#this is the most unassuming man in the world.

[angstasff]

Remember Me Pt.1

🕸an: I'm backk, and what if I told you this came to be when speaking to a Peter Parker Ai Bot... anyways! Part 2 is in the works already, and tbh I don't know how many parts this may be. also gif creds to @mercurysstars

🕸Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

🕸Genre: ANGST, fluff (later)

🕸CW: parent death, no way home ending, kinda not exactlycanon I think

🕸Word Count: 2K

🕸Summary: After Dr. Strange did his memory erasing," the estranged daughter of Tony Stark, discovers she's the only one who remembers Peter Parker. In an attempt to restore their friend's memory of Peter, Peter and Taysia grow closer, but how long can her memory of him really last?

∘․‧₊˚✩彡🕸🕷🕸彡✩∘․‧₊˚∘․‧₊˚✩彡🕸🕷🕸彡✩∘․‧₊˚∘․‧₊˚✩彡

In the heart of New York City, amidst the hustle and bustle of daily life, there was a small diner tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It was a place where the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the scent of sizzling bacon, and where the clatter of dishes and the hum of conversation filled the air.

It was here, in this unassuming diner, that y/n had started working as a waitress, weaving her way through the crowded tables every weekend. She had started working there part-time, while in high school, to help pay for her hopeful future at MIT, taking orders and serving up plates of comfort food to the weary souls who found solace in the diner's welcoming embrace.

It was minutes before she could clock out, and y/n had been wiping down the counter, lost in her own thoughts when the door swung open and a familiar figure stepped inside.

Tony Stark, billionaire playboy and renowned inventor, sauntered into the diner with all the confidence and composure of a man who owned the world. He was clad in a sleek suit that cost more than most people's monthly rent, his dark hair tousled and his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Y/n was confused and nervous. She had seen Tony Stark in the headlines countless times, his face plastered across magazine covers and news articles, but she had never imagined she would encounter him in person, let alone in a place like this.

Tony approached the counter with purposeful strides, his gaze fixed on y/n with a piercing intensity that sent a shiver down her spine. "You must be Y/n," he said, his voice smooth and commanding. "I've heard good things about you."

Y/n blinked in surprise, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. 

"I, uh, yes, that's me," y/n stammered, her cheeks flushing with heat. "What can I get for you, Mr. Stark?"

Tony flashed her a curt smile, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Just Tony is fine," he said, leaning against the counter with casual ease. "I'm here on business, actually. I've been keeping an eye on you, y/n. You're smart, you're capable, and you've got a gift that most people can only dream of."

Y/n's brow furrowed in confusion, her mind racing to catch up with the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her. "What do you mean?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Tony's smile faded, replaced by a steely resolve that sent a shiver down y/n's spine. "I want to offer you a job," he said, his voice low and intense. "A job at Stark Industries, working alongside some of the brightest minds in the world. You'll have access to resources and opportunities that most people can only dream of."

Y/n's eyes widened in disbelief, her heart pounding in her chest. A job at Stark Industries? It was an offer she couldn't refuse, a chance to escape the drudgery of her mundane existence and step into a world of limitless possibilities. But what about MIT?

But as she stared into Tony's piercing gaze, a nagging thought tugged at the edges of her consciousness—a question she had been too afraid to ask, too afraid to confront.

"I have been saving up for months to be able to get into MIT, Why me, Why now?" she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Tony's expression softened, a hint of sadness flickering behind his eyes. "Because you're special, Y/n," he said simply. "More special than you realize."

And with those words hanging in the air between them, Tony reached into his pocket and pulled out a small envelope, sealed with the emblem of Stark Industries. He placed it gently in y/n's outstretched hand, his touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

"Think about it, Y/n," he said, his voice soft but firm. "And when you're ready, give me a call. I'll be waiting."

And with that, Tony Stark turned and strode out of the diner, leaving y/n standing there in stunned silence, clutching the envelope in her trembling hands.

When she got home later that night, when y/n was alone in her apartment, she mustered the courage to open the envelope and read the letter inside. And as she poured over the words on the page, her heart pounding with excitement and trepidation, she realized the truth that had been staring her in the face all along.

Tony Stark was her father.

The revelation hit her like a thunderbolt, shaking her to her core as she struggled to come to terms with the enormity of it all. Her born from accidental pregnancy? She had always wondered who her father was but could have never imagined she was the daughter of the legendary Tony Stark.

But as she stared down at the letter in her hands, the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. The strange sensations that had plagued her for years, the memories that seemed to linger just beyond the edges of her consciousness—they all made sense now.

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Y/n Stark stood before the towering window of her penthouse apartment, the panoramic view of New York City sprawled out before her like a glittering tapestry. The fading rays of the setting sun bathed the skyline in a warm, golden light, casting long shadows across the urban landscape. From her vantage point high above the bustling streets, y/n could see the city pulsating with life, the steady flow of traffic like blood coursing through the veins of a living organism. It has been two years since Tony died, and she is still left with so many questions about herself unanswered. 

Before Tony had died, he confessed to her, her real lineage. Her mother was not her mother. Her mother is dead and died when she was little. Tony revealed who your mother was. It was all too much. Of course, y/n believed him so he showed her. An image of her mother, and in an instant memories resurfaced.

In the faded image, y/n saw herself as a young child, cradled in the arms of a woman whose face was obscured by the passage of time. But it wasn't the identity of the woman that caught y/n's attention—it was the glint of recognition in her own eyes, a spark of familiarity that sent a shiver down her spine.

She remembered a time when she had been just a young girl, no older than five or six, playing alone in the sprawling gardens of the Stark mansion. The sun had been shining, casting dappled patterns of light and shadow across the lush greenery, and y/n had been lost in a world of her own imagination.

But then, out of the corner of her eye, she had seen something—a flash of movement, a figure lurking in the shadows. Intrigued, she had followed the mysterious presence, her curiosity leading her deeper into the labyrinthine maze of hedges and shrubbery.

And that's when she had found her—her mother, standing amidst a grove of ancient trees, her hands outstretched toward the heavens as if invoking some unseen power. Y/n had watched in awe as her mother's form seemed to blur and shimmer as if she were weaving a spell of magic that transcended the boundaries of reality itself.

At that moment, y/n had felt a surge of energy course through her veins, a tingling sensation that left her feeling both exhilarated and afraid. It was as if her very essence had been infused with the power of the universe, awakening something dormant and long-forgotten within her soul.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the moment had passed. Her mother had turned to face her, her eyes shining with a mixture of love and sorrow, before fading away like a wisp of smoke on the wind.

But the memory had lingered, etched into the fabric of y/n's consciousness like a scar on her soul.

Hours were spent conducting experiments and research, exploring the limits of y/n's abilities, and pushing the boundaries of what was possible. But as the days turned into weeks, and Tony became increasingly preoccupied with other matters, their investigations were pushed to the side, left unfinished and unresolved.

And now, with Tony Stark gone and y/n left to grapple with the truth on her own, she was faced with more questions than answers. What was the true extent of her powers? How had she come to possess them in the first place? And what did it all mean for her future?

The truth is that it didn’t matter. Tony was gone, and she now was accepted into MIT, she had other things to worry about now. Well, at least that's what she thought until the “shift happened”.

It was morning, a week into winter break when she felt it—a strange, disorienting sensation that washed over her like a sudden gust of wind. It was as if the very air around her had shifted, leaving her feeling unmoored and adrift in a sea of uncertainty.

At first, y/n had dismissed it as nothing more than a trick of the mind, a fleeting moment of vertigo brought on by exhaustion or stress. But as days went by she knew something was terribly wrong. 

It all started when she turned on the TV and the channel "The Daily Fix" hosted by the nosy and annoying J. Jonah Jameson was on. Y/n didn’t care for the usual news but kept it on as she made her morning coffee. She was mid-coffee pour when she heard Jameson criticizing Spider-Man once again, claiming he was a coward for hiding his identity. But that didn’t make sense because he was just the one outing Peter Parker as Spider-Man, so how could his identity be hidden? It didn’t make sense, but honestly, she was too happy about her acceptance to look into it. In fact, that reminded her that she meant to gush to MJ about it.

Y/n called MJ, and they expressed their secret excitement for MIT.

"Ugh, the fall is going to be so fun, MJ. I literally can’t wait. Did you ever find out if Ned and Peter got in?"

"Oh yeah, Ned got in, but uh, who’s Peter?"

"Ha ha, very funny, MJ. Did you guys get in a fight or something?"

"No, what, Y/n?"

"Peter. Peter Parker. The nerdy guy you are like totally in love with…"

"Y/n, I don’t know what you are talking about, but I have to go. I’ll see you later. Be safe!"

"Uh, okay, bye, see you later."

Why is MJ acting like she doesn't know Peter? Y/n dialed Ned's number, her mind racing with questions and confusion. As the phone rang, she couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at the edges of her consciousness.

"Hey, Y/n, what's up?" Ned's voice crackled over the line, filled with warmth and familiarity.

"Ned, it's me," Y/n began, her words tumbling out in a rush. "I just talked to MJ, and she acted like she didn't know who Peter was. She said she doesn't remember him at all. Do you know what's going on?"

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line.

“Peter?”

Y/n felt her heart drop.

“Ned, is this some kind of prank that you two are pulling on me? Cause it’s not funny, everything has been all weird lately and-”

“Y/n, I have no reason to prank you, I have no idea who Peter is.”

“Oh- Okay pretend I never asked, also congrats on MIT, I have to go but ill see you soon.”

“Okay see ya, I hope things get better!”

As y/n hung up the phone, her mind raced with a whirlwind of questions and confusion. Why did MJ and Ned act like they didn't know Peter? And what was going on with the strange shift she had felt in the air lately? The pieces of the puzzle refused to fit together, leaving her feeling more lost and bewildered than before. But amidst the chaos of her thoughts, one thing remained clear—she needed answers. And the only person who could provide them was Peter Parker himself.

∘․‧₊˚✩彡🕸🕷🕸彡✩∘․‧₊˚∘․‧₊˚✩彡🕸🕷🕸彡✩∘․‧₊˚∘․‧₊˚✩

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker x you #peter parker angst #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker x y/n #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x y/n #peter parker x stark!reader

[antidotefortheawkward-art]

Realized that in my Immortality Speedrun AU, even though Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing likely wouldn't have had the opportunity to get thrown from Heaven since they'd be working overtime at their posts, Ao Lie very much would still have the opportunity to land himself on death row as a prince, so.... Sun "An enemy of Heaven is an ally of mine" Wukong gets a roommate for buddy comedy reasons

[ID: 1. An illustration of Ao Lie and Sun Wukong. Ao Lie is in his princely attire, but notably disheveled. His green outermost robe is hanging half open, with burnt and ripped hems. The red sash at his waist is hanging in tatters as well. His hair is loose down his back and he's holdining a sword in his right hand. Sun Wukong is in his human disguise, wearing an open checkered daoist's robe. His white inner robe is not tucked into his pants and a red dudou is peeking out from underneath it. He's staring at a book in his left hand while chewing on a piece of willow, his right hand scritching his chin thoughtfully.

2. A sketched comic, with Ao Lie in teal and Sun Wukong in orange. In the first panel, Ao Lie bursts into a cave in a rush. In the second panel, Sun Wukong is sitting on the floor of the cave next to a table, looking at Ao Lie at the cave's entrance. SWK says, "Uh. Hi? This cave is already occupied." In the third panel, Ao Lie attempts to pull otu his sword in surprise, crying out "Stay back!" before he's interrupted by Sun Wukong casting a freezing spell "定!". In the fourth panel, Sun Wukong has a cheerful but annoyed facial expression as he approaches the frozen Ao Lie. He says, "LOL Nice try, punk- Now what the hell are you doing in my cave?", then, "Wait a min-". In the fifth panel, Sun Wukong is looking up at Ao Lie with a surprised and incredibly amused expression, exclaiming, "Wait- You're the Ao kid who managed to set his father's palace on fire underwater!". Ao Lie looks back at him with a tense expression, saying, "Please don't tell me you're gonna hand me in." To which Sun Wukong replies, "Hell no I won't!"

3. A sketched comic, again with Ao Lie in teal and Sun Wukong in orange. In the first panel, Sun Wukong is reading some plans in the foreground and Ao Lie is in the background. Sun Wukong says, "Xiao Long, could you head out and fetch me some lingzhi? I'm fresh out. In the second panel, Ao Lie responds, "I'm a prince who has an active warrant out for his arrest, and you're just some rogue brewing illegal immortality. Wouldn't it make more sense to go out yourself?" In the third panel, an unimpressed Sun Wukong presses a basket to Ao Lie's chest. Sun Wukong says, "I've got arrest warrants for crimes you wouldn't even imagine. Plus, it's my magic and my cave keeping you hidden, so pull your weight, Princey." Ao Lie rolls his eyes and has his hands up in a mock defeated pose. End ID]

#my art #journey to the west #jttw #xiyouji #sun wukong #monkey king #bai longma #ao lie #immortality speedrun au #sorry for only doing silly au doodles lately </3 normal jttw is still my bread and butter but ough #AUs are like junk food for me. fun and thoughtless and not filling but still taking the place of what i really should be doing instead </3 #bc thats all my tired brain can handle during this mad dash before winter break 😭 #ANYWHO #this ao lie still has long hair bc the moment he heard 'death penalty' he booked it the fuck out of there #its kinda hard to see but the tips of his horns are also discolored and desaturated :> #bc ive always envisioned sea dragons' horns as coral so stress = dying coral #also ao lie gets increasingly 👁️👁️ at swk the longer he's around him bc #this is the most unassuming man in the world. #yet he's powerful enough to be willing to harbor a heavenly fugitive #and keeps insisting that he's on the run for something more heinous than what ao lie's on the run for #yet ao lie has never fucking heard of him in his life #he gets increasingly unhinged theories as to who swk is #'a follower of shen gongbao? a disgraced or dismissed disciple of some high-ranking god?' #'whoever he is he's gotta be old as hell to be this powerful' #idk what swk's fake name is yet </3

[stellerssong]

ok sorry the OTHER thing about lucienne is like. as previously stated she is dream's handpicked emissary from the waking world to the dreaming she's the diplomat in chief she's the translator she's the bridge. because the dreaming is, in a very real way, dream's own psyche, this is tantamount to giving lucienne a tremendous degree of access to his interiority and by transitive property also tantamount to entering into a deeply emotionally intimate relationship with her (unimportant for the purposes of this post whether that relationship is platonic or romantic).

now, in general, looking at the pattern of dream's close emotional relationships—dream doesn't share himself with people as a rule (beyond the access that all things that live have to the dreaming; but i'm talking about his self here, the one he doesn't like to acknowledge he even has), but when he does share with people, it's with people who have some shadow on the soul, so to speak. just looking at attested relationships in show canon, his deepest emotional connection seems to be with death, who embodies the duality of light and dark even better than he does himself. calliope is the muse of epic poetry—heroism and tragedy—and also bears the sort of divine pride that led her to cut dream off for hundreds or thousands of years when he wronged her. the less said about that other guy, the better, but he's no sunshine-rainbows-unicorns type—he's a soldier of fortune, a bandit and a killer, a man who profits from the sale of human life. even best bird matthew, in comix canon, had a sordid past that will maybe be partially retconned for the show but has still been gestured at.

dream likes the complicated ones. he's drawn to them. they speak to something in him that he won't acknowledge in himself (he has to be Whole, fully integrated, without reservation, because he is the king and he is the dreaming and if the dreaming ain't whole then the universe is in trouble—but he feels that ache nonetheless).

all that is to say: when people try to portray lucienne as dream's Designated Well-Adjusted Neurotypical Friend, i begin to harm and maim.

