eddie was laser focused on sitting down at the table to talk to Steve, even if they had to have distance between them.

But when they got to the table, Steve was gone.

Eddie tried not to panic. Maybe he needed to use the restroom and thought Eddie would be longer.

But five minutes passed and he still wasn’t back. He turned to the guy who’d spoken to him earlier.

“Hey, have you seen my assistant?”

“Yeah, he said he had to get some air.”

“Thanks.”

Eddie wasn’t even thinking when he stood up and made his way outside, their manager whisper shouting at him to sit down.

Steve was more important.

It took too long to get outside, guests and press and guards congratulating him the whole way out. They had blocked off the side exit for everyone to leave later, made sure the side road was secure and only approved vehicles got through. Steve was probably here somewhere.

But he wasn’t. Eddie started to panic.

He walked up to the valet to ask if he’d seen him. He hadn’t.

Then he walked up to a guard by the end of the road. He hadn’t seen him either.

Maybe they missed each other somehow, maybe he’d gone back inside and there were too many people to see Eddie coming outside.

But as he looked across the road at a diner that somehow still remained on this strip of fancy dining and coffee shops, he saw him.

He was sitting at a table with a milkshake in front of him. Two straws.

Eddie bit his lip to keep from crying.

Back in Hawkins, they weren’t able to really go on dates. Robin would sometimes third wheel just so they would be less suspicious, but it was awkward. But at the diner, they could get a booth in the back, share a milkshake, and no one would see or question it if Steve’s hand slipped across the table to run his fingers across Eddie’s arm.

Eddie ran to the diner, he had to be with Steve right now.

When he walked up to the table, Steve smiled up at him.

“Got your favorite,” he said, gesturing for Eddie to sit across from him.

So Eddie did, because if Steve wanted him, he had him.

That’s how it’s been for years, that’s how it always would be.

Steve reached a hand over to run his fingers over his arm, smiling at him fondly.

“I’m proud of you, Eds. So proud.”

Eddie wasn’t going to cry.

But the way Steve was looking at him, he couldn’t hold back the tears.

They sat like that, enjoying their milkshake, for probably longer than they should have.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see people slowly leaving the awards, rushing into vehicles, not paying attention to the diner across the street.

But eventually, they knew they needed to go, needed to find the guys so they knew they were safe.

Eddie went up to the counter, felt Steve’s eyes on him the whole time.

“All set?” The woman behind the register asked with a smile.

“Yes ma’am.”

“That’ll be $2.50.”

Eddie handed her a $20 bill and told her to keep the change, pay for someone else’s bill if she felt like it, and she nodded.

“You know, that boy must love you a whole lot to be lookin’ at you like that.”

“Hm?” Eddie asked as he turned to see Steve watching him with a content grin. “Oh. Yeah, he’s obsessed with me.”

The woman smirked.

“And you?”

“Oh, I’m so obsessed with him, I wrote an entire album about him. Just won an award for my obsession.”

“Good. You take care of each other.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Eddie walked over to the table to help Steve up, but separated again before they walked outside to join the now heavier crowd waiting for their cars.

———

The next day, the news was focused on all the Grammy winners, Corroded Coffin among them. Steve proudly read aloud from the newspaper delivered to their hotel room, standing up completely naked and reading it theatrically.

But when he got towards the end, he froze.

His brows furrowed and the line in his forehead got bigger.

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“There’s a picture of us. At the diner.”

“Oh?”

“We look…”

Eddie walked over to see what he was talking about.

Even in the blurry black and white newspaper image, you could see the love between them. It would be impossible to deny what was going on there.

Eddie smiled and leaned in to kiss the corner of Steve’s mouth.

“Alright?”

Steve looked at him, searching his face for any sign of panic, smiling when he didn’t find any.

“Perfect. This is perfect.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #corroded coffin #rock star Eddie Munson #ficlet #anon request #request #it’s the 90s in this #I feel like i gotta say time has passed even though it’s very clear time has passed

[saintsir4n]

DRUNKEN MISTAKE

where carson finds herself in an unfamiliar place.

WARNINGS: mature content

—

“Oh fuck!” Carson exclaimed, waking up to see Brian’s sleeping ass next to her. She shook him and until jumped up like there was a fire. “What the fuck happened?”

“Sonny — you scared me. Why did you shake me like that, just get back to bed,” Brian’s morning voice was even deeper than she remembered. She had to snap out of it and more importantly get out his bed.

“We slept together, what was I thinkin’?” She hissed, pulling the sheets up to her chin, ignoring his tender gaze.

They were both naked and yet he was acting like it wasn’t a big deal… when it was a big fucking deal.

He tried to move closer, “It’s okay.”

“This is not okay, nah, this is far from okay.” She stumbled as she stood up, stuck between letting go of the sheet and tossing on a random piece of clothing that was already on the floor, “I was supposed to stay say from you. Do better be better, but I’m so fuckin’ naive god!”

“You’re not naive, you were drunk, we were drunk and it happened. It was good, better than good, great like it always was,” the images of last night that flashed through his head had him grinning like an idiot.

Carson scoffed, “Stop smilin’ this ain’t a good thing.”

“And why isn’t it? You enjoyed it.”

“I didn’t,” she lied.

His face fell, “Bullshit, the way you were screaming my —“

“ — stop it brian —“

“ — name, drove me crazy, hell the damn houseboat could’ve capsized,” he called out as she found her underwear and put it on, and quickly threw the sheet back at him, hoping he would cover up.

But the fucker didn’t.

“Shut up and help me find my shit. This isn’t a good thing. This is so fucked. I fucked the guy who ruined everythin’” she panicked, looking for the rest of her clothes, neglecting to see the anger forming on his face.

“Stop sayin’ that.”

She turned to him, half naked, “What? That you broke my heart, lied and messed with my head just for a job! It’s the truth.”

He stood up, “And you don’t think I’m not payin’ for that? The girl I love looks at me like a villian.”

“Stop sayin’ that,” she hissed, heart racing at his confession.

A year had gone by and he was still claiming he was in love.

“Why? ‘Cause you know that’s not a lie.” He shook his head when she tried to deny the truth, “And neither is this,” he motioned between them, they looked a hot mess, but she was gorgeous beyond compare. “Last night proved it. We might’ve been under the influence but you know it sure as hell was warranted. You wanted me, I wanted you. It was the truth back then and it’s the truth now.”

“Brian…” she trailed off, wanting to avert her gaze but remembered he wasn’t wearing a damn thing.

“Now there’s some shit going on today. I know you don’t wanna get caught up in it. I don’t want you two either but you need to stay with Suki and Tej. I can’t have you gettin’ hurt.”

“More police shit?”

“It’s Verone,” he opted to say, “Monica will be with him.”

“I don’t care about your new piece.”

His eyes doubled in size, “She’s not —“

“— I’ll be gone before she comes back. I promise. Now help me find my shit,” she pushed her braids away from her face as she scanned the badly lit room.

“Carson,” he tried reaching out but she backed away, “listen to me. Nothin’ is going on between me and her, nothin’.”

“I saw the way she was around you,” she huffed, shaking her head at his confused expression.

“And how was that?”

“It was the same way I was,” she confessed.

Monica looked giddy, whether it was steal or not she knew that was the Brian affect.

“But that doesn’t mean I like her. I never did,” he stated, hoping he was getting though to her.

“It was all a job right?” She pressed, and he stupidly nodded, “Like with me.”

“That’s different,” you’re different.

“Sounds the same,” she shrugged, “Just feel sorry for the girl.”

“For the love of god,” his voice rose, pinning her to her place, “Carson it’s not the same! None of this is the same. The only thing that hasn’t changed is my feelings for you. You’ve got me on the hook and you haven’t let me go, believe that. I love you so much, I wouldn’t be able to move on. So no, Monica is Monica. And if she’s flirtin’ with me, I shut it down.”

Carson didn’t know what to say, and that made her angry. Angry because she had dozens of things ready to say when she first saw him, but all that went out the window when she had some liquor in her system. Drinking with Brian used to be fun, and yesterday proved that it still was. But mixing feelings with alcohol was never a good thing.

“Okay.”

He reeled back at her response, “Okay? Just okay, after all of that?”

“What do you want me to say?” She rolled her eyes, “Brian you’re not wearin’ clothes, which means we’re not supposed to be havin’ this conversation.”

He tutted, “Fine, later, we have the conversation you’ve been avoiding fully dressed.”

“Don’t I get a say?” She threw out of her arms.

“I’m not gonna let you avoid it anymore. We’ve been going back and forth for months. And I’m not lettin’ you slip through my fingers again.”

The sincerity in his eyes made hers soften.

“You won’t stop tryin’ will you?” She breathed out, as he grabbed some boxers from the ground and put them on.

“Never,” he admitted, smiling slightly now he was getting through to her. “Shit will be goin’ down later today. So I promise when this shit with Verone is done for the day, we’ll talk. No alcohol, no sex, just talk.“

She raised a brow, “Just talk?”

“Just talk,” he promised, closing the distance between them.

She could feel the heat radiate of his toned body. She wanted to sneak a peak but she couldn’t give that easily… again.

“Okay,” she agreed, biting her lip.

“Good.” He wore a shit eating grin, “Now, you wanna come back to bed or you leavin’?”

It was 6am and she sure as hell wouldn’t go out at this time, not in Florida, nor would he let her so she nodded.

She bit on her bottom lip as she looked him up and down, “I guess I’ll come back to bed.”

He lowered back on to the bed and teased, “You want another round to help you sleep?”

“Shut up, you ain’t that good,” she snorted, falling next to him.

He laughed, “Now, who’s the liar.”

—

not edited just yet

#wattpad #fanfic #black reader #2 fast 2 furious #2003 #brian o’conner nfsw #brianoconnerfanfic #brian o’conner x carson baker #brian o’conner x black!reader #brian o’conner smut #brian o’conner x reader #brian and sonny #black girl #black racer #sonnybaker #carsonbaker #pink #stereo love #one shot

[lovingperfectionsblog]

Forgive me, what?

Pierre Gasly x Reader

Summary: Who knew asking anyone out on a date could be so chaotic.

Warnings: So much swearing. Sorry.

Word Count: 2758

Authors note: So there was a lot of google translate there so please forgive me :D Hope you enjoy and can’t wait to hear what you think 😊

_____

“No, it’s sounding really good, I promise” Lando was trying to reassure Pierre, “You’ve only been learning for half an hour, what did you expect?”

Pierre expected to be completely fluent in Portuguese in half an hour, but hey, I guess his toxic trait really was thinking he’d be good at everything he tried first time.

“I sound like a fucking idiot Lando” how could any language be this difficult? He speaks three languages for Christ’s sake.

“Everyone sounds like an idiot when they’re learning a new language, I promise you, you’re doing great” Truthfully, Lando wasn’t even all that sure if he was pronouncing these correctly but, like, Lui has taught him enough, nah, he was doing great.

“And you’re sure this is how Lui taught you?” Pierre had been sceptical from the start, but he had also resigned himself to Lando being his only hope in learning any Portuguese at all.

“Whose the one with the Portuguese girlfriend here, me or you?” He was being way too cocky for someone who was only 50% sure of this pronunciation, but Pierre really did not need to know that.

“Yeah, okay, no, you’re right” What other options did Pierre have. “Can we start from the top?”

“So, Ola” Lando began.

“Ola” Pierre mimicked, following alone with Lando as he moved through the words on the whiteboard.

“Como esta” Fuck, was that pronounced right?

“Como esta” where did Lando even get the whiteboard?

“Eu estou bem, e tu?” Lando was pretty sure he had never heard Lui pronounce it like that.

“Eu estou bem, e-“

“Jesus, there you two are.” Charles, Max, and Carlos walked into the makeshift McLaren boardroom.

“What are you even doing in here?” Max pointed towards the whiteboard, sure that this was the missing whiteboard that everyone was going on about.

“I’m teaching Pierre Portuguese” Lando beamed out, beyond proud of himself for teaching someone another language.

“What the fuck do you know about Portuguese?” Carlos was 100% certain Pierre was not learning any known language.

