#ignore the blanket on the railing

[trashabilly]

lucifur is waiting

[xyaehir]

“hold still!” —

SYP — self care night w ur sweet bf!

GEN. — fluff, crack

WARN. — gn!reader, male characters

REQ. — “Hi! Can I mayb request a skincare or spa day for any blue lock characters? If you don’t except this req, that’s totally fine! Thanks anyway!!!”

NOTES. — omg xyae!!! you finally posted!! no need for the applause guys 🙄🙄 also, i know some characters like reo, childe, kaeya etc would already know about skincare but we’re gna ignore that kay 😛

“stop moving!”

“i can’t help it, you’re smothering my face with this — this cleanser stuff!”

you sigh in mock annoyance, reaching your clean fingers to adjust the frog headband sitting on his hairline.

“do you do this everyday?” he tilts his head, squinting his eyes when you continue rubbing the product on his cheeks.

you hum in agreement, “its a way of taking care of your skin. you know, getting it to clear up.”

“my skin’s just fine. i just wash it with soap and not this — ‘hydrating cleanser’ stuff,” he rolls his eyes, using his fingers to air quote.

“how the hell do you have such nice skin when you wash it with hand soap?” you deadpan.

“genetics? i don’t really know,” he shrugs, wrapping his arms around your waist and leaning into your gentle touch.

you hum. “ok, go wash this off,” you trail off, turning your back and grabbing the masks and serums. “so we can start with these!” you beam.

his eyebrow twitches.

“what’s that for?” he cocks a brow, pointing at the small package on your lap. “you’ll see in a sec,” you smile, tearing it open.

walking over, you adjust his cute sanrio headband again before gently placing the face mask on his face. he shivers but before he could open his mouth to complain or make some sassy quip, you slap a lip mask on his face.

that was 30 minutes ago.

now you’re stuck on the floor with a sleepy man twice your size, quite literally squeezing the life out of you.

“babe, we were supposed to take the masks off like 10 minutes ago,” you sighed, patting his head. you hear him grumble, mumbling incoherently.

“i’ll do it then, stay still,” you smiled softly, reaching for your mask and then his masks. “tilt your head back a bit.” he complies and you reach for the serum bottles.

applying a small drop of serum on his forehead and cheeks, you take notice of how his eyebrows furrow slightly at the cold liquid.

“it’s a lil cold,” you chuckle, kissing his forehead before spreading the serum all over his face.

he hums sleepily, voice breaking softly as his eyes flutter close.

it’s quiet for a while, before..

SLAP!

“oww!” he yelps, eyes flying open as he sits up hastily. “why are you slapping me?” he manages to get out in between slaps. you hum, “it helps your skin to absorb the product better.”

he side eyes you.

you hear him groan. ignoring it, you continue with your skincare routine. “ugh!” he groans, way louder and more exaggerated. you feel your eyebrow twitch.

by the time you chose to stop ignoring his whining, he’d already kicked the blankets off the bed.

“what do you want? i already finished your skincare so just go to bed,” you sigh, reaching for your eye cream.

“yea but when are you gonna finish?” he asks softly. ‘i can’t sleep without you.’

you smile at him through the vanity mirror.

“baby, just one more thing alright?” the sleeping mask you reach for clatters on the table softly. “five more minutes. can you wait for me, hon?”

he hums tiredly, standing up and making his way behind you.

he kneels down, wrapping his arms gently but securely around your waist and rests his head on your back. “hurry up, w’na hold you so bad.”

your heart flutters and your movements stutter. you gulp, patting the product into your pink cheeks.

you both slept horribly that night since he fell asleep holding you and you couldn’t drag his heavy ass to bed.

— (bllk) NAGI, sae, REO, rin (genshin) KAEYA, CHILDE, xiao, venti, ITTO (star rail) sampo, JING YUAN (haikyuu) SUNA, tsuki, OIKAWA, KUROO (KNY) TANJIRO, giyu, sanemi (assclass) KARMA, ISOGAI () YOUR FAVES

@xyaehir 2024. This is my content, inspired or not. Do not translate, copy or plagiarise my works in any way. Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated. <3

[misdeliria]

Jason visited you a lot at night. He never arrived as himself, always disguising himself with the red helmet and voice modulator, but you knew it was him.

Jason, the same awkward, prideful boy you knew in middle school, liked visiting you late at night. Some nights, you wouldn't even see him – too tired from your day and falling asleep too early – but you knew he'd dropped by from the packaged food containers in your fridge.

The first time he left food at your place, you had been offended.

"I don't need you dropping by and bringing me food. I don't need your charity," you stubbornly rejected.

"You could do with some of it," he answered nonchalantly. It had the opposite effect of placating you, leading to you storming into your room where he wouldn't follow you.

Jason didn't want you to know who he was under the helmet, but he couldn't stop you from taking guesses.

"You've been looking better out there," you say offhandedly one night. Jason is leaning against the rustic railing of your fire escape, admiring you swaddled in a blanket on your windowsill.

"Keeping tabs on me, sweetheart?"

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but you seem to be in a better mood lately," you passively ignore his comment. "Haven't seen you under any spotlight on the news."

"Someone doesn't like it when I take out the bad guys my way."

You sigh, hugging the blanket tighter as a brisk wind rushes you.

"It's good to see you again, Jason," you murmur over the city sounds, but Jason's helmet mutes out the noises so he can hear you perfectly. He flinches at his name coming out of your mouth, but he doesn't move from the railing.

There's no asking how you know it was him because before he can get a word out, you're telling him,

"It's nice to know I made as big an impact on you as you did to me," you say somberly. "And when you left, I figured I wouldn't see you again, so- It's just really good to see you." You're choking up at the end, avoiding looking up at him and having two slits of light glow back at you.

You remember his eyes the most. How bright his blue eyes would shine like diamonds whenever he smiled.

[moonchild9350]

Hate to Love You, Love to Hate You

Summary: You hate your neighbor Hyunjin. Everything he does irks you to know end. You know Hyunjin feels the same way. The feeling is mutual, right?

Pairing: enemy to lovers au, non idol domHyunjin x fab reader

Genre: angst, smut-18+ MDNI

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: spanking, light bondage, use of the term brat, p in v penetration, creampie (don't), dacryphilia, consent is implied (don't do this in real life folks, verbal consent is important) Hyunjin is mean, what can i say

Notes: I just wanted to make Hyunjin mean lol. This is not edited.

If you enjoyed this like, reblogs, and comments appreciated ♡

Please do not copy, translate, modify, use, or repost this work elsewhere without my permission. ©moonchild9350 (2024)

“What the hell,” you groaned, as you rolled over to grab your pillow that was next to you.

You buried your face in the soft pillow, letting out a scream. You were annoyed, no you were beyond annoyed, you were furious. You couldn’t focus because of the sounds coming from the apartment next to yours. Your neighbor had a girl over and she was definitely letting the whole complex know that she was getting railed. You said railed as you could hear the thump, thump, thump of the headboard hitting the wall.

You groaned once more and then got up, abandoning your task. You looked at the clock and noticed it was just after midnight. Padding to your kitchen, you opened your fridge, grabbing a can of soda off the shelf. Popping open the can, you sat down on your couch with a sigh. You grabbed your remote and turned the tv on, and settled on watching a shitty comedy.

Hyunjin. That was your neighbor’s name. He moved in not too long ago, announcing his presence by being loud as possible every time he passed in the hallway. You eventually met him, as you passed by him in the parking garage. He teased you non-stop, making comments about your hair, your outfit, how boring you are.

He was inconsiderate, never holding the elevator open, pressing the close button while smiling directly at you. He never called off his dog, letting him run wild, the dog always jumping up on you as you walked by. And of course he was inconsiderate in his own home. Yes, it was his home, but the walls are thin, words…and sounds easily transferring though the barriers separating the apartments.

You tried to politely ask him to keep it down, especially at night, some people had to work after all. Instead of him apologizing, he would just smirk at you and walk away, not saying a word. The man frustrated you, angered you, causing you to be in a sour mood all the time.

You tried to ignore the fact that he was gorgeous. He was tall and lanky, but muscular at the same time. His pretty black hair framed his face perfectly. His lips were plush and looked pillow soft. He had great style, you could’t deny. Yes, the man was beauty himself. That didn’t mean you had to like him though. No, you hated him, hated him down to your very core.

That thought didn’t leave your mind as you tried to tune out the girl, her moans and screams getting louder to where even the tv couldn’t drown the sound out. You sipped your drink, trying to pay attention to the screen. You were going to kill that man yet, and that’s a promise.

Time passed, you had watched two episodes of the show when you noticed it was quiet. The thumps were nonexistent and the girl had stopped screaming. Sighing in relief you turned the tv off to go to bed, tiredness sinking in. You climbed into bed, snuggling under your blankets, happy to be able to finally go to bed. You fell asleep instantly, thankful for the silence that permeated your room.

The next morning you woke to your alarm, feeling drained. You begrudgingly got up, stretching as you walked to the bathroom to get ready for work. God you hated Mondays, and today was no different. Finishing up your routine, you made some coffee and packed your lunch. Grabbing your keys and bag you left your apartment, locking your door behind you.

As you turned around, you felt something hard collide into you, causing you to drop your coffee on the ground.

“Shit!” you said, anger welling up inside you.

“Woah there sweetheart, that pretty little head of yours need slow down.”

You knew that voice, loathed it actually. Looking up from your spilled coffee, your eyes meant the man in front of you, none other than Hyunjin. He had that annoying smirk on his face, his eyes shining as he peered down at you. He was wearing skinny jeans, a white shirt, and a flannel. He looked stunning you hated to say.

“Fucking hell,” you continued, feeling your face flush. “Can you not watch wear you’re going Hwang.”

“You ran into me sweetheart, not the other way around. Now excuse me, I have places to be.”

At that, you watched him walk away, leaving you standing in the hallway, your coffee still on the floor.

“Oh, and clean up your mess will you?” Hyunjin shouted at you as he continued his way to the elevator.

You were furious, seething at this man. Not only would you be late to work now, but you were without coffee. Sighing, you unlocked your door once more to grab some towels to wipe up the spill. You cleaned as quickly as possible before locking up again and rushing to your car, hoping to make it relatively on time.

You made it, but barely, your boss side eying you as you walked to your desk. You sat your stuff down before getting to work. You lost yourself in numbers and spreadsheets as the day went on, your mind occupied and not being able to think about this morning. You were thankful, not wanting to think about your misfortune and of course him.

Once the clock struck five, you clocked out, grabbed your stuff and left. Your commute home wasn’t bad, making it home in record time for a Monday. You pulled up to your spot where you park to only find it occupied, a man leaning against the door smoking a cigarette. It was none other than Hyunjin.

You put your car in park and got out of your car, angrily slamming your car door. You marched your way toward the man, a scowl on your face.

“Hwang, wanna move out of my spot?” You spat, crossing your arms as you stood in front of Hyunjin.

Hyunjin gazed down at you before tossing his head back and laughing.

“Your spot, sweetheart, you must be dreaming,” he taunted.

“The fuck I am. This is my spot, I park in number 25.”

You were not budging, this was your spot after all that was assigned to you.

Hyunjin laughed again before saying, “aww are you getting angry? You look so cute angry.”

You reached out to swat at him, your anger getting the best of you. However, before you could make contact with him, he grabbed your wrist, stopping you in his tracks. He gave your wrist a squeeze, holding tight as you tried to squirm away. His brown eyes were piercing, as he looked down at you demanding your attention.

“Hitting people is not nice sweetheart. Especially coming from a little doll like yourself.”

You jerked your hand away as he let go. “Just give me my spot Hwang. I’ve had a day and I’m tired.”

Hyunjin studied your face, his eyes dragging over your face, lingering on your lips before looking you in the eyes once more. Without anything further, Hyunjin opened his car door and got inside, starting the car up. You backed up before turning and walking to your car. You watched as he backed out and pulled away, vacating your spot.

Sighing you pulled into your spot and turned off the ignition. You took a few deep breaths before gathering your stuff and walking toward your apartment. You were happy to be home, tossing your stuff aside as soon as you were in the door. You made your way to the bathroom, in need of a hot shower.

You relaxed under the stream, the water soothing your tense muscles. Your mind wandered to Hyunjin and how you hated that man with every fiber of your being. Why did he have to be annoying and so infuriating? It’s almost like he goes out of his way to anger you.

