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infernwetrust · 4 years ago

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Marked You [Michael Langdon x Fem Reader]

Summary: Oh you know, just the interesting relationship between you and your best friend, the anti-christ.

Warnings: smut, implied smut, swearing, fluff, smallest amount of violence

WC: 2.0k

A/N: This was literally the first fucking thing on my mind when I woke up at 4:30AM. And reading all my mutuals works got me brainstormin’. Master list, here. Thank you for reading! -Juno

GIF by casikototmblr

Your relationship with Michael Langdon was very, clear. He was your best friend of course, the two of you, inseparable. Friends since the age of 5, you know everything about each other. While the two of you have your own friend group, everyone else knew where they stood when you and Michael got around each other. You trusted him more than anyone else in your life. And while the silly little arguments came, perks of the best friend contract, he never hurt you. He never put you down. A simple cool down period and he was in your room again, making the most ridiculous jokes.

On your worst days, Michael was the first person there. Exceptional at reading tone through text, he was at your door, movie and food ready, followed by a friendly cuddle. On his worst days, and his days were really fucking bad, you were there too. A short walk over to his house, you would allow him to vent angrily to you as you sat on his bed, watching as things flew around, feeling the temperature in the room fluctuate rapidly, but again, he made sure to never hurt you.

That's how it's always been though between you and Michael. Comfortable. And you appreciated that. Time after time, you'd sit in his lap amongst your friends, who thought nothing of it because they knew the deal. And amongst his annoying group of friends who knew better than to say anything out of pocket. You'd hold hands sometimes, walking wherever. Kisses on the cheek and forehead weren't uncommon either. And while that didn't deter every whore at school to not throw themselves at him, it did make it hard for you to find yourself a boyfriend.

To those who didn't know him well, Michael was intimidating. He stood at 5'11, dominating blue eyes, charming smile. Outside of his comfort zone, he was very reserved and closed off, which at times made it seem like he was hard to talk to, but anyone that did know him could say he was the sweetest boy around this dreadful place. A sweet boy who isn't afraid of anything or anyone.

When you finally did get your first boyfriend, he was almost your first everything, until he fucked that up. Yes, he was a douche. Yes, Michael did make him pay. And, while he could of used his powers, he decided to go the old fashion way for a change. And while you had yelled at him the same day, saying he didn't need to do that, that rather large action, brought the two of you even closer. Maybe a little too close?

Senior year, 18, and you were still a virgin. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but your hormones got the best of you at times. You didn't trust very many guys outside of Michael and your friend group and you didn't just want to give yourself to just anybody that even looked at you sexually. You'd listen to all your friends brag about who they've slept with or who they were dating. You knew Michael was sexually active too, but he never went out of his way to talk about that with you, which you appreciated. Not that it would of mattered, right? Wrong.

"This has got to be the dumbest shit I've ever seen." Michael said, referring to the movie in front of the two of you. The both of you sat on the couch in his living room, Ms. Mead asleep for the night, his arm wrapped tightly around your shoulder as you nestled into his side. He waited a few seconds for a response that usually came quick to anything he said, but when you didn't say anything, he turned his head to look at you. And look at you, just staring. "You okay, Y/N?"

You still didn't give him an answer. Instead, your eyes darted back and forth between his eyes and his lips and you swore that you could feel your face inching closer to his. And with Michael's unpredictability at times, you didn't know if it was his powers, but either way he was getting closer too. You gently put your lips on his in what started out as a gentle kiss that soon escalated. Realizing what you were doing, you quickly pulled yourself away.

"Sorry. Sorry. Sorry." you repeated. "I just.. I-, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

"You're sorry?" Michael grinned. He was hot, temperature and looks. "I finally get the one kiss that means something to me and you're sorry?"

"Wait wh-,"

"You're gonna be real sorry if you don't kiss me again." No more questions because you were wanting it just as bad as he was, you slammed your lips back into his. And he got handsy QUICK. Tongues exploring each other's insides, he grabbed every inch of you that he could, pausing momentarily so that he could pull his shirt off, followed by yours. His hands found their way to your breasts again, squeezing them before his fingers slowly trailed down to your stomach and in the waistband of your jeans.

"Wait-..." you mumbled against his lips, grabbing his wrist. "I-, I'm, I'm not-,"

"I know." Michael said, staring deeply into your eyes. "I'll be gentle, but if you want me to stop, I will. But God, and I use that term loosely, I've wanted you forever."

"I don't want you to stop. I just thought maybe you didn't know..."

"I'm always gonna know about my Y/N." Michael grabbed both of your hands, holding them together as he gave them a kiss. "If I do anything to hurt you, please stop me." You nodded and allowed him to resume. And he took care of you, just like he said he would.

"Hey." Michael said to you the next day, startling you at your locker.

"Shit." you said, almost dropping one of your books.

"Did I scare you?"

"You always scare me." He gave a small laugh before he face became serious again. "But about last night..."

"What about it?" he questioned, raising his eyebrow.

"Thank you."

"What are you thanking me for?" he asked confused.

"For being my first. For being so gentle and so caring. And for just being my best friend. Oh and being cute, a bonus."

"It's what best friends are for right?" He leaned up against the locker next to you, eyes piercing through your body as he licked his upper lip.

"I mean, no not really." you laughed. "But I'm honestly glad it was you."

And it just didn't stop there. Sexual encounters between you and your "best friend" became regular. Countless times you found yourself being dragged into the utility closet between periods. And it was always a quicky. Either you were on your knees for him or he was on his knees for you. Thankfully this room was located at the far end of the hall because the noises that came from it were sometimes so ungodly.

Wet and sloppy noises and his moans crowded the room as you sucked Michael off relentlessly, drool dangling from your chin, hand wet as you stroked him at the pace you sucked him. As he got closer, you let him take control, hands finding their way behind him to grip his ass tightly as he released himself down your throat. Re-dressing, he sent you on your way with a sloppy kiss, a smack on the ass, and a "love you". And the next time you knew it was your turn.

If you've never squirted before, you did now. This forced Michael to bring a back up shirt for the days he knew he was going to be between your legs in that closet. He wouldn't let up either, knowing how sensitive you were and how little time the two of you had. An intense mixture of his mouth and fingers, he worked you like a pro, not caring that his face was soaked in your juices. And when you squirted, he took all of it like it was nothing. He's left you speechless and breathless so many times, taking you above and beyond. If he was fast enough, he'd stroke himself for you, leaving his mouth to do all the work, knowing the sight of him got you off quicker and if you, yes you, got lucky enough, he'd orgasm with you, all over his hand, and you'd clean it right up.

There was no doubt that he brought out your inner sexual nature. The joy of being a sinner, yes? Your favorite place to be was in his room, music playing in the background, underneath him. Some evenings it was rough and fast. He'd fuck you deep into his mattress, arms pinned above your head as he hair dangled over his face. Or hand wrapped around your throat as you held onto his wrist. Most evenings though, it was slow and passionate and that's when the both of you realized that it was maybe more than just bfs with benefits.

Michael made love to you more than anything, taking his time to fill you up. Hands carefully and gently roaming your body as you sat in his lap, legs wrapped around his waists. Soft kisses on the lips and neck. When he fucked you, he made sure to hit the spots that made you cry out, every single thrust. He always took care of you first, made sure you came, and more than once. His favorite place to have you was in your room, LED lights red just like he liked it, on top him, forcing you to ride out your orgasm until you either had another one or he reached his.

You two weren't shy of public adventures either. Hand jobs and being fingered behind any hidden surface, as long as the conditions were right and it turned you on so much how Michael could keep a straight face while you did it, but projected his loud thoughts into your mind so only you could hear. You struggled most times to keep yourself together, but obviously not reckless enough to give the both of you up. Dress rooms in the malls were a favorite too as he could pound you as hard as he wanted to, knowing that you couldn't let out a sound or risk getting caught.

And when enough was enough, it was enough. How dare another guy try to flirt with you at a party that Michael was hosting. Sure, you two weren't official, but you were official. Anyone with eyes could see that you were off limits, but not this guy who hadn't stopped talking to you despite your clear lack of interest in what he had to say.

"Clearly she doesn't want to be bothered." Michael said, suddenly appearing behind you, hands clasped behind his back.

"Oh come on, Michael." the guy said. "Can't a guy get a little action every now and then." Michael, already buzzed and now with an even shorter fuse, snapped, grabbing the guy by his throat, drawing the eyes of those in the vicinity who knew better than to object.

"If I see you talk to her again, and trust me I'll know, I'll snap your neck. Understood?"

"Michael..." you said softly, grabbing his arm. "It's okay. Really. C'mon."

"Understood?!" Michael said again, his grip tightening.

"Under... understood." the guy weakly replied and Michael let him go, shoving him back so he stumbled backwards.

"Hey!" you said, pulling him towards you. "I said it was okay."

"No one is gonna flirt with my girl and everything just be okay? Do you want to know what he was thinking about? Cause I can tell you and I promise that you will not be happy." But you had already tuned him out after hearing the words "my girl".

"What did you just say?" you asked, amused.

"Nothing. Just. Come on. Let's go have a drink or something. I've barely seen you all night."

"But all of sudden show up when a guy starts talking to me? Nuh Uh, Michael Langdon. I know you. You were watching me. Your girl, huh?"

"You were always my girl, Y/N. You were always going to be, my girl and you always will be."

Taglist: @jimmason @angelicmichael @whatcodysaid @9layerdevilfoodcake @xavierplympton @guiltyfiend @mikhalxngdon @fernfiction @theneverendinghunger

#cody fern #cody fern imagine #american horror story #ahs #ahs apocalypse #michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon smut #michael langdon imagine

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shihalyfie · 3 years ago

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Regarding Konaka’s influence on Tamers (or how much he actually didn’t have)

(Rest assured that if you’ve had a conversation with me recently about this issue, I’m not vaguing you; this conversation has come up a lot in the last few weeks, especially in my private chats, so this is just me deciding that I should write something about this for once since it’s been weighing on my head lately.)

I think, right now, with what happened regarding the DigiFes debacle, a lot of people are having complicated feelings about how to feel about Tamers, and this is completely understandable. I think there are also some things that may be inevitably unavoidable, such as starting to second-guess certain nuances in the series and what they might lead to. All of that is perfectly reasonable, and in the end, it’s going to be up to everyone to decide how they feel.

In light of this, a lot of people have been bringing up the fact that, while Konaka was the head writer, he was by no means the only person working on it. This is very much true, but I’d like to add something else to the equation: this is an issue that goes much deeper than the usual claiming death of the author for the sake of sanity. The full picture is that Konaka has always had much less influence on the series than the fanbase tends to attribute to him. Official statements have been very clear as to not attribute the entire series to him, and, among all the other controversial statements he’s made, Konaka himself has at least been very active about crediting the other staff members as far as their influence on the series! The idea that he was the only person who ever did anything substantial for Tamers is something I’ve been warning against since long before any of this happened (if you want proof, I have a post from April with this sentiment in it), and right now we just happen to be seeing what’s basically the worst possible outcome of the fanbase constantly worshipping him like the only real creative heart behind the series to borderline cult-like levels...when that’s never been true, and has resulted in unfairly taking credit away from people who deserved it.

I’ll go into detail below, and I hope this can help people understand the situation better and sort out how they feel about it.

Note that I make references to his infamous blog in this post, which I’m deliberately refraining from directly linking for obvious reasons, but all of the information is still there, so it should be verifiable if you decide to look for it yourself.

Personally, I’ve always found it really bizarre how there’s been this obsession with portraying Konaka as some kind of auteur whom the entirety of Tamers depended on. I’m not saying this out of spite towards him, because, again, even he himself was very insistent on disclaiming credit for things he wasn’t actually responsible for (he was quite humble in this respect, actually). Not to mention that I think it’s a mistake in general to constantly pin a single person in a multi-person production as the sole heart behind it, and the Digimon fanbase has historically had this strange double standard behind it when it comes to uplifting him as the only heart behind Tamers when nobody says that about any of the head writers for...anything else. (How many times has Nishizono’s name ever popped up when talking about Adventure? People are usually more obsessed with talking about Kakudou or Seki.) Konaka’s work is certainly distinctive, but Tamers had a lot more going on besides just that.

In fact, based on his own statements on the matter and all of the other official information we’ve gotten about Tamers production, while you can’t really quantify such things, it’s generally been estimated that Konaka was responsible for something like only a fourth of the series. Which is an incredibly low amount compared to what the fanbase would have told you before all of this happened, because of this fixation that he must be the genius mastermind behind the whole series. Not only that, this “brilliant auteur” image of him was so inflated that people were attributing way more of 02 to him than he deserved; 02 episode 13 was the only thing he contributed to the series and he was specifically brought on as a “guest writer”, and the overall plot of the episode was determined by the rest of the production staff and not him -- but ask the fanbase and they’ll tell you stories about how he invented some grand planned arc for 02 that got cancelled, or even that Tamers exists because of a “writer revolt” from him and other writers not being allowed to do what they wanted. (You know, as much as I understand 02′s a controversial series, it would be really nice if people didn’t make up completely baseless stories like this just to scapegoat it...)

I honestly cannot emphasize enough how much of the problem we’re in right now has been horribly enabled by the weird pedestal the fanbase has been putting him on. This is to the point where there’s even been a double standard where some of the more unpopular/criticized elements of Tamers must not have been the fault of a brilliant writer like him, and in fact was forced on him by the executives (this excuse had always been brought up anytime someone doesn’t like something about Tamers, just to make sure the image of him as a perfect writer was maintained). Turns out, as per his own admission on the infamous blog, while he wasn’t the one who initially had the idea of putting Ryou in, the part that rubbed the fanbase the wrong way -- that he came in as an accomplished senior who was better than everyone and played up by everyone in the cast -- was unabashedly his idea (he apparently was enamored with the idea of having someone like Tuttle from the movie Brazil). Again, this is a weird scenario where even Konaka himself has been more humble about this issue than the fanbase’s perception of him; he fully admitted whenever he had trouble writing certain parts. For instance, he doesn’t actually like writing about alternate worlds, felt they were out of his comfort zone, and only wrote in the Digital World because the franchise needs one; he’d stated that if he’d had his way, the Digital World arc wouldn’t have come in as early as it did, which might be a pretty shocking statement for a Digimon fan to hear.

If you want even more specifics, here are some extremely major parts of the series that Konaka was not actually the one behind:

The character backgrounds. Konaka stated on his blog that he wasn’t interested in going too much into character backstories because he felt it was too plot-limiting to say that a character is the way they are thanks to something in their past or background (basically, he cares more about plot than character for the most part), and that he’s also not into worldbuilding. Certain things like Ruki going to a girls’ school were supplied by Seki, who infamously loves worldbuilding, family backgrounds, and character settings.

Certain nuances of Ruki’s character, especially the part where she’s pigeonholed into uncomfortable places due to being a girl, were informed by Yoshimura Genki, writer from Adventure and one of the head writers of 02 (who eventually would go on to create an entire career out of feminist cinema).

According to the posts on his blog, Impmon’s character arc didn’t have much input from Konaka himself and was largely written in by Maekawa Atsushi (also a writer from Adventure and one of the head writers of 02).

The whole concept of Yamaki being redeemable in the first place was something Konaka didn’t originally plan for; he’d initially intended to make him a straightforward antagonist, but, of all things, his Christmas song, combined with the input of the other writers (especially Maekawa) humanizing him, led to the development where Yamaki eventually changed sides and became sympathetic. (This makes Konaka’s recent stunt revolving around Yamaki a bit painfully ironic.)

The director, Kaizawa Yukio, was deliberately picked because he didn’t have experience on the prior series, for the sake of changing things up, and he spent Tamers as a period of studying what Digimon should be like. Based on what he’s hinted, it seems Konaka's writing style and choices were able to have as much influence as they did because Kaizawa approved of them -- that is to say, Konaka’s detailed imagery and descriptions were extensive enough that Kaizawa could go “sure, let’s go with that.” But in the end, nothing Konaka did would have gone through unless Kaizawa and Seki (among many others) didn’t also approve of it or provide input. Moreover, Kakudou Hiroyuki (director of Adventure and 02) has also been stated many times to have been a valuable consultant on invoking Digimon so that the new staff could understand what to aim for and how to get the right feel (and also assisted with providing stuff for the mythos, such as the Devas). Nevertheless, Kaizawa also seems to have had his own strong opinions and input on the story; he especially seems to get passionate when it comes to the topic of making the story something the kids watching it could relate to and imagine. (He would eventually go on to direct Frontier and Hunters, along with several episodes of the Adventure: reboot.)

So in other words, looking at this, a lot of these things that people emotionally connected to and loved about Tamers are things that literally were not his personal creation, and were largely contributed by the other writers! Of course, Konaka’s “creator thumbprint” is very obvious -- he was the head writer, after all -- and all of this had to go through his own vetting to make sure he personally liked it as well -- but nevertheless, you can see that this very much was a collaborative effort from head to toe, with him being very open about this fact himself. Insisting on making sure that this fact is well-known isn’t just a coping mechanism to try and remove his presence in the series, but rather a desire to get people to seriously stop giving him credit that really should be going to others (especially since, again, even he himself was very diligent about assigning that credit).

In the end, I’ll leave you with another thing to keep in mind: Konaka doesn’t get paid anymore for Tamers work (unless they make something new like the DigiFes thing), so continuing to buy Tamers merch and supporting the series through fanart and such will probably end up going more towards the Digimon IP as a whole. Basically, if we’re just talking about Tamers specifically, what degree this is going to matter is only really relevant to the content in the original series, which is now twenty years old and remains unchanged. By Konaka’s own admission, he wasn’t into all of these conspiracy theories until 2010 at the earliest, so while it’s understandable to be a bit wary about the themes in Tamers having traces of the base sentiment, the original series itself does not seem to be an outlet for alt-right propaganda, and it’s probably forcing it a bit much to read into it that way. Konaka’s also repeatedly insisted that all of his attempts at a Tamers sequel have been rejected and that he’s been doing increasingly strange swerves to get around members of the original cast not entirely being available, and the Japanese audience has turned out to not be very fond of the contents of the 2018 drama CD and the stage reading for reasons entirely separate from the politics, so it’s also unlikely we’ll be getting a Tamers sequel from him or something in the near future.

So -- at least for the time being -- what’s done with him is done, and the remaining question is how all of us feel about Tamers. I think everyone will have differing feelings on it, and that’s perfectly understandable. Personally, given everything I just said above, I’m going to continue treating it as a series very important to me, and one that many people (including, as it seems, a very different Konaka from twenty years ago) worked on with a lot of effort and love, although you may see me getting a bit more willing to be critical about the series and its themes thanks to my concerns about some of the sentiments in it and what they imply. I also completely understand that there are probably people whose associations are going to be much more hurt and who will have a much harder time seeing the series the same way ever again, and I think that’s reasonable as well. But at the very least, going forward, I hope all of us can understand the depth of this situation, give credit where it’s due, and not force credit where it’s not due.

#digimon #digimon tamers

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lemonmeringuecry · 4 years ago

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The Cubs at Disneyland

Hi, so I've been trying to do this for awhile (ever since I drew Lo in a Mickey Mouse hoodie) but when the queen herself, miss Hazel, said she needs them to go to Disney... well I wrote this. And drew it. Because I'm me.

So anyway, here's the drawing and below is the fic

Tw for a couple mentions of food but I think that's it

Credit for everything @lumosinlove

Leo bounced a bit on the balls of his feet, goofy smile at full force while he waited to board the plane. He had grown up going to Disney World with his family. Living in Louisiana, Florida wasn’t too far away, and Eloise and Wyatt Knut didn’t let being adults stop them from enjoying the magic of Disney. When Leo was born, his parents were beyond excited about the prospect of going as a family, getting mickey ears, collecting pins, and making memories.

The first time he went, Leo was five, his favorite Disney movie was the lion king, and an expression of pure joy was permanent in his pale, blue eyes. Over the four days they were in the parks he got to go on rides, eat themed sweets, and meet his favorite characters.

After that first trip, Eloise started a scrap book. The book, titled ‘Disney World 2006’, was soon filled with pictures of Leo at the entrance gate, Leo with pineapple dole whip halfway to his mouth, and countless of all three of them taken by the photographers.

A favorite picture of Eloise’s was near the back, this one of her son with Simba. When Leo had spotted the cast member dressed as his favorite character, he all but threw himself at the lion costume clad employee. Leo’s mama had taken many pictures of the two lion cubs together and they were beyond adorable.

There are more scrap books from 2008, 2011, 2014, and 2017. Throughout the years of pictures Leo never looks less than ecstatic. Even though New Orleans will forever remain his favorite place in the world, Disney is a close second to home, which is why this trip with his boys is such a big deal for him.

The Lions are currently on a short break in the season after their game against the Coyotes and the cubs are going to spend a few days at Disneyland in Anaheim.

Finn reaches forward to grab Leo’s hand who is standing in line in front of him.

“Sunshine, are you excited?” He asks. Leo tilts his head around to look at his boyfriend and nods eagerly.

“We’ll take that as a yes,” logan chuckles sleepily from behind Finn where he is standing with his head resting on the red head’s back. Evidently waking up at 6:00 in the morning to drive to the airport wasn’t ideal for him.

Leo lets out a low, impatient groan, still bouncing, “I need to be there like right now. Can’t we get on the plane already?”.

“We haven’t even been waiting that long. I think they’re about to call our section though, Peanut,” Finn answers him, trying not to let his amusement show too much.

A crinkly noise cuts off Leo’s response, “Now boarding rows 1-10,” a voice says from over the loudspeaker. Leo stands up straighter and turns to his boyfriends, “that’s us!”

“I know Nutter-Butter, go on, let’s get you to Disney!” Finn says as he pats Leo’s butt lightly, moving him forward, onto the jet bridge.

The boys get settled into their seats, Finn by the window, Logan in the middle for maximum cuddles, and Leo on the aisle for the leg room. For the first half of the flight Logan sleeps while Finn and Leo share a movie, but all three boys are wide awake by the time the flight attendants come around with drinks for the second time. The rest of the flight is spent chatting about practices coming up after the break, things they need for the apartment, and what they are going to do first upon arriving.

