#but also i think looking at fic as anything more than either a copy or a practice is a disservice in both directions:

[keirametzbrassknuckles]

I do think it's funny though that writing isn't really thought of as something that has "sketches" or "warmups". You're either writing a completely fleshed out original story or you're failing at being a writer.

[avocado-writing]

hi!! I read your fics and I love your writing style! I was wondering if you could do something with a human reader, maybe she works in a bookshop or she’s a teacher? And it’s all cute because he finds her genuine??? Maybe some angst because she finds herself in danger? Idk sorry I’m rambling I just wanted something with a human reader 🧍🏻‍♀️💐

the place where the pages meet

logan howlett x bookseller!reader

4k words, rated explicit.

cocky!logan; awkward!reader; excessive book references; threat of physical violence (quickly averted); anti-mutant language & sentiments; smut (oral - reader receiving, penetrative sex). minors dni. thank you @saradika-graphics for dividers!

The sky is heavy with the promise of rain, and you suck your breath in through your teeth. It’s fifty-fifty on days like these: either people will seek shelter in your little store, or they’ll scurry away with the fear any purchases they make will get soaked and ruined.

God damn it, what kind of fool opens an independent book shop in New York?

You’re the kind of fool, apparently. Still, it’s your home, both figuratively between all the old paperbacks and literally with your tiny apartment on the top floor. Barely more than a studio, but enough for you. A piece for yourself carved out of this world. 

Outside it starts to pour. You sigh. Well, at least you know you’ll get one visitor today.

Charles, your dear friend and long-time financial supporter of your store, had called earlier to let you know that the usual face wouldn’t be coming to grab his order. It’s a shame, you like Ororo, enjoy sitting and sharing a pot of oolong with her on quiet days. Also she could have chased away this terrible weather for you. Ah well. 

“Who can I expect?” you’d asked. 

Charles had laughed, a warm and friendly sound. 

“Ahh, you’ll know Logan when you see him.”

You don’t know what you’d do without Charles. Between orders of rare books for his personal collections and en-masse copies of classics for the kids, he pretty much keeps this place running for you. Bless that man, honestly, because you’re not sure where you’d be without him. 

The sound of someone pulling up outside has you putting down your book and turning towards the shop window. 

A pickup truck parks up by the kerbside and you watch the man in the driver’s seat emerge into the rain. He cuts a fine figure, tall and strong, but you don’t get a good look at him until he walks through the front door. 

Oh no, you think, he’s handsome. 

Leather jacket now pocked with raindrops, very obvious white vest beneath it showing off his broad chest. He shakes like a dog to get the moisture out of his hair as he stamps his boots on the doormat, pausing only briefly to scrutinise its no admittance expect on party business slogan. 

“Logan?” you ask. He looks up and when his eyes first meet yours? Oh, a fire is sent down your spine. 

“Yeah,” he confirms, looking around to take in the place. You can’t tell if he’s impressed or not. He has a remarkably neutral face, careful, the sort of man who doesn’t want to give anything away about himself. 

“You’re… here for Charles’ books?”

He’s sauntering over to the counter now. Cocks an eyebrow. It goes right through you. Fuck. 

“That’d be me.” There’s a beat. “Why, you think someone’d try and steal them?”

“People can steal books!” you say, defensively. 

“People named Logan who you’re clearly expecting?”

You bristle, because he’s got you. Something flickers over his face for a second: a smile. 

Oh no, you think, he’s handsome and he’s an asshole.

Huffing, you fish the box out from under the desk and groan with effort as you lift it up. Logan takes it from your grasp as if it weighs nothing at all. Your fingers touch as you do. You try to ignore it.

“Thanks,” he says, easily.

“Mm. Mind the rain. It’d be a shame if you slipped.”

A proper smile crosses his face then, but he turns away too quickly for you to let it sink in. The bell on the door chimes as he heads back out into the rain.

Well, you hope you never see him again.

By the same time next week, you’re really hoping you see him again.

You’ve sort of not been able to get him out of your mind. He was kinda prickly, sure, but a welcome break from the mundanity of your life, and pretty good looking to boot. It’s probably just a pipe dream. You’re sure it’ll be Ororo again, and you can go back to the easy pattern of seeing your dear friend. That’s okay. You’re fine with it. Who needs a handsome man? You have your books, you have your store, you’re happy.

Yeah. You’re happy. 

Imagine your surprise, then, when you hear a motorbike outside your shop.

You must be blessed with street parking, because Logan pulls up right outside again. Same jacket, same well-worn jeans. He catches your eye through the window and you’re sure they glisten. You pretend to be engrossed in your book but it’s not fooling anyone, the words swim into soup on the page as you see him approach.

The door goes; he approaches the counter. Closer this time, you can smell him. Tobacco and leather. Fuck it’s good.

“You should wear a helmet,” you say, trying to be flippant. Logan lets out a single, solitary note of a chuckle from deep in his chest.

“I’ll be fine. Thanks for your concern, though.”

You feel your cheeks heat up and try to hide it by looking for Charles’ order again. It’s a single book, a first edition you had to go through the backwater book depositories to hunt down. You’re the best at what you do, though, so it was no real problem. It’s why he always comes to you.

“Here you go. Let him know I’ll try and find the sequel if he’s interested, too.”

“Sure.”

Once again your fingers touch as you hand the book to Logan. No. No, this is too quick! You want to keep him here for a little while longer. He looks so out of place between the wonky shelves and hanging plants, it’s just perfect.

Your mouth tries to say two things at once: can you tell Charles I’ll have his other order ready same time next week, and, do you like to read often? 

Instead what comes out is, “can you read?”

You must wince when you ask the question, because Logan stands there transfixed. Baffled, just for a second.

“Can I… read?” he repeats slowly. 

I’ve failed you, I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t stop your mouth in time, says your brain.

“I didn’t mean… of course you read… I just… I didn’t want to assume… maybe you didn’t like books… erm…”

“Yeah, I read,” he says softly, as if you are an old dog and he is putting you out of your misery. You fucking wish he would. Jesus Christ, it’s like you’ve never spoken to another person before.

You can’t find a way to recover this. Your cheeks are on fire. You’re going to explode and burn down your store. Oh authors, you are so sorry for using all these works as kindling.

You expect Logan to turn on his heel and walk out but he… doesn’t. Instead he takes a step back so that he can look at the shelf nearest to the desk. Runs his fingers across the spines before picking one. It’s slim, no more than the width of his finger; he puts it on the counter and fishes his wallet out of his pocket.

In the Miso Soup by Ryū Murakami. You ring him up, punching the price into your old cash register, give him his change. His palm is soft as you drop coins into it. 

“See you next week,” he says, stashing both his book and Charles’ inside his jacket. 

“Okay,” you say, amazed you’re able to get any words out, and watch him walk away again.

He does see you next week.

The sun’s out, so he’s sans jacket, and oh fuck you can see how his arms are like treetrunks. The way this man has you reacting is unhealthy. You try and focus on the hardback in your hands but all you can picture is those veins which are bulging on his biceps, begging you to come and get to know them better.

“You’re always reading huh?” 

His voice makes you jump a little, you’re not expecting him to be so close. You look up. He slides his sunglasses up into his hair. Fuck it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

“Would you trust a bookstore owner who didn’t read?” you ask, bristling with the need to defend this little shop and your place in it. He holds his hands up in the universal sign of peace.

“Not an insult, just an observation.”

You sink back from attack mode, walls still a little high, but definitely coming down.

“How did you get on with the Murakami last week?”

Logan takes a moment to consider this, trying to piece his answer together in a way which won’t offend you.

“I liked it until the last chapter.”

You sit up in your chair. 

“Yes! A lot of people say that. It feels like it ends sort of abruptly, but if you just appreciate it for what it is, it’s a good book.”

He smiles a little as you speak. You fucking love talking about books, to a degree some people find absurd. You don’t want to babble though, so you force yourself to end your observations there.

Logan nods at the book in your hands.

“What are you reading now?”

You lift up your book so he can see the cover: A. S. Byatt’s The Djinn in the Nightingale’s Eye. 

“It’s very good! Byatt has such a wonderful way of writing. I love fairy tales and there’s such a wonderful voice in this one. They made the titular story into a movie a couple of years back, it’s quite good actually, it has Tilda Swinton in it.” You’re floundering. Don’t stray too far from the normal lines of conversation. Mouth, for fuck’s sake stay on course, begs your brain. It doesn’t. Instead you ask, “do you… like Tilda Swinton?”

Logan raises an eyebrow and you know this is a man who has never once had to consider the question of whether or not he likes the actress Tilda Swinton. 

Mouth still talking. MOUTH STILL TALKING, your brain screams. It’s true. It is. You were too busy being horrified to notice.

What your mouth says while being unchaperoned is, “There’s a little single-screen theatre nearby doing a showing of it this week, actually, do you wanna come with?”

DID YOU JUST ASK HIM OUT. DID YOU JUST ASK HIM OUT?!

Logan doesn’t seem to know what to make of that. He seems just as shocked that you’ve asked as you are. But then, just as you want to cast yourself into the street so that a passing garbage truck might take pity on you and sweep you away, he smiles. It’s slow, but it makes him look so much hotter.

“Sure, why not.”

Oh mouth you genius. I shall never doubt you again.

“Oh, okay, great! Uhh, are you free Friday?”

“I can be. What time’s the screening?”

“Seven. Meet me here at six-thirty?”

“It’s a date.”

Fuck, it is a date, isn’t it. It’s a date!

Logan stands there, awaiting something. You’re confused for a beat, then go up on your tiptoes, aiming your mouth towards his.

“As much as I appreciate the gesture… Charles’ book, honey.”

Hmmm, okay. Still time for the earth to just swallow you whole then, actually.

You sort of don’t expect him to turn up. You wouldn’t go on a date with you, all awkward edges and uncomfortable words. And he’s… the coolest fucking guy you’ve ever seen. 

Of course he won’t turn up. Of course he won’t. 

He turns up. 

He’s waiting for you outside the store, leaning against a lamppost, dressed in flannel and smelling like subtle cologne. You can’t help lighting up when you see him and hope you’re dressed suitably - your nicest pair of dungarees and a tight-fitting jumper. 

“Hey! You made it,” you say. 

“‘Course I did,” he replies with a little smile. Oh, you’re giddy. 

“C’mon, it’s not a long walk. It’s a nice night too.”

He lets you chatter as the two of you make the brief journey, content to have you talk his ear off about business and books. He’s happy to answer any questions you ask him about himself: what he does for a living, how he knows Charles, if he’s got anything else on his to-read list. The two of you skirt around the most obvious thing: if he lives at the mansion, he’s definitely a mutant. You can’t quite get the courage to ask him about it. Seems easier to just let it lie, so you do. It’s not that important anyway, you think, you like Logan, with or without any extra bits. 

When you arrive at the little hole-in-the-wall cinema, he gets the tickets and the popcorn and the drinks. You do your best not to feel absolutely pathetic by his side. Surely everyone here knows you’re punching above your weight with this absolute grade A specimen of a man? You’re so busy looking around the foyer to make sure nobody is staring that you almost don’t realise when he takes your hand in his.

“You with me, honey?” he asks, soft, low. You swallow thickly and nod because for once, you can’t find the words.

It’s not a very full screening, which is just fine, because you’re happy to be alone with Logan in the dark. You share a bucket of popcorn and a secret little thrill runs up your spine every time your fingers brush together. When that’s finished, he puts his arm around the back of your chair and you snuggle up against his side, cursing the damn plastic cupholder in the middle forcing you to keep a distance. 

One hundred and eight minutes. They’re not enough. You want to be here forever. But eventually the credits roll, the lights come up, and Logan has to pull his arm back; you hope the reluctance in the withdrawal of the gesture isn’t just your imagination. 

“What did you think?” you ask, standing up and stretching. Logan follows suit, mulling over the question. 

“It was… cute,” he decides. “I can see why you like it.” 

You beam. 

“I can lend you the book if you want. It goes into way more detail about the main character’s life at the start, it’s very stream-of-consciousness but I really enjoy it? It’s different to the other stories before it but definitely worth reading. I think that…”

You’re outside now, under the streetlights, fingers tangled easily with his, and when he stills you’re pulled to a stop too. 

“Hmm?”

He drops his grip on your hand so that he can put one under your jaw, tilting your head to get a better look at you. Your heart beats violently. He can definitely feel it. He knows. You don’t care. Fuck, he’s so near. 

“You talk a lot, huh?” he asks. It’s not unkind, the smile on his face is one of fondness, and all of your skeleton turns to jelly as you fucking melt under the affection in his gaze. 

“Please shut me up,” your beg comes out as a whisper, and he does. 

His lips are rough against yours, guiding, but sweet. The hair on his face tickles your cheeks. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and bring him down to kiss him with more enthusiasm. This is not a public-appropriate display of affection, and someone honks their car horn at you both, but it just serves to make you laugh against his mouth and keep going. His hands slide onto your hips and hold you tight against him. Possessive. Wanting. Covetous. 

“You know,” he says when he pulls back for air, still running his lips along the line of your jaw to the hinge beneath your ear, “when Charles told me I should go and get those books, he said I’d like the person who runs the store. Didn’t expect you to be such a gorgeous little thing, though.”

You, gorgeous! Logan thinks you’re gorgeous! You could do a fucking cartwheel in celebration. You don’t though, you’d probably give yourself a concussion. 

His hand goes to his pocket and his brow furrows and, for a second, you panic. Has he started regretting kissing you already? Another quick kiss calms that down though, settling the simmer of worry in your stomach. 

“I think I left my wallet in the theatre. Hold on, I’ll grab it, then I’ll walk you home?”

“Only if you come in with me,” you breathe, and once again your mouth has taken the reins on that one. Logan huffs a laugh, a little incredulous, but mostly pleased at your gumption. 

“Okay, sweetheart. Okay.”

He leaves you standing there, feeling all tingly. This is happening. It’s fucking happening! Sometimes the stars align for a book nerd and a handsome guy wants to come up to their studio apartment. You thank Jesus, Buddha, Arthur C. Clarke - whoever is listening, they fucking deserve it. 

“You gonna fuck that mutant?”

The voice sends a chill down your throat. 

The trio of guys standing behind you do not look friendly. The biggest one, the one standing in the middle, sneers at your panic, crossing thick arms over a broad chest.

“Well? I asked you a question.”

You screw your courage to the sticking place, puffing up a little. 

“Don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you spit back, hoping that vitriol will deter them. It does not. Instead, they close in, hyenas around a cadaver. 

“Never had a human dick you down good enough, huh? Need a little help? C’mon baby, we’ll show you.”

He reaches out to grab your arm. You let out a noise of panic. 

At the same time, Logan’s fist collides with his face. 

The guy is sent stumbling back, spitting out a globule of blood. His friends step away with panic in their eyes. Logan moves in front of you, his bulk your shield, three metal claws extending from between his knuckles. 

Yeah. Mutant, huh?

“I think you were just leaving, pal,” says Logan in a voice which doesn’t bear messing with. The man bares his reddened teeth. 

“The fuck do you think you are, mutant scum--?!”

