#that now this random fic has made me remember something equally as random in that 'god i miss those days' kinda way

[helianskies]

do you ever go back to something you wrote/made a while ago just for fun and then get hit by random little memories or feelings?

#just went back to a fic from may to use as a reference for something but i was suddenly hit my images of me #walking downhill from my apartment during my final semester of uni worrying about getting this fic finished #and i find it wild #that now this random fic has made me remember something equally as random in that 'god i miss those days' kinda way #all bc i remember leaving my flat and heading into town while messaging someone about this fic #in search of inspiration and help #the brain is a funny thing... #helia rambles #helia's stuff

[starphasedd]

Egon

(Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader)

Rating: 18 + for violence and explicit smut.

Synopsis: A small confession leads to something completely unexpected.

Notes: As promised!! I'm super proud of this guys! I think I captured Simon quite nicely. I am new to the fandom, and still reading lore. Feel free to correct me on anything you see wrong. Egon is actually the codename for my OC Ema 'Egon' Swann. This fic started with her, but as to not be selfish, I made it more inclusive by changing it to the reader perspective! I hope you enjoy!!

Word count: 8k+

AO3

Egon. 

German, by nature. Meaning "strong with the wind" 

That was the nickname the men of task force 141 gave you. 

They had many reasons for this name. You were fast–agile on your feet. Small and clean. It was hard for any enemy to catch you, or even see you coming. You were strong too, for a woman of your size. You could easily take down a man twice your size with the techniques you studied and used over the years. But their main reason for giving you this nickname was for your sharpshooter skills. No matter the conditions, you always made your shot. Rain, thunder, wind. You never missed. No outlying factor kept you from doing your job. 

That's what gained you the respect of task force 141. 

You've known these men for a while, having been asked to join the team just over two years ago. In that time, you got to learn the boys well. All of them respected you and treated you as their equal–something you worked so hard for. Being a woman in this field of work is challenging, even for some of the strongest ladies you know. That didn't stop you from doing your job–which impressed Price when he worked with you on a mission before he asked you to join the team. 

It was a mission in New York City, where you were a part of the NYPD task force. The lead was mafia related and Price's team was called in to assist. Your captain at the time knew it was a risky job, and he needed devoted and dangerous men to help him take their leader down. You along with a couple of your own comrades fought side-by-side task force 141 and pushed through a successful mission. 

Everything after that is history. You left with Price and his team, never looking back. 

These men are your family now, and you love every single one of them in your own way. Price and Gaz keep to themselves most of the time– Soap is the one you'd definitely call 'brother'. You and him have the best dynamic. He's goofy and chill, and you adore that about him. Inherently with him comes his Lieutenant, Ghost. A man you haven't really been able to get a read on since you met him those couple years ago. Yes, of course, it's mainly to do with the fact that he wears that damn mask twenty-four-seven. But he also isn't the most personable guy. He speaks when he needs to, and fights when he has to--but he hasn't really gone out of his way to get to know you–even though you and Soap are practically attached at the hip. 

Being close to Soap means he typically picks you to go along with him and Ghost on missions. Which you don't mind. When the three of you get split up, the commlink keeps you all close, figuratively. 

One of the things you and Soap bonded over was your mutual adoration of music. You didn't have the best childhood, and music was your escape. It appeared Soap used music to his comfort as well. So, when you're on missions but split apart, Soap keeps in your ear either spatting off random lyrics of songs, or requesting you sing to him. Much to Ghost's dismay–who has to listen to you two banter about why you don't like country music, or why Soap can remember so many random lyrics. Ghost keeps quiet, and you wonder if you get on his nerves. He's the type of guy to speak his mind and the fact that he hasn't said anything yet suggests he may…be okay with it? Who knows with that man.

Ghost keeps close, but far away at the same time. He treated you like an equal, and always made sure he had your six. The same thing goes for you. Granted, the giant, pure muscle of a man never really needed your help. You were always there for him. Over time, he seemed to soften on you. He would use your real name on occasion. He got worried sometimes when you didn't answer his comms right away and would scold you once you were all back together.

'Fuck woman, answer the bloody comms when your superior asks for your status.' He would gruff in that deep British baritone. 

You would never admit it, but something about that man set your body on fire. His size, his voice, his attitude. Fuck, his attitude alone. He exudes confidence and experience without being cocky. There's nothing quite like a confident man–a man who knows what he wants and can take it whenever he wants….but doesn’t. He was always looming over your shoulder, watching you intently through the holes in his mask. Soap would comment on it every now and then, making fun of the Lieutenant for not being able to keep his eyes off you for a moment. You didn't think it was that serious–you convinced yourself he was just watching you for your own safety. As any good teammate would. 

But then the subtle touches started. You would feel his large hand splaying over your lower back as he walked beside you up the copter ramp, almost as if he was guiding you. Of course it never happened if someone was around to see it—he made sure of it. But it would happen more frequently. They were genuine, and gentle touches. And completely innocent. Being a woman, you had an intuition for men's intentions–since you dealt with them your entire life. Ghost never set any alarms off. You always felt safe with him.

You trusted him with your life, and you hoped he felt the same about you. 

He was cold and calculating—mysterious and quiet. Though he showed those small, intimate minstations to you and you alone, you tried not to think too much into it. Ridding yourself of the disappointment before it reared its ugly head. You often thought about what he looked like under that mask. You've seen his eyes countless times. They were brown like freshly ground coffee. He had blonde eyelashes that stuck out amongst the black paint he smeared right there. He had a strong, chiseled jawline. Sometimes you can see a few prominent veins through his mask when he tightens it. His neck is strong and thick, no doubt riddled with scars from his many years slaughtering men. 

You imagined what his body looked like too. He's a big man, standing almost an entire foot taller than you. He had thick, broad shoulders and a puffy, muscular chest. Even when he wore one hundred pounds of gear, you could still see how fit he was. His waist was thin and strong, he had a certain swagger when he walked that always caught your eye. His forearms almost looked fat, they were so fucking thick with muscle. He was covered in huge protruding veins on both arms–they were even visible on the arm that was covered in tattoos. And his hands always made you blush. They were twice the size of yours, and you spent many occasions watching his big fingers work the trigger on his guns like a thread. He was nimble, and agile there. 

You wondered what they would feel like–if they would grip your throat with delicacy or fierceness. If they would roam down your neck and swallow your breasts in a warm squeeze. If they would trail your curves all the way down to your ass and nead the soft, pillowy flesh there. If they would tease you–circling around that sensitive bundle of nerves until you were weeping for him. If they would pump you, fill and stretch you out until you were ready for his cock. Or would he even give you that decency and instead, take you unprepared in a hot, lustful frenzy? 

It's all human nature, you suppose. It's natural for a woman to be sexually attracted to a protector like Ghost. It goes back thousands of years–it's all instinct. That's what you tell yourself after you cum on your hand thinking about your Lieutenant. When that wave of unfiltered shame and guilt rushes over you following your high. 

_______

"Egon, how copy?" Comes that familiar gruffy voice. 

You jump slightly, shuddering out of your thoughts as you neel against the abandoned brick building. Your rifle in your left hand, fingers tight on the trigger. 

"Jesus, Lieutenant–awaiting target. No eyes yet." You grunt out, face heating up in embarrassment. He always knew when to catch you off guard.

"Eyes on the prize, sergeant. Stay focused." 

You scoff, eyes rolling as you adjust your stance slightly. It's dark, the only light you have to use coming from old, orange colored lamps hanging from the buildings. To top that off, it's been raining all day so it's doubly hard to see far in the distance. Even with a scope. 

"Easy for you to say, Lieutenant. I'm out here freezing my ass off and you're inside a nice warm building." You mumble into the mic. 

"Punishment for not listening to your superior." 

"Bite me." You retort. 

No response. You grin. Any opportunity you get to fight back at the Lieutenant scolding you, you'll take. 

A few minutes in silence go by as you wait patiently for your target to come into view. You have a black mask covering the bottom half of your face, leaving only your eyes and forehead exposed. A heavy leather hood covers your hair. Soft pelts of rain dropping keep you focused in the moment. Your tactical boots are worn and wet, holes from misuse letting water in to soak your socks. The harness tied around your waist and thighs is digging into your pants, which are rubbing and chafing your skin. Your back hurts from being on your feet all day, and your head is pounding. You usually get headaches when it rains. You are so fucking ready for this day to be over. 

You stay steadfast nonetheless. Eyes focused on the door the target will be coming out of. 

A few more minutes go by in silence when you hear the comm start to buzz, indicating someone was about to speak. 

"Why can't orphans play baseball?" 

You can't help the cheeky grin that creeps its way upon your face. 

"Why?" You ask.

"They don't know where home is."

"Ghost," You say with a huff, attempting to hide the laugh trying to claw its way out of your throat. "Shut the fuck up." 

"It's inappropriate to speak to your superior that way."

"Sorry, let me rephrase. Shut the fuck up, sir." 

"Better." 

You grin, holding the butt of your rifle up to your cheek in anticipation. Your finger reaches up and you adjust the scope. You close your left eye and squint your right as you look through the glass. You hadn't realized you never turned off your mic when Ghost crimes in again. 

"Control your breathing, Sergeant. It'll help you focus better." 

Your breath catches in your throat the moment is deep voice comes through the ear piece. Was the bastard really listening to you breath this whole time? Your tongue slides over your bottom lip, moistening the smooth skin there. You let a long breath come out before slowly breathing back in, reducing your heart rate. With your breath now cool and even, you sink back into the task at hand. 

"Atta girl." Ghost whispers in that english accent, his voice sending a wave of chills down your spine. 

Your chest pulls tight at his encouraging words, and if you hadn't been so focused on the door in front of you, you may have retorted something flirty back. But just as you were about the touch the communicator, the door in your sights swings open. You pause and hunch down impossibly lower as a tall man, accompanied by three other men stumble out of the building. You're so low now your chest could practically touch your boots. Your back is arched and steady, fingers itching to pull the trigger as you search for the man you have a description of. 

The rain is starting to pick up now, thunder rocketing through the air as lightning snaps to the ground in the distance. Your breathing is steady and firm, flowing visible streams in front of your face as the chill in the air makes you shiver. 

You're so focused on identifying the target in front of you that you don't hear the footsteps approach you from behind. They're quiet, trained and quick. You lock eyes on the target. A tall, skinny man. He has long, curly blonde hair that flows just past his shoulders. The identifying marker is a scar on the left side of his face. It's long–stretching from the bottom of his jaw all the way up and over his eye. It stops just above his eyebrow. 

Rain is starting to smear over the scope lense, making it increasingly difficult to see the taget. After a moment, you lick your lips away, your pointer finger hones down on the trigger and starts to stretch it down. The man across the way reaches down for the door handle on the SVU next to him. You take one final breath in and hold, steady and true. Your finger pulls down, emitting a loud pop in your ear. It's quick, and the target immediately falls to the ground. Not a word, not a sound. Silence as his body hits the cold, wet concrete. The men around him start to panic and pull their guns out, rapidly stomping around in circles to try and spot where the bullet came from. 

One turns in your direction. He doesn't see you, but starts running in your direction. You cock back and lift on your feet. You stand to almost your full height, knees slightly bent. You pull the trigger again. The second victim drops to the ground with a loud and painful grunt. At this point, you've given yourself away. Blood rushes through your ears as the two other men start sprinting in your direction. You slowly start to back up, cocking back yet again to let another bullet fly. Bullseye–a direct hit to another man's head. Your focus now remains on the last man standing who has gone into a hiding stance. You stand up fully and start to turn. When you do, you hear the sound of another rifle going off. Blood splatters across your face as a man–whom you had no idea was directly behind you–falls against the brick wall and his lifeless body slides down. 

You gasp softly at the sight–having had absolutely no clue the man was behind you getting ready to attack. You look around quickly, trying to locate where the shot came from when Ghost's voice comes through the headset. 

"Thought you knew better, sergeant."

Your breathing is heavy as you look up at the building across the street. On the fourth floor, Ghost moves forward to reveal himself through the window. The bone part of his mask almost lights up as he positions his rifle and shoots the last of the men on the street. He looks down at you as he lowers his rifle. His massive body towering in the window. His eyes lock with yours as your chest heaves up and down. The hood on your jacket has fallen now, and rain is starting to soak your hair. It sticks to your cheeks and neck. The water soaks your face. 

"Were you watching me?" You ask, slight irritation in your tone. 

"Had I not been, you'd be dead."

You scoff, clenching your jaw and rolling your tongue in your mouth as you keep eye contact with him. 

"Get down here. Let's go." 

Embarrassment was evident in your tone, but you couldn't hide that from Ghost. You couldn't hide anything from a man with his experience. So you gave in and let it out. 

Ghost was down in your area within a minute or so, and he approached you slowly. 

It was still raining as you and Ghost started walking towards the safe house. It was a small cottage on the outskirts of this shitty little town. Price said there was a shower, and that's all you could ask for. You walk silently next to your superior, who hasn't looked at or spoken to you since he came down from the building. You keep your eyes forward and alert as your heavy boots slush through the wet streets. 

"Have you heard from Soap?" You ask softly. 

"Affirmative. He's on the other side of the city with Price and Gaz. They're at the other safehouse." He responded in that deep tone.

He's safe. A gentle sigh of relief left your lips as you continued your walk to the safehouse. 

The walk there stays silent. With Ghost keeping close to your rear, he almost hovers over you but he's slow. Which is unusual for him. On occasion, you could have sworn you could hear his breathing. It was loud and sounded labored. You raised your voice a little at one point to ask if he was alright and grunted back at you. Something seemed off. 

After a couple hours carefully trekking through the nearly flooded city, you made it to the safe house. It was pitch black, away from any city lights to give you away. It was a small, one room cottage. When you opened the door, you cleared the room with your rifle. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to house the two of you until the morning. There was a small, two person bed, a run-down kitchen and a small, detached bathroom with holes in the door. It was filthy, but you were thankful to be out of the rain. You noticed a small fireplace that seemed clean enough to use. 

You turn to Ghost, who is towering behind you. "I'll start a fire. You should try and get a hold of Price and let him know we're okay." 

The large man grunted, and turned slowly in the direction on the bed. You watched his feet almost drag the floor. And when he sat down on the edge of the bed, you noticed him trying to conceal the hand that was holding his side. 

You watch him for a few moments before turning your attention to the fire. It was starting to get cold. Worry about Ghost later so the both of you don't freeze to death here. Gathering what little kindling and firewood you could find, you begin to light the fire. First you pile in some pieces of wood you found here and there, and then you line the tower with what kindling you could find. Reaching into your soaked chest pocket, you pulled out the lighter you hoped wasn't flooded. And by some miracle, it wasn't. You easily ignited a small fire in the run-down fireplace. 

Turning around, you glance over to see Ghost still sitting with his hand on his side. His hulking figure dips the mattress by a good bit. 

"Fucking awful communicators." He grunts out before he rips the mic off his head. 

"Not able to get a hold of Price, huh?" You say with a soft smile. 

He shakes his head slowly. A grunt being his only response, again. 

You stand from where you sit, starting to pull your weapons and gear off. Your weapons come first. You gently set the rifle up against the wall, and place your handguns beside them. Knives get stuck in a pile next to the handguns. You reach around to unstrap your vest, pulling it off your shoulders. It drops to the floor with a thud, which grabs Ghost's attention. Once your vest is off, you move to take your harness off. Ghost watches you through half lidded eyes. You prop one leg up on a grate for better access to the straps that trail from your waist, all the way down to your feet. Starting with the foot strap, you unclip the buckle. Your hands slide up your calves to your thighs, where the second set of straps dig into the skin there. 

You quickly make way with those buckles and pull them down your legs. The last strap around your waist is easy. You stand and unclip the last buckle and let that strap fall to your feet. A relieved sigh leaves your lips as you turn to walk towards Ghost. He was still watching you, his hand holding his side. He hasn't moved–still sitting there uncomfortably, no doubt, in his full gear. You approach him slowly, hands hugging your hips as you test these waters. 

"Let me see." You say gently as you stop directly in front of him. He's so big that he's still eye height with you, even sitting down. 

"I'm fine." He grunts. 

"Sir–" 

"I said I'm fine. Tend to your own." He says. 

"I just want to help, sir. " 

He glances up at you through his mask. You're standing close–so close he can feel the heat radiating off your body. His eyes meet your face, his hand still hovering over the wound on his side.

"Do you trust me?" You ask gently.  

He seems hesitant, no doubt unsure what he wants to do. But after a few moments of watching you, he lets the hand on his side slowly drop to his thigh. He breathes out slowly. 

"Yes." 

You take this moment to be bold for the first time with him. You suck a breath in and hold, slowly reaching forward and gliding your hands over his shoulders. They fall down his back to unstrap the back of his weapons vest. Your eyes bounce back and forth between his as your chest presses softly to the pack on the front of his body. You pull the straps up over his shoulders and let the best slide down his front, pulling it off and gently setting it down on the floor by his feet. Next, your nimble fingers work at the zipper on his jacket–pulling down until it unclips at the bottom. You run your hands over his shoulders again to pull the rain jacket off–setting it on the mattress next to him. 

He looks bigger this way, which should be impossible. You just took eighty pounds of gear off his body but even now, in just his black pull-over hoodie and rain jacket, he looks bigger. His muscles are more defined. You can see the bulge of his strong pecs, the roundness of his arms. 

You stand up to look at him once again. 

"May I?" You ask softly. 

He doesn't speak, but nods slowly. 

You mind his permission and slowly grab the bottom of his hoodie, pulling it up and over his chest. What reveals is a nasty stab wound–about three inches long. Blood trails all the way down to his jeans. Most of it is dry, but some warm blood indicates it's still bleeding. 

"Jesus wept. You were going to leave this unattended?" You ask, glancing up to meet his gaze. 

He brings his hand up to hold his hoodie for you. You remove your hand and reach into the first aid kit attached to his utility belt. Pulling it open and starting to look through the supplies. 

"I've had worse." He retorts with a snort. 

You can't help but smile gently, looking at him through the corner of your eye as you rummage through his bandage pack. 

"You're an idiot." 

"I'll be sure to remember that when I'm doing your performance review." 

"In that case, be sure to remember this. I want a raise." You say with a small laugh as you set some bandages down on his thigh. 

"A raise? You can barely do what you're told now. Only good employees get raises." He retorts, you swear you can hear the grin on his mouth. 

"I've never been one to respect authority." You say, a cheeky grin meeting his gaze as your hand brings a sanitary wipe to his wound. 

"Fuckin' Americans." 

You laugh out loud this time, hand gently gliding over his wound–cleaning it with the sanitary wipe. You take notice of his build. He's strong, thick and muscular. He has some chest hair, and some hairs that trail under his jeans. He's incredibly built as well–of course he is. You knew that. He was a huge man, and incredibly strong. There was no doubt in your mind he was sculpted to the heavens. His skin is littered with scars. Some range from as small as your fingernails, to the size of your fist. You wish you could touch them all, to ask their stories. How did he get this one? That one? 

The little shack is quiet for a few more minutes as you finish cleaning and treating his wound. You take it slow so as to not cause him any discomfort. Something tells you he really doesn't care, but you do. His eyes watch you through the hole in the skull of his mask. The black eye paint makes his blue hues glow in the moonlight. Rain patters softly against the metal roof. Your hand glides smoothly over the patch you're placing over the stab wound. You flatten your palm to smooth it out as much as possible. His breathing is steady as it fans against your cheek. Your proximity to him right now may have been alarming if you didn't know him well. 

He stays still, watching you as he holds the hoodie up over his chest. His gaze brings goosebumps to the back of your neck, making your hairs stand up. You feel the need to break this awkward silence. 

"This scar looks like it was painful." You say ever so softly, your free hand coming down to the four inch scar on his abdomen. Your palm flattens and your thumb grazes it gently. 

"They were all painful." He says, a hint of tease in his tone. His voice has softened considerably. 

"Yeah? I wouldn't have guessed, sir." You say, eyes flashing up to meet his as your mouth pulls into a sweet smile again. 

"Simon. No need to be formal when we're alone." He says, followed by your name. It rolled off his tongue with ease–like it was the most natural thing for him to say. 

"Right. Simon–" you say softly. You're not pulling apart the last part of the bandage to stick it on top. "--how did you get this one?" You ask, pointing to another scar on one of his pecs. 

"In the Military. My first deployment. This was one of the first." He says. 

"I remember those days. I was eighteen when I joined the Marine Corp. Got a few scars myself. Though, they're more mental than anything." You say, bringing a hand up to tap the side of your head and smile. "Yours have more meaning behind them, I think." 

"Rightfully ugly things." He says, his eyes now following your hands as they work to cover the rest of his wound. 

"Not at all–" you say as you stop your movements. Your eyes meet his when he takes notice and lifts his head to see you. "--I find them endearing." 

His eyes narrow slightly as he watches you–indicating he's unsure of the meaning behind your statement. 

"I mean, they show your growth…as a man. You had to overcome each one of these–" you say as you move to continue wrapping his wound. "--they're all testaments to how strong you are. Mentally and physically. I don't find them ugly in the slightest." 

Your hand stops moving as you've finally finished patching his wound. Standing up straight, you bring your eyes back to his. He slowly releases his hoodie to let it drop back down, but his eyes never once leave yours. He almost seems dumbfounded–at a loss for words. He just stares at you for a few moments before speaking. 

"I don't understand." He says, almost a whisper. 

"What's not to understand?" You ask. 

His hands are laying on his thighs, but his fists are clenching and unclenching. He doesn't speak, so you take this chance to elaborate. 

"Simon, I don't know much of your past. Well, anything about your past, really–" you say gently, your hands slowly glide up and test the waters, laying on top of his strong shoulders. "--I don't need to. I know the man you are now. Neither of us are perfect. But I do know that you're a good man, who will always have my back. That's all that matters." 

His eyes never leave yours as your hands slowly glide over from his shoulders, and up his neck to rest holding his strong jaw. 

"And I will always have yours. That's what being a team is all about."

You're holding his jaw gently; you can feel it clenching as he watches you through the skull mask. You're close to him now, closer than you have been. Your hips are slotted between his legs. His fingers reach out and softly graze the outside hem on your jeans–silently asking for permission. You glance down to his hands, before back up to his face and slowly nod. 

His large hands come out to flatten against the outside of your thighs, softly squeezing the flesh there as they glide up and over your hips. They rest there, just above your ass. His warmth sends chills down your spine as he pulls you closer, your chest almost touching his. His palms spread against your curves and his thumbs dig into your belly. 

"What's on your mind, sergeant?" Ghost asks, his voice barely above a whisper as your face inches closer to his. 

You continue holding his jaw, keeping him attentive to you and you alone. Your breath fans over his covered lips. Your thumbs start to rub small circles over the sharp bones under them. 

"I often think…" you trail off as your right thumb moves towards the center of his face--finding his bottom lip under the mask and pressing down. "...think about what your smile looks like. I reckon you're quite handsome." 

"Is that right?" His voice is low, now laced with something akin to longing. 

His hands give your hips a good squeeze, shuffling your lower half closer to his. His thighs trap you in their strength. 

"Mhm." You hum softly. 

You find yourself being bold again, thumbs leaving his lips to trail down his neck again. You locate the bottom of his mask and slip both thumbs under the hem. You stop momentarily, giving him ample time to stop you. Only, he doesn't. You can feel the moment his muscles tense and you hear his breath hitch. But his eyes never leave you, and neither do his hands. They squeeze you and pull you harder. 

As to not betray his trust, your eyes slowly flutter closed. Your thumbs slip under his mask completely and gingerly begin pulling up. You pull it up and over his lips. Along the way, you can feel the defined muscles of his neck–the large veins. His chin and jaw are prickly, most likely from a recent shave. You pull it up to sit just in the tip of his nose. Eager fingers return to his chin, thumb coming back to slide over his lower lip. It's full, and warm. Feels slightly damp, like he had just licked it. His breath is warm on your hand as you continue to feel him here. 

