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ghostlychief · 6 months

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tomorrow will be kinder

Simon "Ghost" Riley x gn!reader

WC: 1900+

Warnings: brief mention of deaths; hurt/comfort; some fluff

Summary: When overly stressed by the calamity of your job, you find yourself pulling away from your teammates and even sometimes, your closest friends. Luckily for you, they don’t go anywhere, and patiently wait for your return. Although one person in particular, never lets you fester alone.

A/N: Hello!!! Feels like I haven't posted in awhile, so here we are. I hope if you stumble across it, you enjoy <3

-*-*-

You look down at the ground, while smoke billows around you, slightly clouding your vision. All you see are bodies caked in mud, lying motionless on the dirt path and you wonder to yourself how many dead bodies you have seen throughout your career.

How many? You couldn’t even count, there’s no point, not when it’s been this many. Maybe this was the tipping point for you. When the cold bodies that once held lives don’t bother you anymore. You no longer feel sonder creeping through your bones, making sure it covers you completely when you witness death. No, you just carry on like nothing happened. Day after day, your capacity to care and feel anything slowly drained out, and now you’re left empty and dry, wishing for relief from the arid cracks forming within you.

It's like you’re on autopilot, and have been for awhile now. After your last mission, you vaguely remember writing up your section of the report and handing it off to Price. You might have gone back to your quarters and spent the remainder of the day in bed. You cannot recall.

The days since then have gone by slowly, not much action going on. You don’t mind the quiet because sooner or later it’s going to get louder and louder until you’re back where you started: with destruction and death surrounding you, once again tipping you over.

You know you have been acting different. This has happened before, and your teammates understand why. They’re not too pushy about it, even though it seems like they ask you out to drinks or dinner more often than usual. You know they’re just worried and want you to feel included and that you are not on your own for this. You appreciate them, you really do. But they eventually get the hint that you just need some time by yourself, and the invitations stop coming. You don’t mind though, now you can finally rest without any external cacophonous noise. You only have to deal with the noise up in your head.

Going back to your quarters, you shut the blinds and lock your door, finally ready to take a fucking nap. You shut your eyes and sleep overcomes you.

-*-*-

When you finally come to, you realize you’ve woken up due to someone knocking (quite loudly) on your door. You briefly glance at the window, and there is no longer sunshine peeking through, so it must be past dinner time. You look at your watch and see that it’s almost 8p.m. You slept for a few good hours.

You rustle your way out of bed, not really caring what you look like. Unlocking your door, you mentally curse at whoever decided to come wake you, and you swing the door open more aggressively than you meant to.

When you glance up, you notice your teammate, Ghost, standing tall in your door frame, his toned arms crossed over his chest. He, for once, isn’t wearing any kind of mask over his face, which allows your eyes to dance across the scars that cover him. He has one in the hollow of his left cheek, a couple on his temple, and finally, one jagged mark near his upper lip, which has come to be your favorite scar of his. You were with him when he got it, after all.

You don’t miss the skip in your heartbeat as you admire the man in front of you, having to crane your neck in the slightest to do so.

You manage to say, “What are you doing here?” Your voice sounds a bit rough and groggy since you just woke up. You’re also pretty sure your hair is a mess too, and of course your t-shirt and shorts are ruffled in that “after nap” look. So basically, you are the spitting image of beauty.

“C’mon now, Dumpling. We both know why I’m here.” He once again makes your heart skip a beat, and you mentally curse him for it. Who is he to come here and make you feel these things? You were once annoyed by the nickname he gave you, but now, you mentally blush whenever he calls you that.

You still remember the day he designated the name for you. It was one of the first times he came to your room. He was fascinated by all of the small trinkets you had, looking around your desk and the shelves on your wall. When he came across your dumpling light, he started laughing. It’s one of the few times you’ve heard him laugh at all.

He turns towards you, a small smile on his lips, “Does that actually provide any light for your room? It’s so tiny.”

You restrain the urge to scowl at your new found friend from work, and say, “Actually, he does light up my room quite well. It’s for the ambiance.” Your tone quirked up at when you said ‘ambiance,’ which had Simon laughing again, but this time at you.

“Here, look.” You walk over and turn off most of your lights, only leaving on the string of lights and a couple other small lights. Low and behold, the dumpling light stood out amongst his companions, illuminating the shelf he was sitting on, casting a warm glow on you and Simon.

He looks so soft in the luminosity, looks so different than the rigid man you see in the field every day. You refrain the urge to trace his scars with the pads of your fingertips, so desperately wanting to trace his lips. You really need to snap out of it.

Simon acquiesced raising his hands up, “Alright, alright. I misspoke.”

You bump your shoulder against his, arms crossed, “Damn right. Never insult my dumpling light again. He’s good at his job.”

Simon turns his head towards you, “This dumpling means a lot to you, huh?”

You know he’s just teasing and you shrug, “I guess. I mean I’ve had him for years, and look how cute he is!” Your nose scrunches up as you smiled at the stupid light, and you didn’t even notice how Simon was looking at you. But if you did notice, you would have seen his smile drop to a warm grin, eyes sparking in the tender light of your room, looking at you with endearment.

When you finally turn back to him, he ruffles your hair and asks, “So, what shall we do on our night off, Dumpling?”

Your eyebrows shoot up and your voice cracks, “’Dumpling’?”

Simon leaned toward you, dipping his head down to yours so his lips were at your ear, “That’s your new nickname.”

“Oh hell no. Nope, not happening.”

“I don’t know, seems pretty fitting.” You were going to kill him.

Simon starts walking to your door, with you trailing behind him, arguing with him about his new moniker for you. Unfortunately for you, the name sticks.

You bring yourself back to the present and quip back, “To bug me?”

Ghost huffs, and decides to just bulldoze into your room without even asking. Rude. Although, he makes sure not to bump shoulders with you. Also, it’s not like he doesn’t do it often, so you let it slide and close the door behind you. You plop down on the bed beside him, a heavy sigh leaving your lips. Your room on the base isn’t spacious by any means, but it does its job while you’re on call.

You managed to get a full-size bed, which is tucked away in the corner of your room, furthest from the door. Pictures, paintings, and drawings cover the corner, making it into a cozy place for you to hide away in. String lights line your left wall, which gives the room a soft warm glow that shines in Simon’s eyes whenever he’s here. You also have little knickknacks scattered around, each one showing your personality bit by bit, almost like a trail to your soul.

You find solace within the four walls of your room, but you can’t solely give credit to it, you have to save some for the quiet, yet brooding man, sitting beside you. Your best friend.

Your shoulder rests against his sturdy one, and you can feel him breathing. You always seem to gravitate towards him, like planets orbiting a star.

The room is still quiet, and you bring your leg up on the bed and fold it, so you are slightly turned towards Simon. You bring up your other leg so it’s resting over the top of his knee. He’s wearing his favorite black joggers, and there’s a stark contrast between your white socks and his dark pants.

You trace your fingers along his forearm, trailing up and down the length of his arm. Something you don’t even realize you started doing until Simon takes that arm and wraps it around you, pulling you into him.

His voice ruffles your hair as he asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shrug, and mumble, “I don’t know.” You bury your face into his chest. Once again trying to avoid confronting your problems, and instead wanting to hide away.

“Speak up, Dumpling.” There’s a teasing undertone in his request, and it almost makes you crack a grin. Almost.

He tries again, “It’s just me, you know. You can tell me anything.” His hand rests comfortably on your shoulder and his thumb starts rubbing small circles on your arm.

You let out another sigh, “I’m just tired. And overworked, and I think I need a break.” Simon waits a beat to make sure you’re done talking before he offers his opinion on the matter.

“You know, that’s completely normal for the kind of job we have, Y/N. It’s alright to want to get away from all the violence and sadness we see every day. That’s just the human in you.”

“I just feel so disconnected from everything right now, and don’t know how to fix it.” You bring your hand up to Simon’s resting on your shoulder, and intertwine your fingers with his.

Both your hands are calloused and rough, but his hands have always felt perfect in yours, his large fingers encapsulating yours easily.

“We don’t have to do anything right now to fix it. We can just be, okay?”

You manage to murmur out an “Okay.”

Simon pulls you down with him, so now you’re both laying comfortably on your bed. He momentarily sits up to tug the blanket that rests at the foot of your bed, over the you both, then wraps himself around you. You can hear his steady heartbeat in his chest, and it pulls you down like gravity, anchoring you to stay in the orbit of his warm embrace. You can feel his lips on your temple, and he places a delicate kiss there before saying, “Tomorrow will be better, I’m sure of it.” You lay like that for the remainder of the night in the company of Simon.

Simon, who never fails to assuage you, make you feel lighter and like your old self again. Make you feel human. He seemed so sure of himself that you will overcome this, so you finally believe him, that yes, tomorrow will be kinder.

-*-*-

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m-ayo-o · 8 months

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₅ past

18+ // implied group sex // smidge of Toji x Satoru wc 1500 chapters m.list <- previous // next ->

Toji talking about how he used to go out and get laid with Toru to get over his ex!

You stir when light dapples through the curtains, feeling Toji’s breath against your forehead. He’s stroking your hair and kissing you as you wake, his deep, morning voice finding your ears.

You groan and curl up into his muscular body, wanting to disappear into nothing as your hangover sends pain through your little body. “You ok down there?” Toji mutters as you bury your face into his chest. “Mm… my head,” you manage to grumble.

You both get showered and dressed and Toji helps you vaguely recount the events of the evening, you remember most of it but he fills in a few gaps. He strangely kept tabs on how much you were drinking and seems slightly disappointed in your tolerance for alcohol, “You really didn't have that much,” he teases you.

You try to make him explain why he wasn’t even drunk, leading to him giving a vague response, “my body’s just different,” which seems obvious to you– you’ve never met anyone built like him.

But he sees the confused look on your face and changes the subject, “So, let me make you some breakfast and get you back to normal. You can't be groggy all day, sweet.” He mocks you and strokes your head softly.

He makes you both some breakfast, French toast with fruit, and you enjoy it together while sitting on the same chair he fucked you on last night.

“Don’t worry, I wiped it clean,” he gives you a grin, watching you squirm as you sit down, making you blush pink.

“So, what did you think of our little moment with Toru last night?” He asks, popping a strawberry into his mouth.

You nibble on your toast and think about the great sex you had with your lovely Toji, and with Satoru joining. “It was really nice,” you start, “Satoru was… really hot,” you finish quietly, your blush spreading.

“Uh huh? And you remember what we asked you after?” Toji encourages you with a smile. “Yes…” you roll your eyes, of course he has to be this blunt about it, “But first, can you tell me why you didn’t freak out?” You ask, sounding surprised, “You’re usually sooo possessive!”

“I’m not that bad, am I?” he asks with a frown.

“It’s not a bad thing. I just get the feeling that you don’t like other men looking at me, let alone touching me, or cumming on me…” you trail off, thinking about last night.

“Satoru is the only one… who is allowed to go near you, besides me.” He states sternly, giving you an intense look over the counter.

“See!” you return a cheeky smile, your point proven immediately, “You are possessive!” you giggle, making him furrow his eyebrows further. “But I like it. It makes me feel safe… and loved,” you add.

“You’re safe with me, and I do love you, so much,” his expression turns soft, giving you a little smile, “and with Toru… we’ve had, uh, experiences before,” Toji mutters, looking down at his nearly empty plate.

Your eyebrows fly up and you can’t help your lips parting in a surprised smile. Your mind races, thinking that Toji’s going to say he’s bi or something, or maybe he’s had sex with his gorgeous friend?

“W-what kind of experiences?” You manage to stumble out, curiosity taking over.

“Ah…” Toji brings a large hand to his forehead, massaging his temples, “when I was sleeping around, Toru would often come out to the bars and clubs with me, we’d end up in the same hotel room, with a few girls, you know…” he trails off, feeling embarrassed. You lean over the table as you pop the last few blueberries in your mouth.

“You need to hear any more?” he asks with a sigh. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” you smile and take your plates to the sink, washing them up.

“I just don't want you to think badly of me…” he murmurs in your ear as he stands behind you, his arms closing around your waist. He can tell you’re curious and you just want to clarify the relationship between him and Satoru.

You nod and follow him to the living room where he sits you on the sofa and plants himself opposite on the coffee table.

After giving you several warnings that you might not want to hear it, and that the details of his seedy past could change your opinion of him, you eventually get him to start talking.

“We’d go out and hook up with… multiple people,” he trusts you not to judge him at this point, but he still sounds a little tense, “one night we took turns fucking the same girl, another night we’d have five or six girls with us in our room.”

“That many?” You whisper as he just rolls his eyes with a sigh, “A lot of my one night stands were just with women, but I fucked around a lot with Toru, we just got double the attention if we went out together…” he rubs his forehead again.

“I’m sure you did,” you smile sweetly at your handsome man, getting a little hot just imagining the striking pair stepping into clubs and bars, all cocky and drunk and horny, ready for some trouble.

“And one night we were with these two girls…” his voice breaks you from your imaginary world, “we were asking them to do all sorts of stuff for us, like fucking perverts,” he covers his face fully, recalling the details, “but they wouldn’t budge. They said they’d do it if we did… me and Toru.” He looks up at you again.

“So…? What did they ask you to do?” You ask, trying not to smile.

“We made out, they did the same. We wanted to see them fingering each other,” he continues with a groan, “so we gave each other hand jobs. And we wanted one girl to… go down on her friend.” He pauses.

“Satoru straight up refused to suck my dick,” he laughs out of embarrassment as you nod and giggle, thinking Satoru made the right choice.

“But I was such a horny fuck and clearly couldn’t live without seeing this girl eat out her friend… so I straight up pinned him down and begged to suck him off.” He mutters out the last part. Your eyes widen. You knew he would’ve sucked his friend off, but you’re so surprised to hear that he begged for him. “I know. It’s so fucking stupid.” He mutters again.

“Toru said yes, so I sucked him… I even fucking swallowed, just to impress these girls,” he laughs again, scratching the back of his head, “so they followed suit and I got what I wanted. And we fucked them, me and him were making out and fucking around all night,” he admits.

“He couldn’t look at me straight the next day…” he chuckles softly, “but I was just getting so wrapped up in trying to get over her… it was damaging my friendships.”

You feel your heart twist up, finally hearing him mention his ex again. He's only spoken about her once before, when you were prying about his son. You know and respect that he wants to keep the details to himself.