He lunges for Logan and the breath is sucked from your lungs when you see he’s pulling out a fucking knife, but another punch sends him flat on his ass. The blade clatters across the street and into the gutter. His friends grab either one of his arms and half stand him up, half drag him away.

“Shit, it’s not worth it—!” is their conclusion as they disappear into the night, shouting back expletives, blood trailing from their leader. Logan shakes out his fist, flexes his fingers; claws retract. He turns to you, slowly. 

“You okay?” he asks, hurriedly checking you over. You nod. 

“Y…yeah. Shaken.” you confess. 

“C'mon. Let’s get you home,” he sighs, and from the cadence of his voice you can tell he’s worried the night has been ruined. You place your hand on his bicep. 

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you still… will you still come up?”

He softens. 

“If it’ll make you feel safer, sweetheart.”

It does. 

And that’s how you find him sitting on your well-loved couch in between your needlepoint pillows, looking around your tiny home as you make a pot of coffee to share. 

“Jesus, you’ve got more books in here than in the store,” he mutters. 

“Well, some of them I couldn’t part with. I like them too much. And, as you pointed out, I am always reading.”

You look around at the shelves stuffed into your flat, the dozens of them holding hundreds of novels, plays, poems. You love them all dearly. They all hold a special piece of your heart, you can remember where you were when you read most of them. (Downstairs while manning the desk is often the answer). 

“Oh, even this?”

You can hear the smile in Logan’s voice. He’s holding up a copy of Fifty Shades. You scoff, rolling your eyes. 

“Christ, I read that as a professional courtesy to the art of bookselling. Got it for fifty cents at a thrift store. It’s crap. If you want some good erotica I can recommend…”

The sentence lingers unfinished. Logan raises his eyebrows. 

“You can recommend what, huh?”

The coffee is ready. You can smell its rich scent enveloping your little apartment. An idea forms. Creates a heavy anticipation on your tongue. Your brain screams at you. 

Locked. Loaded. Fire, mouth, fire!

“… then I’d recommend you take me to bed,” you say.

Logan stares, eyes wide. You’ve had an immediate effect on him. His pupils dilate. 

“I… honey, after earlier, I’m not sure if you should…”

You cross the room and sit on his lap, an easy feat when his legs are so thick and inviting. His sentence stops as you press your mouth to the pulse in his neck. Kiss. 

“I’m a consenting adult,” a kiss on his cheek, “who’s invited you into their home,” a kiss on his brow, “and is asking you to take them across their painfully tiny apartment and fuck them. If you don’t want to, that’s okay, but Logan? I’ve been game ever since you first walked in from the rain.”

He looks up at you to double check that you’re telling the truth, then kisses you with such ferocity that you squeak. 

You do not make it to the bed. 

He undresses you there on the sofa in the middle of your bookshelves, between Brontë and Austen, beside Carter and Rushdie. Your clothes end up in a messy little pile on the coffee table. It gets kicked and the pile of literary magazines slide to the floor as Logan moves to take off his shoes, letting you drag his jeans down and off of him, cupping his cock in his boxers.

Fuck. Thick, heavy, large, you want all of it. All of him. 

He leans you back against your kitschy little pillows with book quotes on them and pulls your dungarees off, an act both ridiculous and endearing. He catches your knee in his hand and begins to kiss up your thigh towards your underwear.

“Fuck,” you whisper as he presses a kiss to your sex over the fabric. He grins up at you from between your legs. 

“That was the plan.”

He fucks you with his mouth like a man starved, luxuriating in the little sounds you make for him, pressing fingers inside you without any effort at all. You cum all over his knuckles embarrassingly quickly. He looks sorta smug. 

“Baby, when was the last time someone took care of you…?” he asks, licking a stripe along your sex to taste what he’s done. You huff. 

“Too long. You gonna fix that?”

It’s a challenge and he takes it as one. You strip off his shirt, making sure to get a good feel of his muscles as you go, kissing his pectorals and abs just because you can. He slides inside you with one thrust, one of your legs in a crook at his hip; the other with its ankle resting on his shoulder. He starts moving and the couch shakes but all you can do is cling on for dear life to the crocheted blanket. 

“Holy shit… so fuckin’ tight… aren’t you just the most gorgeous thing…” he hisses. You reach up enough to tangle your fingers in his hair and drag him down for a kiss, sloppy and charged with heat. His hand moves in between your legs and you cum for the second time that night, hissing with satisfaction as he spills inside you. 

You collapse onto the sofa together, your heavy breaths harmonising. When he pulls back to kiss you this time it’s softer. With intention. With reference. 

“Uh, you know, they’re showing To Kill a Mockingbird next week. Maybe dinner beforehand, if you’re interested?”

He laughs affectionately and you can feel the rumble in his chest.

“Sounds good. You’ll have to lend me the book first.”

Fuck yeah. You’re never doubting your mouth again. 

Taglist: @falsewordz@malfoys-demigod@belilwen@mildly-salted@tvwebs@childeslegstrap@getmeoutofhell@s1eep-o@just-a-beatlemaniac69@yrthr@momopad@sugarplumz100@captainjinkx@madspads@acrosstheunivcrse@yeethaw13@na-is-salty@florduarte@hunterispunk@starfleetteddybear

[hxney-lemcn]

The Riddle of Love — Gotham! Edward Nygma x gn! reader

summery: Edward's interest shifts to someone who indulges in his love of riddles.

tw: bullying (?), kristen kringle is a warning all her own in this fic, implied rejection (not really tho, Ed's just awkward).

a/n: I hope so much that I wrote all these characters correctly. I have riddler fever rn and really wanted to write for him, but I've always been scared that I'd write him too ooc. I think I did good tho.

wc: 3.1k

Master List

“What is it that no one wants to have, but no one wants to lose either?” I asked. I already knew it was a lost cause. Edward Nygma was the smartest man I had ever met. Dorky? Yes. Nerdy? Absolutely. Smart? Incredibly. So trying to impress him at his own game wasn’t exactly the smartest move. Yet, the first time I gave him a riddle to solve (which he solved ridiculously fast), I don’t think I’d ever seen him so happy. So I continued to scour the internet in my free time to try and find obscure riddles. 

Although this riddle wasn’t that obscure. I was running out of riddles to find, and I sure as hell couldn’t make my own. 

“A lawsuit,” Eddie replied without missing a beat, still focusing on testing blood samples. 

I couldn’t stop the pout that formed on my face, “It’s not fair how smart you are.”

I didn’t see Ed’s lips twitch up, how the praise I didn’t think twice about saying impacted him more than he’d like to admit. It was quiet for a few minutes, and I looked back down to the papers I had brought with me. Sometimes, I found myself working in the forensic lab when I could. One of the perks of being a criminal data analyst. I could make my notes on paper, and then just copy them into the computer later. 

Since I was a data analyst, I was in the record archives often. I was acquainted with Kristen Kringle, which obviously led me to Edward Nygma. She would complain about him if I came in after he had left. At that point I didn’t know him, but I also found her complaints unfounded. I’d let her vent, but I’d also speak up for him, which made her glance away in what I assume was guilt. Then there were the unfortunate times that I’d walk in on his awkward flirting. I’d just tensely put away or take the files I needed for my research and leave them to it. 

But after enough times, I’d caught him in the middle of one of his riddles. An easy one, probably to dumb it down for Kringle so she’d be enticed to answer it in the first place. Yet he had caught the attention of the wrong person. Although that didn’t seem to put a damper on his mood. He only sent me a tight lipped smile with a little ‘ding ding ding!’. That’s how I was caught hook line and sinker. His mannerisms were oddly endearing to me, and that’s how our odd little friendship formed. 

I was brought out of my reverie as Eddie shuffled over to his microscope, “I am a nine lettered word and rhyme with perfection; I am another name for love. What am I?”

I blinked, not ready for a riddle, even though I always should be in the presence of him. I looked up from my work, and I noticed how Eddie was sweating, his cheeks flushing a bright red. I tapped the metal table anxiously, the word love had thrown me off my game and my brain felt empty of anything else. I mumbled words under my breath that rhyme with perfection. 

“Deception, reception, perception,” I mumbled, yet none of them fit the rest of the rhyme. The longer I took, the more anxious Eddie seemed to get. “Affection. Oh! The answer is affection!”

Ed cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses, “Y-yes, that is correct. G-good job.” My proud smile fell into a more awkward one, thinking over the implications. That riddle sounded like one he’d save for Kringle. Was he running out of riddles as well? The thought alone was preposterous. It was tense for a bit. And when I realized I had nothing left to do but input the current data I had on some wanna be gang leader. The sad part is I knew that the cops aren’t going to be the first ones who get them. 

Even though I needed to leave, it felt wrong for some reason. To leave the situation after Edward had seemed to admit something in his unique way of sharing. I didn’t want to assume his feelings, yet I knew he also wasn’t one to just state them willingly. Biting my lip anxiously, I decided to just do it. 

Walking over towards Ed’s hunched form, I leaned down to place a light kiss to his cheek, “I’ll see ya later Eddie.” Then I booked it out of the room, leaving behind a very flustered dork. 

It wasn’t much later in the day when Doctor Lee Thompson entered my office. It wasn’t much of an office. The dark walls made the space feel enclosed, and it barely fit my desk and the few cabinets it held. Yet I didn’t mind it since it was a space for myself. Lee, on the other hand, was another acquaintance whose office was nowhere near mine. She’d only come to my office for a few reasons, if it was work related (which was rare since our departments weren’t similar), or if it was personal. Sometimes she fessed that it seemed I needed some company, that it would do me no good to spend all this time alone in my office. Other times…it was on a more personal note, about Eddie and I’s relationship. 

She plopped a candy bar on my desk, a placating move that was all too familiar.

“You must’ve done a real number on Ed,” She smirked, sitting on my desk. Due to the tiny size of the room, and the nature of my job, I didn’t have a seat for guests. 

“What do you mean?” I asked. Deep down, I knew exactly what she meant. I knew Edward was an awkward man, and his experience with flirting was an ultimate zero. Yet it was hard to imagine that he was still affected by a small gesture of affection… Okay maybe the gesture wasn’t that small, for either of us, but still! 

Lee’s smirk widened, “I think you know exactly what. Poor little Ed kept stumbling over his words when I brought you up. Something must’ve happened.”

I unwrapped the candy bar as she spoke, wanting to avoid any thought of the earlier moment. Looking back it was so awkward and a terrible attempt at…what? Flirting? Was that my intention? I didn’t even know my own intentions! 

I took a bite from the candy bar, savoring the sweet flavor before having to explain the painfully awkward memory. When I managed to explain the event, Lee couldn’t stop herself from chuckling, causing me to finish my candy bar with a bitter look. 

“That sounds like something you’d both do,” She smiled.

“What’s that supposed to mean,” I huffed, trying to fight off the flush of embarrassment I felt. 

“Nothing,” She sighed wistfully. “But you two really take your time, huh?” 

“Shut up,” I scowled. 

“Okay, okay,” She threw her hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll stop teasing…for now. But seriously, I think you two would be cute together.”

I let out a childish groan, “I get it. Is there anything else you need?” 

“No,” She smiled as she stood up. “Just wanted to see what had Ed all wound up.”

I rolled my eyes, but my heart skipped a beat at the implication. As Lee saw herself out, my mind kept racing. What was Ed doing right now? What was he thinking about? Did he really care enough about my opinion, about my affection, that he was still affected by it? I stared at my computer screen, the cursor blinking mindlessly. Glancing at the time, I scowled as I realized I still had 30 minutes left to my shift. The idea of going home, having a relaxing dinner and then maybe treating myself to a warm bath. 

…

That was only the beginning. It seems that Eddie’s admiration had shifted from Kristin Kringle to me. It was flattering, to say the least. At least to me. Once I gained Ed’s attention, I seemed to have gained his colleagues attention as well. Typically, I didn’t work with the officers, I’d research criminals, then that data would be added to the files. So when I walked past James Gordon and Harvey Bullock, I never thought twice. But when Ed had waved at me, that cute tight lipped smile on his face as I waved back, a smile of my own adorning my face, it drew the attention of the two detectives. 

"Careful Ed,” Harvey mocked. “Don’t wanna scare them off.” Jim only glanced up briefly, not interested in the situation in the least. I watched as Ed’s smile twitched for a second, Harvey’s words seeming to get to him. I felt my smile slip, not liking how they treat him in the slightest.

“He…didn’t do anything wrong,” I shrugged, before waving goodbye, making my way to the record archives. Not only them, but even Kringle was looking at me more than just as a person to vent to. 

“I feel sorry for you,” She stated, adjusting her thick rimmed glasses. Her hazel eyes held their usual air of judgment as she placed some files back in their spots. 

“Why?” I asked, flipping through to find the person I needed. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” She asked, raising one of her perfectly maintained eyebrows. “Edward’s got his eyes on another victim.” I frowned, anger bubbling within me at the way she always found new ways to insult him. 

“I wouldn’t describe it like that,” I managed to grit out. “I find the sentiment sweet.”

“Wait,” Kringle paused, turning to look at me with disbelief. “Do you…like him?”

I sighed, finding it hard to focus on the task at hand with this irritating conversation, “Would there be something wrong with that?”

“Isn’t it kind of weird how fast he switched?” She asked, a hint of jealousy in her tone. “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before he loses interest in you.”

I slammed the cabinet shut in a bout of rage, leaving the room before I do something I may regret…or lose my job over. As I exited, my scowl worsened when I realized I didn’t even get what I needed. 

“Hello!” Edward’s excited voice greeted me as I entered the break room. When my gaze landed on him, I felt my expression soften, my shoulder’s relaxing. His brown eyes were so expressive, that silly smile on his face never failed to melt my heart. 

“Hey,” I muttered back. Looking over the options in the vending machine. Just get something to eat, and hopefully I’ll feel better. 

“Is…something the matter?” He asked, fidgeting with his glasses. I let out a long sigh as I sat across from him at one of the few tables. 

Taking a bite of my snack, I took some time to gather my thoughts and feelings, “Sometimes I just hate people.”

His eyebrows raised, nervously fidgeting with his tie, “Th-that’s…understandable.”

“Sorry,” I muttered, finally cooling down. “Someone was just saying some really mean things and it got to me.”

Edwards’ demeanor changed in an instant, a frown replacing his smile, and his eyebrows furrowed in a mixture of concern and anger, “Who?”

I blinked, “What?”

“Who insulted you?” He asked, fists clenched. This wasn’t what I was expecting. He would get annoyed, yeah, but he’d always just stew in it until he calmed down. And he was barely angry when I was around, which was something I was proud of. So seeing him react so harshly was unusual. It made me feel a bit appreciated, that he cared enough to get this angry over it, yet it was also unsettling.

“They…they were insulting you,” I clarified, rubbing my arm awkwardly. “And trust me, I was ready to do some things that would’ve gotten me fired.”

Ed blinked, calming down drastically at the revelation, “Oh.” 

“Yeah,” I shrugged. “I swear if she says one more damned thing about you I’m gonna…” I strangled the air, the only way I could express how frustrated her insults made me.

Edward fake coughed, his cheeks tinged a light pink, “I assume you mean Miss Kringle.”

I paused, hoping it didn’t hurt that his past interest was still as rude as ever. “I didn’t even manage to get the files I needed,” I grumbled, hoping to lighten the mood a bit.