Your other fingers stretch to try and feel the back of his head, wanting to know if he has thick or coarse hair. Is it curly or straight? Blonde like his eyelashes or brown? 

His hands become impatient and begin sliding up your sides. In the process, he pulls the skin-tight undershirt out from under your pants. Cold air rushes through and touches the little part of your belly exposed. As his digits continue sliding up, they eventually curve out and up both of your arms until they meet at the base of your neck. His fingers dig into the skin there and start to gently pull you forward. 

In the shuffle, your hands slide down his chest and come to a rest on top of his biceps. The muscles flex under his hoodie as he pulls you forward. Your eyes stay closed as you feel his breath getting closer and closer to your face. 

"Tell me to stop." He whispers. It was hoarse, and deep. Laced with lust. 

You breathe out slowly, shaky and anxious. 

And when you don't, he kisses you. 

To say he just kisses you is a gross understatement to what the both of you start to share. Your entire body lights up, chills shooting down your spine like fireworks as he twists his head to the side and slowly licks your bottom lip. His lips are soft and giving. They flatten when they meet yours to cover as much ground as they can. You open your mouth, giving him full access to that wet cavern. Your mouth meets his again, more heated this time. His tongue slides inside your mouth with ease, shooting to fight and tackle yours in a fight for dominance. 

Your fingers start to dig into his biceps, and that elicits a grunt moan from the man kissing you. He continues kissing you, tongue exploring your mouth as his large hands start to slide down your body again. His right hand slides behind you to trace your back, and his left opts to take the front. He stops at your breast–giving it a firm squeeze when he gets it in his grasp. Your nipple hardens under his firm touch, a small whimper getting lost in his mouth as he explores your body. The hand on your back pulls you impossibly closer, pressing your much smaller body tight to his. 

He continues his assault on your breast for another minute or so, all while continuing to kiss you with a certain ferocity. His tongue leaves your mouth to lap up the saliva surrounding your lips and you erupt in shivers when the hand squeezing your breast starts to trail lower. He traces your curves until he reaches the metal of your belt buckle. His digits slowly begin to work at the buckle, setting the button on your jeans free once he's worked it open. He kisses you as he pulls the button open, his fingers grabbing hold of the zipper and slowly pulling it down. It feels like it takes him an eternity to work your jeans open, but your body buzzes with excitement when you hear the zipper coming down. 

He stops for a moment, continuing to kiss you as his hand rests there on the buckle of your jeans. You slide your hand back up to his shoulders and softly rub the muscles there, pulling a quiet whimper from his lips. Yes, a whimper. From Ghost. 

Fuck. If that doesn't get you wet, nothing will. But it does. In that moment, you feel the arousal start to ooze out of your cunt. You may have thought you started your period if you weren't sure it was because of him. You can't help but rub your thighs together when the pressure starts to become uncomfortable. Ghost takes notice of this and pulls away from you. His fingers begin to dance with the hem of your underwear. 

"Tell me to stop." He repeats against your lips, still barely above a whisper. You can feel his eyes burning into you, but yours are still closed.

The cool leather of his glove meets with your sensitive skin when you don't answer him. Slowly, achingly slowly, his fingers sink under your underwear to find what he wants so desperately right now. 

You whine when the leather touches your sensitive skin there, his fingers sink down through your folds to truly feel where you're warmest. His fingers glide easily through your arousal; the texture of his clove adds a bit more feeling to it.  

"Fuck." he curses against your lips as he continues to rub around your needy hole. 

He uses his fingers to collect your wetness and drags it up to that swollen bundle of nerves. He uses your own arousal to prepare you. His thumb begins to rub firm circles over your clit, causing you shudder and whimper in his arms. Your eyes squeeze shut harder, face heating up and turning red. Something you never thought he'd see—the freckles on your cheeks being revealed by the change in color on your face. Your fingers dig hard into his shoulders, holding on for what feels like dear life. 

It's been a decade since you've been with a man. It's not something you were particularly proud of, because nothing could quite scratch that itch like the touch of a man. But your job kept you busy, and you felt just fine pleasuring yourself. You were always an independent woman. But fuck. Fuck. His touch felt like fire. Like pure bliss. The way he continued to draw tight circles over your clit while his palm flattened on your cunt and two large fingers sunk into your wet heat. They were so big, so strong while they pumped you full. It wasn't long before he found that spot too–the spongy piece of heaven deep inside your core. 

Your head tumbles back on your shoulders, mouth falling open silently as his fingers work magic inside you. He leans forward, bringing his lips to your chest where it's open from the u-neck undershirt– peppering kisses on the warm skin there. Your hand involuntarily comes up to caress the back of his head. Such a sweet sentiment he does, while absolutely ruining your brief innocence with his fingers. You whimper and cry for him as he pumps and pumps and pumps. 

You let out one harsh breath, followed by a quiet but sweet whimper– and out tumbles his name. 

Simon. 

That's all it takes to break him. He huffs a hard breath against your chest and kisses the skin one more time before pulling back, taking the hand out of your pants with him. 

You gasp at the lack of contact. You almost open your eyes in the shuffle but as if he knew what was going to happen, his hand comes up to cover your eyes. 

"Lay down. Now." He orders. 

He guides you back a few steps, hand still over your eyes. You feel him stand, and he brings a hand to your shoulder to guide you back towards the mattress. Your legs hit the edge and cause you to fall to your back. His hand leaves your face, but you obediently keep them closed for him. He shuffles a bit before his hands are on you again, slipping your combat boots off one at a time. Then his hands are on your waist, pulling your jeans and underwear down in one swoop. Involuntarily, your hands shoot down to cover your core and you hear him grunt. 

"Don't hide from me, sergeant." He says in the deep english tone. 

His hands meet yours and wrap around them, slowly pulling them off your weeping cunt. A breath leaves his mouth harshly when you're revealed to him. He kneels instantly, large hands flattening against the inside of your thighs, at the apex of your legs and waist. On each side of where he just had his fingers deep. His hot breath fans against your sex. 

"Fucking perfect." He says as he fits himself between your legs. His hands slide from the top, all the way to your calves to pull them up and over his shoulders. 

You shudder in anticipation, back arching slightly in presentation. Ghost takes notice. 

"Dirty girl." He praises 

That's the last thing he says before he dives in. His mouth closes over your swollen clit, tongue circling you in a delicious dance. Your back immediately arches even more, muscles tensing down below. His tongue is smooth as it glides so elegantly over that center of pleasure. He moans into you, drinking the taste of you in. The top half of his face is still covered, only letting the bottom half of his face free so he can eat you out like this. 

Your hands desperately search for purchase. They start by clenching the bedsheets, before twitching hard and moving to lay on your tummy. His hands find yours quickly and he presses down, anchoring your much smaller hands under his to your tummy. His fingers thread through yours and give a reassuring squeeze. It's odd. You'd never think of him as the gentle type. But he always seemed to surprise you. 

Your hands start to close on his head, holding him still right where you want him. Anxious fingers gripping the mask and holding him down. He moans again, the vile wet sounds of his dirty act echoing through the room as he pulls you closer to an orgasm. His hands hold you steady as he pushes his face in deeper, completely enveloping his face in you. His cock grows achingly hard in his jeans, throbbing to be set free. One of his hands leaves yours to come down and insert two large fingers in yet again. 

Something white and hot starts to stir in your lower belly. Like a thread being pulled tight on each end, ready to snap at any given moment. Your cunt starts to clench impossibly tight around Ghost's fingers and he moans into you yet again.

"Atta girl. I can feel it. Give me a good one." He encourages through licks. 

Fuck, his voice. The tone and the accent–they do something to you. His voice repeats in the back of your mind as your muscles tense all at once. A hoarse whimper leaves your lips as he nibbles down on your little clit, cunt pulling tight and hot as the thread finally snaps and he gets what he asked for. You cum all over his face, body convulsing from the over stimulation as he continues to suck on you through the pulses. Your fingers lock dead in his mask–you think you can feel his hair. It's thick. 

He groans into you, his voice vibrating your lower body as he slows his pace and inevitably decides to take pity on you and stop. 

You feel his mouth leave your cunt as you struggle to catch your breath. His hands leave you too. Slightly concerned, you start to sit up. Your eyes are still closed. His hands stop you from standing up. 

"Bloody delicious you are, sweet girl." 

His hand caresses your jaw, and you hear him fumbling with his belt buckle, followed by the sound of his zipper coming down. 

"Open." 

Your eyes flutter open and you glance up at him standing tall over you. His mask is pulled back down to conceal his mouth. You lock eyes with him and stare him down as he begins to pull his cock out of his jeans. You keep your eyes on him until he breaks contact for a moment. He glances down towards his cock and then back at you. You take the hint and slowly lower your gaze until you meet his cock in all its glory. He's big–covered in veins. His tip is red and smeared with pre-cum. Gods, you got him this wound up? 

"You want this?" He asks. 

You don't have to answer him. The lustful look in your eyes as you glance back up at him is enough to make his cock jump. He growls low in his throat. 

"Turn around. Bend over." 

Not having to be told twice, you do as you're told. You stand and turn so your back is facing him. You bend down, revealing your cunt from behind as you find your place bent over the bed for him. His massive form stalks behind you–like you're his prey. Just waiting to be captured. His macho, mean, attitude has always sent chills down your spine. This situation was no different. 

His hand finds your waist, gripping on your side as his other holds his heavy cock up to position it at your entrance. While he rubs the head of his cock through your slick to prepare it, the hand holding your waist moves to the center of your lower back and his palm flattens. He pushes down, forcing you to arch in presentation for him. He curses under his breath. Fucking perfect. Beautiful little cunt. 

His heavy boots shuffle closer as the head of his cock begins to breach your tight hole. Your breath catches at the sudden intrusion. The hand on your lower back holds you steady as he starts pushing forward until he's fully sheathed inside you. You let a moan slip when the hand on your back starts to rub up and down you slowly, almost in a comforting manner. 

"Fuck." He groans out when he bottoms out. 

He starts with deep thrusts, getting your cervix used to the invasion. Your knees begin to buckle. No need to worry though. His hands both move to either side of your waist to hold you up as he begins to thrust a little faster–pulling out farther and re-sheathing himself. His back straightens and his head falls back in pleasure as soft groans come from under the mask. Your moans join him as the wet sounds of your combined arousal fills the room. 

You moan sweetly–which teases him. A strong, capable woman like yourself reduced to a whimpering mess under her Lieutenant. It spurs him on and makes him needy. 

He starts thrusting at a more harsh pace now. His hips collide with yours as the bed rattles on its old, dilapidated frame. The metal digging into the wooden floor. His hands squeeze your hips tight and he pulls you back onto him in time with his own thrusts. 

"Insatiable woman. Drive me mad with this body." He grunts as his hips slam into yours. 

"Simon–" you whimper out, cut off by a particularly sharp thrust. 

"You--you know what you do to me, woman?" He starts between harsh breaths as he pounds into you. "Can't keep my eyes off you. You're a goddamn distraction–" he continues to moan loudly, not caring if anyone may hear. "--walk around in those tight ass jeans….n'that low cut shirt. You do it on purpose, don't you?" 

"M's-sorry sir–" you manage to whimper as he continues to pound into you. 

"The fuck you are." He says before another hard thrust. His grunts, leaning forward to grab a fistful of your hair and pull your head back. 

The same sensation from earlier starts to boil over again. The thread is pulled tight once more, ready to snap at any given moment as he continues to hammer into the sensitive spot inside you. His breathing is heavy, grunting loudly in your ear as pounds down into you. You start to tighten around him once more and once again, he takes notice right away. 

"Already, sweet girl? Can you give me another good one?" 

You whimper his name. 

"Words." 

"Yes." You moan. 

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, Simon."

"Good fucking girl." 

He relases your hair and stands up straight, anchoring down on your hips and letting absolutely fucking loose. He starts pounding into you ruthlessly. His hips jackhammering into yours and rendering you speechless. His harsh thrusts steal the air from your lungs. All you can do is lay there, drool like a dog and take his cock the way he needs to give it to you. 

Your orgasm snaps through you and burns like wildfire. Your body rocks violently back against his and he groans when you start to clench around him.

This was unlike any experience you've ever had. It was hard for any of your past partners to get you off, period. Ghost just made you cum twice. And violently. 

"Fuck. Where do you want it?" He asks. 

It takes you a few hard thrusts to try and speak–trying to gain your composure and suck some air back in your lungs to speak. 

"In-inside–please–" you manage to moan. 

For the first time this evening, his movements falter. He seems unsure as he tries to regain his rhythm. 

"That's–no, no I can't….you'll…" he grunts as he continues to rut into you.

"Safe. I-I promise." You whimper out. "Wanna feel you."

"Fuuuuck." He groans out, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chases his release. His hands come up to grab your shoulders, anchoring down as he continues fucking your raw. 

"Don't move. Don't fucking move, sweet girl. Gonna--gonna fill you up, make you mine." 

"Simon--" you whimper out. 

That last whimper is what seems to take him over edge. He groans your name one last time before his hips bottom out again and come to a screeching hault. You feel his cock start to throb before the warmth of his cum begins filling you. He shoots what feel like endless streams of his while juices inside until it starts overflowing and running down your thighs. You lay there on your stomach trying to catch your breath. Not long after, you hear the heaving mess of a man who just rearranged you collapse to his knees behind you. You hear him turn to sit on hid ass, shifting to lean up against the bed. 

You lay there exhausted, listening to the sounds of his labored breathing. You're too worn out to move, so you opt to stay where you are. Not even caring what a mess you look like. 

After a few minutes you feel yourself beginning to drift off to sleep. The exhaustion is taking over. It gets quiet after a few more minutes and you feel completely relaxed. You're so out of it, you don't notice Ghost getting up from his spot on the floor. 

You don't feel him softly cleaning you with one of his extra shirts. 

You don't feel him start to re-dress you. 

And you don't feel him lay you down on the bed, when he climbs in behind you and wraps his arms around you. 

And in the morning, it suprises you when he asks you about your time in the United States Marine Corps. 

#simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #smut #Egon

[bakawitch]

i love ghosts i love crime (stories), telll us more! :D

Well, lucky for you, this wip actually contains two separate crime stories! And just in time for Halloween too! XD

Sometimes, when I'm writing random scene ideas, I get a sudden idea surge for a completely separate fic, so I quickly jot those down in the same document before I could forget them. Not the most ideal organising, but it sort of works 🙃

So! Story number 1:

tw: death, cause y'know. ghosts.

Here For The Boos

This one is more ghost than crime, but the other part of this wip is more crime than ghosts. This fic is primarily puzzleshipping (that's a first for me lol) and there's also some tendershipping and eclipse on the side.

Yugi inherits an old rural house in Kyoto from his grandfather after he tragically passed away inside it. Due to having some financial difficulties and running out of options, he has to move into the house, leaving his old life behind. It doesn't take him long to realise that there is something wrong with the house; the light bulbs keep flickering no matter how many times he changes them, doors slide open by themselves, the house always smells like it's burning, he can always see something lingering behind him just out of the corner of his eye, but disappearing as soon as he turns around to get a better look. And there's also banging and screaming coming out of the basement at night, which probably should have been a dead giveaway.

Not having the option of moving out, Yugi decides to investigate. He sets up cameras, capturing a few odd things, scatters around a few religious symbols, discovering that they all rust away or get destroyed under a single night and he also locates a mysterious black spot behind a closet where the smell of smoke is the strongest.

Leaving the basement for last, Yugi ventures in at night when he knows the noises would be loudest. After waiting in silence for awhile he gets jumped by a black shadow which seems really keen on clawing him to bits, but just before Yugi's arms would give out he gets pulled out from under the shadow and of the basement by a mysterious force.

After this experience, Yugi does some research about the house and comes across Mura (Yami Malik), a self-proclaimed medium, by chance who offers to help Yugi hold a séance. Yugi invites two of the friends he's made in Kyoto, Malik and Ryou, and the four of them hold a seance in the room with the burn mark.

Throughout the event they discover that the house is inhabited by two spirits, an investigator and a thief. Due to some strange interference in the house Mura can't invite either of the spirits to possess him, but they do manage to communicate with the investigator through knocks. They manage to find out that it was the investigator that saved Yugi from the basement and that both him and the thief died in the house fire that was started by the thief as far as he knows, but he doesn’t remember his death very clearly.

Yugi does more historical research and he finds two names that seem to have stopped making appearances in records at the same time. Rurikawa Yami the son of the local lord who was a high ranking officer and a local bandit that went by the name of Touzokou. Yugi takes the risk and tries to contact Yami by himself with more information about his past in hopes of figuring out what truly happened in the house all those decades ago.

This is where the story is now (albeit in bits and missing chapters).

Onto story number 2:

Cat And Mouse

tw again: murder, death

So this one is a messed up little clashshipping crime au fic where the killer and the detective are both equally aware of who the other is and they meet up and stuff, they just don't say that they know what the others intentions are.

Malak Ishtar (Yami Malik) is a morally dubious homicide detective who works in Domino, but it's been awhile since he's taken an interest in a case. That was until a serial killer made his entrance into the crime scene. One so brutal and sadistic that it immediately made Malak want to catch them himself. The press dubbed them the Puzzle Killer, after the puzzling states his crime scenes has been discovered, almost appearing like the aftermath of a twisted game session.

While tailing one of the suspects, Malak bumps into an intriguing man who surprisingly holds many of the same ideologies as he does. After introducing themselves Malak finds out that the stranger is Dr Yami Muto, a rather esteemed psychiatrist in the business. They have a long chat, but after they part ways so Malak can keep following his mark, he finds the suspect brutally slain in a public bathroom. More puzzled than ever, Malak starts to put together all the odd things Yami said and grows suspicious of him.

Without any proof, he decides to pursue Yami as a suspect in his own time under the guise of friendly get-togethers, which slowly evolve into something more.

And this one, I actually have a quick excerpt for:

He looks back at Yami only briefly, noticing the strikingly calm demeanour that was radiating of him. "What's your doctor profession? Surgery? Pediatrics?", inquiries continued on for the other, deciding to take a seat on the subway seat. "You either must have a lot of patience or you must be enjoying yourself."

It's a half witted joke on Malak's part, something to ease the conversation rather than the intensifying atmisohere.

"Psychiatry, actually. But I can't say you're wrong about the last part." He smiles back at Malak, laughing a little, never actually clarifying which statement the other man was right about.

"If you think about it, this is a bit like an impromptu social experiment." The doctor explains, motioning around the wagon with an open hand with a certain eagerness in his movements. "All these people from different demographics trapped in a small enclosed space for an undetermined amount of time with possibly limited resources isn't something you'd get to observe every day."

#consider this my halloween post this year lol #one of the bests part in writing yami malik is picking which name he goes by in the fic #yugioh #yugioh dm #ygo dm #my fic #wips #bakura #thief king bakura #yami bakura #yugi muto #yami yugi #atem #malik ishtar #marik ishtar #yami malik #yami marik #ryou bakura #puzzleshipping #tendershipping #eclipseshipping #clashshipping #baka stuff

[angeloncewas]

HEY so i just finished episode 5!! they’re about to go into combat at the pit!! this is SO awesome i’m literally so engaged and excited about this story in a way that i haven’t been about a piece of media for a long time, it’s great. i think part of it is definitely that brennan is such an amazinggg dm and the players are so good at roleplay too, it all ends up being very engaging and compelling - and the randomness of the rolls keeps me on my toes because i can’t really figure out where the stories gonna go!!! it’s just so awesome :333

i think right now my favorites are riz (from a character standpoint he’s just sooo fascinating, i made a post about it), fig for her absolute hilarity in every moment, and gorgug in a like more lowkey way because he’s just so freaking sweet. i like fabian and kristin a lot too because i think they’re both gonna get REALLY interesting in a bit with the way their characters are. adaine is also dear to me with how honest she is - even with her nervousness and sadness she’s such a good friend and she’s so brave when it comes to standing up for them. i’m really excited to keep watching them :)

and yes the combat is just sooo fun and cool and the more roleplay heavy episodes are also GREAT and equally engaging and it’s just!! they made this so well!!! i’m so glad i get to enjoy it!!! deffo my favorite parts have been the high speed chase with johnny spells and his teifling gang and getting ice cream after, that was such a fun episode…

but yeah i LOVE this show and i love d&d now and i’ve been making my own character (aasimar warlock :3) and falling more in love with the game and everything and just!!!! it’s so nice to find something like this, where i didn’t expect to love it this much and i do :) i see why you like it and i’m rlly excited for sophomore year too bc you mentioned that one was really impactful for you!!

ps if you have any fic reccs… especially character/relationship studies….. :3<3

Sorry I took so long to respond !!! I read this and was like :O and then immediately fell into a weird hole. But I'm here now

I'm so so so glad you like it. I remember when I first discovered fantasy high I was watching it between every break like I really could not put it down in a way i'd rarely experienced

I need to go looking for your Riz post because i LOVE Riz so much he is so me vibes (also not at all, but really kind of) --- but really altogether they make such a well-rounded group to me and you really highlighted what makes each of them special. Jonny Spells is so funny and that chase is sooo good --- really opened my eyes to what D&D could be way back when.

Very interested in your character too ! You're always so creative in that way I never make ocs Fic recs (that you may have already seen but that I stand by dearly):

take my heart, pull it apart; Fig character study; "It's a great day. Until her horns grow in."

Strongtower Luxury Apartments, Units 304 & 306; Kristen living with Fig and Gilear (sulfuric is such a good writer)

arm yourself for adventure; very AU start; "The adventure began in a tavern, which, as far as Riz knew, was pretty standard."

six hours to breathe again; very different sci-fi AU but super fascinating; "This is all for Adaine, they're going to get her back, finally, once and for fucking all, and then Riz is going to put a bullet in Biz Glitterdew's greasy fucking forehead." (knightserrand also has a great back catalog)

interchange; role swap role swap role swap !!!; "a pirate cleric, a goblin bard, a Helioic fighter, an elven barbarian, a tiefling rogue, and a half-orc wizard."

I have more that are sophomore year related too :)

#angel answers #diasybe #fic rec

[kayedium-writes]

Ten Lines Tag

Rules: Pick any ten of your fics, scroll to the midpoint, pick a line (or three or more) then share it. Tag others if you want.

I think I was tagged forever ago by @writingpotato07 and @alonelyturtle before I dropped off the grid, and now @mrsmungus - so thank all three of you for the tags!

Leaving an open tag tonight while I try to catch up!

(And I'm stealing this random number generator idea because it is great, so between 1-41 for the works I have on my AO3!)

Fic 33 - On the Boardwalk

“Or maybe Leia has the both of you wrapped around her finger equally,” Ahsoka quipped as she quickly tore off a chunk of Padmé’s funnel cake and leaped away before she could react. His wife’s eyes went wide, her ears turning red, and he couldn’t resist snickering. No one messes with her food. Ahsoka was as good as dead.

Fic 16 - I Can Explain, I Swear

“Hi…” Ahsoka opened the door looking like death warmed over, the hood of her jacket pulled tightly around her face, her nose slightly red and voice full of congestion. “I feel like garbage.”

Fic 5 - Personal Failings

He had failed her.

Fic 41 - Friends of the Bride & Groom - Chapter 3

“Let me take you home,” he blurted out. Was he always like this, or was it a side effect of all the alcohol he’d dumped into his body? “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re drunk, remember?” He looked around, stumbling a bit. Which was all the answer she needed. “Look, you can’t take me home. You can’t even walk a straight line.” “Then let me get you a taxi,” he offered. It was a more rational idea, probably more so than anything else he suggested. “And I can ride with you. I should probably go home myself.”