Sighing, you turned the water off, your anger getting the best of you once more. You got dressed in a comfy oversized shirt and made your way to the kitchen to grab dinner. You settled on ramen for the night, taking the bowl and plopping down in front of the tv. You ate while watching a comedy, your mood slightly improving as your belly became full.

Your peaceful evening was interrupted however as you heard a knock on the door. You rolled your eyes and placed your bowl down. Walking to the door, the knock came louder and harder.

“I’m coming!” You shouted, annoyed once more at the person’s impatience.

You were grumbling to yourself as you opened your door to see none other than Hyunjin. He smirked at the sight of you, his eyes wandering down your body, lingering on your plush thighs peaking from under the oversized shirt.

“What do you want Hwang,” you said as you stared up at him.

Hyunjin looked you in the eyes before presenting a bottle of wine. “Wanna share sweetheart?”

You looked at him, really looked at him. Was he out of his mind? What part of your interactions screamed share a bottle of wine with me? Hyunjin smiled at you, wiggling his eyebrows at you while shaking the bottle slightly.

“Come on, I can’t drink this by myself. Besides you’ve had a tough day.”

“Yeah no thanks to you,” you grumbled.

You stepped aside and opened your door wider, allowing the man to come in. You padded towards the kitchen to grab two glasses and the wine opener. Hyunjin followed behind you and set the bottle down, watching as you opened the bottle and poured a generous amount in each glass.

You handed him his and took yours in hand before walking back to the couch and sitting down. You pressed play again to continue watching your show, not caring what Hyunjin did.

He walked up to you and sat down next to you, your thighs touching ever so softly. You could feel him staring at you, his gaze intense. You decided to ignore him as you took sip after sip of wine. You could feel a buzz forming, the feeling causing you to start to relax.

Hyunjin finished his glass and set it down on the table before turning towards you. He stared at you, which you ignored, chuckling to yourself at your steadfastness. However, the fact that you were ignoring him must have touched a nerve because he started to poke your cheek, again and again.

Eventually, you couldn’t take it and you snapped. You turned to face him and said, “stop it Hwang. Keep doing that and I’m kicking you out.”

Hyunjin smirked at you, scooting closer to your body. You leaned back slightly as his face was closer to yours.

“Back up Hwang,” you said, venom laced in your voice.

“Or what sweetheart?” Hyunjin said, as he got closer. “What are you going to do about it?”

You huffed before raising your hand and swinging. You were going to slap him, not caring if it left a mark. However, his reflexes were quick and just like earlier, he grabbed your wrist to stop you.

“Let go,” you said, twisting your arm this way and that to try to get loose.

“No, you’re such a brat you know,” Hyunjin said, watching you struggle. “Maybe I need to change that.”

“I don’t need anything from you Hwang,” you hissed.

HIs hold on your wrist was tighter yet. You knew a bruise would form later.

“Keep struggling sweetheart,” Hyunjin purred, leaning ever closer to your face.

“Let go or I swear I’ll..”

“Swear you’ll do what?” Hyunjin countered. “What will you do?”

“You make me so….so angry!” You screamed in his face. You watched a smile form on his face while he grabbed your other arm while you were distracted. He had you restrained, you couldn’t hit him, couldn’t do anything with your hands.

“I make you angry? Oh sweetheart, you make me furious. Maybe we should do something about that?”

You couldn’t help but shiver at his tone, his voice deepening with each sentence. You stared into his brown eyes, the orbs sparkling as they stared back at you. You couldn’t help but look at his lips and wonder how they would feel on your lips, your neck, your pussy. The thought alone was enough for you to attempt to squeeze your thighs together, your arousal slowly dripping into your panties.

Hyunjin noticed this subtle change, a smile gracing his features once more. “What do you want me to do? Hmm? Let’s end this feud of ours, I can make you feel so good sweetheart. Let me fuck the brat out of you.”

At his words, you felt your pussy clench, the thought of Hyunjin fucking you causing your mind to jumble. You couldn’t think straight, not with him restraining you and promising to handle you, to tame you.

You cleared your throat, before opening your mouth. But, before you could say anything, his lips were on yours. He kissed you passionately, his tongue slipping into your mouth when you went to protest. Hyunjin pulled you closer, keeping your hands in his hold.

You moaned as he bit your lip, shockwaves of pleasure running down your spine.

“Now who’s quiet,” Hyunjin said, his lips red and swollen. “Come on, show me to your bedroom.”

You got up from the couch, and looked at your hands. “Can you let go? It’s hard to walk like this.”

Hyunjin stared at you for a moment before saying no. You stared back incredulous. You walked toward your room awkwardly, shuffling sideways to your room. Once there, Hyunjin sat on the bed, pulling you to stand in front of him. He released your hands briefly before grabbing your shirt and pulling it over your head.

You stood there in only your panties, your breast on display for him. He took you in before grabbing your hands once more and tying them up with the shirt. He then proceeded to bend you over his legs. You felt him rub your ass, kneeling the flesh again and again before his hand came down with a smack.

You jolted forward at the pain, a little moan falling from your lips.

“Little brat likes pain?” Hyunjin said as he laughed. “Good, let’s count sweetheart. One spank for each time you’ve had attitude with me.”

Hyunjin thought for a moment, “Hell we’d be here forever. Let’s say, twenty. Can you count to twenty for me?”

You shook your head, unable to move the way you wanted with your hands tied. Suddenly you felt another slap, the sting causing you to yelp.

“I asked you a question brat,” Hyunjin sneered.

“Ok, I’ll count,” you whimpered.

You heard Hyunjin hum, satisfied with your answer. He brought his hand down again and again, the pain intensifying with each slap. You were a moaning mess, the pain turning you on more. You were dripping, your arousal coating your pussy and thighs. You counted and counted until the end. You were breathing heavy, your ass stinging. You’re sure there were pretty marks on the flesh.

Hyunjin pulled you up, before bending you over across the bed. You braced yourself on your forearms as best as you could, not able to hold yourself up with your hands.

You could hear Hyunjin unzip his pants, the shuffle of clothes echoing through your ears. It wasn’t long before you felt his cock against your lips, as he dragged the appendage through your folds again and again. You whimpered at the sensation, as the head of his cock kissed your clit.

Without warning, he slammed into you, causing you to fall on your face into the sheets. He didn’t give you any time to adjust, the sting from the stretch causing you to cry out. He set a brutal pace, as he fucked you. Skin hitting skin could be heard as he gripped your hips harder, his fingers digging into your skin.

“Let me hear you brat. Let everyone know who’s fucking you this good.”

You screamed out his name, as he abused your pussy, your walls clenching around him.

“Mmmm, feels good, cock feels good.” You whined out.

“Yeah? Feels good huh. I agree brat, pussy sucking me in.” Hyunjin gripped your hips harder and sped up his thrusts.

“Come on brat, cum on my cock. Be a good girl, come on.” Hyunjin groaned.

You were a babbling mess as you succumbed to your high, your walls fluttering around his cock over and over. You let out a whine, as he kept pounding into you, his pace not faltering.

“Can feel you clench around me brat. Keep doing that and I’ll cum. Feel you up real good.”

You did what he said, your brain a jumbled mess as you came down from your high. You were sensitive, the overstimulation causing you to cry, tears spilling from your eyes.

“Too much Hyunjin,” you whimpered, trying to get up so you could move.

However, Hyunjin just pushed you back down and held you there as he pounded even harder into you.

“Na uh, didn’t say you could move. Lay there and take it.”

You hoped he was close, as his cock dragging through your walls started to hurt. You could hear him laughing behind you, as he abused your pussy, his hand keeping you down.

“Gonna cum, gonna fill this pussy up real good.” He groaned.

His pace became more sporadic, his moans growing louder.

“Shit, this pussy is good. So good for a brat like you.”

He pounded into you a few more times before he stilled, his hot cum coating your walls. You could hear him moan, his hand that wasn’t holding you down rubbing your ass as he came down from his high.

After a few moments, he released his hold on you. “Aww the brat is crying,” he cooed. “I love to see you cry.”

He withdraw from you, the feel of his cum seeping out of your pussy and dripping onto the sheets. Hyunjin pulled you up and untied your hands. Through your tears, you looked down, seeing the red marks littering your wrists.

“Looks so pretty on you sweetheart.” He said before placing a kiss on each hand.

He then kissed your tears away, the gentleness shocking you after what you had just endured. There was silence in the room as you regulated your breathing, a little hiccup being heard every now and then. Hyunjin rubbed your back while cradling you to his chest. You’re not sure how long you both sat there, time seeming to go by slowly.

Eventually he broke the silence. “Are you still going to be a brat?” He asked.

You looked him in the eyes as you wiped the last of your tears away.

“No, I won’t.” You whispered.

Hyunjin looked at you and smiled, his hands coming to cup your face.

“Good choice sweetheart. I told you I’d fuck the brat out of you,” he said before bringing his lips to yours in a gentle kiss.

You hated this man but you loved him too. It was definitely the dichotomy of evil but you were not complaining. Maybe it’s a good thing he moved in next door after all.

Taglist: @jehhskz @jeonginsleftcheek @simpforleeknaur @armystay89 @palindrome969 @amarecerasus @slut4hee @ivydoesit23 @kaysungshine @fun-fanfics @baby-stay92

[lovebugism]

steve request for adjusting back to normality with him after the upside down ends? however much u wanna write 🤭🤍🤍 ur writing is gorgeous btw

ty angel! hope you like it!! — steve helps his agoraphobic gf leave the house for the first time since the world ended (established relationship, hurt/comfort, cw for mentions of agoraphobia | 1.5k)

bug's summer fic fest (⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

You sit on the stairwell and tie your shoes, trying desperately to ignore the trembling of your anxious fingers. The thin laces threaten to slip from your tremoring hands as you knot one loop into the other. You couldn’t hide from your worry if you tried.

Steve’s heavy footsteps sound behind you in a steady, even rhythm as he walks down the stairs. You can hear the dull clapping of the boy patting his pockets to ensure his keys and wallet haven’t yet fallen from them. You know he’ll do exactly that another ten times before you step foot out of the house. He’s just as anxious as you are these days.

“Almost ready?” he says, huffing, though a smile is evident in his voice.

You nod to yourself and make careful work of fastening the laces. “Mhm,” you hum.

“Did you make sure to pack those Ants on a Log things? ‘Cause Dustin’ll kill me if we don’t bring ‘em,” Steve frets, for the second or third time that morning. He stills on the step just behind you and crosses a pair of golden arms over his chest. “Because, you know, he’s the only kid in America who actually likes celery.”

You tilt your chin to look up at him, smiling despite the fear pinching your chest. “Everything’s in the basket, Stevie.”

“Including the—”

“Yes, including the drinks. And the sandwiches. It’s all in the fridge,” you finish for him. “And the blanket’s in the car, so… Everything’s ready.”

Steve’s chest deflates with a distant sigh of relief. He’s been so used to doing everything on his own — carrying the load of that burden entirely by himself — that he forgot what it meant to have someone else to lean on.

“God, I’m so in love with you,” he murmurs fondly, mostly to himself, as he bends at the waist to kiss your hair. The plush of his lips brush your temple in a warm touch you lean instinctively into. 

With a wide hand on your shoulder, Steve feels for the first time how tense you are. All rigid, muscles taut, like cradling a rock in his palm. You’ve kept a brave face for him all day, but there’s only so much hiding you can do.

“You’re still okay with this?” he wonders aloud as he stands to full height again. 

His scruffy face is all twisted with concern, but you’re not looking at him to see it. You tie your right sneaker with a pair of graceless hands, where you seem to hold most of your anxiety, and scoff at the silly question. “Am I okay with the… picnic?” you echo.

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs, lips jutted, as he walks past you down the steps. He turns and leans against the railing, trying hard to be casual. “‘Cause, you know, if you weren’t, we could just have it in the backyard or something. Make all the little shits come here.”

It takes you a moment too long to catch his meaning.

Sometimes you forget that you haven’t left the house all year. You’ve fallen into such a routine here, at Steve’s house (which you’ve come to see as your own), that you’ve forgotten there’s a whole world outside of it. A whole world you shut yourself out of after it nearly ended — after it chewed you up and spat you out again.

You tell yourself that you survived. You tell yourself that you lived in spite of the unfavorable odds. But sometimes, when you feel like shards of flesh and bones instead of a real-life human being, you wonder if you’re alive at all.