Once getting off the plane in California, they take the shuttle from John Wayne Airport to the Disneyland hotels. They are staying in the Adventure Land tower, closest to the park. By this point all three boys are buzzing with the infectious happiness of Disney. After unpacking and getting settled into their hotel room, the cubs proceed with their plans of shopping and getting dinner in Downtown Disney. First thing on the agenda is to procure mouse ears. Logan, Finn, and Leo make their way to World of Disney in order to find the widest selection of ears. Leo has a collection of his own ears at home, including his favorite pride Minnie ears, but for this trip he wants to get new ones along with Logan and Finn. Leo and Finn decide on classic Mickey ear hats, while Logan picks out Minnie ears with a lavender bow. They all get sweatshirts too, as is custom.

After a pleasant evening of enjoying the atmosphere and getting dinner at Ralph Brennan’s Jazz Kitchen (Leo’s offense towards their attempt at Cajun cuisine is only partially a joke), they call it night. They head back to the hotel, brush their teeth, put on pajamas, and cuddle up in bed. After a busy day the three boys quickly fall asleep, full of anticipation for the day ahead.

Something you should know about Leo is that when it comes to Disney, he is hard core. Their first morning there is an early entry in Disneyland park.

“Rise and shine, party people!” Leo calls as he entera the main part of the hotel room from the bathroom. Logan and Finn are just now waking up, but they aren’t remotely tired. The pure excitement radiating off their boyfriend is contagious as well as the promise of a day of fun.

“Butter baby, how long have you been up?” Finn’s question is alarmed yet distinctly amused.

“Since 5:30,” Leo responds off-handedly. Logan and Finn share a look, then turn it on Leo. Undeterred, Leo spins slowly in a circle in order to show off his carefully constructed outfit. He is wearing his favorite light wash Levi’s, paired with the crewneck he bought yesterday (light gray with vintage looking Mickey & friends). Underneath his sweatshirt he is wearing his Pizza Planet t-shirt, ready for when it gets hot later. Leo’s outfit is accessorized with his new Mickey ear hat, white air Jordan 1’s, and his Tinker Bell lanyard filled with pins from over the years.

“These things take time! Now y’all go get dressed, we have to be in line by 6:45,” Leo says. With that both Finn and Logan get out of bed and into their clothes in record time. On their way out of the room, they pick up their ears and backpacks from the desk by the TV.

After a brief stop at the Starbucks in Downtown Disney, the boys make it into the que of people lining up at the entrance gate. Once 7:00 hits, the lines start to move into the park. As Logan, Finn, and Leo enter, they gaze around in awe. At the end of Mainstreet sits Sleeping Beauty’s castle, tall and glorious. They walk hand in hand down the lane of colorful, old fashioned buildings, chatting excitedly about what to do first.

“Alright babes, what’s up on the agenda?” Finn asks.

“I don’t even know the options, what do you say Le?” Logan continues.

They end up heading over to Tomorrow Land first. They go on Star Tours and Space Mountain while the lines are short, then bounce around Fantasy land as they make their way across the park. Around 8:30 all three boys start to get hungry so they grab a bag or two of beignets from New Orleans Square. After breakfast, they hit their favorites in Adventure land (Finn fucking loves Indiana Jones), Frontier Land (Big Thunder Mountain Railroad is a fan favorite), and New Orleans Square (Logan might not stop singing ‘Yo Ho a Pirate’s Life for Me’ for weeks).

Around noon the cubs exit Disneyland Park and walk across to California Adventure. After lunch at Wine Country Trattoria the boys bop around Cars Land, Hollywood Land, Pacific Warf and Grizzly Peak. The lines are a lot longer now that it’s afternoon, so they take it in stride and spend their waiting time talking, cuddling, and playing games. They end up going on almost every ride as well as hitting the extra good ones twice like Incredicoaster and Guardians of the Galaxy (still a fan-fucking-tastic ride but Leo misses the Twilight Zone theme).

By the time they finish up in California Adventure for the day, it’s almost time for Fantasmic, and Leo has yet to tell his boys that he got them reserved seats. The cubs meander back to Disneyland but when they start to near Frontier Land Finn picks up the pace.

“Sweetheart, what’s the hurry?” Leo asks with a knowing smile.

“I wanna get good seats for Fantasmic, I haven’t seen it since I was little!” Finn replies.

“Orgasmic? I like the sound of that,” Logan slides in with a smirk.

“Baby, no!” His boyfriends exclaim at the same time. Logan giggles which gets Leo and Finn laughing as well.

“And Finn, I got us seat reservations for the show so no need to rush,” Leo tells him. Finn’s response is to jump on Leo with a fierce hug and a drawn out “Yay,”.

The cubs enjoy the water show immensely, all snuggled up and bundled in sweatshirts once again to fend off the cool evening air. They point out little details to each other with intertwined hands and gasp aloud at the pretty fireworks. Once Fantasmic is over they do a few more rides, then head back to the hotel, sleepy after a full day. The boys fall asleep quickly again, ready to do it all again the next day.

#my art #writing #lumosinlove #o'knutzy #leo knut #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #disneyland #coast to coast #sweater weather #harry potter fanart #lumosinlove fanart #fanart

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spine-buster · 4 years ago

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peaceful easy feeling ft. b.boeser | five

A/N: This is the last part of this mini series! I know this adventure was short but thank you all for coming along on the ride :) A quick reminder that I will be announcing my new fic, who it will feature, a small blurb, & a clue as to what to expect from it this Thursday at 7:30pm EST. Happy reading!

CONTENT WARNING: parents with disease/sickness (Parkinson’s); parent death; swearing; sex; alcohol use; lots of emotions.

* * * * *

“You look beautiful, baby,” Brock cooed as he adjusted his cufflinks – well, not really. He was looking at Grace, not really caring about his cufflinks. Seeing her stand there in her beautiful dress, her hair curled and pinned, and her delicate jewelry hanging off her ears, neck, and wrists…she was a vision. He was so lucky.

They were about to leave to attend the Parkinson’s Foundation of British Columbia Gala. Grace had planned virtually the whole thing, though she worked with the head of the foundation on most major decisions. She arranged the venue, catering, got major sponsors (okay…the biggest were her uncles, but there were a lot more), organized the silent auction, and arranged the entertainment for the evening. Everyone who attended their weekly meetings would be there. Brock knew the Aquilinis would be there. It was a party, yes, and a function to raise money, yes – but at the end of the day, it was a culmination of Grace’s strength after Hamish passed away.

“Thanks, babe,” she smiled over at him, taking one last look at herself in the mirror. “Are Petey and Svea ready to go?”

Brock nodded. “Petey’s been texting for fifteen minutes asking if we’re on our way yet,” he joked.

“You can blame it on me,” she winked. “Unless Petey takes a good look at your hair. Then he’ll know it was you.”

Brock laughed out loud, taking the few steps needed to stand right in front of her and wrap his arms around her. “Hey…before we go,” his voice was low and he looked down at Grace. “Your dad would be so proud of you for planning this.”

Grace nodded her head. She knew. It was a lot of work, and she completely went in head first with planning all of it and maybe, sort of taking over the entire operation, but it was worth it. She had planned something that would raise money that, hopefully, would fund research so that nobody would have to go through what she went through. She didn’t just want to be known as an heiress daughter of a billionaire; she wanted to be known as so much more. An heiress who used her money to fund research projects and arts centres; an heiress who donated her time and money to worthy causes. She once told Brock that she knew she wasn’t the smartest girl in the world, but that she thought she had a big heart. She hoped this was the start of others in her community, and in Vancouver, realizing that she had a big heart.

***

“Grace, this is amazing,” Svea couldn’t help but say astonishingly as she took yet another look around the giant room, decorated to the nines with flashing lights and impeccably dressed people chatting and drinking and dancing. Svea knew Grace would be busy throughout the night, so she wasn’t trying to hog her after their limousine ride together. But now that Svea got her alone, she had to verbalize it again, just like she did when she walked in. “Like, I don’t think you understand. It’s incredible.”

“Want to let me plan your wedding to Elias?” Grace winked, taking a sip of her drink.

“Oh shut up.”

“There she is!” the women both heart Elias yell. They turned around and saw him and Brock walking towards them, both with drinks in their hands. “Grace, this is so cool.”

“Thanks Petey. And thanks for donating your jersey.”

“Anything for you.”

Grace focused her attention on Brock. “Esther wants us to take a group photo with everyone before everyone leaves,” she said, and Brock nodded his head in agreement. She looked at Elias. “If I get everyone together right now, do you mind taking it?”

“Like I just said Grace, anything for you.”

***

Fatigued, physically and mentally exhausted, but still somehow feeling the adrenaline coursing through her veins, Grace climbed into the limousine with Brock, Elias, and Svea at the end of the gala so they could go home. They dropped off Elias and Svea first, naturally, and Elias had to wake Svea up as she slept on his shoulder throughout the ride. It left Brock and Grace alone in the limousine together, hands clasped together as the driver drove through the streets of Vancouver.

“You did amazing tonight,” Brock mumbled, his voice low and full of sleepiness but still so direct and meaningful. “I love you so much, Grace.”

“I love you too, Brock.”

“When we have kids, I’m gonna let them know this was the night I knew you’d become my wife.”

Grace stiffened at Brock’s words, but he was too tired to notice – the small smirk on his face not disappearing despite anxiety – not adrenaline – now coursing through Grace’s veins. She thought about the implications of his words, how he just outright admitted that she was the one for him. She thought about her feelings for him, and if she felt the same. She did. But was it possible to still be apprehensive? She loved Brock with her whole heart. She’d never met anybody like him, and likely would never meet anyone like him again. She loved him too, with everything she had.

But then she thought about her parents.

Her parents were young and in love once too. Her parents were once obsessed with each other and madly in love. Her parents had decided to get married and have a child. Her parents had decided what Brock was laying out on the proverbial table – what Brock was so willing to give her – and look what happened. Things didn’t work out. Love didn’t work out. Love was complicated. They separated. Grace went to live with Eliza but didn’t like it because she missed dad. She told Hamish who told his lawyers. His lawyers brought it to the judge. Divorce proceedings started. Grace went to live with Hamish. Eliza demanded alimony for her lifestyle, to maintain it, if not to exceed it. Eliza demanded child support. Eliza demanded nannies, a multi-million dollar house, and expensive cars. Hamish would tell Grace her mother was selfish. Eliza would tell Grace how stingy her father was. Eliza would tell Grace how her father only wanted custody so he didn’t have to pay child support. Hamish told Grace Eliza only wanted child support and alimony so she could hire babysitters and nannies while she went to spas. A pawn while she was at her mom’s in Shaughnessy; a pawn while she was at her dad’s in West Point Grey. A pawn when dropped off at school at Crofton House. A pawn at the dance studio, her happiest place.

What if she and Brock turned out the same way?

***

“You okay?” Brock asked Grace.

Grace wasn’t there. She was somewhere else, in her mind, thinking about events long passed. “Your father’s the cheapest man I’ve ever met,” she could hear her mom say in the kitchen as she waited for her cereal before school at seven years old. “Cheap cheap cheap cheap cheap! He’s always been so much work to be with, your father. He refuses to get you a Range Rover – did you know that? Your dad wants you driven around in some…in some…I don’t know, some Toyota.”

“Yeah, sorry,” Grace said absent-mindedly, giving her pasta a few more twirls to make it seem like she’d eat it. “Will I still be able to go to dance?”

“Who knows?! Your father may even take that away from you too! It scares me, the things he’s taking away from you.”

“But I love dance.”

“Well then maybe you should stay with me. Daddy will pay me to take you to dance.”

***

“Your mother is a piece of work, let me tell you,” Hamish mumbled as he slapped his cellphone down on the counter. “She was always so much work to be with. Always so much work. Now she wants $60,000 a month in alimony. Alimony!”

“What’s alimony?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hamish said. “Have your teachers taught you yet what it means to be selfish?” he asked. Grace nodded her head. “Well your mother is selfish. One of the most selfish people in the world.”

“Grace? You coming to bed?” Brock’s voice was groggy as he stood in the doorway of the ensuite, his usually well-kept hair everywhere, his eyes sleepy.

“Yeah…yeah, sorry,” Grace apologized, getting up from her seated position on the toilet lid. “Sorry baby.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah I’m fine,” she said, grabbing Brock’s hand and leading him back to bed.

“You’d tell me if it wasn’t right?” he asked softly as she cuddled up against him in bed.

“Of course,” she said, a nervous lump in her throat. “Of course.”

***

“Gracie…please tell me what’s wrong,” Brock said in a low voice as he tried to wrap his arms around her, only for her to flinch slightly and back away. That hurt him more than anything.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said unconvincingly.

“Yes it is—”

“Can we just drop it,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. “We’re supposed to be on a date.”

***

“What’s the matter with you?” Elias asked, sick of seeing Brock so gloomy and moody the past several weeks. He’d noticed a change in him, and though Brock was usually very open about what he was feeling with him, he wasn’t this time, and Elias was…skeptical. Well, not skeptical – worried. This time, Brock had a girlfriend and was moody, and Elias didn’t know what to expect. “What’s going on?”

“Something’s wrong with Grace,” Brock revealed to Elias.

“What’s wrong?”

Brock shook his head. “She won’t tell me. But she…she zones out a lot, like she’s thinking about something…and it’s so intense that she doesn’t even hear me calling her.”

“What’s she thinking about?”

Brock shrugged. “She doesn’t tell me. She’ll never tell me.”

“Well when did it start?”

Brock thought about it. He really thought about it. He liked to think he was in tune with changes in Grace. “The gala.”

“The Parkinson’s Gala?” Elias clarified. Brock nodded his head. “Well, could it be about her dad?”

“It’s something more,” Brock was adamant. He knew she would be sad and would never be the same after her dad died. That was a given. No-one was ever the same after the death of a parent, so he didn’t blame her for that. “It’s…it’s something more.”

***

“Is everything okay with you?” Svea asked delicately as she and Grace were shopping at Holt Renfrew. Well – Grace was shopping at Holt Renfrew. Svea was basically just following her around, because it wasn’t like she could afford anything.

“I’m fine,” Grace said unconvincingly.

“Are you sure? Because you know you can talk to me if things aren’t okay.”

Grace took a deep breath in, trying to compose herself. Knowing what she knew about Svea’s parents and their love story, she doubted that Svea would be able to provide any…critical insight, so to speak. But Grace tried anyway. “How d’you know a guy is your soulmate, Svea?” she asked.

Svea was taken aback. It was quite the loaded question to lead with. “I’d say it’s when you can picture the rest of your life with them. At least that’s one aspect to it.”

“Can you picture the rest of your life with Elias?”

“Yes,” Svea answered automatically, because she could. It was as friends, sure, but she still pictured the rest of her life with him. “Can you picture the rest of your life with Brock?”

Grace paused. Her response wasn’t as quick or forthcoming. “Yes.”

“But?”

“But what?”

“There was a pause there,” Svea said. “But what?”

“But what if, like, things change?” Grace asked. “What if the love doesn’t last? What if it breaks down?”

“You mean like your parents?”

Grace didn’t want to glare at Svea – she really didn’t, because Svea was one of the sweetest people alive – but she did. She glared at her. “No,” she said forcefully, trying to cover.

“Love always lasts. True love always lasts. Look at Elias and I – I mean, we’ve loved each other our whole lives—”

“You and Elias won’t even hold hands or kiss each other,” Grace said angrily, unable to control her emotions at this point. “You won’t even admit you love him romantically. How the hell is that love?”

Svea just stared at Grace, unable to formulate words. Tears welled in her eyes too, and when Grace saw them get red, she hated herself even more. She hated herself already for making Brock worry, for not telling him the truth, for hiding things from him; now, she hated herself even more for making Svea emotional. “I’ve gotta go,” she said, leaving quickly, unable to look back at Svea as she left her in the middle of Holt Renfrew alone.

***

“If you don’t tell me what’s wrong right now or I’m leaving,” Brock said sternly, his voice raised. Both of their voices had been for the last while now, since they were fighting. He looked at Grace as she stared back at him indignantly from across the kitchen. “We can’t have a relationship if we don’t communicate – if you don’t tell me what’s been bothering you.”

“There’s nothing wrong.”

“Is it something I did? Did I say something?”

“It’s not you.”

“Then what is it?”

“There’s nothing wr—”

“Tell me what’s wrong!”

Grace stayed silent. She could feel herself going red. She could feel the emotions in her bubble up. She knew she wouldn’t be able to hold it in much longer. “Leave.”

Brock furrowed his brows. “Excuse me?”

“Leave my apartment now.”

Brock stood stoic in spot. “You don’t mean that—”

“LEAVE!” Grace screamed at the top of her lungs, taking every ounce of strength left in her to not cry.

They were in a standoff. Brock stood stoic. Grace stood stoic. Staring at each other, waiting for the other to move. Neither did for a while, waiting it out to see who would crack first. She didn’t mean it, Brock kept thinking. She doesn’t mean it. She doesn’t mean it. But with every second that passed, with every heave of Grace’s chest, with every moment of silence signaling her refusal to budge…

Brock cracked.

He picked up his keys, gave Grace one last look, and walked out the door.

***

It was a few agonizing, excruciating, unbearably lonely few weeks later when Brock received a phone call in the middle of the night. 2:38am. His phone’s ring blaring throughout his empty apartment.

“Hello?” his voice was groggy, tired, exhausted.

Silence.

“Hello?” he asked once more, louder this time. If it was any one of his teammates he’d knock them dead the next time he saw them – Petey especially.

The voice was small and defeated when it finally did speak, asking Brock the question, “What if we end up like my parents?”

Brock was wide awake now. He got up in bed dramatically, holding his phone against his ear so tightly that he could hear the charger fall out of the electrical socket. “Gracie,” the shock was evident in his voice.

“Will you come over?” she asked.

Brock threw the covers off his body dramatically. “I’m on my way right now,” he said. He’d drive his car in his slippers if he needed to.

“Be careful.”

“I’m coming. I’ll be there soon.”

***

“C’mere,” Brock said the millisecond Grace let him in, wrapping his arms around her and engulfing her into a hug as she clung to him like he’d float away and wrapped every limb she had around him. He’d made it to her apartment in record time, speeding through the streets of Vancouver to get to her. It was probably dangerous, but it wasn’t like there were other cars on the road at 2:45 in the morning. “Talk to me Gracie. Talk to me,” he urged as he felt her tears against his skin.

“I’m so sorry,” she mumbled into the crook of his neck. “I’m so—Brock, I was so bad. So bad.”

“Shhhhh shhhh shhhh, don’t,” Brock cooed. “Just tell me what’s wrong. What’s going on in your head, Grace?”

“Brock…” she began, swallowing her tears before continuing. She pulled away slightly so she could look him in the eye, wiping her own red ones with the palms of her hands. She knew she looked awful, but she also knew Brock didn’t give a shit. “I just miss him so much.”

“Your dad.”

Grace nodded quickly. “Every part of me misses him. But then I started to think about how awful he and my mom were during the divorce,” she explained. And to Brock, that said everything. Grace told him about it ever since they met – the general, the specific, the nitty-gritty details – and it was awful. To have that whirling around in her mind would have definitely affected her. It all made sense to him now. It all made sense, knowing she never wanted to go back to that. “And I got scared…I got so scared. I just kept remembering how bad it was. So on the night of the gala when you said—”

“So it was something that I said—”

“Nonononononono,” she vehemently shook her head, bringing her finger up to his lips to silence him. “No no no no no. I—Brock—I love you with every part of me too. But…but what if we end up like my parents? What if we fall out of love? What if it—what if it ends badly? What if we ended up hating each other? They’d always say things like it was so hard to be with one another and—”

“Is it hard to be with me?” Brock asked, not wanting her to go any further and knowing that at this point, he needed to intervene.

“NO! Never!” she exclaimed. She never wanted Brock to think that ever. She cradled his face in her hands. “Being with you feels natural. It feels like it was always supposed to be this way. It’s so easy. It’s so peaceful.”

“Then that’s how it’ll always be, a peaceful easy feeling,” Brock whispered. “What’s there to be scared about, baby?”

Grace shook her head, tearing up again. “Nothing when I’m with you.”

“We won’t end up like your parents because we’re not your parents,” he said. His words were so simple but they hit Grace like a ton of bricks. “We’re different people. I love you more than anything, and the thought of hating you—Grace—I—it’s never, never crossed my mind. I never could. You give me everything. Do I give you everything?”

She nodded. “Everything.”

“Then I’m gonna keep giving you everything. And I’ll do it till the end of time, Gracie. Because I love you. I can’t picture myself with anyone else. I can’t…I can’t picture going through pain with anyone else besides you.”

Brock’s words were loaded – she knew that. “I can’t picture going through pain with anyone else besides you.” Grace nodded. The sentiment was so serious, but so right. When she really thought about it, would she have wanted to experience this pain with anyone else besides Brock? No. He meant the world to her. And that’s how it was always going to be. “I’m so dumb,” she shook her head at herself.

“You’re not dumb. For what you went through, it’s a legitimate worry,” he reassured her. “But I promise you, I promise you, I’ll love you with everything I have and you’ll love me with everything you have, and we won’t end up like your parents.”

Grace was overcome with emotion. “I love you so much, Brock.”

“I love you too,” he leaned in to kiss her, once, twice, then again and again. When they stopped, he wrapped his arms around her body and lay down on her couch, bringing her body down with him. He wiggled out of his hoodie. Then he pushed her body down slightly, and that’s when Grace knew exactly what he was doing. She lay her head on his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“Can you feel it?” he asked softly.

Grace nodded.

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youshouldhavepaidattentiondad · 3 years ago

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Slow Descent: Ch 1: Not Looking for Trouble (Aren't You Though?)

Day 1 entry for @hatchetober

Prompt: Dark

Ao3

The sun has long since set over Hatchetfield. The darkness weighs heavily over the town and beyond. In Oakley Park, there aren't even any lights to illuminate the space. Which makes sense, seeing as it closes at sunset.