“Excuse me, my girlfriend is Portuguese, and I have picked up some stuff thank you very much” Lando defended the knowledge he had picked up.

“I thought you said Lui was teaching you?” Pierre was definitely sure that when he approached Lando about learning Portuguese he had said Lui was specifically teaching him.

 “Like, not formally, per se” Just because she wasn’t giving him proper lessons doesn’t mean he didn’t know the language.

Well, he didn’t, but that was fine, he could get around that.  

“Oh my god Lando” Pierre threw his head back, slumping down in his chair, he had just wasted so much time and now he was going to have to start all over again.

“Where did you even get all of this, because I’m not even sure you can spell in English let alone Portuguese” Carlos had now walked over to the whiteboard inspecting all the words written down.

“Obviously I know how to spell all of this” Lando knew he sounded too defensive, and he definitely deserved the blank, silent stares he was receiving, “Fine, Pinterest”

“Lando! You said you could teach me Portuguese!” Pierre was definitely not learning any fucking language known to mankind.

“Well, who else can teach you if not me” Lando gestured around the room, “I am literally your best bet”

“I am Spanish. I  literally speak Spanish” Carlos reminded the room as if he was putting his name in to take over the lessons, “It’s like, really similar to Portuguese.”

“Kelly is teaching me” Max pointed to himself, knowing he actually did have a fairly decent amount of knowledge of the language, willing to share what he knew if it would help.

“Well, fuck off, Pierre already asked me” Lando stuck out his tongue at both drivers, deciding on behalf of Pierre that since he had approached him, he was going to teach him anyway.

“Lando, no, you’re done” Pierre had never enjoyed firing someone more in his entire life.

“Why are you even trying to learn Portuguese?” Charles had decided to ask the only question that was worth anything, because knowing Pierre, it was dumb and bound to provide entertainment.

“Yeah, why are you learning Portuguese?” Lando repeated the question, realizing that in his excitement he hadn’t even bothered to find out why, just immediately jumping at the opportunity to teach Pierre.

Silence.

Charles was right, this was going to be both dumb and provide substantial entertainment.

Pierre was faced with two options; he could lie and save himself the embarrassment or he could be honest and be bullied by his best friends for the rest of his life.

He was going to lie.

“I’m going there on holiday, and I wanted to lear-“ This was going to be the perfect lie before Charles cut him off.

“Don’t bullshit me” Why did Charles have to know him so well.

And under the weight of the stares, Pierre cracked.

“Okay, so you know that new media girl?” Pierre was answered by a chorus of laughter from the boys, knowing that this is exactly what was bound to happen.

“How did I fucking know this was going to be about a girl” Max somehow got out between laughs, knowing that the only way Pierre was ever going to be putting in this much effort into something was if a girl was involved.

“Oh shut up, says you who are all in these great little relationships” Pierre crossed his arms, throwing his own little pity party, “let’s not get into what you did to get Kelly”.

Max was suddenly dead quiet, not wanting to open up that conversation, still embarrassed by the lengths he went to in order to get Kelly to even glance in his direction.

“Okay, so tell us about the new media girl” Carlos further questioned as the laughter died down, “and then tell us why you’re learning Portuguese for her”

“You promise you wont make fun of me?” if Pierre was going to share this then there were going to be some conditions to it.

“We promise, now spill” Lando got himself comfortable for the story.

“Well, she’s new to the team right and she’s really fucking beautiful and like, I really want to ask her on a date” Pierre gave the most basic explanation he could, choosing to omit how smitten he actually was with you, how nervous he got whenever you walked in the room, to the extent that he actively left whenever he could and he genuinely thought you were one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, but the boys didn’t need to know that.

“And the Portuguese?” Charles prompted Pierre to answer the rest of Carlos’s conversation.

“I am 90% sure she is Portuguese because I overheard one of the engineers talking to her in Portuguese and he is 100% Portuguese so I guess if I want to ask her out, I got to do it like this” Pierre shrugged, thinking this was the best plan he had ever thought of.

“Cool, no, that’s cool, cool, cool, but like” Max began

“How are you going to hold a conversation on the date if you can barely ask her out?” Carlos finished for him.

“Do you need to nit-pick every single part of this plan?” it was becoming abundantly clear to Pierre how bad this plan actually was, but it was his only one so, full steam ahead.

“It’s not a good plan” sometimes Pierre hated how honest Max was.

“Well, it’s the only one I’ve got so if you’d all excuse me” Pierre began getting up to leave, considering just signing up to Duolingo.

“No, no, wait, I’m sure Carlos wouldn’t mind teaching you a little something?” He had grabbed Pierre to stop him from leaving as he silently begged Carlos to help his friend out.

 “I’ll sort you out a hell of a lot faster than Lando was” Carlos couldn’t help but feel bad for Pierre, knowing how when he set his heart on something it was all he focused on until he got it.

“You sure you can help?” Pierre was cynical, already having been fooled by Lando, not prepared to waste anymore of his time.

“I promise, sit, you’ll be asking her out in the most romantic way in no time” Carlos was already thinking of how Pierre could ask you out, “French might be the language of love, but Spanish is the language of passion” Carlos puffed out his chest, proud of the language he embodied.

All the boys groaned at how cringy that was, but it was enough to convince Pierre to take his seat again.

“Okay, and?” Pierre looked around the room, waiting for the rest of the boys leave so he could get on with his classes.

“Oh, no, I am definitely not leaving, this is going to be too good” Charles got comfortable in his seat, ready to interrupt as much as will still allow Pierre to learn what he needs to know.

“I can always learn a little more to impress Kelly” Max shrugged, dreading the school like environment but he knew he lived for the validation, plus, free lessons where he wasn’t the only one who was going to look stupid, he’d be an idiot to give up this opportunity.  

“I know absolutely no Portuguese, so I should probably stay” Lando didn’t miss the evil eye Pierre sent his way at the admission.

“So, lets begin” Carlos took his spot in the front, ready to get Pierre a date.

______

“Okay, there she is” Pierre pointed you out to the boys, them finally seeing you after a week of Spanish lessons, enough that Carlos was sure Pierre wouldn’t make a complete fool of himself, “so you can all go now”, Pierre tried to force them away from you, not wanting them to stick around in case you said no.

“Do you honestly think we aren’t sticking around for this?” Max was sure Pierre would know them better by now.

“No, you absolutely have to go” Pierre was adamant, he could not do this with them all there.

“Just, stop being a baby and arguing with us and just go” Charles pushed Pierre out from behind the wall, not allowing him to hide because you had been distracted by the sudden movement of Pierre flying out of nowhere.

All four boys popped their head out from around the corner, not caring if you could see them, convinced Pierre was going to embarrass himself, so them adding to it didn’t entirely matter.

“Hola!” Pierre shouted out probably a little too loudly.

Fuck, get it together man, volume control. Okay, slowly, and QUIETLY, say what Carlos taught you.

Remember the pronunciation.

“Hola” you returned hesitantly, unsure as to why Pierre was looking so nervous and more importantly why he was greeting you in Spanish.

“Entonces, sé que esto es abrupto, pero creo que eres realmente hermosa y dulce y me pones muy nerviosa cada vez que entras en la habitación porque eres tan exquisita y me preguntaba si me harías el honor de dejarme tomar. saliste a cenar?” Pierre knows he rambled through the entire thing, but he thinks he did a really good job of it.

Carlos stood there beaming, there may have been one or two mistakes, but overall, Pierre had done a really good job of memorizing the speech he had written out for him.

Wait, why did you look so confused?

Pierre shot Carlos a concerned look, Carlos shrugging, indicating he had done a great job of the pronunciation.

Leaving only one other option, you didn’t want to go on a date with him.  

Fuck. He was about to get rejected by the most beautiful woman, who worked with him, in front of all his friends, in a language he didn’t even really understand.

Could this get any more embarrassing.

“Forgive me, but what?”

You had said that in perfect English.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t speak Spanish” you knew Pierre spoke English so why did he look like he had no idea what was going on?

Oh fuck, he did speak English right?

Do you remember any French?

“Parlez-vous anglais?” you hesitantly got out, unsure of what to do in this situation, why had everyone here insisted on speaking to you in languages you didn’t understand.

“Quelle putain de langue parles-tu ?” Pierre had shouted that at you. He had just shouted at you. Not only that, but there was a pretty strong swear word in there too.

This was, this was not going well.

“Pierre!” Charles admonished his friend for swearing at you, although, the entire interaction was hysterical.

“I wish I knew more French than that, I am so sorry” you interrupted the two drivers, just wanting to leave this entire situation and get on with your job, becoming more nervous as suddenly there were five drivers standing in front of you.

“WHAT. LANGUAGE. DO. YOU. SPEAK?” Lando shouted towards you, exaggerating every word and speaking way too slowly.

“Oh my god, she’s not deaf Lando” Max was shocked at his general poor social etiquette and that was a lot coming from Max.

“Why is everyone shouting at me?” this entire scenario was becoming a bit too much for you.

“Do you speak English?” Charles became the voice of reason in all this chaos, Pierre able to do nothing other than stand there looking dumbfounded at his own terrible luck.

“Yes, I speak English, what’s going on?” thankful that someone was finally addressing you in a way you could comfortably respond.

 “Why, please enlighten us Pierre, why the fuck, you thought she was Portuguese?” Carlos was genuinely amazed someone could have messed up this badly.

“She was chatting to Bruno in Portuguese!” Pierre retold the reason he had thought you were Portuguese.

“Oh, yeah, no, that conversation went about as well as this one did” you remembered how you had awkwardly had to navigate that conversation, deciding then and there you needed to learn a few more languages.

“You are so fucking stupid” Charles was genuinely astonished.

“Yeah, I think I might have made some mistakes here” Even Pierre was stunned at how spectacularly he had messed this one up.

“Some mistakes?” Max was not about to let Pierre get away with a fuck up this bad.

“What is going on?” you didn’t mean to shout, and you genuinely felt bad as all five boys went dead silent and turned to stare at you like they were toddlers and had just been caught trying to sneak some candy.

“Oh, Pierre was trying to ask you on a date” Lando spoke far too casually, like you had been in on whatever this plan was the entire time.

“Jesus Lando” Pierre was now bright red. He should have dropped the entire plan the second Lando had lied to him about know Portuguese.

“Will he speak to me in English on this date or am I going to have to learn an array of languages to get through it?” you laughed out, not believing this chaos has all been caused by Pierre simply wanting to ask you on a date.

“I can promise you; he will speak in only English” Max assured you.

“Maybe a little bit of French, it being the language of love and all” Charles winked at you, hoping to further entice you into saying yes to the date his friend had barely asked you on.

“In that case,” you looked directly at Pierre, “Yes, but”

“Anything” God, that was embarrassingly quick, could Pierre not be cool for an entire second.

“It’s just going to be me and you right?” you glanced around to the rest of the group, not entirely sure you were prepared to tackle a date with all of them, despite how much the internet might disagree with that sentiment.

“Fuck, yes, I’ll lock them in my flat if I have to” Pierre wasn’t even joking at this point.

“Then yes” you beamed up at Pierre, suddenly feeling giddy at the thought of going on a date with Pierre, him mimicking your excitement.

“Oh, one more thing,” confusion suddenly overcoming you again, as was the theme of this entire conversation, “Why did you ask me out in Spanish if you thought I was Portuguese?”

At this Lando had casually swung his arm around your shoulder like you had been best friends for most of your lives.

“Well, that’s a really interesting story actually”  

#Pierre Gasly x Reader #Pierre Gasly x you #Pierre Gasly x Y/n #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #monaco #charles leclerc #pierre gasly #max verstappen #f1 x reader #Lando Norris #carlos sainz jr #pg10 #alpha tauri

[munson-blurbs]

Clueless

Everyone can tell that you like Eddie. Except for Eddie.

Warnings: language. Very fluff, a lil angst.

“You sheep ready for the most epic campaign of your lives?” 

Eddie plops his tray on the table. A limp fry tumbles off, which he quickly shoves into his mouth. “Five second rule.”

Dustin looks at the table, wringing the back of his neck. “Well, uh, actually--”

“What is it, Henderson? You got a big date tonight or something?”