#chatter #as usual there is a larger pattern of behavior around this post that has been making me crazy for some time #it's the ''holder of the braincell'' trope but it's also just like the flattening of female characters of color in every possible dimension #so many people are terrified. TERRIFIED. to imagine a woman of color's pain #because the demands of shallow progressivism are such that they require you to acknowledge that A Black Woman Has Suffered More #Than Anyone Else Ever In The History Of The World Ever; Because Of Racism #but the demands of wider fandom are such that they require you to buy into the concept that A White Man's Suffering #Is The Only Suffering Worthy Of Care Attention Or Interest. #can't handle the dichotomy so instead they create the imago of a Black woman who has never suffered anything ever #she cannot be mentally ill; she cannot be disabled; if she is queer then it is in a way that is wholly self-contained and complete #and not ambiguous or in flux in any way; and most important of ALL she can never have experienced racism. #because racism As We Know is the worst form of suffering. so if she'd suffered racism then that would make her more worthy of #compassion than White Guy No. 37. which must not be #the very idea that lucienne is simply at peace with herself and the dreaming with no further complication.......like! #WOMEN OF COLOR ARE NEVER AFFORDED THAT KIND OF CERTAINTY. ARE YOU STUPID. #and by the way being reserved/calm/unassuming/practical are NOT absolute indicators of mental wellness. #y'all can see this when it's a white guy what is your fucking DAMAGE when it comes to women of color. #OPEN YOUR EYES. USE YOUR POWERS OF DEDUCTIVE REASONING. DREAM DIDN'T CHOOSE HER TO BE HIS THERAPIST. #DREAM CHOSE HER BECAUSE; PRESUMABLY; SHE ACHES. SHE CONTRADICTS. SHE GRAPPLES WITH THE SHADOW ON THE MIND. #SOMETHING IN HIM SEES A KINDRED SOUL IN HER. WAKE UP FOR THE LOVE OF GOD.

[saintobio]

blank canvas.

problems arise when your tattoo artist boyfriend starts getting too cozy with the girls that wanted him to do more to their bodies than just inking their skin. the thing is, they knew what he wanted and they knew what you couldn’t give.

pairings. ryōmen sukuna, fem!reader

genre. florist x tattoo artist au, mild angst, opposites attract

tags. nudity, insecure!reader, virgin!reader, dry humping, mentions of needles, mentions of cheating, slutshaming

notes. if you’ve been here for a while, yes this is a repost from an old hq fic :’D i rewrote and remodeled it for sukuna bc i feel like he fits this au!

part 2 | part 3

Sukuna had seen it all.

He wasn’t dumb and he most definitely wasn’t oblivious to the fact that he was attractive, bringing him a clientele of adoring women who would frequently visit his tattoo parlor. Who could blame them? He was handsome, had a good physique, and an overwhelming aura that pulled the attraction of many women, single or not, who were desperate to vie for his attention. His tattoos and his dyed hair even added to the overall bad boy persona that he had which, to be fair, was a girl’s guilty pleasure. 

The women were very assertive, it seemed, to try and lure Sukuna into their little seduction game. Was he getting tempted into it? No. He was loyal and he’d like to stay loyal to his kind and beautiful girlfriend. After all, winning you over wasn’t as easy as it would with any other girl. 

However, there were certain moments that almost tested his loyalty to you, especially when some of the women would ask to have their tattoos done on the most intimate places of their bodies. 

Take yesterday as an example: one girl asked to have a tattoo on her buttocks and she was certainly more satisfied at the feeling of Sukuna’s palms on her bum rather than the actual tattoo she was getting. And to top it all, she bluntly asked if he offered more service rather than just giving tattoos. Crazy. 

He had previously mentioned it to you that as part of his job, he was obligated to give his clients the tattoos they requested, regardless of where on their bodies they wanted them. It was strictly business. Ironically, despite dating a tattoo artist like himself, you had no single trace of inked art on your body. You were an untouched canvas that had never been painted on. Still, Sukuna respected your choice and he surely respected your boundaries even more. 

He knew that you had always been a gentle girl when he first met you at the floral shop across the street. You were always prim and proper, always dressed modestly, always following the rules, and always doing the right thing. All you cared about doing was to express your love through the delicate petals you arranged in your flower-scented haven. You were happy to be in your own little bubble, content in the company of fragrant blossoms and soft-spoken solitude. Introverted. Reserved. Pure. Unassuming. He was the exception to your goody-two-shoes nature, because he ended up winning your heart despite being the complete opposite of you. It wasn’t an easy task, either. Deciding to get to know you was on a whim at first, since he was intrigued about your simple joys in life and how you weren’t the type of girls that would visit his tattoo parlor. Something about your demure nature pulled him in until he realized that there was nothing else he wanted in this world but to make you his. He began by greeting you every morning from across the street, then giving you the same bouquet of flowers he purchased from your shop, followed by sending you texts complimenting how beautiful you looked as he watched you from his store, and finally asking you out on spontaneous dates.

It may be a bit peculiar to see the two of you together, but Sukuna pursued you because liked you. He was undeniably in love with you. He liked your smile, liked how cute and adorable you were, and liked how a simple look at you made him want to be a better man. He loved the idea of being with a girl he could protect. 

The main issue was, Sukuna dropped out of college and just decided to open a tattoo parlor business because he simply didn’t want to waste his years studying for something that he wasn’t passionate about. But that was the source of your parents’ distaste. They told you that you had no future with a guy like him. They said that they would disown you as a daughter if you decided to choose him. They called him dirty, rebellious, and uneducated. 

At that point, he thought that you would leave him after learning his rather reckless choices in life, but you stayed. 

You left your parents' home and stayed with him.

And he was grateful that you did. 

So to ask the question again, would he ever do something to betray you after everything that happened between you two? Of course, not. Not in a million years, no

But then again, he was also just doing his job and it wasn’t like he was purposely flirting with the girls that often flocked him during work hours. He was simply accommodating a client. Nothing more, nothing less. 

And on one of those typical days, he had to work overtime when one of his returning clients asked for her fifth tattoo to be done by him. He just finished picking up the tools he needed as she walked towards the recliner seat asking, “Should I sit here?” 

He nodded once, turning around to face the girl who looked at him with her alluring eyes. “Yeah, just let me know when you’re ready.” 

Oh yes, she was surely ready. She even had a smirk displayed on her face when she slowly unbuttoned her shirt, keeping her gaze at him while teasingly revealing her busty pair. 

He didn’t really pay attention to the size of her tits but instead, just casually pointed to a certain part of her body, “Is this where you want it?” he asked, referring to the lower left part of her breast.

With a very flirtatious grin, she nodded, clearly knowing that her assets were her biggest weapon. “Yes. Would it be easier if I took off my bra, yeah?” 

“You don’t have to. I can work it out,” he casually responded, reaching for his glove and busying himself with all the tool preparations. 

The girl let out a silent giggle along with her best friend who sat on the side, waiting for her turn. Waiting to be the recipient of Sukuna’s full attention. Sigh. 

“No, I can take it off for you,” the girl insisted, unclasping her bra and setting her huge breasts free for him to ogle at. They were perfectly round, probably a 40D, and a light pink shade for her nipples. With how firm they were sitting on her chests, she had probably gotten them done.  

He cleared his throat, averting his eyes as he asked her to sit on the recliner chair. Sukuna had seen women half naked in his shop before, but this was the first time someone willingly got naked in front of him, most especially with other intentions rather than to simply get a tattoo. 

Because of the awkwardness, he went ahead and blasted some heavy metal music to distract his mind. He had to think of something else and not stare at the girl’s luscious tits. He had to shift his mind to somewhere else like, for example, why the girl chose a calligraphy of the words ‘la douleur exquise’ on her skin this time.

“Is this French?” he nonchalantly asked, motioning for her to rest her back while he wiped the chosen area with a damp cotton pad. He specifically avoided brushing his hand on her breast, but it looked like the girl was actually angling herself to make him touch it more. 

“It means exquisite pain,” she purred, batting her thick eyelashes at him. 

His lips formed a smirk, impressed at how much of a skank she was willing to be for him. It wasn’t new, as established before. He’d also had a fair share of women who tried to get into his pants last week, but none of them were successful. He actually found it entertaining to watch them do all sorts of stunts to make him give in. To make him submit himself to his carnal desires. He was a man after all. He had needs, he had to get some form of release, otherwise it could pose a problem in his masculinity. 

All while she was getting her tattoo done, the other girl got up from her seat to walk closer to her best friend. Sukuna decided to refer to them in his head as Slut 1 and Slut 2 because he had no intentions of knowing their names. He knew slut-shaming was terrible, but he never said he was a man of virtue and truthfully, how else could he describe them? 

“Hey, Sukuna,” the other girl called, sitting at an empty stool with a smile. “You’re single, right?” 

He kept his eyes focused on the skin he was inking on. “...No.” 

Even from the corner of his eye, he knew that both girls looked surprised, “No way? You have a girlfriend?” 

Was it really that much of a shock? 

“Yeah, she owns the floral shop across the street,” he mumbled, wiping the trace of blood on the girl’s skin after he finished another letter. 

There was a visible pout on Slut 1’s face as if learning that Sukuna had a girlfriend was more painful than the needle pricking at her skin. “So, what’s she like?” 

Sukuna thought for a while because he didn’t know where to begin. It was too much of a long story for them to hear about. You were everything he wanted in a woman and that was all he knew. “She’s cute and kind.” 

His words earned a giggle from Slut 2. “Is she like the good girl type?” 

“She is.” He figured it would be okay to converse about you like this. Besides, he would rather be talking about you than to have these girls just try to flirt with him relentlessly. 

“How much of a good girl, though?” Slut 1 egged on, “I bet she’s a virgin and a prude.” 

That was obviously none of their business, but damn. They hit a nerve that they shouldn’t have. No one else had managed to bring up a topic like that to him, more so a topic that he himself knew not to cross. His sex life wasn’t as fruitful as anyone thought so, yet not once in his life did he complain. Not once did he talk about it to anyone. Not once did he tell anyone that he had been dating you for a year now and you two never really went further than making out. 

“I respect her,” was his answer, much to the two girls’ dismay.

“That’s kinda boring, though,” the other girl claimed, draping her arm around his shoulder before leaning close to his ear. “You’re still a man and you have needs. If I were her, I’d sleep with you every day. In every position.” 

The girl on the recliner chair grinned. “Totally! Like, you’re so hot and I feel like you’re good in bed.” 

Fuck. 

He almost messed up one of the letters because his mind just flew to somewhere unforgivable. It was a sin to even think about, but shit, he definitely missed the feeling of fucking someone. He couldn’t even remember the last time he did so. 

“Sukuna?” 

He snapped out of his trance and looked up upon hearing the familiar voice, only to find you by the door, your eyes filled with hurt.

“Hey—” 

Your voice was caught in your throat as you avoided his gaze. “I just... I thought you were done.” 

In a swift motion, you hurriedly walked out of the room before dashing out the door. You didn’t even bother to look back, dead set on leaving him alone with the girls. Your footsteps were far too quick to even catch and he was hoping that you would at least slow down. 

“Babe!” he called, unable to chase after you as you shut the door. An exasperated sigh followed. 

This was going to be a big problem 

Just what was he thinking? 

He had a half naked girl in front of him and another girl clinging to him like he didn’t have a girlfriend. It must have hurt you a lot. No, it definitely wrecked you.

“Uh-oh...” the girl mocked. “I can sense trouble” 

He decided to leave it be for now and get his job done as soon as possible, even thinking of banning the two girls from going into his shop just to avoid further trouble. He had a lot of explaining to do and he couldn’t wait to go home to make sure that you would listen to him, not overthink the whole thing and place your assumptions because hurting you was the last thing he would do.

At least, he hoped you knew that.   

You were washing the dishes when Sukuna came home and the first thing he did was to wrap his arms around you. He had your waist caged in his tight embrace, his chin resting on your shoulder as he whispered sweet nothings to you. To be real, you weren’t in the mood to see his face after what you saw this afternoon. You get it—he was exposed to all sorts of people with his line of work and most of them probably couldn’t just ignore his physical appearance. You were aware that some girls were only getting a tattoo to get close to him. Heck, you were aware that they all wanted to be with him.

But the only reason you were hurt wasn’t because he was desired by women, but because those very same women were all better than you in more ways than one. They fit his type more than you did and you were sure that they could give him exactly what he wanted. 

Still, it awfully tugged at your heartstrings. 

He was yours, not theirs. You had the right to be jealous when a girl was getting cozy with your man, but to see him letting them have their way? That was a different story. 

“Baby, talk to me,” he mumbled, planting a soft, apologetic kiss on your neck. 

You gave him the silent treatment as you walked away and dried your hands with a towel. What else would you say? He should already be aware of why you were acting that way. He should be the one to try and talk to you, not the other way around. And with your stubborn mind, you did your best to keep your insouciance, pulling his tattooed arms off of you and heading towards the couch. 

You could hear his sigh as he followed you, but you were determined to keep your eyes glued on the TV screen. If he wanted to talk, he should do the talking, you reminded yourself over and over. 

“You’re really pissed at me, huh,” he spoke as soon as he sat next to you, a hand carefully placed on your thigh. “I’m sorry.” 

“They’re pretty hot, aren’t they?” The bitter question left your mouth before you thought of holding back. 

He scooted closer and hooked an arm around your shoulder this time. “Definitely nowhere near as hot as my girlfriend.” 

What a load of… You rolled your eyes, remembering how the girls looked and how comfortable he was with them. “Yeah, right.” 

You couldn’t explain the tightness on your chest every time you recalled the scene earlier because you knew, you just knew, that there was more that could have happened if you didn’t check on him. You saw it in his eyes, even for a split second, that he almost gave in to temptation. How could he not? You were a prude just as they described—just because you didn’t have any sexual experience like they did. Perhaps when they called you boring, they were right and Sukuna wanted to agree. 

He couldn’t be stuck with a girlfriend that he couldn’t even have sex with, could he? 

“I shouldn’t have let them put their hands on me like that,” he admitted, showing his dire attempt to look apologetic. “Only you can.” 

You took a deep breath and shook your head. “I don’t even know why you’re still with me, Sukuna. I put so many boundaries between us. Don’t you get tired of me?” 

“Fuck no,” he quickly answered, tucking your hair behind your ear. “Never. You’re the only one for me.” 

Truth be told, you did feel bad that he couldn’t fully experience you as a girlfriend, but he had been very patient and respectful towards you. He never crossed the line and never forced you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with. He said he was doing that because you never gave up on him even when you had the choice to. He said that you were worth waiting for. He said that he was satisfied with what you two already had.

Maybe you could let this one incident go, after all, he was never really a bad boyfriend to you. Sure, he looked like a bad boy, but when it came to you, he was surprisingly soft. 

“Okay,” you muttered, sighing in defeat and finally meeting his eyes. “Just don’t do it again. I don’t care if they get naked in front of you. Please set some boundaries and don’t entertain them too much or you’ll give off the wrong impression.” 

Your leniency earned a smile from him, delighted to earn your trust again so he made an effort to peck your lips. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“You’re annoying.” 

“You love me.” 

“I do,” you professed, placing a hand on his cheek, “so much.” 

Pleased with your words, he leaned in again to give you a much, much deeper kiss. He knew it was all he could do with you, but he wanted to make you feel that his kisses were satisfying enough for the both of you. Just with the way he moved his lips against yours and how your tongue rolled around his—it was almost impossible to breathe at one point, but he softened the kiss to allow yourself to catch some air. 

Gosh, you were jealous again. You were becoming annoyed as your mind ran at full speed, thinking of how those girls thought they could put their hands on your man. You were livid at how they tried to steal him from you. 

“You’re mine, right?” you asked for reassurance, pulling away to look at his dominating eyes. 

The smirk on his lips was replaced by a cheeky grin. “All yours, darling.” 

You didn’t know what gave you the sudden confidence to straddle his lap after he said that, but it just felt right. You wanted more of his physical affection and felt like you couldn’t get enough. Both of you were taken aback, obviously, because this wasn’t something you would normally do, and so the heat on your cheeks was mixing with the surprised look on his face. You were sitting directly on his crotch and he was having a hard time to control himself. 

“Babe,” he breathed on your neck. “You don’t have to force yourself.” 

He was right, but the thought of the other girls constantly seducing him behind your back just gave way to your deepest insecurities. You didn’t have the most perfect body in the world and you most definitely didn’t have the skills in bed that he expected—you were scared that you might lose him because of these facts. Or that he would find someone better, even at the cost of having them on the side. 

“Hey,” he spoke again, making you look at his eyes as you relaxed into his touch. “It’s fine. If you want it, I can be gentle. We can go slow.” 

“I-I don’t know... I just,” you hesitated, not knowing exactly how to put it into words. 

