#oneshot ish

[luveline]

𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝? | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

Your best friend Eddie tries to explain what a hickey feels like and finds he doesn't have the words. He could show you, though, if you want? [3k] 

fem!reader, shy!reader, implied inexpereinced!reader, friends-to-lovers, pining, mdni heavy petting, hickeys, lots of hickeys, marking up, neck kissing, shoulder kissing, heat of the moment confessions, eddie being flirty but also a good friend, requested here

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie strokes down the length of his guitar neck almost tenderly. You're focused on his hands rather than his mouth as he recounts last night's date to you, distracted by the deft movement of his fingers, which aren't exactly small. It's an oxymoron —paradoxical, even— that his thick fingers would move with such gentle precision. 

You shift around where you're sitting on his bedroom floor, criss-cross applesauce with an uncomfortable heat rising from the bottomless pit of your stomach to your tight collar. The white button up you'd worn under your sweater vest is a size too small. You're really starting to notice. 

You peel out of the vest and hope it'll help you calm down.

"She wasn't exactly sweet," Eddie says, plucking a string, listening to the sound, and tuning it this way or that depending on how he liked it. "I think she wanted to get it over with, which isn't really my thing. She was in my lap before I could make it clear I wasn't interested in anything quick." 

You lift your gaze from his hands. He must feel you watching his face. He looks up in tandem and smiles reassuringly. "It's fine. I kind of thought she was getting into it, she was like a vampire on me at one point, but I wasn't feeling it and it's clear she wasn't either. Drove her home. How was your night, d'you watch that tape?" 

You trace the coil of a black curl down to his shoulder, and can't force yourself to meet his eyes as you ask, "A vampire?" 

"What?" 

"She was like a vampire at one point, you said." Eddie's arm goes still. "What did you mean by that?" you ask.

He puts his guitar down on the floor. You worry you've said something truly dull for him to place his sweetheart in such a rush, but Eddie's like that. He can tell you're embarrassed no doubt, and he's giving you the answer to your question as swiftly as he can to soothe the wound. 

"Here, look," he says. He pushes his hair away from his neck on one side and tilts his head, bearing a wine-stained curve of skin to you unabashedly. "She kissed me. She gave me a hickey, used a lot of teeth. That's why it's bruised so much on the edges." 

Warmth you've never felt rushes in, like your blood has superheated, and it's written on your face. Eddie's room feels suddenly a thousand times smaller than before and more intimate, his poster wallpaper curving in, the space between you inching closer. 

"Sorry," he says, "I know it's kind of weird to show you." 

"No, I'm sorry," you say, mortified. "I shouldn't have asked you." 

"Yeah, you should. You didn't get it and now you do. I don't mind telling you." 

Eddie lets his hair fall back against his neck, a kinky curtain that looks ridiculously soft in the orangey light of his lamp. There's a butter smoothness to it, and the way he moves as he does is worse, his hand open and reaching for you. He doesn't hold your hand, doesn't even try, just lets his upturned palm hang off the edge of his knee as if to say, Ask me whatever it is you want to ask me. It's cool. 

"Why would she do that?" you ask, gesturing to your neck.

"It's not her fault, I was flirting with her a ton trying to make it work."

"Not like that." 

Eddie's hand turns toward his knee. "Like what?" 

Your hand drifts to your own neck absentmindedly. You get kissing, wanting to be kissed and wanting to give them. You understand why she kissed his neck; if you'd been in her position, alone in the car with Eddie laying his charm on thick, you might climb the console and push aside his hair too. 

"I know why she kissed you. I don't see why she…" You rub your lips together, your embarrassment turning sharp. You hate how humiliating this feels. "I know what a hickey is, Eds, but why would you want one?" 

His turn to fluster. The tiniest tinge of pink paints his cheeks. "Are you asking me why I enjoyed it?" 

"Did you?" 

You despise yourself, truly. Worse when Eddie laughs, his chest forward, hair falling in his face as he chuckles sincerely. 

"Yeah," he says, smiling at you "I liked it. Before she started trying to kill me I was having a good time." 

He doesn't put you through the agony of asking what you both know he wants to. 

You've never had one?

"It feels warm, and it's– you know how being kissed gives you butterflies, right? It's better than that. It's hot, and all her weight is on you and you have your hand on her back trying to pull her in, and she's as close as she can be without, you know." Something flickers across Eddie's face. Not longing, but a remembered pleasure. It makes you squirm. 

"I don't see how it doesn't just hurt." 

The hand that hadn't been reaching for you holds a pick. He flashes it between his fingers, a party trick, a nervous tic, his eyelashes tangling together as his eyelids inch closed. He scrunches his face up for a second. 

"Don't hate me if I ask you something weird," Eddie says, eyes shut tight. 

You don't think you could. You watch Eddie's face, knowing he can't see your analysis, and feel a shock of pins and needles in your hands when his eyes open and immediately lock on to yours. 

"Do you want me to give you one?" he asks. 

Your lips feel like they've been glued shut. You're aware of your breathing, how shallow each inhale has become, but you can't do anything about it. 

He has the decency to acknowledge what position his question puts you in, "I know it might be weird but I can't describe it to you if you don't know what it feels like." 

You surprise him. You surprise yourself. "Uh, yeah. Okay." 

"Yeah?" 

"It doesn't hurt?" 

"Not unless you want it to." A hint of a smirk plays on his lips, though it fades quickly. "It doesn't hurt. That's not the point. But it can feel… foreign." 

You nod jerkily, wishing you knew what to do. 

The atmosphere is thick enough to cut through. Neither of you like it. Eddie gives you another type of smile, a familiar one that says, I'm your best friend, I always will be, so please chill out. 

"You're gonna have to sit in my lap." 

You actually laugh. "Eddie," you chastise, thinking it's a bad joke. 

"Sorry, sweetheart, but it's that or the bed." His teasing tone is light, but he still adds, "I mean, we can do it sitting next to each other but it's difficult. Whatever you want, though." 

You climb up on your knees. You're shy, absolutely, you always will be and especially when Eddie's teasing, but he really is your best friend, and the bed isn't happening.

He doesn't scare you. 

He grins and ushers you toward him. "Alright, come here." He tugs one of your thighs over his lap and your breath catches. He grabs the other and any laughter between you abruptly dies. 

You settle over his lap with an expression not far from pained. Eddie's hands rest against your thigh and your hip. He has to look up at you now, and he does as he encourages your weight firmly downward. You're more than conscious of where you're positioned. 

"Do me a favour?" he asks. 

"Yeah." You put your hand on his chest tentatively. 

"Don't suffer through it if you hate it, okay? All you have to do is say something and I'll stop, but if you feel like you can't, a good right hook would work too." 

"I'm not gonna hurt you," you protest. 

"Me neither," he says. His hand lifts from your thigh to your neck, and he brushes his fingertips down the curve of it ineffectually. It would feel good if you weren't choking on air. "Relax, sweetheart. Please." 

"I'm really warm." 

"Your shirt's too tight anyway," he says, hand at your collar. He thumbs open your top button, a second, and exposes the flat of your chest. His fingers slide across your neck as he folds back your starched collar. They're cool compared to the raging heat he finds there. 

You take a deep breath. 

"You could put your hands in my hair," he says. Wishful thinking has hope colouring his tone. 

You put your hands on his shoulders. The very tips of your fingers partition his curls. 

He raises an arm above your mess of limbs to weave a hand behind your ear. It's then that you feel his callouses, so rough against the delicate skin of your scalp. Despite their texture, you find it feels good. He tucks his hand in tight, and slowly, slowly turns your head to the side. 

"Look up," he murmurs. 

You lift your head and stare at the ceiling with widened eyes. 

He can't know but he does, and he says, "Close your eyes." The heat of his breath kisses your neck.  

You shiver at the suggestion of his lips, and again when they press to your skin. Close-lipped, Eddie kisses the skin just under your ear where on the opposite side of your head his thumb strokes quarter circles. You're quickly overwhelmed by the duelling sensations. You don't notice his lips have parted until he's kissing a sloven path downward, his spit cooling in wake. 

This isn't a hickey, this is straight up kissing, and you don't know what to do with how you feel. You hide your hands in his hair. 

It tugs him forward. He reads your hands for enthusiasm, and if it is or isn't he pulls you closer still and opens his mouth against your skin. His teeth are impossible to ignore. 

Your hand works further into his hair, getting caught in a tangle as he sucks your skin between his lips. His lazy mouthing turns insistent but still gentle, his teeth scratching ever so slightly at your pulse as it capers beneath his ministrations. You gasp at the warmth blossoming under your ribs. You cup the back of his neck a touch too tight. 

He doesn't stop kissing you, only grabs your wrist to stop you from choking him out. You make a sound you've never made with him before, a mewl, all breathless and teary as the sensation worsens. Which is to say, betters. 

He breaks a particularly rough kiss to suck in breath, his nose sliding up the curve of your neck as he leans back. "You okay?" he murmurs, half-lidded eyes locking onto your flushed face. 

"Why does it feel like that?" you ask. 

He drops his head, his nose level with your chin. "I don't know," he says, punctuating with a kiss right there, the closest bit of skin he can find. "Want me to do it again?" 

You swallow and he must see it. He says nothing, wrapping his arms around your waist as he waits for you to respond. Your stomach pushes into his, your arms braced on his shoulder so you don't collapse into his front, limp with touch. 

"Sweetheart, can I do it again?" he asks.

"Yeah," you say, quiet but enthusiastic. "Please." 

He's slower this time. Eddie leans into your neck and doesn't kiss you at first, his lips so close to your skin that you can feel their phantom. You skin tingles from his previous scandalising, and it doesn't beg, skin can't beg, but you can, you curl your arm behind his neck and hook his head there, crushing his hair to the crook of your arm. He doesn't take much convincing beyond that. His lips smush against your neck and you feel every millimetre as they part, heat and warmth and wet spreading like budding flowers come to bloom. You melt into him soon after, and Eddie takes your weight in stride, hand at the small of your back and pulling you in so hard you can feel his ribs. 

When you think you're used to it —not used to it, but expecting what can be expected— Eddie nips you. Tiny dainty kisses broken up with a nibbling you'd couldn't describe as anything but playful. He laughs at your gasping and does it again, again, giddy hot laughter mixed with one of the strangest feelings you've ever been subjected to. You're molten. You're dizzy with it.

Eddie pulls back enough to ask, "I'm gonna undo another button, okay? Just one. Is that alright?" 

"What for?" 

"So I can kiss your shoulder. Just your shoulder." He sounds pleading, desperately excited in a way you've never heard him and you want to know what it'll feel like, so you let him. 

This next button unveils the top of your bra and the soft hills of your breasts. He doesn't look, barely glances at his hand as he tugs your shirts down your arm, diving into the juncture of your neck like he needs it to breathe. His kisses are proper compared to some of the stuff he's been doing, but then he opens his mouth and the flat of his tongue wets your skin as he kisses kisses kisses down your shoulder. His hand is somewhere under your shirt, fingers slipped under your bra strap and pulling teasingly at the elastic as he eases you down in his arms. You're shorter than him where you'd started taller, totally compressed in his arms and at his mercy.

When he pulls back, the slimmest ribbon of spit shines between your shoulder and his lips. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, his eyes glassy, and that hand cups your face. He pretty much grabs you, but there's not a lick of cruelty in his touch. Eddie's rough. Never cruel. 

"You're on fire," he says. It's objective rather than joking. "You're so hot. Do you want to stop?" 

"Not– not unless you want to," you say, trying to quieten your breathing. You sound like you've run a marathon. It feels like it. 

"I'm gonna give you a real one, cool?" 

"I didn't know they weren't real." 

"Oh, sweetheart," he says, and his eyes are damning, a loving pity in the black of his blown pupils, "I was just warming you up." 

Your mind blanks. 

"Make sure I can hide it," you say. 

You aren't thinking straight, concerned about hiding his hickeys but not what this means for the two of you. His unexpected hunger, and your willingness to let him eat you whole. 

"I don't think you can hide it anymore," he says, stroking your cheek with his thumb. 

You look down at his lips. They're rosy, swollen from the pressure.

He sees you looking. 

He yanks you in by the waist and sizes you up, almost, like he's calling your bluff, not spiteful but something mean about him as he stares at your mouth in return. 

Like he doesn't want you to make the mistake. Like he knows you won't. 

His hand tips your chin up high and he ducks his own down. An inch and you'd be kissing. That's all it would take.

"Is that really what you want?" he asks.

"I don't know," you say. Is it what he wants?

It has to be. 

"Have you wanted to, before?" He draws a line down your cheek with his marriage finger. Fast as a heavy tear. "You want me to kiss you?" 

"Yeah," you whisper, trying to make sense of this, your sudden confession, a secret want pushed into the light. 

Eddie turns his hand and strokes down your cheek with the back of it, pushing any dampened baby hairs away from your skin. His gaze softens. 

"Was that so hard?" he asks. 

"You knew?"

He kisses you. He's smiling, and he doesn't take just one. He must kiss you four or five times, your lips parted enough to know he could push it further if he wanted, but he doesn't. These kisses are unhurried, missing the ravenous passion of his hickeying but not the fondness. 

"You don't know how hard it is," he says after he's broken away, his forehead tipped against yours, "how hard it is to have someone look at you like you look at me everyday, like I'm something you can't have." 

"I didn't know–" you knew. You felt the same. His kissing is evidence alone. it's confessional.

"I know. Guess I thought nothing good would come of it, but– but I don't want good. I want you." 

He pulls back quickly, like you've said something confessional rather than him. He surprised himself. 

"I'm not good?" you ask. 

"You're good. You'll ruin me, that's all." 