“Actually, yeah, I do,” Dustin perks up a bit. “Suzie is coming to visit me. I want to show her all of Hawkins.”

“Good, then that’ll only take 15 minutes,” Eddie retorts, but waves the boy on. “Fine, go on your little date. The rest of us--”

Lucas pipes up next. “So, this weekend is actually Max’s birthday, and our friend El--Mike’s girlfriend--is coming to visit with our friend Will...” he trails off, watching the Dungeon Master’s face get more cross.

“So, what? Are you guys cancelling on me?” The boys look at the floor. “Great. Just fucking great. The Three Musketeers have dates and leave poor Eddie Munson out in the cold.” The school lunch seems even more unappetizing to him than usual. He pushes the tray in disgust.

“Or, you know--and this is just a thought,” Dustin says carefully, holding his hands in the air, “you could also get a date?”

Eddie scoffs. “Yeah, the chicks here are lining up to go on a date with the Freak.”

“I know one girl who is,” Mike mutters under his breath.

“Wheeler, if you say O’Donnell, I’m kicking you out of the club.”

“Ew, no!” 

“Then, who?” Eddie asks. He’s curious now.

Lucas is the first to speak up. “Okay, but you can never tell her that we told you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie says, “who is she?”

“Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

Eddie nearly chokes on his soda. “I’m sorry, is that a joke?”

Lucas shakes his head. “Nope. She’s in that writing club with Max, and I guess she’s in some creative writing class with you? I didn’t know you actually showed up to classes and did the work, but apparently she thinks your writing is poetic.” His voices goes high on the last word.

Eddie doesn’t even notice that he’s being mocked. “W-what else did she say about me?”

“She thinks you have great eyes and a cute smile and loves your hair.” 

Dustin leans over and grabs some of Eddie’s curls. “Ooh, it is very soft!”

“Get off of me, Henderson!” Eddie pushes the boy away. “Yeah, I use that class to work on my lyrics." Song lyrics usually aren’t the assignment, but his teachers are just grateful he’s doing something productive in their classes.

“Do you write songs about Y/N?” Mike teases. He’s not expecting Eddie’s serious reply.

“So what if I do?”

Now it’s the boys’ turn to be shocked. “Dude, you have to ask her out!” Lucas says. 

Dustin nods in agreement. “She’s smart and pretty. And she likes you.” He scans the cafeteria. “Look, she’s sitting with Nancy, over there! Go ask her!”

Eddie peers over in your direction. You catch him looking and smile. “Uh, nah, it looks like they’re studying or something. Don’t want to interrupt.”

“So, you don’t like her?” Lucas asks, confused.

“I do! I do like her, but...what if she says ‘no’? And then I look like a giant idiot?”

“Let’s put it this way: you can be a giant idiot who took a chance, or a giant idiot who talked himself out of a date with the nerdy bookworm girl of his dreams.” Dustin responds.

“Fine! Fine, I’ll go.”

“Wait!” Lucas says. “What are you going to ask her?”

Eddie slumps a bit. “Oh. I don’t know. Maybe...look over my lyrics with me?”

Dustin makes a buzzer noise. “Incorrect. Go ask if you can take her out for pizza and a movie. Tonight. Let her pick the movie.”

Eddie nods. “If she says no, I’m gonna tell your girlfriends that you wet the bed.”

He walks over to your table where you and Nancy have your history notes spread out in front of you. You look up at him and smile. “Hey, Eddie,” you say softly, trying to contain your excitement. Nancy can sense what’s going on and excuses herself to the bathroom. Eddie makes a mental note to thank her later.

“Hey, Y/N.” He puts his hands in his pockets to try and hide the clamminess. “Do you have any plans tonight?”

You shake your head. “I was just going to study more, probably. Gotta apply for those college scholarships.”

Scholarships. He was on his third round of senior year and he was trying to ask out a girl who could be getting scholarships. He stuffed the thought down. “Did you maybe wanna, I don’t know, grab some pizza? See a movie with me? You can pick it. Comedy, horror, action, even like a chick flick or whatever. Whatever you wanna see, I wanna see it with you.”

He’s kicking himself for sounding so eager, so pathetic, but you just laugh kindly. “Yeah, I’d really like that.” You tear out a piece of notebook paper and write your number down. They’re the most wonderful seven digits Eddie has ever seen. “Call me when you get home from school today, okay? We can see what’s playing?”

“Yeah, for sure,” he says, trying to play it cool. “I’ll, um, call you then.”

He turns around to go back to his table, where a small army of freshman boys are cheering him on.

--

Not sure if I should write Eddie & Reader’s first date and make this a kind-of series. Let me know!

#eddie stranger things #eddie munson #eddie x you #eddie x reader #stranger things #fanfic #eddie munson fluff

[dawnagustd]

for hours couple can I get reader wanting to get her nails redone and asking jk what shape and style she should get and if he can pay for them and cus he's whipped he will 🤭

pairing: hours!jungkook x f!reader

genre: fwbs | neighbors to lovers

word count: 0.6k

rating: 18+

warnings: suggestive | strong language | jungkook grabs his dick once | just two idiots who like each other | a bit of insecurity but for a second only | mentions back scratching(the kinky kind)

author's note: This is a month after reader starts visiting Jungkook's apartment but they've know each other longer than this, of course. They're neighbors. I changed the prompt up a little bit because I felt like it'd be more meaningful if he just offered to pay instead of her asking. I think it suits their dynamics better. This can be read as a stand alone but this is the main story. Thank you @hobeemin for looking over this for me. I love you!!

“The usual, right?”

You look at your nails carefully, examining them before you answer. This shape makes your fingers look weird when you don’t choose the right polish. You miss the old days but you had to make some compromises. 

“Nah, let’s try short this time. Same shape,” you reply.

“What?!”

Both your nail tech and Jungkook, who’s paused his video game, look at you in disbelief. Like you're speaking gibberish.

“Why are you getting them short?” Jungkook asks.

Your phone sits on the device station propped against the mount so you can see the FaceTime call and check your notifications without messing up your nails.

You shrug your shoulders. “Just want something different, I guess.”

“You can just try another shape,” your nail tech suggests.

“Yeah, I agree,” Jungkook adds.

You roll your eyes because you don’t think it’s a big deal. You can’t get what you want so the length doesn’t really matter to you.

“Then what should I get then?” 

The question was directed toward your nail tech, but Jungkook speaks up instead.

“How you used to wear them... Like when you first started coming over to my place.” 

He picks up his controller and resumes his game while he talks to you, describing the shape he’s speaking of best he can. “The vampire shape. I like those; they’re sexy.”

“Dude, you mean coffin?”

Jungkook snaps his fingers. “Ah, yes. That’s it.”

You’d kill to have coffin nails again, but they’re too high maintenance for the kind of sex you and Jungkook have. Besides, you remember how badly you scratched up his back the first time he fucked you. You felt bad, so you changed the shape to oval so you wouldn’t hurt him as much.

“I don’t know,” you sigh. “I like those a lot but I don’t wanna rip your skin open anymore.”

You mumble the last part so that only he can hear, and he responds with a laugh.

“I’m good, baby. I like pain.” Jungkook glances at his phone and winks.

Your nail tech can probably see steam rising from your cheeks because they’re on fire. Jungkook is smirking proudly, knowing he’s got a reaction out of you.

“Yeah, we really like those,” he adds, grabbing his dick. The lady walking past you chokes on air after looking the wrong way at the wrong time. You offer a small apology as you're ogling at the bulge forming in his sweatpants. “Matter of fact, how much are they?... Everything.”

“Like my entire appointment?... Gosh, I’m embarrassed,” you laugh.

“Yeah, all of it.”

You go over everything you’ve gotten done at the spa while Jungkook has paused the FaceTime call. You know he’s still listening because he gives an “mhm” every time you pause. Once you’ve come up with an estimate you look at your nail tech, who has your invoice and you’re given a nod, letting you know you’re in the right range.

You’ve been coming here since high school so you already know how much everything costs, but you still ask out of respect. You repeat the total so Jungkook can hear, thinking he’s about to tease you for spending so much, but to your surprise, he doesn’t.

“Cool,” he answers, switching back to the video call. “Hey, I’m gonna finish this game, but I’ll see you later, okay?”

Wow.

“Kay, bye.”

“Bye, love.”

When the call ends, your missed notifications come across your screen. A few from Instagram, Tumblr, and a missed call that says Spam Risk, but the last bubble grabs all of your attention. 

“He Cash App’d me. The fuck?” 

“Someone’s got a man,” your nail tech teases.

Your smile spreads before you can stop it. 

“Will you stop it? He’s not my man.”

Your argument is dismissed with a scoff. “Mhm.”

“I don’t, though.”

Not yet, at least.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfics #jungkook imagines #fic: hours #bts fanfics #bts x reader #bts imagines #sugakookitty

[wisteria-cherry]

forty days and forty nights (day twenty-four!)

“how does your hair stay up?” you asked for what was probably the billionth time since you’d met him.

“for fuck’s sake.” bakugo grumbled, sipping at his coffee annoyedly. “it just does, got it?”

“but— physics.” you protest. “and your hair’s got nothing to do with your quirk.” you study it closely. it looked soft.

“do you gel it?” you prod.

“no.”

“hairspray?”

“no.”

“mousse??”

“hell no.”

“you’re a wonder, bakugo.” you sigh, defeated once more.

“yeah, yeah.” the person in question rolled his eyes. “weirdo.”

“but kirishima gels his, doesn’t he?”

“yeah. been doin’ that since high school.” bakugo grunted.

“does he dye it, too, or is it naturally that color?”

“dyes it.”

“what’s his natural color?”

“black.”

“does anyone else dye theirs?”

“nah.”

“have you seen them recently?” you lean against the counter, seemingly done drilling him (for now). bakugo shrugged.

“couple times.” he answered, glancing up at you.

“you should bring them around the shop if you can.” you smile. “i really liked it when kirishima came by.”

“tch. what’s so good about shitty hair?” bakugo grumbled.

“i think he’s sweet.” you shrug, slightly taken aback by the question. what wasn’t good about kirishima? he was incredibly kind.

“whatever.” bakugo was silent for a moment before begrudgingly agreeing. “…i’ll see when he’s free next.”

“thank you!” you break into a grin as bakugo pulled out his phone, texting kirishima (you think).

“monday.”

“so the day after tomorrow, sounds good!” you hum, pausing to glance at the bakery display to make sure it’s in stock. it was, thankfully. you weren’t in the mood to get more bagels anyway, simple as the task was. “i haven’t seen kirishima since the party. is he doing well?”

“he’s fine.” bakugo grumbled.

“do you ever do joint patrols? like, patrols with another person?” you ask curiously.

“i know what a joint patrol is, dumbass.” bakugo rolled his eyes. “and yeah, sometimes i’ll go with some other idiot.”

“like a sidekick? or a pro hero?”

“depends.”

“on what?”

“why it’s a joint patrol.”

“okay, then what are some reasons you’d have a joint patrol?”

“y’know, you’re almost as bad as that damn paparazzi.” bakugo glared at you.

“guilty.” you grin, setting your elbow on the counter and resting your chin on your hand. “i’m just curious is all.” bakugo sighed (rather dramatically, you thought) and sipped his coffee before answering.

“sometimes it’s t’ train some sidekick.” he grunted. “other times it’s ‘cuz the damn patrol route is too dangerous.”

“but i thought you had the same route every day?”

“i do.” bakugo huffed. “villains don’t.”

“oh, i see.” you hum thoughtfully. “hey, how are your sidekicks anyway?”

“they’re fine.” bakugo answered shortly.

“what about the one— that one sidekick—“

“yeah, very specific, i know exactly which sidekick you mean.” bakugo raised an eyebrow, amused.

“oh, shut up.” you huff. “the quirkless one.”

“what about ‘im?”

“did you ever figure out his name?” you grin.

“hiro.”

“well, yeah, but his name.”

“his damn name is hiro.”

“oh!” you blink. that went right over your head. embarrassing. “what’s his hero name?”

“hiro.”

“his hero name?”