Fic 32 - You're My Lobster

“Was that a quote from Friends?” Ahsoka snickered from the other room. “God, you’re corny.”

Fic 31 - Dahlia

“I think… You are so beautiful,” he breathed.

Fic 39 - Are We There Yet?

He was rethinking every idea he ever had. Between his twin children rambling on, Ahsoka’s whining from the trunk, and Padmé’s humming to keep herself content... He was gonna lose it by the time they made it to Florida.

Fic 9 - A Snuggle for Your Scare

“Then we won’t be watching anymore of the… Whatever their names are. Jason Myers, Michael Krueger… Hannibal!” “That was insanely pathetic,” he said with a laugh. “Michael Myers was right there, and you didn’t get that one on your own?”

Fic 12 - Countdown to Forever

“Ani!” She strolled over, running a finger along the picture frame. Of all the photos, he’d used her headshot from her time as president of the student government. Soon, she swore to herself, they would replace it with one of them instead. Something current and much more flattering. “You did not have to do this.”

Fic 20 - Love and Basketball

Somehow, without even hearing where the story was going next, she had a pretty good idea of how it ended. Anakin and his damn ego were going to end them all one day if he didn’t learn how to back away from a challenge. She nodded along as he continued feeding her pointless details about the alleged basketball game, drawing diagrams in the air like she could follow anything he was talking about. 

#anidala fanfiction #fanfic snippet #anakin x padme #moder au #happy skywalker family au #open tag

[marshmallowprotection]

Heya, Kait! Been a while, huh? A lot has happened honestly. I started to post some of my art here, even though I'm not that motivated to do digital art much-

I don't want to make this too long but I've actually gotten way more comfortable with self-shipping with the second character I told you about! I'd like to tell you a bit about him, too. His name is Yatora Yaguchi, he is from Blue Period!

Recently I've actually gotten a bit more better at my art and even a bit more confident all thanks to this media and especially Yatora. His experiences with art made me feel seen because I relate so much to how he feels and the way he learns more about art had opened my eyes in so much stuff about art as well. I'd love to ramble about how much Yatora means to me but it's gonna be extremely long, honestly.

He is a very emotional and insecure guy deep inside and he tries his best with art and even to have good relationships with the people around him, even if he doesn't fully agree with them. He is friendly and I love his appearance a lot. The fact he cries easily and blushes very easily makes me appreciate him even more, he's so cool istg- I find how hard he works very admirable and so much stuff about him.

I still tend to focus on Saeyoung as well sometimes but my main focus is Yatora for now. Although, I do want to focus more on the redhead, Saeyoung has also helped me through a lot in my life and I feel grateful for both him and Yatora.

I tried redoing Saeyoung's route once more and I still feel myself loving this precious redhead. I just wish I could focus on the both of them equally. Even if I could do a crossover between the two, I'm not really sure about it so I just imagine two different versions of myself in their worlds.

But I am kinda sad there's not a lot of fics, fanart (ngl it's mostly ship art even though there's.. no romance in the actual series) and other stuff of Yatora. At least we have an anime of this series and a lot of manga panels of this boy, even official merch and more but I can always write self-inserts or even random prompts I find online. Even though the manga is still ongoing, I'm thinking of not doing many self-inserts with Yatora yet. I do wanna see the whole story fully before inserting myself into it. Though I know it's gonna take months, even years.

Other stuff.. I'm at my grandma's! I'm still kinda sad I can't use a bike because it has some problems, we still have cats, chickens, actual ground outside I can walk for a while and even going to the beach by my uncle's car. And I won't lie, it feels.. lonely a lot here? I don't do much during the day, sure I draw here and there but that's it mostly.

The people that used to come out to play with balls and even ride their bikes aren't really here anymore. They grew up and stopped coming. So I'm just trying to get through the days as much as I can.

And one thing that actually happened recently.. remember when I named you after a Snow Wraith, Kait? Sadly, the game shut down a while ago. And the thing is that it actually shut down the exact same day I came at my grandma's. I don't mind that I wasn't on at the last moments of this game but man, it's still something.

It's insane how all my dragons must be at the hidden world by now. I actually started that account when I was here at my grandma's. So the game ending the same day I finally came at my grandma's makes me feel some type of way.

I actually used to play that game for at least 7+ years and then settled on working on one account, no matter how long it took, which was this one. I actually had most dragons but them making everything free at the end which allowed me to get everything and get them to the max instantly felt kinda.. off.

So for 2-3 days. I flew around with every single one of my dragons, fed them fully and took off their saddles before saying goodbye. I took screenshots of every single one of them, too. It feels weird but this game was really fun sometimes.

I think I'll end my rambling here, I'd love to send asks about Yatora and Saeyoung and ramble about them. Yatora gets really flustered just like our redhead Saeyoung and it's making me smile a lot. Although at Yatora's side, he isn't exactly a dude who teases someone else or flirts. I love how even though Yatora and Saeyoung have some similarities, they are still different.

I hope you have been well, Kait. I miss sending asks, haha. Please let me know how you are, I'd love to know and catch up with you!

Hello, hello! I'm happy to hear that you're doing better. I'm sorry that your favorite dragon game shut down its servers. I've had two games do that this year and it really bites. It definitely makes me wish there was a way to get tangible offline versions of our favorite games so it would never be lost, but that's a tough bargain in our society. All that leaves us with is the memories, and that's not too bad, because we'll always have those.

I don't know anything about Blue Period but I've seen the art before and it looks pretty! I think it's great when you find a character who's capable of reaching you and showing you something that you didn't know about yourself until you dove into the story. Like, it's important to have those experiences with characters, regardless of if we love it or not.

Sometimes, you need a hard mirror to look at instead of a soft way. I feel that way about some characters. As much as I love growth from tenderness, damn, sometimes we need a smack in the face to see a new angle we never imagined before, you know what I mean? I get it from the strangest places! So, yeah. It's not weird.

When it comes to tying to your different loves together, there is no right or wrong way. I definitely enjoy crossovers where I can find the best way to see myself with all my favorite characters, or at least, two of them because I love world-building and seeing where that goes...

I am just that kind of person, though! I can't tell you how interesting it is to have my brain debate the best way to tie together Obey Me and Mystic Messenger or Mystic Messenger and Tears of Themis or what have you!

I'd love to hear you babble about your new love whenever you get the chance to! I've got a lot of free time and I love talking to my buddies online about everything, not just MM.

So, if you get the urge out of the blue, just send me an ask!

If you're doubtful of that working out, though, don't worry about trying to tie them all together, friend. You don't need to tie those universes together if it's hard or you're getting comfort in different ways from each character. Not everything has to unite, sometimes you just need to have things pushed apart!

I'm doing alright these days. Some days are tough, some days are easier, and some are in the middle. Pain flares have been more often these days, though. It makes it hard to write so I'm not putting out as much as I want, but hey, health comes first and that's just how it is. I can't nudge myself into exhaustion. Saeran wouldn't like that and it's that fact that keeps me taking care of myself. Cheesy, but it works, I think that's a good thing.

Right now, I'm working on some self-care. I want to put out another installment in my self-insert series with Ray... I've got the plot set up and I'm so close to getting things where I want them to be.

#stormflypirateskin #ask #mod kait

[ofbuttsandbombs]

Back in 2016, Friends was the first sitcom I ever watched. It was funny and distracting and I had just begun college and my course was regarded as one of the toughest and my daily commute was over three hours total and I was little more than a tittering ball of stress and nerves.

I started watching Friends because, well, everybody was, and I needed to something to do on the train, bus and taxi that I had I to take to reach my uni.

Thus began my foray into the world of television.

I tore through the 'classics'. How I Met Your Mother and The Office and Scrubs and Parks and Rec and Modern Family and Community (interspersed between the rare non-sitcom like Once Upon A Time and Game of Thrones and The Americans) and then the newer ones too, Superstore and The Good Place and Schitt's Creek and of course, Brooklyn Nine-Nine.

I loved all of them. I still do. Something about the format of sitcoms is so comforting and entertaining to me. I loved them all equally, and I tore through each like I was getting paid for it.

An innocuous remark made by my best friend in the beginning of 2018 changed the course of my life.

"You've watched Brooklyn Nine-Nine, right? Rosa's bachelorette was so cool. If I ever get married, you better do something like that for me."

I couldn't remember Rosa's bachelorette. Watching nearly 50 shows over the past 2 years will jumble some stuff up for you.

"I'll keep that in mind," I told her, and when I went home, I typed in Rosa Diaz Bachelorette into the YouTube search bar.

That, my friends, was the beginning of the end.

I laughed through the bachelorette clip on YouTube. I laughed through the various compilations I saw next, as YouTube did its job of sucking me into a never ending video watching hell hole, the kind that ends with you watching Find Out How Many Cockroach Legs Are in a Bar of Chocolate at 3 AM.(in my case, it was something like Jake and Amy Turning Each Other On for 8 Minutes)

And for the very first time in my life, I decided to rewatch a show.

I've never rewatched any show. Not before then, and not now. Only one show has recieved that honour, and it is B99. I don't know what happened on this first rewatch. Suddenly, Noice became a part of my vocabulary, Title of your Sex Tape jokes were sprinkled into every conversation and Jake and Amy decided to march their way into my clown heart and brain and never left.

This random show hit me with an obsession so hard I couldn't think of anything else. If someone calculated how many hours I've spent daydreaming about Jake and Amy, my mother would probably burst into tears for "wasting my time and putting my future in jeopardy."

The last three years are a blur of studying, stressing and Brooklyn Nine Nine. I was at an internet-less nature camp during the Great Cancellation Saga of 2018, and came back home to the news that b99 had been cancelled and picked up again. I thanked my lucky stars I had missed it. I would not have dealt well with the cancellation news.

In the end of 2018, when multiple rewatches of Johnny and Dora and HalloVeen couldn't satisfy my brain's constant yearning for a hit of Peraltiago, I turned to fanfiction.

I've never looked back.

And now, after three seasons of watching live, after too much discourse about many things, after three years of drooling over Andy, after a gazillion months of hiatus- here we are.

The end of the end.

Obviously, I am sad and scared and angry and miserable and in denial and excited and on the edge of my seat and upset. I'd rather wait 10 years for a new season than have to deal with the fact that I'll never get to see a new episode. I'm just gonna wallow in my misery today. Because, yeah, we'll still have 8 seasons to re-watch, and so many fics to re-read but also, the series finale is upon us, and Brooklyn Nine-Nine is finally coming to an end.

It's hard to come to terms with this fact even when we all knew this day would come. But here it is at last, and we cannot do anything, except be sad and hurt and excited and also celebrate this funny little show that introduced us to a whole new world, to new people, to new friends. And though this chapter is now closing, it's always gonna be a part of my story.

I am so grateful to the various blogs on here that I could always count on for my daily dose of b99. The HCs and ficlets have really kept me going.

I will be incapacitated for today and for the better part of next week, if not longer. Off to wallow some more,

-A.

#i know no one's gonna read this #but i just needed to get it out there in the world! #im a mess today and im not thinking rationally #everything hurts #b99 final season #b99 #b99 s8 #bye bye nine nine

[honeyhenry]

Captain Confusion

A/N: Inspired by this video that makes me weep with its cuteness! I just had to write this okay 🥺🥺🥺 This is in the same universe as Homeward Bound, which happens after this story. Feel free to give it a read after this, if you haven’t already! ALSO should note that the lovely @ohmygoodie​ is my Sy partner in crime and without them this fic would not be made possible :)

Warning: mention of operations/hospitals, and a whole lot of fluff!

It was a simple procedure and so it hadn't worried you too much, other than the usual fears when a loved one is under the knife while in the hands of trained doctors. Sy’s hernia had been authorised for operation only five minutes into the doctor’s appointment you had all but dragged him to, and scheduled for 4 days later. Not really much time to prepare mentally, but you knew it was necessary with your big bear of a man in pain. Despite the painkillers prescribed, he was walking with a limp and groaning in bed for all the wrong reasons.

In the waiting room, you and his Ma kept busy during the 45 minute wait by looking through magazines, talking about how the Captain’s quality of life will improve, and what kind of minor jobs you’ll have him do around the house while he’s recovering as you continue to work.

“I hope the recovery isn’t as long as some people have said. I know for a fact he’ll not want to be cooped up all day. If he’s anything, he’s stubborn” you sigh, knowingly.

Ma smiles, looking at you pointedly, knowing that she is in the presence of the only other soul who knows what is best for her son. “He knows better now that his health is his wealth. He’s got a lot more riding on being well now. After all, it’s not just him he’s gotta be there for anymore.”

“Yeah, I mean I always tell him, he’s not 25 anymore. Or even 30. I’ll need you to back me up, he does anything you say. I’m his equal, you’re his Mom.”

You both laugh a little, hers warm and kind, while yours tinges with the remaining hopeful nerves of an army Captain’s wife. You don’t like not knowing about your Sy, especially since you spent all those years apart, not knowing if he was safe, or even alive. The waiting, in any capacity, is the hardest part.

You’re flipping through a random tabloid magazine, when the surgeon in charge walks through to the waiting room.

“Everything went really well with Captain Syverson. He’s coming to from the anaesthetic and asking for his Ma?”

Ma grins before sucking her teeth between her lips watching as your mouth drops. You both move from the waiting area to follow the surgeon towards where your husband is resting. You speak under your breath, only wanting Sy’s Ma to hear you; “I hope he still remembers how to grovel after this.”

Ma enters the room with you following her, arriving only a couple more corridors along from where you’d last seen him earlier that morning. He may not have asked for you but you were going to see Sy whether he wanted it or not. A grand push of the door allows it to swing open, and suddenly there he is. A little disoriented but has a large dopey smile plastered on his face as soon as he sees his Ma. His heavy head lolls to one side as he rests it on the plush hospital pillow.

“Hey Ma” he groans out as she bends over her large son to give his forehead a kiss, taking his hand in hers. He spends a moment just gazing at her for a while, the love he has for her evident on his face, as she tells him that everything went well, and that he can go home tomorrow.

It’s only after this tender mother and son moment, that he notices you.

“Ma.... why ya bringing a beautiful girl here when I’m like this...oh god I’m not wearing underwear Ma!”

His feeble attempt at trying to cover himself means that you actually end up seeing far more of him than you expected. Nothing you hadn’t seen before, but it definitely hasn't happened in front of his own mother before. The whole situation makes you blush and giggle a little as you try your best to avoid eye contact with Ma. You can only imagine the look on her face, and you don’t want to get any more involved with Sy’s naked form than you need to right now.

Rather than put you and your poor Sy through any further embarrassment, Ma speaks up.

“Oh darlin’, this is y/n. You remember her, right?”

And while he’s listening - or at least pretending to listen to his Ma fussing over him again - he’s just staring at you, gazing in awe as if you were the one to hang the stars in the sky.

“You are.... so pretty” he slurs, making you break out a genuine smile that he mirrors, glad that he was the one to make you look even more pretty.

“Well thanks handsome. How do you feel?” you perch on the edge of the bed and hold his hand. To him, the gesture feels warm and inviting - even if he doesn't know you, he recognises something about you in the comfort that you bring.

“Feel like shit. Oh fuck i said ‘shit’ in front of the lady” he whines again, scrunching his eyes closed as hangs his head in shame. It looks like he might even cry with the realisation that he’s made such a foolish impression of himself. It takes Ma shushing him and making him take a sip of juice from his bedside to calm down, dabbing his face with a cloth when his juice spills from his mouth.

“Oh Logan Daniel Syverson...what did they do to ya?” she lightly scolds as she helps clean up the mess he’s unknowingly created around him. That’s your Sy, a hurricane of mess that somehow fits into order just how he likes it.

You giggle a little more at his shameful expression, before he refocuses, giving you his undivided attention once more.

“How is it that ya know my Ma and we’ve never met? Or have we? ‘Cause I think i’d remember a face like yours” 

“Well...” you start, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear to let him see your entire face, hoping it would jog his memory. As you do so, the ring on your fourth finger glints in the hospital light, and for the first time since you've entered the room, he’s noticed.

“Oh...man...knew a girl like you would be snatched up already. Whoever has the honour of being yours is a very lucky man.” He smiles softly, a wistful look in his eye, while makes you realise that you can’t wait for the drugs to leave his system, you have to remind him who you are and who he is, right this very moment.

“Sy honey... we’re married. You’re my husband, and I’m your wife. I think the drugs are making you more than a bit loopy.”

It’s his turn for his jaw to drop, his eyes are unblinking as he takes in what you’ve just said. He turns sharply - more than his doctor would have probably liked - to his Ma, and then back to you, and then his Ma again, waiting for one of you to burst out laughing at the prank you surely must be playing on him.

“Wha-? A wife? I have a wife?” you nod and he exhales a deep breath of air in amazement. 

“YOU’RE my wife? Really?” you nod again and Ma smiles at you as she watches the scene of Logan meeting you all over again.

“Am I still in the army? I’m a Captain ya know”

“You left just a few months ago. You still work in the local camps, of course. You like it there, and you’re home every night and most weekends.”

“Does Ma like you?” You don’t even get a chance to finish as he turns to his mother “Do you like her? is she nice? Does she like your new kitchen? I built it y’know.” 

You knew when you met, dated, and married him, that Sy was a Momma’s boy. He loves his mother so much, that her opinion will always mean the world to him. 

Ma nods “You two are the sweetest couple. She’s the best addition to the family, gives you a run for your money alright. She’s my new favourite.” You get a soft hug from her as she says this, with her wrapping her arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. She’s always felt so grateful that her Logan found you, because my goodness did he love you ferociously, and he needed you in his life. You were the making of him, and the whole Syverson clan will forever be grateful to you for it.

"And where did we get married? If we really are married.” He continues his line of questioning.

“At the ranch, on your family’s land. it was such a special day. We had the reception there too. And we went to Italy for our honeymoon.”

Sy is basking in every word you say, praying it to be true, as if he could will it into existence if it hadn’t already happened, wanting badly to remember sunset kisses and italian food and beach days all spent with you. He perks up at the last thing you say, taken by complete surprise.

“Honeymoon?! Oh my god have we...ya know..?” A blush fades over Sy’s face, and even though you love his Ma, you really wish she wasn’t finding out so many details about your personal life today, like how your son rails you on the regular in many ways, and in many places. He must somehow remember or at least accurately imagine your past endeavours, as he grins like a little shit. 

You smack his arm, lightly but with a firm hand.

“Be quiet, or the whole ward will know about our sex life” you threaten. “Yes we’ve had sex. i’d hope so given that we have a kid on the way.”

If Ma had had to deal with her son getting horny over his “new”wife, she was being fully compensated for it as she witnessed him fall head over heels in love with you, all over again.

“A kid?...Tell me ya not messing with me...are we really- I-” he swallows and his tears come even easier than before “We’re havin’ a baby?” With the sudden realisation, he turns to his Ma. “This beautiful woman right here’s havin’ my kid, Ma?” He looks between the two of you again, watching as you both nod and beam from ear to ear.

“You know you cried just as much when i told you for the first time too. i promise when the drugs are out your system it’ll all make sense again.”

Sy smiles, clutching your hand in his warm palm, almost scared to let go as the door is knocked and he feels you might be taken away. Instead, it’s a welcome visitor.

“Hey doc,” Sy greets the man who reenters the room, now freshly out of scrubs  to visit his patient - who if anything is now simply love sick, no hernia to be found. “This is my wife, and she’s having a baby.” he looks back to you with a quirk of his eyebrow “My baby?” You roll your eyes and he confirms it; “my baby.”

“Oh, congratulations...again.”

The doctor’s evaluation and explanations don’t take long, and while Sy is being informed, you start rubbing your belly as a form of self-comfort. You will need to remind your child that while their father looks incredibly stern and impossibly large, he is silly and goofy and already loves them with his entire being. Over the course of the afternoon, Sy talks with you while the anaesthetic wears off. It turns out they had given him a pretty high dosage based on his height and muscle mass, so he would be out of action for a couple of hours at least.

“Oh, i have your ring” you pipe up before he starts getting too sleepy again, taking the thick gold band off of the necklace around your neck, placing it on his finger carefully.

“That feels better already” he sighs, as he begins to doze in and out of consciousness. Before he closes his eyes once more to rest peacefully, a small tear slides down his cheek, which you of course, notice. Sy has cried maybe 5 times in the time you’ve known him and three of those times have been in this very room.

“Honey what’s wrong? Are you in pain? i can call the doctor-” 

“No i’m fine i’m fine i just-” he sniffs and tries to clear his throat from the sad, heavy pain he feels in his chest. “I’m gonna be real sad when I wake up from this dream. What if I can’t find you when I wake up?”

Oh your sweet, silly man.

“Bear it’s not a dream, I’ll be right here when you get up properly and we can go home and cuddle and I’ll heat up your favourite meal. I’ll be right there with you.”

“And the baby?” he asks, eyes wide. almost nervous to ask.

“Well they have to come too, they're with me. We can look at their pictures again so you can get reacquainted. And Aika will be so happy you’re back. We’ve been gone the whole day.”

“Aika!” your husband perks up, “Oh Aika, man....I love that dog..”

“I know you do bear, you just get some rest for now and then we can go home.”

Before you know it, he’s fallen back to sleep, his mouth wide open as he slumps against his pillow, completely out of it.

It’s dark outside when Sy opens his eyes again, watching as his Ma passes you a small herbal tea in the dimly lit hospital room. Technically visiting hours are over, but no one was going to argue with the Captain’s family. You smile, and he feels like he can finally relax, in your presence

“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes” he growls lowly, and you look up at him from your phone, beaming in surprise, glad that your husband had woken up feeling a bit more like himself.

“Oh hello again” you smile and squeeze his hand, his slow blinking already indicating a much clearer mind, and that he knows exactly who you are.

“Again? What’d I miss?”

“The drugs” he stops you mid-sentence for a sweet kiss, acting as though a minute more without your lips would be the source of his downfall. “Mmmh, the drugs made you so loopy, it was the sweetest thing, Sy.” You grin as he pulls you up beside him on the bed.

He raises his eyebrows, clearly with no recollection of any of the past events. Yet still, he smiles.

“Yeah? How’s baby?” he holds you close to his side, wrapping an arm around your waist so he can cover your tummy with his palm.

“They’re great. Glad to have daddy back and sane.”

You swear that as you say that, he starts tearing up again, this time however he doesn’t let them fall. He was openly weeping earlier, but you won’t tell him that. Not yet.

“Damnit. Must be something in these drugs they got me on.”

“Mm-hmm sure bear.”

You stay close that evening, both curled up on a hospital bed that is already quite a tight fit for your husband alone. But as always, he makes it work. You’re half on top of him, both of you fast asleep, when the nurses come to do their rounds. Ma had left just after he had woken up, sneaking off into the night to let the rest of the family know how her most middle son is keeping after the operation. You’d cuddled and doted on each other until you’d fallen asleep, Sy following not long after as he bid goodnight to you and your precious cargo with a soft kiss to your lips, and protective rub of your stomach.

He counts himself more than lucky to have something so good, that it would pain him to forget. He was living the life that he’d been too scared to ever dream of, and he couldn’t be more grateful.

taglist: @ohmygoodie​ @michelehansel​ @la-cey​ @palaiasaurus64​ @sassy-pelican​ @brandycranby​

Masterlist

feedback / ask me a question here!!

#captain syverson x reader #captain syverson #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill #henry cavill characters #dad!syverson #dad!sy #cavillary #my writing #syverson x reader

[fanfic-me-up]

Capture This! || Kaminari Denki

Synopsis: You walk in on Denki, your best friend of five years, getting off. Two questions: Why is there a picture of you? And why do you want him to take more? 