“I’m good, Steve,” you assure despite the waver in your voice. Your hands fumble with the laces, and you have to start all over again. “It’s just the park, babe. I can make it to the park.”

Steve nods in response, raking an anxious hand through his hair. He swallows down any attempts to remind you that you’ve barely made it out of the garage, let alone to the park.

“Besides, I’m pretty sure it’s a crime to be this pale in the middle of July, anyway,” you joke with a forced laugh. 

The only time you really see the sun is when you’re sitting out on the patio — sipping at your morning coffee or watching Steve languish in the pool. You hardly last more than an hour, though, before a plane rumbles overhead or a car engine thunders too loudly. That’s all it takes for everything to come rushing back to you. The monsters, the soldiers, the blood. Then you lock yourself away all over again.

You hope this time is different.

Steve nods again, always hopeful, if only for your sake.

“Okay. Just… Just making sure, you know?” he trails off, then scrunches his nose. “Should we have a codeword, anyway? Like, for when the kids annoy the shit outta me, and I wanna get the hell outta there?”

You squint to yourself, pretending to ponder the question, as you rise from the stairs. You take a few steps downward until you’re standing just ahead of Steve — a few inches taller than him now. 

“How about… Get me the hell outta here?” you offer with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

A wide, pink grin blossoms on his mouth. “That’s perfect, actually,” Steve muses sarcastically, then meets you halfway when you lean down to kiss him. 

It’s a chaste and very innocuous peck that tastes faintly of Steve’s mouthwash and the peanut butter you licked from the spoon after making Dustin’s Ants on a Log. 

Despite its fleeting nature, you hang onto the simple kiss your entire way through the front door.

The first step out of the house is the hardest. 

You struggle to feel the ground beneath your feet as your mind threatens to wander. Thoughts of death plague your mind despite your attempts to push them away — roaring demogorgons, exploding guns, screaming teenagers. You have to fight the urge to cover your ears when a helicopter whizzes overhead, hidden somewhere in the clouds but sounding much closer than that.  

Steve holds your hand the entire way. “Almost there,” you hear him mumbling beneath the heartbeat woosh, woosh, wooshing in your ears. Your eyes squeeze shut. He leads you to the car and squeezes your hand. “You’re doing amazin’, babe. Just a couple more steps.”

You’re at the car in five seconds flat, though it had felt like five minutes at the time — and took approximately five years off your life. You feel eons better when you’re tucked into the passenger seat of Steve’s 733i. You feel more grounded there — with the tires against the asphalt, and Steve’s hand on your thigh, and the radio cranked all the way up.

You’re still a shaking mess when you get to the park, but the kids are a good enough distraction. 

You opt to busy your anxious hands with the picnic — handing out food, protecting drinks, and ensuring the emptying basket doesn’t blow away. You sit in the shade in the center of Steve’s quilt as leaves rustle in the warm breeze, allowing bits of summer sun to peek through and glitter on your skin. 

You keep a watchful eye on the kids around you as they scatter mindlessly about, making sure no one ventures far enough where you can’t see them. Steve yells at them for it so you don’t have to — shouts at Max and El for getting too close to the tree line while he tosses a ball to Lucas. 

He’s slowly mastering the art of throwing with his left hand. He hasn’t been able to lift his right one over his head since Starcourt. There’s a persistent ache in his shoulder he hasn’t been able to get rid of.

He walks over to you when the distance grows too much to bear, twisting his arm with a screwed-up face as he tries to find the root of the pain. “Whaddaya got for me, sweet thing?” he asks with a lopsided smile.

You reach into the basket beside you and pull out the last sandwich of the bunch, which you kept aside especially for him, wrapped neatly in plastic.

You hiss playfully through your teeth, then squint faux apologetically up at him. “All that’s left is tomato-avocado…” you joke, feigning horror.

Steve’s face twists. “Ugh. Seriously?” he huffs in disappointment.

“No,” you hum in response, smiling as you pass him his favorite sandwich. “Here you go.”

It’s a simple turkey, ham, and bacon number with all the fixings, but he particularly likes how you make it. (You argue that it can’t taste any better than a diner-made sandwich, but Steve always insists otherwise.) 

Your fingers brush when it takes it from you. Steve finds it difficult not to melt for you entirely, and not just because of the sweltering summer heat. 

He’s spent half of his life believing that no one ever gave him a passing thought — or that, at the very least, he was only ever an afterthought. But you remind him every day that he’s so much more than the nothing he often sees himself as. You remind him, through silly picnics and sandwiches made with love, what it means to be truly cared for.

“I love you,” Steve hums quietly, adoration melting in his honey eyes. “You know that?”

You nod once, hiding a smile as you squint one eye from the beaming sun. “I know.”

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One Sixteen

Eddie leans heavily on Steve as he walks. His whole body looks knobbly; he’s far too thin again, having clearly lost all of the weight he put on beforehand. His legs shake as he takes one tentative step after another, the blanket barely held together in Steve’s free hand, desperate to keep a little warmth for Eddie.

Steve is still favoring his injury a little when he walks, and that isn’t exactly helping things.

When they finally makes it to the stairs, Steve has to white knuckle the hand rail and take half of Eddie’s weight. Eddie struggles so much to pull himself up, one torturous step after another, and Steve’s foot really is a hindrance.

They really need to eat; especially Eddie, but he’s so crusted in filth he smells absolutely horrendous. His eyes look so sore too; Steve can’t ignore it, they have to get cleaned up. The last thing he needs is for Eddie to go through all of that only to die of a stupid fucking infection.

And thinking of that makes Steve remember that he’s just dipped his own injury in all that filth; he really needs to get cleaned up himself.

They finally make it, and Steve drops the blanket and helps Eddie over the edge of the tub and in, taking down the shower head so he can turn the water away while it warms up. Eddie just lies there, shivering with either cold or exertion or shock; or a mix of all three.

Steve uses his free hand to strip himself naked, his sweat pants are soaked to the knees in filth, the rest of him is pretty crusted from holding Eddie, he leaves all their dirty things in a heap, kicking it over into the corner of the bathroom with his uninjured foot.

Steve starts to rinse Eddie down, and he shifts under the feel of the warm water, eyes opening, “Stee.”

“Hey baby...lets get you cleaned up, okay?”

Eddie, with what looks like an extreme bit of effort, pulls himself up, making room. Steve gets in, kneeling between Eddie’s shaky calves.

Eddie doesn’t seem to have a single hair on his body anywhere; his head is completely bald, no eyebrows, nothing. It makes his ears look even more obviously pointed. His teeth haven’t changed either; just a tiny bit sharp. Steve grabs a flannel, resting the shower head for a second while he lathers it up.

Eddie’s head ridges are still there, but way less obvious than they were before. Steve finds them by touch, slightly raised lines on Eddie’s skull, but nothing else; like what would have once split has now healed over. Sealed.

Gone.

Steve works his way down, the water running down the drain a miserable black brown color that's leaving streaks on the bottom of the tub. Steve carefully cleans, but his eyes keep dipping; it’s kind of hard to miss the fact the Eddie doesn’t seem to have anything at all between his legs.

The filth comes off slowly, Steve using the flannel and shower head in tandem, scrubbing as gently as he can, “close your eyes baby,” Steve cleans around them carefully, wiping all the dried crud off the lids.

He cleans Eddie everywhere, the bumps of his ribs, between his toes, under his nails. Eddie still doesn’t have a belly button or nipples. His fingernails remain black almond shaped claws; his toenails though, look completely human, totally normal.

Steve finds he does have something between his legs, a narrow slit that was nearly invisible when Eddie was covered in crap. Steve cleans him there just as carefully, Eddie shifting his legs, lifting a thigh, to help, “Stee?”

“Nearly done baby,” Steve stands, putting the shower head back on the holder so he can quickly wash himself, taking a moment to carefully clean the area with the stitches, “you hungry? Food?”

“Food. Yes.”

Eddie leans forward, mouth open, letting the shower spray land on his tongue before closing and swallowing and doing it again, “thirsty?”

“Yes. Water.”

“Okay, we can do that next,” Steve finishes up, getting out of the tub carefully and toweling himself dry, before helping Eddie out on his incredibly shaky legs. Steve sits him on the lid of the toilet, ditching their toothbrushes into the sink so he can fill the cup with water.

Eddie, hand unsteady, drinks the whole thing in three long gulps. He does the same with the second. He sips the third more slowly while Steve dries himself off the rest of the way and leaves Eddie wrapped in a towel so he can find them some clothes. He also takes a minute to get out the first aid kit, propping his foot on the edge of the tub, he dabs disinfectant thoroughly over his stitches, “Stee ow?”

“No baby, it’s fine now. Promise.”

“Called promise?”

“Uhm...it means I tell many many many true? Like I promise it’s okay.”

Eddie cocks his head, and Steve’s heart feels tight in his chest with how much he missed him, how close they came to loosing him, “perfect true?”

Steve nods, “kinda’ yeah.” He packs the first aid kit away, “lets get you onto the bed, and I’ll go down and make-”

“No.”

“Eddie, you need to eat-”

Eddie grabs Steve’s hand, holding tight, “no.”

“Okay. Okay yeah, we go together.”

“To-gether.”

Eddie goes down the stairs on his ass, moving both feet together, dropping one step at a time, the same way he did when he had a tail. Steve doesn’t fight it, he just waits at the bottom. They can work on all of that shit another time. Stairs can be lesson three, after lifting with your knees, or something.

They hobble into the kitchen together, like the worlds shittest three legged race competitors, and Steve gets Eddie into a chair at the table in the breakfast nook. His heart sinks at the sight of the inside of the fridge; there’s fuck all food for Eddie, and what's in the crisper draw is either soft or fully gone off.

“I’ll get you some peas, be right back.”

Steve grabs a bag out of the freezer; Eddie looks so tired, slumped at the table in one of his sweaters and a pair of Steve’s sleep pants. Steve makes him a bowl of peas and sticks a spoon in it, putting it on the table.

Eddie takes a spoonful quite enthusiastically, then immediately pulls a face. He does chew, and he does swallow, but he’s clearly not impressed, “cold.”

“Yeah baby, they’re always cold.”

Eddie wrinkles his nose, “bad.”

“Oh. Well...I’ll make them hot?”

Eddie nods, pushing the bowl back. Steve takes the bowl, swapping them into a pot with some water and putting them on to boil. He decides to make himself bacon and eggs in a second pan while he waits, since that’ll be fast and easy.

He keeps looking over at Eddie; he can’t help himself really. Steve’s half convinced that this is one of those horrible dreams, and that something fucking awful will happen any second now. He looks so ill; it’s amazing how much of a stark difference the lack of hair has made to his appearance; it's, somehow, more shocking than his legs.

Steve flips his bacon and shuffles his eggs, then looks over again at Eddie. He’s up. Steve waits, breath held, as Eddie takes a dozen, tentative and shuffling steps across the kitchen. Steve stands with his hands out, ready to dart forward. He can’t help but think of a toddler taking his first steps unaided. Eddie makes it to Steve, taking both hands for the last few steps, “that’s great baby. You have legs!”

Eddie smiles wanly, “legs good...food?”

He looks over Steve’s shoulder at the pan, “yeah, you want to try?”

Eddie nods eagerly, and Steve slides the bacon and eggs onto his plate, giving Eddie the fork. Eddie eats both rashers of bacon with his fingers, using his claw like nails to lift the hot food and blow on it before he shoves it in, then he eats the eggs with the fork.

Steve’s toast pops while Eddie’s eating, “food?” he asks with his mouth still full of egg.

“Yeah baby, here,” Steve spreads both pieces with jelly, and Eddie eats those too, leaning against the counter. He seems a little better suddenly, a little more alert maybe.

“Stee food now?”

“Yeah, yeah, I will.” Steve makes it all again, Eddie watching avidly where he’s propped up against the counter; on a hunch, Steve makes twice what he wants to eat, pleased when he’s right, and Eddie picks off his plate, eating more.

Eddie burps, then looks shocked that the noise just came out of him. Steve laughs so much his eyes water.

They both stand at the bottom of the stairs, and it feels like looking up at mount Everest.

“Okay, we can do this buddy.”

“Not budidy. Baby.”

Steve sighs, smiling, “you got it baby.”

After what feels to Steve like forty days and forty nights of toil, they make it to the top. Eddie is very unsteady on his feet, like his obvious exhaustion is making his coordination worse again.