You don't have time to ask him what he means by that. He kisses you again, kisses your cheek, draws a line of crescent moons down along your neck to the mess he's made of you. He kisses– he sucks your neck so hard, so sudden, that goosebumps erupt and you can't stop yourself from saying, "Ohh," as you cling to his shoulders. 

This is the vampire thing he'd talked about, the points of his teeth stark against your skin even now. There's another layer of vulnerability unveiled here, knowing that he could really hurt you and knowing he never would. He kisses you until you're overwhelmed by him. Heat everywhere. Sweat shining on your skin. You don't want anything else but this.

You squeak as the pressure turns from pleasurable to too much. Eddie hears the pain in it and pulls away, instantly sorry and willing to prove it, his hands cradling your face. 

You pant. He shushes you gently.

"Sorry, baby." He pets your cheeks. 

Your head falls back, too heavy on your sore neck. You feel wiped. 

Wiped, but good. Lax. 

"That was nice," you say breathlessly. 

Eddie sits up and drags you with him, hand behind your neck to prop you up. He's laughing again, his awful sweet laugh that you've heard a thousand times before. It never fails to make you smile. 

"You're like a dead fish." 

You cover an eye with your hand. "I take it the romance is over." 

"You thought that was romantic? Babe, I'm only getting started." 

Eddie gives you a quick peck. Where his hickey had felt like the heart of a star growing hotter with each passing second, his smaller kiss feels like the sun through blinds, a dappling of warmth. 

"Are you messing with me?" you ask.

He pushes his arms over your shoulders for a hug. 

"No. Not messing with you." His nose rubs against the shell of your ear. "It's about time we talked." 

You let your hand drift down the dip of his back.

"Okay," you mumble. Talking. You need to talk about whatever it is that just happened. 

"...Maybe I'll get you a glass of water first," he adds.

"That's a good idea." 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed, and if you did, please consider letting me know/reblogging, it means the world to me and makes a big difference!! ♡ NOTE: Eddie def pines back if that isn't fully clear, I tried to imply it with his date where he could've hooked up with someone but didn't go through with it, it was cos he's too in lurve

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #ish #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson scenario #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things

[dilatorywriting]

Valentine's Day Special: Let Them Fight

GN!Reader x Malleus Draconia vs. Azul Ashengrotto vs. Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: Who knew that in a world of magic, and mayhem, and outright villainy, that it'd be something as stupid as Valentine's Day that would push these idiots over the edge. Or, Malleus, Azul, and Vil go to war over some chocolates

A/N: This MC/Plot takes place in the Heroes vs Villains universe -- specifically Post-Staff's route, rather than any of our other lovely idiot husbands.

There was always some sort of strange overlap of customs from your world to this one. Halloween seemed to have survived more or less intact (even if it was a bit more, uh, extreme than the subtle evening of giving out treats and dressing as ghosts that you remembered). Winter Holidays were still very much a Thing, even if all other connotations had been stripped from them. Moreover, it was like someone had taken your familiar Earthen calendar and just sort of… mirrored it. Distorted it a bit. Just a lil’ bit more chaos than would have been socially acceptable back home.

So when you made a sly little joke about stocking up on discount chocolates after the Valentine’s Day rush and no one laughed—not even a little chortle, or an irritable eyeroll—you initially thought it was maybe to do with the irrationality of Sam’s Shop ever having a sale to begin with. You had not assumed that, you know, there was no Valentine’s Day at all.

“It’s an important holiday, then? Where you’re from?” Azul mused, busy scribbling endless, chicken scratch, notes in the margins of some form that was probably very important.

“I mean, not really,” you frowned, tossing your Mostro-Branded apron onto its hook. “Maybe. Yes? I don’t really know, actually.”

He hummed and moved to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Well, whatever it is, I’m always looking for new events to host at the Lounge. What exactly is it?”

“It’s a sort of special day for couples. Romance. Lovey-dovey nonsense,” you shrugged, and watched Azul’s finger slip off the slick metal frame of his glasses and nearly take his eye out. You waved off his obvious disgust with a dramatic sigh (I mean, why else would he be so stiff and red?). “Yeah, yeah. I know. It’s ridiculous.”

“I—I never said that!” he spluttered, and then paused to cough into his fist and clear his throat. “It just—I just wasn’t expecting something like that to…”

“Exist?”

He grinned, wry. His cheeks were still a bit too pink. “Precisely.”

“You would have loved my world,” you said. “Very capitalistic. Lots of cash-grab holidays like that.”

Azul laughed.

“I’m sure I would be fond of any place you came from.” He paused, and his expression puckered up a bit miserably—like he really hadn’t intended to express such a sentiment aloud. But he managed to smooth the sharp line of his frown back into that usual, smarmy, smirk of his easily enough. “But either way! Tell me more!” he grinned, reaching forward to grab a stack of blank paper and a fresh pen. “I’d love to hear all about it.”

.

.

The next day you were supposed to help the Drama Club start building some stage scenery for their newest play. It was proper grunt work, which was perhaps the only sort of work you were actually qualified for. And Vil always made sure that there were plenty of disgustingly healthy but still quite tasty snacks available for the help to munch on. The food spread alone would have been worth the trip, but on top of that, Vil had made you promise. Practically a blood oath, binding you and your meager free time to the shitty supply closet in the corner of the Auditorium. And as sour as he could be sometimes, you really could never say no to him when he always looked so heart meltingly fond whenever you did agree to while away the hours at his side. That lovely face and even lovelier smile of his were fucking lethal. A war crime, surely, to use it against someone as plain and susceptible to bribery as you were.

But today you were now an idiot on a mission—an idiot determined to spread the joy of a trashy holiday that really probably shouldn’t exist in the first place, let alone in a world where people worshipped storybook villains as veritable deities. And you’d already bought all the molds, and the trays, and you really didn’t have a lot of spare pocket money to begin with, so letting this investment go to waste would not only be a shame, but a terrible business investment.

“What do you mean you’re not coming,” Vil sneered, glaring down his perfectly straight nose at you.

“I really am sorry,” you said, mostly genuine. “But I have something I need to do this afternoon.”

“You’ve made other plans?” he frowned, something a little too unsettled to fit with his usual regality twisting across his expression.

“I have to get ready for Valentine’s Day,” you explained, and his brow tugged down further. Though that earlier twinge of panic seemed to have vanished at least. You pointedly shook your grocery bag full of goodies. “I’m going to make chocolates for everyone.”

“Chocolates?” Vil echoed, confused.

You nodded. “It’s a tradition back home. You give stuff like candy and flowers to the people you care about. Normally it’s a holiday for couples, or whatever. But. Well…”

The ‘I Am Fully Aware That I’m Single as a Pringle, Please Just Let Me Have This One Thing’ was left unsaid, but it hung in the air around your head like a very persistent storm cloud nonetheless. Vil, magnanimously, seemed perfectly happy to ignore the Woe Is Me implications spewing from your mouth. Instead, he leaned forward until he was dipping precariously close into your personal space. His amethyst eyes had lit with blatant interest at your ramblings, and he hummed low in his throat.

“Is that so?” he mused, gaze lidded and warm. “That sounds… intriguing.”

You nodded past the heady scent of his cologne fogging your head. What was it with attractive people, huh? It was so unfair. You don’t get to look and smell good. Pick a lane. Save some dignity for the rest of us.

“So, I promise I’ll help another day. I just have a feeling making chocolates is going to wind up being a lot harder than I think it will.”

Because that’s how it always went in your stupid slice-of-life shows. The poor, harried, protagonist thinking they’re doing a good deed—painstakingly constructing their own, special, homemade goodies for all their important people. Making them with love. And then having it all blow up in their face like a goddamn, cocoa flavored, nuke. Nope. Not you, motherfucker. Your chocolates were going to be divine. You were going to take every, tropey, precaution in the book. And that of course included allotting yourself ample time to make mistakes your masterpiece.

“Of course,” Vil grinned. “How could I possibly begrudge you for wanting to spend your time on something so heartfelt?”

“Thank you,” you blurted, relived. Because at least he got it. Azul had been so ridiculously insistent that you should prepare all your Valentine’s Day wishes as a team. Which was not the point. He’d spent hours last night trying to wheedle his way into your plans—with endless platitudes about ‘business partners always being there for each other,’ and ‘how would he know if he was celebrating to your standards if he wasn’t given a model to work off of first?’ Utter bullshit. He’d probably just wanted free labor.

“Tomorrow, then?” Vil beamed and you nodded.

“Tomorrow,” you confirmed.

“Well, then,” he hummed. “I better get to work as well. I suppose the scenery can wait.”

You nodded in farewell and began the trek back to Ramshackle and its marginally functional kitchens. You hadn’t realized Vil was taking on any new projects, but if it was enough to have him putting off the Club’s activities as well then it must have been pretty important. Maybe he’d get you tickets to it whenever he finished—whatever it was. If there were tickets? How did any of the things he did actually work? Hell if you knew.

.

.

Making chocolates was, in fact, a laughably easy endeavor. And you found yourself cursing every goddamn Shoujo Bullshit Manga under the sun for leading you to think otherwise. The hardest part of the entire thing was fighting off Grim and his wandering paws.

You made up some basic truffles which were, again, stupidly simple. Just some messily chopped chocolate, cream, and a little splash of vanilla to make it Special. Once those were shaped into messy blobs, you dipped them into some more melted chocolate and bam. That was it. That was literally it. You felt like a genius—sitting there mushing up balls of cocoa like high-end playdough.

By 6PM, you had all your little darlings tucked into the refrigerator to harden, all the gauzy, red, boxes lined up on your counter and ready to be filled, and Grim had been placated with an offering of all your dirty mixing bowls. The tiny, demonic, beast was passed out at the dingy kitchen table—one of said bowls wedged onto his head like an astronaut’s helmet. Hopefully it was just a food coma and not, like, an actual coma-coma. Real cats couldn’t eat chocolate, but Grim never really seemed real at all. So hopefully he’d be fine.

You wiped down your cooking space once, twice. Paced up and down the narrow hallway until you were wearing away the already threadbare rugs, and spent way too long just standing in front of the fridge—staring in on your chocolates like a psychotic kidnapper scoping out their next victims.

Eventually you realized that you maybe needed to do something with your evening that wasn’t just creeping on your confections, and set out into the frosty, night, air for a stroll.

Which is, of course, where you ran into your familiar, horned, friend—staring up into the starry sky in a wistful manner that darkened his pale complexion into something nearly ominous. He always looked a bit like that, like something unearthly and detached from the rest of the world.

“Tsunotarou!” you chirped happily, and that adrift-at-sea expression of his melted right off his face.

“Child of Man,” he greeted, inclining his head politely. “I wasn’t expecting to see you this evening.” His brow furrowed, almost confused. “Is it not too cold for you?”

Your breath was, in fact, fogging in front of your face. And you couldn’t really feel your toes anymore. But the electric anticipation of tomorrow was keeping you warm enough. Even if only in spirit.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you waved him off. And then, because you couldn’t help yourself, you leaned forward on your tippytoes and blurted out, “Happy Almost Valentine’s Day!”

“Valentine’s Day?” Malleus repeated back at you, looking like you’d just handed him an unsolvable differential equation.

“It’s a holiday from back home,” you explained for the umpteenth time that day. “And normally I’m not too fussed about it, but this year I’m really excited to give everyone their chocolates!” You grinned. “And you too, of course. I have to make sure I give them to all my important people.”

The furrow between his brows vanished, but the blatant, gaping, confusion remained. He looked like you’d nearly startled him into an early grave.

“I am one of your most important people?” he asked, slow as a tortoise making its way up an incline.

You nodded cheerfully, still bellied by your earlier culinary successes and excellent mood. “Of course you are! We’re friends, aren’t we? And besides. Valentine’s Day is for showing people how much you care about them.”

“What an interesting concept,” he mused, bringing a finger up to tap at his chin. “To think your world had such a heartfelt tradition—it’s quite a lovely surprise.”

You laughed. “If you think the chocolates are special, you should see what some couples do for each other. Rooms full of flowers, fancy date nights—I’m just managing the bare minimum.”

“Couples?” he echoed, and you felt the first teeny, hot, thread of chagrin work its way past your enthusiasm.

“Well, normally Valentine’s Day focuses on, like, romantic things,” you said, averting your gaze just in time to miss the tension lance through his shoulders. “But it can be for all sorts of affection!” you hastily added.

“Is that so…” the Prince hummed. He lifted his pensive gaze once more and stared you down with that weighted intensity that you’d only just recently learned how not to buckle beneath. “And you wish to celebrate this day. With me?”

“…you don’t mind, do you?” you asked, hesitant.

“Of course not, Child of Man,” he beamed, his lips curling up into a smile that put all his too-sharp teeth on display. “But you’ll have to excuse me now, I’m afraid. It seems I have some preparations to undertake this evening.”

“Oh,” you blinked. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yes,” Malleus said. “You will.”

.

.

It was officially Valentine’s Day, and you were ready to begin your mission of forcing your sweets onto every, single, one of your reluctant friends. Let them be pissy and tsundere. You weren’t afraid to weep and proclaim your undying, shounen-talk-no-jutsu, levels of friendship. Okay. Maybe you were a little. But these grouchy bastards had very easily become your grouchy bastards, and so help you God, they would suffer under your affection and they would like it.

There were plenty of small boxes—all nice, neat, corners with little bows perched on top. But you had also prepared a singular, larger, tray. It was cleaner cut than the rest, with bold, contrasting, colors and a simple elegance. You stared it down with a strange sort of disquiet brewing in your gut. Maybe you were being presumptuous. Goodness knows you’d more than dealt with the searing, emotionally destructive, consequences of that before. But all the same…

You squared your shoulders and spent a moment convincing yourself that your spine was quite sturdy—a proper, titanium, support system—and then popped the Big Box into the bag with the others.