Pairing: Kaminari Denki x fem!reader

Warnings: M/E+, 18+, explicit sexual content

Word Count: 6k+

A/N: This is for the @bnhabookclub​ bingo event! Thank you @shoutogepi​ and @im-here-for-the-heroes​ for beta reading. Shout out to @whats-her-quirk​ this fic was born from me poppin in during your thirst hours lol

“Lotion? Check. Tissues? Check. Pictures?” 

Denki swallows. 

“Check.”

It’s routine for Denki, really the only ritual he sticks to in his otherwise scatterbrained schedule of kickin’ ass, chilling with friends, and playing Fortnite till ungodly hours of the morning.

But he can’t help it. You’re fucking gorgeous, and Denki has needs - his brain programmed to get off at least three times a day else he can’t function. The first time it happened, he felt a deep sense of shame, twisting his gut, disgusted with himself that he defiled your image. He couldn’t look you in the eye for a week until you had enough and demanded to know what was up. It was the first time he lied to you. 

But one time became two, and three, and suddenly Denki needed an image of you all the time. The one of you looking all pretty in that stupid summer dress was his favorite. You bought it that one time you dragged him to the mall because you needed a “guy’s opinion.” He rushed to the bathroom because if he didn’t get out fast, he was gonna drag you back into the changing room and rip that dress off himself.

You’re adorable, hot, sexy, and absolutely terrifying, wrapped up in one perfect package.

Oh, and did he forget to mention?

Totally off-limits.

This is why Denki has to resort to hanging out with you, listening to you vent about your boy problems, and how you just want to meet “the one” already. Denki’s heart breaks a little more every time you shove him deeper into the friend zone, all the while pretending like he didn’t just jerk it to you a couple hours before.

He works his hand up and down his shaft, growing harder by the second with each stroke. It doesn’t take much to get him going, not when it’s you. You’re wearing his hoodie, toes buried in the sand, roasting a marshmallow in front of a bonfire. You’re smiling at something Kirishima said, Denki doesn’t remember what, because all he could see was the light in your eyes. A genuine spark lit only when the cameras were off, and you were unaware of anyone watching. Denki loved witnessing these rare moments; wanted to commit it to memory, so he did. When you posted the picture on Instagram, Denki was more than surprised; you had scrunched your nose when he showed you the picture, displeased with how you looked.

This should not be happening. Any normal person would feel ashamed when staring at a picture of their best friend and touching themselves. No one knew about it, and Denki was surprised he was able to keep it a secret for this long considering he’s friends with fucking Mina of all people.

Enough pre-cum bubbles at the tip that he doesn’t even need the lotion. Staring at you on the screen, wearing his hoodie that’s way too big it covers your thighs completely, makes his mind wander to all sorts of ways he wishes he could get you out of that hoodie. He leans back into the chair, spreading his legs with his eyes half-lidded, imagining what your lips might look like wrapped around his cock. 

“Fuck yeah...”

Groaning at the image of you on your knees, lips bruised and slicked with spit from fucking your pretty little mouth has Denki tightening his fist, hips fucking into his hand in a continuous rhythm. 

He’s on the verge of coming when the door swings open - the first and last person Denki wants to walk in is standing there in front of him.

“Hey, I called, but you didn’t - ah!” You squeak, throwing the box you’re holding. A sea of random knick-knacks and hero merch rains over you. You hear a thump when the yellow polaroid camera you bought for Denki at a thrift shop hits the floor. 

“Fuck!” Denki jumps from his chair, an array of pens fall in a heap to the floor. 

You whip your head away, heat spikes your body, embarrassed that you saw your best friend in such a compromising position. 

Denki mutters a repeated “shit shit shit” to himself for a good minute before he finally addresses you; his voice rising with each word.

“How did you get in here!?”

“Spare key, dumbass!” 

“That’s for emergencies only!”

“Are you talking to me with your dick out!?”

Silence.

“No?”

You huff at the uncertainty in his tone. It’s only two o’clock, and you can already feel a migraine coming on.

“Denki, if I turn around and you’re not covered, so help me god I will-”

“Okay, okay, I got it. Pants are zipped.” 

You don’t move until you hear the confirming “zip” before slowly opening your eyes (you have no idea why your eyes were closed in the first place), and you turn around to find Denki leaning against the desk. He’s trying his best to appear casual, but the flush on his face and frazzled hair give away what he was doing moments before you walked in. You don’t know where it comes from, but the thought alone stirs something inside you.

The confusing emotion is replaced by hot-blooded anger when you lock eyes on the screen behind him.

“Is that my face!?” 

Denki’s smile drops as he turns around. Dammit. Of course, he forgot to close the tab.

“Uhhh…”

He has no words, none, not when you’re standing there with that intense look in your eyes you get when you’re about to rip someone a new one. Your anger could rival Bakugou’s, and Denki has unfortunately been in the middle of one too many screaming matches. He’s surprised his eardrums aren’t blown out by now.

He clicks to exit out, or at least he thinks he does until he comes to the dumb realization that he’s clicking the zoom button instead. 

“Ho-hold on, let me just…” 

With each click, it zooms a little more into your face until only your nose is in the frame. Denki sheepishly looks up at you.

“Oops?”

Denki’s had a good life. He’s already come farther than most ever dream in their career when becoming a pro-hero, and he’s made some amazing friends most spend years trying to find. The only regret of his is not confessing his true feelings to you, but really what’s one regret? He’s totally a-okay with saying goodbye to this cruel, cruel world if it meant not being subjected to this torture any longer. 

“Denki Kaminari.”

Denki gulps. Oh no. You only say his full name when you mean business. 

“Explain right this instant or I will walk out this door and tell the whole world how you and grape boy took body shots off cardboard cutouts of each other!”

“Hey! We were really fuckin’ drunk and thought it might score us some pity sex with the ladies!” 

“In what world would you licking fuckin’ Mineta equal oh yeah, fuck me, Denki?”

Denki cowers with each step you take, gulping down the lump in his throat when your face is close enough to hold in his hands. He’s never been more simultaneously turned on and terrified in his life. Especially when he just heard the words “fuck me, Denki” escape your lips.

Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Whatever you do. Don’t. Look. Down.

The last thing he wants is you flinging him out the window because he couldn’t keep his eyes on your face. Don’t get him wrong; he could look at your face forever, even when you look like your one move away from killing him. But… he’s a dude, and there’s boobs in front of him, not to mention your boobs.

“Hello? Earth to Denki?” You wave your hand in his face.

“You may wanna sit down for this.” 

“I’m fine where I am, thank you very much.” 

He huffs out a breath, annoyed you didn’t take the bait. The suggestion was more for his sanity than yours. With you standing so close, his brain is going haywire; the tantalizing scent of strawberries and cream short-circuiting his brain quicker than when he overuses his quirk. It never fails to make his mouth water, if only he could bend down and bury his nose in the crook of your neck, god, he’d never let you go.

How does he even begin to work through the feelings he has for you when they’ve been bottled up since the moment he knew he was in deep? Where does he start?

The fact he’s been in love with you for the past five years? 

Or that he’s been getting off to you for half that time? 

Denki’s mind is running a mile a minute, like a computer in overdrive. He can’t make enough sense of his emotions to convert into words. But, instead of waiting to open his mouth, like a normal person, Denki spews out embarrassing word vomit that connects his two thoughts.

“I love getting off to you.”

A pin could drop, and it’d be as loud as a freaking hurricane. 

Denki groans in frustration, facepalming his forehead. What the hell did he just say, and can he take it back? How long would it take for him to hack into a database and find someone with a time manipulation quirk? He doesn’t even know how to hack, but he’d wrangle his one brain cell and fucking learn if that’s what it takes.

He’s usually good at reading you. You’re one of the few people he cares enough to pick up on how you’re feeling. The myriad of emotions that pass on your face from shock to confusion to a hint of amusement lets Denki know he can breathe easy. At least you’re not trying to kill him anymore.

“Oh-kay that’s not what I - what I meant to say was - hold on, lemme just, rewind.”

He makes some weird, loopy gesture with his arms. His brain was firing a million synapses at once, each connected to a different thought, some deep like the fear of losing you and some not so deep - like he’s really excited to eat the cheeseburgers Bakugou promised he’d grill tonight. 

But he tries his best to reign in the million and one thoughts to focus on you, who’s waiting for an explanation. He takes a deep breath to steady his heart that’s about to beat out of his chest. He only hopes you don’t stomp on it after what he’s about to say.

“I’m in love with you, Y/N. I have been since our first year at U.A. I wanted to tell you for the longest time, but then you got with Bakugou. Then you broke up, and you needed a friend more than ever, and how could I say no to being ‘your best bro’ when you were crying on my shoulder? It was just never the right time.”

The more he rambled, the more uncomfortable he felt. Out of all the scenarios he imagined of how he’d confess to you, this one was at the bottom of his list to be prepared for. He never expected to be forced into confessing because you caught him masturbating to pictures of you. He rubs the back of his neck and gives an awkward laugh when you stay silent.

“I get it if you wanna, like, shun me forever or something. I deserve it for being such a creep.” 

Denki lowers his head to the floor, the clutter of fallen pens and knick-knacks looks way less intimidating than staring into your eyes. A soft hand touches his chin, lifting his face to meet yours.

“Hey, look at me, it’s okay.” 

Your voice does wonders for soothing the nerves shaking him up.

“I guess it’s not that creepy when you put it like that, and for some weird reason, you’re like the one person I can catch jacking off to my pictures, and I don’t feel the need to report you as a registered sex offender.”

It’s meant to be reassuring, but Denki’s heart drops at the idea of you labeling him as the neighborhood perv.

“Please, don’t do that,” he squeaks before clearing his throat, “But for real, Y/N, I’m so sorry. It’s wrong to disrespect you like that, and I promise I won’t do it again.”

Denki has no idea how he’s gonna get off now, but that’s his future self’s problem.

“I can’t help it, you’re gorgeous, and I love ya, and I don’t remember the last time I got laid.”

Fuck. He didn’t mean to say that last part, but it’s the truth. You’re the reason he couldn’t even look at another girl, because they weren’t you, and that’s why he had to resort to pulling up pictures of you. Pictures that aren’t normally deemed “sexy” and of you dressed modestly, without much skin showing.

That doesn’t stop Denki from coming in record time with your name rolling off his lips every time.

“How bad do you want me?”

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t the least bit curious about what sex with your best friend would be like. You heard he wasn’t a bad lay from a couple girls back at U.A. 

You’d also be lying if you didn’t say you were just as horny as said best friend.

It’s difficult finding time to date as a pro-hero. When you do, it doesn’t last very long anyway - the other person growing tired of always coming second to your career. Don’t even get you started on one night stands. They’re practically impossible to uphold as once the media gets wind of it, you’re slapped on the cover of “Hero Times Magazine,” and everyone and their mother is calling for you to “spill the tea.” This is why pro-heroes either end up with other pro-heroes or end up alone. 

Denki’s eyebrows shoot straight to his hairline. If someone were to tell him you were attracted to him in any sense of the word, his heart would double-time it, but he’d ultimately brush it off. He knew your type, and he could not be farther from it. The aggressive, beefy, gym rat who could match you move for move in a heated spar of harsh words and hot-blooded passion. You dated Bakugou for fuck’s sake! There was no hope for Denki after that.

But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t take what he can get. The words pour out of him like the dam’s been broken and the unforgiving flood rushes.

“I want you so bad, Y/N, fuck, I’ve waited so long, so fucking long, you don’t know how crazy you make me.” 

Your breath catches. His words have an unexpected effect on you, but your heart drums in anticipation. If you listen close enough, you can hear Denki’s beating at the same rate, waiting for what you’re going to say next. Power surges through you. In your past relationships, sex was always seen as this competition. Your exes never wanted to relinquish their pride or control, but Denki is nothing like your exes. He’s laid-back, always cracking jokes, and never dwelling too much on the past, always moving forward to the next moment. He’s perfectly fine with letting you take the reins most of the time. You determine what will happen next.

“You love getting off to me?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but he answers in earnest.

“You’re the only one I get off to.”

You slide your dress off, and it falls to the floor.

“Show me.”

Denki’s eyes travel over your body, his mouth slightly open in disbelief at your undressed state. He wants to capture this moment in case this is as much as he gets, even if he can never use this mental picture because he promised you he wouldn’t. His fingers itch to brush along the lace trim of your bra, to graze along your nipple, and watch your reaction. Are you sensitive enough where you’d full on moan, or would he have to strain to catch the small hitch of breath? Denki was never top of his class. He preferred to wing it and hope for the best, but for you, he’d take his time to study every inch and crevice of your body until he could read you cover to cover with his eyes closed. His gaze travels down to the matching lace panties you wear, a cute little bow in the front waiting to be untied with his teeth. 

Did you plan to get fucked today? Or do you usually wear matching sets on the regular? 

Your skin looks so soft and supple, he’s aching to dig his fingers, but before he can, you step away. Denki cocks his head. Have you changed your mind? But any doubt leaves Denki when you make your way across the room to sit down on the edge of the bed. 

You start with feather-light touches dancing along your collarbone. Your eyes are locked on Denki, getting high on the way he drinks in your every move. Your touches are teasing, especially when your finger dips down to your cleavage. Still, instead of giving Denki what he wants, you change course, making your way back to your shoulders. Denki exhales a breath at your teasing, but says nothing, too afraid he’ll ruin the mood if he says something stupid. 

When you make your way down again, you don’t disappoint; you pinch your nipple through your bra, and the way Denki swipes his tongue over his lip has heat rushing to your core. You slide your hand down your stomach, stopping when you reach your clothed slit. Denki stares, hungry and buzzing in anticipation for what you’ll do next. Smirking in victory, you spread your legs open and pull your panties to the side, giving him the view to capture the perfect picture of your dripping pussy.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” 

You taunt breathlessly, tracing your folds with your fingers.

Oh shit. Were you for real? Please, tell him you were for real because he legit might cry if this was some elaborate prank. Where are the fucking cameras? 

“You don’t want to?” You bite your lip, insecurity seeping through the confident smile you wore just a moment ago.

“No! I mean - yes! Yes, I do, holy shit, let me find - where the fuck is…” Denki whips around, trying to find his phone. Fuck! Out of all the times to misplace it, it has to be now. But then he spots the yellow polaroid camera sitting on the floor, and before he can think, he’s picking it up and praying it has film. He kneels, so he’s eye level with your pussy, but also making sure the angle gets your whole body in the frame. The light streaming in gives you an ethereal look, your skin glowing, and adding to the cute flush on your cheeks. The camera clicks, and a second later, the picture slides out. You giggle at Denki’s impatience. He’s waving the picture frantically in the air, so the color comes through faster. He completely stills when he can finally take a good look at the beauty he’s captured.

“Fuck, Y/N, you look…” 

Denki can’t control the groan that escapes. He looks back up at you, eyes darkened with lust before he’s ripping his shorts off so fast, his foot gets caught, and he almost trips in the process. Once he’s out of them, he plops back down in the chair across the room. You’re surprised when all you feel is pure, unadulterated lust. You expected to be at least a little bit weirded out staring at your best friend’s cock, but all you want is to put it in your mouth and explore all the different ways you can make him come. The tip is oozing pre-cum already, and the way he works his hand with a sense of urgency suggests he’s been hard for a while. It doesn’t take long before you hear Denki grunt.

“Fuck, I’m close.”

You look so pretty spread out for him. For the last five years, he wanted nothing more than to see you like this. His hips jerk up, and he throws his head back, but he makes sure to keep his eyes open like his life depended on it; he didn’t want to miss a second of this. You, with your legs wide open giving him a view of your perfect little pussy. Your panties soaked by you rubbing your clit mercilessly, and your pupils blown wide as you watch your best friend get off to the show you’re giving him. It’s erotic as hell, completely different from the pictures Denki has of you. This one easily tops all the others. He tightens his fist - he doesn’t want it to end without feeling your skin on his at least once.

“Let me touch you, Y/N, please, I just wanna touch you, need to feel you.” 

Denki doesn’t give a fuck that he’s begging at this point. He’s waited too damn long to care about pride or dignity, not when the chance to fuck you is placed in his shaking hands. You bite your lip to suppress a moan, but it comes out anyway.

“Touch me.” 

That’s all Denki needs. Before you know it, you’re pushed down on the bed, and lips smash against yours. He’s eager, a little too eager, shoving his tongue in your mouth and touching everywhere that he can. You don’t have much room to breathe, so you gently push at his chest.

“Chill, Denki.”

He huffs out a breath, muscles shaking like he’s restraining himself from overwhelming you.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” 

He mumbles, peppering kisses into your neck before making his way back to your lips. It’s much smoother this time, his tongue sliding out to tease your bottom lip, asking for permission this time. He groans when you open up for him, your tongue meeting his. Hands trail up until they reach around, resting on the clasp of your bra. Honey eyes meet yours, but you cut off his question.

“I’ll stop you if I need to, but you asking me if it’s okay every time you try something is gonna seriously kill the mood.” 

You reach around to place your hands on top of his, unclasping your bra along with him. His eyes darken at the sight of your bare chest. You try not to squirm at the intensity of his gaze. It becomes near impossible when he dips down to flick his tongue over your nipple before biting with his teeth. He pays the same attention to the other one before kissing his way down your stomach. You arch your back when he spreads your legs and positions himself between them. He makes his way around, avoiding your dripping pussy, teasing your thighs with soft kisses. You huff in annoyance, and he smirks up at you, biting into the flesh of your thigh. This time he places a kiss to your heated center, enjoying the way you squirm under his touch. 

“Is it everything you imagined?” You ask.

He looks up at you, with such a serious expression, one you’ve only seen a couple times since knowing him.

“Everything and more.”

Your heart flutters, and you know you’re going to say something you’ll regret if you don’t stop counting the different shades of gold in his eyes. You clear your throat before throwing your hair back.

“You gonna fuck me, or am I gonna have to do it myself?”

You pull his head in for a demanding kiss, biting on his lip to distract yourself from the rush of bubbling emotions threatening to surface.

“One sec,” Denki whispers, placing one last kiss to your lips, before getting up.

You gape at the giant box of condoms he casually pulls out. It hasn’t been opened, and oh my god, you didn’t even know they made huge boxes like this. There were at least a hundred in there. What person thinks to buy a big box of condoms if their plans don’t include… fucking a whole ass army? 

“What the fuck, Denki?” 

People usually have one, maybe two condoms in their wallet at most. Some guys don’t have any at all, which kills the mood when you’re in the heat of the moment, so I guess you can be thankful that Denki is... extra prepared?

“What?” 

He pulls a condom out and drops the box. It thumps when it hits the floor. You’re taken aback by how nonchalant he’s being about this.

“I- you- wha- How many times do you think we’re gonna do it!?” 

Denki slides the condom on, smirking at your shocked expression.  

“Till we finish this box,” he says as he slides into you. 

You gasp at the stretch. He pushes to the hilt, and stays there when he notices the slight furrow of your brow. It has been a while since you’ve fucked, but soon enough, you crave more so you roll your hips, but he doesn’t move.

“Denki?” 

His head is pressed into your neck, warm breath tickling your skin, and the stuttering heartbeat matches to the beat of your own. 

“Just… gimme a minute, don’t wanna ruin it by coming in two seconds.” 

His words are muffled, voice raspy with desire, and you can only imagine what his face looks like. It makes you want him all the more. Finally, someone who doesn’t see sex as an opportunity to one-up you or to put you in your place. It’s scary how the last twenty minutes have changed five years of friendship.

“Hey,” you hold his face in between your palms. He already looks completely fucked out with his face flushed and eyes glazed. You place a tender kiss to his lips, unlike the previous kisses you shared. 

“You couldn’t ruin it even if you did come right now.”

You caress his hair in an attempt to reassure him.

“You’d just have to make it up to me,” you wink.

His smile is so pure, lighting up his eyes that’s unique to Denki; it makes your heart do somersaults in your chest. But the moment passes as the previous heat between you two spikes when Denki circles his hips, taking his time to feel you inside and out. He’s touching and kissing you wherever he can, your cheek, neck, chest, thighs, like it’s the first and last time he’ll experience you like this. It might very well be. 

This thought doesn’t sit well with you.

Once he’s mapped out your sweet spots, he digs his fingers into your thighs and pulls your hips flush towards his. He pulls out of you until only the tip is brushing your opening and pounds back into you, taking your breath away. He pumps in and out of you faster, and you cry out when he hits that special spot deep inside of you.

“Denki,” you moan. He grunts and spreads your legs even wider, grabbing one and hauling it over his shoulder to pound into you deeper.

He’s getting close, hell, he’s been close even before you walked in. 

“F-fuck…” Denki groans, thrusting at an uneven pace and feeling the familiar tightening in his groin.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you flip him over and begin bouncing on his cock in a much more steady rhythm. Denki’s staring up at you, eyes wide in admiration.

You’re a goddess. An absolute fucking masterpiece that needs to be put in a museum for his eyes only. God, when did he get so fucking mushy? You always brought out different sides that Denki, himself, didn’t even know he had. He can’t keep his hands off you, grabbing your boobs, sliding down the curves of your thighs, gripping your ass. He wants to commit it all to memory in case he never gets to know this pleasure again. 

“Y/N, ah, shit, I’m gonna...” he trails off, unable to finish his sentence.

He’s holding on to that sweet release for as long as he can. He’s been craving it since he met you on the first day of class at U.A. His balls tighten, unable to hold it in any longer, before he gives in to the long overdue orgasm. It hits him hard - his entire body tingling from head to toe like 1000 volts of electricity bolt through him. Denki had no idea he could come for this long, but he doesn’t want it to end - it feels so fucking good inside you. He rides it out for a couple more thrusts before he relaxes, completely sated. You try to pull off him, but he grabs your hips and forces you back down. You squeak, clearly not expecting him to care enough to help you out after he finished.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The tone of his voice sounds foreign in his ears, too gruff and too deep, but you seem to have no problems with it as you moan in response, working yourself on top of him. Your thighs crush his hips, shaking with need as you seek a release of your own. You’re tired from bouncing, so you resort to grinding, swirling your hips deliciously around his cock. Denki squeezes your ass in appreciation.

“You close?” 

“Close, so close, Denki, please…”

Your eyes well up with tears, desperate to finish; the coil in your stomach wound too tight that you might burst any second. Denki helps you by thrusting his hips to meet yours, his hand rubbing your clit. You jolt at the sudden zap to your clit, you look down to see a small spark leave Denki’s fingertip. He does it again, and you cry out, your pussy fluttering from the electrifying touch.

“C’mon, baby, you can do it, come for me.” 

Fuck. Denki didn’t mean for the pet name to slip out, but then you’re moaning louder than before that Denki would’ve had to quiet you if you weren’t alone. Words are tumbling out before you can stop them.

“Oh, fuck, Denki, I love this so much, I love you, I-” 

You slap your hand over your mouth. Denki’s eyes widen for a second before a dangerous glint takes over, and he wretches your hand away from your mouth.

“Lemme hear you. C’mon, Y/N, show me how much you love this.”

You hardly recognize the scream as your own; you flush at how loud you are, but Denki doesn’t seem to mind. It seems to spur him on. He sits up so your chest to chest before he bends down to tug at your nipple with his teeth. You throw your head back in pleasure, your hands coming around to grab at his hair. Golden eyes look up at you from your chest, a slight smirk curving his lips.

“I’m no photographer, baby girl, but I can sure as hell picture us together.”

Leave it to Denki Kaminari to make you come with a cheesy pickup line. 

He gives one final thrust, balls slapping against your ass and hitting the spot deep inside you just right. Your thighs quiver from the pleasure wracking your body, a scream lodging out of your throat so loud that the people next door bang on the wall. You’re overwhelmed to the point that all you can do is rest your head on his shoulder, whispering his name in a broken whimper as you finish. 