“yeah. apparently that dumbfuck takes after that damn icyhot.” bakugo scowled.

“icy— icyhot?” you repeat. “like the muscle cream?”

“no, icyhot, the damn hero!” bakugo groaned. “god, i forgot you live under a fucking rock.”

“who’s icyhot then??” you ask desperately.

“…his name’s todoroki or some shit. his hero name’s shoto.” bakugo grumbled finally.

“todoroki? you mean like endeavor?” you tilt your head.

“yeah, that’s his old man.” bakugo answered, sipping his coffee aggressively (again, a wonder).

“i didn’t even know he had kids, wow.” you blink. bakugo gave you a scornful look.

“damn, you are fucking clueless.”

“yes, yes, i’m clueless, moving on.” you roll your eyes playfully as you get yourself a cup of water, having felt slightly thirsty for quite a bit. “hiro. how’s he?”

“doin’ just fine.” bakugo replied, swirling his coffee around in the mug, causing the last little remnants of the coffee grounds in the bottom of the mug to move around within the liquid.

“i’m so glad to hear that.” you sigh. “how old is he?”

“18. fresh outta school.” he said.

“really? and he’s already a sidekick in your agency?” you glance at him, surprised as you sip at your water. bakugo shrugged.

“yeah, well, he earned it.”

“tch. what’s so good about shitty hair?”

(maybe he earned it but maybe it’s also compensating for his behavior against quirkless people when he was younger)

(feel free to comment + leave ur thoughts! :)

@k0z3me @cherryblossomclarity @stevenknightmarc @failingstudents-blog @jazzafaye5294

#bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo #bakugo katsuki #bakugou #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bakugo x reader #bnha #mha #katsuki bakugo oneshot #pro hero bakugo x reader #coffee shop au

[tropes-and-tales]

Possibilities

December 8:  Party/Locket - Everyone can see it but them (Frankie Morales x F!reader)

(From the winter prompts found here)

CW:  Idiots in love

Word Count:  1221

AN:  Requested by @nuvoleincielo​!

It’s painful to watch, and Santiago Garcia cannot figure out how to fix it.

In the field?  He can triage anything:  heat stroke, hypothermia, broken bone, gunshot wound.  He can save the people he loves, can keep them safe most of the time.

And yet, the two people he loves best in the world…he can’t seem to help them.

Frankie is his brother in combat, but you’re as close to a sister as Santi will ever get.  The daughter of his mother’s own best friend, you and Santi grew up together.  You had chicken pox together; you spent long hours playing video games together.  You never grew apart as you grew up, and Santi’s always held you close to his own heart.

It was like a dream, bringing you into the fold.  His oldest, dearest friend and the men he went to war with.  You fit in so well with them with your soft sarcasm, the way you smile when you tease the guys.

Santi knows you must fall for Frankie immediately.  He guesses so because you never say a word about it to him, and you’re usually so open with your crushes and infatuations.  Yet when he catches you once, early on, dipping your head in blushed embarrassment at something Frankie says, Santi can guess…

He doesn’t push it then.  He can’t:  Frankie is married then with a baby on the way.  And anyway, it’s just a crush.  Harmless.

Then Frankie’s addiction is revealed.  Frankie is left by his wife.  Frankie gets divorced.  

The guys help him get help.  You’re right there too, for the intervention and the support afterwards.  

Once Frankie gets stable, gets some sobriety under his belt, Santi thinks, now the two of them have a shot.  By then he’s noticed that Frankie has a way of looking at you from under the brim of his hat, his eyes following you like a forlorn dog.

Nothing ever happens.

Every get-together.  Every big blow-out party and every mundane night at the bar to watch the game.  Santi always thinks, this is it.

Nothing ever happens.

It hurts.  Santi loves you and Frankie more than anyone.  To see you each going home alone every night, tormented by your unrequited love for each other?  It’s painful.

And yet, when he broaches the subject with Frankie?  Gently suggests that you might like him, might want to be with him?

“Nah, man,” Frankie says once, running his hand through his hair before resettling his ballcap on his head.  “She’s just a sweetheart, you know?  Nice to everyone.  She’s not into me like that.”

And yet, when Santi tries to bring it up with you, mentions that Frankie might be burning a torch for you?

“Oh, I don’t think so, Santi,” you reply.  “I’m not the sort of woman he’d go for.”

You’re not wrong.  You’re the polar opposite of Frankie’s ex-wife.  You aren’t his typical type, but Santi thinks that’s a good thing…and moreover, he thinks Frankie knows it’s a good thing.

And anyway, Frankie’s type has always been the mean, hot sort of girl.  High-maintenance types that allowed him no time to relax or be himself.  

If there’s one thing Santi is certain of, it’s that Frankie is always relaxed around you.  Always himself.  

The only thing is getting the stubborn man to admit it.

-----

Now, this party, and Santi thinks that maybe Frankie isn’t stubborn so much as blind or stupid or both.

And if Frankie is blind and stupid, then you are too.

It’s just a holiday party, low-key with the guys and a few other friends.  Santi orders pizzas, gets a few kegs.  There’s no fuss, no agenda beyond drinks and food and time together.

It’s Will, at least, who notices this time.  He sidles up to Santi early on.

“This is sad,” he says, his voice low.  

“What is?”

Will gestures with his bottle of beer, points in the general direction where you and Frankie are chatting across the room.  It so fucking clear how the two of you feel for each other:  you’re facing each other, talking and laughing earnestly.  Frankie’s hat is pushed back so the brim isn’t hiding his eyes like it usually does.  Your eyes shine like two brand new pennies, never tearing your gaze from him.

“You could set a bomb off,” Will says.  “And those two wouldn’t even notice.  But you know damned well they’re both going home alone.”

“I dunno what to do for them,” Santi admits with a helpless shrug.

Will grunts and takes a sip of his beer.  They watch you and Frankie in silence for a moment, then Will offers, “he bought her something for Christmas, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yup.”  Another sip of beer.  “Dude agonized over it for months.”

It’s news to Santi.  Frankie never said a word to him.

“What’d he get her?” he asks.

Will snorts, takes another sip.  “A necklace.  A locket.”

“Jewelry.  Huh.”  Santi peers at Frankie closer.  

“Yeah, apparently she mentioned how her mom had a locket she always wore, but her older sister got it when she married or whatever.  So Fish went through this whole thing, trying to get her one just as good.”

Santi smiles at the image, Frankie sweating over your family’s drama between you and your elder sister, the constant back and forth.  

“Maybe when he gives it to her, it’ll convince her how he feels,” he says.

“Nah, see, that’s the thing.”  Will turns to him.  “Fish lost his nerve.  He said he’s gonna return it.  Said he doesn’t want to freak her out with such a personal gift.”

“Goddamnit.”

“Exactly.  Hence…this is sad.”

----

It’s Benny, at least, who notices too.  But Benny has the vague idea of a plan…

“Remember Iraq?” he asks Santi and his brother later on.  “Hamrin Mountains?”

“The simple extract that was not so simple,” Santi replies.  “Sure, I remember.”

Benny nods in yours and Frankie’s direction—the two of you haven’t moved in all this time.  Still wrapped up in whatever conversation you’re sharing.  Wrapped up in each other.

“Why not pull a reverse Hamrin on them?” Benny asks.

“What do you mean?” asks Will.

“I mean, we’re some of the most highly trained soldiers in the world.  We’ve done a shit ton of dicey missions.  We got those soldiers out of Hamrin.  What if we put those two…somewhere.  Just the two of them?”

“Isolation instead of extraction?” Santi asks.

“Are you suggesting we lock them in a closet until they admit their feelings?” Will scoffs.  “Dumb. This isn’t middle school—”

“No kidding, dipshit,” Benny retorts.  “Not a closet.  Think about it.  Tom’s family has that cabin on the lake.  Our own parents need a house sitter over the holidays.  There’s possibilities…”  

Santi turns away from Benny and looks at you and Frankie.  Still laughing.  Still talking.  Still looking at each other like you each hung the moon, yet still not believing that the other person could possibly feel the same.

Possibilities, Benny said.  

They are some of the mostly highly trained at covert ops.  And so is Frankie, but it’s one against three—four, if they can get Tom in on it—and Frankie’s so wrapped up in his own head about you, he’d never even see it coming.

Possibilities.  Santiago Garcia can see them.

#Frankie Morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales imagine #catfish morales #catfish morales x reader #catfish morales imagine #Triple Frontier #tropes-and-tales #winter prompts 2022

[littlebowdagger]

imagine being a stoner and living next to him.

cw: drugs (weed), crack/humor (not the drug), sarcastic pet names (sweetheart, sweet cheeks), 18+ MDNI

characters are aged up!

bakugou

⌫ you’re a fresh college graduate who moved to an expensive apartment complex, which happens to be the same one pro hero rookie Dynamight moves into. you got the money from your job, a producer.

⌫ you also happen to smoke pot. like a lot of pot.

⌫ katsuki could tell as soon as he walked up the stairs to the door of his apartment, the smell was instant and strong.

⌫ obviously there’s a dumbass living inside or there are no authority around. well, he was right about both of those thoughts.

⌫ anyways, he shrugged it off the first time. but he got real sick n tired of it when he got woken up at six am sharp by that “awful stench.” so he decided to get up and follow his nose. it didn’t take him far, cause he found his culprit right next door. your door.

⌫ he didn’t even have to put on his costume for anyone to recognize the blonde- but to scare the living fuck outta ya, he was going to wait til he came home from patrol.

⌫ how does he know you were gonna be high? lucky guess.

⌫ so katsuki’s excited to go home. not because he can catch a break from idiots he works with but because of you.

⌫ this man doesn’t even park in his spot. he wants to come unannounced and really interrupt your little “smoke sesh.”

⌫ he stomps up the stairs and it hits him, like always. he’s smirking when he knocks on your door. like seriously. he’s all cocky about it and invading your house waltzing around like some disney villain.

⌫ nah, but he is leaning his forearm on your wall while his other hand is on his hip. looking down at you with a sexy smirk, he goes, “hey sweetheart. i’m getting a smell complaint from your neighbors. mind stepping out here, sweet cheeks?”

⌫ oh it’s good. his voice is so good. the door is only 1/3rd way opened and you’re absolutely plastered. you’re astonished, your expression is a mix of shock and a guilty grin. your eyes are almost glued together as you awkwardly clear your throat and stand up straight, opening the door and slightly slamming it behind you when you step out.

⌫ what’s sexy is he knows everything that’s racing through your pretty little brain right now. the way you stiffly step out, anxiously stand there, and if you were truly sober, you wouldn’t be trying to hold in some laughter through it all. he walks around you, taking a mental picture of your cute figure. he doesn’t need to take a whiff, and clearly, he doesn’t need to explain himself any further for his presence.

⌫ “um. sir-“ “have you been smoking weed?”

⌫ he tsk his tongue when you suddenly stand straighter and look away from him. he bends down to meet his face to yours. he’s studying your eyes. it’s obvious, and he could totally arrest you, but now that he’s looking at you; deciding if this angel could learn their lesson, he thinks he’s just gonna scare you sober.

⌫ “no sir. i would never, s-sir-” you busy out laughing. oh great. now you’re on the floor and pro hero bakugou is standing over the neighborhood plug.

⌫ you can’t help it! he just looks so serious and everything he’s saying sounds like it should be in a horror movie. like some police in horror movies. now he’s chuckling but quickly fixing his face to help you off the floor. he’s taking you onto your couch and locking your door behind him.

⌫ he decides to leave a basket of air fresheners and spray cans with a passive aggressive note.

⌫ you don’t listen. but you never do.

should i do other characters?

#bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #bakugou x stoner! reader #mha bakugou #bnha headcanons #bakugou headcanons #bnha crack #pro hero dynamight

[princesssarcastia]

since so many people liked the snippet of this chapter i posted to tumblr last week, here's the full version!

so: In the aftermath of a sudden and long-awaited reconciliation, and a battle, Bradley sticks to Maverick’s side like glue.