Your first stop was Heartslabyul, and you burst through the ornate, crimson, doors like a manic home invader.

“I come bearing gifts,” you proclaimed, merrily doling out the boxes to your favorite idiot duo. You set three more aside, with little labels for Riddle, Trey, and Cater respectively. Normally you wouldn’t trust a dorm full of teenage boys not to devour any scrap of unattended food in sight, but Riddle had long since struck the fear of God into these poor lads. So you figured it’d be safe.

Deuce’s face lit up and he accepted the chocolate with near starry-eyed enthusiasm.

“Are these your holiday presents? Like the Santa Claus?” he asked, looking very much like a bouncy golden retriever preparing itself for congratulatory head pats.

You leaned forward with an indulgent huff to give him his pats. “No. But close enough.”

You pawned off three boxes on Ruggie when he tried to duck past you in the hallway—one for him, one for Leona, and one extra as payment for making him do your dirty work of playing delivery boy to Mister Grump in the first place. You slipped Jack his on the way into Trein’s morning lecture, and managed to press a box into Jamil’s hands before he slunk off to the library. Kalim cheered so loudly when you handed him one that your ears started to ring.

And then trouble arrived in the form of two, slippery, eels draping themselves across your shoulders. Normally the destructive duo seemed to act on their own prerogative, but on this fortuitous morning their Lord and Master was surprisingly not too far behind.

“Shrimpy!~” Floyd trilled, dragging you into a one-armed hug that was really more of a slightly-less-aggressive headlock than anything else. “Azul says you came up with this stupid holiday! And he made us work all day yesterdayto put together stuff for the Lounge! It’s not fair!”

Your legs shook under the weight of the new tumor that had made its home on your back.

“Now, Floyd,” Jade chirped. All finely manicured cruelty. “If you’re to blame anyone for going overboard with this entire situation, you ought to lay the fault on our fearless leader.” His bi-colored eyes flashed, amused. “Isn’t that right, Azul?”

Said ‘fearless leader’ looked like he was sucking on a lemon. He glared bitterly at his subordinate, seeming to share an entire, silent, argument with him, before turning back on you with a heavy sigh and the barest hint of angry flush in his cheeks.

“Prefect,” he grinned past his obvious discomfort, all sparkling, white, teeth. “I have to thank you for sharing so much information about this ‘Valentine’s Day’ of yours. It’s such a unique event, and it seems like our preparations at the Lounge are already being received incredibly well.”

“That’s good,” you nodded, trying and failing to shrug the Leech off your shoulders. “I’m glad I could help.”

Azul hummed under his breath, his eyes darting away for a moment. His glasses reflected the muted light of the hall in an odd way—making it difficult to read his expression. He cleared his throat and when he looked back up at you, the tips of his ears had gone pink.

“You’re more than welcome to come by, of course,” he beamed, suave as could be.

“I mean,” you blinked. “I would hope so. I work there.”

Floyd let out a bark of laughter and Jade snickered into his glove. The pleasant pink tinting Azul’s skin was heating to a near sunburned red. He looked down and coughed into his fist.

“Yes…” he mumbled. “I—I’m aware. But what I meant is… What I meant—” He frowned. It was a tight, pouty, little thing that scrunched up his entire face. That mottled red had spread to the bridge of his nose.

“I do believe what Azul is trying to say,” Jade stepped in, clearly taking some sort of pity on his tongue-tied friend. Or perhaps pity was the wrong word for it, seeing how smug he looked, “is that he would like to invite you to the event personally. As an honored guest, not an employee.”

“Oh,” you blinked, startled. Then hesitated, cautious on instinct. There was always some sort of catch to the Octomer’s kindness. “I don’t know if I could afford whatever fancy thing you’ve thrown together.”

“You wouldn’t be paying for it,” Azul assured you, some of that sickly flush having finally started to recede from his cheeks. You hoped he was feeling alright. “You’ve contributed more than enough for the day. It would be on the house.”

Jade loudly cleared his throat and Azul huffed, eyes sliding away yet again.

“I would be paying,” he finally mumbled. And then, even quieter, “As I believe is the custom.”

Just as you were about to thank him for his startling bought of generosity (and also ask after his health, because between the weird, pink, tinge to his skin and the aforementioned generosity, clearly somethingwas out of sorts with him), you noticed a sneaky hand working its way into your bag of goodies, and you immediately were on the defensive.

“Hey!” you snapped, spinning out of Floyd’s stranglehold. “You only get one!”

“Then I want the really big one!” he demanded, making grabby motions at it.

“No!” you squeaked, and clutched it protectively to your chest. The trio looked at you with varying degrees of surprise and you cleared your throat awkwardly. “This one—This one is special.”

“Oh?” Jade cooed, eyes flickering back towards Azul, who seemed determined to look absolutely anywhere else. “Is it now?”

“Awww,” Floyd whined. “That’s no fair! Who’s it for, anyways?!”

You gripped the box tighter and now it was your turn to stiffly avert your eyes down to the ugly carpet. “It’s not—I’m not—” you cleared your throat and forced the jitter from your voice. “I’m not ready to give it to him yet.”

The silence that followed was absolutely the worst thing you’d experienced in a long, long, time. Overblots and all. You could practically hear your blood pounding in your ears. You were just about to turn and beat a hasty retreat when a familiar, snappish, voice called your name from the other side of the corridor.

“There you are, potato,” Vil huffed, coming to stand at your side and bodily inserting himself between you and your tormentors. He met Azul’s petulant sneer with a frankly terrifying one of his own. “What are you doing here? I thought we agreed you’d be eating lunch with me today.”

You remembered no such thing, but if it got you out of this verbal minefield of a conversation, you were more than willing to take the claim at face value.

“Apologies,” Azul cut in with all his usual, mafioso, flair. “But the Prefect will be taking their afternoon meal at the Mostro Lounge today.”

“Is that so?” Vil hummed, sounding positively venomous.

“Unless you think you can make an offer good enough to sway them otherwise,” Azul chirped, equally as unpleasant.

Vil laughed—cold and sharp as crystal. It was the most elegant display of blatant irritation you’d ever seen.

“Of course you’d only consider this entire situation on a transactional basis,” he drawled, entirely unimpressed. Azul flinched and his expression screwed up into something near petulant. “I would expect no less. Are you planning to lock them into a contact too, hmm? Sign away everything in formal, sterile, terms?” Vil crossed his arms, and you were reminded sharply once more how very, very lucky you were to not be on his bad side (even if you hadn’t realized before all this that Azul apparently was on said bad side. You had no idea they disliked each other so terribly). “I really hadn’t expected you to have a single, romantic, bone in your body, and yet somehow I’m still disappointed to be proved so entirely correct.”

Azul looked ready to explode, and even though Jade and Floyd and melted back into the shadows at the start of this entire encounter, the pair of them were starting to look a bit murderous too—like sharks lazily circling the dark, ocean, depths.  

“Don’t you think you deserve better?” Vil asserted, turning back to face you with a soft cant of the head. You blinked back in shock.

“Uh,” you gaped, absolutely fucking lost.

And then, like a beacon of unrivaled, black-drenched, hope, you spotted Malleus making his way down the hallway. He was flanked by his trio of housemates-cum-pseudo-bodyguards. Normally you tried to leave him alone when his rabid, green-haired, guard dog was yipping at his heels, and on top of that, the idea of using your classmates’ ingrained fear of the Fae Prince to your own advantage upset your rather staunch sensibilities. But this was an emergency.

“Tsunotarou!” you called, and it absolutely sounded like the cry for help it was.

He perked up immediately and you watched him nearly crash to a standstill. And then his sharp, neon, gaze locked on the dueling Housewardens circling you like a pair of snapping wolves, and his merry expression shuttered into something positively glacial. Which was—Fuck. I mean. Come on. What the fuck was going on today—

“Child of Man,” he droned, crossing the short distance with all the grace of the near-mythical, arcane, master that he was. His posture was more collected and regal than you’d ever seen it, and he loomed all the taller for it.

Azul and Vil had gone tense at your side, one certainly more so than other. The Octomer looked incredibly unsettled at Malleus’s sudden arrival, but Vil just looked angrier. It was the sort of unpleasantness that bloomed whenever someone challenged him or his competencies over and over—inevitably pushing the normally composed beauty into an indignant rage.

“Happy Day of Valentine’s,” Malleus continued, slotting himself firmly into the veritable territory dispute going down. “Are you quite alright?”

No, you wanted to wail. No! I’m so confused! I have no idea what’s going on! I just wanted to give my friends chocolates!

But you never managed to get those words or any others past your lips, because Sebek Zigvolt shot to his master’s side with all the speed of the lightning for which he was so named, and immediately began to scream.

“HOW DARE YOU INTERRUPT THE YOUNG MASTER’S AFTERNOON ROUTINE!” he shrieked at the top of his very impressive lungs.

You weren’t sure if he was howling at you (very likely) or just anyone who wasn’t Malleus, but Jade took the opportunity to slink forward from the shadows with a sharp tut-tut.

“Perhaps none of you deserve the Prefect’s special attentions,” he piped in, sounding very much like someone intentionally throwing a cannister of gasoline onto an already roaring fire. “Or any chocolates at all—let alone the ones set aside for someone special.”

At this, silence once more rang through the corridor and you wanted to throttle that stupid eel.

“There is a special box?” Malleus asked first, brow shooting up as his expression tugged with… something.

“I—I mean, I made all of yours special!” you defended, holding the wrapped treasure tightly to your chest. “But… I guess. Yes. There’s one that’s a little bigger than the others.”

At this, all three Housewardens exchanged pointed looks.

Jade smiled serenely once more, and then continued his absolute massacre upon your person.

“Yes, indeed,” he nodded. “And our dearest Prefect only just mentioned that—hmm. How did you word it? Ah. That’s right. ‘I’m not ready to give it to him yet.’”

The trio tensed. All looking absolutely ready to pounce. At—at what, you had no idea.

“Perhaps,” the wretch mused, “it would be best for you all to temper your rage until the victor is decided, hmm?” He paused to tap at his chin for a moment, and then his lips split into a mean, jagged, grin. “Afterwards? Well, I suppose that whole cheery sentiment about ‘love and war’ still holds true.”

You gulped, feeling startlingly like Jade had just tried to serve you up on a silver platter.

But when neither Azul, Vil, or Malleus made any further moves to murder each other… well. As sacrificial as it all felt, at least it must have worked.

The rest of the day passed in a tense sort of fugue. You certainly hadn’t expected your attempts at bringing some holiday cheer to Night Raven to go so… Uh…

But either way, you managed to survive through the rest of the afternoon, and before you knew it, all that remained of all your tireless efforts and good will was the Special Box. The big one. The one that you’d put together with extra care and hopes for better things. You glared down at it for a moment, feeling sweat starting to bead over your palms. But you couldn’t chicken out now. Not after you’d come so far! Everyone was acting so strange, and it was all so weird. And as much as that unfamiliarity had your teeth on edge and your hackles raised, you didn’t want to regret not giving out the last of your well-made sweets.

Well, here goes nothing, you frowned. You took a deep breath, willed yourself to be brave, and smiled your biggest smile.

“Here,” you beamed, more than a little shy and still a bit horrified by whatever pissing match had been going down earlier in the day, and finally offered the grandest of your chocolate boxes to the man standing opposite you.

Divus Crewel accepted your offering daintily, plucking at the crisp, sharp, wrapping with his crimson gloves. He arched one of his thin brows at you and you fought the nervous heat rising in your cheeks.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you blurted. “I know it’s not a thing here, but I thought it’d be nice.”

The second eyebrow joined the first—practically jumping all the way up into his fringe.

“I appreciate the gesture. Though from what I understand of all the garish advertising I’ve seen for Mostro Lounge’s new event, I assumed this was a holiday for romantic overtures,” he intoned, wry.

You spluttered and waved your hands furiously. “I mean! Normally! Yes! But also…” You trailed off, fighting the urge to fidget. “If you don’t have a—a, well, someone, then Valentine’s is just a nice excuse to give something to people you care about.” You averted your gaze and lost the battle to twist your fingers into your jacket sleeves. “My family used to give me chocolates every year. So. I thought I could… Well…” you trailed off on a grumble, embarrassed.

Crewel sighed and popped the lid off the box. He plucked two truffles from their casing—keeping one for himself and handing you the other.

“Well, then. A very happy Valentine’s to you, Prefect,” he droned and popped the chocolate into his mouth with a thoughtful hum.

You lit up like a Christmas tree and happily gobbled up your own treat. So distracted were you by the one-two-punch combo of the delicious sugar and even sweeter taste of your Professor’s approval that you almost entirely missed the pointed glare he shot over your shoulder.

“I appreciate your regard,” he said, loud. Sharp. And like he wasn’t talking to you at all. “And while I’m certain that if you do pick a ‘someone’ for yourself to celebrate with in the following years, they’ll have to work very hard to be worthy of such a gift, hmm?” His lip curled unpleasantly, in direct contrast to the indulgent warmth that had been tugging at his expression only a moment before. “I could hardly allow you to waste such a thoughtful gesture on someone unworthy.”

The Octavinelle Housewarden had the decency to look at least a little panicked—his face going pale and gaunt from where he was shrinking into his high collar. There was a frantic look about him, like he was trying to weigh the cost-benefit ratio of going up against his professor in his head, and realizing that he was stupidly, willfully, walking right into a lose-lose situation. And that, sadly—miserably—he was going to keep doing just that. The other two, however, looked entirely undeterred. Schoenheit curled his lip right back at him, more than ready to duke it out here and now, and Crewel fought the urge to remind the blonde that he was the adult in this situation, thank you very much. The adult who could very well revoke the Warden’s access to his Alchemy Labs as it suited him. The very alchemy labs that he knew Vil had been using to concoct all kinds of new, personalized, gifts for you. Draconia simply looked on with that unnervingly ancient, green, leer of his. Like he was staring down a particularly fascinating game. The Fae Prince was the most unsettling of the trio, if only because that while Crewel was more than confident enough in his abilities to subdue his other wayward students, fighting off an Immortal, All Powerful, Dragon was going to require at least a little bit of prep work.