“...I can get them for you,” I felt my heart crack. Was he still interested in her? Was that why he was so ready to go into the den of the woman who so readily insults him? 

“Oh, no you don’t have to do that,” I shook my head. “I’ll just have Lee do it.”

Ed blinked, seeming to think over something before standing up, “I’ll be right back.” Before he was fully out the door he paused, “Whose case files did you need?”

I couldn’t help the tiny grin at how eager he was as I gave him the names of the people I needed files on. Yet that smile fell. Was he really so excited to get a chance to see Kringle that he almost left without knowing what files he needed? I finished my snack, getting a drink from the vending machine while I was at it. My mind continued to make up terrible scenarios that could be happening at that moment. How she could manage to crush Ed’s precious heart even more than she’s already managed to.

Ed was back quicker than I realized. It took him less than ten minutes! He set the files I needed on the table, that tight lipped grin on his face as he waited for my input.

“Oh! Thank you!” I thanked, flipping through the files to make sure they were all there. “She didn’t give you any trouble, did she?”

“No,” He replied simply. As I met his gaze, that’s when I finally realized that he was truly over Kringle. I should’ve felt disturbed at how intense his gaze was, at how strong his emotions seemed to be when he wasn’t even trying. Yet I only felt flattered, important, and wanted. Emotions I wasn’t completely used to, and caused my heart to stutter at how strong my own emotions were becoming. 

Standing up, I leaned in and kissed his cheek again, this time a bit more confident then the last time I did. I waved goodbye as I walked out with the files he gave me. I felt pride swell within me as I watched Eddie become a flustered mess as I left. It was a good mood lifter as I watched him fumble with his usual nervous ticks, before he was finally out of my sight. 

…

Edward’s courting tactics only seemed to grow after that. I wasn’t sure what changed him to do so. I could only speculate that Lee had something to do with it. She kept stopping by my office, asking how Ed and I were doing like she hadn’t just seen us the day before. I can’t lie, I was reveling in the attention that Ed was giving me, and I could tell he’d revel in my attention as well. A mutual pining on both sides. 

Normally, I’d be okay with that. Too scared to try and push things forward. Edward Nygma was different. He was just so…amazing. I’ve never felt so strongly towards someone. He was sweet, attentive, smart, and overall lovely. I couldn’t just settle for pining, I wanted to experience what it would be like as his lover. 

Which led me to this horrendous mess up of a confession.

I dressed up a bit nicer than usual, hoping to impress the cute dork. I felt confident in myself, an emotion I don’t feel regularly. I greeted Lee, who seemed like she guessed the occasion and sent me a wink when I walked past. 

“Hey Eddie,” I greeted, setting a cup of coffee down on the counter.

“Oh! Hello,” He greeted me, smiling. “You seem chipper this morning.”

Nudging the coffee towards him I smiled back, “It’s a good day today. I got you a coffee.”

“You didn’t need to,” Ed replied sheepishly, not used to people giving him things. 

I only shrugged, “I wanted to.” I tapped the counter I was leaning on as nerves started to slowly creep through me. So, before my anxiety could get the best of me, I blurted out, “What is mine but only you can have?”

With furrowed eyebrows, Ed actually paused to answer a riddle for the first time during this little game we had. His eyes flitted around the room, like he was trying to avoid the answer. I know he was smart enough to figure it out, so the fact he was taking so long to answer caused my heart rate to spike from anxiety. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I was reading the room wrong. I blame Lee for feeding me a wrong understanding. 

“I…uh…” Ed stuttered over his words, sweat dripping down the side of his face. Shit, shit, shit! I shouldn’t have said that. He does know the answer, I found it online easily, he obviously knows. He doesn’t feel the same and now he’s trying to find a way to politely reject me. 

“Nevermind!” I exclaimed, trying to quell my nerves by getting the fuck out of here. “Stupid riddle! Never needs an answer. I should get to work.”

“W-wait!” Eddie called out, making me stop in my tracks. So close yet so far. “I can be a fruit, I can be on a calendar, I can be important, and I can be forgotten. What am I?”

Turning back around, I watched as Eddie picked at his nails. We both seemed like complete messes at the moment. It was hard for me to think of anything due to my previous failure of admitting my feelings. I bit my lip awkwardly, trying to stop myself from making any more of a fool of myself.

“I…I’m not sure Eddie,” I chuckled solemnly.

Clearing his throat, he adjusted his glasses before admitting, “A date. W-would you accompany me on one?” I stared at him with wide eyes, unsure if I heard him correctly.

“Y-yeah! Of course I will!” That tinge of embarrassment was quickly overpowered by exhilaration. The smile that stretched across my face almost hurt with how big it was. Eddie’s smile was also wide as he still couldn’t meet my eyes.

“Is…is tonight okay? Dinner? 7 o’clock?”

“That sounds perfect.” 

And to make the moment better, I kissed his cheek before parting, excited for what the night held for us.

[missmonsters2]

—Lips Over Your Nightmares

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: You've been having trouble sleeping. Nightmares haunt you every time you close your eyes, and Wednesday offers a solution in the form of comfort only she is capable of.

Warnings: Soft!Wednesday. Possessive!Wednesday. Intimate. Wednesday ran out of patience. Emotionally charged confessions. Kissing. Lots and lots of kissing.

Masterlist | Library Blog | AO3

Reminder there's no taglist but you can follow my library blog for notifications 💘

Note: I said wednesday is soft for her girl and I will take no arguments about it. The act of kissing in this fic is peak wlw. I'm sleeping on the highway tonight and taking you all with me.

Count: 2.6k

Please do not copy, repost, or translate my work anywhere else.

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷

Nighttime could be hellish.

It was probably why Wednesday adored it so much. 

You loved it too. There was something divine about the nighttime. People feared the dark, but you saw it as an opportunity to rest your weary eyes and bones. The night gave way to being invisible, and there were some days when that was all you could bear to be. 

But to Wednesday Addams, who loved the dark, you could never be invisible to her.

It was a blessing and a curse. 

To be seen by Wednesday—it was something more than many people could ever hope for. 

But to be seen when you wanted to be invisible? It was like being dragged without anything to hold onto. 

Nighttime was hellish, and you wanted to disappear into the dark as your nightmares plagued you until you couldn't even tell what was the dream and what was the reality.

But Wednesday Addams saw you. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

You've missed Enid's late-night studying session again. It's the second week in a row that Enid's gotten a text from you two minutes before the session started.

"I guess we can start," Enid told the group with a disappointed smile. "She's not coming today either."

"Fuck," Xavier sighed. "She's the only one who's good at art restoration. I was hoping she'd help me with my assignment."

Wednesday's face scrunched together mildly, and Xavier rolled his eyes. "Except for you, Wednesday. But you hate teaching me and I hate learning from you."

"I can't help it if you're stupid," Wednesday dully replied. 

"Not all of us can do it perfectly after being told what to do—told only once might I add," Xavier raised his brow at her.

Wednesday shrugged, which only seemed to irk Xavier more and to prevent them from bickering further, Yoko turned to Enid and asked, "Why isn't she coming?"

Enid shrugged, her lips quirked to the side as they pressed together. "She texted to say she wasn't feeling well and couldn't make it."

"She does seem tired lately," Bianca commented, her expression in deep thought as she recalled the last two weeks when she saw you. "Also, really quiet. Well, quieter than she normally is."

There were murmurs of agreement around while Wednesday sat silently. Of course, she also noticed, but she was waiting for you to say something to her. You always told her whatever was plaguing you, even when Wednesday told you she didn't ask. Wednesday was used to hearing your mundane thoughts or solving your problems. 

But there was nothing this time, and Wednesday couldn't figure it out. She tried to think back to see if anything had changed—if something had happened, but there was nothing. 

Two weeks of leaving you be was enough, though, Wednesday decided as she packed her things into her bag.

"What! Wednesday, are you leaving too?" Enid groaned. "But I need help with botanical sciences!" 

"Ask Bianca," Wednesday didn't even look up.

Enid looked at the siren, who had a deceitful, happy smile.

"I'd be happy to help you, Sinclair. Let's talk The Poe Cup negotiations first."

"Absolutely not!" Enid scoffed before turning back to Wednesday with pleading eyes. "Wednesday..." she whined.

"Ask Xavier," Wednesday didn't budge.

"But all he does is draw in class. There's no way he's doing well."

"I'll have you know I'm getting a C," Xavier looked affronted.

Enid merely stared at the sullen boy for a long moment before she turned back to Wednesday. "I'll just wait for you tomorrow after school."

Xavier was about to say something else when Wednesday briskly nodded, standing up and leaving the group behind without another word. 

⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷†⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷ 

It was completely silent on the other side of your door, and from its looks, it was dark as no lights were shining underneath it.

Wednesday knocked in three successions. 

There was no answer. 

If it were anyone else, they would've believed you weren't there and left, but not Wednesday.

No, she knew you far too well. 

This was a place where you could truly be invisible with no roommate.

Wednesday knocked insistently until she heard shuffling, an agitated huff, and footsteps approaching the door. 

The door only opened marginally. You looked mildly surprised to see her, but Wednesday supposed you had too little energy to manage anything more. 

There were dark circles under your eyes, and they looked puffy and slightly red around the edges from lack of sleep. Your skin was pallor, which suited someone like Wednesday, but she decided it was not on you. Your hair lacked its usual shine, and Wednesday's eyes narrowed as she finished scrutinizing you.

"What are you doing here?" You asked quietly. 

"Are you going to just let me stand out here?"

"I'm not in the mood for company, Wednesday," you blinked slowly. 

It was new.

You were usually happy for Wednesday's company whenever she stopped by, and you often visited her dorm. 

"I have had enough of this," Wednesday glared at you through the gap in the door. "You will let me in."

"And if I don't?" You challenged back, and Wednesday almost wanted to applaud the snippy attitude you've mustered through the tiredness.

"Then I will wait out here and ensure you don't get a. Single. Wink. Of. Sleep." It was a threat that tugged at your nerves. You looked at Wednesday, and for a brief moment, she thought she won before you shut the door in her face. 

Disbelief clouded over Wednesday's eyes. 

Then, Wednesday began to knock incessantly over and over on your door. Her knuckles knock with a vengeance, and she'll be damned if you think she doesn't take absolute joy in torturing you. 

It worked because you open the door wider this time, as you stare at Wednesday with a glare.

"What part of 'I'm not in the mood for company' was unclear, Wednesday?" Your voice was gruff, and Wednesday could tell that you were still trying to not snap at her despite how tired you were. 

And that in itself was everything. It was like that all the time. 

You were always trying to be considerate of whatever feelings you thought Wednesday might have while gently pushing her to admit which ones she was truly feeling. 

Maybe that was why Wednesday could never leave you alone now.

You were a gateway to things Wednesday never wanted, and she genuinely thought you should pay for making her desire things she swore she'd never want. 

"Say you don't want my company then," Wednesday said haughtily. 

Wednesday knew you wouldn't—couldn't, even. You never would. 

Just as you were her exception, she was yours. 

You pursed your lip at her, starting to close the door swiftly, and Wednesday stuck her foot partially into your room, preventing you from shutting the door in her face again.

"Wednesday!" You called her name, concerned you might've hurt her when the door hit her foot, but the macabre girl used the opportunity to press her palm flat against your door and pushed it wide open.

She took a step forward menacingly, forcing you to take a step back. She took another step, and you took another one back. When she was inside your room fully, she used the back of her heel to shut your door.

The resounding click of it made you swallow.

"Wednesday," you clenched your jaw, fighting against something you weren't even really sure why. But you were terrified—of her, you don't think, but rather what she was capable of doing to your heart.

"I have been patient," Wednesday's voice is quiet, but her tone is sharp, expressing every bit of her lost tolerance. "I have waited for you silently."

Wednesday kept walking towards you, backing you up until your back bumped into your desk. She looked positively irritated. "I have even refrained from saying a single unkind thing despite them running through my mind at the sight of you moping at whatever has been keeping you up at night."

"How did you know—"

"Do you take me for an idiot?" Wednesday's eyes flashed dangerously at your insinuation. You shook your head.

"Then you must take me for a fool with endless patience," Wednesday glared at you. "I don't take kindly to the kind of games you're playing."

"I'm not playing anything—"

Wednesday cut you off again. "Then explain concisely what has been keeping you up and why you've been keeping it to yourself."

Silence filled the room as you didn't speak, but Wednesday had already waited this long. She could wait a little more. 

Wednesday watched how you gripped the edge of your desk, your finger tapping underneath in rapid succession before you closed your arms over her chest. 

The stance was defensive, but you looked more reluctant than wary.

"I'm having nightmares about you."

The admittance stunned Wednesday, and she didn't know how to take it. Initially, it felt like a compliment because nightmares were so fascinating and exhilarating to experience, and Wednesday hoped to have nightmares every night she slept based on that logic. 

But you were not her. 

Nightmares, illogically, were typically not desirable.

"Wednesday, I—" You swallowed. "I have feelings for you. You're the best and worst part of my days because I actually feel clinically insane everytime I see you, spend time with you and then have to face the fact that you're not mine and I'm not yours."

Wednesday's jaw clenched, and it was noticeable. She wanted to open her mouth and demand how you could feel the exact same way she did, but she kept her mouth shut, waiting for you to continue on. 

"And I have nightmares about losing you," you confessed. "I have nightmares about losing you to Tyler or another deranged supernatural being. I have nightmares about losing you to Xavier or Enid or somebody like Tyler, minus the whole mass genocide. I have nightmares about losing you in every single imaginable way, only to wake up and realize you're not mine, and you can't lose what you don't have."

"I can't tell if the nightmare is when I'm asleep or when I'm awake." You put your hands to your face, laughing hollowly. Tears well up in the back of your eyes, burning as they were so dry from lack of sleep. "I think I'm going crazy."

Wednesday wanted to tell you that going crazy was supposed to be wonderful. But she, herself, has been experiencing the whirlwind of elation and torment you put her through and believed that going crazy wasn't as wonderful as she thought. 

But Wednesday decided then and there that there was no way up from crazy. And while it's unfortunate that she's not the brand of crazy like Uncle Fester, she's been driven mad nonetheless. It's the only thing that could explain all of this and everything that's about to come. 

Wednesday grabbed your wrist, moving your hand away from her face. No visions plague her, and all she knows is that this meant her decision wouldn't end in misfortune and it wouldn't drive her down a lonely path. 

"Enid's not expecting me back tonight," Wednesday told you as she dragged you over to your bed. Her succinct tone leaves no room for you to ask any questions. 

"Um, okay?" You said anyway, thrown off by her response and feeling exhaustion saw at your bones, dragging the invisible knife back and forth.

Wednesday guided you to get into bed, and you complied. Resignation settled over you as you rested your head on your pillow. It was cold again with you being away from it, but it brought no comfort. 

You lay facing the wall, about to pull the blanket up to your chin, when you heard something drop against the floor. You turned your head and saw that Wednesday had set her backpack down, and now she was zipping off her sweater, hanging it on the pole of your bed frame, leaving her in her black long-sleeve.