Despite this, a shiny red 2019 Corvette Stingray sits in the small parking lot. The Kansas license plate suggests the owner doesn't know any better. Which is impressive, given the signs posted that state the park's hours. Not that the locals need the signs. The locals of Hatchetfield know better than to be this close to the Witchwood this late at night.

Arlen Mercier hikes his bag higher on his shoulder as he approaches the treeline. The beam from his flashlight illuminates the trunks of the trees and the ground in front of him. Crickets chirp loudly, almost as if in warning. He glances up at the night sky, noting the new moon, before walking into the forest.

He had just moved to Hatchetfield a month or so ago, in search of inspiration for his next novel. Sure, his fantasy adventure books were fun to write and sold well, but he wanted a challenge. Based on box office sales and tumblr posts, his target demographic seemed to be into horror.

He heard about Hatchetfield from a few fans, noting the town name on the return addresses of letters. It seemed like such a silly name for a town. Hatchetfield? Is that where you go to bury the hatchet? He had tweeted under his pen name of Claire Merren. The responses he received from fans who lived there, though, intrigued him. He read about their stories, urban legends and conspiracy theories, feeling drawn to the island town. A few days browsing the web and some phone calls later, he had purchased a house in a neighborhood called Pinebrook.

Tonight though, tonight is the first night he's gotten to do any investigating after asking around town. The Witchwood caught his attention after a brief conversation with a young girl with pigtail braids and dark, serious eyes. She caught sight of him outside of Lakeside Mall and had immediately become distressed. "Witchwood," she had muttered, glancing at the teenager in a Toy Zone vest at her side before looking pointedly at him again. "Apple… Dark…"

He had tried to approach her, to ask what she meant, but the teen had glared at him before hurrying the girl away.

Arlen finds himself in a clearing after several minutes of hiking over gnarled roots and unruly underbrush. The girl had been right about two things: it was dark and he was in the Witchwood. He shines the light around, slowly spinning in a circle as he moves to the middle of the clearing. He stops dead as two horrifying realizations hit him.

One: He doesn't know which way he came from.

Two: The crickets have stopped chirping.

He takes a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm. He looks around, trying to find some sort of sign or marker to have magically appeared to guide him back to the park.

Crunch

Arlen freezes, swallowing nervously at the sound. That wasn't a twig snapping. That sounded like-

"Well, well, well, who do we have here?" A low gravelly voice asks

Stumbling back, Arlen shines the light towards the sound of the voice. There stands a man dressed entirely in denim. The light reflects off the pins on his jacket. His dark hair is slicked back from his face, dark eyes glinting maliciously. In his hand is a green apple with a single bite taken out of it.

Panic begins to rise in his chest. "Wh-who are you?!" He demands in a shaky voice.

"Oh, I think the more important question is who are you?" The man looks him up and down. "Not from Hatchetfield, that much is for certain."

Arlen blinks. "How could you possibly know that?"

Somehow, the man's grin grows even wider. "Cause I know Hatchetfield. It's a mold, y'see, makes a very specific type of person." He tilts his head, eyes narrowing as he takes another bite of his apple. "...and you're not it," he says through a mouthful of apple.

Where to even begin with this. "Look, I don't want any trouble-"

The forest around him erupts with high pitched screams of laughter, making it almost impossible to hear the man's low rumbling laugh. There's something else, a single, almost hiccuping laugh underneath all of the other noises that seems to resonate through the forest.

"You don't want any trouble?" The man snickers, eyes burning with sadistic glee. "You came to Hatchetfield of all places and you expect me to believe you don't want any trouble?" He sneers. He begins to cross the clearing slowly, headed directly for Arlen.

He needs to run, needs to get away from whoever this man is. As he takes a step back, his flashlight begins dimming and flickering. Arlen curses. He just put new batteries in it before coming out. He hits it against the heel of his hand, desperately trying to get the light to come back. He glances up to see the man getting closer and closer, his lips curled in an arrogant smirk.

Witchwood. He glances around at the trees as he backs up.

Apple. His eyes fall to the green skin of the fruit in the man's hand.

Dark. His flashlight flickers one last time before plunging him in total darkness.

The next morning, the soft sunlight filters through the branches of the trees. Deep in the heart of the Witchwood, a clearing seems to glow from the light filling it. It appears undisturbed, aside from a single green apple on the ground, placed, somehow, exactly in the middle of the clearing.

Note: Thank you so much for reading! Arlen Mercier is my original character, please do not use without my permission. My Hatchetober fics are going to be one continuing story based around Arlen, so this should be fun!

#hatchetober 2021 #arlen mercier #original character #oc #hatchetfield universe #black friday #tgwdlm #starkid #fic #lex foster #hannah foster #uncle wiley #wilbur cross #Pinebrook #witchwood #slow descent

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dreamties · 4 years ago

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Slashers W/ a Soft Pastel S/O

A/n - So this one actually wasn’t requested, I just thought it would be super cute. And what I mean by “Soft Pastel”, I mean being into soft/pastel/kawaii fashion, I just didn’t know how to phrase it. Since there’s so many subcultures.

Trigger Warning: Slight Cursing (I say f*ck)

Also- these are gender neutral, but a few describe you in skirts/dresses, so if you’re not comfy with that, just skip that part or the whole thing?? :/

I might do more like this for other types of alternative fashion- like punk or something? Or a S/O who has a lot of body mods, I think it would be fun.

Characters: Billy/Stu, The Lost Boys, Helen Lyle, Daniel Robitaille/Candyman, Brahms Heelshire, and Amanda Young.

I didn’t add Michael Myers, but can do so if y’all want it. I just think he’d be very indifferent about it...didn’t think that would be very fun to read.

Billy Loomis + Stu Macher

Stu would be the most like into your outfits

Billy? Not so much. he just thinks you look cute in everything.

but if you did more guro-kawaii looks? they would both be all over that shit.

it combines more of the grotesque in with the cute- which is just perfect for the boys. they get to see you dawned in all sorts of blood, guts/gore, bandage patterns/aesthetics.

and maybe even tying in different monster-ish elements.

like wearing funky white or other unnatural colored contacts, really intense makeup(especially around the eyes), and fuck it, maybe you’re wearing faux demon horns.

I think they’d find it kinda hot. if we’re being perfectly honest here.

Now- would you able to get them into it as well?

Stu will ask you, with excitement reverberating throughout out his body and his voice. of course he want’s to at least try it!

so many clips in Stu’s hair. you haven’t even had that many in your hair before!

he may also wear rings sometimes. he thinks all the colors and designs are just so fun!

and on the other hand...

Billy, the guy that basically wore the same outfit for an entire movie? who’s closet only contains jeans and white t-shirts? trying out your style? i don’t think so lol

if you do- somehow- get him to try...

then you might have pressured him into it a bit? very jokingly, of course.

“C’mon, humor me, babe. Stu’s already dressed and everything!” You try giving him puppy eyes to seal the deal.

“Fine!” Billy says, grabbing the garment and a few clips from your hands. He shuts the door too harshly behind him.

A short silence is shared, before you and Stu burst out laughing. “Do you think he’s mad at us?” You’re hardly able to get it out. Of course he was, but in his own odd way appreciated this adventure.

He comes back a moment later, his white t-shirt replaced with a pastel red one, an especially gory character printed on the front. and a red clip barely hanging on to one of the side pieces of hair in front of his face. You try to suppress a giggle at Billy’s messily put together look.

for the love of gosh- don’t actually laugh when he appears. he is very outside of his comfort zone, and he’s only doing this because he loves you and Stu, and just,, don’t add this to his list of reasons not to try new things.

whatever your reaction ends up being, you’re absolutely obligated to tell them how attractive they look in it(even Billy who looks hella dorky).

(my art)

The Lost Boys

the comparison between their dark, punk-ish style and then the sweet baby pinks and blues, and soft lavenders that adorned your form??

it’s just too sweet.

they are completely enamored by your style- even if certain vampires (and I’m not naming any names, but I definitely mean David) may not show his love for your look as openly

Marko- he’d get one cutesy patch for his jacket, so he has like a little piece of you everywhere he goes. also...he genuinely ended up really digging your style? but not enough to abandon his punk look completely. he is still totally dedicated to that.

the other boys will absolutely mess with him about the patch though

all in good fun!

David’s not letting you near his hair with any extra clips or accessories.

Dwayne enjoys the quiet intimacy shared between the two of you. just sitting together, you might be styling his hair( super loose ponytail or braid- admit it, it would be so cute! and helpful so his hair isn’t always in his face!)...anyways, you’d use a colorful hair tie, and a few clips to help pin back his hair.

he probably won’t go out with the clips in, but if it’s just the five of you at the cave? he’ll keep it in until it’s time to sleep.

he loves seeing how happy and accomplished you look after finishing with his hair tho.

Paul is hands down the most likely to get into the whole look and go out in public with it on.

makeup? hell yeah. it won’t be as intense as yours, and he probably only does the eyes and maybe some shine. sparkly vampire time

hair accessories? all of them

would try combining his look with yours, to have a perfect mess of it.

a light, light blue mesh top, slightly darker blue jacket(with slight accents in pink, purple, white or black), and his usual sort of white jeans(?) would still look great with it. he’s absolutely rocking that look.

you are ecstatic to finally have someone else to share your passion with! (much harder to find similar folks when you’re a vampire,,)

Helen Lyle

she’s so used to the plain life around her, and she’d been living before you- you were such a breath of fresh air.

of course, you’re darling personality also drew her into you- but your fashion sense? it fascinated her.

she’s not trying it herself anytime soon, but she appreciates the fact that you enjoy it.

the most she would ever try is a very natural makeup look. and a coat or two of a pastel color of her choice.

she would love watching you get ready. not so much help out though- she just likes seeing the way you approach things. how you choose to pair certain pieces with one another.

she’ll ask questions to better understand your interests! not that it’s weird or wrong that you’re into it, she’s just a very inquisitive person.

you’d wear a lot of blue though- because you know Helen likes that color.

imagine wearing coordinated looks for different events and such. so, when you go with Helen to help out with her Candyman thesis, you might wear candy-themed attire. (of course in this universe,, she wouldn’t die! so no worries of that! you get to keep you’re gf).

if you do gift her something, she keeps it on her bedside table(or dresser). so she can still admire it, and still serves a purpose. fun décor!

all around though- Helen would be very chill, but captivated, about you’re interests.

Daniel Robitaille - Candyman

his life is so dark and gruesome, and he loves seeing you all dressed up.

and while he’s dead- long dead- and isn’t really apart of the world in the same sense that you are- it gives him this happy sense of hope for the world.

because there’s this very small thing, that you hold close to your heart, that makes you smile.

Also!!

even if they’re apart of a super awful, traumatic, part of his past- the bees are just a part of the family now.

so cute yellow/spring/bee themed outfits?? yes. ohh definitely, yes.

As for him dressing up? He’d feel hesitant.

he’s filled with immense joy around you, but is almost scared with someone altering part of his attire or self in any way(rooted back to, again, past stuff).

but part of loving is to take the person as a whole, bad parts, good parts- insecurities- the entire package. and trusting one another.

he has his whole faith in you not to do anything bad.

and so, it becomes a habit for the two of you to spend mornings together, chatting and getting ready. well, you’re getting ready, it’s more for the quality time together for him.

things are little different for Daniel. for many reasons.

one, he has very short hair. so the clips don’t really work there..

two- he only has one hand, and he’s “working” a lot with the appendages he does have. rings won’t work out because they might fall off- and he’d hate to lose something of yours.

three- he’s not a big makeup fan. he’s happy enough watching you put it on.

and then for his actual attire- he needs the coat to cover his insides. it’s also, in a way, his uniform.

you’ve settled on two things.

making homemade necklaces that can easily hide under his big coat (either sweets or honey/bee themed).

and sewing little patterns on the inside of his coat. other’s wouldn’t be able to see it, but he would know it’s there.

Brahms Heelshire

imagine being super into sorta ‘sweet lolita’, pastel/soft colors, bows, the big skirts, all the sorta ruffles(?)

and then especially if your shorter than Brahms(which is really,, not hard to do unless you’re insanely tall cause he’s,, 6 foot 3.)- and he thinks you look like such a doll?

but like,, in a nice way.

I think he’d get pretty excited if he got to help you set up your outfits!

especially if you praised him for picking out a good combo, or organizing correctly.

and some of Brahms movements are a bit awkward, he’s spent most of his life in the walls and the attic...but imagine turning on his music, and just dancing with him. having him twirl you in his arms a few times.

Brahms loves having your hands through his hair. and if hair accessories means he gets more of that love and attention? then yes,, yes he will wear them.

he just likes feeling taken care of, and along with your usual duties, you help him figure out the soft fashion styles, and how to make it more appealing and suitable for his own tastes.

because- as you insist- you want it to be something he enjoys just because he does, and not just for the closeness. though you can’t deny you love that aspect, too.

i can tell you one thing right here, though. you’re never getting makeup on him. he does not like taking off his mask, even if you’ve been in a relationship with him for a while, he still hides his face a lot.

you’d offered to do his makeup once, since he was staring so intently as you did yours. you’d made the mistake of reaching for his mask. you’d usually ask before doing so, but sometimes you’d slip up.

You apologize profusely, offering your arms out to him for a hug. “There, there, Brahms.” You smile, giving him a slight squeeze of affection.

he does take your stuff sometimes.

it’s a little annoying when you think you’ve lost your favorite accessory or dress or etc and then you just realize,, oh, it’s my favorite wall boy again. thank gosh you love him, so you’re not really upset or anything.

he just likes having little reminders of you, it gives him reassurance. upon other warm and fuzzy feelings.

if you’re able to find time in your day though, you’ll make cute little trinkets or bracelets for him. you’ll gift them or purposely leave them out for him- so you’ll still have some of your stuff when it comes to getting ready the next day.

in short- he’d much rather look at you than partake on his own.

Amanda Young

she’s never seen anything like this! :0

everyone she knows, herself included, tend to wear more dulled, plain clothes.

she’s immediately very intrigued by your attire...sort of want’s to try it, but is a bit self conscious and embarrassed to ask.

So!! you start out with small things, and fairly early on you both realize that she loves when you decorate her hair with accessories.

gifting Amanda a pair of little pig clips!!

or little stud earrings- those would be fricking adorable on her!

and she’s just so happy,, wtf

you dress mostly for yourself, but the more you’re in a relationship with your gf- the more you want to dress for her as well.

you can see this little sparkle in her eye when she sees you, and you want to keep seeing that look for as long as you can.

you slowly get her into it. your relationship and Amanda’s interest in your style just gives her so much light in an otherwise dim world.

if she did get into it, I think she’d do more creepy/cute. as a way to sort of cope with past trauma. that this sort of “bad” thing (the creepy) can still coexist with the good (the cute). she admires that quality.

just very sweet partners, who happen to love similar types of fashion

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weepingaesthetic · 4 years ago

Text

Orenda

Pairing: Dabi x reader

AU: Adult Verse

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Romance

Rating: NSFW

Warning: Drug use, swearing

Notes: Orenda is a mature fanfic that takes place in the characters adult years. Characters have been aged up (20+). There will be cursing, drug-use, extreme violence, explicit content, mentions of death and abuse. I don’t do clean versions but I will put a line where you can skip explicit scenes if it makes you uncomfortable. :) All content will be on my Masterlist. Enjoy~

Words: 2050+

Masterlist

Orenda:

An internal summoning of personal strength to change fate. The courage to love someone against the obstacles life has set before you.

You’re a hacker helping a villain. He gets the information from you and stays when it’s convenient. There’s no room for feelings, right?

Solivagent

Solivagent: someone who wanders the world by themselves; a solitary adventurer.

You lit another cigarette from the pack that was thinning as quick as your patience, foot tapping on the carpet on the floor below you, frustration growing with each passing minute. He was late. You wondered what excuse he’s come up with this time, already thinking of what you’d say to each one.

‘Villains run by their own clock’

‘So do I, pretty boy you ain’t special’

‘I got caught up with work’

‘And you’re inhibiting me from continuing mine, show up on time or quit asking for my help.’

Maybe he’d been held up by a hero. Maybe he’d been slower due to patrol hours, or gotten caught up in another pointless argument with Shigaraki. The only excuse you would even pass by as acceptable is if he came stumbling in your front door bleeding, but even then you would probably only scoff at him.

‘What’d you do this time?’ before patching him up and offering him tea. Those encounters only happened rarely, thankfully for your heart. Not that you would ever tell him you worried for him. Not that he ever would accept you did.

The two of you never talked about your lives outside of what was necessary. He came in for hacking jobs and what little first aid you could offer from time to time and the pay was nice. You couldn’t deny that throwing the so called “heroes” for a loop and ending their plans was enjoyable either. The deal you had was simple and fulfilling in more ways than one.

So when he stumbled into your apartment in fury, cold blue eyes slicing into yours in mock amusement, you raised an eyebrow at him in a challenge. Whatever he had to say better be good if he was looking at you like that. Especially half an hour late.

“You want to explain why you almost broke my door off the hinges?” Your voice was smooth, calculated, dragging another hit from the cancer stick in your hand while you waited for what better be the best damn explanation of his life.

“You want to explain how a group of Heroes knew where our base was?”

Your eyes squinted at the accusatory tone, crossing your legs over each other tightly to hide your anger. He thought you had anything to do with them?

“You have ten seconds to explain why you think I’d work with those insufferable ass hats before I kick you out and burn the documents you had me find.” Calm, cool, collected, and definitely not about to claw your way to his heart. The nerve-

“You’re the only person who knew outside of the league, doll face. Makes you look pretty suspicious.” His smirk portrayed amusement but his eyes were cold. You knew the hands he had shoved in the pockets of his trench coat were clenched. You could smell the wood smell from his quirk, barely activated enough that it was heating up the room.

You glared at him, eyes shinning their vivid green as you activated your quirk in retaliation. “If I wanted them to find you I would’ve done it months ago. They’ve made some pretty high value offers and I’ve always declined, not to mention texted and told you they were after the hideout. Pretty sure I made it clear I wanted nothing to do with them and was helping you because I didn’t. So either drop the insecurities and accusatorial bullshit and come get this folder or I’m kicking you into the next goddamn planet.”

If anyone else had talked to him like that, they would probably be burned to a crisp, yet here you were. Looking down your nose at the man threateningly while he sized you up for any indication that you were lying. You didn’t know if your were stupidly overly cocky or lived on death wishes.

He eventually relaxed, shoving his hand through his hair in irritation. He walked toward you and slumped himself in the chair opposite of your desk. He held out a hand and you gave him what was left of your cigarette. You waited till he had a full lung fulls in before speaking.

“If my door is broke, I’m coming for your kneecaps.”

He smirked at that, this one actually holding amusement as he looked at you. “Finally admitting you’re too short to reach anything else?”

“Finally realizing you’re a Titan?” You raised an eyebrow at him in a glare that had no ill will behind it. Sitting at five foot two, he was over half of a foot taller than you. You barely coming up to the top of his chest always striked amusement in him.

“Nothing small about me doll, didn’t need you to realize it.” He winked at you and you scoffed.

“They say the braggers are the biggest let downs.”

“Stating the obvious, sweetheart.”

You bantered with him easily, tension diffusing and neither of you keen to bring up why he was so riled up. You knew he had trust issues and he knew you didn’t take any bullshit. As far as the two of you were aware, it was already in the past. A misunderstanding of emotions.

“You still want this packet so you can leave or you want tea and a place to crash till the new base is set up? Take it with the base being infiltrated you all are scattered for a bit.”

He shrugged, snuffing out the cigarette in his fingers when it got to the filter. “Shigaraki has an emergency meet up in place.”

You looked up from the monitor back at him for a second before continuing with the code you were working on.

“Offer still stands. Couch is a lot better than some dusty, cold floor.” The thought of him shivering and toughing it out bothered you, but you couldn’t place why. He had done it plenty of times before he met you without complaint.

“Can’t argue with that.”

“I’ll start the tea then. Chamomile and milk like usual?” You got up from your chair, stretching a bit.

“Yeah.”

Learning the man in front of you preferred tea when he wasn’t drinking liquor had been a surprise to you the first time he took a cup you made, with full protest from you. He never asked, but he always found a way to get some from you after whether you offered or not. You weren’t complaining, but the factoid had you scrunching your eyebrows in confusion at the revelation for weeks. Definitely not someone you would pin as a tea drinker.

You hummed as you set the kettle on the stove to boil, throwing the blanket and pillow you kept in the closet for him on the pullout couch. When you walked back he already had another stick in his hand, inhaling the smoke slowly. You rolled your eyes, looking over at your near empty pack. You’d have to go to a convenience store soon.

“Thief. Don’t you have your own?”

“Yours are better.”

You shoved his shoulder lightly as you passed him. “Didn’t take you for a cheapskate.”

“A lot of things you don’t know about me, doll.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him. “That an invitation?”

“A warning.” His head was laid against the back of the chair, his face out of view for you to read his expression.

You hummed in response, eyes gluing back to the screen in hopes of a breakthrough. It’d been hours and the wall kept rerouting you through the code. It was changing its firewall on its own. The realization had you gritting your teeth in annoyance. This was going to take longer than you thought.

“New job?” The question was easy, impersonal, something to fill the void with small talk. The normalcy of it had you both relaxing and sighing out your disappointment. Disappointment in what, you couldn’t place. Maybe that he wasn’t opening up to you? You almost snorted at your thoughts. As if he ever would. You knew that. You two were only in this situation because it benefited you both. At least that’s what you reminded yourself.

“Hm.” You glanced up from the screen at him, “Twice called asking for a firewall breach. These bastards have one that rewrites itself when it detects a hack. So it’s been giving me a headache. They’re good, I’ll give them that.”

He looked at you in amusement. “Admitting defeat?”

You laughed, your pride rearing up like a proud peacock. “As if. Just going to take longer than anticipated.”

Maybe if you would’ve looked up in the few moments of silence you would’ve seen the admiration on his face, instead of the cocky façade you were used to. Maybe it would’ve finally registered in your head that this exchange was more than just ‘benefits and agreements’ for him, but you were too zoned in to your work to notice.