You fall next to him on the bed, sweaty and completely wiped, both of you trying to catch your breath. Denki tosses the condom in the trash while you stare at the ceiling, watching the fan swirl round and round. Your mind is no different at the moment, going round in circles, and you’re trying to catch up. Your body feels weightless, tingling all over and loving the high you didn’t think was possible. The bed shifts, and suddenly you’re faced with your best friend of five years. Before he can get a word out, the front door slams shut, and two very familiar, very masculine voices are down the hall, getting closer by the second. 

“Kaminari, you lazy shit, get the fuck down here!”

“Shit!” Denki jumps from the bed, ruffling through the mess to find his pants.

“Denki, just lock the door! Hurry!”

It’s too late as the door swings open, and yeah… if today taught Denki anything, it’s that he really needs to lock his door more often. He doesn’t have time to think as he hops back into bed with you to avoid flashing any of his other friends today. Bakugou would probably threaten to chop his dick off and… yeah, Denki doesn’t wanna think about the rest.

You squeak and cover yourself with the blanket when you’re met with two sets of equally shocked crimson eyes.

Kirishima drops the bag of chips he’s holding. It seems like dropping things when walking into Denki’s room was a common theme today, and he’s sure as hell not looking forward to the cleanup. Denki regrets chancing a glance at Bakugou; nostrils flaring like a rabid predator on the loose and Denki’s his target.

The four of you stare at each other for who knows how long before Kirishima breaks out into a full-on grin.

“About time, bro, congrats!” 

“Congrats?” You turn to Denki, confused.

“The fuck!? You bangin’ my ex, dunceface!?” Bakugou shouts.

“Please don’t hurt me!” Denki squeaks, hiding underneath the covers.

“Oi! You fuck like a man, you better fight like one, too!”

You roll your eyes, hardly affected by Bakugou’s exploding presence, unlike Denki, who is literally shaking beside you.

“Oh fuck off, Katsuki, listen to yourself. Keyword ex-girlfriend.”

Bakugou sputters, and Kirishima drags him by the shoulder.

“Don’t listen to him. He’s been in a mood since he found out he’s gonna be the next star of the Bachelor.” 

“You wanna die too, shitty hair!?” 

You and Denki burst out laughing at the absurdity of Katsuki forced to act like a gentleman on live TV. The image of Katsuki in a suit and tie, holding a rose and actually smiling, is comedic gold to you.

“C’mon, bro, let’s give ’em some space.” 

“Oi! You’re on my shit list now! All of you! Aye! Get the fuck off me!”

Kirishima drags Bakugou the rest of the way, giving you a quick thumbs up on the way out.

You and Denki are still cracking up, but your laughter dies when they leave, and you’re faced with the tension from before. Denki sinks lower into the sheets, hating that he keeps getting walked in on. Who decided it was ‘make a fool out of Denki day’ anyway?

“So…” you start.

“So…” Denki finishes. 

You both stare straight ahead at nothing. 

“Did you mean it?” 

You raise an eyebrow, clearly asking him to elaborate.

“What you said, when you... you know...” he makes a clicking noise with his mouth like that’s universal code for fucking, “Or was it just a heat of the moment thing?” 

You take a moment to think before you give your response. You want to be as honest as possible, and not lead Denki on in any way. Of course, you loved him, he’s your best friend, but did you love him? 

You think back on your friendship, and suddenly a supercut of all the times he was there for you flashes before your eyes. He was there when you needed someone to drive you when you had your wisdom teeth pulled out. You didn’t expect Denki to stay with you the whole weekend, buying you ice cream and watching your favorite movies, but he did. 

He was there when you and Bakugou became an item, always listening to you swoon over how amazing a boyfriend he was. Denki would always respond with “But can he do this?” and would proceed to overuse his quirk like an overpowered Pikachu just to make you laugh. It sends a knife through your heart, knowing Denki was in love with you while you were talking about how great of a boyfriend his friend was. Not to mention how he was there when you and Bakugou broke up, heart-broken and vowing to swear off boys for good. Denki held you in his arms while you cried, staying silent the entire time, which you knew was against his nature. Denki was always there for you as a friend. There’s no doubt he’d be there for you as a lover.

“I meant it,” you say.

Tears threaten to spill, and your heart might burst out of your chest and land right into his hands. You hope he holds on to it forever. He squishes your cheeks and leans down to plant the softest kiss on your lips. This is what you’ve been missing - more like who you’ve been missing. You open your mouth to deepen the kiss, and he meets you move for move. He pulls away, hands still on your cheeks, grazing your cheekbones with his fingertips as he stares into your eyes. 

“Denki, I…” You bite your lip, overcome with emotion. You desperately want to say the words to capture this picture-perfect moment forever. 

Until you feel something poking your thigh.

“Denki!” 

You yell, affronted he popped a boner in the middle of what was supposed to be a romantic moment.

“Sorry!”

“Ugh! Worst timing ever!” You slap his shoulder.

“Ow! I said I’m sorry!”

You wiggle out of his embrace. Silence eats at the room, and you can feel Denki’s energy radiating in uncomfortable frequencies. The last moment had been thoroughly ruined.

But you have all the time in the world to make more.

“... round two?” 

Just seeing Denki’s face light up like Christmas is enough to promise the birth of a new moment. He bends over to grab his box of condoms, some spilling on the floor and adding more to the mess, before saying, “hell yeah!”

You roll your eyes with affection. What a weirdo, you think. But he’s your weirdo.

That night, or rather the next day since it was currently three in the morning, Denki plops down on his bed exhausted from the day. He’s fluffing his pillow, trying to get comfortable, when he feels something underneath. His eyes widen when he takes in the picture he’s holding. You must’ve taken it when he was downstairs and snuck it under his pillow. You’re bent over with that same damn lacy bra that sends him for a loop. Your cleavage deliciously on display as you bite your lip and stare at the camera with those innocent eyes. Denki can’t help it, his hand sliding down on instinct and cupping himself through his boxers. He turns the picture around and smiles at the cute little message written on the back.

“To add to your collection 😉”

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[erensangel444]

i think i’m falling in love

oikawa tōru x reader

the title is inspired by i think by tyler the creator :-)

this fic is oikawa x fem!reader, if you guys would want to see some gender neutral fics just let me know in my asks inbox! i’m open to any suggestions, if you want a fic that’s specifically tailored to you whether that be race-wise, gender-wise, any disabilities, etc,. just let me know!

likes/reblogs/comments are always appreciated:D

this fic has been proofread but if i missed something just let me know!

this would be oikawa in his last year(when he was a third-year), for this fic, the reader would also be a third-year!

a/n: i remember when i first started watching haikyū!! i had hated oikawa, and now looking back i don’t know how. he’s a beautifully written character and like actually thinking about it makes me so sad. he tries so hard and just :(            i’m gonna start crying about it again. 

there’s a lot of fluff in this fic, probably the most i’ve ever written, but there’s also smut cause you know your girl couldn’t resist🙄

warnings: language(most of my fics do contain language), drug usage(just weed, small mention), alcohol consumption, smut; semi-public sex(bathroom at a party), oral(fem and male!receiving), unprotected sex(use of the shitty pull-out method, practice safe sex don’t be a weirdo), dryhumping.

word count: 5.3k

summary: moments in oikawa tōru’s life that helped him come to the conclusion that he was in love with you.

oikawa didn’t think love was a real thing, and he knows that’s cliché, but it’s the truth. did you know that around 40-50% percent of marriages end in divorce? what’s the point in getting married if there’s only half a chance of it lasting? oikawa thought it seemed like too much work.

until he saw you, and then, maybe, he thought it might be worth it to work that hard. maybe he could understand why couples stay together despite the fights, the yelling matches. maybe he could take a stab at love.

or not. he expected you to fawn over him the first time you met, like most girls do(men too!), but you didn’t. in all honesty, you seemed bored while conversing with oikawa. you shattered his newly-born hopes of love...well maybe that’s a little dramatic, but oikawa was always one for the dramatic flair. 

from that moment forward, he had deduced that he strongly disliked you, at least he had until that one day in math class. he was struggling, the equations on the pages seeming like an entirely different language. he was huffing out breaths in frustration, roughly erasing the writing his pencil had made. 

he was certain he was doomed, there was a test tomorrow and this review made no sense, yet there was a glimmer of hope when he felt that light tap on his shoulder.

he looked up, meeting your eyes, all doe-like, a light blush on your cheeks as you sentence stumbled from your lips, “h-hey um it seemed like you were a little confused, um i-i could help if you’d want,”. oikawa couldn’t do anything but stare up at you, “or- or not! maybe it was rude for me to come over here, sorry-” “no, i could actually use some help,��. oikawa’s response caused a smile to show on your face, and for a split second he dreamt of making you smile like that for the rest of your life. 

he brought himself back to reality, remembering his declared disdain towards you, but all of it slowly drifted away as you grabbed a chair from a nearby table, setting it down next to oikawa’s desk and sitting down.  “so what’s confusing you?” you asked, your voice soft as you peered up at oikawa. 

he couldn’t control the slight blush that rushed to his cheeks, calming himself down before he spoke, “well i’m confused on the variables, and i don’t understand what i’m supposed to do after setting it equal to zero, and it doesn’t help that the professor doesn’t teach for shit,” he whispered the last part, causing you to laugh a little as you grabbed the pencil from his hand. 

oikawa shuddered at your laugh, and at the contact of your hand on his, even if it was for a slight moment. there was too much of you stimulating him at once, fuck, what were you doing to him? 

“i know he fucking sucks,” you responded, the word slipping out of your mouth seeming so foreign to oikawa, even if he had only talked to you for a couple minutes, but he liked it, nonetheless. “okay so,” you turned oikawa’s paper slightly towards you, “after setting it equal to 0, you have factor the quadratic equation,”. your handwriting looked so neat compared to his, so delicate. he listened intently as you continued writing on the paper, your tongue slipping out to wet your lips. 

after explaining it to him, he tried one at your request, the math seeming easier now, no eraser marks littering the page. after checking his answer, you grinned at oikawa, lifting your hand up. oikawa was confused for a moment, smiling after realizing, and softly high-fiving you. 

oikawa started to notice you in the hallways after that day in math class. you walked through the halls not necessarily confidently, but giving off an aura of aloofness. it was almost like you thought no one was paying attention to you. ‘how could you think that?’ oikawa thought. he was paying attention, he couldn’t help but to pay attention.

not when you always carried your binder under your left arm, it slipping some times, causing a slightly shocked expression to grace your blank face as you resettled it in your arms. your tote bag slang off of your right shoulder, a light cream color. he always noticed your outfits, different for every day of the week. he always thought they were cute though, fitting for you. 

he noted the rings on your fingers, the necklaces you sometimes wore. some days you had on makeup, other days you were bare-face. he thought both were equally beautiful.

after a couple days of passing you in the hall, he finally worked up the courage to wave to you. his hand softly ran through the air, his arm rigid. yet, you didn’t notice him, your eyes taken by something else. the failed greeting embarrassed oikawa immensely, he remembered beating himself up about it for the rest of the day.

when he thought about trying again, he realized he should probably just call your name. which he couldn’t remember. you had met last year, and in his memory, the entire encounter was centered around his ‘dislike’ for you. you also hadn’t told him your name in math class. he racked his brain for any memory, wanting to know the name that fit your pretty face. 

in the hallway the next, day he decided he’d just yell out a ‘hey!’, hoping you’d turn to him, which you did. oikawa waved at you, a smile lighting up your face -god he could get used to that- as you waved back. oikawa couldn’t help but feel your smile for the rest of the day.

he had learned your name the next day in math class, the teacher calling on you. ‘y/n’, he almost didn’t catch the teacher say it, but he did, and he was so glad he did. lying in his bed later that night, he let the word fall off his lips, your name quietly echoing throughout his room. he couldn’t imagine calling you anything else, it fit you so well.

a couple of days later(he had waved at you every day since), you were walking in the hall with a friend. more specifically a friend who was a boy. honestly it didn’t matter their gender, oikawa would’ve been jealous either way. why were they making you smile like that, and why was your binder in their arms instead of in it’s usual spot, tucked under your left arm?

he wanted to walk in the halls with you, look down at you smiling at him. he devised a plan that night, running through the scenario in his head before he fell asleep. 

the next day, he called out your name as you walked out the door of the math classroom, doing a slight jog to catch up with you. “hey, um i never got to thank you,” your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “for that day in math” he explained, as he continued, attempting to push down his nerves. “you really helped me,” this caused you to smile softly, and oikawa couldn’t help but smile back at you. that’s all he wanted, to make you smile. 

“of course, no problem,” you had said softly. oikawa offered to walk you to your next class, and you obliged. suddenly it shifted into a daily thing, walking out of math class with you, and oikawa could get used to it. 

he learned more about you every day, your favorite movie was pride and prejudice, you loved key lime pie, you had a mini-garden in your backyard, you hated shellfish, you loved painting, you never left the house without chapstick. he found himself adapting to your humor, telling jokes that he knew would make you laugh. he wanted to hear your laugh all the time, he wanted it to echo throughout his brain on a constant loop.

in math class one day, you had pulled lotion out of your bag, popping open the cap, and squirting some into your hand. upon seeing you pull it out of your bag, oikawa walked over to your desk with his hand held out, “can i have some?” his voice was light as he looked down at you, a dollop of lotion in your hand. “yeah!” you said softly, rubbing some of the lotion from your hand onto oikawa’s.

he had just expected you to give him some from the bottle, and he could walk back to his desk, happy with the small encounter. now as he walked back to his desk, he was happy, so happy, but reeling at your touch. he wanted to feel your hand on his again, he longed for it now, knowing now what it felt like. why couldn’t you just give him lotion from the bottle?

oikawa had gathered the courage to ask for your number a couple days later, and to his delight you smiled after telling him that you planned to ask him for his. the idea caused him to smile internally as he wondered if you thought about him as much as he thought about you.

the nights after he had put his number in your phone were spent texting you. he’d send you random tweets that he’d thought you’d like, and videos that reminded you of him -he wouldn’t ever tell you that, though. one night when he had decided to watch pride and prejudice, for no apparent reason, he sent you a picture, to which you replied with a picture of your hand covering your mouth, your eyes lit up. he stared at the picture for a solid five minutes, unable to tear his eyes away.

you looked so pretty, your hair up in a bun, your eyes looking up at the camera. he finally shut off his phone, turning back to the movie, excited to see you the next day.

one night, oikawa texted and asked you if you wanted to facetime. instant regret filled him after sending the text, his search history littered with ‘how to delete imessage’ ‘is there a way to delete message on iphone’. he opened the text app back up, three bubbles popping up on the screen. they disappeared shortly after, oikawa’s regret increasing. 

he threw his phone down on the bed, shoving his head into his pillow as he muttered, “fuckin’ stupid, god what am i doi-”, a text message ping interrupting his self-deprecating mumbles. the text from you read, ‘hey, sorry just got out the shower, i was trying to text before but i got a fucking eyelash in my eye LMAO’ oikawa chuckled at your message, a second one popping up below, ‘lemme get dressed rq and then i’ll call u:D’. 

oikawa had so many thoughts rushing through his brain. you were in the shower? after rationalizing, he realized he shouldn’t be surprised that you showered, it was just the fact that you were naked in the shower. and if you were getting dressed now, that means you were naked while you texted him. 

oikawa attempted to shift his thoughts elsewhere, chastising himself in his head for being a ‘perv’. he didn’t need a boner while he was on a facetime call with you. he thought about how you offered to call him, did you really want to? he had hoped you weren’t just doing this to pity him.

his phone rang, interrupting his slew thoughts, your name flashing against his screen. he fumbled for his phone, his finger hesitating before he hit the green button. “hi,” you said softly. oikawa took in your appearance, a few water droplets still falling from your hair, your eyebrows slightly disheveled, cheeks a light pink. “hey” he responded. 

“why’d you wanna facetime?” you asked, oikawa blushing more at your question, ready to respond before you continued. “not that i didn’t want to too, cause i did, i do, i w-was just wondering why you wanted to,” oikawa smiled at the camera before speaking. “well i thought that we really needed to discuss the plot holes in pride and prejudice,”.

oikawa had spent the whole night talking to you, reluctantly hanging up at 4AM.

the nights after that were followed by facetime calls, oikawa’s mom knocking on his door and telling him to quiet down, his laughter too loud. on one call, he had invited you to his volleyball game the next day, and you quickly said that you’d ‘love to go’, oikawa’s smile growing.

surprisingly, he wasn’t nervous. oikawa knew he was good at volleyball, everybody did. he knew that this was a moment where he could show off in front of you. what if he hits the net on a serve though? 

okay, so maybe he was a little nervous, but he wouldn’t let his nerves consume him. stepping onto the court, he did his best not to look up at the crowd, not wanting to see your smiling face in the stands. he was set to serve first, the volleyball in his hands a familiar feeling, comforting him. 

the power behind his serve was incredible, one of the best one’s he’s hit, he thought to himself. the ball landed right in the corner of the opposing team’s court, before bouncing out of bounds. 

a service ace right out the bat. oikawa cheered in his head, his teammates patting him on the back. “are you gonna look for her now or what,” iwaizumi said to him, ever so-bluntly, “looking down at the floor like a pussy,” hajime muttered the last part. “iwa-chan!” oikawa slightly raised his voice, his eyes looking up towards the stands.

you had secured a seat in the front row, and when oikawa noticed your face he couldn’t help but smile. you were grinning down at him, waving like a lunatic, causing him to lightly chuckle. he waved back, the volleyball being handed back to him as he set up for his second serve. 

you had waited outside the locker room for him, and when he walked out with iwaizumi and issei, he spotted you leaning against the wall parallel to the locker room door, scrolling through your phone. hearing the door open, you looked up, meeting oikawa’s smiling face.

“hey,” he said softly, his heart doing flips at the fact that you waited for him. you responded softly with a ‘hi’, holding your arms open for a hug. oikawa couldn’t help but grin, his heartbeat growing in pace as he pulled you in for a hug, his arms falling to the small of your back. “did so good,” you said, your voice muffled by his chest. 

“thank you,” he smiled at you, “for-for uh coming,” “of course,” you smiled back at him. suddenly an awkward tension had consumed the conversation, both of you peering at the other, than looking away, the silent words behind your looks so obvious. “so i- “i just-”, you both started at the same time. you laughed, oikawa joining in as he motioned for you to go first. 

“um, i-i came today because i wanted to, but also cause i wanted to ask you something,” oikawa nodded for you to continue, biting his lip in anticipation. “i feel like i’m not just imaging things here, and i don-don’t want you to think you are either,” you hesitated for a moment, oikawa noticing it before speaking up, “i like you,” he said abruptly. he could feel his blood pumping, feel his heart beating on his chest. you smiled at him, eyes wide, “i-i like you too,”. you both stared at each other in silence, the eye contact easier. “what now?” you said jokingly, oikawa laughing. “wanna go get mcdonald’s?”

the first few weeks with you had been bliss, oikawa thinks that he’s died and floated up to heaven. you’ve gone on small adventures together, late night drives, reveling in the honeymoon-like phase of your new relationship. now, oikawa sits across from you atop the striped picnic blanket. oikawa knew that this past week had been stressful for you with school and some stuff going on with your friends so he decided to surprise you with a picnic.

he got sushi from your favorite place, ordering a wide-spread of different rolls and then picked up two boba drinks before heading to your house. much to your dismay, he wouldn’t tell you where you were going until you could hear the water brushing along the shoreline, oikawa had taken you to the beach.

now, there you sat on the blanket on the sand, sushi laid out in front of you as you took in the beautiful day, a slight breeze brushing past your figures, small clouds in the sky. oikawa grabbed a california roll with his chopsticks, bringing it over to you as you opened for mouth for the food. “so good,” you mumbled mouth full of california roll causing oikawa to chuckle. 

“my mom asked about you today,” oikawa noticed the slight hiccup in your breath as he continued, “wants to meet you,” you stayed silent, peering at oikawa. “no pressure, if you don’t want to, i just wanted to let you know,”. you took a sip from you drink before you spoke, “no i want to. just nervous, don’t wanna make a fool of myself,”. oikawa smiled at that, happy that you wanted to make a good impression with his mom. “she’ll love you,” he said softly, blush rushing to your cheeks. 

“here you have to try this tuna roll,” you said, the roll between your chopsticks and headed for oikawa’s mouth. “mmm so good,” oikawa said mimicking your response, making a show of the food in his mouth. you laughed before shoving him, “you’re disgusting,” 

oikawa had picked you up for dinner at his house, and now here you both were, in his car, in the driveway of his home. he could see you bouncing your leg, your bottom lip taken in by your teeth. “you’re gonna be fine, i promise she’ll love you,” “i hope so,” you said, your voice so quiet. 

oikawa racked his brain for a way to help calm your nerves, settling for a kiss. his lips met yours, and you whimpered at the abruptness, but kissed him back. your leg stopped it’s incessant bouncing, and oikawa smiled at you. “alright i’m ready,” you said softly. you reached for the car door, oikawa stopping you with an ‘uh uh uh’, exiting the driver side of the car and running over to the passenger side to open your door.

“my knight in shining armor,” you joked, oikawa grinning at you. the pair of you walked to his front door, hand in hand. oikawa wasn’t nervous, he knew his mom would love you because she knew that he loved you. woah. he loved you. or maybe it was the excitement of the night forcing him to say those words. he pushed the thought away, opening his front door as he yelled out a “i’m home!”

his mom ran over from the kitchen, looking to you and then oikawa and smiling so brightly. “hi!” she said, her voiced laced with excitement as she shuffled over to you, pulling you in for a hug, “i’m a hugger,” you laughed, hugging her back. 

“oikawa’s talked about you so much,” “mom!” your smile grew. you took off your shoes, setting them neatly next to the door, oikawa’s mom leading you to the kitchen. it smelled amazing, meat buns sat in a container on the stove, orange chicken in a separate container next to them. white rice was in the steamer, the whole kitchen filled with wonderful smells.

oikawa pulled out a chair for you as you thanked him, sitting down. eventually the food was in front of you, oikawa had made your plate for you, asking if you wanted anything to drink. he began rambling, listing off options, but you opted for water in not wanting to be difficult. 

you all sat, oikawa’s mom and you discussing your current course schedule in school as she smiled “oikawa bagged a smart and pretty one, i raised him right,”. you couldn’t help but blush at her words, oikawa smiling at your reaction.

dinner had left your stomach happy, oikawa’s mom giving you another hug when you left and making you promise that you’d be back soon. oikawa ushered you into his car, holding your door open for him. he told his mom you were driving to get icecream from somewhere, and that wasn’t necessarily a lie.

you had gotten the icecream, it’s just that now it sat, forgotten in the passenger seat as you straddled oikawa in the backseat, your mouths moving against each other, your hips grinding on his. “fuck,” oikawa panted against your lips, the friction of your hips grinding on his feeling indescribable.

before you knew it, you were grinding on oikawa’s lap like a woman possessed, set on reaching your high. “tōru,” your voice sounded so soft, oikawa did a double take. he’d only heard his first name slip past your lips one time, and the desperation that came with it this time had his cock straining in his pants even more.