You didn’t know why sex intimidated you. It should be as easy as 1-2-3,  just him putting his member inside you, right? But you weren’t really scared of doing the act itself, you were scared that once you did it, he would leave you because he already got what he wanted. Losing it to the wrong person sounds like a nightmare and that was why you were having trouble coming into terms of losing your virginity before marriage. 

You could feel the hardness on his crotch pressing against your core and you didn’t expect a moan escaping your lips when you moved at the slightest. The fabric of your shorts were thin enough for you to feel the outline of his hardened member, displaying a prominent bulge on his sweatpants. You haven’t seen how big he was, but you could tell just by looking at his bulge that he was huge. Could you even take that? 

He held your waist and guided you to move again, this time urging you to move your hips back and forth, allowing you to feel the friction from his hard erection. Lust was clouding his eyes and it made you feel weak. 

“How does it feel?” he asked, his hot breath tickling your ear. 

You continued grinding on him with your lips parted, releasing your silent moans, “G-Good.”

He leaned forward to kiss your neck, eventually sucking the soft skin to leave his beautiful marks. “I wanna eat you down there, baby,” he growls under his breath, squeezing your right breast, “You’re gonna taste so good, I bet.” 

“Suku—” you whined, gripping his hair while he started matching your movements with his own. It was a foreign feeling for you to feel his bulge rubbing against your untouched core. 

“Fuck,” he cussed in a low voice, squeezing your ass with his huge hands in growing excitement. “Let me get a condom.” 

This was it. 

It was happening. 

Or was it?

Your eyes widened in panic as you pushed him back onto the couch. It was as though all of your senses were awakened and your body was telling you that you shouldn’t be doing all this. “N-No, I... I’m not ready.” 

You didn’t mean to always chicken out when you two were almost about to do it. You just didn’t feel confident enough to give yourself yet and even if you badly wanted to, you just couldn’t make yourself do it.

You could see the hint of disappointment on his face and he was trying to hide it. 

“Right,” he exhaled deeply with his head thrown back on the headrest. “It’s alright. Maybe next time,” he convinced himself. 

“I’m sorry,” you softly mumbled, hand gripping on his shirt. 

He gave you a quick peck on the lips before pulling you out of his lap and getting up from the couch. “Yeah, yeah. It’s fine.” 

You stayed seated as you watched him walk away. “Where are you going?” 

“I have to finish this off on my own,” he answered without looking back. You realized he was referring to the act of touching himself because you just couldn’t do the job for him. It was obvious how frustrated he was and for goodness sake, you did feel guilty, but then again, he didn’t act like this before. When you told him you didn’t want to do it further, he would simply laugh it off and say he would wait for you. 

This wasn’t the same Sukuna that said that. 

You became a little paranoid. 

Considering that girls would still pay your boyfriend a visit at the tattoo parlor, you always ended up overthinking about what he was doing while you were supposed to be busy at the floral shop. In the middle of arranging a bouquet of beautiful peonies, your mind was on haywire. You just didn’t feel at ease. You felt like anyone could easily snatch him away from you because you weren’t particularly a striking girl to begin with. You were leaning on the simple, conservative side rather than the rebellious, liberated women that swarmed his shop in hopes of sleeping with him. 

Because your thoughts were eating you alive, you decided to head to his tattoo parlor after closing the shop to make sure that he wasn’t doing any funny business. 

And you were somehow right. 

About three girls were in there this time, two of which you had already seen a couple of days ago, and they were already leaving the parlor just as you arrived. 

“You’re really amazing, Sukuna,” one of the girls told him in gratitude, “I might get another one soon.” 

You watched them walk past you with a smug expression on their faces as they left the shop. Sukuna had then seen you standing by the door with your arms crossed. 

“Really?” you questioned, walking inside with a frown. “They’re here again?” 

He sighed and walked back to his station while cleaning the mess from the tattoo session. He wasn’t even trying to win you over anymore. “I can’t just ask them not to come anymore. They’re still clients.”

“Let me guess,” you continued, “Did one of them get naked in front of you again? Did you let them put their hands all over you again? Did you perhaps forget that you had a girlfriend again?” 

His brows, now furrowed in annoyance and his mouth, thinning in displeasure. “No. We talked about this.” 

You held your breath, raising a brow in return. “I’m starting to think you’re doing more for them than just giving them tattoos.” 

“Like, what? Sell my body?” His question was clearly a taunt. A spasm of irritation crossed his face, but he still managed to display a mocking smile. “Is that what you’re suggesting, angel?”

“That’s not what I—”

“Then, what?” 

“You know what I mean,” you replied, trying to get your point across while keeping your composure. “You’re an attractive man and they’re the type of women you would willingly sleep with.” 

“Jesus. You’re so insecure, it’s crazy,” he retorted, rolling his eyes at you. 

Insecure? You couldn’t believe, just couldn’t believe he called you insecure. The air crackled with tension as your jaw tightened, muscles twitching with every suppressed urge to lash out.

“I wonder why!” Your voice rose hysterically. “If you weren’t busy flirting with those girls, maybe I won’t be so insecure.” 

“I said I’m not flirting with them!” he argued, slamming his gloves on the floor. His face contorted into a mask of rage and he looked at you with frustration that you had never seen before. It hurt. It certainly hurt. He had been acting distant since the night you didn’t give in to him and you knew that his exasperation towards you was rooting from that. 

Your breathing became unsteady. “But you know you’d sleep with them if given the chance. Since I couldn’t do it with you.” 

“Then, just fucking do it with me instead of bitching about it every day!” he snapped, voice thick with insinuation. “I don’t wanna be stuck acting like I give two shits about your interest in flowers and whatever nonsense you like to talk about. I wanna be with someone I can have sex with, not sit on the couch all day with a boring person like you!” 

His hurtful words left you frozen like a statue, unable to move while being dominated by the shooting pain inside your chest. 

You knew this day would come—that he would eventually get tired of waiting around for something that he could easily get from others. However, what hurt you most was the fact you believed he wasn’t that type of guy. That he wasn’t with you solely for what you could give, but rather, for what you just had. You thought he sincerely understood your boundaries and respected your choices the very same way you respected his, but it seemed that he had another thought in his head all along. 

After seeing the look on your face, Sukuna had softened his gaze and walked closer to you in reproach to his words and actions, “I’m sorry... I didn’t mean that.” 

A tear fell from your eye as you looked at him with both anger and pain building inside of you. Your eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You wanna have sex? Is that what you want?” Your voice cracked in the middle of your sentence. “You wanna do it so bad, let’s fucking do it, then!” 

Your fingers forced their way to spitefully unbutton your blouse despite his desperate efforts to stop you. You must be going crazy. But also, he drove you to this point. 

“Baby, no,” he said in remorse, grabbing your wrists tightly. “No, I’m sorry. I’m content with you. I really am, I’m sorry. Please.” 

Your chest heaved as you cried, unable to stop your emotions from exposing all of your vulnerabilities. “It’s obviously not enough for you.” Your voice quivered, each word a fragile whisper trembling with the weight of unspoken sadness as you sniffled and wiped your eyes. “You knew what kinda girl I am when you dated me.”

He pulled you for a hug and kissed your temple way too many times that you lost count. He felt absolutely sorry for ever hurting you with his words, but they just hit you so painfully to the point that your gaze grew distant and your face was clouded with resignation. 

“I know what kinda girl you are and I’m in love with you for it,” he reaffirmed, as if trying to get it through your head but his words were beginning to feel empty. “Please, believe me. I really didn’t mean what I said. You’re enough for me, baby. You’re all I want.” 

You didn’t feel comfort from his words, but you still returned his embrace because you loved him. Because you knew, even if he said more hurtful words, that you would still love him. Sure, you would be angry, but your love for him ruled higher than your pride. 

You were just scared of losing him over something like this. 

“I love you so much,” he whispered in your ear before placing a soft, apologetic kiss on your lips. 

When he pulled away, your heart still felt heavy, but you managed to conceal your face with an agonizing smile. 

“I love you, too.” 

He ran his thumb across your cheek and held your waist on his other hand. You just couldn’t get his words out of your head even after he apologized, because you never knew he was seeing your relationship that way all along. 

The girls were right. He was a man after all and he had needs. 

The fact that he was staying with you despite not fulfilling his needs must be a work of charity for him, and eventually, he would get sick of waiting around. He would desire you less and less the more the days passed by and it wasn’t absolutely crazy to think that he could potentially meet another girl he liked that was willing to give it all. 

The mere thought of it scared you. 

“I’ll do it with you tonight,” you offered, your voice breaking, hoping that you could finally break the barrier and be enough for him. 

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #sukuna angst #jjk x reader

[skzdarlings]

06. sharing a bed series ; skz ; felix

masterlist.

sharing a bed series part 6/8. because it’s the cheesiest most classic trope and it’s FUN. -

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: sexual content. enemies2lovers, sharing a bed trope. bodyguard au. a dose of angst. open ending. past violence and parental abuse mentioned. ongoing perilous situation and forced proximity. not the healthiest dynamic lol. spanking, some rough play, hair-pulling, throat-grabbing, overstimulation, crying during sex, mention of past unprotected sex, a more dominant felix and a kinda bratty reader.

-

You kick open your bedroom door.  As usual, no one is home except for you and Felix so you are free to scream and curse and stomp all you want. 

“I can’t fucking believe you!” you shout among a flurry of other colourful words.   

Felix enters behind you with his hands in his pockets, looking as nonchalant as ever. 

Felix’s perpetual calmness is half the reason your father hired him.  The other reason is that Felix was the best behaved boy in the world who grew into the most pristine, perfect man.  Your father did not claw his way to the top of the industrial world by settling for anything less than the best.  Lee Felix is the best.  Your father trusts him with everything and anything, including wrangling his rambunctious daughter.  Felix’s job is to guard and protect you – from others and from yourself.   He is annoyingly good at it.    

Felix is the prettiest, loveliest, sweetest man on the outside, particularly selected for his unassuming attributes.  An obvious bodyguard figure draws unwanted attention.  Felix, however, attended high school and college with you, posing as a fellow student and never looking out of place, always appearing gentle and ordinary and kind.  Behind that, he is a lethally competent bodyguard.  Your skinny, freckled, fair-haired watchdog can subdue any adversary. 

Including the one tonight. 

“I was just doing my job,” Felix says.  He closes your bedroom door and locks it out of habit even though you are home alone.  He is still completely uncaring to your crisis, as fucking usual, wandering around like he is a sensitive little lamb, smiling and content. 

You throw yourself down on your bed with a dramatic heave. 

“You broke his arm!” you cry.   

Felix is standing at your desk, removing his work equipment.  He is dressed like a civilian for the most part, denim pants with a windbreaker and a button-down over a t-shirt.  He lays the jacket over the back of the chair and sighs, looking at his reflection in your vanity mirror.   He runs a hand through his hair, still casual, feathering the dyed locks so they flutter back into place.   

“I was just doing my job,” he repeats.  He undoes the button-down and tosses it aside, then kicks his shoes under the desk.  

Felix is all sharp lines and harsh angles, slender but athletic.  His cheekbones are high, his angular face softened by his dark eyes and endearing freckles.   That sweetness is juxtaposed by the gun harness strapped across his back. 

You swallow.  The harness hits the floor, then he grabs the back of the t-shirt and yanks it swiftly over his head.  It joins the pile of discarded articles. 

He sits on the desk chair with a distracted sigh, dutifully disassembling the gun for an inspection or cleaning or whatever nonsense Felix has decided is more important than your conversation.  

“His arm,” you repeat.  “You broke his arm.  He was a completely innocent guy!  I’m allowed to flirt with guys!  Just because you’re my daddy’s good dog and he doesn’t let you get your dick wet, doesn’t mean I have to suffer too.” 

Felix looks at you, his mouth a thin line with his unamused smile. 

“Cute,” he says.  He drops the smile and his distinctive deep voice drops another decibel when he says, “You can flirt.  Just not with him.”

“His arm—”

Felix closes the gun and puts it on the desk. 

“I think he was lucky I didn’t rip it off for grabbing you like that, don’t you think?”  Felix says.  He asks it so nicely too, tipping his head imploringly, like he really wants an answer.  Not that he waits.  Just as soon as the smile comes, it goes, replaced with a eye roll as he gets to his feet. 

“Get ready for bed,” Felix says.  “And, mmm, that’s not a request by the way.  I’m phoning your dad to tell him we’re home safe.” 

He doesn’t give you a chance to argue, just leaves the room while reaching into his back pocket for his phone.  He closes the door behind himself, leaving you to fume by your lonesome. 

Out of rebellious frustration, you do not budge an inch.  You cross your arms and sit back on your bed, still dressed in your evening outfit.  You can distantly hear Felix speaking in a formal voice and it makes you twitch with anticipation. 

Felix being so professional is simultaneously his most annoying and most attractive quality.  Annoying, because he really never falters on the clock.  Attractive, because it wouldn’t be any fun pushing him to the boundaries of his rules if he wasn’t such a stickler in the first place.

When Felix returns, still wearing nothing more than his jeans, his expression immediately turns exasperated.  He closes the door and puts his hands on his hips, staring down at you.  

You stare straight ahead, arms and ankles crossed.   You and Felix have shared a bed since the day he was hired, back when you were teenagers, as you were in the habit of sneaking out at night.  You were not intimidated by the chubby-cheeked teenage boy, gleefully slipping past him while he slumbered – until suddenly you were being yanked back through the window.  You learned the hard way that despite his appearance and disposition, he was an especially skilled martial artist.    

As your father continues to accrue enemies in every market, you cannot live life on your own, not without endangering it.  You still need Felix.  You still share a bed.  Everything you do, you do with Felix, whether you like it or not.  Felix expresses little feeling on that front, a perpetual font of seeming sunshine when he isn’t breaking someone’s arm.

You know you are being mightily petulant by keeping him up, but you don’t care.   If you can’t have what you want then neither can he.   You can stay up all night, just staring and glaring at each other contemptuously.  You are happy to let all that mutual disdain simmer through its achingly slow burn. 

“Really?”  Felix says.  “Do we have to do this tonight?” 

“I’m not doing anything,” you say.   

“Right.”  He laughs dryly but sits gingerly on his side of the bed.  He smiles, his eyes crinkling sweetly with pleasure.  His hair is getting longer again, sweeping his neck, and you watch as he delicately tucks some behind his ear.   He leans on one arm, looking at you.  “I’ll ask you nicely then, sweetheart.” 

Ooh, that’s a low blow and he knows it.  The word sweetheart always sounds so rich in his mouth, his accent softening the heart of it.  Hopefully he misses the way you melt, but you doubt it. 

His smile only deepens. 

“Please, please get ready for bed,” he says.  “It’s been a long day, yeah?  And we’re both so tired.  Come on.  Let’s go.  Just need some rest I think.  Yeah, yeah, let’s go.��� 

You do not move.    

You hear him sigh, a melodic sound.  He runs his hand through his hair again. 

“All right,” he says, soulfully.  “All right.  Fine.” 

You hear the sharper inflection in his tone but you react a moment too late.  Your bed is big, big enough you could starfish without even brushing his side of the bed, so it takes you a second to scamper to the opposite side. 

That second is too long.  Felix reaches out and grabs you by the calf, dragging you across the bed.

“Don’t you dare,” you say, kicking at him to no avail.   “I’ll phone my dad!”

He is completely undeterred by your dramatics, only sighing when he hauls you over his lap. 

“Go ahead,” he says.  “I’m allowed to use, uhhh, what’d he say… discretion… mm… to discipline you if I think I need to.” He puts his phone within your reach.  It is not a genuine gesture of goodwill so much as it is taunting you because you both know your father would take his side.   “Well?” he asks.  “Do you want to phone him?”   

“I hate you,” you say.

“I know,” he replies.  “Sorry.” 

He sounds like he means it, though it’s hard to believe him when he flicks up your dress and swings his open palm across your ass.  His hand comes down four more times before he neatly fixes your skirt again. 

“Bed time?” he asks brightly, like everything has been solved with no problem. 

You crawl off his lap while grumbling irritably, doing your best to ignore the smarting on your behind when you turn over to glare at him.  He is just smiling at you, that thin-lipped way he smiles with dry humour. 

“I hate you,” you say again. 

He waves his hand, gesturing the vaguest, blandest sentiment of meh with its wiggle.  

“I’m just doing my job,” he says for the millionth time. 