The kettle whistling brought you back to the present, his usual mask back in place. You stood up, making your way into the kitchen to take it off the burner, Dabi not far behind you. You took what he had claimed as his cup, a Viking styled mug, from the shelf and poured the water over the tea bag letting it sit as he grabbed the milk.

“Shigaraki wants you to come stay with the League.” No sugar coat and blunt. You rolled your eyes.

“He knows I prefer my own space. I’m a hacker, I don’t fight. I’m assuming you’re saying want loosely.”

His lips curled into a smile filled with mischief. “Demanded is more fitting. I told him he had a better chance of convincing All Might to a dinner date.”

You laughed at that, removing the tea bag to hand him his cup.

“You’re not wrong.”

You watched his eyes flit over to the couch before they landed back on you.

“If you’re tired, you can go ahead and sleep. I’ll just be working anyway.” You misread the frown he gave you as exhaustion. He looked like he wanted to say something before shaking his head, taking a long drink from his cup.

“Yeah. Night Ace.” You smiled at the nickname.

“Night burnt chicken nugget.” He snorted at you and you walked past him back to the computer.

The sounds of typing filled the room along with his soft breathing long enough you thought he fell asleep. When his voice cut through the silence you had to fight the mild jump of start.

“When was the last time you slept?”

You flicked your gaze over to him. “I had a twenty minute power nap yesterday.”

His blue eyes cut sharply to yours under the mound of blanket, irritation clear on his face. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

You sighed, rubbing your hands down your face. “Five days ago.”

He tsked at you. “Come here.”

You shook your head slowly, already glued back to the screen as the code ran, cursing when it was blocked again. “Dabi-”

“It wasn’t a suggestion.”

Your eyes cut back to him, huffing as you got up. You walked over to him mirroring his own irritation. “What? It better be good if-”

You were cut off as he grabbed you, pulling you under the covers with him, despite your protests.

“Just shut up and sleep. Last thing I need is you going comatose for days cause you drained the shit of yourself.”

You flushed, eyes meeting his chest in the position he had you. This was impersonal, he just didn’t want to deal with your crashes.

“I have my own bed.”

You felt the rumble in his chest as he laughed. “This is to ensure you don’t try to work and actually get some sleep.”

“I have more important things to do than sleep.” You tried to argue but you could already feel your eyelids drooping. He was too warm and comfortable for his own good.

“I do have a fire quirk.” You could practically hear the grin in his voice.

You squeaked in embarrassment that you’d said that aloud, his chuckles only getting louder.

He ran his hands through your hair and pulled your head under his chin, sighing softly. “Just do us both a favour and fucking sleep.”

Your breath caught in your throat at the closeness and you scolded your heart for beating so fast. This means nothing, so why is it causing these reactions?

You felt yourself drifting off, not before feeling his lips against your head in some dream you’d convinced yourself of.

“Goodnight, Ace.”

You were far too gone to answer.

#bnha dabi #dabi #dabi x reader #hacker #slight angst #slow burn #fluff and romance #a couple of dumbasses #mha #bnha

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patriciasage · 4 years ago

Text

Title: double trouble

Author: Patricia_Sage

Fandom: The Adventure Zone - Amnesty

Pairings: Indrid Cold/Duck Newton, Dani/Aubrey Little (mentioned)

Summary:

Aubrey feels like her heart has crawled up into her windpipe. The flame in her hand flickers erratically. Two copies of Duck stand before them, breathing hard and holding their hands in the air. Ned, pointing the NARF blaster at them both, is attempting to appear confident, but Aubrey can tell he’s panicking.

“Shit, Duck,” Aubrey says, “Why didn’t we think of a code word?”

[posted in full below the break, but you can find me on AO3]

Aubrey is scared shitless, but she won’t admit it.

This abomination isn't like anything they’ve faced. Before, hunting them felt like finding a dangerous animal that had to be put down. This one is intelligent and intentional, and the attacks are personal. Knowing the abomination had taken Dani’s form sends a shiver down Aubrey’s spine.

Eugene had told Duck that he had seen some ‘alien activity’ at Pins & Needles, the bowling and knitting club, so the Pine Guard was sent to investigate.

“You’re not supposed to split the party,” Aubrey whispers.

“But a group of three people cannot investigate two noises at once, Aubrey,” Ned replies, continuing to sweep the staff room with his flashlight. Aubrey is comforted by the flame in her hand as both a light source and a weapon. “Besides, Duck can take care of himself. He has a sword, for goodness sake.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have his powers anymore and he didn’t bring his helmet! I’m worried about him.”

“There’s only the bathrooms left to check and then we shall be reunited. Nothing to fret about, my dear.”

Except, there is something to fret about. A shout echoes through the building, followed by a loud crash. Ned and Aubrey look at each other for a second before sprinting toward the sound. “Duck!” Aubrey calls. A loveseat is overturned in the knitting area and a ball of yarn has made its way halfway down one of the lanes. There’s no sight of their friend.

The phone behind the front counter begins to ring. Before Aubrey can think about answering it, there’s another sound.

A crash followed by some swearing. It’s coming from the area behind the lanes. Ned makes his way to the carpeted path on the edge of the room. Aubrey runs directly down Lane 3, her combat boots skidding slightly on the smooth wood. When she reaches the end of the lane, she doesn’t stop to think before she hits the floor. She propels herself into a slide, feet first, crashing through the bowling pins and the plastic curtain and emerging in the back room. Ned flings open the door, out of breath, just after Aubrey gets to her feet. They take in a strange and frightening sight.

Duck is on the floor and he is grappling with someone who is also wearing a ranger uniform. The person underneath clips him with a punch to the side of the head and dislodges him. It’s dim in this back room but Aubrey can see his opponent’s rugged features, now. It’s Duck.

Duck reaches amongst some bowling pins and retrieves Beacon. He swings it down with ferocity and Aubrey lets out a startled shout as it moves toward her friend’s face. But the attack is intercepted by another Beacon. The two swords wrap around each other like snakes, spitting insults.

“False! Ephemeral!” One of them snarls.

“Pathetic duplication! You cannot compare to Beacon!” The other shouts.

“Fuck,” Aubrey says.

Ned steps forward in the hallway behind the pin-dispensing machines. Aubrey clambers down next to him as he draws the NARF blaster. “Halt, Ducks!” Ned commands. “Step away!”

Both Ducks look up from their tangled position on the floor. The one on top attempts to yank Beacon back, but the two swords are linked together. The force of their sword tug-of-war causes both weapons, still entangled, to be flung in the air. One of the Ducks reaches for Beacon, but Ned takes a threatening step forward. “Hey!” They both freeze. “Stand up and kick the swords to me.”

Aubrey feels like her heart has crawled up into her windpipe. The flame in her hand flickers erratically. Two copies of her friend stand before them, breathing hard and holding their hands in the air. Ned is attempting to appear confident, but Aubrey can tell he’s panicking. “Shit, Duck,” Aubrey says, “Why didn’t we think of a code word?”

They speak at the same time: “I told you!” / “No shit, Aubrey.”

“Alright. Everybody, remain calm,” Ned says authoritatively. He levels the NARF blaster between them. “Tell me something that only Duck would know.” It’s incredibly cliché. Aubrey resists the urge to roll her eyes.

The two Ducks speak at once, again: “Uh, that we hooked up?” / “Like how we slept together eight years ago?”

Aubrey’s jaw drops and she looks over at Ned, scandalized. Ned adjusts his grip on his weapon, flustered and embarrassed.

Aubrey hits him in the arm with her non-flaming hand. “Ned, you idiot, the Bom-Bom looked through all your memories when you were in that hotel!”

“Right,” Ned mumbles, blushing. He clears his throat and attempts to look intimidating again. “Tell us something only Aubrey would know!” Aubrey groans in frustration.

Duck One, on the left, speaks up. “We don’t have time for this, y’all. The more we fuck around, the more time it has to figure out how to get past us.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” Ned shouts.

“We can’t let it get away again, Ned!” Duck One reiterates. He takes a deep breath and steadies himself. “Shoot us both.”

“What!?” Duck Two protests.

Aubrey sees Ned make a decision. Her heart races, but she’s frozen to the spot.

Ned shoots the Duck on the right.

Except his flesh doesn’t come apart in scattered orbs of light. He doesn’t scream like a malfunctioning computer. Red blood, and lots of it, pours out of the wound in his thigh. Duck collapses with a very human yell. “Fuck! Ned!”

The abomination takes advantage of this moment of distraction to create a rift. It steps through, smiling with Duck’s face. The rift closes and Ned’s second foam bullet embeds itself into the wall.

Aubrey and Ned run to their fallen friend. Aubrey feels sick at the sight of his pants darkening with blood. Duck lifts his shaking hands off of the wound for a second before pressing them down again, hard. “It’s not – fuck! – Doesn’t look like you hit an artery. But holy shit, Ned! I could never take a bullet, but I really can’t take a bullet right now, man; I’m just a regular guy! Fuck!”

“I’m so sorry, Duck. I thought it would be very improbable for the abomination to volunteer to be shot.”

“And you thought I would volunteer to be shot!? Fuck, man, you should have done what it said and shot us both. This is worst-case scenario shit right here. Dammit!”

“Yes. I’m –” Ned looks absolutely miserable, but he steels himself and turns to Aubrey, who has stalled next to the growing puddle of blood on the carpet. “Aubrey, go to the front desk and call an ambulance. Bring back the first aid kit under the counter.” He takes off his jacket and places it on Duck’s thigh, replacing the ranger’s hands with his own.

“How do you know it’s under the counter?”

“It’s always under the count– go, Aubrey!”

“Right!” She takes off running, this time through the door and along the side wall. She jumps over the counter and frantically scans over the bowling shoes before finding the landline on the wall.

The phone rings just as her fingers are about to touch it.

Aubrey answers, “H-hello?”

“The ambulance will take too long. I’ll be there soon.”

The voice is familiar, often heard through a telephone. “Indrid! Wait…was that you calling, before?”

“Yes, Aubrey,” he replies a little harshly. “I was going to tell you not to shoot my boyfriend.”

Her first instinct is to protest, correct him that it was Ned who pulled the trigger. Instead, she says, “I’m sorry.”

Indrid sighs and the sound pushes against the receiver. “No. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I’ll be there soon.” The dial tone rings in her ears.

About five minutes later, the bell above the front door rings. Aubrey and Ned, crouched over their injured friend in the back of the alley, share a meaningful look. Duck is slumped against the wall, pale and bleeding through the bandages. They’re ready to protect him.

There’s a deep fluttering of wings and the scraping of claws on the wood flooring. Then…nothing. It’s almost impossible to hear footsteps on carpet. Aubrey raises a fist of flame and Ned readiest the NARF blaster at the door.

Ironically, they’re relieved to see a monster step through. He’s so tall he has to crouch under the doorframe, wings folded close to his body. His huge red eyes glow in the dim room, flickering in Aubrey’s light. A pair of clawed hands raise in response to Ned and Aubrey’s defensive stance, the other pair holding onto a white box. He chitters in a way that Aubrey assumes is meant to be calming. All she can focus on is the movement of his sharp, terrifying mandibles.

Duck speaks up from behind them, his voice weak. “Hey, darlin’.”

“Hello, Duck.” Indrid reaches out a clawed, dark hand and hands Ned another first aid kit. He must have brought this one from his Winnebago or from another room in the building. “You need to add more bandages – tighter – if he’s going to make it to the hospital.”

Ned nods and gets to work. Aubrey wonders absentmindedly why he’s so calm about this. The moment she saw the bullet go into Duck’s leg, she just about passed out.

Indrid turns to Aubrey and tilts his head to the side in a swift, insectoid motion. Aubrey has only seen him in his Sylph form once – the time they asked for his glasses at the Winnebago. If she didn’t know he was a friend, she would be absolutely terrified right now. As it were, she’s still a little unsettled by his proximity. He towers over her, dark and frightening.

Indrid seems to notice her reaction. Shoulders hunched a little, he draws a pair of glasses from a pouch on his waist (like a moth fanny pack, Aubrey thinks). When he puts them on, he becomes the pale, tall, slightly disheveled man she’s familiar with. He’s wearing an old sweater of Duck’s, emblazoned with one of The Smiths’ album covers. Indrid looks a little uncomfortable. Aubrey realizes with a jolt of guilt that it’s because of her.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I’m just not, you know, used to seeing you as the Mothman. You can take your glasses off if you want!”

“It’s alright, I understand,” Indrid replies. He fiddles with the large lenses and shivers a little. He keeps his disguise on. Aubrey feels bad for making him feel self-conscious. Empathetically, she thinks of how it would feel for people to look at her and act scared or unsettled. Just because he’s a giant, frightening moth doesn’t mean she should make him feel bad about himself.

Before Aubrey can make an attempt at a better apology, Ned speaks up. “Won’t you be spotted transporting him to the emergency room?”

Indrid’s head tilts back and he freezes for a moment, evaluating potential futures. He returns to the present with a sigh. “He’s going to pass out before we get there.” His hands clench in frustration. “I can’t carry him in my human form.” Indrid turns to Duck. “Sorry, Duck, I’m going to have to leave you on the sidewalk outside of the hospital and call in from a payphone. Too many questions.”

Duck manages a weak shrug and grimaces. “Well, shit. Alright. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Indrid glances over at Aubrey before taking off his glasses again. Aubrey makes sure to keep her face neutral as the Mothman appears in front of her once more. Ned scrambles out of the way. Indrid kneels and his claws dig into the carpet. When he stands up, he has Duck cradled gently in his top set of arms, the other two providing support. Duck is a big guy, but he looks almost small surrounded protectively by Indrid’s wings.

Aubrey thinks about how most people would find Dani scary in her Sylph form, but all Aubrey sees is the woman she cares about, the woman she would do anything for. Indrid must be like that for Duck. Even though the Mothman’s transformation is significantly more intense than Dani’s, this is his authentic self. As the four of them make their way out of the back room and past the bowling lanes, Aubrey can’t help but notice the comfort the two take in each other. Duck buries his fingers in some chest feathers while Indrid’s free hand gently strokes his hair. It’s kind of…cute.

Ned opens the front door to the bowling alley and peers around the parking lot. “Coast is clear,” he says, holding the door open for everyone to step through.

Aubrey turns to Indrid. “Take care of him.”

“I will,” Indrid replies, then takes off into the sky with a powerful beat of his wings.

Aubrey and Ned watch until Indrid’s form disappears into the night sky. Ned sighs and Aubrey looks over at him. He looks like he’s about to crumble from guilt. He’s much bigger and taller than her, so all she can do is place a comforting hand on his arm.

“Come on, baby driver, let’s hit the road.”

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spnwriter · 4 years ago

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Beyond frustrated

Summary: The reader can’t seem to get off. Sam presses her as to why she’s been so moody. When she admits that she’s horny. Sam offers to help out.

Warnings: Smut, Bondage, Oral, Unprotected sex (Wrap it before you tap it people), Insecure reader. This one’s a long one. Enjoy!

I was thankful when the guys went on a hunt alone. I needed some personal time. And, a new sex toy. My vibrator just hasn't been doing it for me as of late. My last hook up left something to be desired. Ya know, an orgasm. I haven't gotten off in weeks. I know I've been irritable. Dean has mentioned a few times. He joked and, said that I needed to get laid. What he didn't know was that he was right. One trip to the sex store later and, I had bought a dildo. I'd never used one before. I wasn't very adventurous when it came to toys. I had always stuck to what I know gets me off. What caused me to step out of my comfort zone? The usual stuff wasn't getting me off anymore. After my last hook up I didn't have high hopes on someone else getting me off.

First things first, to wash the toy. I give it a good wash before stripping down as quickly as I can. I don't need to draw this out. I'm already wet from the anticipation. I run the dildo up and down my lips. The tip brushes my clit. This is probably the best purchase I've made. I slowly press the dildo in. The stretch feels amazing. I've never had anything this big. I decided to get a nine-inch dildo. Big, thick, and totally worth the price. It takes me a while to work its thickness into myself. That last guy wasn't nearly this big. The drag of the dildo felt amazing. I could feel myself getting close. I just couldn't get there. I let out a whine. I grab my vibrator in hopes that it might give me the extra push. I can't get off. For some reason, I can't fall over the edge. I try for thirty minutes before I give up. I'm even more frustrated than before. I try not to let my attitude give it away. The boys had gotten back yesterday. I was in a foul mood. I tried to keep my distance from the boys. I didn't want to take my bad mood out on them. Dean had a habit of getting under my skin better than anyone. I didn't think of Sam being worried. Since they had been home, I had tried again. I still had no luck. I decided that maybe training might help me blow off some steam. I had only been working the punching bag for ten minutes. Sam found me. He peeked his head out from behind the punching bag. I can see his large hands holding the bag. I briefly wonder what his hands would feel like on my body. His fingers are so long. I bet they could reach spots I never knew existed. Focus Y/N. Let the steam off. You so don't need to start lusting over Sam. He wouldn't look at me twice if we didn't hunt together. I let out a frustrated sigh before I punch the bag hard. "I was going to ask if you were okay. Judging by how badly you're beating up the punching bag, I'm going to ask what's bothering you?" Sam says as he holds the bag still. "You don't want to know, Sammy." I reply as I hit the bag once more. "If it's bothering you this much, then I want to know." "I can promise you that you really don't." I say as I step away from the bag. I take off my boxing gloves. I set them on the bench as I grab my water bottle. Sam must have followed me because his voice is loud behind me. "Why are you fighting me so hard on this?" I turn around to face him. He's close. My face is inches away from his chest. "Because I don't want you to know the reason I'm so uptight is because I can't get off! The last guy was disappointing. I even bought a new toy hoping that'd help. It didn't." I snap. I can tell he's surprised at my outburst. He looks at me with wide eyes. He doesn't know what to say. I wouldn't know how to respond to that. "Sam..." I start. It's almost like a switch flips. Sam's facial expression changes as he steps forward. He backs me into the wall. I drop the water bottle as he grabs my hips. He looks down at me with a smirk on his face. "Is that why you've been such a brat? Hmm, because you need someone to play with that pretty little pussy?" Sam asks. His statement surprises me. I've never heard the younger Winchester talk like that. It was possibly the hottest thing I had ever heard. I nod, not being able to find my words. "Use your words, Baby girl. Say the word and, I'll walk away. We can forget this ever happened. Or you can tell me you need me to play with you." He let's go of me. He's giving me time to think. He's not pressing me at all. That's the reason I'm going to say yes. He's allowing me to decided without him being close to me. He wants me to decide without a distraction. I look up at him. I make sure to catch his eyes as I speak. "I want you to play with me, Sir." I answer. His hands wrap around my hips. He pulls me into his chest. One hand reaches down to grab my ass. "How do you like it?" He asks as he starts dropping kisses on my neck. No one asked me that before. I don't even know how to answer that. I didn't have all that much experience. My number is in the single digits. The best thing to do is, to be honest. "I honestly don't know. No one has asked me that before." I admit. He offers a genuine smile. "Do you like it soft and, sensual?" He asks as lightly caresses my side. "Or do you like it rough and, dirty." He asks as He grips my hip tightly. He nips at the side of my neck. I let out a whine as he starts nipping at the hollow of my throat. He smirks against my neck. "So rough and dirty it is." Sam whispers. "Go do what you need to and, then meet me in my room.”

He presses a kiss on my lips before I could walk away. He pulls away and, lets me go."Sorry, I couldn't resist." Sam smiles. I blush before I turn away. I take a quick shower. I make sure that everything is shaved. I dig out the only pair of sexy underwear I own. I bought the set when I was feeling down. I haven't worn them. I didn't have the courage to dawn the red lace. I stare at the see through lace for a long time. Am I brave enough to wear it for Sam? It's the most reviling piece of underwear that I own. I put the set on for the first time since I bought it. The lace leaves nothing to the imagination. The underwear, if you could even call it that, was basically strings. The strings don't do anything to cover the roll on my sides. The bra doesn't hold my boobs up like they should. A soft knock sounds through my room. I hear Sam say my name before he opened the door. I grab my covers and wrap them around me. It's too late, he's seen me already. He enters my room to stand behind me. He looks me in the eyes in the mirror. "I was worried about you. I just came to check on you." He says. He's giving me the Winchester look of concern. "Then, I come in here and, your wearing that." He bites his lip as his eyes trail down my body. He grips the blanket. "Why are you hiding from me?" He asks as he presses a kiss to my shoulder. "I think you're beautiful. I want to see you." He doesn't pull the blanket away. He's just holding the hem of it. He's letting me decided if I'm comfortable enough to show him. I let go of the blanket. He slowly takes the cover away from my body. He's giving me the option to stop him. His eyes stay on mine until I nod that it's okay for him to look. His eyes trail slowly down my body. "So beautiful." He whispers as he grips my boobs. "You look so fucking sexy." He groans. His hands kneed the flesh as he kisses the nape of my neck. His hands slide down to my hips. His fingers slide under the string of my underwear. He gently turns me around. His lips catch mine as soon as I am in front of him. He nibbles on my bottom lip. I open my mouth for him. The grip on my hips tightens. He grabs me by the back of my thighs. I jump as he lifts me. I wrap my legs around his waist. He gently lays me down on the bed. He takes my hands in his. He pins them above me. "No touching." He whispers. He starts kissing down my neck. His tongue runs along the top of my bra. "Can I take this off?" He asks as he pushes the right strap off my shoulder. I find it incredibly sweet that he asked to take the practically see-through bra. I nod. He slaps the outside of my thigh harshly. "Use your words." He demands. "Yes, Sir." I answer. He reaches behind me and, unclasps my bra. He slides the fabric off my chest. He seals his lips on my nipples as he kneads the flesh of the other one. He starts kissing down my body. He reaches the top of my underwear. He bites my hip lightly. He's teasing me. He hasn't really touched me and, I'm already dripping. I'd be more embarrassed if I wasn't so horny. He wraps his hands around the strings. He looks up at me from between my legs. "Take them off. Please." I whine. He smirks against my hip as he pulls the fabric away from me. He spreads my legs wide. He runs a single finger down my lips. "So wet." He groans. He licks a stripe up my pussy. He holds my hips down as he starts using his tongue to fuck me. He seals his lips around clit. He presses a single finger in me. Without his whole finger inside me, he brushes my sweet spot. I have to fight the urge to grasp his head as he licks into me. "Tastes so good. So fucking tight too. Gonna have to stretch you out." He says when he pulls away. He adds another finger and, starts scissoring them inside me. "Fuck, Sam." I whine. "Feel good, baby girl?" He teases as he adds another finger.