Divus Crewel sighed, and it rattled all the way out from the marrow of his bones.

“Come, then,” he rumbled, directing you to follow him back into his office. “It’s not chocolates, but I probably have some of those ridiculous cookies of yours lying around somewhere.” Which he did. Boxes upon boxes of them. Tucked away special for whenever you came to visit. Not that he’d ever willingly admit that, even under the pain of death.

Your eyes went wide and warm as you positively beamed.

It was rotten work, certainly. He shot one, last, warning glare down the hall at the trio of infatuated interlopers as he firmly shut his office door behind you and your absolute oblivious idiocy. He’d do it. Of course he would. But, Christ alive. He was going to need a stronger drink.

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #My Writing #Valentine's Day Oneshot #Heroes vs Villains AU ish #Vil Schoenheit x Reader #Vil x Reader #Vil x Yuu #Azul Ashengrotto x Reader #Azul x Reader #Azul x Yuu #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Malleus x Reader #Malleus x Yuu #Reader x Malleus x Vil x Azul #Malleus Draconia #Azul Ashengrotto #Vil Schoenheit #Divus Crewel #Valentine's Day Special: Let Them Fight #Heroes vs Villains Valentine's Day #Heroes vs Villains Extras & Oneshots

[hoonzsn]

NEXT TIME — in where lee heeseung keeps getting rejected by the only girl he is interested in at the club.

##PAIRING— player heeseung x flirtatious yn

;;WARNINGS— suggestive. I think that’s all!! if there’s anymore please do tell me <3

%%WORDCOUNT— 0.8k

HEESEUNG had been sitting in his seat for quite some time now. The loud bass music blared from the loud speakers that were across the room. He looked around at the girls clinging onto him as he seemed disinterested in the conversation.

He slowly leaned back on the club’s sofa, wiggling slightly to get comfortable as he nodded every now and then to make it seem like he was listening when in reality, he wasn’t.

His attention was caught by the fascinating woman standing and laughing along with some people he assumed were her friends around 5 meters away. She seemed as if she had been enjoying herself, unlike heeseung.

Her hair swayed with each movement she took to match the beat of the song. He had been staring, far too much for his liking. Yet he couldn’t help it. There was just something about her that made him want more.

One of the girls heeseung had been sitting with noticed he’d been looking at her and decided to point it out, snapping him out of it.

“Why do you keep looking at her?” She’d asked, sounding pretty jealous from her harsh tone. Heeseung glanced at the girl, rolling his eyes as he responded, “None of your business.” Which caused her to seem more frustrated.

“I’ll be back soon.” He had said, initiating for the girl to get off of his lap. He stood up, brushing his pants off before confidently striding toward her with his shoulders back and hands in his pocket. Stopping right behind her.

He raised his hand, tapping his cold fingers on her bare shoulder to draw her attention to him instead. Which successfully worked.

Yn turned around, confused, looking at the tall, slender man in front of her. As she tilted her head to the side, drink in one hand, sipping on it. Heeseung looked at her, a small smirk evident on his face.

“What’s your name?” His voice sounded dark. Her eyes examined his quite handsome face, as a polite smile formed across her lips.

“Yn, you?” She returned the question, leaning her elbow on the bar table as she put down her drink. “Heeseung. Nice meeting you.”

His voice had smoothly come out, almost like honey. She had gulped, biting her bottom lip as she replied back. “So.. What brings you here, heeseung?” Causing a light chuckle to leave his lips.

“I couldn’t bring myself to not talk to such a gorgeous woman. That would be just wrong of me.” He looked at her up and down, licking his lips as his eyes reached up back to hers.

She rolled her eyes jokingly, a smile plastered on her lips.

“Care for a drink?” He asked, sitting down on the bar stool beside her. She nodded her head with a short shrug, not really caring. ‘A free drink is a free drink’ she had told herself.

She sat down after him, watching him talk with the bartender for a bit as he spoke about what drinks the two of them wanted.

A few minutes passed before two martinis were placed in front of the both of them. Yn thanked the bartender as she picked up her drink to take a sip.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” He asked, swirling his drink before taking a sip, nonchalantly. Yn coughed, almost spitting out her drink as she was caught off guard. She took a tissue from the tissue box, dabbing on her chin. “No. What makes you say that?”

“Hm..” He hummed out. “just had to make sure before I made any moves.”

She laughed. This was the first time he heard her laugh, and he swore it was like he was hearing angels singing in his ears. His heart almost stopped for a second, staring at her as the party lights shined on her glowy skin. “Your laugh is cute,” He complimented, finding himself also smile.

Catching her off guard yet again, she shook her head. Her hand made its way up to put some strands of hair behind her ear. Heeseung leaning in to do the same as he touched her hand.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, time stopping as she felt her heart almost thumping out of her chest. She had gulped down, their eye contact never wavering.

“You wanna get out of here? Maybe do something else?” His voice lingered in her ear as he whispered ever so lowly to her. His hand still on hers. “Like what exactly?” She asked, curiously.

“You know..��� He hinted. His hand slowly making its way down to her thigh to push down her skirt that was riding up.

A small laugh emitted from her, causing him to look at her with his eyebrow raised in amusement.

“I have to go,” She smiled, getting up from the seat as she took her purse that was sitting on the table in her hand. “Nice meeting you, heeseung.” She turned around, almost about to walk off before he grabbed her wrist, turning her back around.

“Can i at least have your number?” He spoke, slight desperation evident in his tone. A smile on her face as she looked into his eyes.

“Maybe next time,” She said cheekily, turning back around in her heels as this time, she successfully walked away to the exit with a dumfounded heeseung left.

AN — HI BABES i had sm fun writing this omg the way that i got the idea to write this by listening to the boys by girls generation is so funny😭 anyways thanks my bae zuri for giving me motivation to finish this😁

taglist — @zuritastic

#enhypen #enhypen drabble #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfic #heeseung enhypen #suggestive (ish) #enha x reader #enha imagine #oneshot

[an-otterly-adorable-being]

Doing something a bit different from my headcanons, though this one-shot does tie back to some headcanons I did a while ago. Hope y'all enjoy!

(The Headcanon)

Tick Tock: Stolas x M!GoetiaPrince!Reader One-Shot

☆-------------------------------------------------------☆

     This was fine, you were fine. Sure, you were currently waiting to see the love of your life, the prince who you were kept from for decades. This was it, your chance to finally go back to him, to finally have him back in your arms. Satan's sake, that clock in the corner was far too... loud wasn't the right word. It was normal, just making you aware of the passage of time, both present and past.

     ...Annoying, that was the word. Although that still didn't feel right. Disquieting? No, that wasn't it either. Stolas would probably know the word, being a little, adorable nerd. Did he still wear those adorable glasses? You hadn't seen them in any pictures during your time forced away from him, but maybe he only wore them in private? You remember when you used to wipe the tears from underneath the lenses, the looks of adoration Stolas had given you through them, and every other emotion possible in his eyes. His beautiful, mesmerizing eyes.

     You were getting nervous now. Stolas was taking his time, and you wondered if maybe he wasn't interested in seeing you again. You wouldn't blame him, you didn't even try to fight back when you were "forbidden from seeing him." Yeah, Paimon would've crushed you, but you could've atleast tried. Plus, Stolas supposedly has a new man in his life. Why were you even here?

     "Because you're selfish," you mumbled to yourself. You wanted Stolas to be happy, but here you are, waltzing back into his life just like the two of had waltzed before. Except this time, you were the one butting in, not Paimon. Your brain was telling you to leave, to disappear again and save you both the heartache. But your body didn't move an inch, facing the fears you wanted to cower from.

     Damn, that clock was getting to you, and you still couldn't find a word to describe it! Stupid, idiotic, useless, guilt-inducing, depressing, none of them worked. It was the only thing saving your mind from tearing itself apart and it was just as frustrating as your own feelings. Stolas never would've bought something like that, the clock was definitely from Stella. And then, you started thinking about her.

     That lady made your blood boil. She was a status obsessed bitch, and you hated her for it. Why did she get to be the one to be with Stolas? You were there and ready, you would've actually loved him, unlike that overgrown brat. Yeah yeah, Stolas was supposed to produce an heir and you were both guys, but still! Magoc is everywhere in Hell, there had to be something, right?

     It didn't matter now, though. Stolas already went through that pain, and you couldn't even hold him as he cried. You couldn't wipe the tears away. You couldn't sing a song just well enough to soothe him. You, the man who promised to protect him with your life, couldn't be his knight in shining armor, because you were a coward!

      ...That's it, that clock was going to be smashed. You couldn't take it anymore, it needed to be stopped at the least. You stood up and marched to it, ready to turn it into tiny splinters. You almost didn't hear the voice behind you. Almost.

     "Y/N...?"

     "Stolas, I-"

     "Y/N!"

     Stolas had gotten stronger apparently, as he fully tackled you to the ground, knocking over everything in the way. You could see the tears falling from his eyes, as a wide grin filled his face. He held on to you tightly, and you embraced him as well, tears also forming.

     "I can not believe this is real. I thought that I would never see you again."

     "Yeah, this is real. So are the pieces of whatever you knocked me into sticking in my back."

      "Oh goodness, let me help you up."

     Ironically enough, you landed on the clock, breaking it in half, leaving you with a slight sense of satisfaction. You didn't dwell for long though, as Stolas had you sit down with him on a nearby couch.

     "It's... been a while, are you-"

     "Stolas, I'm so, so sorry for everything. I should have been there for you, I should have protected you, I-"

     "Y/N, please, there is nothing to apologize for."

      "But there is! I should've been there for you!"

      "And you would've been killed by my father if you did. I...I know I can't convince you that you don't have to apologize, so I want to accept your apologies for everything."

     "I don't deserve you Stolas."

     "You absolutely do, alright? "

     "Heh, yeah... um, I don't want to intrude into your personal business, but I saw you were with someone else, and I wanted to let you know that, even though I still love you, I don't want to interfere with your relationship."

     "Ah, Blitzø. I...I do love him, but our relationship is complicated, to say the least. There is far too much to really get into, and besides, I want to spend time with you. You've always had a piece of my heart, you know."

     "I know, I know. Should we do dinner maybe? Catch up then?"

     "That sounds delightful. Oh, and Y/N?"

     "Yes?"

     "Thank you, for coming back. I've missed you."

     Stolas took ahold of your hand, gently brushing your knuckles. You missed this, you really, really missed this. You and Stolas made eye-contact, and before either of you knew it, you were kissing.

#oneshot #writing #stolas x reader #helluva boss x reader #helluva boss stolas #something a little different #fanfic #ish #not sure if it counts tbh

[cubedmango]

birthday wish

(rest of the comic under the cut)

#cherry magic #my art #comic #my ''draw elaborate comic for blorbo hugging purposes'' ritual strikes again #girl help i cant believe i finished it on time . rushed as hell but still dsjfjsfgd #this ones set during adachis transfer if that isnt clear :0 #ive been reading a bunch of oneshots for funsies lately so i wanted to try going the manga-ish looking route #there was one bonus page but didnt feel like doing that one.... maybe later #anyways happy day of birth to my son(s) once more !!! i am manifesting this as canon for him bc he deserves it

[coffeecatcraze]

When you try to just write a quick little oneshot but it somehow ends up 4,000 words and still counting

#yes it is chaggie #yes it mainly goes off of the post i made about vaggie's wings #yes i ended up doing a little bit of research on birds for it #*screams in frustrated writer who only meant to make a 2000-ish word oneshot and is now in so deep with this*

[rallentando1011]

Hello !（｡>‿‿<｡ ）

Can you do a one-shot for rise Leo x a crush reader were the reader is in a band as a vocalist and drummer but the thing is *drum roll* the band members wear masks to hide their identity :D but Leo discovers readers identify? (Reader can be fem or gn if you like) :)

It’s You

Rise Leo and Vocalist, Drummer Reader

Word Count: 1718

(I think this concept is really fun and had a good time with it! Thanks for the request! I’ve specified here in my guidelines that I’ll only take expressly romantic requests for Donnie. However, stuff where I can write it through a platonic lens and leave the rest up to the reader’s interpretation (like in this case) absolutely works for me :)) Hope you enjoy!)

A certain form of anticipation is synonymous with a public performance, both for those supplying and those indulging in the entertainment.

Leo definitely feels that anticipation building as he stands in a crowd of rowdy concert-goers, himself included, and waits for the show to begin.

In the meantime, he busies himself with checking his messages, specifically the ones he sent to you.

You told him earlier that you had work and couldn’t accompany him to the concert, which was a bummer, but he sent you a message asking if you wanted to hang out some other time afterwards. Checking his phone only reveals that you still haven’t gotten back to him about it.

Leo pouts and looks up, asking his brothers beside him if they’ve heard from you. It’s sort of odd for you to not see or respond to his messages.

“Maybe they’ve finally come to their senses about you,” Donnie thinks aloud, scrolling on his own phone.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Leo quirks his brow bone.

Mikey interjects before hostilities can be exchanged. “What Donnie meant to say is that they said they’re at work and probably not on their phone right now.”

“No, that’s not remotely what I meant. I was implying that- ow, Raph, what was that for?”

Raph crosses his arms, definitely not having just kicked his purple clad brother. “Instigating. Raph doesn’t need any of this younger sibling bickering-”

“Respectfully, everyone shut up!” Leo gasps, staring at the now occupied stage with starstruck eyes as his worries leave his mind. “The show’s starting!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Everything today has been going terribly awry.