“Really?” you reply with as much sarcasm as he usually gives.  He hears it, tilting his head like a curious cat, as if he has no idea why you could possibly be upset with him – though the stupid little upturn to his lips tells you that he knows exactly why.  

You hate him.  You really, really do hate him.  You have never hated anyone the way you hate him and you want to shout it from the roof.  But you can’t do that.  You can only say it to his face in private, in whatever way you can.  

You reach without warning, cupping the bulge between his legs and finding a lot more than a denim crinkle.  His gaze darkens, his hand covering yours warningly, though he doesn’t lift it away.

You adopt a saccharine sweet tone when you speak.

“Do you tell my daddy that when you discipline me you get hard?” you ask, batting your eyelashes. 

He moves your hand to his thigh instead, shaking his head. 

“Stop being silly,” he says.  “Go get ready for bed.” 

Your eyes follow him as he stands.  He doesn’t get far when you grab his belt loop and tug him back.   Felix has fast reflexes and is incredibly coordinated, so you find it hard to believe you sincerely bested him, but he stumbles as if you did.   He stands where you want him, where he’s close enough for you to kneel on the bed and press your face right against his bulge. 

He says your name in a warning voice, his already deep voice dropping more.

“I wonder…” you say, nuzzling your nose against the ridge in the denim, where you can feel him hard and getting harder still.  “When my daddy asks you what we do all day,” you say, flicking your eyes up to his, “do you tell him your dick spends more time in my mouth than in your pants?”

His nostrils flare with his next breath. 

You smile, victorious. 

“He still thinks you’re his perfect soldier, doesn’t he?” you ask.  “You can do no wrong.  Little does he know…”

“I do my job,” Felix says.  “And I do a good job.  Okay? That’s all that matters.”   

You start to open your mouth, one hand climbing towards his fly.   You stop with a gasp when he fists a chunk of your hair, tugging your head away from him.  It sends a hot shock rippling through you, flooding you with the recollection of all the times he grabbed your hair and pulled you closer, the times he cupped your head and put himself in your mouth despite knowing better, the number of times he fucked between your pretty lips and forgot to be proper, cursing so much it was practically poetry. 

This time he guides you away and you whimper miserably.  He does not loosen his grip, his fingers threading closer to your scalp so it both hurts less and holds stronger.   He knows better than to just let go.   He knows you perfectly.  You glare at him. 

“Look at me,” he says, because your gaze dropped to his bulge again.  “I said look at me.”   He tugs your hair so you obey, giving him your most annoyed expression.  “You’re listening, yeah?” he says.  He doesn’t wait for an answer.  “You’re going to go to your closet.  Get ready for bed.  Sleep.  You’re going to do that,” his voice turns frighteningly pleasant, “or I’m going to carry you over there and get you ready myself.” 

“Like when we were leaving the club tonight?” you ask just as sweetly.  “And you put me over your shoulder then, oops, something happened when we were in the limo, didn’t it?” 

He lets go of you, exhaling tiredly in a high-pitched breath.

“Where did all your pretty rings go, Felix?” you ask, reaching for his bare hand, usually adorned with rings.  “Did they fall on the floor in the limo when you decided you had to shove your hand up my skirt?”   

Leaving the club, you were both wired.  Felix was honestly justified in breaking that guy’s arm.  You purposefully chose the creepiest, shadiest guy in the club to lead on, knowing Felix would appear two seconds later to rescue you.   He always does.  No one else ever pays you any personal attention and your life is too complicated for romance, so you thrive on the feeling of someone caring enough to always find you – even if it’s literally his job. 

You also like getting mad at him for overreacting, but you like his overreactions.   Him twisting and breaking that creep’s arm honestly turned you on.  It also got Felix all worked up, a bit pissed because you were being irresponsible again but nonetheless heated.  You thought for sure he’d take you home and go crazy and fuck you in the foyer.  Instead he put up the limo divider and one-by-one removed his rings, giving you ample time to refuse before he covered your mouth tightly and slid his other hand up between your thighs. 

Of course, despite bringing you to the edge several times, he never let you finish.  Because he’s the worst. 

And now you’re all worked up and he’s shirtless and being a stupid, pretty, two-faced bitch.

“I—”  you start. 

He rolls his eyes and says, “I know. I know.  You hate me.  Now go.”

You get up, stomping all the way to your walk-in closet.  You can’t even slam the door because it’s a sliding one, but you make the biggest possible demonstration of closing it anyway. 

You get ready for bed.   You briefly consider dressing provocatively or even strolling out there naked, but in the end you decide to just dress in your ugly, comfy, over-sized t-shirt and march angrily back into the room. 

Felix is gone when you return, probably off to double-check the house security one last time before joining you.   You could try climbing out the window and down the terrace, just to be ridiculous, but he’ll catch up sooner than later and be even more annoying about it.   So you get into bed and turn off the lights, laying down with a huff, blankets pulled up to your chin. 

You get a bit dozy before Felix returns, the creaking door snapping you awake.  You look over your shoulder and watch him finally shuck the jeans.  He gets into bed in his boxers, removing his earrings once under the covers.  He puts on the bedside table, then double-checks his gun is in the drawer, then and then only then does he lay down. 

The big bed leaves an ocean of space between you.  You roll over to face him.  His eyes are closed but there’s no way he is already asleep. 

“Felix,” you whisper, even though the big house is empty, “I’m cold.”

“There’s another blanket in the closet,” he says without opening his eyes. 

You slide across the bed, close enough to reach out and put a hand on his chest.  He opens his eyes and stares straight up. 

“I need a cuddle,” you say.  “Or I’ll have nightmares.” 

“You’re not a child anymore,” he says. 

That is maybe one thing you miss about the time before you and Felix started… this.  When things were still innocent between you, he would often let you snuggle up with him.  Now, he keep his distance.  Now, he doesn’t hug or hold you. 

So no one does.    

“We’re still young,” you say, a dumb argument, but you’re tired and out of ideas. 

“I was never as young as you,” he grumbles, more to himself than you.  He seems to realize what he said and shakes his head.  He pats your hand on his chest then rolls over, leaving his back to you. 

You slowly return your hand to yourself, staring at the back of his head with an uncharacteristic prickling of tears. 

Felix doesn’t talk about his life before this.  You just know that it was somehow worse.   Worse than being a watchdog.  Worse than giving up years of his life to protect someone else.   Worse than the times your father wanted to discipline you but learned that if he hit you directly you would just patch yourself up and move on, but if he hit Felix then you would break down and offer anything to make him stop.  

You can see a couple faded scars from those times, faint lines that cross his back, remnants of old belt lashings.  You touch one now, tracing your finger lightly from one end to the other.  You watch a shiver roll down his spine.   He doesn’t turn around. 

Giving up, you roll away, back to your distant side of the bed.  You close your eyes and will yourself to sleep, but it just makes you well up with tears.  You sniffle, rubbing your nose messily on the back of your arm.    

Fabric rustles.  You suck in a breath when Felix slides up behind you, pulling you into the middle of the bed where he holds you snugly in his arms.   You immediately roll to face him, throwing a leg over his hip and burying your face in his neck. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, nothing else. 

“I hate you,” you say, then press a kiss just under his jaw.

“I know.”  He cups the back of your head as your kisses move down his neck.  “I know.” 

You make it to the middle of his chest before he turns you onto your back and gets up over you.  He kisses you properly, thumbs wiping your tears as his mouth makes you forget about the reason you cried at all.  All that matters is kissing him back, wrapping your legs around his hips and pulling him close as possible.  His sounds of pleasure are so deep and rough and rumbling. 

“Fuck me, please, please,” you say, pushing your fingers into his hair. 

He groans, pressing his forehead to yours. 

“You know we can’t do that,” he says. 

“We’ve done it before,” you say, purposefully canting your hips to rub against him, reminding him you are still so hot and wet from his finger-fucking, that only stupid underwear keeps you apart.  It has the desired effect, his brow furrowing as he holds himself still above you.  You peck his lips and string your arms around his neck.  “You know I’m on birth control now for that reason,” you say, a little sweetly, smiling up at him.  “Remember?”

He drops his face in the crook of your neck and makes an even crazier sound, shaking his head. 

“That was very, very irresponsible of us, you know,” he says. 

“Mhm,” you say, sliding your hand down his body to his waistband.  “It really was.  But it felt good, didn’t it?   Dangerous.  Coming inside me like that.”

Felix is right; that incident was very irresponsible.  You had already started your little cat-and-mouse game and ran out of condoms one night.  Because the two of you only have sex with each other, when that happened, you usually just fooled around until he pulled out. 

That time was… a lot.   You were pressed so tightly together and you were being painfully quiet because you weren’t home alone.  It was such a stupid time to mess around, but common sense leaves you when Felix is involved. 

That feeling is mutual.  Felix knew better too.   If he got you pregnant… the fallout with your father would be catastrophic for both of you.   Still, for that moment he was inside you, with your fingers laced together and pressed by your head, with your legs tight around him and his face in your neck, nothing else seemed to exist.  You were two normal people who were allowed to do whatever they wanted with whoever they wanted.  It was a breathless, momentary fantasy, holding him tight and telling him to come, shuddering at the noise he made as he did just that.   You didn’t even panic after the fact.   You let the moment linger for as long as it could, still pretending you were normal, still pretending it was fine. 

You started birth control soon after, telling your father it was to regulate your period.   He waved it off, not wanting to hear more.  

Your father has truly never suspected a thing.  He doesn’t see the people around him as people, just objects, so it makes sense that he sees nothing in Felix but a soldier.  He doesn’t know anything about Felix.  Doesn’t know the pattern of his freckles or how his eyes crinkle up when he smiles.  Doesn’t know he has a sweet tooth and will dump a thing of sugar in nearly everything.  Doesn’t know what he finds funny, doesn’t know what makes him sad, doesn’t know anything at all.  

You drag your calf up the back of his leg.

“Felix,” you say. 

He gives you no chance to say more.  One second you are in limbo, the very next he has shoved down both his boxers and your underwear and is already pressing into you.  Only nonsense leaves your lips after that, your eyes closing as he works your body like a familiar and well-loved instrument.   He knows it as well as you do.  As you do his.  It’s easy to work him up, to get him as close as you. 

“I know what you’re doing,” he says, changing position so he’s kneeling.  He puts one of your legs up against his chest, levelling you with an amused smile.  “You’re trying to get me to finish first,” he says. 

“What? Noooo…”  Your giggle turns into a gasp.  You can be as loud as you want but you bite your fist anyway, hiccupping with a choked back sob of pleasure when he finds an angle that makes you see stars. 

“Yes, you are,” he says.  “But you won’t win.” 

“I will,” you say.

“Uh-uh,” he says. “Sure.” 

He makes you come twice before he does.  He even starts pushing you towards a third but you are so oversensitive that it makes tears fall.  He cups your chin and looks at you, cursing. 

“You’re so mean,” you say, smiling through your tears.  “Getting off to me crying.”

“I’m—not—I just—”

“Liar,” you tease.  “You totally are.”

He just giggles.  Then he flips a switch and goes from cute to something else, grabbing your throat and fucking into your oversensitive pussy so good and hard that you cry out.

“Shhh, sweetheart, it’s okay,” he says.  “Got you.  Got you.  I—”

You kiss him and he comes, sinking into you with dick and tongue and breath, filling you and surrounding you.  

You hold him close, arms tight around him, his sweaty forehead pressed to yours.   When he tries to lift away, you pull him back, making him laugh softly. 

“Stay,” you say, and repay his torture by squeezing him inside you, knowing it will make him twitch and jerk with oversensitivity of his own. 

“You never make it easy for me, do you,” he says with no animosity. 

You shake your head and smile like you’re proud of that.  He laughs then kisses you.   The kiss is good and thorough and sweet, completely loving, affectionate.  It gets your heart racing despite everything you just did.  You rest your hands on his chest and gently push him back. 

“I still hate you,” you say, because you have to say it, because the opposite would be too dangerous to ever say.  You can’t even let that word enter your thoughts, certainly never let it leave your lips.  If you held that word in your mouth for even a second, you would become addicted to it.   So you glare at him with all passion you can muster and say,   “I hate you so much.”   You sniffle when he wipes your tears away.   You turn your face.  “I hate you more than I’ve ever hated anyone.” 

“I know,” he says in a strained voice.  He presses his forehead to your temple and exhales.   “I know, sweetheart.” 

#skz smut #stray kids smut #lee felix smut #felix x reader #skz x reader

[awearywritersworld]

Ryomen Sukuna x Reader summary: you're cuddling in bed with your very sleepy boyfriend, except he's not exactly your very sleepy boyfriend w/c: .75k tags/warnings: somewhat suggestive but not smut. praise. "good girl" but no other reference to gender. fluff. "kitten" i can't help myself. aged up!yuuji a/n: idek! wrote this in an attempt to get inspired and to let everyone know im still alive, kicking, and most importantly, suffering from sukuna brain rot. currently rewatching so this is brought to u by s1e4. masterlist

Your favorite place to be, even after all this time, is Yuuji's arms. His embrace is warm and inviting, and it never fails to put your mind at ease, even with Sukuna in the picture. You've known him for as long as you've known Yuuji, but his snide, snarky comments never deterred your love for his vessel.

Though, after many long months, his commentary became more... unassuming? At least when you were around, anyway. The first time it happened, you'd asked Yuuji if he knew where you left your phone.

"It's on the couch," another voice answered.

You and your boyfriend stared at each other with raised brows before your eyes shifted down to ever abiding mouth on his cheek.

"What?" Sukuna actually grumbled before disappearing.

It's been a while since then. You're resting against Yuuji's chest, his arm snaked around your waist, his breathing deep and steady. Sleep nearly overcomes you, but his chest vibrates with words you're not quite able to make out and it just barely tugs you back to consciousness.

You hum drowsily, your hands grabbing at his sweatshirt in a weak attempt to pull him nearer.

"That's it," he encourages, drawing you impossibly closer.

The small noises you make as you situate yourself have the man exhaling just a little more harshly than before.

"Want me to praise you?" he offers, a sly edge to his voice. It's only then your mind registers that something is... off. This voice is more intense than the one you're used to. "It's obvious you like it when the brat tells you what a good girl you are."

Your eyes snap open, the top of your head nearly colliding with his chin as you pull back from him. Propping yourself up on your elbow, you're unable to help the small gasp that passes your lips as you take in your boyfriend's changed appearance.

"W-What the hell, Sukuna?"

There's a lazy smirk on his face and his hand settles on your hip like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"He's right, you know."

"What are you even on about? It's too late for this shit" you remark, free hand rubbing at your eyelids in an attempt to wake yourself up.

Despite Sukuna never having randomly appeared before, you're not intimidated. Well, not terribly so, even if the man before you is of infamous legend. These days his voice is a constant in your life and that keeps you from registering the possible (probable?) danger of your current situation.

"I was trying to tell you how pretty you are."

"Oh," you squeak out, warmth creeping from your neck toward your cheeks. He chuckles, but you're uncertain whether or not he's teasing you.

His fingers trail up your waist, his touch just barely grazing the skin there before catching your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"Hm, and so sweet too." His thumb extends to brush against your bottom lip.

The contact leaves your stomach swirling with one too many emotions and your hand reaches up to his bicep, as if the action might stop anything else from being said or done.

It doesn't.

He moves his arm from your grasp, but only so that he can wrap his fingers around your wrist. You finally meet his lidded gaze as he brings the inside of your wrist to his lips, peppering a few light kisses there. "So that means you're a very good girl, don't you think?"

His tone is even and low, unfeigned in a way that makes you shudder. The whole situation has you shifting restlessly and averting your gaze.

"Why are you...?" Your voice is barely above a whisper and you're incapable of figuring out a way to describe what was happening at the present moment.

He takes a few seconds before answering, studying how you've pulled your bottom lip between your teeth with a furrowed brow.

His voice quiets to match your own. "Is Yuuji the only one who can concern himself with your happiness?"

You attempt to mask the surprise that threatens your features, but still glance up at him with widened eyes. A momentary silence falls between the two of you and there's an air of suspense to it.

"I never said that."

That must be answer enough, as he tugs you back to his chest once more. You let him envelop you with ease and tangle your legs between his.

"Then stop worrying and go back to sleep, kitten."