"So good. So close." "Yeah, you gonna cum for me? All over my fingers like a good little slut?" He asks as he starts nipping at my neck. "Yes, sir," I whine as He curls his fingers against my g spot.

I let out a loud moan of Sam's name as I let go. I don't think I've ever cum that hard before. He works me through my orgasm. He pulls his fingers out of me. He takes them in his mouth to suck my release off his fingers. He hums at the taste. "Feel better?" He asks. "Not even close. Get down here." I demand. I break the rules and pull his body flush agianst mine. I capture his lips as he catches himself on his elbows. He kisses me back briefly. "You broke the rules." He states. "Sorry, sir. I just wanted to suck your cock." I admit as I cup him through his jeans. I always knew he'd be packing. I didn't expect it to be that big. He groans as he presses his erection into my hand. "I'll let it go this time. Only because it's our first time...next time you will be punished." He says as He stands. He pulls his shirt off. Miles of tan taught skin is revealed. Holy fuck, how did I get so lucky? Before I could reach out to touch his abs, he grabs my hand.

"No touching." He warns. His grip on my wrist is tight. He lets go of me. He unbuckles his belt. "Hands." He says. I extend my hands to him. "Do you trust me?" I nod without thinking about it. I trust this man with my life. He wraps the belt around my wrist. He buckles it around my wrists tightly. "Not too tight?" He checks. I wiggle my wrists. I have some room to move but, not enough to get out of the bindings. "They're good, sir." I answer.

"On your knees." He commands. I obey quickly. He smirks down at me. He unbuttons his jeans and, slides them down to his thighs. He pulls his cock out. I was right. It's so fucking big. He's just under ten niches. I don't think I could wrap my hand around him he's so thick. He taps his member on my lips lightly. "Open." He utters. I open my mouth as wide as I can get it. He slowly pushes into my mouth. He doesn't thrust into my mouth. He allows me to set the pace. He weaves his hands into my hair. I can manage just under half before I start gagging on him. The noises he's making makes me work harder to please him. I swirl my tongue around his tip. He pulls himself out of my mouth. "Fuck, You're good at that. But, I want to cum in that tight little pussy." He says as He grabs my arm to pull me up. He tosses me on the bed. I giggle as I bounce lightly. He strips the rest of the way before he crawls between my legs. He unbuckles the belt. He presses a kiss to the red marks it left behind. "Ready?" He asks before he even moves to grabs himself. "Please, Sam. I need you." I whine. He presses himself into me. God, I've never had anything this big before. The stretch is more than the dildo. "Fuck." I moan as he finally bottoms out. "So tight." He groans. He stills for a moment to allow me to adjust to the feeling. "Sam. Move please," I beg. He draws back and gives a hard thrust. I can feel his balls slap against my ass while he fucks me. "You can touch me now baby." Sam groans in my ear. I dig my nails into his back as he grind against me. "Fuck, feels so good." I whine as he thumbs my clit. "Gonna cum for me? Hm, gonna cum all over my cock like a good little girl." "Shit, Sam." I whine as I let go for the second time tonight. He groans my name loudly. He lets go inside me. His release is warm inside me. He pulls away. His cum drips down me onto the bed. "I'll be right back." He informs me before he presses a loving kiss on my lips. He comes back with a warm cloth. He spreads my legs gently. He uses the rag to clean up the mess he left between my legs. He tosses the rag into my dirty clothes hamper. He grabs some lotion from my dresser. "Arms." He says. He gently rubs the lotion into the fading red marks on my skin. He makes sure to rub the lotion up into my upper arms. He sets the bottle down on my bedside table. He gets into bed beside me. He wraps his arms around me to pull me into this side. "You did so well." He whispers as he places kisses on the side of my head. I guess this would be considered aftercare. The guys usually get up and leave at this point. No one had stayed to cuddle me after. "Y/N?" Sam says softly. I turn to face him. I hum letting him know I'm listening. "Are you okay? Do you need anything?" He asks as he brushes the hair out of my eyes. "I'm fantastic. That was amazing." I admit with a smile on my face. "I'm glad you enjoyed it." He blushes as he rests his head on top of mine. We fall into a comfortable silence. I enjoy listening to his heartbeat. His thumb strokes the skin on my shoulder. "Sam?" I whisper. "Yeah?" "I um...was this a one-time thing or...Because if it was, like that's okay." I won't lie and say that I didn't have a massive crush on the younger Winchester. I shouldn't have gotten caught up in this. I knew if I gave in, it breaks my heart if it was just a one-off thing. He looks down at me. "I...I thought that I made it clear that I wanted you. I'm sorry if I didn't make my intentions clear but, I do want more than just this." He admits. I can tell he's nervous. He won't look at me. "Good. We're on the same page then." I respond as I snuggle closer to him. I can feel him relax under my touch. He presses another kiss on the side of my face. "Good." He smiles as he pressed a soft kiss on my lips.

#sam winchester smut #Supernatural smut

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rurifangirl · 4 years ago

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chile, could ya explain the magic system in yo oc world more? im kinda confused w how it works👁👄👁

Oh boy, here we go bitches.

So as an intro to this, I said bout last oc post in Qiran's part that their fam was full of mages n shit, but also some of em weren't, n since they do have magic istelf Imma do more parts (3 parts)

First part- how does It all work (Humans/Mages)

First of all, not all of em have a connection with magic, for example Evelyn doesn't at all while Lyva does but only through a magical item so It doesn't really count.

Other then that, if you're born you can either be born with some kind of magic, or simply not. It all depends from your family's lineage, for example If you come from a family of mainly rougues it's hard to get some kind of magical power, while if your parents have both some kind of power or even if it's only one of em, it's more likely you'll end up with something really similar, or a mixture of the two. (In case both of your parents have magical powers of any sort.)

It also depends on where you're living, for example If you'd be born from a cold place it's unlikely ya'd have magma magic rather than snow magic.

Between humans/mages the system Is kinda the same, but that does change for Hybrids/Demi gods/anything that isn't born between the same species.

Between humans/mages it's more of how their ancestors managed to treat its powers, as some got even destroyed for not being worthy of its usage, so If anything at this point and time they're lucky about getting somethin.

Mages are far more cautious about It, having both a lot of hidden knowlege about spells or even origins of some types of magic, though that being the most "common" ones, (for example fire, water ect.), because it's not only them of course, there's far more variants and all are different from eachother.

They can also get stronger by the worshipping of certain gods, which I don't think I will really talk about, at least in this post. (And also because they're still a wip of mine)

But the gang until now really never relied on any of them, or at least Lyva/Rui n Naexi never really did, while the others absolutely did. This Is also why I will do another post as a sorta of a part 2.

Anyways back on topic, most people in all parts of my oc world aren't used to worshipping anymore, or at least a great part of It, mainly because of a loss of knowlege about anything about them.

It's kind of taboo even mentioning most gods names, as they fear something will go wrong if they would (*ahem*being suspicious n allarmin the cult*AHEM*). In fact it's hard to get on most religions because the only remains of It are extremely either hidden, or destroyed in the meanwhile.

I wanna say that another reason because the worshipping stopped Is also because of Rui's cult. Yes, remember that?

It's gonna be talked about on its own post, but let's just say that for them, it's a safe way to restrain anyone knowing far too much about how everything works.

They're the only ones owning most stuff about different coltures to avoid having them against their side,

If there's no worshippers, no knowlege, n more weak magic because people don't strengthen them, who's gonna go against em? (It'll turn out to be the shittiest idea they've ever had but that really did work for the longest time.)

Oh I think i forgot to mention this, but since magic goes lineage to lineage, It also weakenens as generations pass by, as THAT'S the reason they absolutely need those texts.

That's also the reason most humans struggle w keepin magic. Mages can manage, though it's a small portion, since sometimes not even what they've learned over generations works anymore.

Second part- how does It all work (Hybrids/Demi gods n stuff)

Oh boy, so, I'm also gonna use Shou n Naexi a lot here, so bear w me. As I said earlier, it's different from em, since it's not about lineage at all.

Apart that the union between different species Is both a taboo n seen as something "ashaming",so even if they had a child It was more likely they'd Hide It or leave It behind. So it's already a really, god-awful situation for them.

The magic works kinda randomly, in the sense that since the hybrid's nature is seen as unstable to begin w, there's no real critere to handle how the child born Is gonna turn out to be.

Sometimes it's really hard to notice, having yeah some features but can be hidden really easly, but other times Is just, a real mess between the two species, n the magic Is also uncontrollable, especially during their first years of life.

For example, in Shou's case he used to really switch a lot between em, that being the reason he later on prefers not to switch, n havin to learn as soon as possible how to learn how his magic n form would work w It, having again a lot of preassure comin from people he knew.

This Is unfortunatly a really common situation between most hybrids. And there's also no choise.

If you as an hybrid can control magic w/o anything to rely on then you can live, while if you cannot do It, it's a matter of time before you'd get zoned out by everyone and everything.

This Is a big issue, other than having everything fucked by the cult but that's another story.

Aight now bout demi-gods, they're also really not seen well. Most of them prefer not to interact at all with anything that Is not godly related, and in fact, most of em even refused to adknowledge their mortal parent, since they all have resentment over the sudden disappereance of all belivers.

If anything Naexi Is a weird one at that, as they did have a suddent interest in humans and ungodly creatures, though still recognized about how cruel any of them could've been, especially she's a demi-god and has a bad reputation at that.

The magic system Is relatively simple, they just get a certain amount of power from their god parent and are actually pretty capable of controlling them in confront of Hybrids.

That mainly comes from a special connection w their god parent's power, so in theory they're sort of devoted to them.

I wanna expand this when I'll do the gods post n finnaly introduce some of em (And potentially Naexi's mother👀), so I'll not go beyond this atm.

Third part- Magical items/weapons

Aight onto another important part, which Is basically how tf would that work. We have that comin from Qiran's sword n Lyva's earrings, so they'll also be later on disscussed bout.

Even though it's a tough and long procedure, you can transport some of your own magic onto somethin as ordinary as an hat or as sharp as a dagger.

This Is being mainly used in emergency situations, as that energy can eventually be re-used later on by its user.

The user can be changed as long as there's a deal between both parties, whether that being a gift, buying It, or anythin up to them really.

It can also be a great way to hide mage's power, since there are some parts where they arent exactly that respected, so they could blend in with normal humans.

In fact, Qiran does that continiously thanks to their sword, daggers and other lil weapons, and they keep a big part of It there, to seem rather a normal knight/adventurer rather than havin somethin supernatural goin on.

They have a great holdo it since their father did make them learn to fulfill their request to be freerly goin round.

With Lyva it's not really different, even if she kinda stole It n there wasn't really a deal at that moment, but before runnin away from everyone n everything she convinced her mother to give her something that she could use to defend herself, since they were never around and when they were, they would've kinda avoided her.

Oh, and to add this, you could also curse an item. It's a way to mainly punish since ,well, it's a curse,

and makes the user either completely obsessed with the object itself or makin them do somethin w/o any type of consent, whether physical or emotional.

In some cases It can also be a torture tool. Though, as some recent stuff happened, they're somewhat hard to find.

If you still have somethin unclear lemme know cuz idk If I covered everythin or if somethin ain't clear enough😭

Tags undercut:

@a-chaotic-dumbass @spoopy-fish-writes @dopesaladlady @damnfoxx @audre-falrose @nadi-117

(If you want your tag removed/added either dm me/go in the ask thing or do the tag thingy in the pinned comment‼️)

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ghostiewriter · 4 years ago

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7 and 54 for jiara

This one is kinda cute too🥺not me falling in love with Parents!Jiara🤡

Word Count: 2.2K

Prompts: “You’ve gone to the bathroom fifty times today.” // “Why’s there a pregnancy test in the trash?”

It had hit Kiara like a truck. Out of nowhere. Boom. Right in her face.

She didn’t understand how it happened. Okay, well of course she did. She was twenty-two years old, she knew very well how babies were made. But her and JJ were generally quite safe. They were young and neither of them were in the place for children. They had so many adventures they wanted to go on, places to see, countries and cultures to explore. Starting a family wasn’t in their short-term future.

Except, now it was.

It took Kiara a couple of weeks before she began to pick up on the signs. At first it was waves of fatigue, just generally feeling quite dizzy or tired. But she just pegged that as low iron or the jetlag from all the journey back to the States after their latest trip to Australia. Then came the feelings of nausea throughout the day. Once again, Kiara brushed it off, just thinking she was stressed from all the apartment searching back home. She didn’t think much of it.

It wasn’t until Thanksgiving rocked about that she finally realised something was up. Kiara and JJ were half way into moving into their new apartment (it was small and on the cheaper side, but it wasn’t like they planned to stay there for more than a few weeks at a time). The symptoms were only getting worse, and Kiara was too wrapped up in moving boxes in and out of storage that it only hit her a couple of hours before her parents’ Thanksgiving dinner party that she was a few days late.

She didn’t tell JJ. She didn’t tell anyone. She just rushed out to the shops, grabbed the first pregnancy test she could find and quickly paid for it.

Those three minutes were the longest of her life. She just stared at it. Stared at the stick that sat on the bathroom countered as she waited for the alarm to go off. And when it did, Kiara found herself staring at two pink lines.

Positive. She was pregnant.

Having to act like she was not having an internal breakdown and coming up with an excuse not to drink was probably the hardest part of that night. She saw JJ giving her curious glances, ones of concern but she assured him that she was just not up for drinking with the jetlag. He seemed to buy it.

It was her grandmother who made her nervous. She kept giving Kiara these looks all night, ones that looked straight through her façade and into her soul. It was like she knew, like she had some sort of sixth sense or pregnancy radar. And Kiara’s suspicions were confirmed when her grandmother stopped her just before she left, both of them the only ones in the room, as placed her hand on her stomach and simply smiled before wishing her a goodnight.

Thanksgiving also convinced Kiara that her grandmother was some sort of psychic.

However, Kiara was grateful that her grandmother didn’t tell anyone. And neither did Kiara. She wanted to tell JJ, she just didn’t know how. Every night, right before they went to bed, she would glance over at the drawer she had been hiding the pregnancy test in and just think about all the different ways she could tell him the news.

She could just hand him it and let him figure it out. Maybe put it in a box. She could maybe even make one of those cheesy ‘you’re going to be a dad!’ shirts (but she quickly decided against this one). Because the truth was, Kiara didn’t know how he would react. It was no secret that JJ’s childhood was less than ideal, and his father was the cause of so many issues that JJ still fought and dealt with today. It had taken him so long to even get him to where he was now, where they had a healthy relationship with good communication and a trust within each other—and even that took JJ a while to really grasp onto after years of flings and one-night-stands and bottling everything up.

But was he ready to be a father? To start a family? Was she?

She kept the secret bottled up for days, keeping it to herself. JJ noticed pretty quickly that something was up. She was zoning out more than usual, a lot more skittish as well. She was keeping something from him, he wasn’t that oblivious that he didn’t realise that. But he also respected Kiara enough to take a step back and give her space to work everything out. She would tell him when she was ready, he knew that. So, he stepped back and let her breathe.

She did appreciate it, she truly did. But it was one of the situations where she wished he was a little more pushy, that he would prod and question her so she could just blurt it out and get it off her chest. But JJ was too good for that. He just gave her comforting smiles and pressed a kiss to her forehead as if to say ‘I’m here whenever you need me’. God, it made her want to cry just at the thought of it.

She lasted a week after Thanksgiving before she came to the conclusion that she would explode if she didn’t tell JJ soon. He deserved to know, and this wasn’t something she had to face alone.

But still those doubts of his reaction lived in her mind, kept her up at night. So, she took the easy way out. They were still in the process of moving boxes in and out of the apartment, unpacking everything and making the place feel a bit more theirs. It was the perfect predicament. So, Kiara took the pregnancy test and placed it strategically in the bathroom where she was sure JJ would stumble upon it. And then she waited for him to find it.

She had hidden it that morning when she woke up earlier than him to find the perfect spot. It was now just after lunch, and JJ had still not seen the test. She was beginning to get angsty, and slightly worried for his eyesight. She made a mental note to book him an eye test later at the opticians.

Kiara had even gone to the extent of constantly checking the bathroom, making sure the test was still there and it hadn’t been moved. Maybe he had seen it and freaked out and decided to stay silent. But every time she entered the bathroom, it was sitting right where she left it.

This was supposed to be the easy solution and JJ had singlehandedly made it far more complex than it was meant to be.

JJ, however, was more concerned for his girlfriend’s bladder. Throughout their day of oh-so fun unpacking and decorating, he noticed the obscene number of times Kiara visited the bathroom. It was getting to the point where he was sure she had a UTI. He made a mental note to pick up some cranberry juice from the store later. But he didn’t understand why she didn’t say anything, that is if her UTI was the thing that had been stressing her out the last few days.

“Hey, you good?” He eventually asked as she stood on the other side of the living room, unpacking some books onto the shelves along the wall.

She froze for a few seconds before she turned to him, an easy smile on her face. “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

He frowned a little. “No reason, it’s just—” He paused for a moment. “You’ve gone to the bathroom fifty times today. I thought maybe…you like…had an issue.”

Her eyebrows furrowed together, not quite understanding what he was insinuating. “Nope. Perfectly fine. Just your usual Kie.” She said with a small, tense smile on her lips. He only nodded his head but he couldn’t brush off the fact she was still acting odd.

Odder than she had been acting the past week.

When dinner had come around, they had decided to order something from outside since both of them were far too tired to even bother cooking. However, Kie had been on edge since their conversation earlier that day. Her heart stopped in that moment, she thought he had finally noticed. But he was as oblivious as always. So, Kiara was forced to step it up a notch.

When their food had arrived, Kie had taken the liberty of making JJ open the fortune cookies before they started. He didn’t think anything of it, just shrugging and opening his one.

“Enter unknown territory.” He read aloud before letting out a small chuckle. “Oh, how insightful.”

She gave him a pathetic smile in response before she opened hers, reading the words over a few times before she said them out loud. “To be found, stop hiding.”

“Who even writes these?” He muttered as he glanced down at the slip of paper in his hand. “Why not put useful messages on them. Like ‘don’t eat yellow snow’ or ‘never eat random berries you find in the woods’. Now those are insightful and useful.”

She rolled her eyes. “They are meant to be vague, Jay. Not things that are meant to just be common sense.”

“Hey, that yellow snow could’ve been lemon-flavoured.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“Tomayto, tomahto!”

The blond soon forgot about the fortune cookies as he reached over to open the containers and dig into the food. However, Kiara quickly slapped his hand away. He looked at her with a confused frown.

“You have to push the rubbish in the pin.” She said, pointing towards their abandoned fortune cookies.

“Uh, why? We can do it later—”

“No! You have to do it now. Like right now.” She pressed on, lips pressed together as she simply stared at him.

“Oh-kay.” He murmured as he stood up, picking up the trash before heading towards the kitchen before she spoke up again.

“NO! The bathroom bin. The kitchen one is full.”

He frowned. “But I just—”

“Nope!”

“Alright, geez! I’ll use the bathroom bin.” He muttered, shaking his head before heading down the hall instead.

Kiara waited. Waited and waited and waited. She sat there, fiddling with her fingers as she glared at the hallway he had just walked down. He would’ve seen it by now, she knew that. But she was only greeted with silence. Deafening silence that was just making her even more anxious than she was before.

“Kiara.” She heard his footsteps approaching. “Why’s there a pregnancy test in the trash?”

She looked up, seeing JJ standing there with the test in his hands and tears welling up in his eyes. Even his voice as he spoke was quiet, soft, hopeful.

“Surprise.” She whispered, nervously nibbling her lower lip.

She was waiting. Waiting for him to explode or start freaking. To start rambling away about how they are too young and that they aren’t ready. She was waiting for him to completely deny or even fathom the idea of them starting a family.

But he didn’t do that.

Instead, he shuffled towards her before falling to his knees in front of her. He softly placed a hand on her stomach before looking up at her with a soft smile, tears streaming down his face.

“I’m going to be a father?” She nodded. “Holy shit, I’m going to be a dad.” A few seconds passed as though he was letting that information properly set in when suddenly he was lifting Kie up and spinning her around.

“JJ!” She shrieked, but there was a smile on her face. He finally set her down, hands coming to cup her cheeks as he wiped away her escaped tears.

“We’re going to be parents.” He murmured with a huge grin on his face.

“Yeah, we are.” She replied, hands resting on his wrists.

“How long have you known?”

“Since Thanksgiving.”

“And you waited until now to tell me?”

She gave him a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you and I didn’t think you’d react so…happily, I don’t know.” She whispered, feeling a bit guilty for how long she had kept it from him.

“Oh no, I’m scared shitless.” He admitted. “But…I’ve got you so I know everything is going to be okay.”

Her expression softened before she wasted no time in pulling his face down to hers and finally kissing him. “We’re going to be parents.” She whispered against his lips.

“Hell yeah we are.” He whispered back with a grin, pressing a few chaste kisses on her lips before their rumbling stomachs finally broke them out of the trance they were in.

Soon after dinner, they had found themselves sprawled on the couch as some shitty reruns played on the TV in front of them. JJ’s hands had barely left her stomach, not that she minded too much, his fingers tracing small shapes and words on her skin. She smiled when she felt him trace ‘dad loves you’.

“I can’t wait to meet this little guy.” JJ murmured, his faze nuzzled against her neck.

She lightly elbowed him. “It could be a girl.”

“No way, definitely a boy.” JJ argued.

“You don’t know that.” She scoffed.

“Of course I can,” He looked down at her with a grin on his face. “Sixth sense.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

There was a few moments of silence before he eventually spoke up.

“What do you think about an army of J named kids?”