“Toru obviously stuck around, but last night it just reminded me of when we used to go out together… it just feels like second nature with me and him, you know.” He lets out a deep sigh.

“But if you’re not interested it can just be a one time thing, ok?” He asks.

You’re left stunned for a moment, taking in everything he just told you, until you find your senses again.

“I would really like to have…” you hesitate, feeling shy, “a threesome, with you and Satoru. I’ve never done anything like that before,” you admit, bowing your head down away from his intense gaze.

“You… have never had a threesome?” Toji asks, surprised. I guess that kind of thing was so common for him it sounds funny that someone like you hasn’t tried it.

You shake your head. “Right, ok, well maybe for your first time we should go a bit easy on you, we can’t both have you in one night…” he murmurs, tracing his fingers over your lips.

You look into his green eyes as he tilts your head back up, “But I only love you, Toji.”

“I know, doll. I love you too. Toru would just be involved… sexually. He’ll look after you.” He leans over and kisses your soft lips.

“Thanks for telling, anyway,” you mutter as he joins you on the sofa, stroking your thighs.

up next: hot date [I]

[chapters masterlist]

likes, comments + reblogs appreciated! ♡

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #female reader #jjk x reader #18+ content #toji fushiguro smut #toji fushiguro

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atwingeofcringe · 6 months

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Enough

A/N: hello everyone! this is my first fic on this account! ive written 3 parts to this but ive written them in a way where they could all be standalones and there are time gaps between them but ive left it up for you to decide how much time! ive seen people say different time spans for how long it takes for him to warm up to an S/O and i wanted to keep it vague! even though i have the other 2 written im not sure when i'll post them because i have a lot going on right now but we'll see! i also tried to write these in a way so that you can imagine which ever version of Michael you like most or the version you think best fits! all my writing is done on my phone btw so sorry if there are mistakes i didnt catch! sometimes my phone likes to think it knows more than me lmao! Summary: Michael feels conflicted feelings as you patch up his wounds. Pairing: Michael Myers x Reader Warnings: None Word Count: 1,344

🔪

The sound of your back door opening and then closing broke your attention away from your tv for a split second, then you faced the tv again. Heavy footsteps made their way over to you but you remained watching your show, unconcerned. A dark figure emerged from around the corner and stood there silently, knife in hand, and staring right at you. Anyone else would have been frightened by this but, for you, this is a normal occurrence.

“Hey, Michael!” you greeted, looking up from your show.

Of course, you got no greeting in return, but that’s normal too. He stepped more into view, letting you see him more clearly and you gasped at the sight. He was covered in blood and clearly injured. You knew most of the blood wasn’t his but you were still worried.

You shot up out of your seat on the couch and quickly ushered Michael into your kitchen, where you kept your medical supplies, and sat him down at the table. His bloodied knife was taken to the sink for washing later. He didn’t think his injuries were that bad and why you fussed over him so much, he just wanted to come by to check on you. Still, he let you do what you wanted.

“Can you take this off?” You asked, pointing to his blood soaked coveralls.

He pulled the zipper down pushed the top of the coveralls down until it rested around waist, exposing plain black t-shirt that was also soaked with blood. You thanked him and carefully started tending to any fresh and exposed wounds you could see, all the while trying to keep skin to skin contact to a minimal. He’s not a fan of being touched and you didn’t want to make him angry.

While you did this, you could feel his eyes on you the whole time. You’re used to it, though. His eyes constantly followed your every movement. In the beginning, this used to make you uncomfortable. Now, you paid it no mind and sometimes even forgot about it.

“There.” You sighed, carefully pushing his shirt sleeve back down over his shoulder after taking care of a cut. He stared as you stood over him, looking him over to make sure you got everything. Your eyes scanned him until you got this masked face, seeing more blood on the mask itself and also some parts of his exposed skin from under the mask. You’ve never seen him without it on and you never wanted to ask in case it upset him, but you’re worried.

“Um, do you mind if this comes off too?” Unintentionally, your voice came out small and your throat felt a little dry. You didn’t mean to sound so nervous but you couldn’t help it.

He didn’t make any moves that indicated a yes or a no, only staring up at you. You slightly shuffled uncomfortably before deciding ‘fuck it’ and slowly lift your hand towards the mask. Your finger tips barely made contact with the bottom of before his own hand shot up at light speed and grabbing yours, making you nearly jump out of your skin. His hand gripped yours tightly and it was a little painful but ignored it and swallowed hard before opening your mouth to say something else.

“I-I just want to see if you need stitches or something.” Your voice was shaky and the sound of your heart pounding from the jumpscare was loud in your ears. “I don’t want you to get infected.”

He sat there, staring up at you from his seat and clenching your hand for a few more seconds before letting go. A quiet, relived sigh left your lips as the pain dissipated from your poor hand and you wiggled your fingers a little, trying to get out any lingering pain. Michael looked down as his hands came up and gripped the mask, slowly taking it off.

When the mask was fully off he didn’t look back up at you, letting his gaze linger down at the mask in his hands. For some reason, this made you nervous again but you swallowed your fear and spoke up. “Can I see?”

He was still. Is he afraid of something? Is he nervous too? Most likely, you’ll never know the thoughts swimming through his mind. He’s never been an easy person read, which is how he likes it. Honestly though, he was a little scared. He does’t want to be perceived as just a man and that’s all he felt like without his mask. With it on, he felt powerful and people feared him. Now, here he is risking that reputation and for what? A few cuts and bruises? He knows he doesn’t have to do this but something about your good nature towards him compelled him and it was leaving him feeling conflicted.

“Michael?”

Your voice interrupted his thoughts and he huffed, acknowledging that he heard you.

“Can I see?” You asked one more time. Michael sighed and lifted his head, locking eyes with you once more. You had to stop yourself from gasping at the man in front of you. You’ve thought about what he might look like before but you never expected him to be so… pretty. A smile formed on your face as you tried to fight the blush that threatens to light up your cheeks. “There you are!” You said cheerfully.

He isn’t sure what you meant by that but he sat up straight to let you examine the cuts on his face. You leaned in closer to get a good look but not too close so you didn’t make him uncomfortable.

“Just a couple scratches.” You said, mostly to yourself. “These don’t look bad at all. You’ve got quite the bruise here, though-“ without thinking your hand came up to lightly trace the dark spot that formed near his eye but before you could, his hand came up once again squeezing yours and making squeak in surprise. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking!” You winced.

Micheal stared up at you with a dangerous expression. How could you be so absent minded? Have you forgotten who he is? Did taking of his mask actually ruin your image of him? The thought of his dangerous reputation being ruined angered him and he absent mindedly squeezed your hand harder just thinking about it.

“Michael, your hurting me!” You were nearly on the verge of tears from the pain and trying to pull your hand away.

Michael started thinking about how much you’ve done for him over the time he’s known you. Always worrying about him, giving him a place to hide and rest, feeding him. Would letting down his walls be so bad if it was just you? He knows he’d be just fine without you but thinking of you not existing in his life made him disappointed.

His grip on your hand softened but he didn’t let go. He was still holding on firmly, keeping you from pulling away. You gave up and watched him as he watched you. His eyes pierced yours in a way you feel like you hadn’t seen before. You gulped and asked “are you okay?”

Micheal slowly blinked up at you and loosened his grip on you a little more. You could pull away now if you wanted to but made no attempt. What happened next made butterflies erupt your stomach and you know your face was bright red. Micheal slightly turned his head, now facing your hand, keeping his eyes on you, and placed a gentle kiss to the middle of your palm. Your heart was pounding so hard the sound was nearly deafening in your ears. As his lips left your hand, he softly pressed it against his cheek. You weren’t sure what caused his sudden change in mood, but, honestly, you weren’t complaining.

Your eyes flicked to his lips for a split second before looking back into his eyes. He noticed but made no moves and you were fine with it. Just being close like this was enough.

#Halloween #Michael Myers #Michael Myers x Reader #Slasher x Reader #Slashers x Reader #im so nervous about posting omg 😩

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writtenontheport · 9 months

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The Haunted Boy and His Ghostly Girlfriend

Pt. 1: Finding Common Ground in Communication!!

(Prologue) (pt. 2)

Anthony Lockwood x fem Reader

Warnings/Tags: A bit of a story-building instalment, Slow (?) burn, Meet cute, Reader is literally a ghost 💀, Whenever Reader’s mute basically story wise because it’s from Lockwood’s POV, No use of (y/n), Vague descriptions of reader being a jewel and a gem, this part is plot relevant I promise 😭, pulling some of this out of my ass IM SORRYYYY, I had to make it work somehow…, not much rom or com in this one, more plot and lore and scheming

Notes: I’ll have you know I literally was cross referencing stuff from the wiki, the books, and then the show to try and figure out how tf to write this 😭 There are FOUR drafts of what this scene could have looked like and this is what I had to settle on 😭 Please suspend your disbelief!!

Summary: Lockwood and co. make an astounding discovery about their newest friend, and they are all happy about this for completely different reasons. Lockwood’s reason? Well, he just heard the voice of the most beautiful person he’s ever seen.

Word Count: 1.4k+

“Lucy? George? I think I found her,” Lockwood calls down the hatch, leaning on the pushed up door with a wrist resting on the hilt of his rapier. He sends you a charming smile, and revels in the small one you return. Underneath you both, you hear Lucy and George scramble up the ladder.

Lockwood found you in the house’s attic surrounded by haphazard stacks of sideways furniture, old mirrors, and dated portraits. There was the odd box or few sprawled about; big and small and gigantic, but just about everything was covered in cobwebs except for the window. Moonlight filters in and passes through you from the drawn curtains, framing you a sparkling jewel amongst the mess and clutter of the attic. Lockwood found it hard to tear his eyes away from you, but not out of fear, no.

Like a jewel glimmering in the darkness, you were beautiful and ethereal in all the ways Lockwood hadn’t imagined people could be; dead or alive. Sat on the windowsill with a weariness gleaming in your eyes, you didn’t quite scare Lockwood as much as you enchanted him.

“Lockwood? Did you—“ Lucy says, popping her head up through the open hatch. Her breath catches when she sees you, and you send her a wary smile as she climbs into the attic.

“Is she there, Lucy?” George calls from the ladder, a supply bag on his shoulder. Your eyes drop to the open hatch, but focus back on Lockwood when he leans down to take the bag from George and help him up.

“Yeah, she’s… right here.” Lucy whispers, sounding like she just ran a marathon. Lockwood resonates with that feeling. He looks back up at you and wills his heart to quiet down where it’s beating against his ribcage and slamming into the bones.

George turns around slowly, eyes finding you where you’re laying along the windowsill. You look tired and defeated, a deepness about your eyes that screams of exhaustion. It makes Lockwood’s heart seize as George whispers to him and Lucy, “Have you found her source yet?”

Before anyone can answer, your mouth opens and you soundlessly begin to speak; Lucy perks up and her eyes light. “Where is it?”

Your ghostly hand points to a corner near the window, mimicking a small box as you soundlessly explain to Lucy where and what it was. She nods, determined, as she steps over a few relics and cobwebs along the floor.

“A necklace in an ornate box,” She says aloud, using her rapier to cut away some of the cobwebs. “Definitely over here, but it’s been a few years since you’ve seen it?”

You nod and say something only Lucy can hear, but George follows along and begins helping her dig about. Lockwood steps forward to face you, feeling more and more breathless with every step. He honestly doesn’t know what he’s doing, so he instead says the first thing that comes to mind when you peer at him curiously.

“When we find it, we’ll have to secure it for a bit while we bring you home. You won’t be able to do anything while we have your source contained, but it won’t be long, I promise,” He tries to say reassuringly.

You give him a wary frown with your brows furrowed and lips pursed thin. You open your mouth to say something, but pause to think about it further. From here, Lockwood can see even stray strands of your hair and the bat of your lashes, so lifelike even in the blur of ectoplasm. Weakly, you shrug, not meeting his eyes.

“I promise you, we won’t keep you there forever. We just need to transfer your source.”

From behind him, Lockwood can hear George and Lucy whispering before Lucy comes up beside him. She’s got her hand on the hilt of her rapier out of instinct, but it’s rested and loose.

“We just want to keep you company while Pepper’s away,” Lucy explains, eyes flitting between you, Lockwood, and George. “She asked us to keep you company, and it’s easier to take you home with your source contained.”

You seem to say something in argument, but Lucy’s smile doesn’t falter so Lockwood takes it as a good sign. Somehow even with your face scrunched up, you looked absolutely enchanting in the moonlight. Lockwood was starting to wonder if this was a type three ability.

“If we were caught out in the night with you, someone else might try to take your source. They might hide you away or destroy it if they catch you,” Lucy says gently, nodding out to the street visible from the window. Somewhere along the sidewalk, a ghostlamp is flickering in the distance. In the light of it, a stray agent or two was walking along the street. You seemed to think it over, frown ever present.

“You have my word as agency head; we won’t just keep you locked away.” Lockwood steps closer to the window as you squeeze yourself into one side far from them. He felt touched a bit at how you avoided them; likely you knew it was dangerous and didn’t want them hurt. Your eyes search his face for any hint of a lie, before you slump back into the window and look down onto the street.

Lucy seems to light up at whatever you say next, and gives Lockwood a discreet thumbs-up and impressed smirk. She turns to you, even though you aren’t looking at her, and says, “You won’t regret it.”

A silence settles between you as Lucy steps back to help George look for your source, sending Lockwood a significant look before she too disappears behind a few stacks of antiques. The room is filled with their whispering and bickering, as Lockwood tries not to let his eyes linger on you for too long.

You turn to him, and his heart stops when your lips upturn into a tiny smile. It’s terribly heartwarming how cozy you look in this cold air, and he almost wants to peel off his coat to give to you before realising you were what made it cold. You catch the aborted action with a grateful nod, tucking your lips in to hold a laugh. Not like he would have heard it (a damn shame it was) but he still found himself grinning.

“Almost forgot you probably don’t mind the cold,” He says cooly, watching you shrug. Your hand motions something in the air, before you give up and instead mime pulling a rapier from your hip.

“This old thing?” Lockwood asks, standing up to unsheathe it away from you. You nod and gesture to it again, miming a stab before a thumbs-up and a thumbs-down with (this is important to Lockwood) playful expressions that make his chest warm.

“I’m quite good, if that’s what you’re asking.” He makes a quick, but precise swing at a nearby cobweb and revels in the amusement shining on your face. “I have some newspaper clippings you can see once we bring you home.”