“Clean teeth,” he tells Steve on their way to bed.

“In the morning. They’re not going to fall out if we miss it once,” and the bathroom feels about fifty million miles away at this point.

They climb into bed together, and Eddie is asleep pretty much instantly. He’s snoring softly, quiet, but enough for Steve to hear it clearly. It makes it feel real almost. A confirmation that Eddie is really here, that he’s different now. Eddie never used to make a sound when he was sleeping; and now he does. Eddie has a leg thrown over Steve’s, and that’s real too.

Part Eighteen

[sturniholo]

falling down - matt sturniolo

in which you and matt get into a heated argument

┊ ✫ ┊ ┊ ☾⋆ ┊ ⊹ ┊ ✯ ⋆ ┊

Another night spent alone in bed. The fourth night alone this week. Matt was out at a party with his brothers, socializing and having fun, leaving you by yourself. You couldn't even understand why you were still together. He often left you alone, but you just couldn't find it in you to leave him. You were so happy with him. 

The front door shut from downstairs, making you sit up in your bed. You heard Matt slip off his shoes and shuffle up the stairs. He pushed open your bedroom door, making you smile to yourself. Instead of acknowledging you, he made his way to your bathroom, locking the door behind him. A shaky sigh left your mouth as you turned over in bed, pulling the blanket over your body. 

After a minute, he came out, making his way toward the bed. He laid down, his back resting against the headboard. He slid his phone out of his pocket, fixing his attention on the screen. For some reason this caused tears to form in your eyes. They sat at the brim of your eyes, threatening to fall. You hated being ignored and Matt knew that. 

"So, how was the party?" you asked, your voice slightly trembling. 

"It was good," he replied, his eyes not leaving his phone once. 

That was the final straw. The short, boring answer mixed with him not even looking at you was enough to make the tears fall from your eyes. As they fell, you let out a sniffle, making you bring your hand up to wipe your nose. Just as a quiet sob left your lips, you pushed yourself out of bed. You walked towards the balcony doors that were connected to your room. You slipped outside, closing the door behind you.

You leaned against the railing, looking out at the night sky. A light rain was falling, making you clutch to your skin. You began to sob as the rain fell, letting all of your emotions out. What a terrible feeling. You felt your heart shatter as you continued to cry, gasping for air. 

After what felt like an eternity, the balcony door opened. You quickly wiped your tears, taking a deep breath. You felt Matt's presence behind you, making your body stiff. "What are you doing out here in the rain?"

"Just clearing my head," you said quietly. 

"Are you not cold?" He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you into his body. Although it wasn't right, a smile formed on your face as his body heat warmed you up. He turned you around, so you were face-to-face with him. His eyes scanned over your face, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "Were you crying?"

You looked away from him, "No, I'm fine." You pressed your lips together, trying not to show too much emotion. He grabbed your jaw, turning your face so he could look at you. You bit down on your lip, letting your eyes meet his. He saw the tear stains on your cheek making him softly huff.

"You don't wanna talk to me about it? You'd rather sit and cry in the rain?"

You let out a soft laugh. "That's all I've been trying to do, Matt. You just never give me the time of day anymore." You looked away from him, feeling your eyes beginning to well with tears once again. His soft expression turned into something different, almost like a look of frustration.

"That's unfair," he muttered, making you whip your head to look at him. 

"Unfair?" You let out a scoff. "You won't talk to me anymore, let alone look at me." Your voice started to shake as you continued to talk. "You don't care until it gets like this. Until I run away, crying to myself." By now the tears were pouring down your face, clouding your vision. 

"You don't come to me anymore." His words cut you like a knife, making you pull away from his grip. You ran your fingers through your hair, taking a seat on a chair that sat on the balcony. You were now full-on crying, fidgeting with your fingers as he looked at you. 

"Because I can't!" He took a step back, your harsh tone surprising him. "You've left me by myself four times this week! And when you finally do come home, you can't even acknowledge the fact that I'm there!" You were now full-on yelling at him, voice laced with anger, the tears beginning to dry on your cheeks. 

"You have to understand I have a life, Y/n." 

"What, like I don't?" you asked with a dry laugh. "Like I don't have a life outside of you?" You leaned forward in your seat, glaring at him. "I'm asking you to be my boyfriend, not my father. Jesus, Matt." You sat back in your seat, too upset to even lay your eyes on him. 

"I hate that you're being like this." He rolled his eyes, making your anger even worse.

"So leave," you said blankly. His eyes widened, taken back by your words. You were even surprised by what you said. 

"You serious?" Although you knew you weren't, you still nodded your head. He stood for a moment before heading towards the door. It slammed shut behind him, making you flinch from the loud noise. 

When the realization started to set in, you couldn't help but cry. You couldn't stand when Matt acted like that. Like you were asking for the moon and the stars. You just wanted him. All of him. Not half-assed love, but all that he had to offer.

┊ ✫ ┊ ┊ ☾⋆ ┊ ⊹ ┊ ✯ ⋆ ┊

a/n: i love writing angsty shit like this ☠️

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Home Sweet Not Home

Summary: The reader wakes up in bed next to a familiar but oh so strange man...

Pairing: Jensen x hunter!reader

Word Count: 1,400ish

Warnings: none

A/N: Hooo boy enjoy this one!

You felt warm when you began to stir awake. There was a heavy blanket on you that was nice, not out of the ordinary for Dean to pile an extra one on the bed while you were sleeping. You rolled over in bed, smashing your face in a bare chest.

“Morning,” Dean mumbled. His voice wasn’t as deep and you wondered if he was coming down with something. You blinked open your eyes, resting your hands on his chest, running them down briefly before you cocked your head.

“Where’s your tattoo?” you asked carefully, putting your hand on his pec, ready to use your nails in the shifter’s flesh as a distraction. But this Dean was chuckling, nuzzling his cheek against yours.

“S’on my shoulder like always, silly,” he said, yawning and sighing softly. “You okay? You’re tense.”

You shifted your head up, noticing the white headboard, eyes darting around to see soft light colored walls, a large balcony door and a window overlooking a grassy backyard and pool.

“What the…” you said, standing and hopping out of bed, glad that you were at least in the t shirt and shorts you remembered falling asleep in. You went over to the door and pulled it open, Dean out of bed and moving to the other side of the room, hitting something on a white thermostat looking thing.

“Honey,” he said, walking over as you stood on the small balcony, leaning over the railing to look at a patio and some trees. “Y/N. Everything alright?”

“Where…” you asked, Dean sighing.

“We’re in Austin,” he said, running his hand gently over your head. You turned to look up at him, spotting him in a pair of navy boxers that he normally wore.

“Austin?” you asked, his arm sporting the tattoo he mentioned before but it wasn’t an anti-possession one.

“Okay,” he said, gently resting his hands on your shoulders and pulling you back into the very nice bedroom, soft carpet under your toes. He sat you on the bed and kneeled down in front of you. “The doctor said this might happen so that’s why he gave us the list of questions, remember?”

You had no idea what the hell was going on but you just shrugged, this guy very kind for a shifter if he was one.

“Okay. What’s your name?” he asked with a smile.

“Y/N,” you said.

“Your full name, sweetie,” he said, still smiling.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you said, the smile wiping off his face.

“That’s your maiden name,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “S’okay. We’ll keep going. What’s today’s date?”

“Um,” you said, thinking for a moment, Dean cocking his head when you answered.

“That’s right,” he said, forcing a smile on his face. “Does your head hurt, honey?”

“My head? Why would my head hurt?” you asked.

“We were in a car accident two days ago. They were concerned you had a concussion. Last night was the first time you were at home. Do you not remember any of this?” he asked.

“Dean, I don’t-”

“Dean? You know I love a good joke but now is not the time, Y/N,” said Dean. You swallowed hard, Dean putting a hand on your head. “What’s my name?”

“I…” you said, looking around the room for any kind of clue. Something had happened after your witch hunt obviously. Same name, different person. You were still Y/N where ever you were but a different version, paired up with a different Dean that apparently wasn’t named Dean. You were well off if your yard was anything to go off of so you definitely weren’t hunters. “I’m just tired. Sweetie.”

“Nice try. What’s my name?” he asked again.

“Honestly?” you asked. He nodded, curiously looking up at you. “I don’t remember.”

“That’s alright,” he said, very good at hiding the flash of concern that showed up on his face. “Do you-“

A phone started to ring, Not Dean ignoring it in favor for paying attention to you.

“Do you remember how we met at all?” he asked.

“Working a job,” you said, his face twitching up.

“That’s right,” he said, tilting his head.

“I’m sorry. I’m just...messing with you,” you said, the man pouting. He opened his mouth but a doorbell rang somewhere, the man getting to his feet.

“I’ll be right back. Stay here,” he said, walking over to a closed door, grabbing a pair of sweatpants and a shirt from the floor as he went. The second he was out of the door you started to look around, trying to find clues about who he was. You could always make a break for it but in pajamas you didn’t think you’d get far, especially with this guy’s sweet husband thing he had going on.

You walked through an open door to a bathroom, cutting through it to find a closet. You sighed, wishing you’d found something with a name until you jogged back to the nightstand, a wallet on top.

“Yes,” you said, ripping it open and pulling out a Texas license. “Okay. Jensen Ackles. 6’ 1”. Organ donor. Well that’s nice and all but I still know nothing.”

You started to dig through the wallet, mostly credit and reward cards, some cash and a business card with a doctor’s name and number. There was a faded picture of him and a woman that looked exactly like you, the worn edges saying it was probably at least five years old.

You put the wallet back when you heard him coming, sitting back in your spot on the bed, trying to seem relaxed.

“Who was at the door, Jensen?” you asked innocently, Jensen lifting his chin.

“Kid up the street. Girl Scout cookies. I ordered you some thin mints,” he said, padding around to the side of the bed, arms crossed. “Don’t pull shit like that again. It’s not funny. You know how freaked I was after the accident.”

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, his face briefly looking hard before he started to drag his toes through the carpet.

“I get this feeling you’re lying to me,” he said, looking you in the eye. “I’ve known you forever, kiddo. You have that look on your face.”

It’d be easy to lie and make something up. It’d be easy to fake a concussion too. Telling the truth would probably get you thrown in an institution.

Jensen tilted his head and walked over to you suddenly, grabbing your underwear and pulling the band down an inch.

“Hey!” you barked at him, kneeing him hard, Jensen falling to the floor.

“You don’t have a tattoo,” he said, getting to his feet slowly, pressing his thumb against your hip, wiping over your anti-possession one. “That’s real.”

He backed away from you, looking you up and down.

“You would never hit me like that because you know I don’t touch you like that and…” he said, tilting his head as he stared at your leg. “You don’t have a scar on your thigh. What…”

“Jensen...take a breather for me buddy,” you said, Jensen shaking his head. “I can explain.”

“Am I nuts? You’re not my...did I die in that accident? Is this some-“

“Dude! Chill. You’re not dead,” you said, Jensen eyeing you suspiciously. “You’re fine. I’m the one that’s…”

“Not my wife?” he said, closing his eyes. “This is one of those freaky weird dreams that seems super real. That’s what it is. You definitely aren’t-“

“Uh, I’m Y/N,” you said. “Hate to break it to you.”

“I was going to say, Reese,” he said. “You know, the character you play on a tv show. Now would be a great time to tell me this is a very in-depth prank.”

“Me? On TV? I have done some crazy stuff but that…” you said, Jensen nodding his head at you. “You’re freaking out.”

“Just a little,” he said. You hummed.

“I guess I have to give you the civilian talk,” you said.

“The what?” he asked.

“Just take a seat, Jensen.”

_________

[dira333]

“Get in the car.” One would suspect that Aizawa’s here to kidnap you with the face he’s pulling.

“I didn’t order an Uber.” You joke, holding onto the railing for dear life. The world’s spinning quite fast today.

“Sucks.” He grunts, holding the door open with a pointed look. “Now get in the car.”

“I can totally get home on my own, Aizawa.” You insist.

“And I’ve told you to call me Shouta. Now get in the car.”

“Where did you even get the car?” You eye it carefully. It’s not Hizashi’s Mustang that he spray paints every season - you quite liked the green and purple theme he had going on last time you saw it - and it’s not Nemuri’s sleek black sports car either. 

“I bought it. Now get in.” 

“You bought it?” You ask, now curious enough to take the last few steps away from the stairs. Your walk is wobbly, but that’s expected when your cane is in your bag in favor of holding onto the railing. 