Wednesday took her shoes off before using every bit of her vulnerability to steadily and carefully climb into bed with you. It was dark, with only a little light from the moonlight shining just barely into the room, and you could make out the barest hint of her features and knew she was staring intently at you, trying to ascertain if this was a boundary both of you could bear to cross. 

Her touch was slow and hesitant, revealing this was something she's never done before, but the moment you were in her arms, you clicked into place like a puzzle piece. 

Wednesday was cool against your body, but she was warming from your touch and shared heat trapped under the blanket. She smelt like rain and dry leaves, and you felt like you were going insane. You buried your face into her neck. 

Wednesday wrapped her arms around you, holding you close, allowing the things she's been desiring for a while to come to fruition. She couldn't tell if this was making her saner or driving her closer to insanity.

It was deliriously pleasant.

"Who said you're not mine?" Wednesday muttered into the shell of your ear.

It's suddenly not enough, and Wednesday now knew the answer was that it was driving her closer to insanity. 

Wednesday pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes that were so tired just moments ago. The dark circles remained, but you were wide awake, speckles of oblivion in your eyes.

Despite how everything else changed as you became sleep deprived, your lips still remained full and soft. 

Wednesday moved to close the gap, sighing softly as her lips slanted against yours. 

How could she feel like jagged glass, splintered and sharp, while you felt so soft, practically melting around her serrated edges?

Wednesday only pulled back marginally, cupping your jaw and the back of your neck. "Who told you that you don't already have me? I want names."

You couldn't even think straight with how her breath felt on your lips. You pushed forward again, pressing your lips against Wednesday's insistently.

Was it possible for reality to be better than a dream? 

Your lips slotted over Wednesday's over and over and over. Wednesday tugged at your bottom lip, smoothing over it with her tongue before it dipped at the edge of your mouth where your tongue met hers. 

It was dizzying, something that frequently happened to Wednesday when it was too warm. She usually hated the sensation of it, but, of course, as many things were exceptions when it came to you, this was one of them too. 

"Your nightmares are inane."

You couldn't help but laugh against Wednesday's lip. 

"I think I am actually insane," you grinned, and you saw a ghost of something similar on Wednesday's lips. 

"Sleep," Wednesday ordered you, kissing you chastely initially but ending up biting your bottom lip tenderly. Her hands pull you closer, her lips resting on your forehead. "I'm here, so nothing will plague you."

The softness of Wednesday is unimaginable, and you're nearly skeptical.

"But—"

"No." Wednesday countered bluntly. "I'm telling you that I'm here and yours. You may come to regret it, knowing how...difficult I am. But you're stuck with me. Congratulations," Wednesday tilts her head slightly, brushing against yours, "or condolences."

But you could hear Wednesday's heartbeat, and it was dark, and you were so tired, but you were close enough to hear Wednesday's heartbeat. 

Your lips tingle from Wednesday's kisses. You felt your eyelids grow heavy along with your body, and the way Wednesday shifted told you she was satisfied.

Nighttime could be hellish, but Wednesday Addams saw you—she always would. And all she had to do was put her lips over your nightmares.

[aylacavebear]

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 7

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 2936

Warnings: Angst, some Fluff, Dean being a sweetheart, Dealing with emotional stuff.

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 7

It wasn't an instant adjustment, but it took you and Dean a couple of weeks to get into a comfortable rhythm of living together. After rearranging, the two of you hung the dark sheets in the living room around the couch so that Dean had a space all his own. When he wasn’t sleeping or needing to be by himself, the sheets were pulled back.

His cleanliness surprised you a bit. You figured most guys who were single were sloppier. That whole “bachelor life” stereotype you had heard as a teenager and young adult. Dean was anything but. He even did the dishes sometimes. What shocked you most was that he cleaned up after he shaved.

The two of you kept in contact with Ellen, Bobby, Jodi, John, Mary, and Sam, but only when required and only with the burner phones Dean had gotten. Jodi had managed to get a restraining order against the Vaught family, which was helpful. You and Dean both knew that it wouldn’t stop Azazel, though, so stayed in the bunker.

Sam had made it down two days after you and Dean had locked yourselves in the bunker. He went over all the paperwork you’d left with the adults and said he’d be able to not only help you but also Dean with what was there. Then, he took a copy of it all and headed back to California to get to work.

There were awkward times between you and Dean, but he always seemed to find a way to get you to laugh or pull you from your thoughts and ease the tension. It was something you were utterly thankful for. 

That stupid little spark of hope had threatened to ignite around Dean more than once, and it was getting harder and harder to push it back down, no matter how many times you reminded yourself that he had a soulmate. 

You’d taken a couple of showers, but you hadn’t noticed it, not until during that third week. You had gone into the bathroom, and after stripping down, you stared at yourself in the mirror for a few moments when what looked like a smudge of dirt near your collarbone caught your eye.

Narrowing your eyes and getting as close to the mirror as you could, now on your tiptoes, you rubbed what looked like light lines of dirt that didn’t make much sense. You even tried using some water out of the sink to get it to come off, but that didn’t work either.

You were far too focused on trying to get the “smudge” off of your skin that you weren’t paying attention to where the water had dripped on the counter. When you went to lean a little closer, your fingers slipped on the wet counter, and with a scream, you went tumbling sideways onto the floor. Luckily, you didn’t hurt more than your pride.

“What happened?!” Dean exclaimed, opening the bathroom door within seconds and froze, seeing you naked, half sitting on the floor, rubbing your asscheek where you’d landed.

“I slipped,” you grumbled. Then the realization dawned on you, and you quickly pulled down a towel, covering your body, barely.

His gaze was fixed on you, but yours was fixed to your right, too embarrassed to look up at him. You were sure you were blushing to your toes at this point.

Dean’s hand was still gripping the doorknob, still halfway into the bathroom. The door was completely open, and he was staring down at you, mouth slightly open like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

“Can, you, uh, go… so I can take my shower?” you finally asked quietly, still embarrassed.

“Oh, yeah. Shit, sorry,” he mumbled quickly, pulling the door closed as he left. 

You sighed, then stood up, hanging the towel on the rack again. You inspected your asscheek where you’d landed, and it was a little red from the impact. 

Great, I’m probably gonna end up with a bruise.

Ignoring what you assumed was a smudge of dirt, you got in the shower. The hot water felt wonderful as it trailed down your body. You did try to scrub off the “dirt” again, this time with soap, but it didn’t work, which only aggravated you. During the rest of your shower, while you dried and then dressed, your mind attempted to figure out what you could have gotten on yourself that wasn’t washing off.

When you did finally return to the living room, dressed in a tank top and jeans, Dean was sitting on the couch with the curtains closed. You had wanted to ask him about the “dirt,” but seeing that made you somewhat sad, so you just went back to your room. 

He’s probably mad at me for scaring him for no reason. Then, he had to see me naked like that, and that probably bothered him. Not surprised he doesn’t want to see me right now.

There wasn’t much to do in your room. In fact, the only thing you really could do was read. The TV was in the living room, and you wanted to give Dean the space he was seeking. You rubbed the front part of your shoulder, where the “dirt” was, then sighed silently while sitting on the edge of your bed. 

Your mind wouldn’t stop, the thoughts not helping any, knowing the two of you were stuck in this bunker together until things got figured out. When you were about to grab a random book off of the bookshelf in your room, you heard an alarm sound coming from your closet.

It startled you, but you ran in, quickly sliding into the chair and staring at the monitors. There were two men, both dressed in suits, knocking on your front door. You didn’t recognize either of them. The burner phone in your pocket began going off, so you pulled it out and answered it, never taking your eyes from the screen.

“Jodi, there are two men at my house,” you began, but she jumped in.

“Whatever you do, don’t leave. They are there to take you due to the wedding thing. Sam’s still working on getting your case heard in court. It’s taking far longer than anyone wanted,” Jodi quickly explained.

“I won’t leave, I promise,” you replied, then Jodi hung up.

You closed the phone and set it on the desk, then slumped back in the seat, sighing.

“What happened?” Dean asked from the doorway, making you jump from his sudden presence.

“Two guys are at the front door. Jodi said they are here to take me somewhere for the wedding and not to leave,” you sighed, looking from Dean back to the monitors. 

He slowly entered the room and looked over your shoulder at the screen, then leaned back against the table, just watching.

“I’m sorry, about earlier,” you apologized quietly. “I wasn’t paying attention and slipped. I didn’t mean to scare you or make you have to see me naked.”

You were thankful that he couldn’t see your face. You were both blushing at the embarrassment and sad due to that stupid ember of hope you hadn’t been able to get rid of. However, that also meant you couldn’t see Dean’s face or how he reacted to what you’d said.

There was silence for quite some time. The two men on the monitors you and Dean had been watching left, and after their car drove away, the specific cameras stopped flashing red. Dean still hadn’t said anything, which worried you. It wasn’t until you went to get up that he finally spoke.

“You don’t have to be sorry. It’s not like you did it on purpose. I can’t help it, I worry about you,” he told you, somewhat quietly, and you could have sworn he almost sounded nervous or shy even. “As for the whole naked thing, well, uh… I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, and, I’m sorry for staring. Afterward, well… I needed some, uh, time- to myself,” he stuttered out.

Something you’d never really seen from Dean was him being shy or nervous, and his tone caused you to turn and look up at him curiously. “So, you’re not mad at me?” you asked, mildly confused, but you did understand what he meant by needing time to himself. The thought of that almost made you blush.

“Definitly not mad at you,” he chuckled shyly, which you found kind of cute.

“Wanna watch a movie then? Forget about the whole thing?” you asked, finally smiling a little and hoping to help take his mind off whatever was bothering him.

“A movie sounds great, but this time, it’s a western. You picked the last movie,” he teased you, but all you could do was chuckle at him.

As the two of you headed out of the living room, Dean spoke up from behind you, “What were you doing that ended with you being on the floor anyway?”

“Oh yeah. I almost forgot about that,” you replied, as you had forgotten with everything else going on. Dean was getting the movie set up while you got comfy on the couch and continued, “I’ve got dirt or something near my collarbone, but I couldn’t scrub it off. I was gonna ask you about it after my shower, but, uh… yeah. Your curtains were closed, so was gonna just wait.”

Dean raised an eyebrow as he glanced over at you, sliding the VHS into the player. Then, he narrowed his eyes a bit. You knew that expression to be his thinking face, which you were trying not to find adorable. “Lemme see,” he told you, now sitting on the coffee table in front of you as the movie began behind him on the TV.

You put your hair behind you and tilted your neck so he could easily see your collarbone. You were doing fine, up until his hand was on your upper arm, and his thumb was softly brushing over your skin where the “dirt” was. 

He has a soulmate. He wouldn’t think of me as anything other than a friend. God, why does he have to smell so good? Stupid brain, stop it. I’m not losing my virginity to a man I can’t have. And I’m NOT gonna let myself get close to him like that. It’ll just hurt more when he finds his soulmate.

The argument in your brain was only partially distracting you from the feeling of Dean’s hand on you, but it was his words that pulled you completely from your thoughts.

“It looks like your soulmate’s name is trying to come through,” he mumbled, still staring intently at the lines that didn’t make any sense to you.

That was when your eyes locked with his. He was far closer than you’d realized he had gotten, now being able to lightly feel his warm breath on your lips. You swallowed hard but couldn’t bring yourself to look away from those beautiful emerald orbs that you were getting lost in. And at the same time you felt like you were getting lost, you also felt like you were being grounded. Your lips parted slightly, breathing shallowly, not even noticing that he’d moved a little closer before you finally looked away and apologized but also thanked him for looking at what you had thought was dirt.

Dean took a deep breath, letting it out in a sigh before moving to the side of the couch he’d practically claimed as his. You hadn’t minded, though. Now, you were attempting to focus your thoughts, even though your mind was arguing with itself again.

You barely watched the movie, arguing within your mind with yourself all about Dean. The marks on your collarbone were only tiny pieces of letters, and they didn’t make any sense. All you could tell, from what you remembered from the bathroom, was that there had to be at least four letters. That only caused more thoughts to circle their way through your mind.

“Are you gonna stay in your head all night, or do you want to come cuddle and finish the movie with me?” he asked, making you squeak in surprise. That only made him chuckle at you. “I still find that cute.”

You gave him a playful glare before moving over and snuggling up to him, his arm now around your shoulders. “I don’t mean to be so spacey. I’ve just got a lot on my mind,” you said as apologetically as you could without actually saying you were sorry.

He sighed, and you felt it with how his chest moved, “I keep telling you that you can talk to me about it. I won’t get mad at you, and I won’t treat you like everyone else has.”

“I know,” you mumbled through a pout, playing with a little crease on his shirt. “It’s just…,” you trailed off, not even sure how to tell him what had been running through your mind. “I’m… I keep reminding myself that you have a soulmate,” you finally mumbled.

It felt like your heart not only stopped but also sped up. Or, perhaps, it was only beating so fast that it felt like it had stopped. You weren’t entirely sure. There were plenty of implications in what you’d said, and now you were worried that it would affect your friendship with Dean. On top of that, you weren’t sure how you’d react no matter what he said.

You glanced at the TV, recognizing it only as a Clint Eastwood movie, but you had no idea what the title was. “What does me having a soulmate have anything-” he began, then froze where he was sitting. You could even hear his heartbeat speed up a little.

Pouting, you ducked your head a little lower against his chest, wishing you could go hide in some corner, and figured your cheeks were beat red at this point. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled, almost inaudibly. That only made Dean sigh.

He gently lifted your chin with his thumb and forefinger, and when you met his gaze, you wished you could look away. “You really need to stop apologizing. I didn’t know what was bothering you, and I asked. I’m not upset. It just surprised me, if I’m taking it the way you’re implying it,” he told you softer than you thought he’d be with how he’d frozen a moment ago. 

It was how his eyes seemed to be darker than before that made you want to look away. Your mind was thinking far too many thoughts about being this close to him. He almost seemed to be undressing you with his eyes, but you tried to tell your brain that was what you wanted him to do, not that that was what he was actually doing. Your eyes looked down momentarily when he slowly licked his lips, the movement catching your attention.

“How do you think I’m implying it?” you asked through a mix of nervousness, anticipation, hope, fear, and shyness. It was almost too much to feel all at once.

Your question only made him smirk in that delicious way that he did. Being this close to him was making thinking almost impossible. “That if I kissed you right now, you wouldn’t tell me no or try to stop me,” he said in a low, almost seductive tone.

You wanted to melt into him, let him do just what he’d said, but you couldn’t. The pain of losing him to his soulmate after letting something that intimate happen with him would only hurt you more. So, using the last of the resolve you had left within you, you pushed away from him gently but to the middle of the couch.

“I… can’t…” you told him, staring at the coffee table.

He furrowed his brow in complete confusion and even shifted so that he was facing you. “Seriously, Y/N, what’s bothering you?” he asked, far more concerned than he had been earlier.

It was something you’d refused to even let your mind think, but with his question, the tears slowly slipped down your cheeks. You’d been denying it since the first week the two of you had worked together. You were constantly pushing the thoughts and feelings away. 

“I like you more than I should. You have a soulmate, and one day, I’ll have one too. I’m sorry I fell for you and made things uncomfortable now that you’re stuck down here with me,” you managed through fighting the tears, some of them slipping out anyway.