(you can also read it here on ao3)

—

Bradley levels the doctors and nurses with a blank, uncompromising stare every time they try to move him to his own bed.  Maybe there was a chance a few hours ago, freshly coming down from the high of feeling glad to see Maverick for the first time in fifteen years, where Bradley would have taken the chance to sit alone in the dim and lick his wounds.  To punish himself in private.

That was before one of these idiots let it slip in his earshot that this is Maverick’s second ejection in a month.

He’s not moving an inch.

And Maverick won’t make him.

So that’s that.  There’s nobody else in a thousand miles of this ship who has a chance of getting Bradley to do something he doesn’t want to.

Every instinct feels rusty, here.  It’s been so long since he was in a position to comfort, to want to comfort.  But Bradley wants…

He wants. 

Maverick tenses so abruptly when Bradley starts moving toward him that he immediately regrets it.  Especially when Mav hisses in pain, muscles that shouldn’t be moving now twisting themselves into knots because Bradley couldn’t—

“Hey, no, come back here,” Maverick says roughly, when Bradley pulls his hand back.  “Come back,” he repeats, and leaves his own lying palm up at his side.

Hesitantly, Bradley slides their hands together, applying gentle pressure until Maverick squeezes back.

“It’s okay,” Maverick says, as Bradley keeps his eyes on their joined hands.  It’s been so long.  The years start welling up in his chest, spreading to his eyes, pushing him to scream and rage and let it all out on the man who always lets him—

No.

“No,” Bradley says faintly.  “No, I don’t think it is.”

“It will be.”

Bradley looks up, finally.  “How do you figure?”  He looks up and sees his dad, lying there, too many machines hooked up to his body for everything to be okay.  Looking too small for the underclothes and the blankets piled on him, too small for the dark circles to fit on his face.  Funny, how he didn’t notice those before the mission.  Before they got back. 

The last time he saw someone look like this—

The last time he sat next to someone’s hospital bed and held their hand—

Oh, fuck. 

It hits him again in a wave.  The undertow grasping at his feet.  Uncle Ice is gone. 

“Maverick,” he says, breathless with it.  “Dad,” he says, and his voice cracks wide open and lets it all out for Maverick to hear.  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m sorry about Uncle Ice,” Bradley finishes.

Maverick rears back with everything but his hand, drawing another hiss from his own lips when he moves things he shouldn’t be moving.  His eyes are already wet, wide, and wild with it.

“And I’m sorry,” Bradley swallows, “I’m so fucking sorry.  For what I said to you.  If I’d known…” He trails off.  He’d like to think he wouldn’t have said it.

No wife.  No kids.  No one to mourn you when you burn in.

But he can’t promise that.  And he won’t lie.  So, he leaves it there.

His dad looks everywhere but at him.  It would hurt more if he didn’t have Bradley’s fingers in a white-knuckle grip, holding on for dear life.  The monitor next to him picks up speed and runs with it, fast enough to make Bradley wonder if they aren’t about to get interrupted by some angry medical staff trying to kick him out for the third time.

“I did wonder,” Maverick says, heart still on display and going wild, “just for a second.  If maybe, we were a little better at it than I thought.”

Now it’s Bradley’s heart racing.  They don’t talk about it.  Maverick and Iceman, the pair of them never talk about it, and neither does Bradley, and neither do Rachel or Isaac or Sofia, as far as he knows.  Everyone knows.  No one talks about it.  These are uncharted waters. 

“Nah, you were pretty bad at it,” Bradley says, lighter than it deserves.  Light enough to keep this above the waterline.  “To anybody who—who cared.”  And that’s it.  That’s all he has for this, especially in the middle of a fucking navy carrier where they still shouldn’t talk about it.  Even if Maverick is suddenly in a sharing mood about the biggest taboo of them all, even if it looks like he could ask, and Maverick would answer. 

So, he starts sweeping his thumb along the back of Maverick’s hand instead.  Slow, steady motions, like he can draw some of the pain out through his dad’s skin. 

Maverick takes one deep breath, then another.  Then a third, and they’re getting closer together.  “And you,” he sucks in another breath, something twisted up on his face, “you—care.”

It’s a knife between his ribs, and he deserves every serrated inch of it.  “I do,” Bradley says.  “God, I do care.  About you both.”  I’m sorry, he doesn’t say, I’m sorry I made you doubt me, because he wants to be here and he doesn’t want to lie…and he’s not sure, yet, that he’s sorry for all of it.

Maverick’s breathing doesn’t speed up any more, but it doesn’t slow down, either.  Doesn’t let him say anything back. 

“Talked to Rachel at the funeral,” Bradley says, eyes back on their hands.  “She’s still pissed as anything at me.”  He sits up straighter in his seat, ignoring the aching in his spine and the way it pulls at scattered tears in his skin.  Starts timing out his own breathing.  In for four passes across the back of Maverick’s hand, pause, and out for seven more.  Again.  And again. 

Maverick shifts, probably looking at Bradley as he catches on to his game.  Maybe he smiles.  Maybe he softens.  Bradley wouldn’t know, though, because he can’t meet his gaze right this second. 

“I always hated that,” Maverick says, finally.  Capable of speech, at least, that’s better.  Even if his voice is strained.  “The kids carrying our shit for us.  Hated that.  Kids shouldn’t have to carry that.  Just because we were…” he trails into nothing.

It’s their shit, too, Bradley doesn’t say.

She has a right to it, Bradley doesn’t say.

Since when am I not one of your kids? Bradley doesn’t say.

“Me, too,” Bradley says finally, because it’s true.  “I hate it, too.”  Breathes another cycle, willing Maverick to join him without being willing to ask.  “But they can’t always help it, you know.  Can’t help loving.  Or caring.”

Even when I wished I could, wished more than anything, Bradley thinks and doesn’t say.  Even then, I couldn’t help it.

“Doesn’t mean they needed to pick sides.  We never—that was never what we wanted.”

Bradley huffs.  “Tried that for a few years, remember?  Didn’t really work out.”

“Yeah.”

He sounds strangled, again, so Bradley stops poking at him for conversation and focuses on the breathing.  Focuses on their hands.   They’ve both got dirt caked into their wrinkles and folds and embedded under their nails.  There’s blood, too.  Little speckles of it, on Maverick’s, from doctors-alone-know-where, and a great smear of it on the back of Bradley’s hand.  He must have swiped at his neck at some point.  Irritated at the feeling of blood creeping where it didn’t belong.

He wants to clean it off.  Wants to get rid of the dirt and the blood and the reminders of how they got here.

But he’d have to let go, to do that.  Probably have to pry Maverick off him with a crowbar of some kind, too, given that he’s still white knuckling this particular maneuver.

“I don’t remember much of it.”

Bradley looks up, finally.  Maverick is looking down at him again but there’s something fuzzy about it.  The painkillers that were promised finally doing their jobs, maybe.

“Much of what?”

“The funeral.  Ice’s—the service.  I know I left my wings with him, but I don’t remember…what anyone said.  If I said anything.”

His gut starts shifting and twisting and coiling like some kind of animal trying to threaten him, ready to strike.  “You didn’t say anything,” Bradley says quietly, unsure.  “It was…I mean.  They gave him all the honor he was due.”

“You were there,” Maverick says, not quite a question but close.  His gaze winds between Bradley’s eyes, looking for something.

“Yeah, Mav, I was there.  So was the rest of the detachment.  Think they called in most of Fightertown to see him off.”

“But you were…” Maverick trails off, his voice threaded with confusion.  Definitely painkillers, Bradley thinks, as he tries to parse out what Maverick wants from him—assuming it’s not just to twist the knife.  Of course it isn’t, he corrects himself.  Mav was never the one who liked to do that, between the two of them.

“I would have been there anyway, even if they didn’t tell us.  I would have come.  Would have skipped out on training and snuck in with the crowd, if I had to.”  Bradley thinks about it for a second and realizes that’s what he did anyway.  He did sneak in, tried fruitlessly to avoid the casualties of this, his longest war, now bereft of the very bedrock of their lives.

“I didn’t see you,” Mav murmurs, still confused, his eyes turning sightless to the middle distance.

“I don’t think you were seeing much of anything besides Uncle Ice,” Bradley says, lost in this conversation.  What does he want?  What is he missing?

Maverick lays his head back against the bed and blinks at Bradley like an animal, slow and trusting except for the furrow in his brow.  “Wanted to see you.  I looked for you, but I couldn’t see you.”

“I’m sorry,” Bradley chokes out.  “I’m so sorry, I know I wasn’t there for you.  I know the things I said—” his throat closes up and he loses the fight to get those words out.  But Maverick waits for him to finish, so patient with him like always.  “I just wish I’d known, about Uncle Ice.  I wish I’d known he was sick again.  I would have gone to see him,” Bradley says, desperate for Mav to believe him about this one thing despite all the evidence to the contrary.  “I would have gone, no matter what.  I’m sorry,” his voice breaks again and he ducks his head and swipes at his eyes with his free hand.

Maverick’s sigh rustles the hair on the back of his head, it’s so big.  Shifting fabric, a quiet sound in the back of his throat, and then Mav’s other hand is resting there, gently, so gently, on his head.  “Don’t be sorry,” he says, voice more grounded and present now.  “Don’t be sorry you didn’t know.  It’s his damn fault for not telling anyone,” he adds.  “Not yours.”

Bradley remembers the funeral, remembers the anger in everyone’s faces along with the grief, but he’s not one to talk.  And he can’t imagine—he can’t imagine—

“Yeah, but he didn’t tell me because I wouldn’t let him.  I wouldn’t let either of you talk to me.”

“He was the commander of this whole goddamn ocean, Bradley, if he wanted to tell you it wouldn’t have mattered what you wanted.  Besides,” his voice is slow and grinding, “he didn’t tell me, either.  He didn’t tell anyone.”

At that, he looks up, sliding Maverick’s hand down to his neck.  “No.  He—no.  He must have told you.”

“No,” Maverick says, steadied again by something burning in his eyes.  “No, he made Sarah do it.  Just like he made her—” he cuts himself off and jerks his head away, a muscle in his jaw ticking once, twice.  “Last week.”

“Last week.”  Bradley feels like he must be on some painkillers of his own, now.  The good stuff, the stuff that should have Maverick out cold already, because what.

Here is another first in what he can only now bear to hope will be a long, long line of them: he’s furious.  He’s furious on Maverick’s behalf and it sits in his chest like a breath of fresh air, like relief.  How dare he, Bradley doesn’t say.  What an asshole, he keeps tucked behind his teeth.  A question forms he can’t find the words for even in his own head about Aunt Sarah, Aunt Sarah and Uncle Ice and Maverick, one he’ll probably never find the words for.

“I’m sorry,” he finally settles on.  “God, I’m sorry.”  This time, Maverick doesn’t chastise him, just squeezes his hand, because he can hear the difference.

“I knew as soon as I saw him that it was close.  That he wouldn’t…make it.  Much longer.  I missed so much of his life, Bradley, so much of him, I couldn’t be there all those years but I wanted to—I wanted to be there for him.  For Sarah.  I wanted to hold his hand when he—” Maverick’s voice is full of tears and grief and startlingly close to overwhelmed.  “I just wanted to be there, I wanted to see it, I wanted to see him again,” his breath starts to hitch.  “I never got to see him, never, Bradley, I miss him so much,” Maverick swings his head back to Bradley, meets his horrified gaze with tears running down his face and bright red eyes.

He surges up from Maverick’s bedside and settles awkwardly on the edge, pulling him into his arms and wrapping a firm hand around his neck and a gentle one around his ribs.  His dad buries his weeping face into Bradley's shoulder, arms circling him in turn and clutching at his shoulders.  He keeps talking, babbling into the fabric of his flight suit.  Whatever brief reprieve his anger gave him from the drugs is gone, long gone.

Most of it is unintelligible, but disparate words make it through.  “Meant to” and “locker” and “phone” and “forgot, I forgot,” the last one nearly rising to a wail.

The monitor grabs his attention again, Mav’s heart-rate skyrocketing with his grief.

It’s only been a few hours since he last felt this helpless, since the last time it felt like he was losing Maverick right before his eyes.  Bradley feels his own pulse in his neck trying to get him to panic, too, but he keeps a tight grip on it.  Breathes in carefully, with thought, to try and slow it, and his chest pushes against Maverick’s with gentle pressure until he releases it.