First, you woke up way later than you intended, like, the brink of being late to your band’s gig, barely ate save for a snack or two out the door, and then, the pièce de résistance, you had to turn down Leo’s offer to join him and his brothers watch a band because you are a part of that band.

You saw the text while on the subway to the venue, offering to portal you from your place to grab a slice and watch your band.

With a heavy heart, you messaged him back with a vague excuse about having to work tonight and being busy tomorrow and unable to have a late night. He could probably see right through you and your flimsy reasoning, but you didn’t have time to think about that. You had a job to do, and you’d be darned if you didn’t do it right.

You shut your phone off and all distractions down as you made it out of the subway station, down a few streets, to the back entrance of the locale. Swiftly, you slipped your way in.

You shrugged off the teasing jabs you received from your bandmates about your unpunctuality, opting to just slip into a dressing room.

You pulled on the outfit that you’d packed in your bookbag, slightly more perfunctory than the clothing you wore on the way over, before staring down your mask.

Sure, the days leading up to performances could be rough, but once you put on that mask, it feels like you’re a complete other person, like your day hasn’t been so cruddy. That’s the main reason you had suggested that the band wear their favorite colored masks, the other being that you may have been inspired by certain reptilian friends of yours.

So, you pulled on your mask, concealed your dourness, sleepiness, doubt, everything weighing you down, exited the dressing room, immersed yourself in the fog of the stage with your fellow members.

Now you find yourself seated before your drum set, your microphone, your audience. With your drumsticks in hand and blinding stage lights flooding your vision, you steady yourself with a deep breath and get down to business.

Your foot hits the bass drum pedal on beat, sends a pulse through you, allows you to internalize it like a metronome. The sound waves ring out from the bass in an almost synaesthetic display, bright colors proliferating throughout the room.

Just like that, you are off.

The crash of the cymbals, patter of the tom-toms, diddles on the snare merely feel like extensions of yourself. Any and all performance jitters you felt fade away as you allow yourself to get into the music and have fun.

You can discern the sounds of the bass, guitar, synth layering over the beat you lay down.

Your voice’s timbre cuts through the accompaniment, sounding out over it yet blending seamlessly. The first song rushes by as quickly as the adrenaline rushes through your veins, and when it ceases and you hear the roar of applause from the audience, you know that tonight’s going to be much better than the first half of your day.

As you bask in the positive feedback between songs, a few people in the audience draw your attention. Raph, Mikey, Donnie, and Leo, all seeming to be enjoying themselves and the music. In particular, Leo looks ecstatic, his gaze fixated on you.

You smirk. You have the audience, you have the attention, why not have a little fun with the next few songs?

You kick everything up a notch, improvising paradiddles and harmonies, giving the performance absolutely everything you have left in the tank.

Seeing the wide grin on the turtle’s face and receiving uproarious praise, though, makes it all worth it.

The concert ends far sooner than you would have preferred. Guess it was true that time flies when you’re having fun.

With one final crash of the cymbals and a bow, you make your way off the stage, behind the curtains, on top of some miscellaneous crates as you throw down your sweat soaked mask and guzzle down as much cool water as you can.

Out in the audience, a flow of outgoing people trudges their way out, save for the four turtle brothers.

“Did you see that guitar? The design was so cool, and blue! I wonder how much they’d want for it. And the drummer! They were wicked!” Leo gushes.

His brothers just nod along with a few ‘yeah’s, having heard Leo pour over the same things for multiple minutes now.

The red-eared slider ceases his yapping as he looks at the stage, eyes going wide as he gets an idea.

“I’m sure they won’t mind if I just pop on back to say hi real quick and maybe get an autograph, okayseeyouatthelairlaterbyeee-!”

Before his brothers can get a word in, Leo uses his ninpō to form a portal and hop into the dim backstage area.

He looks around for a moment, only able to see the outline of the curtain and a few boxes while his eyes are adjusting to the low light.

Then, he sees one of the performers from the stage a few feet away from him, laying on some crates. The drummer, based on their height. He can’t base it off of their mask or their looks since they were facing the other direction.

“I can feel you staring at me.”

He freezes. He’s supposed to be a ninja; were his stealth skills so bad that someone could sense him that easily?

“Come on. You know how it worked out last time you tried to scare me after a gig. Spare yourself the bruised nose; you know I’m not good with scares,” you call behind you to whom you assume to be the band’s bassist, who has a habit of trying to spook everyone else.

He stays frozen.

You huff, push yourself off of your seat of crates, turn around. “Look, cut the sh- oh.”

It isn’t your bandmate behind you. It’s Leo, slack jawed and flabbergasted and completely still.

“Oh my- you are not supposed to be here- why are you here?” you ask, incredulous, as you slap your hands over your face.

Leo takes another silent moment before a high pitched squeal emits from his throat.

“Whaaaaat?! ¡No manches! This has been your ‘job’ the whole time?!” Leo laughs and puts a hand on his forehead.

“Yep, it’s me,” you grumble, pinch the bridge of your nose. There’s no way this is really happening.

“That’s- You’re so cool!” He clicks his tongue as if contemplating something. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

You blink at him. That’s a question you’ve asked yourself many a time, though you’ve never settled on a definitive answer.

“I think it’s something about it being a mystery, a little piece of myself that no one else gets to know about outside of my bandmates. Not exactly escapism, but close.”

“So that’s the reason for the mask?” He taps his own.

“Sort of.” You hum in thought, think about if you should tell him where you got the idea from.

Does he need the ego boost? Definitely not.

Will you still give him it? Sure, why not?

“You know, the design was inspired by you,” you admit, rocking back and forth on your heels.

“Really?!”

“Well, you and your brothers, to be more specific.”

“Nope, no need to be specific. You can just continue on with how big of an inspiration I am.”

You snicker at his display of cockiness before sobering up.

“Just- please don’t tell anyone else that I’m in this band, that this is me.”

“Indubitably, my accomplice.” Indubitably. He always says that word when he lies, and you always call his bluff.

“No, no, I’m serious about this…” You pause, glance to the side for a moment. “I’ll give you VIP passes to all of our shows if you promise not to blab about this.”

“Deal!” He immediately puts out his hand for a shake. “Wait! VIP passes, and you let me take you for pizza tonight if you’re free, then we have a deal.”

“Did you and the guys not go for pizza earlier?” you pressed.

“We did, but we both know that I’m not above having pizza multiple times in the same day,” he winks.

“Fine. Deal.” You place your hand in his tridactyl one, give it a firm shake, then get ready to grab a slice.

It’s safe to say that you have pizza after quite a few gigs after that. It’s duly safe to say that you have one consistent, quite possibly your biggest fan at every single performance from then on.

#rottmnt #rise of the tmnt #save rottmnt #save rise of the tmnt #unpause rottmnt #rise season 3 #save rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #unpause rise of the tmnt #save rise of the turtles #unpause rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt leo #rottmnt x reader #oneshot #request #leo x reader #ish

[theladyofdeath]

for your prompts of 500 words or less Azriel given his wedding vows to Elain, thank you!

A/N: Thank you for this prompt! I hope you enjoy the fluff. :) This is more than 500 words...but I got the idea and ran with it. Warnings: Language Modern AU. The night before the wedding. Elriel.

It was the night before Azriel's wedding and he was sitting alone in his apartment, staring at his vows.

Which were unfinished.

He had an hour before his brothers came to claim him for a night of debauchery, and his anxiety was growing with every second that passed.

He knew what he wanted to say to Elain.

Yet, he couldn't find the words.

He had never been the best with his words, had always found panic when trying to voice his emotions. His childhood had convinced him that keeping his emotions at bay was the right way to live, and even as he grew and realized that wasn't so, coming to terms with his emotions and sharing them with others was a difficulty.

Which wasn't good when he had to give his vows in less than twenty four hours.

His phone vibrated on his desk beside him, breaking him out of his blank stare.

It was Rhysand. Ready for a night you won't forget? Actually, you probably will forget. You know, alcohol.

Azriel snorted as he shook his head. I'll be designated driver. Don't want to show up to my own wedding hungover as hell.

Cassian chimed in on the group chat. Pretty sure it's against the law to be the designated driver at your own bachelor party.

He knew his brothers would oppose, but he didn't want to be a mess for Elain, even though a drink was tempting in his current state. Tomorrow was a big day. Give me an hour to finish my vows, then come get me.

Rhysand texted back instantly. ....You haven't finished your vows? Shit.

Cassian chimed in soon after. Pretty sure Elain had them done months ago.

Azriel grimaced as he stared at his phone. I'll get them done. One hour. See you then.

He could even sense his panic in that text, the lie that it told, but he set his phone aside nonetheless and looked back down at his laptop.

So far, the document in front of him read: Elain, I love you.

Those weren't vows. That was a statement that she knew fully well, considering he was marrying her.

With a groan, Azriel's head fell into his hands. Maybe his brothers were on to something. Maybe a little liquid courage would do him some good. After a deep breath, Azriel found his way to his liquor cabinet and found his half-empty bottle of whiskey. He downed a shot, then another, before finding his way back to his desk.

Alright, he thought. Vows.

He stared at the document.

It stared back, tauntingly.

"Fuck," he muttered, although the word was loud in the silence of his apartment. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

He'd just pounded his hands on his desk, the whiskey not having helped with his frustration, when a knock sounded on his door.

It hadn't been an hour.

It hadn't even been ten minutes.

His brothers were too early and now the panic was really settling in.

With a groan, Azriel strode to the front door and flung it open.

Only to be staring into the eyes of his fiance.

Azriel froze, his entire body going stiff. He blinked. Elain lifted a brow. He cleared his throat. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Elain laughed quietly, shaking her head. "Ah, that's what every woman wants to hear from the mouth of her soon-to-be husband."

Azriel shook his head as he rubbed his temples. "No, I know, sorry...I just...thought you were out with your sisters."

"They're coming to my place in a while," she said, with a small smile on her lips. "But Cass just texted me saying that you're in a bit of a panic, so I came to check in on you."

Azriel frowned, not realizing he had seemed that much in a panic mode in his texts. "But it's bad luck."

Elain shook her head, amused. "It's only bad luck after midnight," she promised. "It's still the night before the wedding. No bad luck here." She stepped past him and he shut the door behind her with a defeated sigh. "What's going on? You're not having cold feet, are you?"

Azriel looked taken aback, appalled at the idea. "No. Of course not. I just..."

Elain dropped her keys on his kitchen counter before turning to face him. "What?"

Azriel ran a nervous hand through his hair and refused to look at his fiance as he said, "I'm having trouble finishing my vows."

A long silence followed. It stretched on for so long that Azriel finally looked up at Elain, to find her watching him intently.

"I know, you're probably pissed that I haven't finished them-"

"I'm not mad," she said, gently, and stepped towards him. "Why haven't you said anything?"

He shrugged as she stopped in front of him. "I don't know. It's embarrassing." Elain opened her mouth to protest, but he went on. "I don't want you to think that I don't love you because I can't write my vows. Because I do. So much. I can't imagine my life without you. And the fact that I get to marry you tomorrow?" He shook his head, taking her hands in his. "You are everything that I've ever wanted, and I can't believe that I get to spend the rest of my life with you. I've wanted to marry you since the day I met you."

Elain's smile was soft as she brushed her thumbs along the sides of his hands. "Yeah?"

Azriel nodded, and leaned down to kiss her, softly. "I know I'm not good with words, but that has nothing to do with how ridiculously in love with you I am. I can't wait to start a life with you tomorrow. I can't wait for all the adventures we're going to have, just the two of us, and someday when we start a family..." He kissed her again. "I can't wait, Elain. I never want you to doubt how much I love you, even when I can't find the words. I have never loved anyone like I love you. Not even close."

Elain leaned up on her toes and took Azriel's face in her hands, bringing his mouth to hers. They kissed slowly, deeply. When they broke apart, she ran her fingers through his hair. "I think you just wrote your vows."

Azriel frowned, running his hands down her lower back. "I barely said anything."

Elain laughed, quietly. "You said plenty. You said everything I've ever wanted to hear."

Azriel narrowed his eyes as if he didn't quite believe her, but he kissed her again nonetheless. Their kiss soon deepened, and he carried her to the couch, completely ignoring the fact that his brothers would be there soon. When a knock came to his door once more, their clothes were strung across the living room and Azriel was making much better use of his time than getting drunk off his ass.

Although his vows the next day came out awkward and uncomfortable, neither he nor Elain seemed to mind. She knew exactly how he felt, and she knew every word that he truly wanted to say.

#elriel #modern au #fanfic #fanfiction #oneshot #drabble #500 words or less #ish #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #sjm #sjm fanfic #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #acofas #elriel fanfic #elriel fanfiction #pro elriel #elriel modern au #tara answers prompts

[jade-of-mourning]

the problem with mako is that once you realize just how many insanely Layered Issues™ the guy has, you realize that you cannot shove them into a single oneshot like you'd planned and that you may possibly have to write about him for a very extended period of time to expand on all the many ideas that are rotting your brain.

(he's just so. so easy to give Fucked Up Brain Things to.)

#lychee's brain trash #mako lok #i'm honestly not even mad about the fact that #i'll probably be shitting out fics like nobody's business #i already have 14k of disjointed writing on him from the past two-ish weeks lmfao #i wrote 3k during the second-to-last day of finals #i wrote 2.2k last last night and i wrote 1.6k earlier this morning #my writing style is rapidly devolving and idk what to do about it #might have to throw together a collection of oneshots or something #i want to expand on that thing i posted a couple days ago and the one i wrote this morning #rose beds will probably be the Big One though and the rest just short #but we'll see ig maybe that'll change

[cult-of-the-eye]

So I had this idea that when Martin gets mad at someone, he represses it and ends up being even nicer to them. It ended up being slightly longer than I thought it would be lol.