You were too embarrassed to stay there and finish the movie with him, quickly getting to your feet and going to your room. You didn’t even give him a chance to respond, worried it would hurt more. For the first time since you’d been down there, you closed your bedroom door, intent on leaving it closed all night.

Burying your face into your pillow, you sobbed, letting out the pain at the thought of losing him, even though he wasn’t yours to begin with. You knew that other people fell in love with those who weren’t their soulmates and even lived happy lives together. You just figured Dean didn’t see you that way or feel that deeply for you. It had been your other reason for never making any sort of move.

You cried yourself to sleep that night. There was still a lot you didn’t know about and didn’t have the courage to ask. If you were being honest with yourself, it was more because you were terrified of what the answers were.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 8

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[pedgito]

i just saw your post about glasses!eddie munson and whenever you have the time, would you be able to write a cute series of reader finding out about his glasses ITS JUST ADORABLE

author’s note: this was meant to post sooner than now but here it is lol, i finished this pretty quick but got sidetracked. glasses!eddie has invaded my brain and it’s never leaving.

cw: sfw, glasses!eddie, eddie’s not so subtle flirting, acquaintances to friends, once again another fic where everyone bullies eddie (give this man a break), if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 2.5k

“Do you wanna switch seats with me?” Your voice is soft, leaning back toward Eddie, whose eyes are nearly closed from how hard he’s focusing on the board, blindly scribbling something down on the paper. He’s lost on where the voice comes from until you’re in focus, looking back at him with a smile.

Eddie wasn’t a friend, but he wasn’t an enemy either. He was the boy who got picked on relentlessly and as much as you wanted to help, you weren’t sure it would change anything. Plus, he didn’t seem that bothered by it—or he was just really good at faking like he wasn’t.

“Oh,” Eddie replies, still confused, “I’ll be fine—Mr. Donahue’s handwriting is always shit, I can barely understand it.”

It wasn’t a total lie, but it was still legible.

“Munson!” The teacher's voice rings from the front of the classroom, “let's stop trying to distract other classmates and focus on our own work, okay?”

And if it wasn’t the condescension in his tone that pissed you off, it was the way he so quickly blamed Eddie for the interaction. He shrinks slightly, sending you an apologetic look.

It happens a few more times that week, catching Eddie glancing at the board as if it’s nearly impossible to see—and maybe he was telling the truth, but it’s also obvious that Donahue hates Eddie for no other apparent reason than just because he thinks he’s up to no good, which isn’t fair to Eddie.

You show up early to class the following week, bag resting in the chair of the desk beside you—Eddie’s usual seat, waiting. He’s always bordering on being late, making it to class as the bell rings, looking more frazzled than the others.

You weren’t sure what he got up to between classes, but he definitely seemed overwhelmed.

“This seat taken?” He asks with a smug smirk, pointing at your backpack. You smile slightly, reaching for it.

“Sorry—I just wanted to make sure I could sit beside you.” You tell him honestly. It throws Eddie off, his eyebrows furrowing together slightly before relaxing, eyes roaming over you curiously. “You said you can’t understand his handwriting, I was gonna let you copy my notes.”

“Can I copy your work too?” Eddie asks jokingly, but you can tell he means it. “I’m barely scraping by with a D in this class.”

You snort out a quiet laugh. “Let’s worry about the notes first.”

Eddie spends most of the class still struggling, forehead creased up as he sifts through your notes, writing things down sparingly. It’s almost like he’s trying not to be mean, focusing a little too hard on one word every now and then as he looks over, your papers perched on the corner of the desk.

“If my writing is horrible you can tell me,” You say, which makes Eddie chuckle, “seriously, I won’t be offended.”

“It’s not that,” He assures you, “it’s just—the angle, it’s a little hard to read them—“

“Oh, well,” You grab the papers in a bunch, extending them toward him, “here, just take them.”

Eddie ignored you, his fingers wrapping around the leg of your desk to pull it flush against his—it’s quick enough that it doesn’t make much noise, only a slight shifting that draws a few eyes.

“Or…that works too.” You say shyly, face heating up at his straightforwardness. “Better?”

He glances over, shifting the papers to his side and gives a subtle nod as his lips pull together in a tight line, “Yeah, actually.”

And it’s almost blissful silence as Eddie copies them down, asking a few questions when your words meld together out of habit when you’re writing too quickly, he still leans in slightly but you don’t pester him on it—eventually Eddie’s actions are noticed, all eyes shifting toward the back of the classroom.

When you look up, everyone is staring back, including the pensive and threatening eyes of your teacher.

Eddie mumbles a soft, “Sorry.” as he pushes your desk back.

“Do I need to remind you two that this isn’t a matchmaking class?”

And it’s a ridiculous comment to make, but it has Eddie scoffing slightly underneath his breath.

“I’m letting him copy my notes,” You say innocently, “is that okay?”

You can’t remember having a problem in any of your classes, either flying under the radar or one of the usual favorites—you’ve never felt this tense, staring down the entirety of the group that was staring right back, though your gaze was focused on Mr. Donahue.

Eddie looks at you briefly before settling his eyes toward the desk, fiddling with pen in his hands to soothe his anxiety.

“If Eddie has a problem, he can come sit up front,” He says coarsely, “I don’t think you have the wiggle room to be socializing, do you?”

And suddenly his gaze on you is forgotten, flicking toward Eddie.

Eddie doesn’t give him the satisfaction, shuffling his shoulders forward in an effort to hide himself, scribbling something random down on the paper in front of him—it’s something he did when was bored or uncomfortable, even, a comfort.

You catch Eddie toward the end of class, gripping his sleeve before he can sneak away.

“How far behind are you?” You ask him, peering up at him curiously. Eddie looks sheepish, glancing away for a moment.

“Uh, I haven’t really taken notes all semester—I kinda just..scribble shit down so it looks like I’m working.”

Your eyes slant down slightly, in an ire of disbelief as your mouth parts, “Eddie, are you serious?”

He shrugs, reaching a hand up to scratch his jaw. You huff through your nose, snatching the pen perched in Eddie’s pocket and uncapping it before shoving it into his hands.

“Give me your address.” You insist, holding out your arm to him. Eddie seems skeptical, fingers wrapping around your arm gently, shifting your sleeve up, “I’m getting you caught up—don’t look at me like that.”

And truly, he’s not sure how to respond. Kindness and niceties weren’t at all familiar, feeling like there was always some ulterior motive. Still, he scribbles down the information with slow strokes, careful that it doesn’t smudge—leaving a small smiley face out of spite, forcing a similar expression onto your own face.

“I’m free after six,” He tells you, “so unless you want to get caught up in awkward conversation with my uncle, wait until then.”

You laugh at that, pulling your sleeve down.

“How else am I supposed to uncover all of your secrets?”

Eddie smirks slightly, eyes averting toward the floor.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know—you just have to ask.”

He spends most of his nights—sans the ones where he’s performing for the small audience at The Hideout or hosting Hellfire meetings—organizing campaigns and writing down random things that come to his mind, feeling the need to get the thought out on paper, even if it’s song lyrics or a drawing.

He adjusts the thin rimmed glasses up his nose, eyes hurting from the strain he’s forced them through all day. He knows he should spend a few minutes resting, even just closing his eyes for a moment, but he can’t help it. Eddie knows it’s his fault, the beginnings of a headache forming as he tries to focus, his finger sneaking up to rub at his eye—he can feel the haziness, willing it away.

But then you’re knocking at his door and every thought is thrown out the window—part of him never expected you to show, his heart thrumming in his chest as he leaps from the bed, tossing the papers away haphazardly and forcing the glasses up into his hair without a thought, pushing his bangs away from his face.

Eddie whips the door open, causing you to startle slightly.

“Hi.” You say wearily, a soft smile on your face.

“Hi,” Eddie responds slightly out of breath, before clearing his throat and offering a smoother, “Hey.”

Your eyes glance up, noticing the difference in his face. His bangs were like a trademark, constantly hiding his eyebrows. You point up curiously, speaking before you can think things through.

“You wear glasses?” You ask, eyebrows knitting in confusion.

“No—no uh, of course not.” Eddie responds quickly, adamant in his refusal. “Why would you—“

He’s clearly caught off guard, standing awkwardly in the doorway, eyes crossing as he follows your finger, only realizing his mistake when you drag the glasses down slowly, pushing them gently up the bridge of his nose.

“Well, that is definitely an interesting pair of non-existent glasses.” You say jokingly, grinning at his embarrassment, cheeks flushing a deep red.

It’s hard to explain how perfectly they fit his face—like it’s the missing piece that pulls him together. He’s not dressed up like usual, in a faded graphic shirt and gray pair of sweats, no jacket or rings in sight. It’s natural—and it’s in that split second you can see the real Eddie. Not the threatening, menacing Eddie Munson that everyone played him out to be.

Eddie nods wearily, beckoning you inside.

“I won’t tell anyone,” You promise him with a tinge of amusement, rounding on him as he closes the door, shoving the stack of papers at his chest, “—if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Eddie pulls the glasses off of his face, folding them up.

“It’s not that,” Eddie tells you, “—didn’t mean for you to find out about them, it kinda ruins the whole image, you know?”

Image. It makes you laugh to yourself silently.

“You didn’t seem like you were trying to hide them,” You giggled slightly, “besides, I don’t think they ruin anything.”

“I kinda forgot you were coming.” Eddie lies, knowing he had been riddled with nerves since he stepped foot inside of the trailer that evening, not understanding why he was so anxious to begin with.

“Look, I don’t mean to overstep or anything—“ You stop briefly, sighing softly, “but if you need a tutor or even just…some help, I don’t mind.”

Eddie doesn’t really know how to take it, staring at you like you’d grown a second head.

“I study with Nancy a lot,” You explain, “it’s really not a big deal.”

“I’m a lost cause,” Eddie admits with half-smile, “there’s no saving me.”

“I don’t believe that,” You tell him honestly, approaching him to shove the glasses back toward his chest, his other hand still stuffed full with the papers containing your notes, “—seriously, put them back on and I can spend a couple hours seeing where you’re at.”

Eddie listens, though skeptically, placing the glasses back onto his face—you smile without really thinking, causing him to react similarly.

“It’s okay to let someone be nice to you,” You assure him, “as many assholes as there are at Hawkins, there’s still a few of us who mean well.”

“I can’t be taught, I’m just warning you now.” Eddie remains adamant, leading the way toward his room. You follow behind eagerly, taking in the abstract way of decoration littered around the trailer.

“Fine—you can at least show me your drawings then.”

Eddie looks back at you briefly, a confused grin on his face.

“I’m really observant,” You tease, “and curious.”

“Promise not to tell anyone?” Eddie asks.

“I’ve already got one secret to keep,” You respond, teasing him lightly, “what’s one more?”

“How bad is it?” You ask him, staring up expectantly.

“What—oh, my eyes?” Eddie asks, “Uh, kinda bad. It’s okay, though—I manage.”

You crease your eyebrows together, motioning for him to remove the glasses. He does, watching as you reach for a paper, holding it up in front of him.

“Tell me when you can read it clearly.”

Eddie nods, squinting as you move the paper closer and closer, until it’s only a few inches from his face, your eyes widening in shock.

“Eddie,” You stress, “you can’t be serious?”

“I told you I manage,” He argues with a slight laugh, “but it’s bad, I meant that.”

Your expression remains the same, arms falling to your side as you discarded the paper.

“They look weird,” Eddie defends, “that’s why I only wear them at home—I already get enough shit at school anyways.”

“Bullshit,” You say boldly, “they do not look weird.”

Unfortunately, you did see all of the relentless teasing he caught at school, that wasn’t lost on you.

“You don’t have to lie,” Eddie says, “it won’t bother me.”

“I’m not,” You counter, smiling as the glasses returned to his face, his eyelashes touching the lenses, bangs brushing against the rim, “they fit you—they’re…cute.”

Eddie snorts in disbelief, “Okay, enough.”

You smile to yourself, watching as his cheek flushed a faint pink.

“Can I try them on?”

Eddie doesn’t answer outright, pulling them away from his face and handing them over—they’re a little bigger, his more prominent facial structure different from yours and causing the glasses to slide down your nose slightly. You push them up with your finger, squinting at the strain it puts on your eyes.

You can see Eddie smiling over the rim, admiring how perplexed you look in the moment, “Don’t look at me like that,” You say playfully, “these things are really strong.”

Eddie shakes his head, “It’s—nothing, nevermind.” He pulls the glasses from your face gently, placing them back on his own.

And Eddie’s never been shy, but suddenly he can’t force the words out, afraid of the mix of both rejection and embarrassment.

“I like you like this,” You tell him, hoping it eases him, seeing how tense he was—clearly unloved by many, “I mean, I like you both ways but this—it’s nice.”

“You’re the first.” He says flippantly, not aimed at you for any specific reason. He’s not immune to the words thrown at him, they do start to wear on him after time, even if he brushes them off for the most part.

“They’re insane,” You tell him with a surety, “all of them.”

“Careful,” Eddie treads, “Jason would have a fuckin’ field day if he heard you say that.”

You shrug, smugness in your expression.

“He’s terrified of me.”

“Jason—terrified of you?” Eddie asks, begging for more clarification.

“Our parents are friends—I’ve seen…a lot.” You say cryptically, not wanting to dive into details, “I’m not one for blackmail but I’m not totally above it.”

“You’re so interesting,” Eddie speaks candidly.

“I’ll take that was a compliment?” You respond, “Hopefully.”

Eddie nods with a subtle smile.

“Well—like you said,” You start, repeating his earlier sentiment, “I’ll tell you anything, just ask.”

You hold your finger up as his mouth opens—

“But, notes first—secrets later.”

Eddie pushes his glasses up comedically, forcing a quiet laugh from you—it’s the exact reaction he wants. He settles, agreeing with your rules.

“Deal.”

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

[everythingacotarbxm1012]

Do That Again

Summary - You meet a certain fellow after your roommate starts dating some guy.

Content Warnings - Language, heavy drinking, characters getting drunk, underaged drinking (please tell me if I missed anything)

A/N - I wrote this mostly because there are definitely a lack of Cassian x Reader fics out there and as much as I love Cass and Nesta, this felt necessary. *Do not repost my work without my express permission.* *Do not copy my work.*

1k words

✨ 💫

You and Cassian. Cassian and you. Attached at the hip in every sense of the phrase. If someone was looking for one of you, they’d find the other. The only time you weren’t together is if you didn’t have a class together or if one of you was going to the bathroom and even then if one of you was drunk enough… you might be in a close proximity.

You met Cassian through your friend and roommate, Feyre. Feyre, after a shitty high school boyfriend, met Rhysand at a party. Rhys was… well he was something. It was one of those situations where someone falls first and the other falls harder. Feyre fell hard. Like inches of cement hard. You’d be grinning with smug intent while Feyre’s face was absolutely red after getting back from an evening out with Rhys. Somewhere in the madness of first year the two crazy kids finally were official. You ensured you would meet him before summer break. You did. 