“g-gonna cum!” you yelped, your hips stuttering from the pleasure. oikawa’s hands drifted to your hips, rocking you on his lap, wanting you to reach your high, but also desperate for his own. your whimpers increased in volume as you finally reached your orgasm, your face contorting in pleasure. seeing you come on his lap was all oikawa need to cream his pants, the liquid seeping through the fabric of his boxers and black jeans.

you both panted, catching your breath, your head laying in oikawa’s shoulder. “that was fucking hot,” oikawa remarked, causing you to laugh and remove your head from his shoulder, pulling him in for a kiss. 

oikawa had invited you over a couple nights later to watch a movie. you had come over in plaid pajama pants and one of oikawa’s hoodies that you had borrowed last week. you were laid in his bed, snuggling into his figure, Love, Rosie playing on his laptop. As the movie progressed, and the popcorn disappeared from the bowl, you began to slowly drift into sleep, feeling comfort from being so close to oikawa.

as the movie neared it’s end, oikawa could hear your light breaths, looking down at your sleeping figure. drool had slightly started to dribble out of your mouth, your eyes were shut ever so softly, and you looked so peaceful. so angelic, oikawa thought. he wanted to wake up to this, to you for the rest of his life.

‘getting ahead of myself’ oikawa reasoned, pushing away any and all thoughts of the future as he relished in your sleeping features and irked at the funny feeling in his stomach, was it butterflies? it was something, because he felt it whenever he saw you. you turned his brain to mush, made his heart beat faster. oikawa’s love for you was so obvious on a physical level just based on how he reacted to anything and everything you did. 

his love for you was obvious, wasn’t it? did you know he loved you? he loves you. ‘i love you’ the words softly fell from his lips, the breaths still falling from your lips as you slept. 

your parents were out of town, your mom on a business trip, your dad visiting some friends in the states. you had invited oikawa over to bake some brownies, but somehow baking led to his head now being buried between your thighs.

“oh my-tōru!” you moaned, oikawa’s tongue working magic on your clit. he changed from kitten licks to sucking, moaning into your center, the vibrations making you whimper even more. his fingers plunged in and out of your entrance.

oikawa had transcended from himself, or at least he thought he had. there was no way he was buried between your thighs right now, your pretty moans sounding from above him. there was no way he was holding eye contact with you as he sucked on your clit, admiring the blush accompanying your features. 

“gonna cum for me angel?” oikawa wanted you to come so bad, he wanted you to feel good, he wanted to be the one to make you feel good. “yes, yes, yes-please!” oikawa increased the intensity of his tongue lapping at your clit, the pace of his fingers increasing. 

one more look down at tōru had you coming, your hands moving to grip his hair as your orgasmed. panting, recovering from your orgasm, oikawa kissed up your body, nipping at your jaw up to your lips, kissing you passionately. 

“did so good for me, angel,” oikawa mumbled into your lips. you pulled him in for another kiss, your hand drifting down to the bulge in his pants, palming him through the fabric. 

“fuck,” oikawa softly moaned, grinding into your palm. you pushed him over, oikawa laying on the other side of the bed. your hands navigated their way to the hem of his sweatpants, tapping his hip, oikawa lifting up. you tugged the pants down his legs, his boxers along with them.

his cock bounced back to his stomach, hard and leaking precum. oikawa eyed you as your hand drifted to the base of his cock, your tongue licking at the tip, oikawa moaning loudly. he had definitely gone to heaven.

eventually your mouth and hand were moving in tandem on his cock, moans flying freely from oikawa’s lips. “fuck! y/n, god, making me feel so go-ood!”. oikawa thrusted his hips up into your mouth, his hands holding on to your hair. you placed your hands on his thigh letting him thrust into your mouth. 

“go-gonna cum!” you moved one hand down to his balls, rolling them in your hand and moaning around his cock. “shit-ah!”, toru’s cum flooded your mouth as his mind went numb from the pleasure. he’d never felt like this, god, you were ruining him. 

you opened your mouth, sticking your tongue out to show tōru that you had swallowed all of his cum. “god you’re so fucking dirty,” oikawa said smirking at you, pulling you in for another kiss.

you and oikawa sat in his car, passing the joint between yourselves, staring at the sunset, stealing glances at one another. you inhaled, the joint placed between your lips, the substance filling your lungs.

oikawa couldn’t help but stare at you, “you’re so fucking pretty,” he whispered. “no you’re so fucking pretty,” you smiled at him. “we’re both fucking pretty let’s be honest,” oikawa joked, pulling you in for a kiss.

‘wanna be yours’ by artic monkeys came on shuffle through the speaker’s as you mouthed the lyrics. “i’m hungry” oikawa said plainly, “jack in the box?” you offered, oikawa turning the car into drive. more songs shuffled, oikawa turning up the volume when cupid’s chokehold blasted through the speakers.

he had rolled the windows down, his left hand hanging out the window. he turned towards you, his eyes shifting from the road to your face, singing the lyrics to you, ‘i mean she even cooks me pancakes and alka seltzer when my tummy aches,’ his hand held yours atop the console, his left hand now on the steering wheel. ‘i know i’m young but if i had to choose her or the sun i’d be one nocturnal son of a gun’ your smile grew, staring at oikawa as he pulled into the jack in the box drive-thru. 

there were no other cars, oikawa pulling straight up to the machine. “hi could we get two buttery jack meals with curly fries and chocolate milkshakes for both,”, the server read back your order, telling oikawa the total, oikawa saying a curt thank you.

oikawa had pulled into a an empty parking lot, the music shifted to nights by frank ocean, both you and oikawa digging into your food. oikawa looked over at you, seemingly mesmerized by your buttery jack. you looked up at the sound of his laughter, staring at him perplexed before laughing too. 

oikawa had dragged you a party that daichi was throwing. you walked in waving at a girl from your history class, oikawa dragging you to the kitchen by your hand. he grabbed two shot glasses, pouring tequila into them. he clinked his glass with yours, throwing the liquid back into his throat

you walked next to oikawa working your way through the mass of sweaty bodies, spotting hajime in the crowd. oikawa patted him on the back, iwaizumi wincing at his heavy-handiness. while oikawa talked with hajime, you whispered letting him know you were gonna go talk to kiyoko, oikawa nodding and giving you a quick kiss. he watched you walk away, your ass looking so good in those pants. his eyes traveled up your figure to your smiling face, his own smile growing. 

after talking for a while, oikawa walked over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist, and kissing your cheek. “wanna go dance?” you nodded, waving bye to kiyoko, oikawa leading you to the middle of the room. ‘can’t say’ by travis scott. oikawa’s chest pressed against your back, your hands looping around to the back of his neck. 

after a few songs played, someone yelled out ‘body shots!’ people shuffling into the kitchen. oikawa pushed through the crowd bringing you to the countertop.  he lifted you up to sit on the countertop, people cheering as you laid down. he poured a shot glass of tequila, sprinkling salt over your cleavage, while eyeing it heavily. he placed the lime in your mouth smirking at you. 

oikawa shot back the alcohol, wincing at the burn. his tongue lolled out of his mouth, licking the salt on your cleavage, moving to your lips. his body hovered over yours, his lips meeting yours. he sucked the lime from your mouth, pulling away and spitting the lime out before moving down to your lips again, kissing you harshly. louder cheers sounded through the room.

oikawa pulled away as you blushed, grinning nonetheless. you grabbed the tequila pouring another shot and letting the liquid fall down your throat. ‘woo!’ you let out, shaking your head at the burn from the alcohol, dragging oikawa back out to the other room.

somehow, you and oikawa had navigated your way to the bathroom, tōru’s cock deep inside you as your moans accompanied the music playing throughout the house.

“g-gonna cum!” “me too, fuc-ah! come on angel, gotta come now,” oikawa pleaded with you, pushing you over the edge. oikawa pulled out, jerking himself off, and coming on your back.

“god,” he sighed, leaning on the wall next to you. you both grinned at each other, your lips meeting again.

your phone was ringing, tōru was calling. you answered as he said hi, his voice shaky. “are you okay?” you worried, oikawa assuring you everything was fine, “just come outside,”. confused, you threw on some pants and walked downstairs unlocking your front door.

“tōru? are you okay, you look sick,” “i need to tell you something,”. oikawa realizes now that maybe wording it that way was stupid, he could see in your facial expression your heart drop to your stomach. “no! nothing bad,” “oh okay” you sighed softly.

“i-i feel like i should’ve said this earlier, and i wanted t-to i just didn’t know how to,” you nodded at him, grabbing his hand and brushing your thumb along the back of his hand in an attempt to comfort him.

“i love you,” oikawa blurted out. “i love you so fucking much,” he said again. meeting your eyes, oikawa couldn’t help but feel nervous, he was stupid for doing this, he knew it too, yet all those thoughts melted away when he felt your lips on his.

“i love you too,” you said, smiling, your eyes slightly watering. though you and tōru had been dating for a decent amount of time, you both knew the weight those words carried.

tōru felt the weight of those words as they left his lips, and he wanted them to flow past his lips forever. he wanted their weight, he wanted his love to impact you and only you.

fin

yay! i loved writing this fic :D i really hope you guys enjoyed it, sending you so much love<3

#oikawa x y/n #oikawa toru smut #oikawa toru x reader #oikawa x reader #oikawa smut #oikawa fic #oikawa toru imagine #oikawa toru fic #haikyu x reader #haikyū!! smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyū smut #haikyuu!! smut

[pransesdp]

2, 3, 11, and 12 for the latest meme?

2) What’s your favorite fic?

Ack, tbh I haven't really been too up-to-date on reading DP-related fics these days 😅... but I do remember this one fic about an AU-version of "The Ultimate Enemy" (where Sam ended up surviving) was an interesting story to read through from what I recall.

3) If you could canonically rewrite any episode, which would you chose?

Heh... weell there's actually a few that's always been on my mind for potential "rewrite" material (not counting "Phantom Planet" 'cause I mean, everyone does that lol). Here's the three that's been most on my mind atm:

-"Teacher of the Year" (S1) = Had a good premise going with Lancer getting more development + the videogame adventure aesthetics looking cool... but I really could've done without that random "Danny and Tuck act sexist to Sam outta nowhere" subplot :/. Like... weren't these three friends since like, 2nd grade? Why would they act so condescending about her playing games as they do (+especially knowing how Sam is, I doubt she would've let this slide if she's gonna keep hanging out with them)? It just felt so OOC & unnecessary to the story that I honestly think it'd be best to just scrap it (and instead replace it with like, a story of the trio just playing the games on equal terms without much conflict (except maybe getting more "casually" competitive or something for high score-purposes)? Idk-)

-"Urban Jungle" (S3) = While I do still enjoy this one alot based purely on entertainment-value (+all the cool aesthetics like Plant!Sam & Danny's new ice powers), a part of me does feel like it would've benefitted a lot more by being a full-on movie than a regular episode. More time to give the heroes some big stakes, character development, more intense fights (+Plant!Sam being more "active" of a threat), yknow all that jazz .3.

-"The Ultimate Enemy" (S2) = I know this is a fan-favorite by the fandom and all... buuuut yeah, I'm still not all that impressed by it tbh :p. Like, okay sure having that darker atmosphere and Danny's biggest "enemy" being the fear of growing up is a good idea in-theory... but, again how does it make sense for him to turn to Vlad when losing all his loved ones?? Like... you couldn't have just had Danny doing the "splitting-my-halves-apart" ritual himself out of his own personal guilt? Honestly I feel like that angle could've added more weight to the story + show how much Danny's ghostly side has become a core part of him than he realized (think of it like how Steven Universe became so drained/close to dying when his "Gem" side got taken out in the "Change Your Mind" special). Then I guess if you had to include Vlad, it'd be through this now-separated Phantom!Danny chasing him down for "revenge" and absorbing his powers, forming into the "Dark Danny" you see today. Or... idk, maybe thats just me lol.

11) Most underrated fic trope?

It pains me that I still have yet to see that many others exploring more of the family backgrounds for some of the characters outside of Danny... like, cmon especially with a case like the gloomy goth girl Sam growing up with preppy/controlling rich parents, it always made curious of how she must've coped with that growing up :c. Sam with those like Tucker as well since we only see his folks in snippets in the show, wonder what they must be up to?

12) Most overrated fic trope?

Idk if this is still a thing "regularly" by the current fandom but... could never really get the appeal of "dissection" fics tbh (let alone performed by his own parents ._.). Like, don't get me wrong I'm all for exploring a bit of "dark" themes here and there fanfic-wise but... really? Danny's folks? The same people who accepted their son wholeheartedly when he first revealed the truth in "Reality Trip"? Idk, just feels too OOC for me to see them doing such a thing to their own kid (ghost-researching jobs or not) .-.

#danny phantom #dphantom ask meme #katygorl #(*apologies for the late responses I had to do a bit of digging in terms of finding what my last few fave fics were lol*) #danny fenton #sam manson #danny's parents #tucker foley

[soulmate-game]

Can you do a prompt of Marinette being the daughter of the Joker and Harley but Harley left him before Marinette was born and when Joker found out about his daughter He decided to kidnap Marinette so she can become like him (Ace chemicals) (Daminette)

Woot, my first ask in a while! Let’s see how I can do this oddly specific ask that reminds me of a fic that might actually exist but tbh I’ve read so many fanfics idk if my brain is remembering right

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette knew Sabine and Tom weren’t her biological parents. She had known ever since she was eight, when her mother by blood visited her for the first time, sat her down, and explained everything. Including, but not limited to, her disastrously toxic past relationship, her new girlfriend, and her recent success with long term rehab (unofficial rehab that mostly consisted of illegal anti-hero actions, but hey if it worked it worked).

Marinette understood. Well no, she really didn’t since she was only eight, but she understood that her mom— that Harley— was genuine. She had always had a knack for emotions and telling when people were sincere or not. And Harley really was regretful about not being in her life beforehand, and was serious about wanting to be part of her life now that her own was mostly sorted out.

So Marinette was not surprised when Harley really did stick it out. When Harley cooed over Marinette copying her hairstyle to show her support of her biological mom, when Harley never failed to call at least once a week even if she was in jail for punching some asshole or another. Harley never stayed arrested long anymore, she was usually found to be on the right side of the moral scale more and more often so the police didn’t bother keeping her locked up anymore. Through the years, Marinette always looked forward to her mom’s calls. Looked forward to being lulled to sleep by one crazy story or another from her mother’s past. Everything was nice. Perfect, even, for a while.

A thump sounded from her balcony, one late night when Marinette was thirteen. Blinking, the dark haired girl furrowed her brows. Who would be on her balcony? Cautiously walking towards the trap door leading to it, grasping her metal pencil holder as a weapon (she remembered all of her Mom’s stories about break-ins and random attacks back in Gotham), the teen strained her ears. Akuma attacks were only a few months old now, but she had already become in high alert for any sign of Hawkmoth or his victims. As per usual, Marinette’s paranoia began to kick in. Did Hawkmoth already figure her out? Was he here for her earrings? Would she be able to fight him?

She gently pushed up the trap door, catching a glimpse of black leather. Huh? Marinette narrowed her eyes, confused. Was it Chat? He should have been on patrol, on the other side of the city. What was he doing visiting her?

Suddenly the trap door yanked the rest of the way open, making Marinette yelp as the handle for it rugged away from her fingers. And there, backlit by the pure blue-white moonlight, was Not Chat Noir. It was Catwoman, in all her skintight black leather glory, grinning at her before pushing her cat-eye goggles up to the top of her head and crouching down by the trap door’s entrance, balancing only on the pads of her feet.

“Well hello there~” the woman purred. “So you’re the cute little kitten Harley is so secretive about. Nice to finally meet you,” the woman held out a hand, sending Marinette a sweet, if mysterious, smile. For a while, the pigtailed girl only stared before a squeal of excitement left her throat, leaving very little room for any doubt as to her bloodline. A large smile curled over Marinette’s lips, leaving her beaming widely at the catlike woman on her balcony.

“Auntie Selina! Mom’s told me so much about you! Come in, come in, come in! I’ll sneak some macaroons up for you. Or do you prefer croissants? What’s your favorite flavor? Are you really dating Batman? Oh my goodness, that necklace is so lovely! Did you steal it?”

Selina could only chuckle fondly at the word vomit, letting the smaller girl drag her down the trap door and into her very… pink room. Looking around, Selina was once again slapped with just how similar this kid was to her outgoing friend. Marinette clearly had no shame in indulging in the things she liked, such as the color pink and anything regarding fashion. But there were other things amongst the girliness of the room, like the posters of Jagged Stone and the training dummy half-sticking out of her closet door. There were a few ornamental knives hung up behind her computer, seemingly just for decoration although Selina could see that they were definitely battle ready and sharpened. A small mallet, clearly a miniature replica of her mother’s own signature weapon, leaned up against the side of the girl’s laundry basket. But then there was Marinette’s mannequin, which was surrounded by meticulously cut pieces of cloth and had other pieces pinned to it strategically. Marinette clearly had the same professionalism and love for her chosen career that had so completely defined Harley in the Time Before Joker. The same genius intellect hiding in those deceptively cheerful bluebell eyes. And for the first time, though not for the last to be sure, Selina found herself thoroughly relieved that it seemed Marinette had inherited very little from her father.

Except, as she would learn from stories Harley told her later, an apparent affinity for chaos.

“I’m not that picky, kitten. But I’m not that hungry, so don’t go too out of your way,” Selina decided to just react the same way she did with Harley’s rambles, and answer one question at a time. “Also, I am actually dating Bruce Wayne. But, if you promise not to tell anyone—“ she waited for Marinette’s eager nod before continuing casually, “— the two are maybe not as mutually exclusive as many think,” Selina finished with a conspiratorial wink. “No, I actually did not steal this necklace. Bruce has been adamant in trying to curb me of my thieving habit by buying me almost everything I so much as glance at sideways. It’s sweet. Naive, because I like stealing for the fun of it, but sweet.”

Marinette giggled, bouncing in place happily. She loved a bit of innocent gossip like this. “Is Momma Ivy ever gonna visit? I don’t think Mom told her much about me yet, and I still gotta give her the shovel talk!” the fierce look that overcame Marinette’s face made Selina laugh again. Oh yes, definitely her mother’s daughter.

“Pam has been trying to sneak over, but the laws regarding Metahumans in Paris suddenly got much stricter a few months back and have caused some problems. You wouldn’t happen to know what happened, would you?” Selina did not miss when her seemingly innocent question caused her niece to close off almost instantly. Bluebell eyes took on a familiar guardedness, and scanned her with the same soul-searching intensity that Harley had when she was channeling her Psychiatrist side. Selina found herself in a slightly concerning spot though—

Because she couldn’t predict Marinette at all. She was left to simply stand there as Marinette searched for some unidentifiable thing in her eyes, completely unable to read the younger girl’s face and with no idea of what to expect. The side effect of having chaos so thoroughly entwined in both of her biological parents, she supposed.

“Nope, no idea.”

Selina knew that was a lie, but knew equally as well that she would not be getting a better answer anytime soon. So, she let it go and the two of them once again dipped into innocent chatter.

Later that night, when Selina left and the sun threatened to rise at any minute, Tikki flew up from her hiding spot under Marinette’s pillow to land on her holder’s shoulder. Marinette giggled and looked over at her little friend.

“Tikki?”

“Yes, Mari?”

“Why was I chosen to be your holder?” She asked suddenly, flopping back into her bed and staring at her ceiling. The little goddess hummed, smiling knowingly before flying down to cuddle in the crook of Marinette’s neck.

“Because you are born from luck itself. Even when bad things happen, you have the luck and determination to get out just fine, and stronger than before. And despite the destruction and anarchy in your blood, you have the willpower to reign it in and keep control of yourself. That’s all order really is, Marinette. The decision to take all the chaos and madness around us, and make it make sense. Make it do something good. And that’s a large part of who you are, I could feel it in your soul the moment we first met.”

Marinette closed her eyes, biting the inside of her cheek. “What if I lose control?”

“... You’ll just have to get it back. It’ll be hard, but as long as you have people to support you, you will be able to do it. You aren’t evil, Marinette,” the small God seemed to sense the true question her holder was asking, and did her best to soothe the doubt the girl felt. “Just remember the reasons you fight against chaos. Remember everyone you love, and you’ll be okay. And you have me, I’ll always help you.”

“... thank you, Tikki.”

—*—*—*—*—*

“He’s going to find out, Mom.”

“No he won’t, don’t be silly! I’ve been very careful about hiding you from him, Nettie-pie.”

“Mom… I just have a bad feeling. I don’t think we can hide who I am from him. If he sees me, I think he’ll know.”

The phone went silent.

“If he hurts you, I’ll kill him. If I was crazy about him, Sugar, then I’m head over heels for you. Not even he can stop me from caving his skull in if he tries his usual tricks with you.”

“... My plane leaves soon, I’ll talk to you when I land. And mom?”

“Yeah, honeycake?”

“I love you.”

—*—*—*—*—*

It was uncanny just how often Marinette’s hunches were right. Her intuition was something to behold, truly, because it only took three days in Gotham before Joker snatched her right out of her room at Harley and Ivy’s apartment. At least Marinette had sixteen by then, so she had had enough experience as a hero in Paris and with generally unpredictable situations and people who were absolutely nuts for her to not immediately panic. Too much, anyway.

Because there was definitely a little panic there.

See, Marinette knew herself inside out by then. After her own battle with her toxic feelings towards Adrien and doing her best to heal from those before she turned out like her mom, she knew she was by no means mentally indestructible. Mental illness ran the high risk of being inherited, and Marinette was well aware that her own personality was scarily similar to her mother’s at times. She got attached quickly, felt affection and love for others very strongly and, as she found with Adrien, could easily become obsessive if she didn’t watch herself. At least Harley was the perfect person to help with that, and Marinette was serious about helping herself too. She did everything she could to keep an eye on her mental health and keep her behavior in check so she didn’t do anything too unhealthy with her relationships again.

But she knew, she knew she had a soft spot for family. She got attached too easily. And being in the same room as her biological father, despite being tied up by her hands and feet and knowing just how many unforgivable things he had done in his life, Marinette felt vulnerable. She didn’t want to hurt him, despite everything. She still loved him, despite every reason not to, despite her first meeting with him being with him shoving chloroform over her face and hogtying her to a metal chain dangling over a vat of acid.

Geez, she’d need more than just her mom as a therapist after this for sure. Even if her mom had a PH.D, Marinette felt like she’d need several psychiatrists to sort through her emotional turmoil right then and make sense of any of it.

Marinette licked her lips, aware that the only kindness that Joker gave his daughter was sparing her from the discomfort of being gagged.

“Don’t,” Marinette said, surprising herself with the amount of steel she was able to put into her voice. Somehow, she managed to make the single word sound more like an order than a plead. “Joker, put me—“

“Ah-Ah-Ah!” The clown walked over, tutting and waving his finger in the air in almost playful admonishment. He gave her a dramatically fake pout. “Don’t you know it’s disrespectful to refer to your father by his first name?” Neither of them mentioned that Joker was definitely not his real name. They both knew the point was moot. “Say it with me now— ‘Daddy dearest, I am more than willing to be dunked in acid for you,’ go ahead, say it.”

Marinette’s jaw clenched. Familial love or not, she would not tolerate being ridiculed like that. She dealt with enough ridicule when she was fourteen and fifteen during school, before she put Liar Rossi in her place. She had spent the past three years as a hero in charge of the war against Hawkmoth, in charge of protecting all of Paris from an emotional terrorist.

And gee, wasn’t that what Joker was, too? Sure, he was a terrorist in the classic meaning of the word as well, but he was nothing if not a skilled manipulator. He knew the human mind just as well as Harley or any other psychiatrist did, he just used his knowledge for different means. He had emotionally abused Harley for years, he emotionally abused and manipulated people all across gotham on a daily basis. He was just another Hawkmoth, but with more physical violence in place of magic.

With these thoughts strengthening her resolve, Marinette narrowed her eyes at the man who donated half of her DNA. She let her anger boil into her irises, hitting him with one of the few traits she knew she inherited from him.

Her ability to intimidate others on the tip of a hat.