Aizawa’s left arm is outstretched, he’s not gripping you but allowing you to grip him however you need it. Less than a heartbeat later you’re sitting inside and to your surprise, the seat heater is on.

“Warm enough?” Aizawa asks as he slips into the driver’s seat. The car smells nice, not brand new, but like him. You’re familiar with his scent from the few times he draped his jacket over you, sometimes pretending to use you as a coat rack, other times foregoing the pretense and just admitting that you looked cold.

“Since when do you have a car?”

“I bought it last week. I wasn’t sure which one to get, though, so if Hizashi tells you anything stupid, ignore him.”

“Why? What could he tell me?”

Aizawa - Shouta, you remind yourself - scowls as if he hates being asked the question, but he still answers even though he doesn’t have to. He always does that and you’ve caught on ages ago. It’s kinda fun to pretend you’re avoiding questions you’re willingly answering.

“I made him get in and out of various cars. He’s the best actor out of all of us. You should see him pretend like he’s got a bad back.”

You laugh. “It’s nice to look out for your friends. I assume he played All Might?” 

The car stops at a red light. Shouta throws you a look that tells you to stop kidding. 

“Do you see me driving All Might around? Also, next time you’ve got so many blood tests scheduled, call me beforehand. I hate learning about it from Nemuri.”

“Sure, sure.” You say, surprised to see his scowl deepen.

You’re even more surprised when he takes a sudden left.

“Where are we going?”

“Getting groceries for you. You need to eat after losing that much blood.”

He parks the car only a few minutes later, mustering you for a second before he speaks up again.

“Do you want to come inside? I’m not holding you hostage if you insist, but the heating stays on and you could take a nap. I’ll be quick about it.”

“Well, if you’re asking like that…” You cuddle into the warm seat with a smile. “I’m gonna stay behind then.”

“Very well.” He slips out of his jacket and drapes it over you like a blanket - he even tucks you in - before winking at you.

“Snacks are in the glove compartment. I��ve got my phone on me if you need me.”

You only dare to open the compartment when you’re sure he’s disappeared into the store.

You’re not surprised to see your favorite snacks there, even a bag of the cookies you like, the brand you only get on the other side of the city.

There’s a new warmth now, filling you from the insides and bubbling in your heart.

Despite all of Hizashi’s teasing, all of Nemuri’s needling, all the pictures of Eri that are hanging on your walls - little Eri holding hands with you and Shouta - there’s no label for what the two of you are. What you have been growing into.

In a few minutes, he will come out with groceries, fresh produce for vitamins, and meat for strength. He will drive you to your apartment, fuss over you on the way up, and pretend he doesn’t mind that your cat’s still a little cautious about him. He will cook, like he always does, asking you questions the whole way through because he knows you love to cook but rarely have the energy to do it properly. 

And after all of that, the good food, the warmth of his presence, he will lay down next to you - just for a quick nap, he says - and fall asleep with his arms around you.

You might not have a label, not a word for what the two of you are, but maybe you don’t need that anyway.

Most certainly not on a day like this.

@alienaiver

My Kofi if you want to tip me

[dilfomaniac]

❝𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙢 𝙈𝙞𝙡𝙠❝

leon kennedy x fem!reader ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

ft. Death Island Leon S. Kennedy

wc: 3.409

cw: ddlg, age gap, innocence kink, p in v, riding, creampie, praise kink, rough sex

note: This was supposed to be a drabble but ended up being a rushed fic ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა writer’s block has me in a chokehold lately, ignore parts that don’t make sense !! i’ll fix those tmrw cuz 3 in the mornin… ͟mdni 18+

The silence in the room is steep, the lack of light even more than so. Wind knocks itself against the window, every tremor making you feel like its aim is to break in. Your heart is racing, your eyes wide and on the lookout for the source of your alarm. Of course, there’s none, but you haven’t really grown out of childish habits. You’ve heard stories after stories about houses being haunted, ghosts residing in each and every corner waiting to pounce on defenseless girls like you, and it’s been stuck to you ever since. Stored inside your head as a core reminder that something’s creeping in the dark.

You’re the ripe age of nineteen, there’s no particular reason for you to believe this still. Fear of the dark should’ve been abandoned when you were twelve - when the failing of classes and smothering glare of teachers vanquished the rest of the worries. At this point, it’s just laughable. Even your stuffed animals are starting to look awfully odd. You look past one shoulder, past the other, detect no strange entities and wash down the dryness in your throat. You’re curled up in a ball, snug like a puppy, hoping to fall asleep like one when something welts your window. Your head snaps towards the sound and you see something flit behind the windowpane, flashing its ominous identity to you. The child inside you screams - you’re quick to comply with it, tossing the blanket off yourself and scampering out of your bedroom like an overgrown puppy.

-

You scurry your way downstairs, hand on the railing gathering dust on your fingertips. There’s better lighting here, because Daddy’s fallen asleep with the TV on, snoring to the mumbles of another sitcom you told him about, as if he genuinely watches those. You lower the volume until it’s mute, not daring to turn the TV off because it’s the only source that illuminates the room enough - save for the crescent shimmering moon which didn’t do you much help back in your bedroom. Making your way towards the sofa you observe Leon who's sleeping like a top - head over the back of the couch and mouth tipping agape. You fail to stifle a giggle, but this is no laughing matter, mind you. He promised you, oh, he promised you so many times he’d come and join you in the bed eventually, but he didn’t. “Okay, sweetheart. You go, and I’ll be there soon, yeah? Daddy has some things to finish,” No, Daddy just wants to make an empty promise and fall asleep on the couch. He always does, likes the feel of giving you a heavy heart. Your brows crinkle with lack of guilt when you go to nudge his shoulder. Leon’s a light sleeper, so his eyes burst open like a puppet, old geezer snoring cut short.

“Baby—” His chest rises in a beat, hand clutching your wrist reflexively. He takes a moment to shake the remaining sleep off, tossing his head back and clearing his throat to waken. “You were supposed to be asleep.”

The audacity he has to say that, when you were supposed to be asleep with him, not without him. Ghosts don’t come up to scratch when Daddy’s with you, because you know he’s stronger and that they’ll be put off by his mere presence. “You didn’t go to bed. You lied to me,” the accusation comes down as you sink your nails into his forearm, small flecks of red imprinting onto his skin. “You promised me.”

“Yeah. Yeah— Daddy knows,” His brows furrow. Your antics extort a rumbly groan from his throat, but it isn’t until he glares at you that you let go of him sheepishly. It’s just that you can’t help it while you’re like this. Leon is your only safe zone, but he’s so old he can’t even control when he sleeps. “Well, I thought you’d be a big girl and be asleep by the time I’m back. Guess not, huh?” He chuckles silvery and before you see it he’s propping you over his leg, letting you sit pliant like a marionette with your knees dipping in the gaps, entwining in his legs. You’re not easy to play like one, though - you opt to stay your ground by smacking him on the cheek to which he balefully clutches your wrist. “Don’t go throwin’ hands now.”

“You’re an A-hole.” You say bluntly. He blinks at you as if trying to say how insufferable you are in morse code. “Something— something was behind the window. I think it wanted to break in, and you weren’t here.” You say more like a protest than a distressed denunciation. Leon’s hands come to cradle you, from your back all the way to your scalp, holding you to himself like a baby who can’t support its head yet. He shakes his head, tongue in cheek, so sick of being woken up in the middle of the night because of things so mediocre, but all the more understanding of you. Because you’re his baby. His ray of sunshine. A pretty little thing who makes his day-to-day routines somewhat more endurable. “What, you scared of ghosts now?”

“I’m not!” You say crossly, God forbid your fragile little ego is hurt. “I’m not scared of ‘em, okay? I’m just saying, if someone were to break in, and you weren’t there, it’d be your fault.” It’d also be his fault if you had a nightmare and had no one to lull you back to sleep. Things like this aren’t easily forgivable, you want to tell him, but he already knows.

Leon takes in the scent of your pomade, fingers threading aimlessly through your hair. You can tell he’s not as worried as you are, but maybe that’s because he knows better and you’ll never know as much even if you conjoined the three remaining brain cells in your head. “Well, I promise you sweetheart, no scary monster s’gonna take you while I’m here,” then he bounces you on his knee and you feel your senses liquify. “You know you’re safe with me. You aren’t a dumb girl, are you?”

You shake your head, peeking at him between your lashes. You are a dumb girl but don’t entirely want to be one. It’s funny to see how all your worries dissipate once the honeyed lilt sinks in, putting you into an entirely different mental state. “I was scared,” you murmur. Leon only hushes you, bobbing his knee like consoling a toddler.

“I know, baby. I don’t blame you for it.” His stubble scrapes your cheek and then you’re dipping your face lower, nose brushing over a bared clavicle. Leon smells so good, so falsely evocative and citrusy and paternal. Like a daddy you’ve never had but always wanted, and it has you addicted. “Guess I have to make it up to little missy then, huh?” He stops to look you in the eye, his glare piercing and yet soothing and alluring all at once. Like he’s trying to read you by your expression alone, find out what goes on in that lil’ head of yours that can’t fit more than maybe a few social interactions per day.

You clutch the hem of his shirt and give him all the puppy eyes you’ve got, tilt your head and play dumb like he equally appreciates. “Uhm, yeah?” He cups your cheeks instantaneously, plants a slew of sloppy kisses across your forehead ‘cause cute aggression is real, and he’s more than likely to eat you up if your cheeks don’t deflate. “You owe me big time, idiot,” you pout, “ ‘Cause you never listen to me.”

You’re met with an eye roll and then Leon’s flipping you over so your positions are swapped, you now spread over the couch and him hovering above you. He holds both your hands in one hefty palm and pins them over your sternum, pushes down like he’s trying to submerge you into the cushions. You peep and fend off, even in your sleepy state because you know what comes after he’s fully overpowered you. You’ll scream bloody murder if he starts tickling you. However, to your surprise, he doesn’t. Instead, he shores you up on the couch and slumps beside you with a soft grunt. “Think we can reserve playtime for tomorrow?” He says. After getting you riled up? No, but, matter-of-factly, it’s way past your bedtime. You bat your lashes solemnly, cast your gaze elsewhere. When you think about it, there will be no playtime, really. Because Leon’s always off on business trips - always on the go to fill his devoir while you’re at home rotting away in pink comforters and stroking yourself to sleep. It’s unfair - so, so unfair, how he makes you wait like a puppy, because you’re so entirely co-dependent on him. You fold your arms and clamber to the opposite side of the couch, avert your face to hide the crimson scattering your cheeks. Leon knows this change of air by rote, knows that his pretty princess is upset, and he knows by heart what your doleful puppy eyes look like, even if you try to hide them from him.

“I’m just kiddin’. I had something else in mind, actually,” he coos at you, one hand planting itself on your thigh and parting it from the other. “Daddy would never lie to you, yeah baby?” The wetness across your neck takes you by surprise when Leon seals the gap between you, making you want to shrug off.

“Tickles,” you mew, raising your hand to his face which he swiftly takes hold of and sets down. You don’t object, ‘cause while you may be bratty, Daddy’s wants will never go over your head. Heat uncoils inside your lower stomach and you start rubbing your thighs with need, stealing glances from Leon who’s nipping you with such fervor, you start doubting whether this takes less energy than your regular playtime.

“Thought you’d get away so easily, huh? Not a chance,” the metal clink of the belt has you transfixed when you’ve just started squirming, as you sit stockstill beside Leon. He looks at you with a grin - you sit there with panties soaked from one-sided kissing alone. There’s that tent on his lap, like he gets in the mornings. You try to wet your lips but clamp your tongue when he sucks a hickey onto a velvety patch of skin, tugging his briefs down until the forbidden part springs up and whacks him on the gut. Seeing it makes you shudder, snap your head away so fast as if a bare look will contaminate your innocence.

“Yeah, bunny? That so? Don’t like Mr. Horsey?” He exhales with a sneer - you try not to hyperventilate because of the amount of blood that gushes to your face then. You steal one small peek and turn away again, closing your eyes as if the thing will disappear on its own, making Leon chuckle heartily. “Well, I think Mr. Horsey likes you.”

You’re sure neither you nor Leon imagined your lives would ever lead to this moment. Leon for an entirely different reason, but you due the fact that you’ve been turned down by every partner who failed to break down the nature of this play. You never realized how much it meant to you, though, to be purely virgin. “Um,” you teeter more to the edge, eyes darting to all corners of the room, “I like him too— I don’t know.”