If you giggled there, he’s truly sad he couldn’t hear it. He goes to voice this befote George steps out from the corner with what looked to be a necklace in his hand. His jaw was slack in surprise, and he looked frozen to the spot with his eyes as wide as saucers. Behind him, Lucy was softly calling his name in concern with a hand on his shoulder.

Before Lockwood could ask him what was wrong, George says to you, “I think I heard you just now.”

Your eyes widen, as you sit straight up on the window and ask him a question Lockwood can’t hear. George’s eyes widen, and Lockwood feels his blood pounding in his ears in the silence.

“Lucy, did you hear them ask that?” George doesn’t turn around to face her, but she nods and gives a murmured reply. A glimmering jewel and chain shine in the same moonlight framing you— a gem in every which way.

The next thing that happens comes as a blur to Lockwood, who asks, as if in a trance, to borrow the necklace to hold. Your eyes follow the jewel as George passes it to him, everyone still bewildered and the air tense and cold.

“I don’t think it’ll work for you, Lockwood. You don’t have the talent to listen,” Lucy murmurs to him with a scrunched frown. Still, George passes it over.

“I have to at least try.” Lockwood gently wraps his fingers around the necklace, a bit of chain loose as he turns to you with a soft smile.

He fumbles for words like they’re caught on his tongue, before he simply settles on, “Hi.”

Even without being able to hear you, somewhere in his bones he can feel your words like a kind and fuzzy thought reply to him. It’s enough to have him grinning ear to ear, even if it doesn’t exactly help him understand what you’re saying. Your gaze grows a bit fond at that, and you say something Lucy catches that causes her to smile wide.

On the sidelines, George murmurs, “I can run so many tests.” Lucy smacks his shoulder at his tactlessness, but her smile is unfaltering. She pulls a small, glass case out and pops it open.

“Any last questions, Lockwood? I won’t ask you George because we’ll be here all night otherwise,” She hums, holding out the box.

Anthony’s grin widens and he asks elatedly, “What’s your name?”

Like all the things you will share with him in the future, your name etches itself into his memory, right beside where he will always hold dear your glittering smile.

A/N: I DON’T LIKE THIS PARTTT 😭 It had to be written though… I needed this piece to focus on the plot so I up the romcom in the next part UGH I JUST,,, I just wanna write the slice of life ok,,,, LIKE,,, Lockwood taking his ghost gf out on a mission and she has to save his self-destructive ass like… HELLO. I NEED THAT. My brain though is like “Nooooo… set up plot first bae 🥰☝️” LIKE THIS IS SO MEAN AND NECESSARY BUT SO MEANNNNN

ALSO!! I already posted this, but I went back, read the ending, and was like “No… :((( It no good fo me…” and retconned it AFTER I already posted it…. Yes I am silly, Yes I am incredibly nit-picky with my own writing 😞

Taglist 🏷️

@tangledinlove

@naive-daydreamer (thank you for the ideas!! and the original request!!)

#portie writes fanfic #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood x you

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mortwig · 1 year

Text

Sparks Fly

Entry for the amazing’s @withahappyrefrain “Dicked Down December”. Written for the loveliest and kindest person ever born: @ouralcohol

18+ EXPLICIT [minors DNI] - Peter Parker fanfic

Words: 5,2k

Pairing: fem!reader* x Peter Parker (based on TASM!Peter but flexible)

Summary: Friends/Co-workers to Lovers, Christmas vibes

Tags: 18+ explicit, strangers to work besties to lovers, so much fluff, smut (only in the Epilogue though), nudity, vaginal sex, oral sex (both F receiving), all characters are 18+.

Song inspo: Sparks Fly by Taylor Swift

Moodboard: here

“I hadn’t realised we needed a new PE teacher?” you mentioned casually, while taking a bite of your sandwich. You and your work bestie, Kayla, were sitting under the shade of some trees, hiding from the hot late summer sun. Children were running around playing tag, sometimes even using you as cover.

Kayla looked up quickly, mild panic on her face. The principal was with a tall, dark-haired man, pointing to the different facilities from the other end of the playground. “Tan pronto?” she whispered under her breath.

You looked at her quizzingly. Kayla always wore her heart on her sleeve. She was never good at hiding emotions, and right now was no exception. She took a deep breath and, looking down at her shoes, said:

“I’ve been offered to be vice-principal in a different school… And I’ve said yes. I guess that guy must be my replacement.”

“Kayla, that is amazing! Enhorabuena!” You went to hug her, but she turned, tears welling up in her eyes.

“The job is in Florida.”

Your face dropped, and your arms did too, now hanging uselessly at your sides. The tears were also making an appearance on your face.

“I’m sorry.” She managed before the sobs overtook her.

You looked at her for a long moment before pulling her into a hug.

“I’m not. You’ve needed a change for a long time and this sounds like an amazing opportunity. I’m proud of you for taking this step. And I’ll be visiting. Often. You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

It turned out that Kayla’s replacement as a science teacher was a guy from New York called Peter Parker. Rumour had it he was running away from something, or someone, back home. But when you asked, he just gave a vague response about him “also needing a change”. You didn’t press any further. After all, we all have our demons.

He caught on pretty quickly to the bond you and Kayla had, and it was as though he could feel your pain. Every time you felt the sadness creeping in, he would pop by with a question about school protocols or class locations.

Some petty part of you wanted to dislike him. He would never replace Kayla. He was just some guy. And the truth was, he didn’t replace her. But instead, he filled a void you didn’t know you had. You and Kayla had bonded over good food, Top Gun, and fanfiction of some superhero or other. You’d cook and then be lazy together, laughing and fawning over hot fictional guys and celebrities. Peter was different, he was intent on learning Spanish and he convinced you to go on runs together so he could practice his pronunciation. After endless conversations about anything ranging from soccer to Taylor Swift lyrics, by Thanksgiving you were essentially inseparable.

“Listen up, team! This year, it’s the music department’s turn to organize the staff Christmas party.”

You saw at least four people near you stifle a disappointed groan. The music department was composed of three very extra teachers who were known for the most extravagant ideas and an obsession with glitter for some reason. You wondered if they’d magically found each other or if joining the group implied a transformation into whatever they had going on.

Diana, the oldest of the three, stepped up, hands clasped in an effort to hide her excitement.

“We have a very special evening prepared for all of you. Unfortunately, the PE department wasn’t okay with us using the gym because, I quote ‘it’s a bitch to clean up, and you’ll be too hangover to do it’. So we’ve had to move the location to the old Victorian house at the end of the road that turns out is owned by Michael’s great aunt and which has been recently renovated in an effort to rent it out to tourists next summer.”

Diana’s gossiping and oversharing was nothing new, and most of the staff were only half listening by this point.

“The theme is Christmas fairytale. You must adhere to the theme. If you do not, you will be banned from the bar area. You have been warned.”

“Oh my god.” You whispered. “They did it. They figured out how to get people to put in some effort. Threaten them with an alcohol-free Christmas party.”

Peter giggled under his breath next to you. It didn’t matter how many times you heard that stupid laugh of his, it still made your heart skip a beat. It was like hearing a song you loved as a child that you’d forgotten about. Like the gasp of excitement at the arrivals lounge of an airport on the 24th of December, when someone sees that person they’ve been missing for ages. Like the pop of a champagne cork celebrating a long-awaited pregnancy over Christmas dinner. Like the crinkle of wrapping paper around a perfectly chosen present. It was a simple sound, but it filled you with pure, soul-warming joy.

You didn’t dare look his way though, because he might notice a slight red tinge to your cheeks, a vague indication of a simmering feeling trying to find its way out of your chest, one way or another.

“Kayla, I don’t want to go…”

“You’ve said that seven times in the last hour. I’ve been counting.” Kayla had her phone up by her stove and was making something that, you assumed, smelled as delicious as it looked. Her hands were on her hips, in a proper scolding teacher pose.

“But it’s true…” You pouted, sitting back on the mattress. The numerous layers of fabric of the dress you were trying on covered most of the bed.

“What exactly is the problem? We’ve already decided that the dress is beautiful and on theme, you’ll get enough alcohol to endure Sarah’s incessant bickering, you can watch Jerry make a fool of himself on the dancefloor after four tequilas, and most importantly: you can collect intel on all the new flings that form under the glittery mistletoe that these guys have undoubtedly hung in every dark corner.”

“But it won’t be any fun without you…”

“You have a new friend now!”

“He’s no you.”

“No, he’s way hotter.” Kayla raised her eyebrows and smirked at you through the phone screen.

“Shut up.” you replied, rolling your eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“Why not though?”

“Because… I’m not looking for anything right now.”

“Come on… You’ve ‘not been looking for anything’ for years now. Isn’t it time to have some fun? Or at the very least, some drama to entertain your best friend?”

“You’re the worst. Peter and I are on track to become good friends. If I lose him over a silly infatuation, I’ll be even lonelier without either of you. Not worth it.”

“HA! I knew it! I knew you liked him.”

You instantly regretted your wording, but there was no time to discuss it further. The doorbell rang and with a quick “Gotta go, bye!” the call was over and you were clumsily slipping out of the dress.

“Coming!!” you shouted as you slipped on an oversized hoodie. Hopefully it was the delivery guy with that cute light-up Christmas jumper you’d ordered two weeks ago.

But when you opened the door, Peter was standing there, looking absolutely dashing. Because the truth was, what you told Kayla was a “silly infatuation” was in fact a full-on raging crush. And it had been going on for weeks now.

The way you thought about him switched in your brain right after Thanksgiving. You had a very bad brain day. You didn’t mean for things to escalate, and you certainly didn’t mean to cry in front of him, but all the emotions you had been bottling up exploded and all sorts of negative thoughts appeared all at once.

And he’d said nothing, because there was nothing to be said. You didn’t want to hear another “it’ll be okay” or another “it’ll pass”, and he didn’t say those words. Instead, he hugged you and held you for a minute, five, half an hour, forty-five minutes. While you just cried and cried and cried. And then when you stopped sobbing, he took your hand, took you to the nice bar down the road, bought you a smoothie and told you about the movies that he and his aunt May and uncle Ben used to watch every single Christmas.

Since then, every one of his smiles held a different meaning and every one of his light touches to your arm stung like an electrical discharge. And while you knew nothing could happen -should happen- between you, you couldn’t stop yourself from imagining a life with him, your mind racing with images of picket fences and golden retrievers and children running around the living room.

“Hello…” Peter was still standing in front of you, his eyes wide in both confusion and worry. How long had you been standing there, staring into the void, thinking about how in love you were?

“Peter!” You blurted out.

“That’s me…”

You continued to stare blankly at him, your brain refusing to cooperate as your heart raced at the sight of his unruly hair sticking out in twenty different directions.

“I’m not one to judge anyone’s fashion sense, but I have to say I’m surprised that you chose the mustard stain look to go to Taylor Swift karaoke.”

“Wasn’t that Thursday?”

“Darling, today’s Thursday…” If your brain was short-circuiting before, his use of the endearing term sent it into overdrive and you felt light-headed for a second. You recovered quickly though, you’d had enough breakdowns in front of him for what was left of the year.

“Fuck.”

Despite the facts finally falling into place in your brain, you still didn’t move. So, Peter gently placed his hands on your shoulders and moved you to the side, stepping into your hall.

“You go get changed, I’ll grab the tickets. Where can I find them?”

“Yes, right, sorry.” You shook your head, coming back to Earth. “I think they’re stuck to the fridge. Otherwise… Somewhere on the counter, I guess. I’m sure you’ll find them eventually.”

You ran upstairs to your bedroom, your ballgown still covering most of your floor space. You didn’t really have the time to curate an outfit so you took the most basic black dress and the first pair of nice shoes you could find. It hadn’t even been ten minutes and you were back by the front door, keys in hand, coat on.

“Okay, I’m ready. Sorry about that.”

“You have a very messy place.”

“Not usually, I don’t… It’s just been a messy few weeks.” Messy in your head, you meant. Because it had been a long time since your heart had been in such a fit of emotion that it neglected all responsibilities. Like the night before, when you’d ignored the pile of dirty dishes and instead opened a bottle of wine and wrote self-indulging friends-to-lovers fanfiction that was definitely not a vivid daydream of Peter and you.

“I like your wall art, by the way…” You felt him looking at you from the corner of his eye as you locked the door and headed towards your car. “Spiders, huh…?”

You chuckled. “Yeah, spiders…”

“What’s so funny about spiders?” Did he sound almost… offended?

“Nothing actually. I used to be very scared of them. I sometimes am, still. But that wall art is part of my journey of getting over my fears, and it’s also a reminder of what I’m capable of if I get my mind to it.”

You glanced his way. He looked equal parts confused and in awe.

“Sorry, that was way too deep.” You cleared your throat, suddenly a bit overwhelmed and ashamed of your oversharing. “What do you want to sing first? I say we start with a classic, something from Speak Now maybe?”

Peter was still just staring at you. He didn’t laugh though, he didn’t even look uncomfortable. He seemed just… curious. After what seemed like an eternity in your over-thinking brain, he finally spoke slowly:

“Perhaps ‘Sparks Fly’.” He didn’t take his eyes off your face, studying you, your reaction, the way your eyes widened ever so slightly before you could put on your best neutral expression.

“A bop. Sounds good.”

You tossed and turned in bed, running through the events of the evening in your mind. Aside from the rocky start, it had been generally uneventful. Or so you tried to tell yourself. Because really, was there much to pinpoint that would make it different from any other meet-up with friends? There had been his hand gently touching your waist on your way into the bar. How he twirled you on your way to get a drink because someone was singing Lover. How he’d made his way to the bartender and winked at you when he got your order right within the first guess. And a million other tiny things. But above all, more than every other little gesture of kindness and every other possible indication of flirting, there had been Sparks Fly. How he’d held your hands throughout the chorus, and how he’d stared deep into your eyes and ran your hands through your hair at the start of the bridge. You’d expected him to laugh it off, to say he was just joking. Anything, any indication that there was not something weird going on between you. But he hadn’t. And now you were left wondering if maybe it was reciprocal. If he also felt the butterflies, the tension, the tug at his heart to kiss you when he leaned in to help you open your front door that always gets a bit stuck in the evenings. He said nothing. You said nothing. And you supposed life went on, same same but different.

As usual, you’d miscalculated how much time you would need to get ready and you were running late. You still had to do hair and make-up and you were supposed to meet Peter in ten minutes. You sighed heavily as you sat down in front of your mirror, phone in hand.