“No,” she growled back at him. She took a deep breath. It had taken her a while, but she refused to be ashamed of who she was regardless of her blood relation. She would have no problem using the very things she inherited from Joker against him. She might have gotten most of Harley’s personality, she might have inherited her mother’s habit of falling in love hard, fast, and obsessively, but she also had Joker’s defiance. His bone-deep inability to be stopped from doing exactly whatever the fuck he wanted.

And then, there were Marinette’s own traits. The ones that were completely her own, developed over her life organically. Like her refusal to bow down to bullies, her creativity, her ability to take even the most chaotic situation and see some sort of balance and sanity in it that she could use to her advantage.

That she WOULD use to her advantage. The shadows she saw move out of the corner of her eye gave her the chance to do exactly that, she just needed to buy a few more seconds. Just a few more seconds.

“Excuse me?” Joker growled right back, his own intimidation, honed over more years than Marinette had been alive and thus much more potent than her own, reading its ugly head as he stalked towards her. His face was pulled down into an ugly snarl, his shoulders tensed and back straight as he glared right at her. From his spot on the metal walkway, he was easily able to reach over the railing and grab her chin in one pale, viciously strong hand. “I think you’re misunderstanding something here, little Marionette. I’m your father. Half of your life came directly from ME. That makes you my puppet. You exist to follow my orders,” his right grip suddenly let go, leaving behind the beginnings of a bruise as his entire demeanor changed from angry to cheerful. He spread his arms as if gesturing to the whole chemical plant victoriously, and an unnaturally large smile curved over his lips and bared yellowing teeth at her. “But that’s okay. I’ll forgive you this time, you haven’t learned any better yet. That’s why we’re here. We need to cleanse you of all those icky bad habits you’ve learned up until now, all you need is a little,” he bounced in place with a wicked smirk to illustrate his next words— “jumpstart. A little acid goes a long way to enlightenment you know, you’ll see my side of things in no time. And with my blood in you, you’ll make a better sidekick than that idiot Harley ever did. I can sense it, you’ve got a real talent for Chaos in you, it’s exciting, Heheeeheheee! Now then, we should probably speed things along before our family reunion is cut short. Hang in there, my little Marionette,” the man actually had the gall to spin in place while humming a tune cheerfully before all but dancing over to the lever that held Marinette’s length of chain in the air over the vat of chemicals below her. “Everything will clear up in that little head of yours in just a second!”

There! Right as Joker pulled the switch to lower her into the bubbling vat underneath her, Marinette was able to finish untying her hands. She couldn’t contain a small yelp as gravity flung her body forward, leaving her upside down on the chain for a brief moment. That was when the chain started lowering rapidly, and Marinette was barely able to rip the rope off of her ankles in time to swing off of it and onto the metal walkway that came up right next to the giant metal container of liquid death and insanity. Joker had barely enough time to shout in rage before the windows near the ceiling shattered, admitting the city’s vigilantes themselves. Batman, Nightwing, Red Robin, Red Hood, Robin, and evening Black Bat all landed on the same metal platform above Marinette’s head that Joker was still on, buying the teen time to start running. But she didn’t go towards the exit right away, instead heading right up the stairs into the thick of the fight. Robin briefly separated from where Joker was managing to hold his own, goons flooding from side doors to inhibit the heroes in their attempt to bring their boss down.

The katana-using vigilante kept one eye on Marinette the whole time, suspicious of why the girl would come back up if not to help her father. But that wasn’t what she did, instead she flipped and kicked and punched her way through the quickly growing sea of Joker thugs until she reached a small pink purse that had been abandoned near the lever that had nearly sent her into liquid insanity. Three thugs surrounded her right as she snatched the purse up and slung it over her shoulder, but Robin barely had the chance to head over before she was heaving the men, who were all easily three times her size, over her shoulder and was slamming elbows into soft spots and the side of her hand into pressure points. By the time Robin got to her side, all three men were unconscious and bound to wake up in utter agony.

Marinette glanced up, getting ready to haul Robin over her shoulder as well before she realized who he was. She let her shoulders relax just a tick, sighing in relief before returning her eyes to scanning their surroundings. She shot him a brief grin.

“Good thing my adoptive mother, Mom, Momma Ivy, and Auntie Selina all made sure I knew how to take down a small army on my own, huh?” She asked rhetorically before they were both unceremoniously dragged back into the giant brawl.

—*—*—*—*—*

“Nettie-pie!”

“Marigold!”

Harley and Pamela Quinzel-Isley shoved down anyone and everyone who dared block their direct path to their daughter. The girl of the hour stood next to the bat clan, a shock blanket held tightly around her shoulders as she did her best to finish her statement to both the vigilantes and Commissioner Gordon.

“You untied yourself… from a ship-grade knot in high quality rope… with a phone charm?” They heard Gordon ask incredulously, to which Marinette could only give a lopsided smile. That was when her mom and stepmom crashed into her, enveloping her in a nearly suffocating hug.

“Gah— mom— momma Ivy—“ Marinette flailed in their arms for a bit before finally getting her head free and continuing her statement as if she didn’t have two of the most dangerous women in the city still giving her a bone crushing hug. “That’s better. Yes, Commissioner. You see, I realized when I was in the car with Joker, while I was pretending to still be unconscious, that one of the charms on my phone had pretty sharp corners that I could use like a serrated edge if I had enough time. So I carefully detached it from my phone, and held it in my palm. It took almost an hour, but once Joker noticed I was awake I kept him talking so that he didn’t notice what I was doing even as he tied me up to that chain. Really, it’s just lucky that I was able to get it worn down in time,” Marinette rubbed the back of her neck with a nervous chuckle. “But regardless, I think Batman and his partners,” she nodded to the listening vigilantes just to the side of her. “Were close enough that I would have been caught anyway, I just wanted to make sure they had less work to do. The sooner I freed myself, the sooner ‘Daddy Dearest,’” she grimaced as she mockingly used the same term Joker had tried to get her to say earlier that night. “Could go back behind bars where he belongs.”

“Oh my little Nettie-cake,” Harley cried, finally pulling back from the hug long enough to wipe her cheeks. It was clear that she had been crying for a while, and her colorful pigtails were mussed and tangled from where she must have been tugging on them in worry. “You were right. I’m so sorry, I never should have let you come to Gotham when I knew he was out of Arkham.”

Marinette was quick to shake her head frantically, pulling her arms out of Ivy’s hold so she could grasp Harley’s shoulders firmly. “No. No, Mom, I’m fine! And besides, we knew I couldn’t stay secret forever. I really like staying with you and Momma Ivy! Everything turned out fine though, and he’s headed back to Arkham. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay, Nettle,” Pam argued, distracting herself by running her hands through Marinette’s bangs. She had only known the girl for two years, but that was more than long enough for her to consider the teenager as her own. “He took you right out from under our noses. You were supposed to be safe in our home, and he still got to you. That’s not okay. We weren’t able to protect you like we should have been. Maybe you should go back to Paris early.”

“What?! No way!” Marinette argued, eyes wide. “This is the first time I’ve been able to ever visit you guys in Gotham, I’m not letting some psycho sperm donor keep me from enjoying time with my family! I came here knowing full well that it was dangerous. I’m not gonna just run away after one bad experience.”

Harley snorted, and then devolved into uncontrollable giggles. “Heh— psycho sperm donor. Good one, sugar!”

Marinette smiled and rolled her eyes good naturedly at her mom’s usual immature antics. Seeing as Gordon had walked away muttering to himself a short while ago, Marinette pulled herself the rest of the way away from her moms and turned to the vigilantes. Without a second’s pause, she bowed to them just like her Maman Sabine taught her.

“Thank you for helping save me. I know it’s probably a shock that I’ve been kept secret from you guys all this time, but I hope you don’t lump me in with the likes of the green-haired half of my DNA. I’m staying with my Moms in their apartment, if you guys decide to patrol by our place like I suspect, I’ll leave some baked goods and coffee out for you on our patio. It’s the least I can do for you all after tonight. And don’t be too hard on Auntie Selina. Me and Mom swore her to secrecy, even from you guys.”

Batman jerked a little at the mention of Catwoman’s real name, jaw twitching for a second. Behind his cowl, his eyes narrowed. Marinette laughed, easily reading his body language and expression.

“She never told me who you are, but she didn’t exactly hide it either. It was easy to put the last pieces together on my own. But don’t worry, SHE swore me to secrecy too. I won’t tell anyone.

“How the hell are you related to the Laughing Asswipe from Hell?” Red Hood blurted out, his confusion clear even from behind his hideous helmet. Marinette burst into giggles, and both Pamela and Harley smiled knowingly.

“Mom gave me up for adoption when I was born, so I spent my whole life in Paris up until now,” she admitted. “Mom didn’t visit me for the first time until I was eight, and she and my adoptive parents are so awesome that it must’ve suffocated the worst traits from his DNA before they had a chance to develop,” she guessed out loud with a good natured smile.

Batman grunted. Marinette knew that one run-in wasn’t enough for them to trust her. After all, she was still the biological daughter of their arch enemy. But she didn’t mind, she understood the caution even if she didn’t fully agree with it. They weren’t outright hostile, despite the fact that Robin had never stopped glaring at her since they fought back-to-back against the mob of thugs earlier. She could live with their suspicion, as long as they continued to not be outright rude or mean to her.

At least she could empathize with Adrien now, whenever she figured out how to break it to him that Hawkmoth was definitely Gabriel and couldn’t be anyone else. Hopefully she could help soften the blow for him a little.

Harley and Ivy were starting to herd Marinette towards their car and take her back home, where they could continue to smother her in care and make sure she didn’t have even a scratch on her, when Robin’s voice stopped them all in their tracks.

“You are a surprisingly capable combatant.”

Marinette froze, blinking in surprise for a second before turning to stare at Robin in shock. The rest of the Bat Clam was doing the same, nobody expecting Robin of all people to be the first to directly complement Marinette. He tutted, crossing his arms, but never moved his gaze away from Marinette’s eyes.

“But your form could use some work. Most of your style is incredibly improvised, which I can appreciate since you do it well, but you would benefit from more structure in your fighting. I will set up a time and place for us to spar. We start in two days, if you think you can handle it.”

It took a while for what Robin said to sink in, and another few seconds for Marinette to decipher what his semi-aggressive, order-phrased proposal really meant. And she smiled.

“It’s a date.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Woo! This started off a little rough, but I really like how it ended up! Thank you, Anon!

#ml x dc #maribat #mlb x dc #eventual daminette #pre daminette #daminette #Bio!dad joker #bio!mom Harley Quinn #Joker Sucks #Request #Oneshot #Fanfiction #crossover

[kaistrex]

for the fic writers ask!! 11 & 20 !!

11) Give us an excerpt of your current WIP!

It's really tough for me to pick excerpts because my WIPs are mostly made up of incoherent/incomplete sentences that I'm sure no one else can make sense of 😂 But I managed to find this section from my Lonely Stiles WIP that has minimal blanks in it! Taken from the opening scene.

“Stiles! Call Derek!” Scott yells, tossing his phone through the air.

Stiles winces as it skitters along the ground and dives for it, thinking in times like these it would be so much more helpful if he had Derek’s number in his own phone. The problem is he’s way too scared to ask. He feverishly scrolls through Scott’s contacts as the _____ grabs Scott by the ankle and tosses him halfway across the lot like a ragdoll, Allison over by her car and frantically rummaging around in the trunk.

“What?” comes the terse voice on the other end of the phone as soon as the call connects, and it’s times like these that Stiles is glad of Derek’s aversion to pleasantries.

“Derek, we need your help!”

The black figure has just thrown Scott so hard against a brick wall that its a miracle he didn’t go crashing straight through it, and now it’s advancing on Stiles, apparently deciding he’s enjoyed the sidelines long enough and deserves a taste of the action.

“Oh, shit! Theatre parking lot on Elm!” he yells into the phone and then trips backward on nothing, flails, and crashes to the ground. He’s only saved from a mauling by a well-timed arrow from the bow Allison has finally dug up from the trunk of her car. The arrow glances off its shoulder though, scales too thick of an armour, and just seems to make it angry. It advances on Allison instead, and though she has better luck at backing up than Stiles, she has to dodge a swipe from its barbed tail by diving behind the nearest car. Scott leaps on the thing’s back, getting spun around and around and around as it tries to throw him off. He ends up slammed backwards against the door of a nearby pickup and he crumples, the wind knocked out of him.

Stiles casts around for a weapon like he might find a handy baseball bat lying on the ground

A dark shape streaks by him, a breeze from the speed with which Derek passes ruffling his hair. Derek leaps, somersaulting through the air, and with one twist, the beast’s head comes off in his hands. Stiles is expecting a fountain of blood or something equally disgusting, but as the body drops to its knees, something like ash seems to be ______ as it disintegrates. Scales, Stiles realises, drifting away on the breeze until there’s nothing left.

They’re all left there panting in the wake of it, standing - or in Stiles’ case, sprawling - in the aftermath until he’s the first, unsurprisingly, to find some words.

“What the hell was that?!”

Derek shrugs. “It’s dead now.”

(I wasn't sure what the monster they're fighting would be when I first wrote this, but I've since worked it out, so those mentions need to change!)

20) Make up your own question!

Do you mean you want me to come up with something? 🤔

I don't know about a question, but as for a random piece of info that I remembered recently, my fic Home originally started out as a parallel universe fic before it became a time travel one. It was going to be alive Hale family in one universe, but it felt way too dark to tackle them being dead in the other, and it ended up turning to time travel instead. I like it a whole lot better the way it turned out 😊

-

Thanks for the ask!! 💖

#ask game answered #iscarusholmes

[anauthore]

If the Rumours are True... (Kenny McCormick x Reader) {SERIES | Three}

Summary: The party at Wendy’s is more of a romp than you’re used to. The aftermath, also, is equally as unexpected.

Pairing: Kenny McCormick x Reader (she/her pronouns) - South Park

CW: implied sexual content / implied sexual content while intoxicated

NOTE: Every part of this series can be read as stand-alone, or as part of the series itself! If you don’t want to read each part on Tumblr, feel free to check out links to the work on the below websites:

Wattpad | Quotev | AO3

Fic Below the Cut | Previous Part | Next Part

South Park High, a school just as brutal (if not more) than any other high school peppered across the United States. There were cliques, clubs, boys, girls, and anything else you could imagine roaming the halls, ready to pounce.

You were luckier than most; you didn’t stand out at all. Sure, you had a small group of friends equally as normal as you, and sure, you turned in all of your assignments like a “goody-two-shoes”, but you blended in like camouflage in the forest.

At least, you did.

Your life has always been in the process of falling apart. You were used to the constant yelling and belittling of yourself, mostly from your parents. If anything, you’d used school- as hectic as it was- as an escape from all the shit in your day-to-day. You’d walk in, get noticed by no one, and stand in the corner, sit in your chair, get your work done, and leave. That’s how it’s always been, and the silence you’d brought along with you was always welcomed.

Today was different. Hell, last week was different. You weren’t one to go out and party, yet you took up the opportunity nearly as soon as it had fallen into your lap. You also didn’t ask for handouts or sleep in a stranger’s home, but when it was offered to you, you didn’t refuse. How could you? You needed help- Right?

You pushed open the double doors and breathed in the warmth from the heating system. You half-stomped, half-walked inside the building, getting extra snow from your boots before you found your usual waiting place; right around the corner of your class, conveniently in the front of the building just down the hall. You leant against the painted brick walls, trying to get your phone to connect to the school’s wifi before you gave up out of frustration- you understood why only teachers were allowed to connect, but that didn’t mean it didn’t piss you off some when you couldn't listen to music before class.

You took out your earbuds and wrapped the wire around your phone, shoving it into your pocket. You looked up just in time to make very brief eye contact with someone passing in the hall, and they snickered. Your brows furrowed, and you watched them slow down and whisper something to their partner before they pointed a thumb back in your direction. 

...What?

What could they possibly be talking about?

You didn’t do anything that would warrant gossip. You scoffed to yourself before a sinister thought crossed your mind: What did you do at the party? 

Anxiety built up in your chest as you racked your brain for any clue of something embarrassing you might’ve done. You just drank! You remembered playing beer pong, you remembered being really bad at it, but no instance of you completely embarrassing yourself came to mind.

You tapped your foot, waiting for the bell to ring and save you by ushering you and others to class. You wanted nothing more than to surround yourself in papers, work, and the silence that you’d grown to know as a friend, but you couldn’t. You, for the first time in a very long time, didn’t feel safe in the High School.

* * *

You sat in your seat- back corner, half-hidden by a structural mistake in the room that was a protruding wall. You leaned your head against your palm, leg bouncing as you tried not to stare at anyone that walked in after you. You heard mumbling and idle talk- it was Monday, and it’d been at least a few days before most people had had contact with their classmates. Greetings floated about before the teacher coughed and began his lesson.

You obediently pulled out a notebook and pencil, scribbling in the margins to distract yourself. You drew bottles and cigarettes, random circles, and a horrible rendition of a person. Before you knew it, class was over, and it was time to get up and leave.

You were the last one out of the room, and for good reason. The halls were crowded with people trying to get both here and there, but there was something else that you couldn’t put your finger on. You bumped elbows with some, and definitely were the subject for a group of laughing girls. Your blank expression didn’t change, but your pulse quickened, as did your pace. When you found a way out, you darted to your next class, ignoring anything and anyone that would possibly try and contact you.

It was like that for most of your day. Head down, dart to the next class. Do your work, turn it in, hide. You wanted nothing more than to be home right now- or at the very least, outside and away from everyone else. 

The period before lunch was the thing you were most looking forward to; Wendy Testaburger sat two seats down from you, and though you didn’t talk much with her, you knew she was at the party. You knew she had answers. She had to.

You left your stuff at your seat and waved to Wendy as she walked in. She smiled and waved back, as usual, but didn’t say anything important to you. You didn’t like to speak up when it was so quiet, but this was important.

“Hey, Wendy,” you called her quietly, hoping that she heard you.

She turned her head around and raised her eyebrows, letting you know that she heard you. “Yeah?”

“Uh, I need to talk to you. About the party. Did-” you quieted down some more, now that you knew she could hear you just fine, “did anything happen? Like, anything I should know about?”

She shook her head before she stopped herself, and started to laugh. “Well, actually, there are a few things you might not remember. Nothing bad though! I promise.” Her unfaltering smile calmed you some, but it could only give you so much comfort.

You nodded, waiting as she told you things you already knew. She told you just how much you sucked at beer pong, and how Stan- that was the black-haired boy’s name- made you drink every time you missed instead of every time you made a shot in. She laughed about how drunk you’d gotten, stumbling over and then nearly falling into Bebe when you realized you’d finally scored a point for them.

You nodded, but none of this helped. “So, I just got shitfaced and then went to sleep on your couch? That’s all that happened?”

She started to nod, but then stopped herself. “Well, no.”

When she didn’t elaborate, you pressed further. “Well, what? Seriously, Wendy, there are groups of girls I’ve never seen before laughing at me in the hallway. This is important.” You pled with your eyes and she bit her lip, giving in.

“Okay, but you didn’t hear this from me. Bebe didn’t want me to tell you. Girls’ oath, okay?” She stuck out her pinkie for you to take in a pinkie promise, and as childish as you thought it was, you humoured her and did as she asked.

When it was over, she nodded and leaned in, her voice now just a whisper. “Okay, so you already know you were very drunk. You had trouble walking up the stairs to go sit down and sober up, so I tried to help you but it wasn’t working out. Kenny- you know him, Stan’s friend who always wears orange?- Yeah, he took you upstairs and took care of you. He has more experience than anyone else in that matter, so it was better for him, you know?”

You blinked. Kenny helped you, again? You didn’t think he’d want anything else to do with you after you literally slept on his floor, but, as per usual, you were completely wrong in that regard.

“Wait, so Kenny ‘took care of me’? As in, gave me water and stuff, right?” Your intense gaze never once parted from hers, determined to scrounge up every piece of evidence you could on this case.

“Well, yeah. I don’t know exactly what he did, but I know he didn’t hurt you or anything. At least, not really.”

Confusion once again weighed on your eyebrows. “What do you mean, ‘not really’?”

She opened her mouth and then thought better of it, swallowing her words and looking to the side, as if she were being watched.

“Well, you know him. You know what he does.”

You shook your head. “No, I don’t know Kenny. You know him, and all of Cartman’s friends. I’ve only heard of him, and until the party, I haven’t really had anything to do with them!”

She seemed taken aback by your sudden outburst. “Jesus, (Y/n), you know what I meant. He’s a player. You know what they do- they sleep with girls and brag about it.”

Your stomach dropped and you could feel the butterflies of anxiety flutter through every part of you. “But he didn’t sleep with me.”

Wendy shrugged. “He didn’t have to. All he had to do was say he did.”

Your face scrunched up and you plopped back into your chair completely, Wendy turning back to face the front of the room. You had never been so angry, nor felt so used. You’d also never felt so forced out in the open.

Fuck it, you thought, endorsing your impulses for once, if he’s gonna push me out there, I might as well be out there.

* * *

The lunch bell rang and you practically leaped from your seat, fueled by anger and adrenaline. Maybe you were feeling excitement, too, but you couldn’t tell with the rising anxiety that accompanied your other feelings.

You walked past the lunch line and sat your bag down at your usual table, reserving your seat before you spun on your heel and searched for that orange wearing fucker. He was easy to spot, especially considering your town was small and the school even smaller. You stormed toward him, your feet flying across the cafeteria tile to meet him before he sat down.

Cartman was the first to notice you coming at them, his confused expression turning to one of annoyance before the others noticed you as well. You didn’t give anyone a chance to speak, however, before you opened your mouth and spat pure venom at your perpetrator. 

“What the fuck, McCormick?”

You grabbed his shoulder to make him look at you, but he must’ve sensed you coming because he was already staring you dead in the eye. He had one eyebrow raised, a dumb look on his face like he did nothing wrong at all.

“Hey, who the fuck are you calling McCormick?” Annoyance laced his words.

“You! You can’t just go around telling everyone we had sex! What kind of douchebag does that?”

Cartman snorted opposite you and Kenny looked at him for a brief moment before he turned his attention back on you. “Look, can we talk about this later? I-”

“No.” You interrupted him, tired of hearing his voice. Maybe he was right- everyone knows his name, everyone knows his game; everyone but you, apparently. “We didn’t sleep together. I’ve talked to you a total of two- two!- times, and you tell everyone we fucked? There’s gotta be something wrong with you in your head. Does your mom not give you enough attention?”

You could tell you struck a nerve with him, because his face got red and he clenched his fists under the table. At this point, the surrounding tables got quiet. No one was laughing now- just wide-eyed stares and confused glances from one friend to the other.

“Dude, don’t talk about his mom.” The ginger spoke up, his tone about as serious as the air in the room. Kenny didn’t even comment on his friend trying to back him- instead, he clenched his jaw to keep from saying something incredibly stupid.

“Maybe he should’ve thought about that before he spread rumours about me! Kenny-” you softened, suddenly overcome with a wave of emotion. Fuck, not now, please, you thought, damning your inner waterworks. “you let me stay at your house when my mom kicked me out. I don’t even know you, and you put me to bed so that no one else would take advantage of me when I was intoxicated! And- and now, come to find out, all you wanted to do was tell everyone you tricked another girl into giving you some pussy? What kind of fucked up person does that?”

Tears pricked at your eyes and you finally looked away from him. You sniffed, wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands before anyone else could comment on them.

You were too late, though. Cartman piped up, as usual; “Fuck, no one cares, lady. So, you slept with Kenny, big deal. Don’t think you’ll get famous for it or anything. Jesus.”

You scoffed, shaking your head before muttering to Kenny, but mostly to yourself. “I thought you’d be better than this. I just- fuck, nevermind. Fuck you.”