The sobbing in his shoulder stutters as he does it, so he does it again, keeping hold of that odd awareness of every breath so he can use them to tether his dad to him.  In for four, hold, out for seven, hold.  In, and out, and in, and out, until Maverick settles back into hiccuping breaths instead of gasping ones.

He doesn’t say a damn word.  What is there to say?  Don’t be angry at a dead man?  Don’t mourn him so loudly, either?

No.  Bradley just holds him, instead, and breathes, and threads his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.  He tips his head to the side, pressing his temple against Maverick’s, and closes his eyes, and breathes.

And Maverick breathes with him.

As he goes slack in Bradley’s arms, as he eases Maverick back down against the pillows and pulls his shitty sickbay blankets up to his chin, as he slowly settles back into his shitty bedside chair like a mountain, like he’s a thousand years old and aching with it, he hopes his dad's sleep is restful.

He hopes Maverick doesn’t have to dream about missing Iceman; hopes that living with it is enough.

#top gun #top gun fic #bradley rooster bradshaw #pete maverick mitchell #no ocs this time just the canon characters #these poor bastards #lots of crying and emotions #mostly because maverick is in fact on soooo many drugs #my fic #grief #reconciliation

[canirove]

Ben Chilwell Imagine | one | Christmas Edition 🎄✨

Author's note: Did I schedule this go up on Ben's birthday, but had no idea it was his birthday until this morning? Yep 🤷🏼‍♀️🙈😂

Masterlist

"Opening on Christmas day... What an idiot" I scoff, checking my phone for the millionth time in the last... ten minutes?

My boss had had the amazing idea to open on Christmas day, saying that since all the other coffee shops would be closed, we will get all the costumers. But we've been open for almost two hours, and no one has come in. No one.

I've cleaned everything, double checked that we aren't low on anything, and even made myself a coffee, which probably isn't ideal when you keep in mind that I've been working here for barely three months. But that also is the reason why I'm the stupid one who is working on Christmas day, and not any of my co-workers. Because I’m new.

"Are you open?" someone says from the door, making me jump, my phone slipping from my hands and hitting the floor.

"For fucks sake."

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

"It's ok, I'm fine. My phone, not so much" I say, picking it from the floor. The screen has crashed, and it doesn't turn on. Great. There goes all the money I have saved.

"I'm so sorry" he says again. "It's all my fault."

"Nah, don't worry. What can I get you?" I say, looking up to see who is talking to me.

"The blackest coffee ever would be wonderful" he says with a smile. And it is the most beautiful smile I've ever seen. His whole face is the most beautiful face I've ever seen, to be honest. And one that looks very familiar.

"Coffee."

"Yes, coffee. That's what you serve here, right?" he chuckles.

"Yes, sorry. It's just that you are the first costumer we've had today."

"Opening on Christmas morning is a bit weird."

"Yeah, well. My boss thought it was the best idea ever" I say while I get his order ready.

"You've saved my life, so I will forever be on your debt."

"Long night?"

"And early morning" he smiles. "I'm kind of late for work, and I've only had time to put some clothes on before running out the door. I didn't even brush my hair."

"Thank God for beanies" I say. I think I've never seen anyone look this good wearing one. Though he would probably look good with anything.

"Thank God for them, yes" he laughs. "Can I get something to eat too?"

"Can I be brutally honest?"

"Go ahead."

"If you care about your stomach, don't buy anything here. It's all from yesterday, I just warmed it a bit."

"You love working here, don't you?"

"With my whole heart" I say, making both of us laugh. "But my mum made like the biggest carrot cake ever last night, so if you want a bite..."

"She probably made it for you."

"Yes, for me and the whole neighborhood. Wait here" I say, walking into the shop's kitchen and coming back with the cake.

"You weren't joking" he laughs.

"I was not. Here you go, let me know what you think."

"Oh my God!"

"Good, uh?"

"Best thing I've ever had" he says, eating it in just two bites.

"Do you want some more? Maybe to go?"

"I don't know if it'll make it to the car" he chuckles, getting out his wallet.

"Wait, this is more than the double of what that coffee costs" I say when he gives me the money.

"It's your tip. You deserve it for the coffee, the cake, and the chat" he winks.

"Ok" I say, feeling my cheeks get warm. "Thank you."

"Merry Christmas and good morning!" my boss says, walking in and ruining the moment.

"Merry Christmas. And thank you" my beautiful man says with one of his smiles.

"Merry Christmas" I say, watching him leave.

"Was that... Was that Ben Chilwell?"

"Who?"

"The football player! That was him, wasn't it?"

"Maybe?" I say. He did look familiar since the moment he walked in. "Let me google him."

"I don't think that'll be possible" my boss says when he sees the state of my phone.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━      

"Someone just left this for you" my boss says when I walk in the next day.

"For me?"

"Yep" he says, handing me a package. "Have you given anyone this address?"

"No..." I say, inspecting the box.

"Well, now it's time to work. You can open it later."

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━      

"Holy shit" I say when I finally make it back home and open the package. Inside it there is a brand new phone and a letter.

Hello, carrot cake ���

Hope the rest of your day got a bit more interesting after I left. Since your phone died because of me, Father Christmas left this at my place for you. And because I have the feeling your boss recognized me when he walked in, I also added a little something else. You don't have to come if you don't want to, but I would like to see you again. And not only because I'm still dreaming about your mum's carrot cake. My phone number already is on your contact list, text me and let me know.

Merry Christmas, Chilly.

"Holy shit" I say again. I met Ben Chilwell. The Ben Chilwell, Chelsea and England player. And he just bought me a new phone, and got me tickets for his next game because he wants to see me again. Me! Best Christmas ever? Best Christmas ever.

━━━━━━❃━━━━━━       

#ben chilwell #ben chilwell imagine #ben chilwell x reader #ben chilwell fanfic #football imagine #football fanfic #benimagine

[filmbyjy]

JAM OUT - twenty-five! submissive hoon??

synopsis > who knew you’d break the first rule of being in a friends with benefits relationship? maybe it was lee heeseung himself that made you catch feelings. either ways, he doesn’t do feelings and you knew that. as your relationship with heeseung strains so does the band. what happens then?

masterlist | previous | next

WARNING: mentions of sex/intercourse and sexual jokes here. do read with caution. oof and this is quite a lot of angst so umm yeah👍🏻 I really channeled something while writing this😬

jay knocks on your bedroom door and you opened it.

“ready to go?” you eyed him up and down.

“why are you wearing like you’re about to go to a fucking club?” you questioned the boy.

“because that’s park jongseong for you.” sunghoon says as he appears from around the corner. jay shoves sunghoon and they both start bickering.

“yah yah, can you both idiots not fight? ni-ki is asleep.” you point to your bed. both boys look between you and the younger boy.

“did you two-” smack. you hit sunghoon’s shoulder. he winces. jay hisses at the loud smack.

“what were you going to say, park sunghoon?” you gave him a creepy smile.

“n-nothing, mommy.” sunghoon says. you rolled your eyes.

“dude, what the fuck.” jay gags.

“ignore him, he likes being submissive.”

“nah, did you two fu-”

“sext. we only sexually texted and it was years ago.”

“it was 4 years ago, okay.” sunghoon admits.

“so you’re telling me i’m the only one who hasn’t fooled around with you.” jay folds his arm.

“well, you don’t like me that way and besides, would you really wanna fool around with me when you adore my brother so much?”

“well…”

“you’re thinking about it. stop, jongseong.”

“look…you’re hot and well…”

“that’s what jake said.”

“how adorable.” jay deadpans. “listen, you still have to explain what the fuck is going on. you can’t just leave me and hoon out of this.”

“what about huening?” you say.

“huening is always clueless.”

“yeah, taehyun will fill him in. don’t worry.” jay says.

“fine, let’s go somewhere.” you walked away.

“where?” the boys followed you.

“somewhere quiet and somewhere no one knows about.”

“does it require a car?” jay asks. you looked at him.

“yeah.” jay jingles his car keys around.

“then let’s go.” he throws the keys to you and you caught it.

you drove the boys over to a secluded spot. they shut the door to the car and looked up at the building.

“are you sure, this is safe?” jay asks.

“yeah. just don’t fall in any hole.” you say.

“this is the part where I die.” sunghoon dramatically says.

“oh shut it, hoon. me and heeseung have done this a bunch of times.”

“heeseung hyung? is this spot yours and heeseung’s?” jay asks.

“yeah. we made this our meeting spot back then in high school. it’s a place where he could clear his mind off things and a place where I could run away and escape from reality.”

“and now…” sunghoon trails off.

“it’s left with bittersweet moments.” you say.

“bittersweet moments like? tell us more about how heeseung was back in high school with you. he didn’t always like telling stories about in the past. he says it’s too suckish and lame.” you laughed before settling down on a spot that you and heeseung always sat at.

the two boys sat down with you. you threw them beer cans.

“well, it does sound like heeseung.” you sighed. “i’ll tell you everything and how he was with me.”

back then, it was simple. you and heeseung have been very close. he was your best friend and will always be your best friend. until you caught feelings for him.

“i’ll be truly honest with you. i’ve known heeseung since middle school.” the boys gasp.

“tell us more about how was back in middle school. I think I can blackmail the shit out of him.” sunghoon smirks. you shook your head whilst laughing.

“sorry hoon, i’m saving myself from possibly getting murdered by him. he hated himself in middle school.”

“aww come on, just one photo.” sunghoon begs you.

“bro, please stop. it makes you look like a bottom.” jay says.

“well.” sunghoon pouts.

“for your info, sunghoon is in fact a bottom. he loves to be pegged.” you joked.

“NO I DON’T!” sunghoon yells.

both you and jay laughed.

“i’m kidding. now, let me continue with my story.” you say.

heeseung was like you said, your bestest friend. he has known you for so long and has known most of your secrets. ones that you’ve never told even jungwon. he treated you with such care back then and as time passed, heeseung starts to change.

“he wasn’t like himself. well, not entirely himself. I don’t know what happened and how he really changed into this fuckboy shit but it happened.”

when heeseung changed and became the fuckboy he was today…he started ignoring you. he didn’t care about what you did and never bothered to check up on you. it was like he was a robot. filled with no emotions. he lived his life without a care in the world when in fact he did care in the past.

“i know he may show care because he is with you guys but you guys don’t know how different he was in middle school as compared to now.”

while heeseung didn’t show care to you. your feelings have never changed, you tried to talk to him. get him to hang out with you but he only replied with “i’m busy.” or “sorry but this chick I’ve been talking to just texted and asked to meet up. sorry (name).”

it hurt you. it hurt you a lot to see the boy you fell in love with ignoring you just for a random hook up. which was why in college, you decided to possibly dress up more womanly. hence, you let that fateful day happened. you never regretted having sex with heeseung but a part of you did regret when he decided to go back to how he was the next day.

“I don’t know why it was so hard to fucking see that he will never like me that way.”

“then why did you let heeseung be your fwb?” sunghoon asks.

“because I love him.”

with heeseung randomly asking you to be friends-with-benefits, you thought of it on the bright side. at least, he admitted that you were the best person he had an intercourse with. which made you superior to the other sexual partners he had. you were ecstatic so you agreed. for a month and a half, both you and heeseung well had sex a lot of times (he had a high sex drive, which isn’t a surprise judging by the amount partners he had)

when it hit the 2nd month, you noticed heeseung (after the aftercare) texting and smiling on his phone so you curiously asked. he simply replies, “oh just some girl i’m talking to.” he gets his shirt and pants back on. “I’ll leave alright? need to meet up with her.” he smiles before closing your bedroom door. you were left there in shock.

“he wanted us to be exclusive and be loyal to each other but he started fucking around again. after having sex with me, he would leave to go on a date with someone else. I was so fucking upset.” tears began to fall. both sunghoon and jay turned to each other. jay wipes the tears falling from your eyes.

you hesitated to tell him because you knew he wouldn’t care. which was why you decided to fuck around with jake. which was obviously not a good plan because you only hurt yourself in the process (though jake is extremely nice). you knew heeseung would get mad especially knowing you two were exclusive but if he could go around with other girls…why couldn’t you do the same?