Content warnings - slight mention of martin's mum being ill, mental health issues and the effects of trauma are explored, a lot of self-hatred and general angst but a hopeful ending, hurt/comfort's angsty cousin

Martin K Blackwood has never heralded himself to be the most sane of people. He has never been under any illusion as to the effect of his childhood (and...other...situations) on his psyche. He has been to therapy, albeit once, in a short-lived, hugely embarrassing attempt during secondary school, where he was gently informed that his particular set of problems required more qualified areas of intervention. In short, as many times that people have helpfully informed him of his "fucked up"-ness, he has always been the one who was most aware of it. As a method of self-soothing, he tells himself that all poets are tortured. It's just for him, the poetry came before the torture. These thoughts, musings, poetic substance or whatever else, came to him whilst making tea for his boss, Jonathan Sims, one cloud-soaked afternoon.

It wasn't as if he meant it. Making someone tea after they had borderline reduced them to tears wasn't a conscious decision. His feet just moved, as of their own accord, out of Jon's office, one before the other, his trainers making soft thuds against the carpeted floor. Towards the kitchen. And if he's in the kitchen, he might as well make tea. And if he's making tea, he might as well make some for Jon. He put extra care into this mug - if he poured the water with steady hands then maybe he wouldn't start to cry. It would be silly to cry, he decided. This was a realisation that came as he stood still next the counter, watching the tea steep. It wasn't anyone's fault but his own that he cited the case wrong, he should've known. He should've been better at pretending to have a Masters degree in Parapsychology. Serves him right for lying. How could anyone have blamed Jon for shouting? It must seem like he's being inadequate on purpose. Some cruel joke being played on only him. So of course, he shouted. And of course, Martin cried. He expected heaving sobs, thundering through his whole body, as large and foreboding as the sky outside. Instead, they were sharp, singular and furious. How could he have known that he'd get a phone call from the hospital in the middle of the night saying that things had gotten worse? How could he have known that the citing method had changed? How could he have known that he would be saddled with the most inconsiderate, frustrating, bastard of a-

"Martin?"

Luck, it seemed could be added to the list of things Martin had never heralded himself to have. He hoped to whatever was up there, that he'd be wrong, for once. But he knew better than to hope, so he quickly shoved the heels of his palms into his eyes and took a small breath.

"Um, hi Jon, I...I was just, uh..."

"Making tea?" He offered.

Maybe inconsiderate was a tad hasty of him. He looked terrible. There was no way around it. His perfectly corporate office wear looked like it had been slept in for multiple days, the collars no longer perfectly ironed and creases running down his sweater vest. There was no tie and his hair fell out of the pristine up-do that he was sure took him hours to get right every morning. His face was haggard but more open than he was used to. It unnerved him slightly, to see the sharpness of his features microwaved into an artificial softness. It wasn't something he deserved. He had a knack for looking gift horses in their mouths. After all, he had contributed to those sleepless nights, his actions had probably driven Jon's hands frustratedly through his hair. And yet he was standing in the doorway, shifting from foot to foot.

He cleared his throat. He opened his mouth. He closed it. He opened his mouth again. He closed his mouth again. Martin could almost see the synapses firing in his brain, tiny little fireworks connecting dot after dot, trying to construct the most appropriate sentence for the situation. It took a while, but he got there.

"Martin. I came here to inform you that there was an error in the system. The citation method that you had used was in fact, the correct one. You may continue using that and I will have no issue."

Each word arrived stilted. It was as if he had written it out for some AI helper to read out loud and then repeated it back to said robot. Martin didn't mind, exactly, he was too busy processing what had actually been said to care about how he had said it.

"Was that an apology?"

Jon's face shifted immeasurably. It took a few seconds of awkward silence for him to realise that he was blushing. Immediately, Martin took note of all the signs, knowing that now that he'd seen it, he would never want to miss it again. The tips of his ears turned pink and his mouth twitched, as if he was desperately keeping down a vomit of facial expressions. The solid rock of anger was deep inside Martin and thankfully stopped him from regretting anything he had said. His veins turned to gravel, as he clasped and unclasped his hands by his side.

"I believe so.", came the answer. It did nothing to liquify the solidity in his veins, so out came another sentence that he would lie awake thinking about at night.

"Can I have a proper one?"

"I don't know what you mean, Martin."

The tea was cold, anyway. He had nothing left to lose.

"I want an apology, Jon. I take all of your criticisms on stride, no matter how much I think about how you could've said it in a nicer way or how you don't do this with Tim or Sasha or how I've been working my ass off, this whole time. I'm sorry the archives are way more disorganised than you thought they'd be and I'm sorry you're struggling but you shouldn't take that out on me."

"I'm not struggling, Martin."

He barked out a laugh. "Of course that's the bit you focus on."

Finally, he seemed to have touched a nerve. Adrenaline pumped through him, making him feel nauseous. Every bone in his body told him to stop talking, shut his mouth and grovel. Fix this. The words had been projecting out of his mouth, wriggling like sickly, pale maggots, but part of him wanted to keep talking until he was empty. Until he had no more words to throw. But it was in Jon's nature to ruin his plans. Just like he had ruined his promotion by being an ass. Just like he had ruined his ability to hate him by being just the right amount of kind.

"I'm sorry, Martin. I really am."

Martin had once been told by a therapist that he was using the word "should" to beat himself up. This was the very same therapist that had declared her lack of qualification in the first session, so he dismissed it. He thought of her as the "shoulds" flooded into his brain. One stood out from the rest, unable to be sharpened into the weapon he wanted. It shouldn't have been enough. He should have pushed for more of an apology, he should've asked for more kindness, but the fact of the matter was that it was enough. It was Jon and he was apologising. He knew he was going to take it, no matter how this conversation had gone. He knew it from the very first time he laid a cup of tea on his desk and had been barely acknowledged.

"Thank you, Jon."

Maybe he should return to therapy. Maybe he was fucked up. Maybe he was no longer the only one who knew that. Jon awkwardly shuffled off, leaving rubble where there once was a jumper-clad man. Martin did the only thing he knew how to do. He clicked on the kettle, to make another cup of tea.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin k blackwood #jmart #jonmartin #martin blackwood #martin writes poetry #martin makes tea #martin hates himself #cw illness #cw mental health #character study #pre relationship #angst #hurt/comfort #ish #one shot #tma fic #tma oneshot #jmart fic #jmart angst #martin pov #yeah i'm projecting what about it #tma s1 #s1 martin k blackwood

[aboyshapeddog]

WIP ⚠️

Jacob Gives Staci The Boyfriend Treatment

Relationships: Staci Pratt/Jacob Seed

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Drug Use, Smut, Unhealthy Dynamics, VERY Dubious Consent, Dom/Sub dynamic, Bliss = Slutweed, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Intox Kink, Dark, Massages, Rough S*x, Daddy Kink (kind of), PWP, Violence

Staci wasn’t allowed to consider refusing the Seeds, ever; the thought alone was in a territory his brain was no longer wired to reach. So when the Herald of the whitetails offered him a lit joint (what the fuck), his only questions were internal.

“Finish this for me will you?”, Jacob’s grumbling voice brought him to focus, the thing hadn’t been touched. Staci couldn’t remember the last time he’d smoked either. The familiar and just as unfamiliar smell filled his chest, it made his stomach twist. “Yes Sir.” Staci agreed like his words meant anything, then he reached for it, whatever the fuck it was.

“Aht aht aht.” His hands were both held still by one of Jacob’s own, whose movements always seemed to be a step ahead of his somehow. Instead the larger man pinched the burning piece between two fingers and brought it directly to Staci’s lips.

His voice was low, “Show me you know what you’re doing first, Deputy”. Staci didn’t hesitate, he leaned forward, wrapping his lips around the end of it, looking down as he took a sharp pull, to save himself from the intimacy of connecting eyes. He coughed into his hand, and smoke puffed out through the spaces between his fingers. Jacob smiled and let out a short laugh, “Been a while?” the personable part of Staci wanted to smile too, he didn’t. The joint was pressed back against his lips, he caught Jacob’s eyes this time; they were calculating, observant in the same manner he used to track deer, fowl, and rabbits; prey.

When Staci inhaled this time it was long and slow, like a well deserved drag from a cigarette; his mother would be sick at the sight. He was reminded of the D.A.R.E. t-shirts she’d gotten them both after attending a program at his high school. The smoke curled in his chest, he let it idle there before blowing it out of his nose with practiced grace. Sorry Mom. Jacob’s grin then was something Staci recognized too - wolfish, wild, and fucking ecstatic, the cat that caught the canary, he could be sick.

Jacob released the deputy’s hands and moved to his large oak desk, grabbing a clipboard off the top and clicking a pen. he motioned with one hand for Staci to approach, and Staci, like a good dog, silently took his position beside and behind Jacob.

The large man scribbled on the sheet in front of him, every once in a while pausing to think . . . creating a brief permeating silence before the scratching would continue. Jacob held the joint in his left hand, lifting it into Staci’s space with one hand while the other continued to jot notes. Pratt had to lean down to get his mouth on the thing, so he leaned.

As he took another long pull, Jacob turned to look at him directly; eyes like dissection pins, the thoroughness of the examination made him falter. Staci coughed again, and Jacob scratched another note on the clipboard. They locked eyes and Staci felt a nail through his gut, Jacob was studying him.

Knowing Jacob, this could be like his own personal project ARTICHOKE. Staci’s thoughts were already racing; jumping off the springboard of paranoia, and here he was, anonymous test subject PEACHES directly under Jacob’s thumb. No, that’s what angels were for, come on Staci. He took another big hit. Jacob hummed to himself “Only You”, glancing back at Pratt every once in a while. Staci stared straight ahead.

The nervousness clawed at his gut like it could tear out of him and save itself from whatever fate awaited its owner, he couldn’t stop himself, “What’s in that?”. His voice was hoarse from the smoke and disuse but he kept it steady, he cleared it and continued “uh, Sir.” Jacob ashed it before turning to face the deputy, “Worried about something?” He chuckled, only waiting a moment before standing to his full height and sticking the blunt between Staci’s parted lips. “It’s a personal blend, a gift.” He spoke with the same nonchalance he used when noting ration cuts and delivery schedules. “You’ve been promoted to my personal food tester, Pratt.”

Jacob sparked the lighter underneath it again, watching the cherry turn bright red as Staci hesitated. Exhaled. Then inhaled.

They stood in silence, the sound of the second hand of the old clock on the wall struck like thunder in Staci’s ears. “Tell me, how are you feeling?” What kind of question was that. How should he be feeling? He was lonely, tired, hungry, he couldn’t remember being anything else since his arrival. “Sore.” Oh yeah, that too. Somehow while he was stuck in his own head, Jacob had closed the distance between them again, staring down at his deputy and taking in every minute expression. “Sore.” Staci said again, his words seeming less and less of his own volition.

The redhead turned his partner around, pulling the small man’s back to his chest, and firmly running his hot hands down the younger mans sides “Here?” he asked. The sensation sent shivers down the deputy’s spine, he could feel his muscles twitch under the contact. “Umm, no actually. More near my uh neck, and shoulders.” Jacob released his hold and went to note something on his clipboard, Staci charted every movement. Then Jacob’s hands were on his shoulders, thumbs digging into his trapezius, the pressure, pain, and relief almost made his knees buckle. Jacob noticed “Right here?” his question was more of an acknowledgment, but Staci answered anyways. “Y-yeah. Right there” his voice was as low now as it was rough, jesus did he really sound like that.

He should stop, he thought to himself, really, but god his mind was racing. When was the last time somebody had touched him like this, when was the next time anyone would take care of him again, if there was a next time. “Stop thinking so much Pratt, I can smell the smoke coming from your ears.” Was he that obvious? Staci relaxed into the other mans touch, taking another drag of the “personal blend” and letting his head loll to the side. The deputy allowed himself to be completely hypnotized, eyelids fluttering shut, and taking deep, heavy, breaths.

Jacob worked silently, a silence the deputy had come accustomed to, diligently massaging the tight tissue; stretching and kneading the others tan skin under his fingertips. Staci let out a breathy groan, shocking himself out of his trance. He shot up to perfect posture. Only to be shoved down into Jacob’s chair, “I said relax, Pratt.” And he did, taking another hit, fuck he was already so high he was laying back nearly boneless in the Herald’s arms. “Now-“ the older man started, continuing to massage as he spoke, “How are you feeling?”. Staci sighed deeply. Warm, fuzzy “Good” he breathed out, “A little uh lightheaded, and uh”, horny- his eyes flitted open. Not now, not with half a mind in front of Jacob. Mot like he could help it but holy fuck now was not the time. “Good?” Jacob responded, running his hands up and down the younger mans sides. Staci tried to ignore the way it tingled in his gut “Yes Sir, Good. Thank you, Sir.” Jacob smiled. “Good.” He removed his hands from Pratt, who promptly began tensing and relaxing his closed fists on his thighs, while Jacob made another quick note on his board.

He was back, again, in the blink of an eye, now sitting on his desk across from Staci. The mountain before him leaned down slowly, taking the brunettes ankle in his hand and unlacing a boot, then sitting himself back upright, bringing the socked foot into his lap. “How about here Pratt, this sore.” His voice was lower now too. “Yes Sir.” Pratt answered too quickly, wanting needing Jacob’s warm hands on him again. Jacob smiled. “Alright Pratt, that’s good, i’ll take care of you.”