He takes it for granted, moving closer until you feel his breath waver. The glow of the TV strains your eyes, casting a fluorescent light which disguises your blush. Leon sets your hand on his crotch, hums contentedly when your palm lays smoothly on his shaft and your fingers grip. “Yeah,” he says. “He likes it when you play with him, baby.” His hand comes to rest on his side and he lets you take the lead, leaning back and exhaling in a way that screams he’s pent, and you better get stroking.

You palm him to the best effort, watching closely to see if what you’re doing with your hand is good enough. All the jerking off you’d done before was winged, and you never really put your mind to it. Leon gave you a chance to learn to actually please a man, and you can never wait to suck up all the praise you can. “Like this?” Your voice squeaks - you suck the inside of your cheek meekly. Leon nods and lets his eyes fall shut when your hand delivers the wet squelches, pre slicking up the entirety of your palm and leaking through your nimble fingers. There’s the faintest bucking of hips and you see him tense before coming to a halt, restraining himself. You’re so wet it hurts. You need him bucking into you instead, and not holding back.

Leon’s cock oozes generously upon your ministrations and before you know it you’re moving on top to straddle him. Real cowgirl in the making - so excited to have her first ride. He croaks dizziedly, hands hooking behind your knees and helping you up on his lap. You think back to how the Redfields see you two, what they don’t know about you. Maybe the fact that Leon has a college kid for a lapdog isn’t the worst thing that's been happening around here. Maybe that he breeds it on a daily without a pinch of guilt is a fair enough transgression. The waistband of your mini is yanked down when Leon hikes you up on his knee, forcing you to shimmy out of it. He feels up the plush of your pussy, prods through your dampened panties like that doesn’t make you all the more desperate. You’re drooling, practically. If Leon didn’t know any better, he’d stick his fingers down your greedy cunt, but you’ve got to work for it first.

“Come on, baby. Rub yourself on Daddy,” he pulls your panties aside, and you’re so quick to listen. You sink down, hands perched on your ankles until your slippery folds engulf his tip. You’re making quite the mess - to that he toots but otherwise leans back to observe how his princess is willing to fulfill her duty. You buck your hips back and forth, run your nub over his slit repeatedly and whimper like a bitch in heat. When you slide too close to your hole, he slaps your tit, grips your chin between two fingers to give you a warning. This is the root of this whole ordeal - him fucking you to a pulp, turning you into a full crazed nymphomaniac and then leaving like nothing happened. It’s not fair, not fair at all - and the worst part is he’s sure to serve you justice using the same treatment. Fucking you so hard you forget you ever doubted him in the first place.

“Just like that. Good girl,” he murmurs, speaking to you like you’re mentally deficient - which you are. You test your luck by squeezing yourself down, attempting to take him in a little, but Leon’s cock springs like a twig, flaps over you with a wet squelch. You whine.

“Daddy!” you grumble like it’s his fault you failed so miserably. He shakes his head, “You know I spoil you too much,” and with that, Leon jams himself inside until he’s breaching you to the brim. You were wrong for being so hasty - he’ll give you a bitter taste.

Startled, you drape your head over his shoulder and sink your nails into his back. You could feel the jab to your cervix, and while that wasn’t particularly good, the feeling of Leon seating you to the hilt sent you straight to heaven. You haven’t had him since so long - you swore at times you clenched on nothing. Leon fills you so good, God, he fills you better than anyone has ever had, and it drives you mad when he doesn’t. You sit bandy-legged when his arms lock around your shoulders, bringing you up so he can slump you back on his cock. Horsey, right? Chris and Claire wouldn’t see either of you in the same light if they knew.

“You might just be the dirtiest girl, yeah baby?” He groans, and the tone alone is enough to have you gripping. You shake your head, dirty isn’t exactly your most-liked title. “No?” Leon thrusts deep and you jump up with him, hugging him tight for comfort.

“No! ‘m not—” He rocks you on him, does all the work cause you’re a princess even on top. So spoiled, and yet he’s to blame. Maybe you’ll change one day, but so far he hasn’t had the guts to work you for that outcome. “But you woke Daddy up so you could have his cock up that drooly pussy, didn’t you?” he says and the words jab straight into that spot. Leon groans and then you’re moving on your own, sheathing yourself on him over and over until a ring of white gathers around the base of his cock. Now you get it. Now it’s horsey.

“Sorry, Daddy. I missed you so much— sorry,” you recite like a plea, stumbling over your words after a moment, until it’s just unintelligible moans, because Leon’s cock pounds you so good. You lick the sweat off his temple, watch his brows furrow when his hands grip your hips and squeeze impossibly tight, lips catching over yours when your movements grow shaky.

“Sorry— I’m sorry, sorry— Daddy—” Leon shushes you when he begins to thrust in tandem with your wobbly hops, thrusting to a depth you thought was impossible to reach before. You see it flash before you and soon he’s lifting your body, holding you up as he drives relentlessly into your wetness, back arched and nose nuzzling the crook of your neck with primal grunts. Daddy fucks you so good. Daddy pampers you so much. Daddy loves you to the moon and back, and he’s going to give you warm milk to put you to sleep.

“Fuck, baby— You’re a natural. Rode the horsey so good, now it’s Daddy’s turn—” your heart skips a beat when you’re thrown over the coffee table, all the items toppling over with a row of clattering, and Leon being able to dig deeper into you when you thought he’d reached your limit. You throw your legs over his shoulders, your panties begin to tear and the table begins to crack until you’re screaming his name. Fuck. God. The pressure inside you amplifies and then you’re struck by unadulterated bliss, the familiar warmth coating your inner walls which is quick to gush out the seams as Leon gives one last jab to secure the tip against your cervix. His hair is wet and he heaves like a dog, hands still holding you tightly against the table which you fear might collapse any minute now. You shiver - he gives your side a good smack and pulls out of you with a plop, all what he planted inside you oozing out in thick dollops. Not on his watch, though, ‘cause he pushes it back placidly, panting.

“Good enough for today, princess,” he says but you’re already out of it, lashes fluttering as you try to grip onto your consciousness, but Leon knocked all the breath out of you, you’ve expired. You hum, feeling your walls pulse and chest swell in a slow-paced rhythm. It’s like that one time you convinced him you’d be able to handle an all-nighter but fell asleep one hour past midnight. “Well, you set yourself a record,” because it’s just one hour later which is impressive for a little girl like you.

He’ll have to change you into something more comfortable. A miniskirt and knee highs on a winter day? What, were you trying to whore yourself out to the Ghosts? He gets it, you were just asking for it, just wanted to stick your cute ass to get his attention, but sometimes you’re genuinely stupid. His stupid girl. Drunk off Daddy’s milk - he’ll bear that in mind. Sliding his hands under your frail body, he makes the dire mistake of trying to lift you when the coffee table caves in and snatches you with it. Auntie Jill called Daddy a ‘fucking cheapskate’ once when she was over - now you get what she meant.

[reidmoony-toast]

Strawberry Wine. ౨ৎ

"If I was empty space, and you were a formless shape we'd fit"

Spencer x fem singer!reader

The two times they miss each other, and the one time they don't

content: no use of y/n, fluff, pining galore

cw: lil suggestive? (She sings Chappell Roan)

wc: 2.4k

an: I've been cooking this up for a while, but life has been super busy, so I haven't yet finished the other parts. I'm very sorry if they take a few weeks to finish :[ Anyways, hope you enjoy! <3

| pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.3 | series masterlist ౨ৎ

· · ──────────── ·𖥸· ──────────── · ·

He really wished he wasn’t here. He never should have begrudgingly agreed to Penelope’s crazy plans, no matter how much she bugged him about it. This was about as far opposite to his kind of thing that you could get.

The lights were bright–unbearably so; flashing so much he feared he would have an epileptic episode (if it weren’t for the small fact that he didn’t actually have epilepsy, but he digressed).

The large room was also deafening, filled with fans, all of them buzzing in anticipation. Penelope was not an exception–she bounced up and down like a rogue ball, shrieking in excitement close to every thirty seconds. He would know. He had been counting.

Although he would rather be at the very back (if he had to choose anywhere in this wretched place), Penny had physically forced him into the very front row, only a barrier separating them from the stage.

He didn’t know and definitely didn’t want to know how Penelope had acquired such tickets and at such short notice before the show. He had found that he was better living in ignorance of the borderline illegal habits of his best friend.

He had just endured half an hour of what Penny had called the ‘openers’. He was dismayed to hear that the performance was not the actual concert; he learnt that the hard way when he had asked Penelope if they could leave, which she replied to with a cackle, stating that the band that had just exited the stage was, in fact, not the main event of the evening.

He had buried his face in his hands and let out a loud groan. He only had himself to blame for being caught up in the ‘Garcia puppy eyes’ trap, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t whinge at least a little bit–or a lot bit.

He didn’t know much about this singer girl, only that Penelope was obsessed with her, bringing her up in conversation many a time. He admitted that he often didn’t fully (if at all) listen when Garcia gushed over her–he seemed to always zone out.

He had never properly heard her songs, only in passing when Penelope would blast music in her cave, and he didn’t even have a clue what she looked like.

He was mentally preparing himself for the next few gruelling hours, with Penny jumping up and down beside him, when the lights dimmed, sending the whole room into a frenzy.

He winced at the screaming and whooping coming from all around him. Smoke machines started emitting mist, covering the stage and fogging up the colourful lights. The crowd continued to roar, Penelope squealing next to him and gripping the railing of the barrier.

A figure emerged through the haze, the silhouette showing locks of hair cascading over their shoulders, clad in a silk slip dress that ended at the mid thigh, hugging their curves.

They started singing–a smooth, silky voice wrapped around him, making the room suddenly feel more bearable. He swallowed hard. The singing was beautiful. Sweet and rich, wrapping around him like a cosy blanket.

He raised his eyebrows with pleasant surprise. It was, admittedly, not bad in the slightest. He hated to say it, but he was enjoying it, a lot. More than he should, given that it was new-age pop, not the refined tones of classical music–his favourite genre by far.

All thoughts of music flew out of his head as the owner of the angelic voice stepped into the stage lights, allowing him to properly see her for the first time. His breath left his body as he took her in.

She was gorgeous, stunning–almost ethereal, as her other-worldy voice filled his cochlea, transmitting electrical signals through his nerve pathways to his primary auditory cortex.

Her hair shone in the light, giving her a halo of the highest grade, her bright lips curled into a perfect smile around her words, and her eyes shone with a million glinting stars.

He was utterly enamoured by her–every facial expression, every movement she made, every note she sang was all absorbed thoroughly by his wide eyes.

In no time at all, the first song was over, finishing with loud cheering and clapping from the audience. The angel grinned out at the sea of fans, soaking up the feeling.

Unlike Spencer, she was well and truly in her element, looking as though there was not where else in the world she would rather be.

He gazed in open-mouthed awe at the way she floated effortlessly about the stage–and, of course, that breathtaking smile that scrunched her nose and revealed the prettiest dimples he had ever seen.

He was snapped back to reality with a sharp poke in the side from Penelope, centering his gravity away from the girl on stage and back to where he stood.

“What?” He said loudly, an exasperated look adorning his face as he tore his eyes back to his best friend. She was smirking at him, arms crossed in front of herself.

“You have such a thing for her, I’m surprised you're not drooling right now,” she answered mockingly. He scoffed, dismissing her words with a wave of his hands as he faced the stage again, not wanting to miss a moment of the show. He heard Garcia laugh deeply at his half-hearted denial.

All thoughts of Penelope soon left his mind as the heaven-sent saint started to sing again, striking chords in his heart at every note.

The song came and went again, and Spencer wished they would not go by so fast, so he could see her for as long as possible.

The next song started with a more upbeat track, and the angel laughed, running back down stage, scarily close to where Spencer stood. “She was a, Playboy, Brigitte Bardot,” she started to sing, “She showed me things, I didn't know.”

She stuck out her tongue playfully, shaking her hips, making the satin fabric hugging her curves sway.

“She did it right there, out on the deck,” she bit down on her bottom lip as Spencer’s face heated, realising what the song was about. “Put her canine teeth in the side of my neck.”

She gestured with her fingers to a spot on her neck, pretending as if her fingers were the teeth, tipping her head back with imaginary ecstasy. He swallowed heavily, face hot.