“You have enough Js for the family.”

“Wow, harsh.”

#jiara #outer banks #obx #jiara prompts #writing prompts #my writing

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hueswrites · 4 years ago

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hq kinktober [day1] tendou

main hq kinktober list

hq kinktober [day1] tendou satori/cosplay

includes: a bit of story, some angsty broody stuff on reader's part, cosplay (obviously), fingering and female receiving oral sex

wordcount: 4,827

ok this turned out to be more fluff and actual sort of plot than smut. i just started writing at 12:30am and kept going until 6 in the morning. this is the result. if you were looking forward to straight up smut on this first prompt, i'm sorry but THIS IS NOT IT LMAO.

i absolutely adore tendou and the perspective i gave him on life in this. stay quirky, my friends. (as kenma would say... stay interesting, shouyo)

Being Satori was hard. It was unfortunate, exhausting, and just plain miserable - that's what his junior high school classmates wanted him to believe, at least.

In his early years of school, Satori Tendou was teased for his awkward, gangly appearance and unusual mannerisms. His attempts to interact with his peers were often shunned due to the offbeat semblance he exuded, which left most of the other kids feeling unsettled.

His mother, equally peculiar in her own way, urged Satori to make the most of his eccentricities. "Think about the characters you like from the manga you read. Would you want to keep reading the story if all the characters were the same?"

Satori shook his head, already concluding the point his mother was trying to make. "I get what you're saying, Mom," he grinned from ear to ear, a smile the width of his perfectly straight cherry red bangs, and pushed himself away from the kitchen table. He plopped down onto the wooden floorboard with exuberance. "Life is boring when everyone's the same. Who wants to live a boring life?" He padded over to his room and jumped onto his bed, going back to the first page of this week's issue of Jump. The warm, tingly feeling of adventure took over as he reread the newest chapters of his favorite series for the thirteenth time that week.

A decade later, Satori found himself living in France, where he stood out more than ever before. Not only did he need to learn how to adapt to the country's unfamiliar customs, he also had to learn how to speak its language: the language of love. He found his self-appointed tutor in the bookstore he frequented once he felt comfortable navigating the streets of Paris, which happened to be the same bookstore you browsed when you had a little bit of money to spend.

There you stood alongside him in the graphic novel section, your form hidden under an oversized hoodie, brows scrunched together in what appeared to be deep concentration. You were extremely aware of his presence looming over you, and it created a feeling of unease that sunk into your bones. You braved a glance up at his face, and he quickly turned his head back to stare at the row of the slice-of-life series that lined the very top shelf before him.

Tall, you thought to yourself. That's a very tall man.

You shuffled away from him just a bit, browsing the very bare section of "how-to-draw manga" guides that you knew were second rate to how real manga artists crafted their work.

Moments later, a silvery voice spilled into your consciousness and caught your attention. "Hmm, if only Matsuo-chan realized Hibari's feelings for her in the very beginning..." You can't help but look back up at the lanky man next to you, listening as he changed his speech from French to Japanese. "Then perhaps sweet misery would've never crushed their poor, little hearts." He turned his head to look down at you, heavy lids lowered over brilliantly crimson irises. A cheeky upward curve lifted his thinly shaped lips, and your heart skipped a beat.

Your mind went blank, rendering you speechless.

"I saw the Todai button on your bag," he said, voice now light and cheerful.

You blinked once, twice, then looked down at your messenger bag decorated with various pins from the clubs you took part of in college back in your home country of Japan. Your body relaxed, and a breathy laugh escaped your lips. "Yeah, Tokyo University. Are you from Japan?"

"Yes! Came here from Sendai. How's my French?" He beamed a child-like smile.

You produced your most sarcastic chuckle, turning to lean a shoulder onto the bookshelf so you could face him. "It's kind of terrible."

He mocked a look of despair and dropped his head in feigned embarrassment. You noticed how the pale skin of his cheeks turned a faint shade of red, and you wondered how someone could go from intimidating to adorable in a matter of seconds. Then his eyes snapped back to you, and a toothy grin spread across his face. "Wanna be my tutor?"

Your cheeks flushed pink, and your breath came to a halt again.

"I'm not sure I'm qualified to do something like that," you said, pushing yourself away from the shelf to stand square.

He hummed and straightened his posture, shifting his eyes away from yours, down to your shoes, then back up to your face. "Why not?" The look on his face expressed genuine curiosity.

You decided to pretend you didn't notice his blatant evaluation of your physical form just now.

"I've only been here for a year. I can speak enough French to get by, but I'm not sure I can teach someone else how to speak it."

"So little faith in yourself, little miss."

You furrow your brows at the nickname.

He whipped out a volume of a manga you recently started reading and held it up to you. "You have a pin of this on your bag, too," he said with a wiggle of his sparse eyebrows. "How about you try and get me to start reading this subpar manga by making me read it out loud in French?"

You gave him a look of piqued interest. The possibility of roping someone into reading your favorite series was tempting.

Then he continued, "And we can get yakitori and beer while you teach me?"

The hue of red on your face extends to your forehead.

"You've got pins of beer and yakitori on your bag, too."

A few weeks later, you and Satori were on your sixth date seated across from each other at a cat café in downtown Paris. It took the first three dates (he'd somehow coerced you into) for you to realize that the strange man was just that - strange, but harmless. The one friend you'd managed to make in your year in France introduced you to some very attractive and very gregarious men that you just couldn't see yourself with. Your friend's idea of fun was clubbing and bar hopping through the streets of Paris, and that was unsurprisingly the same kind of fun those men preferred as well.

To you, fun was something much more personal and intimate. Your past experience with relationships lead you to believe that you are meant to be on your own - that there is nobody in this world that will appreciate your oddities and make you as happy as you can make yourself.

Your interests lied in worlds of fiction and fantasy - games, books, movies, and manga, which you learned Satori was just as passionate about as you. Not surprising. He seemed to fit the socially awkward, emotionally inept stereotype you knew most men fit into that also liked anime. He asked too many questions, didn't understand when his questions push personal boundaries, and just wouldn't. Shut. Up.

He did smell nice. You gave him that.

"So little turtle-in-her-shell, do you ever go to conventions?"

You paused your chewing of the last bit of coffee cake you ordered. "Turtle in her shell?"

That carmine, wide eyed gaze of his remained fixed on your face. "You wear that big hoodie all the time like a turtle in a shell."

"It's comfortable," you state. “And yes, I go to conventions.”

Nearly a minute of silence passed between the two of you, and if it weren't for the chatter of others seated around you and the clinking of cups and plates, you'd have really retracted into your "shell" of a sweater.

So you changed the subject, deciding to ask a question that stepped a hair outside of your comfort zone to a man you weren't quite sure about yet.

"Were you just trying to get my attention with that whole "be my tutor" spiel?" You asked following a sip of your iced cappuccino. A little calico feline had chosen you as its scratching post, kneading its nails into the fabric of your jeans. You ignored the little stings of pain for the sake of the cat's enjoyment.

Satori multitasked between feeding himself scoops of his chocolate parfait and playing with the lashing paws of the black cat that sat on the table between you. "Hey now," he said, lightly squeezing the cat's tail before quickly retreating his hand away to avoid the tiny beast's teeth. "I wouldn't know all the different ways to say "I need to take a dump" in French if it weren't for your tutoring thus far, little miss.”

"That's a weird nickname you have for me." The cat on your lap suddenly hopped to the ground, skirting across the ground to the human it suddenly deemed more worthy of its attention than you. You frowned, the action wounding your cold, bitter heart.

"You wouldn't remember me if I called you by just your name, would you?" He used a straw to slurp up the remaining concoction of sugar at the bottom of his cup.

"Do you even remember my real name, Satori?"

He pushed the now empty cup aside and ruffled the black cat's ears with his fingers. It hissed and gave a quick swat of its paw to his hands, then jumped off the table and scurried away.

"I never forget the names of all the cute girls I get to add to my harem," he said with a smirk, his cheeks rising to meet the crinkled corners of his eyes.

You gave him a lopsided glare. "You're kidding, right?"

Satori laughed - a lilted giggle that sent a shiver straight down to your gut, and then his expression darkened and his eyes captured yours in a binding stare. "Would you like to come over and see for yourself?" The way his voice rumbled an octave lower than you've ever heard had you squeezing your hands into nervous balls of tension above your knees.

You frowned. You genuinely couldn't tell if he was being serious. If you hadn't known how much wit and jest the man exuded in nearly every one of his actions, you wouldn't put it past him to be a basement dwelling, serial stalking NEET that kidnapped girls and made them dress up to suit his twisted fantasies. The thought had you questioning every single thing he's said to you so far. He had your number, he knew where you liked to eat, where you liked to drink, and he even knew where you worked. Was this guy like the others?

Suddenly his laughter burst through the air, the sound so boisterous it made you flinch.

"You look so petrified! Are you that gullible to believe everything I say?"

You grit your teeth and grabbed the paper wrapper from his straw to chuck it at his face. "That was so not cool!" You huffed, getting your wallet out to leave a tip on the table.

His laughter continued to tumble through the café, disrupting conversations from nearby customers only for them to direct their attention towards you. You rose to your feet and hurried towards the exit. You absolutely hate being the center of attention!

Satori followed you and matched your stride easily, one of his steps covering three of yours. He stood unbearably close, and if he didn't smell as sweet as the parfait he just ate, you would've shoved him away,

"___-chan," he sang, and you realized it was the first time he said your name. You allowed yourself to relax just a little and slowed your steps. A brief moment of silence settled between the two of you, and he used that moment to gauge your current state of emotional wellbeing.

"___-chan," he said again, this time demanding your attention.

You remained silent. Satori had picked up on so many of your habits in the past few weeks of talking to you and observing your actions that he understood your silence as your cue for, "Go on, I'm listening."

"I'm sorry for upsetting you," he said, bending at his waist so he could meet your line of sight, continuing to stroll alongside you. He must've noticed the creases under your eyes disappear as your tension eased away because that smug little smirk returned to his face. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, turning your head to look at him just slightly. A shade of pink colored your cheeks when you met his gaze - his wide, inquisitive eyes studying you with childlike innocence.

You looked forward.

He chuckled and stood up straight, sliding his hands into his jean pockets. "Adorable," he said aloud, further deepening your blush.

You steeled yourself and regained your composure. "Which way do we go?"

Satori hummed. "What do you mean?" he said, bending down again to look at your face. Why must he always have to stare like that when he speaks?

"Aren't we going to your place?"

He grinned. "Really?"

You threw a glare his way. "I'll change my mind if we don't start heading there right now."

Satori grimaced. "___-chan does not cool down so easily after bursting into flames," he mumbled, and you ignored the comment. He sighed. "This way, little miss," he took your hand and pulled you along, bounding across the street as the pedestrian crosswalk countdown hit zero. Your hand wrapped around his, holding on tight to keep up.

You couldn't help but laugh at the stupid sound effects he made as he continued to leap from the street onto the sidewalk, giving you no choice but to run and jump over the curb with him.

Your self-conceived belief that you are all you'll ever have and all you'll ever need to be happy now faced a challenger. This strange person - this bizarre character - punched a hole through the wall you've put so much effort to build on your own.

Satori's twenty-seventh birthday came just after your one year anniversary of the strange... relationship... you managed to maintain despite your ongoing struggle against the warped, pessimistic reality you believed about relationships through years of self-doubt. Slowly but steadily the glass case you built around yourself chipped away due to Satori's freakish ability to see beyond your façade and understand your feelings.

You learned about the bullying he faced in his childhood, and how his mother and high school volleyball team helped him accept the fact that life will always have real jerks with nothing nice to say to test your tenacity. He created a routine of reminding you that you can choose whether or not you let those nasty words bring you down or give you motivation to build your self worth.

Life is more fun when things are a little out of the ordinary. Who wants to be the same as everyone else? These are words you considered when you felt down.

For Satori's birthday, you wanted to do something different, something unique that he would remember about you if you ever went your separate ways.

Since the beginning, you noticed Satori had a thing for cute girls in cosplay. When you told him about your own cosplay projects and showed him pictures, his whole demeanor changed. He became shy - something hardly anyone had ever seen in his usually indiscreet personality.

One thing that helped you feel a little more confident in yourself and your relationship was your experience in physical intimacy. From what you gathered in the little bit of discussion you've had with Satori on the topic, he seemed to have far less experience than you. It was cute how his face went bright red when you managed to pry the details of his past encounters out from the tiny little box of insecurities he still held within. Perhaps it was your turn to bring something out of the wicked Guess Monster (you thought it was a cheesy name but he really took pride in the title whenever he reminisced on his youth at Shiratorizawa Academy) that he kept so carefully hidden away.

"Why are you so shy about this?" You asked the first time you had sex.

Suddenly, the creepy, unwavering eye contact he managed to hold with anyone he came face to face with vanished from the list of unsettling and seemingly unashamed habits and mannerisms that made Satori Tendou so uniquely... Satori.

"The one thing I still have trouble with is..." he looked down at where your naked bodies connected on the plush mattress he swore really was worth the $2,000 he spent. (I don't mean to diss your profession, but do you really make enough money as a chocolatier to afford a bed that expensive?) you asked, immediately regretting having asked the question when a gloomy grey cloud appeared over his head).

"Fucking?" You said, giving him a cocky little smirk.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck with a groan.

"I know you get turned on by cute cosplays of your favorite anime girls."

"...and cute actresses," he muttered, now stuffing his face between your breasts.

That's when you decided to shake things up.

Satori's weekends were usually occupied by work at the sweets factory. He was in the process of getting promoted to a position that freed up his weekends, but it wasn't happening anytime soon.

It was just your luck that his birthday fell on a Saturday this year, your only day off on the weekends. You left your cosplays and wigs back in Japan, boxed up in the bedroom you grew up in. While Satori was slaving away at work, you went shopping. You managed to find a decent sewing machine and plenty of fabric at a (pricey) thrift store on the other side of town. The wigs you looked at were ridiculously expensive - definitely for the high end fashion scene of Paris, not for nerdy cosplayers.

Once you returned to his apartment, you spread all of your findings across his bed and bedroom floor.

A maid's skirt that you will definitely chop up to be anything but modest.

A coreset you honestly weren't sure would fit your little love handles and tummy that lost its tone after all the dessert dates Satori insisted were good for "self care."

Cute devil horns with a pointed tail to match.

Knee high stockings and garters he mentioned as being one of the sexiest things a woman could wear.

And a simple leather collar to put around your neck... with the option to hook a leash.

You looked at the spread before you and wondered how such a quiet, reserved person such as yourself could be so... kinky.

You checked the time on your phone. You had three hours to put something together.

9:43pm Satori:

i'm leaving! boss said he'd let me leave 27 minutes early to celebrate the 27 years of my blessed existence on this planet

@( o･ꎴ･)@

9:44pm

that's all he did for your birthday? and wtf is that emoji

9:44pm Satori:

it's supposed to be a monkey but now that i look it really doesn't look like one. be home soooooon!! ＼(^o^)／ he gave me a $1000 bonus too #stacked

9:45pm

omg you are so lame! come straight to your room for your present :)

9:45pm Satori: (͠≖ ͜ʖ͠≖) ohooOoOOo??

9:46pm stop sending faces and just get your skinny butt over here

9:46pm Satori:

┏( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)┛┏( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)┛┏( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)┛

You heard the front door open, followed by the thump of Satori's shoes hitting the wall. The sound of the lock sliding into place once he closed the door sent a little shiver up your spine.

You sat on his bed, back against the headboard, legs crossed in front of you. You fixed your little devil horns, made sure the tail was pulled out from underneath your butt, and pushed the coreset up to give your cleavage a boost.

Inhale. Exhale.

You'd never dressed up for something like this before, and you had no idea how Satori would react. You imagined he would immediately pass out with a nosebleed.

His footsteps neared his room, and you heard him in his chipper, sing-song voice. "What is my little ___-chan up to, hmm?"

Once he reached the doorway, his eyes landed on you, and his entire body froze. His jaw went slack, looking like a fool with his mouth wide open in dumbstruck awe at the sight before him.

You gave him your most innocent smile, spreading your legs open just a hair. "Come eat up your dessert, Satori~" you said with a tone so sultry it turned his bones into mush.

Satori's shoulders slumped, and he ran a hand through his matted hair in exasperation. His rusty red locks had grown longer than when you first met him - curling behind his ears and covering his forehead. "Baby..." he said, walking into the room, towards the bed. "Baby, baby, baby," he repeated in English, his favorite language to express excitement. He crawled onto the bed, stopping just before you to sit and cross his legs while he looked you over.

Your skirt was cut so short he could almost see the sweet spot between your legs. The garter straps hugged the meat of your thighs and hooked onto the thigh high stockings that fit the muscle of your calves.

Those pointy little horns sat just a little bit lopsided on your head. That slim, pointed tail traced back to your rear, and the collar around that gorgeous neck of yours drew his eyes down to your barely contained cleavage.

"Baby," he said again, almost a whisper. He leaned forward onto his knees to hover over your body and cradled your face between his hands. Hungry crimson eyes gazed right through you, a shade darker than you've ever seen before. "I'm the luckiest man in the world," he said, then pressed the softest, most gentle kiss to your lips.

Your heart fluttered, hands coming up to thread your fingers into his hair. "Happy birthday," you murmured, bringing him back down for another kiss.

The kiss quickly went from gentle to fervent, his hands slipping up your calves over the stockings, over the garters and up to your thighs, rounding out over your ass. He gave your fleshy cheeks a squeeze and broke the kiss, going straight to your neck, kissing every bit of your exposed skin.

You spread your legs more, asking him to come closer, and he did. Your hands slipped underneath his shirt, lifting it above his ribcage, up to his shoulders. He barely moved back to remove the shirt completely before pressing his lips back to the skin over your collarbones, giving you gentle nips with his teeth.

This was the Satori you wanted in bed.

He sighed into your chest, going down to kiss the swell of your breasts. "My little devil," he said, sucking on the skin right above the coreset. "You're so sexy," he bit down a little bit harder, eliciting a hiss through your teeth. "So beautiful," a kiss over the bite, moving to your other breast. "So irresistible," both of his hands came up underneath your ass to lift you up off of the bed and into his lap. You yelped, forgetting his lithe frame could muster so much strength. He placed you in his lap, leaning forward to run his tongue across your lips and into your mouth once you opened up for him.

"Take your pants off," you mumbled, pulling at the waistband.

"I don't wanna stop kissing you," he whined, hands running up along your waist and over your back to press you up against his chest. At that moment you wished you could feel the warmth of his skin, if it weren't for the coreset.

"How are you gonna fuck me if you don't take them off?"

"Mmmfgh," he groaned, a funny sound that only Satori could make without killing the mood.

He pulled away, then quickly leaned forward to steal another kiss, and pulled away again. You crawled off his lap and sat back, watching him rise to his knees to shimmy pants down his hips. He sat back on his butt and kicked them off then crawled back to you, caging you between his arms and legs.

You pushed him away and gave him a devious smirk. "If I knew dressing up like this would flip your switch, I would've done it a long time ago."

He returned your grin with a wicked gleam of his own, eyelids drooping down to look at you with his most perverted leer. "Achievement unlocked?"

You slapped your hand over his face, pushing him away with a laugh. Spreading your legs again, you drew his attention down to your skirt and flipped it up over your stomach to show him your bare cunt.

He groaned, a mix of a whine and a curse, before diving down to attach his mouth straight to your dampened folds. He licked and sucked, pressing the flat of his tongue against your clit before sucking on the little bud, repeating the motion over and over until you started to writhe.

"I-" you began, letting out a huff of a breath, "would tell you to slow down," your hand flew up to grip onto his hair tightly once he pushed a finger inside you. "But it's your night," you huffed again, a strangled moan leaving your throat. "Go wild, Satori."

He removed his mouth and went straight from one finger to three, rubbing the pads of his fingers up against the walls of your core stretching you out and looking up at you with glossy, hazy eyes. "Best dessert I've ever had," he groaned, watching you tilt your head back, chest heaving as your body started to tremble. He went back down to lap at your folds, replacing his fingers with the muscle of his tongue, pushing it deep into your little hole.

"Fuck, Satori, I'm already close," you sighed, rocking your hips up against his mouth. He pulled away again. "I want you for breakfast," he pushed his fingers back inside your cunt, now sloppy with the slick of his saliva and your arousal. He gave a bruising kiss to the inside of your thigh, "And I want you for lunch," a kiss to your other thigh, "And dinner," he groaned, feeling you clench around his digits, pumping harder, faster - long, nimble fingers reaching the very depth of your core.

Those little horns started to slide off your head as you tossed your head forward and back, watching him work between your legs and thrashing back against the headboard whenever he hit your sweet spot.

You lifted your hips off the bed, urging your body to the peak of pleasure. Your voice kept going, encouraging him to go faster, harder, sighing, panting, moaning.

And just like that, every muscle in your body tightened, and a gush of liquid splashed out over his fingers and onto his tongue, his nose, and his chin. Your moans turned into brief, choked sobs as your orgasm rocked your body. You gripped your fist into his hair, so tight you ended up bringing his body forward.

"God," you groaned out load, dropping yourself back down to the bed, your body now spent. He kissed the spot under your navel, over your belly button, back up to your chest, your neck, and your chin. You felt the tips of his fingers slip underneath one of the stockings and pull up and away, letting it snap back down against your skin. You giggled, bringing him up for a slick, sloppy kiss.

You both remained as you were, his forehead now resting against yours, eyes closed, soft pants easing back to controlled breaths. Your left arm slung over the back of his neck, and your right remained tangled into his messy locks, the pads of your fingers giving a gentle massage to his scalp.

"How do you feel?" you asked, too tired to open your eyes.

"Hmmm," he hummed, not quite coherent enough to give a substantial response.

Suddenly, both of his arms wrapped around your waist, and he flipped himself over so that you were on top, straddling his waist. His back rested flat against the bed, that mischievous look once again casting a wicked shadow over his face. He glanced over to where the little devil horns fell onto the bed and placed them back where they belong atop your head.

"I feel like I'm just a peasant, sentenced to be one of hell's slaves for all eternity."