#m!writes #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna imagines #ryomen sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna imagines #sukuna #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader

[zapreportsblog]

I'd love to request Emmtt with a mute mate, when she's changed he gets to hear her voice for the first time. She lost her voice in an accident just before she met him. Please and thank you!

Wow this is really creative, hope you enjoy it :)

↳ finding my voice ↲

➘ summary : Emmett’s mate lost her voice a while back but now as a newborn vampire will she find it once more

➘ a/n : you can not tell me this man doesn’t look crazy, like sir it’s giving yandere emmett

➘ emmett cullen x reader , twilight x reader

In the heart of the lush forests of Forks, the Cullen family existed as a unique coven of vampires who sought to lead a life far removed from their bloodthirsty nature. Among them was Emmett Cullen, known for his boisterous laughter and zest for life. He was a beacon of energy and strength within the family, his larger-than-life personality a stark contrast to his supernatural abilities.

However, it was a quiet and unassuming presence that would forever change the course of Emmett's existence. (Y/N), a human woman with an unbreakable spirit, had captured his heart in ways he never thought possible.

(Y/N) had been through more than most in her short life. A childhood accident had stolen her ability to speak, rendering her voiceless. Yet, her vibrant eyes spoke volumes, and the grace with which she moved resonated with the essence of her character.

It was during a chance encounter in the small town of Forks that Emmett first saw (Y/N). She was sitting on a park bench, reading a book, her fingers delicately tracing the words as if to hold onto every sentence. Intrigued by her quiet demeanor, Emmett approached, and as their eyes met, a connection sparked between them that transcended words.

(Y/N)'s accident had robbed her of her voice, but it hadn't taken away her ability to communicate. With the delicate yet deliberate movements of her hands, she wove intricate patterns in the air - a language known only to those who understood the power of silence. Emmett, captivated by this unique form of communication, found himself drawn into a world where words were unnecessary.

As days turned into weeks, Emmett and (Y/N)'s bond deepened. Their connection was formed through the silent exchange of signs, each movement carrying a weight of emotion that words could never convey. (Y/N) showed Emmett the beauty of patience and understanding, while Emmett brought laughter and adventure into her life.

The Cullen family embraced (Y/N) as one of their own, her presence bringing a sense of tranquility to their immortal existence. Alice, with her visions, often foresaw moments of joy between Emmett and (Y/N), and Jasper, with his empathy, felt the genuine love that radiated between them. Even Rosalie, known for her guarded nature, found herself warming to (Y/N)'s genuine spirit.

As their relationship flourished, the Cullens marveled at the profound connection Emmett and (Y/N) shared. They watched as the two of them communicated through touch, through shared glances, and through the intimate dance of their fingers in the air. The family respected and cherished this unique bond that transcended the limitations of speech.

And so, in the heart of the Cullen family's haven, an unconventional love story was written. Emmett and (Y/N) proved that words were not the only means of conveying love, and that sometimes, the most profound connections were formed through silence - through the quiet whispers of the heart.

Within the tranquil embrace of the Cullen family home, Emmett and (Y/N)'s bond continued to flourish. Their love story unfolded through gestures and expressions that spoke to the depth of their connection.

Emmett's boisterous laughter and playful antics were matched by (Y/N)'s radiant smiles and the light that danced within her eyes. He would often invent wild stories, acting them out with exaggerated gestures that made (Y/N) giggle in response. In return, (Y/N) would share her thoughts and feelings through a symphony of delicate hand movements, her eloquence in sign language surpassing the limitations of spoken words.

The Cullen family marveled at the harmony that Emmett and (Y/N) brought to their midst. Esme, the nurturing matriarch, had a soft spot for their unique relationship, seeing the purity of their connection as a testament to the power of love itself. Carlisle, the patriarch, respected the understanding they shared, acknowledging that true communication extended far beyond verbal expression.

Alice's visions of their future were painted with joy and warmth, while Jasper felt the serenity that emanated from their union, a tranquility that often eluded even the most harmonious of couples. Even Edward, with his mind-reading abilities, could not grasp the full depth of their emotions, for their love existed in a realm untouched by words.

As time went on, (Y/N) became an integral part of the Cullen family, her presence weaving seamlessly into their immortal lives. She brought a sense of serenity that balanced the frenetic energy of her vampire companions. The family gathered around as Emmett and (Y/N) recounted their adventures with animated gestures and subtle touches, their joy infectious and genuine.

But as with any love story, challenges arose that put their bond to the test. A threat from the outside world loomed, casting shadows over their peaceful existence. The Cullens' sanctuary faced danger, and the unity they had fostered was put in jeopardy.

Emmett's protective nature flared, a fierce determination in his eyes as he vowed to shield (Y/N) from harm. And through the intricate language of signs, she assured him that she was by his side, ready to face whatever challenges came their way.

As the Cullen family rallied together to protect their home, Emmett and (Y/N)'s silent communication proved to be an asset, allowing them to strategize and coordinate with a precision that transcended spoken words. The battles they fought were not only physical but also emotional, as they navigated the turmoil while leaning on the strength of their connection.

And so, as twilight bathed the tranquil forest in shades of gold, the Cullen family and their unique couple stood together, united against the storm that raged both within and around them. The echoes of emotion that passed between Emmett and (Y/N) resonated with a love that needed no spoken words to be understood. As they faced the trials ahead, their silent bond remained unbreakable, a testament to the enduring power of love and the strength found in shared silence.

As the threat to the Cullen family grew, so did Emmett's determination to protect (Y/N). He had witnessed firsthand the dangers that lurked in their supernatural world, and the thought of leaving her vulnerable and alone, especially considering her inability to call for help, was something he couldn't bear. He knew he couldn't protect her indefinitely as a human, and a sense of urgency pushed him to consider an unconventional solution.

One evening, as twilight painted the sky with hues of orange and pink, Emmett led (Y/N) to a quiet corner of the Cullen family home. He looked into her eyes, his expression serious yet filled with concern. Using the fluid language of sign, he conveyed his thoughts to her, his fingers forming each word with care.

"(Y/N), love," he began, his hands moving gracefully, "I can't stand the thought of you being in danger. I won't leave you unprotected like Edward did to Bella. I want to keep you safe."

He continued to explain his plan - the idea that (Y/N) could become a vampire, a creature like them, impervious to harm and capable of defending herself. His eyes held a mix of worry and hope, his love for her evident in every gesture he made.

(Y/N)'s heart swelled with emotion as she listened to Emmett's proposal. The idea of becoming a vampire was both daunting and enticing. She had already embraced the supernatural world through her relationship with Emmett and the Cullens, and the prospect of eternal life by his side seemed like a gift she couldn't refuse.

With a soft smile, she signed her response, her fingers moving in delicate patterns. "I agree. I want to be with you, Emmett, no matter the form."

Emmett's eyes lit up with relief and joy, his heart swelling at her willingness to share eternity with him. He took her hands in his, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. Their silent exchange spoke volumes, a testament to the depth of their bond.

With their decision made, they turned to Carlisle, the family's patriarch and a skilled doctor who had experience in transforming humans into vampires. He led them through the process, explaining the changes that would occur and the challenges they would face.

For (Y/N), the transformation was a journey of physical and emotional trials. She faced pain and power, vulnerability and strength, as her human life faded away and her vampiric existence began. Emmett stood by her side through every step, offering his unwavering support and reassurance, their silent communication speaking louder than words ever could.

As the transformation neared its completion, (Y/N) felt the rush of new senses and abilities course through her, her body adjusting to its immortal form. Her eyes opened to a world painted in vivid colors and heightened details, a realm she had only glimpsed through Emmett's descriptions.

And as the first rays of dawn bathed the room in light, (Y/N) opened her newly enhanced eyes to lock onto Emmett's gaze. In that moment, their silent connection spoke of a love that had transcended the boundaries of time and form, a bond that was now sealed for eternity.

With a tender smile, Emmett extended his hand to her, his fingers inviting her to join him in this new existence. She reached out and took his hand, their fingers intertwining, a silent promise exchanged between them.

And so, as the sun's rays touched their skin, the journey of a new life began - one filled with challenges and triumphs, shared by a couple whose love had conquered the limitations of sound and words. In the embrace of their family and each other, they faced the future with a strength that defied the silence that once defined them.

In the days following (Y/N)'s transformation, a sense of renewal and exhilaration coursed through her veins. She marveled at the new world around her, her senses heightened to levels she had never imagined. The bond between her and Emmett seemed to have deepened, the unspoken connection between them now accompanied by a symphony of shared experiences.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the Cullen family gathered, a hush fell over the room. Emmett and (Y/N) stood at the center, their hands entwined. The air was charged with a palpable energy, a feeling that something extraordinary was about to unfold.

As everyone's eyes turned toward (Y/N), she took a deep breath, feeling a newfound strength coursing through her. And then, to the astonishment of all, she began to speak.

"Thank you," her voice, melodious and clear, filled the room, resonating with an ethereal quality that left everyone speechless. The sound was as enchanting as it was unexpected, a testament to the transformative power of their supernatural world.

Emmett's eyes widened in awe, his grip on her hand tightening as he listened to her speak for the first time. The joy that radiated from him was infectious, his laughter bubbling up like a spring of unrestrained happiness.

The Cullen family exchanged astonished glances, their eyes filled with wonder and amazement. Edward, whose mind-reading abilities were unparalleled, couldn't help but smile as he realized the extent of the change that had occurred within (Y/N). Alice's visions had not foreseen this, a delightful surprise that warmed her heart.

"(Y/N), your voice," Esme's eyes glistened with tears of happiness, her motherly love radiating through the room. "It's beautiful."

Carlisle, who had been studying (Y/N)'s transformation with a scientist's curiosity, stepped forward, his expression one of genuine awe. "It appears that your vocal cords have been restored during the transformation," he mused, a mix of fascination and delight in his voice.

As the room filled with applause and exclamations of joy, (Y/N) felt a sense of liberation she had never known. She shared laughter with Alice, exchanged words of friendship with Jasper, and even engaged in conversation with Edward, her voice a gift that allowed her to fully participate in the world around her.

But it was Emmett's reaction that touched her heart the most. His eyes shone with unbridled pride and love, his arms enveloping her in an embrace that spoke of a connection that had grown even stronger. They shared whispered words of love, their voices now harmonizing in a way that seemed to echo the bond they had always shared.

In that moment, the Cullen family celebrated not only the transformation of (Y/N) into a vampire but also the rebirth of her voice. Her words became a melody that resonated through the hearts of all who heard, a reminder of the remarkable journey that had brought her into their supernatural world.

And as the stars painted the night sky with their brilliance, the Cullen family reveled in the beauty of (Y/N)'s newfound voice, a testament to the enduring power of love and the extraordinary transformations that were possible within their extraordinary world.

#x reader #emmett x reader #emmett cullen #emmett cullen imagines #emmett cullen imagine #emmett cullen x reader #emmett cullen x y/n #emmett cullen x you #twilight x y/n #twilight imagines #twilight #twilight imagine #twilight x reader #twilight x you #requests #requested

[blughxreader]

Platonic Yandere!Batman x gn!Reader

Purge AU. Info on au. You receive your official government letter announcing a yandere's claim on you in tomorrow's Purge. Accompanying it are five crimson letters from the yanderes themselves. ~600 words

Dear [Name],

I want to take this first encounter to assuage your fears—you are in no danger.

The fear you must be feeling might be the most dreadful you’ve ever experienced, and I’ll forever regret it. While the monotonous bureaucracy of the Purge is taxing on everyone, it’s a necessary evil… Inside this letter, you’ll receive what brief explanation I can give you and, hopefully, comfort you in some capacity.

[Name], I’m your father, and this letter is my official and legal introduction. In the next 24 hours, I and your siblings will bring you home.

You don’t know this yet, but we met on a moonless evening many months ago. You were walking alone, trying to leave the emptying streets before Gotham’s evening crowd took hold of the city. I worried for you and decided to keep a close eye until you were home safely, but something about your demeanor kept my attention. How polite and unassuming, yet quick to navigate the streets you were. You drifted through the evening like a wayward spirit, eventually finding yourself in my heart and soul.

That chance encounter sent us spiraling down a destined path, one in which I never anticipated would lead to here. I never realized the grim darkness I had been living in until I experienced your light, and now, the day before our first meeting as father and child, the promise of eternal contentedness just beyond these 24 hours is almost too much to bear.

Your brothers and sisters are equally ecstatic. You’ll never be bored for a moment in your life moving forward, as the halls of our home are always thrum with the echoes of banter and excitement. I can’t promise it will be an easy life free from any sorrows, but your new family already loves you so, so dearly.

In time, I’m confident that you, too, will reflect on this event as the start of a better life.

However perfect your joining our family seems, I find myself asking how it came to this. How did I discover a soul as kind and lovely as yours? Despite all my failures and shortcomings, the world still crossed our paths and sent the merger of our lives into motion.

As a servant of justice, I’ve dedicated my life to protecting what is moral and just. I’ve spent decades refining my values and priorities, yet this has often left me at fragile crossroads between myself and my children.

I’m flawed. I’m imperfect. I don’t think I’ll ever be worthy of being your father. I need you to know these things before we meet, to save yourself from the inevitable misfortune that will strike us. Yet know this: there is not a force in this world that will keep me from you. I love you more than I love humanity, more than the Earth itself. I would defy the laws that govern the universe if it meant seeing you happy.

The world is dangerous and unpredictable. However inadequate I feel at protecting your light, I know you’re significantly more likely to fade from existence outside of my care.

To receive a crimson letter from the city a day before the Purge might be one of your darkest nightmares, and for that I’m sorry. With my heart, soul, and all my love for you, I promise to rectify the misery you and your biological family are experiencing. Please take comfort in the fact that you will be the most beloved and cherished person in the world.

I will give you everything. For your family’s sake, I hope they can rest easier with this knowledge.

Please remain put until we arrive.

See you soon.

Love,

Dad

Note... I love this self-hating old man. Damian's is finished and will be up soon! For more yandere batfam, visit my masterlist!

#platonic yandere batfam #yandere batfam #platonic yandere #yandere batman #yandere x reader #batfam x reader #purge au #yandere purge #yandere letter

[intersexfairy]

i think being hyperandrogen intersex has made my experience of antitransmasculinity just... that much deeper, that much more lonely. before i even knew i was trans, i would stare into the mirror and pick my face and body apart. why don't i look like the other girls? what's wrong with me? why do i look so wrong in a dress? why do i feel like i take up too much space? will anyone ever love me?

i was punished for my masculinity and androgyny before i even had the chance to (voluntarily) express it. it stung even more, as i've always had an affinity to traditionally feminine things. where i once found joy and bliss in dressing up and posing for the camera, i found myself hiding my body in hoodies and leggings. if anyone pointed a camera at me, i would collapse to the floor and start having a panic attack.

now, as i've grown older, i've found safety in masculinity and androgyny. people don't find it quite as strange, as if my body/facial hair, broad shoulders, stocky build, and androgynous face make it make sense - femininity is obviously off limits for someone like me, yet it's still expected of me. getting "masculinizing" gender affirming care terrifies me. i'd be casting off the last of what makes me desirable, pretty, and unassuming. but the little girl inside me wants to wear dresses, makeup, jewelry - just this time, as a man.

but men aren't supposed to be pretty - least of all fat, hairy, disabled men. so i'm caught. i can neglect myself, out of fear of being seen as even more disgusting and off putting, just so i can cling to the few expressions of femininity i can display... or, i can be myself, and open myself up to the very hurt i've been trying to avoid all these years. but then, i can look my true self in the mirror, and finally say: you're not like other girls (and that's okay). nothing's wrong with you. you still look beautiful in a dress. you don't take up any space that isn't already yours. and you are already very, very loved.

and one day, i will. because that's what we deserve to hear - trans people, intersex people, people who are both. we deserve to do whatever we need to be our most authentic selves. all this judgement, fear mongering, it's all made up - to hurt us. and that's awful. that's scary, and i hope someday, we live in a world where we don't have to be afraid anymore. and part of me - part of you - knows, one day, we will.