As Feyre’s friend, and body-guard , you were of course critical of the man. He certainly had an ego. But below it all he felt right for your friend. He treated her like an individual, a partner—not a possession. The same night you met Cassian at a party. Admittedly you were a little drunk. Okay, you were more than a little drunk. Okay, fine! You were very drunk. Like hookup-with-your-friend drunk. Thankfully he was drunk too, less drunk, but still drunk. Somewhere between the drinks, bad music, and watching Feyre and Rhys be sickeningly smitten with each other you and Cassian found a connection. It was like in kindergarten when your eyes land on any random person in the room and think, you’re cool and we’re friends now. 

You woke up the following morning with a hang-over on a couch to Feyre and Rhys stifling laughter. Your friend informed you it was the suite Rhysand and his friends shared on campus. How a group of first-years got that was beyond you, but you didn’t complain. You were still wearing your clothes and thanked the heavens you saw no vomit either. You managed yourself awake to see Cassian sprawled on the floor. You met Azriel that morning. 

“For the headache,” he said, as he offered you a glass of water and Aspirin. 

The three of you suffered while Feyre and Rhys remained wrapped up in each other all morning. 

The connection with Cassian only grew faster. You kept in contact over the summer, both constantly joking about the disgust you felt for the budding relationship between your friends. In truth you both were happy for Rhys and Feyre. Upon your return for your Sophomore year of university, the friendship solidified itself. You were constantly together. Staying up late to get work done, eating, studying, getting stupid drunk at parties. Despite the humor and jokes, you also found a deep comfort from each other. 

Cassian adored physical contact, which was perfect because you did too. Something you discovered when you woke up on the couch in the suite to your dear friend have a nightmare. 

“Just a nightmare, Cass. Just a nightmare,” you reassured him. He had clung to you, falling back asleep soon after. 

By the end of Sophomore year, you were literally inseparable, constantly draping over the other whenever you hung out as a group. A group you drunkenly named, Rhysand’s IC , because he was constantly parenting the rest of you alongside Feyre. IC standing for Idiot Children . 

One particularly very early morning, around 1am, you and Cass were draped over each other on the couch in the suite. The conversation topic was stupid things you did as children, and Cassian was letting out a particularly loud laugh when a cold-faced looking Az stepped out of his room, asking you to “pipe down”. 

Your junior year, Cassian managed a suite that could fit you and Feyre and you all lived together. Often times the night would end with Feyre and Rhys finding themselves together with you and Cassian sitting together having a drink while you braided Cass’s shoulder-length hair, talking about trivial matters. 

Your final year, Feyre and Rhys chose to live off campus because they wanted a place to themselves leaving you, Cass, and Az to fend for yourselves. Az wound up with a single while you and Cassian chose to share a room to be closer to the center of campus. Azriel was a floor above you. You spent night after together, sitting in the corner of your room, watching a movie together, or talking, or sitting in silence enjoying the other’s company. In hindsight it was crazy how quickly college had gone by. 

Cassian had become your dearest friend through it all. His humor you adored, but it was his caring and passionate nature which had you feeling more deeply for him. And suddenly you were stumbling back from an We’re Almost Graduated party Rhys and Feyre hosted.

✨💫

“There’s a spider on your shoulder!!” You shout as you stumble into your dorm room with Cass. You cackle as Cass squeals, squeezing his eyes shut. 

You step forward to flick the spider off his shoulder and he screams making you laugh and nearly keel over. He catches you before you do, a hand landing on your hip. An electric buzz bolts through you. For all the times you’d been in contact this felt different. Maybe it’s the alcohol, the fact that his hand has never been on your hip before, or the the excitement of graduation. 

“Cass?” You ask him, his hand still resting against your hip. Your breath hitches in your throat.

“Y/N?” His question is met with a moment of silence. And then suddenly Cassian’s hands are cupping your cheeks and he’s kissing you. 

Your eyes flutter shut before he’s pulling away. The kiss somehow intoxicating and sobering. There’s a stupid grin on your best friends face. “You know how long I’ve wanted to do that?”

He’s met with silence for a while. You are unable to move. Finally you manage words. “Do that again.”

There is a mild question in his eyes. 

“Do that again,” you repeat. 

Cassian doesn’t need to be told a third time.

[rayshippouuchiha]

I’m the housewife kink anon, but I can’t find the fic!!! No one seems to have a downloaded copy on any of the usually haunts either. Pretty sure the author deleted their account which is a damn shame since they were one of my favs. Not rly surprised tho since they were getting some hate for the pairing when I read it a few yrs ago and I imagine it only got worse. So I’ve decided to outline everything that happened in detail!

So the plot was basically aged up Izuku and yandere Aizawa meet at a pre-raid meeting where some big time hero tries to discount Aizawa’s info and talk over him. But Izuku- Eraserhead has been my obsession since I watched his first sport festival-Midoriya shut that down quick with what was essentially an in depth analysis of how Erasehead is a perfect hero, especially compared to the hero that talked shit.

So yandere Aizawa was obviously like mine and started stalking Izuku who could immediately tell (I think he went abroad to train with All Might after Inko died and then helped dismantle AFO’s base of power internationally thus discovering he was still alive and Izuku ended up killing him w/ All Might) but was honestly just rly turned on by it so allowed it.

At the raid, they ended up in the same section and had impeccable team work the whole time which made both of their internal monologues sound like smug cats. They worked so well together that they kept getting paired up on other raids (all human trafficking rings connected with AFO I think) and eventually Izuku got hurt but wouldn’t tell the medics cuz discrimination trauma and paranoia so Aizawa drags him home to give him stitches.

This is where the domestic fluff and house wife kink kicks in bc Izuku cleans+ bakes+ cooks when he’s bored (which he was since he had to wait for the stitches to heal before he went off to do hero work). So Aizawa, coming back from UA to all this plus Izuku splayed out on the couch like a whole snack smiling up at him saying welcome home, goes fucking feral in his head. And it kinda becomes routine for them and there’s was this one scene where Aizawa wraps his arms around Izuku’s waist as he does dishes and puts his chin on Izuku’s shoulder and strokes over the stitches. I think he was humming a love song Izuku was listening to which was jdjejebdbhsjs.

At this point they both want to jump each other but Izuku is like he’s just being nice to me while Aizawa is like if I allow myself to show how much I want to put a collar on him he’d run so I must be careful. But after the stitches heal Izuku just doesn’t leave bc whenever he half heartedly tries to go back to his apartment something happens where he had to stay (all orchestrated by Aizawa of course). Then Izuku’s like fuck it and just brings all his stuff to Aizawa’s apartment while he’s gone and starts paying half the rent without saying anything. Which Aizawa adores since it obviously means Izuku finally realized that he belongs with him and nowhere else. Let’s just say they didn’t manage to stay off each other for long when Aizawa absently used his scarf to pull Izuku out of his way and called him a good boy.

There was also a concerned all might crew going on at first with a lot of wild misconceptions but it all settled over when All Might met Aizawa in person and was like ah young midoriya, I see you have found one that might be able to handle you. Cuz all might is Izuku’s mentor/hero/father figure, and knew exactly what his successor was about. And this feral looking man he managed to find checks all the boxes Izuku- I destroyed AFO more completely in few years than anyone else managed to do in centuries- Midoriya has.

oh oh god this sounds perfect in every way

Author is you somehow see this then by all the gods please repost because this is magnificent

[child-of-hurin]

Tagged by @chthonic-cassandra on this book meme

I'm tagging @vardasvapors @anghraine @hoeratius @68ultime @thelioninmybed @imindhowwelayinjune @sternflammenden @medievalcat @hexjulia @damphaired @dntlz those are the people I usually see blogging about books, & also anyone who wants to :)

Last book I read: A friend’s second version of their manuscript 🥳🥳🥳🥳

Book I recommend: I recently had a great time reading the English translation of Ana Paula Maia’s “Of Cattle and Men,” I’m recommending with these keywords: dry, unsettling, atmospheric, cw animal violence, almost no female characters.

Book I couldn't put down: I recently listened to an audiobook version of Balzac’s “Cousin Bette” and I kept finding chores to do or places to drive just so I could listen to it more

Book I've read twice (or more): Books I’ve reread the most in my life are either Stendhal’s “The Red and the Black” or Marc Bloch’s “The Historian’s Craft”… In recent years I have also been rereading “The Bloody Chamber” 

A book on my TBR: Going off recommendations from friends: Dorothy Sayers’s “Whose Body?” (Kate), Yoko Ogawa’s ”Museum of Silence” (Dante), Mary Renault’s “Mask of Apollo” (you!) 

A book I've put down: “The King Must Die” — it’s personal, I have low tolerance for Golden Bough type stuff and I failed to read the summary for this one (as I often do, on purpse).

A book on my wishlist: A self-published translation of some of Carmina Burana available on Amazon! I’m trying not to buy anything before we move, but as soon as we do & can spare some money…

A favorite book from childhood: 

Anyone who reads this book will instantly see why child-me would be into it. I’m also super partial to the old edition with the human-like monster. I think there’s something more horrifying about that guy eating people than an inhuman-looking entity doing the same.

A book you would give a friend: I think more people in the world should read “Why Art?” and I think it makes a beautiful present… “You & a Bike & a Road” by the same author is also a book that I think would make a lovely present for most of my friends

A book of poetry or lyrics you own: “Morte e Vida Severina”, not my top favorite João Cabral de Melo Neto book, but the first book of adult poetry I ever read and so very dear to me (and it was set to music, so it counts as lyrics!)

A non-fiction book you own: I finally own my own copy of Todorov’s “The Conquest of the Americas”...  

Currently reading: I was in a brutal reading slump so I currently have like 7 ‘currently reading’s…let’s go with Bernhard Schlink’s “The Reader” 

Planning on reading next: Promised my wife I’d reread "Return of the Thief" so I can finish this fic I’m writing mostly as a present for her, so probably that!" so I can finish this fic I’m writing mostly as a present for her, so probably that!

[ynscrazylife]

Jessss can I pls request a sort of angst fic but like one of the ‘how the avengers would react to...” lists with it being R being like a young avenger but like they get affected by some kinda chemical or weapon or something on a mission and is really sick and no one knows how they can help them bc it’s like alien tech or something that did it? I just think it’d hit a spot in my heart rn and there’s never anyone better to ask than youuuuuu bc you literally know the character’s so well everything always hits lmao

Sick Days 

Summary: The Avengers get worried after you get mysteriously sick from alien tech.

Author: You said a fic but you also said a “How the Avengers would react to” list so I wasn’t sure what to write, so I went with a fic. If this is not what you wanted, please let me know!

Request to be on a taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

Main Masterlist | MCU Masterlist

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me firstand b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

Being an Inhuman has never really been a problem for you before. It gave you some pretty cool powers and allowed you to join the Avengers team during the five year blip. S.W.O.R.D. had gotten word of when you accidentally activated your powers and, since they were still dealing with half of their agency being dusted, asked Natasha Romanoff if she could take the lead on this one and check it out. She found you, a young teenager at the time, frightened and confused. After realizing that you were an Inhuman, with Captain Marvel’s help, she explained to you what happened. It turned out - you had nowhere else to go, so Natasha ended up taking you in. She had a soft spot for you.

Long story short, once you got a little bit older, Natasha began training you in combat and allowed you to join the team. Once the blip was over and everyone returned, you met the others and were officially declared an Avenger. Despite being the only not-fully-human-person on the team (Thor had gone to the Guardians), you fit in perfectly. Everything was going smoothly.

That was . . . Until patrol one day. Where things took a turn.

“Hey, Y/N?”

You had been patrolling the streets of New York City for a little while now when the voice of Natasha chirped in your ear. Excited, you said, “Hey! Can I finish patrol early? There’s nothing really going on.” As much as you loved patrol, wintertime was nearing and you couldn’t exactly wear a coat with your suit, so you were getting rather cold.

Instead of a positive answer like you had hoped, Natasha chuckled. “Not just yet, kid. We actually just got a tip off from the NYPD. A break-in was reported at a nearby storage unit and none of their patrol cars are close. You’re actually the closest to the situation, it’s only two blocks away. Think you can check it out?” She asked.

Your desire for warmth was overshadowed by your curiosity and more-pressing desire to actually do something. “Who would break into a storage unit?” You asked, confused.

“That’s what you’re about to figure out. It’s two blocks to the east,” Natasha said.

“Alright. I’ll see you afterwards, then,” you replied.

With that, you turned to your right and began walking. Unfortunately, being Inhuman did not grant you super-speed powers. Instead, you had light powers.

You got there in no time. On the outside, everything looked fine. If you were just walking down the street and passing by (which a couple of people were), you wouldn’t have thought anything of it. But you were no ordinary civilian. You managed to sneak inside and used your light powers to make yourself invisible. It was a large floor, with lots of storage units, but it was also quiet, so you took your time inspecting each and everyone.

Reaching the other side of the floor, you were about to report that it must have been a false alarm or something as you couldn’t find anything, when you rounded the corner only to spot a masked man lurking around an open storage unit. Spotting the broken lock on the floor, you knew that this had to be your guy.

Still invisible, you quietly sneaked up beside him, preparing yourself to show yourself and give the guy a chance to surrender, but wanting to stop him from being able to escape, too. Just as you inched close so you were right behind him, the man suddenly turned around and blasted you with the weapon he was holding.

This took you completely by surprise - there was no way for him to have known that you were there! You were flung into the air and hit the wall of another storage unit, before falling to the floor. “Hey!” You yelled as your invisibility disappeared and you struggled to sit up. The wind had been knocked out of you and your head was throbbing, but if there was anything to know about you, it was that you were relentless.

The guy broke off into a run, leaving the rest of the storage unit behind. You stumbled to your feet, trying to follow him, when a combined wave of dizziness and nausea pushed you against the wall. Your vision swarmed and your arms wrapped around your stomach, as you suddenly felt horrible. More sick than you had ever been in your life.

Whatever that guy had blasted you with - it had done something. Something bad.

As much as you tried to fight it, your body sank until you were curled up on the ground. Beads of sweat laced your forehead but you shivered at the same time. You had just the amount of strength to be able to press on your comms. “I need help,” you said, but it came out as a croak. “The guy surprised me. Blasted me with something. Please-”

You weren’t able to get anything else out as you fainted, your body succumbing to the attack of exhaustion, pain, and sickness.

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Natasha heard your plea, the feeling of panic crashed into her. “Y/N?” She said when you stopped talking, already typing away at her computer to track your location. When she only heard static, she pursed her lips, frustrated. “Y/N, c’mon!”

“What’s going on?” Clint asked, poking his head into the living room as he had been walking by.

After finding your location and reading your stats provided by your suit, Natasha glanced up at Clint. Despite the hardened, blank look on her face, Clint could tell she was worried by the way she pinched her eyebrows and the frown tugging her lips down. He patiently waited for her to answer, his face growing solemn and more serious.

“Something happened to Y/N on patrol. You need to gather the team. I’m going to go get them,” Natasha said, rising from her seat and going to leave without another word.

As she passed him, Clint gently grabbed her arm. “I’m sure no matter what happened, the kid will be okay,” he said, wanting to provide some comfort. He shared her worry - heck, everyone would, they all adored you - but was able to be more calm about it. A skill he had developed as a dad to four children.

Natasha forced a smile. “I hope so,” she said, and gave her best friend’s hand a small squeeze before leaving to suit up. She couldn’t afford to waste any time.