“I'm in the hallway waitin' for ya,” she sang, “Mini skirt and my go-go boots,” on those lyrics, she bent over, running her free hand from her heeled boots and up her legs, jutting her ass out.

Spencer’s mouth fell open in shock. He had never felt like this from only a few minutes of meeting someone, let alone just laying his eyes on them. This was completely out of the ordinary for him, and it left him reeling.

~☆~

Songs flitted by like the butterflies in his stomach, and his gaze was permanently fixated on the captivating women centre-stage. He couldn't tear his eyes away even if he tried–and he most definitely didn't.

A new song started, fading in with a catchy guitar riff, and the crowd went wild, sparking a wide smile on the angel’s face.

The drum beat started, and she strutted down the stage, tipping her head back and shaking her smooth curls out in the dim lights before she began to sing. “Midnight,” she dragged out the end of the word.

“Come and pick me up, no headlights,” she blew a kiss to the fans in front of her, winking as she made her way down the stage towards where Spencer was situated.

Penelope grasped his arm tighter and tighter as she neared, buttery voice washing over him.

“Watch us go ‘round and ‘round each time,” she stretched out the note, rolling her head to the side, eyes landing exactly where Spencer was standing. He froze, dumbstruck, as he locked eyes with her.

He gulped heavily as a cheeky grin adorned her face, soft lips framing perfectly white teeth. She straightened up, continuing the lyrics as she floated even closer to him, never breaking eye contact.

“You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye,” She knelt down on the stage in front of Spencer. His breathing stuttered as his gaze remained on her, utterly entranced.

“And I got that red lip classic thing that you like,” she dragged her thumb across her lip, singing to him through a happy, if not slightly teasing, smile.

“‘Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style,” He could see her mouth curving around each syllable as she sang into the microphone, eyes still, somehow, on him.

He most definitely looked like an idiot in that moment, with his flushed cheeks and slack-jawed awe of the ethereal woman only a few feet away, but he didn't have it in himself to care.

She had seen him, and not only that, she had actually come over and sat, right there on the stage in front of him. No matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise, she was–without question–looking, and singing, straight at him.

She leaned impossibly closer, leaving only a few inches between their two faces as she crooned the words into the microphone. His eyes flicked across the features of her face before they settled on her own.

Up close, they were mesmerising– long, thick lashes framed bright irises, sparkling with the light of the night sky– he could almost map out the constellations he knew off by heart from the incandescent twinkles in her eyes.

“You got that long hair, slicked back-” She moved her free hand to hover over the collar of Spencer's shirt, seemingly asking silent consent to touch him.

He shook out of his trance long enough to nod vigorously. She let out a short chuckle, grabbing his collar and carefully but firmly pulling him closer by his shirt. “-white T-shirt.”

His breath hitched as hers ghosted his lips with every exhale, noses almost touching, with hardly any room for the microphone as his heart raced impossibly faster.

“And I got that good girl faith and a tight little skirt.” At that, she pulled away, letting go of his collar as she leaned back to run her free hand over her skirt, smirking at Spencer and his flaming-red face.

“And when we go crashing down, we come back every time,” she repeats, still serenading him. “'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style!” She finally stood, winking and blowing a kiss at a thoroughly flustered Spencer as she strutted to another part of the stage.

Spencer stood there, dumbfounded. He couldn't believe she had not only noticed him, but also sang right to him. His shirt was crumpled from where she had gripped it, but he didn't dare fix it. If possible, he would never smooth the rumpled fabric if it meant he could have a reminder of her always.

A rough shake of his shoulder brought him back to the present, Penelope standing astonished next to him, incredulous smile playing on her lips and she all but shrieked in his ear–something along the lines of, ‘You're so lucky!’ and ‘You're so down bad!’.

He didn't pay her any mind, instead keeping his still-red face on her, and her only.

She wandered to different parts of the stage during the remainder of the song, but Spencer didn't miss the more-than-occasional glances she sent his way throughout the next few songs, smile growing each time they locked eyes.

When they did, he matched her smile with his own goofy grin, his heart feeling as if it was beating out of his chest, breathing becoming erratic as he clutched the railing with white knuckles.

~☆~

All too soon, the concert came to an end, accompanied by raucous applause from the crowd. He clapped like a mad thing too, finally understanding why her fans acted the way they did.

The version of him from two hours ago would have teased him relentlessly for this, but he didn't care. It was another completely different version of him, a version that had not yet laid his eyes on her.

It certainly felt like a life-altering moment in his existence. His being was now split into ‘before’ and ‘after’. Before and after her.

She waved and blew kisses enthusiastically as she made her way off stage. He deduced that she would have to walk right past Spencer to get there. He pathetically hoped she would look at him one last time–prayed she cared enough to seek him out once again.

Electricity jolted through his entire body, head to toe, as she locked eyes with Spencer when he was in her direct line of sight.

She gave him a wink and a little wave, biting her lip through a larger-than-life grin; he felt giddy, hand coming up in an awkward half-wave. He silently cursed himself for the stiltedness of his actions.

She, however, didn't have such qualms as she blew him an air kiss, giggling as she turned away, skipping the rest of the way off stage. The screaming continued as the heel of her shoe disappeared behind the side-stage curtain.

He felt oddly hollow as the venue lights came back on, signalling the end of the show. He kept staring at the spot where she had last been, silently hoping she would come back out and sing again. Look at him again.

He blinked hard, finally re-orienting himself, glancing around to see a few people staring at him, whispering to themselves.

They were talking about him–about his encounter. He turned away again, ducking his head as his cheeks burned again.

As quickly as they came, the stares went again, and his eyes flicked back to the stage again. He so badly wanted to meet her, talk to her, even just lay his eyes on her again. That would be enough.

Penelope cleared her throat next to him, and he hummed in response, still not looking away. She snorted. “Come on lover boy, time to leave.”

He turned his attention to see her nod in the direction of the exit.

He gazed back at that spot once more, heaving out a melancholy sigh, before turning away, heading towards the door.

“Yeah, let's go.”

· · ──────────── ·𖥸· ──────────── · ·

Thank you for reading, feedback is appreciated x

Tags: @reidology13 - Comment to be added!

Masterlist ౨ৎ

[multificimagines]

Fandom: Honkai Star Rail

Pairing: Moze x reader

Description: You’re fatally injured

Notes: Um I don’t have a comment for this one lol

Warnings: Blood, very vague descriptions of injury

Moze tries not to think about the blood—pooling around you, dripping and smeared across your skin and clothing, and onto him. Now that the adrenaline of the fight has worn off, the thoughts are clawing their way into his mind. Filthy. Grimey. Unclean.

But the blood can be washed away, the clothing can be replaced if necessary. You, on the other hand—you can never be replaced. So he pushes past the sick feeling in his gut, trying instead to focus on that—on you.

“Moze…I’m sorry.” you say, softly, so softly that he almost doesn’t hear you.

But he does.

For a moment, Moze is truly, terribly afraid that you’re gone. “What?”

“I’m bleeding on you…” your words are slurring together in the haze of blood loss. He almost feels relieved that you responded.

But that relief is overshadowed by your words. That shouldn’t be your main concern—not now, while you were bleeding out. While you were so close to dying.

“Don’t worry about that,” he says.

“But…you…”

“Talk about something else,” he interrupts. “Stay awake. Just…talk about something else.”

You’re quiet for a moment, but you lean your head closer to his chest. “You’re warm,” you hum. “I think…I could stay like this forever. If I have to die, it’ll be nice to die in your arms…”

He reminds himself that you’ve lost a lot of blood, and that some of that blood is from a head injury. That your words mean nothing, that you’re too delirious to know what you’re saying.

Hopefully you’re also too delirious to notice how his heart betrays him, pounding in his chest in response to your rambling.

When Moze arrives at the infirmary, and hands you off to the Yaoqing doctors, you cling to him, reluctant to let go, but you’re too weak to put up any real fight.

It isn’t until later, when he’s finished cleaning all evidence of the fight and injury, and is scrubbing the blood off of his skin, that he realizes for a moment, when you breathed in his existence and thought it might be the last thing you ever knew, that he’d forgotten all else. That the world around him stopped, because the thought of really, truly seeing you die, overpowered all else.

Somehow, even when the blood is gone and his skin scrubbed raw, he doesn’t feel any less uneasy. All he can think of is you, the pool of blood that had surrounded you, the emotion he can’t quite place twisting in his gut even now, compelling him to stay by your side.

So Moze returns to the infirmary, keeping watch from the shadows.

-

It was a few days before you awoke, and were actually lucid.

Moze stood in the corner, leaned against the wall. He didn’t realize he drifted off until he was startled awake by the sounds of movement. His hand twitches toward his daggers instinctively before he realizes that it’s only you, sitting up in your bed.

You’re similarly startled when he emerges from the shadows, and your eyes land on him. You also reach for a weapon on instinct—though yours isn’t there—but you visibly relax when your mind catches up with you, and you realize it’s only him.

“You should still be resting,” he admonishes.

You raise a brow. “And you shouldn’t be in here. I doubt they’ve cleared me for visitors yet.”

Moze ignores your comment. “How do you feel?”

“Like I almost died,” you joke. “But really, I don’t remember much. It’s all kind of a blur. I’m not certain the things I do remember even happened.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, and not for the first time Moze takes in the state of you. Bandages wrapped around your head. He knows from his memory of your injury that beneath the blanket, you also have them around your abdomen and chest. Moze had known even as he made every effort to save you that your survival was far from guaranteed.

The phantom feeling of your blood crawls back onto his skin. He crosses his arms, tries to fight the urge to scrub and claw at the skin, because he knows it’s not there.

You’re the first to break the silence. “The medics said you brought me here. I owe you my life, Moze. I know it couldn’t have been easy…”

He remembers your apology. I’m sorry. I’m bleeding on you.

“There was no need to leave you to die,” he responds.

You smile. “That doesn’t mean I can’t be grateful.”

Your smile suddenly twists into a frown, your hand reaching up to brush against the bandages around your head. “I…didn’t say anything strange to you, did I?”

If I have to die, it’ll be nice to die in your arms.

“…No.”

You sigh in relief. “Thank the Aeons! That would have been humiliating…”

He suspects that you remember more than you’re admitting to, but if you would rather believe it never happened, then he’s willing to pretend it didn’t.

Somehow, though, he knows the memory of you, clinging to him, saying you’d be fine with dying if he was the last thing you saw, won’t soon fade away. That your blood will continue to linger on his skin long after he cleaned it, that the fear of losing you is now realized and forever ingrained in him.

That he really wants to hold you close, and feel you clinging to him like that again.

He’s quick to bury those emotions, and try not to think about it any further. But he knows they’ll surface again, and unlike the blood and grime, these emotions will not be so easily washed away.

[captainfern]

I NEED more Voyurism (? It's late and idk how to spell it in general💀) fics. Could you possibly do a fic with reader × Price and they're caught by Soap or Gaz and they possibly join in or something?

It's vague af but maybe just something with exhibitionism/voyurism. Being heard from another room, fucking quietly in the ssme room at a safe house maybe. I just ask they aren't caugh by Ghost. He's babygirl and all but he has so many fics i need more Gaz and Soap in my life

Ty!!😚

-🌻🐾

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Rock Bottom

voyeur!Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x gn!reader

[“Rock Bottom” by KISS]

[18+]

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• summary - you've always had trouble keeping quiet with price. it's not soap's fault he can hear how pretty you sound lol. • rating - 18+ • wordcount - 840 • warnings - gn!reader [hole is used], voyeur!soap but is it tho?? idk he listens through a wall 😭, m!masturbation, you and price be fucking while soap listens, descriptions of sex acts, strong language

ok ok i'm sorry i didn't write him joining in i just couldn't get into the groove of writing that idea BUT i'm all for a little horny pining and desperation 🙏

and leave my bby ghost alone it's not his fault he's sexy LMAO

ty for the request gorgeous <3

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Soap knew it was wrong.

His thoughts about you. His little crush. The way his heart quickened at the littlest amount of attention you gave him. The way his cock hardened when you flounced around base in your tight training gear. The way he fucked his fist every night to the thoughts of you.

He felt ashamed.

Even more so when Price would keep you company at night. Keep you warm at night. Keep you stuffed full at night.

Soap could hear it. Of course he could, he wasn't deaf.

Your bedroom was right next to his. The walls were relatively thin and your bed was directly beside it. Soap's was too. Sometimes he thought about how you were technically laying side by side, but separated by that stupid wall.