“i just wish we didn’t have sex in the first place so our friendship wouldn’t get fucked up. i most definitely wish I didn’t fall in love with him.” jay holds you close and so you cried on his chest. sunghoon gently caresses your back, to comfort you.

“fuck, we didn’t know it was this bad (name). we’re so sorry.”

“yeah. if it makes you feel any better, we could maybe put a distance between us and heeseung?” sunghoon suggests. you sniffled.

“no hoon, you guys are his friends. it’s not right for me to stop your friendship with him because of our problems.”

“(name), no. you don’t understand. he hurt you and you are our friend too. we aren’t going to side with someone who hurt our friend.” jay says.

“god, what did I do to deserve you guys.” you groaned. sunghoon snickers.

“we are your friends (name). we would do anything for you.”

“even if it means…decelis disbands.” jay says.

“decelis disbands…fuck, forgot we are in band.” you say.

“our fans are going to be sad.” sunghoon says.

“well, it’s better to disband then to you know continue.”

you hear footsteps walking towards you. then you noticed…it was heeseung. he was smiling and holding haerin’s hand. once he notices you were there along with sunghoon and jay…he pauses.

“(name).” heeseung says.

“you brought a girl to our spot?”

“yeah, we said we’d bring our significant other here eventually and well…me and haerin are dating.”

“heeseung, we promised to do that if we truly loved our partner.”

“yeah and I love haerin.” heeseung says. it fell silent. there was an obvious thick tension in the air and you hated it.

heeseung loved haerin?

jay notices how you were tearing up again. he clenches his fist before voicing out.

“dude, you caught us on the wrong time. I think it’s best if you leave.”

“what? no. it’s my secret spot too. it’s not just (name)’s.”

“well too bad, it’s not yours anymore so get the fuck out.”

“i’m (name)’s friend too.” heeseung says.

“not anymore. the moment you walked out of our house and moved. you aren’t our friend and most certainly not (name)’s friend anymore.” sunghoon glared at heeseung.

it was truly terrifying to see jay angry but sunghoon? god, it sent shivers down heeseung’s spine. he was ten times worse then jay.

“get the fuck out, now.” sunghoon sternly says. heeseung doesn’t say a word, too shocked at how they were speaking to him. jay cocks his brow and scoffs.

“better yet. how about you take this dump. since you’re such a piece of shit, we’ll get out of your way.” jay grabs your hand and pulls you away from the place.

“oh and clean up while you’re at it. at least be a decent human being since this is now your place.” sunghoon adds before he continues to follow you and jay out of the building.

-

taglist[open]: @junnniiieee07 @lhsdiary @woniesbakery @cyuuupid @qimmylol @lhsng @beans-and-jeanes @starggukies @maybee-may @gu8ki @taetaemylovie @thealatte @nyfwyeonjun @sakunasrealgf @diestheticu @mingyuswrld @iloveoceaneyes @viagumi @mymeloem19 @enhasengene @lalalalawon @te44sng @ahnneyong @ii4enha-jwn @allthegirlsmialoved @artstaeh @msxflower @monkeybabyzz @raimbows4u @hoteldelluna @allsunshinenosugar @kwnshi @luvrseung @oranshi @hoonslutt @captivq

#hoho feeling like a badass writing this chapter😎 #kidding I feel like shit writing this chapter #but hey jayhoon being the besties I need #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen angst #enhypen smut #enhypen smau #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagine #jam out #jam out smau #heeseung #heeseung imagines #heeseung imagine #heeseung angst #heeseung smut #heeseung smau #heeseung fluff #lee heeseung #lee heeseung imagines #lee heeseung imagine #lee heeseung angst #lee heeseung smut #lee heeseung smau #lee heeseung fluff #kpop #kpop smau #smau

[mybabydenkikaminari]

Episode 5 (OPLA)

-”But first lunch”

-The Straw hats being a fucking mess in their first encounter with the Marines is so on point

-I love that they left Garp throwing cannonballs with his hands

-Koby saving Helmeppo’s live

-Usopp and Luffy celebrating

-Zoro’s talk with Luffy (or the lack of it)

-”Think that he has brain damage””I think that every day”

-Luffy's nose guiding them to the Baratie

-Baratie aesthetic 10/10, love it even more than the original

-Nami giving a good idea + Usopp giving an idea defeated by Luffy “Nah, let's eat” +  Zoro “That fish better have a bar”

-”You have to excuse them, they are idiots”

-Usopp and Luffy brain cell proceeding to believe that their “smooth talk” work

-Zoro struggling with his swords 

-Sanji introduction 10/10

-Also Sanji wearing a ring, so fucking fitting

-Patty, making an appearance and bickering with Sanji

-Zeff and Sanji arguing, with the little eggplant include, love it

-Fullbody making appearance makes me happy, but sad that we don’t have his boyfriend Jango in the live action :c

-At this point Luffy “Good fighter” equals “I want that one” 

-Sanji being the best waiter ever (aka the worst)

-Sanji automatically changing the tone the moment that he sees Nami and trying to impress and flirt with her (add Nami not being impress)

-Zoro saying madam to Nami, something that I didn’t knew I needed but now I can live without it

-Also Zoro and Usopp mocking Nami about Sanji, Luffy don’t getting it but happy that his friends are happy (also Nami smiling)

-Mihawk being the Queen that I know that he is

-And Don Krieg being absolutely demolished by Mihawk (nobody cares about him anyway so very happy with the change)

-Luffy signing the bill and Sanji just rolling with it

-Zeff and Luffy arguing

-”I need a drink””Yeah. Now you’re talking”

-Usopp drink like there's no tomorrow because is sweet as hell and Zoro warning him that he needs to slow down

-”Who is ready for another drink? My treat””Mmmh. My favorite kind of drink”

-Helmeppo trying to be nice at Koby after saving his life, but still being a sassy bitch

-Sanji explaining his dream to Luffy (like it more here that in the manga it feels more intimate and I like it)

-Luffy projecting his issues with Sanji’s issues

-Gin making an appearance (see I’m just fine erasing Don Krieg, but I miss Gin’s arc a lot - but I know that without the asshole Gin’s arc doesn’t make any sense)

-Sanji considering for a solid minute directly joining Luffy

-Usopp dancing 10/10

-Zoro and Nami drinking game (I have seen the appeal of Zona or Zonami before but I am seeing it a lot more right fucking now)

-Garp mentoring Koby, yet again (My poor sweet Koby, the world is going to hurt him :c)

-Drunk Usopp explaining things too Mihawk 10/10

-Zoro being the dramatic bitch that I would give my life for (also Usopp open mouth - like wait, that was my new best friend!)

-”He will slice you into sashimi”

-Luffy repeating Zoro’s words

-Nami saying angry that Zoro is the best tickles something in me (I am yet to decide what)

-”Because you are my friend. You idiot” AHHHH, cutie pie Nami 

-I don’t like Zoro’s response but I have to admit that it’s on point

-Zoro meditation

-”Though I do like your hat”

-I love that only the very good swords have this special ring to them 

-Nami grabbing Usopp’s hand, found family vibes check

-”You could never fail me” 

-All the Zoro’s form Luffy (Oh my god, every single episode I am more attracted to ZoLu - halp)

#opla #one piece live action #one piece netflix #my post #opla spoilers #one piece #one piece live action spoilers

[lady-z-writes]

Part 3 of this Hopper x reader series.

Part 1

Part 2

(Also found on ao3)

Warning: explicit.

Snippet:

He freezes like an idiot, is stuck staring at you in that dress again. You’d spoken, he realizes. You’d approached and spoken, but of course he doesn’t register – he can’t – it sounds like water rushing beside his ears.

“You waitin’ on someone?” it’s that damn smirk again and all he wants to do is shove you against the wall and remind you who’s in charge in this little arrangement you have.

“You’ll sit if you know what’s good for you…” he speaks low, watches the way you try to hide the shiver that just sent through you.

Of course, you make him wait, make a show of it. You take a second, but you sit slowly.

“You seem frustrated, Chief,” it’s a double entendre, obviously, and he’s biting the inside of his cheek when you lean over the table just enough to make him see down the cut of that dress… “Do you have something you wanna say to me, Chief?” he bites harder on the inside of his cheek. “Any reason you came looking for me the other day? Were you on the edge of losing this little game we’re playing?”

“Real fuckin’ cute, sweetheart. Cut the crap. You miss this too.”

“Oh, sure I do. But between the two of us, who seems more desperate for a good lay?” you lean back, cross your legs, look so confident. Hearing you speak like this sends a chill down Hopper’s spine.

“Get in the car.”

“Huh?”

“Get in the car. Now,” he speaks between clenched teeth. “I’m not asking.”

When you don’t move, he loses his temper. The cuffs come out.

---

He’s been through three cigarettes in a forty-five-minute period, even though he’s trying to quit. Kinda.

It’s been eighteen days since he’d fucked you. Seventeen days since Callahan questioned him about that night and how he heard a weird noise.

Eighteen. Fucking. Days.

He’s surprised you hadn’t broken, hadn’t called from a payphone again at some dive, hadn’t been in your bed with the phone between your ear and shoulder as you worked your fingers along your clit and gasped sweet cussing into the receiver.

He. Missed. Your. Cunt.

But he was determined to prove that he could stay away. He wanted to win this so bad.

Though, he does take a drive to Andy’s Bar again in hopes that it’s your hangout. He makes sure El’s out with friends that night – just in case.

Naturally, you aren’t there.

So, he has three beers and ends the night in the shower – alone – hand pumping around his cock as he cums down the drain. It’s not enough. It hasn’t been enough for eighteen fucking days.

Two more weeks go by and he’s losing it, so tempted to just hook up with someone just to get you off his mind, but it’s not that easy. He knows it won’t be enough – won’t be you. You egging him on, letting him cum inside…such a spitfire.

On day thirty-eight, he breaks. He’s drinking rum at home, alone, and his dick’s been hard for an hour. He’d wacked off earlier but clearly, he’s way too worked up to just let things go.

And you don’t answer.

He slams the phone back down, though he’s a little humored – thinks you’re playing with him. You’ll call back any minute.

Only you don’t.

And he jerks off two more times before bed.

Three days pass and he doesn’t try the number again. He knows you’ve been staying in some rental off Blossom Avenue, but isn’t ready to be that desperate just yet.

But he’s teetering on that edge.

Four more days and he’s at that point.

The place is empty when he pulls up. And now he feels like a real winner.

You booked it, you had to; took off. He knew you were a college girl, but when do semesters start…?

Paul Nelson is the landlord of the place. He knows this because there were a few shitty tenants that Hopper had arrested for domestic disputes in the past.

Maybe he shouldn’t call Paul when he gets back to the station…but he does.

“Oh, Y/N? What’s the matter? She in trouble or somethin’? Good kid.”

“Nah, nothin’ like that. Just one of her friends came lookin’ for her so I figured I’d follow up,” Hopper lies easily. “She, uh…she leave town do you know?”

“I know she said somethin’ about a birthday party, but she should be back Monday. I’ll tell her to give you a call.”

“Uh, no. No, I’ll…uh…follow up.” Hopper hangs up before any more embarrassment.

Well, fuck.

Two more days…

•••

Monday he’s scoping out the strip mall, waiting for Callahan to return with their coffees.

He sees you. Short dress, those legs, wedge heels…he’s practically drooling on himself as he watches you walk by. The wind blows and you catch the hem of that flowy dress just before he can get a peak at anything. Damn. He shifts in his seat, sucking his lower lip between his teeth.

You see him too and he notices you quirk your eyebrow at him before walking in his direction.

Oh, fuck.

He’s almost scrambling to roll down the window on the blazer as you approach – not really sure how to play it, not really sure where the fuck Callahan is with those coffees. He needs something to hold in his hands so he doesn’t end up doing something stupid like touching you in public. On the job. While he’s in uniform…

It’s quite the fantasy, he’ll admit.