> Running late

> I’ll meet you there

> You sure?

> I don’t mind waiting

> Yeah sure

> You’ll just stress me out

> I would never

You giggled at the glassy-eyed cat sticker on your screen.

You hated – hated – getting to events alone. It was so awkward. Even if you knew everyone there, and you got along well with most of them. That feeling of having to find a conversation to engage in, those first few minutes. They were awful.

The hall was empty when you arrived so you sneaked a selfie in the huge vintage mirror that decorated one of the walls. You sent it to Kayla. After all, the outfit had been chosen with her. You were wearing a huge puffy white and ice-blue dress that shimmered magically under the light. A delicate mistletoe wreath on your head and some angel wings completed the look. “A Christmas angel-fairy”, Kayla called it.

You followed the noise to what must have been the dining room, but which had been turned into a ballroom. You gasped at how magical it looked. The renovated ceiling had been decorated with thousands of tiny lights that gave the room a warm glow and made everything look ethereal. The heavy red velvet courtains were drawn, and two fireplaces were lit. Christmas trees stood in every corner, decorated with classic red ornaments and gold tinsel. A bar had been set up at the end of the room, by a band that was playing a cover of Ayo Technology. They had several big bowls full of smoking drinks, and a guy dressed as an elf was mixing drinks for a very happy-looking admin team.

You looked around for Peter, in hopes of going straight to talk to him instead of having to engage in small talk with colleagues you weren’t nearly drunk enough to deal with. It might have worked, had he not been standing at the opposite end of the room. He was wearing black suit and trousers, a flowery midnight blue vest and a beautiful matching cape that brushed the floor with his every move. And… was that an eye patch? What even was that costume?

It took you close to half an hour to make your way to him, which included, amongst others: four compliments on your dress, one joke about the mistletoe on your head by Olivia from admin, and several questions about how Kayla was doing in Florida.

“What is that supposed to be? Santa’s ocean affairs delegate, pirate Parker?”

Peter scoffed, and even before he turned, he already shot back:

“Excuse you, you uncultured ignorant. I’m uncle Drosselmeyer from the Nutcracker. And this cape took a week to make, so be nice.”

Your eyebrows shot up. He’d never mentioned an interest in ballet, let alone in sewing.

When he finally took a look at you, he let out a low whistle. “Damn, you look stunning.” He took your hand and twirled you slowly, admiring the outfit from all angles. “I didn’t know you vibed with long gowns and angelical accessories.” His cheeks were slightly redder than usual, and you couldn’t tell if he’d already had a couple of drinks or if he was somewhat flustered.

“It seems we still have a lot of things to learn about each other.” You muttered under your breath.

You really thought you’d said it quietly. The room was loud enough that you had to speak up to hear and be heard. Yet Peter leaned in closer, your cheeks almost touching, and whispered just loud enough that you almost weren’t sure if it had been your imagination:

“I can’t wait.”

You took a step back in surprise, but he’d already turned to one of the arts and crafts teachers to compliment her elaborate hairdo with little golden bells sticking out of it. People really went all out when alcohol was on the line. You were no exception. You headed right to the bar.

You danced, you talked, you drank, you laughed. You even cried once in the bathroom after you saw Kayla’s supportive messages in response to your picture from earlier.

It was almost midnight and you were positively drunk. The kind of happy drunk that gives you just a little too much confidence and a lot of courage. So when the band’s guitar player started playing the first few notes of Love Story, you ran to Peter so you could sing it together at the top of your lungs.

His eyepatch long gone and his hair messier than ever, you could tell he was also drunk. His casual touches were becoming more frequent. His eyes lingered in yours for longer. His smile was cheekier. His whispers more intimate. And, in your inebriation, you felt that spark between you stronger than ever. As if you could almost see it if you focused on the narrowing space between you.

It still came as a surprise when the band got to the outro and he put both his hands on your waist and pulled you close.

“Let’s go outside for a minute.”

He must have been exploring the house earlier because, instead of taking you out through the front door, he led you upstairs through the beautiful staircase in the hall, his hand firmly around yours. You looked around dreamily, your eyes hazy. Whatever the music department had done with the party, you had to give them that it truly felt like a Christmas fairytale. Through a few doors, you were out on a balcony, overlooking the backyard of the house which was also decorated and lit with a range of Christmas decorations.

You stood there, looking out at the beautiful scenery around you. For a minute, you forgot you were there with Peter, you were just drunk and happy and content.

But then Peter let go of your hand. And, as if he was the anchor keeping you from slipping out of your daydream, you looked back at him, concern drawn on your features. Your heart started beating, it felt loud enough that if Peter started talking, you weren’t sure you’d hear him.

“Y/N…”

He searched your face for something, but you were too scared to say anything.

“Listen, I’ll probably regret this when I wake up sober and hungover tomorrow morning…” His voice trailed off, and he cleared his throat, maybe trying to gather enough courage to carry on. “I… I think I’m in love with you.”

Your eyes widened, your mouth agape in shock. You couldn’t form a single word, let alone a full sentence. Seeing how you had been left speechless, Peter continued, trying to fix whatever might have been broken with those few words.

“But I promise I won’t let it affect our friendship. I have a lot of fun with you, I don’t want to lose the best friend I’ve made in years.”

You continued to stare at him, your mind racing but your tongue tied. Ten seconds passed, twenty, maybe thirty, and you said nothing. It must have looked terrible from his perspective. But you couldn’t work out what to say, you were frozen in place.

“I’m so sorry.” He turned and walked back inside, while your hand covered your mouth and you tried to work out what to do. Would you risk the friendship you felt in your bones could be one of the most important ones in your life? Would you risk the awkwardness at work if it didn’t work out? Would you, for a relationship life you always claimed you didn’t want? You already knew what your heart would respond to all those questions: yes, yes, yes. You searched your reason, your cold, calculating brain, for a different answer. But again: yes, yes, yes. How could you not?

Your heels were comfortable but it was still a struggle to run with the voluminous dress.

“Peter wait!” You yelled when you got to the top of the staircase. He was almost downstairs, his cape flowing behind him with every step he took. “I’m sorry!”

He looked back, caution written all over his face.

“I’m sorry.” You repeated as you rushed down. “I don’t want to lose you either, but…” panic replaced every emotion that was rushing through your veins, as you felt one of the silky underlayers of the dress get caught under your toes. In slow motion, you realized Peter was too far down to catch you, but at least you wouldn’t take him down with you. Your wreath went flying off your head as you braced yourself for impact. But the crash against the cold steps never came, only two warm arms holding you firmly.

“But what?”

You looked around in shock, trying to work out how he’d made it up half the staircase in less than a second. “How…?”

“But what?” he insisted, interrupting you. You looked back at him.

“But I’ll risk it all.” You inhaled deeply. “Because I think I’m in love with you too.”

Peter’s relief was obvious, from the way his body relaxed noticeably, and from the smile he flashed at you. He helped you upright so you could gather yourself. You were checking the damage to your dress, partly hiding from the sudden elephant in the room, partly to make sure you wouldn’t make a fool of yourself again.

Once it was obvious you were stalling, Peter cleared his throat. When you looked up, he had an eyebrow raised, and gently nodded up. Hanging about a feet over your heads was your mistletoe wreath. It seemed to be floating mid air but upon closer inspection you realized it was dangling from what seemed to be a spider web.

“How…?” again, it was all you could think to say. But this time, Peter wasn’t so patient. He wrapped his arms around your waist, and pulled you in for a kiss.

EPILOGUE

There hadn’t been much time, Peter left to spend Christmas with his Aunt May in New York. You would also be visiting family.

As for New Year’s… Let’s just say things had worked out nicely and Peter was now running his hands through your hair and kissing your neck and up towards the back of your ear. And oh if he didn’t stop whispering sweet nothings against your skin, you were certain you would melt into goo and dissolve right there on the sofa.

“You are absolutely stunning.”

“Mmh…” You hadn’t been able to form a coherent sentence in the last ten minutes. You just hummed and whimpered while your body reacted to what you could have sworn was electricity passing to and from between the two of you.

Peter reached further down, caressing your back and waist tentatively. He was taking his sweet time and, as much as adored it, you felt a need building up in your core that needed to be met, and it needed to be met soon.

“Let’s move to the bed.” As much of a people pleaser as you usually were, the suggestion came out as a demand, firm and confident. In return, Peter didn’t hesitate, he simply looked into your eyes and picked you up bridal style.

You were impressed by how easily he carried you up the stairs, reminding you that you still hadn’t worked out how he’d managed the sprint up the stairs at the party. But that was a conversation for another moment because Peter was putting you down on the bed and seeking confirmation in your eye as his fingers trailed circles on your thighs. You nodded and he proceeded to run his hands up under your skirt, pulling down the hem of your tights. His hands ran back up your legs to pull your panties to the side. His fingers ran up and down the inside of your thighs as his lips met your clit, giving it a soft kiss before licking up and down and getting to work.

You lost track of time, and you were pretty sure you ascended to an alternate reality at some point, and were only brought back by the tightening coil in your abdomen. Peter switched perfectly between licking, sucking, kneading your thighs and humming against you in satisfaction. It was as if he could hear your heartbeat accelerate and relax with every wave of pleasure, giving him privileged information as to how to act at every precise moment.

But it was only after he put in his index finger inside you that you felt the orgasm incoming.

“Oh, fuck, Peter.”

You felt him smile cheekily against your clit, and you wanted to smack his head. You probably would have if he hadn’t been in charge of your pleasure at the time.

A second finger quickly followed, hitting your G spot at just the right time while your clit remained at his tongue’s mercy.

“Peter!” you whimpered, your right hand gripping his messy hair, while your left hand held onto the sheets for dear life. Your moans filled the room as you rode your high, his fingers maintaining a constant speed throughout your orgasm.

You were panting, still trying to catch your breath, as Peter undid his shirt buttons and helped you out of your dress.

“I cannot stress this enough; you are gorgeous.”

You peeked through your half-closed eyelids only to find him standing there, admiring your body.

“Beautiful enough to make love to?” Peter’s eyes went dark with desire at the question and you smirked at him.

The remaining clothes that still clung to your bodies were quickly removed and discarded. Peter kneeled between your legs, his hands combing his hair back. He was hard and leaking precum already. The awareness of him being this aroused just from making out with you and eating you out hit you like a train and you spread your legs wider for him.

“Ready?” he asked.

“So ready.” You winked at him and his cheeks turned just a tiny bit redder.

He didn’t rush it, he took his time, letting you adjust to his size. He only started pumping once you nodded at him. Slow, long strokes had you whimpering and squirming as you hid your head in the pillow, self-conscious of all the noises you were making.

“Hey, look at me. Those sounds you’re making are the hottest thing I’ve ever heard but I want to see you too.”

You were flustered, it was as if he could read your mind. But you made an effort and kept looking at him. And oh, was it worth it. He sped up his pace and lowered himself down to his elbows, close enough to kiss you and for you to grab his hair again. God, he had such amazing hair. He was panting, he seemed to be struggling.

“Tired, Parker?” You giggled in his ear.

“No, not at all. I’m just trying very hard not to cum because it would be embarrassing to last literally five minutes and also I want to make you cum at least once more.”

You were taken aback by this display of honesty. You had to admit you’d never been with any straight guy who felt so comfortable admitting stuff like that.

“I can help with that.”

You pushed him back a little, just enough that you could reach into your nightstand drawer and squirt some lube onto your hand.

Peter wasn’t moving, just looking at you in fascination. You reached between your bodies and circled your clit just like you did when you were alone. When your first moan hit his ears, Peter was brought back to Earth and he started pumping into you again. Tentatively at first, but deeper and faster as he gauged your positive reactions.

“I’m so close”, is what you said, but it took you so much effort to string the sentence together that when it came out, you were actually extremely close. So close that the next thrust from Peter’s hips sent you into orbit and you could do nothing but clench around him and hold his arms as if they were your anchors. You were just riding the last few waves of pleasure when you felt his consistent rhythm failing and his face contort. He soon crashed on top of you, both of you panting, completely blissed out.

A sound coming from the outside caught your attention before you could fully relax into each other. You frowned.

“Are those fireworks?” Peter asked. You turned towards your window and, sure enough, you could see colourful lights through the thin courtains.

“It looks like it.” You responded.

“I would have sworn it was 10 pm just ten minutes ago.” He sounded positively confused. You couldn’t help but laugh, one of those laughs that come from the belly, that makes you feel like a child again. And it must have been contagious because Peter started shaking on top of you, laughing quietly into the pillow next to you.

“Happy New Year, Peter.”

“Happy New Year, darling.”

Shout-out to @p3mybeloved for her cameo as Y/N’s best friend ❤️

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker smut #tasm!peter parker fanfiction #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker fluff #peter parker fluff #tasm!peter parker x y/n #peter parker imagine #peter parker x f!reader #dicked down december

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thelightsandtheroses · 1 year

Text

Into the Fire

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel isn’t the only one who loses a brother to the Fireflies in Boston. In the wake of your rage, Joel Miller is the only one who can understand you and that changes everything.

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, some good old fashioned angst, hints of smut, It’s not explicit but minors DNI/18+. I have not included any age references or physical descriptions of the reader to try and keep this is as inclusive as possible however it is a female reader. There is also no explicit cheating, but there’s an ambiguity that could be interpreted either way.

Word count: 1.7k

Notes - This is not only my first ever Joel Miller fic but it’s the first time I’ve been able to write in over a year. I’m very nervous about posting this, but I hope you enjoy it.

“Takes one to know one, so take it from me/ You've been lonely/ You've been lonely too long” Dust to Dust – The Civil Wars

The world pretty much ended years ago, but you survived. You tried to forge your way through it all, endure everything just to find a way to stay alive and stay you. It’s been years but once again your axis has twisted, and you don’t know what to do.

The last fifteen minutes are replaying over and over again, ever more embarrassing and you’re not entirely sure how you’ve ended up at this apartment, but you have.

Joel Miller is staring at you with an unreadable expression, one arm leaning against the door you’ve been knocking repeatedly.

“We have to stop them,” you say as he moves to let you in the apartment.

“We?” he asks, his tone somewhere between amused and furious, as he walks into his kitchen.

“Yes, we. I spoke to my brother and he’s useless so it’s down to us. They’ve lost it, Joel. Leaving the QZ? The Fireflies?”