Jacob slipped off the man’s jeans and continued his slow methodical journey of tenderizing every bit of meat on his body; cracking toes, and rolling his ankles, then firm squeezes up around his claves to the pits of his knees. Staci was in heaven. Sinking deep into his seat still smoking like a chimney, he was reduced to muted gasping and groaning through a fist over his mouth, while the joint burned down to the filter. Jacob, ever the observer, took hold of it when the stoner started burning paper, casting it aside to his pristine ash tray before getting right back to work. “How are you feeling now, Staci?”Jacob’s voice tickled in the deputy’s ear, he smiled and puffed out the last bit of smoke he’d been holding through his nose, “I’m-“ he interrupted himself with a short laugh “I’m excellent.” He smiled wide before adding “Sir.”

Jacob smiled back, nowhere near as lighthearted. “Excellent?” he asked, and Staci knew that smile; he’d been on the receiving end every time a food can had been placed just far enough out of reach. But right now, body and mind singing praises for the earth Jacob walked on, he cherished it. His body seemed to follow his thoughts without filter, leaning closer to the Seed as he nodded “mmhmm.” Jacob let him, leaning even closer so he could whisper in the younger mans ear. “Well isn’t that nice. Unfortunately I don’t think that’s true, Peaches.” He slid a firm hand slowly up the muscle of Staci’s thigh, inching his way in to press his open palm hard against the fat bulge in the Deputy’s briefs. Staci gasped loud, shutting his eyes as a wave of pleasure crashed over his body, “Fuckin- mierda.” he choked. “You’re telling me you don’t want any help with this, sweetheart?” Jacob tutted, grinding the heel of his palm against Staci’s hard cock. “Dios mio, please.” Jacob loved it when he begged, with those wide brown cow eyes, long dark lashes, and pretty pink lips always a little wet and raw from being chewed on.

“Oh don’t you look pretty.“ He admired with clear condescension. “I’m gonna need you to use your words, Staci; ask me to take care of you.” The poor kids mind must have been a soup, Jacob knew it. The way he blinked slow, his eyes seeming to get stuck on one thing or another for too long. But now, he was pink, in his cheeks and his fingertips, panting with his legs spread wide for Jacob; his eyes practically crossing as he made contact. “Take, take care of me. Please, Sir.” Perfect. “Atta boy.”

For Staci it was a blur, hot hands everywhere, manipulating his drunk feeling body. For Jacob it was tying his own neck with a lobster bib, pulling the smaller man’s briefs down and spreading his knees over his own. Jesus, Jacob thought, the poor mutt was leaking already. He didn’t hesitate, sliding his hand over the top of Staci’s cock, and twisting his fist over the dripping head just so- “Ahnnnn fuckingh Jake-” there it was. “That’s right, i’m gonna make you feel real good.” Pratt really knew how to whet his appetite. Jacob spit directly on Staci’s cock, and used his free hand to squeegee saliva straight from his tongue. Staci just took it, lying still while Jacob violated his mouth, it made Jacob hungry.

He pulled his wet fingers out of Staci’s mouth and coiled them in his hair, wrenching his head back so Jacob could lick the inside of his mouth. Staci stuck his tongue out for good measure. “You fucking whore.” Jacob panted wet breaths into Pratt’s mouth, “You take off your pants for every man that gives you a joint?” Staci kept his tongue out. “This is all it takes to get you swallowing my spit and humping my hand, a little brain buzz and a few minutes of the boyfriend treatment. You are pathetic, Peaches.” The Herald ground his cock against his the other man’s ass as he spoke. The deputy’s wordless whines dripped drool on his uniform shirt.

Jacob used his larger size to keep Staci pinned in place, one arm holding him tight, and the other jerking his cock at a torturously slow pace. Staci begged and bucked his hips, dizzy with endorphins, but his cries fell on deaf ears. Well, not literally. Jacob heard every halted “oh god” “feelssso-“ “mierda” and reveled in it. “please, uhn- Jay“ Oh he was perfect wasn’t he. “Jesus you’re a fucking mess.” The herald chastised like it didn’t turn him on even more.

“You like it when a big man takes charge of you?” He lined up a slick finger with the smaller man’s hole “Hmm Staci?” and shoved it in deep. “Yes. Yes, Sir.” Staci would be mortified at the degradation if he weren’t on the verge of exploding. Jacob thrust his finger in and out of the deputy, switching their positions again so he could slip in a second. Now he had the younger man balancing on tiptoes, bent over his desk, hard cock hanging over the edge. Staci’s legs locked at the knees to present his wet hole like breeding stock. The deputy pressed his forehead against the cool polished wood.

Jacob fucked two fingers in, curling them as he slowly pushed in and out of Staci’s tight heat. “Alright, yeah. I’ll be your Daddy.” Jacob grunted, starting to work his own cock with oil and line it up with his partner’s entrance. Then so slowly, pushing the head in. “oh fucking God.” Pratt whimpered, and Jacob just as slowly rolled his hips, fucking deeper into the smaller man with every motion. Staci whined when their hips met, gasping, and hiding his face deeper in his arms as the clap of Jacob’s hips against his ass echoed through the room. Fuck this was so dirty.

The herald started picking up his pace, and force, the kid had his fun, now it was Jacob’s turn. He grunted with every thrust, leaning down to squeeze the deputy’s cock as he bottomed out, slamming deep against his prostate. Moans were pushed out of Staci’s lungs now, with every connection of their hips his back curled, shoving his body forward like dead weight. Jacob was so deep it almost hurt, “W-wait can you, uh Jay-“ a hand was thrown over Staci’s mouth “Not now sweetheart, it’s Daddy’s turn” he sounded as sympathetic as he could manage as he pinned into the other man with reckless abandon. A gargled moan with drool slipped through his fingers, he smiled wide, and pressed a kiss to the deputy’s back. He fucked into Staci like a toy, gripping his hips and pulling them hard against his own. Staci’s legs trembled, switching from one foot to the other to keep his ass high enough for Jacob’s liking. “That’s a good boy.” Staci whined again, causing more drool to pool beneath Jacob’s hand.

“Just like that.” And just like that Staci was cumming, choking out a moan and fat white puddles between Jacob’s uniform boots. His legs trembled and he fucked into nothing as he eked out the last drops.

This was overwhelmingly ignored, save for a low whistle Jacob let out at the sight, and it sure was a sight. Staci collapsed in from of him, hair slick to his face from tears, sweat, and smothered drool. Jacob fucked him mercilessly, still tugging at his pink cock as it dangled between his legs. “Please Jacob it’s too- it hurts, please I can’t.” In lieu of a verbal response the other man bit him, hard at first, before licking and nibbling his neck and shoulders; it mixed the sensitivities excruciatingly. Then Jacob was growling right in his ear, “I’m gonna get every last drop out of you, then i’m gonna breed your little ass”. It was all so much. The larger man fucked continually, hard and deep, pin pointing his sensitive spots with every thrust. His hand too, twisted around the head of his cock, teasing the over sensitive slit like he meant torture another orgasm out of him. “Please, I-“ his mind went completely blank, knees folding and collapsing again into Jacob’s arms.

It wasn’t long before Jacob joined him, thrusts becoming more sporadic, and harsh before “Fffuck.” Jacob panted, now directly into Pratt’s neck as he crushed the poor man beneath him. Staci could feel the warm semen dripping down his thighs, it made him shiver. He felt disgusting, truly, but Jacob all over him and inside of him it felt so so good. The older man grumbled above him, lifting himself off of the deputy slightly, and slowly pulling out his cock. More cum on the floor, now dripping directly out of his ass and Staci could feel it.

Staci made to stand up himself but Jacob pushed him back down, and said“Stay.” So Staci stayed, until Jacob came back with a damp cloth, wiping him down thoroughly with a gentle hand. Staci didn’t dare utter a word.

They were both dressed in no time, Staci itching to run and hide in the nearest shower or cage for eternity. “Before you go..” Jacob started, “Yes, Sir” Staci was too eager again, “How are you feeling?” The question felt heavy without the lip loosening that the drug had given him, he really couldn’t say, he really shouldn’t say . . . “Sore, Sir.” came out again, and he was. Jacob scribbled down another note on his clipboard, seeming to finalize whatever assessment he’d been conducting. “Good.” In his experience, Good could also mean Dismissed; Staci walked to the door before turning around, and pausing, “I think the blend is good, Sir. If you want to try it yourself. Sir.” They locked eyes, reading one another for what felt like minutes, and there was that hunters look again. “I’ll make a note of that, thank you, Pratt.”

#WIP #ns/fw #jacob x staci #jacob seed/staci pratt #staci/jacob #nsft #staci pratt #jacob seed #jacob seed x staci pratt #READ THE WARNINGS PLEASE #here’s a short one .. these are all works in progress cause i don’t have the time right now to fine tune everything #i do have a longer one i’m writing right now #i’m thinking of posting it on archive just cause of how long it is but idk we’ll see i might just drop it on here when it’s done #even though this one is long-ish for a oneshot #but this one was kind of crazy no ?? #lmk if it’s too out of pocket i get ahead of myself #also i promise not all of my ficus will have drug use i just came up with 2 of these while high so … c’est la vie #⚠️

[brokenbackmountain]

i might need to be put down

#for context: i have literally been unable to do anything else apart from read dabihawks fics. #i've read. hold on. opening ao3 #ok changing #i've been reading fucking bnha fics all day unable to do anything else #(8 of them. all long(ish?) oneshots. AND a jjk 30k fic) #i am NOT escaping the matrix i thought i moved past the kfc yaoi FOUR YEARS AGO #i have EXAMS coming up why does the fic fever always hit when i have exams. disgusting #byler last march. satosugu in sept. dabihawks now. kms kms kms

[vizzy740]

MariChat

Marinette looks out from her balcony at the sprawling expanse of Paris.

There’s the Eiffel tower, towering above the city, and there’s all the other sights, along with the black, starless sky, but she isn’t really interested in any of it.

She leans over her balcony, looking in the direction Chat Noir usually comes, waiting for him.

She can enjoy the skyline and her thoughts on her own, but Chat had said that he was coming tonight. With that knowledge she can’t just focus on the skyline that she’s known for her entire life, she can’t stop herself from looking over, waiting for the highlight of her night.

The development was a bit strange, when she first met Chat, he’d just been her annoying hero partner, constantly flirting with her and all that. Then she met him as Marinette and their relationship changed. Now they were friends, bonded through their mutual unattainable crushes.

For a time she’d felt guilty about the entire situation, with her being the one who was rejecting him. Later, she was able to compartmentalize it, realizing that though Chat does have feelings for Ladybug, he knows that the chances of her ever returning his feelings are low, but he’s still willing to shoot his shot every time he can.

“Hello, Princess.” Chat breathes into her neck.

She immediately turns around, smiling, though she knows there’s a slight exasperation and sass to her expression, “Really, Chat?”

Chat shrugs, a smile on his face as he moves away. She’s a bit disappointed at the distance, but she’s used to it.

“So, how was your day?” Chat asks.

Marinette gives him an answer and they easily transition from one thought to another, falling into their usual routine.

Eventually they reach a lull, and Marinette asks a question that’s been bugging her for a good while.

“How’s it going with you and Ladybug?”

Chat shrugs, “She told me that her job as a hero is to defeat Hawkmoth, unless some other supervillain comes along, she’s retired so… I guess nothing. What about you and your lover boy?”

“My… lover boy?”

“Your Ladybug, the boy you’ve been pining over? The person we bonded over?”

“Oh, yeah…” Marinette trails off, she hasn’t thought about Adrien in a while.

“What?”

Marinette shrugs, “I just… I haven’t thought about him in a while. I think…” She looks off, thinking it over, because she really hasn’t thought about Adrien, and now that she thinks about it, she hasn’t been awkward around him for a while, not since they defeated Hawkmoth, and it’s been a month since then. “I don’t think I like him anymore.” Her expression turns wistfully surprised as she breathes out, “I don’t like Adrien Agreste.”

“What?” Chat Noir says, his eyebrows are raised. “Wh-why would you like Adrien Agreste?”

Marinette laughs, it starts out small, but slowly grows until she can barely breathe. It takes her a good few minutes to be able to speak again, “H-who else would I be talking about? I said I liked the prettiest and handsomest boy in Paris, who else would I be talking about but The Adrien Agreste?”

“I-I don’t know.” Chat Noir replies, his expression still surprised. “H-how long do you think you’ve stopped liking him?”

Marinette shrugs, “I don’t know… I actually haven’t thought about it. A few months before, I promised that I’d stop trying to pursue him, but I’d done that a million times before, but it just seemed to stick that time…” She drifts off as she looks into Chat’s feline eyes.

He watches her intently, clearly eager to hear her continue, but she isn’t interested, she’d prefer to hear about whatever Chat has to say, or just look in his brilliant green eyes all night…

Oh. That’s why she stopped liking Adrien.

 …

Chat Noir thinks he regrets not asking Marinette out as Adrien a few months ago. Which is a very weird thing to do, because he didn’t think he was interested in Marinette before then, but now he can’t stop thinking about the now-defunct prospect of being with her in that way.

About how he could’ve asked her out, how he could be going out to Andre’s ice cream stand with her, how he could hold her hand as they walk around some place, any place.

He doesn’t know how this is happening. His feelings for Ladybug don’t feel any different. Speaking of which—

“That went well, didn’t it?” Ladybug says as she strolls with him upon the rooftops of Paris, “We kept our privacy, but we were able to get them satisfied enough that they won’t question your late-night roof-top runs and my absence.”

Chat Noir nods. “Yeah.” He says absentmindedly.

“Chat, are you okay?”

“I… yeah, I’m fine, I just… feel a bit strange. There’s this girl I talk to sometimes, as Chat Noir. We bonded over our mutually unreciprocated feelings. She told me a while ago that her feelings have… left, that she doesn’t like him anymore, and in the same breath she revealed that it was… that it was me. That she’d liked my civilian identity. Now I can’t stop thinking about it, how I could’ve been with her just a few weeks ago, and I’m regretting not doing it now.”