You walked away, leaving him to do whatever he did while you had your back turned to him. You didn’t know, nor did you really care. You picked up your pack and rushed to the bathroom, locking yourself in a stall and crying as much as your body was able to. It wasn’t fair- life wasn’t fair. You knew that, but God you’d thought Kenny was a good guy. You thought maybe that deep down, he was just misunderstood. 

And your heart broke, because it was so obvious that you’d thought wrong.

#anauthore #south park #south park fanfiction #south park high #south park high school au #south park highschool au #kenny mccormick #kenny mccormick x reader #stan marsh #wendy testaburger #bebe stevens #kyle brovlofski #kyle broflovski #eric cartman #reader #fanfiction on tumblr #female reader #she/her reader #ao3 #wattpad #quotev #romance #no smut #reader insert

[moriarty-bibliotheca]

—✧ ❝𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞❞ ✉

— 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 ✉

𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏 𝒔𝒂𝒚𝒔: 「 Hello, miss bibliothecary! I have a story request for you, may I ask for a Sherlock x fem reader x William full fic story? It can be made or are which ever you choose. So the idea I hav is that (Y/N) is a waiter who was at the wrong place at the time and murder happens at the manor she's catering for. William knows of her because she sees him time to time on the street near the college. While she knows of Sherlock cause they're neighbor!? Which man can steal her heart durring this.) Thank you!

❝ 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐦 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 , 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐬 ❞

— 𝗳𝗲𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗲! 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

— 𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝗯𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝘁

— 𝗶𝗻𝗰𝗹𝘂𝗱𝗲𝘀 𝗮 𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘁𝗹𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗼𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝘃𝗼𝗹𝘂𝗺𝗲 𝟱, 𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟭𝟱

— 𝗴𝗿𝗮𝗺𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗲𝗿𝗿𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝗮𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱!

☎ 𝒃𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒚'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: oh my~ what an interesting request, i’d be more than happy to fulfill this for you, my dear! the way that i would write how Y/N does her catering is similar to my experience! i hope this is to your liking, now go ahead and check out the story!

The bright lights on the chandelier illuminated the party hall as the invited guests entertained themselves with a conversation with their fellow nobility, Y/N was standing at the corner of the room wearing her usual servant dress. She recently served a few drinks to the ones who requested it, she held the tray firmly before leaving the room and heading to the kitchen.

She let out a soft sigh as she fixed her white apron and her cap, she placed the tray on the kitchen counter and stood beside a fellow waitress. She grabbed a clean towel to continue polishing the silverware that the guests will be using for dinner at a later time, she was feeling a little exhausted from all the catering services she had to do for the past few days, but she wasn’t complaining and thought that she should be grateful that she has a job.

A few minutes later, she had completed her task of polishing all the silverware. She faced the huge window by the kitchen, this baron’s house was humongous, she shouldn’t even be surprised at this point. She walked closer to the window, the pale moonlight illuminated the dark streets of London. If only life would be greater, she would have enjoyed the way she lives her life without being harassed by a majority of the nobility. 

“Enjoying the view?” asked a voice as beautiful as the moon high up in the sky, she nodded without acknowledging who the voice belongs to. “I must say you’re quite occupied,” said the person, “I apologize for disturbing your time, miss.” Y/N’s attention was on this person now, she turned her head to identify who the speaker is, only to see a man of nobility that she has known in a while; William James Moriarty.

“Professor Moriarty,” spoke the female as she gave him a polite curtesy, “I apologize, I did not know it was you, how can I be of service to you?” She had recognized this man for she has seen him quite a few times around London and the university that was located in Durham. She had never spoken to this man face-to-face, but they did greet each other with a smile every time they have walked past each other.

“I’m doing fine, Miss L/N,” said the male, “no need to worry. I am only walking around,” his voice was as melodic as her favorite musical piece, she had to admit that hearing the younger earl’s voice for the first time is quite relaxing. She gave the man a nod as she bowed at him one last time before excusing herself to go back to work, the hint of redness on her cheeks was certainly evident and she didn’t want to embarrass herself any further.

“Did the earl need something, Y/N?” asked a co-worker, the lass shook her head as she tried to calm her beating heart and slight reddened cheeks, she did not know what was happening to her and it felt so sudden to react like this to someone she doesn’t even know much, she shook her head to herself and started preparing the utensils for dinner that will occur within 30 minutes. 

Minutes have passed and everything was prepared, a huge variety of meals were neatly placed on the long table with serving utensils right beside each container; there were hot dishes, cold dishes, salads, and of course, desserts. The headwaiter let out a sigh of relief and looked at his fellow co-workers, he gave them a huge smile followed by a thumbs up and said, “another job well done!” 

It was time for dinner to start, Y/N and her fellow co-workers immediately retreated to the kitchen and cleaned up the area before taking a short rest. The night had been peaceful all the while and thank the Gods that the invited guests and the host of the party weren’t as rude as the previous ones that they have worked for.

But, was the night really peaceful? 

A scream was heard nearby the dining hall, Y/N and her fellow co-workers immediately jumped out of their seats and ran to the place where they heard the scream with the other guests in the dining room coming out of the hall to see the commotion, and to their horror, the discovery they made was gut-wrenching and shocking.

Laid there on the red carpet of the halls was a nobleman, definitely one of the guests as Y/N remembered his face, he laid there on his own pool of blood, lifeless and still. The first one who had discovered it first and alarmed everyone with a scream was a woman, perhaps she had come across this dead man as she left the dining room.

The woman let out a sob as she ran towards a man that was undoubtedly her husband, the lady will surely be scarred upon discovering a dead body, what’s worse is that she might get suspected even if she may be innocent. “What happened?” questioned the headwaiter silently, he was talking to his co-workers in disbelief, the rest of the waiting staff did not answer for they were in quite the shock as well.

“My, how unfortunate,” said William, and he was right, how unfortunate for this man to die at a dinner party as glorious as this one. Another man moved away from the crowd and kneeled next to the dead man to examine his injuries. Why, this man was Sherlock! Y/N’s eyes widened as she recognized this man, he was living right next door and they have interacted a few times. He is quite an intelligent man, she admits. 

It seems the male sensed she was looking at him for he averted his gaze towards Y/N and locked eyes with her for a few seconds, he waved at her and she greeted him back with a wave before he continued on with the investigation. “The yard should be here soon, please get back to your seats,” informed the head butler of the household, the guests immediately walked away from the scene and continued on where they’ve left off.

The rest of the waiting staff walked away as well and went back to the kitchen, “Y/N!” yelled Sherlock, making the maiden turn around to look at him, he gave her another wave before running towards her, “mind helping me out?” Y/N was definitely surprised at his odd request, but agreed to help him anyway, she walked towards the dead body as Sherlock chased another person across the room. 

“Hey,” yelled out Sherlock, “Liam!” The male turned around right after hearing his name— Sherlock’s nickname for him, to be exact. The second Moriarty gave him a small smile and a simple greeting, “Holmes, I see you’re planning to investigate the murder.” Y/N observed them with a little shock, she wasn’t honestly expecting these two to know each other, but she always thought these two were fairly similar and are, no doubt, geniuses. 

“I am!” cheered Sherlock as he rubbed the back of his neck, "wanna make a bet on which one of us catches the culprit first?” Y/N was surprised to hear this, are they treating this like a game? The second Moriarty let out a chuckle, “quite like what happened on the train.” Sherlock looked amused as he gave him a nod and continued on with their short conversation, the two males in equal standing height walked towards the direction of the dead body, right where Y/N was kneeling.

She wishes not to admit this, but she’s starting to feel a little shy. She will be accompanying two men with one of them apart of the nobility, who’s to say this investigation won’t be quite awkward with a maiden like her to tag along? As curious as the lass is, she wanted to know why did Sherlock ask for her help, that was a little odd of him and she knows she is nowhere near their intellectual level to be able to help them solve this case. 

“L/N,” greeted Moriarty, “I assume you’re here to help?” The maiden nodded at him, “I guess you could say that.” She was definitely uncertain on why she’s here, she wasn’t even sure if she can do anything to help them. “It seems he was stabbed,” said Sherlock as the three of them continued observing. “Stabbed at least 10 times,” added William as he and Sherlock examined the body, Y/N quietly glanced at the two of them and her eyes landed on Sherlock. 

The amount of times they’ve seen each other was countless, it wasn’t that rare since he lives next door with his roommate in Miss Hudson’s apartment. Those short meetings always included short conversations and people could tell they were friends, to say the least. The short conversations Y/N had with Sherlock was interesting, it was always fun for the maiden to hear some random facts that the male found out during his experiments and some sort. 

She would be lying if she said she wasn’t looking forward to seeing Sherlock so often, Y/N’s gaze stayed on Sherlock as he observed the crime scene and made some deductions while talking to William. The way his eyes would lit up when William makes a deduction that perfectly fits what he was thinking, the way he looks when he stayed focused and was dedicated to his thoughts alone, it was like he shouldn’t be disturbed.

Y/N started to feel like a creep the longer she observes Sherlock instead of the crime scene to help them, she shook her head and broke her concentrated gaze on the detective. She was starting to think she might be ill, her heartbeat starts to get quicker and her cheeks were a hint of red, her palms were a little sweaty and she was nervous, similar to how she reacted during her encounter with William earlier. 

“Are you alright?” asked Moriarty, he had noticed the redness of her cheeks and wondered if she was sick or feeling nervous around them. The maiden nodded, “I — I’m fine,” spoke Y/N as she mentally cursed herself for stuttering. “If you’re feeling ill,” said Moriarty as he kneeled in front of her, “we can escort you to a room until you feel better.” 

There it was again, the heat on her cheeks grew as it got redder, her heartbeat quickened as she tried to process what was happening, she immediately shook her head and dismissed the offer, she thanked him for the concern and told him that she could manage. She avoided eye contact as they continued on with the investigation, she gave a few statements here and there that would certainly help the problem progress further until they have arrived to a conclusion.

As soon as they had enough clues, the two decided to split up for their bet was still present, they definitely weren’t joking. “Wait,” said Y/N, “you two were serious about the bet?” She seemed to be in total disbelief, were they really treating this as a game? She wished she could understand the fun that they are experiencing just by solving cases and living as a genius. “Why, yes,” said Sherlock, “and you’ll be the final judge to see who catches and arrests the culprit first.” 

“Me?” questioned the female as Sherlock nodded and waved at her, he and William split up and went on their own ways whilst Y/N stayed with the Scotland Yard and had a short conversation with Lestrade. 

A minute or two had passed and the two gentlemen had appeared at the same time, they both had a few people with them that could be the potential killer. As the two continued to explain their reasons and logic, Y/N and the yard listened attentively and whether they’d admit it or not, these two were pretty impressive. 

After a few minutes of deductive reasoning, the main culprit turned out to be one of the servants in the household, the culprit tried to explain that he did it out of loyalty for his master, but that did not change anything and he was arrested. Sherlock let out a yawn as he stretched his arms, “I guess we both caught the culprit together.” 

William nodded as he looked at Sherlock, “that doesn’t mean our bet is settled.” His scarlet eyes then averted towards the female as she stood there, completely clueless about this “bet” that they were talking about. “What is it?” asked Y/N as she noticed the two of them were looking at her, the two gents gave her a smile as her cheeks turned pink.

“Winner of our bet gets to ask you out,” said William and this made the lady’s heart beat even faster, “but the both of us ended up winning, so you get to choose.” Choose? My, this is a tough decision, Y/N wasn’t even certain if she has feelings for one of them, despite the fact that she was experiencing weird symptoms every time she speaks to them.

Well, should she choose William; the young professor of mathematics with such beautiful scarlet eyes that seemed to hold the darkest secrets or should she choose Sherlock; the consulting detective that lives right next door with whom she had interacted quite a few times now. 

☎ 𝒃𝒊𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒚'𝒔 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆: this is quite long and it took me a day and a half to finish this, let me know if there are errors! i seemed to have gather a lot of motivation in the middle of the night even if i am tired. setting that aside, i hope you enjoyed! sorry if this was nowhere near your expectations, let me know if you want me to do alternate endings for this! come visit the bibliotheca again, darling!

#william james moriarty #william james moriarty x reader #moriarty anime #moriarty #moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuukoku no moriarty x reader #moriarty the patriot x reader #mtp #mtp x reader #ynm #ynm x reader #sherlock holmes #sherlock holmes x reader #x reader #x female reader #憂国のモリアーティ #anime x reader #moriarty x reader #moriarty bibliotheca

[bentforkent]

merry christmas, spencer reid

derek morgan x spencer reid x penelope garcia

a/n: this is a spencer-centric morceid fic. i find spencer the easiest to write, so i enjoy framing these moments through a spencer-lens...hope that's okay with y'all :)

content warnings: none! this is straight FLUFF, love, and banter baby!

word count: 2087

in which derek, penelope, and spencer are at the airport, heading to chicago for christmas

- - - - - 

Arrive at Airport - 6:47 AM

It’s cold. Spencer Reid is certifiably a genius, and all he knows at this moment in time is that it is cold. A fog has settled over the airport drop-off zone, wet and enveloping. Spencer thinks it might be melancholy if not for the sun just barely peeking over the horizon and Penelope’s bright pink coat bouncing around in front of him. She’s wearing enough layers that it’s difficult for her arms to move, leaving Derek and Spencer to pull their luggage from the trunk of the Uber. To compensate for her lack of involvement, she flits around the pair, pressing gentle kisses to their cheeks.

She’s moving a little too much for Spencer’s liking. It’s still early and he’s feeling quite overwhelmed. Late minute packing, bickering, and a sugary coffee before 6 in the morning will do that to you. But he loves Penelope--oh, he loves her so much--and he’s been working through this type of sensory overload response in therapy, so instead of snapping at her to calm down and please stop moving, he reaches for her hand with the one that isn’t white-knuckling a heavy suitcase.

Penelope, ever intuitive, ever loving, laces her fingers with his spindly ones and slows to a still next to him. “Oops. Sorry, lovebug,” she says, and Spencer, relaxing, kisses her flushed cheek.

“Are you excited?” She asks him.

Spencer nods rapidly, curls bouncing. It’s Spencer’s first Christmas spent with Derek and Penelope, his first time going to Chicago with them, and his first time meeting Derek’s family. He’s nervous, but so excited. Spencer watches as Derek lifts the luggage onto the curb, and finds himself wishing it wasn’t so damn cold so he could watch Derek’s muscles flex in the absence of a heavy jacket. Penelope follows Spencer’s gaze and squeezes his hand as if she can hear his thoughts and agrees.

As if on cue, Derek thanks the Uber driver and turns to them.

“You guys are no help,” he remarks, gesturing to the disparity between the amount of luggage each of them were carrying. Penelope pulls her empty, suitcase-free hands from Spencer’s, hiding them behind her back to playfully feign innocence. Spencer’s heart swells as he watches Derek’s smile widen and overtake his whole face.

“Spence, you want me to take that bag?” He asks. He reaches for it, brushing against Spencer’s exposed wrist tenderly.

Spencer beams at him. “No, you’ve got all of them. I can handle this one.”

As they bustle into the airport, the cold air feels a bit warmer.

Check Bags - 7:12 AM

“Babygirl, I hope you checked that bag’s weight twice, because I am not paying extra for you going over the 50 pound limit again,” Derek says, looking down at Penelope where she’s perched on the edge of her suitcase. The line they’re in to check their bags hasn’t moved in a while, and once Penelope had discovered that her suitcase was sturdy enough to hold a human body despite the wonky wheel she’d broken trekking through this very airport last Christmas, she’d been sitting on it ever since. She offered Spencer a spot next to her, of course, but he was enjoying standing with Derek. Every so often, he reaches over and pinches Spencer’s hip playfully, kissing his cheek when Spencer squirms in response. So yeah, Spencer is enjoying it.

Penelope kicks her leg out and hooks it around Derek’s. “Oh, you love me, you’ll pay for it,” she replies, with a toothy smile up at him.

“Did you know that there was once a tiny Samoan airline that actually determined ticket prices based on the weight of their passengers, instead of weighing their luggage? Each kilogram someone weighed was 93 cents onto the price of their ticket,” Spencer says.

“How did that work out for them?” Derek asks intently, enthralled by Spencer’s words. 

“They closed. A lot of people were really upset by the weight thing, but because it made children’s tickets cheaper than the average ticket, a lot of traveling families actually preferred that method.” 

Penelope hums, standing from her seat and wrapping her arms tightly around Derek’s waist. On instinct, he rests his hand on her lower back protectively, holding her close and pressing kisses to her forehead in quick succession.  

“Probably would be cheaper for us to fly that way,” Derek says. “Penelope’s earrings alone are about 49 pounds in there.” He gestures to her floral luggage. 

Penelope turns her head to make mock-serious, unwavering eye-contact with Spencer. “He’s mean to me,” she says matter-of-factly. 

Derek shakes his head with a chuckle. Spencer notes that his smile hasn’t left his face. He hadn’t thought it possible for Derek to be any happier, but apparently Penelope makes it so. Spencer knows the feeling. 

“I love you, Penelope, you know that,” Derek replies, kissing her chastely.  

(Penelope’s suitcase weighs at 27 pounds.) 

Go Through Security - 7:44 AM

“Hey, those are my socks!” Spencer says, looking pointedly at Penelope’s feet.

The socks are yellow, ankle-high, and covered in rainbows. They’re cute, and Spencer knows they’re cute because they’re his, a pair he’d picked up at a random general store in Des Plaines, Illinois, while on a case. He remembers sending Penelope a photo of them that night, just his socked feet next to Derek’s where they laid on the hotel’s puffy white comforter. She answered with a smattering of emojis, saying she was “So jealous!” Spencer had thought she was referring to the quality time with Derek, but it’s apparent now as she puts her shoes into a gray bin, sliding them onto the conveyor belt, that she’d really been jealous of the socks all along.  

“If they’re your socks, why am I wearing them, loverboy?” Penelope counters in jest, back turned to both Spencer and Derek as they follow behind her through the security checkpoint. She flashes a genuine smile to the stoic TSA agent ushering her through as if to say, “Boys, right?”  

Instead of arguing, Spencer turns to Derek. “Those are my socks.”

The TSA agent, still sporting a neutral expression and seemingly unimpressed by Penelope’s charms, calls for Spencer to move forward. He’s trying to keep up, obviously, but this morning he double-knotted his shoelaces as always and has slight trouble getting them off quickly. Once he manages to get all of his belongings--belt, shoes, coat, and hat included--into the tray, he stumbles into the security scanner.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. The TSA agent gives him a half-smile in return, and Spencer takes the emotion and holds it close to his chest.

It’s only when Spencer and Derek finally meet Penelope at the bench she’s at, lacing up her boots, that Spencer looks down at Derek’s feet.

“Der,” he says.

Distracted with putting his belt back on, Derek replies absentmindedly. “Yes, baby?”

“Those are my socks.”

Derek looks down at his feet. Two bright pink kittens smile up at him.

Arrive at Gate - 8:17 AM

Penelope passes the sweet-smelling hand sanitizer towards Spencer as they sink into the grimy, uncomfortable seats at the gate, dropping their carry-on bags.

“‘Frosted Snowball,’” Spencer reads aloud from the glittery blue bottle. He pours a generous amount into his hand, watching earnestly as the glitter spreads across his hands and in between his fingers. Something about disinfected hands and shimmer makes him feel as awake as he’s felt all morning, although he secretly hopes Penelope will propose going to get a coffee to help him maintain the feeling.

“Isn’t it cute? I got a few, there’s one in your stocking at home. I couldn’t leave it, look at the little polar bear!”

Spencer passes the sanitizer to Derek, who inspects it with a raised eyebrow.

“Why couldn’t they just call it ‘Coconut,’ if that’s the scent?” He asks, squirting a bit of the gel into his hand. “Makin’ me squint and read the fine print to find out what it actually smells like.”

Penelope presses her lips into a faux pout. “Because ‘Frosted Snowball’ is a cuter name than--” She lowers her voice to mock Derek’s--”’Coconut.’ And, it’s festive! Winter themed!”

Spencer pipes up. “Looks like someone isn’t getting ‘Frosted Snowball’ in their stocking this year.” He grins at Derek.

With a shrug and a smile, Derek slings his arm around Spencer’s shoulders and pulls him to his chest, pressing his lips to Spencer’s temple and letting them linger there. Locking eyes with Penelope, Derek smiles. “C’mere, pretty girl,” he says, patting the seat next to him.

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” Penelope says, patting Spencer’s thigh as she leaves his side to sit next to Derek.

The airport bustles around them, but they stop and sit, a peaceful bubble of limbs and public displays of affection and glitter and coconut scent.

Board Flight - 9:07AM

“Are you feeling okay?” Derek whispers into Spencer’s ear, letting his lips brush against it. Spencer leans into his touch. Penelope is tucked into her knitting already, and she’s pulled out an extra set of needles and yarn for Spencer.

Spencer nods.

“You’ve been quiet since we boarded,” Derek observes.

Spencer speaks quietly. “I’m just nervous, I guess. I read an article in Psychology Today about how your partner’s parent’s approval can affect how much love and affection you feel in a relationship, and I just don’t want to mess up.”

There’s a pregnant pause. Derek wants to quell Spencer’s fears and reassure him that everything is okay, but then Spencer is talking again, equally as hushed, but more panicked.

“I’m also nervous because, I know your mom and sisters love Penelope, and I’m...I’m new.”

Derek frowns. His palm finds a spot on Spencer’s chest, right over his heart. Derek knows the weight and warmth of his hand will stabilize Spencer, regulating his breathing, and preventing any anxiety attacks from blooming. Grateful for the touch, Spencer continues.

“They’re gonna think it’s weird that we’re together and that it’s weird that I’m a man and that I’m awkward and gangly and I’m not good with social situations and sometimes I say the wrong things at the wrong time and...yeah.” He stops himself from continuing, noticing how he’s working himself into a frenzy. Derek smiles a tiny half-smile, and Spencer returns it in acknowledgement.  

Penelope, having overheard bits of the conversation, pulls Spencer’s right hand to her lips and kisses his knuckles softly as a reminder of her presence, then turns back to the new scarf she’s making. It’s in a deep mauve, close to Spencer’s favorite shade of purple. (She hasn’t decided if she’s going to give it to him yet. On one hand, it is his color, and he wears scarves more than she does; but on the other hand, because it’s his color, whenever she wears it it would be a reminder of him. She’s torn. They’ll end up sharing it.)

Derek tucks a piece of Spencer’s hair back behind his ear.

“Let me ask you something,” he says. “Do you think it’s weird that we’re together?”

“No,” Spencer replies.

“Do you think it’s weird that you’re a man?”

“No.”

“So,” Derek shrugs as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “If my family feels some type of way about it, that’s their own issue to get over.”

Spencer nods, letting his eyes search Derek’s.

Derek kisses his forehead. “But, I would never intentionally put you into a situation where I know you would be uncomfortable or unwelcome. You know that, right? Tell me you know that.”

Spencer nods, again. He knows. Derek always protects him. He taps Derek’s hand where it lies on his sternum as an example.

Derek nods, then plants a firm, wet kiss on Spencer’s pouted lips. “So trust me when I tell you it’s all going to be okay, okay?”

“Okay,” Spencer says, and he means it.

Derek pats his chest lovingly and moves to put in his headphones. He’ll catch up on his sport podcasts, but in approximately 23 minutes, he’ll feel bad about having headphones in and offer one to Spencer. Spencer eagerly awaits this interaction, although he’ll decline, waiting for Penelope to get bored with her knitting. Then, the two of them will watch some campy 90’s movie together, and share the peanut M&Ms he snuck into his coat pocket to surprise her with.

But for now, Spencer takes Penelope’s extra set of knitting needles, laying them across his lap. 

Content in where he’s at, he smiles and folds up his itinerary.

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