“Probably,” Joel says.

You knew your circle of friends wouldn’t fight your little brother on this, but Joel? You were certain he’d help you. Especially after seeing his face when your respective brothers made their announcement.

Joel, however, he was a different story. You had known Joel vaguely for some time. Your family and his group had made it to the QZ at the same time, but it was through your best friend’s smuggling that you knew Joel and his partner Tess. You still weren’t sure what their deal was, however neither Joel or Tess seemed the types to sit around and gossip about relationships.

Joel’s apartment is very similar to yours, however while you’ve tried to make your allocated apartment feel as much like a home from before as you can, Joel’s home seems stark, dustier somehow. There are few personal touches, just an out of place butterfly ornament in the kitchen you’re nervous to ask about.

“We can’t let them do this,” you add as loudly as you dare as he rustles around his kitchen.

“Oh, we can’t?” Even from the kitchen, you can tell he almost sounds amused. “They’re adults, sweetheart, they can do what they want.”

“They’ll die, Joel.” You mean to sound forthright, firm and to the point but there’s a desperate whine in your voice that utterly betrays you.

Silence.

Joel places a glass of dubious looking alcohol in your hands and takes a large gulp of his own drink.

Your baby brother is joining the Fireflies. He’s still so young, he was just a child when everything happened and now him and Tommy have got it into their heads that they need to join the Fireflies. At least Tommy believes in the cause, you have a sneaking suspicion your brother just wants to fight, that it’s not about the cause at all. Maybe you underestimate him.

You don’t talk about what happened in those years before you headed for Boston, you keep those moments locked away tightly. You know how dangerous the need to belong is, how destructive it can get and why your brother might chase that.

“He’s not going,” you say, “I’ll stop him.”

“He’s not a kid anymore,” he says. “They’ll be fine. You need to let it go, find a way to move on, say goodbye right.” His final words poke at an open wound, because if your brother were to leave tonight then you’d never forgive yourself. His announcement tore all your scars open so you lashed out at him in a way you hadn’t before.

How fucking dare Joel Miller try and calm you down. You’ve heard enough about him to know this isn’t his personality – you know he’s angry about Tommy, you know they’ve been raging and fighting about this too. Why are the rules so different for you?

“You - you have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say angrily, “no idea at all.”

“I know what it is to look after your little brother. I know what it is to see that thrown in your face.” There’s quiet fury in his voice there, one that might not he directed at you, but you feel anyway.

“It’s different,” you say, taking another swig of alcohol.

There are two years you cannot talk about, not because of what you did or didn’t do, but not talking about them doesn’t mean they didn’t happen. Your brother and you were moulded from the fires of that hell and emerged different. Stronger perhaps, but mostly different.

“You can’t stop him, you know you can’t,” he says, his voice a touch softer.

You don’t reply but take a healthy swig of your drink. There’s half a bottle of whatever crappy whiskey this is on the makeshift coffee table; one you know you’ll need a refill from in a moment.

“You realise that he isn’t leaving you, he’s just joining them,” Joel says pointedly.

“It’s the same thing.”

“No, it ain’t.”

Oh.

Joel takes a hard gulp of his drink as you find yourself staring at your hands. You hadn’t thought about how it might feel for Joel. You’ve been so busy drowning in your own brother’s betrayal there was no room for anyone else’s pain. You take a breath and let Tommy’s words come back to you hours before for a moment.

“The things we did …”

You remember how Joel’s face had tightened, how he’d looked away for just a moment but when he had met his brother’s gaze again, his eyes were duller and his posture had straightened minutely.

You knew your brother was leaving you to go believe in the Fireflies, but Joel thought Tommy was leaving Joel because he didn’t believe in him anymore. That had to sting.

“We were meant to stick together,” you add in a small voice because that is what hurts you the most. The only way you and your brothers have survived this long is together and now your baby brother wants to mess with that. He wants to go outside where the Infected, who could tear you apart in a moment, are at least the most predictable threat he’ll encounter.

For a moment you sit in silence and use the time to observe Joel Miller. You’ve known him a while, however this is the longest time you’ve ever spent with just the two of you in a room. He’s always seemed so unknowable, so intimidating, fascinating but terrifying in equal measures. Who would have thought your brothers would be the bridge between you both? You’ve felt lonely for so long, even in a crow, and you’re sure Joel must feel the same. You can feel it too.

One drink turns into two and find yourself shifting on the sofa, one knee pointed towards him, an elbow on the top of the so far with your drink sloshing around in that hand and your gaze directly on his.

You’re staring at his lips. You shouldn’t be staring but you are. You notice how he downs his drink, how his deep brown eyes meet yours, seem softer than earlier somehow. There’s still a hardness there but the edges seem muted, blurred.

You need to stop staring at his lips.

You swear you can see the edges of his mouth twitch, almost like a smile if you didn’t know better.

You shift momentarily, move just a little closer to him because right now Joel Miller understands you. You understand him too.

You’re not sure who starts it, who is the one who brings their lips to the other first. Maybe you realise it at the same time, maybe you don’t.

You’ve thought about this before. You thought that Joel would be different, more like the man you’ve known for the years. You expected him to be cold, aloof, perhaps even perfunctory.

Joel Miller is desperation and need though.

He touches you like there are only moments left before you’re taken from him, his kisses are hungry, never satiated. “Wait – wait, what about Tess?” you ask, pulling away. You are more out of breath than you expected and every part of you wants to continue but you need to ask.

“It’s –‘s not like that,” he says, “You don’t need to worry about it.”

“I don’t want to cause -”

“Tess and me, it’s not like that. We’re not like that.”

He is everything and nothing like you expected.

His hot hands skim down your ribs, down to your legs, warming every part of you. As they move up between them you hear yourself let out a low noise.

“Oh yeah?” he whispers before kissing you harder.

Your jeans are unbuttoned and you hurry to push them down, to get closer, to be with him.

You didn’t realise how much you had ever wanted Joel until now.

The two of you are a mess of hands, gasps, and groans, pulling off clothes, getting as close as you can. You are both desperate, lost things but for a moment, just one moment you don’t feel so alone.

It doesn’t matter you’re on a couch, that this is surely just a release of pain and a desperate need to connect with someone.

Afterwards you lie on the sofa, watch him pull his jeans back up, stand up and get another bottle of alcohol before pouring two more drinks. You watch the walls that have broken down over the past evening slowly rebuild themselves. It’s disappointing but expected.

He opens his mouth as if to stay something then stops himself.

“Don’t overthink it, I’m not,” you lie. “I won’t – I won’t tell Tess.”

He makes some sort of affirmative grunt that tells you that perhaps his resolute denial of whatever him and Tess are together was exaggerated or if that’s your anxiety. You wonder if it’s just because he’s a man who cannot show any weakness, any vulnerability anymore.

Right now, you don't want to analyse it anymore though. You don't regret it.

"I should go," you say.

"No, no - you can stay," Joel replies to your surprise. "If you want. Easier than tryin' to get past the guards at this hour."

"Okay." You take a sip of your drink, take a deep breath.

Your brother is leaving you but your world isn't going to end. The rage you felt has subsided a little now. It hurts, but you can make it through this.

You look at Joel, think about the unexpected but welcome twists of the evening, try to tell yourself it doesn't mean anything.

You know how this story goes. You will tell yourself it won’t happen again, but you already know it will. Time and time again.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us hbo #tlou #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader

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fanfic-scribbles · 1 year

Text

Safe Keeping

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Sometimes, pushing your boundaries can lead to something good.

Quick facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Agoraphobic!Reader, a bucket o’ fluff

MCU Timeline: Set at some point post-Avengers

Words: 4268

A/N: I was actually writing a different agoraphobic-focused Bucky/Reader slice-of-life fic but that became too long and too much of a slow burn for me to be able to focus on right now, sadly, so I tried something different. I might go back to it later (I definitely have no problem writing the same concept more than once) but I like how this came out :]

It’s early. It’s (relatively) quiet. You’re restless. The conditions are perfect for a walk; all you have to do is…leave. The apartment. Easy.

Right.

You sigh and check your pockets for the tenth time. You have all the essentials, you aren’t going far, you don’t have to go for long, or even further than the block if you decide you really aren’t up for it; all you have to do is…try.

And yet all you can do is stand in front of your door. Do you have to do this? One walk isn’t going to set your life right–

No; this is important. You haven’t left in days, and walking is good and healthy and maybe you can get a coffee or something else nice after you’ve been outside for a little while. As long as the shop isn’t too crowded, but it’s so early that odds are good.

Okay, you have a plan: attempt a short walk, and after the timer goes off you can beeline to a nice quiet coffee shop for a little treat.

You put your hand on the doorknob before you can second-guess yourself (maybe sixth or seventh-guess at this point, probably) and open the door–

–right as someone’s walking by.

You blink and jerk at the brief jump scare but the guy actually jumps and spins towards you. You can’t help it– you let out a little snort. The guy is huge and looks like he wouldn’t be afraid of anything, so seeing him look mildly alarmed and then blush is…funny. He also looks vaguely familiar but you chalk that up to having seen him around before. You don’t like leaving the apartment, but you do (unfortunately) have to do it on occasion.

“Um…sorry,” you say. Maybe this was a mistake after all.

“No, it’s fine, you just…startled me.” He smiles weakly, looking tired. Maybe he was on shift all night. After a brief exchange of “good morning” he keeps on and you…well it’s stupid but you can’t go back inside now, when he’s still down the hall. That would be weird, to open the door and just shut it again.

You knock your head against the side of the door and step outside, and curse your bright ideas as you slip your key in to finish locking up. However, you feel…odd. When you look, you see the guy you scared, staring at you from a few doors down.

“Sorry.” His smile curls a little more, skewing more towards ‘amused’ right out of ‘forced.’ “Do you have a doctor’s appointment or something?”

“Uh…” This is way more human interaction than you were hoping for. This morning is off the rails and the sun isn’t even fully up yet. “No? Why?”

“You just sound like you really don’t want to be out,” he says and turns the key in his lock.

You make a mental note to watch your volume. You’re both fairly quiet even now, but you didn’t think you were that loud just muttering to yourself. “No, no appointment. I mean, I don’t really want to go, but I’m just…taking a walk.”

You brace yourself, for a weird look at the very least, but he still smiles like that isn’t the lamest thing he’s ever heard. “Good for you,” he says, unexpectedly sincere and warm, and opens his door. For a moment you dare to hope that’s it, but he stops and looks at you again. “I moved in a couple months ago but I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. I’m Steve.”

He probably has and just doesn’t know it; you’re not exactly memorable. But you introduce yourself, and after a pleasant goodbye he finally goes inside and shuts the door.

You hit your head on yours. Again. But you make yourself lock the deadbolt and turn away. Yes, it is good for you, and so you’re going to get outside, take your stupid walk, get your stupid treat, and come right back home where it’s safe and you can be alone again.

Leaving the apartment every single day seems a little much. You’re trying to get out more, but baby steps are necessary lest you give in to the desire to crawl under the covers for the rest of your life. So you take it easy.

Still, even days later you’re surprised when you run into Steve again. People come and go so much and you don’t really see neighbors all that often as it is (by design, of course), so it nearly brings you to a stop when you enter the laundromat so late it’s technically early and see him there, in a stupidly tight t-shirt, stuffing his clothes into a dryer. He glances over and does a little double-take, but he smiles and nods politely and that– that’s easy to replicate, so that’s what you do, before you go find a washer.

The bench by your chosen machine is broken. The next one is…kind of gross. You look around but, naturally, the only decent one is partially occupied. And, wouldn’t you know it, Steve sees you coming and smiles knowingly, before gesturing at the open half.

“Sorry,” you say as you sit down.

He shakes his head. “Nothing to apologize for,” he says with a light chuckle, and goes back to his book. That’s a relief, and you settle in with a slight turn to keep a line of sight on your clothes as you pull out your own book.

“Do you work night shift?”

Apparently he can multitask. Well, he was nice enough to share his seat. “Not exactly,” you say, then just admit, “Shitty sleep schedule.”

“Oh.” He smiles a little more crookedly and says, “I get that.”

It sounds sincere, and after that you both settle into comfortable quiet.

It’s good to have a nice neighbor.

You’re trying to take another walk.

You have been spending all that energy pacing in front of your door just trying to get out. Nothing’s going to happen. But what if it does. You don’t have to go far. But then what’s the point.

And now you just feel bad again, because it’s just a short walk, this should be easy. Okay, step one: open the door.

You open the door.

And you…stand there.

A door opens down the hall and in a panic you shut yours again and put your back against it. You hold your face. “I can do this, I can do this, I can do this,” you mutter, but the words feel empty, and you drop your hands and let them hit against the wood.

This is so stupid. Why do you have to leave for an aimless walk that doesn’t even do anything. Why can’t you just leave for a measly half hour? Or ten minutes? The odds of getting stuck, or something bad happening, is all so miniscule, so why can’t you just stop thinking about it, why can’t you pull yourself together, why–…why…

…Why is there a piece of paper on your floor.

You squint at it. It doesn’t look like any of the paper you have at hand. It’s way too small to be a flier. God, did you pace so much that whoever lives downstairs has come to bitch you out in writing? With a sense of dread you reach down, pick it up, and, after a few seconds to steel your nonexistent nerves, unfold it.

‘You can do this!’

You stare. The little smiley drawn next to the pretty cursive makes a small smile form on your face. It’s…cute. Not a passive-aggressive complaint. Again, you wonder just how loud you were being that someone could hear you just walking down the hall, but the thought flits away. You bite your lip. You don’t want to leave still, but…the person is gone already. No one is around to see if you step outside the building and decide you really, really can’t do this. …And if there is, well, you can just pat your pockets and run back inside like you forgot something. Not like it would be the first time.

You take a deep breath, and look at the note one more time before you fold it back up and put it inside your pocket.

You can do this.

It’s a week later you get some unexpected company on your walk.

You glance over as someone comes up on your side, a little closer than most, and when you see it’s Steve you pull down your headphones and exchange polite greetings.

“How’s the walk?” he asks with a bit of cheer in his voice it still feels too early for.

“Not the worst,” you say and look over his well-appointed but heavily breathing self. “How was the…marathon?”

He smiles, and it’s surprisingly beautiful. It might be the first real expression you’ve seen him make, you think. “Refreshing,” he says and rolls his shoulders. His watch starts beeping and he glances at it before sighing heavily. “One more,” he murmurs to himself and silences the alarm before his eyes narrow at the path ahead.