You grin, catching onto his narrative. "Such an unfortunate fate. You were once a hero, but were corrupted by the temptation of lust."

Satori grinned, a toothy, mischievous grin, and his eyes narrowed maliciously. "Now I'm cursed with the inability to ever be satisfied..." He breathed a laugh. "We're so fucking weird," he murmured, "Sounding like Team Rocket..."

You leaned down to give him a kiss. "Weird, normal. Whatever. As long as we're having fun, right?"

#hq kinktober 2020 #hq x reader #hq smut #hq kinktober #reader x hq #tendou x reader #haikyuu #should i even put these in the haikyuu tag or will people try to fight me #whatever

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intheseautumnhands · 4 years ago

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Sorting Hat Chats: Oxventures

Hey look, I finally actually got a sorting post written! .... and it's one that I'm pretty sure interests absolutely nobody else, because I don't think anyone else in the Sorting Hat Chats community is into Oxventures, and also the reverse. But the brainwanderings will go where they wish and they don't ask me for permission, and I've been marathoning (and sleeping to) a lot of Oxventures lately, so let's go.

Just in case anyone does choose to take a look, I'll do a brief sum up of both system and canon, so that no one's lost. System first, because I have some other thoughts about canon I want to mention. The full rundown of the basics is here, but just so we're all on the same page:

A VERY BRIEF OVERVIEW OF THE @sortinghatchatsSYSTEM

Your Primary house is your motivations, values, and why you do what you do.

Lion Primaries do it this way because their gut tells them it's right.

Bird Primaries do it this way because the system they've put together to guide them tells them this is what's right.

Badger Primaries do it this way because it's the best thing for the community as a whole, or for the most people.

Snake Primaries do it this way because it's the best thing for the people they prioritize.

Your Secondary house is how you approach the world, the methods that come most easily and naturally to you.

Lion Secondaries charge. They attack problems head-on and directly, and they're in their comfort zone when they are their authentic selves.

Bird Secondaries plan. They collect tools, skills, and information, and they're in their comfort zone when they're prepared for the situation.

Badger Secondaries toil. They put their nose to the grindstone or they build connections to get things done, and they're in their comfort zone when things call for steady, consistent work.

Snake Secondaries improvise. They're adaptive and quick on their feet, and they're in their comfort zone when they have the wiggle room to go with what comes to them.

Other terminology may come up as well. I will try and link to posts that explain it better if I end up using anything.

A VERY BRIEF EXPLANATION OF OXVENTURES

Oxventures is the D&D Actual Play show done by the youtube gaming channels Outside Xbox and Outside Xtra, DMed by Johnny Chiodini from the tabletop game channel Dicebreaker. They've been going since fall 2017, first in-person and now streamed. It is an extremely fun show with a group of very entertaining players that have been basically learning to play as it goes. If you're into D&D shows and not too bothered by a very hand-wavey approach to rules, I greatly recommend it.

There are, however, some things that make it difficult to sort. It's a comedy show, and while I don't think this is true for every comedy, in general, it's very easy for characterization to occasionally get passed over for a laugh. It's sometimes hard to tell what jokes are being thrown around OOC versus IC. And the D&D format means there is no going back and editing anything; characterization is developed on the fly, and there's already been discussion that talked about how some of the characters changed as they were being played. Also, it's action-driven -- you don't always get a lot of information on what's going through people's head, so motivation can be hard to pin down.

So it's a little difficult and I've gotten wobbly on a lot of them. Which makes it a great choice for my first sorting!

(...To be fair, it's my first sorting post. I've been watching this system and sorting things to myself for -- *checks when I first mentioned it* wait hold on five years? Really? Okay, cool. Excuse me while I sit and have a mental montage to How Far We've Come as I remember all the fine-tuning it's been through in that time.

Anyway, I've been sorting things to myself for five years, so I'm not new to this, I'm just new to trying to explain my whys, so I hope this comes out understandable. I'm sorry for the rambling, because we're already 750 words in and I haven't even started.)

ANYWAY LET'S GET TO THE SORTING.

Corazón de Ballena, human pirate rogue Corazón, oh Corazón, what... do I even do with you. He's clearly not a Badger -- fairness and other people's needs are not his priority. Between the obvious Jack Sparrow riff and the "pirate seeking glory" thing, my instinct is to say a Lion Primary, probably a Gloryhound Lion in specific. I could see a Bird Primary, just because there is something extremely constructed-feeling about Corazón -- I think his truth would look very Snake-like, prioritizing himself and the people he chooses, but I could see it.

But I'm going to lean into a full Snake Primary, I think. While he doesn't care about most people, he does care very much about the people who do matter to him -- see his whole complicated relationship with his father, even after his father tried to kill him; see his burning down a guy's house because he's mean to Prudence; to some extent, see his attempt to help end his old crew's curse. He puts people above anything else, but only the people he chooses to (or where can't help it, in his father's case) I think he'd almost like people to believe that he's Burned and doesn't care about anyone else, but he very much is not, though he doesn't seem to let new people into the circle often or easily, either. I could still very much see a Gloryhound Lion, but in the end I think if asked to put the party first or fame and fortune first -- he would complain, he would never let them hear the end of it, but he would also choose the party every single time.

For Secondary: Corazón would really want people to think he's a Snake. If he could read the descriptions and pick his own, I'm pretty sure he'd say he was a Snake. Adaptable, cunning, deceitful -- and it's not that he's not these things, but the way it manifests itself feels much more like a rapid-fire Bird Secondary. He's analytical, he learned magic entirely from books, and I haven't actually counted, but I would bet you that he makes more investigation rolls than anyone else. While his quickly thought up plans do work, they often tend to rely on things he already knows -- disguise self and minor illusion come up often, hiding and evading, etc. He seems to be one of the party that gets the most non-combat use out of his various magical abilities. It's a very quick and jack-of-many-trades style of Bird, but it's still very Bird.

Dob, half-orc bard Dob is quite possibly the loudest loyalist primary... just, that I have ever seen, ever. To start with, I'm just going to drop this quote here: "I know there's good in you, jailor I just met!"

How about the way that he's first introduced as a bard who goes from town to town playing the lullaby his lost sister used to sing to him, searching for her. Or his habit of, to quote TV Tropes, "engaging in random acts of adoption". Or the time he tried to learn spells to apologize to the dead orphans. Or how he still managed to forgive the skeletons that killed the orphans. Or the time he forgave the cult that almost got them all killed. Or giving the cultists (from a different cult) relationship advice. Or the time he ended up listening to the jailor's marriage woes. Or....

Look, I could keep going but I think we've got enough examples. So: Badger or Snake? On the one hand he definitely seems to worry about saving his particular people first when there's danger... but, there's a level of guilt about innocent people who have died on his watch, and that habit of taking in random people on multiple adventures, that really makes me lean towards a Badger Primary. Dob seems to genuinely care about everyone they cross as a default, and of all of them, he's the first I can see coming to the aid of an enemy who he has no prior positive experiences with.

As for a Secondary, Dob is the master of quick plans, quicker lies, and steamrolling NPCs into going along with things. The entire party ends up thinking on their feet more often than not, but he seems to do his best work that way, as a Snake Secondary often does. Sometimes he goes so fast that he forgets something and makes a mistake -- which is how "don't be a Dob" has become a thing -- but his impulsive ideas actually work out more often than it doesn't, and he's also very good at connecting with a wide variety of people. On the page for Snake/Slytherin Secondaries, the SHC site says,

"Slytherins will adapt to their own best advantage without thinking about it. They’ll walk into a situation and things will work out to their benefit without them quite knowing what happened or what they did to influence it."

-- and doesn't that just fit with Dob's ridiculous amounts of luck?

He does seem to spend a fair amount of time in his neutral state, or at least adapting in a non-conscious kind of way. There is something generally blunt about Dob a lot of the time, enough that I considered Lion pretty heavily -- but in the end, he works best when he's running on the fly and making shit up, in a way that feels extremely Snake to me. And he's not only so good at lying, but so quick to default to it, that Lion doesn't feel accurate.

Egbert the Careless, dragonborn paladin Poor Egbert, the worst paladin. While his original order really seems to prioritize a very classic Paragon Lion Primary, Egbert barely seems to have a model of one -- it's more of a performance, which is being chipped steadily away by the rest of the party. He tries, but I can't see a genuine Lion Primary from his background killing people so casually. Or hitting an old man with a cursed mace over and over until he turns into a seal. And then keeping the seal as a pet. Or just... saying "maybe crime is good!" because he likes the food at the crime den. He's trying, but he's really not good at it. So the question remains: what is he?

I think it's hard to place him because, one, he really want to be that Lion. And second, whatever he is, I think the values that motivation is set on are... kind of in flux? I don't think he's super burned; I think he might be lightly charred at best. But: if he's a Bird, he's in the process of losing the truth of "whatever the Order of the Dragon Door says is right" to something that comes more from the party and probably more genuinely. If he's a Badger, he's in the process of changing communities. If he's a Snake, the Order is getting pushed more and more out of his inner circle, replaced by the party.

I was leaning Badger, but the more I think about it, I think that's the remnants of the attempt to play Lion. I think Egbert's a Snake Primary who is starting to shed his old skin. (There's like three layers of bad joke in that, and I'm sorry.) The Lion priorities made that Snake look a little more Badger-y, but he does so, so many things that just don't strike me as caring deep down about need. Like the thing where he turned an old man into a seal. I just keep looking at that incident and I either need to completely ignore that incident -- which is hard, when Seal Gaiman is still hanging around -- or go with something else. His reaction to Dana's bigotry in Snow Mercy does feel a little more Badger-y to me... but that could still be that Lion Performance flavoring, and/or a symptom of how the party as a whole gets pissed about anti-tiefling sentiment coming out in sympathy of another maligned race. I also feel like a Badger would be working a little more actively on atonement and stop getting distracted.

He is, however, a very loud Lion Secondary. While the party as a whole does a lot of ploys that involve deceit or talking their way into things, Egbert is rarely the one doing that part. He doesn't bother with subtlety, or with doing any of the many things he can as a paladin, which is how we got the whole glorious "you've been able to teleport for how long?" moment. He does sometimes manage to make connections that move the story along, and he always does it by being himself.

But most of all, I can't think of a better word to describe how Egbert attacks a situation than charging. I'm just going to quote again from the site:

"their problems are met head on rather than subverted, negotiated, or cajoled. They have an efficiency so direct it’s almost combative."

And that seems like Egbert to a T.

Merilwen, wood elf druid Merilwen is a Badger Primary whose version of "people" is "animals, my community, and also I guess these four now". She doesn't really seem to care about what would traditionally be considered "people", and Ellen (who plays her) has spoken about how Merilwen's morals towards non-animals is pretty much entirely influenced by the party -- but with the things she cares about she strikes me as extremely Badger. She's absolutely ready to throw down everything for the party, but when they're not in danger from it, she will also absolutely fight the rest of them for an animal -- see that incident where she talked everyone out of fighting the Owlbear. "Animals are hurt" or "you hurt my friends" is the fastest way to bring out her viscous side.

She could also maybe be a Snake who includes all animals in her circle, but: one, I very much feel like she'd choose whether to prioritize her friends or an animal over who needs her more. Two, the way she interacts with her family and her community in Elf Hazard seems very Badger to me. Her worry about not being able to see her family again, her unwillingness to disappoint them and decision to take a new name to make them happy, even after the danger is past. Things like Merilwen's Meat-Grinder also strike me this way -- specifically, her willingness to do massive damage to save the party and subsequent discomfort with having done it, even though she doesn't care that much about the people who were hurt even after having done it. "Fair and loyal" seems like a good way to sum up her morality in general. Her being so close to Dob and understanding each other so well also adds to this (even if a lot of that likely has to do with Ellen and Luke (who plays Dob) being so close as much as anything, but if I try to separate out things that are OOC-influence I will be here forever).

I'm torn between the foundational Secondaries for her: Bird, or Badger. There is something about her likelihood to fall back on "I turn into a [cat/bear/octopus]" as a plan that feels a little Bird-like to me -- that fallback on the favored, most well-used, best-understood tools, even in situations where it takes a little forcing to make them fit. On the other hand, she seems to be the one most likely to see a job that's not being done as part of the plan, and go fill that role. She's certainly steady, trustworthy, quiet, and consistent. I don't think she has a problem with shortcuts on many things, but could see her raising objections about things she actively cares about. She also often solves things by connecting with animals, which fits when you consider her people/community largely being animal-based. I'm still a little back and forth on this, but in the end, I'm going to lean towards a Badger Secondary.

Prudence, tiefling warlock I'm having a hard time putting my finger on Prudence. I think this is partly Jane's play style -- I feel like she's the least likely to go into what's going on in Prudence's head or why she's doing things, and she doesn't really have a driving goal we're aware of except "do things to make Cthulhu pleased", but that's mostly along the way. She's not a Badger. I would lean towards not a Lion; I guess it's possibly she's a Lion whose gut morality is about hedonism, "I should have what I want", or something like that, but I really don't get the impression that she has much of an internal morality overall. "Some things are just wrong and you can't talk your way out of it" (to quote the Lion/Gryffindor Primary page) absolutely does not sound like something Prudence would ever thing.

So again we're between the decided Primaries: Bird or Snake? I could see her being a Bird, but I have no idea what her truth is at this point. Still, I want to lean towards Snake Primary, specifically one that was burnt. We're going into how-IC-was-this-anyway territory here again, but there's a moment early on, in Brawl of the Wild, where Jane is narrating Prudence hurling herself in front of two of the others and stops mid-narration to ask "wait, why am I doing that" -- it feels incredibly like a Snake who's found themselves unburning while they weren't paying attention and now is trying to figure out how this happened. She's also pretty open with how fond she is of the party, pleased as punch when Corazón burns down the house of a guy who's an asshole to her, even more pleased when Egbert seems corruptible, seems genuinely happy that the group has gotten more lax about killing, and of course there's "You'll never leave me, Corazón, I'll kill you first" and hugging the Egbert-statue after he's been kidnapped when no one can see her.

But more than the party, what makes me lean towards Snake is her relationship with her warlock patron. There's nothing cold, nothing business-like, it's not even worshipful: Cthulhu-dad is kind of a joke, but... it's also not? Even if the actual fatherly-ness of it can be read as joking, she still genuinely seems to have warm, loving feelings for him, and that particular set-up really strikes me a loyalist thing.

(That gives us an all-loyalist party, but honestly, considering they're not the most moral people around and how quickly they all bond... that kind of works?)

Bird Secondary -- her plans tend to be the most practical, she has her favored methods for handling things, and her interest in all things magic strikes me as very Bird-with-a-favorite-thing. Her Bird seems pretty good at reading people, too, particularly knowing the party's strengths -- which is often chaos and making things up. She's not quite a rapid-fire as Corazón, but she's pretty good on her feet if need be... it's just that her lack of interest in what's morally right means the plan she usually pulls out is "eldritch blast". To be fair, it usually works.

IN SUMMATION:

Corazón: Snake Primary/Bird Secondary (possible Snake performance)

Dob: Badger Primary/Snake Secondary (possible Badger model)

Egbert: Snake Primary (attempting to model the Order and possibly Shattershield's Lion Primary, which comes off weirdly Badger-ish in the end)/Lion Secondary

Merilwen: Badger Primary (whose "people" are animals, the elf community she grew up in, and now the Oxventurers)/Badger Secondary

Prudence: Unburning Snake Primary/Bird Secondary

OXVENTURE IN THE DARK BONUS ROUND:

Very recently they've begun an Oxventure spin-off series, playing Blades in the Dark instead. We're only two episodes in, and since part of the plan is to rotate who's in each episode, most of them are only in one -- and since we've gotten so little of the new group, and so much can change as the players learn their characters and find their feet, I can't confidently sort them right now. But I think it'd be interesting to share some initial impressions and see how they hold up down the line. Spoilers for both episodes if anyone's behind, I'll put Lillith and Barnaby last just to be sure.

Edvard: If Edvard the inventor is not a Bird Secondary, I will eat my hat. I could see him going the way of the traditional SHC impulsive scientists who do things For Science, and ending up in Lion/Bird territory, or going towards Bird/Bird; at the moment I don't think he'll be a loyalist, but we'll see!

Zillah: I think we know less about Zillah than anyone else at this point, but we do know that, one, she's doing crime to get money for her family, and two, she seems pretty level-headed. I'm thinking maybe a Lion Secondary, leaning away from Bird Primary but at this point could see anything else.

Kasamir: Between his class/playbook being about having his fingers in a lot of crime pies, Johnny saying he's not really good at anything besides crime, and his slight mentor-y vibe in episode one, I'm getting Badger Secondary or Bird Secondary vibes -- leaning Badger right now, but we'll see. (I'm also getting Mozzie-from-White-Collar-but-more-physical vibes, but I cannot find the sorting that Moz used to be under, unfortunately. I want to say either Badger/Bird or Bird/Badger.) He doesn't strike me as a Lion Primary at this point, but we'll see.

Lillith: I was going to say Bird Secondary because she's leaning so hard into the intellectual, but so far she has tried to solve problems by befriending a ghost girl and convincing the workers to start a union so.... I'm feeling some Badger/Lion or Lion/Badger vibes coming off her at this point. She might slide into a more Bird-y role in the future, or it might end up looking more like a model.

Barnaby: Despite having gotten through two episodes now basically saving the day by being himself, I don't get Lion Secondary vibes from him -- actually, I'm thinking he could end up a Badger Secondary, just extremely far on the Courtier Badger side of the scale, and one that’s very full of himself. Not sure on that yet, though. Primary: no idea, but probably not Badger.

#sorting hat chats #oxventure #i should probably wait til it's not 6:30 am; reread this; and make it shorter #but screw it! have my rambling!#if you read all this you get a cookie #but it's out of my head now at least #there are many other sortings i'd like to do #we'll see if i ever get to them

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years ago

Note

Peter and MJ, coworkers who barely know each other's names, but could draw each other's faces from memory, get stuck in the elevator together at the end of a work day

Thanks for the prompt, Anon! I started writing the fic for this so fast haha

Overheard at the Bugle

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: M Word count: 5394

Summary:

Peter's having a late night at the office and finds out he's not the only one working overtime right before he and the new reporter, Michelle Jones, get trapped in the Bugle's unreliable elevator. He just needs to handle this situation calmly and not do anything to give away his secret identity. It'd be easier to focus on the task at hand if his enhanced hearing wasn't picking up something very unusual coming from the voice recorder in Michelle's bag.

Peter tries to keep a low profile at the Bugle―he doesn’t need anyone giving a second thought to the guy who turns in crisp closeups of Spider-Man week after week―but he didn’t realize he’s invisible. He’s gotta be for the custodial staff to start shutting the lights off on his floor as he’s still sifting blearily through the emails that arrive every five minutes; they’re all stamped with Sent from J. Jonah Jameson’s iPhone. Almost in the dark, Peter snaps his laptop shut, shoves it into his messenger bag, and sprints for the elevators. He’s not scared of the dark (what kinda hero would that make him?), but after lights-out comes locking the doors and he’s not keen on spending the night here. Though his apartment might not be much, it’s his escape from work.

He skids around the corner to find the glow of an elevator that’s just closing.

“Hold it!” Peter shouts, shooting his hand out to part the doors as a frantic tapping comes from inside.

“I was pushing the button…” a woman explains as he steps in.

She turns her head and a spill of wavy brown hair is pushed aside to reveal the face of Michelle Jones. Peter swallows. His gaze goes from her startled brown eyes to her finger, now slipping off the Doors Open button.

“Yeah,” he says, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder, “this thing can be temperamental sometimes.”

“Right. Ground floor, I assume?”

“Yep.”

He moves off to a respectful distance as she presses the button to take them down and the doors close. His heart’s hammering. Though he’s heard the confident tone of her voice plenty, she’s never specifically spoken to him. Nor he to her. Luckily, the walls of the elevator have an intentional burnish with the scuff of wear on top, so there’s no chance of her catching sight of his stare in their reflections. Peter doesn’t mean to, it’s just that she took her hair down. She mostly wears it twisted and pinned at the nape of her neck and probably just shook it out when she got into the elevator, heading home. He gets it. He has his tie jammed into his bag, collar unbuttoned, and sleeves cuffed up to his elbows. Nobody gives a shit about dress code after the boss is gone, especially if they’re working late with no guarantee of overtime pay. Quit looking at her, he thinks, and snaps his gaze down to the floor. He can still smell her shampoo, courtesy of the enhanced senses.

“Sorry about the lights,” Michelle offers, turning her head enough to address him, but not enough to meet his eye because he’s standing beside and slightly behind her. “I let one of the custodians know I was on my way out a few minutes ago. Thought I was the last one left.”

Peter frowns. That’s weird. Not what she says, but that, when she speaks, he thinks he hears an echo. My one-on-one exclusive with Spider-Man, it says, in the voice of the reporter currently sharing the elevator with him. He opens his mouth to ask Michelle if she hears it too and catches himself. That’s a habit he broke years ago, when he realized there are way more things other people can’t hear and it only risks freaking them out and exposing himself to reveal that his senses are more animal than human.

“Don’t worry about it,” he responds distractedly.

The first thing to know about Spider-Man is that he’s not a nine-to-five kinda guy. Without regular business hours, he joins me for this interview in my Brooklyn apartment on a Friday evening. The red suit is predictable; the rap he gives my living room window to announce his arrival smacks more of cheeky showmanship. This reporter has to wonder whether, for him, finally submitting to such an in-depth, sit-down conversation is a type of performance. Surely the man behind the mask knows his audience is rapt for any details on the life of a figure who, despite his status as a trusted friend to all, is so much a mystery to this city’s inhabitants.

Ok, what? Peter’s brain is spinning like a frisbee. He’s never given the kind of interview Michelle’s disembodied voice is describing, and definitely never given it to her. He’s never been to her apartment, doesn’t even know where she lives, and certainly isn’t eager to invite questions in some sort of exposé. Maybe what he’s hearing are just the notes she’s preparing for a future interview. Did Jameson assign this? He’s certainly nosy about Peter’s alter ego, but the tone of the piece is more curious than their boss’s usual style―scathing, obstinate, malicious. She sounds intrigued by Spider-Man, not like she’s luring him into a trap.