#ifairy #trans #intersex #trans intersex #transgender #transmasc #transmasculinity #antitransmasculinity #intersexism #ableism #fatphobia #queer man #queer men #trans guy #trans man #trans men #femme mlm #femme #femme ftm #ftm #i dont really ID as ftm but still #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtqia #lgbtqia+ #lgbt+ #lgbtq+ #trans positivity #intersex positivity #nonbinary

[canyourfavesurvivecastledracula]

Hitter

@would-we-be-friends-if-i asked:

Eliot Spencer (ex special forces, chef, private bodyguard/wet work man, very good at identifying a wide range of things by their minute but distinct differences)

@pomrania writes:

Eliot is a skilled grifter (specialized in making himself seem not a threat) AND a skilled fighter (and more importantly he knows when NOT to fight) AND he has a ridiculous variety of sundry skills he's highly talented in, so there's prolly like twenty different ways he could survive.

@r0sequarks writes:

Eliot…it comes down to whether he tries to fight Dracula (look, worlds best hitter isn’t helping, he loses a straight fight) or if he knows better to play dumb/try to run. Depends on why he’s there and what he wants; I think he’d wise up and get out of there in most cases but baby murder could drive him to fight and die.

@darthlordcommie writes:

Elliot: It all comes down to whether Elliot clocks how dangerous Dracula is in terms of a fight. If he realizes that there's no way he'll be beating Dracula in a fight, he'll slip out the window. He's weak to the trance, but he's very quickly on top of things, and if he can make it to the wolves, he's got survival training, he can make it past the wolves.

@siredgarconanshakespeare writes:

#my money is that eliot could TOTALLY do it #but we shall see

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

Eliot Spencer is definitely smarter than he looks, acts, or our best testing indicates. He can punch his way out of any situation that a way can be punched out of. He's the second best actor in the crew after Sophie. He speaks Romanian I'm sure - heck, he probably Knows A Guy. He has opinions about Dracula's cooking. He's not worried about wolves, he's comforting those poor horses (Certified Horse Girl powers). If anyone can charm a vampire babe, he can. He puts up with Hardison on purpose. Eliot Spencer has every skill he could possibly want to survive Castle Dracula.

HOWEVER. He is the character I am most immediately sure is not making it out.

I think he does recognize the threat. He can probably understand the warnings being shouted at him and understands that the key to survival is being underestimated, which he is very very good at. I think he will recognize that even he cannot punch his way through a master vampire in his own stronghold. I think he could make it past ordinary wolves through his own prowess but also his understanding of and respect for the natural world; I think he will fare less well against wolves that are being supernaturally commanded to kill him specifically - but again I think he will recognize that and not try that route. As you say, he knows how to fight and when not to fight. That's not the issue.

Eliot is not going to make it for one reason and one reason alone, which is that Dracula just so happens to have his personal kryptonite: Children In Peril.

Eliot can think strategically. He can unassume with the best of them and stay in character, fly under the radar. He can do whatever he needs to do to survive. But not when there's a child in danger. The minute kids enter the picture, Eliot goes off the rails - and that's when he has a crew counting on him. But alone? In Castle Dracula? With baby eating monsters and only his own life on the line? (And we all know he considers himself both expendable and beyond redemption).

When the job is Stay Alive I think he can do it. But from May 16th on the job becomes Kill Dracula, and I don't think he can do that. And even if he can go back to strategy-and-survival mode, knowing that the first child is past saving, the minute he sees Dracula heading down the wall with his baby-snatching sack, he's going in for the kill, never mind this is a fight he can't win. Jonathan wishes for a gun to shoot Dracula off the wall; Eliot doesn't use guns, so instead he'll throw a whole Eliot at him.

And that is why Eliot Spencer can not survive Castle Dracula

#Leverage #leverage: redemption #Eliot Spencer #I looked up how many l s were in Eliot after the flack I got about Westley Princessbride #crooks #soldiers and warriors #leverage week #chefs

[archonsabyss]

╰─..✶. [ Loves Embrace ]

❒ pairing: neuvillette x fem!reader

❒ genre: fluff!

❒ warnings: none

❒ wc: 1.4k

─❒ authors note: I may be falling for him.. hard

Nuevillete, with a gentle smile on his lips, leans forward in his seat and attentively asks, "My Dear, what brings you here?"

He watches as you enter his work study and walk over to him, planting a soft kiss on his cheek before settling into the chair in front of him. Nuevillete smiles at your display of affection and leans back as he gazes at you.

"I was passing by on my way home and I missed you so I thought I'd pay you a visit"

"Forgive me" Neuvillette responds, extending his hand to delicately grasp yours from across the table and tenderly stroke the back with his thumb. "It seems my tasks have consumed much of my time lately making this unexpected visit most refreshing"

The smile upon your lips disperses his guilt for only a moment as it reminds Neuvillette of the many reasons he fell in love with you. However, in your eyes, there's a trace of loneliness that conveys he's been more absent than he realized and although you've reassured him that you understand the demands of his job and his responsibility to Fontaine, he can't shake the remorse that he's slowly been neglecting his duty as your husband.

As the realization dawns on him, he lets go of your hand from across the table and rises from his seat to circle the desk and come closer to you. He reaches a gloved hand to gently touch your cheek before he leans in, softly pressing his lips to yours, stealing your breath as they meld seamlessly. The longing for his presence begins to fill at his endearing act of affection, the gentle touch of his hand that maintains its hold as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, releasing his regret and pouring in his immense love for you.

"My affection for you is profound, surpassing even the vastness of the ocean, and your love stirs my heart in a way that no amount of tears ever could"

The luminous gaze of his pearly eyes peering into the depths of your soul, resembles the gaze of a man deeply enamoured, feeling as if one is delving into the heart of a man who exists solely for you. Words simply fall short of describing this captivating affection that radiates from his eyes, leaving you with a heartfelt smile as your hands tenderly cradle his cheeks, drawing him nearer until your foreheads and noses gently touch, sharing a warm exchange of breaths.

The fragile, porcelain-like skin beneath your loving touch feels as delicate as glass, yet you handle it with utmost care, just like the first time your lips met his.

Every second that he stays with you brings him comfort as he leans in, revelling in the sense of belonging you provide.

"I find myself engulfed in my workload, and at times, it consumes my thoughts to the point where I forget everything else until it is time for me to leave," He explains further, his words laced with urgency to convey his absence. "But know, you are my priority. Hold me by my heart, I promise that you are all that matters to me."

"Yeah?" You inquire in astonishment, your thoughts struggling to grasp the depth of his feelings. It's hard to believe that someone as ordinary and unassuming as you could hold such significance for someone as extraordinary and remarkable as him, someone seemingly beyond your reach.

"It appears I haven't fulfilled my role as your husband adequately, my beloved, if my devotion to you comes as such a surprise," He says, a touch of regret in his voice as he takes your hand and urges you to stand.

"If I could envelop you in my embrace and spend every moment showering you with kisses, imparting the depth of your significance until your entire world revolves around your self-worth, I most certainly would," He whispered tenderly into your ear as he embraced you with one hand gently cradling the back of your head as your face nestles against his chest, his otherhand lovingly shaping itself to your lower back.

"I believe in your sincerity, my Love. Every word you say holds significance to me" You reassured, gripping the back of his coat tightly. "At this moment I know that Fontaine needs your attention more than I do, but I have confidence that, just as we've done in the past, we'll overcome this"

"Forgive me, Archons, for I would forsake my duties and responsibilities, allowing the world to descend into chaos and turmoil just to be with you" He uttered exasperatedly, pulling away to look at your face.

"My love," You speak fondly, "You've filled me with pride— immense pride. I would not want to diminish your generosity, but it warms my heart to know how much you would willingly give for me."

Nuevillette bestows upon you a gentle, proud smile and tenderly draws you nearer to him, seemingly unable to get enough of your companionship.

"I would give you the world" He speaks with solemnity, and your faith in his words is unwavering. However, the world holds far less appeal to you than having him in any form or circumstance. Regardless of what the universe may bestow or fate may dictate, as long as he remains alive and breathing, and you can hold him close, that is your greatest desire.

He gently strokes your cheek with his bare hand, for what feels like the umpteenth time.

"I can't argue against that," You whispered so softly, nuzzling your nose against his, tempted to initiate a kiss as he professed his love for you with words that easily won your heart over.

"I'd offer you the same" You inhale deeply before withdrawing, a playful twinkle in your eyes, while Nuevillete's steady gaze remains locked onto you, his lips curving with a mischievous hint.

"Dear one, you sway my heart. Your words are incredibly alluring, and unlike you, I don't believe I'll offer any resistance" Nuevillete playfully says as he leans in to reciprocate the kiss.

A satisfactory moan hums from your chest, "What would your wife say of this behaviour, Monsieur Neuvillette"

"I think she would commend my attempts at seduction"

"Fortunately, she is right here; things might have taken a different turn if I were someone else receiving your seduction" You beam with a broad grin while adjusting his collar.

"Fret not, Dear. This is not a concern you shall ever need to trouble yourself with."

"I may need a little more convincing"

"Are you attempting to divert my attention from my duties?" He playfully queries, his arms encircling you as he draws you closer. "Do not reckon I'd possess the fortitude to withstand such temptations," Neuvillette replied earnestly with his eyes taking on a dangerously dark intensity while his lips drew pursed.

"I reckon I ought to take a respite for the day?" He mused with a light-hearted tone, the allure of spending time with you far surpassing the paperwork on his desk, but you shake your head disapprovingly.

"I do not want to pull you from work, you will have me later when you return home"

"And pray, my dear, what are your intentions upon my return?" He inquires furthermore with curiosity, his fingers still tenderly tracing the contours of your face.

"Do not tease me"

"My curiosity is quite genuine and I must admit, darling, concentrating on work becomes quite the challenge when the enticing thought of you awaiting me at home lingers," He remarks with a sly grin.

"You have managed well the past month, Monsieur. I believe you can handle a few hours more" You add raking your hands through his hair, trying not to mess it up as you did.

You plant a tender kiss on his cheek, then gracefully distance yourself, prompting his swift and bewildered longing as he reaches out for you. "You should get back to work"

"I suppose I have no choice then" Neuvillette sighed, reclining against the edge of his desk, his eyes sweeping over you as he committed the joyful smile you wore to memory, aware of the pain it caused you to part from him when you yearned for his company.

With a tender touch, Neuvillette gently pulled you closer, guiding you between his legs. He planted a farewell kiss on your cheek, then your forehead, and finally let his lips linger on yours. In that unspoken kiss, a silent promise was made. He vowed to be the husband you deserved - attentive - present and affectionate - from this moment onward.

☣ copyright @archonsabyss all rights reserved // do not copy; steal; plagiarize; reword or repost my works to any other platform! No translations!! All credits to original owners of characters/anime/pictures that are not my own!

#˚ ⁀🜙˚ raie (g)enshin #neuvillette x female reader #neuvillette drabbles #genshin impact neuvillette #genshin neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette #neuvilette genshin #neuvilette x reader #neuvillette fluff #genshin fluff #genshin drabbles #genshin fic #genshin imagines #genshin impact #genshin fontaine #genshin impact fluff #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact drabbles #neuvillete x reader #neuvillette x you #neuvillette headcanons

[vhstown]

hobie green

— hobie brown x gn!reader

summary: You never knew punks could be into gardening — or into you.

word count: 2.9k

warnings: mentions of underage drinking, brief mentions of politics, fluff, not very edited

a/n: based on a silly headcanon me and @qiuweyballs came up with. 99% identical to my tag team fic arrest me i love friends to lovers (just lovers in my drafts prommie)

There were a lot of things you didn't expect about your friend Hobie. The first thing was that he was Spider-Man (but you kind of figured after all those patch-up sessions at your place.) Second, was that he lived on a boat — not the most outrageous thing; somewhat non-conformist, somewhat Hobie-like — he wasn't the only boater in Camden. The third thing you didn't expect, however, was that this “hero”, non-conformist, punk, anarchist and whatever other label he'd projected, would have so many… plants.

“You're lookin’ at me funny.”

The “hero”, non-conformist, punk, anarchist and now plant dad in question sat with his feet propped up against one of the many windows of his canal boat, an unassuming eyebrow raised.

“…Nah, don't worry about it,” you muttered, shifting awkwardly on your feet as you tried not to knock anything over, taking in the overflowing greenery of the room.

There was pretty much every plant you could think of: regular household plants under the windows, a tomato stalk in the corner, small cacti in odd places — he even had a pretty well-maintained chilli plant, bathing more gloriously in a patch of sunlight than you ever could. The boat felt more like a disorganised plant shop than a home, if it weren't for the rowdy radical posters and punk collages peeking in-between. Maybe these plants were as much like your friend as all the anarchy-themed decoration he’d made himself — or Hobie had just stolen a boat with a lot of plants in it.

Squeezing past some more foliage, you sat beside Hobie on his tiny canvas couch. He gave you a glance of acknowledgement before reaching for his guitar, setting it between his kicked-up legs as you tried to get more comfortable. The red coating of the instrument had almost entirely peeled off, instead covered by loud stickers and scratchy writing. You weren’t sure what any of it really meant, or why his guitar wasn’t tuned in the first place (it never seemed to be when you two were hanging out) — but right now, you were wondering why he was being so quiet. The silence was nice, though, so you didn’t let yourself think of anything else to ask.

Swaying gently from time to time, the canal boat hummed with the splashing of water and faint strumming of Hobie’s guitar. These quiet, almost tranquil moments were unexpected for someone as spontaneous as Hobie, but they were also welcome, you decided. The world was falling apart, but it was nice to be away from that in the middle of a canal with your best friend — even with his many plants.

You felt a tug behind your back, realising Hobie was trying to get something. Mumbling a quick sorry, you moved to let him get the thing you were sitting on. It was a pink jumper — much too small to be his. After carefully draping it over the backrest, he cracked a smile at you.

“Gotta give that to Gwendy,” he told himself, nails tapping on the back of the guitar neck.

Gwendy (Gwen? Wendy?) was a friend he'd made recently, and you’d never seen a trace of her despite the fact that they supposedly lived together. That was until now; the sweater looked nice, soft, high-quality — nothing like anything you could afford here. Maybe she was well-off. How old even was she? Did Gwendy like plants too?

“Yeah? Is she your roommate?” you inquired, leaning forward to look at him. “Boatmate?”

“You sayin’ this isn’t a room?” Hobie set his guitar against the wall as if the conversation was suddenly more important.

“More like a garden.”

He tilted his head to the side at your response, finally meeting your eyes with his own glinting with amusement.

“You want a tour, then? Private — totally elitist.”

“Have you got more plants or something?”

He crossed his arms at you. “You’re actin’ like it’s a problem.”

It wasn’t a problem, per se, you just couldn’t imagine living with so many plants. Maybe it was his superhuman reflexes that kept him from slipping and smashing his face into a plant pot; you almost tripped on some dead roots earlier.

“Nah nah, it’s not. You got uh… free oxygen.” Clearly there wasn’t enough oxygen going to your brain at that moment if that's the only thing you could come up with. You held back a sigh; you’d never be as fast as Hobie. He just snickered.

“They privatise oxygen too?” Not his most clever quip, you thought.

“Maybe. Is that why you have so many plants? To breathe better?”

Hobie gave you a frown. If you didn't know better, you might've felt bad. “You don’t want the tour?”

“Go on,” you beckoned, dryly.

“Get up, then.”

“Can’t be bothered.” The sofa creaked as you leaned back on it, folding your arms as if you were going to sleep. If it was still quiet, maybe you could’ve actually fallen asleep to the gentle rocking motion of the boat.

“You come over to have a snooze?” he teased, leaning over until you pushed him away — one of his usual ways of driving you mad; you wouldn’t have it. “Want to be my boatmate too?”

“Wouldn’t mind.” The words came out by themselves, but you figured they might be true.

“Gwendy’s only here sometimes — you could.”

“I’d miss my place,” you objected, feeling slightly uncertain at the idea now. It was probably better if that weird feeling in your chest whenever you saw Hobie wasn’t a constant in your life anyway.

“Your place is only good for the pub down the road.” Maybe so — you two certainly weren’t good for the pub, though. All you did was shrug in response.

Hobie tapped his foot for a moment, appearing to muse about something. Before you knew it, he slid his hand between your back and the sofa and you were suddenly your feet in one swift motion.

“Hey—” The floor creaked as he started walking you out to the front of the boat, arm slung around your shoulder. You sighed reluctantly at him, but his grin just widened.