“You can do this,” you say, perhaps a little too quietly. But he actually jolts in surprise, then flashes you an outright grin– before he takes off fast enough to put racecars to shame.

You watch him, and feel a little bloom of…contentment. Maybe coming outside today wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

You keep the note in your wallet. Its stupid, maybe– Steve’s just a neighbor you know very little about, (aside from the realization about his heroic extra curriculars that had made you overthink every interaction with him for a good two days), but his scrawled cursive becomes a little lodestone, a way to focus when things feel like too much. When things actually are too much the words don’t matter, and you can return home without too much guilt. But sometimes…sometimes they help you keep moving forward.

Right now you want to keep moving forward. There’s a record shop by your apartment you’ve noticed from your walks and you really, really want to go inside and check it out. However, it is also small, and so it is also easily crowded almost all open hours. You’ve used three walks already just going past it, looking longingly inside and unable to handle the way you can hear the person behind the counter greeting everyone who comes in.

But today. You left the house without hesitation, you have your note and have checked it five times, your resolve has strengthened with each read, and you have no urge to run back and hide behind your door. Today is the day you are going to go in, and the person is going to say hi, and you are going to say hi back, and you are going to browse to your heart’s content, and nothing bad is going to happen.

(Also you checked all the photos available on the internet and you have a good idea of the layout and where you want to go. Because it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.)

Anyway, the point is– you can do this.

…Eventually. You still have a good five hours before it closes at least, so there’s no rush. However, standing, pacing, and just generally being outside of it wanting to go in is starting to get a little boring, if nothing else. Either you’re going in or you’re going home.

You take out the note and read it again.

“Oh.”

You jolt and turn, and there’s Steve, looking mildly startled. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, smiling, and puts his hands up. “I was walking by and saw you and I wanted to say hi.”

“Oh. Hi.” You slip the note away. His eyes glance to it and you swallow. Is it stupid, that you like the note so much? Is he going to think you’re a creep? “You did…that was from you, wasn’t it?”

He ducks his head and looks a little embarrassed. “I heard you saying it to yourself when I was passing by and thought you might…need a pick-me-up. I’m sorry if that’s weird; my hearing’s really good and I don’t listen on purpose.”

“It’s okay. I…I really like it. Thank you,” you say.

His smile returns, and he looks at you. “You really don’t like leaving the apartment, do you?”

Understatement. But a polite one. “I don’t,” you say. “But I also don’t…I don’t want to be stuck. Either outside or in.” You glance at the shop and sigh. “It’s a weird catch-22.”

“Sounds tough,” Steve says, and his sympathy, as ever, seems sincere and not forced. “I’ve been in there before; the owner’s really nice. If I go in first, I can talk to him, and you can come in after me.”

It’s hard not to look at him like he was sent from heaven. Hero, sure, maybe, but this…this is kindness you’d never be able to ask of anyone. “Really?”

His smile grows, and he nods. “You can do this,” he says.

Well, when you have a handy distraction, sure. But you just nod and walk across the street with him. You stop and pretend to fiddle with your phone while he goes in, and when you hear him and the store owner greet each other you take the chance and slip in. Aside from a quick “hello!” you’re left to wander the aisles of records, CDs, tapes, and memorabilia all on your own.

It’s not often you’re actively glad you left the relative safety of your own home, but today is one of them.

It’s still probably not normal, how much effort it takes you to get outside, and how easy it is to make you run for safety, but you’re more or less able to make walks a regular thing– at least three times a week, if you're having a good one. Early in the morning, so that you don’t have to deal with as many people. And Steve starts joining you for portions of them. He still likes to zoom past on his runs, but on cool-downs he doesn’t seem to mind keeping pace with you. Both of you are fairly quiet but the silence is as easy as the occasional chatter, and sometimes you can even make him laugh. It’s strange to be comfortable like this, to have someone comfortable with you like this, but you try not to think about it too much.

“Do you…want to get a coffee?” he asks abruptly one day.

That is an excellent opportunity. “I found a place I’ve been wanting to try,” you say, trying not to be too excited, but by the grin on Steve’s face you fail a little. “If you don’t mind. It’s…harder to run away when other people are involved.”

“All right,” he says. “Let’s do this.”

Steve is nice to have around. He stops by sometimes to ask if you feel like coming out, and doesn’t take offense when you say no. Then for a week it’s…quiet. And the week after that. You go out for a couple of walks at a time you definitely know he likes to run, but he is nowhere to be seen. You hesitate by his door once wondering if he’s all right, but knocking gets you nothing. It’s probably for the best– you don’t know what you’d say– but as you slink back into your apartment you’re left with a feeling of unease.

“Hey.”

You jump at the sudden voice by your shoulder but Steve doesn’t get a word in before you gasp his name. “Are you okay?” you ask and look him over. There’s some scraping on his cheek but it looks nearly healed. “Were you in an accident?”

“Um…” He looks nearly sheepish as he smiles and says, “Not exactly?”

Oh, right– ‘Avenger’ and whatnot. Naturally it only now occurs to you that maybe you should have checked the news, but…maybe it’s better that you hadn’t. Absently you reach out to gently touch around the scrape. His eyes flutter, going a little wide, but then he settles again and almost leans into your hand.

Still, it’s probably inappropriate, so when he’s looking at you with amusement you take your hand back and fight the urge to run back home. “I’m sorry,” you say. “That definitely burst a personal bubble.” Yours, his, common decency’s…

“It’s all right,” he says. “It’s the nicest touch I’ve had in a long time.”

That strikes a chord in you. Something that reverberates and aches, because the joke was poorly disguised, and now he looks a little uncomfortable. You could pretend to ignore it.

Or…

You reach out again, slow and light, making sure not to aggravate or hurt anything as your fingers ghost over his skin. When the base of your palm comes close enough to brush the edge of his cheek, he does lean in. And this time you leave your hand there.

Until you hear someone suddenly shout from a distance away and both of you jerk back. He lifts his head to listen, but when laughter follows, and then fades, you both sigh in unison.

You clear your throat. “Would you…like to take a walk with me?”

He smiles slowly. “I can do that.”

You hold out your hand, and without hesitation, he takes it, wrapping long, strong fingers that seem to surround your skin. It’s probably the nicest touch you’ve had in a long time, too.

It’s good you live in the same building, because you have a string of bad days. When he first comes over to check on you, he stands shyly at the door until you, with only a sliver of hesitation, invite him in. Your apartment is nothing special, nothing that really should make you want to stay in it all the time, but it is home and safe and Steve seems happy enough to come by frequently, sometimes to check on you, sometimes to stay so you can enjoy each other’s company. You watch movies, and sit and talk, and order dinner in, and nights end with polite kisses, and then with arms wrapped around each other on the couch, and then with limbs tangled so thoroughly in bed that morning becomes an exercise in finding where one ends and the other begins.

But you’re not sure how long you can expect him to be happy with this. Steve is truly restless; eager to be out and about. He’s fine to do it on his own, but the day comes when he asks, again, if you would like to join him, and even though the gut feeling is ‘no,’ you nod your head ‘yes,’ and get ready to join him outside. It’s just a walk, and he’s excited enough that it pulls you outside your door, outside the building, outside…outside…

You…can’t do this.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks and laces his fingers with yours.

It’s ridiculous. It’s your own fucking neighborhood, and Steve is right there, patient and sweet as he always is; it’s just a walk, it’s just…it’s just…

“I can’t.” Walk, lift your head, feel anything but shame– that little phrase covers a lot, right now. “I’m sorry. I…”

“Okay.” Steve squeezes your hand. “Do you want me to come back with you?”

You shake your head. “I’m sorry. Go out. I know you wanted to.”

He frowns, but he lets you go. It sucks, but having him stay in would feel so much worse. You attempt some half-hearted cleaning and give up to go sit on the couch in comfy clothes and just be miserable. Why not.

There’s a knock at the door. You cringe and get up, wondering what you're going to say for yourself (what can you say for yourself?) but when you answer, Steve is there and smiling like he’s…pleased with himself.

“Hey,” he says, like nothing happened at all.

“Hey,” you say. “Good run?”

“It was,” he said. “I picked up coffee and breakfast, but I left it at my apartment. Can you come down and stand in the threshold for five seconds while I grab it? We can come back to your apartment and eat.”

You stare at him.

Then you laugh. It’s ridiculous but…hey, this whole fucking thing is ridiculous, most of the time. “Very subtle,” you say, and he grins. Then his smile lessens, but doesn’t fade, and he reaches out. You take his hand in yours.

“If you truly can’t do it, I’ll bring it back, no strings,” he says sincerely. “But…five seconds?”

You think about it for a moment, then poke your head in the hall. Everything is so quiet. “Five seconds,” you say, and allow him to pull you down the hall, leaving your door cracked just a smidge. His apartment is dark and, honestly, a bit of a mess, but you stand obediently in the threshold while he brings over food and drink, and by the time those five seconds pass he’s already herding you back into the hall and locking the door behind himself.

“Five seconds was probably too long for how dirty my place is,” he says when you’re back in your apartment and squished side-by-side at the tiny table you have tucked against the wall. “But hey– you went somewhere new today.”

You can’t help but smile at that. “You’re too good to me, sometimes.”

He reaches over and squeezes your thigh. “I like you,” he says.

You put the breakfast sandwich down, and slide into him. He meets you more than halfway.

The next day you show up at his place with some cleaning supplies. He’s mortified, but he lets you stay and help.

A week later you’re in the waiting room of a doctor’s appointment when the world feels like it starts closing in on you. You want to leave but you can’t, you won’t, it took forever to get this slot and you’ve already canceled three times. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, but that doesn’t help. Neither does breathing slowly. The clock ticks, the receptionists chatter quietly and answer phones, and the few other people here look very bored.

You pull out your wallet– maybe you’ll reorganize your cards or do something else that can take some focus off this rising panic– and see a corner of paper. You pull it out and unfold it.

‘You can do this!’

You smile slightly. There’s still a pressure, an urge to run even though you know you’d be frozen in place if you even tried, but you look at the paper and think about Steve’s strong hands holding a calligraphy pen with gentle grace; how those fingers feel as they ghost along behind your back and curl around your other shoulder. A body memory of him leaning into you as you rest against him.

Your name is called and you get up, a little steadier, and that much closer to home.

It has been a long day, much of it spent doing things, and you’re ready to settle in with a book and your phone and try not to obsessively check for new messages. Steve has been gone for a few days (not doing anything terribly dangerous, thankfully) and you miss having him physically present. It’s probably a little pathetic but…well, who cares; you like having him around, and isn’t the point of being with another person being with another person?

So you’re fine with being a little needy. Maybe when you hear him get home you’ll go visit. He’s still overly willing to come to your apartment all the time, and while it’s a nice gesture, his place is becoming safe all on its own.

A jingle of keys outside is all the alert you get before someone knocks on the door. You get up to go see, and smile at the sight of the figure standing expectantly outside. A few quick flips later, and you open up to Steve leaning against the frame.

“So I had a plan,” he says casually.

“You did, hm?” You mirror his slouch against the wall. “What kind of plan?”

“A good plan,” he says. “I was going to go to the ice cream place a few blocks over and get a couple of scoops and bring them back real fast before they melted. As a nice surprise.”

“That does sound like a nice surprise,” you say, lips starting to curl as you find yourself unable to hold the casual act. “What happened?”

He blushes. “I forgot,” he mumbles, and you can’t help but laugh. He shrugs lightly but the pink flush is already fading and he lifts his head to show you his smile. “I thought I could still go get them, but then I was walking by and I thought…I didn’t want to go before seeing you.”

“I’m glad. I wouldn’t want you to go without seeing me too.” And at that you stop pretending and reach out, meeting him with a hug and a kiss. It feels good to have him back and he’s just as hesitant to let you go when you part to breathe.

“I definitely see the appeal in staying in right now,” he murmurs, still so close to your face and his arms light but still very present around you. “I’ll be right back?”

That’s an option. Or…

“Can I come with you?” you ask without even thinking, but when you do, it seems…fine.

“Really?” Steve says, blinking, but his smile spreads. “I’d like that. If you’re up to it.”

“Yeah,” you say, and after you grab a few necessary things, you slip your hand into his. “Let’s do this.”

#steve rogers x reader #avengers fanfic #captain america fanfic #avengers reader insert #captain america reader insert #fluff #getting together

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lipglossanon · 3 months

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Hey lip, do you have any tips on how to start writing other than just starting? Like I have ideas and all but when I try to write them down I feel like I don't know the words that I want to describe the scenes and all, and thanks for sharing you work!

Yello anon! 👋

Hmm 🤔 I can try my best to explain so if it’s confusing or you need clarification just let me know!

So how I approach writing is a lot like daydreaming. I’m not a writer who can storyboard too far in advance cause that’s stifling to my creativity. Kinda like boxing myself in a corner.

With that said, I have this hazy picture of moments that I want to write down. So I start typing what I’m thinking to get started, like:

“You woke up late, a splitting headache making your vision double and stomach roil with nausea.”

Then, I let my mind wander and my hands try to keep up. I use the visual in my brain as a guiding point on how I want the scene to look like/go.

“You squint at the bright light seeping in from your blinds, dust motes drift into your line of vision as you slowly sit up in bed. Glancing at your watch, you see it’s still early morning. You slowly climb out of bed and make your way to the dresser, pulling out some loungewear to change into after your shower.”

Now I’m someone who doesn’t spend too much time on details in certain areas. Mainly cause I’m writing from a reader POV so I try to keep vague so people can plug in their own things. For me personally, unless it’s necessary in the story, I leave it pretty bare bones. Like who cares if the reader wears Nike shoes and Ray ban sunglasses? Or that Leon drives a 1998 Jeep Grand Cherokee and wears Dior suits?

Sometimes those details are so jarring it will pull me out of the story cause it’s like why are these things specifically brought to my attention? Less is more in a lot of cases.

And then I also try to make up for it in other ways, like describing feelings or smutty scenarios taking place. You kinda have to just find your own voice when writing and that may take time and lots of drafts until you feel like you’ve hit the sweet spot.

And all else fails, just write what’s in your brain and then go back and clean it up. I’ve done that a bunch too; just sort of a stream of consciousness writing that I’ll go back and pick apart until I have what I like.

As cliche as it sounds, there’s no right way to writing (it would be so much easier if there was! 🤣).