So on many occasions, Soap found himself laying flat on his back against his bed, blankets pooled beside his legs because he was overheating. Overheating listening to you getting absolutely railed through the wall.

It just wasn't fair.

He tried to ignore the fact it was your captain fucking you into your bed. He imagined himself in his captain's place. Stuffing your tight hole with his fat cock; fucking you rough into the mattress with your arse in the air; or maybe letting you ride him until he came deep inside you; or maybe you'd sit on his face and let him eat you out like you fucking deserved.

He found himself pulling his cock out of his boxers. Painfully hard, tip sensitive and red, pearls of precum dripping down his length. He'd spit into his hand, feeling even dirtier than he already felt, and then grip his cock hard at the base.

He'd listen as your pretty noises filtered through the wall. Soft whimpers, stretched whines, airy moans. Sometimes they were even more muffled— Soap imagined your face buried into your pillows as you were fucked hard from behind; or maybe you had a cock down your throat as you fucked yourself with your fingers.

He'd listen to the external noises that sounded deafening in his ears. Creaking bed frame, gentle slamming of the headboard, the slap of skin on skin. Soap imagined your pretty face as your hole was filled over and over again, body shunting up the mattress, your fingernails scratching and leaving bright red marks.

Fuck, he thought as he stroked himself. The glide of his hand was made easier by the copious ivory beads of precum rolling from his tip.

You were moaning particularly loud tonight. Your pretty voice carried through the wall and directly into Soap's ears as he fucked his fist, hips bucking as his pace quickened.

By now, Soap knew what you sounded like when you were close. It's a shame he didn't know what you looked like, but he could use his imagination.

Your moans of pleasure came out longer and airier, as though you were becoming breathless. They were more frequent, paired with desperate whines of please, please, please's. You released soft whimpers that had Soap's cock jumping in his hand, and a string of mumbled curses passing through his lips.

You sounded perfect.

He screwed his eyes shut and pictured your face. Maybe your eyes would roll back as he hit that spot inside you; maybe your eyes would go glossy with tears while he gripped the back of your head, forcing you to take his cock deeper into your mouth; maybe you'd bite your bottom lip to stifle a moan while he came deep inside your tight hole.

"Fucking hell—" Soap whispered desperately into the air of his room.

He was getting close, still bucking his aching cock into the vice grip of his fist. He imagined it being your tight hole, or the suction of your mouth. He whimpered at that, breaths coming in pants.

"M'gonna cum, sir— m'gonna cum—" You moaned quietly, but Soap heard you. Of course he fucking did.

Soap whimpered, all breathy and whiny. "Cum for me— ah, f-fuck— come on, cum for me—"

It's like you were listening to him. Soap knew you came when you released the prettiest sound of the night— keening and desperate, followed by a shuddered exhale.

You went silent for a moment, and Soap knew Price was kissing you while he rutted into you.

Soap was so close.

Your sounds began again— whimpering, soft groans. You were verging on overstimulation. You just wanted to be filled up. Poor baby.

"Mmm please, sir," you whined. "Cum for me, please."

"Fucking hell," Soap hissed between gritted teeth. "Coming, love, m'coming—"

He restricted the groan in his mouth by gritting his teeth harder. He came violently, his hips bucking and his head tossed back against his pillows. Hot spurts sputtered across his abdomen. He came so hard that a splatter dashed across his chest, nearing his collarbone. He whispered your name, over and over, until his cock softened in his hand, sticky with his spend.

Maybe it was the post-nut clarity but fucking hell.

He'd hit rock bottom with this.

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[ceilidho]

‘This has been cnc the whole time-‘ he’s insane and I love him ur honor

he's crazy and im obsessed with him.

you tell him you want him to pin you down when you fuck and not let you move and he goes well i can make it more obvious? and from then on out, you never fuck without a hand wrapped around your throat or pressed into the back of your head and smushing your face into the pillow when he rails you from behind. you squirm and say you need to readjust because your leg's cramping up and he just ignores you and drops down until his body is blanketed over you and your brain goes white when you realize you can't even twitch under his bulk.

[lovebugism]

being with toxic people on Christmas eve, hurt/comfort with eddie + shy!reader, because this is my situation and I'm projecting 😔

i'm so sorry angel! i hope this makes you feel a wee bit better!! — when being around family gets too hard, eddie makes everything feel easy again (shy!reader, hurt/comfort, friends in love, tw for brief mentions of toxic family, 1.1k)

blurbcember ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

December is bitter, glittering, and terribly cold. 

The crisp chill takes your breath away when you storm out into it. It burns your lungs and scratches at your chest like a living thing with claws. When the initial shock of wintry dreariness fades, you take your first deep breath in all day.

You feel somehow less alone out here by yourself than you did inside your own house. The falling snow keeps you company in a way your family never could. The empty, faint pink sky drapes over you like a fuzzy blanket. 

You think you’d rather freeze out here — in the peaceful, early-winter melancholy — than step foot back home.

You walk down the gravel path of the trailer park with snow crunching beneath your feet. The sound is soft and hollow and pleasant. The piling crystalline dampens your sneakers as your legs move on their own. Muscle memory at its finest. 

You gravitate towards the Munson trailer without thinking twice ‘cause the safest thing you know is waiting for you there — standing on his snowy front porch, smoking a cigarette, and shivering under a thick flannel coat that’s obviously older than he is.

A quiet smile lifts the corners of your mouth when you see him. 

Eddie’s winter-kissed features twist in concern at the sight of you, all alone and in the dark. “The hell are you doing out here?” he asks in place of any real greeting, breath leaving his rosy, chapped lips in a thin white cloud. “It’s freezing!”

You know this. The cold is impossible to ignore. You were just too eager to get out of your house, too eager to get here, that you forgot to notice how much your frigid limbs were aching.

“I wanted to see you,” you confess in a tiny voice, as light as the falling snow sticking to your hair and sweater.

Eddie’s chest swirls with warmth. Suddenly it’s summer, and everything’s golden instead of navy blue and bitter. With a sudden longing to close the distance between you, he says, “Get up here before you freeze to death.”

You climb up the steps of his porch without a word of complaint from your mouth. You gravitate towards him like he’s the sun, a bright yellow thing that makes the winter seem less dreary. You ache to be near him just the same, to hold him with your frozen hands until you’re warm again.

He reaches for the lapel of his coat, and you think he might take it off for you — swaddle you in its warmth like they do in the movies. Despite the swarm of butterflies the thought stirs in your stomach, you’d rather him keep it on. You don’t want him to suffer just because you forgot to put on a jacket before rushing here.

Only Eddie doesn’t take it off. He keeps it on and ushers you closer with a silent nod of his wild head. He wraps you up in it with him — with his palm on your back, his curls tickling your forehead, and his heart against your heart. 

You bury a final sigh of relief into his Corroded Coffin tee, thankful to be in his arms. He soothes you with the familiar scent of his musky cologne, heals you with the kindness of his touch. He opens suns inside your heart and makes you forget how cold you used to be.

“What happened?” Eddie asks, chin bobbing against your head. He snuffs out his cigarette on the small ashtray on the wooden railing, then swipes a hand over your hair to brush off the snowflakes sticking to you. “Why aren’t you at home?”

You make a vague I don’t know sound, muffled into his chest. “I just needed to be outside for a second,” you say finally, so soft your words get buried in the whistling wind. In a strained and fragile voice, you tell him, “It’s so loud back home.”

Eddie knows that’s not totally the truth. You didn’t leave in such a hurry that you forgot to put on a coat just because it was loud. You decided it was more important to risk freezing on your way to him than stay where you were, so it must be more than you let on.

Eddie doesn’t pry, though. Just holds you tighter.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” he says in a sympathetic sigh.

You can hear music playing from inside the trailer — Steve Miller Band, you think, or maybe Lynyrd Skynyrd. Uncle Wayne loves both, and their rhythmic guitar shakes the walls of the old house accordingly. The Munson clan’s closest friends and family manage to shout over it all, mixed with loud laughter and something warm. 

It doesn’t sound as mean as the shouting you’re most familiar with.

“How long do I have you before your folks start hunting me down?” Eddie asks, lips curled into a smile against your head.

“As long as you want,” you answer with a sad laugh. “No one’s coming to look for me.”

Eddie nods despite his stinging chest and sways you gently back and forth.

“Good. I wanted you all to myself— It’s what I asked for for Christmas, actually.”

You snort a disbelieving scoff.

“I’m serious!” he insists with a loud laugh. You feel the rumble of the boyish noise against the apple of your cheek. “I put the letter in the little Santa mailbox on Main Street and everything!”

“Well, I’m glad I could make your wish come true,” you joke with a conceding sigh. You pull slightly back from him, only enough to see his face. You find him smiling down at you, a pink grin that shows all his teeth. Beautiful. Warm. Sunlit.

You try to smile back. It’s a little too forced and ends up looking like a wince.

Eddie’s face twists in concern. Still smiling, just a little softer now. “You’re okay, right?”

You nod at first. ‘Cause you feel like that’s what you’re supposed to do. Then you realize it’s Eddie, and you shrug. “Now I am,” you answer finally, quiet in your subtle confession.

His rosy grin widens. “That is very cheesy,” he teases with a twinkle in his dark eyes. He squints them a second later. “You’re not flirting with me, are you?”

Your face burns hot as you laugh out loud. “No!”

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” he jokes, pouting now.

“Shut up.”

He shrugs. “I just thought we had something going here.”

“Are you flirting with me, Eddie Munson?”

“Of course I am!” he blurts with a laugh you can feel in your chest. “I’m surprised it took you this long to notice.”

You figure he must be joking, so you shove him away with a halfhearted hand. He pulls you back into him with gentle fingers wrapped around your arms, and you let him — resting your cheek against his shoulder with every intention of melting with him.

There’s something innately sweet about his presence. His warmth. This closeness. And this silent sense of understanding you share. 

You don’t want to think about what you’re running from anymore. 

You’re just glad you ended up here.

[myfanfic-urfantrash]

Honkai Star Rail A/B/O: "Borrowing"

Characters: Blade, Jing Yuan. And Welt.

Cw: omegaverse, nsfw

-------

Blade

Will "borrow" just about anything he has access to such as pillows and blankets from his mates nest. These are less bothersome items to take as he can always give them his own pillows and blankets to replace what he's taken from their room.

Clothes however are another story. If his mate wears something often like a scarf he may only take it if it's left sitting somewhere for some time. He doesn't want to upset his mate by just taking their favorite item out of no where but he does find their soothing scent hard to ignore.

Buries his face into the fabric of whatever he's borrowed and inhales deeply. He calms down so easily and the relaxed expression of his is very cute but he will get a bit embarrassed if he's caught in the act.

He has stolen his mates underwear after their heat/rut and has kept it for days leading up to his own. He'll typically steal them if he knows he's going to be away from them for a while and needs something to take the edge off while he's separated from them.

Jing Yuan

Regularly steals his mates clothes and will wear them if they fit. He just wants to be surrounded in his mates scent and let everyone know who he's with at the same time. Two birds one stone to getting competition to stay away.

His favorite items to borrow are shirts and any accessories that touch the neck a lot so they strongly smell of his mate. If his mate wears chokers you bet he's going to wear them regardless of his dynamic secondary gender be damned.

Has stolen his mates pillow and will not return them. What's theirs is his and what's his is theirs what difference does it make if he's taken this specific pillow He will of course return the pillow if they wish to have it in their nest but other than that he'll keep it.

During heats/ruts he likes keeping the sheets his mate and him got filthy for a while so he can wrap himself in their shared scent of passion. He may also steal their underwear but typically they both tend to forgo underwear during their cycles.

Welt

Doesn't steal his mates items and always asks to borrow things instead. What a gentleman. He does have his occasional weak moments especially if he's missing his mate and their jacket/pillow/etc is right there.

His favorite items to borrow the most are his mates blanket and often worn clothing they don't mind lending him. He'll even offer up his own blanket and clothes for his mate to use in exchange so the both of them have a piece of the other with them.

Loves to wrap himself up in his mates blanket when reading a good book or when he's got a headache from staring at screens too long. He feels so relaxed and as ease he might even start purring in contentment.

Hasn't borrowed anything for sexual reasons but his mate has left him "gifts" for him should he ever want them. He appreciates the offers though he's embarrassed to have them, it makes him feel young and foolish.