“You starting the tour from here?” Despite the cool wind now rushing past the two of you, your tone came out less energetic than you’d like.

Your heart dropped for a moment as Hobie let go of you, suddenly jumping up backwards onto the barriers. He crouched easily on the edge as you let out a small breath of relief. Even if there was no chance he’d fall into the water, you’d never get used to that.

“Nah, no tour,” he replied, hands on his knees as he looked down at you with squinted eyes. “I ain't no elitist.”

The lingering fear in your chest from Hobie’s stunt died down, and the way the late-day sun was hitting his face replaced it with that weird swishing sensation you could never get used to.

Honey-gold sunlight reflected off of his skin, his face shimmering where there were angles and glowing softly where there weren’t. His eyes glistened like copper, your own face in the reflection like the rich people on coins as you searched for any trace of amusement in his expression. You couldn’t find anything; he was just looking at you. The swishing became more like a crashing tide, your chest growing tighter. Maybe you should’ve feigned interest in the plants when you could.

“…Okay,” you managed, after realising that you’d been staring for a while. Tearing your eyes away from the tall, glistening silhouette of your best friend who was sitting like the figurehead of a sailing ship, you looked back into the boat house before another little plant caught your attention. It was the only plant sitting outside — a young rosemary with a paper tag attached to it.

You squatted down to look at it, figuring that Hobie had nothing to say right now. Taking the tag in your hands, you read “Helen”, written in lovely cursive writing.

“Helen… you name your plants?” It was too nice to be Hobie’s handwriting, but you decided to joke a bit anyway.

“Yeah,” he answered, deadpan, and you tried not to let him catch your eyeroll. “Some lady comin’ through Regent’s gave it to me.”

“People give you plants?”

“All the time, actually.”

Huh… It made enough sense. You did see your fair share of plants in other boats; maybe people wanted to give Spider-Man a thanks or something, or just get rid of some plants they get lying around. You recalled aloe plant you saw earlier, having almost slipped on the pile of dead roots beside it — interesting to gift a rotting plant. It looked like it needed a lot of care; you wondered who could get an aloe to that point.

Deciding to sit by the much nicer rosemary plant with your back against the doors, you caught the faint aroma of the leaves. If Hobie already had vegetable plants, he’d probably make good use out of this one once it got a little more mature. Maybe as a seasoning, or make it into an oil somehow, or just leave it as decoration. There was a lot you could do, you realised, and having plants was starting to look just a little cool. Everything Hobie did was cool — as much as you didn’t like to admit it.

“…What’s up with you?”

Hobie’s voice caught you off guard. You looked back to see that the figurehead was now sitting opposite you on the floor of the little outdoor cockpit, hands loose between his bent knees.

“What do you mean?” He couldn’t just tell like that, could he? Nothing was different… until recently. Until you realised you had that feeling.

“You're quiet,” he stated, though his tone wasn't all that serious. “Y’don’t come over, or come see old Hobie.”

“Old Hobie,” you repeated, half of a laugh coming out of your mouth. “Like Old Tom?”

Tom was the bar owner of the pub you frequented — if your antics could be considered “frequenting”. The two of you were probably the reason why he was “Old” Tom.

“Need to see that geezer,” Hobie mused, leaning back against the wood with a creak.

“A lot of people you’ve gotta see.” It came out far too sardonic, and you held your breath like you’d just placed a bet.

Hobie stuck his bottom lip out, lip ring catching the light. “Like you.”

The sun had faded by now, but that feeling hadn’t, you realised.

“I'm right here,” you replied.

“I brought you.”

“It’s not like I knew which out of the hundred boats was yours. Half of them’ve got plants anyway.”

“You do now.”

“I guess.”

Stretching a little, you shifted to sit more like Hobie, leg brushing against the rosemary leaves for a moment. Hobie cracked his knuckles in the meantime, and you realised you hadn’t really seen him in a while. It wasn’t all your fault, he just kept disappearing. Maybe you should stop waiting for him to come to you all the time.

“I’ll see you again before you have to go to the care home, Old Hobie,” you muttered, getting a snicker out of him.

“They’ll never get me in one of those.”

“You don’t wanna be an elder punk?”

“Not in them institutions — I’ll bail you out as well.”

You never imagined the thought of growing old with someone would go in this direction. Well, it was Hobie.

“I appreciate it, Old Hobie” you replied, though not too enthusiastically. Hobie smirked.

“Come pub with me, then. Don’t need ID if I’m retired.” Despite your best efforts, you smiled just a little.

It wasn’t like you gave Tom ID anyway, but you found it amusing regardless. Maybe it was the idea of being like those old people at the pub: loud, obnoxious, opiniated… Nothing much would change, actually.

“Don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“How come?” Hobie leaning forward on his knees, as if to taunt you. “Scared you’ll get pissed like last time?”

“I did not get pissed!” you retorted, face aching with an incriminating smile. Your stomach churned with the memory of that night — or lack thereof.

“Had to actually peel you off me. My Spider Powers didn’t even help.”

You groaned and laughed at the same time, trying to ease the embarrassment by putting a hand on the plant pot; it was cool, and you felt a chip near the rim.

“Don’t lie.”

“Never did.”

“Fine, yeah.” It sounded like a bit like an admission to a crime; maybe getting that drunk was a crime. “Don’t wanna get pissed like last time.”

Hobie’s smirk faded a bit, before he let out a sigh — those were rare for him, you thought.

“Seriously though, we gotta go again sometime — it’s on you, yeah?”

You frowned at that, but it got no reaction out of him. “You’re the worst.”

“Like I don’t know.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” You weren’t exactly sure what you meant by that, but Hobie didn’t seem to question it.

Maybe he did actually know what was going on with you, even if you never tried to make a move. It was possible — the observant prick. A prick with a green thumb and looked like he’d been kissed by the sun itself and that you couldn't get out of your head.

If he did know, you wished he'd say something, at least.

Your hand lingered on the pot, and the paper tag found its way into your hands again.

“Helen,” you stated, glimpsing at the nice handwriting.

“You gonna call it that now?”

“Got a better name?”

“Yours,” he replied, too easily.

You weren’t sure what a rosemary plant was like, but it sounded enough like a compliment. Did rosemary have a meaning? Hobie wasn’t thinking that deep, of course. Not about things like labels, no matter how many you had for him.

“Am I like a rosemary?”

“Dunno. If you were a plant, I’d keep you though.”

That made you laugh, albeit awkwardly.

“…What are you on about?” you muttered, shaking your head. “Random… You keep like, any plant anyway.”

“I keep the ones I like.”

“Your boat's a greenhouse. Maybe you just like every plant.”

“Maybe I just like you.”

A jolt of pain ran in your mouth, eyes almost squeezing shut — you’d bit your tongue. Hobie was silent, so you couldn’t be.

“Maybe,” you murmured through gritted teeth.

“Maybe,” he repeated, with his usual unbothered amusement that drove your feelings back into hiding. Hobie Brown — “hero”, non-conformist, punk, anarchist — your best friend.

You’d get over it, you told yourself — not for the first time.

Now with a weird attachment to the plant, you tried to seem interested in the tag again — you could say it’d… grown on you. Would he make a joke like that? You wanted to crumple the tag. It looked too nice to do that, so you turned it around to look at the back instead.

“ROSEMARY — remembrance, friendship, love.”

A dry laugh escaped your mouth; even this plant was mocking you. Maybe it felt sorry.

“What’s got you laughin’?” You almost forgot about Hobie; that would’ve been nice. No, you’d get over it soon.

“You better name this plant after me,” you joked, more so to yourself, and in a very much self-pitying way even though he wouldn’t get it. As Hobie’s gaze trailed to the tag, that feeling in your chest threatened you, so you ripped it off before he could see it.

Thwip! Mistake. In a second, the tag was in Hobie’s hand. His face was unreadable as he looked at the back, no longer gold with sunlight.

“Yeah,” he mused, folding over the edge with his nail as his eyes met yours. You tried not to bite your tongue again.

“Yeah…?” You couldn't even give him an awkward laugh.

He held up the tag to show you the folded bit. There was a single word, the rest cut off — “love.”

“Your name fits pretty well.”

Your mouth was so dry, not even a cactus could live in it.

“I’d rather you not be a plant, by the way,” he continued, despite how lost you must’ve looked. “Be yourself, at the pub, tomorrow — opening time. Dress how you want.”

No words were coming out of your mouth. Hobie didn’t need you to say anything, though.

“It’s on me.”

You couldn't leave him hanging. You also couldn’t shy away forever, not when it was right in front of your face. Not when he'd just asked you out.

”…Like a date?”

“Better than a date.”

A smile formed on your lips. After that feeling had been buried under the soil for so long, it was starting to blossom, like the little blue flowers on a rosemary bush.

“Okay,” you replied, winning something that was neither a grin nor a smirk from him — a smile, warm like sunlight, and just like yours.

“Okay.” Hobie chucked the tag back to you, the edge still folded over as you took it in your hand.

“ROSEMARY — remembrance, friendship,”

“love.”

“I’ll let you keep it, if you want.”

Your smile turned into a grin as you brushed your fingertips over the leaves. “I’ll think about it.”

Spice, oil, decoration — this plant had one more use: getting you a date.

Maybe you liked plants more than you originally thought.

🕸️🔭🎸

thank you for reading !! honestly the friends to lovers thing was so not planned i just wrote this for fun (intended to be a drabble / imagine but it turned into this) less friends more lovers in the future hopefully?

thank you again to my friend chewy ^^ tom is actually his chr + the aloe plant detail

reblogs & feedback are super appreciated <3 catch the rest of my atsv stuff here!

#hobie brown x you #spider punk #hobie x reader #hobie brown #hobie spiderverse #hobie brown x y/n #hobie brown x reader #atsv hobie #hobie brown headcanons #atsv fanfiction #across the spiderverse #atsv #atsv x you #vee at 3am #vhstown

[cosmicquilt]

Luck, risk, and godhood.

Stories under the cut.

---------- AVENTURINE KAKAVASHA -------------------

Kakavasha was said to be a young boy whose birth brought rain and fortune to his family and to the Avgins. However, all of the Avgins were murdered by the Katicans, leaving only Kakavasha alive, a side effect of his luck. He wandered Sigonia looking for any solace from the grief and pain that would always follow him. His presence brought relief, rain, and riches, and yet the boy himself seemed never to revel in his wealth and luck. One day, he disappeared off of the face of the planet. The assumed conclusion by many Sigonians is that he, tired of wandering, settled down in one place to sleep, crying until he lost consciousness. The rain he brought settled over his head like a halo, and the water flooded all around him. He drowned.

Aventurine was said to be a young boy whose birth brought fortune to his clan. However, they were all murdered by the Katicans, and the IPC rescued him from his fate as a slave. He was brought to Jade, whom he made a gamble with, betting that he could find a way to make her give him the gift of immortality. No one knows what happened in that room, but he emerged from that room a god, and was granted the name "Aventurine", indicating his newfound status as one of the economic gods. He's known for making clever deals based entirely off of gambles as a way of gaining information and progressing the goals of the Stonehearts.

--------------- QINGQUE-------------

Qingque was a clever and dedicated girl born to a very average family on the outskirts of one of the Xianzhou ships. Unfortunately for everyone else, she was only dedicated to games that combined luck and strategy; tiles, xiangqi, go, etc. She was obsessed, with her dream being to move into the city and to open up a games parlor. The people in her village sighed. "Why couldn't she be this dedicated to finances or economics," they said. Strangely enough, her dedication to these types of games was what led to her ascension. One day, when she was roping children into games of xiangqi at a restaurant, she saw a stranger; someone who was most certainly not from the village. He saw her and her games, and he challenged her to a round. The first round, he lost. The second round, he lost. The third round, he lost. And so it went, up until the eighth round, which he won. Upon seeing the results of their matches, the man laughed a laugh that sounded like thunder was tearing apart the skies, and his mortal form fell away to reveal that he was Jing Yuan, one of the generals of the Jade Emperor. He found Qingque's combination of luck, dedication, and strategy endearing and offered her immortality, which she accepted. She was placed under the eye of Fu Xuan, goddess of foresight, due to her simultaneously logical and improbable nature. She's known to disguise herself as an unassuming mortal woman who walks into game parlors and plays against the patrons, chatting with them about how the mortal world is doing, only to be dragged back up to the heavens by her pigtails whenever Fu Xuan realizes that she's slacking off.

#commissions open btw #hsr #aventurine #hsr aventurine #qingque #honkai star rail #hsr gods and goddesses au #fu xuan #jing yuan #yeah the Aven one isn’t quite as good since idk how to draw men

[imposterogers]

the bruce & alfred dynamic in gotham (2014) is honestly unmatched, and I don’t think any other iteration has touched as much on the complexities of their relationship. like how alfred was forced into a role he wasn’t ready for, going from butler/security to guardian (while trying to navigate being employed by the boy you’re supposed to be raising).  selina kyle saying “he’s just your butler” to which bruce replies “he’s family”. the way they are the most important person in the world to each other. alfred’s pure panic whenever bruce is in danger, bc bruce is his job his child and his life. alfred driving bruce to a child’s house who bullied him, teaching him to use brass knuckles, and threatening the bully himself before offering pizza. bruce having so much of alfred in him as he grows; learning how to fight, how to be the most unassuming but also most dangerous man in the room, the sarcasm and wit, the loyalty. alfred refusing to coddle bruce but also knowing when to be gentle. their difficulty to express affection / love verbally, but always hugging the instant they’re reunited. no one did it like them!!! 

#longpost #sorry!!! #gotham #gotham 2014 #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #batman

[metalhoops]

Read Part 1 Here

As small and unassuming as Eddie’s trailer was to others, it had always been his fortress. It was the last stronghold against the forces of evil, and the bastion of all things metal and macabre. It wasn’t much, but it was undoubtedly his. When you grew up with little, you clung to what you had. 

He’d come to Wayne’s at an age when the world had begun to haemorrhage magic, leaving a realm devoid of colour in its place. His uncle worked hard to stoke the flames of his creativity, buying or borrowing what he could to keep Eddie’s dreams of castles and kingdoms alive.  

He’d spent a small lifetime buried in tomes of fantasy and mythology. He’d whiled away afternoons flicking through books that let him choose the story, always managing to die before finding the right ending. As a child whose mother died young, it was nice to live in a world where death could be undone. 

Eddie managed to cling on to that last spark of childlike wonder into his early twenties. His childhood had been a landscape inhospitable for the companionships of knights and the trickery of wizards, yet he’d made it work. That kind of alchemy didn’t fade easily. 

Yet, with Chrissy’s death tainting his memories of the trailer, he understood his fortress, his kingdom, was nothing but rubble and blighted soil. He was Frodo, returning to The Shire after the destruction of the ring. Eddie’s Undying Lands came in the form of a small bungalow on the edge of town, paid for with government hush money. 

The place wasn’t much larger than the trailer, yet it felt vast in the late hours of the night when Wayne was working and Eddie was alone. They’d only been in the house a week. He still felt as though he were in hostile territory. He sat on his bedroom floor with the curtains half-drawn. 

He’d spent the past half hour drawing them open before pulling them shut. If they were shut, the place looked deserted. People would be less likely to try to peer in, but he wouldn’t be able to see if someone or something was coming. If he left the curtains open, people would be able to see in. Eddie told himself he was being paranoid until he watched a pair of headlights flicker in the distance down the isolated road. 

Eddie was quick to action, darting into the entrance as a knock sounded on the front door. He grabbed a box cutter from the pile of unpacked boxes and peeked through the keyhole. You could never be too cautious, not when half the town thought you were a murderer. 

Standing in the doorway was Steve Harrington, the former king of their ever-changing kingdom, looking lost and worse for wear. His hair, a Harrington point of pride, as good to Steve as a crown to a king, was a sodden bird's nest perched atop his head. Though that wasn’t all. One of his arms hung naked at his side. Steve hadn’t managed to pull it through his polo, leaving half his skin exposed, the other half covered in poorly wrapped bandages. 

They’d both been hurt by the hoard of bats, but Steve's injuries eclipsed Eddie’s. Something about that fact sat wrong with him. It was as though he’d stumbled upon a wrong ending. He wanted to turn back and find a story where Steve was safe. Eddie dropped his makeshift weapon and swung open the door. 