I have a hard time with finding the right words and phrases all the time which leads me to misusing them cause I have the wrong meaning for it. So usually just make a note to go back and rework it til I have what I like. And sometimes the words I pick are what I end up using anyway cause it gets what I want across.

Here’s an example of a WIP I started today:

“Blinking back the sudden tears, you reach over and grab her hand giving it a squeeze.

Love from the eldest daughter is rife (DIFFERENT WORD??) with resentment.”

So all I can truly say is take a chance on yourself; read books and fics of things you like, listen to music and watch movies for inspiration. You’ll get the hang of it and come into your own! 💜 I’m rooting for ya!

#ask box #anon #lipglossanon #lipglossanswers #lipgloss talks writing #writing tips?

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agentdumortain · 1 year

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AN INTERVIEW WITH JACKIE COHEN by Isaiah Mock for WHIPLASH MAGAZINE

(Top row: cover art from Jackie Cohen’s solo EPs About Yesterday and Give It Time. Bottom row: cover art of one of Stunts’ EPs “Leaning Backward” and their most recent release, “Didn’t See That Coming”.)

Jackson Cohen, better known as Jackie, is the frontwoman of one of alternative’s underdog up-and-coming bands Stunts. She tells me before she’s even sat down that she never expected to be where she is today. “I know a lot of people say that kind of thing under these circumstances, but I mean it in every sense.”

We discuss the obvious first; how the element of surprise, virality, and speed affects the path and struggles of becoming a public figure. But the singer feels that the "unexpected" sentiment she holds is even more relevant to her and the band's evolution since highschool. "I don't think our music is what we imagined it'd be at all, but we're pretty in love with it. That's a good thing!"

Cohen’s earliest works, both solo and collaborative with various members of Stunts, (past and present) are a far cry from what you’ve most likely heard from her today. Psychedelic pop, sweet and swooning, are accurate descriptors—sometimes even synthesized.

All of those elements are still found in Stunts’ recent projects, but the trajectory of their music has undoubtedly shifted into something heavier. Not darker, but in the literal way, with more weight. Post-punk and rock influences are obvious, especially in lyricism. There’s an air of confidence and lived experience that wasn’t present before. The singer names Jeff Buckley, Slowdive, The Smashing Pumpkins, and The Cure, as just a snippet of her and her bandmate's inspirations. “Y’know, I think—doesn’t everybody want to be someone else a little bit?” She smiles with some humor at the thought, but it’s clear she believes it.

“About Yesterday”, Cohen’s first EP, can be found scattered in many corners of the internet, (not on any formal streaming platforms, as it is rife with uncleared samples) where it’s often named as a favorite by indie popheads from all backgrounds. She made it in her basement with the help of her older brother and a few of his musician friends. “Realizing your older siblings are cool is a tough pill to swallow,” she jokes. “But at some point or another, they realize you’re kind of cool too, and that opens up a whole new world of opportunity. He [Jackie's brother] definitely encouraged my, um, my—penchant for music? That feels dorky to say."

“Artists like Imogen Heap, TV Girl, Mazzy Star; I looked up to them for sure while making that, [About Yesterday] and most of my other stuff too, to be honest. I think it was comfortable and fun to work in that style. I was able to express myself how I needed to at that time, and I still am, it just sounds hugely different from when I was 16.”

I ask her how that change in sound, as vague as that is, came to be. Does she attribute it to anything specific, or feel like it was a natural progression?

"Working as a team, probably? That will always yield different results and force you to "evolve" in some way or another. I was doing the band and my own thing at the same time, [in highschool] though, so if I came up with something I knew wouldn’t fit with Stunts, I could still take it somewhere else if I really wanted to. But I think meeting my friends, my bandmates, that was a really big part of the shift. Probably the biggest. They all have their own unique tastes and styles in what they consume and create. I grew up going to shows, but they have taken me to probably hundreds more at this point, and shown me stuff I wouldn't find on my own. They’re so versatile as musicians and artists, they’re always open to trying all these different things, but they don’t lose their standards or vision in the process. Ever. Um, they’re the best. Sorry—I’m rambling," she laughs. "Does that answer that question at all?”

Not even minutes later, we've bounced through several different subjects, Jackie sometimes asking me more questions than I can ask her. When I had reached out for an interview, she eagerly accepted the opportunity and invited me to come to her apartment rather than my initially suggested café. "Coffee shops can get so fucking loud!" She had emailed me.

We're still in her living room, which also serves as a makeshift studio. (She clarifies: "None of the real recording happens here, I think I would've been evicted by now if that were the case.") The space is small and full, but well organized. There's a few photos framed on her desk-side wall above her monitor, a handful of them I recognize as cover art. I ask her if there's any story behind them.

"Oh—ha, I was really into film in highschool. I still am, I just don't have as much time or opportunities for it right now. But yeah, some of the photos I've used for cover art are mine. Some are just ones I dug up from my parent's basement." She follows my gaze, which lingers on one cover that has been an object of speculation since it's release. "Give It Time."

I glance back at her, understanding if she doesn't want to elaborate on it. Most fans believe it's a photo of her and Seven Lawless, her ex-bandmate and ex-boyfriend, (who, at the time of the EP's release, were both in Stunts but their relationship was not yet public.) but the pixelated editing has left it fairly ambiguous. There are other plausible theories floating online about who it could be.

When I had first arrived at her door, she told me: "I'm an open book with most things, as long as you don't have bad intentions." And I'm not in the business of prying into subjects like that for anyone I interview—but she smiles at me warmly when she realizes what's caught my eye.

"I didn't take that one actually. It's still one of my favorites, though."

There's a comfortable lull in the conversation while I continue to examine the wall, until I point to one that looks only slightly out of place among the rest. There's about five people (you can probably guess who) squished into the frame, all half-dressed and soaking wet with wild grins plastered onto their faces.

She immediately bursts into a fit of laughter. "Okay, maybe not that one. My manager might kill me."

Stream "Didn't See That Coming" here.

☆☆☆

This is the first part of a pre-BOTB interview miniseries about my @infamous-if OC, Jackie Cohen. Whiplash Magazine is local to her home county's music scene but a lot of their audience is spread out online too. :)

The album cover edits were inspired by @spider-actual’s edits for their Infamous band Shelter In Place, go check them out they are so cool !!!

Original sources of the photos used for album art: About Yesterday / Give It Time / Leaning Backward / Didn't See That Coming

#infamous if #oc: jackie cohen #seven lawless #infamous edit #if any of this conflicts with canon I'm very sorry and please disregard I'm doing my best LMAO #one thing about jackie she is a romantic and bleeding heart at her core #and is not afraid to talk about it #jackie lacks shame in that respect and seven definitely seethes about it post-breakup lol #(she would never divulge information that is not hers to share ofc)#she is still sensitive to what she knows seven and her bandmates would dislike when it comes to publicly speaking on The Matter #like I said bleeding heart

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no1ryomafan · 9 months

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Yknow for most of my tumblr rants I like to keep stuff vague even when it’s apparent what thing I’m aiming at because I don’t like to trash talk people openly who I don’t know or formally knew especially on the most mundane subjects but there’s one particular thing that has been bothering me about fandom culture that I’ve noticed as of late that I gotta rant about:

And that’s the whole ordeal of “you need to consume this series in a certain way” mindset as apart from leading into general bad traits fandom culture has-toxicity and gatekeeping-I feel this is just another reason why some people get easily scared off by getting into certain things.

To further elaborate I wanna first say there’s nothing particularly wrong with advising a set order of things to consume in a series under the context of either:

<someone asked to begin with what order to watch/read/play something <a series has multiple sequels that are connected in some capacity so advising the correct order because sometimes it’s not the “chronological” that’s the correct way

Those cases you are making sure the person gets into a series by following the story the way it’s intended, that’s fine, I’m more so talking about how a handful of certain fandoms are centered a series with multiple canons and they don’t really overlap yet fans try to act authority over how you should consume the media when at that point it’s just a matter of “which series looks the most interesting too you”.

I’ve seen this behavior pop up a bit in getter fandom and while it’s not anything toxic-thankfully-I really don’t agree to the notion of you need to read all of the mangas JUST to understand the Animes when they’re ALL in their own canon. But this post isn’t actually about Getter because the general atmosphere I’ve seen in my own circle is “we really don’t care where you start as long as you’ve seen Getter” which I appreciate and can’t really get too upset over the series discourse, I’m more so noticing this happening in a different older anime fandom I was kinda apart of being Soul Eater.

Now I’ve only seen this said by two people so I’m not gonna claim this is a general thing by the fandom-fuck knows how many soul eater fans there are anymore even if it’s more recognizable than getter-however I get the vibe this is something fans when newbies get into the series advise: To not get super into SE as it be unnecessary, for those who don’t know it’s one of those animes that was unfortunately cursed with “starting off a solid adaption for the first half but by the second half it completely diverted from the manga and the anime content is not only different but inferior from its source” which from what I seen, had a lot of old SE fans advise newer fans to watch the anime up to a certain point aka right where it changes from the manga and than going to read the manga with the stuff the anime didn’t adapt, and than after you finish the manga you can go back to watch the anime if you so choose.

I really, really, REALLY do not like this approach and despite what I said early about “different iterations” this one even worse given the context SE doesn’t have that many canons outside of these and a spin off series.

Literally this entire process could be avoided if someone just said “don’t watch the anime because it’s not a good adaption, read the manga” because even if that sounds gatekeepy it’s at least not a unnecessary back and forth process with the anime being CLEARLY redundant. Sure, SE like 100+ or so chapters but even if watching the anime adapt the first half is faster than reading it, it just makes things needlessly complicated to newer fans.

It’s also not the end of the world if someone watches the show and never reads the manga because guess what? We all like stuff that is FUNDAMENTALLY flawed. People are too worried about their media being perfect when no series is and there’s nothing wrong with liking something that’s a bit messy because people still keep up with series that are hella fucking messy. If they complain about the anime sucking but refuse to read the manga that’s on them, not your issue because they knew what they were getting themselves into if someone was warning them. We also just gotta deal with people not giving stuff we like a second chance after the first time because needlessly shoving a “order” in their face isn’t gonna make them feel inclined to check it out again.

My only advice I can give from this long messy rant of a post that went too far on tangent about something I don’t even know is said by many fans-and if anyone finds this and is active in the SE circles please feel free to correct me-is NEVER advise someone a order of getting into a thing unless there IS canons that do connect with each other by being direct follow ups. Don't get mad at someone for getting into a series from the most confusing or hated iteration, because if they are actually interested they'll want to consume more of it even if they have a weak first impression.

Never force anything onto ANYONE and just welcome new fans with open arms, thats a way to make a safe space even in some of the worst fandoms.

#meg text #im not tagging the two series I mentioned here lol #I would’ve mentioned more like TF or Gundam but I haven’t experienced enough of them only been more of a outsider #I would’ve mentioned mega man but I try to distance myself from fandom talk (also that be more bias then me slightly mentioning getter lol)#I do stand by tho you don’t need to play every classic or x game to get zero/zx/legends though #or that you need to play all of battle network to get starforce bc the latter hardly references the former #but if anyone has any other fandom shit like this they can relate too feel free to share because I’m worried if I was too mean 💀#(if my assumption about soul eater was hella off I’m sorry but I got the vibes hard)

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bakugousleftnipple · 2 years

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Somethings Never Change | Bakugou Katsuki x reader x Kirishima Eijirou

Word Count: 800+

Warnings: some reference to abusive family, snide remarks toward reader, but they’re vague, hurt/comfort

Summary: A lesson in which you never can seem to learn: some things never change. You invite your boyfriends to a family get together and they decide you’re never going back there.

Heavily inspired by the song Matilda by Harry Styles.

Although it was hard to remember a time when you were actually excited to see your family, for some reason you thought this would be different. It had been months since you had a family get together, or at least, it had been months since you went to one. Maybe it was the way Kirishima’s eyes sparkled at the idea of meeting your family – he had met Bakugou’s family, and you had met both of their families, so it was only natural that they wanted to meet yours too.

Of course, your family wouldn’t approve of you dating more than one person, so you would be omitting that large detail. As far as they knew, you and your two best friends were coming over for the bonfire they were holding and that was it.

“You almost ready?” Kirishima pokes his head through the doorway, sporting a huge grin. He was practically bouncing in excitement. While he was no doubt fantasizing about what your family would be like, you were starting to doubt yourself. Would this be okay?

“Hey.” Your vision comes back into focus, startled as you see Bakugou in front of you. His eyes were mildly narrowed, a frown forming. “What’s wrong.” It almost sounds like an accusation, but you knew he meant well.

A soft smile makes its way across your face, pulling him close, “Nothing, just some anxiety from not seeing my family in a long time.”

Humming, his expression doesn’t change, but he nods.

When you arrive at your relative’s home, your hands can’t seem to stay dry, throat closing a bit in apprehension. As the three of you come into view, your cousin nods at you, but otherwise your arrival remains unnoticed.

Kirishima and Bakugou share a look behind you, noting the tension coming off you in waves as your aunt approaches the three of you.

She mutters your name in an overly friendly tone, one that was clearly for your partners’ benefit. Reaching out, she hugs you, asking, “Who are these handsome gentlemen? Is one of them your boyfriend?”

Kirishima smiles, about to confirm, until Bakugou elbows him in the side. Your shoulders relax a bit, giving Eijirou an apologetic look.

Before Bakugou can reply, you hear a snicker off to the side, looking behind you, you make eye contact with two of your cousins. They quickly look away.

Katsuki understands, and is about to storm over, but you catch his arm before he does, giving him a pleading look.

“I’m Kirishima Eijirou, and this is Bakugou Katsuki. We’re both just friends,” he looks a bit sad as he says this, the idea of only being your friend making him frown.

“Ah, yes. That makes sense.” Your aunt nods, walking off after a few more comments that you filter out.

You’re there for about half an hour before Bakugou can no longer bite his tongue, your pleading looks not being able to outweigh the snide remarks made at your expense. At this point Kirishima is done discouraging him, and you find him guiding you to your car, opening your door, and kissing your lips while you hear Katsuki yelling at your family. A tear slides down your face, Eijirou having you scoot over so he can hold you in the back on the way home. The driver’s door slams shut, Katuski’s large bicep in your field of vision as he maneuvers the car in reverse onto the pavement.

The car ride back home is silent as you sniffle into Kirishima’s chest, his hand smoothing over your hair.