You’re leaning against the blazer before he’s attentive.

“Spending money again, I see,” he teases, nodding toward the bag.

You click your tongue. “So quick to judge, Chief…” you dip your finger into the bag and his breath hitches when he sees a tiny, black lacy frock – see-through…matching panties.

He jumps out of his skin when the passenger door opens and Callahan hands him a cup of coffee.

“Hi, ma’am,” he nods passed Hopper to get a look at you.

Of course, you’re as calm as ever – lingerie back in the bag like it never happened, a cheeky smirk on your face.

“Now you boys have a wonderful day,” you lay it on thick. “Good talking to you, sir,” you comment to Hopper before strutting back to your car.

“She new around here, Chief?”

“Uh…yeah. Yep.”

“You know her?”

“Huh? Oh, no, uh…someone came to me the other day wanting to check up on her. She was out of town – misunderstanding. S’all I know.”

The rest of his shift is awkward and tense as he wonders if Callahan saw that black lingerie, if he’s tortured by the thought as much as Hopper is.

•••

Fourteen hours. It’s been fourteen damn hours since you’d returned and, damn, he needs you. Who the fuck was he? How the Hell did he get here? Fourteen hours is not a long time and he is so fucking used to this need of isolating himself. Hop flourishes on alone time, craves it like neon lights and sad, desperate women with nice legs and “fuck me” eyes. You fuck him up. You actively walked into his fucking shithole mess of a life, looked around, and tore the whole place down.

Are you this fucked up over him? He could only imagine…

Maybe, maybe not but…so what if he was?

The simple idea of it makes him ache – makes him hard – makes him wonder those ‘what ifs’…what if this is more than a little fling?

But people don’t end up happy. They just don’t. He can’t let himself hope.

People settle and get dealt shit hands and pull themselves through somehow. But people like him don’t end up happy. Maybe halfway-happy. Probably not.

And he hasn’t thought about it in a while – too long. After Sara…he knew it was over for him, no finding love after he lost his daughter and got divorced. He figures it was bars and sad sex forever.

The coffee shop isn’t exactly as empty as he expected. Lonely silence floats around him. A soft melody plays overhead but he really doesn’t have it in him to listen. Cars pass out the window and he sighs, thinking of you again; of that damn black lace and how good it probably looks on you.

The bell above the door announces a new customer and instinctively his eyes lift to the entrance.

Well, fuck.

Y/N stands there, carding a hand through your wind-blown hair, eyes surveying the room until they lock on him.

He freezes like an idiot, is stuck staring at you in that dress again. You’d spoken, he realizes. You’d approached and spoken, but of course he doesn’t register – he can’t – it sounds like water rushing beside his ears.

“You waitin’ on someone?” it’s that damn smirk again and all he wants to do is shove you against the wall and remind you who’s in charge in this little arrangement you have.

“You’ll sit if you know what’s good for you…” he speaks low, watches the way you try to hide the shiver that just sent through you.

Of course, you make him wait, make a show of it. You take a second, but you sit slowly.

“You seem frustrated, Chief,” it’s a double entendre, obviously, and he’s biting the inside of his cheek when you lean over the table just enough to make him see down the cut of that dress… “Do you have something you wanna say to me, Chief?” he bites harder on the inside of his cheek. “Any reason you came looking for me the other day? Were you on the edge of losing this little game we’re playing?”

“Real fuckin’ cute, sweetheart. Cut the crap. You miss this too.”

“Oh, sure I do. But between the two of us, who seems more desperate for a good lay?” you lean back, cross your legs, look so confident. Hearing you speak like this sends a chill down Hopper’s spine.

“Get in the car.”

“Huh?”

“Get in the car. Now,” he speaks between clenched teeth. “I’m not asking.”

When you don’t move, he loses his temper. The cuffs come out.

There are several other couples scattered around the coffee shop and all of them look startled when Hopper presses you to the table; bends you at the waist, shoves your chest against the tabletop. He’s got you in cuffs before you’ve taken your next breath and he’d be lying if he said it’d been an accident when he bumped his body against yours in the scuffle. He’s too tall though, so it didn’t exactly pan out for the place he wanted stimulated by your ass on display in that short dress; your body kind of hit his upper thigh. Not good enough. Just enough of a tease to make him want you more.

He hoists you up, pulls you against him from behind.

“Sorry to interrupt your night, folks,” he announces to the crowd of stunned patrons.

Without further explanation, he shoves you forward, enjoying this way more than he should be.

Pushing you in the back of the Blazer is also satisfying. Gripping your hair and dipping your head down gives him a kind of power he’s been missing since you two fucked last time.

When he’s in the driver’s seat looking in his rearview at you, he notices the dilated pupils, the parted lips, the open legs.

“You’re just too much fun,” he mutters before pulling out of the parking lot.

•••

Maybe he should have taken you back to your place. Maybe he shouldn’t be parked down an old dirt road with the seat leaned back, letting you ride his cock. But here you are.

The cuffs are still on, proving difficult but he likes the way the angle forces your tits forward. He’d unbuttoned that dress and found that you weren’t wearing anything underneath.

Sinful. It’s sinful what you do to him.

He’s got his hands on you; left hand digging into your hip to steady you, right hand rubbing at your clit as you rock yourself on him.

He’s not quiet by any means – neither are you – but this empty road and the compact vehicle, he feels safe to let himself enjoy.

“Fuck, I missed you,” it’s when you finally admit this that he feels himself get closer to that edge.

“Oh, yeah?” he huffs out. “You missed my cock?” he pinches your clit then rubs deep circles, making you yelp out.

“Mmm, yes, sir, I missed your cock too.”

“Oh, fuck, faster. Goddamn it…” he shuts his eyes tight, tries to hold back his orgasm. “Did you cum? You’ve gotta cum…” he’s frantic at this point, realizes how much pleasure he gets out of your pleasure.

“I know,” you pant out, angling yourself a little different. “Hang on…ooh, right there…fuck…rut into me, Hop. Deeper.”

By now he gives up on your clit and takes both hands to hold either side of your hips. The angle you’re at causes friction against your pelvises – just enough pressure on your clit.

He feels how close you are, how tight your muscles are getting, how you’re squeezing his cock.

A deep growl leaves him. “Fuck, duchess, I’m right…there…” his voice is tense.

You’re nodding. “Hang on, mmm…deeper…oh, God just like that, yes…Jim!”

The relief he feels when he knows you’re cumming…

“Ohh yeah. Good girl, cumming all over my cock…God damn…”

He’s there. He’s right fucking there, holding you and rutting up into you, filling you…

It’s too much. His vision goes white; the most powerful orgasm he’s had in weeks.

In the comedown, you practically faceplant against his chest, gasping for breath together as the shockwaves shoot through you still. Your fingertips feel like lightening.

Eyelids heavy, you nuzzle against him, let yourself relax for moments.

Hopper’s fidgeting for the keys, unlatching the cuffs from your wrists which almost feels like a release in itself.

The car is silent, just the two of you breathing, your heartbeat in your ears.

“I bought that black lingerie for nothing,” you break the silence with a short laugh.

Hopper looks down at you seriously, eyes dark.

When he says, “I’m not done with you yet,” you can’t help but shiver.

#jim hopper x reader #jim hopper fic #jim hopper fanfic #jim hopper x you #jim hopper #hopper x reader #hopper x you #hop x reader #hop x you

[yourlocalrodent]

Hello I was wondering if you would write something (fluff or smut) about reader and Gareth going through a haunted house together?

yep I can do that!

you walked out of thr house to Gareth’s car “ are you ready?” He asked “ no I walked out of my house completely unorganised and messy” you gave him a unimpressed look “ oh you sarcastic bitch” he seemed amused by your attitude.

You looked up at him “ bubs?” Gareth doesn’t take his eyes off the road “ yes sugar?” He asks “ how far is this place anyway” he thinks for a moment “ about 9 kilometres/6 miles away, why?” He furrows his brows like he always does. You look back up at the road “ I’m preparing myself idiot” Gareth thought that was just fucking hilarious because he starts laughing.

“ what’s so funny!” You yell “ nothing nothing it’s just, you seem scared” he says in between laughing “ I’ll fucking make you scared In a minute! It’s a fucking haunted house!” Little did you know this lil guy is far more scared then you are. Gareth could and would wet his pants. You soon turned up towards the house, not many people were there this year “ hey we can park!” Gareth cheered trying to cover his nervousness. You raised on eyebrow, he keeps tapping his hand on the wheel.

“ gare? Are you okay?” You ask “ yep! Perfectly fine!” He grins “god why did I choose this place to go for a date” he asks himself in his head. You two get out the car and he waddles over to you, grabbing your hand. It was a tight grip, he somewhat hid it as a form of comfort to you and not comfort to him. You two had walked towards the entrance of the door, Talking to the man at the front for a minute before he let you two in.

(I’m gonna make this one big fat paragraph, fatter then William aftons dumpy and yes that’s a blueycapsules reference)

The start was eerie but wasn’t too scary, But when you came to the dining room that’s when it got straight up scary. You heard a creak coming from the hall “ what was that” Gareth shot his head over “ are you scared love?” You teased “ w-what? No!” He tried but failed, you grabbed him a gave him a hug “ your gonna be fine buddy I promise” the comfort felt much better to him. You two walked into the hall to see what the creaking was when you heard footsteps and a few seconds later a plate, no not A plate multiple plate smash onto the ground. You spun around and Gareth clung onto you “ who in the fuuhh” you questioned yourself because there was not a bit of porcelain in sight not a single piece “ what’s going on? *name*? Is it scary?” Gareth tapped your shoulder “ it’s weird is what it is” you turned back around to face him “ hello?” A little girls voice called out “ fuck this!” Gareth literally grabbed your waist pulling you towards him, he’s shaking like a leaf in the wind. Soon you started to creep down the rest of the hall to the stairs, light foot steps came up behind you two and when you looked back a little girl was staring at you. She was as pale as paper, with bright red hair and soulless eyes. She wore a cream dress that’s covered in frills and embroidery, it’s covered in blood however and on the centre of her abdominal area was a giant Gouge, you could see her insides via the hole and a few of her organs where spilling out“ yeah Uhm this is a little too real…” Gareth whispers to you “ yeah just a smidge” you backed up the stairs pulling Gareth with you but when you did she stepped fowards “ don’t leave yet mother…”She said in a soft voice “yeah nah I didn’t give birth to you-” you explained, pulling Gareth up the stairs but again with each wary step she stepped towards you “ back off kid” gareth told her off “ but why” she asked “ BECAUSE YOUR FUCKING SCARY!” He yelled gripping onto your arm. when you made the last step and stood on the second floor, the girl stood on the last step when all of a sudden the stairs collapsed and she fell into a hole ( the actor fell onto a mattress so she’s not hurt) Gareth’s chest raised up and down in fear as he breathed heavily” can we leave?” He looked at you in fear “ sure baby” you smiled

after you leave and you head home back to your place

“ hey kids how was your date” your father/mother called out (depends on who you live with or who’s around) “ it was cool mum!” You inform her “ It terrified me mrs/mr *last name*” Gareth mumbled. Your parent ushered you two back to your room, you sat down on your bed and opened you arms for him. Gareth sat down into your lap and nuzzled into you “ this feels much better then what ever the fuck I was thinking, why did I choose a haunted house?” He asked “ who knows” you chuckled, lying down into the bed. Gareth managed to get comfortable on you, his head was right under your jaw and left ear and shoulder, his body is under the blankets while he’s drawing little shapes on you with his fingers. Your arms where around his waist comforting him. He lifted his head a little bit to place 3 kisses on your neck “ I’m tired I’m gonna go to bed” he whispered “ I’ll turn off the light then” and you reached your hand over to the lamp, switching it off. Soon soft snores could be heard from the both of you.

oof this is so cute my heart

#gareth emerson x reader #gareth stranger things #gwydion lashlee walton #gareth emerson #gareth stranger things x reader #corroded coffin #stranger things #stranger things season four #gareth the great #Fluff #gareth emerson x reader smut #gareth #henderson #Stranger things season fout #stranger things x reader #x reader fluff #gender neutral reader