When she left, Clint had F.R.I.D.A.Y call the team down to the living room. It took a couple minutes, as they were all in various parts of the building, but eventually everyone was gathered. Clint refused to tell anyone the purpose of this impromptu meeting until everyone was there, which was a little frustrating for people.

(People as in Tony)

“Will you just tell us already, Legolas?!” The billionaire exclaimed, as he and the others stood watching Clint pace back and forth, occasionally checking his phone in case Natasha had texted any update.

Finally, seeing Wanda and Vision walk in, who were the last to arrive, the archer explained. Shooting Tony a glare, he said, “Something happened to Y/N on patrol,” he repeated the words Natasha told him. “We’re not sure what, but Nat’s going to find out.”

Everyone’s faces softened. “Something happened? Like an injury?” Wanda inquired, frowning.

Clint glanced over at Natasha’s computer, which still displayed your stats. “Maybe . . .” he trailed off, his eyes catching something on the screen. “Wait - it looks like they’re sick or something. See? Y/N has a high fever.” The rest crowded around him.

As they all watched the screen, Bruce said, “I’ll go get the medical bay set up. Dr. Cho should still be here,” before briskly exiting the room.

“Y/N displayed no signs of illness this morning. In fact, they seemed to be quite well and excited for patrol,” Vision noted.

“They did say they were blasted with something,” Clint murmured, trying to connect the dots.

His phone’s ringtone interrupted the team and Clint scrambled to answer the call. Seeing that it was Natasha, he put it on speakerphone for everyone to hear.

“Y/N’s sick. It’s bad. They’ve already thrown up on our way back and I’m carrying them,” Natasha rushed out almost as soon as Clint accepted the call. They could all hear her controlled breaths as she was walking as quickly as she could.

“Bruce has gone to get med set up for when you arrive,” Steve said.

Remembering how you sounded on comms, Clint asked, “Is Y/N conscious?”

“They’ve been slipping in and out for now. They were passed out when I found them,” Natasha answered.

The team exchanged looks of worry. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out,” Tony tried to answer confidently, but his concern overshadowed his tone a bit.

Minutes later Natasha had burst into the tower, you still in her arms. She made a beeline for medical and the rest of the team were hot on her heels. As Natasha had said, you were definitely awake, but unaware of your surroundings nor the state you were in. You were still sweating and shivering profusely and would occasionally mumble something incomprehensible or let out small whines of pain. It broke everyone’s hearts to see you like this - if not for the pressing danger, they weren’t sure they could stand it.

Once at medical, Natasha gently laid you down on a bed where Dr. Cho quickly got to work. The Avengers were allowed to stay in the room (they surely would have put up a fit if not), but needed to stay back so Dr. Cho could work. They all watched as she hooked you up to monitors and assessed you. 

“Y/N’s defiantly gotten very sick quite quickly,” Dr. Cho confirmed as she worked. 

“It must be that damn blast,” Natasha muttered. “We need to figure out what that was.”

“I can get the storage unit’s company to send us the security cam footage,” Tony offered, but didn’t wait for a response before dashing out. 

“Can someone get some cool compresses? We need to bring their temperature down, it’s dangerously high,” Dr. Cho requested as she set up an IV. 

Sam and Wanda immediately complied, rushing to get the compresses. They returned and draped them on your forehead, neck, arms, anywhere they could. Up close, they could see how pale and fragile you really were, eyes half-closed. It was scary. 

“I’ve given them an IV with fluids and medicine,” Dr. Cho said, letting out a huff. “That and cool compresses is all we can really do for now except to continue monitoring them.” With a gesture of her hand, the Avengers all flocked around you, drawing up chairs to sit. No one wanted to leave your side. “Let me know if their condition changes.” Dr. Cho smiled sweetly at them before leaving and letting them have some privacy. 

No one said anything for a little while, stewing in their concern as they watched you. You had fallen asleep, but it didn’t seem restful, with your pinched eyebrows and scrunched up nose. Wanda continued to dab your forehead with the compass while Steve and Sam would occasionally go to get more. 

After some time, you woke up a bit and let out a whine. “What is it, hon?” Wanda asked softly.

“It’s cold . . . Can I have a blanket?” you croaked, voice hoarse. You squirmed a bit, pouting. 

“I’m sorry, darling, you can’t. We need to get your fever down,” Natasha explained. 

Tears at how awful you felt came to your eyes. You curled up on the bed. “Please . . .” you said. 

This shattered everyone. Natasha frowned, gently petting your hair. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. 

You moaned before letting out a few coughs that shook your entire body. Clint went to grab you a glass of water while Steve glanced at the clock. “Shouldn’t the IV and meds have kicked in by now?” He whispered. 

Clint helped you drink some small sips of the water while Vision answered, “yes, it should’ve.” 

Everyone looked around. “I’ll get Dr. Cho,” Sam decided, keeping his voice low so as to not disturb you. 

A couple minutes later, he came back with the doctor in tow. You were still curled up, looking miserable. “Hi, Y/N,” Dr. Cho said. “How are you feeling?” She was pretty sure she knew the answer, but still wanted to ask. 

“Hot and cold at the same time . . . My head, throat, and stomach hurts,” you said, voice so small that the others had to strain to understand you. 

Dr. Cho nodded and looked over the monitors, frowning. “The meds should have kicked in by now,” she muttered. 

Everyone felt defeated and even more worried. What the hell had you been blasted with?! 

“Maybe a bath might help? My mom always had us take warm baths when Pietro or I got sick,” Wanda suggested. 

The rest nodded. At least it was something. “You feeling up for that?” Natasha cooed, seeing how tired you were. 

“I want to try,” you mumbled, trying to sit up. 

Natasha and Wanda helped you. They wrapped wrapped one of your arms around them and one of their arms around you, half-carrying, half-leading you to the bathroom. Clint followed behind to be able to open the door. 

You leaned against the wall, supported by Natasha, while Wanda started the bath and Clint returned to the rest. The redhead had to keep you from dozing off a few times which worried her a bit about leaving you alone. When the bath was ready, Natasha said, “We’ll check on you every ten minutes or so, okay?” 

You nodded, although it was a small nod so as to not aggravate your headache. Wanda and Natasha then left you alone, walking back to the medical bay. When they returned, they saw that Tony had come back, too. 

“Did you find anything?” Natasha asked anxiously as she and Wanda resumed their seats.

“There was nothing much the footage could tell us,” Tony admitted, standing in front of the team and Dr. Cho. “We saw Y/N using their powers to make themselves invisible, but it seemed like the guy who attacked them knew that or something because he turned around and blasted them while they were invisible. I’ve talked with S.H.I.E.L.D. about it - Fury says it might have something to do with Y/N being an inhuman.” 

This got everyone’s attention. You being an Inhuman had never interfered with anything before, so what was the problem now? “Fury had some of his agents look at the rest of the tech and stuff from the storage unit the guy had been lurking in. Apparently - it’s all tech that belongs to the Kree. It would make sense why it’s effecting Y/N, since the Kree sorta invented the Inhumans. He’s contacting Carol now to see if she might know anything about it,” Tony continued, and then grabbed a chair and sat down while everyone processed this. 

“Let’s hope she does,” Bruce said, receiving murmurs of agreement. 

They sat around until the ten minute mark hit, when Natasha went to check on you. She returned a couple minutes later, her arm wrapped around you. You looked quite sleepy, and the Avengers would of aw’ed if you weren’t so sick. Your hair was still damp but you were wearing Avengers-themed pajamas.

“They fell asleep in the bath,” Natasha told the team, before helping you get situated back in bed. 

Seeing as the sickness wouldn’t be contagious if it was indeed an Inhuman once, a couple of the Avengers gladly cuddled you, wanting to prove some comfort. Really, they all would’ve, if the bed had been big enough. Natasha and Wanda laid down on either side of you and Clint sat at the end of your bed. 

Natasha pet your hair while Wanda simply had her arms wrapped around you. Sam was waiting with a glass in his hand in case you got thirsty. When you dozed off for a little bit, Tony couldn’t help but snap a picture. “Sorry, they’re adorable,” he said, not sounding apologetic at all and shrugged.

After waiting with you, Carol drew everyone out of their thoughts by walking in. She was wearing her usual suit, but held a vial in her hands. 

Hearing her footsteps roused you and when you could make out the blonde, you smiled. “Carol!” You said, having missed her. 

Carol smiled warmly at you. If there was anyone who could break the space captain’s tough exterior, it was you. “Hey, little one,” she greeted. “Long time, no see. I’ve got something for you that will help.” She handed Natasha the vial. “It’s the cure to your sickness. The sickness was invented by the Kree to infect the Inhumans. From what I can gather, the guy was a Kree man who had a device on him that could detect Inhumans - that’s how he knew you were there.” 

“Interesting,” Steve mused, as Natasha handed you the vial. 

Not caring about how bad it might taste and just wanting to feel better, you gladly drank the entirety of the vial in just a couple gulps. 

“It’ll make you quite sleepy, but-” Carol cut herself off as your eyes quickly fluttered shut and you fell into a deep sleep, head falling against Natasha’s shoulders. “They’ll wake up in a few hours feeling better.” 

She turned around to grab a chair. “You’re staying?” Sam asked, as they watched her. 

“Of course,” Carol said, scoffing as she sat down. She looked at the Avengers. “What, is anyone planning on leaving?” 

They all smiled at each other as a series of “no’s” went around. They were more than happy to sit with you and comfort you. 

“That’s what I thought,” Carol said proudly, smiling. 

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[avaantares]

Re: your idea for that fic where Sparda comes back- any more details or thoughts on how he'd feel about Trish? 👀 I can only imagine how conflicted he'd feel, since she's a construct of Mundus, but has his wife's face, and is also a demon who protects humans, but acts Like That-- how do you think they'd react to each other? I can't imagine she'd be very happy in this situation either...

Ahahaha you have the best timing, because it's 1 AM and I just had a Thing happen and wound up on a 911 call and can't sleep because I'm still waiting for the adrenaline to clear my system, so I turned on my laptop to write and generally distract myself until my pulse rate drops to two digits (it's been almost an hour and it hasn't gone down yet) and lo, there was an Ask about a story! So I'm going to answer right now because it's something to do that isn't worrying about the Thing that just happened, but I apologize in advance if my writing is a little... uh... more jittery than usual. Because *I* sure am.

(For those unfamiliar with the above-referenced fic post, it's here.)

The first letdown would definitely be the worst. Sparda has been trapped in the underworld for decades, and his one thought the whole time has been returning home to his family (as he tells Nero). Then he finds out Red Grave has been destroyed -- and by his own son! -- and he's trying hard to stay calm, but some part of his mind has to be in a spiral because he knows Eva is only human and would be at risk, but can't bear to think that his son would be so irredeemable as to cause harm to come to his own mother, but he also can't imagine that if Eva were alive she would have allowed Vergil to become... whatever he's turned into that he's now destroying cities, and he just goes in ever-widening circles of panic.

He's also starting to process just how long it's been. Nero, his grandson, is already in his mid-to-late 20s (if I'm setting this post-CotFA, he'd be 26 or 27), so Sparda estimates he has likely been imprisoned for some 40 years or more. Human lifespans are short; even if she is alive, Eva could be in her 70s, in the sunset of her life.

And in the middle of all of this fretting and fear and denial, he looks up and he sees her. Eva, young and beautiful and alive, just as he left her. The joy and relief sweep everything else away for one moment...

...and then he feels it. This isn't Eva, but a demon wearing her beloved face. A creature tainted with the essence of Mundus, his archenemy and captor. To Sparda, she is the vilest form of blasphemy -- a mockery of his sainted wife.

(This is not lost on Trish, who has also had to process a little bit of guilt in regard to her resemblance to Eva. See also: CotFA chapter 8)

Sparda cannot tolerate Trish's existence, but he is not yet recovered enough to destroy her outright, which gives Nero and Lady a chance to intervene and keep him from doing any serious damage. Because Nero is the one who freed him (and he's not eager to fight his own descendant), Sparda respects his wishes and stands down, but he's infuriated and fully intends to deal with Trish once he has a better grasp on the present situation -- and has seen his sons, one of whom is apparently friendly with this abomination, according to Nero.

(Nero assumes that "Gramps" only attacked Trish because she's obviously a demon and he's an old demon hunter; he doesn't catch on to Sparda's identity just yet. Trish, for her part, keeps quiet because 1) she never actually met Sparda, assumed Mundus had killed him, and has no idea how the real Sparda could be here now, and 2) she doesn't want to say anything prematurely, since it might get back to Dante and raise his hopes, only to disappoint him if this turns out to be a mere copy of his father.)

Throughout the rest of their underworld mission, Sparda retains his antagonism toward Trish in much the same way that Vergil did, at first -- he can't bring himself to look at her and doesn't want anything to do with her, including working directly alongside her or listening to her suggestions. Though Dante's emotions are running wild after the reunion with his father, he does take a firm stand whenever Sparda lashes out at Trish; he's spent a lot more years of his life with Trish, and while Sparda may be his progenitor, Trish is his family.

Over time, as they continue their quest and ultimately work as a team to take down the semi-resurrected Mundus, Sparda will grudgingly acknowledge that Trish is not evil and respect her fierce loyalty to Dante. It definitely bothers him that Dante is so attached to Trish, because he still sees her as something inherently wrong, but he comes to terms with her existence and no longer feels the need to obliterate her. It still hurts him to look at her sometimes, though.

Though Dante insists she doesn't have to change for anyone, Trish recognizes how hard it is for Sparda to see the face of the woman he loved and has effectively just lost, and has not yet had time or space to grieve. She makes subtle changes to her appearance to set herself apart from Eva: Bold makeup. Statement jewelry. A new hairstyle. The odd splash of color in her hair or outfit. It seems to help, and in the end Sparda comes to regard her as something like Eva's radically disparate twin, rather than an inferior copy.

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Eyyy, it's now 1:45 AM and my pulse rate is finally down to 98! Huzzah!

[dairy-farmer]

I'm not sure if you check the comments on your AO3 stories or not anymore, but I wanted to share the content I left (both because I want to make sure you see it and know how much I like your writing, and also because I crave validation as well ❤️) so I'm basically just copy/pasting the comment here (with some added spelling corrections):

[Comment I left on 'i drink the honey (inside your hive)']

This is probably my 20th time reading this because it is so so good: not only is somnophilia my jam, I love how Dick keeps telling himself 'this is all I'm doing, no more!' and then keeps going anyway. Also, your dirty talk (in all your fics, not just this one) is always so hot - I find a lot of people have trouble managing to be explicit and sexy without ending up in 'this is so cringe it's ruining the mood' territory. Seriously, my favorite part is Dick moaning and telling Tim he has no other place to cum, and how he'll make it up to him and how good Timmy is being for him🤤... Yeah❤️❤️❤️.