Finding yourself in the bedroom the three of you share, your eyes blink a few times, trying to wake up. Your face is tear stained and you feel like you’ve been out for a while. Getting out of bed, you quietly make your way over to the living room, pausing in the doorway.

Your partners are quietly conversating, something they stop doing once you enter the room.

“Baby,” Eijirou murmurs as you settle into his open arms, Katsuki leaving only for a moment to get you a glass of water. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Tell you what? My family hates me?” Your cheek meets his broad chest as you curl up on his lap.

“Fuck them.” Katsuki growls as his forehead meets your shoulder, Kirishima’s broad frame making it only a bit awkward. “They don’t deserve you. You sure as hell don’t deserve to be treated like that.”

“Has it always been like this?” Eijirou murmurs, his lips brushing against your forehead.

“Yeah, pretty much.” You frown, tears pricking at your eyelashes, “I don’t know why I thought it would be any different this time, honestly.”

“Hey, this isn’t your fault.” Vermilion eyes meet yours, unshed tears there. Katsuki didn’t understand, but he knew one thing as he made eye contact with his other partner - they weren’t going to let you endure this anymore.

#kirishima eijirou x reader #bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader x kirishima #hurt/comfort #mha reader insert #tw: abusive family

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buzbu · 10 months

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I’m watching ‘Ladybug and Chat Noir: Awakening’ (you can watch a really bad quality bootleg recording on most pirating sites right now), these are my reactions while I’m watching . A lot of the points won’t make sense unless you’ve seen it too I’m sorry 😭

If you don’t want to watch the movie but want a vague idea of the plot, here u go

⚠️NEW MIRACULOUS MOVIE SPOILERS⚠️

- master fu is soo dramatic

- THIS IS A MUSICAL???

- whoever the singer is for marinette sounds so noticeably different to her it is throwing me off

- the character designs are so cute

- brand placement: 1

- Adrien is brooding so hard with his headphones. I bet he’s listening to something emo

- omg gabriel agreste backstory right away

- Luka cameo

- whyd they make plagg a fart monster

- there are more than 4 background character designs this is crazy

- whyd they make gabe kinda fine

- gabes first musical number as hawkmoth is so insanely Dr Facilier

- they made him such a good villain omfg I’m actually rooting for him he’s got the whole ‘a villain who would sacrifice the world to save her’ thing going for him

- oooo they have the mime villain from season 1 (?), and they are actually showing how op his power is. He could create literally anything and he just made a wall and a gun, he couldve done so much more. They did him justice they made him kinda fine too very Danny Bailey from Schmigadoon

- chat noir calling himself a sidekick is my villain origin story

- didn’t know how much I needed an action montage with a rock cover of the miraculous ladybug song until now

- a slither of adrienette in the montage

- brand placement: 2

- I’m an hour in and chat noir hasnt called ladybug milady ONCE

- oh my god they have the play fighting trope where they end up pinning eachother against a wall this is so them

- I don’t think the songs are very movie like, the words are pronounced like radio songs so you can’t really understand what they’re saying a lot of the time without captions (I don’t have captions 💔)

- the romance feels a lil rushed. Because they spent the first half hour almost exclusively on marinette and setting up her character/insecurities/etc and all the romantic development was in a montage. Now there’s a love song and theyre in love and it feels very underdeveloped to be at this stage already

- this song is cute though I can’t make out the majority of the words but in-love ladynoir content has my heart

- no marichat so far . Waiting patiently

- they haven’t set the love square up to its full potential 💔💔

- ok nevermind they kind of have, ladybug rejected chat noir for adrien, she asked adrien out and he rejected her for ladybug. But there has been no ladybug + adrien interactions or chat noir + marinette interactions yet

- omg gabriel adrien angst omg gabe is so much less of a dislikable character, they actually gave him some depth . Adrien is full on yelling at Gabriel and gabe actually looks like he cares about his son

- this bootleg is terrible quality but even with the bad quality the quality is so obviously good

- I’ve gotten used to the marinette singing voice and now I just love it

- this movie is so dramatic with the love songs and songs about insecurities, I feel like it’s that movie ladybug made fun of in the show

- GABE AKUMATISED HIMSELF AND ITS SO COOL THIS IS SO MUCH BETTER THAN THAT WEIRD IPAD VILLAIN HE WAS IN THE SHOW

- adrien just said ‘the less interested you are, the more they run after you 😒’ because ladybug called him for help after she rejected him😭😭😭😭 bro rlly said all girls are the same

- idk if this bootleg is just clipped together but it keeps randomly turning french with no subtitles and it’s confusing me so much. I don’t know french, why must they be in paris

- these boss fights are so well animated

- chat noir is so bitter god damn

- ladynoir angst but it’s actually high stakes im loving this

- LADYBUG SAVE YOUR CAT WHAT ARE YOU DOING

- SHE LET HIM FALL WHAT

- gabe just turned the water they fell in into lava this is crazy

- they just turned french again I have no idea what they’re saying

- MARINETTE / HAWKMOTH SHOWDOWN

- nevermind

- I’m sorry marinette would pick this dialogue to shreds it’s so corny

- GOT THE TINIEST SLITHER OF MARICHAT I AM HAPPY

- YES YES YES GABRIEL FORCED TO FACE THE FACT THAT ADRIEN IS CHAT NOIR

- HES SELF REFLECTING!!! REALISING EVERYTHING HE DID WAS INSANE AND HURT ADRIEN WHEN HE TOLD HIMSELF HE WAS HELPING HIM. THIS IS WHAT THE SEASON 5 FINALE SHOULDVE BEEN

- THIS IS PERFECT

- this is what ppl wanted for the show . adrien being resentful at first, Gabriel hit in the face with his own guilt and mistakes, having a genuine moment of self reflection, adrien forgiving him and gabe changing instead of getting his wish and being remembered as a hero, plus all of paris finding out hawkmoth was Gabriel, etc. I love this

- brand placement: 3

- omg there’s a masquerade ball everyone looks so good

- so marinette knows that adrien is chat noir but he doesn’t know shes ladybug yet ? That better change in the next 2 minutes

- HE KNOWS!

- marinette is so pretty I’m actually so happy with this

- OHHHH NATALIE VILLAIN ARC ????

- oh theyre talking in french again I have no idea what this ending means

FINAL THOUGHTS!

obvs it isn’t canon but I love this adaptation. The superpowers are portrayed as powerful as they actually are, there’s more drama and angst which I needed, the timeline is VERY different to the show. Marinette stands up for herself to chloe the same day that ladybug and chat noir reveal their identities, so it’s like the origins episode of season 1 mixed with one of the various identity reveals from season 4. Also she’s not friends with any of her class other than alya, adrien and nino, so it’s also kind of pre-origins vibes. Idk, it was really good and I can’t wait to watch it in better quality, with captions, and without ads playing every half hour

Also I’m forever thankful that there was no lila rossi storyline

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous awakening #ladybug and chat noir #ladybug and chat noir awakening #miraculous awakening spoiler #mlb awakening #mlb awakening spoilers #ladynoir #marichat #chat noir #ladybug

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leiakenobi · 2 years

Text

A Softer Side

Fandom: Suburbicon (2017) Pairing: Bud Cooper/F!Reader (no pronouns) Rating: Mature Word Count: 1.3k Summary: A morning after with Bud. Warnings: This is a very mild mature but there is some referenced sexual content so 18+ only pls!! A/N: Back in June I took some fic requests, and I wrote this one to fulfill a prompt for @budcooper! The request was “wearing their lover’s clothes! (also, “can I get my shirt back? ’'no.”)” I took a few liberties with the dialogue, but I don’t think you’ll mind the direction I went, hehe. Many thanks for the prompt, lovely. 💜

Cross-posted to AO3 here!

——

You wake to the faint sound of rain, pattering against the window, and for a few delirious moments, you have no idea what time of day it is or where you are.

It’s a strange bed, a new bed, but with sheets comfortable enough that you vaguely remember waking up in them at some point earlier and nestling back into them easily, automatically—it was raining then, too, a fact which makes the present moment feel timeless and intangible and--

Oh.

Your eyes pop open and the details of the previous night begin to rush over you, helped along by the sight of Bud’s ceiling.

(It would be safe to say that you spent… some stretch of time gazing up at it last night, although in the moment, your focus was more directed toward tugging at Bud’s hair while he pressed his tongue inside you.)

It was raining when you got here, too—harder than it is now, hard enough that you had to stop Bud from putting his hands all over you so that you could hang your discarded dress up on a hanger over his tub to dry. But whereas it had been dark and bleak when you tumbled through his front door, a dull, gray light now shines in where the curtains fall open on the far side of the room.

Coupled with Bud’s empty side of the bed – vacated long enough that the spot is cold – and the smell of pancakes wafting in through the open door, you’re left to conclude that it’s well and truly morning.

And from the way your stomach has just started rumbling, it’s beginning to feel increasingly urgent that you get out of bed and greet the day.

You regret it almost at once, because the room is chilly and your dress is on the other side of the house and it wouldn’t really accomplish much in terms of keeping you warm and or cozy, anyway—that’s not what it was intended for.

(It was intended to make Bud’s eyes bug out, and in that, at least, it was successful.)

So instead, with very little forethought and absolutely no shame or hesitation, you take a peek through Bud’s clothes in search of something to pull on. It’s strange – it’s nice, but unexpected – to get a glimpse at a different sort of Bud through his wardrobe, a Bud that doesn’t just wear the pristine, finely-tailored suits to work every day. You try to picture Bud wearing only a ratty undershirt, try to picture him in pajama pants, and as you pull on a clean pair, you realize—that might be what he’s wearing to putter around in the kitchen downstairs.

Better go look.

Alright—he evidently didn’t bother with a shirt before coming down here (which you don’t mind), but the pants are faded and hang low at his waist in a way that you don’t think they did, at first. In a way that he’s let the elastic wear down rather substantially since buying them.

“I like seeing this side of you,” you say softly.

Bud turns around in a flash, wielding a spatula in his surprise. At the sight of you, though, his eyes soften, giving you a prolonged look up and down. “Good morning to you, too.”

Rolling your eyes, you retort, “I was getting to that,” moving across the kitchen floor as you speak. Bud holds out his free, non-spatula hand and catches your waist the moment you’re within reach, pulling you in until your pelvis slots against his. And there, with his eyes sharp and playful and his mouth tantalizingly close to yours, you say, “Good morning.”

He hums and takes a moment to look over your features. Goodness, with his dark eyes and lids half-closed, you’ve barely been touching him for an instant but you’d almost guess that he’s already thinking about--

“What side of me?” he asks, rather than kissing you or moving his hand or holding you tighter.

You’d already nearly forgotten—but Bud has always been fond of hearing precisely what you had to say about him, the uncensored and the shameless and, on occasion, the vaguely derogatory.

(No, the cleanshaven look did not suit him, and he deserved to hear someone say so.)

So of course he would make sure to coax your impressions out of you now.

Smiling pleasantly, you tell him, “The less polished side. Here I’d always imagined that you must own a matching silk pajama set for every day of the week or something like that.”

“Oh, I do.” In response to your raised eyebrows, Bud amends, “Well, not for every day of the week. But I do have silk pajamas. For sleeping.”

You’re so busy trying to conjure up the image – especially because you certainly didn’t find any of these sets during your cursory search through his wardrobe, you’ll have to look harder – that it takes you completely by surprise when Bud steals a quick kiss before releasing his grip on you to return his focus to the stovetop and flip the pancakes that he’d been in the middle of preparing.

Not burnt, but perhaps just a little on the side of too brown.

Still—as always, Bud seems to have a remarkable handle on all facets of the situation.

“So fancy matching silk pajama sets for sleeping…” You trace your fingertips along his spine. “And then what, these are your lazy slob clothes?”

He glances up from the pancakes with one eyebrow raised. “Those are at the cleaners.”

You giggle. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.” Bud sniffs. “I’d never really thought about it. I like to be comfortable sometimes. You’re not going to tell everyone at the office, are you?”

“Considering that that would mean having to let them know they were right about us, no, I wasn’t planning on it.”

The corner of Bud’s mouth quirks up, and to his spatula, he says, “I think it was Bobby who had his money on Marcie’s retirement party, wasn’t it?”

“No, he was holding out for the annual board meeting. Eric bet on the retirement party.”

“Oh, no.” Bud wrinkles his nose. “We can’t let Eric win.”

You grin, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “I know. So I’ll keep the lazy slob thing to myself. For now.”

Turning on your heel, you make to stroll away, with some mind toward peering through his cabinets in search of a water glass. But an instant after you hear him turn the burner off, Bud captures your wrist, pulling you back to face him.

He’s wearing an expression that you’re not used to seeing from him, at least not when he’s talking to you about things besides accounts and briefs and whatever scam a customer is trying to pull over on the firm now. He looks guarded. “It’s not… I have to spend a lot of my time being a certain way,” he says carefully.

Your expression softens in an instant. “Hey, hey, I know that,” you tell him gently. Reaching up, you cup his cheek in one hand, unable to conceal the smile that spreads across your face when he meets your gaze so willingly. “It makes me happy. That you don’t have to wear suits and silk pajama sets for me.”

“Of course I don’t,” he mutters. Like maybe he trusted you to know, but he wasn’t prepared for you to come out and say it so matter-of-factly.

“Besides, it means you have comfy clothes for me to steal.”

Bud’s eyes immediately regain some of their playful edge. “Oh yes, speaking of which. I hope you don’t have any intention of liberating any of my belongings when you leave today.” His fingers curl into your sides, clutching his shirt tight as he speaks.

“What, these old things?” You glance down at yourself. “I’m afraid if you want them back, you’re going to have to work for it.”

His grip tightens. “Don’t tempt me before we’ve had our breakfast.”

But from the ease with which he presses you against the counter and leans in to kiss you, you’d venture to say that a little temptation is more than welcome.

——

interested in my other fics or my taglist form? you can find them on my masterlist here

blanket taglist: @amneris21, @brandyllyn, @iamskyereads, @jaime1110, @justjaclin, @marvelousmermaid, @mstgsmy, @pilothusband, @princessxkenobi, @pumpkin-stars, @trickstersp8

oscar taglist: @aellynera, @alwritey-aphrodite, @egcdeath, @genea-myers, @jitterbugs927, @rosiefridayrogersunday, @that-friend-in-the-corner, @thedukeofcaladan

#bud cooper x reader #bud cooper x you #fanfic #my fic #created

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