“S-so you think you like her, like you want to… to date her?” Ladybug asks, her voice trembling for no reason that Chat can fathom.

Chat shrugs, “I suppose so.”

“Th-that’s good. Well you should, youshouldprobably, probably go on her roof tonight. I’ll— I hope you have a good time!” And swung away, her usual cool attitude strangely destroyed.

He smiled as she left, charmed at her rare awkwardness.

…

When he came to Dupain-Cheng roof, the place was… a bit busy.

Marinette was scurrying around moving things about in a mad haste. She looked over to find somewhere to put the mess she held in her arms, only to accidentally finally notice him perched on the fence of her balcony.

“Oh, uh… h-hi Chat Noir. I-I didn’t think you’d be over here so soon.” She replied, her voice trembling and her face flushed.

Chat nodded, “Ladybug said that I should come over tonight, did you talk to her about something?”

“I, uh… y-you could say, butalsonotreallyit’smorelike…” she stopped herself, and took a deep breath and let it out.

She looked to the ground and didn’t say anything.

“Did Ladybug tell you that I’m–”

“I know you’re Adrien Agreste.” Marinette interrupts, “And… and I like you, as Chat, as your pun-filled, stupid, flamboyant self with all your… stupid bells and all. The fact that you’re Adrien isn’t why I like you… I like you for… for this side of you. I-I’d like to go out with you.”

“W-would you be okay going out with Adrien too?”

She looked up, a smile on her face, which in a second turned into a chuckle, he smiled at the sight.

“Yeah, I’d be okay with that.” Marinette replied. “It would be useful to see who I’m dating outside of them coming to my balcony at night.”

“And, uhh… I still like Ladybug.”

Marinette’s expression grew confused.

“Would you be okay with that?”

Marinette opened her mouth, then closed it, her expression becoming concentrated.

“Tonight you… you told me that you were Adrien.” She replies.

“I… didn’t?” he replies.

“No, you did, after you finished you and Ladybug’s final interview.”

“But–”

Marinette shook her head, a few turns longer than anyone usually would. She reshuffled the things in her arms, and tucked her hair behind one of her ears, and looked up to him, her lips were pursed in what could almost be a frown, and her eyebrows were furrowed together. She tilted her head to let the hair she’d tucked fall by her ear, her trademark black earrings still in place.

“Why would you having feelings for Ladybug trouble me?”

Plain earrings.

“Are… are you Ladybug?” Chat asks.

“Yes,” Marinette replies, “I am Ladybug. So… would you go out with me?”

“Yeah.”

Catcity

#mlb #mlb fanfic #miraculous ladybug #miraculous lb #marichat #marinette dupain cheng #mlb marinette #marinette cheng #cat noir #miraculous #miraculous marinette #marinette dupen chang #chat noir #romance #drabble #oneshot #one shot #1.3k ish words #plus 1k words

[her-midas-touch]

Wolfstar one-shot

(pretty much wolfstar but the other boys are in there too <3) ‘You know, I really don’t think you hate us as much as you act like you do,’ Peter smirked, raising an eyebrow at Remus. 

‘I don’t hate you,’ Remus shrugged. ‘It’s just that, well, most other people just usually…suck,’

That made Peter laugh. 

‘So eloquent.’

‘Rich coming from you,’ Remus shot him an amused look. ‘Thought we talked about it always being too early for fancy words?’

‘Using my own words against me, I see,’ Peter pouted at him, in mock hurt. ‘James would say I’m being a pretentious twat,’

‘He would,’ Remus agreed. Peter laughed, shaking his head.

‘Well,’ He wiped his hands on his jeans ‘In any case. I’m glad that I don’t suck by Remus Lupin standards,’

‘Oi, Keep it PG down there, Pete,’

‘Oh shut it,’ Peter shouted back, rolling his eyes at Remus. ‘Honestly both of them are such—‘

‘Dickheads? Arseholes? Dimwits? Wankers?’

‘You forgot whores,’

‘That too,’ Remus nodded sagely. He’s walked in on Sirius plenty of times (All just heated make outs—an image Remus could do very well without, thank you very much—save for that one time in a storage closet, of all places to fuck in) and it didn’t surprise anyone who knew him that James Potter had a shamelessly unfiltered, filthy mind.

‘What’s all this talk of whores and sucking?’ James popped his head into their dorm, holding an alarming variety of eyeliners and lipsticks and what looked like blush. At this point Remus isn’t even surprised. He’s seen much worse from the two of them.

‘Looks like I’ve been summoned,’ Sirius announced, waltzing in after him.

Remus snorted at that, which earned him one of those looks from Sirius, all raised eyebrows and annoying smirks, as if to say got you.

 It had become sort of like a game now, one played in between witty jokes and sly comments, casual, private little glances that lasted a second, meant for their eyes only. Sirius would see him laughing at something he said and he would catch Remus’s eye with his own, his grey ones flashing with something akin to a fierce, humorous sparkle.

Remus wonders if that’s why he does it himself, sometimes, cracking the occasional smile just to see Sirius’s gaze meet his own, with that look of odd satisfaction, as if Sirius had something to prove. 

And Sirius was a force to be reckoned with when he had something to prove. He burned as brightly as the star for which he was named.

‘The fuck are you doing—?’ Peter looked affronted as they neared him. ‘That brush is dangerously close to my face without good reason.’

‘You hear that, Pads?’ James snorted, exchanging a look with Sirius ‘It’s like he hasn’t even met us.’

‘I know,’ Sirius nodded gravely, handing James a brush and what looked like a compact. ‘Since when’ve we ever needed a good reason to do anything?’

‘Oh my god,’ Peter sighed in resignation as James dabbed a puff of pink on to the brush. The plain distress on is face is laughable.

‘Can’t believe I’m letting you anywhere near my pretty face with your questionable makeup skills. Have you ever done anyone else’s before this at all?’

Given the vain diva Sirius can be, Remus doesn’t think Peter should be worried about their inexperience on the make-up front.

And there was no point talking either him or James out of anything once they had already put their minds to it.

James clucked his tongue, pointedly ignoring the complaints as he continued dabbing a thin layer of pink over Peter’s cheeks  “Too late,”

“Ugh.“

“Hold still, Wormy, for christ’s sake it’s not that hard.”

"Ow— that was my eye you dickwad.”

“Shut up Pete—

“Oi, Remus get in here you useless bastard.”

“Thanks. I’m good,” Remus chuckled. “Though this isn’t quite what I had in mind when you said you were getting supplies for a mission,” 

“Don’t be too amused,” Sirius plucked a brush from a small eyeshadow palette from the pile of clutter, dabbing a bit bright blue eyeshadow on it’s tip and waved it at him menacingly. 

‘You’re next,’

“I don’t think you could handle the sight,”

‘Is that so?’

Sirius smirks. He never could refuse a challenge.

‘You underestimate me, love,’

And then Remus’s being pushed up against a wall. Sirius’s face hovers too close, in front of his own, a very smug look on his face. 

Instinctively, his hands fly up in front of him, to push the grey-eyed menace away, because he knows what’s good for him, but then Sirius’s hand encircles his wrist and oh.

He’s still staring at Remus with that glimmer of mischief in eyes as he lowers his hand, clasped loosely around Remus’s wrist. And Remus is the taller one so it’s absolutely not fair that he’s feeling so—

And Remus suddenly can’t breathe but he suspects that has nothing to do with the situation at hand and everything to do with Sirius Orion Black and his unfair proximity.

Oh Remus hates him.

Sirius releases his grip, reaching out gently to hold his chin and Remus feels the bristles of the brush graze over his eyelids. 

His eyes are closed but he can still see Sirius’s little frown of concentration, his tongue,  gently protruded and clasped gently between his teeth.

Sirius leans back after a while, cocking his head to the side to examine his handiwork. His eyes flicker with something, something unfamiliar and then it’s gone. Imperceptible. 

There’s something different about the way he’s looking at him now, too openly, too intimate. Too assessing. Sirius’s hand drifts up to his eyelid, gently wiping a little bit of the excess away.

Remus can’t meet his gaze, and then suddenly he can’t look away. And it’s cruel, as if Sirius can sense his thoughts. He doesn’t pull his hand away immediately.

No, instead, his knuckles trail down, aimless, and almost teasing, brushing feather-light against Remus’s cheekbone. 

He’s still looking at him. Looking and looking. Remus never thought grey was an intimidating color. Boring, even, actually.

 But that was before he met Sirius Black.

There’s a pause in that moment, an uncertainty. The ghost of a what-if that Remus is half-certain they both feel. Sirius’s eyes flick down and Remus does not miss the way he wets his lips slightly, deliberately. He hates it even more, how his eyes follow the motion, breathless and enraptured.

It’s brief. And James is much too busy with a very uncompromising Peter to notice anything. Not that there was much of anything to notice.

Except there is. A flicker of a moment. A question.

Remus can’t stand it. The way Sirius is looking at him, face unreadable, gaze sharp—could melt iron.

‘Wow,’ Remus blinks, hastily looking away, before glancing back up at him, trying for a casual smile. ‘So I look that unflattering, huh?’

Then Sirius is pulling back, but there’s a soft smile on his face. A rare one.

‘No. Not at all. I think you look beautiful,’

#guys my finger slipped #wolfstar oneshot but mostly just pining #has been lying in my notes forever #never meant to see the light of day #but I’m feeling nice and unpredictable today #modern wolfstar au snippet-ish except idk if I’ll ever finish it so 😭 #its a bit of a mess but here #oh also remus is slightly in his denial stage 🤷‍♀️ #also first snippet of my writing that I’ve posted please be nice <3 #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfic

[v-3rg3]

smut as my first post, dear god what have i made- wip : [ m!prince x gn!assistant/reader - referred by they/them though written w/ m parts ] - pt 1/?

An uninterested prince sat on his throne, he paid no attention to the suitor before him as they hastily left much like the others that followed before them.

His gaze fell to his assistant beside him, he looked over their solemn expression to secretly wonder how it would differ if they were to show emotion. Either by the product of happiness or something else.

That was where the prince's thoughts wandered, allowing the images to linger. Fingers that caressed the edges of their lips. A hand that rested on the curve of their neck that craned down for a kiss.

The thoughts gave him a sudden excitement. Perhaps too much as it made his crotch suddenly stiffen.

The prince crossed his leg over the other before anyone could notice his erection as it pulled against the loose fabric. However his gaze remained on the assistant and it soon caught their attention.

"Yes, my liege?" They questioned.

Even as the prince had attempted to keep his thoughts in place, he couldn't help but let his gaze wander from their eyes to their lips. He flicked them back up before he got anymore careless.

"How many more princesses in the same dresses must I see until we are finished?" The prince asked in his usual childish manner, shifting in his position as his erection persisted. Unwilling to point out the tension that had unintentionally grown. It could either be translated as apprehension or just the prince's desire.

Even then, he didn't feel the need to risk to find out whether the other felt the same. His conscience may have been obscene at the moment but he wouldn't let his impulsivity win.

"Until you find one that suits you." The prince found their answer to be one he did not favour.

As the remaining thread of his morals thinned, he pointed in front of his throne, "Come here for a moment."

The assistant obeyed, standing in front of him.

"And how are you so sure that any of this will help?" The prince said, the tip of his shoe raised up. Up the assistant's leg and caressing near their inner thigh. "Perhaps I'd like something else rather than this."

The assistant's face remained blank for awhile until it flushed a red hue. A grin spread across his face, "What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" Lightly tracing the shoe's tip a little higher just to tease them. Raising his hand up, holding their chin and turning their face back to him. "Well?"

They began, "This is a throne room —" Though the assistant's words swayed as the prince leaned forward, head tilted against theirs, barely any distance between their lips. "And?" Heated breaths fell against each other, gazes locked and communicated every thought without a word. "You want this as much as I do."

#writing #smut #writeblr #drabble-ish #oneshot #royal au #mlm #gn reader #x gn reader #m reader #male reader #prince x servant #prince #wip #unfinished

[teefscrubz]

I'm writing a reed900 fic but idk if I should keep writing it or abandon it. what do you think of this extract ? would you want to read it ? :]

•

Gavin swallowed thickly, prepared to brush off the concern only for his words to melt away as his attention quickly returned to big dog padding towards him.

"Sumo–" Connor began, but it was too late; the dog was out of his reach now, his pace growing faster as he excitedly made his way towards the detective, excited to socialise with a new face. A gasp ripped out of Gavin as he stumbled backwards in an effort to scramble away, eyes widening as he hit a hard chest behind him, hands grasping his hips to stop his escape.

"Sumo, down." The voice behind him said sharply, causing the panting fiend to stop in his tracks, sitting down with a whine.

Nines.

Gavin's chest was rising and falling rapidly now, hands still raised in the air as if he was frozen in shock.

"Detective Reed?"

Gavin blinked, Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed what little saliva remained in his dry mouth. "Uh."

Real smart—but Gavin could kick himself for it later.

"Sumo, come here!" Hank called gruffly from the kitchen, the dog quickly disappearing into the other room eager to receive affection, an excited bark jerking Gavin in Nines' grip. His hands flew down to grasp the android's wrists, hands still gripping Gavin's hips tightly to keep him steady.

"Detective, are you—" Connor began.

"He's okay." Nines answered immediately, voice low and calm, and dangerously close to the detective's ear. So close that Gavin had to fight the urge to shiver at the sensation of hot air blowing against the shell of his ear at each word. "Just tired. I will show him to the bathroom."

#reed900 #dbh #detroit become human #gavin reed #rk900 #fanfic #dbh fic #fanfiction #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #writing #idk do you guys like it #im lowkey thinking of not finishing it ;-; #oneshot #but like a long-ish one #angst #fluff #smut #spicy i know