The elevator jolts. It grinds. It halts. Michelle makes a sound of distress and taps Doors Open. She looks at him over her shoulder, face worried but also… flushed? Maybe she gets anxiety attacks.

“It’s alright,” Peter tells her, one foot in Spider-Man’s De-escalation Mode. He raises his hands in hopefully a calming gesture and her eyes dart to them, gliding over his bare forearms. Crap, does he seem threatening? He lowers his hands.

“I know it’s alright,” she assures him. “I just… who wants to be stuck at work?”

Michelle gives him a slight smile to accompany her joke and he returns it.

“Got a story to work on?” Peter asks.

His motive is partly to understand the narration he heard (which is still going on, a murmur beneath their much louder voices), but also to focus her on something besides the fact that the elevator is not moving.

“Just filed one actually, so, you know, theoretically free for the weekend.” She makes a phonily excited face that emphasizes how very not-free they are.

The continued jokes are a good sign that she isn’t overly alarmed. He’s still stumped about the story though. As she pulls her cell phone from the large leather bag over her arm, Peter tunes into the background noise. With the elevator silent, that’s just the recording of Michelle’s voice.

‘…later than I thought you would be,’ I inform him. He makes his excuses and where I would normally be annoyed by a failure to be punctual, I find myself charmed by New York’s man in red. I wonder where his adventures have taken him tonight, if his actions have prevented violence, saved lives. If his mere presence has inspired onlookers and comforted those who have lost faith in our traditional systems of stagnant courts and killer cops…

There’s no way Jameson can be aware of the spin she’s putting on this. Spider-Man’s no hero in the eyes of the editor-in-chief, just a menace, a pest, a cockroach climbing up the pantleg of the people who are supposed to enforce justice. That’s not the only thing that’s confusing. Peter’s fairly hung up on the fact that she’s conducting this interview like he’s there. Could just be her process. Playing the whole thing out to get a feel for however long it might be, where small talk might hypothetically cut into her list of prepared questions.

“No service,” Michelle huffs, tucking her phone away again. “You?”

Peter, startled, gets his phone out to check, though he already knows this elevator is a dead zone. He shakes his head. Frustrated, she moves her hand to jab the Help button. The one meant to connect the rider with 911.

“Don’t bother,” he coaches when she pushes it a second time after nothing happens. “I think that thing’s just for show.”

“Oh yeah?”

She’s arch, irritated. Peter stays calm, knowing it’s not really meant for him. People can get testy in stressful situations. Being trapped in an elevator is one of those. Not for him. For him, a stressful situation is a bullet graze or leaping from one office tower to the next and realizing in midair that he’s out of webs. Trapped in an elevator is a relaxing start to his weekend in comparison.

“Jameson never lets anybody inspect it. He’s a control freak, scared of spies. He thinks somebody’s gonna bug the elevator,” he clarifies to Michelle’s raised eyebrows.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah, well, have you met him?”

She exhales a laugh at that.

…invite him to get comfortable, I’m surprised at him choosing a seat at the opposite end of the couch I’ve just sat down on. I’d intended the chair across from me and think that should be obvious to him. Perhaps it is. The mask doesn’t make him the easiest man to read.

“So we’re just fucking stuck because Jameson’s scared of, who? Reporters from other papers? The CIA? Edward Snowden?”

A tingle goes down Peter’s spine when she swears. She’s commanding. Does she know that or is working under Jameson putting her qualities in the shadow of his, wielded for domination and intimidation?

“I haven’t figured that out yet,” he says.

“This button’s never worked?” Michelle checks, leaning her knuckle into it to keep it depressed. “This is a major safety issue. Imagine there was a fire right now.”

“You should call somebody and report him.”

He can’t help being playfully sarcastic and thinks, for a second, that she’s going to bite his head off for it by the way her eyes flash. Then he thinks he might not mind. Then she laughs and he tries to take a normal breath.

“What do we do?” she wants to know.

What do they do? What do Peter and the woman he’s eyed across the office since she arrived at the Bugle two months ago do? Forced together by unhealthy work hours and a broken elevator? He shifts from one foot to the other.

“Hope the custodian decides to watch for you to leave the building and comes looking when you don’t.”

“I hate that plan,” Michelle informs him.

“Go ahead and come up with another one,” he invites earnestly.

She turns so she’s facing him and lets her back slump against the wall of the elevator. She shrugs to ease her bag off her shoulder. The strap tugs a little at her emerald-green blouse before it slides down her arm. She sets it on the ground by her feet. It looks like she’s doing what he suggested. Now it’s just Peter and her quiet voice, which he can tell is coming from the bag. Michelle must have a recorder in there. Probably thinks she shut it off, but the volume’s just really low.

‘…when you’re out there?’ I have to inquire of him. At his easy laugh, I shelter behind my coffee cup, taking a slow sip. ‘Lonely?’ Spider-Man repeats. ‘In a city this size?’ He’s being coy now. I’m certain he knows what I want and it’s the dare implicit in this exchange that prompts me to press him. ‘Not lonely for just anybody,’ I begin…

Crossing his arms, Peter rests against the back of the elevator, trying to be subtle as he tips his head to the side to hear more. He’s getting into this story now, even if it’s not real. For the first time, he’s starting to see how Spider-Man might be a pretty compelling guy. He likes this person she seems to think he is; he’s more interesting coming from her lips. Of course, not as interesting as she is, with her leading questions and the agenda she’s voicing for her recorder if not for the man she’s interviewing.

“Have you worked at the Bugle long?”

His gaze twitches over to Michelle’s face when she speaks.

“Since right outta college. Why?”

“Just wondered if this had happened to you before,” she explains, waving her hand at the elevator’s useless panel of buttons. “And I knew you were here before me.”

“You did?”

He shouldn’t sound so breathlessly hopeful. Obviously, she knew he was here first. Michelle could’ve noticed him one time in the past two months and seen him do anything to indicate that he’d been here longer―escape Jameson’s office just before he could get roared at, jiggle the plug to make the coffee machine in the breakroom work. But Peter does sound that way because of her tone. She says it like an admission and she breaks eye contact.

‘…you don’t want one?’ He declined my offer of coffee once, but I think he may change his mind now that we’ve warmed up to each other a little. Spider-Man twists and I can feel him regarding me from behind those large white eyes. ‘I’d have to take the mask off to drink it,’ he points out. I promise that I’m not trying to blow his cover, just be hospitable. Besides, I counter, he doesn’t need to expose his whole face. The mouth will do.

“So, has it?” she counters, ignoring his question.

“Has what?”

“Has it happened to you? The elevator shutting down?”

“Oh, uh, once or twice, but it was always in the middle of the day and there were a bunch of other people in the elevator with me, so it didn’t go unnoticed long. Jameson hassled me for missing meetings while I was trapped though.”

“It’s not like you could help it,” Michelle says.

“True, but…” Peter shrugs. “I learned to take the stairs.”

“Bet you’re wishing you took them tonight.”

He laughs.

“Not really. I mean, uhhh…” The sound drags out embarrassingly as he can’t manage to pull his gaze away from her surprised face.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she says, saving him. “I think you’re keeping me saner than I would be alone.”

Right. That’s all. Which is enough, really. He’s glad to be of service, especially if that service is helping her not totally lose it.

“No problem.”

‘…because I can do more good if I’m an anonymous symbol,’ Spider-Man tells me. His body language has changed, shifting forward with the urgency of his words. ‘But some people must know,’ I say. ‘Your real identity can’t be a secret from everyone.’ ‘No Spider-Man is an island?’ is his clever rejoinder. I agree with absolute sincerity. ‘Even the strongest person needs to let others get close to them,’ I insist. Where he’s tugged his mask up, his mouth shifts from a wry grin to thoughtful softness. I find my gaze lingering there.

“Any ideas?” Peter asks, feeling hot.

The temperature inside the elevator is moderate, but Michelle’s words, as she draws him deeper into her story, are making him surreptitiously flap his collar to encourage air down his shirt. He’s starting to feel like this is something he’s not supposed to hear. Alright, it’s likely that nobody was supposed to hear it if these are just her rough notes before composing an article. Whatever. What Peter’s realizing is that maybe nobody’s supposed to hear this interview ever. The questions are too personal, too human-interest for the kind of paper they work at, and the way she depicts her responses is… intimate. Full of sensory details. It’s as though he’s in this apartment with her, sipping at her coffee, staring at her down the length of the couch. A Friday night, her voice said, and tonight’s one of those. How would Michelle Jones feel if she knew she was spending an evening with Spider-Man right now?

“I think the custodians would’ve made some noise by now if they knew anybody was in here and if they haven’t realized we’re missing, then I’m not sure anyone else will. I don’t know about you, but I live alone. I probably won’t be missed tonight because my friends will just assume I’m working and turned my phone off. I’ve been considering,” she goes on, “that we’ll either have to climb out the top and hope we’re close to the doors aligning with one of the floors or get these doors open. Either way, we need something to open the doors. Personally, I didn’t pack my crowbar.”

Peter stares at her in awe for a minute. She really did come up with a plan. Several plans. He knows he can help―he doesn’t need a crowbar to part the metal doors―but he can’t just wrench the doors open with his bare hands and act like it’s no big deal. He’ll need an explanation, which can’t be the truth. Revealing himself at the Bugle? To a Bugle reporter? Seems like the worst possible scenario. He doesn’t think Michelle is anything like Jameson in her motivations or basic moral compass (fine, he doesn’t know her, but that’s the sense he gets), and yet, she works for him. It’s her job to give him something fresh, something captivating, and he’s just not sure that her fascination with Spider-Man would be enough to make her want to spare Peter Parker the nightmare of his identity being splashed across Monday’s front page.

“Me neither.”

“This isn’t sustainable,” she mutters. He looks at her with concern. Louder, she adds, “If I get restless enough to climb through the ceiling, promise you won’t look up my skirt when I ask you to give me a boost.”

“Promise.”

Michelle assesses his face and he tries to appear his most transparent and trustworthy. Gradually, her eyes move away from his, but he’s still watching her and sees her stare at his throat, then his chest, and down. Whoa, Peter tells himself. Not a good idea. This woman might be a little hung up on Spider-Man, maybe even has a crush, but you and him are two different people.

Meanwhile, on the recording: …switch it off for him, holding the voice recorder up so he can clearly see that I’ve done it. ‘There,’ I say, ‘no one’s listening now. It’s just you and I.’ ‘So I’m supposed to feel closer to you without it?’ Spider-Man asks. ‘Don’t you?’ is what I want to know.

“Screw it,” Michelle decides a minute later, standing up straight. “I’m getting us out of here. Can you pick me up?”

Peter drops his messenger bag in an instant.

“Yep.”

He watches while she kicks off her black patent high heels (maybe picturing her pressing one of those bad boys into his chest), then they both tip their heads back and examine the ceiling panels.

“Front corner, maybe?” she suggests. “Just so I’m as close as possible to where the doors will hopefully be and I don’t have to wobble around up there in the elevator shaft.”

“Sure,” Peter agrees.

They cross to the appropriate corner and he bends his knees, locking his fingers to offer her a step. She grabs his shoulder for balance and lifts her foot, about to place it in his braced hands, then pauses.

“I’m Michelle, by the way.”

“Peter.”

“I know.”

He’s baffled and flushed as they shake hands, but he can’t dwell on it because her fingers are digging into his shoulder right before she presses her foot into his swiftly repositioned hands and hops up. She gives a small shriek as her body wavers before steadying herself with her palms against the ceiling. Peter drops his gaze. He can tell by her knees that she’s crouching slightly and he’s not glancing any higher than that. Her skirt falls to just below her knees and, as they lean into each other to keep her up, he ends up with her thigh pressed against the side of his face, the black fabric of that skirt under his cheek.

“You got me, right?”

“Right,” he says, careful not to ramble and divulge how little effort bearing her weight requires.

“Ok, I’m going to try to get a grip on this panel and slide it open.”

“Sounds good.”

Peter is looking straight across at the wall. He is not looking higher than her knees. He has no thoughts about the scent of her skirt and no theories on whether the lavender comes from her fabric softener or lotion that he’s also not imagining her rubbing into her skin before she got dressed for work this morning. She sways in his grip and he braces his arms more firmly, unable to do anything about her leg against his face. Michelle grunts and her body heaves as he hears her shift the ceiling panel. Her toes curl around his fingers. He exhales in relief; if she can figure this out without him needing to call on his super-strength, awesome. She goes home with a sense of accomplishment and he goes home maintaining his secret identity.

“Ok,” she calls down. “It’s open. Lift me higher.”

“Higher,” Peter mumbles to himself. Then, to her, “Uh, I might have to, um, hold your legs. But I won’t look at anything, I swear.”

“I’ve trusted you this far.”

Her voice is wry and he chuckles.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Michelle says.

With a bounce of his shoulders, he hoists her up. For a minute, he keeps hold of her foot, but then one of his hands clutches the back of her calf while the other cups her heel. Her weight pulls away from him as she hauls herself up through the ceiling.

“Is there a door?” he asks.

“It’s dark… Can you get my phone? It’s right inside my bag.”

“Ok, hang on. Literally,” Peter adds.

“Ha ha,” Michelle responds dryly, but when he gently releases his grip on her, he finds that she’s able to hold herself in place with her elbows. Her legs dangle and he hurries.

Their conversation and the rush of the action they just took concentrated his senses. Unfortunately, he’s now holding her work bag open and the sounds from her voice recorder are pouring out louder than ever. Still too quiet for her though, at this distance.

‘…didn’t think a suit that tight could hide much, but I’m still pleasantly surprised.’ ‘What, this?’ Spider-Man teases. I abandon my coffee cup and push my reading glasses up into my hair as I set my notes aside to lean in. He might as well have a web stuck to my chest. His awareness of his own physicality is evidently as precise afterhours as it is while he’s on duty because he skims a hand down his abdomen, appearing to almost accidentally hook his thumb in the band of his boxers. ‘You want the real scoop?’ he asks me, prying the elastic away from his skin provocatively. The taste of coffee is still thick and rich in my mouth when I encourage him: ‘Go on, Spidey. Don’t stop there…’

Peter almost drops the bag.

“Did you find it?”

“Yeah! Yes. Mhmm, I’ve got it.”

He returns to Michelle and wraps one arm around her legs. With his other hand, he lifts the phone towards her. Her fingers clasp his, then locate the phone and take it from his grip. He holds still while she turns on her flashlight and has a look around. So, Michelle doesn’t have a little crush on Spider-Man. She’s hot for Spider-Man. Which means she’s hot for Peter, in a way. Except not, he reminds himself, because you’re just her silent co-worker. You’re never going to―

“FUCK!”

“What? No. What? What is it?”

“The next door’s way too high,” she says. “We must be almost lined up with one.” She taps him on the head with her phone and he slips it into his pocket for safekeeping as he prepares to help her down.

“We’ll find another way.” Will you? he asks himself.

“Quick question.”

“Uh huh?”

“How do I do this?”

He’s holding most of her weight now and, pressing a hand to flatten her skirt against her leg, chances a peek up at Michelle. Her head’s still through the ceiling, arms still braced over the open panel. What would definitely work would be her just letting go and him catching her in his arms, but maybe that’s too much faith for her to put in a random guy from work. Although he’s capable of lifting her, catching her falling body is a completely different thing. As with their escape in general, they don’t have a ton of options.

“Just let go slowly,” Peter coaches. “I’ll adjust how I’m holding you and you can sort of slide down my body.” The awkwardness in his tone garbles the last part.

“I can what?”

Dammit. She’s waiting to come down. He clears his throat.

“Uh, slide down my body?”

Her anxious laugh disappears into the elevator shaft.

“What the hell have you gotten yourself into?” he hears her hiss to herself. To him, “Yeah, ok. I’m coming down now.”

“I have you.”

Peter’s counting on the giddiness of being returned to the ground from a height to distract her from the too-skillful way he maneuvers his hands on her. Making sure her skirt never gets rucked up, not placing his hands anywhere truly unforgiveable. He holds her hips, not her ass, and turns his head so his face doesn’t wind up in her crotch. He’s really gentleman-ing his butt off when the recording in her bag calls out, ‘Harder, Spider-Man!’

His hands slip. A second ago, his head was level with her stomach and now his face is buried in her chest, the cup of her bra pressing back against his temple. Immediately, Peter tilts back from his shoulders.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry―”

“I’m ok, I’m good,” Michelle protests as they wriggle together to set her down. He forces her phone back into her hand.

“Your skirt was slippery…”

“I know. You did great, Peter, seriously.”

“…and I heard…”

He shuts his mouth fast, but her flustered expression dissipates as her probing gaze finds his eyes.

“What did you hear?”

Peter pushes at his sleeves and refuses to answer. Her powers of deduction don’t rely on him at all. She whirls to her bag, crouching and dropping her phone in to extract the voice recorder instead. Holding it to her ear in investigation, Michelle probably hears the words By the time he has me on all fours, I can tell that Spider-Man’s on board with my remark on the importance of letting someone be close to him at the same volume he does standing three feet away. He’s basically plastered himself to the opposite wall. She looks about as mortified as he figures he’d feel if he made a recording of a very personal fantasy and someone listened to it. Man, should he have just told her at the beginning? There didn’t seem to be a way to handle it well.

Michelle stops the playback and puts the recorder away. The elevator is abruptly quiet without the whisper of her voice. All the while, Peter’s staring at her, seeing what she’ll do. The most probable conclusion for her to come to is that he heard a single sound, a blip, and has no clue what the recording contained. The way she stands, leaving her bag on the floor, seems to confirm this. But she doesn’t look over at him.

With a sigh, he decides to do what Spider-Man would do and put the person in need first. What Michelle Jones needs from him is a way out of this embarrassment, and this elevator. Peter walks to the doors and stamps his hands to the metal. First, a little compression to get a good grip and then… Scrunching his face with the effort, he puts his back into it, forcing the doors apart. Next, he does the same thing to the outer doors, separating them to reveal a darkened hallway. The floor’s about three feet higher than where he’s standing inside the elevator, but that’s nothing for someone to scramble through and head for the stairs.

He steps away to let her go first. She doesn’t move.

“Should we talk about that?” Michelle asks, pointing at the doors, after what has to be a full minute of her studying him.

“I… work out? A lot. I work out a lot,” Peter says with more conviction on every try.

“And about this?” She grabs her recorder and waves it at him.

“You… use that to, uh, keep track of your ideas.”

She steps up to him and, without dropping her gaze from his face, reaches out to touch his wrist. Her fingers move from tracing his skin to ringing his web-shooter. He wears them to work pretty often, but always covers them with the cuffs of his shirt. Which he rolled up. Because he thought he was alone. There’s no reason for her to know what they’re for though, right? They could be medical alert bracelets, or just jewellery. It’s not like they’re branded with ‘Spider-Man’s Web-Shooter, 1 of 2.’

“You wanna talk about these?”

Peter opts out of replying.

“I know what they are,” she says. “What they’re for. I’ve researched you, looked at a lot of video footage and photographs, many of which I think you took, which seems equal parts fucked-up and brilliant. I noticed them right after we got stuck.”

“I have… a severe peanut butter allergy,” he says unconvincingly.

“Bummer,” Michelle shoots back, unsympathetic. Yeah, it was a terrible lie, but he’s gotta at least be able to say he tried to deny her accusations.

“It is, it is a bummer,” Peter agrees, nodding. He licks his dry lips to wet them. “Sometimes, I have such a craving for a PB and J and I can’t―”

She leans in and gives him a quick kiss.

“I’m… confused,” he admits.

“I know who you are,” she begins. “You don’t have to say it out loud, on the off chance somebody really has bugged this piece of shit elevator, but your severe peanut butter allergy bracelets, in combination with how you opened those doors, are pretty good evidence when compared with my research. So, if I take my supposition as fact―”

“Peanut butter…”

“Save it. If you are who I strongly believe you to be, then you were able to hear god knows what on that recording. Which I am an idiot for forgetting to erase or record over. Meant to do it last night… ugh, anyway. The important thing is that you heard it and you didn’t bolt through those doors the second you got them open. Why.”

When Michelle’s on a roll, he learns, her questions come out as demands. He quits trying to sneakily unfold his cuffs in a way-too-last-ditch attempt at concealing the truth.

“Ladies first?” he tries.

“I’m not going to use what I know. I promise you that. You’re a good person and as far as I’m concerned, your secret’s your secret. You do a hell of a lot more for this city than Jameson does with the trash he prints, my own contributions obviously excluded. Now I’m the only one held over a barrel here, Peter. You heard what you heard. Tell me why you stayed.”

“You needed me.”

“After you got the doors open.”

Peter thinks. Not just about whether or not to speak, but if he’s ready to say what he’s about to say.

“I needed you. It’s like what you said in the story―I mean, the recording. I don’t let many people get close to me.”

“Why would you let me be one of those people? It took being stuck together before we even had our first conversation.”

“A good feeling, I guess,” he explains. “Plus, you’re kinda my dream girl and I just found out that, at least on the physical side of things, you’re really into me. Like, really into me.”

“You can shut up about that now,” Michelle says.

“Why? You didn’t. You had so much to say.”

“Hmm, maybe I like Spi- I mean, that guy better when I’m speaking for him. Fortunately for you,” she says smugly, “I’ve thought Peter Parker the photographer was cute since the day I started working here.”

“That is news to me.”

Michelle wraps her arms around his neck, smirking as she leans her body against his.

“I was getting around to telling you. Are you surprised?”

“It’s a real scoop,” Peter acknowledges as his hands feel out the lithe shape of her back through her blouse.

“Oh my god, you heard that part? That part? How could―”

He more or less molds his mouth to hers. She more or less gives him a tour of her Brooklyn apartment before they spend the night in bed together and rise to a hot cup of coffee.

more clichéd tropes and prompts

#my writing #spideychelle #spideychelle fic #spideychelle fanfiction #peter parker #peter x mj #peter x michelle #peter parker x michelle jones #michelle jones

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