“Steve? Christ man, you’ve seen better days,” Eddie spoke, ushering Steve inside, locking the door behind him. 

“I’ve had worse.” 

Steve, like Eddie, appeared changed from what’d happened to them. He hadn’t known how to explain it. Most of what he knew about Steve Harrington was mythology, a collection of stories which changed depending on the teller. Yet, all those close to him, far closer to him than Eddie, had agreed something about him had changed. This Steve was a broken bone set wrong. Something about him always appeared to ache. 

Buckley had hauled up in the Harrington manor with him after they were released from hospital, helping tend to his wounds and wash his perfect hair. She’d confided in Eddie when he had come to check up on Steve that he was forgetting things. 

Perhaps forgetting wasn’t the right word. Robin spoke five languages, yet she couldn’t find the term to describe what was going on with Steve. He seemed out of place, like a sour note in a once sweet melody. 

Maybe it was one concussion too many, Robin had justified, which was a collection of stories shrouded in contention. How many concussions had Steve had? Nancy swore Jonathan hadn’t hurt Steve badly during their fight. He’d been able to run away, after all. Jonathan admitted he probably had. 

The kids all agreed Steve was knocked out cold after his fight with Billy while Robin recounted what’d happened in Starcourt. She’d later confess Steve had other concussions before Jonathan, though wouldn’t elaborate on their origin. Some stories only hurt the teller. Eddie had learnt how to read negative space.  Occam’s razor told them it was the easiest explanation, but to Robin and Eddie, it didn’t feel like the right one. 

Steve talked about things that’d happened weeks ago as if they’d occurred to someone in another life. Then there was the way he looked and spoke to Eddie. Every time he’d show up at the Harrington’s front stoop, Steve would look at him as though he’d risen from the dead, shook off the grave dirt and stumbled back into his life.

He had the feeling Steve was always seconds away from telling him something important, but he too, didn’t seem to have the language to convey it. When they stood together in silence, as they did that night in Eddie’s new fortress, he felt as though he almost understood. 

“What brings you to my humble abode, Harrington?” Eddie asked, trying to keep his eyes from Steve’s exposed side. 

“Mostly pride,” Steve admitted with a humourless laugh, ushering to his side, inviting Eddie to look. He did. 

“I told Rob to go home for the night and uh...” Steve cringed as he tried to lift his hand up to pull it through his sleeve. Eddie stepped closer without meaning to. 

“Shit, hold still. Don’t rip your stitches again or Buckley’ll hand my ass to me on a silver platter,” Eddie grumbled. His hand twitched, wanting to touch. Steve took a step forward, inviting him to. Eddie hesitantly brushed his fingers over the gauze, examining the bandages. 

“When did you last change these?” 

“Two days ago,” Steve admitted, leaning against the wall, trying to keep his balance. Eddie cursed under his breath, grabbed Steve by the wrist, and guided him to the bathroom. 

“You don’t have to change ‘em. They’re pretty gross,” Steve protested. 

“Which is exactly why I have to change them,” Eddie argued as he help Steve slide onto the bathroom countertop beside the sink. 

“I’ll get Robin to do it tomorrow. She didn’t throw up after dissecting a frog in junior bio.” Eddie groaned and scrubbed his face with his hand. 

“Didn’t know that was public knowledge, great.”

“Not many people knew. I just... we were in biology together.” Eddie knew they weren’t. 

He knew every class he’d had with Steve Harrington, much to his chagrin. They’d had gym, history, and Spanish together. Like shiny plastic to a crow or jewels to a dragon, Steve always managed to capture Eddie’s attention. He’d like to blame it on the fact he found Steve attractive, but there were a handful of other hot jocks who made Eddie want to shove his hand in a blender. Steve had always been different to him, though he’d managed to keep his affections close to his chest. It’d never do him any good. 

Steve had a habit of rewriting their mythology. Eddie had noticed him doing it often as a way of explaining away little things he’d have no right knowing, by fabricating new pasts. That was a piece of Steve’s new persona, which was reserved only for Eddie. 

He wasn’t sure how to broach the topic. He liked Steve. Hell, the more the two got to know one another, the more Eddie thought he could love Steve, but their relationship felt like an empty hallway in a horror film. It was devoid of any real threat, but it felt as though something was lurking just out of view. 

Eddie blamed his feelings of love for the strange gravity between them. Occam’s razor. He wanted to kiss Steve. He didn’t know what Steve wanted. That caused tension. 

“Why did you come here? I mean, don’t get me wrong, Stevie. The door’s always open,” Eddie said as he peeled back the bandage. 

He felt Steve stiffen and moved one hand to rest on the boy’s thigh. Steve’s hand covered his, lacing their fingers together and surprising Eddie. He tried not to look too closely at the wound. He found their first-aid kit and got to work, squeezing Steve’s thigh each time he pulled the bandaged taught. 

“I miss you,” Steve said, once more sounding seconds from another confession Eddie knew wouldn’t come. 

“I haven’t gone anywhere, dude. I saw you yesterday.” 

Steve muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, 

‘I used to see you every day.’ 

Another past that’d never happened. A reinvention. To make matters worse, Eddie wanted to believe in that past. He wanted Steve to tell him their story, the one that lived only inside his head. Eddie would follow it. He’d do anything to stop the boy from looking so lost. 

“Can I do something weird?” Steve asked, and all Eddie could do was nod. 

Steve hooked his arm around Eddie’s neck, pulled the boy into the space between his dangling legs, and buried his face in Eddie’s hair. Steve’s hands balled into tight fists in Eddie’s shirt fabric, holding him so close he felt his bones creak like wooden floorboards underfoot. 

“You don’t have to miss me, sweetheart. I’m right here,” Eddie assured, feeling the need to do something, say something to make everything better. Steve’s grip tightened.

“Do you ever feel like we’ve been here before?” Steve spoke, his voice muffled by Eddie’s skin. 

He knew the answer Steve wanted. He couldn’t in good conscience give it to him. 

“No,” Eddie confessed. 

“But I wish we had.” 

Steve pulled back so the two could get a better look at one another. Unable to help himself, Eddie leaned forward, trying to smooth down his hair. 

“When you were seven, you scraped your knee so badly you walked with a limp for half a year and ever since you’ve hated the sight of blood,” Steve spoke, not daring to look at Eddie. 

He felt his whole body go stiff. His hand in Steve’s hair froze. He was right, but Eddie couldn’t understand how he knew. He’d moved to Hawkins when he was twelve. His life before that was a mystery to the town. 

“How?” Eddie began, but Steve wasn’t finished. 

“You do that thing when you’re nervous. Yes, that thing you’re doing with your hair,” Steve observed. Eddie had taken a string of hair between his thumb and forefinger and half hidden behind it. 

“And when you’re flirting,” Steve amended. Eddie’s brows drew together. 

“Which you do with me, a lot. Took me forever to work out that’s what you were doing but give me enough time and a good enough thump to the head and I’ll realise it, eventually.” 

Steve knew Eddie liked him. Shit. 

“Took me even longer to realise I liked you too, but everything’s kind of screwed now, isn’t it?” Steve asked, his humourless, dry laugh coming back. 

“Because every time I’m with you, I miss you. And I know that makes no goddamn sense, but I do.” 

Eddie tried to unpick what Steve’s words meant, but he kept coming up short. Steve liked him. That much Eddie gathered. It was enough to send his stomach plummeting into his boots. 

“Tell me what you’ve gotta tell me, Steve. I’m a big boy. I can handle it. Get some of that damn weight off your shoulders,” Eddie mumbled, placing a hand on Steve’s shoulder and rubbing circles into the spot as though to prove a point. Instead, Steve looked at him with a crooked grin and uttered,

“Like Atlas, right?” He hadn’t picked Steve as a mythology geek. Eddie felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, as though he were seconds away from putting it all together.

“We’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we?” 

“Not exactly, but almost.” 

“Then why the hell don’t I remember it?” Eddie questioned, his voice growing strained. 

“I don’t know. You never do. It doesn’t matter, it’s over.” 

“What’s over Steve?” 

“I’d ask you if you really want to know, but the answer is always yes,” He grumbled, nudging his face against Eddie’s hand. 

Steve took a deep breath and told Eddie everything. He spoke about Eddie’s death, about being stuck in the same day for hundreds of repetitions. He told stories of Eddie’s death while brushing over similar terrors. Eddie knew he was getting a sanitised version of the tale, but still, he understood why the boy was haunted. He couldn’t imagine what he’d do if he were in Steve’s place. 

Stories, where death could be undone with a simple flick of the page and another binary decision, were easy. In practice, with hundreds of little choices and thousands of ways things could go wrong, it seemed more akin to a nightmare. 

“When you said you missed me,” Eddie breathed after a moment.

“Which version of me do you miss?” Steve’s brows pinched together, looking as though he’d been asking himself the same question. 

“I don’t know. I think, shit. I think I miss a version of you that never existed. If that makes sense. I miss what I thought we could’ve been when everything was over. You’re alive. I’m alive. It was supposed to be easy after that.” 

Eddie gave the boy a sad smile and nodded. To Steve, trapped in a never-ending cycle, Eddie had been his kingdom. He’d been a land to defend and a safe haven to return to. Yet, he’d wanted himself to be the same wide-eyed hero who’d left the empire, not the jaded veteran who’d returned home from war. They could never be the uncomplicated love story Steve had told himself to get through the days, but that didn’t have to mean things were ruined. 

“Hey, Stevie? What’s your favourite movie?” Eddie spoke, causing Steve to really look at him for the first time since they’d started speaking of other timelines and death. 

“Star Wars... The one with the teddy bears. Why?” Eddie got a goofy grin on his face, wondering how the hell someone who’d had the reputation Steve once had could love something as nerdy as Star Wars. 

“You know a damn lot about me. Time we even the goddamn playing field.” Steve nodded and gnawed on his bottom lip. His eyes trailed down to Eddie’s lips. He didn’t have to know Steve well to know what he was getting at. 

“Can I kiss you?” He questioned, his hand already tangling in Eddie’s hair. 

His thumb ghosted over the space between his ear and jaw that always made his breath hitch. Steve knew how Eddie liked to be touched. That was a new revelation. 

“We’ve kissed before, haven’t we?” Eddie questioned, Steve’s breath hot against his face. 

“I haven’t kissed this version of you before,” Steve supplied with a smug grin. 

“No fucking fair. You have the hometown advantage,” Eddie reasoned, and Steve let out a shocked laugh, a real one this time. 

“You’ve never made a sports reference before.”

“So they’re surprises in me yet,” Eddie beamed, sick of the anticipation, he leaned forward and pressed their lips together. 

The kiss was long and desperate. Steve clung to him, kissing him breathlessly, making Eddie weak at the knees. They had to pause when Steve let out a sharp inhale as Eddie accidentally grabbed his still-healing side. He muttered a slew of apologies, peppering Steve’s neck and jaw with kisses. He hadn’t shaved in days and Eddie felt a good kind of ache from the scrape of stubble against his jaw. 

When they finally pulled apart, the two looked decidedly more dishevelled. Eddie caught his breath and whispered, 

“You know, I’ve got Return of the Jedi on tape in a box someplace. You could stay over and we could... I don’t know, re-get to know each other,” Eddie proposed. 

“I like the sound of that.” 

#steddie ficlet #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #time loop au #stranger things #fic #ficlet #multipost fic #drabble #a #again based on a post by #@theamazingbard #back by popular demand #metalhoops writes

[angelynmoon]

More eldritch monster Steve, because I have no self control

Part 3

--

They ask him what he is, well, Erica asks, loudly and quite rudely, but she is his favorite, after El.

El, who looks at him in confusion, with a little blood leaking from her nose, she, Jonathan, Will, Mike, and a man named Argyle arrived sometime early in the morning.

"Why can't I tell?" El asked, head tilting as she frowned.

Steve looked at her, "I'm a very good mimic."

"But what are you?" Will asked, "Even I don't feel the connection."

"You wouldn't." Steve tells him, "You can feel the connection Henry had to the Down Below, everything you and El feel can trace back to him and Dr. Brenner. I have a connection to the Down Below, something deeper than either of them have, because I was born there or because of how long I lived there before leaving, who knows." Steve explained, "As for what I am, I can't tell you that. I never needed a word for what I am before."

"Are there others?" Jonathan asked, which was a good question considering what Steve could do.

Steve looked away, towards the pool, "No. I am the only one like me."

Which had always been true, Steve was unique, but there had been others of his kind once.

Now, however, he was the only one left, but the children didn't need to know that, they didn't need to know that the Down Below was like it was because it was a grave yard of his kind, the vines that ran through it had once been the veins of Steve's race, that the residule life that had once ran through them allowed Henry to control them, though Steve doubted that Henry was the one really in control.

His race was dangerous, he'd always know that, ever since the moment of his first memory, but Steve was dangerous too, he was afterall the one that had killed the rest of his kin.

They'd deserved it, parasitic and destructive, they fed on others of their race if they were strong enough and ate the other creatures in the Down Below if they weren't.

Steve had been the smallest, the one that wasn't a threat, that prefered to chase Demobats and hunt Demogorgans, he had been the one least likely to be a threat.

But all things that live have a breaking point.

Steve's had been his spawn. His kind didn't need partners to spawn, just enough energy and want, and Steve had wanted so much that all he needed was a few good hunts and he had his spawn.

But his kind, like most predators, went after the weak and the young, and Steve's spawn had only him to protect them, while partners were unneeded they usually still paired to spawn, if only to make protection detail easier.

His spawn had been killed and raveged before they even really existed, and Steve, who'd only wanted a family to raise, though he hadn't had the words to understand that, had gone after those who'd taken that from him.

And small, unassuming Steve had quickly become something to fear, laying waste to his own race and leaving them to rot instead of feasting, the worst of the slaughter Steve wrought, the thing that made him more dangerous than all of his race.

Because his anger and destruction didn't come from those he kileed, but from himself, and if that was his own feeling then what would he become if he feasted on the ones he killed, who thrived on the destruction and death that his race was built upon.

No, Steve had always been different, soft, his kind had said, an easy target for an easy meal. And then Steve had proved them wrong, but it hadn't mattered, because by the time Steve's anger had faded into grief and sorrow he'd been alone, the last of his kind, surrounded by the rotting corpses of his kin, the vines left behind too frightened to reach for him, the Demogorgans too wary of the war Steve raged to come out of hiding.

And then a tiny crack had appeared, not much more than a sliver, but enough for Steve to slip through, for him to leave the Down Below and the destruction he'd done, a chance to start over in a world where he could raise his spawn to adulthood, hiding amidst the creatures of the Upper World.

But the children didn't need to know any of that, didn't need to know that their jokes of Steve being their second mom fell a little too close to home on some occasions, because they were his, weren't they, not his blood but they were his spawn just as much as the ones he'd lost because he'd fought for them, got hurt for them, fed them, protected them like a parent should, he'd threatened government officials to keep them from removing Will from Joyce's home, threatened Owens to give Hopper Jane, he'd made sure that the kids got compensated, even Susie, in the form of college funds for each and every time they saved the world from the Down Below, the knowledge he'd picked up from Mr. Harrington finally useful, he'd even gotten Murry something, a few secret conspiracies confirmed, for his assistance.

This was his family, his to protect and Steve wasn't sure what would happen if he failed, truely failed and had to bury any one of his kids, or Robin, or Eddie, who was surprisingly easy to care for, or even Eddie's uncle, who was Steve's merely because that uncle was Eddie's and Eddie was Steve's.

Eddie was Steve's, Steve frowned and looked over to where the kids and Eddie were arguing about what his Dustpans and Dinosaurs name should be. When had Eddie become his, his to protect and keep, and care for.

Steve blinked as he realize it was the moment that Eddie risked his life to protect Dustin.

Spawning was easier in pairs, afterall.

--

Um... hi.

I'm attempting a tag list, sorry if I forgot you, sorry I didn't tag on the second part, but I posted that before people asked to be tagged, well, I think I did.

Sorry, if I tagged you and you didn't want to be tagged.

Also, I know nothing about dustpans and dinosaurs, sorry, dungeons and dragons

@merricatty @lesbiabrobin @apuckishwit @starlight-archer @0o-mushroom-o0 @cats-ate-all-of-my-pasta

#steddie #eldritch monster steve #upside down creature steve #i should name this au #part 3 #From the Rot