Moving on: I see some comments trying to work Jason into this hot mess, but I'm more interested in Damian at the moment: you've already shown in Carnation Instant Bitch that he's totally the type of character who could get off (at least for a bit until he got lonely) on some good old fashioned somnophilia. So this is what I'm picturing:

Bruce and Dick are needed for League and Titan stuff, Jason is off with the Outlaws, and Alfred is out of the country visiting his daughter. And even though Damian is a mature, self-sufficient (former) assassin child, he's also only 13 and they cannot in good conscience leave him by himself for however long this mission takes. So Tim gets roped into batsitting duty (let's also say that they decide not to patrol until someone gets back, because they want to make sure there's backup if something goes wrong). Damian doesn't want to kill Tim Drake any more (at least no more than most siblings want to kill each other) but he's still a little shit sometimes. And he really wants to search Tim's room for ammunition to use against him, but when Tim is away he always secures his room at the manor so tightly even Bruce (or Selina) would have trouble getting in. But! He doesn't do that when he's actually sleeping in his own bed, because he trusts his vigilante instincts to protect him and/or wake him if someone comes in.

Luckily, Damian is aware of some sleeping medication Bruce has cooked up and keeps on hand: it's very useful for getting stubborn vigilantes to actually stay put and rest when they're injured (and he has seen Alfred use it against Bruce as well). So, some of that careful crushed up and hidden inside a teacup when Damian brings out some tea for them to share. Drake is far too smart to accept a drink from Damian he hasn't seen either prepaired in front of him or served from the same container - but of course he wouldn't think to check the cups before Damian serves them both.

Damian worries for a moment, when the drugs should start to kick in, that Drake is on to him: his eyebrows furrow for a moment and he looks over the top of his teacup to study Damian oddly. But then he just gives Damian a small smile, finishes his tea, thanks Damian again, and says he's heading off to bed because he's getting tired.

Damian waits about an hour before sneaking into Drake's room, double checking that all the traps on the door and entrance to the room are disabled. He's excited to finally have a chance to find something embarrassing or incriminating that he'll be able to use against Drake in the future. After searching the desk in the room (only unused stationary, no notes or anything that might be useful), Damian heads towards the closet, glancing at Drake to make sure he still asleep: yup, still asleep on his back, blankets tangled around one leg and sleep shirt bunched up around his waist, showing on his bare pussy. Damian freezes and does a double-take because What. Drake has a- a pussy?!?

(I like to think -because it's fucking hilarious- that no one bothered to mention that Tim is trans to Damian when he joined the family, and Damian spent most of the first year or so completely ignoring Tim when he wasn't trying to kill him and by the time Tim may have felt comfortable sharing this fact, or even just sharing the communal showers with Damian, Tim had already moved into his own Nest. So because of random happenstance, Damian just never realized that Tim was not a cisgendered guy.)

(It's after midnight now and I'm running out of steam, but I think the next bit is something something, Damian is too young/ his peers find him abrasive and off putting and so he's never real... Seen a pussy up close. And well, Drake is asleep and unlikely to wake up for the next 7 hours at least... So Damian start off just... Satiating his curiosity. Just looking, analyzing the structures and shape, which seems so different in person as opposed to an anatomical drawing in health class. Maybe he carefully moves the blanket and positions Tim's legs so he can have an unobstructed view. Maybe looking turns into some light touching - it's just simple scientific curiosity! It's not like he ever thought that Drake was pretty or paid much attention to when Grandfather would get that far away look on his eyes when talking about Drake and devolve into muttering about pretty, brilliant heirs (which actually made a lot more sense now that he knew what equipment Drake was packing)...

Damian probably doesn't get around to fucking Tim for another night or two, but it's fine because Drake is being strangely... Sweet and trusting, sharing tea with Damian every night and never seeming the question how he got sleepy immediately after.

OR Something like that😅😅😅. Just an idea that popped into my head!

answered out of order:

🥺🥺🥺🥺this is so sweet!!! i try to check my ao3 inbox but sometimes i get sidetracked and forget- i'm so happy you like my fics!!!!! especially the somnophilia ones, since it's one of my top favorite tropes that i love to write about<3333

and for 'drink the honey' i can absolutely see everyone in the family growing to 'take advantage' of tim, all of them thinking they're the first and only people to fuck tim meanwhile tim has known the entire time and revels in how all his brothers and dad all end up doing the same thing of drugging and fucking him <3, he really is so loved <3333

[officialtayley]

So... Plot twist 

Hi everyone, is Emily/em/Sparks9397, make yourselves a snack this one’s long. 

I have a lot I'd like to say, but think a good place to start would be that yes, I’m very sorry for how this played out and for what I did, though, the pics were about as far as the lie went, guess doesn’t matter either way but yes, I am a lawyer, yes I live in Australia, yes that’s my dog, yes I have a boyfriend, etc. 

Honestly, I'm not mad at the anon in fact I was kinda expecting it? (someone was bound to get that’s not my pic), but you did caught me off guard last night and I panicked cause I thought better disappear and leave no trace behind, they all hate you anyways (you guys have been way too nice and fic gate is kinda funny), but I do like to twist the knife and did go back to it in the morning to check how badly i'd fucked up, is why i'm sending this.

if you want me to explain myself, well I was in a bad bad place last year when I started writing, the writing really help me through lots of stuff and for personal reasons i thought it was better not to add my pic, stupid me thought it was a good idea to share another person’s photo, who kinda looks like me if you want to believe that or not, but seems way happier, more stylish, more fun, etc and well you know how that ended... 

Was it necessary to keep posting more pics that weren’t mine, no obv not, yet believe it or not somehow in the past year my life got way better and I made it out of that dark place and was excited to share more of my life, my mistake to not just come clean instead of keep pretending I was someone else. 

Anyways, I could keep going with the apology but I don’t think it matters very much now, does it? 

So I’ll just use this time to say I'm realy really sorry Meike @paramorewillbelegends  and I’m really so so sorry Reese @dnd21, you both were really good friends to me and I'm so grateful to you both for being there for me when I had no one to talk to, sorry I couldn’t reciprocate and be a better friend to you. 

Ps. A03 was more leveled headed than myself during this time and though I deleted everything and didn’t have backup they sent me a copy of everything which I can repost if that’s what you want, but yeahh guess that's it for me, and thanks to Ash if you end up posting this (no pressure). 

i think your apology matters. you've obviously seen what i've said about what you did so i won't say anything more, but if you mean this then it's something people can forgive you for and move past.

i think it's better to do this than to do something drastic. as you can see, no one hates you, even any of us that may have sounded quite harsh, that's not hatred either. anyway, i appreciate that you sent this and i'm sure everyone else will appreciate it, especially your friends, so i'll post it because i think it's important and you didn't have to send it at all but you did, so again, i think it'll be very appreciated.

also you do whatever you feel is right with the fics. a lot of people may still want them but ultimately it's up to you and if you feel comfortable doing so.

[gettinshiggywithit]

!Chuuya with an s/o who loves books!

Scenario:-chuuya with an s/o who loves books and reading

Pairing:-chuuya nakahara x gn!reader

Genre:- fluff/comfort

Type:-oneshot/headcanons

A/N:- heyy yall happy bsd Wednesday!!!!

Okay so ive noticed that in a lot of chuuya fics hes buyin em expensive clothes and jewelry and stuff right?

But what if his s/o wasnt into those stuff but would still agree to it if it was books?

I feel like he’d definitely understand

Because even he knows how to appreciate the little things.

And he knows u well enough to know what u like and dont

Imagine him with an s/o who still shops at their regular stores and still wears their regular clothes and stuff and is also mindful of how they spend(out of habit)

But the moment you enter a bookshop????

SHIT GETS REALLLL

Books are the only thing you dont mind splurging on and you’d best believe thats where all your saved money goes

He really doesnt mind it tho

He’s managed to pick up quite a lot of interesting and useful books on your visits to the store

And the absolutely thrilled and completely happy smile on your face when you discover a new book,find one youve been looking for or just BUY A BOOK isnt too bad either

You introduce him to a lot of your favorites too and based on his responses are able to give him book recs he (actually) ends up liking

You two have a smol personal library filled with both yours and his collection

And the entire process of bonding over books and storylines and characters and EVERYTHING just makes you closer than ever before

You each learn things about eachother and its an incredibly adorable experience/sight

Also,returning to the expensive clothes thing

I think he’d at least want you to have a few proper event outfits,which you finally agree to.

Basically,he wants you to be well off but also happy with what you have

OH ALSO

imagine goin to book launches with him????

Like yess slayy

He’d be able to EASILY get yall invites and if its a book from a series or author u both like,hed agree to wear outfits that fit the vibe of the book or just ur fave characters.

And he’d lowkey be excited to meet the authors with you

Dammit he’s turning into you😭(slay😌)

And like imagine readathons with him??? Hed be just as,if not more,invested in it as you!

I just think itd be cute mann

AND IMAGINE HE PAIRS UP BOOKS WITH WINES THAT REMIND HIM OF THEM???????

Ahh perfecttt

He loves wine,and you love books,they may be kinda different interests but just like you,they go together splendidly~

@chuuyahoo said that chuuya would look amazing in glasses,

Sooo

Imagine you just get him fake reading glasses and he jokingly wears it at first but then he gradually actually starts wearing it when he reads(even tho they do literally NOTHING) and you never say anything because ita adorable😭

Also she pointed out that dazai might try to slip in a copy of “the complete guy to sucide”into chuuyas book pile and when he gets to it and sees it l,chuuya rolls it up and fkin WACKS THE LIVIN SHIT OUTTA HIMMM

All rights reserved © 2023 gettinshiggywithit . Please do not repost, modify or claim as yours.

[bettsfic]

hi beth! i've got a fic that i've been struggling with for some time, and i think i could feasibly it scrap for parts and come out with a few smaller and (more likely to be finished) oneshots. i loved your advice that nothing is wasted when writing and not to be precious about ideas/words, so do you have any advice on whether it's the right idea to scrap a fic, and if so, how to do it?

i think if you're considering scrapping a fic for parts, it's worth it to try, just to see if you like the result better than what you already have. you really have nothing to lose, you know? either you'll get some good one-shots out of it or you'll get some new insight into the form you've already chosen.

one of the hardest skills to develop in writing is being able to feel and acknowledge when a story is working and when it's not. it's so amorphous and clouded by either doubt or enthusiasm, and you never know for sure until you get to the end.

going back to my knitting analogy, it's the point at which you realize the sweater you're knitting is not going to fit its recipient. so do you undo the whole thing and start over? use the yarn for socks to give to multiple people? or do you find someone slightly smaller to give it to, knowing you'll be a little disappointed in yourself for not doing what you set out to do?

i think the activity i'm about to lay out is good to do not just in this situation but also any time you feel very lost about a big project that you've been working on for a while. i've done it many times and i hope it helps you as much as it has me.

step one: go through the piece and highlight all the parts you like. this can be anything from entire chapters to maybe just a single sentence. these are parts that make you go "yeah this is working" or that you're particularly proud of. your darlings, if you will.

optional: in a different color, you can do this also for the parts you really don't like, that you'd be embarrassed to show someone else. what's left un-highlighted is what you feel neutral about.

step two: either zoom very far out on the document or do a multi-page view, however you can to see as much of the work as possible at once. notice the ratio of highlighted to un-highlighted text.

step three: brainstorm. i have to do this part with pen and paper, but however you get your big-picture ideas down is fine. at this point you haven't made any major decisions yet. it's just an experiment. IF you were to scrap a story for parts, what would it look like? and so you can start writing down your one-shot ideas.

at this point, you should have a better idea about how you want to proceed. maybe the highlighting activity brought to light the fact that there are really only a few spots you don't like and maybe you can rewrite or cut those; or maybe you have an idea for some restructuring. or you really like the one-shot ideas you've written and want to start the first one.

it's important to remember that there's really no loss here. you can write the one-shots, post them, and then come back to the longer version of the fic maybe years later and finish it. it's fanfiction; your audience will not complain about overlapping parts of stories. they'll just be happy to have more to read.

so if you've decided to play around with the one-shots, here's how i've done it in the past.

step four: open a new document. i call this document the stitch draft. the stitch draft is used for situations like this, but also for major structural edits. you need a bridge between the old draft and the new one. the sole purpose of this draft is to copy and paste over the parts you've already written that you want to keep for your first one-shot, in roughly the order you want them in.

step five: open another new document. put it side by side with the stitch draft. start writing the one-shot by bringing in the work from the stitch draft while also writing the connective tissue of the new context of the story. this may involve editing the stitch draft elements at the same time to make them relevant to your new story.

the stitch draft method has never really steered me wrong. in fact when you're very stuck i think highlighting and moving stuff to a new document is a way to help inspire new ideas, simply because you're fiddling with the text and getting out of your own head about it.

[bluesworldd]

𐀶 ՙ 🎸 · HOBIE BROWN ➤ as your partner

cw/tw: mentions of intoxication (no description)

genre: fluff

blue says: i want it to be known that i will probably use these hcs for fics unless its a specific fic ofc. also these are a bit inspired by other hcs. enjoy.

spoilers ahead !

┄┄ ︰ ┄୨୧┄ ︰ ┄┄

- so to begin i like to think you and hobie have been close friends for a while..hobies definitely the type to date his friends that he’s known since forever since he already has an existing relationship with that person he finds it easier to fall into a romantic relationship that way.

- it was definitely a slow burn tho and you fell first but he fell harder….like really hard

- you too have been through thick and thin together and shaped each other. that’s something he really appreciates about your relationship with him.

- to say the least you guys have known each for years and thats something he couldn’t appreciate more

- some of the qualities he looks for in a partner is the ability to trust and be vulnerable, for both him and his partner. like i think hobie is the type to read people so easily. i feel like he can tell when someone is lying to him or something like that yk?

- anyways yeah he absolutely love that about you, especially since you two don’t agree on everything he likes how open-minded you are

- now physically hobie doesn’t have anything specific he’s looking for

- personal hc of mine: he’s into sista’s sorry not sorry.

- outside of that tho he doesn’t care

- cuz fawk beauty standers

- different aesthetic? well he literally doesn’t care, in fact he loves it since it allows him to explore different aesthetics outside of his own

- but either way i dont think hobie would be the type to “believe” in aesthetics. like hobie just wears clothes that he likes thats it. thats all.

- when it comes to showing his affection he’s definitely into physical touch and quality time

- nothing makes him more weak in knees than cuddling while watching a movie together or doing some silly activities together or just chilling tbh

- like dont even get him started fr

- being spiderman really made him realize how much he missed his “old life” if that makes sense. like hobie is always happy when he can make a change or save someone but he misses you all the time

- his loneliness is washed away when he comes to his flat and sees u<3

- and its even better when he’s been out for a long time..

- honestly he loves a lot of things about u but nothing can compare to the big smile u get when he walks through the door

- like u don’t understand what u do to him..

- now when it comes to public affection hes not afraid or ashamed of showing his love for u

- sometimes if he’s feeling clingy (or he’s completely hammered) he’ll do it on purpose or be so extra when he’s kissing u

- ou when he’s intoxicated he’s all over u not in a sexual way but the cuddle bug in him JUMPS out…

- anyways this isn’t to say he’s possessive! no not at all.

- now is he clingy…? well yes!

- overall hobie loves u and wants to be near u 25/8

- like bruh

- hobie has this almost overwhelming respect and love for you that he doesn’t believe you could begin to understand..

- out of all the many dimensions and people he has met, nobody could be you.

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©️bluesworldd 2023 || All rights reserved. Do not repost, reupload, translate, modify, copy, or claim my work as your own.